Sunday, February 27, 2011

Da, na, nuh, na, nuh, na, nuh, na, Batmaaaaaan.

My dog Batman may, or may not, be two years old. When animal control picked him up in a field they wrote down “stray”, and packed him off to the vet for a checkup. Unsurprisingly the vet thought that Batman’s airways were blocked somehow.

Perhaps he accidentally inhaled a groundhog or one too many Mickey D’s wrappers while foraging in the field?

After a few exams, the vet realized what I have come to love. Batman is inherently a snorting, snoring, snuffling, nosy goofball; who happens to breathe with the same quiet candor of a freight train when he’s anxious or excited.

The vet sent Batman back into the general population with a certificate of health, minus his man-parts, and the glowing description “male, Boxer, 52lbs, neutered, fawn/black mask, 2yrs”.

The mug shot animal control posted of Batman for potential adopters to see was about as appealing as a slide of a frog mid-dissection. Batman cowered against a brick wall, his black ears lay back against his skull, his nubby tail tucked under him. 

How cute. I’d definitely adopt the one that looks like it might be peeing itself. Adorable.

Batman’s situation was roughly an Oliver Twist meets The Green Mile, as the shelter that kept him routinely gassed animals “without prospects” after a few weeks stay.

Lucky for me a breed rescue found Batman, in all his pee covered glory, and sent him to a foster home.

I didn’t know about any of Batman’s adventures until I got his folder the day I met him. As far as I knew Batman was “male, fawn, 1 yr, dogs: yes, kids/cats: unknown”.

When the rescue brought Batman home to me they added some info.

Batman can’t go to dog parks. He might kill something.

Don’t invite too many of your friends over right away. He might kill something.

Are you planning on having children anytime soon because…Best of luck!

P.S. He’s two years old.

Me, “But he’s graying in the face?”

He’s two years old.


I’m told that it’s common for Boxers to gray early if it’s in their genetics, or they eat one too many wrappers in a desolate field.

Either way, Batman’s here now. He may, or may not, be two years old, and hasn’t killed anything yet. Instead, his main tactic is the classic runrunrun-get-me-the-hell-away-from: his crate, the washer/dryer, tall blinds, his crate, the garage door opener, his crate, the vacuum, the gate in our fence, his crate and men.

 To be fair, I’m pretty sure Batman hasn't lived inside before, and was probably knocked around by a man in his lifetime; so there’s a steep learning curve ahead for him.

That didn’t stop him from trying to stick his face up my neighbor’s butt when he met him. Face to face, Batman is a coward, but turn your back and Batman will run up to you for a wary butt sniff.

Man, woman, human, dog, tall scary blinds, it doesn’t matter. If Batman thinks you, or your inanimate object, aren’t looking he’ll snorkel right up to you and snort his way into your personal bubble.

This seems to be a common characteristic that cowards share. Face to face they will run and hide, but turn your back and they run up to sniff your butt.

Monday, February 21, 2011

It's not what you think...

 *Press play, and read on Kindle-kins.
 Dear Kindle,

It's not what you think. I didn't even want to go into the Apple store; the iPad was just a one time thing. Its battery life isn't even close to yours, the glare is ridiculous, and its name is grammatically incorrect. The whole time that I was playing Angry Birds, Plants vs Zombies HD, Death Worm, and Rock Band (reloaded for the iPad), I only thought of you. 

The time I spent in that store was absolutely empty, a cheap and ill considered quickie, compared to the hours we've spent together. We've built a library together. You can't just throw time like that away. Think about all of the highlighting, the percentages of books yet to finish. I love you for Tolstoy, Twain, Eugenides, Wallace, Ishiguro, and so many countless others. I love you for your database, wifi, AND your conveniently slender form.

Please come back to me. I need you. My brain is turning into mush as I've watched all of the cerebral foreign dramas available to stream instantly for free on Netflix. Come back soon! Please! I promise to charge you like you've never been charged before.



Friday, February 18, 2011


Who doesn't like visiting the fabulous city of Las Vegas?

Me. That's who.

Vegas is old people that start gambling and smoking at seven am, drunks swerving across six lanes of traffic, and dried puke or other unmentionables crusted to the street after baking in the desert sun. For the full effect, please play the following two videos at the same time if your browser will allow.

Above are reasonably young, attractive, women Only Vegas advertises. Neither woman has red or blond hair, just as Vegas is not actually populated by young healthy people. In reality the "Strip" is a smokey haze where creepers jump in and out of the tar to slip roofies into drinks and leave you with topless lady/star boobie cards, and possibly and STD.

Take note, in this video of the soccer moms, their spray tans, and the fact that most all of the people that can afford to visit Vegas are not actually exciting interesting beautiful people, but sad drunk old people using alcohol to "let loose" aka lose their shirts, both figuratively and literally.

I should clarify that the majority of my loathing focuses on the strip and it's seedy casino's, which provide jobs for nearly every single person here either directly or inadvertently. That said, there are some nice places, outside the strip, that still have a shred of humanity and unadulterated beauty to them.

Item #1, and today's FIG:Food is Good, or comforting/nice stuff surviving despite the hype of "Vegas":
The Thai House Restaurant, tucked away in a strip mall at E Silverado Ranch Blvd and S Maryland Pkwy, is far enough away from the strip that it still has a soul, and tasty delicious curry. If you're looking for comfort food consider ordering the Pad Thai.

Or you can buy a Sonic Burger, large fry, and large Coke for about the same price. Don't add on any specialty drinks, sandwiches, or sides though because you'll blow your budget.
You can spite me, dear silent reader, and buy fast food instead, it's cool. I will still enjoy my young coconut ice cream over sweet sticky rice, and raise my spoon to you wishing your arteries all the best!
From left to right. Water glass, coconut juice, coconut with amazing delicious ice cream and sticky rice inside.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Myocardial Infarction

From the Latin meaning blo-holy-splosi-iv-ross-eath-eeeeeeeeeeerrrrrpl-eeeuuuck, or, as they say in Tajiristan, frackonastickinmyeye.

This writers' block needs to end, pronto, or I will spontaneously and myocardially infarct upon myself.

Look! It's Feist, floating and singing at the same time.

Friday, February 11, 2011

The Young Ones

I'm still working on the second part of "Stalking Lisa", and decided that there needed to be an intermediary post. What initially seemed like a great decision proved frustrating when I tried to think of something to write about. Thus Youtube videos of old British comedy. Makes complete sense.

Have you seen The Young Ones?

The clip below comes from the episode "Bambi", and originally aired May 8, 1984. Notables from this episode include: Emma Watson as Miss Money-Sterling, Hugh Laurie as Lord Monty (you may know him as House), and Stephen Fry as Lord Snot.

Another quality show is Fawlty Towers. I'm sure you've already seen all 12 episodes, including the episode below called "The Germans", and  already know that the complete set is available to stream online at Netflix. Regardless, this is a great clip to end this post with. Have a happy day!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Stalking Lisa PT1

Meet Christina.
 She’s named after a levitating Catholic saint best known for hiding away from sin by spurning worldly items in favor of living as a poor shepherd. Allegedly she died, and brokered a deal with G_d to return to life, suffering the sin of the world, and freeing those trapped in purgatory.

I imagine that when she left to bargain with G_d she took a sheep from one of her flocks and flew out the church chimney, like Santa might (minus the magic twinkle with more of a turbojetpack feel to it).

 After Christina returned from Heaven she took to hiding in odd places while she suffered in the material world.

Say, for example, that this is the layout of your hut. Nice blue covers on the bed, no bathroom to speak of, and a lovely stove in the bottom left corner of the room. 


Instead of sitting at your table to make light dinner conversation, Christina liked to bunk with the roast beef in your oven.

Here's another depiction of her hanging out in the church rafters as priests look on quizzically.

Nick Cave wrote a song about her.

This story isn't about the astonishing Christina though, but a woman who took her as her saint name/real name after she converted...

Stor yin teh works

Today's song is "Good Day" by Nappy Roots.