I'm so sorry for your loss, Tam.
Here's what I want someone to splain me: Say I make incremental payments into a 401K and as of January 1 this year, I had a balance of exactly $100,000. Let's be modest and say that as of today, my 401K's value is now $75,000. I put $100,000 actual value dollars in the account, so where did the $25,000 go? It had to go somewhere. Did it pop up like a carbuncle in someone else's account?
Answer me this in lay terms, and I'll send you a dollar.
shamelessly purloined from DBA Dude.
Shopping For Others.
I do, I really do try to pay a bit of attention, and although I completely mis-fired out of the box when suggesting the cost of Roberta X's Ann Demeulemeester boots could be defrayed by them being shared with a less-than-delighted Tam,(woopth!) I do want to assign shoes to people for whom they would bring delightments and other assorted nice sensations.
In that spirit, I remember Barbara fairly horrified over the ideer of heels. Here, then, is my compromise:
Wingtip Oxford from Robert Clergerie in (I believe) satin and nubuck suede. Om nom nom. *slurp*
I have to say that when I worked for Steamin' Carcass, in a blissed-out shopping haze I blindly stumbled into the shoe department during Last Call (their ultimate mark-down sale) and on one of those 30/30 sale days they have for employees (30% off and then 30% off that price, net effect being around 50% off marked price) and ended up laying out a cool $100-ish on the most gorgeous pair of shoes I've ever owned-- and the finest, which happened to be by one Robert Clergerie, originally priced in the $500-ish range. They were oxfords immaculately wrought by hand of a dove-colored leather and with a chunk heel. They looked like the oh-so-practical shoes my great granny Smith wore, and that the ladies of her generation were wont to wear, albeit with an updated twist. They were so well-made that I had cat's paw soles put on when the leather got a little worn, and I had the cat's paw replaced two more times. I walked all over campus in them and stood through long opera rehearsals with none so much as a bit of foot discomfort. In truth, those RC shoes are pretty worn looking and much-loved by now. I haven't worn them in years, but they will hold pride of place as the non plus ultra of my shoe collection, and they are one of two pair I will never get rid of.
So, in the spirit of appreciation for a finely wrought pair of shoes, I present Barbara with these lovely oxfords, which I recommend she only buy if she has the cash on hand, because I don't want to be responsible for anyone racking up high-interest credit, including myself. Or maybe she can wait for the markdown sale at Bergdorf's.
Marvy stuff. Cool, stylish, and even a bit on the arty side for a real music afficionado.
The sky: she is not falling.
Enough with the freakout.
I'm not making light of what clearly is a magnificently nasty mess in the financial market, but we are in a completely different place than was the common person in the late 1920s. At that time, Americans were primarily agrarian and rural, rather than city-dwelling, and failure to rotate crops brewed up a nasty wallop in the form of the Dust Bowl, a drought which lasted from 1930 to 1936, and the blight of which emblazoned its stamp on generations of midwesterners. The double-whammy of drought and stock market crash really set people into a tailspin. But remember- these people were dirt-poor to begin with and had very little set aside, in a lot of cases.
Whatever does or doesn't happen with the mortgage industry, the structure in which you reside will not evaporate. Unless you decide to be so, you are not about to be homeless. Where we are vulnerable is our addiction to excess and luxury. Some of us are tougher than others.
Ironically, I think it's the shrinking 401Ks that has people freaking out. Yeah, that's significant, but it's a damned sight different from the situation of a midwestern farmer whose topsoil is wafting over the eastern seaboard. Quite different. A little perspective, darlings.
The media have stirred so many people into a foaming-at-the-mouth frenzy about every little thing that I wonder when these people will recognize the boy who cried wolf. Every single moment of our lives can not possibly be on the verge of collapse. I'm sick of hearing it, and I don't believe it.
Yes, serious times. By all means, the coming election is of great moment in our nation's history.
What is disturbing is the morons who allow themselves to be manipulated by those media who would whip them into a frenzy-- the same morons who would riot after a court verdict or when their ball team loses. Worse than volatility in the market is the potential of large groups of people to behave very badly, indeed.
I saw a bit of an interview - celebrity "journalist" *ack* and someone - I think Lindsay Lohan (how bad do you have to be for Paris Hilton to call you firecrotch?), anyhoo, and the interviewer and interviewee were talking about Sarah Palin in that who-the-hell-does-she-think-she-is tone. No one ever heard of her before. She can't possibly be a breath away from the presidency?!!! Translation: She's not one of the anointed elite. After all, she's not one of us.
In comments on a Paul Begala article, a reader stated that at 52, she herself was not remotely able to take the reins of the vice-presidency, and at 43, Palin couldn't possibly be. Well, the fact is that like it or not, someone must step up to the plate. Doing what is right and what must be done is not something one can question, and just because one person is spineless and helpless rather than approaching life's challenges head-on doesn't make other people less capable of putting on their big-girl panties and having a swing at it. About 6 years ago, I took a 10 hour a week job as office girl for a company. My hours doubled within a week. I started showing apartments, and whaddayaknow - I was good at it! Within a year I was assistant manager for several properties, and another year later, I was the manager. Of a substantial chunk of real estate. Yeah, I came into it sideways, and if they'd asked me to do what I do today rather than the 10 hours a week, I would have thought it impossible for me. But now I know I can do that. There must be other things I am capable of which I never imagined. Most people go through their lives never realizing their full potential because they have accepted the defeat the media and general naysayers have said is their only option.
I saw a video on YouTube at the Atavist's blog which really inspired me. Nathaniel Brandon (associate of Ayn Rand) was talking about realizing one's potential. He said "what would happen if you were just 5% more present in your every task" or words to that effect. It was amazing. I drift, I daydream, I get bored and forget what I'm doing. Just a teeny bit more concentration does wonders for striking items off my to do list. Clearly, the commenter on the Begala article needs to watch Brandon's videos.
Chris Rock was on David Letterman bitching about the Clintons not being on board with Obama-- he clearly was nervous that Obama won't be able to hoodwink the cracker vote.
Someone in comments in an article about Bill Clinton's Larry King appearance was lambasting Hillary saying to get on board, that 2012 would be her year. Um, well, if Obama is elected, uh, won't the democrats give him the nomination again in 2012? I can't see an incentive there for Hils to carry Barry's water, honestly.
It's all going to be very interesting. Yeah, some of it may be bad and have terrible consequences for a lot of people, but that's life. Death, tragedy, taxes and upheaval are all part of life. The wise thing is to savour life, to prepare as best one can for hardships and to get on with making the most of time with our dear ones here and now.
The sky is not falling. It's not falling on me, anyhow.
That is all.
Perplexing ebay item of the day:
This appears to be a papier mache face fashioned into a toilet paper dispenser, but it's hard to tell, either from the blurry photo or the Engrish text. Maybe something's been lost in translation. At least, I hope something has.
A video primer.
h/t to Buck This was too good not to pass along...
Can't Oprah hook Michelle up with some more appropriate attire?
TIP: Ditch the florals and watery prints. *shudder*
It's not a garden party, baby.
Stewie versus Gecko.
Who'll end up in the bitch seat?
Dallas' City Council decided to set the wheels in motion for a $550 million taxpayer-funded hotel to be attached to the city's convention center. What sticks in the craw of more than a few people is the fact that they did this without so much as a vote from those folks who will be ponying up the said $550 mil. A group has organized a petition drive to demand taxpayers be allowed to vote on this issue. I'm not holding my breath. We need a few more Sarah Palins in this country.
RGS is about a rural family in the South. The father (the late Brad Davis of Midnight Express fame) flies a crop duster for a living, and they have a big mess of children (or "bunch" as we say in Arkansas) and the oldest son (Alex Winter of Bill & Ted fame) is going to chef school. The mother (German actress Marianne Sagebrecht) secretly spends the family savings on equipment for the son's training, and then discovers CREDIT! Then she's really off to the races. She schemes and eventually ends up with about a million in credit. Her husband makes about $900 a month, btw.
So, anyhoo, lately this mortgage thing has reminded me of this movie, because the tagline in the commercial was "When you're $100,000 in debt, it's your problem. When you're a million in debt... it's the bank's." Well, this mortgage thing is just like that, only in this case the government is Rosalie and we - meaning you and me - are the bank. Woe unto us.
SHOPPING FOR OTHERS
series is our own darling shooty, erudite and allaround fabulous librarian (naughty or otherwise) Breda.
Max Studio whipped up this dark confection of a calf leather-wrapped hidden platform pump beautifully balanced on a 4" heel. As if that weren't enough, it's a Mary Jane.
Me OW! Ah- ah-ah-ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo!!!!
[down, phlegmmy. Breathe. Breathe.]
And we're calm again.Now, I'm going to go out on a limb here *ahem* and say that even if Breda didn't soil herself at the thought of paying $160-ish on these shoes, it's a safe bet she wouldn't spring for the $10,000-ish she'd have to lay out (minimum) for the spare leg with the foot that would fit these, so, in an act of pure generosity and altruism, I have purchased these little deadlies for myself and do solemnly swear to think of Breda every time I wear them.
What can I say? I'm a giver.
Call them my birfday shoes, 2 weeks early. How often does one find such high, spiky heels that actually manage to be muy comfortable and easy to walk in? Not very. I'll just try not to step on any puppies when I wear them. I'll prolly save them for when I'm going to super-nice events this winter when I want to wear shoes a little wild but that don't look already luvved-to-death.
By the way, these little dreamlings are sold out nearly everywhere excepting DSW thingie. The brown version is a very dark brown, but I held out for the black.
Labels: shopping for others
When the pups go out, I always go out back with them and climb down the stairs to ground level and sit while they play or do their business. Sometimes I read or play solitaire on my Palm thingie, but mostly I'm just in awe of how the skeeters swarm us. Yes, I even see them getting after the pups- it's noticeable against Praline's white coat. This morning I was dazzled to see - after 42 years of living in the south - for the first time, two mosquitoes riding piggy back for some reason. Something had to be done.
Well, this morning - BRAIN WAVE! - I took out my hand-held bug zapper. I've had it around as a novelty, but never had occasion to really put it through its paces. It has a contact on either side of the handle which you squeeze together to send the charge through the wires of the racquet face, et voila! Bob's your uncle.
I took it out, and played with it a bit - noticed it does emit a very high frequency zinging sort of buzz when the charge goes through it. Sat on the steps and waited for the corpses to pile up.
You know what? After I sat down with that thing, nary a mosquito came near me. I DID so want to kill some, but keeping them away from me, I'd say mission accomplished.
I think I need to put up some bat boxes.
Okay, still considering names for The Boy.
[shortcake was vetoed as too saccharine and emasculating - thanks, Sis!]
Chuy is a favorite with many, and he's a chewy boy, as it turns out.
Little Britain USA starts on September 28 on HBO.
Only I just remembered I don't have a telly.
Labels: computer says "no"
So I told you before I was actively seeking a companion dog for Praline. My criteria were a small dog wot can be a lively and fun playmate for teh puppeh. I was coming to the conclusion this might involve another terrier. The two breeds I swore I wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole were Dachshund and Chihuahua.
Took Miss P to the vet Thursday to get her 15 week shots, and I discussed getting a second dog, and compatibility issues with Praline. She told me they had the last two of a litter of pups Dr. Parker rescued, and one of them would be great. I met them and liked them, and told her I'd take the boy if no one else did Friday.
Turns out, they're chiweenies. Yup. Chihuahua AND dachshund.
Nope, no name yet. Pancho? Taco? Fritzy? Longue Carbine?
He looks more wiener than chi (and that's a mercy), and he's very good-natured and sweet. Then again, he's a baby and more personality will come out in the coming weeks. Miss P is hell for leather to menace him, and the two of them are a handful, for now and can only be together with very close supervision. When he's big enough to kick her ass, she's really going to be in trouble. She's been pretty gentle, generally, but he IS so much smaller than her. I'm a very present mother hen when they're together, and I'm careful to try to dote on Praline. She doesn't seem jealous, but I don't want her to feel her place in my heart is threatened, either.
Anyhoo, more to come. Wish me luck.
True Story from yesterday
Random Lady: OH! Look at how cute you are!
RL: What's her name?
RL: OHHH, Praline, that's so cute!
RL: Look! She loves her name!
Me: Actually, I could have named her DooDoo and she would be just as happy.
Crap. I just called the Rush Limbaugh show. Bo Snerdley laughed when I told him my comment and put me on hold. I was on hold for about 25 minutes and then I was hung up. Crappity.
I was going to say
Now we know why the left were so full of phony outrage over John McCain’s failure to use the internet. They were just mad because he didn’t have an email for them to hack.
At the end of my meal, I took a few photos with my phone. I felt a bit nervous that I'd drop my phone in, sort of the way the Grand Canyon makes me feel like I'll just suddenly go nuts and fall in for no particular reason, and so I stay well away from the edge. Nervous or no, I took one for the team - I was thinking of you, really!
Is it too late to name her Gozer the Destructor?
She gets so excited, so wound-up. It's like she's on an espresso drip. She plays hard for as long as she can hold the attention of humans or other dogs, and the minute there's a lapse in attention, she flops down and naps like a little sack of taters. She's asleep in her little bed now, and as soon as I scoop her up and take her outside one last time for the night and then get into bed, she'll be SOOOOO excited to be in bed that it'll be time to start barking and playing and nipping and wallering. I have a light for reading on my nightstand, and Praline gets very lathered up over the giant scary doggie outline thrown on the wall. Sometimes I have to turn off the light to settle her down. Sometimes turning the light off isn't enough.
She's a little clown.
This cracks me up.
That is all.
Shamelessly purloined from Barbara.
Song to the Moon from the Czech opera Rusalka by Antonín Dvořák. Rusalka is a water nymph and has fallen in love with the prince of men. She sings this aria asking the moon to tell the prince of her love.
This is one of my favorite arias, but it was nigh impossible to find a version of it which satisfied me. Recorded classical music often loses the essence of what makes it so enchanting live. Still, the melody and the language are exquisite, and this version by Milada Šubrtová is as close to perfection as I could find on YouTube. Singing in her native Czech, this recording of her is probably from the 1950s.
Be sure to catch Barry's soon-to-be bestselling hardback "What color is your parachute's flames?"
Both stock market crashy-thingies were in October of a presidential election year, right? 1928 and 1988, right??? [Ted has informed me the 20s meltdown was in '29, not '28]
Crap crappity crap crap.
BUT, a word on bailing out mortgage lenders:
Why should profit be privatized but risk be socialized???
Just like wagon-wheel makers going out of business or adapting to the automobile industry about a century ago, mortgage companies who've profited from lending rates an honest person would call usury need to man up, grow a pair and take this one on the chin, just as you or I would if our lawnmowing/bookseller/drycleaner/whatever business failed. Grow the smeg up, already.
I have to take a moment to talk about that bit on the back end of Praline. File under jaunty.
Like the flag on a bicycle, that thing is, bobbing side to side.
It seems to be some sort of doggie barometer. Impossibly cute, this little tail is a wonder all its own. When she is asleep, the tail is soft and malleable like a wet noodle. As she awakens, it draws upward, pulling into a gentle arc pointing back toward her head. Grab her favorite squeak toy and send her to fetch it, and you'll see it pull taut into an almost a perfect semi-circle, tail-tip arcing toward her spine.
Yup, she's an engineering marvel, my doggie is. She's a glorious thing.
Praline is a whole new world of wonders and discoveries and she makes me happy every day of my life.
She is absolutely the cure for what ails me. The mere thought of her little tail is enough to make my spirits soar. Long may she wave.
There must be something, but I can't think of it. Perhaps that is why this scene from Switchblade Sisters is among my favorites in all of filmdom. Poor Lace. This is what comes of dating an Obama supporter.
If you go, it's gonna turn out BAD!
I loves me some B movies.
I admit I'd love to experience a hurricane. I know that's crazy, but the intensity of it sounds amazing. But, um, I don't want to be in danger's the thing. I suppose other than whatever rain the hurricane slings up our way, I won't be experiencing hurricanes in general, in this lifetime.
See, it works like this -- if you have warning that something nasty is coming along, you prepare or get out of the way, right? Ideally, you head for higher ground.
Apparently, Madonna's daughter Lourdes is a massive fan of the young band The Jonas Brothers. These guys are 15, 19 and 20, and wear rings as a symbol of their promise to remain virgins until married.
*rabbit chase here*
Anyway, at the VMA awards this week, ribald Brit host Russell Brand jokingly stated "They can have sex with any woman they want but they choose not to. That's like Superman just deciding not to fly and to go everywhere by bus." Later in the ceremony, American Idol winner Jordin Sparks responded at the mike ""I just want to say, it's not bad to wear a promise ring because not every guy or girl wants to be a slut, okay?" I think Jordin is about 18 or so, and I think it took a lot of guts to make that remark, standing up to the host. Well done, Jordin. Brand claims MTV has already asked him to host the awards next year. Hmph.
Yes, MTV is rife with inappropriate sexuality and lewdness. I'd say everything has its place, but the whole of MTV is marketed toward the junior-high demographic, and I call that mature/immature composite entirely inappropriate. And then to retain a host who is a comedian known for material overtly sexual in nature, however florid and Edwardian the delivery, I think you have a recipe for a supremely offensive package. *ahem* I wonder how any parent could allow a young child to watch this stuff unedited?
I'm not even remotely a prude, but if I were a parent watching this with a child, we'd DVR it, and start watching about 2 hours after the program began, Mama would hold the remote and forward from one musical performance to the next, skipping the insulting filth in between, and skipping some of the insultingly filthy performances. Sheesh.
*rabbit chase over*
So, anyhoo, never-say-AARP Madonna's daughter Lourdes is reportedly obsessed with the chaste Jonas brothers. (If your mom was embarrassingly sexual and youth-worshiping, and publicly so, wouldn't YOU be obsessed with the Jonas brothers? or become a nun?) Jonas brothers were set to appear in London the very night of the opening of Madge's tour, and Lourdes very much wanted to see TJB rather than attend mummy's show. There have been rumblings for years that little Lourdes, now 12, is very wilfull, doesn't know who her mum is and frankly doesn't care-- she apparently came out ready to spar. No word on who won that battle, but I can imagine that judging by TJB's message, the shock and insult for Madonna is manifold. I expect when Lourdes really rebels in her teens, there'll be no end of horn-locking with those two, and I expect there'll finally come a day when Madonna feels her age.
It's not that I'm gleeful that Madonna will (likely) be humbled by a relationship, for a change. It's just there's a toothsome symmetry to the idea of someone who has preached overt sexuality to the masses for 30-ish years having a child who is averse to the same exhibitionstic ways.
Whatever the outcome, I hope little Lourdes manages to have a happy life.
There's a blog called I Miss My Mommy at downspalin.blogspot.com Nope. I didn't hyperlink it. You can get there, if you really mean to. In it, some intellectual giant makes "funny" comments in Downs-speak from the perspective of Trig Palin.
I love the fact that-- however anonymously-- people are stepping it up and letting be known the truly callous, cruel aspects of their nature. The same folks who circled the wagons for Al Gore when his wastrel offspring got a DWI are gleefully lampooning a little "tardy" baby.
Were they born yesterday, or do they (hypocritically) pretend not to remember all the whining about how Chelsea was off-limits?
Whatever other things they may be, the person(s) who composed that blog-- they are irretrievably pathetic. Frankly, I'd rather have DS than be someone like that--for that would be a true curse.
And like one of their commenters said, well-done on driving the nails into your own coffin. You're a limber thing, darling. Yoga, much?
The restaurant group, Brinker International, sponsored this new series of lectures, and Tuesday was the kickoff event which was to have featured speaker John Travolta. However, sort of last-minute, the big Scientology cheese had a scheduling conflict, and Reiner and Short were booked to take his place, thanks be to Xenu. I'm calling that a most fortunate substitution-- I can't imagine how listening to a Sweathog for a couple hours could have been even remotely so engaging as hearing of the early careers of Reiner and Short.
Incidentally, Reiner's wife was the "I'll have what she's having" lady from When Harry Met Sally, which Rob also directed.
In speaking of his early career, CR was already writing for tv series in the 50s when he had the idea for a show about a guy who's writing for a tv show. He filmed a pilot for it-starring as himself-- and showed it to a producer. The producer said-- "it's good, but let's film it again, this time with a good actor." That turned out to be the Dick van Dyke show.
They both talked about Steve Martin, MS talked about SCTV/SNL and the evolution of his characters, and it was really immensely entertaining. At the question/answer end of the program, someone shouted out "Brad Pitt or George Clooney?" CR had appeared with both in those Oceans movies, so I suppose that was the inspiration for the question.
As I said, I expected there to be a lot of political stuff, but they said they'd decided NOT to talk politics, but CR said he couldn't stand not knowing, so he wanted everyone to -- not moving hands, head or face, utter a sound when he said the name of the candidate they would vote for. This was hilarious. I was surprised how many uttered when he said McCain, and there was a substantial amount of booing when he said Obama, but I'd say the crowd was a majority in favor of Obamessiah. Not surprising for an artsy, wannabe intellectual crowd. After the "vote" was taken, Martin said to Carl "I can't believe you don't think this is dividing the audience!" Big laugh, there.
Wow, good times, after all. SO glad Travolta didn't come to town. However, if he'd had a question/answer thing, it would have been fun to ask him what it was like working with Lily Tomlin on Moment by Moment. Or it would have been funny to mistakenly ask him about some film starring Robbie Benson.
Here's a Martin Short short...
Trying to get in touch with your inner naughty librarian?
Try Sarah Palin's glasses on for size.
Brilliance from Rabbit, who refuses to set up his own blog:
About that atom-smasher thingie they're going to throw the switch on, tomorrow - if we all get sucked into Negativeland, at least Barack Obama will be going with us. La! Actually, the greater danger may be that we'll all be sucked into a black hole by B.O.'s sheer vacuousness. Vacuity? Vacuosity? Whatevs. That atom-smasher better watch it-- BO'll take it down with the rest of us.
Here's one of my favorite crank-it-up-and-shake-yer-ass songs, Supermassive Black Hole by Muse. Enjoy.
The thought that there is a fair number of times to have been burgled in life, of course, brought to mind Discworld and the Thieves' Guild of Ankh-Morpork. Only, in the book, it's viewed with irony and humour, as the idea of an agreed-upon number of times to be robbed is clearly ridiculous, right?
I just wonder what is wrong with people that they think if they are burgled, then it is fair that other people be burgled as well. Isn't this shifting the blame for the occurrence onto the victims, or onto people who haven't been victims, rather than taking the blame to the doorstep of those actually responsible for these crimes? And how nasty of people in the security business to capitalize on fear, rather than simply taking a common-sense approach! Why couldn't there be a straightforward sales pitch which doesn't rely so heavily on emotionally driven manipulation? How about "it's a neat idea to have a security system, and sometimes it will be a deterrent for thieves?"
The sad thing about common sense is that these days, it's less and less common.
CLASS IV BEVERAGE ALERT!
h/t to Zelda
Note how 20-foot vid screens shrink into the background when there's a beautiful bitch in the photo. If Leni Riefenstahl were alive today, this is the photo she'd want to snap.
Tried to do a good thing and add to our household at the same time. Found a dog that sounded fabulous on petfinder.com. Called the rescue facility housing said pooch and talked at length about his appropriateness for me and Praline. Sounded good. His profile said he was housebroken. Great! Knew this would have its challenges, but based on what the lady told me, I thought we could manage the hurdles.
As we were leaving the shelter, I told the woman I was stopping on the way home to buy him a kennel. She told me not to get a plastic kennel, to get a wire one. I said okay.
Got him home, and he wouldn't pee outside, but didn't pee inside either. Let him choose where he slept that first night. Awoke to Lake Urie on the kitchen floor. Probably cleaned up at least a quart of urine. Um, okay. KNEW that would be part of the deal. Called the shelter, though, and the woman told me THEN that she never put the dogs up at night, that they could come and go 24/7, so he was accustomed to going out any time day or night. Um, that is not house-trained, in my book. (Petfinder listing said he WAS housetrained to a doggie door, and that she'd told me so long as he got to go out every couple hours or so, it would be okay.) Okay, at this point I thought it'd be more of a challenge than I originally expected, but not insurmountable.
Spent a LOT of time outdoors with both dogs throughout Saturday. Cleaned up lots more pee in the house. Fine. Bedtime came, and I put him in his kennel. I'd no more than climbed in bed than he started rattling his kennel door and thrashing about. I thought he'd quit eventually, and i drifted in and out of sleep several hours. At 3:30, he began barking. I came downstairs and took the two dogs into my back yard for about 30 minutes. Back inside and back into the kennel, he started howling and moaning. That really sealed his fate. I let him loose for the remainder of the night so I perhaps could at least get a few hours' decent sleep.
I have common walls with two other apartments. If someone complained to me their neighbor's dog was baying at 4am, I'd cite that resident and issue them a $250 fine the next occurrence. (company policy, not one of my own creation). The pee thing I could work around as long as necessary, but there needs must be a short learning curve on the bark/noise issue.
Sunday morning, I called the lady again about him and I said what a disaster the kennel thing was, and she said "you can't put him in a kennel! He's claustrophobic!" Again, this is a bit of information that would have been helpful when I was making the decision to take the bundle of joy home, and she could have mentioned this instead of advising me what type of kennel to buy. I feel misled, at the very least. She said I could let him roam free and never kennel him, and I said that would mean he'd never learn to be housebroken, plus, my little dog who must be kenneled for her own safety would bark incessantly if he had free run of the place as she was cooped up. This dog was just an unfolding series of nasty surprises.
Yes, I took the dog back to her. I thought I was doing a good thing for the 3 of us. Funny how the important questions turn out to be the ones not asked-- the ones you'd never THINK to ask. I've never heard of a kennel or shelter where they don't pen the dogs up at night. I would think that people who wanted the best outcome would try to be as forthcoming as possible to facilitate the best possible outcome for the rescued pets, yeah? I'm so disappointed.
Update: In a state of distress Sunday morning, I emailed mauser*girl who works extensively with dogs, and someone whose opinion on same I value. In her response, she wrote:
While any dog needs to have time to settle and get used to a new routine, this has nothing to do with patience. A dog is either housebroken or he is not, and a dog is either crate trained or he is not. As both are absolute requirements in your situation, I agree - you were hoodwinked. I would return the dog and ask for a refund. I don't know whether their contract states that they don't give refunds or not, but they LIED to you. It's not like you simply changed your mind.
Thanks, mauser*girl. I wanted this to work out, but this equation of partial or false information about the dog set us all up for failure, unfortunately. After all, we are talking about how several lives will be affected, and not the fate of a used car. I'd like to think things here can be held to a higher standard.
Let's say someone had a puppeh.
Let's say mebbe a cat or cats occasionally pooped in the fenced-in back yard of puppeh.
Not mentioning any names or anything, but, um what if puppeh liked to eat said poops?
Um, is there anything the hypothetical person responsible for that yard could do to ward off the offending felines? Cat bane?
Ugh. No more kissies for puppeh.
Well, er, the hypothetical puppeh.
That is to say if such a puppeh existed.
Which it does not.*
*Um, any advice you can give would be appreciated.
No one liked him. But he played a mean fiddle.
Mama Kent also died well before I was born. She was the long-suffering type, and they had, like, a million kids. I seem to have endless numbers of second- and third- cousins, mostly not married to one another. Mama Kent divorced P.K., but it didn't stick, and for some reason she allowed herself to be persuaded to remarry him. At some point, she had a stroke and never really talked again, afterward, although she could say one word. Whenever she was frustrated or angry, she would say the word "scat!" Married to PK, I can imagine she said "scat" a whole bunch.
It's funny to think of one's forbears, particularly those dead before you were born, but who kept their silent vigil over your life from the stately poses of photos on the wall and in family albums. It's interesting to think of quirky things you may have in common with a person whom you never met, like a recessive gene that rears its ugly head every so often. I don't think I could be drunk enough to walk around the High Street naked, but if I did, I'll bet I'd carry a pistol and say "Scat!" a whole bunch.
Funny how things work out.
Me and Miss Praline went to the Dallas Humane Society to meet Bruce about 5 on Wednesday afternoon. Before I left work, I called them and asked if I could come up and meet him, the 3-legged guy, and they said "sure!" Had a hard time finding the place-- Irving Blvd gets a bit wonky over there-- but finally arrived. I left the pup in the car to go check things out. Walked in to find that a family had just come in after I called and brought their dog. The whole family loved Bruce, and so did their dog, so Bruce had a home.
I got my shopping mojo on him. Maybe I need to do that for more dogs that need a home. I am so happy for him. I knew if he and Praline and I all got along, I'd really have my hands full. I need to work more on getting my place organized before getting the second dog. I knew if I met Bruce, that most likely I wouldn't be able to resist, and I think things probably worked out for the best for him. Bless his furry little heart! What a fine boy.
You can see Bruce here in the bottom row of successful adoptions, dated 9/3/2008.
Is it just me, or are other people enjoying the Dem ticket's Brown Trouser Moment™?
Short and funny
Okay - here is one I am SUPER-excited about.
Any of you remember Big Audio Dynamite???
Sigue Sigue Sputnik?
Sisters of Mercy?
Well, all those components of my own personal musical DNA have banded together to form Carbon/Silicon, to marvelous effect.
Glorious to again hear the voice of Mick Jones, formerly of The Clash and B.A.D.
Here's a song about (for a change!) good news. Reminds me of last Friday:
h/t to DBA Dude
Godspeed, Peter! We're thinking of you and all your neighbors down there in Louisiana!
Posting this at 5:15 Monday afternoon - I spoke with Ambulance Driver a short while ago, and they've battened down the hatches and are riding out the storm. The unfortunate thing is that the eye of the storm looks dead-set to go right over his house, but I'm hoping for everyone's sake the whole production will poop itself out toute-de-suite now that it's made landfall.
I just called Peter but got a voice mail saying his line was busy. Hopefully that means his line was busy and not that there is no service where he is at the moment. Still, despite the recent fire and whatnot, I know his home is well fortified and provisioned, and that his house sits on the highest ground in the immediate area.
Will post an update if I have word again from either of these two.
In refuting John McCain's choice for Veep, P. Diddy comes up with one of the best arguments for Sarah Palin that I've heard. Tedious and profanity laden, you may want to FF to the money shot at 3:35.
To wit: "there's not even no crackheads in Alaska."
Sounds like a ringing endorsement, if I ever heard one.
h/t to Bayou Renaissance Man
Oh, and WHILE we are on the subject, let's just address the touchy-feely bushwa of "children are the future" and the culture of youth-worship and all that. Um, No, Morons, OLD PEOPLE are the future. That is to say, if we play our cards right, we live to be old, and that's in the future for every one of us wot dudn't get killdeded. Just because you come from a thug culture that celebrates some latter-day cowboy update of living fast and dying young doesn't make it desireable, heroic or anything other than a reality-deficient romance.
Aussies have a deliciously twisted view on things. I like those people!
h/t to Myron
A Keyboard and a .45
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Happy birthday, Dad!
Sunday, Puppy Monday: slow on the draw
First attempt cleaning old textile: Venice Tapestr...
Sunday, Puppy Sunday: Chuy in crisis
Sweet thoughts of my Dad on Father's Day
On the terrorist attack in Orlando:
Sunday, Puppy Sunday: mini pup-tent on the recline...
Sunday, Puppy Sunday: knackered puppies
Should auld acquaintance be forgot...
TheCornered Cat * A MUST read
Gallery of the Absurd - wickedly delicious
Independent Woman - Elbow
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Arkansas Travel Site