One my my web hosts, one of the Two Guys, asked the other day why I wasn’t writing more about politics. I said something to the effect that it makes steam pour out my ears and my brainpan gets all sizzly. Does the world need another sizzly brainpan attached to a yapping mouth? Don’t think so. Besides, it’s useless. All we’re doing now is choir-preaching, and the choir is sick of us. Those documents are a forgery! World Net Daily says so, so it must be true!

Better to talk about dinner, and work, and “Jeopardy!” Kate and I have started watching “Jeopardy!” together. She’s utterly unimpressed by my prowess, and still brags about the time she, a mere 7-year-old, got Final Jeopardy correct, and I didn’t. (It’s the only Olympic sport played without shoes. My stupid guess: What is rhythmic gymnastics? Kate’s smart one: What is beach volleyball?) The news leaked today that Ken Jennings was finally defeated, but we’ll have to wait for the taped cycle to catch up. Good, I say; that guy is getting annoying.

I was going to post a dog photo today; we celebrated the Sprigster’s 13th birthday this week. Thirteen! I can hardly believe it. He got a bath and grooming that day, which displeased him but made us happy, and him happy in the long term — a clean dog is a petted-more-often dog. We took him to the Rollin’ Rovers Dog Barkery, purveyor of homemade gourmet dog treats. He got a selection of livery and cheesy snacks, plus a dog lollipop — a sizable biscuit baked onto a rawhide chewy stick. Our ongoing campaign to teach him to talk continues at something of a plateau. When you say “bow wow” he barks twice; “bow wow wow” and he barks three times. However, a single bark for “bow” eludes us.

This is my life: Pampering my dog, middlebrow TV and “Hardball.” No wonder my brainpan is simmering.

Bloggage:

My screenwriting professor said, “If you have any scenes of people on telephones in your scripts, cut them, or else make them as short as possible. Phone conversation is deadly in a movie.” David Edelstein disagrees.

That James Wolcott, he funny. And about Norman Podhoretz, no less.

Hurricane Ivan destroys a prison, and everybody escapes. Some, I read, were prisoners from the 1983 coup that led to the U.S. invasion. Ivan. Hmm.

Why I will never get plastic surgery. If Jessica Simpson can’t get a boob job that doesn’t go wrong, how can I ever hope to?

Oh, and Poor Meg Ryan. It must be awful to have to depend on your looks to make a living. Fortunately, this has never been a problem for me. Fortunately. Ha.