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.
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.