I know I promised some pictures by now, but my old Coolpix is on its last legs — the battery gives out after about five snaps — and I don’t have the mix I want yet. I bought a new one on eBay, but it won’t be here for a couple more days. So give me, oh, a couple more days.
Journalists. Always fudging the deadline.
Fortunately, we have bloggage.
Two days ago, the Free Press ran a story about dogs, advancing this weekend’s Detroit Kennel Club bench show. Well, it was more than just “a story about dogs,” but that’s all you need to know for the follow-up story, which ran today, in which readers brag about how smart their dogs are. My fave was Buster, the dog who peed in the tub when no one could let him out.
However, goddamn, but I hate it when dogs die. If you need a good leak on this hungover post-St. Patty’s Day, go read this, a tribute to TBogg’s late basset hound.
Alan got a postcard in the mail reminding him of his 30th high school reunion this summer, and ignored it. I’m not surprised; the evidence that he went to school with the biggest bunch of dorks to ever occupy God’s green earth is no stronger than this: They chose as their class song “Seasons in the Sun,” by Terry Jacks. (Alan always hastens to add that he backed another candidate — the Jefferson Airplane’s version of “Wooden Ships.”) Nevertheless, it’s apparently a guilty pleasure for a lot of people who should know better, as this amusing Slate piece points out.
(The Upper Arlington High School class of ’75 didn’t name a class song. With 750 or so members, I’m sure any claim of consensus on the topic would have been too ridiculous to hope for. I’m sure, though, it would have been something by the Doobie Brothers or the Eagles — just a different flavor of lame-o.)
Our trip to Mexicantown yesterday took us past the Michigan Central Depot, surely the most fabulous of Detroit’s fabulous ruins. It’s almost more famous in ruin than it was intact, as this site, one of many devoted to the topic, points out. To be sure, abandoned depots are not confined to this city, but few are quite so fabulously abandoned.
“They shoot videos there,” my escort said. I’m not surprised.
Me, I’m back to “Middlesex,” and a swell weekend. For me and, I hope, you?