Lately I’ve been keeping a headline file. Duh headlines:
Indictment is cloud over Kelty campaign (Non-Fort Wayner explainer: The indicted one is Kelty.)
Can’t forget Misc Stupid:
And then there are the headlines that can’t quite capture the full scope of an event of tragic stupidity, like this: Baby killed in dog attack. You have to read the story to imagine the scene — a Warren party full of teenagers, one with her new baby, one with his recently rescued Rottweiler with a history of aggressive tendencies toward children. The mother goes to mix formula, someone puts the carseat on the floor, the dog “comes out of nowhere,” and justlikethat, a four-month-old life is snuffed out. Some people shouldn’t own dogs, some people shouldn’t be parents, and sometimes a little baby is the one who has to tell them.
The dog’s name was “Chopper,” by the way. Always get the dog’s name — first rule of reporting.
Alan wrote a story once about some people who bred miniature horses. They thought they were cute. They had been breeding shih tzus, but once they saw the little horses they got out of the little-dog game. A copy editor changed “shih tzus” to “dogs.” I can’t recall why; probably he or she thought “shih tzu” might make people think “shit zoo” in their heads, and that would be wrong. Alan told his boss, “If I have to tell them why ‘shih tzu’ is funnier than ‘dogs,’ I just give up.” The mini-horse people provided one of the mascots for the Indianapolis Colts, a stallion that had been fine until they started breeding it, and it began nipping the cheerleaders. Testosterone — cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.
I’m meandering here, aren’t I? Whimsy, dead babies, shih tzus — I should pick a topic and stick with it. OK. How about my love for Detroitblog? Of all the ones in my RSS bookmarks, this is one I look forward to most. It’s entirely anonymous, although my spidey sense told me early on it was written by a journalist, and a few months ago this was confirmed by One Who Knows, but one who steadfastly refused to spill the final beans. He doesn’t write often, but when he does I’m always charmed — the top-of-the-pile post about the Bali Barber Shop is a perfect example, taking note of the humblest of businesses in a grungy of the city that somehow hangs on. This isn’t a very pretty town, but it’s full of places like this, a little pocket of cheer tended by an 80-year-old man who refuses to give up and by soldiering on, gives Detroit a flavor all its own.
For purposes of space, I’ll spare you my rant on why I can’t read stuff like this in the daily newspaper. I know why the blogger keeps it on the DL.
Today is a morning for maintenance — my car’s due for its 50K service, and in celebration, I’m going to the dealer’s waiting room without my laptop, only one of the three books I checked out of the library yesterday. Whichever captures my fancy will replace the months-old “Stalin’s Ghost” on the nightstand later today. I know, I know — try to contain your excitement.