My first dog, when I was a little kid, was a German shepherd named Smokey. This is not what he looked like:
Photo found at Shorpy: January 19, 1923. “Dog Smoking.” National Photo Company.
Eliot P. Ness
Last week, I mentioned NY Gov. Spitzer’s creative use of campaign funds in a post about why I hate writing about politics. This afternoon, Spitzer got nailed in a federal investigation of a high-class prostitution ring (with lead reporting again by St. John’s College alum Danny Hakim!).
I consider prostitution a victimless crime, unless the John is ugly or fat or something. In fact, I’m only writing about this so I can write a post with the title of Howard Stern’s great character from The Gay Untouchables.
What it is: 3/10/08
What I’m reading: Still working Love and Sleep
What I’m listening to: In Our Nature
What I’m watching: 2nd season of The Wire
What I’m drinking: Miller’s G&T, since I found a couple of decent limes this week.
Where I’m going: up and down the stairs, trying to get Rufus to follow me.
What I’m happy about: Besides bringing Rufus into our home? That my pals Paul & Deb sent really awesome holiday gifts (since we never got around to visiting during the holidays).
What I’m sad about: that my uncle (Dad’s brother), needed emergency bypass surgery last week, just like Dad did 3 years ago. Guess I really am going to have to watch my diet and get on that treadmill more often.
What I’m pondering: how my uncle managed to become The Invisible Man. Seriously: he lives over in NYC, and yet my father had no way to contact him beyond his cell phone; no land-line, no residential address, no business address. Of course, going in for emergency surgery, he was out of cell phone contact, and Dad had no way to reach his brother’s wife, kids, business associates or friends. I tried some detective work online (trying to track down his business, then his ex-wife for any contact info she had) but came up dry. What’s awesome about this is that Dad and his brother are not estranged. They’re actually in touch and talk occasionally, and yet my father has no idea how to contact his brother.
The Truth About Cats and Dogs
Welcome to the Virtual Memories / Minimally Invasive estates, Rufus, you retired racing greyhound!
Rufus raced under the name Primco Kabam, shares a birthday with my brother and, even though he didn’t do too well on the track, his breed can supposedly get up to around 45mph . . . in three strides.
So, we’ll be keeping him on a leash forever and ever outdoors, or at least till we put up a fence through the whole backyard.
Now for the truth about cats and dogs: your Virtual Memoirist is capable of carrying a 78-lb. greyhound up two flights of stairs.
But I don’t like doing it. So if any of you know how to train a greyhound to go upstairs on his own, I’ll pay you to come by and show us.
Amy made a little photo-essay of this weekend’s event and, since she’s a better photographer than I am (both of these pix are from her set), I figure you should check it out.
Many thanks to Greyhound Friends NJ for making this happen!
It sure beat our original idea for rescuing a racing greyhound: driving down to the dog-track, dressing Amy in a rabbit costume, and having her lure one of them into chasing her into the back of my Element. But then that “45mph in three strides” thing came up . . .
PC@IUPUI
Just when you think you can’t get any more exasperated at workplace oversensitivity, you get exasperateder.
Working at home
LOWE’S REP: Sir, we have your freezer in for delivery. We’ll bring it over tomorrow between 11am and 3pm.
GIL: You realize you’re calling me at 8pm to tell me that you’ll be at my home sometime in the middle of the next workday, right? Do people who buy freezers from you typically not have jobs?
So I’m working at home today, but didn’t bring any files back with me. Sigh.
Unrequired Reading: Mar. 7, 2008
Sorry about the lack of posts yesterday, dear readers! I was busy (more on that this weekend) and figured you got four decent posts on Wednesday, so get offa my ass, okay!?
I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Here’s an extra-fantastic selection of week-ending links! Enjoy!
Continue reading “Unrequired Reading: Mar. 7, 2008”
Pflogged
Those wacky animal rights maniactivists get up in arms because they think animals are being tortured as part of the pharma R&D process. I’m more concerned about how their executives mangle our language, as illustrated by this morning’s gem:
We are proactively managing our total cost structure to do what is necessary to size the company appropriately to align with our revenues so that we deliver growing profitability after the Lipitor loss of exclusivity.
–Frank D’Amelio, chief financial officer, Pfizer, Inc.
L’esprit de l’escalier
[GIL walks down sidewalk in Morristown, NJ, on the way to lunch with client. HAGGARD OLD GUY waves to get his attention]
HAGGARD OLD GUY: Excuse me, son: do you know how to get to the county jail from here?
GIL: Sorry, sir. I’m not from around here. Can’t help you.
GIL [10 seconds later, muttering to himself]: I mean, “There’s a convenience store around the corner! If you hold ’em up, you’re sure to get to the county jail!” Goddammit!
Those are pearls that were his eyes
A few weeks ago, I rambled on ad nauseam about discovering my big ol’ box of correspondence. I mentioned one letter that filled me with sadness because the writer died a few years later, lost at sea:
Sometimes we lose the memory, and sometimes the memory loses us. The letter that saddened me the most was a handmade card from another girl at college, mailed a few months after I graduated. It’s filled with reminiscences, travel plans, charity work, the day-to-day — “Other than my little crusade to save the world, I’m still working at the same cafe/bookstore that I did last summer. . .” — all written in a jaunty, lively hand and decorated with a painting (I’ll post the picture later).
I try to live up to my promises, so here’s the front of the card:
But I’m not here to depress the heck out of you, so I also offer up the following images of the single most mangled piece of mail ever to arrive at its destination (address smudged out in Photoshop). It was a mailer for a college alumni event. I think:
