Saturday morning cartoons

I stumbled across this gem on Twitter yesterday… I’m sure every dog owner can relate.

That Twitter user, Dick King-Smith (@DickKingSmith) is the author of the book that was adapted into the movie Babe, and he has a bunch of fun animal videos. Good for a chuckle. Not that any of us need to waste any more time on the Interwebs on cat, dog, squirrel, emu, rabbit and seal videos.

A bunch of baloney

Here’s a headline that caught my eye yesterday.

The full story is here. Key quote is below:

We can’t have bologna made out of real pork in the U.S. The USDA requires that it be made only with the freshest cow hooves and turkey beaks.

But even legit bologna can be dangerous:

People who smuggle drugs are called “drug mules” so would this smuggler be a “baloney pony”?

Maybe the border wall should be made out of Wonder Bread instead of concrete.

Now if only they could confiscate all those Oscar-Meyer Lunchables, this country would finally be safe.

Scrolling through the Twitter comments about this heinous crime is well worth the time.

Sedaris. Rhymes with hilarious.

I attended a performance by author David Sedaris last night. You may think it’s a bit of a stretch to call it a “performance” when he was merely reading his stories, followed by an audience Q&A. But that means you’ve never seen David Sedaris live. And I was in that group prior to last night.

I’ve read most of his books, and love them. I knew he’d be funny, insightful, witty, [insert other adjective for a writer of humorous, satirical essays here]. But I didn’t expect it to be bust-a-gut, rolling in the aisles, laughing-so-hard-I’m-crying funny. Yet it was. I haven’t laughed that much, or that hard, in ages. He’s not just a masterful writer, but also a powerful performer.

The promo blurb for the show was spot-on:

If you love David Sedaris’s cheerfully misanthropic stories, you might think that you know what you’re getting into at his live readings.  You’d be wrong.  To see him read his own work on stage allows his autobiographical narrative to reveal a uniquely personal narrative that will keep you laughing throughout the evening.  

Best of all for a hack like me was the fact that the laughs were powered by David’s written words. No props, no fog machines, no show business shtick. Just short essays read by a 62-year-old man standing at a podium on an otherwise bare stage. Observant. Trenchant. Moving. And Hilarious.

David’s tour continues in the U.S. through early December. If he’s performing anywhere near you, you simply must go.

[David also used a bit of his stage time to promote another writer’s latest book. He raved about Ann Patchett’s new novel The Dutch House. I’ll have to check that one out.]

You know you’ve chosen a horrible name for your blog when…

… the blog hosting company suggest this as an alternate name:

I suppose I really should start washing dogs – it would contribute more to society than my blogging.

You’re my boy, Blue!

We are gathered here today to say goodbye to an old and dear friend. Someone you could count on through thick and thin. He was reliable, trustworthy, always there when you needed him, and always up for an adventure. But it was time for old Blue to move on, after so many years of faithful service.

Yes, the 2003 Honda Odyssey is gone, after nearly 17 years, and 152, 322 miles. We’ve been through a lot together. Four kids grew up in that van… and the carpeting on the floor has the juicebox stains to prove it. Thousands of school drop-offs. Hundreds of trips to practices and games: baseball, softball, soccer, lacrosse. Dozens of summer vacation trips: Florida, Vermont, Alabama, New Hampshire, New York, New Orleans. While we were visiting all those News, Blue got old. But he was still my boy.

Blue was passed along to our oldest kid, who cleaned it up and made it feel new again. It was a rebirth for Blue. But eventually our son moved on too… when you’re paying for gas and your job is delivering pizzas, you need something that gets a bit better mileage.

So Blue sat in our driveway, taking up space, looking forlorn. It was time to move on. It was for the best.

Now Blue is dearly departed. He’s gone, but not forgotten… especially because I gave him to my brother, who lives two blocks away from me. Blue is still going strong. Blue is still my boy!

I want that thing… whatever it is.

We got Chinese food for Father’s Day (a tradition almost as cherished as Chinese Food for Christmas Day).

My daughter’s post-prandial fortune cookie fortune was inscrutable:

I might spend the rest of my life trying to figure that gem out. You try it because you don’t want it enough? So if I really want it, I need to not try it? (The latter has worked for me so far if we’re talking about “writing eloquently.”)

Perhaps I have yet to achieve a level of enlightenment that’s high enough to allow me to understand it. It’s the proverbial pebble in the master’s hand.

Then again, it might be the fortune cookie equivalent of this Magic 8 Ball “answer”:

We stuck the fortune on our fridge, so I’ll keep trying to figure it out… I mean not trying.

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