April 2013 Archives

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I'd delayed a go/no-go decision on relocating to Pittsburgh for this football season. I'd put it off until after the draft. Maybe it will be miraculous, I thought. No sense aborting the plan until you've given divine miracles a chance to play out.

And then I watched the Steelers trade a 3rd round pick for a 4th round pick, to a division opponent, so that they could draft a safety who tripped and fell during his 40 yard dash.

And I'd thought this would be a tough call.

Kindly kill yourselves. Preferably before you further taint the human gene pool.


It's spring in the great northwest, which means my thoughts once again turn to torturing Katrina with caterpillars. Oh, she doesn't mind them so much. But she's positively phobic about moths and butterflies, which, gloriously, the caterpillars I send her daughter become.

"HE GOT OUT!" seven year old Annalie shrieks as Katrina desperately bats imaginary butterflies out of her hair. "MOMMY! HELP ME CATCH HIM!"

This is an annual tradition, but it's not the only time I've aimed Annalie at Katrina like a shoulder-fired RPG. Meet Cookie, the kid's douchebag of a cat, who tortures Katrina endlessly during her workdays. Cookie came home a day after I introduced said kid to the animal shelter website.

"Look at all those puppies and kitties. No one wants them. If no one takes them home, they'll be killed!" Annalie gasped, horrified by this heretofore unexpected evil. "And look at these horsies over here..."

Hence, Cookie.


While Annalie was at school the other day, Cookie went after the butterflies, mangling their cage and setting them free inside the house. As Katrina recounted how the one Katrina-torturing device forced her to handle the other, I swooned from pleasure. Rapture.

Being a dick simply does not get any better than this.

dreamy, wounded cutie pie

Our country being as preoccupied with substance and character as it is, how long before murderous Dzhokhar here is receiving panties in the mail?

It's a trick question. Of course he already is.

Enormously satisfying thought: let the first charge against him be vehicular manslaughter, for accidentally driving over his brother during flight.


sedentary, defined

Installing a home alarm system has been nothing so much as a quantifying of my sloth. Previously, only the dogs knew how seldom I moved during a workday. Now there it is in my alarm logs, screaming "loser."

Front door: Closed
Apr 22 - 6:37:34 AM

LR motion: Open
Apr 22 - 6:37:35 AM

Kitchen motion: Open
Apr 22 - 6:37:36 AM

LR motion: Open
Apr 22 - 12:12:07 PM

Kitchen motion: Open
Apr 22 - 12:12:11 PM

LR motion: Open
Apr 22 - 12:20:50 PM

LR motion: Open
Apr 22 - 5:20:51 PM

silver linings

It's hard to find a silver lining in the Boston tragedy and this morning's lockdown, but I found two slight upsides.

First, when has this ever happened? There was more traffic in the 17th Century.

boston traffic 19Apr13.png

Second, the uncle. I love this guy. He's the antidote to every coddling, enabling, oblivious parent of a mass murderer who I've ever wanted to smack.

wither pittsburgh?

My whole life, I've dreamed of spending an entire football season in Pittsburgh. And now I can. I can afford it, and my job is portable. And thus did I begin plans about six months ago to spend the 2013 season in the 'Burgh. And then a funny thing happened.

They went 8-8. And then in the offseason, they lost a bunch of starters to free agency and the salary cap. They are for all the world looking like a 6-10 team to me.

It's at this point when one starts totaling expenditures in his head. When one asks himself "Just how much effort and money am I willing to devote to watching my team suck?"

Answer: not much. Time to stop the offseason bleeding, boys.

gays, please hurry

My secret evil plan to gentrify Metamuville cannot work fast enough, as flyers for spring theatre have begun to sprout like so many weeds.


Quilting experience is not necessary, the auditions announcement says.

seminar in cross-species gender similarities

When I am distributing bones to chew on, Dex's concern is that each dog get one. Her brother Fredo, meanwhile, muscles Dex off her bone and munches it while lying on his own, saving it for later.

When I'm sad, Dex empathetically places her chin on my thigh. She doesn't whine or nudge for petting. She just wants to let me know she's there. Her brother Fredo, on the other hand, drops his bone on my bare foot. I'll give you something to cry about, bitch, he seems to say. Not thinking about Roger Ebert anymore, are you?

When I put them outside in the morning, Dex searches for an acceptable place to urinate. It must meet some minimum standards. It must be comfortable. It must be hygienic. It must be private. The process is a huge production. Her brother Fredo, meanwhile, whizzes wherever and is back inside munching on Dex's bone within two seconds.

When I'm angry at Fredo, Dex assumes that I'm really angry at her. After all, I wouldn't be angry if she were making me happy. It ruins her entire day. When I'm angry at Fredo, Fredo doesn't notice and blithely goes about his day, oblivious.

wither, grammar?

Most of my Web forays into grammar result in some fuckwit replying "great the grammer police are here no one cares it doenst matter and nether do you. you make me laugh! LOL!"

I'm not paraphrasing. That's what they all say, word for word. Or maybe I just can't tell them apart.

Here's the best such encounter I've ever seen.


The idea occurred to me, as such ideas usually do, when I was drinking.

"Hear me out," I said to some friends who play in a gay softball league. "You guys need money for uniforms. I need childless people under the age of 85 to move to Metamuville and set up Pho restaurants and antique shops."

Thus was the Metamuville Gay Softball Invitational born. I lure a bunch of Seattle gays to the Metamuville baseball diamond, pump them full of alcohol, and hand them real estate ads as they round third. They fall in love with affordable waterfront property close to Seattle, and voila. I've gentrified Metamuville.

Allie was appalled. "That's not what that word means! Gentrify doesn't mean 'replace a bunch of cranky old white people with people whose company I prefer.'"

Well, it should.

pitch perfect


fredo: exhibit b

I wondered why Fredo barfed this morning, but I only wondered casually. Why does he ever barf? Then I saw my bathroom flooring.


iq differential

When it became clear to me that I alone could not provide my dog, Dex, with enough stimulus, I determined to get her a friend. Dex is by far my smartest dog ever—she recognizes people's ring tones and parses my conversations for phrases of interest, like "I'll be right over." It made sense, then, to dip into the same genetic well. Her parents had another litter two years later, and that's when little brother Fredo was born.

Fredo is a complete moron. Like his movie namesake, he's also a sweetheart, but when I speak to him I'm not even certain he understands that I'm addressing him. He looks right past me.

This morning I stepped out of the shower to find Fredo sitting by the front door, placidly sniffing the spring air and watching the world go by. He was a vision of adorableness. Then I looked outside and saw, not eight feet away, a family of deer munching on my garden. Fredo looked up at me, love in his eyes. Ain't dey purty, Dad?


His older sister snapped out of her bed and trotted over. She saw the deer. She growled. I opened the screen door. She tore after the dear, barking ferociously. As they scattered in fright, Dex made sure they remembered her. So did Fredo. He was the one prancing beside them, gaily enjoying a romp amongst friends.

moron taxonomy
stupid church signs
super bowl xl officiating
percy chronicles

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