Nothing to Say and Saying It Loudly

My little peeps turns two today. She’s growing up so fast. Scenes from the big party:

Go Cubs.

I don’t like the Dodge “brain surgeon” commercial. I will not go into the full premise, because it is irrelevant, except to say that there is some discussion of #10 and #15 scalpel blades. On the surface this seems plausible as there are actually scalpel blades with these designations. The problem is that the “surgeon” (who I presume not to be a real surgeon - I mean, why would a real surgeon be doing commercials?) says that she wants the #15 because the #10 is 1 mm too wide.

It has nothing to do with width. There is no difference in the width of a #10 and a #15 blade (or a #11 for that matter, whereas a #20 may be thicker; I would have to check on that). Numbers 10, 11, and 15 all fit on to a number 4 blade holder. The only difference is the shape of the blade - the length of the blade. Even if they made the mistake of length for width, they would be still be wildly incorrect, because a #10 is about twice the length of a #15, which is far more than 2 mm.

Then again, we have a doctor who wants to be president and an actor who wants to be governor.

Now let me start by saying that I don’t watch The West Wing, which should not be interpreted to say that I have anything against the show. I just never got into it at the beginning and didn’t sign up later on.

I am not exactly sure what I started by mentioning that I don’t watch West Wing, because I want to talk about Sports Night. As I work my way through all 45 episodes, I am reminded time and time again that it was among the best written shows that I have seen. Quick and witty. Intelligent but not patronizing. I haven’t gotten to the point where they brought in William H. Macy; perhaps the show faltered there to some extent. I never thought I would like Robert Guillaume that much, not having been a particular fan of Benson.

It’s all in whom you know.

It must be very strange for a dog to live in a human world. Granted, it is all that most of them have known, unless they were truly feral. Even my dog is not that feral (as if to say that there are levels of ferality - choose the most correct answer?), having been found in a parking lot. A case could be made that living in Puerto Rico is, by its very nature, akin to a feral existence. But since I have never been to Puerto Rico, I can’t make that judgment.

Maybe if you are raising a wolf or something, then you could make a case for it. There is that (perhaps apocryphal) story about the woman who took her pet wolf on the QE I, having registered it as an Alsatian.

So back to what I was saying about dogs in a human world. We speak this strange language that they don’t understand. If only I would bark at her. If only I understood what she was saying.

Then there is having to smell the world, knowing everyone and everything through your nose. Instead of seeing someone and recognizing them from some time before, you smell them and recognize them from somewhere before. I guess that explains why Tory never liked Jimmy Leaño, or more to the point, why she remembered that she didn’t like him.

I mean, we have all these strange conveyances. I can put the dog in the car and drive around the block for 20 hours, or drive to Florida for 20 hours, and the dog doesn’t know the difference. For all he or she knows, Florida could be right next door.

Then again, if Florida were right next door, I would have more furniture right now.

Ironic when I get spam offering me programs to get rid of my spam.

I have been using snarky too much lately. I’ll try to cut back. Starting now.