Flying Pigs (in Lipstick, Even)

I never thought I'd say this, but Sarah Palin was correct. Her assertion that "dinosaurs and humans walked the Earth at the same time" is irrefutably accurate, and I stand wholly corrected. Never again will I mock her claims that she has "seen pictures of human footprints inside the tracks [of dinosaur fossils]."

I concede the point entirely, and come bearing evidence proof positive:



Now let's put that lady one melanoma-stricken heartbeat away from the big red button!

Would You Like Defibrillation with That?

Today's Headline O' Awesome: Dog Dials 911 When Owner Has Seizure

And here I was pleased when my dog learned to run through an agility course nylon tube. For shame.

Cur, the Curative

My two-month vacation officially starts tomorrow. My husband and I just bought a shiny new gadget on wheels Prius. We'll be vacationing in Monterey for our anniversary. Bush's approval ratings are in the low 20's. I feel safe in saying I am the opposite of depressed regarding my existence these days.

Nonetheless, out of curiosity today I scanned through an article entitled something to the effect of "12 Ways to Deal with Depression" or some such (I'm too lazy to link, and it was barely worth the read). The list contained groundbreaking suggestions such as Make Friends! Find a Hobby! Exercise! (Although the winner had to be "Number 9: Get on Your Knees" which was apparently meant to inspire people to pray). That gem notwithstanding, these lists are almost always laugh-worthy to me because, well, duh much? If you spend all your days lazing in isolation on your ever-expanding posterior with nothing to stimulate your intellect but staring at a talking box, of course you're going to be depressed.

I was, however, pleased to see the presence of furry friends on the list. This, I think, is my secret to surviving what has been a horridly stressful year for me pretty much unscathed — DOGS. (And yes, they really do require the dreaded all caps.) It is definitionally impossible to get all woe-is-me, sad-snowflake when you have 25 pounds of wiggle sticking its tongue in your ear. Really, they should be prescribed. Prescription drogs.

My Kingdom for a New Sex Scandal

I'm beginning to suspect that this puts me in the minority, but truth be told, I could care less if the President's pastor believes that human beings are descended from gigantic talking bananas. Reverend Wright screaming "God damn America" has far less to do with my vote than the candidates' positions on education, health care, the economy and, oh yeah, that war thing. I guess I'm not very good at being a scared white voter, but honestly, if this guy shoves himself into the spotlight one more time, I think my head will explode from the tedium.

And if we're really being honest with ourselves I think we'll all agree that the question is not whether Reverend Wright loves America as much as Barack Obama does (a question which will hopefully live infamy due to its being chiseled onto George Stephanopoulos' headstone by vandals) . Rather it's whether he loves America as much as this dog does:

Sometimes My Brother Emails Me Things

Things I learned today from The Internets:

1. There is a Russian YouTube. Awesomely, it is called RuTube.

2. Russians are into some pretty weird stuff. And I'm not even talking about the fact that their alphabet looks like sneezes.

3. That weird stuff includes a two-legged dog who walks on her own hind legs. I'm not even kidding.

4. The first hit produced by a Google image search for "Russian culture" is a picture of a set of traditional hand-painted Russian nesting dolls. The first hit produced by a Google image search for "American culture" is a lawyer joke cartoon.

5. The seventh hit for both searches is a shirtless person.

Just like Crack. Fuzzy Crack.

How did I not know about this website?

There Are Dogs, and There Are Dogs, and There Are Dogs

The Good: "They spent months in an Iraqi war zone cementing a special bond. But after more than a month of being apart, Marine Maj. Brian Dennis began to worry if Nubs the dog would still remember him, especially in a new place like San Diego.

Their reunion early Saturday at Camp Pendleton clearly showed otherwise. The 2-year-old old dog, named for his two nubby ears, drenched Dennis' face with doggie kisses and said hello with excited whimpers.

'You remember that, huh?' Dennis said as he rubbed the dog's head."

Source: SignOnSanDiego

The Bad: "This week, however, Senator Clinton put a pistol to the head of her own campaign and put it out of its mathematical misery. Matthew Yglesias quotes Hillary saying in a speech earlier this week:

'I certainly do remember that trip to Bosnia, and as Togo said, there was a saying around the White House that if a place was too small, too poor, or too dangerous, the president couldn't go, so send the First Lady. That’s where we went. I remember landing under sniper fire. There was supposed to be some kind of a greeting ceremony at the airport, but instead we just ran with our heads down to get into the vehicles to get to our base.'

That sounds terrible. (If you'd like, you can read the original speech at Senator Clinton's campaign site). But join me as we flashback 1996 and then return to this week."



Source: Daily Kos

The Ugly: "America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known. ... We hear the grievances. Where is the gratitude? ... Is Barack aware that black-on-white rapes are 100 times more common than the reverse, that black-on-white robberies were 139 times as common in the first three years of this decade as the reverse?"

Source: Pat Buchanen's Blog

Make Puppies, Not War

When Delilah was seven months years old, my husband and I adopted her. While she was delightful and small and furry and warm, we've always wondered what she must have looked like when she was even smaller.

Today, Google image search helps answer that question. Just, you know, pretend it doesn't say "Jill" in the corner.

Product Placement

I know it doesn't look like much, but I'm telling you, this thing is bar none the best dog toy ever:



Six months later and the tail is still attached, the eyes are in place and the stuffing remains firmly ensconced within the appropriate furry cavities.

If only my dubiously kidnapped Valentine's Day bear had fared as well.

Fido Forever

I'm not anti-science. I like not dying of strep throat just as much as the next guy. I'm okay with sacrificing a stem cell or three if it means there might be another Back to the Future movie.

But cloning dogs? I think I've read one too many a Harlan Ellison story for this to sit quite right. Loathe though I am to even consider the thought of my beloved Charlotte ceasing to be, the notion of replacing her with... her makes me feel a shuddery kind of nauseous.

Beagles!

While I have major issues with dog breeding (insofar as I find it detrimental to the health and well being of dogs), I confess there's something damn adorable about the pups in the Westminster dog show. While I assert that the world's most famous beagle, Snoopy, can't hold a candle to my two mixed-up mutts, I have to admit that this year's winning pooch, Uno the beagle, racks up some major cute points.

According to his handler, "He's a people's dog, a merry little hound." A merry little hound! I may actually be dying from preciousitis.



See?

A brief aside — on his road to victory Uno apparently beat out not one but two favored-to-win poodles. Having met several poodles, I can't say I'm surprised.

Putting the "Aw" in Awesome

Today in Florida a team of firefighters responded to a fire, extinguished it, and then discovered two dogs who had suffered near fatal levels of smoke inhalation. They then performed CPR on both dogs, successfully reviving them.




I really love firefighters.

Good News for People Who Love Bad News

You know what's cuter than an angry politician? A legless puppy!

No, actually, the puppy is really cute. I just watched a slideshow of three homeless, legless Chihuahua puppies who were adopted by a vet tech and provided with, in effect, "training wheels" so they can move around like normal dogs. They look so happy! Well, in that perpetually cranky Chihuahua kind of way.

See for yourselves!

Gimme a Break

On Earth-As-It-Should-Be, running a Google image search for "puppies" should be an instant and easy pick-me-up after a long and arduous day. A few snuggly labradors, a pug in a flower basket and life is good, right?

On Earth-As-It-Is, the eighth picture that pops up upon running said search is a puppy born with edema, which is about as appealing as it sounds.

Come on, universe.

(Granted, the presence of a baby Weimaraner in a wizard's hat on the next page helped. A little.)

I Do NOT Heart Huckabees

I've been casually watching CNN's coverage of the Iowa presidential primary, and the station has now projected that Mike Huckabee will receive the state's Republican nomination and that Barack Obama will receive the state's Democratic nomination. I have mixed feelings about Barack Obama which I'll probably write about in the coming weeks, but that's not what this post is about. Instead I decided to look into a question to which I've paid little attention until today, and that is who exactly is this Mike Huckabee guy?

I am so, so glad I asked.

I'm sure you're all familiar with the expression, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I by and large find this to be true. I am equal parts my mother and my father, as is my brother (although in vastly different configurations, which makes for enjoyably lively family dinners!). I believe that the good things I do and my accomplishments in life are greatly influenced by their parenting, which occurred both through example and through explicit communication (admittedly, often resented at the time). Equally powerful is their influence in the choices I have not made; in the mistakes I have avoided. My actions are guided by the ethical system I developed as a child under their care, and I'm proud of that fact.

I now make the following statement as the daughter of good parents and as a teacher who has had the heartbreaking experience of working with some pretty disturbed teenagers: When there is something really wrong with a kid, there's something really wrong at home. When I interact with a student who clearly lacks qualities such as empathy and good judgment and respect for living things, I surmise that there has been a significant breakdown in parenting to the immense detriment of the child (and to all with whom the child will interact throughout his or her lifetime).

It was through that lens which I approached a news story exploring the circumstances surrounding Mike Huckabee's son David getting fired from a job as a Boy Scout camp counselor due to having tortured and hanged a dog. Tortured a dog. Even writing it now makes me feel ill.

As if that fact alone weren't enough to leave me with a permanent distrust for all things Huckabee, I went on to read that then-Governor Mike Huckabee fired the Arkansas police chief, John Bailey, because Bailey wouldn't help him cover up the incident. According to former Little Rock FBI Chief I. C. Smith, "Without question, [Huckabee] was making a conscious attempt to keep the state police from investigating his son."

Since the incident was made public, Huckabee has asserted that his son did not engage in "intentional torture," and a campaign official said that he "'regrets' the incident." Oh, well, if he's SORRY, I guess it's all good. Huckabee, of course, also claims that he suddenly fired Bailey for reasons totally unrelated to his pesky ethics... reasons that apparently failed to manifest themselves until after Bailey refused to lie about the fact that David Huckabee hanged a dog. You'll be pleased to know that David Huckabee later made Eagle Scoute.

Lest you think that this clearly sociopathic behavior poor judgment was simply symptomatic of David's youth, consider the following: he was arrested for trying to get on a plane with a loaded gun this past April! (Detained terror suspects will be pleased to know that he was appropriately fined accordingly.) Guess he just forgot that he was carrying a loaded pistol in an airport. I may do crazy things like not eat chickens (or hang them), but I can definitely say I've never tried to board a plane with a Glock.

Good job with the bambino, Mr. Would-Be President.

I don't know what the people of Iowa were thinking, but I know what I think — a man who raises an animal killer and then fires an employee for refusing to compromise his own ethics has no place in the White House.

The Spirit of Insert-Holiday-of-Choice-Here

Today I was at Barnes and Noble doing a bit of last-minute holiday shopping and barely made it into the store. Not because I was almost run over by a herd of ill-managed children, which I was — and why don't they have leash laws, by the way? — but due to the presence of the most adorable three-legged dog I'd seen all day . You'd think the time-frame would be a bit longer than that, but there's actually a three-legged dog I pass on his morning walk while on my way to work every day, so go figure.

I of course instantly accosted her owners, inquiring if I could introduce myself, and they (possibly fearing that I'd beat them silly with my embroidered handbag if they declined) acquiesced. After learning her life story (freeway bad, Spaniel Rescue Society good), the little tricycle and I bonded over the fact that she and I had something in common — the belief that she was utterly fabulous. Despite her missing limb, she was the embodiment of all things doggy: enthusiastic, affectionate and fuzzy. With all of the excitement, I nearly forgot that I'd gone there in the first place to be a good little capitalist, not to love all over a differently-abled spaniel. As it turns out, she was actually in front of the store as a walking, barking advertisement for the fact that the rescue society folks were manning the gift-wrap table inside... kind of like one of those little kids selling chicle down in TJ for their parents, only with more frequent access to clean water. That's actually not funny.

Anyway.

The moral of this rambling anecdote is that if a three-legged dog can have an awesome holiday sitting in front of a store having her ears pulled on by passing ill-managed children, then we humans can probably do the same.

Merry Christmukkuhkwanzyule! And watch out for freeways.

Why Dogs Are Better than Cats

Dogs don't bite the hand that feeds them.

(They do, however, bite DVDs. And occasionally Pepsi glasses — but that's another conversation.)

Come Again Some Other Day

It has now been raining for going on 16 hours straight. I have three pairs of socks drying in the bathroom, I have to wipe off my dogs' feet every time they go outside and come back in, and my hair is made of tarantulas.

How do you non-San Diegans do this on a regular basis?

Sticking One's Foot in One's Mouth

I could write a post here extolling the myriad merits of the canine breed. I could craft an impassioned defense of all things doggy - a true love letter to every dog who has ever licked my face when I was sad, wagged his tail when I scratched his ears just so, or grunted with satisfaction when I collapsed on top of her on the couch. I could write that post, and someday I probably will.

But today, as I sat here watching my dog go about her usual business of lounging on the floor no doubt contemplating the relative merits of tennis balls and rope bones, the following thought came to me: I'm really glad I'm a member of a species that doesn't require putting my own feet into my mouth in order to complete the bathing process.

Of Paupers and Princes

Today I watched a movie featuring a rat. I took each of my dogs for her own walk. I met my husband's uncle, a traveling pastor, and his exceedingly kind wife for the first time. I drank a glass of Merlot. I read an article in The Nation discussing the irrelevance of atheism in carving out a new Muslim identity in the New World**. I contemplated joining the Sierra Club. I ate a plate of leftover lasagna.

What I did not do was purchase anything.

In addition to being the much-touted "biggest shopping day of the year" (vomit) today is also Buy Nothing Day, a loosely organized 24-hour moratorium on shopping designed to stick it to the capitalist running dogs (and, in my case, involved literal running dogs). The crux of Buy Nothing Day is to raise awareness of the greedily excessive nature of American consumer culture and the adverse impact of that culture on our environment - and also our souls, if one trucks with such concepts.

Interestingly enough, MTV (of tits and ass fame) refused to run a paid add publicizing Buy Nothing Day on the grounds that the content was objectionable for their young viewers. Yeeeeeeeah. The add may be viewed here. Be forewarned - there's a remarkable dearth of both tits and ass. Won't somebody think of the children?

** This is what we're being called again, much to my immense amusement. The New World, that is. Not atheists. Although possibly that too.