I love a trite, hackneyed expression as much as the next guy (see what I mean?). However, some of our most common axioms need greater clarity and accuracy.
Here's what I have so far:
1. Be yourself--unless you are a bad person.
2. Follow your gut--especially if it has a built-in GPS unit. Also, following your gut is easy if you have a nice big one.
3. A fool and his money are soon parted--except if he is a politician.
4. Everyone has a right to their own opinion--but you have the option of keeping it to yourself.
5. Look on the bright side--but not so long you burn out your retinas.
6. Everything happens for a reason--and the reason might be that you are a loser.
That's all for now. Let's hope we can push the envelope and take it to the next level.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
It's the Economy, Stupid.
RVs camp out in the otherwise empty parking lots
of empty businesses.
But nobody's camping in them--they are silent
victims.
of empty businesses.
But nobody's camping in them--they are silent
victims.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sally's Big Break--Chapter the Last
All things considered, Sally stood up to her struggle with the splint quite well. Her biggest problem came from her fur rather than her leg. You see, Sally is a mutt who looks and feels much better when her hair is trimmed close to her body. Unfortunately, Sally's injury prevented any trips to the groomer until the splint came off. So Sally did what any uncomfortable invalid would do: she picked at herself until her hair became matted and her skin developed some scabs. At the end of six weeks in the splint, Sally returned to the vet, and we all hoped that the splint would come off for good (and not evil). Instead, Paula brought her home with the cast still on, her hair shaved off around the scabs, and the dreaded protective cone around her neck (Sally's neck, not Paula's). It seems that only one of the two broken bones was healed at that point, and it was stress that was causing the dog to do the bad barbering on herself.
Now, the cone of silence is a great sight gag, and you could not look at the poor dog without chuckling at her (here's an important humor truth: you can't claim to be laughing with your pet; you can only laugh at animals, except maybe monkeys). For two weeks, Sally had to figure out how to eat and sleep with that huge funnel around her head--talk about stress. After two weeks with the cone around Sally's head and neck, Emily and I returned to the vet office one more time. Finally, the splint was off her leg, and Sally could begin the rest of her life. But it wasn't quite that dramatic. The doc decided to bandage the leg for a one-week transition period, so Sally could get accustomed to walking around on all fours again. And she would not be able to pick at the scrawny, scraggly leg right away. The doc also recommended keeping the cone on for a few more days and experimenting to see if Sally would leave her fur alone.
For the first few days without the splint, Sally hobbled around on three legs, apparently afraid to put her new limb into action. Then we took the cone off for good (and not evil) because we were all sick of it. And near the end of the bandage-transition week, Sally decided she had had enough. So she removed the bandage and revealed her pathetic little leg. Soon she was begging to chase her B-A-L-L, and the old, weird Sally was just about back. All she needed was a morning at the groomer to get the old confidence back (thanks, Biff and Hap), and then the story of Sally's big break was done.
Postscript:
Sally's accident and slow recovery really woke us up to the fact that she's becoming an old dog. When she got her leg back, Sally was quick to play with her B-A-L-L. But her endurance has dwindled and the spring in her step isn't wound as tight as it used to be--which means she's just about like the rest of us.
Now, the cone of silence is a great sight gag, and you could not look at the poor dog without chuckling at her (here's an important humor truth: you can't claim to be laughing with your pet; you can only laugh at animals, except maybe monkeys). For two weeks, Sally had to figure out how to eat and sleep with that huge funnel around her head--talk about stress. After two weeks with the cone around Sally's head and neck, Emily and I returned to the vet office one more time. Finally, the splint was off her leg, and Sally could begin the rest of her life. But it wasn't quite that dramatic. The doc decided to bandage the leg for a one-week transition period, so Sally could get accustomed to walking around on all fours again. And she would not be able to pick at the scrawny, scraggly leg right away. The doc also recommended keeping the cone on for a few more days and experimenting to see if Sally would leave her fur alone.
For the first few days without the splint, Sally hobbled around on three legs, apparently afraid to put her new limb into action. Then we took the cone off for good (and not evil) because we were all sick of it. And near the end of the bandage-transition week, Sally decided she had had enough. So she removed the bandage and revealed her pathetic little leg. Soon she was begging to chase her B-A-L-L, and the old, weird Sally was just about back. All she needed was a morning at the groomer to get the old confidence back (thanks, Biff and Hap), and then the story of Sally's big break was done.
Postscript:
Sally's accident and slow recovery really woke us up to the fact that she's becoming an old dog. When she got her leg back, Sally was quick to play with her B-A-L-L. But her endurance has dwindled and the spring in her step isn't wound as tight as it used to be--which means she's just about like the rest of us.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sally's Big Break--Part 3
Paula called later to tell me that they were on their way to an emergency veterinary hospital. It was clear that Sally had at least a broken leg. She needed an X-ray and who knows what other medical attention. The dog's unfortunate sojourn was already getting costly before they even arrived at the vet hospital. Prior to Sally's overnight incarceration, the pound staff administered a battery of vaccinations, installed a microchip tracking device, and applied the Frontline flea treatment (I think if Sally were wearing her license, the staff might have foregone all the shots). So to gain Sally's release, Paula had to pay for these services and post bail, which would have been higher if Sally had not been licensed. All totaled, the pound earned the better part of $200 for its efforts to care for our pooch.
At the vet hospital, x-rays revealed that Sally had broken two bones, the radius and the ulna, in her right forearm. She was medicated and outfitted with a heavy splint, wrapped in pink adhesive tape, that she would have to keep on for 6-8 weeks. Sally would need subsequent check ups, of course, with our regular vet. But on the Saturday morning visit that started this story, Emily and I did not take the dog in for a scheduled check up. In fact, she had been in the office for a visit earlier in the week. No, this time we made an unscheduled "emergency" trip to the vet because we woke up that morning to discover that Sally had somehow completely removed her splint.
Sally had spent the night on Emily's bed, and she and Emily were still lying in bed. I had been up for a while, and I figured it was time to put the dog out. When I approached Emily's bed, Sally saw me coming and rolled over in her obsequious way. I started to pick up Sally, but she yelped loudly. It took me several seconds and more yelps to realize that her injured leg was uncovered and the splint was lying nearby on the bed. Now I was the one yelping. Poor Emily had to hop out of bed and assist me in taking the dog to the vet. Paula, meanwhile, would have to attend a memorial service for a friend from CSUS without me.
Our mission was to get to the vet before the drop-in office hours turned into the low-cost vaccination clinic. The doc came in to the examining room some time after 9am. She was a bit surprised to see Sally's handiwork. The doc said she would need to put a new splint on Sally's leg but it would take some time to do it--because the crowd would be coming in for vaccinations in a few minutes. She told us to leave Sally with her and to come back in about two hours. The clinic officially closed at noon, and it was possible that they could finish all the shots by 11:15 or 11:30.
The vet office is down on McHenry Avenue--not far from where McHenry begins at "five points" on the edge of the downtown area. So we figured we wouldn't go all the way home and then come back. Instead, we ate breakfast at Jack in the Box (why can't they clean up their restaurants?) and browsed around a few stores, including the motorcycle accessory shop that's on McHenry. We went back at 11:15 and found the waiting room lined with pit bulls, chihuahuas, cockers, and kitties. The only dog I would give two cents for was the border collie named Patrick. Most dogs enter the vet office in a mild hysteria and approach hyperventilation for the remainder of their visit to the vet. Patrick showed no sign of worry and patiently waited for his name to be called (actually, I think he was disgusted by the embarrassing behavior of his fellow canines). In fact, when the vet's assistant came out and called Patrick's name, he sprang to his feet, went to the assistant, and waited for instructions. Good dog.
Emily and I had to wait for every four-legged patient (yes, I think they all had four) to get his or her shots before we could get Sally. At noon, one of the assistants locked the office door, and the last of the pets escorted their owners out of the office. A few minutes later, the doc came out with Sally, set up with a clean, new splint. The new splint was lighter, less bulky, and it allowed more movement. But Sally would have several more weeks in the splint. The doc was nice, though. She charged us only for the splint, not the office visit, because as I mentioned before Paula had brought Sally in to the office earlier in the week.
Coming soon: our not-so-exciting conclusion.
At the vet hospital, x-rays revealed that Sally had broken two bones, the radius and the ulna, in her right forearm. She was medicated and outfitted with a heavy splint, wrapped in pink adhesive tape, that she would have to keep on for 6-8 weeks. Sally would need subsequent check ups, of course, with our regular vet. But on the Saturday morning visit that started this story, Emily and I did not take the dog in for a scheduled check up. In fact, she had been in the office for a visit earlier in the week. No, this time we made an unscheduled "emergency" trip to the vet because we woke up that morning to discover that Sally had somehow completely removed her splint.
Sally had spent the night on Emily's bed, and she and Emily were still lying in bed. I had been up for a while, and I figured it was time to put the dog out. When I approached Emily's bed, Sally saw me coming and rolled over in her obsequious way. I started to pick up Sally, but she yelped loudly. It took me several seconds and more yelps to realize that her injured leg was uncovered and the splint was lying nearby on the bed. Now I was the one yelping. Poor Emily had to hop out of bed and assist me in taking the dog to the vet. Paula, meanwhile, would have to attend a memorial service for a friend from CSUS without me.
Our mission was to get to the vet before the drop-in office hours turned into the low-cost vaccination clinic. The doc came in to the examining room some time after 9am. She was a bit surprised to see Sally's handiwork. The doc said she would need to put a new splint on Sally's leg but it would take some time to do it--because the crowd would be coming in for vaccinations in a few minutes. She told us to leave Sally with her and to come back in about two hours. The clinic officially closed at noon, and it was possible that they could finish all the shots by 11:15 or 11:30.
The vet office is down on McHenry Avenue--not far from where McHenry begins at "five points" on the edge of the downtown area. So we figured we wouldn't go all the way home and then come back. Instead, we ate breakfast at Jack in the Box (why can't they clean up their restaurants?) and browsed around a few stores, including the motorcycle accessory shop that's on McHenry. We went back at 11:15 and found the waiting room lined with pit bulls, chihuahuas, cockers, and kitties. The only dog I would give two cents for was the border collie named Patrick. Most dogs enter the vet office in a mild hysteria and approach hyperventilation for the remainder of their visit to the vet. Patrick showed no sign of worry and patiently waited for his name to be called (actually, I think he was disgusted by the embarrassing behavior of his fellow canines). In fact, when the vet's assistant came out and called Patrick's name, he sprang to his feet, went to the assistant, and waited for instructions. Good dog.
Emily and I had to wait for every four-legged patient (yes, I think they all had four) to get his or her shots before we could get Sally. At noon, one of the assistants locked the office door, and the last of the pets escorted their owners out of the office. A few minutes later, the doc came out with Sally, set up with a clean, new splint. The new splint was lighter, less bulky, and it allowed more movement. But Sally would have several more weeks in the splint. The doc was nice, though. She charged us only for the splint, not the office visit, because as I mentioned before Paula had brought Sally in to the office earlier in the week.
Coming soon: our not-so-exciting conclusion.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Dr. Dan's Action Steps to a Better Future
Today, friends, I will show you that I am not just a critic. I want to build a brighter tomorrow for all of us and our children. Enjoy.
Dr. Dan’s Action Steps to a Better Future:
1. Elect politicians who are named Russell or Curtis. Or Russell Curtis. Or Curtis Russell.
2. Pass a constitutional amendment protecting our right to bear meat. (keep government out of my kitchen!)
3. Ban the use of the word “boob” as a derogatory term.
4. Establish a nationwide system for collecting post-consumer vegetable oil for the purpose of refining bio-diesel. And convert fuel facilities for the production and distribution of bio-diesel. And forget ethanol.
5. Recruit superheroes not only to fight crime but also to teach school and work in the head-start program.
6. Require all country music radio stations to play Johnny Cash, George Jones, and Dolly Parton regularly.
7. Pay me to correct the grammatical errors and misspelled words in all public signage (stores, public transportation, restaurants, etc.).
8. Be yourself—unless you are a bad person.
Trust me, and God bless America
Dr. Dan’s Action Steps to a Better Future:
1. Elect politicians who are named Russell or Curtis. Or Russell Curtis. Or Curtis Russell.
2. Pass a constitutional amendment protecting our right to bear meat. (keep government out of my kitchen!)
3. Ban the use of the word “boob” as a derogatory term.
4. Establish a nationwide system for collecting post-consumer vegetable oil for the purpose of refining bio-diesel. And convert fuel facilities for the production and distribution of bio-diesel. And forget ethanol.
5. Recruit superheroes not only to fight crime but also to teach school and work in the head-start program.
6. Require all country music radio stations to play Johnny Cash, George Jones, and Dolly Parton regularly.
7. Pay me to correct the grammatical errors and misspelled words in all public signage (stores, public transportation, restaurants, etc.).
8. Be yourself—unless you are a bad person.
Trust me, and God bless America
Monday, June 22, 2009
Dan's Big Ideas for Improving America
Dear Readers: Today, I’m giving you a break from the story of Sally’s unfortunate experience. I’m in the mood for some social commentary, so below you will find my plan to save American culture.
Dan’s Big Ideas for Improving America
1. For crimes against humanity, the following people and groups will forthwith be banned from all forms of media:
• Anyone named Trump.
• Anyone named Hilton.
• Anyone who has ever appeared on Fox News.
• Anyone who has ever competed in a beauty pageant.
2. Jon, Kate, plus any reality show that exploits children will be immediately cancelled.
3. Any “reality” TV show that allows two contestants to cry in one episode will be put on probation. These people need to realize that it’s reality, not real. A second offense will result in cancellation.
4. Gavin Newsome and Sarah Palin will be forced to live in the same house for one year with no contact with the outside world.
5. Instead of firing teachers during the current economic “downturn,” politicians will be sent home without pay, without their perks, without their expense accounts.
6. Sexual dysfunction medications will no longer sponsor sporting events or the telecasts of these events.
7. Anyone who follows the advice of Dr. Phil will be forced to live with the consequences of their stupidity.
Stay tuned for more.
Dan’s Big Ideas for Improving America
1. For crimes against humanity, the following people and groups will forthwith be banned from all forms of media:
• Anyone named Trump.
• Anyone named Hilton.
• Anyone who has ever appeared on Fox News.
• Anyone who has ever competed in a beauty pageant.
2. Jon, Kate, plus any reality show that exploits children will be immediately cancelled.
3. Any “reality” TV show that allows two contestants to cry in one episode will be put on probation. These people need to realize that it’s reality, not real. A second offense will result in cancellation.
4. Gavin Newsome and Sarah Palin will be forced to live in the same house for one year with no contact with the outside world.
5. Instead of firing teachers during the current economic “downturn,” politicians will be sent home without pay, without their perks, without their expense accounts.
6. Sexual dysfunction medications will no longer sponsor sporting events or the telecasts of these events.
7. Anyone who follows the advice of Dr. Phil will be forced to live with the consequences of their stupidity.
Stay tuned for more.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Sally's Big Break--Part 2
Note: Despite the complaints of certain readers, the author stands by his use of the word "stupid" to describe the dog in question. He points to the fact that the dog becomes hopelessly lost when she drifts more than 30 feet from her house--editor.
One Friday afternoon, I invited my buddy Mike to stop by after work (he works just down the street at the old folks' prison) to show me his new motorcycle. At about 3pm. I got out my motorcycle because Abbie decided she was going for a run to my mom's house about a mile away (she has since moved, again). I hopped on the Suzuki so I could check on her throughout her route to Grandma's house. I then rode back home, parked the motorcycle in the driveway, and waited for Mike to stop by.
When Mike rolled in a little after four, Paula, Emily, and Sally came out front to join in the fun. I set out some chairs, so Paula, Mike, and I could relax okie-style and examine Mike's Kawasaki. Mike and I also enjoyed a tasty adult beverage. Emily played B-A-L-L with Sally in the yard. Abbie called not long after Mike arrived to tell us that she was going to run home from Gran's house. Paula suggested that Mike and I use our bikes to make sure Abbie was safe on the way home. We caught up with Abigail as she headed north on Viader Street in the deluxe neighborhood of "Dutchhollow." We rode alongside her, which she loved (not really), and then we tooled around the neighborhood a little while before meeting up with her again. Later, Mike and I realized we were lucky that no one in Dutchollow called the police about the two old guys prowling around on motorcycles and bothering a young girl as she tried to jog down the street. So Abbie returned home safely, and we sat around admiring our motorcycles and visiting.
Around 5pm., we decided that Mike should go home and return with Linda, his taller half, after she got home from work. We would have a barbecue at the Schmidt House. Mike rode off, and I put my bike away and closed up the garage. As we, all of us, headed inside to get ready for dinner, I heard Paula ask, generally, "Where's Sally?" My attention was directed elsewhere, so I guess I assumed that Paula or the kids would account for the dog. Later, we would learn that Emily thought the dog had gone back in the house earlier--which would have been Sally's typical behavior.
I went to light the gas barbecue some time between 6:30 and 7:00pm. Since it was dinnertime, I called out to Emily to see if she had fed her dog. Right then, someone, it might have been Linda, asked the fateful question: "Where is Sally?" A quick search of the house and yard revealed that Sally was not at home, and suddenly our peaceful evening of sipping wine and eating good food was disrupted.
Seven people (me, Paula, Mike, Linda, Emily, Abbie, and Abbie's friend Sabrina, who was spending the night) went looking for the mutt who went missing. Emily and I set out on bicycles. Mike and Linda went in style in their Acura. Abbie and Sabrina walked, and Paula tried to talk to the neighbors. I knew that the last time she drifted off I found Sally down the street, east of our house, by the duplexes. Unfortunately, just a little farther in that direction is the very busy Dale Road. We looked all over the neighborhood for that stupid dog (!), and we asked everyone we saw if there was any sign of Sally. Finally, some of the extended clan of the Indian people across the street came out of their house and said that earlier in the evening they had seen some people trying to catch a stray dog over on the other side of Dale Road, near the parking lot of the Kaiser medical office. I hopped on my bicycle and searched that area, but there was no Sally there at that point.
We eventually ate dinner, and then Paula and the kids began the process of making lost dog signs and placing a lost dog ad in the newspaper. Throughout the evening, I was impressed by Emily's calm demeanor and her confidence that Sally would be found. There is a lesson to be learned in losing a dog, but I resolved not to make a big deal of it. I remembered, actually, that when I was about Emily's age I took considerable blame for the death of a dog (who was hit by a car) because a backyard gate apparently wasn't latched securely.
Paula and Emily were up early the next morning. First, they worked on the lost dog signs, and then they left for the dog pound (I know there's a fancy word for dog pound, but that's what it is.). When I got up and around, I posted the lost dog signs in the neighborhood. Mostly, I went up and down Dale Road, putting signs on light and power poles. Even though at that point I was beginning to wonder how much easier life would be without our peculiar dog, I rode my bike home and printed a few more signs. After those were posted as well, I returned to the house--just in time to get a telephone call from Emily: "Sally's here, Dad. Someone brought her to the pound last night."
One Friday afternoon, I invited my buddy Mike to stop by after work (he works just down the street at the old folks' prison) to show me his new motorcycle. At about 3pm. I got out my motorcycle because Abbie decided she was going for a run to my mom's house about a mile away (she has since moved, again). I hopped on the Suzuki so I could check on her throughout her route to Grandma's house. I then rode back home, parked the motorcycle in the driveway, and waited for Mike to stop by.
When Mike rolled in a little after four, Paula, Emily, and Sally came out front to join in the fun. I set out some chairs, so Paula, Mike, and I could relax okie-style and examine Mike's Kawasaki. Mike and I also enjoyed a tasty adult beverage. Emily played B-A-L-L with Sally in the yard. Abbie called not long after Mike arrived to tell us that she was going to run home from Gran's house. Paula suggested that Mike and I use our bikes to make sure Abbie was safe on the way home. We caught up with Abigail as she headed north on Viader Street in the deluxe neighborhood of "Dutchhollow." We rode alongside her, which she loved (not really), and then we tooled around the neighborhood a little while before meeting up with her again. Later, Mike and I realized we were lucky that no one in Dutchollow called the police about the two old guys prowling around on motorcycles and bothering a young girl as she tried to jog down the street. So Abbie returned home safely, and we sat around admiring our motorcycles and visiting.
Around 5pm., we decided that Mike should go home and return with Linda, his taller half, after she got home from work. We would have a barbecue at the Schmidt House. Mike rode off, and I put my bike away and closed up the garage. As we, all of us, headed inside to get ready for dinner, I heard Paula ask, generally, "Where's Sally?" My attention was directed elsewhere, so I guess I assumed that Paula or the kids would account for the dog. Later, we would learn that Emily thought the dog had gone back in the house earlier--which would have been Sally's typical behavior.
I went to light the gas barbecue some time between 6:30 and 7:00pm. Since it was dinnertime, I called out to Emily to see if she had fed her dog. Right then, someone, it might have been Linda, asked the fateful question: "Where is Sally?" A quick search of the house and yard revealed that Sally was not at home, and suddenly our peaceful evening of sipping wine and eating good food was disrupted.
Seven people (me, Paula, Mike, Linda, Emily, Abbie, and Abbie's friend Sabrina, who was spending the night) went looking for the mutt who went missing. Emily and I set out on bicycles. Mike and Linda went in style in their Acura. Abbie and Sabrina walked, and Paula tried to talk to the neighbors. I knew that the last time she drifted off I found Sally down the street, east of our house, by the duplexes. Unfortunately, just a little farther in that direction is the very busy Dale Road. We looked all over the neighborhood for that stupid dog (!), and we asked everyone we saw if there was any sign of Sally. Finally, some of the extended clan of the Indian people across the street came out of their house and said that earlier in the evening they had seen some people trying to catch a stray dog over on the other side of Dale Road, near the parking lot of the Kaiser medical office. I hopped on my bicycle and searched that area, but there was no Sally there at that point.
We eventually ate dinner, and then Paula and the kids began the process of making lost dog signs and placing a lost dog ad in the newspaper. Throughout the evening, I was impressed by Emily's calm demeanor and her confidence that Sally would be found. There is a lesson to be learned in losing a dog, but I resolved not to make a big deal of it. I remembered, actually, that when I was about Emily's age I took considerable blame for the death of a dog (who was hit by a car) because a backyard gate apparently wasn't latched securely.
Paula and Emily were up early the next morning. First, they worked on the lost dog signs, and then they left for the dog pound (I know there's a fancy word for dog pound, but that's what it is.). When I got up and around, I posted the lost dog signs in the neighborhood. Mostly, I went up and down Dale Road, putting signs on light and power poles. Even though at that point I was beginning to wonder how much easier life would be without our peculiar dog, I rode my bike home and printed a few more signs. After those were posted as well, I returned to the house--just in time to get a telephone call from Emily: "Sally's here, Dad. Someone brought her to the pound last night."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
