Doctor Toenails; Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tantrum

"You can’t fight in here, this is the War Room!" – President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers)



Do you know how impossible it is to get a 2.575 year old to sit still so you can trim his finger- and toenails?

Freakin' impossible.

You might as well join Peter Sellers and the gang in Kubrick's classic Dr. Strangelove in trying to prevent nuclear holocaust as get Sam the Man to let you come near him with the clippers.

Fine. It's not worth my time. Let his fingernails get black with icky dirt. Let his toenails get long enough that his shoes don't fit. I give up.

Next time, it's Daddy's turn to deal with it! I'll be out mowing the yard.

Is There a Dog?

If you've never heard of the dyslexic atheist insomniac, the title of this update won't have any meaning for you. Think about it... but don't think too hard.

Life is never dull at my house.

I told DH when we first installed the doggy door there was a real possibility critters might come in. No problem, he said... the door he installed has a cover that you can put on it when you want it to be closed. We'll close it at night.

No sooner had he installed the doggy door than the toddler figured out he could get through the doggy door. "Outside!" he yells triumphantly from the other side, his little bottom and legs the only part visible from the computer desk.

The novelty of the door has finally worn off for the boy, but apparently not for the neighbor's dog. Tonight, we came home and discovered not one, but TWO dogs in our house. The beagle was ours, but the large golden thing that was drooling and had obviously torn our house up was not.

The dog, Houdini (name changed to protect my anonymity in the neighborhood), is an escape artist. He figured out how to get out of the neighbor's yard a long time ago. Now, he can not only jump OUT of their yard, but he can also jump INTO ours... and find his way down the back steps and into the doggy door, where he and Charlie are best buddies and they lick and sniff themselves silly.

And then Houdini, probably because he's really just a big puppy, found his way to Charlie's food, ate the heck out of it, pooped on our floor, knocked things over, and so on and so forth, until we discovered the whole blasted mess.

If the neighbors can't keep Houdini in their yard now, I hate to see what happens when the thing's finished growing. Some people should have to fill out a questionnaire before they take a dog home. Answer vital questions like, "Will you have enough room for this dog to stretch his legs?" and "How will you keep this dog from annoying the crap out of your neighbors?" and "Are you actually smarter than the dog?"

Which reminds me of my grandfather's advice about dog training. The first thing is, he said, you have to be smarter than the dog.

Nuff said.

Before and After

How is this even the same person?!

Highly Recommend...

...if you aren't familiar with it yet, this website.

Click on "come on in," then the little circle that asks, "First time here?" to get initiated. Then surf around. I like Strong Bad's E-mails the best. But there are plenty of pretty funny little shorts (Like the Cheat Commando's O's -- Ridiculous Breakfast) in the Toons section, too.

Enjoy!

EDIT: My personal favorite Strong Bad E-mail, of course: http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail120.html

The End of an Era

As a reporter myself, I can't let the passing of Peter Jennings go without comment.

The man was an inspiration to people like me, proof that you didn't have to know someone or have big bucks to hit the big time. What you have to have is guts and determination, and a talent for storytelling.

As recently as this past year, I was referring would-be reporters who interned under me to Jennings' newscasts as the best of the "big three" in terms of delivery style. The man typed with two fingers and was a high school drop out, but it didn't matter. He was smart and articulate and good on his feet.

It's a sad testament against smoking... but a good chance to point to one of the last great men in the golden era of broadcasting. There will never be anyone else like him, and for that, I am sad. The McNews that passes for content is just not the same.

Who Invited the Griswolds?

The last time DH and I were in D.C., we were getting ready to get on a Metro train to go somewhere (can't remember exactly where we were headed) and up comes this gaggle of middle school kids.

Great, I remember thinking. This ought to be a fun ride. Not.

The kids had no idea what they were doing and otherwise made nuisances of themselves, all a hundred or so of them. We finally got on the train, DH and I boarding last, just in time to hear the driver mutter under his breath, "Looks like we got a whole d--- train of Griswolds."

It became a catch-phrase for the hubby and I, whenever we were away from home witnessing stupidity and rudeness and so on firsthand.

This week on the beach, our hotel apparently had been headquarters for the Griswold reunion and we didn't know it ahead of time. Still had a great time... you either have to laugh or get frustrated. We chose to laugh.