attack of the clones!

We regularly get an email from some pet care company that uses the above shelter photo of Barney and his siblings to try and convince us to buy stuff for him. Barney was the last one to get adopted, and I never saw the others in person, so the email just makes me want to do is track everybody down (and there's another one missing from the photo), put them all in a room, and see what happens. It might be hard to make sure we took home the right dog though.

the longest day

This week didn't really hold much to talk about. I went to school every day, worked on my thesis proposal (just a document that says, all too formally, here's an experiment I want to do) for most of the day, went to class sporadically, and then went home. Every day just felt like an extension of the next, and Sarah and I both agreed that it felt like a really longest week in history. Hopefully the weekend will feel similarly long. I expect that we won't be so fortunate.

pass the jelly beer

My first day of school was today. Well, my 23rd first day of school was today. But it was my first day of this year. You know what I learned on this inauspicious occasion? Wrong. I learned that jelly can ferment in the fridge if you leave it undisturbed for four months in a half-empty container. Good thing it was so rotten that I noticed before I got a chance to put it on my sandwich. I would have had to eat it anyway. Waste not, want not, after all.

P.S. 8:30 PM, and it's still 103 degrees.

down the rabbit hole

Right before bed last night Barney was playing around outside when, all of a sudden, he got really excited. I mean REALLY excited: he sprinted in a few circles at lightening speed around the back yard, rushed inside and sprinted around the house, led me outside with him, refused to come inside, and ran in and out of "the woods" (6-foot-deep bushy area near the back fence) until I caught him and carried him in. I figured he'd seen an opossum or one of the local cats who is always walking across our back fence. He was so amped up that he rustled around in his crate for most of the night.

I was working on my thesis proposal this morning when a blur of black and white motion outside caught my eye. How did that tiny little dog get over our 7-foot fence!!! It was actually was one of our 78-year-old neighbor's two pet rabbits. I quickly understood why, ever since we've been back from Michigan, Barney has been pointing (standing perfectly still with one leg in the air and looking in one direction) at 'invisible' stuff in the yard and playing in the woods a lot. I went outside to try and catch the rabbit and return it its home, but I left Barney inside so there wouldn't be any rabbit corpses to inconspicuously dispose of. (Sarah: This stew is a little gamey. Where did you get this chicken? Me: Ummmm... Here's the thing...)

The rabbit wasn't exactly unfriendly, but it didn't particularly want to be touched either. It ended up scurrying back home through (one of) the hole(s) it had dug under the fence. Unfortunately, Barney saw the whole thing from the window where he had been freaking out about not being able to be outside to 'play' with the rabbit. He might have been nice to it. I don't know. Anyhow,  now I have to figure out how to keep Barney from tunneling his way into the neighbor's yard to reunite with his new 'friends' (two chickens also live over there).

Pointing out the hole: he stayed like this for 5 minutes while I ran and got the camera and took some pictures. Maybe the rabbit will take the hint and come through.

For the last 20 minutes he's been intermittently pointing at the fence and trying to trick me into going outside by 'asking' to come in (by jumping into the screen door and making it knock against the other door, a trick we taught him) and then refusing to actually enter. When I move toward him to catch him, he runs--just out of my reach--a little closer to the hole. I went all the way out once and walked over to the hole to make sure the brick I'd put there was still in place. He pranced over with me, no doubt feeling proud that he'd finally communicated his urgent message about the meal I was passing up. He looked hurt and confused when I went back inside. He probably thinks I'm an idiot.

someone make a movie about this

I just had an interesting thought while I was 'listening' to a conversation some people were having. Okay, you caught me: they were having the 'conversation' on Facebook, and I wasn't listening so much as I was reading their comments about a status update, but whatever. The point is this: I realized can't recall having heard anyone say they watched a movie and were disappointed by the book, but I frequently hear people say they read a book and then were disappointed by the movie. I have a number of theories.

1. Books are better than movies for various reasons (imagination used, time to develop plot and characters, better writing, etc.)
2. Alternatively: order effects are in play. People usually read books first, then watch the movies. But what if order matters? What would happen if you watched a movie and then read the book? Then you'd always be stuck with what's-his-face as the main character, and you don't even like what's-his-face.
3. Alternatively: people like to throw it in your face that they read the book, you didn't, and they are smarter and all-around better than you.

I'm sure there are lots of anecdotes out there. Someone's going to have to do a systematic study to get this figured out. Not it.

I'll do it

For some reason the weather is a competition. It doesn't matter if it's hot temperatures, long winters, or precipitation, everyone has to be the most uncomfortable. The conversation usually goes something like this (referring to heat, in this instance).

Upper Midwest: I'm so hot, it's 90 degrees.

Deep South: You think that's hot? It's going to be 100 here today!!

Southwest Desert: I wish it was 100!! Today it's going to be 110!!!

Deep South and Upper Midwest (in unison): Yeah, but that's a dry heat so it doesn't count! 

The debate was settled this week when the Finland's World Sauna Championships ended tragically. Here's what happened. The competition is simple: a bunch of idiots sit in a sauna; whoever stays the longest wins. Oh, by the way: the ambient temperature in the sauna? It's kept at more than 240 degrees Fahrenheit (110 C). If you remember your elementary school science, you'll recall that (a) our bodies are 55 - 78% water, and (b) the boiling point for water is 212 F (100 C). In other words, the contestants sit in a room that could BOIL THEM ALIVE!!!

Apparently, the heat itself isn't all that bad. At least, it isn't all that bad until they pour buckets of water over superheated rocks, which sends the room's humidity skyrocketing. It's not unusual for contestants' skin to boil and for them to have huge patches of it eventually fall right off. Most only stay in the sauna for a few minutes. The 'best' participants train year round to acclimate themselves, and some are able to withstand the temperatures for quite some time. This year, a participant died when something went wrong. Some suspect foul play (such as too much humidity), and there is an ongoing criminal investigation. But the larger point (aside from the incredibly stupidity involved here), is that's it wasn't the temperature that killed him, it was the humidity.

That being said, the high here today is 106 and the heat index is 116. It's 9:30 AM right now, and the heat index is 95. I'm going to go outside and punch the sun in the face.

gross

We made it home from Michigan in one piece. The high today is 105. That's not the heat index, that's the high. Apparently, we missed 14 straight days in which the temperature was over 100 degrees. This is ridiculous. I'm submitting a formal complaint.

fore!

Dad and I have played three rounds of golf since I've been back home. I haven't played much this year (one time), so my form has been off and on. In the first two rounds I hit some good shots and some bad shots, and I hit a few great shots and a few really terrible ones. Today we played for the last time before Sarah and I head back to Michigan. I played surprisingly well, ending up with a 77. I'm usually shocked when I manage to play like I used to (when I was actually a decent player). But back then I thought I deserved to shoot well because I practiced so much, so I was always mad when I didn't live up to those expectations. Now I'm just happy to be able to get out and play. Probably a better attitude.

America the beautiful

I read a story in the news today about a Michigan man who passed out on his bed after drinking too much. He woke up a few hours later because his foot felt wet, and he looked down to see that his Jack Russell Terrier Kiko, who normally sleeps with him, had gnawed off half of his big toe.

The man, whose wife is a nurse, went to the hospital, where they diagnosed him with type II diabetes and a very diseased foot. Apparently, the dog had eaten only the part of the toe that was rotting, and he left alone all the parts that were still alive. The man was just happy that his dog had "saved his life," and he wondered how the dog had been smart enough to know to stop eating the toe at just the right spot. He also "joked" that he shouldn't have had to pay his hospital copay because the dog "did most of the work."

I would normally make some snarky comment here, but I think it's unnecessary at this point.

I'm on vacation

From everything. Except pulling my groin while playing golf. How does that happen? I don't really know. But it did. And it isn't pleasant. You know what else happened? Do you? Me either. You know what I need? Cake. Also, more cake. The end.