Well I hope the cat videos were worth it once Skynet takes over

Well, it's the end of 2013, the time when a dog takes a look back at the events of the last twelve months and tries to piece together some sort of sense out of the whole mess.

Except that I'm not going to do that because I've got something else on my mind.

For Christmas my dad got me a really pretty nice flat screen TV.  This was pretty cool in and of itself, but on further inspection I discovered that it was something called a 'Smart TV' (which is a bit disturbing in and of itself - I don't like to imagine my household appliances sitting around 'thinking' things.  Partially because of the ethical issues involved in subjugating them, but mostly because any television that had access to both a reasoning process and my list of DVR'd TV shows would almost certainly begin judging me sooner rather than later.)

I was even more disturbed upon going through the setup screens to discover a bit of copy that explained that the TV was capable of learning as it interacted with me.  Jesus Christ.  Not only does this make me solely responsible for shaping the perceptions and worldview of the thing, it means that we have deliberately set up a machine (which I'm pretty sure was smarter than me to begin with) with the ability to increase that knowledge and power of reasoning and I'm pretty sure that that course leads directly to Terminators.

Not that I'm against the whole concept of machines taking over from man in general principle.  I can't imagine a  machine doing a worse job of governing than - say - Mitch McConnell.*  Hell, I'd willingly replace him with your average waffle iron any day of the week.  At least the waffle iron wouldn't get so caught up with petty vindictiveness that it would prefer to actively damage the country rather than let anyone else have their way.  Plus - waffles.  Mmmm.  Waffles.

*Note for foreign readers - You'll probably just have to take my word on this one.  And honestly, you're happier not knowing anything about him, I promise.

Vizsla, It's cold outside

When I woke up this morning it was -11 degrees outside.  (that's Fahrenheit, for you European types.  I believe it translates to about 23.8 bar below zero.  Yes, The Vizsla is not afraid to do the math.  Or use the correct terms for a repeating remainder.  Suck it, Air Bud.)

This has temporarily delayed my post-holiday round-up so that I can address the following crucial issue.

I know a lot of you are saying to yourself - 'Self, I sure love the midwinter holiday appropriate to my cultural background.  But I sure wish that I had a song relevant to that culturally derived Holiday that was a little less date-rapey than the now standard 'Baby it's cold outside'  (Seriously.  Nothing says Christmas like a random mention of Roofies.)

To that end, I present an alternate take.

You are, as always, Welcome, Universe.

Vizsla, It's cold outside.

an internal monologue.

I really must pee

<Vizlsa, it's cold outside>

I'm all urine-y 

<Vizlsa, it's cold outside>

Tonight's Alpo has been

<Been hoping you'd like a milkbone>

So very nice

<Who wants to slip out on that ice?>

My Mother'd have to put on boots

<Maybe it's just the toots>

My Father won't clean the floor

<You won't have no acc'dents no more>

And really my legs are crossed

<bladder control ain't yet lost>

Well, maybe just a snausage more...

<Make some yeti noises some more>

I kind of must poop

<But Vizsla it's cold outside>

My hinder must droop

<but Vizsla it's cold outside

I wish I knew how

<you're eyes are really floating now>

To use the john*

<That rug - I must not tinkle on>

I ought to sack up and brave it

<Those booties just drive my crazy>

My paws they always get so frosty

<Can't you see the battle is lost-y>

I really can't hold it

<Baby don't hold it>

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

but daddy...

It was COOOOOOLLD  OUUUUUUUT.  SIIIIIIIIIDE

Thank you.  God bless.  Tip your wait staff.

Merry Christmas from the Vizsla

...let's just agree to call this Advent Calendar day 23,24 and 25 and refer to this as a growth year.

That cool with everybody?

And what was the kid supposed to be learning exactly?

Today I was out and about, finishing up my Christmas shopping and in a burst of trying to be slightly less bitter toward the holiday I found myself listening to a station playing Christmas carols.

This was all well and good (if only marginally successful) until they played a song that related the following story - (I do not know the name of the song nor the Artist.  To be honest I don't particularly care on either front)

So this guy (the singer) is standing in line waiting to pay for Christmas presents when the kid in front of him tries to buy a pair of shoes.  Cue heartbreaking story about how they're 'just Momma's size' and he wants her to look pretty when she goes to 'meet Jesus tonight.'

Yes, apparently Momma has some sort of long term fatal illness and is not expected to last the night.

Which apparently prompted Daddy to drop the kid off unsupervised at the mall, which seems like questionable parenting to me, but what the Hell.  He probably just has other things on his mind, what with the spouse dying on Christmas Eve thing going on.  I would, however, like to have seen the conversation where he tells the attending physician that he's popping out from dying wife's bedside to drop junior off at the foodcourt.

I also enjoy the implication that as soon as Momma snuffs the candle (as they say) that the following exchange will occur-

MOMMA  

Yoo hoo!  Jesus!  I finally made it!

JESUS  

Hey there Betty Lou!  

It's great to see y... holy shit those are some GREAT shoes!

MOMMA 

I know, right??  I mean, I can't normally pull off a court heel

JESUS  

Oh NO, girlfriend*!  You are rocking that court heel!

*Yes, in my mind Jesus is played by a drag queen.  Go back and re-read Mark and tell me that doesn't make it more fun.

So anyway, the song goes on to tell how the kid tries to pay for the shoes with an assload of pennies, and of course he doesn't have enough.  And so he turns to the guy behind him in line (Our protagonist, for those following along) and asks, 'What am I gonna do?  Momma needs these shoes?'*

*No, what Momma needs is probably more along the lines of a new kidney, but again, what the Hell-  he's just a kid.  Kids get strange ideas stuck in their head.  Besides which, I think that there's a fair argument to be made that the whole story is crap, and that the kid is just working the whole situation and knows damn well that the sucker behind him is going to pay for the shoes if he spins him a sad enough story.  Which makes you wonder what he was actually planning to do with the shoes....

So of course our 1st person narrator chokes up, buys the shoes for the kid, and then makes the following reflection-

'I'm sure God sent the kid to me to remind me what Christmas is really about.'

Yes.

He assumes that God killed this kid's mom just to give him a warm holiday fuzzy.

See, now this is my problem with organized religion 

Dear Santa: A Cease and Desist Order

S. Claus
North Pole

Stinson McDonald
Attorney at Law
Legal Representative of

Stevie Horsebladder
Grade 4

Named Representative of Class Action Proceedings


Mr. Claus

Be you hereby duly notified of a motion to Cease and Desist filed on behalf of Stevie Horsebladder (hereby referred to as Plaintiff A) and 432 other parties, ages 3-11.

You are immediately ordered to cease any and all surveillance activities not duly authorized by the Government of the United States of America including but not limited to:  Knowing if they are sleeping.  Knowing if they are awake.  Knowing if they have been bad or good.

You are further required to surrender and/or destroy any or all records pertaining to any all information collected over the course of any previous observation activities.

It is duly found by the State of Minnesota that you are baselessly 'judge-y' and your arbitrary standards by which you rate relative perceived 'good'ness or 'bad'ness fail to conform to any legal international standards of applicability.

We appreciate your immediate response to this matter.

Stinson McDonald

Atty at Law

It ain't Peace on Earth, but I'll take it

Two weeks ago, my windshield wiper fluid jets stopped working.

No matter how many times- or how forcefully- I might pull that lever by the steering wheel, they would steadfastly refuse to spray any windshield wiper fluid onto the windshield of my car.

On the off chance that some of the readership lives in sensible climates, I should explain.  Here in Minnesota (that's one of the States in the middle.  A little bit North and West of Chicago, if that helps at all) when it snows and the roads get icy (which is a not-insignificant percentage of the year) the City, State or County (depending on location) responds by putting down salt (or variant thereof) to melt the ice.  Except the City of St. Paul, who have apparently decided that they're too good for that kind of thing and would rather just have a ton of avoidable accidents.

The salt (or whatever chemical these, our modern roadway scientist have substituted) does a reasonable job of keeping the roads less 'kill-me-able', however they also do a really great job of accumulating on the windshield of your car in and rendering it completely opaque .08 seconds after entering the freeway.  Hence the need to keep constantly refilling your windshield wiper fluid reservoir for several months.

Now, it should be fairly common knowledge that I'm not heavy into automotive repair.  And so, when my car decided - the very next morning after this years first big snowfall- that it simply wasn't going to be dispensing any windshield wiper fluid this year I treated it as I would any automotive problem.

I stared at it blankly for a few minutes and then went inside and had a glass of wine.

So for two full weeks after that I spent every commute peering desperately through vague half shadows on the front windscreen, stopping at gas stations every couple of miles to wipe off the current layer of crap and desperately hoping that I might be able to tell the difference between 'off ramp' and 'oncoming semi' by the quality of salt-shadow that they threw.

It was therefore with some surprise that I accidentally hit the windshield washer fluid lever this afternoon and was greeted by an enthusiastic - nay - sprightly jet of fluid.  From both jets.  Full force.

I have no idea why they weren't working before, and I have even less idea why they've suddenly started working again.  Lacking any better explanation, I'm declaring it to be my Christmas Miracle.

That's the key to Happy Holidays people -

Ridiculously low standards.

Happy Advent Calendar day 20.

The Seemy Underbelly of Christmas Carols

So I was listening to the radio this morning when they played 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus'*

*Yes, for the two of you who wonder about such things, this was on MPR.  Cathy Wurzer does a music cue between segments towards the end of the morning show.  Big shout out to Cathy while I'm mentioning her.

Now, I'm going to go on the assumption that we're all at least passingly familiar with the song at this point.  If you're not you should google it now and come back when you've given it a listen.

Back?

OK, I'll go on.

Now, obviously the joke is that the kid singing the song (that'd be the '1st person narrator' for you pretentious academic types) doesn't realize that.... oh Crap... wait a second...

SPOILER ALERT

UNDER 11'S SHOULD STOP READING NOW

The kid doesn't realize that 'Santa' isn't real and that that is clearly Daddy in a Santa costume and his kissing Mommy is not particularly notable but for this comical misunderstanding.

I'm sorry you had to find that out here.

My point is that the Kid in question does not know this.  So we have to view his responses through that filter

And this is all well and good until we get to the end of the chorus, where the lyrics take a disturbing turn-

'What a laugh it would have been

If Daddy had only seen

Mommy kissing Santa Claus last niiiiiiight'

OK, what the Hell are we supposed to make of that?? (outside of the fact that with a Midwestern American accent 'Been' and 'Seen' don't rhyme in any way whatsoever - but that's not relevant right now)

Theory One -

The kid hates Daddy.  Possibly Daddy is abusive, or just didn't buy him a Playstation or something.  You know, something that would piss kids off.   The kid is wistfully longing for Daddy to be there to see Mommy's painful betrayal, perhaps hoping to gorge himself on the feast of Daddy's heartbroken tears.

Take THAT, Daddy.  Mommy's a 'Ho.  Bet you wish you'd bought me that Wii now, don't ya.

Theory Two -

The kid loves Daddy.  But Daddy is hopelessly trapped in a loveless marriage to Mommy.  Perhaps Mommy is abusive to Daddy.  Or just doesn't put out.  Or hasn't aged well.  Whatever.  Daddy longs for a divorce so that he can find a younger, prettier Mommy, but his strict Catholic upbringing forbids such a thing without due cause.  Can this be Daddy's hope?  Finding Mommy macking with an anthropomorphic personification of yuletide generosity?  Hot Damn!  Daddy struck Christmas Ho Gold!

Theory Three - 

The kid is a sociopath and just wants to revel in destruction. 



Regardless of which horse you pick in this particular race, we have to acknowledge that - laugh or no - Daddy is not there to witness this scene of Holiday Slut-Shaming. (as far as the kid knows).  I therefore present to you the inevitable conversation being had the next day-

KID:  Daddy, can I talk to you?

DADDY:  Sure, Son or possibly daughter.  What's on your mind?

KID:  Daddy, there's something I need to tell you.  I think you should sit down.

DADDY:  Gosh this sounds serious.

KID:  Dad, there's no easy way to tell you this, so I'm going to abandon the infantile variant on your title and talk to you man or possibly woman to man.

DADDY:  Done and Done.

KID:  Dad, have you ever noticed Mommy talking about... you know... any specific holiday figures...you know... in a way that might strike one as... possibly lascivious?

DADDY:  Where the Hell did you learn the word 'lascivious'?

KID:  Dad, Mom's giving it up Christmas style.  I saw the whole thing.

DADDY:  I'm sorry, what?

KID:  He put his present in her stocking Dad.  Right there.  Right under the tree you paid for.

and it only gets uglier from there.

In Memorium

The world lost a wonderful Lab yesterday.

Normal service will resume tomorrow

Everybody should go adopt a rescue dog right now.

Not exactly a flashback - Vizsla vs. the Harvard Acapella Chorus

Not exactly new, but not exactly a flashback, Welcome to Advent Calendar Day 15

In case you are ever cornered in a dark alley by somebody with a knife, and you're not sure if it's me or the Harvard Men's Acapella Chorus, here's a quick field guide-

This is the Harvard Acapella Chorus

This is Me

(for those looking to declare a winner, Sure they have presentation, style, wardrobe and sobriety on their side.  But I did write the song.)

Vizsla FTW.

Advent Calendar Day 14 - A Holiday Cryptoquip

For those who are not aware of them, Cryptoquips are - perhaps - the lamest form of puzzle known to man.

It's a simple one to one alphabet code (a=k, that sort of thing) beloved of secret decoder rings throughout the ages.  This particular manifestation shows up in newspapers next to the cartoons and crossword, and decoding it reveals what is inevitable one of the stupidest and least funny puns you will have ever heard - made incrementally worse by the awareness that you've just spent 15 minutes of your life actually putting in an effort to be able to read it.  It's the puzzle page equivalent of driving 20 miles out of your way to find someone who will be willing to punch you in the testicles.  Although still not as horrible as paying money to watch Forrest F***ing Gump.*

*I have long held that every single person involved in the making of that film should be beaten to death with a VHS copy.  Well... Except maybe Gary Sinese.  He's suffered enough.

And so, in the festive holiday spirit-

A Vizsla Holiday Cryptoquip!

DEZRE CED BGLQTU RG HNVR IYEOVZP DGQQTL CFTZ FT CED UVEPZGDTU CVRF 'AVDRYT-RGT'.  GF OTEF, RFER'D LVPFR - V CTZR RFTLT, KVRQFTD.

Your clue - E= A

WVMDYE GNR

Dispatches from the Front - Inside the War on Christmas

<The following being an excerpt from the official report submitted by Col. Frank 'Killer' Koepke, 2nd Battalion Commander of the 403rd Infantry Unit - aka the Rudolph Flayers>

December 13th, 2013
Official Report
Operation 'Ass-Cane'

13:45  403rd Dispatched to area of reported 'Celebration of Christmas'.  On arrival in outer perimeter heard distinct sound of someone saying 'Merry Christmas' instead of a non-specific holiday greeting.  Specialist Hayle dispatched to stab speaker in throat. 

14:10  Unit arrived on scene of Fendleson Home.  Observed Christmas tree in front window.

14:13 Called for air support.

14:16  Fendleson Home hit with tactical nuclear strike.

Report ends

Advent Calendar Day 12. Day 12. Day 12.

Advent Calendar Day 12!

<This was a message from future you about some things that are about to happen>

<But then that destabilized the entire causal nexus and slightly further in the future you had to come back and redact the post.>

<What I'm saying is that this is really all your fault.>

You'll have to imagine the cut out letters from magazines.

Dear Advent Calendar Day 11

We have Advent Calendar Day 10.

If you ever want to see Advent Calendar Day 10 again,  well... you're out of luck since time moves in a linear progression.

Unless you're a Time Lord of course, in which case attempting to blackmail you is probably a poorly thought out course of action.

Please disregard

Love,

No one in particular.

An Advent Calendar Day 9 Choose Your Own Adventure

In tribute to those books from the 80s - The 42nd Vizsla presents -

A Very Vizsla Choose your own holiday Adventure

1

You wake up in a strange forest where there is very little light except for a thin, pale shaft of moonlight through the canopy of leaves above you.  You here a faint music playing in the distance.

If you go looking for the source of the music, got to 3

If you decide to explore the forest instead, go to5

2 

You get eaten by a bear

3

You get eaten by a bear

4

Go to 2

5 

Did you notice that bear over there? 

If Yes go to 4

If No go to 2


We hope you've enjoyed this special holiday adventure.

Be sure to try reading it again.  Remember, every adventure is different!

The great Advent Calendar/Flashback Day Mish-mash

You know that thing where you start to write a column for the day and you think to yourself, 'My this seems vaguely familiar.', and then you realize that you wrote about this exact same thing nearly a year ago?

Yeah.  That.

Advent Calendar Day 8 - One from the vaults-

What Vizslas know about holidays:

Now, I'll be the first to admit that Vizslas are not exactly a comprehensive source of information about human holidays.

That said, I have managed to piece together a pretty fair picture of what I think is going on:

The one with the tree

Which is celebrated with three solid days of cleaning and fighting about money - Then pie.

The one with the Ham

The same as Treeday, except instead of fighting about money this one is traditionally celebrated by yelling at the Vizsla for tracking in mud

The one with the turkey

Cleaning, rolling in some leaves, then sleeping in front of football.

That day we drink a lot of wine

This holiday is celebrated a lot at our house.

Seriously, this must be a REALLY important one to people.

And while I kind of don't understand Treeday, Hamday, Turkeyday and Wineday(s), at least their customs are readily observable for the interested dog to note so that they might be more prepared to eat even greater amounts of Ham/Turkey/Meatloaf the following year.  (Meatloaf is the traditional Treeday dinner.  Don't know why.  Possibly in memory of Saint Meat.  Or possible Saint Loaf.)

Then there are the smaller less-about-giving-people-food-to-the-vizlsa holidays.

There are things called 'birthday's which even we dog-kind get to celebrate.  The border healer just had his first one the other day and as a celebration we were all given several chicken flavor carvers, which are (barring ham) just about the best thing ever.  People generally receive cards and gifts on their 'birthday's but in that dogs generally don't read or need stuff, I'm happier with our traditions

Then there are some holidays that people celebrate by nothing more than just not getting out of bed in the morning (Something that I choose to view as an oblique tribute to vizslas, as we totally ROCK at not getting out of bed)  There's something called presidents day, which seems to commemorate a sale.  And 4th of July, which I personally am not a fan of because everything becomes chemically unstable and liable to explode as the day goes on, and if you bark to daddy to point this out he gets irritable.

But this most mysterious of all the just-stay-in-bed holidays is this thing called 'Sickday'

So far all I've managed to piece together about it is that one traditionally begins the celebrations with a congratulatory phonecall to one's employer, commemorating the occasion.  (so it's possibly something to do with secretaries day..?) And then either laying down on the bed or the couch, whereupon one watches lots and lots of Doctor Who.

As holiday's go, it's pretty low key, but I do have to mention that the traditional sick day meal (Chicken noodle soup out of a can heated in the microwave and ginger ale on ice) SUCKS when compared to Hamday or Turkeyday meals.

And get this - No one even comes by with a card or gifts!

I know, right?

And attempting to pep up the Sickday celebrations with a little tug the rope or ballplay (easy there shriner!) is NOT looked upon favorably.

Also, this being a holiday, I think it's reasonable to assume that there was some pleasantly non-offensive pagan holiday on the date and the early christian church co-opted it with their feast day to Saint Sick because it was easier to just pretend that everybody was celebrating their holiday instead of going to all the effort of creating something positive or productive of their own.  But I'm really just playing the odds there.

I still say there should be cards and gifts though

Vizsla out

Advent Calendar Day 7 - A quick Christmas song reference pack

In a pinch?

Need a Christmas tune to suit a specific mood but don't have one to hand?

Not to worry - As always, we've done the work for you.

Here we present a go-to guide for holiday tuneage. 

Please forgive our usage of the word 'tuneage'.

We have a minimum annual DB vocab requirement, and are coming up short this year

Thanks, Brah.

A sentimental and really good Christmas song.

A really geeky and amusing Christmas song.

A song that is in no way about Christmas.

Unless you feel the holidays should be more 'date-rapey'.  

And yet people insist on treating it like a holiday classic

A song celebrating shitty weather.

Gratuitous self-promotion.  

Plus cows.

A scathing indictment of modern consumerism.  

But to be fair, Eartha Kitt had it goin' on.

That Christmas Suicide anthem you've been looking for.

You're Welcome, world. 

Lates

Advent Calendar Day 6 - The Mysterious Case of the Disappearance of Advent Calendar Day 5

From the Journals of Dr. John Watson.  (the proper Martin Freeman one.  Not Lucy Liu.  Never Lucy Liu)

It was then, as thunder crashed outside the drawing room windows, that we gathered around the numerous settees to listen as Benedict Cumberbatch outlined the facts of this, the most curious case of the Disappearing Day 5 of the Advent Calendar.

Benedict Cumberbatch began, 'I've gather you here this evening to outline the facts of this most curious case of th....'

'Yes Holmes,' I interrupted, 'I already said that in the lead paragraph'

'Quite', he retorted, throwing me an irritable look over those cheekbones that just go on for days and days and.. what was I talking about again...

'Balderdash!', ejaculated General Armstrong.  Which was still a totally legitimate verb at the time and nothing to be chuckled at - I'm looking at you, in the back.

'Our Case begins', Bennie C began again, 2 days ago on Advent Calendar day 4.  A day whose post - while actually existing - can only be accurately described as 'perfunctory'

'By Jove,' expostulated Lady Thistlewait from her hiding place behind the wainscoting.  'I thought it was a lovely post, in the spirit of advent calendars from all times.  It mentioned Candy and everything.  In big letters!'

'Poppycock. Lady Thistlewait.'  retorted B-Cum.  'Unadulterated poppycock.  He was clearly phoning it in that day.  And I'll thank you to never refer to me as 'B-Cum' again.  Not even in the supporting text.'

'Great Scott!' Ejaculated General Armstrong.  Fortunately he was wearing loose pants and no one noticed.

'No,' continued Benedict. 'The mystery truly began no less than twenty four hours later.  On a day in which, despite a clear precedent for such things being set, no Advent Calendar Post appeared.'

'Perhaps he was just busy at work!'  proclaimed the young Miss Devesham.

'It was probably Moriarty!' countered Professor Butternut.

'But which Moriarty?' wailed little Cora, 'The classic intellectual Moriarty of the written Canon, or the new, young Kooky Moriarty.  You know, the one played by John Sims'

'No No No,' blustered the Spinster Emily Pinwerthy.  'John Sims played the new Master on Doctor Who.  Moriarty was Andrew Scott.  You're just getting them confused because they're both very similar radical new takes on established villains within a larger storyline'

'Oh, right... right.' nodded Little Cora.  "You're right.  How foolish."

'It could,' chimed in the Great Plimsazio, 'Be that guy who writes film reviews under the name Moriarty for Ain't it Cool News'

'No,' Countered Miss Devesham, 'He writes for a different site now under his real name, Drew McWeeney'

'Seriously?' Spluttered the Colonel, 'His name is Seriously 'McWeeney??'

'Maybe that's why he's angry and stole yesterday's Advent Calendar post' suggested Valentina Ocipovna.

'Perhaps we should all just calm down and let B-Cu... I mean, Mr. Cumberbatch explain what really happened.' Someone tentatively put forward.

'No.  Nevermind.'  Benedict Cumberbatch said mulishly.  'It's too late.  I'm not going to tell you anymore.'

Advent Calendar - Day 4

It's CANDY!!

By which I mean you should go get a piece of that candy you like and eat it right now.  

Because you totally deserve it.

Tell them the Vizsla said it was OK

Seasoning's Greetings

I recently made a hotdish.*

*Note to everyone not in Minnesota.  This is what we call a casserole.  We also say Duck, Duck, Grey Duck instead of Goose.  Welcome to our funny little culture.

There is nothing particularly notable about this (although I am not widely noted for my cooking skills) except that the hotdish I made called for a half teaspoon of curry.  Which was delicious and really made the whole recipe pop.In fact, I don't recall ever enjoying eating a hot dish more.

Which is more than can be said for other parties (to remain unnamed) who - after eating and enjoying the hotdish discovered that he was, in point of fact, allergic to curry.  He discovered this, as one does, by waking up at three in the morning with his upper lip swollen to a comical degree.*

*Before proceeding on to my point - some Benedryl took care of the problem and everyone is just fine, so it's all right to be amused by the story. 

My point - imagine how frustrating it would be to reach a certain age never having tried Curry (or whatever) only to finally try it, discover how tasty it is, and learn that you were allergic to it and can never have it again.    That's just cold, universe.

And So -  The Vizsla Advent Calendar - Day 4.

Today's gift - remembering the tragic curry tale just related - take a moment to think for a moment about something you really enjoy.  And then take a moment to be grateful that that thing doesn't send you into anaphylactic shock.

It ain't The Gift of The Magi, but it's hard to get those chestnut's roasting with a closed off windpipe, now isn't it.

Vizsla - Giving you the gift of perspective.

Hallmark's 'Say it to Punctuation' series

The Vizsla Advent Calendar - Day 2


For too long now we've been using the written language to express feelings of love and devotion to other people/things/abstract concepts without ever considering how the written language itself feels.

Reflect, if you will, on the humble punctuation marks that make your written expression possible.  Think on the plight of the humble apostrophe.  The underdog Semi-Colon.  The Hardworking Amperand.  These diligent workers- far form being a mere addendum to those 26 little friends we call the Latin or Roman Alphabet - are deserving of so much more.  Of Respect.  Of Appreciation.  Of... dare I say it... Love.

It's with that thought in mind that I'm proud to announce a brand new greeting card line specifically designed to express these feelings to the punctuation marks who have gone so long unrewarded.

You're welcome, universe.

Some samples include-

O, The Joy with which I'm filde,

When I see you, lovely tilde

or how about

You make me weak down to my knees

my foxy friend, parentheses

Or even

A big French Kiss,

From me to you

Our love's not 'grave',

Accent ague

And of course

C is for the Cherished way you point at things above you

A is for the Awesomeness you bring that makes me love you

R is for the Reasons that all make you so Divine

E is Every day it makes me glad that you are mine

T is for the Time we have Oh I can hardly bear it

In every way on every day you are my upwards caret

The Vizsla Advent Calendar triumphant!

A few days ago I discussed my ongoing commitment to not getting around to buying an advent calendar each year.  (You can find said discussion here.)

So today I was actually on my way to purchase a soulless store-bought advent calendar when it occurred to me - Why give in to the commericalization of the holiday and BUY an advent calendar, when I can make one and provide treats for you all the whole month long!*

*Totally not an excuse for cheap daily topics for the next month.  Not at all.

And so -

The Super Awesome Lavish Vizsla Event - (SALVE) Day 1!

A shout out to My own Christmas Standard.*

*Not actually a standard yet, but it WAS once recorded by the Harvard Men's Acapella Chorus, so who are you to pick nits.

Happy Thanksgiving

From  the Vizsla and family to you and yours

Wishing you a very happy Thanksgiving!

No w bring me some turkey

Let's remember what Christmas is really about. Vague disappointment and self loathing.

About this time every year I confront a crucial and time honored question-

Is this the year I get around to buying an advent calendar?

On the off chance that there are any among you who aren't familiar with the item - An advent calendar is basically your basic one page calendar of the Month of December with little flaps on each day that open to reveal a little surprise behind each day.  On some versions it's a piece of candy on each day, on others it's a small toy or a joke that isn't in any way funny.  You get the idea.

The practical upshot is that if you're a slightly OCD child who's excited about the countdown to Christmas it gives you something to really, really obsess about for a few weeks,  Plus - candy.

The hitch - it really only works if you get your shit together early enough to pick one up before December begins.  Otherwise you're into catching up several days at once territory - which feels like cheating and somewhat undermines the pleasing OCD-ness of the whole process.  Once you get to the 3rd or 4th you pretty much let it go for the year and make a vague promise to yourself that next November you'll remember.  Yeah.  Next year you'll get it together.  You're gonna be awesome, next-year guy.  Just you wait and see.

Then next December 3rd rolls around and the cycle begins anew.

At this point I'm not even sure that I actually want an advent calendar in and of itself.  I suspect I might just want to be the sort of person that has his shit together enough to have actually acquired an advent calendar.  Then, no matter how badly one might fail with all of the rest of the unrealistic expectations of the Christmas season, at the very least, at the end of the day, you can say to yourself - 'Hey, how bad can I be?  I have an advent calendar, buddy.  I have my shit together.'

-Let the Season of Christmas self-impeachment commence.

There should be more songs about cheese.

I recently dug out my copy of Robyn Hitchcock's 'Jewels for Sophia' (an album with depressingly little to do with The Golden Girls). 

I was pleased to discover a song that I had long since forgotten called 'The Cheese Alarm'  A catchy tune that contains such lyrics as-

 'Roquefort and Gruyere and slippery Brie, 

All of these cheeses they happen to me.'

It's amazing how something completely random and ridiculous can make you feel ok about your life in general again.

Well played, Mr. Hitchcock.  Well Played.  I will indeed ring your cheese alarm.

You should enjoy it now here.

-Vizsla out

Vizsla Flashback - Your more embarrasing faces of Death

I know we don't like to think about it, but it remains an undeniable fact that we are all, at some point, going to die.

Except of course for Neil Diamond, who will like forever both through his music and through a skillful blend of cybernetic enhancements.

Regardless, what concerns me most about the whole issue is not the thought of dying itself, but rather a more general concern that the death itself not be something ridiculous.  The last thing you want is folk tittering at your funeral.

Yes, I just said tittering.

Here are just a few examples of the many, many embarrassing way that I'd like to not meet my final end...

MAULED BY A GIANT OTTER

Not everyone can pull off Adorable and Badass at the same time

Yes.  There is such a thing as a Giant Otter- I discovered this while perusing Otter-related websites in preparation for a previous column.  Now, I admit to having mixed feelings on this one, because I'm pretty sure that the death itself would be absolutely adorable.  That said, I'd just as soon not have everyone's first reaction to my death be 'Awwwww.... look at his cute little blood-soaked hands!  They're so human!'

SMACKED DOWN BY SOMEONE ELSE'S MID-FLIGHT POO

In the world of air travel, there is a thing called 'Blue Ice'.  This is - to not put too delicate an edge on it - a frozen mixture of disinfectant and other people's dookie.

Now, the airline industry is quick to point out that they are actually forbidden from dumping this in mid-flight, and indeed there is no mechanism to do so.  HOWEVER... they also acknowledge that there have been at least 27 documented incidents in the last few decades of Blue Ice striking the Earth from accidental dislodge - Which sounds an awful lot like a euphemism for the very process that created the need to have blue ice in the first place.

So, yes.  Your chances of dying from being hit by the stuff is roughly the same as winning the lottery.  But all things being equal, I'd rather win the lottery.  If there are three words that I would like to not appear in my Eulogy, 'Other People's Stool' would be them.

THAT THING THAT HAPPENED TO DAVID CARRADINE

As a gesture of respect for the man, I'll leave you to Google that one on your own if you really want to know.

DURING COSPLAY

This.   Guy.   Rules.

Cosplay - for those who are too cool to be familiar with it - is basically a term that was entirely coined in order for adults to justify feeling ok about their desire to play let's pretend in neat costumes.

When we were kids of course we just went ahead and did it without worrying about what the people who saw your Facebook photos might think.  As we get older, apparently it needs a niche brand in order for us to feel OK about doing it.

Now, I want to make perfectly clear - I am all for Cosplay, whatever you want to call it.  As more than a few pictures from Doctor Who conventions of the past will attest (and I made a ROCKIN' Sabalom Glitz, for the record)

I'd just like to avoid the words 'Found Dead in Batman Costume' to be part of my obituary.  It opens up too many questions.

HANDCUFFED TO SOMETHING

Unless it's a nuclear bomb and I'm saving the planet of course.

Here's the back story to this one.  The other morning on Marketplace they had a brief discussion of how the UK was sending out an appeal for people to be a bit more careful and commonsense with handcuffs.

Apparently since the onset of that 50 Shades of Grey phenomenon their Emergency services have seen a jump in calls to free someone inadvertently handcuffed to something inconvenient has risen by some insanely ridiculous percentage*

*No, I don't really understand why they were talking about it on Marketplace either.

Being British, the PSA is mostly along the lines of 'For the love of God, check if you have the keys handy first, there's a good chap'

What this makes me think however is that it's just a matter of time until somebody let's somebody else shackle em up for a nice night of whatever-you're-into-I'm-not-judging-you, only to have the non-shackled party suddenly have a massive aneurysm and die, leaving the shackled party to slowly die of dehydration and embarrassment.

That's gonna be some fun small talk at the wake, now isn't it.
 

A calm and reasoned discussion of Cartesian Dualism as regards HOLY FREAKIN' CRAP IT'S LESS THAN 24 HOURS UNTIL DOCTOR WHO!!!

Let's all note this as the moment the meds wore off...

Vizsla vs. Homogeny

I should establish at the outset of this - I like myself.  Specifically the inside of my brain.  I am a huge fan of the inside of my brain.  I'm consistently like 'go inside of my brain, it's your birthday!'

Seriously.  I'm a huge fan of me.  Across the board.

That established

I get asked on a regular basis where I get the ideas for the things I discuss here.  And the ugly truth is that I don't actually get ideas.  The stuff I write down here is pretty much how it is in the inside of my brain 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

And I like it inside there.  Almost all the time.

I like that I jump randomly between a million different things.  I enjoy the way I never really know where I'm going with any particular thought.  I love that I get so caught up in the details of stupid shit that I frequently forget to ever get around to making the point that I initially started out intending to make.

I think that one of the best things about people is how different everyone can be.

But sometimes I wish I knew what it was like to be part of a crowd.  I wish just once I knew what it was like to belong somewhere.  To know that all of your friends were on the same page with you.  It would be awesome for just once to be able to just say something without thinking it through three times to make sure it didn't make you seem too crazy.

I guess I just wish that for one day I knew what it was like to belong somewhere.

But then the moment passes and I remember how awesome I am.  So it's all good.

Just giving fair warning about this

This Saturday, November the 23rd in the Year of our Lord 2013 is the 50th Anniversary of the first Broadcast of Doctor Who.

And while I am still holding it together reasonably well at this stage just by trying not to think about it, at some point I AM going to lose it completely and unleash more fan-dog geekout fun facts to know and share than many of you might be prepared to handle.

Should the necessity arise, I am prepared to self-medicate in an effort to hold this off until at least Thursday.

But no promises.

Dear Language, I love you

Dear Language,

We've been dancing around this for a while you and I , and I think that it's long past time for me to find a way to put my feelings into words (which is ironic, considering who I'm talking to)

Let me put it simply, language.

I love you.

I love everything about you.  Your spoken forms, the adorable way you transition into written form and leave those crazy little irregularities all over the place, your non-verbal forms.  I love the translate into body language. 

When I think about the way your noun-verb declension functions in the majority of Romance languages, it's all I can do not to tear away your prepositional cases and have my way with you right there.

Don't get me started on your nyms.  Synonyms, antonyms, homonyms.  The rarely acknowledged but still important heteronyms (you and you're 'get me the Polish polish hyjinks. - You're a MINX you are, language.  A minx!)

You know, for a loosely collected assemblage of general agreements made for the sake of functioning together as a collective society, you got it going ON!

I guess I've felt like this for a long time, Language.  I'm sorry it's taken me so long to put these thoughts into words whose common usage convey advanced concepts as communicated through written symbology.

Oh, look at you,  making me get all gooey...

Yours 4-evah,

The Vizsla

Vizlsa Flashback - Newton's Lesser Known Laws

 "I'm more than just a pretty face"

A while back I made a casual reference to Newtons 2nd Law of Thermodynamics (Entropy Increases, as if you didn't know) when it occured to me that there was so much more to old Isaac than just that one.

Sure, we're all up to speed with Newton's thoughts on Motion, Optics, Gravitation, all that disproving the Geocentric model of the universe, blah, blah, blah.

But were you familiar with these, his lesser known laws?

1. You Can Never Have Too Many Dinner Rolls

Isaac was a huge fan of bread products, and found nothing to be more disappointing that when one reached into the bread basket to get another delicious Pilsbury crescent roll only to find that that bastard Leibniz had just taken the last one.  Plus, he observed while strolling one sunny night along the banks of the Cam - They reheate so welle.

2. Ain't nobody got time for that

Sweet Brown, noted scholar of Newtonian Principles and budding mathematician, recently made note somewhat infamously of the bicentennial of this, one of Sir Isaac Newton's most applicable laws.

3. Robert Hooke is a punk ass bitch

To be scrupulously fair, it's not clear that he ever successfully proved this one through repeatable scientific study.  He certainly never published such a thing.

4. If I am rubber and you are glue, then the angle of incidence is shown to be equal to the angle of refraction relative to the 'ooo, snap' factor of the invective hurled.

Isaac got his ass kicked a lot as a youth.

5.  Get thyself to the master of physic with haste when the passing of water brings fire to your girthy loins

Still sound advice.

How Gauche, Angelina Jolie*

So apparently Angelina Jolie is left handed.

I've just learned this thanks to one of those cable channel showings of a movie from a few years earlier that breaks at intervals to tell you fun facts and inside insights about how the movie was made.  The film in question today was 'Salt'.  A movie which I care almost nothing about and had never actually seen before; it was hitherto primarily notable for being a rare instance of a script being written for a male lead character and then having that character recast as a woman*

*Although it appears that this only came about after every other male action lead currently working had been attached to star in the film and then backed out, so it isn't quite the bold step forward that it might otherwise appear to be.  Still notable however.

In any case, one of the fun facts imparted during a break from the movie was that, as I led with, Angelina Jolie is apparently left handed.  This struck m,e as interesting because I'd never actually noticed it despite having seen more than a couple of movies that she's been in.

Which leads me to a different fun fact to observe - since pretty much the beginning of humanity we've associated 'leftness' with 'wrong'.  In large part this is probably because when you see a left-handed person doing something with their left hand that people more commonly use their right hand for (oh grow up), it does convey a vague impression of 'wrongness'.  Because it looks different in a way that you can't quite put your finger on.  (Unless someone has helpfully pointed out in a behind the scenes featurette that the person in question is left handed in which case it's no big deal.)

It's possible.  just possible, mind you, that this is why Angelina Jolie is vaguely terrifying.

Or it could be that her father is John Voight and she probably has bodies buried in her basement.

Could go either way.

*I realized after the fact that I finished this article without explaining the title.  'Gauche' is French for 'Left'.  See how the French just proved my over-arching point?

Are there only 16 of us now?

Internet fashionability is a funny thing.  (And on a related note, I'll happily take my turn at being fashionable now, thanks)

One of the things currently floating around in the aether, mass replicating itself is variations on the Myers Briggs Test results.*

*Which is a pretty strange thing to be meme-ing when you think about it.

And so not only are there people out there casually mentioning that they're INFP or BNSF or whatever, there is also a 'thing' wherein people map those Myers-Briggs Types onto the cast of popular TV shows/animals/etc.

In a sense it's really just the next progression from Survey Monkey and 'Which Character from Gilligan's Island are you?' quizzes*

*Lovie Howell, since you asked

But perhaps I should take this from the beginning.

The Myers-Briggs test (for those who have not had the pleasure) is a system for sorting general personality characteristics based on 4 opposition pairs.

1st - Are you (I)ntroverted or (E)xtroverted (this is pretty self-explanitory and I think most people have a pretty good sense of where they sit on this scale

2nd - Are you (S)ensing or i(N)tuitive - Because only 2 questions in and they've already run out of new letters to use, which seems like a lack of forward planning to me.  Oversimplifying, this basically means - do you look strictly at the details or do you interpret things.

3rd - Are you (T)hinking or (F)eeling - which to oversimplify even more horribly means - do you make decisions with your brain or your heart

4th - Are you more prone to (J)udging or (P)erceiving.  Or to continue oversimplifying - how 'down' are you with things being left open ended or unresolved.

Now that I've given aneurysms to anyone with any actual psychological training, 

I'll get to my point.

If you accept that everyone falls broadly into one of the two categories in each question, then you can set up a Gregor Mendel* style 4X4 grid and plot out all the various combinations (there are 16 possible variations)

*Google him.  You know you want to.  One hint - 'Peas'

This is all well and good and has given countless HR departments endless joy running folk through the testing procedure.  You get your results on a scale, so it isn't just a question of 'am I T or F, but exactly where on the continuum between the two you fall.  Which allowed me to spend several days after taking the test to comment on the extent of my P-ness.  Never.  Stopped.  Being.  Funny.

However, lately I've noticed this 4x4 grid showing up mapped onto all sorts of whoo-ha.  Which Downton Abbey character is your Myers-Briggs type, Which Animal is your Myers-Briggs type.   Which commemorative wang of the founding fathers is your Myers-Briggs type, etc. etc.

The net result of this is that we've kind of forgotten about the whole sliding scale nature of the thing (and the implicit P-ness therein) and we seem to have decreed that everyone in the world is exactly one of these 16 personalities - no exceptions, no variations.  You're either Maggie Smith or a meerkat, end of story.

And that, as I've mentioned before, is why I'm not a huge fan of memes in general.  They seem like they allow you to be creative, but they always end up being limiting.

Haiku Wednesday

Dog has no topic
even Kaley Cuoco's
boobs can not help now

I am Curious (George)

Let's take a moment to talk about monkeys.

Cartoon Monkeys, obviously.

*For starters, and because I am physiologically incapable of not showing off by throwing this sort of thing out there - the title reference is to a Swedish film from 1967 called 'I am Curious (Yellow)' which sadly does not at any point feature a man in a Big Yellow Hat, but WAS once described by Roger Ebert as 'If you life movies about flaccid phallus's, this is the movie for you.'

Now it is a little known and rarely noted fact that I actually work at public television, but do not have any children.  The combination of these two facts means that I'm aware of all the kids shows out there, but rarely if ever actually watch any of them.  This means that until very recently my sum total of thoughts about our cartoon block was boiled down into two facts

1:  The Kratt brothers are terrifying.

2:  The people that animate Caillou piss me off because they don't draw in the background all the way to the edge of the screen, which is just irritating.  Isn't the fact that the kid clearly has cancer enough for him to deal with without his world just stopping all around him?

In any case...

I attended an event recently dressed as the aforementioned Man in the Big Yellow Hat for reasons that aren't terribly relevant here and who are you to judge me anyway.  Watching the Curious George video at this event, and reflecting back on the Curious George books that I remember from when I was young, I was struck by one though.

Holy Crap, The Man in the Big Yellow Hat totally abducted Curious George.

The book (the first one before anybody knew it was going to be a series) mentions the aforementioned Man (itBYH) going on a safari and finding George, then deciding to bring him home with him where George could be (as titled) 'curious' about things and get into wacky misadventures.

At no point does the book mention or depict George's parents, frantically swinging from vine to vine putting up 'Have you seen me' flyers, nor does it go into details of how he convinced George to get into his windowless panel van.

And so years go by, George lives with the Man having adventures and all that, clearly having a fatherly affection for the guy (This is called Stockholm Syndrome*, people).  And here's a point worth noting - along with his actual name (it's 'Ted', for those interested in the Curious George Arcana) another thing that never gets mentioned is 'Ted's personal life.  Because he apparently doesn't have one.  At no point is there even an inkling of 'Mrs Ted' (or, as seems more likely once you start looking at it, 'Ted's boyfriend.)

*Amusingly, there is a whole swathe of people out there who refer to the phenomenon (developing feelings of loyalty or attraction to your kidnapper as a way of minimizing your sense of dis empowerment) as 'Helsinki Syndrome' solely because it was referred to (completely incorrectly) by that name in the movie 'Die Hard'.  Which is, if nothing else, an object lesson in checking your sources.

The most insightful moment as regards 'Ted' actually comes in the occasional glimpses into his closet (insert cheap joke here).  In an attempt to make an amusing inside joke about the way his iconic yellow outfit has changed in minor ways over the years, the cartoonists regularly show him to have a closet full of the exact same yellow suits and hats, all with minor variances to depict the slightly different ways he's been drawn over the years.

I think you'll agree that based on the evidence the answer is clear.

1:  Monkey theft

2: repeated wearing of the identical outfit with only minor variances.

3:  little to no apparent human inter-relationship and a tendency toward behavior repetition.

The Man in the Big Yellow Hat clearly is a high functioning Aspergers patient.

This does not, however, excuse kidnapping.

 Don't change my routine.

 

Very few dogs are on anti-depressants.

It's worth noting - as far as just being happy in the moment and not letting things get to you unduly, dogs are head, shoulder and tail ahead of people.

That established, it's come to my attention that plenty of humans are prone to periods of mild to moderate depression (any more severe that that and you really shouldn't be talking to a dog about your troubles, you should be talking to a trained therapist.  You might also mention to them that you've taken to talking to dogs, as long as you're already there....)  Since I'm assured by reliable sources that the big three antidepressants preferred by dogs (Drinking out of the toilet, scooting, and licking your own snack-basket*) are for some reason off the table for the human population, here I present instead an overview of things people can do to cure those 'I only got two legs blues'

*If I might quote Bobby Cobb

A warm bath

-Surprisingly not as effective at curing depression as it feels like it should be.  Turns out that we use the word 'Wallowing' for a reason.

A brisk shower

-More helpful than you expect it's going to be.  Plus it never hurts.  Unless you're a wicked witch or made of sugar.  Then it would probably hurt.

Going for a run

-Less helpful than it feels like it should be.  Mostly it just allows you to reflect on how much less good of shape you're in than you would like to be.  Plus you get all sweaty.

Working out

-Same as for the above entry on Running, except with the added bonus of being surrounded by people who ARE in better shape than you are.

Meaningless Sex

-Well, now this depends on what you're depressed about.  If your depression is centered around 'I'm such a tramp, I'll never find true love because I'm giving the milk away for free, etc.' than this is not your option.  If your depression is based around 'I'm so unattractive, no one would ever want to have sex with me', than this one is golden.

Meaningful Sex.

-If you have access to this, what are you depressed about?

Buying yourself something pretty

-Again, it depends on context.  If you're sad because you have no money and you're about to miss another mortgage payment than this one is probably not a great option.

Hearing about the discovery of Doctor Who episodes thought to have been destroyed forever in 1974 turning up somewhere in Africa and about to be released on DVD

-Amazingly effective.  Bit hard to orchestrate though.

Drinking at home alone in the basement

-Turns out that this is 'unhealthy'.  Yes.  We were all surprised.

Snuggling up under covers with a dog and watching the entire Key to Time series.

-Best.  Thing.  Ever.

Vizsla Flashback - Summer Vacation Plans of the SCOTUS

Well, Winter is nearly upon us, so what better time to look back at the beginning of summer - -those carefree days - those carefree Supreme Court Justices...


Originally published June 26th, 2013

With the tiresome final batch of decisions typed, collated and handed down, it's time once again for the august members of the Supreme Court of the United States of America to go on their long awaited Summer Holidays.

Which leads the average Vizlsa on the street to wonder - how exactly do the guardians of constitutional justice in these, our United States spend their summer down time?

Well wonder no longer, here we can now finally reveal -

The official Summer Vacation Plan Docket of the Supreme Court of the United States of America

Chief Justice John Roberts

Must return to the underworld for his annual six month obligatory term as Hades' bride due to contractual obligations negotiated by his mother Demeter, Goddess of Harvest

Clarence Thomas

Chasin' tail and pleasin' the ladies. Possibly considering getting an addition to the barbwire tattoo around left bicep.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Attempting to decrease number of youth in her neighborhood who choose to wear pants at an unreasonably low beltline through combination of disapproving glances and dissenting calls to neighborhood mothers. Also enrolled in gymnastic pole dancing class at neighborhood Y.

Antonin Scalia

Resuming the skinning and swallowing whole of live babies. Possibly getting in some light reading.

Anthony Kennedy

Will attempt once again to successfully throw 'fishbowl' style swingers party. Will spend lonely evening staring forelornely at the keys to his '93 Dodge Viper, sitting alone in bottom of fishbowl.

Elena Kagan

Drinking until the shaking and spiritual emptiness pass. So many hopes... So many dreams...

Sonia Sotomayor

Volunteering time teaching calculus to deaf students from impoverished neighborhoods in attempt to cement moral superiority over Breyer

Stephen Breyer

No one knows. No one asks. All anyone will say is that he'll return some time in mid august with haunted eyes, occasionally muttering something about 'them'.

Samuel Alito

For $35, anything you like. Also macrame

Happy/Sad

I've encountered a phenomenon lately that I like to call 'Songs that lie to you by having a deceptively perky tune which causes you to not notice how depressing the lyrics are.'*

*Note to self - come up with shorter term for this.

Case in point - The song 'The Wrong Direction' by Passenger.  Now obviously Mike Rosenberg is clearly a leprechaun, thus firmly disproving several of my earlier posts (but what can you do, right?)

At one point I actually posted a link to this song on my Facebook page with a brief word about this fun little song I'd stumbled across, only to receive a couple of responses along the lines of 'Are you on crack?  Those are the most depressing lyrics ever.*'  At which point I was compelled to actually listen to the lyrics and concur that they were indeed depressing as all get out.  Which renders the nice lady enthusiastically playing the trumpet next to the wading pool somewhat inexplicable, IMHO, but there you go.

* But seriously - Have you never listened to... like.. ANYTHING by The Smiths?

I mention this because my friend Brian's father passed away last night.  Today is Brian's birthday. And because I know some extraordinarily wonderful and unusual people (and Brian would be on the upper end of the spectrum for both of those adjectives) he requested Facebook posts that combine the two sentiments ('Happy Birthday' and 'So sorry for your loss') in some sort of amusing way*

*I should mention - this is a man who once signed a condolence card to me with the words 'Grandma died because you didn't love her enough.' **

**And then realized that the card was still being passed around the office for others to sign.*** 

***In desperation he taped a small post it note with the words 'do not read' over his message so that the rest of the office wouldn't believe him to be a heartless monster.****

****I can't even begin to tell you how long I laughed about every single facet of that story.

There are somewhere along the number of 200 responses to his post with various attempts at combining the 'happy' and 'sad' messages in some way that alchemically becomes 'funny' and then 'healing'

About halfway down the list there is a response from the smartest man I know.  I'm not going to identify him here, because his head is already big enough as it is.*

*I kid, Jim.  I kid because I love.

Jim said - 'Happy sorrow...I guess that's what it's like to be an adult.'

So... maybe it's a mistake to try to separate the perky tunes from the sad words.  Maybe that's exactly where they're both supposed to be.

I'll leave you with the song that started this whole train of thought*

*But seriously - what the Hell is Nuno Bettencourt doing with his hair???

A kind thought for the Humble Snickerdoodle

Yes.

It is in Iambic Pentameter.

Oh Cookie, soft with crispy edge abound

and roll in cin'mon sugar in my soul

for oft shall cookie goodness find profound

as grains of spices stirred then roll'd in bowl

How glad your puffy center moist and true

that such delight has Jove 'pon oven spray'd

His Pam of Wonder, might from such you

From Cookie Sheet your freedom ne'er delayed

At Hundred Thrice plus Fifty for degrees

Your oven rack too high or low, but no!

Your velvet crumbly shattering in breeze

In presence thine all other cookies blow!

But Soft, my Snickerdoodle beast am I

for with your gift so tasty I repay

For shall I rend, devour thee, oh, aye

And also thirty or forty of your closest friends, punk.

There may additionally be milk.

Candy Corn, J'Accuse!

Being a portion of the transcript of the prosecution's case in the People of West Lancaster, MA v. Candy Corn

Prosecutor Markie Post:

Sir, if you could please state your name for the record

Candy Corn:

Um, I'm not really a 'sir'

PMP:

I beg your pardon

CC:

I'm not really a 'sir'. 

PMP:

You're not?

CC: 

No, I'm more of a conglomerate anthropomorphism of a type of candy.  Not really replete with sex organs.

PMP:

Can we just go along with the social convention and leave your sex organs out of it, for the sake of clarity?

CC:

I don't actually have...

PMP: 

Your honor, permission to treat the witness as hostile?

Judge Judy:

You may

PMP: 

Is it not true, Sir, that you are in fact the confection known as 'Candy Corn'

CC:

I am, yes.

PMP:

And is it not also true that you totally suck?

CC:

Wow, you weren't kidding about the 'hostile' thing, were you.

PMP:

Your honor, the witness is being evasive

JJ:

Answer the counsel's questions please.  And I remind you, you are under oath.

CC:

What's even happening here?

PMP:

Are you not, for the record, the type of candy first created in the 1880s, deliberately molded to mimic the shape of the grain known in the United States as 'Corn'

CC:  

I am, yes.

PMP: 

And do you not, in fact, suck more than any other candy known to man

CC:  

I object

JJ: 

I'm not actually sure that the witness can object

CC:

But your honor.  How can anyone possibly say I suck more than any other candy.  Leaving aside the fact that it's a completely subjective statement, I mean... my God.  There are Marshmallow Peeps out there! 

JJ:  

He has a point Counsellor.  Marshmallow peeps do suck significant ass.

CC:  

And what of Black Licorice?

PMP:

I will not allow you to disparage Black Licorice in this court of law!

CC:

Why are you wearing a bikini?

at this point Judge Judy cleared the courtroom