Happy New Year, Whoever the Hell You Are

Last night I received a text.

This was in no way unusual as I'm kind of a sixteen year old girl when it comes to texting - although I am physically incapable of using 'cute ' texting abbreviations and feel compelled to completely type out things like 'See You', 'Too, To or Two', 'Be Right Back' and 'Yes, You Are Contributing to the Escalating Collapse of the English Language Simply for the Sake of Saving Half a Second To Completely Type out that You Will Be Right Back'*

*Other notable accomplishments of the sixteen year old girl of which I am not capable - Brushing my hair, legally attending a slumber party of other sixteen year old girls, and menstruating.  

No, what was notable about this text was that it came from a completely unfamiliar number and said simply-

'You still up for a question?'

I took a moment to try to figure out if this was a number I should be familiar with and failed to do so.  But they had bothered to spell out 'You' properly, so I figured What the Hell and sent back -

'Sure.  What's up?'

After a minute or two of sitting quietly and being mildly curious about what the question was and if it would give me any pointers as to whom I talking with, I received back -

'Sorry i dialed a wrong number.  I am a realtor was trying to reach client and pressed 1 wrong number.  Sorry.'

On my first read of this I missed the word 'realtor' and spent a few minutes wondering what sort of 'client' this mysterious texter had.  Were they a Lawyer?  A Prostitute? A Drug Dealer of some kind?  Then I read the word 'Realtor' and realized that my second guess had been the correct one.*

*Cheap shot at Realtors there.

Now, obviously they lost a little bit of ground with comma usage there (not to mention the uncapitalized 'i'...) BUT - they did have the courtesy to send a reply that both explained and apologize, and I'm a huge fan of both of those activities.  So I happily plunged forward and sent back -

'No worries.  That would explain why I have no idea who the Heck I'm talking to :)'

Note both the dangling participle and the old school hand crafted emoticon.  I am not myself above criticism.

Clearly the realtor was an amiable sort, because a moment later I got back -

'Ha ha yea that's true.  Have a good night'

Now, commas aside I confess I was growing fond of the realtor by this stage based entirely on their manners.  Which is a little sad when you think about it.  What does it say about our society when that little amount of common courtesy and good manners is so unexpected and striking.  Nothing good, that's what.  This is what comes of allowing people to just stop using vowels.

And so I sent back -

'And to you.  For the record, depending on what the question was my answer was going to be either four or Sacramento'

Yes, I see the missing comma now.  It was late.  I was tired.

A minute or so passed and I got back -

'ha ha thats funny'

To which I responded -

'They're both solid answers'

I never got a reply to that one, so either the Realtor had finally realized that I was never going to stop responding unless they did or they got a hold of their client and were having a more relevant conversation at that moment.

I like to think that my mysterious realtor found the answer that he or possibly she was looking for.  Who can say.  All I can add is this -

'Happy New Year, mysterious Realtor out there somewhere in the night.  I hope you found the answer you sought.  And if the question was either What's the Capitol of California or the Square Root of Sixteen, I like to think I might have even been the guiding star that set you on the course.

Happy New Year

Vizsla Flashback - Notable Joans

It goes without saying (except that I'm going to go ahead and say it.  Which, really, everybody does immediately after saying 'it goes without saying', which makes you wonder why we bother with the phrase in the first place.  But I digress...)

It goes without saying that Joan Jett and the Blackhearts' greatest hits album is just about the best guilty pleasure record out there.  In point of fact, I really tried to use The Blackhearts in The great Vizsla Theoretical backup band knife fight discussion of last month.  Except that I couldn't think of anybody who stood a chance against them.  Not even the Robert Palmer girls, and they're cannibal robots.*

*Which may mean that they eat other robots... 

Allow me to take this opportunity to refer you to just one of the many reasons this album kicks ass - 

Joan Jett, being awesome

So clearly, Joan Jett is supercool.  But when you think about it, 'Joan' isn't a name that particularly lends itself to 'cool'

My name is Joan, and I'm cool anyway.

(Although I may have had a little work done...)

 The only other notable Joan's that I'd even consider in the catagory-

Cusack

Clearly the coolest Joan of all time

It's not her fault that her brother is apparently kind of a jerk in real life.

 Osborne

I know, I know.  I didn't used to think so either.

But I saw her make a really gracious acceptance speech once that made me think, '

Hey Joan Osborne.  You're pretty cool.

 Of Arc

Come on.

She was pretty awesome.

I'm glad that we've settled this issue.

#NoMoreFreakingGates

A little while ago our little town was embroiled in a frankly ridiculous bit of scandal that actually made it so far as getting a segment on The Daily Show.

I speak of course... of #pointergate

The quick backstory (as that scandal itself isn't really what I'm here to talk about today)-

Once upon a time

There was a good and beautiful (probably) new Mayor of The City

For reasons that aren't particularly important here

she ran afoul of Mean Mr. Police Union Steward*

One day, while the Mayor was skipping through a meadow

looking for photo ops at get out the vote events 

prior to the midterm elections

She came across Mr. African-American-Vote-Turnout-Volunteer

(Who admittedly has a bit of a checkered past, 

but seems to be trying to turn his life around)

This!  

This was the photo op our good and beautiful 

(probably) mayor was looking for!

And so they had their picture taken, 

pointing at each other in that cheesy 

'Hey, we're having a picture taken together!' way

Mean Mr. Police Steward saw this 

and knew that this was his opportunity

So he used his magic mirror and called his best friend

Mr. Local News Station So Pathetically Stupid 

That It Defies Belief

and said to him, 'Look!'

Our new Mayor makes the dreaded 'Gang Sign' 

to a man clearly guilty of being outdoors while not white. 

"Spread the news of the vile 'Gang Sign' so that all can see

that New Mayor supports Gangs 

and not The Good and Beautiful (occasionally) Mr. Police Department

And so Mr. Local News Station spread the word far and wide, 

showing all the dreaded 'Gang Sign'

And all who saw the photo looked at it for a moment an said,

"Um... they're just pointing at each other.

I have pictures of me doing that with my grandmother..." 

And Mr. News Station took to the air and said,

"Nu-uh.  Totes Gang Sign.

Plus, we never said it was 'gang sign', 

we only said Mr. Police Department said that 

and besides it's totes not racist 

because we're just reporting and look - 

totes Gang Sign!"

The Mr. News Station took to the air and said that 8 more times, 

because Mr. News Station is a Fucking Idiot. 

And the whole thing became known as 'Pointergate' because we as a society are also kind of stupid and think that just adding the suffix 'Gate' on the end of anything makes it mean 'scandal'

It doesn't.

'Watergate' was called 'Watergate' because that's the name of the Freaking Hotel, not because it was a scandal about 'Water' in some way.  If you give a quick glance to the wikipedia page dedicated to the subject it's readily apparent how completely out of control the whole thing has gotten.** 

Come up with your own name for new scandals people.  It's about standards

*Now, normally I am 100% pro-Cop.  Make no mistake about that.  But in this circumstance it seems pretty clear that the Union Steward was attempting to use a deliberately misleading smear campaign for political points and that is not OK.  Cops are held to higher standard because they are supposed to be better than that.

**And don't even get me started on the little sub-human trash perpetuating Gamergate.  Mostly because I'm afraid of what they might do to my online information.  There is, thankfully, very little they could do to my Credit Score that I haven't already done myself.  Which in this case I'm going to call a win.

The Low Maintenance Verification Test

Yesterday at work I was chatting with a coworker, as one does, about a different co-worker, as one also does.*

*In a super friendly positive way, not in a bitchy behind their back kind of way.**

**Because that totally never happens***

*** That sentence is going to get super ironic in couple paragraphs

At one point I said something along the line of 'Oh, she's great.  She's super low maintenance.'  Then I remembered that we're now in an open plan office space and she could very well have heard me say that. 

So I felt awkward about it for a minute. 

And then it occurred to me that 'low maintenance' is not actually an insulting thing to be called

So I felt OK for a minute.

Then it occurred to me that I'm not really offended by anything at any time and so I might not be the best judge on that sort of thing, and then I was completely confused about the entire issue.

And so I took an informal workplace poll.

Helpful friend Sarah at work (she of the Ducks and Bunnies) thought about the question for a moment and said, 'You know- if you ARE offended by being called Low Maintenance that kind of proves you aren't.' 

And thus was witnessed the birth of a beautiful thing -

A sentence that fact checks itself.

Think how amazing the world would be if all sentences in English contained that feature.  Michele Bachmann would never be able to speak again, and that alone makes it worth doing.

All we need is a complete reconstruction of idiomatic grammar, so anyone out there with a time machine and a passing interest in linguistics, this is your call.

Vizsla Flashback - The Tale of Jeff - The Man Who Named Salads.

Orginally titled 'And Johnny Appleseed can suck it.'

Gather round you all and hear the tale

The Tale of a Man who made the world better

The Tale of a Man who righted wrongs and healed nations

The Tale of Jeff

The Man Who Named Salads.

It may seem hard to believe, my children, but once - many years ago, all salads were just called 'salad'

In these confusing times, even the simplest of lunches was naught but a festival of confusion an dark surprises, for upon ordering 'salad' all excepted with sad certainty that you could be served any number of different options

-It might have lettuce, tomato and cheese

-It might have corn ships and tomato

-It might be a jiggling egg based affair

-Or some chicken, mayo, and potato

'WOE!' cried the people, for their suffering was great.  'How shall we live with this uncertainty?  How can one small word encompass such diversity??  And in what universe is Jello with pineapple chunks suspended on it a 'salad'?  I'm sorry, simply putting it on top of a lettuce leaf in no way makes that a salad, I don't care how much whipped cream you dollop upon it!'

And then the people fell silent into despair, for there was no salvation apparent to them, and they resigned themselves to an eternity of ill-defined diet food.

And it was thus, as the people's despair lay thick like an itchy blanket upon the land, that a child was born.

And his mother did name him 'Jeff'.  For she knew that one day he would be the one foretold who would sort this whole 'salad thing' out.

And as Jeff grew unto a man he did find himself in his local cafeteria, and on seeing a simple concoction of lettuce, tomato, onion and crouton he did say, 'Gosh - That looks like a salad that belongs in this house.  And so I shall name it 'House Salad.  And it shall come with a balsamic vinaigrette.  And all Men Shall know it thus.'  

And there was great rejoicing, for the people now knew that he was truly the savior come, and that all light pre-meal preparations were well and truly on the road to clarity.

'But how,' said one poor and suffering chef, 'How shall we know this salad?' and in bitter tears he laid upon the feet of Jeff a true mastery of lettuce, boiled egg, leftover kitchen meats, and optional blue cheese or ranch dressing.  And Jeff spoke to the Chef, and said to him, 'This salad stands, chef, as a testament to your ability to find a way to dispose of leftover scrap meat.  And so shall it be always know for you - the Chef Salad'

And the chef cried tears of great joy as the people rejoiced.

And further salads were brought to Jeff.  'Chicken' and 'Egg' were dismissed from his sight, as they aren't actually salads, really more of sandwich spreads, and Jeff had no time for them other than to observe that it's always a mistake to put celery in them, I don't care what anybody says.  It's just wrong.  In exactly the same way that it's just wrong to put peppers in cornbread.

And thus was 'Waldorf', 'Cobb', and 'Taco' established.  'Ceaser' being thrown out by Jeff who was in a puckish mood that day, having just caught 'I, Claudius' on Masterpiece Theater.  'Pasta', and 'Ambrosia' then followed.  'Fruit' was brought before Jeff and was greeted with nothing but a long, withering gaze until it finally felt awkward and backed slowly out of the room.

But then, like all beacons of Hope, Jeff finally met his downfall.  At the hands of 'Three Bean' did Jeff fall.  

But some say - and I believe them - that if you listen and believe, on a dark and silent night you can still hear Jeff crying to the emptiness of the void, safe in the knowledge that his task was complete, knowing that he had well and truly cleared up the worlds salad confusion.  And on those night, if you listen and believe, you can hear his voice on the wind, shouting-

'Why the Hell would anyone put Jell-O on a lettuce leaf???? WHY??????'

Vizsla Flashback - So, If you're an identical/clone race, does that make dating harder or easier?

I was thinking about Sleestaks earlier today (The real ones from the Sid and Marty Krofft TV series 1974-76.  I refuse to acknowledge any others).  Addendum Note - The Show in Question was 'Land of the Lost'

"We have great personalities..."
-The Sleestaks

And it occurred to me to wonder... if everyone in your race looks exactly the same, what does that do to your social life?  Does every encounter end up with creepy masturbatory undertones?  Does the fact that every single possible sexual partner looks exactly like your Mom AND Dad not cause a lot of late nights shuddering and doing shots of Sleestak Tequila?

I can hear many of you now pointing out that the Sleestaks were essentially bestial (despite their occasionally phenomenal toolmaking abilities...  seriously, do you remember the one where they'd made a periscope?) and so - much like Komodo Dragons or people who support Michelle Bachman,  they probably don't spend much, if any, time thinking and just do what they want when the urge takes them.

All fine and good... until you remember Enik the Altrusian.  He's either a descendant or an ancestor of the Sleestaks (sources are vague on this point) because the Sleestaks are in what I might describe as a sociopathatic warp elipse.  That is, I might describe it that way if I wanted to come across as a pretentious douche.  In that I don't, I'll just say that every thousand years or so the Sleestaks went from technologically advanced to animal and back again, over and over again.  

And yet (apart from turning gold and wearing tunics - which at least shows that they at some point develop a strain of puritan modesty about their lizard-bits) they still look exactly the same as one another.

And so we're back to the original question.  What does your lonely young Sleestak look for, exactly, while cruising the Sleestak personals?  'Young gold female - big eyes - loves camping, tunics,  and long walks by the lava pit - Seeks same'?

For that matter, say you were married (assuming Sleestaks do such a thing) and you're accused of being unfaithful.  How on Earth would you even know?  Do they set up special code words to make sure they don't accidentally bang the cleaning lady?  

And more - What possible point would there even BE to cheating on your spouse if every single person you could possibly cheat on her with was exactly the same as she was?

No wonder their society keeps collapsing.

No Hobo

For those who may not be aware (and why should you, unless you're stalking me - and if you are I'm kind of OK with it) one of my side jobs involves mentoring High School age students.

Regularly being around groups of what we might refer to as 'the young people' occasionally makes a couple things apparent to the casual observer.

1. Apparently they're not fond of being referred to as 'The Young People'

2. I'm old.

This second point was brought home to me yet again the other night when I referred to something as 'Totes awesome' and was greeted by pitying stares.  Eventually one of them said, 'Yeah... you need to stop...'

This sort of thing is, of course, more or less to be expected and not particularly surprising, but a more oblique example came up this week when one of my students was (for reasons that aren't important here) listing the names of things along the street.  (Tree.  Tree.  Hydrant.  Tree.  Mailbox.  Tree)

Getting into the spirit of the list I chimed in with, 'Hobo'.

Again, the blank stares.

After an awkward moment I said, 'You know... like a drifter.  A..um..  Miscreant?  Ne'er do well?'

Then, to the relief of all, I dropped the subject and they went back to talking about whatever the young people are talking about these days.

The question I'm left with is - Do we not say 'Hobo' anymore?  Is the term so completely out of fashion that they've never heard it?  Is this a knock-on effect of our information age where it's now (in the US in any case) nearly impossible to completely drop off the grid and ride the rails from town to town helping people and occasionally turning into the incredible hulk?

Remember the Hobo, people.  His lovable DT-ridden visage shall not again this way pass.

Totes Sad.

Totes.

Meat Meet Vegan, Vegan Meet Meat

Let's be upfront about something here.

I am totally down with Vegans

No anti-Vegan sentiment here.  The title of this column should in no way be taken as anti-Vegan sentiment.*

* That said, I will note that 'Vegan' is one of three things that you'll never have to ask someone if they are.  The other two are of course 'Born Again Christian' and 'Attending Crossfit'.

No, I want to address a broader issue here.  Namely, a shocking lack of awareness that I've noticed lately regarding knowing who ones target audience is.

It all began a few weeks ago during a breakfast run to Arby's.*

*I have a weakness for the Sausage, Egg and Cheese wrap.  Sue me.

On display in large friendly colors on the counter was a large display for their new ad campaign - 'Meet the Meats'.  Which contained those three chilling words followed by colorful pictures of the meats in question - All clearly labelled just so you were absolutely certain which animal you were devouring.

Vegan included for scale reference

Now, as a sensible person my first reaction to this ad campaign was obviously - For the love of crap!  I don't want to meet the meats!  I'm about to consume the meats, I don't want to be on a first name basis with them.

Fortunately, as noted in the above picture, I had a trusty vegan with me to bring the entire situation into perspective.  You see, from her perspective, the whole campaign made absolute sense.  Meet the Meat.  Once you personalize someone their flesh gets much less delicious.

That... came out SO much creepier than I intended...  But the point still stands.

So what we have there is Arby's putting a lot of time and effort into a campaign that could only possibly appeal to the exact group that has absolutely no interest in consuming their product.

Think before you print these things, people.  That's all I'm saying.

A Rebuttal From (Allegedly 'Runaround') Sue

In the interest of providing a public forum for all sides of the issue, we here at The 42nd Vizsla present, in their entirety, the long suppressed rebuttal letter from Susan McAnthrop of Mt. Vine, Indiana.  You may know her better by the undesired nickname 'Runaround Sue'

Dear Dion,

First of all, it's Susan.  Not Sue.  Susan.  Which you well know, you Jackass.  I can only assume that your insistence on using the diminutive is merely due to your childish need to attempt to disempower me while simultaneously covering up for the fact that you're too stupid to come up with any significant number of rhymes for the word 'Susan'.  Hell, you could barely manage to find some for 'Sue'

Look Dion.  We went out ONCE.  For COFFEE.  To be honest, I only agreed to go because you asked me so damn many times that I figured it would be easier to just go once and be done with your pathetic ass. 

But no, you instead turned the whole thing into a lurid and libelous attack on my character in a jaunty 4/4 beat.  

I actually tried to take the high ground on this Dion, I really did.  But there's only so many cover band renditions of a personal attack on ones character that one can listen to before one is compelled to set the record straight.  I mean, honestly Dion, you enormous Butthole- Do you know how many cover bands perform your hatchet job of a song?  ALL OF THEM.

So, Let's take it verse by verse, shall we.

Here's my story, sad but true
It's about a girl that I once knew
She took my love then ran around
With every single guy in town
Ah, I should have known it from the very start
This girl will leave me with a broken heart
Now listen people what I'm telling you
A-keep away from-a Runaround Sue.

Sad but true my ASS.  Again - COFFEE.  ONCE.  That is in no way taking your love.  Hell, I didn't even want to take your coffee.  Let alone the four thousand follow up phone calls begging me to go to dinner afterwards.  For the love of CRAP, Dion - Take a F*cking hint.

And - 'Every Single Guy in town'?  SERIOUSLY?  I went to a malt shop ONCE with Bobby Johanson, so don't give me that 'every guy in town' bullshit.  I mean, Jesus Christ, I know full well that you pressured Julie Ann McKenzie into giving you a Pity Handjob behind Ed's last homecoming, but did I feel compelled to write a peppy rock-anthem about it?  No.  No I freaking well did not.  It's called class, asshole.

I miss her lips and the smile on her face
The touch of her hair and this girl's warm embrace
So if you don't wanna cry like I do
A-keep away from-a Runaround Sue

OK, let's make this perfectly clear for everybody.  YOU NEVER GOT NEAR ANY OF THAT, DION.  NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Hell, I don't think I even smiled in that coffee shop, you were such miserable, shitbag company. 

Here's the moral and the story from the guy who knows
I fell in love and my love still grows
Ask any fool that she ever knew, they'll say
Keep away from-a Runaround Sue

Seriously, Dion?  F*CKING SERIOUSLY??  You basically write a pop hit calling me a whore and end it by saying how you still totes love me more and more???

Get help Dion.

Get Freaking HELP.

In the meantime, feel free to keep an eye out on the pop charts for me new dance club hit - 'Dion has chronic problems maintaining an erection'.

Susan Out.


We thank you for your attention and hope that this has furthered the cause of providing a more even handed picture of events.
 

Vizsla Flashback - Drunk Texts from Batman

We've all been there, so this is in no way about judging.

However, reports have come to light that it is not just we, the every-dog on the street who are susceptible to sending an ill advised text message after having a couple of drinks*.  According to reliable sources, no less than Batman himself falls into that very trap on a regular basis.

*Seriously, why is there no app to lock texting if it detects that you're drunk?

Thank You, Internet, for making it possible to find a picture of just about anything

Consider the following examples of...

 Drunk Texts From Batman

Names listed as they appear in the BatCel

You can occasionally tell what Batman has been drinking just from the mood of the text.  For example, Tequila clearly makes him mean...

Batman- 

 Hey AL, get here quik, i ned your help burying a prostitute.

....?  - 

ButlerNumeroUno 

Batman-  

HA!!  You totaley fell for that didnt you DUMBASS!  LMBAO!

Shall I take it that you require the services of a taxi to return home this evening sir? - ButlerNumeroUno

Batman-  

You shud have seen ur face!!

You can't see my face, sir.  We're miles away from each other -  

ButlerNumeroUno

Batman-  

Shut up and send me a fukin taco.

I'm on my way -  

ButlerNumeroUno

Whereas you can always tell that he's been drinking bourbon when he becomes inappropriately sentimental...

Batman-  

U kno, u r totally the best.  Serriously.  U're Awesome man

Um... Thanks.  Where are you? -  

Boy, (Wonder)

Batman-  

No, reelly.  I totalley love u man.  Totalley.

Maybe we should be done crimefighting for the night... -  

Boy, (Wonder)

Batman-  

Reely.  Im gunna tell everybody man.  I totalley love U.  I'm gonna tellevrybody.

My nam is Bruce.  And I luv Dick!

Please tell me you're not driving. -  

Boy, (Wonder)

In contrast, a beer-drunk Batman appears to just get a little silly.

Batman-  

knok knock

Who is this? -  

E. Nigma

Batman-  

No, u r supposd to say who's there.  Illtryit agan.  knock knock

 Who gave you this number?-  

E. Nigma

Batman-  

Ur not doin it rite!  Knock knok!!!!

<sigh>  Fine.  Who's there.-

E. Nigma

Batman-  

I'm bateman, bitsh!

 You're Jason Bateman?-  

E. Nigma

Batman-  

Nooo!!!  Batmaan!!  Geez.

 You do realize you just totally gave me your phone number-  

E. Nigma

And Gin... well...

.

Batman-  

Hey baby.  Check THIS out...

Oh My God, is that a picture of your... Oh for Christ sake.  Seriously?????-  

 PrettyKitty

Seriously.  Maybe he should have just stuck with the Batsignal.

Until next time.  Same Bat Time, Same Bat Texts.

-Vizsla Out

Oh Universe, I Can't Stay Mad at You...

For the last few months, as my ever decreasing output here can attest, my relationship with the Universe as a whole has been best described as 'Not Awesome'.

Transcending the usual level of 'Life is nothing but one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead*', which I think most of us are more or less used to by this point, since sometime around June the Universe has been showing me a level of vindictiveness which would usually indicate that it had come home early from work one day and found me having sex with its wife.

*If I might quote Homer Simpson 

It was therefore with some surprise that I was greeted yesterday by a surprising number of goodwill gestures from the aforementioned universe, almost as if I'd bumped into the Universe at a party thrown by a mutual friend and spent the entire evening having it say to me, 'Hey, you and me... we're still cool...  right?'

It began as I got into my car to head into work.

For those who aren't already aware (and why on Earth would you be) I've been working a couple of additional side jobs lately in order to make a little extra money.  One of those side jobs involves receiving  tips (And I'd completely forgotten how pleasant that is, btw.)  What was less pleasant was that I'd completely misplaced about thirty dollars in tips last week.  I'd pretty much written the money off, since that's not even close to the worst thing to happen over the summer.  But then Yesterday morning as I opened the drivers side door to my car I was greeted by a small wad of cash which had apparently slipped out of my pocket and fallen into the space between the seat and the floor.  I can't imagine how it could have been there all that time without my having noticed it, so I'm assuming that this was the opening salve in my day of apologies from the Universe.*

*And for the record, 'I'm sorry, here is a small pile of money' is NOT the worst apology in the world to receive.  Use that information how you will.

The next apology came when I arrived at the parking ramp.  I hadn't mentioned it (in that I haven't written a column in almost two weeks) but for the last week and a half there has been a new car stealing my space every single day*.  A tiny, smug little electric blue Toyota Scion.  Sitting in my** spot, glaring at me to say, 'Look how compact and in tune with youth culture I am.  I'm specifically designed to appeal to Millennials who have nothing better to do than destroy my day by taking my parking spot while posting selfies on Instragram and doing something on Snapchat which I suspect is sexting but I'm not entirely sure because I still don't really understand what Snapchat is except that I think it's about boobs.

*Followers of the great Grey Sedan debacle of 2013 will understand the seriousness of this offense.

**Not actually my spot in any legal or contractual sense, I've just been parking there a long time.

But yesterday the smug little Scion was not there.  I had my spot again.  The world once again made sense.

Then I received a long awaited rebate check in the mail.

And so on, and so on, my day became one long reacharound from the greater forces of the universe, all seemingly hellbent on apologizing for all the wrongs of the last few months.

I swear to god, at one point I actually heard the Universe say, 'Come on baby.. I've changed.  I'm different now.  I'd never hurt you like that again.'

OK universe.  Maybe.  Just maybe. I might be willing to try again with you.

But I'm going to need jewelery first.

It's about standards.

Vizlsa Flashback - This is Literally a Dilemma

Recently there was a great deal of hue and cry across the Internet (which is fair enough as that's pretty much what the internet is for.)

However, as opposed to the usual topics of hue and cry (Religion, Politics, and Ben Affleck) this time the H&C was coming squarely from the folks who care deeply about language.  Which meant that for once most of it was spelled and punctuated correctly, which made a pleasant change.

What began it was this; The Online Oxford English Dictionary - Gold Standard for Scrabble players and pedants alike - updated their definition of the word 'Literally'.  After giving the correct definition of the word they appended:

'informal used for emphasis or to express strong feeling while not being literally true:  I have received literally thousands of letters'

Which many, if not all of us, took as confirmation that the good people at Oxford were finally saying, "Fine.  Screw you all.  You can just make up your own shit from now on - we're out." before cracking open a bottle of expensive bourbon that they'd been saving against this day's inevitable arrival. 

And it's hard to blame them really, what with the state of spelling and grammar these days.  Perfectly respectable columnists starting paragraphs with conjunctions and leaving participles everywhere.  It's chaos, people.  And stop clubbing, baby seals!

But* - and it pains me to admit this - that's how language ALWAYS changes.  

*See - I did it again.  And I don't even feel bad about it.

After all, at the end of the day Language is nothing but a mutually agreed set of basic rules that we've all signed on to so that we're able to communicate with one another.  As long as we all understand the new rules, does the fact that it's a new rule really matter? 

Additionally, one has to consider why we have an Oxford Dictionary in the first place.  Is the job of the Oxford Dictionary to be correct, or to accurately relay how people are using the language?  (Obviously the answer is 'both', but in cases like this where it feels like you have to pick one or the other, what's a poor online repository of knowledge to do?)

It's not like we all got together around 1550 and took a big vote as to whether or not we wanted to keep using noun declension.  We just sort of stopped doing it.  And if there had been an Internet at the time then the message boards would be chock full of people posting 'Thou art misusing 'doth', moron.'  (if you're interested in this sort of thing you should totally google 'The Great Vowel Shift' which is not only really interesting, but also sounds pleasantly naughty.)

Or, for an earlier example, consider the following scene - set in Britain in the early-ish 1st Century.

ROMAN 1 (Rory):  Well, we've just about finished writing up contracts so that we can control these Saxon folk

ROMAN 2 (Steve):  I don't think they're Saxons until 4 or 500...

RORY:  That's not important right now.  

STEVE:  Sorry.

RORY:  The problem I'm running into is that they don't have a written alphabet, so I'm just sort of mushing it into our alphabet

STEVE:  Sounds good, what's the problem?

RORY:  Well, their language uses a lot of that 'th' sound that we never ever use, and we don't have a letter for that.

STEVE:  Hmm.  Well, don't they have that short series of Runes that they occasionally use?

RORY:  Hey - yes they do.  And there's one that they use for the 'TH' sound that looks a bit like our letter 'Y'.

STEVE:  Well, why don't we just use a 'Y' to represent the 'th' sound.

RORY:  I don't know... isn't that going to confuse the hell out of people a few thousand years from now who'll think the word 'the' was pronounced 'Yee' because of this decision?

STEVE:  Don't talk crazy, Roranicus.  Our empire will last forever.  Now let's go get a drink of water from our lead-lined aquifer.

And so forth.

Point of the story - Language changes all the time, and it's almost always for some stupid reason (like, say, a generation of people deciding to remain willfully ignorant of what a fairly simple descriptive word means).  That's just life.

It is worth noting however that the good folks at Oxford did manage to get the last word in.  They closed their entry with the following - 

"This use can lead to unintentional humorous effects (we were literally killing ourselves laughing) and is not acceptable in formal English."  

Allow me to translate what the good folks at Oxford are really saying there.  'People use the word like that.  They sound like idiots and are wrong when they do so.  But they still do it.'

Well Played, Oxford Online Dictionary.  Well played.

Hey, Ancient Greeks, Who's the Real Victim Here

I was thinking the other day about Prometheus.*

*The Greek Legendary figure, not the vaguely disappointing movie that sadly failed to have proper Aliens in it.

For those who were never deeply unpopular 12 year old boys - and feel free to be all smug about it now - Prometheus was a Titan.*

*The superhuman creatures who came before the Greek gods, not the vaguely disappointing football team from Tennessee.**

**That's American Football - Which again can be loosely described to the rest of the world as playing rugby while dressed up as a robot.

The main crux of the myth of Prometheus is that he stole fire from the Gods and gave it to Mankind, thus enabling us to become an independent thinking species.  It's actually pretty analogous to the myth of the Garden of Eden, in that in both cases the God in question wanted to keep mankind ignorant for their own good and someone else intervened, gave mankind knowledge, and was punished for it. This is an interesting statement on the long held view in some religious circles that all knowledge is inherently dangerous and therefore evil.  See, it didn't just start with the FOX network.

Where was I...

Oh.  Right.  Punishment.

So, Prometheus did us a solid by giving us the gift of Fire, and for doing so he was punished by the Gods.  Specifically, he was chained to a mountain in the Caucuses and every morning an Eagle* flew in and tore out his liver and ate it.  Every night his liver grew back.  Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

*His name was Ethon, apparently

Now, the immediate response to this is of course - Ow.  That sounds painful.  Both the tearing out AND regrowing.

But I think that both we and the Greeks are overlooking the real victim here.

The real victim is clearly Ethon.

Think of the poor guy.  Every single day he gets up, spreads his wings, maybe has a nice cup of eagle coffee and says to himself, 'Self, today's going to be an awesome* day.'  Then he flies out over the Caucuses, glorifying in the morning sun.  He swoops.  He soars.  He... looks down and sees Prometheus.  Again.

*Yes, Ethon is voiced by Chris Pratt in my mind.

Here's a rundown of Ethon's internal monologue each morning.

ETHON

Self, Today's going to be an awesome day!

Man.  What a great nights sleep.  I feel like a million bucks!

I sure do love the way the morning sun shines on my Aerie!

What a great morning.  Everything is awesome!

Hey, I should totally put that Tegan and Sarah song on my iPod...

Man, it feels awesome to fly through these beautiful mountains

I wonder if there are salmon in this part of the world?

I'd love a salmon.  That sounds yummy.

Hey, what's that down there on that roc...

Oh you have GOT to by F**KING kidding me.

AGAIN?????

How many times???  How many???

No.  I'm just not doing it.

F*** You, rock guy, and F*** your liver too.

Your...delicious...liver...

NO.  No, I'm just not going to do it.

Maybe one more pass over that valley...  

You know... Just to make sure he's still there...

Yup... still there....

Jesus H. Not Going To Be Born For 4 Thousand Years Christ.

Fine.

LAST TIME!

Over and over again.  Every day.  You think your job is repetitive, think of poor Ethon.

Then, a bit later on, Hercules rescued Prometheus.  You know how he did it?

HE FREAKIN' KILLED ETHON, THAT'S HOW!

It could not be clearer who the real victim is in this story, and it ain't the guy chained to the rock who was perfectly aware of the consequences of his actions, oh no.

We're sorry Ethon.

We're so sorry.

Vizsla Flashback - That Otter do it. Oh God, I am so sorry for that....

Seriously.  I actively tried to prevent myself from typing that post title.  I really tried.  I'm weak.

As part of our continuing observation of national Sea Otter Awareness weeK (n-SOAK.  You know you want to start using that acronym.) I thought that it might be germane to talk a bit about people who latch on to a particular totem animal.

Now, I'm not talking about your inadvertent animal collectors.  To quote arch-villain The Deadly Bulb (aka Pig Leg), you know how it goes - one person gives you a pig statue, and then someone else assumes you like that sort of thing and gets you another and before you know it you have no choice but to buy a hutch.

No, I'm talking about the people who actively embrace the animal in question (not literally, in the case of polar bears).  Now, on the one hand it actually makes Christmas and Birthday shopping significantly easier for these people, so it has that going for it.  On the other hand, the time necessary to set aside for dusting can be a real killer*.  And on the other hand, which is actually a foot, who are we to judge, right?  And on the other hand, which is the other foot, I personally own the entire run of Doctor Who 1963-present on both VHS and DVD (minus of course the 106 missing episodes from the mid sixties, obviously), and I actually had one further point but am out of hands and feet and everything after that gets inappropriate.

*I know... for no particular reason...

No, the real issue at hand is the relatively small number of animals that tend to get chosen.

-Polar Bears, as mentioned - So cute you might not mind being torn up and eaten
-Penguins (as seen here having a fun adventure with pirates)
-Eagles - for your patriotic and free spirited sort
-Wolves - These are much less likely to appear in statue form, and are mainly to be found in framed artwork.
-Hippos - For some reason that I do not personally understand, because hippos are frickin' mean.
-Pigs - Which I think are meant to be some sort of ironic statement.

Other than your occasional Moose or Fox enthusiast, those are pretty much your choices.

Which is why I feel comfortable with my relatively recent otter-obsession.

On that note - I present today's attempt at Origami Sea Otter.

I found a different pattern, that I feel has some pluses and some minuses.

His name is Steve.  He and Buck are friends from school.

I use this as an excuse to once again mention that the collective noun for a group of Otters is a Romp.

Tune in tomorrow for the story of the unplanned office menagerie...

The Unseemly Yet Adorable Underbelly

Breaking news -

In association with standard N-SOAk reporting, we here at The 42nd Vizsla have uncovered the following sinister transcript from a recent meeting of the international affiliation of Sea Otters.

We caution you - What you are about to read is deeply disturbing.  And kind of adorable.  I mean, look at their cute little hands...

<Begin Transcript>

There is a scratchy rumble of voices and chairs being adjusted as the members of the organization try to adjust their stout tails into a comfortable position.

HEAD OTTER (OTTRIMUS PRIME) - OK, OK, we're going to go ahead and get this meeting underway

<General grumbling and the sound of someone breaking clams open on a rock with their adorable little fingers.  So human.  So human.>

OTTRIMUS PRIME - Alright, now I've been receiving your reports from all regions of infiltration, and I'm pleased to be able to tell you that so far our plans to take over the planet and subvert the human race are proceeding 

<General applause, mixed with some slight splashing noises as a few of the members in the back begin to groom themselves with water from an available pool.  Just Awwwwww.  So cute.>

SUBORDINATE OTTER A - What about the puny humans?  Surely they must have noticed us maneuvering into position for this takeover?

OTTRIMUS PRIME - They have, obviously.  But fortunately no sooner are they deciding to alert the nations of the world to the impending threat than they get distracted by the absolutely delightful way we hold hands while floating downstream together at which point they just start cooing uncontrollably and throwing us peices of fish.  The Fools!

OTTER STEVE - You mean like the way Otter Hank and Otter Bill are holding hands right now?

OTTRIMUS PRIME - Yes, exactly.  Although Otter Hank and Otter Bill - we really only ever do that while floating so that we don't get separated when we fall asleep.

OTTER HANK (Possibly OTTER BILL... it's hard to tell...) We're not holding hands for floating.  We're just holding hands.  Don't judge us.

OTTRIMUS PRIME - Hey - no judging here.  Did you see how the humans all went apeshit for those gay penguins?  You guys are gold.

SUBORDINATE OTTER B - All hail for the oncoming Otterman Empire!


ALL OTTERS TOGETHER - ALL HAIL!  ALL HAIL!

<upswell of noise of tails being slapped on the floor in just the cutest way>

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

As many of you are probably aware, we are smack dab in the middle of day three of National Sea Otter Awareness weeK (N-SOAk)

This is traditionally my opportunity to go on for a bit about otters.  One year I will find the inner strength to resist this urge and not spend a week compulsively discussing otters with everyone I encounter.

This is not that year.

How, for example, can I pass up the chance to mention that there is not one but four different acceptable collective nouns* for our friend, the otter?

*The term for a group of whatever the noun my be.  You know, like a pod of whales or a pride of lions.  My personal favorite collective noun is for a group of ravens- they are collectively known as an Unkindness of Ravens.  Which is a great turn of phrase, if slightly unfair to the ravens.  Insert joke about Baltimore here.

The best, and therefore obviously correct, collective noun is a 'Romp' of otters.  The other acceptable options are 'Bevy', 'Family', and 'Raft' (although that one apparently only applies when they're on the river.)

There is also, as mentioned last year, a subspecies known as the Giant Otter which is badass enough to take out alligators and adorable enough to make the alligator go 'Awwww...' while he's bashing in the gators head with a rock.

Honestly - how am I supposed to resist the opportunity to talk about this stuff?  I'm only human.

Day three of N-SOAk down.  We gather here again tomorrow for day four and all the otter-related joy it will undoubtedly bring.

N-SOAk!

It's finally here again.  That most magical holiday of the year.

Yes, I'm talking about...

National Sea Otter Awareness weeK!

Brought to us by Friends of the Sea Otter*, National Sea Otter Awareness weeK (N-SOAk) this year is September 21st-27th

*I swear to God I am not making any of this up

You can find out more about N-SOAk at their website.

Tune in tomorrow for a more in depth discussion about the event, but for now let's all just take a moment to be aware of our pal, The Sea Otter.

Vizsla Flashback - An interview with my 1978 Six Million Dollar Man garbage can

This week a rare opportunity came up for us to sit down and have a chat with my 1978 Six Million Dollar Man garbage can.  Although, 'came up', might be a bit generous, as it's been sitting in the den for 36 years.

VIZSLA:  Well, first of all I want to thank you for being here.  It's fantastic to have a chance to talk with you.

THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN GARBAGE CAN: I literally have not moved in over ten years.

V:  Um..... Yeah.  So.  You look great.

6:  Thanks.  I've got a little denting along the top edge, but ... you know.. what guy in his 30s doesn't.

V:  What's it like to spend most of your time filled with garbage.

6:  You'd have to ask the tea party.

V:  HA!  I see what you did there.

6:  Thanks.  Seriously though, it's good to have a function I suppose.  Could be worse.  At least I'm not one of those action figures still in the packaging languishing on a shelf, you know?  I'm still in the game.

V:  What do you say to those who would point out that having you around provides a needless anchor to the past preventing your owner from releasing childhood memories and moving on with his life?

6:  Well, I don't think there's any need to get needlessly totemistic about it.  I mean, sometimes a garbage can is just a garbage can if I could misqoute Freud for just a moment.

V:  So you don't feel like the memories of unfulfilled childhood dreams still cling to you like the lingering bottom half of a Chewbacca sticker?

6:  I kind of like the sticker.  We've been together for a very long time.  You know... eventually you just accept your imperfections as being part of who you are, you know?

V:  That's very deep.

6:  I am very deep.

V:  About 15 inches deep.

6:  Way to blow the metaphor.

Vizlsa Flashback - An Important Foreword, followed by some Stuff About Bananas

First published on 9-11-13, hence all the references to the date.  I reprint it here today for two reasons -

1. Sunday is the day I do reprints of earlier columns

2. I'm mildly concerned that the fact that I went ahead with my usual frivolity on 9-11 this week might have been misconstrued as being disrespectful, and I already explained my reasoning for doing so last year

so...

First the Foreword (by definition)

I gave a lot of thought, quite honestly, to not publishing a column today, the date being what it is.

Let me explain why.

The primary method of spreading the word about the doggerel I post here is via Facebook (and a bit through my side gig at WhatCulture.  My friends of Facebook fall broadly (with a few exceptions) into one of two camps.  Firefighters or Improvisational Comedians.

A lot of people blogging tend to take days such as this as an opportunity to discuss the event in some way, or to share their own experiences, or to - generally speaking - get real about the whole issue.  And that's great.  There's a lot of good stuff out there along those lines.

But that is not what I do.  The closest I ever have or ever will (probably) get to that sort of thing is the time I pretended to think that 90s icon Morrissey was the elected leader of Egypt.  (And to be honest, in hindsight even that has felt too close to places I don't want to go)

The other option - equally valid - is to simply suspend business on the day in question as a gesture of remembrance and respect.  That's the way I was seriously considering going.  I can easily see how just caring on with frivolous crap could be construed as disrespectful to a significant percentage of people.

But here's the thing- and this is just my personal opinion here - I really think that when someone gives their life so that you can continue living yours, the most important thing that you can do to respect that is to actually continue living yours.

So that's the way I ultimately came down on the issue.  Hence the following frivolity about Bananas.  I totally understand if you choose to come back to it another day or even skip it entirely.  This is me carrying on with doing what I do as my way of saying thank you to the people who sacrificed so that I would be able to do.

Foreword over

Some Stuff About Bananas

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night with that cramp thing that occasionally happens where your calf muscle suddenly and without warning tears itself off of your leg and runs screeching around the room.

Me being me, I immediately began listing in my head the things that I could have done to prevent this, thus managing to make this a scathing indictment of my character flaws as opposed to merely a deficiency of water or Potassium.

The easiest thing to do to ward these sorts of things off, or so I have been told, is to eat more bananas or drink less wine.  And since the latter is clearly crazy talk, let's take this moment to celebrate our bananas.

Um... that didn't come out exactly right...

Some Things That Bananas are good for:

- Bumping up your Potassium level.

Potassium (number 19 on the periodic table with the Atomic Symbol K (for which you can blame the Romans.  Sort of) is an important element in our physiology as it assists in the transmission of signals through the nervous system.  Not having enough of it can cause all sorts of health problems.  Of course, having way too much of it can kill you, so maybe stop after the first couple bananas

- Replacing futuristic weapons factories

I like Bananas.  Bananas are good.

- Sex Ed.

Seriously, this is a time honored classic when it comes to teaching your young man the correct way to put on a prophylactic.  You can also use a cucumber, but only if you want to give your young man lifelong feelings of inadequacy.

- Comic pratfalls.

It's a classic for a reason, people.

Worst Party Trick Ever

Today, over the course of a fairly run of the mill, deeply inappropriate work conversation, my co-worker Sydney and I discovered what might be the most awesome, horrible game that we have so far come across*

*A more hotly contested title than you might think.  The day of 'Unhealthy relationship with biscuits' remains a pinnacle of just how dark we're both willing to go.**

**The phrase 'you can be the boy this time' came into play.  Tip of the iceberg.

While performing some legitimate work tasks we started singing dance club songs. The trick - we started singing as if we were going to burst into uncontrollable crying at any moment.

"Let's get it..."  <sniff>  "started..."  <sob>  "Ha...   Let's get it sta...started..."  <Nose blowing> "In here.....Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

Try it.  It's enormously satisfying.

Spring Forward, Fall Over

It's recently* come to my attention that roughly half of the world doesn't observe Daylight Savings Time.

*Recently in this case meaning ten minutes ago while doing the admittedly minimal amount of research required for this article.

This is too bad, because the practice has a variety of uses which we'll get to in a moment.  First however, a quick word for those in Africa, Asia, South America, and (curiously) half of Australia.

Daylight Savings Time is the practice of adjusting your clocks to take more advantage of the hours the sun is out.  In practical terms this means that in the Spring you adjust your clock forward an hour (it gets dark later in the Summer) and in the Fall you adjust your clock back an hour (nothing interesting happens in the early morning in the winter)

It's use first dates to 1916 Germany, which means that oversleeping for a meeting in April is something that you can legitimately blame Franz Ferdinand* for. 

*No, the Guy.  Not the band.  Although God knows the band has enough to answer for.

In the US, Daylight Saving Time has traditionally* started in April and ended in October.  This means that it's a useful little alarm clock for anything that you need to remember to do twice a year.**

*Traditionally in this case meaning since the energy crisis of the early 1970s. 

**Since the Internet happened now no one knows what the difference is between Semiannually and Biannually and even legitimate sources of information have now completely given up even trying to tell people which is which.  If you look up the issue, Britannica basically says, 'People use them interchangeably to mean either twice a year or every other year.  Work your own shit out on this one, because honestly it's far too late to come bitching to us about this.  We were waging a solid defensive war while you were systematically destroying the word 'literally', so at this point you can just fuck right off.'  It's hard to blame them for their bitterness.

The most notable example of this is the campaign to remind people to change the batteries in their smoke detectors.  Twice a year to replace a simple AA battery is probably overkill, but it's not the sort of thing you want to have skimped on when you wake up in a flamey inferno, now is it.

But of course, what we're really here to talk about is drinking.

Until 2005*, as noted above, daylight savings time began in late April and ended in Late October - coinciding nicely with weather pattern shifts. This meant that it was a reliable marker for the most important of all the seasonal changes.  We're speaking of course of Gin Season versus Scotch Season.

*In 2005 then President George W. Bush changed the dates of daylight savings time to March and November.  This is by no means even close to the worst thing he did, but it's still irritating.

The schedule goes as follows -

One week before Daylight Savings time begins - Farewell to Scotch week.

The Winter is over.  The time for a 'Warmer' has more or less passed.  It's a week to really take the time to remember all Scotch has done for you in the previous six months.  Or realize that you can't remember what Scotch has done for you - it's not about judging.

The week after Daylight Savings Time Begins - Gin Homecoming.

At the end of which Gin and Scotch play a big football game.  Everyone wins.

And of course, when Daylight Savings Time ends in the fall the roles reverse. 

The important thing is to remember the reason for the season.

It's Always Sad to Lose a Topic Young

It may not have escaped the notice of a few of you that it has now been about a week and a half since I posted anything*

*Not even a Flashback - and come on, that's just lazy.  They're like no effort whatsoever.

While I don't entirely have an excuse for that, I can tell you that while it may be true that I haven't posted a column for 9 odd days, I have actually made several attempts to write them.

Unfortunately, they all crashed and burned like mere tiny zygote's of column ideas, withering before they could achieve viability, and that's as far as I'm going to take that particular metaphor because it's already starting to feel creepy.

So, for the sake of the public record, here is a summation of...

The Columns That Almost Were

 

- Ways To Describe Your Sack

A few days ago I became marginally interested in finding out what the difference was between a Rucksack, a Napsack, and a Backback.  Long story short - not much. Straps, carries stuff, hiking.  The only marginally interesting thing about it was that a Napsack and a Rucksack both specified waterproof material whereas a backpack doesn't care if your shit gets wet.

It's a shame, because I'd already thought of the above title and it seemed like a shame not to use it.

- Some reasons why I hate Matt Walsh

The douchebag online smug-factory, not the Improv Performer in the Washington DC area. 

But honestly, this one pretty much explains itself.  Still fun to imagine throat punching him though.

It's also worth noting that thinking about this topic caused me to miss my off-ramp and get lost in some backroads on my way to work the other morning, so I sort of feel like Mr. Walsh won this one.  The prick.

- A recreation of the Lincoln-Douglas debate as reenacted by a Teacup Pig and a Slow Loris 

I love the idea, and the visuals are freakin' awesome.  But then it feels like there might be a lot of research involved, so let's all just take a moment to picture the scene in our heads and move on.

Aw look... Lincoln is peeling a grape with his adorable little hands...

-A defense of why I refuse to stop using two spaces after a period no matter what the Millenials' style guides say I should do.

But after thinking about it with great indignation for some time I started kind of agreeing with them and now I might actually stop using more than one space if only to make editing my Whatculture articles a bit quicker, so now I have officially betrayed my own convictions before actually bothering to write a manifesto about them.

Which isn't so bad really I suppose, and one could only wish that Mr. Walsh had the courtesy to do the same thing on occasion.  Particularly as regards his particularly rank discussion of suicide...

 

That's Why There Were So Many STDs in the 70s

One of the many things that are awesome about the Movie* Guardians of the Galaxy - and there are many - is the way that its soundtrack has re-popularized some really awesome seventies music.  The soundtrack -appropriately titled 'Awesome Mix No. 1' is at the top of the sales charts at the moment, so I'm going to assume that many of you are aware of this fact already.

*or Film if you prefer to be all European about it

And while it's true that 'Come and Get Your Love', 'Fooled Around and Fell in Love, and 'Moonage Daydream'* are non-stop-awesome sauce with cuddling afterwards, the soundtrack then takes us to the guilty pleasure that is Rupert Holmes love letter to infidelity, 'Escape (The Pina Colada Song)'

*Moonage Freakin Daydream!!!!

The song, for those of you pretending to not be familiar with it, details the story of a man who is - and I'm quoting here - 'was tired of (his) lady, we'd been together too long, Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song'

Oh, I'm sorry Rupert.  I didn't realize you were that one guy on the planet whose relationship didn't continue being non-stop excitement for its entire duration. Clearly you are totally justified in going to the personal ads and trying to find some other woman to run away with.

Which is indeed what he does.

He finds a personal ad from some woman who's looking for someone who likes pina coladas and taking walks in the rain.*

*Yes, clearly she is looking for a 19 year old female student at art college.

He responds, they agree to meet up at a bar to plan 'their escape'.

Of course, he gets to the bar in question (O'Malley's, if you were wondering) and it turns out to be his old lady who had placed the ad, herself looking to escape what must be a remarkably tedious relationship based on the actions of all involved.

They laugh about the whole thing and take joy in having rediscovered there love for each other.

OK, Im sorry, but I'm calling bullshit here.  Let me tell you, unequivicably, that is not how that conversation would go.

Best case - BEST case - scenario is a mutually civil break-up with him surrendering his house keys and arranging a time to pick up his things.  Far more likely scenarios involve shouting, throwing things at one another, and many shrieks of, 'PERSONAL ADS????  YOU'RE READING/PLACING PERSONAL ADS??????!!'

Long story short - when you begin actively referring to ending your relationship as 'Escape', you're better off just addressing the issue directly, because contrary to what Mr. Holmes tells us here, you're going to get arrested for a public disturbance.