May 2007

05.28.2007 Comment...
Why I'm Afraid of Connie Chung
Ok here it is. The series finale of "Weekends with Connie and Maury" on MSNBC. The show was on the air for like 4 months before it got cancelled last summer, because it was awful. Which really says a lot considering Connie Chung's and Maury Povich's careers.

And to think, people act like Seinfeld's finale sucked!

05.21.2007 Comment...
Primal Fear
Trust me. This is worth checking out. I watch the Maury Povich show with decent regularity: the paternity tests usually make for good television. Maury's exposé on bizarre phobias, however, makes for sublime television.

The first girl is afraid of pickles. She fights through her tears to explain that "pickles are destroying my life... what I hate most about a pickle is the shape." So what does Maury do? Bring out a platter of pickles! The girl is so terrified that she runs screaming into the audience and tries to hide under the seats! See for yourself:



It only gets better. The next woman is afraid of balloons. Maury asks if it's because she's afraid they'll pop. No, she explains, it's "the way they float" that really frightens her. She says she needs to be cured because she can't do anything with her grandchildren (everyone knows that kids love balloons). So what does Maury do? Pop a bunch of balloons! Right behind her! The woman runs screaming into the back of the studio only to find... more balloons! As she collapses against a wall, screaming and sobbing in mortal terror, the audience, of course, roars with laughter:



This is all very ironic, because I have a phobia myself. I'm afraid of Connie Chung (with good reason, as you'll see). But we must save that tale... for another day.

05.10.2007 Comment...
Soda? Pop?
A couple of days ago, I was distressed to hear a native Oregonian refer to soda as "pop." Growing up in California and Arizona soft drinks were referred to exclusively as soda. I assumed this was the norm on the west coast. Boy, was I wrong! It turns out the entire pacific northwest is a nest of "pop" drinkers (click for larger view):



At least Oregonians don't call generic soft drinks "Coke" like they do in the South (and, evidently, parts of rural Arizona). That doesn't make any sense! How do you specify that you'd like a Mountain Dew or a Dr Pepper if you're asking for a Coke?

Also, I really respect St Louis and Milwaukee for inexplicably ignoring the rest of the midwest and using the southwest/northeast (aka, correct) term "soda." As for me, it's sodee-pop from now on.

05.01.2007 Comment...
Man's Best Friend
I've gotten a lot of comments about Rusty after his cameo appearance in the blog a couple weeks ago. So, I decided that it was time for an update. Our friend Rusty had surgery two weeks ago to have like 20 tumors removed. Fortunately, they were all benign. Unfortunately, he is a terrible patient. Here are some of the updates that I have received from Rusty's nurse and best friend: my father.

-----Original Message-----
From: Dennis Boeing
Sent: Saturday, 21 April 2007 1:18 PM
To: Incredible Eagle
Subject: Rusty Update

You will have to see this to believe what I am about to share. Rusty somehow managed to contort himself around enough to pull the stitches from a small punch-hole where something was removed on his right hip, and licked the stitches just below on the larger incision (2"+) where the tumor was removed. I was so mad I could have choked him, but took him to the Vet instead this morning. The Vet checked all areas and said he'd be O.K., and that he wasn't going to restitch the punch-hole as a lot of healing had already taken place.

Now for what you have to see to believe. After the Vet, we went to PetsMart for dog-style Depends. I'm not kidding. What they had wouldn't work because we needed the hips to be covered. So, I went to T.J. Maxx and checked out clothes in the Boys department. I bought Rusty a nice orange swimsuit, and a pair of boxer underwear (for about 1/2 the price of the stuff at PetsMart). They said I could return them if they didn't fit 'him' - the definition of 'him' went unmentioned by me, and I think they think it's for a 'him' human, not 'him' dog.

Anyway, after we got back home, I put the clothes on him. The boxers are a little snug, but will be O.K. The swimsuit didn't fit at first, so I cut out the mesh lining and tried them again on Rusty. Perfect fit! I had to put them on backwards so the drawstring could be tightened and tied (otherwise my hands would be a little too close to his 'manhood' for my comfort - and his too, I imagine). Hopefully the Suns wear their orange uniforms tomorrow, as Rusty looks like he's ready to join them. I should point out that the swimsuit legs almost reach his paws, but in today's NBA, Rusty would fit right in.

Your Frustrated Yet Triumphant Father,
Dad

Three days later I got another update...

-----Original Message-----
From: Dennis Boeing
Sent: Tuesday, 24 April 2007 11:36 AM
To: Incredible Eagle
Subject: RE: Rusty Update

We went to the Vet again this morning. They cleaned up the big wound (right/front) and put an absorbant pad on it, then wrapped it heavily with a self-sticking roll bandage. He is walking kind of stiffly, and looks muscle-bound (although the wrap is purple, which looks less than masculine). He's sleeping now, and we're supposed to go back tomorrow to have it removed. This is starting to get old, although I'm sure Rusty is feeling worse about it than I am.

Today he is wearing his boxer shorts, t-shirt, collar, and boots. He looks like a guy going around the house in his underwear and slippers. However, to give you a more complete picture of how he's doing, when all the stuff is taken off of him all he wants to do is run and jump and play (of course, I don't let him). So, he's not feeling too bad I guess. He is the ball-and-chain, and I am the prisoner.

I will be glad when the stitches come out and he can go back to being a Doberman. In addition to feeling sorry for Rusty, it's O.K. to feel sorry for me, too.

Dad

Here are some pictures from when I was in Phoenix recently, to give you a better idea of how these two typically interact...


It's a hundred degrees outside, and they're wrestling in the back yard. Notice that both combatants have the exact same expression on their faces.


Rusty wins this round and proceeds to gnaw on my dad's forearm. Fortunately, he's fairly well-behaved and bites gently. Besides, when he gets too worked up and bites harder, my father simply shouts "Ow!" to send Rusty cowering in shame (for hurting his best friend).


A little calmer now. As Rusty is an indoors dog and my dad is an obsessive-compulsive, a lengthy cleansing ritual takes place each time the dog is re-admitted to the house. They are in the throes of it here. Let me point out that the ritual includes a, uh, quick anal rinse from the garden hose. My father justifies this by stating that his own children, in fact, would not be allowed into the house were they not to wipe.

(NOTE: Said ritual does not take place when I am forced to care for the dog while my father is busy doing something else. Sorry Dad.)