Musings on "cripes"

My Comedy Buddy and coworker Jennifer noted the use of "cripes" at work lately. Seems she's not the only one musing about it. The following is from My Little Sister's Humorous Sayings site:

On Cripes:
My wife's from the Midwest. Very nice people there. Very wholesome. They use words like 'Cripes'. 'For Cripe's sake.' Who would that be, Jesus Cripe's? The son of 'Gosh' of the church of 'Holy Moly'? I'm not making fun of it. You think I wanna burn in 'Heck'?

Me neither!

On other fronts, that may be the root of a problem I'm having today. My dear brother's 60th birthday is coming up, and I am having a Heck of a time writing an appropriately snarky birthday card for him. Even though he would definitely have no qualms doing the same for me.

My attempts have ranged from twists on classic song lyrics ("He ain't elderly, he's my brother...") to mild encouragement ("But Eric Clapton and Susan Sarandon are in their 60s, and they're still cool"), but none of it is working.

I've also contemplated a "remember the time you" approach, but we have almost 50 years of history, so that would get out of hand in a nano.

Oh well. The card must get in the mail, so I'm just going to have to run with something, and soon. It ain't easy being mean.....

Started out well....

Though I usually spare myself any exposure to the Prevaricator in Chief, I couldn't help but see the first few minutes of the State of the Union address.

Couldn't believe that it began with a moment of grace--his acknowledgement of the historic nature of his uttering, "Madame Speaker."

I was stunned. Was this the same GWB I've endured lo these many years? Where's the snarl? The smirk?

They were both disabled. Just temporarily, it turns out, but hey--it was a moment.

Then he proceeded to lecture the Congress on the need for bipartisanship (now that the GOP is no longer in power, it's time to play nice), to stop adding set-asides to bills under the cloak of darkness (now that the GOP is no longer in power, it's time to be above-board), and to generally start doing the opposite of what the GOP has been doing for the past several years.

With the possible exception of supporting the President in everything he does. No matter what.

Anything less is giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Terrorists. 9-11.

(You know, the usual suspects.)

Sigh.

But he did open well, didn't he?

Oh, happy day!

After thinking I had somehow messed up with the man himself when actually I was just using an old e-mail address, Rick Jenkins just gave me a nice round of new dates at his legendary club in Cambridge, The Comedy Studio. Woo-eee!

I've been in what can charitably called a dormant period where the comedy is concerned, so this is a wonderful development. True, I've done a show or two here and there, but not much has been really shakin'. Methinks the no-longer-new job was partially at fault--it's taken quite a while to adjust to this getting-showered-and-dressed-and-driving-to-work business, I'm embarrassed to say.

The ridiculous amount of dental work I've had of late made life less than funny, too.

And while the dental work is ongoing (and I believe will now be a recurrent theme, if I truly face facts), my will to do The Comedy is coming back.

Besides, Linda has been giving me comedy ideas lately. She seems to think I should be writing new material, and has been shopping ideas with me for the past few days (she took the week off, so has had time to think about such things).

Am trying to be charmed by her interest, but not always successfully.

But I do agree I've had enough time to adapt to being a corporate commuting drone. Comedy, watch out!!!!!

Gird your loins....

Whenever I hear a comic say something along the lines of, "You know, I have nothing, nothing at all against gay people, but..." I know I'm about to hear gays mocked, mimicked, defiled and generally put through the ringer.

It's as though saying, "I have nothing against [fill-in-the-blank]" offers a comic carte blanche to say anything, anything at all about whatever group is in the blank.

Not that one hears, "You know, I have nothing against black/Jewish/Asian/Mexican/Your Ethnicity Here people, but..." much anymore, at least not up in this supposedly liberal neck of the woods, but the fag card? It's played early and often, mostly by male comics.

Desperate ones in particular.

Like the man I heard use the "I have nothing" defense last night. The fact is, he was African American, and that made it particularly hard to take. If a guy like that doesn't grasp bigotry as a concept, who the heck does?

But perhaps it's only bigotry if it applies to him. In these "What about me?" times, that's probably it. Some days, it seems most of us only have compassion for what we see in the mirror, and then, only if we're lucky.

I'm as guilty of self-centeredness as any human, though I try each day to expand my circle of concern and compassion to include all I meet, at the very least. Not always successfully, this I know.

But you know, the comic last night was struggling, and perhaps his shtick was that of a desperate man. He did a lot of crowd work, which usually signals a comic without much material. And what he did have wasn't working. I can have some compassion for that, for I know that feeling all too well.

Still, last night I did what I haven't done to a comic since I started doing comedy myself. I walked out in the middle of his set, never to return. He was trashing what had been a nice night out for me and my gal, and we have both worked too hard to be who we are to put up with that kind of nonsense.

Kinda makes a gal wish she lived in lesbianland.

Oh, wait a minute--I do! That's what I get for venturing out of town, eh?

It's not a DIET, it's a LIFESTYLE

Yes, I've returned to the hallowed halls of the weight loss kingdom, and no, it wasn't my idea. It was Linda's. However, a recent photo (see above) made me see the wisdom of this quest.

Cripes!

Now I'm not trying to get fit and trim--deprivation is involved in that look for me, and I don't do deprivation (obviously). The thing is, I don't want to get too big for my britches, and that is starting to happen.

In other words: My fitness is not an issue, but as a person who (a) hates to shop and (b) hates to spend money on corporate drag, my burgeoning, increasingly uncomfortable middle is becoming an issue.

A shopping issue.

So, back on the WW wagon I go, fully expecting to lose enough weight to feel less pinched. Here's hoping I meet my goal before the slogans (see above) send me screaming for the door.

True, I belong to another program that clutches tired old cliches to its bosom, but somehow WW is different. Not quite as reality-based. It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle?! I'm not going to WW to change my lifestyle, honey--it's just fine.

To be fair, a person can go years--decades, even--without drinking alcohol, but not without eating. Perhaps a little denial makes sense under this condition. I dunno.

But I do know I don't want to spend any more of my hard-earned moolah on easy-care slacks, so off to WW I go.....

Happy New Year!

I think it's safe to say the new chaise is a hit. The new camera's not bad, either! (Though the photographer could use some work.)

Merry what-have-you!

Well, this is one of the oddest Christmases on record, if only because it's December 25 and we haven't had a hint of snow. As a result, even though we exchanged gifts and have consumed enough baked goods to sink a tanker, it's beginning to feel a lot like something, but Christmas, it ain't.

It probably doesn't help that Linda and I have been glued to LOGO--the all-gay all-the-time cable station--all weekend. Even though I live in the most lesbian of lesbianvilles, I still can't get enough entertainment with GLBT written all over it. It reminds me of the time we saw the Bill T. Jones and Artie Zane dance troupe at the Academy of Music, and found ourselves blubbering over a romantic duet performed by two women. We had never seen ourselves reflected in dance before, and it was the most moving dance we had ever seen.

Not that I'm bah-humbugging the Season, mind you, it's just been a subdued holiday. I have nothing to complain about on the gift front: Santa and Linda were very good to me this year, and as soon as I figure out the new camera Linda bought me, I'll provide pictures of some of my favorite goodies. The camera is amazing--my former camera was an enormous early-edition digital from the late '90s that used floppies, for pity's sake, so the sleek Coolpix I now have in my possession is a revelation.

Far too cool for the likes of me, but it will just have to cope. Poor little Coolpix, not attached to a sleek Russian tennis player, but a large, middle-aged dykesaurus who won't use 1/36th of your features. Life's like that, eh?

Happily, Linda enjoyed her gifts muchly, especially the little electronic surprise I foisted upon her, an iPod Nano. I thought she had dropped hints the size of boulders regarding this gift and expected a little iPod action this holiday, but she was genuinely surprised. What a hoot!

You have no idea how rare it is for me to pull anything like a surprise off with this woman--she had 90% of her 50th birthday presents figured out weeks before the event, including a hot air balloon ride. The only surprise? I had a chauffeur-driven '50s era Cadillac drive us to and from dinner.

Yes, one must go the extra mile when living with someone who was a private detective in a past life....or simply hyper-vigilant in this one.

The gift that hasn't arrived yet, however, is the most eagerly awaited. An answer to the alarming decline in our dear Linus' ability to walk. His rear legs have become unreliable, and increasingly so. We have an appointment with an alternative vet next week who has worked wonders with dogs in similar binds, and are hoping he'll be able to do the same for our Sonny Boy.

I must take comfort from the fact that our Shwea woke up unable to walk a year or so ago, and is now running around like a lunatic. Just needed to lose some weight and take a better grade of glucosamine, and she was good as new.

We just have to hope that a similar answer awaits for Linus, and we find it soon.

Now, I must go exercise--I have expanded my horizons beyond all reason in the past few months, and as I have no money left for a brand-new wardrobe, I'd better work it, as dear Ru Paul used to say....

To Sir With Disdain....

Thinking of writing a letter to Mitt Romney. He's supposedly my governor, but recent events suggest he's only the governor of straight people. Straight, homophobic people, that is.

I realize he's running for president, and running for office makes otherwise reasonable people do unreasonable things. This I understand. But it sure doesn't make me happy to hear he's leading rallies to whip the populace up into an anti-gay frenzy.

Well, fooey on him. May he and his campaign enjoy the success they so richly deserve....

Sorry, I had a nice young-sounding lesbian from a GLBT-friendly group call me today to solicit funds for her organization, and even though she was fighting the good fight and all that, she was discouraged. She had been to a number of Mitt's anti-gay rallies, and well, the people just bummed her out (my words, not hers). "They were so mean, and they brought their children," she told me.

Nothing like seeing a small child holding a sign saying, "God Hates Fags" to show one the power of God's love.

But I digress...

I tried to give her a little pep talk about how misguided and fearful these poor souls were, but I realized I wasn't really making a dent in her despair. In her work, she's just up against it all the time, and I'm living in nice, safe and sequestered Northampton, where the homophobes are few and viewed with pity and contempt.

As it should be, of course.

Maybe I did help a little. We somehow got on the topic of Wisconsin, and how it was too bad that the Cheeseheads passed their own "anti-gay" initiative this past election. I told her that I wasn't surprised, but that things were changing--as witnessed by all of the rainbow stickers I saw on cars in my home town of about 11,000. She had been to Wisconsin and had an idea of what that meant.
So, there's hope, or something like it.

Still, my mood is dour, but considering I had the first part of a root canal this morning, I'm not surprised. It was simply dreadful, largely because the tooth was a touchy creature, and regular shots of Novocain were required to keep me from leaping from the chair. It still hurts, but regular handfuls of ibuprofen are helping, and I can only hope that this was the worst phase of the process.

If you know differently, please allow me my denial.

Now I must go walk the dogs. In the dark. Woo!

Things could be worse...

I admit I have been feeling a bit at the mercy of the aging process of late, and may even have allowed myself a whine or two. Sorry.

Heard something today that made my petty dental complaints seem, well, petty. A member of my family is facing a hip replacement. This would not be major news if said family member were in my parent's generation, well into their 80s, but unfortunately, said family member is a fellow Baby Boomer. Not even 60 yet. Sheesh!

Can't help but observe: These days, we're going from the "hip" generation to the "hip replacement" generation.

My apologies.

And I also heard that another canine member of the family is having hip trouble--yes, this canine is under the same roof as the family member who is facing hip replacement. The irony? An office visit and x-ray for the human with the hip problem was $15. For the canine with the hip problem? $500.

Our Linus is still struggling with his bum/arthritic leg. We have added vitamin C to his diet, as that's supposed to help. And a low dose aspirin, once a day. FYI, in the off chance it might help, we're looking into doggie acupuncturists--so if you know any in Western Mass, do tell.

On the good news front, I shipped everything that needed to be shipped this weekend, sending parcels to our nation's capital, a small town in Wisconsin, and Detroit. Sleeze, cheese and "Freeze!"

The humor gods are not smiling today, this is obvious. The only merciful thing to do is to stop. Now.

A reprieve of sorts

I was supposed to have my "good news" root canal today, but my endodontist got food poisoning and cancelled on me. Well, his tech cancelled, and promptly rescheduled my two-appointment procedure for the next two Thursdays.

Was really and truly relieved, until I realized we were invited to a holiday party next Thursday night, and as a result of this development, I may not be fit for said party. I might just be too dentally-impaired to go.

Isn't that a kick in the what-have-you?

Speaking of kicks, today I found out the hard way that I don't have a mute button on my phone. I called into an online training session for work and it was interrupted about halfway through by Oatmeal howling as though he was breathing his feline last.

As if. He's probably going to outlive us all.

But things are looking up on other fronts. Was here to sign for a Christmas gift for Linda, which was a real stroke of luck, since I work from home only one day a week--what are the odds? Plus, I finished shopping--including wrapping and shipping--for my sister in a matter of minutes, all online. (That's no small relief, let me tell you.)

My brother, sister-in-law and furry nephew still have gifts outstanding, but there's still the weekend, so I'm not going to panic.....

Still have to get something worthy for my aunt and uncle, but there's still time.....right?

Well, must go. She who must be obeyed is home, and that means it's dog-walking time. Till next time, my dear friends....

Humbling? You betcha!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
North Central
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The West
Boston
The South
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

How a written quiz could indicate my accent is pure Wisconsin is a bit baffling, as is the fact that it's been over 20 years since I lived in that part of the world, and I still have an identifiable Wisconsin accent.

As my dear departed mother was fond of saying, "T'is a puzzlement."

But perhaps the most perplexing thing about today is that I found myself saying to a coworker, "The good news is I'm having a root canal."

This is what my life has come to: The GOOD NEWS is I need a root canal. (The alternative, in case you're wondering, was to lose yet another tooth and get yet another implant.)

Cripes! From here on it, it feels like it's all carcass maintenance, all the time....

On other fronts, a dear college-era friend sent me an envelope with snapshots from the year of 1978 that she found while cleaning up her archives. Back then, I was 19, going to school in Milwaukee--art school, no less--and good golly, was I ever young. And did I have any fashion sense? None to speak of, really. And I now have visual proof that I was once the proud owner of an eight-track tape player.

It was all quite humbling, in other words. The worst part, though, apart from the fact that most of the snapshots were taken in the campus IHOP, was this: I have no idea who the other people in the photos were. None. I had breakfast with these people--hell, I could have been ROOMMATES with these people, but do they register in my cranium? Nope.

Good grief!

One bit of advice....

If you are young and still have all of your teeth, allow me to suggest that you FLOSS YOURSELF TO SLEEP EACH NIGHT for the rest of your natural life.

I've brushed and flossed quite a bit in my day, but still I have one tooth MIA and another sending me to a local root canal specialist.

Here we go again!

So please, young'uns, listen to the voice of decrepitude: Take care of your teeth NOW, before it's too, too late, and you're trying to figure out how you're going to pay for your dentist AND sock away enough money so that you can retire sometime before 70.

Otherwise, what's new? I spent part of the day writing a self-evaluation of my work performance. My manager told me to really promote myself, which, considering my background, is rather like asking me to go on out there and date men.

Self-promotion goes against everything I was taught as a child. Doing it feels unnatural, and I hear the voices of my ancestors weighing in with each pathetic attempt.

"Well, just who do you think you are, Miss Smarty-Pants?" That is the kindest comment so far.

But I finished it, and am just hoping it's "promotional" enough to pass muster. Or at least keep me employed for the next few months or so....

Last and least, tomorrow night is the company's winter holiday festival, and I am experiencing some wardrobe anxiety about it all. It's supposedly "semi-formal," which to a lesbian means "Stow the bolo ties."

Well, I've never worn a bolo tie, but really: What does semi-formal mean for the likes of me? I'm sure as heck not wearing a dress--gave that up in 1990, and my legs have gone to hell since then, so it's a no-win proposition no matter how you slice it. I've decided to wear some very nice slacks, a festive vest and turtleneck, and a cashmere coat over it all. Shiny black shoes may be included, may not.

Here's just hoping I don't embarrass myself or my people. My sole comfort is that "lesbian fashion" is one of the world's oldest oxymorons.

My future's so dim, I'm taking off my glasses....

On the third night of my Thanksgiving holiday, I had a dream about work--about WORK! As befits a woman of my region of origin and upbringing, it wasn't subtle about it, either. In the dream, I was meeting with someone at work who I was warned had to approached just so, and it turned out the frighteningly prickly person I was approaching was a Pooh-bah in Corporate Communications.

A waxy 30-something Pooh-bah, but a Pooh-bah nonetheless. In Corporate Communications.

Could there be anything sadder? This dream is particularly galling, for I have been reading books on meditation and spirituality ALL WEEKEND, and they all are big on writing down what one sees in dreams. Our dreams offer signs of our past lives, our future, blah-blah-blah.

Well, apparently, I have a future approaching Pooh-bahs in Corporate Communications. Or were past lives involved in the same tepid endeavor?

Wait a minute--I have a PRESENT approaching Pooh-bahs in Corporate communications.

"The horror. The horror."

The good part of the dream was that before I approached the dreaded Pooh-bah, I did a video with the CEO of the company. In a delicious turn of events, it wasn't the actual CEO of my actual place of business, it was--God love 'im--Martin Sheen.

Yes, I dreamt that Martin Sheen was my CEO. He was almost as sharp as Pres. Bartlett on "The West Wing," but the second time we tried to get him to do the video, he got hung up on a bit of jargon on a marketing piece we were waving around. He didn't understand it, and wasn't going to do any more work on the video until he did.

A great number of people leapt forth to explain the term, but no one could appease his CEO-ness. So, the video came to a halt.

In an interesting turn, the marketing piece at issue was printed on purple paper. This, I think, was partially due to the fact that purple is in great favor with me and some of my work cohorts, and partially due to the Blue Letter that featured so prominently in the film, "Hudsucker Proxy."

Saw that film for the first time this weekend, and it was a disappointment. It was obviously going for greatness, but didn't come close--even with that cast (including Paul Newman!).

Alas, these things happen....

Speaking of things happening, this Thanksgiving certainly qualified as memorable. Linda and I were guests at a friend's celebration, to which she and her gal had invited about 20 people. It seemed to all be coming together, and then the oven broke. Even after the best efforts of five handy lesbians, it refused to heat up again.

Hostess nightmare!

After much tearing of hair and so forth, and several suggestions that bordered on insanity, Linda and I managed to talk said hostess into letting us finish the job. We had the nearest working oven and our car wasn't parked in, so we were dispatched with the giant bird and three trays of root vegetables.

We cooked the turkey and veggies, but for safety's sake, I made a call to the Butterball hotline. The bird had cooked for a while, but had not cooked for a while, too, and my dear brudder had salmonella as the result of a cooked/uncooked chicken, so I was worried. (Who wants to play a part in poisoning people on a holiday? Not I!)

Happily, the "home economist" on the line said the turkey had cooked long enough that it was no longer a threat to humanity. (My words, not hers.)

So, we finished cooking everything, wrapped the bird and veggies up in foil, put them carefully in the back of my car, and drove back to our friend's house. We arrived to cheers and much gladness.

The Dykes Who Saved Thanksgiving, is how I like to think of it (with apologies to the Grinch).

To each his/her own...

As I mentioned in my last post, Linda and I went to the movies this weekend to see this actor:

My dear former Peace Corps cohort, fellow queer, and lifelong friend Ed, however, went to the movies to see this actor:


We may be Family, but we sure aren't the same....

Just in case you had any voter's remorse....

The announcement of a new anti-birth control and premarital sex man for the head of a family planning office by Pres. Bush in the wake of the Democratic landslide was a surprise, but then I remembered: That man doesn't learn anything from his mistakes, because HE DOESN'T MAKE THEM.

Right.

Then, I heard the FDA was approving silicone implants for use yet again, even though they are destined to rupture if worn long enough, and can cause problems for women who want to breastfeed their babies and/or have babies that don't have certain complications.

But as this was approved by an Administration that lies on a regular basis, it makes sense that they want women to get in on the action, too. "Of course, these are real."

Right.

Artifice and greed are the prevailing themes of this crowd, not to mention false piety, so they're definitely going out with a bang, not a whimper.

But the times, they are a changin', and I couldn't be happier about it. At CafePress.com, a tremendous array of Democratic-themed t-shirts and what-all are for sale. The first slogan that caught my eye was, "I think, therefore I am a Democrat," but my favorite has got to be the following, "Democrats think the glass is half full; Republicans think the glass is theirs." Ha!

On other fronts, I have been reading a lot about reincarnation lately, and I am surprised at my response. At first I was pleased that despite Peggy Lee's fabulous anthem, there is tremendous scientific evidence that suggests this is not all there is, but then I thought about it, and realized I was rather hoping it was.

Perhaps that is why newborn babies cry so. They're thinking, "Oh no, not this again!"

Lastly, Linda and I saw "The Queen" last night, and were quite taken by it. I had half-expected the Queen was going to get a drubbing in the film, but was surprised that I left the theatre with a new understanding and appreciation for all of her stiff-upper-lip-ness and rigid sensibility.

And Helen Mirren? Perfection! (What else?)

On the absurd side, I wonder this: Did they thicken Helen's calves to look more like HRH's, or does she actually have mega-calves?

Like I'm in any position to talk, this I know. The older I get, the more the farmer genes take over....

A good show--and I remembered!

Last night's show in Hartford went well. Not knock-yer-socks-off well, but well enough that I didn't worry about my houseguests or the coworker who brought his girlfriend to the show.

Worry that they'd have to pretend to have a good time, that is. (Codependent Forever More is my credo.)

Was particularly touched by the post-show compliments of an older man (who read very gay, but very closeted). He didn't say anything about the substance of my material but that he enjoyed it. What he did say is that I seemed very relaxed while performing. Relaxed! I felt an adrenaline surge just before I went up on stage, and found myself worrying about speeding through my set, but apparently, that did not manifest to the audience.

Or at least to this dear fellow.

I find it remarkably sweet when people say thank you for a performance, but when they say something that directly addresses a concern, I feel like the Comic Gods are looking after me.

Thanks, Comic Gods!

As for remembering, I actually did remember the sad story of the mother haircut referral and the Democrats giving the GOP a taste of their own medicine bits, and I think they're both good enough to keep for future use. Of course, the political one might be outdated by the next time I see a stage, but it was very cathartic to do, so who cares?

That's enough for one missive. A massive pile of laundry awaits, so off I must go. Here's to The Comedy, the Democrats and life after the GOP: HOOOOOOOORAY!

Today's dose of demoralization

Went to a local Open Studios with Linda and two friends who are visiting from out of town this afternoon. We noticed that our favorite bakery had a stand, so picked up a delicious muffin (split four ways--we just had lunch, after all) and coffees.

After I paid the nice young woman behind the counter, she asked me who did my hair. I was pleased, I am ashamed to say, until she added, "Because my mom is looking for someone to cut her hair so she won't look like an old lady."

Yes, I found myself giving a hair salon referral to a nice young woman--for her mother.

Altogether now: Ouch!

Our company is currently napping, bless their hearts, so I have time to obsess over tonight's show (Prospect Cafe in Hartford @ 8:30). Am mulling over giving the dear people of Connecticut heck for voting for Joe Lieberman, but that may not be a good idea. But really: They sent Joe a message during the primary--did they all forget what it was by the general election?

Am also wondering about some new material about a nightmare scenario for Republicans--besides the latest election, of course. What if Democrats gave them a taste of their own medicine?
For example, the Democrats stood by helplessly as the GOP allowed Enron and Exxon-Mobil to write U.S. energy policy. What if the Democrats have Greenpeace write our new environmental policy? Shirley Maclaine put together new faith-in-reincarnation-based initiatives? Willie Nelson in to handle drug policy?

Ah, there is fun to be had, yes indeed. (If, indeed I remember any of it!)

The dream continues....

Forgot to mention the African American Democrat who will be sitting in the Governor's seat in our humble Commonwealth, not to mention the election of the first woman Attorney General (also a Democrat, of course).

Oh, and this just in--the anti-gay Amendment has been shelved for another year. WOOwee!

My goddess, I hope I don't wake up for a very long time....

Somebody pinch me....

An Evangelical Kingpin has been brought down by revelations of substance abuse and "mandates" of the very best kind?

Donald Rumsfeld is looking for work?

We have a Democratic majority in the House and the Senate?

...I must be dreaming!

Add to the list that I just brought my Linus home from the vet, and while he's groggy as groggy can be, I think he'll be all right. (He got morphine--for a tooth removal and cleaning. I feel positively cheated!)

Life is very, very good, people. And while I harbor fears that the Democrats will squander their opportunity, I am comforted by the fact that: no one could mess things up worse than the so-n-sos they're replacing.

NO ONE.

Poor pup!

Our Linus had an egg-sized swelling under his eye last week, and Linda and I, being the wreck nervosas we are where he is concerned, brought him to the vet. Well, I brought him to the vet, as Linda was in charge of lawn maintenance this weekend.

The verdict? Poor pup, he has a bad tooth--yes, following in his mother's footsteps--and must have it taken out this week.

This will be the second time he's had to be knocked out and operated on this year, for pity's sake. Our first reaction was to resist putting him through that agony again, but from what the vet told me, even one bad tooth can really wreak havoc on a canine. In fact, she asserted the bacteria in his tooth is more of a threat to him than going through the surgery. And in case she didn't have my attention after that pearl of wisdom, she also said that healthy teeth make the difference between a dog living 10 years and living 14-15 years.

As Linus is already 11 and we both love him like he's our own flesh and blood, what's a girl to do?

Schedule the surgery, that's what. For Thursday, the day I work from home. The good news is that this procedure will only be a day-long affair, and so I'll be able to drop him off in the morning and take him home that night.

It makes me so sad that he has surgery in his future--and that dogs have the "patch, patch, patch" problem as well. Poor Linus!

On other fronts, even though Linda is the lawn diva, I helped with the raking this weekend. I couldn't last week, because I had a tooth out and wasn't supposed to exert myself (yes, my patch-a-thon continues), and I felt bad about it. Particularly as we have ridiculously prolific trees in our yard--and our neighbors' yards, for that matter. Poor Linda!

So, I raked, and right now, my right wrist feels like I strained it. Good grief--one little episode of raking, and there's heck to pay.

Ah, the middle ages. What's not to love, eh?

Lastly, I must confess that I sometimes listen to Gayle King on XM radio, but likely will do so no more. She had served as a nice antidote to the dueling jerks on Young Turks on Air America (there is a third person, a woman, but she seems to only say wildly inappropriate things that have no relevance to the matter at hand--what's a talkshow without a Non Sequitur Girl? A relief!). Anyway, the Turks, young liberals with an attitude (their words, not mine), do occasionally get on my last nerve, so I turn to either disco or Gayle King for blessed relief.

Well, now I'm just turning to disco. Last week, Ms. King said something about the John Kerry botched joke mishap that was straight out of the Neo-Con Playbook for the whole tempest in a teapot, and she just plummeted down in my rankings of people I will listen to gladly. In fact, she's no longer on the list.

Just when I thought she was a nice lady with a smile in her voice and a candid view on life, she ends up sounding like Rush Limbaugh's kid sister.

Alas.

So now, I think of her as a FOO--that's Friend of Oprah, or fou, as the French put it, and right now, I'm leaning toward the latter.

And one last thought on John Kerry: If he didn't exist, the Republicans would make him up.

Or have they?