Brittany: Ow, those are my child-bearing kidneys!
Jon: Did you just say “child-bearing kidneys?”
Brittany: You heard me.
Jon: Now, hon, I admittedly don’t know a lot about the female reproductive system…
Brittany: Apparently not.
I dressed up as a cherry picker for Halloween.
We’ve now got one up on the Pirates who don’t do anything. Yesterday we went to Boston to see’s Brittany’s sister present at a biological engineering conference/competition at MIT. We walked around, saw Fenway Park from a distance, and visited the headquarters of the First Church of Christ, Scientist. They have a beautiful “mother church,” the organ of which has a facade similar to the organ of the conference center, but, ironically, was designed by the same person who designed the Tabernacle organ. We examined some of the more unusual architecture at MIT, and ate dinner at an Irish pub which was decked out of Halloween. Our server was some kind of undead airline crash victim.
Boston was a beautiful city and Cambridge, what little we saw of it, seemed like a nice area. Brittany and speculated about what life might have been like if I had gotten in and chosen to go to Harvard, which we did not have time to visit. Another time perhaps.
I extend my apologies to all those who keep coming to this site hoping to find something more uplifting than an obituary for an adorable little dog. My heartfelt gratitude to each and every one of you.
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Cookie Fall 2007
My dog of 13-14 years died last night. It was her time to go. Her health had been deteriorating over the past 5-4 years because of congenital heart failure, although for most of that, she still enjoyed most of the same activities she did as a puppy. Nevertheless, for the last 3 months or so, most of her energy had been spent just trying to get the next breath. I’m glad she’s not in any more pain.
Cookie was a well-behaved Shih Tzu and although she was not very obedient, she had an independent and well-developed sense of propriety and duty. Her squeaky rubber ball was a sacred orb, the pursuit of which she made top priority. She retained control of her bladder and bowels even into old age, and she regularly attended family prayer and scripture study. She welcomed visitors—both stranger and friend—with an amiable tail wag and sniff.
Cookie with ball
She was one of my best little friends and was always there when you needed someone to sit with or play with. Her absence will be felt most acutely by my mom, for whom Cookie was a most constant friend and companion.
Some may think such strong feelings for an animal are foolish. This tribute is not appropriate for them, but I was raised in a home where dogs were part of the family. I know that human souls are immortal, that we may enjoy the same sociality with humans in the next life, and that families can be together forever, but what about dogs? Will I see Cookie again? Will I be able to throw her ball again and sit with her again? Does God restore our sociality with our good friends regardless of their species?
Which title is a little bit inconsiderate if any / all of you are vegetarians or don’t like taglines referencing tv commercials for beef. We do apologize. If the next time you open your freezer and reach for a tofurky, I will not judge you.
That being said, I’d like to mention our freezer is currently quite full and getting some good mileage. Freezers are a good thing. Nevertheless there are some uses for the freezer up with which I cannot put. Namely, the use of said chill chest for a Lenin-esque memorial to my friend’s hamster.
Hammy, the aforementioned quadruped, died in February of this year. My poor friend doesn’t have the heart to lay him to rest and so she stuck him in the freezer. And left the country for a few months. And then called me yesterday wondering if I knew a good taxidermist. It was awkward, but made for a very funny story at work. Note: I will not be eating any food from that freezer EVER again.
Although the national dish of Ecuador is guinea pig, let it be known to all parties that I have never consumed any mammal that far down on the food chain. Your hamsters are all safe from my food storage. That, not to mention one once bit my fingernail in half, for which I hold a 700-year grudge. Though technically that was a gerbil. Dirty gerbil. That being said, my grudge didn’t prevent me from referring my friend to a good taxidermist.
Hammy the Hamster, 2007-2009. Rest in peace you fat little fuzzball.
PS—Hammy never bit me, so I hope he goes to doggy heaven.
PPS —Yes I know it’s called “doggy” heaven. But I’m sure all good hamsters who paid their tithing still go there.
Whatever you recommended for getting rid of the music from upstairs, it must have worked. They moved out! What’s that? What are the new neighbors like? Haven’t the foggiest. They don’t make a peep! 
…blast Latin rap and hip hop approximately 60% of the day. They usually turn it off at about 11:30 PM. Last week I went up there to talk to them. A woman answered the door and woud not respond or make eye contact but just stood in the door and scowled a death scowl.
And now it’s louder than ever.
So what should we do?
Don’t want to wade through my 2,000 word analysis and commentary? Skip to the end. Seriously, this review is longer than the movie.
People have been soliciting my opinion on the new Star Trek. I presume this is because everyone knows that I am an unabashed Trekkie who can give a timeline-specific history of the Romulan Star Empire or detail the impact, historical influence, and eventual phasing out of the Khitomer accords. My transporter theory is a little basic, but my grasp of the Prime Directive—including its history of development, limitations, and ramifications—is second to none. I could teach a class at Starfleet Academy.
So am I the right person to ask? Not necessarily. I’m pre-disposed to like the movie because it’s Star Trek and I’m pre-disposed not to like it because I overpsyched myself up for it, and it never had any hope of living up to my expectations. No matter how good it was (yes, that’s a sentence fragment. deal with it). Continue reading
Me: Honey! Check this out!
Wife: No, we are not making those our two-year supply.
I just heard a 20-something male call an unknown woman at least twice his age, “sweetheart.”
Really?
Does that not sound awkward to anyone else?
It should.
Here are the acceptable instances for a man to call a woman sweetheart without her having previously asked him to do so (in order of propriety):
Guys, it’s not the 60s. It isn’t even the 70s. We have now moved beyond all decades in which calling any random woman sweetheart was not considered sexist. Grow up.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxLNOdCmpEg
