A Matter of Opinion

M's got his tail in a crack. He says our cats couldn't stink up their litter box as bad as the FSU football team stunk up Doak Campbell Stadium tonight.

Excuse me? Couldn't stink it up as bad as . . . ? I happen to believe stinky litter boxes smell pretty good. Kinda makes me wish we'd gone to the game.

David Axelrod needs your help!

In preparing for this post I went Googling for some pictures of a guy who's been on TV a lot recently. His name is David Axelrod and he was a senior campaign advisor for President Obama. Now he's mostly known for his famous facial hair, which is a pretty nice mustache, and the question of whether he'll soon have to shave it off on MSNBC's "Morning Joe" show. He's offered to do this if he can raise a million dollars for research against an illness called epilepsy by the end of this month. A big reason he's interested in this cause is that his daughter, Lauren, has epilepsy. The people on "Morning Joe" are helping him out, and I hope you will, too.

Mr. Axelrod has started a website called slashthestache.com, where you can donate to fight epilepsy. Now here is the problem: November ends in just ten more days, and as of today he's barely halfway to his million-dollar goal. So if you want to see him lose the mustache, you need to get cracking. I don't know what to suggest if you like the mustache and want him to keep it. You can probably go to this website for the sponsoring charity, which is called CURE (Citizens United for Research in Epilepsy), and donate without it counting toward Mr. Axelrod's goal. The main thing is, you should donate!

By the way, here is a picture of David Axelrod with his mustache:

Is it just me, or does he look a lot like Mike's favorite economist, John Maynard Keynes?

Okay, so they didn't make it to the real White House.

Maybe this would be a good alternative.

How does it feel to be 237?

Ask a Marine. I'm guessing it feels pretty good. All over the world today, groups of U.S. Marines will be celebrating the Corps' founding 237 years ago by cutting into cakes like this one:

Or this one:

Or this:

Or . . . well, you get the picture:

Man, I'd be totally proud to guard any one of those cakes until the Marines were ready to eat it! I really would.

Happy birthday to Marines of all sizes!

Bird is the Word!

As we set out on our walk this morning, M and I saw a couple of big birds pecking the grass in front of our next-door neighbor's house. They weren't yellow, like that Sesame Street one that Mitt Romney was gunning for before the election. These were sandhill cranes, and there are quite a few of them in our area. But this was the closest I've seen them to our house.

We walked on past them, and they started walking along with us, not paying any attention to us, but just poking around for their breakfast. As they did, they kept making these chortling, chattering noises. They make these sounds almost all the time, whether they're flying or walking.

Not too surprisingly, we didn't have our camera with us. So I can't post our own pictures to show you what they look like. That, of course, is where Google rides to the rescue. Behold, a pair of sandhill cranes pretty much like ours:

The four of us kind of walked along together to the corner and around it, and then the cranes started moving away from us, because I tend to stop and smell the roses a lot, if you get my drift. A little while later we saw them way down a side street. We tried to catch up to them, but before we could get there they flew away. Here's what they look like when they fly (again courtesy of Google):

To hear the strange sounds they make, click this link and open the WAV file in Windows Media Player or whatever music program you use.

Some truths are universal.

Like this one.

But these groups can't do much rescuing without financial help. Please remember them as we head into the holiday season. (Cats, too!)

Mitt Romney's Tips for Surviving Hurricane Sandy

Mike said these safety tips from Mitt Romney that he found online are a day late and a dollar short, since they refer to Sandy, a huge hurricane that has already hit the Atlantic coastal states, especially Delaware, New Jersey, and New York, leaving a trail of destruction behind. But he thought I should pass them along anyway, because there will be more bad storms in the future. So here's Mr. Romney's list:

Mike said you might want to print them out and tape them to your refrigerator.

*       *       *

Update: It sometimes takes me a while to suspect I'm having my chain jerked. After reading those "tips" a few times and coming back repeatedly to that one about the dog, I thought I'd better ask Mike for some clarification:

"Isn't Mitt Romney one of those guys that's running for President?" I asked.

"Yup," he said.

"Is it that same jackass who tied his dog to the top of his car and went on a long trip, and when people questioned him about it he said it was okay, that the dog was perfectly safe because he was in an airtight box?"

"Words to that effect, I believe," M replied. "And yes, it's the same jackass."

"But didn't the dog get so upset that he pooped Hershey squirts all over himself, and it came out of the 'airtight' box and ran down the car's windows until the man had to stop and hose the dog and the box and the car off at a gas station?" I remembered hearing the story months ago on TV and wondering what kind of genius (a) puts a dog in a box on a car roof for a trip, whether or not the box is airtight; or (b) puts any animal into an airtight box for any length of time, for any reason; or (c) is so stupid that he thinks--or at least he tells people--that the box is airtight when it isn't. This type of person doesn't need to be President of the United States. He needs to be neutered to protect the gene pool."

"I'm afraid that ship has already sailed."

I was beyond livid. "I hope you don't plan to vote for him," I said.

"I've already voted," he informed me. "But no, I didn't vote for him. I wouldn't vote for Mitt Romney for dog catcher."

"Me neither," I said. But of course I wouldn't vote for anyone for dog catcher.

I did some research and found this picture of what the President's airplane, which is called Air Force One, will look like if Romney-the-Dog-Lover gets elected:

In the name of PETA and the ASPCA, please don't let this happen!

Updated again on Wednesday, November 7th:

Thank you!

Trick or treat!

Last night was Halloween, which for some reason meant I had to dress up as a hot dog for my evening walk around the neighborhood:

I don't completely dislike the outfit. Actually it feels pretty snug and would probably make a good "thunder shirt." I'll have to suggest that to M the next time the skies are angry. The main problem is that it's not very practical for going on a walk. It binds a little. And it's hard to lift your leg, which is an important consideration given my walking style.

But M said we ought to get into the spirit one evening a year, because there'd be lots of kids going around in all kinds of costumes, mostly scary things like witches and zombies and ghosts and goblins, and they'd think it was pretty cool seeing me all decked out, too.

"Remind me why they would dress up like that?" I asked, and he said it was for something called trick or treat, where they go knocking on doors, pestering the neighbors for treats, and if the neighbors don't give them some treats, the kids play tricks on them. (I'm sure he must have told me about this last year, but I guess I blocked it out.)

"I'm not that into scary," I said, but he promised it would be fun scary, not heart-stopping scary.

We headed down the road, and it didn't take long before I got tired of the binding hot dog straps and not being able to raise my leg properly. So I thought up my own version of trick or treat: If M didn't give me a doggie treat every half-block, I'd trick him by standing right there until he ponied up. It worked out pretty well.

By the way, we walked all over the place and the only dressed-up kid we saw was a girl in some gauzy, princess-looking outfit. No witches or goblins or anything that was the least bit scary.

And then we came to this house:

Well, that sight really brought me up short. Those things looked about ten feet tall and had all kinds of shrieks and moans and other-worldly noises coming out of them. Any enthusiasm I'd managed to conjure up for Halloween cooled off right away.

"Let's blow this Popsicle stand," I said. "Those aren't kids. I've seen enough."

I told him I was a bit bummed at the sparse turnout of trick-or-treaters, and he explained that it was probably because it was too early. "There'll be more after dark," he said.

"Why didn't we wait until dark to come out?" I asked.

"We have to get home so we can turn out the lights and watch TV and not answer the door." (This is M's idea of getting into the spirit.)

"Suits me," I said. "Can I have another treat?"

On the way home, we came across Lucy, an American Eskimo dog who lives near us. I'm sure she wondered what in the world I was up to.

Okay, cotton-top, you can stop gawking any old time!

This is "The Big HalloWeenie," signing off until next year.