Wrath of the Dog Napkin

And so Big Arm Woman, whom I've been reading since I discovered blogs, posts this witty little thing about fake poetry, essentially. And I think to myself, reading her poem (which I'll post in its entirety here...)

Misery Mine

The day is done,
And no one knows
Just why the dog
Ate my mother's toes.

We sit at night,
encased in woes,
My mom thinks life
totally blows.

She cannot run,
her walking slows,
stupid dog.
Missing toes.

-Freemont E Hall

What a riot! Read her whole post. But read the rest o' mine first.

About eight years ago, I was submitting a lot of poetry here and there. There was this literary magazine (this may be a stretch) called Evil Dog. My friend Jason Reasoner was visiting, and we decided (under influence of only silliness) to pander to the publication in hopes of having something ludicrously silly published.

Alas, we never heard from Evil Dog. But I have this lovely piece of obnoxious poetry to show for the effort. I'll share. Eight years later, I still crack up.

apocrophant
------------------------------------------------------------

the anytime everybody is always
an odd being. but i feel like
tomorrow today, outside
of now. into this frayed
stale silence (which doesn't
make blended friends; it keeps
them in cupboards) to fetch
poor bones for an evildog napkin
this night. smooch. it ain't
gonna rain no more.

sidereal scorpions (in waiting)
wait for my fingered dog barks
before it bites and steal my
cereal alibi in a six year
old clown suit selling sex
to my earlobes' shampooed
carpet. heidi, do you see
the tornado without my tomato
slaves? the vacuum calls,
anon. suckled nectar from
the cupboard womb named.

in the hourglass the tides mash lentils --
friends of little faith. damned by cub
board handles -- wrath of the dog napkin;

remember waco and repent.

jr/hli - October, 1995.

hln

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Heather Begs (Gently)

Heather Begs (Gently)

In two short weeks (yes, indeed), I will ride my first MS 150. I have probably mentioned that "ride" is a strange word for pedal-powering a bicycle for long distances, but ride I shall.

The MS in MS 150 stands for multiple sclerosis. This is one terrible disease. When I was growing up in small Sandusky, Michigan, I lived across the street from the middle school principal. His wife suffered from multiple sclerosis. I believe at that time she was the same age as I am now. She was often too exhausted to transport herself, opting instead to use a yellow motorized wheechair of sorts to move her instead. The couple had a very young son, too.

The MS 150 raises lots of money each year to combat the disease; still, it remains among us uncured.

If you have a few spare dollars ($3.00 is 2 cents a mile; $6.00 is 4), please consider sponsoring me for my efforts for this ride. It's simple to do. Here's how.

Option 1: Go to http://https://www.nationalmssociety.org/pledge/index.asp. Type Heather into the first name box and the lovely surname "Noggle" into the last name box. Choose Missouri as the state. Submit the web form. Click on the link that bears my name when it appears. Sponsor.

Option 2: Click the "Sponsor me" link on this weblog. Click through the certificate info, and then enter your pledge.

I thank you in advance.

hln

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Senioritis - Takin' It To Court

Yes, really. Our friends at Overlawyered have a doozy this evening.

Almost full text:

"Senioritis" victim sues for college admission

Hillsborough, N.C.: "A Guilford County high school graduate who recorded a perfect SAT score is suing UNC Chapel Hill, alleging the school refused to admit him after his grade point average dropped. Mark Edmonson, a National Merit Scholarship finalist, scored a perfect 1,600 on his SAT last year, but his grade point average fell from 3.8 to 3.5 in his senior year at Northwest Guilford High School. ... 'His senior year grades are C's, D's and F's,' Ziko said [Thomas Ziko, a lawyer for the state]." ("Student who aced SAT sues UNC for denying entry", Charlotte Observer, Aug. 20). An earlier acceptance letter from UNC had said, "We expect you to continue to achieve at the same level that enabled us to provide this offer of admission". Edmonson's family is beginning to talk about how the university didn't sufficiently take into account the consequences of his having a disability, attention-deficit disorder (Eric Ferreri, "UNC admission rescission sparks suit", Durham Herald-Sun, Aug. 19) (via "Begging to Differ", Aug. 21; Kimberly Swygert at No. 2 Pencil also comments (Aug. 21)).

I want more. You? Here's the Charlotte Observer link Walter at Overlawyered mentions.

Edmonson said in an affidavit filed in Orange County that university officials backed out of an April letter promising that as long as Edmonson graduated from Northwest, he would be admitted.

Eek - this one could get ugly.

hln

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A Fitness Contract

If your kids are parked more than moving, Health - HeathDay recommends that you draw up a fitness contract to unpark them.

This article is barely more than that. One good thing:

Make two sets of lists: One should detail what each of you plans to do in this program, the other outlines what you expect to gain.

Novel concept - the parent has to contribute to benefit the kid. And, no monetary goals, please. After all, we all know (thanks to snazzy reporting this week) that bored kids with too much money are predisposed to drug use (gag).

hln

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Ryan's Posting!

Ryan's Posting!

My coworker Ryan is updating his weblog regularly. You should check him out.

Now, if only Bryce would do the same? I just might link to him

hln

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Responsibility

I'm usually not one of the Bill Whittle raving mad fans; often I won't read a published essay for a few weeks, but this one was a must-read on the day it came out.

It's called Responsibility.

It's also my favorite topic. Bill does it justice.

hln

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Because He Says it Better Than I Could

I shall defer to Michael Williams of Master of None who talks about the bombing of the UN Headquarters in Iraq.

This was, of course, not the only bombing today.

This saddens me. I cannot explain it, and I cannot talk rationally about it, so I will simply shake my head, mutter innate depravity, and fail to understand.

hln

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Self-Actualizing Quentin

I posted about this before. Quentin is the dog who escaped his date with death by defying the dog pound's gas chamber. He was placed with Stray Rescue of St. Louis, and the director of this organization eventually adopted the dog.

This has raised the ire (probably because he has nothing else to write about) of Kevin Horrigan, St. Louis Post-Dispatch columnist. The article is here.

Now, sampling Kevin's obra.

I really hate to bring this up, what with the general jubilation over the happy non-ending for Quentin, the Miracle Dog, but is it really right that Quentin will spend the rest of his life as a public relations dog?

Okay. Whoa. Morals and animals, oh my, oh my. Is it "right" to put healthy animals to sleep simply because society doesn't have the sense to spay/neuter its pets? Wow, I don't think I want to go there. Next point.

This is where Quentin's role as a PR-dog comes in. An organization called In Defense of Animals has hired him, for the cost of a $5,000 donation to the city pound, as a national spokesdog for the plight of stray animals. The money will be used to help hire a full-time veterinarian who can administer lethal injections at the pound.

Two observations about that: One, unless the city can find a vet who works a lot cheaper than mine does, $5,000 isn't going to go very far. And two, what an awful job: "How'd your day go today, honey?" "Great, I killed 38 dogs." Quentin's new companion-human is Randy Grim, the founder of the Stray Rescue of St. Louis shelter, a man who pops Xanax for anxiety disorders but who has become a kind of Mother Teresa for stray animals. Quentin's new role will be as a celebrity, making public appearances around the country to raise money and awareness - a canine version of Fergie, the ex-Duchess of York.

Let's see. This is a DOG. I'm sure he's going to hate lots of attention from awestruck people who want to pet him and give him treats. Sure, 5k isn't much. But, last I checked, it's $4,999.99 more than a penny, which is a cent more than nothing.

And then there's that little matter of the ad hominem. SMEAR Randy Grim! Why? Because I can, says Horrigan. That man's job would make ME pop Xanax, too - so much heartbreak with unwanted animals.

And then comes the self-actualization part.

Under the theory of dog fulfillment, tracking dogs like beagles or hounds should go to tracking classes, Labrador retrievers should be furnished with water and ducks, and French poodles should be furnished with a nice Bordeaux. Quentin is a Basenji mix, descended from African hunting dogs, so he should be taken out in the woods to hunt warthogs.

Geez. What next? Should my cats be given live mice in a controlled room with a dirt floor at least three times a week? I think they're faring just fine.

Maslow (and Pavlov) are turning over in their graves.

Mr. Horrigan - I'm certain, though I can't properly anthropomorphize a dog (doubtful you can either), that Quentin would choose life and petting over death and another gassing? You wanna try again with a new column?

hln

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Is There a Circle of Hell for Stupidity?

No words. Sorry. Story says it all.

NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana (AP) -- A Marine received 14 months in a military brig for using a military credit card for an unauthorized six-figure shopping spree that included a car, a motorcycle and breast enhancement surgery.

No, wait. I break my vow of silence. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

hln

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The Berkshire Grill, Bridgeton, MO

Yes, this is a restaurant review. The Berkshire Grill was one of my favorite restaurants for a long time. It's located close to my home, sports a wide variety of food, employs an actual chef who features different specials for a time frame (perhaps a month - not certain), and, at one time, its service was overwhelmingly better than other restaurants of its type and price range (Applebee's, Ruby Tuesday, Red Lobster, Olive Garden - you get the idea). This was a "celebrate birthday and other occasions" restaurant.

And then the ownership changed.

This was less than a year ago, but I'm not certain of the exact date. The only reason I know of the ownership change was that Brian and I visited before the new owners had received their liquor license. Servers were warning all patrons of the lack of alcohol that evening.

I have three incidents, and, well, you know the rule of strike three. Here they are. I figure this is more effective than a simple letter to the management. I don't plan to go back for a few months.

Incident 1: I actually have the date. It was May 22, 2003 - Brian's and my 4th anniversary. I usually order the same dull, boring, but VERY tasty salad, and when the server brought me the dressing, it was woefully unmixed - about 2/3 oil and 1/3 of the good stuff. I asked for a spoon and gave the exact reason - to try to remove the oil from the dressing. Apparently spoons are not normal dining fare at the Berkshire Grill under new ownership; none sat atop my place setting.

The server brought one. I tried for a few minutes, but could not remove a significant enough amount of the oil to make the dressing palatable, and so I asked for more dressing. Usually it's superb, and even my uneducated palate can distinguish crap from superb. He brings me more dressing and has the audacity to say, "Oh, I just had to stir it."

Uh....this is not the mark of a restaurant that distinguishes itself from others because of fantastic service.

Incident #2 - approximately 2 weeks later. My friend Tonya, with whom I try to dine about once a month, and I met at Berkshire on a weekday evening, probably a Wednesday. Same said server dolt decided to feign sweeping other parts of the restaurant during our meal. Everytime he'd find something more interesting to do, he'd prop his broom and dustpan (quite dirty) against some table, and then flee to his other task. This occurred at least three times. Ambiance! Baby!

Incident #3 was last night. I ordered BBQ ribs and specifically stated no cole slaw. I asked for a little bit of extra lettuce on my starter salad instead. (This restaurant has actually done that for me - added more salad in place of a side). Oh, but not this server. Not a big deal that she forgot the lettuce; no big thing. I wasn't going to starve. But, plopped on my plate, with a big old nasty pile of mayonnaise-laden sloppy goo, is this wad of cole slaw. Mom, you're cringing, aren't you. I mean, your head must hurt.

I despise mayonnaise. It's one of the three most disgusting edible/drinkable substances (with mashed potatoes and carbonated beverages rounding out the list). I got no offer of "we'll bring you another plate." Instead, I picked up the blob and put it in my dirty salad bowl, and our server, Shannon, walked away with it.

Now, again, minor irritation. But it's the third time. And, to me, it's more of an irritation than to most. I don't personally ascribe to the "but it all ends up in the same place anyway" theory. BS. I was willing to let it slide in my mind until I noticed that the aforementioned cole slaw had a very runny mayonnaise sauce. Yes, you bet. It was all over my french fries (probably good - those go to my hips), and all over one end of my ribs. I pointed this out. I got a "I'm going to ignore that" look from the server.

So, Berkshire Grill, you've lost a customer (two, actually - Brian) for a while. Perhaps you should hire back those excellent servers whom you've chased off, and read the service manual one more time.

Empty parking lot last night. Give it a month - it'll be emptier.

Those of you from stlbloggers.com - I'd love to know if you feel the same.

hln

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Weekend = Blur (in many ways)

Saturday: Near 70 miles in 95+ degree heat in the middle of Illinois. I can't remember much of Saturday after that. Did I do anything? All I remember is intense heat, being slower than every other person, and having to stop to put my poor head between my knees a few minutes before being able to resume the ride. Ewww.

Sunday: Brian returns! Oh, and 24 miles at the Grafton Ferry Ride, where Heather got disgusted while waiting too long for the ferry and made it the Grafton Back-And-Forth-From-The-Beginning-To-The-Ferry-And-Again Ride. Never hurts to improvise.

hln

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% Geek

% Geek

I've seen references to this test on so many blogs that I've forgotten where I most recently saw it. At any rate, I'm 23.4714% - Geek. Just enough to allow me to carry on geek conversations. Phew.

hln

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Friendster

Just when you thought you've heard of everything, along comes Friendster.

Thanks, Hans. I always wanted to see a 28-point Arial revelation stating "Hans Is Your Friend"

All doubts erased.

Now there's this little problem of the fact that Hans is my ONLY friend. Hook me up, people.

hln

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I'm Back (and Where I Went)

I'm Back (and Where I Went)

I've been gone. You may have noticed. I am back.

I returned last night. I'll replay the dramatic part for you in reverse order. The interesting part began shortly after my plane touched down last evening at Lambert Airport in St. Louis. I got my bags, got to my car, and my cell phone rang while I was driving to my house.

The caller was my mother. She said something to the effect of "Hi, are you all right" or "Hi, where are you?" I said, St. Louis, just leaving the airport. And then she gave me news of the blackout.

I was returning from a business trip in Detroit. I escaped the blackout by, we suspect, about 30 minutes. Phew.

Not so lucky for a European colleague I met at the conference, who was slated to not leave Detroit until today. I hope he made it home to his family.

I was in Detroit for the OAGi's quarterly meeting. It was decided that I would attend on Thursday of last week, so I spent the bulk of the time between then and Monday when I left for Detroit preparing for said conference.

Oh, yeah, and I did that Atari party, drinking, and bike riding thing over last weekend, too. Just not all at once.

So, I have been and gone. I will probably be and go some other times in the future.

Now I just have to get caught up on my reading; the writing part's easy.

hln

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Brian in Pure Form

I won't say much - just point you to the link.

Note: if "the link" isn't working, it's probably blogger having issues with its permalinks. You can still reach the article of note by hitting Brian directly - probably near the top - named Experiment Success: The Magazine Rack at APIV.

hln

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DDT vs DEET

This is one of the funnier things I've read in weeks. John Cole from Balloon Juice hands this woman her entrails in a small, brown paper bag and says "EAT!" due to her ill-informed letter to the editor about mosquito control - known here in St. Louis as vector control (encompasses the rats, too).

Here's a sample. Go read the whole thing. It's funny enough to read twice.

One of the main reasons the government is as inefficient and ineffetive as it is might be because they have to deal with morons and cretins all day long- in other words, taxpayers are stupid. I offer Ms. Desmond as exhibit A. This letter to the editor is so stupid on so many levels that it made my head hurt.

1.) DDT was banned in the United States on June 14, 1972. No one sprayed DDT on your tomatoes, your cat, or you. What happened to you was part of a Mosquito abatement program, and you probably (I don't know for sure, but you might ask your local authorities- just a thought) got fogged with a synthetic pyrethroid, perhaps Peremethrin, Sumithrin, or Resmethrin. If you click the link, the EPA has deemed these to be safe (and this was done under the Clinton EPA, so even Democrats can feel safe).

Cretins!

hln

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Yesterday

Yesterday

I'm afraid the cycling was limited to one day this week, mostly due to last night's party and the alcohol consumed before/during it. At 11:00 p.m. or so, the thought of a 7:30 a.m. ride was, well, banished. So, 45 miles yesterday.

Somewhere mid ride, there was a bit of excitement I would learn about at the Yellow Dog Saloon where all ride paths met with only 4 miles remaining. Had I digital camera, you would see this little excitement, but, alas, no. Supposedly (and this is third hand), a dog was chasing a kitten out in the middle of nowhere, and one of the cyclists actually wiped out to avoid hitting the kitten, who is so small she fit in my hand. A couple of good-hearted folk transported the kitten to the YD Saloon, and said kitten was scampering about the parking lot, enthralling cyclists of both genders.

Since I'm cat qualified, I held the little ball of fur above my head and pronounced her a girl. I promptly named her Shimano, which stuck, I believe.

I believe someone adopted her - no way to figure out where she belonged, and there was no identification on the kitten. What can you do?

Last night's Atari party was sparsely populated, compared to last year's. Still, we had a good time. I think more people will appear next year as again I shave the Atari logo into the back of Brian's head. We did not do that this year. As usual, Warlords was the most popular game. If our pictures turn out, I'll post one or two. UPDATE -> no need. Brian handled it for me.

Okay, that's personal enough for a while. I have a few things planned to blog, and I actually have an essay running through my mind that might make it to electronic format in the next week.

One more thing: I'm a loser, and I like it!

hln

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From the Readers

I've had three reader e-mails this week; yay! One asked my why I have no comments section. I answered that I'm too busy to code one or find one to incorporate. I've seen some blogger blogs with comments - anybody have recommendations? I'll look into this in September, likely.

Two, Mike Courtney wrote to inform me that blogger was hogging my permalinks. Bad blogger. Blog hog, blogger. My permalinks are STILL not properly rendering, which, given that this is a weekend, is not shocking. Perhaps all will be well tomorrow.

Three, Hans "Is the Party" Gerwitz, whirling dervish bicycle and software geek, wrote thus:

Thought for the day: how is ifeminism, well, feminism? Isn't is oxymoronic to use a gender-loaded term to describe a position that dismisses gender as the basis for rights?

Yes, and no; more soon. Dictionary.com:

Feminism
1) Belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.
2) The movement organized around this belief.

If you take definition one, it doesn't say anything about the collective female voice rallying for acceptance of women as equal to men; rather, this is a blanket statement that, once accepted, hopefully leads one to view people as individuals rather than collectives of men and women (and never the twain shall meet).

But, of course, the word "feminism" elicits a much different view - often with the encouragement of the feminists. If you know me personally, you've probably heard the story of the female realtor at the party who adamantly insisted that ALL women are oppressed. I said, really, I don't FEEL oppressed. I don't see any evidence of oppression; how can I be oppressed? THESE women (those whom I have labelled with the negative connotation of feminism) probably give the movement a bad name, even in my eyes. I don't see any need to band together with other members of my gender to assert the need for something that I believe, in this day and age, at least as far as my life goes, ALREADY EXISTS.

But I digress. Hans, I stand firm on the "social, political, and economic equality of the sexes" (en masse). What's unstated, of course, is that this is typically from a female perspective (as are my thoughts - no escaping that). I'll state the text from the ifeminism post again, just for ease of reading. From the site ifeminism.com:

What is ifeminism?

Individualist feminism, or ifeminism, advocates the equal treatment of men and women as individuals under just law. The core principle of individualist feminism is that all human beings have a moral and legal claim to their own persons and property. It is sometimes called libertarian feminism.

ifeminism: literal, libertarian feminism.

hln

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Yo Quiero Tac...I'm HIT!

Rat dogs unite! Stave off the airborne oppressors.

hln

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Every Dog Has His Day?

One certainly wouldn't think gas day at the animal shelter would be Quentin's day. The previously unnamed dog was locked in with 50 other animals, gassed, and survived.

How odd is this? It unnerves me - not that the dog survived, but to think of the horrors of this job. As an everyday American who takes responsibility for her pets (you know, neuters/spays, feeds, waters, lavishes affection, keeps them in her home and doesn't let them roam, doesn't return them to the animal shelter on the same whim as many who spontaneously decide it's time to "own" a pet). I can't stand to think of euthanasia of healthy animals. I've been exposed to the horrid choice of putting an animal to sleep twice now - both were too ill to survive on their own. It is the only experience nearly as gut wrenching as the death of a human loved one.

While Brian may scoff at the "animal lover whack jobs" (I believe he puts it that way) who strive for no-kill shelters, I really think that's ALL you can strive for, hope for, if you aim to effect change. It seems impossible because the American public is an irresponsible society. Still, any steps toward this goal are only positive.

Animals don't have inherent "rights," nor should they. But, to me, animals are more than mere property. They are living beings. A CD strewn carelessly across my floor is property. Any of my five cats is a family member. Perhaps certain laws may deal with both as something as narrow as "property," but I can promise you that there is a discrete distinction in my mind between the two. My cats are priceless. I'm not sure how to codify the distinction, and I am hopeful it will never matter to me. A year and a half when my home was broken into and the lower-level glass door was shattered, the first thing, once our safety was ensured, was to search for each of the cats. All remained. A true blessing.

This story strikes an emotional chord - cats and dogs often do with me. This dog now known as Quentin is in the spotlight, and I hope his second chance will raise some awareness of what happens, ultimately, to the "unwanted" animals in today's animal shelters. It's amazing what societal lore can do for a single "unwanted,", no?

Reminds me of this. I'm sure Michael McNeilley and his estate won't mind me reprinting it and giving it due credit.

Say Goodbye

_________________________________

It's like Frank said when
he worked in the pound,
killed all those dogs

in the evacuator, sucked the life
out of them in the oxygen
deprivation chamber:

he took a lot of them home,
the cute ones, the ones he
couldn't bear to kill -

the ones he wanted to save,
and they ran out in the
traffic,

broke their chains and disappeared;
one got killed in a fight,
another ate rat poison.

One way or another they died,
every last damned
one of them.

One day someone came in with
5 perfect poodle puppies
and Frank was told

to kill 4 and save one. The choice of
who lived and who died was left
up to Frank,

so he took the runt of the litter,
the one who seemed he could
adapt

and he killed the 4 best ones,
reduced their air pressure
to that at 30,000 feet,

where they puked their hearts out
like all the others he
"put to sleep,"

and took the little one and put him
up front in a tiny cage,
where he would appear

pathetic to the general public,
some of whom selected him and
took him home that very day,

but who returned the next week
for another puppy, saying
the one they got

had "just died. He was fine and then
he died. The kids are all
broken up" they said.

And they wanted to know if there was
a money-back
guarantee.

You can't save anybody, Frank decided,
the system takes over
and that's that.

After a while Frank stopped
taking any of them home.
Frank modified

his objectives, but you can't say
he ever really gave up on them.
Like Frank said,

"I don't want to save them, not really,
I just want to rub their
fucking ears."

And he rubbed their ears, the furry discards,
the smart ones, the dumb ones,
the old and the young,

the rejects, the crippled and lame, the ones
with bad markings, the wrong coloration,
With problems beyond

their understanding. And each time before
he put them in the chamber, he looked
into their eyes.

And if there was no salvation, if there was
no redemption, at least there was
someone to say goodbye.

mcn

Found again on rec.arts.poems but easier to read here.

mcn is Michael McNeilley, who died 7/16/2000.

hln

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