The Finish Line

I present to you the last blog post. [cue raucous celebration]. I want to thank my handful of loyal readers for staying with me. I needed to stretch the writing muscles, and I hope that once we get through the holidays I can put them to better use.


A few notes about things that I've written about. First. Leo is doing well but he's still not himself. If it was me who'd had major abdominal surgery I'd be hiding under my covers in a darkened room whining about the pain. Dogs are a lot more stoic. Still, it has to hurt.

The Buckeyes won in a game for the ages, so I can lord it over Michigan fans for another year.

The Custard sized hole in my heart is mending but I still see him out of the corner of my eye every now and then.

I wrote a draft of a post about hockey, football, violence but I don't think it will ever be ready for posting. I think it's just for me.

I have a future son in law. Next October.

Tango still has not gotten a home


Okay, that's it. Now it's back to my regular schedule of posting which is to say, very infrequently.

Have a good December and a Happy New Year. 

Thanks for reading.

Where I Post One of My Stories Because, Well, I Can

The second to last day of blogapalooza brings us a story I wrote and had published in a little online journal founded by the multi-talented  and tireless Dale Wisely called Right Hand Pointing, for which I am the fiction editor. This may seem self indulgent, but pretty much all blogging is self indulgent so why not?

I do this for two reasons. One, I would like to expose this story to people who may have missed it the first time around. And second I hope that you will follow the link and read other stories and poetry, and even feel moved to submit.

Right Hand Pointing is dedicated to short form poetry and fiction, as well as art.  Stories are 500 words or fewer. Poetry is 16-20 lines and usually under 75 words. Art is 1000 words because, well you know what a picture is worth.

We have a strict policy of not publishing the work of the editors, but we decided to celebrate issue #50 we would invite a few long time contributors as well as the editors to submit. You can find my piece here as well as a prose poem here. Please check out the issue and the other writers, and then other issues, and then you should binge-read the entire collection. It beats Breaking Bad.

Also a brief note about tomorrow. I'm planning a sort of summary day, where I'll revisit some of the things I've blogged about over the 30 days. The content and tone will depend heavily on the outcome of The Game so stay tuned.

Without further ado, my story.

Justice System

They have emptied all the prisons in Arkansas, like racing pigeons from a coop. Something about budget shortfalls; it's all over the news. Banks and shopkeepers board up windows, and police work 24 hour shifts. The National Guard fuel tanks and Humvees, and parents pack for unplanned trips out of state. I watch all this on TV, pistol on the bed, waiting for you to knock on my door.

Mama doesn't know where I am; I've moved four times. You can't use her to get to me like that time when I was working produce at the BiLo, and she convinced me to let you steal the night deposit. She said brothers got to stick together. I should have known they'd look at me first; I was always the one getting caught. They couldn't prove anything but they fired me just the same. I was out of work eight months. Had to live with Mama and you and all those chickens.

Then she got me to go in with you on that scam taking old ladies' social security checks. Besides the drive all the way to Fayetteville, which I hated, that one old lady shot at us. Lucky she didn't know the kick on a .45 or we'd have bled out right there on Leverett Ave. I had told Mama the BiLo was my last job but she worked me little by little, sitting next to me on the couch, bringing me those pudding cups I like, telling me how she had plans for us all but life wouldn't stop holding her under the water, and she needed me to watch out for you cause if anything ever happened to you she'd die. I said, "What about me, Mama?" and she said, "You can take care of yourself, you got your daddy's grit, but Bobby Jr., he's delicate, like an albino in the desert and you gotta be his shade, Lester, you gotta be his shade." After that I always pictured you all par-boiled in the exercise yard. I imagined flying over in a blimp to shield you from the sun, but the blimp was being driven by Mama because I didn’t mind if you burned.

I figure you'll ask cousin Berty where I am. She never could keep a secret, and I'm sick of moving anyway. I did my six months after turning you in. It was a sweet deal but I knew this day would come, I knew it long before I saw the police on TV in their riot gear, long before I sat on the couch with Mama eating pudding. I knew it the day we did our first job, you stealing pizzas out of the Dominos car while I fumbled for tip money for the driver. That pizza didn't taste as good to me as you and Mama thought it did, and that was the day I knew we'd end up here.

I wish I knew where 'here' was, though, Bobby Jr. I wish you'd walk through that door, your scraggly beard framing that stupid grin, so I could know for sure where I ended up. I wish you both would come, you and Mama, so I could figure out where I'm going next.

Justice System first appeared in Right Hand Pointing, issue 50.

Thanks for reading.  If you want to find more of my work, my web site is here.

Thanks for reading.

The Thanksgiving Tally

1 son in the house
1 parade (19 lip-synced acts) watched
4 categories of dog show viewed
1 nap taken
1 University of Michigan friend teased
4 turns in Words with Friends taken
1 personal dog partially bathed (he just had surgery)
1 daughter in Canada Skyped
1 turkey breast half eaten, half carved for leftovers
1 game of euchre played
1 game of euchre lost
1 chocolate pie piece consumed
2 more pieces desired but not consumed
1 mother called
1 blog updated

Planned:
tease more Michigan fans
TV
early bed



Thanks for reading.

The Emergency Back-Up Cat

I was going to make a big The Story of Custard Part 3 post but I decided not to. We kept him going for a long time with TLC and finally his age caught up to him. We helped him along and that's that. The only thing I'll say is that we almost fell into the trap of seeing if we could wait one more day, then another then another, which is the exact opposite of what we would advise anyone else to do. But we did right by him.

So when I came home and found Cosmo

I informed him that he needed to buckle up his chinstrap because he was promoted to first team. Oddly, since then he's been more affectionate and sociable. He's stepped up his game.

We now have no emergency back-up cat. We don't count Lucky, who is like a really bad walk-on who will never play a down (that's the end of the football references). But we're in no hurry. For us, pets happen.

P.S. Michigan joke:

It is late in the OSU-Michigan game on an overcast day.
Michigan has the ball on the OSU 3, with 2 seconds left, and down
14-10. There is time for one more play.

Lloyd Carr calls timeout. As the team is coming to the
sideline, Lloyd looks to the heavens and says, "God - I've been a
good man. A churchgoing man. I've tried to do what's right and I've
never asked you for anything. But, this is a big game and if I could
get a little guidance, I would be forever grateful".

The clouds part, sun shines on Lloyd and he hears a voice
bellow "I Right 39 Pitch Trap".

Lloyd can't believe it! God himself gave him the play! It'll work
for sure.

The team comes to the sideline and Lloyd excitedly gives them
the play. The timeout ends and the teams come back on the field.
Lloyd can barely contain his excitement - he's going to win.

Play resumes and the ball is snapped. The Michigan QB
pitches to the back. For a split second, there's a hole - which is
quickly filled by 2 Ohio State linebackers, who tackle the Michigan back short of
the goal line.

Time expires and Ohio State players storm the field to
celebrate. Lloyd is in shock - he can't believe the play didn't work.

Lloyd looks to the heavens and cries, "God - why did you call
THAT play?"

God, shrugs, turns to his right and says, "Woody -
why did we call that play?"

Thanks for reading.

When a dog eats something he should not

Every job has its perks. Being married to an attorney means free legal advice. Being married to a chef means at least one of you knows how to cook. Being married to a cab driver means you can always get great directions (admittedly less valuable in the age of GPS). And being married to a veterinarian means (convenient but not free) pet care. 

This is never more valuable than at 11pm and your dog

(Leo from a few days ago)

is vomiting and won't stop. First, she can tell the difference between incidental vomiting and vomiting that signals trouble. Second, she can pack him up in the car at 11pm and take him to get x-rays, which she can also read for herself and deem to be inconclusive. She can prescribe and administer medicine right there-- no waiting. And she can keep an eagle eye on him through the night.

The next day she can determine he's not doing better. Then she can pack him in the car again and get more x-rays, which today show something more suspicious. She can email them to specialists and have then concur that there is an obstruction and she can schedule surgery twenty minutes later, which she can perform herself. 

She can remove a peach pit from the middle of his intestine and text me a photo (WARNING--possible gross alert.

And she can recite all the possible post-op complications so we can worry about him together.

All this she can do, and I'll tell you, it's pretty great.



Thanks for reading.

The Greatest Rivalry in Sports

At least that's what we like to call it. I'm sure Army-Navy fans would beg to differ and I couldn't really refute that, but the armed services are far too humble to make such proclamations so we're going with ours.

I will say that as much fun as it has been beating up the skunk-weasels the past few years, The Game will suffer if we aren't nearly equal. So I'm thinking we cream them this year and see how it goes after that.

Here now is a little thing to get the juices flowing (I'm up against deadline and this is the fastest thing I could put together. Ah, the inner working of blogapalooza).




Thanks for reading.

It's Michigan Week

I realize that there are some loyal readers who are fans of That Team Up North, (and I promise I charge you the same $10 monthly fee that I charge everyone else),   But this is the week where I am compelled by the fine print on my Ohio State diploma to take every opportunity to bust your chops. So I will be posting various items in the spirit of the Greatest Rivalry in Sports.

There was this Ohio State fan who liked to amuse himself by swerving his car toward any Michigan fan he saw, then missing them at the last second. One day, while driving along, he saw a priest and, thinking he would do a good deed, pulled over to assist.

 "Where are you going Father?" 

"I'm going to give mass at St. Francis Church, about 2 miles down the road."
"Climb in, Father! I'll give you a lift!" And he climbed into the back seat.  

As they continued on, the driver saw a Michigan fan walking down the road, wearing a maize and blue "M" and instinctively swerved as if to hit him, then swerved away at the last instant. Except this time he heard a loud 'thump' as he passed. Worried, he checked his mirrors but saw nothing, then remembered the priest in the back seat.

"Sorry Father, I almost hit that Michigan fan." 

"That's okay," the priest said, "I got him with the door." 



Thanks for reading.

Potpourri Day

A few items I found interesting:

From the Daily Dish: a small piece about human versus animal consciousness.

From Cleveland.com : Ohio State University perfume? Sign me up, unless it smells like my old dorm then, nevermind.

From the BBC: DNA hint of European origin for dogs 

And finally from my friend Sue, The slowest lawnmower ever.

Have a great Saturday and Go Bucks!


Thanks for reading.

JFK

I was in first grade when shots were fired from the Texas School Book Repository.  Six years old. I don't remember where I was when I heard. I don't know if they told us in school. Would they even tell first graders? My teacher was...wow I can't remember. There was a time when I thought I would always be able to recite the names of my elementary school teachers in order. Mrs. Sahadie for kindergarten.  Mrs. Morris for second. Mrs Beam for third etc, etc etc. Damn, who did I have for first grade?

Anyway, I don't have that same recollection of place and time for the Kennedy assassination. I guess six year old boys have other things on their minds. I know I did. My only real memory was that they preempted cartoons for several days and I really only cared about when they were going to come back on.

Cartoons did come back on in a few days, and I went on being a six year old like nothing happened, not understanding until much later that when the cartoons started back up, they did so in a world that had jumped the tracks and was speeding toward places our parents could never have dreamed of, nor fully understand. I'm still trying to understand.

And for the record. I used to be a conspiracy guy, but the more I read, the more I think it was Oswald alone. And can you imagine how many videos there would be if that had happened in the age of iPhones and Droids?


Thanks for reading.

A little music for you

It's a good thing we're 70% done with this whole Blogapalooza thing, because I'm running low on ideas. I have a long one in draft mode and maybe I'll finish it tomorrow, so meanwhile here's a new song by one of my new favorite bands.






Thanks for reading.

The Dolphin Horde

Rare dolphin superpod following a ferry in British Colombia.  Pacific white sided dolphins,

 not that it matters because all dolphins are cool. I have previously blogged about them.

The best part of the video, besides the amazing number of dolphins, is the announcement toward the end. 

Thanks for reading.

12 Things You Didn't Know About the 8 Secrets of the 15 Smarmiest People in the 22 Safest Countries on the 2 Most Breathable Planets in the Solar System

This is how content producers get clicks:  By making a list of something then writing using digits rather than spelled-out words and some sort of hook that makes you believe it is the greatest list ever created, the only list you'll ever need, the one list that will save your life.

I admit to being sucked in to such lists, because, yes, I want to know the 13 Reasons My Cat Secretly Hates Me, or the 41 Things I Need to do Today to Learn to Sing in Tune. I want to see pictures of the 5 Deepest Parts of the Ocean, and the 12 Nebulae that Most Resemble Sesame Street Characters. I want advice on the 6 Ways to Avoid a Summer Cold, and the 14 Mind Tricks to Remember Where the Best Bathrooms are on the New York Thruway. I want--I need--to know.

So here's one I like a lot. 16 People on Things They Couldn't Believe About America Until They Moved Here.

Enjoy.

Dog friend or dog foe?

Some new research suggests that the direction your dog wags indicates his mood. I guess I maybe don't so much trust my dog to know his right from his left. I mean take Gordy.

If he can't figure out that if only he walks a teensy bit slower in the kitchen after coming in with wet feet, he won't skitter and skate all over the place, how can I expect him to keep his sides straight?

So watch the video.

And if you "stay for the credits," you'll see a video on urinal splashing.

The Story of Custard (part 2)

A couple of years ago his kidneys started to fail.  We put him on special food, and made sure there was plenty of water, but we also had to give him subcutaneous fluids every other day. I may have previously described the fun and games of this exercise, but in summery he hated it. And he let us know by becoming invisible. He could be in our laps all evening, but the instant the thought crossed our minds that it was time for fluids, he had disappeared. It's not that he left at that moment, he just wasn't there anymore. No one saw him leave. We could look and look and not find him. Then when we gave up and got ready for bed, poof, he was back. On rare occasion he won and we did it the next morning, but usually we stayed up and did it.

The last few months he gave up becoming invisible (or disapprating for you Harry Potter fans) altogether, and all we had to do was scoop him out of our lap and carry him away. I always tried to anthropomorphize onto him the idea that he understood we were helping him live longer, but really, he was just too old to fight it. And we never felt bad subjecting him to it. He loved being alive, and the price he had to pay was fifteen minutes every 48 hours.

Of course these fluids had to go somewhere and this meant extra litter boxes, which I've since put away. But we bought nearly two years with the fluids. It was totally worth it.



Thanks for reading.

Forget Downton Abbey, I want a show about this place

If you're ever in Glasgow, Scotland, and you take the Erskine Bridge, head Westbound on the A82, and, approaching Milton, you stay in the right hand lane before you take the turn off that is opposite the Arnold Clark dealership, do not, I repeat, do not take your dog. Or at least make sure he's good and leashed.

For you will have arrived at Overtoun House

in West Dumbartonshire, hard on the river Clyde, a castle built in the later 1800's as a retreat for a wealthy industrialist named James White, then bequeathed to the burgh of Dumbarton on the eve of the war in 1939. And it is here, on a bridge over a steep ravine, where an unleashed dog may inexplicably jump to his death. Yikes.

So far there have been more than 50 reported such deaths and though there are many theories, no one has an explanation. Well, except for this guy (creepy video intro alert!) whose flimsy investigation leads him to believe it's the smell of mink.  Dude, it's called the scientific method. Go read about it.

Halftime

NaBloPoMo is halfway done and what do we do at halftime? A band show. And not just any band, but TBDBITL (The Best Damn Band in the Land).

Many of you have seen the viral videos from this year, but may have missed the show that started it all. Last year, unexpectedly, and before anyone knew that it was going to be a weekly deal, they did a tribute to video games that went viral, followed by one that featured a horse. Here they are.

Pet news items you may have missed

In my never ending quest to bring you--oh nevermind, I have a news feed. How hard is that?

Man Who Shoots Dog With Crossbow Gets 2 Years in Prison

Blind man and guide dog booted from flight

From the not-really-news-but-information department: Trainer to Stars Says Any Dog Can Learn New Tricks

What I love about baseball

Did you know baseball has a 'no fraternization' rule, Rule 3.09, which prevents players from talking to each other and being friendly while in uniform. It's the least enforced rule in baseball and for good reason. It's stupid.

Like when a guy gets a single, and while he's at first and waiting for the next guy to get to the plate he's often chatting with the first baseman, many times they are both smiling or laughing. I love that. What are they talking about? Good places to eat after the game? Making fun of the mascot? Comparing cell phone plans? Discussing whether the Kuiper belt that exists near the orbit of Neptune is in any way related to former light hitting second baseman Duane Kuiper? I always wonder what they're saying and wish we could listen in. But that would just make them self-conscious and I'd rather they feel free to enjoy themselves. I think it's part of what would make paying baseball the very best of things to do for a living.

Of course it could all be just a bunch of sophomoric teasing.

"Nice hit--for a girl."
"Say it, don't spray it."
"Your momma."
"No, YOUR momma."
 *makes farting sound every time the runner steps on first*
"Bite me."

A couple of years ago baseball asked the umps to start paying closer attention to it, for some reason, but I never saw one infraction called and never heard one announcer discuss it. It was a complete non-issue.

Well now they're talking about removing it from the books (I don't have a link but Buster Olney wrote it in a blog on a pay site that I saw referenced in another blog). Good for them. Let's keep making sports be about sportsmanship and community.

Except for Michigan. It's Wednesday and Michigan still sucks.

Good morning, snow. We've been expecting you.

 (This morning)

Okay so now it starts.

Every year there is a moment when the wind shifts. I know it's always changing direction but the prevailing wind make a subtle but important shift right about this time of year. I know when that happens because our back storm door becomes a little unrulier. Throughout the spring and summer and early fall it pretty much closes faithfully, except when there is a real storm brewing. But in November, sometimes a little earlier, it's held open even on days when the wind seems light. It's pulled out of my hand and pressed against the railing and when that happens I always look to the skies. It doesn't seem different, but it is. The phrase, 'Something wicked this way comes,' runs through my head. I feel a little pang in my chest.

That happened the last week of October. That is my signal that winter is here. The snow on the ground is merely reiteration.

An Interview with Tango

From time to time we like to interview adoptable pets from Pawsabilities: the Humane Society of Greater Akron.

 Meet Tango

From Pawsabilities' Facebook post: "In honor of Adopt a Senior Month, meet Tango! He is a handsome 7 year old Rottweiler that weighs about 70 pounds. He walks well on the leash and loves to play with squeaky toys. He needs a home where he is the only furry member. He already knows sit and down and would love to learn even more! This laid-back boy can’t wait to become part of a family!"

I stopped by Pawsabilities to get a better sense of what Tango was all about.

Me: Hi Tango
Tango: S'up?
Me: Thanks for making time to see me. What were you doing before I got here.
Tango: I was browsing the internet for a new squeaky toy.
Me: They let you work the computers?
Tango: I sort of insisted. I am a Rottweiler after all.
Me: I get it. So what do you do when you find one you like.
Tango: I bark once for buy it and twice for buy it this very minute.
Me: Wait, the description says you're laid back.
Tango: (whispers) I am but I have to act tough. I don't want to lose my Rottweiler card.
Me: (whispers) So you're really sweet?
Tango: Last person who called me sweet got bit on the face.
Me: You bit him?
Tango: No, not me. I licked him for being so nice. He next tried to hug a rogue chihuahua. Those guys are tough.
Me: Okay then, one last question. What qualities do you think you can bring to a new forever home?
Tango: Well, I'm a really good size, and I'm a Rott, which is a good kind of dog to have if you want people to know you have someone looking after your home.
Me: Well then good luck and thank you for your time.
Tango: BARK BARK
Me: No, I will not buy you a squeaky toy.
Tango: No harm in trying.

A small gift to you

If you had been here at precisely 5:00 pm today you would have seen this

 When I rounded the corner and saw this I thought it was on fire.  This photo does not do it justice.

We are lucky here. The setting sun graces the barn, the pond, and the trees across the pond, such that several times a year I am struck awed by not only how beautiful it is, but by how short lived these moments are. This one lasted all of 90 seconds, only long enough to pull the phone out of my pocket and dash off half a dozen pics before the light quality changed just enough to go from jaw dropping to meh.

Henri Cartier-Bresson was famous for "The Decisive Moment" in photography, that one instant where all the elements in the frame are in the perfect spot. He was great at anticipating the decisive moment and capturing it on film. If you spend as much time as Bresson taking pictures you put yourself in position to see many hundreds of decisive moments every day, and sometimes you get to capture some on film (or iPhone). But for most of us the decisive moment is pure dumb luck, as this was for me (yes, I know that technically this is NOT a decisive moment in the strict Cartier-Bresson tradition). 5:00 is quitting time and I was leaving. A thousand things could have delayed me 90 seconds and who knows how many of these I've missed over the years.

People that came at 4:49 did not see it. If they came a minute after 5 they missed it too. It turns out I was the only one here. I wish you all could have joined me. This is the next best thing..

It's not easy being a pariah

I love Saturdays in the fall. Ohio State football. Go Bucks! But today is what they call a 'bye' week, which, to borrow from The Princess Bride, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

bye¹

bī/

noun

noun: bye; plural noun: byes; noun: by

1.

the transfer of a competitor directly to the next round of a competition in the absence of an assigned opponent.

2. Golf -- one or more holes remaining unplayed after the match has been decided.

Nowhere does it mean a week off. A week off is called an open week. I am, it turns out, among an overwhelming minority who understands this and tries to stand his ground. But I know it's no use. We have already lost when The Worldwide Leader can't even get it right and has no motivation to do so. It's like this is a piece of terminology that sounds all official and when you say it it makes you sound like an insider. People will never stop saying it because it's cool and easy.

Still, I sometimes correct people, much to their annoyance. I am the snotty, elitist grammar police that everybody wants to beat up.

Unwitting victim: "The Buckeyes have a bye this week.
Me: "Really, they're in a tournament?"
UV: "What?"
Me: "Are they playing in a tournament?"
UV: "No, they're not playing at all.:
Me: "Oh, you mean they have an open week."
UV: "That's what I said."
Me: 'You said 'bye' when you really meant 'open. You see, 'bye' means the transfer of a competitor directly to--"
UV: "Whatever, dude, get a life."

See?

(The first three links are awesome BTW.)

How we talk to dogs

 I don't know about you, but there are things I say to my dogs in private that I would never say in public. In public I'm all, "You're a fine specimen of a canine, Leo my good fellow," and in private it's, "Whaddagoodbubsiesdogmywiddlepuppypuppy."

In that light, enjoy!

The Story of Custard (part 1)

(Custard, the great orange kitty, left us on October 31 just short of his 19th birthday. I will post about him a few times this month.)

The Story of Custard (part1)

In 1995 a man named Joe boarded a cat with us. The cat, named Custer (like the Little Big Horn general), was a gift from his children to keep him company. But he traveled a lot and didn't really like the cat so he offered me $50 to find him a home. I got to liking him and so we took him, and the $50. We renamed him Custard.

He lived the first portion of his life upstairs, where Katie the Doberman wouldn't go. Katie wasn't a terror to all the cats, but for some reason Custard couldn't get comfortable with her. When Katie died, Custard thought his luck had changed but we got another Doberman, Kendall, who took over the role of Custard tormentor. 

Custard really wanted to come downstairs, and whenever we put the dog in her crate he would join us. When we began to crate Kendall less and less, she would sleep on the couch, and Custard would creep down the stairs, peek at Kendall on the couch, and sneak over to us, never failing to have an eye or an ear or a whisker tuned to the dog. Kendall knew the game too. Invariably she would pop open an eye, then leap off the couch just as Custard flew back up the stairs. 

Kendall lived a relatively short life and we got yet another Doberman, Titus (Ty), who didn't give off the same threatening vibe as the previous two. It didn't take Custard long to figure out that Ty was just a big loveable galoot, and Custard became a full time downstairs cat. This is when he really started to shine.

Custard loved people. He loved being held and he loved sleeping in laps. He also loved people food, often staring at us during dinner, begrudging our every bite. He was vocal, chirping whenever you entered a room, said his name, or woke him up with a pat on the head. And his purring machine started the moment you picked him up.

Titus also died young and I like to think that Custard was proud to have outlived three Dobermans. We stopped getting Dobermans, and maybe part of that was that we didn't want Custard to have to go back upstairs if it turned out to be like the first two. But even though we have two (very cat-friendly) dogs, and two other cats, this was Custard's house for a long time, and I'm glad he lived long enough to enjoy it.

 

Things I learned today from my Digg feed

When the Google Reader (GR) was discontinued earlier this year, its devoted users were left to find an alternative. While there were several news readers out there, none really did it the way GR did, and the alternatives were just not that acceptable.

Along came Digg, the news aggregating website. They heard the cries and made it their mission to replace GR with a reader that would please the hard core GR orphans. I have to say it's mainly as good as GR (Old Reader is actually the most GR-like of them all but I couldn't get it to work on my iPhone). I find the iPhone version of GR to have a couple of annoying deficiencies but overall it works.

As such I ended up with the Digg feed in my reader. Which is fine. I find at least one article a day there that makes me glad I have the feed. Here are some things I learned today:

Science discovered a new ligament in the knee: this is a bit disconcerting. I mean they've been studying the body for how long now? And they missed something?

1.3 million people in Norway watched knitting on TV:  It's on something called SlowTV, and they plan on airing a Day in the Life of a Snail. I'm not making this up.

Corgis are becoming extinct: Better not tell that to Aurora's new mayor.

America has more prisoners than teachers:  This is misleading (as is the wont of so many internet headlines). There are more prisoners than high school teachers. They don't list all teachers. I wish they would just give us all the info instead of the info that supports their narrative.

Who knows what I'll learn tomorrow. 

And, hey! There was at least one pet related item.