How was your day, Dan?

POLITICS

...but the Republicans have to say they think the economic stimulus plan is a bad idea.  If they agree with it, and it works, then...well, they're screwed anyway, the country will swing further Democratic in the 2012 election.  People will just walk into the voting booth and pull the "Democrat" lever without messing with the details.  So their only hope is if the plan fails, to generate momentum for their own hopes for election. If it fails, they can point a finger and say "We told you so! Vote for us again!"

And Rush Limbaugh is now leading the party?  We had an alcoholic in the White House for eight years, then we had Sarah Palin dictating conservative ideology; now we have a drug addict telling people what to think?  Please.  Once Bob Dole lost in 1996, the Republican party has consistently churned out some major duds.  Stop the insanity, it's got to stop.

And just a little FYI:  Kansas Governor Kathleen Sebelius was tapped to be health and human services secretary which is proof that all amazing people come from Kansas thank you very much.  If you want to find me I'll be sitting her in my Smug Chair feeling geographically superior.

You know you're calling your mother when you dial her number, you get her voicemail, and as you're leaving a message she calls you back-and when you switch over she says "I can't talk, I'll call you later."

Yes, that is the essence of the "getting your voicemail" experience.

DOES THIS LOOK FAMILIAR?

Watch the video closely—choreographed by the late great master of them all, Bob Fosse. Hmm. Haven't you seen this choreography before?

JOHNNY WEIR RETURNS

It is no secret I am a huge fan of Johnny Weir, figure skating supafreak.  He didn't take the gold medal in Lillehammer Torino (corrected, thks!) in 2006, but no matter!  His influence on the sport has left its mark—John Heder's character in Blades of Glory was inspired by Weir's character of the swan, with his single-gloved hand representing the bird's beak (John Heder is in the background, in the blue). 

My Johnny performed at some party somewhere, which was oddly held at a skating rink.  And Miss Thing had the audacity to skate to Lady Gaga:

LITTLE LAMB

Is her name really going to be Lambchop?  Perhaps.  I'll stick with it for now.

She sleeps a lot.

We had a rough couple of days; little Lambchop was entirely too young to be taken from her mother, not to mention taken from all her brothers and sisters.  So she cried, non-stop, with every breath accompanied by a whimper or a moan.  When I turned out the lights to leave, it was a full-on yelp of fear.  When I came back home after going for lunch, I could hear her howling downstairs by the front door.  It was terrible.  She would eat, but not drink; I had to shoot water in her mouth with an eyedropper.

So I called the gentleman who found the dogs, asked him if he had any more, and he provided me with a companion: her sister, who is even fatter if that's possible.  She's black and white, and strongly resembles a St. Bernard.  I will post photos when I take them.  The result: crying ceased immediately, and they now alternately lick each others' faces and gnaw on each others' tails.

As of now, the plan is to adopt out the black and white sister.  She will be snatched up immediately, there's no need for me to keep both puppies.  And little Lambchop doesn't really care who she plays with; the neighbor's fully-grown (and utterly terrifying) Doberman Pinscher is just as much her best friend when he's around, as the sister puppy when there's no one else to romp with.  It should be noted Lambchop is afraid of nothing—case in point, the Doberman, a sleek and shiny killing machine that tiptoes around the puppy whenever they're both outside.  It's the cutest thing ever.  And Lambchop jumps all over him and gives him kisses.

To replace the missing sister, I think I'll adopt an old dog from the shelter, who may not have as much of a chance to make it out.  Something to teach the little one where to pee, how to properly drink out of the bowl, how to be a dog.

This is, of course, if I do keep her.  I may not.  Her life won't necessarily be happiest with me...there are lots of families with yards who would want her.  So we'll see.

THE LATEST PUPPY

I was at the park with the latest pup, when a little girl of perhaps 8 years approached us.  She looked inquisitively at us.  "You have a little lamb," she said.

I said yes, I do.

The little lamb may be hard to give up.  I'm thinking I might keep her.

DEAR GUY IN THE WHITE TOYOTA,

Dear guy in the white Toyota,

I am the guy who was riding the red motor scooter down Meridian Ave. yesterday.  I would just like to thank you for not killing me as I rolled at 17 miles an hour in front of you.  I realizewe shouldn't have needed both lanes of traffic, but at the time it was rather important for me to take up all that space.  And even though I was weaving back and forth, I wasn't really slaloming through the dotted lines; I was just a bit unsteady.  Part of the problem was the shreiking woman on the back of the scooter, whom you may have noticed clinging on to me for dear life.

Ironically, we are not tourists; we've lived here for years, and my friend actually owns the scooter in question.  We thought it would be fun to take a tour of our own home town.  Alas, getting from point A to point B proved to be fraught with terror and malice.  It seems turning a scooter with two people on it, when really it's built for just one, is an unfortunately difficult task...especially when, as I said, there is a screaming person sitting behind you.

I thought you should know my scooter abilities had improved by the time you encountered me on that street.  Just minutes before, I attempted to make a left turn—WHILE ACTUALLY MOVING—and I skidded along the curb, kicking the pavement to keep from crashing into the sidewalk.  Although that mishap was a result of forgetting to let go of the gas when I gripped the brake.  But how are you supposed to control the brake and the gas independently when they're operated by the same hand?  What a stupid design flaw.

Anyway, I apologize for holding up traffic, and I appreciate your patience for not beeping at me which would have only made things worse.  If you see me again, you'll be impressed how well I can drive a scooter now.  I can turn and everything.

Lots of love,

Dan Renzi

MY FRIEND THINKS I HAVE AN INTERESTING LIFE

A few days ago I was helping my friend move.  It's one of my more common requests: at 6'3" of increasingly-chunky Midwestern stock, there is basically a sign saying "I can lift heavy things" written across my forehead.  Second only to a lesbian with a pickup truck, I am a moving person's best friend.

This particular move was actually easy; several other friends arrived to help, she rented a U-Haul, the items were all packed and ready to go, there were no stairs exiting the old place or entering the new.  Easy shmeazy.  Our only major challenge: her couch was a fold-out bed, filled with metal mechanics that added several hundred pounds' worth of weight.  She would be buying us all snacks as thanks for this one.

As we stumbled and struggled out the front door, my fellow couch-lifter lost his grip and dropped his end of the couch.  It flipped around, and one of the legs clocked me just above my eye.  WHACK.  Glasses: not broken, but a jagged Harry Potter lightning bolt gash started to bleed a bit.  The lightning shape matched the stars I was seeing fly around.

We finished the move, I went home, and I whimpered to TL until I received much sympathy for my vicious (and a mere inch long) wound.  TL was drinking a smoothie, made with fresh strawberries he bought that day; he asked if I wanted some but I said no, I was too distraught for strawberries unless it was on ice cream and we didn't have any ice cream so I would just suffer in silence instead.

That night, TL broke out in hives.  The strawberries were too much for him and he had an allergic reaction.  The entire right side of his face swelled up, partially closing his eye, and his lips looked like Jennifer Lopez's after she ate the nuts in "Monster in Law."  When it rains, it pours, as they say.  So I fed him Benadryl and sent him to bed.

The next day, his eye still swollen somewhat and my forehead somewhat red and bruised, we went out for lunch and bumped into a friend.  He looked at us quizzically, but said nothing other than they typical pleasantries.  TL then went to the loo, and my friend looked at me with a distraught expression.

"What happened?" he asked.

I asked him to clarify.

"To your face.  And his."

I explained I was hit with a couch, and TL had an allergic reaction.

"Are you sure?" he asked.  "On the same day?"

I asked what he meant.

He looked around for eavesdroppers, and lowered his voice.  "It looks like you guys got into a fight."

I paused, in thought.  And I told him, since he asked, well...things got a little rough in the sack.

"Really?"  Eyes wide.  Like this:

O.O
   -

...and I nodded.  Shh.

TL came back from the bathroom.  My friend looked at him, and at me; I flicked my eyebrows.

~

After our meal, as TL and I left the restaurant to go back home.  "Your friend, he is weird," TL said.

I asked, how so?

"He is looking at me funny," he said, shaking his head.  "Like he is thinking, thinking.  Like he know something."

JANE FONDA

Jane Fonda has a blog??

FLIGHT

As soon as our plane took off, the guy sitting in front of me reclined his seat all the way back.  WHAM.

Two and a half hours, the back of his head was in my face.

And he was sitting in the bulkhead seat, so he already had plenty of space.

Beverage service?  Couldn't put my tray down.  His seat was in the way.  I'm too big, my legs blocked the tray.

And most of the flight he talked, blah blah blah, to his friend in the next seat, mostly about the Evangelical books they were reading.  I read some of the guy's book in front of me--it was right in front of my face--and the lesson was about a person's actions being the will of God.  When you act with the will of God, your actions have a higher purpose, beyond the actions of the normal man.  As if everyone needs to hear it.

The plane landed.  We all stood up.  The guy in front of me asked if I would grab his bag from the overhead bin behind me.

I didn't help him. 

I just walked away down the aisle, made him get his bag himself.

He and his friend were REALLY mad.  Shocked, offended, talking about me just loud enough for me to hear it.  They couldn't believe how awful it was that he had to get his own bag.

Victims, such the persecuted victims.

I didn't care about the book.

I just didn't want to help someone so inconsiderate.  I would have loved to teach him a lesson on how God really wants him to behave...but he didn't get it.  Whatever, it made me feel better.

I walked down to the magazine store.  The clerk knocked over a stand of light-up pens.  I helped her pick up everything, in the hopes I would improve my karma a little bit.