Bad Luck For A Good Cat

Not only are Mr. Bonkers’ lymph nodes acting up again, but I noticed the other day that he was limping. It seemed to improve, but then worsened again. When we checked, the underside of his paw seemed discolored. So, it was back to the vet’s, where everyone will be able to buy a new boat this year.

The diagnosis? A nasty infection, probably caused by a splinter or something. They gave him antibiotics and put a big lumpy bandage on his paw. This was with Mary Ann this morning. When I arrived home, I noticed that Bonkers appeared to have three front paws. Somehow the bandage had worked itself off (or been pulled off by Bonkers), and was dangling uselessly by a piece of tape. It was back to the vet’s for further review. This time, they put a collar on him. He really, really doesn’t like it. I wouldn’t either. Of course, I’m not the one that bit his bandage off, am I?

Several Hundred Sober At Cellular Field

The other night I went to U.S. Cellular Field to see the White Sox play the Indians. It’s a very convenient bus ride from home. I did kind of take the wrong bus back, but that’s a different story.

I was to rendezvous with my friends at “old home plate.” Old home plate is exactly that — a marker right where home plate was located at Comiskey Park. After asking a few people, I eventually found it.

People were fascinated with the old home plate. Lots of them, including me, stepped into the batter’s box and took a few pretend swings in the same spot that Babe Ruth and so many other greats did. I also noticed a lot of people stepping on home plate for luck. What superstitious fools! I made sure to step on it with my left foot, because I’m left-handed.

The park: great. The night: beautiful. The food smells: tantalizing. Even the restrooms were functional. I had a good time, but it would have been better if not for the considerable number of wasted idiots in attendance, at least in our section. It wasn’t hard to see the problem. The Sox let people tailgate in the parking lot before games, and tailgate they do. Since I was there early, I had a good chance to observe their activities. I’ve had fun tailgating at games where there was grilling going on and a few beverages consumed. In this parking lot, though, there was precious little grilling and a prodigious amount of consumption. The idea seemed to be to put down a 12-pack of Miller before even entering the stadium. I’m sure these were the same guys who, by the seventh inning, were being given the heave-ho. To be fair, it wasn’t only guys. At one point, five young women engaged in a melee and were also booted, much to the fascination of their drunken male counterparts. I saw at least fifteen people removed from the stadium in my immediate vicinity. I don’t know if this was an anomaly or the norm.

Of course, who am I to criticize? The me of today would have wanted the me of thirty years ago kicked out of just about any event we both attended. Even today, I’m not exactly an angel.

Preki Has More Than Me

Preki is now on prednisone, a human drug frequently prescribed to humans (or vice-versa!). Anyway, his prescription is filled at Walgreen’s, so he now has his own drug-saver card. I don’t even have a drug-saver card.

I Can See Clearly Now

By goodness, I’m feeling better about America now than I have for a while. Not because of the economy, which is moribund. Not because oil and gas prices are hurting the little guys, including myself. I feel better because, deep down, I feel that Hillary is going to concede the race in time for Barack to kick John McCain’s ass. Oops — sorry — I meant buttocks.

I’ve been studying John recently. It turns out that John has a lot in common with Dubya. First of all, they’re both stupid. John finished 894th of 899 of his class at the Naval Academy. If his daddy and granddaddy hadn’t been admirals, he wouldn’t have been in there and wouldn’t have made it through. Then, he had a completely inauspicious career in the military. Call me a communist or traitor, but I’m not impressed just because someone was in the military and was shot down or taken prisoner. I was never impressed by the fact that Bob Dole wandered in front of a machine gun.

John McCain failed in his military career. Despite having every advantage, he stalled out way below the rank that his daddy and granddaddy achieved. After he wandered around doing public relations for the Pentagon, he met some rich 25-year-old when he was 43 and immediately ditched his wife, who had been severely injured in an automobile accident. His new bride’s family money enabled him to win public office, and he’s been a politician ever since. John McCain has never had what Americans would consider a real job.

Just like Dubya, John has never accomplished anything but being granted access to wealth. I won’t even go into the fact that whatever principles he might have espoused, he long ago gave up in the attempt to court mouth-breathing fundamentalist Christians in states that are still trying to abolish evolution.

John McCain is a skank. Or skink. Or skunk. Certainly stupid. Certainly unlikely to survive his first term. Certainly bad for America. Certainly bad for the world.

I think he can be beaten. I hope that Hillary can work with Barack toward that end. I think he should offer her the vice-presidency, and I hope she takes it. She could be a great vice president, and that ticket could really unite the party. I’ll take Hillary and Barack as campaigners against Mr. Sickly and anyone he can persuade to leap aboard the Titanic.

Yeah, I know that Barack, his wife, and myself don’t really like Hillary. So what? This is politics. We work with reality. The party pulls together. With a little intelligence for a change, the Dems have a chance to make a real difference. Let’s put aside our differences and start healing this country and this world, starting with a big dollop of humility.

Don’t worry, I’ll have more funny pictures soon!

A Study In Primate Behavior

This is probably how a band of monkeys would install a fish-finder in a boat.

All You Need To Know About Hillary in Four Minutes

When Lilacs Last In The Back Yard Bloom’d (Sorry, Walt!)

Our Vacation In Kenosha

Things being tough with all the animal expenses, our vacation this year was to (nearly) Kenosha, Wisconsin.  It took most of a Saturday.

First up was the Jelly Belly factory.  We didn’t take the tour down JellyBelly Lane:  we just headed directly for the factory store.  The deals were outstanding.  You could mix and match and fill a bag with all your favorites, or pick up an inexpensive two pounds of assorted Belly Flops, which are the mutated beans that don’t pass quality control.  They also have the more experimental beans.  Did you know they have a vomit flavor?  Yessir!

Next up was the outlet mall in Pleasant Prairie.  The highlight was probably the Restoration Hardware outlet.  We picked up a few items for less than half price that will ultimately find their place in the gothroom.

For next year, we’re thinking about Racine.

Nothing More Needs To Be Said

Cubs Commemoration Completed — With A Twist

My friend Lou is a huge Cubs fan. I respect that, even though right now I’m rooting for the Cubs to lose every game because I can’t stand their general manager or especially their loathsome owner. Anyway, as sort of a good-luck charm, I created a little item of memorabilia for him.

First, I downloaded some high-resolution scans of cigarette cards (old-time baseball cards) of the most famous players on the Cubs’ 1908 world championship team (their last to date). We have Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance, the famous double-play trio. Also, I found Mordecai “Three-Finger” Brown. He was called “Three-Finger” because of an unfortunate farming accident or two that left him with — you guessed it — three fingers on his right hand. His unique hand enabled him to throw the ball with exceptional spin and movement.

Working with Microsoft Publisher, I created a little tableau of these players to fit a frame I found at the thrift store.

Here are some close-ups:

What I didn’t tell Lou is that I inserted one of Steve Bartman’s hairs between the images and the frame. Go Cubs curse! Let’s achieve that full century of failure!

By the way, thanks to Scott for pointing out the National Archive’s great collection of old baseball card images. Also, the printing was done on some excellent archival paper Scott gave me. Thanks again!