Come for the politics, stay for the snark.

And we’re all out of bubblegum.

We can agree to disagree, but i’m right.

Americans barely caring about Afghanistan is so last month.

Just a few bad apples.

Technically true, but collectively nonsense

We are builders in a constant struggle with destroyers. let’s win this.

The math demands it!

I did not have this on my fuck 2020 bingo card.

And now I have baud making fun of me. this day can’t get worse.

Republican obstruction dressed up as bipartisanship. Again.

It might be fine, or it might be a clusterfuck.

I really should read my own blog.

They are all Michael Cohen now.

The cruelty is the point; the law be damned.

JFC, are there no editors left at that goddamn rag?

Shallow, uninformed, and lacking identity

I see no possible difficulties whatsoever with this fool-proof plan.

fuckem (in honor of the late great efgoldman)

Since when do we limit our critiques to things we could do better ourselves?

Consistently wrong since 2002

This blog will pay for itself.

Infrastructure week. at last.

I’ve spoken to my cat about this, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.

Fuck these fucking interesting times.

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RIP, Norm MacDonald

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Dead at 61 after privately fighting cancer for nearly a decade.

Absolutely one of my favorite comedians of all time (I was just talking about him on here the other day), up there with Patrice O’Neill, and this one hurts really bad. There was no one who had his delivery, deadpan, offbeat timing, and quirky sense of humor. There are so many routines he did that just make me laugh out loud even on the umpteenth viewing, and his guest hosting and simply being a guest on a talk show made everything better. I’ll leave you with two of my favorite recent pieces. First, Uncle Bert and his fight with bowel cancer (which was delivered while Norm himself secretly had cancer):

And then, one of a typical long, winding standup about Janice:

It’s the little things about him that I loved the most- like saying “half a hour” instead of half an hour. Or live tweeting golf hours after it happened.

Fucking Joe Rogan and Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia will probably live to be 100.

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RIP Richard Trumka

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Per the AP:

… President Joe Biden eulogized Trumka from the White House and said the labor leader had died of a heart attack while on a camping trip with his son and grandkids. He said he spoke with Trumka’s widow and son earlier in the day.

“He wasn’t just a great labor leader. He was a friend,“ Biden told reporters Thursday. “He was someone I could confide in, and you knew, whatever he said he would do, he would do.”

A burly man with thick eyebrows and a bushy mustache, Trumka was the son and grandson of coal miners. He was born in 1949 in the small southwest Pennsylvania town of Nemacolin and worked for seven years in the mines before earning an accounting degree from Penn State and then a law degree from Villanova University…

Until his death, he used his power to push for health care legislation, expanded workers rights and infrastructure spending.

Trumka was focused on the future, AFL-CIO Secretary-Treasurer Liz Shuler said, in the form of the proposed $1 trillion infrastructure bill that he believed would propel organized labor forward…

Former Labor Secretary Tom Perez, perhaps Trumka’s closest ally during Obama’s presidency, remembered Trumka as the “son and grandson of a miner,” who brought that family history to the halls of power in Washington.

“You know, Rich had a view of the White House from his office,” Perez said, recalling that Trumka displayed one of father’s mining helmets in his office. “His father and grandfather never could have imagined their son and grandson ascending to such a high level. But what they’d be even more proud of is that he didn’t allow it to go to his head. He never forgot his roots.”

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RIP, Doug Mataconis

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Via the always excellent Outside the Beltway comes the terrible news that Doug Mataconis has died:

Jazz Shaw drew my attention to a post on Doug’s Facebook feed from last evening:

To all of Doug’s friends, it is with a very sad heart and deep regret that we share that Doug passed away. We and the rest of the extended family appreciate all of the support that everyone has shown for Doug over the years.

Alas, I have no further details and have not yet found any other confirmation of the news but have no reason to doubt that it’s true.

Despite his long association with this blog—he started posting here in May 2010 and contributed a staggering 16,483 posts and likely twice that many comments—I did not know Doug well. I had lunch with him once shortly after he joined the team and saw him a handful of times at CPAC.

Doug was an interesting character, someone with whom I rarely agreed as he was a self-proclaimed libertarian, but when I did agree with him, it was virtually 100% agreement. He was funny, though, quick witted, enjoyed life and it showed through his writing, and at the same time frustrating because he loathed the modern GOP and would write posts excoriating them and then veer off and say something to the extent of “but the Democrats are no better” and all I could think was “YOU WERE SO DAMNED CLOSE.”

All, that aside, from my interactions with him I can say he was a good man and will be missed.

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Furry Friends: Van Buren’s Furry Foursome

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Van Buren lost his beloved dog less than a month ago, and last Tuesday he sent me a photo of their new pup, along with this lovely note:

I know what you mean about yesterday not being a good day. We lost our 15 year old dog, Kendall, on June 5. On the 26th we picked up this pup, who is officially Rosalita, but I’m going to call her Rosie.

She is doing fine, getting settled, and has accepted my offer of spoiling her rotten for the next 15 years.

Rosalita, who they call Rosie.  Circle of life, it seems.  I asked if he would be willing to write a little something to introduce Rosalita, and he did.

🐾

Stories of Kendall, Jackson, Fiona, and finally Rosalita

by Van Buren

When the lockdown began, we had three dogs.

Kendall was 14, a Cavachon, and as sweet and mellow as any dog ever. Kendall was a musk ox disguised as a little dog. The other dogs hated the cold, but she loved nothing more than slowly plodding through snow, nose to the ground.

Jackson was 13, a Miniature Schnauzer/ Maltese mix, who was equal parts feisty terrier and affectionate lap dog. We had had both dogs since they were puppies.

We also had Fiona, a twelve year old Lhasa Apso that we had rescued when she was 6. Fiona had been a breeder in a puppy mill, and had no idea how to be a pet, but by copying Jackson’s every move, she caught on fairly fast.

For seven years, she followed Jackson around. When he ate, she would eat. If he wanted to go outside, she wanted to go outside. And so on. To this day, she is nervous about being touched by people. If you pick her up, she has the endearing habit of shaking herself as though trying to dry off. One of my sons says she is ridding herself of the taint of human flesh.

Within a week of the lockdown, we had to take Jackson to the vet, for what turned out to be the first of a long series of visits as his organs began failing. He finally passed in September. I have had eight dogs in my life, including my childhood, and he was the one I loved the most.

Since Fiona was so attached to him, we assumed she would be affected more than Kendall by his passing, but she barely seemed to notice. She simply started following Kendall everywhere. Kendall, on the other hand, very clearly knew something was wrong. There is a picture of Kendall and Fiona in the calendar, taken the day after Jackson died. Kendall is in what we thought of as Jackson’s spot. It was like she thought that was the most likely place to find him.

On Halloween, we had to rush Kendall to the vet. She had been coping with Cushing’s disease for years, but now her liver was enlarged.  With medication, she more or less held her own, but she was losing weight, seemed to have dementia, and was becoming incontinent. I wasn’t going to repeat all the tests that we subjected Jackson to. I brought her to the vet the day after Memorial Day to ask his opinion.

The vet said he thought it was time. She was down to 16 lbs. She had been 25 a year earlier. We waited a few days until a vet could come to the house to euthanize her, just as we had done with Jackson.

That night, Fiona began barking. The only way to get her stop was to bring her into our room. She refused to be left alone, and woke up every night around 3.

She needed a companion. Thus, the frantic search that ended with the adoption of Rosalita last Saturday. Rosie is a 4 month old Dachshund and….who-knows-what mix. She is doing great adjusting, with the bizarre quirk – and I am curious if anyone else has ever had a dog do this – that she gets furious when Fiona eats.

Rosalita frantically barks and growls. It does not matter if she has food herself. She does not seem to mind if Fiona approaches her bowl. But if we give food to Fiona, she goes nuts.

As I finish this, Rosie and Fiona are sleeping at my feet, lying back to back. Fiona stays downstairs and sleeps through the night, as she has done every night since we brought Rosie home.

🐾 I think this will work out.

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A Totally True, Actually Happened, and Never Before Told Story of Bixby!

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Last night in a comment to Cole’s Thank You All post, former lurker and newest full time commenter – no pressure – CindyH stated:

As a lurker, I’ll come out and say how much I’m going to miss the stories and pictures of such wonderful doggies.

Well, CindyH, we have at least one more Bixby story for you and everyone else: mine!

This should also clear up why TaMara considered asking me to do the post yesterday, because as far as I know, I’m the only front pager who actually met Bixby.

Several of you, okay maybe one of you, okay maybe no one remembers, but way, way, way back in the before times of January 2019 I mentioned that I would be doing a keynote address on information warfare at a conference on information threats in Colorado. That conference was scheduled for April 2019, but got bumped because the resort had over scheduled Spring weddings. So we rescheduled for October 2019. Guess what happened? We had to cancel because forest fires were threatening the resort. And, once again, we rescheduled for March 2020. I bet you can’t guess what happened then???

When I thought I was going to be flying through Denver in April, I told TaMara and asked if she wanted to connect. Instead of flying in Tuesday and out Friday AM, I’d stay through the weekend and fly out Sunday afternoon. If the Avs were playing I’d get hockey tickets, I could meet the dogs and the rest of the menagerie, etc. She said sure. The Avs were not playing that week at home, but when they told me we were rescheduling for October, I checked the next seasons schedule and there was a Friday night home game, so we’re in business. So the beginning of October 2019 rolls around and I’ve been sitting on non-stop round trip tickets to Denver on Southwest. I’ve already done the no charge reschedule once, the woman in charge of the program was basically told to mind her own business by the person handling payments when the former told the latter to reimburse me already, so I wasn’t going to get reimbursed for the airplane tickets I’d paid for back in February, and we’re once again getting rescheduled. To top it all off, I had a sinus infection and I’m just starting the antibiotics. So I feel like crap, I’ve got plane tickets I can’t get reimbursed for, I’ve got hockey tickets I can’t get a refund on, I’ve got a hotel reservation a few miles from TaMara’s I can cancel, I’ve not worked out for four days and I wasn’t going to be able to for two more weeks because of the antibiotics.

I texted TaMara, told her I’d just transfer the e-tickets to her, and she could go see the game with a local friend on me. TaMara, ever pragmatic, texted back I should just change the plane tickets to fly in Friday morning and we’d catch the game, hang out Saturday and Sunday, and I’d fly home. Basically a mini-vacation. So that’s what I did.

Till now this story has not been told. Why you might ask? Because we were afraid John would be beside himself, because I got to meet Penelope Pearl the Duck. I am not kidding… However, TaMara said it was okay for me to tell it now. I won’t post the pictures I took of Penelope Pearl so as not to upset John too much.

Anyhow, here’s where Bixby enters the story.

I arrive at the airport in Denver, figure out where TaMara is meeting me, and head there. TaMara is driving her plug in hybrid Kona, which is a small SUV. In the back seat is Bixby and Scout. I first give sritchees through the back seat hatch while I’m putting my bags in the back and then I get in the front seat. At this point you can hear the SUV groan. I’m honestly not sure the Kona is rated for two Great Danes and me. And off we go. First stop the Jewish cemetery in Golden to visit my grandparents’ and my aunt’s graves.

Bixby decided he wanted me to know who was in charge. And it wasn’t me despite my sitting up front next to his momma!!!! So what does he do? With his butt still on the back seat he leans over the headrest and puts his head on top of my head and then goes dead weight with it. That’s right we drove for the next 45 minutes with me wearing Bixby for a hat! Or Bixby using my head for a chin rest! After the cemetery we went to a park across the street to exercise Bixby and Scout a bit before heading off for lunch. And, yes dear, gentle reader, I had Bixby’s head on mine all the way to the restaurant. And all the way from there to TaMara’s. It is a very good thing I do neck exercises on shoulder day!

TaMara did stop the car several times to try to get him to stop. But after the third or fourth attempt he clearly wasn’t going to. And it wast just funny.

Did I mention that he drooled? We got to the restaurant – really good BBQ place – and go in. TaMara looks properly put together. I look like I’d just stuck my head in a vat of industrial solvent…

For this to really make sense, for the sheer hilarity of it, you need to understand that despite me being 5’11 and usually weighing between 265 and 275 depending on how clean I’m eating, and at that point since I’d been ill and hadn’t been working out, I was probably up around 280, Bixby’s head was still bigger than mine! To give you some idea of the relative sizes, here are some pictures. This first one is from Saturday morning at TaMara’s when Bixby and Scout wanted attention before we headed off for the day. I appreciated TaMara preserving my secret identity by how she framed the picture.

A Totally True, Actually Happened, and Never Before Told Story of Bixby!

This second picture was actually taken on Friday night after dinner. I’ve made a slight revision to it to preserve my secret identity. Let me know in the comments if you can tell.

A Totally True, Actually Happened, and Never Before Told Story of Bixby! 1

I think you get the idea just how big Bixby was. Imagine, if you can, having Bixby use your head as a chin rest all afternoon.

And that is my Bixby story!

He was a very big good boy!

Open thread!

PS: If you’re wondering who the Avalanche played that night, it was the Mighty Ducks. Because that just makes sense given the rest of the story.

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Just So Weird

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My house feels so empty right now. Yes, Lily is below me in her dog bed, and Steve is behind me, but you just don’t realize what a presence an animal has until they are gone.

For the last six months, Rosie was no real joy. She was having potty issues, getting stuck everywhere, just being a general nuisance. But now that she is gone, it is dawning on me how much of my time she consumed. At least ten times today I have stopped what I was doing to listen for Rosie to see if she was in distress somewhere or couldn’t get up the stairs. I haven’t mopped once today, but I still keep turning on all the lights everywhere to make sure I have not stepped in anything. I don’t smell Murphy’s oil soap or nature’s miracle.

It hit home last night as I was getting ready for bed. I didn’t need to shut my office door so she couldn’t get stuck underneath the desk. I didn’t need to close my bedroom door so she could not pee on the floor and have me step in it first thing in the morning. And I know this sounds weird, but not having to do those things makes me sad.

I just feel like the tribe is incomplete. I wonder when I am going to be sent my next stray and what it is going to be.

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Thank You All

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I just wanted to say thank you all to everyone for your kind words for me and Tamara. More for her, though, because it was so sudden, whereas mine was a long time coming. I really wish she loved smaller dogs and did not have to go through this heartbreak so often. Those big guys are just such lovable lugs, but that much love is hard to haul around and they don’t last as long.

Again, thank you.

And for you lurkers, stop being strangers.

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