Come for the politics, stay for the snark.

Accused of treason; bitches about the ratings. I am in awe.

An almost top 10,000 blog!

The revolution will be supervised.

You are either for trump or for democracy. Pick one.

Our job is not to persuade republicans but to defeat them.

Shallow, uninformed, and lacking identity

I’d like to think you all would remain faithful to me if i ever tried to have some of you killed.

This is all too absurd to be reality, right?

We are aware of all internet traditions.

Proof that we need a blogger ethics panel.

Just a few bad apples.

Four legs? good! two legs? we’re not so sure…

So it was an October Surprise A Day, like an Advent calendar but for crime.

They are all Michael Cohen now.

Technically true, but collectively nonsense

Is it irresponsible to speculate? It is irresponsible not to.

Whoever he was, that guy was nuts.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Make the republican party small enough to drown in a bathtub.

Too inconsequential to be sued

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

… riddled with inexplicable and elementary errors of law and fact

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

Militantly superior in their own minds…

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RIP

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, 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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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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RIP Rosie Cole (2005??-2021)

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RIP Rosie Cole (2005??-2021)

In her typical inimitable form, Rosalita aka Rosie Cole, grumped her way off the mortal coil this morning at 11:15 am. She passed pleasantly under the care of the most wonderful vet staff in America. We first gave her a sedative to relax her and Rosie felt no pain for the first time in a long while. I realized then that it was the first time I had seen her truly relaxed and comfortable for months. I pet her and talked to her, rubbed her ears, and just let her be peaceful for a while. When we finally euthanized her after she was comfortable, her death was near instantaneous. From the time Dr. Stone pulled back and aspirated the needle, drawing a little bloom of blood into the poison, and then injecting the medicine, it took 3-4 seconds for her to pass. I had my hand on her and felt her sigh and she was gone.

As with everything involving Rosie, the decision to put her down was difficult. Truth be told, I probably should have done it a month agao, but I am of the belief if there are still good days to be had, you owe it to them. Unfortunately, we had reached the point where there just were not any good days left. She was almost if not completely blind, had a very difficult time walking, and was confused and getting stuck everywhere- behind the toilet, in the railings on the banister, in between the deck steps, in the wires under the computer desk, etc. This weekend, when she had a lot of difficulty getting up, I decided it was time.

It was a hard decision because Rosie never really liked me, and although I loved her, I didn’t like her that much a lot of the time. So my mind played tricks on me- if I put her down to early, was I doing it for me because she was a difficult dog? Would I put Lily down that early? And because of this doubt, I probably let her suffer more than I should have. It’s such a difficult decision.

But enough about the grim stuff, let’s remember the good things. As you may remember, Rosie joined the household over a decade ago as I was driving through the country and saw this white thing in the middle of the road running around in circles. I got close, stopped the Subaru, got out to inspect her (by now I knew it was a dog), and I chased her around the car and she jumped in the driver’s seat and said “Let’s go!” And so we did.

She had clearly been abandoned as she had no caller and this was a dumping zone, but I still made pictures of her and posted them everywhere for a ten mile radius, and stopped at every farm house in that zone, asking if anyone was missing a dog, and was told at almost every house “No, but congratulations on your new dog.”

Rosie had clearly been abused, ate while lying down because she had been crated so much of her life, was not leash trained, and had probably been kicked a lot based on the fact that she bit my foot every time I walked by her for the first couple of years. For the first year, my friends all tried to talk me into putting her down because she was vicious, and one friend named her Snarls Barkley and it stuck.

I disagreed with everyone, and didn’t think she was mean or vicious, she was just angry and needed space and to not be fucked with. She was never a problem with Lily or Tunch, and she and Thurston became good play buddies and she became downright BFF with Steve- they would share beds and cuddles for hours until one of them realized what they were doing and would fuck off in shame.

Over time, she calmed down a little, although she was eventually banned from the bed because she bit my feet every time I moved, and she became a pretty good dog. She liked to play, loved her treats and her food, and was adorable when she got the zooms. She became a good part of the pack.

RIP Rosie Cole (2005??-2021) 3

I can say without hesitation that she never really liked me, and on her best days I could expect her to tolerate me pretty well. She was not a lapdog, didn’t want my cuddles, would ocassionally suffer the indignity of me petting her, and we became pretty functional roommates with clear boundaries.

On the other hand, she did have her people that she ABSOLUTELY adored. She just loved my dad to pieces, becoming putty any time he came around.

RIP Rosie Cole (2005??-2021) 1

RIP Rosie Cole (2005??-2021) 2

She adored Gerald, and would race to him any time he came over and just be on him like ugly on an ape the entire time he was here. She really liked Devon, although at first Devon had to talk in a deep voice to her because if she used her normal voice Rosie got really angry. Over time, though, Rosie started to love her, too.

And then there was Tammy. Rosie just loved Tammy. Would spend an entire weekend following her around the house, wagging her tail. It simultaneously made me infuriated with jealousy and thrilled that she was capable of love. I guess Tammy just has a way with difficult people, which could explain our relationship.

I gave Rosie a nice bath this morning, in part to get her clean, in part because it is the only time she submits to me and I can touch her and talk to her without her just leaving me. Rosie was a SUPER SMART dog, and on bath days if I did not do her first, I would not see her for three days. But once I got her into the sink, she basically submitted as if to say “Alright you fucker, you got me, let’s get this over with.” So we had a nice talk, I dried her off and gave her some treats, and we went to the vet.

I will always have a place in my heart for her, and I love that she had such a strong personality that superceded her instincts as a Jack Russell Terrier. I would never have chosen her to be my pet, but the universe decides the animal you need is not always the animal you want.

Rest well, old friend. We did our best.

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Every Time You Go Away

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I was back in NYC the first week of May because it was time to say a formal goodbye. My mother passed away on April 25th, probably around 5 am PST. I seem to only get to return to the city after some major change and, in a small personal way, this was as big as returning after 9/11. Just like that time, things are now permanently different than my memories.

Every Time You Go Away
Colorful mosaic tile of the outlines of men dancing and tumbling.

We all start from somewhere and someone. For me that’s NYC and my mother. Granted, there was a brief stop in Jamaica but let’s go with what we can remember, shall we? Leaving NYC was a grand adventure for me, but I had no idea that it was going to be this long or that each time I returned, time kept changing the city and the woman. As discomfiting as change is, it also reveals. We grow more into ourselves as we age and some of the aura of infallible authority parents have drops as they age. NYC, with all it’s grimy magic, became more vulnerable in my eyes after 9/11 and much the same, when I returned in 2012, I realized my parents had somehow grown old too.

Construction model of LaGuardia with a close up of an airplane on the planned tarmac

The NYC that is gone has revealed a NYC that is more crowded, even more split between the haves & have-nots but still teeming with energy and a diverse population that makes me proud and soothes. My mother that is gone revealed that she had a nickname to her friends and my stepfather; she was an active, busy beaver of a street minister and she even had plans of traveling next year to minister in South America. She had a large group of friends who are reeling from her loss, sisters that loved her and that she looked out for, mothering all of them in her own way. She adopted women as bonus daughters and my brothers’ friends knew her as a second mother as well. Which infuses me with pride and joy. The personhood we leave behind reveals our lives because death drops every barrier. It’s a good end when people mourn you.

I Love NY sculpture at LaGuardia

My mother left me once as a toddler, to come to America and build a future for us both after she became a widower. She found my stepfather, bore 2 sons, had a long secretarial career and a retirement where she got to serve her faith. This time she’s left me in a different way. We get to see each other either again either as the flashing memories of my dying spark or when the spark of my spirit joins the fire that animates life. I don’t know which one it is. That’s the last mystery to uncover.

The loss of a parent brings a finality to your childhood that even growing your first set of greys doesn’t. Parents are permanent, right? Not so fast, says time. It’s not just the transition from care receiver to caregiver. It’s not explaining their cellphones and time zone differentials to them. You’re still their kid, even with your fancy expertise. Saying that last goodbye, though. That’s it. That’s when you aren’t a child any more. You are now changed into an actual adult. Not because of power, experience or your own money. Just that sense of loss of where you came from. That home is now just a memory because that parental presence is gone. Adulthood is where you have to be your own reassuring presence. I worry about my stepfather, who misses his best friend and partner of 50 years. I worry about my brothers who’ve never lived without their mom. Luckily, all the relationships my mother had have bound together to carry them. Church family reach out to them and pray with them, our blood & found family visit, our tenant drops off homecooked food. On top of that we also have each other. Like NYC, though, we are all changed. Hopefully, we will all live as mom lived, faithful, enjoying her Marvel movies and happily working to make the world a better world. After all, it’s not so bad to go if you leave them wanting more.

Open thread & obligatory cat pic.

Odoriki contemplating nothing, actually.

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Easy Targets Open Thread: BoBo Brooks Is Back on His… Thought Leadership

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Professional ethics are for the little people, eh, Mr. Brooks?…

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