Salmon and Marrige

Wow. I really have to say that these two VP picks will probably affect my vote. I'm not sure which way I'll sway when the dust settles, but it reveals a LOT about the Presidential candidates themselves...

Personally, in terms of who did a better job "picking", I think I'd have to go with McCain picking Palin, but I'm not sure the overall effect of the two is better than Obama picking Biden. Which leads to a question to readers... Back away from your own take on the issues themselves.

Who do you think did a better job picking a running mate based on their own views?

Who do you think increased their potential to win more based on their running mate?

In the end, I guess those questions really add up to: Is it better to select a running mate who matches you or complements you? It seems like there's always a balance between those two things. And I think the best marriages have both. So regardless of how you feel about specific issues/parties, which marriage do you think is better?

Also, this quote is great:

"We want to see Ivana [Trump]," said Palin, who admittedly smells like salmon for a large part of the summer, "because we are so desperate in Alaska for any semblance of glamour and culture."

Tiki. Chickee. Chiki. Wait, I don't get it.

And now, as promised, the first installment of "Conversations with Your House"...


ME: Tiki, my friend, it's been too long.

HUT: Nah, mon. It be Chickee. You always losing ya history flow cause the tasty spliff.

ME: Um, sure. I don't know what that means. But I'm glad to hear you're doing well?

HUT: Chickee mon, Chickee. How great Lion Jah made me.

ME: Wait, I'm confused. Again. You mean you're not a Tiki hut?

HUT: Yahmon.

ME: What's Chickee?

HUT: Chickee is my true name for livication. From de Seminole Indians dat built me up, all love and respect irie.

ME: Um... wait, I mean, Umm.

HUT: Praise Jah.

ME: Yeah. Ok. So all you guys we call Tiki huts are actually Chickee huts? Thatch roof and all?

HUT: Yahmon.

ME: Ok, that's cool I guess, so we've all been wrong all this time. But why are you speaking Rasta?

HUT: Now you overstanding. I converted. Jah help me see da light.

ME: The light?

HUT: Yahmon. I was bein downpressed.

ME: You mean oppressed?

HUT: Nah. Downpressed. By the white mon, all love and respect. He was keeping me down, requiring a building permit for me to just be. So I claim my right heritage as Seminole and he have to let me be built wit no building permit.

ME: So wait. Seminole culture and Rasta roots in Jamaican culture have absolutely nothing to do with eachother. Excpet both being near Florida. Ok, I see. Wait.

HUT: Jah showin you da light?

ME: Seminole Indians, such that exist, can build Chickee huts without a building permit as some sort of cultural heritage right?

HUT: Yahmon.

ME: What about my cultural heritage?

HUT: How you mean, brotha?

ME: I grew up in a "culture" where I didn't have to have my dog on a leash, or I could light a fire any ol' place I wanted, or where I could have a cigar inside, or take the last of the mashed potatoes when everyone else looked done, or didn't have to dance around to keep everybody in this over-litigious politically correct world happy. I'm entitled to my culture.

HUT: Nah mon. You the downpressor.

ME: Oh.

HUT: Jah be praised. You overstand.

ME: Less and less, everyday. Can I get a toke?

Relationship Advice

This is totally why I should be a relationship expert. This is the advice I gave to female friend on what to watch out for in a potential boyfriend...

me: Check the vacuum bag for baby fingernails. Most casual baby eaters (the weekend type) don't bother consuming those.

girl: you'd think they would for the protein

me: Its like eating shellfish. Some people just aren't into the hard work.

House Training

If we can get T & C to get a poobrador from the same litter, house training would be so much easier on us 4 collective working professionals.

Our only hope at this point is to peer pressure them into it...

All in favor, say so in the comments.

Anxiety Questions Sets 1 & 2

Current Mood: Panicky Anxiety

Anxiety Question Set 1: Can we handle this puppy thing? How are we going to add him to our lives with work, church, neighbors, friends, and family? ACK! Is the entire Amish community conspiring to sell us a puppy mill puppy? Did they import the puppies from some undisclosed location and set up the entire scene to LOOK like the puppies were well raised? Are the mother and father actually wombats who've been genetically altered to LOOK like good dogs? Is the paperwork forged? When you crate your dog are you mentally scarring him for life? Are we buying the right chew toy size? What will we name him? Will the other dogs make fun of him behind his back? What if he has some rare genetic disease that makes him crave the taste of human flesh?

Anxiety Question Set 2: Are we overthinking this? It is just a dog, for crying out loud, right? Lots of people get dogs all the time and world hasn't imploded yet, right? Shouldn't we be more concerned with the exfoliants in toiletry products being indestructible polymers that end up in the ocean consumed by filter feeders like jellyfish, shellfish, and krill and eventually end up via the foodchain, undigested in our lower intestine? Even though Scout was a midget, Covey is dumber than rocks, Roman is a lardball, Moses is a cyborg, Russell was probably abused by previous owners, Petey ended up being a mexican hairless poodle, and Susie and Sarah** bayed at the moon every night till 2 in the morning, we all loved and enjoyed those dogs anyways, right?

At least I'm still sane* enough to divide our anxiety into two rational categories.

*And good gosh, don't respond to this post with either puppy buying advice or psycho-analysis unless you know us well enough to know how neurotic we are.

**Susie and Sarah the beagles, not my cousins they were named after.

Poobrador

Well, we reserved our pup last night... I won't go into all the details, but for everyone who is very concerned about puppy mills and buying a good dog, rest assured we're doing our homework and checking everything we can.

In the end, three facts remain:
1. Rach and I are WAY overthinkers anyways, so we're not likely to skimp on the details.
2. There's no way to foresee everything that could ever go wrong in your life so at some point you just have to relax.
3. We will love this guy, but he's also just a dog, not our human child. And I don't plan on rejecting a human child who has hip dysplasia so we might as well prepare ourselves for whatever may come.

Anyways, here's some pics for you visual folk who aren't swayed by pedigree certificates, F1B stats, and wordy descriptions of healthy looking nether-regions.






No name yet, but I'm trying to convince Rach to go for something nautical sounding since poodles and labs are both water dogs... here's a list from wikipedia, feel free to leave suggestions from there or elsewhere.

And I'm thinking we're going to start teaching him sign language after reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. (GREAT BOOK! Especially if you liked Hamlet and Owen Meany.) I can just see him sitting on Peddler's Knob (Lake George) or Pumpkin Knob (Peaks) where I'll signal "Duck" to him from across the channel and just like that we've got a tasty canard dinner.

Sweet.

Perhaps a Puppy?

We may have found a puppy today.

I just talked to Eli, who totally sounds like an old farmer dude in Gap, PA and he has a litter of labradoodles. Old Farmer dudes are the best.

It seems like it fits all our general dog buying requirements:

He's selling them cheaply (compared to standard labradoodle prices).

He's a farmer dude who breeds for fun, not for profit.

They're second generation hybrids, so there's a good chance of good breeding characteristics.

Now, of course, the labradoodle was not on our list of approved contenders in the Canine Primary, but the no allergy thing is really great and so many people recommended poodles to us that we feel comfortable with this call. And I raised Labs growing up, so while I'm aware that they're dumb as a bag of hammers, I also know that they're extremely personable and hopefully the poodle will offset any intense studpidity.

And if we're at all lucky, we'll get a beast that looks like this:And maybe not one that looks like a Minion of Satan:
But who knows... after hearing about a recent break-in in our neighborhood (Our condolences, T&C), maybe having a Minion of Satan hangin out in your living room would be a good thing. In fact, maybe we'll just name it "Minion" and see what happens.

Why We've been Gone

Before you go getting your panties/boxers/briefs/thongs/commando-ness in a bunch, let me explain...

Literally thousands of letters and comments have poured in to "The House Rules" wondering what has happened to us since March. I've deleted all of them from the blog simply because I'm not the type to publish my fame and critical adoration for the world to see. But here's a sampling of some of the more poignant letters we've received:

"Where the frack did you go? Your blog is like crack. You get us addicted with your incredibly intelligent writing and witty subject choices and then leave us to go through a shaky sweating withdrawal? What's that abouoot?" -Carolyn S., reader from Philadelphia (previously Canada)

"I love your blog. I read it to all the neighbors between tear gassings. And generally it brings everyone together despite the longstanding racial and political divisiveness of the region."- Trey H., reader from Jerusalem (previously the Hooka Bar).

"I'm bored without your blog. Give me something in this semi-charmed life since I don't really have much to do in the studio right now."-Stephen J. from Los Angeles (previously Billboard's Top 40)

"I'm a creepy minion of Satan. But my dad and I still really like to read your blog between routines. Keep it up!"- Nastia L. from Beijing (previously the 5th circle of hell)

"I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES, B#$%H, IF YOU DON'T SPREAD MY MESSAGE OF DOOM AND DESTRUCTION"- Orblokz, Destroyer of Worlds (previously of the planet Yormomiter).

Anyways, here's what happened basically... in March we went to Florida for a nice relaxing spring break. We were staying at Rach's aunt and uncles place in Miami, hangin' in the chickee hut (Yep, its a real thing, more on that later.) having a Dark and Stormy Night at 11:00 in the morning. The weather was amazing, we were relaxed, it was perfection.

And I brought my computer to try and get some blogging done. I was planning on introducing a new feature, "Conversations with Your House" (more on that later too) which is destined to get me in a buttload of trouble with the neighbors but will inevitably be rolicking good fun for you gentle reader.

Anyways, I powered on my computer and was just taking my last sip of the DSN before typing when THIS crazy ass orchid/bean/tentaclebeast of hell thing comes tendriling around the edge of the hut. I didn't think plants (?) could move that quickly, but in one deft move it had entwined my computer, ripped it from my grasp, and retreated into the suburban jungle from whence it came. Fortunately Rach snapped a picture before it grabbed the computer.

Scary for sure. Someone should probably have done a study or expedition or at least started a "Save the Crazy Ass Orchid/Bean/Tentaclebeast from Hell" campaign, but in a sunburned DSN stupor, I shook my head in disbelief, and just decided to go on with our vacation.

So I've been with out a computer for the last 6 months. That's the reason you haven't seen a blog posting. I couldn't blog from work obviously because that would be unethical and cut into my nap time.

Well, this morning, Aunt Janet came to Philly from Miami, and lo and behold, she brought my computer. It had been found 3 miles from their house next to a waste water management reservoir in the Target shopping complex. Everyone's best guess is that the Crazy Ass Orchid/Bean/Tentaclebeast from Hell had more of a taste for Big Macs and thought better of the effect of my PC on its digestive tract.

Sufficed to say, we fortunately have a lot of stories to tell, and we'll be bringing them to you now commercial free.

*Some names and exact circumstances of events have been changed to protect the innocent and the hopelessly lazy.