Airborne and screaming
So, I was hanging out next to Farwell Street the other day when a monstrous basset hound riding by in a car decided to issue an enormous bark just as it was in its closest proximity to me. I jumped about 6 feet in the air like a cartoon cat and came down just in time to see that hound — his head stretched out the window, drool-plagued jowls flapping in the breeze — look back at me with what I swear was an evil, delighted grin on its dog face. Well played, mutt. The next time I’m standing out on Farwell Street, you can bet I’ll have a vacuum cleaner with me. We’ll see how you like THAT, funny dawg.

Big bird
While out in my backyard on Monday, the biggest bird I’ve ever laid eyes on flew just a few feet over my head. A hawk? An eagle? I have no idea — I’m no Rich Burton, you know — but it had a wingspan of about eleventy feet and a giant, hooked beak clearly designed for ripping flesh and tossing smaller animals down into its roiling gullet. A most impressive avian creature, that. I’m waiting for it to come back so I can befriend it and train it to be my attack hawk. You’ll want to be nice to me going forward.

Splish, splash, etc.
I went for a ride on my motorcycle the other day with every intention of heading to the police standoff over in Auburn. But it was the day after the BIG RAIN and I kept seeing ginormous puddles everywhere, and who can resist riding through those mini lakes when he’s on two wheels? You all grumble about pothole season, but when those things fill with water, city roads become like a playground for off-road bikers. I swear one of them was so deep, I saw a beautiful mermaid down there frolicking in a lost subterranean city. Either that or I had my helmet on too tight.

Sorry to hear you rolfed
Somebody mentioned that his wife was going in for a Rolfing the other day and my first thought was that the lady was going somewhere specific to throw up after a night of excessive drinking. Apparently, that’s not it. Apparently, Rolfing in this context pertains to a form of deep muscle massage that’s been around for a century. I’m sure it’s delightful and all, but I still think there ought to be a place where one can go to upchuck after a night going at it hard. You don’t want to do that at home. It’s gross.

And in this cornah…
I got a really great note from some dude who won Russ Dillingham’s Mystery Photo contest this week. In the note, the fellow has this to say about Russ and I: “I almost think of you guys like old-time wrestlers on TV in the ’80s battling it out on stage and having a beer after the show.” That’s me, all right. Chief Jay Long Nose. I’ll let Russ choose his own ring name.

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