Three is a spectacular number.

You see three in everything. Three is half of six. And three sixes make one of the satanic signs. There are three strikes needed to strike a batter out in a game of base ball. There are also three bases to a field. There are three religious figures in prayer (the father, the son, and the holy spirit, or the holy trinity for short). Pi starts with three, and it might end with a three too, if it ever ends. In comedic timing, there is a rule of three when listing things that happen. Its better to have three actions separated by commas than two or four.

Today happens to be the third time I’ve backed into my father’s van with my Mom’s car.


Pet-related question.

I own a purebred Golden Retriever. I look at all the other GR owners, and their dogs go nuts over a tennis ball. Mine doesn’t, it would rather go fetch it once, and then forget about it, or hunker down and chew on it for the rest of the time I am outside. Perhaps I should have spent more time teaching the whole “fetch” idea. I’ve seen dogs that get their exercise by playing fetch. I just would love to have my dog fetch the fucking ball.

Chihuahua: Rat, or dog?

Let me get my qualifying statement out of the way: This is a one-dog scenario. In fact, chalk this up as a rant, just read for your leisure. If you feel the need to respond, vehemently supporting the miniscule pooches, feel free. Just be easy on the curses.

I was in New Jersey for a couple days, staying over at my aunt’s house. Now, I would have seen my four cousins, had they not been involved with every camp and extra-curricular activities excepting those dealing with the kitchen sink. Hope the punchline got across in the last sentence. Anyway. Moving on. Since no one was home for most of the time, my aunt driving her kids everywhere and my uncle going and doing whatever he does on a Thursday and Friday, I spent most of my time with their two dogs and the wonderfully mute gardener named Gustavo. Knowing the dogs a little better than the worker, I chose the dogs to play with. Naturally.

I don’t have a problem with Tobler, the Boston Terrier. He’s great. His life begins and ends with the tennis ball. It’s not a hard choice when it comes to getting his daily exercize. Just throw the ball with those hand-held catapults, because after twenty minutes, you’re not going to want to touch it. It may not even be the same color by then.

It’s a different ballgame when it comes to Georgie, the Chihuahua. First of all, she doesn’t get it to play much. But that isn’t her worst canine crime. Her worst canine crime is getting Mini-Me’s guard dog addicted to treats. That’s right. No exercise for Georgie, but ounces of doggie treats for the cutest little doggie in the world.

Because of this addiction, the dog is conditioned to think treats are natural occurences. No longer can you make the dog sit, or stay, or roll-over. No. It gets what it wants without having to do anything. I tried to get the rat to sit before it got its treat, which I took from its dog food. Didn’t work. At least she’s not picky, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the dog gets whatever caviar is left on the table at the end of the night.

Then I did something that dog hadn’t gotten in a long while. I gave it some much needed exercise. I got it panting a little. Poor pooch. It had to work a little bit. I brought the rodent sized canine outside into grass which I’m sure got up to its waist with a tennis ball that it seemed to favor. The ball-crazy Boston Terrier was playing siamese twin to Gustavo around the other side of the house, so I didn’t need to worry about him to come around and ruin the fun. To my surprise, Taco Bell started chasing that ball every time I threw it. It had a little trouble getting its finger-digit jaws around the tennis ball, but it scurried after the ball like a rat out of hell, or, more aptly put, bloodhound out of a bus full of sumo wrestlers.

It was amusing. I even laughed a little. I got past my frustration about the treats seeing this ratdog run after a ball that was as tall as its shoulder.

And then I thought of something. What if I had it chase a ball tied to the end of a remote controlled car? That would be worth the price of admission, I think.

Thoughts on my idea?

I am so confused…

Does anyone have a suggestion to be able to keep a pulse in a blog? I mean. Honestly… no one looks at this thing. I mean, I certainly understand that the whole point of writing a blog is for one’s own interest. Who else wants to read/care about someone else’s inherently boring life? Well, that is my question for the day. It’s short. Mainly because my motivation stops right here.

What do I write about?

I think this strikes a chord in every blogger’s mentality. There comes a point where you’re empty. In my case, I went dry pretty quickly. Sometimes the motivation is just not there, no matter what you do about it. Click the picture for a larger view.

An answer to my questions.

Well, it seems my other post got some attention from other bloggers. Bloggers, who have been in the same position as I am now, wondering why they blog and if they should continue doing so. I am now certain that the truth of blogging resides in the desired result. For an example, many people do this activity solely for themselves. Anything else, recognition, feedback, is an aside to what is truly occurring. The others may blog for recognition. All recognized web comics started small, possibly in areas like or

But what do I want out of this? Why am I doing this? I could be sleeping right now, resting from my wisdom teeth removal. Instead I am writing a blog, that may or may not be followed by anyone. Its one of those questions that is hard to answer, and may take a while even to approach a solution. I guess I am still looking for that answer, and it may be a while yet before I find one.

Magic tricks

I finally had some creative juices flowing. I haven’t used my tablet in ages, and it shows. However, I thought this up pretty quick, because making a card disappear is harder than it looks. Please click on the comic to enlarge it.