it's always jokey time

Bent Objects. Genius.

Here's a seasonable bad joke I made up:

How do residents of Panama greet each other this time of year? (Click here to find out!)

Merry Christhmus!

. . .

skijor

Skijor is a weird word that is Alaskans pronounce not, as I imagined, "ski-yer", but phonetically, "ski-jur." So that's weird. And the gear's weird too. There are straps that go this way and that way around me, and that way and this way around Lulu. And then, in another world where Lulu doesn't don't bop back and forth like a pinball, and I have skis, she could pull me on my skis. But that's contrary to fact, and instead we have a grand old time: she bopping about, and I, b/c of the construction of the harness, not getting my arm yanked off. Many thanks to the Arctic Outpost for its contribution to my wellbeing.

Here's a picture of skijoring I found on the tubes:



Maybe someday when Lulu and I get more coordinated, we'll try this out.

...

hard core

It was zero degrees in North Platte this morning and we have about 6 inches of snow now. However, a local told me that the city council does not budget for plowing any less than a foot o' snow. This means that the streets become sheets of snow, and then, after a thaw and refreeze, ice. But the Platters don't care. They and their SUVs are too tough to care about that. Too tough.

Lulu and I have been fighting the great walking wars of 2007. She pulls, I pull back, my joints ache. But now I have the Gentle Leader (tm) on my side. The Gentle Leader and I will win this thing. We will win a yank-free doggy. We will! Otherwise I will hire someone else to walk her.

Xmas and JEC approach. JEC will be my first visitor since September, I think, and high time.

. . .

and if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out

Without having studied that phrase at all, I have always, when I have heard it, wondered for about three seconds whether it means --if your eye sees stuff that offends you, pluck it out, or if it's the eye itself that's offensive. Maybe a scratched cornea or something. Or a twitch. Either way, it seems pretty extreme.

Whatever its meaning, it is a recurring theme in my thoughts over the past few weeks. I got a twitch right before my first trial (don't ask) and mine eye has been offended by the despicable combination of two often-terrible-on-their-own stylistic motifs: country and christmas. People, it's country christmas out here and I am constantly fighting the urge to vomit.

In other news--my formerly generous anonymous internet provider needs to get "linksys" fixed. I am writing this from a small purple but comfortable NP coffee cafe with the forgettable name of Winfield's. Anyway--that's why no posts. Although work hasn't been very worky in the past couple weeks, it's hard to feel settled enough there to reflect enough to write something about something.

Here's the Lulu news (I spend more time with her than anybody, so she's a recurring topic. hope it doesn't bore anybody too much): she loves the snow. She bounds about and dips her face in it a lot. She gets snow all over her face and then licks it off her nose, so it's the one spot w/o snow. The snow melts between her toes (yet more about her toes, I know) and then turns to ice, which after about 20 minutes becomes uncomfortable. This is a problem I never anticipated. However, 20 minutes is about the extent of my desire to romp around in the snow anyway, so it works out ok. She and I have been working on some new tricks. She can now wave goodbye, and will roll over every once in a while.

There are people singing along with a bad rock'n'roll version of Santa Claus is Comin' to Town here in Winfield's. It's time to go.

. . .