This morning I found myself watching a man walking two miniscule white dogs. The dogs were that yippy kind that seem to benefit indirectly from the social contract. In a world of less civility, I would boot those things across the street when they come scampering at me. I can't imagine they would survive in the wild -- they would become popcorn for even midlevel predators. I'll bet a badger would eat one of those dogs.
I watched the man bend over to pick up their little yippy dog poop with a baggie and I thought: "What an emasculating experience. Thank you, God, that I married a woman who hates those kind of dogs."
Google finally offers a personal calendar. I have been waiting for this for a while. I'm not sure why, though -- I don't really use a calendar. My wife tells me what to do.
I am fighting a sick, sick desire to start liking baseball again.
In exactly 90 days, the child bride and I will be moving to Cardiff. My immediate reaction to that is this: "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."
There are still a lot of things that need to be done before we leave. Finding a place to live is presently at the top of my list. After six months of knowing this is going to happen, and almost two years of wanting it to happen, I suddenly feel woefully underprepared.