Boyhowdie, I guess I shouldn't have used the word "flop" because that's what my server did.

There are advantages to free server space, cost being the most obvious. The down side of it is that you tend to sink to the bottom of the list when things go wrong and you go off-line for a day. Or two. Or two and a half, as you may have noted.

But I'm back, and I'd like to steal a trick from Wrapped Up Like a Douche, and give you all a look at a spam mail subject line. It's so abstract/obscure that I've left it in my inbox, sort of a spam haiku.

conjure counterpart enviable bilingual acid

Isn't it beautiful?

Speaking of beautiful, this is the weather the tourist bureau promised you when you thought you'd like to visit Florida in the winter. My office window is open, and the air is mild, balmy, slightly moist. The sky is a hazy shade of French blue (or bleu). I can see the skyline of South Beach off to my right. Don't you wish you were here, right now?

Well, except for the part about it's my OFFICE window. Which means that I am in my office, and not actually slapping back the mojitos on the sands of South Beach. On the other hand, and with me, there is always an other hand, it's not like I'm actually working at the moment, either.

For those of you who follow the trials and tribulations I suffer dealing with the witless wonders in the PR office, I won the last round. The two designs (theirs and mine) were offered up to the committee and my design won hands down. In fact, there was even something said to the effect that design "A" was soooooooooo much more logical, and easier to figure out where information would be found. Yep. I guess the old man didn't waste his money when I got that degree in design, after all. Smug? Yes. Y qual es su punto?

Finally, for those of you in the South Florida area, or who plan to be there next weekend, my husband, the RLA* will be exhibiting some very exciting new work at the South Miami Arts & Crafts Festival on the 21 & 22 of February. He'll be in booth #1. He used to do super realism, but this past year he's changed his direction. I can't describe it, but I'll try.

Be-bop psychedelic surrealism with a little influence from low-rider art and 50's tiki/cocktail culture. Sounds good, doesn't it?

*RLA= Renown Local Artist

Nobody can say that Josh had flop sweats last night, as he woofed his way to doggie stardom. I, personally, was rooting for the Pembroke Welsh Corgi. I thought he had it all together and, in the words of our hosts "made the breed standard come to life." I also know/have known Pembroke Welsh Corgis in my life, and they are fine animals, indeed.

Shout out to Oliver, you good dog, you.

That's the fun part of today's entry. The rest is just misery. I'm having an early attack of spring fever, and the mild blue sky and fluffy white clouds outside my window are not helping any. Neither is the work I have to do today: scanning forms and rescanning forms and making PDFs out of said forms and explaining for the, like, twentieth time to the requesting department the difference in quality between a scan of a crappy print and a PDF made from the original electronic master. Which, of course, they cannot or will not give me.

BlogMadness continues, and once more I have advanced. But now it gets really hard, because I'll be facing off against an entry that is just so funny I've voted for it in every round till now. Now, I'll be forced to vote for myself. And I find that just icky. Even if it is a secret ballot.

Speaking of secret ballots, my boy Wes Clark is dropping out of the Democratic primaries. I'm sad about that. I still want to see someone who really served in the military go toe to toe with the Fly-boy in Chief. I guess all I have left to pin my hopes on is John Kerry. (Whinny, snort, paw the ground)

One of the things I committed to memory in my youth was a poem from the late, great John Lennon's first volume of poetry "In His Own Write". It was a poem about Nigel. Here it is.

Good Dog Nigel

Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight
Our little hairy friend
Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright
Arfing round the bend.
Nice dog! Goo boy,
Waggie tail and beg,
Clever Nigel, jump for joy
Because we are putting you to sleep at three of the clock, Nigel.

This poem caused much laughter in my childhood, and at the same time, a poignant sense of loss. I bring it up today because tonight will find me ensconced in the big comfy chair, AKC Book of Breeds in my lap, watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, live from Madison Square Garden.

Much to my amazement, other bloggers are writing about the show. I thought I was the only dog geek, but apparently I am not alone.

The Blight also talks about agility trials. As much as I love them, I can't watch them. You see, not so long ago, the Good Dog Nails and I attempted to do agility. We were kicked out of training. It wasn't that Nails peed in the ring (he didn't) or tried to fight or hump the other dogs (he did, but I keep him on a short leash). It was because, said the trainer, he didn't have enough of a desire to please me. Well, he's a Jack Russell, what would your point be? (And he's a JRTCA Jack Russell, not an AKC Jack, thank you so much.)*



She told me I couldn't pet him or praise him unless he did something right in the ring. And that meant ever pet him, praise him, or give him treats. I wasn't willing to do that, and that meant he wasn't driven enough.

On the other hand, it also means that tonight I'll get to watch the show with my growly friend on the couch beside me, squeaky toy at hand. I'll throw, he'll chase and retrieve, and it'll be fun for both of us. When he's done playing, he'll let me know by herding me over to where I keep the treats, and he'll bark until I open the cabinet and give him one.

And that trainer said he wasn't driven. Ha! He's trained me quite well.

* The Jack Russell Terrier Club of America was against admission to the AKC on the grounds that the Jack is a working breed, and needs to be kept a working, not a showing breed. I concur.

Yes, she says, doing a short victory lap around the laptop.

I have gotten to Round Three in the BlogMadness Tourney. I am up against a fierce competitor in this round, the witty and evil Charlie of "Where the Hell Was I" and his entry "Can I Buy a Damned Clue Please?". And as I write this, he's ahead of me in votes.

Yes, he's funny, but I'm heartfelt and poignant, dammit. Don't you guys watch the Oscars? AIDS and death is supposed to beat funny every time. So go out there and cast your votes for "Back Home". Please. Please?

Thank you. We can now go back to my usual bitching and moaning about life, the universe and everything.

I'd like to take this opportunity to list ten random things that I find infinitely more compelling than Janet Jackson and her nipple shield. The RLA says that all this brouhaha reminds him of the scene in Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex where the giant boob runs amok, and bounces around smooshing people and lactating at them.

1. "President" Bush's AWOL record from the National Guard
2. Why all NASA projects on Mars go wonky (who or what doesn't want us to see what or who?)
3. A multi-trillion dollar nation debt
4. The odds of the Florida Marlins getting a decent baseball stadium in Dade County
5. Paris the city, not Paris the one-pose wonder (does she really think that the 3/4 view and the downward chin diminishes the length of that nose? Puh-leese. The woman looks like a Borzoi.)
6. Speaking of blue-bloods, The Westminster Dog Show
7. Bollywood
8. The Patriot Act
9. What "pipeweed" really is in the LOTR Trilogy
10. My dog, the Jack Russell Terrierist

Check it out: P.J. O'Rourke put a comment on my story about him. He corrected the spelling of his own name (dopey me) and took me to task for implying that the Lone Star is still in existence. I didn't, but it was sloppy writing on my part, and I accept the criticism.

I was so happy to hear from P.J. that I replied to the address he left on the comment. But, alas. If it was really and truly my curmudgeonly idol P.J. who left that comment and address, he didn't want to hear back from me, because the e-mail I sent thanking him for the note came back as "return to sender, address unknown. No such number, no such home."

In the interest of having the last word, here is the note I sent to P.J.:

"If you are, indeed, the REAL P.J. O'Rourke, I'm flattered that you've read my blog and took the time to correct my spelling. I'm also flattered that you chose not to correct my memories of the night we met. But that would be flattering myself to think you'd remember.

I've corrected the spelling of your name in the entry, but I think it was a matter of tense that made you think I was implying that the Lone Star still exists. I'm well aware that it is a thing of memory. Alas.

But then, Wo Hop's (downstairs, 17 Mott Street) is also just a fond memory.

Again,

Thank you so much for writing.

LA

"Nobody wants to hear what you have to say. You will only tell us what we are doing wrong. It doesn't have to been done right, it only has to be done."

The bitch won this one.