The sniff test

Be sure to smell eggnog to check for spoilage before partaking.

Damn.

The Christmas Jell-O mold never turns out right.

Ban blowtorches for nitwits?

You decide.

Twenty-five firefighters put themselves at risk to calm the blaze and he "wasn't charged"? Not even with stupidity?

On the lighter side ...

CNN's iReport put out a call for "tacky Christmas sweaters" photos, and look what the cat dragged in!

Explains one of the subjects:

"The guys on my team like to go shopping—in their mother-in-law's closets or eBay or maybe the Salvation Army racks—to try to find the ugliest Christmas sweaters possible. This year, they outdid themselves."

One question though. Why the mother-in-law's closet and not Mom's? I dare say your own precious mother has purchased (or received) something equally dreadful.

Well played, gentlemen.

More on Rick Warren, anti-theism and biology for dummies

It briefly occurred to me, as it did to Aunt B. over at Tiny Cat Pants, that there is a broader issue underlying the whole who-should-give-the-invocation-at-the-inauguration bruhaha, which is: Why should there even be an invocation? Says she:

Does it grate that there’s going to be some homophobic zealot jackass speaking for and to his god at the inauguration like the difference between homophobic religious zealots who want to control women and everyone else is just a difference of opinion? Yes. But why is any minister there in the first place? Wake me up when we’re having that discussion.

I want to discuss it, but I'm tired. And I don't do my best work when I'm in need of a nap. But I'll leave a few morsels for you.

The consensus around here is that god shouldn't play a role in government (assuming that we believe that there is a god). But guess who thinks not? No surprise. The Wise Reverend Rick, as revealed to Larry King.

"I couldn't vote for a person who was an atheist, because I would think -- I think the presidency is a job too big for one person. I would think there's a little arrogance that says, I don't need anybody else. I could vote for someone of different religions than mine, but I don't know that I could personally vote for somebody who denies that we need somebody greater than ourselves to help us."

This anti-evolutionist also told King:

"If Darwin was right, which is survival of the fittest then homosexuality would be a recessive gene because it doesn't reproduce and you would think that over thousands of years that homosexuality would work itself out of the gene pool."

Warren needs someone greater than himself to explain this whole evolutionary biology thing, and it's not god.

If you wanna hear a couple of lively science geeks dissect Warren's idiotic statement, check out the comments under "Human Population Genetics for Creationist Idiots: The Rick Warren Edition" over at Mike the Mad Biologist.

Barack Obama hates gay people

OK, that's hyperbole on my part. He has, however, shown great contempt for the gay community—and its friends and supporters—by choosing pastor Rick Warren to give the invocation at his inauguration. Warren is an evangelical who opposes equal rights for same-sex couples, among other things. Obama defended his choice, saying Warren's is among "a wide range of viewpoints" that are welcome in his administration. Of all the "spiritual leaders" he could have called upon for this task, why not choose someone who is inclusive—someone who, dare I say it, espouses liberty and justice for all?

I have a question for Obama, who has been so busy putting together his team of rivals. The liberals who helped you get elected are starting to feel like they fit into that category. So where's our bone, Obama? When you reached across the aisle, did they grab your arm and suck you into the vortex?

We knew we'd be disappointed. But this is disgusting.

Fifteen minutes could save you 15 percent or more on car insurance

Who'd a thunk? A Floridian threw a sandwich at his girlfriend during a dispute over car insurance.

I think maybe it's time I start ignoring projectile food in Florida. Perhaps all the media attention is encouraging copycats.

Panties in a wad?

So the Madame says to me today, she says: If you're disrobing for bed and you discover that you've been wearing your underwear inside-out all day, is it OK to flip 'em outside-in and wear 'em again the next day? And I say, Did you just use the word "disrobing"? Are we in a Merchant-Ivory film? Then I look over and see an empty bottle of Nyquil on the floor by the bed underneath mounds and mounds of Kleenex, the sheen of Vick's Vap-o-Rub on her upper lip, and I wonder: Does she even know what she's saying anymore?

I responded: I really don't think this is the kind of question a cat can authoritatively answer. And I promised to send it out to committee.

Finally, Floridians wielding food responsibly

This time, the food fight was justified. A pizza delivery driver in Miramar hurled a pepperoni pie at three teenage thugs pointing one too many firearms at him. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Which is too bad. I really wish the perps had been blinded by hot cheese. Seriously.

So, it's time to update, yet again, the list of dangerous perishables in the state of Florida. (I can't believe no one's used grapefruits yet.)

• Canned weiners
• Cheeseburgers
• Unleavened bread*
• Sardines
• Pepperoni pizza
  

*Included for its potential to incite violence. All-around poor weapon.

Get a dentist to Panther Stadium. Stat!

When I saw this photo of the gargoylesque Panther guarding entrance to the stadium in Charlotte, I thought "Heavens to Mergatroid, would you look at those claws!" But then I zoomed in on the teeth. My god, man. That's an emergency tartar situation if I've ever seen one.

Sir Purr in trouble?

Not even the NFL is immune to the recession, with the league announcing it is canning 150 employees. One wonders if this trend will trickle down to the franchises and their mascots, like our own Sir Purr of the Carolina Panthers. Perhaps due to attrition, SP has been assigned administrative duties on top of his other responsibilities of shaking his corpulent belly at games (a record 331 times in 1 minute) and hugging people at will (451 per appearance). Surely this guy has earned his keep.

Basketball too?!!

Turns out, not only did the M&M leave me high and dry for the Panthers meetup, they also took in a game of Rat Basketball. Without me. Knowing how I feel about rodents! At least they were kind enough to take some video footage.

I give you .... Pepper Jack & Nacho, street style:

The 40-yard line! Are you kidding me?!

Tonight I'll be perched on the arm of the recliner watching the Carolina Panthers (9-3) and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers (9-3) battle in Charlotte for the top spot in the NFC South. I was going on and on about this and asking the Madame and Mister who's bringing the snacks and whether the fleece blankie is laundered and ready .... then they drop a bombshell. They're GOING TO THE GAME. Going to the game? When did they start doing that?

So I put my nose in the air and huffed off, thinking they'll be in the cheap seats, hemorrhaging from the nostrils, while I get to see the close-ups and instant replays and that oh-so-handy yellow line on the screen. And I won't have to wait in line for a bathroom. But I can still hear them talking in the other room: .... blah, blah, blah ...... seats on the 40-yard-line .... blah, blah, blah .......what an incredibly nice gift that was ... blah, blah, blah...too bad we can't take Henry, you know, what with her being the biggest football fan in the house.

I hope it rains. No, I hope it snows. No, sleet. Yeah, sleet. And 40 mile-per-hour winds.

ffffffffftttttttttttttt!!!!!

Rash of food fighting continues in Florida

A half-hour away from where a man pummeled his ex-girlfriend for taking his Vienna sausages and where a Florida congregation tackled a fellow parishioner for stealing communion wafers, another food-related battery has occurred. This time, a man clocked his girlfriend with a cheeseburger.

(At least when people in North Carolina fight with food, it's for a good reason.)

The list of potentially dangerous perishables in the Sunshine State now includes:

• Canned weiners
• Cheeseburgers
• Unleavened bread
• Sardines

When will the carnage end?

He just won't go away

Today I listened to a radio call-in show in which people asked questions of erstwhile Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee. In response to a caller, he kept repeating that there is "irrefutable scientific evidence" that a fetus is a person from day one. Now, you may or may not agree with that. What interested me is that Huckabee is suddenly all about science. The man who says he doesn't believe in evolution, that schoolchildren should be made aware that other "theories" exist, and that "we just don't know" the age of the earth.

I like the way Wired Science blogger Loretta Hidalgo Whiteside puts it:
In science, being a "theory" is not a step below a "law." The "Theory of Relativity" by Albert Einstein is not waiting for its day in court when it graduates to "fact."

Huckabee has said, in essence, that everyone is entitled to their own facts. "If you want to believe that you and your family came from apes, that's fine. I'll accept that. I just don't happen to think that I did."

I just can't figure out what Huckabee has against apes. You could do a lot worse.

The poor man's Lucky Charms

I heard the Madame bragging earlier today about how you don't have to spend top dollar to appreciate the "Lucky Charms" experience. She gave me permission to publish her recipe:

1. Fill a bowl with store-brand Cheerios.
2. Mix in some mini-marshmallows.
3. Pour in soy milk and stir.
4. Close your eyes and take a bite while thinking "They're magically delicious."

Isn't she clever?

It's come to this

Kitten war. Yes, kitten war. Where cute meets cuter and gets banished to the "Losing-est Kittens" wall of shame.

Is it just me or does Tinkerbelle look a bit underage?

I have the utmost respect for your privacy

Let me make that clear right off the bat. I use Google Analytics to track visitor trends. But your identity is unknown to me. I do know, however, what kind of bizarre strings of search words result in "hits" to my blog.

Some of my recent favorites:

• professional stealing techniques
• jamie lynn spears smelly feet
• cartoon porn stars

I've never written about Jamie Lynn Spears (or her feet, which may or may not be malodorous). Nor have I blogged about cartoon porn stars (the things I saw Fritz the Cat doing are best left unmentioned). And professional stealing techniques? There was my confession of having stolen a sandwich from a homeless person, but I didn't describe how one would go about such a thing (if you need Internet lessons on that type of theft, I don't think lack of sustenance is your biggest problem).

I think that thing called "search engine optimization" has a few flaws. Either that, or my blog has a subconscious and these keywords are buried deep within.

Who you gonna call? Drunkbusters!

There's nothing more embarrassing when you're driving drunk than running over yourself. I love that New Mexico has a "Drunkbusters hotline" for reporting drunk drivers. Now if we only had 1-800-A-HOLE.

Like I said, George Bush hates bald eagles

Before Bush leaves office, somebody better get a serious surveillance camera set up in Crawford, Texas. Bald eagles just aren't safe from him. Hastily issuing pardons before he vacates his office, Bush made sure to expunge the record of convicted bald-eagle poisoner Leslie Owen Collier. Collier received two years' probation and a $10,000 fine for killing several eagles, which at the time were protected by law under the federal Endangered Species Act. The convicted felon will now be allowed to possess firearms again. Not sure about his continued access to poison though.

Collier set out to poison coyotes, and the toxins went up the food chain and killed the scavenging eagles. Know why Collier wanted to kill the coyotes? To increase the wild turkey population. "I got it in my head that if I eliminated some of the coyotes it would give the turkeys a jump-start," Collier said.

If Benjamin Franklin had gotten his way, the wild turkey would have been our national bird, not the bald eagle. He wrote:

"For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him.

I suppose Republicans would view bald eagles as nature's "welfare cheats."

Maybe it is out of respect for Ben that politicians feel compelled to pardon turkeys this time of year. At least Bush's pardon today of two turkeys was slightly less gruesome than Sarah Palin's photo op. There's probably no one that hasn't yet seen the video of Ms. Palin's pardon of a turkey—an act that brought, said Palin, a little "levity" to the holiday. Indeed, nothing could have been a bigger hoot than the bloodbath going on behind her as she mugged for the cameras!

As a footnote, Ben Franklin made an alternative suggestion for the rattlesnake as an appropriate symbol of "the temper and conduct of America."

Hiss. Rattle. Indeed.

Click to view a list of Bush's other pardonees and their crimes.

Happy anniversary to me

Eleven years ago today, I met the Madame. Shortly after that, I met the Mister. She says he was reluctant to meet me at the time. That was because he knew what usually comes after the "meeting." It's the "moving in."

My purpose, besides being a welcome addition to the rather (in my opinion) substandard assortment of felines living here, was to be a "service cat." The Madame would take me to places where old and sick people are forced to live without feline companions (oh, the cruelty). My job would be to make them feel better. The lady who originally "rescued" me said I could be taken on a trial basis to make certain I could fulfill my mission. The Madame assures me now that she would have retained me whether or not I passed any test. But it turns out, I did pass the test. I was escorted to a "nursing home" and made the rounds to meet all the people there. Conservatively, I'd say I let about 20 people touch me. They were all nice enough. No one tried to restrain me, which I have no tolerance for. I just sat on their laps and allowed them to admire my lovely coat, which I'm told feels as soft as a bunny's. I purred a little bit too, just to sweeten the deal.

There was one woman at the home who was lying on her back in her bed. She was "unresponsive." The Madame placed me on the bed. The woman didn't look at the Madame or at me, but she began stroking my fur. In a little bit, she told me she loved me. And I hadn't even done anything! (This could have been the beginning of my rather fluffy ego.) Madame got pretty choked up later about that old lady. She tried to explain to me the import of what had happened.

The Madame had hoped that I would be able to visit other places. But, alas, nursing homes and hospitals and such are pretty anti-cat. For some reason, felines haven't been able to break into the world of animal therapy like dogs have. I don't understand why there is such prejudice. Even with dog therapy, there are a million hoops to jump through (dogs are more inclined to jump through hoops than we). Certification. Liability. Blah, blah, blah. The Madame says it saddens her deeply when people become unable to take care of themselves and are forced to "give up" their animals when they go live in a special place. How could a place be special when there are no animals there? Will Rogers did not even want to enter the Pearly Gates without his pets. Said he: "If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went."

The Madame is about to cry. I'd better go and comfort her. It's what I'm here for.

What does Michael Phelps smell like?

Off the top of my head, I would've guessed chlorine. Turns out, the Olympic swimmer is partial to a cologne by Yves Saint-Laurent. How do I know this? Because People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive will hit newsstands tomorrow. The issue features "scratch and sniff" ads—based on confessions by several celebrities of what fragrance makes them feel sexiest. Some actor I've never heard of who is on a show I've never seen ("Gossip Girl") reveals that freshly cut grass does it for him (not sure how his girlfriend—or boyfriend—feels about that). Actor Taye Diggs digs vanilla, chocolate, sandalwood and musk essential oils. Why would anyone wear a fragrance that smells like food? the Madame asked me. That'd just make be hungry. I'd tell the Mister: Stop pawing me—I'm savoring my chicken-fried-steak perfume.

Apparently this type of sensory advertising is nothing new at People. In 2006, they included a "lick the page" ad designed to tempt readers to buy Welch's grape juice. Oh my lord! Don't people know where that magazine's been?! She explained to me that People is the magazine that shoppers usually flip through as they're waiting in the grocery line. Then they put it back in the rack after they've left their grubby fingerprints all over it.

No one in this house licks magazines, though if you accidentally drop one on the floor, the very confused, troubled fat cat Isabel might pee on it. Trust me, that's a scratch-and-sniff you don't wanna be a part of.

E-pologies: The newest way to adulterate your contrition

Occasionally, I throw up on things. There was that ill-fated modem catastrophe. And there's been a time or two when I wasn't able to jump off the bedspread in time. But the Madame and Mister are very forgiving. I apologize for being sick, and then they apologize for attempting to poison me.

But often it's inconvenient to apologize in person. Or to call. Or even to craft an e-mail. Sometimes you just want software to do it for you. Announcing: I'm Sorry.com. For free, you can e-mail a virtual olive branch to anyone you've wronged. Shell out a few bucks, and the person will receive a fancier card. You can even send housewares and apparel with the I'm Sorry logo—including the I'm Sorry boxer shorts ($20) and the I'm Sorry beer steins ($15). You know, so the person will always remember the time you "accidentally" dropped a hair dryer into her bathtub.

Supposedly, the folks at I'm Sorry.com donate part of the money to charity (although I have no idea how you can verify this). This way, your transgress-ee knows that you're not only terribly sorry about him or her, but also about starving children. It's hard to not forgive someone like that.

Forgive me Father, for I have voted for Obama

If the smackdown over a Florida priest's stinginess with communion wafers wasn't enough, now a priest in South Carolina doesn't want to give up the goods either. If you voted for Obama, that is. Father Jay Scott Newman wrote in the St. Mary's Catholic Church bulletin:

"Voting for a pro-abortion politician when a plausible pro-life alternative exits constitutes material cooperation with intrinsic evil, and those Catholics who do so place themselves outside of the full communion of Christ's Church and under the judgment of divine law," wrote Father Newman. "Persons in this condition should not receive Holy Communion until and unless they are reconciled to God in the Sacrament of Penance, lest they eat and drink their own condemnation."

He added: "Our nation has chosen for its chief executive the most radical pro-abortion politician ever to serve in the United States Senate or to run for president."

Really? I wish Father Newman (or someone else) would point me to his sources. And for crying out loud, hasn't it already been established that Obama is the most radical, socialist, baby-killing, terrorist-coddling pinko ever elected President? Enough already.

Newman wrote: "This election was effectively decided by the votes of self-described (but not practicing) Catholics, the majority of whom cast their ballots for President-elect Obama."

Well, that's one way to conserve wafers.

My kind of church

Floridians taking communion too seriously

A Jensen Beach, Fla., man who got a little too greedy with communion wafers "outraged" and "offended" his fellow parishioners and ended up in the slammer this morning. The man reportedly grabbed a handful of wafers from the priest and then tried to flee, but his fellow worshipers blocked his path and held him down while police were summoned.

Dag, I thought. Where is this Jensen Beach? And what kind of rough-and-tumble town is it?

So I Googled on down to Florida and did some virtual sightseeing. Turns out, Jensen Beach is just 15 miles away from the community of Fort Pierce, where on Monday a man allegedly pummeled his ex-girlfriend for eating his sardines and Vienna sausages, which the newspaper described as "a popular canned weiner product" (the Madame informed me that the proper pronunciation is Vy-EEN-uh sausages, like hyena).

In the same town, whose tourism Web site extols the residents' "peaceful quality of life," an 11-year-old boy hit his mother in the head with a saw Thursday and then offered her five bucks not to call the police. He was later booked for aggravated battery. My first thought was, what kind of mother calls the cops on her kid for inflicting a minor laceration? But it turns out, there's something seriously sociopathic going on, and I don't want to make light of that (let's just say, the family cat has been really, really lucky). Still, I've got to wonder what the heck is in the water down there.

You're on dangerous ground, Madame. Are you SURE you want to go there?

I remember when the Madame found out that Brad Pitt had insulted his dear bride by cavorting with Angelina Jolie. Ugh, she moaned. What the bloody hell is wrong with that guy? Pitt's stock dipped further when he surrendered completely to the Angelina vortex. (Hmm. That sounded dirty. But I'll leave it. I think you know what I mean.)

On the matter of looks, the Madame believes there is no contest between the fresh-faced, adorable Aniston and the sphincter-pouted Jolie. Just behold her on the cover of December Vogue. But that is superficial—none of us hopes to be judged on those traits.

On the matter of talent, there has never been a question, she says. In her Oscar-winning Girl Interrupted performance, Jolie was as annoying as the movie, the Madame opines. Aniston is the superior actor, and she usually makes better choices.

On the matter of charity, the Madame is not going to knock anyone's contributions. Jolie's have been admirable. Aniston's have been more under-the-radar, but she has done her share and she seems more graceful about it. Less obsessive. Less frenetic. More Audrey Hepburnesque.

On the matter of temperament, the Madame says, Jen easily trumps Angecrazy. She seems nice, sweet, humble, wise, grounded. It would knock the wind out of the Madame if Jen showed up on a talk show with a vial of someone's blood around her neck.

Why do you care? I asked. You don't even know her. You've never been obsessed with or impressed in general with celebrities. I don't know, she says. There's just something about down-to-earth people that makes the world seem more navigable.

I think the Madame has been drinking the Kool-Aid. And now I'm off to enable "Moderate Comments," as I feel a sh@t storm approaching.

I've been tagged (but not yet released)

My colleague over at The Political Cat swatted at me and connected. She "tagged" me to join a virtual confessional in which participants reveal six random things about themselves. I cannot compete with TPC, who has clearly lived a more precarious life than your faithful feline correspondent. Still, I shall add my revelations to the collective:

1. I believe that I gained my self-awareness after nicking scraps from a magical dumpster.

2. When I lived on the streets, I once stole a sandwich from a homeless person.

3. When I was born, my mother looked at me and said, "Some day, all the world will perch on your every word." OK, I made that up. What she actually said was, "Here are the milk dispensers. Wipe your mouth when you're done. I'm going to take nap."

4. I like rats. Not to eat. To observe. I admire their cunning, their creativity and the great extent to which they value extended family.

5. In cat years, I am 13. Thereabouts.

6. For many questions of style and grammar, I consult Strunk and White's The Elements of Style, which doles out very stern advice while still acknowledging: "The shape of our language is not rigid; in questions of usage we have no lawgiver whose word is final."

I HEREBY TAG:

• Sungold at Kittywampus, a political hero.

• Hipparchia at Over the Cliff, Onto the Rocks (Lemmings, Cliff, Rocks, Splat).

• David at Leave Me Alone, I'm Digging.

• Debbie at Debbie Does Life. She's really good at lists.

• Margaret and Helen over at Margaret and Helen, though they are probably way too famous to have time for this. I think it'd really be smashing if Margaret revealed six things about Helen, and vice versa. Those birds have known each other for 60 years. Imagine the secrets they could spill!

• Mrs. Wigglebottom, in care of Aunt B. at Tiny Cat Pants. Confess yourself, oh great and wondrous pit bull!

YOUR INSTRUCTIONS
(should you choose to accept this mission)
* Link to the person who tagged you.
* Post the rules on your blog.
* Write six random things about yourself.
* Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
* Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
* Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

* * * * * * * *

Confessions of my colleague ThePoliticalCat (with my responses in italics)

1. I once worked as a blackjack dealer in an illegal gambling club.
I once challenged a street cat named Blackjack to a duel. He lost.
A toe, an eye and his entire paycheck for the month.

2. I once had a reasonable degree of prowess in eight different languages,
thereby proving that you lose it if you don't use it.
I can communicate with Persians.

3. I once lived in a place with no electricity or water,
drawing my own water from a well and chopping wood to cook food.
I once lived in a place with no roof.

4. I helped my Dad make a lotus pond,
the enjoyment of which was mostly ruined by the drinking habits of a tigress and her cub.
I never met my dad, but my mother said he was more ruinous than a family of tigers.

5. I hiked 22 miles in a single day before I became a gimp.
Wow. I can't top that. My paws ache to think about it.

6. I once distracted a cobra so my siblings could flee before it spat at them.
I once lapped up some beer from a half-drunk bottle of King Cobra discarded in an alley.
I did a spit-take and sprayed malt liquor all over my siblings.

The Hate Talk Express: Still on the road, still spewing noxious fumes

Here I am, still cogitating about what Michelle Obama will wear to the Inaugural Ball, when THIS item crosses my desk. John McCain is back on the campaign trail, trying to help primordial ooze-sack Saxby Chambliss of Georgia get re-elected to the U.S. Senate. This is the man about whom McCain said in 2002, when Mr. Sham-bliss launched a TV smear campaign against Democratic then-incumbent and triple-amputee Vietnam vet Max Cleland:

"I'd never seen anything like that ad. Putting pictures of Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden next to the picture of a man who left three limbs on the battlefield—it's worse than disgraceful. It's reprehensible."

Chambliss is facing a runoff election against Democratic challenger Jim Martin, which is scheduled for Dec. 2.

If I had a swivel chair like Keith Olbermann, I'd be a feline centrifuge about now, howling to anyone who'd listen: For the love of all that is holy, John McCain, please cease and desist being The Grandfather of all Disingenuosity. Do the right thing. Be humane. Can you do that? There are some animal models that could help. The HSUS is a good example. Look into it.

"One less hate-mongering bigot in the world. Good riddance."

This was the Madame's cavalier comment when I told her about a story my intern dropped in my inbox yesterday. A woman in Oklahoma traveled alone to Louisiana to rendezvous with some KKK'ers she met online. A Welcome Wagon of eight Klansmen and Klanswomen drove the wannabe to a remote campsite for some "initiation" rituals. After they shaved her head and had her run around in the woods with some torches, according to St. Tammany Sheriff Jack Strain, things went awry. Perhaps bored with the inferior pyrotechnics, she asked to be taken back to "town." The leader of the group shot and killed her, and the others tried to cover it up. A few of them stopped by a local convenience store and asked the clerk how to get bloodstains out of their clothes. The clerk dropped a dime, and the sheriff came and arrested all eight of them, who apparently comprised the whole of the chapter.

If you want to see an example of why cousins shouldn't marry, here's a magnificent photo gallery of the entire braintrust. I expect they'll be off to prison soon, where their supremacy will certainly be embraced with great enthusiasm.

Ah, the human race. What would my inbox be without you?

John McCain: Still an a-hole

I swear, if I could find that statement on a bumper sticker, I'd force the Madame to put one on her car.

McCain was back on late night television Tuesday, yucking it up with Jay Leno. He said: "I really believe that Sarah Palin is amongst some ... that I think are the next generation of leadership of our party," he said. So, vitriole, venom, vituperation, .... there's life for you yet!

As for McCain, I am sick to tears of people praising his "classy" concession speech. Hollow, hollow, hollow ring. McCain—either on his own or via his nasty surrogates—flung everything he could at the wall during his campaign, praying that something would stick. And he failed. He called his opponent a dangerous radical, socialist, Communist, anti-American terrorist sympathizer. Did I leave anything out?

"Who is Barack Obama?", McCain asked ominously at his rallies.

He's your new president, you malodorous, complicit piece of asscrack.

Michelle Obama's inaugural gown ... what will it be?

Before a First Lady had even been "elected," Project Runway alumni were challenged to design an inaugural gown. My girl Leann Marshall, self-described fashion assassin and winner of Season 5, stepped up her game to create a fetching frock out of potato sacks. Unfortunately, it was better suited to Cindy McCain. Really. She would have rocked it. Maybe she could wear something like it when her husband is presented the Mr. Incongeniality Award.

Thankfully, it will be Michelle O. twirling 'round the dance floor on Inauguration Night. With the notable exception of the very Halloweeny dress she selected for Election Night, Mrs. Obama is impeccable in her taste. I wonder how she'd look in red velvet or silk. One blogger has suggested a turquoise satin gown with a sweetheart neckline. I'm open to that. She was pretty in periwinkle on the cover of Newsweek. Very flattering color. Wow, this is not inaugurally appropriate but, wow.

I have only one request of her: Please don't choose a gown with pockets. I'm so sick of seeing celebrities and socialites slouching about in evening gowns with their hands shoved into their pockets. No woman is supposed to look that comfortable in a formal dress. I fully expect them to start mopily kicking a can that fell out of their skirt.

What do you think Mrs. O should wear?

Pound puppies for Obama

President-Elect Barack Obama has a lot of advisors—some he didn't appoint. Notably, the Humane Society of the United States and People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, who are pressuring the President-Elect to choose a "shelter puppy" for his daughters. Back before the Presidential primaries, I evaluated the candidates based on their record on the treatment of animals. I did not have enough information at the time to endorse him fully on those grounds, saying "Barack Obama doesn't have any pets, but he says he plans to give in to the solicitations of his kids and get a dog if he wins the White House. Hmmm. He appears to listen to his constituents. That's encouraging."

I have a very personal reason for wanting the First Family to set an example by adopting an abandoned animal—given that I was once homeless and might have easily perished at the pound in spite of my charm. There are many charming homeless animals for whom there is absolutely no room—mathematics win out in the end.

But whether the Obamas adopt a mutt or purchase a pedigreed pooch (though I'm sure there are plenty of breeders who'd make a gift of one), he has shown great wisdom and maturity regarding pet "ownership" (I hate that word) so far. His stock rose with me when he said that he wanted Sasha and Malia to first understand and accept the responsibility that having a happy, healthy pet demands. He said they must realize that a dog must be cared for even when it's not convenient, for example, that they would be obligated to walk the dog outdoors faithfully, even in inclement weather. Lack of such forethought is the reason many people get a dog, then abandon him when he misbehaves due to lack of training or becomes too much of an "inconvenience." It's unforgivable, but true.

I read one blogger's acerbic condemnation of people who criticize people who buy purebred animals. The author said that people who want pedigreed dogs should not be made pariahs due to their unwillingness to compensate for the irresponsibility and carelessness of dog dumpers. The author asked why a potential dog owner should be stuck with "rejects." While there may be some valid reasons for dog breeding at some level, I took offense at the tone.

In countless ways, Barack Obama has shown that he is thoughtful, kind and forward-thinking. The Madame, Mister and I hope he goes with a rescue pup, but are at least certain that either way, he would never strap his dog on top of his car while driving (like Mitt Romney) or surrender his pet to one of his staffers (like Bill and Hillary Clinton). Nor would he raise two daughters who would ever inflict cruelty on animals (like Mike Huckabee's son). The Obama family will undoubtedly set a fine example for both the clueless and the clued-in with regard to pet ownership. I am going to be open-minded and give him my pre-endorsement.

Out of hibernation

The Madame received this e-mail today from a dear friend in the now-blue state of Ohio:

"This is how bears must feel when they stumble out of their dens into Spring, groggy from winter's hibernation, pretending that the long days and months of privation never really happened. The warmth and beauty of Spring feels right and natural to them; and future seasonal changes are long off, nothing more than a wayward bug to be flicked off. So let's enjoy the Spring. I hope it will be long and drawn out, like the Carolina Springs of my memory."

Vote, dammit.

From Cats for Obama Web site.

The real election map: Take heart, fellow liberals

If you live in a blue state, it's easy to feel like sad anomalies as you watch Election Night maps get color-coded. The map at the top is much less depressing than the one at the bottom. And it's more accurate too.

Both of these maps reflect the results of the 2004 Presidential contest between John Kerry and George W. Bush. The map at the bottom "gives the superficial impression that the 'red states' dominate the country, since they cover far more area than the blue ones," says a trio of researchers at the University of Michigan. "However, as pointed out by many others, this is misleading because it fails to take into account the fact that most of the red states have small populations, whereas most of the blue states have large ones. The blue may be small in area, but they are large in terms of numbers of people, which is what matters in an election."

Michael Gastner, Cosma Shalizi and Mark Newman of the University of Michigan corrected this distortion by using a cartogram, "a map in which the sizes of states have been rescaled according to their population. That is, states are drawn with a size proportional not to their sheer topographic acreage—which has little to do with politics—but to the number of their inhabitants, states with more people appearing larger than states with fewer, regardless of their actual area on the ground. Thus, on such a map, the state of Rhode Island, with its 1.1 million inhabitants, would appear about twice the size of Wyoming, which has half a million, even though Wyoming has 60 times the acreage of Rhode Island."

The Michigan scholars will be preparing a similar re-interpretation of the traditional election map used in tomorrow's presidential election. The map will be available on their Web site Nov. 5, 2008.

The swirly, psychedelic shape should provide additional comfort to Obama supporters, who are already hopped up on hope.

Groovy, man.

Miss Precious, I feel your pain

Yet another sad example of feline housing discrimination. Godspeed, Keith Olbermann!

McCain was against MLK Jr. holiday, but FOR busing

The McCain campaign had to bus in school kids from the surrounding area in order to pad an audience at an Ohio rally this morning:

A local school district official confirmed after the event that of the 6,000 people estimated by the fire marshal to be in attendance this morning, more than 4,000 were bused in from schools in the area. The entire 2,500-student Defiance School District was in attendance, the official said, in addition to at least three other schools from neighboring districts, one of which sent 14 buses.

So he's FOR busing, but behaved disgracefully in his stance toward the Martin Luther King Jr. national holiday.

In 1983, he towed Ronald Reagan's line and voted against a Congressional bill to create a federal holiday in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. He later defended Arizona Republican Governor Evan Mecham's rescinding of the state holiday in honor of King created by his Democratic predecessor.

In the Senate, McCain, the self-described maverick, "took on his party" alright. In the 1983 Senate vote, he was among 18 Republicans who voted against the bill, while 37 of his Republican colleagues voted for it. The Senate bill passed by a 78-22 margin. Realizing that he had a veto-proof majority in both the House and Senate, President Reagan reluctantly signed the bill into law.

In the withering heat of a national spotlight, the embarrassed McCain backpedaled on the issue in 1992, prodding his home state of Arizona to recognize a state holiday in spite of Gov. Mecham's protests. McCain finally supported a referendum creating a state holiday in King’s honor in Arizona, the second-to-last state in the Union to do so.

McCain offered an excuse in a speech he gave in Memphis April 4, 2008, the 40th anniversary of King's assassination.

He said:

“I voted in my…first year in Congress against it and then I began to learn and I studied and people talked to me."

"We can be slow as well to give greatness its due, a mistake I made myself long ago when I voted against a federal holiday in memory of Dr. King," said McCain. "I was wrong and eventually realized that, in time to give full support for a state holiday in Arizona."

McCain had said earlier that week that he had not understood the issue. Asked what he later learned, he said, “I learned that this individual was a transcendent figure in American history. He deserved to be honored… I had not really been involved in the issue. I just had not had a lot of experience with the issue.” The Wall Street Journal article reported "that McCain grew testy when asked what he did not understand. He noted that his adopted state of Arizona does not have a large African-American population."

What's astounding to me is that McCain had a 10-year-learning curve on the issue, while of his clueless running mate Sarah Palin he consistently brags: She's "a quick study."

Wow, Sarah Palin can "learn" more about foreign policy in two months than he can learn in a decade about the greatest figure in the American civil rights movement.

Raleigh, NC says yes to hope!

The grinning yokel on the left is the woman who puts food in my bowl and gives me a warm fleece blankie to nap on. She came home from today's Barack Obama rally in North Carolina flat-out drunk on hope. Shortly afterward, her one and only Republican friend happened to phone and ask what she was up to. "Oh!" she said, her enthusiasm barely containable. "I just got back from the Obama rally downtown—there were 20,000 people down there!" To her astonishment, he replied: "Were they handing out free cheese?" Oh boy. She gave me the nod, and I put my paw on the receiver and pressed "End Call." Ooops!

The Madame leaned back in her chair, her hope bubble temporarily deflated. She stewed for about 20 minutes, then she looked at me and said, "You know, racists can be inspirational, in their way." She grabbed her coat and goofy blue hat and scurried out the door. "Don't hold dinner!" she cried.

Four hours later the Madame returned and ran over to me and shook me by the shoulders. "Henry, I made over 200 phone calls at Obama HQ! I told people when and where they could vote early! Many of them thanked me and said they couldn't wait to get down to the polls and cast their vote for Obama! And just when I thought I'd cave from lack of sustenance, a lady brought in a steaming hot pan of homemade baked spaghetti for the volunteers. She offered it from the goodness of her own heart and the warmth of her own kitchen. And .... I think you know where this is going .... it was topped with cheese. Melted and yummy. And free."

I think you have a little bit of hope smeared at the corner of your mouth, I said. Here, let me get that for you.

Welcome to North Carolina: We ain't high falutin'

Sarah Palin visited Asheville Sunday, wearing jeans and belting out "Redneck Woman" with country trainwreck Gretchen Wilson. For this North Carolina stop, Palin shucked her subsidized New Yawk City duds in favor of jeans. After all, Wilson "ain't no high class broad" and she has disdain for "designer tags." That pretty much sums up the average North Carolina woman. What the Madame can't figure out is why Palin did not go barefoot like everyone else in North Carolina does. If there's a pair of shoes anywhere in this house, I can't find 'em. Obama's coming to Raleigh tomorrow, and Madame is already fretting about how she's going to survive the journey to the rally on foot. Her car is up on blocks in the front yard.

John McCain is scheduled to appear in North Carolina today, alongside Hank Williams Jr. and all his rowdy friends. I presume Bocephus won't be performing "Why Can't We All Just Get A Long Neck." Its message is way too liberal and inclusive. Seriously:

Why can’t we all just get a long (neck) And make a toast to peace and harmony Why, Why can’t we all just get a long (neck) And see how good getting a long might be I’d like buy the world around In the honky tonk neutral ground So we can see that on the inside we’re all the same Pop a top and let the good times pour Til we forget what we was fightin for As different as we may be We’re all one big family

But it sure would be nice.

Charles Barkley can't screw up Alabama

From Campbell Brown's Charles Barkley interview on CNN:

Brown: So are you going to run for governor?

Barkley: I plan on it in 2014.

Brown: You are serious.

Barkley: I am, I can't screw up Alabama.

The man speaks the truth.

Resting in peace. Not.

It was bound to happen. The souring economy is now affecting dead people. I feel sorry for the families who had to retrieve the relatives evicted from the foreclosed funeral home. I also feel sorry for the owners, the Burns family. Still, I wonder about the wisdom of naming a funeral home and crematorium "The House of Burns."

Isabel, the pufferfish

I received a postcard from the Madame today. It read: "Dear Henry, the Mister caught a pufferfish. He said it looked just like Isabel. He threw it back. He said, how can you eat a fish that looks like one of your cats?"

I googled Northern Pufferfish and here's what I found. I can't locate a good image of Isabel to show you for comparison. But it's unnecessary. This, indeed, may as well be Isabel--from her tortoise shell markings to her corpulent white underbelly to her tailfin. Well, she doesn't really have a tailfin, but she usually has crusty protrusions that bear some likeness. The poor rotund beast has a home health nurse that provides assistance with hygiene. That chore used to fall to The Dog, may he rest in peace.

Housing discrimination

The Madame and Mister say that their vacation cottage will allow up to four dogs but no other type of animal. How could a cat possibly do more damage to a house than four dogs? Never mind. Max just came up behind me with a mouthful of all that's left of the living room rug.


Come home soon. I'm surrounded by imbeciles!

A REAL strong woman speaks her mind

82-year-old Helen Philpot has hit the nail on the head:

"I am going to say what everyone at CNN, CBS, ABC and NBC is thinking but is afraid to say. Governor Palin is a stupid, conniving bitch. And it’s not because she is a strong woman--I like strong women… worship them… It’s actually the opposite. She is a weak, pathetic woman who thinks big hair, winking, baby talk and self deprecation is somehow becoming of a woman who wants to lead the free world. My god, where is Margaret Thatcher when you need her!"

If America takes a chance on Maverick the Clown and his side kick, Clarabell, we will find ourselves so far down the crapper even Joe the Plumber can’t reach us."

Indeed!

Flag desecration of the worst possible kind

People, I deeply apologize for making you wish you woke up blind this morning, but I think it's important for you to see who the Republican presidential candidate has unapologetically palled around with. And thank you David Letterman for having the stones to turn the tables on John McCain.

I think this photo of the erstwhile plumber, Watergate burglar, wiretapper and would-be firebomber and kidnapper G. Gordon Liddy is pretty disgusting, but when I asked the Mister for his opinion, he said "Damn, he looks pretty good for an old man." Hmmm. I guess that depends on your definition of good. And your definition of man.

I'm not sure which is scarier, his pseudo-patriotic banana hammock or the thing that has hijacked his upper lip. I think he was going for Magnum, P.I., but I can't help but be reminded of Liddy's hero, Adolf Hitler.

Off I go to the eyewash station.

No W

Today, Americans, you have a choice. You can take $10 from your wallet and buy a well-crafted sharp stick and ram it right into your eye, or you can head to the cineplex tonight and plop it down for a ticket to the premiere of "W". Yes, the Madame has been ranting again. But I happen to agree with her. We have had to look at this ruinous man and his insidious dealings for nearly eight years (that's two full thirds of my life). Even if Oliver Stone was sending him up, I still wouldn't be interested. But apparently, the directorial king of big-screen conspiracy theories took the biggest gimme that ever fell into his lap and then produced a work that reviewers are calling "surprisingly evenhanded." Astounding. To whom would this be a selling point? The 17 percent of Americans who still approve of him? (If someone can find me their addresses, I have some condoms to mail them.)

So what are we supposed to learn about W from this film? His foibles? Are there any left we haven't seen? Maybe movie-goers are supposed to be touched and amused by images of a lovable drunkard. I have been told it's not politically correct to say this, but sometimes I've wondered if there weren't many times he'd have made better decisions in the White House if he'd called his sponsor first.

So another three hours of W in our lives? Bloody hell. Blind me now.

Who's the best villain—John McCain or Vincent Donofrio?

Sounds like the pundits think John McCain won at least the first half of tonight's final Presidential debate. But that was before he began blinking frenetically, rolling his eyes, raising his eyebrows and twitching whenever Obama said anything.

With all that poorly disguised buildup of steam, I was surprised that McCain's face never turned red—even as his skin kept tightening beyond its available reserve of elasticity. It was like he was wearing an Edgar suit. If you didn't see Men in Black, you won't get that reference (or appreciate the analogy fully from the photo I've provided). In MIB, Vincent Donofrio, in the role of Roachy, inhabits the body of Edgar the hapless farmer. As the story progresses, he struggles to maintain Edgar's corporeal form. Eventually, the insect-inside loses his composure.

The gradual transformation is a spectacular piece of acting on the D-man's part—proof that it takes more than makeup to make a great movie monster. If you haven't seen this movie, you must put it on your list of top priorities (after voting, of course). If you have a cat, even better. We are natural entomologists and love a good bug-and-guts scene.

Oh, and while you're at it, rent Mars Attacks. Ack-ack-ack. We come in peace.

Speaking of dissections ...

Three quarters of the way through the Tampa Bay v. Carolina Panthers game Sunday (due to the Cats having been thoroughly routed), the Madame made an executive decision to switch off the game. A better use of time, she announced, would be for me to make you a little cat-sized football helmet.

In a related piece of news, a young woman in Asheville has legally changed her name from Jennifer to the name of an anti-vivisection Web site. Her name is now CutoutDissection.com. Wow, and you thought McLovin got some strange looks from police officers.

How are these two situations related, you say? Because I'm thinking of changing my name to: PutThisOnMyHeadAgain&YouWillBeVivisected.

Dissecting Sarah Palin's sentences: Even the experts are stumped

The Madame wondered what her high school English teacher would make of Kitty Burns Florey's attempts to diagram Sarah Palin's utterances. Even Florey had to throw in the towel on this one:

I know that John McCain will do that and I, as his vice president, families we are blessed with that vote of the American people and are elected to serve and are sworn in on January 20, that will be our top priority is to defend the American people.
—Palin, in her Charlie Gibson interview

Florey is the author of Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog, a history of diagramming sentences. In an article for Slate.com, she writes:

"Granted, diagramming usually deals with written English. We don't expect speech to reach the heights of eloquence or even lucidity that the written word is capable of. In our world, politicians don't do much writing: Their preferred communication is the canned speech. But they're also forced, from time to time, to answer questions, and their answers often resemble the rambling nonsense, obfuscation, and grammatical insanity that many of us would produce when put on the spot.

Yet surely, more than most of us, politicians need to be able to think on their feet, to have a brain that works quickly and rationally under pressure. Do we really want to be led by someone who, when asked a straightforward question, flails around like an undergraduate who stayed up all night boozing instead of studying for the exam?"

Uh, yeah, Americans are already being led by someone like that.

McCain praises Obama's decency. Says "you do not have to be scared" of him

I try not to worry much about whether I'll have to live again on the streets at some future point in my life. You know, what with the economy the way it is. But lately I've been concerned about how many degrees of separation exist between me and Barack Obama. You see, I quite like the Madame. She feeds me, pets me and lets me use her computer (even after I threw up on the modem and knocked out our Internet connection for three days). And both she and the Mister quite like Barack Obama, who according to the McCain campaign "pals around with terrorists."

So lately, McCain, Palin and their camp have been asking, creepily, "Who IS Barack Obama." With folks at McCain rallies yellowing out things like "Terrorist!" "Treason!" "Bomb him!" and "Kill him!", I've been nervous about whether someone will make a connection between me and Bill Ayers. After all, there's a sign right in our yard, "Obama for President," that might seem to suggest our association with domestic terrorists. In case you haven't noticed, I'm covered in fur. And fur is flammable.

Madame has just informed me that Mr. McCain finally "took up for" Obama at a rally just a few hours ago, when participants said Obama was an Arab and that they feared for their children under his presidency. Here's part of what McCain had to say:

"He's a decent, family man, citizen, that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues, and that's what this campaign is all about."

Meanwhile, should we take down our sign just in case?

New Credit Crunch Cereal: It's deliciously nutty!

Not sure which is more disturbing—that ABC news resorted to cartoons to explain the economic crisis to its viewers or that this is how it depicts farmers. Hillbilly Bob needs that loan to fix his crazy eyes (he doesn't have health insurance).

And the pesticide image is sooooo 1960. Everyone knows you don't have to wear protective gear when you spray Roundup. Monsanto has assured us it's safer than baby powder (who cares if it kills frogs and turns tadpoles into hermaphrodites). Thumbs up!

You can watch the cartoon here. It's rated G (for golly gee!)

Stripes are slimming

Joe Biden thinks Saturday Night Live is funny

Really funny. I mean really, really, really funny.

Hefty Max

Someone forgot to take out the trash.

Republicans afraid of musical hats!

A battle over what voters can and cannot wear to the polls is headed to court in Pennsylvania. Apparently, a woman voting in the Pennsylvania primary last spring was told she'd have to take off her Obama T-shirt before entering the booth. One might assume the poll workers intended to produce a salacious video, "Voters Gone Wild," but they were actually trying to prevent "electioneering," which is sort of like auctioneering, 'cept louder.

So now a political brawl has broken out over voter fashion. The Republican Party in Pennsylvania wants a dress code, while the Democratic Party does not. I gather that the Republicans are wary of a sartorial slippery slope. Said state GOP chairman Robert Gleason: "The first thing would be a button or a shirt, and maybe the next thing would be a musical hat."

This is clearly a scheme to sabotage the anticipated young voter turnout the Democrats hope will deliver a win for Obama. Because we all know, rebellious kids can't stand being told what not to wear—especially musical hats.

Good news for foreclosed homeowners: Take a bullet and you're home free!

Fannie Mae has announced they will forgive a debt owed by a 90-year-old woman who tried to kill herself as sheriff's deputies attempted to evict her from her home. The woman now lies in a hospital in critical condition due to the bullet wounds she sustained. "We're going to forgive whatever outstanding balance she had on the loan and give her the house," said a Fannie Mae spokesman on Friday "Given the circumstances, we think it's appropriate." But why—I asked the Madame—wasn't it "appropriate" to try to offer some relief beforehand to Addie Polk, who'd lived in her home since 1970.

A sorry mathematician, the Madame mused nonetheless about what percentage of the $700 billion government bailout package Mrs. Polk's mortgage amounted to. The Madame often gives thanks out loud that she and the Mister are lucky enough to pay the bank every month (so far). If we ever got evicted, she said, where on earth would we find a landlord who'd let us keep five cats? We'd have to find a cardboard box big enough for all of us, she said, though Pickles, Smilla, Isabel, Max and you would need to promise not to shred the walls, she admonished.

Wow, all this time I thought equity was the main benefit of home ownership. Damn, those people really love us.

Sarah Barracuda shows no love for Joe's dead wife and kid

I had a hard time staying awake during tonight's VP debate. I found myself drifting off whenever either candidate spoke for longer than 30 seconds. But I was semi-conscious when Biden choked up as he talked about being a single parent to his two boys after his wife and daughter were killed. Apparently, sympathy was not in Mama Palin's playbook. Without batting a lash, she launched right back into her scripted universe. Stunning.

Waaaaaaaaaa. Life isn't fair, whines McCain

John McComplain said Thursday that Barack Obama’s poll numbers are rising as the economy seems to sink "because life isn’t fair.” It's hard to say who's more annoying, McComplain or Project Runway's sniveling rude-ster Kenley. I think they are soul mates.

Another bad idea: Old Yeller dog food

I'm not kidding. The Madame saw it at the store today and thought she was hallucinating. Made by Disney. Sold by Kroger. You remember Old Yeller. The movie in which the lovable stray dog gets rabies and his owner, a little boy, has to shoot the mutt.

From the Kroger press release announcing the deal:

"The movie is a timeless classic that transcends generations, and we believe this brand will appeal not only to original fans, but to the millions of Americans who share the same kind of special bond with their beloved dogs."

The Madame says she has spent 30 years trying to put that tragic movie ending out of her mind.

What's next? Cat Splat Kibble? Charlotte's Web Tarantula Chow?

Moose Muhammad's anti lock brakes

Carolina Panthers halftime tidbit: We learned today that wide receiver Muhsin Muhammad cuts holes in the toes of his shoes to take some of the shock out of those quick stops**. OK, I guess you had to be there. But you know what this means? All those holey sneakers strewn around the house aren't bums' shoes. They're equipped with the most sophisticated ABS technology available today. Wow, Madame and Mister. I'm impressed.

**I've just been told that I have this explanation wrong, but that PERSON who was critical was not in the room at the time the announcers described it. So my interpretation stands until further notice.

The A-11 Offense: truly offensive

I know a lot of you are probably screaming: "Less politics, more football and fashion!" Seems lately I have to get riled in order to be inspired, and politics is an easy target (I'm lazy at heart). I almost posted about Kenley's ghastly "hip hop" outfit on Wednesday's Project Runway, but it would've been like shooting fish in a barrel. Finally, I gleaned something from the world of sports that is worthy of my razor-sharp claws.

Some smart-ass coaches at a California high school are playing football in a downright un-American way. They've created "the A-11 offense," which in essence means that on any given play, all 11 players are eligible receivers.

Says Steve Humphries, offensive coordinator for the Piedmont High Highlanders: "Football is so conservative. There's not a lot of strategy if you're just smashing 300-pound guys together in predictable ways. A-11 filters that out so everyone is active and nimble—like soccer."

Soccer!!??? What's great about American football is that it's not soccer.

Well, I don't give a whit about high school football, though I do love their marching bands. So I thought, big deal. Until I read that college coaches and even—gasp—NFL coaches are giving this strategy a looksee. The S.F. 49'ers reportedly incorporated aspects of the A-11 into their punt plays. Anathema! I took comfort, however, in this blogger's comments: "...this is something that can happen in college football and not in the innovation-hostile NFL."

Thank you. That's what I want from the NFL—hostility, not innovation and cleverness, no matter what this mathlete says:

"Anything that adds permutations, but also adds mystery about pattern makes this more complicated to decipher," says John Lindhe, a mathematician at Northeastern University in Boston. "Football has all these gimmick plays—Statue of Liberty, hook and ladder—that are seldom seen because they're very decipherable."

I have a hard enough time following the ball on a TV screen. I don't want to not know where the ball is even more than I do now.

I hope that when I awake from my next nap, this will have all been a dream.