P.S., Your Cat is News

I never watch television news. In fact, the only thing I watch on TV these days is either baseball or coverage of Le Tour de France.

And here's why. Tonight's teaser for the local evening news? A clairvoyant cat that can predict death.

Maybe he should get a job with Nielsen Media Research.

Comma, Comma, Comma, Comma, Comma Chameleon

I am a comma chameleon. My commas, as well as other punctuation, have to adapt to the particular style of each editor for whom I write. I'm usually pretty good with periods, question marks, quotation marks, and the like.

But commas, boy, they baffle the heck out of me.

And just when I think I have an editor's comma style down pat, it changes. All the commas I thought were needed end up swimming with the fishes. Or my sparsely punctuated pieces get a comma carpet bombing.

And serial commas? You know, the ones that should (or should not) go before the "and" in a series? Fuggedaboudit! Sometimes I just toss a coin.

If you're comma curious, visit this blog written by my good friend and language expert, Martha Barnette.

From what I understand, she has a pretty good handle on the comma sutra.

Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love, Double Down Tonight

Mirapex is a drug that treats restless leg syndrome. People who suffer from RLS have an uncontrollable creepy, crawly or burning sensation in their legs.

According to the documentation, side effects of Mirapex could include - and I'm not making this up - increased sexual desire or the urge to gamble.

I can understand certain drugs affecting libido, but intensifying the compulsion to gamble? I mean, what are the odds?

Then again, maybe they meant gambol.

Bake Me a Lyeberry Pie

Okay, how is it possible that an adult in a customer service position for a fairly well-known website pronounces the word "library" as "lyeberry?"

And he's a tech support person, too.

I was having a problem with my online library on a site that sells podcasts, and I would think that if the guy heard the word pronounced as "library" enough times, he'd habituate.

Things like that make me berry, berry kwazy.

Take Me Out Out OUT

Last night the San Diego Padres lost to the Atlanta Braves 5-4. But the big gay contingent at the game won by a landslide.

My friends and I had no idea it was Gay Night at the ballgame when we bought our tickets, but we're really glad we could be there to further the Gay Agenda against the handful of hate-mongering right wingers who tried unsuccessfully to turn a warm summer night into a firestorm of hate and ignorance.

They stood outside the stadium in bright red shirts handing out poorly written (always an issue for me) fliers packed with incendiary lies about our unhealthy influence on children.

It was Kid Floppy Hat Night - kids under 12 were given free Padres floppy hats. I tried to snag one with my "I have a very small head" argument. Didn't work.

The haters were trying to point out to the crowd that we homos were a threat to "traditional family values" by being at the same game with a bunch of kids, most of whom couldn't tell the gay baseball fans from anyone else. (We're the ones drinking the micro-brews.)

When one of the zealous right-wingers tried to hand me a flier, I looked him right in the eye and said, "No thanks. I'm gay." One of my friends with her son in tow added, "And we have kids!"

And, by the way, the San Diego Gay Men's Chorus sang a beautifully harmonized rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner." Land of the free, and the homos are brave.

The Seven "I Wonders"

According to the L.A. Times, as of 7/7/07, the New Seven Wonders are: The Great Wall of China, the ancient city of Petra in Jordan, the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, Machu Picchu in Peru, the Maya ruins of Chichen Itza in Mexico, the Colosseum in Rome, and India's Taj Mahal.

But what about the Seven I Wonders? What are the seven things that people seem to wonder about the most?

Well, if I were asked:

*Why do birds confuse cars with toilets?

*Why does the person with the loudest voice, and the need to constantly hear it, seem to sit behind me on every cross-country flight?

*Why does the city's waste management crew pick up the recycling on my street only when they feel like it?

*Why can't the American League and the National League agree on the designated hitter?

*Why are iPod earbuds so big? (For some of us it's like trying to stuff a couple of Oreos in our ears.)

*Why does my WiFi network sometimes choose to ignore my computer, even when I'm two feet away from the router? And why doesn't yelling help?

*Why do some people have an innate and frighteningly accurate sense of direction, while others (who shall remain nameless) instinctively go the wrong way every time?

I Think, Therefore (No) iPhone

I may be a card-carrying member of the Apple cult, but the iPhone just isn't one of the must-have gadgets on my list. Someone even offered to give me one for my next birthday but for the same money, I'd rather have the latest Airport Extreme and a set of noise canceling headphones.

And all the hype - oy vey - you'd think the Messiah had come. (The Jewish one; We're still waiting.)

David Pogue, technology writer for the New York Times, has written several articles on the iPhone's debut. But his music video proves that even hardcore techno geeks get the joke.

If You Build It, They Will Spit

I know there's no crying in baseball, but what's up with all the spitting? Every time I watch a game on TV, the camera will zoom in on one of the players just as he's spitting something gloppy and nasty out of his mouth. Sometimes there'll be a close-up of a guy who actually has strings of drool dangling from his lips. Nice.

And it's not just the guys who keep matzo ball sized wads of chewing tobacco inside their mouths. They all do it, and they do it all the time. Before batting, before pitching, standing in the outfield, or just lounging in the dugout. It doesn't matter. Baseball is like a big, gross spit-a-thon.

And then there's the whole gnarly sunflower seed thing. If you watch closely, you'll notice ball players have a habit of throwing fistfuls of unshelled sunflower seeds in their mouths, cracking them open with their teeth, eating the seeds, and then letting the shells cascade out of their mouths.

I sure hope none of these guys are involved in paternity suits because every ball field is one giant DNA paradise.