Gone Fishing

selfish shellfish

For the next six weeks, it'll be slim pickin's over here at A Doggy's Life.

Oh, I'd love to tell you exactly how I feel about those boneheads over at Sesame Street, who've decided to single-pawedly save the children from obesity by cutting off Cookie Monster's access to his beloved oatmeal raisin.

I'd love to show you a Washington Post piece about how our own VP didn't know of Tom DeLay's threat to the judges involved in the Schiavo case (he disagrees with DeLay, though).

I want to write a cute essay about children and spinning and drugs (there's a connection here, really, and it's discussed in Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire), and I know that you are now champing at the bit to read it.

I want to complain that the St. Francis gala, to which I have been looking forward, is on the first night of Passover. I want to bitch and moan about my diet, pat myself on the back for running again, lament my lack of finances.

But I'm with crab.

Next time it rains, though, I'm all over this puppy.