Category: categories

Open Letter

Dear people conveying their dogs in strollers,

Stop it.

At first we thought you had a baby in there, as is often the case when people are pushing strollers through parks. But then, we noticed your baby was an extraordinarily active little thing. In fact, your baby seemed to be kicking and punching at the weird stroller enclosure, perhaps even throwing its tiny body against the mesh. My god! Do you need help?! What is wrong with your baby?

Oh. We see now. Your baby is, in fact, a Labrador Retriever. That’s rather disquieting. Perhaps it’s one of those dogs with some sort of unfortunate injury? The kind of sweet little dog that needs wheels on its hindquarters to walk? Well, that’s understandable then, I mean…

But wait. Your dog just jumped out of the stroller and began bounding around the park. He’s rather fat, but otherwise perfectly able bodied. So what the hell, nutter?

Are you unable to control your dog on the city streets with a mere leash, though you’re now allowing that same dog to gad about amongst small children? You’re aware that the phrase “he’s my baby,” when applied to animals, is meant as a joke? Or do you also plan to breast-feed?

In conclusion, let your dog run. That’s what dogs do. If you want to put something in a stroller, get an iguana.

Sincerely,
Margaret Mason

Litterary Figure

Heather just published her very first book, Things I Learned About My Dad (in therapy). It’s a collection of essays about fatherhood, and if you ever wondered how I feel about my dad, mine’s in there too. As is Alice’s. In fact, her essay about fatherhood and Star Wars also appeared in this month’s Wondertime magazine. (That’s why I have an 8.5″ x 11″ photo of Alice dressed as Princess Leia stuck to the side of our fridge. Also, one in my night stand drawer, but I digress.)

I’m excited for Heather right now, because I know something very big is about to happen. Sometime soon, a stranger will ask what she does. Instead of saying, “Well… do you read… like… how do I put this. Uh, I’m a blogger?” she can look them straight in the eye and say, “I’m a writer.”

And a damn good one too.

19 Days Without Yeti

It’s been 19 days since the last Defective Yeti update, and that can only mean one thing. Matthew Baldwin is being held hostage on a secluded island, with no access to a keyboard, and enemy forces on all sides.

That or he’s playing, like, the world’s longest game of Werewolf with an inconceivably large group of friends. (So two things, I guess. It could mean one of two things.)

Anyway, Rob of Cockeyed has assembled a crack team of Internet search-and-rescue operatives:

I will be hiding here in my closet, in case the bad guys are coming for me next.

As for you Matthew, you stay alive. No matter how far, how long it takes…

We will find you.

Worth Repeating

Catching up on a year’s worth of old magazine subscriptions. Some snips:

Julie Morgenstern in O Magazine — “If I ran out of time today, what would be the one thing that, completed, would give me the greatest sense of accomplishment and contribution?”

New Yorker Mar. 20 article “Pretty Things,” about Hedi Silmane models — “They seemed in imminent danger of getting laid.”

Dave Grohl in Esquire Nov. 2007 — “Anybody who has to focus on being real has a problem. It’s like having a panic attack over how you’re prone to panic attacks.”