There are good days, bad days, and days when you need to eat the inside of another creatures bones just to feel better.  yesterday was one of those days.  thankfully, my favorite restaurant of all time, che albert (in downtown amherst) was serving strip steak with a healthy helping of bone marrow sauce.  yumm . . . .y.  And bone marrow is great because, in my mind, there are no ethical qualms to ponder (like with other delicacies like the force feeding of foie gras or the no-letting-baby-cow-move of veal).  I figure, using the inside of the bone is ol' skool.  Like native american old school, using every part of the animal.  And it is DElicious.  I'm amazed i haven't seen more video of lions and tigers sucking on antelope bones to get the marrow out.  Hell, it's so good that i wish my oncologist father would have brought the bone marrows home from work instead of the exhausted and emotional dishevelment of fighting cancer day in and day out.  But that's another post altogether.

Today's post has no theme.  Enjoy. 

You can say "bomb" on a plane.  I know that this seems obvious and that you probably are all, "um, duhsville you cant say "bomb" on a plane."  And i know that.  I even know that while seated during flight watching 30 Rock on the tiny seat monitor.  At some point, Tina Fey's character Liz Lemon (oh wow, i just heard all of my female readers simultaneously say, "ohmygod i LOVE her, Liz Lemon is JUST like me.  I swear they made that character from my life), says something to the effect of "such and such is da' BOMB" in some fake white-girl slang.  At least, that's what i imagine happened.  In reality, she said, "such and such is da' *insert weird beeping noise.*"  That's right ladies and gentlemen, American Airlines censored out the word "bomb" from it's airline sitcom programming.  I'm telling you people, you can't say "bomb" on a plane.  Not even if you are Tina Fey and you are prerecorded. 

Right now I'm imagining a scenario where Tina does get that "da' bomb" line out and some over-anxious grandpa in the back scream -- "THAT LADY'S GOTTA BOMB!" And before the airline attendant can condescendingly remind ol' yeller (pun) that TV isn't real and that the woman on the screen isn't really here, the disease of panic has spread.  "The lady with the bomb has got a black man for back up!," i imagine hearing as Tracy Morgan's character strolls onscreen.  Now the Federal Aviation Agency is looking for a place for us to land and they think the nearby cornfield will do.  why oh why didn't they just edit all uses of the word bomb out of 30 Rock!!! 

The truly sad part of that example is that it's only hilarious up until those events actually start happening.  And i've been seeing way more screwed up stuff on the news recently so . . .

Change of subject.  A week or so ago i took Grover (the all-star doggy) to the dog park.  We are lucky to have said park where there are a bunch of trails throughout the woods, and people come and walk their dogs off leash and they play and get socialized.  it's awesome.  The first time we went, we met up with a friend of mine who has two young female vizslas.   They are essentially brown greyhounds.  Build for speed and distance.  They are runners.  They look like runners.  They run so well that my friend has both jingle bells AND GPS trackers on their collars when she brings them to the woods.  Grover was extremely pleased by this turn of events.  He ran with his new gfs like a champ.  Being a rescue, Grover isn't as keen on going too far from his people, so the match was perfect.  The vizslas took off and ran Grover behind them like a maniac.  When they went far enough, Grov-street (one of his nicknames) turned and started running back, which the vizslas were more than happy to do (as long as it's fast, they're into it).  This continued  . . . the entire time.  Watching my pup play with other dogs for the first time (remember Grove is my first pet ever) was transformative.  About equal with eating bone marrow.  Really really good.  he is such a kook.  He loves everyone.  SO much so that when another dog growls (he has never growled himself) he thinks its just there strange form of play.  He kinda has happy-dog Aspergers to some degree. 

The event that sticks out the most in my mind from that walk, however, had nothing to do with the dogs.  As we were on the final run toward the parking lot, I swear to god that Cruella de Vil was walking the other way.  You know, the evil dog-catcher lady from 101 Dalmatians.   She had that alcoholics stagger, along with a big red overcoat.  But even crazier was her partially white hair and, i swear to god, a bent cigarette hanging lazily from the side of her semi-deformed mouth.  Unfortunately, she didn't have a dalmatian.  She had a frumpy little dog in a sweater that was actually staggering similarly to the owner.  And it was this weird disconnect where a woman i associate strongly with hatred toward dogs is out in the freezing weather getting her pup some exercise.  I actually can't remember how the Disney movie ends exactly, but i think Cruella drives off a cliff or something (she did have that sweet ride).  If i'm misremembering (like a politician often does) and she actually gets reformed into a dog lover at the end of that film . . . well then i'm pretty sure she lives in Amherst now.