Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Best of the Best?

In a stunning announcement two weeks ago, it was revealed to the world that Galoots Hoot Page was voted "Best Local Blog" along with 4 others in a write in category of the Chautauqua Region Word. The area I live in probably has around 100,000 people in it (county-wide), so this is no small distinction. Unfortunately, none of the 5 blogs listed was given top honors. Somehow, we're all supposed to share this. I don't think so. Call me selfish, but I have worked long and hard (often while working) at making this the best damn blog this county offers. The only "fair and balanced" way I can show you why I should have been crowned "King Of Chautauqua Bloggers" is to offer you some information about the other 4 that, if made public, would certainly convince you that I am your man.

1. "King of Chautauqua Bloggers" implies that a man should hold this distinction. That automatically rules out In Java and Preppygirl. I don't know what gender Jamestown Lawyer is. Disqualified for not being obvious as to what you really are, attorney-person! So this leaves Makkaio and I to duke it out.
2. Makkaio is a pacifist and holds a public office around here. Even if we did fight, he would take the higher road and lay down his weapons, making me the winner by forfeit. I'd still shoot him dead with my cross-bow. Plus, he has his own domain name. Utterly pretentious.
3. Assuming Makkaio's security detail shoots me down in cold blood and probably in the back, this would leave the other three to fight over the title. Hopefully you would still pick me in death because:
  • In Java would probably have to assume her husband's position in City Hall and serve out his term. She'll have little time to blog and will have to work two jobs.
  • Preppygirl would mourn me for like, five minutes, before moving the kids out to England in order to try and find another father figure like Hugh Grant or Colin Firth. Her new posts would be infrequent and in the British language - hard to read.
  • Even if you still want to go with Jamestown Lawyer, this person is into law. And we all know what a mess our country is in because of Gonzalez and all those firings.
So, if you aren't going to pick me, I could care less. Throw away your vote. I still score a moral victory.


Thursday, July 05, 2007

What's In A Name?

Preppy Girl works at a place whose “season” runs nine weeks straight in the summer. The place has concerts, plays, operas, symphonies, lectures and classes every day of the week and is crawling with rich people – new money and old. Due to the demands of the job, PGirl always has to work on July 4. Since both of our kids attend a summer school within her place of work and were participating in a “holiday parade”, I decided to join them and hang out for a while. A new, fenced-in dog run was recently installed there, so I took our pooch, Asa, along with me.

After a short walk from one of the entrances to the square of this community, I met up with PGirl, her assistant and a buddy of mine from The Unexpected Guests, who I’ll refer to as Milton F. Hunter. The parade of kids was absolutely adorable. They convened at the steps of one of the square’s buildings, sang some songs, marched to the amphitheater and sang some more. What happened as we waited for the parade to start was what I’d like to recount here.

As we waited on a sidewalk corner, many people stared at us. I thought maybe it was because of what we wore, that the rich folks could tell we weren’t money. PGirl had her work windbreaker on and I was slumming it in a pair of khaki cargos, track shoes and an oxford shirt. In L.A. I would’ve been mistaken for an incognito celebrity. In this place – a dogwalker.

But it wasn’t our clothes people were staring at. It was Asa. Our dog is a standard poodle who doesn’t wear his hair in any of the traditional poodle cuts. We usually get him short, cuts all around so he looks sort of like an Airedale. This often prompts people to look at him, wondering what breed he his. Our groomers give us shit for not asking for something fancier, but we like the way he looks. Several people approached us, saying things like, “I just have to ask, what kind of dog is he?” or “What a beautiful cinnamon boy!” (He’s apricot in color). The majority of him asked his name, which I readily revealed. After the 6th or 7th inquisitor, though, I began to have fun.

A woman approached, asking the standard questions. When she inquired about his name, my improv-addled mind pushed me to blurt out, “Alistair”. Milton stifled a laugh and PGirl shot me a smirk. After the lady left, my wife asked, “What are you doing?”. I smiled back, “Just having a laugh!”.

A few moments later, another lady approached us with the name question. I replied, “Acadian Driftwood”. She didn’t bat an eye. Milton was having a hard time not busting up this time. We walked over to the grass across from the singing area to listen to the kids. Several more people and their dogs visited with us, but no one was asking his name. I was getting anxious. Finally, the next mark approached.

“What is your poodle’s name?”. I started running through a short list of ridiculous “A” names. Before I could settle on one, she cut me off with her next question. “Is it Coco?”. I choked back a laugh. Coco was a brilliant name. My voice quivering, I said. “No. His name is…”. I was having difficulty coming up with a clever name. “Coco” kept ringing in my ears. I gave up and gave in. “Asa.”, I said. “His name is Asa”. She walked away from us and Milton and I gave up our fun and games.