A mysterious affliction

Now that it's over, we can laugh about it.

Isn't that the story of our lives? Yeah, pretty much. Well, this time it was all at the expense of poor Maxwell.

We left him in the backyard for two hours and came home to find him in excruciating pain. He ran to the car, yelping. It seemed like every time he moved, he yelped.

We looked for blood and guts and didn't see anything. Thankfully, Mike's sister Debbie is a vet and she was visiting. She examined Max and found that the top three inches of his tail was really swollen and hot. He had apparently sprained his tail.

Now, don't ask me how this sort of thing happens. If it was the end of his tail, sure, maybe he got it caught in something or had it bitten or whatever. But this was the top part of his tail, next to his bum. What the???

We iced the tail down and Max laid in the same spot for hours, moaning. It took about a week for things to return to normal.



So we don't really know what made him so miserable. Did he kamikaze off the patio table and land on his tail? Is it possible for a dog to wag too much?

As long as it's better, I suppose it doesn't matter now that Max has overcome his bout with erect-tail disfunction.

Mortified

Thanks to my good friend Enrique, I'm reading a fabulous compilation of teen angst stories. Actually, it's excerpts from teenage diaries.

The intro to the book made me think about writing and purpose. I mean, why do we write blogs? They are sort of public diaries in most cases. Only we know that other people are reading our thoughts, so we self-edit them and (usually) omit the most embarassing things. Unless we're writing to obtain pity. I wouldn't even consider writing some things on a blog, and I have a love-hate relationship with it because of its public-ness.

Here's what author D@vid N@delburg said in his intro:

"In the days before blogs, people transcribed their everyday events with ancient tools known as pens and paper. Back then, private thoughts were not written to serve as public spectacle. Rather, they were intensely guarded keepsakes, hidden under beds, locked in cabinets, or buried in the back of closets. These were called diaries ... or if they were owned by heterosexual males, journals. To their oh-so-sensitive authors, such books served as their confidante, their shrink, and in a few somewhat pathetic cases, their only friend."

Yeah, I do wish sometimes that I could write everything that jumped into my mind. But who knows who is reading this and what they would think?

Haven't we all thought about that on our blogs? Wondered if so-and-so sent Aunt Whatzername a link and if she should really be reading this?

I guess, in a way, that's the main pitfall of blogging. Some people don't self-censor enough. They don't realize that there's still a place for a diary if they want one (NOT on Internet) and that their blog isn't really private, even though you think you know who's reading it.

They badmouth their boss online, quit that job and apply for another and then (mysteriously, by the powers of the Internet!) their potential employer reads the blog and it's all ruined. Or they think that it's okay to post photos of themselves drinking in hot tubs on mysp@ce even though their students have access to their profiles.

The potential to build bridges before they are even built is HUGE on the information superhighway.

Here's to teenage angst books that make you think!

The geek squad ...

Or, happy anniversary to us!


So we made a whirlwind trip to Denver this week so Mikey could cover a convicted murderer's appeal hearing. On our third anniversary. I had no idea the third anniversary present was "attend convicted murderer court hearing" as well as "leather" or the more modern "crystal" present.

Truth be told, as un-romantic as this sounds, it was a trip that truly shows that we are perfect for each other. What would I do with a stupid leather bracelet or crystal? I hate crystal. Crystal is usually some form of knicknack, which most of you know is banned from the McWiggins' lair.

Instead, we went to the hearing (my first trip to the Supreme Court chambers, ooh!) and then we met up with Mike and Mary for trivia at a pub.

We came in third. Not bad, considering we beat a team called "McLovin." We messed up on the round with the Neo-Claudian emperors. ("Caligula? Is that a real person?" :) ) But we kicked butt on the visual round. Nobody can recognize W!ll Sm!th's eyes like my husband. Heh.

Then we headed back the next morning after a quick stop in Ge@rget@wn so Mikey could go to a press conference related to a disaster. I wandered around town trying to find a place to get coffee that would accept a credit card. I narrowly missed being hit by a Budwe!ser truck on the narrow highway.

Boy, he's lucky he married a former reporter who understands how this journalism thing works. Happy anniversary to us!