Aimless Hindquarters Sniffing

Did anything exciting happen this weekend? We sincerely hope not, since we decided to Not Look At A Computer the whole weekend, and have become so net news-dependent that we cannot absorb news from television-based sources. We did try to look at Capital Gang on Saturday night, but found Bob Novak's leering wizened visage very difficult to follow.

Anyway, we found that Beltway ranting was not helping the Veuve-Clicquot go down at all. And when the champers was done, there was little to do but hustle down to Blue Ribbon Brooklyn and get toasted.

Best advice from the luxuriously quiffed bartender to a new father: "Get batteries. Lots of batteries. A, B, C, D, the lot. None of that baby equipment takes regular sizes." We were chatting about childs because the stork brought a little bundle of joy into the world, in the form of Mini-Mig-Hell. Mini-Mig-Hell is a Secret Blog Name, much like Gringcorp, but we are sure that the parents, who are serious Brooklyn art-rock celebrities, would value the anonymity. Anyway, welcome to the world Mini-Mig-Hell, it's awesome, except for the limeys. Hot damn the limeys suck.

But we watched the Superbowl, obviously, although we spent a sufficient amount of time shuffling between parties to avoid overexposure to the Aryan Youth face of Tom Brady (wow, St Hunter called it pretty well!). In fact we had reversed our long-running love of the Patriots, partly, in true limey fashion, after they got too successful, but also on the back of all that Bush-pimping the Pats quarterback got in. We know we shouldn't be mixing the two up, and leftist bloggers from all over seem to be able to compartmentalize quite nicely, but we find it difficult.

Or maybe we just don't like football. Because we discovered a demented bit of counter-programming in the form of Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl. Nine hours of puppies playing on this miniature football field, complete with instant replay, a "bowl-cam" and a guy who comes on every fifteen minutes to administer a penalty. With noodling porn-movie music in the background. It was very bowdlerized, since the two things puppies most like to do are poop and hump, and there was nary a frame of anything untoward, just hours and hours of romping, interspersed with occasional adverts. Now we know what all the skagheads were doing during the Eagles' beating.