Tag Archives: dog

Lame Adventure 262: Picture Perfect

Apparently,  my sister, Dovima, has reached her statute of limitations with me constantly photographing, Thurber, the family dog.

"Christmas, is over, am I stuck wearing this red bow until New Year's?"

She has asked me to shoot a Christmas day family portrait of her with Sweet Pea, her daughter/my niece, and Herb (with a silent h), her husband/my bro-in-law.

Mr. & Mrs Smith with The Cookie Maker (yes, that be you, Sweet Pea)

In return, my sister, has taken it upon herself to shoot an action shot of me sitting in-between our pappy and brother, Axel.

Axel worrying about the sodium content of the Christmas dinner for everyone in America.

Lame Adventure 261: Christmas Overload

The Lame Adventures family dog, Thurber, is suffering.  Everything he got squeaks.  In fact, he did not seem like his usual perky self when I suggested:

Me:  Next year I’m gonna get you a squeaking Excedrin, Little Guy!  What do you think of that?

"God in Heaven, please make it stop!"

At Target, my sister found the equivalent of a Harry & David sampler with a squeaking sausage, pear, Swiss cheese, cheesy ball and bag of crunchy cashew nuts.  I gifted him with the purple squeaking duck.

"Hm. This doesn't smell like a pear."

"Hey! This Swiss is squeaking!"

"I'm trying hard to not appear to be suffering mental cruelty."

My niece, Sweet Pea, turned on the TV to the Yule Log.

American classic or why Europe thinks we're idiots.

"This is mesmerizing!"

"You change that channel, I'll bite your paw off!"

Lame Adventure 260: Child Labor

While my sister, Dovima, and I pound Trader Joe’s Brandy Beans by the fistful, her daughter, my niece and heir to my string collection, Sweet Pea, is busy baking all the Christmas cookies.


Gotta say Dovima has raised that kid right!  Sweet Pea is baking snowballs, press cookies and Oreo Truffles.

Snowballs, also called Mexican Wedding cookies or Sandies (a name preferred by our late grandmother, Vesuvius) are my favorite.  Sweet Pea is baking those first.

Cooling sheet of naked snowballs.

Bowl of powdered sugar snowball dressing.

Dressing the balls.

Unwelcome intruder.


After baking the snowballs Sweet Pea moves onto another holiday hit, press cookies in the shape of Christmas trees.

Pressing away!

Pre-launch press cookies.

With the leftover dough Sweet Pea makes three freak-shaped cookies – one each for her mother, father and aunt, which we eat while watching The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo at the multiplex.

Freak cookies. Yum!

Company cookies.

A few words about the film; we liked it very much, but everyone spoke English with a Swedish-y accent.  This reminded me of films made back in the day when the bad guys whether they be German spies or Japanese military men always spoke English to each other with accents, probably because Hollywood has issues with subtitles.  Our real problem with the accents is that our three sets of middle age ears each missed portions of the dialogue.  Dovima is still banging her head against the kitchen counter since she entirely missed the twist at the end The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo resolving the mystery with Christopher Plummer’s granddaughter.  My sister’s new mantra is:

Dovima:  Idiot!

My brother-in-law, Herb (with a silent h), and I have tried to assure her that she’s not an idiot, just pretty deaf.  Herb even went so far as to claim:

Herb:  Honey, there were times during the movie when I wanted to stand in front of the screen with a hearing horn!

His attempt at delivering a comforting lament fell on deaf ears.

Overall, this film is a very entertaining thriller and probably even better if heard in its entirety.

Back to cookies, after baking the press cookies, Sweet Pea made some Pillsbury slice and bake for a friend of hers.

Not bad.

Product placement shot like Coca Cola and Marlboro cigarettes in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Dovima and I, the official tasters, tried a few of those.  Surprisingly, they were pretty good.

Dovima:  What do you think’s the center stuff that makes them taste so good?

Me: Probably a lot of hydrogenated fat.

Then, Sweet Pea made her own favorites, Oreo Truffles.  Just smash a package of Oreos to smithereens, mix in a brick of cream cheese and refrigerate for two hours or freeze for 45 minutes.

Pulverizing Oreos.

Mixing cream cheese with Oreos.

Truffles ready for chilling.

Thurber keeping his distance.

Outside cat taunting Thurber, "Hey Big Dumb Wuss!"

Highly not recommended for the lactose intolerant set.

Lame Adventure 142: Après Christmas

I am still vacationing in Marin County, thousands of miles away from blizzard smothered Manhattan, where I refuse to worry too much about leaving the window open in my humble abode …

Usual view outside my window following a blizzard. I hope this is not the same view inside my apartment at this moment.

As soon as the clock struck midnight Christmas Day, while I was assisting my sister, Dovima, with setting up presents and as I imagined falling thunderously into the fireplace, waking the entire household and setting off the dog, Thurber, I sneezed four times.  Sixteen minutes later, I sneezed twice more.

Always looking for trouble Thurber.

Fortunately, as we opened gifts later that morning, my sneezing took a reprieve, but it returned with a vengeance at 10:47 am when I sneezed an additional twenty-five times through the course of Christmas proper until I exhausted my supply of sneezes at 11:01 pm.  As I sneezed a final three times at that moment, this exertion prompted my sister to ask:

Dovima:  What was that a million?

Me (disappointed):  That was only 31 for today.  At least I made it to thirty.

Dovima:  Now you can shoot for forty.

My niece, Sweet Pea, found this exchange hilarious.

I have been counting my sneezes since my birthday last May 4th, and I intend to count them through May 3rd since I start what I finish, no matter how inane, useless and absurd.   With the 31 I accrued on Christmas day, I am up to 372.  Après Christmas I have returned to a modest number of sneezes again, four on Sunday and zero thus far today.

Dovima was baffled why I had such a sneezy Christmas.  The house is clean.  Tangy, the cat, lives outdoors which is great for me since I am deathly allergic to the kitties, but if there was one cat I’d love to pet, it’s super cool Tangy.

Mellow Tangy keeping warm on my brother-in-law's carhood.

Thurber, Tangy’s nemesis, the pampered prince of a dog Tangy finds pathetic, is a hypoallergenic Poovanese (poodle-Havanese mix).  Back in early 2009, then 14-year-old Sweet Pea, either in an act of supreme self-sacrifice or obscene sibling rivalry, was willing to donate Thurber to the Obamas before they adopted Bo.  This was coincidentally during the period when Sweet Pea and Thurber had rather frosty relations.  I am pleased to report that they have since made amends and are now on much better terms.

Best buds Sweet Pea and Thurber chilling together on Facebook.