Fabio

We had to have the big guy put to sleep today. A sad finale to a grand 12-year run for the belly bellissimo. He was in every way a feast for our eyes, a koala in our laps, a strain on our furniture. He was a tactile marvel with a purr that could shake a house off its foundations.

He purred right to the end, and then he was asleep. I hope he dreams forever of fat, slow mice.

Finales

Battlestar is done for the rest of the year and Rome is done forever. The latter's resolution was satisfying and right on the money, but it's really the former that bears discussion.

They've been hinting for a couple episodes now that the four radioheads were going to turn out to be the missing Cylons, though I'm still not convinced that's the case, even if they are convinced. I smell misdirection. And then there's the return of Starbuck, which isn't much of a surprise (though the obvious question is, is she the fifth Cylon?).

But the real story is that song. The Cylon sleepers have been reactivated by what seems to be a telepathic or subliminal broadcast of the Dylan/Hendrix classic “All Along The Watchtower.” Nice choice, by the way.

So what exactly does this mean? A song that we know comes from Earth has made its way into the heads of the crew of Galactica. A rebroadcast from the real Earth? A coincidence against astronomical odds? Or does the song have some cosmic meaning that transcends Earth culture?

Or, did Kara pick up an iPod during her alleged vacation on Earth, so that she could bring back evidence that the lost Thirteenth Colony was in fact very, very cool?

Another great cliffhanger from the best show on TV. The bad news is we won't get any answers for at least 9 months, maybe longer.

Of course, the real implication of all this is that Bob Dylan is actually a Cylon. That would explain an awful lot, wouldn't it?

Some other news of a decidedly less whimsical and pleasant nature (which partially explains why I haven't been posting much): Fabio, our haggis grande, our rolito polito, has been in the hospital for 5 days now, and hasn't eaten for nearly 10. He's on IV hydration and is being force-fed liquids, and though he does seem to recognize us when we visit (and purrs when we rub his belly), he's only barely conscious of his surroundings. This afternoon we're taking him over to the Eastside for an ultrasound of that magnificent belly of his. We're hoping as hard as we can that he'll bounce back, that this isn't leading up to his finale.

Back on track

Well, it took them pretty much all season to do it, but they finally put together an episode of Lost that captured the brilliance of the first two seasons. Great episode, great ending. I haven't been caught so completely off guard by this show since Sayid, Sun, and Jin saw the four-toed foot statue. I won't say more, lest there be some among you not yet exposed. Could be the turning point in this season, and the start of a major rebound. Just in time, too, since both Battlestar and Rome end this weekend.

On the sadder side, Larry Bud Melman died. Anyone who doesn't immediately recognize that name probably won't feel much in the way of loss, even if they do remember exactly who he is once they Google up his picture. Hell, I hadn't even thought about Larry Bud Melman in at least 10 years. But the mere mention of his name brought back an immediate and very localized flood of memories.

Specifically, 1993. Summer. Chevy Chase had just served up one the biggest train wrecks in talk-show history, all while Letterman was moving from NBC to CBS, where he would promptly knock that Leno hack on his smarmy ass. My roommate and I watched it all with a religious interest, convinced Letterman might actually be a god. And then there were those nerdy, nervous O'Brien and Richter kids on at 12:30, who seemed to show some promise after a rocky start. A great summer.

Phwew.

Big day. Busy week:

Maus and I took the cats to the vet for their pre-baby bill of health. Fabio's first time to the vet in two years, and Shmool's first time back since he killed the last vet seven years ago. We had to wheel them in, their crates stacked on a dolly like we were delivering major appliances.

The verdict: These cats, apparently, are somewhat larger than normal. And when it comes to fleas, Fabio is China and Shmool is India.

We also took Maus to the vet doctor. Didn't have to wheel her in, just yet. All appears to be well, and showtime grows tangibly near. About eight weeks to go until the balance of power is restored in our household: three furry people versus three not-so-furry people.

Accordingly, tomorrow we start childbirth classes. My expectations for this class have been set entirely by sitcoms of the 1980s. I expect to hear a laugh track every time I ask a stupid question.

And in-between and during and amongst all this doctoring, we (my new merry band of startup cohorts for the last 9 weeks, and I) launched our Website: www.MegaBuzz.com. Please do go check it out.

And as if all this out-and-aboutness and online crisis management weren't enough to fill a day, we also managed to take in the sublime mystery-comedy The Thin Man (“The murderer is right in this room, sitting at this table! You may serve the fish.”) and the Woody Allen mystery-comedy Scoop (”I was in the lounge, I heard you drowning. I finished my tea and scones and came immediately.“) With champagne — a glass for me; a thimble for Maus.

The Thin Man, of course, is one of the greatest movies of the 30s. Of all time, really. And Scoop was enjoyable enough, though I can't look at Ian McShane and not see Al Swearengen. And that's not such a bad thing.

Anyway, a disjointed and rambling post as well befits the kind of week I'm having. Don't forget: go visit MegaBuzz and say nice things.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell = Never Apologize, Never Explain

Once again, these people completely miss the point.

General Pace, is, of course, entitled to his opinion. And now, he rightly regrets stating publicly that he believes homosexuality is immoral and should not be condoned by the military. However, the rationale behind his “regret” seems to be that as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, he should not publicly question an existing military policy (Don't Ask, Don't Tell). Very true — he should not.

However, in pointedly refusing to apologize for his remarks, the point he seems to be missing is that he's supposed to be a military leader — the boss — and has absolutely no business insulting his own troops. Not ever, and especially not in wartime.

It's not about a Joint Chiefs Chairman openly questioning policy. It's about a Joint Chiefs Chairman saying that 65,000 of his troops — men and women for whom he shoulders the unenviable responsibility of sending into harm's way — are immoral. They're good enough to die for their country, but he does not consider them to be moral people. He does not respect them.

Anyone even remotely connected to the military knows that the generals must never, ever insult the troops. Hell, anyone who's seen Patton knows that.

It's not about Pace's opinion of homosexuality — he's welcome to it. It's not about Pace's opinion of Don't Ask, Don't Tell — he's certainly qualified to have one (more so than most). It's entirely about a general who doesn't know any better than to publicly denigrate the morality of 65,000 of his own men and women — 65,000 volunteers in a time of war.

A big part of being a leader is knowing when the hell to shut up, and when wrong, to apologize for it. He doesn't owe it to the American people, nor to the administration, nor the military brass, nor the gay community — he owes it to the troops.

Shock and awe

My god, who could have ever imagined that such a thing could happen? In this country?

PATRIOT ACT MISUSED: FBI illegally obtained information on citizens, audit says

Well, I for one am just shocked. Who knew it could happen here?

In an absolutely unprecedented demonstration of accountability from this post-9/11 government, FBI Director Robert Mueller took immediate and full responsibility for the “problem” — which he attributed to a lack of safeguards. Take that for what it's worth, but at least one thing Mueller said does have the ring of truth to it: “The inspector general went and did the audit that I should have put in place many years ago.”

Please note: The Bush Administration opposed this audit, which is required by Congress. And the Attorney General — Attorney General of the United States — has already declared that there has been no intentional wrongdoing here.

In other news, the Administration has also forbidden U.S. scientists traveling abroad to discuss global warming, sea ice, and polar bears.

For. Crying. Out. Loud.

I'm just glad Captain America wasn't around to see this.

RIP Cap

Captain America is dead.

I'm almost exclusively a D.C. reader, though I do follow Marvel's general story arcs and remain a fan of Spidey, Hulk, X-Men (the biggies). My favorite character in the Marvel stable, though, is Cap. He's the real patriarch of the Marvel Universe, occupying the same space in their history as D.C.'s Superman (actually, he's both their Superman and their Wonder Woman, but I won't get into that here).

My affinity for Cap was re-energized when Marvel launched its Civil War storyline last year, with its thinly veiled reflections of both McCarthyism and the post-9/11 erosion of civil liberties. When I first heard the Marvel heroes were going to become polarized by the enactment of a “Superhero Registration Act,” I figured Captain America would be first in line to take the loyalty oath. After all, he's the uber-patriot, the ever-faithful Nazi-bashing champion of American Values. He actually wears the American flag as his costume, for crying out loud.

Nope. Instead, Cap became Marvel's leading champion of privacy rights and civil liberties, and the outlaw leader of the anti-Registration faction of heroes, squaring off against that fascist bastard Iron Man. Because he's really an FDR-era patriot, not a W-era jingoist.

And now they've killed him. He finally surrendered, after fighting the good fight for as long as he could hold out, and was assassinated before he could even reach a courtroom. Maybe I'm reading this through blue-tinted glasses, but that's a pretty blunt dig at the current administration and its continued policies of political assassination and dissent=treason.

No doubt Cap will be back, sooner or later. No one ever stays dead in comics. But I hope Captain America will at least remain dead and buried as long as G.W. Decider remains in office. Maybe next year we can give our nation's namesake hero a country worth coming back to.

Make it one for my Newfie, and one more for the Pug

Hey now, looks like this “Dogs in Bars” bill down in Olympia might actually have legs. Now see, that, to my mind, is progress. And coming on the heels of the smoking ban, the bars in Seattle just keep getting better. I may have to try one of them out sometime.

The bill, introduced by the prolific Senator Ken Jacobsen, would allow (not require) owners of establishments with liquor licenses to permit leashed and well-behaved dogs to sit with their owners instead of being tethered outside (or worse, left at home). It would still be proprietor's discretion.

Now, I may never actually take my dog to the local pub, but I'll tell you: If I come across two adjacent drinkeries, one with a No Dogs sign and the other with a Dogs Welcome sign — well, my whiskey allowance is going to get slapped down on the bar behind door number two. Count on it.

29 weeks

Maus is 29 weeks along. That's well past two-thirds of the way there (and officially the third trimester), but not quite three-quarters home. It's still a little early for endgame stuff like baby showers and birth classes, but it's now too late to plan any vacations, change hospitals, or decide to start shopping for a bigger house. We're locked in.

We've been to the birthing center at Swedish Ballard just to look at it, and having looked, we are now left to wait, and contemplate. Three weeks from now, we'll be up to our ears in classes, doctor appointments, exercises, tours of daycare centers, and all manner of preparations. Right now though, it's very quiet.

If this whole thing were a baseball game, this would be the seventh-inning stretch.

(Speaking of which, tickets went on sale today, so this morning I treated myself to an Opening Day seat behind home plate, because who knows if I'll ever have the chance, or the energy, to get to the park this summer?)

I'm not very good at this part of the process, this waiting. It feels like I should be really busy, doing something to further our preparedness. But the crib, dresser, changing table, swing, high chair, and bassinet/playpen thing are all already assembled and ready for action. I'm grateful for the calm, of course, and have been watching movies, reading comics, playing the PS2, emptying the Tivo — but I feel a little guilty that I'm not doing something more... fatherly.

I guess I'll get my chance soon enough. For the moment, however, my free time is incongruously yet seamlessly divided between the next chapter of The Expectant Father and the next issue of Green Arrow.