I'm back from vacation. I published a few things while I was away, notably columns about the bridal registry and my f'ed up honeymoon, and a review of Dry.

Also on our vacation we got a dog. He is pretty great but my complaint about him is that he is pretty sucky in terms of providing me fodder for hilarious anecdotes which can turn into funny columns which can then turn into a best-selling book which will be made into a movie with an actress who Conan O'Brien acts very strange around. He doesn't destroy anything. In fact, he's kind of considerate--sometimes he eats up his food too quickly and horks it back on the floor but then cleans it up again, which is very nice. He doesn't bound across the house in an adorable manner. He lays down, all the time. In fact, I don't think I could learn many life lessons from my dog because if I behaved like him I'd get fired, since he sleeps 18 hours a day.

My dog does have dreams, though. However, they are not the kind that humans can learn from. He has these things called track dreams, where, obviously, he dreams of his days on the track. They make him whine and growl and twitch in his sleeps, which is kind of cute, but not cute is that if you wake him up too suddenly from these dreams, he could bite the crap out of you.

So I love our dog but in terms of giving me much to write about and earn money from (unless I race him which I promised I wouldn't do), he's a loser.

There are pictures of him here. incidentally.