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The people who work at the veterinarian's office now recognize me on sight. Sometimes you don't want to go where everybody knows your name.

Earlier this week during our daily walk, Victoria got weak and collapsed. I took her to the vet. Her blood work came back indicating that her thyroid had stopped functioning. The vet considered that good news. He was worried that it was her heart. Whew!

The last vet visit was for July's meibomian adenoma (er, a benign cyst on her eyelid), so I guess it was Victoria's turn. I would prefer it if they could go a month without needing medical care. I want them to be happy and healthy, but I didn't really think the day would come where I was spending more each day on my pet's health than my own, especially considering that Obamacare means I'm now paying $300/month for the peace of mind knowing that if I have to go to the emergency room, it will only cost me only thousands instead of ten thousands.

(I'm this close to voting for the next asshole who promises me that he'll cancel Obamacare because he wants to give bigger tax breaks to Wall Street banks. Stones and Walters only have so much blood.)

Anyway. Victoria is now on a course of antibiotics and thyroid medication, which, while expensive, are cheaper than heart surgery. We'll check back with the vet next month to see how things are going. So long as the vet will still take my credit card, Victoria doesn't have anything to worry about.

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I was coding in the basement when Victoria asked for water. I grabbed her water dish and walked upstairs, turned on the sink, and filled the bowl. Looking in the sink, I decided that I should probably fill the dirty crock pot and let it start soaking, so I turned the water on it next. July, always one to think she's missing the party, came upstairs to see what was going on without her. Victoria decided that she might as well go outside while we were all up, so I let her and her sister out. Figuring they were only going to be out for a minute, I rushed back downstairs to finish the bit of code I was working on before I got distracted and forgot my potential solution. My solution wasn't perfect, and it took a little re-configuring to make work.

Can you see what I did wrong?

Ten minutes later, Victoria's barking let me know that she was ready to come in. Too bad the kitchen sink couldn't bark. I'd forgotten all about the water!

The crock pot had filled to overflowing, and because of its size, overflowing meant the kitchen counter. Which meant the kitchen floor. Which meant I was flooding the house. Water was everywhere, including seeping through the floor and dripping into the studio below. Naturally, several pen & ink drawings were directly below the leak and I've had to throw them out. Bummer.

Anyway. That's what I get for interrupting my coding to give Victoria some water. Sorry, girl, but next time you're going to have to wait.

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I just finished a book called 100 Things You're Not Supposed to Know. I can't attest to the accuracy of that title. 100 Things You Probably Don't Know but Might Like to Know is probably more accurate, but not by a lot. The book jacket promotes such tidbits as "Most corporations pay no income tax," and "SUVs are three times more likely than other cars to kill people they hit." Neither of those qualify as breaking news.

The book was originally published in 2002. Maybe most of these 100 things were secret back then. Certainly, it took some people a long time to cotton onto the insidious misuse of the Patriot Act against everyday Americans. Certainly, no one in 2002 had seen Spotlight and may not have known that the Catholic Church was actively aiding pedophiles. However, I don't think that the facts that the Korean War never officially ended or that Victorian-era feminists opposed abortion qualify as stuff I'm not supposed to know. Maybe they're just stuff we don't care about.

To it's credit, there were two things in the book that I didn't know and have now committed to memory. The first is that the highest suicide rate in America belongs to the elderly (nearly 55 males per 100,000 over 84), and the overwhelming method of choice is a handgun. Was I supposed to know that? Because I didn't.

The other new fact was Exodus 34:14:

For thou shalt worship no other god: for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God

That's right, God's name is "Jealous." I thought I'd read the whole Bible when I was much younger than I am now, but I certainly didn't remember that. The Bible seems like a bad place to hide things I'm not supposed to know.

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For those of you who have been following along at home, July has now had a second surgery. The biopsy of the nail revealed she had a squamous cell carcinoma. In an attempt to curtail the spread of the cancer, the vet amputated her toe at the metatarsal.

The Internet tells me that squamous cell carcinoma is relatively common in "large breed dogs with a dark coat" like, say, black standard poodles. Long term prognosis is largely dependent on how early the cancer is caught. In hindsight, maybe stepping on her toe this Thanksgiving was a good thing.

It figures that July would have the relatively unglamorous toe cancer. She's my needy child. When my diva, Victoria, wanted a little attention, she went straight for the cream of cancers: breast, the best of cancers. July's much more down to earth.

July has been taking all this in stride (figuratively). That may be because she's discovered what all she has to do is look at me with those big brown eyes and whine a little, and I'll drop what I'm doing carry her to a bowl filled with Beggin' Strips. What can I say? I'm a sucker for dogs with cancer.

Baby has another vet appointment next week (her seventh in six weeks). I hope to find out then whether she will need radiation treatment. In the meantime, I'm going to have to start looking for another job. Two dogs with cancer in 2015 has really put a dent in the bank account.

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You may recall that on Thanksgiving, I stepped on and broke July's toenail. That led to emergency surgery the following week to remove the nail. I challenged Christmas to bring me something worse. Me and my big mouth.

Following surgery, July's toe hasn't healed well. It has swollen to roughly the size of a pinball. When the doctor tells you that the best case scenario is a "very bad infection," you know you've got trouble.

So far, she's seen two different vets and been given three different antibiotics. A cutting from the original surgery has been sent to the lab for a biopsy in case there is an underlying tumor. The results of that test and her response to the antibiotics will determine whether she needs another surgery to remove more of the toe. Whether any of that happens before 2016 is still kind of up in the air. Victoria's biopsy this summer took 2 weeks, and that was when no one was on holiday.

Vet bills for the past 30 days come to $672 and counting. I've spent all my holiday money on July, and I can't even say she's enjoying it. On the up-side, there's more room in your stocking for goodies after you start cutting your toes off.

Congratulations, Christmas, for rising to the challenge I set for you. You're on deck, New Year's. Bring it on.

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On Saturday, the Philadelphia Eagles cut Tim Tebow, who was competing to be their 3rd quarterback. On Sunday, the Eagles signed Josh Morris, a quarterback not good enough to play for the woeful Jacksonville Jaguars. I'd better run this pic of me in my Tim Tebow mask now, because this might be Tebow's last stab at a position in the NFL.

Despite his playing for Florida and thumping his bible hard enough to wake the damned, I still like Tim Tebow. He seems like a pretty good influence on a locker room. Coaches say they don't like him because he doesn't "show well" in practice. No, his mechanics aren't great, but there are easily a half dozen starting quarterbacks in the NFL less mentally prepared to lead a team to victory than Tebow. Being a winning quarterback takes more than just completing touchdown passes in practice.

There's no point in crying for Tebow. I'm sure he'll land on his feet. It's just a shame those feet won't be under center in the NFL.

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I was in a lousy mood, so instead of watching something new, I turned to an old favorite: UHF.

I can't speak for everyone, but some movies I have a personal relationship with. For example, I remember where I was and who I was with the first time I saw The Princess Bride, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, and Robin Hood: Men in Tights. For UHF, I remember the first day I didn't see it.

"Weird Al" Yankovic's foray into movies hit theaters in the summer of 1989. The weekend after my brother and I returned from camp (Trey from Camp MacIntosh and me from Boy Scout Camp Burt Adams) in July, Mom and Dad took us to the local multiplex. I wanted to see UHF, but the rest of the family voted for Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. I remember selflessly offering to let the others watch their movie while I watched UHF alone in a different theater. Mom said no. I wouldn't get to see the film until it was rented from Blockbuster a few months later.

UHF was — and still is — a brilliant piece of comedy film making. Most of the film is commercial and film parody in the style of Kentucky Fried Movie overlayed with a plot combining The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and the work of Harold Ramis (where the plot isn't as important as the jokes). The space between the parodies is filled with plenty of good, old fashioned Marx Brothers-style screwball and wordplay. Yankovic is no Danny Kaye, but he's supported by a sterling cast including Michael Richards, Fran Drescher, Kevin McCarthy, Victoria Jackson, Billy Barty, Anthony Geary, and Emo Philips, among others. If you're not laughing at UHF, you have no sense of humor.

Unfortunately, the movie was a flop. I think this may in part be due to its incredible competition. In addition to Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, UHF was up against Batman, Lethal Weapon 2, When Harry Met Sally, License to Kill, Dead Poets Society, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Ghostbusters 2, Weekend at Bernie's, The Karate Kid 3, and Field of Dreams. Ye-ouch. Hell, about the only movie that was out that week that I still haven't seen is Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing. (I've been thinking that it's about time I corrected that oversight.)

The performance of comedies are notoriously unpredictable, making financing difficult. I doesn't help when your comedy is dumped in the middle of the summer blockbuster season. Therefore, it's no surprise that there was never a follow-up. It may be a shame that the world was denied more of Yankovic's madcap antics on the big screen, but at least we'll always have UHF.

Thanks, Al.

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