Enough with the Dogs, Right? But, No, You Don't Get It...

We're dogsitting. Us. Erin and I. Caretakers of the hounds -- the (wolfs)bane of our existence! We're actually walking the dogs. In the morning. Can you imagine? You know us -- hopelessly selfish, helplessly lazy. But maybe not. Maybe we've been wrong about ourselves. Because there I was, six in the morning, standing on the sidewalk with a hot blue bag of concentrated stink, jerked forward by a four-footed beanbag full of gas, hair and anything that might've crawled into her gaping maw as she mouth-breathed her way through a muddy meadow of doggie dreams.

Emma. That's her on the left (and a little bit on the right). Brother Jack, his Kardashian-like wall-stare contrasting his passionate obsession with licking cabinets and sniffing kitties, sits impatiently beside her, his trembling posterior betraying his weak obedience.

Adam and Josh are on vacation for the first time in, like, forever. So, noble friends and frenters that we are, Erin and I stepped up to offer our seemingly bottomless capacity for charity. We'll walk the dogs, feed the dogs, not kick the dogs (real sonsabitches sometimes) and even, God save us, sleep with the dogs. In the same room ("Gee-dee it, Jackie! Off the bed!). They've got two cats, too. (Did I feed them yet? I'm sure I did. I'm sure they're fine.)

This is the kind of reality show that should be on TV. It would have to be on a cable station, after prime time, because of all the cursing...

TO BE CONTINUED!

The Color of Autumn Will Always Be Orange

Listening to Duke Ellington perform "Jack the Bear" on Comcast's Music Choice channel (Singers & Swing, specifically). Hey, isn't "Jack the Bear" the name of that Danny DeVito movie? Remember that? I do. Didn't see it, but I remember. Also, didn't really hear the song, had it on mute while Erin was on the phone.

What I'm trying to say is it's Autumn! Not the first day of Autumn, but it's the first day of October, Autumn's favorite month. Is it always capitalized? Autumn, that is. Probably not. So, it's October and autumn. Or fall. Autumn's a touch pretentious, but so am I. It's our first autumn in the basement. And we've got the pumpkin spice oil wafting through the underground. Glorious! Jazz and pumpkins and fall. Is it Halloween yet? (No, you idiot, I just said it's the first day of October not the last.)

I've been busy slogging through Facebook, Google +, Twitter and Six Minute Story lately and have once again neglected Basementing, which was supposed to be my main focus, writing-wise, when we moved down here. Alas...

But here we are, thanks (in no small measure) to the prodding of Sherry C., the voice of our fan base (and possibly the only member of said fan base). ("Base" implies something large enough to land a helicopter on, or at least a large pigeon.)

It's Saturday night. Just Erin and me. The boys are out. The dogs are here. Say hello, Jack. No, go away, ugh, what do you want? How will licking my face help you? Get down!

8:40. Hey, Erin, let's stay up to watch SNL (this will not happen).

We're thinking of starting a vlog (how are we supposed to pronounce this?), a video blog. Might be fun. Sort of a Kardashian-like view of life here in the basement. We'll see. No, the Kardashians are stupid, but as a mocking springboard (let's say "mockingboard"), it might be fun. If you somehow don't know what a Kardashian is, I applaud you.

Next: Mike drinks a pumpkin spice latte and tell you how his tummy feels.