Part of this balanced breakfast

    I think I mentioned already that my problem with feeling bilious all the time (literally, not figuratively) started with going overboard with the coconut milk but started improving when I added rice cakes to most meals. My breakfast never struck me as conspicuously greasy as it's a frittata with green beans (and one egg) along with either teff or amaranth as hot cereal, and I drink an orange and half a banana blended with filtered water.
    Since I added two rice cakes with jam (spreadable fruit, if you must), I feel a lot better afterwards. (Also it looks a lot more like "this balanced breakfast" from the old TV commercials.) It still makes no sense to me, since rice cakes have practically no nutritional value, not even any fiber to speak of. I'm guessing that the puffed rice absorbs some of the grease and carries it away, but since it still has to carry it away through the digestive system, this idea doesn't make much sense either. Still, it seems to work, so I'll run with it.
    Dad has been burping uncontrollably for weeks and weeks now. He eats a fairly greasy diet, and generally refuses to eat bread. I've been trying gently to suggest that my own experience might suggest that he may want to add bread back to his diet. But he prefers pills. Sigh.

Weirder PSAs

    I mentioned in February or so the slew of very odd new public service announcements (PSAS to their friends) coming on to the radio all at once. It seems like this happens every six months, because late last month another blizzard of them appeared, even stranger than the last.
    One set is aimed at getting kids to go out into the forest. Counterprogramming to "Hansel & Gretel"? I don't know! The most notable features a banana slug representing the kid's sense of adventure. Now I'm getting on in years, and it's been a long time since I've been a kid, but I have serious doubts whether any kid is going to hear this and go, "Hell yeah! I gotta get out to the forest!"
    There's also more of the very odd "Feed the pig" campaign from some bunch of accountants in question. The pig in question is a piggy bank and the thrust is that people ought to save more. Again, not seeing much persuasiveness here.
    I'd like to think that these are only played on sports talk radio and this is because radio execs think that sports talk radio listeners have the IQ of household plants. But I hear these on every format radio station (admittedly, more often in the wee hours when said radio execs unload all their PSAs to meet legal requirements that they play them). I guess what I'm saying is; Ad Council, you should maybe try harder.
    Nothing to do with PSAs, but while I'm Andy Rooneying radio ads, there's a local one where a home supply outfit says that their entry doors will be the "vocal point" of any home renovation. Face. Palm. This, of course, reflects wonderfully on our town on the rare occasion that we have visitors. Another tip: Proofreading is actually legal in this country.
    Dreams last night were highly unmemorable, so y'all get cut a break. All I remember is going to Cici's, fully cognizant that I am or might be celiac. I woke up before any pipers had to be paid, however.

Missing Buddy

    There's a little dog up the street who's my emergency backup best friend. He's very, very friendly, or perhaps very, very aggressive in a way that I choose to interpret as friendliness. He lives in a house on a fenced lot, so I don't have to find out the hard way which it is. He looks sort of like a Jack Russell terrier and sort of like a beagle. He might be a mix, of course. His name is Buddy.
    His owner is not too well off. He, too, is friendly or aggressive in a way that I choose to interpret as friendliness. He has a very serious set of warts to the south and east (well, west from his point of view) of his mouth which might explain the standoffishness. He complains about the music blaring from neighborhood cars, particularly the repeated use of the f-word. It's fairly ironic to hear somebody complaining about a song that goes, "F--- all day/ F--- all night" by SAYing "F--- all day/ F--- all night" without the hyphens. (I'm not being squeamish; just don't want the Google hits that spelling it out would invite.)
    The owner had a lot of stuff out on his porch, like a refrigerator for example. All that is gone. Maybe he's gone out of town for a visit and just brought everything inside. If he died or moved, one would expect that there would be a For Sale or a For Rent sign in the yard, and there isn't. So hopefully they'll be back soon. But I miss Buddy and wish him well.
    Dreams of course continue to be odd. I was with my friend Evans, who in real life has been dead for five years, at an art exhibit that was either the student art show at the State Fair or a new (imaginary) museum. The paintings were all hanging 20 feet up the walls, too high to see, and the only other thing I remember were poorly rendered representations of sides of meat. We got separated and I had no way home. Of course, in real life the State Fairgrounds are about three blocks from my house. So maybe a reasonable interpretation would be that you're never as lost as you think you are. I can go for it.

Forgot cellphone

    Saturday, I was charging the cell phone and I just forgot it. Paul and I were going out for Indian food, and I found I was cell-less. As I said to Paul, "It's 2010 again!" No crisis occurred; there were no calls of any kind while I was cell free. So all's well that ends well. It was certainly liberating. It reminded me of eons ago when I was a property manager and had to wear a beeper at all times. That wasn't too much fun, either. I guess that's the difference between corporations and people: corporations get paid for 24-hour monitoring services.
    Dreams this time were odd as ever. This time, I had a new job somewhere along the coast of South Carolina. When I arrived, I recognized the town name on the welcome sign, but immediately forgot it. This may be because my brain had just made up a new town and didn't want me to be distracted by that fact. I stayed in a motel, which I liked, but when I went to pay they said that because it's high season I had to pay for the entire preceding week even though I had only stayed one night. I was all set to argue, sure I would win, when I woke up. And it occurred to me that this is probably why I piss people off. I'm always set to argue, and always sure I'll win. And it shows, a bit.

Dongo should be a word

    Apparently, there is one town each in Africa and Europe by that name, and a monster in a sci-fi themed computer game, but that's about it. I think there should be a movement. Find something unnamed and call it a dongo. Or name one of these newly discovered planets Dongo. Planet Dongo has a ring to it, don't you think? I'd move there like a shot. Kicks butt all over Kolob anyway.
    Dreams last night were not as insane as the preceding paragraph. There was the usual moving about between mysterious buildings for no apparent reason. Then after I hit the snooze button I actually succeeded at getting back to sleep, and dreamed I was insulting George W. Bush to his face most thoroughly. A rare completely satisfactory dream! Building on this, perhaps someday I can be Lord High Dongo. One can hope.

Beautiful

    I'm rereading Dick Francis again. His ingenues tend to be beautiful. We know, because he tells us so. But the description tends to run to, "She had black hair, brown eyes, neat features and a trim figure." I dunno, I sort of feel like a little more description might be useful, or at least a comparison. I tend to go in for "looks like Reese Witherspoon" for one young lady whom I admire. Admittedly, fame fades and time passes, but "looks like Audrey Hepburn" or "looks like Natalie Wood" probably still work, all these years later.
    On the other hand, you can go too far in that direction. One of those E people, Elmore Leonard or Ed McBain, has his characters arguing over which famous person a given character looks like. (It was Leonard, in "Maximum Bob.") Funny, funny stuff, and even helpful in giving the reader more to visualize. But a little weird.

Mrs. O'Grady

    Waiting to get in at dialysis today, Dad told me that this place reminds him of a line from a poem: Mrs. O'Grady and the captain's lady are sisters under the skin. (The great majority of his fellow dialysis patients are black.) This reassures me that Dad's heart and mind are still in the right place. Google indicates that his Kipling is a little iffy, but that's OK, too.
    Last night I must have been cold, since I dreamed about Arctic exploration. It was very exciting though. I didn't know they had volcanoes up there! But motoring around in a boat shaped like a bathtub was fairly nerve-wracking!