batromance Saturday, November 27 I didn’t write this column last week because I was too busy being thankful. Thankful for my family and thankful for good health, because I can’t get medical insurance. Thankful for my children, but not my children’s children because I don’t believe children should be having kids. Thankful that some of you are unaware I completely ripped off that last line. I’m thankful for this land and this country but not this nation because I think, c’mon, that’s just overdoing. I’m thankful no one has found out what that dead guy knew about me. I’m thankful that wireless communications means that people think I am speaking on my Bluetooth while in my car when, actually, I am conducting a NPR-type interview of  myself in which I am terribly charming and self-effacing and begin many of my comments with “What you have to understand …” But what I am most thankful for, what trumps all the rest of my gratefulness and kicks the ass of all my appreciativeness, is how very, very thankful I am that for the last three weeks I have not heard or seen Meg Whitman anywhere. I did hear someone talking about her political future and saying that we haven’t heard or seen the last of Ms. Whitman—this despite her double-digit loss despite spending hundreds of her own millions. This pundit, or wag—I can never tell for certain—says that Whitman isn’t the neophyte she was painted, having run John McCain’s campaign in California. Hey, Ptolemy, in case you can’t add, McCain got boat-raced in the state. Yeah, she’s done. And for that, California, thanks.

Sunday, November 28 And Downey, always grateful for Downey. (Back on track “Streak Broken!” Though, now that I think of it, since you mentioned Downey in your comment and the comment was part of my story, the streak never died! This may sound like specious logic but I checked with some guys I know over at the BCS and they said it makes perfect sense to them … as long as it in some way benefits the Southeastern Conference.)

Monday, November 29 Tragedy strikes just days before the beginning of the AKC/Eukanuba National Championships at the Long Beach Convention Center when four valuable show dogs are stolen. Most valuable of the dogs is a 10-month-old Akita—who I bet smells like muffins—named Didi and worth a reported quarter of a million dollars. Didi and her friends were stolen while they slept in crates inside a Chevy van in a Motel 6 parking lot. While I don’t condone dognapping—unless it in some way benefits the Southeastern Conference—I am a bit flummoxed why such valuable animals were left where they were. I wouldn’t leave my $30 cell phone in my car in a Motel 6 parking lot.   

 Tuesday, November 30 More disturbing animal news. The Department of Public Health reports an unusually high number of rabid bats have been found this year in L.A. County. Twenty one rabid bats have been detected countywide, compared to an average of 10 in the past. Health officials want to remind the public that they shouldn’t go near, touch or begin any kind of star-crossed romance with any bat no matter how their soulful eyes may belie the tortured soul of the beautiful, eternal young man within yearning for love and teeming with a virus that causes a painful inflammation of the brain. (So hot.)

Wednesday, December 1 Didi is found in Compton. Charlie Sheen refuses comment.

 Thursday, December 2 A week later and still somewhat thankful … you know, within reason.

Friday, December 3 Didi the Akita wins multiple puppy titles at the big dog show and everyone is happy. Well, except for me since I was unable to witness Didi’s big day seeing as how I am persona non-grata at the big dog show because certain people have, what I consider, narrow and rather outdated notions of what constitutes “petting.” Didi, call me. (So hot.)