Crazy Crap Item #223: The part where I publish an open memo to dog owners

First off, I know it's practically a mortal sin in this country to say anything negative about dogs. So let me be clear: This letter is directed to dog owners, not dogs themselves.

Secondly, this memo was not sparked by the actions of any dog owner I know personally. So, no, this is not a hint directed at you.

With those two caveats out of the way, it must be said:

Just because your dog is a "people dog," that does not mean I am a "dog person." So please, don't assume that I like being sniffed. Or nudged off a sidewalk into a mud puddle. Or climbed upon.

This is particularly true if your dog stands four feet from front paw to the top of the shoulder.

I know you think your dog is adorable. But, seriously, keep it in check. That's why God invented leashes.

Memo ended.

Crazy Crap Item #222: The part where the dead are seen to rise

In my grand tradition of pirating others' amusing stories to pad out my own observations, I include this exchange as reported by Jorge, brother to my good friend Roxi. Jorge is a speech therapist who works with children. This is an excerpt from a recent conversation with one of his students:

Jorge: Ok, Johnny, let's hear your report on Ulysses S. Grant.

Johnny: Ulysses S. Grant was our 18th President. He ran against Barack Obama.

Jorge: Wait, no, Johnny. Obama is alive today. He is our president now. Ulysses S. Grant has been dead a very long time.

Johnny: YOU MEAN HE'S A ZOMBIE?!

Crazy Crap Item #221: The part where Jack shows himself to be a bottom-liner

As is well known, neighbor Jack is a fiddler. He's been playing violin since, I don't know, perhaps the womb, and is quite adept.

He's also learned to revel in the limelight, particularly during one of my favorite annual events: busking at the Andersonville Somerfest.

For those unaware, "to busk" is to perform some sort of act in public, with a hat, jar, or instrument case out for the collection of contributions. Sometimes such actions are frowned upon. Rarely are they disputed, however, when the busker is in the 5-year-old age range.

That is what we learned when Jack busked a few years ago, with his friend and contemporary Sam adding a dance interpretation, and netted quite a handy pile of cash. He generously used his earnings to buy ice cream for us all.

Last year, he did a repeat, and earned enough to buy himself some knickknack I can't quite recall.

Well, recently, his younger brother James has also taken up the bow. I was a little concerned. Would Jack resent his spotlight and thunder being stolen.

I was relieved when I asked about future busking plans, and his response was, "James can do it too this year. We'll make about a billion dollars."

Clearly, Jack knows which is worth more: ego, or cold hard cash.

Crazy Crap Item #220: The part where I gather more lore of the famed O'Malley house

I have spoke oft and anon of the fabulous house I live in, located, as it is, on the best block in the universe: 1500 Norwood. We have, for example, many fantastic block parties. Neighbors organize "meal trains" when anyone is sick or has a baby. We gather for impromptu parties, gather for cookie parties, have backyard camp-outs, and watched the election of Obama in a huge 2-yard viewing extravaganza.

I can't help to think part of the fabulousness of this little community comes from the years of fabulous people who have gone before us, imprinting a path of fun that's as deep in the road as the potholes in our street that never seem to get fixed.

Today, I got yet another glimpse into that long legacy. My neighbor Florence recently had hip replacement surgery. Tonight was my night to bring over dinner. When I called to drop off lasagna, I had the chance to chat with her daughter, who is in town to help care for her during her recuperation.

"You're in the O'Malley house," she said. "I grew up there."

I looked puzzled, as she was clearly not an O'Malley, and she explained that she played there all the time.

"We used to have spitting contests off the back balcony," she revealed.

I also learned:

-- the funky room in the basement, with its shelves and paneling, was once, as I have always suspected, a Greg Brady-style oldest son's bedroom.

-- the dining room was formerly used as a den, with TV perched on the built-in breakfront.

--the dining room also housed a keyboard that was NOT TO BE TOUCHED, as it belong to an O'Malley uncle who played organ at Wrigley Field.

I revel in all these legacies, and look forward to the day when I, too, can host spitting contests off the back balcony.

Crazy Crap Item #219: The part where I receive a pretty authoritative vote of confidence

Well, not to crib again from the annals of James Casey, but his mother Ann just sent along another anecdote that must be shared. To wit:

After swimming today James and I were in the locker room and he says "When we get home we should ask Kay to come over and build us an indoor pool"

me - "why would we ask Kay?"

him - "because Kay came make anything"

me - "is that right?"

him - "well, I HOPE so!"

Crazy Crap Item #218: The part where James demonstrates his knowledge of things spiritual

I crib this story from Ann, James' mother. James is 4.

James wanted to read a story so I told him to go pick out a book. He came back with one and I told him "This is a book about what happens after you die". (It's a picture book that Rose gave us when the boy's grandfather died called "The Next Place".) James said "I already know what happens after you die, they make a statue of you and put it in church.........................or you become a ghost and fly around a castle".