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I recently started moonlighting as a mental_floss blogger, which explains the slowdown here at jasonenglish1.com. Don’t worry. Parts III and IV of Bailey’s graduation saga will come soon enough, as will my reaction to the Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip pilot (shipping from Netflix this week – smart promotion, by the way).

So, what is mental_floss?

For the record: mental_floss magazine is an intelligent read, but not too intelligent. We’re the sort of intelligent that you hang out with for a while, enjoy our company, laugh a little, smile a lot and then we part ways. Great times. And you only realize how much you learned from us after a little while. Like a couple days later when you’re impressing your friends with all these intriguing facts and things you picked up from us, and they ask you how you know so much, and you think back on that great afternoon you spent with us and you smile.

And then you lie and say you read a lot.

Here are my first few posts:

• Straight to Blu-ray?

• Regicidal Maniacs

• On That Date

• Signs of the apocalypse, #2

Time to start working on numbers five and six.

Ellen Burstyn’s Best Supporting Actress nod sure has the outrage flowing. Is her 14-second, 38-word performance in the HBO movie Mrs. Harris Emmy-worthy? Most probably not. But after doing some poking around, it’s hard to get all worked up. To me, the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences was forever compromised in 1987.

That year, The Facts of Life was nominated for Outstanding Achievement in Hairstyling. If the above picture doesn’t deem that ridiculous, check out this George Clooney gem. The fact is, The Facts lost (to Moonlighting). Nevertheless, the Academy still celebrated Blair Warner’s ‘do. So I can’t wax indignant about Burstyn today.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not excited about the Emmys. Don’t own a TV? Don’t worry. Here are ten conversational nuggets to get you through Emmy season. You did realize it was Emmy season, right?

• The name “Emmy” was derived from the term “immy,” which described the image orthicon tubes common in early TV cameras.

• Cops has been nominated four times (Outstanding Informational Series, 1989, 1990, 1993, 1994).

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[Part I, in case you missed it.]

This pre-class portrait was taken at 8:45am, before we headed off to graduate. I’m looking a little frumpy in that hooded sweatshirt. With the heat approaching ninety, this attire was as uncomfortable as it was unflattering. But my core temperature was not my concern. I needed the extra pockets. An excitable dog like Bailey can’t sit and wait while I fumble around for treats.

At the timestamp of this picture, we were two hours into our Saturday routine. The routine’s goal is to drain Bailey’s battery before stepping into the arena. Coupled with the gourmet flank steak, it’s my only chance. Back in week two, this routine included our first and last visit to our local dog park, where I was seen throwing forearm shivers at a Bernese Mountain Dog.

You know what? The story of our trip to the dog park is worthy of its own post. This just turned into a four-part miniseries. Stay tuned.

Sure, it’d be great to grant every dying kid’s last wish.  But let’s get real.

When I was a freshman at Duke, I took a Film & Video Studies seminar simply called “TV.” A more official name was likely listed in the Automated Course Enrollment System (ACES) booklet. I can’t remember. My generally phenomenal memory has deemed that tidbit non-essential.

For my final project, I mashed up audio from CNN with highly offensive TV clips from the 1950s. The audio had a woman claiming television had gotten more absurd and more violent in recent years. The video took the position that absurd crap is part and parcel of the medium.

This JELLO commercial went a long way towards proving that point. But don’t just watch for the blatant anti-Asianism. Listen to the copywriter give himself a plug at the end of the spot.

New segment here. Every few days, I’ll present a random YouTube clip. I don’t think any further explanation is necessary.

Our first installment celebrates our neighbors to the north. From Molson, “I Am Canadian” is my all-time favorite television commercial. The ad wizards went beyond stirring up an emotion. For me, they created one: Canadian national pride.

Keeping with the theme, as a special bonus, here’s another clip that’ll make you rethink your pronounciation of “about.” It’s the Edmonton crowd singing “O Canada” during the Stanley Cup Finals. Well done, neighbors.

Every Saturday since early June, Bailey and I have rolled out of bed for 9am obedience class. “Off-Leash Wonder Dogs.” If you knew Bailey, you’d realize she has a better chance of success in Conversational Japanese. But onward we marched. Her on leash, me six feet behind, towed like a broken down ’86 Taurus. Ellen followed at a safe distance, pretending she belonged to a better behaved dog and more confident owner.

Around 10pm on the eve of graduation, I fried Bailey a PathMark Manager’s Special flank steak. Normally, her steaks are grilled to perfection. But I’m trying to conserve propane, and took a chance she wouldn’t complain.

Why the gourmet treatment? Pure bribery. After four or five disastrous weeks, Milk Bone and Old Mother Hubbard were no longer putting asses in the sits. My dry, familiar treats paled in comparison to six dogs, six owners and a Saturday brunch buffet of smells.

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Bailey graduated from her “Off-Leash Wonder Dogs” obedience class on Saturday. I’ll be filing a full report later this week, starting with her graduation-eve steak preparation and our pre-ceremony wind sprints.

Here’s my latest commuting adventure. If you’re new and enjoying yourself, check out the previous volumes. I suggest this, this and this.

Friday morning I missed my alarm and caught a later bus. With the rush hour(s) behind us, I didn’t recognize my fellow passengers. Gone were the subdued commuters, scowling-and-bearing-it, worn down by life. In their stead were a bunch of scabs who marveled at the excitement of bus travel. And these day-trippers marveled out loud.

The competing wailing babies added a nice touch. As did the chatty elderly couple I was ready to fit for hearing aids. But the boisterous stars of Friday’s performance were two college girls. They stole the show.

Girl One [The one who had me praying for deafness]: “Everyone always says someone should write a book about our lives. The next Sex and the City!”

Girl Two [The one who had me praying for a fiery Turnpike crash]: “Obvi! Obvi!”

By “Obvi,” I assume Girl Two was saving her breath by shortening “obviously,” suggesting a certain respect for an economy of language. It was a shallow gesture. Like ordering a Diet Coke at the Pizza Hut Lunch Buffet, then finding room for the cherry pie dessert pizza. And with “Everyone always says someone should write a book about our lives,” Girl One set back my Respect For Jersey movement ten years.

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Our parents learned from their parents’ mistakes. Instead of landing in the trash, my generation’s baseball cards ended up in hard plastic cases in climate controlled rooms. And now, the hard plastic cases are worth more than the cardboard they protect.

So one generation regrets tossing away a fortune, and the next needs to find a backup retirement plan. What a depressing hobby.

My buddy Dave Jamieson prompted this post with his very entertaining piece on the rise and fall of baseball cards in Slate. Enjoy.

Guys I remember watching in college shouldn’t be eligible for the Hall of Fame. However, over my objections, Troy Aikman was inducted today.

From The New York Times, after the 1989 NFL Draft:

According to most N.F.L. talent assessors, Aikman wasn’t the best pure prospect in yesterday’s draft. Most scouts thought Tony Mandarich, the Michigan State offensive tackle who is almost as big as the Green Bay Packer locker room he soon will enter, was a better prospect, pound for pound and position for position.

Feeling every one of my twenty-seven years today.

“We are at a very serious moment dealing with very serious issues, and we are not focusing on the name you give to potatoes.”

– Nathalie Loisau, spokeswoman for the French Embassy, March 2003

Hoarding breakfast on the way to our company summer party, deep in thought and just getting started.