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We hosted an overnight guest last Sunday. While Bailey was thrilled to see Alissa, the thought of someone sleeping down the hall was too much to handle. I took an unfortunate paw to the groin during a 3:30am puppy run.

The guest bedroom – or The Green Room, as we cleverly call it while refusing to repaint – overlooks the neighborhood, making this bed the perfect perch for a dog wanting to scare small children. Even though she sleeps with us, Bailey didn’t want to share her hangout. We eventually coaxed her out with Cheerios, then repositioned the hamper to restrict access.

Other highlights of Alissa’s night included Bailey attacking her with this huge stick and lots of ankle-licking. This could be why few people visit.

When it comes to making humorous obscure statements, Creed Bratton of The Office is king. For example: “I’ve had enough of this LBJ character” and “Everybody remembers: ‘April showers bring May flowers.’ But no one remembers how the rest of that goes. Which I find so frustrating.”

After doing no research, I’ve decided this brand of humor dates back to Captain Oveur in Airplane! (“Joey, have you ever been to a Turkish prison?”) Norm MacDonald carried the torch into the new millennium with his “USA Today’s News & Views with Larry King” SNL sketch.

Some Larry King examples:

“When it comes to window blinds, vertical blinds are terrific, but so are horizontal blinds.”

“The more I think about it, the more I appreciate the equator.”

“Does anybody remember baseball cards?”

“My wish for the new millennium is that we see a lot more of John Larroquette.”

Too bad I can’t find Norm-as-Larry on YouTube. Anyway, you can read more troubling observations over at Creed Thoughts.

Bailey won’t bite. But she’ll club your knee with tremendous precision.

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I posted a quiz over at mental_floss today – Are you a Nintendo historian? Head over there and show off your useless knowledge. Let me know if you need any hints.

Let me make a crazy prediction. In tonight’s NBA Draft Lottery, the ping pong balls will fall the way of the Minnesota Timberwolves. The Philadelphia 76ers will happily take the second pick.

Statistically, this is very unlikely.

But it’s just a hunch. I’d like to see a Garnett/Oden pairing revitalize basketball in Minneapolis, and whoever gets Durant should be fun to watch. If I’m wrong, I’ll probably just delete this post.

[UPDATE (9:10pm): So much for hunches. I'm happy for both Portland and Seattle. I have a nonsensical admiration for the Pacific Northwest despite never being within 400 miles of the region.]

On Saturday at Madison Square Garden, my wife and I took in Ricky Gervais’ first full-length U.S. performance, as part of the High Line Festival.

David Bowie opened the show with “Little Fat Man,” from his legendary Extras cameo (“Chubby little loser, national joke.”) We sang along. As crowd-participation exercises go, this ranks atop my admittedly short list, one spot above doing the Tomahawk Chop at Fulton County Stadium in 1991 (I was eleven) and four-hundred places higher than any “Who’s Your Daddy, Battier?” chants in Cameron Indoor Stadium ten years later.

Ricky came through with an assortment of his greatest hits – praising Nelson Mandela (“Seventeen years without re-offending. That’s proof: prison does work”), looking for the moral in famous fairy tales, and reading from a 1994 pamphlet designed to curb the spread of AIDS in gay men by providing alternatives to anal sex.

There was virtually no mention of the High Line, except a passing reference to the preservation of the rail being “good.” I was hoping he’d give ‘Friends of the High Line’ a good-natured ribbing during his rant against unworthy causes (mainly obesity). And in some bits, the level of raunchiness eclipsed the humor. But the highs were high and hilarious, so I’d be foolish to complain.

Here’s a more thorough recap, from The Independent.

Thanks to britishhooligan0 for posting a clip of Bowie’s introduction on YouTube:

A review of my recent non-jasonenglish1.com posts.

• A look at Strategic Incompetence. What tasks are you pretending are over your head?

• What are the 57 Varieties of Heinz?

• Reviewing the initial reviews of some of our greatest novels.

• A post about Nothing, and the Pet Rock.

• Crimes and strange punishments.

• Unfortunate/clever/unpronounceable street names.

• A Concert for Life – trivia and videos.

• What became of Captain Gary Powers?

• The year’s oddest book titles.

• Weird halls of fame, including one celebrating robots.

• Famous people with whom I share a birthday.

• How does dry cleaning really work?

• Happy May Day. Now what is May Day again?

• What does Bailey’s tail say about her?

• “I think we’re dead.” (Great 911 call.)

• Don’t f**k with a pregnant lady.

After an eventful weekend, Bailey bowed out early Sunday night. She missed an unbelievable episode of The Sopranos. I say unbelievable because, at the time of the accident, Tony and Christopher were on their way back to the greater Caldwell area from New York City. Yet they were taken to St. Clare’s Hospital in Denville. This would bypass several closer major hospitals, and represent major inefficiencies in our health care system.

Odds/Ends

• Congratulations to our friend Jaime Levy Pessin, who was recently named one of the Top 30 Business Journalists Under 30.

• More praise, this time for our wedding videographer. Kevin Higgins – at the time, a film student at Boston University and, more importantly, Ellen’s brother’s friend – just sold his first movie to Warner Brothers. Plasterhead represents a departure from Mielke-English Wedding, and will be available for rent later this year.

• Last year, I provided a list of gifts not to get mom for Mother’s Day, some of which appeared on CNN.com. Here was the uncensored version, full of gifts we again avoided this year:

• Anti-Aging Cream. Unlike your birthday, Mother’s Day is not an occasion to reflect on how old you are, or how bad you’re looking.

• Virtual Flowers. Nothing says “I forgot to send you flowers” like virtual ones.

• Cadbury Cream Eggs. When you want to give chocolate, don’t buy off the Easter discount rack.

• Bad News. Now’s not the time to tell Mom you won’t be graduating with your class later this month. Wait until Monday.

• Swiffer Duster. Any household cleaning appliance is risky. Especially one you picked up in Aisle 10.

• Tacky ties. Bad for Father’s Day. Even worse for Mother’s Day.

• Live bait. Especially if she’s not big into fishing.

• A juicer. Sounds fun, until you realize eight oranges equal an eight-ounce glass. Then comes the clean-up.

• Replica O.J. Simpson #32 Buffalo Bills jersey. As a general rule, regardless of the occasion, steer clear of Juice memorabilia.

Hope nobody made one of the giving mistakes listed above. Happy Mother’s Day Mom (and mom-in-law)!

It’s been a big day for outdoor projects.  You know, the standard.  Mowing, power-washing, planting, sweating, complaining, spraying chemicals to keep us from having to do this again soon. Bailey’s role was to steal this rubber glove and parade around the yard.

Now we’re off to dinner.  A place called Prohibition.  I have no time to come up with anything funny, so I’ll leave you with this photo.

We went overboard on cleaning products last weekend.

I first learned of method three years ago, by way of Come Clean, their Crispin-designed promotional site. It was great, but I was not in a specialty-soap-buying place in life. I moved on.

A little older, a few more square feet to clean, a curious dog to consider, we’re finally ready. In a marketplace where advertising can be considered a failure if you don’t click ‘Buy it Now,’ some messages need time to percolate. I could go on, but you get the point, and I’ve got other ground to cover.

The High Line

“The idea of a park on a railbed in the sky can be a little hard to get your head around, especially if your only vantage point is looking up from street level at its rusted, pigeon-shit-scarred underbelly.”

This comes from a fascinating piece in New York Magazine on The High Line, the current West Chelsea eyesore and, apparently, “our generation’s Central Park.” Later this month, we’re going to see Ricky Gervais, as part of The High Line Festival. I had no idea what we were supporting, but I can get on board. Parks are nice.

The Second Coming

My replacement Dwight Schrute bobblehead has arrived. For now, he’ll continue to wear protective covering. And I’m still not sure what to do with Dwight’s beheaded predecessor.

Odds/Ends

• Business Week named Livingston one of The 25 Best Affordable Suburbs in the U.S. The editors could not have chosen a less flattering picture. We may need to move.

• I posted a quiz over at mental_floss today. “Match the Political Scandal to the City it Rocked.” I now realize it’s far too obscure. The average score is 41%. I feel like an unnecessarily difficult, crotchety old teacher.

Looks like we’re out of time.

Ellen and I witnessed a terribly uncomfortable first date last night. We were seated on top of the awkward couple and couldn’t help but overhear. He was roughly 45; she was ten years younger. They worked together at a mid-size financial planning firm and she was new. A significant portion of the evening involved the man detailing the religious affiliations of random co-workers, then assessing their piety.

This exchange sums things up:

Her: Are you going to keep texting all night?

Him: No. Haha. It’s…from the office.

Her: What are they saying? ‘Why are you going out with her?’

Him: Why, because you’re just a telemarketer?

Her, after a pause: No.

Him, after a stammer: That’s right, nobody would ever say something like that at this company. We’re a family.

When retail outlets ask for my phone number, they receive a fake one. (This usually means the digits that once belonged to Matt Hall on Highland Trail.) I do not believe a scenario exists where Borders or Express Men needs to contact me.

But when I purchased Ellen’s Christmas gift at Bailey Banks & Biddle, I gave up the goods. Phone number, email, body fat percentage – whatever they wanted. And I was very deliberate with my home address. Two-word street names can be tricky.

“NINE — did you get that? Nine? — B-R-I-A-R space C-L-I-F-F Road.”

I was in the system.

Christmas came and went, and the length of the pearls on Ellen’s new bracelet was greater than the circumference of her wrist. So back we went for an adjustment.

“Can I have your address, please?” Once you’re in the system, you’re no longer a name.

“9 Briar Cliff Road.” As an insider, my diction was far more cavalier.

“That’s not showing up.” Can I have your phone number?

I gave him my number – not Matt, Bud, Rita, Jen & Sara’s.

He typed, and his eyes bulged. The man let out a gasp, a hybrid of “whoa” and hysterical laughter.

“So your address is not 9 Briar-Space Cliff?”

* * *

I bring this up because it relates to a mental_floss post I made yesterday. The topic: Unfortunate/Clever/Unpronounceable Street Names. It’s been very popular with people who comment on blog posts. 106 and counting.

As Ellen put it, “You need to take more original Bailey photos.” Point taken. Here’s the last posing-on-the-bed shot for a while.

Bailey is featured over at mental_floss today, part of a discussion on tail wagging.

Ellen’s mom’s odometer recently — and gracefully — hit 50. To celebrate, we hit up Mamma Mia. Who knew how big an ABBA fan I was?

Afterwards, we dined at The Charthouse in Weehawken. I’ve driven by this restaurant twice daily for years, and I’ve been missing out. The view, the food, the wine and the service were all fantastic. Actually, the service was rather slow. But since we had nowhere to go, the complimentary dessert (“Whatever you want on the menu!”) was far preferable to timely entree delivery.

Beyond Weehawken.

The Mielke Family.

This is me getting all artsy with the Digital ELPH.

And here’s us. I need to remember to unbutton my jacket before having our picture taken. I could also remember to lose ten pounds.

My dad also just celebrated a birthday. The big 4-9. Pictures are forthcoming. Patience.