Please Allow For Some Narcissism

(Although, let's face it: blogging is in general an exercise in narcissism.)

It had been quite some time since I reviewed the stats around B&E, and my kind host friend (and occasional troubleshooter) was good enough to link me to a summary. I won't go on and on about this, but there were a few things I found curious.

What are people Googling when they find my humble website? Six of the top seven query results are related to tattoos, with some variation of "bad ass tattoos" taking the top three spots on the list. In fact, if you do a Google image search for "badass tattoos," it is a photo of the missus' tattoo on B&E that is the first search result. I can't say that I expected that. But it sure does please me.

Slightly more predictable is that some people are still finding B&E by searching for "Rex Tillerson" or "Rex Tillerson salary." I was happy to see "dachshunds" on the list and a bit disconcerted by seeing "huge dick" on there.

Perhaps the best news of all though is that a fair number of people found this humble site by searching for "bald lesbians." I'm proud to be a friendly place for the lesbian community, particularly the bald lesbian (or bald Lesbian) community.

And since I was just the other day accused of writing about lesbians (or Lesbians) every fourth or fifth post, I thought I would try not to disappoint that particular reader by ignoring the l/Lesbians this week.

CNN: Bringing God and Dog Together Through Poopie

A most generous bald fella, knowing my fascination and love of all things God- and weenie-dog-related, was kind enough to send me this most fantastic news report from CNN.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Leavings is my new favorite word.

Dachshunds, Dachshunds Everywhere!

A few months ago, I mentioned the semi-annual Parade of the Dachshunds. Well, in celebration of yesterday's gorgeous spring day in New York City, the dachshunds came out to play once again in Washington Square Park.

This is the second time I've made a point of attending the Dachshund Parade, but my fifth attendance overall. It seems I've got a sixth sense for weenie dogs, perhaps acquired during my formative years while we had our own dachshund in the house.

Overall, I'd say this was a slightly less exciting Parade. Costumes were fewer and tamer, and the organizers were a little slow to gather the people together to sing the Dachs Song.

Still, it was well worth the time and trip, as the following photos will attest. Dachshunds, by the way, are not easy to photograph. They have a bit of a hard time standing still, particularly when there are so many asses-at-nose-level to sniff.

Some dogs don't seem to amused to be the subject of such humiliation:



Others are perfectly happy:



Some dachshunds make political statements:



Note that this little sailor's on a hot dog leash, which is making him salivate:


Then there are the dachshunds that are just being dachshunds:

Weenie Dogs Are an Inspiration to Us All

dachshund
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

It has been one year since Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans. I will let the media commemorate and the politicians politicize the anniversary. I will instead talk about dachshunds.

On Friday, The New York Times featured an article about Pablo Picasso and his dachshund, Lump. Lump means "rascal" in German, and Lump turned up in several Picasso paintings. Lump died one week before Picasso. Was it Picasso's sadness at losing Lump that killed him? We may never know.

My family, too, had a German-monikered dachshund: Hanswurst ("Johnny Sausage" auf Deutsch). We called him Hansie for short. He barked and dug around trees and stood on his hind legs and smelled bad. We loved him so.

Hansie died at the ripe and ripe-smelling old age of 12-almost-13. Like most dachshunds, he had some back problems, followed by some bowel problems, followed by a miraculous recovery, followed by a rapid health decline. I was 14, and couldn't remember life without a dachshund.

One day, a couple of years ago, while sitting with a friend in Washington Square Park, hundreds of dachshunds arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. There were dachshunds in tutus, dachshunds in Harley jackets, dachshunds in oversized hotdog buns. They were barking, chasing squirrels, smelling each other's butts, poking their nose into cameras at their level. Then the owners sang, "The Dachs Song." I swear to god I wasn't high.

I have come upon the semi-annual Parade of Dachshunds three more times since, twice by chance, and once on purpose. If you're a New York-based B&E reader, go. There is nothing in the world that will make you happier. Unfortunately, I'm going to be out of town for the fall parade. So I'll see you there the last Saturday in April.

The Times article refers to Lump as a "self-assured little dachshund," as if that's unusual. I challenge you to find a dachshund that's self-conscious or suffers from low self-esteem.

"No, hey, come on, don't sniff me there. I'm dirty. And shy."