At Large Wednesday Night Link Roundup

☛ Scientists engineer a glow-in-the-dark dog. Finally, a solution to the dire tripping-over-dogs-in-the-dark problem.

☛ New reports indicate that Yes-Asia tour promises to be this summer's most annoying.

☛ OK, I take back everything I ever said about "Footloose" being a bunch of baloney.

☛ I knew it! "Report: Cosmo Has Run Same Article Every Month For 27 Years."

☛ And finally, Thanks to my daughter's spot-on Jonas Brothers impersonation, I now have "(I Fell in Love With the) Pizza Girl" stuck in my head. The only thing would be worse would be if I had the video in there with it.



Darn it. There it is.

Column: Have you thanked your mother today?

It’s Mother’s Day, the time of year when children honor their mothers by taking them out to brunch. This way Mom can have a nice, relaxing meal, and still be back home early enough to do all the laundry, shop for groceries and vacuum up all the crumbs from the brunch doggie bags.

Of course, as a child you just take for granted that your mother will do all these things happily in exchange for that one meal a year and a construction paper sunflower you made in art class. It’s not until you have kids of your own that you realize being a mother can be a pretty thankless job, sort of like being Joe Biden’s press secretary.

With that in mind, I thought I would take this opportunity to thank my own mother for some of the things she had to put up with when I was a kid. Granted, I never came home with a tattoo on my neck or set the house on fire (the latter mostly just out of sheer luck), but I figure it still couldn’t have been easy putting up with the following:

[For the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.]

How reading newspapers can keep you from getting rabies

Amid the whole kerfuffle over the Boston Globe and its possible (and now apparently averted) shutdown, some people have wondered aloud why it is that we need newspapers. Is it because they are guardians of the public trust? Watchdogs of government malfeasance? The place where you can read “Wizard of Id”? Well, yes, all those things … But mostly it’s because newspapers save lives.

When Megan Kulikoski picked up her Saugus Advertiser on the morning of Thursday, April 30, she immediately panicked. A front-page story about a rabid cat that had attacked three other Saugus residents grabbed her attention. At that moment she realized she had been attacked by the same black cat on the morning of April 22.

Thanks to that newspaper report (which she noticed because it was on the top of the front page, not because she happened to click on a link somewhere), Kulikoski was able to get potentially life-saving rabies treatment — just a few more days and it would have been too late.

So the moral of this story is, all of you people who say that we don’t need newspapers will be singing another tune when newspapers are gone and you all have rabies.

My trip, Tweeted

I've been back for a week, but feel like I'm still catching up from our family vacation to Baltimore, Washington D.C. and Penn State. I thought going back to work would help me to relax, but people keep asking me to do stuff, even though my head is down on my desk and I'm making grunting noises.

Hence my lack of posts, but until I get back in the swing of things, you can relive my trip here if you missed these on Twitter while I was away:

11:52 AM Apr 21st: At the Vince Lombardi Rest Area - it's everything I dreamed it would be!

I had a $7 turkey sandwich there about which Mr. Lombardi might have said, "This turkey sandwich isn't everything ... It's the only thing!"

3:58 PM Apr 21st: Rainy Boston to NY - sun came out in NJ + now it's sunny and 70 in Baltimore. God bless Jersey.

Unfortunately the sun only lasted until right before the Orioles game started, at which point I was sure the entire grounds crew was going to be struck by lightning. I'm pretty sure we could have somehow credited Jersey with that too.

8:13 PM Apr 21st: Rain delay at Camden Yards - guy just came around selling hot chocolate. They're no fools.

In retrospect, it was more like warm chocolate.

7:14 AM Apr 22nd: Made it for the 7:15 a.m. White House tour! Later: a nap.

If you're doing the math, you'll realize that we had to make it to that 7:15 tour from Baltimore, meaning we left at about 5:15 a.m. But it was worth it, because my kids got to see a secret service agent walking Bo, the First Dog. He (the agent, not the dog) had a look on his face that seemed to say nobody had mentioned anything about this in secret service school.

11:07 PM Apr 22nd: Night tour of the monuments was fantastic! My camera picked up many interesting blurs.

It would help if they let us open the windows on the trolley.

9:08 AM Apr 24th: Museum of Natural History -- a little obsessed with the dinosaurs. I'm just saying.

I'm pretty sure the place is designed so that every time you turn a corner, there's the skeletal remains of something. It's like being in a Grateful Dead video.

8:16 AM Apr 25th: What I learned at Mt. Vernon: George Washington was DREAMY! At least according to the little movie.

It's true -- the movie was good, but I got a little uncomfortable when George started giving Martha the goo-goo eyes. Some guy in the back shouted "Get a room!"

9:10 PM Apr 25th: At Penn State ... When did they pass the law that college girls had to dress like Julia Roberts at the start of Pretty Woman?

This was what we got for going out after 9 p.m. on a day when it was above 60 degrees. If their shorts had gotten any shorter, they would have been halter tops. Luckily, I thought quickly and told my daughter they must all be going to a ginormous costume party, dressed as hookers.

10:37 PM Apr 26th: I go away for a few days and suddenly the whole world is swine flu crazy. And here I thought I had run out of things to worry about.

Did somebody just cough???

D.C. or bust!

Top 5 things I hope to see on our family vacation to Washington DC this week:

1. Michelle Obama's arms.
2. Fonzie's jacket, so my kids can say, "Who's Fonzie?" and I can launch into a 45-minute dissertation on "Happy Days" and its various spin-offs.
   
3. The Washington Nationals literally implode, so that they're just nine little piles of dust scattered around the diamond.
4. Nancy Pelosi freeze John Boehner into a solid mass of ice with her frosty glare, like Arnold Schwarzenegger did to to the T-1000 in "Terminator 2."
5. That Wonkette lady. I know she's there somewhere.

I'll try to live-Tweet my touristy travels around our nation's capitol -- follow me (@pchianca) on Twitter so you'll be the first to know when I meet Bo the dog, or Joe Biden.

Column: Every picture tells a story, unfortunately

Last week my mother, who is now retired and as a result finally has time to go through her closets, presented me with a large box of photographs from my teen years that I had apparently abandoned there when I moved out. Looking through them was an eye-opening experience, similar to what I imagine it must have been like for Nick Nolte when he first opened the paper and saw his mugshot.

Mostly, I was struck by how many of the events in these pictures were completely foreign to me now. Have I actually gotten so old that there are huge swaths of my almost-adult life that have disappeared completely from my memory? After all, it wasn’t that long ago, no matter what my bushy mane of ’80s hair and my seemingly slavish devotion to vertical stripes (in colors that disappeared forever during the grunge era) would seem to indicate.

But sure enough, there I was participating in activities I had no recollection of whatsoever. For instance:

• Whooping it up with the high school Celtic Society. I was in the Celtic Society? Since I’m not the least bit Irish, this must have either been to pad my resume for college applications, or because of my almost unhealthy fascination with U2.

• Participating in some sort of field day event that involved a tug of war. It looked vaguely familiar, but if there wasn’t a picture of it I would have just assumed I was remembering an episode of “Battle of the Network Stars.” I kept scanning the line of tuggers for Robert Conrad.

• Standing next to a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ronald Reagan. At least I think it was cardboard — if it actually was Reagan then I’m going to assume my memory was actually erased by the CIA.

[For the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca, click here.]

AT LARGE Wednesday Night Link Roundup

» The latest sign of the impending apocalypse.

» In honor of Easter, here's a web site full of old Jews telling jokes.

» Speaking of Easter ... What about those poor abandoned pet bunnies! Good thing we have Popeyes.

» From Friend of At Large Jeff Vrabel: "So, wait, pirates are jerks now?" (Related note: In the old days, did pirates have spokespeople who talked to the press?)

» Finally, a plan! "USA Today To Run Only Pictures Of Attractive People."

And in conclusion, the reason I didn't go into TV news:

Column: My kingdom for some cable!

During the ice storms this past winter, we didn’t lose power or heat, have to move to a shelter or take refuge on the roof to wait for rescue boats. So it would probably seem silly for me to complain about the two weeks we were without cable TV.

That said … Those were the worst two weeks of my life.

OK, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. It’s just that I’d never realized the comfort we took in the soft glow coming off Larry King’s wrinkled face, or that the kids got from the canned laughter taking up the empty crevasses of our household via the Disney Channel. Without it we were faced with an unexpected need to fill that void with something else. Like, you know, conversation.

So you can appreciate the severity of the circumstances.

At first I thought we could fall back on the hundreds of kids’ DVDs we’d accumulated over the years — silly me. “But those are BORING!” they declared, in that way they have of talking in unison whenever I suggest something really stupid.

[Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.]

AT LARGE Wednesday night link roundup

» Oh good, now there's a toddler robot. Because that robot fashion model wasn't creepy enough.

» Iowa marriage ruling hits a (fake) bump.

» New Segway no less geeky than the last one, just shorter and wider.

» Cruise and Travolta as Butch and Sundance? Better would be Clooney and Pitt. Or Bert and Ernie.

Column: A pizza vending machine? Sounds cheesy

I’ve been trying to eat healthier lately in anticipation of my annual physical, but the whole world seems to be conspiring against me. For instance, every time I open the refrigerator, there’s food there.

The latest obstacle to my quest for a healthy lifestyle is an invention out of Italy that, in retrospect, has probably been a long time coming: the pizza vending machine. Darn it … I figured I was safe when I conditioned myself to resist the one that dispensed egg salad sandwiches.

And the machine doesn’t just sell the pizza — it’s actually a mini pizzeria that kneads the dough, spreads the toppings and bakes a personal pizza in just three minutes as you watch through a little window. The only downside is you have to get it out of the machine with a metal claw.

[Click here for the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca.]

AT LARGE Wednesday Night Link Roundup

» Like "Dead Man Walking" ... but funny!

» Sad news from fake political circles: "Gov. Jindal Incinerated While Visiting Alaska Volcano."

» Stop everything! Weird Al Yankovic is on Twitter! (Yes, Al remains the most famous person I've ever interviewed. At least until Bruce Springsteen starts returning my calls.)

» "Serenity now!" See 99 Seinfeld references crammed into one poster. Maybe if we all close our eyes and clap our hands as hard as we can, that show will come back on the air ...

» I know it's April Fool's Day ... But who can joke when poor Robin Williams is suffering at the hands of an irreverent, clown-nosed doctor?

Remember that scene in 'Alien' when the creature pops out of the guy's chest? This is worse.

God help us all.





















There's more at nymag.com ... if you dare.

Column: At 40, the eyes (don't) have it

They say when you turn 40 everything starts to go. I figured this was a myth until I turned 40 and woke up to find I had made a Kafkaesque transformation into Ernest Borgnine.

First of all there’s my struggle with vitamin D deficiency, which has been well documented previously in this space. I’m happy to report that my levels are now approaching normal, thanks to daily vitamin supplements and getting more sunlight, primarily by sticking my head out the car window like a golden retriever.

But now I have another problem, one that I’d hoped could be attributed to the fact that I hadn’t cleaned my computer monitor since “twitter” was still just a nervous tic common among schoolgirls. Instead, it’s my vision that’s made me have to pump up my screen font to comical proportions, so that everything I work on looks like a children’s book. All that’s missing are the colorful watercolor drawings of frogs in pants.

[Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.]

AT LARGE Wednesday Link Roundup

☛ Better, stronger, faster: Man replaces lost finger with USB drive. A whole new meaning to "pull my finger."

☛ Watch Statler & Waldorf's appearance on "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon." Frankly, they should have given them this slot.

☛ Wait, is this possible? "Non-A**hole Discovered On Twitter." Sounds like an urban myth to me.

☛ Finally saw a picture of the robot model and found her vaguely attractive, in a department store mannequin kind of way. Disturbing.

☛ Oh, good -- I thought this might have been a gag. That would have just been cruel.

Update: US is kicking Japan's robotic butt

You may recall my recent concern over the robot teacher being tested in Japan. I was worried that it might not be as effective as a real teacher, and also, it might represent the first wave of our eventual enslavement by killer cyborgs. Taken together, those things spell "red flag" to me.

But as it turns out, the Japanese aren't even all that when it comes to robotics. Right here in the good ol' USA -- at U.C. San Diego, to be precise -- they've already overtaken the Japanese, designing a robot with 31 motors in the face, not just 19, that can READ facial expressions, not just mimic them. All at the bargain price of $75,000! If it could only play baseball you could replace the entire Red Sox starting lineup for less than we're paying Manny Delcarmen.

And as if that weren't enough, it doesn't look like a QVC host like the Japan model -- it looks like Albert Einstein! See the amazing and yet still vaguely creepy video here. And the best part is, you'll notice it has no arms and legs, making its potential role in world domination marginal at best.

Column: So these two Romans walk into a bar …

The problem with historians and archeologists is they’re always turning up things nobody really needs, like clay pots and pieces of old wallpaper, rather than items that could actually be useful, like all-powerful Arks of the Covenant. I’m speaking generally here.

That’s why I was excited to read about the latest historical discovery out of Cambridge University: the world’s oldest joke book, featuring gags from the Roman Empire. Professor Mary Beard told the Guardian of London that the book would dispel the myth that Romans were “pompous, toga-wearing bridge builders,” although I never really thought of them that way … Seems to me a culture has to have a sense of humor if it can manage to go 500 years without pants.

Here’s one of the jokes, which is apparently typical of the lot: “A man buys a slave, who dies soon after. When he complains, the slave seller replies, ‘Well, he didn’t die when I owned him.’” Ha ha! It’s funny, because it’s true!

Still, the concept of the world’s oldest joke book piques my interest for several reasons, not the least of which is that my late grandfather was a stand-up comedian back in the days when comedians really told jokes — mostly other people’s jokes. In fact, he bequeathed to me his copy of “The Complete Comedian’s Encyclopedia” by Robert Orben, which I think may have been the world’s second oldest joke book.

[Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.]

[Need some joke suggestions? These will make you the life of the party.]

The wearing of the green

Happy St. Patrick's Day from everyone's favorite green celebrity. (Sorry, it's not the Hulk.)

Column: That's MR. Roboto to you

Even in a poor economy, we’re always going to need teachers. Because someday things are going to get better, and someone has to teach children the skills they’ll need to ruin everything again when it’s their turn.

But now it seems even teachers have to worry: It just came out that scientists in Japan are testing an actual robot teacher at a primary school in Tokyo. Yes, I’m referring to a teacher created entirely in a lab, and presumably programmed not to get burnt out, surly or despondent over the fact that smoking is no longer allowed in the teachers’ lounge.

According to the Telegraph of London, the robot can “carry out roll calls, set tasks and make facial expressions — including anger — thanks to 19 motors hidden behind her latex face.” That last part strikes me as wholly unnecessary, given that some of my best teachers had pretty much only one facial expression, hovering somewhere between incredulity and bemused indifference. (They know who they are.)

[Read the rest of this week's AT LARGE by Peter Chianca here.]

It's less creepy that that Burger King guy, but only vaguely

So Jack in the Box got hit by a bus, was in a coma for 2 weeks, and is now giving away free fries? How did I miss this?



Maybe it's because all we've got around here is Wendy's.

Column: Looking for a few good (piano) men

Has anyone noticed that our elected officials keep talking nonstop about the impending economic Armageddon? Whatever happened to all that hope we were supposed to have? These days it’s pretty much limited to hoping that everything you own isn’t foreclosed upon in your sleep, so you wake up lying in the middle of a field in your underwear.

But never fear, everything’s about to get better. It turns out Billy Joel and Elton John are coming back to town to help you forget about your troubles with their finely crafted pop nuggets. Since they’ll be playing football stadiums, you should probably note for future reference that Billy Joel will be the little bald dot, and Elton John will be the pear-shaped dot that looks like it’s had the most expensive hair transplant known to man.

Now, I should mention that in my youth I had what you might call extreme affection for these two men and their music, particularly Billy Joel. I had all his albums, and when I was in high school he married Christie Brinkley, an action that gave great hope to all of mankind. Or at least the segment of mankind that looked like Billy Joel.

So call it a desire to relive my youth, but I actually thought about trying to get tickets to their upcoming tour, which stops at Gillette Stadium in July. And then I saw the ticket price, $179.50, and my fond nostalgia was immediately replaced by a desire to paddle both of them furiously in the buttocks with an overstock vinyl copy of “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy.”

[Click here for the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca.]

Column: Requiem for a Newspaper

In the newspaper biz these days, to say we open up forwarded e-mails from our colleagues with trepidation is an understatement. There’s always the chance that the next one you click on will bring with it the news that the entire industry has collapsed in a cloud of dust and tumbleweeds, and we should all just pack up our AP Style Manuals and head home.

And sure enough, I got one last week that hit me particularly hard: Turns out the community weekly that covered my childhood hometown of Carmel, N.Y., had closed for good, a victim of the Journal Register Company’s recent bankruptcy.

The Putnam County Courier was pretty much the only paper that had any idea of what the people there were up to — the local daily, at least when I lived there, seemed to consider us a quaint little extension of Westchester that was only really worth dipping into if someone was lucky enough to get run over by the Metro North train on its way to New York City.

[Click here for the rest of this week's At Large by Peter Chianca.]

Ryan DID start the fire

If you watch "The Office," you must watch this:

Column: Confused about commerce? Ask Dr. Business!

This week, we turn our column over to Dr. Business, our expert on finance and the economy, to answer your business questions.

Dear Dr. Business:
What will the proposed merger of Ticketmaster and Live Nation mean for concertgoers?

Music Fan in Mashpee

Dear Music Fan:
Well, essentially the merger will create an entity so powerful that it will be able to make you see any concert it wants, so be prepared to be sitting in the 12th row for the Dexy’s Midnight Runners reunion tour, having paid $300 for your ticket and not knowing what hit you.

Also, all tickets will be sold by auction, meaning admission to a Madonna or Bruce Springsteen show might wind up costing thousands of dollars. But on the plus side, if you go see Journey with the fake lead singer, they might wind up paying you.

Dear Dr. Business:
What will the new stimulus package mean to me and my family?

Hopeful in Hopkinton

Dear Hopeful:
If you’re an average, middle-class family, you should wind up seeing an extra $13 per week in your paycheck. But if you really want to stimulate the economy, you should take that $13 and use it as a down payment on a $2,500 HDTV, and then when you find that you can’t make the payments anymore, just stop answering your phone. Trust me, I think that will work this time.

Dear Dr. Business:
I found out my credit score is in the high 500s. Do you think I’ll be able to get a loan?

Desperate in Dorchester

Dear Desperate:
It’s too bad you weren’t asking me that question a year ago, when you could have walked into the bank with that credit score and the loan officer would have issued you the loan, given you a case of fine champagne and, in some cases, kissed you full on the mouth, like the Bikini Girl did to Ryan Seacrest. But these days, she is more likely to take out her book of actuarial tables, look through it slowly and carefully, and then use it to bludgeon you to death.

Dear Dr. Business:
How might I know if my company is planning to lay me off?

Worried in Wellesley

Dear Worried:
There are a few telltale signs, such as being asked to cover the front desk so the receptionist can attend the all-staff meeting. But another thing to watch out for is if, while passing by your boss, you hear her mumble, “Dead man walking,” and when you say, “What?” she says, “Oh, nothing” and then snickers to herself. Boy, did I find that out the hard way.

Dear Dr. Business:
Is it true this is a bad time to try to sell my house?

Cash-Strapped in Canton

Dear Cash-Strapped:
Frankly, there is not much chance anyone will have an interest in your house at this time, unless you abandon it in the middle of the night and leave the door open and unlocked. And even then it’s unlikely, because people will figure you’re just setting a trap and plan to lure them into a pit in your basement.

It is, however, a good time to sell your car, assuming you’re selling it to be used as a house.

Dear Dr. Business:
I read how executives are complaining about having to limit their salaries to $500,000 if their companies take government bailout money. How can they possibly not afford to live on $500,000?

Skeptical in Scranton

Dear Skeptical:
You’d be surprised how fast that $500,000 goes. For one thing, they might need to buy concert tickets.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Find more at North Shore Sunday, and follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Luke, I have a bra dryer on my head

I'm a little concerned that the bra dryer looks like Darth Vader:

Publish Post

Wait, no, my mistake. That's Wall-E. Whoa, even more disturbing.

Now when I say I'm an 'award-winning columnist,' it won't be something I just made up for my resume

I don't usually like to toot my own horn, because frankly I think that might be illegal everywhere except Nevada. But on Feb. 7, I snagged a first-place award for Best Humor Columnist from the New England Press Association. Which proves the journalistic truism: The more newspapers go out of business, the better I do in these contests.

Anyway, below is one of the columns the judges cited, from last June:

***

The other day I actually used the phrase, “Do you kids think I’m made of money?” And I did it without even a hint of irony — I was genuinely wondering what could have given my children, ages 6 and 9, the idea that I had the expendable income to afford, say, a hot tub, or a wall-mounted HDTV, or gas.

Then I thought, “My God, I’ve become my father.”

Like so many other aspects of growing older, I figure this must have happened gradually — it’s sort of like becoming a regular Oldies station listener, or reaching the point where you should probably be shaving your ears. But I knew I’d made the transformation when I realized I’d somehow inherited my father’s incredulity at his children’s seemingly complete lack of knowledge about the cost of, well, anything.

He found it particularly galling when my siblings and I left lights on, which we never understood — after all, we might want to come back into that room at some point, and leaving the light on would keep us from having to expend the extra effort required to flip the switch again. But now, suddenly, I find myself brimming with indignation when I come upon a lit light bulb in an empty room.

“That’s electricity … that we’re paying for … that no one is using!” I declare to no one in particular, since my kids are of course not there anymore, having moved to the other side of the house to determine the best spot for the wall-mounted HDTV.

That isn’t the only clue that I’ve morphed into my father — there are the flecks (OK, swaths) of gray that have appeared in my hair, and I’ve also become the family member suffering through a small cup of sherbet while my kids are scarfing down ice creams the size of their heads. I always felt bad for Dad when we went out for ice cream, and now, sure enough, I feel bad for me.

Not that I’m an exact clone of my father. First of all, Dad was (and remains) blessed with a swarthy Sal Mineo mane, whereas mine is starting to look like I skipped turning into my father and went directly to turning into my grandfather. He also knew how to put his foot down, while I still find myself negotiating with my kids far too often — they’re so adept at it I think they might be sneaking out of bed at night and watching “Boston Legal.” My son’s even starting to sound like Shatner.

“But Dad,” their arguments always start, followed by a lengthy diatribe about how I, say, told them they could stay up until 9 p.m. but that it was currently 8:56. Their logic is unassailable, but somehow my father would have found a way to assail it, and us, right into bed. I also made an error my father never would have made, namely to declare that “My name is NOT ‘But Dad.’” This led my son to associate “Dad” with his favorite word, “Butt,” resulting in no end of hilarity. (“Dad-Butt-Dad-Butt-Dad-Stinky!-Butt,” etc.)

But the fact of the matter is, the older my kids get, the more I find myself engaging in the activities I most associate with my father: running alongside bicycles that have been recently sheared of their training wheels; throwing and catching baseballs while explaining the arcane rules of a sport that makes no apparent sense; poring over homework assignments that bear no resemblance to the ones I got as a kid. (What happened to carrying the one?)

And I don’t know about all the other fathers, but when he wasn’t complaining about the electric bill, mine was doing all of the above with no questions asked — in fact, it was understood that there wasn’t anything off limits when it came to leaning on Dad. And come to think of it, there still isn’t.

So as I sit here writing this on Father’s Day, I realize that maybe turning into your father is just part of being a father, period — and in my case, if I can embrace those fatherly activities with half the patience, love and aplomb that my father did, I’m probably in pretty good shape. In other words, if in the end I have to turn into somebody … there’s nobody I’d rather be.

And just to show I mean it, Dad, next time I visit — I’ll get the lights.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

I have never once run a picture of a goat. OK, maybe once

As if we people in newspapers don't feel bad enough, now Paul Rudd is making fun of us. Paul Rudd!

And they don't even give you a warm washcloth as you're sinking

This pretty much says it all when it comes to flying.

Column: 25 random things about Fred

If you’re on Facebook, the social networking Web site, odds are someone has asked you to engage in the exercise where you share 25 personal facts about yourself. But I started to get concerned that maybe the practice had gone too far when I read the effort by my Facebook “friend” Freddy Frackelton of Woburn, Mass., which I reprint for you below.

***

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

1. My left big toe is bigger than my right one. It might not sound like a big deal, but I think it’s starting to affect my balance. It’s either that or all the drinking.

2. I don’t know what “whist” is, and I’m too embarrassed to ask. And don’t suggest I look in the dictionary — who has that kind of time? I don’t know about you, but I work for a living.

3. I can play all 23 minutes of “Gates of Delirium” by Yes on the accordion.

4. I was the only one in my Cub Scout troop who was able to successfully field dress a deer. Unfortunately I did it during our hike at the wildlife sanctuary, which is why I never made it into Webelos.

5. I’m very close with TV’s “Law and Order” star Mariska Hargitay. In fact, if it weren’t for the restraining order I think I’d be seeing her pretty much every day.

6. When I was a child I had an imaginary friend named Pootsie whom I loved. But now she’s starting to make me nervous, because I think she may be responsible for my neighbors’ cats disappearing.

7. I own Michael Bolton’s entire recorded output. Not because I like it — I play it to try to get Pootsie to leave my apartment.

8. My great-grandfather survived the Hindenburg disaster, only to choke to death a few years later on a zeppola. Isn’t that ironic?

9. I have some funny hobbies. For instance, I collect vintage Coca-Cola signs. Also, I enjoy knitting! Plus there’s the porn.

10. I have a recurring dream in which Rachael Ray is trying to layer me into a giant chicken taco nacho. If I ever meet her in person I’d love to tell her about it, but that’s highly unlikely because of the restraining order.

11. When I eat shellfish, my face turns red and my head blows up like a balloon. I can’t for the life of me figure out why my mother keeps sending me those Red Lobster gift cards.

12. I dabbled in nudism for a while, but mall security kept hassling me so I had to give it up.

13. I used to have Patriots season tickets, but they were rescinded — something about the way I would try to paint the other fans’ bodies whether they wanted to be blue or not. Some people have no team spirit.

14. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but now I realize the six months I spent in juvie was one of the most productive times of my life. For instance, I learned how to kill a man with just one punch to the kidney. You know, hypothetically.

15. You know that Kevin Spacey character in “Se7en”? I don’t relate to him at all. Nuh-uh.

16. The last time I did one of these lists on Facebook, most of my “friends” wound up un-friending me. I’m afraid they didn’t realize I was just kidding about a lot of the stuff. For instance, I don’t really enjoy knitting.

17. I didn’t put down anything for 18-25, because the voice told me not to. No, not in my head — I was talking about Michael Bolton.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England; this column appeared originally in North Shore Sunday. You can follow him on Twitter without risking a restraining order.

Looking for my own 25 random things? Click here.

And right now, Google is doing this to you through your bedroom window

Want to kill a few hours? Why not zoom in on EVERY SINGLE PERSON at the inauguration? I know Oprah is in there somewhere.

Secrets of the universe revealed

Watch and learn!

Column: A twit tweets and tries for tix

I have a son who’s a Red Sox fan. Actually, “fan” is probably not a strong enough word for Timmy’s feelings about the Red Sox, who have completely supplanted Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi even though none of them could last 10 minutes against Darth Vader. (Well, except maybe Youkilis, who might be able to fight him off with his massive head.)

This puts me in an interesting position. As a native New Yorker, it goes against my grain to actively support the Red Sox, and yet as the father of a Sox-obsessed 7-year-old I find myself compelled to hock something valuable and try to get tickets to at least one game every year. Knowing this, the Red Sox make the process as humiliating as possible, just to rub it in.

If you haven’t tried to buy Red Sox tickets lately, the process involves logging on to their Web site on a particular day and being shuffled into a “virtual waiting room.” After that, one computer sitting in a janitor’s closet at Fenway Park (I think it may be a Commodore 64) gives you a chance to buy tickets at some random moment during the next 24 hours, most likely when you’re in the bathroom or have fallen asleep at the keyboard.

In the meantime, the site tortures you with a little 30-second screen-refresh ticker that clicks down to zero, only to restart back at the beginning, over and over and over again. It’s a nice touch, probably devised by the same people who invented the little bomb symbol that used to pop up when your Mac crashed.

So to keep from going insane this past Saturday, I shared my waiting room experience in real time on Twitter.com, the “micro-blogging” tool that limits you to 140-character bursts of wisdom. It’s kind of like a telegram, if telegrams had funny little avatars next to them and were sent exclusively by unrepentant narcissists.

And so, following are my “tweets” (as they’re called) from my time in the waiting room, along with those of some fellow Twitterers (as they’re also called) who chimed in during my quest. (Note: Some tweets have been embellished to protect the innocent.)

· Preparing to spend the day in the endless Red Sox “virtual waiting room.” It’s like a Sartre play.

· The waiting room is nice, but all the framed pictures of Johnny Pesky are creeping me out. His eyes follow you wherever you go.

· I was going to leave the virtual waiting room up in the corner of my screen and try to work, but the digital readout is too mesmerizing.

· 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... It’s like the bomb at the end of “Goldfinger.”

· [from @KimRossi] I’ve got 30 windows open.

· [to @KimRossi] Does the “opening more windows” method really work? I’m afraid my computer will explode.

· [from @KimRossi] It’s definitely worked for me in the past. Though I feel like I’m going to induce a seizure trying to scan all these windows.

· Is it ignoring me on purpose? I think it knows I grew up in NY. And I get this weird feeling that John Henry is watching me and laughing.

· They need some new virtual magazines in the virtual waiting room. I mean, “Highlights” from 1978? How much Goofus and Gallant do we need?

· Can feel the Red Sox tix slipping away through my fingers. Damn you, virtual waiting room! Must you mock me so??

· [from @KimRossi] I’m telling you: more windows is the key.

· OK, got seven Red Sox virtual waiting room screens open now. Am sitting here mainlining “5” brand Flare gum. Beads of sweat on forehead.

· [from @BillBrenner70] You really need to get a life. ;-)

· [to @BillBrenner70] No, I need to get Red Sox tickets! Haven’t you been paying attention?

· Success! After 3 hours, got four in August in G13. Thank you, Red Sox virtual waiting room, for smiling upon me in all of your munificence!

· [from @haverhill01835] Geesh man — it’s just the Red Sox — get a wide screen TV! The seats and food are better watching at home.

Come to think of it, I guess @haverhill01835 has a point … But he’s not the one who’d have to explain it to Timmy. Try doing that in 140 characters.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Read his column each week in North Shore Sunday and follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

He will be missed

Obama Reads Bush's Letter - watch more funny videos

And thus officially ends eight years of making fun of W. Well, except for this.

The end of the world is nigh, sort of

Doomsday has a Website: http://www.december212012.com/

At least that means I won't have to finish paying off my house.

It's worth noting that he did it without the mouse

Happy Birthday, Jackson Pollock. Make your own Pollock here: http://www.jacksonpollock.org/

Column: If the bikini fits ...

On the season eight premiere of “American Idol,” a woman auditioned wearing nothing but a bikini. And I know what you’re thinking: How could it possibly have taken eight seasons for someone to think of auditioning for “American Idol” in nothing but a bikini? Whatever happened to American ingenuity?

It was a tasteful bikini, of course, if your definition of “tasteful” entails having to superimpose an “American Idol” logo over the woman’s rear end to make it acceptable for broadcast on national television. And she got picked to go on to the next round despite trash talking judge Kara DioGuardi, which got Paula Abdul so upset that she started to gesticulate wildly and speak in tongues, just like in seasons 1-7.

Bikini Lady also walked up to host Ryan Seacrest and kissed him full on the lips, leaving him with a bemused look on his face that seemed to say, “I wonder if this type of thing will keep happening when I take over for Larry King?”

But it doesn’t really matter whether she wins the competition, since she’s already gotten the real prize: hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube. Because these days anybody can get on TV — reality show producers have taken to knocking people unconscious, and when they wake up their wives have been swapped and they’re standing on one leg on a pole in Fiji — but you have to be really popular to get thousands of people to watch you on the Internet in an effort to avoid doing actual work. (And we wonder why we’re in a recession.)

But the “American Idol” incident isn’t the only bikini in the news this week. In Australia, Ananova.com reports that a Navy commander is under fire for suggesting that woman sailors could boost recruitment by wearing bikinis. And I know what you’re thinking: Australia has a Navy? Well, it is an island after all, and they have to defend themselves from attack by New Zealand, specifically by Orcs.

In his defense, he was simply responding to the question, “If female sailors all had to be hot and wear bikinis, would that help recruitment?” He responded, “It would certainly get the right demographic,” but apparently the proper answer should have been to whack the interviewer with a boomerang. (That’s legal in Australia — it’s in their constitution, right next to the picture of Nicole Kidman.)

But the message is clear: There is immense power to be found in the bikini. It’s ironic, since when the bikini was invented in 1947, it was considered a second-class alternative for people who couldn’t afford an entire bathing suit. But since then it’s become clear that the only thing more persuasive than women in their underwear is women who might as well be in their underwear, plus, they’re out in public where they might, at any moment, start playing volleyball.

(Incidentally, Madison Avenue realized this when they created the Swedish Bikini Team, which, contrary to popular belief, was made up of actresses and models and was not actually a bikini-clad commando unit. Which I realize may come as bad news, for both beer drinkers and Sweden’s national security.)

These latest examples are surely the sign of a trend — can it be long before Hillary is wearing a bikini to her diplomatic sessions with Vladimir Putin? Or at least sending an emissary in one, like whoever happens to be on the cover of this month’s SELF magazine? Russia would surrender immediately, possibly to the Australian Navy.

Of course, there is a potential problem with this strategy: Namely, what if at some point men stop viewing women as sex objects? Or at least realize that just because a woman is wearing a bikini doesn’t mean she’ll let your hairy body anywhere near her person.

Unless, of course, you happen to be Ryan Seacrest. Sorry, Simon.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Column: Your guide to the Springsteenaugural

Heading out to Washington for the inaugural? Well, you don’t need to be one of 3 million people standing aimlessly out in the cold. Instead you can read this handy inauguration guide, and be one of 3 million people standing out in the cold in an informed kind of way.

To start off, on Sunday you should plan to be at the Lincoln Memorial for the inaugural weekend kickoff concert, when President-elect Barack Obama will acknowledge his status as the first African American, ever, to be a fan of Bruce Springsteen. Reports say Springsteen will perform at the event, although his representatives are not expected to confirm that until sometime during his third song.

Then on Monday evening, make sure to attend the Youth Concert at the Verizon Center. The event is intended to remind Americans that our youth represent the future of this country, so we should be prepared for the future to include a lot of videogames and ecstasy. Performers have been kept under wraps, but reports point to such big-name teen stars as Miley Cyrus, the Jonas Brothers and Bruce Springsteen.

But it’s on Inauguration Day that the real excitement will take place, the true pomp and circumstance that reminds the countries with kings and queens that we can be just as self-important as they are — but better, because we don’t have to wear all those kilts and sashes.

With that in mind, here is a quick rundown of the order of events:

· Musical selections: The event starts off with the United States Marine Band, followed by the San Francisco Boys Chorus and the San Francisco Girls Chorus, and Bruce Springsteen.

· Call to Order: Sen. Dianne Feinstein will remind all present about how Democrats plan to reach across the aisle and, their hands still shaky and sweaty from excitement, embrace whomever happens to be sitting there.

· Musical selection: Aretha Franklin will sing a duet with Bruce Springsteen and then hug him, effectively burying him within her prodigious bosom.

· Joseph R. Biden will be sworn in as vice president by the Honorable Justice John Paul Stevens, whom Biden will later refer to as the drummer for Led Zeppelin.

· Musical selection: John Williams, composer, with Itzhak Perlman (violin), Yo-Yo Ma (cello), Gabriela Montero (piano), Anthony McGill (clarinet) and Bruce Springsteen (Fender Esquire).

· Barack H. Obama will take the oath of office, after which he will spread his arms over his head and every American watching will ascend into heaven.

You’d might think that would be the end of things, and that President Obama would run directly from the podium into the Oval Office to start fixing up our messed-up country. But no, first there is a luncheon, during which Obama will escort outgoing President George W. Bush to a departure ceremony; there, you can watch Bush dodge shoes thrown by David Gregory.

Then after that, you can head immediately over to Pennsylvania Avenue for the 56th Inaugural Parade. The parade is known around the world for its elaborate floats, like the one of a giant smiling Obama made entirely from live orchids. Children will be delighted at the close of the parade, when Santa Claus arrives at Macy’s, pulled by Bruce Springsteen. And that night, you should do your absolute best to get a ticket to one of 10 inaugural balls, which thanks to the economic downturn will all be held at Chuck E. Cheeses throughout suburban Virginia.

Finally, on Wednesday, you should try to be present when the newly inaugurated president and vice president will participate in a prayer service. If you’re looking for something to pray for, how about that they’ll be able to put all the hoopla behind them and get right down to business? Fortunately, they seem like the right men for the tough work ahead, and they’ve chosen the right people to help them.

It’s a good thing Bruce Springsteen was available!

Originally from northshoresunday.com. Peter Chianca is a managing editor for GateHouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Column: The secret to my (future) success

Last year I made a new year’s resolution to lose some weight, and I wound up dropping 8 pounds. So with that kind of track record, I’ve decided this year I’m going to resolve to become a spectacularly wealthy icon of material success. Wish me luck!

The first question, of course, is exactly how much success I want to attain. After giving it some thought, I’ve decided I want enough success to live a luxurious existence, but not so much that someone would want to write an unauthorized biography about me. (This means you, Madonna‘s brother.)

So then, how to do it? I’ve narrowed it down to the following four categories:

1) High finance. I used to figure this was not a good option for me, since I have no mind for business or numbers and find all those screaming men at the New York Stock Exchange to be vaguely intimidating, like those guys who yell at invisible people in the subway.

But as recent events have shown, I could probably do as good a job at this as anyone. In fact, if I had collected money from all of Bernie Madoff’s investors and did with it what I do with my own money — namely, nothing in particular — they would all be better off. Of course, they would also be better off if they had given it to one of those guys who yell at invisible people in the subway.

2) Rock star. I used to think my lack of musical ability could be an impediment here, but that was before I realized my penchant for tapping color-coded plastic buttons along with cheesy classic rock songs. Which I think is how Ted Nugent got started.

Yes, my kids got the Rock Band videogame for Christmas, and I’ve been reaping the benefits. I figure I’m going to need to parlay my Rock Band prowess into some serious cash in order to make up for scarring their young minds, as evidenced by the way my 7-year-old now walks around singing about Roxanne not having to put on her red light. I think he thinks she’s a cop.

3) Lawsuits. Surely there’s someone out there who should be paying me punitive damages. I mean, just look at me!

4) Publishing. This would seem to be a logical avenue to pursue success, since I am, ostensibly, a writer. One option would be to publish a book of my collected columns, and then keep all the unsold copies in my closet to burn in the fireplace, which would at least save me fuel money. I’m pretty sure this is what all my friends who are authors are doing.

But to achieve true publishing success I’d need a real “best seller,” ideally about one of the following topics:

• Vampires
• Dragons
• Harry Potter
• How Not to Look Old

I’m thinking my best bet would be to write a book incorporating all four, and then make it into a movie starring George Hamilton.

I suppose I could try to achieve my monumental success right here in the newspaper industry — except I think I’ve probably already gone as far as I can go, in that I actually have a paying job and have yet to be landed upon on my way into the newsroom by a despondent classified sales representative jumping from a higher floor.

Or rather than do any of these, I suppose I could just redefine “success” to mean a fantastic wife, some great kids, more pets than I can shake a stick at, a roof over our heads and a couple of cars that actually run. The best part about that is, I wouldn’t have to do a thing differently this year.

Although come to think of it, I could probably stand to drop another 8 pounds.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for Gatehouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Column: That was the year that wasn't

As regular readers of this column know, this is the time of year when I like to look back on my predictions from 12 months ago to see whether my keen journalistic insight served me well in prognosticating the major events for the coming year. And those same regular readers are probably asking, “What keen journalist insight?,” because they know me.

So let’s see what I had to say about 2008:

1) The economy will continue to soar, and with it the value of our investments. If you haven’t yet put money in reliable stalwarts like Lehman Brothers or Madoff, better do it now! Clearly I was a little overzealous with this one — hopefully nobody actually listened to me. In retrospect, I’m sure glad I didn’t have any money to invest.

2) After a rough couple of years, President Bush will leave on a high note after successfully ending the war in Iraq, shoring up the economy and finally reforming Social Security. Not sure what made me think Bushie could pull it out — maybe I just felt sorry for him, being in so far over his head all these years. I should note that I also predicted he wouldn’t be hit by any shoes, which was correct, albeit just barely.

3) Once again, nothing interesting or even remotely noteworthy will come out of Alaska. Cut me some slack on this one — who could have possibly predicted Sarah Palin, or even the kafuffle over Sen. Ted Stevens, for that matter? This would have been an accurate prediction during any of the last 50 years, so you can’t really blame me for throwing in a gimme.

4) Comic book superheroes will rule the roost at the box office, led by a blockbuster sequel about a dark crusader for justice — “Punisher: War Zone.” OK, I was close on this one. I still think the only reason “Punisher” tanked was because it didn’t have Heath Ledger and was based on a comic book character that nobody ever heard of. Also, it kind of sucked.

5) Madonna will reinvent herself once more and launch her “Middle-Aged Matron” tour, performing standards from the American songbook while wearing tasteful sweaters and pantsuits, and not engaging in any controversial extramarital relationships with younger men, especially baseball players. Damn you, Madonna! Must you always defy expectations?

6) Audiences will cheer as Rosie O’Donnell single-handedly revives the variety show format, earning herself the title “The new Sonny and Cher.” Apparently I was the only one eagerly anticipating the variety show revival … and even I didn’t watch Rosie’s show. But I was right in my prediction that Jay Leno’s time slot would be changed, although I predicted they’d move him to 3 a.m. and broadcast him in Spanish.

7) The Jonas Brothers will be proven by an investigative team from E! to be animatronic creations designed by Disney scientists. Yes, I agree that this one was kind of far-fetched. E! doesn’t even have an investigative team.

8) Several forward-thinking Chinese corporations will introduce the latest sensation for kids: toys you can suck on. OK, so it turns out that sucking on Chinese toys would be bad. But I was right in my prediction that tomatoes would prove dangerous this year, even if I said it would be due to them falling on people from great heights.

9) The Patriots will face the upstart N.Y. Giants in the Super Bowl, where Tom Brady will crush them between his powerful, manly thighs. Hmmm … I think all those pictures of Tom in G.Q. were starting to cloud my judgment.

10) Barack Obama will be elected 44th president of the United States. Actually, I was just kidding about this one. But I’ll take it!

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for Gatehouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

Column: Now you know the rest of the stories

It’s time once again for newspapers to name their top stories of the year, which is very helpful for the people who can’t recall who was elected president, or whether or not the economy imploded. Also, it fills space.

But here, as you may recall, we like to point out the important stories that should have gotten more coverage from major media outlets. The ones that are still in business, we mean. With that in mind, here are the top five At Large actual news stories from 2008:

5) Bruce Springsteen-related crime. First there was the Australian woman who was sentenced in March for stabbing her boyfriend when he wouldn’t let her listen to Springsteen music. (“I mean, who doesn’t like Bruce Springsteen?” she asked the arresting officer, and frankly, I had to agree.)

And then later that same month, cops in France stopped a man going 125 mph while watching a Springsteen DVD on a player he had mounted to his dashboard. An officer said: “He said he had a long drive to Paris and was bored.”

Understandable, but I don’t understand why he couldn’t have passed the time doing what everybody else does when driving long distances: Texting.

4) Shower curtains declared toxic. As if it weren’t bad enough that the tomatoes turned against us this year, we then came to find out that plastic shower curtains can kill you. Next thing you know they’ll be telling us to give up cigarettes.

It’s true — the Alliance for a Healthy Tomorrow (which sounds vaguely fascist, but in a nice way) announced in June that your average shower curtain gives off 108 — 108! — different volatile organic compounds, including several that are banned in toys in the U.S. and Europe. (Although notably not in China, where “Spritzy the Shower Curtain Clown” is selling like hotcakes.)

I just want to know how it’s possible that the innocent shower curtain, with its jaunty prints of fish and flowers and fresh, plasticy-good smell, could possibly be harmful? It’s depressing, but fortunately we have daring legislators like Brookline, Mass. state Rep. Frank Smizik, who went out on a limb to declare, “Toxic chemicals simply do not belong in everyday products like shower curtains.” And who says they don’t really teach you anything in legislator school?

3) Man attempts to sell wife for Celtics tickets. Finally I realize why I never get any of the really good tickets. I’m always trying to hit the “refresh” button at Ticketmaster.com, when all along what I should have been doing is offering to sell my wife.

At least that’s what Kyle Carter of Medford, Mass. was banking on. Carter, like the rest of the free world, wanted to see the Celtics play the Lakers in the NBA finals last June. Unlike everybody else, though, Carter placed the following actual ad on Craigslist:

“Trade my hot wife for 2 celts tickets! - $2 - (medford).”

But it’s not what you’re thinking (and we know what you’re thinking). Contrary to what some assumed, it was a very decent proposal Carter had in mind. “He and his wife are only looking for a basic dinner date, no hanky-panky,” reported the Medford Transcript.

“At first she said, ‘Oh, no, there’d be too many crazy people calling us,’” Carter said of his wife. “But she said she’d be open to it. And some of the guys who responded seem pretty normal.”

That’s right, perfectly normal guys willing to trade their Celtics tickets for dinner with somebody else’s wife. No word on whether he got the tickets, but it’s still possible that Nicolas Cage may wind up buying the movie rights.

2) Man beats up shark to save dog. I love my dogs, even the dumb one (no need to name names — she knows who she is, and besides, she can’t read), but would I dive into the ocean to rescue them from a shark? I hope I never have to find out, but just in case I’m thinking of starting to carry shark repellent on my utility belt.

I’m referring of course to the story out of Florida this past September in which a man punched — punched! — a shark to rescue his 14-pound rat terrier from its jaws. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: Who would want to own a 14-pound rat terrier?

Greg LeNoir, a carpenter in the Florida Keys, that’s who. After a shark pulled his dog under at a local marina, he sprung in to action. “I clenched my fists and dove straight in with all my strength, like a battering ram,” LeNoir, 53, told the Miami Herald.

To his credit, he succeeded and the dog is fine, although it is still a rat terrier.

And now, the No. 1 At Large news story for 2008:

1) Science invents the bio-beer. Yes, the good news is, they’ve finally created a beer that can help prolong life and prevent illness. I know, you thought regular beer could do that, but in actuality it only makes you feel like you’re living longer.

The bad news is, the students at Rice University who developed “Bio-Beer” — which, incidentally, sounds like something they should be running tests on at the Centers for Disease Control — aren’t old enough to drink it themselves.

“We started out with a strict policy that we aren’t supposed to drink anything in the lab,” Peter Nguyen, the team’s graduate adviser, told the Discovery Channel in November.

The problem with not being able to taste the beer — and as we all know, underage college students never let the stuff touch their lips, just like they never have unprotected sex or gain 15 pounds their freshman year — is that you don’t know if it tastes like, well, Bio-Beer.

And as it turns out, it does. Researcher Thomas Segall-Shapiro told The Sun out of London: “No way would anyone drink this until it tastes better.” Buck up, chaps — people used to say the same thing about Budweiser.

So that wraps up this year’s top stories. Once again, they reminded us about the resilience of the human condition, and also filled up space.

More that second thing.

Peter Chianca is a managing editor for Gatehouse Media New England. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”

What's keeping you up nights for 2009?

A very merry (Muppet) Christmas to you

Merry Christmas! And what better gift could I give than the entire new Muppets special, courtesy of hulu.com?



May your days be merry and bright, and stay tuned for an important blog announcement by the first of the year!

Column: The dog who came in from the cold

It’s funny how dogs have their own personalities. Our 1-year-old yellow Lab Penny, for instance, is in possession of an unfettered wanderlust — she’ll take every possible opportunity to sneak out an open door. You tend to spot her for a second looking toward the heavens like Tim Robbins when he crawled out of the sewer pipe in “Shawshank Redemption,” and then, before you can get close enough to grab her, she hightails it off into the wild unknown.

Our 4-year-old black Lab Lilly, on the other hand, is our homebody dog. She seems to have picked up on the fact that if she sticks with us she gets two square meals a day, and there’s not a single couch in the house that’s off limits. Even when the others go galumphing off after squirrels or other people’s dogs, she’ll always give us that glance over her shoulder that says she’s still got our backs, or that she thinks we might be carrying bacon.

It’s Lilly’s penchant for staying close to home that has earned her the privilege of joining Annie, our 10-year-old golden, out the side of the house to do her nightly business, as poor Penny is relegated to the penned-in area in the front, yapping at the echo of her own bark, which sounds suspiciously like the dog she spots daily in the glass window of our entertainment center.

What we never counted on, though, was a sudden ice storm like we had Thursday night. One minute it seemed like regular rain; the next a branch that most people would consider an entire tree was crashing to the ground outside our door, right where the dogs tend to congregate. Within seconds the side of the house was a sea of limbs, branches and pine needles — and though Annie bolted right up on the porch, Lilly, our homebody dog who’d never left our sight for more than 10 minutes, was gone.

My wife, Theresa, went into the yard to call Lilly’s name — which she’d responded to every time before — but had to turn back when branches kept falling around her like bludgeons from the sky. This was around 11 p.m., and it didn’t take long for us to determine that our best avenue of behavior was to panic.

Still, I tried to remain calm. “Dogs have a survival instinct,” I told Theresa about two hours after Lilly disappeared, not having any idea what I was talking about. “She’s seeking shelter and she’ll be back when she feels safe.” Of course, I knew that Lilly knew the safest place was in our house with all the couches and the people who always forget to tie the trash up, not outside in the pouring, freezing rain. She wasn’t like Penny, who would clearly go with any family that had the same salty taste that we did.

Eventually we had to give up and go back to bed, if not to sleep, the whole time hearing the pounding rain and the crack-crack-crack of snapping tree limbs in the yard outside. Finally, the power went out, extinguishing any chance of spotting Lilly’s black fur against the rainy night. I was suddenly sorry for all those times I missed curfew back in high school, when my mother may have very likely been imagining me outside in the rain, trapped under a tree branch.

By the first light I think Theresa and I had resigned separately to ourselves that Lilly wasn’t coming back. I had visions of having to explain it to the kids — my son Tim, 7, had managed to sleep through the excitement, but my 9-year-old daughter, Jackie, had caught wind of Lilly’s departure and was panicking right along with us. And I felt guilty for every time I’d admonished Lilly for some slight or another she’d committed as a puppy, whether it was eating my shoes, or eating the new coffee table, or eating the wall. (Although really, what would make even a dog want to eat a wall?)

Then, at 5:30 in the morning, when my wife’s stepfather left his side of our two-family house to make his way to work, he heard a familiar jingle coming up the driveway. We were all lying awake in bed when we heard his voice coming up the stairwell: “Lilly’s home!”

Who knows where she’d been — she was moist, but not drenched, almost like she’d spent the night in a sauna. But she practically bowled us over as we ran down the stairs to see her. It’s a running family joke that of our three dogs, Lilly is “cheap with the love” — we think it has to do with her having to wear a retainer when she was a puppy (long story). But on Friday morning, her tongue was out and licking Jackie’s face like she hadn’t seen her in years. And that’s probably what it felt like, on both sides.

By the time the sun came out on Friday we had two smashed windshields, a crushed barbecue grill, a side door blocked by branches and enough wood to keep us in bark mulch through the next century. But somehow that’s all a little easier to take, because we also had our own early Christmas miracle, in the form of a pudgy black homebody dog who took a little longer than usual coming home.

A dog who, I might mention, will be doing her nightly business out front with her sister Penny from now on.

This column appeared originally in North Shore Sunday. Follow Peter Chianca on Twitter at twitter.com/pchianca. To receive At Large by e-mail, write to info@chianca-at-large.com, with the subject line “SUBSCRIBE.”