Here's how it works with Dad: I get drunken phone calls any night of the week (time not a consideration) reciting dialogue from Tombstone, The Godfather or any number of Eddie Murphy comedies up until The Distinguished Gentleman. There might be some tenuous context — a new client who does a mean Brando, perhaps — but more or less, it's just one silly old man trying to bond with the son who didn't like baseball. (The other one gave it up for the guitar. Nyah, nyah.)
Here's how it works with Mom: I get disturbingly sober phone calls over a two-day period in February explaining how "that hideous thing" doesn't deserve to win Best in Oral Self-Hygiene, let alone Group or Show. Yes, it's Westminster week, one of the few times in the year when eugenics is celebrated on national television and, judging by how they barber Standard Poodles, character is king.
The Weisses are dog people. We're extremely partial to the stoic and intelligent Tibetan terrier. Sorry, you won't get a photo of the dearly departed Lucie because I made a vow that I wouldn't stoop to the level of Andrew Sullivan's beagle-mania. I'd like to keep one or two principles in tact.
Anyway, a Springer Spaniel, who's actually not that bad to look at and seems to be fairly charismatic, won Best in Show this year. It beat a lackluster septet of finalists, one of whom, a Dandie Dinmont terrier, is co-owned by Bill Cosby and seems to have been given Rudy's Season 2 haircut.
The handler seemed happy, and one of the announcers stupidly suggested the dog knew it had won. Yeah, just wait till those centerfold pics and clinic bills emerge and its ribbon is rescinded… "He was young and he needed the money!"
Sorry. Now back to your regular Trotsky-Amis-Neocon programming.