Well, this is it

Based on the number of text messages I got last night, the people who read (past tense) this blog expect and demand a picture of Peyton Manning being sad today.

So here you go:


And that's it. The NaturalBlog has been limping along for more than a year now, and this will be its final post.

But fear not. You can still get your daily dose of me, Dave Shaw, by following me on Twitter. It's a new experiment -- can I be funny in 140 characters or less? Find out. Click the link.

You can also pick up some thermal blankets

My father-in-law wrote a book, a compilation of a lifetime (well, a lifetime depending on how long you've been alive) of newspaper columns about being a husband and father. You should buy it.

And if you do buy it via that link to Amazon, be sure to take advantage of the "related items" shopping list.

Amazon suggests you pick up a couple of essentials after buying his book, such as 50 feet of rope. Or maybe a first aid kit.

Please say this isn't a prelude to blackface

Oh, Rod Blagojevich, how can we miss you if you won't go away?

In an interview with Esquire, Blago says he's "blacker than Barack Obama."

Pray tell why, good sir.

"I shined shoes. I grew up in a five-room apartment. My father had a little laundromat in a black community not far from where we lived. I saw it all growing up."

For good measure, he also threw in a "What the [fudgesicle]? Everything he's saying's on the teleprompter."

Speaking later on TV, but presumably not on a teleprompter, Blago said that when it came to blackness, he was "speaking metaphorically" but it was "a very stupid thing to say."

Sad Brady

Sad Brady made a rare appearance yesterday when the Patriots were just mauled by the Ravens, 33-14 at home. Brady had four turnovers.

I think I may have a theory on why he was off this year -- he's apparently been moonlighting as a quality control officer for All-Clad. Take a look at this card enclosed when our new saucier arrived.

"Are you my mother?"

Can anyone tell me what on earth is going on in this advertisement?

I saw it on one of the new sites I see a couple times a day yesterday, but I know I've seen that creepy fellow in ads before for different products.

Is he supposed to be a mom? Is he supposed to motivate me to click? Is it a threat? Maybe an html error of some kind?

I mean, really, he looks so molesterish. I just don't understand what's going on here.

On popups, rollovers, takeovers

I take it as a sign the of troubled times in the newspaper business: ads on papers' web sites are becoming unavoidable. Not in number, but in style. Take a look at Bernie from the Bernie & Phyl's furniture chain, on boston.com recently.


It could be worse -- they could be charging me.

Today we shed a tear for the butterstick

Back in 2005, the long-ago days of yore when this blog was actually funny, I got some good mileage out of a panda born at the National Zoo in Washington. His name was Tai Shan, but I called him "butterstick," a monikor referring to his size at birth, popularized by Wonkette.

He was adorable, but that didn't stop me from giving the 'stick some tough love:

"Here's some free advice," I wrote to the little booger. "Learn a skill and quick, because you can only trade on being cute for so long before you end up sad and broken on reality TV."

Well, it's time for the U.S. to pay the piper on the Butterstick -- he's being shipped home to China, per our agreement that lets the U.S. showcase pandas, but makes their spawn Communist property. It's a sad day for butter lovers, but a sadder day for natural selection, which would have caused these monsters to die out years ago.

Whither Welker?

Wes Welker cried on the New England Patriots bench yesterday, not because they were losing yet another road game, but because of an injury to his left knee. It's said to be an MCL and ACL tear (same as Tom Brady last year).

Bad news for the Pats playoff hopes. I've always had a soft spot for Wes, not because of this, but because of his 2007 fantasy football season and of course the fact that we're pretty much the same height.

Smell ya later

Now that free agent outfielder Jason Bay has signed with the Mets, I can say that I saw both his first game with the Red Sox, as well as his last. Sure, he was only around a year-and-a-half, but that's still bragable.

I have to say that his first appearance was certainly better -- he scored both runs in a 2-1, 12-inning win over the Athletics. His final game, was the unfortunate meltdown in ALDS game three against the Angels back in October.

Regardless of how it ended, I will miss his home run swing.

Out of order indeed

When I saw this bathroom in Suwanee, Ga., I couldn't help but think of the Leelee Sobieski vehicle Joy Ride. Can't say why, though.

On language

Earlier this year, the principal of Danvers (MA) High School banned students from saying "Meep," the phrase uttered by the Muppets' Beaker, for fear it would lead to a schoolwide disruption.

Students were warned they could be suspended if they said or displayed the word.

It's really a shame -- "Meep" is far better than many alternatives for saying nothing when you need to say something, as detailed in the Boston Globe Ideas section.

... and we're back!

Some of you may have thought this blog was dead. Well I'm here to tell you that reports of our demise were greatly exaggerated. And just why were we exhumed from the dead? There is one answer, in the form of two words.

Sad Peyton.

Behold it:



Hooray for pulling the starters with homefield advantage locked up! Hooray for Sad Peyton! And go Pats!

Spotted!

Almost exactly a year ago, I compared dormant construction equipment -- backhoes, frontloaders, the like -- to sleeping dinosaurs. It was my great pleasure this week to spot a living dinosaur walking on the road:

Who's that knocking at my door?

There was a time in the distant past when logging on to my email was a welcome adventure. I didn't know what would be waiting, and the surprise was almost always worth it. This was late 1996, when email was still sort of new and when a day with 10 messages was a busy day.

Now e-mail is something of a chore, a lasso tying me to my obligations, a reminder I check by rote.

But I've been getting that same feeling of excitement I got back in '96 again, this time from this little guy:


When someone friends me on facebook, I have no idea who it might be. What part of my past will they remind me of? I like that feeling, but I can't help but see the writing on the wall -- facebook too shall pass.