It might not look like much but that small piece of ribbon has an apparent worth hovering right around $2,500. I’m sure it retailed for less than a dime at one point but, in a process quite similar to that responsible for kopi luwak, it has been imbued with incredible, undeniable value over the course of the past few days. In fact, I’m quite tempted to eBay it and reap what we have so proudly sown.

The ribbon may look a bit worse for wear which is lamentable but given that it was extracted whole from the bowels of Domino it looks pretty damned good. This is typically a non-trivial exercise resulting in discomfort and, in Domino’s case, near baldness as they shaved him from stem to stern about midway up the belly which you can witness below. Seems an awful lot of fur to remove for such a relatively small incision, but now we’re just nitpicking. Given that he was sealed up tighter than oakum on a ship’s hull what with the sacred ribbon fouling up the works, it was either the fur — and, of course, the roughly $2,500 — or the kitty.

That this isn’t the first time he’s wound up in this situation is moderately frustrating. They haven’t yet constructed the ribbon — or, as we discovered to our considerable disappointment, easter egg basket grass — that he won’t attempt to consume and so our house has over the years developed a ribbon-free force field that we’ve been rather successful at maintaining. Christmas is always a time of fear and anxiety as ribbon arrives from all directions and we’re usually vigilant in extracting and disposing of it before it can find purchase in Domino’s gizzard. But, somehow this piece snuck through the defenses.

Admittedly, when one sits that piece of bloody, biled-up ribbon next to, say, this 52″ HDTV that I’ve had my eye on for quite a while it pales a bit in the comparison. It boggles the mind that they, for all intents and purposes, have similar final value. I still love the pain in the ass animal, but he does anger me at times with his choices of consumables.

“‘Similar analysis strategies are applied for the peptide mapping of glycoproteins’,” I read aloud to stymie my daughter. I should note that it may become apparent in the near future why I’m reading about glycoproteins, but humor me for a while. “What in the world are glycoproteins? I have no idea.”

“My neither,” she replied. “I think it’s like a dishwasher.”

I tried to fit in a little game of NHL08 this morning before work, but Julia was having none of it. She popped in and wanted to watch but watching soon became…

“Daddy, can you teach me how to play, please?”

I am not, contrary to common opinion, a heartless bastard and this certainly had its intended effect. So I loaded up a shootout, showed her that the left thumbstick made the little guy skate around and that if she wanted to shoot the puck she should push the right thumbstick up.

Away we go. She is quite entertained simply skating around for a while, occasionally sending poor Eric Staal repeatedly into the boards, then crosses the goal line and the whistle blows.

“You can’t cross the little line, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

Next skater comes and she skates around some more and crosses the goal line. Tweet.

“Don’t forget, you can’t cross the line.”

Next skater comes and she skates and pushes the right thumbstick forward and shoots, all by herself! This gets her excited but soon enough Daniel Alfredsson ends our run and the game ends. I set up a rematch and she skates in as Eric Staal again, wrists it from the slot and deflects one off the pads and scores!

“Yay Julia!” I’m pretty sure I scared her by yelling so loudly. “You scored!” She raises the controller over her head and bounces up and down in celebration.

Spezza skates in, toe drags and puts a nice one past Ward. Crap. I figured she might actually win it. Matt Cullen (allpraisehisname) skates in next and Julia skates past the goal line again. Ah well. Heatley takes his turn and boofs it so it’s Cory Stillman up next.

Julia skates in, wrists one which deflects off the glove and through Gerber’s legs for a goal! Winner, Julia! Her second NHL08 shootout ever and she wins it. At 4 and a half years old.

Almost brings a tear to my eye.

This will be short as I’m currently being ridden as only a ten cent whore can know, but I had to mention that Cat and I celebrated our tenth anniversary this past week in Napa Valley. We ate our anniversary meal at Cyrus. We, as they sometimes say, went all out. I ate several things I thought would never cross my lips like bone marrow, duck liver, and brains. It was, frankly, a once in a lifetime experience and truly glorious.

Thankfully, it shall be a once in a lifetime experience since they demanded essentially all of my money to feed us those seven (!) succulent courses.

Yesterday I had a quick lunch at a Chick-Fil-A restaurant, reading my book and just relaxing and taking a break. A gentleman near me wasn’t relaxing. He was interviewing. It was the most depressing attack on dignity I think I’d ever heard.

I imagine among fast food joints there are worse jobs. I worked at McDonalds when I was 16 and it was a wonderful opportunity to learn important concepts like “graduating from college” and “never, ever working in the food service industry.” This fellow was older and had obviously done a lot in his life. He had military experience, had had many jobs. And yet here was this greasy, middle-aged Chick-Fil-A manager asking him weighty questions as he interviewed for a minimum wage job at a goddamned fast food joint.

“Who are your heroes and why?”

I tried hard not to pay attention. I really wanted to read my book but as automobile crashes tend to draw the eye, I simply couldn’t help trying to bend an ear to listen in. The interviewee was facing away from me so I couldn’t really hear all of his answers. He tried gamely to tell this jackass what he needed to hear to offer him a job slinging fries or working the cash register.

“When you’re getting ready for work, what kinds of things do you pay special attention to?”

Lacing my shoes? Assuring myself that my underwear is crisply starched? Determine whether to wax my ass?

“Tell me how you work with a team.”

I find teams are better when they leave me alone.

And, of course, they’re performing this interview out in the restaurant at a spare table. Not that there’s anything wrong with working there, quite honestly. There’s nothing shameful about it. But be realistic in your interviewing demands if you’re offering minimum wage work.