Dilbert Doesn’t Have A Blog

Dilbert using the internet

The Dilbert Blog is by Scott Adam, although it isn’t about Dilbert. It’s about Scott Adam. For example, from October 24, 2005:

My blog is the only writing you’ll see from me that doesn’t first go through a professional editor. That means plenty of grammar and punctuation wrecks for you to enjoy. I blame the public education system.
The only reason I dare writing this blog is because I have absolutely no sense of embarrassment. Most people would be horrified at the prospect of proving their ignorance to thousands of readers. My attitude is more along the lines of “I have thousands of readers? Cool.”

I’m not a regular reader of the Dilbert comic, but I’ve added this blog to my bloglines list of feeds. His style is similar to Dave Barry‘s, except he seems more honest.

Kids Telling Jokes

Caitlyn in the fall, 2005My 4 year old daughter learned knock-knock jokes about a year ago, a never-ending source of entertainment for her; she loves to make them up:

Who’s there?
Bath who?
Bath me because it’s almost bed time!

And we both crack up whether it’s funny or not.

Today she told me a regular joke for the first time:

What do you call a sleeping gorilla?
I don’t know. What do you call a sleeping gorilla?
A sleeping gorilla!

“I joked ya, Dad!”, she says as we both start laughing.

Leaving Your Kids In The Care Of Strangers

I dropped my 4½ year old daughter, Caitlyn, off at pre-school today for the first time. My wife has always done it, so I didn’t give it much thought before now: I’m leaving my kid with strangers who don’t know she eats tomatoes like apples; she has to have sea salt on her sliced cucumbers; her first fish, Fishy Fish, died after six months and is now fertilizing our garden, which she thinks is “awesome”; can name all the planets, thanks to that Blue’s Clues tune (The sun’s a hot star, and mercury’s hot too…); loves going to my “church“; loves to watch MythBusters with me (Adam sure is silly, Dad)…

I didn’t know where the classroom was in the school, so Caitlyn led me around, taking her shoes off outside the room, digging for her sneakers in a box full of tiny kids’ sneakers, hanging her coat up on the little hanger, then running into the room without giving me a second glance.

No response.
She looks my way, wondering at the annoyance that’s calling her name.
“What Dad?”
“I’m going.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“C’mere and give me a hug or something before I start crying.”
“Don’t cry, Dad”, she says as she runs over to me. “You won’t miss me because I’ll see you again after school.”