Wimsey's Blog:Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 15
May 4th 2007

Hello everyone, it’s me Wimsey! As you can see I am experimenting with a new font and size for my diary. My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have also been very preoccupied with fonts this week as it seems that since I am becoming such an important character I am to have my own business cards!

For all those font fanatics out there, it has been decided that Comic Sans is the Official Wimsey Font-- which, considering my propensity for playing jokes, (mostly of the painful physical kind), seems particularly appropriate. There appears also to be a font called “Baskerville” (as in hound of) and one called “Whimsy.” (I hate when people misspell my name). Now whilst neither of these fonts was deemed to have the requisite aesthetic appeal, their use was tempting nevertheless as they would have made a terrific “in joke”—assuming that I should ever have to give my card to an actual graphic artist, that is!

Now apparently it is not only graphic artists who know about fonts—it turns out that Maria is a veritable “font of knowledge” herself. Why? Who knows? It is not exactly like she is setting type in her apartment. She is very passionate about fonts-- she says they are fascinating (??!!) –second only to hounds, in fact. (I will magnanimously not comment on being compared to a font, but I have a gob of drool with her name on it). It was all, “Now Wimsey, don’t criticize. After all you find peeing on flowers interesting and I don’t. We are all different. Diversity makes life more interesting.” (funny how humans are so big on diversity yet they all pretty much look and act the same. Perhaps they should take a lesson from the Hound and breed some really big shaggy ones and some really small, smooth ones and maybe they could even develop some that bay properly or spin before they poop ((it is a little known fact that poop cannot happen without the spin—something to do with centrifugal force, I believe)). But of course life would be a lot more interesting if Maria would learn how to pump gas instead of studying fonts.

Oddly enough it was actually Elizabeth who selected the Comic Sans font and then called Maria to tell her the exiting news. Well, there was such squealing and squeaking that you would have thought that I had won Westminster! Actually, it turns out that, unbeknownst to Elizabeth (who in contrast doesn’t know a seraph from a sausage and thinks all fonts look pretty much the same) she had inadvertently selected Maria’s favorite font. Now anyone who cares enough about fonts to actually have a favorite one is in serious need of a life. How on earth am I ever going to find her a boyfriend?

Wingman Wimsey: Hello there nice smelling studly fellow who doesn’t mind clothes splotched with drool. May I introduce you to my human, Maria. She loves romantic walks on the beach, candlelight dinners and fonts.

I mean really. And not that Elizabeth is all that much better. She can tell you what Catherine of Aragon liked to eat for breakfast but doesn’t have the least idea how to operate a needle and thread; she even has to go to a tailor to get buttons sewn back on :

Tailor: But Madam, it’s only a button.

Elizabeth: I know. But can it be fixed?

They are quite a pair these two, no wonder they appreciate me so much—I can do so many useful things, like forcing them to focus on something other than fonts and Tudors, for instance.

Unlike my humans, we Hounds are nothing if not practical: if we see a vertical surface, we pee on it, if we see a human with two hands we poke at them to pet us, if we see something we fancy, we bay at it, if humans sit down, we sit on them, if they eat, we stick our noses in their food, if food appears in our food bowl, we sniff at it and give our humans a disdainful glance for failing to provide the filet mignon portion of the meal.

But having said all this, Maria is actually quite an excellent owner of a Hound (Elizabeth says this is because she doesn’t know any better having only had hounds instead of proper dogs).

The Wimsey Primer on Hound Ownership:

An owner of a Hound:

● Must be intelligent (someone has to be)

● Must have a sense of humor and think being humiliated is fun

● Must not mind coming in a distant third behind a Hound’s nose and stomach

● Must enjoy the sound of houndly concertizing

● Must not mind living in a drool coated abode

● Must not like designer clothing

● Must have a really good dry cleaner

● Must enjoy the fragrant and lingering odor of eau de hound that wafts everywhere the Hound has been

● Must not expect their commands to be taken seriously

● Must not mind the presence of the Hound’s nose, jowls and ears in their cereal bowls (we frequently don’t actually want to eat the food, just to smell it)

● Must enjoy the sights and sounds of shredding paper and fabric-- an important Hound hobby

● Must be guided in all things by the needs and requirements of The Hound


But I digress (Just like Marcel Proust! See entry # 14). We were originally talking about my business cards. Now that I have business cards and can be contacted, I am sure that all kinds of important people will be calling me for advice:

Secretary: Wimsey, here are today’s messages:

President Bush called: His terrier Barney ate the latest Middle East peace treaty—he wants to know if he should be punished. Also, if you have any ideas about how to get out of out of Iraq, he’d appreciate it.

Jacques Chirac called. He wants to know if you think he should vote Sego or Sarko.

Mayor Bloomberg called. Someone has been peeing on the flower beds in Central Park; he wants to know if you have any idea who that could be. Also someone is making cheap knock offs of the statue of Balto—he wants you to investigate.

Mark Burnett called. He wants to know if you have any interest in being on the next Survivor—the castaways need help finding food.

Donald Trump called. He wants to know if you will snuffle all the Miss USA contestants to see if they are using drugs. Also, he wants to know where you get your hair groomed.

Angelina Jolie called. She’s thinking about collecting Hounds instead of third world children and wants to know what you think.

Condoleeza Rice called. She wants to know if you’d consider being her wingman. Also she wants to know if you think peeing on Iran’s nuclear reactors would put them out of commission.

Tom Cruise called (Again) he wants to talk to you about scientology and how it can enhance your career.

Cesar Milan called—he wants to know if you want to book a session (I tossed this one out)

Oh yes, and Maria’s mother called. She wants you to stop making fun of her daughter. Also she said to say that Lucida Sans Unicode is a better font than Comic Sans.

I can hardly wait until my card is in everyone’s rolodex (electronic of course, I hate paper—it’s why I shred anything made of the stuff)!

Well before I return to the couch for more beauty rest, I just wanted to say that my show preparations are proceeding at a frenetic pace. It has been decided that Elizabeth is going to be my first show ring victim—she will be showing me in Trenton on Sunday and she is quite busy selecting suitable show ring attire (including shoes that she thinks will help keep her upright when I take off with her); Maria is boiling up fresh liver and both ladies think they are going to bathe me themselves before the show. That should be a show in itself. I have the feeling that I will have quite a lot to say next week!

Until then,

I remain,

Wimsey: a dog with business cards