Sometimes there are things that are so familiar to you, you never stop to actually take a closer look.

For instance, it took me more than 30 years to actually realize that Barney’s last name is Rubble. I mean, how hilarious is that? They named this guy Rubble. Of course, when you put it in context, it makes perfect sense. Everyone one on the show was named after some kind of rock, from Fred Flintstone to Rockery Hudstone. Basically every name perpetuated the whole Flintstones theme: the Stone Age. But as a kid growing up, I never stopped to think that Barney’s last name was actually Rubble. Or more accurately, I knew his name was Rubble, but I guess I only ever heard it in the context of a name and never thought about it in terms of vocabulary.

Needless to say, some 40+ years after the show was created, having seen countless episodes, I recently got a good laugh out of the fact that Barney, the dopey side kick, is named after a pile of rocks.

Hosebeast (Noun): Generally used as an insult

Used in a sentence: “Stop horking all the chips, you lousy hosebeast.”

- Contributed by Dave “Cliffy” Grant

My wife and I awoke around 3:30 this morning to the sound of my dog Lucy barking up a storm. She doesn’t bark unless there’s something or someone unexpected hanging around the house, so it was enough alarm for me to get out of bed and turn on the outdoor lights. Looking through the windows, though, I couldn’t see her or the source of the trouble, and she stopped barking when the lights came on.

After several minutes of nervously looking out windows for a prowler, my wife said to me, “Aren’t you going out there?”

Now I didn’t want to percieved as a coward, of course, although I love the thought of venturing into the yard to take on a burglar in my tee shirt, athletic shorts, and flip flops. I had to arm myself, but I didn’t want to make her think I was scared, so I got the most innocuous looking weapon I can find: a flashlight! Fortunately, Mag-Lights are sturdy and have that clubbish feel to them.

So I was standing at the back door, inwardly practicing my deepest and most menacing voice, ready to charge out and chase off an intruder. I flipped the deadbolt, turned on the flashlight, and pulled open the door. And there huddled right in my doorway was the intruder! What did I do? I screamed and slammed the door, of course, saying, “HOLYCRAPTHEREISAFREAKINGRACOONOUTTHERE!!!!”

Now I’ve had some experience with racoons before, but usually at my mom’s old place on the river where there is some wild country still. I did not expect to have such a visitor in my treeless back yard in the middle of the city. Fortunately for me the racoon was no braver than I was, as it ran off from the door when I appeared, and I’m pretty sure I heard a high-pitched little racoon voice screaming as it ran, “HOLYCRAPTHEREISAFREAKINGLUNATICWITHAFLASHLIGHTINTHERE!!!!”

Obviously seeing that somebody needed to put on some pants around my place, Lucy then tried to eat the racoon, which made me feel much safer. They had a little scuffle, and then it bolted over our back fence and disappeared. I’m very pleased and proud to have such a brave and stalwart guard dog, and I’m fairly sure the pee-pee will wash out of my shorts.

Stupid racoon.

Addendum: I’m comforted to know that this type of experience is not unique to me.

I was in the main break room of our office earlier today, warming up my lunch, and the TV in there was sitting on with no one watching it.  It had been left on the NASA channel, which might tell you a great deal about the people I work with.  I, being apparently the last bastion of hope to shepherd these poor saps out of Greater Nerddom, changed the channel to ESPN.

If you watch ESPN these days, all you’ll see is the same episode of SportsCenter over and over again, and that’s great if you want to watch highlights without watching any actual sporting events.  So the top 10 plays of the day came around, and I realized *groan* that we are in that awful time of the year again: the dog days of summer, when there is nothing in the wide world of sports to be interested in.  I could tell this without question because the top 10 plays of the day were all in either baseball or professional drag racing.  No, not Nascar; I mean the super-charged rockets with wheels that go in a straight line for 3 seconds and then either blow up or throw out parachutes.  I didn’t know they had championships for that kind of thing, but they showed a clip of a trophy presentation for a girl that had won her race, presumably without blowing up.  My questions about the sudden appearance of semi-attractive women in car racing constitute another topic entirely;  the more important issue right now is that two or three of the top ten plays on a Monday were from drag racing, and the rest were from baseball.  BAH!!!

I need say no more, except this: oh how I am looking forward already to the kickoff of college football season!

I’ve now shot a 46 on nine holes three times in a row, and a 47 on the last 9 before this stretch.  For my game, that’s an improvement in consistency, and a good step toward the lower average scores I’m looking for, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for the tour just yet.  I know you’re eager to have some tougher competition out there, Tiger, but you’re just going to have to cool your jets.  Stop calling me already.