Book Review: Teach Your Dog to Drive!

In my premiere entry I mentioned that I am an avid collector of the obscure and fascinating, and I would now very much like to share with you an example of what I mean.

Among the books in my vast library is a volume entitled Teach Your Dog to Drive!, by Mathilde Rhinegold. I had long avoided it, mostly because the imperative nature of its title compelled me to ignore its command out of pure spite, but I recently underwent a change of heart and decided to put its intriguing premise to the test.

For said test I needed a dog, and of my three loyal rottweilers I chose Cordelia. I made this decision based on the fact that when fancy strikes me I quite enjoy waltzing with my dogs on their hind legs, and of my dance partners Cordelia carries herself with the most grace by far. For a car I decided to employ my Bugatti Veyron, seeing as how it is the only vehicle I own with an automatic gearshift option and teaching a dog how to use a clutch is sadly, as Ms. Rhinegold's book vehemently warns, too much to hope for.

Cordelia seemed quite happy, if confused, as I guided her into a sitting position upon the driver's seat and attached the homemade "driving stilts" (which I fashioned with my trusty arc welder as per the book's instructions) to her rear paws. The real struggle began when she developed a fascination with licking the side window instead of facing forward. I was finally able to attract her focus in the right direction---with her forepaws perched on the wheel in the proper ten-and-two position---when I placed her favorite toy, Mr. Squeakyfrog, on the dashboard just out of reach. Although I was somewhat dismayed by the fact that she still wasn't actually watching the road, she looked enough like the picture of the dog in the book for me to proceed.

The situation, unfortunately, deteriorated rather rapidly from there. The book insists that dogs will develop an understanding of cause and effect when they begin using the accelerator and brake pedals, which is not entirely untrue, but as a result Cordelia became quite fond of pressing both at once, barking along excitedly as the engine roared. When we finally did begin moving it was a chaotic affair that saw the demise of many treasured rosebushes: apparently teaching a dog to regulate speed while simultaneously learning to steer is not the beautiful, cathartic process that the book portrays it as being.

And so it was that my hopes of being chauffeured around the town by my pet as passers-by looked on in envy and wonder ended up being cruelly dashed. Moreover, I now strongly suspect that this Mathilde Rhinegold is or was in fact some manner of hippie---a prospect I find rather difficult to stomach. Again, however, I feel I have stumbled upon a subject which requires an explanation for which I do not have time. Ah well---perhaps another time. For now I am off to bed, to dream chartreuse-tinted fantasies that will hopefully free my mind from the pain of recalling such dog-powered vehicular mayhem.

The International Brotherhood of Luddites

Before I continue any further in this biographical log, I feel it is important to note that I do so not without risk to life and limb. The reason for this is that I am a member of The International Brotherhood of Luddites, though these days I must admit that I am so more in name than in practice.

The Brotherhood (which shuns the acronym "IBL", in addition to all other acronyms) began during the Industrial Revolution as a recreational machine-smashing and billiards club composed of those select members of the idle rich whose wealth came from sources unrelated to mechanical labor. It still thrives to this very day, and its newspaper, the Anti-Golem Monthly, remains the most widely circulated publication delivered exclusively by carrier pigeon. Currently there are still only two branches in the Brotherhood---the American Branch and the Canadian Branch---due to the fact that carrier pigeons are incapable of traveling any further than one hundred miles at a stretch. A friendly rivalry exists between them, culminating each year when we all gather for the Brotherhood's spirited robot-hunting tournament.

My family has possessed a hereditary seat in the Brotherhood for many generations now, an enmity having been forged between my ancestors and machines when my thrice-great grandfather was gleefully dismembered by a McCormick reaper. My current disenchantment with the Brotherhood stems from a falling out I had with its current president, Dalton Heliophage, over a most beautiful and hirsute young woman, but that is a story for another time.

If the Brotherhood were to find out about this biographical log, or indeed about the mere fact that I now possess a computer, both my membership and my very existence would be placed in severe jeopardy. Having seen them lynch a fellow member over the use of a vending machine in the past, I could only imagine what horrors would await me for my transgressions. Yet still I feel compelled not only to write, but to write about the very forces who would do me in! Perhaps the knowledge that any Brotherhood member who dabbled enough in technology to discover these writings would in essence be writing his own death warrant if he told of the fact is enough to provide me with ample security, or perhaps the sum of my advancing years has finally freed me from the last of my tact. Whatever the cause, I now leave it to the Fates to determine the consequences. What fun that shall be!

Season's Tidings!

Salutations all!

As the scent of elderberry candles mixes with that of the twenty-three-foot Scotch pine from which they are hung, I recline here in my study and contemplate the quiet joys of the Christmas season while watching my three loyal rottweilers playfully contest ownership of a pig femur at my feet. Perhaps later I shall hammer out some carols on my collection of decommissioned church bells, or fashion some manner of snow-creature upon the grounds of my estate. Truly it is a joyous time of year; my one regret is that it inevitably passes all too quickly.

But pray forgive me: I have begun this entry without antecedent, and have yet to offer you anything in the way of a proper introduction!

My name is Cornelius Eldrich, and I have only just recently begun to chart a course through these and various other Internets after receiving my very first computer as a lagniappe with my purchase of a 19XRW Hoverwing. It is my intent here to establish a biographical log of my adventures in this new medium, along with tales of various cultural artifacts that I feel the world at large has a right to know more about. I have long been a devotee of seeking out and collecting obscure novelties, and indeed it appears that the horsepower of the many "search engines" I have tried has proven insufficient in conjuring up any existing reference to many of them.

I very much hope you'll join me in this exciting new venture and offer up your own opinions, queries and grievances as you see fit. Happy journeys to you all, in the holiday season and beyond!