You know what really wasn't ever satisfactorily explained? How is it that Scooby Doo has a nephew? I don't remember seeing the episode where they premiered Scrappy Doo, but I would like to take a look back and see if there's any mention of where the little guy came from. I have my own hypothesis.

The city of Baton Rouge recently issued us big garbage bins. The prospect of not owning our garbage cans for the first time in our lives caused a brief excitement among my fellow residents.

Here's my public service announcement for this week. My recommendation for your next oil change.

My friends Steve and Jodie have two adorable little girls. He told me a story of how they were being entertained by his computer's screen saver. He had one of those screen savers that scrolled through some collection of pictures and showed each picture for some number of seconds before rolling on to the next. Each time a new picture would come up, the girls would say "Ooooh. Doggie." Or "Ooooh. Airplane." Or whatever the picture was that came up.

There's been much hubbub on the Apple message boards and on blogs regarding the bugginess of the new release of itunes.

I have anger issues this morning. I don't have any good reason to be annoyed, but the messages in my Inbox at work are getting on my last nerve. Reading documents with crap like this are part of my problem:

This past Monday, I had what might have been my personal best football game experience. If you happened to catch any of the sports networks, CNN, or even Al Jazeera, you will know that the Monday Night Football game this week marked the reopening of the Superdome for the first time since Hurricane Katrina. A whole day of hullabaloo was scheduled, and I left work at lunch time to check it all out.

I woke up at 4:00 this morning, and instead of dropping right back off to sleep, I thought about an email from work yesterday. With most people -- and sometimes, even with me -- this would signify a project gone hopelessly awry or an urgent need for a vacation. But my reasons this morning were different. I started to laugh at the message. I was able to hold in the noisy, audible part of the laugh, but I couldn't help the abdominal convulsions, and it jiggled the bed enough to disturb Mrs. theskinnyonbenny.

Dancing With the Stars had its season premier this week, and predictably, the dumpy commentator from the business news channel was eliminated. I say it was predictable -- and that guy was noticeably more clumsy than some of his opponents, but I can't honestly say that I can look at their performances and tell a good one from a bad one. I watch with the same naive innocence that I did when I was real little, watching football without a good understanding of the rules. Some can just follow the ball and enjoy a football game, where the more experienced viewer will might watch for particular offensive or defensive formations. The really, really serious viewer will notice the positioning of specific blockers or defensive players away from the ball.

On Saturday morning, I got to the tailgate party spot early. Between 5:30 and 6:30, I unloaded the astounding amount of crap that I can fit into a Jeep. Although it was still dark, it was already kind of hot. The air was heavy with humidity and there was nary a breeze. I sat down to cool off and switched from hot coffee to a cold bloody mary. About that time, a large group of joggers passed through. I shouted my encouragement. "Hey psychopaths! Come get a donut and a beer!"

Nothing says "it's time for football" better than a message like this.

By the time you see this post, I might have updated my little reading list to the side. Or then again, I might not have. This summer has featured really bad television along with Mrs. theskinnyonbenny being out of town or at work dinners more often than I'm used to. The result is that I've been reading books like Burgess Meredith in that old Twilight Zone episode.