Recently in Berkeley Category

As eagle-eyed sidebar readers and social networking friends may have already noticed, I've gone ahead and thrown up a few pictures of Berk and I enjoying the summer nearby. The sheltie in question was never a frisbee dog back in the city, but, y'know, I think he's starting to get the hang of it.

"Sympathetic owners sometimes just retire their new purchases. In other cases, the pets take matters into their own paws. Peter Haney, a university administrator in Lethbridge, Alberta, twice found his Roomba in pieces after letting it clean while his flat-coated retrievers, Macleod and Tima, had the run of the house. 'No one is talking,' he says." They're only trying to save us from our future cybernetic overlords...From the bookmarks and by way of a friend, the WSJ broaches the thorny issue of the canine-robot divide. As I noted earlier, the Battle for 122nd St., 5D went to Berkeley, whose fearsome arsenal of dog hair apparently convinced my Roomba to give up hope.

"When someone from the audience asked Mary McDonnell, who plays President Roslin, if Barack Obama had approached her to be his running mate, she replied that Hillary had. At which point Douglas quipped: 'Hillary's the final cylon.' Badabum!" The promotional campaign for BSG Season 4 gets rolled out of drydock, including a stop on Letterman's Top 10. [Text.] Not great, frankly, but it's redeemed by #5, #1, and the World's Most Dangerous Band's mean version of "All along the Watchtower." If you're not caught up, Season 3 came out last Tuesday. If you are, Season 4 premieres Friday, April 4.

By the way, the first link is via High Industrial, who's also recently linked to this great dog-cylon friendship, one considerably more symbiotic than Berk and the now defunct Roomba. (It apparently got distressed by all the dog hair and up and pulled a Marvin. Now it just sits there "recharging" and won't vacuum a frakking thing.)

So I surreptitiously received some very interesting photos from the Clinton campaign this morning...

Yep, Berkeley, GitM's resident ombudsdog and Sheltie-American, turned eight today. [3, 4, 5, 6, 7.] As you can see, he finds all the dissermatating a bit of a drag sometimes, but otherwise is his normal spastic self, particularly with other dogs, squirrels, and/or Evil afoot.

Blah Blah Blah Berkeley...Scientists in Hungary have apparently developed a computer program that speaks basic canine. "After analyzing digital versions of the barks, overall the computer program correctly identified the kinds of barks the dogs made 43 percent of the time — about the same as humans' 40 percent...The software identified 'walk' and 'ball' barks better than people, although people identified 'play' and 'alone' barks better than the software."

Hmm. I don't want to dismiss the advance of science, but that's a pretty low success rate. (And I'd wager most dog owners can get the thread of their own pet's barking more often than 40% of the time.) More interestingly, though, "'I'm pretty sure this could work with any animal vocal signals,' Molnár told LiveScience" So, when the Dolphin Wars start, you'll know why.

Which reminds me, longtime readers may remember that Berk and I were part of the test group for the American release of the Bowlingual. Alas, that version of this technology wasn't really ready for primetime.

"He had managed to climb out through the cat flap in the night, obviously with the intent to get Arthur back. Bearing in mind that Arthur was a huge cat, Oscar must have used all the strength he could muster. Then he pulled him into the basket and went to sleep next to him. Arthur’s coat was gleaming white. Oscar had obviously licked him clean. It must have taken him nearly all night." The Times has a moving story about a dog mourning his best buddy. (And, a cat even! Dogs and cats living together...mass hysteria.) Update: Megg at Quiddity has posted another interesting tale of animal friendship.

In Francis Lawrence's I am Legend, Will Smith wanders the streets of New York City, his only companion his trusty, loyal, and free-spirited canine sidekick. To stave off the despair and dementia that lurks behind interminable loneliness, he dotes on his dog and immerses himself in routine: He watches as many movies as possible, indulges in his music collection, broadcasts his continued existence into the ether, and throws himself into his work, a solitary investigation marked by repetition and feelings of futility, one whose fruits he knows will more than likely go unused and unread. To all of this, I say: Who the hell wants to sit through a movie about the last year and change of grad school? And couldn't they find a sheltie to play l'il Berk? (As for yours truly, I'd have gone Philip Seymour Hoffman or Paul Bettany -- maybe Michael Cera for the flashbacks -- but, hey, Will Smith works too.)

Seriously, though, when I first heard word they were doing another take on Richard Matheson's eerie 1954 novella, and that word was penned by hackmeister Akiva Goldsman and read "We're blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge!", I figured this would be a big budget stinker, along the lines of Alex Proyas' version of I, Robot. And yet, while a action blockbuster has been grafted onto the basic story (and it's moved from suburban California to the heart of Metropolis), Francis Lawrence's I am Legend is surprisingly true to the grim feel of the novella. In short, Legend is a much quieter and more melancholy film than I ever expected. And, while it definitely has some problems, it's probably my favorite big budget blockbuster of the year, with the possible exception of The Bourne Ultimatum. True, Lawrence's take on Constantine in 2005 turned out better than I figured as well. Still, I'm actually quite surprised by how moody and haunting this film turned out to be. (And, give credit where it's due. Like Paul Haggis and In the Valley of Elah, I'm forced to concede that Goldsman might not always be the kiss of death.)

I am Legend begins innocuously enough with a sports report -- It looks like the Yankees and Cubs in the World Series, although LA has an outside shot at a pennant too. But, in the near future, it ain't just the ball players injecting experimental serums anymore. As a doctor (Emma Thompson) on the news informs us, scientists have altered the measles to work as the ultimate body-cleansing virus, in effect working as a cure for cancer. (A Cure for Cancer! This follows the baseball scores?) Cut to New York City, three years later. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, nothing beside remains...except one man (Will Smith) and his dog (Abbey), chasing down a herd of deer through the empty steel corridors of a desiccated Manhattan. (Sorta like Llewellyn Moss in No Country for Old Men, except now that country is everywhere, and the deermeat is worth more than the bag of money.) Clearly, something has gone Horribly Wrong. As we come to discover, that heralded cure backfired in dismal fashion, killing 90% of the Earth's population immediately and turning the rest, a la the rage virus in 28 Days and 28 Weeks Later, into violent, depraved monsters with a taste for blood and a susceptibility to sunlight. This Last Man on Earth is one Robert Neville, an army scientist (blessedly immune to the disease) who spends his days in a Jamesian manse on Washington Square, working on a cure to beat back the infection, and his nights just trying to stay alive. (Put simply, "scientific atrocity, he's the survivor.") But, even with Samantha, his German shepherd, by his side, the loneliness and omnipresent danger are taking their toll. And as he succumbs deeper into hopelessness -- and the creatures show signs of learning -- his coping strategies begin to shift. Forget the cure...Maybe it's time just to chase these Crazy Baldheads out of town...

Now, as I said, I am Legend does have it share of problems. The movie becomes more of a conventional actioner as it moves along, and the last act in particular feels weaker than the rest of the film. Looking exactly like the cave-dwellers in Neil Marshall's The Descent, the CGI creatures have an ill-favored and badly-rendered look, and the more you see of them the less scary they become. Also, in complete counterpoint to what Dr. Neville tells us about the infecteds' "social deevolution," they eventually seem to get behind a Lurtz/Solomon Grundy of sorts. But his presence or authority is never really explained -- he's just a tacked-on Big Bad. I had trouble believing that somebody could've heard of Damien Marley but not his father Bob. (And, since you're seemingly geared to the teeth, Dr. Neville, may I make some suggestions? 1) Infrared scope. 2) Night-Vision goggles.)

All that being said, for most of I am Legend's run it's a surprisingly rich and nuanced film. Will Smith is invariably an appealing presence, but he doesn't rely on his easy charisma or "Aw, hell no!" bluster much here. His performance is tinged with melancholy, and he does some great work in some really awful moments. Also, I feared going in that the canine companion bit would come across as a gimmick, just a cute creature for Smith to bounce off expository monologues. But Sam isn't just Wilson the Volleyball -- she's a living, breathing character of her own. (Nor is she Lassie -- she doesn't seem preternaturally smart, and occasionally does dumb dog things, which seemed all too realistic.) And then there's New York after the Fall, which in itself is a sort of character in the film. In shot after shot (somewhat akin to, but less showy than, the opening Times Square sequence of Vanilla Sky), Lawrence captures the eeriness of this great city laid low. Other than the aforementioned Brooklyn Bridge, "Ground Zero," as Neville now calls it, hasn't been destroyed or ravaged. It's just empty, an overgrown, city-sized echo chamber for his pangs of isolation. (And as the Marley song goes, "It hurts to be alone.") But, hey, even in a desolate New York City, with vampires lurking in the dark places, there are still plenty of fun ways to pass the time, and particularly if you have a good dog by your side.

Happy Halloween, everyone. While my Shaun of the Dead costume got favorable reviews last October, I've been entertaining vague notions of dressing up as Heath Ledger's Joker this year. (And, as for Berk, my sister Tessa suggested something along the lines of this, which he'd probably prefer to Yoda again.) But, as it turns out, neither Berk nor I have any costume-oriented festivities on the social calendar, so we'll just be sitting home in plainclothes doling out sweets. Still, if you're up for it, the viral marketers at Warner Brothers have initiated a second round of Jokerish shenanigans (a la Comic-Con) over at whysoserious.com, which involves a photo scavenger hunt across several major cities. If you play along, watch out for Bats. Update: As per the norm, that didn't take long. The hidden message, give or take a few letters, reads: "The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules." So, what happens next? Update 2: Guess I should've made that costume after all. After revealing this new pic, the new site (http://www.rorysdeathkiss.com) asks for people to dress as the clown in question and take a pic in front of a famous landmark. Have fun with it, y'all.

Where do they find these people? The GOP leadership has already given us Dr. William "Catkiller" Frist, he of the feline felonies. Now comes word that Republican presidential frontrunner Mitt Romney apparently sees nothing wrong in strapping his family pet to the top of a moving car for twelve hours at a time. (To him, Seamus the Irish Setter just "likes fresh air," so much so that I guess he'd move his bowels in abject terror only occasionally.) Um, Governor, Berk likes fresh air too, but that doesn't mean I bolt him down to the top of speeding NYC taxis. Here's a tip: Having animals ride atop moving cars...good for Teen Wolf, bad for dogs.

No, Mayra Daemon, as in Mayra the Hare, because I'm apparently "modest, humble, spontaneous, inquisitive, and solitary." (Well, they got the solitary part right.) Discover your daemon at the official Golden Compass movie site, which does a decent job of trying to explain the basics of Philip Pullman's world to non-readers. (And, sorry, Mayra m'dear, but I've already got a power animal...no hard feelings.)

If you have a pet, I presume you've already been following this story rather closely. Nevertheless, here's the current list of pet foods recalled as a result of high levels of aminopterin discovered therein. (The current death toll is 16 cats and dogs, with many more expected.) I was somewhat concerned to notice on Friday that Berk's brand (Science Diet) had been added to the list, but apparently the outbreak seems to be confined to their wet food line (and the cat line at that.)

Love is a stranger in an open car...or is it just a much-needed dopamine fix? Somebody writes this story every Valentine's Day. Still, I guess it's something to keep in mind. (And sorry, Berk, you may be my Valentine again this year, but the same type of deconstruction applies to you. No hard feelings, bud.)

Beer for dogs. Glad we finally got that one sorted out.

Sheltie update: Berkeley (who thanks y'all out there for the well-wishes, by the way) is free of the Elizabethan collar that so marred last week, and his foot -- while still occasionally bleeding after a long walk -- is now definitively on the mend. And so, Berk is now back to his usual daily regime of spinning in circles and barking at miasmas of evil from his perch near the window. Welcome back, little fella.

Costumes for Roombas. (Via Quiddity.) Unfortunately, I don't think that slinky french maid number is going to rectify Berk's outstanding issues with the vac-droid.

At a time of incipient civil war in Iraq, civil liberties under siege here at home, and corruption festering in the Capitol, CNN publishes a hard-hitting special report on that critical issue facing the republic, a pet's modern life. I think Berkeley speaks for all Sheltie-Americans on this issue when he says, "Ruff."

Now this is a blizzard. I gotta say, the novelty's already worn off (particularly since, as per the norm, the snow salt is already playing hell with Berk's paws.)

"What's this whole world comin' to? Things just ain't the same...any time the hunter gets captured by the game." Great. Now Berk's gonna have nightmares...I blame Veruca Salt.

As seen on Slate, Iraqi insurgents are apparently using dogs as unwitting suicide bombers. Perhaps it reveals a fundamental inability on my part to confront the grotesque human costs of this conflict, but this...this disgusts me.

Via Webgoddess, catpeople and dogpeople are going claw-to-paw over at AskMeFi. You can probably guess where I fall on this spectrum.

According to this article, scientists recently brought several dogs back from the dead. And, yet, they were somehow changed...

What's that, girl? Peter O'Toole got wasted and fell down a well? Lassie returns to the big screen with O'Toole and Peter Dinklage in tow. I wouldn't normally post this, except it means that even more people are going to shout "Lassie!" at Berk on the street every day.

"Although no one has investigated the possibility of rat humor, if it exists, it is likely to be heavily laced with slapstick." A recent study in Science Magazine explores evolutionary reasons for and examples of animal laughter, including chirping rats and panting dogs. Laugh it up, fuzzball.

To the purported consternation of some privacy advocates, Google unveils its funky new satellite map feature. I'm not too worried yet -- the images are apparently between 6-12 months old...but wait, isn't that Berk and I frolicing in Riverside Park? (Direct link via Supercres.) Update: In keeping with the meme (seen at Girlhacker), here's home from above. This satellite image is at least a year old, as attested by the missing Columbia School for Social Work across the street -- it's been completed since last summer.

I know it's probably bad form to have two dog-pic entries in the same week, but, today is Berkeley's 5th birthday, and allowances must be made. Happy b-day, little buddy.

For the last time, Berkeley, this is not the droid you're looking for. As any of you who've met me in person know, I love the little guy, but sheltie hair is the bane of my existence -- it's invariably all over my carpet, clothes, possessions, etc. (If I ever tried to commit a serious crime, the CSI guys would be at my doorstep in 24-48 hours, carrying Ziploc bags full of the stuff.) Whatsmore, Berk's archnemesis (other than possibly the Door Buzzer) is the Vacuum Cleaner. Whenever I had it out (which was often, due to the endless shedding), he'd go absolutely ballistic, barking up a storm you can hear in the lobby five floors down.

So, given that my old vacuum had died yet again (which has twice cost me $100 to fix), and that I had to go to Toshi Station to pick up some power converters anyway, I procured my first Roomba droid early this afternoon. Alas, it doesn't speak Bocce, but I must admit, it does a pretty solid job of haphazardly sweeping every corner of my nook-and-cranny-filled apartment. Plus, it's a droid. How cool is that?

As for Berk's reaction, the jury is still out. On one hand, he doesn't recognize the (quieter) Roomba unit as a member of the Vacuum clan, so mercifully there's no more barking. But, he definitely doesn't seem to like it tooling around his territory either, and spent most of its first cycle trying to flip it. Ah well, baby steps. I'm sure I'll have 'em playing holographic chess in no time...Roomba, let the Berkeley win.

As you may have noticed, I've added a Flickr window to the GitM sidebar, making good on my earlier threat to regale y'all with more pictures in 2005. Not much new quite yet, but there'll be more to come soon, hopefully - I'll try to go heavy on photogenic Berkeley pics and keep yours truly safely ensconsed behind the keyboard where I belong.

Gratuitious dog-blogging: Somewhere amid the blur of final papers, blue books, christmas schmoozing, prospectus revising, and freelance projects that have filled up the past week or so, my visiting brother finally managed to get Berkeley to sit still in the Batman costume I bought him a few years ago long enough for me to take a picture. Please, nobody call the ASPCA.

Yesterday's anniversary made it occur to me that it's been ages since we've had any gratuitous Berkeley pics around here. So, without further ado, here's me trying to get Berk to pose next to the Boy and Dog Tom Otterness sculpture gracing my street corner (along with Fallen Dreamer) until this weekend. As you can see, there were more interesting goings-on elsewhere...

The Post's Jonathan Yardley reviews A Dog's History of America.

"The border collie, a breed known primarily for its herding ability, was able to go to the room with the toys and, seven times out of 10, bring back the one he had not seen before. The dog seemingly understood that because he knew the names of all the other toys, the new one must be the one with the unfamiliar name." New research suggests that dogs understand language quicker than we think. Duh...You should see how fast Berk learned the menu at KFC/Taco Bell.

So I finally received the Bowlingual translator that Berk earned a few months ago and...well, as you might expect, it's a bust. Unless I've been wildly misreading Berk's behavior for years now, the translator appears to be randomly guessing, with the same string of barks eliciting diametrically opposed emotions. In other words, it's useless, unless you really want to interact with your dog via a Tamagotchi. (Although, to be fair, when I just had to crate Berk for a slew of barks at a dog on the street, the Bowlingual responded, "You just don't get it.") That might in fact be true.

France's five-star hotels appeal to canine connoisseurs. There's zero chance of my taking Berk to Paris anytime soon, although we do occasionally trek to Taco Bell.

Hey y'all...busy weekend over here in these parts. Aside from a final orgy of TIME-reading to put an end to my summer research work, I also went to go check out the Creative Time fireworks show, where I spent most of the 4-and-some-odd minutes trying to prevent Berkeley from having a coronary (Lousy judgment on my part bringing him...I thought he might enjoy night in the Park, but he clearly thought he was back on Hill 243.) And I got to see St. Felix Station, my friend's great bluegrass band over at Pete's Candy Store in Williamsburg (and was delighted to find said candy store has a weekly trivia night...booyah.)

"The idea is to figure out what a dog was born to do—herd, hunt, retrieve, sit decoratively on laps—and find ways to do it." Slate examines the burgeoning world of dog fulfillment. What Berk was emphatically not born to do was spend three weeks in a kennel, but ah well. These are trying times. He's been in the joint before...he can handle it. (And, while I'm on the subject of canines, I also enjoyed this self-medicating dog story from Drudge.)

The picture in the top left was getting kinda stale (and I'd lost the beard a few months ago), so I pulled out the digital camera today and took a few shots of me and Berkeley. Here's the results:

So I just got back from a rather lucrative 1-hour "dog psychology" marketing session in Uris Hall (a.k.a. the Columbia business school), which I signed up for after seeing a flyer earlier in the week. For one hour of hypothesizing what Berkeley would say in various situations, I got a free lunch, $50 in cold, hard cash (we're going to have to make a trip to the pet store), and a coupon for a free (and somewhat goofy) $120 Bowlingual dog translator, to be redeemed when they arrive Stateside in August. Apparently they're trying to come up with a stock of English phrases for the US release. So, if you happen to buy one of these and it tells you your canine is saying things like "I defy you," "The madness has come upon me," and "Your coming here is as the footsteps of doom," you'll know why.

Slate examines the psychology of racist dogs. Fortunately, Berkeley doesn't have this problem - he barks madly at anybody with the temerity to knock on my door, regardless of race (along with any random forces of evil passing through.)

A very happy birthday to Berkeley, who turns three today. Since that's 21 in dog years, I expect all kinds of shenanigans in the apartment this evening while I'm out tutoring.

Hmmm...let's see how Zen this dog is once we get some bacon in the room, or for that matter, when Berkeley starts yelping at him for absolutely no reason in particular. Then I'll be impressed. (Sent via High Industrial.)

Take that, cat lovers. Scientists delve deeper into the inextricable links between humans and dogs. But, if this is true, why can't I convince Berkeley to stop chewing the comforter?

No, according to these guys, it really does. There's no question Berkeley's a lot more docile with "The Breaking of the Fellowship" on or somesuch. And when "Where's Your Head at?" is blaring, he knows it's time to jump up and down and run around in circles. (Via Follow Me Here.)

I dreamed I saw St. Tuffy, alive as you or me...

A new study finds dogs have higher language and math skills than you'd think.

So Berk and I went to the dog park as usual this sweltering morning and, not five minutes after we get there, he starts whimpering and pawing at the gate - something I've never seen him do before. So we leave, and he basically drags me home at a full clip the whole ten minutes. Just as we get to the doorstep, the sky splits open and a wicked thunderstorm emerges right on top of us. Vast sheets of rain and thunder so nearby I'm expecting a power outage any minute. It's nice sometimes to have a PreCog dog.

The Clintons get a new dog.