Something always goes to hell in a handbasket when I have to go on a work trip. When I heard Gatsby moving around in the kitchen, I got up and walked in there to give him some attention. But he wasn't there. Instead, there's scratching in the cabinet above the stove. I turned on the light and opened the door.

The media and my own television have been focused this week on the Democratic National Convention. Try as I might to write about the only thing going on, it's very hard to find an interesting spin on the proceedings.

Let's start with the good: the Madonna concert started with Vogue, and the concert could have ended at the end of that number. We would have said something like, "she could have sung a few more songs, but man, it was really good."

When I got to work this morning, I had a note on my computer that said, "Check in the morning." I had the sense yesterday evening to write a note, knowing that I would forget to check. However, I neglected to tell myself what I was checking. Getting old sucks.

On Sunday night, I will be at the Madonna concert in Atlanta. I fully expect the most awe-inducing show that I've ever seen. I'm also pretty excited just to have a couple of days off work, and a weekend away from yard-slave laboring, even if it is just for a road trip to Atlanta.

Brent and Crystal have raised good kids so far. Annika and Jake are tough, active little ones. No one ever stops to whine over a bruise; they just pick themselves up and keep moving, no matter what happens. On the other hand, I've heard Jake scream loud enough to blast paint off of a wall when he was put to bed. And I've heard him keep this up for 30 minutes or more. So keeping them for a weekend was certain to be an adventure.

Mrs theskinnyonbenny and I went up to Natchitoches this weekend for the Fourth of July. Crystal and Brent were in town with all of their kids (they're up to three of them for those who have lost count). There's nothing too major or exciting to report, and I forgot my cameras until we were an hour out of Baton Rouge. So all I have are a few disjointed observations.

I can't get enough of the Tour de France on TV. I've been watching the tour since all we got was a half-hour highlight show in the evening. Now, OLN shows us every grueling minute three times a day, so if I make the slightest effort to watch, I can catch the stage. This year, TIVO makes it all the more viewable, since I can skip the commercials and start the viewing when I'm ready for it.

Last night, while I was walking Daisy, my Ipod ran out of juice. It was a little different with just the sounds of the night rather than the soundtrack that Ipod chooses for me. Daisy and I usually walk at 9:00. I sometimes get asked why we walk at such an odd hour. Well, here are the reasons:

I'm still not real impressed with the summer movies that I've seen previewed so far. We went last night, and I had a flash of excitement seeing the submariners from Hunt for Red October on the screen. Wouldn't it be exciting to take those guys and make a new movie, without being constrained by a Tom Clancy plotline? But no, it turns out that is was just Sponge Bob Square Pants, playing with a toy submarine that was causing the crew so much havoc.

Once upon a time, Mrs. skinnyonbenny was just a young college girl named Heather, and I was the yankee guy that she kept bringing home for visits. It's important to note that I had not 6 ounces of muscle on me at that time. Home for Heather happened to be a working cattle farm, so occasionally, I got put to work. On this particular day, I don't recall getting any advance notice or warning that we were going to work, just a sudden invitation to take part.

This morning on Sports Center, we got a three-second snippet on the Rock-Paper-Scissors national championship. Yes, there is a series of people who go to a big city and compete in Rock-Paper-Scissors. Naturally, I'm intrigued, so I've endeavored to find out more. One thing to know about me is that I think mathematically and logically. And with that thinking, Rock-Paper-Scissors is a fair game of chance. It should be as predictive and as fair as a coin toss, or cutting for the higher card. Try as I do to believe that this is the case, my real-world experience with RPS proves this to be false.