Our golden retriever, Oliver, is turning three next week, and I’ve been thinking that the dog has matured beautifully. It’s not just his body, which is no longer gangly but sleek and muscular. It’s his behavior.

Oliver is much calmer these days, only demanding to play at 4 a.m. twice a week, tops. And he’s more sophisticated in his choice of playthings, forgoing the duck-on-a-rope in favor of a taupe Dolce and Gabbana sandal.

Oliver’s choosing more adult activities: he’s taken up tennis. He prefers to do this when we’re not home, but I see the evidence: tennis equipment is lovingly arranged in the yard. (The saliva wipes right off Tom’s racket.) And he’s become more helpful around the house. When I returned from the market yesterday, that exuberant body block really accelerated the process of emptying my grocery bags.

He’s also more social than he was a year ago. For instance, he initiates lively conversations with the mailman. He used to be rather shy; it’s lovely to see this new interest in interaction. Sadly, the mailman always seems to be in a hurry, rushing off before Oliver can complete a sentence. But the dog is resilient: he goes merrily off to talk animatedly with the neighbors’ pit bull, through their barbed wire.

In his new, less self-centered maturity, Oliver has shown an increased interest in other animals. When I take him for an on-leash stroll, the sight of a squirrel thrills him. (FYI: ice works really well on a dislocated shoulder.) Also, he very kindly helps gophers establish residence in our back yard with a little communal digging.

I will admit that Oliver needs a little polishing in the manners department. For instance, last night, he should have asked politely before he ate Tom’s pesto turkey burger. But hey, details. It’s taken some tough love, but Oliver has become one heck of a pooch.

Click here for a recipe for Oliver’s, I mean Tom’s pesto turkey burger.

Today is a day of great historical significance. I know what you’re all thinking: footprints in moon dust. Well, July 20th got famous long before 1969. Let’s take a look at a certain wacky business that took place in Massachusetts in 1801.

In what some might describe as an act of collective insanity, citizens of the town of Cheshire put together a cheese ball and shipped it as a gift to Thomas Jefferson, who had just defeated John Adams in a run for president. I know what you’re thinking: big deal, right? You just sent your cousin Larry a cheese ball last week. Well, what gives this story edge is that the Cheshire cheese ball weighed 1235 pounds.

Historians have recorded that when the “mammoth cheese ball” arrived at Jefferson’s doorstep, it “caused consternation.” Ya think? Okay, so maybe some of the concern was about the tension between Jefferson’s supporters and the friends of Adams; for all anyone knew the gift was sort of a Trojan Cheese Ball, loaded with hostile Adams-huggers, who would wait till nightfall and then burst forth and TP the White House.

But if I were the president, I’d have other worries. I mean, what do you do with a cheese ball the size of a Buick? Even if Jefferson had a fridge, it would most likely not be up to the task of preserving the ball. So then what happens? Either you invite the whole county over for a cheese party (BYO crackers), or the ball is left on the front lawn to deteriorate, stinking up the neighborhood and alienating visiting dignitaries.

Since I have a birthday coming up in the fall, I’d like to say publicly that, if anyone is thinking of gifting me with a 1235 pound cheese ball, please re-think. I’d much rather have something more manageable, like some Manolos or a cute spatula.

If you are hell-bent on sending me a cheese ball, please follow this recipe
which is for a ball of more reasonable proportions.

I’ve just learned that chewing gum is against the law in Singapore. No wonder my friends who lived there moved back to Des Moines.

Apparently the law was enacted in 1992 due to ‘incorrect disposal’ of dead gum: citizens stuck it under restaurant tabletops one too many times.

We need no such law in America; we are much more self-disciplined with regard to gum disposal. We have the Wall of Gum.

The city of Seattle is the proud host of the massive Wall, which has ample space for all Americans to deposit their expired Double Bubble in a correct, responsible way.

Understandably, the wall has been pronounced the second most germy tourist attraction in the world (second only to the Blarney Stone) but we go anyway, determined to protect our restaurant tables from that knee-sticking blight that led to Singapore’s Draconian crackdown.

As everyone knows, chewing gum develops muscular jaws and it helps you concentrate. (You’re supposed to chew while taking the  SATs.) If the Singaporians are tired of having weak jaws and not getting into Harvard, they should forward these pictures of the Wall to the people who make gum laws. This senseless deprivation should end; Singapore should build one of these babies and let their citizens get back to gum.

It started a few weeks ago when one of the world’s most famous women took her clothes off publicly: the nude version of the Mona Lisa was discovered, closeted in some guy’s (really old) library. Since then, there’s been a rash of worldwide nude activity.

First, there was that Nude Bicycling Day. Hundreds of bicyclists around the planet stripped and jumped on their bike seats (speaking of a rash). Then, in mid-month, the news was full of that nude rugby match in New Zealand. (If you don’t believe me, click here to check out the team in play, miraculously photographed without exposure of anyone’s, um, Monty.)

Then, as if we had not had our fill of nude news, there was Nude Hiking Day on the Sunday of the solstice. Bare-assed people participated all across America, trudging up the Rockies and marching down the Appalachian Trail. (Mark Sanford missed out on a good thing.)

So it’s hardly surprising to hear about that guy on the US Airways flight today who disrobed, forcing an emergency landing in Albuquerque and some expert blanket positioning by the flight attendant.

Who are we to call him nuts? Given the state of things, I’d say he was just getting with the program.