I'm not in space. I'm away from the internet. I'm not in space. I'm not in space.

Greetings from Germany! Sarah and I finally arrived after nearly 48 hours of travel. Let's just say I'm not really all that pleased with United Airlines and their customer service. Anywho, over the next 10 days, I won't be particularly religious about posting: the Kent's no longer have the internet at their house, so it's a small hassle to get to it. That's all for now; perhaps more later.

Sarah insisted I publish Christmas pictures. I think the middle one was taken in the future (Sarah in 50 years).

Not a creature is stirring, all through the house,
(Not even that roach who’s stuck in the fluorescent light.)
Sarah has sugar plums dancing in her head;
But they’ll stop when I go jump on the bed.
All of a sudden, I heard such a clatter,
But I didn’t run to the window to see what was the matter.
I didn’t throw open the venetian blinds
I knew it was our neighbors, drunk out of their minds.
Again.
I huddled in bed and tried to go back to sleep,
But couldn’t because my mattress is so cheap.
Then I remembered the reason for the day.
So, I’ll just sum up and say:
Christmas morning and all is at rest,
I in my Savior am happy and blest.

Or, I could post the following instead.

Merry Christmas! Sticking with the tradition of the day, I couldn’t sleep in past 6. Those of you who know me will recognize the wonder of that event (in terms of miracles, me not being able to sleep in probably ranks second only to the virgin birth we are celebrating today). In truth, my wakefulness can be attributed more toward my currently-poor sleep schedule than it can be toward Christmas-morning excitement, but we’ll just continue to pretend for old-times sake.

Having been on vacation for all of 1 day, Sarah has proclaimed that she is bored. I told her to shove it, and, instead, she shoved me.

In other news, Sarah and I have almost fully prepared for our upcoming trip: today I washed all of our clothes, cleaned the apartment, wrapped Sarah’s Christmas presents, and cooked some soup that Sarah refused to eat.

I borrowed the following from a guy named Luke (translated by the good people at Zondervan and copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society).

1In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. 2(This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) 3And everyone went to his own town to register.
4So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. 5He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. 6While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, 7and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
The Shepherds and the Angels 8And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ[a] the Lord. 12This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
13Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 14"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."
15When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."
16So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Jesus Presented in the Temple 21On the eighth day, when it was time to circumcise him, he was named Jesus, the name the angel had given him before he had been conceived.
22When the time of their purification according to the Law of Moses had been completed, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23(as it is written in the Law of the Lord, "Every firstborn male is to be consecrated to the Lord"[b]), 24and to offer a sacrifice in keeping with what is said in the Law of the Lord: "a pair of doves or two young pigeons."[c]
25Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. 26It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Christ. 27Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, 28Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: 29"Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss[d] your servant in peace. 30For my eyes have seen your salvation, 31which you have prepared in the sight of all people, 32a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel."
33The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. 34Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, 35so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too."
36There was also a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37and then was a widow until she was eighty-four.[e] She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. 38Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
39When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth. 40And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was upon him.

It’s so close to Christmas, I think I’ll write nothing and give it to you as an early gift. Merry early fake Christmas.

Vacation is upon her; now maybe the screaming will stop. I haven’t finished my Christmas shopping; apparently, I’m waiting until the last possible instant. My head is sore; next time I operate on my face, I’ll make a bigger incision so I won’t have to push so hard. I’ll just leave you to think on your own now.

I would like to share my feelings about the present season with this song (no, I am not the author), sung to the tune of "Winter Wonderland":

Children scream, they won't listen,
When they go, we won't miss em',
In all of this pain, we try to stay sane,
Workin' in an element'ry school.

Christmas comes, they're excited,
Though our nerves, they've ignited,
They're off of the walls, they run in the halls,
Workin' in an element'ry school.

In the lunchroom we can hear them yellin'.
And we know that they are really wound.
Someone hits, the other says "I'm tellin'!"
And that is when our heads begin to pound.

Pretty soon we'll be restin'
Cause our nerves, they've been testin'
We're happy it's clear, it comes once a year,
Christmas in an element'ry school.

I seem to be getting lazier and lazier as the days pass. I seem to be going through a phase where I just don’t do anything. Yesterday, I didn’t breathe for 10 minutes because it required too much involuntary muscle use. For those of you out there who’ve studied physiology, please keep your comments about impossibility to yourselves. Anywho, today is the last day of basketball practice before Christmas break. As a present, I think I’ll make the kids run until their legs fall off.

My tongue is almost better, and I’ll bet you’re all very relieved. Fortunately, my back is on the brink of going back out. I think my body just can’t do without pain. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I’m 50.

In other news, Sarah is almost bursting with excitement over her impending vacation. According to her, the best part isn’t the trip to Germany. Last night, she related to me, and I’m quoting here* “What I most look forward to about vacation is not seeing the stupid faces of those stupid kids at that stupid school.”


*Not a direct, or even indirect, quote.

Well, the basketball team got that win. It was an odd game. We were winning 2-0 at the end of the first quarter. It was almost like a Princeton game (you fans of college basketball out there will understand what I’m talking about; for the rest of you, do some research), only slightly more exciting: we were winning the entire game and could have totally blown out the other team, but we didn’t. I decided to play more players and ease back on the defense (no full court press). In the end, it was probably closer than it should have been (26-21), but a win is a win.

Oh, and did I mention that the game was held outside? Now I really know I’m in California.

So many comments, so many things to mail, so little time for posting anything but comments. If you add up all the comments to comments, you'll have a great post; just read those. The end.

This is the result of someone's big head smashing into my jaw during a basketball game. I didn't know that it was possible to bruise a tongue. In addition, my jaw feels as if it's been punched. Oh, and no comments about plaque. Not even one.

I may be posting a few more pictures in the near future. I may have gotten a jump on opening my Christmas presents, and I may have been given a very fancy new camera. Or, I may have been given money to buy whatever I wanted and may have chosen a very fancy new camera. Or, I may be a thief. Or, I may be a liar. Or, I may be a liar and a thief. Or, I may be delusional. Or, I may be someone impersonating me. Or, I may be mistaken. Or, I may not have anything to write. Or, I may be thinking about what to write next. Or, I may be testing you to see how long you’ll be up with the drivel. Or, I may stop.

One more week! One more week! One more week! One more week! Punch! That’s what Sarah was doing in her sleep last night.

In other news, I have my third basketball game on Tuesday. Hopefully I can get these guys a win. More on that to follow.

Here are two pictures. The first is our new painting and a box (can you spot it?). The second is our ficus tree, masquerading as a Christmas tree.

It’s Saturday. Might anyone guess where Sarah is? The moon, you say? Close, but no. A cheese factory, you ask? Getting warmer, but still no. A mass-media driven, consumer-oriented, shark-fest of a rat hole, you postulate? Ding ding ding! She did indeed go to the mall on the busiest shopping day of the year. What a looney.

Our basketball game Thursday did not go well. Apparently, the kids are prone to completely forgetting every single thing that they’ve ever learned about basketball (not a good trait). Anyway, we were down by about 230 points at halftime, so I benched the starters and started the bench. They seized the opportunity and played quite well, which, in turn, motivated the starters to play well when I finally put them back in (hey, we could lose our jobs!!!). We ended up losing by 10. We’ll see what happens the next game.

In reference to my previous comments, if someone could take it upon themselves to google bomb this site, that would be fantastic. May I suggest such key words and phrases as “genius”, “super genius”, “genius at large”, and “most humble person on earth”. Okay, get cracking.

I’m supposed to be wrapping Christmas presents. As you’ve probably discerned, I’m not. It would be exceedingly difficult to type and wrap at the same time, even if I could use my feet (I can’t). Plus, the keyboard would start to stink.

Sarah has her school Christmas party tonight (sort of: it’s actually just for the teachers in her program). I wasn’t invited. Some of you may be thinking, “Oh, he sounds sad; we should buy him something really expensive to make him feel better.” While I won’t argue that you shouldn’t buy me something costly, I will say that you needn’t feel bad on my account. I would have paid good money to avoid the unnecessary social interaction. As it turns out, I didn’t have to (something about her colleagues not liking my more odiferous parts).

It’s interesting what Google searches can turn up. For instance, if you type in “liar”, the first page that comes up is a biography of British Prime Minister Tony Blair. If you type in “failure”, or “miserable failure”, the first page to display is a biography of President Bush. The number two site is MichaelMoore.com. The process by which these anomalies occur is called “Google Bombing”, whereby website designers collaborate to link fairly benign search terms with certain web pages. This exploits Google’s algorithm for determining which results to return for searches. For more information, find a nerd.

Sarah has “forgotten” her lunch two days in a row. On Monday, she had to settle for buying a slice of pizza at school. How sad. On Tuesday, she intended to get a baked potato (which she loves) but they were out. She had a salad instead. How sad. Perhaps the little manipulator is tired of my cooking. Perhaps she’s just forgetful. I’m sure I’ll hear her opinion when she gets home.

The basketball team is looking pretty good. We have another game Thursday, and I think we’ll be able to put up a competitive effort. I’ve noticed that the guys, despite our loss, have a newfound confidence in their coach: they seem to be buying into the things that I’ve been trying to teach them. Maybe it was only losing by 9 to a team that killed them last year (and we could have won, had a few shots dropped and calls gone our way), or maybe it was my intoxicating power of persuasion finally taking over, but, either way, I think they’ve begun to listen…

Today is Tuesday. Surprise! Didn’t see that coming, did you? Anyway, not much is happening around here. Sarah is (im)patiently waiting for the end of school and the beginning of our trip to Germany. I am (supposed to be) finishing up Christmas shopping today. You’d be surprised how difficult it is for me to get motivated to go shopping when I have to walk two miles to get to the car. Even if I didn’t have to walk to get to the car, I’m not so sure I’d be all that motivated. Maybe tomorrow.

Yesterday, some friends of my parents (and the parents of a friend) stopped by on their way home from visiting relatives. It was nice to see them, and they dropped off a painting they’d given us. It’s a great work: an impressionistic scene of a European street at dusk. It’s also ginormous (easily as big as Sarah’s head). Who said that?!?!?! Anyway, it should look great in the living room and will definitely be a focal point.

I keep finding myself not having things to post about. I could repeat some comments about how stinking cold it is in here, but that’s been done. I could repeat some comments about how stinking cold it is in here, but that’s been done. I could repeat some comments about how stinking cold it is in here, but that’s been done. I could repeat some comments about how stinking co… whoa, I think there was some sort of glitch there: my brain apparently doesn’t function at temperatures below 60 degrees. That explains a lot about the thinking of Northerners (mainly, why they continue to live in places that do not naturally sustain life).

Sarah and I were out on our walk today, and a funny looking hummer nearly ran us over: we were on the sidewalk, crossing the entrance to a gas station across from our house, when the behemoth attempted to turn into the station. Fortunately, he saw us, stopped, and waited for us to cross. As the hummer passed by, I caught a glimpse of something painted on the side: it appeared to be a basketball with the number 91 on it. I thought, “No. It couldn’t be. Could it?” Turning to Sarah, I said, “I think that was Dennis Rodman.” “No way!”, she replied. We went in for a closer look, and it was indeed the Worm, winner of 5 NBA championship rings, 2 defensive player of the year awards, 7 rebounding titles. He was a 2-time all-star, 7-time first team All-Defensive player, New York Times #1 Bestselling author, and an original Bad Boy. Not to mention he was one, unfortunately, wacked out guy (case in point, his hummer was covered with crudely-drawn and cartoonish naked women). Of all the days to forget to bring my freaking camera on our freaking walk. I could just kick myself. Much as he once kicked that camera man in the crotch. Over and over and over and over.

Yesterday, I forgot to comb my hair, sort of. See, I hadn’t slept well the night before, and after I got done playing basketball in the morning, I took a shower and then fell asleep. After I got out of the shower, I’d, of course, combed my hair, but, as I’m sure you well know, sleeping on wet hair does not do wonders for one’s stylistic choices. When I woke up from my nap, I went through my day doing day to day things, and never really passed by a mirror. As it turns out, I looked very similar to a bum I once knew. That bum was me.

Sarah has been sick all week, so today she is resting. And by resting, I mean, of course, that she is driving all the way up to Anaheim for a book sale and to do some Christmas shopping. On the way home, she’s stopping at Costco to buy movie tickets so we can watch the “Chronicles of Narnia” in the theatre tonight. Sounds very restful and relaxing, doesn’t it? She’s not crazy, just a little touched in the head, if you know what I mean.

Well, we lost our first game (48-39). I’m not terribly broken up because 1) I played 15 players, and we still could have won (very close until the end), 2) We were playing a rich, private school, and 3) I just didn’t want to get killed (last year they lost all their games by an average of about 30). More later.

Perhaps you’ll recall that, a few days ago, I was complaining about the temperature in my house. In my defense, it was less than 70 degrees in here. In your offense, it was -47 in West Yellowstone yesterday, and much of the country (including parts of Texas) found itself enduring temperatures below freezing. (What is this, the Weather Channel? Talk about something interesting). Maybe I shouldn’t complain; maybe I should. I’ll get back to you.

As it turns out, Sarah was able to go to school today. I think it may have had something to do with all the Sudafed I pumped into her. Either way, she is there; and, on the plus side, she made all of those sub plans and didn’t have to use them. How is that the plus side, you ask? Didn’t Sarah end up doing more work, you ask? What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Can’t a guy just make a stupid comment without having to think it through?

That poem was very creative: if only I’d written it (I didn’t). Sarah isn’t feeling well today. It’s great she has sick days to use, but it’s not as great that she has to have everything planned out for her sub. If you ask me, it takes all the fun out of it. I have my first basketball game tomorrow, but I commented on that elsewhere…

Well, our first game is tomorrow. In practice last night I instituted a new defensive scheme: it’s called, “Play Defense or Else!” The kids really seemed to take to it. In reality, I’m going to have them go with full court man-to-man defense after every made shot or stoppage in play and normal man-to-man (inside the three-point line) for all missed shots. They lost all their games last year; I see room only for improvement. And, worst case scenario, we can’t do as poorly as our JV team: they lost 112 to 18 on Monday.

I would like to share my feelings in the words of this unknown author:

Dr. Seuss on IEPs
Do you like these IEP's?
I do not like these IEP's
I do not like them, Jeeze Louise
We test, we check, we plan, we meet
But nothing ever seems complete.

Would you, could you
Like the form?
I do not like the form I see
Not page 1, not 2, not 3
Another change, a brand new box
I think we all have lost our rocks.

Could you all meet here or there?
We could not all meet here or there.
We cannot all fit anywhere.
Not in a room, not in the hall
There seems to be no space at all.
Would you, could you meet again?

I cannot meet again next week
No lunch, no prep--please hear me speak.
No, not at dusk. No, not at dawn
At 4 pm I should be gone.

Could you hear while all speak out?
Would you write the words they spout?

I could not hear, I would not write
This does not need to be a fight.
Sign here, date there,
Mark this, check that
Beware the student's ad-vo-cat(e).

You do not like them, so you say
Try again! Try again! And you may.

If you will let me be,
I will try again, you'll see.
Say! I almost like these IEP's
I think I'll write 6003.
And I will practice day and night
Until they say"You got it right!"

Yesterday, Sarah got an excellent gift: a surprise IEP. For those of you who don’t know, an IEP is an individualized education plan; these plans have to be done once a year for each student in special education, and they require much planning and work on the part of the teacher. Normally, teachers know about IEPs months in advance and can plan their schedules accordingly. Due to some snafu, Sarah was informed of this IEP only a few weeks in advance. It is at this time that you will note my statement above (suggesting a gift) was sarcastic in nature. She is not pleased.

In fact, it’s so cold in here, that our ficus tree just shed all its leaves, as it might be expected to in winter. The oddity of that is the tree is made of plastic. In truth, the real plants are fine. I think they’re in hibernation.

In other news, I had my 8th grade team scrimmage the 7th grade team. We didn’t lose, but the guys found out when I have been hollering about defense for the past few weeks. If a good defense could be likened to an impregnable wall, ours could be likened to a hole. Perhaps now they’ll listen.

It’s freezing in this house; it’s 68 degrees outside, but I’m quite sure it’s colder than that in the house. In my defense, the ice age is only partially my own fault: direct sunlight can’t get into the house due to some ineptly placed buildings and trees (not a fault of mine), and we don’t use the heat (I suppose this could be considered a fault of mine). If only there was some solution…

Sarah and I had a pretty good weekend. Saturday, we went to a “red egg” party (Chinese tradition of introducing a new baby) in Artesia (LA County). We had a good time: there was great food, and I got to meet lots of relatives that I’d not previously known. After church on Sunday, Sarah went shopping (which she loves), and I avoided shopping (which I love). Isn’t it fascinating how our interests meld so well?

When I played on the basketball team in high school, we had practice every evening after school. For these practices, each player was to wear his reversible green and gold practice jersey (green on one side, gold on the other; made for easy scrimmages and drills). Each day, after practice, I would hang my jersey on a hook in my gym locker. A month into the season, I noticed that it was getting a little scratchy. Halfway through the season, I found that, if I left my jersey on the hook all night, I could literally stand it upright on the floor, as if it was being modeled by an invisible mannequin. You might call it gross, but I’ll call it a biochemical miracle. Memories.

It’s Friday! Note the exclamation point. In truth, Friday doesn’t really mean much to me, except that I get to play basketball in the morning, but it means loads to Sarah. Loads. So, I suppose, in an indirect way, Friday is meaningful to me as well: you know, the two become one, etc., etc. Unfortunately, I can’t say that Sarah is entirely a happy camper on weekends. To set the scenario, weeknights usually go as follows.

Sarah: “Don’t make me go to school tomorrow. I can’t wait for the weekend. Don’t make me go to school tomorrow.”

Me:

To finish the scenario, weekends usually go as follows.

Sarah: “The weekend is almost over! Nooooooooooo!!!!!!! Don’t make me go to school on Monday.”

Me:

You’ll undoubtedly note two things from these exchanges. 1) Sarah is a very forward-looking person, and 2) I’m not very supportive.

Yesterday, I wrote that I was bored (on another blog, which shall remain nameless; unless you want to visit it, then just click the link at left). Sarah came home after 10 hours at school (at least three of which were meetings), and, in response to my statement, said she wanted a divorce. Then she attempted to murder me. Then she did murder me. In everything, the lesson I’ve learned is this, “Never share your feelings. Ever.” That said, I’m bored.

As predicted, I’ve already lost one basketball player to grades, and another quit on Monday. What I did not foresee was my adding two new players, which bumped me back to 18. The sheer number hasn’t been a problem, but apparently we’re three jerseys short (there’s some sort of budget issue), and not only are we short uniforms, but the ones we have are hand-me-downs from the GIRLS JV team. Eighth grade boys with girls uniforms, ouch. I am now struck by the ratio of consonants to vowels at the end of “eighth”. Look at all of them. Look! It doesn’t make any sense.

Sarah continues to be more than ready for our upcoming trip to Germany. I am finding myself more and more content with my lack of a foreseeable future. I am also finding myself astounded by the ratio of vowels to consonants in the middle of the word foreseeable (4:1). That is all.

I’m bored with today.
It won’t go away.
It’s here to stay.
But that’s okay.
I have things to do anyway.
Just not until later.

Yesterday, I decided to play basketball. Normally, this type of decision wouldn’t be terribly noteworthy, but, if you’ll recall, I’ve been complaining about a sore back for a week. Be sure to note that it had been a whole week, so the risk couldn’t have been that great, could it have? So, off I went. I only played with about 70% intensity, for fear that I would die, but, as it turns out, I was fine. Strangely, my hamstrings are sore this morning; they’re not connected to my back are they?

I’d like to register a complaint: I thought this was supposed to be California! I mean, the high today is only 67! More importantly, it feels colder than that inside the apartment. But, I think that has more to do with the fact that we don’t use the heat and direct sunlight can’t get into the house. I heard there are snowstorms plaguing the Great Plains and Upper Great Lakes regions. For those of you wallowing in it because that’s where you live, I must say, how sad. If you just got stuck there while passing through, tough break.

The news this morning reported that today is “Cyber Monday” (otherwise known as “Black Monday” and “Internet Monday”). Apparently, the Monday after Thanksgiving is a very large day for internet shopping. I could make oodles of sarcastic and pointed quips, but I won’t. I won’t say that people are extending their time off and goofing on the company dollar. I won’t say that news crews avoid reporting tough issues (read, Darfur Crisis, Zambia Famine, Aids Pandemic) and instead make up superficial stories that only increase our rampant selfishness. I won’t.

Now that her long weekend is over, Sarah is heartbroken: she doesn’t know how she’ll make it a whole month without another vacation. Not that I can make fun, because, as I’ve previously mentioned, I’m on what seems to be permanent time off. In her defense, she’s just really looking forward to that particular vacation, as it’s the first time she’ll have been back home (to Germany) in two years.

Just some thoughts on “Black Friday”, as the day after Thanksgiving is sometimes called. I find myself wondering whether the “great” deals actually save people any money.

Let’s begin at 3 AM, when the most avid shoppers wake up. At that hour, coffee is a necessity for most people. Two important consequences arise here 1) Coffee costs money, and 2) Brain function is impaired due to sleep deprivation.

Moving on, by 4 AM, these shoppers have already driven to far-away stores in search of the best deal and are waiting impatiently/excitedly in line with throngs of others in the same mental state (caffeine-driven impatience/excitement suppressed by low brain function). Here, two items are again of note: 1) Gas costs money, lots of money, 2) in many parts of the country, it’s cold at 4 AM in late November. Cold results in shivering; shivering burns calories; calories need to be replaced; food and drink replace calories; food and drink cost money.

By 5 AM, people are beginning to be ushered into the store a few at a time, much like farm animals headed for slaughter. An important point here is that, by this time, our shoppers are sleep-deprived, caffeine-buzzed, brain-dead livestock (no offense to any of you who might have partaken in the ritual). In any case, these creatures either wander aimlessly through the store in search of things that look shiny and have slashes through their price tags, or the shoppers make beelines for the high-ticket items in a coffee-induced mania.

Fast-forward to 9 AM. Our shoppers are at home, napping, and feeling like they got great deals, which they did. Unless, of course, you factor in the three cups of Starbuck’s café latte, the celebratory “grand-slam breakfast” at Denny’s, the pack of donuts eaten at the back of the line, the granola bar eaten in the middle of the line, the other pack of donuts (frantically eaten at the door, for that last burst of energy), and the 847 dollars in gas that it took to drive to the outlet mall. If you, as did I, factor in those things, then our shoppers just about broke even.

Fast-forward to Christmas morning. One by one, everyone opens their loot, and our shoppers frantically remember, “Nooooooooo!!!!! I forgot to send in the rebates!!!!!” And that, my friends, is how they get you. The end.

Yesterday was quite uneventful. Sarah spent much of the day reading her new library book. Well, technically, it’s not new, but the first time she attempted to read a copy, Jeff peed all over it, and it had to be destroyed; for those of you who don’t know Jeff, he’s been in the habit of doing things such as that, and it’s really quite annoying; he sleeps in the garage now. Oh, yes, and he’s a dog. Important note.

Anywho, Sarah read, and I did nothing. I decided to try out the theory that if one rests when one is injured, the injury will heal faster. I just doesn’t make sense, but I’ll keep you posted none-the-less. This morning, I gave myself a haircut (Sarah did the back). As it turns out, it’s exceedingly more difficult to cut things with dull scissors than with sharp ones, but it was definitely worth it: I probably saved almost 12 dollars (10 for the haircut and 2 for not getting new scissors). Besides, that bald patch will probably start to fill in within two weeks.

I’ve decided that deep-fried turkey isn’t nearly as good the traditionally-cooked variety. It was actually a disappointing revelation; I’d heard such good things about the former: it’s meaty like steak; it’s crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside; it cures baldness, etc. As it turns out, it does make hair grow but doesn’t really hold a candle to it’s traditional counterpart.

Now that we’re done pretending to be thankful, we can do what we really want: buy things that will enrich our lives in superficial ways. Not that I’m against giving gifts, I think the problem lies with the attitude behind the rampant commercialization of Christmas (the idea that things bring happiness and togetherness). Some of you may be thinking, “You are the biggest Scrooge/Grinch on earth.” I can assure you, I am not. Probably a close third, but the biggest? No.

On this day of thanks, I find myself wondering: just who is everyone thanking? I’m quite sure that I’m thanking God, the provider of all things good (family, shelter, food, friends, etc.). But for those out there who don’t believe in God, don’t have reverence for God, don’t worship God, don’t believe that God is God, etc., I’m again left wondering: to whom are they thankful? Perhaps they’re thanking their lucky stars. Or the heavens above. Oooh, I know, thank the universe. And the turkeys. And each other; be sure to thank each other: without us, none of our greatness would be possible. Thank goodness for us. Yes, thank goodness.

Peter is here with us today. Right now he is, as he put it, “waking up.” And by that, I’m sure he meant “lying down and going back to sleep.” In any case, I’m sure he’s still tuckered out from last night: he spent an understandably excruciating 2 hours and 8 minutes with Sarah as they watched the new version of “Pride and Prejudice”. It’s great to have him here with us: after all I would have gladly paid not to see the movie. In reality, I have two fake explanations for not going to see it: 1) I’ve already read the book and don’t want to ruin it, or 2) I refuse to watch movies based on books that they have to make people read (in school). Go ahead and take your pick.

We’ll be spending the day today with Minnie and some friends of hers and some friends of theirs and friends of theirs. Apparently, in years past, it’s been quite a gathering. To be sure, my back is beginning to hurt just thinking about it. Not that I don’t like people; I’m just a little on the reclusive side of reclusive. In any event, it will be strange not spending Thanksgiving in Michigan. This will be the first in probably 15 years that I haven’t been there.

Perhaps some of you will recall my predication that I would lose players for various reasons. Well, one is already out due to grades; what I didn’t expect was that a new kid would move to the area and his teachers would tell him he could still try out even though he missed all 4 days of tryouts (something I never, EVER, would have even dreamed of thinking about possibly thinking about allowing: it violates all that’s good in the world). In any case, the kid was promised a tryout, so I’ll give him one so that he’ll learn he can trust the word of adults, even though he really can’t.

Okay, my back is feeling slightly better today: I think the disk is no longer out of place, but everything around it is still sore from not being where it’s supposed to be. Though she has the day ‘off’, Sarah is at her classroom. I think she’s taking down all the Thanksgiving decorations and putting up ones that celebrate the holidays. I say holidays, because she teaches in a public school and she’s not allowed to “do” Christmas there. It’s an international holiday that virtually everyone in the free world celebrates (and exploits to the tune of billions of economically-stimulating dollars/euros/rubles/whatever), but let’s not speak of it to children for fear that one of them might actually come to understand the history behind it. The stupidity makes my back hurt; I have to go.

Still out...

Owwwww.

As a not astronaut has noted, I've hurt my back. Hopefully it will feel better soon. Sarah has been taking care of me and doing her other (real) job. More as I feel better...

I threw out my back. Stop. Posting will be limited. Stop. Obscure references to telegrams will be made. Stop. I have to go. Stop. My back won't let me sit any longer. Stop.

Today is the first day of basketball practice with my actual team. As I said before, I ended up keeping 18 players, but it should be interesting to see how many remain with us until season’s end. I would guess that two will quit due to unfortunate levels of uncommitment, two will be injured and unable to continue, and three will become academically ineligible. Carry the zero, which leaves me with 11. Perfect.

Perhaps some of you are curious about the previous post referencing bees: there’s a hive of the little buggers (of the honey variety, I believe) in a drainpipe directly across from our patio. I wouldn’t ever have noticed them (the pipe is 30 feet up) if not for the fellow in a beekeeper suit scaling the wall opposite our sliding-glass door. Though he was in a beekeeper suit, I don’t believe he was actually a keeper of bees: I’m pretty sure he just wanted the bees to think that, so they wouldn’t be suspicious when he laced their home with poison.

After he finished killing the bees (or so I thought), the exterminator posted a small sign about five feet from the patio and left (for good reason, as you’ll soon see). I didn’t really think much of it, and determined I’d read the sign the next time I was out and about. In the meantime, bees kept flying into the sliding-glass door, aggressively attempting to gain entry to the house. I thought this a little strange, but, again, I didn’t really think much of it. Long story slightly longer, the sign said: watch for disoriented bees for the next 3-5 days; make sure all doors and windows remain tightly sealed; bees will be gone by next week. Great. Good thing the sign was so small; I only feel slightly sorry for our obnoxious neighbors, but that’s for another post.

Bees!!!!!!!!!!!

I have nothing to say. Except that. And that. And. That. That. Maybe later.

Apparently, my Jedi mind trick didn’t work: Sarah just left for the mall. On the plus side, she didn’t take me with her. P.S., I’m not a huge “Star Wars” fan, so don’t get any ideas; the fact that I used the term “Jedi mind trick” is not as much a statement of my dorkiness as it is a statement of my awareness of the intricacies of pop culture. I’m serious.

Sarah and I are hoping to have a relaxing weekend at home. We both haven’t been getting much sleep lately: she because of her late night operas and dinners, and me because when I close my eyes, all I see are bouncing basketballs. Sarah is a bit upset because Blockbuster is out of “Madagascar”, a movie we’ve been waiting to see; I’m a bit upset because Blockbuster is out of “Madagascar”, and now I’ll have to find some other way to entertain my wife on Saturday night. We will not be going out. If you’re reading this dear, repeat after me: “I do not want to go out. I do not want to go out! I do not want to go out!! Please let me stay home. Please let me stay home! Let me stay home, or else!!!!” Very good.

I decided to keep them both. I wouldn’t have been satisfied with either a nuclear winter or a continued pandemic. In all, I kept 18 players on the team. When I say that number to most people, their eyes usually glaze over, but I’m not too nervous: I’ve played on two teams with that many, and I had fun both years. So long as the on-court hormone concentration doesn’t exceed the legal limit, we’ll be fine; though I suppose there aren’t any guarantees with that many adolescents packed into an 85x45 rectangle.

So today I have to make cuts for my basketball team. The act of cutting will not be too difficult in itself, but the decision about who to keep will be excruciating. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy the act of crushing the hearts of children, but for me that act is not nearly as bad as the consideration of possible life-altering ramifications of keeping one kid over another. For instance, I keep kid A, a troubled student, in the hopes that he will improve his grades so he can stay eligible to play. Kid A soon finds that he loves school. He goes to college on a scholarship and eventually finds a cure for AIDS. Kid B, on the other hand, is troubled personally, and since I kept Kid A, B does not have me for a mentor. He starts doing drugs, becoming obsessed with the next score. Eventually, he runs out of options and tries to rob a liquor store for money; on the way out, he accidentally assassinates a visiting statesman and sparks World War III. Nuclear fallout ensues and nuclear winter begins, ending all life on earth as we know it. So, which is it, Kid A, or Kid B?

Last night Sarah and I went up to ritzy Anaheim Hills for dinner. We’re not in the so much in the habit of going to nice places as we are in the habit of getting invited to nice places: a friend of ours from Grand Rapids was doing business in LA, and he wanted us to meet the owner of the restaurant (Yve’s Bistro). This restaurateur (Yve) was thinking of selling everything (house, restaurant, wife, etc.) and becoming a missionary but was hesitant due to uncertainty about the effect such a move would have on his young daughters. It is at this point that Sarah comes in (there was never really a point at which I came in, but I ate the dinner none the less). We talked with them for an hour or so and then ate dinner with our friend from Grand Rapids who’d served as moderator for the evening. After dinner, we found that Yve and his wife had put our tab ‘on the house’. It was the first time that had happened to either of us, and we rather enjoyed it.

In a slight aside, we had fried calamari for an appetizer; it was, by far, the best I have ever had (and by ‘best I have ever had’, I mean ‘didn’t taste like fried rubber bands’: it was actually quite tasty). In any case, on the drive home, I asked Sarah how she liked the octopus. She said, “We had octopus? I just thought that was fish.” Naturally, I ridiculed her lack of culture; it wasn’t until today that I remembered calamari is actually squid. Who’s the rube now?

Coaching was fun again today. I haven’t made anyone throw up yet (quite frankly, I don’t think they’re even trying). I’m not sure if that means I’m doing a good job or a bad one. The end.

Sarah is off at the opera, and I just got a text message saying, “This opera rocks”. I doubt it: rock operas are not slated to come back into style for several years yet. See what I did there? Probably not; it was a bit obscure, I’m not sure I even know what I meant. In any case, perhaps she was suggesting that she wanted to throw rocks: you know, because she was so bored and found herself desiring to see some wanton violence, such as that she was missing by not spending her evening-requisite hour in front of the TV…

So, as I mentioned, I started coaching yesterday. After that, I came home, ate dinner, and then went back out and played two hours of basketball. As everyone knows, there’s no such thing as too much basketball, but my body seems to be disagreeing. I’m not really sure why, but it could be because I’ve turned into some sort of wuss: I’ve heard that, after age 20, the male body begins to deteriorate by 10% each year. Meaning, of course, that I’m a 73% shell of my former self (for those of you who do not understand how 3 years of 10% drops turned into 73%, please realize that I didn’t do my math incorrectly: 100%-10%=90%, 90%-10%=81%, 81%-10%=73%). I’m not sure if I can cope with believing that this theory is true; I’ll let you know in 10 years when I’m at 25%.

Yesterday I started coaching the 8th-grade basketball team for one of the local high schools. When I agreed to do it, I thought that coaching would be something that I would like to do. As it turns out, practice was actually fun for me. That’s right, I said fun. In fact, it was much like previous job, only I didn’t have anyone swearing at me or punching me, and these kids were afraid of me (one, because I’m a lot bigger than most; two, because I can cut them and ruin their lives): when I said jump, they said, “ahhhahahahah!!!!!” and wet their pants.

Sarah goes to the opera tonight. I’m not saying it’s a good thing that she’s going with her grandma and not me, but I wouldn’t have been able to promise that I could stop myself from singing along in a mocking tone. Ha, ha-ha, ha, HA HA-HA, HA, LA, LA, LA-LAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! I’m not sure if they kick people out for that, but I probably would have found out.

Tomorrow, my part-time, temporary, seasonal job starts. Is it the end of all things not becoming an astronaut? I would hardly say so, but I can now call myself an 8th grade basketball coach instead of an unemployed dufus. I’m not sure which is better; though I’m guessing it’s the one without dufus in the title. In no way suggesting, of course, that all unemployed citizens are dufuses: I’m sure some are honest people who are just having trouble finding work; others are probably moochers and loafers.

Once upon a time, we played Scrabble again. In the beginning, there appeared to be trouble for the reigning champ, who, again, would prefer to remain anonymous; the champ rallied with a massive score that was the harbinger of the now-accustomed victory.

In other news, Sarah got a hair cut. More precisely, she got all her hairs cut (presumably). She didn’t cry, so I suppose that things went swimmingly. I’ve decided that it would be appropriate for stylists to charge according to how much hair is to be cut: the more hair, the higher the price.

I’ve decided not to become a chess grandmaster. It’s not that I think I couldn’t eventually be very good, nor is it that I no longer enjoy playing. What I found was that the people who were consistently beating me had played as many as 10,000 games (when you play online at games.yahoo.com, there’s an information bar that tells you how many games your opponents have won and lost). Again, it’s not that I think I couldn’t eventually become as skilled as those people, but the fact is, in order to do so, I would have to waste a significant portion of my life. Even if I was able to hone my skills twice as quickly as others, I would still be sitting in front of a computer for roughly 3000 hours. Meaning that if I worked 24 hours a day for 4 months straight, I’d be finished. And what would I have accomplished? People might say, “Hey, that guy is a better-than-average chess player.” I’ll find a more worthwhile pursuit, thank you.

Sarah was hoping we could go and walk around at the mall today; about an hour before we were to go, she started to feel slightly ill. Her condition worsened, and we decided to put off going to browse the shops until she felt better. It was getting past dinner time before the nausea and headache went away, nearly as quickly as they had arrived, and we decided it best to forgo our trip, just in case Sarah was fighting off something. Now, I’m not saying that I poisoned her, but I will say that I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

I have a conundrum. I was recently the recipient of a mass email sent to some family members by another family member who shall remain nameless save for the pseudonym Rebekah. In any case, I did not reply to the email and received a series of stinging rebukes and a death threat. My question is, do I report her to the police or apologize for not being a good pseudonym-in-law? Probably no less than both will suffice, but I would say that, at the very least, some sort of restraining order is necessary.

Oh, yes, and I almost forgot. I have a wife. The crazy lady was at school (on her day off) until almost 7:30 PM yesterday. I think she's making up for it right now though: she's been watching cartoons and lying on the couch all morning, and I commend her for it.

Well, yesterday I was so engrossed/obsessed in my 3-day quest to become a chess grandmaster that I completely forgot to post. Okay, you caught me: I didn’t forget; I blatantly disregarded my unspoken maxim that I try and post every day. So there.

Sarah’s three-day weekend began today; she’s pumped. She plans on going to back to the classroom tomorrow and getting lots of work done. I realize some of you may be thinking that going to work on your day off defeats the purpose of a long weekend, and you would be correct, but let’s not tell Sarah: she might start yelling and screaming again, and I’m not sure if I could make it stop this time. This, of course, coming from the person whose three-day weekend began over five months ago...

I spent most of the day today trying to remedy my inept chess playing; I found that it’s not nearly as easy as it could be to master a game to which others have devoted their very lives. I didn’t lose to the bird today, but I did lose to someone with what seemed to be the mental abilities of a weasel. Maybe someday.

Well, what's better than a husband who makes me lunch everyday and writes me a note to go along with it? A husband who walks four miles out of his way to drop it off at school for me when I forget it at home!! I am blessed...

It’s something that really pains me to say, but I’m a terrible Chess player. I think I have too much confidence in my own intelligence, secretly believing that whatever move I make will lead to something unbeatable. In reality, I’m quite sure that even the most bird-brained pigeon-of-a-player can think two moves ahead; in this I am quite confident: while I was playing on the internet today, I’m pretty sure I lost a two rooks and a bishop to a common tufted titmouse.

After the Great Pen Debacle of ’05, I don’t have all that much to report. The ink didn’t miraculously disappear overnight, and I didn’t go to Goodwill to get some new clothes because it was misting today. The mist, or torrential rain, as some called it, made the top story on the news. I’d like to send a Californian weatherperson to Michigan for a week and see how many days it took her to declare that the end of the world was upon us. And for those of you wondering, I used the pronoun “her” to refer to weatherperson not because all weatherpeople are women, but because someone decided that it is politically correct to do so.

Sarah was able to do lots of work today in her classroom. I’m not sure how much this has to do with the fact that the kids only have half a day on Wednesdays, but we’ll just pretend that it’s irrelevant. Right now, she’s watching a PBS special about Bob Hope and Red Skelton and is looking quite confused. Something about growing up in France (and the in the late 20th century…).

I was playing with a Swiss Army Knife today when an interesting thought struck me (and, yes, you heard that correctly, I was playing with a knife): who exactly are the Swiss planning on fighting with these knives? Do you know what the typical model contains? Most have such things as scissors, a toothpick, tweezers, a small knife, a magnifying glass, a nail file, and a corkscrew. As I said, who exactly are the Swiss fighting? “Back I say! I’ll burn you with focused light from the sun!” “Okay soldiers; file your nails to points. When the point their guns at you, scratch each other’s backs!” “Colonel, the Swiss troops have uncorked all our wine and opened most of our cans! We’re doomed!”

I seemed to have ruined the majority of my clothes and a minority of Sarah’s. Either some dolt left an ink pen somewhere it shouldn’t have been, or the Blue Man Group did an extended show in my dryer. In reality, I have no idea where the pen came from: I checked all pockets before washing, so either there is a dolt, or someone was being very malicious.

I didn’t really have many clothes to begin with: I recently gave about 80% of my belongings (i.e., clothes) to Goodwill (to simplify before our move), but it didn’t help that I was drying almost everything I now own. As it stands, I believe that I’m sufficiently pared down: my respectable clothes are now limited to 2 pairs of pants, zero pairs of shorts, and about 5 shirts. My winter clothes are still intact (I wasn’t washing them: it doesn’t get cold here), and I don’t really mind that my gym stuff and underclothes make me look like a sad Dalmatian, but, at the very least, I’m going to have to buy a pair of shorts.

For those of you thinking, “I know what someone’s getting for Christmas!”, may I be the first to say, don’t even think about it: everything will be replaced by week’s end.

Sarah’s casualties were slightly more limited: ironically, her losses were mostly clothes that already had stains, which I was attempting to get out by washing them with my heavily dosed (with detergent) loads. Where we differ, though, is that Sarah would love to have people give her clothes for Christmas.

More commercial commentary: it’s officially November 7, and I’m officially aware that the ad execs are officially trying to catch me officially unawares and slip Christmas carols onto the TV and into my subconscious. It’s not as if I believe there’s actually some sort of conspiracy whereby the powers that be, in a move to increase already burgeoning profits, are attempting to lengthen the Christmas, and thus the buying, season. No, I don’t believe anything of the sort: I would rather choose to believe that the poles are slowly reversing due to naturally occurring adjustments in the Earth’s magnetic fields, and as a result, the North Pole will now be the South Pole and vice versa; down will be up; up will be down, etc. This is a slow process, but as everyone knows, when it’s complete, Santa will have to move his workshop to the Southern Hemisphere where winter is in July, and by association, so is Christmas. The fact that Christmas now begins in November only makes sense.

Sarah was away from home today for about 10 hours; I don’t know where she went, but I’m sure it was very important: she left before I got up and didn’t come home until around dinner time. Conversely, I stayed home all day, spending most of it cleaning out our files. Someone kept putting all kinds of unimportant papers in there: receipts, pay stubs, etc. I took care of everything though: it’s all in the trash now.

I’m presently watching a “Nature” special about the whale population and its relation to the seaside town of Eden, Australia. Right now, they’re investigating the death (post-mortem) of a killer whale named Tom. Apparently, Tom was either murdered, or he died due to an abscess of the upper jaw. Or both. Next week on “CSI: Nature”: Working class monkeys, the baboons who love them, and the apes who’ve killed them.

Sarah and I had yet another rousing game of Sunday Scrabble. Once again, I’m afraid I cannot say who won. Just know that one of us did, and the other may have become violent. Also, one of us broke her vow about not doing work on Sundays and worked on some things for her classroom. The other one of us kept his word about not working ever by playing basketball and eating, though not at the same time, that would be far too taxing.

I didn’t see any advertisements of note today, but I did see a terrible movie. I’m not going to make sarcastic comments about the poor plot and character development. I’m definitely not going to crack a joke about how the rating did not actually reflect the horrible, horrible content. And, I’m de…HOLD EVERYTHING!!!! According to Pierce Brosnan, I can save the whales!!!! I’ve got to get moving; I’ll bet I have an incredible amount of work to do.

After a week of exhausting teaching, Sarah was obviously very tired today. To rest, she got up early, went to the mall and walked in circles for several hours. After a week of restful resting, I was obviously very well rested today. To expel some of my energy, I laid on the couch, read, and played my guitar. What can I say: we lead a very full life.

Another wild Friday has come and gone. Actually, the Friday hasn’t quite gone yet, it’s only 9. However, as we go to bed at 9:30, the wild was gone about 3 days after we turned 87. Rock on.

In other news, there isn’t anything to report (we lead a boring, boring existence, remember), save that Sarah continues to work hard, and I continue to not work hard or work at all. Rock on.

I saw a TV commercial today. Actually, I probably saw about 500 commercials, but my prolific and problematic television viewing patterns are not the subject of the present discussion; getting to the point, the subject is blatant stupidity. Here was the commercial for a Toyota Avalon:

Shot of a man driving in a car and two drops of rain falling. “It only takes 1/5 of a second to turn on the windshield wipers, but just think how much easier your life would be if your car could do it for you.” Cut away to man at home listening to music and then spending time with family. “You’d have time to learn a language or spend time with loved ones.”

Stupidity such as this is inexcusable. I don’t know how it works in Japan (where Toyota is located), but here in the United States, saving 1/5 of a second in the car does not translate to extra time outside the car: NO MATTER WHAT, YOU’RE STILL GOING TO BE IN THE CAR. Maybe they should change the slogan to something such as, “It only takes 1/5 of a second to turn on the windshield wipers, but just think how much easier your life would be if your IQ wasn’t 6.” Or perhaps, "It only takes 1/5 of a second to turn on the windshield wipers, but it takes even less to produce a television commercial."

I don’t have anything to write, so the following is my written rendition of a series of farting sounds made with my mouth. PHHTThththppttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbprh
hrhrhrhrhthththththtfwwwwwwwwshshshshsshs
hshpbbbbbbbbrrrrrmpthbed…thbbbbtttthhhhttththththtbbbbthrr
rrttthrrrrmm
mpphrhrhshhspthpbut….umm
mmphhhhhhhrrrrrmbbbbbmbmbmbmphdrt.

I do not, I repeat do not, have an editor. WE'VE BEEN HACKED!!!! Somebody call a nerd!

A Note from the Editor: Just for the record, I don't yell and scream at my students. They can hear me perfectly fine. I just didn't want Max misinforming the public about what teaching the deaf actually means. And besides, yelling and screaming is better than making third graders cry....

I just saw a commercial on TV for a new movie called “Zathura.” The spokesperson claimed that “recent sneak preview viewers discovered a movie like nothing ever seen before.” I'm not sure if that's true, because I recall a similar flick that came out about 10 years ago. You see, “Zathura” tells the story of kids who play a game that comes to life and can’t be stopped until the end of the game is reached. Conversely, “Jumanji” tells the story of kids who play a game that comes to life and can’t be stopped until the end of the game is reached. Huh. I guess when you say it that way, they’re not all that similar.

I've decided that what the spokesperson said would be only be true if none of the preview viewers had ever seen “Jumangi”; or heard of it; or, I suppose, if “Jumanji” had never been created; or if all the preview viewers had all forgotten about “Jumanji." Someone call an attorney.

Okay, so I didn’t go to the dentist today (just figured I’d let me teeth fall out: sort of a survival of the fittest thing). I didn’t really do anything except make some refried beans (you’d be surprised how long it actually takes). Sarah did lots of things. I’m not really sure what any of them are, but I’d assume they deal with yelling and screaming at small children who can’t hear her anyway. Okay, that comment will probably get me in some trouble, but we’ll have to wait and see…

A slight addendum to the Halloween post: it’s really too bad that we didn’t have any tricker-treaters yesterday; I definitely didn’t buy a glut of candy in anticipation of being able to keep, and eat, all of it. Nope, I definitely didn’t. I may have delegated that task to Sarah, but that’s really beside the point.

So, today we ate candy, brushed our teeth, went for a walk, ate candy, got cavities, ate candy, etc., etc., etc. Tomorrow, we siege the dentist.

I went to Costco today. The trip itself wasn’t completely eventful: it’s not as if I bought a 200 gallon drum of refried beans (and don’t think I couldn’t have if I’d wanted to); though, something interesting did happen as I checked out and paid my bill. The bagger asked me if I’d ever been in any TV shows. I told him no, of course, but I’m quite sure he didn’t believe me: he called me sir at least 6 times and kind of gave me a, “yeah sure, but I’ll leave you alone” look. Maybe he was just distracting me while the cashier put extra charges on my bill and stole my wallet. I’ll prefer to believe that I just have a look of celebrity.

Today was nearly as uneventful as yesterday, but not quite. To begin, I didn’t dress up as an astronaut for Halloween. I also wasn’t a cosmonaut or astrophysicist. I also wasn’t a cowboy or a vampire. I wasn’t a ninja or a president. I wasn’t a doctor or a teenage mutant ninja turtle. I was almost Sponge Bob Square Pants but then decided to go another way. As it turns out, I was an unenrolled college student: I didn’t go to class or read any books or learn anything, and I also didn’t have a job or do anything worthwhile. Actually all those traits qualify me as a student in a large, state school. Burn.

For the third straight year, we’ve had record attendance for Halloween. Two years ago we had eight. Last year we had three. This year…zero, a number that will undoubtedly stand the test of time as unbeatable, unless the unforeseeable happens and, next year, someone knocks on our door and hands us the candy. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be completely unforeseeable: I just foresaw it. Tomorrow is November. Let the Christmas carols begin.

I'm posting during a commercial.
There's no time for a dress rehearsal.
It's over.
This poem will never be completed.
Sorry.

Normal Sunday. Church. Scrabble. One person's agonizing defeat. Another's resounding triumph. TV. Bed.

For those of you curious as to the results of my TB test, I failed. I don’t know what happened: I studied and studied, and, when it came time to take the test, I completely choked. Okay, here’s where I draw the line: tuberculosis is not a joke. It is a horrible disease that, in present day, affects the poor, imprisoned, and infirm. I can’t believe you would be so uncompassionate as to malign such a group. You are a first class jerk. And a rube. And a jerk. Jerk.

P.S. I do not have TB.

There's a townhouse for sale down the street. It looked pretty dumpy on the outside, so I thought maybe we could afford it, and I took a flier from the box out front. As it turns out, its two bedrooms and 1 and 3/4 baths must be pretty fancy (and by fancy, I mean made of gold), because otherwise, there'd be no justification for the $527,000 price tag. There's also a moderately sized house for sale down the street (3 bedrooms, 3 and 1/2 baths) for $1,500,000. I'm still keeping my eye out for a cardboard box.

There’s a special election set to be held next week, and the TV really is spouting about it: apparently, voting yes will be the end of the world; conversely, voting no will be the end of the world. Each of these outcomes, of course, is the course of action predicted by conflicting television reports. If only someone would just tell everyone what the proposition really means and let people decide for themselves: call me a purist, but I would prefer actual democracy to the deliberate deception and manipulation of an uncaring public.

Today I volunteered in Sarah’s classroom because her para-professional was out, and the district doesn’t give substitutes save for extenuating circumstances. It went rather well, taking me all of 15 minutes to make a third grader cry. In my defense, he started it. It was also interesting to see Sarah in her element and, as I stated yesterday, earning the big bucks. Here’s to upset 8-year-olds.

Someone pointed out to me that I could be collecting unemployment checks. My morality pointed out to me that I should not be collecting unemployment checks.

I took a TB test today; I didn’t study, but I think I did well. The nurse didn’t do nearly as well as I: apparently, it’s difficult to poke me with a needle in such a manner that my blood doesn’t get all over my shirt. As she knew exactly how to get the stain out, I would imagine that it wasn’t the first time such a situation had transpired…

I know you were wondering: peroxide and saline; it worked like magic.

Sarah got a $7,700 raise today. It really will be quite beneficial. This year, she will now make almost precisely double what I made last year. Or, to put it another way, she will make, in 10 months (minus 4 weeks vacation, so actually 9 months), the same amount that I made in 24 50-hour-a-week months (with no vacation; not one day). She is definitely blessed, and, by association, so am I.

Something in my life is being a real pain in the neck. Do you want to know what it is? Most likely it is my C2, or axis, vertebrae. I suppose that it could be C1 (or atlas, so named because it supports the globe that is my giant head…), but this diagnosis is unsatisfactory due to the facts that 1) I have more trouble with side to side movements than up and down (of course indicating axis, rather than atlas), and 2) C2 houses an intervertebral disk (the slipping of which is a likely source of the pain), where C1 does not. Look at me. I’m a doctor, or, at the very least, a chiropractor (though to qualify for the latter, I’ll have to pass the requisite final exam of being able to jump up and down on a patient).

Tonight Sarah and I had dinner with a friend from Grand Rapids who’d been doing business in LA. We went down to Laguna Beach and, after a small traffic jam on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway), had a good dinner at a small restaurant about two blocks from the water.

In other news, Sarah finished the triennial evaluation that had been giving her so many fits (read: causing her to have to work too much), and I finished my secret project (read: I didn’t do anything, but I wanted to be special: I’m just trying to fit in).

I read a book today. Isn’t that interesting? It isn’t? You’re right, it really isn’t. I won’t write a detailed review, but as does so much other Christian fiction, the plot went like this: a smolderingly handsome and talented man with a slightly checkered past has to solve a crime that will save humanity; he is aided by a beautiful, intelligent, and athletic Christian woman; the man works through personal issues with the help of religious parental figures (the old aunt/uncle who’s always been praying that this day would come) and comes to know God just in time to solve the crime and begin a relationship with the woman. I smell a sequel…

I saw Stevie Wonder on TV today. The event wasn’t really out of the ordinary (I’m quite sure he’s been on TV before); at least, it wasn’t until I said to Sarah, “Don’t turn it from Stevie Wonder.” She was quiet for a minute, then replied, “Why’s he wearing sunglasses inside? Is he blind?” Just as growing up in Europe would be no excuse for ignorance of the sky’s blueness, so too is it not an excuse for this…

Then again, I don't speak other languages fluently, so I guess we all have our issues.

After our weekend away, Sarah and I are back to the normal routine, sort of: Sarah has a big week because a triennial report on one of her students is due on Wednesday; I don’t really have a big week, but the fridge is bare and there are other errands needing attention. I’m sure there might be more to report later…

Okay, I’m back. Thanks for holding. Where were we? Oh yes, I was saying something of little significance, and you were reading and occasionally snickering.

Come to think of it, I’m not really sure if I’ve ever snickered. I’ve laughed. I’m reasonably sure I’ve cackled. I doubt you’d ever hear me emit a guffaw. Definitely I’ve chortled; I regularly chortle. I sometimes chuckle. I never titter or giggle. I may have roared once.

Okay, I just went to dictionary.com, and, as it turns out, I had my definitions all mixed up: I do not cackle. I often snicker (which is the same as a snigger, apparently), and definitely guffaw with regularity. I do not chortle (that involves a snort) but sometimes chuckle.

Come to think of it, you’re probably curious. Here are the definitions:

Cackle: to laugh or talk in a shrill manner
Chortle: to utter a snorting, joyful laugh or chuckle
Chuckle: to laugh quietly or to oneself
Giggle: to laugh with repeated short, spasmodic sounds
Guffaw: to utter a hearty, boisterous burst of laughter
Roar: to laugh loudly or excitedly
Snicker: to utter a partly stifled laugh
Snigger: to snicker
Titter: to laugh in a restrained, nervous way; giggle

We’re back. For those of you who don’t know, over the weekend, Sarah and I made a trip to Las Vegas to surprise my dad who was flying in (also a surprise) to visit some friends in Henderson, NV. We hit a bit of traffic on the way out, going only 80 miles in the first two hours, but it really could have been significantly worse. In any case, we arrived with plenty of time to spare before we snuck up on Dad at the airport (click on the picture at right to fully grasp his surprise).

It was good to see everyone, and we had lots of fun; though we did a little too much eating: Saturday the fault lay with the buffet at the Paris Hotel and Sunday with a great sushi restaurant. The food at the Paris was good as it was appetizing as it was authentic, save for the cheesecake, which everyone agreed was fantastic but Sarah insisted would never be served in France (You say it’s cake? Made from cheese!?!?!?!?). Everyone raved about the sushi: I thought it was tasty but not quite as rave-worthy as the others were suggesting. It was, on the other hand, the first time I’ve eaten eel.

After church on Sunday we went to Lake Las Vegas, a European-themed, man-made lakeside town surrounded by shops, condos, and a casino. Soon after, Sarah and I headed back to California. She turned up the heat and slept for the majority of the trip (something about having to work in the morning); I drove and fought off heat exhaustion. We crossed the desert in record time: I went the speed limit, and we still made it back in slightly less than 4 hours (it took 6 on the way out). The end.

I won't be in space, and I also won't be posting again until Monday (probably: on both accounts).

We'll likely be unable to post through the weekend: if this is the case, we'll resume on Monday as usual.

Today Max and I were talking about college courses. When I reminded him that I had 57 more credits than he did, he actually accused me of "majoring in coloring". I took the higher road and ignored his comment (well, I may or may not have pushed him off the sidewalk as I ignored him, but whatever). But that got me thinking about all the classes that I wish I could have taken in college, such as "Beating the Administration Before They Beat You", or "How to Ward Off Angry Parents" or "Preventing Playground Equipment Theft" or "Winning an Argument with the Photocopy Machine". The best class would have been Time Management 101, but I think they just figured that was one of life's Pass/Fail courses. And with that said, it's time to start heading off to bed.

~Sarah

Several times (at least four), I’ve written something and then successively deleted it from the entry. I’m not really sure why. Actually, I’m quite sure why, but I’m not telling. Or perhaps I’m just unsure and I am telling. I’m going to let you in on a secret, this post isn’t about anything. It’s not about nothing; that's for sure; it’s not about something; that's for not sure; it’s definitely not about everything. It really is about nothing (the not about nothing comment was a lie; or was it?). Okay, I’ve really had just about enough. There’s a show on TV about African bullfrogs that seems to be requiring my attention: they’re eating bugs, scaring away zebras, and being eaten by birds; how could I not watch?

An interesting aspect of southern California living that we’d previously (as in, previously to today) yet to experience is what is referred to as a “rolling blackout.” It seems that the 10 million people who live in southern California have left their TVs on for far, far too long; as a result, there’s not enough electricity for all. Rather than actually solve this problem with ridiculous solutions such as solar power and nuclear energy, some genius decided to simply shut off everyone’s electricity for a day. To that end, every few months each neighborhood has to go without power for about 8 hours. Today was that day for us. I am not making this up.

Rather than do something foolhardy, such as go to the beach (there is sand there: what if I got some in my shoe?), I decided to go to the library and check out some books so I could stay inside, thereby sustaining my healthy-looking pasty exterior, and read by the dim light that trickles into the living room through the earthquake-induced cracks in the wall.

As Max has been saying, I've been having some "problems" with the bureaucracy that has been ever-so-present in my life as of late. And by "problems", let's just say that I alternate between wanting to slam doors and wanting to scream. I've had to jump through so many hoops just to keep my job, I feel like a circus performer! And the ultimalte circus-master? Our friend Shwarzenegger. Hasta la vista, baby!

~Sarah

Today I ate a brownie that may or may not have tasted like pineapple (it did). The brownie traveled 2300 miles so that it might or might not end up in my stomach (it did), and inevitably in the septic system (it will).

Speaking of septic systems, an interesting point has been brought to my attention: it is quite possible (or, more precisely, impossible) that NASA or, more likely, the Russian Space Agency, planted the toddler-monkey in my apartment to make some inane attempt to persuade me to join their ranks. Let me just say, I’m on to you: not today, friends, not today.

Today Sarah and I received a package filled with items that may or may not have been stolen from our Alma Mater. The defendant denies these claims, but I maintain that reasonable doubt has not yet been reached.

In other news, Sarah had a better day today. I doubt you want to hear about how I got up, ate, watched TV, ate, checked my email, ate, watched TV, ate, cooked, ate, played basketball, showered, watched TV, ate, walked, and ate, so I won’t tell you about my day.

I don’t know how many times I can say it, but Sarah loves bureaucracy. Sometimes, she comes home, and it’s all she can talk about. I’m coming to love it as well. I mean, all I did today was play basketball; Sarah got to fill out forms and do things that she found incredibly unnecessary, all this in addition to her regular teaching duties. Woo hoo!

Today I was taking out the trash and an interesting thing happened: I saw a monkey. Don’t get me wrong, I saw a monkey, a chimpanzee, to be precise. It was walking upright in the hallway of my apartment building. This brings me to my point: if you truly believe that something happened, in your brain, it’s as if it actually did. With that said, the “chimp” turned out to be a toddler with an inner ear problem (you’ve seen how monkeys walk, without really bending their knees: it creates a toddling waddle).

I saw a cat today. It doesn’t really sound all that interesting, does it? Under normal circumstances, it isn’t. Today’s circumstances weren’t all that unusual; my magical powers of deduction tell me that the cat sighting was, indeed, uninteresting. Later, I saw another cat. The end.

Today I began the process that will eventually allow me to coach a local 8th-grade basketball team. With all the paperwork that’s necessary, you’d think I was applying for clearance to work at the Pentagon, or at least coach their basketball team (I know they must have one in there somewhere: it’s the largest office building in the world). Later, I’m going to go and be a substitute in a local basketball league, which should be fun; we’ll see.

Sarah came home early so we could spend some time together before basketball. After an early dinner, she cut the ends off literally trillions of drinking straws for a classroom project. Apparently, they’re going to build a full-scale model of the Empire State Building. They’re going to use that to drink the world’s largest glass of Kool-Aid.

Today I was so lacking in ideas that I considered plagiarism. I’m not really sure if that’s possible on a blog, but it’s the thought that counts. Wait, if that were completely true (the thought that counts part), I’d be a millionaire. No, make that a billionaire! Oh, and I have a PhD and play in the NBA. And one last thing, I’m watching, not the 13-inch TV that I used to have in my living room, but a 42 plasma screen. And I’m in my bathroom.

Sarah and I played a rousing game of scrabble today. I won’t tell you who won: it would bring wrath upon my very soul. Aside from our contest, we had a relaxing day; though, Sarah and I do have very different types of relaxing: I, for instance, lie on the couch and watch sports on TV; Sarah goes shopping. I would make some comment about these tendencies and biological evolutionary theory, but, if I was in a Neolithic society and tried to lie down all day, I would be dead, so it just doesn’t add up.

There are no posts today.

Today was filled with football games I didn't care about (can't get any of those midwestern schools way out here), weddings that I missed, cooking, shopping, and a good, old-fashioned cat fight (apparently, the neighbors' cats don't really like each other). Sarah was around somewhere as well.

It's Friday night: if you're reading this on Friday night, I'm going to have to ask you to turn your attention elsewhere. Perhaps to the grand pursuit of getting a life. This is my life, not yours. Yes, it is true that I am staring at a computer screen on Friday night, but this is not about me; it's about you. Nice attempt at changing the subject, but you can't divert my attention nearly so easily. Hey, is that a bug? I have to go.

Sarah and I are living dangerously: it's 10 PM on Friday night, and we're not in bed yet. Apparently, when the back of a movie box says 132 minutes, it is accurate. Sarah is scoffing at my term, "movie box", but now that she spied me typing about her, she is hiding in the corner, pouting and huffing but denying both.

I saw one of these, which, by the way, is the official state insect of Connecticut, while playing basketball. As I moved toward it, its alien-like form advanced in my direction as well. The closer I came, the higher it attempted to rear, as if to intimidate me, a being no less than 500 times its own size. I pondered just bouncing my basketball a little too close (if you know what I mean…) but decided against that in favor of prodding it with a stick: the prod wasn’t mean-spirited (or even curious), mind you, I just wanted the little dink to get off my court so I could play basketball. It left the playing surface, presumably for a more fitting lunar landscape, and I last saw it as it attempted to carry off my gym bag.

The managers of our apartment complex recently made the decision to “allow” occupants to have dogs. I say “allow” because it isn’t a gesture of kindness: if you want a dog, you have to put down a security deposit of $500 and then pay $50 extra a month in rent. I’m no mathematician, but that comes out to…carry the five…add the seven…and…too much money for a dog.

I played basketball today. Out of the ordinary? No. But, when I came home, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. To be frank, I looked like a hobo who’d just finished playing basketball (no offense to any of you basketball playing hobos out there: this is more of a slam on my personal appearance than on your socioeconomic status and its related, or unrelated, maladies). My hair was wet and stringy, my t-shirt and face were stained with dirt, and my head was permanently turned to the left (how I caught that glimpse in the mirror) due to a sore neck. Oh well.

For those of you (you know who you are) who doubt my last post about the sea lions in Newport Harbor, please read the articles attached to the following links.

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-sealion15sep15,0,1360162.story?collection=la-yahoostorylinks

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4929124

http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/bizarre/3358455

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-chat/1484746/posts

http://www.nbc4.tv/news/4972871/detail.html?rss=la&psp=news

There are plenty more where those came from (i.e., google). I did realize, though, that my last post had a mistake: according the the nbc4.tv link, the sailboat was not a 19-footer; it was more like a 50-footer.

My sleep schedule seems to have normalized somewhat: for the last 14 nights or so, I've gone to bed between 9 and 10 and gotten up between 6 and 7. Eight to nine hours of sleep every night, and I'm tired every day. Ahhh, the wonders of a good sleep schedule. Speaking of that, I heard today from a brain expert (via the TV) that in 1900, the average american got nine hours of sleep per night. Today, the average is less than seven hours. Later, the expert said that brain function is significantly impaired when a person gets less than seven hours of sleep. Oddly, our expert didn't make the connection and realize that the average american HAS SIGNIFICANTLY IMPAIRED BRAIN FUNCTION. That explains a lot.

Some of you may have heard about the rambunctious gang of young sea lions that has been terrorizing Newport Harbor, about a mile from where we live. Some members of the group, which can weigh up to 800 pounds (e.g., the middle one), recently sank a 19 foot sailboat (they all jumped on it at once, and it went down in seconds).

I ate two apples today. There were other things (mushrooms, rice, raisons, etc.), but the apples are particularly to be noted because I noted them. I just thought you might be curious. I wasn’t, because I was there. But you are not there. Well, you are there, but you’re not here. I’m here. You’re there. But in your case, I’m there and you are here. It doesn’t make any sense when you (or I, if you will) think of it that way, but you didn’t; I did. That doesn’t really matter, because now you’re thinking of it. In fact, I can make you think of whatever I want. Watch: polar bear. What did you think of? Exactly. I’ll do it again. Ready? Green monkey. And those don’t even exist.

Sarah just said, “I always have to be so careful of what I say right before your post; at least that’s what I feel.” I wonder why she would go and say something such as that.

Today was a standard day. I took care of some errands and then played basketball this evening; both were uneventful save for the elbow to the head that I took at the grocery store. Come to think of it, I didn’t even go to the grocery store today; I wonder when I got hit. In any case, Sarah came home early so that we could walk before I played, and she worked on lesson plans (and watched TV) until I came back. The end. Oh, yes, there was spaghetti in there somewhere.

I just watched one orangutan sneak up behind another, attempt to push him down a hill, and run away. I also saw a raccoon break into a house and steal a welcome mat. Somewhere in there, I’m quite sure those events are bursting with insightful lessons about human nature, but I’m left with some questions that I’d really like answered. 1) Why did the monkey push the other monkey (From the expression on the pushers face, I could tell that no malfeasance was intended; it was more of a prank, but why?)? 2) What happened when the pushee caught up with the pusher? 3) What does a raccoon do with a stolen welcome mat, sell it to a badger?

Yesterday, Sarah attempted to prove to the state of California that she went to college. I’d imagine she was successful. We watched a movie and ate pizza to celebrate. If it turns out she didn’t go to college, I’ll have to ask her to regurgitate the pizza, and then we’ll watch the movie in reverse.

In other news, we went to a church today where most of the parishioners were Asian (i.e., everyone but me). The themes of the sermon were interesting (if not stereotypical): obedience to God leads to acceptance, prosperity, and safety, and God wants friends (who are purposefully obedient) not slaves. The former is probably a bit of what you’d stereotypically expect; the latter is one that you would probably not.

Sarah and I went to the beach again today. It was a different beach than the last one, but it was a beach none-the-less. As we were getting ready to drive home, someone stopped and asked us for directions. Oddly, WE WERE ABLE TO GIVE THEM. Ten minutes later, it happened again, with the same result. We offically live here.

I was going to post the most amazing picture ever taken, but the picture function is down. You'll have to settle for the next best thing, a self portrait (below).

:>)

Aren't I an incredible artist.

Go away.

Sarah and I took our walk at Fashion Island (upscale, partially outdoor mall) today. We enjoyed watching the rich people buy things to make them happy. In the pet store, we enjoyed watching the puppies bite each other to make them happy. I think the puppies were happier (except for the Cavalier King Charles puppies, who all wanted out).

Tonight, we went down the road a few miles to Corona del Mar. It's our new favorite place in California.

Yesterday I made some fish,
And didn’t cook it in a dish.

I didn’t cook it in the sink
I didn’t cook it with some mink.

I made it in a frying pan.
(I’m not a woman; I’m a man).

Nothing was that supposed to mean.
Don’t tear out my manly spleen.

Anyway, I cooked and cooked,
And looked and looked.

I read my Betty Crocker book,
Still too long it took to cook.

Then, connected did the missing link.
Salmon’s always rightly pink!

Not a true story.

Apparently, Sarah has a number of meetings this week. I know this, because yesterday, when I asked her how her day went, our conversation was, verbatim, as follows. “I have 17 meetings in the next three days! I meeting the meeting when the meeting meeting! Meeting!!! Meeting??!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!” I replied, “Well, I thi…” “No! Meeting meeting meeting meeting.”, came the reply.

I won't say she sounded like the teacher in Peanuts ("Whah whanh whah, whannnh whahnn whann."), but I will say that she'll be glad when they're over.

Sarah successfully navigated her first IEP. Sometime, I’ll have to ask her what that is actually an acronym for; as of now, we’ll just say Individual Educational Plan, either that, or I Eat Peas. Yes, the latter is probably true: a teacher, some parents, and a few administrators get together for vegetable consumption. The problem is, Sarah doesn’t like peas.

Once, I wrote and wrote,
About a boat
That could not float.

Then, I wrote and wrote,
About a goat
Who had no coat.

Later, I wrote and wrote,
About a moat
With a purpose rote.

The boat didn’t float,
So it sunk in the moat
While the goat ate his coat.

And I was bored.

Nothing interesting happened today. In particular order, there was church, Ikea, del Taco, Costco. At some point, I’m sure there was something of note. Oh yes, we saw a college-ish looking kid wearing a Calvin College lacrosse shirt. The only thing odd about that is that Calvin is a small school located 2300 miles from here. He was probably about to be really late for class.

So today is October. That makes another month of successful non-astronauteering. That’s correct, I’ve taken to making up words. Now if you’ll excommunicate me, I have some things to do. I’ve already cleaned the house from top to bottom (it was actually more from side to side), so all that’s left is to watch a rented movie that earned sub-par reviews from a sub-par reviewer, which, by my calculations, should make for a good movie. Get it? Sub-par reviewer + sub-par review = good movie. Get it? Get it? I’m not sure I do.

Today on our walk, Sarah and I had an encounter with a feathered friend that we occasionally hear but do not see (it presumably lives in a house behind a tall fence). Usually our conversations, and by our, I mean those between the bird and himself, consist of a bunch of contented whistles and clicks. Today, as the bird was mindlessly amusing himself, Sarah whistled. “Hello?” was the reply. Notice I didn’t say, “Hello.” was the reply. The bird actually (and repeatedly, I might add) was asking if there was anyone out there; it was as if he heard a noise in the woods and was curious as to who was there and why they weren’t presenting themselves for a conversation. Hello? Hello? Hell-oooo?

Yesterday, I received a letter from George Mason University in Washington D.C. According to the student volunteer who purportedly wrote the form letter, the dean thinks I’m very qualified. Apparently, I’d make a great student. The problem is, I’m not the junior in high school they think I am.

They gave me a top ten list of why I should visit the university. Number three was “parties.” Number eight was that I might meet a special someone and get a date. Perhaps I should send them a top ten list of why I shouldn't do my undergraduate work at George Mason. Number one would probably be the fact that I’ve already done my undergraduate work. Number six would probably be the fact that I don’t go to places that think I’m still a minor who might like Disney on Ice (number nine).

Sarah has been working hard at school; I have been at home. Does this sound repetitive to anyone? I did go outside to play basketball, and I couldn’t help but think: this is quite a life I lead: I don’t have to work, the weather’s great, and I’m in good health. I really need to savor this a bit more…

Oddly, I managed to get up early today: you know, as might a normal person. I’m not really sure how it happened; I only slept for 5 hours, and I woke up before 6 AM feeling ready to go. Of course, I didn’t get out of bed for another hour, and, when I finally did, I didn’t really do anything for several hours (and by several, I mean all day). Astronauts are busy as beavers all day, aren’t they? Always fixing things, floating around, doing calculus and other such nonsense, and eating food from toothpaste tubes. Compared to them, I was a bum today: I probably only floated for about 10 minutes (it takes a lot more effort than you’d think, and I just didn’t have it in me), and I didn’t eat anything from a tube (unless you count the giant glob of toothpaste I accidentally swallowed…).