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.