*…per today's X-Games: you can't pull a front-side 1080 and expect to stay in fifth place

My mom’s web site is pretty much done, with the exception of adding some links and stuff. Please check out her work here. What’s posted in the galleries represents just a fraction of her work, so if you’re interested in seeing more, feel free to email her. She’s currently at work on some pieces commissioned by a woman who saw my mom’s work in a gallery, and instead of buying some of her pieces, she asked my mom to trick out her home with murals and whatnot. Pretty cool. Anyway, you should check out the stuff!

The lead singer of O.A.R. is pulling for the Colts. The beauty of being down here this weekend, is that I’m getting all of the latest Indy headlines on my computer, including this one. My pick for tomorrow: The Saints. And this has nothing at all to do with exacting some kind of vicarious revenge on the Colts for what happened in 07. ESPN played one of those slo-mo retrospectives on Super Bowl XLI this afternoon, so I got to relive that in all of its super-slow horror. Every single Grossman fumble, every single Grossman floater for an interception. So Geaux Saints…

If ever there were a weekend to be snowbound in Indy, this would be the one. Among the dozens of cars spun out in ditches or in the medians on the way here, almost all sported those window flags with the Colts horseshoe. Z and I are here to celebrate the cousin’s b-day…

I loved last night’s Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. In case you missed it:

Z and I were doing Mad Libs tonight, when I called for “A Large Number.” She answered, “Infinity.” I was both stumped and kind of impressed. I also knew that “infinity” wouldn’t make for a really funny line (”….and pulled [LARGE NUMBER] feet of [SOMETHING SLIMY] out of my [PART OF CLOTHING]“). So I asked for another large number.
“Infinity is a large number.”
“I know, but it’s not really a number number.”
“Yes it is.”
“Not really, it’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, technically it isn’t.”
“Yes it is.”
“Look, just pick another large number.”
“I choose infinity.”
“Alright, you can’t really choose infinity, since it technically isn’t really a number.”
“Then what is it?”
“A concept.”
“A concept?”
“Yes, a concept.”
“Can a concept be a number?”
“I suppose.”
“Good, then I choose infinity.”
Fine…
….So I decided to put on a magic show for everyone in [CHICAGO]. The audience gasped as I pulled a(n) [MOM] out of a hat, made a gigantic [TV] disappear into [FUNNY] air, pulled [INFINITY] feet of [FROG] out of my [UNDERWEAR], and sawed my pet [BEAR] in half….
There was laughter…

I’m no survival expert, but even I know that leaping 100 feet into a pool of water, the depth of which you tested with a rock/vine apparatus, is a poor plan. Further, I cannot trust you because you insist on adding an extra “-tated” at the end of “disorient” and “orient.” That’s just poor grammar, sir, your place of birth aside. How can I trust that you know what you’re doing when you say that “we need to get orientated.” Perhaps we need to get “oriented?” Is that what you meant? And then there’s your pole-vaulting technique for getting down a mountain. Surely walking poses less of a threat to your ankles? I don’t know. It’s just that in every episode, you insist on getting naked and/or drinking your own pee in the name of “survival.” Well, sir, we have a name for people like that around here–all of whom are registered with the local authorities and cannot step w/in 100 yards of any schools…

Was teaching late tonight, don’t have energy for something original. Shout out to Michelle “Ms. Pickles” Howe for introducing me to The Snuggler:

Teaching begins tomorrow–late start class, which means 3 solid hours rather than 2.75. I’ve failed to take into consideration the Tuesday evening doldrums, which are always a precursor to the Wednesday yawns, which lead into the Thursday stretch. Hopefully, I’ll be up for it tomorrow night. Tonight was spent photocopying and paper-shuffling and 5 minutes of mental visualization. 2.5 minutes, probably…

I continue to read The Plot Against America and think reassuring thoughts as I’m alternately impressed w/the writing and freaked out by the plot, as it were. (”As it were” was said in my slippers and smoking jacket, with a pipe in my mouth and a slightly affected British accent. Thank you…)

Finally, I would like to declare the following: Based on what the scale says when I go into my bathroom after I get off the computer, I will either have a mighty large bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce or a modest bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Either way, vanilla ice cream/choc sauce is gonna happen tonight… Good night…

#83 (Yesterday was #82, though I forgot to number it. Still haven’t missed a day yet…)

1. Hash Taggsworth (I’d been trying, for the 800th time, to read Pynchon)
2. Gil Martin
3. Bill Garten (not from same story as Gil Martin)
4. Tolbert Ullrichson (this was going to be a neo-Scandinavian saga)
5. Larry “Fog” Masters
6. Bill Jenkins… It was at this point that I realized I’d hit creative rock bottom. Bill Jenkins, on name alone, is completely uninteresting. But not even in an ironically uninteresting/everyman kind of way. If a character’s name is any kind of window into the author that created him, then you would know that my well was dry. If any of you out there can write an interesting story starring Bill Jenkins, please do so. If it makes it into the New Yorker, I expect to be invited to the party celebrating your literary stardom. Bill. Jenkins…

Z passed her swim test this morning, and officially graduated to Starfish A–a more advanced (and expensive) set of classes. We celebrated this victory–borne of at least a dozen “bobs” (head all the way under the water, then back up), a couple of hard-fought circuits with the foam bubble on, and at least three solo jumps into the water–with a pajama party at home. She created invitations, a menu, a series of games. PJs were required, so I did as I was told. By 3:30 this afternoon, it was clear that we weren’t going to change out of our pajamas, and after a couple of rounds of SpongeBob Sorry, Z said, “Daddy, can we just stay in pajamas all day today? This is really comfy.” Of course! If I could, I’d wear jammies all day, every day. To work. Meetings. Presentations. Honestly, I think the world would be a much better place if we all donned loungewear all day…

Anyway, part of the day was interrupted by a Phineas & Ferb marathon. I love this cartoon. One of my favorite characters is the doe-eyed Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, a Mexican Jewish girl, as her name would suggest. Today, one of the episodes had this bit about Mrs. Garcia-Shapiro going to the Mexican-Jewish Cultural Festival, and it contained this number. Oy-lay:

#81

Family Fun Night happened at Z’s school tonight. It was 6:30-8:30. This was the first time they attempted such an event, as was evident from the mass chaos at the 7:15-8:00 Twister event in the gym. Here’s what I learned:

1. There is a reason I teach college. Having the option of cursing/swearing at students, and expecting certain things without having to raise my hand in the air and count to five is invaluable.

2. Our daughter’s spirit is absolutely indomitable. Very few of her classmates came to FFN and she looked tired enough to fall over and sleep in the middle of one of the 12 Twister mats in the cordoned off gymnasium, yet she played. And wouldn’t leave until everyone had a chance to play. And upon leaving FFN, she declared it to be “The best night EVER!!!” In my head, I simply thought, “Really??”

3. The promise of pizza, even if it’s a dollar a slice, will bring out a number of families who will treat the FFN as their evening’s dinner choice. Some will use it simply as pizza take-out night, and not so much as poke their head in the book sale portion of the gym, let alone the Twister zone.

4. I will continue to buy more books for Z than she needs because I have a thing for the PTA President, who I actually went out of my way to time my place in line so that I she could ring up our books. And I feel as though if I continue to buy lots of books, as if to say, “Hey, I support your cause, know what I’m sayin’?” that maybe she’ll take notice/remember me.

5. With respect to #2, to give you an idea: I went to ONE “Family Fun Night” when I was her age, and I recall being utterly miserable, self-conscious, overwhelmed, nervous and, well, miserable. I hated every minute of it, and wanted, more than anything, to be home. Z couldn’t have been happier. You have no idea how thankful I am that she is the way she is. Especially because tonight I felt exactly as I did back then.

6. We read all of the books bought at the book sale portion of FFN tonight, and Z again talked about how great it was. I said, “I’m glad. I love you, night night.” She said, “I love you, night night.” And now it’s time for a glass of wine–the only way to appropriately end Family Fun Night…

#80