• Telling signs

    An excellent indicator that Boston is in the World Series is my inability to adjust the time on my Seiko. Due to a nervous, disturbingly cannibalistic habit, I have an insufficient collection of rigid tissue at the end of my fingers to pry out that wicked small knob on the side of my watch. Not having “mother nature’s screwdriver” handy at a moment’s notice is terribly inconvenient.

    Now I just have to remember to wash my hands before the game tonight and I’ll be all set.

    As it turns out, it may be a good thing the hockey season doesn’t go off this year. I’m not sure I could handle the stress.

  • Grammar school politics

    In the south…

    I have it on good authority that if John Kerry is elected president, kids will have to go to school on Saturdays and Sundays, and they will only have brussel sprouts and cabbage for lunch in the cafeteria.

    George Bush, on the other hand, has the courage to take on the liberal school boards. He has the backbone to take on the vegan lobby. He has the strength of character to stay the course on the traditional school week. He is the only candidate that wants to take the choice away from lunch ladies, and put it into the hands of the hard working school children of America.

    Well, that’s what Beth’s friends say anyway.

  • Beware of the man with bloodshot eyes

    As expected, I’m getting less sleep now than I was before Adam was born. Once again I’ve descended into the realm of the obvious. More importantly, I’m back at work for the first time since Adam was born, and I couldn’t be more alert if someone gave me a swift kick in the head.

    Pity the man that comes between me and the sweet nectar of life when I’m operating on less than a full night’s sleep. Yes, I’m back at work, and quickly falling back into the same old bad habits. I’d only been back for a couple of hours before I made my first emergency run to the vending machine this morning. (Dear Lord, please grant me the caffeine and carbs to make it through the day.) Being away from the office for three weeks tends to create a bit of a backlog of issues needing attention, so my path to the vending machine was akin to an obstacle course in basic training (author’s note: I have no actual military experience to tap for an accurate comparison).

    I’m here to tell you that I made it there and back in one piece. I’ve consumed by bounty, but it seems it wasn’t enough. Caffeine and sugar, it seems, will only take you so far. Good sense was never one of my strong points, not when it comes to diet, sleep, or fashion anyway. Wait a minute! That probably puts me in the 99th percentile of American male adults! I feel better already.

    It occurs to me that this is all rather predictable. What’s more common than a new parent being tired? It’s just slightly more interesting than my latest trip to the restroom (I’ll spare you that story). Look! Up on the desk! It’s a time sheet! It’s a case file! It’s a stack of work! NO, IT’S ALL OF THE ABOVE!

    I guess I had better get back to work. Lunch is all but over.