"We're not saying anything new here. We're just saying the same things that need to be said again and again with fierce conviction."
- You know how some moms occasionally (often?) get so tied up with caring for their families that finding the time to shower seems beyond impossible? I suspect that should I ever have progeny, a shower won't be the issue, but rather, managing to put on pants will be my own personal laurel wreath.
- Reason #157 I don't gamble: I believe it would be statistically impossible to have a worse bracket than I do at the moment. I would say that's what I get for filling out my bracket with Sara the night before she left, at 2 am, while half-asleep - picking teams not completely at random, but just about. Or, we could chalk it up to the mistake of choosing three NC teams to put in your Final Four.
- In an unrelated NCAA tournament note, I derive an odd sense of pride from knowing that "March Madness" comes from my beloved IHSA. Ahhh... the memories. You know, the amount of IHSA crap I did in high school really cannot be quantified.
- Falling asleep in the middle of watching Patton will give you seriously crazy dreams. Dreams in which you're part of some airborne division, dropping in over a mountain range in Sicily separating Spain from France, and while you make it to the Spanish side like you were supposed to, you end up first soaring up to 20,000 feet and then crashing into a bunch of trees, and when you come to after being knocked unconscious, it's in a USO and LDS chapel hybrid and your friend Jacquie from a couple of years ago is part of a Canadian Sparkle Motion dance troupe (notorious!) and so she helps you find an officer to send a wire to your unit, and in your dream you end up sitting and waiting for a few hours while surrounded by British and Canadian chaos until you wake up with an odd sense of patriotism and hell of a lot of confusion, because you're not sure if you were male or female in your dream. You felt like yourself, but at the same time... you were a WWII combat soldier. Also, the confusion may come from the fact that my subconscious's grasp of geography is beyond pathetic.
- Speaking of movies, I realized recently (err, while watching it, of course) that my favorite parts of Apollo 13 are the bits in Houston, in Mission Control. All of those engineers, developing all kinds of crazy things, doing so much founded on nothing more than their raw brain power? HOT. If wishes were fishes, I'd so find me an engineer from the 60s, or at the very least, a guy who can rock a slide rule.
- Speaking of geography, I was talking to someone (although I can't remember who; not even if it was a Frenchie or what) recently about how too many Americans know very little about world geography, and as an example of how this person really did know something, I suggested werf name the largest city in India, thinking that was ridiculously easy and yet decidedly "world" geography. Werf's response, however, was "Dubai." Let us all hang our heads in collective shame.
- Just because you're living in France doesn't mean you need to sing "happy birthday" to your friend in French. Particularly when you're a gaggle of drunken Irish girls, and your friend is also Irish. And even more particularly when one of you lives right next to me, who hates Anglophone accents. You're already going to keep me up for the next several hours with your plastered cackling; must there be poorly accented, off-key versions of "joyeux anniversaire" too?
- I could be finishing my long, sure-to-be-painful-for-you-who-make-the-mistake-of-reading-it Marrakesh post, but instead I think I'm going to watch Lawrence of Arabia while I wait for the drunken game of Truth and Dare to quiet down next door; it's been a while since I've had a First World War dream.
