Boo, Mothers Against Menick, Myrmecology, novice adrenalin ooze

There is now no unread mail in my inbox. It is a moment to savor. I haven’t felt this free since that time a while ago when I simply didn’t look. Now I can look with pride. To my Inbox I sing: “I say Boo! to you, Pooh-Pooh! to you.” (Or more to the point, I marginally quote Mr. Gilbert’s lyrics, which also includes saying Bah to you, Aha to you. God knows how to punctuate that. Or, for that matter, how to spell Pooh-Pooh. I’m not sure I want to know.)

Last night we had the team’s Bump kickoff meeting, and the jobs were assigned. We’re looking good. One thing we didn’t discuss was housing; I’ll connect with Mother Housing tonight and see what she needs me to do. So far I know she’s sent out letters, and yelled at me for not updating the team list in an organized manner. Jeesh! These mothers are always putting me in my place. (And there’s another sentence for the ages.)

O’C has got pismires in his Pradas over the undelivered pdf of the cumulative results from Big Jake. I should have done them Sunday, except I spent most of the day zonked. He’s suggesting I get myself the full version of Adobe so I can create a virtual printer, but poor Little Elvis’s Pradas are already filled to overflowing and I don’t want to overburden the poor thing. And my Dell printer will create perfectly good pix, once it’s plugged in somewhere (parts of Chez HQ are still unglued). Anyhow, tonight he’ll get what he wants, and, finally, he’ll stop sending everyone messages about his tournament. It’s over. Done. Finito. Kaput. Sleeping with the fishes. Move on. Please.

MHL entries will come in tonight for the First-Timers’ event at Byram Hills. Always an exciting tournament, with all that untested novice adrenalin oozing into the ozone. We have about 8 of our own guys heading down, with kid judges and parent judges and a big bus and the whole banana. And we get to sleep late because it doesn’t start until after PSATs (or SATs, whichever it is). Then we’re home in time for a lovely dinner in the arms of the nuclear F. Beautiful!