Proving Once Again...

...that it's impossible to please everyone, as I was just about to launch into my funhouse of wordiness about the past weekend I was interrupted by the boy who delivers my e-mails breathlessly bursting through the doorway with the following message from reader Jim Smith (an alias if I ever heard one, especially since it comes from the made up land of EAST Carolina):

RE: weekend

Were you teasing us about the cheese toast? There had better be cheese toast.

::sigh:: Yes, yes, YES! There will be cheese toast, but if any of you people think I'm gonna do 4,000 blogwords on it, you're even more unbalanced than I am. Anyway, all that stuff is covered in my new book, War and Cheese.

[...] When Princess Mary returned to her room after her nocturnal talk with Pierre, Natasha met her on the threshold.

"He has cut the cheese? Yes? He has cut it?" she repeated.

And a joyful yet pathetic expression which seemed to beg forgiveness for her joy settled on Natasha's face.

"I wanted to listen at the door, but I knew you would tell me."

Understandable and touching as the look with which Natasha gazed at her seemed to Princess Mary, and sorry as she was to see her agitation, these words pained her for a moment. She remembered her brother and his love of cheese. [...]

($54.24 at Amazon, signed copies available while supplies last)

ANYWAY, no sooner do I inform "Jim Smith" of this than I am quickly met with a reply--

I think I had that book but I went to a seminar and someone moved it.

And AGAIN, only nanoseconds later, the wheezing e-mail boy (I call him Chet) stumbled in with this:

Please excuse the earlier non-funny and reaching reference to moved cheese.

Organizational development references are rarely funny--even when they are good.

Indeed.

Fortunately, using my OTHER book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Bloggers, I was able to seamlessly blend reader mail into my own writings, thus adding bulk and topicality to what otherwise would be...

THE STORY OF MY WEEKEND!

Okeedoke--Friday's fun with bureaucrats was actually okay--it didn't last nearly as long as I had feared, and the presenter used a PAPER pad in lieu of the dreaded PowerPoint. If there was ever a topic that begged for the useless inclusion of spiffy, mid-90s computerized overheads, it was this one, so it's even more remarkable that it wasn't used.

Anyway, got through, came back to work and finished some junk, then jumped into the van and headed to the soccer park for the first of FOUR stinkin' games this weekend. Jonathan was making up an earlier rainout, and the field was still pretty squishy from the morning rains we had. They were playing St. Aloysius from over in Bessemer, and it looked like nearly half the team was girls. I was expecting our guys to make short work of them, but St. Al is apparently the patron saint of butt-kicking little girls--we wound up with a 1-all tie, and were quite happy to get it.

Back home, clean up the kids, go to bed so as to get right back up the next morning and shuttle him over to Moody for an 8 a.m. game. Went to bed at midnight, had to get up at six. Blah.

It was, however, during my Friday/Saturday sleepytime when I had the disturbing dream that I was in Las Vegas, and was married to Charlotte Church. SO wrong, on so MANY different levels, the worst of which being that I can't forget it! BAD! For the life of me, I have no idea why her in particular (aside from the obvious pulchritudinal reasons--BAD!!--sorry) nor why Las Vegas. Probably best not to eat crispy fried chicken with 11 herbs and spices less than 8 hours before going to bed.

In any event, the alarm clock stopped any more involuntary, unconscious, yet still supremely guilt-inducing exploits or horrifying images of the bizarre, so I stumbled around and got dressed and woke Boy up and got him dressed and off we went.

You know, since it's springtime, I figured a shirt would be just fine. I would have been well served to watch the news for about five minutes before leaving, because it was cold and damp and windy and I near about froze. But, the boys didn't seem to mind at all--real good game, and they won 4-2. Back to Trussville just in time to meet Reba and the girls for Catherine's game. For once, their team had a little competition. They managed to win, but only by a score of 8-1. It would have been higher except for some reason Cat had decided that the bestest thing to do was to kick the ball as hard as possible out of bounds any time she got near it. "But Coach Craig said if it was goin' in th' goal to kick it out!" "Going in YOUR goal--you can kick it IN TO the other team's as MUCH AS YOU WANT!!" "Oh. Okay!" We'll see how she does next week.

Home again, jiggety-jig, and as Reba worked on the laundry, I fired up the ol' Murray and began doing laps around the Ponderousrosa. Which always leads to entirely too much introspection. I have thought about getting Reba's hands-free microphone off her cellphone so folks will think I'm talking to someone on the phone instead of myself. In any event, the first lap around the perimeter, and I get off on this topic--'Why do I do this?'

Because the grass will get...No, not that, doof--why do I write this garbage. Oh. Well, who knows? If I didn't write it, someone else would and I wouldn't get all the fame and adulation and wealth and...hmm. Why, indeed. Then there was this--'Why are there so many really nasty morons out there?' Whew--good one. You know, being not-so-bright is not so bad if the person is nice and calm (like me), but the paranoid conspiracy theorists and flat-earthers and dictionary abusers and nearly illiterate and trolling seekers of someone to validate their existence and ignoramuses and outright liars just irritate me to no end. I have always thought it possible that someone might have a reasoned opinion that differs from my own--that's part of life. We disagree, then we move on. Sure would be nice if everyone thought like that, but I realize it doesn't quite work that way. For what it's worth, if you disagree with what I write here, don't think that I will dignify your thoughts with a response if you insist on being willfully ignorant. Or anonymous. If you expect courtesy, be courteous. If you can't bring yourself do that, go get yourself a hands-free microphone and mow your yard and talk to yourself, but please leave me out of your thought processes.

As I said, much too much introspection--but the grass looks awfully nice. Got through with that and it was time to load everyone BACK up and head to the park again for Middle Girl's game. Another fine effort from the girls--poor Rebecca wants to score again so bad, but they just didn't drop this time. She must have had six or seven attempts (including a booming kick that sailed over the top crossbar), but she only managed an assist. But they won 5-0, so they all were charged up about that, as well as the tournament they have coming up this weekend. They seem to be getting a bit cocky, so they might be in for a bit of a surprise.

Back home, and time to fire up the grille for some tasty seared cow flesh. Mmmm-MM! We need a new set of wires, though. The actual grille part that makes those pretty scorched lines on the meat has gotten a bit rusty, and despite my best efforts to knock all the tender, flaky bits of enamel and iron oxide off, there were still a few hangers-on that managed to attach themselves to my steaks, leading to some terribly gritty portions. A little A-1 sauce cured it. Mostly.

Got finished, got the dishes done, time for baths, hear Tiny Terror crying about the potty being broked-ed. Went up and found that she had torqued the plastic flush handle around like she was trying to turn the handbrake on a runaway freight car, thus guaranteeing said plastic to be twisted apart and lying at the bottom of the tank.

"You BROKE it!" [Apparently said with the combined fearsomemess of Snidely Whiplash and R. Lee Ermey]

::eyesquirt:: "Buh...BWWWWWAAAA AAAAHHHHHHHHHH ...uhuh BWAHAAHAHAAAAA AAAGGGHHHH!"

"Oh, good morning Viet Nam, I can fix it! Just don't break it after I do!"

::sniff:: "Okay."

Off to the hardware store, down to the broken potty fixins, get exact replacement (thus insuring another trip in a few years), back home, pop it in under the careful watch of several curious offspring (so THAT'S how it works--Yes! Now forget everything you've seen!), and then perform the Ceremonial Flush of Dedication. All better.

Kids scrubbed, hair washed, hair dried, off to bed, collapse into bed myself, wake up in daze for to get some churching up.

Get to church, find I have two teachers and one sub out of action, so I get Reba to teach Cat's class and put the seventh graders in with the eighth graders and then go try to stay awake in class. Class over with, time for church, and Catherine is wide awake and ready to wiffle and fidget and talk and lie in the floor and on top of me and kick the pew and then sit ever so still and then quickly bend over to pick up her purple purse in the floor and release a ripping backburp that sounded like a two-stroke McCulloch chain saw cranking up. Thankfully, she only pulled the cord once, and the smell of burning oil dissipated quickly.

Morning worship complete, back home, leftover lunch (including the remainder of the KFC--not that I was trying to recreate any sort of dreamstate entertainment for myself), read the newspaper, load everyone back up, head back to the church building, lead singing and DON'T mess up for once, get some supper, back home, collapse into bed again after signing notebooks and fixing snacks and soccer bags.

Wake up, come here, work like a madman, write this, and then look forward to the morrow.

And make some tasty cheese toast--here's my recipe:

Bread
Cheese

Place cheese on bread.

Place in oven on Broil. Heat until bread is toasted and cheese is melting.

Remove.

Eat!
posted by Terry at 2:37:00 PM