Self-Referential to the Max

Let us share a moment of silence for the demise of Le Mariage Royale, my favorite formalwear shop to fug on. Since Cindi Lauper and Björk can only buy so many evening gowns, it was a foregone conclusion that its days were numbered. But at least there’s a silver lining: the sewing shop next door has expanded into the empty space, so now you don’t have to anchor yourself to the front door before burrowing your way through to the button display in the back.

No one wants to hear this, but I must rant about it somewhere, so feel free to move on to the end now. Still here? Anyhoo, my favorite short-cut street has apparently become a favorite dog-walking street judging by all the piles of dog crap I had to dodge yesterday. Oh, and a drunk short-cut, going by the barf. I think it is time to start issuing dogs with diapers, like Hannah came up with all those years ago. I wonder how practical a head diaper would be, to be handed out at the door of the local bars when customers leave. Maybe with goggles attached?

I am not really big on the idea of New Year’s resolutions, because it seems that self-improvement should be an on-going thing. But when everyone else is talking about it, it is a good reminder that maybe the improvement is not improving at the rate I would like, and maybe I should reanalyze. So other people’s resolutions are ok, I guess. Poor John gets to hear me moan and groan about my deficiencies, so I won’t burden you all here, but I do have mini-goals I could share:
Take my iron every day.
Drink more water.
Spend more time each week walking, and not just in the course of my day. (I must point out, though, that my office is on the 4th floor of the English Department (78 stairs and 2 long hallways from the front door), and I go there 2-3 times per week. Our apartment is on the 3rd floor of our house (40 stairs), and our bedroom is upstairs in our apartment. So I have totally got stairs covered.)

And finally, I wanted to share this photo of the best dad in the world:



He actually didn’t volunteer to play Barbies—he had them thrust upon him by a very insistent Hannah.