Oh, my lanta!

I am. so. stuffed. Like a stuffed turkey or a stuffed mushroom. Ay-ay-ay. We went to Milltown in downtown Carrboro tonight for dinner, after a full day of breakfasting at Big Ed's with Ann and Company, watching the Tigers pummel (lightly) the Wolf Pack at the RBC Center, and wandering around the Museum of Natural Sciences slack jawed and stumbling over small children. Now, I'm in a food coma, more or less. Nothing works but my hands, which are graciously allowing me to type this wonderful, inspiring, groundbreaking blog post. Andrew is watching some smooth-talking Swedish guy--who's name, incidentally, is Hans-- on YouTube lecturing about world population growth, GDP, and infant mortality. Later, we will be doing scientific experiments with beakers and petri dishes and pipettes.

An interruption by two big lame Sally moments from this weekend:

1. I broke one of my beautiful, cream PB bowls yesterday. One down, 11 to go. Bum-mer.

2. Andrew was too cool for school and would not take a picture with me at the basketball game this afternoon. I blame it on the Wolf Pack. He wanted to be incognito.

Now back to our regular programming.

Last night we went to a potluck supper hosted by one of the head-honchos in the Environmental Engineering department at UNC. All the nerds were there in all their smartness and pocket-protected glory, and one of the most handsome of them all is married to me. We chit-chatted over drinks and wasabi peas and a table of pots chock full of luck until we were completely spent and decided to call it a night. The host's house was a veritable greenhouse with potted plants and a Koi pond and all kinds of indoor-outdoor mind-swindling tricks going on, but one thing that caught my eye was his bookshelf. You can tell a lot about a person by the books he reads. Or maybe displays. Because this bookshelf was floor to ceiling, wall to wall. And had titles like The Pleasure of Finding Things Out, Dutch, Harry Potter and the __________, Making Things Grow, etcetera. A bookshelf can say 1/3 who a person is, 1/3 who they think they are, and 1/3 who they want to be. Because no one has read all of the books on their bookshelves. Except maybe Kelly. But she doesn't count. You have books you've read and really enjoyed, books you have tried to read to get smarter or seem smarter (and to your credit, it's worked!), and books you want to be smart enough to read but can't make it through the first 10 pages without smacking the snooze button. [And when I say you I'm talking about the proverbial, collective you, kind of like the proverbial they, as in "you know, they say if you put sunblock in your hair it will grow twice as fast...". So, don't take it personally. Or do. And I made that whole sunblock thing up for an example, so don't go combing sunblock through your shorty-short tresses.] In no way am I saying this is a bad thing, however. If the human race never made it past Goodnight Moon or Berenstain Bears the world would be a silly place. Or maybe we'd all just get a really good night's sleep. Anyway, it's good to have a bookshelf of thirds, if you will, to push yourself, one philosophical summary page at a time. I've got a bookshelf like this one, meself. I like to delude myself into thinking that Four Plays by Aristophanes falls into the same category as a Karen Kingsbury novel.

'Kay. I'm fresh out. I know there's more to talk about than just the above ramblings, but my brain is still digesting my hambuger. {???} I shall take my leave. Later alligators. Until next time. Fare-thee-well. Over and out. 10-4. Arrivederci. Nighty-night. Sayonara. Ciao. Bye-bye. See ya. Adios. Adieu. Catch ya on the flip side. Until we meet again. God be with ye.

And lastly, as Mizz Klum would say, auf wiedersehen.


Post script: Haiti still needs our help, and will continue to need our help. No donation is too little, or too much--So, keep giving!