No Rest for the Weary

In which your humble narrator realizes that he has spoken too soon.

Apparently one of our former Republican legislators who found himself out of job when the Pawlenty administration closed up shop managed to have himself appointed a Regent of the University in addition to his part-time gig in the Humphrey School of Public Affairs.*

From Tim Post's piece at MPR:

"At today’s board meeting Sviggum apologized to his new colleagues for putting them in an awkward position.  But he told them he didn’t think his work as an instructor and a regent would conflict."

Oh, gosh no. Just take his word for it.

I'm begging you University, please stop. I'd like to go back to writing about my kids' insanity, snot and verbal abilities some time soon.

*Where he pulls in 80k per year. Part time. 

More Woes at The U

In which your humble narrator wonders what embarrassment to expect next.

It continues to be a lousy week at the University of Minnesota. I mean on top of previous issues.

Big budget cuts are coming, preceded by the corporatist weasel words we've all come to expect.

We're number four! We're number four! We're the fourth most corrupt athletic program in the country!

Oh, and a math professor from a lesser local University punched Goldy in the head.

At least next week is spring break. So we've probably got a week's reprieve from embarrassing scandal. I'm going to spend my time grading some papers in a modest, professional manner without embezzling, assaulting or humiliating anyone. You're welcome, University.

Hold your applause please

In which your humble narrator burns with righteous indignity.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you my University.

Sheesh. I'm starting to feel about my academic home the same way as one of my undergraduate Religious Studies professors described his relationship to the Roman Catholic church: "Well, she may be an old whore, but she's still my Mom and I love her."

Accidental Profanity

In which your humble narrator recalls an inadvertent insult to his sister.

Child #2 is starting to get very interested in letters and colors, even though she's not yet 2 years old. This is because she is freakishly brilliant. Also evil. This child is ornery in a way that the other one never was. This reminded me this week of when Child #1 was learning letters

Sister-of-Me was sitting in our living room while Child #1 played with some brightly colored foam letters we had gotten for him. He selected a couple of letters and toddled over to my sister and said "Look, Auntie! F! U!"

It was indeed a purple F and a yellow U, and of course, completely innocent. I fear that if Child #2 learns F and U that she may mean it.

Mailbag

In which your humble narrator remembers to answer the queries in the mailbag.

Dear Rotten Baby,
I live near the St. Croix River and there's this weird smell around my house lately. Sort of like charred Gouda? What's up with that?
                                                  -Cheesily Confused
Dear C.C.,
The offending odor wafting over the frozen St. Croix is the state of Wisconsin going up in flames. Since "America's Dairyland" contains the highest concentration of cultured dairy products in the nation, you're experiencing some off-gassing from the labor struggles of our neighbors to the east.
You see, C.C., in the past election everyone decided that they were pissed off because a historic financial collapse 15 years in the making wasn't solved in 18 months. Therefore the peoples were filled with anger and decided pretty much to vote against incumbents all over the place to "send a message." That message was "I is super angry! Also dumb! Mostly I just want someone to validate my feelings because I am a whiny, petulant crybaby electorate." And now everything is perfect forever. Hooray!

Dear Rotten Baby,
Will the stupid winter never end? Seriously? 74.9 inches of snow so far this winter. I'm tired of looking at it, driving in it and shoveling it.
                                               -Tired of The Snow
Deat TOTS,
Your imitation of a repining weasel leaves me breathless. Of course winter will end. What apparently won't end is your constant litany of complaint about things over which you can exert no influence what-so-ever. Please, learn a lesson from the local Scandihoovians and bear this burden stoically for a change.

Dear Rotten Baby,
While it's clear to everyone that you make up letters to answer in this feature, you seem especially vituperative lately. Does setting up imbecilic straw men to pummel make you feel like some sort of big man?
                                             -Concerned Reader
Dear C.R.
Yes.

Nobody Nose the Trouble I've Seen

In which your humble narrator titles a post with an excruciating pun, curses evolutionary biology and slowly returns to the land of the living.

Having caught yet another cold after only a month of relative health, last week, I proceeded to get another infection of my maxillary, ethmoid and frontal sinuses. Fortunately for me my regular doctor had referred me to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist after the last round and my appointment conveniently fell just as I got sick with the latest plague.

The charming ENT doc numbed up my face and shoved a large scary metal thing up my right nostril to have a bit of a look around while making the ever reassuring comment "Yeah, it's pretty gross in here." I shouldn't complain, she was really very pleasant about the whole thing, and she vacuumed out my sinuses free of charge, leaving me without congestion for at least a half hour. After a sample of some snot from somewhere in the vicinity of my right eyeball and a few blood tests, it was concluded that I was severely infected with some hideous bacterial agent. After a few days of unpleasant antibiotics, I am at least feeling human again.

Evolutionary biologists have not come to a consensus as to the adaptive purpose of the sinuses in the human head, to which I inquire: "What the hell are you evolutionary biologists spending all your research dollars on? 'Field research' in Vegas? Coke binges? Betting on the ponies?"

Morality Play in One Act

In which your humble narrator relates the spirit of goodness in Child #1.

To begin, some background. Child #1 goes to the local liberal Jewish preschool. We picked this school for several reasons. First, it's only 2 miles away. Second, they offer generous financial assistance. And third, and most important, the preschool teachers at this school are ladies of a certain age who have been teaching preschool since your humble narrator was a wee tyke. Preschools should be run by sweet little old ladies. Child #1's teacher is named Joannie.

The Scene: our car on the way home after preschool. 

Child #1: I have to do a good deed.
Me: What?
Child #1: Joannie said I have to do a good deed. I have to.
Me: Okay. So what are you going to do?
Child #1: A good deed. Joannie said so.
Me: Yeah, but what kind of good deed?
Child #1: I will brush my teeth politely. (Yells) It's a mitzvah!

I'm so relieved that we won't have to endure the trauma of him being rude to the tooth paste. And I know the tooth brush couldn't handle it.