*I had to look up the spelling (Wordpress, you were WRONG) and Google suggested Extremeties Quarterly. How can you not watch a show that goes to these lengths (har) to flesh out the story.

The next day we went to Weba’s house to munch on her baby. I took daddy porn pictures.

Next, I’m pleased to announce that yesterday was the long-awaited birth of the Peanut, who is the cutest little PuertoKorecuan legume I’ve ever seen.

The BlurboDooces and I at the Things I Learned About My Dad book signing in Brooklyn. I don’t think I’ve ever been so starstruck in my life. Buy it.

In my haste to clear off the train this morning, I managed to drop my hat somewhere in the aisle/on the seat.  Having realized this as soon as I got up to the main waiting area, I rushed back down the stairs to see if I could find it.  The train was empty and the doors were shut.  I ran down the platform until I saw a conductor inside, getting ready for the next trip.  He was holding my hat!  I knocked on the window, pointed to the hat, myself, my head, and all was well. 

Another small happiness was that I wore my wind-blocking beast coat, long johns, fleece boots, and a scarf around my head and was able to laugh at the icy wind which blew me bent.  No one undressed me with their eyes, but neither did the wind penetrate my layers. 

The universe has balanced all of this good fortune by killing our car.   P arrived at work this morning with all alarms and dashboard lights going off and opened the hood to find it had vomited oil all over itself.  Off it gets towed to Erik, Miracle Mechanic of München (well, he seems vaguely Germanic), who shall restore it to its former state of grudging mobility. 

In other news, cheers to Assers, who begins her first day of corporate gruntiness today.  May she find good coffee and cooperative office machinery. 

Fifi had sent me a collection of our high school cartoons, birthed mainly in algebra class and inspired largely by our mildly-stuttering and thickly-bespectacled teacher, Mr. S. In retrospect, Mr. S. must have been a clever teacher to make us recite, “Mmmmmm, slope!” Even today, I can remember that in the line-forming equation y=mx+b, m represents the slope of the line. Naturally, Fifi and I found it spasmodically delightful to see him standing in front of us, rubbing his stomach in appreciation of the delicious slope at hand. Especially when he wore one of his shirts that looked like graph paper or a tic-tac-toe grid.

Another algebraic principle that caught our attention was the idea that subtracting a negative resulted in a positive. We promptly determined that our insignificant bustlines suffered from such negativity and drew scenarios in which beating—or subtracting—them would create a lovely positive swelling. Because that isn’t weird at all! Quite funny, in fact.

Here we have an adventure in which Fifi and I take advantage of the checkerboard pattern on Mr. S’ shirt, and he kindly obliges by passing out.

*no idea, but it was a common punchline