Watching the flashback scenes of Jimmy and his mom when she visits Princeton in the next to last episode of Boardwalk Empire reminded me of my high school Psychology class. When our teacher was talking about Freud and the concept of the Oedipal Complex, one of the guys behind me in my row, a long-haired gentlemen who enjoyed smoking dope during lunch hour, made this trenchant remark: "Man, Freud must have had a hot mom."
At the request of my daughter, I made ratatouille on Tuesday. Apparently, the rat in the damn Pixar movie is a better cook than me because she and Mrs. Nasty didn't like it. A movie motivates my daughter to try a dish that is a smattering of healthy vegetables, but it doesn't work out.
Am I the only person who still appreciates the brilliance of the Spice Girls?
With me having to stay home on Monday and Tuesday since my daughter had some virus, my dog's routine was disrupted. Darby didn't get as much sleep as she's used to. The first day she looked at me a number of times with a look that said, "Why are you here, and can you be more quiet?"
ESPN blathers on and on about Tebow. Clue to NFL defensive coordinators: Check out the 2009 SEC Championship Game and what the Crimson Tide did to him. They kept Tebow in front of them, defenders usually never ran past him, and they kept him in the pocket for the most part. All that equaled success: Tebow wept.
I've had a number of nicknames over the years, but three I haven't had are these: Dr. Feelgood, Senor Robusto, or Professor Booty. Disappointment...
You can say what you want about Pillow Pets and the commercial that creates an earworm, but I fell asleep on the couch the other day with one. That dog version is comfortable.
Last night after we got home after her gymnastics practice, my eight-year old daughter informed me that "you can't sue a kid." Apparently, some of the young ladies in her squad are aspiring lawyers if that has been a point of conversation.
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