The Man's Spectacular Birthday Weekend, Chapter Two: "The Aged"

To some people, being The Man's age seems impossibly old.  "43, 93, what's the difference?" said The Man.  In addition to The Man, some very cool (or at least famous) people were also born in 1967.  It can be very cool to be The Man's age.  I remember what it was like to be his age when it happened to me a long time ago.  So here's a non-exclusive list of other 67 babies:

The Man's Spectacular Birthday Weekend, Chapter One: "Saturday"

Dirtbunny does a lot of things very well, but most of her skills are unappreciated and/or obscure.  In particular, I've learned that if someone gets used to being fed very very well, they will at some point start to have expectations or even make demands.  I almost always make The Man a birthday cake, for example.  In past years, I've asked him what type he wants and he either pretends he hasn't heard me or shrugs and says Idunno.  One year he requested a lemon cake that he grew up with so I did that.  The ingredients featured two boxes of lemon yellow Jello and a box of cake mix and I'm pretty sure the recipe I obtained was, umm, inexact, because baking it in a springform cake pan led to a woefully undercooked and runny center.  I'm almost certain this thing was supposed to be baked in a Bundt pan. Anyway, it turned out pretty gross and he has lost his enthusiasm for cakes whose major ingredients come prefab from a box.

Dirtbunny's World Cup 2010 Collection

It is complete:

For those of you who couldn't be bothered to Google, too bad.  If you can't temember your Los Catrachos and your Alicelestes, I'm not doing an answer key.

And here's some news.  When I started writing this, I thought that splitting things up by subject matter made sense.  I don't think that any more.  I don't live with yarn and food and dogs and football in different compartments, and so I'm not going to write that way any more.  I've posted my last in the auxiliary pages, except for "FAQ,"  because I still like the idea of an FAQ and some things need explaining etc.

"Help" in the midfield

It's time for another call-up.

I'm going to be completely honest. This one is based entirely on sentiment. He's got a few international call-ups from rather long ago, and he does play for a Serie A team, so he's pretty good, after all. But he's not particularly big, or particularly fast, or particularly anything. On his good days, he works hard for the team side and provides good service and might even score a goal. On his bad days, he works really hard for the team side and spends a lot of time on his back. He's not handsome by any means, but he's sorta cute in kind of a cuddly way. I wouldn't use him in the starting eleven unless I had a lot of injuries to deal with, and I do (grrr), but he's a decent utility player except for those days on which he sucks out in the wings, maybe a bit of a scrub, and, you know, A for effort. Plus, he's fairly seriously injured and out of contract, so if I don't do it now, I may not get another chance.

Hello, my name is.....

......Dirtbunny, and I'll be your link monkey today.  There's a new DB post about footie and yarn over yonder.

Layers of Ridiculous

Everything seems a little bit harder and slower than usual today.  This means that when I start puttering around, I'm going slow enough that Kirby is always right there.  (On good days when I move better, I can get three or four steps on him and sometimes he even gets lost.  Or he thinks I get lost.  Remember, with Kirby, you start with an unremarkable dog brain, and then you subtract for his mental disabilities, both organic and psychological.  If it isn't related to food, he can be really stupid, pobrecito.)

And I'm puttering around and Kirby is following me and I go into the bedroom to open the window because it is finally starting to warm up but then I can't remember why I'm in there and so I stop and Kirby looks up at me.  "Are we staying put?  Cos if we're staying put, I'm going to sit over there in the sunny spot."  And I say, "No Kirby, we're going back out.  But I'm coming back later to do some yogurt."

Then it occurs to me:

1.  One does not "do" yogurt.  One eats yogurt, and I am planning on having some later.  One "does" yoga.  Which is what I was trying to say to my dog.
2.  I was having an audible conversation--in English--with my dog. 
3.  And I felt bad for using the wrong word, because it might have confused him, so I started explaining that I misspoke.  To my dog.

Please don't tell my therapist.  She'll undoubtedly interpret this to mean that I don't get enough contact with other humanoid beings (The Man doesn't count, cos he won't talk to me unless I want him to leave me alone) and she'll yank the permission on the working-at-home gig.  And then I'll ignore her and continue anyway and every week I'll get an earful about whether this is really the right decision for me and how long has it been since I saw the shrink and pretty soon I'll start ditching just so I won't have to hear it and then the ditching will become a thing and then I'll rebel and probably stop taking my meds and who knows what will happen if I stop taking my meds.  Last time I did, I got a nice little charge from the idea that I was winning the power struggle, but an objective observer might say that it was not the best decision.

FCD prepares for WC10

Clarabelle will not permit me to give up, so I'm going to try to do this properly.  It's time to take stock before preliminary squad lists are due.  Where is FCB the weakest?  It would have to be the midfield.  Who've I got?  Rino (old), Cesckipoo (broken), Camoranesi (old and broken),  Deco (skeevy), Franck (perverted and possibly in disgrace), and Pirlo (only brings his A-game if he's feeling it that day).  That's not enough even when they all work properly.  This is bad.  V. bad.

BRB *dashes off to make a call*

I give up

I had a fabulous post whith photos and comments and it was beautiful anf I even saved drafts and the whole thing and Blogger ate it.  I despair.

So here's the upshot.  Yay DDR.  You're called up.