Well, I still haven't gotten over Brad Delp's untimely demise yet, but I've been listening to non-stop Boston since Saturday and I think I'm on my way to "cool[ing] the engines." I have discovered that Miss O really digs their tunes, though. She and I were jamming to "Smokin'" yesterday and she did this hilarious/amazing air-organ solo that I wish I had videotaped. She was wiggling her fingers on an imaginary keyboard and was doing that contorted mouth thing that guitarists do during particularly whammyriffic solos. She has some serious arena-rock potential, that kid. RAWK!!!
Luckily, the thaw has begun out here and we were all able to enjoy an "outside day" today. I think it's our first since, oh, Octover, as Miss O would say. The thing I forgot about outside days, though, is that I have to start playing goddamn games of tag again. I don't know why, but I really DESPISE tag. My knees are shot to shit, Mr. Z has all these fucking rules about where I've got to stand and which trees are "time-outs," and Miss O doesn't like to be "it," so I have to help her, which Mr. Z always claims is "NOT FAIR!," and I always say that life's not fair and the sooner you accept that, dude, the sooner all our lives will get easier, and when they DO get tagged, they're always yelling "I WASN'T READY" and it all invariably leads to games of "Statue Maker," which is almost worse because I've gotta be the spinner and the customer, and then I have to pretend to be interested in their statues, which, come on, they're pretty shitty and are always just them running around flailing their arms and screaming "BLAAAHHHHHHH!" and it echoes all over the goddamn neighborhood, and I mean can't they display just an inkling of creativity, say, a "The Thinker" or a Henry Moore, or even a Botero, for fuck's sake, but by then someone always wipes out and starts crying and they both end up with grass stains on their pants that I have to fucking clean, by the way.
Did I mention that I hate tag?
So we rode bikes.