After inviting myself to Thanksgiving dinner

at my favorite cousin's house, I received this image in my email-















because I have the most delicious recipe for "White Trash Veggie Casserole," if you want it. And, I should warn you at the outset, the term "veggie" is applied very loosely in the construction of this culinary delight. That being said, it is one of those dishes for which there are NEVER any leftovers.

Southern culture on the skids is yummy, people. I'm just sayin.

The news from Athens

is that black is funereal, after all. And Alabama is playing the best football I've seen them play in years (well, for the first half of the game, anyway). And I do mean years.











Games like that make me miss my grandparents. I mean, they both would have been ridiculously proud of the schools and the awards and the job and the life. But when I was three years old, I had a little red t-shirt that I wore all the time. My grandfather, an avid Alabama football fan, had gotten it for me. I loved that shirt. It read, "Hang on, Bear, I'm comin."

Indeed.

Hello, Fenway!

How're things with you? I have been sort of busy lately--hence the sparse (and fairly unimaginative) posts. However, dear reader, there have been some pretty awesome developments over the last few days that I feel I should share with you. I don't want to be too obvious, but they rhyme with: I got to go to Fenway.




Go ahead. Be jealous.






Things to notice about the picture?
A) My kickin new Red Sox hoody.
B) The Green Monster
C) The fact that I am standing in fucking Fenway stadium.

It was a marvelous, last-minute trip. We rode the Fung Wah bus to Boston. For $15. Seriously. And then we had dinner at this great little Italian restaurant in the North End (I had the chicken saltimbocca--I am kind of an idiot for things-with-prosciutto-in-them). And then we went to Fenway, which was packed. All the seats were full, all the beer was cold, all the music was awesome.

My grandmother was a huge Red Sox fan. She believed, however, that she was bad luck for the team, so she stopped going to games later in life. I am hoping that it is not genetic, but my boys (especially Josh Beckett) did not look so good. I will have to test the theory and see another game. I am sincerely hoping that it is not genetic because Fenway is my favorite stadium, so far.

And Boston, with its lobster rolls and its long, flat vowels and its delicious water front is a place I'd like to visit again. Soon. For $15.

It's good to be King

I'm thinking of buying a tractor

The white boots she's wearing when she's perched on top of the car? I want them. I will wear them while I drive my new tractor to school.

Also, thanks to D for the rec!

Me, As a Sailor

I am the Champion, my friends

I totally won the first week of my football pool. And it was blind-ass luck, I'm not afraid to say it. But, regardless of the skill or fate or the gods or whatever, I won. And Winning is Awesome.

Yesterday was filled with academic bureaucracy and smarmy self-congratulation. Tomorrow, I go back to the normalcy of teaching and chatting with students. The day after that, reading-cleaning-being a grown up-cooking pasta.

But Today. Today, Oh Yes, I drank from the keg of victory. I talked trash via email and cell phone and blog. Today, I walked through the weird hurricane rain with my head held high and my turquoise shoes clacking triumphantly. So I just want to say "Thank You," to all the folks who made this possible.

To the trash talker-who said something stupid about my picks. Thank you.

To the underdogs, for making this triumph possible. I'm looking at you, North Carolina.

To the woman who organized the pool, on a whim and a kicky Excel spreadsheet.

And, most of all, to my parents. Mom--you make me realize the value of the moment. And, Daddy, your genetics lend themselves to my horrifying, borderline uncontrollable, and disconcerting competitive streak.

Hooray! Winning! Hooray!