From the Super Bowl

You Happy Few,

I'm writing this from a smoky expat bar while watching the Super Bowl, and it's halftime. I think it's a sign that I'm getting old, but I nearly cried when The Boss sang "Born to Run". Although some of that sentiment is likely understandable (they don't call him the boss because he signs your paychecks), this is not an isolated incident. No, dear reader, I also nearly cried at church last Sunday, and while watching "Slumdog Millionaire" (in my defense, I'm in the process of adopting a South Asian child, who, absent our willingness to adopt her, may have wound up in an orphanage, and the orphanage scenes in that movie are hard to watch anyway), and bawled my eyes out, alone, watching the made-for-TV version of Flight 93 (remember, Dear Reader, no one I know died in 9/11, and I was on a plane but out of danger that day). I expected that the passing years would bring weight gain (yes, I've gotten a bit doughy around the middle, and am consistently over 180 pounds for the first time in my life), but not leaky eyes.

Anyway, I think I should technically be at work now (it's 9:25 AM local time, and we're only at halftime), but since I am technically teaching staff but don't do as much teaching as the average teacher, I often fall through the cracks, and it's a teacher work day, so my truancy will almost certainly go undetected.

Well, I am down to the dregs of my battery on this thing, so I will leave with the familiar promise to write more that I had meant to do this time, well, soon, but you should know better by now.