Greg's graduation gift of Devo and Clash CDs hit the mark with astounding accuracy. I popped Devo on the CD player while cooking dinner, and as soon as we finished eating, Rick picked up his old Epiphone and started rockin' out with the Mothersbaugh boys. Also brought back memories of a bunch of us drinking beer in our friend Jim's Boston apartment the night (late '78, I think) that Devo first appeared on SNL. All but two of us sneered. Bret and I looked at each other, tipsy and delighted, and started yelling, "We've seen the 80s!"

Rick's parents were married 50 years ago today. The celebration is this weekend; I'm hoping that Gladys and I can get through it without incident. I'm not allowed any aspirin or other NSAIDs until after my laparoscopy; crappy timing if you ask me. We'll see if those stupid Tylenol ads are worth the bandwidth they clog up. (If all else fails, there's always Vicodin.) I don't exactly feel like dancing, but maybe a trip to Indianapolis for two parties this weekend will be better than what the doctor ordered.

On a lighter note: No hair dryer is ever left behind in our house. I've recently been using an old one that Rick brought to the marriage, and finally thought to look at the model name imprinted on it. Turns out that this oversized, noisy, hot-air-blowing device is called the Senator. There's nothing like truth in advertising ....

Kind of a bummer to read that Richard Crenna had died. My childhood memories of enjoying his TV performances had nothing at all to do with The Real McCoys, which I don't remember ever watching with any enthusiasm; what I do remember watching is Slattery's People as an eight-year-old offbeat-series hound. Still remembered the voice-over intro to the show: "Democracy is a very bad form of government, but I ask you never to forget -- all the others are so much worse." Where are you now, James Slattery? We need you.

I'm always amazed at what's considered offbeat anyway. Played at the Ann B. Davis, Michigan's trash tournament, over the weekend, and discovered that young undergrads are more likely to remember Ratt than to have ever heard of "Making Plans for Nigel". The latter was not only one of the more creative singles of 1979 (and I can't imagine that XTC's Drums and Wires is a totally obscure album), but in certain circles it became something of an anthem. (Then again, I may simply have moved in strange circles, in more ways than one.)

The tournament went pretty well, although Gladys was needy and the drive back through drifting snow was less than fun. The high point for me was beating not only the Gerbils, but my teammate Dave Thorsley, to a classic baseball question. (If you read enough books of colorful baseball anecdotes, you're bound to encounter Pepper Martin somewhere.) My team finished, I think, sixth out of 21; not bad at all in that field. Congrats to Craig and crew for their stunning, ultra-close win over the Gerbs in the final. Mike, you've outdone yourself too; no one else would ever think of playing "Hungry Hungry Hippos" as a tossup.

Oh, and as for making plans for my own little Nigel: He's been relocated to Lansing, where with luck he'll go on display this spring at the Young Entomologists' Society Minibeast Zooseum. This has led to many silly remarks about Nigel's "moving to a farm where there are lots of other centipedes to play with". This would not be a workable euphemism in Nigel's case. You put a bunch of little (?) centipedes together to play, you wind up with one big centipede and damned little playing. Just one of the basic lessons of Myriapodology 101.