Verily, it is the tragedy of the commons.

But sometimes it sure would feel nice to not be getting kicked in the balls.

Pathetic, self-absorption, whine and whinge follow. Don't say you weren't warned.

I'm not the toughest guy in the world. Nor am I the most well built. But one advantage I do have over most normal people when it comes to sports that involve bodily contact is that I generally do not give a rip about getting hurt. Consequently, when playing sandlot games, backyard games, gym class games, company games, I generally just walk right through everyone else.

So when notice came around that the school of philosophy wanted volunteers for a flag football team to represent the school in a tournament against the other graduate schools, I volunteered.

Last night I went to our first practice. Trying to rush in, I hit a blocker 15 years my younger. I did not walk right through him.

So this past weekend I drove 500 miles back to Ohio to my annual family reunion.

Hilarity ensued.

Somebody must be on fire or something.

Regardless of whomever it was that was on fire, the all clear came in just before 5am.

Every now and then, I hate living in a high rise.

... and only the beard.

The results were not exactly what I expected.

(Warning: possible page widening inside.)

I started the day like usual, escorted my wife down to the lobby of the apartment where she waits for the local paratransit service to pick her up and take her to work, walked out the back of the building, kicked off my sandals, and started running.

I got about ten yards before I started to feel the tingling pain from the center of my foot letting me know I had a splinter. I managed another ten yards before I decided that the pain was increasing rather than decreasing and that I wasn't going to be able to manage to run. So I turned around and walked back to the apartment where I'm now soaking my feet in epsom salt. Hopefully, this will coax the splinter out far enough for me to extract.

Blather follows.

I spent all day driving yesterday. It wasn't that bad but it was tiring, crankiness inducing, and irritating. Par for the course.

And other unexciting tales of a boring life.

Time for me to get serious about other things.