I count today as a victory. I survived day one of the craziest week of the fall. Tomorrow night, I will attend the first of my daughter's programs. On Wednesday, I have to go to a football game to see her perform with the school's dance team. That's right. I'm going to a football game. The last time I did that was about 1993 or '94. I don't do football. Don't understand it. Don't care to understand it. My hope is that my daughter will want to leave after she performs at half time or mid time or time out. Whatever it's called.
On Thursday morning, I will probably win the Nobel Prize in Literature. That's when the Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy will announce the winner. If I don't post on Thursday, it's because I'm being interviewed by NPR or Matt Lauer or some Swedish journalist with a name like Dagmund Segrendlund. Don't worry. I won't let it go to my head. Maybe, for a few days, I'll ask my wife to address me as "Your Awesomeness" or "Oh Great One."
And then, on Friday morning, Oh Great One and his family will be heading to the Wisconsin Dells for the weekend. That has nothing to do with the Nobel and everything to do with dance. Perhaps I should register under a pseudonym to avoid the throngs of fans. Maybe the hotel will upgrade me to the Presidential Ruler of the Universe Suite.
Saint Marty doesn't think that's asking too much.
P. S. Saint Marty's too tired to proofread, so excuse any errors present in this post.
|The last American to win the Nobel in Literature|