October 9: The Swedish Academy

In the above building, which is the headquarters of the Swedish Academy in Stockholm, on Thursday morning, October 11, at around 6 a.m. EST, Peter Englund, the permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy, will enter the great hall of the building, where the international press will be waiting, and announce the winner of the 2012 Nobel Prize in Literature.

For those of my disciples who have been rooting for me, I thank you.  I have a feeling this may be my year.  I know, I know.  I've said it before.  However, I don't care what the critics are saying.  I don't care if a poet won last year.  It is going to be my year.  Come December, I will be attending the Nobel banquet, eating whatever fish dish is being served.  And I will be brushing up on how to say "thank you" in Swedish.  If I have to, I'll just start doing my impersonation of the Swedish Chef from The Muppet Show.

Mark your calendar.  October 11, Saint Marty will be the winner.  Or he'll be a very bitter, angry loser, in which case he will learn to swear in Swedish.

October 9: Home, Home, Home Body

"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh.  "To bring you home, home, home!"

I have had one of those days where I wish, when the alarm clock went off this morning, I would have turned it off, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.  All I've wanted to do all day is go home, home, home as Fan says to a young Ebenezer in the above passage.  I'm kicking myself for not stopping at the local gas station this morning and picking up a 52 ounce cup of Coke Zero.  That would have given me a little more fuel for the day.

However, I did not do that, and now I am paying the price.  I'm tired.  I didn't even have time this morning to type my normal post.  It's just been non-stop, tedious work.  I want this day to be o-v-e-r.  I'm not even feeling particularly creative this afternoon.  The extent of my wisdom from Charles Dickens today is this:  Fan was right.  Go home.  Stay home.  Be a home body.

Those are words Saint Marty can live by, especially today.

Couch potato sounds good to me!

October 8: Al Dente Brain

Here is a recipe for an al dente brain:

1.  Take your brain.
2.  Add about 100 medical charts to assemble.
3.  Sprinkle in around 20 phone calls.
4.  Remain at your desk for four hours.
5.  Forget to take a bathroom break until your bladder is ready to explode.
6.  Repeat these steps as necessary.

I am beat, and I'm only half-way through my day.  I still have to put together my lesson plan, and I still have to teach.  And then I am flying solo with parenting duties tonight.  My wife is going to a meeting with some ladies at church.

I am pretty sure if you took my brain and flipped it against the wall, it would stick like a piece of cooked linguine.

Saint Marty is al dente.  Add some Alfredo sauce and a piece of garlic bread, and he would be a main course.

Anybody got some parmesan?

October 8: Northern Lights, Northern Darks, "Carol" Dip Monday

This morning, driving into work at 4:30 a.m., the Northern Lights were brilliant in the sky.  Clouds of green and yellow light streamed across the heavens.  I have seen the aurora borealis before, but it has been quite some time.  As I drove along, I started feeling quite small and insignificant in the face of something of such beauty.  And then I thought, God really is amazing.  And then I thought, you better keep your eyes on the road, dumbshit, or you're going to kill yourself.

Then I remembered my iPad.  I pulled over to the side of the road and took several pictures of the light show.  This is just one sample of what I got:

That's right.  I got twelve pictures of utter blackness.  My Northern Lights are Nothern Darks.  So, if you will, imagine a jagged, dark treeline against a dark sky.  Then, imagine bright fingers of light reaching across the stars and moon, so bright it almost looks like dawn is happening in fast forward.  That's what I saw this morning, and that's what this picture is supposed to capture.  Pretty stunning, I know.

Now that I have sufficiently inspired you with my National Geographic photography skills, I will move on to the business at hand.  It is Monday, and that means it's time for a Carol dip.  My question this morning is inspired by the presidential debates of last Wednesday:

Will Mitt Romney win the presidential election because of his debate performance last week?

And the answer from Chuck Dickens is:

It was not an agreeable idea.  Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

See.  Even a dead Victorian novelist doesn't like Mitt Romney.  I mean, Romney dissed Big Bird.  You can't get much lower than that.

This message has been brought to you by the Saint Marty Committee to reelect Barack Obama.