Official announcement

I am officially sick of getting up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning, blearily grooming myself, wearily dressing in the dark (and forgetting essential elements, like a watch, because I can’t see them), and then catching the train to New York. Or the plane to DC. Enough, already. This is a young man’s game, and the romance is gone. (Though I’d be excited to be going to the city, if I didn’t have to turn right around for a fifth-grade open house. It’s going to be wet down there by the end of the day, anyway.)

My excursion into higher education led, at last, to what was once a recurring dream: I had to go back to college to finish some coursework I never did in order to graduate. I’m told this is a fairly common theme, though in my case there are some particulars in the denouement of my undergraduate career that lend themselves to such night-foolery. (I graduated, don’t worry; it’s the actual year in which I accomplished this that remains somewhat fuzzy.) In this one, I was back in Syracuse, sharing an apartment on Crouse Avenue, above the old Red Barn. I was sharing it with several co-eds (though, as I told Lee the other day, co-eds as a concept is a completely different thing from real co-eds. Please try to understand the male mind). It was a Friday night and I was alone, but suddenly my high-school sweetheart appeared on the couch, up for a visit from DC. She had her two young sons in tow. We were going to go eat. I suggested Varsity pizza, but that didn’t thrill her, so I tried to think of better restaurants in the area, all of which required a car. For reasons unclear to me, I did not have a car. But she had a rental. Luckily, I woke up before I could be subjected to having to drive an automatic, which in my world is equivalent to a nightmare.

Off to the city!