Lest my wisecrack to C. the other day about my resolve to blog just once per
week in the new year prove true, I really ought to get back into a groove with
this business.  One at a time. Fifteen minutes at a time. I’ve run across a
few momentarily interesting links, considered shoving them into this space. 
Seconds later, they’re lame.  But there’s always the stuff of life to
rescue me from blogthargy. At dinner tonight, for example, over reheated chicken
noodle soup (home-cooked, no less, and stirred up to give an edge to D. in her
battle against the villainous flegm-phunk), Ph. said something witty about
chin-ups in P.E.  Chin-ups, eh?  Yep, he said. Scored a 38. So I was
thinking chin bar, pull-ups…etc.  "Impressive." And then…"Overhand or
underhand?"  Not even close.  The 21st-century "chin-ups," turns out,
simply involve a measure from the floor to the chin while the back-arching
student maxes out in an
upward
dog position.  I’m fending off the urge to invoke the presidential
fitness testing jokes, relate it to Bushyacation programs such as No Child Left
Behind.  Floor to chin, in centimeters.  Thirty-eight, eh? Guess
that’s blogable. Less so: that I tried it myself and managed a limber 44 cm
(just getting onto the floor sets my shoulders to popping, flared my knees with
pain, etc.). Even less so: those tasty flavored Triscuits and the talk about
"What sort of Triscuits are they?" Followed by, shrug. Followed by, "Box says,
Deli Style Rye." And so on.

Really, though, I’ve been jamming on CCC
Online, working ahead on the archive, making the PDFs even more
portable, running an OCR over their imageforms, touching up the text files, and
cranking out keyword sets.  Also, doing a bit of course-developer oblige,
answering questions, sprucing up course materials, and so on. And resuming a
workout regimen that spelled body-magic a few years ago. And ordering books for
my final semester of coursework.  And (re)reading through a few articles
for a miniseminar next week (Ede, Logan, Fulkerson, Fleming and Yancey). And
sneaking a few minutes of March Madness 2006 for the PS2.  And
reading Scott McCloud.  And
torture-eating, piece by colorful piece, through a two-pound baggieful of rock
candy while worrying about my aging, weak, rotting enamel.  And scheduling
dentist appointments, etc.  More than I realized, turns out.