My plans for a productive snow day went awry almost as soon as they were devised. Upon sortieing downstairs for a bite of lunch, I became embroiled in a meandering confab with my father, a discourse that ranged from splendidly amusing to stiflingly banal and concluded with an all-too-predictable attempt on his part to link the "impending demographic demise" of Europe and Japan to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. (I concur that the demographics of both Europe and Japan could well augur trouble ahead, especially as their ratios of pensioners to productive workers grows increasingly unbalanced, but to my father demographics are a fetish, making any interesting conversation on the subject impossible.) This confab consumed a couple of hours, followed by a belated "wake up" shower and, at long last, lunch. Then, ahead of schedule, we shoveled Wilson Field, a task that consumed more time than either of us had estimated; the day's snowfall was of a far heavier and wetter composition than the delightful, voluminous powder of a fortnight hence. After that, I attended to some electronic correspondence and showered again, finally emerging from my room some significant time after 6:00 P.M. Where had the day gone? A lovely dinner of tacos followed, a meal shared by my mother and me as my father had scurried off to some or another political event. I did the dishes and then sat down for an evening of catching up on some recorded television programs, last week's episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe and a Mike Rowe-narrated special I'd taped off the Discovery Channel some time before the New Year, Discovering Ardi.

Now to bed, as I face a murderous three whole days before spring break, provided we don't have another snow day.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Dan Potthast, "Same Page" from Eyeballs (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"We're on the same page,
We're on the same page,
It's good to know
We're on the same page.
(We're on the same page,
We're on the same page.)"