might not help, it can't hurt

Maybe it's because I mentioned it in my stupid blog last week (memo to self: mention it in your stupid blog again next year), but I don't think I can remember a year in which so many people sent me kind birthday wishes.

There were the numerous haloscan happy birthdays you guys posted; each and every one made me smile.

There was the phone message my sister and her kids left me, singing happy birthday.

There was the way one of my co-workers decked out my cube with happy birthday signs and sports-themed knick-knacks. (My colleagues have begun calling me "Coach" because I supposedly resemble a basketball coach on the three days a week I tuck in my shirt and wear a tie.)

There was BJL's cute little one line email, complete with subtle confetti graphic.

There was Mrsmal taking the time to send a sweet note.

There was my almost-80-year-old dad calling me on the phone to say happy birthday and to ask if I had stayed up until 1:30 am watching the Yankees-Red Sox on Sunday night. I had; he had too.

Monday, my birthday, was one of my toughest workdays ever. 14 hours of ups and downs and challenges and triumphs and frustration and plain old armpit-staining hard work. Around 8:30 that night, in the middle of my thirteenth hour with no end in sight, I decided I needed to go outside and get a little air to clear my head and a slice of gross doughy midtown pizza to fill my belly.

Just as I was about to walk down the hall and head out, who should appear but Ma and Baby Bungle, surprising me with a birthday visit! And Ma Bungle was toting four large pizza pies from our favorite pizza place! And orange soda! And root beer! It was only a ten minute visit, but coming as it did in the middle of an emotionally trying day, it nearly moved me to tears. I don't know how she lugged a baby and a carriage and four pies and a bag of heavy soda uptown by herself, but she did.

And my co-workers and I had a really satisfying, morale-boosting pizza party. And I got to see my baby. And my wife. It scooped the day right out of the shitter and I will never forget it as long as I live.

Thank you Ma Bungle and thank you my kind friends, especially any I forgot to shout out to by name. I surely don't deserve your thoughtfulness.
I've been so busy I haven't had time to reflect on what it means to be a 37 year-old saucebag. The truth is I was just coming to terms with being a 36 year-old saucebag so the change is not entirely welcome. If I was an industrious type, a guy who was always looking for actual decent content to put on his stupid blog, I might compile a list of achievements made my 37 year-olds throughout history. But I'm more into just spouting a bunch of crap off the top of my head and so this'll have to do.

One thing I should mention: I am too busy this week to write a proper softball recap, so if anybody wants to step into the void and do it they will get a merit badge. Otherwise maybe I'll do a half-assed job later in the week.

In other updates, "9th and Hennepin" was the other waitsminneapolisdat song we were looking for. Ten points for Finn. Since you guys were so kind to me on my birthday, I will post today not only that small strange nugget, but also the Replacements-Waits joint effort that Finn mentioned, "Date to Church." Maybe not a great song but it sounds like they're having fun.

I have a couple of items from PB and Joe M. to post on verbungle classic; they should go up in the next couple of days. In the meantime, what was the official mascot of my 1986 fantasy football team? Ten points to the winner, and we're just looking for a type of animal here.