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Goodnight, Myron. Yoi. You are amazing.

Obviously, I’m very happy that the Patriots loss. Do not like that team at all. As we watched the last minute or so, I said that the only way this victory could be sweeter is if it was the Steelers doing the defeating. Then the husband said that the Steelers could never beat the Patriots in a Super Bowl and I said that that wasn’t the point, it would still be sweeter, and he said that I had no point because it’s not possible and then I stabbed him in the neck. At least he’s quiet now.

What I thought was the most telling moment was when Bill Bellichick walked off of the field before the game was technically over. Real coaches go down with their ship, Billy. To the bitter end. Punks walk off with their heads down.

And it was pretty cool to see Plaxico Burress getting a big win. I like that guy, even if things didn’t work out with him when he was here.

ANYWAY, the other big victory tonight were these:

Green tea cupcakes with pomegranate frosting. Motherfuckers.

Hmm, I’m not sure why her frosting is off-white and ours is rosy pink, but whatever. It tastes good as hell. Bolt found that recipe the other day and today I declared that we had to make them. Bolt had the unfortunate task of procuring matcha powder. Obviously, she could have found it in an Asian market in the Strip but we had no idea what the hours were for those, so Bolt battled crowds and less-than-knowledgeable staff at Giant Eagle and Whole Foods, before recruiting the help of a friend at Starbucks.

One note about those. The recipe is for mini cupcakes and we made full size ones. The 12-minute baking time in the recipe isn’t enough, but I can tell you that 17 minutes is entirely too long. I think about 14 was the right amount of time for these. Go forth. Bake.

So, the Steelers lost last night, ending a rather tumultuous season. But what an exciting game! Indeed, it is frustrating to see how the team’s collective insecurity prevents them from soldiering through. It’s like they don’t think they can beat a team if they’re not completely crushing them, when they so can. As soon as their opponents put up a fight, they get shaky. But they rallied in the fourth quarter and even though the outcome wasn’t as great as it could have been, it was fun to watch.

I will admit to being a tad relieved about not having to stress through games anymore. I’m certain I gained a few gray hairs during the Super Bowl a few years back and last night, as I tried to get my hands to stop shaking, I thought, “Yeah, I don’t miss this.”

Anyway, psychotic football fangirl crap aside, the final season of The Wire premieres tonight. I’ve been anticipating and dreading this day for a year and a half. I can’t wait to see how hard this season is going to rock but I’m extremely sad that in ten weeks it will all be over.

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that The Wire is the best show ever. Sure, the writing is incredible, the acting is all amazing…all of those basic criteria are blown out of the water. But what makes it really wonderful is it’s simple statement of the world that we live in, how we have all failed, how we try to succeed. In this fantastic article, actor/director Clark Johnson says, “You don’t want to preach to people, but you want them to think about why things are the way they are, the history that is there as well as the possibilities.” The show certainly offers up its own ideas of how things got to where they are and what would need to happen if things are ever to change, but it does it carefully enough that the viewers are able to consider those possibilities and still develop their own opinions about it. The folks behind The Wire and the people and situations it portrays may not agree with other assessments, but through the show they are heard and considered, which is saying a hell of a lot more than most “dialogues” about the current state of affairs.

This season focuses on the media, which should be of interest to everyone. Considering what a sad, sad state the media is in today, when we need it more than ever, I don’t know how we can’t watch art like this.

At the very least, consider the fact that the man who took this image:

took this image 35 years later, to the day:

Frighteningly similar political climates between then and now. But in those days the biggest image of the year was of the horrors of our foreign war. Last year the biggest image was of a perpetual child in grief over being punished.

Perhaps this year we can start giving a shit.

I really wish the Steelers would stop acting like such tools against the Patriots. And I am purposely not watching any post-game crap because Tom Brady incites such rage in me, the likes of which I only feel when I hear someone from the Bush administration speak…or whenever I’m faced with someone who is clearly proof that humanity is doomed because the douchebags are out-populating the non-douchebags. Seriously, Bridget Moynahan…how could you?

Other than that, not a terrible Sunday. Interviewing a band for AP at 9:30 and had a brain spasm when the publicist requested 6:30 Pacific time which raised all kinds of questions in my head (”That’s our time minus 3 hours, right? Wait…what?”). If people start using military time, I’m screwed.

My other moment of brilliance today came in the shower when I was washing my face. Apparently I blew a bubble with the soap in my nose, which popped inside my mouth when I inhaled, and I choked and gagged and hacked. It was great. Then the baby came in and sat on the toilet and whined about how long I was taking. Thanks, jerk.

The baby and I attempted a game of Monopoly, which I rejected because it was too boring and complicated (seriously, how do capitalists give a shit about that stuff?) and then Mouse Trap which was more my speed but the baby kept knocking my mouse off of its space with his sweatshirt sleeve and I had a conniption. I just don’t understand why he has to play dirty like that.

My mom and the baby and I spent some time in Squirrel Hill yesterday, a good chunk in Barnes & Noble. I furrowed my eyebrows at their decision to display a Holocaust book in the middle of some discount cookbooks and noticed that women write some shitty books these days. Ladies, please step up your game. Anyway, we went to Little’s to get some shoes for the baby and that place was insane. There was some serious congestion over by the Uggs. Also, they are no longer carrying Doc Martens and I…just don’t know what to say about that.

The cat woke me up this morning by sticking his cold nose into my armpits to smell them. I got up and fed him and watched Marie Antoinette since I knew the husband didn’t want to watch it. Meeeehhhhh…It certainly wasn’t awful. It was just lacking something and I can’t really place it at all. I think Sofia Coppola accomplished that sense of isolation pretty well. And it was interesting to see Marie and Louis portrayed as pop stars, basically…or the children of pop stars. They could not be more privileged and yet they have no idea what the world is like or that they should have any idea in the first. Actual political decisions are nothing more than an unpleasant obligation that takes a few minutes out of the day. Other than that, it’s ceremony and making impressions and having their entourages tell them how awesome they are. Monarchy is stupid not only for the people it rules, but also for the rulers…same thing with celebrity idolatry. The celebrities/monarchs are eventually empty calories and the people have to swallow the fact that those people are in charge. Or revolt. And revolts are risky because people get killed and who wants to get killed?

Enough rambling. Who wants cookies?

My cat is chasing his tail. Is that normal? It’s amusing enough to watch. He sits down, turns around and stares at his tail, which he twitches ever so slightly, then pounces. The tail is controlled by HIS brain, correct? I should probably stop spiking his water bowl with rum.

I am currently holed up in my bedroom “doing homework.” The Steelers/Browns game is on and I…I just can’t watch. I’m too stressed out as it is and Ben Roethlisberger gets my blood pressure up. And the husband’s behavior during a game is really, really jarring.

My weekend kind of failed. I had grand plans to do all of my homework and reading for the week since I am way behind, do all of the laundry, go grocery shopping, watch the Steelers game, and eat some yummy dinner.

None of that happened. We went out on Friday. Our friends Curt and Amanda are moving to Atlanta on Wednesday and were having a going away party at Remedy in Lawrenceville. I had a good time. I got some drinking done and then a big group of us went to Eat n Park for late night noshing with plastic cups and no silverware. It was awesome. I felt…well, probably like how normal 28-year-olds feel.

My mom came over on Saturday. She and I are not really getting along at the moment and I was in a bad mood because I got a letter from our insurance company stating that since someone jimmied my front window open while I asleep and took a bunch of my shit, my premium is going up. Thanks, dudes! My mom wanted to, like, do stuff besides lie on the couch and nap, so that took up most of Saturday. I did get a big chunk of reading done, though.

But see, Sunday…the baby woke up kind of early and did his usual nagging to get me out of bed before 8 a.m. I don’t know. That kid must really like hearing the words, “Hell,” and “No.” Everything was normal. When I finally came downstairs, I gave him some cereal. He ate a few bites and then curled up on the couch. I asked him what was wrong and he said he wasn’t feeling good…and then all hell broke loose, intestinally speaking. There was puke. There was watery poop. There was even a nosebleed in the midst of all of that. He took a long nap while I washed soiled underwear and tried not to gag. He felt better when he woke up, like it never happened. I don’t understand how kids do that. When I throw up I’m out of commission for the rest of the day. But I’m also a pussy.

I started making some dinner and then worked on an essay when the Steelers came on. The husband spent the next three hours screaming at the TV while I typed away and checked the turkey, which was not cooking. See, I had a frozen turkey breast and didn’t defrost it and oh, I’m an idiot. I did some supplementary cooking of that, so we have dinner for tonight already, but last night we feasted on leftover mashed potatoes, ramen, and pita.

I never did get around to the laundry, really. I washed and dried two loads but they’re sitting in a pile in the laundry room, wrinkling away. We have some food, but I’m really low on WW-friendly stuff.

Ugh. Too much. I’m really hating myself for taking this particular combination of courses. The work load is insane. I keep thinking maybe I should drop one, but I would probably just be prolonging some future hellish fall semester. I’m so cranky nowadays, though.

But the weekend wasn’t total shite. Besides Friday’s tomfoolery, some nice pictures were taken. I snapped this one on Friday night:

Every now and then, I let the baby use the digital camera. He normally takes pictures like this:

You know…still lifes with Godzilla, toilet paper, and remote controls. But on Saturday he managed to snap this very nice picture of our cat:

Bonus: fingerprint dusting from CSI. I guess I should wipe that off. But maybe I’ll leave it so I can point to it and go, “That’s right, bitch,” and impress guests. Isn’t that a nice picture, though? I want to get him a camera for his birthday or xmas. I could get him one of those Fisher-Price joints, but it would be nice if he could make little movies with it, too. Like he told Jamie, “I’ve started making my own Godzilla movies.” You know, branching out from astute observer to director.

Oh, that reminds me. In recounting some of the details of the break-in to a friend, the baby lamented the theft of his piggy bank, sighed, and very seriously said, “Now I ain’t got no cash.”

Here’s what I’m up to:

Geez. Yinzer much?