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Been a while since I’ve been able to transcribe my dreams, but I blame that on the boy (which like Homer, there’ll probably be more of), tending to him first thing in the morning replaces any recall of them with the immediate need to secure my motor skills and consciousness. So it was a struggle, but I managed to rescue a crucial detail. I was on a football field, geared up as an actual team member of the Chicago Bears, or another northern club such as Green Bay, and as you might expect from my involvement, our performance was less than satisfying. So poor was it, in fact, that the crowds had long begun emptying the stands. I was told they were leaving to pursue more interesting, new sports. And as it were, in the first hall of the gymnasium next to the stadium plenty of our former fans had gathered around a fence inside which eight young men paired off were preparing for their upcoming match. I’d move on before they started, but it involved solid paddles and extremely bouncy balls that traveled the length of the arena, and then some. The next game was already in progress, a volleyball knock-off with a position that seemed to be filled by ex-defensive linemen who literally sat in the middle of the court and surprisingly contributed to moving the beach ball to the other side. There in the back was a line of folks playing table tennis but off the floor, which I told myself was too easy a one. My imagination was reaching.

Struck me again while browsing the menu for the first disc of Larry David’s last (but not last) season that I didn’t like it very much.  The show’s development almost mirrors House’s, doesn’t it: Cheryl leaves him as abruptly as Kutner did, and the show wraps up (rather poignantly, I felt) with the Blacks; maybe it should’ve just ended there, too.  But no, Loretta’s written out like so much Seinfeld Susan—with cancer, no less—and while there’s some funny, e.g., “Denise Handicapped”, the rest of the arc is disappointing. So I’m a killjoy’s killjoy.