december 23

Work ended slightly early. I came home and T. of the Pinenuts was waiting in the living room already for J. to come drive us all to Maryland. The drive was fun and not terribly slow, though there were snafus with traffic upon entering New Jersey and with J.’s EZ Pass not registering, but as he explained to the snippy EZ Pass attendant, “That’s your problem.” We ate at Dick Clark’s Horrible Food Diner while watching videos of Hootie and the Blowfish. We contemplated buying Cinnabons but were dissuaded by the fact that they are 850 calories and your recommended lifetime allowance of fat. T. got excited by the prospect of hoverboards in the year 2015, as predicted by Back to the Future II. T. failed to guess herself as the clue to a short game of Botticelli. We fell asleep and woke to a funny Canadian radio program. I asked S. and T. and J. to explain everything they knew about Maryland. J. was very knowledgeable about the ugly Maryland state flag and the regions of Maryland. He spoke enthusiastically about “Blast,” the annual high school musical variety show, the lead roles of which became yet another prize for parents to compete by proxy through their kids for. Like my Palo Alto public school experience, S. and J. and T.’s P____ public school experiences were peripherally touched by charismatic, pedophile teachers. J. was incensed enough about the new speed cameras in P____ that he remarked upon them twice.

We dropped T. off – she momentarily panicked that a thread of her scarf that had gotten caught in the trunk door would decapitate her, but this threat was defused and S. and J. and I continued on to P____. Their parents were still up waiting for us, and the chatting began immediately. Daddy, who referred to himself as Daddy, and Mommy, who referred to herself as Mommy, said they wished Carly would come over for a visit but that she might not get the chance. Then Daddy pulled up pictures of Carly on his iPhone. Turns out she was a poodle. They insisted we eat pears from Harry and David but it was late and we were tired, so we just went to bed. I paged through S.’s yearbook reading her many inane declarations (“Let me just tell you, I believe this year we were most spirited” and “In my opinion, the P____ Picayune is a great opportunity to improve your editorial skills”). I molested S. until she beat me back with the high pitched whine: “Can I pleeeease just go to bed?” Both heroines fell asleep immediately thereafter.