I'm under the impression that there's a big football game about to happen around here. One way I know this: when I took Da Chimpz to the barber shop just now to get their heads shorn they offered to add red Ohio State coloring free of charge. Go for it, I said. Now they're walking around looking like a couple of lit cigars.

After the haircut we went to the Giant Beagle supermarket next door. I got some things for this week's festivities. In the bread aisle I spotted something I haven't seen in years: Hostess Sno-Balls. I got a package of two. Once I got home and put everything away I decided to try one. It was perfectly awful. As I broke it apart the white, coconut-dusted marshmallow coating stretched implausible. "Like chicken skin," Alane commented. That rubberized coating, the dirt-brown cake it concealed, and the white paste of filling inside that -- each was bad in its own right, contributing to an even worse whole. Blech-o.

Maybe one of Da Chimpz will eat the one that I left on the table. Or maybe they'll take it into their room and make a robot out of it.

This morning's snack went much better: I made a big cup of coffee for myself and opened up a tiny box of pannetone -- a 3oz jobbie that looked more like wooden cupcake than anything else. I peeled away the ornate brown wrapper and got myself into holiday gear. How can dry bread-like cake make a person so happy? Some mysteries are better left unresolved.