Mmmmm, I can smell Thanksgiving already.

Well, not really. But I did the last of the food shopping last night. And tonight the cookery should commence. Not even our nation's pathetic descent into Marxism will prevent me from giving thanks this year (though I did have another strange dream last night: Obama himself was sitting at my kitchen table so I could show him my new pen, shaped like a roasted turkey leg -- it wrote in three colors of ink... scary... good thing we don't have a kitchen table because I'd hate to have that dream come true... the pen would be cool).

Because I was out at the Giant Beagle last night I missed Bazzukajoe's phone call and then never got back to him. I shall ring him up tonight. And that Frylock -- who seems to think that he only needs to blog once a quarter.

Yesterday morning, Cookie and I were discussing Aristotelian measures of human nature and how they related to Thomistic teleologies developed centuries later. No shit -- Cookie said he wanted to have a serious conversation, so I dragged out the big guns. Not one to allow his life to go unexamined, Cookie enthusiastically stated that his own purpose is to grow up and conduct mad science experiments. I told him this was a good start. Then... was asked Mojo. He opined that his purpose in life was to blow giant stinkies.

And thus we amused ourselves before trundling off to school.

Yes, this is what passes for serious conversation among boys ages seven, eight, and 42. It's not particularly serious. Or amusing. But it'll make for great comedy tomorrow at dinner when I ask them to repeat what they think we were discussing!