Unloading some things I’ve scribbled down in the notebook over the last few weeks.

I’ve always wondered why there are so many hand-made signs selling mattresses at most major intersections. This isn’t just an Indiana thing, is it? I know mattresses cost a bundle, but a mattress is at the top of the list of things I would never buy based on an ad posted to a utility pole.

Going back several weeks, the whole Scottish independence thing fascinated me. In my heart, I was for the Scots who wanted independence. Why should they be tied to the UK when they were a free-standing nation in just about every other way? They have their own soccer team for World Cup purposes. Why not make their own laws and foreign policy decisions rather than rely on London?

But the pragmatist in me thought independence was an awful idea. There’s a lot of money that pours from London into Scotland. Even with some healthy oil reserves in the North Sea, it was hard to see how cutting ties was a good move for Scotland.

Then again, I tend to love bands that come from Scotland. If things got really bad up there, that might trigger a new wave of fantastic bands singing about the collapse of the economy following independence. They suffer, I win!

By the way, if you want your state to secede from the United States because you hate Obamacare, or creeping Socialism, or the erosion of the Bill of Rights, or the power that Wall Street holds over Main Street, or whatever other boogeyman disturbs your particular political sensibilities, well you, my friend, are an idiot.

Each day on the way to pick the girls up I flip over to NPR just before 3:00 to hear the news update. The program that is on from 2:00-4:00, at least on SirriusXM, is called Here and Now. Each day, when I see that title on the screen, I sing, softly and to myself, Luther Vandross’ classic jam “Here & Now”.

Like you wouldn’t.

I watched a decent chunk of the Alabama – Mississippi game on Saturday. That was one fantastic ending! I especially loved all the students, dressed in their Ole Miss best, running onto the field and congratulating the players. The camera focused on quarterback Bo Wallace, who threw two late touchdown passes to clinch the win. Drunk dudes were hugging him like he had saved them from drowning or something. I expected someone to hand him a flask before he got off the field.

The emotion of college sports!

It’s kind of crazy that Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City is the sixth oldest in baseball. That means if I was a stadium, I would be the sixth oldest in the game! It’s also crazy that 24 new stadiums have opened since I graduated from high school. Remember when Skydome seemed super futuristic? Now it seems dated and out of place. I’m sure the Blue Jays would love a stack of money from Toronto to build a replacement.

My big takeaway from the baseball playoffs so far is that I’m sad my playing career ended in ninth grade. Sure, it would have been nice to be a decent high school player, win a letter, who knows, maybe get small college coaches telling me I could come play for them.

The real reason I’m mad is that I never learned how to spit cooly. I figure I’m a B- spitter, with a couple techniques that can get the job done. But I don’t have the cool Eric Hosmer-style of spitting, that seems both effortless and efficient.

I’d love to have handle the high heat or a knee-buckling curve. But spitting like a big leaguer would be much cooler.

Is there anything worse than an awkward greeting? Last Wednesday, when I was operating on three hours of sleep, I had to get the girls at first pickup to make it to a dentist appointment. I walked up and waited by the door where C. and L. come out and saw a dad standing nearby that I had seen before. I swore he was a guy that went to high school with S., but whom I’ve never met.

So I stood there, dazed and staring into space, waiting for the bell to ring, when the guy turned toward me and said, “Hey, what’s up?”

I just stared about 30 degrees left of his head for about five seconds before I realized he might be talking to me. I kind of shook my head, looked around to see if anyone else was close, then mumbled, “Oh, hey.”

That’s when I realized he wasn’t S.’s old classmate, but rather a dad from L.’s soccer team.

Right then the kids rushed out and I was left feeling like a fool.

I just realized the 20th anniversary of when I discovered the wonderful world of the Internet passed recently. That really deserved a 2000 word retrospective, don’t you think? Perhaps I can still get that out soon.

Finally, in preparation for this week’s Blood Red Moon, C.’s class learned all about the moon. On the way to school Tuesday, she was sharing some of the things she had learned. I was half tuned out, until I heard M. interrupt.

“C., it was Lance Armstrong that was the first man to walk on the moon. He’s the one who put the American flag up.”

“Whoa, M.,” I said. “It was Neil Armstrong, not Lance. Lance rode the bike, Neil walked on the moon.”

C. and L. laughed while M. stewed for a moment about being wrong and getting caught at it. But she quickly rebounded.

“Dad, you know in my baby book, where you cut out things from the paper when I was born? Can you take the picture of Lance Armstrong out since he cheated?”

Wow. I guess I know where she stands on Barry Bonds getting into the baseball Hall of Fame!