Copa América

Biden and Trump are debating, but I’m watching Bolivia vs. Uruguay.

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Uruguay and Argentina are the cream of this tournament and should reach the final. I’d say that apart from them, only the Colombians have much of a chance (but I’d be speculating, since I missed their opening game).

By “much of a chance,” I mean about three percent.

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Among the also-rans, several teams have had matches spoiled by red cards: Ecuador, Peru, and the USA.

I’m a modest person … I don’t like to gloat … but Ecuador’s red card was the least stupid of the three.

A Panamanian also was red-carded; but his punishment came late in the game, and it was for a proper, honest-to-goodness patada.

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Happy birthday to my dear friend, Grace, the Salvationist.

Today also is the fifth anniversary of my dissertation defense. (I just pulled that volume off the shelf. For a double-spaced work, the typesetting really is aquittable.)

It must also be the fifth anniversary of my last meeting with Dick Miller and Nick Sturgeon. 🥺

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R.I.P. Kinky Friedman, the Jewish Texan who wrote hilarious murder mysteries, set in Manhattan, in which he cast himself and his friends as detectives. (This description barely scratches Friedman’s surface.) I learned about him during the first lecture of my first college U.S. history class. I have no idea why he was mentioned, beyond the obvious fact that he was too important to omit.

I♥SB

Samuel: “I yuv South Bend.”

The little weirdo. This isn’t something Karin & I say to each other. And how could Samuel love South Bend when he doesn’t even go out of the house?

Maybe he’s been reading my old pastor’s web posts. (My old pastor’s current job is “city engagement pastor” at South Bend City Church.)

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Karin’s dad visits. He tells us that he attended a comic book convention, one county to the east. John Heder of Napoleon Dynamite was there.

Samuel: “I yuv Star Trek.”

Good grief, son.

Karin’s dad is delighted.

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Flashback: some weeks ago, at Karin’s dad’s house, I pick up and read a humorous detective novel by Texas Jewboys frontman Kinky Friedman.

Two or three days pass.

A week passes.

All the while, I have the urge to read more Kinky Friedman.

So, I buy More Kinky Friedman, Friedman’s second omnibus. Then I buy his first omnibus. Then I buy his third omnibus (Even More Kinky Friedman).

Back to today:

Samuel gets his hands upon the first omnibus. “Kinky Friedman!” he exclaims, brightly. He sits down with the book. “Chapter 1,” he says. “Chapter 2.” He keeps on paging through the volume. “Chapter 46.” Yes, there are a lot of chapters. They’re short. That’s one reason why I like reading Kinky Friedman. I can get through a chapter or two before Samuel climbs on me and jumps up and down.

Then Samuel goes back to the beginning and counts the chapters again. Then he reaches for a crayon and draws in the book. His drawing is mildly obscene.