Can someone PLEASE explain to me why everybody likes the White Stripes so much? Ya know? What the hell. Let’s review. We have a brother and sister combo consisting of:

• The brother, who plays guitar mediocrely and piano at about the level of a 7-year-old with only two fingers on his or her left hand, and who also “sings” unintelligible lyrics at the top of his lungs.
• The sister, who plays the drums like she’s having some kind of seizure and can’t play a fill worth two craps in a plastic baggie.

They dress up like they’re going to crash a Goth wedding and record an album, and everybody’s like, “Oh my God! They’re the rebirth of music!” I saw them on the Daily Show last week and said “Man, this is the vaunted White Stripes? They sound more like the Skidmarks.”

I just don’t get it, is all.

So in order that the celebration of my ability to reproduce can continue and grow, I have created an Online Baby Pool Thing Wooooooo! Simply go here:

http://www.expectnet.com/

In the upper left, in the field labelled “Go directly to a game by entering the game name:”, enter “Dontrello” with the capital D since it’s all case-sensitive and might get confused. Once there, you can enter guesses as to when the urchin will pop forth, what its gender might be, and exactly how much it’s going to destroy HW’s poor loins on the way out. (Meaning, weight and length. Of the baby, not Sarah’s loins.) It’s good fun for all, I’m TELLING you. Do it. DO IT NOW.

In other news: websites that have names like expectnet.com, thusly making me forget and type in expect.net, irritate me. I should move this whole site to matthearncom.net and then set up matthearn.com such that it just has a big picture of a wang. Possibly my own; possibly yours. Who’s to know?

That is all.

Forsooth, let us forthwith listen closely to the brass tintinnabulation from the large sled in our barn.
Let it be agreed that the current climate is greatly pleasant such that were we to embark on a trip together in our horse-drawn runner-equipped snow-conveyance it would probably end with great mirth.

Without, unthawed rain appears to be settling soundlessly on the ground, and some erstwhile companions are inexplicably standing upon same and uttering strange exclamations of what I perceive to be joy.
Prithee, as I have said, it is sufficiently temperate in the out of doors that a quick jaunt in our multi-person sled would be of great interest to all parties.

Accelerate, you vaunted steeds, else I shall lay waste to your hindquarters with the leather!
Let us look upon the white material that surrounds us! It is indeed an astonishing, stunning thing over which we pilgrimage.

Damnable worthless animals! Do not your exhilarating fleetness diminish!
Intertwining our appendages gives me great pleasure.
We continue to smoothly navigate to the tune of December’s pallid scenery.

The faces of our collective assemblage have reddened significantly, and yet the selection of blankets and footwarmers seems to have been particularly ingenious, as my core temperature remains unmodified.
We two are particularly well nestled in warmth and comfort, almost as if we were priests of the same cloth, and those priests were actually winged creatures, if you catch my somewhat incomprehensible drift.

I submit that the proper course of action would be for us to continue forward on this path, ideally while producing tuneful melodies from our throats such as would please what gods there may be.
I believe that I have previously commented on the suitability of our environs for a equine-pulled trip, and while I hesitate to repeat myself, I feel it necessary to point out yet again the fittingness of my earlier statements.

I hope everybody’s Thanksgiving was as thoroughly fattening as mine. I still can’t walk right, and I have enough tryptophan in my system that I’ve been sleeping 12 hours a day since Thursday. The leftovers merely add to the misery, and by misery I mean “extreme joy,” ’cause there ain’t nothin’ so good as Thanksgiving leftovers. Turkey lurkey jerky.

This year my parents went out to Lancaster to be with Mom’s family, and I didn’t particularly feel like doing early food at Sarah’s ‘rents and then driving 90 minutes for another dose of pie, so we just hung out at the in-laws all day and had a righteous time. The food was delicious, despite the apparent disaster that resulted from not having any remaining hard-boiled eggs to put in the gravy (I didn’t even notice, to be honest), and I got to spend an hour or so in the basement with my father-in-law shooting pellets at cans and paper.

After that we watched “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” which I think should become an annual tradition, and enjoyed pie. Then we went home and went to bed, at which time David and Stephen called us at about 11:30 to report that their car had broken down in New Jersey and could I come retrieve them? Luckily, I’m all about driving on empty roads in darkness (seriously!) so I went and snagged them and then returned home and slept until 10am. It was awesome.

Friday we had lunch with Lynn and Dave from Bawst’n, and then I helped Sarah with homework until rehearsal.

Saturday I got up, made pie, and then went to baptize my nephew Nathaniel, which was awesome with a capital Awe. I hadn’t seen him in roughly a month, so I was amused to see that he had porked up considerably. Then we went back to my parents’ house, where I drank too much wine but got to see all kinds of fun family.

Sunday I had church services all day.

I need some turkey and a nap, I think.

If you ever need me to drive you somewhere, 3am on a Tuesday is a great time for it. What I can’t stand are people that call me at like 3pm on Friday and say “Hey, can you drive me to the airport in an hour?” That makes me stabby.

Real busy today, but not too busy to share the fun with you: Click this for fun movieage. Sound not required, as Sarah’s little digital camera recordeth it not. The whole thing made us pee a little.

Yes, that is our kitchen; yes, that is our cat The Cheat (notable for her love of Christmas trees), and yes, she has an empty box of Diet Sunkist stuck on her head. Don’t be angry with me: I didn’t put it there. This time.