I started my day today in typical Sunday fashion – with a swift kick in the nuts (otherwise known as the Irish game).  After the whuppin’ suffered at the hands of the Midshipmen last week, the Irish decided to lay down again yesterday, this time at home against Tulsa.  One can be forgiven for assuming the Irish would destroy an opponent such as the Golden Hurricane – named as such because Tulsa has lots of hurricanes(?) and…er…gold(?) – but that was before god decided to smite Irish football.  Sandwiched between these past two losses was the tragic death of an ND student who died when the scissor stand he was using to film practice collapsed amid gale force winds.  Coach Brian Kelly assumed responsibility for the call to have practice outdoors that day, so we can add that horrific determination to the long list of terrible strategic decisions he’s made throughout the season.  Of course, as Barney Frank and Isaiah Thomas have taught us, strong decision-making skills aren’t prerequisites for job security, so I’m sure Coach Kelly will be just fine.  In the meantime, we’ll have to consult Pat Robertson to see why god hates his favorite university so much.  I’m guessing it has something to do with allowing gays to serve in the military, as I’m sure he really hates that.  But if that were indeed the case, wouldn’t he have wanted ND to beat Navy last week?  So maybe he’s just pissed about the enduring popularity of Jersey Shore, or the fact that the iPad doesn’t support Adobe Flash.  Either way, it’s clear he’s got it out for the Irish.  And he’s definitely not making time for all those prayers being sent his way from the grotto each week.

I decided that the Irish loss would be best forgotten with a run around the palace, where it turns out a special Halloween race was underway.  Unfortunately, the most outrageous outfit I could find was someone running with a massive sombrero and wearing hot pink tights.  I blended in nicely with my own costume, that of a pasty expat sponsored by Nike.  As I ran, I pondered some of the more interesting developments of late, including: how Mohammed is now the most popular name for newborn baby boys in England; how China now has the world’s fastest computer; and how Charlie Sheen’s compulsive whore-mongering and myriad drug-inspired arrests can be considered nothing short of impressive so long as he keeps his day job on Two and A Half Men.

Lizzi and I attended a wine dinner at a nice French restaurant in Tokyo Midtown the other night.  The event featured pre-phylloxera vines, which means they pre-date the attack of those pesky little bugs that wrought destruction over pretty much every single European vineyard in the early 1860s.  It was a delicious and educational night.  Amid all the smart wine talk, I was a bit preoccupied with knowing why – from an evolutionary perspective – the voracious louse found it necessary to insert venom into the vines as they fed from them, thus destroying their source of food.  But judging by the blank stares my inquiry received, I’m guessing this isn’t the type of stuff one is supposed to discuss at such events.  My misstep was compounded by some rather poor form when we made our exit.  As we politely bid everyone adieu, I felt compelled to tell someone whom I had just met – a culinary bigwig from Chicago, no less – to “be good”.  I have no idea why I said this.  And I have no idea why I said it again during our second round of goodbyes.  Something’s clearly wrong with me.  Here’s hoping he just assumed that I had a mild case of Tourette’s.

As I write this, the horribly hokey Mike Huckabee Show is playing in the background.  The camera just panned to the show’s sparsely populated studio audience, which can’t be any greater than thirty people.  I wonder what series of poor decisions would lead someone to be a member of that audience.  I fully expect to see Todd Margaret sitting there someday.