Confession (It's a Pun)

When your blogs aren't enough to fill up my wasting time calendar, I rely heavily on the quizzes at Sporcle.com. I was clued in to Sporcle a few months ago when Lou mentioned there was a periodic table quiz there: they give you a blank periodic table, you fill in the elements. Being that this was a synergystic exercise that combined both my need to justify the vast amounts of useless knowledge locked in my brain AND the eight pounds of crazy stuffed into a five-pound sack that was my decision to become a chemist, it was perfect.

Today I flipped over there and found a quiz for the Seven Sacraments. This combined both the useless information AND all those years of Catholic schoolin' for two minutes of sheer, trivia-fueled bliss. Only problem was, I tore through them. Well...actually, I tore through the first six that came to mind, but the seventh...it eluded me. I sat here, wracking my brains, coming up with nothing except a big empty void (the one that's usually there). Finally, I muttered to myself: "If I don't get this one, I'll have to go to Confession."

*facepalm*

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Jill Pilgrim showed us how she sits up between the hours of 1 am and 3 am and does her hair and redoes her hair and redoes her hair some more before taking lots of pictures of herself and then she lets the computer decide what celebrity she looks like.

I once did this, but instead of a computer program, I let my student at Notre Dame tell me whom I looked like. And, really, I didn't let them tell me so much as one of them suddenly had it dawn on him whom it was that my sweet visage reminded him of.

See, while Jill Pilgrim is pretty and gets compared to people like Natalie Imbruglia and Laetitia Casta, I am decidedly unpretty. Therefore, my celebrity look-alike, as deemed by my students was Tom Green.

That would have been fine because, at the time, Tom Green had a fairly successful variety show and was banging Drew Barrymore. However, someone else added, "Yeah, you do look like Tom Green...except, fatter. Yeah, you're like a fat Tom Green."

And then everyone in the class agreed. And, not only did they agree, but they told my students in my next group that I looked like a fat Tom Green, and they all rushed in and they, too, agreed that I looked like a fat Tom Green. They didn't even sugar-coat it. I was just "a fat Tom Green...with glasses."

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During this weekend's Notre Dame and Michigan game, the swear filter was in full effect...for most of the game. As the inevitable conclusion continued to play out, the filter became a little less rigid, we'll say. Finally, at one point, things broke down so badly that I let off a string of "shit"s that would have done a hamster or a Canada goose proud.

This was picked up by my five-year-old son, Tank, who echoed the staccato salvo of shits. "Shit, shit," he said, aloud. And then, in truly inspired brilliance, he fired off "Triple shit!"

My wife was less than amused. She explained to him that shit was a bad word and that he couldn't say it, but when he got older he could if he wanted to. Then she leveled a look at me that was supposed to be upbraiding.

I, however, was amused. Because, really, "triple shit" is fucking awesome. Not only does it show a creative streak, but how many kids in his kindergarten class know what "triple" means? Plus, I have now vowed to work "triple shit" into my Notre Dame watching routine.