In which our hero finally sits his two little ones down in front of Star Wars. It might be the “fixed” version, but it looks pretty good. When they get older, we’ll get into the whole thing about how the “real” version is the “best” version. Han shot first, dammit (but in this version they shoot at the same time, and that Greedo is a lousy shot, lemme just say).
Laundry night (writing in bits and pieces while hauling stuff). Tate and I went to Sport Ball at the West End Rec Center tonight, which meant leaving a little early from work, and hauling butt up the hill on my bike, so I could then walk back down the other side of the hill with Tate. Cycling’s going really well, I think, since I’ve only NOT rode my bike for maybe four days since starting, and I had a Dr’s note for that. Really. Like, specific “No riding a bike for at least a week” kinda instructions.
So, SportBall, or “Dad & Me” class. Imagine a half-dozen or so kids between 3 & 4 running around with an equal number of dads, all playing sorta-kinda sports. Each week is a different sport. The first week was soccer, sorta-ish, and this week was basketball.
Tate *hearts* the running and kicking and throwing, but sometimes his natural inventiveness gets the better of him, and he wants to roll the hulahoop and then chase it WHILE trying to throw the ball through it (to me).
In the control room Luke and the gang hole up in, there are large reddish buckets near the door. What’s in those things? Toner for the printers? Buckets of new helmets? Wine? I bet it’s wine. No wonder the StormTroopers are such bad shots. They should have all just set their guns on stun, and blue hoopie-thingied the hallways every five minutes.
