Wednesday, March 4, 2009
NEW DIGS, CHESS CLUB, AND CHILD PSYCHOLOGY
For centuries I wandered through mists and vapours attempting to reincarnate and live once more upon the solid earth. But this second coming required a dupe -- or should I say willing vessel -- to provide me the proper physical carcass. In addition to a bum leg (my old imperfection being a mark of pride), this extant being must of needs possess a great swath of unused cranial space. One man fit the bill: Boogaloo.
I, The late Earl of Oxford, now occupy two-thirds of this proxy poxy brain (a squeeze for me, whilst my host is still rattling about his nearly empty apartment) and I plan to annex the derelict closet space, down to the last cubic centimeter.
The downside to this arrangement is that I must rise with him and be off to work at his tiddly-wink academy -- sitting through his long-winded lectures and waiting patiently in line while he attempts to access the staff washroom. Still, I enjoy Thursdays. Because Thursday is Chess Club Day.
I like nothing better than dispatching the freckle-faced chiddlers in a dozen moves or less. My host is not fond of this approach. He would rather spend his time kibitzing and explaining his moves than going for their wee jugulars. I say: less talk, more ego shattering. Tomorrow, I shall extend my unbeaten record to six hundred matches.
Children learn more from a solid thumping than any taste of treacle.