Jump right into my nightmare, the water is warm

I’ve blogged before about what it is like having some of the yokels in our region judge my students, describing it as if Kobe Bryant were taking my daughter to the prom. Well, tomorrow I’m going to drive my daughter to Kobe’s house after he’s had too much to drink, shove her through the front door and sit on the lawn for the next two days. Yes, we’re heading to the Clackamas Community College tournament, which is exactly like the University of Portland tournament except without all of the good judges from Lewis and Clark and Willamette and with a few more ass clowns. Entertainingly enough, we’ve already developed a little signal to use every time something predictably stupid/terrible happens in a round, a signal I’m blatantly stealing from Kristen and David: we cut out a piece from the imaginary misery cake and show our little slice of hell.