The grass is always greener in the pastures of yore

That's my new saying. Because that whole fence metaphor is both played out and entirely too suburban for my tastes.

I know if this blog was my child I'd be approaching dead beat status, but please accept my humble apology.

My time is parsley so I'll get right down to it.

I wish I had been born in the medieval times because just once in my life I'd like to be described with the adjective gallant. You just don't hear about that much gallantry these days-at least I don't, and for that I will be etenrally regretful.

Lastly, I think it's a shame when people earn cool nicknames post-mortem. Imagine how popular ancient Greek mathematician Euclid of Alexandria would have been with the ladies had he been equipped with the moniker "Father of Geometry." Hey ladies, the name is Euclid but history is gonna call me the father of geometry, so feel free to do the same. Come to think about you can just call me Daddy Rhombus if you want.
I might name my first born Geometry just so that if nowhere else but my obituary I might be referred to as "Father of Geometry." Now if I could work a gallant in there I'd be in serious business.

Here is a stellar new pick up line I'm donating to all you would be woo-ers out there. Next time you see somebody to whom you are attracted I suggest the following exchange:

YOU: Excuse me, I was just wondering, would you ever consider donating your body to science?

OBJECT OF YOUR DESIRE: Maybe, sure.

YOU: Call me Science.

(The rest of the scenario is too sexually graphic to describe in this wholesome space but use your imagination)

Have a Monday that is equal parts rootin' and tootin'