Oh, also: I have an improv show this Sunday, and there’s an audience vote to see which of the two competing teams comes back the following week. So if you’ve been meaning to come see me improvise, now would be an excellent time.

Full disclosure: I made two silly mistakes, now corrected, both times substituting a 2 for a 0.

Fuller disclosure: I have embraced the madness, and am now shooting for 1000 decimal places. Then I’ll stop. For sure.

Fuller disclosure, still: Unless it seems possible to go for 5000. Which, to my (slowly unraveling) mind, would be the logical next step.

3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510

58209749445923078164062862089986280348253421170679

That’s 100 decimal places.  And I generally dislike numbers.  And memorizing things.

I think I’m going to stop at 100, for three reasons:

1. Checking for errors takes a really long time already.

2. I have no reason to memorize pi digits in the first place.

3. The world record is apparently 100,000 decimal places.  Upon hearing that, a tiny little part of me says, “Hey, I wonder if I could ever…” (Cut to me six months later — rocking back and forth in a chair, muttering gibberish through my long, unkempt beard, in a locked room with strange symbols and seemingly random numbers written all over the walls.)

. . .

If anyone has any suggestions for numbers that would actually be useful to memorize (beyond checking accounts and phone numbers and such), let me know.

Every day people are driven to my blog by the single post in which I made passing mention of Puerto Rican food (Nachos With Moses).

In an effort to take advantage of this phenomenon, I offer the following short essay:

MONDONGO!

by Morgan Phillips

Some men can live on arroz con habichuelas.  Arroz con pollo.  Not I.  No, when my stomach rumbles, I understand its rumble-talk clearly:  Give me mondongo!  Give me mofongo!  Give me a slab of albondigon, with a generous side of bacalaitos!

The rumble specifically demands a tray of arepas de coco and canoas and guanimes, which I will wash down with a hearty rabo encendido (with a chaser of sancocho de patitas)!

For dessert — yes, dessert — a bucket of barriguitas de vieja and a mountain of buñuelos de viento.  Only then will my hunger be sated; my hunger for the foods of Puerto Rico, for Puerto Rican cuisine, for Puerto Rican food!

. . .

By the way, I updated the “upcoming shows” page — a bunch of NYC improv stuff, and a singing show in MA on 12/13…

1. Cecelius Xiao-Gua: Collects shampoo bottles

2. Ellsworth Tzila: Has an overly firm handshake

3. Mohamd McSchooler: Knows your cousin

4. Falkner Fenton: Just insulted your pants

5. Jehu Lancelot: Has dangerous secrets

6. Naren Mmmmmm: Should not be invited to the party

7. KangSu Escobar: Has a tattoo of a snake fighting a dog

8. Griffiths Bolyard: Despises hobos

9. Baudoin Rokny: Creeps you out at the gym

10. Giffy Jatin: Is hitting on your girlfriend

At the moment I only have links to bloggers that I’m pretty certain wouldn’t mind visits from random strangers.  The blogs all talk about funny stuff, and assorted cool things, and so forth.

Your blogs talk about your political views, and/or have pictures of your kids, and/or talk about your personal biz-ness.  Not necessarily intended for anonymous passers-by.

I’d e-mail you all personally to ask, but I’m lazy.  So instead, I’ll be a comment-whore.  If I know you, or SHOULD know you, and you have a blog, and I don’t currently link to it, and you’re cool with me linking to it, leave a comment on this post that says so.

. . .

It wasn’t that anyone in the cave doubted Wolf-In-Head’s magic; they had all seen him become possessed by the Mother Wolf, they’d all benefited from his prediction about the sky-fire that one time, and they all appreciated the inspiring ceremonies he conducted before important hunting expeditions and battles with neighboring caves. His magic was real.

It was just that lately he’d been kind of a prick.