Just as we were starting back for Chicago, we got a text from some friends who were in Athen, Ohio, where I went to college doing some improv shows. They invited to come hang out with them for a bit.

Me: I guess we don't have to be back in Chicago tonight.
Sarah: It's stupid. Let's do it.
Me: I suppose we could use a fun dumb side adventure right now.

So I returned to my college town for the first time in over a decade.

We had drinks in some of my favorite, half-remembered bars, like the Union, which had been given a nice, but nostalgia-dampening renvotation. The upstairs part of the Union, however, where I'd gone to see numerous bands, looked exactly the same. Same black walls. Same weird lighting. Same checkered floor. Same small raised stage. Same fold out table where whatever seven or eight people actually showed up to see the band paid for their tickets, or hung out next to their friend who was trying to sell shirts.

Well, my grandfather's ashes are now resting next to my grandmother, Dorothy, his first wife. During the funeral, my cousin's line, "Make sure to give Grandma Dottie a big kiss from all of us," unleashed an audible round of sniffles throughout the church.

I'm not really certain where his second wife is buried. In Wisconsin, maybe. Next to her first husband, almost certainly.

I'd never been to a military funeral before. A line of very old men in VFW uniforms, standing in a line in a cold December cemetery, shooting their rifles into the air, is a moving sight to see. Even more so, the sound of "Taps" played on a trumpet. I didn't expect it. Without thinking about it, I guess "Taps" always held a kind of cartoony quality in my mind, not comical, but very distant, like "Camp Town Races." And then it seems very real at a funeral, both far away and painfully present like a newly dead loved one.

The thing that really got me, though, was after "Taps" was played, somewhere almost out of sight, across the cemetery, a second trumpet player played it again, like a mournful response carried on the wind, and I imagined it the beginning of a long military trumpet relay system, sending out word to the world of a passing, one ancient soldier at a time.

Ohio.

The viewing for my Grandpa Paul. Or maybe the term is just "visiting hours" since he was cremated.

There were several taped together murals of his life that I spent a long time looking at. Nice memories. On a few large pieces of poster board you can see a whole life: Navy, marriage, children, children's weddings, grandchildren, great-grandchildren...

We are rich in soups.

This picture was taken back in May, the last time I visited with Grandpa Paul. He still lived, semi-selfsufficently in a little house, with various family members living in same small town checking in on him throughout the day.

A month or so ago when his deteriorating health made it clear that he wasn't going to be able to live outside a hosptial or nursing home anymore, he reportedly said, "Well, I guess the dance is over."

According to his obituary he was 86 years old. He's survived by nine sons (including my father) and their spouses. I can never remember exactly how many cousins I have, I've lost track, which is sort of terrible of me, but apparently he has "38 grandchildren and 39 great grandchildren." Wow.

Mom: [via text] "Grandpa's brother Tom was looking at pics when grandpa was young and in navy - he said that grandpa thought he was God's gift to women - Tom's wife Mary said "he was"

My grandfather passed away this morning. Sad, if not unexpected news.

I noticed on Facebook that family members who were mentioning his death were also writing things like, "Ate at the Olympic Restaurant in memory of Grandpa Paul," or, as my mother wrote, "Ron and I stopped at Pullman Bay and had a cheeseburger and fries in memory of Paul. Told memories of a very fine man and father."

This seemed like, well, not a bad idea. Sarah and I had planned on starting a diet today, but had cheeseburgers and fries instead. I don't know, frankly, if Grandpa Paul had ever been to Chicago, or if he had, I doubt he'd ever been to Hamburger Mary's, but it's close to our apartment and the burgers are good and I think he would've appreciated that.

A five hour Battlestar Galactica board game session with Nick, Alex and Young. I've heard this is actually on the short side for this extremely complicated game. Complicated but fun... and demoralizing... but in a good way... like the TV show.

I fought for the side of humanity, and lost. At least one of these people was a secret cylon. Any guesses?

Megan, Alex and the Captain, again.

Megan: Another for your series of pictures of us in our kitchen?
Me: Yep.

Their baby is due on Christmas Day.

Thanksgiving at the Four Seasons.

We went with Alex and Megan to enjoy the fancy Thanksgiving buffet, loading up on Thanksgiving standards like turkey and cranberry sauce, also sushi, seafood, strange appetizers that I couldn't quite identify.

I ate too much, but a wider variety of too much.

Also, looking at this picture, I sort of think I looked like Carl Sagan today.

Thanksgiving Eve drinks with the newly engaged Brooke and Glynn. They asked us for wedding advice, but frankly, they seem way ahead of the game, having already booked a location, bought a dress, etc.

I did suggest that their napkins should read, "Glynn Sickness and Glynn Health."

Catching up on episodes of 'Survivor,' which, yes, we still watch.

Sarah: This season takes place where... the Philippines?
Me: Yes. I think so.
Sarah: And we know so may people from the Philippines now! From the boats!

Adal and Young came over to watch the Bears game (Sarah's idea). The game itself was a brutal Bears defeat, but the soups Sarah made were delicious.

FYI: Sarah refused to have anything other than her foot appear in this picture.

My favorite sign I've seen in a while. "Before seen prices! Never."

A rut is a rut, even if it's a pleasant one. Most Saturdays I end up hanging out at the diner next to the theater after Whirled News, but this week, in the interest of expanding our horizons, we traveled a few blocks south and had bourbon flights at Birds & Blokes.

Or maybe it's called Blokes & Birds. It's hard to be entirely certain on account of the bourbon.

I can't stop reading about the election even though it's over now. It's like a phantom limb.

I'm not sure I'm ready to become a year 'round news junkie.

Bored, looking through old pictures on my phone. In a few thumb flicks you can see a whole year: Christmas, Tampa, ship, New York, Cedar Point, painting new apartment, Halloween, this picture...

Sarah, intensely researching soups she wants to cook.

Pretty busy at work lately. Good busy. Guiding an important new project busy.

I e-mailed Mitchell, curious for an update, for myself and for the blog. I wrote, “Whenever you get a chance, send me a paragraph or two on what you've been up to and some kind of picture to go along with it.”

He immediately responded with this press release:

The Santaland Diaries
by David Sedaris, adapted by Joe Mantell

"Our holiday classic returns for its ninth straight year, once again starring Mitchell Fain who plays to rave reviews and sold-out houses every year. Don't miss this antidote to Christmas cheer. A celebration of the desperation of unemployment, the insanity of Christmas shopping and the ineffable "cheer" of the holiday spirit. David Sedaris’ beloved account of his time in the trenches as an Elf at Macy’s during the holiday season has been called the “24 funniest pages ever written in the English language.” This production sells out every year, so make your reservations soon."

This was followed by seven glowing blurbs from local papers (“Recommended! Sly and effortlessly endearing, Mitchell Fain plays the audience like a harp" – Chicago Reader).

Not exactly what I was looking for but, still, I’ve heard it’s great. So, you should probably go.

The first light dusting of snow of the season.

It's been a weird fall so far, almost eerily warm at times. A few days ago it hit 70. Bermuda was only 4 degrees warmer that day.

But it's finally starting to get cold... or do you say "finally" if you're not sure it's something you want?

One more pic from election night. The Whirled News cast taking a group picture at the end of the night, standing in front of, and unfortunately completely blocking the neat electoral vote count chart we use.

My favorite bit I did that evening was leaning a team of pun-dits to judge the offical campaign wordplay of the election. For instance, "mitt-mentun" got a general thumbs up but we mostly agreed that "Obamalany" was especially terrible. We suggested some better attack puns like "Piece of Mitt" and "Obamalarky."

As much as I'm glad the election is over, it was a fun time to do political comedy.

Sarah's usually home when I get back from work, but today she was gone, at the gym.

Sarah: Was it weird? Did you think I ran off to do another ship?

We have free heat in our apartment, which is great, and the control panel for the entire building is in our place, which, I suspect, will prove to be more of a gift than a curse.

Sarah is always too hot lately. "Turn it down! Turn it down!"

Meanwhile the neighbors are complaining, and I'm... I'm not cold, but I don't really get why she thinks it's so hot.

My new theory is the ships. She's spent the last half year being blasted with air conditioning.

Sarah: You may be right.

Watched the election returns at iO. My show/group, Whirled News Tonight has hosted an election night viewing party at the theater for the last three elections (we've been around a long time). It's mostly just drinking and hanging out while watching the news with the occasional halfway-pre-planned bit performed during the commercial break.

For instance, Alex announced that he would be the designated conservative for the evening. Chicago is a fairly liberal place, and an improv theater even more so, so he volunteered to, "have really strong, visceral, right-leaning reactions to the results so the few conservatives in the audience can feel safe to react themselves."

Here, as Obama is announced the projected winner, Alex pounds on the stage and yells, "Noooo!!!"

Election day.

We don't get "I Voted" stickers in the city, just paper receipts.

The polling station worker gave me an apologetic look when he accidentally ripped mine nearly in half while handing it to me. "Sorry."

It was okay, torn, but still essentially holding together. Ham-fisted political commentary?

I like to look in the window of the Swedish Bakery near our apartment, and see the elaborate seasonal cupcakes. Halloween has given way to Thanksgiving.

Why is it that a turkey-shaped cupcake looks far more disturbing than one with a giant spider on it?

Looking through the photos Sarah took at Megan's baby shower.

Sarah: That shirt was a gift from their dog, The Captain. In fact, there were a lot of pug-themed gifts.

There also seemed to be a lot of funny onesies, including one that read, "I [Heart] Bravo!"

Sarah: And this is the diaper cake...
Me: Diaper cake? Was there a real cake?
Sarah: Yes. Don't worry.

I put most of the window A/C units in the storage space in the basement before Sarah got home, but this one is huge. We keep putting it off.

And would it be soooo terrible to just leave it sitting here until spring?

I know the answer is yes.

We went to the "Welcome Home" party for Sarah's ship castmate, Andrew.

Andrew: Oh Sarah, thank you for coming to welcome me back to Chicago. I haven't seen you in days.

And then they just started spazzing out and making noises that, to me, mostly sounded like, "DER DER DER!!!"

One last random Halloween picture from last weekend in Wrigleyville.

Sarah and Marla and some dude dressed as a Replacement Ref.