My gym

A palindrome is a word, phrase, number or other sequence of units that has the property of reading the same in either direction. Palindromes tickled me as a kid, and I checked out library books with clever drawings that accompanied "Madam, I'm Adam" and "A man, a plan, a canal: Panama!"

As an adult I appreciate more sophisticated constructions, like:

I, madam, I made radio. So I dared! Am I mad? Am I?

and:

"Naomi, sex at noon taxes," I moan.

My current favorite palindrome is "Hannah." As in Hannah Claire Yaeger, who arrived one week and 22 minutes ago. (For those who care about such things: 9 lbs., 22 inches.) As usual, The Missus did all the hard work; I managed the luggage.

You'll pardon me if I don't make it to St. John's this week, but you'll be there, right? Tip-off is at 8:00 a.m., as usual.

Satisfactory in every particular

I continued my gastronomical tour of Southeast Minnapolis today with a solitary lunch at Fat Lorenzo's. As I sat in the window seat waiting for my slice thoughts were on preparations for our new baby, scheduled (yes, scheduled, not due) to arrive Friday.

I spend a lot of time, as I'm sure you do, thinking about footed pajamas. Sometimes my thoughts are about why, for example, someone would so passionately prefer her candy-cane footed pajamas over her purple teddy bear footed pajamas. Or what would possess someone to slide down the basement stairs on his tummy repeatedly until he wore a hole in his footed pajamas. But mostly my thoughts are of how I can get a pair of footed pajamas. For me. In my size.

A couple years ago I ordered a union suit from the Vermont Country Store, thinking this was as close as I could get. Sure, it's cozy, and I long ago stopped feeling self-conscious wearing it around the house, even when people address me as "Pa." Yet there remains that chill around the ankles.

Anyway, while skimming a business magazine over lunch three words jumped off the page at me: BIG FEET PAJAMA.

Amazing, isn't it, how low start-up costs are now for a business like The Big Feet Pajama Co., which was founded in 2005 to make footed sleepwear for adults. The company had sales of $1 million last year. Fifteen years ago it's doubtful the founder would have been able to launch the company and market it to the likes of me. The cost of printing and mailing catalogs, or opening storefronts, to promote such a niche (not to say fetishistic) product would have been prohibitive.

But today a chance mention in a magazine, a quick Google search, and BAM! I'm ordering a pair of 100% cotton XL footed PJs with the drop-seat option. Express shipping gets it here before baby.

I've always found it in my best interest not to play ball 24 hours after The Missus gives birth. But that shouldn't stop you. Things tip off at St. John's at 8:30 a.m. Saturday. Kindly let me know if you will or will not be there. Some grumbles were heard after failure to notify resulted in an unexpected troop surge—19 players—two weeks ago.

Note to insiders: Three years after buying the restaurant, Joey D's new owners have changed its name to Chris & Rob's Chicago Taste Authority. Same menu, still no credit cards.

21° outside, 250° inside

While the debate over whether Matt's Bar or or the 5-8 Club invented the Jucy Lucy rages, it's undeniable that the 5-8 offers the slowest service of any establishment in the Twin Cities. Thus, when the urge for a lunchtime Lucy hits Matt's usually gets the nod, except on slow summer days, when the 5-8's patio beckons.

One would tend to associate an old West Seventh hand like Dave Johansen with joints like DiGidio's and McGovern's, but that was definitely him passing by my table at Matt's today. As long-time SJHers will acknowledge, there's no mistaking that face, with its bent nose (from conking the bottom of the Holiday Inn Mason City pool) and missing tooth. The face is a little puffier than when last seen at St. John's, but aren't we all?

We caught up on the sidewalk, in the freezing cold. Different jobs, same gals. Both have kids on the way (July for him, next week for me). Both still playing every week. "Why not at St. John's?" I asked. As always, there was no good answer. With freezing fingers I scrawled my number on a piece of paper I fished out of my pocket and gave it to him. "Some of the same guys, some new," I said. "Call me."

I hope he does. I think there was something important on the back of that paper.

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No hoops at St. John's tomorrow. We'll resume next week at our usual time.