Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Sunday, November 27, 2005


Youth on the Brink

I've written before--a couple of times, in fact--about my friends in Baltimore and the fact that they just had themselves a baby this year. This weekend, my wife and I, along with another good friend of ours who did knows all of us from our days in Seattle, drove down to Poe Town for Thanksgiving.

A good time was had by all. Memories were shared; much wine was drunk and we established definitively how old and sad we are by going to bed just astoundingly early.

But I'm not writing this because I want to share with the world how kinda pathetic I am. I think I do that enough. This morning, I want to express my concern about our friends' five-month-old son.

First of all,
I'm worried that he may be a little too concerned with his weight. Now, I realize that these days, too many babies have just let themselves go. They find excuses not to exercise and they just sit there in their own filth while the fat cells multiply. Not so with this little guy. Maybe it's because he likes to spend so much time on his feet, or possibly all the jazzericizing he does. It's fine to watch your waist and all, but I saw him binging and purging several times during our stay. And that concerns me.

He also seems to have some odd spiritual beliefs. They seem to center on worship of a plastic dancing monkey that stands atop an "activity center"--read: shrine--that plays music. I watched in shock as the monkey shook himself in various rhythmic contortions and our friends' son matched him, move for move, possibly his way of saying, "Yes, my monkey lord! I hear you and obey!"

Then there's the type of television he chooses to watch. He's addicted to a program called Baby Einstein. It seems to consist mostly of music and random animated shapes moving all over the place. Sure, the production values are high, but what is this going to do to the child's appreciation of narrative form? There's no story-line on this program. There's no character development. How is the kid supposed to learn the elements of dramatic structure?

Also, I'm a bit concerned that all this attention being focused on the child is going to make him into something of a narcissist. All weekend, everyone was taking pictures of him and telling him how cute he was and cleaning him up when he spit all over himself. I have to say that nobody was doing as much for me when I vomited wine down my shirt. No, then, instead of, "Uh-oh. Time for a baby wipe!" it was all, "Oh, you're a pathetic drunkard." Whatever.

The point here is that someone needs to get this kid to straighten up and fly right. 'Cause life's a bumpy flight.

You are one of those other people out there who just know that they think about things in a way that no one else does.
He begins therapy next monday! Get the f*&% off my back already!

Father of said child.
I'm sure they had homey's back when he pee'd all over himself. My bitch left me outside to sleep it off in the snow.
a hearty hello to the parents of said abomina--child.
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