Some day, God will pay me back for past transgressions by giving me a son who thinks U2 are brilliant.
"Sweet Jesus dancing the rumba, son, are you listening to the Zooropa album again?!"
"Yeah, Dad. It's so great."
"No. No, it is not. Not at all. You need to stop this."
Actually, there are several things I wouldn't want my son to be. My wife -- who reads this blog but persistently refuses to comment -- says that if we ever have a son I will be unduly hard on him because I was a rather devious boy and because I have stupid set ideas of how a boy should be. This is true; I hate to admit it.
A lot of parents to be will use that "as long as he or she is healthy I don't care what happens" line of thinking. Perhaps this mindset kicks in when parenthood is a reality, but right now I think that is rubbish. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do if I end up with a son who is heavily into role-playing games? What if he laughs like a dork? What if he doesn't like to swim*? When I think about all the possibilities, I can really see the appeal of shipping my son off to some Scottish boys' school: "Here, Scotland -- fix my boy."
A little girl, on the other hand, would have me wrapped around her finger before she could even speak. I coo at every little girl I see, pointing them out to my wife: "Look at her, honey. She's so cute! Let's steal her and raise her as our own." If I had a little girl, she need only be gorgeous and brilliant (surely not too much to ask?), and I would give her everything I could and kill everyone who made her sad.
Yeah. That's part of why we don't have kids yet -- Daddy's still a little crazy.
Good name for a band: Deadly Donut
150 million people? Blimey.
Actual quote from porn spam e-mail I received at work today: "Recent ineptitude for only great minds." -- Huh?
I was looking at my stats Thursday and apparently 5 percent of the people who visit this blog are doing so from Canada. Really? I can't remember ever hearing from one. Speak up you clandestine Canadians.
Another reason to like October: it's national cider month in the UK.
This story amuses me, but I'm afraid my writer's talisman** is failing me when it comes to being able to say anything about it.
*When I think of all the fun places I would want to take my kid, a good 80 percent of those places involve playing in water.
**Rachel insisted that I purchase a talisman for poets last week at the Renaissance Festival. It is a chunk of pewter with some crazy scribbling on it that is supposed to make me a better writer. I doubt that it really does this. If I were in fifth grade, I would use it to try to hypnotize Erin Cooney and get her to kiss me on the bus.