Tuesday, August 28, 2007
And, hi. Yes, I am alive. I know, you assumed that I had whittled myself into a dimestore cowboy replica of a Navajo headband, endeavored conundrum, and somehow gone down the drain of inequity. Well, nope, sorry to disappoint you. Mrs. P has her 2nd inaugural hula class tonite, which means I shall be running with full proprietary discretion this evening over pennyworth manor and all its assets and copyrights. Me and the kids promise not to burn the house down, or to at least leave standing the eastern wing, home of ancient treasures and secret sarcophagi. Daddy with the kiddies nite; it sounds fun, and so it is, my younguns to hold and be held by and frolic and feed, rush and slow down, flexibility and quick guile being key, as beguiles a fitting what have you, plus lots of screaming and reassuring and laughing and crying and staring and wondering and learning and loving, as well as some good old fashioned diaper changing and walking practice, (tip toe thru the tulips, clementine, scratch that, beatrice) or none or all or some of the snippets of the above, left, right, whatever. Basically handle for a few hours what Mrs. P wonderfully negotiates on a daily basis, the care and raising of a 15 month old and a 2 month old, and their inevitable cuteness of which impossibility to get mad at when those puppy dog eyes and iridescent smiles come galloping forth, well, lemme tell you, I could write a greeting card about the pilot episode of the show currently playing in my mind and on my record player (don’t ask, an answer there be none). Don Knotts would play me and the flashback scenes of my great grandfather if he (DK) wasn’t dead and I had ever actually met gramps’ pops. Don’t read anything of that which may actually be saying something, lest some sort of relevant information be accidentally gleaned. I got my ticket for wu-tang on Saturday nite. I am excited. Redman, bone thugs (ok, not too pumped for that portion, but, well, I won’t necessarily boycott the proceedings) sigh shalom mf doom will not be in the house as he was for the la-la portion of rock the bells, unless he reads this and suddenly decides, oh lord, how can I disappoint the fake kool keith (el otro) of Honolulu, that would be a descration to the incarnation of procreated inhabitation vestibular academy. Ok I made that up, but still, zeb luv? Islands are for verbally opining upon. Gratzi.
update: The Don Knotts cartoon pic is gone, jacked back into the nether. Its replacement (above) lifted from oh word. (cognizate some knowledge.)