When I opened the letter from my parents and saw this photo, I had to look closely for a second.
This is from Christmas 1973. Cool, huh?
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About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
Blog Archive
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2006
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February
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- Radio days
- Spaghetti --- it's what's for dinner
- Catch-up (not the condiment)
- Songs of experience and innocence
- Tiny bubbles
- The fugitive
- Sesame Street live?
- Dance-party Samson
- Samsonova
- Still waters?
- Big snow, part II
- Big snow
- Thanks, Nana and Papi
- Oh no, it's Devo!
- Foiled again
- Another installment of gratuitous Samson pics
- The Age of Aquarium
- Lunch special
- Uncanny
- Is there a nicer word for schadenfreude?
- Found in translation
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February
(21)
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