I think Samson's love of baseball is rubbing off on his sister.
Her sweetness, on the other hand, is sui generis.
Her sweetness, on the other hand, is sui generis.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
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
-
▼
2008
(166)
-
▼
September
(16)
- All the blurriness, none of the composition
- A natural progression
- Big shoes
- Metaphysics on the soccer pitch
- Profiles in Ridiculousness
- Mondegreen
- Yielding the floor
- Happy birthday, Samson James
- Girl, uninterrupted
- Two little words
- The Samson monologues
- From the people who brought you the Maginot Line
- A movable feast
- Samson Agonistes (once again)
- My girl
- Running
-
▼
September
(16)
No comments:
Post a Comment