Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
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