C: It doesn't rhyme with anything

So apparently my 3-year-old cousin is Christ.

We were having a family dinner tonight, and across the room, the wee ones were having one of those delightfully absurdist kiddie conversations where they sohuld some random phrase back and forth at one another; in this case, Cameron continually yelled at Alli, "You're MY mommy!" and she'd yell back, "You're my mommy!" Then my brother got involved, and asked if he was maybe the dad. Cam then proceeded to proclaim, "No, you're the mommy!" Eric, wishing to have his manhood back, asked, "Well then who's the daddy?" Defiantly, Cam declared, "You're my mommy... and God's my daddy!"

Of course, we all had a good laugh. It was kinda sweet, because the kids grow up without any real father figure. And also, that water-into-wine thing could come in handy someday.

It's the kind of story you maybe send into Reader's Digest and make a few bucks off of. A few years ago I contemplated making up "cute" stories and sending them in, which my dad, paragon of honesty he is, discouraged. Apparently he sees some distinction between "true" and "could be true." I never have, which is maybe what makes me such a natural writer. Or just a pathological liar.

It's been an excessively dull weekend. I finally got around to reading DMZ, which Mansoor lent me over a week ago. I was impressed, and I see what the hype is about, but it's not much better than your usual Vertigo affair... a realistic take on extremely unrealistic circumstances, like Preacher, like Y: The Last Man, like Fables, like Bite Club, all the best Vertigo books.

I went to revive my SNES earlier, having defeated Mario 64 and looking for new old challenges. The problem was, uh, it wouldn't work. I feared the worst, as I tested all the cables, and it looked like, after a decade and a half of faithful service, my beloved SNES might be calling it quits. Thankfully, all it needed was a napkin to wipe out some dirt and grime from the interior, and it was good as new. Ah for the days when video game console maintenance was as simple as blowing in the cartridge... my cousin had to replace his PS2 no fewer than twice.

Like I said, dull. So dull, in fact, that I did a memoir-writing assignmentthat was due two weeks ago. I've been avoiding that class because, well, I can very easily. It's so simple to tell oneself, "Oh I'll get to it later." Interestingly enough there is an extra-credit assignment I could probably contribute to on, of all things, procrastination.

The memoir was on something that I glossed over on the blog when it happened, as it was early on in this site's existence and I was not yet accustomed (as I would become during Grade 12) to divulging my every thought and feeling on this page. So I had to go back and re-live it and really examine what it meant, at the time and in retrospect.

It ain't easy kids, but... if you do nothing, nothing does.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott