Dear Son,
I'd never read the complete C.S. Lewis Chronicles of Narnia. I've never even read the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, although I'd read excerpts from it in school. I vaguely knew the premise, but not the story. (I intend to fix that this summer - if I can read 6 Harry Potter books in a month...) And I knew that it was intended to be a Christian allegory for the passion of Christ.
It was wonderful. I was lucky to catch it on the big screen, thanks to the $3 theater across the street from our condo. A big special effects movie should always be seen that way if it can be!
The characters weren't necessarily deep. Scratch that - they WERE deep, but they weren't complex. They didn't need to be. They each had a role to play that was important. Each one of the four children represented a part of ourselves - the noble but self-doubting future leader, the one with all the brains but unsure and indecisive when forced to put those smarts to the situation at hand, the selfish, opportunistic one made miserable by his selfishness and opportunism, and the innocent conscience who insists on doing the right thing because it is right.
And then, of course, is the self sacrificing King, by whose execution the children's debts are paid, and by whose resurrection the world is saved. You don't have to be a Christian to appreciate the inspiration of that message.
These are archetypes in literature. They were ancient when the Bible was written, because they are so fundamentally a part of who we all are, and who we all WANT to be. (And the Bible has survived for 3,000 + years because of it.) We tell stories not just to describe, but to guide us. And when the archetypes are true and believable to the environment in which they've been placed, then we can see ourselves in them. When the heroes on the screen do heroic things, we know that we, too, are capable of being heroes. And there's nothing better than leaving a movie with that feeling. That's really ultimately why we go.
Technically, the movie was fantastic. You may laugh at the special effects in it by the time you read this, but the animal effects were some of the best I've ever seen. It's hard to get fur and muscle movement just right, not to mention integration between the CGI and the location of the shoot. It was apparent that they used some real animals where they could, and paid attention to how they behave and move. It was easy to believe in.
My only real complaint was that the movie was too short. The young actors were superb, but the scope of the plot was a little too big for any of the characters' subtleties to really come out. It just seemed a little rushed. But they had clearly done their homework, because even if WE didn't get to see the full panorama of their characters, the complexities were there, and prevented them from being the caricatures that true archetypes are often confused with.
Ultimately, the themes really spoke to me. Self sacrifice, redemption, risking your life against oppression, fighting for something greater than yourself - awesome. Those themes will always cause elitist art-house snobs to decry such movies, because to them if it's not dark and "honest" about how miserable we all are, it's not art. Bah. This movie will stand the test of time, and you'll grow up watching it. This year's Oscar winner for Best Picture will be nothing more than a Trivial Pursuit question when you read this.
This is one of those I'm really looking forward to sharing with you.
Love, Dad
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Sunday, March 26, 2006
What?!?
George Mason? Are you kidding me? In the Final Four?
Well, good for those guys. I'll root for them as underdogs, since I didn't get a single team to the Final Four this year. Just sad.
Oh, well. By the time you read this, son, we'll both laugh that I cared about it at all.
Love, Dad
Well, good for those guys. I'll root for them as underdogs, since I didn't get a single team to the Final Four this year. Just sad.
Oh, well. By the time you read this, son, we'll both laugh that I cared about it at all.
Love, Dad
Basketball Sucks
Dear Son,
This has been a disapointing week of basketball. Your mom's Zags lost to UCLA in the most heartbreaking way. But through her grief came this most fantastic piece of writing:
Sigh. That was a depressing moment at the bar, I have to say. The only upside was that our friend Peter was in the paper with some pretty good quotes. Then the rest of my bracket fell apart in the Elite Eight. As I type (procrastinating writing a brief), I'm watching UCONN trying hard to lose to George Mason, of all friggin' teams. Just sad.
Oh, well. That's why it happens every year, and that's why they call it gambling! Hell, I don't even remember who won last year. It's funny how we get so emotionally invested in things that at the end of the day just don't matter that much.
Love, Dad
This has been a disapointing week of basketball. Your mom's Zags lost to UCLA in the most heartbreaking way. But through her grief came this most fantastic piece of writing:
Since 1999, I have been a dedicated Gonzaga basketball fan. While attending GU, I witnessed the team rise from the state of "Gon-zog-a" and "Gonzag who?" to a national force, even for a mid-major from a weak conference. They have heart, they have skill, they have a great coach who brings out the best in players. By the end of each season, I feel like I know the players--I yell at them through the television screen, I know their strengths and weaknesses, and I have special place in my heart for each of them. I never miss a game.
And then there always comes the bitter, bitter disappointment. Every year I think they've got what it takes, that they will prove the critics wrong, but every year my hopes are dashed. The losses to Nevada and Texas Tech were particularly painful. But nothing will top last night. They had UCLA, they did...until the final minute when nothing seemed to go right.
Gonzaga is my ex-boyfriend who, just when I'm about to be over him (about November), woos me back, whispers in my ear that things will be different this time, and then come March, breaks my heart again.
Gonzaga, I wish I could quit you...
Sigh. That was a depressing moment at the bar, I have to say. The only upside was that our friend Peter was in the paper with some pretty good quotes. Then the rest of my bracket fell apart in the Elite Eight. As I type (procrastinating writing a brief), I'm watching UCONN trying hard to lose to George Mason, of all friggin' teams. Just sad.
Oh, well. That's why it happens every year, and that's why they call it gambling! Hell, I don't even remember who won last year. It's funny how we get so emotionally invested in things that at the end of the day just don't matter that much.
Love, Dad
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Movies
Dear Son,
There'll be a lot of movie reviews in this thing. Maybe review isn't the best word for it - I guess they're more like reflections.
I love movies. They're such an American art form. They tell and re-tell us our stories, our myths, and our legends. They are not modern plays - a play is an entirely different experience that I hope you will participate in once or twice.
Movies help define our culture. (Note that I call them movies, and not films. Films are what pretentious people call movies, including, sadly, a lot of the people who make otherwise pretty good movies.) They give us frameworks around which to tell jokes, to make analogies, to inspure and tell our own stories. Most guys I know can carry on an entire conversation in movie quotes.
Like anything, there are good movies and bad ones. Sometimes the officially good ones are boring as hell, and sometimes the bad ones are SO bad that they're just plain awesome. And the arguments about what makes the good ones good and the bad ones bad and why people see them differently are some of the most fun conversations to have.
But lately I've been thinking a lot about what is it that makes a good movie good. Why do the ones that inspire us inspire us? What is it about the boring ones that make them so dull? Why do some characters speak to us, and some we just plain don't care? Why are there movies that came out when I was an infant (or long before) that I can watch over and over again, and others that make me regret that I'll never again have those two hours of my life back?
A lot of it has to do with the classical elements of all literary forms. There must be a plot with a begining, a middle, and an end. There must be characters with an arc - they must experience conflict and evolve in some way based on their travails. And their world and their reactions to it must be coherent and believable.
But to be great - to truly become a classic - movies must inspire us. That's why movies that have simple themes of good v. evil that are so snickered at in the art houses do so well. We WANT the characters to overcome adversity, because we want to see ourselves in the hero. It doesn't matter how old the story is. Take the Bible stories. Thousands of years old, those tales still inspire millions of people, and when put on screen either directly or in parallel, they speak to people.
I'm looking forward to having conversations like this with you about movies. Even if right now it's just with myself.
I collect a lot of movies, in part because I want to pass them on to you. I can't wait to see you experience Star Wars for the first time, or the Lord of the Rings movies. And who knows what other classics yet unmade that will be there for us to share?
I just hope the DVD sticks around for a while...
Love, Dad
There'll be a lot of movie reviews in this thing. Maybe review isn't the best word for it - I guess they're more like reflections.
I love movies. They're such an American art form. They tell and re-tell us our stories, our myths, and our legends. They are not modern plays - a play is an entirely different experience that I hope you will participate in once or twice.
Movies help define our culture. (Note that I call them movies, and not films. Films are what pretentious people call movies, including, sadly, a lot of the people who make otherwise pretty good movies.) They give us frameworks around which to tell jokes, to make analogies, to inspure and tell our own stories. Most guys I know can carry on an entire conversation in movie quotes.
Like anything, there are good movies and bad ones. Sometimes the officially good ones are boring as hell, and sometimes the bad ones are SO bad that they're just plain awesome. And the arguments about what makes the good ones good and the bad ones bad and why people see them differently are some of the most fun conversations to have.
But lately I've been thinking a lot about what is it that makes a good movie good. Why do the ones that inspire us inspire us? What is it about the boring ones that make them so dull? Why do some characters speak to us, and some we just plain don't care? Why are there movies that came out when I was an infant (or long before) that I can watch over and over again, and others that make me regret that I'll never again have those two hours of my life back?
A lot of it has to do with the classical elements of all literary forms. There must be a plot with a begining, a middle, and an end. There must be characters with an arc - they must experience conflict and evolve in some way based on their travails. And their world and their reactions to it must be coherent and believable.
But to be great - to truly become a classic - movies must inspire us. That's why movies that have simple themes of good v. evil that are so snickered at in the art houses do so well. We WANT the characters to overcome adversity, because we want to see ourselves in the hero. It doesn't matter how old the story is. Take the Bible stories. Thousands of years old, those tales still inspire millions of people, and when put on screen either directly or in parallel, they speak to people.
I'm looking forward to having conversations like this with you about movies. Even if right now it's just with myself.
I collect a lot of movies, in part because I want to pass them on to you. I can't wait to see you experience Star Wars for the first time, or the Lord of the Rings movies. And who knows what other classics yet unmade that will be there for us to share?
I just hope the DVD sticks around for a while...
Love, Dad
Friday, March 17, 2006
Whew!
Dear Son,
Well, UCONN pulled it out of their tukas, which is good considering I have them winning it all. Having them lose in the first round would have been, as they say in Canada, no es bueno. Now let's just hope North Carolina plays well, and Kansas doesn't choke.
I also learned that if you make your stew too bitter by putting too much thyme in it, you can cure it and make it awesome with some honey. Sump'in' to keep in mind...
Love, Dad
Well, UCONN pulled it out of their tukas, which is good considering I have them winning it all. Having them lose in the first round would have been, as they say in Canada, no es bueno. Now let's just hope North Carolina plays well, and Kansas doesn't choke.
I also learned that if you make your stew too bitter by putting too much thyme in it, you can cure it and make it awesome with some honey. Sump'in' to keep in mind...
Love, Dad
I Love Spring Break
Dear Son,
Yesterday Matt and I went to a sports bar down town called Jillians. We showed up just after 9 AM, and stayed there until about 9 PM, watching the first round of the basketball tournament and drinking too-expensive cheap beer. All day. For 12 hours. In the early afternoon your mom joined us, followed by some other folks. It was momentous.
Today I'm doing much the same thing, except from home. That, and I got a few chores done, like fixing the blinds in the bedroom. It's St. Patrick's Day today, so later we're going to a party with some friends from law school. In honor of our Irish heritage (well, I suppose you'll have some for real, but mine is limited to whatever genes the Vikings passed around a thousand years ago), I'm making a Guinness stew. Slow cooked beef and potatoes. In beer. Mmmmmm....
All of that, and my bracket is more or less in tact. Unless UCONN chokes, in which case I'm screwed.
It's not the tropical MTV spring break, but after this busy quarter, nothing sounded or felt as good as doing pretty much nothing. Plus, when you're already married to an awesome babe, the allure of getting drunk at the beach and starring at beach bunnies just loses its appeal. Sometimes doing nothing is the greatest thing you can ever do.
Love, Dad
Yesterday Matt and I went to a sports bar down town called Jillians. We showed up just after 9 AM, and stayed there until about 9 PM, watching the first round of the basketball tournament and drinking too-expensive cheap beer. All day. For 12 hours. In the early afternoon your mom joined us, followed by some other folks. It was momentous.
Today I'm doing much the same thing, except from home. That, and I got a few chores done, like fixing the blinds in the bedroom. It's St. Patrick's Day today, so later we're going to a party with some friends from law school. In honor of our Irish heritage (well, I suppose you'll have some for real, but mine is limited to whatever genes the Vikings passed around a thousand years ago), I'm making a Guinness stew. Slow cooked beef and potatoes. In beer. Mmmmmm....
All of that, and my bracket is more or less in tact. Unless UCONN chokes, in which case I'm screwed.
It's not the tropical MTV spring break, but after this busy quarter, nothing sounded or felt as good as doing pretty much nothing. Plus, when you're already married to an awesome babe, the allure of getting drunk at the beach and starring at beach bunnies just loses its appeal. Sometimes doing nothing is the greatest thing you can ever do.
Love, Dad
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Done!
Dear Son,
Woo hoo! All finished with the finals for this quarter. It's pretty exciting. This is the easiest quarter I've ever had finals-wise, but it's been one of the most stressful in general. So much going on, and when things got busy, they all got busy at once. It doesn't rain, but it pours, I suppose.
The best part of being done with finals is that it's carnival time among the other law students. Everyone wants to go celebrate together, and the beer flows like Seattle rain. It's pretty outstanding.
Plus, the end of winter quarter means the start of Spring Break, and the start of the NCAA basketball tournament. Last year, I had finals all week, and so I missed most of the opening round games. Not this time. Tomorrow, the bar will open early, and we'll be there to watch them all, with no stress. No papers to write, no tests to study for, no classes to read for. And really, that's the best reward of all.
Love, Dad
Woo hoo! All finished with the finals for this quarter. It's pretty exciting. This is the easiest quarter I've ever had finals-wise, but it's been one of the most stressful in general. So much going on, and when things got busy, they all got busy at once. It doesn't rain, but it pours, I suppose.
The best part of being done with finals is that it's carnival time among the other law students. Everyone wants to go celebrate together, and the beer flows like Seattle rain. It's pretty outstanding.
Plus, the end of winter quarter means the start of Spring Break, and the start of the NCAA basketball tournament. Last year, I had finals all week, and so I missed most of the opening round games. Not this time. Tomorrow, the bar will open early, and we'll be there to watch them all, with no stress. No papers to write, no tests to study for, no classes to read for. And really, that's the best reward of all.
Love, Dad
Friday, March 10, 2006
Svava
Dear Son,
I hope you get a chance to meet Svava. She's our big, fat, obnoxious, loud, won't-shut-the-hell-up cat. But we love her anyway.
I'm posting this in part to test out the picture function on this blog.
I hope you get a chance to meet Svava. She's our big, fat, obnoxious, loud, won't-shut-the-hell-up cat. But we love her anyway.
I'm posting this in part to test out the picture function on this blog.
That worked pretty well. Sweet.
Your mom and I picked up Svava and her sister Freya when we were first dating. They really were my cats - she more went with me to get them for myself, all the while insisting she was a dog person. But the kittens won her over. Kind of.
I wouldn't have gotten them had I known I was going to go on another deployment, but I didn't, and I did, so Alicia wound up taking care of them during their formative years. She never got proper credit from the cats for it, either. Ingrates.
I named them after Valkyries in tribute to our Nordic heritage. It was harder than you think. Freya was easy - she was almost pure white as a kitten, and had blue eyes, just as Freya, Queen of the Valyries is sometimes described. But most of the other names of Valkyries were either ugly or unpronouncable. Most of them were probably both. But I thought Svava was cool, and it seems to fit her. (I stuggled for a bit with their names. I think they were almost 6 months before I figured it out. I just called them Poopy 1 and Poopy 2, since that's what they did. On the rug I bought in Bahrain. Grrr.)
Freya disapeared one day - I don't know if a coyote got her, or a car, or just what. I like to think that some little girl picked her up and got her mommy to agree to take her home. But that's the danger of cats. They're not really tame, and they need to come and go as they please. It's why I respect them, as a matter of fact.
When I dig them out of my old computer, I'll put up a picture of them with your mom when they were tiny kittens. They were about the size of one of Svava's current rolls of belly fat.
I think Svava senses what I'm typing about her. Better go...
Love, Dad.
An Appology of Sorts
Dear Son,
I'm realizing that these early posts have the air of introduction, of "getting to know you". You'll probably have heard all of this stuff a million times by the time you ever read it. So if you start from the begining, you may even be a bit bored. "Gol, Dad! Nothing new here."
But right now, and take this in the spirit in which it's intended, you're a construct to me that I'm feeling out. I am getting to know you, and when you first meet someone new, the conversation starts out with some basic bio stuff. And who knows - I might change my mind about all kinds of things, in which case you'll NEED that introduction. (Probably not, though. Just sayin'.)
And of course, there ARE other people who read this. Not many. But it is a web log, after all.
All that, and this is still about me in a lot of ways. Sometimes I just want to express myself, and somehow the keyboard makes that easy for me to do. I've always been someone who thought better out loud, I think - so there will be rambling, incoherent entries. Oh yes. I'm not gonna lie. But you'll have some GREAT ammo later to tease me with.
So stand by for it. But you'll be getting to know me in a different way, too. And I'll be able to look back with you, and see myself evolve into the person who will actually BE your dad. This guy who's sitting at the dining room table in Shoreline, WA is just pretending.
I can't wait to hear your perspective on all of this. I think maybe when you graduate from college...
Love, Dad.
I'm realizing that these early posts have the air of introduction, of "getting to know you". You'll probably have heard all of this stuff a million times by the time you ever read it. So if you start from the begining, you may even be a bit bored. "Gol, Dad! Nothing new here."
But right now, and take this in the spirit in which it's intended, you're a construct to me that I'm feeling out. I am getting to know you, and when you first meet someone new, the conversation starts out with some basic bio stuff. And who knows - I might change my mind about all kinds of things, in which case you'll NEED that introduction. (Probably not, though. Just sayin'.)
And of course, there ARE other people who read this. Not many. But it is a web log, after all.
All that, and this is still about me in a lot of ways. Sometimes I just want to express myself, and somehow the keyboard makes that easy for me to do. I've always been someone who thought better out loud, I think - so there will be rambling, incoherent entries. Oh yes. I'm not gonna lie. But you'll have some GREAT ammo later to tease me with.
So stand by for it. But you'll be getting to know me in a different way, too. And I'll be able to look back with you, and see myself evolve into the person who will actually BE your dad. This guy who's sitting at the dining room table in Shoreline, WA is just pretending.
I can't wait to hear your perspective on all of this. I think maybe when you graduate from college...
Love, Dad.
March Madness
Dear Son,
One of the cruel thing about the quarter system this law school is currently on is that the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament starts during finals week. This year it's not so bad, since I'm done on Tuesday, and the first round doesn't start until Thursday. But it sure adds a distraction in the run up to it.
The funny thing is that you will know me as far more of a sports fan than I ever was as a kid. Or even as a young adult, frankly. Part of it is growing up in South Dakota, where there's not really a local team to get all excited about. There's something about the home team that makes ANY sport worth watching. If I saw the University of Minnesota playing marbles on ESPN "O" (the "O" is for "Obscure"), I'd be totally into it.
(If ESPN "O" actually exists when you read this, I'll laugh my ass off.)
Maybe part of it was that I was so bored when my dad was watching sports. He can watch a game just for the sake of the game. I have to have a dog in the fight, or I just don't care. Which is why being in a tournament pool is fun, because it means you have a lot of dogs in a lot of fights. That, and the family fortune of $5 on the line!
That, and I was pretty nerdy when I was young. Actually, REALLY nerdy. I see pictures of myself, and want to shove myself in a locker. (Yes, I know. "Was?" Ha ha.) Like most annoying nerds, I convinced myself that my awkward social condition really was a result of my superiority to the other kids, most of whom were really into the whole sports thing.
Even when I was in college, it was hard to get into. I was getting into football (see "Packers" below), but our football team really, REALLY sucked. And although our basketball team went to the Final Four (a feat later purged from the records due to a cheating scandal), I just wasn't that into it. I didn't get it. But the seeds were sown, because I started becoming an anti-Packers fan, just to spite all the Wisconsin kids who went to the U of MN were so unbelievably obnoxious. I mean, out of control obnoxious. Hate. All. Cheeseheads...
When I was in the Navy, I learned that sports were a crucial part of American social and professional life. At least American sports are. (I bet when you read this, Americans still won't care much about soccer past the age of 10.) It's part of the language you're expected to know. When you introduce yourself to someone, and he asks where you went to school, and you respond to his trash talk with, "Uh, I don't really follow sports," then your image and influence will suffer. Just the way it is. It's like a weak handshake. I also was introduced to NCAA basketball pools by the Paul F. Foster's supply officer, a crazy Montanan (Montana-ite? Montaner?) named Jared.
But your mom, with her Gonzaga fanatacism, really made me a college basketball fan. (It helped that we started dating around the time I met Jared.) And it IS fun to watch. Young kids with a lot of heart and that hometown loyalty, before the NBA turns them into thugs and pimps. And so many teams with so many hometowns to love or hate.
Don't worry, son. I promise that I won't let you be as nerdy as I was, and you will never suffer in awkward silence when the people around you are talking about the big game. Plus, it'll just be fun. When I'm shouting at refs at little league games, calling other kids names in peewee soccer leagues, fighting with other dads... Kidding! Maybe we'll just play catch. Or set up a basketball hoop in the driveway and play some H-O-R-S-E. Sweet.
Well, back to studying. Two finals. B = J.D. Then I sit in a bar all day on Thursday with friends, celebrate sports, the end of finals, and smack talk our brackets. Life is good.
Love, Dad.
One of the cruel thing about the quarter system this law school is currently on is that the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament starts during finals week. This year it's not so bad, since I'm done on Tuesday, and the first round doesn't start until Thursday. But it sure adds a distraction in the run up to it.
The funny thing is that you will know me as far more of a sports fan than I ever was as a kid. Or even as a young adult, frankly. Part of it is growing up in South Dakota, where there's not really a local team to get all excited about. There's something about the home team that makes ANY sport worth watching. If I saw the University of Minnesota playing marbles on ESPN "O" (the "O" is for "Obscure"), I'd be totally into it.
(If ESPN "O" actually exists when you read this, I'll laugh my ass off.)
Maybe part of it was that I was so bored when my dad was watching sports. He can watch a game just for the sake of the game. I have to have a dog in the fight, or I just don't care. Which is why being in a tournament pool is fun, because it means you have a lot of dogs in a lot of fights. That, and the family fortune of $5 on the line!
That, and I was pretty nerdy when I was young. Actually, REALLY nerdy. I see pictures of myself, and want to shove myself in a locker. (Yes, I know. "Was?" Ha ha.) Like most annoying nerds, I convinced myself that my awkward social condition really was a result of my superiority to the other kids, most of whom were really into the whole sports thing.
Even when I was in college, it was hard to get into. I was getting into football (see "Packers" below), but our football team really, REALLY sucked. And although our basketball team went to the Final Four (a feat later purged from the records due to a cheating scandal), I just wasn't that into it. I didn't get it. But the seeds were sown, because I started becoming an anti-Packers fan, just to spite all the Wisconsin kids who went to the U of MN were so unbelievably obnoxious. I mean, out of control obnoxious. Hate. All. Cheeseheads...
When I was in the Navy, I learned that sports were a crucial part of American social and professional life. At least American sports are. (I bet when you read this, Americans still won't care much about soccer past the age of 10.) It's part of the language you're expected to know. When you introduce yourself to someone, and he asks where you went to school, and you respond to his trash talk with, "Uh, I don't really follow sports," then your image and influence will suffer. Just the way it is. It's like a weak handshake. I also was introduced to NCAA basketball pools by the Paul F. Foster's supply officer, a crazy Montanan (Montana-ite? Montaner?) named Jared.
But your mom, with her Gonzaga fanatacism, really made me a college basketball fan. (It helped that we started dating around the time I met Jared.) And it IS fun to watch. Young kids with a lot of heart and that hometown loyalty, before the NBA turns them into thugs and pimps. And so many teams with so many hometowns to love or hate.
Don't worry, son. I promise that I won't let you be as nerdy as I was, and you will never suffer in awkward silence when the people around you are talking about the big game. Plus, it'll just be fun. When I'm shouting at refs at little league games, calling other kids names in peewee soccer leagues, fighting with other dads... Kidding! Maybe we'll just play catch. Or set up a basketball hoop in the driveway and play some H-O-R-S-E. Sweet.
Well, back to studying. Two finals. B = J.D. Then I sit in a bar all day on Thursday with friends, celebrate sports, the end of finals, and smack talk our brackets. Life is good.
Love, Dad.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
What Not To Name your Kids
Dear Son,
My friend sent me this today from a New York newspaper, and I thought it was just damn funny:
"Landocalrissan" Classic. His parents didn't even spell "Calrissian" correctly.
Now, I'm a big Star Wars fan, as I expect you probably will be. But whatever your name is going to be, I promise it won't be "Jarjarbinks Johnson." Or even "Obiwankenobi Johnson." Although "Darthvader Johnson" would be kind of cool...
Kidding. And even if I wasn't, you're lucky enough to have a mom who wouldn't allow it.
Love, Dad.
My friend sent me this today from a New York newspaper, and I thought it was just damn funny:
Man faces jail time for selling crack
A City of Poughkeepsie man faces a stint in jail for dealing crack in the city last year.
Landocalrissan Butler, 25, of Winnikee Avenue, entered a guilty plea Tuesday in Dutchess County Court to attempted criminal possession of a controlled substance, a felony. Butler told Judge Thomas J. Dolan he had five small bags of crack in his pocket Dec. 22 when police arrested him on Morgan Avenue. He said he intended to sell the drugs.
In exchange for his plea, Butler was promised a sentence of six months in jail and five years on probation. He will also be required to forfeit a cell phone and $432 police said he obtained through illegal drug sales.
Butler remains jailed pending his sentencing, scheduled for April 4.
"Landocalrissan" Classic. His parents didn't even spell "Calrissian" correctly.
Now, I'm a big Star Wars fan, as I expect you probably will be. But whatever your name is going to be, I promise it won't be "Jarjarbinks Johnson." Or even "Obiwankenobi Johnson." Although "Darthvader Johnson" would be kind of cool...
Kidding. And even if I wasn't, you're lucky enough to have a mom who wouldn't allow it.
Love, Dad.
A Little Introduction
Dear Son,
Hi. I'm the person who will become your father. By the time you read this, you'll have known me for awhile, but I'll probably be a pretty different man.
As I start this blog, you aren't born yet. In fact, I'd guess you're about 3 years even from being conceived. I have no idea if you'll actually be a "son", but your mom seems convinced that our first child will be a boy. Besides, "Son" is easier to type than "Daughter". But I decided to start now, and to start with you. I needed some theme to hang a journal around, and thought of all the people I wanted to think about while I was writing, it was you. Besides, I've always wanted to start a journal (tried on a number of occasions), but I could never seem to keep with it. I think I need to know that these words will be read.
In a way I guess that means I'm kind of using you, but I like to think of it as a trade. A contract, if you will. I get an audience of sorts and an impetus to keep this journal, and someday you get to peer into the past mind of your old man. I don't know how old you'll be when you read this - maybe college, maybe earlier. I suppose you might even find it on the computer if I last that long, although I think I'll seek to prevent that. But that's a bridge I don't have to think about for a long time.
Of course, I'm also publishing the thing on line, so anyone around the world can read my thoughts. Last night I was talking with your mom about why people feel the need to do that. Why are blogs being so prolific? Why do we risk exposure, when one could just as easily do this on a word processor and keep it locked away in their own computer? I guess we all have a desire to be heard, to explain ourselves.
There'll be more on that later. This will be fairly introspective, as I suppose most journals are. It'll also ramble, so I appologize in advance. But at this point, it's as much for me as you, so there you go. You can skip past a lot of stuff and I won't even feel bad about it. Promise.
Anyway, as I write I'm 29 years old, and a little over halfway done with my second year of law school here in Seattle at the University of Washington. I just got married to your mom last September back in Reno. I'll spare you the rest of the bio for now - you'll know it all by the time you read this anyway.
OK - enough for now. We don't need the single post to be that long after all.
Love, Dad. (Wow. That's heavy. But I like the sound of it.)
Hi. I'm the person who will become your father. By the time you read this, you'll have known me for awhile, but I'll probably be a pretty different man.
As I start this blog, you aren't born yet. In fact, I'd guess you're about 3 years even from being conceived. I have no idea if you'll actually be a "son", but your mom seems convinced that our first child will be a boy. Besides, "Son" is easier to type than "Daughter". But I decided to start now, and to start with you. I needed some theme to hang a journal around, and thought of all the people I wanted to think about while I was writing, it was you. Besides, I've always wanted to start a journal (tried on a number of occasions), but I could never seem to keep with it. I think I need to know that these words will be read.
In a way I guess that means I'm kind of using you, but I like to think of it as a trade. A contract, if you will. I get an audience of sorts and an impetus to keep this journal, and someday you get to peer into the past mind of your old man. I don't know how old you'll be when you read this - maybe college, maybe earlier. I suppose you might even find it on the computer if I last that long, although I think I'll seek to prevent that. But that's a bridge I don't have to think about for a long time.
Of course, I'm also publishing the thing on line, so anyone around the world can read my thoughts. Last night I was talking with your mom about why people feel the need to do that. Why are blogs being so prolific? Why do we risk exposure, when one could just as easily do this on a word processor and keep it locked away in their own computer? I guess we all have a desire to be heard, to explain ourselves.
There'll be more on that later. This will be fairly introspective, as I suppose most journals are. It'll also ramble, so I appologize in advance. But at this point, it's as much for me as you, so there you go. You can skip past a lot of stuff and I won't even feel bad about it. Promise.
Anyway, as I write I'm 29 years old, and a little over halfway done with my second year of law school here in Seattle at the University of Washington. I just got married to your mom last September back in Reno. I'll spare you the rest of the bio for now - you'll know it all by the time you read this anyway.
OK - enough for now. We don't need the single post to be that long after all.
Love, Dad. (Wow. That's heavy. But I like the sound of it.)
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