Iron Baker.
So the due date has come and gone, with no particularly promising sign of the impending birth. We think that the doctor got the due date wrong, anyways. It looks like an error on her chart led to the due date being calculated a week early. The ultrasound pegged the date as this Saturday. So right now we are anywhere from thirty-nine weeks and a day, to forty weeks and a day.
Portrait of a Young Rogue and Family.
I wonder if as she is born she'll go -sMoKe- ?
I told Amanda I was going to decorate the room with black candles, wear a black robe, and write 666 on her stomach. The reaction would be priceless. Maybe get the soundtrack from the Omen, or just play my new The Mars Volta CD.
Tonight will be my record ELEVENTH bake in a row. When I started this stretch I really thought I probably would not actually work it all. I feel decent considering how hard I have had to work lately.
I must confess to revisiting the ONLY religion I have ever officially belonged too. Maybe spawning makes one want to reconnect with your spiritual side. Praise "Bob!" I ordered a pink onesy for my daughter with a big ol' Dobbshead. I'm asking "Bob" to be her guardian angel. He'll run off all the ne'er-do-well boys out there. At the same time I bought a Subgenius beer stein and an apron for when I grill that says "Burn in Hell with "Bob". I don't think most people understand the Church. To me it is an utterly American style of Zen Buddhism, with "Bob" as the idiot-grin pipe-wielding Buddha. It is the only religion that admits up front in is utter horseshit, but by contemplating horseshit do we move toward Enlightenment? Or, better yet, toward SLACK? Or maybe at least be somewhat amused? Maybe it is just a way for people to be wierd. Some members describe it as a giant collaborative performance art project. I just find that it fits neatly into my highly disordered mind, and captures my imagination. By giving some form to the inner chaos, it allows me to keep outer order. And just makes me even FULLER OF SHIT than I could possibly be on my own, which is saying an Hell of a lot.
Word!
Portrait of a Young Rogue and Family.
I wonder if as she is born she'll go -sMoKe- ?
I told Amanda I was going to decorate the room with black candles, wear a black robe, and write 666 on her stomach. The reaction would be priceless. Maybe get the soundtrack from the Omen, or just play my new The Mars Volta CD.
Tonight will be my record ELEVENTH bake in a row. When I started this stretch I really thought I probably would not actually work it all. I feel decent considering how hard I have had to work lately.
I must confess to revisiting the ONLY religion I have ever officially belonged too. Maybe spawning makes one want to reconnect with your spiritual side. Praise "Bob!" I ordered a pink onesy for my daughter with a big ol' Dobbshead. I'm asking "Bob" to be her guardian angel. He'll run off all the ne'er-do-well boys out there. At the same time I bought a Subgenius beer stein and an apron for when I grill that says "Burn in Hell with "Bob". I don't think most people understand the Church. To me it is an utterly American style of Zen Buddhism, with "Bob" as the idiot-grin pipe-wielding Buddha. It is the only religion that admits up front in is utter horseshit, but by contemplating horseshit do we move toward Enlightenment? Or, better yet, toward SLACK? Or maybe at least be somewhat amused? Maybe it is just a way for people to be wierd. Some members describe it as a giant collaborative performance art project. I just find that it fits neatly into my highly disordered mind, and captures my imagination. By giving some form to the inner chaos, it allows me to keep outer order. And just makes me even FULLER OF SHIT than I could possibly be on my own, which is saying an Hell of a lot.
Word!