Twelve

Mercy Now @ Yahoo! Video

No presents this year. Everything is good, don't get me wrong, but life is a bit hectic right now. The baby is not really a baby anymore, which makes life a little harder (and more rewarding). And Honey's work is very demanding (and rewarding). And who needs stupid presents, anyway?

You know, I've been saying "I love you" every day for 12 years now. And just like I knew 12 years ago that This Was It, I still know that no matter what, I will follow her always and anywhere. And I will continue to tell her those three words as long as I live and a thousand years after I'm gone.

We've been through a lot in 12 years. We made a human. He turned out--you know, I wanted to put something funny here, like he turned out alright or he turned out to be pretty cute, but truth is he turned out amazing.

And it's all you, Honey.

Well, both of us.

And it's silly to put that sad song up there, but Love means listening when your Honey tells you she loves a song, and embedding that song on your blog, no matter if the song talks about a romantic date or about the contemporary emotional vacuum in a world dominated by fear.

But just in case the song is a little too depressing, here's a cute picture of a boy sitting on a chair.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. I love you. We both do.

Bandwagons

So a while ago I started a blog, partly because I saw other people doing it and I didn't want to become the guy who said, "You and your meshuga internetz," and, "In my day..."

There's been a lot of foolishness, don't get me wrong. Some of it I fell for, and some I knew would fall. I was able to look back at some silly start-ups and say, "Did you really think this was a good idea?"

Like this thing were you follow people and you write posts of 140 characters or less. I mean, what kind of random shit is that?

And Rick Sanchez from CNN liked it, which proved it was silly. And then Jon Stewart made fun of it, which was everything I needed to know.

So anyway, I'm thinking of signing up.

And the same for that other thing were I get to become friends with people I avoid in normal life, and then de-friend them when they write something offensive (because doing that would make me feel good about myself).

Because how else would I be the first to know what Sarah Palin thinks about without the filter of the Gotcha Media? How else would I easily add my name to the Boycott Whole Foods list?

I mean, I already climbed the bandwagon when I started this blog, so joining these other things simply means I'm staying on the wagon. Or something like that. My metaphors confuse me. Like tears in the rain.

So tell me, internets, do I sign up as me me, or as People in the Sun? Or should I have two accounts on each? What a pain... Really, my life is already complicated enough without these things.

And also, as long as I got the nerds' attention, we finally finished Battlestar Galactica, and I don't want Honey to think I'm ignorant. So just in case, what happened to Starbuck in the end?

A post about daddy groups, negativity, and Kaká

I've been quiet about that, but I've joined a daddy-group thingy, which makes my baby happy and postpones my nervous breakdown. Here's my happy baby and a cute girl on a trampoline:

My dad took me to one single soccer game when I was a kid. Maybe because we were poor? Or maybe because he didn't get the hint of me creating multiple folders of Maccabi-Tel-Aviv-related photos and articles? Anyway, it was a friendly between Israel and Wales. I know--it does sound like a bad joke with no punchline. But maybe this could be it: The score at the end was 0-0.

And look at my baby in a suite watching Real Madrid vs. DC United. Kids today...

So we were at the lake, and it was almost relaxing. But, you know... Some people say one thing and from that moment on everything they say and do is proof that they're my motherfucking enemies. A cousin said he was a Republican. That's all it takes. Which explains the anger I felt whenever he did anything atrocious like turn the AC up or refer to his son as Buddy, or rent a boat. Those Republicans with their fucking boats, eh? Fascists!

Which proves one thing: the only relaxing vacation I'll ever get to have is the one I take from my own silly little overworked and underpreforming brain.