Stalkers, Bagpipes, and Monks

More on Miley
I realize that having yet another entry related to Miley Cyrus crosses some metaphysical line in the sand, and once that line is crossed, there’s no returning to life as we know it – even so, I find myself creating for the third time in a row, an entry related to M.C. So be it. The other day, my wife was having lunch with a first grader (not sure why, but she does this kind of thing more often than you might expect) and as they were chatting about the health care bill, the situation in Somalia, and other topics of interest, the aforementioned Miley Cyrus popped up (not literally, which would be very creepy, but in a figurative way, which means her name came up as a topic of conversation). This particular first grader expressed her dismay upon learning the news that Miley may be giving up singing (actually, she was dismayed that Hannah Montana was quitting, which just goes to show you how damaging this whole alter-ego thing has been for the youth of America. Anyhow, Katie immediately informed her little friend of the little-known reason that Miley/Hannah was hanging it up (which you, as a faithful reader of these entries should be fully aware of, is because of these entries – specifically, the one in which I went on a wild rampaging rant about M.C./H.M, and which M.C./H.M. must have read or heard about, prompting her decision to retire). In other words, Katie let the cat out of the bag (have you ever wondered what the cat was doing in the bag in the first place – it can’t be anything good) and said something along the lines of, “My husband convinced Hannah Montana to quit singing,” whereupon her little lunch companion burst into tears and vowed to spend the rest of her long and bitter existence seeking revenge on the person who had caused her life to descend into despair – namely, me. So now I’ve got to worry about some grief-stricken first grader who’s plotting against me popping out of the woodwork and doing who-knows-what to me. Like there’s not enough going on as it is. Sheesh.

Speaking of American Idol…
Okay, I realize we weren’t technically speaking of A.I., but if we were, then I feel the need to mention how totally awesome it was last week when one of the contestants, in the middle of his song (which happened to be “Hey Jude”) had a bagpiper enter the stage. And not just enter, but come down the staircase bagpiping away while dressed in the whole Scottish bagpiping get-up. It had to be one of the most strange and random and pretty darned mildly amusing things I’ve ever seen on television. And then the judges were all like, “Yeah, that was really weird with the bagpiper,” in a really subdued way that you could tell meant they weren’t very impressed. Actually, it seemed like they were more impressed by the person who was accompanied by a didgeridoo, which was also pretty cool, but I still thought the bagpiper trumped it.

Brother Connor
Ah, the joy of parenthood, especially when one or more of your children morph into creatures that you neither recognize nor understand (nor do you particularly want to). For the most part, Katie and I have been blessed with children who are pretty much enjoyable and agreeable, but there are moments when we look at each other and wonder, “What the heck were we thinking?” Such was the case last week when our son, who is twelve stopped speaking. At all. To anyone (even the cat, which was when we really knew he was serious). We’re not exactly sure why he did this. One theory is that, because his class is studying various religions in social studies, he decided (serious scholar that he is) to create a simulation for himself in which he pretended he was a monk who had taken a vow of silence (hence, the “Brother Connor” reference above). Another theory has to do with anger and revenge. Why he got angry at us/me and felt the need to gain vengeance is not exactly clear, but I think it might have stemmed from me asking him to clean out the cat box, followed about an hour later by me asking him if he had cleaned out the cat box, and him saying he had, but then me noticing that he hadn’t, which meant that he hadn’t done what he was supposed to, then made it worse by lying about it, so I got mad, and he got mad, and when I get mad I kind of just let it out, and when he gets mad, he kind of just holds it in, and because he was angry and because he has a tendency to get kind of passive-aggressive when he’s angry, he decided to “punish” us/me by taking a vow of silence. Either way, the end result was he didn’t speak for two days. Which was actually surprisingly tough to deal with, and as frustrating and aggravating as it was, there was also a part of me (a very, very small part) that was sort of impressed by his stubborn refusal to speak. Now, if only we could get him to put that kind of effort and focus into more positive things. Like, for example, cleaning the cat box.

Update
Boston marathon is 10 days away. Tapering is going well. Hoping the weather (and all my various body parts) cooperate. Fingers crossed.

Okay, that’s all for now, so until next time, may your entrances be spectacular, may your motives remain pure, and may your evil empires crumble.