Uncledom

I have not yet met my brand-spankin' new niece, but I am certain to be the cool uncle and I'll never worry otherwise.

Aside:  Disregard the brevity of the last few posts.  I'm not going to be turning this into a Twitter.

Fear

I am a worrier by nature.  The prospect of having a girl presents many frightening scenarios, but so does the prospect of having a boy.  One thing I definitely did not need to affect my fragile psyche was to consider the danger posed to little boys by toilet seats.  Three words that should never be strung together: severe penis injury.

Promoting reader feedback: A questionable decision.

I hope all seven of our readers listen very closely to the C-Plus Augustus on this one: Women deserve love.  The problem is, the ladies are getting NO love here.  As I look at the tally in the poll, it is Boy - 3, Centaur - 4, Girl - 0. Zero. The thought of a cute little baby girl is apparently something so unsettling that the Kinderbloggen audience (again, all seven of you) would be more comfortable predicting that my baby is going to be some half-man, half-horse nightmare fuel organism.  Centaur, just a throw-away joke, really, might win the reader vote. At this point, it looks like "girl" is out of the running.  Who are you weirdos?  

Of course, I am sure that everyone realizes this virtually guarantees that the baby is a girl.  If it turns out the readers are right and my baby is a centaur, then I will have to make sure that my child develops an interest in archery.  Then I will send him forth to repeatedly inflict damage on my enemies, -2 HP every turn.  Since my enemies are now on notice, I should forewarn them to make sure to cast an enchantment to minimize the destructive power that my terribly mutated child will inflict.  Having a centaur is going to be so sweet... Great, now you've all gone and got my hopes up.

Considering that the results of this reader poll have made me doubtful of the predictive power of our readers, and the whole "wisdom of the crowd" theory has apparently been proven to be baloney, you may have kissed your chances at more polls good bye.  Think of the things that could have been thrown your way, valued reader!  Hair color?  You would have such options as "Blond(e)," "Brown," or "Red." You would vote "Snakes."

For eye color, your options would be brown, green, or blue.  You would choose "a VISOR (Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement) attached at the temples that would provide him with vision by interfacing directly with his brain." While that would be all fine and dandy, because the device would enable him to "see" much of the electromagnetic spectrum – radio waves, infrared, ultraviolet, the VISOR hasn't been invented yet, once again proving the failure of our audience to correctly predict Futurekid's physical features.

Another type of reader feedback we have is email.  As you have probably guessed, we get swamped here with fan mail and questions regarding how we manage to lead rock star-type lives with a baby on the way and both of us in school. The simple answer is that rock stars have good time-management skills and go to bed at reasonable hours every night, including weekends.

  

However, I know that a "simple answer" won't be sufficient for our committed readers.  Therefore, out of appreciation for our fanbase, I'd like to take a moment to respond. Please remember that, although I'd like to, I can't possibly respond to all your mail. I'm calling this semi-regular feature "Ask Kinderbloggen!" Onto the 'bag:

"Hey, so I see you've entered the world of blogs." -- Zack in St. Louis
Yes, but that wasn't really a question.  

I hope you enjoyed this installment of "Ask Kinderbloggen!" If you have a question that you would like to have answered in a future installment, email me and put "Mailbag" in the subject line. If you don't have the right subject line, I'm just going to treat it like a real email and write you back.

Santa? No thanks.

First, Christmas sucks. I'm glad it's over for another year.

Second, I'm not going to lie to my kid about Santa existing, especially when I am pretty sure I'm going to try to instill in my child that "Honesty is a virtue." 

Besides, Santa's just going to be eventually replaced by a malfunctioning, homicidal robot.

The End.

My understanding of genetics is lacking

Undoubtedly, one of the more enjoyable things about having (a) child(ren) will be watching them become (an) individual(s) with their own thoughts and opinions. Naturally, I wish this weren't the case, and that my child comes to share my opinions on everything, if not my (alleged) annoying mannerisms. As long as Futurekid turns out to be a good, responsible person, I'll be happy. [Ed. note: Disregard this statement if child becomes a Yankees fan.] I am quite confident that this will be the case for one reason: incredible genetics. This kid is going to blessed with 50% of my DNA (but, like Hollish once noted, this will represent a precipitous drop off from perfection, but human cloning is technologically unreliable right now). Hopefully this 50% includes the engineer wiring in my brain. You know, love of math, science, and general nerdery, thinking in 1's and 0's, enjoying the soothing sound that dial-up internet access used to make on your modem, social awkwardness... well, maybe not everything.

Beyond that, my genetic code is like 75% Gallic. THAT'S RIGHT, ATTENTION NON-AMERICANS: I AM ~3/4 FRENCH (Hollish, Ariane, I'm looking at you - virtually). According to always-accurate stereotypes, this means my child will become a chain smoker (fatherhood: fail), like artsy films (fatherhood: fail), wear berets while riding bicycles with a baguette in the basket (fatherhood: fail, except for the baguette, which is delicious, although carried in a basket, we'll call it a draw), and be a great lover (fatherhood: DO NOT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THIS EVER).


The rest is a mish-mash of Swiss, Spanish (and then Mexican, believe it or not), Scottish, English, and - hell I don't know - let's go with Tajik for kicks.

Add to this the 50% of DNA generously donated by Ariane to water down my genes. In turn, Ariane's DNA is 50% Teutonic. (Does this word apply to all Germanic peoples, or just Germania-based? I am too lazy to look that up.) If you need further explanation as to why that's a good thing, I'll let Vince from ShamWow! yell at you while pointing menacingly.
That's right Vince, their products kick major ass. My child is going to be able to soak up twenty times its weight in cola [Ed. note: Holy shit, that's a lot of cola!], and not just on the surface of the carpet, but underneath! That's your mildew. You know that is going to smell. My kid will also dry sweaters, cars, dishes, etc. Anything wet, really. It's going to be incredible.

The only possible drawback to Ariane's German genes is that it places Futurekid genetically closer to this young lady singer from craptastic teenie-bopper band Tokio Hotel.

Actually, she's pretty hot... What's that you say? That's a 19 year old guy? Shiver.  It's like that chick from Hanson all over again.

Seriously, if I have a boy that ends up like Bill Kaulitz, it's going to be fatherhood: epic fail. A girl that ends up like Bill Kaulitz? Um. I don't know... Epic push? Can a push be epic? With any luck, emokids will have died a quick yet extremely painful cultural death by 2020. (Attn. emokids: If Tokio Hotel isn't emo, guess what, I don't care. Thanks, Mgmt.) Either way, that potential result gets preemptively pinned on Ariane.

The balance is then Croatian. I think it's fair to say that the American grasp on Croatian stereotypes is slim. Maybe that means our kid will be good-ish at basketball?


Because I don't really know a good Croatian basketball player, I posted Darko wearing a stupid wig instead, because c'mon, that's funny. If the kid turns out to have this skill and actually likes basketball, and considering I suuuuuuuuuuuuuck at basketball, that special time in a father's life when kid can beat father in one on one and Dad has to start calling phantom fouls to try to save face might come when Futurekid is like five, even if Futurekid's a girl who is holding a Barbie in her non-dominant hand.

Just please don't become the next Vince from ShamWow! or Billy Mays, Futurekid.  I have a feeling I'm going to have to deal with enough of your screaming during your first years of life.  I won't need you to be doing that on my TV when I'm 60.  

Kinderbloggen has gone global.  This post published from Germany.

Ye Olde Historye of Faðerhoode

A note on the title: Today's post contains the letter eth, alternatively referred to as "The letter that prevents you from knowing how to pronounce the name of the newest Sigur Rós album." It's sound is a voiced dental fricative, i.e. "th" in "this" but not "thin."

I am trying to bring back eth and thorn because they are the coolest letters this side of X and K. If you enjoy the letter C, please leave my blog like now. It's the coccyx of the alphabet. There's probably a reason that coccyx has three C's.

-----

Perchance you have noticed the sub-head of the Kinderbloggen page. I have oh-so unoriginally subtitled this "I hope this baby comes with an instruction manual." My research so far has come from reading Big Daddy Drew's old blog. Humorous? Yes. Helpful? Uh... no. Here is what I know about babies:

1. I now know I am not infertile. Technically this is not about the general subject of babies per se, but makes me want to high five everyone I see.


2. I know that babies can breathe while swallowing. Yes, I'm jealous. Extremely. Think of how much more Tex-Mex I could down if I didn't have to waste time waiting for my lungs to fill with "life-giving, precious oxygen." This gaseous molecule is OVERRATED, I say!)

3. ???

4. Profit.



Everything else I do not know. I don't know how often they eat, poop, sleep, when they start talking, when they start walking, at what age they become scared of clowns (instinctive?), at what age they are capable of developing an irrational hatred for an institute of higher learning that I voluntarily chose not to attend, literally nothing. If there's one thing I don't like, it's not knowing something, except of course that which I do not know that I do not know. Oh, I'm sorry, did I just blow your mind?

I do like flowcharts and instructions, but I find reasonable doubt that my baby will provide these. Damn it, baby, already disappointing me in utero!
*author rocks out to Heart Shaped Box*

At least I have the opportunity to read books and go to classes. While in those classes or reading those books, I can put on my glasses instead of my contacts, put on my "I are a very serious students" face, and nod seriously, knowingly, even if on the inside I will find everything mind-blowing. ("Babies need love and attention? Why are they so demanding? Next thing you know they'll want to be fed regularly.) It's probably been this way for first-time fathers since we evolved from tarsiers*. How did people do it when they didn't have these resources? How did they do it when they couldn't call a doctor at 3:00 am? These are serious questions, by the way. I'm sure babies are resilient, but it can't be so much guess and check, right? Besides, even if you're doing it right, they'll still cry.

This is how I would have reacted in yon olden tymes, while holding my huge axe. (Interesting note: People had a surplus of letters back then, except for U's, which hadn't been invented by Ben Franklin yet. This surplus existed because their banks hadn't failed. Medieval banks served as depositories for two things: money, which no one actually had because they were all serfs, even the kings, and letters. Consider yourself edumacated.)

And somehow we as a species have managed to progress to this stage where I am "writing" this "blogge post" on a "platform" that exists somewhere in the ether, physically stored in bits of electrical current and charge in silicon and copper. How bizarre. Of course, we are a species that has managed to make "Deal or No Deal" (a.k.a. "Blurt Out a Random Number Because You Are Incapable of Mentally Computing Simple Odds and May Not Actually Even Be Aware of That Concept!") a hit.



We as a species are so screwed, but I feel better about my relative capacity to parent. Plus I'm ecstatic because that moran won a dollar (American, though!).

*may not be factually correct, I am not a biologist.

A Programming Note

I have decided I am going to post as frequently as I feel, considering this is by no means a diary-type blogge. (I think we should adopt this spelling instead of "blog" because it looks fancier, like "shoppe.") So as long as I can come up with stupid jokes and/or until I exhaust every crappy internets meme out there, I will put stuff up here randomly. In other words, I am commandeering my own blogge (see? it's so hip the kids will be spelling that way in no time!) and overrunning it with stuff that entertains me despite the fact that I originally wanted this to be a way to communicate with family and friends as well as being something Futurekid could look back on, assuming the interwebs still exist then. How charitable of me! Watch as I post something stupid that makes me laugh:




I still hope that Ariane posts some in the near future. She's the one that really knows what's going on with this whole "pregnancy" thing, and really the one that people are going to be concerned for. After all, whenever my mom calls, it's always "How is your pregnant wife feeling?" What about me? It takes a lot out of a guy to hear his wife throwing up from the bathroom, sometimes even with the door open. I have to make sacrifices to listen to that. Doesn't she know the Independence Bowl is on!? It's not every day you get to watch Louisiana Tech take on Northern Illinois in Shreveport, Louisiana.

I would recommend that this page be instabookmarked in your browser, or that you subscribe or whatever. You wouldn't want to miss out on any nuggets of wisdom that I'll be dropping like they were babies... I mean dimes (Note to self: do not drop babies). After all, these are the ramblings of a well known author.

If you squint really hard, you can see antlers

That's probably not a good thing.

I had promised to post these earlier, not that all of you haven't seen them anyway. Nothing more to add, guess the sex in the upper right hand corner. I think it's 100% guesses of "boy," which means it's going to be a girl. A centaur would kick much ass, though.

That's probably all the posting that's getting done until I get back, unless Ariane makes some test posts while I teach her what's up. Merry Christmas to those of you that like it. Even you, Batman!


Oh, right. Sorry Batman.

OMG SMALL!

For those of you keeping track, it appears that Kinderbloggen has become an overnight success with the first post receiving 1 (one) comment despite not receiving any hype at all. I'll take all the credit in the world for that one, as it was no doubt my Joyceian prose that drew in Someone who is definitely not named Alice like a magnet. So to Not Alice, our first commenter, you win one million internets.

Ariane asked that I post more pictures of the stuff we received over Thanksgiving. Really there's only two more pictures, though. There are about five that look just like this one.



And we have the Cardinals thing (I cannot bring myself to call it a "onesie," which looks absurd when it's typed out).



This leads me to a point that we must all be in agreement on: small ≠ cute. To look at something, something that is virtually an exact scaled replica of an article of adult clothing, and squeal about its cuteness simply does not compute. Baby clothes are the Matchbox cars of apparel. I obviously lack the Mommy gene. Let me prove my theory:


Gah! Even momma tarsier thinks that thing is hideous. Thus, my theory is now law. That's science. Trust me, I'm a scientist, says it right on my diploma.

On a completely different note, I am already trying to mentally prepare myself for the brain-melting that will come with having a child. Regarding this, one person told me simply, "Dora the Explorer - 'I'm the Map'... aaaaaaand go."



Perchance this lad could lead me to the person who is, in fact, the map?

Can my mind handle such horrible things? I don't know. Beyond that, we're going to have to compound that with bilingualism. So there's going to be the Cake Song:



Which is going to get stuck in my head and I will sing all day at work, until I get home and get Tortensong stuck in my head:



My take? I think this is probably all part of some vast conspiracy, above and beyond the military-industrial complex. I think children's book authors, children's tv show producers, and the awful people who make "Kidz Bop" take kick-backs from marketers who sell pre-teen crap merchandise like Hannah Montana CDs or whatever is cool to 12-year olds LIKE OMG RIGHT THIS INSTANT in return for melting parents' brains while the child is still an infant. The belief is, naturally, that parents with melted brains will be much more likely to fork over $20 so your 13 year old daughter can go see "Twilight." Maybe the Mommy gene prevents this brain decay, but there is no way I will be immune. Ariane is already preemptively accusing me of being Good Cop in some hypothetical Good Cop/Bad Cop parenting universe. She'll probably be right, considering what Dora and friends will do to me. Enjoy the next couple of years, because those will be the last time you can communicate with me on an adult level without me drooling all over myself singing "I'm the Map!"

Prove me wrong. Please.

So, we're having a kid

Right, so I figure this is going to be the easiest way to keep everyone informed as to what's going on from down here, especially regarding Futurekid. I figure we can post pics and videos, and link other stuff. I have no idea how involved Ariane will be in this, but it's Blogger, so there's virtually no learning curve. (You don't even need to know simple html tags like everyone's favorite* BLINK tag, or typing uʍop ǝpısdn. WOO!)

If she does get involved (hopefully), then this is gonna be a bilingual blog. Plus, that'd be good so I could go ahead and upload stupid stuff that Ariane will claim she doesn't find funny [Ed. note: Yes she does] along with stuff you actually want to see.

For example, Ariane holding some baby clothes (click for really big images):


Juxtaposed with something a million times funnier:



So that's that. Bookmark it. Comments are enabled for anonymous commenting, but srsly since only family will read this, might as well give yourself a profile so we know who is commenting or, you know, call us.

*Nobody likes the blink tag.