A Vicious Purple-Nurple Shall Be But The Opening Salvo
I know that one day my eldest son will rise up and challenge me for alpha-male supremacy in the home. We are evolved from animals and to our animal natures we will always revert, especially when the issues in contest involve the most basic, fundamental, primal cornerstones of survival such as the remote control and who has to cut the grass.

Yes, one day I will want to watch old episodes of Silver Spoons on the Ricky Schroeder Channel while he will insist on not watching music videos on MTV 8 or whatever it is they'll be up to by then. And he will rise from the couch, point his brawny, post-pubescent finger at me and say "Your day has past, old man!" after which he will launch himself at me with the fury of the tiger and I shall answer with the manic cunning of the bull.

And I shall be defeated--honestly, I should have picked something with sharper teeth than a bull--knowing he will claim rulership over all my dominions, sit in my recliner and sleep in my bed next to my wife (who is still his mom, so don't go imagining any weirdness you pervs). My last feelings before he ends my existence will be a mixture of pride and bitterly ironic bemusement: pride as his long-foretold ascendancy comes to pass and bemusement at knowing it will now be HIS problem to make his two brothers cut the grass. Good luck with that, tough guy.

For now he is young and poses no threat to me physically. But still, we clash. These are the first skirmishes in the long struggle that can only end in my death. They are less about strength (because I would totally fuck his 7-year-old shit up) and more about will, independence and experience.

Today, for instance, our fight is about the most basic of calendar events, the Summer Solstice. Man has observed this date ever since one turned to another and in his rough, guttural, proto-language said to his companion "Jesus, is the sun NEVER going to go down today?" And if they were in Norway or perhaps Alaska, the answer might have been "no." But if they were anywhere south of the Arctic Circle, it would have been a recognition that days differ in length, which means one day is going to be the longest.

I say, in 2006, that that day is today.

My son insists that it is in fact on Friday.

He has gone so far as to deface my ancient time-keeping device:

I know, the picture is kind of dark. We use only natural light sources in our home (sunlight during the day, a giant burning pile of beef fat at night) which can be a challenge when taking pictures with the digital camera.

Note a couple of things: first, I'm such a soccer dork that I marked in the date of the USA v. Ghana match on the 22nd. That's tomorrow! 9:55 am Eastern/6:55 am Pacific! Set your alarms!

The other thing to note is that the calendar says the first day of summer--the solstice--is today. My son, refusing to be swayed by either me or the words he can now read, simply crosses out what offends him and re-writes it on the day he has arbitrarily chosen to will the earth to halt in its progress around the sun long enough to make truth and astrophysics bend to his personal whim.

Like I said a few days ago, he goes to a really good school.

For now we duel by inference and by proxy with all the fierce passive-aggression of which only thinking, knowing, cowardly man is capable.

When the first blood is drawn, know that I shall dutifully blog it.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.7



Pops



TOTALLY SKIPPABLE WORLD CUP SOCCER CONTENT SECTION

I forgot to post this yesterday, much to all of your great pleasure. But as we move on to the third match-day for all of those participating, there is less drama in these early days than there should be. The highly anticipated Argentina-Netherlands match is between two teams who are already assured spots in the second round of play. The only real reasons to watch are a) you like the matchup between two highly regarded teams or 2) you have strong negative racial hatred for either Argentinians or Dutch people and wish to see the object of your ire fail is some/any way. It's hard to hate the Argentinians as a people outright as they are mottled, genetically confused New Worlders just as we are in America. The Dutch, though... with their smug windmills, their cloying tulips and their brazen defiance of the sea, which should have swallowed them long ago... oh how I want them to suffer.

All eyes now on USA vs. Ghana. The times are listed in the post above. If we beat Ghana (no small task) AND Italy beat Czech Republic, we survive to face Brazil in the Round of 16. And what an honor it would be to be destroyed by Brazil as they march toward their third World Cup in four tries. Go, Italy! Forza Azzuri!

Of course being Euros and both teams qualifying for the next round with a tie, they'll probably spend the whole 90 minutes admiring each others' greasy Euro hair and sharing a nice leisurely 0-0 kickabout. All we need do is beat Ghana by like 5 goals and we can break in anyway. So fuck them. We haven't scored ANY goals yet, so we're totally due.
- posted by Pops @ 10:58 AM