Lately, I feel as though I've been waiting to get my goat. Or to have my goat given to me. Or something like that. This lovely creature lives in the courtyard one building down, but isn't mine, so to speak.
It's been an interesting couple of weeks since I last recorded my thoughts here, in fact, quite a positive couple of weeks if I may say so. So positive, in fact, that I struggle to come up with sufficient "blog" material, since as many of you know, I'm the type of person that generally finds it easier to begrudge my failures than to rejoice in my triumphs. Call it a character flaw, call it stubbornness combined with modesty.
Call it whenever you want. Nonetheless, I feel as though I ought to mention my most recent bit of good luck, which places me in front of 16 students of the English language on Monday nights in a pleasant classroom with a chalkboard and desks and chairs. The only drawback to this, perhaps, is that the classroom is located in Potsdam, a 45 minute train ride from my home in quasi-gentrified Charlottenburg. Whereas I once loathed my half hour commute to work driving along the 6-line highways and through the urban sprawl of San Antonio, riding to Potsdam and back on the S-Bahn once a week is a jaunt I can tolerate -- even enjoy -- aided in no small part of course by its infrequency. Even the train station at Potsdam amuses me... they have a new sort of exhibition every couple of months. Over the summer it was dinosaurs, right now it's award winning journalistic photography. Perhaps one month soon there will be an exhibit dedicated to waterfowl. But I suppose I ought to leave all the happy thoughts at that, not wishing to tempt fate, as it is much more interesting to read "blog" content about the things that make my angry rather than those that make me happy.
As for the sublime, lately I've been finding the words written on Sophia's clothes to be most peculiar, and often quite amusing. Obviously, being merely seven months old, she is incapable of reading what is written on her garments, which of course she is also incapable of selecting or putting on. Therefore it is quite obvious that most of what is written has little to do with her, but rather very much to do with her image -- what those around her perceive her to be or want her to be like. Seeing as how I (like most fathers, I would imagine) have had little to no direct input in acquiring or purchasing any of her garments (and, let me assure you, I'm fine with that), it is quite interesting to see the sorts of "statements" Sophia is making. (And if you happened to have given us one of these fine garments, please know that I mean no offense here; be happy in knowing that our child is keeping warm and thriving thanks to your thoughtfulness. Hopefully she'll grow up to be more tactful than her father.) Here is a sampling of a few samples:
"New born beauty." While Sophia is verifiably the most beautiful baby amongst her young playmates, she no longer really qualifies, in my opinion, as a "newborn." Perhaps this was the reason for separating the word into two parts?
"I'm the boss: Baby '07." Indeed, when it comes time to eating, Sophia is more or less the boss. And indeed, she was born in the year 2007. But what exactly is the message here? That parents should be sure to work for their baby's needs as if it was a job? That in addition to that, that Sophia, having merely been born, has already accomplished a feat worth commemorating on par with college gradation in the form of an article of printing clothing? I remain slightly baffled, but certainly concur that she is the boss.
"Little Princess." I think this appears on a number of articles of her clothing. If Sophia indeed is a little princess, she and her royal parents preside over the shittiest castle I've seen in Europe.
"I love cheese." Don't we all. But wait a minute. Sophia's young digestive tract isn't yet sufficiently developed to digest cheese -- much less is her young mind aware of what cheese is to the degree that she could love it. That said, there are some days when I'm convinced she loves the curtains as much or more than her dad, so why not have some room to love cheese as well? A little love for everything, I say!
2 comments:
BAAAAHHHH hahaha! Nate, can you come guest write on my blog? I fear mine's not funny enough, and your brand of dry observation and quotation mark usage could be just the ticket. :D
As a side note, don't worry about being happy. Just enjoy. (The only thing you'll accomplish otherwise would be to spoil the gift. :) )
Oh yes, and I am compelled to mention that, like Sophie's clothes and Wallace of "Wallace & Gromit" fame: I am also "just crackers about cheese!"
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