Kangatopia

I’ve started my son’s musical education. In preparation for a road trip I took last year, I made several cds of music. The first of these was compiled with the destination in mind and included such classics as “My Sweet Lord”, “Here Comes the Sun”, “Gimme Danger” and “Venus in Furs”. So, I’ve been playing these songs for my ten year old in an effort to prepare him for the emotionally and psychologically fraught adolescence he is certain to have.

I’m sort of kidding about this. I’ve only been playing “My Sweet Lord” and “Here Comes the Sun” while the kids are in the car.

It’s not an inspiring start, but I am sort of hoping that keeping him well peppered with Beatles, Leonard Cohen and a bunch of assorted folk crap from my own emotionally and psychologically fraught adolescence (not including The Cure. Somewhere a line must be drawn.) that I will help us all avoid several brain pounding years of death metal.

This is all just a lead in to exclaim wonderously that over the first 6 hours of my first post in the latest spasm of this blog that many of you came back for a peek. I really should uninstall the ip trackers if I really don’t want to care about what you read, but in truth it fascinates me that you come here at all. I have no illusions about the crap I write on this site. Well, no, wait - I do have one or two illusions, but they’re centered around posts I wrote a long, long time ago. So, in a spiffing up effort, I spelled Obama’s name correctly and took a stab at tense consistency. Damn my mother. If you were to come over to my home, I would compensate by not tidying up.