I've poked around the NOLA blogosphere a great good deal now, and I fear that the blogpocheh is becoming like that relative in the family of the United States.

Everybody knows that relative. He's obsessed with every ailment, real or imagined, and complains about it incessantly. She's always got a reason why whatever is going on is not her fault - that forces outside of her control are calling the shots. He will read every scrap of news pertaining to his health and diagnose himself - he will even diagnose whoever is close at hand or within the sound of his voice. If she decides the fault is really within, she'll go a little overboard in a search for the cure - which could entail any, and possibly all, of the following: homeopathic medicines, ashrams, spa retreats, loads of yoga, and activist meetings concerning passing on the cures to everyone on the planet.

Anyone who recognizes the abovementioned traits in any of their blood kin, please stand...oh, some of you have several relatives that exhibit these traits...oh, dear...

I don't want to be that relative, thank you. That relative is a drag, and, after a while, great pains are taken to avoid that relative. I wanna be Shiny Happy Mommy, deep down. In that spirit, I'm glad that this event is coming down the pike, because it is guaranteed to be fun. A blogger's blog ain't the sole aspect of his/her personality, ya know...at least, I hope not. I'm really looking forward to it.

Until then, I feel a need to pass on a sorry as hell attempt to deliver some bad news whilst removing the stinging, torturous pain of it, simply because all gloom and doom and no fun makes for a dull as dishwater blog. Make no mistake: this news is pretty bad, but this is what we all suffer through down in these parts. You can suffer some through reading my attempt at easing the pain instead.


NOLA Blogger News (And Other News) As Seen Through Ferris Bueller's Day Off

"One: You can never go too far. Two: If I'm gonna get busted, it's not gonna be by a guy like THAT."

We asked for flood protection, we got a hinky deal on defective pumps "- how's that for being born under a bad sign?"
(For more detail on this God-awful news, go to Matt McBride's Fix The Pumps, or Da Po' Blog. This one still has me hopping mad.)

"CAMERON: Why'd you hit me?!
FERRIS: Where's your brain?!
CAMERON: Why'd you hit me?
FERRIS: Where's your brain?
CAMERON: I asked you first."
(Okay, this one's more about recent conversations between myself and/or Dan and the little guy when the little guy gets a tad too punchy. Usually occurs when our son is overtired or overexcited or both)

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen...

"Now, I'm gonna do it. I'm taking a stand against... my family, against myself, against my past, my present and my future. I will not sit idly by as events that affect me unfold to change the course of my life. I will take a stand and I will defend it."

Heard that you were feeling ill
Headache, fever, and a chill
I've come to help restore your pluck
'Cause I'm the nurse who likes to (door slam)
(I hope the government NEVER sends any of these kinds of people to help out with the health care problems down here. Even though I know large numbers of people who wouldn't mind that kind of therapy in place of X-rays or colonoscopies one bit...)

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
(This last one is in honor of the little guy's new red wagon.)

Save New Orleans. Save Ferris. Thank you.

________________________

You just can't buy a basic metal red wagon at a toy store any more.* It has to be one of these funky chunky thick plastic things with no edges, and, once you get it home, you have to stick the wheels and the handle on it.

It took a half hour or so to put the whole thing together, while simultaneously trying to keep the little guy from banging the heck out of it with the hammer. I got the thing upright, stuffed some snacks and drinks in the seat compartment, and shuffled off to the dog park with Gilda and wagon containing my son in tow.

We managed to get a good-sized break between bands of rain, long enough for Gilda to run around with the other dogs, and for the little guy to take his new wagon on a test run. I haven't seen him so happy to just yank something around on wheels in a long time. He pulled it all over the place.

I can't wait to drag it to a bigger park just to see what he does. Knowing him, he'll want to pull some passengers along like he did with someone else's wagon a while back. He'll pretend it's a truck, or a train, or a car. He'll do his best to be a perfect host - on his terms, of course; he's not that far out of toddlerhood. He's already anticipating dragging it out to our parade spot for St Patrick's Day (which was the reason why Dan wanted the wagon in the first place).

So yeah, it cost some dough. It was kind of a pain to assemble. It has a big "please don't sue the manufacturer" label on the back of it warning us that this, that, and the other thing should NOT be done in, on, and around the wagon. But the joy in having a little red wagon, I'm happy to report, has been passed on to the next generation in my own family.

And I'm glad I didn't miss that moment.

*My mistake. This was before I found this link. Even so, it just doesn't feel right to have this many variations on a classic...