Ted, Ted, Ted

Behold: Lillian and Laura’s new cousins, James and Oliver.

A reviewer at the Village Voice: “There is in America … a growing cultural fascination with the elasticity of reality, and with it a growing urge to tinker at reality’s stretchiest edges. Literature, as the critics now understand it, doesn’t satisfy this urge. But child’s play has always done the trick. Psychedelics too. And now, more and more, our technologies are at it as well.” I’ve thought for a long time, neither deeply nor originally, that being a kid must be like being under the influence of a controlled substance. The short attention span, the giggles, the moodiness, the munchies. It’s not a coincidence that straight-laced writers loved to call the early hippies “children.”

Here is a dad who keeps a web journal like this one. Guess I’m not so strange after all. Quote: “Ok, here’s as much of the delivery story as I can remember anymore. With 20/20 hindsight, I think I might have wanted a video of at least the last few minutes and actual birth…” Clearly he’s almost as pleased with his new daughter as I am. (Note the use of the past tense of “may,” a fast disappearing skill. I think I like this guy.)