Saturday, June 16, 2012

I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you

Saturday, June 16, 2012
As a glance to your right will reveal that, blogging, thank fuck, is dead. I gather that something called 'Tumbling' may have donned this rotting corpse of indulgent self-analysis like some class of putrid pashmina and is now bearing not over-wrought confessions of self-doubt, but rather short proofs of the author's literacy or cute pictures of her pets. And so, though I clearly cannot be dealing with the high levels of stress induced by setting up one of these Somersault accounts, I nonetheless grace you with a cute picture of one of my cats:

Shower time. Data is seven, and although she has passed the threshold of being permitted to see my lady parts, I am still allowed to see hers. She washed her own hair during the week and while I applaud the effort, as she elected to skip the shampooing and go straight to the leaving in of the non-leave in conditioner, I am taking advantage of a Friday evening away from work to supervise this activity. 

We discuss religion as I rinse. We have come to this topic via our seemingly endless conversation regarding her 'graduation' which is to take place in a week's time and about which Data is extremely excited. She is 'graduating' from the 'junior' side to the 'senior' side of her Junior school. It will no longer be dheas a bheith og but she will at least be away from the sour-faced bitch who has been victimising stroke putting up with her for the last two years. The graduation ceremony is to include the deeply inappropriate singing of Dylan's 'Forever Young'. 

"It says 'God' in it!" Data informs me with glee and sings the relevant snatch. She senses my godtipathy and enjoys winding me up. 

I will not be wound. 

"Yeah, Bob's big into his Jebus," 

"Is he?"

"He is." I feel the need to retort singingly and so I launch into Lennon's 'God'. 

"God is coooooooncept, by which we measure our paaaaiiiin..."

This is received with a wet, blank stare.     

"I don't believe in Jeeeesuss..."

Stare.

"I don't believe in yoooga..."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't. I doooon't believe in The Beatles...."

"What?"

"It's a John Lennon song. You know who John Lennon is?"

"He's in The Beatles."

"Yes. So that's interesting, isn't it?"

"No.  Anyway, maybe he's talking about actual beetles."

"Well Data, I'm pretty sure the line is 'I don't believe in The Beatles' as opposed to 'I don't believe in beetles', so the word 'the' would suggest that he's referring to the pop combo."

Data looks dubious. Shower time is over and so we move to the bedroom. As my daughter gets her pajamas together, I fire up the internet device, hit the youtubes and load up the song in question. And it turns out that the line does not contain a 'the'. John clearly sings 'I don't believe in beetles.' Data masks her triumphalism in apathy while I sit on the bed with my MIND FUCKING BLOWN. 

I just believe in me. Data and me.

0 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

 
◄Design by Pocket