My daughter loves Discoms; she can’t get enough of them.
(“Discoms” is a registered trademark of Hook Inc. At least it would be, if I knew how to register such things. Either way, feel free to use the term, but don’t take credit for it or I’ll unleash a bloodthirsty Shih Tzu on your butt.)
Where was I?
Oh yeah, Discoms. In the Disney world, kids long to be grown up and independent, free of the shackles of their adult oppressors – who, coincidentally, treat them better than any normal child could ever hope for – and so Disney kids get into one mishap after another, one episode after another. Of course, in the end they learn their lesson and all is well.
Until next week, that is.
What I believe The Walt Disney Company is trying to say to kids, in their own money-making way, is that we’re stronger together then we could ever be alone.
Which brings me to my point.
In the last few days of my waking life I have been caught up in a whirlwind that has touched every significant aspect of my life.
As a father:
- I’ve had to deal with a sick child, who, truth be told, hasn’t really been any trouble at all. In fact, Sarah has been overcome with joy at the reception her post has gotten. Incidentally, the post was a complete surprise, albeit a welcome one.
- Still, she’s been a sick little bugger, overcome with the effects of an engorged lymph node and two subsequent trips to the ER, but she’s come through it all like the adolescent trooper she is.
- Truth be told, her pain was routinely interrupted by outside stimulus; our local ER plays host to some rather colorful individuals, ranging from homeless guys in stereotypical trench coats shaking their fists at God and whoever will listen to strippers with sprained ankles. tourists who have no idea how much a stay in a foreign emergency room is going to set them back, and even the odd well-adjusted, normal but injured human being. (Unfortunately, those folks suck at helping a scared young lady ignore the radiating waves of pain emanating from her neck and throat region. But they mean well.)
As a husband:
- I’ve found myself faced with a wife stricken with laryngitis. (Funny thing, it hasn’t proven to be the blessing most people expect it would be.) Somehow she’s managed to maintain her crazy mom regiment despite feeling like something you’d find on the bottom of your shoes.
- No wonder I love that woman.
As a blogger:
- My little virtual hideaway has been thrust into the WordPress spotlight, courtesy of a spot on the Freshly Pressed lineup for two days. (They say kindness is its own reward. They’re right.)
- I’ve made dozens of new friends, who I intend to connect with over the next several weeks.
- “You’ve Been Hooked!” has seen many of these new friends subscribe for regular doses of hospitality-inspired goodness.
- “An Open Letter to Ellen Degeneres” was reblogged more than 40 times, a record I’ll never surpass, I’m sure.
As a bellman:
- The summer season began with the white hot intensity of a million exploding suns as thousands of tourists descended upon Niagara Falls for the Fourth of July. (There is nothing more patriotic than celebrating your country’s fight for independence on foreign soil, is there?)
- I haven’t been run off my feet, I’ve been rolled over, trampled and left for dead. Such is the lot of a Niagara Falls bellman in July.
And so as I find myself wrapped up in the hysteria of another summer, my mind is equally overwhelmed by my mission to land my little girl an opportunity of a lifetime: sitting opposite the most popular daytime talk show host in TV Land.
And so I’ve arrived at my point.
My colleague Le Clown has recently published his own personal Declaration of Independence from the pressures of blogging fame. (When you’re popular everyone wants a piece of you. Or so I’m told.) I sincerely hope this beautifully written plea brings him some inner peace. (Le Clown is a good egg and could use a break from the Big Top every once in a while.)
As for me, well, I want my name shouted from virtual rooftops and whispered in the darkened basements of grown men still living with their parents. I want people to discuss my latest posts while congregating at water coolers in corporate sweatshops. It would give great pleasure to know giggling sorority girls are squealing my name during lingerie pillow fights in dorm rooms. (That is what sorority girls do, right? They have pillow fights while clad in flimsy Victoria’s Secret undergarments, correct? That’s what I believe, at least.)
I’ve been overwhelmed by your support, folks, and while I understand Le Clown’s feelings on privacy and common courtesy, my position is reversed; I’m the guy who needs the Web Wizard of WordPress to help him reach Kansas (Kansas in this case being the set of the Ellen DeGeneres show.)
And so far I’m on the right track. But I won’t get Sarah where she needs to be on my own. I need all the help I can get, and believe me, I’ve been getting it.
And so I thank you for your kindness, your support and above all, your friendship. We have become acquainted across a virtual reality through the use of barren, lifeless fiber optic cable and satellite connections, but the human connection we’ve established is far from artificial. Sarah now has hundreds of aunts and uncles she can rely on.
And so Sarah thanks you.
And hopefully, someday Ellen will thank you.
Now get back to the business of living your own lives and try to have some fun doing so, all right?