Friday, October 23, 2009

Monkeys and Pizza and other Semi-aimless Discourse

Ohai, friends. Guess what? I'm done traveling for a while. Kels and I went up to Minneapolis this weekend for yet another wedding. The wedding was great and it was fun seeing friends, but dang that's a long drive for a twenty-fourish hour stay. Especially with a pregnant wife who can't get comfortable in any position that a passenger bucket seat will accommodate. The drive up there was worth it when we saw a Davanni's right across the street from our hotel, though. You'd better believe that's a good pizza. Take my word for it- eat one.

So since Kelsey gave me the news of Lila's existence in April we've flown to L.A., driven to San Francisco, Chicago, Table Rock Lake (thanks again Marty), and the Twin Cities twice. I think we packed in a good bit of the U.S.A. before the kid comes, and I'm spent. It's home for us for the next few months.

The problem is, the more we're home and have access to Lila's perpetually-in-progress nursery, the more we want to change things (I use the pronoun 'we' rather loosely. I'm mostly the one who moves things when it's already been determined that they should be moved/replaced). But we did find these cool mid-century white and pink dressers that are moving in this weekend. I cringed at the idea of buying any furniture the same week we have to drop a new engine in Kelsey's car (that's a whole other debacle), but they're totally the kind of dressers that will last her at least until college. So I can check that off the list. Bedroom furniture until she moves out. Check.

NEW RULE: No one is allowed to name a baby girl Lila for the next 10 years. We found it and it should be kept unique and special. Ok, so I don't have any claim to that name. I'm sure there have been thousands of Lila's before ours. And if you're reading this and want to name your baby Lila some day I guess I can't stop you. But I will consider our daughter to be her namesake forever and you can't take that away from me. Ha.

Finally, as supremely cool as the Jellycat undoubtedly is, I always pictured Lila as a sock monkey kind of kid (in review, that sentence is hilarious if you stop reading after the word monkey). So no offense, amazing and lovely wife who is currently enduring the discomfort of carrying our first child, but I'm pulling for the sock monkey. There's something classic about it; I can just picture her in hip little jeans and pink Chuck Taylors with a blanket in one hand and her monkey in the other (for arguments sake, let's call him Giuseppe) with a look on her face that boldly says, "yeah, a sock monkey. And have you heard the new Grizzly Bear album? I have. That's how awesome I am." Can't you picture it?


Dave Coates said...

Sock monkeys are one of the rare cultural artifacts that are immune to any amount of backlash due to appropriation by a person or persons who act as Typhoid Mary(s) to whatever other totems with which they choose to define themselves (yes that includes furries). Though our generation has had the utilitarian conundrum of white belts, the unbridled ubiquity of loft apartments, the sophistication of mustaches worn by anyone under 30 and the hard-earned comfort of the old, ratty t-shirt forever wrecked by a legion of Prius-driving, aspirational dirtbags, the sock monkeys nestled into their messenger bags, gently positioned in the corner of their cubicles, or placed atop their bass/ melodica amp(s) are as unassuming and fondly treasured as those tossed in the caskets of our war-widowed great-grand-whatevers. Such unassailable truth is enough to make a man write a run-on sentence.

Jellycat? I have no beef with Jellycat. But how will Jellycat stand up to Lila's constant gnawing (babies are like rodents in that regard-- they must constantly chew if they are to keep their incisors down to a manageable length), rough play (babies love to suplex) and her first tumble into the barbeque pit? I cannot say, for my household growing up was based on principle. Take from that what you will.

But sock monkeys have been put through the ringer for well over a century, coming into favor around the same time people stopped wrapping their feet in retrofitted merkins as barriers in the long, cold war between shoes' insides and feet's outsides. THEY ARE MADE FROM THE THINGS CONSTRUCTED SPECIFICALLY TO REMAIN RESOLUTE IN THE FACE OF CONSTANT STOMPING AND/ OR YANKING. Yes, yanking. I don't know how you hippies manage to get your socks up to mid-calf, but I do imagine it involves an amount of yanking. Sock monkeys have survived Hitler (they may not have directly defeated him, but they certainly never came to his aid, even when he cried out for them during those last, bleak days in the bunker). They have laughed in the face of Sacajawea, watched with unblinking passivity during Plessy v. Fergusen, and romped with Don Rickles at Studio 54. When the seas again swell to our doorstep and retake what was once their dominion, sock monkeys will bob to the surface and buoy our hope for a more suitable floatation device. They will bolster our resolve when monsters attack and begin fighting with the sandworms that attacked earlier that day. They will keep us company as we find ourselves pulverized into atoms inside a yawning black hole (thanks a lot, Hadron Collider!), and in the end, in the great yawning void of eternity, in the dawning rays of the last sunrise, it will be their button-black eyes that are the last to twinkle out.

Katy said...

where are you at? We need more information...