“The contents of this blog are top secret. We must use the Cone of  Silence.”

“But the Cone of Silence never works.”

“Regulations specifically state that in top-secret situations we must use the Cone of  Silence.”

“Sigh. If you must…”

“Why isn’t it called the Domes of Silence?”


My eleven (and a half) year old still believes in Santa. Really. My cranky old self has to be careful.

I heard him defending his belief to one of his friends the other day.

“Last Christmas, I got a Lego Mindstorm from Santa, and I KNOW my parents would NEVER buy me something that expensive for Christmas, so…AND there’s a government agency (NORAD) that tracks his progress every year. They wouldn’t do that for a fictional character!”

His homie had no answer for that one.

We put out  carrots in the front yard  for the reindeer. We left crackers, cookies, cider and a thank you note.

After he and his mom had written their messages of thanks to Santa, he brought it over to me to sign, while he attended to the snacks (counting out carrots–3 mini-carrots per reindeer).

When he came back for the note, he was appalled.

“Mom! Looked what Dad wrote! Looked what he called Santa!”


His mom looked thoughtful.

“On the one hand, maybe Santa might like being a little cool, a little hip…you know. On the other hand… Dad might be playing with fire.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

The boy and his Mom got matching mp3/video players from Santa.


Dad got a Nook Color from my homie S-Dawg.

The boy won’t be in seventh grade until next year, but he does already have one thing down:

“That’s not fair!”

(Mom) “Maybe next year you might think of calling him S-Dawg.”

(More soon about this here groovy Nook Color thingy.)