I’m not sure I ever really planned to turn this blog into a repository of baby photos and videos, but I realized something last night about the old saw of inviting people over to your house for dinner and boring them with slides of your vacation: With the Internet and whatnot, the power to bore has been increased a billionfold as your audience has grown to limitless numbers.

It’d be irresponsible to not use that power.  And me, you know me, I’m anything but irresponsible. I mean, I couldn’t tell you where my son is at this exact moment, no, but I do know where his latest YouTube video is:

Holy Crud This Was A Bad Movie!

[spoiler]Okay, I can accept Jones having a by-blow with Karen Allen, and I can accept that he’s aged so much that his next greatest adventure should probably be against the evil triumvirate of corns, bunions, and that insidious smell of Ben-Gay, but Shia LaBeouf is no more a tough, motorcycle-driving greaser than Urkel was.

Plus, the crystal skull?  A leftover Alien prop bound in Saran Wrap.  Overall, a pretty disappointing flick.[/spoiler]

(Click to read.)

Awesome Sauce:

California’s El Supreme Courto has overturned the state’s gay marriage ban.

Now, if only forty-eight other states would follow suit…

I will say that I’m horribly surprised–stunned, even–that ever since Massachusetts legalized same-sex marriage in 2004, it hasn’t affected my marriage one bit.  Shocker, eh?  No degradation, no crumbling of our marital foundation, no plagues, no Satanic massacres, no end-of-the-world, nothing.  Not even any post-coital doldrums.

Wait.  Post-Coital Doldrums.  I’m so naming my next band that.  Thank you, Massachusetts (and by relation, thank you, California); it was your actions that led my band to rock name infamy.

Alright, I admit it. He’s a keeper:

And only two months, too. Imagine the wattage his cuteness will generate when he’s old enough to date.

Let’s talk poo, shall we? As you can imagine, the Insta-Princess and I have recently become experts on the subject. Specifically, the yellowish saucy kind forever streaming from the back of our kid like a Niagara Falls of excrement. (I’m only hoping that no one tries to either honeymoon there or dash over the edge in a barrel. Really, they’re just going to be disappointed.) Most of you have been dealing with poo your whole lives, and if you haven’t you’re either very lucky or probably have a stopped-up butt the size of Rhode Island. (Rhode Island’s state slogan is Unwind. In this case it’s Downwind.)

But how many of you have dealt with poo from mythical creatures? No one, I bet; at least, the Insta-Princess and I haven’t had the, er… pleasure. So, this is why, when we’re faced with questions or concerns about fantasy fewmets, we turn to our buddy, our pal, our gorgeous go-to-gal over at Unicorn Poo.

It’s true she hasn’t yet talked about the heinie heave of nature’s one-horned wonder, but I hope she eventually does. My mind is filled with questions. For example, noting the unique relationship between unicorns and virgins, does this mean only an unsullied maiden can flush the toilet after a unicorn has dropped the kids off at the pool? Will the flushing fail for everyone else? The mind boggles.

Plus, she’s an awesome illustrator. But everyone knows that, so that’s cool.

Visit her site when you get a chance. Otherwise, I’ll hunt down your address and leave flaming bags of unicorn poo on your doorstep. (Nah, not really. That stuff’s hard to come by–I’ll use regular ol’ dog poo, instead.)