I happen to have been one of the ugliest babies in the history of humanity. No, it wasn't just because it was the 1970s, though I'm fairly confident that everything looked worse under the lighting of a disco ball. Nor was it the polyester that seemed to ensconce every child in the civilized world at the time. Nor was it the neurological damage that much disco floating through the ether can have on people. I just happened to look like a cross between a labradoodle and a child from Planet of the Apes. Here check this out it'll prove it:
Okay so my brother doesn't come off looking so hot in this photo either, but at least he's not wearing androgynous overalls. I promise that whatever it takes my children will be dressed in the hippest clothes from birth to death. And they'll never be forced to sport a faux-hawk. I'm sure I'll find all kinds of other ways to scar them.
Yet tragically poor fashion sense was not the only thing that that I've tried to hide from my formative years. In fact there's one secret from this part of my childhood that's so horrible, so heart-rending, so haunting that Wife didn't find out about it until my brother laughingly told my wife minutes before we were to be married.
Yet should I tell you all? I'm very hesitant (well not that hesitant or I wouldn't have edited this post like four centillion times (FYI that's the most boringest link ever!)).
Let me preface this horrible admission by stating two things. Thing the first: my mother has explained her reasoning and I understand it came from a place that seemed logical and heart warming to her. Thing the second: no woman should ever be allowed to name a child while still recovering from a spinal tap. If she attempts so to do the head nurse (I think she's called the Mother Superior but I might be messing up my titles here) should take the birth certificate form and while reprimanding the mother for the horrible choice in names (this applies specifically to all nurses dealing with a woman who wants to add a -bob to her son's name. Honestly one Billy-Bob is too many), should ritualistically burn the certificate and scatter the ashes over the child's incubator.
Well I guess I can't hide it any longer. In some ways this is the most cathartic of all my posts. Perhaps after this I will no longer need the relief of blogging to ease the pains and burdens of my oh so troubled life.
Yes everyone I've been living a lie for all these years. Indeed my friends, for now you are my friends sharing in this secret. I carry with me the very mark of some of the greatest men in history. Men like Edward Longshanks who finally brought the Welsh into subservience to their superior eastern neighbors (that's for you John). Or King James who united the crowns of Scotland, England, and Ireland and who commissioned the King James Bible. Or Napoleon who proved that any time the French start to have military success they get greedy and over-reach (though he was more Italian than French).
Am I claiming to be royalty? Well if it means that you will all pay me fealty and more important taxes, than perhaps I am. But what I'm really saying is that despite being the fifth Stewart in six generations my delirious mother did something that sets me apart from all but the most snooty of my peers. Yes that's right I bear a numeral for a suffix to my name. You may now all refer to me as Stewart I.
Now what does it take to get the crown jewels around here?
Now for some videos. Just for Tyler I have to offer you this. Now although I do love The Aquabats but quite frankly I don't entirely understand Yo Gabba Gabba. Maybe it's the lack of kids thing.
and this one just because I loved this movie: