In last night's dream, Nicole Richie had just given birth to a baby
boy and in typical celebrity fashion was introducing the world to her
new son by way of US Weekly. On the cover, Nicole beamed, staring into
the eyes of her son. The tagline said: Nicole Richie welcomes baby Archer.
I remember being pissed in the dream. Opening up the magazine and shaking my head.
"This is bullshit," I said.
Upon waking this morning, I couldn't remember what it really
was that pissed me off. Choosing a child's name is a big deal, of
course. One that for us required much time and back and forthage. We
decided on "Archer" because, for one, it was the only name we both
agreed on. (I wanted to name him, "Miller", after Henry Miller and Hal
was more interested in naming our son something weird like "Awesome" or
"Cartridge") To be fair, one of my front-runner girl's names was
"Paper" because I thought it sounded pretty and it reminded me of
Jackie Paper from Puff the Magic Dragon, and, well, I dig books.
Are you laughing at me yet? It's okay. Because this post is about to get serious...
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