February 24, 2003
We are coming right up on a couple of very important events, in the light of whose significance other happenings will undoubtedly pale.I'm not sure of the ORDER of these events, however. One of them is fixed, and the other is unpredictable. Still, the order in which I THINK they'll happen is worth talking about.
First, sometime between now and the third week in March, I'm going to be a Daddy again. If you're counting, this is my fourth. If you're keeping score, stop it right now. That's not what this is about.
Second, on March 8th we'll have the 1000th Schlock Mercenary strip, the end of the current storyline, and the end of the strip as we know it. On the 9th the strip is relaunched. Why am I telling you this? Well, because if I didn't, most of you probably would not notice. My goal is for old-time readers to transparently begin enjoying the 1001st strip, while still allowing for new readers to pick up at strip 1001 as if it were strip #1, and not feel lost.
Why bother? Because I'm never going to find a publisher for the first 1000 strips without proving viability of Schlock in print first. Thus, the first book published will very likely begin at strip 1001, and only after we've sold millions of copies and publishers are grovelling at my feet for the rights to the early material will we go back and ink a deal on the early crap. Errr... stuff.
Back to the baby thing for moment... it's anecdote time. This one is going to net me some bruises.
My two-year-old came upstairs saying "Daddy... horsey?" over and over. I was busy doing dishes, so in spite of the fact that I knew exactly what she wanted, I forced her into a communications exercise as a stalling tactic.
"What do you want Daddy to do?"
"Horsey."
"You want Daddy to help you find piggy-back horse?" (it's a stuffed animal that she carries around piggy-back)
"No piggy-back. Play horsey."
"You want to watch the Spirit horsey movie?"
"No moomee [movie]. Daddy play horsey downstess [downstairs]."
"Oh, you want Daddy to be a horsey for you?"
"Yes! Play horsey."
"Daddy is doing dishes and cannot play horsey right now. I'm sorry."
She turned to Sandra, who had been watching the exchange with wry amusement, and who, as has been noted above, is living, breathing proof that there comes a time when it is impossible to be a little bit pregnant.
"Mommy play horsey?"
"Mommy cannot play horsey, honey," Sandra said with a sad smile.
I could not stop myself. I should have, but I couldn't.
"Mommy can play cow."
For the record, Sandra and I both laughed at this until we cried, and our daughter got very, very worried because something about this conversation -- some key element, hidden in those simple words -- had gone WAAAY over her head. (Also for the record, she got a horsey ride. Sandra finished the dishes.)