Historically, Al and I have sucked at celebrating each other on Father's Day and Mother's Day. We usually manage to cobble together some sort of breakfast, but after that, the day is pretty much just an excuse to get out of doing stuff. The garbage needs to be taken out? I'm not doing that, it's Father's Day. Coco needs a diaper change? No way -- Mother's Day privilege, sucker.
Thankfully, Lucien's teacher takes care of gifts. On Mother's Day, I got a homemade fan with Lucien's trademark people drawn all over it -- their legs come straight out of their chins. For Father's Day, Alex received a CD of music sung by the kids of the school. It's pretty adorable, all those little Frenchie kids singing together tunelessly. I'm going to blast it next time we throw a party, maybe even incorporate it into the Eurovision party. That should end our social lives nicely.
This Father's Day was just as anticlimactic as all the others. Alex had a training session with Thor and Lucien was sick, so I took Cokes to the Luxembourg to meet a friend of a friend passing through town. I've never met this friend of a friend but we immediately started babbling away like we've known each other forever. For an instant friend -- presto! --just add an American. I sure do miss how Americans chat away with anybody and share way too much personal information way too quickly. U-S-A! U-S-A!
As my new friend and I strolled through the Lux and discussed our bra sizes and how many people we've killed with our bare hands (those are appropriate openers for an American conversation), I noticed there was a new sculpture off in the distance. It looked like an amorphous bright red thing. As I got closer, I saw it wasn't just a blob; it was a word. An English word. Then my new friend and I looked at each other and said, "What the....?"
While pondering the meaning of the Blood sculpture, I had a celebrity sighting at the Lux carousel. Craig Ferguson, of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson was standing next to us with a pretty blond lady, presumably his wife, and a baby in a stroller, presumably his spawn. Craig was being a Good Dad, walking the stroller 'round and 'round in mind-numbing circles in an attempt to get his kid to fall asleep. Craig Ferguson and I have a lot in common.
This is a horrible picture I took of Craig Ferguson. He's the fuzzy guy in the background. I think it's obvious my future is not in paparazzi.
I came home and looked up Craig Ferguson and his wife online. His website says, "We're taking the show to Paris for the summer!" and the pictures I found of his wife are indeed the pretty blond lady. I turned and yelled at Alex, "HA! Told you so! It was totally him!" and Al was like, "What are you talking about? Why are you yelling at me on Father's Day?"
Let's continue with our "Blood and Yelling" Father's Day theme. Alex went out later that day to run a few errands and returned with a heartwarming tale of fatherhood violence. He'd seen a father waiting to cross the street with his two children near our apartment. A stupid biker came careening past and very nearly ran into them. The father immediately took off after the biker, yelling something along the lines of did he realize what he had just done, he could have seriously hurt his kids, etc. etc.
The biker stopped and, instead of doing the smart thing and apologizing, he escalated the situation by yelling back at the dad. Pushing and hitting ensued. Several guys got involved and separated them, but even after being pulled away, Dumbass Biker continued to yell horrible things at Attack Dad. So Attack Dad attacked him again. This went on for awhile.
To finish up our strange day, I bought the most beautiful piece of meat for Father's Day dinner. I couldn't wait to cook it. I started strong, but then wandered away to deal with kid stuff. When I returned, my beautiful piece of meat had taken on a ghostly grayish color. I had really cooked the shit out of it. Alex took one bite and gave me OMG!WTF! eyes. He pretended to eat it for awhile, but then got honest and resigned and said, "Oh baby, I just can't."
He's never, ever, ever going to let me live down that stupid piece of meat.
Happy Father's Day yesterday, especially to Craig Ferguson, Attack Dad, and Al,
(and of course to my own dad, Wonder Dave)