That's My Dad.
There. The One Who Looks Like Santa.

or, Filial "Pride"

I am posting the following in near-entirity. If that's a word. Which I suspect it's not, but I'm not going to check, even to see if it is a word but I misspelled it horribly, because I'd rather just type here. Anyway, below is an e-mail my father sent me and my siblings and their children, if any. Oh, and spouses, if any. This is why some of you received a stupid e-mail from me earlier today. But, here's my dad's e-mail. Now you'll know what I've had to live with a goodly portion of my life and this may perhaps explain certain unusual behavioral patterns on my part.

Hello

I would like to be reminded of your birthday each year because as I get older my memory is failing fast. Even though I was there for the birth of some of those receiving this, I could easily forget the date. I mean, there are days when I'm lucky to have socks on under my shoes. And when the snow's this high, that's really startling when you step out in the morning. Of course, it's not as bad as forgetting to ... sorry, what is it I'm trying to remember?

Oh, right. .... your birthday. So anyway, this virtual memory service is going to send a reminder to me that your birthday is coming up. Of course, I'll probably just see the reminder they will send to my computer and say something like, "Oh gosh, I've got to remember to send X a present or card or something!" Then I'll click the reminder closed and thirty minutes later wonder what it was I was supposed to remember. Typically, at that point, I will end up buying too much milk on the way home from work.

Assuming I can remember the way home.

And anyway, can you figure out how they make any money from doing this? I mean, why do they bother? They claim they don't sell our names or addresses to anyone and they don't send unsolicited emails. How can this work? I expect they haven't really thought it all through. When they realize there's no reason for anyone to give them money, they'll whack their foreheads with their palms, pull the plug on the computer and try to trade it for more pizza. By then, of course, millions of relationships will have come to depend on this service. Husbands will forget to get presents for their wive's birthdays. Siblings will forget to say, "Happy Birthday." Even grandparents will forget to send crumpled bills in weird cards to their grandchildren. The amity that cements our social structure will be
destroyed. Bile will surge to the tops of thousands of throats. Scowls will sour millions of mornings. Hatred and dissension will plague the planet!

Of course, on the positive side, we already know how to cope with those conditions.

Please click on the following link for me and enter your name and birthday, because, although it only takes a few seconds to do so, I'm too lazy.

http://www.BirthdayAlarm.com/dob/[snipped for privacy]

Thank you! And Happy Birthday! (You can clip and paste that last bit into an email on your birthday and send it to yourself, in case I forget)

Love, Bob/Dad/Grandpa

PS: Of course, I already know your birthday, so you don't really need to do this. I just wanted to have some fun ranting. Have a good weekend!

He wrote this while in the office. Now I understand why he doesn't get home until ten at night. Not because he's forgotten, but because every freakin' e-mail he sends out is like this.

And now you know where I get the verbosity. You know, as in the unending and innumerable posts on this blog. And the poor typing/occasional spelling errors. You poor bastards.