Daisy sat down at the piano the other night with a gleam in her eye.
"Oh, Daddy, guess what I get to practice this week?" she asked, and then without waiting for a reply, launched into a halting rendition of some crappy Christmas carol.
As a Jew-by-birth-agnostic-by-choice, Christmas carols aren't really my thing. They aren't symbolic or meaningful to me; they're just those annoying songs you hear in grocery stores and on commercials. Christmas carols are the sound of intrusive commerce, a fruitcake for your ears.
What song was Daisy playing? Walmart. All week I've been hearing her play the Walmart damn carol over and over and ding-dinga-ding over.
On a mostly unrelated note, I think it's just a matter of time before Daisy finds religion. I get the feeling that she finds comfort in the notion of an afterlife, and of some super-hero god-thing ruling this land and looking out for her. The structure and carrots offered by religion seem to have more sway than the physics and logic-based system that I stress with increasing panic.
You see, the notion of Daisy finding religion is about as appealing to me as it would be to some preacher if his daughter announced she was an atheist. I accept that I'm surrounded by religion everywhere outside of my house (yes, even in San Francisco, aka Sodom's Heathenatorium), but I had kind of hoped that our little home would be a religion-free zone.
We'll see, I guess.
On that note, only 19 more shopping days left until Winter Present Tree Day!