I'm getting pretty stoked about my birthday coming up on February 2. My dad has been touting all of the exciting things I will be able to do legally once I turn the big oh-three. Apparently I can get my tricycle license, defend our country in our president's upcoming Children's Crusade (oops, I've said too much!) and get access to the secret parts of the Playhouse Disney web site.

Naturally, I'm hosting three birthday parties next weekend-- one for my mom's club peeps, one for my family, and one for the neighbors. I'm I bit daunted by the prospect of having twenty-six parties when I get to be daddy's age, but since mommy and daddy will be planning them I won't sweat it too much.

Keep posted here for the dirt on any tawdry scandals that come out of the upcoming bashes. Or www.awesomeparishiltonparties.com. I'm sure the pictures will wind up on both sites.

These past few days I've been making some serious headway in my goal of identifying all of our 50 states by shape. I'm doing quite well in the Far West, Midwest and Mid-Atlantic regions, though I'm polling a bit weaker in the deep South and New England. So far, Texas is my favorite state-- it's nice and bulky, really anchoring our southern border. I'm also a big fan of Yew Nork, with its pleasing triangular shape. I'm a bit annoyed by mom and dad's efforts to confuse me by reversing the first letters of that state's name. However, this has not chilled my desire to one day visit the crown jewel of that state, Yew Nork City. While we're on the west coast this summer, I'd also like to visit Alaska and Hawaii, which are conveniently located in little boxes just off shore.


Wisconsin is apparently afflicted with a giant piece of cheese which covers 2/5 of the state...

Once I've nailed down the shapes, I expect to move on to identifying every state by color. For some reason, they're all either red or blue. Go figure. I'd really like to make Texas pink, and I hope the residents of that fine state will go along with it.

After that's taken care of, I expect to memorize each state's motto, insect and age-of-consent laws.

Ha ha, just kidding there. Mottos are dumb.

I have to admit, I've caught the gaming bug big time. Don't worry, parents! I'm not shooting hookers on the streets of Los Angeles or goring my enemies in some form of "mortal combat." Mom and dad won't let me near those games, darn them. I have, however, become a beast on the insect dominos circuit:

I've got two grasshoppers right here. Draw, fool!

But my real talent is Candyland. The key here is to lull your opponent into a false sense of superiority by pretending that you don't know your colors. Then let her get a big lead in the race to the Candy Castle, offer her double or nothing, and--WHAM-- draw the coveted ice cream cone card.

Pay up, woman. I'll take candy instead of cash.

If my Candyland hustling career stalls, I can at least fall back on stand-up comedy. Last Saturday I had the following witty exchange with mom:

Eli: Hey Mommy!
Mom: Hay is for horses.
Eli: No, H is for horses.

Look, it's better than a lot of what's out there. Cut me some slack.

Mom and dad got back from Venezuela yesterday, putting and end to my kick-butt six-day grandparent vacation. I took this opportunity to unveil my patented 3 Stages of Reparentalization:
1) Joy - This tends to be an involuntary reaction to the fact that I actually missed my parents. Once I am able to control myself and suppress my real emotions, it is time to proceed to...
2) Anger - Throwing myself on the floor and other tantrum-related activities. Generally accompanied by frequent use of the word "no." After venting for a few hours, it's on to...
3) Guilt - This is the critical juncture where success can mean getting taken along on the next vacation, and failure can mean mom and dad wanting to go on vacation again as soon as possible. This approach can take a number of forms. As a segue from the anger phase, it can involve crying when mom or dad go into the next room out of fear that they will run out the back door and board another plane for Latin America. Later, guilt can take the more subtle form of talking nonstop about the fun things I did while mom and dad were gone and using all of the new words and phrases I learned in their absence.

The key is to know when to drop the schtick and go back to being my normal crazy self. You can't overplay your hand or else it will totally backfire. When mom and dad start looking at Expedia.com when you're playing in the other room, you know you've taken it too far.

Switching gears... Mom and dad are too lazy to start their own blog, so they've asked me to post some pictures from their trip. They wanted me to let everyone know that they did not run into Harry Belafonte while they were there, but if they had they would have asked for his autograph and then told him to stick to his Day-O job and stay out of the "goodwill ambassador" business.
Mom and dad next to a big boat-- perhaps a banana boat. Could that be Harry Belafonte on the deck? Hmm...
Caracas, with a giant ski lift. According to mom and dad, Caracas is best seen from this distance.
Dad, very proud of his $1 DVDs. Can you believe this guy is going to be a lawyer one day?
Mom doing the chaka chaka dance at the wedding. I'm a little disturbed that she appears to be having fun without me.
Evidently one of the natives in traditional ceremonial tribal attire. I'm not sure what this picture is doing here.

Mom and dad are leaving on a week-long a junket to Venezuela, leaving me in the capable hands of a grandmother tag-team. I urged them not to pack any of their 700 Club paraphernalia (it's just plain tacky). In return, they've promised to bring me back Hugo Chavez as a souvenir. Very exciting.

Lately, Dad's been regaling me with stories of his rabble-rousing glory days as a member of some organization which he calls Heck's Angels. Lately, he's been training me to follow in his footsteps (as you can see from my menacing scowl). I'll soon be ready to go off and kick the living crap out of some long-haired hippies, just as soon as I can figure out how to work the pedals. And steer.