Art update! I've moved out of my Jackson Pollock expressionist phase and have instead gotten into figure drawing. This is my first self-portrait. As you can see, John Lennon is one of my major influences:

I call it "Eli Without Nose." (Medium: napkin and ink)

My vocabulary is rapidly expanding, and I have mom and dad (but mostly mom) to thank. The other day, I was playing trains with daddy when my battery-powered Polar Express took a fatal tumble off the plastic mountain. I looked at daddy, smiled and said "goddammit." It must have been the right word to use, because daddy could hardly control his pleasure at what I said. So I tried it out a couple more times before daddy explained to me that it was a big person word that I wasn't old enough to use.

I can't wait until I grow up. Words are fun.

Last weekend, Grandma and Grandpa took mommy and daddy on their annual circus outing. They let me come along as well, and it was good times all around.

Now, let me say right off the bat that I didn't appreciate the PETA protesters outside the front gates-- not in the slightest. I found that the animals were treated quite humanely. If anything, it was the humans who were taking a beating:

Waiting on this elephant hand and foot...

...and getting bitten in the buttcheeks.

But let's be honest: the circus is about the gourmet cuisine, and this one had it in spades.

The French call this "Le Cotton Candy."

Mmm... gotta love the all-natural blue raspberry...

A few days ago I set out to discover my blue collar, working class roots. Y'know, mingle with the proletariat, the salt of the earth, the common man.

My first bowling experience was good times... downing some brewskies, talk about girls, cheating on my score, hoping to catch a glimpse of The Dude, maybe even The Jesus. My only disappointment was in discovering that they technically wouldn't let me rear back and chuck the ball myself:

Apparently, the local nursing home had some extra equipment...

It's a miracle! I can walk again!!!

It snowed a few days ago. Daddy and I collaborated on a snow sculpture, although as you can see our inspiration was too humble to pose with me.

Dad's been trying to use my obsession with the 50 states to "wean me off the cheesy, cloying crap put out by Raffi and his ilk." (Dad's words-- I personally think Raffi is a musical visionary.) Anyways, he's started to put together a mix of songs with the names of states in it. I'm a little skeptical that Alabama really is as sweet as the song seems to indicate, but I do enjoy singing the one about California. See if you can sing along:

We've been on a run,
Driving in a sun
Looking out for that number one.
California here it comes.
Right back where it started from.
CALIFORNIA!!!!! Here it COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Good stuff, huh?

I'm getting tired of my dad constantly telling me that I talk like Donald Rumsfeld. Is it because I ask rhetorical questions and answer them immediately? Perhaps. Is it because I bear a physical resemblance to our Secretary of Defense? Unlikely. Does daddy have serious issues? Undoubtedly.



See, no resemblance!

Although I do concede that I look somewhat like this guy.

Birthday number three treated your intrepid mini-blogger quite well, materialistically speaking. Before the celebrations started, mom sat down to prep me on how to react when someone gives you a present. The conversation went like this:
Mom: We have to make sure we say thank you no matter what present we get. So what do we say when someone gives you, let's say, a truck?
Me: Thank you for the truck.
Mom: Good. OK, now what do we say if someone gives you socks?
Me: No thank you!
Mom: (bursts out laughing)
Luckily, I never had to lay the smack down, since all of my presents were freakin' sweet (and essential). I now have enough Thomas The Tank Engine paraphernalia to keep the economy of the small island nation of Sodor rolling well into the 25th century. I also got several excellent puzzles of the United States. So far I've managed to keep track of all of them except Oregon. Sorry, Oregon. You're somewhere under my bed or in the laundry hamper. (As an aside, I've moved on from just identifying the states to knowing trivia questions like which states are the smallest and biggest, which oceans border which states, and which states are home to which relatives.)

Yew Nork was the tastiest of the United States of Eli.
(As a second aside, if I didn't mention your present, it's not because I didn't like it. Unless you got me socks and they're still in the mail.)

As promised, here is the 4-1-1 on the hot birthday parties that you missed:

The Mom's Club Party
This one had it all. Kids. Food. A pinata shaped like Thomas the Tank Engine. Nicole Richie and Taye Diggs RSVP'd, but they had to call at the last minute to cancel. So it was a little low on the star wattage, but more than compensated for by the DJ (mom did the mixing).

Please, God, let it be filled with more trains...

The Family Party
This would have been the party to attend if you were looking for a more low-key affair and happened to be an immediate blood relative who lived within two hours of me.

Luckily, Mom tells me I'm only half related to these people.

The Neighborhood Party
Probably the most exclusive party of all. If you weren't from my 'hood... if you didn't wear the right colors... if you didn't flash the right signs... the bouncer saw you to the door.

This is the Burnet Kommons Krew, practicing our tags before we hit the streetz.

It was a long weekend, and by the end of it I was pretty beat:

OK, one more picture for the road. As you can see, we love Dora. Especially Dad.

I told dad to photoshop away the Tootsie Roll residue streaming out of my mouth in the original picture-- I hope he listened to me and did my bidding.

(Imagine me doing the "Cabbage Patch" or "stirring the pot"...) IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! UH-HUH, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

A more detailed description of what it feels like to be three (plus a photo diary of my haul) is forthcoming. I just wanted to get this out there now in case people forgot.