the underwear drawer

30 posts in 30 days, day 11: because I don't have a flickr account

Doing all these mobile photo posts in the past few days makes me realize that my phone cam really is a piece of crap. I have the Sidekick II, which not only is an embarrassing Paris Hilton-endorsed phone, it's not even the latest generation Paris Hilton endorsed phone. I'm so 2005. I was considering upgrading my cell phone (I've had this Sidekick II for about two years now, and before that I had the Sidekick I, which I got when I was an intern, roughly five million lifetimes ago), but Joe is begging me to wait until June before I do anything. I think it's his not-so-secret fantasy that we will have matching iPhones when they finally hit the market. I'm not sure that I could quite trust myself with a $500 phone (being quite clumsy sometimes), but I do have the gadget lust, and it coincidentally is my birthday at the end of June, so maybe I will wait.

And now, since it is the weekend, please indulge me while I post pictures of my kid, taken with my real, non-phone camera. (It is a Nikon D70, by the way--a couple of people have asked.)



Here's Cal last weekend at the indoor playground, playing basketball before that jerk kid came over and started clawing his face off.



Cal in a box. We get our groceries from Fresh Direct. Is this a New York thing? Do other people order their groceries online? For us, it is cheaper than going to the actual supermarket, and the produce is much better.



A fair representation of how Cal looks maybe 10% of the time. Perhaps his breakfast was insufficiently delicious.



Cal's latest obsession: cars. Did we somehow subconsciously push him into societally gender-"appropriate" play? Hard to say. He had a few cars floating around in his toy mound (along with stuffed animals, a play kitchen set, some musical instruments, crap like that) and at some point, he just zoned in on them and started preferentially playing with the cars. So of course we went out and got him some more cars. And then we bought him a six pack of beer, some guns, and the Char-King Imperiale.



Cal's way of playing with his cars proves that he is my son. Sometimes he'll just push them around on the floor, or up the walls (most of them have "pull-back" action, which means that their wheels click and whirr impressively), but his favorite game is lining the cars up along the windowsill. He will drive them slowly from one end of the windowsill to the other, parking them carefully bumper to bumper in a straight line. He is very careful to get them lined up just right.




If it wasn't for the fact that Cal will be going into medicine only over my dead body, he would be a good anesthesiologist.

Currently reading: "Better." There's something inspiring about a doctor who's so unafraid to be honest about problems with the system and even his own shortcomings. We live and work in a culture of blame, but if we could get away from that just a little, we really could be a lot better at what we do.