I include the below video here for three inconsequential reasons and a fourth, more important, reason.
1. It's very funny.
2. I have no videos on my blog and I want them. Other blogs have videos and mine should have them too. My blog is better than other blogs, better than everyone else's blog, and it is better in every way. Videos are now a part of this betterness.
3. Having the video makes me feel good. Aside from felling better about the blog, I feel technologically competent, validated. I am not too savvy with many things. I'm familiar with my own navel, but most else I view as a mystery. So the fact that I can take this bit of code and paste it into my blog makes me very, VERY proud.
4. I am David. Not really; I'm Derek and I am 40 and normally wear a goatee. Still, I relate to little David's seemingly entire state of confusion. The first thing that called my name was when he asks
"Is this real life?"
I feel, as many of us do, that this surely can't be it, can't be all there is. I have been told though, that indeed this is it . This is not a trial run, as I had secretly hoped. Then David miscounts his fingers which I do. At least once a day I find myself counting on them, to make certain that one of them hasn't been lost.
Next we find young David rising from his seat onto his arms and screaming, protesting this erroneous reality, expressing his frustration. I have done this at home occasionally, but normally I reserve this tactic for the office. It's my way of saying "Do NOT assign me any cases. Better still, don't talk to me today, as I am seriously, unrighteously "unwell."
Now we find David in denial
"I don't feel tired" he says, then nearly closes his eyes. Similarly, I might say, "No Sir, I'm resting my head on the desk because I am studying the effects of dust on the mucous membranes. I AM NOT sleeping."
David then asks, twice, if he has stitches. I can recall every single stitch and broken bone that I have received over the years, but the short term memory goes. More importantly, the short term memory goes. After David pronounces his condition of "felling funny" he asks, pleads for an answer
"Why is this happening to me?" Sound familiar to you?
Finally he asks in readily apparent frustration
"Is this going to be forever?"
His father, in an effort towards kindness lies to the child. But I want him to know, wherever he is
"Yes, David. This will last forever, or at least 30 more years."