Someone snuck onto my computer and posted this

Listening to: Sonny Rollins, Way Out West

Deadline for Mixmania! is MIDNIGHT TONIGHT - click here if you're clueless...

Unable to sleep, too restless to read, I turn here to torture you, my intrepid readers. A glass of an impertinent little shiraz in hand to feed my jejune jabbering, you're thusly forewarned.

My little darlings are now snuggled in and slumbering with an alacrity daddy pines for but a mere four hours ago this place made Baghdad look like River City. Had I been herding cats with a head full of mescaline, I'd have had better success (and a better time) since the wee ones weren't going anywhere I wanted without wailing, warfare, and a bottomless well of excuses to get out of bed to explain why they couldn't go to sleep unless certain demands were met. The future of the US Diplomatic Corps rests in the next two rooms; either that or union arbitrators.

Lilly demanded yet another one of the thousands of "Simba" stuffed toys that she's accumulated since I took her to see Disney's "The Lion King" at the IMAX, three years ago. Since that fateful day, my oldest daughter has collected and enumerated each and every "Simba" toy she can latch her greedy little fingers into, from her "Simba" Pez dispenser to "Lion King" chess pieces (this is a kid who asks for Bullfinch's Mythology so don't get weirded out by her desire to learn chess). Dad doesn't know each and every one of her Simba's but she bygod does and there won't be peace until they're all there with her in bed.

Then it was the choice of music. At mom's they listen to a local Country station but dad's not having that and they know it. Usually the girls ask for the "ballet music" (i.e. anything soft and soothing, from honest-to-god Tchaikovsky ballets to Debussy's La Mer) but tonight she was specific:

"You know, the one that goes 'dee dee deedeedee dee dum DUM, dee dee deedeedee dee deedee DUM' - like THAT!"

Of course, Mozart, Symphony #40. After 15 minutes of previewing disks, we agreed on that one.

Moving down the ages, the demands became less complex but no less easier to fulfill. Marni had to have a glass of milk. And a Pop-Tart. And a Twizzler. And half the "Disney Match Em'" cards Lilly held in her bed, the cards being the pieces of a game Lu graciously gave to the girls, a game that is rarely played as it was intended, mostly the cards being employed in various dramas staged on bookshelves or on my dresser or wherever they decide to place them - and then fight over who gets what or whom.

Thanks, Lu. I'm bringing the "Big Bag-o'-Bic-Lighters" with me the next time I come to Illinois, K?

And naturally, no night is complete until dad tears the house apart searching for the elusive "blankey" since there's nothing more entertaining than the old man tossing shit around and swearing oaths to deities profane and more profane to seek something that, as the Zen masters say, "Is within you, so why seek?"

Ah, so. Except, it's in the goddamn bathtub, behind a shower curtain, holding a half-eaten pudding cup and a Barbi. Screw you, Zen man.

In dire need of serenity, Zeke, his usual Buddha-self, only demanded his nightly reading of "Tonka Trucks" and "The Pokey Little Puppy" and for me to lay down with him until he was safely asleep. Uh, no. It's a scenario which never plays out right (in my mind) if I'm sucker enough to lay there with him. What inevitably happens is that he ends up watching me fall asleep and then crawls over my snoring carcass to waddle into the bathroom and flush pages of The Nation into the Arkansas River. Considering that, I suspect he's a nascent conservative.

Daddy's onto them all, each little imp, and in no mood to negotiate. Compromises had to be reached immediately and, in the God-like authority of dad, compromises were grudgingly accepted. Daddy has things to do and can't lay down with you, we'll find "blankey" - I'm positive - this fight over "Match Em'" cards is resolved, and if there's one less "Simba" to watch over you tonight, I swear to God, the sun will still rise in the morning. Go to bed, go to sleep, and we'll begin the negotiations anew in the morning.

This is your future folks. I may not be able to sleep but I can assure you - with kids like these arguing the fate of the free world, you all can rest easy.