NEVER MISS EMILE

My neighbor Derrick thinks he's all high and mighty because he drives a hybrid. 

His wife teaches art history at the college so I suppose he thinks that makes him look smart as well. They've got a lot of books in neat, floor to ceiling ceder shelving but I'm not so sure they ever read any of them. Lot's of folks are like that - lining their walls with books to make themselves feel smart. Anyway, Derrick is always popping off about something or other but what he doesn't realize is that I'm on to him even if nobody else is.

You see, just like Derrick, I too read the New York Times. The thing is, he gets it delivered and I read it online so as far as he knows, I get all my news from CNN and the Star-Gazette.

What Derrick basically is, is a walking summery of that day's paper. If Kristoff is dilating about child labor Derrick is incensed as well. If Brooks finds virtue in the rational application of religious values on secular society then Derrick spends the day quoting Reinhold Niebuhr and Martin Buber. If I get up early enough I can usually predict what Derrick will be talking about with his button-down cappuccino buddies over at The Crest House breakfast bar.

But for all his alleged wisdom and sophistication he hasn't got a goddamn clue on how to raise his snot-nosed kids. There's not a bat or a ball on his entire lot. His boys can hardly ride bikes much less snowboard or skate. He claims the kids are the 'creative' types and prefer sidewalk chalk to bottle-rockets and dart guns. He thinks I don't know who Maria Montessori is and that to me Jean-Jacques Rousseau is a brand of smelly imported cheese.

I say let the kids paint - why not? - just so long as you let them get nailed with a paint ball now and then as well.