9:05pm. They've already started the countdown in Times Square, the sort of live-hosted Thanksgiving Day Parade-like event I just loathe. The sort of thing you might watch at a party with the sound turned down, but why bother? Put in a film.
My son is standing in front of me, trying to scooch his 4-year-old self up onto my lap because he is fascinated with writing as well as reading. He got hold of a video game based on a typing program -- the qwerty method, the only game going since the days of the manual typewriter, when you had to worry about keys sticking together: the letters are distributed across the keyboard in such a way that letters often typed together in common words would not have typewriter keys that were close together, physically; keys were therefore less likely to become tangled and jammed as the keys hit the paper. Anyway, he has memorized the audio instructions for typing, and recites the monologue as I type. It's cute, if odd.
I can't sit down at the laptop these days without him appearing out of nowhere. It's uncanny, or would be if the house weren't so small. More later.
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