Why I Forgot Your Birthday

This weekend, I went through something I can only describe as...disturbing. See, I'm the father of a six year old girl. As a result, I am frequently bombarded by a barrage of images arranged by the good people at Disney. Ordinarily, this isn't a big deal, but there is a new show that she's been particularly excited about, as have her little friends at school, so to be a supportive father I've been watching it with her, which led to the aforementioned disturbance.

Saturday night, I had a dream about the Jonas Brothers.

It wasn't anything freaky or dirty (which, for legal reasons, I would claim for two out of three of them whether it were true or not, but realistically, if it were dirty, I assure you I would never speak of it in the first place), they were simply present. I understand, however, the implications of such a thing. When I dream and it's not a nightmare, that means that my brain is organizing things that I see and do in an effort to arrange them for long term storage. That means that the Brothers Joni are potentially now part of my brain in the long term.

Now I don't dislike them or anything. I mean, of the Disney rot that I sit through, they are so far one of the least offensive. They don't include a laugh track, which is a tremendously bold move. They don't seem to take themselves seriously, which is always a plus with me. Most of all, while they are far from actually achieving it, I think they may have the potential to channel the Monkees, which would be a total win for those of us stuck watching it on a Saturday night with our offspring.

This does not give them permission, however, to set up permanent residence in my already cramped cranium. I have potentially just lost one of the few childhood memories I have left, or maybe something really important like my anniversary date (checking...checking...no, that seems intact) for three troubadours. What's really scary is that I will probably never know what tidbit of information my brain felt was expendable to make room for Nick, Joe and Kevin. See! Right there! Why do I know their first names? I don't need to know that. We are not, nor do I believe we ever will be, on a first name basis with each other.

No matter how dreamy they think I am.