Woe is me or should it be Woe is I

One of my pet peeves about my generation is our self-obsession. Like so many blogs, this one has fallen into the trap of just being about its writer. To broaden your perspective on the world, I'm going to introduce you to a little more of my world. I'm going to tell you about my parents and how I interact with them. This will show that it isn't always about me.

Here's a picture of me with my mother:



She's awesome. My dad says she's hot. She's been tired since I've known her. I don't know why - she only spends eight hours a day feeding me. That gives her plenty of time to sleep. Other than being at my beck and call, what else does she have to do? I like it when she sings to me. I especially like the song about the duck swimming in the black pond preparing to fly to its mom in Poland. There's another wicked awesome song about a guy who falls off his horse and breaks his arm so his lady dumps him since he can no longer hug her.

I also enjoy hearing my dad sing to me. His harmonious voice tends to sing about yellow horses with yellow saddles and a spider mowing because a judge is coming. My dad's happy - his wall is done:

http://pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/stradaa/album?.dir=/7d60re2

I'm not sure what he's so excited about. It's a lovely wall and all. But all in all they're just a bunch of bricks in the wall.