Saturday night, my mom was fretting about all the stuff she's got to do for CJ's birthday. I use the present tense because the "party" party is next weekend. Now, to be sure, my mom's got a lot on her plate: it's an Alice in Wonderland theme party, so there's a lot of decorating to do, and a whole bunch of nine-year-olds to take care of, and she'll need a bunch of inside activities in case it rains, and did I mention that the kids are both in musicals? I reminded her that CJ was going to wake up in the morning to see her father putting the finishing touches on a playhouse he built from scratch in the back yard, her entire family is in town to see her and her brother perform and celebrate her birthday, and the following weekend she's having a Wonderland party with all her friends where they will be using red fabric paint to color white fabric roses which come with the invitations. To a nine-year-old, this is fucking magical. That's kind of what makes the whole thing worth it.
And yet, my mom is still worried that CJ will figure out that there's no Santa Claus before this coming Christmas. Argh. I keep trying to explain that we can still have family togetherness and wonderful surprises and Christmas Cheer without an all-seeing father figure who doles out rewards and punishments, but it just doesn't seem to stick. Oh, well.
Anyway, there's this whole kerfuffle about how Roger Ebert thinks video games can never be art. I plan to argue on Wednesday that video games are a medium and media are vehicles by which art may be conveyed, The End. Erm, that's way shorter than it's going to end up, but yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it.