It's readily apparent that, almost seven years ago, everything went smoothly at the hospital. The safeguards put in place to make sure the worst thing ever doesn't happen? Totally worked, I'm sure of it. That little ball of goo my wife and I brought home in the fall of 2009? Definitely belongs to me.
Unless, of course, another new father also happened to be a mostly indifferent nerd. Because if that's the case, well, I might have his kid.
Either way, at this point, I'm keeping him (I'll get back to you when he's twelve).
Like one of the maybe dozen or so people on the planet, my son had not only heard of, but also desperately wanted to see, the movie version of Ratchet & Clank. Based on a series of Sony Playstation games, the latest of which we own, my kiddo was impossibly (and improbably) jazzed to see this flick on the big screen. And being that 99% of the time, I'm the one dragging him to the movies, I rewarded his enthusiasm the best way I know how: we went on opening night.
Which is a Friday. As in, immediately after work Friday.
As in, wow that was a long blink Friday.
From what I can cobble together from slipping in and out of consciousness, Ratchet & Clank tells the story of a group of super heroes known as the Galactic Rangers combating an evil villain named Chairman Drek. Drek and his cronies have been blowing up planets, and the Rangers decide to hold tryouts to bolster their squad. Super fan/cat-thingy Ratchet shows up, armed with little more than overwhelming enthusiasm. Like any underdog story, the kid is sent packing as the Rangers search for someone bigger and stronger. Brains and heart aren't going to cut it this time. If only there was some crazy alien invasion, where Ratchet could unexpectedly save the day on national television, thereby showing the entire world his true worth.
If only.
