Following our extremely hot photo shoot, we journeyed down to Bean's favorite restaurant Zona 78, where she had her usual salmon, Kim had pizza, and I had the halibut special. Towards the end of the meal, Skylar replied to one of my silly ripostes by noting that something was, "a matter of taste." I told her that I'm very interested in taste and asked for her thoughts on the subject. She proceeded to explain that part of your taste comes from your parents, but not all of it, since "every person is different." Here she is expounding on her theory:
Maybe I'll read her some Bourdieu. But then she'll want to see a photo of him, which would present problems, since he doesn't compare favorably to Nietzsche, much less that bald stallion Foucault.
After dinner, we drove over to the "urban" Target at Roger and Oracle to purchase me a Blaine so that I could play Barbies with her. Sadly, scented Blaine was unavailable, but I did score a more restrained companion who conveniently shares his name. And that meant that I got to spend an hour acting out various scenarios inspired by The Barbie Diaries before Skylar went to bed, most of which turned on the question of who Blaine would be willing to date. Thankfully, this rather arduous judgment of Paris was brightened by several interludes in which Blaine kicked Todd the Republican's ass and expostulated on the difference between being an anarchist surfer dude looking for his next plate lunch of Hawai'ian roast pork and being a run-of-the-mill Democrat. "I voted for John Kerry, sure, but that doesn't mean I like him." By the end of the scenario, Blaine's most favored Barbie had aged from 16 to 18 in order to make him keep the promise he'd made to her to take her on a date once she was no longer "underage." Yes, that word did enter the fray and, no, I wasn't the one to invoke it. Where's that short, hairy Bourdieu when you need him?