Hey daddy-o,

I don't wanna go / to New York-o . . . I was whining about this last night ("Where don't I want to go?" "New York, Daddy"), and Rebekah picked it up and riffed on it until she had composed a song-poem of at least a half hour's length, yelled at the top of the lungs, a perfect example of Brecht For First-Graders: I don't want to go to New York! It's so busy there! The buildings are so tall! And you can't find an apartment! My aunt lives there! But I don't need to see her right now! And there's nothing to do! Because it's so busy there! (continue tuneless rant . . . )