One of the best things about Lileks' Bleats is how gracefully he describes the delight of watching a child grow and her personality and mind unfold. My kids are grown and out more or less on their own, but sharing James' observations is like the whiff of perfume that brings back memories of your first girlfriend. I'll never forget the astonishment of seeing my six-month-old firstborn whistling. I can't whistle worth a lick, because I have a small jaw and a large overbite, but he had heard me whistling softly and watched my mouth, and a day or two later I heard a little piping sound and there he was, crawling along with his lips pursed and blowing. James has his own little tiger by the tail, and he's providing a free national service to all of us who known exactly what he must be feeling.

As for Hugh Hewitt's stunt, I wrote James a while back that Hugh does that sort of thing to people he really likes, and that I was kind of glad he doesn't know me. To anyone out there who thinks he wants to drop in for a luncheon at the Lileks', you might want to peruse his book The Gallery of Regrettable Food.