Intro to the Chach (Or is it?)

Hey all, welcome to The Chanicles! How do you like the name? It’s a combination of my nickname, Cha Cha (or The Chach, or Chach-Dillyicious (my dad’s responsible for that one, I don’t get it), The Chachmeister, and the list goes on), and Chronicles, as in — you know — tell the tale. Anyway, I personally don’t think I’ve collected enough experiences to warrant all of these nicknames  — I haven’t been to college or even been in a major league baseball locker room, the two places that research suggests the majority of American males earn their nicknames, so I don’t know why this is all happening. But there you have it. Some of us live faster than others, I guess. And it has been a wild nine months since I was forcefully removed from atop my mom’s sciatic nerve (sorry for the inconvenience, Ma, that was back in my wilder fetus days). Anyway, back to the title, I was considering The Chronicles of Cha, but I thought that would sound too pretentious, and maybe a little bit eastern religiousy. Not that I’m against a Zen mentality, especially at this age. I mean, my peers as a group tend to be a pretty spazzy lot, and I’m no exception. Frankly, we could all benefit by chilling the heck out.

Anyway, on my inaugural post, I want to give a shout-out to my sis, the young legend Ava Reese. As interesting as you might imagine life is with her in the house, you would be imagining correctly. She’s a firecracker, that one. I mean, let’s face it, she won’t be starring in the sequel to the 1979 counter-culture film Hair, (ha ha! pretty good one, Chach!), but she’s really blazing her own path at the tender age of two. In fact, she’s the one who stuck me with the Cha Cha moniker (the Chaniker?), and she says my name more than virtually any other word. I don’t know what she sees in me, and I’m still early in my neural development, but I’ve lived long enough to know a true friend when I see one. Look, at our stage of the game, it’s no secret: it’s all about the pacis these days (pacifiers for the uninitiated), and Ava and I have logged hours grabbing our respective pacis from each other, in contests of will that grow exceedingly competitive, as my focus and my strength increase, and as I work my way through Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. But somehow, the harder we grab, the closer we get, and the stronger our bond becomes. I can’t wait to grow up with her as my older sister. Barely older, but still. I doubt I’ll be able to catch up.
p.s. I’m not reading The Art of War. I’m nine months old, for pete’s sake. I’m barely through the early Steinbeck works.


That’s me with my girl Joanie at the diner.  Hah! No, it’s Photoshopped!  What a world!

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