I talked to new daddy Pat Friday night. He said that Annette had gone in for a routine last-quarter checkup, and her blood pressure was the same that mine was the night I had my stroke, so they decided to do a caesarian right then. They were prepared for a girl, so they hadn't picked a name for a boy. Pat said that he wanted to pick a name from his father's family, but his research turned up Walter, Romain, Rupert, Theodore and a few others that they didn't want to saddle the kid with. And, while Pat's dad was John, he felt that there were a lot of Johns in the family, including yours truly, and didn't want to add another. Still, they decided on John, thus sentencing them to a period of time where they have to think a moment to distinguish the baby from me. I have to say that I'm pleased, not because they're calling him John, but that they at least chose an old-fashioned name, for lack of a better way to put it. Not that there's anything wrong with any name, I just like names that sound like they were taken from a 1960's Catholic school class.
Talk at you later.