Everybody's Got Their Somethin'

Whatchya got here is Max in his Johnny Jump-Up. I have no idea if that's the brand name anymore or what, but that's what my Mom calls it; so that's what it is. There must've been some sort of crazy, post-war, technological breakthrough that resulted in the Johnny Jump-Up technology 'cause it seems like, in fact, all the baby boomers (aunts, uncles, moms, dads) seem to be pretty pumped over the Jump-Up. It makes total sense, really: It took the Manhattan Project to figure out that you could clamp a spring to a door frame, attach a seat, and walk away from a bouncing, happy baby for half and three-quarter hours at a time. Give it up for the bomb and America!

Anyhoos, Max is really just fulfilling some bizarre, genetic destiny: according to my Mom, my Uncle Bill basically lived in his Jump-Up. And, yo, Uncle Bill was a righteous dude; so if Max wants to live in his Jump-Up, he is welcome to do that. Besides, there is something awfully hilarious about putting Max in the Jump-Up, doing the dishes, and coming back to a kid lolling in the jumpee, blissed out on some Jump-Up induced endorphin, staring off into to space. . . but still hopping, hopping, hopping.