There is other news today, but it has been swallowed up in the giant maw of the ROYAL BABY.
The Royal Baby is a healthy 8 pounds 6 ounces — or 5 dollars US, as Comedy Central’s Twitter quipped. Twitter is rushing to make all possible jokes about the name, weight, gender and privileged position of the child. This will not subside until he leads a long, fulfilling life, is crowned and dies, or the robot apocalypse happens, or a giant asteroid hits the Earth, whichever comes first. Still, the frenzy will have to die down a little in order to make room for other news. (Ah, who am I kidding? It’s summer. There is no other news. In my other window I have open a list of 39 Words We Should Stop Using.)
The Royal Easel has displayed the announcement. Naturally. If you had to guess how you would learn that there was a New Hereditary Head of State, you would guess “gilded Royal Announcement Easel” right after “some guy blowing a really long horn,” “colorful smoke emerging from a chimney” and “owl.” Prince William will come to Pride Rock and hand him to the Queen to hold aloft shortly, or do whatever the British equivalent is (pour tepid tea reverently over his helm? Perhaps I am not in a good position to make fun of British tradition, given that we haven’t had a monarch over here in centuries, and here I am writing breathless pieces about the NUMBER OF X CHROMOSOMES IN THE TINY MONARCH!!!! with erratic punctuation and everything.) Later Benedict Cumberbatch will come out of his lair and place his hands reverently on the small head.
Henry VIII is dancing around somewhere, slapping his large, hammy hands together. “Just when we didn’t need a male heir any longer,” he is muttering, “they keep handing them to us like it’s nothing.”
Also, I direct you to this Web site: IsThereRoyalBaby.com.