No, I’m not dead, but neither can it really be said that I’ve been resting, either. Sorry for the monthlong interim between columns, but I was in Los Angeles July 7-23 covering the Television Critics Association press tour, and I returned to a combination of family stuff and car issues that kept me hopping for well over a week after my return. To give you an idea of what my luck was like with my car, it died on my wife while she was in a McDonald’s drive-thru and involved trips to the AAA Service center and Pep Boys as well as two trips to the Hyundai dealership to work out the issue. And while I was borrowing my father’s truck during all these vehicle woes, the truck managed to get a flat tire and have its battery die on me. As for the family stuff, well, as it happens, that brings me to the subject of this week’s column.

If things had gone differently, this column would’ve run last week or even the week before, because the intent was to have it go live on the week of my daughter’s third birthday. Her name is Allyson Faith Harris. She was an in-vitro baby, and we’re pretty sure the doctors at the New Hope Center for Reproductive Medicine slipped a few extra “cute” and “smart” genes into her petri dish, because she’s both things, and this isn’t just typical proud papa crap — a few weeks ago we drove past a Chick-Fil-A, and the kid said, “Look, Daddy, they have an indoor play area!” A few months ago I told her I thought we didn’t need to put gas in the car until the morning, and she put on a pouty face and said, “I’m so disappointed that we’re not going to the gas station.” This was a two-year-old. I don’t know where she stands on an emotional level, but at the very least she’s got a pretty darned advanced vocabulary for her age. As for the cuteness, you be the judge:

Allyson stayed on the bike — this time.

Yes, as you can see by her shirt, the kid is into music. She could name all four Beatles before she was two, her favorite songs are Nick Lowe’s “Cruel to Be Kind” and the Left Banke’s “Pretty Ballerina,” and, perhaps most importantly, when she hears the Crayons’ “Allyson Fell Off the Bike,” she immediately says, “That’s my song!”

Who are the Crayons? That’s a fair question. Heck, even I didn’t know who the Crayons were until I discovered them on the sixth volume of the ongoing series of International Pop Overthrow compilations, but when I happened upon their selection, a little ditty called “Allyson Fell Off the Bike,” I was enamored immediately. The slightly ominous riff at the beginning of the song instantly made me think of Echo & the Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon,” which was a surprising enough touch to hear on a collection of power-pop artists, and with my interest held, I was so swept up in the huge chorus that I knew it was time to head straight to my computer and find out if the Crayons had an entire album.

Fortunately, they did, and its title asked a highly appropriate question for a band called the Crayons: What Color Are You?

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