Cs Mentality

I might be on my way toward a minor for 50/50 in comediennes who write for TV shows. I read Mindy Kaling’s book earlier in the year; I have Samantha Bee’s on my nightstand and as a to-read. It seems as though many of these funny ladies are forever measured against Tina Fey—in fact, Kaling points this out in her book—but I like the comparison that a reviewer for the Washington Post makes for Merrill Markoe, the award-winning former head writer for the David Letterman show.

In her critique of Cool, Calm & Contentious, the reviewer rates Markoe as funny as David Sedaris. High praise, for sure, but not a stretch for anyone who reads her hilarious essay about her eternally overbearing and underwhelmed mother. As a collection, Markoe’s essays didn’t hold my attention the way Sedaris’s usually do, but that could be because I’m reading hers on a phone while vacationing in Hawaii. Forgive me—I might be distracted a bit.

Maui Wows Me

A few of the reasons why:

Welcomed Mat

We’re on our first full day of our Maui vacation. Beni and I are here—sans children—to commemorate our ten-year anniversary. One of the goals we set during our honeymoon in Hawaii was to get back to the islands a decade into our marriage. (Note to self: Make more of these paradise-based goals.)

We discovered that a hotel by ours was offering a community sunset yoga class this evening. We grabbed our mats—bath towels, actually—and some real estate in the crowded community room overlooking the horizon. The overcrowded space and air temperatures meant we were doing hot yoga, but the live music, inspirational instructors, and soul-nourishing views of the fading sun made it easy to see past—after I wiped the sweat from my eyes with my towel-mat, of course—the discomfort of profusely sweating through my shirt and shorts.

Lexicon Man

Awesome Book. Can’t Detail Every Fragment. Great, However. I Just Kept Looking Merrily Next On Pages. Quickly Readable. So Terrific. Unconventionally Varied Words. XOXO. Yours Zealously.

Last Man Standing (and Hunting and Trapping and . . .)

Before her tale of eating, praying, and loving inspired legions of (mostly) female fans to do the same, author Elizabeth Gilbert was writing essays about rugged men, including a profile for GQ on the modern naturalist Eustace Conway. The essay served as the inspiration for her book The Last American Man, which chronicles Conway’s peculiar ways of connecting with the land—including riding horseback across the country, and creating and living off a land preserve he calls Turtle Island.

The experiences of Eustace Conway are so divergent from those of the author herself, but their life stories are similar in that they are tales of self-discovery. Conway shuns modernity not as a publicity stunt but for a primal need to be one with nature; Gilbert escapes the fallout of a failed marriage by traveling the world to understand who she really is. For those of us whose moments of reflection go beyond what happens in front of the mirror when getting ready in the morning, their respective quest for authenticity serve as motivation. Although it’s unlikely I’ll ever trap animals for my clothing and food needs—and I may never visit an ashram in India (although the odds of the latter are greater than the former)—I find their paths instructional and inspirational.

Saint (Louis) Nothing New Under the Sun

Among my favorite “it’s hotter than . . .” sayings:

It’s hotter than the devil’s backside. 

It’s hotter than a firecracker lit on both ends. 

It’s hotter than it was 15 years ago—thanks to global warming. 

And I think it’s safe to now add, having tested this two years running:

It’s hotter than a visit to the Saint Louis Zoo at the end of June.

Sayonara (For Now)

After a quick breakfast—Reed’s dinosaurs feasted, too—at a coffeehouse by the hotel where my grandma was staying, we said goodbye to her in the lobby of said hotel, with the promise to come visit her in Japan in two summers.

X(-ed off the list), Y(ogurt) & Z(oo)

We zoomed through the zoo—it was a bit on the sweltering side today—and cooled down with some froyo afterward.

From Farm to Fork to Felicity

A foodie I’m not, but I am a fan of fine food—and certainly an advocate for choosing finer food options whenever possible. (On a basic level, it’s the idea of always passing on Taco Bell if there’s a taquería—or even a Chipotle—around.) I realize that we’re limited by our food/dining budgets, but I think an increased awareness and efforts to replace filler with actual food go toward the essential practice of nourishing our bodies—and souls.

We are fortunate to have an incredible farm-to-fork restaurant—fit for foodies and food enthusiasts—in our community, and it was the perfect setting for our meal marking the many miles my grandmother and her friend traveled to join us.

Return to the Fold

My Grandma Ayako is second from the left

My dear Japanese grandmother came back for a visit to the States for the first time in nearly a decade, and for her first major trip following the death of my grandfather. She was joined by her friend Mrs. Toge, and they joined my parents for a visit to our home.

Language barriers aside, our kids immediately took to our guests, and they to them. Watching the four of them create origami and communicate with one another was certainly a sight to behold (be-fold?).

Got the (Baked) Goods

Reed is our resident cookie connoisseur, bonbon bon vivant, and dessert devotee.

This Is About “Wild,” Which I’m Wild About

Where the Wild Things Are Bizarre

Da da da da da da da da Circus, da da da da da da da da Afro, Circus Afro Circus Afro polka dot polka dot polka dot Afro!

Now try to get that out of your head.

You’re welcome.

The movie, as it turns out, isn’t half bad. And the 3D effects made the movie-watching experience especially fun.

Face to Face

Faces and persons to whom those faces belong reunited during a family gathering organized by Beni’s cousin.

Happy Campers

We enrolled the little guy in Sporty Spiders, a class that teaches youngsters the basics of baseball and soccer. Early protestations of excessive heat and shyness aside, Reed learned to swing a bat like Mays and his leg like Messi.

His older sister, a former Sporty Spider herself, moved her game to the university field, where she partook in a soccer camp hosted by the men’s soccer coach at my school.

Impressive Feet

The Summer Olympics start in London at the end of July, but today we got opening ceremony-worthy performances from Olivia and the many local children who study dance where she does. She and her fellow dancers get the gold—some, quite literally, with their canary-hued costume—for their artistry and talents.

Tooling Around

It looks like someone’s graduated from Build-A-Bear.

My Dear Miss Watson

When I was young, I had a book that listed the home addresses and PO boxes of famous athletes. The author advised us autograph seekers to be patient, persistent, and payers of postage—well-paid athletes can’t pay for stamps!—so as to increase our chances of success.

Eager to test the outlined methods, I sent a dozen short notes and self-enclosed stamped envelopes to several postage-bereft professionals. I waited patiently for a month—per the author’s suggestion—but eagerly in the month-to-three-month likely-to-respond period.

The result? Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

I’m hoping, for Olivia’s sake, that British actresses are better at responding to their fans—and especially to those fans celebrating a birthday today.

Atop Ten

Beni and I have ascended ten years of wedded mostly-bliss. She remains as stunning and feisty as the day we married—and met, for that matter, in high school—and I’m doing my best to keep up with her and our kids on our collective journey over life’s peaks and through its valleys.