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.

The Proust Is in the Pudding

Jonah Lehrer, the author of several popular science books, debuted with a look at several examples of artists whose discoveries of the mind predated those made by researchers from the scientific community. In Proust Was a Neuroscientist, we read, for example, that Gertrude Stein—she of the “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose” fame—exposed the deep structure of language long before Noam Chomsky and other linguists.

Lehrer is a favorite of mine because of his aplomb in explaining scientific abstractions to those of us who last took a science class in the senior year of high school. For this and other reasons, he has been criticized, but the truth is that I wouldn’t be reading the scientific and research papers he cites had he not deciphered them for the general public. I look forward to reading Imagine: How Creativity Works, his newest release, later in the year for 50/50.

They (Lemonade) Stand Together

Ashtyn and Olivia joined forces to bring delicious Rhode-Island fare to the denizens of flyover country. The girls asked that I blend up the Del’s soft frozens while they and Reed flagged down passing pedestrians and motorists—including the Fed Ex delivery guy—and counted the earnings.

Berry Large

I give you—and by you, I mean us—conjoined organic strawberries from our fruit CSA.

Ice Cream of the Crop

We are nothing if not predictable. We—meaning me, Beni, and our kids—like to eat at the same three restaurants back home. Our weekends almost always include an early-morning fitness class, drinks at our bubble-tea shop, and a stop at the library. When we travel, we rarely stray from our favorite places, and tonight was no exception: Grandma Randi and Grandpa Tsune joined us in our tradition of hitting up one of the best ice-cream shops around.

Great Lakes Ice Cream Co. is a mere mile or two from their house, but it’s nearer and dearer to our hearts. Their homemade ice cream is to die for—and not from, one hopes, provided moderation is practiced—and worthy of a stop coming into, while staying in, and leaving town.

A Periodic Table for Two, Please

My hometown—where my parents still live—is home to a multinational chemical company where my father worked for many years. My high school shares the name of that corporation, and the rival high school’s nickname is the “Chemics.” My elementary school, as far as I know, still goes by the “Atoms.” Many townspeople have deposited their earnings at Chemical Bank, and some have imbibed at Bar Oxygen. And so it should come as no surprise that our choice for breakfast today has an elemental name, too.

Café Zinc claims a French bistro setting, but I haven’t spent enough time in French bistros to know if decorative lobster loaves and apples-in-wood-wine-rack displays are indigenous to said bistros. But what I do know for sure is that Beni and I shared a delectable meal, one enhanced by the ambience of the café and the absence of children’s voices, namely our own.

You know, you love your kids to pieces, but sometimes the best thing for all parties of the family is for the parents to enjoy a date night—or morning. (Really. We’re not picky.)