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chair, apartment

the sweater song

The monozygotic first and a third birthday party was at Golden Gardens, where hundreds of tiny white sailboats were warring off the coast. Either that, or they were preparing to attack while clusters of people gathered around balloons and paper-covered picnic tables squinting off into the distance, wondering if cannonballs would be a factor. Most thought not and continued walking their dogs or tending to the grilling duties. It turns out that they little boats are called "lasers," at least by wealthy-looking blond(e) teens departing at the end of the day.

On the way out to the park, I bought a couple of books that I vaguely remembered from my own childhood (how long must the royalties for children's book authorship last?) about little animals along with matching stuffed animals. Later, when I looked at the text, I noticed that they don't stand up to deconstruction. As far as I could tell, one is about a baby raccoon that escapes from his parents, narrowly avoid unnoticed dangers, overeats, and returns unnoticed. The other tells of a boy who may have stolen an egg from a mother duck and raises the duckling on his farm. Later, the duckling grows into a drake who's first experience with his own kind is to impregnate another duck, whether their egg is found by a curious youth remains unresolved.

But baby animals are cute, so we ignore the context and don't over-analyze. Including baby humans, who turn out to be very entertaining. This doesn't really even mention that the party was fun, funny stuff happened, and it was super good to see Amber, the twins, etc., but I guess that should be obvious.

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I think that my Olympic fever peaked at just the right time, and I mostly ignored the closing ceremonies except for a few glimpses between HBO programming and picking up a few groceries. Sometimes I find it difficult to tell if I'm hungry, which makes shopping for food more difficult.

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