Took Lemonade to the park for playtime with Norman and Hovis. They make easy friends. Their parents kept commenting on Lemonade’s eyes. Made me think of this photo.

As the partner of a high school English teacher, and as a mid-range Millennial with exceedingly traditional views, I have opinions about how the generations that came after me handle discomfort, discontent, and disagreement.

I too, experience a world that subjects top achievers to higher pressures than before, and that diminishes our collectivist outlook at every turn. Still, though, when I see a young athlete throwing a tantrum, I think of the participation trophy, and how it has created a cohort of people who all won the egg drop each year.

What made American Fiction (2023) such a delight to watch isn’t so much the stellar acting or the clever writing, but Cord Jefferson’s stunning ability to weave together irony and sincerity. It’s not often that I see the nuance in smart, unstereotypical Black characters who are hilarious, and who at the same time fill my heart with tenderness.

Overhauled my website UI today. I sometimes wonder if I’m making a mistake not keeping a changelog, but at the rate I’m going, it wouldn’t make much sense. Either way, settling on a paginated diary-style means I’m officially saying goodbye to my commitment to keeping this page under 250kb. I wouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, I get another sweet email from Norman Köhring reminding me of this fact.

Our neighbors Kate and Ross donated their lovely petrol sofa to us. It’s a two-piece, which we’ve enthusiastically turned into two separate sitting areas in our home. We’re not sure about its original legs, so for now, both sofas are on the floor. It makes me feel like I finally know what it’s like to be Japanese /s.

Last night, as I was tidying up before bed, I said to Anja I’m quite excited about keeping the sofa low, while also allowing for storage space. Anja has two modes: 0 and 100. As we say in Dutch: what’s in her head is not in her butt. It’s great when we need to get things done, but it’s also daunting when she gets her eyes on a new project.

“YOU HAVE YOUR NEURODIVERGENT THING, AND I HAVE MINE” I heard her shouting from the bedroom, as I’m sure she drew up an entire wood construction project in her head in the span of a minute.

Nothing ungovernable, it’s more like a hum. The hum of I’m not feeling at my best, of can’t get that argument out of my head, of what if, what if, what if; a hum that I eventually forget is there at all, even though it never ceases to soundtrack my every move.

I’m maintained and restricted by the ability to tune out whatever is suboptimal. By now I know it’s a common early-childhood survival skill that, while seeking …

Today I wondered:

• Why do people start wars in a world that has pickles?
• How can I manage a single Google Calendar that has RSS feeds from multiple venues in Amsterdam?