I never knew until this morning’s LinkedIn doomscrolling how fiercely I reject the act of labeling one’s own words as “food for thought”.

Yesterday, Lemonade and I got to meet puppy Ted. While I normally consider Lem to be the petite one in the canine dynamic, it was adorable to watch her engage with a puppy. A puppy who, because of his hip downtown Amsterdam lifestyle, rarely engages with other dogs. He was very shy, and took hours to even begin considering that he could get near Lemonade without her pulling out a knife.

Unrelated: great paella to boot!

I see an acquaintance in the street, a person I’ve met once before. They and Anja have known each other in passing for decades. “Here’s Zinzy”, they say to their partner, “I met …

A visual compendium to my commitment to bad weather. Greetings from Amsterdam, where it’s 10:24 and projected to hit 31 degrees Celsius later today.

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.