The Last Day of Camp Zed...

The Last Day of Camp Zed will officially be a beach day according to it's lone camper. Zo is insisting on the beach (after watching some girls on Sesame Street play in the sand) and so what our lone camper wants, our lone camper usually gets, except for hard drugs, pellet guns, and complete autonomy.

I'm excited and sad. I'm not one of those people who bemoan the end of August as the end of the summer. It'll be beautiful for at least another month, and then absolutely wonderful all Fall, and in this area we won't see snow until shortly before Christmas, at least none that stays. Summer isn't over just because school starts or a calendar flips. It's summer as long as you want it to be. Some of us have been on summer vacation all our lives.

I loathe how people seemingly roll up the carpets and pack things away almost as soon as August arrives. Rather than living the hell out of the last two months of incredible weather (it just gets better once September hits) some of us prefer to start preparing for the leaves to start dropping. I tried to buy a kite yesterday and fell flat in my effort. I could have grabbed any number of Halloween decorations though. I prefer to celebrate the summer until it kicks me out...last one to leave the party kind of thing...last man out of Saigon, except by Saigon I mean summer.

There are still ball games to get to, still outdoor concerts...there are still beach days, and still amusement parks and zoos open...we're still wearing shorts and t-shirts...it's summer, and I'm not leaving.

As for Camp Zed...well, even though we say todays the last day, I don't think it really is. If I'm living the kind of life that I want to be living then it's Camp Zed every day. Viva la Camp Zed!

As old Willie might have said, "once more into the beach my good friends!" or something like that.

Camp Zed to Sin City in a Single Day

By the time Zo is falling asleep tonight, after the last rousing day of Camp Zed, I'll be on a flight to Las Vegas. June and I found an embarrassing deal for five days in the desert, and we snatched it up, which will make it the first time we've spent more than 2-3 days away from Zoey in two and a half years. We're a little overdue.

Baachan and Grandad have stepped up to the plate to handle all things Zed, and it's very likely that just as Zed has finally settled into a deep, deep sleep tonight, we'll be walking through the front doors of The Flamingo on Las Vegas Blvd.

Now, there's a day of camp to navigate, and I should probably pack.

Dear Matthew...you weren't very nice but I kind of owe you a big high five

My first roommate ever (besides my parents and brother) was a guy named Matthew. He was a turd. For privacy sake, and out of respect, I should probably refrain from telling you his full name, but Matthew Anselmo was a pile of cheap hair gel that could talk...sh!t, that could talk sh!t. In fact, Matthew, if you ever read this after having Googled yourself, I suggest you go and Google yourself. You were one of the reasons I withdrew from college and left Missouri. You were a giant black hole of turdburglery and I loathed you from the minute I met you. BTW, thanks for taking my money and opening my mail. That was my favorite part of our short, unproductive relationship. Anyway, if I'd have had this roommate I may have never left Missouri, which means that I might have never have grabbed a backpack and wasted a decade of my life on Kerouacian awesomeness, would have never wandered around Big Sur surviving El Nino attacks, and never scuffled through Europe on several occasions with nothing to do but rack up the stellar memories. I'd have never landed in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I'd have never met my wife, June. I'd have never climbed a rock, camped in the desert, hung out backstage at The Troubador, or had addresses in Brooklyn and Waikiki. I'd have never met this incredible Zoey kid, and that trumps all of that other crap. I guess our relationship was super productive in hindsight. Still, I'd have rather had this dude for a roommate.

Search Terms That Surprise...and Baffle

It's not so much that we're surprised that someone wants to see Jenn Elfman's boobs, 'cause why not, but it's a strange thing to find someone searching that leads them right to your blog...a strange thing indeed.

Cate & Levi...and Mitch

Zo with her new Cate & Levi bag...workin' it perfect.

Our friend, Michelle, sent home presents for Zoey. Mitch works as a designer/creative brain type girl at Cate & Levi and manages to spoil Zed blind on occasion with fairly lavish gifts that she might not otherwise enjoy. Both Cate & Levi, and Michelle Cooper are cool as cucumbers. Check 'em out...Cate & Levi, I mean, not Mitch, she's married. My friend, Coop, would be upset about that.

A Lesson in the Physics of Friendship

Two thirds of the best people I know were side by side across a table from me on Thursday night, while two more of the highest quality people life will ever chuck at you occupied either side of me, and all I could manage was a single gritty, pixelated cell phone shot of the night. Fool.

But my foolishness was pure bliss. I haven't felt that fortunate in awhile, at least, not in that completely unnecessary way...you know, the way good luck feels when you stumbled into it, not when it's planted, nurtured and harvested...this was just unfiltered happenstance that these four friends and I were tipping pint glasses, laughing, losing ourselves in shared and often times deeply consuming side conversations. You don't set out in life to secure these kinds of friendships. They just happen, and not often enough.

My friends Andrew, and Keith, and Mitch, and Matty are easy yo brag about, so I do, and often. It's an obvious enough characteristic of the group of people that sat around a crowded table on Thursday night that it was noted out loud, by each of us in turn, and on several spontaneous occasions. It's an exercise in the energy of good people if you wanted to explore the phenomenon further.

Keith carries with him the weight of several hundred admirers, all quite impressive I'd guess. His sister and her husband, responsible for my introduction to Keith, are impressive people...a prosthetic engineer, and a teacher. Amazing human beings.

Andrew's wife, Michelle, is beautiful and kind, and a favorite of my my own wife. She loves her, and that's no exaggeration. It's easy to imagine adoring Michelle. She takes advantage of her art school education by designing plush toys and puppets and accessories with re-purposed materials for children. Paralyzingly cool.

Andrew's family, his parents, his sisters whom I'm most familiar with, are unfathomably incredible people, equal parts cool and contented, overwhelmingly close, kind...oh so kind.

Matty, whom I became instant friends with what seems like a billion years ago, is as intelligent a man as I know, and his own wife, Jill, is impressively thoughtful and sweet.

Together the group is a living, breathing, laughing experiment in the boundless magnetic power of impressive people. It's always a selfish, indulgent feeling when you soak yourself in their company but it's often difficult to find any less satisfaction when sharing them with others. They often make the others so much more impressive themselves.

It was a consuming night of smiles and even sighs. I don't know where we were. I don't. I read the sign but forgot it the instant another conversation started. We nearly forgot to eat. We paid no attention to the bill, nor to the hour long wait for a table. We were just happy to imagine a world that feels that good every day. It wasn't just what I needed, it was what each of us human beings are desperately looking for every day. When loving and feeling loved intersect it explains a lot toward believing in magic.

Sometimes a Great Notion...

“Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.” - C.S. Lewis

It's easy enough to go the better part of a decade and not see someone, or perhaps to see someone not nearly enough, and then suddenly you do, and you're reminded how quickly time slips past and all the reasons why you unabashedly fell in love with them in the first place.

That was last night.

Tornado Schmornado

All of Southwestern Ontario is under a tornado warning less than a week after Goderich, ON was devastated by a tornado on Sunday. We're drinking Tecate, watching Dazed and Confused, and laughing at our daughter. Oblivious to the warnings, she's in bed...or supposed to be in bed. We just heard the sound of her keyboard coming down the stairs, and a quick look around the corner shows her desk lamp on. She's rocking her way through Environment Canada's weather warnings it seems. Maybe we all should be.

In case you needed some perspective...

Meg over at The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette Bombshell posted this today, and it knocked me over. It's been a long time since I read Salinger, and I forgot how incredible he is...Read this and stew in it for the rest of the night.

"...among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and sickened by human behavior. you're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. you'll learn from them--if you want to. just as someday, if you have something of offer, someone will learn something from you. it's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. and it isn't education. it's history. it's poetry."

J.D. Salinger - The Catcher in The Rye

That Meg is like the the Mariano Rivera of blogs. I'm not kidding. Lights out. Read the next quote. Holy Mother of Mickey Mantle.

It's Funny...

It's funny how little attention the world pays, to you, that is...It's funny how we expect it to, but if we disappeared tonight there'd still be a tomorrow...It's funny how inconsequential we all are, you know, in the great, grand scheme of things. So what if you're great at your job. There's somebody better. So what if you think you're kinda cool. There are an infinite number of people who are cooler, and...in case you forgot, there's that whole first thing I mentioned. There really aren't that many people paying attention to you. Go ahead, wear the same shirt for three days in a row and see who notices. One, maybe two people...out of the sea of people that you interact with each day two people will notice that you're a dirtbag.

It's funny how important we feel the events in our lives are, when there are so many people experiencing so many other important events as to render ours ridiculously petty, silly even. It's funny how we're always changing...how what we enjoyed five years ago means nothing to us now, and how what defined us a decade ago seems impossible to comprehend today. It's funny how we get older but our memories stay exactly where we made them.

It's funny how life takes you places that you never intended for it to take you, that you never knew existed even, and that all of the efforts to land elsewhere are fairly fruitless in the knowledge that we go where our situations bid us to go, and we make the most of what we find when we get there, or we don't...and those people who don't are miserable.

It's funny how "normal" could be more accurately defined as "familiar," and how what you see isn't what you get at all but rather, just what you see.

It's funny that living and dying is less defined by how we did it then by how long we did it. It's funny how frightened we are to take responsibility for our own...whatever...actions, children, happiness, anger, problems...It's funny how we're more inclined to wait for something to happen than we are to meet it halfway. It's funny how we usually end up exactly where we deserve to be.

It's funny how parenthood changes us, and it's funny how it doesn't too. If you're too cool, too oblivious, too self-centered, too angry or vindictive, too complacent, too spoiled, or too indifferent to being split open, turned inside out, made to adjust every single thought and belief, and set down dizzy and confused...well then maybe you'll always be those things, and never once find out who you maybe really are, or how quickly a little girl can spin you in circles and leave you breathless, happy, and uncertain of yourself.

It's funny, that's all.

It's funny how the only thing that really, really matters, I mean in the end, is what you helped build her into.

One of my new all-time favorite photos...

If June is around, and there's a camera handy, it's very likely that you're going to end up snapped up and framed into a photo before you even know it...and so that's what happened last night while we were out psuedo-celebrating Zoey's seven day sojourn of no accidents and no diaper ruination. As we munched and struggled to reign in an excitable little girl, the sun slowly slipped down over Michigan and passing freighters and sailboats. We settled into one of our favorite spots, this super sized, wicked-old looking, perfectly placed pavilion overlooking the beach, and often empty, and we soaked up a rapidly disappearing summer.

As Zed and I fiddled with scratching her name onto a cup, Mom was busy snatching up memories. I thought that the light was nice for chilling with my family at the beach. June thought it was nice for photos. Of the two opinions, hers was more accurate. Mine was bang-on too, but hers yielded this awesome shot. It feels like summer ending, and summer camp, and a Dad and his daughter, and a dozen other sigh inducing ideas, and I love it.

Silly Kid Stuff That Really Isn't Silly or Kid Stuff

Ever since I was a kid I wanted a car like this. I never really got into cars like my uncles or father had. I played sports instead. I read a lot. I was drawing and swimming in rivers and running around a wide countryside rather than dreaming of motor oil and gasoline (but oh how I loved the smell of gasoline). SOmehow, through all that seeming indifference, there was this anchor attached to whatever was firm enough to hold it in place , that tethered me to a car like this.

I think part of it was the overly romantic connection to a history I never knew, to a place where things seemed easier to define, but part of it was just the common awe that we all share when we're in the presence of manmade awesomeness. Last weekend we slipped over to catch the Woodward Dream Cruise for the first time and it was all shock and awe, with some ten year old boy giggles thrown in. It was incredible, and I'm forever making it a part of my summer, every summer. I'm still giddy from it.

The air was thick with the rumble of American muscle, and there was a faint smell of gasoline everywhere. Tires squealed, and squaked, people were smiling and street signs shaking...it was one of the coolest scenes I think I've ever seen. There was an endless parade of history purring past us on the street, and we explored parts of Detroit's suburbs that we were never all that familiar with but now love...Ferndale, Royal Oak, Birmingham...it was so much fun I nearly blew a gasket, or busted a tie rod...something.

Now all I want to do is find some cheap piece of American metal to marginally invest our time and energy into and spend portions of our summer feeling like we fell out of American Graffiti. For a short period of time I think Zed would find that pretty cool. I know June would, 'cause despite what your average woman might admit, it was fun to watch her melt in the presence of a smokin' hot car. She even admitted as much. As cool as it is to find a boy who listens and laughs and is fun to be around...it wouldn't hurt if he drove a car like the ones we saw on Saturday. Put together that package and watch teh rest of the world fall away in your asphalt wake.

Maybe next year we can actually cruise Woodward, instead of stumbling down it's length in awe.

How do you hopscotch?

Zoey doesn't give a s#!t about the rules of hopscotch. She doesn't care to learn the rules, doesn't care if she's doing it wrong (your wrong, not hers) and she has almost no fear of making mistakes in whatever game she made for herself. All those hopscotch lines laid out on the concrete just don't look like regular old concrete, so...I wanna play on 'em.

We all need a little more of that. Their only rules if you believe them to be rules, socially speaking...don't go and start stealing cars 'cause, you know, you don't believe in the concept of personal property. I'm talking about the rules that govern your social and emotional this and thats. Don't let other people define you. Don't do something because it's what people expect. Don't fall in line if a line is tha last thing you want to be a part of. Just be, and be happy.

If you want to play hopscotch, play hopscotch, but if you want the lines in the hopscotch outline to be the only thing keeping you from the hot molten lava of asphalt beneath you, then cool. Do that. Just don't complain about hopscotch and then start hopping. People might look at you a little funny when you're teetering precariously on the edge of some painted line on the cement, and, of course, some people will be frustrated that you're in the way of their game of hopscotch, but in the absolute end...like let's say symbolically the end of morning recess, 'cause until you're dead or have given up, there's always another recess...people will you respect you more for being yourself, and doing your own thing than they ever will for hopping when you just don't want to hop.

How do you hopscotch?

Down Woodward...

Today's the Woodward Dream Cruise and that's all I have to say about that. Adios muchcahos!

An Open Letter to Our Second Favorite Day of the Week

Dear Friday,

I hope you don't find it offensive when I suggest that Zoey and I are going to kick your @$% today. Of course, I don't mean that in the literal sense, we would never do that, and naturally, you're a day and so subsequently...no a$%, but what I mean is that we have every intention of using up every hour of your generosity and milking you dry like you were some kind of farm goat. Sorry, bad analogy.

As you might imagine, we absolutely adore you, but I think most people do. However, we are clearly aware that we only get the chance to celebrate you a finite number of times in our lives so we're going to make the most of you today, and every time our paths cross, from now until forever. In fact, I'm going to teach my daughter to do the same so that long after I'm gone someone can still be busy kicking your lovely face in...you know, hypothetically.

So, with all due respect, hang on tight 'cause Zed and I are going to ride you hard and put you away wet today...hope you've got your saddle strapped on tight.

Much love and respect...

Brian

What you don't know can hurt you...

"Everybody is a genius. If you judge a fish by it's ability to climb a tree, it will live it's whole life believing that it's stupid." - Albert Einstein

That Einstein guy was a smart cookie, and I love that quote. I don't even know why I'm posting it except that yesterday reminded me that Zoey is everything that we invest in her. She's every bit the advice we give her, the lessons that we teach, and the people that we are...every day, no days off, no one time exceptions, no excuses. Our encouragement matters. Our criticism, both timely and untimely, matters. The beliefs and stereotypes that we perpetuate in front of her, matter.

I think I'm going to be a big fan of dropping quotes subtly in her lap...via prints on the wall in our house, or maybe...no, that's it. I think we'll have a constantly evolving, rotating, or growing collection of framed quotes in her room...you know, things to unintentionally ponder, to subliminally sink in. At least to leave her aware, you know, anything but foreign to their meaning. Things like this, and this, or this one. Without question I want to frame this and hang it where she can see it every day. It's something that I read a long time ago and that I always remembered.

Think about the smallest memories that have stuck with you your entire life...the words someone said, or the thing that you read. It doesn't always have to be a big deal kind of thing...the giant lesson learned. It can be a print on your wall that you read every time time you looked up from your homework. Don't underestimate the power of not knowing that something existed, that some phrase or advice or perspective was out there to steer and shape you. Until you've heard it, seen it, or read it, how can you know it? We don't know what we don't know, it's that simple. Blank canvas, it's what I tell myself every time I lose perspective...blank canvas, and us with all the paint.

Zo's First Lesson in Bullying

Today Zo got bullied. She totally did, and by a dirty faced little psycho mall urchin running wild and largely unsupervised in the mall play area, which makes it something like ten times more stereotypical and at least three times easier to believe. He followed Zed around and wouldn't stop getting in her face, literally right in her face. He would just growl and stare at her, side step when she sidestepped, circle her when she turned around to avoid him. He was a filthy little freak. He ripped the hat right off of her head twice. He squealed at adults. He ran by and jumped on my feet. His parents dropped in and out of their role as parents, and even in those moments when they happened to accidentally be there, they did nothing to curb their pitiful offspring's nasty enthusiasm. So Zo did.

She took care of her own business assertively. She never asked for help, not once. Sure, she tumbled back into the safety of dad's arms a few times, but didn't ask for help, and didn't ask to leave. She didn't get aggressive, but was plenty defensive, and told the little monster, in no uncertain terms, that she preferred a world without him in it. My words, not hers.

Never thought about what kind of school your child will attend someday? Some have a much greater density of urchins. Zoey would rather eat gravel than go to a school with that particular monster. She never wants to go the mall play area again, she says. We made sure to praise her for how she handled the situation, and reinforce the calm and cool she exercised, but there's no getting 'round the damage a bully does. Zo's two and a half, and a champion socializer, and now grub boy has ruined someplace for her. Cool to see her stick up for herself though...and cooler still to see her not resort to a violent outburst like her father might have. I'd have one punched the dirt right off that funster's face.

Rise and shine...

Rise and shine. Are you $#&%ing kidding me? Lately I've been getting about six hours of sleep a night, and it's my own fault, but rise and shine just doesn't seem possible. Rise and shimmer maybe. Rise and flicker a little is something I could possibly manage, but rise and shine...no way.

I need coffee...and a breakfasty sandwich of some sort.

I'd like to kick Thursday's ass but don't have the slightest idea how yet. It'll come to me.

Raindrops Keep Falling...

Every once in awhile a creeping kind of rain cloud type feeling finds me and sets me down in dark rooms and keeps me from going outside. It makes my patience short and my apathy long, and I loathe it. It's found me today, despite blue skies and beautiful girls, it's found me and books, or blogging, or coffee, or baseball, or nothing can rid me of the Eeyoresque look I have when I stare in the mirror. Today I need a haircut, some time to gather myself without distraction, a new and exciting discovery (music, book, long lost t-shirt, I dunno), and I need to be reminded that getting a base hit three times out of ten gets you into the Hall of Fame, but you're still allowed to be pissed off when you strike out...or when it just feels like you're striking out.

I'm good...just in a bit of a surprise funk. It happens. I just tell people about it, that's the difference.

It's not unusual that it happens after I do something good, like visiting my friend Dustin, or coming home from a trip, or whatever it is that fills me back up after being depleted. The good times are good, and their sudden and noticeable absence only reminds me that they're gone. I wish I lived closer to the people I wanted to spend time with, but I don't. I wish that I had endless distractions at my disposal, but I don't. I want to go to bookstores that don't exist, and parks that aren't here, and zoos every day. I want to people watch where all the people don't look the same, and I want to own less than what I do.

I want a lot of things.

Then there are the things that I should be doing. Why aren't I writing more? How come there are a million and half sketches, and no book for Zo? Where do all the ideas go after I think them up and do nothing about them?

Curious, this rain Eeyoresque cloud mood that strikes me...curious indeed.

Hey Look...Free Unsolicited Advice

It's a good idea to keep an eye on your ice cream when in the company of leacherous scum like your Dad. That's good advice. Write that down.

Here's some more good advice...

Find a big river that requires big beautiful bridges to span it...if there are big boats floating around, even better...even cooler if the river separates two countries.



Don't settle for anything less than a playground and an ice cream shop beneath it...bring a couple of beautiful girls if you can swing it...pay particular attention to the girl that is amazed by it all and likes to throw rocks into the fast moving current...do it as often as you can...but in the end it's probably most important to keep an eye on your ice cream.

Oh...and bring a photographer for best results.

What the expletive...

A new Zoey Blog feature...

WHAT THE #%&! IS THIS...

Seriously, what the #%&! is this? That's ridiculous.

Oh...wow...what the #%&! is this? That's cool. I wanna do that.

What the #%&! is this nonsense? Now that's cool.

Alright. What the #%&! is this? No seriously...what the #%&! is that?

What the #%&! is this, and why don't I have one?

Someone somewhere in Dallas (or on Adelaide Street in Woodstock) is thinking, What the #%&! is this? right now...and they should be.

Jesus H. Delman Young. What the #%&! is this!? That sounds incredible!

Hmmm, What the #%&! is this? It's mega bad @S$, that's what it is.

Whoa! What the #%&! is this!? Perfection, I think. Gerry, get out your tool belt. I'll need a lot of help.

Ahahaha...what the #%&! is this!? It's the kind of Japanese cuisine that this gaijin can manage with smooth results.

Oh my. What the #%&! is this!? It's our lunch tomorrow, that's what!

What the #%&! is this? His name is Tayshaun Prince and he's our next family member.

You know what the #%&! this is? It's Zoey at fourteeen I hope.

I know what the #%&! this is. It's my new mantra, that's what.

I'll start with this.

Totally Psyched

Dunno who the original photographer is but June found it here.

While we were on the road this morning June sent me this photo with a note that asked if, I was this psyched when we got married? I responded with an emphatic yes, and then remembered leaving City Hall in New York and getting in a good fist pump in celebration of our recent ascent in wedding bliss.

I have a wedding story so unlike a lot of the guys I know. It was worthy of a fist pump.

Do you remember...

Do you remember when you hardly needed anything to have fun? It's tough to imagine that there was a time when all you needed were some hopscotch lines painted on the pavement, or a tree fort, or an empty beach to have the most fun of your life. What happened to that feeling. I want it back.

The Things That We Keep

Flying our flag on fridges and beaches and anywhere Camp Zed goes...forever and ever.

Sometimes I need reminding that not all fathers get the privilege of spending entire summers with their children. I do, and occasionally I forget the immeasurable value of that. Every once in awhile I need a nudge to wake me up to the wonder of it. I'm going to camp, with my daughter, every day. That's pretty incredible.

Just as these dog days of summer roll in I've needed more than a little motivation to push through exhausted creativity, a lingering ankle issue and the pain that goes with it, and I've tripped over the fact that I've done not a single thing for me this summer...not a single thing for us, for my wife and I. It's entirely been about Zed. Just as I was wondering how I might pick myself up and dust myself off I found some perspective at the kitchen table...painting flags for Camp. As Zo destroyed a random bit of cloth, I worked more diligently, and when we were done, we had a flag to drag along with us on all our little adventures...to the beach, to the pool, to the park, on adventures...We could fly our flag for the remainder of the summer, and for every summer after that, and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. A Dad and his daughter at camp together...their camp, no one else's, their own smile inducing memory factory of sunscreen and swimming suits, of sun and sand and smores.

I haven't watched the news in six weeks. I sometimes forget what day it is. Camp Zed has been a gift, and every summer that we get to add adventures to the pile will be a similar souvenir of the time we're able to waste together. I think I'll keep this flag tucked away with me forever. There's very little I value right now as much as this ragged bit of fabric and paint. Camp Zed...turning princesses into pirates, and Dads into nostalgic, sentimental fools.

Knights of The Asphalt Table

Zed's become increasingly curious about knights and castles, a by-product of all those princess stories, I'm sure. She wants to see pictures of castles, she's baffled by the armor slung from the shoulders of knights, and then there's that whole business of dragons and magic etc...intriguing etc...She's smitten.

Now if we can just get her to call Lancelot by his proper name instead of the one she presently uses indiscriminately...

Parkinglot.

Oh my.

Tied, Dyed, and Officially Obsessed

This is the end result of an afternoon of fairly high maintenance fun via a tie dye kit and some ambition. Zed can't stop asking to wear one of her shirts. I think this might be the start of an unreasonable affection for tie dye.

Hey, Check Us Out!

The Zoey Blog has been nominated for the Best Daddy Blog at Parents Magazine. Whoa! Kinda cool. I dunno what that all means (except more traffic on an already busy blog) but it sounds awfully nice. Whatever the deal is, we'll take the compliment and run with it. So far the leading blog only has 16 votes. Huh? We can beat that in an afternoon if people are logged onto their computers as this beautiful day outside unfolds...uhh, yeah, maybe we might need a little more time than that.

Either way...cool.

Click on the little pink icon to the right and vote now. Do it or your toilet will clog and overflow later tonight, I promise. That's what happens when you don't vote.

The Princesses of Detroit

Like a lot of little girls I suspect, Zoey has a little fascination with princesses. It started, I'm sure, with her story books. The old Disney books are the worst culprits of this wicked fairy tale gender stereotyping deal. It's awful. I'm not particularly sensitive about such things but I'm regularly flabberghasted by the over the top stereotyping. Every one of those books has a princess that needs kissing or rescuing from some chiseled jaw looking prince with bad hair. It's ridiculous. So it shouldn't have been surprising when I played this Supremes video at the kitchen table this morning and Zo asked if the girls were princesses. I suppose they look like it. I told her the first thing that popped into my head.

"Yes," I said confidently, "they are princesses. They're the Princesses of Detroit."

She seemed satisfied with that answer. Me too. They definitely were. My Mom remembers a year, 1967 or '68 she thinks, where absolutely every song on the radio was a Motown song...every one. The world's never seen that kind of a musical phenomenon before and never will again. Princesses of Detroit indeed.

Jerry's Kids...Camp Zed Pays Tribute to Jerry Garcia

Camp without tie dyed tees is like...well, I dunno what it's like. That's a difficult analogy to stretch but trust me when I say that summer camp without tie dye just isn't summer camp, either that or you're really rich and your camp didn't stoop to dyed fabrics and faint counterculture tributes for one more generation of funsters removed from the fray of communal camping. We do.



Dad brewed up the idea over coffee this morning. Mom used up her lunch break to help out, and in the true spirit of it all, Zed got naked, doffing only an apron.

Now that you can buy full tie dye kits with bottles, dyes, rubber bands, etc...it's fool proof. You don't need dreads, bead necklaces, or a faint patchouli smell like you used to. All you need is the kit, then grab some soda ash, to help the dye set in the fabric. Done. Well, kinda done. You'll need a bucket, a flat stain resistant surface (big cardboard box), Saran or plastic wrap, a dinner fork or a larger BBQ fork, some rubber gloves, and a tray or aluminum foil dish to set the finished shirts in. Done, and done. It's really that easy. You're almost ready to tour with Phish,or at least hit a single Bob Weir show.



It's not exactly the best hands on project for a two and half year old, but when you've got a good one, and some extra hands, it's fine. Zo couldn't touch the soda ash, and we weren't thrilled with the idea of Zed and a squirt bottle full of colored dye, so she helped set things up, helped us select colors and tie our rubber bands onto the shirts.



She even twisted tees, and in a hilarious turn of events, helped out with the Saran wrap. She was most thrilled about her rock responsibility...placing rocks on our fresh Saran wrap so that it didn't get all tangled or blow away. Mostly I think she was just happy to be outside naked.



It really is an idiot proof project. If you drag your funster along to gather up materials, buy a shirt or three, and then prep and finally get down to business, you've wrapped up a huge amount of their time, and then all you have to do is twist, tie, and squirt dye...BLAM, instant hero.



We all made a shirt or two...Zo made three. It only took about 30-45 minutes but she was thrilled, and was desperate to see the end results. Sadly, she has to wait a good few hours for the dye to really set, and because little miss 6 AM needs a nap!



What a cool afternoon, and what a timely idea. We listened to the Grateful Dead when we settled down for a nap, and Zoey told me all about her stance on harsher drug sentencing and the commercialization of what's left of the touring Dead scene. She's a smart kid. More than one Jerry would be proud (the grandfatherly one spells his name with a G not a J). She's also a tired kid. As I type this the little hippie is asleep in her cardboard castle. Apparently, tie-dying takes endurance, or at least, the excitement surrounding tie-dying does.

Castles and Cuteness, etc...etc...

Today we built a castle...a big castle...one big enough for dragons to attack and princesses to defend. Yeah, don't bother fighting any beat down on stereotypes that we embrace here in this house. According to Zoey, Princesses fight dragons all the time.

It's a large castle, made from the box that our patio set came in. It's got towers and windows and a drawbridge etc...and it's got the most devastatingly cute defender of liberty that the kingdom it looms over has ever enjoyed.

She's tough. Ain't no dragons messing with this castle.

So I'll just say I love you, which I never said before...

I never set out to love the Grateful Dead, no, in fact I probably don't truly love the Dead in any specific sense, so to speak. I fell in love with Jerry Garcia. When Jerry sings there might not be a better sound in the universe. When you hear those first pickings of Jerry's unique brand of guitar work...well, same. I never got that vibe from Weir. I never got as hung up on a Dead song that didn't have Jerry front and center. Not that I don't love everything that the band ever did, but nothing struck me down to my core as much as the sound of Jerry's voice. So in that regard, I'm not exactly a Deadhead. I am, however, as fully committed to worshipping at the church of Jerry as anyone. No one sinks deeper into my psyche than Jerry Garcia.

Sixteen years ago today Jerry died. It was only six weeks after the band played the Palace of Auburn Hills here in Michigan, and I skipped it for some vague, unremembered reason. I've regretted it every day since August 9th, 1995. Truth be told, I regretted it the very minute after I made my decision.

If you've never fallen into the bottomless hole that is a deep, deep affection for the Grateful Dead, or Jerry Garcia, then maybe you need to start right now. I've been listening to Standing on the Moon, and Black Muddy River all day, and of course, you shouldn't skip Ripple, but in the end it's up to you to find your favorite.

It sounds hokey, sure, and I understand the stereotypes and even the hesitation to join the less than glamorous legions of the Dead, but it's what resonates inside your head and heart that matters most, and for me that was Jerry. Even now I use his voice to ease my mind, to soothe the savage beast that is anxiety or uneasiness. It's not just the music. Sometimes it's an interview, sometimes it's just reading something about him. I don't much believe in prophets, nor do I deify the Dead in any way, but there's just something about Jerry that always helped make everything okay for me.

Today's just another day, but kinda not really. For me it's a chance to remind myself that even the best of things come to an end, but the music can never stop.

Living With Paparazzi...

I think Mummy pretty much always has a camera around, at least often enough to capture some pretty great stuff...like this fun series of post-bath, pre-bedtime pinky swearing shenanigans.







I must have said something really funny...or maybe Zo farted. She laughs pretty hard at her own farts.

Snakes and Toddlers...and Whimpering Dads

Snakes suck, or so I always told myself, until yesterday. Snakes don't suck. They're actually pretty cool. Cool enough that we picked them up and played with 'em. Zed slung one around her neck. I manhandled a few. No one panicked. No one died, or lost an eye. They weren't slimy, not even close. They weren't fast or sneaky, in fact, every single move they made was quite deliberate, and they took their time doing it. They were nothing like what I had thought. Thanks to the traveling reptile show from Laurentian University that made a stop at our local library, and thanks to the demands placed on you by a super inquisitive toddler, I know a lot more about them, and I'm more comfortable than ever. Well, maybe not ever. I'm not lining up with all the neighborhood kids to compare our ectothermal friends anytime soon, but I'm good. I'm cool now.

Zoey surprised me, and perhaps more astonishingly, I surprised myself. I really surprised myself. I used to play with snakes. When I was a boy we would collect garter snakes and race them in abandoned eave troughs behind the garage. I remember waiting for my turn with my little green prodigy writhing around my hand and forearm. It didn't bother me one bit back then, but then somehow I was conditioned to freak out a little every time I saw one...every time. I don't recall how or why that happened, it just did, and for the last million years I've loathed them. No more. Nope, I'm alright now.

We watched the show, learned as much as you can with a wiggling, eager to get moving toddler sitting in one of those flip-up movie seat/death traps for the under 40lb set, and waited in a rather hectic line...well, sorta line, for our chance to touch a snake. I had no idea that ten minutes later we'd be wearing snakes like leis around our necks, or that other kids would trip out while both Zed and I earned our medals of honor for the year. It was incredible. When it was all over with and our hands were still feeling the strange sensation of having collapsed around writhing instruments of fear and scaly weirdness, we texted Mom and she flipped!

"What!?" She typed back. "You guys did what!? That's unbelievable! No way."

"Yep," I thumbed back, "we did. We're cool."

"I need to hear more."

So later that night we filled her in on how she's got a couple of cool and calm snake wranglers living right here in her house. That's not to say that either of us, well me, is eager to track down and commune with the giant Easter Fox snake in Baachan and Grandad's backyard, but right now we're good with what we've been exposed to. Zoey has yet to associate fear with snakes, and I've suddenly challenged and overcame my own irrational fears, all in one quiet but exciting afternoon at Camp Zed. Wow, what a toddler can make a grown man do...no whimpering, only wide grins.

Good Morning Monday

It's already Monday morning. When did that happen? Wait. It's August...August 8th to be specific. Just when did that awful thing happen? Summer's half over. We haven't done anything. We haven't gone camping. We haven't road tripped. We haven't gone to a single outdoor concert...not one ballgame. What's happening?

Oh yeah. We just bought a house, and I'm technically unemployed until September. That's what happened.

Well, here's to hoping that today is good. Maybe we can find some adventures close to home. Let's start with drawing. It's always nice to start with drawing. Get the creative juices flowing, focus on nothing but the pencil and paper, kill time...

What to do with a wet Monday? Hmmm...think, think, think.

A Kind and Benevolent (if not flawed) Leader

That's not photoshopped. It's a real hat made by a bored Dad.

Sundays are made for figuring out ways not to waste the entire day. So while it rained really hard outside, we laughed really hard inside. Isn't this the cutest Emperor of the French that you've ever seen. Still vibrant, still impossibly defiant and victorious...a long way from his invasion of Russia and his untimely demise at Waterloo.

Of course, kitchens were where he did his best work. Who doesn't, really?

How do you fill your Sundays? I betcha it's not as ridiculously as we do.

We've got a bit of a photo problem...

I don't know how many times I've sat and stared at a photograph that came from one of the cameras in our home and was thankful that we've been so deliberate about taking care to document this part of our lives. There hasn't been a week that has passed since Zoey's birth that we don't have some incredible monument to those moments...on this blog, framed on a shelf or some wall, loose in a basket or on some table. We've been super attentive to capturing as many moments as we could possibly steal away with a camera, and someday it will be the pride of our ancient lives.

Zed's gotten so used to a camera snapping in her face, or pointing at her every accomplishment that she's unfazed by the prospect. She's was a bit of natural anyway, but after all this conditioning she's practically a pro.

I don't know anyone with more photos than us.

Introducing...The Weekly Wander

We've decided that once a week we're going to try to surprise friends with a randomly inspired visit. We will bring modest gifts and shower them with affection and attention all while simultaneously rewarding ourselves with an adventure, and not being too much of an inconvenience. The Weekly Wander will take place on weeknights, I think...to maximize mid-week fun, and to avoid pinching into people's weekend's. They will be modest endeavors at best, but brightly lit by whatever uniqueness we can muster...food and drinkables in the park, a record store trip, a surprise photo session for June's new Friends Fotos thingamajig...a black and white, spur of the moment, snapshot in time, photo session with friends...for them...for us.

Oh, this Weekly Wander idea is quite good.

In the Winter it just might take a bit of a hiatus, but that will only make the three season window of weekly wandering that much cooler.

By the looks of this week's weather forecast, and after a quick consultation with our schedules. It looks as though this Thursday will mark the first Weekly Wander ever attempted. A genuine surprise visit would be nice but we should very likely ask a day in advance before just showing up, shouldn't we? I suppose that would be the polite thing to do.

Hmmm, first visit?

Planning a Perfect Sunday..With Meat

"Today I want to have a picnic," I said, "with meat."

June laughed out loud.

"You know what I want," she asked without waiting for an answer (a weird habit we all are guilty of), "My Mom used to make this thing with sauteed ground beef and you add it to rice, and..." I was already out. That wasn't the meat I was referring to. I love the fact that our diet is influenced culturally by my wife's Japanese heritage, but sometimes I don't want the flavors of Aomori floating around my mouth. Sometimes I want a Trader Joe's blanket lunch kind of thing, with dried salami, baguette, cheese, seven or eight more finger food-ish meat options. You know, the kind of picnic that is supposed to be simple but winds up costing you $26. That's what I want today.

And I want to take pictures of Zoey.

I'd also like to drink coffee.

I don't want it to be over 80 degree outside.

Reading would be nice.

It'd be cool to watch people all day but not have to actually talk to any.

I'd like to be in Central Park, or Bryant Park would do.

Some family interaction would be good.

A blue sky with a nice cloud buffet would be welcomed.

Instead we may have to settle for a small...a very small, portion of those plans. We can take pictures of Zoey. We can manage the coffee thing. Reading is very likely not as easy as it sounds, and I'm pretty sure the park won't be in New York, the weather won't resemble what I've wished for, and we'll probably be besot upon by hoards of annoying, unwelcome and talkative people. The good news is that the baguette and meat is pretty much a given.

Some leftovers from Saturday...

Before Fall is here and we're ankle deep in leaves, we need to take the train to Toronto, visit friends, wander, and go to the zoo.

Should we go back to NYC at August's end?

A Fall Camping trip? Sounds like a good idea.

Chicago in October for the Northwestern game?

I want, no need, a quiet weekend at a cottage. I want to jump off a dock into cold water. I've never, ever had a cottage to visit.

We need more museums in our life.

Campfires are good. Where are all the campfires?

Saturday's Muse

I can't get enough of Foster The People's Pumped Up Kicks. It makes me smile mucho plenty.

You know what else I can't get enough of this wet Saturday? This stuff...

This print by Leah Giberson

This State Park that begs a visit.

This conference that I wish I could go to.

This beautiful family.

This radio station.

This beer.

This food.

This music festival this March.

Remembering Friday

Team Burgess posing for a much quieter Friday night than they were ever used to having.

It used to be that it was a pretty memorable Friday if you actually didn't remember a lot of it. It's not that way anymore. In fact, all those Friday nights seem rather wasted now (absolutely no pun intended). I think the most overlooked by-product of partying is the amount of time that you lose to what could be potentially better things. Like really absorbing your friends.

This is our friend's Birdy and Kaylen's family...that little Pebbles looking girl is Sophia, or as her father calls her, Sofa, and that stylish young dude in the Hurley tee is Jace, a bit of a natural phenomenon akin to tornados and whirlwinds. We used to lay waste to Friday nights. Now we're just happy to see one another and watch our family's change and grow (and dance).


Jace and Zed ripping up the waterfront with a first rate toddler tango.

It's a simple thing, a changing of priorities and demands and responsibilities, but it's nice, and I remember my Fridays these days. This one was spent wandering the waterfront, browsing record stores, making quiet fun of local characters and color, and catching up. It's the catching up part that matters most. The ironic part of remembering your Friday nights is that you often don't find yourself in the position to share them as much as you did when you were paying no attention to them. Doing nothing much with the people you care about very much, even when it happens not as much...well, good deal. I'll take it with little to no negotiation.

My Vote For Sweetest Photo Of All Time...

Zedder helping her Aunt Netta get married - July 2011

People are constantly telling us that we take such great photos of Zo, but she really just gives us so many opportunities to take them that we'd be foolish not to snap away. Neither June or I feel that we're very photogenic, not at all, but somehow our offspring has cornered the market on grace and poise. This little girl certainly knows what she's doing when there's a camera pointed in her general direction.

What Have You Been Doing With Your Life?

Want just a couple minutes of sure fire inspiration to launch you into Friday morning? Sure you do. Watch these vids and then ask yourself, "Am I really living the kid of life that I want to be living?"

MOVE from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

When you're done you can call me up and thank me, maybe invite me for lunch, or coffee, or just a catch up. I'll come. I most certainly will come. Maybe then we can ask each other in person a similar question..."Are you really living the kid of life that you want to be living?"

LEARN from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

After that we'll retire to our own streets, in our own neighborhoods and count the blessings that we already have, maybe even dream some new ones that we wanna have, and then perhaps help someone else do the same? I mean, if you're up for it.

Sugar and spice, and everything nice...sea lampreys too!

Whose afraid of some creepy looking space thingy that you find on the beach, dead and dangerous looking even then? A lot of people...not Zed. It's like she's got David Suzuki blood flowing through her veins. Today we found a dead sea lamprey washed up on the beach and someone just had to inspect it, ask questions, and poke and prod it until she was satisfied. It didn't gross her out. It didn't freak her out. In fact, at one point she went and picked it up. She squirmed a little at that, and proceeded to scrub her hand in the sand and waves that washed up on the sand, but didn't freak out.



Now, that was one ugly sea creature. If you're not familiar with them, here's a little link for you. They're an invasive species to the Great Lakes, but they've been here for well over 100 years. They're a bit of a nasty problem, and can do some gross damage to the fish populations that are native to these lakes. They're not something that you see every day, let alone scoop up to inspect.

Nice work kid. I wouldn't have groped it, but you did and good on ya. You're a brave little curious creature and your audacity makes me smile.

The Birth of Cool...

I got told that I was cool today, and although I've fielded a compliment before, typically awkwardly, this one pierced my armor and slayed me there on the spot. The honor came from the lips of my giggling daughter as we launched ourselves wantonly into wave after crashing wave (safely Baachan, Grandma, and Mummy...safely) today. We waded waist deep into the crashing surf and each time a wave approached I would squat to face the thing head on and then leap upwards as it broke on us, lifting us with Daddy squats to dry safety and inspiring the most heart thumping smile a little girl's ever wore.

"More Daddy, more," Zo squealed, "I love these waves. Ahhhh, I love them."

So more is what we wholeheartedly welcomed. I've never seen Zo so emphatic, so elated. She lit up. She clutched tightly around my shoulders, and was busy throwing herself into her delight with a wild vigor that I've never seen. She screamed and laughed and kissed my cheek and neck over and over.

"You're so cool Daddy," she squeaked between crashing breakers, and squeezed tighter, and hugged more desperately. "You're sooo cool."

That was enough for me. No compliment will ever matter as much, weigh more, or carry as much significance. Where does she pick these things up? I don't know, but at the moment and still now, I don't care. This wildly intelligent little two and half year old girl thinks that I'm cooler than just about anything on the planet besides maybe dogs that chase things, fairies, and dragons. That's some invaluable affection that I'll refuse to set on the scale with another experience, ever...not for a long time, at least.

Normally compliments slide right off of my back and sneak out of my psyche as fast as they arrive, but I'm gonna cling to this one for awhile. Today might have been the best day at Camp Zed yet. Man, this Daddy thing is a good gig if you can get it.

August Reading List

Now that we've finally got honest-to-goodness bookshelves after over a decade of hiding all of my most prized and well-thumbed distractions in dusty boxes, I can get back to the oh-so serious business of needing more...books and shelves.

These are the titles that will find a welcome place on next months' Visa statement.

Beachcombing at Miramar: The Quest for an Authentic Life by Richard Bode

The California Surf Project by Eric Soderquist and Chris Burkard

The Ship That Rocked The World: How Radio Caroline Defied the Establishment, Launched the British Invasion, and Made the Planet Safe for Rock and Roll by Tom lodge

An Anthropologist On Mars: Seven Paradoxical Tales by Oliver Sacks

Unexpected: 30 Years of Patagonia Catalog Photography by Jane Sievert and Jennifer Ridgeway

What are you reading? For some reason I've lost my fiction mojo...just flat out lost it. If anyone sees it please return it to me pronto. Thanks.

In case you weren't familiar with this look...

This is what fun looks like.

The Irrepressible Insignificance of Thursday

I forgot today was Thursday. I only barely remembered that it was now suddenly August. I woke this morning with the weight of an entirely blank canvas of a day ahead of me and stymied for any ideas of what to do that didn't involve beaches, books, or wobbly homemade tipis. Such is my brain lately. It's a good way to be, except that it challenges everything in your head that screams at you to do something...be productive, even when you know that you don't have to do either. It's a nice problem to have, but learning to shut off that inner voice that calls you a bum every chance it gets is difficult. So while I'm trying to do that, you should check out this...

I used to want to live here.

I need to get me a book like this.

I'd like to hit this yard sale.

Stellar story.

Sad story. Don't think for a minute that the issue of bullying is a children's or adolescent issue. It's not.

This is cooler than Coltrane, and that's pretty damn cool.

OH MY. Kevin Durant is amazing.

I like to think that I'm fairly intelligent, but the people who do this stuff...uhmm, wow.

I would like to read this.

Fumbling With Widgets

Test run on a cool playlist widget. Whatchoo think?



I kinda like it, so expect to see more. Now I'm going to go and wake up a sleepy little camper from her afternoon slumber.

It's Official...Going, Going, Gone

Tonight it became official. February 2013...headed to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kenya with a wildly diverse group of young people. We sat down with a recent Everest summiter and organizer of the trip, Mike, and started it all moving tonight. All expenses paid, I just have to help hand-pick the kids that the project fits best, be there for them through the whole 18 month enterprise, and keep contributing in future groups undertaking similar adventures. Unbelievable.

I guess it's time to take this thing that I do just a little more seriously...and maybe find some semblance of my old shape and chutzpah. This is going to be an interesting 18 months.

Camp Zed Finds August Just Fine

Zoey absorbing Camp Zed's new CIT, her cousin Avery

With a small but firmly established CIT program now in place, Camp Zed, is in full swing headed into August. Avery is here for a chunk of the week, and the schedule is full. A lot of beach, a lot of parks and playgrounds...a lot of absolutely spent and snoring Zed.

Avery is a huge help hanging around, and Zo is a big, big, fan, so some things as simple as swinging a little bit higher on the swings, or wading out a little deeper into the lake, are accomplished without a lot of discussion with Avery around. If Avery is swimming, then Zo wants to swim. If Avery is swinging high, then Zo wants to swing higher. It's a bit of a sweet relief from the demands of pushing Zed a little to try things or test herself. It's the kind of natural incentive that you just can't force.


Double Zed swinging themselves into hilarity.

We even met another Zoey today! Of the eight or nine kids playing at the playground this morning (and ignoring Zed even as she attempted to include them..."Hey guys, what are you guys doing?") the one cool kid who locked onto Zed...was another Zed. She was a sweet kid, and it was ridiculous to watch them peel around all over the park and enjoy the ability to pull them both back in with one name. They went bounding off into the trees to go swinging together and the scene was pretty cool. Two Zeds zooming off deeper into the park in search of swings. Certainly the only thing better than one Zo is two.

So far August is treating us just fine. Et tu?

Good Day Sunshine

I can hear two girls giggling from the other room. After twelve hours of straight sleep Zed woke, slipped into our room for a quick visit, and then took off to wake her happily snoring cousin Avery. Now the house is full of giggles, and I've never seen someone so energized. I think it's going to be an exciting day.

Meet Zoey's New BFF...Capucine

If we lived in France and Zoey could parlez the francais, this precocious little amazeappotamus would surely be her BFF. They could regale each other for hours and hours with stories, and little Capucine and Zed would strangle all of the air out of any room that they occupied simply by talking so much.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

Oh my, little Capucine sure can talk...and Zed would compliment her commitment to verbal communication quite nicely, I think. I just dont know if I'd want to be in a conversational stranglehold with the two of them...ever.

The Power of The Beach...

It's nice to have the sun and waves of late afternoon beach adventures a full two minutes from our backdoor. Tonight, Zed, Avery, and myself all slipped out to the beach while June cranked out a pretty stellar dinner. We shot off for an hour or so of fun, and then we no more than dusted off the sand, piled into the Jeep and zzzzzzzzzzzzz...a little girl fell asleep. Napless for the past two days, with a compliment of late night bedtimes has obviously rendered this little wahine exhausted. She was asleep by 6:30pm. I unbuckled the completely limp little girl from her car seat and carried her into the house without as much as a sigh and a shift. I gently set her down in her bed, covered her absolutely out-of-it body with a blanket, and closed the door. I checked on her again at 8:30pm and she hadn't moved a muscle. Another few drop-ins throughout the evening had her still zonked, and as I type this nearing midnight she hasn't moved more than a few inches from where she first laid her head.

The power of the beach.

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be...

Gregory Harrison's character, Chandler, from the 1986 film North Shore. I want a life like that. Cool guy, rad job (and truck), soulful, fulfilling days. Wicked family. Wicked tan. Wicked hair. Wicked beard. Awesome overalls. Awesome sunglasses on a string. Sounds good to me.

It's funny that just today we were talking about how we'd like to see our lives take shape and the first thing I thought of was Gregory Harrison's character from the film. Then we slide on home tonight and what do we find on Netflix? You guessed it.

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be...is a new regularly featured ridonculous post on The Zoey Blog. It's kinda meaningless and probably outrageously stupid but we're not in this game to win prizes. We're in this blog business for the pickles.