I don’t get it. Why is it that, more and more, parents insist on taking their young children to movies that they have no business seeing at hours of the night when they would be better served settling in for a bedtime story? Nearly every movie that I’ve seen in the last few months has featured the background noise of a screaming, crying young child, pretty much from the opening credits onward.

Seriously folks?

Flash back to the little girl in the pale yellow tutu, arms flailing, feet scurrying in a mad dash to join her class onstage for her very first dance recital… Flash forward to (as I write these words) this upcoming weekend, when that same “little” girl will perform in her 20th – and final – show. 

Where ever did the years go?

It’s funny how certain dates tend to take on added significance over time; well, maybe funny isn’t the right word – more like ironic. I bring this up only because today, May 9th, happens to be one of the those memorable dates for me, for both good and bad reasons…

It must be a joke. Some sort of ironic, bizarre, twisted joke. Every single time I decide to spontaneously buy tickets to something – anything – baseball game, concert, anything of the outdoor variety, one of the following occurs: A) it pours, to the point of the event being cancelled, or rain-delayed for five hours; B) the temperature soars to around 110º or so, making the act of merely breathing an effort, never mind climbing dozens of staircases, ramps, stationary escalators, etc; C) there is some sort of severe weather advisory – hurricane, tornado – or let’s not forget the random earthquake thrown in for good measure.