Wow, this wedding. The flower girl is only 2, and already Pixar has taught her how to deal with princess brides. Tenderly, if you can. Like they are made of vellum and fog.
Read a full report of the Chicago wedding in our print reports (Outlook, Glendale News-Press, Park La Brea News, etc.), or in Saturday's post right here.
Smartacus has been whitening his teeth, as per the bride’s orders, and Catty Cakes is practicing being the flower girl, walking around the house tossing scrap-paper blossoms high into the air.
Been working on a toast for my daughter’s wedding this weekend. And I thought: “Why not a poem? Something straight from the heart of a dad who’s lived a little."
Honestly, you can’t chase an honest moment. Somehow, they just ambush you. And sometimes, as per this singing dog, we’re at the mercy of our quivering moods.
The suburbs are full of guys like us -- undersized men with tweed skin and receding hairlines, gazing up at the sky, crying: “Why me, God? Why me?”
“You’re Taylor Swift,” she explained the other day. “You pressure wash your brain directly into the universe.” Poor universe.
You can have golf. I’ll trade you golf and opera. I’ll keep billiards and tobogganing.
“I am looped in the loops of her hair,” as Yeats put it a trillion years ago.
There’s this terrific new device for filling water balloons. Must’ve been invented by a dairy farmer inspired by multiple teats.