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Where The Wild Things Are


You've gotta love a boy who goes around dressed like a dinosaur when it isn't Halloween. I think the world would be a much better place if more people ran around in costume. I mean, how can you order people tortured and killed while dressed like a giant bunny?

Posted by aalkon at November 23, 2005 9:33 AM

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Saw a little boy in Santa Monica on Sunday in full Spiderman costume (including mask). We all felt safer!

Posted by: deja pseu at November 23, 2005 11:18 AM

OMG! Amy posted a positive comment about a small child!

Must be the holiday spirit.

Posted by: LYT at November 23, 2005 12:27 PM

Contrary to widely-held believe, I do not hate all children. In fact, I identify with them. I, first and foremost, hate parents who do not curb their children's natural impulses by taking a break from their busy yoga/manicure/golf/porn viewing schedules to actually parent their children. This particular child is very smart and funny, and I actually enjoy spending time with him. He loves dinosaurs and tells a great story about the oppossum that snuck into my house when I was in Paris once and was hiding behind my clawfoot bathtub, eating Lucy's food, and pooping in my foyer!

I have about five friends who are chilidren, and they are all very smart and amusing. In other words, I choose my children friends the same way I choose my adult friends.

Oliver, who is one of them (he's 10), judges how famous people are by whether they'll make the front page of The New York Times if they die. He plays classical piano, writes music that sounds like the score to a movie which he plays on the piano, and has retired from being a child star in the New York City Opera because he's been there and done that.

Anyway, the little boy pictured here can get boisterous, and occasionally will bounce a ball against my house, but his mom is the first to worry about whether I'm being bothered. That makes all the difference. Kids are kids, but when they have good parents, the occasional ball bounce is just one of those things that happens. When it happens fifty times, and nobody cares, then I become the wicked witch of the west.

Posted by: Amy Alkon at November 23, 2005 1:18 PM

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