Peach at the Beach 
Everyone should periodically have the opportunity to be reminded of words like enchanting, which come to mind while watching a seven year old girl splashing in the waves, joyously oblivious to the bone-chilling water temp, chasing flocks of gulls and exclaiming over the profound Mystery of the Broken Sand Dollars  – what happens to the other pieces?
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Twenty Five Years.
Lest you think I have fallen from the Cliffs of Insanity, check for yourself and you will discover that it has been twenty-five years since the release of One. Of. The. Best. Movies. Ever. Made.
I am of course referring to The Princess Bride.
All together now:
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Buy Patrick Stewart A Baby Stroller
Sir Patrick Stewart said he doesn’t fit in in his neighborhood of Park Slope, Brooklyn, because he’s the only one without a stroller. We knew what we had to do.
Somehow, for reasons that escape me (other than the obvious coolness factor), I contributed money to this campaign. The fact that it was organized by the mahvelous singer-songwriter-comedian-actor-Broad Comedy guru, she of the multiple slash-talents, Katie Goodman – and her equally lovely and talented husband, writer-director Soren Kisiel – may have something to do with it.
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And Now I Know
Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain, is neurologist Oliver Sacks’ absorbing and compassionate case-study-book that deals with how human brains process and understand music, and how music shapes and transforms human beings’ understanding of their world, and themselves.
I’ve been a fan of Sacks’ work for years (you really must read The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat – trust me, you’ll never look at brain deficits and altered perceptions in the same way again ). A friend,  after discovering that she and I share a similar neurological “condition,” recommended Musicophilia to me.
When I wake up at night, I immediately hear music; i.e., a song. This is not because mischievous elves have crept into my bedroom and turned on the Various Music Playing Devices. The song I hear does not awaken MH, because the song is in my head. The song varies; it is never classical music, never instrumental – there are always vocals.  Genre-wise, it is more commonly a rock/pop/folk/soul/alternative song than country or heavy metal; it will occasionally be a show tune or Broadway musical number; it is never (so far) rap or Emo, thank the FSM.
Sometimes there is a logical explanation for whatever song is on my brain’s nocturnal playlist – I’d heard the song earlier in the day, on the radio/my phone as I was driving/exercising/out for a walk. And sometimes it’s just a mystery or even embarrassment to me as to why Joan Jett’s I Hate Myself For Loving You or Aretha Franklin’s Think or Bobby Sherman’s Hey Little Woman  is bouncing between my ears.
Thanks to reading Musicophilia, I know that this musical tic of mine is likely a brainworm – a perceptual construction analogous to visual afterimages but “created at a much higher level (than visual afterimages and other sensory system effects) in the brain.”
Either that, or I’m just fucking daggy. 
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May the music between your ears (or whatever forms the soundtrack of your life) warm the cockles of your heart, and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
 The delightful nickname of delightful friend SCM’s delightful daughter.
 I’m assuming you already had opinions about brain deficits and altered perceptions. Which may be a sign of my own altered perception.
 Who would be the afore-mentioned SCM. Wow – TWO footnotes, way to go, S!
 There is no footnote #6. Move along, folks – nothing here to see.
 Yes, that one would be the embarrassment.
 Aussie/New Zealand slang for crazy.