“When are we going to the gift shop?” Those were the words from my daughter. It was the 3,200th time I had heard it. In the last 20 minutes. We were in the nation’s capital. In the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. We were surrounded — literally swarmed — by towering rockets, Mars landers, lunar rocks, Wright brothers planes and lots of lost tourists who thought they were at the White House. They couldn’t figure out why there were satellites hanging from the president’s ceiling. “Look at this!” I told my daughter. “An actual Apollo command module! This thing went into space. See the burn marks from re-entry. See! See! See!” “Eh,” she said. “Now, is the gift shop upstairs or down?” Aaaghhh!
Return of the Star Wars toys
I’m not proud to admit it. That of all the news stories — all the monumental things happening in the world — this was the one that stopped me in my tracks: “Star Wars toys will be out in September.” Shame, shame. Let the record show: I am a 42-year-old man. I do not own or play with toys. At least, not ones that don’t belong to my 9-year-old daughter. I am not a toy collector. I do not crowd my shelves with kitschy stuff I find on eBay. Yet, part of me considered adding Sept. 4 to my calendar. It would read: “New Star Wars toys released. No appointments!” I have a problem and I must seek counseling.