Titles adhere to a fickle system, one which adheres to a fickle language. I wouldn't call this strip a 'park'. I'd called it Jimmy Melrose Stretch, maybe. Or The Melrose Narrow. But I'm not in the business of naming things, I'm in the business of reviewing things. And what have I got to say about this so called, 'park'?
I brought a little one with me. Not mine - I don't have any. He's my godfather's. And, honestly, I didn't even know he could walk all that well when I brought him. I thought he'd sit idly beside me, eating some grass, whilst I sat down with my Moleskine and got on my reviewer hat.
Well, as it turns out, little Gian can walk. Not only can he walk, but he can run. Almost faster than me. Sometimes, as I chased after him down this infernal length of grass, my gut told me the only way I'd catch him is if I leaped on top of him. But, the child not belonging me, I had to keep reminding me how very inappropriate a spear-tackle might be. Then I had to remind myself that even if the kid WAS mine, such a maneuver would be no less... faux pas.
So, my lesson? The less grass in a park, the better. A kid often sees the grass as his boundary, and when the grass stretches on forever, be prepared to get your exercise hat on. read more