I once knew a guy who would eat at the same restaurant every night until he had sampled every dish on the menu.  That's my strategy for Schenley Park (Our version of Grant Park or Central Park).  On Sunday evening Zach and I went to Schenley Park and beat the shit out of random strangers with our pillows.

(Click here for far more ridiculous pics.)

Monday afternoon we returned to the scene of the crime.  This time Zach and Asia chased pigeons around for an hour.  At the playground, a group of African-American kids managed to fulfill every negative racial stereotype that I've ever run across.  My kids were amused, but I hate to have them thinking that all my brothas and sistas are such goofs.  I was wishing Sister Toldja was around to give those kids a good talking-to (or at least to tell them to turn down the teeny-tiny boom box tuned to the local "urban" station being played at a level so distorted that you couldn't tell what the hell was being played).

Today we came back for more.  The museum next to the park got boring after an hour, so we ate lunch and listened to some dude singing.  Lordy.  Picture Frank Sinatra type music sung in a falsetto voice with butchered phrasing.  Zach leaned over and said, "Is this music SUPPOSED to sound bad?".  After we couldn't take anymore, we went to the playground.  The same nutty kids were there, huddled in a corner of the park (sans boom box), quite subdued.  I doubt I would have heard them anyways.  They would have been drowned out by the blizzard of activity emanating from the busload of thirty "special needs" kids with their thirty guardians.  It was one hell of a party.  Can't wait to see what Thursday's trip to Schenley Park brings.