Bullets? You like bullets? Me, too! What a quincidence.

* It was one hundred and something degrees here today.

* All of you who say “Portland never gets hot! It’s only hot here, like, two days out of the year!” can kiss my foot.

* Sal’s, our favorite Italian restaurant in town, closed. No notice, no nothing. Mio Sushi and Pause, here I come.

* And McMenamin’s Kennedy School.

* But not Chapel Pub, because my kids think the food there is made from dead people.

* I’m pretty sure it’s not.

* They also think the hush puppies at Roux are made of real puppies, so we can’t eat there, either. As if we could afford it. Ha! We’ve been there twice I think. Once was for dessert.

* I love being back to work. Love, love, love, love, love my work. Love. Nothing but love.

* I can’t remember the last time I worked out. You?

* Turns out if you eat smaller portions of food, and limit yourself to one drink, you lose weight. Who knew?

* But the work-outs are key, for me anyway.

* Our snails are procreating. By themselves. They do this well, apparently. Ensures the survival of the species.

* “We see snails as being a nuisance pest in the aquariums.” — fish guy at the fish store.

* “So why do you sell them?” — me, to fish guy (Isn’t “nuisance pest” redundant? When I ask him what I should do with the extra snails, ie, can I donate them to the fish store? Or something? Craigslist? Foster homes for wayward snails? He suggests I put them in the garden. Snail killer!)

* Hmm. The frog is not a nuisance, he is adorable.

* Our garden is coming along great — corn, zucchini, cukes and more cukes, tomatoes coming on strong, herbs… it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Later, gator.

wm

Hockey God, to Wacky Boy, while they were both inside the pit toilet because… You know. We didn’t want him to fall in:

HG: “I swear to God, if you don’t quit whining about the smell I’m never taking you camping again.”
WB: “I swear to God, why did Mommy make us go camping???”

We camped. It was awesome. I hate pit toilets. Other than pit toilets it was awesome.

You eat S’mores and then you eat s’more. Light a big campfire and all smell like smoke. Drink a beer. Woot! Then you wake up sore from sleeping on forest floor. Camping pads too thin. Need RV. Yay, camping!

“Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have
let go.” — William Feather

Rants:

* Road rage. Pool rage. Piano lesson rage. Political rage. Me, all week. Rage, rage, rage. Rage on.

* I don’t mind if you have a big truck. I do mind if you fucking don’t know how to drive it. Man up, would you?

* When I’m stopped for a pedestrian, don’t lay on your horn behind me, pissed that I didn’t run the pedestrian over instead of stopping. Show some compassion, would you? Don’t scream “Bitch!” at me, then get out of your car like you’re going to kick my ass. Don’t even attempt to kick my ass. Why don’t you go out on the street and practice falling down for awhile, first? For reals.

* You. Mom at the Pool. I hate you, lady, and here’s why. When you hovercraft, side of pool, it distracts the other kids in the lesson. It pisses them off. When you kick off your fancy sandals and step in the pool, you are looming over the little Angelfish. That pisses me off. You look huge, lady. Even though you’re one of those skinny wenches who prides herself on it. You look huge to them, looming. Then when you get your shorts all wet, because you’re wading in so far? That’s insane. Do a private lesson, and swim with the kid, why don’t you? Or take him to family play swim, or something. Anything.

* “Different parenting styles!!!” No duh.

* Then when you tell your kid, “Do it! Do it, honey! See? The other kids are doing Ring Around the Rosy, see? DO IT, HONEY!!!” at that point? You piss off the swim instructor, all the other parents, and the kids selling concessions and checking people in.

* I want to smack you upside the head, Mom at the Pool. Especially when you’re leaving, and you insist that your little lovey-wovey-dovey put on his flip-flops “Now, honey. DO IT, HONEY! No? OK, then, I’m leaving. I’M LEAVING. I am! Good-bye! Goodbye!” (Did you notice the way your kid was glaring at you? You’ve majorly, thoroughly, pissed him off, too.) (Did you notice the way he didn’t give a damn that you were leaving? That’s because he is not happy, your kid.) Then when you screamed, “GET OVER HERE! NOW!” from across the lobby? At that point, I am not the only one who wanted to push you in the pool, pretty sandals and all.

* I’m tired, Internets. Why won’t people behave?

Now, the raves:

* Yes. It’s The Bacon Show. (That one’s for Amalah.)

* And… isn’t summertime so bitchin’?

Oh. My God.

Now, three good books that landed on my desk this week that I’m sorry, but I am too toasted to post about (sorry, y’all, but at least you’re getting some linky love here):

Today’s books:

I wrote a little about Ruby Bridges before, if you will recall. Now comes a fictionalized account of her story in “My Mother the Cheerleader.” This young adult novel is not at all what you might expect from the title. And it’s written by a white male author in the voice of a white girl who is telling us Ruby Bridges’ story.

Yeah, it took me a second to take all that in, too.

(Here is Ms. Bridges’ website — go read her story if you don’t already know it. In 1960, she was one of the first black children who helped to integrate white schools in the Ninth Ward in New Orleans. And yes, there really was a protester — a woman — who showed up daily with a black baby doll in a small coffin.)

This is a new book, just released last year, and you should read it. (How’s that for a review? I will review all of my favorite picks that way from now on: “You should read it.”) Also, this book is appropriate for mature students, grades 8 and older, so have your kids read it, too. It is the first novel for author Robert Sharenow. I hope it’s not his last. He based the story on historical documents, including FBI records that had been previously sealed. It’s a great book, the characters are well-written, and the story is gripping and, unfortunately, still timely.

I am just starting Sharon Draper’s latest, “Fire from the Rock,” about the Little Rock Nine, and “I Am Scout: The Biography of Harper Lee,” by Charles J. Shields. Both come highly recommended.

Today’s books:

“Stop eating ice cream on the Stairmaster”

The Mod Squad, IN COLOR!

Do you like this Duffy?

“Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume.”

— Jean de Boufflers