The Birds

• A family of birds have a nest over our outdoor garage light. Their little chicks have hatched, and the adults are extremely protective. This morning, one of them dive-bombed me so close I had to duck. Another one came in right behind and I could feel its wings graze my hair. Thoroughly pissed, when the next one came for a swipe, I swung my arm like Barry Bonds and swatted that bastard high into the air. I waited for him to crash to the pavement, but he righted himself and made another pass at me. This is war.
• While out running errands, I passed one of those fund-raising car washes with sixteen-year-old girls in skimpy bikinis trying to lure customers in. I was tempted (to get the car wash), but did not have the time. Further up the road, stopped at a red light, an overweight teenaged boy tried desperately to get me into his car wash. I was too nice to tell him that if a half-naked teenage girl couldn't entice me, he didn't have a prayer. Ah, summer.
• As I've mentioned previously, one of the joys of parenting is rediscovering the joys of childhood, such as cartoons and Disney movies. Another childhood pleasure our children and I have discovered together is that fart noises are funny. It's like we're in a neverending scene from Blazing Saddles.
• An interesting column by an Arab writer begins with this paragraph: "Yes, world, there is a silent Arab majority that believes that seventh-century Islam is not fit for 21st-century challenges. That women do not have to look like walking black tents. That men do not have to wear beards and robes, act like lunatics, and run around blowing themselves up in order to enjoy 72 virgins in paradise. And that secular laws, not Islamic Shariah, should rule our day-to-day lives." It gets better.
  
• Our kids have several toys that say letters of the alphabet when you press the corresponding buttons. None of them, however, will let me spell a dirty word. It will say "F-U-C-" but will giggle or make some other noise instead of speaking the last letter. I managed to outsmart it and spell "F-O-R-N-I-C-A-T-I-O-N." So there.
  
• My 2-year-old daughter came up to me and asked, "Daddy, where's your tummy?" "How can you miss it?" I asked. She lifted up my shirt, patted my belly and said, "Is there a baby in there?" They ought to put 2-year-olds in charge of international diplomacy. They can level anyone.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some sit-ups to do.