So, today is Father's Day.  As I child, I had trouble saying "Father."  It always came out "Fatter."  And as luck would have it, nobody enjoys being wished a Happy Fatter's Day.  So instead, I said "Happy Dada Day!"  And because I said it so much to every man, woman, child, dog, and tree I saw, I quickly came to believe that it really was Dada Day that we were celebrating.  
     Dada, of course, is an absurdist art movement going back to the early decades of the 20th century.  
     For years, I wondered why we don't also have an Impressionist Day, a Cubist Day, an Abstract Expressionist Day, etc.
     Well, yesterday I found out.
     Dadaist art alone is a real inspiration to every father with a home workshop or a paintbrush.
        
 

     ----- British Customs agents can reduce teenage girls to tears without even trying.  I suspect these agents are still bitter about the collapse of the British Empire.
     ----- If you think watching Pierce Brosnan try to portray a Native American Indian in the movie "Grey Owl" might make a long airplane flight seem shorter, you're sadly mistaken.
     ----- Tony Blair's new baby is generally not available for burping by tourists.  If you're going to England and simply must burp a baby while you're there, please remember to bring your own.  
     ----- Despite the warnings from her friends, Amy did not find British toilet paper to be similar to our wax paper.  The bathroom in her hotel room was so small, however, that when she bent over to spit out her toothpaste, her butt was forced to protrude into the main room of her suite by the basic laws of physics.
     ----- Although you'd never guess it from looking at a globe, Scotland is generally not considered within walking distance of London.
 
 

     The garden has been wet today.  The garden has been wet virtually all week.  It is now Junival 18 and I believe I have been able to have breakfast on our patio exactly once this month.  Well, once without cold wet rain from the sky soggying up my Froot Loops prematurely.
     It's been cool, too, with a high today of only about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, or almost a full 30 degrees below the melting point of my patience.
     Ms. May was wet and cool, too.
     If you've been having ideal summer weather, I hope you'll have the good manners to keep it to yourself.
 

     Jester has been sulking today.  We stayed up until midnight last night, waiting for a call from the governor.  A call which might grant Mr. Stuffed Lobster a reprieve from his scheduled guillotining.  No such call came, so Warden Jester gleefully signed the death warrant he must sign before any guillotining might occur.  In his haste to hurry along the main event, however, he handled that death warrant a bit too carelessly and gave himself a papercut.  That quite spoiled the mood for him and the execution was glumly postponed.
     Poor dear.
 

     Each year, some 60 million pounds of catfish are consumed by the people of Illinois.
     Yet Illinois only produces about 100,000 pounds of catfish of its own every 12 months.
     Please - if you have any catfish you can spare, no matter how small, ugly, or stupid - donate them to the hungry people of Illinois.
     Thank you.