I am not actually squeamish about worms. I'm squeamish about sticking fish hooks into them while they are wriggling. That seems wrong and cruel. Which it is.

But if it's wrong and cruel to kill helpless beings, it's also wrong and cruel to pay someone else to kill them so I can eat them. But I am not a vegetarian. It is a quandary, an ethical issue that I generally ignore about every day.

I have a whole bunch of conflicting social events that are bunched up this weekend and next. Plus I am nagged by the need to go see my aged mamaw. Plus the practical thought that summer is the best time for me to take care of stuff around this cluttered little house.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. He was not much into Father's Day, or Christmas, or birthdays. He did like Thanksgiving, I think. I once gave him a tie pin of a tiny fork and knife crossed over each other. I thought it was so funny and cute. This is just one example of my poor taste in gift-giving. I even buy things for myself that I never wear. My style is something strange and unbidden; certainly it's uncultivated.

Some people say they don't know much, but they know what they don't like. I don't even know that half the time.

Maybe I just don't care.

Frazz in the comics today was about Vonnegut on a summer reading list. That made me happy. Vonnegut was kind of crazy and so was my dad.