Pleasures: Simple and Boring

I wanted to illustrate why I do not go on and on about the "little things" that I enjoy in life. For example, one day that I really enjoyed and think of often entailed receiving a used book I bought online. The name of the book is "Space Station Seventh Grade." I read it once during that one-year-window I was allowed to read it (7th grade; at least I thought that was the order of the universe) and then a couple years ago when I wanted to revisit that safe place of no rent and no bills. Childhood, they call it.

The book came in the mail and I brought it in the car as we drove to Tony Roma's to take advantage of their lunch specials. My wife read the opening of the book to me and the kids about a 7th grader who gets woken up at the start of his summer vacation by his step-father and accused of eating the chicken his step-father meant to take to work for lunch. The banter is humorous. It's not that bad a book. It tells of how the kid bakes ants into his brownies in "home-ec" and how he plans to impress "the cute girl" by getting bloodied up in a football game. He puts some ketchup packets in his pants to simulate blood at just the right moment, but they pop prematurely, confusing those in the stands about his injuries. Then he accidentally nails "the cute girl" in the face with a snowball.

But after the "chicken" scene, we went in the restaurant and ate lunch. It was a good day; sunny but cool. It meant a lot to me. But do I expect you to care or to be able to share my joy by that tale. No way. On that note, let me tell you why people really tick me off...