I can’t complain. But sometimes I still do.– Joe Walsh, Life’s Been Good to Me

When I think about people getting killed all over the world for the simple act of saying the wrong thing while standing in the middle of a street, I’ve got no right to bitch. Still, misery is relative. All those world events are terrible...really terrible.

But I’m in fuckin’ Texas, where the temperature is on a run of 100+ degree highs soaked so heavily in humidity that it feels like 115F. The flowers in our front yard are turning brown from the heat despite by illicit waterings, committed at 1 a.m. in hopes of evading the drought police that enforce restrictions on watering.

My doctors have told me to lose weight, or else. (The Mafia should hire doctors to do their threats. Hearing you’re going to die is always scarier from a doctor than from a goon.) So I’ve been told to lay off pies. Instead, I’m learning to distinguish the subtle differences among Bibb lettuce, romaine, arugula, endive, and some leaves identified only as "Field Greens" or "Miso."

Last week our car caught fire at the exact same time that the carburetor, battery, and a bunch of seals (not the marine animal) expired. Our dog ran into something–cat, bush, furniture– and wound up with a small crater in the center of his cornea that quickly turned into a big crater in the center of his cornea. Surgery cost $1, 750–twice as much as the car repairs.

Our son came for a visit, and the air-conditioning in the house promptly broke down. The part needed to fix the A/C wasn’t in stock and we’ll have to wait until next week. Three fish in our aquarium died. (We had a mass burial at sea–one flush.) I got food poisoning from my favorite restaurant. I lost my wallet in a movie theater. And right now I can feel a migraine coming on.

I thing I’m going to eat a slice of chocolate pie. Followed by a piece of peach pie. A la mode.