Thursday, June 21, 2018

A QUESTION FOR MY CANADIAN SISTERS

singing: O, Canada, our home and native land . . . oops! Sorry. I was practicing.

Canadian Sisterhood . . . and Maxwell,

I have some questions for you. I've wanted to move to Canada for quite some time, and my longing has only grown stronger as the bupkiss in The White House does one stupid thing after another. He's so awful that he's not even a joke anymore.

So what do you think about me joining you in Canada? I know it's very different from Florida, but I've lived with ice and snow before. I just need to buy a coat and some mittens.

I do have concerns. First, I know that to get into Canada legally (and I would never ever do anything illegal) that I need to be able to get a job. I don't want to reveal where I work or exactly what I do, but I think I can tell you that the biggest part of my job is listening to people whine. You don't seem to be a nation of whiners, so do you think I have a chance of finding a job?

Second, where should I live? I've been to Montreal, Vancouver, and Victoria. They're very nice, but I have a bit of a hankering to live in Nova Scotia. Is that a mistake? What part of the country if the most affordable?

Finally--and this is a big, very important question--am I nice enough to live in Canada? I know that Franklin would be welcome because no one is nicer than Franklin. Penelope is a bit persnickety, but once you see how cute her underbite is I know you'll fall in love with her. It's me that I'm not sure about.

I floss and brush. I bathe and deodorize. I don't have weapons of mass destruction. In fact, I've never had a gun and I never will. I oppose the death penalty. I think Justin Trudeau is as cute and bright as a new (American) penny. I'll help you keep Justin Bieber from returning.

But is that enough?

How will I know if I'm nice enough? Can you tell me? I really, really need your help.

And for those of you in the U.S. who are tempted to leave comments that say America: love it or leave it, you can bite my pink butt. I do love my country, but I don't have to love what's happening to it.

Let me know, please, my Canadian sisters: Am I nice enough to be a Canadian?


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug, who isn't really going anyplace



I think I should mention that Favorite Young Man will probably come along. He'll fix your cars. And we can learn to say "eh." I'll add the letter "u" to words. Whatever it takes, I'll do it.

Friday, June 15, 2018

PENELOPE SPEAKS: I AM KILLER QUEEN

Hello. It is I, Penelope.



Mom Mom has a new nickname for me. I am "Killer Queen."

I bet you can't guess why.

One evening Mom went to get the laundry from the dryer. She was gone for about five minutes. When she came back, this is what she saw on my chair:


I found one of the bugs that Mom Mom hates, and I tore it to pieces. The thing next to it is my chew toy.

Mom Mom wanted to photograph me next to my kill. I declined. I felt shy about sharing my power.

But I know Mom Mom is proud of me.

I am, indeed, Killer Queen.

That is all. Goodbye.





Maybe another name for me can be Penny Mercury.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

THEY CALL ME . . . THE JACKAL

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I am immersed in The West Wing. I never watched it when it was on TV. Now I have a date with Netflix for every available minute in my day.

The Silver Fox, who blogs from his lair (where else would he blog?) told me that I would like this show and he was right.

However, The Silver Fox is not always right. We are in the middle of an argument concerning Woody Allen. No, I'm not telling you about the argument, at least not right now, so don't ask me.

At one point during this argument, I told him that if he is ever charged with a crime. then I will arrange to be on the jury so I can vote guilty.

He said, I know you would.

I am a woman to be taken seriously.  In fact, they call me . . . The Jackal.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug


Friday, June 1, 2018

THE TRUMPETER'S NEW CLOTHES IS AMAZEBALLS

Small balls, big balls.
Short balls, tall balls.
Some people have more balls than others.

But the biggest balls of all,
The balls that make me laugh until I fall
Are the balls behind the newest book on my wall:




Congratulations to author Robyn Alana Engel and illustrator Steve Ferchaud, who have a new book coming out on Monday (cover designed by Bryan Pedas of A Beer For The Shower fame). I had the privilege of a preview and thought it quite clever, which is no surprise since it comes from the insane brain behind Life by Chocolate.

Here's a little taste of what you'll get when this book belongs to you:

One of the King’s most favored
things of all
was to swing
long rods at tiny balls.

Clueless Clan fans cheered him on.
“You win, feared Man!
You do know wrong!”

The King replied,
“I no good, it’s true.
I wrote the

Star Scrambled Egg song too!”

The Trumpeter's New Clothes is a short book, about the length of a young child's book, but it's an adult read. The illustrations are excellent and made me laugh out loud. This is a book you'll want to take to parties to share with your friends.

The Trumpeter's New Clothes earns The Highest Balltastic Janie Junebug Seal of Approval.




Note: The book begins with a warning that it's not for those who lean orange,and watch out if you have a case of sandarakinophobiatoo.

The book is now available on Amazon at https://goo.gl/M8jqda

Monday, May 28, 2018

THE GREAT AMERICAN READ

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
.
Recently I watched a show on PBS called The Great American Read. It's perfect for book lovers, and I suspect that includes most of us. You can watch the launch special HERE.

PBS used a national survey to present the 100 best-loved novels in the U.S. Now we can vote for our favorites HERE. You can vote once a day for each book and in a variety of ways, such as signing in with your email address, Facebook, or Twitter.

Although the list includes a couple of books that make me raise my eyebrows (Fifty Shades of Grey? Puh-lease!), I suspect I'll want to read some of the books on the list that I've missed.

Voting ends at midnight PT on October 18, 2018. The winner will be announced on PBS.

I suspect I'll cast most of my votes for my all-time favorite novel





 but I've also voted for 



After you've checked out the list, I hope you'll come back to tell us which books are your favorites. I also want to know how many of the 100 you've read.

I've read 43, but keep in mind that a series counts as one book so I've actually read more books than the 43 I can count. By the time we reach the finale of the series in October, I hope I'll be up to 50 books.

Some of the books on the list are pretty darn tempting.

Happy Reading!


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

P.S. It's Memorial Day, and I'd like to know why people are setting off firecrackers as if this day is some kine of celebration.

Friday, May 25, 2018

A BIG ONE IN MY SHOWER

Yes, Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

A big one is in my shower and it has nothing to do with Willy Dunne Wooters.

It's a dead palmetto bug. I photographed it so if you've never seen one, here's your chance.

If you don't want to see a giant cockroach on its back, then don't scroll down. Head for the emergency exits immediately.

Normally, I wouldn't photograph a palmetto bug inside my house. They move too fast, and when I've stomped on one to kill it, they're pretty flat.

This one somehow made its way to my shower and died. It's not merely dead; it's really most sincerely dead (are those the correct words from The Wizard of Oz?). Since it's in a contained space and it definitely can't get up to run away, I offer photos.






Here he is from a distance:


Now we'll get as close as I can without screaming (doesn't matter that it's dead--I always scream when I see them):


He's not the biggest one I've ever seen (and no, I'm not putting some common object next to him to help you judge his size). He's about average.

I've seen a couple other dead ones in the house since the night that I had to kill three of them. They're unusually bad this year, which surprises me, first, because we're not well into summer, and second, because we had such a cold winter (for us).

The winter does seem to have affected the lizards. I've seen very few outside and haven't had a single one in the house.

Next step: Get rid of the dead palmetto bug. I don't picture that being done by turning on the water. It's too big to go down the drain.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

THE BRIDE DID NOT WEAR COMBAT BOOTS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I've long thought that it would be a good idea for Prince Harry to marry an American, but I had a certain American mathematician in mind. With her auburn hair, they might have produced a beautiful bunch of red-haired children.

Alas, the mathematician isn't interested in marriage. Harry found himself a TV star instead. Their wedding was lovely.



A plethora of celebrities attended. Here are Lady Grand Slams and Lord Reddit:


Amal Clooney looked beautiful as usual, although she was accompanied by some guy no one recognized:


I watched with my old buddy Starbucks, who kept complaining that black people were all over the place. A black preacher. Black guests. The black gospel choir.


Starbucks soon stomped off to call the police so they could "do something" about all those black people. I think my friendship with Starbucks is over. I loved the choir's rendition of Stand By Me.

The award for best hat of the day went to the Duchess of Cornwall because it hid her horsey face:


I wonder if the Prince of Wails still wants to be Camilla's tampon.

Ten children took part in the wedding! Ten! Can you imagine wrangling all those children? It might have been like herding cats, but they were on their best behavior.


Not a nose-picker, pants-wetter, or puker among them.

I felt sorry for Queen Elizabeth. Everywhere she goes, Tom Riddle (a.k.a.He Who Must Not Be Named) sneaks looks over her shoulder:


For me, however, the most striking aspect of the wedding was the difference between Prince Harry marrying the new Duchess of Sussex (Meghan) and Prince Charles's wedding to Diana, Princess of Wales.

Diana was a 20-year-old girl marrying a man she still called "sir" on the day he proposed. She ended up wanting to back out of the whole thing when she learned that Charles was still in love with Horsey Face.

Meghan, by contrast, is 36, has been married before, and has had a career. She married a man who seems to really and truly be in love with her. They embark on their life together with the goal of being a family and bringing joy to the downtrodden of the world: a goal that Harry learned from his mother.


You are remembered, Angel Princess.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug


Best Photo of the Day: