What a kindness

It seems that the library knew that I'd be coming down from my Harry rush and so supplied me with a literary cushion--a fantastic novel.

I finished Peter Ho Davies' new novel The Welsh Girl on Thursday at about 5 am (bad thunderstorm, bad insomnia, but excellent book to keep me company!)

The novel is beautifully written, really exquisite prose, and the author has that ability to end chapters with the perfect sentence; you know the sentence that makes you take in a little breath and hold it while you relish the language, before you dive into the next chapter. The funny thing is that this ability reminds me of Charles Baxter, who used to live in Ann Arbor and teach at U-M, which is what Peter Ho Davies currently does. Maybe U-M's creative writing program likes to hire people with this (all too rare) writing ability?

The novel focuses on three disparate characters--a German POW, the "Welsh girl" of the title, and a half-Jewish, German refuge who is now a part of the British military intelligence and who debriefs captured Germans. The interesting thing is that there are actually very few chapters where the characters encounter each other, though that doesn't stop them from thinking about each other. The internal lives of each of these three characters are so vivid and full and unique that it is actually startling when they do interact. To go from internal to external, from meditative to the snap of direct encounter, could be really messy and discordant, but Davies makes it seem effortless.

There are all sorts of lovely thematic resonances in the book too: what it means to surrender, what is courage and what is cowardice, the longing to escape, how to define the concept of "home" and the comforts and the confinements of the familiar. Each of these themes is picked up and expressed differently by the three characters so that the reader gets to roll each theme around, like a faceted ball, seeing a glint of insight here, and then a different flash as the ball is passed to the next character.

I'm going to return the book to the library, you know, just to help with some other reader's potential Harry crash, but I certainly won't forget this book. Of the books I've read this year, this book is now front and center in the purchase list for holiday gifts.

I know it wasn't a race

(Don't worry, no spoilers here!)

I finished HP7 at 12:47 this morning. With the breaks I took for meals, kid time, going to the bathroom, showers and an afternoon burst of scone baking (the mention of comforting cups of tea in any English book triggers the scone-making impulse in me), I figure I averaged about 60 pages per hour. I know it wasn't a race.

Yesterday was bliss--I picked up the book from Nicola's at 7:45 am and went to the gym and read while on the recumbent bike for almost an hour. And after this burst of activity I completely regressed to my 11-year-old self and hardly moved from a sitting position on a beautiful summer day. Some kids have summer camp, or playing baseball, or riding bikes (or in the case of my husband, digging a trench around his house, adding gasoline and a match and giving his mom a heart attack) as their most fond memories from summertime when they were kids. My favorite memory is of days and days of unlimited time to read.

My parents were tolerant of it then--yes, books were allowed at the dining room table so long as you also ate without complaining--and yesterday, god bless 'em, they enabled me to re-live a day of it. At about 11:30 am they came and took their two darling grandchildren away for a full day of granny and grandpa fun: playing at their house, eating lots of fruit leathers (which have replaced goldfish crackers in our house as "kiddie cocaine"), swimming at the pool. They brought them back at about 6 PM and then Brian took the kids out to eat at a local diner (and brought me home a huge Greek salad with grilled chicken).

I snuggled with the kids, tucked them in to bed and then went back to my book. I confess I did need a couple of Tylenols by the closing hours since there is only so much left-to-right tracking that my eyeballs can do before it causes my skull to throb (kinda like Harry's scar! But in a good way!)

I loved reading the book, but I loved even more the way I got to read the book--like a greedy little 11-year-old without a care in the world.

Chicken-y goodness

Despite the appearance of a tornado in Whitmore Lake at 4 PM and some crazy strong rain shortly thereafter, the skies cleared in time for us to head out to the 54th Annual Manchester Chicken Broil last night. I've meant to go to this every year and never got my butt out there, but finally got to witness the smoky glory of 19,000 lbs of grilled chicken. The timing was also terrific as this is Art Fair week in Ann Arbor and when hundreds of thousands of people pour into our town, well, I want to flee in a different direction entirely. And it helps if that direction has smoky chicken air to guide me.
I don't even want to think of thevolunteers who did all the cooking.

When the wind picked up and the smoke cleared for a second I was able to see the actual humans bent over the pit:
Sparkles-the-Rescue-Cat (Fiona's most frequent alter ego) was excited about getting to sink her teeth into some chicken.
And for $8 ($7 if you planned and got advance tickets) you got:
Half a chicken (which you can see she is already decimating), radishes, a pile of really good coleslaw (which I will attempt to reproduce tonight and post the recipe if I am successful), potato chips, roll and butter and soda, ice tea or water. The dark meat of the chicken was fantastic, the white meat was a little dry, but better that than an undercooked chicken. The food safety geek in me was happy to hear the announcer say that they use an instant read thermometer to temp test every chicken before it is served--with approx 14,000 dinners, that is a busy thermometer.

I was amazed by the efficiency of the operation. We waited for about 10 minutes in one (smoky) fast moving line outside the gates to get our tickets but once inside we went through the food line immediately and were sitting down at a table before a) any of the kids started to complain and b) we lost them in the crowds.

The proceeds of the Chicken Broil go to building playgrounds in the town--and I wish I had remembered to take a picture of the playground the kids managed to drag their full bellies to after dinner called the "Chi Bro Playground" whose name clearly tells you who paid for the place. They had taken some pretty standard playground equipment but had customized it with panels on the sides which transformed the structures into a huge fire engine and a police car. The actual equipment was pretty basic--tubes, slides, fireman poles, platforms and steering wheels--but by decorating the thing with the panels it opened up a great level of imaginative play to be mixed with the standard crazy kid-at-a-playground energy. I heard one mom whose kids were playing in the back of the police car happily telling her kids they were dangerous criminals and she was taking them to jail, which would make a nice change from my kids repeatedly threatening to take me to jail...

Ginormous

Did you know that "ginormous" was recently added to the Merriam-Webster dictionary?

Good thing too since I have the perfect opportunity to use the word when addressing blueberries I picked today:
On the left is Mr. Ginormous The Insane Berry and on the right is a "typical" berry. There were way more of the Mr. Ginormous berries than the "typical" berries at the Dexter Blueberry Farm where I picked about 3.5 lbs ($1.35/lb) in about 40 minutes.

And lest you think that anything that large must be watery and flavorless (as I've found huge strawberries to be when compared to their petite brethren) these babies have lots of flavor. In fact the flesh to skin ratio means that they have less of a sharp, acidic bite to them and taste even better raw. I just made a batch of the Lemon Prune whole grain muffins and substituted blueberries for the prunes so as soon as I get the kettle going and make myself some tea, I'll be able to report back on how they taste when cooked.

Testimonial

I am here to testify that it is possible, yea, even enjoyable to go backpacking with a four and (newly minted) seven year old. And South Manitou Island is just about the best place I can think of to take them for their first venture into turtle-dom (living with only what they--or mom or dad--can pack on their back).

We had a fabulous 4 day trip. We took the ferry over on a foggy day, but from there on out has perfect weather--not too hot for hiking, sunshine galore--and oh my god, the scenery. We hiked in about a mile and a half from the ferry dock and the ranger station to the Weather Station Campground. Many of the campsites have a view to the South of Lake Michigan and it is just a stumble down the hill to sand-bliss for kids.

As far as kid-amusement went, they each had a moderate sized stuffed animal and we brought a small pad of paper and some mini-markers and a pencil. And that was it.

But with tiny frogs

and four inch millipedes
to play with, plus flashlights, sticks, shells and sand, they kept busy.

I got lucky and picked a really good book for myself--Lately by Sara Pritchard. It is (another) book of linked stories but all of the stories stand on their own as really wonderful examples of the fullness of the genre. The links only start about half way through the book and provide extra resonances to the stories. Each story packed in a whopper of content both in character, time, place and emotional range. It is not a huge book (light in weight, which frankly was a factor in choosing it) but the stories are so rich and packed with detail, humor and poignancy that it reads like a honkin' huge book. And the stories are eminently re-readable (an excellent feature when you tend to have panic attacks when you run out of reading material); I even read one story I liked so much, "Here on Earth", a third time out loud to Brian on the drive home

We devoted one day to a long hike (maybe it was a little too long for the kids--about 7 miles--since Brian did end up giving Ian a piggy back ride back to camp for the last half mile) and took in the major points of the island: the old growth cedars, Lake Florence, an off-shore only partly submerged shipwreck and most spectacularly, the perched dunes:

The perched dunes

Fiona and I sat at the top and contemplated the view which was, trite to say it, breathtaking:
before Brian and Ian convince us to run/stumble/slide down what had to be a 45-degree-angle huge dune to the lake shore.

Weeeeee!

But for the rest of the trip, we took it easy, exploring some but leaving plenty of time for solitude and contemplation.

Culinarily speaking we were in the "everything tastes good when you are camping mode", but I do have to say if you are going with dehydrated meals, stick with the Asian flavored ones:
Mountain House Sweet and Sour Pork wasn't half bad after a long day of hiking. I'd probably recoil in horror if this showed up on a plate at home, but when you are in backpacking-deprivation-food mode, the pieces of rehydrated pineapple in this stuff were a big treat. We also ate their Thai spicy chicken, which was pretty decent, though I suspect that it isn't being made anymore (our dehydrated food has been in our attic for a looooong time) since I can't find it listed on-line anywhere for sale. Less enjoyable was the Natural High brand of Turkey Tetrazini with Asparagus and Pasta Primavera which we called "gloop gloop". Despite the truck load of trans-fats, the just-add-water Bisquick three cheese biscuits tasted really good on the last morning. I managed to "bake" them without the Outback oven, which we thrifted due to its bulk. I heated up the non-stick skillet with a little oil, dropped in lumps of biscuit dough and slapped on the lid to get them cooked through, then flipped them half way. They weren't pretty, but they tasted fine to the deprived-palate. We cut it a little close on the food front--finished all the trail mix and lunch the last day had us licking peanut butter off of a spoon--but it did make the pack of potato chips we snarfed on the ferry on the way back to the mainland taste even better.

19 more days

I haven't yet pre-purchased my copy of the new Harry Potter yet, being somewhat torn between starting the book at midnight but braving the crowds, or starting it at 7:01 am and not having to deal with super craziness (the earlier time means a pick up at one of the big bookstore chains, the later time means picking up at independent little Nicola's Books.) Nocola's has a bagel store right next door which might sway me in its favor.

I am passing the time of ever-increasing anticipation in two ways.

One: I'm reading the first Harry Potter book to the kids this summer. They are both such visual kids that books without pictures are difficult for them; for the first couple of chapters, I kept stopping every few paragraphs to make sure they were following the story. Now that we're underway they seem pretty focused. Fiona has demanded that I read the whole thing with a British accent which is a little tiring, but also kinda fun. Not surprisingly, my kids are crazy about Fred and George, the Weasley twins, great creators of chaos. After reading chapter six to them, I got to hear them repeat (for days) "Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" which they think is the funniest thing ever!

And two: We're leaving civilization for a week to take the kids on their first backpacking trip so I'll be a little removed from the Potter buzz. The kids have done plenty of back country camping, but it has all been done via canoe and in a canoe you can haul a hell of a lot of crap. So it'll be a bit of an adjustment for them to have to pare down their stuff and even haul some of it. We're going to keep it pretty easy on the hiking front by taking the ferry out to South Manitou Island. I've only been to North Manitou so it'll be new to me too. The only bummer is I haven't been able to find a paperback copy of the Harry Potter book and I don't want to lug the hardback. I know, it isn't a huge book like some of the later volumes, but when it comes to choosing between Harry Potter and the peanut butter in the pack on my back....wait...don't press me on this one....aggggg! I can't choose!

But before we go, I had to indulge a little Pottermania via this meme from Big A, little a:

1. Butterbeer or pumpkin juice?
Butterbeer. I'm not a fan of the smell of raw pumpkin (always makes me gag when we carve them at Halloween) and I imagine that butter beer is kind of like good ginger beer crossed with the flavor of hot buttered rum...

2. What House would you most likely (or want to) be in in Hogwarts?
I'm sure I'd end up in Ravenclaw and I just hope that there are lots of nerds with good senses of humor to keep me company. (In my experience, nerds, when in a safe, pro-nerd environment are pretty damn funny people so I have high hopes.)

3. If you were an animagus, what animal would you turn into?
For some reason a fox comes to mind. My sneaky side perhaps? Or maybe some kind of monkey...

4. What character do you empathize with, or resemble best?
Hermione. Right down to the bushy hair.

5. What position do you play at Quidditch?
I think the Beater position is calling my name. I was always on defense in Field Hockey and whacking the hell out of a ball, without having to worry too much about aim, sounds mighty therapeutic.

6. Which teacher is your favorite?
Remus Lupin when he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Prof.

7. Any Harry Potter 7 predictions?
I think that Dumbledore is well and truly dead, and I think Snape is one of the characters who will die. I lean towards the "Trust Snape" camp when it comes to whether he is bad or good.

Please consider this an open invitation to respond to the meme! Let me know if you do because each time a read a response, it gets me a little more hyper and excited for July 21st to come round!

What is up

What I'm reading:

I just finished Flight which was fantastic, but I will save my comments until after my book group meets in late July to talk about the book here. I started Michael Chabon's latest, The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and it is terrific, too. The alternate reality of a temporary Jewish homeland on an island off the coast of Alaska where the primary language is Yiddish takes some mental adjustment; the prominent humor is very, very ironic and Jewish. I was snorting with laughter when I read this passage in which a gentile reporter who learned Yiddish from "some pompous old German" and whose Yiddish is described as "like a sausage recipe with footnotes" tries to talk to two hardened (Yiddish) homicide detectives:

"A need to repeat the rash threats of yore does not, I assure you, exist, Detective Shemets....Evergreen and ripe with the sap of their original violence they remain."

Which later gets him the response:
"Brennan, please, I beg you to speak American....What the fuck do you want?"

How can you not love dialog like that?

But the book isn't just funny. Though I'm only on page 99, it already has moments of beauty that are sad, in a wasted, persecuted Jewish sort of way. To say this book gives me great insight into my father and his predecessors is a bit of an understatement.

What I'm knitting:

I finished the Branching Out scarf and it looks like it will be the perfect length--not too long for a partly decorative, partly warming piece of neck wear. Here it is being blocked:
The Artfibers Ming yarn was luscious to work with--Thanks again to Deb for the treat! I actually had someone in a doctor's waiting room ask if they could touch the yarn because it gives off that kind of glow.

I sticking with sturdier stuff for the Pea Pod Baby Set I just started knitting for my kid's pre-school auction this fall. I have no patience with the yarn called for in the pattern: a Debbie Bliss yarn with cashmere that is supposed to be dry cleaned. That strikes me as a recipe for a baby sweater that never gets used; I don't know about the babies the designer has met, but my kids copiously urped breast milk all over their clothes (and mine) pretty much every ten minutes and cashmere was not a part of our wardrobe.

What I'm tasting:

I tried the Cold-brewed iced coffee method from the NY Times and thought it was ok. The way the writer, Cindy Price, described the resulting beverage in the article made it sound dramatically different from the "normal" iced coffee I usually make (that is, chuck the leftover coffee from hubby's morning brew in a jar and shove it in the fridge until mid-afternoon when the caffeine is absolutely necessary to keep the kids from making mincemeat out of me before Brian gets home. If I'm desperate I swill it straight from the jar; if I have a little more prep-time I actually pour it in a glass with ice cubes! and maybe a little splash of milk!) Price describes "hints of chocolate, even caramel" coming out of the cold-brewed version. Well, I made a batch of the cold-brewed stuff (1/3 C ground coffee mixed up with 1 and 1/2 C cold water and left overnight to steep, then strained through a coffee filter). It was fine, but the angels neglected to play their trumpets over my head. I couldn't tell the difference between that and the stuff I usually drink. It was kind of nice not to have to heat up water for coffee that you want to drink cold, but as I am one of the few, the proud, the non-garbage disposal owners, cleaning the coffee grounds out of the jar was a messy chore. If you do have a disposal and can just swish it around and dump it down the drain, then this method might be good for you.

However, the angels were in attendance on my birthday when I tasted best red wine I've ever had the privilege of drinking. Brian and I went up to the Five Lakes Grill for their monthly theme dinner; this month was "A Taste of Spain". The food was good, but not mind blowing--there were some tapas, a nice gazpacho, some garlicy big shrimp, a fancified paella and an orange creme brulee. Everything was very nicely prepared, but none of it rocked my world. What did set me spinning was the red wine that was paired with the "Modern Style Paella": 2001 Remelluri Rioja. It was so ripe and rich and smoky and fruity I just about ran out of wine adjectives to describe it. It was this wine, and not the food, that Brian and I talked about on the way home. I've found it listed on-line on sale for $22.99/bottle, but I'd rather find a local source for it.

I have a new favorite platform for summer berries--the basic French yogurt cake, Gateau au Yaourt.
The cake is very springy and moist and the small amount of vanilla and rum in the batter give it a big boost of flavor. The strawberries pictured above were the very end of the Michigan crop (at least around here). Fiona and my mom and I went out and picked berries at Rowes earlier this week. The berries required sunstantial work--there weren't many per plant and they were small. But the small size was due to the stressed-out nature of the plants at the end of their fruit producing season and stressed-out, tired plants produce incredibly sweet and perfumed berries (if only all stressed-out, tired entities had such lovely results...). These berries are about as close in flavor to a wild strawberry as I've ever tasted coming from a cultivated plant. And they pair wonderfully with the yogurt cake and a big dollop of whipped cream.

What I'm writing:

I have an idea that I don't want to curse by talking about it. Sorry.

Gifts for one obsession

I had a birthday this week and received some lovely gifts, all of which supported my dominant obsession for the moment--cooking. Reading is still necessary for my sanity, but knitting and writing seem to be taking a bit of a summer vacation, and truth be told, with the kids out of school, the time needed to be stationary (for knitting) or to have uninterrupted time to think (for writing) is not in abundance. Perpetual motion and crisis management currently fills my days. But hey, I can still cook--we do have to eat, after all, and I am much better able to handle crises when I've eating well--and now I have new fun stuff to play with in the kitchen.

The first gift I received was this new Rancilio coffee grinder:
It does a fantastic grind for espresso, my only gripe is the size--you can see how huge it is when compared to my Kitchen Aid mixer. It is a commercial-grade piece of equipment that Brian got from a company that reclaims equipment from failed restaurants. New it costs over $400, but through the reclamation business Brian got it for a little over $100. Now I just have to get used to its size.

Lately, I've been wanting to try recipes that come from European blogs (like, say, Chez Pim, or La Tartine Gourmande). But in Europe many recipe measurements are by weight, rather than volume so I've been making some wild guesses. But no more! My parents gave me this:
A lovely little Salter scale which can weigh things from 1/8th of an oz up to 11 lbs. And it can switch to grams and kilograms for those sensible European modes of measurement. Brian is also thrilled by its arrival since he has begun brewing his own beer and needs to be able to weigh out precise quantities of yeast. I particularly appreciate its size (especially after receiving the Rancilio grinder)--it is slim, lightweight and a breeze to tuck into a drawer when not using.

When not prowling European food blogs, Brian has made sure that I'm not at a loss for new things to cook. He gave me the following books:
Rick Bayless' Mexican Everyday, The Blue Willow Inn Bible of Southern Cooking, Lidia Matticchio Bastianich's Lidia's Italy, and Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Italy. The last two I've checked out from the library before and really liked. I've started plowing through the Bayless book and already have gleaned good information (best way to cook dried beans perfectly--the slow cooker! Last night I made some delicious pintos for dinner). The Southern Cooking book is so I also cook some foods that Brian adores. Sometimes I think he tries to figure out how to take vacations in the South just to satisfy his barbecue, fried okra and biscuit cravings. (Of course, I heartily approve of travel that is based on one's belly.) So maybe we'll be able to stay at home here in the much less humid-North for the summer and still satisfy those cravings.

And then I got myself a little gift. Any of you do this for your birthday? I haven't been doing it for long, but I really like the principle of giving myself a gift--something that is a little bit of a splurge. This year I chose three citrus flavored olive oils from O.
I chose the O Sunshine Sampler which consists of their Ruby Grapefruit, Clementine and Jalapeno Lime citrus oils. They are fabulous. So far my favorite is the Clementine oil--I've been having it drizzled on top of some chevre on a piece of baguette and it is just wonderful. I've also tried the Jalapeno Lime on a fresh corn salad with feta and cilantro, and the Ruby Grapefruit on a spinach salad with white beans, toasted walnuts, goat cheese, thin sliced radishes and muscat vinegar (inspired by an entry on the food blog 101 Cookbooks).

And then in the evening on my birthday, Brian and I went out to dinner at the Five Lakes Grill for their prix fixe "Taste of Spain" dinner, which I will have to blog about a little later because the small people are stirring and I haven't yet fired up that Rancilio grinder to brew my morning coping elixir...

And now for the good stuff...

I may not have cared for the book we read for our book group, but once again, the food was fantastic. Coming up with food that you want to eat based on a circus theme is not the easiest task. Hot dogs, popcorn and cotton candy? No thanks. So we went for riffs on the circus food theme. Sarah picked up the peanut trope and brought some fantastic curried peanut and tomato soup:
And I decided that rather than greasy burgers, I'd make thai-spiced pork burgers, topped with nappa cabbage doused in lime mayo and red onions. Meg brought sweet potato fries rather than the normal variety and we welcomed Marilyn's salad even though it had nothing to do with the book...I think the closest to greens was a scene where an elephant stole into someone's garden and ate a cabbage.
For dessert, Ami made a wonderful key lime pie (in honor of the clowns that throw pies at each other) which was anointed generously with whipped cream:
I loved the soup Sarah made so much that I made it again for dinner last night. It is really terrific and really fast to make. Definitely a keeper of a recipe.

Curried Peanut and Tomato Soup
adapted from Gourmet, February 2006

1 medium onion, chopped
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons curry powder
1 (14-oz) can diced tomatoes in juice, chopped if large, reserving juice
1 can (14-oz) cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 cup hot water
1/4 cup chunky peanut butter
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
2 limes--one juiced, one cut in wedges
whole roasted peanuts for garnish

Cook onion, salt, and pepper in oil in a 2- to 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Add curry powder and cook, stirring frequently, 2 minutes. Add tomatoes (with their juice) and broth and simmer, uncovered, 5 minutes. Stir hot water into peanut butter until smooth and add to soup. Add juice of one lime. Simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes. Stir in cilantro before serving.

Serve with a wedge of lime and sprinkling of roasted peanuts.

Circus books

I know it is a little strange to read fiction about the circus life back to back, but that's what I did. While I haven't done an exhaustive search, I don't think the circus is the most popular topic in contemporary fiction. The first book was one that my book group chose, Water for Elephants and the second book was one that an anonymous commenter recommended back when I was asking for books of linked stories (thanks anonymous!), The Circus in Winter.


My book group met last night (food post to follow) and I was definitely in the minority in not liking Water for Elephants. I admit that after the last book our group attempted (an apt verb since no one actually finished the book), Snow by Orhan Pamuk, I was relieved when I started Water for Elephants. Hey, there were characters! And a plot! And prose that didn't make me feel numb! But that relief soon wore off as I started to get more and more annoyed with the characters, the melodrama, the predictability of it all. So last night grouchy-Kate, the buzz killer (though Diane's spiked lemonade soon brought the buzz back!), bitched about the book while everyone else recounted their favorite parts.

I don't really want to spend the energy here recounting my objections; I'd rather turn your attention to a vastly superior (in my grouchy-Kate opinion) piece of fiction that happens to be about a circus. When I first started Cathy Day's book, I was worried that it would just be a bunch of stories behind the side-show freaks. There were a few of these, but the chapters/stories built on each other to present a portrait of a performing culture that had depth and emotion. Set in the circus' winter quarters in Lima, Indiana, it is also a view of a small town that just happens to have a large portion of the population who talk about elephants rather than their pet dogs. That is to say, the exotic is not the attraction, rather the humanity underneath the "sawdust and spangles."

Many of the chapters were published as short stories before being drawn together in this book and I can certainly see how they can stand on their own. But when read together they gain power from each other and turn into a novel. I'm really impressed by this fact--that a writer can take the fragments, which are fine on their own, and stitch them together into something that becomes whole. It is a beautiful and memorable book.

The next book our group will read is a book I'm really excited about: Sherman Alexie's Flight. I've read a few of Alexie's short stories and loved them--aggressive, shocking prose, but also funny and beautiful. He has a really unique voice. Here's a little excerpt taken from the Amazon review to tempt you to read it too:

Zits [the main character] meditates on the nature of profanity, deciding even a harmless word can be profane when delivered with punch:

'Don't you look at me that way,' [the foster father] says. 'Don't try to stare me down.'

Of course, I keep staring at him.

'Stop staring at me,' he says.

'Plop,' I say.

'What did you say?'

'Plopping plop.'

Jesus, I sound like a pissed-off Dr. Seuss character. That thought makes me laugh.

'Are you laughing at me?' he asks.

'You bet your plopping ass I'm laughing at you.'

You bet your plopping ass I'll be reading this as soon as it comes in the mail.