I find myself busy during the long holiday weekend, so my good friend Mel Gibson generously agreed to author a guest post.

People often ask me, “Mel, How did you become so successful?” The answer is simple. I’ve found that when you follow these simple rules for living, everything will come up roses.

• If you make a movie about Jesus, people will let you say whatever you want. 
• If you make three buddy movies with a black guy, feel free to use the n-word all you like. 
• It’s bad form to burn down your partner’s house after she provides oral sex, UNLESS you explicitly inform you partner of your intention to burn before the sexual activity begins. 
• It’s surprising, but pigs in heat are amazingly attractive. 
• When it becomes inevitable that the one you love is to be raped by a pack of n-words, make sure she’s clear that you aren’t to blame. 
• Jews may have a lot of money, but they very rarely throw a punch. Say what you will about them, and your arresting officer will probably agree. 
• Get hammered. And stay that way.

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Scene 1: Master bedroom, theskinnyonbenny mansion.

Vanya, wearing a cowboy hat and climbing on to his mother’s back: Mama, I’m gonna ride you like a cowboy.

Mrs. theskinnyonbenny lets him climb up, smiling.

Me: That’s a much better response than I get when I tell her the same thing.

Scene 2: Mexican restaurant, lunchtime on Wednesday.

Benny, Mrs. theskinnyonbenny, and Vanya eat their lunch. Vanya catches the waiter’s eye and waves him over to the table.

Vanya: Hey, we don’t have any money. To pay for this. We come back tomorrow to pay.

Waiter just gives puzzled look.

Mrs. theskinnyonbenny: Way to go Vanya, now he’s going to be watching us like a hawk.

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You may have noticed that a very high percentage of the blogs out there have turned into parents writing about their kids. I know it’s just not that interesting, but when you have a little kid, you just don’t get out that much and find other amusing things to write about. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the quality of American writing is worse just because it’s such a pain in the ass getting a babysitter.

By the time this posts, I will be days in on a trip to a resort with lots of bars and gambling — a trip that includes many of the most fun adults that I know, and none of our children. But until that trip has come and gone, you’ll have to wait for stories fit for grown ups.

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The news is tiring of it, but oil is still pouring into the waters of the Gulf Of Mexico as you sit and read. I wish I was in the government and somehow in charge of all of this. Here’s what I would do.

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Vanya is all-in on an initiative to talk like Looney Tunes. For a couple of weeks, he’s been known to throw out a “What’s up Doc?” as he eats something that requires bringing hand to mouth. It doesn’t have to be a carrot. A pretzel, slice of apple, or even a sandwich will do.

On Sunday, I heard him say quietly to himself “What’s the big idea,” and I suspected that this would come up in conversation soon. And it did. After I rewired an electrical outlet, he came through the room where the outlet was and said, “Papa, what’s the big idea with this plug?” Since then, he’s dropped a couple more big ideas.

I’m looking forward to the inevitable “Sufferin Succatash”, as well as Foghorn Leghorn’s, “Ah say, Boy!”

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Until I got a text message reminding me, I completely forgot that I told my cousin’s new husband, “I think it’s great that you were willing to marry JJ, given her non-functioning male genitalia and all.”

So I think that makes up for the fact that I didn’t take a picture of my junk with the disposable cameras at the reception. But if this bothers you, it might be best to stop reading the recap now. You can safely check out my pictures here.

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When you adopt a child, especially one from an orphanage in another country, you have an expectation of watching your sort of weak, sickly kid bat last in the batting order and get playing time only when the game is out of hand. And that’s a fine way to go through a sporting life. I played baseball for many, many years before working my way out of the nine hole and right field, and I had fun all along the way.

But I ended up with a kid who thew his first spiral at the age of three. He’s as strong as a bull and freakishly fast. Somehow, I ended up with an athlete. Until it comes to swim lessons.

Swim lessons have been an exercise of holding onto the side of the pool while crying. Just like they were around this time last year. He got through his first lesson without tears this afternoon, but no one was mistaking the kid at the far end of the pool for Aquaman. Nevertheless, he was pretty proud of himself at the end.

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Last night, Mrs. theskinnyonbenny told Vanya to stop doing something or other. He ran over to me, crying, and sobbed, “Mama, you don’t love me anymore!”

That’s how I’m feeling about my blog this month. I’ve got nothing — and I mean absolutely nothing — new going on that would be at all interesting to anyone. Not that this stops me from writing most other months, but for some reason, it is right now.

On the other hand, I have a few notes on ideas to blog about that have gotten added and ignored for months. So I suppose I could go back to one of those.

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