MOLI VIEW™

It was just hours before the strangest Dodgers game I'm likely to watch — and a day before as typically impotent an offensive display as that team is likely to put on. It was not even 24 hours before the world celebrated with Spain that I found my final fury with Pau Gasol.

Finally, it was happening: In moments I'd deliver on my promise to ingest an insect.

I fortified myself by saying, "Self, at least you're helping to save the planet." It was that self-satisfied illusion, plus an opportunity to provide my seeds a lesson on the importance of keeping one's word. (The ceremonial bug eating also worked as a lesson in why one shouldn't make rash promises, but let's focus on one thing at a time.)

I'd really had a ladybug in mind, or nothing with separate thorax and head, at least. But while Wyatt and Forest and I foraged through the front yard for an appetizer and my girl grilled the main course on the grill in back, the option for a simple critter went out the window. No ladybugs were found in the grass. And when I found a roly-poly Wyatt objected, going to the brink of tears with his objections. "But they're so cute, Dad! Don't!" So that species was out.

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