With bullets, who needs transitions?

• American Idol recently had Queen day, and one of the contestants sang "We Will Rock You." This has brought a classic rock song to a new generation, which is great. However, one of Ben's kindergarten classmates sang snippets of the song for him, and both boys told me how much they like that song—which they render as "We Will Walk You." I assured the boys that the song's actually "We Will Rock You," but they're having none of it. Ben sang snippets for his dad—"We will, we will walk you. Walk you!" Mr. Tangerine corrected him, of course, but Ben's having none of it. He knows it's a song about walking. Which, if you think about it, is no more nonsensical to a six-year-old than being rocked by someone.

• Ben crashed and burned in yoga class yesterday. The moves were too hard, and he found it frustrating. He kept coming over to my lap for motherly solace, eventually turning on the tears. So I took him home early. (This yoga class? Is crazy. It's not soothing and peaceful at all. Those girls are LOUD. And some of them are TOTALLY HYPER. LIKE, I THINK THEY MIGHT NEED MEDICATION that they're not receiving. In all seriousness.) Today, we finally made it to his new dodgeball class, having missed the first three for reasons of spring break and maternal spaced-outness. And Ben absolutely LOVED dodgeball! He didn't seek out my lap. Hell, he didn't even glance my way after the one time he gave me a thumbs-up. I'll leave it up to Ben as to whether he wants to give yoga another try next week. If he doesn't, that's fine with me, because the noise level at yoga is so much greater than the noise level at dodgeball. (Plus, yoga class is free, so it's no skin off my back to quit.)

• Midwestern Deadbeat wanted to know the story behind the name of this humble blog. (Hey, first I typed "blug." Shouldn't that be a word for something? Maybe for an entomology blog?) I promised to make up something juicy (hah! juicy!), but I'll be damned if I can think of a good story. The real story is that I rather randomly chose "Orange" as my screen name after I started commenting at other blogs. Other people had such clever and cryptic names, and using my first name clearly wouldn't do. Then when Psycho Kitty goaded me into starting my own blog (with a very charming, "And where's your blog, young lady? *tap, tap, tap*"—thanks, girl!), I needed a blog name. I don't know how I came up with the idea of tacking Tangerine on. I think Blogger wanted my full name and I made up first name Orange, last name Tangerine? And then used the same thing for the blog name? I dunno. Aren't you sorry you asked, Deadbeat? I sometimes contemplate writing a post full of links to all the orange and tangerine things I like, but wouldn't that be more boring than this? I did just order something called Pussy Pucker Pots in Tangerine from Flea's Honeysuckle Shop garage sale; it's flavored lip balm.

• One of the local TV news programs has this plug on their site: "The best local news coverage doesn't get any better with Mark Suppelsa and Robin Robinson." Does it get worse? Or does it merely stagnate?

• I can't believe I wrote that I dreamt I was making out with a blogger, and not a single one of you guys wrote a comment or an e-mail. All I'll say further is that if I haven't met you in real life, you weren't the guy in the dream...

• The last reader question is from JT: "What makes you the best mom in the world?" Easy. I had the foresight to marry Mr. Tangerine, who's the best dad in the world. He's patient where I'm not, willing to take destinationless El and bus rides strictly to entertain Ben, dedicated, devoted, sweet, and incredibly affectionate.