Giant Lobster Attacks the Boro!

I wiped the sleep out of my eyes this morning, put on my flip-flops and ambled across the drive-way to pick up the newspaper, when I saw this little guy trudging toward the hedges. The mudbug (we'll call him Manny. Manny the Mudbug), or Connie Crayfish, if you'd prefer, seemed a little far from home, but I suppose he'd be comfortable enough in the pond two hundred-fifty feet or so to the back of the lot. Maybe that's what he had in mind. Here he is in action:

Remember.

In your prayers tonight, give thanks for the life of Eric, who died serving our Country. Eric's dad and aunt are old high school friends of mine, and I know how proud they are of him.

Red, White, and Blue.

I'm not a huge basketball fan. I like it okay, and I generally watch College March Madness and I follow the playoffs in the N.B.A. I've been keeping up with the Eastern and Western Conference Finals (even though the games generally finish after my bedtime). It looks like the Dallas Mavericks have eliminated the Oklahoma City Thunder, and the Miami Heat are about to oust the Chicago Bulls. The games don't matter a bunch to me, but I do like their uniform colors. And I mean "uniform": the Thunder are blue and white; the Mavs are blue and white. The Heat are red and white; the Bulls are red and white. Look at the photo at left... where are they playing? Ironically, the visiting Mavericks are clad in blue, as are all of the loyal Thunder fans in the stands. The Mavs are on their way to face the Bulls or, more likely, the Heat. Either way, it'll be blue versus red. At least we'll know who is the home team in the Finals.

Silly Goose.

Geese have invaded the Boro! Okay, maybe that didn't deserve an exclamation point. Anyway, while I was thrilled to see them, Lady Di informs me that she's watched geese come to and go from her Maison Jaune for years, and for her the thrill is gone. Apparently they leave parting gifts of the less-than-desirable type. Maybe B.B. King and Tracey Chapman were right.



Perhaps the term "silly goose" has become more offensive because of these. Least that's what the folks at South Park seem to think.

I'm Almost 50...

What? Fifty-one is almost fifty, right? My darling daughter, Caroline, and her boyfriend, Jay, joined us for dinner last night. In addition to the lovely strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting pictured at left, we had grilled Omaha Filet Mignon, garlicky mashed potatoes, zucchini and summer squash with feta cheese, and a fine bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I'd say it went off with a bang.

Happy Birthday, Robert Zimmerman

Okay, maybe you know him as Bob Dylan, and it's his birthday. Actually, we share the day. Last year I celebrated my birthday; this year I'm celebrating his birthday. I'm posting three of my favorite Dylan songs for his birthday. I'm not sure what he's doing for my birthday.

First, one of his sixties anthemns from his defiant youth: The Times, They are a-Changin'



A few years later, he changed:



Whatever his current value system, he had a Christian era, which I enjoyed immensely. This one's from his "Slow Train" album:

A Chard Experience.

Lady Di's big on the Boro's Farmer's Market. That leafy bouquet she's holding is actually Swiss chard. The stalks are tasty and colorful, and leaves are a nice stand-in for fresh spinach in the weekly stir-fry. The carrots and red onions that are plopped down next to her also made the cut, together with some aromatic rice cooked with chicken broth and a little olive oil, four pressed garlic cloves, and chunks of sauteed chicken breast all coated with a lovely sauce of rice wine vinegar, soy sauce, crushed red pepper and just a bit of sugar.

Bike to Work Day.

Happy National Bike to Work Day Everyone!

Trashed.

I walked Bo and Brady yesterday afternoon, as I do every afternoon, and I noted a preponderance of roadside litter. Sad, that. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, used to make a point during his ultra-marathon jaunts of picking up some of the various and sundry lots of litter he encountered. On my unquestionably more leisurely lopes, I'll occasionally pick up bits of detritus, too. Every now and again I'll think of that crying Native-American from the anti-littering ad of the 1970's. Remember? Sure you do.

Trump Card.

Now that Donald Trump has ditched his fledgling presidential run, he may have time to play golf at one of his golf courses. We visited his Trump National Golf Course in Palos Verdes, just outside of Los Angeles; it is stunning. Here, take a look.

The New John Deere

I just got a new mower. It's Deere to me. Lots of songs about it, too.

Good For What Ales You.

I've toured breweries. I grew up in Tampa, and took the tour of the Anheiser Busch brewery there on more than one occasion. They used to give you free samples at the end of the tour, which may explain why my pop took my brother and me for the tour more than once. The oddist brewery I toured was the one in West Malle, Belgium. I visited Belgium- and my favorite Belgian, Dirk- a few years ago. Europe's Low Countries (as opposed to South Carolina's Lowcountry) are famous for their many high quality beers. The Netherland's Heinekin, and Belgium's Stella are but a couple of the more famous ones, but that's not the end of it: even their holy people do the brew. In point of fact, Dirk's uncle is a Trappist Monk in the monastery in West Malle, Belgium, and they make their own cheese and brew a right decent Ale there. I discovered the bottle of Ale pictured at left in Columbia, SC last year, but it started its journey in Dirk's uncle's Belgian monastery. Ain't that a kick in the head?

The Long and Winding Road.

This photo from our hike at a park outside of Temecula reminded me of the Beatles tune. Not an original thought, I know. Still, it's a pretty song.

Cheep Trick.

The Chateau d' Otis is a pleasant place. The back porch has a lovely view of the pond which meets the yard. Bugs and frogs have also noticed the nice venue, and sing its praises most nights. The dogs of the palace have not always enjoyed their neighbors. It's understandable, I suppose. The frogs and crickets can get quite boisterous. Here, give it a listen:



The dogs think it's a cheep trick.

Dirtbags.

Los Angeles is a great sports city. During our week there, there might be any of three different pro sports teams playing. Two basketball teams (sure, the Lakers mighta got bounced in the second round of the playoffs this year, but they remain one of the most storied franchises in all of sports. Two hockey teams. Two baseball teams (sure, the Dodgers are going through some grief right now, but they remain one of the most... uh, you know). A couple of professional soccer teams. Several major colleges, with their own notable sports histories. 'Course, you know about Southern Cal and U.C.L.A., but how 'bout Long Beach State baseball? Officially they are "The 49ers", and they've made four trips to the College World Series, and are regulars in post-season play. Unofficially they have one of the greatest nicknames in college sports: the
Dirtbags, (second, in my mind, only to the U.C. Santa Cruz Banana Slugs). Jason Giambi's a dirtbag. So is the Tampa Ray's Evan Longeria. Jared Weaver's a lucky dirtbag, because he gets to play only a few miles away from his college for the Angels.

Long Beach State plays right across the street from the school where our hostess teaches, so we took in a game. The stadium wasn't full of fans early, but there were plenty of pro scouts.

Hollywood Swingin'

Los Angeles is synonymous with Hollywood; Hollywood is synonymous with the promise of a golden career as a movie star. If you're both talented and very lucky, you might make the big time.



If you're talented, lucky and manage to stick around for a few years, you might even get a star on the sidewalk along Hollywood Boulevard, like everybody's favorite octogenarian, Betty White.

...or maybe even get your handprints in the cement in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater.

Wait, is that Debbie Reynolds?



Of course, for every Betty White, there are thousands of folks who come out West and never hit the big time. Hey, at least this guy's working!

The Boro's 2011 Criterium

Walterboro hosted its annual downtown bicycle race last night (a/k/a Criterium). It was a blast. I posted it last year. If you want to take a look, click HERE. I left out the obvious Queen song last year. No such reservations this year.

You Say Po-Tay-To, I Say Po-Tah-To.

Beverly Hills sports one of the premier shopping districts anywhere: Rodeo (pronounced Ro-Day-O) Drive. We have a Rodeo Drive in Colleton County, South Carolina, too; however, we pronounce it in the more pedestrian manner "Ro-Dee-O". See if you can distinguish between California's Rodeo Drive from the Boro's:







Julia woulda known the difference.

What am I, like, Twelve?

Up on Griffith Observatory, high above L.A., there are some interesting views. You can see the sprawl that is the greater Los Angeles area; you can see the Hollywood sign; you can see interesting local flora. If you think like a twelve year old, and you're paying attention, you can also see some pretty funny stuff. Take a look at the picture at left. Lady Di is to the upper right, looking at me disapprovingly. Why? Well, she knows me, you see. Look at the foreground at the bottom of the picture. There's a plaque. I'll give you a better picture of the plaque in a minute. Now look behind Lady Di, to her left, more or less in a line from the plaque. See that couple there?




That's them, up close. I saw the girl and the plaque at nearly the same time. So, what does the plaque say?









Now, just think how funny that'd be if you were a twelve-year old boy. Welcome to my world.

I Love L.A.

Los Angeles has a bunch of people. The 3.8 million folks in L.A.'s 500 square miles is nearly as many as the 4.6 million that South Carolina spreads over more than 32,000 square miles. Add in the metropolitan area including Riverside, Long Beach, where Lady Di's sister Andrea lives, and a few other cities, and you're talking nearly 18 million people. Many, many of those people drive cars, and all those cars spew pollutants, which is maybe why this pic I took from Griffith Observatory is so vague. Or maybe it's haze. Or maybe I've got to get a better camera. Anyway, L.A. has a lot of people.

A Moveable Feast.

Okay, I'm not Hemmingway, and maybe Southern California is not Paris; still, Cali was still a moveable feast in my book. Lady Di was unable to finish this Lamb-Burger with cream cheese which she acquired at an outdoor bistro near Beverly Hills. Like Southern California generally, it was more than a reasonable person could handle in one sitting.