Vacation.

I got a vacation coming up. Got me to thinking about stuff. Dangerous, I know. I've heard lots of folks saying, "Life's a journey, not a destination". Maybe. 'Course, that's not the way my dad viewed trips. Like a lot of dads, he was all about getting there. Rocketing down the highway at a few miles an hour above the posted limit, windows cracked a half inch to allow some of the smoke from the chain-smoked Pall Malls to leave the car. Bathroom breaks? "You should've thought about that before we left". Dad was a classic guys' guy, who always voted Republican and who rooted against Muhammad Ali (or, as Dad would say, "Cassius Clay"), because he was a draft-dodger. But there are other memories, too. Like on a trip to New Smyna Beach, Florida, when dad suddenly stopped the car to pick up and relocate a turtle that was trying to cross the road so it wouldn't get run over. So, we should try to get where we're going, but we need to remember, at every moment, we're also already there. Or, as John Travolta said as the angel Michael, "You gotta learn to laugh".

According to a couple of articles in the Charleston Post and Courier it's an especially good week to hate, whether it's Local, or International. Sounds like maybe we all need to put a copy of South_Pacific in our Netflix queue.

...and the Oscar for best soundtrack goes to...

I always enjoy the Oscars. Best Actor. Best Director. Best Screenplay. Best music in a film often gets short shrift. It shouldn't. Think background soundtracks don't matter? Thanks to my oldest son, for unearthing this gem:

Time to Get a Gun, Redux

There are a lot of issues that get people's blood up. Guns are one of 'em. I've been hunting a few times. I'm not really good at it, but I've been. Don't worry, Bambi's safe; I've only ever seen two deer on the few deer hunts I've been on, and I didn't get a good shot either time. Still, I love to eat meat, and I'm under no delusions about where it comes from. Hunters also have been prime movers in conservation. Ducks Unlimited has been responsible for conserving lots of land for hunting. You can't (legally) hunt in a subdivision, right? Trees, spotted owls, snail darters benefit, so I'm good with Ducks Unlimited. Shotguns? No problem. Pistols? Well, it's a little more complicated. I'll bravely take a spot on the fence, for now. Automatic weapons with extended clips? Armor-piercing ammo? Nah. Include me out. You gotta love the old debate on Boston Legal:

Racing Along, Redux.

Life's not bad in the Boro, of late. Not perfect, but not bad. After an unseasonably warm Winter and Spring, the mornings have been glorious and cool in June. Go figure. It's got me feeling Celtic. Don't ask me why. Anyway, here's a Chieftains tune I've been digging:

Poison.

Alice Cooper just played in North Charleston. I couldn't see him, because I had to spray the yard. These seem to be unrelated things, but they're not. I continue in my quest to gussy up to grass. Moles continue to make a mockery of my efforts. We water and feed and seed the lawn; while moles, in search of succulent grubs, dig it up. "Kill the grubs", they say, "and the moles will leave quicker than you can say Jack Robinson". We've tried the pricey grub killers; however, our lawn must be pretty tasty, because the grubs always come back. With the return of the grubs, the moles return as surely as the tourists traveling South on I-95 pull into the Cracker Barrel at Exit 53. So what's a gardener to do? Well, I took a tip from Alice:

Hairy Potter and the Craft Show.

Lady Di and I did the Spoleto thing again this year. Old Crow Medicine show. A funny play by Thomas and Judy Heath. Art exhibits. Lots of food. And, oh yeah, the craft show. Whilst at the craft show, we happened on the dude at left (the picture at left, and the guy with the Tilley hat. No, that's me. The OTHER dude with the Tilley hat). The guy worked with clay, which, by his own admission, made him a potter. I asked him how long he'd sported the beard. He said twenty years or so. I told him that made him a hairy potter well before J.K. Rowling came up with the idea. He told me I'd gone to an awful lot of work for not that great a joke. He still let have a picture with him, though.