Chopper polishin' time!

Actually, things are looking up. The dentist didn't weep upon viewing my teeth for a change.

Katarina and her Fancy-Ass Bag

Finally, someone has captured my essence.

At the Reagan building

Dr. Marc Irwin on the keys, TW on stage singing to Delores, whom he is obscuring completely.

Step Three

Yum. That one before last was a movie, by the way, guys. Click the arrow....

Step Two...

Papaw, we are dining in your honor this evening

I love Japanese game shows

Because, as just happened, you can overhear things like, "He hopes to overcome his fear of heights by not falling." Heh. Don't we all. It's rainy and awful here. Love you guys.

A return to the kicking of my ass

Kevin occasionally invites me to tennis with him, primarily because my impudent serve amuses him and because he can squash the rest of my game like a bug. He is 20 years my junior and at least 12 times my size, having a wingspan like a seagoing albatross. He stands dead center and can reach everywhere on the court, taking great pleasure in running my agèd corpse all over until I droop and wheeze like some ancient, graying schnauzer. And then he laughs.

But it's hot and rainy, so Kevin informed me that he has now taken membership in an indoor tennis facility, the better to study my wheezings and thrashings in its unforgiving fluorescent glare.



It's a curious canvas half-egg, draped with plastic walls and ghostly white netting.



And of course Kevin beat me like a gong once again. However, my serve was VERY impudent and he was able to run me around less than usual. Perhaps my bones are growing back again. Next, the muscles!

Courtesy Johanna...

...I have a new phone with a new chip and this is my first pic: a grim study titled, 'Splintery Socks.'

Things I forgot....

Some pictures from up in Massachusetts just slipped through the cracks. Plus I had them saved on my computer.



This giant bat, for instance.It's laying about for no particular reason being pointlessly arty not far from our hotel.

Also, somehow the extraordinarily lowbrow and tasty Hot Dog Ranch and its wares missed the cut.



Not far away, I'm not sure if it's the overgrown buggy field, the rust, or the proximity to highway exhaust that makes me so resolutely say, "No!" to this.



Not to mention I completely forgot to put this up on the 6th, which --if one takes the farm market sign as gospel-- was World Breastfeeding Celebration Day. I would be willing to bet that would be one of the more entertaining holiday parades you could attend. I would strive for a front row seat, myself. Also one of the few holidays that seems to have its own soundtrack. By David Grover



Lastly, the Cranwell rabbit. Always around, always eating, ballsy as hell. I'm pretty sure he growled at me and I didn't know bunnies could growl. You could walk up pretty close to him and he wouldn't do more than eye you warily, his rabbity cheeks stuffed with grass or weeds or whatever the hell he was eating. And growl. I think. He sorta had Charlie's attitude. He endured us watching him. But he didn't like it.

All of our groupies reek of moth balls

Yesterday drove the four hours up the road to Penn State University, dragging our diminutive pianist, Dr. Marc Irwin with me. Sadly, I always have an idea in my head of what I think a college show should be like.



It's years of frat party movies and Girls Gone Wild videos and Playboy's Hottest Co-ed issues and, well, yes, actually having been to college.



And despite years of having done show after show at college after college, hoping hope against hope against hope...



...the reality never quite lives up what I've been expecting. Tonight was no exception.


And, no, I haven't found my camera memory chip. Why do you ask?

Tragically...

...I removed the tiny little chip from my phone that allows me to save pictures. And I have misplaced it. I know it's around somewhere. However, it makes it more difficult to document my surroundings. I shall have to rely on surrogate photos for the time being.

For instance, I blundered through the heat day before yesterday down to the little park maybe a mile from here to find a giant Ecuadorian Family Picnic Gathering Day or something going on.  Anyway, lots of heart-rendingly lovely Ecuadorian ladies, many a disgruntled-appearing Ecuadorian Poppa, and large tables groaning with roasted guinea pigs and whatnot, and even larger megaphones blasting out community speeches or political exhortations or bingo numbers or something. It seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the crowd even as they cheered every word.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

I love you, Mom
I always will
Although I've always been a pill
And never did keep very still,
I love you, Mom, I always will.

I love you, Mom,
I'll always care
Although I am not always there,
And sometimes, maybe, cause despair,
I love you, Mom, and always care.

I love you, Mom
Forever more,
Though farther than I was before,
I wish I still lived right next door,
I love you, Mom, forever more.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I wish I was there.

Good morning, New York

Looking south from the tiny Doubletree on W. 29th. I'm pretty the WTC would have filled a lot of that sky space. Will put up pictures from the boat later. Must head to LaGuardia.

Smelly cab?

VERY smelly cab.

Good Lord

Drove home all night long, slept solid for two days, didn't even post anything and already on a plane back to Manhattan. I'll miss the busy when it's gone...in, like, two days.

One last drive past Lover's Lane...

...conveniently located next to a playground for maximum creepiness.  Local authorities have made a safe haven for the teenagers in these parts to explore their budding senses of complete irresponsibility.

One last schvitz....

Last day at the range

Well, no more free balls...so probably no more golf for another year. But great for the shoulder, not bad for the torso musculature, and very psychologically satisfying when you actually manage to whack the hell out of the thing. Things like this are always more fun when you don't keep score, I reckon.

Mick Jagger has nothing to fear

Yes, he may be older. But he still looks better when he does this.  Me and Jon Bell proving we're no Mick Jaggers.