31 March 2014

This Beats Working!

An informal survey of my readers  (i.e., I didn't ask, but some are very bold and write me without invitation) yields these results:

The most frequently asked question by my blogees is,"London, what the fuck do you all day long down there?"  Please note that today's NYTimes has an article explaining why it is no longer obscene to say "fuck" in the newspaper. Indeed, the article ridicules those publications that adhere to 50 yr. old journalistic standards in that regard. How embarrassing for the author of that piece that he works for one of them. 

And I have received a suggestion that I stop pissing all over Chris Christie, because the newspapers and tv talking heads are doing a good job of it and they don't need me.  I reject that because i) I enjoy pissing all over Chris Christie, and ii) the newspapers and talking heads miss key parts of the story. For example, there was a headline in the online NYT a few days back that trumpeted "Report Clears Christie "  All the news that's fit to print?  You had to go to the second paragraph of the story to learn that Christie's lawyer wrote the "Report", that not only "cleared" Christie, but it concluded the "lane realignment" was the fault of a hormonal female staffer who had been recently dumped by her lover.  Hmm, do you think we should pronounce the "t" in this "Report"?

Also, did you see the Times headline that screamed: "Christie No Longer Denies Learning of Lane Closing While It Was Happening!" Well it should have been there, but wasn't. When the Governor was confronted with that allegation, his response was "I don't remember".  That ain't no denial, and in summation the prosecutor would be well within his rights to say so. Also, for me, it brings to mind Richard Nixon, meeting in the oval office with Haldeman, Ehrichman, and Dean and instructing them what they should say to the Watergate burglars who had been subpoenaed to testify in the grand jury, "Just tell em to say they don't remember."

What else do I do?  Soak up St. Barths, that's what.  This past weekend was the St. Barths Bucket, a "race" of sorts of ocean going yachts of surpassing beauty. The Queen of the Fleet, is 66 meters long (you do the math, I have started drinking) and is gorgeous. So I took pictures from our deck. That part was easy. Getting them into this blog, not. Here are some of the stills, I hope. First is the view from our front porch on the night before:

Next, some of the long shots of the sailing ships at work: This one is supposed to be a video of the big one, after weighing anchor and before raising her sails. I could not get the video to work here.

Next, a few ships under sail. The video still refuses to cooperate:

Those were pix from day 3.  Here are some from day 2:

While struggling with the tech part of this process, I heard a shriek from the backyard. It's Dina, the housekeeper. She has encountered a new-born iguana. To give you an idea of proportion, a full grown iguana, tip to tail, is about four feet long. Remember the fearsome old man who came to visit Stephanie in her bedroom a few years back?:

Well, here is his descendant, hanging in the same neighborhood.  This guy is 12 inches nose to tail, tops:

How adorable is that?  He fell into an area bounded by four sheer walls, and he is insufficiently developed to climb them. So whatta we do? CALL DOFIE, that's what,  and this is the result:

So now you know what we do here all day long.   

Et vous?

A bientot.

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