Apparently, no one . . .

. . . is dying of curiosity, so here's the deal.

I am applying for a job rotation with the Navy in Naples, Italy.

My mind is currently boggling about all the planning - get the house ready for sale, sell the house, sell a car, store household goods, move household goods, find a place to live, figure out health insurance, drivers' licenses, visas, bank accounts, ad infinitum.

But, I'm a planner by profession, so it's not really that hard.

Anyway, I'm sure someone else has done this, so maybe I can ask.

Besides, I may not get the job.

No guarantees.

Although, I AM the best qualified applicant.

Just ask me.

More later.

Film at eleven.

How did Michael Jackson . . .

. . . have three white kids?

Someone had it in for him, I guess.

Look, it's not all my fault. Brennig made me do it. Yep, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

In memory . . .

. . . of Melissa's father.

High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor even eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

- by John Gillespie Magee, Jr, 1941

'Scusami, but you see . . .

. . . back in old Napoli . . .

With appropriate apologies to Dean Martin, another interesting opportunity has entered our lives. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Not a sure thing, but very possible. Hints abound herein, if you're interested in looking for them.

I'm not sure . . .

. . .this is presidential behavior.

But then, I'm not surprised. Nothing else he does is either. I'm sure he'll apologize for this. He's apologized for just about everything the U.S. has done for the last 100 years.

Bear with me . . .

. . . while I salute my g.g.g.g.g.grandfather.

My 5th great-grandfather, Stephen Wood, was a member of the Montgomery County Maryland Militia.

It took more than a year, but I was able to obtain a veteran's grave marker for him through the U. S. Government Vetrans' Administration. The highlight of that process was explaining to a government clerk that Social Security numbers did not exist in 1735, nor did service numbers (on dog tags) in 1776.

Carrollton Cemetery, Carrollton, IL

Cuisson des beignets . . .

. . . sans pantalon.

Well, I wasn't, of course.

It just looks that way because I'm wearing shorts.

Long shorts - but not as long as the apron.

For fathers' day, Lisa sent me a very nice card and a beignet kit from Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. I visited Cafe Du Monde the first time with my parents when I was 15 years old. In the six or seven times we've been back since then, Mrs. B and I never fail to stop in at least once.

Think of the lightest, sweetest, tastiest doughnut you've ever had. Beignets are better than that.

If you're ever in New Orleans, do not - repeat, do not - leave without going to the Cafe Du Monde.