I would like to take a minute to acknowledge the fine meat products of the Niman Ranch company. In just a few short days, one of their tasty cows went from happily grazing on a hillside in Marin County to sizzling on my Dad's grill. About 5 minutes a side, delicious.
What's the line between friendly and intrusive? Yesterday The Sister and I were doing some pre-big-dinner shopping at a Publix near my Dad's place. The checker, an affable 80-something guy, looked at my ID and started peppering me with questions about what I was doing in town and so forth. At first it was friendly conversation, but after a while I thought he was going to ask for my SSN and Dad's address. Meanwhile, the bagger lady opined that she could never live in California "because it's all burned up." I have no problem exchanging pleasantries with merchants I encounter in my daily activities, but too much is too much. I guess I'm not cut out to live in the South.
Had the big Family Thing last night for Dad's birthday. My nephew, a gregarious, apparently amphetamine-fueled 3-year-old, was delighted by a tattoo I have on my inner arm. Is there a thing with kids and tattoos that I don't know about? Anyway, he seems to be fascinated by trains. I get the impression that Thomas the Tank Engine has produced a whole nation of rail-obsessed kids. Maybe some of it will stick and when they grow up they'll be inspired to build a decent railway system in this country.
I see that the Giants kicked off the second half by being just as crappy as they were in the first. The way I understand it, in baseball you have to score runs to win. Unfortunately, this is not my team's forte.
Still trying to work out the picture thing. No one sells memory card adapters for Firewire any more. And, God, I know I'm running this into the ground, but it is so fucking hot here.