More photos from the weekend, just to get them off the iPhone and into the world.
Alex is the only property owner on his little lake who lets his shoreline remain more or less natural. “Frogs live in there,” he said. How could he mow a frog’s house? Thanks, iPhone, for your panorama option:
You can click it to big it.
Alex also has a stray cat who has taken to more or less permanent residency in his gardens, killing rodents as her rent. Her name is Sissy, and don’t let Alex tell you it’s really Pussy, because it’s Sissy. Here she is:
Sissy. Sissy the cat.
You guys have been so good about posting links I feel like I can’t bring you anything you haven’t seen yet. But I have a little.
From the WashPost, Gene Weingarten sends an open letter to his new boss:
Back in 1982, when I was an editor at Tropic, the Miami Herald’s Sunday magazine, the publisher asked us to run a story on our cover about the winners of The Silver Knight award, which was given out every year at a gala to the most promising high school seniors in the Miami area. The Silver Knights were a fine and noble enterprise, but the event was run and financed by Knight-Ridder, the corporate owners of The Miami Herald; Herald stories about the Silver Knight awards were inevitably uncritical, nakedly celebratory, and drenched in self-promotion. We at Tropic declined to run the story of the awards on the grounds that we were a small magazine trying to establish a feisty, pugnacious identity, and being a corporate suckup toady lickspittle didn’t fit in with our plans. The publisher glowered, muttered something about insubordination, and steered the story to another, less visible section of the paper. We went unpunished.
Wikipedia tells me that one of the Silver Knight winners that year was little Jeffrey Bezos of Miami Palmetto High School. Haha.
You and I briefly crossed paths as younger men, and I dissed you. I guess it’s clear who won that race.
We had a similar award at the News ‘n’ Sentinel, the Sterling Sentinel award, but not even one section that could get out of the self-promotional story-writing.
Rembert Browne visits Detroit. I’m a little tired of these pieces, but OK. His heart is in the right place.
Having endured only one episode of “To Catch a Predator,” and learning to my horror that it was part of a long-running series, and finding myself in the very uncomfortable position of feeling sorry for some of these poor saps, all I can say is: This couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
Late night, early morning. Let’s all have a good Wednesday.