Homina homina homina

Remember when I was Homer-drooling over the car that looked like a plane?

Well, that's cool if you're on a budget. (And 300 mpg for under $30K would pay for itself very quickly.) But for those who can afford to spend money like they're getting a bailout, there's the official Real McCoy - the Terrafugia Transition.

The two-seater Transition can use its front-wheel drive on roads at ordinary highway speeds, with wings folded, at a respectable 30 miles per gallon. Once it has arrived at a suitable take-off spot - an airport, or adequately sized piece of flat private land - it can fold down the wings, engage its rear-facing propellor, and take off. The folding wings are electrically powered.

MUA-hahahahahaha! Screw you bastids stuck on the Turnpike.

The company website also says that the cargo hold is long enough to accomodate golf clubs and the like, which means that I can fly to my next tournament with my sticks and gear in the hold - and if something really bad happens, I deploy the FULL VEHICLE PARACHUTE, sweet mercy me.

Its cruising speed in the air is 115 mph, it has a range of 460 miles, and it can carry 450lb. It requires a 1,700-foot (one-third of a mile) runway to take off and can fit in a standard garage.

In fifteen years we're all gonna be flying a Swordfish II, and I for one couldn't be more jazzed if you spiked my LSD with Red Bull.

PS - there really was a Swordfish, a torpedo plane that helped sink the Bismarck.  And, this being the Internet, there's a rule that says that if it exists, there is also Lego of it.  Here they are - the real Swordfish and the Swordfish II, both built by featured on the amazing Brothers Brick.  This post has so many awesome things in it, Chuck Norris may be moved to leave a comment.

Thirty years ago

What if 7:11 was closed?



Favorite part of the pic is John Tonelli going crazy over on the right.

HISTORY WILL BE MADE.

Charlie's options...

..since Rubio is beating him like a rented mule (57%to 28%)

April has been the cruelest month for Charlie. First, moderate Republican Rudy Guiliani endorsed Rubio. (That's what you get for endorsing McCain at the last minute in the 2008 Florida Presidential primary. And McCain won't come to your rescue - he's too busy pretending to be a conservative in his own primary).

Second, an education reform bill that the teacher union hates and Jeb Bush loves is on his desk to be signed into law. Charlie (of course) can't make up his mind to sign it or veto it.

Third, this Rassmussen poll comes out which is devastating to his campaign.

Fourth, Mario killed him in fundraising last quarter $3.6 to $1.1 million.

Charlie has till April 30th to decide whether to stay in the GOP primary or run as an independent. Here are his options:

1. Veto the education bill and amnounce an independent run as governor. He will have to after Jeb Bush endorses Rubio in the primary. He still loses, but has a better chance of winning if it's discovered the Rubio has a girlfriend in Argentina. Going independent will severly damage a future run for president as a GOPer.

2. Sign the bill into law which may keep Jeb out of the primary. Hope that the Argentine girlfriend turns up before August 24th.

3. Call Rubio and offer to drop out of the race if Marco will promise to endorse Charlie vs. Bill Nelson for the other Senate seat in 2012. Nelson can be beat by any Republican who is sane and to the right of Nelson Rockefeller.

I know that Jesus would not derive the kind of pleasure I am from the misfortunes of our governor. But this weasel has been hugging the middle for so long it is a joy to see him finally pinned down.

Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I luv ya, tomorrow!

Update: It's bad, Rubio is beating Crist 60-28.

You're only a day away.

We are going to have absolutely brutal numbers out on Charlie Crist tomorrow.

Here's a little preview: among Republican primary voters 19% would like to see him as Governor a year from now, 14% want him in the Senate, and 56% want him out of elected office.

If there is any path to his winning office in Florida again- and there may not be- it's as something other than a Republican.

So Rubio got a $100 haircut. Marco could be offering up his firstborn to Molech the detestable god of the Ammonites and he'd still get my vote. And it looks like I'm not alone.

Much better now

For those who asked or just had a prayer and a good thought, thanks.  I'm over the congestion.  There's a little backstory, which I hinted at but didn't elaborate, until now.

As for the other doctory things:

The tech who gave the echocardiogram was a pleasant guy, born in Spain.  He attached me to what seemed like forty leads and had me lay on my side in the classic first-aid recover pose.  (Worst. Swimsuit photo.  EVER.)  Somewhere behind me, he got the terminal up and running, and then reached across with his one arm to move the sonogram wand across my torso.  So, yeah, real awkward.  And he kept saying stuff like, "Beautiful!  Wonderful!" in his classical accent.  I tried to be fierce, peeps, but it was difficult.  New spot - whooosh whooosh behind me, and then "Booteefool!" followed by a click and a beep.  He was either happy about the cardio or got a top score on Minesweeper, I can't tell.

Next, the stress test.  Since I didn't want to fool with my BP before the visit I had been taking exactly nothing for my sinus complaints, so I wasn't feeling my best.  Luckily the actual jogging wasn't so bad.  Hockey pays off.  They took my BP every three minutes, and the machine went up a level (really, it said so right on the screen).  The hardest part was not pulling too much with my arms and just using them to steady myself.  I got up to level five and still hadn't hit the target heart rate yet. 

"How many levels are there?" I asked.
"As many as it takes," said the doctor.
"So, Level 6.... the machine starts throwing things at me?"
"Knives," he replied.  The laughter finally got me to the target.

Why was I taking a stress-echo test?  Basically, a couple of days before Christmas, I was woken by a great deal of discomfort in my chest.  I also felt dizzy and had tingling in my hands, much worse on the left.  Freaking out about said conditions didn't help all that much, either.

Don't ask why, because I have no good answer, but I didn't call anyone, nor tell anyone.  I rode it out.  That tingling certainly wasn't my brain working.  I suppose I had a mental line of demarcation, where I would have just woke up the Ladybug and gone to the hospital, and my symptoms never crossed.  Had they done, though, I may not have been in a place to ask for help.  It was, in all respects, incredibly dumb.

A couple of weeks later, a milder form of this happened again, and then again a few days later, and again, and by the last week of January it was almost a daily occurance.  Mind you, I'm still playing my weekly hockey games at this point,* and the funny thing is that my symptoms NEVER occured during or after games.  I'd feel like crap driving there but be fine once I started.

* (I'm intensely stupid, he explained.)

Finally I got fed up with it and checked myself in for fun tests.  They took very good care of me.  Better still, my wife declined to kill me once I told her the whole story.

The upshot of it is that all my EKGs and my stress-echocardiogram were fine.  Cholesterol and components were excellent.  The only thing to watch, oddly, was my B-12 level, which is (marginally) low.  I wonder if that's a contributing factor?  Maybe the illness had something to do with it.

In any case, I'm keeping a close eye on things.  It looks like you're stuck with me for a while longer.

update: beat this, techie!

Impersonating actual talent - AI results, nine to eight

For the actual snark and performances, SarahK is on the case. I'm just too blitzed right now. But here's the results!

First, the commercial - All Mixed Up, but they kind of like it. I kind of don't. Then the group sing, "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. In some alternate universe, the final nine are singing Mixed Up, and the Ford spot is seventeen minutes of parallel parking.

Someone at the Idols is reading the great SarahK, and they have a segment on the behind-the-scenes Idols. Interesting, but much the lightweight version of what Sarah was talking about in her post. Great segment with them goofing on each other, doing corny imitations of their performances. Super Saiyen doing Matt's "Viva La Vida" was pretty darned funny, as was (surprising!) Anoop's impression of Kris singing "."

Now they are splitting the nine into three groups of three: Matt, Megan, Kris with a K; Adam, Lil, and Allison; Scott, Gokay, Anoop. But enough of that excitement - time for David Cook! Sweet skinny black tie. My man. Singing his newest single, "Come Back to Me." Me likey. He played overseas for the troops - brilliant. They just rolled out a plaque for his debut album going platinum. DC - "I put out a solo album in '06 that sold something like 1000 copies in a year." Says he always cries on this stage. Cool guy.

So 36 million more votes have brought us to this. Kris sang "Ain't No Sunshine," and he's safe. Hi fives all around. Matt sang "You Found Me." I'm guessing there's one of the bottom feeders in each of these three groups... I know, now I'm really going out on a stretch. Anyway, Matt's safe, and Kris immediately goes "April Fool's! Go back on stage!"

Megan is snarking Simon: "I love you but I don't care." Well, neither do we, for you. Ryan sends her to the Eggcups, and she caws her way over. Why? Because she hates us too.

Second group. Lil is safe. Allison is not. That was kind of a given, considering that Adam is standing right there, in all his Lordly Emo-ness. He was compared to Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler. Don't strike me down, but I think the better comparison is Freddy Mercury. The reason they can't do Queen Week anymore is because nobody can keep up with Freddy - his chops are just too righteous. But Adam has both the voice and the absolute over-the-top commitment to the performance. If he does wind up out early, it will only be because he's indulges himself and sings something that leaves the audience befuddled.

Gokay and Scott are both safe. Anoop takes the third Eggcup, as both he and Randy thought would happen.

Erm... somebody with Fisher Price hair and wearing aluminum foil is playing a giant neon bubblegum piano. Her name is Gaga. She's accompanied by a fiddler. It's a numbuh one reh-courd called "Poker Face." When exactly did this become Neptune Idol? I mean, I can't be the only one puzzled here. She looks like Bjork playing Floston's Paradise. Some guy on stage is having a grand mal seizure listening to this. Wait, now there are three other guys in suits having grand mal seizures in unison while Gaga sings. This is one part bizarre performance art, one part Eurotrash synthpop, one part backwoods hick symphony, and the grand total is 100% awful. Ladybug - "This is crap."

The Idols wait. Anyone worth saving, Ryan asks. Simon: "Only one." Really? "Yeah." HAHAHAHA! Then they send Allison back to safety. Now, that total is zero. Annnnnnddddd.... Megan pulls a bizarre fake "Oh noes" face, which I kind of want to punch.

YES! Megan's out. Kaput. Simon spells it out: "You can't pretend to care, and we can't pretend that we're going to save you, so this is your swan song." Someone in the audience caws at her. She sings herself off in front of the judges: Ryan is bobbing, Kara is clapping, Paula is standing and dancing.... and Simon is casually drinking Coke. I love him with all my heart.

Next week, birth year songs. And we can all breathe just a little bit earlier.

Research is my friend

Ricki found a blog about Tiny Houses (called - get this - tinyhouseblog.com). While noodling about this blog I found... well, as background, I should tell you to go to Tracey's and read all about our blog retreat/commune in the Traveling Cosmic Yurt.

THEN you should come back here and click this link. (And don't forget the update link.)

They could ship us a real, factual Traveling Cosmic Yurt to specs. For $40,000 we'd have it all - the "aircraft-grade" skylight; all the pre-fab walls, roof, doors, and windows; even an installation guide! (Hopefully, not in badly-translated English.) Of course we'd have to build it ourselves... but come on, that's a breeze! One snappy montage later, we'd be set for life:



The Internet is sometimes such a lovely place, I could cry.

(Also found - the Spite House! Fabulous.)

Welcome diversion

British Cashier Dude: “Oy, royte, ah diggy hullton shimmy shammy brettfavre jubba meself! Zimmeh fahhah gibbo muffip fob uppim inna choppywebbin! Zjibba, royte?! Ruggles qwerty vussincrispin, so at the end of the day, ya need a drink.”

Did I ever need a laugh! Thanks Rachl Lukis.

Samuel's Story

In the Catholic News Agency:

A three-year-old boy with thanatophoric dwarfism who was not expected to live long after birth has come a long way. Ignoring the typical medical advice to either abort her child or not provide life-sustaining treatment after his birth, his mother gave birth to the boy she describes as a charmer with an engaging smile.

Lively young Samuel Mann lives in Tampa Bay, Florida with his parents Ralph, who is a 51-year-old lighting installer, and Evelyn, 43. In a Wednesday phone interview with CNA, Evelyn spoke about the joys and struggles of raising Samuel and about the family’s recent trip to Disneyworld.

I see Samuel and his Mom and Dad nearly every Sunday at church. He is a fun kid; I play with him all the time. He loves balloons, and whenever we sing I look for Samuel because he gets a big thrill out of it.

I claim to follow the Lord Jesus, but I am mostly talk. Samuel's parents are really living their faith out.

You can read about Samuel's Make A Wish trip to Disney World here. Fly, he took the Disco Limo to Disney World!

The Rays Republic

The Rays clinch their first playoff spot.

"Pinch me," read the sign behind the third-base dugout.

Few words could better describe the feelings of Rays fans, who saw their team bust out from the basement in 2008 and make the playoffs for the first time in franchise history after never winning more than 70 games in a season, which they did one time during a fourth-place campaign in 2004.

Tropicana Field had a soul Saturday afternoon, and every time one of Joe Maddon's Mohawk militia did something right, the echoes of the sellout crowd of 36,048 responded with raucous cheers. And there were plenty of cheers, because the Rays did plenty right in a 7-2 win over the Twins that served as the turnkey to enter the postseason party.

There is no earthly explanation for the Ray’s fortune. Their stats reveal no Big Papis, no A-Rods or Jeters. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we believe.

A lot of the players are sporting Mohawks for the playoff run (Should I get one?). The next step is to win the Al East. The Rays are 2.5 games up with 9 games to go. They won the season series, so a tie would go to the Rays.

After that is to gain the best record in the AL. We are two games behind the Angels. The good news is that, after one last game @ home vs. The Twins, we end the season playing two stiffs, 4 @. Baltimore and 4 @ Detroit.

Of course the final goal is to beat the Mets in the World Series.

Churchgoers are sinning, but losers are winning

So - yeah, why so grouchy?

Well, it was a rough time at the old hockey tournament. We had a great time the whole weekend, except for the actual hockey games. Bad times. It's no fun getting whupped on, especially since my job as goalkeeper is to prevent whuppings.

Then I got the whole tempest in a combox going. Or maybe it was the other guy, or both of us - at this point who cares, because it's petty and stupid. I would say something like "I can't believe I got so worked up about it," save for two things: one, I kind of can believe it. Second, I'm not really worked up about that. I'm worked up about fifteen other things and that whole thing just happened at the wrong time.

Bad fly!

Luckily for me, the Best Blog Game Mistress ever was coming up big in a big situation. Sitting on my porch this evening was a box of award goodness, thanks to Faramir's having kill'd with a sword the various leading ladies of professional tennis. (Figuratively.) Enclosed was a lovely card and a couple of other goodies.



The sculpture thing did not come in the box, by the way. That was the cake topper for our wedding. I put it in the picture because my Ladybug and I are planning on sharing the coffee, which is a decaf blend; and also from love for my wife as demonstrated in the conversation below. The cup is a Boheme original, and its waxy bottom will never know a beverage: we shall keep it in honor.

And we both loved the card -

Ladybug: I thought you were Nightfly.
Me: Yup, but for the game I was Faramir.
Ladybug: So I get to be Eowyn?
Me: Yup.
Ladybug: That rocks. She was much better than that elf chickie.
Me: You're thinking of Liv Tyler from the movie, right?
Ladybug: Yup. Elf Tyler. Quit crying.

Seriously, she is the best wife ever, right? From now on I can never call her Arwen; she's Elf Tyler, the daughter of Agent Smith.

So... Faramir wins! Hooray for Faramir! And thanks a million, Tracey.

Vacation

Very relaxing. We didn't go far, but we did get out of town for a while, visiting very good friends who've been there for us since the beginning. Today is the ladies' day together, so it's me, JD, and the Adorables - fending for ourselves. I'm taking advantage of naptime to do a little reading and typing.

On the porch, they have a bird feeder that attracts hummingbirds. Those things are amazing. I was familiar with the precision of their hovering and quick adjustments; I was not prepared for how fast they can fly if they want to. As an anniversary gift, they gave us a similar feeder for our own front porch. Hopefully I'll get some pictures of the birds. They don't linger.

Hm. I hear whispering from down the hallway...

A study in silliness

Not entirely family-friendly, but really funny stuff from Cracked: the fictional imdb page for an ex-girlfriend.

What I found especially funny about this was the reaction to item #5. Nearly none of the comments deal with any of the other items, but #5 sparks this huge debate about spirituality, religion, and whether God exists.

First conclusion - Jesus was right about "bringing division." Not only is transcendence important, it is so important that people flip their gourds when even a whiff of it floats by in passing, even in a farce post on a comedy website.

Now, contrast that knicker-twisting with the brilliance of this post.

Second conclusion - Christians are not nearly as humor-deprived as their critics would have us believe.

The Rays are in first.

At the halfway point,the Rays are 49-32, a game up on the Bosox and tied with the Cubs for the best record in baseball.

The Bosox come into the ratdump known as Tropicana Field.

(okay, it's not as big as ratdump as the old Veteran's Stadium in Philly, especially when all the Mets fans came down to see there team in hostile territory. It was more dangerous in the stands than on the field)

Where was I? The Bosox come to the Trop 6/30-7/2, and if the Rays can sweep these beaneaters my head is going to explode. The old Devil Rays have stunk on ice for the entirety of their 10-year existence, and I don't think the mind of mortal man can fully comprehend what is going on. Heck, the guys aren't even hitting yet.

Score one for free speech

The Canadian Human Rights Commission has decided not to pursue Maclean's magazine for the excerpt of Mark Steyn's America Alone.

Not bad. We still have to wait for British Columbia's own thought police to rule on the matter, but that's one for human liberty; always a point gained.

Great statement from Maclean's on the matter can be found here. They sum up the inanity of the HRC's recent actions thus:

Though gratified by the decision, Maclean's continues to assert that no human rights commission, whether at the federal or provincial level, has the mandate or the expertise to monitor, inquire into, or assess the editorial decisions of the nation's media. And we continue to have grave concerns about a system of complaint and adjudication that allows a media outlet to be pursued in multiple jurisdictions on the same complaint, brought by the same complainants, subjecting it to costs of hundreds of thousands of dollars, to say nothing of the inconvenience.

Spot on. As Ezra Levant mentions in his own post on the subject, the ones who are most easily hurt are the ones without the resources to fight back - who can't spend the many thousands of dollars. Of course the accusers can since they're often taxpayer-funded.

Folks, free minds require free speech and free writing. It's that simple.

So where have you been, Fly?

I've been a bit busy, capable of insufficient thought or leisure for a real post. Moving Day had arrived.

Tuesday was a big deal packing and hauling and even more packing. Wednesday was the day the movers came and the furniture went.

It's wonderful how inadequate a professional can make you feel. For several weeks we've been bringing small items over: lamps, our dishes and clothes, small appliances, books and books and books and BOOKS! (Look at me, I'm in tatters!) We moved all the food on Tuesday. In between there was all the electrical upgrading that had to be done before we could move in, the appliance replacement, tons (or is that gallons?) of painting - still in progress... It has felt like trying to walk up a hill of quicksand.

Then the movers showed up with their truck at eight am Wednesday. This truck was BIG, friends - they could have set up all of our furniture inside it in the same layout and let us move in there. We shook hands, gave out some bottles of water, and the two guys went to work with gusto.

Everything was inside the house by 11:30.

That's a whole living room, bedroom, and most of our den - plus some random boxes we couldn't fit in either car - and all papers signed and carbon copies sorted. Less than four hours, and part of that was the 15 minutes' drive to the new place. So yeah... my ego, it is bruised. But we had a choice: hire movers, or hire painters. Ladybug and I figured that it was easier and cheaper to fix a painting mistake than to replace a smashed television or coffee table.

Good call. One particular piece took an hour for four of us to wrestle upstairs: a large cabinet for the TV and related electronics that we dubbed the Concrete Armoir. The two movers handled it like it was made of wiffle. Rugs were rolled and tossed off the second-floor balcony to waiting arms, and whisked off. Neither TV nor coffee table was smashed. There was an antique piece whose odd protruding legs made it impossible to drive over ourselves: they handled it with no difficulties.

Afterward we ate lunch made from our recently-relocated food, on our recently-relocated dining room table, in our recently-repainted dining room... and waited for the cable company to attach the necessary wires at the pole to get the computers, phone, and tv up and running.

Villa Diptera is now a going concern.

Small addendum - it's incredible to me that at this time last year we were hammering out last-minute wedding details and hoping that our security deposit for the apartment would clear. From there to this has been amazing. Wednesday night was the end-of-day routine: sorting unpacked boxes, then switching off the lights and locking up - only in our own place. We weren't going home after this to do more packing and cleaning; we were home already. I was filled with a great thankfulness for everything we've been trusted with.

It also occured to me that one of the big things about gratitude is that it doesn't just look back, but looks forward as well - part of being happy about the house is looking forward to having many years there. But even if I die on the way home tonight and never set foot in the house again, it does not diminish my gratitude.

Our American Dream, let us show you it

It was a few weeks ago that we finally got to go sit in the attorney's office with about a half-dozen other people from both sides. There was a literal ream's worth of legal paper to thumb through and sign (and sign) (and initial).

We agreed to any amount of fair dealings and full disclosures. We confirmed that the sun still rises in the East and that water is wet. I can't be sure, but we also may have opened diplomatic relations with a small Eastern European country.

It took almost an hour and we didn't get to keep the pen. But in the end, we slid an inhumanly large check in one direction, and they slid the keys in the other direction, and now we have a house.

Wells Fargo may own it for the next 30 years, but it's all ours.

You has it

My Ladybug:

You are made of wonderful. When I am grumpy, you are graceful and kind; and when I am goofy, you are patient. You know when to laugh at stupid ol' jokes. You are practical about serious things, and diligent about our marriage and our shared life.

People ask me, "Why are you the luckiest man in New Jersey?" and "Are we funktastic enough to dig this crazy scene?" and "Is your apartment building up to code for all the awesome?" I mean, it would be a pity if moving in caused the place to catch fire. Lucky for us the super is good where we live.

(pic from the lolcats)

Marrying you is a blessing I'm grateful for every day.

Best vacation EVER

Besides conferring swag on many relatives, I spent most of the week inert. The eggs were well-nogged, the music was festive, the fire was so delightful (sadly, no chestnuts roasted thereupon), and we got many thoughtful gifts and cards.

Alas, two of the cards were outgoing, and returned to us for bonus postage. Sorry! It's taken care of now, we think.



I hope you guys had as fabulous a Christmas as seen above.

Adventures in honeymooning

Ah.... New Jersey. Believe it or not - it's good to be back; even though it's back to actual, factual work tomorrow morning...

That's not to say that it was a poor week away. Quite the contrary, it was a splendid week in magnificent surroundings: Atlantis, on the aptly-named Paradise Island, Bahamas. Of course, we nearly didn't get there.

Our outbound flight was at 8:20 am on Tuesday, which gave us a day to recover from actually getting married, treat our out-of-towners to a Monday morning going-away breakfast, pack like madmen, and take care of dozens of niggling details before winging away. The catch was getting up at oh-dark-thirty (as the Spider would call it) to catch the plane. We got up at more like oh-dark-fifty or so, scrambled to make sure everything was in the trunk (including passports and such), and got to the airport about 75 minutes before the flight was due to depart.

We managed - mostly by sprinting everywhere as if chased. We didn't even bother to put our shoes back on at the security checkpoint. I simply dumped all the stuff from the little bucket into an open carry-on and took off after my Ladybug like a Kenyan miler.

On the way, the captain came on over the PA for an announcement. Half of our fellow passengers were on their way to a different resort for a destination wedding on Friday. (Hopefully they stayed there for the honeymoon rather than flying off to Nebraska or something.)

Once we got there, things went smoothly every step of the way. The first thing you do when arriving at Lyndon Pindling International Airport is march down a long, hot hallway to a T-intersection, and turn right, towards the baggage claim. (The left turn, as we found out, feeds outgoing passengers into the long hot hallway.) Then you wait in a large room with hundreds of other tourists for the customs and immigration folks to check you out. Stand behind the yellow line, wait for the next agent to call, and step up to get your visa stamp and hand in the small, two-sided form. They keep the original and hand you back a carbonless copy, instructing you to take no gainful employment while visiting the Islands and to fill out and hand in the reverse when you depart - and have a fine stay!

Returning residents and citizens have a separate line off to the right, and presumably a different procedure, but everyone gets dumped into the same area afterward: baggage claim. The first thing you see in baggage claim is not, however, the carousels, but a guy at a bar stand handing out small samples of the drink of the day. No charge, except for whatever tip you wish to part with. Thus fortified, you swagger into a madhouse of fellow travelers, surrounding four carousels with no hint whatsoever to which of them will spit out your bags.

Someone tagged Ladybug on the shoulder and pointed out the nearest of the four. It seemed that every arriving flight was sending its luggage here. Bags slid from the chute and landed on the previous layer, threatening to spill over the side. Nobody seemed to be upset at this. We found our stuff, wormed our way past the throng, and made our way outside. As part of the honeymoon package, there was a car waiting. Thus we were safely on our way across New Providence Island, into Nassau proper, and then over the bridge to Paradise Island.

I will post pictures after they're developed. That's right, the one item we left behind in our haste was the digital camera. Remembered the camcorder, however. Hopefully I can figure out a way to get the clips onto the PC and then find a suitable way to host them. (YouTube is out of the question for something like this. Last thing we need are 12-year-old idiots mocking my narrating skills. I'll let you guys do that in comments.)

Many thanks again to our guests, and to the Barking Spider for keeping things going here in my absence - but much more, of course, for being in the wedding party. And thank you to the many people patiently following along as this turns into Wedding Month on the blog. I promise more variety, especially as we get into the travelogue bits.