While I was taking these pictures, Liam and Nate were standing under the tree behind me ARGUING OVER A WALNUT.

I took so many pictures at the beach that I think I could stitch them all together to form an unbroken video of events. But don’t worry, I didn’t post all those on Flickr. I winnowed and pared and edited and stitched and merged and moved and reduced and thinned and deleted and narrowed, and what was left over, anyone who cares to can see by clicking here. It was a good time, and the boys on the beach were like ants on a sugar cube. There was lots of sand in lots of hair, everyday.

Sir,

I don’t mind you banning me from your ‘little dancers’ Flickr group, which I joined months ago merely so that I could post a picture of my then 18-month-old son dancing in a patch of sunlight, and haven’t been back to since.

No. What I do mind is your pompous and self-righteous post in the group’s discussion area, explaining that you’ve conducted a group ‘review’, have banned anyone you’ve deemed ’suspicious’, and by way of your phrase, “banned and submitted to Flickr“, insinuated that I as one so banned have done something worthy of punitive action on Flickr’s behalf.

I had only to browse to page two of your photostream to find a posting far racier than anything I’ve ever put up. Should a man responsible for the highly-suggestive ‘Hot Rod’ advertisement really be administering a Flickr group featuring pictures of young children dancing? Probably doesn’t matter, but how does it feel to be judged because of it? I ban you.

May your boyfriend’s unibrow become furrowed as he grows to regard you with increasing disdain, before he eventually abandons you in favor of your far younger and lither dancing rival, leaving you alone but for your aged cat, in whose company you will find no solace.

Good day.

So Jill’s eye, my sister circa 1975, and some weird playground equipment all walk into a bar…

Eyepod, Version 1.0, April 2008 - “…a loosely-coalesced glob of eyeballs using fingers and paperclips to achieve flight”:

There’s a pizza place near our house that offers on its menu a pizza called the “Ballpark Special”. They call it that because it’s topped with mustard and sliced hot dogs. So I mean, what else would you call it? Or maybe they call it that because it’s what they hit that idea right out of when they thought of it! I’ve never ordered it, but look at this… here I am writing about it. That’s good buzz.

If I owned a pizza parlor, I’d offer a pizza with one piece missing, and call it the “Pac-Man Special”.

The Pac-Man Special would even have some banana peppers lined up in the box or on the pan like a line of glowing dots, right in front of the missing triangle. Wonka-wonka!

Maybe I’d even I’d even have a ‘Mrs. Pac-Man’ version, which would be exactly the same as the regular Pac-Man, but without sausage. Think about that.

Best of all, this revolutionary idea wouldn’t involve any special culinary skills or oddly-shaped pans. I’d just be making regularly-shaped round pies (In the pizza business, we say ‘pie’ instead of pizza) and taking one slice out!

“But Bill,” you’re saying, “You’d have all these single slices left over. What would you do with them? Your plan is silly.”

Really? Then you must think that mad profits are silly, because for every eight Pac-Man Specials, I’d have enough left over for a-whole-nother pie! Just piece all the slices together and BLAM! I have an extra pie to sell that cost how much to make? How much?

Nothing!

Who would want to buy a pizza pie made out of eight different slices, all stuck together like that? Well, only everyone, if I jammed in a ninth piece and called the whole damn thing “Frankenstein’s Monster!”

And in all the advertisements, I could use lightning. Or, I could have a bunch of villagers with torches and pitchforks and stuff standing in line… all clamoring for the Monster. Or… Or! Maybe a begoggled black and white Dr. Frankenstein could be leaning against a giant lever, looking at one of the patchwork monster-pies and screaming, “It’s a deal! A DEEEEAAALL!”. Regardless of the name, I’d resist the urge to add sliced hot dogs onto Frankenstein’s Monster, because that’s already been done.

I’d also hold a contest that would make people line up and try to suck melted cheese through straws. I don’t know how that would relate to the ‘Pac-Man Special’ or ‘Frankenstein’s Monster’, I just think it would be fun to watch.

The runaway success and minimal overhead of these initial offerings would enable me to branch out into new areas that are currently untapped in today’s pizza markets. Areas that include:

• The Backwards Pizza™
• The ‘Off the Hook™’ Seafood Pizza (market price)
• Pizza Pile™
• Toothpasta™ (mint or gel)
• Pizzagum Everchew™ Toppings
• New, crustless “Pizza Bowls!™”.

I’d still have to work out a few details, but that should give you the ballpark idea.

No posts for seven days makes one weak

(click here for larger view)

We were planning on staying here at the beach until tomorrow morning, but tropical storm/hurricane Hanna has other plans. Everyone who’s not currently posting on this blog is engaged in packing a week’s worth of life in the beach house.  Well, Randy’s listening to DJ John on his MacBook Pro. And Dameon’s cooking. And Liam and Nate are eating pizza in front of ‘Bob the Builder’. Okay, so hardly anyone is actually packing. But we’re all supporting those who are packing, even if only peripherally.

My sister, Leah, just left with her two boys, Parker and Alec. She claims that she travels with a black cloud, and whether you believe her or not, it was raining when she arrived last Saturday, and didn’t start again until roughly the time she began packing her car to leave this morning.

Soon, we’ll be eating the late lunch that Dameon’s fixing, and then we’ll all take a step back toward our individual lives in Maryland, DC, and in my sister’s case, Georgia. Although she’s already stepped.

Yesterday, I sat in the late-afternoon sand as Jill threw Wheat Thins (reduced fat) over my head to the hovering seagulls. The boys, Nate especially, laughed and clapped and chased the birds, which always seemed to be able to stay at least one wing ahead of them.

“I need to run back to the house and get my wide-angle lens. These are some good pictures passing us by.” I said, already heading towards the angled stairs up the dunes.

“Right,” Jill remarked with a wry smile, “Because you can’t take them tomorrow, when we’re back out here.”

“Tomorrow is promised to no one!” I called back jauntily.  

And then this morning, the forward edge of Hanna arrived, bringing with her heavy rains, and sending the gulls to wherever gulls go during tropical storms that may or may not develop into hurricanes.

Dameon’s lunch was excellent, and at the end of it, there was warm-from-the-oven pumpkin pie topped with Breyer’s, which went over very well with the boys.

During those dark days in March when my sister and I sat in our father’s room in Hospice and said our long goodbyes, one of the things we talked about was this trip. And now Senior is gone, my sister is on her way home, and our time at the beach is almost done.

Now Randy’s just left, and it’s almost time for us to go too.

Everything ends… parents and trips and time with friends and even ice cream, sitting on the top of warm pumpkin pie.