breakfast sausage. Marathon watching is such hard work.
My long torso/short legs combo presents Mondale with schedule problems. "Hurry up, Weasel!"
They boarded their flight at Portland, Maine. I feel slightly guilty. I remind myself, I had the day off from selling expensive wine, cheese, and chorizo. I lived in front of the TV. I was not to blame. I thought of Bar Harbor's Kyle, who worked two blocks over and called us and who we in turn urged to evacuate as the second tower collapsed. Then I thought of the tens of thousands who die from malaria, famine, and random violence each year. Am I callous? Am I a bastard?
There's a light that never goes out.
How the hell do all those traders fit through the door?
Oh, thats the front door.I'm such a rube.
You can't really see it (even if you click on the picture), but that's a nice 24ft or so sailboat passing in front of the Statue of Liberty. What is personally great about that photo? Its only the route my grandfather took into New York on the Atlantic Convoys during the Second World War as an 'alien seaman'. Thought of 19 year old merchant sailor grandfather on shore leave in NY makes me slighty queasy. Lets move on.
Mondale was awfully upset that they had put the winter windows in and that they made us get off at Staten Island.
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