I spent most of this past week sitting on the point of Sampson’s Island in Cotuit Bay, soaking up the sun, reading, listening to the iPod, and generally vegetating in between sneaked looks at the Blackberry. Yesterday afternoon I took the FlipCam and caught the Cotuit Skiff fleet racing in and out of the harbor. YouTube annotation is kind of cool, but doubtlessly distracting for the viewer. Apparently annotations don’t show up in embedded clips, you have to view it directly within YouTube to see my notes and captions.
I don’t race anymore. Slow boat and nothing like a Cotuit Skiff to remind you how old your knees are.
The hippies ate their seeds to induce hallucinations. I plant them because they are a ton of fun to watch in their climb to the skies along strings I tack into the ground and the side of the house every May. There’s always a little apprehension if they will grow – why Daphne and I worry is beyond me – as this year the place is buried in them. Last year’s crop must have dropped a ton of seeds into the flower beds as the morning glories are now approaching weed status. This morning they seemed at their peak, so around 6:30 am I lurked around with Uncle Fester’s Nikon d200 and snapped some shots.
They deliver nice shade, cutting back on the air conditioning bills and a verdant green light to the inside of the house during the day.
I’m bummed. The guy was deadly effective, goofy, and a lot of fun to watch. I like my athletes out on the fringe. Bill “Spaceman” Lee. Bill “Deadhead Walton. Manny was …. just too great a package to ignore. The pine tar crudded batting helmet, the dreadlocks, the white Mickey Mouse batting gloves, that he held up, fingers splayed, after whacking the snot out of a homer, bat dropping out of his hands as if to say, “Take that!”
And now he’s gone, melted down and sent packing. Surviving Grady has, as always, the best requiem:
Since then, he went on to be one of the most productive, beloved and befuddling players of this century. After a string of players who “should hit the tar out of the ball at Fenway”–including the likes of Jack Clark, Andre Dawson, Rob Deer, Nick Esasky, et al–Manny was a legitimate menace. The type of batter who could change the course of mighty rivers with one swat of the bat. And, even better for folks like me who enjoy players with character, there were those “Manny Moments.” Losing his earring on the field at Pawtucket during a rehab stint. The water bottle in the back pocket. Martini time with Enrique Wilson. Ebay Hucksterism. That bizarre dance maneuver in which he seemed to demand a trade every season, then back off, saying he couldn’t be happier here. Cutting off Johnny Damon’s throw to the infield. Saying that he’d like to play for the Yankees–which, in these parts, is like saying “I enjoy kiddie porn and poisoning rabbits.” High-fiving that fan in Baltimore. But the production spoke volumes; when the game was on the line, there was no one I’d rather see up at the plate than Manny Ramirez.
What would life be without Will Moss, aka the Imagethief? This is his simple set of directions on how to make your own Beijing Air in August. I have the Yorkshire terrier and my son smokes Parliaments …..
“Here is what you will need:
* A serving plate.
* Large bowl that can be used to cover the serving plate.
* A bucket of water.
* A Yorkshire terrier, Pekingese or similar small dog (at a pinch, a dog pelt can be used, but a whole dog is more reliable). Important: If the dog is wearing a metallic collar or tags, remove them.
* A packet of bad cigarettes. Ideally, Chinese Red Pagodas. But at a pinch, Gitanes or Parliaments will do.
* A non-metallic ashtray.
* A turd.
* A microwave oven.
…”Imagethief : E-Z steps to make your own Beijing air at home.