Big John is on his lumbering way, slowly spinning up the Mexican coast. You can't tell it by this mornings' picture of the smooth-as-silk bay, with the fishermen fishing and snorkelers floating by. Maybe by this time tomorrow the swells will be big and the surf nasty.
I've ridden horses most of my life and only find true happiness with like-minded friends. I play cello, but very badly. I swear like a sailor, thanks to my Mother. I can belch disgustingly. I still seem to be living through these hot-flashes and have my Obama sticker on my bumper.