Fingers still crossed?

Mine too.

Sat out on the back porch at a Conway restaurant last night, overlooking the Waccamaw River, as a huge thunderstorm came through. Awesome. Got the full treatment -- lightning, pouring rain on the tin roof over the porch and big thunder.

There were also lovely big ducks trying to get up onto the porch to share people's dinners.

Rain at the beach

What a long day. My head hurts from talking to so many people today. But I think everything went well. Tonight, one of the reporters took me to dinner at a seaside restaurant in Surfside Beach, and we watched a thunderstorm storm come down over the beach. The rain pounded down for a while, but the air never got any cooler.

More interviews tomorrow. Time for a hot bath and bed.

Moonrise over the Atlantic

Whew! Myrtle Beach is huuuu-mid. But it's a pretty drive down, and coming out 501 to the coast reminded me of driving out to Cape Cod in some ways.

My hotel is right next to the Hard Rock and Planet Hollywood. I hope the blackout curtains keep the neon glow to a minimum.

Gotta do some homework before the interviews tomorrow, but I wanted to post this picture of the full moon coming up this evening and go take a quick jump into the pool before I get started.

With the moon to the east of me and the skies flashing with lightning to the west, I can't really lose either way I look. Maybe that's an omen...

Miss Lucy and Cow the Cat

Happy Sunday, everyone. Hope no one's flooded out, damaged or otherwise unhappy in the upper Midwest. Just thought I'd post this picture of Lucy, Jen's dog with the hairy Grinch feet, and the picture of Betsey's cat, Cow, which I had forgotten I'd taken. Yes, Cow really sits like this.

Gems, gems, gems!

Back in NC last night, on my way to Myrtle Beach. This morning, on the way to stay over at Jen and Lucy's, I went to Gem Mountain! Where everything on their Web page has an exclamation point! I found all kinds of pretty things, including a 1-carat starred sapphire, emeralds, amethyst, rose quartz, sodalite and garnets. Of course, now I need to have them cut to see if they can be made into anything good.

Gem Mountain is up in the Smokies, and the drive up is absolutely gorgeous. It wouldn't translate to photos, because it's all trees, but wow. It's spectacular. These little towns, loke Old Fork and Greenlea, where everyone's homes are old and just as neat as pins, their yards perfectly mowed, and there are little antique stores everywhere.

After I found my fortune in gems and minerals, I drove down to Greensboro, to Jen's, and we've been watching Sopranos episodes all evening and yapping like we haven't seen each other in 10 years.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Myrtle Beach, so I'll finally get to put my feet in the Atlantic!

Hoping to know something by the time the interviews are over Tuesday about whether they want to offer me a job. Have to give Bowling Green an answer on Wednesday.

Going South

I've been in Bowling Green most of the week for a job interview for the city editor position (they offered me the job) and to work, but am heading back to South Carolina for more job interviews. With any luck, I'll have two offers to choose from next week. Fingers crossed, please!

So I'm heading out today for Asheville, NC, which is about halfway, but not before I go take the boat tour of Lost River, an underground river that flows through caves and was, legendarily, a Jesse James hideout. The pictures look really cool. I hope I can get some good pictures down there.

Like Lenny...

...in "Of Mice and Men," I want to pet them! I've got nothing but cuteness today. Unfortunately, not my photos. Just things I'm loving this morning. I'd add these to my future menagerie, if it were possible. No real point, just wanted to share cute things.

Kudzu and Kentucky

I'm in Bowling Green tonight, getting ready for my interview tomorrow. When I got in and checked my e-mail, I had a message from the Myrtle Beach paper -- they want to talk to me about openings there.

Everyone's timing is a couple days out of whack with mine. When I go down south, I get calls from 8 hours north. When I'm here, I get messages from down there. But, this is what I came for, so no complaints. Besides, at this point, we're just going to talk, and I don't have to drive for that.

As I drove through the Carolinas and the Smoky Mountains, I really noticed the kudzu vine. I didn't realize what it was at first, because we don't have it in California, that I know of. Along the sides of the road, it's just green for miles. Trees everywhere -- it must be amazingly beautiful in the fall. Every so often, there are these groves of kind of eerie shapes, covered in silvery-green leaves. The kudzu vine has enveloped the trees so now they look like figures draped in furry green sheets.

The kudzu vine will kill the trees underneath it, but it's beautiful, though I feel kind of bad for liking the kudzu. It's an invader, and I'm admiring it as it's feeding on another life.

Chahhhleston

No wonder people love Charleston. It has Stephen Colbert.

OK, not the real Colbert, but the real portrait of him that used to hang on his set, which he auctioned off for charity.

The owner of Sticky Fingers, a rib joint clearly named after my favorite Rolling Stones album, bought the painting and proudly displays it.

Betsey and I went to see the Columbia State House yesterday (with its flying Confederate flag), and the Strom Thurmond memorial statue. The best part of the statue is that not long ago, sculptors added the name of his half-black daughter to the list of his children. Better late than never.
South Carolinians like their statues. As Betsey said, there's a new one for something every week.

She kindly took me on a tour of Columbia, a lovely town filled with interesting things to see, including the University of South Carolina, the state government and everything Gamecocks football, including a massive football stadium that seats 80,000 people and is used for six games a year.

Developers are building condominiums -- or "Cock-ominiums" as people call them, near the stadium just for people who have cash to burn and need party houses for Gamecock home games.

I've got to get a shirt that says "Go Cocks" on it. For job interviews.

Last night, we went to the Publick House for going-away drinks with one of the reporters from Betsey's paper. Not that she owns a paper. The one she works at.

Gotta love a cute bartender who sings to you, smiles a lot and calls you "darlin'." Charming Southern tip whore.

Today, we went to Charleston and took a boat ride around the harbor.

We went out past Fort Sumter, where the Civil War began.

And back to the Cooper River Bridge, which connects the Charleston Peninsula with neighboring islands.



We ate at Sticky Fingers, then jumped on a Tennessee-mule-drawn carriage tour of the city. These were our mules, Pigeye and Lightfoot.

What a beautiful city. Three hundred years old, there's Revolutionary War history, Vice President Calhoun, it's the city where the Civil War began, the place where South Carolina signed the South's first secession papers, it's got the Hunley, a pirate history (Yaaaarrr, Blackbeard), multi-million-dollar mansions and Colbert.

There's no resisting Charleston's charms.

I'd like to own a house with porches on all floors. Many of the homes are called "Charleston singles" because they are built one-room wide, but they go deep and high. Many have "Charleston porches," which are built on the breeziest side of the house, instead of in the front, and have doors that lead to them, even on the second floors, as a way to formally welcome guests. And several have "open-arms" staircases in the front -- where one set of stairs curves down from the right side of the landing and the other curves down from the left, like a pair of open arms waiting to welcome visitors into the house.

A couple of the biggest mansions in the waterfront Battery district even have their porch ceilings painted "haint blue," a color that is supposed to discourage evil spirits from lingering by tricking them into thinking the sky is right above them and they can move on.

There are beautiful old churches everywhere. At one time, Charleston was known as the Holy City because it had more churches per capita than any other city.

T-storms!

When it rains it pours, right? Literally, it's not pouring yet, but the thunder and lightning sure are making for a heck of a show here in Florence, S.C. It's hell-hot out, and humid. Muggy. No, sultry. That's it -- sultry.

But figuratively, it's starting to sprinkle, at least.

I left Jen and her furry, burping cookie-fiend dog, Lucy, (thanks for the hospitality!) and drove down to Fayetteville, N.C., through the Carolinas' piney forests today to meet with the local paper's editor, thinking it was just a friend-referral lunch (Thanks, Bets!) and ended up spending almost three hours there, interviewing for a job that could soon be opening up.

The editor there referred me to the editor here in Florence, too, who agreed to see me late this afternoon.

Then, as I was driving from Fayetteville to Florence, the Bowling Green, Kentucky, editor called and wants me to drive up for an interview early next week. It's about 8 hours straight up the interstate from Columbia, where I'll be tomorrow, hanging with Bets. She's got plans, she said, including, perhaps, a trip to Charleston on Sunday, South Carolina barbecue and some meet-and-greets at her paper where there are currently no jobs open because McClatchy is still trying to pay off its World-Domination Plan.

(Really, I'm just jealous. I wish I could finance world domination. Please don't read this, Mr. McClatchy, and blacklist me for my snarky comments. You know I still love you. You rule!)

I found Florence's historic district, called the Beauty Trail, and wanted to stop and take some pictures, especially of the Spanish-Moss-draped trees, but there's no shoulder along the road and SC drivers are just as impatient as those in the NC.

Maybe tomorrow or Sunday.

Thunderstorms chased me all the way down here, the sky getting steelier in my rearview every hour. Now they've caught up with me. I wish my room was a wall of windows so I could watch the whole sky. I do have a nice view of the giant yellow Waffle House sign next door, though. And beyond that -- the dark grey skies. I wish we'd get rain, hail -- the whole works, because that would be worth bragging about.

E-Day

My first experience of Elvis was watching his movies with my dad on late-night TV. My dad would wake me up to come watch "Jailhouse Rock" or "Clambake" with him, and I probably loved just sitting there with my dad more than I liked those movies. My dad thought Elvis was a great singer, so I loved Elvis, too.

The day Elvis died, we were getting ready to move from Southern California to Northern California, but our dogs Macho and Sara had gone off somewhere, and we couldn't leave without them. We had everything packed, ready to go, including my brother's crippled pony, Mandy, who would make the 10-hour trip lying down in the back of a U-Haul truck.

I had already gone to bed when my dad came to tell me Elvis had died. We sat and watched the news together. We moved the next day, and I always marked the moving date by the day Elvis died.

Ten years ago this month, I had a whole different experience with Elvis. I was working in the Chicago suburbs, and had tickets to see the Titanic exhibition in Memphis. My editor suggested I do a story, and while I was there, maybe something on Elvis, too, since it was the 20th anniversary of his death.

Me, our talented photog Brian and my friend Lea Ann met up in Memphis and scouted around to find something more interesting than a lame impersonator or a weeping fan at Elvis's graveside.

We did tour Graceland, of course. You can't talk Elvis and not see Graceland and its glorious tackiness. But then we heard about a place not far away, in Holly Springs, Miss., where we'd find the world's most fanatical fan living at "Graceland Too."

Skeptical journalists, the three of us, we figured this was going to be a complete joke. Every Elvis fan says they are the biggest fan. What could be so special about this guy?

Then we saw the house.

Once a lovely antebellum mansion, the owner had turned it into a shrine. We knew we were in the right place because there were bigger-than-lifesize Elvis posters staring down at us from the second-floor windows.

The front porch was sagging, the paint peeling. Without the Elvis posters in the windows, it might have looked like the neighborhood haunted house, the one kids would dare each other to go into and get a souvenir.

We rang the doorbell, and Elvis answered. Elvis Aaron Presley McLeod, actually. The homeowner's son. He and his dad, Paul, would give anyone a tour for $5, anytime, night or day. All you had to do was show up and ring the bell.

They slept on couch cushions on the living room floor so they could get up and give tours even at 3 a.m. Oh, and also because they couldn't use the bedrooms, which had no beds. Just Elvis stuff.

"Elvis" told us about the boxes of TV Guides he had, dating back to Elvis's first TV appearance, each page that mentioned Elvis marked with a colored paper clip; he told us about the card catalog he kept, listing every Elvis TV show, movie, song, song used in a movie, or on TV and every reference to Elvis in the media. That was just the parlor.

"Elvis" looked like he'd never actually left the house, or had a normal conversation with another person. Conversation with his dad - rational conversation - was clearly impossible.

The living room, which once might have had actual furniture, was covered, floor to ceiling - in fact, the ceilings were covered, too - with Elvis memorabilia. A bank of TVs and VCRs was on, running quietly, taping any shows that even remotely related to Elvis.

Every room was equally obsessive. There were no appliances in the kitchen, and the cupboards held cassette tapes, video tapes and records. The bedrooms were full of Elvis busts, Blue Christmas trees and even a mannequin with a gold suit like the one Elvis wore, which Paul said he'd be buried in someday.

Paul conducted most of the tour, and he spoke really fast and had dentures that didn't fit and clacked around in his mouth. Between that and the thick Mississippi accent, we probably caught one word in 10.

The whole thing was frightening, but one really bad moment: The hallway between rooms was painted a sick red, and there were piles of dried flowers that had been at Elvis's graveside at one time, and now rotted slowly, stinking in this humid old house.

I felt like I was going to faint in there, and Brian saw the look on my face. He grabbed my elbow and whispered "You pass out in here and you're going to wake up dressed as Priscilla, married to Junior there."

I straightened right up.

When the tour was over, we got back in the car and none of us said anything for about 15 minutes. Brian drove as fast as he could back toward Memphis, and suddenly, he looked over at me and said "Do you think Junior ever, you know, 'did it'?"

He had to pull over we were all laughing so hard.

I went back to Graceland Too a couple years ago, after David had moved to Nashville and Obe and I went to visit. I had to share that place with someone else, and they weren't disappointed.

Neither was I. "Elvis" was gone. He'd flown the coop. I could imagine that he woke up to the doorbell ringing one night, thinking he'd give a tour, and just suddenly realizing that he didn't have to do this anymore, packing up his leather jacket and some clean socks and underwear and leaving a note for his dad.

And I felt really thankful that my own dad had just liked Elvis.

Biscuits along the Near-Death Highway

So, to add to the little lists I'm making while I drive -- The number of times I almost died today: 10.

I made it to North Carolina -- barely. I would have taken a picture along I-40, because it's a really gorgeous drive, especially through the Smoky Mountains, however, if North Carolinians had their way, it would also have been the end of me.

The first time, a casket company's semi swerved over into my lane and there was nowhere for me to go because there was a cement wall on my side. That would have been ironic, eh?

But by the time I got to Davie County, I realized that drivers here in the NC are crazy. Not funny crazy, either. They're evil.

Now, I don't strictly adhere to the speed limit, but I do really enjoy this amazing invention called "cruise control," and find that it comes in very handy because I think it's considerate to maintain a constant speed.

North Carolinians? Not so much with the cruise control.

Apparently they cannot stand it if someone is in front of them -- even a half a mile in front. They lunge up behind you out of nowhere, get in front of you and slow down. They weave in and out of traffic, and slow down again in front of everyone.

One guy decided to slam on his brakes, no reason, nothing in the road, just thought it would be fun to nearly cause a 20-car pile-up, or perhaps to get the chance to see a roadside defibrillation or even an emergency airlift. I felt really bad for the four college kids who had to swerve hard to avoid my car. They looked like they just peed their pants.

My favorite was when a semi came up so close behind me, I could see no pavement between us. I was already going quite a bit -- OK, almost 20 mph -- over the posted speed limit and in the inside lane, and this guy is trying to get up the Jetta's tailpipe. There's really nothing like having your entire rearview view obliterated by 65,000 tons of semi going 80 mph.

I have to say, I was glad to stop for the night.

One actually funny thing: A double billboard that advertised the new cardiac catheterization lab and Dairy Queen's big, juicy double cheeseburger.

The good thing about the NC? Besides how green it is? There's a Cracker Barrel every 20 miles. I mean it, too. You see the first billboard and hear this voice in your head that says "Hey! You want a biscuit?"

Then, just when you've started to forget about it, another billboard.

"How about now? You ready for that biscuit yet?"

You just drive along, minding your own cogitations, maybe rockin' a little Def Leppard, and there it is again.

"Biscuit? No? We'll get back to you in another 10 minutes or so."

You don't stop, but by the time you've driven from the border to Greensboro, you want gravy with that biscuit. And some of those yummy cinnamon apples.

You're also ready to buy a bunch of crafty crap from their country store. And a rocking chair.

Damn biscuits.

Rochambeau ya for it...

David took me on a nice drive to Leiper's Fork, a tiny little town about 15 minutes away, and had lunch at the Backyard Cafe, where you can literally eat in the back yard, if you don't mind some flies sharing your sandwich. We sat on a porch swing in front of the overpriced art gallery talking daydreaming about opening a restaurant in Leiper's Fork. It's the kind of place that really draws a crowd on summer weekends and has some seriously expensive real estate, but only two little cafes, a couple of antique stores, a small market and this art gallery. They need a not-too-expensive-but-kind-of-gourmet joint. We'd call it Rochambeau. Sounds chic, non?

Oh, and Barney Fife apparently still works there. I didn't see him, but I did see his car.

Lazy in Nashville

I am a lazy ass. I got up at 8:30, wandered around the house for a few minutes, went back to bed until 11:30, then spent the afternoon being chauffered around in the chic, air-conditioned comfort of David's Mercedes roadster.

The first picture is Union Station, which is now a grand hotel.

It's 168 out. OK, not really, but the light-board sign at a bank in Nashville had so many lights broken out (probably from the heat), it looked like 168, when it was really only a very pleasant, mild, balmy 108.

I found the house I want to live in here in Franklin. Built in 1829, so it was already almost 40 years old by the time the bloody, swift and Confederate-devastating Battle of Franklin raged all over what was then a tiny town, the house is on the historic list of Franklin homes, and is now up for sale. This is a picture of it, but it's so big, I could only get a small portion of it in the picture, but trust me when I say this is the house for me. It has a sunroom, which I quite like.

Does anyone have an extra $2,465,000 I can borrow? I'll pay it back, I swear. And y'all can come over and use the pool whenever. I'll even make lemonade, maybe some hushpuppies...

I've started making lists as I drive. For example, 43 dead armadillos between Fayetteville and Little Rock; 27 big-ass churches between Franklin and Nashville; one exact replica of the Parthenon in Centenial Park in Nashville; one man getting his Jesus on at the LifeWay Store for Your Christian Journey in Nashville; one shirtless man walking in traffic showing off his moobs and his crack in downtown Nashville; 192 barbecue joints; 379 Starbucks... (OK, I'm exaggerating now, but not about the armadillos, churches, Parthenon, Jesus-getting-on or man-boobs/ass-crack viewing opportunities).

I just felt it was important for you to know that.

This would be the Parthenon replica.

Contemplating heading out this weekend, maybe Sunday, for the "far east" of the country. I really want to see Savannah, and from there, it's not far to the Carolinas.

Hot!

Hot. That's what today was. Hot past the point of distraction. Hot like sweat running down your face, can barely breathe, almost going to pass out hot. Overheated, cannot think straight, clothes soaking wet hot.

Apparently, it follows me, because I heard it was 85 back in Central California today.

Can I get a thunderstorm here, please?

I worked at an Internet cafe today because David and Sheree's AC wasn't doing so well, but either was the cafe's. Three iced coffees later, I was shaking like a chihuahua. But at least I was cooler, for about five minutes.

Came back to David's in the afternoon, stood in an ice-cold shower, then went swimming until my hands pruned up.

I wanted to go back out in the evening and take some pictures, but it's still in the 80s and it's well past dark. Maybe tomorrow.

Crossed the Mississippi

Little Rock to Nashville is not nearly as far as I had imagined. I just had to stop in Memphis and get a shot of the big ol' Mississippi.

Had a great time staying with Steve and Michelle and their two little girls, Miss Julia and Miss Gracie. We hunted lightning bugs, but the bugs didn't feel like playing, I guess. They managed to avoid us tromping around in the back yard.

Steve took me for a nighttime sightseeing drive around Little Rock, to the lovely new Clinton Library all lit up at night, and the snazzy, revamped rivermarket in Little Rock, which was mainly old, unused warehouses when I lived there.

Record heat this week. So glad David and Sheree have a pool. I know where I'll be when I'm not working tomorrow and Wednesday. We're in Franklin, about 25 minutes from downtown Nashville, and it's just gorgeous. I cannot wait to go out and take some pictures of the old, old homes here.

Grrrrrrrrrrrr

It's 1:45 a.m., I'm sitting on the floor of the laundry room at a different hotel than the one I've been at because...I returned to my regular room from a lovely evening with my friends to find that the plumbing in the room above mine had basically exploded, flooding through the ceiling of my room, all over both beds, all over my stuff, including the laundry that had just been finished 12 hours before and lovingly packed in the beautiful leather travel bag I bought in Italia, which now has white streaks and wet spots all over it the possibly asbestos-laden popcorn-ceiling material splashing down into and onto it.

Needless to say, I'm not staying in my old room, or my old hotel.

It's so stupid it's funny.

Except for the leather bag.

Grace, Fire and Soul-Sucking Heat

Congratulations to Dan & Robin! Gracie Bella is adorable!

Woo, Arkansas is suck-the-life-out-of-you hot. We went to Eureka Springs this morning to walk the steep streets and window shop. Eureka is a great little historic Victorian town with all these cute little shops, B&Bs, spas and two haunted hotels.

But by the time were done, we could barely stay awake on the ride home. I'm three-shower-a-day woman here. The afternoon ones are the best, when I stand under the coldest possible tap setting and feel heat literally washing off me. Ahhh.

I'm heading off for Little Rock tomorrow, likely to stay over with Steve and Michelle, and plan to be in Nashville on Monday afternoon.

Made contact with the Atlanta paper, which is hiring, hiring, hiring. The managing editor seems very nice, and I'm sending off some clips Monday morning. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

But before I leave here, I'm going back to the Village Inn with Andy and Jen for one more look at Fire the busboy who has, to say the least, a unique way of clearing tables.

Andy told me about him, but I didn't really get it until we went last night and watched him. Andy calls him "The Matrix," but the guy's nametag says "Fire." I'd really like to interview him, but I suspect he would not be down for that because I think he might be slightly autistic.

Picture a semi-circular booth in any basic burger-chicken-strip-pie-and-coffee joint. Fire stands in front of the table, looking over the dirty dishes left by a family of four, sizing them up. Planning his moves. He raises his arms from the shoulders, like he's considering just scooping up everything at once. Or else he's marking his territory. Then he puts his arms down again and clears off the half-full glasses first. He comes back with a bustub, and without moving his torso at all, he moves his arms as fast as humanly possible, stacking and moving dishes into the tub.

His arms are moving so fast, you don't even see him leave a wet, white towel on the table before taking the bustub into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later and, again without moving his torso, swipes one side of the table, moves the pie menu, the sugar bowl and condiments to the clean side as fast as possible, as though he's playing a shell game with them, then wipes down the other side. He moves back with a quick little jig-step, then flings his whole body into the middle of the half-circle bench seat and wipes down one side of the back and seat. Then he backs out, goes around the other side, lauches himself in again and wipes down the other side.

It's spectacularly strange.

We ask him why he chooses to bus the tables this way, and he explains, without making eye contact, that he's been to the local benihana house a few times (but not often, because it's expensive) and seen how they entertain people with the food.

"I think people would like something different once in a while," he says.

Except he does every table to same way every time.

Legend has it he can be found at a local coffee house most every day, with a stack of journals, writing and writing, his arms and shoulders hunched over like he's protecting his prose. He once told Jen the story of his appearance at a national busboy competition. Everyone who saw him thought he would win, but then he met a woman who went back to his room with him and "stole his secrets." The next day, at the big showdown, she busted out all his moves and won the competition.

My guess? Her skull is now in his freezer.

More safari shots

OK, I cannot stop with the animals. I wish I could live at this park!

Wild Wilderness Drive-Thru Safari Park

Yay! That about sums up my day at the safari park.
Except... my black-and-white-ruffed lemurs were not there anymore. It was a long time ago, I know. But I hoped Hugs and his family would still be around.






However, I did meet Apple and Sid, the red lemurs who like their tummies rubbed, got to pet kangaroos and hung out for a while with a sweet little baby brown bear who came right up to the car and tried to climb in. We could have just let him.

It was so hot here today, but it started raining this afternoon and cooled down a little. All the animals were hot, too, and just lounging.

Wooo, Pig! Sooie!

Wooo, Pig! Sooie! Go Razorbacks!
Yes, that is the official, university-sanctioned spelling.

Awww, Fayetteville. I do love this town with all its winding, tree-lined streets, the old, old houses and so many good memories. Been working the past two days, but hanging out in the evenings with Scott, Jackie, Andy and Jen.

Scott and Jackie took me on a tour of town last night, past my old apartments, the paper, down Dickson Street and to the Catfish Hole, where, as you might assume, we ate catfish, green-tomaot relish and hushpuppies that must be cooked with crack, because you cannot stop eating them, and they bring out bowl after bowl, brimming with the crispy-fried nuggets of cornbready goodness.

All the time I lived here, people kept telling me I'd just never had catfish prepared correctly, because I never liked it. They were right. The Catfish Hole rocks.

Ate some Penguin Ed's barbecue, got my margarita on at Jose's tonight, visited the University of Arkansas campus and Wilson Park and spent a lot of time catching up, reminiscing and laughing. Especially about the paper, the people we worked with and some of the stories we did.

One of our favorites: Back in the day, Fayetteville was still a pretty small town, and rumors started flying that our favorite Chinese restaurant was serving cat meat. The editor made one of the reporters interview the owner so he could put the rumors to rest. The owner's best quote: "We NO kitty here!"

Another: The time our editor decided to write a cutsie column about his puppy liking to take showers. He decided the paper needed a photo to go with it, so he took it himself, not realizing that the chrome strip down the side of the shower stall would catch his reflection -- balls-out naked.

That was, in fact, more frightening than funny.

Speaking of pictures, I got a few photo lessons from Scott, which is a real treat. We also came to the amazing realization that Scott, Jackie and I have known each other for 17 years. Almost half our lives. I used to babysit their son when he was 2. Now he's 19.

Tomorrow, Jackie and I are off to Gentry to visit the Wild Wilderness Safari Park and my lemurs.

Meanwhile, here are some views of Fayetteville. Above, Wilson Park; below, Razorback Stadium.

Summer birthdays

Just wanted to offer birthday wishes to Adam, Patti, Jeff, Peter, my brother Clay, Joel, Robbie, the soon-to-arrive Gracie and anyone else whose birthday is happening, coming soon or that I shamefully mis-remembered.

I hope your birthdays are, were or will be awesome!

Ahhh, Arkansas

Western Missouri is postcard pretty all the way down to Springfield. Coming into Arkansas was like coming home! I hadn't really expected to feel that, and Fayetteville has grown a lot since I was last here, but it's still so nice.

I'm feeling really lucky tonight to have the kind of friends who, even if I don't see them for years, when we do meet again, it's like we were never apart.

Spent two days with Lea Ann in Sedalia, Mo., and we talked and talked like we used to when we were roommates. Only difference is, we're too old to stay up all night anymore. Other than that, it seems impossible to believe I haven't seen her since I lived in Chicago nine years ago.

I left this afternoon and drove down to Fayetteville, arrived about 9 and went to dinner with Andy and Jen -- it was like I just saw him yesterday. Cannot wait to go out taking pictures, and go to the elephant rescue and the Wild Wilderness Drive-Thru Safari Park and see the lemurs!

On the way down, I saw a farm-equipment graveyard in someone's front yard, a sign that said "for sale: stuff" and a roadside stand selling "jam, jelly, tomatoes, squash and rabbits." I'm guessing the rabbits were not for pets.