The last of the oysters at Capt. John’s. I guess you could call this my tribute to Blue Oyster Cult, a 1970s heavy metal band. The name came from a poem their manager wrote. He also came up with their earlier name, “Soft White Underbelly”, which would have made for a way more interesting photo. You’ve got to love Wikipedia.

Mary and I have what we refer to as “cheap date night”, which consists of mexican food and a trip to the book store. The other night I’m sitting at the table half-way looking through a National Geographic and listening to some serious flirting going on down below. So one of the girls asks, “What’re your names?”. And the guys answer, “Dan the Man. We’re both named Dan”. So the girl pulls out her cel phone and starts typing. Dan the Man? I need a nickname…and a hat I think.

Saturday we took a road trip to Capt. John’s Crab House on Cobb Island, MD to eat some crabs and meet up with our friends, Richard and Lynda.

I meant Richard years ago when he was the Kodak rep for Virginia. Fortunately, he was smart enough to see the writing on the wall and bailed from Kodak just before the poop hit the fan, and became what he always wanted to be anyway, a writer. Now he and Lynda have decided to try the other coast for a while and are moving to Portland. This was our fairwell get together. In France they say adieu instead of au revoir, when it’s meant to be a temporary fairwell. Sort of like “see you soon” instead of “good bye”. So “adieu” to RP and Lynda. And if you need a good copywriter, check him out at www.lucidcontent.com.

Saturday is farmer’s market day. We took in three, one actually on a farm. They sold steaks from grass fed cows, along with grass fed chickens. Grass fed is supposed to be better for you. This was the farm’s brahma bull and to say he was friendly (unusual for any bull, much less a brahma) would be an understatement. He liked having his head scratched and if you stopped scratching, he’d just walk over and stick his head under your hand. Apparently grass fed also makes you more docile.

This sign sits at the end of a road I drive a couple of times a week. It offers a couple of choices for which way to go, unless you’re on a bicycle, in which case you only have one choice.

Not sure what this sculpture in front of the Air & Space Museum is. I’m calling it the spaceneedle. I do know that when I poured some water down Mary’s neck to cool her off, she probably considered ripping it down and probing my innards with it.

If you need any further evidence of the weakened dollar, take a look at the donation box at the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum. Lot’s of foreign currency and not many dollars.