Sunday in Glen Park with Dog

It is a gorgeous, sunny, warm day, and down the street there's a neighborhood fair. It's not huge: two bouncy castles, a small performing stand (playing kid's music when I went down a little while ago), food vendors, neighborhood-service booths (NERT! Neighborhood watch!), the inevitable chiropractor's booth, and half a dozen jewelry-makers and odd stalls. I walked through it in five minutes, missing the NYC street fairs a bit (talk about weird booths: spice wholesalers! decrepit linens! hand-made tie-dyed baby clothes...). Avocado has just gone down to meet a friend and play at the fair; afterward they are getting manicures.

Just a perfectly nice day. Maybe I'll go find a farmer's market and buy greens.

Now, That's Dedication

Being a coward by training and inclination, I have never been tempted to live a criminal life: I'd be crappy at it, I'd get caught, it would be unpleasant.

If you're going to be a criminal, however, I suppose it takes dedication and a sense of purpose. Like this guy, a chap with a prior conviction, who escaped once from the cops after he was caught with pot in his car, somehow got the handcuffs off (but did not have the wit to get rid of them), and attempted to chew off his fingertips so he couldn't be identified. That shows true purpose and dedication.

Alas, it doesn't demonstrate much smarts.