I saw you standing on the cornerOn the edge of a burning lightI saw you standing in the cornerIn the cold, cold night

Here are some Friday pictures from my backyard.



After this romantic sunset, I convinced Stanette to see Star Trek with me.

I know what the ladies like.



Live long and prosper.



The movie was pretty cool. Stanette fell asleep right before the huge special effects finale.

I know.

Spock goes forward and back in time and meets himself.

How in the name of all that is holy could she sleep through that?

(I have a hard time understanding why I am still single. She should put me on lockdown, bottle up my essence and sell it to lonely hearts. Make a lot of money.)



I went for a run today that was just short of 6 miles. I know. WTF? It was a gorgeous day here, mild temps, sunshine, and snow-capped mountains.

Then I worked on some top-secret computer work with Stanette.

I had to call my mom two or three times on her cell and bombard her with grammar questions. She is great with grammar and punctuation.

(And she bears no responsibility for the shortcomings on display at The Dude Abides.)

I wish I had a house on stilts somewhere in the middle of the Keys. Small, like 800 square feet, one floor, a bed, a bathroom, a small propane-powered kitchen with a mini-frig, an electric stove with the coil burners.

When you walk across the kitchen, the floor creaks and groans like an old lady.

There would be a wrap-around deck, a whole bunch of fishing poles and a hibachi. There would also be a little skiff that we could pole out onto the mangrove flats and try to get the bonefish to rise.

During the day, I will run my moped stand. I figure twenty or thirty mopeds, a stool, a little stand with a palm-frond roof, a radio with a long, aluminum antenna that will play the beisbol.

I will sit there, fanning myself with my hat, novel in hand, acting annoyed that you actually want to rent a moped.

I'll take your credit card and smash it across my carbon paper triplicate forms. I will curse the day you were born and stuff the waxy, carbon receit into an envelope with the others.

I'll grab the key off the pegboard, get off my stool and walk you down to the moped. The smallest key on my keychain unhooks the moped from the gray cable.

I will tell you to be careful, and to bring the moped back in two hours.

Then, I will walk back to my stool, take my hat off and start fanning myself to the strains of the Spanish broadcast of the game.

The familiar rhythm and chatter lulling me into my afternoon nap, dreaming of a swaying hammock.