We went golfing much earlier today–left a little after eight–and it was a good idea. It was cool, so I wasn’t suffering and itching, P was better able to concentrate on his game without so much going on in the park, and I actually got a few pictures that didn’t totally suck to put in my Flickr account (I used up this month’s bandwidth in three days, so I guess I’ll have to cough up for a pro, or forget about it–WTF am I supposed to do with 20MB?) By the time the people noise started around 1000h, we were nearing the end of the course and just about ready to head for home.
Come on! This is a serious golf game–there’s no time for you to play horsie. You get off there right now and take your shot!
I think this is one of my favourite pictures ever. Not as much the subject matter (though it is kind of cool) as the fact that I somehow got the camera (woefully lacking in manual controls) to see exactly what I saw. That’s rare.
Personally, I prefer serving children with barbeque sauce and a side of potato salad.
P and I made a home for IDNR last night. It’s a 10g and one 1.25″ crayfish looks a little lost in there, plus I can’t finish it until his driftwood soaks enough to sink so I can move the rock, but I put him in anyway because he wanted a real home. He immediately sought out exactly the kind of spot I’d expect to find a cray in the wild, and that’s his lair. Put a scrap of food in, though, and you’ll soon find out that even little crayfish are very, very hungry! I don’t have a picture yet because it won’t look like much until it’s done. For now it’s like a partially furnished new apartment; enough to get you by, but not something you’d want to show your friends. Anyway, from the look of this, we’ll have to spend ID’s home improvement fund on a lawyer. I didn’t even know the li’l guy had anything to do with mining, but P was reading the paper and said, “Uh-oh”. I said, “What’s wrong?” and he told me that ID was in some trouble, something about mining. I guess you just never know what a wild crayfish will get up to when the Mama’s not about.
