Commencement of the Dog Days of Summer

[Commencement of the Dog Days of Summer] Mars supposedly is turning himself around today. I spent a little too much time yesterday morning, before I had the requisite fourteen cups of coffee — that’s just to get me to wake up — compiling a small portion of the e–mail from the last couple of weeks. “History shows again and again how nature points up the folly of men. Godzilla!” [Gratuitous BOC allusion.] Got my heart broke yesterday. Wanted to go fishing, and Bubba cut out last night. “No man, can’t go tonight.” Like I’m going to drop a line in the river here in front of Shady Acres? I think not — as the Neighbor pointed out, “One of them ducks over yonder has three legs.” I hiked the long way around the lake, the eastern loop, hot sun, sparse shade, and then, passing a new taco stand, I opted to try their fare. Comfort food: Barbacoa and Al Pastor — a litmus test for the restaurant. The Al Pastor was excellent, but the Barbacoa wasn’t prepared quite right. A little over–cooked in some places, a little too grisly in others. Must’ve been a hot afternoon, though, as the waitress came back by to check on me, “Aldo mas?” she asked. “Non, c’est bien,” I replied. With the various indications poking around at 100, it’s a hot summer — looks like I was right in that prediction again. A little bit of Taco Cabana food last night, late night run with a Pisces. Still, that’s not the same as fishing, not to me.