Mexican Apple Thief

It must be summertime… the little hairs on my arms are bleaching white, the smell of cocoa butter lotion is in the air and I have my first sunburn of the season=) Indeed, my coloring is now to the point where my wife looks at me hungrily and calls me her Mexican apple thief. Hmmm... perhaps now would be a good time to head down to AZ and wander the border trying to find people for the ACLU to sue... Anyways, I had been harboring an irrational hope that God, in Her infinite wisdom, would somehow shrink my waist when I started putting on my summer skin. This is born from the (obviously media-induced) idea that He would not allow a bronzed-beach-boy-of-the-summer to exist with a doughy physique. Pacific Islanders and other specific ethnic groups notwithstanding when was the last time you saw a fat, tanned guy or gal on TV? The TV wouldn’t lie to us, now would it? Feh- another foolish, quasi-religious belief bites the dust.

Yesterday I achieved another small victory in the pool wars – through hard work, chemistry and the wonders of the internet we are now able to see to the bottom of the pool! Yay! Before now, the best we could get was a really nice shade of Martha Stewart blue and about 3 feet of visibility- now I can see clearly all the places I’ve been missing when I sweep! Yay progress. Muchas thank-yous to Shel for that great site on pool maintenance=)



(The Bronze Beach Boys by PasCal)

Come on let's go
Let's not talk about tomorrow
Today
You know who I am
And I love what you wear
Those gilded garments kill my sorrow!
So, come on let's go
(We'll) discuss it all tomorrow
But today…
We're gonna go out
Slap the day in the mouth
Like Bonnie Barker and Clyde Barrow!

Come on let's go, come on let's go, c'mon let’s go

We can be leaves pushed by the breeze
Towards the mountains or toward the sea
Or just out to eat
Please leave your notebooks at home
You can write all about it in the morning
Not today
We should go and catch air
Let the sun dye our hair
Like the bronze beached boys of the summer

Come on let's go, come on let's go, c'mon let’s go

We can be leaves pushed by the breeze
Towards the mountains or toward the sea
Or just out to eat

Come on let's go, come on let's go, c'mon let’s…
We can be like bees up in the trees
Fly over mountains and catch the breeze

Or we can sing strange romantic airs
Like those that flow through Aeolian harps
That caught Shelley's ear like…

Ba ba ba-ba ba ba, ba ba-ba-ba ba ba ba-ba ba ba




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