Hot Beer Of Old King Lud

"Oh, I gots the rabbit + crow Blog is one year old blues...
Oh, yes, I gots the rabbit + crow Blog surely is one year old blues...
I got them blues that are so blue, as regards the one year anniversary of the rabbit + crow blog,
That I am really quite blue. Oh, yeah. Doo-wop. Yuh-huh. Zizz!"

Ever have a one year anniversary of something and you think to yourself: "That was a year. That was it. Now I know what a year of doing that is like. It was different from how I thought it would be. It was better. And it was worse too. And it was different. Sigh."

Do you ever think that do yourself?

I do.

I'm thinking that to myself right now.

It's so hot in Los Angeles that I would like to blow up the sun.

When we move to London in the fall, it will not be hot. And that is very good. Whenever I talk about the imminent London relocation, people - with the expression of a doctor about to give bad news - say: "But of course, there's the weather there. That's going to take some getting used to."

It will take some getting used to, yes, in the sense that after someone has been splattering hot grease in your face for several years in a row, you will probably be a little jittery for a while, even though the grease-splashing has ended.

I like rain. I love rain. Rain and cold weather and that feeling like I might be getting pneumonia somewhere way, way down there in my alveoli, that stuff makes me perky and relaxed and contented. It also seems to improve my concentration - kind of like how nicotine does, except without the premature death part of it.

Sometimes I get on the bus and I'm sure I'm sitting in a pool of sweat from a previous passenger. Usually, luckily, it's just spilled beer.

None of that uncertainty in London. No! In London - oh, London! - it's a dead cert that it's spilled beer!

Of course, nothing is certain in this day and age.

When my wife and I went to London for our honeymoon, we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Natural History Museum's jarred specimen collection. We were shown a small barracuda that had been caught off the coast of Cornwall the previous year. It was the farthest north a barracuda had ever been caught.

The barracuda is a tropical fish.

Cornwall is where King Arthur was from.

Barracudas and King Arthur should not have to be spoken of in the same conversation.

I'm sweating.