Birthday

Happy Birthday (and many more) to the Dread Lord of Lutefiskistan.

D.O.P.-T.

When we set off for walkies in the late afternoon, I could hear something like a buzz saw—yet again, there always seems to be somebody either doing violence to a tree or wasting resources re-renovating their house—but it got really loud as we approached the park, and turned out to be a guy in a dark blue kilt massaging bagpipes. Not very well; sounded more like a bovine in distress. At least the guy in Times Square was good.