Lake Boyce, Stony Point, NY.  A perfect little out-of-the-way spot for panfish and smallmouth.

It's been a while since I was scuba diving and spied an octopus eyeing me from the dark recesses of the superstructure of a sunken tanker on a night dive off Curacao. But I couldn't catch that guy. And didn't really want to at the time.

They're amazing creatures; adaptable, intelligent, and in some cases, deadly. And they all have the ability to suddenly vanish leaving a purplish milky cloud of confusion.

But this fellow didn't get away, and wound up as some tasty Tako Su with spicy sauce from Teak on the Hudson. Mighty denizen of the deep, as I eat you, I salute you.

I decided to hop the subway a few stops and spend a nice breezy NYC lunch hour walking around SoHo. I used to work in this neighborhood so it's fun to come back every once in a while and check out the scene.

Mercer Street, with its cobblestones, is one of the oldest in the city. Broadway always has a crowd. Down any side street there's always a new shop or restaurant with a potential Page 6 story.

I grabbed lunch at Fanelli's on Prince. A former speakeasy that dates back to the 19th century, the corner cafe exudes a century of memories as well as the tasty smell of a variety of pub grub fare.  The wait staff is a tad rough-around-the-edges and they bring a little rock n roll aloof attitude to your red and white checkered table; it's clear they're not there for the idle chit chat or the random celebrity walk in.  Next I dropped in the always-interesting Versani and browsed for a sterling bauble while listening to enchanting  Buddha Bar music. I checked my watch and the next thing I know I was back on the R train along with a strolling quartet belting out some Motown and shaking a can for spare change.

As Ferris said,  "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

 

Had a fun time riding horses at Rocking Horse Ranch! 

Their stamps were taxed.  Their hats was taxed. Then came the last straw...their tea was taxed.  "Another tax?" the colonists asked.  "On our tea?  Never!" So on December 16, 1773, disguised as Indians, angry colonists boarded three ships in Boston Harbor and tossed the infernal tea overboard. The incident sparked a revolution, and a new protest standard was set. Let us think of our brave forebears, as we dutifully mail our checks today.

Veteran media execs have decided to draw a line in the sand and charge for content. The question is will it work, and in the long wake of Napster, have they waited too long?

The Easter egg hunt was a success, though we were nearly thwarted by squirrels who figured out quick that these magically, materializing brightly colored ovoids contained sweet, tasty treats!

Noon mass was followed by some more outside fun while a prime rib roasted in the oven.

May this day mark a spring-like rebirth for everyone!

Leprechauns are sneaky, mischievous rascals, you just can't trust 'em. Especially on St. Patrick's Day.  So there is no other choice but to set traps for them. The good thing is, should you catch one of these shamrock-loving faeries, you can interrogate him and force him to reveal the location of his pot o' gold.

This trap was constructed out of a large coffee can. Note the friendly, green, inviting decor, sure to put even the wariest leprechaun at ease. Also the ladder--made of sticks--has an earthy, handcrafted feel to it. It resembles something they might use in their natural environment. The top of the can is covered by green construction paper and baited with a phony gold coin. (Don't use "Lucky Charms" cereal as bait, leprechauns take offense at that and will immediately be on their guard.)

All the wee fellow need do is climb up the ladder and attempt to steal the coin, then his plump belly will cause the paper cover to give way and plunge the orange-bearded sprite into the bottom of the can. There the hapless leprechaun will remain captive until he reveals the location of his gold. With the price of gold these days, though, expect the little miser to hold out for a while. Good luck!

A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write,  if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be.  --Abraham Maslow