Today we celebrate the birthday of Wilson Pickett, born in 1941. He was a rock-n-roll singer who sang about how Mustang Sally oughta slow her Mustang down.
I've never figured how what's so great about the Mustang anyhow. The original Mustang was nothing but an overpowered, restyled, and overpriced Ford Falcon. Certainly nothing any sane and rational car buyer would wanna pay for.
Since then they've done some remodeling, but it's still nothing but a rather crude muscle-car. Nothing I'd ever consider buying.
And what's more, the Mustang drivers in my neighborhood seem to have an inordinate fondness for "music" that sounds like people throwing dead animals at an empty barrel. THUMPA-WHUMPA-THUMPA-WHUMPA.
Well anyhow, it snowed a whole bunch yesterday. Needless to say, the underground electric service workers and the sidewalk installers haven't had a chance to get started yet.
And now that the new Lighthouse restaurant is open, we're trying to find a nice evening to dine there. Some folks have complained that it's not as hoity-toity as the old Lighthouse was.
Fine with me! Since the owners of the old Crash Landing have taken it over, we think it's reasonable to expect the place to be more like Crash Landing was. Concentrate on the food, not on the snootiness.
Anyhow, today looks like it probably won't snow any more.
Signs of life