The Academy Awards show has come and gone.
Geez, we have become the most easily offended, quick-to-demand-an-apology, can't-take-a-joke society, maybe in the history of the world, even including Marco Polo, Julius Caesar, Richard Nixon and Steve Spurrier.
On the coast of Maine, a couple of hours down from Acadia National Park, there's a village with the wonderfully euphonious name of Wiscasset, and on its outskirts sits the Sea Basket.
On the Maine island where Wife Nancy and I spend time, I come in contact with lots of tourists -- over the course of a season, thousands of them who visit Acadia National Park.
Through a set of circumstances that comes up about this time each year, I've been cooking for myself lately.
Matt Dillon's dead, and the bad guys in the hereafter had better be watching their backs.
Isn't it odd how every once in awhile, something pops in your head that's been buried for a long time -- a distant memory that for some reason comes alive?
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