The Lovely Mrs. Sneed is teaching Sneedlet to play wheelbarrow.


Ah, Labor Day. The day on which the rest of America adopts my work ethic. they should call it Sneed Day, because almost no work gets done.

Far from being a cool semi-paradise this weekend, San Diego is experiencing a hot spell. We took a walk through the park at Seaport Village this morning and it was very uncomfortable.

Our hotel basically cleared out this morning, which is a relief. The Padres baseball team was playing the Los Angeles Dodgers over the weekend and there were a surprising number of Dodger fans who made the trip down to see the games. There is a suite across the hall and it was occupied by about ten young guys, all Dodger fans. They and their endless supply of beer made for a rowdy group.

The Dodgers have a huge Hispanic following in Los Angeles and they are die-hard fans. The really made quite a showing at the game we attended Sunday.

There was a time when I was a big baseball fan, so I recognize the hard-core fans. There were men keeping score in official score books. Who does that anymore? I used to, but I have to wonder why? It seemed that every other patron at the game was wearing a Dodgers jersey. After the Padres had fallen hopelessly behind, the only fans remaining were cheering for the Dodgers.

The Padres fans are a laid back bunch for the most part. They took the verbal jabs from the Dodger invaders in good spirit for the most part. Baseball fans in New York or Boston or Philadelphia, would find this good-nature foreign.

Once, when the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I were in Philly, we decided to take a carriage ride around the city. Our driver was inexplicably wearing a New York Mets cap. At an intersection he was accosted by a crazed Phillies fan, who suggested that he go to hell back to New York. I thought that a fist fight would ensue, but fortunately the animosity was restricted to name calling.

This afternoon we intended to drive to La Jolla for lunch, but I took a wrong turn and drove about twenty miles too far north before it was pointed out to me that we were lost. I've probably only driven from downtown San Diego to La Jolla about a hundred times, so you think I could find it. We had had lunch in Solano Beach, at a California Pizza Kitchen.

Despite the heat, San Diego remains America's Finest City.

Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky