The Losing Seaon and The Lost World

For those of you worried sick about the disappearance of the rooster, quit it. He's back and he's still lost in his parallel rooster universe where dawn arrives well before dawn arrives.

While Woowoo Charly and pal Victoria prowled the aisles of The Bookmark Bookstore, I leashed up Gus The Wonder Dog and took him for a walk on the sidewalk of Dolega. That's sidewalk, singular. It runs along the road to Boquete and fronts a lot of old Panamanian houses that back up to what appears to be, from the sidewalk, Panamanian jungle. Two lane blacktop in front, Tarzan to the rear. Nice contrast. We ambled amiably along for a half mile or so looking for nothing in particular and finding lots of it until we u-turned and headed back to the bookstore. The point of the walk was merely to give Lady Charles a little time to pick out a book or two. Gus isn't welcome in the store because he doesn't read, has no money and poses a serious threat to the well being of the owner's two rotweilers. Gus comes from a long line of English Cockers, while the Rots roots have them fleeing The Father Land shortly after WW2. There is some tension there. (An aside: I think it was Bill Maher who wondered if the Germans would have been less rigid and authoritarian if Germany had been called The Dad Land. And, for that matter, Russia The Mom Land.) When it was Chuck's turn to keep Gus's 30 pounds away from the 100 pound Rots, I made a beeline to The Dick Francis section and scored four I haven't read. I also found Pat Conroy's "The Losing Season." It's probably the only copy in Panama. Needless to say - I don't NEED to say any of this - but if I don't nobody will - I am now happy as a harp seal hidden out by conservationists.

On the way to the plant place, our next stop, we passed a baseball stadium with a game under way. Gus and I decided we would rather be there oohing and aahing at line drives than tip toeing through the tulips with the mujeres oohing and aahing at lines of lillies, so when we decarred, the mutt and I streaked up the block to the game. We found a nice spot in the bleachers and watched as two teen aged teams took turns making baseball blunders. The stands held mostly player's family members sporting coolers and picnic stuff. Between innings some of the players would come flying up the stairs to grab a sip of coke, juice, water and what have you. It was fun. Gus, of course, was not impressed. He couldn't understand why when someone caught a ball they threw it to someone else. When he catches one, he keeps it.

There was other good stuff between then and the moment later that night when my wife said somethingI had never heard before, but none of it captured my attention like her vaguely sexual, partially, I think obscene though I really don't know for sure as she wouldn't elaborate, comment. Yeah, I know, sexual and obscene and I haven't heard it? Seems unlikely. So what I'm asking is for somebody out there there to enlighten me. I need an explanation. What my constant companion and raison d'etre said, as we watched Jill St. John traipse through the jungle wearing tight, stretchy, pink pants in an old version of "The Lost World," was... "all the money they spent on wardrobe and makeup and she's still got cameltoe." "Cameltoe?" I said. "What the hell is cameltoe" "Just look at her crotch" my wife shot back cryptically. Now when your wife tells you to look at another woman's crotch you might as well take advantage of it and do exactly so, because she is not likely to say that again, ever, but by the time I did, the screen was filled with small lizards blown up to look like large dinosaurs. Bummer. Cameltoe. Give me a clue.