Well, Wendy and I are back from our beach vacation on High Island. We had a good time – we did almost nothing! Our typical routine was to wake up, watch the gulls and pelicans from our porch, eat some breakfast, sit on the beach for a while, snooze in the afternoon, and then watch the beach some more in the evening, including fireworks shows put on by several of our neighbors. It was very nice and relaxing. There was a lot of seaweed on the beach, but we were there more for the view than for actual swimming, so it was OK.

Though, we did have one bit of adventure. On Thursday, we decided we’d be daring and try to find the nude beach on High Island. We had a pretty good idea where it was, so we headed off. I knew that it was supposed to be just a mile or so beyond where the highway was supposedly “closed” but was passable anyway. There was sand covering the pavement, but I expected that, and we continued on. Then we got back to pavement.. All right – we started scanning for signs saying “warning, naked people ahead” or something like that. Or perhaps we’d just stumble on a bunch of exposed people. But we saw nobody, and no signs, so we kept going. Then the sand came back. Shallow at first, but soon deeper and deeper. Before we knew it, we were driving in furrows in the sand about as deep as the tires on my Xterra. We came to the conclusion that we were in trouble. I was sure we’d get stuck if we attempted to leave the grooves we were following in the “road” so we continued on, looking for a safe place to turn around.

Well, the sand finally got a little less deep, so we decided to brave it. I left the safety of my “road” and headed for open sand. And we got out! Unfortunately, my turning radius isn’t very good, so I had to stop and back up in order to turn around (the beach isn’t very wide.) That’s when we got stuck. We tried putting beach debris under the tires, but no luck. Even my trusty BLT tee-shirt was called in to service, to try to give more traction. No go. Finally, after about 1/2 hour, I dug enough of a channel under the tires to get a little momentum. Wendy gave it some gas while I pushed (like that was going to do anything) and we were out. I quickly took over the wheel. Wendy wanted nothing to do with driving in that stuff. We refused to stop for anything. Even my poor shirt was left, abandoned on the beach, because we didn’t dare stop to pick it up.

I guess we just weren’t supposed to get to that beach.

OK. I’m playing around with a new toy for my web pages. Right now, it’s only on my Xanga site (and this post, of course), until I figure out a good way to fit it into my main site. And I may just delete it all together if it doesn’t get any use.

Basically, it’s another way to communicate with me, and those who read my site(s) (all 3 of you.) Instead of leaving comments to posts, you can send a text message to 25622 with the message looking like this:

@dbailey Your message here

Where, of course, “Your message here” is whatever you want. Within a few seconds, your message should be added to the display of messages on my “screen” which should be present on my main Xanga page. Have fun.:)

For those of you who are in the cast of Titanic …

Given that tomorrow’s rehearsal is not especially “local,” I was wondering if anyone would be interested in sharing vehicle space. No sense all of us dragging our cars all the way there if we don’t need to.

We’ll just have to hope that the carpool doesn’t suffer the same fate as the ship.   Of course, there aren’t many icebergs on Houston roads in June …

This is a picture I took of myself after Wendy helped me to dye my hair prior to today’s auditions for “Titanic” at BLT. I wanted to try the dye because I wanted to be considered as a possibility for some of the younger roles.

I don’t think it was very effective, but it could have been much worse.

I didn’t want anything too permanent, in case I was cast as a gray hair, so I only went with a temporary dye. That’s all well and good, but temporary dyes don’t take very well on gray hair. I started out with a “light ash brown” color, figuring that was fairly close to my “original” color. What I actually got was somewhere between blond and orange. And even that was uneven, because I tried to do it myself.

Wendy informed me that she would not be seen in public with me looking like that. She gave me no choice but to go back to the store for some more dye. When I walked in, the woman behind the counter remembered me. She commented that my hair now matched my shirt (I was wearing a maroon BLT t-shirt at the time).

So I bought the darkest brown they had, and had Wendy apply it for me. It’s still pretty light, but at least I don’t look like I belong in a circus side-show now, and Wendy and Katie might consider admitting to knowing who I am. Maybe.

Moral of the story? It’s a good thing I never had an ambition to be a beautician!