I was assigned to the crew of the Barbarian, a yacht as appropriately named for the sport of ocean racing as any in the fleet. The race would begin in Galveston, take a southerly reach to a point off Freeport, turn east 35 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico, and then complete the triangle with a leg back into Galveston harbor. It would, depending on the winds, take anywhere from 20 to 30 hours and cover a straight-line distance of 107 miles. But, of course, yacht races are not sailed in straight lines.
You won't find it in Guinness, but I believe I hold a record of sorts: I grew up in Galveston, two blocks from the Gulf of Mexico, and managed to go seven years−from the fifth grade through high school−without once setting foot on the beach. So maybe I'm the wrong person to be pointing out that what others have called Texas' finest recreational resource may not be around much longer. Still, a lot of people seem to like it, and it seems a shame that they'll have to find some place else to go.
'Tipping," says a former waitress of my acquaintance, "is one of the more interesting games people play. And for the most part, it's played on a very subliminal level." You can take few things for granted in restaurant dining, but one of them is the tip: only a bit less certain than death, and higher-literally-than taxes. Deciding whom to tip, and how much to tip them, has been a source of worry for almost every restaurant-goer at one time or another.
Seeing pickles or thinking about pickles or reading the world pickle…pickle, pickle, pickle…will cause most people’s mouths to water. It is an involuntary action but one which contributes to Americans voluntarily consuming 20 billion pickles every year. That means that every American, including you, eats about eight pounds of pickles annually. Evidently we have not been able to escape the legacy of Amerigo Vespucci, a pickle peddler from Seville, who lent his name to our continent.
It has never been easier to make a home movie than it is today. To start filming all you do is drop a film cartridge into a camera, focus, and shoot. You can buy a single-system sync-sound super 8 movie system--a miniature version of 16 mm systems used by CBS, NBC, and ABC news--for under $500. The only thing that's missing is technique, a demystification of the medium. To fill that void, we offer here a primer on film technique.
Pick up a history of the Texas oil industry, or of the big figures in oil, and chances are it will include a photograph taken one day in October 1930 showing a group of men in front of an oil rig. Sometimes the photograph is cropped to show only two of the men: Columbus Marion Joiner (called Dad), the man who promoted the well, and A.D. Lloyd (called Doc), a self-taught geologist who provided the "scientific" support for Joiner. Usually they are the only two people identified in the captions.
Some days it seems like the complaints about restaurant reviews will never stop: "My family and I drove all the way from * * * on the strength of your good ole Anonymous and, like him, we received no special services—all to the tune of $35.15 for four of us. My husband did what he could with two inert, overfried crab bodies; we all contributed some of our food to him out of pity."
The Final Days
by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein
Simon and Schuster, $11.95