Southern Comfort Zone

Traveling up the Mississippi River from New Orleans on the Great River Road, we encountered the epitome of the Old South. All along the river north to Baton Rouge, Plantation Country lives on in well preserved splendor. Cotton was not king down here, unlike the plantations throughout the rest of The South, these gave us some… CONTINUE READING >>
Traveling up the Mississippi River from New Orleans on the Great River Road, we encountered the epitome of the Old South. All along the river north to Baton Rouge, Plantation Country lives on in well preserved splendor. Cotton was not king down here, unlike the plantations throughout the rest of The South, these gave us some… CONTINUE READING >>

I Love LA

“I love LA” certainly has a better ring to it than “I love El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de la Porciúncula.” Maybe that’s why the name has been shortened over the years to the point that now it’s just two letters. This gives Los Angeles… CONTINUE READING >>
“I love LA” certainly has a better ring to it than “I love El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de la Porciúncula.” Maybe that’s why the name has been shortened over the years to the point that now it’s just two letters. This gives Los Angeles… CONTINUE READING >>

What in the Sam Hill is a Yosemite?

OK, show of hands. How many of us first heard of Yosemite from Looney Tunes? C’mon, reach fer the sky fragnabbit! On those childhood Saturday mornings Yosemite Sam introduced us to the name but he had nothing to do with the National Park. Friz Freleng just liked the plumb western sound of California’s premier park for his loud-mouthed, sourdough, going-off-all-half-cocked, six-shootin’ little fella. Fifty-odd years of Saturdays later yer flea bitten GypsyNestin’ varmints finally met Sam’s namesake… CONTINUE READING >>
OK, show of hands. How many of us first heard of Yosemite from Looney Tunes? C’mon, reach fer the sky fragnabbit! On those childhood Saturday mornings Yosemite Sam introduced us to the name but he had nothing to do with the National Park. Friz Freleng just liked the plumb western sound of California’s premier park for his loud-mouthed, sourdough, going-off-all-half-cocked, six-shootin’ little fella. Fifty-odd years of Saturdays later yer flea bitten GypsyNestin’ varmints finally met Sam’s namesake… CONTINUE READING >>