Birthday Boy: On the Beach

One of my first crushes, and still one today - dear Mr. Kevin Kline is an improbable 66.  He may not today have quite the youthful je ne sais quoi so much on offer here, but still...

And to think that on top of all that, he can act.  It's really hardly fair.

Our beach weather, I think, has vanished and for good, or at least for the next six months or so.  The occasional autumnal cold snap has matured into full-blown fall, with signs of moving steadily on into genuine winter.  Fortunately, the dogs seem to be adapting splendidly, and if Mr. Muscato isn't quite following suit, he's proving surprisingly game for someone whose idea of chilly is anything under 86 Fahrenheit.  This will be his first genuine winter (Cairo goes through a damp and gray spell in December and January, but it's by no stretch of the imagination what we've got to look forward to in February in this part of the world), and in preparation we've been busily buying sweaters and sweatshirts and jackets and hats and all sorts of gear.

Last weekend we hit an outlet mall, an activity I recommend only for those truly desperate to add to their wardrobe and/or those with a very high tolerance for their Fellow Americans, all of whom appear to be dressed in clothes purchased somewhere far inferior even to the shops on offer.  I can't really complain, however, having scored a rather nice overcoat by one of our better American clothing concerns (while it bears a name, I don't say better designers, as I'm guessing the gentleman in question is as unaware of this particular coat as would be Schiaparelli or Dior - current practices in licensing being what they are).  On top of that, we finally found a raincoat that meets the Mister's exacting standards, so with any luck at all we shall make it at least until the worst of the snows - something that he and both the terriers will experience for the first time.  We shall see...