Ducky and I are looking at a family business, and we need your help.  I'm not making a sales pitch (yet), what we need are ideas for a brand name.  We'll be selling homemade jams at the local farmers' market, made from local produce.  First and formost will be apricot-pineapple, based on my mother's recipe that earned the nickname of "crack jam" for its addictive quality.  We have other ideas for foods we can expand into later, but for now that's what we'll be focusing on.  But we need a name!  So we're putting the word out: make a suggestion, and if we choose your idea you'll get a free jar of jam as soon as the season begins.  So, all you marketing geniuses, get those ideas moving!  Oyster out.

From Pundit & Pundette on the demographic differences and birthrates in the US and Europe:

"Human beings don't breed well in captivity."

Amen.

Mack has always taken to gymnastic activities.  He climbed before he could walk, learned early on to shrug off falls, and lost all fear of heights and falling by the time he was six months old (I had a lot to do with that).  The appelation "Mack," in fact, comes from "macaco" or monkey, for the amazing feats of strength and dexterity he showed at an early age.  So when Ducky called me today to tell me that Mack had given her a heart attack, it wasn't really much of a surprise.  Then she explained how.  At the playground, she looked over to find him at the top of the seven-foot chain-link fence surrounding the pool area.  For those who might not know: Mack is three years old.  About the time she saw him, he fell (or dropped, I'm not clear on that).  Seven feet.  To the ground.  He landed on his feet, and walked away without a care in the world.  Seven foot fall, on his feet, without even a bump.  Ducky and I have determined that Mack is clearly a mutant destined to become a hero and savior of humanity.  So we're now pondering a name and costume for him, and any suggestions are welcome.  My children, friends, never cease to amaze me.  Oyster out.