Good morning and greetings, change of season fans. Well, the weather was simply delightful for the first week of summer, with temperatures in the high 70’s and the fog at a minimum. Unfortunately, there is no precipitation in the forseeable horizon, as we are in the midst of a severe drought, with 2103 being the driest year in California history.

Now contrast this historic lack of precipitation to what happened in Minnesota last week, in the land of Kevin Love and a 1,000 Laker fans. Folks in the twin cities experienced severe weather with record rainfall, as the rivers were raging while people were being flash flooded out of the better homes and gardens. In the words of writer Jarod Kintz, “I love it when the streets near my house get flooded, because it’s the only time I can go out and walk my fish.
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Meanwhile, here on the Central Coast, we’re as dry as my mother-in law’s brisket, while throughout the midwest people are doing the backstroke in their living rooms, as they are dealing with the worst flooding in decades.

It’s not that I would mind boaters canoeing through my bedroom. Hey, I’d like fly fishing from my dining room table, but these extreme summer storms are no joke.

The Mississippi River was at its highest level in 15 years, totally bloated by the torrential amounts of rainfall, as Minnesotans are experiencing their wettest summer on record.

Fortunately, late in the week, the river crested, according to four out of five dentists who recommend Crest for their patients in the Twin Cities area.

Now on to the nuttiest meteorlogical story of the week. Sean O’Connor is one lucky man. Last week, the Georgia resident was about to rake up some leaves in his driveway when a bolt of lightning struck him in his right leg’s steel-toed boot.

A few minutes later he picked himself up off the ground. He had a taste of blood in his mouth and he realized his leg hair was singed. Or as the Bowery Boys’ Slip Mahoney might have put it, “Sometimes bread cast out over the water comes back as burnt toast.

Sean then looked across the driveway and saw that his boots were no longer on his feet and that one of them was smoldering. He then realized he’d been hit by lightning and had taken up smoking.

He quickly headed over to the emergency room, where doctors didn’t initially buy his story. “At first they didn’t believe me, but when I showed them the singed hair on my legs and the boots they all wanted to shake my hand,” said O’Connor. “They said they’d never met someone who lived after being struck by lightning.” The doctors then pooled their money and had Sean go buy them lottery tickets.

An electrocardiogram scan later revealed that O’Connor had an irregular heart rate, a condition associated with lightning strikes. About 71% of all people struck by lightning survive, but often suffer from severe burns, personality changes, insomnia, impaired hearing, constant pain and a craving for rocky road ice cream.

Bottom line, Sean says he’s okay but from now on he’s going to stick to wearing sandals.

According to the National Weather Service, the chances of being struck by lightning or getting an Anthem Blue Cross representative on the phone are one in a million.

Florida is the deadliest spot, as there are twice as many lightning casualties than in any other state. Most lightning deaths and injuries occur during the summer months, when people are involved with activities like boating, swimming, bullfighting, bicycling, golfing, knife juggling, jogging, walking, cliff diving, hiking, camping, and trolling for great white sharks.

So take heed, as the Fourth of July is historically one of the most deadly times of the year for lightning strikes. I’ll close with the thoughts of Dirty Harry, former Carmel Mayor Clint Eastwood, who once remarked, ““They say all marriages are made in heaven, but so are thunder and lightning.” When it comes to lightning, you’ve gotta ask yourself this question: “Do I feel lucky?” Well, do ya, punk?

Last week in our photo department I featured two sunrises. Well, this week I am once again featuring the buy one get one free photo experience, but from the sunset files.

Both sunsets were shot from the cliffs above Stockton Avenue. The first displayed some unusual cloud formations, as the zoom lens captured different shades of the yellow and rust colored clouds.

The second sunset highlighted the sun filtering through the clouds and shining through onto the Pacific waters. Two nights, two different experiences along the edge of the continent.

On to some late night humor. “The World Cup has an official song. The official anthem is ‘We Will Find a Way.’ It narrowly beat out the other contender, ‘I Feel Someone’s Teeth in My Shoulder.’ At the World Cup, Uruguay’s Luis Suarez bit a player from Italy’s team. It’s the third time he’s done it. The last time he bit a Chinese player and then claimed he was hungry an hour later.” –Conan O’Brien

“The next opponent for the U.S. will be Belgium. The Belgians are favored over the U.S. But so far, the Belgians have been cagey about saying if they think they’ll win. That’s right, the Belgians are waffling. A big movie opened today. “Jersey Boys.” I It’s about the hot musical group all the kids love — Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. To be honest, I don’t know how well “Jersey Boys” is going to do. People in Los Angeles can’t relate to a movie about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Because people here have no idea what a season is.” – Craig Ferguson

So June is just about history. You may have noticed a new blog format last week. Credit goes to my webmaster and recent UCSC college graduate Kevin Deutsch, who majored in mathematics and received a masters degree in teaching me how to post my blog.

We’ll catch you turning in 40 in your final year and storied career with the Bronx Bombers. Aloha, mahalo and later, Derek Jeter fans.

Good morning and greetings, fruit lovers. One of the things that excites me about this time of year is the exotic array of fruits available for my summer feeding pleasure. Living in California, botanical wonders are king, as I never tire of nectarines, plums, peaches, cherries and blueberries. Add to that the endless variety of melons, including honeydew, canteloupe, won’t commit, casaba and persian. And last but not least, the fruit referred to by botanists as a pepo, the watermelon, a berry that has a thick rind, a fleshy center and a juicy soul.

The sweetest melon I tasted this summer was an orange flesh honeydew that was pure golden sugar. This melon is a hybrid bliss between a canteloupe and honeydew. Its creamy orange flesh melted in mind and my mouth, and it goes along perfectly with my vegan diet that includes meat, fish and free range cornish hens.

So when I came upon story this story written by Ray Henry for the Associated Press, I immediately sensed its seasonal importance. Because unlike myself, all summer fruits have a life of their own.

Georgia is known as the Peach State, and images of one of God’s juiciest fruits appears on billboards, road signs, state license plates and in fruit smoothies throughout the state. If you drive through downtown Atlanta, and do so at your own risk, you’ll see Peachtree Street, Peachtree Center Avenue, West Peachtree Street, Peach Cobbler Boulevard and Peach Pie Parkway. It’s a deciduous route, but one that must be taken.

There’s just one tiny problem, cling-free fans. Peaches no longer dominate the groves in Georgia. The new kids on the block are blueberries, which are by far Georgia’s most lucrative fruit crop. Blueberries generated an estimated $94 million for Georgia growers in 2012, which was more than three times as much as the peach crop.

Now since July is National Blueberry month, the question should be asked, what do we know about our little friend? Well, for starters, native Americans and Marlon Brando called them “star berries” because of their blossoms. They are the state fruit of my beloved New Jersey and make wonderful pies, ice cream and musical lyrics. Just ask Richie Cunningham.

And according to the folks at AAA, the annual harvest of North American blueberries would cover a four lane highway from New York to Chicago if you spread them out in a single layer covered with whipped cream.

Growers and blueberry muffin experts say a combination of supply-and-demand, a good growing environment and the Falcons finally playing winning football propelled blueberries from a tiny crop to a profitable niche that dwarfs and Snow Whites the famed peach. Blueberries used to be a colorful afterthought in the this state that General William Tecumseh Sherman marched to the sea through. But when out-of-state blueberry producers wanted ways to get berries on the supermarket shelves earlier in the year, they signed deals with growers in Georgia, and the rest is blueberry history.

Physicians, nutritionists and food truck chefs have been singing their praises for blueberries for their antioxidantal qualities. The berries are an exotic blue color, which is rarely seen in natural foods and Crips territory. Because of antioxidants being a buzz word these days, blueberries are in high in demand among health-conscious consumers and enemies of the huckleberry. Personally, I love them, but unlike apples, oranges or bananas, they are not emotionally available to me all year round.

It takes three or four years, or the amount of time it would take me to get back into good playing shape, for the blueberry bushes to reach full production. And despite being the peachiest of states, Georgia is not the biggest U.S. producers, as California and South Carolina are the leaders of the pack. Georgia’s reputation for peaches was always one part reality, one part marketing and one part Hollywood. When the Civil War ended and the South was left in ruins like the today’s Oakland Raiders, farmers no longer had slave labor to count on. They needed an alternative and peaches was one crop that came to the rescue.

Samuel Rumph, a 19th century grower in Georgia, was a major innovator, commercializing a tasty and robust variety called the Elberta, named for his wife, Louise. He developed a refrigerated rail car, making it possible to ship Georgia peaches to larger markets in Boston, Philadelphia and New York. As a result, northern customers started associating Georgia with peaches. Or as author Melissa Fay Greene puts it, “A real Georgia peach, a backyard great-grandmother orchard peach, is as thickly furred as a sweater, and so fluent and sweet that once you bite through the flannel, it brings tears to your eyes.”

Peaches were first cultivated in China and came to Europe from Persia, hence their ancient name, the Persian apple, which coincidentally was my nickname in college. There are over 700 varieties of peaches, and some Chinese varieties are flat like hockey pucks, which are very popular in Canada. The peach is a close relative of the almond and as a result, often spend holidays together. August is National Peach Month. And eating peaches can help reduce hair loss, act as a stress reliever and be used as an aphrodisiac, but you have to be careful with the pit.

So although the peach is no longer the top crop in Georgia, I still have all the respect in the world for this fruit the Chinese consider a symbol of immortality. I believe it comes down to this for this fuzzier cousin of the nectarine. In the words of writer James Whitcomb Riley, “The ripest peach is always highest in the tree.” Or as poet Alice Walker put it, “Life is better than death, if only because it is less boring, and it has fresh peaches in it.” But we’ll let the final word come from writer William Somerset Maugham who wrote, “In Hollywood, the women are all peaches. It make one long for an apple occasionally.”

For today photo rendevous, we are heading over to the westside of Santa Cruz. For some reason on this night, the sky fooled me into thinking it wasn’t up to its usual tricks, so I wasn’t photo ready. But when the sky started lighting up like a Christmas tree, I grabbed my camera and hurriedly took some shots by the entrance to the Longs Marine Lab.

But then the sky started to turn psychedelic colors, and I thought, well, better late than never, and drove over to Natural Bridges like Mario Andretti to capture the final scenes of this March drama. I may have been late for the opening act, but when the curtain went down, I was sitting front row and center, and it was fantastic.

On to some late night humor. “Anthony Weiner has been caught in yet another sexting scandal. At the beginning of this campaign he said that other texts and photos were likely to come out. Well, they have. Finally, a politician who keeps his promises. Anthony Weiner said yesterday that he wants closure. If he wants closure he should start with his zipper.” – Jay Leno

Anthony Weiner the peter tweeter is at is again. He admitted in a press conference to having more online sexting episode well after he resigned from Congress. This time Anthony Weiner used the name Carlos Danger. He was sexting women under the name Carlos Danger. See, this is Weiner’s way of getting more Latino support.” –Jay Leno “New Yorkers were so shocked that the thing on Trump’s head fainted.” –Craig Fergsuon

“Everybody is still talking about the royal baby. In fact, I saw that President Obama released a statement congratulating Prince William and Kate Middleton on the birth of their son. Then he said, ‘And whatever you do – hang on to that birth certificate.'” –Jimmy Fallon “The royal baby has a name now: George Alexander Louis. George is not the king yet. So for now, we just address him as ‘Boy George.’ “Prince Harry said what any proud family member would say: ‘Back of the line, junior.'” –Craig Ferguson

“A tourist came up to me today and she says, “I watch your show on and off.” And I said, “How do you like it?” And she said, “Off.”- David Letterman
“Rocky is back. Again. Yeah, 67-year-old Sylvester Stallone is getting ready to star in a seventh “Rocky” movie. You can tell he’s getting up there because instead of running up those famous stairs, now Rocky just takes the elevator.” – Jimmy Fallon

So that’s our last blast for July. We’ll catch you showing baseball fans that at age 40 you can still dominate hitters and being tied for most wins in the American League. Aloha, mahalo and later, Bartolo Colon fans.