Nobody asked me but...Cape Cod edition.

Nobody asked me but…is my periodic tribute to the legendary New York sportswriter, Jimmy Cannon. When Cannon could find nothing to write about, he’d write a miscellany—about everything but sports.

Nobody asked me but…

There’s nothing quite as good as a hotdog grilled on an open flame—especially if you have the patience to blacken it.

If you’re looking for a good book to read that won’t dumbify your brain, try “Circe” by classicist Madeline Miller, a retelling of the Circe book from the Odyssey from Circe’s point of view.

I have rotator cuff tears in both my shoulders, but throwing Whiskey’s duck for her to fetch still makes me happy.

It makes Whiskey happy, too. And that’s even more important.

Seeing my daughters, even when we’re bickering (as families do) makes me even happier.

I find those Mountain Dew commercials with Kevin Hart very ugly.

Uglier than most commercials.

Especially since they’re selling canned diabetes.

American Express’ new tagline, “Don’t live life without it,” is infuriatingly bad.

I think the NBA would be much more interesting if the game were played four-on-four.

Of course, Lebron James should count as four players.

That said, I do wonder how Lebron and Bill Russell would match up.

I’ve had my fill for the season of fried clam strips.

I probably could have said that after about five individual strips.

Too much fried food keeps me awake at night.

Actually, everything keeps me awake at night.