No cake, no entry.

That's right. There's a new trend on the culinary horizon and it's called "Cake Picnic."

The brainchild of Elisa Sunga, this celebration of the humble and the outlandish has taken on a fevered pitch. Indeed, cities all over the world are playing host to cake picnic events. All you need is a ticket AND a cake. 

Yup, it's a "pay to play" kind of gig, requiring all attendees to bring a store-bought or handmade cake to gain entry. But the best part of this gathering comes at the end.

After everyone has had a chance to admire all the entries, each registrant is given an empty pizza box to carry as many pieces of cake as they can cut. If you play your cards right, you can score a slice or two of all your favorites before the clock runs out.

Then it's just you and your fork ... and CAKE!

Check out their calendar of events. There might be a cake picnic headed your way!

https://www.cakepicnictour.com/

"For the love of cake, we must." - Elisa Sunga, founder of Cake Picnic

Location, location, location.

Just across the street from the studio lot that once held companies like Pickford-Fairbanks (1922), United Artists (1927), Samual Goldwyn (1940), and eventually Warner Bros Hollywood (1980), the Formosa Cafe was the destination of choice for both starlets and mobsters alike during Hollywood's golden age.

It was here, surrounded by cigarette smoke and red velvet wallpaper, that John Wayne threw back drinks at the bar, Lana Turner danced in the aisles, and Bugsy Siegel stashed cash in a specially designed safe under his favorite booth. 

I soaked it all in during a recent visit to the storied hideaway, sampling a menu known for its Kung Pao Chicken and Chili Wontons. But the only kick I needed was just being there. There amongst the ghosts of Hollywood royalty. 

"We don't have an Eiffel Tower in Hollywood, we have things like the Formosa." - Steven Gaydos, Los Angeles Film Critics Association 

What I remember most about that morning was the searingly blue sky.

It was a quintessential autumn day in Boston on September 11, 2001. The sun was bright. The leaves were beginning to turn. The air was as crisp as a freshly-picked apple. 

By the end of the day, my office had been on lockdown for hours. Rumors of the unimaginable began to percolate. Followed by the images. All of those haunting images.

The Twin Towers. The Pentagon. The fields of Shanksville. An imprint of bloodshed that has never left me.

Included among the thousands who lost their lives that day was a college classmate, Patrick McGuire. He was working on the 84^th floor of the South Tower when the second plane hit.

Twenty-five years in a blink. But a lifetime as well...

For the last ten days, I have abandoned my initial Wordle guess for a decidedly non-strategic choice.

D-O-L-L-Y

Somehow, it just makes me feel better to type those five letters every day.

It's strange to experience Parton's loss so significantly, having never met her. But that's the thing about Dolly. She made you feel as if you knew her. It didn't matter that her soul was wrapped in rhinestones, and glitter, and wigs. Despite her enormous fame, she remained the country girl from the mountains of East Tennessee. 

This past weekend I went to Santa Barbara to preach at the Unitarian Society, a tradition known for its inclusivity. When I approached the front door, I noticed they had placed Dolly's words on their placard.

Of course they did. Because Dolly's heart was big enough for all of us. No wonder I miss her....

“You don't even have to believe in anything to be good to people." - Dolly Parton (January 19, 1946 - August 25, 2026)

There's nothing like a beach chair to remind you of summer...

Just recently I discovered a new version of the "Boys of Summer," aka the Vail Precision Lawn Chair Demonstration Team, a drill squad known for their exacting, and hilarious, synchronized parade routines.

Founded in 1984, this sixteen-member team has performed at events big and small, including appearances at two presidential inaugurations (Clinton/GW Bush). While marching, they spin and snap their low-slung beach chairs in rhythm, much to the delight of the gathered crowd. 

Each routine ends with their famous "bullfrog hop" a maneuver that requires members to leap and then land in their prescribed seats.

With the new academic year finally here, let's follow their lead and jump right in!

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Arrested decay."

That's how it's described. South of Lake Tahoe, on the dusty plains east of the Sierra Nevadas, is the ghost town of Bodie.

In the late 1870's Bodie was a boomtown, swamped with miners in search of their fortune. But when the gold rush dwindled, the town began to decline. Two subsequent fires drastically reduced the town's footprint. Only the skeletal remains are left.

Rusted carcasses of old cars lie dormant by the roadside. The general store is still stocked with canned goods, there since 1912 when the doors last closed. A bank, a mortuary, and a Methodist church still stand, silently resisting the relentless force of heat, wind, and gravity. 

These days I too find myself filled with memories. Grateful for some. Beset by others. 

"There's a deep sense in which we are all ghost towns. We are all haunted by the memory of those we love. While they may no longer be with us, a faint aroma of their presence remains, a presence that haunts us until we let them go." - Peter Rollins

*The accompanying photograph is an interior shot of the town's abandoned schoolhouse; books still on the desks and math problems still scrawled on the chalkboard.

When was the last time you had a school picture taken?

Much to my surprise, my mother saved all my annual "pose and smile" shots from my elementary school days. I discovered them in a box stored in the attic, thrown in with some report cards and other ephemera from the 1960's. A time capsule of sorts.

I can't seem to remember much about the girl I was back then, behind the braces and mop of red hair. Still, there's something in those photographs that yearns to speak.

A few weeks ago, I stopped by one of those shopping mall photography studios. After much squirming, the photographer finally asked me to "just pose naturally." This was the result.

Telling, don't you think?

“Life is like a camera. Focus on what is important. Capture the good times. And if things don't work out, just take another shot.” - Ziad K. Abdelnour

Earth Day. A springtime tradition since 1970.

This global event is widely considered to mark the birth of the modern-day environmental movement. That said, my first experience of land and wildlife stewardship took place on a much smaller scale. The Town Forest. 

Tucked on the edge of my hometown are roughly 200 acres of densely wooded land. As a kid, I skated on its ponds in the winter. I hiked its trails. I scrambled on the glacial rock formations that dotted its landscape. There was even a camp built by the Boy Scouts in the late 1930's, since razed. Off the beaten track, it was where teenagers went to smoke and drink back in the day.

At its apex, 263 feet above sea level, "High Rock" provides the best view for would-be ramblers. But my fellow orienteers come to these woods to find the holy grail of the Town Forest — something called "Martini Junction."

Built by a retired engineer, this site contains a miniature train track running 120 feet underneath the canopy of pines. It features trestles, bridges, and assorted plastic figurines who act as passengers. Its creator also built a picnic bench so he could sit at "The Junction" while imbibing his favorite beverage, the martini.

That's the thing about exploring the great outdoors. You just never know what you'll find...

"Live your life by a compass, not a clock." - Stephen Covey

Orange groves. For as far as the eye can see.

On a recent drive through central Florida, the state's official fruit was on full display. This is Tropicana country after all, an industry that processes approximately 4 billion oranges annually. 

As a kid, orange juice was a frequent staple of my diet. After breakfast, we'd push back our chairs while gulping the remaining dregs of its sweet, pulpy flavor. My lips smack just thinking about it.

Tropicana, in business for nearly 80 years, will no doubt produce orange juice for generations to come. Long Live The ORANGE!

"Every glass of Tropicana is filled with a million sips of sunshine. Tropicana. Sip Your Sunshine." - Marketing Slogan

It has been estimated by the NOAA that the coastline of the United States comprises some 95,471 miles. Water abounds. But only within reach of a few of us.

Cresting Pico Boulevard in Santa Monica recently, my entire windshield was suddenly filled with a view of the Pacific Ocean. For the lion's share of my life, I have lived close enough to the edge of the land that this doesn't strike me as peculiar. But the abrupt disappearance of terra firma IS a jarring concept. Deep water is closer than we realize. 

Every day provides an opportunity to right the ship, to make better choices, to carve a new path. But this realization is rarely actualized because letting go of old patterns and comfortable environs keeps most of us safely on dry land. We search the horizon, but only with our eyes, even though the sea is so tantalizingly close.

What would it take, I wonder, to instead choose the waves?

"In order to find a new land, you must lose sight of the shore." - Sara Blakely

818.768.1802 X7

Or as we call it in Los Angeles, the "Poppy Hot Line."

Once in a blue moon, the parched ground of SoCal absorbs enough winter rain to create a burst of flowers come springtime. Scattered across the desert plains sprout purple lupine, yellow goldfields, brittlebush, and cream cups, creating a vibrant carpet of color.

But the star of the show is the Eschscholzia californica, otherwise known as the California poppy.

A designated information line has been created for the crazed fans of our luminary state flower. The recorded message is updated each Friday, charting the bloom patterns of the brilliant orange florets. 

If you've never punched in this nine-digit series, now's the time. "Spring Bling" is here!

"Poppies, poppies, poppies will put them to sleep." - The Wicked Witch of the West, The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Roadside attractions are my jam.

I never, EVER, go on a road trip without planning a side jaunt to see something quirky, creepy, or just plain weird. 

I've already seen many of the iconic attractions of the American roadways; Graceland (Memphis, TN), the Corn Palace (Mitchell, SD), Cadillac Ranch (Amarillo, TX), and the biggest ball of twine (Darwin, MN), as examples. That said, some of my favorites receive far less fanfare. The house made of paper comes to mind (Rockport, MA), and the 40-foot-tall file cabinet (Burlington, VT), and of course the largest bottle of ketchup (Collinsville, IL), just waiting for a Big Mac to come along.

Always on the prowl, a recent trip to California's central valley brought some new opportunities to explore. But which site would win my heart? The coffeepot water tower in Kingsbury? Or perhaps the root beer drive-in of Selma? Or maybe the milk bottling facility in Tulare?

But when all the votes were cast, a clear winner emerged. This trip's blue ribbon goes to the 7-story tree house in Traver. Talk about feeling like a kid again!

“And just like that, we were on our way to everywhere.” - Emery Lord

Mission San Juan Capistrano was founded in 1776, the seventh of 21 missions located across the state.

Considered the "Jewel of the California Missions," its red-tiled roof stood in stark contrast to the cobalt sky during the day I visited. I dawdled near the flower beds. I watched a monarch butterfly flit from stem to stem. I perched on a wooden bench to gaze at a line of bells and strolled through the courtyards.

While I was dazzled by the display of beauty, oh how my heart swelled once inside the candlelit chapel.

The soft chanting of monks wafted from the organ loft. Women knelt in prayer. The air hummed with a kind of energy I rarely experience outside of the pews.

Despite a sturdy faith, the chasm that separates me from the beyond can often feel like an exhaustive reach. But the spiritual monikers of my youth; tallow, hymns, and the worn pages of idle prayer books still provide me with solace and hope. Which is exactly what I found that day, waiting for me in the dark...

"I love when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church." - Khalil Gibran, author of The Prophet