30 years ago (April 27, 1987) David Bowie released Never Let Me Down, his 17^th studio album. Expectations were high. Really high. He was a legend, an icon, an undeniable musical force. Or maybe not? To say the record was not well-received is an understatement of epic proportion.

The critics hated it. And they were ruthless. Rolling Stone's Steve Pond said it was "the noisiest, sloppiest Bowie album ever" and called it "a mess". To make matters worse, the album-buying public all but ignored Bowie's latest effort to remake himself, his music, and by extension, the music industry. Sure, it went gold - that was expected; this was Bowie after all - but though it charted in the top ten in the U.K., it barely made it to #34 in the U.S.

Even Bowie said the album was his "nadir", the lowest point in his recording career. "It was such an awful album," Bowie told reporters while on tour. "Never Let Me Down had good songs that I mistreated. I lost the sound."

Pardon me for disagreeing with a legend, but I liked the album. I listened to it again before I started writing this blog and I still like the album. Maybe it was no Space Oddity or Ziggy Stardust, but it was unique, very personal, and had songs that pushed the envelope. Which means it was - by definition - classic Bowie.

There are lots of species of flamingos. The greater and lesser flamingos hail from South Africa. Three other types come from South America. The only North American native flamingo was once considered one of the greater birds from Africa, but now it's earned its wings as a discrete species.

My favorite flamingo species hails from Leominster, Massachusetts, the plastics Capital of the World. They can be identified by their plastic bodies and protruding lawn stakes. Sculptor Don Featherstone created the kitschy classics in 1957, giving us 60 years of front yard fun.

My mom thought they were adorable. She collected a whole flamboyance (yes, that's what you call a flock) of flamingos. She didn't just stick them in the ground all willy-nilly, either. She arranged them. She set up two of them to drink from the bird fountain. Three more standing on one leg looking toward the setting sun. Several smaller ones surrounded by their 'parents'.

At the time, I thought it was just like everything parents did: horrifically embarrassing. But I've grown to appreciate her artistic vision. So today I keep the memory of Mom's flamboyance of flamingos alive in my own way - with a welcoming flamingo doormat.

Superman made his first appearance in Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster's in Action Comics #1, which was published on April 18, 1938 (with a June cover date). Superman wasn't the only superhero in the comic, but he became the most famous and enduring of DC's early characters.

Every kid in our neighborhood loved Superman. It didn't matter if you were a boy or a girl, you'd put on a cape fashioned out of a tablecloth or old bedsheet and pretend to run "faster than a speeding bullet" and "leap tall buildings in a single bound". We'd courageously take on the evil villain and we always won the day - just like the Man of Steel. The only thing that could stop us? Green agates we'd picked up at the beach and dubbed our Kryptonite!

Mom would have to chase us out of the house to keep us from knocking all the furniture over, but I think she was secretly glad of our superhero games. There were no arguments when it was time to crawl into bed - we didn't have it in us after a full day of crimefighting!

You can still pick up a copy of the original comic, if you've got a superhero bank account. It's considered the most valuable comic book in the world. The last time a copy sold (grade 9.0), it went for just over $3 million! That's a bit outside my budget, but I don't mind: I have the memories of being Superman when I was a kid and I've got a nice comfy Man of Steel robe for those mornings when I'm feeling "stronger than a locomotive".

Long, lazy summer afternoons. Screaming fans. Hot dogs. Souvenirs. The thrill of victory (or the agony of defeat). What does it all mean?

Baseball season is back in swing!

My love for baseball started with my dad. He started collecting baseball cards when he was a kid and never stopped. We used to sort through them at the kitchen table and Dad would quiz me on the player's and their team's stats. It was how we killed time between the World Series and Spring Training.

I passed on the tradition, not just to my kids, but to my siblings' kids. While my kids can be persuaded to participate, my youngest nephew took to baseball like a fish takes to water. I started taking him to games a couple of years ago and this year I helped him start his own trading card collection with a set of signed, unsearched Major League Baseball cards. The set was full of surprises and we had a great time sorting through them. And when it comes to memorizing the players' stats, well, he's almost as good as I was at his age.

As much as I enjoy collecting, the best thing about baseball is sitting in the stands on a warm summer day, smelling roasted peanuts and hot dogs, and hearing those famous first words: "Play Ball!"