From the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library here in Sultry, Savannah, this is obscure season

four, an American tragedy.

I am your host, your friend, your ear lover, and literary mansplainer in chief, Michael

Ian Black. It's Father's Day.

As I record these words, we had a fine Father's Day outing at the top of a hotel.

There's a rooftop restaurant here in Savannah.

It gives, oh, some of the finest views in town.

If you're interested in views, and we actually, we were seated up on the rooftop there,

and we were looking out on the Savannah River and then parts, oh, I guessed east of the Savannah River.

And if you were to go west, no, I'm getting this wrong.

No, I'm getting this right.

Well, I don't know.

Anyway, the direction that I was looking at was sort of unlovely, as it were.

But what I have discovered about myself over the last few years of living here is that I've kind of fallen in love with the, as we call it here in the south,

the low country. It's just, and they call it the low country because it's low. It's basically

sea level is where I live.

It's very marshy and grassy and green and there's big open skies.

And it's just, I don't know, it's just sort of lovely, very different than the landscape

that I grew up with and that I lived with for the last 20-something years in the wilds of Connecticut.

And so, yeah, it's often when I drive down south, you know, because I drive down in Florida to

play the cards. And there's just long stretches of I-95 where there's really not much development.

And you're just looking out at marshland and tall grasses and egresses and dolphins come frolicing up to you as you speed along the 95

...