A Real Cool Hand....

... in preparation for my upcoming weekend, I am re-watching Cool Hand Luke and purging myself with bee pollen and gin...

... all said, I should be daisy-fresh by morning.... God knows that by Sunday I'll be slummed like a 7th Avenue gutter after the Sailors have been through...

... but some things you just have to do.. right?... besides, I'll be meeting my mates, my friends, and quite a few I admire greatly....

.. and so, sing with me, gentle readers... for tomorrow, I shall be walking just that wee bit closer to them.... Blog Gods.... meeting at the Oracle...

I am weak but thou art strong
Jesus keep me from all wrong
I'll be satisfied as long
As I walk, let me walk close to thee

Chorus:
Just a closer walk with thee
Grant it, Jesus, is my plea
Daily walking close to thee
Let it be, dear lord, let it be

When my feeble life is o'er
Time for me shall be no more
Guide me gently, safely o'er
To thy kingdom's shore, to thy shore

When life's sun sinks in the west
Lord, may I have done my best
May I find sweet peace and rest
In that happy home of the blessed

... fitting, no?... A Closer Walk With Thee Them...

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Anus bleaching....

... whoa... today's Quote of the Day found me unable to turn away from the article.. I couldn't stop reading... here's a sampler... oh, and the really strange thing?... totally safe for work...

So what exactly is anus bleaching? We asked Wendy Gilbert-Grey, from Hairstop in Edgecliff, to give us the lowdown.

"It's like giving your anus or sphincter a bit of a facial, a bit of a cleanse," Gilbert-Grey said. "And then we apply a lightening gel."

... on this rare occasion, I am totally speechless....

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Stuff...

... looking around my blogroom, I've managed to collect quite an assortment of truly weird shit... detritus of a life misspent, I suppose... plastic lizards and salamanders purchased with foreign coin on far away shores... Zippos from bygone, halcyon days when smoking wasn't a crime... even a cricket bat that was gifted to me - signed by my platoon of Marines - as a de-mobbing present at my Hail and Farewell ceremony... why a cricket bat, I have no idea... perhaps they envisioned my beating Tennesseans with it on occasion.. but like I said, I honestly have no idea...

... the list continues, of course... piles and piles of crap... it's amazing... in one corner there are scattered photos waiting for an album... London, I believe... one of the lions that guard Trafalgar Square has my arm jammed down his throat up to the shoulder... a lone, discarded 25lb dumb bell sits near the stack of photos...

... dog-eared tomes of poetry... Frost, Service, Owen, and Nash... two dictionaries.. one Webster's New World, and one NTC's Dictionary of American Slang and Colloquial Expressions... a crumpled pack of Camels... a vial of Outers gun oil... my tree-stand... a rolled poster of Joanne Guest that The Wife won't let me put up.... not even in the garage.. an old address book I've had since 1990 with the addresses of friends and relatives long dead or out of touch...

... it is mayhem.. and it is my space... contented amid the clutter, I am... peeking under the randomly tossed magazine in search of a CD or two... the rest of the house?.. polished and buffed, dear ones.... suitable for visitation by even the highest of lowbrows... but the blogroom... ahh.. it is the primordial funk of the place that both disgusts and inspires... tis truly a wonder... a savage place at times, but yet still homey...

.. shit, people... I don't write this blog.. it writes itself...

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$1,000....

... last night, in between shots, the deal went down.. a cool grand exchanged hands... not my hands, of course, I was merely an observer... still, it was a sight to behold... 10 crisp bills... the object of lust was a handmade Bowie knife... moose leg-bone handle... seductively curved 12-inch blade... artistry in metal, people...

... very nice... but a little too rich for my blood...

... after the deal?.. more shots, talk of cowboy hats, and sipping Absinthe raw... always a surprise, you know?... you just never know how an evening will idle down...

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Bind me not...

... since some bloggers have braved my Wednesday night gatherings, I suppose it is proper to make this announcement here... although, I must say that it pertains more to non-blogging cretins that hang at my house mid-week... anyway, here goes...

... we, the loosely bound group known as the Eagle Glen Social Club, have agreed to add a new law to the Rules of Wednesday Night....

... any agreement - written, verbal, implied, cajoled, or guessed-at while shooting pool on a Wednesday - is to be considered null and void until verification of said agreement can be made in the sober light of day...

... in other words, if I get well oiled on cheap busthead and offer to buy your car, do not go out at first light the next morning and have the title changed.... and THEN expect me to actually buy your damn car from you....

... sure, there is taking advantage, and then there is Taking Advantage... so, hark, people... from here on out, all wheeling and dealing is performed at the peril of the wheeler and/or dealer...

... I hate that it has become necessary to write this down, but trust me.. this post is simply a precaution... having one's weekly constitutional is very, very important... and nothing should get in the way of nursing a good buzz...

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Autumn...

... today's Quote comes from a "laid back low maintenance kinda gal"....

"Soon the Virginia creeper will take on a crimson hue. The elms show signs of gold here and there. Goldenrod is everywhere. Dogwoods are hinting at burgandy. Hummingbirds search for feeders that were taken in and cleaned weeks ago. Crows make racket over the bounty that is theirs.

The trek back up the hill (always harder) took us over the ditch and through the remains of a corn field strewn with free squirrel food to stuff into our pockets. More cotton. Some wild roadside asparagus that has survived the ages since it was a cash crop. We sat in the swing on the front porch listening to the leaves rustle on the redbud tree behind us. It was then that I realized that the story of this place must be recorded by someone before it's too late. And that someone must be me."

... beautifully written from Dyersburg, Tennessee...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(3) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Gut Rumbles links with: fall in the mountains

Roots....

... some days, well, you got nothing... today is one of those days.... busy, confused, making decisions, and running the roads means no blogfodder... so, I guess I've give you a little peek into something I've been playing with lately.. enjoy, or not.. we be a laid back group around here... suit yourself... as for me, I'm off to re-watch Groundhog Day and wish I was Bill Murray....

... Roots... 1951... East Tennessee....

Soft, yellow light slanted through the branches of the willows and warmed the forest floor in patches. Shadows moved in the morning air as honeybees tumbled through the dampness in search of the blossoms of magnolia or tiger lily. The thick stand of trees had stood along the river since forever, and their sprawling branches reached out into the hair and pockets of the neighbor trees and created an almost impenetrable tangle. Roots, long ago buried deep beneath the soil, now had been washed clean. A month of rain that seemed never-ending had stripped away the soil and exposed the reaching arches that dipped into the river. And it was in the mangrove-like roots that they found the dead man.

"..I see it... right there," came a rough whisper. "...there under that log.. see it?... he's jammed in between those roots..."

The faded overalls that the corpse wore were marked with mud. The boy strained to see through the murky light. Bloody stains provided the darkest of colors to the ashen, black and white scene. The potash from the tobacco field covered the dead man's hands and neck, and his once black face was a shade of cold gray.

"..can you crawl down there to him, Mr. Will?.."

"..I believe I might be able to... he's on a slope halfway in the water... hard to get to, but I can get there...."

The hound whined and leaned on the leash at the smell of death. It had hunted these wood hundreds of nights, but it didn't know or understand this new smell.

"...get up here and take hold of this damned dog, boy... he's liable to start baying for blood or acting crazy.... get him back to the edge of the woods where he can't smell this dead nigger..."

The young man moved forward through the grasping limbs and reached for the leather leash. The horsehide was worn and cracked from years of use, but it remained sturdy enough to hold the old dog. He remembered watching the old black man yesterday. The thought had hit him that the man's skin had looked like the leather of the old halter that was slung over the neck of the feeble mule he was plowing. "... beasts of burden, both of 'em...", he muttered under his breath. The boy pulled hard on the leash and the dog let fly a yelp of surprise.

"...damn it, boy, keep that animal quiet... why the Hell do you think I told you to take it away from me?..."

The farmer bent at the waist and spat as he eyed the boy. Tobacco juice disappeared as it slipped between dead leaves. He turned his head back towards the river and slowly sank to his knees. He peered ahead through the roots at the face of the dead man. He felt the coolness of the wet soil penetrate his clothes and chill his belly and thighs as he lay himself flat. With purpose, he slowly slid himself across the mud. Nature was his best tool here, and he used the cage of ruddy roots to pull himself along.

He stopped just short of the body and turned. "...I told you to get from here, boy. Now, get!..." The boy was brought back into reality by the words, and spun around quickly. And with the faithful hound in tow, he started out of the woods. His ears heard the tearing of cloth, but he was too afraid to turn. "...Mr. Will must have made it to that black fella..." he thought, looking down into the brown eyes of the hound.

The boy turned one last time as he approached the place where the willows ceased and the field began. He could not hear or see anything of Mr. Will or the dead man. The smell in the still air of the thicket had been overpowering, and it sparked his imagination. He placed a calloused hand on the dog's head and sat down in the tall grass.

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No Respect...

.. last night I cooked up a cauldron of my infamous beer-chili and settled back to watch the game.... unlike last week, both the game and the chili turned out quite well... the Vols pulled it out in overtime... funny, though... the first game where Tennessee claims that Ainge is Da Man, and he gets his narrow ass replaced by Mr. Backup...

... sure, Clausen ain't as purty as Ainge... and he doesn't throw those Hollywood 50-yarders... but at least he gets the job done... one piece at a time, that's what it's all about... keep that ball moving forward... five yards per play works just fine... just fine indeed...

... I'm no Casey Clausen fan... but I'm starting to get downtown with his little bro... Rick did an outstanding job last night... and that fact, rubberneckers, is without dispute... possibly one of the best comebacks EVER in SEC history... Pat Forde writes this today... and I agree completely....

"BATON ROUGE, La. -- The hero of the greatest rope-a-dope performance since the original, Ali vs. Foreman, was Rick Clausen.

No, seriously. Rick Clausen. Nobody's All-American. The middle child cursed to be lost in the shadow of both big brother Casey (a four-year starter at Tennessee) and little brother Jimmy (one of the nation's top quarterback prospects).

The guy who's been dissed, dismissed and demoted so often that he should have officially changed his first name to "Backup." The guy who was buried on the depth chart for two years at LSU, spurring him to transfer. The guy who then was buried on the depth chart last year at Tennessee, until multiple injuries gave him a chance to save the Big Orange season."

.. if you ask me, Tennessee HAS A STARTER NOW... and it should remain that way for the rest of the season...

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History....

... one ancient day in September, 1380, a warrior monk from Dmitry Donskoi's army faced the Golden Horde's champion in single combat... East meets West, if you will... Alexsandr Peresvet meets Temirmurza Chelubei in a precursor to the mighty battle of Kulikovo... why do I bring this up?... no reason, really... except that they both managed to kill each other simultaneously....

... a mere blip in the history of the World... those two titans clashing.. eye-witness to the final crumbling of the Empire of Genghis Khan... but in the giant scheme of things, old Alex is deemed the victor even though he was snuffed.. why?.. brilliance.... see, his corpse managed to stay in the saddle...

... incredible, no?... we just don't think that way anymore, do we... what a loss on our part....

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Decks and Mommas...

... as of seventeen hundred this evening, the deck is officially floored... after a week of dicking with it, I hesitate to report that I too am officially floored... and let us not talk about the railings... they'll be ridden in ASAP... hey, the deck has it coming... evil, swarthy bitch that she is... and I, on the other hand, prefer to be on the giving end when one mentions riding rails around this county...

... oh, and one thing, if only just in passing.... as a flyer of the desk chair for the past few years, I've come to a realization lately... mainly, that were I to take up deck-building full time, I'd be a damned bonecrusher.. a fucking right arm like Sonny Liston pre-smackdown via Cassius.... yeah...

... word, children... I do believe I have finally punked Manuel Labor... I had that snitch under my thumb today... and he cried like a schoolgirl...

... and yet still, even as I gloat over my conquests with Scotch in hand, these are the times that try men's women's souls... blogdaughter Christina is a babe in need... her AND the adorable fire-haired Susan had Mommas in the path of Rita.... luckily, they all fared well... however, the dear Matriarchs need fetching....

.. so... heed this clarion call, gentle rubberneckers.... if one can offer assistance to two fair lasses and their Moms, buck up.... tell us of the availability of gas, services, and road navigability to and from DeRidder from all points West and North... trust me, it is for a good cause...

... for all you knights (and Ladies) errant, this is a chance for some seriously good karma.... that said, help out if you can....

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Time...

... the clock... it hounds us all... getting older... creaky joints... losing your hair.... sagging sweater puppies.... male or female, we all stress over Father Time...

... but let there be hope, people... for I, your trusty news hound, have stumbled upon a story... which, if read and re-read while in the correct frame of mind, can be quite uplifting... of course, for the prudes and thumpers among the reading audience, the report will likely be viewed as callous and perverted... hey, to each their own... after all, this is just a blog, people... it ain't art...

... anyway, I'll give you people this wee teaser... a small quote from the end of an article in which hope is given to us all...

"She actually autographed one of her DVDs for the arresting officer before she realized he was a police officer,'' said Central District Capt. Joseph Vaclavik.

Authorities weren't surprised at her age. "In today's world, 48 is not what 48 was,'' one said.

... 48 years old and she's still pulling down a cool grand per blowjob.. now that is amazing... and, if you really, really think about it... it's quite heartwarming....

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Quote of the Day....

... via The Bitterman, of course... sheer poetry, people.... but it is a toss-up...

... between this:

Only rub seems to be that squirrel ears are much too small to be lanyard-bound and make the kind of statement I am looking for

... and this:

Perhaps the juju will flow in waves as I swig from the bottle of Cockspur, spit heavily onto the ground, and hoist the Gamo to a firing position as the wind swirls the bones like a graveyard marimba.

... go forth now and read the rest..

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I'm going back to bed...

.... whilst gawking at the levee break channeling that the Army Corps of Engineers was talking about this morning, an astounding news story scrolled across the bottom of the television screen... see, scientists are busily creating genetically modified mice that have a human chromosome in an effort to better understand Downs Syndrome... charming, eh?... the first human/vermin hybrid is purposely flawed... the mind boggles...

.. in effect, we are actively engaged in creating disabled mice... great bloody Hell...

... oh, and in other news, France is reported to have the highest birthrate in Europe.. I don't know about you, but I see troubling times ahead...

.... depressed about Rita and Katrina?... yeah, me too... but don't worry... be cheered that the World's supply of retarded mice and Frenchmen is on the increase...

... the end is nigh, rubberneckers... the end is night... you heard it here first...

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Jeans...

... when I first moved back to the United States, I found myself in a strange situation... in the land of cowboy boots and flannel shirts, I was lacking... I realized on the first day that I was woefully without a staple... jeans... hard to fathom, I know, but I can explain... see, I wore business suits to work everyday and my closet was overflowing with them... if I did lawn work or went hiking, I wore my old fatigues... if a meeting, dinner party, or some other occasion called for "casual dress", I wore khakis... I had no jeans....

... one does not realize how much of a social modifier the correct dress is... everywhere I went for the first two weeks of being back in Tennessee, I was overdressed... in a way, it was quite shaming... we are, for the most part, social creatures after all... and like it or not, subconsciously we want to blend... oh, sure.. we all have our individual fashion flourishes.. the things that make us stand out and set us apart... but all in all, we're herd animals... and I was definitely the odd man out...

... my ailing Father took it upon himself to open up his wardrobe to me.. share his jean wealth with his number 1 Son... I leaped at the chance, and found a faded pair of non-namebrand jeans that fit perfectly... I cleaved them unto me, people... and as I slipped them onto my bony legs, I suddenly felt that I was Home...

.. since then, of course, my closet has changed... laid by are the suits and khakis... and laid on are stacks and stacks of Levis and Wranglers... there is even a pair of Marithe & Francois Girbaud, I think... (but I don't wear them.. they were a gift from someone.. they're like rock candy... they're just for lookin' at)....

.... anyway, yesterday, after five years of loyal service, my faded non-name brand jeans gave up the ghost... dripping in sweat, I bent down to screw in one of the deckboards, and the knee gave way... ripped from side to side a full five inches... it was truly the end of an era....

... twenty more minutes of crawling around on the deck, and the other knee gave way.... with a heavy sigh, I jumped off the deck and sat myself in the shade of a poplar tree.... and with misty ceremony, withdrew my trusty blade.... sitting there quietly, I turned my favorite jeans into shorts... carefully running the serrations of the knife against the grain of the denim... feeling the slight pull as I cut.... feeling more than a tinge of sadness in their loss...

.... I woke up this morning and realized that, had my Father lived, today would have been his 60th birthday... writing this now, I feel that those jeans died as he would have wanted... under the yolk of The Man... damp with the sweat of honest labor...

... Cheers, Dad... I miss you, buddy... I know I failed you a lot, but yesterday I would have made you proud....

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random NYC memory...

... sitting diagonally across 1st Avenue from the United Nations building is a small dry cleaning business.. the shop had the business name printed in large white letters on a baby-blue background above the doorway for all and sundry to see....

... "United Nations Piece Cleaners"...

.... no, I'm not making that up....

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I'm not laughing with you...

... last night the gang were in rare form... foul language flew, flasks were drained, and backs were slapped... a sterling time was had by all... last Wednesday I was in NYC so the Social Club didn't meet... last night?.. well, having had two weeks between Gatherings, they were certainly ready to go...

... I spent most of yesterday setting the railings for the deck with my Uncle... tightening bolts, leveling... ensuring that each post pointed proudly towards Heaven at the perfect angle... and today I plan on finishing up the laying of the decking.. it should be fun...

... on a side note, I discovered a new angle to increase the pool-shooting pleasure yesterday evening... obstacles... see, I had stacked eight 2X12X12's under the table... merely for convenience.. heh heh... one could actually see the cloud of bitching and moaning ascending towards the sky with the naked eye... toes were stumped as rednecks jockeyed for position to take shots.... word... woe unto the man who wears sandals... which incidentally, was dear Cousin Brad... poor bastard got about half-lit and it seemed to kill his short term memory... every time he circled the pool table, he'd slam one of his toes into the immovable stack of 2X12's and then lope and prance like a man possessed for a minute or two.. it was classic..

... say what you will, people.. but I am a simple man... and I must say, I do not delight in the misfortune of others... but I did laugh.. yes, I did...heartily and with a gusto borne of cheap Scotch... this is the boondocks of Tennessee, after all... we gotta find our entertainment where we can...

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True Villainy....

... our fearless Maximum Leader is laying out an agenda... real true-to-form stuff... in a word?.. perhaps "Whoa"... or maybe, "Heh"... hey, what can I say?... I'm torn... although, the giant solar shades and the "Survival: The Third World" are particularly thought-provoking ideas...

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Tis the Season...

... mornings are becoming cooler here in Southeastern Tennessee and the first harbingers of Autumn have arrived... flying in from points unknown... legions upon legions of coal-black starlings.... as I sit here now, 289,712 of them have taken up residence in the dogwood copse outside the blogroom window.... foul, croaking creatures... there is nothing for them to graze upon in Hell's Half acre, yet still they come...

... you know, us country folk enjoy blasting us the occasional migratory bird with a 12ga around here... doves mostly, or any of the passing plethora of duck-like beasties... geese and such...

... it is at times like this - quietly sipping a contented coffee and watching thousands of migratory birds shit on my shiny, silver Audi - that one wishes he had a recipe for some kind of starling casserole....

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Shattered....

.... everybody's got a flavor.. a button, if you will.... and I've tried for years to divine the origins of my librarian fetish... no, I honestly have.. is it the skirt, the horn-rimmed glasses, or the dark hair?... I just don't know... maybe it is the pent-up, straight-laced girl slipping into the wild side?... I doubt I'll ever fully understand it...

... and sure, I've posted on it before - my love of bespectacled lasses - but what makes today different is that I just found this...

Librarians

What you're probably thinking: After having her hair in a bun all day and remaining quiet because it's part of the job, for sure she just wants to let her hair down, blast some music and put on a strip show for a guy.

Why you likely think it: Again, movies and television are somewhat to blame for their portrayal of the librarian with the secret wild side. But then again, it could just be that you believe that because they're so prim and proper all day long -- what with the silence and the vanilla look -- there must be some crazy aspect to them after the books are closed. Why shouldn't that aspect be of the sexual variety?

Boom goes the stereotype: Whether a librarian is wild or tame, it is not her career choice that determines that side of her. If you want to date one, don't imply that she must be a beast when she gets off work.

... now, tell me if that isn't just the most depressing thing you've heard all day... oh, and it gets better.. strippers, Catholic school girls, chicks with tats, and the list goes on... they ALL get debunked... damn, people... what a day....

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On patrol...

... Ma Deuce takes us with him... good, good stuff....

These soldiers are eager to get to work, though, enthusiastic to be on a mission. I see hope in them, hope that they might make a difference, hope they might make their country safer, hope that they might keep their children from being murdered in the streets by radical factions. Enthusiasim they have, training and equipment they are recieving, and more often than not, a baptism by fire for a new army they have had, for they fall under attack far more than the Coalition forces.

... read the rest... if you get a feeling for anything, it is of Hope....

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Paul Cadmus...

... this past Wednesday I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art and had a good ole Tennessee look around... located on the edge of Central Park, the walk towards the museum provided the first glimpses of squirrel and other assorted wildlife... of them, the squirrels were the only ones not either riding a bicycle or holding down a park bench with a brown paper bag clutched tightly... but hey, it's Central Park... it was to be expected...

... three things are of note about this trip... I could probably name many, many more, but three shall suffice... upon arriving at aforementioned museum, I purchased a bottle of water and leant myself against the granite wall to enjoy a smoke... the walk from 49th Street had tuckered me out.... and as I so reclined, a covey of beauties in powder-blue skirts and white knee-socks appeared from 'round the corner and ensconced themselves half-way up the mighty staircase... impressed, I was, to say the very least... and I made a mental note.. sixteen year old vixens should not wear Catholic School Girl outfits in public... it's not just me, no... it's a public health hazard as was attested by myself as I heard taxis, BMWs, and the occasional Mercedes stomp their brakes as they approached the museum from the road.. those lasses were enjoying themselves mightily.. and that is a fact...

... next up are the sights that greeted my eyes as I wandered the corridors of the museum.. the bronze statues by Rodin were the most remarkable.. Adam and Eve... the Gates of Hell, etc... great and wonderful stuff... but as a purist, I pondered the ancients with greatest glee... namely a first-century marble of Temperance and her Bridle... it struck a chord that is still resonating as I sip upon my Gin and Tonic tonight... yes, Temperance and her Bridle... the literary uses of such are legion... and yet there she wore it.. on her left hand for all to see... a bridle carved of stone.. I smiled a knowing smile as I circled it... what a buxom lass she was... what a waste of voluptuousness... still, it was worth seeing...

... and lastly, something completely different... see, everyone takes from a trip exactly what they wish... that fact is universal... you go to Niagara, and what do you overhear?.. "oh my, Lester!... just feel how cold that spray is!"... yeah, you've been there... purchase a three thousand dollar trip to exotic Alexandria and take a field-trip to Giza?... "hey, Velma!.. Look at that the size of that Sphinx!.. they sure don't have'em like that in Tucson!"... yeah, yeah.... and so it goes..... hey, it is in our very nature as observists and voyeurs, and we catch what is tossed... we swing at the proverbial pitch... forgetting that sometimes we should duck and run rather than suit-up and take the field with the status quo...

... heavy stuff for a Monday?... well, too damn bad.. it's not really meant to be... but here is the REAL star of the Met.... if you should accidentally find yourself visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC, make absolutely sure that you pay a visit to the exhibit of Paul Cadmus and his Seven Deadly Sins... why?.. trust me, his shit is profound... deeply... especially his rendering of the mighty, multi-vagina'd Lust... and if you don't know what I'm talking about, then let Google be your friend...

... hey, we're all about haute culture here at SWG... well, that and low-brow fart jokes.. and what would thrill you misguided miscreants more than a glorious homosexual pleasing the teeming masses with grotesque (and yet quite heartwarming in a way) renditions of our most base sins personified?... indeed... the answer is nothing... zilch... hey, you get what you pay for here, children... I travel and report so you don't have to.. call it a service if you will, I don't mind... but if you visit NYC, you've GOT to visit the Museum of Art....

... and so, behold Anger, my gentle readers.... (I'd have photographed Lust for you guys, but I feared blinding you delicate creatures)....

nyc3.jpg

... not that y'all can get the full effect from the photo, but he looked pretty damned pissed... he was covered in spines and had a very, very small penis.... Anger, indeed.... he and the other six paintings are the highlight of the Met...

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Sorting it all out...

... well, I'm trying to decipher some of the drunken hieroglyphs I just found in my luggage... notes, I think, jotted on bar napkins.. just charming... but hey, would you expect anything less?... well, it is proving more difficult than I imagined...

... firstly, while in NYC, I spent every night in The Beekman Towers... a truly wonderful hotel and an art deco masterpiece... tile and marble and arches circa 1928... I had a large, comfortable, and self-contained suite with a great view of the East River and the UN Building... not a bad place to watch the world go by and relax after an afternoon walking the city... I highly recommend it...

... the whole time I was there, an area of three blocks surrounding the place was closed to traffic... cops, firemen, FBI agents, Secret Service, and U.S. Marshals absolutely oozed from every doorway.... Hell, we had at least three armed and suited men in our lobby at any given minute... diplomats everywhere too.... 60th anniversary of the UN or some such... we even saw the President Bush's motorcade... there I stood on the sidewalk along with Ambassadors, UN flunkies, and the news cameras.... to say I stuck out would be a gross understatement...

.. verily, one doesn't see cowboy boots very often unless they are being worn by some Saks junkie with a Sugar Daddy.. and their boots ain't Justin's either... pointy-toed Dolce & Gabbanas... that's just wrong... I mean, I doubt that even the Marlboro Man could walk through Times Square without getting his manly haunches pinched by some wafer thin boot-wearing wasp with a goatee...

.. which reminds me.. I did the obligatory tour of the men's department of Saks.. sixth and seventh floors... Jesus... I've never seen so many duckies doddling for 70 dollar handkerchiefs in my life... not my bag at all, but well worth the experience... to each his own, and all that... but why any grown man would buy 200 dollar underwear is simply beyond me... I didn't buy anything, of course, but it was definitely an education...

.. you know that other half we all keep hearing about?.. yeah, they shop at Saks... the rest of us?... salt of the Earth, people, that's what we are... salt of the Earth...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(4) | TrackBack (1) | Drinking
» Drunken Wisdom links with: Misfits in Manhattan

Capable hands...

... I walked barefoot out to my patio this morning and drank my coffee under the shade of the dogwoods... the cool flat stones warming under my feet as the late Summer sunshine peeked through the reddening leaves... and yesterday I had dinner in the heart of one of the most famously bustling cities in the world... you know, it's amazing, when you think of it.... the world that we live in has become so incredibly and intensely small...

... judging from the response, it looks like I left you guys in some very capable hands.. hands that alternately patted you on the head, stroked the parts that need stroking, and smacked the contented grin off of your face when you least expected it.. they're quite a group... some old favorites and some new faces...

... so, let me offer a heartfelt thanks to all those who dropped in last week to help out...they all did one helluva job... it is good to know that while I was sipping Scotch at St. Andrews with The Wandering Hillbilly... or chowing on Indian food with Letters from New York... or even touring the Jersey Shore with Parkway Rest Stop.. a collection of fine, fine souls were laboring to keep this thing ticking over... you guys made me proud...

... anyway, if you'll recall, I asked for volunteers a while back... seven eight stout souls swaggered forward... and as a result, a smorgasbord of talent lined up...

... so without further hesitation, I'd like to thank fellow RTB'er & McMinn County blogger, Big Stupid Tommy.. the infamous Redneck.. drunkard in training, T1G... the daring Phin... the seductive Sadie... the curmudgeonly Iron Nerd... the charming Noir Muse... the thoughtful Jack of Random Fate... and the faithful reader turned guestposter, RSM...

... quite a mixed bag, to be sure... but it was all good stuff... and no matter what your tastes are, one of them was bound to please even the frilliest of palates...

... in short, you guys and gals knocked it out of the park... thanks again...

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Back...

... whoa....

... word, people... if you have never visited Manhattan, you're missing out... truly..

... it's the only place I've ever seen that will fill you with pride, rejuvenate your belief in humanity, scare the living hell out of you, and disgust you beyond words... all within fifteen minutes... all day.. every day....

... paying 35 bucks for a ham & cheese omelet on 49th Street ranks as one of the most legally decadent things I've ever experienced....

... anyway, it's 2am.... I'm going to bed...

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Eric said I could...

... break in any time I felt I needed to and since I'm losing the keys, I feel the need. Anyways, on to my reason for interrupting the schedule. I don't think Phins problem is related to an inability to operate a light switch, I think it's some of that psychological landscaping that females are famous for. So, in the vein of "Honey don't you think if you wore this...." and "Why don't you try it this way", they are leading him to their desired destination.

I'm guessing that since Phin has the keys to Eric's place he is no stranger to the bottle and hangovers, both of which are mortal enemies of light. That is where the problem lies, like garlic to a vampire, light just pisses a hangover off, leading to a much more horrible demise later on. One day the people leaving the lights on could find themselves in the dark, having their rib cages ripped open and their hearts gnawed upon.

Oh, wait Phin isn't a vampire! Still, if it is for the reason I suggested, lay off him. I can see myself giving the vampire treatment to someone who poked me when I have a hangover.


Chow.

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Light Blogging

Howdy fellow rubberneckers, if you poked your head in hopin' the ambassador of the blogidohexiweb had made his triumphant return your probably gonna be sorely disappointed, for it 'tis I phin fulfilling his bloggy duties while Eric's out gallivanting. Maybe if we behave he'll bring us back a Yankee for target practice or something (they've got to be good for somethin' right?) Anyhow it's Sunday, which is typically a day of light blogging as folks prepare for the week to come.

So in the tradition of Sundays around the blogidodiheicone, I figued we'd discuss lighting. I'm guessing and it's just a guess that the light switch was created shortly after Thomas Edison created the first commercially practical light bulb in 1879. The simple mechanics of a light switch allows electricity to lead serve us in a manner we've become accustomed to. A vast majority of the human race is able to lead a glorious life filled with incandescent light all readily available at the flip of a switch.

This simple switch my dear rubberneckers seems to be one of the most complex creations ever known to mankind. Judging by the number of lights left on in my humble abode you'd think being able to move a light switch to the off position is akin to landing the space shuttle without the onboard computer or perhaps splitting the atom. At any given time when I'm home alone there are one possibly two lights on in the house. This however changes if the missus and my nineteen year old sister-in-law (who's living with us while she goes to college) are home.

See the two female inhabitants the phishbowl have yet to discover the miracles of the off position of a light switch. It's as if they're deities that draw some sort of power from the incandescent glow of those magical little glowing and yet when they exit it's beyond their abilities to move the switch to the off position.

Within thirty minutes of arriving home they've done a through inspection to ensure every bulb in the phishbowl is 100% operational and performing to the best of it's abilities. If it isn't I'm summoned to replace the malfunctioning bulb as they move through the rest of our humble domicile with the Quality Assurance testing, yep they're just making sure that the local utilities commission is providing the proper amount of power to house.

Through my brilliant powers of observation I've come to the conclusion that its genetic trait, passed from generation to generation. It's a trait much like their ability to completely tune me out when I'm raising hell about something, like their inability to turn off a light. Now before the kindly lady readers of the Straight White blog start plotting to tar and feather me, let me say that I'm not saying its only women that can't turn off a light. All the chirens and a majority of the growed ups that are blood relatives to the missus seem to have this problem, granted there are only two of them that came factory equipped with a dangling participle, but that's besides the point.

See folks I ain't sexist, I'm an observationalist and I've observed that the womens of the phishbowl are unable to operate both sides of a light switch, much like the mens (being me) are unable to move a toilet seat to the down position. Fair is fair after all right?

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This Ain't No Disco

This ain't no party. This ain't no disco. This is serious Blogging. The Straight White Guy is returning and will strip me of my posting privileges. Bastard! Anyway, how can a week go by without A Song being posted on this Blog?

New York City has a way of changing people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. I sit here and wait with giddy anticipation to see what a little culture has done to the boy.

I'm not holding my breath.

Just Damn!

Dax

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Drunk-Dialing

So I've been getting these really bizarre phone calls all week, listed as "private number." Largely, such calls never get answered by yours truly, since if someone is trying to hide their identity on the Caller ID, well, do I want to talk to them? Heh.

Though out of curiosity, I have answered two of these calls, which consisted mostly of a very large ruckus in the background. Must be our drunk-dialing host on tour in Manhattan....mercy.

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SWG Blogging Manifesto - Revised

Greetings, fellow rubberneckers... Sadie speaking.... for the moment... what follows is a compressed version from a guest-blogging stint I performed last November. Ah yes, it seems like only yesterday...

It should be recorded for posterity... that, I, Eric the Straight White Guy, am the intrepid soul behind the blog... and as such bestowed my blessing upon Sadie to write whatever... in any style... even hacking some of my verbiage and adopting the SWG mode of speak... all for the sake of a satiric manifesto... but relax rubberneckers... you might learn a thing or two... and don't say I didn't warn you...

One: ...It must be said... that one must never enter the Blogroom unarmed... that said, it must be well stocked with Scotch... make that a large tumbler of Scotch, cigarettes, strong, black coffee, cigars, thesaurus, babes-in-swimsuit calendar... always open to the beauts of summer... though varmint of any type are not welcomed in the solitude of the Blogroom... mothdeadsky meatsky... now, mind you... no mercy shall be shown... any retarded moth-like creature stands no chance against the mighty SWG's Hand-O-Death... to smite, or not to smite...

Two: ...Blog writing is many things, children, but it is not fucking academia... it is succinct, and to the point, and with a little bit of humor... not some blowhard pontificating about his fucking mensa membership or media bias.. no thanks... if I wanted that shit, I'd watch the fucking Discovery channel... Never forsake a moment of nature for writing... watching the sun coming up... leaves changing colors in autumn... hiking in the snow... sitting on my deck naked... get out there and start enjoying it...carpe diem, and all that shit... just get your ass outside...

Three: ...Rubberneckers beware... since you insist on coming here to see if I got my ass kicked at pool... certain enumerated rights are bestowed... such as the right to leave rude, perverted, alcohol-induced comments... send me naked photos of women who have big tits eyes exude inner beauty... post major linkage to SWG on your blog... or whatever else you must do to fill the black, aching void in your bitter, needy souls.... but never sing praise about insiduous things... the goddam Lifetime Movie Network or any movie with Geena Davis or Linda Hamilton... or for that matter... any chick flicks... evil is truly among us now, children... these must be abolished... they must cease to exist... whoever the no-good sonofabitch who invents these things... I want THEM to fucking SUFFER...

Four: ... A Muse is an elusive beaut... and when all else fails, dick around with your sidebar picture... sure, it's childish... I know that... but you'll be better for it... a renewed outlook manifested in the aesthetic details... hey... what do you expect from me? works of literature? insights into the depth of humanity? Hell, no... you rubberneckers expect to come here and see me tweaking the sidebar...

Five: ... Never expect perfection... in writing and in life.. things often crap on us... whether the intrusion is good or bad... the key is to roll with the punches, children.... tread the waters of cool... deal with the unpleasantness... look that sonofabitch in the eyes and just maintain, man... if done well, the after effects are very interesting...

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by Sadie | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» fistfuloffortnights.net links with: Warm-Up Round

Sorry, class, gotta go...

Alright kids, since the principal keeps poking his head in the door, the baby-powder toboggan run has been cancelled. Besides, I just heard that there's going to be a small crisis at my place later, so I have to run and leave you with Mr. Redneck. Apparently the Marines are invading. Excuse me, a better phrase would be: "Establishing a beachhead" on a deck in the mountains.

Well, not ALL of them, but a few. At least one plans on staying at the cabin ALL weekend. That means I need to find some more garbage cans, and these trash bags won't go to waste ... so to speak. I'd also better clear some space out of the fridge cause they always want more beer. I only drink because they make me. Just for safety's sake I should empty out the hot tub, but that never stopped them before.

Have a good weekend, and don't forget that nobody likes a snitch, so... you know... that bit when I was duct-taped naked to the flag pole? Forget it. I had already sent her the check. And let's not mention the firecrackers and cream cheese. I'm sure that cat has always been a little bit overly-nervous anyway.

Hope to see y'all again soon.

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Still in Service

So we figure Eric should be back soon and there's nothing better than a little tribute to his wanderlust.

One of the things that first brought me to this website was a posting on Robert Service. See, I've traveled a bit myself only I tend to not go to those places most people do, and I remember a lot of moments thanks to the food and drinks I had there.

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My post for Eric, whilst he's out "CitiSlickin'"

Eric asked, and I asnwered. Dummy me. Dummy Him. I could be over at my place spewin' turd posts, but both he, and I thought my dogs could shit on the carpet just as easy here as there. That's nice of him. I get Friday along with RSM. Probably 'cause Eric knows that a 'Neck is at his best when he's 3 sheets to the wind, and talkin' flat out shit, with nothin' to fix your car other then cigarette foil and a burnt up fuse outta your fuse box. I figure RSM got the nod cause of the sacrificial yak bond, along with the fact that this ain't exactly a place where drunk 'Necks write much. I'm down with that, but by Friday, the liquor cabinets are dry, the pool table is scruffed up, half the balls are gone,(please don't say nothin' 'bout that line Vman, I'm sure they'll drop sometime...) and somebody brought in "Raid" to kill all the good fights 'tween the natural bein's in this neck of the woods.

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Quick Story

I realize no one knows who I am, but Eric took a chance on me, so here's a little something for you about how we know each other.

Years ago Eric and I were both working summer jobs as shamen for rival nomadic warrior tribes in Tibet. We used to ritualistically sacrifice yaks at each other attempting to call down the demonic spirits and stuff like that. Kids stuff.

One thing led to another and we became friends. You know how it goes. Course, everyone has their own perspective and he remembers the story a little differently.

Turns out he lives a few mountains and one state line up from me. Turns out he's been drinking in my tiny town and I never knew about it. (I must have been at the other bar.) We'll have to correct that soon enough.

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Conspiracy (Paranoia)

Alright, everyone. Settle down. Apparently we can't play dodgeball when Noir uses our own southern-ness against us. Of course none of the guys are going to try to hit you when you squeal that loud. You win. Picked us off, one by one.

So a little reading assignment. Apparently in Thailand there are some confirmed sightings of aliens. I notice the reported sightings in the rural U.S. have dropped off dramatically in the last few years. So here is something to think about:

Was The X-Files just a show or was it, in fact, a plot by the "government" to hide their most nefarious experimentations with alien technologies in the public eye? Did the Aliens get tired of our bland, ubiquitous Applebees and decide to go for some place with spicier food?

I think that whenever something went wrong, like the accidental release of a mind-controling oil or some kid who could call down lightning, they'd give Chris Carter a call and tell him a story to rush into production. That way as witness reports started to trickle out, everyone would discredit it by saying, "Oh, you saw that on TV last week." Note the show started several months after the inauguration of a new president and ended similarly... transitioning main characters around the time of changes in administrations?

Coincidence?

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It wasn't a gas station Noir! I was changin' my o'l when you walked in.

Hell, that wasn't a gas station Noir... That was Eric's house after a Wednesday night gathering. You described the destruction that happens and leftovers of the "EGSC" to a T. We know he's been gone almost a week now, so there's nobody that's got the kind of time it takes, and we know it takes a lot of time, and we know he's got a plenty, to clean somethin' like that up.

I think you came to the garage door late tonight on your way in for your "umteenth tour of duty", and that barkin' man, was me. I happened to arrive a little early, and I ain't fat, well, not really fat, and I ain't barrel chested(And no Harvey, I don't have man boobs either, so put it back in your pants bro'). I do have "body by Budweiser" however. Some folks pick fun at me and ask where I got my Dunlop(done lopped over my belt). I just pat my belleh and say,"Why no, you're mistaken, this ain't no Dunlop, it's a shade tree for cock suckers, no sunburn for you today. Ain't you lucky I'm here? Sunburn can be a bitch now."

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Day 5 - put your shoes in your cubbie holes

Good morning, kids. Alright. Eric tossed me in this mix with the fine gentleman Redneck for today. It's Friday, and let's face it, he couldn't get anyone better than us as substitutes. Everyone else wanted to get the weekend started early.

So let's see here... Lesson Plans... Lesson Plans... aw, that's boring. He left something in the notes here, but we aren't going to worry about it. No hygiene film, definitely no "silent reading." If you need your medication, you know who you are and where he keeps it. Looks like the answers to the math problems are in the Teacher's Edition so I'll write those on the board. Every third person, miss one so he doesn't catch on. Got it?

Now, everyone get up and push the desks over to the side. Redneck managed to acquire a couple of things from the P.E. office earlier. (You'd be surprised at his talents when it comes to charming women-who-like-the-comfortable-shoes) Time for some Dodgeball.

Just, you know, don't aim too high. He'll notice if we knock out some ceiling tiles and my Home Depot gift card's only got $7 left on it.

Crap... I have to collect an essay assignment too. Tommy, I didn't say GO. Anyway, no head shots. Kelly, go to the nurse. Keep some paper towels on it and remember, "I walked into a door." Oh... and see if you can snag some baby powder while you're in there. I have an idea for these extra trash bags for later.

Alright, the assignment:

What is Mr. Eric doing in NYC right now?

Here's my example: He's probably on the subway innocently giving advice on keeping the pleats straight in your kilt to some tranny-hooker who's been "so nice" to him for the last half hour.

Write your own, be sure to put your name on your paper. Dodgeball starts in 20 minutes. If you're good, we might get to story time a little early.

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Trouble

I stopped at an unfamiliar gas station on my way to work for a cup of coffee and as I walked to coffee station, I noticed a rack of vanity plates which read such things as "If It's Got Tits Or Wheels, It's Gonna' Give You Trouble."

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The Mission

Late one night, a few weeks ago, my cousin and I were chatting outside in my driveway. As we were talking, we could see a small shape moving through the shadows towards us. It trotted into the light as it crossed the street... a dog. And he was running straight up my drive. Not knowing what to expect, I made ready to defend myself.

But that dog was on a mission... he had a purpose. Without even a sidelong glance, he ran past, angled between two houses, and was gone.

We had been visiting for about a half an hour more, and cousin was getting ready to leave, when that dog came running through again. Retracing almost the exact same path. With the same "I know you're there, but you don't matter" air. He crossed the road, and gone he was.

I'd seen that dog one other time, and he followed the exact same path... I just didn't get to witness the return. I don't know where he came from, but he sure acted like it was his neighbourhood. I was laying on a cement slab behind the house, looking at the stars, when he ran through that time. Scared the bejeezus out of me.

I didn't think much of it until last week, when I saw a dog running in the ditch, about 2 miles from town. When I saw him again the following night, at the same time, same place, I realized that this was the dog that ran through my yard. I would lay some serious ching on it. Seven work nights, five sightings. All at the same area and time. It got my imagination running...

What errand could make a dog run at least two miles into town regularly? What's he doing?

Of course, I'm just assuming it's a he... it could easily be a female. She could be running back to check on a pup that was taken from her. Nah... too mushy.

Could be a male, and he's running to rendezvous with his favorite bitch. Not likely. There's alot of dogs between where I've seen him and town... why run all that way?

Maybe he's a well trained drug courier making a delivery. Could be...

I don't really know.... what do YOU think?

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Day Four

Hello, all you rubberneckers. Eric, the ambassador of the blogosphere, is still on his diplomatic trip to New York. I understand he's trying to help alleviate a potentially dangerous overstock of scotch. As you've noticed by now, he's left control of his blog in the able hands of his assistants. And me... That 1 Guy. What the fuck was he thinking?

Eric took the reins of my blog a while back when my computer offed itself. He and Harvey of Bad Example kept my blog rolling, and my ten visitors coming back, until I was up and running again. When he asked for a few a-bloggers, I jumped at the chance to get even repay the favor, and help out. The Straight White Blogging throne is mine for the day.

So far, it's a rough start. Tommy mentioned wearing Eric's blogging pants. Well, I did manage to get them on, but once I bent over to turn the computer on, the seat of the pants just disintegrated. (I'm a wee bit larger than the lad.) Today being laundry day, I was stuck freeballing, or "going commando" if you prefer, so that wasn't a pretty picture. Thank gott this is a Blog Nekkid site. Though I have to say, this leather chair... Well, let's just say "major swamp ass," and leave it at that. Letting us try to walk in his shoes would have been much better, I'm thinkin'.

Well, I'll return later... I'm off to scrounge some of his hidden stash of scotch, and kick back watching his copy of My Fair Lady.(He swears it's his wife's. Yeah... right.) I was going to try to locate some pants, but damn, that couch is comfortable.

Catch ya in a bit.

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I m with ya V-man

I'm beginning to question the blogging thing a bit. The further down the road I get, the more shit starts to run together. V-man mentioned a few days ago that he was having clothes dryer problems just as my girlfriend's dryer stopped drying. It ran and ran so I figured no biggie, just pop off the vent and clean out the excess lint. Well, when I did that I noticed that the lint was sopping wet... Rha-Rho Shaggy... I decided to keep my mouth shut cause I saw some serious work ahead. I would have gotten away with it except now when turned on the vent was spouting water. Don't ask me. I don't know how but I knew that it needed fixing, tout suite.

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Turn out the lights

I can roll up the sidewalks in blogtown. Not much more to do after Acidman steals your shit. I'm honored even if it's something that I cut and pasted.

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Cheers.

Cheers to Autumn...

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Hello

Hello there good readers.

I've given this guest blogging assignment the kind of gravity and heartfelt attention that I gave my college years. I took my assignment down with great excitement, shoved it into my shoulder bag and went to the bar. Then I promptly began procrastinating.

Now, true to form, I will plagiarize myself and post a blog I've submitted seasons previous. (Neither you nor my instructors knew or cared, it's new to you after all.) I'll submit my fresh work after I leave the office today - feel free to mark ten points off for my tardiness.

This is me folks - like it or lump it.

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Overloaded

Oh Shit! What are you gonna do when you're hanging out in NYC and a drunken Dax Montana calls? That's right. You're gonna give him the keys to your Blog and hope like hell he passes out. It's not like your going to miss the Broadway Play, Statute of Liberty, or a Tour of the Museums. Well, I did pass out but not before I started thinking.

Now Eric and I are Southern boys. We tend to live a more simple life surrounded by simple things. I'm not saying that Eric in NYC is akin to Jethro Bodine in Beverly Hills. However, I'm sure you could draw a parallel. Anyway, I've been to the Big Apple and I survived.

Just as we Southern boys could describe the smell of the chicken house, or manure pile, or fresh cut hay, those city folks could describe the wonderful aroma of decaying garbage, bus fumes, the body funk of millions of people. While we wake up to the sound of the rooster, they wake to the sound of traffic. We fall asleep to the gentle buzz of the cicada while they drift off to the white noise of traffic. Traffic...twenty four hours a day. On quiet nights Eric and I look up to the sky to see stars...Millions and millions of stars. In New York you look up only to see street lights, building lights, flashing red tower lights, and haze.

I'm not knockin' city life...ok, maybe I am...but it is very different from what Southern boys are accustomed to. Sensory overload to be sure.

Just Damn!

Dax Montana

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What the hell?

I think I have blogged over at my site a few times about my dreams. To sum it up I don't dream, I have nightmares. Every night without fail, I live out a horror movie, always have. Dismemberment, demons, being chased, and anything else you can come up with. I have dreamed about it. I've done so much stuff in my dreams that movies like Saw and Devils Rejects made me yawn. The Silence of the Lambs made a lot of sense to me. My head is fucked up and I know it.

All of this posed a problem when I was young. I slept until the age of ten with the lights on. There were no monsters under my bed, no boogey man in the closet, or goblins behind the door. They were all in bed with me. I was adept at bolting out of bed without disturbing the covers. Like a tablecloth in a magic act, at the slightest noise, I would be gone.

Later on in life, I grew to accept my screwed up brain. I'm not scared of going to sleep anymore and I prefer the dark now. I guess I'm making up for all that time in the light. The devil still sleeps with me though; she's a kinky little bitch. All of this leads up to the experience I had a few nights ago. I had a dream that left me asking myself if it was a dream at all.

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Knock, Knock...

Hey there, hi there, ho there. I'm just a simple reprobate who goes by the name Ironnerd. I have my own site where you can go look around and see the vast expanse of suck I'm capable of producing. My blog is generally nothing more than place to vent about the lack of intelligence and common sense in our society. Most of my rants never make it to the blog because I run out of steam long before I am finished.

When I volunteered to guest blog for Eric I never thought he would take me up on it. Hell, I was drunk as a skunk. I would have driven to his house to change a light bulb if he had asked me. Plus, there is the fact that he has read my site. I have proof that he has. He knows how bad it can get. His acceptance of my offer to help shocked me. I think the red headed bastard is hoping to see how much of a jackass I can make of myself.

I'm not going to get sentimental and start calling SWG my fairy blog-father but I ain't going to trash his place either. So I decided to hold onto a little something I wrote two weeks ago and put it up here. More people would be able to point and laugh at me that way.

That said, for the record, the stains were already on the pool table and there was no liquor to be found when I got here. The food was already gone from the Kelvinator. Any stray hookers can be returned via UPS Next Day Air to my house. If you can find it.

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Technological weirdness...

I have the song "I Shall Believe" as sung by Sheryl Crow playing on iTunes right now.

For some unknown reason, iTunes has chosen to associate the cover to the album "Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison" with this song.

Weird...

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I don't think that word means what you think it means

Eric asked me to help keep the place running while he's on vacation, so while I won't necessarily give the same psycho rants that he regales us with, I do have some odd stories.

The main reason I haven't sat down with Eric to compare our favorite Scotches is because I currently live in France. I plan on visiting Scotland soon so that I can discover first-hand what Eric loves about that land.

Living in another country has certain challenges that are not routinely encountered when moving from one place to another within the United States. Take the language, for example.

In French, the nouns have gender, and the adjectives need to match the gender of the noun. For example, the word for "car" is feminine, so I have to use the feminine version of the word for "my" when I say "my car", ma voiture. The word for "apartment" is masculine, so I say mon appartement.

Recently, I had to introduce myself as someone's manager, and the person who works for me is a woman. So, in my mind I was thinking "her boss" and I ended up saying "sa patron."

Unfortunately, it is MY gender that is important in that phrase, not hers, so I ended up referring to myself as a woman...

Oops.

Of course, that is better than another instance where I used the wrong word.

In English, we say "I am hot" or "I am cold" to describe our condition, but in French, the literal translation of the phrases that have those meanings are "I have heat" or "I have cold".

This created a wee bit of confusion in my mind between the verbs "to be" and "to have" when speaking French, and I occasionally used "to be" when I meant to say "to have" or the other way around.

So, one day I was riding my bicycle next to a river out in a rural area, and I was passed by a car that parked on the side of the road. A woman got out and opened the rear door so her dog could climb out of the car. She said hello to me when I stopped to take a quick rest and drink, and we had a quick conversation. In the course of talking, she referred to her dog, and I tried to say, "I have a cat." I actually said, "I am a cat." I realized my mistake when I saw her eyes open rather wider than one normally sees on a person.

Oops.

The reason why I was trying to make sure I used "have" instead of "am" when saying "I am hot" is because if you say the literal translation in French, Je suis chaud, you have just said you are horny. Not the message I want to convey to certain folks here.

Another pitfall, one that I managed to avoid, is related to some of the local drinking establishments.

Here in France, they have places called bar americain.

They are not what you might think they would be... unless you hang out at certain types of bars in America.

Bar-Americain-Sign
(click on the image for a larger photo)

Look carefully at the shop across the street if the sign for the bar americain two blocks from my apartment did not make it clear exactly what kind of bar it is:

Erotic-Shop
(click on the image for a larger photo)

I'm going to have to check out how it compares to similar establishments in the United States. I went to The Yellow Rose in Austin a couple of years ago for a bachelor party. Visiting the bar americain close to my apartment is cultural research, you see...

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Retreat and remembering

Today was the day we took time to remember Sept. 11. It seemed more appropriate on a workday rather than a Sunday. For most of us it was our work or school day that came to a halt four years ago. I remember rushing to a meeting in the city and seeing the traffic signs change from travel times to

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Scofflaw, or Why Tailgate Camping Sucks

One of the reasons I visit Eric's site is the drinking stories. Nothing like a good drinking story.

And this, what I'm getting ready to post? It's nothing like a good drinking story. Mostly because there wasn't nearly as much drinking (from a personal standpoint) as I'd have wished.

It's a re-run of something I posted quite a while back on my site, but I figure it fits the bill here.....

Well, BSTommy and his friends went camping this weekend. We wandered up to the Chilhowee forest near Benton. Judging from the number of folks who had beaten us to the punch, I'm guessing that many of my sevens of loyal readers had decided to camp this weekend, too.

We found a spot at the Lake McKamy Overflow camping area. Basically, it's a big field where you can go set up tents. No sites in the woods. No-legal-to-camp-in private sites to be found. No illegal-to-camp-in private sites, either. Actually, we looked there first. We looked high and low. And high again. And we wandered to the Overflow.

Paying to camp in a field. Even if that field belongs to the Forest Service. What a gyp. I can sleep in a field at my house, dammit. For free, even.

But it's actually closer to the lake than the normal place we camp. So it's all good, I guess. It was the lake we went for.

And we camp. As only we can. Mostly we fart, torment each other about our various insecurities, and stare absently into space.

We spent the biggest part of the day at the lake, where the sun baked us to a find golden brown crisp. And what the sun didn't sap out of us, the hike back to the Benton Falls and the skeeters took the rest.

Come supper time, we build a respectable campfire, and dine on a fine repast of hot dogs, hamburgers, potato chips. Most importantly, we break out the beer.

This is when we realize that the group has made a mistake. A mistake along the lines of "We thought you were bringing beer." See, I brought a couple of sixpacks, thinking that everybody'd be chipping in, bringing their fair share. But apparently, it was believed by the rest of the crew that Yours, Truly was bringing the whole supply.

If there is a lesson to be learned here, it is that Communication is Key, people.

Well, there's a minor dispute as to whose fault this bullshit is. We decide that we're all too tired to make the drive for more beer. We settle in to enjoy each other's company, beerless. And all the while, we watch a group settle in around us. I say that, as we'd taken the corner space of the overflow field. These pricks take up two spaces to the left to us and two of the three to our right. I later came to suspect this group was a reunion of friends who'd attended Duke University. Regardless of their education, I also believe these Blue Devils were a group related to the conspiracy to keep Big Stupid Tommy (and friends) from having a good time by being generally loud and obnoxious.

It also did nothing to deter me from my long held belief that Duke Sucks.

Actually, they weren't that bad, person to person. Mostly they just seemed like a lot of Type A personalities who don't know exactly how A.) to have a good time or B.) communicate without being loud and talking over the other person.

We were able to have our conversations (look at Jason's cartoonishly large feet; Steven's an asshole; Tommy's just stupid, Why does Julie hang out with us?) in spite of things without too much interruption.

It was a great source of entertainment, when a member of the aforementioned group wanders into our site thinking that it's her site. She's wondering, slurred and confused, where her wine is.

We told her to try the veal.

An ACC comeback: "What?"

I should mention our beer again. Remember how woefully short we were. We brought two (2) six packs. Two.

Just two.

And a couple were gone by the time we got down to the "sit around the fire" stage of the night. So splitting them among the four of us, none of us could have had that much to drink. Especially spread out over a two hour time span.

Well, not too long after the fun drunk from next door asked where her wine was (and not too long after the same tripped and fell over a folding chair at her site), we decided to see how quiet the lake was around midnight.

It was quiet. Very nice. No Duke University people. No anybody. I had half a mind to drag my sleeping bag out there, and bed down for the night there. We spent a couple of hours there bullshitting and laughing.

We conjectured on an odd light off the woods nowhere near where there should have been a lantern. Probably it was somebody camping on the bike trail since all the sites were full. But it was, momentarily, the object of a little bit of conversation.

A bit after midnight, we decide to wander back to the campsite, fully ready to drift off to dreamland. We're walking across the field, and in the embers of our campfire, we see somebody nosing through our site.

Who's this asshole in a hat? I ask.

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Blogging Pants

Hey! Is this thing on?

I'm Tommy. Normally I'll blog over here. But while Eric's visiting the Apple, I and a few others will be wearing Eric's blogging pants.

I think he'll need new pants. I'm a bit taller and bigger around the waist, than SWG. Also, when I said I was dependable, little did he know that I meant that I wear the adult diapers.

Anyway, I told Eric to tell everybody up in NY hello for me. I've got a couple things to add to the discussion...

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Four years...

... remember...

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Fun with Slang...

... Lakeshore Drive... what a fucking memory... I was sipping free Minnehaha with the masses while a bald man with a German goiter poured.. he was behind the bar and in like Flynn with the owner... nothing like free booze to make the plugola's fly.. yeah, sure... I'd write about this gin palace for him in tomorrow's column... no skin off my back...

... besides, I was having as much luck with Betty as hand-milking a duck... damn, I'd heard she was easy, but even with her moist around the edges and half in the breeze she still shot me down... target practice, that's what I was.. she had her eye on a milquetoast oilhead I'd seen in here before... he liked to hang with pennies and had a name... what a jerkoff... Betty sure knew how to pick'em.. he was a true poindexter.. a real cut and paste job...

... ahh... what the Hell... I got no place better to be on a Sunday afternoon.. futzing around is a fulltime job... besides, the quail at the end of the bar looks like a sitting duck... maybe I'll swing one her way.. she ain't heard my smoke and mirror routine yet... a little soft soap... a little soft touch... some hooch, and I'll be in...

... "bartender!... yeah, man... fill'er up... and one for the doll with the curls at the corner of the bar.."...

.. shit, I wasn't buying.. what did I have to lose?... nothing like liquid courage, man.. nothing at all...

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Art...

... from a very early age, I was cursed with a debilitating combination of mental flaws.... an incredible memory and a skewed sense of humor... these two cripplers result in the ability to memorize songs after hearing them once or twice... and the weirder the song, the better...

... a while back, I was entertaining a fellow blogger during a drive through the country by reciting old C.W. McCall songs as if they were poetry... the poor bastard just sat there in disbelief... luckily he was saved from the verbal avalanche by my Missus telling me to can it...

.... see, language and the clever use of such, is a true beauty... the poems of Robert Service or Ogden Nash are fine examples... and my love for poetry and music runs the gambit... from Tom Waits to Roger Miller... it's all about the language carrying a message... I see very little difference between Waits growling through "Pasties and a G-String" and Miller penning "if you huff and puff and you finally save enough money up to take your family on a trip across the sea, take a tip before you take the trip to let me tell you where to go - go to England, oh"... killer, that's what it is... crushing and overpowering.. lyrical and perfect... I bow before those masters....

... and that, of course, brings me back to C.W... sure, sure, I know what you're thinking.. most of you rubberneckers will only remember the infamy of "Convoy"... well, that's not what I'm talking about... scrub those images of a young Kris Kristofferson in a sweaty wife-beater out of your minds, people... I'm talking about art...

... C.W. is overlooked by most... sophisticates casting him gleefully to the curb of the literary road... well, as a dyed-in-the-wool fan, I want to change that... share a little of his genius with you reprobates... show y'all just what y'all have been missing out on, so to speak... with three songs that I am often found singing to myself while alone or in crowded elevators... or at blogmeets...

... first, is the absolutely incredible "Classified"... truly wondrous... one that I absolutely love to recite... the line "Frank jumped in and bit my leg and I beat him off with a crowbar" just slays me every time....

... secondly, we have "Black Bear Road"... again, a thing of beauty... quick and clever, but I don't really like the ending...

... and lastly, "Wolf Creek Pass".... when you listen to this one, try to ignore the background singers.. everyone has moments of bad taste, and C.W. fell victim in this case... so, over look that and focus on the words... especially two phrases of inspiration: "I looked at Earl and his eyes were wide, his lip was curled and his leg was fried, and his hands were froze to the wheel like the tongue of a sled in the middle of a blizzard."... and... "we hit that tunnel at a 110 like gas through a funnel and eggs through a hen and took that top layer of chickens off slicker than scum off a Louisiana swamp."...

... see what I mean?... C.W. McCall... that man had it going on... and yeah, he is one of my heroes....

... and speaking of songs and memory, I certainly feel for Acidman... I've heard a few of those songs of his, and they ain't half bad...

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A Bad Idea...

... hey, I'm all for dressing for an occasion... and if the occasion is having a few beers at Oktoberfest?... you don the lederhosen.. it's just that simple... nothing says "Bring Out the BEER!" like leather pants...

... why do I bring this up?... tradition, people... tradition... some things are just need to be left alone... see, a fella named Landinger is designing skirts for beer-drinking men to wear at this year's Munich throwdown... yeah, skirts...

... in a word, that's just wrong... hey, I have no problem with men wearing skirts.. after all, I got hitched in a kilt... but breaking a hallowed tradition that spans centuries just because some Teutonic reveler wants a little comfort?... no... ten times, no... I say suck it up, people... just say no to "drinking skirts"... it's the slippery slope to oblivion... trust me..

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Thanks, people...

... tomorrow marks my two years of blogging.... September 10th, 2003 began it all... my first post?.. lamenting the demise of the great Warren Zevon....

... incomprehensible... I never thought I'd still be doing this after two years... so far, it's been grand... hey, just check my sidebar... see that section called "Drinking Buddies"?... of all the benefits, trials, and tribulations of blogging, compiling that list has been the very best part... it has been a distinct pleasure to have met so many fine people via blogging... from Artillery punch to Redheaded Sluts and homemade apple brandy, we've drawn out the best in each other....

... from Chicagoland to Atlanta... DC to Savannah, I have traveled... soon I will add NYC and New Jersey to the list... I've even opened my home to some.. I've donated money when they were down... laughed when I read their stories.. shook my head in disbelief at their writing skill... and grieved at their losses... Hell, some of you I consider almost family...

... over these short two years, I have been amazed by your sincerity and wit.. your passion and friendship... your camaraderie and attitude... it is impossible for me to thank you all enough for the gifts you have given me....

... next week, I'm off to the Big Apple for a few days of vacation... while I'm away, six or seven guestbloggers will be keeping the lights on here... as for me, I'll be atop the Beekman Towers contemplating it all over a few highballs...

... but today I'm off for a drive through the mountains... it's a beautiful day here... cool and sunny... and life is good..

... amazing, though... tomorrow marks two years... two years of reading your blogs... two years of getting to know you... two years of shock and awe... in short, you people rock... thank you...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(38) | TrackBack (14) | Psycho Rants
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More on religion...

... here's a headline for y'all... "Teacher too sexy for religion classes?"

Caterina Bonci said Church authorities decided she was just too attractive and dressed too sexy to teach religion after 14 years on the job.

... there's a picture of her in the article... a blonde, 38 year old bombshell... but, honestly... too good-looking to teach religion?... ahh... the world hates beautiful people...

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Plastic Jesus...

... after a few conversations today, I somehow feel violated.... tattered... sure, it's not all that strange of a feeling for me lately... but today's stir was harsh... no biggie, really... I shall steel myself like that proverbial duck's back..

... still, there is but one thing for it, I suppose... I've just gotsta get me one of these...

... I quote The Cool Hand for posterity's sake...

goin' 90, I ain't scary... because I got the Virgin Mary.... ensuring me.... that I don't go to Hell

... indeed... let's hope it works out better for me than it did for Luke at the end of the movie..

... and be sure to sing along, children... every little bit helps... and Paul gets his groove on near the end... so be sure to listen to it all the way through... the banjo was bucking him pretty hard in the beginning....

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Bengay...

... it is quite possible that I may have imbibed too much last night... I really can't remember, but it is possible... the amber nectar was flowing freely.... Wednesday's are always a hoot...

... anyway, a few weeks ago, I was gifted with a four-bottle liquor tree... that may be the wrong name for it, of course.. a stainless steel free-standing lazy Susan type thing... wherein one places four bottles of alcohol, inverted, and it dispenses perfectly measured shots....

... two things, totally unrelated, bring me here to the keyboard this afternoon... a random thunderstorm which chased me from my labors... and that shiny booze dispenser... see, it is nearly cocktail hour...

... oh, and on a totally unrelated note, I crawled out of bed and made coffee a few hours ago... I've swilled a few cups since.. had lunch.. watched some television, and was just beginning to get my head around the afternoon's light when I headed back to the bedroom...

... upon opening the door, the stench of Bengay wafted up from the sheets and pillows.. at once, over powering me and forcing most of my eyebrows to fall out... strong stuff.... funny, too... but here's the rub... I don't remember having it applied to my bony ass last night...

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Quote of the Day...

.. and everyone thought Nebraska was boring.. nope...

University of Nebraska-Lincoln students who are desperate for some fast cash now have an alternative to posing nude for art classes or auctioning off vital organs on eBay: They can sell vibrating condoms.

... it is way, way too early to be reading news stories like that....

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Tuesday

.. in the deepest bowels of Hell, a man cackles like a maniac as wisps of fire leap from his fingertips.. his grizzled hand reaching into the miasma that is Satan's Armory to find a particular implement of torture... he is unyielding in his search... tenacious... at first, it was hidden in the jumble... age old axes, an iron maiden, rusty thumbscrews, and a bootleg copy of that Barbara Steisand porno "casting couch" video she did when she was 17 3/4 that had barred the way...

.. and then, it was his... pulsating in his wizened hand... eager to do business with the Woeful Doomed.... the most heinous tool in Beelzebub's broom closet.. it was, this very morning, forced upon me..

... I suffered under it's long-handled yoke all day.. stopping only to utter curses and wipe sweat... once, I even looked up to see the garbage men pointing and laughing... yes, men who scrape maggot-covered roadkill from the highways and byways of my county thought themselves lucky that they were hanging onto the railings of a truck carrying two tons of garbage in 90 degree heat... hell, I can't blame them... I'd rather have been them than me today too...

... for those of you dazzling urbanites, you'll not be able to fathom my tormentor... the same goes for almost everyone under the age of 30... if you fit into either category, consider yourself blessed...

... for those of you who are over thirty with rural backgrounds, you might be able to pity me after hearing these three words...three words that chafe against my teeth as I try to mouth them... three words that I hope never to hear in the same sentence again as long as I live...

... post.. hole.. diggers...

... tomorrow?... it'll be hammers...

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The Deck...

.. today I am a carpenter...

... Lord, help us all...

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Old Texas...

... there is an area in the hinterlands of Englewood known as "old Texas"... a sprawling, tangled parcel of scrub covering a couple thousand acres... not useful for much of anything due to a combination of rough-as-hell topography and some truly devilish geologic phenomena.. the place is riddled with sinkholes and caverns.. fouled brimstone springs... quicksand... and yes, it was in such a place that I played as a youngster...

... tall tales were told once by my Father and Uncles of how a train carrying the Barnum & Bailey Circus' animals north through the county derailed... back in the 1930s, I believe... releasing various exotic beasts into the jungle-like forest... (one side of old Texas was once bordered by the Louisville & Nashville railroad)...

... anyway, as the ancient lie goes, over the next few weeks all of the large critters were captured... elephants, zebras, ostriches, and the like... but the sneaky and/or elusive managed to evade the local redneck denizens of 1930s McMinn County... the stage was set for hijinks...

... ever since I can remember, I've heard stories of giant snakes living for generations in the warm, spring-fed sinkholes back there... and giant cats prowling the undergrowth... stealthy, unseen panthers snatching the occasional calf as late as the 1960s... remnants of Barnum's jaguars or Bailey's lions, I suspect...

... so of course I bought the story hook, line, and sinker... after all, as a kid, you WANT to believe that there are tigers in the forest... right?.. especially when you're coon hunting late at night with a .22 rifle... now, I've never actually seen a giant snake or a panther in old Texas... but the old hearsays sure did spark the imagination on those childhood campouts...

... you know, I'm tempted to write to those circus boys and ask if they lost a train back in the day... part of me really wants to know if it was true... but another part wants to keep the mystery as it is... in the end, there is magic in imaginative fibbery.... kinda like blogginig...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(3) | TrackBack (1) | SWG Stories
» Gut Rumbles links with: quote of the day

Row, row, row....

... Justrose of the Rowhouse is going on a wee vacation... and as a result, I'll be guestposting some old posts over there today... so if I'm not here, I'm there.... check it out...

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Camping...

.... I read Rob's post and it got me to thinking.... one of the best things about going camping with me is the food... I am the macdaddy of camping cuisine... that's not bragging, that's just a fact.... I could go into great detail here, but I wont.. suffice it to say that I know what I'm doing... there is a difference, though, and it comes from circumstance... my menu is much more varied than Rob's... that is mainly because nearly all of my experience has been gained from camping in cold and/or frozen conditions... and as such, I could easily pack a jug full of cracked eggs and never worry about salmonella or spoilage... same thing with my main meals... usually an old plastic Ragu bottle filled with homemade "beef stew"... the perfect meal for the end of a day of walking.. but campfire cooking in tropical conditions?... a total fucking nightmare....

... from Alaska to Scotland or Norway and beyond.. cold weather camping is the way to go... and I've learned to make some of the most mouthwatering dishes known to man... maybe one of these days I'll post a recipe..

.. it all comes down to this... when covering distances, the walker is carrying two kinds of loads... the essentials for survival... and the comfort items.... as a rule of thumb, the better your equipment.. pack, sleeping bag, cooking utensils, water filter, stove, etc... the more comfort items you can tote... you got a 9lb down sleeping bag?... well, you'll not be able to tote that 1/2 gallon of cheap Scotch... you purchased an Ajungilak Kompakt Komfort like me?.. welcome to a glass of tipple at the end of the day... good equipment means more flexibility with your comfort items, it is that simple...

... I will note one thing Rob mentioned, though... chocolate.. snickers bars, trail mix, etc... that stuff is golden... when I endured the Royal Marine's Arctic Survival and Mountain Training course, I was amazed to see that their equipment was specifically constructed to support snacking... each Marine was issued a Gore-Tex parka with a large square pocket in the center of the chest... I assumed this was for maps and stuff.. I was wrong... each morning the Regimental SgtMaj would go by each trooper as they were breaking camp and dump a handful of broken chocolate bars, crumbled cookies, and trail mix in... see, once you had your morning meal, you walked until time for dinner... no stopping along the trail for lunch... so, what did we do?... you dipped into that pocket all day long and ate chocolate to keep you going...it was located in such a way that you could easily access it without adjusting your pack or body armor... the daily rations we were given (including the chocolate) was around 4500 calories... and none of us gained a pound...

... the key to long distance hiking and camping is a continual flow of fuel... but doesn't mean that the fuel can't be world-class yummy... it's all a matter of priority and quality gear...

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Exclusive...

ATHENS, Ga. (SWG) -- UGA's season opener saw a stunning 48 - 13 win, and an unprecedented pick of the game's MVP - Boise State's Jared Zabransky. Throwing four interceptions and fumbling twice in the first half, the veteran quarterback thrilled a packed Georgia stadium.

Shouts of "We love Jared" echoed through the audience during the first half of play.

D.J. Shockley, Georgia's No. 1 quarterback, expressed his gratitude to Zabransky back in the locker room after the game. "It's incredible, really, when you think of it. I mean, dayum! You'd almost think the Z-man had been hittin' the crackpipe before the game. I honestly believe that, in whatever fantasy world Jared had smoked himself into, he believed the was me, or something. He threw better passes to my Dawgs than I could! I only wish he would have played the 2nd half as well"

The student body, in a passionate outpouring of emotion, voted unanimously for Zebransky as MVP.

Ma'Hahlia Johnston, a UGA cheerleader, wept openly when the loudspeakers announced the decision. "I've never seen, never ever seen such team spirit displayed," she said. "He deserves this honor, and I hope he spends the 50,000 dollar prize money on a worthy cause. God, I love men from Idaho."

University officials were unable to confirm the rumor that Buddy's Car Lot, of 136 Martin Luther King Blvd was sponsoring the MVP award of $50,000.

Zebransky was unavailable for comment after the game due to being hooked up to an IV in the Boise State locker room.

The contents of the IV, his thoughts on being awarded MVP, and his plans for the 50 grand remain unknown.

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Be prepared...

... today's Quote of the Day comes from Kim du Toit.... and it is very, very true....

"Without local authority, your home is not safe outside of the Second Amendment."

.. indeed... scary, but true...

.. I spent most of yesterday afternoon cleaning out my car and repacking supplies... since I switched my carry gun to the .45, I hadn't swapped out the ammo in the glove box from .44... I did that yesterday...

... I also removed the change of clothes from the trunk and washed them.. replaced the bottled water and beef jerky with fresh... washed my thermarest and sleeping bag... restocked my first aid kit... changed the batteries in my maglite... and replaced the fire extinguisher... stuff that was all overdue...

... always prepare, people... you never know what you'll need or when you'll need it.. but you can take some common sense precautions... both my car and my Wife's are outfitted as life rafts... food, water, firearms, clothing, sleeping bag, first aid kit, fire extinguisher.. at the very minimum, you should have those things in your vehicle at all times...

... I'm not saying you need to think "Mad Max"... but anything you can do to make yourself more self-sufficient is a good, good thing...

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You've got mail...

... Hot Damn... these are the times that try men's souls... truly... and strange things are afoot here at the casa... they bring a sense of excitement and foreboding that I haven't experienced since those first virgin fumblings in the woods behind the barn long ago.. admittedly, those days were a we bit steamier than the current situation... but then and now do share one thing.... the promise of things to come... still, I sit here... the ego, laid bare like a newborn, is experiencing the first premeditated strikes upon his buttocks..

... and one part of me is grinning like a fool while the other part whimpers and shirks... duality at its finest... rejection, children.. but any response is better than none at all...

.. ahh, but these are good times, people.. fine times... I'm exactly where I want to be... besides, what's that old adage?.... oh, yeah... nothing ventured, nothing gained....

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Look again....

... I woke early this morning and drove to my Mother's house... it's quickly nearing time to close the pool for the season, and I had been asked to help move some of the Summer furniture... Autumn is in the air here in the mountains... 64 degrees at daybreak... it'll get hot by the afternoon, but this morning it was bearable... soon my favorite season will be here...

... I came back home around eleven and settled myself on the patio for a while... temperature hovering around 75 degrees and a slight breeze stroking the wind chimes... dappled sunlight falling through the branches of the dogwood trees creating patters on the pink and tan stones... the smell of the fallen leaves that the poplars let go when the remnants of Katrina came through on Tuesday... I could almost feel myself recharging... the past week has been hard to deal with... writing has become almost pointless as you watch the scenes on television... sitting inside the house glued to the agony... you forget that there is still beauty and happiness... and there is, you know...

... two flocks of geese passed over as I was smoking... honking their way east towards a small lake I know.. blue jays, too, were making noises in the trees overhead.. no doubt doing what they always do as the gangbangers of the forest - robbing a nest of a smaller bird.... but even in their own evil way, they are performing as programmed.. nature...

... and that's the point, I guess... you can sit in the same place and see two different worlds if you want.. but it is your choice on which one to dwell on... lately, I've been seeing only the ugly... but today I'm choosing differently...

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Spazzing out...

... I was watching Fox last night, and a thought struck me... Shep and Geraldo are seriously freaking out... maybe it was just because they were talking with O'Reilly... anyway, they were seriously wigging out... was it grandstanding?.. I don't know... hey, if I were surrounded by 30,000 extremely pissed off people at the convention center, I might be a tad nervous myself... anyway, I thought it unprofessional... at the end of the day, I don't want "passion" or "drama" in my news... I want the facts... when given the facts of the matter, I can create my OWN drama and passion, thank you very much... I know the conditions are horrible.. I know the damage is biblical... I know the suffering is monumental... I can see that myself.. what I DON'T need is reporters losing their cool on national television..

... but, you know, it's all too much to fathom.. it really is...cities as far away as Knoxville are offering housing....

... anyway, after having the television on all day in the background, I finally turned off the news and threw in a DVD... a complete season's episodes of Blackadder II... I highly recommend it for taking your mind off things.. watching Rowan Atkinson thrash Baldrick soothes the soul, people... in many, many ways...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Technicalities links with: Time To Switch Off

... aim high...

... I am a deeply flawed person... how?... well, I give everyone the benefit of the doubt.. everyone gets a chance.. it's just my philosophy... am I naive?.. sure... am I overly optimistic?.. you bet.. but why do I carry on with these childish beliefs?... Mia has the answer... proof, in a way... or maybe not, that in some small contrivance.. each of us has a reason to wake up and give a thumbs-up to that mussed-haired retard staring back at us in the mirror..

... so go over there now... read her quote... and be of good cheer...

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Future plans...

... after a day on the phone, the tickets are bought and the rooms have been booked... two weeks from now, I'll be scuffing the soles of my Justin's on the famed sidewalks of Manhattan.. parking my narrow ass on various park benches and bar stools from Central Park to The Village.... it should be most exciting....

... oh, and does anyone want volunteer to guestblog from the 12th to the 18th of September?... the first five people to pony up get the gig... no pressure, though... it's all cool.... still, now is your chance... all those times you read my blog and wished you could loose the dogs of good taste upon a particularly off-color post of mine?... well, your vengeance is nigh.. the trousers of the blog are proverbially down now, rubberneckers... y'all may have at it...

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Call instead...

... the Wife and I just tried to make a donation to the Red Cross but failed... their website and/or server seems to be getting hammered with traffic... but, hey... that's a good thing.. it means people are sending money.. anyway, our transaction didn't go through... result?... we'll be calling instead...

... contact the Red Cross here: 1-800- HELP NOW... 1-800-435-7669

... for other worthy causes, Instapundit has the ultimate round-up...

... head over to The Bear and log your donations...

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You just never know...

... well, notch up another strangitude to a Wednesday night... one of the usuals is freelancing as an arms dealer....

... while sipping Dalmore with my buds and testing out the new felt on the table, I actually purchased a firearm... .357 magnum Smith & Wesson "Highway Patrolman".... I didn't need it, of course, but it just seemed like the thing to do.... crazy stuff....

... these Social Club gatherings are becoming a warped combination... once they were of the speakeasy form... my humble garage providing an oasis in the dry-county desert... but lately a heavy dash of Juarez swapmeet is surfacing.. one never seems to know what will happen next... surreal?.. for sure, rubberneckers... especially as the evening crawls on... the longer they stay, the weirder things get.. but, hey... with an open mind, a few shots, and the right attitude, it just gets more and more entertaining every week...

... I'm all about the flexibility.. y'all know that, but damn... Lord help us... we're certainly pushing the envelope....

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