Finally alone....

... well, the last of the bloggers have headed towards home... I fed Harvey and Beloved Wife breakfast before pointing them vaguely in the direction of Nashville and wishing them bon voyage... I'm sure they'll find their way....

... but three days of being the host has taken its toll... and people, I need a nap...

... to all who attended, thank you... you guys are animals... when I grow up, I want to be just like y'all.. no, really... may the wild-eyed mayhem we all experienced be remembered in poetry and songs for years to come....

... I see some of the miscreants have already posted photos... well, you'll not be getting any here... I lost my digital camera during the Wreckyll in Jekyll in April.... hey, be thankful for small miracles... and now to the roll call....

... up first, the Blogger Babes... whoa... never before I have I been to a blogmeet with so many gorgeous women.. and the real kicker is that many of them wore glasses... talk about a pleasant distraction.... it was all I could do to keep my mind on my ribs... so, to AWTM, Beth, Boudicca, Cat, Dynamite, Key Monroe, Morrigan, Sissy, and Tammi, I only have this to say... you lasses had me at "hello"....

... and for the gents, a heartfelt thanks... no one got punched, kicked, cut, or bit (that I saw)... we only had one bleeder (you know who you are)... and nothing in the entire house was broken (that I could find) this morning.... so, to Denny, Harvey, Jimbo, Johnny Oh, Matty, Mr. Donovan, Redneck, RSM, T1G, and Zonker, pat yourselves on the back, boys.. you done good... a blogger bash of that size and only one visit to the ER is truly a thing to be marveled at....

.. now, though.. the question remains... when do I get to come to YOUR houses?!?...

Morning...

... well, rubberneckers.... where to start?... to be honest, I have no idea... it was awesome...

... bleary-eyed, I sit here... coffee in hand... still in disbelief that some of my favorite people made the long journey to my house and partied hardy... and best of all, my sleepy little neighborhood is still standing... albeit covered in beer bottles, lost clothing, and cigarette butts... it still stands...

... in a word, gentle readers, my humble home has just survived being hit by a blogger-tsunami... the likes of which I have never read about on the internet before... it was marvelous and overwhelming...

... and damn, I want to do it again...

... more later when I can focus my eyes better on the screen....

Psyche...

... up early today... things to do, people, things to do... circumstances are shaping up to provide me with one busy weekend....

... damn, I need to scrub this joint... pick up all my crap.. but, hey... I just ain't got time..

... maybe I'll just throw some sawdust on the floor and be done with it...

... after all, it is exactly as ole Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said:

... "We must learn to regard people less in light of what they do or don't do, and more in the light of what they suffer."

... word, rubberneckers, word... the Dman may be on to something there...

... Lord, help us all....

Brutal...

... well, folks.. last night saw one of the most brutal beatings in the history of billiards... Cousin Brad and I played for about five hours and I lost only three times... two of which were when I inadvertently scratched on the eight.. yeah, it was rough... but hey, I am nothing if not gracious and humble in victory..

... and it wasn't that Brad couldn't open a can of whoop-ass from time to time... it's just that when the game came down to the final shots, his luck would tuck tail and skedaddle like Yankees at 1st Manassas.. leaving me in command of the table...

.... ahhh... it's all good though...

.. you know, some people say "you can't win them all", and that is true... very true... but losing them ALL still has a bit of a sting...

Work, work, work...

... woke up this morning with a great plan... itching with anticipation, the day held promise... me, I was positioned to swipe a few hundred things off the to-do list before the gents arrive this afternoon...

.. result?... busted... totally busted... here I sit and it's just after 3pm.. and before I know it, cocktail hour will be just around the corner...

... instead of weeding the flowerbed for the last time of the season... planting the pansies.. cleaning the gutter... writing letters and paying bills... sweeping out the garage... and washing and vacuuming the car, I kicked back...

.. listened to some tunes.. made a few phone calls... drove into town for lunch... played guitar on the deck... the sky was bright blue, cool, and breezy...

... in my defense, I did do two loads of laundry and burned some old cardboard whiskey boxes that were cluttering up the garage... see?.. I'm not lazy... I just decided to reprioritize my day after my morning shower... y'all do that too, right?... heh heh...

... besides, I've got to save my strength for the poolfest tonight... baby steps, people... baby steps...

Balls...

.. personally, I think Aubre is 100% right... see, she just found out about a website that sells "Ballsies".. a jewelry of sorts for ladies... below is just a teaser of what she says extremely well right here...

But ball play is beside the point. Back to Ballsies. I am a frequent user of the phrase, "Get some balls!" and I never really thought about this conundrum until the professional-looking Ballsies website opened up on my computer screen and the happy faces of testicle-clad women were smiling back at me. Another common saying came to mind and made me a bit worried ...

When yelling "Get some balls!" to someone, you are referring to the testicles ” a male sexual organ ” and you are telling someone to find some courage and get something done like a man. But to yell, "You're a pussy," ” a common synonym for the female sexual organ ” means you are weak and lame, like a little girl. So why am I reinforcing gender stereotypes and telling girls to grow some testicles?

Instead of buying myself some over-priced sterling silver balls on a chain, I think I'm going to retire the saying. For you women out there, instead of purchasing a testicle necklace as a symbol of confidence, start using the phrase, "Get a vagina!" Is someone too scared to take a beer bong? "Get a vagina!" No one will go streaking in Camp Randall with you? "Get a vagina!" No one will train for the IronMan with you? "Get a vagina!" And you can take that $54.95 and put it towards a nice pair of high heels ... a real sign of power.

... heh heh..... the girl is going places....

Artists...

... there are very few times when I read a post and then head through to the living room to rip the Wife away from a Hitchcock film to make her read it... drag her kicking and screaming from her soft couch and into the world of Blogs... but tonight, I did.... for tonight, Army Wife wrote this... and both I and my partner loved it...

.. the Blogosphere is full of preeners and posers... and that's a fact... sure, there are some genuine articles out there, but for the most part, many people live a life on their blog that is far and away from their real lives... it is all make-believe and mirrors... we've all done it on occasion.. writing cryptic posts.. trying to mold a World that fits us Online better than the one we live in.... well, I call bullshit..

.... when I read that post, it reminded me of something... something fast and secure... something proud and vibrant... something true and perfect... the salient fact that we are all fractured creatures in one way or another... and admitting it, being true, and facing the World every morning is a noble endeavor....

... and you know what?... I agree with the Writer.... maybe not for reasons she might think, but I still agree.... see, we've all come that point she describes... that point where we look at ourselves and the people around us and wonder.. am I doing the right thing?... is this where I am supposed to be?... am I doing what is expected of me?... those moments of weakness that we have in our lives... they define us..

... but the real mind-fuck is when you think of her post differently... where the girls are drawing teachers and the boys are putting crayon and brush to badly drawn fire engines?... is that what they really wanted, or is it just what they accepted.... who was the odd man out?.. her or the rest of the class?..

... Army Wife ends her post by saying "maybe I should have been an artist"...

... amazing, I say... she IS...

Playing nicely...

... hmmm... where to start?... Ms. Monroe saw fit to tease me with the meme jag.... and hey, I'll play....

What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life?

.. sweet Lord... this question should read "have done THIS week" and not "in your life"... the possibilities are endless when given such a timeframe... gotta choose something though... so here are three that immediately come to mind...

... like Key, one near the top of my list involves a cliff... specifically the 200-footer that overlooked Kuluk Bay on Adak Island near the cabin that belonged to the Downtown Marines... two jarheads and I climbed down to the shore of the Bering Sea with a case of MGD and drank it all in about an hour... next, we tried to get back topside... six hours later and with several near-death experiences under my belt I was sober, covered in sweat and mud, and safely at the top.. Hell, there is a blog post in that story...

... swimming in a riptide at Panama City Beach when I was 13... looking back now, I was shark bait and didn't even know it... sharks give me the heebie jeebies... later that night, after being pulled out of the surf by a lifeguard, a fisherman capped a 8 foot tiger shark with his 9 not 100 yards from where I'd been swimming earlier.. yep... reeled that sucker in and shot it on the beach...

... another stupid drama in so many ways was dropping trou and nearly getting some nookie while on duty... of course, the jury is still out.. good decision?.. bad decision?... it's all a matter of perspective.... sometimes the wind blows each direction equally.... either way, putting myself in that position was pretty damn stupid...

At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?

... my Tiny Elvis who lives in my task tray... he is The Man... hey, you don't have a Tiny Elvis?.. you guys are missing out... he is my spiritual guide in these trying and difficult times.... and I really don't know where I'd be without his daily ministrations....

If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick up to five people to dine with, who would you pick?

... re-reading this question, I'd sure as Hell hate to be given a time machine that DIDN'T function... that would truly suck... anyway, who'd I want to eat with?... hmm... all at once, or individually?... all at once, Robert Service, Ogden Nash, Dr. Seuss, Brother Void, and Will Rogers....

... individually?... well, rather than dining, I'd like to have a drink with each of these guys one-on-one ... Ira Hayes, Lee Marvin, Humphrey Bogart, Oliver Reed, and Gene Wilder... they'd buy, of course.. except for Ira and Lee... I'd foot the bill for those two...

If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?

.... I'd like to be in a position to live 1/2 of each year in Tennessee and 1/2 in Scotland... that'd be cool.... and I'd like the wonderful people at Bowmore Distillery send me (where ever I happen to be) a liter of their 17-year old whiskey every two weeks free-of-charge for the rest of my life... and lastly, I suppose I'd like to have an ample enough amount of money that not only would I never have to work again... but I could wander the countryside benevolently handing out wads of cash to good people down on their luck... kinda like Johnny Appleseed only with greenbacks instead of seeds...

Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should avoid.

.. I desperately regret that my city does not have a good liquor store... and I even more desperately regret that my city does not even have a BAD liquor store... dry counties are the Devil's work...

... something to avoid?... this is a hard one... I suppose that people visiting my hometown should avoid running with sharp objects and playing with fire... other than that, my neck of the woods is pretty safe...

Name one thing that has changed your life.

... joining the military... best thing that ever happened to me... well, that and getting hitched.. but it is all cause n' effect... if I hadn't joined the Corps, I wouldn't have met the missus...

Tag an unfortunate.
... mercy....

Mapping Florida Blogs...

... another 'cane is gearing up to hit Florida... Wilma be her name.... and I just saw on Fox News that the surf is full of overweight guys with great tans trying to boogie board... absolutely amazing...

... anyway, the beautiful (and soon-to-be windswept) Boudicca has gone to the incredible trouble of prepping a map of Florida Bloggers... she's also doing the right thing... preparing her home and family for the coming storm...

.. stay safe, sister... and good luck...

... and if you're a Florida blogger, get over there and tell her where you're at...

de-horning...

... there is an old saying down in my neck of the woods.... "crime doesn't pay... and neither does farming".... but that hasn't stopped Cousin Brad and his bud branching out lately.... see, both fine gentlemen have dreams of becoming Cattlemen... and they have begun gathering up a herd over the past few weeks.... the plan is to fatten 50 to 100 yearling steers up for six months and then take them back to auction....

... it's a good plan, actually... and I do believe they might just make a nice wad of cash in the end... Hell, I might even invest some money too... the only place where I can see that the endeavor starts getting a bit wonky is the whole manual labor portion... fence building, inoculations, general maintenance, the occasional castration.... and, of course, de-horning....

... for those of you who are uninitiated in this practice, you are in for a treat... for today shall be spent with me in documentary mode... indeed, I am boldly heading out today with camera in hand just for you guys... no, no, I won't be participating in the daubing of spurting blood or the tweezing of squirting vessels.. I shall not take part in the lopping off of horns or the spraying on of disinfectants... no, no.... I shall be standing well back and laughing... probably drinking an adult beverage... and listening the cursing of the two men as their new "investments" shit themselves, stomp farmer-toes, and bray with all their might to the High and Holy that the two rednecks besetting them with bolt-cutters be immediately struck down by lightning... oh, and I'll be taking photos.. I'll be taking lots of photos... gore and blood galore.. you know, just for you guys....

... as I've said many times... entertainment is an elusive beast around these parts.. you gotta be creative if you want to keep yourself amused...

Bodies.....

.. spent the day washing curtains, sipping Becks Dark, and watching Tennessee battle themselves Alabama... hey, it happens..... glad they brought Ainge in to throw an interception though... that was definitely a high-point.... ahh, Hell.. enough about all that....

.. I'm getting ready to hit the sack now.... and as I type this, comedic dialogue from "Arsenic and Old Lace" is bouncing off the darkened walls of the living room....

... the Better Half reclined.... sipping Australian merlot while lip-syncing one of her favorites.... yeah, Cary Grant again... not the car this time, of course.. the real deal.... the dapper Mortimer....

... cycles... cycles.... remember the scene when the old Aunts say that Johnny can't bury his latest victim in the cellar because they already have twelve bodies down there?.... remember the guy who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt?....

... indeed... no room at the Inn, people... we're all Ambassadors to someone...

Help out a Bro...

.... back when I was a nipper, my Dad used to let me stay up late on Saturdays and watch Shock Theatre... remember that?... Dr. Shock and Dingbat?... yeah, my formative years were jimmied by those two...

... anyway, I had a nightmare last night that immediately brought back memories of a long lost episode of Shock Theatre... the details are sketchy, and the haze of a thousand Saturdays obscures the past... but here is what I remember...

... in my dream, I was being chased by a 12" tall bronze statuette with a knife that had come to life... I eventually beat it flat on the kitchen floor with a large brass ashtray that I was given for my birthday...

... the reason I am bringing this up though, is that the dream reminded me of an old movie... I've been searching on the internet to no avail... so, I thought you rubberneckers might make yourselves useful for once and help a brother out... here is about all I can remember.... that small metal statue in the movie was scantily clad... either wearing a loin-cloth, Roman garb, or perhaps Viking clothes.... yeah, maybe a Viking... and he had a short-sword or a battle axe... I don't remember which, but what ever it was, it was sharp... something happened and he came to life... there was much drama and shrieking... he could cut just about anything with his weapon.. cardboard, linoleum, table legs.... and he eventually killed the Wife while the Husband was away at work and lay in wait... once the guy got home, battle ensued and Good won out by tossing his evil ass into a hot oven and holding the door closed... melting the bronze.. reducing him to a small puddle of non-evil goo... (in retrospect, that must have been one hot-assed oven to melt bronze)...but I stray off-point...

.. so, pony up, people... anyone seen this movie... it was black and white and cheesy... but last night's nacho-induced nightmare makes me yearn to see it again... any ideas?...

Cary and Carry...

... the Wife's Caddy has been complaining about tire pressures for the past week... evidently the thing has sensors in each tire that keep track of fluctuations.. that's what she gets for buying a race car, I guess...

... anyway, we saddled up and headed into town yesterday to have the tires checked and the oil changed... while the technicians were laying on hands, we nipped over to the local gun shop... I had broken one of the tie-down snaps on my old shoulder harness and needed a repair kit or an extra tie-down...

... after handling about seventy-five different models, one of the salesmen idles over... with a shining grin, he informs me that you can't just buy a spare tie-down... you have to buy an entire new rig... so, I bought a new rig... and what a depressing sight it was once I opened it... great bloody Hell.. what a total piece of crap...

... my original Uncle Mike's horizontal shoulder harness is built like a tank... almost entirely made of 1.5-inch cordura webbing... indestructible... I bought it in 1990 and it still looks brand new... the only place it failed was in one of the snaps that secures it to your belt....

.. but the one I just purchased?... flimsy and made almost entirely of strips of Velcro... how the times have changed... I guess Uncle Mike made his millions and moved on....

... but, shit... the same manufacturer... same basic model... same price range (although we're talking 1990 vs. 2005)... and it pales in comparison... after cannibalizing the tie-down, I chucked the piece of shit into the maw of the trash can....

... oh, and in other news, while tooling around Athens in my car waiting for The Wife's to get fixed, she asked out of the blue if I had named my car.. when I said that I hadn't, she informed me that her CTSV was named "Cary"... after Cary Grant... and that her car was a guy... and that he is gay....

... her prescription meds are definitely not getting refilled...

Funky...

... people really are strange.. sure, I know I'm tarring a wide swath of humanity with such a sweeping statement, but it is true... even you, dear reader, are probably given to moments of violently self-pleasuring yourself in some strange way when no one is looking... but hey, that's cool... we're all just human beings with needs... and what no one else ever knows is what saves us... you don't have to admit anything here, of course... this is a public forum... no need for confessions.. but still, it is enough that you know that I know that you are a pervert...

... just what in the Hell am I talking about?... well, remember that old Napoleon Bonaparte quote about telling Josephine not to bathe?... according to a new documentary, "World's Most Bizarre Sexual Practices" by Lorenzo Matawaran, the Little Corporal wasn't the only Frenchman who liked his ladies a little on the fruity side... check it:

FRANCE -- A man and woman agree to refrain from sex for an entire month -- and also not to bathe for the month. When they finally do make love, their overpowering, funky aromas put them into a trance-like state which produces several hours of screaming, frothing-at-the- mouth, orgasm-filled sex.

.. now, look... I'm all for wild and passionate lovin'... even a little slap 'n tickle on occasion... but having someone's "overpowering, funky aromas" put me into a trance-like state is just a bridge too far....

... oh yeah... and don't think that the French are alone in their weirdness and depravity... the Irish ain't far behind...

IRELAND -- Irish women are especially fond of capturing leprechauns and forcing them to become sex slaves while the women's husbands are working the mines. "Those leprechauns are really small, but not all over, if you catch my drift," blushes Mary McCallister, 27, of Dublin. "I like to get undressed, crawl under my rainbow- design quilt, and then order my leprechaun to climb inside and try to locate the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

... the mind does boggle...

just another Wednesday...

... with a well-drugged Babe in the sack of the Master Bedroom, tonight's Social Club gathering went off without a hitch.... not as many faces as usual, but still an interesting group.... oh, and we kept our normal yelping, cursing, and music playing at a civilized decibel level... lest we disturb the Sleeping Goddess..... hey, I knew y'all were worried...

.... and for those who are inquisitive about my billiard skills this evening, Biker Steve whipped me good.... but that's ok.. three games to two in eightball.. Hell, he was the Better Man tonight....and life, as ever, soldiers on...

.... that is the point, right?... we keep on keeping on.... damn the torpedoes, and all that?....

... ahh... it's cool.... just as it should be..... sometimes you're the windshield.. sometimes you're the bug. and sometimes you're the husband... and sometimes you are the patient...

... well, I suppose it is acceptance... that's the real yardstick... acceptance.... once you get past that, you're cookin' with gas....

... we are what we are.. and we are WHERE we are.. and we all built our own castles and took our own roads.... today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, we all have to understand where we've been and how we ended up where the morning finds us....

.... as for me?.... after kicking out the last of the players and ensuring my Treasure was safely asleep.. well, I have no complaints... no complaints at all..... and in saying that, I am saying volumes....

Valium...

.... up early and out of the house before light... at the surgery sipping free coffee as the Sun came up... back home now with a very sleepy Wifey... all went well... we be supercool...

... hey, watching the immediate change in someone as valium is injected into an IV is pretty damn cool...

... at one point during the procedure, I stepped outside for a quick smoke... Mars was up just southwest of the full moon and was shining bright orange... as I was admiring the scene, cradling a cup of coffee and letting the nicotine kick in, a line from Casablanca came to me..

... "the problems of two little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.."...

... how true... Bogey is a God..

... Casablanca... probably the most quotable movie of all time....

... anyway, an hour or so later and I was called into the recovery room... a groggy and helmet-haired Wife was blinking at me and still obviously lovin' the effects of her chemical-cocktail breakfast...

... "how YOU doin', sweetness?!", I said as I bent down to get a reading on the thermometer they had stuck to her forehead...

... "what WATCH?"...

... "twenty till nine, babe... "...

... "NOT MUCH WATCH!"...

... and then she laid back and laughed...

... Lordy... I think I'm going to enjoy having a drugged up Wife.. she's a barrel of laughs...

.. and the really strange thing?... I only noticed that we BOTH had quoted Casablanca this morning during the drive back..

Hung...

... a few months back, my dear Mother forced me to take gifted me with a gigantic portrait of myself as a babe... 12X16 or something... imitation brass frame... an Olan Mills special... it's been sitting in the floor of the blogroom collecting dust ever since she brought it over...

... I mean, there I am... sitting upright in a 3/4-facing position... jaw slack... eyes slightly unfocused.... head like a cueball with only the faintest sheen of the coppery-red that would soon be blossoming... and, I'm dressed to the nines in a genuine blue and white pinstriped Railroad Conductor's uniform... complete, people... jacket.. trousers... and waistcoat...

... why do people do that to their offspring?.. not the giving of the picture to the now-adult me.. but having the dastardly thing taken to begin with?... sure, I have no kiddies of my own, so maybe I am just out of the loop.. is this kind of torture what goes on behind the closed doors of Parenthood?... I certainly hope not... and I know that if I fathered a child, I'd be a total sap just like all Fathers... but still, I like to give myself enough latitude to imagine that I'd never do that to my kid...

... why do I bring this up?... well, I just hung that puppy up on the wall... right above my poster of John Wayne.. and just below my hand-drawn rendition of Stonewall Jackson's monument at Manassas... and as I type this, the little bugger is right in front of me grinning like a beady-eyed madman....

... fine... it was given, and it is up.. but, and hear me people, for this I swear... if my Momma tries to pawn off that life-size monstrosity of me as a toddler wearing the Hee-Haw overalls that's hanging in her hallway and that she's happily shown every girlfriend I ever brought home since I first started dating, that'll be the last straw....

UPDATE: RSM weighs in on the subject.. and kids, it ain't pretty....

Rome...

... ever have those days when you feel exactly like Valens on the eve of Adrianople?.. yeah, me too... hindsight... she's a wonderful thing...

... but, man... those damn Visigoths these days.. not only are they sneaky bastards, but they come in a million different varieties...

.. does make you think though... in the great scheme of things, Custer was a pussy....

Little Wing...

... my girl Hazel over at Little Paper Drink Umbrellas is on a Hendrix kick at the moment... hey, nothing wrong with that... nothing at all.... Hendrix was indeed a Guitar God.. at whose altar I have spent many a kneeling hour..... but in passing by, I happened to see "Little Wing" being discussed... well, I just had to stick my nose in the door conversation, fill my lungs to their fullest, and scream "SRV"... as I have always opined, Stevie's version is much better than Mr. Jimmie's....

... sure, the purists among you might disagree... fair enough... and to you I say, I care not for your opinion... scurry back from whence you came.. after all, I am not here to discuss... I am here to preach... and today's sermon is on why SRV's version of "Little Wing" kicks the Hendrix version to the proverbial curb... why does it?.. well, it just simply does... end of lesson...

... and remember, gentle readers... you can trust Uncle Eric... yes, yes you can....

What a weekend...

.... we've just witnessed an absolutely incredible weekend in the blogworld.. it seems that everyone is busy doing something.. here's the a few of the highlights...

... Blackfive visited Walter Reed and met with wounded troops...

... Velociman and Dax get instalanched...

... Acidman promises to seek some help..

... Jimbo and Zonker have birthday celebrations...

... Princess Cat braves a DC Blogmeet...

... Donnie and Queenie tell some awesome tales...

... Rube reminisces about Jekyll Island...

... Boudicca cooks for the masses...

... me?... I ate left-over ribs, watched Sin City, and carved a jack-o-lantern.... what?.. hey, my life would KILL most people....

Ribs...

... being ever the adventurer, I drove into town yesterday for the Pumpkin Festival... spent an hour or so casually strolling around the court house square and watching goings-on... grown men giggling like school girls when their pumpkin won the "scariest face" ribbon... millions of kids running rampant with caramel apples and cotton candy... doddling crumblies beaming with pride while showing off their mint-condition Ford Model-T.... it was a fine day to be loafing.. bright blue sky and sun shining.. just barely still warm enough for short sleeves...

... and I picked up three pounds of ribs on the way home... the good kind.. country-cut and boneless... grilled them up with a hot Caribbean jerk & 57 marinade.. perked up some baked beans as well... and choked them down while watching the Georgia/Vandy game... all in all, not a bad way to spend a Saturday...

... one thing did stand out though... I stood in my garage with the grill going and some Neil Young on the stereo, and just looked down my driveway... two young girls were tossing a softball back and forth in a lawn across the street... their laughter rising and falling far off as one would make a catch... my neighbor in the house across from them had just taken her dog outside for a walk and was sitting in a rocker watching it play... taking it all in, I sat my evening tumbler of whiskey down and took a step forward.. the sun was slanting down through the burgundy of the dogwood leaves and the wind was whispering along with the lyrics of "Powder Finger"... I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the Sun.... feeling the last fading warmth of the day... the meat was popping and sizzling quietly.. the Wife was on the deck out back finishing up a Randian work... and I could barely make out the faint sounds of LSU grappling with Florida coming from the vacant living room...

... I was right where I wanted to be.. the good and bad of the day had been cooked down along with the ribs... and what was left was a feeling of wonder...

... I gathered up the meat, turned off the CD player and walked back inside... using the bowl of food to peck on the glass of the back door, my Wife glanced up from her book and smiled.. I began preparing the plates and she entered the house just as I was dipping out the beans... she sat down at the table and removed her wooden bookmark from the pages of the book...

... "well, babe... old Atlas has stopped shrugging... and thank God... one Ayn Rand book is enough for anyone.. I'm finally finished.."..

... "hard going, was it?"..

... "yeah.. but damn, those ribs smell good".....

SELL!...

... whoa... hat tip to Cadillac Tight and Mr. Montana... I think I should sell this blog.. immediately...

... someone has way more money than sense...

Mojo...

... yesterday, the Wife and I drove into town for dinner at a local watering hole... see, today's the day and she has to suffer at work, so we used yesterday as a surrogate... we ate... wandered through various shops... and just generally meandered as whimsy caught us... and at one point, we ended up in a shop that sold CDs and DVDs..

.. this, of course, is where the whole scenario went tits-up... I, on one side of the aisle, was fingering a copy of "Elvis - Live from Hawaii" which I was coveting... she, on the other side, deftly whisked a CD off the shelf, asked for my car keys, and headed towards the checkout....

... when I arrived out at my silver sled, the needling that assaulted my eardrums caught me totally off-guard... I knew something was wrong even before I opened the door, though... seeing the Wife's head swaying side to side in musical bliss as I approached the car from behind had me worried... her musical tastes being slightly above that of.. well, I can't think of anything that has worse musical taste than her.. hey, don't get me wrong... she's definitely lovable, just don't let her near your stereo...

... and yet, I smiled as I slid into the seat... saying nothing... patting her leg as we drove home... all the while the screeching strains of Karen Carpenter were chaffing my nerves like the cheese-grater of the Dark Lord himself.. indeed, at one point as we hit the driveway, I was almost wishing for ABBA.. almost, but not quite....

.... verily, anyone who willing listens to The Carpenters probably likes lima beans, hangnails, and dripping lemon juice into paper cuts...

... anyway, today's the day... and much like Velociman's marvelous missive, I am off to cleanse... not my soul, though... although it probably needs it, it's just fine in the funk it's in... instead, the object of purification is my Audi's bose...

... I plan to drive up to a friend's house in the mountains alternately blasting AC/DC, Dean Martin, Tom Waits, and George Thorogood at painfully loud decibel levels...

... hey, it's my birthday.. I need a relaxing drive through the country... and my stereo needs it's mojo back...

Words...

... after playing around outside yesterday, I enjoyed a brief siesta on the couch before The Gang arrived... I woke from my nap with Robert Service in my head... it happens sometimes for no reason at all... well, at least for no reason that I can think of... it's always different poems, too... yesterday it was the steady plod of "The Law of the Yukon" that I found myself mumbling as I awoke...

Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,
Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.
Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;
Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;
Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;
But the others -- the misfits, the failures -- I trample under my feet.
Dissolute, damned and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters -- Go! take back your spawn again.

... and then it went on further in my head... bits and pieces...

Drowned them like rats in my rivers, starved them like curs on my plains,
Rotted the flesh that was left them, poisoned the blood in their veins;
Burst with my winter upon them, searing forever their sight,
Lashed them with fungus-white faces, whimpering wild in the night;

... it kept coming...

In the camp at the bend of the river, with its dozen saloons aglare,
Its gambling dens ariot, its gramophones all ablare;
Crimped with the crimes of a city, sin-ridden and bridled with lies,
In the hush of my mountained vastness, in the flush of my midnight skies.

.... here's the whole poem if you care to indulge... I posted it a while back.... it's a powerful piece of writing, to be sure, but I still can't understand why I woke up with fragments of it oozing from my noggin... the rhythm of the words almost like footsteps hitting pavement... addictive... still, it could have been worse... I suppose it could have been Seuss...

... see, rubberneckers?... there is always a bright side...

Eye-candy...

... folks, Chai-rista has it going on... how so, you say?... well, she pointed me to a site filled with beautiful, brunette, belly dancing librarians... check them out...

... great site.. great site... just what I needed to stir the oxygen tanks this afternoon... the only downer?... they all took their glasses off once they slipped into the belly dancin' getup...

Tired...

... Wednesday again... cool and damp with a breeze today... the 2X12X12s that have were stored under the pool table in the garage are now gone... that'll make the guys happy tonight... no more stumbling over them as they position themselves for a shot... of course, I should have finished the steps and railings of the deck last weekend, but I chose to visit the Buds in Helen instead... after all, we HAVE to have our priorities... and I try to never miss a chance to knock back a few with those fine peeps...

... I sit here now wearing the first fleece of the season and listening to some Van Morrison.. Van the Man... he's got that rare talent of being able to sing totally unintelligible lyrics and yet keep your fingers snapping... kinda like a lot of blogs I read... you never know what the hell they are talking about, but you just keep on going back for more...

.. anyway, I'm just back from driving my Mother to the airport this morning early... I dropped her off while it was still dark and crossed the Tennessee River heading south just as the glow of the pre-dawn was beginning.... the mountains were to my left, and as the Sun broke their crest I suddenly felt tired... not really sleepy, just plain tired....

... latent vampire tendencies, I suppose... getting sleepy at dawn.. or maybe the karmic residue of some other unknown nocturnal prowler...

.. but, hey... we've got to pet our inner monsters alongside the saints, right?... sure we do.. woe betide the man who lets one side get jealous and disturb the balance.. after all, that is the key... balance... keeping your thumb on the inner psychopath whilst pulling the inner clergyman up by the collar...

... probably something to do with being a Libra, but I'm not 100% on that....

.. so while y'all ponder, I'm off to soak up some October sunshine on the patio...

Werecow...

... having spent many, many hours listening to extremely bad music, I have developed a certain knowledge of the best music to steer clear of... my musical tastes range from peak to peak of high art and down through the valley of ear-bleeding badness.... hey, it is a failing of mine... sue me....

... imagine my chagrin when reading this small tale over at Drunken Wisdom... and although T1G does not come right out and say what kilt the farmer, I immediately knew who the culprit was... foul and insidious and lurking amongst many an uninformed rural farmer... the werecow...

.. indeed, a wily varmint if there ever was one... capable of many heinous and no doubt bloodthirsty acts.... so remember, children, as Halloween approaches, ghouls and goblins long-hidden begin to surface... it's just that time of year...

Never again....

.... well, it is finished...

... damn, I hurt all over.... 8am start and finishing just as dusk fell at 7:30pm.... the working life does not agree with me, I suppose... soft, and all that.... we broke for lunch at 3:45... truly, I am beat down..

... I never knew that screwing could be so painful...

... be that as it may, the site was dedicated, of course, with laphroaig (me)... and dickle (my Uncle).... toasts were made and sawdust swept... chests were thumped and phonecalls made... hey, it was an event...

... now?.. time for a shower, ibuprofen, and more Scotch.... all three, incidentally, make me feel much, much better...

... that said?... NEVER again.... never ever again...

Done...

... today's the day... after sporadic weekend workings, the two-month long deck building project will be finished... we put up half of the hand-rails yesterday.... the rest go up today... oh, and the steps as well.... we'll finally be done...

... to say I am excited is an gross understatement... but, and here's the twist, I'm almost sad to see it completed... for the past few months, it has provided me with daily grief, success, pain, teeth-gnashing, hair-pulling, wallet-fleecing, sore muscles, and pride...

... unlike writing, building something tangible really is... well... tangible...

... and so, dear Mr. Deck... it has been a pleasure, Sir... watching you grow and transform from materials to structure has been wonderful... and from now on, you and I get to kick back...

.. today is the day...

A mission....

.... I woke this morning feeling like a bad line from a Tom Waits song... "I'm disheveled. I'm disdainful. I'm distracted and it's painful."... yep, that was me until just a few hours ago... when a bright spark ignited a well of feel-good that I haven't felt in ages....

... honestly, people... I now have a mission....

... I MUST find that woman from the Post cereal commercial and ensure she's at the next blogmeet... I've simply got to meet her... no, seriously... don't laugh, I'm her biggest fan...

... sure, you know the one, right?... the middle-aged black woman with the hairnet who utters the immortal line : "It's like a mouthful of JOY!"...

... I want to play half-rubber with her... I want to sit quietly in the corner as she shoots tequila and tells tales of working at the Post cereal factory... I want to get her hammered and find out what's under that hairnet... gaze into those sparkling eyes brimming with mischief... and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh....

... the problem is, I don't know where to send the invitation... I wonder if a well-intentioned email to corporate headquarters would get handed down to the plant floor...

Rain...

... the dear Princess Cat wrote about rain a few days ago, and it is beautiful... go now and have a look.. a short, sharp shock type of post.. marvelous...

Blood...

... who can you trust these days?... no, really... think about it... we live in a world where, for the most part, if someone has a white coat, a name strip, badge, or a gun, we sit down and listen.. but watch out, people... that's a trained outlook... usually by our parents who, bless them, were trying to create in us fine members of society... little did they know how we'd all turn out... or that most of the authority figures we look to are just as perverse, fetid, and scoundrelish as WE are....

... yeah, recently I've been broke from sucking eggs... and when the realization hit, I was reminded of a bloodletting incident from long, long ago...

... I was 22 years old and finishing my tour in the Corps... a five year vet who had enjoyed a blast of a time wearing the uniform for Uncle Sam... trotting the Globe and wearing the Anchor, so to speak...

... anyway, I had been called forward to my exit physical.. a battery of exams, proddings, and orfice-lookings that ensured I was clean and healthy enough after my worldwide sojourn to actively get back home and pound Miss Emma Jane Hometown without fear of giving her an exotic STD or plague...

... I remember distinctly walking up to the clean, shiny desk at the base hospital and handing my paperwork to a regal looking female corpsman... late 30s and fine... and hoping that she would be gentle with me.... and I was heartened when she pointed to a room over my shoulder and instructed me to visit it and strip to the waist... but, alas, that singular mental image that played in my mind as I un-did buttons was the only fun I had that day... as I slipped off my tee-shirt and imagined her taking my pulse, my fantasy was shattered by a geeky wisp of a man who couldn't have been more than 14...

... crestfallen?... sure... but I knew, after all, that I was there to get stuff done... and after all, this man wore the whites of a corpsman.. a trusted soul.. every Marine's best friend and most precious being... I knew, deep, deep down, that I was in the hands of My Keeper...

... he read my chart and took my blood pressure as we made small talk... he asked me about where all I had been.. I asked him about the Latin Goddess he had to work with everyday... sickroom banter, I suppose.... the normal things you talk about when someone is preparing to inspect you as never before... hell, I was almost relaxed when he broke out the needle for collecting blood....

... now, I'm no fan of needles... but I ain't scared of them either... all servicemen were forced to give blood at every drive and I had done it a million times over the past years.. I suppose the old adage "the life you save might just be your own" was more true in the case of on-base blood drives... still, I flinched just a little when the corpsman slid the needle into my arm... unlike the previous million pricks, this one hurt.. bad.. he wiggled it... moved it side to side once it was in the vein....

... I said nothing, though... I just watched on as he threaded the vial onto the needle and the blood began to fill it... he was, after all, a professional... just doing his job...

.. once the first vial was filled, he twisted it off.. and not in a gentle way... I was beginning to get pissed... "just one more vial, Corporal", he said.... fuck me... I can put up with ANYTHING for five minutes, I thought.... and he roughly put on the second vial....

... the blood was flowing well... he was holding the filling vial with one hand and writing with the other... when suddenly, and unearthly pop was heard.... FFFWWOOAAAAAPPP!... the seal on the vial had failed and a fine mist of my precious blood exploded from the vial... the whole room was covered... him... me... the fucking ceiling....

... to say I was livid would be an understatement.... I was in pain, enraged, and drenched in my own blood...

... "I am SO sorry!", he blubbed as he wiped my red sheen off of his eyeglasses... "What the FUCK are you DOING, you ASSHOLE?" was my honest inquiry...

... "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... this has never happened before... I didn't mean to hurt you... you are only my second patient, and..."...

... breaking him off, I screamed.. "What did you say?... WHAT?... you are a corpsman, for chrissakes!.."...

.... he shifted his eyes from mine to the floor... "actually, I'm from admin.. they gave me a class yesterday on how to take blood and I've only been here a day..."....

... just perfect, eh?... a staff shortage had resulted in me putting the ultimate faith in a medical uniform stuffed with an office pogue... just because he wore the uniform, I trusted him implicitly....

... I don't want to sound cynical, but that experience changed me... see, uniforms are like road signs.. if one says "Stop", you stop... they are to be respected... but don't put all your faith in them either... if one says "bare your vein, brother".. ask for references before sheeping right up to the table and whipping your shirt off..

... blind faith is just that - blind... trust and respect are jewels to be earned...

...playing with dialogue...

... "What happened to us?"
... "I guess we're just moving"...
...... "yeah.."
.. "but is it good, this moving?.. do you like it?.. I mean, really?"....
... "for the most part, yeah..."...
... "feels strange, doesn't it?.. how it all works? how we keep changing?"...
... "and lonely... it feels lonely too.. but only sometimes." ....
... "...I love you."....
.... "I love you too"....
... "what happened to us last night?"...
... "just nerves, I guess..." ....
... "yeah, I suppose so... you want breakfast?"...
...."bacon would be good... I think I'd like bacon... "...
... "and eggs?"...
... "... uh-huh... that sounds nice... "...
... "..you want to help, or should I bring it to you in bed?"...
.... "... no, I'll help... I like to watch you move... "....
.... "..you're a piece of work, you know that?"...
.... "yeah, yeah... and before you ask..." ....
... "... huh?... ask what?"...
... "yes, it's a good kind of moving."...

Blogson...

... a while back, I had a corps of fine bloggers step up to guest post... they did a fine, fine job... one of them didn't even have a blog... well, that's changed now... and he's off to a running start...

... drop by and welcome RSM to the family...

Right and Wrong...

... listen up, rubberneckers.... in everything, there is a right way and a wrong way... plan to immortalize mind-jobbing an incredibly drunk bride-to-be who's swimming with playful sharks?... do it like this... venture to complain about being ill or feeling poorly?... follow The Rube's example... THIS is how you say you're sick... take note...

"Normally, I've got an iron constitution, seeing as over the years I've built up an environment of toxins in my body that's inhospitable to your average germ varmint. To all life, really. The soupy buildup of nicotine, alcohol, and stress toxins in my blood would put the post-Katrina sludge in New Orleans to shame, just wait until the Rube-Tsunami hits, then let's see Curious George wriggle out of the media storm that follows. "Rube: What Went Wrong?"

... see, if you are going to bitch, the very least you should do is make it interesting....

Bonding...

... good morning, campers... today's jawdropping headline story comes courtesy of Contactmusic.com... contact music, indeed... what is it that they say about any publicity being good publicity?...

... "Status Quo guitarist RICK PARFITT misses the days when the entire band use to masturbate together on one big bed - as it formed a special camaraderie between the rockers."....

.... whoa... yeah, re-read that... amazing, no?... I suppose now would not be a good time to mention that Status Quo is attempting a... well, a comeback... heh heh...

A Visit to the Dr...

... right now, the lovely Wife is on the deck with a pint of wine in her hand telling The Tale of The Toomah to her Ma and Pa in Scotland... and damn, the saga is only half-writ....

... we spent most of the afternoon at a day-surgery waiting to get that fucker weaseled out... and after some local anesthetic and an hour of fiddling, the Doc says it's in too deep.. slippery, slidey, and wrapped around something important... a real pissant according to the sawbones...

... mercy sakes... still, today be Wednesday, and y'all know what that means.... yes, yes... The Wife shall regale a garage full of inebriants with tales of swash and buckle, blood and gore... it should be most interesting...

... oh, and on deck two weeks from now, The Rhyme of the Ancient Spindly Thing... we're all about the entertainment around here... and damn if we don't find it just about everywhere....

Scars...

... today's quote of the day comes from Trouble in Shangri La... and it's a goodun...

My friend pushed me farther than anyone ever has, though. He asked me, "What do you HOPE they see?" I had to think about that one for a long time, my shame and fear overwhelmed me in that moment. I finally said, "I hope they see someone who is a survivor. Who was loyal. Who did her best. Who hung in there and didn't want to be divorced. Who loves her kids. Who is afraid and wounded and has been through alot, but is still hopeful." And I meant it.

.. reminds me of a Cowboy Junkies lyric... "where you've been is good and gone, all you keep is the getting there"...

Language...

... having just visited his "neck of the woods", I can attest - if even in only a very, very small way - that the accents in NJ are indeed colorful... and Jimbo gives us a brilliant look at them with this post....

... in Jersey, I stuck out like a sore thumb... all "yes, ma'am", cowboy boots, and "excuse me".... but in Manhattan?... I was gellin' like Magellan...

... diversity chaos is the rule there... homeless bums from North Carolina in Central Park... Tennessee Hillbillies wandering museums.. herds of Japanese atop the Empire State... traffic policemen with names like Dobrinksikova and accents you could cut with a knife... Italian shopkeepers sweeping sidewalks in front of their shops... and Mahmood from The Stan barreling through the streets behind the wheel of his taxi...

... I talked to them all, people, and my cornbread voice never phased them...

.. but in New Jersey?... heh... from the colloquial, well... fuggedaboutit...

... when we boarded the NJ Transit at Penn Station and headed to Newark, I swear I saw a sign that said... "Beyond this point, there be Dragons Goombahs"...

5PM in Tennessee...

... looking through the trees, the robin's egg blue of the afternoon sky silhouettes each branch of the trees perfectly... framing bark and moss... the wind stirs each leaf with a different rhythm - only off by half of a beat, and catches the sunlight - and the eye of the watcher - with the same lure... almost like the beating of wings, the leaves... the sparkle of autumn, I guess.... still too warm for October, but that is alright....

.. amazing, really... how blessed we all are to be breathing, free human beings alive on the face of the planet... even if it were raining....

... damn... if today were a book, I'd fold down a corner of this page so that I could readily find it during mid-winter.... and re-read this day spent under the dogwoods and poplars... with wind chime and tiki lamp... and banana trees and beer...

... it's not perfect, that is true... but nothing is.... but, hey.. it is wondrous....

Mirrors....

.... I was up early this morning, and in a rush to get out back to do some writing, I skipped my morning shave... normally the shower is where I do it... but not today.... well, I just came inside to fetch a drink, and I decided I should go ahead and shave.. what a difference...

... it must have been years since I shaved without being in the shower... watching the movements of my hands in the mirror was incredibly strange... after ages of shaving by touch with my eyes closed, it was pretty interesting to watch the process again...

... I suppose that tomorrow I'll perform the task in the shower...

.. strange, though... how handling a mundane task with a slightly different twist can start you thinking...

... anyway, I'm headed back out to finish a story and drink a Becks on the patio..

Hungry...

.. I'm really hungry.. I think I'll go get something to eat...

Woe...

... after refreshing naps yesterday afternoon, I was informed that the remote control was the property of the missus for the next 24hrs.... dire news, I know.... and after eight hours of Lifetime Movie Network, I am ready to do damage... that is some sick shit, those programs.... the trials I put myself through to swing a day or so of partying with my buds....

... still, I suppose I could proffer up a movie review of Closer since I have nothing else to write about, but dammit, I'm just not going to... just trust me on this.... it must be art or something... you know, like one of those magnificent pieces of sculpture that looks exactly like a cube... or a freshly wrangled turd... ultra-modern and ugly and yet howled on by critics... leaving you, the relatively normal person, scratching your noggin in undereducated disbelief... in other words, people, I didn't get that movie at all...

... add to that the fact that Natalie Portman gets her tits out and drapes her coochie over Clive Owen's nose and the damned camera still manages to miss it all, and you've got the picture...

... that's just wrong on so many levels... the movie, in the end, is exactly like this post... uninteresting, depressing, unfulfilling, and full of tears, angst, and the overwhelming foulness of humanity.... I know now why they call it the Lifetime network... it feels like it takes a LIFETIME to sit through one of those shows...

.. PBD is to blame, I guess.. Post Blogmeet Depression... well, either that or the effect of watching Jude Law weep for two hours... I'll leave it up to each of you to prognosticate accordingly...

Back...

... bruised, sore, and smiling.... exactly the way you are supposed to be after a good Jawja Blogmeet... met some new old friends, too... my blogdaughter Shoe, Elisson, and Leslie.. three fine human beings.... it was a pleasure toss back a few jugs with them....

.. so to Kelley, Velociman, Dax, Key, Denny, Thunderman, Moogie, Acidman, Sam, Donnie, Rick, Georgia, and the rest.... thanks for a wonderful weekend... y'all make quite a crew.... it's incredible that the folks at the Kristy keeps letting us come back....

... by the way, does anyone know how/why that drunk German Girl ended up in Sam's partyroom?... you guys remember... the German Girl who couldn't speak German and claimed to have two glass eyes?... anyone make sure she made it safely back to her fiancé's room?... hey, I'm just asking... I left early (3AM), and she was fine when I parted...

... also, whomever poisoned my Wife needs to fess up... she puked her little guts up all the way home... and while quite amusing for the fine photo-ops it afforded - there ARE wonderful mountain backdrops on Highway 52, you know - it became monstrously tedious by the time we hit Chatsworth.. so whoever you are, you owe me... bigtime...

... as for me, I'm in fine fettle... never drink on an empty stomach, people... it's not just a motto... live it...

.... and if you ever find yourself needing grub in Helen, GA... I recommend the Troll under the Bridge... I can speak highly of their Best of the Wurst...