Closet Extremist

Donning the Beret

I'm sure you've all been waiting with "bated breath" for the return of "The Arteest", so I figured that I would go ahead and alleve some of your anxiety with a few "Purty Pitchers". This is a continuation of my published work series, taht will include one house, and two churches.

I've taken the liberty of resizing these images down to a more reasonable level for the fine folks who are "bandwidth challenged". The large versions will be best viewed at 1024 by 768 resolution.

Here we go:

If you click on that image, you'll get the "Super Sized" version. PLease disregard the window on the extreme right. Somehow I forgot to shade in that area with anything at all, so it kinda looks goofy. Ah well, nobody's perfect right?

I'll put the other two in the extended entry, for your viewing pleasure.

Here's the first church:

Not the prettiest of buildings to look at, as it is all red brick, but I think I brought out a little of its character. The te4chnique that I used to shade this one is called stippling. It's a good thing that I already had shaky hands when I drew this, as making all of those dots would have been a real pain if I didn't.

And for the grande finally:

For some reason, I just like this one. Maybe it's because the building itself is absolutely gorgeous. It's outer walls are all made of fieldstone in various shapes and colors. Just a pretty church. I also think the jaunty little "Jebus is smiling down on it" lines I put in there add a little something as well.

I think it's interesting that I was chosen to do these churches, as at the time I was a full on Agnostic, and I wasn't afraid of telling all my classmates about it. Now that I'm older and wiser, I have decided that I'm no longer on the fence, and call myself an Athiest. I dunno if they were trying to push me towards the Lowered, or if they just thought my art was good enough to do them justice.

I'm kicking around the idea of making this a regular feature on this blog. Let me know if you'd like to see more works by the illustrious Johnny - Oh.

Came in sixth

I told you all that I woould give an accounting of my pool shooting exploits yesterday evening, so here's the report. I didn't suck, nor did I shine. The first guy I played didn't have a clue. I couldn't whiff enough shots to make it even close. His clock is now thoroughly and completly "minty fresh" and buffed to a high gloss. I can say that it really pisses me off when this nitwit is shooting with an Eight Hundred Dollar cue, and I've got an Eight Dollar stick.

The next pairing I had was with one of the "Big Sticks" out there. Not pretty. Three up and three down. Suddenly my timepiece is free of any cobwebs. This guy is so good it's scary. I believe that I only got three looks at the table in three games, and it could've been even less (I'd been drinking, and wasn't really paying all that much attention.)

Final match (now in the Loser's bracket) pits me up against another solid player. He beat me 3 to 2 in a good match. By this time of the evening, I was surprised that I was standing upright, as I had consumed copious amounts of "Aiming Fluid".

I think I did okay, out of the field of 16 folks. It was fun, and that's all that counts in my book. Maybe if I get a little better pool cue I can do a bit better.

Niether Topical nor Timely

Friends. I have just been competely wiped out for the last couple of days. I can neither confirm nor deny that it is caused by any "celebrating" that might have gone on, and I refuse to speculate on the grounds that "speculate" means a Wild Ass Guess. So there.

So now it's Quiz Time in Tennessee. Let's see what's in the offing shall we?

Sheesh, I must be Harvey's spoor, as his had a blank last ingredient as well.

Hmmn. Maybe it's because I drink so damn much. Might burn down the whole bar or something. Maybe I can get out of paying the check that way.

Which Extremity of the World Are You?
From the towering colossi at Rum and Monkey.

That's why I drink so much! When I get cranky, just assume that I've got sand in some place that's uncomfortable.

That's all for now. I think I'm gonna go try my hand at an eight-ball tournament. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Good Lowered!

Friends, I can honestly say that I've never before wanted to leave these United States, but I've just seen something that is changing my mind. Goldie's Sister Christie is now doing great, (which is just outstanding news), but more importantly, the instance of her recovery has spawned a post with pictures.

The second pic in the post shows G-girl and her four sisters. Dayem! My "dingy" is all blown up and I'm ready to "row". I think a trip over to Adelaide would do me good. Especially if I could "meet" a few of these ladies.

If there's a ring in it, I just might stay. (By the way girls, I'm cheap but not easy.)

Who'm I kidding? I'm easy as well. ;^D

A Doublety of Trinities

Well friends and neighbors. A few intrepid souls out there indulged me with a few Birthday well wishes, and I thought they needed a little recognition. So here they come in order of appearance:

I rolled out of bed yesterday, about half hung over, staggered throught he morning ablutions, and headed on to work. I arrive at the "Mega-Lo-Mart", and proceed to the back room to clock in. Badge swiped succesfully. Look at the little LED screen, and it proudly stated "Happy Birthday" in it's one of a kind green and black way. An auspicious beginning.

The next up is: My Mom! You can always count on "Momma" to come through on your Birthday. I'm sure that it has something to do with all the morningsicknessbloatingmoodswingscryingjagsbackachesgainingthirtypoundstwelvehoursoflaborohhe'sbeautiful thing, but I could be wrong.

An assistant Manager at work. Nice guy and he meant well, but I had a sort of "eh" reaction.

My Dad, when I showed up out at the Marina after work. Don't give him any shit though, he works for a living too, and he's the guy who taught me that you don't compromise your job for anything. Even if it's something you care about. You can care on your own time. When you're at work, you work, and when you're not, you can do whatever you want. He also taught me that you can do your job, and enjoy yourself at the same time. Having fun while being productive? Who'da thunk it?

My sister 'Chelle, whose tale I told of in yesterday's post. Nothing else needs to be said there, I think. Wait there's something else to tell here. My Brother in Law told me today that since "Chelle was hogging the phone, he didn't get to say the "two magic words" when she called me. I think that counts.

Next up are the great folks out there in the 'sphere. It's not thier fault that they came in late, because I'm the one who didn't mention it until 11:58 PM on the 25th. Doesn't matter though, it's the goddamn thought that counts.

Blog Big 'Sis Teresa found a few minutes in her busy weekend to say a nice word. Remind me when your Birthday is dear, and I'll knit you a sweater for July.

Then there was Susie. Hey darlin'. I just want you to know that you can be my boss anytime.

Along came the Intrepid Blog-Pappy. Even though he messed up the proper birthdate, (it's the 25th by the way) I still think it was great of him to double-link me on my "special day". He seems impressed with my art, so I'll show off some of his. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy, in a sort of homicidal kind of way.

Finally (so far) there's my pool-buddy Eric. (Whose lovely wife share's the same DOB as your's truly...as he's come to regret.) Gave me a wonderful present, although he didn't know it at the time. The tale was bittersweet, as it made me feel like a pussy for not "reupping", but also made me so proud of the folks who I grew up around. (Sorry that the people supporting my old County were blocking the people from your's.)

This all goes to show what a great bunch of people I have in my life (online and off) that help me get through each day. I'd hug all your necks if I could, but there's too many fellers (who would get a firm handshake), and the Lay-dies (ie: those not directly related to me) can get the "special hug" if they so desire. ;^)

PS. Harvey. The title to this post should be taken as a clue to my current age.

deedle-deedle dee dee

So. If you hadn't guessed by the post title, today is/was my birthday. For the most part it sucked. I had to work from 7 until 4 today, then when I got off work (just as my roommate was coming in), I had to get the RMD (Roommate's daughter) and take care of her for an hour, then go pick up the RMW (Roommate's wife) from work, and then take them both shopping (back at the place that I just left an hour and fifteen minutes ago), take them home and then drive a half an hour to deliver a deck storage box to my parents. Luckily, this is the point when things got better.

After I arrived at the Marina, I unloaded the deck box into one of the carts used to carry stuff down the docks and headed toward the 'rents boat. About halfway there, I ran across one of the "neighbors". She is the matriarc of theie clan, and a sweet lady to boot. I made some small talk (asked her how she liked living on thier new houseboat, that they've only been living on for about a month or so. Etc.) After a minute or two, she asks "What've you got there? " in the sweet little "every nice little Grandma stereotype you've ever met" voice she has. After extolling the virtues of this particular acoutrement, and it's lack of accessibility locally to her, I get the privelage of bringing her one tomorrow. It's my pleasure, due to the fact that (as I believe I've said) she's a sweet lady.

After that, I got to spend a few hours with my Mom and Dad. Relaxing. Talking about stuff in our lives. Bitching about things that are going on. Futzing with my Dad's work laptop. Eating steak. Good times. I'm here to tell you that hanging out with people you love on the front deck of a houseboat is one the best way's to relax on the face of the planet. After yawns were passed around the table a couple of times, I bid them "vaya con dios", and headed for the crib.

After arriving at the homestead, I began perusing the 'roll, and enjoying the posts thierin, and suddenly the phone rang. It's my big sister 'Chelle calling to wish me a happy B-day. We had a good conversation that ranged all over the place. In it's meanderings, we came across the story of how my 'Sis had gotten off a good "one-liner" on one of her coworkers. She was describing the scenario, and the red face that he got after he got zinged by a "blonde chick" at work. I stated to her "You should have asked him if he's ever met your brother". She rolled with my sarcasm, and I followed up with "Well I've been known to get off a good one a time or two. Hell you've been the recipient of more than your share." She agreed with the last assertion. Shortly afterword came the highlight of my day.

I made her cry.

"Chelle was having a half a conversation with her husband while I was still on the phone with her. It went something like this: "What's that? You've got a nut?" (to me, and him simultaneously) "He's got a nut in the closet." My reply was: "What? He nutted in the closet." Laughter ensues. "What the hell? Do you have a blue dress in there?"

I swear to you people. She laughed hard for five minutes at least. She told me after she'd calmed down, that she was going to rat me out and "Tell Momma I made her cry". I don't care. I got to the story before she did. :^P

That was the best gift I could've asked for on my Birthday. Making someone you love cry with laughter is the best way to let you know that you're a good person, and it makes you look forward to the next birhtday.

I'm autistic artistic.

From the response to my last post I have gathered that there are a few art connoisseurs in my midst. As it happens I still have a copy of my published work, that I am prepared to share with you. I've modified the pictures somewhat to protect the inoocent (and me), by redacting out any names. I did leave a portion of my signature just to prove that it was me that "drawed" them. I have also included a scan of the cover of the book (also to prove that I ain't lyin').

Just to be a freakin' tease, I'm not going to include all of them in one sitting. Two reasons for this are: blog fodder (of course), and also to see if everybody digs 'em. A word of warning here, these aren't as colorful as my last offing, but I promise to do some more of those for ya.

See the extended entry for the pics. (they're pretty big, so if you're on a dialup, beware.)

***Update*** I made the images popups so it'll be a little easier on the bandwidth.

The book cover.

(Click the pics for Extremely large size)

The Davy Jones House.

I'm rather proud of this one, as it incorporates several different pen and ink styles. The entire structure is made of brick, but it would have been almost impossible to show that in this drawing. (aka. It would have taken me a week to draw it, and it would have crossed your eyes when you saw it.)

Filler art.

This page shows a sample of the types of history that was included on each structure. This one is for a house that I didn't draw, but I did do the image below it. As a matter of fact, my Mom still has the original of this image.

I've got three more "Feature Pages" that I'll save for later.

Just to make sure that you all don't think I'm Fartsy as well as Artsy, this entire publication was done as a fund raiser for my Advanced Art class in High School. The book was drawn by the Art 2 and the Advanced classes during the years of 1988-89. We drew the buildings, and researched/wrote the histories. We also wound up down at the printer's collating the damn things. It was great fun to do, and the money we raised allowed the Art teacher to build a darkroom for photography projects. Unfortunately I never got to use it due to the fact that I graduated before it was completed. Nonetheless, I'm still very proud of this book, and my contributions to it.

Blindness

Folks, for nearly as long as I can remember I have been legally blind. I have worn glasses since the first or second grade in school (when they figured out that I couldn't see the damn chalkboard).

Now you've all heard of the system of judging eyesight right? Twenty / twenty vision and all that. What the 20/20 means is that what you see at 20 yards is what the average person sees at 20 yards. My vision prescription (the last one I remember anyway) was twenty / four hundred and fifty. The effect this has on me is profound. Without my contacts, I can hold my hand two inches from the end of my nose and it is clearly defined. If I move it out to four and a half inches away, it is merely a color blob, along with anything wlse beyond that point.

Luckily for me, I am not color blind. If it weren't for the fact that I can discern one coloer from the next, then I wouldn't be able to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without winding up pissing in the closet. Being blind sucks.

Back when I was in high school, my art teacher had implored me to paint what I see with my glasses off/contacts out. At the time I told her that I couldn't, and I still can't. You see, there is a certain graineyness to my vision without correction. The entire world is made of of dots of color that kind of run together. So tonight, I was horsing around with MS paint, and realized that I could approximate the effect by using the largest "spraycan" tool in MS paint. So without further ado, I bring you a sunset from a blind guy's POV.

It's all about the perspective.

Difficulty Decompressing

Do you ever just get into one of those moods? Normally I am a pretty tolerant type of fellow. I go out of my way to understand the position that people around me are coming from, and I try to react accordingly, but lately I have noticed that my fuse is getting shorter and shorter. I have been blessed by having the type of face that people can read, so normally all I have to do is give them a little stare, and people understand that I'm in no mood. As of late, I've been actually opening my mouth and letting people have it.

Examples of this are: At work, I needed a place to put some new plants that just arrived, so after I looked around, I found a place for them in a spot that currently housed a lot of flowers that were rapidly dying. Female coworker has a problem with the male coworker that has the ability to "destroy" items in the inventory system. When I posit my solution to just write down the UPC numbers and the quantity of plants thrown out (so that the guy with the power could get them out of inventory at his convenience) was met with a comment from the female coworker to the effect of "He can just scan them. there's no need to go through all that." It was stated rather pissily. My response was "Quit making mountains out of fucking molehills." She has since transferred out of the department.

Another instance: One of our female cashiers is "talking at" me while I am in the process of unpacking freight and getting it on the shelves. She's yammering on about how much of an asshole this other employee is, blah blah blah. I just looked over at her and said "I don't have time for this "romper room" bullshit."

These are two good examples of me saying something that needed to be said, but two years ago, I would have kept them in my head. Now they're just tumbling out unabated.

I've bitten the heads off of family members, other coworkers (the ones I feel guilty about are the people who aren't exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer. They can't help the fact that they are a little less intelligent.), and even my roommate/best friend.

Under normal circumstances, I would be able to go out to the bar, shoot some pool, and just hang out in general, and my ire at the world would melt away for about a week. Nowadays, it doesn't even last twenty-four hours until I'm at somone's throat again. I don't know what it is that's making me suddenly unable to decompress properly. Maybe it's because I haven't killed a hobo in over a week. ;)

Don't fix it, if it ain't broke.

I had today off, but it's mostly been one of those "blah" kind of day's. Laundry to do and all that. I've just been having trouble getting motivated to blog. Then, John Donovan came to my rescue with this post. There's stuff at the beginning that (albeit interesting) didn't really trip my trigger, but I kept on reading until I saw the picture. (Iowa class battleship with her guns blazing)

Just the idea of seeing one of these great beauties back on the ocean in an officail capacity, gives me goosebumps. There is just nothing in the world like a battleship to announce your Naval Presence with authority. That and (I believe) the USNFSA and our valiant Marines, seem to have a good argument for recommissioning them.

I just did the math, and with the "small" projectile, they could shoot 108 miles inshore! Dude, that's range! After doing some quick research, I found out that they can fire 2 rounds per minute per gun. 9 times 2 is 18, times 60 is 1080 rounds per hour. If they're firing the "big" rounds (range limited to approx. 15 miles) then they can deliver 2 million 916 thousand pounds of ordninance in just one hour. It's very unlikely that there will ever be an aircraft carrier that has the potential to match those numbers.

Put'em back in service I say!

For Harvey!

Here's to the blog-pappy!

View image

CPBLC Arsenal

Since I took an extra picture yesterday, I thought that I would share with you the photo of my Arsenal.

Impressive huh? Yes indeed friends what you see there is a recurve bow. I don't have any brand names or pull strength numbers to throw at you, as this used to belong to my Dad (who handed it down to me), but I can certainly tell you that shooting it is a completely different experience from shooting a compund bow. Yes I can still shoot it. I can even hit what I'm aiming at most of the time.

What the hell is that green round thing, you ask? Well that is a spool for "fishing line". The spool attaches to the bow, and the other end is connected to a barbed fishing arrow. So far I haven't had the opportunity to give it a try, but (after I check into the legality) I'd like to go up to Citico Creek and see if I can't "catch" me a trout with it.

What's That? Why it's a "two-piece custom-made pool cue" of course. Why is it in the Arsenal? Well, if you've never been "thumped" by the bidness end of a pool cue before, stop on by and I'll show you what that feels like. After you get out of the hospital, you'll understand why it's there.

Where can I get a spiffy bow rack like the one I see there? Well you can't. That rack was crafted by my very own hand. Custom made to hold the bow you see. I can't remember if it was 1987 or '88 when I made that in wood shop, but I don't really care. I still think that it's unnasailingy cool.

Scarface

Since I have now taken on the mantle of the * CMFICOCPBLC then I decided I should look the part. In order to appear to be a fierce internet G-d you have to be sufficiently intimidating, and so I decided that a nice scar across my cheek might do the trick. The pix and a further explanation will be in the extended entry.

It starts with this:

As you can see, I did absolutely no primping and/or prepping for this image. I haven't shaved since yesterday morning, and my hair has been under a hat all day, and it shows.

This next one shows my intimidating scar quite well:

And finally from the RMD's (Roommate's Daughter's) POV. (She's cute, so I couldn't help but smile at her.):

I know girls. Isn't he just dreamy? Ahem.

Okay, now I guess you'd like the story of the scar. Three day's ago I rearranged a huge display of grills and so forth. After I got them looking pretty, I had to put prices on all of them. Once I printed the price signs up, I had to attach them to the merchandise, so I grabbed a big roll of clear shipping tape. Of course, I had no dispenser for the tape, so as I was paying it out I had to find a way to break it into smaller increments. (Of course anyone who has ever worked with shipping tape knows this next part) I used the "bite the shit out of it until you get enough of a break to separate a section" method, and a little bit of the tape rubbed across my cheek each time. Multiply 45 times, and you see the results.

Scarface indeed.

* Chief MotherFucker In Charge Of the Citizen's for the Proper Beating of Liberal Cocksuckers

CPBLC (Mark 2)

I was thinking about my campaign yesterday, and I suddenly realized that (in regards to the Citizen's for the Proper Burial of Lawn Clippings) that I am an "Army of One". They say that one person can make a difference, but I ain't no Mahatma Gandhi, so I thought that I should revamp the organization.

What to turn it into? There's so many causes out there that need addressing. There's Kosher hot dogs now, and I think that they are an affront to processed pork by product. There's 88 degree temperatures, and it isn't "officially" summer yet. There's bourbon and beer to be drunk. Decisions, decisions.

I know. I'll just jump on a bandwagon that I know works well in the old blogosphere. All the really popular guys are doind it, so why shouldn't I? (because you can't do it as well as they can, you nitwit) Shut Up. So without further ado, I bring you CPBLC (mark 2):

Citizen's for the Proper Beating of Liberal Cocksuckers

I like it so much that I'll give it a 24. (It's got a good beat and I can dance to it.)

As my first thing to do, I'll just start out by mentioning that I saw a portion of "Good Morning Commies America" today, and they were talking politics. Specifically the "three most important political items of the day". The list included: Fahrenheit 9/11, John Kerry's running mate, and the fact that the 911 commission found no links between Iraq and Al-Qeuda. No Liberal bias here, please move along.

I wanted to jump in the car, drive to New York, and commence beating them until you get tired. The CPBLC is on the case now, fuckers. Don't step out of line, or I'm comin' for ya.

Peace. Out.

...to the Oldies

I know that I've talked about this subject one time before, but I don't think that I got through just how serious this problem is. Today at work, it wasn't too bad. Despite the fact that I was stuck out on the greenhouse patio assembling grills all day, I had a fan on me, so it didn't get too crazy. (A note about the greenhouse patio: it gets a minimum of 15 degrees warmer in there when the sun shines on it. It hit 105 degrees fahrenheit in there, not counting the humidity.)

When I got home this afternoon, I took one look at the lawn, decided that it was it or me, and broke out the mower. This was at quarter after four this evenng, AKA the hottest friggin' part of the day. Have I mentioned that all we have is a "person powered" lawn cutting device? If not, well I have now. Let's recap: just got off of work, lawn needs mowing, push mower, heat indexes in the high 90's. What's this a recipe for? Sweat.

I shucked my shirt before I even got started, so I just had on my work shorts, boots, and a ball cap. After I ran through one full tank of gas in the mower (front yard, both side yards, and about a third of the back.) I decided that it was time to take a break and get some fluids into me. (Side note: as I'm sitting here writing this (9:34 PM), I just got a leg cramp. You know you're dehydrated when you get a cramp from blogging.) The roommate's daughter immediately commented, "Geez, you're sweaty!"

Since I had my shirt off, there was nothing there to catch and hold all the moisture coming outta my bod, so it just rolled down to my shorts. There was a 6 inch band of wetness starting at the waist, and going downward. Every piece of exposed skin had a sheen of liquid on it. Socks and hat both soaked. But here's the kicker. Have you ever noticed that when you stay in the lake/pool, or shower/bath too long, that you will start turning into a prune? Of course you have. Everyone has noticed the tips of your fingers getting all crinkly from the moisture. Well this was me today.

Friends. If you ever needed a litmus test to figure out if you are a bona-fide sweat hog, this is it. If you get "raisin fingers" from mowing the damn lawn, you're one.

I've figured it out!

Harvey recently posted about all his blog-spawn, so I decided to set up special links to the "Family" over on the sidebar. As I was going throught the template and adding in the ones who weren't already linked, it hit me. "It come to me like a flash, like a vision. Burnt across the clouds."

Folks I've finally discovered Harv's plan. Instead of coming up with some clever plan to usurp the Evil Glenn's reign, he's just going to continue to crank out "kids" until he takes over the blogosphere. I regret that I didn't discover his plan before I unwittingly became a part of it. The only way for me to atone for this would be to commit "blogicide", and that's just not something I'm willing to do.

This leaves me in a quandary. I must atone for my indiscretions, but I'm not sure how. Maybe someone out there has an idea?

There may yet be hope.

Yesterday was spent decompressing with family. I went down to the "'rents" houseboat, and spent the day going for a ride with them. Two hours downstream to a place called Prater Flats. The water there was the clearest I've ever seen on Fort Loudon Lake. the temperature was absolutely perfect as well.

I went through a "five pack" throughout the day, and didn't even touch the first one until after 1 pm. I was doing good. (BTW the sixth beer went to my brother-in-law. He even asked me for it, but hell he's offered me a few over the time that I've known him, so I figured that he would know that if he wanted one, just grab it. I kind of feel like an ass for not offering him one anyways.) Then we looked up and saw the storm was heading our way. Alas, time to go.

We were towing my BIL's "Fish 'n' Ski" behind the houseboat so that if my sister's chow-dog had to go potty, they could run him over to shore, and he could take care of bidness. This became problematic when Dad decided it would be best to try and stop and wait things out for awhile.

At this time, it's raining like "a cow pissing on a flat rock", but there's nothing to do but go out and make sure that the "little boat" doesn't bash into the "big boat" when dad is trying to get her under anchor. Wind is whipping, lightning is flashing, and the thunder rolls. Johnny is out in the small boat (still tethered to the big one) trying to bring it alongside to tie her fast. Nothin' doin'. Every time I get lined up on the side of the houseboat, Dad has to move it in reaction to the vagaries of wind, water, tide, shore, and the anchor. At last, I throw up my hands and bestow upon them to "untie me" which they promptly did.

I figured that I would just stay close to the "home on water" until dad got the anchors to catch and then I'd tie off. The problem was, that the anchors never got dug in. After a few minutes of the other boat jockeying around, and me moving to avoid it, I decided that shelter for me was in order, so I headed upwind. In this case, "upwind" was straight across the channel, and I was lucky to find an abandoned dock to tie off to. It even had a tree for me to stand under, so I coould pretend that I wasn't getting even more drenched than I already was. Sweet.

No sooner than I got settled beneath my tree, I see Dad's "floating trailer" heading further upstream. "Unloosen" the ski-boat, and head on out again. Several narrow-misses later, (Some dipshit in a small cabin cruiser decided that it was a good idea to cut straight in front of the houseboat. This is decidedly "bad form", as the bigger boat always has the right of way.) Words and gestures were exchanged between floating apperati. I'm certain it would have come to blows if there hadn't been the little matter of a lake between the vessels.

I had them toss me my extra (aka. dry) pack of smokes, and it was decided that I would go ahead into the Marina, and catch them when they came in with the big boat. Off I go. Have I mentioned that raindrops that hit your unprotected skin at 45 mph hurt? The long an the short of it, is that I had a wonderful time getting rained on with my family. (even though they were safely under cover for the most part.)

What about the title of this post? You may ask. Well, when I came out of the store for my lunch break, I found a note on my van. It was written on a sheet torn from a stylized pad in the shape of a Panda bear. The script wa aparrently from a female of the species. (Who else would have a "Panda Pad" in the car?) It read as follows: " Your right rear tire is flat. Thought you should know."

that sucks, but I'm so pleased that someone took the time out of their day to ensure that I was aware of the potential safety hazard I could have been. Panda woman, (I don't care if it's just wishful thinking) I think I Love you. Can you keep a secret?

Never tell nobody nothin'

Well it was (at least) four months ago when I told a person who I thought was is a friend of mine about something that I asked them to keep to themselves. At the time I was "fitshaced", I mean I was "Gunk", and I called her up. What can I say? I was hurtin' and I needed to get some things offa my chest.

Now here's a little bit of trivia. I once took an IQ test when I was stone drunk. I'm talking Ooooooo-bliterated. I scored a 123. Considerably lower than my usual 165, but still well above average. Also, I have never gotten drunk and forgotten what happened the night before. Not once.

The recipient of the call happens to live in California (I shoulda known it would end badly), so I figured that it would be okay to talk to her. Distance as a defense, and all that. One of her close friends happens to be my roommate's wife. I'm sure that you can see where this went.

RMW comes into my living room (out of a clear blue sky), and makes a comment in regards to the thing that I told the Californian. Then she trys to play it off like she doesn't know what she just told me, and was being vague, so I was vague right back at her, and let it drop. At this point I am pissed.

So, last night I called up the Californian. We had a nice, pleasant conversation. I went over the bits of trivia I discussed above, and at this point in our talk I'm practically in a Soliloquey, so I just roll on into the tale of the discussion that the RMW and I had. Roughly 5 seconds later, "I've gotta go" wafts through the phone receiver. At that point I went from pissed to livid.

Whenever I get to feeling that there may be a little hope for the rest of humanity, something like this happens. I guess I'm just a little naieve about people, or it could be that I have lulled myself into believing that other people might actually keep their fucking word.

If someone asks me not to tell anyone else about something, guess what? I don't. It's just that simple. I believe that honesty is a virtue to hold dear. Obviously the majority of the rest of the populace does not share this sentiment with me.

Can you believe that people have actually had the balls to ask my why I'm cynical?

Eviller than Harvey.....Again.

Here's how I stack up.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Link via Mr. Wrathful and Gloomy.

The finest statesman of my generation

Has just passed away. See here.

"My family and I would like the world to know that President Ronald Reagan has passed away after 10 years of Alzheimer's disease at 93 years of age. We appreciate everyone's prayers," Nancy Reagan said in a statement.

All my thoughts and condolences go out to his family, and everyone who loved him. The disease that took his life robbed us of so much potential brilliance over the last ten years. I would surely have liked to have heard his opinions on so many different issues. I hope that near the end, the disease was kind enough to let him know who the people were who were telling him that they loved him. I also hope that he was able to respond in kind.

Despite all the pomp and circumstance, he was just a man. Just like the rest of us. However, we voted him into a position that the world envies and fears, and he performed well beyond all our expectations. Just a man who I will miss and mourn. As everyone in this nation should.

Thank you Mr. President for all that you did for us. I hope that at least some of my tax dollars went toward keeping you comfortable over the last decade. Shit, now I'm crying. I know that the funeral will be worse.

New test results

Via Rob

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I never would have predicted it, but it's one of my favorite films.

CPBLC

Folks. PLease allow me to pull up my soapbox and preach to you a minute. I'm here to talk to you today about an abomination. I know what you're thinking. Finally something about the war, or maybe a little religious diatribe, but no. This is something that touches all of our lives at least once a week, and some people even make their living from it.

Imagine, if you will, this grisly scene. Millions of you and your neighbors, all subsisting together quietly. Getting along. Living and dying in the most natural of ways. A very peaceful existence indeed. Suddenly, an outside force decides that you and those around you have become too prolific, and they decide to take action. The action that is taken is an atrocity. Wholesale delimbing of you and everyone like you. There's nothing that you can do, but sit there and wait for your turn. Firmly rooted in place by your fear of the all powereful entity.

Here's the part where it gets really nasty, so the faint of heart may wish to stop reading.

Remember all the limbs that were arbitrarily removed? Well they all get chopped into fine bits, and fed to the populace. Those not ground up, are left to rot in the homes and neighborhoods of the folks that they were removed from. This is the most extreme cruelty that I can imagine.

I believe that it is time to bring these cruelties to the fore, and ensure that the people are educated. So I propose to form the group: Citizens for the Proper Burial of Lawn Clippings.

People, I'm asking you to throw away your mulching mowers, denounce your side-discharge grass torturers, and at the very least use a bagger. A bagger would allow all your clippings to be sent to a landfill and buried. Once we get enough members, then we can send someone to each dumpsite, and have them say a little eulegy for each bag that is interred.

Come on my Brothers and Sisters. Join up. If not for the beautiful lawns that we all enjoy, then do it for the chiildren.

(Places soap box back into the closet)

Gods and Cowards

This time was a little different. I arrived at shortly after 6:00pm, and "Biker Steve" was already there. I can honestly say that it was a good thing that he was there, because he was the only one who had a "tip tool." (That's the little widgit that you use to shape the leather tip on a pool cue. When you get them new, they have a very slick coating on them that won't hold chalk, and will slip every time you strike the cue ball. Once you scrape off all the slippery stuff, then you can use it. Without Steve, I'd have been screwed.)

At any rate, after I got my cue squared away, the games were on. We were shooting 8-ball, alternating between us. I believe that Steve was up to 3 wins, and Eric and I were stuck at 2 each. Not a bad beginning. Then Gary (The man From the Witness Protection Program) arrived, and we decided to split into teams. Gary and I vs. Eric and Steve.

I was so tickled when I earned my first "bird" from Steve. This was after an eight ball run, after Eric broke and didn't get anything. Nice way to win a game. I had a few other nice runs, and Gary had a few as well. I think we went up on them by three games, but then Steve woke up, and the comeback was afoot. Even after switching over to nine-ball, they wound up thumping us by about 5 games. As Eric says "It's house rules. That means that the House Rules." I believe that it was a combination of being a little too cocky, and a little too much Bourbon on my part. No matter. It was damn fun!

Later, we wound up playing some guitar, and swapping stories. The long-suffering "Straight White Wife" was so patient with our innebriated ramblings, and random songsmithing. I kept expecting her to just tell me to get the hell out of her house, but she is just too gracious to do that (God Love her).

On to the "blog room" and I got introduced to a cleaning implement (also known as a "Street Sweeper") and got to listen to some Merle Travis. That was totally fun. I just love the fact that what we were listening to was the pioneer of finger-picking, and that it was a tape recording (tape = small rectangular CD with 2 holes) of a 33 1/3 album (album = 1 foot diameter CD with a really small hole).

I eventually got run off, and I didn't even have to duck any rounds coming over my head. I guess he's just considerate of the neighbors, as there is nothing surpressed in the arsenal.

As I predicted, a wonderful time was had. Now that they've seen me when I'm trying to shoot pool, I may get lych-mobbed the next time I'm out there, but as I've heard said "God hates a coward".

Kid gloves, and the removal of same.

He did it. He said I had an open invitation. So I'm heading on back, but this time it's personal! (/announcer voice)

I'm headed down there with both an Axe and a Hammer. The Axe would be my "git-fiddle" and the Hammer would be my brand new pool cue. I know how to use (at least) one of these items to a fair degree of alacrity, and when I get into my "cups", the other one seems to do a bit better. I wholeheartedly expect to have a good time.

You may remember that I went easy on him last time, well that's gonna change. I can just feel it. If you don't get a "pool report" from me by this time tomorrow, just assume that the body will not be found for awhile. That and the fact that I won.

I'm comin' for ya Sport. See you in about an hour.