big cliché

"Don't be economic girly-men" Arnold Schwarzenegger speaking of the economy's doom-sayers and critics to the delegates at the RNC. August 31st, 2004.

Turns out the lib'ral media goons have decided to carry the RNC tonight after all. All three networks, 10e/9c. Enjoy.

Don't forget: the major networks aren't carrying the RNC that I know of, but you can get it on PBS or NPR. If you don't know your PBS/NPR affiliates in your area, shame on you!

The Great Value Brand (i.e.: wm's house brand) Blended Vanilla Lowfat Yogurt is the absolute best yogurt on the face of the planet--just in case you needed to know. Danon and Yoplait need to go ahead and throw out the culture.

All you non-yogurt eaters may politely keep your comments to yourselves. Yogurt rocks, despite the unfortunate name.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye! This month's POT??? has been posted. Click and enjoy.

Yep. This is the 300th post. And I thought I would have been bored of this by now. Who knew it would last? Anyway, on to the post!

***

September is already shaping up to be a great month. We kick it off with the RNC in NYC. Yeah, baby! Take that you liberal protestors—-we’re coming to your town no matter how many of you line the streets outside the Garden. HAH!

After the convention, it’s VACATION time! Which means I have survived another dose of the summer doldrums. Thank God for that. It helped immensely that this summer was not a triple-digit disaster like summers past. It has been quite mild, and Aimee pointed out that we have had almost 25 inches of rain, by our reckoning, which is practically unheard of in this neck of the woods.

Then, as soon as we get back from vacation, the AWB will sunset! It would take a decisive act of congress to get it back on the books, and right now, with the cards stacked the way they are and an election coming up, I wouldn’t look for anyone to be rocking the boat at this late stage of the game. December may be a different case altogether, but I will have at least a month to bask in the warm glow of all the assault weapons I can handle (not to mention 4 more years of Bushy Bushy). There will be full-capacity magazines for sale again at reasonable prices; rifles will have pistol grips, flash hiders and, of course, detachable magazines capable of holding as many rounds as you please. But then someone will do something stupid, again, and we will be right back at square one--trying to legislate away a constitutional right instead of locking away the nutters who do those horrendous things.

Maybe before we say hello to September, we should reminisce a bit about August. After all, August is the month in which my old Dads was born. Yes folks, Dad celebrated another birthday Saturday in much the same fashion as he does every year: he played bingo. To each his own, right?

Also in August was Jefe’s pre-Burning Man send-off party, which was really more of a get together. I got to meet a whole new bunch of folks and take some fun pictures. We almost had dinner too, but everyone was so preoccupied with whatever they were doing the food just didn’t make it to the grill. Which is a shame really because it was going to be kebabs, and you know how I love kebabs!

As for this weekend, the last in August, we spent at least an hour at best buy trying to purchase a flat screen monitor Saturday, only to find out that our best buy credit had lapsed because we hadn’t used it in 4 years or something. Maybe next month, after they send us our new rewards certificates because the current ones were rendered void when the cashier cancelled the transaction. Silly cashier.

Finally, I installed Aimee’s subwoofer earlier today. It's pretty cool, actually. She got a Kenwood wOOx, which is a powered-stand alone ‘virtual’ (their term, not mine) 100w thumpdaddy (my term, not theirs). It was fairly easy to install—just a bit time consuming. It was worth the effort though. When I finished the install, I popped in Korn’s Follow the Leader and I could feel the kick drums through the driver’s seat. Suh-weet.

Now, if I can just survive this workweek, it will be on to 9 days of fun in the freakin’ sun!

I was just checking out rachellucas.com--she has been back for a while, but I have been hesitant to link to her because of her on-again, off-again shenanigans--and I ran across this.

I had planned on trying to find this on ebay, but now that I see it is going for upwards of 600 smackers, I'll just read it online.

Look for the permalink later this weekend.

Yahoo! News - AFP Top Photos

(View photo, then insert your own wisecrack here)

I was unable to post this morning.

I wanted to put up a quick note about kickin' it with Jefe & Co. last night up in the ci-tay, but nooooooo--blogger wouldn't hear of it.

Rest assured, I will get up some of the pics this weekend and you too can bask in the glorious glow of the fireball.

More to come...

First off, I have added some new links to the bloggers section (which is in absolutely no particular order). Please welcome Muskrat Love (I bet there's a great story behind that name) and Pink Champagne High to the fold. I have been reading them for a while now and meant to link them much sooner. However, it seems every mother-loving time I wanted to post this week, blogger is acting like school in summer. I have got to check out that squarespace publishing tool when it is not 4:17a.m.

***

It occured to me earlier this week that when this AWB thing finally gives up the ghost there should be a short amount of time before all the liberal gun-grabbers can get their collective freak on and come up with some other ludicrous, insane piece of unnecessary legislation (I speculate they will do this right after the elections, if history is any teacher). That short time should be one of blissful delight, free from the idiocy of pre-ban and post-ban, and we may even see muzzle flash hiders, pistol grips and detachable full capacity magazines all on the same rifle once again. But the real revelation was that there will be one less thing to wank about.

Now I try to keep the cliché as balanced as possible when it comes to happy, feel-good posts vs. the "I hate everyone, especially stoopids" rants, but let's face it: good rants usually make good reads. And as you have probably deduced, since you are all smart cookies (you are still here, after all) gun control is one of my favorite topics when it comes time to vent a bit.

I guess I'll have to work harder, reading more news sites to find the truly stoopid tidbits as well as some good news--God knows we could use a bit more of that--to share with you.

In the mean time, I do realize I have been slow-to-post of late (but I can blame at least one night's inactivity on blogger) so here's a bonus pic from the zoo.

Good times, folks. However I couldn't help but notice that none of you were in attendance at H & H this morning. I see how it is.

As previously indicated, most of Saturday was spent with Mom & Co. at the zoo. If you'll permit me, I will share a few observations.

First, yes there were lots of kids. That is to be expected on a Saturday, or any day I guess, at the zoo. Kids love animals. It's a law of nature, I think. The kids weren't that bad, Kelly, they were acting every bit as goofy as expected. The only issues I had are when the parents wouldn't tell the odd kid who was being a bit over the top to get back in line--as if it were somehow OK for him to act like a monkey just because he was looking at one. And how about that dad setting the good example for junior by bringing his 64oz soda right in the herpatarium when every entrance is clealy marked to the contrary. Way to lead by example, dad.

Second, the OKC Zoo is still in the top 10 in the country. Barely, but it is hanging in there and, I feel, for good reason. It was clean, the staff friendly and helpful, and let's face it: where else in OKC are you going to see an anaconda, a harpy eagle, a black rhino and a sea lion all within 5 minutes of each other?

Third, there are good times to go, and better times to go. I now know that noon is 'nap time' for the big cats and they aren't really much on moving (but in a perfect world, neither am I) no matter how many people are out there making kissy noises and repeating "here, kitty kitty kitty". I hear they are much more active in the morning, so I'll have to check on that one and get back with you.

Also, in case you were wondering, the Omniplex's plane_arium's last show is 5p.m. on Saturday. We, of course, made it there at 5:05p.m. Coincidentally, the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum (formerly the Cowboy Hall of Fame) closes their doors at 5p.m. We arrived at 5:25p.m. Mom & Co. wanted to see that one so let's go ahead and skip the cowboy jokes, mkay?

Finally, the Oklahoma City National Memorial is open all day, every day but the adjoining museum closes at 6p.m.

That's right, I said "POW"!

Witness the unflappable resolving power of the 80-200mm f/2.8D ED AF Zoom-Nikkor.

Oh yeah.

One more time, in case you missed it.

Holy Cow (pun intneded) that is some funny stuff. I just read THIS, and I can just now breath again. Many thanks to Neil for sending that one over. They are definitely getting linked.

In other news, Mom is coming to town! Keep in mind Moms hasn't come to OK in like 6 years, so when she calls and says she is coming to town all plans are offically cancelled. Or at least postponed, so Rob H. and I will be heading to the range Sunday instead of Saturday. Feel free to come along. We should be at H & H around noon. Just look for the 30-something dorks.

Getting back to Mom, I guess she decided that her main man and my youngest sister need to see exotic animals and some science exhibits. Yes, kids, that's right: we're going to the zoo! And the Omniplex as well. Yeah, boy!

Hey now, I'm not joking. The zoo is a veritable goldmine for a photographer and the Omniplex is almost as good if for no other reason than the International Photography Hall of Fame is contained therein. Good stuff.

If everything goes well, I should have some nice pics to post tomorrow. I know I said the same of the Jazz in June, but after examining those pics a bit closer, I just wasn't feeling it. They, to me anyway, were good pictures of a good band. Absolutely nothing really great. You know what I mean? There weren't any in the bunch that captured the essence of jazz. Wait a minute, that sounds suspiciously swiss, but the point is still the same. Another problem was the stupid stage gear. Everytime I would have a good shot there would be a mic stand or something right in the way. But I digress--I should have something good and even if I don't I may still bang something together and put it up anyway.

If there's time, I may take them by the OKCMOA to see the Chihuly exhibit (provided it is open) or even by the Bombing Memorial just because they haven't been yet.

I know Kelly didn't write it, but he's the one who posted it.

Go to Freaky Useless Crap right now and join the revolution!

I survived the class, and guess what? It was actually beneficial. Who knew? I even stopped by and thanked my boss for making me get up and enter the building at that unholy hour after 3 short hours of sleep. How backwards is that? I feel the information will be that useful.

Probably the best part about working dayshift today is that it afforded me a real evening off during the week! Normally, I wouldn't even think twice about going straight to bed, but since there was daylight still available and it wasn't a half-bad day, I decided I would do something with the time rather than taking that well-deserved nap--and not just because I have been up for waaaay to many hours, mind you. Today was food day at the office, so after the class, I had dinner with the peeps, and perhaps a bit too much of it. I knew if I didn't do something, there would be absolutely no hope of keeping my eyes open past 7:30p.m.

So I called Jefe.

I caught Jefe as one would expect at this late stage in the game: getting ready for The Burn. Specifically, he was hot-gluing a strand of neon blue electro-luminescent wire around the brim of this purple semi-crush velvet pimp-style hat for that added bit o' zing on the playa after dark. There was, of course, a large feather and a leopard print hatband to complete the vibe. To say this sucka was sweet would be a criminal understatement in the first degree. As I commented to Jefe the hat was, as I believe the kids say, "big pimpin". There's even a twin hat for daylight attire, sans the e.l. wire. If you've never seen e.l. wire in action (I hadn't so don't feel lonely) I recommend looking it up. It is cool beans, Maynard.

In short order, we sped over to Pearls so Jeff could get some food in his belly, and allow the locals to bask in the cool blue glow of that sweet, sweet chapeau.

Despite several kind offers, I was, sadly, still too "full of beans" to eat anything. Pearl's is good eats and I would have certainly enjoyed a nice something-or-other since our Norman Pearl's has apparently gone the way of The Webster.

We caught up on some general items and a few scandalous tales from back in the day, then headed back to the Casa de Jefe to check out the BM2001 (I think it was 2001. I'm not really with it today) dvd which chronicled, albeit briefly, the life and times of camp Image Node from setting up the domes to the burn itself. Good stuff. It was especially fun to see some of the people, art installations and performances I had been reading about and even seeing pictures of over at the BM and Camp Image Node sites. (I really should make those words into hyperlinks, but Jefe already has them up at his blog, see permalink, and I am simply too tired).

All in all a good day. I have more to say but just don't have the energy to bang out the other 1000 words I would like to so I will bid you Good Night, kind friends, and a safe journey to all the Burners who may be reading.

It's happening again.

By the system clock, it is now 6:59a.m. cdt. And for the second time in as many weeks I am up for a dayshift function.

This time, it is a training class and it starts in 1/2 hour. It should end around 4:30p.m.

You can not imagine the joy I am feeling at this exact moment.

I have decided I want to be an Olympian. I assure you, I am not making light of the dedication and determination it takes to get there.

Granted, my current physical condition will keep me out of any of the "meter" runs, but I tell you now, there is an event for me: shooting, of course. Don't tell me you didnt' see that coming.

All I need to do now is decide which event I want to master, then get someone nice to give me about 6-10 grand to get all geared up. After that, I will need someone else to sponsor me so I can afford to spend 10-12 hours a day at the range perfecting my craft without losing the farm, so to speak. Add on to that a few thousand a month for ammo and targets and I should be well on my way to the 2012 summer games.

So then, who wants to be first to donate to the "Let's send Wayne to the 2012 Olympics" fund?

Hello...

Anybody?

Ahhhh, Sunday.

Slept in waaay to late, but felt I needed to. Once we were up and decent, we had Keith over for tea. Not formal English tea, mind you, just tea and some fresh-baked lemon-cherry muffins, courtesy of my lovely and amazing wife, Aimee.

Got a chance to catch up with Keith, who is planning on leaving us later this year for the People's Republic of California--he has been accepted to a culinary school in San Fran (sorry, didn't get the exact name) and will be on his way in early December. Jefe originally hipped me to this, so I got most of the details today. He'll be back for Christmas and New Years, but after that it is 16 months of culinary goodness. It is going to be strange, Keith not being here in OK. Keith and I have been buds since 7th grade, and except for the time when we were both in the Navy, haven't really been more than a phone call or quick ride away. Although Brother K is all about living that single, rock-star life (which means we dont' hang out like we did back in the day) I still number him among the friends who I would help move bodies. Remember: a friend will help you move. A real friend will help you move bodies.

Outside of mowing the grass, I haven't done a single, solitary thing this weekend. Unless you count posting. I really don't because it requires no physical expenditure other than typing. I like to think of this as a recuperation weekend. Not that there was anything going on that required recuperation, I just like to have a good, lazy weekend once in a while. And I'm sure you do too.

My thoughts kind of ticked in slow motion, the way they sometimes do when very unexpected things happen. Once I realized it was a bottle that had hit the wall, I was doing my best to figure out where it had come from and, perhaps more importantly, why.

I half expected to see The Latch, kind of hunched down a bit with that "oh crap, sorry dude" look on his face, as if he had meant to throw me a beer, but had forgotten to make sure I was aware he was throwing a beer first. In keeping with the theme of the evening, which was apparently "Everything Will Suck Tonight" I turned to find Dave standing at the opposite corner of the living room looking very aggravated. Boz and The Latch were both on the couch, seemingly every bit as puzzled as I was.

Dave went off. I'm sure we're all familiar with the expression "swears like a sailor" and I assure you, it still holds true. He went off about how stupid I had been and how I had probably, singlehandedly, ruined his chances with Star. I told him he should thank me because she had pulled the same type of stunt the previous weekend at the barracks. This failed to soothe his anger. The longer we "talked" the louder it got. Once I realized he was not going to let it go, I did the only thing I could think of at this point: I threw my beer right at him. Truth be told, I really didn't want to hit him, but I figured I had to do something because this whole screaming at each other thing was not working. My bottle struck the wall over his left shoulder.

I turned to head for the door and got it opened before I remembered that I wasn't going anywhere. I had left the motorcycle back at the barracks because I knew I was going to be drinking, so The Latch was my ride.

I turned back to the room to tell the posse it was time to go. Dave was stomping across the living room in my direction, still spewing obcenities. I guess Boz and Latch knew what was coming because they got up and started towards Dave.

Now I really don't like to scrap. Infact, I hate it. But by that time, I knew Dave was about to bring down the hammer, so I figured I'd better move first. I was still in the entry way, which was only about 4 feet wide and 7 feet deep and when Dave reached me I stepped foward and grabbed him up high, around both arms in kind of a drunken, "I love you man" bear hug. This, for the most part, pinned his arms to his sides so he couldn't swing on me, but he was trying his best to get out of my grasp. I decided we needed to go to the ground. Having been a wrestler in high school, albeit not a very successful one, I figured my best bet for not having anything broken would be to get this down low where no one could really get enough velocity on a swing to do any real damage. I started to fall straight backwards, then twisted to my left so I would fall on top of him and be able to pin him down until he cooled off. This may work in hollywood, but in the really real world when you are holding someone that does not want this to happen, it doesn't quite work like that.

We fell alright but I only manged half of my rotation, so I landed on my left side and he was facing me, on his right side, when we hit the ground. About this time, Latch and Boz were practically on top of us trying to get us apart. My grip had slipped when we hit the floor, so we were both trying to regain the high ground, but not making much progress. Before long, Boz and Latch were mixed up in the scuffling so you can imagine how crampt things were with all four of us in that tiny entry way.

I felt the first, and only, hit on the right side of my head above my ear, but it was kind of weak. I guess Dave had tried it left-handed but wasn't able to put any stank on it so it just wasn't the bone-crushing blow I had been expecting. At this point, things get a bit sketchy--I know I had someone in a headlock, so after realizing I had been hit I began to hit whoever was in my grip. I hit someone 4 times square on top of the head, judging by the amount of pain reflected back into my knuckles, before Boz grabbed my right arm and pulled me off the stack. When I rose to my feet, my back was to the door, Boz was facing me and Latch and Dave were still on the crappy green linoleum between us, Latch holding Dave down. Boz's face went a little white, and he whispered "Security". Then again a bit louder, so maybe Latch and Dave would hear him and quit playing around on the floor.

Now when Boz said "security" I thought he meant they were pulling up outisde the house, trucks all lit up like Christmas. It wasn't until after I shouted "F&*K a bunch of security!" that I knew, mostly by the look on Boz's face, that the officer was indeed just on the other side of the screen door, not 4 feet behind me. Just to confirm it, I looked at Boz and said "they're right behind me, aren't they?" He nodded once and Latch and Dave stood up.

Despite my rude welcome, the officer was professional and I guess as courteous as he could've been given the situation. He asked us outside and got all the ID cards, or so I thought. It was blatantly obvious that we were all blasted, but Dave and Boz were over 21. I found out later that Latch had lied and told old boy that he was 22, but had "forgoten" his ID card. Military IDs are not like driver's licenses. They can't "run" your ID or name and d.o.b. through NCIC or the DMV so I guess they let Latch off because they didn't feel like doing even more paperwork. After they got all our stories, they cuffed me for underage drinking and Dave for contributing, since it was his pad after all. They instructed Latch and Boz to start walking, 'cause they were in no shape to drive and they couldn't stay at the house since neither one of them was a resident.

Just as they are walking us over to the paddy wagon, I see Amy's car pull up, all sneaky like, with the lights out. Stacy pops out of the car, talks to one of the security guards and then comes towards the house. I look over at her wondering exactly what reason she could possibly have for coming back. As she passes, she clues me in that she left her purse in the bathroom after her heart-to-heart with Star. All I could say to that was "Nice timing." I'm sure they were extatic to see old Wayne in cuffs being helped up to the lovely stainless steel interior of the paddy wagon, and if they'd been 2 mintues later they would've missed it.

I know I had been an ass, and could've just let it go and there would have been no arguments, no fights (pathetic though it had been) and certainly no neighbors calling base security. But as far as I could see, and I stand by this today, Star was the one who was out of line. It wasn't as if she was poor or even needy and I'm sure I would've gotten by without that $2.50 'til payday. But people who think they can take advantage of whoever they want, just because other people have allowed them to do so for their entire lives should be taken out back and soundly beaten. I had only known her for a month or so, but I have known that type all my life and I wasn't going to stand by that night while she did it again. So I got to go to military jail for my trouble. But I did learn a few things that night: probably the one I should've been able to figure out before opening my mouth was MP's don't like backseat drivers. Second, I am a lousy fighter, so I should probably stay with being a lover, yeah baby. Lastly, unlike everything else in the military world, i.e. training classes, lectures, and even meals, there is no critique sheet available when one is arrested.

The repurcussions of that one night's ridiculous shenanigans literally went on for months. I had to stand for Executive Officer's Mast, Captain's Mast (Navy disciplinary proceedings) and I could have lost my Petty Officer, 3rd Class stripe. Let's not forget that extra duty for a month and loss of half a months pay for 2 months, and I was no longer eligible for a good conduct ribbon. However, I was put on probationary status with regards to rank. If I could keep my nose clean for 6 months after Captains Mast, I would get to keep my 3rd Class stripe.

I'm happy to be able to report that when I told the Captain that he "would not see me under disciplinary circumstances" again, I kept my word. Which is not to say I didn't to any silly things during that six months--I just didn't get caught.

FOXNews.com - Foxlife - TV Chef Julia Child Dies at 91

Just heard this on the evening news. If you don't know Julia Child, you have missed out.

How about a moment for "The French Chef"?

A mood did indeed wash over me like warm puddin'. However, it was not quite as pleasant as warm puddin'.

And I won't even get started on that meeting--You'll thank me later for that.

By my watch, it is now 1:33a.m. and I am going to bed. Sorry, kind friends, no more posting tonight. I havent' been to sleep since that last one.

The good news is that when I wake up, it will be Friday, sweet Friday.

The 13th.

By my watch it is 8:25a.m. To be up this early is criminal. To be up this early for a meeting at the office will surely be cause for damning someone's eternal soul to hell.

I feel a mood coming on, and I fear it will not be a good one.

Star was followed through the door by Stacy and her friend Amy. Both of which were good peeps, most of the time. Star, as expected, was immediately looking for whatever libations were readily available, despite having brought nothing to the party other than her obnoxious, annoying self. And if you've been paying attention, you already know it wasn't a party at all.

Before I could even get the door shut, the she-devil was already rootin' through the fridge for whatever freebies she could get her claws on. Wouldn't you know it--she went straight for that lonely bottle of Boone's. She rejoined the group in the living room and busted a pose, doing her best Vanna White, and asked who brought the "wine". I fessed up, and she immediatley asked if she could buy the bottle from me. I decided that in my current condition I really didn't need a big bottle of cheap, fruity booze and agreed that she could indeed buy the bottle. Knowing that she was one of those people who had no qualms at all about drinking your last beer, while promising to bring a 12-pack to the next party, I tried, in a very delicate fashion, to let her know that I really did need the entire $2.47 sometime that evening. She assured me we were on the same page, and commenced to drinking.

Looking back, I should've sensed the bad juju in the air that night but hindsight is always 20/20 and beer has never been known to improve foresight, in my experience anyway. The signs were all there, I just didn't put them together 'til much, much later. First off, we spent most of the night watching a football game. Ick. Then, Stacy an co. are late. Later, I noticed Amy and Stacy off in a corner chatting about something, but had no idea what while they were doing so. I found out later that Stacy had kind of conned Amy with the allure of a "big party". As already mentioned, our little shin-dig barely amounted to back-yard barbeque status. Also, as already mentioned, Stacy and Amy were good peeps most of the time. For whatever reason, or maybe for obvious reasons, Amy was not fond of coming out to the base. So to drive all the way out there from Hanford under false pretense could have definitely been the straw that broke her proverbial back. She wasn't happy, or even talking for that matter. Stacy's Achilles' heel was that her personality was like tofu in that it would take on the "flavor" of whoever was closest to her at the time. Since she was sticking close to Amy the two of them were becoming more and more bitter by the minute. The real red flag was sent up when the other two were ready to go, only to discover that Star and Dave had barracaded themselves in the master bedroom.

At this point I had decided the only reasonable thing to do was to get another beer, so I went to the kitchen. By the time I returned, Amy and Stacy were outside the bedroom door, leaning in real close, gently knocking and whispering at the same time. This was not working, but was slightly amusing to watch. After about 10 minutes of this, Amy decided she was done. She retired to the car, but not before telling Stacy that Star was her friend and had 5 minutes to get her out of that room, or they were both staying the night.

When Stacy turned around to begin addressing the door again, her voice became a fevered pitch and the gentle rapping became full-on pounding. She went from being terse to being downright abusive. I think the word "whore" even popped out once or twice. The whole time Boz, The Latch and myself were sitting on the couch, chuckleing, and starting to wager as to whether or not Amy would actually leave them. Suddenly, the door popped open just a crack and I can only guess it was Star pleading for more time, then door then shut just as quickly as it had oppened. Stacy began screaming at the door, insisting that they didn't have 5 more minutes because Amy was leaving right now!

This must've gotten her moving because we could hear footfalls on the bedroom floor accompanied by frantic pleas to "hold on" and "don't let Amy leave".

Very shortly thereafter Star and Dave emerged from the bedroom, both looking very disheveled. Dave made a beeline for the fridge while Stacy grabbed Star and practically threw her into the bathroom. There was some heated yelling, but we couldn't make anything out over our own laughter. Another few minutes go by and they emerge from the bathroom, Stacy headed straight for the door and Star going... back into the bedroom? Huh? She comes out with that sad little bottle of Boone's and tries to hand it to me as if to say, "Here you go, buddy. You finish it". I looked at the two fingers that were left in the bottle, then looked at her and asked what I was supposed to do with this 2 ounces of warm crap. She said something that amounted to "I left you the rest so you could finish it", but what she really meant was since she didnt' finish it, she wouldn't have to pay for it.

Now this is the part where my faults come out, so if any of you thought I was being unfairly harsh on Stacy and Amy in earlier paragraphs, this is where you see that I was also having a banner night.

I, not so politely, reminded her that she had agreed to pay for this bottle, so if she finished it or not was of no concern to me--t was hers. All I wanted was "my two dollars"! (By the way, if you recognize that sub-reference, than you also grew up in the 80's and watched waaay to much HBO.) She kind of giggled a bit and said "Didn't you notice when I came in that I didnt' have a purse? I don't have any money!" Now, I was getting angry. In addition to be a free-loader she was also a liar. This was no longer about the $2.50--it was about the principle or her lack thereof. What kind of fool did she take me for to come over, drink up my cheep booze, and then expect all will be well with a wink and smile? As I was telling her that I was not one of those guys who thought the sun was to rise and set at her command, and for her to treat me as such was laughable and insulting, Dave piped in with an "I'll pay for the stupid wine." She thought she was home-free until I told Dave that would not be doing that. She agreed to pay for the stupid bottle, knowing full well that she didn't have any money in the first place, so she could find some dang money. (Yep, it was getting pretty bad at this point).

Finally, she says she will see if she can get some cash from Stacy or Amy. She left the house, and I honestly thought she was going to bolt, so I followed her out but waited by the door. She leaned in through the passenger window and wiggled around for a minute, then popped back out practically skipping to the doorway with both hands held out as if she had just found a surprise. I held out my hand and she gives me about 79 cents, mostly in pennies with 1 quarter and some assorted silver. I thought she was joking. But when she didnt' give me anything else, I knew she wasn't and by this point regarded me as a fool. I told her to leave. I was tired of this, and wanted it over. She returned to the car and Amy started to back out even before she was all the way in. Amy backed out so that the passenger side of the car was abreast of the house just as I threw the handfull of change down the driveway. Now I really, honestly did not mean to hit Amy's car, but the change bounced down the driveway and peppered the passenger side of her car. Ooops. Now she was the one who was angry. That car was her baby and it was indeed a sweet ride--and I was the dumb squid who had just hurt her baby.

I remember hearing the transmission grind gears when she slammed the shifter into park before the car came to a complete stop. He door slammed shut and she was up in the yard reading me the riot act, and rightly so. I tried to convince her it was an accident, but you can probably imagine how empty that sounded given the current situation. She stormed back to the car, and smoked the tires all the way to the corner as she rocketed away from the house.

I looked at my watch. It was about 1:30a.m. when I stepped back inside the entry way. Just as I got the door shut, a full beer bottle, cap still on, flew by my head and hit the entry wall over my right shoulder causing an explosion of brown glass and suds.

Now Dave was the one who was angry.

Election Projection - 2004 Edition

Here's a site worthy of further investigation, I think.

Having joined the service right after high school, I spent the majority of my enlistment as an 'under 21'. This presented several problems regarding the desire for "potent potables" (thank you, Alex) but none that industrious idiots like yours truly couldn't work around--and I assure you at that time me and my boys were all idots. But not stoopids. There is a subtle difference, you know.

Living in the barracks made it easier. Much easier. It was no trouble at all to have one of the guys who was just a few years older pick up a case or two extra while at the package store. Or we would just have Skippy Sassoon pick up an extra, since for the most part we were hanging out with him anyway. (More on the legend of Skippy Sasoon later. I decided to go with this one first, because the story of Skippy isn't really one of my sea stories, per se).

At the time, I was making around $1000 a month, but for some odd reason, that never went very far. After all, I had room and board, the meals were literally free, although that didnt' really make a person want to eat them any more than if they cost, and it wasn't like we could throw all that money at coke or heroin--drug tests, don'tcha know. It would probably be very accurate to chalk it up to poor budgeting skills, knowing that even if I spent every thin dime on payday, I would still be able to eat and have a roof, and the fact that there was truly nothing else to do on that base.

Naval Air Station Lemoore, CA. is right smack-dab in the middle of the San Joaquin valley. Good if you have a car but very, very bad if you don't. San Diego was about 250 miles, or so, straight south, San Francisco about the same straight north, but the 'Liberty Bus' just didn't go that far. It was provided by the base for people just like me and my buds (read: no car) and would take you to Lemoore, Hanford and even Visalia, but that was it. No car, to us, meant no fun.

As a result, we stayed on base and consumed a lot of beer. And whiskey. And rum. And cheap wine. And even a litle gin every now and then. What made it worse was that even though food was free, we would still buy pizza because it went so much better with beer! Dorks. Anyway, it was this type of behavior which always resulted in being broke two days before payday. By broke, I mean scrounging change from the couch in the lounge to buy anything. Even a sandwich out of the vending machine when the munchies hit after the galley had closed. Quit laughing, I've know you've done it too.

So let's fast forward to that particular second day before payday, which happened to fall on a Saturday.

The Latch, my other roomie Roger Boz (who was, for obvious reasons, the butt of many "Roger, Boz, call the ball" jokes, but I guess you had to be there) and I all headed over to Dave Stowe's house. Now Dave was a certified, government approved, class 1-A bunghole. But he and The Latch were tight--plus he had a pad over in base housing, so it was a change of scenery. Now I know some of you are thinking that one does not get a into base housing if one is not married. Well Dave was married. Kind of. Dave's wife had her fill of his philandering ways and was in the processing of leaving his dumb ass, and rightfully so. He had two girlfriends that I knew of, which was absolutely astounding considering he was such a giant, stinking anus. The point of all this was he was going to be losing the house in short order, so as far as he was concerned, it was "party central".

Since Dave was over 21 (I was just shy of 4 months away from being 21 myself at the time) we had him pick up the evening's elixers and we were to meet him at his place in time to watch some lame football game. Oh yeah, I said it: football is lame-o-rama with a capital LAME! Except Sooner football, of course. Also, some lady friends of ours were supposed to join us later in the evening after they watched a movie in town. So, things were looking good. Except for the fact that I had spent my last six or seven dollars on a 12-pack and some of the aforementioned cheap wine. I remembered that Stacy said that she had liked the Boone's Farm, which at the time was completely new to me, so I got a bottle. Now before you go jumping the gun here, Stacy and I were friends and only friends. We quickly realized, about 6 months previous to this, that the prospect of the two of us becoming a couple was about as about as inviting as taking a wolverine's temperature. Rectally. With no cage.

By 7p.m. things were going well--except for having to watch that dang football game. Apparently it was Dave's home-state college team about to get their butts handed to them in a playoff game. The four of us were kicking back, fully relaxed and well on our collective way to a full-on drunken stupor.

By 10p.m., the game was over, Dave's team lost as fate would have it, and there was no sign of the girls. I know it may be difficult, but try to think back to the "dark age" of telecommunication that was 1991. This was before the big cell phone revolution so it wasn't as if we could just ring Stacy and see what was the hold up. We knew the movie had ended a good hour earlier so we were starting to get bored, not to mention pretty well lit. And Dave was pissed off that he had lost a big bet when his team tanked.

Around 11p.m. the doorbell finally rang, and I swear Dave had actually nodded off on the couch. Boz was raiding his fridge and The Latch and I were discussing all things musical. Since Dave was still drooling on himself, I got the door. Stacy had brought 2 of her friends with her, but not the two we expected.

Imagine for a minute that Satan himself had a daughter, gave her a stupid name, and made her the most annoying woman to ever walk the face of this earth. That was Star, and for some odd reason, she was in tow that night.

Now I'm an easy going guy by nature but Star, as she insisted we call her, was the kind of person who immediately gets my ire up. She was an honest-to-goodness love child reared by two hard-core commune-living California hippies and was happy to tell you all about it, and this would've been fine if it was just left at that. However that wasn't the real story, because her mother had remarried serious money after deciding she wasn't digging the communal lifestyle. As a result, Star became a spoiled hippy child who was used to getting her way and referred to herself as a thespian. How droll. When we asked what we might have seen her in, she would say something lame like "This sweater, perhaps" or "These jeans I'm wearing right now".

I suppose before I offend even more people than I already have, I should let you know that I'm cool with hippies, even though I do take the ocassional pot-shot. I can even tolerate rich kids, just not for long. But you can't be both. "Rich hippy kid" makes about as much sense as jumbo-freakin-shrimp or new and improved. What's even worse, to me anyway, was the real reason she was there was to piss off old Moms, who despised the fact that she was squandering her college (read: social networking) years hanging out with a bunch of lowly squids. So you can imagine my delight when she walked right through the door, smiling from ear to pointed ear.

Yahoo! News - Police: Xbox Theft Spurred Fla. Slayings

Over an X-Box? This has to be the most pathetic thing I've read in a week.

Well, I DID have a nice, long, flowing narrative about how much fun Aimee and I had going to the OKCMOA for dinner and to see SUPERSIZE ME!

Because I am an idiot, I now have this one word: surreptitious. Yes, that's what was on the clipboard when I hit SHIFT+INSERT instead of CTRL+INSERT after selecting all of the text. You know what is the ironic part of this? I was trying to cut and paste my entire post to the clipboard in case blogger had a brainfart while it was trying to publish my post and lost the whole thing. Oh, the irony!

So...since I just dont' have the energy to re-type the entire post, I'll summarize for you:

The OKCMOA cafe is good. Food was good, service was good, company was great. Over all, very good.

The movie is good. Shaky, documentary-style footage, but very fun to watch, as well as funny, and even informative.

McDonald's, as Aimee and I have known for years, is pure evil. Exponentially more so than the other fast-food empires.

I will be getting around to the sea story, as soon as I decide if I want to tackle The Legend of Skippy Sasoon, or tell you all about the night I went to jail over a bottle of Boone's Farm, because of the principle involved.

I'm so angry about this, I could just puke. But I'm not going to stop using the blogger interface until word inserts html tags automatically.

Yes indeed, Ladies and Gents, we are back from the brink of bloat. How XP can keep a hold of so much useless crap, then not let you find it for deletion purposes it is a complete mystery to me.

I'm happy to report that with the exception of a few drivers that I have yet to install, all things went very, very well. I will make a new and improved backup this weekend of HD zero in its current configuration. The prog's I loaded are the ones I always end up loading after one of these little episodes, so I think if I do it now, then I should have a good starting point to work from next time. Oh yes, there will be a next time, I assure you.

Outside of the great reload of '04, I really haven't had time to do much, except try to keep current on all the fine blogs I read on a daily basis. I ain't joking, friends. Several of you have permanent residence in my handheld so even if I can't take the time to read you on a proper browser, I can still catch up on your latest hijinks or shenanigans at my earliest convenience. Sweet, indeed.

I think I'm going to have to stay away from Hook Echoes, though. Every time I think I'm cool with being "safe guy" Jefe spins a yarn that makes me ponder quite intently about my constitution. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite satisfied that I've made very good, solid choices in my life. What I'm saying is that I would never have the 'nads to knock back shots with the local winos and homeless cats. I always (seriously now) try to give what I can afford if someone is at the point in their life where they are ready to ask a complete stranger for a handout, but I never once considered kicking back with said homeless cats and gettin' lit--and that sometimes, in my more introspective moments, makes me wonder what else I may have missed along the way. The whole story reminds me of that Shawn Mullins song Twin Rocks, Oregon. And I quote:

...and I listened as he told his tales, of wine and women and county jails.
We finished off that bottle and smoked half a joint...

Obviously, there was no mention of reefer madness in Jefe's POST, but it has the exact same feel as the song, even though there are obvious differences in the actual circumstances.

I'm not waxing all nostalgic for the old days here, I just find myself asking more and more questions like: have I been a good person? Have I made any real contribution to anything? What mark am I going to leave? Did I turn the oven off after baking the cookies?

Just kidding on that last one, but I think you get the point. If I could've made someone feel better by stopping to listen to a story or sharing a drink or even giving them a slab o' bologna and bread then wouldn't it stand to reason that I have missed a few opportunities to at least make someone feel good, if even for just a bit? Possibly. Or maybe I'm thinking it would make me feel better to believe I have helped someone, when in reality it is quite possible that all I would've done is enable them to continue whatever cycle got them there in the first place.

Argh. I could go on like this for most of the morning, but I have to get up and do some more woodwork before we trek up to the OKCMOA to see SUPERSIZE ME! Now before y'all go getting all "but you said you hate theaters", remember: this is an arthouse theater. There will be no stinky teenagers. Only dark, intense and arty teenagers, who smoke clove cigarettes and think dark, intense and arty thoughts. Altogether, a different type of crowd.

CNN.com - 'Super Freak' Rick James dead - Aug 6, 2004

Can we take a moment for the man, the myth, the legend: Rick James?

Yahoo! News - New 'Bushism' Born at Bill Signing

There aren't words for this one, folks. As Jefe says "you just can't make this stuff up."

random pictures from the web: July 2004

Here's a little something to keep you busy while I'm being lame.

I think I may even permalink this guy if he stays with it--I love google image searching.

Terribly sorry, Ladies and Gents, but I will be on hiatus for the next few days. I am knee-deep in system maintenance on the desktop. The C:\ drive finally filled to the point that it kept reminding me that it was low on space. Yes, the laptop is fully functional, but we aren't talking about a lack of resources here, rather it will be a lack of time which keeps me from my chosen avocation.

Rather than continually fighting the darn thing, trying to recover free disk space, I reformatted that drive last night, and partitioned it with a larger chunk for C:\. The only problem with this procedure is that it takes days to get all my favorite software reloaded.

Yes, I have a backup that I could restore from, but that is last year's system build backup. Which means it would have none of the coolio programs I loaded between then and now.

Hopefully this will be done by the weekend, and I'll have a little sum-sum for ya.

I think I feel another sea story coming on...

FOXNews.com - Foxlife - Out There - Georgia Man's Pants Explode

I would have paid money to see the look on the social workers face!

Good Stuff.

Here's a little something Kelly found that is relevant. I never would've thought Garfield would be relevant to anything!

Enjoy!

Yahoo! News - Husband of Missing Utah Woman Is Arrested

When are these guys gonna figure out that even if the wife is pregnant, you still can't kill her.

Dang.

Jeez Louise, what a weekend!

I think Aimee and I have done more this weekend than in the last 3 combined.

I got up early (hey, noon is early) to help Greg move some goods to a self storage unit. After that, I came home and Aimee immediately put me to work. I drove to Panera to get lunch, broke down all the carboard we had been hoarding in the garage to be recycled, then went ot ACE to get some hardware goods so I could start work on what would be the biggest project of the day: windowed doors for the tv console. Halfway through that project, we realized that our miter saw wasn't cutting true 45 degree corners. Bummer. So then it was off to wm to get a new saw blade. Got that changed out and we found that it still wasn't cutting a 45. Oh well, the thing is probably 20 years old, and it will make a 90 degree cut pretty well. After all the carpentry was done, I put away all those tools, swept the garage then took the cardboard to the recycle center. Norman's "recycle center" is really a collection of dumpsters for paper/cardboard/glass and a giant cage for plastics. Fortunatley for me, you can drop stuff off anytime of the day or night. Finally back at the house, I started cleaning weapons. I got two of the four that needed cleaning done, but I have to wonder: does a .223 really need cleaning after only 80 rounds? The carbine definately needs it, but that'll have to wait. And this was all done yesterday.

Today started out way too early with not one, but two pages from the office. Gotta love being on-call. I had planned on getting up early again, but after the second page (before noon, mind you) I turned off the alarm, and promptly went back to sleep, not to be awakened again until almost 5pm. Yeah, boy! Now that is more like it! Despite our late rousing, there was still much to be done today as well. We decided the bradford pear tree on the west side had to go. I hate to kill a tree, but this one just wasn't working out--and it wasn't like it was a giant old oak or anything. I now remember why people hire pro's (like Jefe's guys) to do this for them. The longer I messed with that stump, the more I thought of that line from LOTR where the orc tells Saruman "their roots run deep, master...". I had to hook the dang thing to the truck and pull it over to expose the roots so I could cut through those, then pull some more, then cut, then pull, then cut. After the stump-cutting, I trimmed, mowed and edged like a madman. Bagging the entire lot. Jefe would've been proud. Oh yes, and let's not forget that the tree had to be cut in to easily managable bundles for the compost pickup tomorrow morning. Aimee had most of this done by the time I was finished with the yard, but the remainder was done in the driveway, after dark, by what little light the garage bulb could put out.

Oh, hang on! I just heard a disturbance call on the radio. Get this: some guy called Doug is sitting in a corner, naked, huffing paint and the owner of the house no longer wants him there. I wonder why?

So after the yard work was done, I gave myself a haircut and hit the shower. I ate a little dinner and sat down here. There is still one more thing to do though: cut Aimee's hair. And before you ask, it is fairly obvious from her continued presence here that I am doing a pretty good job of it. Once we finish up with that, it will be off to the couch to watch Six Feet Under to find out if Claire is going to get hir bi-curious groove on with Edie while Brenda and Nate conceive the love-child that she is supposed to be having with Joe. Oh yes, I have a feeling that Rico is going to be cold busted by Vanessa for hanging out with hoochie-mamma from the strip club. It's just all so naughty that sometimes I feel like I'm the one who's going to be in trouble.

In case you were curious, Doug is now on his way to the ER, transportation and accomodation courtesy of Norman PD.