One year ago today: February 28, 2016, rail gun parts list.
Five years ago today: February 28, 2012, my last heart twitter, to date.
Nine years ago today: February 28, 2008, I upvote “The Bank Job”.
Random years ago today: February 28, 2011, who determines a “peer”?
My aversion to American beef does not extend to any other meat, so yeah, I know a few excellent recipes you might think are beef only. Like turkey burgers. So I made a batch last evening and, okay, I admit it. I ate the whole tray myself. Four monster burgers with all the fixings and for once, I was full. My cardiologist would cancel my account if he knew. I could not move, so I dug out an obscure DVD called “Albino Alligator”. I’d say it’s worth a watch, but they could have done so much more with it.
The actress is Faye Dunaway playing an age appropriate role of a barmaid with a grown son. I only remember her from that one scene in Bonnie & Clyde where she runs down the stairs. If you don’t know the scene, you were not paying attention. Whooo-eeeee! That was cutting edge back in the day.
They make some demands saying they will release the bar patrons one by one as the demands are met. But instead of releasing the hostages, they release themselves. It almost works until somebody turns on the television and they see the bad guy’s picture—another instance of media interference. You’ll have to watch the movie to find out what happens. Alas it is not as exciting as it could have been with such an innovative angle.
Singapore.
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Okay, here we go. She’s southern belle, her grandfather “made it on his own”, meaning he received a 100-acre plantation by marrying into the right family. Ooh, she just met the 6-foot-6 forest ranger and the juices are flowing. So far, the story is about smuggling rare animals, the US being the biggest market. Many of the animals are ground up for oriental medicines and aphrodisiacs, the skins sold for sex purposes. Personally, I think they should do that to the people who buy these things.
Let’s see where this goes, the book title suggests genetic engineering. The head guy will overlook the obvious, but that’s because he “more resembles a California surfer than the world’s leading neurobiologist”. Shuck, t’warn’t nuttin’, I can hear him as he sashays down the hallway to the adoration of the female staff, both married and single. And some of the men, to avoid any liberal backlash.
Ha, this audio book is worth the listen just for the corniness of the material. Listen closely, I’m not saying the presentation is cheap, far from it. The actors are all professionals, the recordings are flawless. They even (and don’t ask me how they managed this) use the proper pronunciation of obscure Cajan terms and family names. But the plot continually caters to the movie/TV rights and is disgustingly politically correct. One recurring theme is how the woman is always virtuous and this must be reinforced by word and deed. Thusforth, the book keeps hitting you with the angle that although her temptations are constant, ever constant, being a woman, she can control herself.
Right now, she is in a helicopter, crammed between seven uniformed border patrol agents wearing “intoxicating amounts of cheap aftershave” and is she concerned about hunting the sabre-toothed tiger? Nope, she’s doing her best to ignore the “tornado of testosterone”. God forbid, however, that any of the men notice that instead of sleeping as instructed, she’d spent the last three hours putting on makeup for the event. Or notice her unusually high and freckled cheekbones, silk scarf, or sensible shoes. They's goin' swamp, daddy.
Wasp alert. It’s near the red shed and I can’t find it. But once you open the doors in five minutes you get the scouts hovering around. I checked the oil on the vehicles and finally glued a replacement lens on the speedometer of the red scooter. That’s the unit that I’ve tried for years to find something that would keep the old lens clean. So I finally cut one from the toughest clear material known to mankind. The plastic wrap on small pars you buy at Wal*Mart. Have you ever tried to open them packages without a knife? The speedometer hasn’t worked for 10,000 miles but I need to see that fuel gauge.
“No business sign is a sign of no business.”
Sabotage. Up at the library, you get to meet Mr. Pig. The freaky little Cuban who is constantly hacking, snot-swallowing, grunting, being as disgusting as possible. Well, he always uses computer number 17 when it’s available. It has a pillar where the front desk can’t see him accessing his porno. I use all the computers sooner or later, so over time when I find something that doesn’t work, I swap it out for computer 17. Now it’s the computer with the mouse that skips, letter T has to hit really hard to work, and the monitor smells like cat pee. Etc. It’s kind of fun to watch him sit there cussing away to himself.
Yes, it is tedious but for me it’s like driving, gives one time to think and plan ahead, two of my favorite pastimes. The vinegar? I’d heard that a major property of vinegar when it comes to cleaning is that the vinegar “bacteria” crowd out anything else that might be potentially harmful. Urban legend or not, it makes sense to me.
That reminds me, want to hear an old Texas trick with vinegar? It will also crowd-out body odor. In a pinch, apply vinegar to your armpits. Don’t worry, the aroma will go away in a few moments and then it acts like deodorant. I’m informed that you don’t do this regularly, as your system will build up a resistance. I’ve not personally tried this, but it also makes sense to me.
I’m reading a history book about the era of the 900s in Europe, when it was supposed to be all Dark Ages. It doesn’t surprise me that the occasional noble became scientific-like. After all, those were the only people who were taught to read in those days, other than the monks. But if you’ve ever read anything technical written by monks, you rapidly conclude that their priority is hardly to present the unadorned facts. I ran across the unusual name of Fulk Nerra. A while ago I told about how the establishment of fortifications, in this case castles, prevented entire nations and sometimes empires from falling just because their army lost one battle. The groundwork was done by good old Fulk, may I call you Fulk? No? Well Fulk you anyway. Ha, I wait for moments like that.
Prior to his time, there were fortresses at important seaports and such, but what is the difference with a castle? It’s a weak definition and I may have it wrong, but the castles are designed to be part of a network that controls a much larger region than possible by a fortress. The Romans managed this with base camps and defended depots, but that can hardly compare to stone castles with moats and drawbridges, meant to be inhabited by the big shots.
My plan is to dig a shallow trench along the bottom of the wall. This is where the majority of paint chips fall, and I’ve noticed I don’t need to stand or place much right close to the wall. My task is easier because it is all soft sane. My plan is to line the trench with a small trough of newspaper or similar, then lift the paint flecks out for disposal. I won’t get it all, but the purpose of the trench is I can just bury the minor amount that is left. If it is non-ecological, good, I don’t want anything growing that close to the foundation of my house. See photo.
There is also a device called the Metabo Paint stripper, but it seems to carry a $350 price tag and the models I’ve found require 230 volts. I’m still shopping.]
Next, I got out the old Danelectro and learned some intros. As many of you know by now, unless the guitar stops playing rhythm, or the intro itself in compatible with guitar chording, these often get left out. I find that such a pity that I play the riffs when possible—although equally often you get a guitar player who has long since forgotten there was an intro and often can’t or won’t learn it. I picked two meh tunes, “Grandpa”, that’s the tell me ‘bout the good old days song, and the Judd’s with “Why Not me”. I could snap right back and point out these sound funny on the bass unless there is a guitar part, but you already know the average guitarist would miss the point.
Oh, and I’ll have to do another library download soon. I cannot find a solitary person in this part of Lakeland with any clue how to download music off the Internet, or who will allow me to use his computer or his connection to do it myself. I still managed to fake that guitar riff on bass from Parton’s “Jolene”. Give it a listen and you’ll hear the parts I mean. Just between her vocals in the verses, you hear a rapid set of low notes on the guitar. And low guitar notes are prime targets for high bass notes.
ADDENDUM
Sabotage. Up at the library, you get to meet Mr. Puerco. The freaky little Cuban who is constantly hacking, snot-swallowing, grunting, being as disgusting as possible. Well, he always uses computer number 17 when it’s available. It has a pillar where the front desk can’t see him accessing his porno. I use all the computers sooner or later, so over time when I find something that doesn’t work, I swap it out for computer 17. Now it’s the computer with the mouse that skips, letter T has to be hit really hard to work, and the monitor smells like cat pee. Etc. It’s kind of fun to watch him sit there cussing away to himself. Puerco is Spanish for pig.
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