One year ago today: May 27, 2017, stupid code.
Five years ago today: May 27, 2013, they did nothing illegal.
Nine years ago today: May 27, 2009, whatever became of Degbert?
Random years ago today: May 27, 2012, the hoodie tool.
This is not your usual museum Uzi. It is apparently a prototype built in Miami, which has extreme ties to the Israeli state. The weapon was donated by a local resident who knew the inventor personally. When the insurrections starts, the accompanying card in the case says it is a fully functional piece. Except, where are you gonna find the bullets? Hold on, something occurred to me. At the time this came out, there were legally no ammunition factories in Israel. Mind you, the British authorities might have wondered who was importing so many machines for making lipstick cases. Anyway, would not the guy have used some standard round? I’m likely misremembering a few things, but let me look that one up. Later, yes, he used the 9mm round, this prototype may have used the larger .45 Colt which is also twice as expensive.
I will respond to the others, seeking more information, then auditions if they can get past square one. Did I create confusion last day mentioning some guitarists insist on knowing the song before they will strum? I’ve been scolded saying that is normal that they need the song name. No, it is not. In my band, you must be able to play rhythm chops to spec, often a pattern that is not present in the original piece of music. The music parts are arranged and one of the biggest problems on stage for me is guitarists who relapse into comping or the studio version. You would not show up to a big band rehearsal and play whatever you felt like, and you don’t show up for a duo with that mind-set either.
Here’s one of my famous quotes, unless somebody said it before. “Interestingly, science never conflicts with religion.“ I want to be remembered for that when they discover life on Mars. And the blog rule about recording anything unusual comes into play. The big church across the way rings the bells at 6:00PM. I got used to it first day, it’s relaxing, and soon could sleep through it. Until now. They have a new recording and the first two notes are identical to my doorbell . . .
What crisis?
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I read another chapter of the sailing book. He writes like I do and unlike the fat cats, he will talk about what things cost. So far, he’s tight-lipped about where he gets enough money to take months off work and sail across the Pacific. It’s interesting for me, if I get into reading the whole book, I’ll get you the specs. There’s more than he’s saying, since every island he stops at he seems to know the mayor or the chief. I wonder what my life would have been like if anything had ever gone my way. Some people say it did, but that’s not the case. I had to work for every last thing I have ever had. That includes every note I play on the bass. Saying I was gifted would be akin to saying I was born knowing how to type.
Which, because it’s a slow day, gives me cause to tell you what was haywire with the last ten gals that I’ve met. Let me check the calendar, that’s how I keep score, er, I mean, how I keep track.
Joyce: decided to get back together with her ex, again.
Jeanette: asks for money on the second date.
Sandra 1: snorts, discretely, but snorts.
Tila: can’t make up her mind on anything.
Dawn: waiting 42 years for somebody “her own age”.
Jenn: her kids are obviously more important than her man.
Paula: asks for money on the second date.
Charla: bat-shit crazy, hates everything.
Linda: the cat lady, tattoos, broke all the time.
Sandra 2: clinging co-dependent personality.
ADDENDUM
This concerns dieting, so skip it if you’d like. I’ve been reading several sources that state the accepted model of 2,000 to 2,500 calories per day are not correct. More accurate measurements, and you can look this up on your own, seem to indicate most people burn 3,030 calories per day. This isn’t much good news for me, as it means even dieting as dedicated as mine takes absurd amounts of time to have any effect. An intake of 800 calories per day would mean a shortage of 2,000 calories, which is 14,000 per week and that translates to four pounds. Never have I lost that much in so short a time. My average is more like one pound per week and even that has been depressingly inconsistent.
Let me extrapolate that 3,030 per day formula. I’m seeking to calculate how many calories I have to use up to lose each pound of fat. It could be the food I’m eating is mislabeled, or I’m sleepwalking to the refrigerator. Using the 1 pound = 3,500 calories, I’ve gotten rid of an excess 105,000 calories, or 577 per day. Yet my calculated caloric loss should be 2,230 calories each day (that is 15,610 calories per week) which is the four pounds.
If, instead of four pounds, I lose only one, that means I must digest up 16,000 calories for each pound I actually lose. These are disputable numbers, but they are based on very accurate measurements. No way could I accept the notion that my metabolism is different. My quest is now to find out why, and the answer I’m sure is my regimen is wrong. By the equation, I should have lost 104 pounds by now. Somehow, I am consuming an extra 700 calories per day without knowing it. However, if was every day, I would spot it. Let’s look at a whole week.
Breakfast is 400 calories, pretty consistently. I will usually consume another 300 around the house, but only if I feel actually hungry (which has become rare) and I will conserve if I know I want to go out for extra coffee or a drink. My Friday splurge is usually two Dunkin egg wraps or an order of 10 BK chicken nuggets, with one ranch and one buffalo sauce. But that is easily offset by my four hour work days up to four days per week, and on the other days I always get something done. I never really have days of doing nothing. This is the makings of a first class mystery.
As I approach a half year of dieting, the results are still mixed. I would have begun riding the bicycle this weekend but for the rain. I’ve lost on average 30 pounds, and I say average because of daily fluctuations up to 3.2 pounds (the digital scale is metric). My body fat remains at 31.7% where normal is below 24%. At the end of this month, it will be 182 days of stringent dieting. No eggs, no chocolate, very low carb intake, and minimal dairy are the hallmarks. As a reward, if you must know, I can have anything I want of Fridays, except pizza and Chinese food is a thing of the past. Anything I want, but only one. I just don’t want to turn 65 looking like the people around me. While I still can, I don’t mind being mistaken for ten years younger.
Say, that reminds me. When I stopped at Auntie’s (the Thrift out on Pierce Road), I caught her giving me the look. I kind of nodded ad smiled for an invitatious moment, but all she said is that I was looking good. The delivery was deadpan, so she’s still seeing that mine worker. That gal, like most, is just not thinking ahead. Most problems later in life can be attributed to never learning the concept of delayed reward. In a couple of years, her kids are going to start getting really expensive. He will bail. And she will be stranded. I don’t mind infant children, but I don’t raise other people’s broods.
Did I just invent the word “invitatious”?
[Author’s note: when I go out for a beer, it is usually four, sometimes five bottles (I do not drink draft, wine, or liquor), two to three times per week. It’s easy to point at that, but sorry, my detractors, that is already accounted for in my 800 calorie limit. I never binge drink and never blank out. If I have five, it is over a period of nearly 2.5 hours, and that’s hardly pounding them away. And the lack of women in the room normally means I’m doing some calculating or sketching, not the kind of activity that could be associated with being blind drunk.]
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