Tonight's After Dinner Whiskey Hour Soundtrack: Après Moi, le Déluge

With apologies to Louis XV, of course.  We had a magnificent rainstorm this evening which resulted in the temps plunging from 100 degrees right down to 70... a reduction of some 30 degrees... which was welcome, indeed.   And which brought the 17th Street Canal and Intra-city Waterway up to navigable status, like this:

It also wetted down The Dowager Tart's hindquarters, as is plainly visible.  The chairs on the verandah, too... which meant we had to break out a towel for to drape over a chair so we could partake our After Dinner Whiskey and cigar on the verandah, where we looked like this:

But we digress and while we're digressing... I HATE the mePhone's camera, but that could be the subject for another post.  We're supposed to be on about the music, now, aren't we?  So, without further ado... Ms. Kate Bush:

But every time it rains,
You're here in my head,
Like the sun coming out--
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.
And I don't know when,
But just saying it could even make it happen.

Something good DOES happen when it rains here on The High Plains o' New Mexico... like green, and flowers, and clean, sweet smelling air.  Not exactly what Kate had in mind, but close enough.  I'll take it.

And now it's back outdoors, to continue as we've begun.

It's August...

... and we're in the hockey doldrums.  But that doesn't mean we can't revisit some o' the highlights from this season past.  Like this:



Everyone sez Rosby is the face o' the NHL and he's the poster boy for "Best Hockey Player, Evah!"  Even one of the asshats at that four-letter network had the temerity to ask "Gretzky or Crosby?" without even considering the BEST two-way player in the league today.  MY money is on Pasha but then it would be, dontchaknow.  But, Hey!  Don't take MY word for it... just watch the vid above.

Beauteous.

In Which We Feel the Perfect Fool

I was awakened at the ungodly hour of 0900 this morning by my friend Oscar, the service guy from the local appliance store, who had come to look at my microwave... which does double duty as a platform for the stove top lights... like this:

Note both lights are on and shining brightly; that was definitely NOT the case before Oscar's visit this morning as the lights... BOTH of them... failed simultaneously a short while ago.  Being the rather quick and perceptive person I AM I immediately thought "uh-oh" the first time I depressed the switch after the lights failed.  BOTH bulbs couldn't have failed simultaneously, this sorta thing just doesn't happen.  It HAS to be a bad switch, thinks I.

No.

Both bulbs failed simultaneously.  Oscar screws in two new bulbs and Walla!  Let there be light.

So I had the property management company send a guy out to change light bulbs for me.

I am mortified.

Resuscitation

One wonders how Bezos is gonna turn the Post around, but I hope he does.  I know -- newspapers are dead, everyone says that.  But I'd really hate to see that happen, for real, in my lifetime.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack, In Which We Tell a War Story About Bein' Sexually Harrassed

Counting Crows, with one of the only two songs I actually LIKE by this group:



I bought their first album on the strength of this song and "Mr. Jones," both o' which got a lotta airplay in the near wayback.  And there's this about that...

When I first hired on at that start-up in San Francisco back in 2000 I had a cube-mate by the name o' Sherri (not her real name, which I don't remember and wouldn't use even if I did).  We... all of us employees at Mimecom... sat in low-wall cube farms, in keepin' with the founders' spirit o' egalitarianism.  There were only two people in the entire company who had hard-wall offices, those two people being the CEO and the CFO, for which should be obvious reasons.  The rest of us labored in cubes, and my cube-mate... sitting right next to me... was a woman with remarkable attributes, more about which, below.  Pardon the digression.  Please.

So, it came to pass one day that a song by Counting Crows came on my radio at work, at which time I IMMEDIATELY turned the volume down to zero while commenting to no one in particular "My GOD, but I hate those whiny bastards!"  At which point in time Sherri commented "Hey!  Adam is a friend o' mine and he's a really nice guy!"  I replied "That may be true, but he's still a whiny SOB."  I got a "harumph" in return and we went back to doin' what we were doin', in silence.

But.  Sherri.  The girl was a mid-20-something blonde, blue-eyed, woman of about 5' 6" and 135 pounds (or so).  You might think that a lil bit heavy but let me tell ya: it was NOT.  The woman was one of those proverbial Brick Houses, with ALL the attributes o' same.  And the girl was not at all ashamed of those attributes... she flaunted them, as a s'matter o' fact, including female bits similar to the ones at right, always unencumbered by the usual, customary, and reasonable female foundation garments.  So much so that... had she worked for ME... I'd have sent her home to change into something more appropriate for the workplace.  But she didn't work for me so we just enjoyed the sights, as it were.  And they were sights to see, Gentle Reader.  Oh, yes.

It doesn't end there, however.  Sherri had this habit o' rubbing her soft bits against me from time to time, usually when we passed in the hall or when we were in the elevator.  And then she'd bat those baby blues at me at say "Oh.  Excuuuuse me!" and give me this evil lil grin.  Or she'd come sit ON my desk, put one foot on my chair and the other on my desk and begin a casual conversation while striking a provocative pose, which is an understatement if there ever was one.  I let all this slide, not wanting to (a) play her game or (b) get my sensitive bits caught in a sexual harrassment wringer.  

(Yet another digression.  The Ol' Man gave me a classic piece of advice when I was a younger man, to wit: "You don't shit in yer mess kit, Boy."  I remembered that and ALWAYS practiced it, even if or when it meant passing up on "targets o' opportunity," of which there were a few.  But Sherri wasn't one of those... Hell, I was old enough to be her father.)

It also came to pass that I mentioned Sherri's behavior to one of my male co-workers, someone much junior than me in age.  The boy just laughed and said "You're not the Lone Ranger, Buck.  She does that to EVERYBODY."  Which made me feel somewhat better and somewhat worse.  Well, a LOT worse, truth be told.

So, we endured.  Sherri eventually married her boyfriend, a young lawyer in a rather prominent SFO law firm, went off on her honeymoon to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, and quit the company as soon as she returned from Africa.  She's prolly fat, dumb, and happy today... eating bon-bons and livin' in a tony SFO condo.  She was that kinda girl.

And that was the ONLY time I was ever sexually harassed.  It really wasn't all that bad, as experiences go.

Sad But True

There's more similar to this... with a focus on A-Rod... at the Usual Source for these things.

It Be a Tad Warmish Outdoors

Summer's well and truly here...

This coming week offers little to no relief...

Ah, well... at least it's a DRY heat.  We're taking Happy Hour out on the verandah and we've just poured our second beer, as we speak.  And we're waiting with bated breath* for those t-storms, which will reduce the temperature by as much as 20 degrees... all in one fell swoop.  IF they arrive.

*Note to language purists: discussion here.  Go.  You'll be glad ya did, if only to provide a reference when correcting language idjits.

Apropos o' Not Much

I like Ron White.  A lot.  And not just coz o' the whiskey and cigars, although those DO help...



His ideers on paying for the war are good too, but the language in the clip just ain't work safe.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Uncle Leon (complete lyrics here) ...

Well, I'm goin' down, goin down a hard road
Just don't know, don't know where I've been
But I think I've been a-walkin', I'm a-walkin' 'round in circles
Can't even find a friend

Woah, my love, my love, she is not waiting
Think I might've been gone, I've been gone too long
Look at the people, people make me crazy
I can hardly sing my song

Well... we DO relate.  Kinda-sorta.

More Blatant Thievery

This time I snuck into the Brighton Pensioner's place and relieved him of this:



Heh.  Who knew "carpe diem" meant catch the Frisbee?

I miss my puppies...

That would be Fritzi Ritz (sitting) and Bōgus Dōgus (lying).

Saturday: Bear Party!

Pretty cool, eh?  The first runner-up was pretty silly.  Some guys have waaaay too much time on their hands.

And then there's this:

Want!

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack: Comparative Musicology

Play da blooze... Elmore James edition.

The bell has tolled, my baby caught that train 'n gone
The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train 'n gone
It was all my fault, I musta' did somebody wrong.
Everything that happens, you know I am to blame.
Everything that happens, you know I am to blame.
I'm gonna find myself a doctor, perhaps my luck will change.

Well, that's what SHE said.  The truth is subjective, as we all know.  I ain't buyin' into that sentiment... no way, no how.

Digressions aside... that would be the original, above.  And then there's this:



Oh, YES!  There are very, very few guitarists that could play slide like Duane.  That said, here's one such:



I own all three versions of this tune, but Mr. Winter's version is the one we listened to today.  I'd be hard pressed to choose my favorite among the three, and The Deity At Hand knows there are many, more takes on this quintessential blues tune.

Play da blooze, Boys... play da blooze!

Occam's Razor

News item:

A baby boom at McMaster's Medical Centre has some staff wondering what, if anything, the blip could have to do with last year's NHL lockout.

Dr. Patricia Smith, deputy chief of obstetrics, says it's difficult to draw a link between the hospital's bustling labour and delivery department and the league's labour strife. 

Nonetheless, the number of births spiked in May and June — around nine months after the pro hockey lockout began.

"We have been busier over the last three months," Smith said. "Now whether that's linked at all to the lockout, I don't know." 

According to Hamilton Health Sciences, 549 babies were born at Mac during May and June — a 13 per cent increase over 2012. In July, however, the number of births appears to have levelled off.

"I think it's a little simplistic to say that when men don't have hockey, they have sex," Smith said. "But that's what people tend to say — they look back nine months whenever we tend to have a bit of a boom and see what happened."

Ahem.  Dr. Smith... the simplest explanation is usually the CORRECT explanation.  That said, MY sex life remained non-existent during the lockout.

Sigh.

Birds of a Feather

That's a 2014 Mustang GT, Thunderbirds Edition... found at FullThrottle.

Want

I love the car... but the paint?  What's with all the matte black cars these days?  There's a trend that's gonna look incredibly stoopid in a year or two.

Back to the Camaro.  I owned that guy's big brother back in the day... one of these:

That's a 1967 Chevelle SS396.  Mine had the mid-range Big Block (they came in 325, 350, and 375 hp versions) and it was one of the best road cars I've ever owned; it's most certainly a car I wish I had back.  Mine looked exactly like that; it's a color Chevy called "Tahoe Turquoise."  She was beautiful, quick and fast.

Ah.  Former Happy Days, Part One.

Better Than Nuthin', I Suppose

From yesterday...

There was a time in the wayback when I used to watch "This Old House," back when Bob Villa was the prime mover.  I don't watch the show any longer, though.  "Home Improvement" ain't My Thang anymore... unless it's the "Tool Time" variety.

Hey!  It's BOB VILLA!  (at 1:40 & 3:35)

That Would Be Me, Too...

... if I'd have shook Number Nine's hand back in his playing days.  I took the vid from a "12 Greatest Hockey Commercials" post at SI.com.  This ad kinda made me a lil bit misty.

Getting Away and a Blast From the Past

I'm about to go on vacation, too, so this resonates with me.  I mean... we ALL have to get up off of the verandah, put the beer down, and do something, right?  As for me... I'm gonna drive out to DeeSee and parts o' Northern Virginia (Langley Airplane Patch, specifically).  We mulled over flying out there but decided on a road trip, instead.  There are two reasons for that: (a) I took a vow to NEVER fly again after the fucking TSA confiscated my USS MASON Zippo (I understand their point: ya gotta make SURE a 60-something old guy doesn't hijack an airliner with a fucking lighter) and (b) I haven't done a serious road trip since 2010... a 3300 mile jaunt out to South Carolina, up to Pittsburgh, and back... in The Green Hornet.  Before that it was 2007 when I took The Zuki on a 2200+ mile trip up to Utah.  Back then I billed the Utah trip as a Last Hurrah, and it was... on a mo'sickle.  This time The Tart and I are gonna go explore some Blue Highways on the east side of this great country.  I think THIS road trip will be a lot more comfortable than the previous two, but that said: we have some planning to do.

―:☺:―

And then there's this:

I was 12 at the time.

In Which We Pull the Ol' "Calling In Well" Trick

From a few years back (and a month ago, too)...

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Calling In Well

Towards the end of my working life there was a point in time I took to calling in well whenever "things" got a bit too much.  Which is to say something like this hypothetical phone call:

Boss: Hello?
Me:  Hey.  It's Buck.  I won't be in today.
Boss: Are you OK?
Me:  Oh yeah.  I'm great.  As a s'matter of fact I feel too damned good to come in.
Boss: (short pause, followed by laughter)  OK... see ya tomorrow!

That was about the way it went the first time I pulled that stunt.  I didn't do it all that often, mind you, mebbe once or twice a year and NEVER when there was "stuff" going on that required my presence.  I usually did it after some sorta death march was completed, which is to say the kind of activity that required an endless procession of 12 to 14 hour days.  It was my own personal form of R&R, in other words.  I never once pulled that trick in the Air Force, needless to say.  The military, even the AF, tend to take a rather dim view of that sort of attitude.  There's that "duty" thang, yanno?  But it isn't so in the civilian world, given you have the right sort of leadership.  And I did.

We're calling in well today here at EIP.  While I feel REALLY good I also have zero motivation my inner eight year old pulling his usual stunt.  Even My Buddy Ed In Florida seems to be on hiatus at the moment, having failed to send me any of his drollery.  Mebbe everyone is kinda-sorta calling in well today.

So there's this... one of my favorite pics from the way-back:

I went googling for a Happy Face to accompany this post and nuthin' struck my fancy... until I realized I had the happiest of Happy Faces right here in the archives.  He was a beautiful baby, nu?

Hey!  At least ya get a cute baby pic, eh?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

And now for sumthin' completely different...



It's all about the precision, Gentle Reader.   Brilliant, simply BRILLIANT.

The h/t goes to Occasional Reader, Constant Correspondent, and Good Buddy Rob.

Dreams

The drug in question on my messy desktop.

I've had this post percolating in the back o' my mind for some time now but haven't done anythang with it until now.  Just to set the stage... it came to pass about four months ago that I was having trouble falling asleep in the evenings (or early mornings, you choose), unless my Ol' Ass was parked in front o' the teevee, at which time sleep came all TOO easily.  I'd retire to my bedchambers, turn out the lights and toss and turn for what seemed like hours before sleep came.  So I decided to purchase what you see above: a potion called "Sleep," by an outfit called NatureMade.  The "all-natural" bits consist primarily o' melatonin and L-theanine and the good news is the stuff seems to work.  I've been taking one of these pills before bedtime for about four months now and have no trouble falling asleep any longer.

But the better news is my dreams have become a LOT more interesting and vivid (but NOT vivid like this).  I'm 99.4% certain the pills are the cause o' this phenomenon and I'm also 99.4% certain my better dreams are the reason I'm still taking this stuff.  Hell, my dreams are like an E-ticket ride at Disneyland these days and I'm not gonna give up "Sleep" anytime soon.

So what prompted this?  Well, I read this post by that other Old AF Sarge today.  My dreams are pretty good, but I can't hold a candle to his.  Mebbe I'll up my dosage.

Plane Pr0n and More On Col. Day

From the Usual USAF Source:

Air Frame: An F-15E Strike Eagle flies alongside a KC-135 Stratotanker during an in-air refueling mission over Afghanistan, July 17, 2013. (Air Force photo by SSgt. Marleah Miller)

―:☺:―

Medal of Honor Recipient Bud Day Dies
 
Retired Col. George E. "Bud" Day, a Medal of Honor recipient who spent nearly six years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam, died on July 27 in Shalimar, Fla., following a long illness. He was 88. "I owe my life to Bud, and much of what I know about character and patriotism," said Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.), who was Day's cellmate in captivity in Hanoi. "He was the bravest man I ever knew," said McCain. Day's funeral service is scheduled for Thursday in Fort Walton Beach, Fla., with burial at Barrancas National Cemetery in Pensacola, Fla., according to press reports. A native of Sioux City, Iowa, Day was born on Feb. 24, 1925. He served as a marine in World War II and then became an Air Force pilot during the Korean War. On Aug. 26, 1967, the North Vietnamese shot down Day's F-100 Super Sabre during a dangerous forward air control mission. He endured extreme hardship and torture in captivity. On March 14, 1973, Day regained his freedom. After recuperating, he returned to active flying status. He then retired from active duty in 1977 as the most decorated officer in the service's history and went on to practice law in Florida, becoming a crusader for veterans' issues. Day chronicled his Vietnam War experiences in the 1989 book Return with Honor. (See Associated Press report, via the Colorado Springs Gazette, and Sioux City Journal report.) (See also The Strength of Bud Day and Valor: The Long Road to Freedom from Air Force Magazine's archives.)

The stories at the last two links are well worth your time.

Into the Clearing At the End o' the Path...

Colonel George "Bud" Day, at 88 years of age, in Fort Walton Beach, Florida.  Here's Col. Day's fact sheet at AF.mil:

A veteran of three wars and the first commander of the Misty FACs, Col. George "Bud" Day is one of the most highly-decorated Airmen in USAF history. After being shot down in 1967, Day persistently defied his captors, for which he was mercilessly tortured. Day received the Medal of Honor and Air Force Cross for his determined and selfless resistance.

In 1942, at age 17, Bud Day enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps, and he served on a gun battery on Johnson Island for about two years. After the war he earned a law degree and was commissioned in the Iowa Air National Guard. Called to active duty in 1951, he completed pilot training and flew two tours in the Far East as an F-84 pilot during the Korean War.

In 1967, 43-year-old Maj. Bud Day volunteered for duty in Southeast Asia, and became commander of the Detachment 1, 416th Tactical Fighter Squadron, COMMANDO SABRE. This unit was better known by its radio call sign -- Misty -- which was Day's favorite song. On Aug.27, 1967, on his 26th Misty FAC mission, Day was shot down by ground fire over North Vietnam. During the ejection, Day's right arm was broken in three places, along with other injuries. His crewman was quickly picked up by a rescue helicopter, but Day was captured by local militia, beaten and tortured.

After five days, he escaped. In spite of his serious injuries and missing his boots, he traveled over 25 miles. During his arduous travel, he ate only local fruit and raw frogs, and he was further injured when a bomb went off nearby. After about 10 days, Day made it across the Ben Hai River into South Vietnam and a few days later was about two miles away from the Marine base at Con Thien. Tragically, Viet Cong insurgents discovered Day and shot him in the left thigh and left hand.

After being recaptured, Day was returned to the camp from which he escaped. His guards made him pay heavily for his escape, beating him severely. They then forced him to walk many miles to a prison at Vinh, where he was interrogated and further tortured. But, Day did not reveal any useful information to the enemy.

Taken to the "Hanoi Hilton" a short time later, Day endured years of agonizing treatment. Many of his injuries did not heal properly, and his weight dropped to about 100 pounds. Still, Day remained defiant. In the spring of 1968, he was taken to the "Zoo," a punishment camp for "hard resisters." There, he was beaten so hard his vision became blurred. After Ho Chi Minh died in the fall of 1969, the POWs' situation improved somewhat, but Day was still singled out for special treatment.

In 1973, after 67 grueling months in captivity, he was released. The damage by the enemy permanently scarred Day's body, but he tenaciously fought to get well. A year later he was back on flight status, and he qualified as an F-4 pilot. Col Day became vice commander of the 33th Tactical Fighter Wing, and he retired from active service in 1976.

RIP, Sir.

Heh

Occasional Reader and Constant Correspondent Lin sends the following along...

Whut?

Along these same lines... MANY'S the time I find myself standing in the kitchen... with or without the fridge door open... thinkin' "What did I come in here for, anyway?"

Saturday: Comparative Linguistics

OK, a lil bit over-done with the guy in the Tyrolean hat.  But the French girl... elle est charmant, n'est pas?

The first runner-up was John Oliver's take on the royal baby, but I just couldn't go there.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

We called Happy Hour early today... some might say it was a Liquid Lunch and I wouldn't argue... partly coz we embarked on the day at an ungodly hour (see below) but mostly coz we CAN. Our soundtrack was provided by RP again, coz it's just too damned hot outdoors to open up the house and play our own music.  We were pleased, indeed, to hear two Dylan covers and an original as we sipped our first brew o' the day... like this (those times are PDT, just in case ya don't know):

All three of those tunes are favorites, some less so than others.  But I was struck by this most-excellent cover of "Buckets" by Neko Case:



I've posted the song before, but it was Bobby's original version.  I also got some sensitive body parts caught in the wringer for comments I made on that post, so we'll refrain from commenting further... except to say Ms. Case does an excellent job on the tune.

But I won't take it back.

With apologies to Skip, for stealin' his formatting tricks.

Heh

I prefer the former state to the latter state, except for the fact I DON'T feel like crap.  I feel perfectly fine.  Well, sorta.

There's this about that... we were awakened at oh-dark-thirty this morning, twice.  Once by a message from SN1 at 0452 hrs (precisely, coz the mePhone would NOT let me ignore it, what with beeping until I accessed said message) and again at 0835 hrs by a call from a nice person at Roosevelt General to update me on my request for full-time oxygen, which has fallen victim to the MediScare bureaucracy.  I may have to go back to the clinic for another series of tests to verify I cannot breathe properly in order to satisfy the Death Panels.  Or they may just let me slowly expire... one never knows.

So, we gave up trying to sleep after the call from RGH, rolled our ol' ass outta bed, tossed down a couple o' cups, showered, and journeyed out to Cannon Airplane Patch to run a few errands.  In the course o' doin' so I was politely (yes, politely) requested by the Airman on the gate to "slow it down a little when approaching the gate."  Which kinda shocked me, given as how one has to slalom through a series of concrete barriers in order to actually GET to the gate.  I've always looked at those barriers as a sort of challenge... kinda like a gymkhana... the object bein' to get through them as quickly as possible without pranging the sheet metal.  It turns out the skycops take a rather dim view of my exhibition of driving skill in this space.  So we smiled, said "Yessir, yessir, three bags full, sir" and were on our merry way.

It's always sumthin'.

In Today's Mail

We would call this "more cigar art," but it's really not.  Partagas opts for traditional packaging, which is still rather spiffy in my (not so) humble opinion.  Like this:

There's a bit of a mystery here, as well.  I found these thingies in the shipment, in addition to the cigars:

Those are four cubes... approximately three-quarters of an an inch per side... of what appears to be green granite, packed in an embroidered canvas bag.  Exactly what I'm supposed to DO with them is what I'm wonderin'.   The only thing I can think of is they're meant to be frozen and used in your drink in lieu o' ice.  Or mebbe they're slingshot ammo.

Valor

From the Usual USAF Source...

Combat Controllers Awarded Silver Star

Air Force Special Operations Command chief Lt. Gen. Eric Fiel presented TSgt. Ismael Villegas and SSgt. Dale Young each with a Silver Star Medal for gallantry in combat on separate occasions near Helmand province, Afghanistan. The award ceremony took place on July 22 at JBSA-Lackland, Tex., where both combat controllers are currently assigned, according to a base release. Villegas is now the Air Force's only two-time Silver Star recipient currently on active duty, states the release. "Gentlemen, your bravery and tenacity epitomize what being a warrior is all about," said Fiel. "Your stories are truly inspiring." The Air Force recognized Villegas for his heroics "during nonstop enemy engagements" from Feb. 6-24, 2011. He controlled numerous strike aircraft that took out eight enemy fighting positions and killed more than 20 insurgents. He also gathered intelligence at great risk and pulled to safety a teammate hit by shrapnel. The Air Force honored Young for his actions from May 19-23, 2009, when he was under continuous enemy fire for 94 hours. He controlled coalition aircraft and ensured effective fires on enemy positions; this mission also resulted in the destruction of "more than $1 billion in black tar opium," states the release. (Lackland report by Mike Joseph)

Close inspection of the photo reveals TSgt Villegas also has a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart, in addition to his two Silver Stars.  The actions in February 2011 definitely wasn't his first rodeo; the sergeant has been deployed eight times in his 16 year career. 

This release also makes me wonder why the process for awarding medals takes so damned long... in that SSgt Young waited over four years before he was presented with his Silver Star.  Sergeant Young had this to say about that:

"I was surprised," Young said. "It was submitted as a Bronze Star with Valor and after statements from some of my team members, different boards recommended an upgrade to Silver Star. It's an honor."

Well, sorta, eh?  "Different boards." One wonders how many boards hoops this sergeant had to jump through, but I suppose it doesn't matter in the end.

Congratulations, Sergeants Villegas and Young.  Your nation is proud of you.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Van, singin' his signature tune...



I've seen Mr. Morrison on numerous occasions but NONE were better than this:

That was in London in 1982, and that particular concert was THE highlight o' my rock 'n' roll life.  The Second Mrs. Pennington and I had great seats... in the third row of the balcony, IIRC... but we rushed the stage for the encore: Caravan.  I swear to the Deity At Hand that we were close enough to reach out and touch his shoes and I also swear The Man might have spit on me, as well.  Did we rock out?  Yes, we DID.

We were buzzed for days after that evening, if not months... and I remember that evening as if it were last week.  Sometimes it bees like that.

You, Too, Can Join In!

Get yer sexting name here!  Here's mine...

"Hey, Babeeeee..."

H/t:  Cassandra at VC.

Plane Pr0n

From the Usual USAF Source...

Air Frame: An F-22 Raptor assigned to JB Elmendorf-Richardson, Alaska, takes off from the base, July 13, 2013. (Air Force photo by TSgt. Dana Rosso)

I wanna see one of these guys at an airshow someday.  Word is they put on one helluva show.

When Weather Reports Collide

Weather Underground and Google disagree...

Whatever.  It's hot outside and a lil more humid than usual, too.  Our jury is out on whether to have an al fresco Happy Hour today.  That said, it IS perfect G&T weather, innit?

Scrapin' the Bottom o' the Blogging Barrel...

... with this:



As for the new royal baby boy?  Congrats!  As for the vid?  Rue, Britannia.

I HATE It When That Happens!

Poor Marie.  She was SO misunderstood.  She had really nice digs, though.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

A lil Bizet for ya (and me)...



Apropos o' the above:

It's not pr0n, it's ART.  And while we're on about art, that would be MY hand at lower left.

There Weren't Any Bids, Anyhoo

Pretty funny, in a droll way.

In other news... remember this?  Only four bloggers in my sidebar have anything to say today.  I know... the day ain't over.  But, still.

The Sunday Re-Run

So... we went trolling through the archives lookin' for a re-post (coz I got nuthin') (again) and found this:

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Tragedy

Heh. 

Tonight's After Dinner Whiskey Hour Soundtrack

Mick and the boys sing Dylan...



I went looking for Leon Russell's version of this ol' chestnut but apparently it doesn't exist on the Tube O' You or elsewhere.  Which is too bad, coz I think Leon does this tune better than anyone else.  So, it's Mick.

Just for the record... we were listenin' to Bobby's original this evening, which ain't on the Tube O' You either.  It's rare that we strike out when we go lookin' for a song, but it does happen.