Saturday.

If this don't make ya laugh...



... you're beyond hope.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack...

Robert Earl Keen...



I can't say that I relate to the lyrics in this song... when push comes to shove... but I've always identified with 'em, which is varying only by the smallest of degrees.

It's a brilliant day here on The High Plains o' New Mexico.  You can't feel it, Gentle Reader, but this might give ya a clue:

So: it's danged near perfect, innit?  We mixed up a batch o' Manhattans for this occasion which looked a lot like this:

Never mind the fact I cut off my head... I just need longer arms.  That said...those Manhattans are done now, alas.  We're just slightly too lazy to mix up another batch o' the same, especially when we can pour some Bulleit Rye on the rocks and be done with it.  That makes us happy, too.

This Just In...

... literally.  In my in-box:

Thanks, Mitt.  I'm not all that thrilled about an opportunity to fly on an airborne campaign bus, but I WOULD accept yer invite when you begin jetting around on Air Force One.  Drop me a line sometime after the first of the year, mmm-kay?

Nekkid

No one should be surprised at anything the MSM does these days, unless it's an oh-so-rare case of them doing the RIGHT thing.

And then there's this from the Usual USAF Source:

Positive Vector: No F-22 pilot has experienced an unexplained physiological incident in flight since March 8, a span covering some 10,000 sorties and more than 13,000 cockpit hours, said Maj. Gen. Charles Lyon, Air Combat Command's director of operations, in testimony on Capitol Hill on Sept. 13. "This is the longest period" without one such incident "in years," he told members of the House Armed Services Committee's tactical air and land forces panel during a hearing on F-22 pilot oxygen-deprivation issues. Lyon said the Air Force continues to transition the F-22 fleet back to normal flight operations. "The path to resuming normal flight operations hinges on the successful development, testing and fielding of the modified combat edge upper pressure garment valve," he said. Fielding of the valve is expected by year's end, he noted. Activity also continues to incorporate an automatic backup oxygen system in the jet; the first F-22 is slated to get this upgrade in January, he said. "We are certain the F-22 cockpit and surrounding workspace is a safe, effective place to operate," said Lyon. He added, "Continuous process improvements will ensure the safety of the F-22 workforce now and in the future." (Lyon's prepared statement)

I'm not diminishing the good news about the F-22's oxygen system, and the news IS good, but someone/anyone describing a fighter's cockpit as a "safe place" (a) raised my eyebrows and (b) made me laugh.  Out loud.

This Is Different, Too

It began raining last night and has continued doin' it all day today.  I might have mentioned this before, but rain here on The High Plains o' New Mexico usually only lasts for ten or 15 minutes and then it's gone with the wind (heh).  Cloudbursts, in other words.  Today the sky is leaden gray from horizon to horizon and we're gettin' light-to-medium steady rain.  And I mean steady, as in hardly moving along at all.  Our radar:

Different.  And GOOD.

Now For Sumthin' COMPLETELY Different...

Heh.

In other news... we pulled yet another accidental all-nighter.  I'm not gonna fight this any longer, I'll just sleep when I feel like it.  Last night I felt like it from around 2100 hrs until 0230 this morning.  Life sure as Hell is strange these days.

Tonight's ADWH Soundtrack

Townes Van Zandt...

One o' my favorite quotes, posted often in these spaces: "NO ONE is happier than a wino who can afford his own wine."  Or Bulleit, as the case MIGHT be.

This Is Getting Ridiculous

The latest from Buck's Sooper-Sleep Study:  I went to bed at 2030 hrs last night, which would be 8:30 pm for you civilians.  I don't think I've gone to bed at that time since I was about ten, but I did last evening.  I woke up at 0300 hrs (or so) which is about six hours of drug-induced sleep. (About which: we're having ourselves some GREAT BIG WONDERFUL dreams; I just wish I could remember the details.  They're good, though... trust me.)  We made the coffee and all that other stuff, drank a full pot and then went BACK to bed around 0700 hrs and remained there until 0930.  I've never had "normal" sleeping hours since I rejected gainful employment as a valid lifestyle, but THIS is ridiculous.

So.  We've been out and about already this morning... renewing our lease for another year (Celebrating one year on these premises on 9/15/2012.  Come to our anniversary celebration!), renewing the beer supply for a day or three (Turbodog!), and purchasing a screen door for our humble abode (for cooling Fall breezes!).  About which, this:

True Value Hardware and FUDGE.  The stoopid camera operator beheaded the large sign announcing there's fudge for sale here, so you'll just have to trust me on that.  No, I didn't buy any, even though I prolly should have.

Rather Random

Today has been a strange sort o' day, in a number o' ways.  First and foremost there's that anniversary thing, which is always marked with reflection and a good degree of introspection on my part.  This year hasn't been much different in that regard.

What HAS been different is my physical condition.  I'll try not to flog dead draft animals too hard, but I've been... umm... less than optimum.  The pain-killers I'm on have caused me to spend a lot o' time on the couch in a semi-conscious state o' mind.  Shorter: I'm sleeping a LOT.  

Excess sleep has had some interesting effects, like the fact I woke up at 0400 hrs this morning and couldn't get back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried... and I tried.  So we got up, fired off the coffee pot, put a post up sometime after 0430 hrs, made the rounds o' blogs not yet updated, surfed the 'net, played with our finances a lil bit and just generally hung out.  The morning progressed slowly until the rest o' the world woke up, at which time we went and got The Tart cleaned up inside and out, ran out to Cannon Airplane Patch for to make a commissary run (more soft food, please!), get my bi-monthly haircut, came home, unloaded the groceries, put them away, grabbed a lil lunch, and launched Happy Hour... all well before noon.  Which is really weird, Gentle Reader, seein' as how I'm normally pouring my second cup at that time.

We were finishing our first beer when SN1 dropped us a note, asking if we were available for a Skype session?  Why, yes.  Yes, we were.  And we did.  I really me some technology, especially when it allows me to catch up with what's goin' on in the AOR.  What a change from those old HAM radio communications we had back in my day... and anyone who "benefited" from a MARS call back in the day knows exactly what I'm on about.  Over?  Over!

So, we've just renewed our meds and are about to launch Happy Hour, Part Deux.  But one more thang before we go...  Remember how ecstatic I was about The Lovely Renee and the fact I finally found a barberess who cut my hair the way **I** wanted it cut?  Well, scratch that.  Renee has moved on to greener pastures (ABQ, so I'm told) and I'm out in the cold yet again.  The good news is the lady that cut my hair today didn't do a bad job, so mebbe there's hope.

So... beer me!

9/11

It's been 11 years since the attacks that "changed everything," yet that day is a day none of us will ever forget... at least those of us who were ten years of age or older in 2001.  It's right and proper to remember that terrible day and keep the innocents who lost their lives in our hearts and minds.  It's right and proper to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the fight against the jihadis since that time, those who had their lives unalterably changed by wounds both physical and mental as a result of the fight, and those still serving.

Never forget.

We Did a Bad Thang

But we fixed it.  A couple o' few days ago I received a summons to appear for jury duty and a couple o' days after that I received yet another summons for the same purpose.  I think I made a fairly reasonable assumption that I received duplicate summonses, seein' as how one came hard on the heels of the other.  But that was NOT the case and I didn't notice the summonses were different until today.  Note:

One is from the District Court and the other is from the Magistrate Court.  Oopsie, because one has to fill out a detailed jury questionnaire and mail it back to the court... which I did in the case of the District court... and I threw the OTHER questionnaire away, thinking it was a duplicate.  The biggest oopsie: the questionnaire from the Magistrate Court was due TODAY.  So we hied ourselves on down to the Magistrate Court this morning, presented both summonses, explained ourselves, and got stuff sorted out.  

I'm quite sure the ladies there thought I was some sorta bleedin' idiot... not only for the mix-up/mistake on my part, but also given the fact I'm not enunciating my words any too clearly minus my lower front teeth.  Shorter: I sound like a retard.

While we're on about teeth... we also presented a note from our dentist to both courts and requested a medical excuse from jury duty, which is pending at the Magistrate Court but was granted by the District.

I think I need to go back to bed.

Linkage and Similar

Our British Blog-Bud the Brighton Pensioner has been publishing pictures of picturesque ponts these last few days... and I REALLY had to work at that alliteration... all of which are most beautiful in differing ways.  You should go look... and scroll down, coz he's only posting one pic per day.

I've run a few bridge pictures here at EIP in the past but none quite as beautiful as Brian's examples.  Here are a few pics of a bridge that was declared "beautiful" by fiat.

Click all the pics to embiggen and click again, if need be.

I need to tell ya sumthin', though... it wasn't a beautiful experience standing in the middle of that bridge and looking down several hundred feet into the Rio Grande canyon while big-ass trucks lumbered by and the bridge moved up and down several inches in the vertical.  Especially when one has a highly developed case o' acrophobia.

Saturday, Part Deux

Now playing in patios and parking lots EVERYWHERE:

Verandahs, too.  By way o' explanation... I heard this clip sometime during the way out and back to the base yesterday and I intended to work the vid into my ADWH post last evening.  It just slipped my mind, along with MANY other things that have fallen through the cracks in the last 36 hours or so.

Saturday. For the Cars, Mr. Bond, For the CARS.

Mainly coz I don't give a big rat's ass about what comes outta Hollywood or its British equivalent.  But the automobiles?  THAT'S a different story...

I'll have one o' each, please.  You can skip the Sunbeam unless it's a Tiger.

From the Usual Source of these thangs.

Tonight's After Dinner Whiskey Hour Soundtrack...

Ryan Bingham with some great slide guitar...

After Dinner Whiskey Hour tonight brought a taste o' Fall, what with a cold front blowin' in today.  It was all o' 65 degrees when we walked back into the house tonight, and said house felt warm after bein' outside for a couple o' hours.  We wrapped our-skinny-self up in a long-sleeved shirt this evening and was grateful for the comfort it provided, given as how our R-factor is rather low and exacerbated by the recent violence done to our person... and the resulting fall-out from same.  Which is NOT to say we didn't enjoy our time out on the verandah this evening, coz we most surely did, helped in no small part by two iterations o' Woodford Reserve and a nice Cohiba Maduro.  We're slowly but surely gettin' back to normal.

The feel o' Fall in the air did a body GOOD, Gentle Reader.  I'm ready  for a reprieve from the all-consuming heat we've experienced here on The High Plains o' New Mexico these past several weeks, and tonight was just the ticket we've been anticipating.  It gets even better tomorrow, what with a forecast high of 85 or so, and down into the 50s tomorrow night.  It looks like it's gonna be a perfect day for college ball tomorrow.

Bring it on... coz I'm SO ready for it!

Just a Quickie

I'm recently in from the day's errands, which included a fruitless attempt at obtaining Industrial Strength Pain Killers from the Cannon Airplane Patch pharmacy, where I was informed that they don't carry Percocet.  Say what?  Nope... they don't.  So it was off to Wally-World to buy the required drugs (buy: as in a modest co-pay of ten Yankee Dollars) instead of getting them on Uncle Sam's dole.  

Drugs.  Some better than others.

That was disappointing, but I swung by the Class VI on my way off the base and found that The Management had answered my request by stocking Bulleit Rye as a normal offering, so no further special orders are required.  I also noted with great pleasure that Woodford Reserve is also on the shelf again... and noted with FURTHER pleasure that the combined price of a bottle of each of the foregoing is only six Yankee Dollars more than a single bottle of the formerly preferred Johnny Walker Green.

So, did I even go LOOK at the scotch?  Hell, no.

In further alcoholic news... I almost fulfilled the terms of the post-op 24-hour alcohol ban.  Almost.  I skipped Happy Hour yesterday in favor of a nap but weakened and had a couple o' fingers o' Woodford Reserve after dinner.  I DID keep the cigar ban, but we won't last the mandated 36 hours.  As a s'matter o' fact we shall fire one up and crack a Sammy Adams Octoberfest soon after we hit "publish" on this piece o' drivel.

One last thang:  Blog-Buddy Jim has been through all this crap significant Adventures In Modern Dentistry, too.  He posted a re-run thoroughly describing his experiences in his inimitable, which is to say hilarious, way (and made me blush by dedicating the piece to me).  You should go read... it's better than good.

Iced

In comments to the post below I said I'd spare ya the gross pics, Gentle Reader.  But not the rather humorous looking ones --  they're fair game.

It ain't all that funny, tho... in several different ways.

The First of What MIGHT Be a Few Re-Runs

This is one of those scheduled posts, sumthin' I drafted before we set out on our latest journey of a thousand steps 20-thousand Yankee Dollars.  I'll prolly be in recovery mode for at least 24 hours... what with six bleeding holes in my gums where teeth useta be... and with little or no inclination to put up the usual, customary, and reasonable semi-enlightened blog post.  You, Gentle Reader, get re-runs as a result, the first o' which are a few ruminations on my relationships with creepy-crawlies.  Beginning with this:

It’s WAR! Normally I’m a live-and-let-live kinda guy, and my tolerance extends to creatures great and small. Included in the “small” community are various bugs, with the exception of flies and mosquitoes, which are terminated immediately with extreme prejudice…always. Take spiders, for example. Spiders are generally good, as they eat other small critters and generally stay out of my way. And I enjoy their webs, which are both small-scale engineering feats and supremely artistic, as well…as anyone who’s seen an early morning web covered in sparkling dew will attest.

My tolerance ends, though, when spiders begin to overwhelm my personal space and get presumptuous about territory and such, thinking it’s theirs for the taking. While I love and appreciate outdoor webs I don’t like to see the things hanging off my table lamp, or worse, have a small spider drop down on a gossamer filament right in front of my face while I’m surfing the other web (heh). And that’s just in the front of the house. Things get worse, much worse, as you move to the rear of El Casa Móvil De Pennington. Lately I’ve been involved in a daily ritual that involves wiping away webs that have been spun overnight in both the bathroom and the kitchen, and the spiders have become so numerous that they’re scurrying around in plain sight. It’s time for a new strategy: we’re gonna surge.

It appears that GHQ Arachnid is located in the bathroom. Yesterday I took extreme measures on the HQ… emptying both bathroom cabinets, thoroughly cleaning out the spaces, and finishing off by liberally spraying the interiors of both cabinets and the surrounding baseboards with Raid. Result: no webs in the bathroom this morning. The kitchen will be a little more problematic because I don’t want to engage in unrestricted chemical warfare in that operational area. The risk of collateral damage (to YrHmblScrb, hisownself) is just too high. So we’ll just content ourselves with applying forceful thumb pressure on the little terrorists as they transit from nook to cranny. And waging chemical warfare along the baseboards and other spaces in the kitchen where the risk of collateral damage is low.

We have evidence the surge is working, as noted above. There will be NO political settlement, and we’ll take no prisoners. All I’m asking is a return to the status quo ante, or in other words, if the spiders stay in their space, I’ll stay in mine. 

Peace in our time.

That was but the first salvo in an on-going War Against Arachnids.  This is a follow-up:

In local news... I found this critter on my door this morning (click for larger):

I'm normally a "live and let live" kinda guy but I think this beastie will have to die. It committed the ultimate critter-crime: You DON'T invade MY space. He's a big sucker, too. 

This calls for chemical warfare.

We simply cannot let a "bugs" post go without posting this, for about the third time:

Bugs

I’m putting the final touches on dinner last evening (read that: taking the last of three grilled cheese sandwiches out of the frying pan) when, from literally out of nowhere, a medium sized daddy longlegs drops on to the counter in front of me. I quickly put that grilled cheese on the cutting board and take a swipe at the spider. I miss. He’s a quick little bugger! There’s only one escape route available to said spider and he takes it, leaping on to the cutting board, heading straight for my dinner. I take a couple of stabs at him with my finger, again. Miss. Miss. Now that bold little SOB is actually ON my dinner, so I sweep him off the sandwiches with the flat of my hand, surgical precision be damned. I succeeded in sweeping him off the cutting board back on to the counter from whence he came. He was terminated with extreme prejudice and the remains deposited in the trash.

Fifteen or 20 minutes later and we're done with dinner.  Those sandwiches were good! As I’m clearing the table I look down on the cutting board to see what are clearly two tiny little legs amongst the remnant crumbs. Which, of course, raises the question: “How many spider legs did I actually eat?” After a brief “ewww” moment I realize this ain’t the first or the last time I’ll consume a bug, in whole or in parts. The government has standards for “acceptable” amounts of insect parts and other filth in our food, ya know. And here they are. (ed: dead link)  I’m glad I didn’t have any fig newtons for dessert.

Which brings to mind another bug story. In the last installment of “Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine” I told you about my mid-70s trip to Ramasun Station in Thailand and associated events. During that trip I became very good friends with a young lady that worked in one of the local bars in Kho Kha. One evening after work I’m sitting at the bar, nursing a Singha and minding my business when my lady friend slides on to the stool next to mine. We exchange greetings, and she says: “I bring you present.” “Cool!” sez I.

She reaches into her (very large) purse and pulls out this little cage made out of woven palm fronds or something, about three inches in diameter by two inches high. She then opens the top of the grass cage and dumps out this VERY large beetle-looking insect on to the bar. The beetle is about the size of an Almond Joy piece, which is to say it’s a really big bug.  It's alive... and crawling ponderously around on the bartop.

“That’s nice,” I say. “What am I going to do with this?”

“You eat!” she says.

“You SHIT, too!” sez I.

She looks at me in a mildly offended way, shrugs her shoulders, picks the bug up off the bar,  bites off the bug’s abdomen, and chews it up with exaggerated smiles of delight. I almost threw up.

It turns out she had offered me a Rice Bug, a particular form of beetle found in rice fields. This beetle eats rice, “processes” it, and stores the resulting paste in its large abdomen. A real Thai delicacy, so I’m told, even if the bugs are normally deep fried or steamed. My friend ate this one raw (and ALIVE, fergawd's sake!), though.  It was a day or two before I kissed her again.

Well, that last sentence isn't entirely true; it was more a matter of hours. True lust conquers all.

My apologies to you Gentle Readers that have been with me since Day One or thereabouts, coz you've seen this post a LOT.  That said, the above is my ALL-TIME favorite bug story and it loses not a whit of its humor and/or impact in the re-telling.  That would be in MY mind's eye, of course.  YMMV.  

Eight Miles In the Snow Without Shoes, Uphill, Both Ways...

Charles Krauthammer on the DNC...

Syndicated columnist Charles Krauthammer joined Bret Baier and Megyn Kelly on America’s Election Headquarters to give his take on First Lady Michelle Obama’s address and the first day of the Democratic National Convention.

“If I hear one more story about people walking eight miles in the snow without shoes, uphill, both ways, I’m going to start longing for a little Clint Eastwood spontaneity out here,” Krauthammer began, referring in part to a recurring theme that surfaced once again in San Antonio Mayor Julian Castro’s keynote address delivered tonight.

On the overall message of Tuesday’s speakers, he said the party “spoke endlessly” of government spending, and “re-enforced the notion that they are completely government-centered in their ideology.”

All of the above was part of this, but somehow got edited out:

Mr. Krauthammer also noted that he knew a lot about Barack Obama before Mrs. Obama's speech, but that he didn't know Mr. Obama went dumpster diving for his furniture, nor that he wore shoes that were too small. Those bits were edited out of the video above, too.  But we did learn that Mr. Obama cares, yanno?

Full disclosure:  yes, I watched Mrs. Obama's speech.  In its entirety, wherein I also learned that I have a heretofore unacknowledged masochistic streak.

―:☺:―

In other news... I watched Mrs. Obama quite by accident.  I was dozing away on the couch last evening when SN2 called at 2315 hrs to chat about the DNC and other stuff.  Sam knows I keep late hours and his hours were even later... seein' as how he lives on Eastern Time (but he's on leave this week).  So we chatted a bit and then he ran off to bed.  I tried to get back to sleep but the body/brain combination had other ideers, so we switched on Fox News just about the time Shelly gave her speech.  And we watched.

I'm trying to get back on a "normal" sleeping schedule, without much luck.  There's a reason for that: my Adventures In Modern Dentistry (Part Deux) begin tomorrow at 0730 hrs.  Dr. Thompson does all his surgeries just shortly after oh-dark-thirty, the rationale being he's at his best at that time.  Well, that's easy for HIM to say, much less so for me.  Tomorrow I'll have to (a) get up in what is usually the middle of my night, (b) endure a couple o' two hours in the dental chair shortly thereafter, and (c) do ALL that without the benefit of bein' even slightly caffeinated, for we must fast before we have five or six teeth removed.  AND there's to be no alcohol for 12 hours before and 24 hours after the procedure.  As for the alcohol... I can comply with the former demand, it's the latter bit I may have trouble with.

This otta be BIG FUN.

Bouncy Girl

That would be great-granddaughter Mya...

... with Grandson Sean spotting.  Taken in ABQ a while back, after a cooling rain shower.  As always, click to embiggen.