Keef...
We can't do anything
Any trick in the book
We can't go anywhere
As long as we care
We ought to be locked away
We ought to be locked away
Locked away...
Yeah. What he said. It occurred to me while sittin' out on the verandah that I've said good-bye... pretty much a FINAL good-bye... to at least two wimmen in the past two weeks or so, neither of which was under the happiest o' circumstances (to say the VERY least). That got me to thinkin'... is it me or them? I mebbe shouldn't go there, for that way madness lies.
On another note... we did our semi-monthly run out to Cannon Airplane Patch earlier this afternoon for to go to the commissary and the Class VI store. Mission accomplished and all that, sans flight suit. On the way out and back The Tart was telling me the ambient temp was either 102 or 103, which is pretty damned hot. The strange thing? It doesn't FEEL like that, at all. As a s'matter o' fact, we're just in from a two-beer, one cigar Happy Hour on the verandah and I swear... it's comfortable outside. Warm, yes. Unbearable? No... emphatically so. This is what we look like at the time o' this posting:
Hot. But not unbearably so... note the humidity.
On yet another note... The Tart also tells me my average speed since she's been mine is 44.9 mph. Really? I've done one road trip to ABQ and the rest o' the time we've spent together has been in the local area. That seems rather fast, no?
And on a FINAL note... there was a time when 100+ degree temps didn't bother me at all. I'm speaking about that year I spent in the Mojave, during which time we'd take the mo'sickle out and tear us up some desert on just about any given day when I had the time to do that sorta thang, which was often. Like this:
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In the Mojave at a hare 'n' hounds race, c.1971. |
OK... that was just an excuse to indulge in a lil nostalgia and self-promotion. Coz we're like that.