Still More Thievery

We had another late night and slept in again today.  We're still not fully caffeinated, nor have we finished reading the overnight mail, which includes the political cartoons from the Usual Source and news from the Usual USAF Source.  It's getting late, too... so we shall stoop to blatant thievery to check the ol' "did I put sumthin'... anythang... up on the blog today?" box.  From blog-bud IT, just a couple o' days ago:

That's Golf

A father, son and grandson went to the country club for their weekly round of golf. Just as they reached the first tee, a beautiful young blonde woman carrying her bag of clubs approached them.

She explained that the member who brought her to the club for a round of golf had an emergency that called him away and asked the trio whether she could join them.

Naturally, the guys all agreed.

Smiling,the blonde thanked them and said, "Look, fellows, I work in a topless bar as a dancer, so nothing shocks me anymore. If any of you want to smoke cigars, have a beer, bet, swear, tell off-color stories or do anything that you normally do when playing a round together, go ahead. But, I enjoy playing golf, consider myself pretty good at it,so don't try to coach me on how to play my shots."

With that the guys agreed to relax and invited her to drive first.

All eyes were fastened on her shapely behind as she bent to place her ball on the tee. She then took her driver and hit the ball 270 yards down the middle, right in front of the green.

The father's mouth was agape. "That was beautiful," he said.

The blonde put her driver away and said, "I really didn't get into it, and I faded it a little."

After the three guys hit their drives and their second shots, the blonde took out an eight iron and lofted the ball within five feet of the hole. (She was closest to the pin.)

The son said, "Damn, lady, you played that perfectly."

The blonde frowned and said, "It was a little weak,but even an easy seven would have been too much club. I've left a tricky little putt." She then tapped in the five-footer for a birdie.

Having the honors, she drove first on the second hole, knocked the heck out of the ball, and it landed nearly 300 yards away smack in the middle of the fairway.

For the rest of the round the statuesque blonde continued to amaze the guys, quietly and methodically shooting for par or less on every hole.

When they arrived at the 18th green, the blonde was three under par, and had a very nasty 12-foot putt on an undulating green for a par.

She turned to the three guys and said, "I really want to thank you all for not acting like a bunch of chauvinists and telling me what club to use or how to play a shot, but I need this putt for a 69 and I'd really like to break 70 on this course.

If any one of you can tell me how to make par on this hole I'll take him back to my apartment, pour some 35-year-old Single Malt Strath Mill Scotch in him, fix him a steak dinner and then show him a very good time the rest of the night."

The yuppie son jumped at the thought! He strolled across the green, carefully eyeing the line of the putt and finally said, "Honey, aim about 6 inches to the right of the hole and hit it firm. It will get over that little hump and break right into the cup."

The father knelt down and sighted the putt using his putter as a plumb. "Don't listen to the kid, darlin', you want to hit it softly 10 inches to the right and let it run left down that little hogback, so it falls into the cup."

The old gray-haired grandfather walked over to the blonde's ball,
picked it up and handed it to her and said, "That's a gimme, sweetheart."

The blonde smiled and said, "Your car or mine?"

At which we point we burst into laughter... literally... the first time we read this.  And then we got to thinkin' about 35-year-old single malt and shed a tear.  And that wasn't the end of it, either.

Broadening Our Horizons XLVI

Tonight's After Dinner Whiskey Hour libation...

SN1 has been goin' on for a month or so now about how good this stuff is... so I decided to pop for a bottle of it while I was out at the base this morning doin' our usual, customary, and reasonable Scotch re-supply run.  About which... we bought yet another bottle of that Johnnie Walker Green which has become our Scotch of choice lately.  It's not a single malt, granted, but it IS a most-delicious blend of four single malts, none of which are less than 15 years old.  Aside from its wonderful taste it also has the virtue o' bein' significantly cheaper than lesser single-malts and has become the Scotch o' choice here at El Casa Inmóvil de Pennington.  

That said... this Tennessee Honey stuff will garner a permanent place in the likker locker.  Good stuff, Maynard!

―:☺:―

This evening's ADWH soundtrack... 

"Albatross" is one of the top ten all-time BEST guitar instrumentals.  I've had this tune on "repeat" for about the last two hours and it still hasn't gotten old.  Apropos o' nuthin'... my latest musical acquisition, of which "Albatross" is a piece-part, is a four-disc Peter Green Anthology (there are two links there; chase 'em both if you're into the music).  One or more of these discs are destined to take up residence in The Green Hornet, which is where ALL good music goes.  Eventually.

Wrong

My Buddy Ed In Florida sent this, along with other amusing sex quotes (Wanna see 'em all? E-mail me.):

I'm sorry but you're wrong, Mrs. Bush.  Your premise may have been true for your generation but it's much less so these days.  My admittedly anecdotal experience gained since about... oh, 1972 or so... makes me believe that oral sex is endemic amongst American women.  I cannot remember ONE woman with whom I had a relationship during that time who didn't indulge in the practice, for better or worse.  And believe me: I've had BJs that were eminently forgettable.  I've also had memorable ones, too, but it's entirely possible Young Monica didn't have the necessary skills to make her encounter with the Big Dog memorable.

That said... I agree with you: Clinton lied.  But not for the reason you state.

Heh

Just because I didn't post on that dumb-ass "Julia" thang when everyone and their Mom was doin' it doesn't mean I wasn't aware of the brouhaha.  The dust still hasn't settled on that particular piece o' stoopid and prolly won't for quite sometime.  David Burge had the BEST piece on the subject, for my money.  It's here, just in case ya missed it.

―:☺:―

In other news... it's another one of THOSE days.  I'm about to pour my second cup at 1400 hrs and I hate it when that happens, mainly coz half the day is over before I've even begun.  AND that means Happy Hour will be shorter... or later... than usual.

But, Hey!  It is what it is.  If I wanna stay up until oh-dark-thirty and sleep until 1300 hrs, I most certainly will.

Everythang Old Is New Again

I ran out of after-shave about a week ago so I swung by the Base Exchange on one of my trips out to Cannon Airplane Patch to re-supply.  Alas, they no longer carry the Burberry line of scents for men and I didn't like the other stuff they had.  So it was off to Amazon, yet again, and I wasn't disappointed.  We ordered a bottle of Burberry's "Weekend" and received it in short order.  In so doing I thought "I should write a post about after-shave..." but then a bell went off in my head to the effect of "I think you've done that before."  And so I have... about five and a half years ago, in October of '06.  Here's that post, updated with illustrations:

Scents

One of the more interesting, nay, fascinating, things about my recent trip to San Antonio was encountering perfumed women once again. I say “once again” because I cannot, for the life of me, remember the last time (or the first time, for that matter) I caught a whiff of a delicately perfumed woman in Portales. It just doesn’t seem to happen. Perhaps I’m just not hanging out at the “right” sort of places in P-Town. But it was a minor joy to have my olfactory senses treated every so often while in San Antonio. I like perfume, and have enjoyed it on the women in my life from a very early age.

It used to be that women had a “signature” scent, a brand they used almost exclusively. I’m not sure that’s true any longer…perhaps it’s an artifact from a by-gone age. Both my Mom and my grandmother had signature scents. My maternal grandmother was an Evening in Paris woman. Her dressing table was littered with those cobalt-blue bottles and containers, each emblazoned with a silver label with the brand name in flowing script. Evening in Paris was all she ever wore, as far as I know. My grandmother walked around trailing a pink could of Evening in Paris. You could walk into a room she’d vacated an hour ago and know she’d been there.  My mother was quite different in that regard.

Mom was a Chanel No 5 woman (which is hideously expensive these days; you know that if you clicked the link)…none of the upstart “new” Chanel fragrances for her, thank you. Just the original. She applied her perfume in a quick, deft manner that was the grand finale to her toilette ritual—otherwise known as “fixing my face”—a dab behind each ear and a dab in the crook of each elbow. She’d place her index finger over the bottle opening, tilt the bottle quickly on end, apply the dab, repeat. Not much at all, when you came down to it. “There are other places, too, but not for you to know,” she once told me, with a grin and a wink. Which, of course, was lost on me until much later in life. My mother’s use of perfume was subtle to the point one wasn’t really sure she was wearing any at all, but you knew she had a very attractive aroma about her. And that’s the way it should be, to my way of thinking.

The Second Mrs. Pennington wore White Ginger when we first met. White Ginger is a very clean, fresh sort of scent and it drove me nuts, in a very good, extremely good, way. Very appropriate for a young woman, and also very erotic. Perhaps it was the fact I was young and in love. Or perhaps White Ginger was the icing on the cake, so to speak. But whatever it was, that scent, on the rare occasion I encounter it these days, immediately transports me back to Former Happy Days. Interestingly, TSMP developed an allergy to perfume later in life and quit wearing it altogether. She also insisted I quit wearing after-shave, too, because it affected her in the same way.

Which brings me to the subject of male scents, or after-shave. My father, he of the Greatest Generation, used exactly two: Old Spice and Mennen Skin Bracer. That was it. I think that approach was wide-spread among men of his cohort. It was unseemly for men to wear “perfume,” and he told me so in no uncertain terms. So…during my adolescence the only scents in my medicine cabinet were his scents—like father, like son. 

That changed when I went into the military. I remember standing in the common latrine one evening, getting ready to splash some Skin Bracer on after shaving, and having a friend ask “Why are you using that cheap (stuff)?” “Here,” he says, “try this,” handing me his bottle of English Leather. I did. And I got a good comment from the Lady Friend that evening, something on the order of “Wow…you smell good!” (or something to that general effect.) I went to the BX the next day and bought some English Leather. Which, in turn, was followed by Jade East, Canoe, British Sterling, and all sorts of scents. I settled on Canoe and wore that until TSMP insisted I abandon all scent products. Now that I’m single again my “signature” scent is Burberry’s (or Burberry’s Weekend, when I can find it)…and will probably remain so.

Just a dab behind each ear and in the crook of the elbows... Heh.  Not really.  But I DON'T bathe in the stuff.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack... Or: Oooh, She's BACK!

The Brown Truck O' Happiness pulled up to El Casa Inmóvil de Pennington about three hours ago and delivered the last of those six albums I bought recently and we're on our third run-through of that album, as we speak.  It's great good stuff, and here are a couple o' teasers:

Ms. Osborne returns to her roots on this album, roots meanin' Da Blooz and various and sundry take-offs on that idiom, including this:

That's only a teaser... this album is too new for the full version to be available.  Yet.  But lemmee tell ya: this tune had me dancin' ALL around the kitchen for as long as my breath held out.   It's GOOD to hear Ms Osborne get back to what she does best... and Damn!  I certainly do love this album, even at first blush.  It can only get better from here.

Grounds For Impeachment?

Andrew Christie, Patrick Christie, Joba Chamberlain and NJ Governor Chris Christie attend the Ottawa Senators-Rangers Playoff Game at Madison Square Garden. (Article here)

From the Usual Hockey Source:

from Joe DeLessio of New York Magazine,

Here’s Christie, speaking in June of 2010 to the Star-Ledger, in response to a follow-up question about his Dallas Cowboys fandom. The emphasis in the answer is ours:

And you never thought about faking or hiding this?

I don’t nuance much very well (laughs). You know what? I always hated Hillary Clinton wearing a Cubs hat or a Yankees hat. I’m a Cowboys fan, I’m a Mets fan, I’m a Rangers fan, I’m a Knicks fan. I’ve got the Devils and the Nets in New Jersey, but I grew up when the Nets were on Long Island and the Devils didn’t exist. It’s not that I don’t want the Devils to do well. I want them to do well when they’re playing anybody but the Rangers. That’s who I grew up rooting for.

more 

Heh.  If Christie was the gub'ner o' Michigan and said something similar about the Wings he'd be GONE.  Apropos o' everythang... Game One of the ECF, Devils-Rangers, is tonight.

Plane Pr0n...

... of a different sort:

Air Frame: An A-10C from the Arkansas Air National Guard's 188th Fighter Wing undergoes a phase inspection at Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan, May 8, 2012. The phase is one of the most elaborate of maintenance actions, requiring the removal, inspection, and service of hundreds of parts, panels, and mechanisms. At home station, this process would take 45 days to 60 days, but it typically takes just one week at Bagram thanks to round-the-clock work by maintenance crews. There are currently 18 A-10Cs at Bagram—all Air Guard machines flown by Guard pilots. They collectively fly a punishing schedule of 22 sorties a day in three shifts. Two aircraft per flight maintain on-call close air support in the southeast part of Afghanistan, according to officials at Bagram. (AFA photo by John A. Tirpak) (Click on image above to reach wallpaper version.)

From 45~60 days to a week is a significant time reduction, innit?  Not to mention the sortie rate...

From the Usual USAF Source.

Traditions

We have 'em.  And this, the fifth iteration of this post (in part, some stuff has been omitted), is one of 'em.

Happy Mother's Day!

Ah…dog poop. Probably one of the (very) minor reasons my second marriage failed…coz The Second Mrs. Pennington was largely in charge of the particularly odious chore— following behind three dogs, including two pretty good-sized ones— let’s say about 90% of it. And she never hesitated to point out that fact to me.

[...]

But, seriously. Happy Mother’s Day to all my favorite Moms, and even to those who aren’t my favorites. I’ll remain cryptic on that last.

Call yer Mom!  Or better yet, give her a big hug and a kiss if you still can.  There comes a time in life when she won't be around, ya know.

If This Is Saturday...

... then it's Viral Vids time!

You've seen the movie, now read the book.  I did... read it... and it was good.  So good, in fact, that I read it in a single sitting.  And yeah, the book IS better than the movie.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

From that new Norah Jones CD I bought... a song about the wages o' sin:

Miriam
That's such a pretty name
I'm gonna say it when I make you cry
Miriam
You know you done me wrong
I'm gonna smile when you say goodbye

Now I'm not the jealous type
Never been the killing kind 
But you know I know what you did
So don't put up a fight

[...]

Miriam

You know I know you done me wrong

I'm gonna smile when you say goodbye

You know you done me wrong

I'm gonna smile when I take your life 

Mmmm...

I fuckin' LOVE that.

Update, much later that same day:  Here's a professional review of the album.  An excerpt:

Norah Jones is rich, beautiful and has one of the most gorgeous voices in popular music. None of that makes her immune to a broken heart.

Sad for her, good for us. Jones channeled her hurt into a collaboration with Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton with 12 reflections on love gone wrong.

It’s no pick-me-up, obviously. But Jones does more than wallow. She’s angry, defiant, wounded, all-too-willing to slip back into a bad thing and even entertains a murder fantasy — in short, the full range of emotions that anyone feels when a serious relationship ends.

This album might could be the sleeper in the six new additions to my collection.  I find myself listening to it a lot and indulging... once again... in murder fantasies along with Ms. Jones.  Fantasies.  Key word, that... there's no need to alert the authorities.

More Posted Without Comment

That's two in a row from Chuck.  He's on sumthin' of a roll in my book.

Inadvertant Humor

From a Taranto tweet...

OK, it's juvenile... granted.  But it IS funny.

In the Mail

Today's Happy Hour will be a good one, assuming we warm up a bit between now and whenever the mood strikes me (I'm still drinkin' my "morning" coffee).  Mainly because I received these in the mail today, in addition to the more-than-my share ration of frickin' junk mail (see left):

That's a box of Drew Estate Toro Negras, which is a damned fine cigar.  We were also pleased to see our buddy Tim tossed in a bag o' three Drew Estate Natural Torpedoes, just out o' the kindness of his heart.  I've said this before:  I LOVE doin' bid'niz with Tim.

―:☺:―

Speakin' o' junk mail... does your Trash folder look like this? 

By "look like this" I mean do you delete about a quarter of your mail unread?  I know there's a cure for this, as in "opt out."  But sometimes I read this stuff.  Not often, just sometimes.

―:☺:―

Tiny Lil Music Review (with apologies to The Shoebox Blog):  Yesterday we received five of the six new CDs we ordered a couple o' few days ago; we've completed the first listen and are well into the second go-round.  The best thang is there ain't a clunker in the bunch; all are VERY pleasing to my ears.  The only bad thang I might possibly say is there doesn't seem to be any one outstanding cut on any of the CDs.  I define "outstanding" as music that raises the hair on my forearms, causes goosebumps to appear unbidden, and makes me want to put that cut on repeat for about an hour.  None such jumped out at me on the first run through, but there MIGHT be one such on the Susan Tedeschi album.... there's potential there.  I knew what I was getting here: a woman who's both an excellent guitarist and a rightful heir to Janis Joplin when it comes to singin' the blues.  Of the five albums I received this one is definitely my favorite... but we still have one album yet to come.

That isn't to say the Alison Krauss, Joan Osborne, or Norah Jones albums are bad... they most definitely aren't.  Ms. Krauss has a voice that can best be described as "sweetness and purity, personified," Norah is Norah... which is to say consistently GOOD, and Joan... well, JOAN.  Ms. Osborne does most excellent covers of several Motown tunes (and others, as well) on this album, and I just might post one or two later today... assuming I can find 'em on the Tube O' You.

Posted Without Comment

"It's Only a Game... But It's a GREAT Game"

Out of all the ads the NHL is running this playoff season, this one's my favorite...

Yup.  It's JUST like that if you live in a hockey town.  (sigh)

Update, somewhat later:  Yeah, I've been watching a lot of NHL vids this morning (morning?  Don't ask...).  This one is new to me (I think it may have only played in the Dee-troit market, for obvious reasons):



Wow, that one brings back some VERY poignant memories.  I relocated to Rochester, NY in 1996, the year before the Wings ended their drought.  Two of my Dee-troit expat buddies and I watched the last game of the '97 Cup Final in a local sports bar and Boy Howdy did it get DRUNK out that night.  We were the ONLY Wings fans in the bar that night, IIRC, and we whooped it up so loud and so well that other patrons in the bar were buying us drinks... as if we needed 'em.  

We got the news a few days later about Konstantinov, which damped down the euphoria considerably.  That limo accident was a bona fide tragedy and was SUCH a sad thing.  But, as the video shows... fast forward to '98 for the on-ice tribute to Vladdy.  There wasn't a dry eye anywhere in MY vicinity when that happened.  Memories...

Plane Pr0n...

... with a local flavor:

Air Frame: A CV-22 Osprey with the 20th Special Operations Wing at Cannon AFB, N.M., descends on the cadet area at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colo., during the academy's Polaris Warrior training event, April 28, 2012. Polaris Warrior is designed to reinforce skills that cadets may need as airmen in the field. (Air Force photo by Raymond McCoy) (Click on image above to reach wallpaper version.)

From the Usual USAF Source.  I rarely see those Ospreys, either overhead or on the ramp when I go out to the base.  The C-130s are a different story, though... they always seem to be orbiting over P-Ville, especially at night.  "The sound of freedom!"

Where Did Our Warm WX Go?

I'm gonna have to wear a sweatshirt for Happy Hour today...

... mainly coz my personal R-factor is VERY low, given that fat is a well-known insulator and I have a serious lack o' same.  (Is there TMI at the link?  I found it fascinating!)

In other WX-related news... we got a very small amount o' rain last evening, just about enough to wet the streets.  A friend o' mine was telling me yesterday that our TOTAL rainfall over the last 21 months is a mere two and a quarter inches (I'm quoting from memory).  She further explained the Mojave desert's average annual rainfall is around three inches, by comparison.  I haven't bothered to validate either metric, but they sound reasonable to me.  I DO know our lack o' rain has been the leading topic o' conversation in these parts for quite some time now.  "Pray for rain" ain't just an idle sayin' on The High Plains O' New Mexico.

One In THREE?

That's about the saddest thang I've read or heard lately.  I don't have any trouble believing that statistic (just go to ANY Wally-World for living proof) and I'm most certainly glad I don't fly these days

―:☺:―

In other (hockey) news... the Preds are out.  It's gonna be an All-Pacific Division Final in the West, something I don't think ANY of us hockey fans and damned few, if any, hockey writers saw coming.  I thought the West was gonna end up with a Central Division Final, with the Wings playing the Blues, but we all know how THAT turned out.  Still and even, the Western Conference Final should be a lotta fun to watch.  Both the Kings and the Feral Dogs have provided exciting, entertaining, and amazing hockey up to this point in time and the upcoming series should be no less fun to watch.  My prediction?  Kings in six, mebbe seven.  And LOTS of overtime.

Wherein We Go a Lil Bit Crazy

At Amazon, just now:

Ah... much new music, in two days time. This is what happens when you listen to Pandora's Joan Osborne station for about five days in a row.

Super Moon

From a slide-show at the WSJ...

A full moon as seen from West Orange, N.J., rose over the skyline of Lower Manhattan in New York. (Reuters)

There are ten more images... all of them spectacular... at the link.  The skies were cloudy here in P-Ville at moonrise but cleared up sufficiently around midnite to create a bizarre scene, and by that I mean moonlight SO bright it cast shadows.  It's pretty bright out again tonight.

Linkage

I've mentioned this a few times in the past (ed: a few?)... but Hockey Night In Canada is one of the thangs I REALLY miss about living in Dee-troit, especially when the playoffs roll around.  While NBC's and Versus NBCSN's hockey coverage has improved a lot in the past couple o' years it still has a way to go before it equals HNIC, the gold-standard of hockey broadcasting.  I came across this interesting piece in the Montreal Gazette on the making of HNIC's video montage intros to the program, thanks to the Usual Hockey Source.  Here's one such intro:

They're all pretty much like that and I've posted a few of HNIC's montages over the years... most especially their end-of-season tributes, which are always spectacular.  And now I know a lil bit about the guys responsible for those montages, and why those montages are as vivid and striking as they are.

And speakin' o' hockey... it's time to watch the Kings and the Blues.  This might could be an elimination game, so there will be HIGH drama.

Update, 1545 hrs:  Simply amazing... those Kings SWEEP the Number Two seed St. Louis Blues, after taking out Number One seed Vancouver in five.  These guys could go all the way.  I'm a believer.

The Sunday Re-Run

From about three years ago...

Heroes... Just For One Day

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can be Heroes, just for one day
We can be us, just for one day

We did an extended Happy Hour this past evening, given as how the wind died down late in the evning and the temps were oh-so-moderate, bordering on chilly. Now…who'd a thunk that… the "chilly" bit, I mean. But it's true… and I digress, as ever and always. You'll note I've embedded Bowie and quoted one small bit of the lyrics to "Heroes." There's a reason for that, of course.

First and foremost… we had our windows open and our Very Expensive Radio (aka our peesee) cranked up so as to furnish an appropriate soundtrack for the after-dinner whiskey and cigar extravaganza. And then there was this moment in time... which would be the middle tune in this series of three:

Which got us to thinking… a dangerous pursuit in the best of times, but more so when we're (nearly) in our cups than at any other time. Or close. We were thinking, specifically, about the lyrics to "Heroes"… which we've committed to memory in that strange way reserved only for rock 'n' roll tunes but somehow escapes us for shit that truly matters, like our grandchildren's birthdays. I was wondering if we (all of us) understand what it means to be "heroes, just for one day."

I've had more than a few occasions where I... or we... were heroes just for one day, but never considered them as such until this evening. This moment comes to mind:

That fuzzy and almost indistinct image would be YrHmblScrb holding SN3, only an hour or so after SN3 entered this world. We were heroes at that moment, The Second Mrs. Pennington and I. And SN3, too.

Or this:

That would be SN2, The First Mrs. Pennington, SN1, and grandson Sean… on the occasion of SN1's commissioning back in 2000. TFMP and I were heroes just for that day… celebrating our first-born's accomplishment and the fact that our second-born had sworn SN1 into the officer corps… and bursting with pride we were, despite our difficult past and considerable angst with each other.

There are others, of course, most of which we have no photographic record. And most of those events are minor… mundane, even... such as the time my buds and I walked off the hill at Doi Inthanon, Thailand after a hard day of raising the search radar antenna at a long range radar site we (a USAF Engineering & Installations [E&I] team out of Yokota AB, Japan) were building for the Royal Thai Air Force. Raising that antenna was a milestone in a long and difficult installation… and we celebrated by unfurling a home-made banner on the radar antenna… a huge thing cobbled up out of bedsheets, emblazoned with our makeshift "Baker and Sons Radar Installations" logo, and visible throughout the radar station. That banner was a thing we spent the entire evening admiring, all while hoisting many Singhas in celebration… accompanied by team members from the various E&I disciplines deployed with us… radio, telephone, construction… among others. A victory of sorts, and one to be celebrated. Once again… we were heroes, just for one day.

There have been many, many more... most of 'em minor… like when The Second Mrs. Pennington and I had a couple of drinks in this way-cool little bar in Rochester, NY to celebrate the closing on the next-to-last house we ever bought together… but all of 'em significant in their own way.

I suppose my point is we should celebrate these victories whenever they happen… and recognize that ALL of us can indeed be "heroes, just for one day." I spent the better part of last evening reminiscing and celebrating those victories, small as they may be. Yep… we were heroes, just for one day.

Bowie had it right.

Yup, he did.

After Further Inspection...

... I found this:

BIG-ass sigh.  I miss MY travel buddy, too.  We were particularly good at that... there bein' too many points and places to mention.

Updated, after a couple o' beers and not a small amount o' contemplation:  "Travel buddies" is an expression that covers a lot o' ground.  On the one hand, there's not much difficulty in dealing with the road when one travels "first class," meanin' adequate accommodations, business class plane tickets, and a well-planned itinerary.  OTOH, travel can be a whole different sorta animal when you're in "two-man-tent, sleeping bags, Coleman stove" mode, or when you're thumb-tripping in Japan.  The fact is my travel buddy and I did all those things and more, over the course of 23 years.  It's a certain mind-set, and by that I mean the capability of overcoming adversity, and all that... absorbing the slings and arrows of the road and managing to keep your good humor while keepin' on keepin' on.  We had that. 


And then there's the matter of this video itself, which falls into the "nice try" category.  The recipient of this e-mail missive is more than likely to dismiss it out of hand, with nothing more than a "thanks, but no thanks" response when it comes to the invitation to meet for coffee.  There's a simple fact of life at play here: when love goes missing it's gone for good.  The only thang 99% of us in this situation can hope for is to retrieve the body and give it a decent burial.  Real Life differs from the movies, after all.  But, Hey!  I liked the sentiment in the vid, which is why I posted it. 

Slim Pickin's at the Usual Saturday Source

I thought this was the best o' the bunch:

It made me laugh, anyhoo.  And now I know Robert Plant and I have at least one thing in common.

This was the runner-up, but I chose not to post it because I'm just NOT that geeky.  Well, geeky in that particular way.  "May the 4th be with you."  Face-palm.

It's NOT Funny

Izzit?

―:☺:―

How 'bout them Kings?  So much for MY hockey prognostication skills... and those of about a third of the rest of the country, too.

Your Hockey Update

I watched a lot o' hockey last night... but kinda-sorta missed out on the game I really wanted to watch, but did not.  Because of this (Mike Vaccaro, writing in the New York Post):

Now, into the Rangers’ pantheon of forever moments, we add another architect, we add another moment, we add this goal at 12:15 this morning after 114 minutes and 41 seconds of tortured, torturous, terrific hockey, a war of attrition you started to think might take us all the way to Saturday’s 12:30 p.m. face-off for Game 4.

The Rangers-Caps game started a full 30 minutes before the Preds faced off against those Feral Dogs, which was MY marquee game goin' into the evening.  Thangs change, as it's said.  I couldn't leave that Eastern game... it was just too exciting, too fast, too well-played.  The excitement and suspense continued to build all the way into the third overtime when not-so-suddenly it was over, and that's the finest sort of playoff hockey there is.  I'm sure a lot o' asses are draggin' in New Yawk today, but they're happy asses.  Not quite the same in Washington, methinks.

As for the Preds?  They won, and the game was essentially over in the first period.  I did watch piece parts of that game, going back and forth a bit, especially when the Rangers game went to the first and second intermissions, but I stayed with the Rangers-Caps once they went to OT... all of 'em.  That said, the Preds played a statement game last evening from what I saw.  Rinne is back on form, the Preds defense was stifling, and they scored just enough to win.  They're back in this series after the poorest of poor starts.

It remains to be seen if the Blues can do the same sort o' thang against those Kings.  I'm beginning to think they can't, and I'm also beginning to think the Western Conference Final is gonna be a Kings-Preds affair.  Tonight's game in El-Eh will be very revealing.  As I've often said: I have an immediate grasp of the obvious.  It's my best trait.

Heh

The whole Peter Pan crew better watch out, too.

Another Installment of "Brave New World"

My Buddy Ed In Florida sends this along...

16 years old Peter goes to the priest: "Father, I came to confess!"
"No need, I read your blog."

Heh.  Facebook, too, prolly.  Eventually one gets to a point where they don't publish everythang that happens to 'em, but I suppose it takes a while.

―:☺:―

I've had to reboot my router three times today and that's not a good sign.  Another installment of "It's always sumthin'," too.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Keef... with an homage to Al Green and/or the "Memphis Sound:"

I love the horn charts in this tune... they're subtle, yet so necessary to the success of the song.  Brilliant.

―:☺:―

We took our first beer on the verandah (see below) but called it quits shortly thereafter.  I'm not quite acclimated to the heat yet and find it takes a lot out of us, making paying attention to our reading difficult.  

About which, this: reading Hitchens is hard.  I find I can only take his essays in small doses, usually only three or four at a time, mainly because I'm off to the dictionary at least once per page (about which, again: I'm glad I'm reading on my Kindle, it makes those side trips easy) and off to The Wiki at least once per essay.  The man's encyclopedic knowledge and command of the language is frequently above my pay grade but he IS most interesting, and entertaining, so we'll continue to persevere.  Reading Hitchens is guaranteed to make the ol' "I learn sumthin' every day" cliché come true.

Jes Thinkin'...

... about whether or not we're gonna take today's Happy Hour out on the verandah.  Coz it's not nice outside:

Nearly 90 degrees and a 30-mph wind is kinda-sorta like sitting in front of a blast furnace, or bein' bathed with God's Own Hairdryer... you choose.  I've been out in it already today, what with dropping my rent check off with the friendly folks at Homespot Properties and continuing on over to The Big(ger) City™ for to give baby a bath.  The latter prolly wasn't the best ideer I've had in a while, given all the dust in the air.  The Green Hornet will look like Hell by tomorrow, or even before today is over.

(sigh)  It's always sumthin'.

George Did It!

Which is all about The One's new campaign slogan.  From Hot Air:

Of course, that’s not the direction this video takes.  It takes over three minutes looking backward, including the first minute of what took place before Obama took office.  After a brief shot at Republicans who “tried to tear this President down” — by, er, opposing his policies, which didn’t seem to bother Democrats while George W. Bush was in office — we get a couple of minutes of ball-spiking over the deaths of Osama bin Laden and Anwar al-Awlaki.  When does the video get to the “Forward” part?  Er … when there are 50 seconds left in the video, and even then, it doesn’t offer any specific policy goals — just platitudes:

What follows the above is a seven-plus minute Obama campaign video, which I did NOT watch.  There are some things in life I take on faith, like Mr. Morrissey's description of the video.  Watching The One before I've finished my first cup is a bridge too far.