Darwin’s Nightmare. An interesting film, if not aptly titled.
As an aside, I would like to never hear any non-meteorological event described as a ‘perfect storm’ again. Junger’s book was painful, the literary/journalistic equivalent of the revelation that dust collects in corners and under furniture. Oprah-worthy, tho’.
Is it the threshold between seasons that seems to have so many of us cleaning house?
Nobody move, I am out of butter and nearly out of bacon fat.
‘Raising’ one’s voice in a crowd of like-minded people takes little strength of character nor does it imply a realization of a truth others cannot see.
Living as a feral dog in a world wrought of, by, and for sheep is largely unappealing.
I’m already tired of the full beard. Soon back to the chops, and some ridiculous tie to the Marlboro Man.
I bought a (lesbian) friend a book about cunnilingus written by a premature ejaculator who developed his techniques in response to his inadequacies. She took the gift well, but has not made it past the sentence that he reveals his premature ejaculation issues. I am either going to be a saint in the old Gaelic mode (crass), or am going straight to Niflheim.
Perhaps counter-intuitively, but doing the cha cha to early Bad Brains is the ever-loving heat.
Is there a kinesiologist in the house?
If one can ironically use a grain shovel, I have failed.
Just saying, every instance of a young man responding with ‘huh’ as an answer to any comment makes me feel over-qualified for the game.
Perhaps not the best choice for slightly twitchy folks.
Last thought for the evening
The cha cha to Shaggy is indeed boombastic.
Having a yoga instructor as a friend is turning out to be better than friendship with the various bartenders, bar owners, distillers, chefs, madmen, and assorted ne’er-do-wells. I was kvetching about pain in the rotator cuffs that has occurred since I switched from doing cleans and presses with a kettlebell. I described the pain, and demonstrated the motion of the altered lift. Lo and...
From CNN: Pakistani woman suspected of killing, cooking husband. Good woman, and she’s available. It might be a bit early to see if she wants to date.
“Man is steel, tank is only iron.” From Maoz’s Lebanon. Nice film. I hate tanks, but I made an exception. Generally speaking, anyone who hides behind several inches of plate steel instead of hunting on the ground is not someone whose story interests me.
Synchronicity. Not quite.
I spend too much time thinking. Or so many a past lover/friend with benefits/girlfriend/mate has told me. So, no surprises, I have been giving a lot of thought to the difficulty or ease with which humans are able to act together in an efficient, what the DoD would call timely, fashion. I tend to do a lot of this very maundering while in or watching traffic, be it on foot or in automobiles. It...
One may have too much time on one’s hands when learning to be left-handed when right-handed seems like a fantastic project for the Winter.
Despite a near-pathological fear of breaking off the tip of my xiphoid process, I have added supermans to this evenings’ workout. Fear is an interesting sensation.
Hyper-predator. This may be my new favorite term.
Caiu na roda, ou acorda ou vai rodar.
Damn, from Autumn’s old country music, straight into Winter’s hip hop. Pharaoh Monch, M.O.P., the Wu Tang. Admittedly easier to rumba and cha cha to these than Hank Williams.
Cattle raid anyone?
RLSHs. Where are the Super-Villains? Better than a fit, smart, attractive woman in a sundress and boots? A fit, smart, attractive woman in a sundress and boots with an Irish accent.
From my to-do list: call Vanson Leathers, make a chainmail band for my cowboy hat, scrub Mikuni carburetor. Living like a rock star.
I am sadly out of apple wood for smoking. Damn, I must away to buy some posthaste, there is pork belly to be smoked then roasted.
Mmm, I am an intolerant fuck. I had an electrical issues with my car this evening. As I sat behind the wheel calling a friend to pick me up, a group of 20-somethings passed by commenting on my inability to park my car well. I gave some thought to having them lay on the asphalt with their fingers interlaced behind their heads before I helped them discover the facts of mortality. I backed the...
I am hesitant to accept it as a compliment: “You’re large and white, I don’t expect you to move at the hips like this.” Damn it, won’t be making it to merengue… Two weeks of cha cha to Shaggy is worth my time every time.
Animal Kingdom. Straight up excellence. Then, I am partial to Australians and criminals.
Custard flavored with fresh orange zest topped with sour cherries. A pie, of course. With a good cup of decaf coffee.
“Call me Ishmael Khan,” it never gets old, albeit funnier when on Iran’s Eastern border.
Living in the moment is generally the reason why I don’t make many plans.
I am really going to have to dress properly for dance class. That said, I don’t wear tee-shirts, and wear sneakers for running only -and only when it is wet to the point that I need the traction.
I cannot express how much I like Google Voice. Being able to read a transcript, and/or play the audio message on my computer, versus listening to the message on my phone. One less intrusion into my life. Yes, I am a curmudgeon.
Yo Meth, where my Killer tape at?
You know you’re a fucking dork when you catch typos in Latin based on lack of subject agreement.
Sourdough biscuits with unsalted butter are my carbohydrate nemesis. At least there’s animal fat involved.