July 2012
132 posts
Apparent strong correlation between never having to inconvenience oneself in one’s life and 1. offering opinions unasked 2. choosing least practical time to interrupt with stupid questions.
Learning Curve
Zero. The number of times I have said to myself, you should grab your coverall or pick up a cheap hooded Tyvek suit for this work, and actually done it.
I see I need to place the laptop where I cannot reach it after taking zolpidem tartrate.
Sleepy sleepy, writing from bed,
Solomon Kane. Not sure why it wasn’t released in the States.
The more I joke about being a Puritan, the clearer it becomes to me that I am not, New England upbringing or no.
Dragoon. Blackguard. Harrier.
Fucking embarrassing. I fell forward out of bakasana. The super-dense foam bolster I made, sitting on the flat bench. Cranium, meet floor.
Chaturanga Dandasana is only marginally better with the rainproof and inexpensive Tony Lama hat. I suspect that swapping to the hand-woven Guatemalan cattleman’s will make a noticeable improvement.
WatchScience: a cowboy hat makes everything better.
My mind says: great ass, straw hat, likes beer, still needs to be damned smart to hold my attention.
WatchExcellent bars in Shirak, apparently.
Tougher to find work in the have-rifle-will-travel line if one excludes management whom have no viable operational experience, and will hang one out to dry at the slightest suggestion of an action that might compromise their careers.
Oddly, it’s next to impossible to find that same work with the same criteria in the Reserve Component. Fuck, for that matter, any job involving the so-called...
Ain’t much finer than laying naked in bed with a book. Add a couple of smart, literate women, and that would be a fine thing indeed. A sort of naked book club, if you will.
Tonight’s dinner was sauted salmon with green beans and chard, served with green curry aioili.
Tonight’s book, Suttree, Cormac McCarthy.
Tomorrow morning, tea and yoga, pushing the bakasana hard. Hard work...
Guy Rule # One: Do not run or jog with no shirt if your pecs jiggle. Period.
Guy Rule # Two: Keep your fucking shirt on if you don’t have a chest, arms, back, and abs.
I could go for beef tartare and sweet potato strips fried crisp in duck fat.
Besides Red Meat, What Types of Protein Are Hard... →
“Since virtually all input and output data were obtained from external sources (listed elsewhere) as single-point estimates, we have no information on uncertainty related to those estimates.”
I.e. conclusions are opinions, not empirically demonstrated points.
“You will need a tiny 1/4”, open ended wrench, (better to have two), and a very small screwdriver. Also, have a bottle of nail polish (pink;) handy to lock the screw and nuts in place after you have finished all the adjustments.”
From a web guide to working on the sear and trigger for the Winchester Model 70.
Red, two shades too bright, please.
Any conversation during which the phrase “That’s a hell of a rifle” is uttered is a fine thing.
Pipes →
Shit, do I need these. Cutting down the stock pipes will not solve my clearance issues. At least I measured twice, cut not at all.
1 tag
DBAA. Don’t be an asshole. Words to live by.
Damn, I really do need a shop. Rainy days seem to make me want to work on little, detail-oriented tasks. Every time I think on it, electrics and rain is a poor combination.
I suppose I should find my heat-shrink tubing.
I like to talk about yoga at six in the morn.
I am now biting the heads off of railroad spikes, cracking walnuts between my pinky and ring fingers, and in reality, doing sets of L-shaped pull-ups. There’s sawdust in the hair on my chest, and I think a nice pedicure would set it off perfectly.
I actually agree with Stein, there is a dearth of trades/skilled labor related knowledge among the men in the US today. And, I am fine with that,...
I spaced one other manly task: wrapped a six-strand leather knout with brass wire, and set it up for the terminal knot. Unfortunately, the panic snap is a rotating-type, versus a pull-type. Not the most optimal for use while riding.
1 tag
I knew before I left the house that the bike-related tasks would be the tasks I did not complete.
CB750 pipes not wrapped, and I am prepping to work out instead of finishing the wiring on the other bike. I call that okay.
I’ll have to check the manly-man masculine scale, via Joel Stein, but I took off my shoes, confirmed the butterfly on the chainsaw’s carburetor moved freely, tuned...
Snarky
I didn’t check in with Joel Klein to be certain it met his manly man masculinity threshold criteria, I threw caution to the wind this morning.
I’ve rubbed beeswax mixed with olive and jojoba oil into the soles of my feet -the mixture I had made to use as moustache wax, and made far too much of it. Next I am pulling the custom four into one exhaust from the CB750, cutting down the...
The smartest thing I can lay claim to having done is asking for help. Another set of eyes, hands, not to mention a second brain, working on a task is the ticket.
“Men whispered of drums beating far up in the dreaming hills, of fires glowing in the darkness, and strange chantings borne on the winds, chantings and formulas forgotten centuries ago except as meaningless formulas mumbled beside mountain hearths in villages whose inhabitants differed strangely from the people of the valleys.”
-Robert E. Howard
Not quite weird enough for me, and...
I don’t hear the term ‘cheesedick’ often enough. Or ‘spotlighting.’ There was a time when I was rarely exposed to either behavior, and those who chose those behaviors were pushed out of the society.
Weed, whiskey, cured meats, antibiotics, ammunition.
There is an apparent correlation between acting as if the sky is falling and a recent realization of one’s mortality. There is an apparent association between recent discovery of self-mortality and the need to share immature, factually unsupported opinions. There is an apparent direct relation between the need to share immature, factually unsupported opinions and one’s ability to...
“Can’t tell if it’s trouble. Both so ignorant it might be good news and we wouldn’t know it.”
-The Mud Below, Annie Proulx
