Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Inasmuch as it's prohibitively expensive to get licensing for a new nuclear power plant, none has been built in decades, and the last U.S. commercial reactor to come online was in 1996 in Tennesee (Comanche Peak #2 was the last one before that, in 1993), although some upgrades have been made, and Luminant Energy has filed an application for two additional reactors at Comanche Peak, in conjunction with Mitsubishi Heavy Industries.
Because of the staggering capital outlay, regulatory burden, and long lead times for these gigawatt power generators, I submit there should be smaller, neighborhood generation stations, maybe on the scale of an aircraft carrier powerplant.
Possible small-scale nuke plant disguised as a strip retail center...
Hey, do you suppose someone stole my idea!?
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Actually, I met Mark Lindsay (lead singer for the Raiders) once, in 2002 or 2003, when my town was having an Old Town Festival, and he was our headline act one night. As a Chamber of Commerce board member, I was tasked with escorting Mr. Lindsay and his band to and from the motorhome that'd been set up as a makeshift 'green room' and the stage (the same festival I got to be 'paymaster' to, and visit with, the Beatles tribute band Me and My Monkey after their set).
Anyway, Mr. Lindsay was very down-to-earth, and before his set held court in the motorhome, recounting stories from back in the day, but not in a boastful or cocky way. He was nursing some form of macrobiotic [non-alcoholic] vegetable juice concoction that he said was good for his vocal chords. It didn't look very appealing, but he sounded great, so I suppose it worked.
For most of the show, I stayed around the back or to the side of the stage. About 2/3 of the way through, an attractive woman, a few years older than I, approached me, and asked if I could get her a brief meeting with Mr. Lindsay after the show. Nothing untoward, mind you, she said she'd had her room plastered with his posters as a teenager, and she wanted to see if she could get an album cover signed.
Knowing the band was on a tight schedule following the show, I didn't make any promises. As the show ended the band came down the side steps of the stage, and almost sprinted the seventy-five or so feet to the bordering fence next to the motorhome. Just as we reached the fence, Mr. Lindsay turned to thank me for assisting them, and I asked if he had time to sign a couple of autographs. He very graciously agreed, and I motioned to the woman to come over.
About a week later, I got a very nice thank you card from the woman, complete with a picture of her and Mark Lindsay. She'd driven up from Waco to our festival to see her teen idol. She apparently worked in the Waco chamber and had tracked me down through counterparts in my town.
Now, if only there were only enough Sioux, Apache, Navajo, Caddo, Cherokee, Iroquois & Cheyenne braves left to surround Capitol Hill and 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and maybe do a Little Bighorn Redux. I guess the rest of the country is finally coming to terms with what the native Americans have known for over a century-and-a-half: Getting screwed by Washington, D.C.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love.
Christ came to save us from our sin, from broken-ness, and, as my pastor says, "from jacked-up thinking." But, knowing that we're saved, do we always use the opportunity properly, or do we at times perpetuate the cycle of pursuing other sins?
Good food for thought...
Saturday, December 19, 2009
"So, how was the dance, Del?"
"Did everyone have a good time?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Did you dance with all the pretty girls?"
"Most of them."
"Did all of the girls get to dance?"
"Uh, I guess so."
"Were there any girls there that no one asked to dance?"
"Well, yeah, a couple, I suppose."
"Do you think they had a good time at the dance?"
In telling the story, Dr. Tackett isn't making his dad out to be a hard nose, of course, but pointing out the lesson of being a "good neighbor", and extending Christ's love to the downtrodden, the forgotten and neglected. I would hope to be the same example for my children.
I've had occasions in my life to be, as my pastor sometimes says "on the back side of a beat-down", faced with job dissatisfaction and uncertainty, tossed to the dust bin by the 'mean girl'. But always, in the midst of the depression or loneliness, there've been those saints who came and lifted my spirits.
At this festive time of year and always, I pray I don't overlook the less fortunate and afflicted, and that I can pass on even a portion of God's love that has been shown to me.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
While this advancement in firearms technology is certainly impressive, your humble scribe here at Sonnet 116 prefers a more traditional approach to gunmaking, the artistry of combining talent, wood and steel, to wit:
The above specimen is a Dakota Model 10, but New Zealand armsmaker Soroka has similarly worthy (and not inexpensive) offerings. Of course, the closest I come to owning such a work of art is a rather pedestrian Ruger #1, utilizing the same Farquharson falling block design.
Nonetheless, I am not unmoved by Mr. Crane's fascination of rapid-fire technology. In fact, I would love to own one of these:
How I love the .45/70!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Judging from the baldness factor for both Peter and Paul, I'm guessing this is from their Reunion tour circa 1978. I saw them that tour or possibly the next at the Dallas Convention Center Arena, and a few years later at StarFest, back when it was on the grounds of the old EDS campus.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
It wasn't quite the same watching it alone tonight, but I am reminded of Jeremiah 31:11 (referenced in this evening's sermon) which also ties in nicely with the movie -
For the LORD has redeemed Jacob, and ransomed him from the hand of him that was stronger than he. (AKJV)
May we all remember we have a Lord stronger than all our enemies and obstacles.
Edit: And it wouldn't hurt if I had a guardian angel myself, even one like Clarence.
Along the way I saw some parcels of property with gates marked "Diamond S Cattle Co". These properties had miles of 5-pipe (not four or three) fence, with posts closely spaced. It struck me as a bit odd, as most of the folks I know in the cattle business have operations evocative of those "Leanin' Tree" posters (example, one cowboy sez to another: "I reckon if I got a million dollars, I'd jes' keep on ranchin' until it was gone."), with either wooden posts or steel t-posts and barbed wire.
While I'm not in the agricultural sciences, one of my grandfathers was a farmer/rancher, so I innately recognized that this Cadillac of fences weren't built on livestock profits. Weatherford ain't the pristine valley meadows of Montana (though it does have a sort of beauty of its own).
So I Googled it, but that took me down a wrong path, then checked another website and found the ranch is owned by the [well regarded] Chairman & Founder of a Fort Worth-based energy company that, as of 2Q2009, was the largest natural gas producer in the United States. You'd recognize the company name, and also perhaps the individual's.
See, I got a business mind like a mousetrap - I knew those fences weren't from runnin' cows...
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The radio may have also seen brief service, mounted above or under my Realistic FM-Cassette stereo in my first car, a 1968 Chrysler Newport - until I wrecked it. Bummer.
Anyway, I'm not sure where the radio had been chillin' for the past 30 years, but I found it in my garage a couple of weeks back.
This morning I tossed it into the SUV, together with a magnetic mount antenna. After some brief, uh, administrative work in the office, I was ready to hit the road, so I threaded the RG-58 cable through the door gasket and placed the antenna base just aft of the hood, and fore of the windshield, so I could watch it fall off.
About 5 miles out, I turned it on. The lights glowed, but no sound.
I fiddled with the volume control, the squelch, and the PA switch. Still nothing. Oh, well, it is nearly 35 years old.
Around Bowie, I got bored, so I turned the thing on again. Silence. I tightened the PL-259 connector to the antenna. Turned the radio sideways.
A little static. That's good. A little more fiddling, and I heard some faint conversations.
Finally, I was ready. I checked the channel selector. Thankfully, I'd watched Smokey and the Bandit recently with the kids, so I was down with the lingo. "Break 1-9 for a radio check."
"Hello there, radio check, you're coming in loud and clear, what's your location?"
"I'm rollin' north of Bowie. Got a 30 year old CB here, wanted to see if it still worked."
"Sounds loud and strong, can't tell it's 30 years old."
As I'd just passed a car hauler a few hundred yards back, I was curious how far I was reaching out. "You runnin' that mobile parking lot?"
"Nope. Navajo. Navajo Digby."
For the next 25 or 30 miles I kept an eye out for any vehicles matching that description. Finally, around Jolly, an 18-wheeler passed me...Navajo Digby, followed closely by a Landstar big rig. A fifth-wheel horse trailer was squeezing onto the freeway, and Navajo slipped back over to the left lane, not too far ahead of Landstar.
"Landstar, this is Navajo Digby, sorry about the abrupt lane change - wanted to give the guy room to get on."
"No problem there, Sir. I saw what he was doing. I expected you'd come over."
" Where you headed?"
"Denver. Forecast says ice past Amarillo."
"I'm headed there too. Pueblo actually."
A few more miles and we were at Wichita Falls, my destination. "Mr. Navajo, thanks for the radio check, Sir. I'm turning off here at Wichita. Hope you have good traveling on to Pueblo and Godspeed!"
"Same to you, Sir. Have a good trip!"
I enjoyed being part of the camaraderie of these knights of the road. I know it's not something I can do around town, but I think I'll carry the old radio along for those stretches between Rhome and Vernon, Weatherford and Thurber (population 5).
Saturday, December 5, 2009
My sons were somewhat familiar with the song, but had never really listened to the story, and didn't realize that the current-day preacher's mother was the hooker. I don't know why, but I always, involuntarily, get a lump in my throat at the verse:
That's the story that our preacher told last Sunday.
As he held that blood-stained bible up,
For all of us to see.
He said: "Bless the farmer, and the teacher, an' the preacher;
"Who gave this Bible to my mamma,
"Who read it to me."
One large cross by the side of FM 1886, between Lakeside and FM 730.
I knew Tyler from the '80s, but didn't become friends with him until the '90s.
He was a generous man, had a great sense of humor, and when he got involved with something, you could be sure he was passionate about it. He could also be absent-minded - he's the only person I know who drove off from a gas pump with the hose still attached to his car...three different times! Yet he told that story on himself.
In the '90s he and his wife renovated a home on Eagle Mountain Lake, on the west side. It was beautiful to unwind at the end of the day from the backyard, without the sun in your eyes, and he had a manicured lawn of St. Augustine. Tyler loved to take his itty-bitty dog, I think its name was Gizmo, on boat rides. The dog wasn't a whole lot bigger than the Mack truck hood ornament, but equally enjoyed riding over the waves.
I took a day trip with Tyler once to Austin, where he was to testify in committee for some legislation he'd had his State Representative introduce. It was an interesting education for me to see how things work (?) in Austin, although I don't think the bill ever made it out of committee. A beautiful spring day, we left the Capitol complex, and were headed down Congress Avenue, to go visit an old friend of Tyler's before we headed back north. The moonroof and windows were wide open on his Mark VIII. At about 4th street, I spotted a leggy woman in a short skirt on roller blades and nudged my friend "Hey, check this chick out!".
Of course, at just that moment, the "woman" turned around to face us - with a full beard! Yeah, it was a dude! Who says they need any help keeping Austin weird? Anyway, Tyler kindly reminded me of that faux pas a couple of times subsequently in the lunch group we frequented.
Later that year, almost exactly ten years ago, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. I visited him in the hospital, and spoke with him a couple times on the phone after that, as it became difficult to visit with him due to my work travel and the more frequent sleep that his body required. He died before Spring came, at the much-too-young age of 53.
I miss my friend, but appreciate the reminder of him when I drive by that sign, and consider it a blessing to have known him.
Here where the West begins we also still have equine transportation:
On the other side of North Main there were several horsemen, dressed in old west garb.
I'd like to get a gig like that...
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
So, we agreed that since we'd be off work for the day, we'd meet somewhere for breakfast, go out to the airport to greet the troops, and also possibly work in some target practice at the shooting range.
Then came the Fort Hood murders. Even though we had already planned to go to the airport before, there was no way you could've kept us away after. I've never served in the military, but it really struck me as a real pisser (please excuse my language) to be dodging bullets, mortars, RPGs and IEDs, only to come home to find some lunatic has shot up his fellow soldiers on American soil. On base, no less.
We met at the Dixie House Cafe in Bedford, had a great breakfast of eggs, BACON, biscuits & hash browns, smothered in gravy, then made our way to the airport.
There was a pretty good crowd assembled at Terminal D, Gate 22 waiting for the soldiers from Afghanistan to deplane. While we waited, a facilitator called forward veterans from the World War II era through the present to be recognized for their service. There was a particularly enthusiastic response when she called out for Vietnam vets.
Having been a child in the '60s, I saw the evening news of Dan Rather in the jungle, students placing flowers in the muzzles of National Guard M-14s (?). I only learned later in life of returning soldiers being spat on and called hateful names, quickly changing out of uniform so as not to be recognized on the streets of an ungrateful nation. So, I'm always pleased for the opportunity to thank the Vietnam Vets, albeit belatedly.
My first troop arrival visit was, I think, in 2002 with a local chamber of commerce group, in the initial wave of returning soldiers following 9/11. I think we shook a good percentage of the soldiers' hands, welcoming them home and thanking them for their service. Other visits followed, with the Lions Club & the Scouts (both times with my sons), and also on the return of a friend, Becky, who'd done two tours in Iraq, working in a trauma center (she was there when the ABC newsman, Bob Woodruff, was injured by a roadside IED).
Today, a local day care center owner had thoughtfully made up dozens of "goody bags". Other people were giving out phone cards, or some kind of literature. Most people were respectful of the soldiers' space, but a few seemed to want to stop each serviceperson and impart some kind of words of wisdom. I'm not sure what profundity one can offer to people who, just days earlier had possibly witnessed unspeakable acts, so I was proud that my buddies and I stayed just a little bit back, offering a simple "thank you" or "welcome home" as the soldiers passed by. I'm sure the gift bags were well-intentioned, and I don't know what they contained, but I'd have to guess that most of these people, toting 50-80 pounds of gear, weren't too keen on something else to carry - luckily, they were placed on a table and weren't being thrust at them.
Looking into the faces of the service- men and women, a few seemed young, but most appeared to be in their 20s, 30s and even 40s. I can only speculate what thoughts were in their minds: Anticipation of seeing their loved ones, possibly a new infant. Anxiety of a relationship strained by time and distance, economic hardship. Desire for some rest. A prayer for peace.
I'm glad our nation has moved on from the way we treated our military members in the '60s. I hope the gratitude witnessed in terminal D today will extend into the hiring offices and the communities when these heroes come home to stay.
To the bloggers Kevin (Combat & Jarhead) - Thank You for your service in preserving freedom!
Edit: I checked my office email this morning - It was actually Dewey who invited Todd and me to join him in greeting the returning troops. Thanks, Dew!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Friday, during the course of my work duties, I'm looking for an office, somewhere near, let's say, the Stockyards. Though I've found the address, it appears to have multiple tenants. As I approach the building, I'm trying to determine where I might find my party. A man sitting on the front driveway curb, slightly disheveled but not ragged, offers: "There's a stairway around the corner leading to a door upstairs."
I followed his directions and gained access to the building, finding that the fellow I was looking for no longer officed there.
Passing the man on the way back to my car, we exchanged brief pleasantries about the beautiful weather. Back in my car, I was making notes detailing my visit when I saw the man approach, and I rolled down the window.
He held out his hand, not in a way that would cause alarm, and shook some change around. "Mister, could you spare some change so I could buy a burger?"
I don't smoke, so my ashtray is instead amply populated with all the standard denominations of American coinage. I thought about getting several out. But I remembered that I had some crisp dollar bills in the console, change from some drive-through purchase, and I gave him those instead.
"Thank you, sir, God bless you!"
Saturday, my sons and I went to the other side of the world (east of Dallas) to pick up some furniture. On the return trip, the low fuel indicator came on in our borrowed pickup. Since Dodge V-10s don't get such great gas mileage, I didn't know how far I had before I have to use my thumb, so I started looking for a station, only there aren't any along that stretch of the C. F. Hawn Freeway. I finally found a convenience store, selling gas at about 35¢ over the going rate. I didn't really want to stop in this part of town, and don't like to be gouged, but I figured it was better than running out of gas there.
As we pulled in, it felt like all eyes were on us. I'm not racist, but I carry the memory of a former co-worker's son who was killed in a carjacking about fifteen years ago not too far from there. So I discreetly handed my older son, who was in the back seat, a small package from the console (I am a CHL permittee). "Cover me if I need it."
I got out and a middle-aged gentleman, from out of nowhere, is holding the pump hose and reaching for the filler door of the truck. "How much you gonna get?"
"You just go ahead and pay inside, I'll pump it for you."
I went inside and paid my $10, slightly surprised to find the owners appeared to be Korean, since no one outside was. On returning outside, the man pumping my gas began a conversation.
"You moving a desk?"
"A dresser, actually."
"Those your boys in the truck?"
"Yep. They're really good kids."
"I could tell they are."
"They play any sports?"
"The one in the front plays basketball at school."
"Is he pretty good?"
"Not too bad."
"I'm gettin' back on my feet after surgery." [Lifts his shirt as if to show a scar, like LBJ] "Just trying to earn some money for a meal."
As it hadn't taken long to put $10 in the behemoth's tank, I fumbled in my pocket and put a bill in his hand as he put the hose away.
"God Bless you."
As we drove away, we pondered whether the man worked for the filling station, or just freelanced there for tips.
At the beginning I mentioned reluctance in relating these stories, for several reasons. I'm not sure what, if any significance, they portend. Was I right in being concerned and possibly distrustful in the second story?
Both of these men gave their wishes for God's blessings to me. Just words, possibly cynicism you might say? Perhaps. But, Matthew 25: 40-46 speaks of our actions toward our fellow man as the same as for Christ.
And, in the end, I wonder: Were these men among the least whom the Lord commands us to help?
Or am I the one they helped?
Monday, November 9, 2009
My sense is that, at $4500, it's overpriced.
Extended cab, check. Light bar, check. This would be great for the deer lease.
If I had a deer lease...
Edit (for RPM's benefit): Stripper pole not included.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I wish I had one of those PlasmaCam cutting torch tools - I could make art like this...
A little tour of the Water Gardens.
Note to self: Pack lens tissues with camera next time. On second thought, the effect is probably appropriate...
I'm like, not into tattoos, but if I were, I'd go to the Psycho Clown parlor. Wouldn't you?
Of course, all this sightseeing made us hungry. Then we spotted this sign, outside of a Mexican eatery on NW 28th Street. I'm guessing it probably suffers in the translation.
We went to Church's instead...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
I think Henley probably intended the title more figuratively than what these guys depict.
Edit: I originally went looking for the Eagles' version, but the only video I could find was either bootleg concert footage or a photo-montage of Eagles stills, many dating back to the Desperado shoot.
Having come of age pre-MTV, I find that music videos often pale in comparison to the theatre of the mind of one's imagination, especially with material as well written as Henley's. He was, after all, an English major at NTSU. Go Mean Green!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
But, as one who has more than a bit of knowledge of the hospitality industry, what it's really saying is "This is the next-to-last lodging property in the United States not owned by someone named Patel."
Sunday, October 25, 2009
If I could, I'd buy my son this airplane...
Hey guys, launch the little planes from the dixie cup!
Not exactly deer hunting.
I can't think of a better way to spend a Saturday.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Episcopal School of Dallas 14
As our 30th class reunion was this past summer, some of us decided to get together for a pre-game party on campus at one of the football games. Since one of our classmates is now a department head over at ESD, this seemed like as good an opportunity as any.
One brought a shrimp & artichoke salad, another brought desserts, another drinks, and I, representing the Western sensibilities, brought The Donald's Famous Beef & Turkey Chili Con Papas y Cebollas, and an electric skillet full of various bratwursts.
No one went away hungry, but I did manage to have just enough leftover chili to garnish my ham steak and eggs over easy for breakfast this morning.
Life is good.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I don't know why - it just came up in The Truth Project class last night.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I guess these were designed to be tornado-proof living quarters.
But I couldn't help thinking it would be funny to paint them orange for Halloween.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Not knowing if the rifle had been properly sighted in, I shot at the 50 yard range. The extreme spread shown is 2.625". If this grouping had been at 100 yards, I'd be very pleased. As it is, I was having some difficulty getting a good sight picture with my eyeglasses, fading daylight, and the fixed 4x scope. Nonetheless, the rifle appears to be capable of greater accuracy than the person firing it.
Recoil was very tame. I was shooting some necked down .308 case loads that came with the rifle. The reloader's notes indicated that the 75 grain hollow points had been chrono'd at 3400 f/s. Since there were some incipient neck cracks (possibly because the reloader didn't anneal the cases during the sizing/seating operations), and because I have enough actual .243 headstamped brass, I won't reload these cases.
As Denney Crane noted in the prior post comments, small calibers, with the right load and accurately placed, can take a wide range of game animals. And although I've yet to hunt with this particular rifle, I can attest to the fun of uncasing its diminutive stable mate in deer camp, to the hoots of wannabe macho men (with their .338 Win. Magnums, or Weatherby this or that), and returning back to camp the following evening with one deer and one empty cartridge. One shot, one kill.
Next time, I may try a higher power scope than the Weaver K4 (or wear my contact lenses). I think a fixed 6 or 6.5x would be just about right, but will probably just mount an inexpensive 3-9x variable on it.
Note: No poodles, or canines of any kind, were harmed in the testing of the rifle today.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
(Remington Model 660, a/k/a the poodle-shooter, .243 Win.)
(a poodle, supposedly related to the canine family)
My aspiration for today was to take the poodle-shooter to the range to see if I could make it put holes in paper at 100 yards. I purchased said poodle-shooter nearly three years ago and have yet to fire a shot through it - it is very similar to one I had as a kid, with which I shot my first deer and turkey. (Its stable mate, in 6mm Rem., purchased about 15 years ago, has served well - I've taken a whitetail and a Sika deer, each with one shot, and my oldest son shot his first deer, also with one shot.) Unfortunately, there was a match going on at the range, and even though it didn't require all the lanes of fire, there was no open shooting.
Maybe next time...
Editorial note: The author of this blog has never shot any poodles and does not advocate the shooting of poodles. The term "poodle-shooter" is simply a derisive, or in this case, self-deprecating, term for a small caliber rifle. Shooting of Paris Hilton-style dogs, if you can call them such, is a topic open for discussion, subject to the constraints of your conscience, applicable game laws, and local ordinances.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Let's start with Letterman. Never have been a huge fan, but he doesn't irritate me like Conan. Lots of hubbub lately about his dalliances. Interestingly, I guess since he's in the entertainment biz, the feminists are not atwitter about his bagging a staffer. My perspective is that while he's seemingly said the 'right' things about being sorry for letting his employees down, and his wife, he's been silent about this being a moral failing. Just not au courant to discuss morals, I suppose.
Jon & Kate? Did this guy have a job
The guy who secretly video'd Erin Andrews. What a scumbag! I mean, I certainly can understand the motivation - she's a knockout babe. But is there no respect for the privacy of another person? Maybe it's related to the notion that we no longer discuss, dare I say, morals, in public anymore. Gotta keep that kind of antiquated concept bottled up in the churches and such, don'tcha know?
OK, maybe I can eke out ONE rave: A Dallas jury found former councilman Don Hill guilty of ethics & bribery violations.
It's a start...
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
As I was working diligently today, I found myself, through wind and rain, in the vast metropolis of Weatherford. Since I was smack-dab in downtown, I did the right thing and dropped into Yesterday's, just off the square, for a club sandwich and a brownie. If you've never tasted their bread, you haven't lived. Great food.
Later, as I was trying to thin out the freezer at home, I found an Angus beef 1/3 or 1/2 pound patty, which, with a couple of dollops of leftover lamb chili I'd made last week, colby-jack cheese, tomato and onion, made a mighty fine burger - hence the title to this post.
OK, if you ask me, it seems perhaps more of a PR stunt for Baltimore. But, it is the 200th anniversary of Poe's birth, and, in this economy, maybe any celebration is a good thing.
Now, as I understand it, there will be many re-enactors of Poe contemporaries taking part in the funeral, and John Astin (he of the Addams Family) will be master of ceremonies. The author's actual physical remains are not being moved from their burial place.
I think it would be cool, though, to do a mock burial under some floor boards (The Tell Tale Heart) or perhaps an entombment behind a wall of stone (A Cask of Amontillado).
In pace requiescat!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The scene is The Tonight Show. No, not him. Not him either. The real one, with Johnny Carson. Circa the late '70s, maybe early '80s.
[The late, great] Ed McMahon, handing Carnac an envelope (hermetically sealed, no doubt, in a mayonnaise jar since noon that day on the front porch of Funk & Wagnalls'): "The envelope, O Great One."
[The late, exceptionally great] Carnac, deadpans to camera, then holds envelope to forehead: "Eight is enough."
Ed McMahon: "Yes, [guffaw], eight is enough!"
Carnac raises an eyebrow, then with much fanfare, opens the envelope: "According to Roman Polanski, what is the age of consent?"
Ed McMahon, underscoring: "Eight is enough, [guffaw]."
Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.
- Proverbs 12:18 (New International Version)
Lord, may I always remember to think before I speak...
Edit: Thank you to Todd the Blogger for locating through an online concordance scripture that I could not.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Take My Word for It, from 1986, dealing more with language than with politics, is the only Safire book I own. It's been quite some time since I read it, but I would like to thank Bill Safire for his influence on any positive planishing of my prose that might've resulted.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Now, I can't recall ever staging such a pose, nor would I, but I do have to admit that I've thought of getting my buds together to pose as outlaw hombres, such as the Dalton Gang, below:
Dalton Gang - October 5, 1892
Admittedly, my interest in the Dalton story was sparked by the 1972 Eagles' album Desperado, coupled with the notion that the actions that led to their demise occurred about 20 miles from my birthplace.
On the ground: The Eagles, flanked by Jackson Browne (l), and John David Souther (r)
Only in researching for this post did I find that the album's cover pictures were simply stills from a mini-movie or video shot for concert footage: Note - Some language at the end.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The forecast is a very slim chance of rain overnight, supposed to be high 50s in the morning.
Am I sleeping outdoors tonight?
Edit: The weather was great, and my sleeping bag was plenty cozy.
Edit #2: ...for two nights in a row!
Edit #3: ...and three...(don't know about tonight yet - one forecast has a low of 56°, good. Another says 64°, not so much.)
In the same vein as Field of Dreams, Frequency, and, to a degree, the Back to the Future series, the movie features a high school baseball player who encounters his future self (Robert Loggia), who admonishes him to pay attention to the small decisions which will shape his future. Unlike Back to the Future, this film is serious (but not didactic), as well as thought provoking. And though unrelated, I found the lyrics to Carly Simon's In a Small Moment totally apropos to the message of this movie relating to how we deal with the small things ultimately defines our character: