Amusements

Today was a beautiful day to be cruising around the countryside, watching the wildlife.

I interrupted this guy's brunch, somewhere near Garner (or at least near Garner Road if there's not really a Garner):

Then later, near Peaster (as in: "I used ta have a wife, but I guess I Peaster off.") I saw a pair of deer running across the country lane about 200 yards ahead.  I reached for my camera, but was too late.

From the other direction, a FedEx delivery truck had stopped for the deer.  Well, one of the deer was indecisive. and slipped and fell smack dab on the slick asphalt.  He, or she, got up, looked around, shrugged it off, ran a few yards and made a flying leap over the fence that would've made a broad jumper proud.  Heck, even I would've been proud, and [in Groucho Marx voice] I haven't jumped a broad in years!

Besides Dairy Queen, here's what I like about Texas:

OK, this next has nothing to do with wildlife, or Texana.  Just a little friendly D-I-Y tip to my amigos in the Northside area:  If you're gonna use a faux stone building material, it will look tons less fake and a heckuva lot better if you randomize the pattern, by, say, turning each panel 90° before you attach it to the substrate. 

I know it sounds loco - can you believe you're getting construction advice from a gringo?

Dewey, you can ignore half of that last bit.

Plan 'B'

Well, it looks as though the Chalupacabrito may beat me to the 6.77 carat diamond solitaire ring from Costco.

No problem, I didn't really want it anyway...

Besides, my third round draft pick sweetie deserves better.  Like bigger, and with gold and baguettes and stuff.  Yeah, that's the ticket!  [And, it's on sale 40% off.]  So here's what I have in mind for the lucky gal:

Shoulda bought this one twenty years ago...

And now, for another kind of Diamond...

Last evening, I had the honor of accepting an invitation to dine, along with fellow rake Dewey, at the home of Todd the Blogger.  Mr. the Blogger treated us to chips and dip, steak and shrimp, corn, okra, and a dessert of freshly made rice crispy treats.  All delicious.

Well, I would say 'rice crispy treats', as though they were allowed to cool and cut into neat little squares or something.  But at the Blogger house, they were served in a large mass on a sheet of wax paper, from which we simply grabbed a small handful at a time.  I think he's onto something here.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned to the fairer gender.  We opined and speculated.  The spouse-less among us (the host and I), expressed the difficulty we expected in trying to trust again, should the opportunity again present.

Nonetheless, this afternoon I received an email from Costco, with such an incredible savings offer, that I'm thinking I should just head on down to Cowboys in Arlington and pick out a fair young filly¹, just so I don't miss out. Costco, would you believe, is offering a 6.77 carat diamond engagement ring, for the deeply discounted price (about 38% less than the IGI appraisal!) of $1 million.

Trouble is, I'm gonna have to act fast - there's only one available at this price...don't you dare try to get it before I do.

¹ OK, I might not be that choosy.  I might entertain an attractive, well-maintained, fit, heifer...

He Does

The last post brought to mind possibly one of the greatest love songs, written by the estimable Brian Wilson, and performed impeccably by Neil Diamond:



While the Beach Boys' version is considered the definitive, this one seems to have more gravitas.

Welcome to My Hot August Nightmare

Although I missed watching last week, I learned that this year's inductees into the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame included both Alice Cooper (née Vincent Furnier) and Neil Diamond (née Neil Diamond).

Naturally, it feels a little awkward to admit that I'm familiar with the catalogs of both performers.

My understanding is that they performed several duets together (though not all were included in the broadcast), including:

• Only Kentucky Women Bleed
• I Am Eighteen...I Said
• Holly Holy I Never Cry
• Muscle of Love at the Greek
• Teenage Lament in D Minor

At least Barbra Streisand wasn't there.

It's Springtime!

I don't think they could ever play this song on the radio enough:



Or at least they haven't since 1974...

Sisters of the Moon

Over the weekend, astronomers tell us the moon was in perigee and closer than it's been at full moon in nearly twenty years.  I had hoped to get a shot of it low on the horizon, but had to settle for a view through the trees in the backyard.

If I'd been just a second faster on the shutter, I'd have gotten a picture of Rhiannon...

Pimp THIS ride...

Sometime last week, Todd the Blogger posited that he would like a Mercedes 600 limousine that he was going to purchase from money he found in the median, selling plasma and aluminum cans, or something like that.

I think he found it on Craigslist, after Libyan strongman Muammar (you decide how to spell his last name) decided to downsize his limo fleet.

Anyway, I wished him well, and even volunteered mutual goofball friend Dewey to be his chauffeur, on his sober days.

I don't know if he was able to negotiate the deal on the Benz, but if that one falls through, I found a backup, that with just a little work and a $199 paint job from MAACO¹, could just do the trick:

¹ As recommended by the Interwebs' own Chupacabra!

Where's the Good News?

On top of everything else that seems to be going wrong in this world, comes now the news that there's a catfish shortage!

Say it isn't so.

When I was a kid, my grand-dad, an agricultural-American, wanted to get in on the ground floor of the coming wave that would see a shift from beef, pork and fowl to fish as a major protein source.  To this end he created a four or five acre impoundment (the big pond), with a hand operated outflow valve, which fed about a dozen small, rectangular fish ponds, neatly arranged in a row.  Each of the fish ponds measured about 25' by 120' or so, with about a 3' strip between them.

After the big pond was built, we were all (my five cousins and I) warned never to go swimming in the big pond.

Of course we did.

We were also warned not to shoot each other with BB guns.

We followed that instruction, sort of.  Nobody said you couldn't skip a BB off the surface of one of the small ponds, on the chance that you might zap a cousin on the other side.  Thankfully, no one ever lost an eye (there but for Grace...).  And it was likewise not prohibited to shoot one's cousin's equine mount in the rump (from a reasonable distance) while he was riding it, for comedic effect.

Anyway, we would sometimes volunteer, sometimes get volunteered, to go down to the fish ponds to feed the catfish, with 3# coffee cans and 50# bags of what looked like dog food.  Like going to the Japanese Gardens, the water would roil with fish with every handful of feed tossed into the pond.

Sometimes, on hot summer days, we'd swim in the catfish ponds, and sometimes we'd seine the ponds, about 3' deep or so, to see how many fish they contained.  (Not necessarily so many, but frequently there were snakes - moccasins, I assume - I tried not to get acquainted on a personal level.  How we kept from getting bit, I don't know.)

I never really knew if Grand-dad sold any fish from the operation.  My intuition tells me it was probably a lark, and never became a serious business venture.

Maybe Babe's can hire some Okie noodlers to supply catfish to their restaurants.

Tall in the saddle

Over at BITYSD!, Todd the Blogger ran a piece about spending one's windfall on two-wheeled transportation and firearms.

Rogue commenter, cad, and wanna-be badboy Dew quickly took up the gauntlet, and voiced approval to a rig featuring a howizter, Gatling gun, sidecar, and a Tommy Gun, that transforms into an alien and can be stowed in a Corolla.  Dew is full of immaturity youthfulness like that.

Now, readers, I present a more thoughtful approach to the confluence of light infantry and two wheeling:

While most would opt for the standard 1873 Colt or one of its clones, my preferences would be an 1875 Remington, a Bisley, or a Schofield, not necessarily in that order.

Sunday Night Country Rocker

He looks like he should be wearing an Izod and LL Bean Maine Hunting Shoes...but I'm just sayin'...

Back to the blogging chair

Calling Earl Scheib!

My kind of folks:

Are you there, Earl Scheib?

I don't think this had a good outcome, and it's too late for Earl Scheib:

Tagger, you're no Earl Scheib:

Decimals can be confusing things:

Last Episode of In-N-Out of Love

Am hoping to have my home PC back up and running this week so I can load photos and resume original posts.  Currently using an IBM ThinkPad with one of those 'G-spot' cursor pointers.

Until then, here's the last installment of the series, featuring both Brandon and Susan:


IN-N-OUT of LOVE - Part 5 from Keystone Church on Vimeo.

Church Sex

Not exactly where one expects to get a message about sex.


IN-N-OUT of LOVE - Part 3 from Keystone Church on Vimeo.

Middle son attended this service with me.  Later in the evening, he asked me, "Dad, did you like tonight's message?"

The Eagle and the Hawk

Well, actually, the squirrel and the hawk.  (I was going to insert a clip of Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr.'s - better known as John Denver - Eagle and the Hawk here, but couldn't find a good one on the YouTube).

As I was making breakfast this morning, daughter calls me to the back deck to see something.  A squirrel was gnawing on a horse or cow skull I'd brought back years ago from a Wyoming hunting trip.  (No, we don't have a skull altar like the Arizona nutbag who shot the Congresswoman and several others.  It was just something in the back yard.)  Anyway, the squirrel was chipping away at bits of the skull.

"Do you know why he's doing that?"

"No."

"To get calcium in his diet and to sharpen his incisors."

At just that moment, a small hawk or owl swooped down from about twenty feet away, only narrowly missing the squirrel, which found cover in/on a nearby red oak tree.

"Daddy, why did the hawk try to get the squirrel?"

"To get some protein in his diet."



Between events yesterday, daughter and I stopped into Central Market.   I don't normally shop there, but had been looking for some Nori snacks that are said to inhibit absorption of fat in the diet.  Anyway, we had just made our way through the produce maze and into the main chamber when a terrible racket arose - whooping and hollering, banging and clanging of pans.

A few seconds later we saw the source of the mayhem: A Mardi Gras parade, comprised of what appeared to be nearly every employee in the store, was winding its way through the aisles.  Festooned in costumes, with shopping carts and work carts decorated as floats, the revelers passed out beads and candy.

So, here's what a Mardi Gras fallow deer looks like:

"For he's a jolly good fallow..."

Life is Short...Have an Affair

Well, isn't this special?

Pastor Brandon mentioned this website in his message a couple of weeks ago (In & Out of Love, Part 1).

The founder of the affair enabling website defends the premise on the grounds that adultery has "gone on for thousands of years."

Well, yeah, there's that.  But so have murder, thieving, and lying.  But that's no reason to promote them.

And we wonder why the country's in trouble

What's your financial IQ?

Before you answer that question, consider the report that ran last night on the local news about a woman's tribulations in recovering $3,700.00 that's been in the unclaimed money fund since 1986 or 1987.

Apparently the woman moved and got married, and the bank now long since merged with Wells Fargo had sent the money to an expired address.  The Texas Comptroller of Public Accounts, now in possession of the funds, denied the woman's claim to the money, stating that she couldn't adequately prove she was the original owner.  And so the woman contacted the TV news.

What was interesting to me was that a Wells Fargo spokesman told the reporter that the woman's $3700.00 invested at 3.00% annually, would now be worth $2.5 million!  That's like Charlie Sheen money!   And the TV news duly reported that.

Really!?

Now, I'm no Peter Lynch, Milton Friedman, Ben Stein, Dale Rogers, or even Jarhead, but without my handy-dandy HP12C calculator I seem to remember the old 'rule of 72'.  For the lay-persons out there, the rule of 72 says that if you divide the annual interest rate of an account into 72, the result is the number of years it will take to double your money. 

So, if the woman had her $3700.00 in a CD at 3.00%, it would double in 24 years.  Tonight the TV news reported that the Texas Comptroller Office had agreed to release the funds, and ran a correction stating that at 3.00% its value would be about $7500.00, not $2.5 million as reported yesterday, even with compounding.

I wonder if the Wells Fargo employee's last name is Madoff...