In A.D. 2008, "the hockey coach at the University of New Hampshire earned $382,000, making him the highest paid state employee."
Whack Puck or Die.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 26, 2014
Singing to the dog
A man with a shelf of books and a curious mind is never bored. Except maybe sometimes, rarely, he might be something like bored.
I blame it on the re-vortexing of the polarity. Zero, below zero, big wind, very big wind for the impending week.
SAD? No, I don't accept SAD except as an excuse for the drug companies to sell more happy pills.
Cabin fever? No. The vehicles are running fine. The lane is clear enough. There's cash in the wallet and places where I would find a welcome.
No interest, So I'll just go ahead and use the dork word. Enervated. I may be enervated.
Possibly New Dog Libby is too. She always comes around for a comprehensive ear-scratch every hour or so. Lately it's more like every ten minutes, and I actually caught her staring out at our stray cat without emitting her death-threat growl between 70-decibel barks.
Just now she waddled over to the computer chair, stuck her head firmly on my lap, and made intense eye contact. You either understand that lab-eyes look or you don't. I do, so I made a special fuss. The ears, of course, then back and belly, then a collar check while I wiped off that tiny dab of eye drool.
She's put on some winter bulk. I decided the strap could use a little more slack.
Fumble with the adjusting slide. Drop your hands in disgust because you just heard yourself going,
"bah-dah bamba just a silly millimeter longer."
At least that led to enervation attenuation because it yielded a Big Thought, a Universal Truth: Exposure to television at a young age makes you weird forever.
I blame it on the re-vortexing of the polarity. Zero, below zero, big wind, very big wind for the impending week.
SAD? No, I don't accept SAD except as an excuse for the drug companies to sell more happy pills.
Cabin fever? No. The vehicles are running fine. The lane is clear enough. There's cash in the wallet and places where I would find a welcome.
No interest, So I'll just go ahead and use the dork word. Enervated. I may be enervated.
Possibly New Dog Libby is too. She always comes around for a comprehensive ear-scratch every hour or so. Lately it's more like every ten minutes, and I actually caught her staring out at our stray cat without emitting her death-threat growl between 70-decibel barks.
Just now she waddled over to the computer chair, stuck her head firmly on my lap, and made intense eye contact. You either understand that lab-eyes look or you don't. I do, so I made a special fuss. The ears, of course, then back and belly, then a collar check while I wiped off that tiny dab of eye drool.
She's put on some winter bulk. I decided the strap could use a little more slack.
Fumble with the adjusting slide. Drop your hands in disgust because you just heard yourself going,
"bah-dah bamba just a silly millimeter longer."
At least that led to enervation attenuation because it yielded a Big Thought, a Universal Truth: Exposure to television at a young age makes you weird forever.
Feb 25, 2014
Loophole AAR
I don't get to this one often enough, especially considering it is my natal city, a couple of hours southeast. But it was time. I had my buddy's balls* in a can, and he wanted them. The show his club runs was a good excuse to make the delivery.
I didn't run across anything making me giddy enough to toss large denomination Federal Reserve Cartoons around, but it is tasteless to leave a loophole empty-handed, ergo:
For $25 it justifies itself as a high-class paperweight, and who knows when I'll stumble across a box of parts for five bucks at a garage sale.They would need to fit a High-Standard Model A or B from 1934, the year A. HItler flew to Essen for a gigglefest as he watched his former friends bleed out. And speaking of long knives:
Boy Scout, official, USA-made but otherwise unmarked so I can pretend it's a Marble. The condition isn't too bad, but Tenderfoot Teddy couldn't resist using his sharp edge to trim up the sheath. What a creep, but at least his old man didn't own a three-horsepower Baldor running a 60-grit wheel at 3450 rpms.
This Remington RH 51 came from a Baldor-equipped home in a sheath style I've never seen before, stamped "Remington" and "DuPont." That dates it to 1933 or later and probably pre-1941.
I don't actually get upset at battered knives if they're cheap enough. The patinae, gouges, and grinds just loosen their metaphorical tongues so they can tell me how things were back then, or might have been.
---
*soft lead, .504
I didn't run across anything making me giddy enough to toss large denomination Federal Reserve Cartoons around, but it is tasteless to leave a loophole empty-handed, ergo:
For $25 it justifies itself as a high-class paperweight, and who knows when I'll stumble across a box of parts for five bucks at a garage sale.They would need to fit a High-Standard Model A or B from 1934, the year A. HItler flew to Essen for a gigglefest as he watched his former friends bleed out. And speaking of long knives:
Boy Scout, official, USA-made but otherwise unmarked so I can pretend it's a Marble. The condition isn't too bad, but Tenderfoot Teddy couldn't resist using his sharp edge to trim up the sheath. What a creep, but at least his old man didn't own a three-horsepower Baldor running a 60-grit wheel at 3450 rpms.
This Remington RH 51 came from a Baldor-equipped home in a sheath style I've never seen before, stamped "Remington" and "DuPont." That dates it to 1933 or later and probably pre-1941.
I don't actually get upset at battered knives if they're cheap enough. The patinae, gouges, and grinds just loosen their metaphorical tongues so they can tell me how things were back then, or might have been.
---
*soft lead, .504
Feb 24, 2014
Terminal ballistics, hamburger heaven, and a load of bull
I learn from my friend that a 9 mm hardball round at point- blank range fom a big bovine forehead just "makes him mad." It took another in the same area and a third a little higher to finish the job. Still, it was quick due to flawless functioning of the Browning M1935 semi-automatic, another reason to praise John M. Browning, PBUH.
The old boy was down from rear-end mechanical failure due to high milage ...
...and to being butted and tormented by younger bulls. That gives us guys approaching our mature years something to think about.
My just-delivered allotment of el toro is 50 count 'em 50 pounds, nicely ground and wrapped by one of the few custom butchers still operating, and I want to tell you there's a world of difference between Safeway floor sweepings and a burger ground from the entire animal -- t-bone, rib-eye and all.
I feel a cookout coming on.
The old boy was down from rear-end mechanical failure due to high milage ...
...and to being butted and tormented by younger bulls. That gives us guys approaching our mature years something to think about.
My just-delivered allotment of el toro is 50 count 'em 50 pounds, nicely ground and wrapped by one of the few custom butchers still operating, and I want to tell you there's a world of difference between Safeway floor sweepings and a burger ground from the entire animal -- t-bone, rib-eye and all.
I feel a cookout coming on.
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