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Musings

  • It cost more to fill up my wife’s hatchback on Saturday as it did to fill up my full-size truck a year ago.  At this rate, it might soon be cheaper to just hire a couple of big guys to carry my family around on their backs.
  • My belief that all things I own should be made out of basalt or stainless steel was validated recently when we awoke to find the corner of our glass cooktop shattered and a crack starting to work its way across the surface.
    • No idea how it happened.  Nobody had cooked using that side of the stove in a while, and there wasn’t anything on the counter that could have been dropped on it.
    • Wouldn’t you know it, but that particular model is no longer made, and the glass part needed to fix it is not available on the market.
    • The ‘on-sale’ price for a new range was within striking range of making an extra house payment.
    • Hey, it’s only money.  Right?
  • Two days after having new carpet installed in the basement, made necessary by the Great Laundry Room Flood of ’21, Louisville got between 3 and 5 inches of rain.
    • There’s nothing more chilling than hearing your wife raving at the gods when she goes downstairs and discovers a 6-inch wide strip of wet carpet running along one entire side of the basement.
    • Luckily, we caught it in time, dried the carpet, and had the pad replaced.  Hey, it’s only money.
  • I’m not sure if this indicates anything, but the coffee I like is no longer available in one pound bags.  I have to either order a 12 ounce bag like Walmart sells at the price a 16 ounce bag used to go for, or I have to order a 32 ounce bag at a little more than double what a pound was going for a while back.
  •  The difference between me and Irish Woman – When the country ham she likes to get at the butcher shop hit $14 a pound, she complained about the cost while making a sandwich.  When the roast beef I like hit $8 a pound, I quit buying roast beef.
    • At those prices, it’s worth investing in a boar spear and telling the boy to go chase a pig out of the woods in my direction.
    • Fortunately, my bologna has a first name, although its price tag is also ridiculous for what you get.
  • Attempts to make home-made soda pop have been mixed.
    • The root beer Boo and I made was quite tasty.
    • The ginger beer, not so much.  It’s OK and worth playing with the recipe to just make syrup to mix with club soda, but trying to make fermented ginger beer was an abject failure.
    • We are, however, going to plant some ginger to see how well it grows around here.
  • I was able to acquire an affordable, convenient room for LibertyCon in June.  It’ll be good to see my tribe again.

Musings

Everybody wants to be in charge until it’s time to do leadership. Well, they still want to be in charge, they just don’t want the whole personal responsibility and self-sacrifice thing. That’s icky.

Dune is based on the premise that a mystical apex predator that burrows under the sand caused the human colonists of its world to modify their behavior so as to not be eaten, and eventually they’re regarded as godlike. My understanding of what happens to the apex predators and most native wildlife when humans enter an ecosystem is that the hairless apes get very creative when it comes to domestication and eradication. After a few thousand years, a smaller, less violent breed of worm would have been farmed to manufacture spice, or some smart person would have figured out how to synthesize it in a factory.

It’s still one heck of a good yarn.

The art of electing symbols has been perfected. The underlying content is no longer relevant, so long as how someone looks and sounds outshines their opponent. I guess it’s always been this way to some extent, but the widening gulf between what people want their candidates to be and what they actually are is frightening to behold these days.

What the war in Ukraine has told me is that if you have the means to protect yourself, you should never give it up. I expect that no country that currently has nuclear weapons will never willingly give them up, and more than a few countries that have thought about them are currently in at least the beginning stage of acquiring them.

I do, however, wonder how quickly the ordinary folks, who will likely continue to fight the Russians after the Red Army has chewed its way across Ukraine, will go from ‘heroic freedom fighters’ to ‘bandits who should just give up and go home so we can all get back to normal’. It looks good right now to be 300 miles away from the fighting and report on it, but eventually those reporters will want to go back to the land of soft beds and good food, and the politicians will stop seeing Ukraine as an opportunity to acquire money, power, and spotlight time.

What is the difference between hoarding, panic buying, and doing research on what the prices of your favorite commodities are expected to reach in the next year and laying in enough coffee that you won’t have to go through caffeine withdrawal until next Christmas?

Musings

  • Someday, when I finally write an autobiography, I will name the chapter that deals with the past couple of months “There must be a pony in here somewhere!
    • Not sure what the title of that book would be, but the subtitle will be “I cut out all the interesting parts because I don’t want to go to jail.”
  • For those of you keeping track at home, it takes two pounds of ground chuck, three eggs, a half cup each of milk and oatmeal, and about two teaspoons of Montreal steak seasoning to make a rather tasty meatloaf in our new cast iron loaf pan.
    • Mmmmm, crunch edges.
    • Side dishes were mashed cauliflower and steamed green peas.
    • No, the cauliflower is not a substitute for mashed potatoes.  Only hash brown casserole is an acceptable substitute for mashed potatoes.  They are, however rather tasty, if you like cauliflower.
  • Speaking of cooking, a chili-ish stew mistakenly made with Italian sausage instead of chorizo was quite good.  I’ll have to remember that one.
  • I’ve gotten Boo to start listening to “Citizen of the Galaxy” while we take drives, and he’s getting into it.  Soon, it’ll be Starship Troopers and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.
    • I will, however, let him discover Friday, I Will Fear No Evil, Stranger in a Strange Land, and Time Enough for Love after he’s 18.  There’s a fine line between “Cool Dad” and “Creepy Father”, and I do not intend to cross it.

Musings

  • Other than trim and a little tile work, the kitchen project is done.
    • We’re still working on getting our trim package.  The company that made our cabinets will take our trim and some maple plywood, then stain the trim to match the cabinets, as well as stain and cut the plywood to make the kickboards for the lower cabinets.  We just have to find time to go pick out appropriate trim and get it to the factory in Indiana.
  • I’d like to thank the engineer at Maytag who decided to put “How to safely wire in an appliance electrical cord when your house wiring is six inches too short for your dishwasher” into the installation manual.
  • I have figured out another of Irish Woman’s innate, magical abilities:  She can, without effort or knowledge, pick out the most expensive, Rube Goldberg thing in a given store for me to purchase, assemble, and install.
  • I’m not going to say that the new light fixture over the kitchen sink is bright, but I’m pretty sure I could see my bones when I held my hand up to block the glare.
  • Amazon messed up an order for me, and refunded my money without asking me to ship the item back.  I ordered a coffee/chicory blend, because coffee should be dark and bitter, and they sent me six bags of 100% chicory.  I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.  I’ll have to brew up a pot and see how it goes.
    • If this works out, I may have a new monkey for the troop that’s made camp on my back.
  • The local fish wrap has started beating the drum about how evil the NRA and its members are, including using editorial cartoons depicting crucified children.  Remind me to have their organization cited for littering the next time an unwanted wad of pulped old growth forest is left at the end of my driveway.
    • Alternately, I could put them all in a metal box with holes punched in the lid, let them ferment for a few months in the sun and rain (they give me new provender for this experiment every weekend, and sometimes on Wednesdays), then deliver it to their offices personally.  Maybe then they’d learn what “I wouldn’t read your dreck if it were the last thing printed in English” means.

Musings

  • If only life could forever consist of looking at guns and gear, meeting new people, talking to old friends, eating good food, and listening to good music, then I would be a truly happy man.  Oh well, back to reality.
  • On a happy note, I’m leaving the NRAAM early tomorrow so that I can go to the Knob Creek Machine Gun Shoot, so it’s not all bad.
  • Look, I don’t expect people to automatically pop to attention and put their hands over their heart when they hear someone singing the National Anthem, but could you at least be respectful and pause your bullshit session for a few minutes?
  • There is a certain satisfaction in finding a parking spot that is only a couple of blocks away from a large event on a beautiful spring morning.
  • Note to self – When trying to attend a seminar given by a popular author and lecturer, show up early.   Standing in the back for an hour and a half gets tiring.
  • I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – the crowds at the NRAAM are the most polite I’ve ever seen.  It can be asses and elbows in the exhibition hall, and everyone is excusing themselves when they bump into someone or making way when they see someone who wants to cross their path or needs a little extra time to get from here to there.

Musings

  • If I’ve been rude or mean to you today, I will try to do better in the future.  If I haven’t, take a number and I’ll get to you eventually.
  • I woke up in a mood today.  Of course, I wake up in a mood every morning.  Some days it’s “I love my fellow human beings and hope the best for each and every one of God’s children.”  Today it was more “I prayed for the return of vengeful elder gods last night before I went to sleep, and I was sorely disappointed when I woke up.”
  • If you ask me to buy you a sunshine lamp so that you don’t get depressed when Mister Sun doesn’t peek out from under his covers until 8:30 AM, you have no business hissing like The Bride of Frankenstein when I turn it on at 6:15 AM.
  • If I make a special trip to your building so that I, along with other people, can discuss scheduling work with you, the least you can do is get up out of your first floor office chair and come up to the second floor meeting room.
    • Dialing into the conference bridge that was set up so that those who couldn’t get to your site can join in is rude.
    • Getting irritated because all of the moving parts of what needs to be done was confusing you and you couldn’t figure it out in your head from the sound of my voice was just the cherry on top of a treacle and rancid ginger sundae.
  • You can either be in charge, or you can shut your piehole and work.  You don’t get to act like you’re in charge until it’s time to make a decision, then whine that everyone looks to you to make it.
  • I am no longer allowed to answer the question of “Where did the cost estimate for this initiative come from?” with “It was a number autofilled on your #!$@ webform after I put down the number of hours it will take for me to do the work.”
  • I have it on good authority that Lorica Squamata would make a great name for an ’80’s British new-wave boyish band.
  • Note to self – Do not attempt to read “Fox in Socks” to a tired six year old unless you’ve already had your post-dinner coffee.
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