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Musings

I had an epiphany the other day –

The blue milk Aunt Beru was serving to Uncle Owen at breakfast while he has a tantrum about Luke not being home wasn’t nutrition.

It was marinade.

Remember, kids, dark humor is like a complete and satisfying plot arc in the Star Wars Sequels – most folks don’t get it.

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Sequence for giving a labrador retriever a bath in the summer –

  1. Take your strongest leash out to the deck and affix it to one of the 4×4 posts securely.
  2. Barricade the gate to the deck stairs. This is crucial. It is amazing how agile a 13 year old lab is when he doesn’t want to do something, and he’ll do a stutter step that will bring a tear to Jerry Rice’s eye and squirt right past you and down into the mud puddle that is your back yard.
  3. Entice the lab out onto the back deck. He will have noticed your preparations, so this will likely include food of some kind. Normal treats like bones or fortune cookies will not work. This is more of a beef jerky situation.
  4. Clip the leash from step 1 onto the lab’s collar. That ring of canvas and cold iron is about to get the test of a lifetime.
  5. Take your preferred brush or other fur removal tool and give the hound a good going over. Enough fur to insulate a bald eagle nest will accumulate on the deck. The patterns the morning breeze in it are rather calming. Gather strength from that little moment of peace. You’re about to need it.
  6. Get your hose and start soaking the lab as best you can. Labs have, on average, 13.72 separate layers of fur, so this is going to take a bit.
    • Side note – Labrador Retrievers, as a breed, were created for fishing and duck hunting, both of which require the dog to plunge into icy cold water. It can surprise the new dog washer to learn that labs can have that sort of fortitude, but are absolutely against the idea of cold hose water being applied to their person.
  7. Spread an ample helping of shampoo over the lab’s shoulders, back, and hind quarters. A good rule of thumb is 3 liters per 20 pounds of dog. Through the magic of fuzzy math, it usually takes approximately a 55 gallon drum of oatmeal/goat milk/enzymatic/unobtanium shampoo to thoroughly clean our Moonshine.
    • I have always been able to use whatever’s cheapest in Walmart or even bar soap to wash my dogs, but this particular hound has sensitive skin. Use of any canine unguent that isn’t sold for several dollars an ounce will cause him to have dry skin flakes running through his fur and throughout the house. Cleaning up when he sheds is bad enough. Have you ever seen a black lab with a bad case of dandruff?
  8. Once the wet dog is thoroughly coated in suds, get your hands into a ‘claw’ configuration and proceed to scrub the everliving whey out of that hound’s fur. You’re trying to scrub soap down into all of those layers of hair, so you might have to be a bit more aggressive. Take frequent breaks to flip handfuls of sudsy fur into the yard. The pile you make will survive several thunderstorms, but will be prized by the local gopher population as they soundproof their latest tunnel under your air conditioning unit.
    • A side benefit to this activity is that it gets in your cardio for the day. Not only will you be bent over, vigorously moving your upper extremities repeatedly, but you’ll also be wrestling with a sopping wet dog that thinks you’re playing with him. At some point in this process, there will likely be as much suds on you as there is on the dog.
  9. Once every square inch of his body has been thoroughly raked with your clawed hands at least thrice, let the shampoo sit in his fur for a few minutes. Use that time to look down at your clothes and start thinking about what you’re going to change into after your second shower of the day. This is not only caused by the almost constant contact you have with your pet. In an effort to make you feel like you’re part of the process, he will helpfully shake while you’re 3 inches from him, flinging globs of wet fur and soap bubbles in every direction at speed. Any part of your body that faces him from any angle is going to get slimed.
  10. After the mandatory cool-down period is over, retrieve your hose from where it got flung during the scrubbing portion of this process, and start rinsing. As the fur barriers have been broken with shampoo, it will take less time for the water to soak through to the skin, but that doesn’t mean the shampoo will wash away quickly. You see, labrador fur is more of a sponge than you think. Once that hard, waterproof shell has been overcome, your dog will soak up several times his body weight in water and soap. It will then fight to keep it as if its life depended on it. If you’re monitoring water and time usage, a good way to estimate is to take the number of gallons it took to soak the dog, multiply that by the number of minutes it took to soak the dog, put that result to the power of the number of quarts of dog shampoo you had to use, then multiply by pi. By some coincidence, the result of that formula is both the number of gallons of water and the number of minutes it will take to get most of the soap out of your dog’s fur.
  11. Once the water runs clear of shampoo and the rate at which fur is washing off of your dog’s body has slowed somewhat (Fur loss will never be equal to zero), the drying process can occur. What I do is release the hound from his leash, letting him shake and dance around the back deck. Water will continue to flow and drip from him for several minutes. A side benefit to doing this is that all of the plants on your deck will get watered and mulched. We will cover cleanup later, but keep in mind that every drop of water he shakes off has at least 2 grams of hair in it, so you’ll have to wash off your deck, siding, and furniture when this is all over to prevent five o’clock shadow.
  12. If it’s a warm, sunny day, now is a good time to just let the dog air dry for a bit. You could towel him off right away, but most households don’t have enough terry cloth to soak up the amount of water your dog is carrying around. Let gravity and evaporation do its thing for half an hour. This is a great opportunity to go inside and have a second cup of coffee or cold beverage of your choice.
    • Important safety tip – DO NOT sit upon any upholstered furniture at this time. You are almost as fuzzy as your canine companion. Contact with a couch or chair that is important to your spouse before you have a shower and change clothes could put your relationship at risk. Also, do not shower yet. You’re not done accumulating second hand fur.
  13. After you notice that your dog is no longer dripping and the breeze is moving the fur at the top of his back, it’s time to towel him off. I suggest using the oldest, most delapidated towels you have for this. I prefer using a couple of old beach towels.
    • Important safety tip – Clear whichever towel you’re going to use with your spouse, especially if you’re the husband. While you may be smart enough to not use the special towels you’re not allowed to touch, they may have assigned some significance to the tattered, stained, worn out scraps of cloth you want to use. Perhaps it’s the towel they used to give your child their first bath, or maybe it’s the beach towel she packed for your honeymoon. No matter its condition, make sure they’re OK with you rubbing it on the dog’s butt before using it.
  14. You will notice that the towel changes color drastically while you dry off your hound. This is because even more fur is coming off of his carcass. Before taking the towels back in the house, hang them on something to dry, then give them a good shaking. Failure to do so will cause you to be finding dog hair in the washer, dryer, and refrigerator for days. Again, this contact with your dog will be taken as an offer to wrestle, so expect at least one tail slash and one head butt.
  15. Now that he’s mostly dry, get your brush out and give him another thorough going over. You’ll be shockd at the volume of fuzz you remove, but it’s better that it comes off outside. Vacuum cleaners are expensive, and what he’s going to drop over the next day or so will destroy even top of the line models. Let the wind, rain and birds take care of it, not your Electrolux.
  16. Once that’s accomplished and your dog has had a couple of good shakes, you might be tempted to let him go run in the yard for a bit to defuzz and finish drying. Do not do this. Your dog has already selected something smelly and dead to roll in, or has a designated dusty area for post-bath shenanigans. Give him a treat, make sure he has water, and leave him up on the deck long enough to finish drying all the way.
  17. A proud homeowner will keep his property looking nice, so take the time and effort now to rinse all the fur and soap residue off of your deck and house. Pay special attention to the gutters. A large enough gob of wet fur will plug up a gutter, and nobody wants their basement to flood because you gave your dog a bath three months before the storm of the century hit your neighborhood.
  18. Once your dog is clean, dried, and defurred, it is time for self care. The clothes you are wearing have been soaked, sudsed, and fuzzed enough that you will need to make your way to your spouse’s second favorite bathroom, peel down, and get a shower. Make sure you put a screen or something similar on the drain, because you’re about to shed almost as much as the dog. Your outer clothes should be taken outside and hung up next to the towels. This is done to avoid putting 3.7 pounds per square foot of fabric worth of dog hair into your washing maching and dryer. Letting both the towels and your clothing air dry and then giving them a thorough shake before washing them will save you an expensive service call.
  19. After your shower, check on the dog. A smart dog will have figured out how to get through the gate, so you will likely be greeted by the sight of him rolling around in whatever he had in mind in step 16.
  20. Enjoy your cleanish dog for the exactly 3.7 hours it takes before he starts to smell, well, like a dog again.

Musings

Note to self – When Irish Woman is talking about a conflict she had with a member of the local Lutheran church over who had to move their booth at the local event, telling her to ask if they’re Missouri Synod or if they’re going to hell will probably go right over her head.

Also telling her that saying “If you’ve got a complaint, the door to Our Lady of Perpetual Fish Fry’s is right down that way. Take your hammer and nails.” was probably a little much for her tender Catholic soul.

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Telling your bourbon drinking wife that the beer you got while going to pick up pizza is ‘darker than your sense of humor’ is either going to make her smile or get you in trouble.

Then again, if I wanted to live safely, I wouldn’t have married a redhead with 100% Irish heritage.

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Schadenfreude is best exemplified by the feeling I got last night when I found out that a prominent scion of the family that told my children that they would never be from where we used to live, no matter how long we lived there, has been federally indicted on several charges. This is after several convictictions for state crimes.

I’m not saying I take pleasure in their tribulations. OK, yeah, I am, but the point is that all of my children, to the best of my knowledge, aren’t felons.

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We’ve officially reached the “F#!# That!” part of the summer. This is that wonderful time of year where both the temperature and humidity numbers are over 85.

So far, we haven’t hit the ‘humidity, but no rain’ season, but that’s coming. Instead, we’ve gotten “It’s hot as hades out this morning, but the wrath of God will descend on Kentucky later today. Look for everything short of frogs to fall from the sky just in time for the afternoon rush hour, after which we’ll have a lightning storm that will be chronicled by monks as signs of the Apocalypse later this evening. For those of you downhill from Louisville, expect every piece of trash, both human or otherwise, to float through your front yard sometime after midnight.” weather.

My northern plains self is going to stay inside with the air conditioner and supplementary dehumidifier, thank you very much. Since my people are a pale people, I’m restricting my exposure to outside illumination as much as I can. Two hours of lawn care every four to five days is enough for me, thanks. I’ll continue this for the next month or three and only come out when the leaves start to change color and the atmosphere is both breathable and not as painful.

Irish Woman, on the other hand, is as happy as a clam about all this. She lives for the season of digging in the dirt, using my power tools in new and innovative, read destructive, ways, and coming into the house smelling of sunshine and perspiration. Being a proud woman of the sort-of South, she maintains that she does not sweat, rather, she glistens.

How my cave dwelling self hooked up with such a bright and cheerful example of God’s children is beyond me.

Musings

I’m not saying that my son’s laundry after his last week as staff at Scout camp is a tad toxic, but the load I just pulled out of the dryer went right back in the washer, with extra detergent and a heaping scoop of borax.

If that doesn’t work, I may have to hang it all outside and let the wind and rain clear out whatever creature from the nether regions has infested his shorts, shirts, and socks.

And if that doesn’t work, we have a firepit. I respect the earth enough to not want that in the landfill.

Also, not sure who needs this information, but if you wash a pack or two of sticky notes in cargo shorts, then run those shorts through a dryer, the little scraps of paper will mold themselves perfectly to the dryer’s drum? Good times, good times.

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Apparently washing my car and watering the garden on the same day gives us two days with bursts of torrential rain. I’ll have to learn how to use this power for good.

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I’m not proud of demanding my payment for pool care duties while my lovely wife was baking her buns on the beach the other week, but I was promised lasagna and I wanted lasagna. I also knew that if I waited much more without collecting, I would never see that tomatoey, cheesy goodness.

So, anyway, she made lasagna and I made bacon fat chocolate chip cookies. It’s these little acts of love that keep our relationship going.

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My wife’s attitude toward the neighborhood wildlife runs within a spectrum. I’d love to see the calculus necessary to describe the area under the curve that runs from “Oh, they’re so precious! I hope we see their babies!” to “Those damned things ate the tops off of all of my tomato plants, and some fool took two parallel bites out of each and every strawberry in the bed!”

If that latter part of the cycle ever coincides with hunting season, I’m going to need a new freezer.

Musings

Life is all about those little episodes that sum up how things are going for you.

Take this morning, for example. I spent two hours hunting through every storage compartment and container in my garage to find the 1/2 inch chuck key for my hammer drill. It’s one of those tools that I probably only use once every couple of years, but when I need it, I really need it. It also happens to be the only tool I have with a 1/2 inch chuck, so I don’t exactly have a lot of spares lying around.

After giving up and deciding to go to the hardware store to buy a replacement, I put the drill up on my workbench. It was then that I discovered that the missing chuck key was attached to the power cord.

So, that’s how life has been going lately.

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Drilling into masonry on top of a ladder that’s older than I am in the middle of a July afternoon isn’t as fun as it sounds.

Having done this sort of thing a few times, I set up a fan to move the air around me, took a cold drink with me up that ladder, and made sure to wear a hat and sunscreen. My people are a pale people, after all, and I don’t want to repeat the Sunburnt Neck and Face of 2022.

Even with all that, the air conditioning felt really good after I’d finished and put everything away.

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I must have been doing something noteworthy when I cooked dinner on the outdoor stove this afternoon. At least two of my neighbors came out to see what I was doing.

Dinner tonight was chicken and steak fajitas, with grilled onions, bell pepper, and mushrooms. It’s the last dinner Irish Woman and I have before The Young Prince returns from his last week at Scout camp, so I thought I’d do something nice.

It’s been kind of nice having some one-on-one time with Irish Woman, but it’ll be nice to have the sprog back.

Thought for the Day

I’d like to congratulate the director and producers of the new Superman movie. They have accomplished something I never thought could be done – They’ve made me apathetic about new Superman movies. They join the creators of Star Wars, Star Trek, Marvel, and just about everything else I used to enjoy.

I grew up on Christopher Reeve on the big screen. I paid full price to watch both Superman III and IV, and I wasn’t even that pissed off leaving the theater. I’ve watched and listened to multiple Superman TV and radio shows that were made when my mother was a child. I watched all of the DC Universe Superman movies, including some absolute dreck that made my teeth itch. Heck, I even shelled out to watch the mid-2000’s Superman reboot that never went anywhere.

But now, with the latest reboot about to kick off, the director decided to open his yap about how political this new movie is. Also, one of the bipedal parrots in the movie decided to say that he wasn’t comfortable with “Truth, Justice, and the American Way”.

Aaaaand, we’ve officially reached “Tom doesn’t care anymore” territory.

Hint – We go to movies to escape the 24×7 politics world we live in. Movies can have politics in them, but it has to be done with an artful touch so that not everything is about the politics. I go to summer movies to watch things blow up, not to have my worldview blown up.

Giving interviews specifically to point out the political message you want to convey with your forthcoming summer blockbuster, regardless of which political point of view you are firehosing your audience with, will just have me going downstairs to the Fortress of Solitude and popping a DVD in.

If I wanted to watch mid-level, overtly political movies with, at best, lukewarm feelings toward America and Americans, I have access to all of the mid-to-late 20th Century German and Russian cinema I could ask for. I don’t need the beneficiaries of American society to tell me how bad America is.

Musings

Yesterday, I saw a recipe for rum almond cake and decided to try it. The recipe is very simple – butter, eggs, ground almonds, flour, and liquor.

After baking, you sprinkle more liquor over the cake.

Then, you make an icing with more liquor, then allow the whole thing to chill and soak overnight.

I am glad I decided to try it before giving a piece to Irish Woman for breakfast. It tasted wonderful, but if sold commercially, it would require a special license from the state and a declaration of its proof and distillation location. Going to work with cake on your breath might be a career limiting factor in this circumstance.

Basically, it’s a cocktail you drink with a fork.

Guess this one goes in the after-dinner treat category.

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Speaking of liquor, my neighbor and I did a tasting of two Texas bourbons this weekend.

His offering was Garrison Brothers Boot Flask whiskey. This was a rather spicy tipple that smacks you upside the head, grabs you by the shoulders, and pushes you toward the mechanical bull of life.

I brought over a bottle of Rebecca Creek Small Batch I brought home from my trip to Bugscuffle last winter. In contrast to our other choice, this was a gentle kiss on the neck, followed by cuddling and talks about a second honeymoon.

Irish Woman, being the proud daughter of the Bluegrass she is, declared that there is no such thing as Texas bourbon. She then proceeded to enjoy her Texas bourbon and coke.

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Irish Woman and The Young Prince returned from their Florida trip unscathed. Irish Woman seems to have enjoyed her week on the beach, especially the kayaking to islands overrun by iguanas. Boo seems to have gotten a lot of out of his time snorkeling and crewing a sailing ship.

Picking them up from the Cincinnati airport on the night of July 4th was interesting. They landed right at dusk, so our drive home was punctuated by multiple large fireworks displays. The most interesting was the rather glorious explosions happening over the world’s most patriotic landfill just south of the airport. I’m sure there’s some symbolism there, but I can’t seem to articulate it before coffee.

Musings

Note to self – Make sure ALL connections on the outdoor gas range are tight and leak proof before turning on the gas and applying flame.

Ancillary note – Eyebrows grow back in a week or two.

In other news, the multiple spider nests that were blocking things up have been evicted, so I do not need to have mujltiple pans of boiling water in the house when we can food this summer.

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I was doing a deep dive on United States policy toward Iran yesterday (don’t judge). I concentrated on how our government has worked toward keeping Iran from creating nuclear weapons.

A thought occurred to me on hour four of this quest for understanding of international policy and strategy – How do you say danegeld in Farsi?

Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that Iran and the rest of that side of the world would be better served by pausing their own development efforts and just buying a couple dozen warheads from North Korea. Once you have that and have demonstrated that at least one of them works with an above-ground test live streamed to both your own populace and the world at large, you will then be left alone to create your own home-grown weapons in peace.

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Speaking of Iran, the news media is reporting that the Iranian regime is getting their bloodbath machine cranked up. So far, a bunch of people have been arrested and a handful have been executed. The odd part is that reporters and commentators have the audacity to be shocked at this.

Iran was just humiliated on the world stage. Israel effectively neutered their air force and air defense in less than 72 hours, then started bombing whatever struck their fancies. Tehran found out what in the heck happened to their nuclear facilities when President Trump broke OPSEC and held a press conference about it.

During all this, we saw Iranians dancing in the streets and chanting about getting rid of the current regime. To those poor, beknighted souls, all I can say is ‘good luck’. We were never going to invade Iran, the Iranian military is never going to go head to head with the IRGC, the IRGC is never going to attack the regime, and the Iranian people are never going to coalesce into a cohesive mass that can overwhelm their government.

So, to all those who held a political rave, complete with webcams but bereft of face coverings, I can only suggest getting you, your family, and your family’s family the heck out of Dodge. They haven’t come for you yet, but they will come for you. Tehran has an urgent requirement for scapegoats, show trials, and slave labor that they feel you just might be a perfect match for.

And for those who keep encouraging unarmed civilians to rise up and throw off their dictators without any support or supply, shame on you. 1989 and 1991 worked because the Communist military and security forces were at least neutral, if not complicit, in the downfall of their respective regimes. Y’all have probably gotten a few hundred thousand people killed, and more imprisoned and tortured, trying to catch that particular bolt of lightning in a bottle ever since.

Unless and until the IRGC and their ilk around the world are neutralized or corrupted, folks taking to the streets demanding regime change are just marking themselves for easier roundup.

Musings

Well, it’s the first day of Irish Woman and Boo being away from home, and things are going swimmingly.

I woke up when I wanted this morning. Well, I woke up of my own free will. OK, let’s be honest here – I woke up at the crack of dawn because the dogs heard a squirrel fart in the back yard and they had to pee.

Ah, the carefree life of a man left to his own devices.

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Part of my taskings in the absence of She Who Shall Not Be Named is to water her garden. I accomplished this last night once it had cooled down a bit, an effort that my darling wife noticed because she was alerted to my presence in the yard by the house cameras.

She did not get to her destination until quite late last night, because apparently there is a conspiracy between the airline and the city fathers of Fort Lauderdale to make her trip take double what she had planned. She was considerate enough to just text me when she got to her destination in the wee hours of the morning. (I want credit for not using the term ‘witching hour’ to refer to anything my wife does at thirty minutes past midnight)

We eventually connected this morning, and she thanked me for my attempt to not let her garden wither and die in her absence. She did ask that I revise my garden-puttering schedule so that watering occurred just after sunrise. It seems that watering just prior to dusk would invite mold and mildew into her assorted greenery.

Being the loving husband I am, I acquiesced to her request with nary a complaint. I mean, who am I to argue that dragging a hose around the perimeter of our yard at 6 AM, before both breakfast and coffee, is not something I look forward to?

Luckily for me, it started raining this afternoon. I was dismantling the outside stove, because apparently Shelob had set up her summer residence in the carbeurator, when a wave of humidity rarely seen outside of a badly maintained Filipino clam cannery washed over the property. I had just enough time to gather up the pieces and parts, all my tools, and assorted hounds before the first drops fell.

Seeing that the good Lord saw fit to micturate all over Kentucky this afternoon, I reached out to the love of my life to see if this meteorological phenomenon would satisfy her requirements for vegetal hydration:

As you can see, I have been granted permission to not spend my early morning wandering around the yard with a hose, at least for one day.

I do want to point out that Siri’s inability to transcribe for my lovely wife is an ongoing problem. Apparently, if you speak the King’s English with a Kentucky twang, Siri’s accuracy is a bit hit or miss.

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Speaking of hoses, I need to talk to the manager of whatever sweatshop is producing hosepipes these days.

After last night’s adventure of trying to connect the economy grade hoses Irish Woman purchased last week, I decided that getting something a bit more up-market might be a good idea. I’m not usually picky about my garden implements, but twenty minutes of trying to thread a cheap hose onto a faucet because whatever troglodyte manufactured it didn’t do any quality testing on the connector will make one decide it’s time to make an investment.

Luckily for me, the local hardware store is just 15 minutes from the house, so I popped right on over after coffee this morning. They even had the 75 yard and 50 yard long hoses I need in the brand and quality I wanted. However, when I shelled out almost $100 for both hoses, I made the executive decision that I shall treat these prime examples of rubberized hosemongery as if they were family heirlooms. I will also admonish my heirs and their heirs to continue to do so. Generations from now, they will be passed down from father to son with great ceremony, because it’s going to take using them that long to justify the expense.

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Not sure how the Internet knows, but suddenly I’m getting advertisements, suggested videos, and posts in Facebook for the place I did the coolest thing I ever did.

It just so happens to be the 30th anniversary of that time in my life soon.

I’m not usually very easily influenced, but I’ve been looking at flights. Other than trying to be a responsible adult, the only thing keeping me from hitting that “Reserve” button is the knowledge that I will probably never come back. Irish Woman would not look kindly on a “Sell everything and meet me at these coordinates” postcard.

That being said, if I fall off the net for a few months, just know I’m going home for a while. It’s not where I was born, nor is it where my ancestors are from, but I felt more at home there than just about anywhere else.

Musings

Yesterday, I did not wake up and choose violence. Instead, I woke up and chose house cleaning and baking.

One loaf of challah later, I made a nice, hearty pasta and sauteed vegetables dinner. I then proceeded to make a nice batch of cinnamon rolls for today’s breakfast. I needed something folks could grab and eat on the go, and a little bit of carbohydrates, wrapped in carbohydrates, and frosted with carbohydrates really hit the spot.

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Irish Woman and The Young Prince left this morning for a Scouting High Adventure trip to the Florida Keys. Boo will spend several days on a sailboat, learning all about boat handling, ecology, and how to use the wind to move your ship without rum.

Irish Woman and her closest friends will be staying at a nice beach house in the Keys, watching Boo sail by as they sit in the sand and indulge in fruity drinks.

I wish them well. I just want to point out that when I went to Scout camp with Boo, I got to enjoy poison ivy, ticks, and mosquitoes in the moistness that is a Kentucky summer. The closest I ever came to a beach was the mud flats between our tents and the shower.

I’d also like to point out that there is no justice in this world this side of the grave.

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Looking at the politics news of late (I know, I know), it appears that the current front-runner for most lasting impact on the country’s future for the current Trump administation might just be Supreme Court victories.

It appears that the time and attention invested in putting conservative or conservative-leaning judges onto the courts in the first Trump administration might be bearing fruit. The court has ruled in favor of removing the special consideration given to government regulators in litigation. A recent ruling gives states more leeway in how their Medicaid spending is allocated. Today, a decision has come down putting some limits on the power of federal district court judges to issue overly-expansive injuctions.

I’m not looking for a conservative version of the Warren or Burger courts. The court should not swing one way or the other by default. Honestly, I always considered the existence of moderate justices who could swing a decision based on a good interpretation of the Constitution and the law to be an ideal. However, in this day and age, a moderate who has the spine to stand up to both sides is hard to come by.

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On the way back to dropping Boo, Irish Woman, and Irish Woman’s cousin off at the airport, I stopped at Waffle House for breakfast. There’s just something nice about eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns prepared with my favorite fixings to calm the soul. I must have come in just at the end of the night shift, because the staff looked like they’d been in a couple of ambushes and running gun fights.

There was no blood or broken glass on the floor. I saw no evidence of police tape on any of the entrances or the bathroom door. Apparently overnight had been rather sporty, but didn’t rise to a level that would inspire humorous stories.

Musings

I woke up this morning to an Internet of former immigration law experts who have evolved into law-of-war, constitutional law, and Mid East foreign policy experts. The mind boggles at what these geniuses will be tomorrow.

I need to step up my game. I’m just a guy who used to have some expertise in Eastern European culture and politics, who morphed into the digital equivelent of a car mechanic, but is currently retooling as a Dachshund caretaker and landscaper.

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Spent the weekend watching several schwanz-measuring contests. First, there was the “Who’s the Biggest Geek?” competition, followed by “Who’s Been a Geek Longer?” cagematch. Both of these were eclipsed by “Who Did the Most Cool Stuff When They Were In The Military 20 Years Ago?” scrum.

I did not participate. I was not there to help Heinlein change his typewriter ribbon, nor do I speak multiple non-human languages without a noticable accent. It goes without saying that I was never a Delta Force Scout Sniper Airborne Riverine Space Shuttle Door Gunner.

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Watching friends do well and become leaders in something is wonderful. Watching pricks who used to be dominant in their space become a footnote is almost as good.

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Did I mule a bottle of top-shelf bourbon down to Tennessee for a friend? Yes.

Did I mule two bottles of niche hot sauce down for another friend? Also yes.

Am I muling seveal bottles of Tennessee whiskey up to Kentucky? Most definitely, but I have to figure out how to not let Irish Woman find out about them.

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Quote of the weekend – I dress like this because it pisses other people off.

I hope to achieve that mindset someday.

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Note to self – When faced with the choice of having hippy-dippy pizza in a brewpub or having upscale steak and seafood for dinner, get a brown ale and a slice.

I want credit for not asking the waiter at the steak-and-alcohol restaurant whether the filet and ravioli plate was prepared by imported Peruvian sasquatch hunters and served by Miss Tennessee 2014 for the price he wanted. They did have an impressive choice of bourbon, though.

I also want to point out that it is hard to blend into a crowd of twenty-somethings who can’t afford what they’re ordering, salted liberally with older folks who are only there because the female in the relationship wants to be seen at a trendy place frequented by younger women, when you’re the only dude who’s sitting alone, wearing a colorful hawaiian shirt, and reading a novel.

Blending in in that environment would have required me to drain one highball glass after another, while wearing tan pants and a pastel shirt, and sitting across from a pile of mutton dressed as lamb. Now that I think about it, I’m OK with sticking out a bit at the restaurant.

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I think I may have pissed a few people off this weekend by not being ‘chatty’ enough. I’d rather be silent and assumed to be a fool than open my mouth and prove it, but that apparently is frowned upon in some social circles.