Now, I don't indulge in the sacred herb, myself. In fact as far as I know I don't know anyone who does. Got nothing against it, ain't no prude, just never was much exposed to it. My poison was always bourbon.
But I was blogcrawling after Snacky Time and found this on Bill St. Clair's site. This is just some kinda funny, right here. Was this really on the TV show? I never watched it, so I don't know.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Spring is here, spring is here...
...Life is skittles and life is beer
I think the lovliest time of the year is the Spring
I do. Don't you? 'Course you do.
And Spring means sweating like a pig during the morning Walky, and then waiting for the wind to pick up and blow us all to Kansas. But there I go bitching about weather again.
Got an early start this morning; I meant to water the trees yesterday but forgot, so decided to get it done while I was thinking about it. Lately for some reason my new coffee-maker seems to kill the electrical power just when the brew is finishing up, so while I was re-booting I started the generator and plugged in the well pump. Cistern's only about half full anyway. Turned on the flow to the meadow hose and let the basin around the apricot tree fill. When I went down to change trees I helped the boys chase a skinny white cow away. The trees are starting to leaf now, and that draws the frigging cows like flies to shit. Nice tender buds.
I've recently lost the washing machine to my greedy, avaricious landlady who moved to a place where she could use it. She decided she wanted her own property back; can you believe the nerve? Fortunately my friend I has access to a truck with a lift gate, plus it freed up a hose. I got a new spray nozzle last weekend, and extended the hose to the Lair. The stovetop had gotten so disgusting by the end of the winter that I couldn't get it clean without flooding the kitchen, so I took it off, propped it on some sawhorses and gave it a good scrub. Now while I was thinking about it I propped open the Jeep's hood; the coolant has run low again and I can use the hose and the last of the stored coolant to fill it. Also want to blast out the black-water tank before coiling the hose again and setting up the garden sprinkler.
I started a bunch of herb seeds in these little plastic greenhouse thingies from Home Despot, and I'm hoping my landlady will agree to let me clear out some of the strawberry vines that spread like kudzu but never produced any berries. She should be visiting in a week and a half, and I'll ask her then. If not I'll see if I can't amend the soil near the Lair's gray-water pool and plant them there - assuming they sprout at all, of course. Ol' black-thumb Joel.
Time for walkies. We've been staying away from the roads lately, getting over the winter "let's just take a quick walk" habit. Climbed the neighboring ridge, crossed it till we got to the cliff-face, then paralleled it for a while till we came to the fence that bisects the ridge. There's an easy way down there, and a big meadow between the cliff and the wash. Follow the fence to the wash, do a u-turn, and follow the fence back to the cliff. The junipers are high enough and close enough there that there's lots of shade. I'm doing all right, but the dogs are looking for a chance to cool down a bit. They dig in under the branches and I wait ten or fifteen minutes till their respiration rate falls. It's true, what I was reading in a book recently: Whole-body sweat is a much better strategy for dumping excess heat than panting is. This is why humans rule the earth and dogs don't. That and thumbs: dogs will never abandon us while we hold the can-opener monopoly. Up the cliff, which hugging the fence is still an easy climb, over the ridge, down and into our wash, and away home. The boys queue up at the water bucket, and now the big fellas are hiding in the cool of the workshop next to the scriptorium and settling down to their morning snooze.
It always seems to take a good bit of time while it's going on, but when I get home and look at a clock the total elapsed time is almost always less than an hour; sometimes far less. I'm such a wimp: When we go on a good multi-hour hike my stump is so sore at the end that I'm good for nothing for the rest of the day. That, as much as my natural indolence, is what keeps me from being a serious hiker here in this place that cries to be seriously hiked.
Whew. Now it's time to start feeling guilty for not being at the build site, pouring concrete. I really, really must get to that, but damn. My back just healed from buying the stuff and getting it here. I'm too old for this shit, but it must be done.
I think the lovliest time of the year is the Spring
I do. Don't you? 'Course you do.
And Spring means sweating like a pig during the morning Walky, and then waiting for the wind to pick up and blow us all to Kansas. But there I go bitching about weather again.
Got an early start this morning; I meant to water the trees yesterday but forgot, so decided to get it done while I was thinking about it. Lately for some reason my new coffee-maker seems to kill the electrical power just when the brew is finishing up, so while I was re-booting I started the generator and plugged in the well pump. Cistern's only about half full anyway. Turned on the flow to the meadow hose and let the basin around the apricot tree fill. When I went down to change trees I helped the boys chase a skinny white cow away. The trees are starting to leaf now, and that draws the frigging cows like flies to shit. Nice tender buds.
I've recently lost the washing machine to my greedy, avaricious landlady who moved to a place where she could use it. She decided she wanted her own property back; can you believe the nerve? Fortunately my friend I has access to a truck with a lift gate, plus it freed up a hose. I got a new spray nozzle last weekend, and extended the hose to the Lair. The stovetop had gotten so disgusting by the end of the winter that I couldn't get it clean without flooding the kitchen, so I took it off, propped it on some sawhorses and gave it a good scrub. Now while I was thinking about it I propped open the Jeep's hood; the coolant has run low again and I can use the hose and the last of the stored coolant to fill it. Also want to blast out the black-water tank before coiling the hose again and setting up the garden sprinkler.
I started a bunch of herb seeds in these little plastic greenhouse thingies from Home Despot, and I'm hoping my landlady will agree to let me clear out some of the strawberry vines that spread like kudzu but never produced any berries. She should be visiting in a week and a half, and I'll ask her then. If not I'll see if I can't amend the soil near the Lair's gray-water pool and plant them there - assuming they sprout at all, of course. Ol' black-thumb Joel.
Time for walkies. We've been staying away from the roads lately, getting over the winter "let's just take a quick walk" habit. Climbed the neighboring ridge, crossed it till we got to the cliff-face, then paralleled it for a while till we came to the fence that bisects the ridge. There's an easy way down there, and a big meadow between the cliff and the wash. Follow the fence to the wash, do a u-turn, and follow the fence back to the cliff. The junipers are high enough and close enough there that there's lots of shade. I'm doing all right, but the dogs are looking for a chance to cool down a bit. They dig in under the branches and I wait ten or fifteen minutes till their respiration rate falls. It's true, what I was reading in a book recently: Whole-body sweat is a much better strategy for dumping excess heat than panting is. This is why humans rule the earth and dogs don't. That and thumbs: dogs will never abandon us while we hold the can-opener monopoly. Up the cliff, which hugging the fence is still an easy climb, over the ridge, down and into our wash, and away home. The boys queue up at the water bucket, and now the big fellas are hiding in the cool of the workshop next to the scriptorium and settling down to their morning snooze.
It always seems to take a good bit of time while it's going on, but when I get home and look at a clock the total elapsed time is almost always less than an hour; sometimes far less. I'm such a wimp: When we go on a good multi-hour hike my stump is so sore at the end that I'm good for nothing for the rest of the day. That, as much as my natural indolence, is what keeps me from being a serious hiker here in this place that cries to be seriously hiked.
Whew. Now it's time to start feeling guilty for not being at the build site, pouring concrete. I really, really must get to that, but damn. My back just healed from buying the stuff and getting it here. I'm too old for this shit, but it must be done.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Click the Magnificent, the Sublime...
...God-Empress of the Desert Realms. Behold her beauty and despair, ye mortals! Behold her mighty jaws and fear - for the finish of your bathtub.
Click was coming out of her shell for a couple of months before Butch took the Long Trip. She was catching mice and rats again, spending afternoon time down off the loft, and generally getting back to what passes for normal around here.
But other things have changed besides Butch, of course. God-Emperor Kwai Chang Cain set off, condescending to rule heaven (in a truly bizarre event - remind me to tell you about it sometime) and Click's sister Point (Yes, Point and Click - bite me) disappeared during their six-week sojourn in town last summer. We've had a veritable epidemic among the cats until only Click remains. All of this - except for the business about Butch, whom she despised with righteous passion - sent Click into an emotional tailspin that lasted for several months.
But as I said she had been coming around in the past couple of months. Then Butch disappeared, and all was well with her universe. She is now THE cat, she is THAT cat. She has ascended the Topaz Throne, and wants her subjects to know it.
The dogs, as I've mentioned, were literally raised by a cat. They love anddifferdefer to all cats, even Butch, even though Butch hated them all. Okay, toward the end they didn't exactly differdefer to Butch - they often stopped him from pushing Click around but that's my point. They would not allow harm to come to their cats when they could help it. Now Click is the only cat. You can imagine how she behaves around the dogs. They are her dogs; her loyal, devoted subjects.
She has also become extremely active at night, and by active I mean viciously predatory. She sleeps all day, becomes active in the evening, disappears after dark and by the time I wake at first light she's snoozing comfortably in my bed or in the loft. I must then go see (and clean up) what carnage she has wrought - it's gotten to be a normal morning routine. She and Point used to catch rats daily; they'd behead them and bring the otherwise unmolested bodies into my neighbors' lair. But Click doesn't settle for death; she must also have destruction. And dinner. So I don't pick up rodent bodies, I scoop up heads and tails and entrails and I mop up pools of blood: There's very little left.
Most commonly, she has the courtesy to confine her slaughter to the bathtub. I don't know her reasoning for this, but I do appreciate it. The goop goes into a paper towel, and I can just wash body fluids down the drain. Not always, though. When I rise in the morning it's dark, and I hop about the lair one-legged. I've had to learn to do this more carefully: Yesterday morning I managed to hop right into a soggy mass of innards right in front of the toilet, which the day before had been decently contained within a large rat. Can't say I appreciated that very much.
Nevertheless, I'm happy she's back. She's happy, the dogs seem very happy to have her back, and I guess that's what counts.
Click was coming out of her shell for a couple of months before Butch took the Long Trip. She was catching mice and rats again, spending afternoon time down off the loft, and generally getting back to what passes for normal around here.
But other things have changed besides Butch, of course. God-Emperor Kwai Chang Cain set off, condescending to rule heaven (in a truly bizarre event - remind me to tell you about it sometime) and Click's sister Point (Yes, Point and Click - bite me) disappeared during their six-week sojourn in town last summer. We've had a veritable epidemic among the cats until only Click remains. All of this - except for the business about Butch, whom she despised with righteous passion - sent Click into an emotional tailspin that lasted for several months.
But as I said she had been coming around in the past couple of months. Then Butch disappeared, and all was well with her universe. She is now THE cat, she is THAT cat. She has ascended the Topaz Throne, and wants her subjects to know it.
The dogs, as I've mentioned, were literally raised by a cat. They love and
She has also become extremely active at night, and by active I mean viciously predatory. She sleeps all day, becomes active in the evening, disappears after dark and by the time I wake at first light she's snoozing comfortably in my bed or in the loft. I must then go see (and clean up) what carnage she has wrought - it's gotten to be a normal morning routine. She and Point used to catch rats daily; they'd behead them and bring the otherwise unmolested bodies into my neighbors' lair. But Click doesn't settle for death; she must also have destruction. And dinner. So I don't pick up rodent bodies, I scoop up heads and tails and entrails and I mop up pools of blood: There's very little left.
Most commonly, she has the courtesy to confine her slaughter to the bathtub. I don't know her reasoning for this, but I do appreciate it. The goop goes into a paper towel, and I can just wash body fluids down the drain. Not always, though. When I rise in the morning it's dark, and I hop about the lair one-legged. I've had to learn to do this more carefully: Yesterday morning I managed to hop right into a soggy mass of innards right in front of the toilet, which the day before had been decently contained within a large rat. Can't say I appreciated that very much.
Nevertheless, I'm happy she's back. She's happy, the dogs seem very happy to have her back, and I guess that's what counts.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
A word about content and request for feedback
When I started blogging here back in the first part of December, I had in mind to post my day-by-day impressions of the 'gulching life'. There were two problems with this; first, while I'm currently the only one here I'm not the only one involved, and everybody's very privacy-oriented. They were amused and supportive of my little blog, but also concerned about security. I am too and have tried to keep it always in mind, but there have been posts that I modified or removed after emails flew. There are things going on that you haven't read about here, and that you won't. Not mine to share.
Second, most of my day-to-day activity is simply boring to read about. Today I took a walk with the dogs. I finished laying pipe to the barn's salvaged water heater, then learned that the frigging inlet pipe not only faces the wrong way but is apparently cemented into place with JB Weld, forcing me to do bizarre things with the pipe routing and consequently run out of pipe 99% of the way from the finish line. We've finally had three warm days in a row. Jesus, I'm putting myself to sleep.
The fact that, to mysurpriseshock, in its brief existence my little blog has actually developed a loyal readership is kind of a problem in that regard. I started this as much as a way to get through the winter as anything else, and never expected much of a readership. We're not exactly in Lew Rockwell territory, but still quite a few people come here every day. I feel obligated to post every day regardless of whether anything interestingly gulch-related actually occurred. Also, my camera died. So if it seems to you that I've been leaning pretty heavily on news links and other blogs for content, well, I have. This was not my original intent, because you probably already know how to read the news. My take on various news items can be a bit...skewed, and I do try to keep it entertaining. But still, there are lots and lots of link blogs out there. You don't need this one.
So I'm asking those of you who do read here regularly for input. Is the way this has been going of value to you? Do you really care what-all Magnus is up to today? More boring gulch items? Less? Have I been wasting your time? Please respond.
Second, most of my day-to-day activity is simply boring to read about. Today I took a walk with the dogs. I finished laying pipe to the barn's salvaged water heater, then learned that the frigging inlet pipe not only faces the wrong way but is apparently cemented into place with JB Weld, forcing me to do bizarre things with the pipe routing and consequently run out of pipe 99% of the way from the finish line. We've finally had three warm days in a row. Jesus, I'm putting myself to sleep.
The fact that, to my
So I'm asking those of you who do read here regularly for input. Is the way this has been going of value to you? Do you really care what-all Magnus is up to today? More boring gulch items? Less? Have I been wasting your time? Please respond.
Tragic. Tragic!
Linky:
I quite agree. It's senseless. I mean, c'mon. He used his own vehicle? And spoke to the cops after he was arrested? Show a little sense, people!
Thomas Patrick Destories, a 68-year-old Phoenix man, was booked into Maricopa County jail on suspicion of first-degree murder after he made "incriminating statements," Phoenix police spokesman Sgt. Andy Hill said.
Doug Georgianni, 51, was shot Sunday night as he operated a photo radar van on a Phoenix freeway and later died at a hospital.
Hill said investigators believe Destories pulled up behind the van and then slowly pulled alongside it and fired a gun multiple times, hitting Georgianni in the driver's seat. Investigators don't believe Destories knew Georgianni.
...
Authorities said they found Destories less than 24 hours after the killing because a Department of Public Safety officer recognized the suspect vehicle, a Chevrolet Suburban, in video footage taken by the photo radar camera.
...
"While we don't know at this time what the motives were for this senseless killing, many have understandably speculated that it was due to anger against the speed cameras," [Rep. Sam Crump of Anthem] said. "To the extent there is any truth to that, I call on all individuals to reduce the war of words on this topic. Whatever the motives for this crime were, there is absolutely no justification for such a heinous act."
I quite agree. It's senseless. I mean, c'mon. He used his own vehicle? And spoke to the cops after he was arrested? Show a little sense, people!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Okay, I'm getting really creeped out now.
Guess who Our Divinely Anointed Maximum Leader (ODAML) just tapped as head of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Go ahead; guess. Hint: It ain't L. Neil Smith.
The Detroit auto crowd is, of course, intimately familiar with Mr. Hurley's MADD antics and have grown to just love him. If, by love, we mean really really despise:
And ditto about the opinion of every driver in the country. No ticky no washy, America. We've got your "highway funds." Sit, doggy. Roll over. Now beg!
The Detroit auto crowd is, of course, intimately familiar with Mr. Hurley's MADD antics and have grown to just love him. If, by love, we mean really really despise:
His nomination on Tuesday sent shudders down the spines of everyone who considers motoring a special part of the joy of being American. If his prior record is any indication, we can expect more in the way of arbitrary interference with the way the car companies do business at a moment when they can least afford the burden of bureaucratic meddling.That's okay, of course: The Obama adminstration already owns the auto industry, so who gives a shit what Detroit thinks? Right?
And drivers can expect a ratcheting up of the low-grade harassment they already endure on a daily basis — in the form of more obnoxious regulations, pullover "safety" checks and very possibly lowered speed limits, ala Claybrook’s 55-mph national limit on federal interstates.
All of this will be imposed on states in the time-honored Washington way: Those that fail to comply will lose vitally needed highway funds.
As the head gauleiter of MADD since March 2005, Hurley led the group — already considered one of the most unreasonable and totalitarian-minded "special interests" in all of D.C. to even new vistas of reactionary Puritanism.
And ditto about the opinion of every driver in the country. No ticky no washy, America. We've got your "highway funds." Sit, doggy. Roll over. Now beg!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
REALLY reactive targets
One thing happened during my daughter's visit that I'd forgotten about until this morning, when I happened to walk down to the short range.
Daughter and AtH wanted to do some shooting while they were here, and brought fun targets with them. Some cute bunny-face paper plates, and a bunch of dollar-store cans of shaving cream. That last one had honestly never occurred to me. Do you know what happens when you shoot a shaving cream can with a rifle? Well...it makes a mess. It makes a big, instantaneous mess. Very entertaining. And the good news - I'm happy to say, since I didn't know how long the mess was going to last - it does eventually go away on its own, so all you have to clean up is the cans. Though if you have to pick up the cans right away, you've got some really, really gooey clean-up in store.
Wish my camera still worked. It's impressive.
Daughter and AtH wanted to do some shooting while they were here, and brought fun targets with them. Some cute bunny-face paper plates, and a bunch of dollar-store cans of shaving cream. That last one had honestly never occurred to me. Do you know what happens when you shoot a shaving cream can with a rifle? Well...it makes a mess. It makes a big, instantaneous mess. Very entertaining. And the good news - I'm happy to say, since I didn't know how long the mess was going to last - it does eventually go away on its own, so all you have to clean up is the cans. Though if you have to pick up the cans right away, you've got some really, really gooey clean-up in store.
Wish my camera still worked. It's impressive.
Ghost the Misguidedly Aggressive
Ghost has two aggressive modes. When he goes down to the meadow and barks, I don't pay it much mind; he's very possessive of his territory (a virtue in a watchdog) and sometimes feels the need to express his ownership to the neighboring critters. There may or may not be a specific reason for this; if the coyotes start singing, he's certain to put on a show but sometimes he does it for no discernible cause.
But then sometimes he shoots himself like an arrow, without making a sound other than the drumming of paws. This means he's going into battle, and that as a proper nanny I'd damned well better gun up and find out what he's getting himself into.
Often it's just cattle. Cattle used to be a problem, because he'd lead the whole pack into battle against the invading hordes and somebody could get hurt. If the cattle didn't do it, the rancher damned well might if he happened to see or hear it. They may by law and will by inclination shoot cattle-chasing dogs. While in my heart I don't really blame them for this, it is imperative that they don't take it into their heads to shoot MY dogs. So when I see bad stuff going down, I really need to get my elderly ass down off the ridge and head off trouble.
This morning I happened to be in a position to see the whole thing go down. We were headed from the barn to the Interim Lair. Ghost saw a couple of cattle in the little triangle of meadow across the road, maybe 300 yards away. He went into Instant Hyperdrive. I swore in irritation, looked again harder, and then started running as best I could. There were three cattle down there, and one was a calf. Momma cows act completely different when there's a calf involved.
Sure enough, instead of heading off or ignoring the whole brouhaha, as they usually do, a big black cow turned and started heading right at Ghost. Okay, that one's the mother. Now: Will Ghost have sense enough to realize how much he just bit off? Alternately, can I get within pistol range before he becomes a moist spot on the meadow? Dammit, why didn't I grab my rifle? This is why I keep it handy.
As it turned out, Ghost had no intention of either giving in to the (now very motivated) cow or getting stomped into a tortilla by her. He was in heaven, dodging and dancing around her while she worked herself into a slobbering, stamping mass of pissed-off beef. If she'd had two brain cells and a synapse hidden somewhere in that thick skull she might have figured out that Ghost wasn't paying any attention to her baby at all; he was just having fun getting a rise out of her. That wouldn't stop him from becoming an ex-dog if she got her way, but by that time I and the two BIG dogs were obviously approaching. That was enough opposition to get through to her: She and the second cow bumped the terrified calf and headed for the wash. Ghost ignored my shouts enough to follow, though he didn't chase. He'd had his fun, and finally came at my call and we went for a walk in the other direction.
Little shithead.
But then sometimes he shoots himself like an arrow, without making a sound other than the drumming of paws. This means he's going into battle, and that as a proper nanny I'd damned well better gun up and find out what he's getting himself into.
Often it's just cattle. Cattle used to be a problem, because he'd lead the whole pack into battle against the invading hordes and somebody could get hurt. If the cattle didn't do it, the rancher damned well might if he happened to see or hear it. They may by law and will by inclination shoot cattle-chasing dogs. While in my heart I don't really blame them for this, it is imperative that they don't take it into their heads to shoot MY dogs. So when I see bad stuff going down, I really need to get my elderly ass down off the ridge and head off trouble.
This morning I happened to be in a position to see the whole thing go down. We were headed from the barn to the Interim Lair. Ghost saw a couple of cattle in the little triangle of meadow across the road, maybe 300 yards away. He went into Instant Hyperdrive. I swore in irritation, looked again harder, and then started running as best I could. There were three cattle down there, and one was a calf. Momma cows act completely different when there's a calf involved.
Sure enough, instead of heading off or ignoring the whole brouhaha, as they usually do, a big black cow turned and started heading right at Ghost. Okay, that one's the mother. Now: Will Ghost have sense enough to realize how much he just bit off? Alternately, can I get within pistol range before he becomes a moist spot on the meadow? Dammit, why didn't I grab my rifle? This is why I keep it handy.
As it turned out, Ghost had no intention of either giving in to the (now very motivated) cow or getting stomped into a tortilla by her. He was in heaven, dodging and dancing around her while she worked herself into a slobbering, stamping mass of pissed-off beef. If she'd had two brain cells and a synapse hidden somewhere in that thick skull she might have figured out that Ghost wasn't paying any attention to her baby at all; he was just having fun getting a rise out of her. That wouldn't stop him from becoming an ex-dog if she got her way, but by that time I and the two BIG dogs were obviously approaching. That was enough opposition to get through to her: She and the second cow bumped the terrified calf and headed for the wash. Ghost ignored my shouts enough to follow, though he didn't chase. He'd had his fun, and finally came at my call and we went for a walk in the other direction.
Little shithead.
April 19, when things just seem to happen...
Some call this "Patriots Day" - I've never quite figured out what a patriot is, but I'm pretty sure I'm not one. Nevertheless 4/19 is just about the only date I tend not to miss, just because historically things do seem to happen on this date:
1529 - At the Second Diet of Speyer, a group of rulers and independent cities protests the reinstatement of the Edict of Worms, beginning the Protestant movement.
1775 - The Battle of Lexington and Concord begins the American Revolutionary War.
1861 - Baltimore riot of 1861, a pro-Secession mob attacks United States Army troops marching through the city.
1933 - President Franklin D. Roosevelt announces the abandonment of the gold standard.
1943 - The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising begins.
1961 - End of the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba. (Oops)
1993 - Eighty-one people are slaughtered by fire, gas and gunfire by forces of the Federal Government at the end of the siege of the Branch Davidian building outside Waco, Texas.
1995 - The Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA, is bombed, killing 168.
And lots of other stuff. Happy Interesting Times Day!
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