I see my old blog acquaintance, one Rob Maynard, Esq, has laid a log upon the literary fire over at his place. I must admit, for no other reason than morbid curiosity, to maintaining a link to his site in my book marks bar during his long period of dormancy. I figured he’d return to his old haunts soon enough, and I did not want miss it, for he is an excellent writer.
It’s funny how karmic this shit can sometimes be. Perhaps great minds do think alike.
I recently disconnected myself completely from the smart phone social media set after much debate and consternation. After a lengthy examination, it is now my true belief that the smart phone and all its associated technological dreck are right and true tools of the devil. How many people does it take walking out in front of buses while checking Twitter to accept the fact that there is something inherently wrong with our current technological path? How many teens snap chatting their moral souls away will it take for us to reign it all in a bit? Factor in the usual sprinkling of radicalism, bullying, and pornography – all done completely anonymously and sans remorse – and I’m out of the social media scene. No one really looks forward to a world filled with navel gazing creeps.
So why not return to my old stomping grounds, where I am free to formulate thoughts in any word count I see fit. This is what I enjoy most. Casting my thoughts upon the waters of the much different internet – a stormier, more turbulent internet – and see what might return in time.
Now that I see Rob had perhaps a similar thought, I feel better about my decision and composing for crickets will be pleasingly cathartic.
If you fill it up with bowling balls and push it off a cliff……..
It’s really true. And if Maserati sells half a dozen of these crap boxes it proves my hypothesis.
Americans are the most ego driven, compulsive consumers on the planet.
Gonna spend 68 large on a Ghilbi? Hell, they make cars for twice the price and couldn’t beat reliability into them with a steam drive pile driver. What makes you think that a “cheaper” Maserati would be a more attractive purchase?
You all keep a firm vigil out there.
For according to the rabid Pentecostals around the area in which I grew up, it’s time for some foot washing, a bit of cracker, and some grape juice. And five will get you ten that your creepy Uncle and your pervy Cousin are gathered round the tail gate of the Dodge Caravan taking a pull off of the best corn squeezings Sharp’s Bottom has to offer. Jesus ain’t coming back tonight, but it never hurts to hedge the bets, especially where corn liquor is concerned.
Keep your eyes open and your Bible close.
Happy 2013 to everyone.
My poor old mail order 29er got a bit of a workout today.
It rained pretty much non-stop for the Christmas holiday here. Today was the first day out of four I have ridden in sunshine. I went and pounded out a ride Christmas Morning in a withering cold rain. It makes me happy that I bought really good weather shells many years ago. Still have my super fly Outdoor Research Peruvian Hat made with ultra bitching Windstopper fleece. It’s twenty years old and kept my melon toasty in the pissing rain of Christmas day as well as the 40 degree ear burning breeze of today. Windstopper fleece is great stuff and I highly recommend products fashioned from its synthetic fluff.
All the water had left the off road and climbing sections of my usual “close to home” loop insanely muddy. CLimbing in mud is a pain in the ass, but in order to enjoy hydroplaning the muck on the way down, you have to climb. So I went about half way up my usual, got disgusted, turned around and bombed back down.
Now I have to clean everything up.
Fun, but I’m starting to think I’m too old for this shit.
of an apocalyptic ending, Mayans be damned.
Takes a big, big man to run over a Box Turtle.
Rain. The winter rain has finally made an appearance. I’ve been here 13 years and I have yet to accept the fact there is no rain during the summer months. It’s a fact of life in a moderate Mediterranean climate. There are lots of people, lots of grapes, and no rain in the summer.
Mercifully, a small front blew in from the Pacific on Monday and I happened to be rolling around up the hills and caught some of the misty, low flying clouds scudding around the canyons with my camera. It was barely enough moisture to wet the grass but I welcomed it with open arms and a contented feeling of relief. Fall was finally here and winter, not too far behind. Plus there was this monster pine tree that had fallen across a fire road and I felt the need for some chain saw therapy. Nothing better to wipe away the grungy funk of last week’s labor than a screaming two stroke motor spinning a chain covered with sharpened steel teeth.
I returned home chilled and damp, so I broke out the dutch oven and threw together a batch of Texas Red. Four pounds of chuck roast, a dump truck full of New Mexican chili powder, a grip of sliced onion, and a beef stock made from the roast bones. It’s my own creation for the most part, but if you are interested, I used a recipe belonging to Lisa Fain of Homesick Texan fame as a general guide for at least getting my version in the ballpark of real Texas chili.
It’s quite loudy and very cool today, although the chance of showers hovers at slim to none. But this weather pushes me into cooking. Something about filling the house with inviting cooking smells makes the cruddy weather almost joyous. Guess I’ll search the recipe archives for something to match Game 2 of the World Series.
Have a nice Thursday, y’all.
Band of Skulls was probably a highlight of the aging festival….
I would like to have seen the freshly reunited Afghan Whigs as well.