I'm Too Old For Retro

I had a chance to go full retro this week. I had a chance to drive a 2003 Ford Thunderbird.  It was the top of the line model with a 280 hp V8 and all the bells and whistles.  I was looking foward to this since my usual ride is a 2004 Honda Element (aka bread truck). A $47,000 280hp luxury two seater  versus a $18,000 160hp utility vehicle.  A nurse from work needed the Element to move since a pizza wouldn't fit in the T-Bird.

The T-Bird only had 60K miles on it yet it rode like the 58 Chevy Impala with 160K miles I had. It was like the old Chevy X frame Flexible-Flyer's I owned. I think it needed some front end work and tires but that couldn't be responsible for the stiff bouncy horrible ride.  The slightest pavement seams caused the back to do this little bunny-hop like my 92 Ram pickup.  The cabin was luxurious although I doubt anyone over 5'9" could fit in it.

Now the good part was the V8 engine that took up every square inch under the hood. In Sport Mode it would leave rubber in second gear.  It was like a jet engine strapped to a go-kart, too bad the frame and suspension came from the Edsel.  The car also is a great looker.  The styling does turn heads and get smiles; I'm sure it would drive the ladies in the assisted-living facility crazy.

It's not completely retro, it does lack the failing brakes, flat tires, flooded carburetor, overheating, stalling and sloppy steering of a true 50's car.  The nurse wants to sell it to me for 10K (that's 9k below Blue Book).  Then I would lose the luxury feel of an Element.  I would no longer blend in with the Carolla's and Accords.  When my neighbor saw it in my driveway she asked if I got a promotion at work. Like many things our desire for retro isn't based in reality.  Still the idea of my old 1961 Ford Falcon with a 4.3 liter V8 makes me tremble. Someone please stop me before I  write the check!

Five Months In The Wilderness With Larry Crabb

Since Feb. CP and I have been teaching Sunday School and using the book "Sixty-Six Love Letters From God".  Five months of surveying the Old Testament hasn't been a rollicking good time, not to mention the horrendous body count and genealogies. 

Today we went over the intro to the New Testament, which was actually a summation of the hard lessons we were supposed to learn in the previous thirty-nine "love letters".  Like Moses leading the multitude I felt it appropriate to summarize our five months in the Sinai.

I said, "These five months have been like going to a psychiatrist. We laid on the couch and rattled on and got impatient and discouraged. Like a patient we asked the doctor, how long would he take to find out what's our problem is.  The shrink says, "I knew what your problem was after ten minutes, I was waiting for you to figure it out".  That's where we've been for five months, mired in the blood the guts and the beer, learning what the problem is.  Five months is better than five thousand years, and instead of losing people we gained a couple.  It was some tough stuff but I think we at least see our problem.

Comment OCD

I'm Not Dead Yet!

"I'm not as good as I once was, but once I'm as good as I ever was." 

Supposedly, in September I am going to work per diem. I will work thirty weeks a year without benefits as a way to cut back. I checked what I would get from Social Security if I retired and it may be enough to live in a van and panhandle. Getting old doesn't mean you can 't work sixteen hours a day, it means when you do it takes two days to get over it. It's sort of like a hangover without the fun. After a few moments of deliberation I decided to work three more years per diem instead of one more year of full time.  

I just see what happens to old guys sitting in rocking chairs. Their world shrinks and becomes just one big quest for finding a BOGO on frozen yogurt. This is all made possible by my successful spouse who has a power job with a REAL hospital.  For some men their goal in life is to marry a "go-getter". In the morning they take their wife to work, then at night they "go-get-her".  

For now I'll remain the grumpy old guy at work. Someone has to stick around and tell the residents that everything they learn in class is crap. Plus we just hired two new guys. The fact that I won't be the only guy working with six women gives me pause for hope.

I'll Have A 9mm Double Latte, Please

There are like Ten Commandments about reloading ammunition. These were handed down by Charlton Heston when he met Samuel Colt and John Moses Browning on Mount Rushmore. One of them is "thou shalt not be distracted while reloading."  You're not supposed to eat, smoke, watch TV do drugs or alcohol or Sudoku, while at the the sacred bench. To avoid the appearance of legalism, I obey four out of the six. I watch some cheesy movie and drink coffee when serving at the altar.

I took a break this morning from priming a hundred 9mm cases to walk Bo. When I returned I went to fill up up my mug And I heard something rattle in that  inch of coffee I never finish. My first thought was I lost a gold crown in there. However, just below the surface was a primed 9mm case. I must have dropped it into my mug instead of the tray while I was watching Bride Of The Monster.

Now I'm wondering if a CCI primer soaked in coffee will still work.  I'm already feeling foolish so I decided to get rid of it. So I took the magazine out of my 9mm and discharged the primer. I'm fairly sure I would notice a brass case in my mouth but I'm not sure about a plain primer. Biting down on one of those would be like an instant root canal.

I guess I'm just getting sloppy. Ii used to keep my coffee a few feet away. It's time for the dangerous part of the operation, putting the powder in the cases.  No more eating and watching TV; I don't want to go where many jerks have gone before!

Chocolate Martinis

Godiva Chocolate Liqueur 

The proof is in the tasting

We need a larger glass

Carol thinks alcoholism is funny.

Lars And The Real Bird

Sometimes, you can't tell if you're watching a TV commercial or SNL.   It used to be if you were talking to an imaginary pet you were found in the day room eating the checkers.  Everyone knows a real parakeet isn't a labor intensive pet.  All you have to do is fill the water, fill the feeder and pull out the tray and insert the editorial section of the New York Times. For some, however, this is just too much commitment, too much responsibility.  If you have a mechanical pet and you're not a toddler, reality eludes you.  At least an inflatable woman can get you into the HOV-LANE.  That's all I have to say right now, it's time to wind Bo up and take him for a walk.