Despite the perpetual bright skies, Winter is not yet done with us. On the opening day of Trout Season visitors and travelers to the Sierras were met with a chilly dusting of snow and we are expected to get another inch of rain tonight into Saturday filling our rain-barrels.
(To the tune of Tim McGraw’s “Indian Outlaw”)
A raggedy man-woman shuffling approaches the mic, lights dim, music starts:
It was back in the 70’s
Way out in the desert, see –
When a bright light came over me,
I had an alien autopsy.
They turned on the tractor-beam,
They took me up in the ship,
It was such a trip,
I remem-ber everything.
They used the mind-control,
I told them everything I know.
They gave me the anal probe,
And I forget the rest.
Now here I am in Vegas,
Begging change from strangers,
Because these memories
Won’t leave me alone.
Cuz way back in the 70’s,
Out in the desert, see –
‘Had a light come over me,
I had an alien autopsy…
lights dim, spot fades.
Copyright © 2015 Cheesey-Jalapeno Tamale Productions
Just in case you need an ear-worm here’s the 1994 droopy-moustachioed version – he’s since updated his look quite a bit but for some reason is Pro-Obama? This song alone should scuttle his political ambitions. Weird cat, son of baseball famer Tug McGraw…
The wife’s old car needed to get tested by the Cal-State Regulatory Bozos of the DMV and I had an issue with the truck, so in the cold morning mist we drove over to Ponderosa Auto Express. Surprise, the Bay Area coastal fog had made an unwelcome and damp intrusion up into our latitude, drawn by the cold storm in the mountains high above, and our house was surrounded by a cloud of the cold crud.
The old BMW barely passed the State Politburo’s Number-Nazis, so she’ll be looking for a more reasonable vehicle – like the Toyota Tacoma she’s always wanted.
Raison d’être for the truck’s visit was that we both noticed (hard to ignore) it had made a repetitive squeeky-graunchy sound yesterday as we drove up and out of a steep and windy driveway in Pollock to escape some ravenous mosquitoes and an insipid bit of property. The noise had a repetitive rotational aspect that sounded serious – and it reminded me of a couple other times such a mystery sound had occurred – like at home. My initial thoughts had to do with squatting and suspension, but this has only happened when hot or on hot days, so it wasn’t a cold-start issue. The rotational aspect was bothersome. Needless to say it did not repeat in this cold morning, so that helped to throw-out the suspension notion and the clever mechanic suggested on such a truck with rear disc-brakes it could be a dragging brake-shoe that activated (or failed-to release completely) when hot. Not a Highway Threat so we’ll continue to monitor it.
Meanwhile the application of rosewood stain to the speaker-boxes and repeatedly wiping-off is becoming a bit tedious. It’s hard to penetrate the oak grain, there’s no time-based instructions to follow, and seems to wipe-off too easily. Mainly I am impatient and not very good at it – or too perfection-minded and keep fussing. Anyhow “it” has begun and holes are drilled for the feet. Once the bottom is done the sides can begin, but damn these are big heavy bastards.
I would quickly move to a place with less onerous and dumbass restrictions and a higher IQ, but our generous healthcare benefits are localized and not portable.
It’s a balmy 84-degrees today at 3:00PM, and earlier I decided to initiate my Audio-action Plan Stage-1 with the rosewood gel-stain. First I flipped the big-ass Fortés over (risking a hernia) to attack the least-visible part – the bottom. The red in the stain helps to counteract the hideous golden-oak, and lends it a more moderate walnut feel. Can’t help the grain unless I purposely try to faux-grain it as in my old Theater Days. Then I hooked up the shop-vac to the orbital sander to reduce sawdust glom, put a 220-grit pad on the sander, and finally donned my Peltors because the enclosed-space noise of both the vac and the sander running is truly deafening. I also took the long-wand of the shop-vac and attached it to the exhaust so it stuck out about 4-feet, to reduce re-contamination from the sawdust exhaust. Vroom-vroom. Burn baby burn. Got some awesome shorty 4-inch Mid-Century hairpins from Steve at Smith Mountain MetalWorks in VA, which are a hugely tremendous improvement from the weird vestigial Klipsch pedestal-things – seriously, what were they thinking? Obviously nothing much beyond the coke they were snorting – it was the Mid-80’s, women had huge, stiff hair – and so did men in metal bands. Magnum P.I. was a top show, and things were pretty weird and loose, even in Home Audio and Electronics. So the stain took, and we maybe going darker. Hope the Gods of Audio Harmony approve.
…and it’s blind adherents: “Social Justice” is essentially Jihad for “Progressive” warriors, and Political Correctness is the Sharia Law they wish to impose on everybody. They act open-minded but are so far from it that it’s like a self-illuminated Möbius loop infinitely turning in a collapsing neutrino – the gravity is so immensely dense no light can escape, just as no light can be shed upon the blankness and emptiness of their still-born thoughts. Walkers in self-imposed condition white.
We went around the lake and over to our friend’s barnyard-place in Newcastle for a round of golf and some approximate birthday celebrations. This guy was booking it across the second Tee where the girls both put theirs into the water and I barely missed the same. I’m constantly and stupidly amazed at what we can do with modern close-focus stuff, even with a semi-obsolete point-and-shooter.
After the swinging carnage and beaten grass, we hied ourselves over to lunch and a bit of shopping up around Auburn. Being the only guy along they humored my wishes and we found a gun-shop, where to my delight I found this lovely example of antique shooteroonie, and another more recent (from Miwall), and some boxes of .30-40 Krag (Remington 180gr.) — and a Guns and Coffee T-shirt!! Yay Foothill Firearms in Newcastle!
Seeing my enthusiasm and remarking on the caliber, the owner went into show-and-tell mode brought out a not-for-sale (I couldn’t afford it anyhow) 7-inch nickel-plated 1873 1st Gen Colt in .44-40 with the acid-etched “Frontier Six-Shooter” still distinctly visible, albeit with some flaking to the nickel in various parts. Sweet!
The clicks went C-O-L-T as I drew back the hammer. It was a nice mid-week excursion all around.
I’m a big fan of the look and all, having grown up with it amongst my parents stuff and my father’s own furniture designs leaned that direction.
So now my wife tells me this is the final season of “Madmen” where that was quite the on-set feature. Bully for set-decorators!
Noticing that I also noticed that a very mid-century couch at trendy Cart and Barstool (sic) is called the “Petrie” – most likely from the very evocative Mid-Century Hip-and-Modern show of its 1961-1966 time-period, the urbane and sophisticated comedy styling of The Dick Van Dyke Show featuring Mary Tyler Moore as wife Laura, and Rob Petrie (Dick), a series that ending just before he became Disney-owned silver-screen legend, “Lt. Robin Crusoe, USN.”
That was a movie I actually saw (with my parents, I was all of Seven) right before we went overseas that year, and possibly/probably indelibly stamped me forever with a lifetime-love of the madcap South Seas and Tropical Island Paradise® – and beautiful girls in skimpy outfits. Or else that was caused by Bing and Bob in The Road to Bali-Singapore-Something…(The Sand Pebbles came later for me.)
So maybe eventually I’ll take a gander at it and all it’s Hip-Glory, when it hits our third-tier free-TV station, just like the Walking Dead is now doing. (I”m up to the point where they (stupidly) reach the aptly named “Terminus”…and have still never spent a dime on pay-TV.)
After the downpour and hail yesterday, we awoke to clear, cold, and chilly – but bright and sunny. I love how the clouds stack up across the valley. We drove out and around another property location off Big Cut Road and Cedar Ravine, possibilities spring up like daffodils on the low Sierra hillsides…