By lex, on February 10th, 2009
It’s all marketing. Mostly.
By lex, on November 10th, 2008
All your correspondent really wanted for his birthday * – which was very nice, by the way: Brunch at La Valencia in La Jolla with the whole clan, and 50 rounds through a borrowed H&K USP .45 at the American Shooting Center *** while Son Number One broke in his newest acquisition, a Rock Island Armory M1911 clone that sold at a price found hard to resist (and lucky to have found it, the store’s shelves utterly innocent of new firearms for sale, and nothing on offer but a few previously owned Glocks), a little R&R around the house (including the fabrication of a cat house [shush!] intended for the crazy old homeless man in the cat suit that hangs around the back yard muttering to himself, the creation of which was a task well within these our austere woodworking talents), and a slice or four at the Pizza Port, with a pint of their ESB that went down ever so kindly, followed up by cutting up a bit of wood for the fireplace, the better for to warm our creaking limbs in anticipation of the cruel, San Diego winter that stands a tip-toe on our doorstep – but all I really wanted, as I was saying, was full ownership of an Aviat Husky for to take us to the back places where a four-weight line might profitably be wet, and, quarter shares, say in a Pitts Special for those moments where we are feeling a little too well grounded.
By lex, on March 27th, 2006
That when you’ve come back from your morning run, and are taking a shower in the facilities provided, the water pressure from the shower head decreases when someone using the same facilities set for other reasons, em: Flushes.
I know, I shouldn’t be disconcerted: Fresh water, all the way ’round. There’s only so much of it. More required over here means less to be had over there. But still.
It doesn’t seem right.
When I was a midshipman, we went one summer to Quantico, Virginia, where Marine officers are tenderly brought to full flower in a process roughly analogous to the face-hugger/chest buster phenomenon made so popular in the “Alien” movie trilogy.
In the student barracks, not only did the cold water cut out entirely whenever someone in the western hemisphere “sent the army home,” the hot water, as though waiting for just such an opportunity, jetted out with vicious abandon. Strangely enough, in the instant just before the boiling water leapt out to wreak its savageries upon your exposed flesh, it was preceded by a tiny slug of cold water. In time, we mids came to understand what this was: All a part of the Marine Officer training program. A combat reactions course, if you will. The price of unbroiled skin was eternal vigilance.
And quick reflexes.
There’s no real point to all this. Just small stuff.
By lex, on September 8th, 2007
No. No you are not 23 anymore. And yes, that is your boss. Now get down off that table and hand me back the lampshade.
Posted by Lex on August 21, 2006
Anyone who doesn’t believe in the existence of a sentient God, an all-powerful being who cares deeply about the difference between right and wrong, who has both a memory suitable to the maintenance of long-running grudges and a sense of humor tending towards the ironic – anyone who can reject all of these things, despite all the evidence to the contrary:
Has never been a 40-ish father, raising a teenaged daughter, in southern California.
I’m just saying.
Karma, man. That wheel just keeps on turning.
By lex, on April 25th, 2007
Is that a dog, no matter how abused and mistreated, would not hide in the darkness under your bed like a blackhearted thief in the night, waiting for your alarm clock to go off at 0615, and then, just as you blearily reach out from under the warm and enclosing embrace of the covers to silence the aforementioned alarm, leap up with malice aforethought to bite and scratch at the proximal/medial axis of your exposed triceps. Before dashing away to the door only to pause and look back at you with that “you’ve been PWNED!!!” expression.
By Lex, on June 25, 2010
Got this one via the email pipe:
I recently picked a new primary care doctor. After two visits and exhaustive Lab tests, he said I was doing ‘fairly well’ for my age. (I just turned sixty-something.) A little concerned about that comment, I couldn’t resist asking him, ‘Do you think I’ll live to be 80?’
He asked, ‘Do you smoke tobacco, or drink beer, wine or hard liquor?’ ‘Oh no,’ I replied. ‘I’m not doing drugs, either!’
Then he asked, ‘Do you eat rib-eye steaks and barbecued Ribs?’ I said, ‘Not much…my former doctor said that all red meat is very unhealthy!’
‘Do you spend a lot of time in the sun, like playing golf, boating, sailing, hiking, or bicycling?’ ‘No, I don’t,’ I said.
He asked, ‘Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or have a lot of sex?’ ‘No,’ I said…
He looked at me and said.’Then, why do you even give a sh!t?