The wisest people are those who don't say so.

"He stood like a rock, a man among men. Then he let that lumberjack hit him again... then with a voice as kind as could be, he cut him down like a big oak tree. He said: 'You got to walk that lonesome valley. You got to walk it by yourself. Lord, nobody else can walk it for you. You got to walk it by yourself.'" -- "Reverend Mr. Black" by The Kingston Trio

This article is from Mind Mullings, a blog by a fellow in Colorado Springs. I came across his blog purely by chance, but I've bookmarked and frequented it because I think he's a wiser fellow than many.

Have you ever planted a tree? I have…lots of em.’ When a tree comes from the nursery it is “balled and burlaped.” The roots are wrapped to protect them until the tree gets planted. Imagine what would happen if the burlap never came off of the rootball. Would the tree grow strong and healthy? Nope. In fact, it would die. The roots would get so confined that the tree would actually kill itself. Just because it is a tree doesn’t automatically mean it can grow. It needs water, sunlight, and space to thrive in.

Now you may be wondering why I’m giving you a tree planting lesson. I don’t expect many of you plant trees on a regular basis but the question I have for you is: are you in a place where you can grow?

You might be okay right now at the nursery wrapped in your protective burlap but what will happen in two years if you haven’t planted yourself somewhere? What will happen in five years if you are still wrapped in the burlap and you haven’t grown in stature, wisdom or other things of the Lord? What will happen if you manage to plant yourself but don’t get any sunlight, water or space?

Be like an old oak tree; never stop growing.

Here are three practical suggestions:
Put yourself in places where you can grow. Sitting at home watching sitcoms doesn’t cut it.
Ask the Holy Spirit to convict you of areas in your life you need to grow
in. Ask for humility while working on these areas.
Talk to a close friend and ask them what your weakest character trait is. Work on it.

75 things to be able to do

This is Esquire's list of "75 things men should be able to do." While that's very true, that title is restrictive. Most, if not all of this advice is applicable to anyone who doesn't want to wind up wondering "Why the hell didn't I do that?" or "I don't know how to do this, better not even try."

There is a resurging popularity of old "Skills for boys" books and their ilk. A book that suggests carving your name into a walking stick or building a tire swing using just a bald tire, a piece of rope, and a tree conjures up images and feelings of a simpler time. It's not that there weren't companies and advertising and networking all vying to overcomplicate our lives, it's just that it wasn't everywhere and in our collective unconscious that we have to listen to these people. But there are still a lot of things that are really best done "by hand." Time, not money, is the most valuable thing you can ever invest. Get the biggest return you can.

1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. I got run out of a job I liked once, and while it was happening, a guy stopped me in the hall. Smart guy, but prone to saying too much. I braced myself. I didn't want to hear it. I needed a white knight, and I knew it wasn't him. He just sighed and said: When nobody has your back, you gotta move your back. Then he walked away. Best advice I ever got. One sentence.
2. Tell if someone is lying. Everyone has his theory. Pick one, test it. Choose the tells that work for you. I like these: Liars change the subject quickly. Liars look up and to their right when they speak. Liars use fewer contractions. Liars will sometimes stare straight at you and employ a dead face. Liars never touch their chest or heart except self-consciously. Liars place objects between themselves and you during a conversation.
3. Take a photo. Fill the frame.
4. Score a baseball game. Scoring a game is an exercise in ciphering, creating a shorthand of your very own. In this way, it's a private language as much as a record of the game. The only given is the numbering of the positions and the use of the diamond to express each batter's progress around the bases. I black out the diamond when a run scores. I mark an RBI with a tally mark in the upper-right-hand corner. Each time you score a game, you pick up on new elements to track: pitch count, balls and strikes, foul balls. It doesn't matter that this information is available on the Internet in real time. Scoring a game is about bearing witness, expanding your own ability to observe.
5. Name a book that matters. The Catcher in the Rye does not matter. Not really. You gotta read.
6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible. One guy at your table knows where Cobain was born and who his high school English teacher was. Another guy can argue the elegant extended trope of Liquid Swords with GZA himself. This is how it should be. Music does not demand agreement. Rilo Kiley. Nina Simone. Whitesnake. Fugazi. Otis Redding. Whatever. Choose. Nobody likes a know-it-all, because 1) you can't know it all and 2) music offers distinct and private lessons. So pick one. Except Rilo Kiley. I heard they broke up.
7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill.
Buy The Way to Cook, by Julia Child. Try roasting. Braising. Broiling. Slow-cooking. Pan searing. Think ragouts, fricassees, stews. All of this will force you to understand the functionality of different cuts. In the end, grilling will be a choice rather than a chore, and your Weber will become a tool rather than a piece of weekend entertainment.
8. Not monopolize the conversation.
9. Write a letter.
So easy. So easily forgotten. A five-paragraph structure works pretty well: Tell why you're writing. Offer details. Ask questions. Give news. Add a specific memory or two. If your handwriting is terrible, type. Always close formally.
10. Buy a suit.
Avoid bargains. Know your likes, your dislikes, and what you need it for (work, funerals, court). Squeeze the fabric -- if it bounces back with little or no sign of wrinkling, that means it's good, sturdy material. And tug the buttons gently. If they feel loose or wobbly, that means they're probably coming off sooner rather than later. The jacket's shoulder pads are supposed to square with your shoulders; if they droop off or leave dents in the cloth, the jacket's too big. The jacket sleeves should never meet the wrist any lower than the base of the thumb -- if they do, ask to go down a size. Always get fitted.
11. Swim three different strokes. Doggie paddle doesn't count.
12. Show respect without being a suck-up. Respect the following, in this order: age, experience, record, reputation. Don't mention any of it.
13. Throw a punch. Close enough, but not too close. Swing with your shoulders, not your arm. Long punches rarely land squarely. So forget the roundhouse. You don't have a haymaker. Follow through; don't pop and pull back. The length you give the punch should come in the form of extension after the point of contact. Just remember, the bones in your hand are small and easy to break. You're better off striking hard with the heel of your palm. Or you could buy the guy a beer and talk it out.
14. Chop down a tree. Know your escape path. When the tree starts to fall, use it.
15. Calculate square footage. Width times length.
16. Tie a bow tie.
Step 1: Make a simple knot, allowing slightly more length (one to two inches) on the end of A.
Step 2: Lay A out of the way, fold B into the normal bow shape, and position it on the first knot you made.
Step 3: Drop A vertically over folded end B.
Step 4: Double back A on itself and position it over the knot so that the two folded ends make a cross.
Step 5: The hard part: Pass folded end A under and behind the left side (yours) of the knot and through the loop behind folded end B.
Step 6: Tighten the knot you have created, straightening, particularly in the center.
17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well.
When I interviewed for my first job, one of the senior guys had me to his house for a reception. He offered me a cigarette and pointed me to a bowl of whiskey sours, like I was Darrin Stephens and he was Larry Tate. I can still remember that first tight little swallow and my gratitude that I could go back for a refill without looking like a drunk. I came to admire the host over the next decade, but he never gave me the recipe. So I use this: • For every 750-ml bottle of whiskey (use a decent bourbon or rye), add: • 6 oz fresh-squeezed, strained lemon juice • 6 oz simple syrup (mix superfine sugar and water in equal quantities)
To serve: Shake 3 oz per person with ice and strain into chilled cocktail glasses. Garnish with a cherry and an orange slice or, if you're really slick, a float of red wine. (Pour about 1/2 oz slowly into each glass over the back of a spoon; this is called a New York sour, and it's great.)
18. Speak a foreign language. Pas beaucoup. Mais faites un effort.
19. Approach a woman out of his league. Ever have a shoeshine from a guy you really admire? He works hard enough that he doesn't have to tell stupid jokes; he doesn't stare at your legs; he knows things you don't, but he doesn't talk about them every minute; he doesn't scrape or apologize for his status or his job or the way he is dressed; he does his job confidently and with a quiet relish. That stuff is wildly inviting. Act like that guy.
20. Sew a button.
21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer.
Once, in our lifetime, much of Europe was approaching cultural and political irrelevance. Then they made like us and banded together into a union of confederated states. So you can always assume that they were simply copying the United States as they now push us to the verge of cultural and political irrelevance.
22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn't have to ask after it.
Otherwise, ask after it.
23. Be loyal. You will fail at it. You have already. A man who does not know loyalty, from both ends, does not know men. Loyalty is not a matter of give-and-take: He did me a favor, therefore I owe him one. No. No. No. It is the recognition of a bond, the honoring of a shared history, the reemergence of the vows we make in the tight times. It doesn't mean complete agreement or invisible blood ties. It is a currency of selflessness, given without expectation and capable of the most stellar return.
24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. Brand, amount, style, fast, like so: Booker's, double, neat.
25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it.
Use a contractor's hammer. Swing hard and loose, like a tennis serve.
26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat.
27. Play gin with an old guy. Old men will try to crush you. They'll drown you in meaningless chatter, tell stories about when they were kids this or in Korea that. Or they'll retreat into a taciturn posture designed to get you to do the talking. They'll note your strategies without mentioning them, keep the stakes at a level they can control, and change up their pace of play just to get you stumbling. You have to do this -- play their game, be it dominoes or cribbage or chess. They may have been playing for decades. You take a beating as a means of absorbing the lessons they've learned without taking a lesson. But don't be afraid to take them down. They can handle it.
28. Play go fish with a kid.
You don't crush kids. You talk their ear off, make an event out of it, tell them stories about when you were a kid this or in Vegas that. You have to play their game, too, even though they may have been playing only for weeks. Observe. Teach them without once offering a lesson. And don't be afraid to win. They can handle it.
29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped.
Sometimes the laws of physics aren't laws at all. Read The Quantum World: Quantum Physics for Everyone, by Kenneth W. Ford.
30. Feign interest. Good place to start: quantum physics.
31. Make a bed.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. I once stood in a wine store in West Hollywood where the owner described a pinot noir he favored as "a night walk through a wet garden." I bought it. I went to my hotel and drank it by myself, looking at the flickering city with my feet on the windowsill. I don't know which was more right, the wine or the vision that he placed in my head. Point is, it was right.
33. Hit a jump shot in pool. It's not something you use a lot, but when you hit a jump shot, it marks you as a player and briefly impresses women. Make the angle of your cue steeper, aim for the bottommost fraction of the ball, and drive the cue smoothly six inches past the contact point, making steady, downward contact with the felt.
34. Dress a wound. First, stop the bleeding. Apply pressure using a gauze pad. Stay with the pressure. If you can't stop the bleeding, forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Once the bleeding stops, clean the wound. Use water or saline solution; a little soap is good, too. If you can't get the wound clean, then forget the next step, just get to a hospital. Finally, dress the wound. For a laceration, push the edges together and apply a butterfly bandage. For avulsions, where the skin is punctured and pulled back like a trapdoor, push the skin back and use a butterfly. Slather the area in antibacterial ointment. Cover the wound with a gauze pad taped into place. Change that dressing every 12 hours, checking carefully for signs of infection. Better yet, get to a hospital.
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once).
36. Make three different bets at a craps table. Play the smallest and most poorly labeled areas, the bets where it's visually evident the casino doesn't want you to go. Simply play the pass line; once the point is set, play full odds (this is the only really good bet on the table); and when you want a little more action, tell the crew you want to lay the 4 and the 10 for the minimum bet.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards.
I play cards with guys who can't shuffle, and they lose. Always.
38. Tell a joke. Here's one:
Two guys are walking down a dark alley when a mugger approaches them and demands their money. They both grudgingly pull out their wallets and begin taking out their cash. Just then, one guy turns to the other, hands him a bill, and says, "Hey, here's that $20 I owe you."
39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
Aces. Eights. Always.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. Use his first name. Don't use baby talk. Don't crank up your energy to match his. Ask questions and wait for answers. Follow up. Don't pretend to be interested in Webkinz or Power Rangers or whatever. He's as bored with that shit as you are. Concentrate instead on seeing the child as a person of his own.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
You don't own the restaurant, so don't act like it. You own the transaction. So don't speak into the menu. Lift your chin. Make eye contact. All restaurants have secrets -- let it be known that you expect to see some of them.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
Go ahead, use baby talk.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help. Just turn off the damned main.
44. Ask for help.
Guys who refuse to ask for help are the most cursed men of all. The stubborn, the self-possessed, and the distant. The hell with them.
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist. Rotate your arm rapidly in the grip, toward the other guy's thumb.
46. Tell a woman's dress size.
47. Recite one poem from memory. Here you go:
WHEN YOU ARE OLD
When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
--William Butler Yeats
48. Remove a stain. Blot. Always blot.
49. Say no.
50. Fry an egg sunny-side up. Cook until the white appears solid...and no longer.
51. Build a campfire.
There are three components:
1. The tinder -- bone-dry, snappable twigs, about as long as your hand. You need two complete handfuls. Try birch bark; it burns long and hot.
2. The kindling -- thick as your thumb, long as your forearm, breakable with two hands. You need two armfuls.
3. Fuel wood -- anything thick and long enough that it can't be broken by hand. It's okay if it's slightly damp. You need a knee-high stack.
Step 1: Light the tinder, turning the pile gently to get air underneath it.
Step 2: Feed the kindling into the emergent fire with some pace.
Step 3: Lay on the fuel wood. Pyramid, the log cabin, whatever -- the idea is to create some kind of structure so that plenty of air gets to the fire.
52. Step into a job no one wants to do. When I was 13, my dad called me into his office at the large urban mall he ran. He was on the phone. What followed was a fairly banal 15-minute conversation, which involved the collection of rent from a store. On and on, droning about store hours and lighting problems. I kept raising my eyebrows, pretending to stand up, and my dad kept waving me down. I could hear only his end, garrulous and unrelenting. He rolled his eyes as the excuses kept coming. His assertions were simple and to the point, like a drumbeat. He wanted the rent. He wanted the store to stay open when the mall was open. Then suddenly, having given the job the time it deserved, he put it to an end. "So if I see your gate down next Sunday afternoon, I'm going to get a drill and stick a goddamn bolt in it and lock you down for the next week, right?" When he hung up, rent collected, he took a deep breath. "I've been dreading that call," he said. "Once a week you gotta try something you never would do if you had the choice. Otherwise, why are you here?" So he gave me that. And this...
53. Sometimes, kick some ass.
54. Break up a fight. Work in pairs if possible. Don't get between people initially. Use the back of the collar, pull and urge the person downward. If you can't get him down, work for distance.
55. Point to the north at any time.
If you have a watch, you can point the hour hand at the sun. Then find the point directly between the hour hand and the 12. That's south. The opposite direction is, of course, north.
56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person.
57. Explain what a light-year is. It's the measure of the distance that light travels over 365.25 days.
58. Avoid boredom. You have enough to eat. You can move. This must be acknowledged as a kind of freedom. You don't always have to buy things, put things in your mouth, or be delighted.
59. Write a thank-you note.
Make a habit of it. Follow a simple formula like this one: First line is a thesis statement. The second line is evidentiary. The third is a kind of assertion. Close on an uptick.
Thanks for having me over to watch game six. Even though they won, it's clear the Red Sox are a soulless, overmarketed contrivance of Fox TV. Still, I'm awfully happy you have that huge high-def television. Next time, I really will bring beer. Yours,
60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. It tells a lot about who you are and where you came from. Me? I like Hellman's mayonnaise and Genesee beer, which makes me the fleshy, stubbornly upstate ne'er-do-well that I will always be.
61. Cook bacon.
Lay out the bacon on a rack on a baking sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.
62. Hold a baby.
Newborns should be wrapped tightly and held against the chest. They like tight spaces (consider their previous circumstances) and rhythmic movements, so hold them snug, tuck them in the crook of your elbow or against the skin of your neck. Rock your hips like you're bored, barely listening to the music at the edge of a wedding reception. No one has to notice except the baby. Don't breathe all over them.
63. Deliver a eulogy. Take the job seriously. It matters. Speak first to the family, then to the outside world. Write it down. Avoid similes. Don't read poetry. Be funny.
64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. When I was a kid, because I'm Italian and because the Irish guys in my neighborhood were relentless with the beatings on St. Patrick's Day, I loved the very idea of Christopher Columbus. I loved the fact that Irish kids worshipped some gnome who drove all the rats out of Ireland or whatever, whereas my hero was an explorer. Man, I drank the Kool-Aid on that guy. Of course, I later learned that he was a hand-chopping, land-stealing egotist who sold out an entire hemisphere to European avarice. So I left Columbus behind. Your understanding of your heroes must evolve. See Roger Clemens. See Bill Belichick.
65-67. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap. Throw a football with a tight spiral. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably.
If you can't, play more ball.
68. Find his way out of the woods if lost. Note your landmarks -- mountains, power lines, the sound of a highway. Look for the sun: It sits in the south; it moves west. Gauge your direction every few minutes. If you're completely stuck, look for a small creek and follow it downstream. Water flows toward larger bodies of water, where people live.
69. Tie a knot.
Square knot: left rope over right rope, turn under. Then right rope over left rope. Tuck under. Pull. Or as my pack leader, Dave Kenyon, told me in a Boy Scouts meeting: "Left over right, right over left. What's so fucking hard about that?"
70. Shake hands. Steady, firm, pump, let go. Use the time to make eye contact, since that's where the social contract begins.
71. Iron a shirt. My uncle Tony the tailor once told me of ironing: Start rough, end gently.
72. Stock an emergency bag for the car.
Blanket. Heavy flashlight. Hand warmers. Six bottles of water. Six packs of beef jerky. Atlas. Reflectors. Gloves. Socks. Bandages. Neosporin. Inhaler. Benadryl. Motrin. Hard candy. Telescoping magnet. Screwdriver. Channel-locks. Crescent wrench. Ski hat. Bandanna.
73. Caress a woman's neck. Back of your fingers, in a slow fan.
74. Know some birds. If you can't pay attention to a bird, then you can't learn from detail, you aren't likely to appreciate the beauty of evolution, and you don't have a clue how birdlike your own habits may be. You've been looking at them blindly for years now. Get a guide.
75. Negotiate a better price. Be informed. Know the price of competitors. In a big store, look for a manager. Don't be an asshole. Use one phrase as your mantra, like "I need a little help with this one." Repeat it, as an invitation to him. Don't beg. Ever. Offer something: your loyalty, your next purchase, even your friendship, and, with the deal done, your gratitude.

Musicians and other famous women

It's been what, a week and a half, two weeks since I talked about music last? And at least that long since I discussed famous women I like, right? Better fix that.



______________________

Doctor, Doctor!



Morgan Doctor is the drummer for The Cliks. My drum teacher gave me a good piece of advice once: "Work on not just keeping a beat or matching what the original drummer did for a song. Make it your own. Find a groove and actually add to the song's sound. People should be able to just hear you play and tell it's you. Have your own unique sound and interpretation, and even if you're playing the simplest, least technical stuff, it'll be great drumming." Morgan's drum parts on Snakehouse definitely fit that bill. They are at once unique, solid, and ethereal, like good bass or rhythm guitar. Sometimes complex, sometimes simple, she knows when to be silent and when to let rip. I admire her as a musician and an artist. I also happen to think she is incredibly sexy. If you've ever looked at the liner notes from Snakehouse, you know what I mean.



______________________

Well my name isn't Bobby McGee...



Janis Joplin. Need I say more? She was a vibrantly independent woman, truly a child of and shaper of the times in which she lived and died. I believe I'm safe in saying that since she hit it big, nearly everyone who likes girls has had a crush on Janis. Isn't it ironic that she always seemed to have trouble finding a good man? Some believe it was depression over a no-good man leaving her that led to her death. I know that if I'd been in the right place at the right time, I'd have did my damndest to have gotten involved with her, that's for sure. Well, if I wasn't busy chasing Grace Slick.

_______________________
Follow the White Rabbit

Which brings me to Grace Slick. Can this gal sing or what? I can't think of anyone else who bends her notes like Grace did in many of the Airplane's songs. It's absolutely entrancing. And it's kind of nice to be able to sing along with a girl and not have to harmonize a few notes lower. Seriously, I only miss two high notes in White Rabbit, compared with most of them if I try and match, say, Janis Joplin or Kaia Wilson. Or Geddy Lee, but to quote Alice Cooper,"he sings like a hamster on helium." I met Grace Slick last year when a local art gallery was showing her paintings. Art-wise, she was good, but not great. Most of them involved white rabbits and/or mushrooms. Or a hookah-smoking caterpillar. I got a kick out of that one. It was the non-song-based work that was the best. She really captured Jim Morrison in one painting. And in another, every single famous person in the Monterey Pop picture was instantly recognizable. Grace was really quite fun to talk to, on a variety of topics. I even managed to keep from doing the dumbstruck-idiot-who-just-met-one-of-his-heroes routine... more than once.

_________________________
Don't tell my heart

That is the first and last time I plan on quoting Achy Breaky Heart. I couldn't help it, since I'm talking about Miley Cyrus. She's bright, a great singer, and not a total drama queen. And 100% less creepy than her dad. That's pretty rare on the Disney channel. Did I mention she's also beautiful? And I'm pretty sure she's the only one in this list who's young enough that I wouldn't be jailbait.

_________________________
Selena Quintanilla Perez

I was watching TV the other day and a documentary came on about Selena's life, music, and death. It was quite good. I had never heard of her before, but next time I'm at the record store, I'm getting one or two of her albums. She had an amazing voice, and I like her songwriting... even if it took me half an hour with a bilingual dictionary to translate one song. I fail at Spanish. It's really a shame, because it's a much more melodic language than our harsh Germanic base. And as I'm sure you've already noticed, the sexiest women on the planet are Hispanic women.

_________________________
Who?

You heard me right, Hillary Duff. Shut up. Hillary, call me.

_________________________
More Barrymore!

Everyone has one or two famous people for whom they would drop everything and run off with if said person ever showed up on their doorstep. Drew Barrymore (especially if she was with the rest of the Angels) is on that list. She's a good actress, and drop-dead gorgeous.

The Sons of Silence

S.O.S. is a 1%er motorcycle club. They have a lot of brothers in Colorado Springs, and a fair few in Denver. Just to let you know, 1%er means that they will kill for the club. Don't go being a smartass and disrespecting these guys. I've heard about people who have....

They're the real deal, a lot like the Hells Angels. But while "Hells Angel" is a nationally recognizable phrase, which calls up fear and semi-romanticized ideas, not that many people think of the same thing when they hear "Son of Silence." Don't be too scared, but be wary. Don't get in an S.O.S. brother's way.

Please be informed that not all motorcyclists are 1%ers. That's why they are 1%ers: the AMA issued a statement after an alleged riot, saying that 99% of the American motorcyclist population is generally law-abiding and not out for trouble. But over the years, the general feeling of some bikers being okay guys who will turn the other cheek has kind of backfired: I do try to avoid the 1%er bars, but every now and then we're driving past one and some neophyte is standing way too close to a guy's bike, probably asking something stupid like "Is it a Harley?" or "I've got a Suzuki. It's a hell of a lot faster than this thing." I'm sure by the time he left, that fellow needed to change his shorts, if not worse.

Moral of the story: we 99%ers kind of like it when people flich a bit, then relax. Respect us, but don't piss your pants and run, okay? That said, a lot of 99%ers will deck you if you're being a real asshole, so be warned.

A simple guideline to whether or not you're standing too close to a bike: if you could touch it, bump it, or accidentally kick it (let alone spill something on it), you're too close. Turn your head to sneeze. If it's unattended, don't enter the same parking spot, even to look. Seriously, don't cross the line. Bike theives are lower than dirt, and there are WAY too many things on a bike that could get damaged or stolen. If someone told me that someone was standing next to my bike for a while, especially more than one person, even if I was in the middle of class or fuckin' jury duty at the time, I'd be outside in a flash, talking to them and maybe giving 'em a bit of a scare if they were being jerks.

If the person is right there (for example, they just pulled into the parking lot), ask permission to look at the bike. If they say yes, they'll accompany you the whole time. If you're wondering about whether it's a magneto or a battery ignition, for example, ask as you're walking to the spot you'd need to be to see it. Feel free to crouch, but respect the "if you could touch it..." rule. If you manage to bump something, apologise profusely, but shut up if the guy tells you to. If you'd like to point at something, such as an interesting bit of art paint, or a left-side kickstart, do so from near your body. Whatever you do, don't touch, unless the owner asks you to, such as "Them saddlebags is made of real buckskin. Seven pointer, shot him myself, up near Silverthorne. Go ahead, give it a feel." Then touch lightly, and don't linger. When you're done, back up at least as far as where the rider is standing. Know when to leave.

Rules for show are a little different. Still, don't touch. I hear the last thing Jimmy Hoffa did was touch the wrong guy's vehicle, you dig? Never touch paint, especially if it's unrestored and/or flaking. Never touch chrome: it's a bitch to polish, and if you touch chrome and it gets heated up before the fingerprint is removed with a solvent (such as an exhaust pipe), it will be permanent. Literally, don't drool. I've seen it happen. If there's a rope, stay behind the rope (duh). If there's not a rope, and there are no marked spaces, respect the "touch" rule, but you can get a lot closer if you're very careful and respectful, and, if it's a publiclly judged show and the guy is right there, and/or you have obtained permission, feel free to lean, kneel, crawl, and ask all sorts of questions, as long as you don't actually touch it. If he's brought it to the show, he wants to brag. Give him the opportunity by asking leading questions, like "this exhaust is interesting" or "who did your paint?" Feel free to ask permission to look "up close," then look for little details. Mention a detail or two, like billet vs. braided lines, etc. When you're done, back away, repecting the touch rule again. Feel free to tell stories, but don't be the human sleeping pill. Keep 'em relevant, like "I had a '38 Chief back in the day. Had all sorts of power down low. Once, I put a 19-tooth sproket on it and got it up to 100 out here on 24." That's a whole story. Nobody wants you life story and a full rundown of every bike you've ever owned. Say thanks, and/or complement the vehicle before you leave. A simple "that's neat" or "that's an interesting find" will do, depending on the situation.

This mostly applies to cars, but if you will be leaning over something or walking between close-parked cars (such as at a cruise-in, parking lot, or drive-in theater), put one hand over your belt buckle.

Why is there no such thing as a bachelor's in photo airbrushing, with a minor in human forms?

Alright, who's the idiot in charge of the airbrush? Seriously. I've seen better airbrush skills on the side of coal cars. You're going to airbrush her face, but only her face? How do you explain the shadow snafu on Ms. June 24? It's obvious that the in-house image editing involves some stage where the pictures are sent around in a state of high-loss compression. What is up with these image artificts?

I know, you're wondering why I'm stressing about details like this. Well, I'm a little bit OCD, and a more than a little bit nerdy, and image-editing is a bit of a hobby of mine. So here's this week's geek quota.

But really, whoever you are, permission to use Photoshop revoked. Learn to use an actual (as in zomg-real-wrld) airbrush.

I could talk about the women in these photos, but I really think I'd just be stating the obvious. So it's one of those things where the quote "You look at that picture and the glasses bother you? How about he two sailors in assless chaps? Did you notice them, Bill?" applies pretty well. So on that note, please observe that there are some pretty rockin' pinstripes on Ms. June 30's shoes, there's probably a cheap import car parked behind Ms. June 14 (why hasn't anyone like her walked into the local soda fountain lately?), the picture of Ms. June 26 was probably taken on a slightly raised stage, if not on a tile floor, someone needs to get a better camera that won't royally screw up the photo like June 16, the camera's dynamic response on Ms June 28's black vest is phenomenal, the lighting effects on and behind Ms. July 2 (perfectly out of focus, diffused light sourcing) are great, Ms July 4 (period. Ms. July 4. What words can apply?), please explain the pseudo-bun Ms. July 6 is sporting, and Ms. July 8 is posing with a really awesome Rich bass. Notice all of those details? Good, now you have my permission to go back to just plain staring.

P.S. nice hair highlights on Ms. June 22, Mr. Airbrush-No-Talent. Really, it's good.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

We interrupt your regularly scheduled music and general piggishness to bring you yet another op-ed. This time about immigration.

I have a whole spiel about illegal immigration. This isn't it.

This is actually about legal immigration. Not so much of a hot-button topic, I know, but bear with me. It's usually the uninteresting things that are the most important. This is no exception.

As immigration law stands today, if you want to get permanent resident status and the opportunity to apply for citizenship, it's a hell of a lot easier if you're married to a U.S. citizen. You know where I'm going with this. What if you legally can't get married?

Well, HRC is having some sort of conference to talk about it. I've been to conferences like that for other issues. I'd rather put a new roof on the Death Valley ranger station in the middle of the day, then shove two pinecones up my nose before I go to another one. Despite their bad reputation, most business meetings aren't like the ones at Dilbert's company. Most meetings in most functional companies are useful, productive, and to the point. Most of the time, when trying to get something done, a good meeting is the best way to speed it along.

"Fact-finding" conferences like the one coming up don't fall under that category. Those conferences are just a circlejerk where all of the big decision makers get together, state the obvious, and beat around the bush. And in most cases, give bad powerpoints. They serve a purpose, in that once you get these conferences out of the way, you can actually do something useful.

Generally, HRC does a great job of organizing and soliciting action on issues that matter. They hire people who can do the Politician Two-Step and get some votes changed. But really, who gives a damn about this "education event?" Really, teach-ins only work if they're reaching an audience who didn't know. How many people are going to the immigration teach-in who might actually gain something from it? You can't give me enough light refreshments to listen to a bunch of lawyers talk about this topic. It's information I would like to have, but I'd like to not have my soul crushed in the process. Okay, so let's say fortune strikes and everyone finds the conference very useful. Now here's what I'd like to know. Who the fuck is going to do anything about it?

The Sons of No-one

I've already gone through the "CHECK THE ORGAN DONOR BOX ON YOUR DRIVER'S LISCENSE, ASSHOLE" speech. There really aren't enough organs available. If they made "yes" the default choice instead of "no," there would be a lot more organs available for everyone who needs them. If you're dead, you don't need them anymore. Let your organs save someone else's life.

Just wait until you know someone who's been on the list for years. You'll be shouting that same thing at people, too. You know what issues you care about and why. Whatever your story, especially if it's a bit of a personal vendetta, I encourage you to use that motivation to reach other people with your message. If you don't, how will things ever change? And fuck changing things by voting. One vote for your cause is a drop in the bucket. Change things by causing change in peoples' thinking, from the ground up. Community and culture first, then laws. Then all of those people are voting with you, and it's a lasting change, not just a token law that pretty much everyone ignores. Be a part of a minority group and get arrested in the Deep South. Just because the law says they have to treat you fair doesn't mean that's so. You know what I mean.

I also touched on foster care in a previous post. I'm serious, the foster care system is fucked up. A lot of times, coming from a fucked up home is better than becoming a ward of the state. Sad but true. There are exceptions, but a lot of the time, staying in one fucked up situation is better than leaving that situation for another just like it (or, God forbid, worse). Think about how badly some stepchildren are treated. Now imagine it twice as bad. That is how badly some foster parents treat their "tenants."

That makes it sound a lot worse than it is, on average, but there's no denying, that's the Ward of the State experience for far too many kids. Even one is one too may.

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of foster parents who really care, who, during the year or two years that a foster child is with them, will do their absolute best to make sure they're not just providing room and board, but a family. I'll admit, those parents are few and far between, but if you're a ward of the state and get assigned to fster parents like these people, that is going to be a childhood memory to look back on, beacon of happy times in amongst whatever else you may have been though.

See, there's just some aspect of being a foster parent that apparently leads most people to never really invest, emotionally or financially, in the kids, since they'll be leaving. It's a lot like how Army brats learn not to make friends in their new hometown, because they'll just have no leave them behind again in a little while when daddy is transferred to another base. That's really a tragedy, because that means the vast majority of foster kids have to pretty much fend for themselves, in a kind of limbo, with no real family or support.

So I guess my point is, consider being a foster parent (and vote to make it legal for gay couples to be foster parents, too), but don't jump into the decision. Make sure you can afford to feed and clothe and foster kids you may take in, but make sure you can afford to take them to the amusement park, or maybe on family vacation, too. Make sure you can afford having all of that financial and emotional investment get in a car and disappear someday. And most of all, make sure that you will be making a positive difference in these kids' lives.

If you can do all of that, God willing, I encourage you and your significant other (whomever that may be, but please, be informed that if you try single foster-parenting, you will likely either be turned down, or wish you had been) to look into providing foster care. The system needs more good people like you.
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On that note, have you seen the movie Four Brothers? If not, you should. Netflix it or something. It's a great movie. It's loosely based off of The Sons of Katie Elder, but it's better acted, and I like the storyline more. Of course, I am partial to vigilate flicks.

Paddle faster, I hear banjos!

Ah, Deliverance was a funny movie, don't you agree? Gotcha.




Have you ever heard this song played by actual hillbillies? I didn't think so. The Band did great, but the best "Up on Cripple Creek" I ever heard was actually in Cripple Creek, at a mule race. The singer couldn't really sing worth a damn, but the banjos (yes I said two), awesome upright bass, and perfect bluesey, sripped-down drumming just made it... right.

Obama Girl

Let's talk about Obama Girl for a second, here. All ya'll know me, you know where I'm going with this. I can guarantee you, this will have absolutely NOTHING to do with politics.

Ever watch the Dukes of Hazzard? Remember Daisy Duke's shorts? Of course you do. Unfortunately, way too many people went out and bought cutoff denim shorts. People who shouldn't be wearing short shorts. But, boy howdy, is Obama Girl qualified.

I should probably metnion something about that song, other than the fact that it is now stuck in my head. From a musical standpoint, it's just a simple R&B formula, but there are enough layers to it to stay interesting. You know, a catchy chorus, some ambient background vocals, infectious, sultry rhythm, oh and did I mention the girl dancing to it?

I know what you're saying right now. It's really obvious that this whole "Obama Girl" thing was just a ploy for fame on Ms. Ettinger's part. I say yeah, so? It's actually relevant to politics in the same way that SNL and Jay Leno are. It's not that she was trying to influence votes or anything, just that she was trying to entertain the masses.

And she does it well. The video has good camerawork (obviously a red-blooded human being behind that camera).

So she's got some applicable, entertaining, lighthearted videos. She's got legs from here to the next county. And it's obvious that she's actually very intelligent and well-informed, with a wicked sense of timing. And she carries herself well, with that same air Daisy Duke had.

So really, why can't the line be "I've got a crush on Obama Girl"?

Hindsight is 20/20... and I DO feel like an ass

Let me introduce you to our driveway. Very-steep-and-wouldn't-meet-code, meet my readers. Readers, meet our driveway. It met code back in 1956, but I'm very confident it would not pass inspection were it built today. The street slopes down at about a 25-degree angle, and the level bit of the diveway is built about eight to ten vertical feet above the street. They meet at a weird angle, have a steep four-inch curb, then the driveway takes off at a varying angle in the neighborhood of 33 degrees. Then it levels out just in time to give ten feet of level before you risk going through the garage door. We tried parking a truck in the driveway once. The rear wheels hung onto the slope by about two inches. That's enough to send the truck off in the winter. That's why we don't have a truck.

Oh, no, the driveways in my neighbohood are not for sissies. Most people have some leeway for error, but all us folks have three options: right, try again, and propery damage. There is no almost.

So you can see my consternation when my dad loads good old just-got-my-learner's-permit-three-fucking-days-ago into the car, has me drive around the neighborhood a little (I've got that part down. Thank god it's not a stickshift, or I'd still be trying to get up the hill). No problem yet. I ask if I can try parking in the driveway (do or do not, there is no try), and he says sure. Halfway up the block we live on (and I do mean UP), he shows no signs of intending to explain how, or even of paying attention. Then, about 20 feet before the driveway, he says "stay right, then just trun left like you normally would."

Oh that cleared it all up.

Good news is, the garage door is intact. Car wound up at an odd angle, way too fast, and then I had to slam on the brakes because my dad decided that even though I was no longer even going fast enough to register on the spedometer, I was getting too close to the garage door and shouted "STOP!!!!!" while I was still a solid six feet from it. I got out and checked, dammit. One wheel clean on the slope, one wheel just barely off the level, and two on the level bit of the driveway, I called it a day and proceeded to head inside. My dad could fix the angle of the car and then learn to explain things when he's asked to do so.

I told you that story to tell you this story.

For the past couple of weeks, we have had a robin's nest on top of our garage light. It's nice and protected there. Not to mention warm.

Several thunderstorms have come through here since momma robin layed her eggs, and two eggs blew out. One aparently survived and hatched, and grew pretty healthily plump. He's obviously the only chick left out of at least three eggs.

When I came into the driveway in a manner which can best be described as "like a drunk bat out of hell," I scared that poor bird. As I was walking to the door, I could see him standing up shakily and crying out, scared somethin' feirce. Just as I was fishing for my key, I saw the little bird tip a little too far and fall. He tried to grip the brick, but kept falling, frantically flapping his wings. That barely helped, but it did slow him enough that he could land in an evergreen planter without damage.

Momma robin was in the tree, calling frantically while he fell. Once he landed, momma chirped a few times as he hopped around and tried to get airborne, to no avail. He did get around a bit, and got pretty well hidden, but I don't know if it will be enough.

See, we have had a fox hanging around the area for a few months, and I'm sure he'd love some fresh, tender poultry the first chance he gets. That baby robin has a while to go before he will be able to fly to safety, and in the meantime, it's a crapshoot. He'd be safe if he were still up in the nice warm, sheltered, safe nest. Now he's fallen out and the fucking fox can get to him.

Thing is, he'd be fine, except I scared the bird. If I'd have remembered the nest, I'd have been much more careful and probably would have gotten stuck halfway in the driveway. Maybe I'd have got the car parked oaky. But I sure as hell wouldn't have scared him that much.

God I hope that little bird survives.