The Recipe For Mike
3 parts Playfulness
2 parts Style
1 part Whimsy
Splash of Naughtiness
Limit yourself to one serving. This cocktail is strong!
Add a little olive juice to me, I'd be a Dirty Mike.
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From the website:
To test your knowledge of prominent people and major events in the news, we invite you to take our short quiz. Then see how you did in comparison with 1,003 randomly sampled adults asked the same questions in a recent national survey conducted by the Pew Research Center.
You'll also be able to compare your News IQ with the average scores of men and women; with college graduates as well as those who didn't attend college; with people who are your age as well as with younger and older Americans. Are you more news-savvy than the average American?
Dallas Cowboys players Marc Columbo (tackle/singer) and Cory Proctor (center/drums) performing at the Cool River Cafe.
They're both linemen, so that explains the lyrics. (or lack of)
Listen to another of their "hits", Tale of Two Jakes, if you dare. If you're strong enough for an encore, you're probably strong enough to play for the 'Boys.
After the muffled sounds of my momma's beating heart (heard in close, internal proximity, the sort that binds a child to his mother in such wonderful ways) and perhaps the highway and car noises when my parents brought me home from the hospital for the first time, this pumping unit was probably one of the first things I ever heard in my life.
I grew up smack-dab in the middle of the oil patch, living in a company owned house for the first 18 years of my life, right on the dividing line between the "A" and "B" leases. This "pumpjack" wasn't but a few hundred feet from our front porch.
My dad was a "pumper"; he took care of this and a dozen plus or so other wells and the assorted primary processing equipment (heater treater for sediment and salt-water removal), storage facilities (the tank batteries and pumps) and initial transport (pipelines from the wells to the tanks) and was the oil company's first financial agent in that process from oil in the ground to gas in your tank, keeping track of production and responsible for those documents that initiated the crude oil and natural gas transfer to the buyer. (which was Phillips Petroleum Corp, now Conoco-Phillips)
When the field was first drilled in the early 50's, this particular piece of equipment was state-of-the-art, I suppose. It was powered by a Continental-Emsco motor fueled by wellhead gas. They were contrary things, at least they were after multiple dozens of overhauls and thousands of spark plug changes and countless hours of chugging away, bringing up the black gold from nearly a mile deep.
These days nearly every pumping unit is powered by electricity, with perhaps the most remote wells, those far away from the electric grid, which might still be powered by these powerful old motors. The ones my father took care of had enormous, heavy flywheels that were hand-cranked as so to start the engine running. It was almost as complicated as crankin' an old Model-T (not that I've ever done that, I've just heard stories from my dad
(Pop always said he always wanted to have a tail, like a monkey, that way he could crank one of those old one-lung motors easier, at least have sumpthin' to hold on with)
It was not only a task that required some dexterity, it was - 'scuse my French - dangerous as hell. Just like crankin' that old Ford I was talking about as if I actually knew, a guy could easily get a darn good whap on the hand, even breaking it, or with my vivid imagination on MY first stab at crankin' an old Emsco, knock it clean off. Sheesh.
My first attempt wasn't so hot, I will admit. I finally got the thing to start bangin' off, but then let go of the heavy crank the very same time the motor decided it wanted to co-operate and operate as machinery should (well, perhaps not in Stephen King's world, but...). I'd like to claim the crank was possessed (ala S. King) but it was just a case of biting off a bit more than I could chew, I shoulda paid a bit more attention the times my old man was doing it when I rode with him instead of being in that perpetual state of boredom only teenaged boys can achieve.
My dad had been standing there, letting me make some minor mistakes, gently coaching and correcting me (he wasn't always the best at that, bad memories, sorry) but letting me have a go, most likely amused I wanted to prove I was his equal, and I'm hopin' he was secretly proud I wanted to at least try to be his equal.
I barely got my hand back in time and my dad quickly went to the other side and killed the engine, all the while hollerin' at me to back up, back up! At some slower but still frightening RPM the crank flew off a hundred or so feet out in the adjacent wheat field, plowing a deep long furrow fit for planting. Could've been a shallow grave for me if the thing had whacked me in the head, for sure.
I sucessfully started that motor a few months later, but that was the last time I ever tried. I think about my ol' man cranking on those cantankerous things in winter time, or what's worse, in the summer when the Texas sun and heat try their best to not only tear the hide right off ya, but make an attempt to pull every bit of moisture from your body, starting with a river channeling through one's eye sockets, the sweat stinging like hell, then detouring through the nether regions and finally puddling in the boots.
(I knew a guy who pickled his toes that way, sweating so profusely, but I'll save that story for some other time, I'm sure you won't mind)
Who was Beulah Edge? I will reveal that mystery at a future date.
From the website:
Rumours About Angels II is a cycle of thirteen paintings depicting (the) birth process of an angel. Technique used in the works production might be defined as (an) electronic collage (combination of digital photography, animation, traditional painting and drawing techniques combined together with the help of the computer) However, exceptionality of the undertaking bears not only on its graphic side - the integral part of the Rumours About Angels project is the music, composed particularly for the occasion, serving as the unique setting for the works.
Do you have tons of files on your hard drive? Hard drives are rapidly coming down in price, but you can't beat the price for storage at Box.net: FREE!
Sure, online storage isn't as permanent as disc in hand, but Box.net is one of the better places on the 'net to store and share files.
Store up to 1GB of files (up to 10MB each) with a 10GB monthly bandwidth limit...and if you need more than that, there are individual and business pricing plans. Access your files from any computer or share with your friends, even edit documents and photos online. The website also allows uploading via email.
I recently stumbled across Image Chief, one of those graphics making sites I enjoy.
There are loads of options, and all allow the user to input text and personalize them as desired.
Here's a Las Vegas sign I created.
(It certainly is a gamble as to if there's ever going to be anything worth reading in here)
Quite a few people have uploaded their own creations; here I used a user-created Texas symbol in one of their road sign offerings:
One of the neatest things I've ever seen is the ability to create a "movie".
Actually, ToTG's "birthday" was the end of last month, but...who cares?
We really don't, so why should you? We're lucky to have lasted this long.
Hey, I can make fun of fat people.
I are one. (although I prefer to be called "pleasingly plump")
The reason I bring this to people's attention is that our favorite fat kid on a carnival ride is #1 !
Ten Best Fat People Videos
It didn't have my second favorite, though.
This post is over.
Ever wondered if someone has read the email you've sent them?
That's where SpyPig comes in handy. Go to the website, pick the graphic you wish to use, input your addy and name, copy and paste the image into your message and when the mail is opened, SpyPig will notify you.
It won't work unless you use HTML mail or if the recepient has images blocked by their email, firewall or A/V program. (requirements and instructions)
Well, no, it's not, but I was visiting Alison's blog and re-read some of the posts and noticed she had mentioned Lent. I remember reading it when she posted it and almost posted a favorite joke, but decided I best not.
I try not to tell dirty jokes on my friend's blogs. Instead, I'll tell them here:
Labels: feeble attempts at humor
I was going through the photos in the Picassa slideshow and had forgotten I had put this photo into the mix.
It's not a particularly good photo and wouldn't mean anything to anyone else but my family and I because it was where my grandparents lived when I was a boy.
It's called a "shotgun house" because it's long and narrow and if you stuck a shotgun in the front door and pulled the trigger, you would hit every room in the house.
I have some fond memories of the house and staying there with my grandparents. There was a "play house" at the back of the garage and my sisters, cousins and I liked to decorate the inside with pages cut out from a magazine and stuck to the walls with flour glue.
I recall some guys in an old pickup driving down the alley and stopping, trying to coax my big sis over to their vehicle. She was wary and someone ran into the house to tell my dad and he ran out there but the guys had already left. I don't know what their intentions were, but I darn sure know what my dad's were. They were lucky he didn't catch them.
I also remember playing baseball with my cousin and some neighborhood boys. My cousin hit the ball and it broke a window; the next thing I know, I was standing there alone with the bat my cuz had quickly thrust into my hand before he ran away with the other kids. Grandpa believed me when I told him I hadn't done it, and gave me some grudging admiration for not snitching on who had done the dirty deed. I believe he knew who had done it even before he came out of the house.
I remember climbing on top of the garage and jumping off, just like a paratrooper, yelling "Geronimo!". Grandma saw me and told me to not jump off, and from now on to stay off the roof. Being the good boy I always was -grin-
Before my grandparents passed away I was visiting them and we remembered that and Grandma STILL chastised Grandpa for scaring me like that. Grandma always called me her "little Mikey man". She's just about the only person I ever allowed to call me that.
The things I remember the most about that house were Grandma's chicken and dumplings and how the entire family would gather there for Christmas. I don't see how we all fit into the small shack. I also remember Grandma getting a kick out of me coming into the house and asking her sister if I could go down the street to play; they were twins and always were amused when people were confused as to who was who.
Here's me 'n Grandpa, sitting in front of the window that was broken.
I miss 'em.
You Are a Ferris Wheel
Deep down, you are a fun, whimsical, and easygoing person.
You often enjoy life for what it is, and the littlest changes in course can be quite thrilling.
In relationships, people tend to feel what you feel. It can be liberating at first...
But after a while, the people closest to you end up feeling a little trapped.
Your life has perfectly normal cycles of ups and downs.
However, you can't help but sometimes feel that you're missing out on the most exciting aspects of life.
You only are happy when you're experiencing the highest of highs.
Your low points just make you feel depressed, restless, and bored.
At your best, you feel on top of the world with a great sense of perspective.
You believe that anything is possible, and that you are happily looking down on everyone else.
At your worst, you feel like your life is going in circles. You often feel like you're not going anywhere.
This is sometimes psychologically disorienting. And sometimes it brings on a sense of hopelessness.
JUST got back from the local WallyWorld; I had purchased some new socks, cat food, some cashews and a few other items.
The store was crowded, even for a Saturday evening. As always, the other customers were rude and so were the employees.
(Why do teens have to walk four abreast down the narrow WM aisles? I've quit giving right-of-way and started ramming my cart into them, aiming right at the crotch of the nearest one pushing me into the merchandise. Maybe I'll make one of 'em sterile so those rudeness genes won't be passed on. It will be my gift to the world, you don't have to thank me)
I wanted to get the Beej some of his favorite cat food and crunchy treats, but there was a stocker right in front of the brand I usually buy. It looked as though he was nearly done, so I killed a few seconds looking at the fish tanks. I was starting to get the exact same disposition of the Oscars that were fighting in one of the tanks.
I looked over and noticed the guy was through, so I stood there waiting for him to move out of the way.
"Fish?" he asked me.
"Uh..." I stammered. "I'm going to get some tuna, maybe some of that duck with rice."
Now was his turn to be perplexed. "No, tropical fish." he explained.
I almost said I didn't know they had that particular flavor, but I bet the Beej would probably like it...then it dawned on me what he meant. Oh well.
I finally got done and made my way up to the front. Oh boy, there were only a few checkouts open and they were all busy.
I stood in line for about five minutes waiting to be checked out when I was informed the line was closing and "would I please move to another line?" I did, no complaints. Just my luck, I thought, but also wondering why the store wouldn't schedule a few more checkers on a Saturday.
I then waited for fifteen or more minutes in THAT line only to have my debit card keep getting rejected for some unknown reason. The cashier had to take it and scan it on her register and it went through just fine.
(I'll have to check the statement at the end of the month; the charge will probably show up as many times as I swiped the card through the reader.)
"Been having problems with that all day." the cashier informed me. Hmmmm...I thought, wondering why no one had attempted to repair it, or barring that, hadn't put an "Out of Order" sign on it? No problem, I got it paid for and was on my way out when I was held up by my arm by some young idjit checking packages at the exit. Ouch. His dirty fingernails were scratching my skin.
One too many straws for this camel's back.
"Take your hand off my arm." I told the guy "Unless you want me to rip yours off and beat you to death with it."
"Just doin' my job." said the acne covered idjit with a sniff. He didn't know how close to dismemberment he had come. "Silly damn job." I told him, looking him square in the eye, daring him to get huffy with me. I was in the mood for some violence by then.
"I have to do it." he told me. "You have some items that aren't in sacks."
The items? A 12-pk of Diet Lemon Tea and a case of water in 20oz. bottles. I don't think Wal-Mart HAS sacks that large. I'll make sure they're sacked up somehow the next time I'm there, though. (maybe I'll steal 'em, put them in my pants. Better yet, I'll swipe some high-ticket items, put them in a sack because that seems to be the criteria for proving they were purchased)
Yes, there will be a next time. (won't steal though, that was just hyperbole) Wal-Mart is very nearly the only game in town, especially for certain items. It's bad enough we have to put up with trying to find employees when we need help and when we DO find them and ask them a question, we then get an attitude of annnoyance and/or ignorance...and to add the worst thing, we have to purchase items made in China. (what happened to their "Made in America" campaign from a few years ago?)
To top that off, we get fat, pimple-faced idjits loving their lofty position of "authority", not using what little brains they have in their heads, harrassing the customers as they leave, insisting upon seeing proof of purchase for items that are already our property.
I can think of a thousand items I would steal before I would water and iced tea.
I guess the idjit knew I was displeased; if he hadn't gotten the hint with my threat, he certainly got it when I told him to perform an impossible sexual act upon himself. He glanced at my receipt and thrust it back at me. "Have a nice day, sir." he told me. I repeated my previous statement, wanting to make sure he had understood just how angry I was.
An older lady nearby heard me, and I was immediately ashamed...not because of what I had said, but because I had said it in front of a woman.
"Sorry." I told her. "My momma taught me better than that."
"I should hope so." the lady said. "But, to be honest..." she went on, leaned towards me and in a whisper:
"I was thinking the same thing."
This is a "bump" up because there's only seven days left in the poll. (in the right-hand column)
Probably still would have a crush on her if I met her in person.
Read what Wiki says about her.
(I must be attracted to Scot women; I've also got a crush on Sheena Easton )
I remember going to the movies with my sisters to see To Sir With Love. To heck with Sidney Poitier's memorable performance; I was looking at Lulu in her mini-skirt.
I've also got this version of "Shout" by her in my mp3 jukebox. She was 15 when she sang this and it became a hit.
Direct supermodel Daniella Sarahyba in this Taco Bell interactive website "photoshoot".
Choose what you would have Daniella do and at what location.
(the choices are limited, and no, she won't do that)
She's a gorgeous young woman. (this was the first I have heard of her)
I took her out on the pier, but she didn't last long and started bitching about the wind. I took several shots with her hair in her face , with her eyes closed and even a couple with her back turned. Believe me, these are the best of the lot.
I kept hoping this parrot would bite her; it tried, but...
Seems that I'm not good at real photography OR at this type.
From the July 04 car show in the United parking lot, Pampa, Texas.
You Are Hot Sauce
You are the life of any party, because you're so good at bringing people out of their shell.
You have a knack for helping people happily embrace their true selves.
You are ambitious, driven, and fearless. You love taking risks.
Your taste in food is 100% adventurous.
You're up for sampling any exotic cuisine or someone's kitchen experiments.
You live for trying new things, and you get sick of eating the same food (even if it's very delicious).
From yesterday's (July04) car show in the United parking lot.
I really liked this car; it wasn't trailered in, but driven and was very clean.
I never wanted a Caddy. One of these would do just fine.
I really enjoy looking at the specific details of a car, especially on these older ones.
The outside of the car looks as stylish as anything built today, but the interior is definitely '50's tech. It too was neat and clean, just dated.
It caught my eye right off the bat, and I had trouble getting photos as it was one of the most popular vehicles in the small show.
The owner said there wasn't any particular story behind it; he saw it and bought it because his wife liked it. He said he had been offered 40k for it, and I don't blame him for turning it down.