Blatheration

I can't believe I left this out.

Forgive me.

Silver Angel Mandolins. From Eastern KY (as it should be). The Ma and Pa Ratliff team create these lovelies. You need to go buy one right now. Then send it to me. Thanks in advance.

Do your part

Go. Enlist. Today.so I can get my bonus. (I'll split it with you)
Tell them SGT Lee from 362nd PSYOP sent you

Boot Camp was a special treat last night, as the group was introduced to " Nuclear Sit-ups". Are they hard? Yep. Are they difficult? You betcha. Do they suck? Roger. That's why we do them. Anyway it was only 5. ..This time. Heh.

By now, almost everyone has gotten their one mile timed run into the single digits. All but one were 12 or 13 minutes for the same distance just a few weeks ago.

Of course, Hot Donna continues to smoke everyone, except for that one fluke when she was beat by Idiot Nephew #4, who now claims to have a "sore knee" and is unable to repeat the performance. Of course, the high humidity and wet grass upped the suck factor by 2.28 SU (suck units), which is high but nowhere near the record of 4.76 from August 23 2003. Ah the good ol' days.

Back tomorrow with items of relative relevance.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

It seems as though the local population has largely forgotten about it's best looking young Chiropractor, so I have had plenty of free time during the day. So why so few posts? Because of the router-thingy. It has a bad case of recalcitrance and I cannot at this time affort proper discipline for it. Soon though, it will get it's just recompense and I will be all high speed again.

Mrs. Doclee has been staying somewhat more busy, having landed a commission for a number of new windows for a church. I assume we won't be seeing much of her for the next few weeks. That is, until she runs out of band-aids and comes looking for my private stash. I'll never tell. Heh.

Here's a shot of the shoppe, where she will be sequestered until the work is completed:

Fun Fact: Mrs. Doclee and I built this thing with our own furry little paws. Even the footing was largely dug by hand because of evil tree roots. The slab was farmed out to a local contractor, and his sons helped with the drywall install upstairs because they owed me money. They also managed to poke a hole in my $500.00 tub with a sheet of gypsum board that remains to this day. I was blown off the roof one day and suffered a torn rotator cuff (ow!) and accidentally nailed my finger to a 2x4 while demonstrating (im) proper pneumatic nailgun technique (ow!). Mrs Doclee suffered a hammerblow to the head due to failure to account for gravity, but is fine now. Mr. Nautifish helped with the wiring and nobody helped with the plumbing, which is why it still leaks a bit, which adds character.

I'm pretty sure that Mrs. Doclee is going to get around to asking why I had to get up at midnight last night and run 7 miles in the rain. I'm pretty sure that I don't have an answer. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Heck, it still seems like a good idea. I just don't know why. Anybody care to offer a possibility?

Almost done. Hang on.

This should come in handy when you get ready to make your own mandolin purchase. Back soon.

Something about this made me think of NPR

A few years ago, I thought, "Wouldn't it be great if I could find some out of shape middle aged persons to yell at and harass." I further thought (because I'm like that) that it would be even better if they could bet something out of it as well. Best of all, I could get paid for it. Thus Doc Lee's Boot Camp was born. Yup, in just 8 short weeks, the timid become bold, the soft become hard and the humorless...well, they get picked on. Unfortunately, the attendees only get out of it what they put into it. No magic here, work, or don't eat, so to speak.

So over the course of 8 weeks we go from possibly doing 5 pushups to over a hundred, multiples of Sit-ups and conquer the 3 mile run as well as "El-Sucko", the steepest and highest hill around. Our mottoo (well, my motto) is "Embrace the Suck". I don't know where it came from, but i like it.

My goal is for everyone to finish the entire 3 miles in a reasonable time frame and be able to pass a basic Army PT test. That means they are fit enough to do whatever they want. We have had "Survivors" (graduates) finish and go on to run Marathons and we have had them go right back to their old unhealthy ways. Those who show up and endure usually do pretty well, and I get to amuse myself by shouting encouragements at them, like "Faster, dammit!" and "Why aren't you smiling?" and my personal favorite, "Who told you you could limp?" That goes back to my Diver days when I was excoriated by an instructor for shivering without permission. Har har. Funny now, not then.

Terminology:

Chafe: What happens when your thighs rub together for too long. Also an excellent way of experiencing suckage.

Faster: Spoken in a loud clear voice to a participant who appears to be sandbagging.

El-Sucko: Woolsey street hill from Miller to the VA hospital gate.

Embrace the Suck: Enjoy your displeasure, for you are benefiting from it, also Suck Monkey demands it.

Mulberries: Morus rubra What you get all over you when you become a Boot Camper. Unless you are smart enough to get out from under the trees. Into the sun.

Psychology: What keeps you from performing to your fullest. Or not.

Sandbagging: Not participating fully, therefore not getting full benefit for your exercise dollar.

Smile: What you are required to do when performing flutter kicks.

Suck Monkey: Sees all and knows all. We often do extra pushups or 12-count body builders for him.

Sun Gods: A rather useless exercise designed to make it seem as though your shoulders were going to melt from the sockets.

Super Man: aka Hissy-fit. exercise designed to make sure you get dry itchy grass all over you.

Survivor: Technically, one who has finished the entire 8 weeks without missing any sessions. In 5 years, there has been exactly zero.

T-Bone: Exercise that looks like a Cossack wedding dance minus the grace. Burns like hell in the quadriceps and triceps musculature. Big fun.

Twelve Count Body-Builder: The king of calisthenics. Combines the artistry of squat-thrusts with the athleticism of push-ups and the grace of T-bones. Nobody likes them except me.

That's about all I have for today and I do have to get to work. Back Monday.

Another non-relaxing weekend has come and gone. Now to get some much deserved rest. Saturday was spent finding lost tools, rearranging (if you do it by yourself, are you the "Lone Arranger"?) my shop, scraping paint and making knives.

Sorry about the image quality. This is a liner lock with 440C stainless blade and red oak burl scales from a tree I personally molested on the side of a road in Oklahoma. I make these one at a time and am just getting back into it after a year or so hiatus.

Here is what happens when there is no adult supervision

Precision driving, hillbilly style. There was also an incident involving myself and a tiny motorcycle and a sluggish nephew. Sorry slowpoke Nick. Heh.

And finally:
This is technically a round back mandolin, but I prefer the common name "taterbug". Not really good for bluegrass because it will collapse if you string it up that tight, but still a purty lil' thing. More nonsense tomorrow.

Late Loar

You thought I forgot, didn't you? Well I did. I'll attempt to make it up to you with this great shot of an old Loar. Lloyd Loar was the fella responsible for the curliqued design of the Gibson F style back about a hundred years ago. Today they are worth a small furtune if in decent shape, I hear.

For those of you who were interested in how Mrs. Doclee's little project was coming along, here is your update:

Pretty cool, I think.

Today's random act of photography : I don't know where it came from, but Mrs. Doclee's propensity for junk shops leads me to believe that it isn't new. Nor is it an antique. But it is made from string, which places it's creation somewhere in the middle of the 70's. The Decade that wouldn't die. Well my bride has been on a boat binge for quite some time now. As I look around the living room I see blueprints, a wooden model her dad built (Bluenose Schooner sans rigging), some lighthouse pictures, a boat my dad built (age 10 Boy Scout project), an original Bulldog grip Jam Cleat (her Grandpa was the inventor)and the bell from our own boat, sold in a fit of ecstasy some 15 years ago. No I do not want another one thank you.

I guess it's just to remind herself that we live in Rural America. Mrs. Doclee enjoys the presence of this elderly garden implement in the Liberry:
I think it's called a Seeder Junior. It's not only GEAR DRIVEN (drive shaft, pinion, etc) but it has a series of plates that allow you to plant a VARIETY of seeds. Circa 1920 and it still has the varnish and lettering on the handles. Wow.

Mandolin fans I have not forsaken you.....

Looks like an Ovation Guitar, no? That's because it is a scaled down version of one. Only plays well with an amp though. Still it's cool looking. Check back tomorrow for cool glass sailbote pics.

Sailing and Flailing

In an effort to get away from the family compound, Mrs. Doclee and I (minus Miss Crabgrass, who is slaving away on her new job selling clothes at Maurice's) spent a fun few hours at Mr. and Mrs. Nautifish's cottage on the very aptly named Grand Lake.

on one of these things.

Not much wind, but slow and relaxing, except for the part where Mr. Nautifish decided to break the monotony by falling overboard and allowing the rest of us to practice our man overboard drills. "Where is that horseshoe thingy?" Mr Nautifish shouted directions to the crack crew and we had him back onboard in now time. It must be mentioned here that the crew being so professionally trained allowed the entire incident to pass while not spilling a single drop of wine.
Nautifish manor is comong along nicely. It was originally built in 1938 of local rock and at about 600 square feet. A nearly finished addition will give it a second floor and double the space. Then we will be more comfortable when we go to mooch meals. That was very thoughtful of them. Thank you Mr. And Mrs. Nautifish.

But wait, there's more...

They must be breeding.

Today begins a new series called "Stuff in my house" in which I will sporadically post pictures of things around the ol' family compound that catch my attention. Installment #1 is this: Awarded to yours truly by Kaaba Temple in Davenport IA in 1994 or so.
Commonly referred to as a Fez, it was once the preferred headgear of the Turks, before they decided to Westernize or when appearing in James Bond movies.
You may have seen one of these adorning a elderly gentleman in a tiny car, riding a motorcycle or dressed like a clown in a local parade. They belong to an organization officially known as the Ancient Arabic Order, Nobles of the Mystic Shrine. (rearrange the initials and you get "A Mason". Yes, you have to be a mason and a "senior' one at that to be a member).
Also known as Shriners, they are masons who are committed to fun with a purpose. The purpose part is to raise money for the 22 Shriners children's hospitals in North America, which cost over $600 million per year to operate and never charge the patients or families a dime. So if you have to drive around in a tiny car, or hand out hot dogs at a circus, it's a small price to pay for some little kid to walk again. Of course, the fun part is the hat.
By the way, that chair the fez is on has been in Mrs. Doclee's family since the 1600's (New Englanders).

Don't think I have forgotten...

Ooooh...the Weber Bitterroot. Such a lovely instrument. In fact, if I ever get that high paying and prestigious staff position at the Veteran's Hospital, I am going to purchase one of these. They cost around $10,000, so Mrs. Doclee will probably get it from my estate after she kills me for spending ten grand on a stupid mandolin I can barely play. Still it's nice isn't it?

Have massive funs this weekend, we're going sailing with Mr. and Mrs. Nautifish. Back Monday.