Blatheration

Go to this website

This is new, go check it out. Mrs. Doclee commands you. This site was designed by #1 son who celebrates his 27th (gasp!) birthday tomorrow. Happy birthday Scotty Wotty! (tm)

Mrs. Doclee and the other dumb broad have been busy little bees.

Former alien Miss Peanut is still unclear on what the word "no" means so is therefore again in exile. Caged like an animal. Shameful.

Holiday weekend plans are shaping up. Mrs. Doclee has determined that the painting project will be completed by Tuesday or heads will roll, figuratively, that is, but we can rest assured that if it is not completed, there will be unhappiness. Double plus unhappiness. Very un good.

This house survived about 75 years of being painted white, then it was "Hamilton blue", which is the color you see on 80's folk art and for the past 10 years it has been some sort of bluish gray, courtesy of our resident Artist in Chief. Now it is about 65% green. Cottage green I believe it is. With darker green and red trim. I have been assured that this color is in now way related to any color currently in use by the US Army. Of course, I do not believe this, so I will post pistures of the completed project and let you, my loyal reader decide.

Todays musical instrument of interest is:

An electric mandolin? Crazy man, crazy. How do they sound? Terrible if you don't plug them in.

Summer blahs continue

At the risk of being chastised for inadequate bloggage, I hereby tender this post. When you live in this part of the world, life isn't always as exciting as one might wish. It has been rather quiet around here of late so posting has been diminished. At least that's my story. Former alien "Peanut" has resolutely refused her intense potty training and therefore spends an inordinate amount of time in solitary confinement. This of course, limits her access to dirty socks and underwear, so she must content herself with the rag bone provided by her warden, Mrs. Doclee.

Happy phone call last night from old friend Doc Fitz, who is now happily house trained (I think) and retired from babysitting Marines in California. He has managed repeat visits to the litterbox and I was overjoyed to hear that he was safe.

Last time I visited Doc Fitz was about 7 years ago when I drank all his beer and then got myself lost in LA traffic in a borrowed V12 Jaguar. My half hour trip became 3 and a half hours, but I had a buzz and the top was down, so it was a fine trip. Also the car's owner, Uncle Kelly J. was out of town and didn't even miss it. I later found out that the car had previousy belonged to Mr. Travolta and sure enough, there was a picture of him driving it at the Peterson museum the very next day. My brush with greatness continues.

Here's a nice change of pace:

I found one of these cheap yesterday and am currently obsessing over it. This is especially pathetic, since I don't even know how to play a geetar. I do, however possess mad mandolin skillz, as you well know.

A very Happy 50th birthday wish to commenter Ms. Nastyface. So sorry we couldn't make it to the festivities. Timing.

Back soon.

Museum finds

As Curator of Western Northwest Arkansas' largest outdoor automobile museum, it is my duty to occasionally acquire new articles for display. Two new display pieces were generously donated by local philanthropist Jim Bob Pike, who assures us that they were running when he parked them "a while back".

On the left is a once stately 1955 Hudson Hornet Super four door sedan complete with Twin-H 308 flathead six, "flash-o-matic (ford) automatic transmission and factory air conditioning. Note the cleverly missing headlight bezel. Those were cast aluminum, in case you didn't know.

On the right, a formerly pristine 1953 Hudson Super Jet with twin H powered 202 cubic inch flathead six. This one has been replicated even to the extent of having the back light smashed out in reference to tree branch damage from the big ice storm of '07.

Notice the fine patina.

They are both on display at the regional annex, behind Jim Bob's tool shed in a lavishly appointed scene which strives to replicate these beasts natural habitat. They are available for viewing on a per-call basis. Admission is one six-pack or two 40's. Malt liquor is preferred.

Recently relocated to the main building is this treasure which I myself have donated due to my generous nature and the need for a quick tax write off:

A 1957 or so International Harvester Metro delivery vehicle with 220 cubic inch Black Diamond power and a 3 speed

This is before the distinctive patinated finish was secured at no small expense.

This vehicle may be seen at the main museum on the grounds of the Rusty Nuts Car club about a half mile North of the Baptist church on Dawn Hill Road back behind the chicken house. Admission is free, but you might want to bring some rubber boots, due to the presence of a high population of local fauna.

Also on display are a number of nicely aged Chevrolet pickups from the 50's up through the 90's an assortment of elderly Oldsmobiles, and a corvette which is resolutely refusing to submit to our patented surface rust procedure.
Hours are anytime you see Rocky the Rotweiler outside the fence.

Check this site periodically for updates.

Correction

As usual, it appears that I have made a small mistake. Nubile reader Missy has informed me that I have erred in a matter of species identification. It seems that the small visitors are not in fact aliens at all but rather a separate life form altogether. it appears that I have failed to report acurately that they are in fact puppies, which I am to understand are some sort of larval dog type creature. In that case, I am very glad to have gotten rid of at least three of them. I am further informed that if fed and not thrown off the porch or out into traffic, they will metamorphosize into real live doggers someday. Dolly will be pleased.

I further appologize for the use of vulgarity on the previous post. Though I stand by my implication that my current software vendors and their henchmen are a worthless bunch of barely human vermin. That is, if they are human at all. It is unsure, given that I have yet to directly communicate with any of them. Hey, look, I like robots and computers as well as the next handsome and lovable Chiropractor, but still, I'm guessing that if they can find real human beings to sell the stuff, they ought to be able to scrounge one up when their product fails to perform without making me argue Sarcastatron v.2 down in tech support. Sheesh. I'm beginning to sympathize with Dr. Kozinski.

At least we can be happy about... Whirling Mandolins. I don't know why either.

A single alien remains

The aliens have been disbursed with the exception of one, who has taken it as her responsibility to keep Main Dog Dolly from getting complacent. Now that she has no playmates, she has decided to amuse herself by singing all night long. I personally have been listening to her vocals since around 4:30 this morning. Stimulating.

Stalking her next victim..

..and preparing to consume young Gilligan:

Truly horrifying.

This is what happens when you spend thousands of dollars on software and find out that it doesn't work:

I will not name this company yet, but suffice to say they are definitely living up to their own hype. Meanwhile, I wait patiently for the rep to return my email and offer words of reassurance. I suppose there's some rule against showing up at his office and demanding satisfaction in the form of having him choke himself.

The most I can muster is an impotent "Aaargh!" Hey, it worked for Charley Brown, didn't it?

Musical goodness

I don't know why it happened, but there was tree sap all over the family conveyances. One could barely see through the windshields. We tried turpentine, xylol and standard paint thinner. Even commercial "Bug 'n Tar (and tree sap) remover while effective, was a slow go. So what did we do? Well?

Recalling a similar situation from 1977, when my buddy Mr. Bug bought a '63 Impala for $200 which had been parked under an elm tree for several years, I decided to try Mr. Clean. Only this time, I didn't use the scotchbrite pad and take the paint along with the sap. Sorry about that Mr. Bug. Anyway, my plan succeeded...eventually. Also it took the wax plum off so we now have shiny sap free vehicles. Also very sore forearms.

Mrs. Doclee entertained herself by teetering high atop a 40 ft. extension ladder while proceeding with the Mount Olive Re-purtification project. The main building of the compound is now mostly light green with darker green, white and brick red trim. It was the little decorative shingles on the gable end that caused all the trouble. I was obliged to stop what I was doing (playing with the aliens and) and hold the ladder. The combined configurations of Mrs. Doclee's anatomy, the ladder, and the proch roof conspired to keep a single shingle (good name for a bluegrass song) from recieving it's due share of "cottage green" or whatever it's called. Now it looks like a shark with a missing tooth. Stupid Victorian architecture.

Here's something we hope you'll really enjoy:

http://www.toddtaylorbanjoman.com/GuinnessworldrecordfastestbanjoplayerToddTaylor.html:

Also this:

http://www.powerlineblog.com/

Scroll down about halfway and enjoy.

It's either blue or purple, but it's still georgeous:

I don't know if any of the above links will work, but if they don't, leave a comment and I shall try to work something out.

Pointy pointy

Pointy things:

They're so sharp, I had to take the pictures slightly out of focus so you wouldn't cut your eyes looking at them. They're that sharp. Really.

The folks at Nelson Leather in Eureka Springs Arkansas (479) 253-7162 invite you to drop by and check out the entire selection of D.K. Lee fine handmade knives on display now. Custom orders are now being accepted. Prices start at $165 for a one of a kind heirloom quality pocket knife.

As many of you know, back before i decided to go into serious debt and acquire an education, I was a welder. I have always enjoyed working with my hands and welding has one benefit tht woodworking doesn't; if you cut a piece of metal too short, you can always make it longer. I still enjoy woodworking though, and making knives scratches both itches, or vice versa, I can't remember.

Hey, everyone needs a hobby.

This is not a hobby:

It is a 1916 Gibson "A" style. The choice of experts blah blah blah.

Don't tell the folks at Gibson, but there are some reallynice instruments coming out of places like Romania and China right now for a fraction of what you would pay for a Gib, thanks to the magic of Computer controlled milling. Actually, I'm pretty sure they already know. If the music snobs ever figure this out, Gibson et. al. are going to be in big trouble. Of course, my tastes run toward the pedestrian, but I can't tell enough difference between the sound of a $100 Abeliene and a $5000 (yes, that's thousand) Gibson to account for the price disparity, but I guess there will always be those who can and will.

It reminds me of the conversation I had some years ago with an audio guy in California who had been tasked with installing a stereo in Ms. Streisand 's Mercedes convertible. He ended up installing and removing it a number of times due to her insistance that it was making a particular sound that was not part of the music. He said that nobosy else could hear this sound, which seemed to just drive her nuts (memo to Mrs. Doclee: See, honey, it isn't just you.)

After repeating this for a few weeks, they decided to just reinstall it as original and suggest she keep the top up. Apparently this solved the problem.

How's that for a digression. I can't help it. I have lots of paperwork to do and would rather do anything...even go out and entertain the aliens...than paperwork. I would even rather eat ice cream than do paperwork. the fact that there is barely any paper involves only serves to mock me. I shall overcome...eventually.

Have nice weekend.

Meeting my new playmates

The vacation is over so your humble observer was required to return to all things Army and present his precious self to the Drill Hall after a lengthy hiatus. Weekend drill is now known as a battle assembly and this time I have new friends to play with. Ointment and Olive Oyl are now Sargeants Ointment and Olive Oyl, and I have yet to decide on what to think of the rest of the team. I'm sure I will think of something. Of course, the first thing we had to do the Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT for those of us too busy to speak entire words). During the 2 mile run, I was in front until passed by Sargeant Opie (You old timers will remember him from the Mag-Neato pics)in the last 8th mile. That was the first time anyone from this unit has ever beaten me on a run.

Which brings me to the main point of today's blatheration: Why are there so many old geezers in the Army? Opie is considered a kid because he's just 30. There is a guy there I went to grade school with. (Curiously, while he has aged significantly, I have remained young and handsome). I would expect there to by lots 'o youngsters signing up to join. If there had been a war when I was just leaving high school, I would have quit school to join. There wasn't, so I quit and signed up anyway. Hey, anything to avoid the hated hay fields.

So here we are in the defining period of a generation and what are the cream of american youth doing about it? Video games? Concerts? Hanging out? Sleeping? Come on.

Look at it this way; if you are just getting out of high school, you aren't good for much anyway. Nothing personal, but you really don't know anything useful to an employer, and you aren't going to be trusted with anything important until you are over 21 anyway. Basically you are manual labor, except at home where you are in all likelihood dead weight. So here is my challenge to the youth of America:

Go make your mark. Don't be like that pathetic middle aged man who recently tried to give me his reasons for not having answered when his duty called. (short answer, he was really busy and stuff). Someday you will have to answer for your whereabouts when you were needed. What will that answer be?

It doesn't really make any difference what service you choose, (though here's a thumbnail guide from my own experience: Navy: no real danger, better chance at chicks in foreign countries unless you are gay, in which case there's lots of soap for you to drop. Air Force: You might to get to go to some semi scary places, but you will not be in danger of getting blown up. USMC: Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. All psychotic, all the time. If you join the Navy as a medic and are a male person, you will probably end up here anyway, and no, the recruiter will not mention this minor issue to you if you don't ask. Army: Good for you. Sign up at your earliest opportunity and don't forget to give your recruiter my name (Sargeant Darren K. Lee) because I am famous and you will recieve preferential treatment. You will also probably recieve a fat bonus which you will not be required to share with anyone, not even me even though I am the one who showed you the light and deserve something for my trouble.

Don't worry though, I'm just trying to help you live a better life. Just go sign up, keep your yapper shut, your eyes open and do what your Sargeant tells you and all will be well.

And now to change the subject for the multitude of mandolin fans who visit this site hourly:

Serving all your Mandolin Orchestra needs.

Invaders begin separation

We are now down to three freeloading aliens, one of their number having been persuaded to follow the trail of tasty treats into a waiting vehicle. It is now rsiding in a secret location, though the new keepers report no lessening of the mind control power. This is curious.

I have designed a device for creating a partial vacuum in a glass jar, for the purpose of removing air from small pieces of exotic and expensive wood and replacing it with a stabilizing substance. I call it a "vacuum stabilizer". Catchy huh? Why do a thing like that? Because. Also to keep the wood from expanding and contracting after being turned into art.

Actually, an apparatus for such an activity is commercially available, but buying one displays no style. I made mine from a gallon pickle jar, an A/C vac gauge, a 60cc syringe and some aquarium tubing. Total cost for materials: $1.75. Heh.

Keeping in mind that enough stabilized wood (also available commercially) to make a single knife costs around $25. Not a bad investment, plus you get to sit and watch the bubble rise from the broth as you smoke a cigar and plot your next adventure. News of which to follow soon.

Of course it wouldn't be a Blatheration without: (By the way, did you know there's only one space after a colon?)

Cheers.