Our Letter To The American People

Our Letter To The American People

Dental Prosthesis

It’s been an odd afternoon and evening.

I had teeth added, then hair removed.

The haircut is inconsequential, really. The teeth are the important part. Over the last two decades, my teeth have been steadily degenerating. Decaying, abscessing, hurting, being pulled, and in some cases falling out on their own. Luckily, only one of the ones missing was visible, and only if I smiled really big.

Last year, I began the process of repair and damage control. I had a filling done and several stubs of molars removed. Just when it was time to start the fitting process for partial plates, I found out my dental insurance had paid out the maximum for the year. So I’ve been chewing without the aid of molars for a year now. Apparently, through my employer, I have really great medical insurance, but very mediocre dental insurance. Which is part of the reason I’d put off dental care for so long. A lot has been paid out of pocket, but it’s become necessary. At any rate, I’m getting it finished now.

After several “fitting” sessions, I brought my new teeth home with me today. I love the fact that I’m going to (eventually) chew normally again, and that I’ll look somewhat “normal”. Well, as normal as I get, anyway. I understand that it’s going to feel odd, because I’ve gone years with most of those teeth missing, and now it feels like there’s something in my mouth. I understand that’s going to make me talk funny for a couple of days. (Please: hold all the Daffy Duck jokes….)


Here’s the odd thing: when I chew with my teeth, I can feel the pressure. I know teeth don’t have sensation, but maybe it’s vibration or pressure transferred to the root nerve or something. The artificial teeth, however, are totally freaking weird. They push down on the food and there’s just this odd, disjointed pressure on the gums. It’s a completely different feeling from “normal” tooth sensation. It’s kind of how I imagine it feels to walk on a prosthesis. You wouldn’t have normal sensory input from the foot, ankle, calf, and knee. You’d just feel pressure on the bottom of what’s left of your leg, and that’s how you’d know weight had been transferred to your artificial foot.

Only in my case, food gets trapped under my prosthesis.

Odd, disjointed, detached from my food. Yeah, this is going to take some getting used to……






(Please don’t misconstrue my analogy of the prosthetic leg to mean that I think losing teeth is ANYWHERE NEAR losing a leg. It’s just a literary comparison to illustrate my initial impression; not a belief that they’re equal in any way.)

My Daughter, Steve

The Other Half was pregnant, and we were excited about the new baby coming. Like all expectant parents, we had that running conversation that gets dropped, then picked back up uncountable times over the course of nine months: What do we name our child?

Picture the scene: The Boy Child (eleven years old at the time) was up for the weekend. We were all hanging out in the pool, and Other Half and I picked up said conversation once again, just playing a sort of verbal tennis, lobbing suggested names back and forth. She wasn't even showing yet - we had no idea if we were going to have a son or daughter at this time.

As we're bouncing names off each other, out of the blue Boy Child hollers out "Steve!"

Me: Huh?

Boy Child: Steve. For the baby. Steeeeeve!!!

Me: Son, you do realize we're talking about names for girls, right?

Boy Child (Big, mischievous grin plastered on his face): Uh huh. STEEEEEEEEEVVVE!!!!

At which point, I called him some silly name or other, then picked him up and threw him toward deeper water. Good thing we were in the pool, eh?

From that point on, no matter what name mama and I were thinking of, to The Boy Child, his soon-to-be brother or sister's name was already Steve. Even when we found out we were having a girl, he insisted on referring to his expected sister as Steve.

Even now, after she's been in the world for over a year and a half (Wow! Has it been that long already?), I think he may have referred to her by her actual name once or twice.

She's simply "Steve" to him.

And you know what? I  hope she always will be. It's their thing, and I really hope they can hold onto it for life.

Their first meeting.

Still?

Do people really, truly still fall for this? I got the following email. I have two comments:

1. Just because it says Ghana, did the senders really think people wouldn’t see it as the Nigerian email scam? How stupid. At least TRY to be original…
2. I’ve had emails from friends get filtered into the spam folder, so how the hell did this make it past the filter and into my inbox? Way to go, Yahoo. Way to go.

Here’s the text of the email:

Dear Future Partner,

It is my wish to select you among Billions of People around the World to partner with us on this profit-oriented transaction that will better our lives if properly handled and trust this offer may interest you as you read below.

I am representing the Number One Citizen of Republic of Ghana to source for a reliable person or persons that can work with us to evacuate a cash sum of US$97.3million that was concealed in a 6 Trunk Boxes and deposited with G4S Securities in Ghana. If you are interested to collaborate with us in this very transaction, we shall offer you 40% of the aforementioned funds as your benefits. Kindly send via email your Private Telephone Numbers for discussion of this offer in full details while the Transaction Road Map will be send to your email for careful study.

Kind Regards.
Dr. Yerimeh Konteh

WTH, GOP?

Wow. “You don’t get pregnant from legitimate rape”, “You don’t get AIDS from heterosexual intercourse”, “AIDS came from having sex with monkeys”.


What the hell, Republican Party? It sounds like we’re right back in 1982, believing a bunch of total horseshit that has since been proven WRONG.


I thought election year was the time to try to look smart. The time to try to appeal to the swing voters, and those in the center. Is the GOP trying to lose elections? Or just looking to see how far they can push backward thinking?


Next, they’ll be telling us that a woman’s place is in the home (doing what her husband tells her), and that “separate but equal” is a good thing.

Freedom OF Religion is Freedom FROM Religion

They should’ve said something in the Constitution of the United States establishing a separation between Church and State. Oh, that’sright!They did:


Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion,

or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Motorcycle Boots For Sale

I'm trying to sell a pair of boots, slightly worn. I've had them about a year and a half, but they're barely broken in.

These boots are the Combat Lite Touring boots sold by Aerostitch/Rider Wearhouse. Here's a link to the catalog entry on their website: http://www.aerostich.com/clothing/footwear/combat-touring-boots/aerostich-combat-lite-boots.html

Check them out, and read the user/customer reviews.

You can see from the site that these boots are priced at $297.00. They're made of very thick, sturdy leather, using as few pieces as possible to limit the amount of stitching required. This results in a sturdier boot, since the stitching would be the structural weak point. The few seams and thick leather combine to make these boots very water resistant. Aerostitch makes no claims that they're water proof, but if you read through the customer reviews, you'll see that with a little oil or other leather treatment, they become waterproof. In my limited experience, I'll agree that they are very sturdy, and definitely water resistant. I haven't had occasion to wear them in anything more than a light shower, but my feet stayed completely dry.

I'm selling these boots because they're just too much boot for my needs. They're fairly heavy, they're stiff, and they chafe my heel. Part of the reason for this is that I have issues with finding footwear that fits me properly in the first place – heel slippage is common. So I wouldn't hold it against the boot. Also, my riding is done on streets, highways, and back roads. I commute by motorcycle, so I also need to stand on a concrete floor for 8 – 10 hours a day. I was attracted to the boots because of the water resistance. I used to have “daily wear” boots, and a pair of waterproof touring boots (that just weren't comfortable for daily wear), but I wore out the waterproof ones, so I thought with these I'd get two in one. But they're really designed for the adventure touring rider. Someone who'll ride until the pavement stops, then ride cross country.

These boots are excellent for the adventure rider. The thick leather will protect from underbrush and rocks thrown up by the front tire. They have speed laces (I had to replace the laces, because I trimmed them too short, but this doesn't affect the "speed"), and a buckle on the outside at the ankle to keep them securely on your feet. The water resistance part is nice, too. They also have a nice wedge sole for traction.

There is a little wear. You can see where folds/creases have formed from being worn, which is of course perfectly normal for leather boots. There are some scuffs on the toes, especially the shifter toe. There's minimal wear on the soles.

The boots are made by Sidi exclusively for Aerostitch, so you can't get them anywhere else. They should last you years, maybe the rest of your life. Aerostitch sells replacement laces, buckles and soles.

These are labeled European size 43, but I've looked at more than one conversion chart online, and there doesn't seem to be a lot consistency in the conversions. Looking in the print catalog, I probably ordered a size 9. I just bought a pair of Red Wings work boots that are size 8 ½, though, so there may be a problem with the conversion. My problem is that I tend to fall between sizes, especially with shoes made in Europe or the UK. I had a pair of Dr Martin's that never fit me exactly right, either.

I'm asking $200.00, because really, these should last a lifetime. The price includes shipping UPS. If you have a Post Office Box, we'll negotiate from there. I'd rather not ship internationally, but if you're willing to negotiate shipping costs, we can discuss it.

If you're interested in the boots, contact me through this blog, and we'll exchange email addresses and go from there.

You Know You've Spent Too Much Time On Facebook When:

1. You're reading an article in a print magazine/newspaper and you try to click on the picture to make it bigger.
2. You look for the “Share” button at the end of that article.
3. You read an email, and don't have a full reply in mind, but want to let the sender know you've read it, so you try to click “Like”.
4. When you run into an old friend you haven't seen in a while, instead of shaking their hand or hugging them, you poke them.
5. You don't understand why you got arrested for vandalism. You were just posting on your friend's wall.
6. There are hundreds of people you've never met that you refer to as “friends”.
7. You complain when things get rearranged, even though they're free.
8. You have no intention of ever stopping using the free product/service.
9. You dread the next “update”.
10. You try to tag pictures in your old photo albums.
11. You find yourself smugly convinced that everyone is wrong and that it's up to you to set them straight.
    
    
    
    
    (Yes, I've been guilty of every one of these...)

Ring, Ring

I’m 43 years old. I spent the summer I was 20 sailing the Persian Gulf in the Navy. My arms are covered in tattoos. I’m an international officer in a three-piece-patch Motorcycle Club that I’ve belonged to for twenty years. But when my 18 month old daughter handed me a toy phone today, I answered it. And I don’t know who was on the other end, but you can bet your ass we had a nice little chat.

In Memorium, Nearly Twenty Years Later

Let me tell you about a brother named Jingles. His given name was Mark McNeal, but nobody, not even his wife, called him Mark. He was Jingles.

He had served in Viet Nam on a helicopter crew. There’s a belief that if a bell is dedicated to someone, then every time you hear that bell, a piece of them is with you. He got the name from wearing a bell for every fellow crew member he’d lost in that war. There were thirteen of them. I’m sure he made quite a sound walking around with all those bells jingling and jangling, but sadly, by the time I’d met him, his walking days were over.

Jingles had previously ridden with the Viet Nam Vets MC, but had left over several philosophical disagreements. One of those was that his wife, who rode her own bike, wasn’t allowed to ride in the pack. Of course, that’s not the case with the Gypsies. He and his wife had joined Gypsy long before me, and were well known throughout the club by the time I came around.

Also, by the time I came around, Jingles had had a lot of serious medical trouble. Between Agent Orange and Diabetes, he just couldn’t catch a break. When I met him, he was riding a wheelchair, but had to be pushed because he couldn’t see anything more than shapes and lights.

A story to emphasize how attached he was to his road name: His wife told me about a time he was in the VA hospital for some sort of treatment or procedure or surgery. (Damn my memory, I can’t remember the specifics, but it’s been twenty years…). Anyway, while there, and not yet under sedation, he started having a flashback. He thought he’d been taken prisoner in Viet Nam, so he was fighting the medical people. Well, all the medical staff starts yelling, trying to calm him down. Funny thing about yelling at people: it doesn’t usually calm them. Also, they kept calling him “McNeal”, which of course is what he was called in the Army. Needless to say, this didn’t really help end the flashback. His wife stepped in and hollered “Jingles! Cut the shit!” At the name “Jingles”, he immediately relaxed, back in the present reality.

At the time I was prospecting, I was on a bit of a gin kick. Apparently, Jingles liked gin, too, but wasn’t supposed to drink. Once in a while, he’d lean over toward me and ask “Is Phyllis looking?” I’d say no, and he’d say “Quick! Hand me your bottle before she sees!” I knew it wasn’t good for him, but I figured how bad could one shot every once in a while be? Especially when he seemed to enjoy it so much.

He had been a Harley mechanic before he lost his sight. One of the members of the chapter I prospected for told me about rebuilding his bike in Jingles’ driveway. Even though he was already blind, Jingles told him step by step what to do, down to saying things like “now look to your left and take off that bolt”, even though he couldn’t see the bike being worked on. Once, he and I were sitting in our camp during the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre rally, when a bike I’d never seen pulled up. Jingles called it – Ironhead Sporty, and he called the year, only missing it by one.

Just.
From.
The.
Sound.

Impressive.

Once Jingles had to stop riding, his wife mothballed her FXR and a special sidecar was built to attach to his FHL and she took over pilot duties. The back of the sidecar was a ramp on a hinge. You lowered it to roll the chair in or out, then it locked into the up position. There were clamps in the floor of the sidehack to lock the wheels in place in the sidecar.

Blind. Wheelchair bound. Dialysis every few hours. Most people would crawl into a hole of self pity and wallow there the rest of their lives. But Jingles made more runs and rallies in that wheelchair than most healthy people made on their healthy legs riding their comfy dressers. I remember showing up at a poker run in January and it was 29 degrees (I knew because I’d just passed a bank with a thermometer). Jingles and wife were there. He was in a leather jacket and chaps like the rest of us, with a blanket thrown over his legs. And yes – he made the entire poker run.

Jingles was well known and very respected throughout the biker community. When he passed, there were Gypsies who traveled all the way to San Antonio from Oklahoma and even New Mexico, to see him off. Many other clubs attended as well. There was even a write up in Easy Riders magazine about it. There were so many bikes, and so many cars behind the bikes in the procession, that after a second, graveside service was performed, his casket had already been lowered into the ground before all the cars were even parked.

I spent a lot of time with Jingles while I prospected. He taught me a lot about club life and motorcycles. By his example, more than anything he ever said or did, he taught me that you can have a good time even when everything around you tells you you can’t.


RIP GBNF

Rest In Peace, my brother, you are Gone But Never Forgotten.

Quick Efficient Warranty Work

No, this isn’t a short story or any kind of fiction. It’s true, and it’s good to know that businesses still honor their word.

I own a Kershaw Leek assisted open pocket knife. A few weeks ago, the assisted opening function stopped working. Somebody told me they have a lifetime warranty. I didn’t realize that, so I looked up on their website how to handle warranty returns.

They have a form to download, print out and fill in. I did so, and sent the knife off. UPS picked it up June 29th from my work. Today is July 20th, and UPS delivered the repaired knife to my house. Awesome. They even restored the factory edge that makes a new razor blade seem dull.

I’ve had two multi tools replaced under lifetime warranty in the past (Gerber Multi-Plier and Buck X-Tract). Both were timely, no questions asked replacements, which is great. But the neat thing here is that Kershaw repaired my knife. It still has all the worn spots, nicks in the finish, scratches, etc, from me using it. It’s kinda cool that I got my knife back, good as new, instead of a sterile, new replacement.

Thanks, Kershaw!

Quitters Do Win!

Today marks 1096 days (three years, one was a leap year) since my last cigarette! Happy Birthday to my lungs!

The Mark Of A Good Meal

Tonight, the Other Half made one of (if not the) my favorite meals. Jerk shrimp, black beans cooked with onions and cilantro, and cucumber salad.


When you find yourself missing a meal hours later as if it's a friend who's gone away, that, my friends, is the mark of a damn fine meal.

Jus' Sayin'

If you can't take the heat, stay out of the Texas...

Attention Custom Bike Builders and/or Riders

I follow several bike blogs, and see a lot of custom stuff. Most good, some not so good. Some just not my taste, but probably good anyway.

Then, there are some real head-scratchers. Things that make ya go "Huh?"

Can someone please tell me what the current fascination is with the narrow-ass handlebars? Some of them aren't as wide as an old school peanut gas tank. It doesn't look like you'd have much leverage, and if you have any shoulders at all, it just seems like you're gonna look like you're grabbing hold of a pogo stick when you ride.


Seriously. Someone please explain it to me.

New Me At 43 May Update

... a bit late, eh?

Sadly, I fell flat on ALL fronts this month. However, my parents were just here for a visit. What does this have to do with it, you ask? I'm glad you asked.

See, my dad was always a bit "round" in the middle, and I teased him about it most of my life. Not in a mean way; just jokingly.

Well, it's backfired. No, I didn't find out he'd been taking it wrong and I'd been hurting his feelings all this time. It backfired in that he's lost weight. And. I. Now. Outweigh. Him.

Only, he's a few inches taller than me, which makes my fat that much worse.

So, the upside is that I have new motivation. And if I'm gonna be motivated with the weight loss, dammit, I can do the same with the rest of it.

Stay tuned. I may even not post Junes' update in such a procrastinatory fashion.






Yes, I made that word up. Sue me.

Happy National Bourbon Day

In honor of National Bourbon Day, which I just found out about today (thanks, Banyon), I'm issuing a rare re-blog.

I took this from: http://chuckcowdery.blogspot.com/2009/12/favorite-whiskey-myths-debunked.html and none of it is to be believed to be my original work.

Happy Bourbon Day, y'all! Celebrate with the original, all-American spirit.

Favorite whiskey myths debunked.

All of the following statements are false, although many of them are widely believed. (The statements in parens are true.)

Bourbon whiskey must be made in Kentucky. (Bourbon may be made anywhere in the United States.)

Kentucky is the only state legally allowed to put its name on a bourbon label. (No such law or rule exists.)

To be called bourbon, a whiskey must be aged at least two years. (Two years is the requirement for straight bourbon. Although the rules say bourbon must be aged in new charred oak barrels, they don't say for how long.)

Jack Daniel’s cannot be called bourbon. (Not true. Its owners just prefer to call it Tennessee whiskey.)

A bourbon mash must be at least 51 percent corn and not more than 80 percent corn. (The 51 percent floor is right but there is no ceiling. The difference between bourbon and corn whiskey depends on the type of barrel used.)

Sour mash whiskey tastes sour. (Sour mash is a technique for keeping whiskey mash at the ideal pH from batch to batch. It does make the mash taste sour, but not the whiskey.)

Only some American whiskeys are sour mash whiskeys. (Although not every maker puts the words 'sour mash' on the label, they all use the sour mash method.)

Whiskey made in a pot still is superior to whiskey made in a column still. (The two types of still are different, but in the end what they do is the same.)

Canadian whisky contains neutral spirits. (It doesn’t. The base whiskey in Canadian is the same as in blended scotch, nearly neutral but technically whiskey. The base spirit in American blends is neutral spirit, i.e., vodka.)

There is some reason why Scottish distillers spell their spirit whisky while most Americans spell theirs whiskey. (No reason. Whiskey is just one of hundreds of words that Americans and Brits spell differently. The spelling difference means nothing.)

Moonshine is un-aged corn whiskey. (Moonshine is any distilled spirit made illegally. Most of it is made from sugar, making it rum.)

The God Flow Chart

(I didn't create this chart. I downloaded it from tumblr. I would credit the creator of it if I knew who it was. Thank you)

Veteran or Ex Military?

Ever notice how two terms can mean the exact same thing, but sound different?

In movies and on TV, whenever someone is referred to as “ex military”, it’s done in a way to make him (or her, but almost always him in Hollywood) sound like an outcast; definitely dangerous, most likely armed, and possibly even sinister.

On the other hand, the word veteran almost always sounds like the hero. Ready to save the day. Or, he could just be the old guy in the nursing home.


So there you go. The shifty guy with the conspiracy theories and the hidden cache of weapons is “ex military”. Your grandpa is a “veteran”.

Why the hell is that?

You Got a License For That Marriage?

So, my mind just wanders off into "What if...?"  territory a lot. The last couple of days, here's what I've been wondering.

Several states have amended their constitutions or enacted laws saying that they will not only not allow homosexual marriages or civil unions, but also that they won't recognize such marriages performed in other states.

Are we really at that point? Where a state tells the citizenry of another state "We don't agree with your system of marriage licensing, and we won't acknowledge your marriage"?

If so, then what's to stop a retaliation? For example, Massachusetts could now say "Fine. We also won't recognize any marriage performed in North Carolina as valid in our state, so if you marry in NC and move here, you won't be allowed to visit your 'life partner' in Intensive Care or make critical medical decisions for him/her in a crisis."

And then, where does it end? Refusing insurance bought in other states? Not acknowledging driver's licenses from other states? Invalidating birth certificates? High school diplomas?


All this stems from imposing religion onto law, backed up by intentional ignorance, and bigotry.