Holiday Boycott Thoughts

I see a lot of people posting various memes on social media about not shopping on Thanksgiving or Black Friday, because "everybody deserves a holiday". That's a great sentiment. But I propose a bit more thought be put into it.

If you stop there, you're just doing it halfway. If you won't shop at Sear's, Macy's or Wal Mart because those people deserve their holiday, I hope you don't plan on watching football, either. For every over-paid athlete on the field, how many food vendors, parking lot attendants, janitors, security guards and maintenance people are working that day? Isn't it a bit hypocritical to support the NFL making people work on a holiday while protesting retail stores doing the same thing?

Boycott the NFL on Thanksgiving weekend! College football, too, while we're at it.

Religious Discrimination or Racial Discrimination In Disguise?

I just find it odd that when a rogue, extremist Muslim group killed around 3,000 people, now mainstream America hates all Muslims, and doesn’t trust any of them, even those who have been in this country for generations, even those who have served in the military.

Yet, tens of thousands of children around the world have been molested by priests of the Holy Roman Catholic Church.That’s tens, if not dozens  of times more lives ruined than those killed on 9-11. Sure, you could say at least they weren’t killed. But their lives were wrecked, and they were left emotionally and psychologically scarred. Not by an extremist group, either; this is as mainstream Christian as you can get. Not only have these priests for the most part not been disciplined by the church, in most cases the Vatican pays for their legal defense, and even helps them flee the countries they live in if necessary. Again, not a splinter group, not rogues, not “extremists” - mainstream Catholic priests, supported by the Vatican. Bear in mind that if you’re Catholic, and you tithe, you’ve contributed to the legal defense of child molesters. Think about that for a minute.


Anyway, people get irate about Muslims wanting to build a mosque pretty much anywhere, but don’t give it a second thought when they see a priest. (Personally, I don’t want my kids around a priest, and I’d be tempted to organize a protest against proposed construction of a Catholic church near a daycare center or elementary school.)

Why is that? I think a lot of it is because people fear what is different. They’re comfortable with Christianity and white people. They’ve gotten used to being around Hispanic, black and Asian people. Arabs are still “foreign” in a lot of folks’ eyes. It’s easier to hate what’s different. If they acknowledge just how embedded child molestation is in the priesthood, they’d be forced to reexamine their own beliefs and their own Christianity. But they don’t want to be seen as racists, so they focus their rhetoric on Muslims, not Arabs.

Of course, I could write an entire post about the atrocities that are committed and shrugged off in the name of Islam, too, but at the moment, I’m just pointing out the hypocrisy.

I’ll leave you with a Christian scripture to ponder:
Matthew 7:5:

Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye: and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brothers eye.

Miley Cyrus and The MTV Awards Fiasco

You know, I actually feel kind of bad for her. Watch her face and her movements. There’s no grace, no fluidity, no confidence. It’s like she got pushed into doing that…. that....

well, whatever the hell that was.

Seriously. Her face looks like she’s concentrating more than necessary for something that should’ve been well rehearsed. Like it was a last minute change, or something she wasn’t comfortable with.
And the dancing. It looks very jerky. Not at all skilled or planned. Again; unrehearsed.

I can’t help but wonder if it was something that somebody pressured her into doing, going for ratings and following the idea that scandal is good, because “there’s no such thing as bad press”.

And if she did do it intentionally, then I feel sorry for her that she really thought it was necessary for her career or that she’s just become that addicted to attention.

I see yet another child star headed for drug addiction and where-are-they-now jokes.

It’s easy to bash, but remember - all these people are just that. People.

Back In The Game

It's been a long time since I posted anything.


To be honest, my mind and motivation have been kind of lost for months. I started the year off dealing with both breaking up with Baby Mama and losing my job of fifteen years.

She and I finally had to admit to ourselves that, while sometimes opposites may attract, they don't necessarily live in harmony happily ever after.

The store I worked for was closed by the company due to a breakdown in lease renegotiation, and there were no open positions anywhere in the district for full timers, so the whole management team was left swinging in the breeze. Well, that's kind of harsh. They actually did provide us with a very generous severance package (and I'm not saying that sarcastically).

So, at the end of January, I found myself unemployed, moving out of the house where my Baby Girl lived, and wondering what the hell was next.

I started what I thought was going to be a dream job. I've ridden for well over twenty years, so working at a motorcycle dealership should be an awesome gig, huh? Maybe for some people. Whatever your passion is; motorcycles, cooking, photography, whatever, be very careful and think it through very well before making a living at it. There's more than even odds that you'll just wind up turning your former passion into your daily grind. Some can make it work, and work well. I'd say the vast majority don't. Then, on top of that, my sales weren't up to par, so they let me go a couple of months ago, and I had to job hunt again.

Then, Baby Mama decided she needed to move from Austin back to Atlanta. She has her reasons, and I know they're valid, but that doesn't make it easier for me to accept that I now have two children who live 1,000 miles apart. I respect her reasons, and I understand them, but there's still a part of me that wants to be fucking pissed off and to resent her. I don't; but still...

So, anyway, it's been a hell of a year for me. My inspiration to write left, and even at times when I felt inspired, I just didn't have the motivation to do it. But now it's come back. I don't know how often I'll write, but
I'm.
Going.
To.
Write.

A couple of bright spots:

Baby Mama and I both have iPhones - thank God for Face Time. I get to talk to Baby Girl face to face.



I just started working at one of the companies I really wanted to get with. A big corporation with competitive pay and good benefits, and they're national, so when the Boy Child graduates from high school in a few years, I can move to Georgia to be near Baby Girl, and it will just be a transfer with the same company, instead of starting the job search all over.


I've been invited to occasionally contribute to a couple of websites. It doesn't pay, but it's inspired me to start writing again, plus I know that my stuff will be read by more people than the small number who follow my personal blogs. Check out www.youmotorcycle.com and bikerMetric.


So, yeah. I'm back. And I'm still not always right, but I'm still always pretty damn close. And when you're dealing with horseshoes and hand grenades, close counts, y'all.

I Wonder...

...if anyone missed me here?

I’ve been too tired, burned out, and over-worked to write the last few months. The hours were too long at the dealership, and the commissions were too little. I did learn a lesson, though. A couple, actually. One: I am NOT cut out for commission sales. I need a predictable income; I need to know that if I show up and do my job, that my income isn’t based on how charming I was or on the whims of customers. Two: Be wary of turning your passion into your work. Your passion risks becoming just a fucking job. Luckily I got out before motorcycles lost their attraction for me.


Yes, I was let go from the dealership Saturday night. I totally understand. They knew I was looking for another job, and even though I tried to do my best, I’m sure my efforts weren’t really 100%. My numbers just weren’t there. No hard feelings toward me from them, or from me toward them. Business is business, right? The boss was telling me he hated having to do it, that it sucked, etc. I told him I’d been in his spot before (I was in retail management for over a decade), and I completely understood.



Anyhow, if anyone did notice my absence, know that I’m back. I have some posts in mind.


Also, I’ve been invited to write occasional posts for publication on www.youmotorcycle.com and www.bikermetric.com. I should have my first pieces ready sometime this week, so keep an eye on those sites. I’m also going to try to motivate myself to work on my other blog more regularly now: http://twowheeledobsession.blogspot.com/

So You Want To Date My Daughter?

(sent to me by a friend via Facebook)

If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Remove your hat when entering my humble abode. I may think you have something terrible under it and will do my best to exterminate it quickly, efficiently, and fatally.

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist. I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me. Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Chu Lai. When my Agent Orange or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home.

As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car.

There is no need for you to come inside.

The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

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...