Denise and I took Dad out to eat Sunday night.

As I told you yesterday, Dad called my house Sunday afternoon, lookin' to see if I was plannin' to come over and take him out to eat. Mom wasn't plannin' to cook, so she was gonna have to take him somewhere. he asked her about whether I was comin' to get him and she dialed the number for him. I think also he was confused and thought it was already Friday again. That's the way things are goin' these days.

Anyway, I asked Denise if she wanted to go. She said "Of course", and so a plan came together quickly. I headed south from Gatesville, where I'd been pickin' up my new toy, stopping in Killeen long enough to change shirts and wash up, and then we headed over to get the old dude.

At one point, as we drove to the Chinese food place, I handed Denise the camera and asked her to see if she could get some shots from the back seat. I've turned into SUCH a camera whore.



I tell ya, I LOVE my little car. It isn't that blue GT500 that I lust for but it's sporty enough and get's 28 to 30 MPGs. In a day when gas is getting to $3.20 a gallon and will probably get to $4 by the end of the summer, I think I'm better off goin' to work every day in this one. One of these days I'll be in a position to get an extra four-wheeled toy for the weekends, and the Ford folks may be happy to see me.



Anyway, I like to drive the Solara like it's a GT500 much of the time. Too many tickets will attest to that. That's when dad grabs for the hand hold and starts to tell me to slow down. He cracked Denise up at one point sayin' "You'd a made a great pilot son.", as I made a NASCAR move, darting by one truck and then out in front of another minivan that was piddlin' along. I tell ya, I can't STAND drivers who piddle along! A lot of time Denise wishes there were a break peddle on the passenger side too. I just take a drag on my cigar, blow the smoke up through the sun roof and tell her "Hold it together baby. Hold it together."

Of course, this is the same man who regaled me with stories in my youth of him drivin' his Dad along these very same roads back in the late 1950s in his little Austin Healey, with his dad holdin' on for dear life and tellin' him to slow down. The worm turns.



At some point I got this shot of Dad's eye's getting wide. Cracked me up when I got home and saw it on the computer. Not sure what he was lookin' at, or if it was my drivin', or what.

Anyway, we took him to Dynasty for another big buffet meal but he'd already forgotten about the last one. He kept askin' me how my week had been, like it was Friday, until I told him it was Sunday.

The food was great, again, and then the after-dinner tipple at the house was fun and tasty, with little glasses of Chateaus Monet goin' around. We got Mom a new bottle and a few for ourselves, so we could share with visitors. Of course, no one visits, so we'll probably have to drink it all ourselves. SUCH a pity.

After that, Denise and I went to the local Mall and saw 10,000 B.C. at the late showing. It turned out to be pretty cool, though it drives me up the wall to have movies mess up history like this. I mean, history is so friggin' cool all by itself. Why do they always get shit wrong?

First of all, by then hunters had much better technology than the stuff they show in the movie. They make the main characters look like friggin' Neanderthals, wrapped in skins and crap, and tossin' bone tipped spears. Most folks agree that by then the hunters were using something called an Atlatl, or a bow and arrow.

Most of the critters you see in the flick were extinct by 10,000 B.C. (or B.C.E., as they say now - Before the Common Era). Of course, I love anything with with Mammoths in it. I have a special affinity with other large hairy things that are mostly gentle, but occasionally roused to violence.

The coolest critters they show will blow you away, and you'll be thinkin' "Naaaa, those couldn't have existed.", but they did. And they may have preyed on people, just like in the movie. Think of a Velociraptor with many more feathers and stubby wings.

They make fleeting references to Atlantis and the idea that the Pyramids and the Sphinx were originally built by some very early mystery culture. They play up the old, now defunct idea that these wonderful monuments were built by slaves. They weren't. There's a very brief view of the Sphinx with a lions head. The theory is that the Egyptians took that much older statue and a Pharaoh replaced the lions head with his own. Who knows? I don't think any serious folks take that, well, seriously.

I know, I hear you sayin' "FHB, you've got to suspend disbelief. It's just a movie!" Yea, I know, but I had to do it SO OFTEN. I still liked it though. It's cool, and worth seein'.

Well, you guys have a great Tuesday, and a great hump day tomorrow. Cheers.

Gettin' my new toy.

First off, while I was drivin' onto the base Friday to get to my 11:30 class, I drove past some of the cavalry reenactors who were out with their gear and horses.



I see these guys now and then, and it's always a treat. They are serving soldiers who are assigned to this duty, sort of like an honor guard. They take part in all sorts of parades and ceremonies, keeping the lore and gear of the old 19th century cavalry alive.

Now, I went up to Gatesville Sunday to pick up my newest toy. Got up there at about 3PM, finding my buddy Dave and his dog "Red" sittin’ on the front porch, with my gun in the box on the table.

Red's a great dog. Totally fierce looking, but totally gentle. She always follows us out to Dave's back 40 when we go out there to shoot, but she hates the noise, sometimes shaking and drooling in fright.

At one point I sat down on the floor there on his front poch and she curled up in my lap. She’s a sweetie.

The gun turned out even better than I thought it would be. The stock shows a bit of wear and tear, but nothing like it could be, considering it's history. It turns out to have an M-2 stock, with a groove on the left side where a selector switch would have been. The upper hand guard is probably original, but who knows.

I was a happy camper. Dave added the repro sling, and the clip is one I picked up at a gun show months ago in preparation for this day. Now I need a few more clips and a bayonet, and the package will be complete.

Here’s Dave and his carbine. I think he’s got one of everything, but he’s talked himself into ordering yet another carbine.

At one point I took three rounds and went around the side of his place and put two of them in the “Y” of a young Live Oak from about 50 yards. I was happy with the accuracy of it, and the noise and slight kick of the .30 rounds. I’d never shot a Carbine before. I ordered 250 rds of .30 from the Sportsman’s Guide last week. By the time it gets here I’ll be ready to take this puppy back up to Dave's place, or out to my property to do some plinkin’.

Just before I left, Red caught sight of a squirrel hoppin’ from one tree to another. Dave said “Red, squirrel!”, and those ears popped up. Next thing we knew she’d jetted off like a torpedo, only to be frustrated as the little critter jumped to the top of another little Live Oak.



Before going home we played a few games on his old, 1930s vintage pool table. It's usually covered with stuff (I've noticed that about a lot of pool tables in a lot of houses I've been in)., but this time it was set up to play, so we did. He lost the first game by knockin' in the 8 ball early, and then won the second game. I was continually frustrated and my shots, seein' the balls curve on the old table so that I'd miss my mark. I guess he's used to it though, or was just lucky.

Anyway, we had a great time, and then I headed home. Dad called my house while I was up there and Denise relayed the call to me tellin' me that Dad was trollin' for a better dinner option again. I called mom and found out that she wasn't plannin' to cook for him, so I told them that Denise and I would drive over and get him and take him back to the Chinese food place again. It was another good time. I'll post about that tomorrow.

Anyway, I'm totally happy with the carbine, but now I've got to get the steamer out from wherever I've put it and see if I can get off the last bits of cosmoline. It should be easy. One of these days I'll post close-up shot of it so you can see the details.

Well, I hope everyone had a great weekend, and has a great Monday. It's raining and cool here, but you know I love that sort of weather. You guys endure whatever weather you have, and we'll talk again later. Cheers.

Anti-war crazies makin' life hard for soldiers... Again!

Saw this this morning morning in the news.

A member of the military walks into a military recruitment center in Peterborough, England, Friday March 7, 2008. Commanders of a nearby British air base have advised personnel not to wear their uniforms in the town because of verbal abuse from opponents of operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Ministry of Defense confirmed Friday that personnel at the Wittering air base, 90 miles (145 kilometers) north of London, have been advised to wear civilian clothes when they are in the cathedral city of Peterborough. (AP Photo/Matt Dunham).

Ain't it a shame, and doesn't it remind you again of Vietnam. My folks heard the same thing when we lived in England during that war. Dad was told not to wear his uniform to London for fear of what some "peace loving" protester might do to him.



I tell ya, I would have loved to have seen some bastard try to give him shit back then. Growin' up with three brothers, including an older bro who was an even bigger asshole than my dad, taught him a thing or two. We couldn't be "Ugly Americans" though, so he wore civvies whenever we went to town.

I hate to think of that same sort of crap goin' on now, but I think some of the anti-war folks have finally snapped. Their gutless leaders have told them for years that they were gonna end the war and they haven't, so now some bastard is blowin' stuff up in New York, and who knows what else will happen.

They need to get their asses kicked.

Holy shit, it actually snowed!

Well, we got a dusting of light snow over night. It came down after we hit the sack at midnight or 1 AM, but it sure was purdy when I opened the garage door this mornin'.



I scraped what little ice had accumulated off Denise's windows and got the car started and warmed up for her while I put the garbage can out on the street to get picked up. Friday ritual that.

I took this shot of the sunrise as I jetted off to the stop-n-rob to get my regular breakfast of corn dogs and Dew. The sun had come out and warmed the temps up to about 45 degrees, melting all the snow away, by the time I drove home from Florence at 10 AM. It was nice while it lasted.

I got a report and a picture from Dave Thursday concerning my new M-1 carbine. He found a picture on the CMPs web site that he says is the spitting image of my gun. Check it out.



Dave's been putterin' around with it, cleanin' much of the cosmoline off of it, but he says it still needs a LOT of work. Dave said I'd probably need to just hit it with a wire brush or somethin'. If anyone has any ideas about gettin' that shit off, I'd appreciate it.

It's apparently got a pretty new, lighter colored wooden stock with a darker hand guard, just as you see above. He says the metal and wood are in great shape, and he's identified the origins of many of the component parts.

He says the barrel and action are Winchester, the operating slide was made by IBM, and the Trigger housing is made by National Cash Register. Based on the serial number he thinks it was manufactured in late 1943. The mix match of parts comes from the soldiers mixing up the interchangeable parts when they disassembled and cleaned the guns in the field.

In the war, no one took the care to keep the original parts together in each gun, so virtually all the guns you'd get today are in this sort of condition. Another story tells me that the parts got mixed up in the armories after the war when the guns were taken apart, refurbished, and then set aside in storage so they could be distributed to our various allies or clients during the years from then to now.

This particular rifle is one of a large batch that was just returned to us from Italy. If the Italians has taken it out of the cosmoline and used it they would have stamped it with the letters F.A.T. (no clue what that stands for - an acronym signifying their ownership and certification of the rifle). How funny would it be if ol' Fat got himself a carbine with "FAT" stamped on the butt? This one apparently has no such stamp. Dave thinks that means it was given to the Italians many years ago and has been sitting in their armory since then, untouched.

I told him I didn't really mind some wear and tear on the stock, and don't really care about the mix match of parts. To me, it speaks of the history of the gun. The cool thing about havin' it is thinkin' about where the gun has been and who may have used it in one conflict or another. If only it could talk, what a story it would tell.

I told him so long as it shoots nice I don't really care what it looks like. Then he said "Oh, it shoots great. I put three rounds through it this mornin'." I looked up at him and said "YOU BASTARD!", and we both laughed our asses off.

He told me he was thinkin' "Do I wanna wait till Sunday to see how this thing shoots? Naaaa!" He didn't even wait and let me pull the trigger first on my own gun! Well hell, let that be his reward for being such a great friend and getting me such cool toys through his connections with the CMP.

As I told you before, Mom and Denise are going to get their palms read today at about 3 PM. The whole thing cracks me up. She'll pay so much for a palm reading, and then the cost goes up. A little more for a crystal ball, and then a chunk more for the tarot cards. I feel like tellin' her if she has a huge desire to throw her money away, throw it at me. What a bunch of ridiculous bullshit!

Anyway, while they get their rocks off with the hokus pokus, I'll be across town gettin' my tires balanced and rotated. It's way overdue. Then, weather permitting, while the ladies go out to eat somewhere else, Dad and I will hit golf balls and eat Chinese food.

Maybe then Denise and I will hook back up and see a flick. We'd both still like to see the new Rambo movie, which I think is still playin' at the local multiplex. Someone out at work told Denise it was great. He'd seen it twice. I tell ya, I LOVED the first Rambo, and the third when he's in Afghanistan, but I'm not sire if I want to see Stallone stumbling around in that stringy hair again. He should have gone in the direction of Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. Bald, with some cool hill tribe tattoos or somethin'. Now THAT would have been cool.

Well, you guys stay warm and have a great weekend. We'll chat again soon. Cheers.

Woo Hoo, it's Thursday...

Which means it's almost Friday. Happy happy, joy joy. I'm givin' a test tonight at 7:30, which means I'll be out of there early. Thursdays are great because I don't have a 4:45 class. That means I have a long break from 1:30 to 7:30 in the evening. I can usually get lots of crap done. I usually try to catch up on reading emails and blogs, but that's becoming a loosing battle.



It's overcast and chilly today, mixed with light rain. I love this sort of weather though. If I was runnin' things the rain would turn to snow and we'd have a foot or more of the shit throwin' everyone around here into a panic and we'd get a few "snow days" off from school. Hope springs eternal.



Of course. whenever it gets chilly around here I just put on a heavier jacket and my rain hat and light up my own little personal heater.




Those Punch tubes that I ordered a while back arrived at the door yesterday and I smoked the first one this morning. Got a pretty little guillotine cutter for free in the deal. Turns out those cigars are just the right size to allow me to smoke one down to the nub on the drive up from my morning classes in Florence to my lunch time classes on Ft. Hood.

My CMP connection, Dave Waters, came into my 4:45 class last night as it was getting started, grinned at me like an idiot and said in a musical tone "I know what your new carbine looks like and you don't." I was unmoved. It looks like I'll have to wait till Sunday to go up there and get it. We'll clean it up and put a few rounds through the particle board out on his back 40 before i bring it home. Saturday looks like it's gonna be busy in a different way. I've got a fat load of yard work that's been pilin' up since I weed whacked the last time. Remember this picture?



Well, it's that time again. The specter of yard work, a good days worth of hackin' and choppin', looms like a cloud over what could otherwise be a fun weekend. Denise has some kid comin' over to mow her lawn Sunday afternoon (HUGE friggin' corner lot with nothin' but crab grass and other weeds). I mowed it once, about a week into the relationship. That was enough. It served it's purpose. She makes enough money to pay someone, so I don't feel bad about not doin' it.

Both of us work ridiculous hours during the week and have a very hard time blowing our weekends on this sort of toil. So, lets just say, the jungle gets thick, in an amazingly short amount of time. Of course, it's raining like crazy as I type this, so maybe we'll get a reprieve. Mmmm, I'm getting a vision. I see Brochette Shrimp and a tall mug of Shiner Bock in my future. Pappasito's? Could be.

Oh, I remembered the name of that great grape colored liqueur we killed off after the reunion. Chateaus Monet. Good shit, fer sure. $16.85 a bottle at the Class Six on base, but $18.49 at the booze store across town. I'll get a bottle or two for us and another for mom. Cover all the bases.

Well, I'm off. It's porin' down now, 36 degrees, but I'm powerful hungry and there's good vittles awaitin'. Y'all have a great Thursday, and I'll see ya here tomorrow for the regular Friday crap. Cheers.

I took Dad and Denise to the Wilson Family Reunion Sunday.

First, the gun report. There's still no word on The Dragunov. It looks like I might get it, but there is one other person who wants it. I'll know somethin' more definitive in a week or so, maybe. On the other hand, my M-1 Carbine is supposedly on it's way and should arrive and my buddy Dave's place today. I've instructed him to call me when it arrives and he takes it out of the box, even if I'm in class. I tell ya, my nipples are all standin' up in anticipation. Can't wait to hear from him.

I got to sleep in with my lady and wake up slow and easy this mornin', like it was a weekend. They had some sort of testing down in Florence, so I didn't need to be there. I told Denise about that yesterday, teasing her about how I could sleep in but she'd still have to be up at 6:30. Then she surprised me, telling me when she got to my place late last night that she'd sent her boss and email tellin' her she had an "appointment" in the morning and wouldn't be in till about 10AM. Naughty girl.

Now, about last Sundays gathering. I've always had a love/hate relationship with these reunions. I've been going to them almost every year since the mid 1970s. Dad was the driving force behind that. It was always his chance to reconnect with his brothers, cousins and childhood friends. For me, it was always a reminder that there was a wider family and rural life here in Bell county that I'd never been able to be a part of, and that somehow I'd never really be able to measure up to.

My dad always looked forward to these days with glee. My mom, on the other hand, always seemed to dread these gatherings. Of course, part of it had to do with having to get up at the crack of dawn and fry up a mess of chicken, or whatever dish we were taking (It's a pot luck event), get dressed up, pile in the family car and drive the 2 1/2 hours down from Ft. Worth to get to the Bell County Sportsman's Club by noon. The other reason had to do with the fact that my mom never really got along with some of the women in my dad's family.

I always wondered as a kid what was up with all that. I found out later that a few of my aunts always made sideways, snide comments that only mom would pick up on that indicated they thought she was full of herself, or some stupid crud like that. I always used to doubt that, not wanting to think bad things about my aunts. Then, a few years back I overheard one of my aunts saying something petty about my mom when she didn't know mom or I were close enough to hear. I haven't had anything to do with that woman since, and mom hasn't gone back to a reunion.

I think a lot of the undercurrent there had to do with the way my father always showed off his success to his brothers. He had an amazing capacity to be a huge ass hole back in those days, likely to say something that digs or embarrasses those around him. Then there's the fact that my mom was always a princess and very beautiful. My aunts married men who never made much money to begin with and then spent a lot of their money on bass boats and horses. I think there may have been some jealousy of the life we led in the Air Force, living in places like England. I don't know. As a kid, it was all a mystery, but added to the regular anxiety I felt about going down there.



That's me in the back. This was taken at the reunion in March of 1977, so that makes me 16. Always towering over everyone, fated to stand out in a crowd, but always wanting to stand back, trying not to be seen. That's my mom and dad on the far right, my uncle Sam and aunt Betty in front, with uncle Mack peeking in between them. My uncle Punk and his first wife Billie John are on the left.



My father and his brothers, taken the same day. Sam and Mack are gone now. They both died after we moved down here in the mid 1990s. Uncle Punk is still goin' strong, with his third wife. Mom and dad have had their moments, but they've been married for over 55 years now.



Here's what the sportsman's club looks like today. Someone spent some money to refurbish the parking lot, but the inside is still the same as it's ever been, with the same tables and furniture and the same pictures on the walls. There's always something very comforting about that. You see the same folks, a little older, with a few new kids runnin' around, but everything else is just as you left it last year, or in 1977.



The food is still the same too, though I do miss mom's chicken. Every once and a while she'll still cook it, but recently she's gotten to where the chore is one she reserves for other, more special occasions. Of course, I know how to cook fried chicken, learned at the feet of the master, but I don't really want to go to all that friggin' trouble for these folks ether. Some people cook, while others just get a box of chicken or sausage from the store and bring it. This year Denise made her wonderful apple cinnamon streusel dish, while I put together about 16 of those Kolache things I posted about a while back (the full ones, with ham and Swiss cheese stuffed in them).



Right off the bat Denise was welcomed by my cousin Peggy (her husband Mike, uncle Mack's son, is standing back there in the middle of the shot with the rodeo buckle). Peggy is just about my favorite relative down here. You've seen earlier posts where I talked about her cutting my hair. She has a salon in Salado. Mike is a great guy, but we don't see much of one another. He and his dad were both big rodeo guys. They were both tough as nails. Mike's in two halls of fame for the bull riding he did back in the 70s and 80s.



This is my dad on the left, and his cousin Wilson Moon in the middle. Not really sure who the dude on the right is, but I've seen him at these things all my life. Some cousin I don't know. Wilson is a great guy, and a great friend to my father. He likes me a lot too. Not sure why.

I mean, I know why he likes me. I'm a decent guy. I just have lingering feelings from growing up away from all these people, a soft, spoiled city boy, hearing stories all my life about how wonderful it was to grow up here. Seeing how hard and tough these guys are, I always felt like I'd never be able to measure up to them as a man. I always felt like an outsider, so it surprises me when they welcome me, seeing who I've become as a man. Wanting to fit in as desperately as I always have, I matters a lot now that I'm finally fitting in, somewhat. Of course, I'm more comfortable with who I am now, no longer afraid to stand out in a crowd, which is something very new, and so their opinions don't really matter as much. Maybe that means I've finally grown up.

I'm mostly over those old feelings now, but it was still fun to think of bringing a girlfriend to the reunion for the first time. I'm sure most of these folks have always thought I was gay, having never seen or heard of any girlfriends before. Wilson was very happy to see me with Denise at the reunion. At one point while I was taking this picture he looked at dad and said, about Denise and I, "Sounds serious. Looks like you're gonna have a daughter-in-law." Dad's eyes got big and he said "Really?", and we all laughed.

Everyone was very welcoming towards Denise. Peggy and Pat (uncle Punks wife) both got very huggy with her. At one point my aunt Betty (the one that made the shitty remark about my mom years ago) walked up to Denise and said "So, you belong to Jeff?" Denise laughed at the old fashioned inference towards ownership and replied "Well, not officially... Not yet." Several people commented on how pretty she was and how they loved her accent. I was like, "Yep, that accent get's everybody goin'. Worked on me fer sure." It felt really good to go to my first reunion as a real grownup, in my own eyes anyway.



At one point Mike and Peggy's daughter-in-law surprised them by bringin' their three grand kids down from Ft. Worth (I think). They'd just been on the phone and she'd made them think she wasn't comin'. It was hilarious. That's uncle Punk and his wife Pat at the bottom right of the shot.

After the meal I took Denise on the traditional walk down to Belton lake and back, walking off the feed. It was a pretty day, overcast with a hint of rain. It gave me a chance to smoke a cigar and show her more of the place I've known and loved for so long. As we walked we passed other folks from the reunion who had already made the walk and were heading back. It felt really good to have her there, and to hold hands as we usually do when we walk anywhere. Again, it was like I'd grown up.



After the reunion we all went back to the house and had after-dinner drinks with mom. I killed off this fruity little drink. Can't remember now what it's called, but we got it for mom at the Class Six on base. Great stuff.



I tell ya, it's as if havin' Denise there gives my mom an excuse to bust out the booze. We all love it. After a few small glasses of liqueur mom asked if we'd like to bust out the blender and make Daiquiris. I was like, "Duh!", so she and Denise headed into the kitchen to get the blender goin'.



Dad's not a drinker any more. He drank rum and coke all through my youth, but takes too many meds now to risk it. He drinks green tea like it's water around the house, but craves a cold Dr. Pepper whenever he can get it. It's not good for him because of his liver, but I usually slip him one now and then when we go out together. We guys have to stick together.



I always love to grab one or the other of mom's cats and torment it when I go over there. You can't really tell it from this shot, blinded as you are by the glare from my bald spot, but the cat's really lovin' the attention. After squeezin' him for a bit I let him go and he doesn't go far.



The Strawberry Daiquiri was great, like a Slurpy with a slight kick. I chugged a few of them, emptyin' the blender, refillin' my glass and purin' the rest in Denise's. One of these days soon we're gonna have to introduce mom to the Southern Comfort Punch from Wisconsin. Good times.



Yep, good times were had by all.

I found out yesterday that mom has made an appointment with the psychic for Friday, so there may be mysterious goings on to tell you about after that. She and Denise will do that while I have my tires balanced and rotated, and then I'll take dad back to the drivin' range to hit a bucket of balls. Then there'll be buffet action. You know the routine.

While I was finishing up this post, giving tests here on base and playin' on the computer in the classroom, Dave called and told me that my carbine is there at his place in Gatesville and that it looks nice. The stock looks OK, but the gun's covered in grease, so I'll go up there this weekend and we'll take it completely apart, clean it, and put a few rounds through it. I can't wait.

Well, you guys have a great hump day, and we'll talk again soon. Cheers.

This is too cool as hell. I wanna play.

Of course, here's the real thing.



Ya gotta love it. Our tax dollars at work. This time of the year, it's good to know they're spendin' some of it on something actually useful.

Also, I've gotta apologise for that last one. Don't know what I was thinkin', but I had Saturday stuff on Friday, all topsy turvy. Musta been tired when I posted it. Got up this mornin' thinkin' "Oh shit! What the hell did I post?"

All fixed now. Magic of editing.

Have a great week. Cheers.

Friday stuff on Saturday: Takin' Dad out to hit 'em and chow down.

Here's Dad and I, zippin' off to hit golf balls and eat at about 6pm Saturday evening. He loves my car. It's a sporty little zip zip, and I love to drive it fast. I love to make him nervous as I go around corners. Serves him right. I grew up on stories of him doing the same thing to his father when he and Mom came home from being stationed in England for the first time and he shipped home his little Austin Healey. He talks about hitting 100mph many times in that little number. This is the same man who made sure all the cars I got to drive growin' up had lawn mower engines in them. I've often wondered where that really cool guy went when I was born. It's a mystery.

There's another shot in this set of him holding on for dear life with one hand to the handle up to his right, but it's too fuzzy to post. That cigar I'm workin' on is a good, dark maduro. He usually says somethin' about me smokin' when he gets in the car. He smoked a pipe and cigarettes when he was younger and supposedly quit it all cold turkey some time around when I was born. Lots of strength of will, this man's had, all his life.



We hit the drivin' range and I hit a small bucket of balls while he sat and watched. I made him get up and hit a few at one point, teein' up the balls for him.



We both did well, and finished just as the sun was going down and the breeze was blowing a little colder. Note the shorts and Teva sandals... The first time those have been out of the house this year. It was in the mid-70s Friday. Nice weather. It's in the 40s today, and we're expecting it to be in the 30's or lower tomorrow. Again, if you don't like the weather in Texas, just wait a bit.



I took both of these last shots with the flash off and tried to lighten them up on the computer. That's right, more shrimp fried rice and Gen Tso's chicken. It was extra wonderful Saturday. The later we go in the evening the better the food is. Bigger crowds mean the food gets cooked more often and is fresher. I tell ya, I've got this shit down to a science.



Dad always finishes with a small thing of ice cream. He loves it. Notice those two $20,000 aquariums behind him. Huge cool friggin' things, with some big expensive fish in one and some regular tropical fish in the other. They just put those in, and they're fun to watch as you eat.

After takin' dad home and visitin' with Mom for a bit I headed back home to get Denise and we headed to the movies. We went to the movies Friday night too. It turned out that The Other Boleyn Girl was sold out Friday night, so we went to see No Country For Old Men. Loved it. Read the book about a year ago and knew what to expect. After it ended I looked down to Denise and asked what she thought of it. "That was crap! What a bloody crap ending!" I burst into laughter, hearing her voice the same sentiment that almost everyone I know has voiced, even from reading the book. Seeing it on the screen, the end made more sense and I think I loved it. Excellent movie. Well deserving all the awards it's picked up.

Saturday night, after coming back from takin' dad out to eat and visitin' with mom, we went back to the multiplex and saw Boleyn Girl, and liked that one too. The story's been told better in other movies, but it was fun to watch the story unfold from the sibling angle. It occurs to me that Scarlet Johanson has just about one expression... That puzzled lips opened pout. Of course, those are such luscious lips, who minds?

Well, that's enough for now. Later in the week I'll tell ya about takin' Denise and Dad to the Wilson family reunion on Sunday. Good times were had by all. Have a great week. Cheers.

Friday stuff.

First of all, I read this morning that Prince Harry has been in Afghanistan, tryin' his damnest to be a regular soldier and cast off some of the crap associated with bein' a "Royal". The Drudge Report outed him after he was there for a while, and now he's being flown home and told not to visit his normal pubs and clubs for fear of some Muslim wacko with a bomb who might want to get him for serving in the war. Shades of Mountbatten being blown up by the Provos back in the '80s.



I tell ya, I have a HUGE amount of respect for his desire to shake off the privilege and go through what every other soldier has had to go through, and it sucks that he's not being allowed to finish it. I mean, I know why they want to protect him, but still, here's a royal with a pair. Why not let him scratch 'em?

While I was looking at that story I found something else in the British news. If you like Stephen Fry, check this out and enjoy.

Anyway, you guys remember that student I told you about a few weeks ago. I’d just started a new semester and an older soldier came to me after class when everyone else had left the room and told me he’d been in special ed classes all his life and was gonna try to do as well as he could in his first college class. Well, he made a 104 on his first exam (out of a possible 110). I tell ya, I love this job. That guy’s gonna be fine. I can see the confidence growin’ in him now. He’s gonna go far.

I’ve got another interesting dude in one of my evening government classes. This guys is another older soldier. He says he’s been a cop (MP) for 25 years and “he’s tired of being on Jerry Springer all the time”, having to deal with bizarre domestic situations, and he wants to get a college degree so he can get a better job. I see this all the time too.

Lots of older soldiers start to take college classes just before they get out, wanting to get better jobs in the civilian world. Most of the time they are like both of these guys… they haven’t been in school since high school and they may have some worries about how well they’re gonna do.

Anyway, we were talking about the Bill of Rights last night. When we got to the criminal procedure amendments (4^th to 8^th) this guy started to contribute some fascinating and hilarious stuff from his real life experience as a cop. He gave us some real life details about things like the Exclusionary Rule and the Miranda Rule. We found out during the discussion of all that that he’s a member of the motorcycle guard (I think they’re called the Patriot Guard) that goes to funerals to protect grieving families from protesters who show up at funerals to celebrate the deaths of soldiers who have been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan.

He deals with that issue both as an MP, dealing with protesters who try to get permits to demonstrate on the base, and as a guard at the funerals. He insinuated that the only thing keeping these protesters alive is the police showing up to stand between the protesters and the bikers. One student didn’t understand what he meant by that, which opened an opportunity for me to bust out with something I saw on a t-shirt once… Some people are alive only because it’s illegal to kill them. We only made it through the 5^th amendment last night, so we’ll have more fun Tuesday night with the rest. Again, I love this job.

I went by the Hospitality office yesterday after getting out of my lunchtime classes and ended up getting drafted to go bowling today. They had a CTC charity bowl at a local place, Bowlarama, and the Ft. Hood campus team was needing one player. One of their guys had to drop out needing to get some sort of school business done. So I cut out of my 11:30 class early, tellin' the kids I had to go bowlin' (you know that brought about a laugh - I assured them it was an official CTC function), jetted over to the lanes, donned those special shoes and tried to keep it between the gutters.

I broke 100 in each of the three games, scoring about a 375 in all. Thing is, there was free beer being distributed, paid for by my boss, and he kept toppin' off my glass. There's no tellin' how much I drank (Coors Light), but I was really feelin' it by the end of the third game. Denise came by and watch after work and was givin' me looks, but I drove home OK. She tried to get her office to set up a team for the tournament but no one wanted to play.

I was supposed to head over to Temple to get Dad tonight, but apparently he's had a bad day. My sister called during the bowling tourney to tell me that he'd gotten lost out at the VA and wandered around for hours today before someone found him and got him back to my mom. He goes there to work out in a supervised program a few times a week. I guess he's gotten so loopy that he shouldn't be left to wander by himself. As a result of all that both Mom and Dad are too tired to do anything today, so maybe we'll get together tomorrow.

If everything is OK tomorrow, I'll head over there and we’ll hit a bucket of balls and then belly up to the buffet one more time. Mom forgot to make the appointment with the psychic for today, so she now says she’d gonna call today and schedule one for next week. When all the hocus pocus goes down, I’ll be sure and keep you fully informed. Maybe the lady will come across with some hot stock tips. Fingers crossed. Denise and I will probably head over to BJs again, and then maybe take in another movie. We both want to see The Other Boleyn Girl. Just checked though and No Country For Old Men is finally in our theater, since winning the awards. I read the book and have been dyin' to see it, so maybe we will.

This weekend could prove to be interesting. The annual Wilson family reunion is Sunday. I’ll be going over to get dad as usual, but this time Denise is gonna go with us. I told her I wanted her to come. Most of those people probably think I’m queer, having never seen me with a girlfriend before, so it’ll be fun to see the look on their faces. Should be fun.

Anyway, see ya later. Have a great weekend. Cheers.

Got this email from Dave up in Gatesville, forwarding it to me from a friend of his.

The email included this comment:

Thank you Bill Clinton and Bruce Babbitt!

This wolf was killed a few miles north of Boise Idaho near the Banks-Lowman Highway. Take a look at the size of this monster and you'll realize how many cattle and sheep (or Elk and Deer) a pack of wolves this size would eat. We now have over 1700 of them (er, 1699 now :) ) in the Montana, Idaho and Wyoming region. We eradicated them first time for a good reason.



It's a big sucker ain't it?



Thing is, I wonder how it was that huge populations of deer and elk and buffalo (something like 20 million buffalo in 1800) coexisted with all those millions of wolves and coyotes for all those millions of years without cattle ranchers, farmers, sheep herders and such flyin' up in their helicopter to save the day?

If they're all left the hell alone the wolves will take out most of the coyotes (eliminating competition), and then take only the slow and lame from the herds. The deer, elk, and buffalo populations thrived in that natural ecosystem before we showed up to throw things off balance. Maybe cows and sheep are too far removed from the wild to adapt to the threat, or maybe ranchers and farmers just don't want to have to adapt. Maybe ranchers who charge thousands of dollars to let hunters come in and take an elk just don't want the competition.

Every time I've driven through our western landscapes, like across western Kansas and Colorado on I-70, or across the Texas Panhandle and New Mexico on I-40, I imagine those herds, and the Indian tribes on the move, and it occurs to me that since we made the West safe for farmers and cattle ranchers 100 years ago, it's seemed awfully empty. There's a huge element missing from the landscape, with only the remnants left behind to remind us. We have to safeguard them, or nothing will be left.

I think they ought to leave the wolves alone, and force the people who want to live on the edges of the wilderness to put up with a few critters here and there. Yea, I'm a tree hugger. I like trees. I like 'em better than I like most people. I never saw a cow that was cooler than a wild wolf ether. Well, maybe a longhorn, but they're almost wild too. Like I said, deer and elk and wolves can take care of themselves. They've been doin' it since the ice age ended. Let 'em alone, damn it!

I found out this morning that William F. Buckley died Wednesday.

I spent a large part of my youth layin’ on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, usually alone, watching Firing Line on PBS. It was the only conservative show there was back then that laid out a different and maybe more sophisticated view of the world than the one I was getting from the main stream media. He stood erect and resistant, ready to driver a spike into the liberal, collectivist, unthinking, anti-intellectual liberal consensus of the time that took all that old New Deal welfare dependency for granted and smirked at anyone who questioned it. I loved it.

I subscribed to National Review for a time while in college, but let it lapse some time in the late ‘80s when I came to the realization that it wasn’t as much fun to read that stuff as it was to hear Buckley debate someone like his friends John Kenneth Galbraith or Michael Kinsley, or hear him interview folks like F. A. Hayek. I guess it was Buckley’s sense of humor and intellectual vitality that made the show fun and interesting. It was always fun to hear him insult some puffed up liberal intellectual in a way that even the recipient of the barb could barely discern.

I became much more aware and learned to understand my own beliefs while I watched Buckley’s show, but then I moved on and found other people to read and other views of things that opened up the world a bit more. I’ll never forget reading “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” for the first time. Hunter S. Thompson couldn’t really be described as a purely political writer, but his insights and humor (like in his book about the 1972 elections, The Great Shark Hunt) revealed a part of the human experience to me that was hilarious and fascinating.

Since then I’ve shifted gears a bit and found a wider range of pundits that I enjoy reading or watching. Folks like P.J. O’Rourke, Camille Paglia, or Christopher Hitchens can always be depended on to cut through the tripe of what passes for our political discourse and reveal the steaming, smelly innards of the conventional wisdom du jure. They do it with intellectual humor and wit, purely in Buckley's tradition.

It occurs to me here as I write this that in terms of intellectual vitality and humor, maybe P.J. is the only person that could fill Buckley’s shoes today, but he doesn't seem to be around as much any more. Having said that, Hitchens is the guy whose writings and views I enjoy the most today. I hesitate to call him Buckley’s successor as a public pundit, but it all works for me.

Anyway, rest in peace Bill. Cheers.

So, you wanna know about that rifle?

Denise and I slept in Sunday and woke up very slowly, as is our practice on the weekend. We both work late during the week and get up early, so we value the time we have on the weekend to sleep in and relax. We headed north towards Gatesville by about noon, stopping only at a stop-n-rob in Cove to get a Dew and somethin' for breakfast.

We'd had plans to spend our Sunday goin' to a gun show in Harker Hights and a home and garden show in Belton before headin' over to visit the folks in Temple for a bit. Then we were gonna head back to my place and Denise was gonna make lasagna. Well, ain't it so, that the best laid plans of mice and men... Something or other. This trip to Gatesville was gonna throw somethin' out of kilter, but it was worth it.

The gun show ended up being replaced with the trip north to see this mystery rifle. I was pretty sure what it was from Dave's description, but wanted to see for myself anyway. The whole thing intrigued me. Denise had never met Dave or seen his place, so it was gonna be fun showin' her around "the museum", as I like to call it.



Here's a little taste of what I'm talkin' about. There are walls full of old muskets and other artifacts. You've seen pictures of his place before. Just go here and look at pictures from one of our shoots and you'll see a few other shots of the place.



It's like a museum of 19th century Civil War memorabilia. It's a guys place. Post and beam, with no central air. Two fire places for the winter, and a window unit in his bedroom for the summer. I think about this place a lot of the time, that it's like the sort of place I should have built on my land instead of buyin' the house I have in town. I think about doin' that sort of thing still, but I like my house. It's a good investment, and I like bein' close to work.

Anyway, we got to Dave's place and I showed Denise around, and she loved the house and all the gear. After a while we all piled in my car and Dave guided me to his buddies place on the other side of town. We got out of the car and stepped into a large garage/shed/machine shop type place filled with junk. When I say junk, I mean lots of crap that represents someones life, but looked like junk to me. Sprinkled in there were a few very nice objects; a roll-top desk and some nice furniture, a huge TV, and up against one wall, a very large white gun safe.

Dave introduced us to his friend. Apparently this guys brother had been the owner of all this stuff, but he was very sick and going into a nursing home in Austin. His family was finishing the task he'd started of liquidating his possessions. He'd already sold off some guns, but they were left with a few, including a Remington 700 bolt action hunting rifle, and this mystery rifle that no one knew anything about. I couldn't wait to see it.

Slowly the dude spun the dial on the lock, turning the wheel left and then right, and then left again, and then the door cracked open. He reached in and began pulling out what was immediately identifiable to me as a Dragunov, SVD snipers rifle. I knew it as soon as I saw the muzzle break and front sight post on the end of the barrel. They're distinctive to anyone who knows these things.

I confirmed to both of them what it was, and asked if I could hold it. All my thoughts of leading them astray and getting a cheap deal had been dashed when Dave told me that this guy was his friend (I think since high school) and he didn't want me to screw him over. He wanted me to tell them what it was and what it was worth, so that's what I did. Friends are friends. I have to respect that.

It turned out to be a very nice example of a Chinese NDM 86, or an exact Chinese copy of the famous Soviet/Russian sniper rifle that was introduced in the 1960s. This Chinese rifle is basically their military rifle, and a copy of the original Soviet military rifle. The only thing that would differentiate it from the Soviet model is the Chinese markings on the detachable illuminated scope and receiver. This is a military rifle, like the SKSs imported into the country in the 1980s. There's been no modification for the civilian market, other than putting "NORINCO" on the right side of the receiver.

I told the guy it was a beautiful rifle, and that I thought it was worth about $2000 bucks. I told him the illuminated scope was worth several hundred dollars all by itself. A bit later, while looking through a box of clips and junk I found a white cotton bag filled with the oiler, cleaning kit and spare rubber lens covers for the rifle and scope. There was supposed to be a clip for it in the safe, but I never saw it.

That damn gun worked on my mind all through the night and into Monday. Should I or shouldn't I? I don't think I slept three hours. I really shouldn't get it if I want try to be financially responsible. I should really use that money to pay down my existing debt. It was torturing me. Then Dave and I got together at school Monday night and I looked up this site and found out these things are really sellin' for $4000! So I decided I couldn't pass up such a sweet deal. I told Dave to tell his buddy I'd give him $1200 for the rifle, or $1500 for the rifle and the sealed tins of ammo to go with it. If someone else outbids me, so be it. I took a shot. It sure will be cool if I end up with it, but I can continue to live without it.

After leaving Gatesville Denise and I drove East down 36 towards Temple. I showed her some of the pretty scenery along the way, and the old farm houses that have always intrigued me on that drive. I used to make that drive all the time, when I used to teach college classes at the prison units up there in Gatesville. Thinking about that reminded me of a little community off 36 that I used to pass all the time, and I decided to show it to Denise.

Between the late 1990s to about 2004 I taught for Temple College at their local campuses in Taylor and Cameron. That was about a one hour drive early in the morning, both to and from, but they payed me more than CTC does now. I put a lot of miles on that Jeep doin' that. One guy that I met in Taylor turned out to live in this little community. It's a quaint little place called The Grove. It looks like a film set from a western movie.



The guys name is Carl Symm (he lives down the street to the right of this picture). I met him in Taylor and we got to where we'd always see one another and commiserate about the travails of part time adjunct instructors like us who had to do all this drivin' to get to one class or another.

I used to also teach at the high school in Gatesville, teaching college classes at night up there on one night and then at one of the prison units on another. One day I was looking around the high school class and found an old school newspaper that had Carl's picture in it. I told him about that the next time I saw him and he said "Oh yea, I used to teach up there a few years ago." That's when he told me about living in The Grove, and how he'd grown up there.

Supposedly when highway 36 was built back in the 1960s, The Grove was bypassed. The road cut about a quarter of a mile to the West rather than cutting down through the town, so the town slowly fizzled. Now there's a beautiful old Lutheran church there, and this remnant of the general store and a few other buildings, and the houses of all the old locals like Carl who still call it home. It's cool to drive through. Denise loved it.

The last time I saw Carl I was eating Chinese food with Dad one Friday and saw a very familiar old guy sidle up to the buffet. I walked up to him, knowing that I recognized him from somewhere but not knowing where. He turned around and saw me staring down at him through squinty eyes, desperately trying to figure out who the hell he was. He turned and gave me a look that said "back off mother fucker". Now realize, this guy is built like bull. Probably about six feet tall and muscles like a guy who spent his life workin' hard on a farm.

After I saw his face I knew it was him, but couldn't remember his name for anything. I asked him "Didn't you used to work down in Taylor?" Then the look of recognition warmed his face as he recognized me and we got briefly reacquainted. He couldn't remember my name ether. It'd been too long. I told him that I'd thought I knew him but that he'd gotten so damn old since we used to teach together I couldn't recognize him. He laughed and said that my hair had gotten a lot grayer too, and then we both laughed. After that we both went back to eating and I haven't seen him since.

Denise and I drove on to Belton and walked through the home and garden show. It turned out to be just like the food show we went to in Dallas last year, only at this one there wasn't any booze so we didn't get loaded walkin' around tastin' stuff. I did register for a free Harley Davidson (or $35,000), and I signed three tickets for a free 2008 Tundra crew cab with ostrich skin leather seats. The money for the car raffle goes to soldiers on Ft. Hood. Please God.

At one point we turned a corner and there sat a navy blue Shelby GT500 with it's hood up revealin' the 5.4 liter, 500 hp V8 engine. LUST! I walked up and tried to keep from slobberin' all over it, and asked the dude "Now why aren't you guys rafflin' this thing off?" He said he could probably get me in it, and I said "Oh yes, you probably could", and we laughed. Then I realized that this guy, working for one of the local dealerships, was the guy that sold me my old Jeep Cherokee like 13 years ago. Couldn't believe it.

The car was just amazingly cool, with white stripes going down the top of the body. I used to ignore these cars thinking that there's no way I'd fit in them. Then I took Denise's Camry to get the oil changed and spent some time walking through the used car lot there at the Toyota place. I found a nice 2006 GT open and sat in it, fitting very comfortably. Now I have to think about that every time I see one. Bein' and Army town with lots of young guys drivin' muscle cars, it's common to see these things zippin' by. It's almost become a cliche. Maybe one of these days I'll have the disposable income to get somethin' cool like that to tool around in on the weekend. Who knows?

After the show we headed over to visit the folks. It turned out mom had come down with a stomach thing and wasn't feelin' like cookin', so I floated to dad that Denise and I take him back to Dynasty for some more shrimp. You should have seen the grin on his face.

First we took him back to the drivin' range and Denise got to see how badly I hit 'em. When we were in the shack payin' for the balls I heard Dad tell the dude "He's gonna be showing off for his girlfriend." The guy laughed and said "Well then be sure and correct him a lot. " I could a fuckin' killed him. The two of them sat down and watched me hit 'em, and I did OK. At one point I made dad get up and hit a few, and as he walked toward me I made a motion to take him by the cheeks and give him a big kiss. I told him I was gonna smooch him on the lips right there in front of everyone. He struggled out of my hands and told me "I don't know what I'd do to a guy who tried to kiss me while I had a golf club in my hand, but it wouldn't be pretty." We all laughed.

The Chinese food was great, as expected, and the evening ended with Denise and I heading to my place and hittin' the sack early. As I said, I tossed and turned all night thinkin' about that gun. I'll keep you updated on what happens there.

Hope your week is goin' OK. It's almost Friday. Keep hope alive. Cheers.

Cigars.

I ordered a new batch of cigars the other day. Here's the web site. Rocky Patel Signature Toros. Very nice, smooth smoke. Smoked the first one yesterday on the way to work. They fit perfectly in those old left over Mac Thames tubes. Handy in travelin' around with 'em. Get you some.



That's a Mac stub there, peekin' out of the tray. One of about a half dozen Hampton Courts that I have left over from a box I got a while back. Smoked it on the way back to the base from Florence on Monday morning. I've learned to love smokin' while I make these long drives. That's my torch lighter and opener there on the dash. I turn on the vent and crack the sun roof and the smoke drifts right out. Love it. Hooked. Junky, fer sure.

Well, It was another busy weekend, with a few interesting twists that I think you’ll enjoy.

First, let me let you down easy here. There was no trip to the psychic reader for Mom and Denise. Mom didn’t try to make the appointment till Friday morning, and the woman just didn’t have a slot open. Who the hell would think she’d be that busy? Guess it’s a booming business, selling superstitious swill to the Gullabillia. You know I love my Mom, but damn!

Anyway, Friday night went off as planned. Dad and I hit the drivin’ range, but it turned out to be too chilly for Dad, so after I hit a few balls he left me and went in to the office to chat up the people who own and run the place. I was left out there, hitting golf balls by myself, wondering why the hell I do this. I’d much rather be over on the other side of the place shooting arrows for $5 an hour at the foam deer targets they have set up. Kinda pissed me off. Well, that and the fact that for whatever reason I really sucked at hitting those balls that day. Normally I hit them pretty strait and do OK, but this time they all kept shanking off to the right, or skipping off over the middle at about a foot off the ground. Too much head bobbin’ and raisin’ up. Old habits came back with a vengeance.

After that we hit the Buffet, but that night the buffet was packed with people, so they put us off in the smoking section. They recently installed these huge aquariums, like really friggin’ massive things that you’d have to stand in to arrange the rocks and shit, and we were on the other side of one, right up next to it. Originally I thought it was pretty cool, but then I had these huge, stupid lookin’ orange fish swimmin’ by and starin’ at me while I consumed mass quantities of the generals chicken and shrimp fried rice. Kinda tedious. The food was great, as usual. After that I took Dad back home, visited with Mom for a while, and then headed back to Killeen.

Saturday started with a long, lazy get up. Denise had an appointment at 1:45 to get her hooves filed. We ended up bein’ about 5 minutes late because I hung back at the house trying to read Mushy’s latest post and leavin’ a comment. I got her over there in her car and realized I’d left the clubs in my trunk. I drove her car back to Killeen, got my car. I prefer to drive mine anyway . The sound system is better and I can smoke a cigar with the sun roof cracked. It’s really the life, jammin’ the tunes with the seat back, watchin’ the smoke slide up out the roof, feelin’ like a king in my own little kingdom. Anyway, I drove back over to get dad to took him back to the drivin’ range.

I did a little better that time, but not much better. After we hit a bucket of balls we wet over to get Denise, all manicured and pedicured, and then we went over to see Mom. We’d brought a can of strawberry daiquiri mix with us, and mom got out the booze and the blender and she and Denise whipped up a magical mixture.

They were both surprised to find that I liked the stuff, to their chagrin. I chugged my first one and went to get another, to find that there was only really enough for one more. I refilled mine and spread the rest between Denise and Mom (Dad wasn’t drinkin’).



As we sat there in the livin’ room, listenin’ to Mom tell stories about the old days, her yella cat decided to jump up at one point and see if he could get a drink. It was a great time.

After that, Denise and I went over to the mall to catch a movie. We ended up seein’ Vantage Point. I was a bit worried about it goin’ in, thinkin’ it might be some sort of message piece, but it turned out to be really good. The first hour or so is frustrating as hell though, because they keep showing the same events unfolding from different vantage points (hence the name). The main events of the story happen, and then they rewind back to the beginning and you see it all from another persons experience. Eventually it all comes together in a cool way. For me, the end was a bit of a let down, but I still liked it, and recommend it highly.

We also got to see the preview for the upcoming flick Iron Man. It looks cool as hell, and that tune’s been in my head ever since. Had to burn a new CD for the car so I could cruise down the road crankin’ Sabbath. It sounded REALLY good cranked through the theater’s sound system. Here's the trailer. Enjoy.

Now, tell me that ain't gonna be cool as hell!

After the flick we headed back over to BJ’s. We had to wait about 45 minutes for a table, but that gave me a chance to take a few pictures.



The place is really pretty inside, and the food is wonderful. I’d been lookin’ forward to tryin’ a few more of their beers, and diggin’ into a deep dish pizza, which is one of their specialties. It turned out that I had to remind the waiter that the Harvest Heffeweizen needed a slice of orange. It was good stuff.

We decided to order a few different appetizers so we could try them out, and then to get a medium sized pizza. It turned out to be just slightly more food than we wanted to consume in one sitting, but that wasn’t a problem. We took a few slices of the pizza home with us and I had it for lunch today. I had a glass of Irish Red Ale with the pizza. Now THAT was one really good drink. Denise, of course, had another Shandy. Had to explain what the hell it was to yet another waiter. Always cracks me up.


The chicken tenders and honey mustard dip were wonderful, as were the Santa Fe Spring Rolls (left). Denise isn’t into spicy food, so I ended up eating most of the latter. They were goooood. Especially in the left over honey mustard dip from the chicken tenders. I've found there really are few things that don't taste better dipped in honey mustard, but that's just me.

On the other hand, the deep dish pizza was a disappointment, and we probably won’t order that again. I mean, it was OK, but it wasn’t what ether of us were expecting. There was a real Italian place in Hulen Mall up in Ft. Worth when I was growin’ up that had deep dish pizza, and it was juicy wonderfulness. Thick with meat and tomato sauce, mushrooms and cheese and everything. It was like cutting into solid bliss.

This one from BJ’s was just a thick crust pizza with the toppings. There wasn’t any juiciness. It was a let down. Go ahead and try it. Maybe you’ll like it, but we’re gonna stick with the Pizza Palace in Killeen. It makes the best pies in this area, we think. Next time we go I’m gonna try a few more beers, and try some of their pasta. The advertise a couple of spicy shrimp Alfredo things that sound great. Can’t wait.

While we were there, waiting for our food, I realized that I’d turned off my phone in the theater and pulled it out of my pocket to turn it back on again. When I did it flashed that I’d gotten a voice mail message. It turned out to be my buddy up in Gatesville, Dave Waters (the dude I go up and shoot with, on his place). His message intrigued the hell out of me, so I called him to find out what was up. He said in the message that he’d just seen a rifle that he couldn’t ID (Unusual, because this guys knowledge is encyclopedic), but he thought that I might know what it was (meaning it’s probably Soviet/Russian or Eastern Block stuff – my specialty).

What he described over the phone sounded like a Dragunov sniper rifle. They show up at gun shows now and then, but they’re not too readily available. Thing is, he said this friend of his had something there, and didn’t know what it was or how much it was worth.

My friggin’ life flashed before my eyes when I heard that. That’s like the ideal situation when you want to make a killing. Some goober has something but doesn't know what they have. Last year my boss found a $700 Randall skinning knife at a gun show in Sweetwater for $35! That shit may happen once in your life. I was thinkin’ my time had come.

Well, I've gone on long enough, so you'll have to wait to find out about the gun later this week. I know, I'm bad. Click in in a few and see what I found up in Gatesville and hear about the other stuff we did on Sunday. It was another full day. Later. Cheers.