Today's Happy (?) Hour Soundtrack

A couple o' tunes and a random thought or two.  First, Colbie Caillat...

I won't do what you told me
I won't do what you said, no
I'm not gonna stop feeling
I'm not gonna forget it
I don't wanna start over
I don't wanna pretend that
You are not my lover
That you're only my friend

That was me ten years ago.  We've grown up a lil bit since then*.  And then there's this...

Isn't this the best part of breakin' up
Finding someone else you can't get enough of
Someone who wants to be with you too

It's an itch we know we are gonna scratch
Gonna take a while for this egg to hatch
But wouldn't it be beautiful

Here we go, we're at the beginning
We haven't fucked yet, but my heads spinning

Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you
It's inevitable, it's a fact that we're gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you

Oh, damn.  There it IS.  I was gonna go off on this tangent about how and why is it that heartbreak songs outnumber those that celebrate "true love" (if there is such a thing) by a factor of at LEAST 10:1.  That ratio is based upon today's Happy Hour soundtrack, which was the Joan Osbourne station on Pandora.  And further... I didn't keep an actual count of the songs, it's just a gut-feel sorta thang.  I think I'm erring on the conservative side as well, because if I really go with my gut I'd say the heartbreak songs outnumber songs celebrating love by a factor of 20:1.  But that's just me, and we're ignoring what Ms. Phair said.

We digress.  I think Miz Phair hits on it... the feeling one gets when one is caught up in an irresistible attraction and that feeling is prolly the demise of most relationships.  I've been on both sides of this phenomenon and neither side is pretty: someone always gets hurt.  It really makes me wonder why the hell we go through this shit but I think that's mostly a function of age.  It's much easier to let it all go... to give up the chase, to accept solitude... when you've got one foot in the grave.  Yet still... so much to lose, so little to gain.  Why?

*Which is only a small lie.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack (And Some Miscellaneous Ramblings)

The musical equivalent o' Comfort Food (The Wiki, she has EVERYthang)...

Take it easy, take it easy
Don't let the sound of your own wheels
Drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
Don't even try to understand
Just find a place to take your stand
and take it easy

Comfort Food...which is easy to eat and it makes ya feel good.... and I suppose it's the same with Comfort Music.  I actually heard the Eagles version o' this tune earlier but I much prefer Mr. Browne's original version, seein' as how I'm one of those Sensitive Seventies Kinda Guys (the comments to that post are pretty interesting, btw).  Or I used to be, at any rate.  Not so much, today.

But.  Comfort Music are the sorta tunes where ya know ALL the words and ya have this tendency to sing along, which we did, of course.  And the Eagles version of the tune ain't half bad, all things considered.  Ya pays yore money and ya makes yore choice.  I LOVE this tune, as it seems to remain relevant after all these years.  Time was when I really had "seven women on my mind" but that's not quite the case any longer.  But I've found a place to make my stand and I'm definitely takin' it easy these days.  More so than I prolly should, actually.

―:☺:―

 

A few Random Notes...  We spent the better part of our day cleaning house before adjourning to the verandah for Happy Hour this afternoon.  Which was mainly because we were graced with a three and a half hour visit yesterday with Isabel, the two-year old daughter of our neighbor.  And her babysitter, of course.  Our living space is not quite child-proof, which necessitated extreme vigilance on my and the babysitter's part(s) lest Young Isabel cause damage to herself on the many sharp glass-and-chrome edges that abound in El Casa Inmóvil de Pennington, and there are many.   Said glass and chrome is also very susceptible to lil fingerprints and other such tarnishing, and that was what we spent some time cleaning up today.  It must also be said that Young Isabel, despite all our attentiveness, managed to whack herself on the noggin by spinning one of my bar stools on its axis and not QUITE getting out o' the way when the bar stool was in close proximity to her head... which resulted in a fairly large bump on the young girl's head and much wailing and crying.  But no serious damage was done and I managed to make it better with a kiss or two.  Imagine that, if you will.

 

I think I've acquired a surrogate grand-daughter.  Imagine that, yet again.  Imagine also that her mom might come along.  Yeah... there's a fantasy I can live with!

 

―:☺:―

 

So... I noticed Miller Lite has a new ad they're running and it begins with words to the effect of "there's a place for strong dark beer but on the other six days when you want sumthin' lighter..."   Wrong.  I can sorta relate, from a cigar perspective, coz there ARE days when I want sumthin' other than a full-flavored, robust maduro or the like.  But BEER?  Frickin' NEVER.  I'd rather drink Perrier than Miller Lite or its bros-in-arms.  As a s'matter o' fact I'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference between Perrier and "light" beers with the possible exception of Blue Light, but there's an exception to every rule.  Miller makes some pretty cool ads, but this ain't one of 'em. 

I'm Not Gonna Go There

Or mebbe I will.  Those of us "of a certain age" are entirely capable of being "just friends" with the opposite sex, and the great majority of my friends are women... speakin' on a personal and therefore purely anecdotal basis.  That said, those of us "of a certain age" are much more likely to recognize and honor moral boundaries, such as marriage or other serious commitments (read between the lines here).  Further, I'm tryin' to think of a single example of a current woman friend that isn't in some sorta relationship and no one comes to mind.  We're not counting casual acquaintances, like one of my single female neighbors whom I'd do in a heartbeat, as if THAT would ever happen.  I could tell ya a funny story in this space, but that well and truly would be TMI (aside to SN1: no comments, please).

There was a point in time... before I hit that "certain age"... when I slept with most of my female friends (those that were willing, anyhoo) and I don't think I was all that unusual in that regard.  I'd further submit the young guys in this video are seriously missing the point.  I mean after all... what are friends FOR?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

A cut from Kim Wilde's "Select" album (Why yes... that IS from Former Happy Days, why do you ask?)...

And I won`t really care if we can`t meet again
You just live your life I`m just a night to pass 
You`re just a dream that couldn`t last 
Take me tonight 
Take me tonight 
Take me tonight 
I want you, I want you - want me too? 

No way of knowing just where my life`s going 
Who cares if it`s wrong or it`s right
When all I believe in is just how I`m feeling tonight

How VERY '80s, eh?  Or '70s... take your pick.  And yeah, I DO seem to be on about Loose Women of late, don't I?  Well, "Loose Women" has negative connotations, I'm more on about the joys of mutual consent and opportunities.  Let's drink to that.

One more from the same album and then we'll go:

If you come over
If you come over - I could be good for you
Wouldn't you please me
It could be easy
Just stay here for a night or two
Darlin', can you come over
Can you come over - meet me tonight

Heh.  I'm such a slut.  Or, I was such a slut, before I trudged over that hill.

Apropos o' Nuthin'

There are many, many benefits and joys associated with my new life but I think the GREATEST one of all is becoming reacquainted with my music collection.  By way o' brief explanation: most of my CDs were stuffed into overhead storage while I lived in El Casa Móvil de Pennington and were inaccessible, at best.  Not so today (and yesterday): nearly all my CDs are not only accessible, they're right at hand.  And we have been going through all these titles with relish.  Yesterday was all classical, today we're into pop tunes.

And speaking of relish (ahem)... an example: I hadn't played Joan Osborne's "Relish" CD in more than a few years and our mood has been elevated significantly this morning by tunes like these:

"If he can't fix it gonna find a boy who can..."

Joan!!  Over HERE!

And I'm pissed off about bein' the cops
And you're pissed off about bein' the maid
And how long till they shut off the phone
Or til the next time we get laid
Let's just get naked

Just for a laugh

I've been blessed in this life, in that I've known at least two or three women who had an attitude like Ms. Osborne expresses in song.  Where'd they all GO?

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

J.J. and Ol' Slowhand...

Well I got lots of children, an ex-wife or two
I never hear from them, 'till the bills are due
The money I gave 'em, they already spent
If I could just slip'em out, you've put me in that last will and testament

You know I'm going over sixty, I'm older than most
It won't be long now, I'll be nothing but a ghost
My intentions, it's my intent
To leave all of them people out of my last will and testament

Most of above applies to YrHmblScrb and I DO find it gratifying when my life is reflected in song.  Well, that sentiment about the kids isn't true at all (two of 'em call at regular intervals and are a great boon to me in my old age) nor is the expressed sentiment about inheritance valid, coz I intend to make all of my children hundredaires.  My ex-wives?  Don't ask... unless you want to hear concise statements about anatomically improbable sex acts.  Sorta, in that I know one of which has a most impressive toy box.  Or at least she used to (the other I kinda doubt).

And now it's back out under the awning to continue as we've begun. 

What a Dog...

Ms. Beagle ain't the worst o' the bunch.  And no, I was NOT window shopping.  So to speak.  Down, Girl... DOWN!

Tonight's ADWH Soundtrack

Ah... take me back to those halcyon days of 1963 when I was a senior in high school and blissfully oblivious to the slings and arrows of the Real World... here's the lovely Doris Troy, singin' about how it took just one look to make her fall so hard...

Just one look and I fell so hard
In love with you, oh-oh, oh-oh
I found out how good it feels
To have your love, oh-oh, oh-oh
Say you will, will be mine
Forever and always, oh-oh, oh-oh
Just one look and I knew
That you were my only one
Oh oh-oh oh!

Ah, this conjures up visions of the Lovely Roxanne, the queen o' my teen-aged dreams and my first experience with rejection.  I fell for Roxanne with that proverbial "one look" and we had a whirlwind love affair that was never really consummated in the truest and most literal sense, but certainly NOT for a lack of effort on my part.  Many's the afternoon Roxanne and I rolled around in my bedroom with Doris croonin' in the background... me tryin' my damnedest and she just as determined that I would NOT get what I was after.  I don't think I ever encountered such firm and unyielding resistance during the rest of my life, or perhaps I got to the point where I could take "no" for an answer and moved on to more... ummm... productive endeavors.  Whatevah.

Still and even, we remained boyfriend and girlfriend for most of my senior year in high school and into the following summer.  The affair came to an abrupt end when I decided to enlist in the Air Force in that summer of '63 and left Roxanne to her own devices, which were many and varied.  That sad fact was brought home to me about six weeks later when I was the unhappy recipient of my first "Dear John" letter.  That hurt but I managed to get over it in short order, typical of the resilience of your average 18 year old.  We should be so resilient in our old age, Gentle Reader.

So... here's to ya, Roxanne.  I hope you're alive, well, and happy... and that you're givin' it up on a regular basis.

Added, somewhat later:  Linda does a damned good cover of this tune, as well.  Ronstadt released her version the year TSMP and I got married, or perhaps it was the summer before.  History DOES repeat itself.

Tonight's ADWH Soundtrack

Collective Soul...

Save me come tomorrow
Lead me to my urgency
See I'm no more no less 
Of an angel
Than you'd have me be

Steady here I cast my lines
Only to expose
A weaker sense and
No constraint
Now my true self shows

But, don't bring me down
All right
Don't bring me down
Cause there's promise
In the night

Yeah, what he said.  There WAS promise in this night, but only if we had had suitable companionship.  Tonight's sunset was brilliant and was of a hue of pink that would have been suitable for Jesus' swaddling clothes, had Jesus been a she rather than a he.  I thought... however briefly... about running inside to get the camera and recording this sunset  for posterity but I just couldn't get off my ass, transfixed as I was.  So.  Sorry about that.

Back to female Jesus... I have a set of thoughts about that... if Jesus had been female... but we won't go THERE.  Suffice it to say I kinda-sorta think the world would have been a better place if we had had a matriarchy, instead of a bunch of sexually-frustrated priests fucking things up for about a thousand years before Martin Luther pounded his objections about the Catholic church up on the cathedral door.  I can't help but think the world could have been different if we were ruled by benevolent nuns during the Middle Ages.

But that's waaaay too deep for someone who just came in from a breathtaking sunset and a night full of starry, starry skies.  That and the fact I'm about half in the bag... so... disregard.  Or not.  I'm open to YOUR thoughts, if any.  Matriarchy... promise or peril?

Added, somewhat later and after perusing the vids that accompany that which I posted, as is my habit:

Life's river shall rise
She Said
And only the strong shall survive
She Said
But I'm feeling quite weak
She Said
Will you comfort and forgive me
She Said

Heh.  No fucking way, Darlin'.  Drown in it.  

Malevolent thoughts aside, this has always been a favorite Collective Soul tune.

Warnings

My Buddy Ed In Florida sends along the following:

Alcohol Warnings

Due to increasing products liability litigation, beer manufacturers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning labels be placed immediately on all beer containers:

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like an asshole.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell the same boring story over and over again until your friends want to SMASH YOUR HEAD IN.

* WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to thay shings like thish.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell happened to your pants.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with other members of the opposite sex without spitting.

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you have mystical Kung Fu powers.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary (whose species and or name you can't remember).

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter and more handsome than some really, really big guy named FRANZ.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe you are invisible.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause an influx in the time-space continuum, whereby small (and sometimes large) gaps of time may seem to literally disappear.

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may actually CAUSE pregnancy.

The asterisked items indicate tee shirts I acquired in my ill-spent youth.  

The double asterisked items concern themselves with a war story I've never told... the Reader's Digest version of which involved me waking up next to a totally bald woman (albeit one with a gray-haired wig askew on her bald pate) who had to be at least 70 years of age and who swore up and down that we had had intimate knowledge of each other not four or five hours ago (as best as I can determine: she did NOT speak English) and wanted to repeat the experience.  I declined her offer as gently as possible, and to this very day I do NOT believe I was THAT drunk.  Some things are beyond the pale and that was one such.  

To make matters worse I had been set up with my new-found geriatric companion in a fitting act of retribution by my so-called buddy, who also stole my clothes and left me buck-nekkid in this harridan's bed.  And why did my buddy set me up?  Well... basically it's because his lady friend and I got incredibly drunk together and argued about politics until the wee small hours (or until I passed out, whichever came first, or both) when she should have been doing something more enjoyable with my buddy.  My bud did NOT take kindly to that and I kinda-sorta ruined his night.  Ergo, retribution.

Back to the story...   I managed to wrap myself in a sheet and searched the premises for my clothes... which involved going from room to room in an establishment where that sorta thang isn't normally done, most especially EARLY in the morning... but I duly discovered where my clothes had been hidden after about 20 minutes of frantic searching... assisted by my semi-clothed elderly lady friend.  I then proceeded to get dressed and got the Hell out o' Dodge in that early morning hour and went searching for a restaurant with ANY sort o' greasy breakfast and a couple o' few aspirin.  Or six of same, because I was sufferin' from God's Own Retribution of a hangover, one of my Top Ten Hangovers of All Time.  I stumbled into a western-style hotel a few blocks from whence I came, and was VERY pleased to find their restaurant was not only open but featured "American Breakfast."  So we ordered about a half gallon of coffee, breakfast, that much needed aspirin, and soon the world was MUCH brighter.  As for the "western-style hotel" bit, all this happened in a country not my own, I should add.  So there's that.

All o' which reminds me of a lil sumthin' I post and re-post from time to time, to wit:

More on drunkenness from an old post I put up back in March of '06:

Apropos of nothing, as is my wont, of late. Quite some time ago I read Dan Jenkins’ novel “Baja Oklahoma,” which was a good tale…funny, creative and full of little folk gems. One of those gems impressed me SO much I took the trouble to transcribe the list and pin it to the wall above my desk. This, of course, was in the way-way-back. But…it’s a very relevant piece of work. Here, for your illumination/edification, are Dan Jenkins’ “Ten Stages of Drunkenness:”

1. Witty and Charming
2. Rich and Powerful
3. Benevolent
4. Clairvoyant
5. Fuck Dinner
6. Patriotic
7. Crank up the Enola Gay
8. Witty and Charming, Part II
9. Invisible
10. Bulletproof

I don’t believe I’ve ever made it to “Bulletproof.” Evidence of that fact is: I’m still alive. I have, however, been “Witty and Charming, Part II” on a few occasions and “Invisible” once or twice. The most common state I arrived at was Number Four and perhaps Five…achieved nearly every Friday night whilst I was living in SFO. Ah, nostalgia!

Truer words were never written or spoken. I usually only get to Stage Three these days. But Stage Five is not unknown...

When Stage Five happens these days (which is rarely, actually) I usually take a nap and then have a late dinner.  Coz dinner is important, Gentle Reader.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Some o' that Sensitive Seventies Stuff...

But I let her do some of my laundry
And she slipped a few meals in between
And the next thing I remember, she was all moved in
And I was buying her a washing machine

Heh.  One wonders how many relationships began JUST like this...  We won't tell any stories outta school, except to say the tune resonates with me on a number o' levels.

We are older now and somewhat wiser.  I ended my last relationship when the late night conversation came to a screeching halt one evening when LadyFriend dropped this conversational bomb:  "Where is this relationship going?"  The air was thick with stony silence forthwith.  One should NEVER ask a question if one can't stand the answer...

That said... the answer became immediately apparent the following morning when I packed up all my stuff and moved back into ECMdP.   Why IS it that women can't leave well enough alone?

Tonight's ADWH Soundtrack

Hot Tuna, yet again.  It's JA, actually, but the version I heard on Pandora this evening was by Hot Tuna... not available on the Tube o' You, unfortunately.  So this will have to do:

Well now what is gonna happen now is anybody's guess

If I can't spend my time with love I guess I need a rest.

Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low

My body's getting tired of bearing another's load

And sunshine's waiting for me a little further down the road.

This is a re-run.  I originally posted the tune and a couple o' others from Hot Tuna in the near way-back, and it's kinda funny... funny strange, not funny ha-ha... how I keep returning to my roots.  That's a function of Old Age, methinks.  But so be it: I'm comfortable with it.

We sat out long after sunset this evening and were only driven indoors by the approaching storm, which has yet to fully materialize.  We got up and withdrew when the wind picked up significantly and the first spitting rain drops hit us.  But that's all we've had, so far: spitting.  It was very good to sit outside and feel the storm coming on... when the heat of the day is ameliorated by coolish and damp southern winds containing the scent of moisture.  The coolness was wonderful, to say the very least.

We were less than pleased with our newest whiskey acquisition, however.  We took the first round neat, as is our habit, and the whiskey isn't all I thought it would be.  The Quinta Ruban reminds me of The Second Mrs. Pennington in a lot o' ways:  the nose is very pleasant and is something that promises much whereas the actual tasting delivers less.  The initial taste is altogether pleasant and pleases your mouth with complex flavors, with a certain sweetness that overrides all the other sensations.  But like TSMP, it's the finish that bothers... which is to say it's harsh and biting, leaving a stinging sensation in the mouth and on the palate that supersedes any pleasure one initially experienced.  

I don't like my whiskeys to hurt me; this bottle will be a "one and done" and Quinta Ruban will never darken my doorstep again.  As a matter of fact, I'll prolly use it to make a lot o' Rusty Nails as drinking it neat is way too close to masochism for me.  Either that or I'll drink it over lotsa ice, as I did with the second and subsequent rounds this evening.  Water cuts the harshness a lot... kinda like the effect time has on a bad love affair.

But leave us not digress or delve deeper into waters where we don't belong.  Metaphors just ain't my thang.

Tonight's ADWH Soundtrack

Stephen Stills:

Black queen, where's your bank roll?
Black queen, where did it go?
Black queen, the truth is hard
Black queen, you're playin' foolish cards, black queen

I searched all over the Tube O' You for the studio version... which is what I heard during After Dinner Whiskey Hour... and all I could find is this muddy live recording with the botched title.  "Queem"... Oh shit, Oh Dear.  Oh, well... better this than nothin'.

This particular tune calls to mind my fall from grace, or rather the first such time I fell.  The place was Boron AFS, California, sometime in 1971 and the time is slightly after midnite on a summer's eve.  I'd just returned home from runnin' one of my buds up the hill to work... he was scheduled to work a mid-shift and his wife was visiting from El-Eh for the weekend.  The lady was stayin' at my place, seein' as how The First Mrs. Pennington and the boys were away visiting with family in Lompoc and I had extra rooms for the weekend.

So... I walked in my front door to find the lady sitting on my couch... casually smokin' a joint and listening to Stills on the stereo.  She looks up, smiles, and sez "come sit next to me."  I was thunderstruck... on all counts... first by the pot (I didn't indulge, at that point) and second by the oh-so-obvious invitation, this bein' 40 years ago and I'd not yet succumbed to the... umm, what to call it?... sorts of ill-conceived and non-thinking acts of self-indulgence that would mark my life for the next five or six years.  But I went and sat next to her.  You can imagine the rest... and so it was I fell.  It didn't take a lot of convincing, to tell the whole truth.  I was too damned easy and so was she.

Stephen Stills was our soundtrack, moanin' on about how "the truth is hard."  Indeed it was.  Just coincidentally, "Love the One You're With" is also on that album, irony of ironies.

It was only much later in life that I came around and recognized just how hard the truth really can be.

Thinking About Options

I've been givin' some thought lately to changin' my lifestyle or, more specifically, to changin' my residence.  There's a lot to like about livin' in El Casa Móvil de Pennington... it's all mine to begin with (which makes the living rather inexpensive), and there's the undeniable cachet of livin' with all the other Swells here in Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park.  Still and even there ARE times when I think more space would be nice, a dishwasher would be nice, a washer and dryer of my own would be nice, and a normal-sized fridge and freezer would be nice.  And closets, plural.  All the stuff I had back in Former Happy Days, the stuff I gave up to go mobile, in other words.

So we received this in Friday's mail:

I seriously entertained goin' over to that event today but decided against it when I found out the place is a 96-unit assisted-living center... not to mention the fact it looks like your standard, run-o'-the-mill apartment building.  Nope... ain't gonna do that.  I want sumthin' more like a condo and I know those things exist.  So, it's back to the drawing board for more research.  I'm not in any hurry.

OTOH, I'm still thinkin' about gettin' a maid, which is the sort of "assisted living" I'm really in need of.  I'm lookin' for a nice, fine, upstanding mature woman who wouldn't mind doin' a lil light cleaning and cooking for a gentleman, among other things.  Someone of the "upstairs maid" persuasion, kinda like this:

Yeah... me and Neil:

I was thinking that maybe I'd get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.

A maid. A man needs a maid.
A maid.

It's hard to make that change
When life and love turns strange.
And old.

Yup: "A man needs a maid..."

Overshare?

Mebbe, but... ummm... interesting, none the less.

There isn't a man alive who hasn't sat waiting... patiently or otherwise... for his lady to emerge from her boudoir all gussied up and ready to face the world.  I used to think such a wait interminable until I watched the video above; now I'm just thanking The Deity At Hand that I lived in the 20th century, and not the 19th... or earlier.  And my thanks extend much further than that agonizing wait.  I mean, can you IMAGINE how hard it musta been to cop a feel through all that stuff?

Oops.  We've revealed our Philistine side.  Dang -- yet another self-inflicted wound. 

Tonight's After Dinner Whiskey Hour Soundtrack

Thinkin' 'bout the times you drove in my car
Thinkin' that I might have drove ya too far...

I was also thinkin' about the times I rode in **your** car and how you scared the shit outta me, like the time you hit 90 mph at the bottom of the Woodward on-ramp to 696.  We survived all that, barely.

That would be the car in question and its driver.

Quick Hit

I said this in my last post yesterday:

Ah, carry me back to those halcyon days o' the 70s... when I was a sensitive seventies kinda guy, the biggest bennie about bein' so was that I got laid a lot.  You may laugh, especially if your name happens to be Morgan, but it frickin' worked.  We ain't so sensitive these days, nor do we get laid as much.

The thought occurred to me that I changed my love life by changing my politics.  Or what passed for a love life, anyhoo, back in the day when I was a semi-raging moonbat.  

I don't really have any empirical evidence to support this but my gut feelin' (and kinda-sorta extensive experience) is that Lefties are Looser.  It might have sumthin' to do with all that Family Values stuff conservative wimmen carry around.  Or mebbe I just need to get out more.

I Got Nuthin'...

... you get the Weather Girls.

So... howcum they're speaking Nipponese if they're Taiwanese, not to mention the fact they're doin' American WX?  So inscrutable, these orientals.

Physics

Today we're going to discuss... however briefly... Newton's Third Law, which states:

Third law: The mutual forces of action and reaction between two bodies are equal, opposite and collinear. This means that whenever a first body exerts a force F on a second body, the second body exerts a force −F on the first body. F and −F are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction. This law is sometimes referred to as the action-reaction law, with F called the "action" and −F the "reaction". The action and the reaction are simultaneous.

That's from The Wiki.  Here's an illustration of those forces of action and reaction in the real world, presented in the spirit of "a picture is worth a thousand words:"

We only include this specific example to encourage you to consider the laws of motion and their effects and because today is a BIG beach sorta day, bein' as how it's the height of summer.  So go on... get out there!  You might could see sumthin' similar to the above, assuming you live near a beach.  I don't and more's the pity, because I LOVE to observe science in action.

Botany

So... there I was, cruisin' around on this gardening site earlier this evening (it might have been Better Homes & Gardens or Southern Living, or neither, or both, or sumthin') when I came across these pics:

WTF?  Is she growin' what I think she's growin'? And what happened to her bathing suit in that first picture?  Call me, Darlin'... we need to talk! 

I think the lady took Neil and Willie to heart here...



But what would I know?