This is going to be short, he said. And she nodded, knowingly.
–
“Worked” from home today. Had lunch at the UTC. “Miami Grille,” it was, and a lovely Churrasco Chopp. Latin music, and that. Grilled, marinated steak, saffron rice, black beans, romaine lettuce, tomatoes topped with chimichurri sauce. Fried plantains for garnish. I forwent the green onions. I’d do it again tomorrow.
Macy’s was having a lovely sale on men’s stuff. Things up to 65% off!
Horrible things. Things that make you ask yourself, what in God’s name was the designer thinking? Splashy logos screaming of wretched excess. Hideous colors. Dangling gewgaws.
I bought some anyway, and don’t feel the least bit ghey blogging about it.
It’s for the gardening, like.
–
Speaking of ghey, ‘a was a woman by the Apple store asking passersby whether they supported ghey rights. Aye, says I, after a moment. I do. Because gheys are human, and I support human rights.
Sixty seconds of your time, she begged, looking at me quizically. The hint of a frown.
I thought it might take less, in the event. I was right.
I’d like you to sign this thingamabob, said herself. It carrying an ACLU logo at the top.
I won’t, I replied.
You won’t, she asked. Why not?
Because I don’t support the ACLU, I replied. For trying to extend the protections of the US Constitution to those who would seek to destroy it.
Right waspish she got at that moment.
This isn’t about that, said she. It’s about marriage, and such. As a fundamental human right.
Do you have a fundamental human right to drive a car, I asked.
What’s that got to do with anything, she replied.
Well, do you?
I’ve got my license, said she, querulously.
Ah, so the state can regulate your driving privileges?
Um, yes. I suppose. If they have a reason!
What inalienable right – as opposed to a conceded privilege – do you own that the state can justly choose to grant, or not grant, a license to?
I don’t know what you’re talking about!
You must have a license to marry in the state of California. You must ask permission. Is that a right, or is it conditional upon the state’s approval? That approval contingent upon the laws approved by the voters and their delegates.
We’re done here, she said.
And it was true. We were.
–
So, I’ve started back into the CrossFit thing again, after a bit of a layoff. Down to an actual “box” in town. And have been feeling cruelly brutalized ever since. Something there is that refuses to be last, in a group workout. Some lingering ember of competitiveness.
Not that I’m going to beat the 20-ish hero at chest-high pull-ups or 155 pound thrusters. But that I’ll work as hard as he is, given the constraints of age, and keeping all proportions constant. I’m fairly blown out by the end of it. Sore like you read about in books. In a good way.
I’ve got a lingering bit of damage to my left ankle from an old motorcycle injury. A vicious sprain that has never quite healed. The coaches zero in on it during squat drills, for when I sink past a certain point, I run out of left heel on the ground.
We’ll fix that, they say. Give us six months.
Good luck, says I. It’s been near 16 years, and what cannot be cured must be endured.
I was due to go back to the gym again today, but time ran on mucking around in the back end of the new WordPress install. Things not all being exactly as they ought to be in a more nearly perfect world.
At short while ago the Hobbit appeared at the door, announcing that the hour of 5 had arrived, and this being a Friday, herself was carrying a vodka martini, up and dry, with a twist.
I’m going for a workout, I protested.
Are you, she asked.
No, I replied. No I’m not.
Did I marry up, or what?
–
Have a great weekend!
Ahhhh, WordPress. A thing to be loved…or not.
Radio DJ’s are always doing their 5 at 5 or 6 at 6. I’m looking at the case of Corona in the reefer and saying “No, Mongo. No correlation there. No correlation.” Nevertheless, it is Friday…
Oh,
ice cold Corona, with a glass of Cuervo Black.
Livin’ Large, Bro. Livin’ large
“Gone in 60 seconds” – like the movie. A well reasoned argument and I’ll have to remember it. I’ll bet you’re also a scream with with telemarketers.
Oh-and as far as ghey clothing. Stay away from pink. It’s just not right.
Stay away from pink,
Unless it’s a 50-something Caddy with a drop top and white leather interior. Wire wheels, or Cragar Street Super-Tricks, deep dish and wide radials, like.
Then you’re good to go.
There is also the pseudo-pink blazer, with charcoal grey slacks, a white shirt and thin black tie. Make certain you have either Whiskey neat or a Vodka martini, dry, when you wear it, however.
Or play a fender Mustang. It’s all about the accessories, that.
eh-see below @4.
Yeah, that and “status.” It’s all about STATUS, man…status.
AW1Tim/
Somehow your post got me thinking of one of my closest friends who was a Raven FAC (LAOS)who is MIA on his last mission, Sam Deichelmann, Call-sign Raven 47.
(Sam was such an extraordinary guy the Ravens web site has a special memorial section just for him)
At any rate, Sam used to walk around with a Nikon F 35mm slr (the pre-eminent camera of it’s day) and a Wilson Jack Cramer “autograph” tennis raquet(the pre-eminent wooden racquet of it’s time) “Sam,” we used to say, “you don’t take many photo-graphs and you don’t play tennis”–”what’s the deal man?” we would ask. “Status, man, status.” was his answer. LOL!
(Sam was one of those rare individual’s who was both a man’s man and a woman’s man whom EVERYONE liked and respected. A General’s son–his younger brother, an F-4 jock was also KIA in a refueling mid-air–was a hollywood handsome blond with deep smooth “sexy” voice. Super guy with NO pretense!)
Still miss him to this day…..
“Status man, status.” LOL!!!
Egads Lex, you’re beginning to sound like that joke about the guy who went to pay a bill but first he had to find his glasses, but they’re dirty so had to get a rag and what are those clothes doing on the floor and what a mess the bathroom is but I’ll clean that later and where IS my checkbook look there are dishes in the sink that need to be washed and at the end of the day he never did write out and mail the bill……
I did the dishes too! Just didn’t, you know: Blog about it.
Hard to beat a 50′s convertable or a Fender. I have an earlier Les Paul Standard myself. Stratocaster too.
As to the pink blazer-It seems to say Thurston Howell III. I just know it wouldn’t look good on me.
Yeah, it’s definitely an image thing. The last folks I saw who wore it well was Flash Cadillac & the Continental Kids.
Tis scary that my guitars, all built in the 1970s with one custom exception, are generally considered “vintage.” Heck, even my Fender Tweed Blues Deluxe is considered a “collectable.” The rest of my gear all has to be insured like jewelry on the insurance forms.
Makes me feel old to think about it.
Lex … stand fast against all silly ladies with ACLU logos. On anything. You took her down [intellectually] very neatly. I suspect she’s at home with a drink, pouting and justifying herself to herself.
As for ‘pink,’ gentlemen and ladies, do any of you remember Clint Eastwood and Bernadette Peters in a film confection called Pink Cadillac? It’s one of the few movies Clint has made which demonstrates his humor. And Bernadette was majorly cute in it. If you haven’t yet enjoyed it, rent a copy. With all the dire things happening today, it’ll cheer you up. It doesn’t reflect on the end of the world as we know it, as most movies today seem to do. Rather, it’s an amusing contemplation of the brighter things and darker things which happen while we’re waiting to get on with living.
Y’all have a good weekend now, while the Texas Lege contemplates whether to secede from the Union. Again.
Marianne
That is absolutely the best example of handling the Class A Expanded Imaginary Rights Whiner I have even seen. Kudos, and I can’t stop smirking.
THURSDAY/
You didn’t by any chance take your call-sign after the movie of the same? Great movie, btw.
Actually, I stole it from a book by G.K. Chesterton. I recommend it, and anything else he wrote.
Thursday/
Indeed, I’ve read some of him, but not that–have to check it out. Now that you mention it seems vaguely familiar.
You ought to check out the movie of same name, btw. Google it for descript. “Far-out, man.” Mickey Rourke has a small bit–but priceless–role as sleaze-bag ruthless drug-cop mid-way through…..
I’ve seen the FB pics of Mrs. Lex.
And yeah, you definitely married up.
Ahhhh. Ft. Lauderdale, 2002. Steak Churrasco with Black Beans and a cafe cubana. If you’ve never had it, go find a Cuban restaurant that has it and enjoy the best tasting steak ever.
Good Lord, I’m drooling just thinking about it.
I really hate to bore you folks, but I just had the greatest supper ever, and Lex’s bit on state sanctions and crossfit hit close to home.
First the supper. About a year ago the mother-in-law officially retired, and had to choose to stay in her big city apartment or move closer to her daughter or her son. My neighbor exactly three miles away built a new home for his bride, that being the surest road to domestic tranquility, and so had the farm house unoccupied.
A bag of peanuts and a couple of Pepsi’s in the machine shed later we had a cunning plan, and now the mother-in-law is close enough to do babysitting but far enough away she doesn’t bother me. Regular visits are made, of course.
Wife and mother-in-law are gourmets. Pasta with some sort of green stuff hand-rolled in it, listening to The Splendid Table on NPR during the weekend even if there is a Twins game on, mushrooms and onions in everything short of jello. You get the idea.
I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so when the mother-in-law offered to trade replacing a serpentine belt on her Blazer for supper, I ordered steak. Chicken fried steak, to be precise. The cheapest cut of meat you can find smothered in white gravy with mashed potatoes and if there’s a vegetable it better be hidden.
My goodness, but a man could get used to that.
Took me almost 3 minutes to replace the belt, about three hours to jaw with the neighbor and select the right tools and eat peanuts and drink Pepsi in the machine shed before the job was started, let alone finished.
I’m just, you know, gloating. A simple job, time spent with friends, a great meal at the end of it all. Life don’t get much better than that.
I hit the scales at 185 this evening. That’s 10 pounds more than when this conspiracy of mine first came about. Twenty pounds more than I weighed as a midshipman when I was 18, but still 20 pounds less than I weighed when I hit 40.
I look at the scale and ask myself, was that chicken fried steak worth it?
Yes. Yes it was.
– Max
Max,
You are a lucky man, indeed.
And clever.
And smart enough to be buying land in S. America….
Pink button down shirt, light grey slacks, blue blazer, and appropriate tie, not too loud, and you are dyn-o-mite.
I’ll have that martini with Bombay Sapphire myself
Blazer and grey slacks? Sure, that’s the unofficial uniform for retired Captains. But a pink shirt? Better not be any shipmates around to see him…
For retired flag officers, it seems to be blue blazer, gray slacks and a white turtleneck. Which is why I didn’t want to be a flag officer.
I hate turtlenecks.
“I ‘hate’ turtlenecks.”
Which is why you live in Sandy Eggo…..
And not, say, Boston, Cambridge, or NYC.
Yeah,
Blue wool blazer and grey flannel slacks. White shirt and classic tie. Up here it’s called the “New England Uniform”. In winter you can add a red sweater vest. In summer, you replace the grey flannel slacks with khaki slacks and an oxford shirt. You can leave the tie off for casual wear, or add one for a more formal event. Occasional wags may be found sporting a bow tie in summer, especially when the bar is open, or lawyers are present.
Black shoes. Always.
respects,
I think I’ve told this story before- at a parade outside NAS Whidbey, Dad and 8 other retired Captains gathered before the festivities. All but one were in blue blazers and grey slacks, white shirts, simple ties.
The odd man out? A black suit. He looked at the other Captains and said, “I have to go to a funeral right after this…”
I was told turtlenecks were required for retired Captains as well. Perhaps I was misinformed.
Made me wonder-Is MexPac (whatever its real name was in mid 80′s) still in Coronado?
I believe it is, although only people of our vintage seem to call it that, anymore.
Unfortunately, MexPac is gone. Went looking on my last trip. See the evidence:
PS — great work getting the preview working again, Lex!
Lex, in case you didn’t know, those WODs are scaleable. Link is right there on the main page.
Oh, I’m scaling like a madman, trust me
Good grief, Cap’n, you’re up and about early in the AM!
Love how you so eloquently – and politely – dispatched that woman just by being honest.
“Oh-and as far as ghey clothing. Stay away from pink. It’s just not right.”
Well, Wilco, down here in San Antonio By God Texas, we ain’t got no “pink” clothes for men. We call it “light red”.
AW1Tim/
I always thought a deep cordovan was also acceptable–especially in a loafer. No?
(At least that’s the way I roll..)
And if really nautical, white slacks–preferably DAKS w. white shoes if on-board–otherwise cordovan or white/baby-blue “forward-fashion” fabric combo. The really racy substitute powder blue sport coat with those shoes, baby!
Oh, and for the shirt w. the powder blue sport-coat and white slacks?–try blue & white stripe with Blue & Gold Paisley tie. Now you’re rockin’.
Powder blue is too close to Santiago Blue for a Navy man to countenance. We reserve that for Bus Drivers and Air Force types.
QM/
SMILE, when you say that, Mister!
Yeah,
Mine is more of a rich indigo blue, what used to be known in this country as the “National Color”.
About the same colour as the French used for their paletots in the 19th century. Excellent when coupled with a habitat-veste and sans coulottes in a brushed khaki.
Lace, of course, is optional. Unless you are French.
Pressed kahkis, blue blazer, oxford shirt and rep striped tie: The Charleston Tuxedo. Down here in the Lowcountry, it will take you from weddings to funerals, lawn parties to steeplechases with only minor adjustements.
In summer, shift colors to tan Duckhead shorts and lose the blazer and tie. Boat shoes if your dressing up, flip flops otherwise.