Today was my and Isabelle's first soccer practice of the spring season. It went well, I think. Lots to do, and the team strikes me as a good mix of experience. I am excited.
At the end, one of the team parents from last year approached me and said, "We were hoping to get you as our coach again this year, my daughter was so bummed."
I thanked her, and then apologized, telling her that league rules kept us from doing as we might want.
"We know, but my girl is still down about it."
It felt very good to hear, especially given that I had a bit of a hard time from the head coach that season. Her words felt better than some petty vindication, they just felt...good.
I look forward to another good season, and hope to do well by the children I coach.
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Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sometimes....
Sometimes I feel more than a bit jaded, tired of the tawdry shit I see on a daily basis. It makes me angry, sometimes, makes me rant, a lot.
Due to last night's bad news and despite all the generous support I read from those that learned of it, this morning I was feeling more than a bit sorry for myself and ready to take it out on the world.
As my faithful few know, I ride a motorbike for my commute. I bulled that bike into traffic this morning, riding aggressively. Once into traffic I opened the throttle quite strongly, but ended up stopped at the light that always gets me. GRunting curses under my breath, I waited for the interminable light to change so I could get on to work.
As I pulled away, about 1/5 of a mile down the road, there was a man standing between sidewalk and curb, sign in hand.
Now usually I would think, "Fuckin' bum, angling for cash I don't have to pay for his dope habit," but this guy was nowhere near anywhere he might hit up stopped motorists for cash.
When I drew close enough to read his sign, it read simply, 'SMILE' in big red letters on a white background.
He wasn't dressed like a nut, he didn't act like one (aside from standing by the road early in the morning with a sign) and I don't choose to believe he was one.
Instead I think he was placed there, by whatever Power that places such events in our path, to send a message to me and any others that cared to look at 0712Hrs on Treat Ave in Concord, Ca.
The message I drew from it was this: Don't take it all so serious. Things could be much, much worse. Smile.
I smiled so wide it brought tears to my eyes.
Due to last night's bad news and despite all the generous support I read from those that learned of it, this morning I was feeling more than a bit sorry for myself and ready to take it out on the world.
As my faithful few know, I ride a motorbike for my commute. I bulled that bike into traffic this morning, riding aggressively. Once into traffic I opened the throttle quite strongly, but ended up stopped at the light that always gets me. GRunting curses under my breath, I waited for the interminable light to change so I could get on to work.
As I pulled away, about 1/5 of a mile down the road, there was a man standing between sidewalk and curb, sign in hand.
Now usually I would think, "Fuckin' bum, angling for cash I don't have to pay for his dope habit," but this guy was nowhere near anywhere he might hit up stopped motorists for cash.
When I drew close enough to read his sign, it read simply, 'SMILE' in big red letters on a white background.
He wasn't dressed like a nut, he didn't act like one (aside from standing by the road early in the morning with a sign) and I don't choose to believe he was one.
Instead I think he was placed there, by whatever Power that places such events in our path, to send a message to me and any others that cared to look at 0712Hrs on Treat Ave in Concord, Ca.
The message I drew from it was this: Don't take it all so serious. Things could be much, much worse. Smile.
I smiled so wide it brought tears to my eyes.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wow...
Wow... This young lady has an amazing talent, and her father has every right to be proud. The songwriting is very tight: evocative and sometimes playful, the singing sweet.
Wow:
Wow:
Sunday, March 27, 2011
A New Idea
Or rather, a return to an idea I had some time ago...
I have to finish Bridge of The Broken so I can write the contemporary piece of crime fiction.
Rather than give it away entire, let me just say it involves crime and cops, but will focus on the criminals; the old breed versus the new, set in the hills of Tennessee.
I considered it before. I'll need to spend some time soaking up the meter and sound of the people before pulling the trigger on it. I think it will have to be 2012's project.
I have to finish Bridge of The Broken so I can write the contemporary piece of crime fiction.
Rather than give it away entire, let me just say it involves crime and cops, but will focus on the criminals; the old breed versus the new, set in the hills of Tennessee.
I considered it before. I'll need to spend some time soaking up the meter and sound of the people before pulling the trigger on it. I think it will have to be 2012's project.
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Happy Bailiff
I make light of the madness and oddities I see every day, but this is the kind of crap I dread having happen while I work. I have only once had to go hands-on in my duties as bailiff, and that was enough.
Or this....
Or this....
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I'm BACK
Well, lots of problems persist, but no matter how down I want to be about things, the family is healthy (more or less) and all these things I want are just that; things I dream about. The weather hasn't cooperated lately, but next week it is supposed to improve, giving me a better chance at riding daily, which is sure to improve my mood considerably.
I have decided to withdraw head from ass and get on with things.
Next week should be a nice, mellow cruise, followed by a four-day weekend where I plan to get a great deal done.
I have decided to withdraw head from ass and get on with things.
Next week should be a nice, mellow cruise, followed by a four-day weekend where I plan to get a great deal done.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Incommunicado:
Adjective: In a state or condition in which one is unable or unwilling to communicate.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A New Thing
Lest I repeat myself overmuch, this is another rant about politeness and the courts. You may not wish to read further, having read it all before.
Now:
I, in my waiting, have been short of patience and filled with desire to fret. I took yesterday off so I would not chew the head off any small babies, yet heard nothing.
I came into work today...Let's not call it angry, but I wasn't exactly in my happy place.
The morning session started as such things do; with twelve people in the courtroom. Over time, the crowd is added to by late people. People who could not get their act together to arrive on time.
Perhaps as a symptom of my ADD, I detest being late. I spent my entire youth trying to cover for my lack of focus by showing up early in order to minimize the chance I might miss whatever appointment I have. I know this colors my opinion of folks who can't be on time. I figure if you show up late, you should be sweaty and out of breath, having made every motherfucking effort possible to arrive on time. If you can't do that, then at least try and attract as little attention as you can to your lateness as possible, ie sit down and shut the fuck up.
This morning, a frequent flier with the courts showed up late. She's out of breath and reassembling her clothing from the search downstairs, so I am inclined to forgive a bit.
The out of breath frequent flier approaches me.
"Have a seat ma'am."
"I am late."
"I am quite aware of that, have a seat."
"But, I'm late."
I flounder for words, stunned by her tendency to exhibitionism. I mean, I would have been better prepared had she opened her shirt and showed me some skin. She might as well have said, "I am stupid. Look at my stupid. It's my stupid. My stupid is special, see?"
The judge notices, tells her to sit. She does. Court resumes. A few people approach me, get told to sit.
Heedless of the stupidity of his question, an older man in khaki pants and blue button-down shirt approaches me and asks, "Can I ask a question?"
"Sir, if you are here for ten-thirty, you are early," I begin to tell him.
He interrupts with something.
"Sir, court is in session, you can either have a seat and be silent-
He interrupts again.
"Sir, you need to stop and listen to what I am saying."
He rolled his eyes. I am looking the man in the face, and he ROLLS HIS FUCKING EYES!
My Inner Gorilla went from napping to unconsciousness, having slammed itself against the bars so hard and fast that it was lights out.
For an adult male to roll his eyes at another adult male is childish. But for one who wants something from another to do it was...inconceivable. Literally. I had never, in my most fevered dreams of what might be acceptable in polite society, conceived of a sane adult male that might come to believe that rolling their eyes would actually do them a service. I know teens who act in a more adult fashion, even when dealing with the petty requirements of their parents.
Recovering my verbal faculties after a moment of stunned incredulousness. I told him to either leave or sit down.
He left.
A young man comes up on Eye-Roller's heels.
My Gorilla, shaking off his sudden lack o consciousness, snarled, "What makes you think you are any different from that man, sir? Please have a seat."
"I was late."
OHCHRISTYOUPEOPLEAREALLSOFUCKINGSTUPID! My Gorilla whimpers, collapses on his ass, mired in the fecundity of the stupid that places such people in the world to poke me with their stupid.
"Have a seat."
He turns his back, muttering imprecautions all the way to his place.
Eye-Roller returns. Stares.
FUCK YOU, I tell him with my eyes.
He leaves.
1030 rolls in and he returns, waits to appear before the clerk, and requests a continuance.
Looks like Eye-Roller will be back.
Hope he chokes on it.
Now:
I, in my waiting, have been short of patience and filled with desire to fret. I took yesterday off so I would not chew the head off any small babies, yet heard nothing.
I came into work today...Let's not call it angry, but I wasn't exactly in my happy place.
The morning session started as such things do; with twelve people in the courtroom. Over time, the crowd is added to by late people. People who could not get their act together to arrive on time.
Perhaps as a symptom of my ADD, I detest being late. I spent my entire youth trying to cover for my lack of focus by showing up early in order to minimize the chance I might miss whatever appointment I have. I know this colors my opinion of folks who can't be on time. I figure if you show up late, you should be sweaty and out of breath, having made every motherfucking effort possible to arrive on time. If you can't do that, then at least try and attract as little attention as you can to your lateness as possible, ie sit down and shut the fuck up.
This morning, a frequent flier with the courts showed up late. She's out of breath and reassembling her clothing from the search downstairs, so I am inclined to forgive a bit.
The out of breath frequent flier approaches me.
"Have a seat ma'am."
"I am late."
"I am quite aware of that, have a seat."
"But, I'm late."
I flounder for words, stunned by her tendency to exhibitionism. I mean, I would have been better prepared had she opened her shirt and showed me some skin. She might as well have said, "I am stupid. Look at my stupid. It's my stupid. My stupid is special, see?"
The judge notices, tells her to sit. She does. Court resumes. A few people approach me, get told to sit.
Heedless of the stupidity of his question, an older man in khaki pants and blue button-down shirt approaches me and asks, "Can I ask a question?"
"Sir, if you are here for ten-thirty, you are early," I begin to tell him.
He interrupts with something.
"Sir, court is in session, you can either have a seat and be silent-
He interrupts again.
"Sir, you need to stop and listen to what I am saying."
He rolled his eyes. I am looking the man in the face, and he ROLLS HIS FUCKING EYES!
My Inner Gorilla went from napping to unconsciousness, having slammed itself against the bars so hard and fast that it was lights out.
For an adult male to roll his eyes at another adult male is childish. But for one who wants something from another to do it was...inconceivable. Literally. I had never, in my most fevered dreams of what might be acceptable in polite society, conceived of a sane adult male that might come to believe that rolling their eyes would actually do them a service. I know teens who act in a more adult fashion, even when dealing with the petty requirements of their parents.
Recovering my verbal faculties after a moment of stunned incredulousness. I told him to either leave or sit down.
He left.
A young man comes up on Eye-Roller's heels.
My Gorilla, shaking off his sudden lack o consciousness, snarled, "What makes you think you are any different from that man, sir? Please have a seat."
"I was late."
OHCHRISTYOUPEOPLEAREALLSOFUCKINGSTUPID! My Gorilla whimpers, collapses on his ass, mired in the fecundity of the stupid that places such people in the world to poke me with their stupid.
"Have a seat."
He turns his back, muttering imprecautions all the way to his place.
Eye-Roller returns. Stares.
FUCK YOU, I tell him with my eyes.
He leaves.
1030 rolls in and he returns, waits to appear before the clerk, and requests a continuance.
Looks like Eye-Roller will be back.
Hope he chokes on it.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Word
None.
Tomorrow, I hope.
Took the day off.
As I need diversion, Shogun 2 is looking real good right now.
Tomorrow, I hope.
Took the day off.
As I need diversion, Shogun 2 is looking real good right now.
Shogun 2
Not only am I to get word from the publisher today, Total War: SHOGUN 2 is on sale!
I am so excited, my face may melt off.
If you don't know, the Total War series has the absolute best offerings ever for military strategy games. Gorgeous graphics, incredibly accurate rendering of the soldiers, right down to the uniforms, all of it is damn fine stuff.
And if you don't know I write, what are you doing here?
I am so excited, my face may melt off.
If you don't know, the Total War series has the absolute best offerings ever for military strategy games. Gorgeous graphics, incredibly accurate rendering of the soldiers, right down to the uniforms, all of it is damn fine stuff.
And if you don't know I write, what are you doing here?
Monday, March 14, 2011
New Week
Wondering what the week will bring. Tomorrow we are to have word on The Last Captain.
And a new concern: I signed up for World Fantasy Convention 2011 last year on the last day of WFC 2010. My name has not made the list of attending members, and the registrar has not responded to my emailed request for more information. I have also already made my reservation for the hotel, so the anger sharks, they are swimming.
And a new concern: I signed up for World Fantasy Convention 2011 last year on the last day of WFC 2010. My name has not made the list of attending members, and the registrar has not responded to my emailed request for more information. I have also already made my reservation for the hotel, so the anger sharks, they are swimming.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Other Cop Writers
This guy gets it. Please read it through...
http://chattanoogapulse.com/columns/on-the-beat/on-the-beat-lives-hanging-in-the-balance/
http://chattanoogapulse.com/columns/on-the-beat/on-the-beat-lives-hanging-in-the-balance/
Thursday, March 10, 2011
What's For Lunch?
A big pile of writing shit!
Hopefully it is not total shit, but usable shit.
It won't be a little shit.
To the shit I go.
Shit-eating grins will follow.
I shit you not.
If I can get my shit together.
Shit.
Shhhhhiiiiiiit.
Hopefully it is not total shit, but usable shit.
It won't be a little shit.
To the shit I go.
Shit-eating grins will follow.
I shit you not.
If I can get my shit together.
Shit.
Shhhhhiiiiiiit.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Fun With Law Enforcement, Lawnmowers, Skyjacks, and Beer
Ahh... More great law enforcement videos.
You might be a drunk moron if...
And more drunk still...
And the same dude, more drunk still...
I begin to suspect these are skits, but man, are they funny...
You might be a drunk moron if...
And more drunk still...
And the same dude, more drunk still...
I begin to suspect these are skits, but man, are they funny...
RE-Charge
Six days to word on The Last Captain, or so we were told.
I want to thank my UFGirlz; your encouragement has been constant, and greatly appreciated. One might think I was an Adonis with a nice personality, given the level of constant encouragement and attention I get from each of you (especially the one who isn't a UF-writer).
Thanks. Thanks very much.
I wanted to say something witty today, but I believe my heartfelt thanks more appropriate.
I want to thank my UFGirlz; your encouragement has been constant, and greatly appreciated. One might think I was an Adonis with a nice personality, given the level of constant encouragement and attention I get from each of you (especially the one who isn't a UF-writer).
Thanks. Thanks very much.
I wanted to say something witty today, but I believe my heartfelt thanks more appropriate.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Chugging Along
Some days I get quite a bit done. It seems today was one of those. Here, another excerpt from Bridge of The Broken, is a portion of that produce:
Venkman waited for Larissa to clear the door before following her from the building.
“This was nice,” she said over her shoulder, catching him watching her ass. She snorted, punched him in the shoulder as he took two long strides to catch up.
As he felt no remorse for appreciating her assets, and showed none, instead asking, “How so?” suspecting he knew the answer.
“Working together. Reminds me of how we met.”
He grinned, “Yes. Yes, it does.”
“What do you think is up?”
“I think it’s all mental masturbation until your guy gets back with more details.”
She nodded, a thoughtful expression he knew well creasing her brow, “If he finds anything.”
“True. Sometimes you don’t get anywhere until it drops in your lap.”
Larissa laughed, “Again, like how we met.”
His phone started to vibrate. He took it out, glanced at it. Now why is the Lieutenant calling me? he thought as he answered.
“Venkman, your partner was involved in a shooting,” the lieutenant said without preamble.
“I know, that’s why I took the day off, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
What the fuck? Venkman thought, barely holding his tongue in check.
“Oh, no, I’m not talking about the one yesterday. Sorry. There’s been a new incident. This one involving Baptiste.”
“He’s alright?” he asked, sudden concern spiking his bloodstream with chemicals.
Larissa looked at him in alarm, sensing his sudden stillness.
“Yes, he’s uninjured. I just thought you should know… And I thought to ask if Baptiste has a girlfriend or something. I tried his home, but got nothing. I seem to remember a woman at the Christmas party…”
So you can scare the shit out of Myrna too, you fucking twit? Venkman thought. Rather than lie, he said nothing.
A moment passed in silence.
The Lieutenant broke it, “So, do you know a number where his girlfriend might be reached?”
“He must not have updated his record, Lieutenant. You can’t ask him?” he asked, knowing the man couldn’t.
“Oh, no. You know how it is. No one can talk to them but their representatives and the investigators from Homicide and Internal Affairs.”
“I’ll be there in a bit, Lieutenant.”
“No need.”
“I know. Still.”
A sigh, “See you soon, then,” the Lieutenant answered.
Not if I see you first, Venkman thought as he ended the call.
“What’s up?” Larissa asked.
“Light on details, but the LT says Baptiste was involved in a shooting. He’s alright. I need to go to Myrna’s place and get her.”
“Shouldn’t the Lieutena-“ she began.
He shook his head, calling up the address, “He about stopped my heart delivering the news. I won’t have him doing that to her.”
She stepped close, wrapped an arm over his shoulder, “You’re a good man, Nigel Venkman.”
Venkman smiled, kissed her cheek, “Thanks. Can I drop you at home or the office?” Baptiste and Myrna hadn’t had Larissa over to their home, mostly because Myrna held a grudge against Larissa for not executing Rankless Wardlaw when she had him in her power. Venkman didn’t want to take the chance Myrna would add this incident to her list of complaints against the former Imperial.
“The office is closer,” she said, releasing him and starting toward the truck.
Joining her, Venkman felt a warmth in his chest that had everything to do with her effortless understanding.
Venkman waited for Larissa to clear the door before following her from the building.
“This was nice,” she said over her shoulder, catching him watching her ass. She snorted, punched him in the shoulder as he took two long strides to catch up.
As he felt no remorse for appreciating her assets, and showed none, instead asking, “How so?” suspecting he knew the answer.
“Working together. Reminds me of how we met.”
He grinned, “Yes. Yes, it does.”
“What do you think is up?”
“I think it’s all mental masturbation until your guy gets back with more details.”
She nodded, a thoughtful expression he knew well creasing her brow, “If he finds anything.”
“True. Sometimes you don’t get anywhere until it drops in your lap.”
Larissa laughed, “Again, like how we met.”
His phone started to vibrate. He took it out, glanced at it. Now why is the Lieutenant calling me? he thought as he answered.
“Venkman, your partner was involved in a shooting,” the lieutenant said without preamble.
“I know, that’s why I took the day off, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
What the fuck? Venkman thought, barely holding his tongue in check.
“Oh, no, I’m not talking about the one yesterday. Sorry. There’s been a new incident. This one involving Baptiste.”
“He’s alright?” he asked, sudden concern spiking his bloodstream with chemicals.
Larissa looked at him in alarm, sensing his sudden stillness.
“Yes, he’s uninjured. I just thought you should know… And I thought to ask if Baptiste has a girlfriend or something. I tried his home, but got nothing. I seem to remember a woman at the Christmas party…”
So you can scare the shit out of Myrna too, you fucking twit? Venkman thought. Rather than lie, he said nothing.
A moment passed in silence.
The Lieutenant broke it, “So, do you know a number where his girlfriend might be reached?”
“He must not have updated his record, Lieutenant. You can’t ask him?” he asked, knowing the man couldn’t.
“Oh, no. You know how it is. No one can talk to them but their representatives and the investigators from Homicide and Internal Affairs.”
“I’ll be there in a bit, Lieutenant.”
“No need.”
“I know. Still.”
A sigh, “See you soon, then,” the Lieutenant answered.
Not if I see you first, Venkman thought as he ended the call.
“What’s up?” Larissa asked.
“Light on details, but the LT says Baptiste was involved in a shooting. He’s alright. I need to go to Myrna’s place and get her.”
“Shouldn’t the Lieutena-“ she began.
He shook his head, calling up the address, “He about stopped my heart delivering the news. I won’t have him doing that to her.”
She stepped close, wrapped an arm over his shoulder, “You’re a good man, Nigel Venkman.”
Venkman smiled, kissed her cheek, “Thanks. Can I drop you at home or the office?” Baptiste and Myrna hadn’t had Larissa over to their home, mostly because Myrna held a grudge against Larissa for not executing Rankless Wardlaw when she had him in her power. Venkman didn’t want to take the chance Myrna would add this incident to her list of complaints against the former Imperial.
“The office is closer,” she said, releasing him and starting toward the truck.
Joining her, Venkman felt a warmth in his chest that had everything to do with her effortless understanding.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Recharging
Spent this weekend crawling in the headspace, making things right (Rather, as right as they ever get up there). I actually sat down and did some writing on Bridge of The Broken, which I have been absent from for about two weeks.
I have said before that I rarely remember my dreams. Saturday morning was one exception. I woke twice in the early-morning hours, vivid recollections of both ringing through my head. One was a horror, the other sexual. Both are still bothersome. The latter dream kept me from returning to sleep at O-Dark-Thirty, so I spent some time in the living room reading.
Regardles of my subconcious' gymnastics, I spent a pleasant Saturday with my daughter, goofing off on the computer and generally basking in the kid's glow.
Sunday morning was raining cats and dogs, a problem as I was to go hunting with Doc Chris. We drove through even heavier rains to get to Suisun Marsh. I was concerned as my rain-gear is pretty pathetic, and I do not like getting my feet wet all that much, not to mention my great-grandfather's gun. On our arrival at the club house it started to rain harder. As we stood on the back porch, waiting for our rental dog (The hunting demi-god, Rebel), it continued to rain even more heavily.
Doc Chris, who is a generally positive guy, said, "I'm sure it'll stop raining for us."
I looked at him.
"You have to be positive."
I shook my head, "I am positive. Positive it's raining like fuck out there."
We waited a bit, chatted with the kennel-mistress, and picked Rebel up. A few more minutes of jaw-jacking and we drove out to our field.
The skies didn't exactly part, but the rain eased, becoming a light mist. It was 0817 when I left my phone in the truck.
Rebel charged out the gate and immediately went on point. Bird up, Doc puts it down. Rebel begins to retrieve the bird to hand. There is a ruckus in the next field over. Their bird flies into our field. Thirty yard crossing shot. Doc takes it with a nice shot. The neighboring hunters' dog, Greta, picks the bird up and begins to retrieve, but then puts it down on command.
To cut a short story shorter, it took forty minutes for us to get all eight birds remaining on our card. We were done hunting by nine, and I was home by ten AM. My feet barely had time to get wet.
Quite the feat.
I cleaned my great-grandfather's LC Smith shotgun when I got home, prepping it for off-season storage, reflecting on why I so enjoy hunting. Later, I bragged to my father about what an excellent day we'd had. We had quite the conversation about it.
All in all, a damn fine weekend. I am refreshed, for the most part.
I have said before that I rarely remember my dreams. Saturday morning was one exception. I woke twice in the early-morning hours, vivid recollections of both ringing through my head. One was a horror, the other sexual. Both are still bothersome. The latter dream kept me from returning to sleep at O-Dark-Thirty, so I spent some time in the living room reading.
Regardles of my subconcious' gymnastics, I spent a pleasant Saturday with my daughter, goofing off on the computer and generally basking in the kid's glow.
Sunday morning was raining cats and dogs, a problem as I was to go hunting with Doc Chris. We drove through even heavier rains to get to Suisun Marsh. I was concerned as my rain-gear is pretty pathetic, and I do not like getting my feet wet all that much, not to mention my great-grandfather's gun. On our arrival at the club house it started to rain harder. As we stood on the back porch, waiting for our rental dog (The hunting demi-god, Rebel), it continued to rain even more heavily.
Doc Chris, who is a generally positive guy, said, "I'm sure it'll stop raining for us."
I looked at him.
"You have to be positive."
I shook my head, "I am positive. Positive it's raining like fuck out there."
We waited a bit, chatted with the kennel-mistress, and picked Rebel up. A few more minutes of jaw-jacking and we drove out to our field.
The skies didn't exactly part, but the rain eased, becoming a light mist. It was 0817 when I left my phone in the truck.
Rebel charged out the gate and immediately went on point. Bird up, Doc puts it down. Rebel begins to retrieve the bird to hand. There is a ruckus in the next field over. Their bird flies into our field. Thirty yard crossing shot. Doc takes it with a nice shot. The neighboring hunters' dog, Greta, picks the bird up and begins to retrieve, but then puts it down on command.
To cut a short story shorter, it took forty minutes for us to get all eight birds remaining on our card. We were done hunting by nine, and I was home by ten AM. My feet barely had time to get wet.
Quite the feat.
I cleaned my great-grandfather's LC Smith shotgun when I got home, prepping it for off-season storage, reflecting on why I so enjoy hunting. Later, I bragged to my father about what an excellent day we'd had. We had quite the conversation about it.
All in all, a damn fine weekend. I am refreshed, for the most part.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Stupid
You can slap the stupid out of people, but you just can't slap the stupid out of people.
Damn.
Damn.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Films
Jay Lake just put up a list of some of his favorite films. Being entirely unoriginal and a slave to fashion, I decided I needed to do my own:
Non-Anglophone Films:
La Femme Nikita
Cyrano de Bergerac
REC
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Beaulieu 13
Science Fiction:
Alien
Aliens
The Matrix
Life Force
Outland
Crime:
The Usual Suspects
Lock Stock, Two Smoking Barrels
The Green Machine
Snatch
The French Connection
The Departed
Blood in, Blood Out
Heat
Taken
Bullet
Colors
Animated:
Heavy Metal
Watership Down
War:
Full Metal Jacket
Saving Private Ryan
Beast Of War
Fantasy:
Conan the Barbarian
Lord of The Rings Trilogy
Excalibur
Western:
The Magnificent Seven
True Grit (Both Versions)
3:10 to Yuma
Comedy:
The Pink Panther
The Hangover
American Pie
A Brief History of The World
Monty Python's The Quest For the Holy Grail
Ice Pirates
The Blues Brothers
Other:
The Seven Samurai
Stand By Me
Non-Anglophone Films:
La Femme Nikita
Cyrano de Bergerac
REC
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Beaulieu 13
Science Fiction:
Alien
Aliens
The Matrix
Life Force
Outland
Crime:
The Usual Suspects
Lock Stock, Two Smoking Barrels
The Green Machine
Snatch
The French Connection
The Departed
Blood in, Blood Out
Heat
Taken
Bullet
Colors
Animated:
Heavy Metal
Watership Down
War:
Full Metal Jacket
Saving Private Ryan
Beast Of War
Fantasy:
Conan the Barbarian
Lord of The Rings Trilogy
Excalibur
Western:
The Magnificent Seven
True Grit (Both Versions)
3:10 to Yuma
Comedy:
The Pink Panther
The Hangover
American Pie
A Brief History of The World
Monty Python's The Quest For the Holy Grail
Ice Pirates
The Blues Brothers
Other:
The Seven Samurai
Stand By Me
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