Christmas Eve

Jay inspired this post. That there's my tree, complete with the mangled blinds of my office window (thanks, cats) behind it. Sorry. No mantle. I no can has fireplace.

Christmas is almost here, and it's poised to be the best I've had since childhood. It's 1730 here, and my brother will arrive in +/- 5 hours with his wife and their three sprogs. Then, there will be more presents under dat tree. I take more pictures then.

Love your families and all those around you. And like Jay said, include an extra prayer for the folks out there who can't be home celebrating with their families because they're out protecting all of ours.

Y'all have a Merry Christmas.



tweaker

Oh, Give Me a Home...

...where I can carve up the buffalo for steaks. Sorry, PETA. I don't do warnings. In fact, if you ARE a PETA-type, maybe you should go somewhere else.

So, in an effort to bring a sense of family to the team, my company's owners threw yet another barn-burner of a Christmas Party this year. It's always a total blast. These folks KNOW how to throw down, y'all. Nice restaurant with a bar that was composed almost entirely of top-shelf imbibement. I opened the evening with a Jack Daniels' Single Barrel on the rocks. The Wifey wanted a bit more subtle a beverage, so I requested hers in the form of a Jack/Coke. He poured a glass of whiskey on the rocks, and left about a half-inch on top. I asked him to top it with Coke. He obliged.

After a myriad of cocktails (including, but not limited to, three Don Julio Margaritas), it was time for hors d'oeuvres. Several different finger foods, including some sort of fried shrimp and the best spring rolls God has ever permitted man to create. The sauce that was on those rolls was devine at worst...

Dinner came late. REAL late. Did I mention that this little soiree started at 1930 and I arrived early? The salads came out around 2300, and dinner technically didn't arrive until the next day. Didn't matter. What hit the table in front of me can only be described as Murder at its Finest. I was served with a full two-inch-thick cut of a Prime Bison Ribeye that was supposed to be medium rare. Fortunately, I prefer the "rare" more than the "medium," because a good vet could have revived my steak.

And that was fine with me.

Seared to perfection on both sides (and all the way around the edges somehow) to seal in the lovely peppercorn rub, they somehow missed the inside of the meat entirely. That was a textbook rare steak, and it was the direct cause of several Earth-shattering, "Don't Touch Me," foodgasms. That was the best steak I have ever had, with a very close second going to a 22-oz. French-cut Ribeye.

My tastes in food are changing again as I get older and the palette becomes more refined. I am learning to appreciate things that I did not understand before and wrote off as "I don't like it." I am also stretching the boundaries of what I already like, such as steaks getting rarer and spicy getting hotter (way hotter...).

Hello. My name is Tweaker, and I am a food addict.



tweaker

Another Tale of Heroes

Not that I'll be the first to point it out or link up, but y'all make sure and drop by (in order, now) and give this new tale a good read.

First, an attentive moment under the ever-watchful eye of Lawdog;

Then breakfast, interrupted, with Amulance Driver;

And finally a "day off" in the life of BabsRN.

Enjoy over a cuppa coffee, a cinnamon roll, and maybe some tissue. Fellas, leave macho at the door.



tweaker

Who Says...

The world/Heaven/etc. wasn't built in a day?


Today, December 16, 2007 marks seven long years that The Wifey has had to regret saying "I do" knowing that I would, too. And among other annoying little details (like laundry that couldn't wait), we spent it with The Little Girl building her idea of Heaven.

Happy Anniversary, dear. I love you.



tweaker

Gun Pr0n #2

What's that in my corner?



That would be a Winchester Model 77 Clip Fed .22LR. Before y'all go crazy in the comments section, yes I know it's magazine fed, but the fine folks over at Winchester decided to name this rifle "Clip Fed" to distinguish it from it's tube-fed cousin.

Here's a closer look:


I always thought it was kinda weird to have the mag release inside the trigger guard like that, but apparently that sort of thing wasn't far fetched back in this rifle's era, which would have been somewhere between 1955 and 1963.

This was my maternal Grandmother's second husband's varmint rifle. He'd likely had it from the original date of purchase, since he'd owned his little piece of property in Olive Branch, MS for about a thousand years, roughly. Owning and using a varmint gun on property like that was not only common, but regularly practiced by most folks in that time. He passed away in 1995, and among the inheritances was this little jewel. It's been mine ever since.

Frankly, I don't know what it shoots like. I've had it for over ten years. Elder Brother was nice enough to find me a reproduction of the original owner's manual, which I eventually used in conjunction with a through spanking via Gunscrubber to bring the Winchester back to life (some nastiness came out of the action that I dare not describe, but no rust). This thing is just begging me to take it for a workout. I see it happening next weekend (can you say Christmas Bonus? I thought you could) at long last.

I have gun cases and gun bags for most of my firearms. This is an old-fashioned gun from a bygone era, where having a rifle or shotgun in the corner wasn't unusual. This gun sits in the corner next to my bed, a long reminder that guns are not taboo. They are a heritage; this one is mine.

P.S. Pr0n #1 was in May. This one is December. The next one won't be so far off, as I am now the proud owner of my vewwy own camera. One day I'll try to learn how to use it. I may be bugging some of y'all about that;)



tweaker

Story of My Life

I could go on for days...

Turn the clock back to around 1300 today.

me: "Hmmm. That 2x4 has two nails sticking straight up out of it. I'd better steer clear of that."

Fast forward about half an hour or so.

me: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And it wasn't enough to have a nail or two through me, nooooo. As I was stepping down about 2.5' from a patio with a spool of cable, my weight was not fully on the now injured foot since my left foot hadn't yet left the patio. Balance, however, was quickly failing me. So was good fortune. I tried lifting my foot off the 2x4 only to learn that it (along with the other 10' 2x4 that IT was nailed to) was STILL ATTACHED to my foot, thus lifting the pair of boards up with my punctured tootsie. I had to slam it back down (you squirmin' yet?) onto the ground, come down with my other foot, and plant my weight on the lumber in an effort to yank my foot from the whole thing.

@&$#!!!

After some screaming, a violatory cigarette (I'm quit as of around last January, give or take), and the painstaking task of removing my shoe and bloody sock, my coworkers and I decided that the only course of action was to cleanse the wound with supplies from the First Aid Kit.

Or, the Jolly Medic's Box O' Torture. I swear, they've got Salted Band-Aids in there...

Several blood-soaked alcohol pads, some dry gauze to stop the bleeding, some ointment to protect the wound from my funky-ass sock and shoe (I'd been working all day, alright? Geez...), and a healty wrap of gauze and tape later, and I decided that my week was through.

I talked to Lt. Colonel Next Door Neighbor (Army Medical Command) who instructed me to keep it clean, keep off of it where applicable, and an Epsom Salt bath woundn't hurt. It's gonna be sore for a couple days.

Of COURSE he asked me about a tetanus shot. I didn't need one. I got one three years ago this August when I got a screw through my hand.

But that's another post...



tweaker

New Intartubes

I DONE A GOOD THING!!!

I, ladies and gentlemen, have accomplished a Honeydo. A good one.

A few months ago (roughly enough to gestate a human) I got me some Intarw3bz. That included a splitter being placed on the RG6 line behind the Living Room TV and being run across the floor into the Office. Along with that cable run was the promise that it would be temporary, with a more permanent solution to follow shortly thereafter.

So, as of this night, that previous solution is now Officially temporary, as it is no longer in place. With the help of my company (and some Five-Fingered RG6Q), there is a nice, inconspicuous run of RG6Q running out from behind the TV, up and over the Hall archway, over the Office door, and nicely under the door and into the office.

I R Good Huzbend!!!



tweaker

Security, eh?

I won't comment (yet) on the Poor Widdle Emo Kid who shot up the mall in Nebraska.

What I've got to say comes from a report on the local news about security at local malls. The news outlet felt it was necessary to get their "finger on the pulse" of their fair city.

As usual, they missed.

One dude said, as he was being interviewed in the mall parking lot at night, that the area looked "fairly safe." May as well stamp the word victim on his forehead. In his defense, he went on to add that you can't go around living in fear, and that you should go on about your business as normal. Well, he was half right. You cannot, you SHOULD not go about life in fear. If you do, you are a victim of those who would do you harm already. You are stripped in a small but very significant way of your freedom; your pursuit of happiness is compromised. Going on about your business as normal, well... I won't get into another post on not being in the position to be victimized. Frankly, it's too late for me to get up the chops to try and compete with the likes of Xavier or Lawdog. They're better at that than I am.

Another lady said that there should be metal detectors at every entrance. Let that sink in for a bit...

Metal detectors. At. Every. Entrance.

Because, you know, people will get their guns or knives and fight and do whatever (I'm NOT making this shit up, y'all. She actually looked right at the interviewer and said this straight faced).

Go ahead, malls. Put metal detectors at the doors. While you're at it, post some signs making it a "gun-free zone." That always helps. Make sure there's no GOOD GUYS there armed as well as the bad guys.

I won't be cocky and try to say that if I were in that mall, I'd damn sure have been the only guy running TOWARD the sounds of gunfire instead of away...







...but I pray that God would give me the courage to do so.




tweaker

Honesty, The Best Policy

Lately you'll notice that I've been in a bit of a funk. I've also noticed several other bloggers having the same issue. Makes me think there's something in the air...

Suffice it to say that, for whatever reason, I'm not posting much lately. Sorry bout that. I'll try harder, I promise! In the meantime, you'll love this one.

Seems that one Jerry Mika could buy a low-mileage soul with the extra good kharma he got. His name was in the "Pay To The Order Of" slot on a real, honest-to-goodness check from the Utah Department of Commerce in the amount of $2,245,342. He was expecting a refund from the Department for about $15. What he likely got was one fewer pair of boxer shorts.

Check out the link here if you don't believe me. It's on teh intarw3b; it must be true.

After much deliberation (or maybe an actual meeting with God, which is what it would likely have taken for me), he decided to give back the check. It was given by honest mistake when a clerk entered a serial number in the "Pay To" line instead of the memo line.

I'd a had a damn tough time explaining to them that their $2M was LOOOONNG gone. I see a very Dumb & Dumber style briefcase of IOU's written on sticky notes during that explanation.



tweaker