Atheists believe in dog

Atheists believe in dog

Who needs pine beetle.

Hail hail rock and roll. My own private clearcut.

5 pairs to sawdust in 3 hours.

Thanks to Ma and Pa for keeping me in sticks all these years.

Who needs pine beetle.

Brandon Cherrington laying out the board

Labelling the tracks old school.

Brandon Cherrington laying out the board

Vogville

Deep in the heart of Call-it-quits-land. Getting set to play Arctic Oscillation, 20 Miles and Up to and Into Nothing as a three song live-off-the-floor recording with Ammonia Stars (www.ammoniastars.com).

Vogville

Penultimate

Ok. Its been a while but this one is worth blogging about.

Some people complain about the lack of updates on this blog, but one must remember that everything I type is completed on the small thumbpad of my smartphone. So it takes me up to an hour to write and post an entry sometimes ... Something you will read in a matter of moments.

But this particular time I am moved to report on a product I have discovered, by accident, that has to be one of the most amazingly wonderful little instruments that I have ever encountered.

Many of you will have heard of the Space Pen(tm). For those of you immune to popular trivia, and the Seinfeld show, I will explain.

In 1966, the year of my birth, an engineer named Paul Fisher perfected the design of his ballpoint pen. A lowly instrument, widely and cheaply available since the 50s, the ballpoint has always represented an inexpensive, mostly reliable and ubuquitous writing tool, allowing the masses to inscribe their deepest thoughts in ink. But as early as 1948, Mr. Fisher had been keenly aware of the device's limitations.

Cheap mass market production of pens, and the low profits these items brought their manufacturers, had reduced the utility of them considerably. Prone to clogging, weak ink flow, and a design that required the writer to avoid writing on anything but a smooth flat surface held parallel to the ground, these pens were useless for people on the go, who sometimes had to write on paper that presented a vertical surface, or in the cold or very hot temperatures that our various global climates delivered.

Fisher's new design was borne out of sheer frustration with the lack of innovation. He saw manufacturers innovate purely in the mechanical and aesthetic design of the pen, without ever overcoming the basic flaws in the design of the pen's core function: ink delivery to the paper.

Mont Blanc would sell you an exquiste writing instrument for many hundreds of dollars. Parker (ahem) a nice glittery bit of silvery kit for $60, and Bic and Biro: a utilitarian yellow crack-smoker's dream for a few cents.

Each of them had their place in the world, but each, no matter the cost, was essentially crap.

Then along came Fisher.

Armed with a singular vision, Paul Fisher set out to build a seamlessly fluid and visually stunning work of art, one that would serve its owner reliably for the entire life of every ink cartridge, in the frigid cold, the searing heat, high humidity, dessicating desert dryness or the total vacuum of your workspace. Yes, not only did the pen work everywhere on earth, but it even accompanied Apollo astronauts to space. Hence its nerdy name. And not only did the pen work flawlessly in zero gravity (just try writing upside down with your Office Depot 10-pack of Med fine blue trusties and you'll discover their gravity-bound limitations) but one famously saved an entire mission from certain disaster..but that's another story.

So while waiting for a group of ladies to shop themselves into exhaustion, I had wandered into one of those local pen and knife shops to peruse the various weaponry.

Gazing blankly at the display of writing instruments, my eyes flickered across the Space Pen display. I've always wondered about them, but due to their diminutive size, slippery metal housing (I'm not the most coordinated of people, you know), hefty price tag (just shy of $80) and faddish gimickry, I've never really considered buying or trying one. But then something caught my eye at the edge of the display .

What was this?

A full sized Space Pen, with a grippy-looking black rubber housing, solid construction and nice comforting rotundity.

I beckoned the clerk and asked him for a look see. He brought over a writing pad and took a display model out for me to try.

With one stroke I knew I had to have it.

Smooth? ... like nothing you've ever swept across a page.

Upside down, on a wall. Thick and seductive ink flow no matter where you point it.

Fisher's design is simply breathtaking. You see, what he did was pressurize the ink cartridge with about 40psi and sealed it up tight. Then he used some tungsten titanium alloy thingamabobby for his ball point, a custom channel design for getting ink to the ball with nary a clog, and the ink itself is drawn from the rich arterial blood of a thrush-voiced jazz songstress. Nina Simone... Yeah, like her. Or maybe Ella. Yeah. One of them. Mixed in with some pixie dust and the phlegm of an endangered tribe of Amazon warrior princesses. Whatever. Its the business.

And what Fisher did, he did it right. Wow.

In the words of the immortal Bricktop: "Like buttah."

With some trepidation, I turned the box over and squinted at the price tag. Since this version of Fisher's design was built specifically for law enforcement, I knew he'd be cashing in on the weapon-geek factor in the same way that MagLite(tm) has done for years with their giant black dildo flashlights.

And the price?

$27.95

Refills?

$7

Writes in space. Saved astronauts. Looks like money. Glides like a hawk. Under three tenners, all in. Check!

And you don't have one because...?

Penultimate

Good

Good

Oh. My. God

http://bacontoday.com/tag/bacon-explosion/

Oh. My. God

N-noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-.

N-noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

You can't escape

I am the ultimate stalker. I have the technology.

(OK, well she did agree to be stalked)...
 

You can't escape

Right direction

No more emails from the Blackcurry(TM) so while I wait, I'll try to lighten up.

Right direction

She's safe

Got a message from a mysterious Indian mobile email device.

So unless some mysterious Tamil has taken a shine to me and is updating me on his safe travels from his Banyanberry(TM), Wifey has arrived safe and sound in Coimbatore.

No internet so perhaps the blog will not be updated? Watch this space...
_______
Hoto
(sent from my mobile phone)

She's safe

She's almost there

She's almost there

Singapore

Shell had a short sleep in Singapore and a hot but enjoyable day touring around. She did enjoy it there in Singapore, although I think she was in a bit of a fog.

In the air now, headed to Coimbatore to land by about 10am Pacific.


_______
Hoto
(sent from my mobile phone)

Singapore

She's off

Right now she's: Sleeping off a 27 hour journey in Singapore.

Next stop: Coimbatore.

Me? I hope to lose 10lbs while she's gone, next to the 5 I plan to lose from worry. We'll see.

You can catch her shortly at Shell's Travels which I'm sure will be much more interesting than this blog.


_______
Hoto
(sent from my mobile phone)

She's off

Girls night out. NY 2008/9

Girls night out. NY 2008/9

El Puerco

Evidently my affection for cured and salted pork products has inspired some less-than-palatable stocking stuffers.

Yes, they are real.

And yes, they are execrably foul.


(Courtesy: Bro-in-law)

El Puerco

I'm dreamin...

White Christmas in Kamloops. Safe and sound.

I'm dreamin...

Looks fine...let's keep going

Looks fine...let's keep going

I've got an idea

Lets drive 350km across the mountains!

I've got an idea

Holy F*cking Sh*t

OK. 3" on the ground? Not such a big deal.

Snow bucketing down. Rare but not unheard of.

-7C overnight? Very cold for Vancouver, but not a record.

But below zero for over a week, sheets of ice on the roads and sidewalks, and our fountain not only frozen over, but snowed under. At sea level.

Hopefully this kills off the pine beetle.

Holy F*cking Sh*t

Sea level snow

Hard to see with this phone's crappy lens, but that shows just under 6" of snow.

Sea level snow

The Winning Birthday Card thus far

...from sis of course.

The Winning Birthday Card thus far

The Spy Who Loved Me

And then, next game, he knows he's been clocked. So what does he do? Sends his wife!

Sheepers !

The Spy Who Loved Me

The Spy Who Came in From the Bowl

So, there I am, off for an easy few frames of bowling. You know: practise up a bit for challenges with me ol' man.

And what do I see over my shoulder in between balls? The Bearded Wonder himself. Spying on me!

Tchah.

The Spy Who Came in From the Bowl

And yes..in case anyone is wondering

...I am hugely overweight again. Time to get out from in front of Wii and back on the bike!




_______
Hoto
(sent from my mobile phone)

And yes..in case anyone is wondering

Off the scale

(Yawn). Ok, I can wait for ya to catch up, Pop.

Bowling anyone?

Off the scale

Alas, poor ape...

...how thou sweat'st

And a great fear gripped the Shire of The Creek Bragg.

Alas, poor ape...

And verily I say unto thee ...

Fie! Place this in thine countenance, Pater. For nigh thine posterior hath become my canine most feminine.

And verily I say unto thee ...

Dearest Father

Readest thou mine pronoucement of account and grievest with thine tears most sorrowful.


_______
Hoto
(sent from my mobile phone)

Dearest Father

As fall is now most definitely upon us, with falling leaves and temperatures, and since that means another milestone is upon me, the answer to Life, The Universe, and Everything*, it's about time to reconsider my flabby and pasty midriff. Once again it bulges out over my pants as though a hundred rib eye steaks soaked in vodka martinis have risen up and sinuously coiled themselves around my hips. I seem to be hovering just over the 200lb mark and have become a bit disgusted with myself. Thankfully wifey has inspired me yet again. While I've been going for some good bike rides lately, and have been trying to up my cadence to the fat burning zone (puff), I finally broke down and went for a run today.

It was my first run in over a year. And as I wheezed back to my front steps after a feeble and wobbling 4.5k, I remembered why it was that I haven't run in over a year.

It's because running sucks.

It's just a horrible horrible thing with the sole pleasure being stopping. And never having to run again.

So, back to the bike it is.

And as I lay on the couch this evening nursing my rigid calves and whining hamstrings, I realized there's only one thing a man can do at a time like this: Go after my Dad.

That's right. You heard me ... Attack the one man in my tight knit circle of family and friends who I have a hope in hell of catching.

You see, hip surgery aside, he's still a force to be reckoned with in some areas ... Areas where I must exploit his vulnerabilities. Golf, I can't really catch him ... With almost thirty years on me, and a marshall job at his local course, I've got no chance. He's a better musician all round. He's got a science degree. Better read. Speaks a little French and some Russian. Etcetera etcetera.

Therefore I must chase him on the one plane, the one level field where every man can compete with another on even footing, where any man can live the dream of victory over his foe: The Couch!

Or rather, in front of it.

So, Dad, I love you and all, but...READ IT AND WEEP.




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