I believe the temperature in Jersey was tickling 100 (and may even have gotten above that). It was a good day to spend indoors in air-conditioned comfort. I did not spend the day indoors in air-conditioned comfort. Instead, I played golf brought my golf clubs to a golf course and swung them a lot, accomplishing essentially nothing other than proving that owning golf clubs does not make one a golfer.

Yes, it was an outing sponsored by a local organization, and I (along with three others) had promised to show up. Everyone tee’d off at 12:30, not early in the morning when the temperature was a balmy 85 degrees, but at 12:30 when the temperature and humidity were raging.

I must have turned two gallons of water into sweat. Speaking of sweat, I tried a Gatorade for the first time. My God, that stuff tastes like sweat. But, I guess that’s the idea.

The wedding was terrific. The ceremony was performed by the Groom’s (David’s) brother-in-law, who masterfully mixed humor and religion. The reception was a huge, classy shindig, which was followed by a group of the Usual Suspects meeting in The Original Bill’s and the Quietly Sinister Linda’s hotel room until the wee hours of the morning when the vodka finally ran out. It was not unlike a Blogmeet with people packed into a hotel room with plenty of non-stop blabbing and laughing (and drinking adult beverages).

The Original Bill and Linda treated all the guests who stayed at the hotel to a wonderful brunch, which served to dry up the alcohol, awaken tired eyes and kick start the Day Two Party.

After returning from the hotel everyone went home long enough to unpack and then returned to The Deck for some swimming standing around in the pool and doing other water aerobics drinking more vodka. It worked out well, given that the temperature in this neck of the woods was in the nineties.

Now I’m back to the House by the Parkway, more than a bit tired, but I was happy to receive a surprise phone call from this guy, who was on his way to spend more time in the land of our northern neighbors, where lots of folks end their sentences with “ehy?” I hope he gets a chance to visit with Lisa and family again.

Now, I’m gonna try my best to stay awake for Deadwood.

We’ll be attending a wedding later today, and it is a rather special one. David (a Usual Suspect, hisownself), son of Usual Suspects The Original Bill and the Quietly Sinister Linda, is marrying his bride, Jennifer. I believe that this is the first time since TJ’s wedding that virtually all the Usual Suspects will be cleaned up, dressed up, and in the same place at the same time.

Rooms have been booked at a hotel that runs a shuttle to the wedding venue, because an event such as this makes driving home afterward (or even walking straight, for that matter) an absolute impossibility.

It should be one helluva party.

I may not surface until Monday.

Here’s the thing. I am more than overdue for a new computer.

Even writing the words “new computer” gives me a case of the hot squirts. While some people change computers with the ease of changing socks, I am not one of those people.

Still, it’s time.

My current computer is something like 8 years old. It runs Windows 98, and, it has a history of freezing more often than it should, which has been annoying but manageable. Lately, however, things have become more unsettling. More often than not I find myself “holding in the button” to shut the frozen beast down, knowing that, upon restarting, the dreaded Blue Screen will scold me for having “Shut Down Windows improperly”. I’m getting tired of that shit.

Of course, the big question is, “Yo, Jimbo, waddya wanna buy?”

I know that the COMPUTER STORE guys will ask, “Well, Sir, [you old fart] what do you want to do with the computer? [Keep track of your old fart pills?]” I don’t blame them for asking, for every day they have to deal with old farts computer shoppers who think that little people live inside the computer who make computer shit happen. Happily, I know that “little people” don’t make this shit work, but I’ll be damned if I know what does.

OK, so I know that computers aren’t magic boxes, I still have to figure out what the hell to buy.

My current computer is a Dell, and I have read and heard of the horror stories. I have also experienced the Dell Hell firsthand. So, I am starting with the presumption that Dell is out. Compaq? HP? Gateway? (I have a friend who takes two hours to tell you his “Gateway” woes.

Thinking about it makes my farookin’ hair hurt.

To answer the Computer Guy’s question in my own Techno-idiot fashion, here’s what I want. I want a big, badass, super-fast computer that will not become obsolete two minutes after I open the box.

Even if I could settle in on which big, badass, fast computer I want, the real and gnawing fear I have is, once I buy it, setting the farookin’ thing up and getting the shit from this computer to that computer. I have no clue. There isn’t all that much I would want to save, but the things I want to save, I really want to save.

Did you ever read what passes loosely as English in the typical computer Instruction Manual? Even assuming I could understand the “English” in those things, as soon as I see some shit about “drivers” or “ht.access” and “SQL” (WTF?), I get serious sweats.

Hell, I’d rather buy a house.

So, if you happen to live in New Jersey, and you see a guy in a computer store looking like he’s about to barf or have a cyber-seizure, that just might be me. Please just point me to the men’s room and tell me I have great farookin’ hair. I’ll be forever grateful, and I’ll buy you lots of beer.

I am one of several members of my American Legion Post who is called upon from time to time to participate in the Rifle Squad. The Rifle Squad shows up several times per year at various civic events (e.g. Flag Day, Memorial Day) to fire ceremonial volleys. It is important for each of us to know the rudiments of the Manual of Arms, so we look something like a unit, rather than four old partisans with rifles.

As such, those of us who served in the Army always tease the Navy Vets in the Squad about how their Navy rifle training consisted of being shown which end of the rifle produces the bullets.

There are, however, some sailors who kick ass and take names when it comes to the Manual of Arms and then some, and they do it with fixed bayonets.

Behold, the U.S. Navy Ceremonial Guard Drill Team in action.

Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet.

I’ve got them, big time. I don’t have the energy or the ability to write anything worth a shit. I’ve had them before, and, as in the past, I suspect they will pass. Still, the Blahs are a bitch when you’ve got ‘em.

Why do I have the blahs?

Damned good question, in response to which I can only speculate. So here are the three, four, five, six, seven reasons why I think I might have the Blahs:

1. Recent pasting by the New Jersey State Government.
Being taxed to death for the privilege of living in this Blue State between the “elites” and the democrat “base” is just the most recent of the governmental muggings inflicted on the working citizens of New Jersey, and it’s beginning to wear my ass out. I wonder if all the heavy Rt. 22 traffic these days is the result of the legions of people now shopping for real estate in Pennsylvania.

2. I can’t spell “rhythm” without relying on Spellcheck.
It’s sad, because it is a word that I would like to use more often, but I write around it, not wanting to interrupt a thought to go to Mr. Spellcheck and thereby implicitly admit my strange frailty. Yes, in the previous sentence I took a feeble stab at the word, only to rely yet again on Mr. Spellcheck. Jeez.

3. My new phone is too farookin’ complicated.
I wound up buying a new cell phone. Why that happened is a rather boring story, but suffice it say that only in the world of “Verizonspeak” would it cost more to replace Mrs. Parkway’s phone than it would to buy two new phones. Anyway, the one I bought is one of those “RAZOR” phones that not only makes telephone calls, but also does about three million other things, about 2,999,997 of which I don’t need and will never use. I expect that if I pushed the right buttons and held it over the right spot, the damned thing would do an appendectomy. Forget about taking pictures with it – all I want to do is be able to say “Call home” and watch it do its stuff. Probably will never happen though.

Update: I forgot. I also now have one of those damned Blue Tooth, hands-free things. What the hell have I become? Listen … if you ever see me walking down the street with that thing stuck in my ear, please kick my ass. Thank you.

4. I need to change the CDs in my car.
I’ve been listening to the current six for a couple weeks, and I’m ready for a change. Problem is that I’m too lazy and, being a Libran, I can’t make a decision. Dion? The Stones? Merle Haggard? Maybe a little Candy Dulfer blowin’ sax? Shit!

5. I get too much goddamned mail.
Most of it is junk mail (No, I don’t need another farookin’ credit card, thank you very much), but there is just enough of it that I have to read to piss me off and give me the Blahs.

6. I can’t make the Blogmeet in Helen this year.
This makes it two years in a row. I have prior professional commitments, which I cannot move. Negs me out, and surely has something to do with the Blahs.

7. I miss Rob.
‘Nuf said.

As I mentioned in an earlier post (which contained a picture of one of Corky’s bikes), Corky is the bro of my friend and bodyguard, Ken, and he designs and fabricates badass motorcycles. Below is yet another of Corky’s bikes. Sweet, no?

While in Florida in May, Corky let me sit on this Bad Boy, but given my long-expired motorcycle license, my blood alcohol level at the time, and his (and my) desire not to turn this beauty into scrap metal, he “suggested” that I not fire it up.

Here is a close-up of the rear fender with the raised image. Corky explained how he did this, but did I mention my blood-alcohol level at the time? Damned if I know how he did it, but it is most impressive.

Should you be interested in talking with Corky about one of these bikes or something else you have in mind (particularly if you live anywhere near Florida), shoot me an e-mail, and I’ll hook you up.

As I said in the prior post, in the interest of full disclosure, I suspect that my “commission” should you buy one of Corky’s units, will be a cold beer, which works for me.

The state employees who did not work during the state government shutdown will be paid anyway. In a message posted on a state government website, Governor Corzine stated, “I am pleased we will be able to execute a timely payroll on July 14th to both furloughed and non-furloughed state workers, including full compensation for the time during the shutdown.”

I received some interesting comments from a couple state workers on my most recent post dealing with this subject, and, on a personal level, I feel their pain. However, as a taxpayer and one who is subject to the whims and/or economic realities of the private sector, this bothers me.

N.B. State employees need not comment, as I understand your position on this issue. The good news for you is that the Governor agrees with you. It’s a done deal. Rock on, and enjoy the rest of the summer.

Did you every stub your big toe so bad that you saw stars?

Did it continue to throb afterwards, even after applying cold stuff?

Did it hurt like a bitch when you even slightly touch it?

Did the purple hue set in a few hours later?

Did the purple pain maker prevent you on the day after the injury from doing your morning walk?

Did it prevent you from wearing anything on your feet other than those horrible thongy things (a/k/a flip flops), which I believe to be nothing more than Asian torture devices?

For your sake, I hope not.

Yes indeedy. Today is T1G’s birthday, and I have no doubt that he will celebrate with an adult beverage or two. I have had the pleasure being in his company on two occasions, and he is a bear of a guy, but of the “Gentle Ben” variety. I can’t imagine anyone not liking him.

I was fortunate enough to swipe a picture of T1G from Eric’s house when I was there last October. Eric had snapped this picture after T1G drove his Harley from somewhere around Chicago all the way to Tennessee some time earlier that year.

Handsome devil, isn’t he?

Happy Boitday, Joe!