Firearms

My friend Jen's parents live out in the country-ish east of Memphis. There, among other things, they have a pond and a back forty where they have build their grandson a go-kart track.

And that's where James and I took the boys shooting.

I had forgotten how much fun a .22 is to shoot. I had mine from when I was a kid, and James' father in-law has two - an old single-shot and a fancy new Ruger with a 25-round magazine. Fun! We killed many, many cans.

John can't quite aim, yet, but he can put the bullets pretty much where he wants them to go. I sort of guided the point of the rifle while he pulled the trigger as fast as he could.

Then we shot a 20 guage. I had brought a bunch of cans in a big plastic bin for us to shoot.

"James," I said, "I think that plastic box is talking kind of smart to me."

"You better teach it a lesson, then," he told me.

So we blew that motherfucker up. The shotgun has a very, very satisfying roar. Later, we examined all the targets, perforated with birdshot.

"It would suck to get with that," James said.

"Oh, the shotgun..." James said to Jen back at the house.

"Is it a boomstick?" she asked.

"That it is."

Fish. Pint glass. Shotgun.

Did I ever mention this? I don't think I did.

Reading the Evening Times

A little blog experiment I did last fall. I would read the online version of my hometown paper and point out the flaws. It was fun for a few weeks, but eventually I just felt bad about it - see the fish/small container/big weapon analogy in the title. But I said some funny stuff. Yours free!

Kind of funny, kind of unbelievable.

Mow the lawn. This is a real ad? Yes. Yes it is.

Wildlife

John and I went camping at Village Creek this weekend. We had so much fun. I can't wait to do it again!

We got a boat and went fishing. We checked out a couple of playgrounds. We romped up and down trails. We walked through the field in front of our camp at night and John was awed by the stars out in the country.

"Orion!" he yelled, "are you going to bed soon, too? What are you hunting?"

We were fishing off the bank of Lake Dunn at sunset. Everyone else was gone, and we were packing up to go.

"Arrrroooooo...." came from over the levee at one end of the lake.

"Arroooo oooooo ooooooo..." went the multiple responses.

Translation from coyote: "Whoooo, baby! Saturday night! Big moon! Par-tay!"

When we were setting up our tent the guy one campsite down from us came over and said "man, if you got garbage or food or anything you better put it in your car tonight. We had us some raccoons last night!"

And I thought to myself, oh, I'm getting me some raccoons tonight.

So anything we dropped at dinner that night went into the Jiffy-Pop pan.

(The Jiffy Pop popped in a very large and satisfying way, but apparently our fire was a little too hot for it. Most of it was scorched black.)

About ten minutes after we got in our tent for the night I heard some snuffling, grunting, lip-smacking sounds. I opened the tent door and John and I put our flashlights over by the plate of leftovers.

Raccoons everywhere! Fat, slow, contemptuous raccoons, eating and snuffling and climbing up on the table, looking for goodies. Our lights didn't bother them at all. When all the food was gone they gave us a blank look ("yeah, we ate it all. Now we're leaving.") and then waddled off into the woods.

Sometime past midnight I woke up and took John to the bathroom. After we settled back into our sleeping bags a chorus of coyotes went off on the ridges all around us. It sounded like there were hundreds of them. It was very cool and spooky and perfect for a cool spring night.

Not so fun: the three ticks I brought back with me.

Gym Viewing

Why yes, ladies on the treadmills to either side of me, I do choose to watch a seventeen year-old soccer game. You got a problem with that? Barcelona had a lot of talent in the early nineties. No, we're not going to watch news, or Wheel of Fortune or the Food Network How the fuck do you people watch the Food Network when you're doing cardio, anyway? It's always someone basting a rib or that annoying girl putting olive oil on something. I can't watch that shit and exercise at the same time. So get into the game or go get on the elliptical machine. The remote was on my treadmill, so that means God wants me to pick what we watch. And we're watching soccer. Old soccer.

Large, satisfying link dump

Coilhouse - You need to be reading this.

Haute Macabre - Style, but weird, but grown up. If you like this kind of thing you'll love it.

Allsaints Spitalfields - Very, very good clothes in general. Good stuff for guys.

Cyberoptix - And good ties, specifically.

Lip Service - Party clothes, part one.

Shrine - Party clothes, part two.

Keith Thompson - Such. Awesome. Art.

Desolation Row

Do I even have to tell you how much I love this? Or do you see it and say "yeah, that's pretty much a Harold thing right there."

I mean, it's Dylan and snotty junior-punk and the pure anthemic musical heroin that is power pop, all balled up and spit in your face.

"I love My Chemical Romance," I told Sonya this morning, "and I know it's not meant for me. It's for the kids."

"Screw the kids," Sonya said, "we were here first."

Amy Sedaris: Very Smart

According to Amy Sedaris in her book I Like You - Hospitality Under the Influence, men like the following things:

• Meat
  
• Extra portions
  
• Pies
  
• Gravy
  
• Toothpicks
  
• Pussy
  

She knows her men pretty well.