The hair band style of music made popular in the 1980s generally requires guitars called super-Strats. These are guitars shaped like Fender Stratocasters that have been hot-rodded in any number of interesting ways. Usually they include at least one humbucking pickup in the bridge position, and are often adorned with neon colors or flashy designs. You have to remember that in the 70s, most rock bands played either Gibson Les Pauls, Fender Stratocasters or Telecasters. These hot-rodded super-Strats were a statement that the same old boring thing wasn’t good enough for us. Of course today, those “same old boring” Les Pauls, Strats and Teles from the 50s and 60s are worth a pretty penny, but back then, it was all about the look on these shredder guitars. (more…)
I am an admitted gear-hound. I like stuff. While that in and of itself isn’t a problem, I suffer from a more sinister condition; I like nice stuff.
Today it seems that purchasing the “better” item rarely buys increased quality, but instead offers increased functionality. In the world of electronics, that can make sense. Electronics though, has become the epitome of mass production. Not only are hand-made electronics now the realm of boutique builders, those boutique builders are becoming more scarce every year. (more…)
No, I don’t mean that it was a mistake to get Annie, though some days I might grumble otherwise. What I mean is that we did not plan on getting Annie, or any dog for that matter. At least that’s what we like to tell ourselves. Or should I say that’s what Lauren likes to tell me.
I had decided that we would not get another dog until I had finished my book about Cozy. Cozy, who’s page on this blog has remained empty as I struggle to write the perfect piece about her, was our first dog as a couple. She was our first baby, years before we had human children. Cozy had died a few years before, and I had still not recovered. (more…)
To summarize the most wonderful zombie-dog story ever written (but not read), I’ll just say that there were zombies in our woods, and Cozy kept them at bay for eight years. How do we know there were zombies in the woods? Well, they never got into the yard, so they must have stayed in the woods. The logic is irrefutable. I should warn you though that I have been told the operative word in my previous sentence doesn’t mean what I think it means, so draw your own conclusions. (more…)
Annie is now very much a teenager. She understands the rules, but she can’t be bothered to obey them. She doesn’t grab every piece of underwear from the hamper like she used to, but she will grab a pair if she’s feeling spunky and ignored. She is no longer a rampaging menace in our house, but has grown into more of a patient, conniving menace. You know, like a dragon. The moment she starts hoarding treasure, my suspicions will be confirmed, but until then I’ll be keeping a careful eye on our suspected Draco Canis Ferritus. At any rate, we needed to celebrate the second anniversary of the she-beast’s hatching, and like any good celebration, ours centered around cupcakes. (more…)
All of my girls are Girl Scouts. Lauren is even a Girl Scout leader. Annie though, is not a Girl Scout. I think perhaps she secretly wishes that she was, though who’s to know what really goes on in her ferret-dog brain. (more…)
I enjoy a good game of chess, but when I travel, I only play on the computer because most chess boards are too big to take with me when I travel. The problem with playing on the computer is that it’s just not the same as having a board with real pieces in front of you. Luckily, many companies make travel chess sets that cater to whiny traveling nerds like me. The problem is, they all suck. (more…)
It has been said that chess is life. I don’t know who said it, but I’m sure it’s been said. Heck, I just said it, so now it’s been said. Actually to be painfully accurate, it’s now been written, but rest assured, I said it just now for good measure.
If chess is life, and both of my pre-teen girls have beaten me at the game, then is it not therefore true that they have both beaten me at life? It sure feels that way.
Beating your dad at chess is supposed to be a big deal. You’re supposed to work for years before you finally rend that hard-won victory from the old man’s weathered hands. That’s the way it’s been since time immemorial, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be now. It’s not supposed to be like this! (more…)