RDCanecutter

First new Gaelic class today, out of Aberdeen. Bigger class, 10 students. Approach is more readings based with some conversation. I am able to hang. For readings I am alternating between "clear as day" and "string of gibberish" so I am probably at right level. Dog started barking psychotically at squirrel before I could get to the mute button. But class seems to like dogs. 14 more classes, one a week. Kinda cool kinda cool. My head is tired.

It's almost... ALMOST... as if Tuberville were using those players to make money for himself.

Yep. Working in my early 20s in a print shop, we would speed up the cleaning by wrapping rags around our hands and just splashing around with those -enes. tick tock

At night, they'd ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines

During WW2 my grandad (aircraft electrician w/ 9th AF) developed a loathing of the Red Cross. Something involving a girl they rescued from who knows what hell, and Red Cross basically treated her like shit.

Oh that's just naisty.

Sounds Dutch.

Consequence of the Colonial Service, what. Nothing a gallon of Bombay Sapphire can't sort out, Old Bean.

You can never tell when your neck is going to start hurting. Joking, not joking. Just because you didn't feel anything the day of the collision doesn't mean you won't.

Clean brain scan. Doc said if he didn't know there'd been a tumor there, he wouldn't have noticed anything. Except for that one little hole. "Oh my High School teachers knew that was there."

This thread reminds me to wonder how I even ate while a student at UT. I had an overall budget of about a thousand a month (late 90s). A chunk of that went to rent, utilities, and books, so how did I eat for a whole month with what was left? You had the Vietnamese carts, if you were strong and stoic. I barely knew what a grocery store was (it was the beer store.) Yet somehow I ate out regularly, and drank almost constantly. Never remember missing meals. Sometimes it was just grazing the land, walking into some event winding down and there are 12 sandwiches left on an abandoned table. "Take them, they're free." TLDR: They gave us plenty of beer money but not so much food money.

My grandad (when he was a teen) did some bootlegging with his bartender older brother. There were interludes of routine work interspersed with moments of rapid movement and terror. Me I stuck to tame stuff. Puebla blouses and similar. The customs guys didn't even want to look at them, as they tapped on all the admittedly interesting-sounding parts of the car, (and there are many after I rammed that truck in Colima that night, then spent weeks haggling with the body shop guys and showing them pictures of my nieces lying that they were my daughters and that their lives depended on solid hammer-work.) My son called me the Han Solo of Puebla Blouses.

Not to mention Japan is already kinda cool and damp.

It was part of a place and time. To really enjoy it you'd have to be just done with an exam or a paper, and shuffle there from whatever subdivided shack you paid too much rent on. Squirrels and grackles and dtf girlfriend and "old" pals you've known for a whole year, and you think you'll see forever. It was there for us then. Then.

Seems like pre-pumping water up to a tank above the roof would be the thing to do.