Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

This is fun! Nerd heaven.

Well, God bless ya, Roy, and God bless the Cascadia fault too.

stilltrucking wrote: March 7th, 2018, 6:26 pm
I am dressed to ride
Any day I ride is a good day
Heaven is dry run and sunshine
and bicycles

Big Chief flew over the cuckoos nest

Ain't had no rides here the past week - snow, rain, cold. So I get on YouTube and run the bike vids. Repair, recreation, bike hacks. You name it. Found a bike that no one in my neighborhood had when I was growing up or anyone in town. I'd post a pic but copyright is not clear so you'll have to Google it yourself if interested. Sears Spaceliner. Wouldn't mind finding one of these .

going to be 90 degrees on Saturday

I locked myself in to a five day a week work week, not much time during the week, I do everything in granny low spead gear, it takes me 3 hours to get ready to leave for work.

my uptime is the time I spend here, and riding the bike. come april 19th I am going to ride every day for a month

is there such a thing as an american civilization
other than the native american civilization
speaking of that. . .
the thing that kills me about the great war was that it was fought to save civilization


Zuihitu Saturday Night
only thing that keeps me hanging on

I have a Lewis & Clark cat. She goes out under the house for hours sometimes. She's looking for the Northwest Passage.
Comes back with tales of huge bears, fierce Indians, and ceaseless winds. Plus she always comes back her face covered in cobwebs. The Northwest Passage eludes her but she found the Kingdom of Spiders.

War is Hell is the movie that was playing in the theater Lee Harvey Oswald ducked into after shooting the President and Officer J.D. Tippet. I just discovered this. I love Google. She's such a slut. Yum-yum-yummy.

Horned toads are actually lizards. Thank you, Yosemite Sam.

By mistake, I tried to submit an empty textbox. It came back to me with this message: "Your message contains too few characters."

1:17 a.m. 3/11/18
Temp - 31 degrees
Barometer - 30.13 - steady
Forecast - Big sun followed by little cloud

/this poem died
at a young age
after an undisclosed operation /

I hate March. Winter pretending to be Spring. Fucking mud, fucking heavy snow, too warm for full winter regalia, too cold to ignore. Oh, all the trappings are there - Daylight Savings Time, longer days, animals stumbling out of their boreal torpor - but the winter just drags on and on and on and on and on... can't walk on the icy trails without cleats, but can't walk on the bare patches without ruining them. And everything is wet - wet wet wet......

... Jesus H. Christ...

I hate March.

Got my taxes filed, at least. Small refund this year - maybe I'll turn it into a matte cutter. Or a pair of decent microphones.

Did I mention that I hate March?

I'm right there with you on March. It sucks forward, backward, sideways. It ain't nothing but plague doctor bad news. Genghis Khan should have banned March when he had a chance. Not even the Lone Ranger & Tonto can help. I got out more days on my bike in February than I have all this month so far been out once ... once ... winter ain't given one sign it knows what time it is either - gotta get wood tomorrow, in the mud, snow, and shit. I'll get stuck in that crap, happens every spring - fuck spring

6:45 am - awakened by a knock on the door.
No - the dog doesn't bark. A dream - only I heard it.

Another foot of snow on the way - thanks, March. Musta been, what, 3 days now since any fell. The driveway is nearly passable, there are bare patches on the road, and I even saw the sun for a few moments yesterday. Time for you to get a firm grip on our balls again.

Breezy winter days seem to sing the siren song to the dog - he's gone AWOL a couple of times. Maybe in summer, there are just too many scents blowing in from the woods at once to lure him - like a symphony orchestra in full throat, a complex blend of sounds/smells, olfactory harmonics, that blur together into a rich whole. Maybe in winter the background is sparse enough to smell/hear the soloists - the bobcat (3rd violin), the fresh scat (1st oboe), the deer (tenor tuba). I don't dare let him out unsupervised or to walk unleashed. Another gift from Month #3.

"What's your problem? Just open this tab, click on 'Format', select 'Size', and you should see it!"

The problem, Moron, is that I've done that and I DON'T see it!

I don't give a rat's ass about Should & Shouldn't - only Is & Isn't.

Puhhh.....

Dave the plowman came late yesterday afternoon and made a half-hearted sweep up my driveway, but I know his MO now, and felt sure he was just setting the stage for a 2nd, more thorough, attack. And sure enough, at 6:30 this morn, Dog & I were awakened by his flashing lights and the rumble of his plow slamming a mountain of snow up against the remnants of the last one. I've still got to dig out the car & the mailbox, but an hour should take care of it.

Ran across a curious allusion in an old collection of ghost stories I picked up at a 2nd hand bookstore. Someone was relating to the narrator of the story an occult event that had supposedly taken place nearby, but concluded his tale with a non sequiter admitting his fondness for ripe stilton cheese. "Wait a minute," the narrator says. "Are you telling me this was all just a cheese dream?" (emphasis mine)

Cheese dream? Not a phrase I was familiar with. Mister Google referred me to Professor Wikipedia who informed me that some think that Stilton cheese contains (or stimulates within the body the production of) psychoactive compounds conducive to the formation of intense, vivid dreams. Since cheese has yet to be declared a Schedule I drug, I felt a little experimentation might be in order, and picked up a wedge of Blue Stilton on my next grocery run. For the next few nights I nibbled an ounce or so before bedtime - and was occasionally rewarded by long, remarkable excursions. I've been rehired by Markem, driven mountain roads with my dad, and found a whole suite of secret rooms in my house. I can't claim any statistically significant correlation between the two, but if you're as fascinated as I am by where our minds take us at night, it's a harmless way to possibly amp up the outre nature of the journey. Be forewarned that Stilton is a bleu cheese, strong and rank, and tad pricey if that ain't your thing.

"Cheese Dream" - I've never heard the phrase - Thx, Roy - off to Google