The Man Cave

Parent Cafe
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<p>Former job was as a chemistry camp counselor.</p>

<p>On the 4th, we would blow things up. Homemade gun powder, flash paper, gun cotton… we’d make our own fireworks and set them off in our big Fourth of July extravaganza demo show. Exploding acids, exploding hydrogen-oxygen soap bubbles set off in our hands (helpful if you scream in agony and clutch your hand in mock horror after this part), explosive balloons… I’ve lost arm hair and a little hearing.</p>

<p>Best darned job I ever had.</p>

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<p>Remember - I’m a scout mom… standing by (as usual) with the bandaids.</p>

<p>Go for it guys.</p>

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<p>Barkeep, 'nother round of whiskey (or whisky if it’s Scotish) for all my manly friends.</p>

<p>To THE DUKE.</p>

<p>Today in Manly History:</p>

<p>The place: Paris, France. The date: 1805. The woman (yes, the woman. Please read and you’ll understand how a woman contributed to manly history): Fifi LeCleavage</p>

<p>Fifi, leaning out of her Parisian window to hang up some clothes to dry, gets the top front of her dress caught on a nail poking from the window frame. Not knowing her dress is caught, Fifi tries to go back inside. Riiiiip! Off comes the front top of her dress, exposing the upper half of her “attributes”. Fifi’s husband, Jacque, walks in ready complaining about the price of cheese, and sees Fifi in her new attire. He pulls up short, dumbfounded; not a word coming out of his mouth. </p>

<p>Fifi: “What we’re you complaining about?”
Jacque: dead silence
Fifi: “Hey, I’m talking to you”
Jacque: dead silence
Fifi, snapping her fingers then pointing with two fingers at her eyes: “Hey, eyes up here”
Jacque: dead silence, still staring approximately 8 inches below her eye level
Fifi, seeing an opportunity: “You know, I could use some new shoes. Mind if I go to the store and buy a few new pairs”
Jacque, shaking his head and finally making eye contact with his wife: “Huh, what. Oh, sure. Whatever dear.”</p>

<p>Fifi leaves to purchase the new shoes her husband agreed to let her buy. Jacques gets befuddled trying to figure out what the heck he just agreed to. He remembers some words, but mostly he remembers how distracted he was by Fifi’s “attributes”.</p>

<p>Here’s to Fifi, the inventor of the low-cut dress. May women continue to use this insidious method to keep us men distracted for generations to come.</p>

<p>Now, in order to beat Washdad to the punch, here is some ACTUAL manly history: July 3rd 1940, Abbot and Costello premiere on NBC radio. Baseball and play-by-play gain a pair of heroes with their famous “Who’s on First” routine.</p>

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<p>And in honor of tomorrow and the possible outcome from blowing things up:</p>

<p>More Things We Learned From Our Fathers That We Should Pass Down to Our Sons:</p>

<p>14) Rub some dirt on it and walk it off…</p>

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<p>I had to stumble my way into the vacation house this week because of the number of shoes that 3-21 yo girls have. Thank goodness that the female dog has only two pair.</p>

<p>Champaign from a shoe?</p>

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<p>Hmm… I think the modern version of “rub dirt in it and walk it off” is “Neosporin can fix anything – a glob of Neosporin and a Flex Fabric Bandaid is the ER and stitches of the 21st century.”</p>

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<p>Beats our great-grandpappys’ remedy of pouring some whiskey on it and slappin’ on a hot iron. Then they told you to get back to reloading your winchester and keep firing. </p>

<p>Kids these days, we be a’spoilin’ and a’babyin’ 'em.</p>

<p>Or am I confusing family history with Outlaw Josie Wales?</p>

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<p>There is a theory that early exposure to “dirt” stimulates the immune system. </p>

<p>I’ve eaten a lot of dirt. And the dirt that I dish out, now gets me into the penalty box. Skins seem to very thin nowadays. </p>

<p>You mean to tell me that I got it all wrong with the whiskey? Always thought that the whiskey was for drinking to dull the mind from the hurt, rather than to momentarily kill germs.</p>

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<p>Hey, I never said our grand-pappys were correct in how they used their whiskey. But I also was under the assumption that the procedure was “a pour for bloody wound, 4 pours for your throat, for “medicinal purposes””. And they usually were using (and drinking) the “home-made” stuff; just to this side of turpentine, but only barely.</p>

<p>Barkeep, some of the Old Grandad. I’ve just got a paper cut from a letter next to my keyboard.</p>

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<p>Movie request…“Deliverance”…manly enough for ya guys?</p>

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<p>OaksMom: unclear on the concept…</p>

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<p>OaksMom: Is that how you want guys to be manly?</p>

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<p>Ned Beatty could go on in life to become President, be elected Pope, find a cure for cancer and AIDS, bring peace to the Middle East, discover proof of extra-terresterial life, permanently balance the federal budget, win every Nobel prize, and actually become Superman for 364 days of the year and Santa Claus for the other one, and people would still walk up to him and say, “Squeel like a pig for me!” I’m pretty sure he must be sooooo happy with THAT legacy…</p>

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<p>And OaksMom, the answer is: No</p>

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<p>I was talking to a friend in the food business (I was in the food manufacturing, producer business at one time) and it occurred to me that we should all stock up on processed foods now, right now, because the energy costs have not been factored in. </p>

<p>The inputs for whiskey are variable: grain, labor, Distilling Fuel, oak barrels, Plastic or Glass Bottles, and Distribution costs. A lot of energy goes into a fifth that is not currently factored into the cost of whiskey. Before the current inventory is used up and the accountants start adding the fuel costs into the product, we should all start stocking up on our favorites.</p>

<p>Beat inflation now.</p>

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<p>My dad’s favorite saying when one of us was hurt: “If I had that on my lip I wouldn’t quit whistling”. </p>

<p>And Grandpappy, being devout Southern Baptist, didn’t hold with any medicinal alcohol going into the injured person. Not sure where the Scots-Irish lost that inclination in the new world…</p>

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<p>Great man scene in a non-manly film…</p>

<p>THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!!!</p>

<p>(go RAYS!)</p>

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<p>This thread has gotten to the fourth page, Far too far down.
Altogether too many topics that I have been borderline polite and I need a way to release some pent up facetiousness. </p>

<p>How about, How do I get, mini, over here so we all trade serious topics and advice?</p>

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<p>Barkeep, another round of whiskey for all my manly friends.</p>

<p>To THE DUKE.</p>

<p>Been a busy weekend, so that’s part of the reason this thread has been neglected. Great 4th. To recap: lots of grilled meat, lots of beer drank, lots of explosions in the yard. No major injuries to report, and only two visits by the police, and one from some “funny guy” claiming to be part of “Homeland Defense” wondering what the noise was all about. Cops weren’t in the mood when we asked them if they can shoot off their shot-guns into the air (we promised not to tell anyone!), and we told the Homeland Security guy to keep looking for weapons of mass destruction elsewhere (if he could ever find any in his lifetime!). All in all, a successful and very manly 4th…</p>

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<p>There’s another thread out there about “has the recession hit you” where people are making fun of the very idea of someone eating a squirrel - equated with eating cat or rat. My dad and his brothers used to be right proud of bringing home some meat back in the depression.<br>
When visiting relatives down in East Texas, I as a kid had squirrel and don’t seem to remember it being much different from quail - which is “gourmet” these days. Lots of little bones, not much meat. Cooked up with lots of onions and gravy… but then I got that cool tail to hang on my bike handlebars so maybe it wasn’t just about the food!</p>