Meanwhile, back at the ranch …

December 1, 2014
The previous owner of Rancho Pendejo called this time of day right around sunset "the golden hour" for its effect on the Sandias.

The previous owner of Rancho Pendejo called this time of day right around sunset “the golden hour” for its effect on the Sandias.

December? Sez who? The calendar? Well, all righty then.

Thanksgiving and Black Friday are in the rear-view mirror — and also in the toilet, holiday-sales-wise — and Cyber Monday is upon us, with Solstice dead ahead.

Herself the Elder has been shipped safely back to Tennessee, Herself the Younger is back at work at the Sandia National Libraratory, and I am overseeing various maintenance operations at The House Back East® from Rancho Pendejo.  (Handy Household Hint: Never own more than one house at a time, and make sure it has wheels, an engine and a parking spot down by the creek. And yes, this is strictly a First World problem.)

I won’t torture those of you in wintry climes with reports of our weather (52 and sunny) or my plans for the morning once I hear an electrician’s report (hourlong run through the desert). Neither should you expect me to threaten anyone on Facebook, not even the Supreme Court, which lord knows has it coming.

Finally, Little Chris Horner seems to have stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum in the form of a gig with the Continental team Airgas-Safeway. No word on whether they’ll have the 2013 Vuelta a España champ bagging at the register, working a wet cleanup in aisle nine, or delivering propane to my new home down by the creek.

Round up the usual suspects

November 28, 2014
Captain Vinokourov — who is shocked, shocked! — orders a roundup of the usual suspects.

Captain Vinokourov — who is shocked, shocked! — orders a roundup of the usual suspects.

Do they do Black Friday in Kazakhstan? ‘Cause a bunch of dudes should really be out shopping for new jobs.

Giving thanks

November 27, 2014
Mister Boo is thankful for monocular vision, but says the Cone of Shame can get lost pretty much any old time now. Turkish and Mia are thankful that nobody has tried to put Cones of Shame on them lately, and so are we.

Mister Boo is thankful for monocular vision, but says the Cone of Shame can get lost pretty much any old time now. Turkish and Mia are thankful that nobody has tried to put Cones of Shame on them lately, and so are we.

That time of year again, is it?

Mister Boo is thankful for monocular vision following successful surgeries to remove one bad eye and repair one not-so-bad eye. Also for the delicious bits of chicken breast that accompany his four-times-daily rounds of post-op medication.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) and Chief of Staff Miss Mia Sopaipilla are thankful for full bowls of top-shelf cat chow that for some reason are on my kitchen counter.

Their staff is thankful for paying work, a flat roof over their freshly New Mexican heads, and the sod firmly underfoot where it belongs. Here’s hoping Thanksgiving 2014 finds you likewise.

And a special thanks to everyone who keeps popping round to check on us, despite the irregular posting of late. We’ll be back on track before you can say “Happy holidays.”

Meanwhile, you still can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant, kid. Don’t forget to pick up the garbage.

Have you seen Ray Charles’ new piano?*

November 22, 2014
Mister Boo recuperating with his old pal Stinky Piggy.

Mister Boo recuperating with his old pal Stinky Piggy.

Mister Boo is slowly getting his mojo back following eye surgery.

Yesterday he unearthed his old pal Stinky Piggy for a bit of gentle playtime, and the squeaky ball eventually got a light workout too.

He’s down to five medicines per diem now, four eyedrops and a gel, and doesn’t have another checkup until Dec. 3. The ophthalmologist says he’s coming along quite nicely, which is good news, as the little fella is already shy one headlight and doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life driving in the dark.

Happily, The Boo doesn’t do much news-reading with that one rebuilt eye. Hijo, madre. It’s enough to make a man pray for total sensory deprivation.

*Neither has he. That was cruel, but he’ll never know. (Don’t blame me, that headline and the subsequent punchline are lifted straight from an old National Lampoon letter to the editor, signed “Stevie Wonder.”)

System maintenance

November 16, 2014
Enchiladas de Herrera from El Bruno's on Fourth.

Enchiladas de Herrera from El Bruno’s on Fourth.

Downtime. Hasn’t been much of that sort of thing around here lately.

If you haven’t moved for a dozen years or so, it’s something of a shock to the system, like waking up in a strange room with the notion that you’ve been misbehaving again. The police may or may not consider you “a person of interest.” Nothing is where it should be — groceries, banking, your favorite ride.

Little disruptions abound. Walls without art, windows without shades, a wife with a job that no longer permits working from home three days a week.

Things need doing, and all of them take more time than they did back home. Just where the hell are the English muffins in this Bizarro World Whole Foods, anyway? Not where I’d put ‘em, that’s for sure. The eyeball doc says Mister Boo needs another procedure? Put the English muffins back, we’re all gonna be eating dog food for a while. The city won’t pick up glass for recycling? No wonder the bike lanes are full of it.

Oh, the humanity. Caninity. Velocity. Whatever.

Then, suddenly, a pause for the cause. Nothing needs doing. Well, not right now, anyway. So there’s time for a short ‘cross-bike ride through the desert, a fiery platter of enchiladas de Herrera from El Bruno’s Restauranté y Cantina, and our millionth viewing of “Blazing Saddles” in honor of David Huddleston, a resident of Santa Fe.

How ’bout some more beans, Mister Taggart?

Paging Dr. Moreau

November 9, 2014
He'll be back. Actually, he's already here.

He’ll be back. Actually, he’s already here.

All is well on the Island, for those of you who expressed curiosity. Herself is sounding less like Tom Waits and more like (wait for it) Herself, and Mister Boo is adjusting nicely to monocular vision.

The former has been subsisting on a diet of health-restoring soups (chicken noodle, posole), cough drops, and various over-the-counter nostrums, including a nightly hot toddy made with Jameson, local honey and lemon.

The latter is taking more prescription drugs than a right-wing radio personality, shamelessly using his disability to extort treats from anyone in his vicinity, and sleeping in the bed with Your Humble Narrator, who as a consequence has grown slightly red of eye himself.

He has his first follow-up appointment with the eyeball doc on Wednesday — the Boo, not YHN — but our uninformed opinion is that the little guy is doing quite well. And Herself has only missed one day of work, which is fortunate, because someone has to pay for all of this, and I don’t think it’s gonna be Obama.

Ridge lyin’

November 7, 2014
You never saw this. You were never even here.

You never saw this. You were never even here.

This is so not a 20-minute ride from my house. No, sir. Nuh uh. Never happen. Horrible place for cycling, Albuquerque. Don’t ever come here.

Eye yi yi

November 6, 2014
Mister Boo, full of drugs, naps on the couch. Kind of reminds me of my glory days, except nobody ever made me wear an e-collar.

Mister Boo, full of drugs, naps on the couch. Kind of reminds me of my glory days, except nobody ever made me wear an e-collar.

Speaking of vision issues (see the 2014 midterm elections), we learned last week that Mister Boo’s eyesight had finally deteriorated to the point of requiring surgery.

His bad eye had gotten really bad — couldn’t see a damn thing out of it, thanks to an old lens luxation, and it had begun causing him some discomfort, being subject to periodic corneal abrasions. His good eye, meanwhile, had sprouted a mature cataract. Both of these issues are fairly common in Japanese Chins.

So, we pulled the trigger on a two-fer, having the defunct right eye removed and the left lens replaced. Didn’t use none of that socialistic Mooslim com’niss ObummerCare, neither. We paid for it in good ol’ fiat currency, and plenty of it, too.

“He looks like he was in a bar fight,” the vet tech warned me before bringing Mister Boo out for pickup yesterday. No shit, and he lost it, too, I thought after seeing him for the first time.

Now the poor little fella gets to take eight medications throughout the day — four drops, two pills, one gel and a liquid — and faces several follow-up visits to the vet over the next month or so.

But his appetite is excellent, he’s taking in plenty of fluids, and while he’s down to one eye, it seems he can see out of it.

So we might not have to buy Mister Boo a white cane and a German shepherd for solstice. But an eyepatch and a parrot? Maybe. Arrr.

Back to the drawing board

November 5, 2014

 

Erection Day

November 4, 2014

Well, here we go, headfirst down the rathole of what the GOP expects will be Christmas in November and the rest of us fear will be a hole full of grinning rats, wearing American-flag lapel pins.

It seems the Founding Fathers intended the business of running a republic to be tough sledding, given our whole setup. “That government is best which governs least” is a line often attributed to Thomas Jefferson.

But I don’t think ol’ Tom, or any of his bros, intended it to be impossible.

And yet, today, we, the inheritors of a republic we don’t seem able or willing to keep, are said to be eager not to solve the problems of self-governance, but rather to exacerbate them by turning the Senate over to a collection of bunko artists, waterheads and loons. It’s like electing a full slate of Hell’s Angels to run your local school board.

God knows that the Donks have not covered themselves in glory here. Candidates like Mark Udall in Colorado and Bruce Braley in Iowa have run inexplicably feeble campaigns, and as a consequence we seem to be on the verge of elevating Neanderpols Cory Gardner and Joni Ernst to the upper chamber of our national legislature. All hat and no cattle, and two very small hats at that.

This is in part the fault of the media, which focuses on horse race and narrative over résumé and platform. But it’s also the fault of an electorate that prefers chowing down on a steaming plate of deep-fried bullshit to actually rustling around in the national kitchen to see if there’s anything more nourishing to be had.

And we do this all the time. We elect Republicans who make a shambles of things, then elect Democrats to clean up their mess, and then elect Republicans again because the Democrats aren’t cleaning up the Republicans’ mess fast enough. It’s like watching an arson victim chase the firefighters off at gunpoint and then invite the firebug inside for a Molotov cocktail.

I voted, like always, but I won’t pretend to be happy about it. The folks at the county clerk’s office were friendly and helpful, and they said turnout was surprisingly good for a midterm, and I felt like I was using the last few squirts from an old can of Krylon to scrawl my name on a collapsed bridge on an abandoned road.

 


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