bajabuc

I am prepaired to resort to the castle doctrine. I have a pistol for use in the house...outside will be my SKS

Well...they finally hit my neighborhood. All my gloveboxpapers were scattered. I'm amazed they left my 350 dollar drum. They got my neighbors lawnmower ... that's twice in two summers. They didn't take my mower which means they live in the neighborhood and know my mower is junk.

He'd worked for them 26 years and had over 40 months of vacation and sick time coming...in the 40 months he accrued the rest of his school time. The state made some more changes after that mess. The way he put it...he started out with 2 weeks...then 3 weeks... then a month...then 6 weeks and finally 2 months. State employees can only take 2 weeks in the summer now...the rest has to be in the rest of the year.

I don't like country...now...I love playing the old stuff. But..I can't stand RAP CRAP. I wonder how many of those guys realize it's their momma they're rappin about.

CNN breaking news...Tornado in mid town Memphis

My daughter works for the state of New Hampshire...in legal. She's in court almost everyday. She gets threatened almost everyday...(she hates her job)

A couple three years ago I was in my favorite store and the owner was talking about "It's who you know" He said..."I can't remember the last time I paid a speeding ticket." I said, "Well, Duh. When's the last time you got one?" "Ah...that's not the same thing...What's the sense in contributing to a election campaign if you can't expect favors."

I tossed my BP powder behind the seat when I moved from Montana to TN...Maybe that's where it is?

Any idea what his hours are...we called but got no answer. 10 to 7...call first 898-0588 Just called and he was there 13 Mosins left...Dates from 1938 to 1943 119 and change out the door

A ships fog horn is HUGE...I doubt you could fit a CG approved on in the bed of a pickup.

My brother kept the quarters...he went to work at the age of 14 as a soda jerk, when he graduated from highschool he went to work as a rodman...when he'd been doing that 10 years he had Seventy Five Thousand Dollars in the bank. He got drafted and ended up playing in a military band until the Base Sargent Major said, "You WILL sell me your 1963 Split Window Corvette for 100$ or I WILL have you shipped to Vietnam. You are restricted to the base." Somehow he managed to get the car sold to a dealer who had to go through a lawsuit to collect it. Poor old Chuckie was shipped to Hawaii where he had to partake of that funhouse called "POW School" They broke his collarbone on the first day. Off to the hospital with you, Chuckie me lad. 3 weeks and back to POW School...they broke it again. Back in the hospital where it took MUCH longer to heal. He got out of the hospital with 89 days left on his sheet. You had to have 90 to be extended for 'Nam. He went back to work as a rodman and played with some big band on weekends. In the entire time he worked as a rodman he never took a days vacation or had a single sickday. The state, in their wisdom said, "You can onlt accumulate 30 days and nothing else counts. If you have more than 30 days due, you must begin to take it before sush and such date. The state always paid for employees to go to school. He took his accumulated vacation and went to school. 4 years, 3 months and 16 days later he returned to work after graduating from U of Michigan. No one knew who he was. Oh...it gets better. He started his vacation time as a rod man...when he got out he was a registered surveyor. He jumped from 7,500 to seventy five thousand...and ...no one knew who he was...I thought I'd die laughing.

Yeah...me too...it's just that they spent all that government money doing it. I know how to take out a railroad bridge with no explosives...there's no security on bridges.

Gar: did TGI get their recent unplesantness with the BATFE settled? My Mosin is from them.

After 9/11, local government, all over the country, rushed to protect the seats of power. Never mind protecting the people. Even today, LEO's are assigned "courthouse duty." Why is that? Terrorists aren't going after the court or cityhall. People don't congregate at the courthouse. People gather in churches, stadiums, even hotels and amusement parks.

I'll be looking that up

Thank you , thanks very much

Gar...I'll tell you what bothers me. I was so damn sure that I was about 12 on that last train ride. Getting old sucks! Sam Clemens said it best. "It's what you know for sure that just ain't so that gets you."

The last passenger steamer was when I was 15, 1957. The cost had skyrocketed. 2.50 cents RT. The Conductor still watched out for me. I've been looking at the old news stories about the town and the RR. They mentioned the Steel Hotel My great great great great grand grand grand Aunt Aurela Crain was killed in an arson fire that burned the Steel Hotel to the ground. Mr. Crain was my who knows howmany back Grand Father. He was 98...she was 16 and she was cute. She was my grandfathers fifth wife. He lived to 103 so she would have been 21 when he died. I met her the first time when she was in her 70's. Amazing woman. She used to put jigsaw puzzles together upside down...then she'd glue paper to the completed puzzle and turn it over to see if it all fit. Jo and I used to go see her when we were in town. I was shocked to hear of the fire.

There are no stupid questions. I wish I could say the same for answers...

My mom was never too attached to me as a child, so Saturdays I got a quarter and sent to one of two places. either I could take my quarter and go to the Saturday afternoon mattinee. I could line up with all the kids in town, pay my 9 cents to get in, spend 15 cents fro the BIGGEST box of buttered popcorn, and march my way down to the very front row of red velvet seats and seat myself as close to the center as I could get and "oooh" and "aah" over the antics of the Marx brothers: 15 minutes. The Three Stooges: 15 minutes. Spanky and Our Gang: 15 minutes. Bugs Bunny or Mick Mouse: 7 minutes. The Movietone News: 7 minutes. Rocketman: 12 minutes. And two 70 minute B Westerns. Or...I could take that quarter, walk three blocks past the theater and enter the sacred marble halls of our local trainstation, pay twenty cents and get a round trip ticket to Durand 55 miles east, or Lowell 45 miles west on the Grand Trunk RR. My dad was prosecutor and I knew almost everyone in town (well...let's just say, EVERYBODY knew me) so either way I was pretty safe. The conductor would pass me on to the stationmaster who would make sure I got on the train going back to my town. The conductor, in his blueblack suit with the shiny sterling silver buttons, and leatherbilled cap with the silver chainbraid would make his immortal cry, "All Aboard?", he would swing his red lantern up and down amd step into the vestabule, pull his watchchain, retrieve his Hamilton Standard Time Pocket watch and pop the lid. He'd check the time, nod his head and shoo me to my seat. "Go sit down, Mr Austin. There's a good lad." OR...on MAGIC days, he would say, "Mr Austin, Charlie would appreciate your company in the Caboose," where I would sit in the cupola and sip a free 6 oz coke and watch the trees and farms glide by. The absolute best times were in the Fall when the trees were in their best suits and the rivers were clear. A rail bridge is a spooky thing when you're in the cars: it's a sudden closeness and flashing and you're off and blinking...From the cupola on the caboose it's something you see coming from a long way off and you can get ready...It's . right . up . there! so close it looks like it's going to cut the coupola off, and you with it. ClicketyclackClicketyclackClicketyclack and the sudden sway and thump as the car crosses the points. The smoke from the stack stretches back behind the train or blows sideways on windy days. On calm days the smoke looks like it's chasing you (if you have that kind of imagination) and it's coming closer and closer until you burp and turn around. Charlie doesn't like boys who get backwards riding sick. If you look at a map, the GTRR looks really straight, stretched like a string between two nails....it's not. It twists and turns..not much, just enough to keep an 8 year old boy interested. For 10 miles or so on both sides of town the track is close to the highway. My dad used to get a kick out of racing the train. "Racing? "my mom would ask. "If you're racing why are we going 30 miles an hour? Charles, you have cars lined up behind you for miles. Would you please get a move on!" Sometimes he would stop in Ovid and take us to the Sweetshoppe and buy us all sundays. I never did get that "sundays" bit...we always did it on Saturday. I asked Mom and she said ask your dad and he said, "You'll know the reason when you have kids of your own." He was right...it's exactly what I told my kids! I got to ride "upfront" once. On the last trip for the steamer. I didn't know it was the last trip until I went to the station the next Saturday and there was a mundane stinky Diesel instead of the Black and Red Steamer. I walked back up the hill and went to the movie. On the last trip, the Conductor took me to the cab of the engine. He climbed up and spoke to the engineer...I actually think money might have changed hands. I remember the engineer looking down at me, shaking his head. He spit a stream of plug tobacco juice that would make a mule proud. Still shaking his head...his eyes got big...he nodded, and the fireman got down and helped me climb all - the - way - up. "Mr Austin. This is Mr Blankenship. Mr Blankenship, this is David. David, Mr Blankenship. He'll look after you today." The really strange part about the introductory exchange between the adults is they were crying. Not sobbing...just wateryeyed, and blowing noses and wiping eyes with big red handkerchiefs. I don't think I can write anymore.

It's the rods cycling through the cylinders and the splash of the condensing steam. And the names the railroaders call things: Like the name they have for an overheated bearing in it's grease box.

I have a friend who designed, and colored her tattoo. She went to her favorite tattoo artist and said this is what I want. He did it. Several weeks later she saw the identical tattoo on a girl in a Pole club. The tat is *very distinctive*, enough so it could be an idenifier in a lineup. She was upset, very. She went to the artist who said, "I inked it, It's my tattoo." She said "I drew it, it's my design... I have the dated and signed original drawing." Who owns the tat?

You sell it to me, I'm buying junk. I sell it to you...you're buying antiques.

Hey JD...nice crossflow...426 or 413?

Oh...very funny