Piloting the Kilo

Take me now, subcreature
Several years ago my father called to let me know that I'd received a rather large rebate check in the mail but it had come to his house by mistake, so he cashed it and bought himself a new mower. As he did all our lawncare, this was a non-issue. Until this weekend. Time being what it is, the self-propel mechanism went out and he had no more use for it about the time we returned from STL. So now I have this push mower which dies immediately if I face it West, or South. It will only run when pointing North or East. Ancient Mesopotamian wackos (as well as some modern day New Age wackos) give great power to Cardinal directions, sometimes associating them with the Four Elements (usually with some underlying conceptualization which binds them all together) and/or colors which themselves symbolize further...representations. Whatever. North is white - the bones of mortals, and East is red, their blood. Given that the other two directions are both life-giving in contrast to these, I could see only death in their meaning, and felt that the end time was near. But its probably just the grade of my lawn as it affects fuel delivery.




You may commence your run now, Mr. Kamarov
Two nights ago I dreamed I was on a covert mission which required circumnavigation of the California coast in a Kilo-class submarine. Having been launched in San Diego under the cover of darkness, amidst recently submerged Los Angeles-class attack subs, I was scared out of my wits about hitting one. It was night, underwater, and I had to rely on visual acuity to dodge the other boats as no one on board knew how to operate the passive equipment because it was marked in Russian, and I wasn't permitted to use active sonar. What a harrowing journey! At the halfway point I ran the sub aground and continued on foot, across rough territory - a recently razed cornfield with deep troughs and North Korean watchtowers. It was here I rescued my wife and then sought shelter at a university with cavernous and maze-like dorm rooms and hallways. Fortunately I met up with an old colleague and we played some cards, drank some wine, then departed to safety in a small vehicle he had squirreled away for such an occasion.




I start to feel all cooped up in these U-Boats; I had a bad experience once.
Saturday morning I worked my usual regime on the treadmill followed by my every-other-day weights. I decided to add some butterfly's to my weight set, using 10-pound barbells in each hand. This turned out to be too much, as six hours later, my pectoral muscles ached something fierce at any movement whatsoever, and it appears those muscles move during any activity, such as, 'standing' or even 'breathing.' Its impossible to not utilize that muscle group. To make matters worse, I sunburned the skin which covers them while drax0r and I were at the pool with our children that day. So in wearing clothing, any movement whatsoever causes my muscles to ache also causes my shirt to 'shift' alighting my skin, causing me to involuntarily tense, which contracts the muscles, which causes my muscles to ache...Supping from the nipple of happiness for a count of three liters didn't help, though it was a lot of fun putting that particular experiment to the test. Feeling I needed my own frosty stein for partaking, I got two matching half-liter Spatenbrau Bock glasses which shall remain within orbit of the new kegerator. Not much on this earth is better than beer from a keg.

Beerfest forever!