lonelyfridge

It seems to me that the inventor of the button-fly jean was a person who spends the winter in a villa somewhere on the Mediterranean, or at least a trailer park in Florida.

The reason for my supposition is heat pipes.

On the three different pairs of button-fly jeans I own, the buttons are stainless steel, and there is no denim flap behind the fastener behind the button backs, as there is with the zipper-fly models behind the zipper. The typical denim flap of the zipper models is in fact what the buttons are mounted in.

The problem arises when a) the button backs press against the wearer’s body (or against the thin fabric of the usual undergarment), specifically against the part of the male anatomy that is typically buttressed against the fly of jeans, and b) the button fronts brace themselves against the Canadian winter.

Those readers who are familiar with the mechanism of heat pipes will understand why I am now wearing long johns most days on my walk to work.

I am in favour of some global warming; actually, it doesn’t need to be more than local warming. I live on a hill, the water levels can rise, but I’m tired of wearing long johns to work.

I’d rather strut like this dude:

In bed related issues, I finally caved into the Mrs.’ demands and purchased some feather pillows. I don’t want to make a note about the frequency of this, but it is notable: she was right! They are super comfy (romantic dividends will be zero, as although I caved, I referred to her as ‘the Mrs.’ Twice.).

Attention! Something is …open!

PS: Today I ate a sandwich. It was good: prosciutto & old cheddar on a croissant.

Fresh from my purchases at Radio Shack (excuse me, “The Source”), I opened my Les Paul up for surgery tonight, determined to figure out this soldering business. I cut a whole in the middle of an old shirt to let me carry out the operation without dripping any solder on the precious polyurethane finish (sorry, no pictures, no cameras in the OR (née kitchen)).

I got my new Sprague Orange Drops (225P - .022µF polyester capacitor) in pretty easily, though they take up a lot more room than the old ceramic discs. Somehow I created a bulge that sticks into the backplate that wasn’t there before, but I’m not sure how that happened.

The results (click to enlarge, click again to excuse them):

FYI: Learning to solder is stinky. This burnt ozone smell has given me a sore throat.

Yesterday evening was quality time spent with my Stratocaster:

One of my happiest memories is of performing this song with Brigid for a bar full of people, and also, for her mom.

so-far-untitled (”The Euphemism Express” ? )
Words and music by J. Reid, I. Scrimger, B. Wilkinson. © 2003

1.
Hey Mister Conductor, let me ride your train
Hey Mister Conductor, let me ride your train
oh, that big ol’ train, is the only thing keeping me sane

2.
I was at the station, waiting for you to come
I was at the station, waiting for you to come
And boy when you came, you could not be outdone

3.
Mr. Conductor move up the mountains slow
This old train will climb up the mountains slow
and then we’ll race down, down to the valley below

Bridge:
(tempo increases and false ending)

Spoken: “Hey, We’re not there yet, keep going!”

4.
C’mon, Mister Conductor, stoke that engine’s fire
C’mon, Mister Conductor, stoke that engine’s fire
The way you use that wood is something I really admire

There is some confusion over this verse, Brigid suggests that it was just verse 1, with some ad-libbed embellishments, while I remember something akin to:

5.
Rode that train all through the night ??!?
I Rode that train all through the night
something something something* into the morning light

*obviously the correct words would go here.

We do, however, agree on the ending:

(tempo increases until a, uh, climatic ending is reached)

Damn I hate the cold. A few months of warm weather and you forget what it’s like to have your eyes frost shut and the snot freeze in your nose. And it doesn’t bother the undead one bit either, I’m sure.Myth

Not with their mugs of hot cocoa and warm chalets. Bastards.

…and others?

facebook.com/s.php?q=jeff+cooley

Well, I hope the Chinese new year will see my Christmas cards off- as I missed Christmas, New Years and Orthodox Christmas (Epiphany). Apologies, all. I’ve been too busy basking in the warmth of global warming right now to care too much. I’ve also become addicted to facebook.com and the ORG (Ze’s ORG, not SeaORG - all hail Xenu, anyway).

Dear internet, today I ate a sandwich (with my mom; it was my birthday). Pamela (saving throw vs allure: 24) gave me a “mixed up pick up lines poetry magnet kit” and a book of Richard Dawkins essays. This reviewer was quite pleasantly surprised with the effect the former had with all ladies attendant in his kitchen this evening, and will be keeping it on his fridge for future use.

I’ve had CBC Radio One on all evening/night, and every hour they’ve run a story about the Wheat Board change in management. I tune out most of it, as I’ve been working on something, but when it gets to this marvelous line, it just sets my poor heart alight, every hour: “…fired the president”. My poor heart then breaks when the sentence concludes with “…of the Canadian Wheat Board”, as that’s not really the president that needed firing.

With regards to the Wheat Board, I honestly don’t have an informed opinion. I heard an interview with the axed Adrian Measner last week or so, and recall he presented perfectly reasonable arguments, though of course I don’t remember them as last week was approximately three years ago, or so my body tells me. In general I think monopolies are a Bad Idea™ though.

Speaking of my poor heart, I have a date with a certain Pirate Czarina tomorrow tonight (yo ho ho!). We’re going to take in the new Bond flick (on the recommendation of Ian, so it better be good, or else) and eat some yummy Thai food.

Hopefully I won’t have to walk the plank.