I just returned from spending three days in Wildwood Crest, NJ, a classic oceanfront town that is known for its sixties-vintage, often garish motels and hotels. I was there to attend an annual family get together, as an honorary family member. There was much eating, great company, many, many laughs, a bit of “swimming,” a bit of picking and, yes, a few cocktails. The beaches are beautiful and, as you can see from the view from the balcony (click to enlarge), they are also humongous.

Wildwood Crest is somewhat fancier than its northern cousin, Wildwood (without the “Crest”), which is known for its boardwalk rides and amusements and which was the inspiration for the Bobby Rydell song featured in the second link in the first paragraph. Wildwood Crest does not permit the sale of liquor (no bars, no liquor stores), but a short drive or even a walk down the main drag to Wildwood is all it takes to lay in supplies and we laid in plenty.

My insides are tired. This retirement thing is exhausting.

Truth is, I’m too lazy to write anything, but I thought this was a pretty cool thing.

Via my pal Rich, from my home town.

I think about my dad just about every day, but on Father’s Day I think about him a bit more than usual. He was a refrigeration guy/maintenance guy and welder at a really dirty job in a dye factory. He worked hard at the place for years. He never complained, but he used to show me his callused, dye stained hands and he would say, “Son, look at these hands. If you don’t want to have hands like this, you have to get an education (He always pronounced it properly ‘ed-yoo-KAY-shun’).”

Many nights, after dinner, when the dishes were done, he’d pull out his guitar and sing and play in the kitchen. If my mother and I listened, that was OK. If not, that was OK too. He was playing and singing for himself.

He sang almost exclusively country/western tunes, and this Hank Snow song was one of his regulars. I know I’m biased, but I believe he sang this one even better than Hank did.

I did manage to get the education, and the only calluses I have are from playing the guitar — like my dad. I sure miss him.

Steve Wynn, a guy who knows a bit about business, shares his thoughts on the macabre circus in Washington.

Via iOwnTheWorld.com

I am the President of the United States, and I command you to stop!

Huh?

I said, I’m the President of the United States, the leader of the free world and the most powerful man on earth, and I command you to stop!

Piss off.

Listen, you’re really lousing up my presidency here.

Have you tried blaming Bush?

I tried that, but it’s not working.

Sucks to be you, I guess.

Care to play some golf?

Pffffffft.

Linked by Doug Ross. Thanks!

When we bought the House by the Parkway (South), we bought a new washing machine. Truth is, there was nothing wrong with the washing machine at the House By The Parkway (North), but “new” seemed to be the watchword of the day. Being a Laundry Guy, I take a special interest in this particular appliance.

When shopping for the machine,, I checked out the front loaders that people seem to like these days, but I didn’t want one. To me, it seemed like a pain in the ass to load and unload. Besides, the first washing machine we had in the fifties was a front loader, so, for me, there was nothing novel or hip about them. I am a top loader kinda guy.

So, we bought a top loader. Here is a cell phone picture.

Note that it has a window in the lid/door, which permits one to actually watch the clothes being washed. This is a good thing for retired folks. Watching the washing machine beats most television. As you can see from this picture, the controls look pretty straightforward, no? Well, don’t be fooled. This thing has all sorts of bells and whistles on it (Gah!) and, like the telephone and DVR, it comes with a farookin’ manual that requires some serious study.

To give you a feel of how this seemingly benign washing machine looks when it is doing its thing, I took a picture with the lights out in the room Admittedly, it is a shitty picture, but you get the idea that this baby is more than just a knob and a button. It looks more like the control panel on the space shuttle.

Check out all those lights. I keep looking for one that tells me if the landing gear is down.

All the blinding lights are not what makes it goofy. Take a look at the inside of the machine (the tub).

What’s missing?

Yes, there is no agitator. WTF? It’s just a bigass tub. You just toss the clothes into the tub, and put the detergent in the dispenser (NOT on the clothes, for chrissakes – according to the manual) and start her up. Then comes the goofy part. In all my other washing machines, the tub fills with water and, once the tub is filled and the clothes are floating around in soapy water, the cycle (wash, rinse, spin blah blah) starts.

Not so with this goofy machine, which works as follows:

Put clothes in tub.

Add detergent to dispenser.

Press “start”

About a cup or so of water (yes, a cup) squirts on the clothes, and then it the tub spins. WTF?

It stops after about ten seconds or so, then it squirts about another cup of on the clothes, and it spins again!

It does this a few more times before it begins to act like a regular washing machine, but even at that, it does some goofy tub gyrations, presumably owing to the lack of an agitator. I’ll be damned if I can figure out how it manages to get clothes clean, but it does.

Then, there is the new dryer, but that’s a story for another day.

Sometimes it’s not easy being a Laundry Guy.

As many of you know, I don’t do power tools, particularly those with chains or those with sharp-toothed blades. As you also know, I am easily intimidated by computers and electronic gadgets. As such, a while back when I bought this fancy schmancy computer and all the gizmos and software that came with it, I stared helplessly at the multiple boxes until my buddy Mike the Computer Maven came to the House by the Parkway and spent the day hooking everything up and moving the stuff from my old computer to the new one. There is simply no way I could have done it.

A while later the computer developed a problem and had to be sent to HP for repair work. In the process of doing the repair work, HP wiped my hard disc. Double yikes! Mike spent a shitload of time getting that all squared away for me.

Mike is most definitely a geek’s geek and a gadget guy’s gadget guy (He actually reads and understands the stuff on Slashdot.), and he’s gotten around to starting a blog. Although he is writing about various things, the posts seem to be weighted a bit in the direction geekery and gadgetry, but they are written with non-geeks in mind.

Mike’s a good guy, and the name of the blog is “Lost in the Details.” Give it a look. I figure if I send enough traffic Mike’s way, he may show me how to operate my DVR.

Just listen to this maroon. According to her (Don’t call her Ma’am), carbon dioxide poses a grave national security threat and will put our troops in harm’s way. Carbon farookin’ dioxide! The stuff we exhale, the stuff that makes soda fizz, and the stuff that plants need to live.

If there is a God, this jerk will be sent packing in November.

Last night, I did something I’ve wanted to for quite some time, which was to check out the Albert Music Hall and see if I could do a bit of pickin’ there.

As you can see from the website, the place has become a cultural institution in New Jersey. I had been to the old location many years ago, before it burned down. Back then, I went into the theater to see the show, which I enjoyed very much. However; what intrigued me most about the place was the musical action that was taking place in the parking lot. People playing all sorts of instruments (mostly stringed) clustered in groups and just played and sang for themselves and anyone who felt like watching – and many did.

The spontaneous parking lot “concerts” became part of the tradition, so when the new building was built, a “Pickin’ Shed” and a porch were included for those who show up with instruments and want to play (there are photos on the website).

So, I decided to give it a shot. I put my guitar (not the Gibson) in the trunk and headed over there to see how the pickin’ thing works. When I arrived, there were already about ten people playing in the Pickin’ Shed. Not knowing the “rules” (e.g.Was some minimal level of competence required? Does it cost anything? Do you need someone’s permission?), I asked one of the peeps, “Can anyone play?”

Answer: “Sure.”

With that, I took the guitar from the gig bag, watched people’s hands to see the key of the song everyone was playing and started right in. There were about a half-dozen guitar players, a couple mandolin players, a guy playing the dobro, a guy way older than I playing harmonica and even a guy keeping time with brushes on a share drum. After playing about ten songs, the guy who seemed to be the main guy looked in my direction and said, “The fella over there in the green shirt strumming that guitar… [i.e. me] … Would you like to sing one?”

Of course, I did not refuse. I sang one and then sang another couple tunes over the next few hours. I learned that players and spectators come in and out all night. Later in the evening, an absolutely amazing fiddle player showed up. He was kind of a goofy, happy guy who had no problem doing a bit of a crazy dance while he played. Truth is, I heard him play some serious stuff outside the shed, and I’m convinced that he must be an accomplished violinist who does the “fiddle” thing for shits and giggles.

I closed out the night by moving to the porch to play. It is my impression that the porch is where more serious players seem to congregate. The guy playing banjo was great. I just stayed on the fringe doing my damndest to keep up with the rapid-fire chord changes in bluegrass tunes I had never heard before.

My fingers are sore today, but it was a great way to spend Saturday night. Hell, I may well become one of the “regulars.”

Note: Be sure to click on the Video link on the website for background on the Albert Music Hall. You can also see the video by clicking here.

Would there be any doubt that the minute I saw this on a shelf at the Mondo Liquor Store, I would immediately place a bottle in my already-loaded shopping cart?

Let me answer that for you.

Absolutely no doubt whatsoever.

After letting it nestle in my freezer for a few hours, I removed the well-frosted bottle and poured a generous helping over clear ice. Damn, it’s good.

It’s pretty simple. If you like sweet tea (I thank my southern pals for introducing me to that), and if you like bourbon, you’ll love Firefly Sweet Tea Bourbon.

I just finished one, and it tastes like another. Cheers!