Personal stuff
On May 28, 1986 I arrived in the United States to start my new life as a born-again American. Of course, New York City was my initial port of entry:
I just knew that I’d fit right in…and then I went on down to Texas to stay with friends while my paperwork was being processed:
…and then I really felt like I’d come home.
Last Saturday I took New Wife out for a Full Texas Day (I know, I know: never go Full Texas).
Part One was the Fort Worth Gun Show (that was for me, of course, although she found several Girly-things to buy there, and did). Blessedly, there was more on display than the usual AR-15/Glock/Tacticool stuff (although there was plenty of that too):
… although that mythical unicorn (mint condition Colt Python for under $1,000) was nowhere to be found, of course. There was a S&W Mod 65-3 for sale, but it looked like it had been towed behind a Ford F-150 for a mile or two, and they wanted $700 for it, so: pass. However, there was a vendor selling from a huge selection of Anza knives, and somehow I managed not to buy a single one (although I could have bought six or seven, easily).
Good grief, they’re lovely knives. I’m rapidly starting to think of Anza knives as I do .22 rifles — i.e. every home should have at least one — and the next time I go to the Ft. Worth gun show, I’m going to buy another one, because… I shouldn’t have to explain myself on this one, should I? Here’s one that caught my eye, just because of the shape:
…but honestly, I could also see myself getting any one of these little beauties too.
We were planning on getting a late lunch of BBQ in downtown Ft. Worth (Part Two), but as it happened, there was a vendor at the show from Robinson’s BBQ (“since 1947”) so that was the brisket taken care of — and it was excellent.
We did take a little drive trip through Ft. Worth, and would have stopped to listen to the orchestra playing in Sundance Square, but parking in downtown is crappy, so we didn’t. Instead, we went out to The Stockyards for a little shopping and entertainment.
The shopping at the various Western wear stores (Part Three) was patchy — some expensive stuff there, Bubba — but I did manage to snag a decent summer-weight vest which doesn’t look like a mil-surp, fishing- or photographer’s vest for a decent price. New Wife, not so lucky. (She steadfastly refused to let me buy her some cowboy boots, but hey: she’s been in Texas less than five months, and I only got a pair of cowboy boots after over fifteen years here, so it’s a long-term project.) Also:
Anyway, it was getting late, so we went into Riscky’s for more BBQ and margaritas (Part Four):
Decent ribs, outstanding grilled shrimp (seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever tasted), and Ernesto the barman is brilliant. (I tended bar in my distant yoot, so I know the trade.)
Dinner over, we went to Part Five of the Full Texas Thang:
Oh yeah, baby… rodeo!
Now I have to confess that I’m no expert on rodeo — mostly, I think it’s cheap country entertainment — but you can’t go Full Texas without rodeo, right? So we watched the bull-riding, bronco busting, calf-roping and all that, until the over-loud PA (and screaming commentator) got to my tinnitus and the hissing/whistling sound became unbearable (my ears are still ringing as I write this, the day after).
But New Wife enjoyed the day thoroughly, even the gun show — although she won’t be going to another one anytime soon — and hey… how often do you get to go Full Texas with a newbie?
This Daily Mail story caught my attention:
With most of us confused about when or if Brexit will actually happen, one woman told This Morning hosts Ruth and Eamonn today that she wasn’t frightened by the prospect of a Halloween Brexit.
Jen McEnhill, 36, from Stoke Newington, north London, said she wasn’t concerned as she’s stockpiled food and toiletries to see her through for six months, just in case there are important shortages when Britain eventually leaves the European Union.
I understand exactly how she feels, because I’ve had to do without in the past, and I don’t like it.
I’ve been poor several times during my lifetime. When I was much younger, I lived in my VW panel van for a couple of months as I drove around looking for jobs, and even as I got older, there were times when the decision had to be made whether to pay this bill OR that bill. We’ve all been there, I suppose, but the lasting effect on me is that I suffer from what’s called “shortage panic” — which is why I always have an overstocked pantry, why I buy in bulk rather than in the more cash flow-friendly smaller pack sizes, and so on. I have far more clothes than I need — if I find a particular brand / type of shirt, for example, I’ll go back and buy half a dozen of them, using one at a time and replacing it only when it starts falling apart.
I seldom let my car’s gas tank drop much below half-full — and I did this long before I started driving for Uber, by the way.
This shortage panic is why I have a shitload of ammunition stored in Ye Olde Ammoe Locquer, and it’s also why I advised people to start stockpiling food items in case the current Midwest floods should cause shortages in basic foodstuffs over the next year or so.
This condition, by the way, is common among Depression-era folks, less common among Baby Boomers, and (it seems) non-existent among the post-Boomer generations.
Am I the only one who has this problem?
…in that today is a special day for me.
The Son&Heir turns 30 today (and if you’re a Longtime Friend and/or Reader, you have my permission to go ahead and feel very old). It is customary for a proud father to brag about his son, but in my case, I am truly blessed. (And those of you who have met him, please feel free to weigh in with your opinions.)
Eagle Scout, champion pistol shooter, drummer, cum laude college graduate and now junior executive at a successful retail business; he’s popular with everyone who meets him, works with him or has anything to do with him. He’s witty, polite, well-mannered, intelligent, astonishingly well-read, and the best dinner companion anyone could wish for.
He never reads my blog — not one of my kids has ever read anything I’ve written: blog, novels, whatever — so he might or might not read this, but I don’t care. I bless the day he came into my life, and every day since. He is my son, I love him dearly, and he is a fine, fine man.
Happy birthday, boy.
— Dad
(aged 15, at Faro Airport in Portugal)
So guess where I am today?
Yup… Austin, Texas. Home to every rat bastard Commie south of Dallas.
I’ll try to get through the day without punching a hippie, but I make no promises.
As promised yesterday, here’s my choice of WitSec relocation:
All that said, I was last there several years ago, so if any of you are locals / near-locals, feel free to educate me if the place is going / has gone down the shitter.
