Q: How does a very large, very dead, very fly-ridden mouse end up on the 2nd floor deck?
A: I have no idea, but that shit was gross.
Q: How does one properly dispose of said corpse?
A: It’s a trade secret, but the items you’ll need include: a stick, an empty shoe box, and lots of duct tape.
Note to wife: DO NOT open the pink shoe box with duct tape on it!
One hell of a storm system passed through Northern Virginia today.
In an email to Erin today:
“My instinct is to skip it. It’s not even the Mexican Independence Day (that’s Sept. 16th). It’s just a celebration of a victory over the French. And, really, if we all celebrated victories over the French, we’d get awfully tired of celebrating.”
“The Bible describes faith as the substance of things hoped for. This certainly seems to fit in that category,” said Clark Tyler, chairman of the Tysons Land Use Task Force, which has spent years planning for development around rail. “We had faith that Metro was coming, and it looks like it’s going to.”
Yeah, because the Bible was written explicitly to address the regional need for light rail service to the area’s busiest airport. What about the FTA’s decision to fund the project bears celebration of religion?
That shit is completely unnecessary. Fucking fundies.
Oh, by the way, the “Jesus” in the title doesn’t refer to your “savior”. It refers to all the Hispanic men who will be performing exhausting manual labor for the next 5-7 years building the motherfucker… one of which is undoubtedly named Jesus (pron. Hay-soos).
Ridiculous NHL talking-head coif versus older, ridiculous NHL talking head mullet. Thank $DEITY that Keith Jones knows a barber.
Does this tripe make The New Yorker if Avery plays in Phoenix? Not fucking likely. Also, how does such an egotistical prick pull off sounding kind of “normal guy” while–at the same time–being ultra-pretentious?
You’re an enigma, Sean Avery. And you’re trying too hard to be “interesting”.
Nota bene: I use “enigma” for lack of a better word. My vulgarity currently escapes me.
Any of my 4 readers have an appropriate noun or adjective?
We bottled the Murph yesterday. Gregg came with us to check out the joint, and lend a hand on the assembly line (photo). It took us 2 hours to wait, wash and bottle 4 cases of beer. Compared to the other bottlers, I think it’s safe to say we were a model of efficiency.
According to the worksheet supplied by the brewers, the original specific gravity (OG) of our concoction was 1.078, and the final specific gravity (FG) was 1.014. On the sheet, they wrote that it is 6.2% alcohol by weight, and 7.93% alcohol by volume. Following the instructions at howstuffworks.com:
Starting gravity - final gravity = mass of CO2 gone from fermenting
1.078 - 1.014 = 0.064
Multiply by 1.05 (mass ratio of CO2 to ethyl alcohol) = mass of alcohol per liter
0.064 x 1.05 = 0.0672
Mass per liter divided by final specific gravity = % alc. by mass
0.0672 / 1.014 = 0.0663, or 6.63% alc. by mass (misnomered “alcohol by weight” or ABW)
ABW divided by density of ethyl alcohol (which is 0.79 kg/L) = alc. by volume
0.0663 / 0.79 = 0.0839, or 8.4% alc. by volume
I wonder why the discrepancy in the worksheet provided by the brewer exists?
As for the beer itself, it’s kind of sweet, medium hoppiness with only a hint of bitter. I think it’s pretty good, but I’d like to hear what Gregg thinks of the stuff.
Bored while waiting for the dryer, I was momentarily inspired to plot the locations of friends and family that don’t live in the D.C. area. So I pulled up the googlymaps and eyeballed some shit in illustrator.
Represented (closest first) are:
Ocean City, MD
NYC
The place with the NHL Hall of Fame
Indy
Montgomery, AL
Tampa
Corpus Christi
Davis, CA
… only just compiled after the watershed of “holy fucking shit I’m thrilled, but holy fucking shit now I have to grow up for reals, not to mention holy fucking shit I hope I don’t fuck up this kid’s shit” emotional minefield that every guy must surely navigate after learning his wife is pregnant.
Regardless of what may or may not happen with regard to Erin’s pregnancy, that she is pregnant is an event of note. There was some previous incredulity.
I got my lower 2 wisdom teeth extracted last Friday. The opiate painkiller didn’t really do much for me, so I stopped taking it. Believe it or not… I don’t like being fucked up. Shit didn’t hurt much, but I swelled up like a chipmunk. The worst part is the fucking penicillin; it has been (and still is) destroying my gastrointestinal tract. The pain overwhelmingly eclipses that from the actual surgery. Active-culture yogurt doesn’t help, either.
Fuck Alexander Fleming.
It’s easy to quit smoking if you never leave the house. I can spend 5-6 hours at home and not want a cigarette. Put me at work–even wearing a nic patch? Fuck. That shit’s not easy. It’s the ritual.
I’m still gonna’ buy that Sig P226 9mm (on second thought, maybe I’ll get the .40 S&W?)… but only after I arrange for Erin to take a gun safety course, which was a precondition to the purchase.
Fake beer’s not that bad. The O’Doul’s Amber is actually quite tasty. When I was in college, I asked my O’Doul’s-drinking uncle, “Why even bother?” It’s the ritual.
I don’t blog about hockey much anymore because there are so many others who perform that task better than I. Here’s hoping the Caps can get into the playoffs; they have a great team.
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