White Lightning Axiom: Redux: POP!

Thursday, June 07, 2007



Yeah, that TSD thing ... unintended consequences. I'll get to that in a few paragraphs. But since I did a roundup earlier in the week, I have a few days of material to banter on about. Since it was a sloppy day on Monday and Wednesday, I took the Tyrannical Twins of Turpitude to the pool instead of letting them batter each-other silly on the driveway with their jousting equipment and 'Road-Warrior' bicycles. That was saved for Tuesday. The pool, however, seems to have a broken heat pump. Not fun. I think I was one of the titanic elderly women run up against an iceberg and sink to the bottom of the pool. Not enough life-boats. Horrible tragedy. Even with the fantastic spectacles of swimmers in cryogenic deep-freeze, the tyrants did not last for more than 45 minutes before their blue lips and shivering spats coerced them out of the drink.

TSD (karate) was a different matter all together. Everything was fine in the children's class. I've taken a few turns with leading the calisthenics part. I seem to be a natural fit for that task. I do a lot of barking and drill sergeant type harassing so that the usual offenders don't have enough moxie to start acting up. Got a question for me? Five push-ups for the privilege, 10 if it is a BS question. Complaining about somebody else not working hard enough? 10 pushups for both of ya. Need to go potty? Kleenex? Drink of water ... Yep, give me 10 and the answer is NO. Everyone tends to fall in line and get it over with ASAP. I missed my calling, I tell ya. Either a Marine Boot Camp Drill Instructor or a Kindergarten Teacher. That's all fine and well. The messy stuff happened during an adult class sparring session. I've been feeling pretty cocky of late and I figured I'd go ahead and try one of those legendary Chinese Flying anti-gravity leap-kicks. You know, the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Ligament Failure types. So, I fly through the air and start my dumb-ass fantasy maneuver and realize that what goes up, usually comes down at 9.8 meters/second/second. Hmmm, Force equals mass times acceleration and I've got a whole mess-o-mass to work with. Needless to say, I did not get through the pounds to kilogram conversion before I found myself laying on the floor simpering like a school-girl who got jelly on her Sunday Dress. Well, that was the end of my sparring for the evening. Even worse, I had to go back and fess up to the Mrs that I screwed the pooch again. Fortunately, I was wearing my I-Beam reinforced knee brace at the time so the injury was rather mild. That, or I'm getting used to being dismembered.

In the more mundane and amusing categories, I managed to enjoy a few quiet moments with the Mrs on the front porch the other night. Over the Memorial day weekend, I purchased a wood/iron wrought bench that took about 25 minutes to assemble. The weather was mild enough and the insects were still recovering from the rainstorms so all we had to worry about was the strength of the wireless hub signal for our laptop systems. Well, her system. I was busy finishing up my 2nd glass of Australian Shiraz for the night (aptly named Jacobs Creek). Earlier in the evening I had polished off 2 Flying Fish IPAs as well. Yeah, I was flying too. So much so that I even got a bit nervous when the police cruiser rolled by for the nightly patrol. Don't need any charges of public drunkenness or lewd behavior tacked on to my name. I still have a pretty good reputation around here. That, or they patrol the neighborhood to see if I'm out in the yard digging holes again after sunset. Whatever could I be doing? Looking for sprinkler system leaks? Planting bulbs? Hiding 55 gallon drums filled with survival gear, weapons and C4? Bodies? (insert evil laugh here).

Finally, the most amusing detail of the last few days. Monday is pasta and meat-ball day for the Tyrants' lunch. They were treated to 2 large meatballs and 2 large cheese and spinach ravioli. You mix cheese, pasta and spinach ... well, you do not notice the spinach so much if you are a youngster. So, when the Tyrants insisted that I relinquish the information regarding their devoured lunches, I acquiesced and revealed the secret ingredient. Jake retorted: "I love spinach!". Popeye never had it so good. Wait till I slip a leaf or two into their salads; I'll be dealing with the request for anchor tatoos on their forearms.

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