Stay Classy, Shipyard

The other night, I pitched for a team some of my co-workers have put together in my employer's most competitive softball division. My co-workers are seriously talented, my hitting power is declining sharply with age and my legs are slowing. My contributions are definitely only part-time this year, there is a lot else going on right now that's more important than softball. That's not the point, though. The game went fine enough, we were generally outclassed by a team that, from top to bottom on the roster, featured guys bigger than me, which is a first. That's not the point either.

They were sponsored by a strip club. This group of lunks decided to do there part in the further disintegration of Western Civilization, and probably get their league fees paid for them in the process. Even in this day and age, this was a bit of a surprise. This particular crew was exclusively guys from the shipyard, and I am well aware that is a rough place. Nonetheless, didn't they feel any sort of moral conflict with wearing uniforms featuring a strip club's logo? After all, some of the guys have children, what is the message they want to send them?

While surprising, that a group of meat-heads might make this decision does not rock my concept of reality. What does rock my concept of reality, though, is that a major corporation, part of the military-industrial-congressional complex, functioning in an excruciatingly politically correct society, would allow a team in one of its athletic leagues to do this. I know less each day.

Serial Tiller

What a great weekend! After working a few small jobs in the wonderful Spring weather I to have some man-time, sweating in a shirtless toil as my skin slowly browns. Well, in the name of full disclosure it must be noted I'm redding, then browning. Full disclosure-plus mandates I note that laying down on a bench and lifting when reddened/browned is very uncomfortable, to boot.

But I digress... I found myself clinging desperately to a 100 pound, iron oxide coated monster augering its way through my garden. A kind friend loaned me a rototiller, all the better to engage in dominion over the wilderness that is (has been, really) my modest garden. The beast is about the same age I am, was clearly built before aluminum or stainless steel were commercially available, and was quite a handful to control. Knowing that, it was all the more remarkable that the machine, which I dubbed Tirpitz, started on the second pull and ran without fault for the whole morning. And that thing could chew up some dirt, I tell you what! The rototilling was preceded by extensive slashing, clipping, sawing, and digging to clear the lot, then burning all the debris along with extra piles of branches from the pear and apple trees (shown above with Sarah Joy).

This is all good news. Wifey has seedlings coming up (including about 1/2 dozen chestnut trees), the blueberry bushes are no longer choked out, and all the derelict trees that threaten structures or safety are down. And we have a tire swing up for Sweetness and Sarah Joy! Our property is slowly, painstakingly, taking shape. There will be work to do as long as we live in this blessed house, but it's starting to look less like a wildlife preserve and more like Eden. Or, at least our little slice of it.

Some-acious

We've all known somebody who is tenacious. Strong-willed, confident, well versed in their beliefs and ready for action. Willing to go the distance. Well, some are not like that. Some are, well, a little less persuasive and a little more persuadable. A little less dogged, and a little more lap-dog. I have coined a word for these types, the easily discouraged. What is less than tenacious?

Nineacious

Get it? Because nine is less than ten! Anybody at work who isn't willing to see a job through is tagged as nineacious. Of course, there is an antonym for the nineacious of the world.

Elevenacious

If you are elevenacious, you are, naturally, more than tenacious. You overflow with tenacity. You are a wolverine.

While we are talking about new words, I have come up with still another new word. It's really just a new term for a phrase I once heard elsewhere. Decorum prohibits me from getting too graphic, but it should suffice to explain that it describes talking too much about things one does not understand.

Moutharrhea