My five favorite gin drinks:
- Tom Collins
- Classic Martini
- Salty Dog
Got to be good-lookin' 'cause he's so hard to see.
My five favorite gin drinks:
I’m going to do what every San Franciscan does who goes to Heaven. I’ll look around and say, ‘It’s not bad, but it ain’t San Francisco.’
This one was tough, but here are my five favorite country songs:
My five favorite characters from The Cosby Show:
And just like that: It’s been fourteen years since I started blogging on this site.
It seems like only yesterday that I wrote a post celebrating my thirteenth year, and the spaces between the years gets smaller every day.
My 3 ½ year old son was asked at school to say what his dad did at work all day.
“He works around and sings.”
“The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole life to reading my works.”
James Joyce February 2, 1882 – January 13, 1941
According to The Writer’s Almanac, Joyce, “was educated by Jesuits, first visited a prostitute at the age of 14, dropped out of medical school and aspired to be an opera star. Joyce was afraid of thunder and lightning … and he was also afraid of dogs. On his desk he had a tiny bronze statue of a woman lying back in a chair with a cat draped over her shoulders.”
My five favorite ducks:
One thing is that I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it’s much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers and possible beliefs, in different degrees of certainty, about different things. But I’m not absolutely sure of anything and of many things I don’t know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask why we’re here and what the question might mean. I might think about it a little bit, if I can’t figure it out, then I go onto something else. But I don’t have to know an answer. I don’t feel frightened by not knowing things, by being lost in the mysterious universe without having any purpose, which is the way it really is, as far as I can tell, possibly. It doesn’t frighten me.
Richard P. Feynman
A few weeks ago I did a little web searching on a mission to see if it would be possible to acquire duplicates of any or all of my grandfather’s service medals. He fought as a member of Merrill’s Marauders in the Pacific Theater in WWII and I know he had been awarded (at least) a Purple Heart and a Medal of Honor. Long, long ago, my great-grandmother — an evil, wicked woman — caught my uncle playing with the medals and threw them into a fireplace.
I learned that on July 12, 1973, a disastrous fire at the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis, Missouri, destroyed approximately 16–18 million Official Military Personnel Files.
It is estimated that the personnel files of 80% of all Army veterans discharged between November 1, 1912 and January 1, 1960 and 75% of all Air Force veterans discharged between September 25, 1947 and January 1, 1964 were lost.
“No duplicate copies of these records were ever maintained, nor were microfilm copies produced. Neither were any indexes created prior to the fire. In addition, millions of documents had been lent to the Department of Veterans Affairs before the fire occurred. Therefore, a complete listing of the records that were lost is not available.”
“In terms of loss to the cultural heritage of our nation, the 1973 NPRC Fire was an unparalleled disaster.”