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Apparently that’s not the case for most of the local sports talk dudes. 🤣
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- Thread starter Burgundy Burner
- Start date
Apparently that’s not the case for most of the local sports talk dudes. 🤣
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I have tons of hair, although I'm showing some thin hair in the back. I own at least two dozen ball caps. I don't wash my hair every day - maybe twice a week. So if my hair doesn't look good, I will wear a ball cap. Sometimes I just want to show my team spirit on Sunday. I do think a ball cap looks better on a balding head. It makes the guy look younger and better IMO.
Check Jabin Postal in 2018, no ball cap, no beard
Here he is in 2019, ball cap, no beard
Now check him here in 2024, ball cap, beard
What do you think?
Check Jabin Postal in 2018, no ball cap, no beard
Here he is in 2019, ball cap, no beard
Now check him here in 2024, ball cap, beard
What do you think?
I have always had a thick head of curly hair. Baldness was never in the cards, but I also thought that about heart disease. My hair is thinning dramatically. Last night I could see my scalp when my hair was not combed for the first time.
I never thought going bald was that big of a deal either. And I've never heard of someone losing their hair in their mid-60's. But I am concerned. balding with curtly hair means I will look like Larry from the Three Stooges and I don't want that look. But I'm not so worried about it that I'll actually do anything about it.
I can't anyway. Rogaine etc will artificially raise your PSA level which is used to check for prostate cancer. Since I'm a survivor this false reading will screw me up.
I never thought going bald was that big of a deal either. And I've never heard of someone losing their hair in their mid-60's. But I am concerned. balding with curtly hair means I will look like Larry from the Three Stooges and I don't want that look. But I'm not so worried about it that I'll actually do anything about it.
I can't anyway. Rogaine etc will artificially raise your PSA level which is used to check for prostate cancer. Since I'm a survivor this false reading will screw me up.
The local Facebook pages for a small town is a gold mine of entertainment. Recently a guy on a dog sled with wheels showed up in town and set up at the Park and Ride. He is from upstate NY and his house burned down, so he is heading south destination unknown. He pulled into town and is waiting for a part for his sled so it's been close to a week.
Well Facebook is ablaze with comments, most in support of this man but of course the Small Town Karens are alive and claim a pack of Huskies should not be outside when it's 23 degrees. LOL.
Well Facebook is ablaze with comments, most in support of this man but of course the Small Town Karens are alive and claim a pack of Huskies should not be outside when it's 23 degrees. LOL.
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The Karens need to read some Robert Service.*
The Cremation of Sam McGee, published 1907
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
*Robert Service, a poet, is a favorite author of John Riggins. The line, "Men - with the hearts of Vikings - and the simple faith of a child," from The Law of the Yukon, was included in his HOF Induction speech in 1992.
The Cremation of Sam McGee, published 1907
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
*Robert Service, a poet, is a favorite author of John Riggins. The line, "Men - with the hearts of Vikings - and the simple faith of a child," from The Law of the Yukon, was included in his HOF Induction speech in 1992.
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The sky at sundown tonight in S. Florida. Looks like the upside down world.
I'm not sure if I posted this on this board but here's a shot from last Christmas that I've always liked. My mother in law's quilt is hanging up again in the same spot, taken from my recliner.
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One of my cats used to sit and watch the birds on the feeders like that. It was hilarious because she would make chewing and crunching noises while she watched...
We had a squirrel problem at the feeder until we got Nikki. She was pretty young when my wife taught her "SQUIRREL!" where she would say it and the dog leaped up like a cartoon and scared them away. They never figured out that she could not get to them and the problem was solved.
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I have a screened-in porch, put the 2 swivel rockers and the big cat tree out there. They love it.
Ms. Kitty is too fat to fit on the ledges of the windows, but Sabrina can...she stays out there "on watch".
Ms. Kitty is too fat to fit on the ledges of the windows, but Sabrina can...she stays out there "on watch".
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I have a screened-in porch, put the 2 swivel rockers and the big cat tree out there. They love it.
Ms. Kitty is too fat to fit on the ledges of the windows, but Sabrina can...she stays out there "on watch".
View attachment 13805
We have that same exact cat tree in the corner of our family room.
The dog continues to be obsessed with our cats. Doesn't want to kill them, just play but she's too rough. So we have trained her to "Leave It" and she never approaches the cat. But when she walks in the room I know it immediately. I can be waving a tennis ball in Nikki's face and suddenly I've lost her attention to the cat.
I had a very interesting thought last night that I wanted to share here. At least to me anyway, though late at night after a few beers is probably not the time to judge.
But damned if I can remember it. But I think it may have been brilliant.
But damned if I can remember it. But I think it may have been brilliant.
So because of high wind we could not put out our recycle last week. So obviously with Christmas we had a huge mass. I put a dozen donuts on the top of the trash can with a bow and a note "Thank You". They took the trash and recycle but left the donuts.
WTF? Was it not obvious that they were for them? Did they do this as a "not necessary" signal?
WTF? Was it not obvious that they were for them? Did they do this as a "not necessary" signal?
Busch1724
The Rookie
They may not be allowed to take them.
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On a fun note, the lovely Mrs Skinsfan, (the biggest Chick-fil-A fan on the planet), won a Gold Cup. Free Chick-fil-A for a year. She's nuts about the place. Almost disturbingly so
She's been skipping around the house and squealing with delight.
My cheap-ass has been squealing too, thinking about the money we'll save. 🤘
She's been skipping around the house and squealing with delight.
My cheap-ass has been squealing too, thinking about the money we'll save. 🤘
Not a fan of The Chick but curious about how this Gold Cup promotion is all about.
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I can take it or leave it but Mrs Skinsfan is bat-shit crazy about Chick-fil-A. She's got hats, shirts, earrings, beach towels, throws, socks, etc. I think it's a cult
. That, or they put crack in their food. It's the only fast food that she will eat, having "boycotted" both Burger King & McDonald's over 10 years ago because the food is so shitty.In a nutshell Chick-fil-A is releasing, (selling for $3.99), plastic collector cups with 4 different designs. They're sealed and you don't know which cup you bought until you open it. If you you get the Gold Fan Cup, you get free Chick-fil-A for a year.
It sounds better than it is because you get either an 8 piece nuggets, or any style of chicken sandwich 52 times in a years time. She eats there almost once a week, and gets their sweet tea at least once a week, usually more. The sweet tea is very good.
What's pretty cool is I looked at the odds on the site, and there are 5,603,000 cups out there nationwide, and "only" 3,000 of them are Golden Fan Cups.
I can take it or leave it but Mrs Skinsfan is bat-shit crazy about Chick-fil-A. She's got hats, shirts, earrings, beach towels, throws, socks, etc. I think it's a cult
In a nutshell Chick-fil-A is releasing, (selling for $3.99), plastic collector cups with 4 different designs. They're sealed and you don't know which cup you bought until you open it. If you you get the Gold Fan Cup, you get free Chick-fil-A for a year.
It sounds better than it is because you get either an 8 piece nuggets, or any style of chicken sandwich 52 times in a years time. She eats there almost once a week, and gets their sweet tea at least once a week, usually more. The sweet tea is very good.
What's pretty cool is I looked at the odds on the site, and there are 5,603,000 cups out there nationwide, and "only" 3,000 of them are Golden Fan Cups.
Just how many collector cups does the wife own?
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Including the cup that she won? One. It was the first, (and hopefully last), time she bought one. She already has a Chick-Fil-A coffee mug and I got her an insulated mug as a stocking stuffer. She should really thank me because she asked me to pick up some Chick-Fil-A for her on my way home from the grocery store and I whined about it because I had other running to do, so she went herself.Just how many collector cups does the wife own?
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