Neanderpundit

years ago, I was a regular contributor to a message board known as the Straight Dope.

I still browse there but the whole thing has become a leftist pain in the ass. The couple regular conservative commentors there are constantly shouted down by leftist morons who rely on ad hominem and Kos talking points- but there are a few decent folks there. Like these.

yeah, I know- there are a ton of folks collecting stuff for our boys and girls, and the folks of iraq, but here’s one you might be able to sign on to, if you haven’t otherwise.

When I was 19. Dad built a garage. We had an attached garage under the house, but this one was detached. it was “the shop”.

We built it large, and it had room for a lot of crap. It had a lathe and a mill, a woodstove, a couple stalls that could hold BIG cars. We could park a limo there.

There were chairs. Old recliners, mostly. Stuffing coming out of them. It was the only place on the property where you could read and smoke and drink and play with the dog- and of course fart and cuss and scratch in improper places- while welding, turning, wrenching. it was like TH White’s “Combination room”. The smell of woodsmoke and pipe tobacco probably permeates it still.

I hope to live long enough to recreate this. I hope I can get my “combination room” back. A man’s retreat, with a man’s toys inside.

When you spend time on the road, inevitably someone will say “C’mon, have a beer, no big deal, man up!”

When you wake up the first time in your local drunk tank, it’s a little shocking, but after eight, ten times, it’s a friendly spot. Well, as friendly as eight 100 watt fluorescent bulbs can be to an everclear hangover.

It’s the waking up in a strange drunk tank, 1900 miles from home, 1900 miles from the nearest bail money, that convinces you that drinking is not always a good idea.