I was raised on Karo Syrup and evaporated milk. It worked fine. I am now old. Graduated from The University of Texas with high honors so it didn't do any brain damage. Used to barefoot waterski (before I got so darn old) so it didn't do any physical damage.
I thought there was universal surl hatred of it, but doing a little historical searching, I see that it was only a couple of people on the unpopular food opinions thread, and that was from a couple of years ago. You know how time compresses when you're old...I thought it was a couple of months ago.
While sitting to empty my bowels I generally empty my bladder as well. With the age related ball sag I often piss on my balls. It's both disconcerting and infuriating.
I’m in the repair process for an above ground concrete pool. It’s suspended on concrete pillars. From underneath it looks sort of like a commercial parking lot suspension system. All that l long way to tell you how I can see the bottom side of the pool and specifically the bottom of the in floor pool cleaning heads. About half of the heads have very slow drip drip drips. Maybe a gallon total per day. Should I expect some minor leakage from these or should I demand 100% waterproof from the builder.
I’ve had Erlewine do 5 jobs for me over the past 10-15 years. From glueing the head back on my ‘67 SG to a string change on a Martin. Every time it’s been crazy expensive and every time it’s been perfect. I play like shit so I need all the help I can get. What I read above sounds like he wants to adjust the truss rod rather than replace it. Still an expensive bid. I’d say it depends on how much you like the guitar and if you plan to keep it.
Well, not exactly, but I have more stuff than I can store. Both my brother-in-law and my father died in 2021 and I "inherited" all their stuff, this is in addition to decades of my own crap. My conundrum is that it's too good to throw away, but in quantities to small to make it worth trying to sell it. For example, three packages of steel wool. Many boxes of nails and screws. Boxes of bed clothing in like new condition. Outdoor temporary lighting on stakes. Dozens of extension cords. Numerous duplicate tools. My mother's books she used in elementary school 100 years ago. On and on. Goodwill wouldn't take the 100's of books so I recycled them. Habitat for Humanity doesn't want three boxes of nails.
I don't want to spend the rest of my life driving to various charity organizations "begging" them to take this stuff. Charities may start accepting more stuff when covid settles down, but at present they won't take many things because of the supposed risk of infection. I don't have the patience to open an ebay account and that wouldn't be cost effective.
What can I do with the accumulated crap from three guys?
Mother used to drive and park between the Freshman Field and the stadium so I could get autographs from the players as they were leaving practice and going back to the locker room. Likely she was also seeing how the young men looked, but I got lots of good autographs. Bobby Lackey is one I remember, and Johnny Treadwell. Treadwell signed my stuffed Bevo across the butthole. He got a chuckle when he handed it back to me. I still have that stuffed Bevo. I'd part with just about any possession I have before I'd let that Bevo go. Mom taught me the words to the songs and some of the cheers. I think she graduated in '40 or '41. She made flash cards with the players names and numbers and had me grill her so she could know who was playing when she and Dad went to games. Thanks Mom. You gave me wonderful memories.
No traffic. No hassle parking. I guess the guys walked across Waller Creek, but I don't remember them having wet shoes. I have a vague memory of going on the Freshman field myself after a game and seeing grass burrs on the field. Damn man! Tough kids.
OP knows his Texas football history and it is an interesting read...a welcome variance from the constant "We suck" mantra. I find it interesting to think back and realize that Bible came here from Nebraska and A&M before. It's impossible to know if the sequence of events back then, 70+ years ago, has anything to do with today's football program, but a little look at history adds some patina to an otherwise drab season.
It’s like they’re addicted to the sound of their own voice. Like the vibrations of their larynx stimulates the sinuses in their skull in an orgasm like manner. Like they can’t stop talking because they’re just about to nut.
It's not going to get fixed. There was a time when kids were thrilled at the idea of playing for The Texas Longhorns just for the honor of playing for the great school and for the love of the game. Very few kids now seem to play for the love of the game. They are here to try to maximize their pro contract...that they won't get...and to showboat with their hand jive end zone choreography like 8 year old girls on the playground. It's not going to get fixed.