You guys are going to think I want you to like me.

[ Angelic Mood: Angelic ]
[ Currently: Suffering thru an Excedrin headache ]
Really, Joe asked for it.

Why am I awesome?

I own cows. I own land. I own 6 tractors. How awesome is THAT?

Why is RevSF so awesome?

Because it’s snarky. Because it’s gnarly. Put it together, it’s snarly. Or gnarky…I forget.

But seriously, we have a great cast of characters, free-ranging across a myriad of subjects that all hold a large amount of interest for me.

Green Lantern or Thor

Green Lantern, all the way. I like Thor, too. But, C’mon…Guardians of the Universe!!! Nuff said.

Favorite Law of Robotics

"Get yourself a schtick, you’ll live forever." Biggie biggie biggie BUCK! Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!!

Favorite Monkey

The one from Space Ghost. Can’t even remember his name, now!! Nnnnnooooo….all I can think of is Gleek! NOT GLEEEEK!

Favorite Billy Idol Song

There is no such animal. Johnny Cash forever!!!

Plug Something

When Wifey lets me know what it is, I’ll let you know.

Who is Sackett?? Read with caution.

[ Distorted Mood: Distorted ]
There was a time when I would proclaim my political affiliation on boards I frequented. That’s not a windmill I’m willing to tilt at anymore. It just causes hard feelings, and nothing changes.

So this is not a political tirade, rant, endorsement, whatever, on my part, but it does have a political theme. If politico columnists make you see red, please don’t read any further. I am not trying to step on anyone’s toes, start a fight, or change a mind.

It’s just that this is how I see myself.
Here’s the link to the article itself…http://www.aspentimes.com:80/article/2008198091324

There is a great amount of interest in this year’s presidential elections, as everybody seems to recognize that our next president has to be a lot better than George Bush. The Democrats are riding high with two groundbreaking candidates — a woman and an African-American — while the conservative Republicans are in a quandary about their party’s nod to a quasi-liberal maverick, John McCain.

Each candidate is carefully pandering to a smorgasbord of special-interest groups, ranging from gay, lesbian and transgender people to children of illegal immigrants to working mothers to evangelical Christians.

There is one group no one has recognized, and it is the group that will decide the election: the Angry White Man. The Angry White Man comes from all economic backgrounds, from dirt-poor to filthy rich. He represents all geographic areas in America, from urban sophisticate to rural redneck, deep South to mountain West, left Coast to Eastern Seaboard.

His common traits are that he isn’t looking for anything from anyone — just the promise to be able to make his own way on a level playing field. In many cases, he is an independent businessman and employs several people. He pays more than his share of taxes and works hard.

The victimhood syndrome buzzwords — “disenfranchised,” “marginalized” and “voiceless” — don’t resonate with him. “Press ‘one’ for English” is a curse-word to him. He’s used to picking up the tab, whether it’s the company Christmas party, three sets of braces, three college educations or a beautiful wedding.

He believes the Constitution is to be interpreted literally, not as a “living document” open to the whims and vagaries of a panel of judges who have never worked an honest day in their lives.

The Angry White Man owns firearms, and he’s willing to pick up a gun to defend his home and his country. He is willing to lay down his life to defend the freedom and safety of others, and the thought of killing someone who needs killing really doesn’t bother him.

The Angry White Man is not a metrosexual, a homosexual or a victim. Nobody like him drowned in Hurricane Katrina — he got his people together and got the hell out, then went back in to rescue those too helpless and stupid to help themselves, often as a police officer, a National Guard soldier or a volunteer firefighter.

His last name and religion don’t matter. His background might be Italian, English, Polish, German, Slavic, Irish, or Russian, and he might have Cherokee, Mexican, or Puerto Rican mixed in, but he considers himself a white American.

He’s a man’s man, the kind of guy who likes to play poker, watch football, hunt white-tailed deer, call turkeys, play golf, spend a few bucks at a strip club once in a blue moon, change his own oil and build things. He coaches baseball, soccer and football teams and doesn’t ask for a penny. He’s the kind of guy who can put an addition on his house with a couple of friends, drill an oil well, weld a new bumper for his truck, design a factory and publish books. He can fill a train with 100,000 tons of coal and get it to the power plant on time so that you keep the lights on and never know what it took to flip that light switch.

Women either love him or hate him, but they know he’s a man, not a dishrag. If they’re looking for someone to walk all over, they’ve got the wrong guy. He stands up straight, opens doors for women and says “Yes, sir” and “No, ma’am.”

He might be a Republican and he might be a Democrat; he might be a Libertarian or a Green. He knows that his wife is more emotional than rational, and he guides the family in a rational manner.

He’s not a racist, but he is annoyed and disappointed when people of certain backgrounds exhibit behavior that typifies the worst stereotypes of their race. He’s willing to give everybody a fair chance if they work hard, play by the rules and learn English.

Most important, the Angry White Man is pissed off. When his job site becomes flooded with illegal workers who don’t pay taxes and his wages drop like a stone, he gets righteously angry. When his job gets shipped overseas, and he has to speak to some incomprehensible idiot in India for tech support, he simmers. When Al Sharpton comes on TV, leading some rally for reparations for slavery or some such nonsense, he bites his tongue and he remembers. When a child gets charged with carrying a concealed weapon for mistakenly bringing a penknife to school, he takes note of who the local idiots are in education and law enforcement.

He also votes, and the Angry White Man loathes Hillary Clinton. Her voice reminds him of a shovel scraping a rock. He recoils at the mere sight of her on television. Her very image disgusts him, and he cannot fathom why anyone would want her as their leader. It’s not that she is a woman. It’s that she is who she is. It’s the liberal victim groups she panders to, the “poor me” attitude that she represents, her inability to give a straight answer to an honest question, his tax dollars that she wants to give to people who refuse to do anything for themselves.

There are many millions of Angry White Men. Four million Angry White Men are members of the National Rifle Association, and all of them will vote against Hillary Clinton, just as the great majority of them voted for George Bush.

He hopes that she will be the Democratic nominee for president in 2008, and he will make sure that she gets beaten like a drum.

RIP ol Dash

[ Neutral Mood: Neutral ]
[ Currently: Reassessing the chores for today ]
Well….Dash didn’t make it.

Wifey and I found her curled up last night as we were going to give her her 10pm drenching, she just fell asleep, she looked very comfortable.

Wifey is harshing on farming pretty hard right now. I want to thank her for going out with me and holding the bottle while I held Dash’s head. I love you, babe. I think I’ll take her out for lunch today.

Tommorrow, we’ll go amoungst all the cows and calves, and it will be good.

And the day continues…..

Sick cows and old fashioned remedies

[ Neutral Mood: Neutral ]
[ Currently: Taking a break….. ]
I went out to do chores this morning, and I found a cow that wouldn’t get to her feet. Never a good thing. Now, I knew she was feeling under the weather, but we have been having such strange weather, temperature differences of close to 40 degrees in 12 hours time and again, which is BAD weather for cows. You’d rather it stayed 10 degrees below zero for two weeks than have it be 30 degrees for a couple of days, then 20 below for a day or two. It just breeds sickness.

But my cows are in damn good shape, and a beef cow can get pretty damn sick and never miss a meal. But sometimes, if it’s caught just right, it’ll just…BANG…keel over. Ol’ Dash had lost an alarming amount of weight.

Took me most all morning, but I finally got her to her feet, and into the barn. Vet came out, gave her some glucose ringers and a couple different antibiotics. But you know what, Doc is real Old School, which was the way Gramps taught me how to farm, he told me that if I really wanted to save this cow, we were going to have to drench her.

What is drenching, you ask? You take an empty wine bottle, fill it full of really thick sugar water, and you bottle feed the ol’ girl. Bottle feeding a thousand pound cow isn’t as much fun as it sounds. It’s probably going to be a lot of work, and a lot of time.

But you know what? I’ll take that route over pumping drugs into her and ignoring her every time. The hands on approach, I think, is better, animals know when you’re helping, and even if all they do is fight you, it gets the blood pumping, and the heart beating.

We live in remarkable times, with remarkable toys and luxuries…but sometimes, old school is the best.

Look for updates on whether ol’ Dash lives or dies.

Jessica Alba shore is purty

[ Silly Mood: Silly ]
Wifey and I went to see The Eye, starring Jessica Alba. I rather enjoyed it, good story, lots of action, and a couple really good GOTCHA moments. Wifey said she liked it, too, but that she has come to the decision that Jessica Alba can’t really act, that she’s is pretty much the female version of Wesley Snipes. I begged to differ, I enjoy movies with Jessica Alba in them.

She gave me that long-suffering look, and said DUH. Then went on to list long and myriad points to fact to back up her claim. I couldn’t argue any of them. I guess it’s true…Jessica Alba WON’T ever win an Emmy. And I don’t care. She does movies that are pleasing to me, and she presents a very pleasant character.

Wifey agreed with everything I said. Then added "And it doesn’t hurt that she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world."

Well, DUH!!!

Cows can be real pigs

[ Amused Mood: Amused ]
So, I’m doing chores tonight, scooping ground corn into pails to feed the cattle. I’ve got the sliding door open, and Madeline, wifey’s bottle baby, is sticking her head thru and greedily licking the floor clean as far as she can reach. I’m around the corner, and all of a sudden, I hear the dulcet tones of huge bodies being banged up against the wooden wall. Somebody bigger than Madeline want’s that choice spot.

Imagine my surprise when I come back out, and Maddy is still there, very, very busy. That other cow may have been bigger, but Maddy was greedier.

So I’m walking up and down the feed bunks, spreading corn out so the cows can eat, when I turn around, and Maddy, who has left the open door, has her head up to her ears buried in the bucket. Have you ever tried to get an 800 lb. cow’s head out of bucket when she doesn’t want it out??

That’s my life every day.

There’s a new rule in the Sackett household. Bottle babies no longer get fed grain out of a bucket.

Greetings Y’all

[ Embarrased Mood: Embarrased ]
[ Currently: Thawing out ]
Well….I’ve done it, I’ve jumped into the 21st Century. I’ve got a blog. Lord have mercy.

I found out last night that I’ve turned into my parents. It was wifey’s birthday, and I got her an Ipod. Not a REAL Ipod, but something Ipod-like that has 2G of memory, so she can listen to her music on her travels up and down the highway.

Do you think I could make heads or tails of the instructions/specifications of the damn thing? I couldn’t even tell if you could erase anything that you downloaded onto it. And I’m an intelligent man, I’ve got an associates degree in both electronics and computers, but those degrees are ten years old, and boy, does it show!!

So I’m sitting there looking at the darn thing, holding it in the palm of my hand, hell, I’ve punched bigger capsules than that down a sick cow’s throat!! And I’m listening to wifey chatter away about all the cool features it has, and I suddenly realized what my dad felt like when we brought the first VCR into the house. I’m nodding and making "ooohhing" noises like I know what the hell she’s talking about.

Errrrgghhhhh.