100th Post. Hot Damn, I’m Heroic.

For that small minority of readers who haven’t been counting, breathlessly, the Captain Picard post was my 100th all-time Old Road Apples post.  All-time meaning since this summer, when I started prepping for my vow to write a post a day for a year.  So: boo-yah.

I admit that I wasn’t prepared–like one of those people who refuses to rush out to the storm to load up on milk and toilet paper before a big snowstorm. I sort of knew this post was coming (Okay, I knew very much: WordPress tells you every time you publish an entry…”you’ve published XXX posts”) but it still snuck up on me. Sneaked up on me?  Snook?  Hiccup.

One hundred posts is a pretty cool milestone–even if a lot of those posts are lame. (can we still say “lame” or do we need to say things like “alternatively ambulated” or “Limping American”?)  So far, so good.  I’ve never come close to sustaining nearly-daily content for so many months.

Merry Yikes-Mass!

I’ve been wondering how to celebrate. The obvious answer was to write something that would give me a context for posting pictures of scantily clad young women–but that would just be coarse, and a google search for applicable content might actually misfire and terrify, if not scandalize, the innocent.  And besides, my family reads this blog.

So I need something better.  Six-Million Dollar Man-better.  Better, faster, stronger…arms and legs creak like they need oiled when I run fast better. Ever notice Steve Austin makes more noise then the Tin Man when he runs?  Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.  Noise.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to post this video of my favorite college-era band playing on The Tonight Show with Joan Rivers as host.  This is a mind-blower.  What do you think, Steve–the awkward, but well-meant, interview is a blast.

So, yeah.  That’s good enough.

Commentary Journal link Uncategorized

I Have A Tumblr Page

Well gawl-ley, Sgt. Carter.
Don’t remember signing up, but there it is…see the link right—here:
I reblogged a funny picture of a dog in a marijuana field.
I learned what a gif is.
I posted one of those.  It’s really funny, too.  I’m dizzy with a sense of accomplishment.
It’s been a technological whirlwind.

It’s been a busy day.
I follow an arty tumblr page by someone called Alicia Crider.  There’s a lot of tasteful nekkidity on it, but it’s art so it’s okay and I should be fine because I don’t go to church.  I had a big crush on a girl whose last name was Crider for a day in 1986.  I met her in a diner the day the USS Challenger crashed.  We both cried.  I smoked one of her cigarettes and fell in love with her even though I had a very pretty, very nice girlfriend.  That night I realized that I couldn’t recall the girl’s first name, I’d been so busy repeating her last name so I could look her up in the student directory.  Not that I would have done that.  It wasn’t Alicia, though.  That much I’m sure about.  There weren’t any Alicias in western Pennsylvania in 1986.  At least, not that I knew.