22 Saturday Oct 2016
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If you weren’t there, you missed one heck of a party.
Food, fun, and smokes. Even blocked a handicapped spot.
A lively gathering.
Football inside, football outside. And Dominos.
Matt caught between the battle ‘o the reps.
Our Cuban connection.
Russell did act up a bit.
Slim Daddy behaved himself.
The legend, Chris Harper.
I will see you next year.*
*Actually, I’ll probably be with you tomorrow.
21 Friday Oct 2016
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Americans, by and large, are by and LARGE. 70% or so are overweight or obese. That’s a problem. And it even extends into the military. Military Times reported yesterday that the number of overweight troops (all branches) is up fourfold from 2001.
Recent military health data shows that about 7.8 percent of the force — or about one in every 13 troops — is clinically overweight, defined by a body mass index greater than 25.
That figure has roughly doubled during the past five years and is up fourfold since 2001, when about 1.6 percent of troops were diagnosed as clinically overweight.
Top Pentagon officials are rewriting the forcewide guidelines for body composition standards and the methods for officially evaluating it. For individual troops, a diagnosis of obesity can stall a career or lead to involuntary separation, making these policies are central to military life.
Some Pentagon officials worry that overweight troops pose a threat to combat readiness because they may not be able to move as quickly in ground combat and if they are wounded, it is more difficult for their buddies to pull them to safety.
In the military some of the overweight, maybe most, are individuals who are muscle-heavy. BMI is a dumb number that does not differentiate between fat and muscle. Still, many soldiers, sailors, and airmen are tubby. Jarheads are safe. The trend is growing like that in the general population.
Not going to beat the Russians … or the mortality odds. Web Ecoist.
I sat down with a segment of that broader population yesterday afternoon. I was at one of America’s better cigar shops (what’s new?). There, I pounded through my review of The Nine Laws. As I did so I listened to and vaguely participated in three or four conversations.
A crazed Scottish biker raved about drunkenly dodging his armed and angry wife the night before. (Stereotypes exist for a reason, folks…). The rest of the topics concerned personal health. The lack thereof, rather. These men are my friends or at least pleasant acquaintances. They’re middle-aged to older and better off financially and socially than most. They’re also, as a group, a bit on the round side.
Some talked about their recent visits to the doctor. Others were headed to the doctor. One was recently released from the hospital. Blood pressure up. Weight up. Cholesterol up. Medication doses up. Insurance rates up. Etc. Good meals were a frequent side topic. Good Scotch and Bourbon was consumed generously right then and there.
I generally ignored the mildly depressing announcements of ailment and woe.
Then Big Brian walked in. Something was immediately and noticeably different. Big Brian ain’t so big as he used to be. Once somewhere in the 330-350 lb. neighborhood he’s now down to around 270.
His doctor told him to lose weight or die. It scared him into action. And action he took. Drastic action. He adjusted his diet and lifestyle and the pounds began to flee.
He sat down and immediately directed questions at me, the house fitness nut. At 270 he’s ready to start phase two: working out.
This conversation I actively participated in. I recommended one of the best gyms in the Southeast. Work permitting, he’ll sign up next week. I estimate, with steady work, he’ll be down to 220 in 6 months. That’s over 100 pounds dropped in less than a year. That’s amazing.
I say “Big Brian” because that’s his name and because he’s a large man. Probably 6’3″ or 6’4″. He can carry 220 or so in healthy fashion.
Of course, he has choices to make. Given his age, intelligence, and size, he could easily and rapidly convert into a powerlifter or a bodybuilder. It’s possible that in 6 months he might still weigh 270, though of a totally different composition.
I think he’ll opt to go slim and lean. However, it’s nice to have options.
If he can do it, you can do it. The soldiers can do it. 70% of America can too. Become a loser and be a winner.
As for yours truly, I’m doing fine this week. Nothing serious to report. My back has fully recovered from the dead-lifting fiasco last week. I even did a light test set the other day. Things are great, except…
I’m supposed to take a murder of middle school preteen / teen girls to a large amusement park next week. It’s Howl-o-Scream or run Daddy into the ground night or something. I’m sure they’ll have a blast. I ‘d prefer to throw my back again. Prayers, please…
20 Thursday Oct 2016
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Alright. I promised this a week or so ago. I have just concluded my first read through of Ivan Throne’s The Nine Laws (Castalia House, October 4, 2016). I also promised Ivan, a.k.a. the Dark Triad Man, a full review. Here goes:
At the outset, here and now, I must qualify this review. First, I don’t normally review books beyond mere recommendation. Thus, in keeping with my usual ways, I HIGHLY recommend you buy The Nine Laws (click here now – $9.99 Kindle from Amazon). However, I must forewarn that the book is not for everyone. In fact, sadly, it’s not for most.
This excellent work is a self-help manual for a select few. Potential readers are:
In Ivan’s words his ideal reader must become a “warrior-priest”. He imparts a message which he obviously takes seriously; it is a Shin-den (Japanese for “sacred”) expression. Ivan is a ninja by training, the methodical and relentless nature of which comes through clearly in his words.
Others, say of stronger minds but weaker resolve, might enjoy the book though they will likely find little use for the teachings. The weak and timid need not delve deeper than the cover.
Ivan Throne / Castalia House.
All of this takes place in what is known as the dark world.
For many there is great fear and anxiety in response to words that are spoken or written to invoke the image of power. Words that declare ferocity. Words that speak of the dread reality of this dark world and the necessity of blood, steel, incandescent flung iron and detonations of dust and thunder as the voice of deciding finality between individuals and armies, ideologies and civilizations.
Your fear and anxiety are real, but nonetheless irrelevant to the impersonal nature of creation.
Any desire that things be other than they are, is not even perceived by the universe.
Illusions of safety are not rewarded…
– Chapter 13, The Dark World
This world is real. It is not, in and of itself, evil. However, it is plagued with evil both spiritual and incarnate. You didn’t really need my explanation there nor Ivan’s. The nightly news is sufficient proof. So is your daily life. The world is hard. To master one’s place in it requires a man be hard. That is the nature of the nine laws.
These guideposts are presented, defined, and exemplified with great care and precision.
Most “similar” works fail miserably for two reasons. First they either deny or foolishly explain away the nature of the world. Ivan’s assessment is cold, brutal and honest. Second, so many “ways of living” books attempt to reassure the reader, coddling the those who should instead be fortified. Delusion is potentially fatal. Ivan fortifies with virtual steel. His approach is born of genuine concern and an apparent desire for others to thrive.
The first thing that grabbed my attention and held it was Ivan’s utter lack of equivocation. This is not simply a testament to good and clear style. It is, rather, evidence of strong presence of mind and sound devotion to the craft of living. His observations were honed by humbling experience, tactfully ingrained in the text.
And ideal living is what it is all about. Most people shuffle blindly through life. Theirs may not necessarily be a waste of opportunity. It is certainly not fulfillment.
God created the world, even the dark world. We are reminded that His Spirit, though in us, does not rule the world. Someone else does. Hence the observable evil. Stephen Hawking once noted that God set the world and its laws in motion and then stepped back – a hands off approach. We, the living, are tasked with daily adherence to the law or with existing otherwise. This accords with the fallen nature of man and his endless pursuit of Natural Law among other ideals. Ivan understands these concepts.
His expert lessons serve as a chart for purposeful navigation through the world. I find this beats the shuffling manner of the masses and the weak illusions of the gurus. Life should be lived with purpose, with reverence to loftier ideals and for a higher Power.
Getting there, by Ivan’s plan, requires serious self-assessment and the permanent adoption of personality and thinking popularly misconstrued by the shufflers. Would you consider psychopathy a positive trait? Necessary? Buy the book. Read the book.
I have one contention with whole of The Nine Laws. Ivan admonishes to never self-deprecate. This issue of mine is likely semantic in nature. My readers know I frequently lace my commentary with self-deprecating remarks. Almost as sure as my shooting at the political trash.
Considered in pari materia my joking is a form of concealment (the Second Law). And concealment may not mean what one thinks. Read the book.
My favorite of the laws is number nine: no laws. My life has become a study of this phenomenon. Again, the definition and explanation may challenge one’s preconceived notions.
There are multiple parts that I look forward to rereading. Once is probably not enough. This book offers not only opportunity of understanding but a blueprint for action. The program is designed to be used.
The Nine Laws may not change the world but it could change you. A change for the better. So it is that I recommend without hesitation (beyond my initial qualification) this fine literary contribution to the world of men.
Congratulations and thank you to Ivan Throne.
*One will also note that The Beggar is spared the presence of Death, the two already being partially acquainted by circumstance.
16 Sunday Oct 2016
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America, freedom, guns, happiness, Mississippi, shotgun raffle, Starkville
I grew up in a different time and a different place. Most people can say the same, at least as to the time. Maybe it’s just nostalgia (yeah, one of those posts) but I remember a better, freer, and happier America.
Let’s say it was 1982. Back then I was a youngster at a K-12 private school in Mississippi, Starkville Academy. I moved away a few years later and I have only been back once or twice. And the last visit was something like twenty years ago.
Through the magic of Facebook I have reconnected with many of my old classmates. Two of the young lady friends of mine are smoking hot (y’all know who you are). Heck, the women are all lookers (just as us gentlemen are all overly handsome). But these two in particular, it turns out, left SA not too long after I did. The idea has been floated to get together and crash the next reunion. Uh…that would be the …tenth. Yeah. I bet we do it. Unless we forget. What am I forgetting??
Yes, 1982. Back then, Friday night was high school football night. Sure, it’s kind of the same the country over but our’s was better. The high schoolers, of course, participated in the games. We of the younger set just tagged along and had fun. Cooler nights. Hot chocolate. Cheerleaders. And … shotguns.
You see, back then in Starkville, the forces of communism and wussification were yet unknown in America. Or, if they were known, they were still far away and hiding in their closets. Every year, at around this time of year, one Friday night football game was special. On that night the athletic boosters raffled off a shiny new shotgun. This brought out every man in the county. My dad never won but he was always there.
The raffle was held at half-time. Up until then the gun was displayed down near the concession stand. Every boy, every boy at heart, and most women ventured by to have a look at it. Seems to me it was always a semi-auto 12, maybe a Remington 1100 or a Browning.
It was a gun. It was at a school. It was there officially and on purpose. Everyone loved it. It served a good and worthy cause. And nobody thought twice about it – unless they bought two raffle tickets. That was my America.
As Meatloaf put it:
“It was long ago and it was far away,
And it was so much better than it is today.”
Today having a gun, any gun, at any school is a crime. 10,000 sissies, control freaks, weirdos and assorted losers stand ready to shriek, scream and cry about the micro-aggression of it all. Goshdarn it! I miss my country.
But, wait. What if things aren’t really all that different today? Could it be that in this one little corner of the Magnolia State a shred of freedom still lingers?
I had to check. I consulted the SA website (very professional, btw). Low and behold! I found this:
Starkville Academy, 2016.
And this:
SA.
Oh. My. God. There is a Santa Clause. Heaven is for real. Shove it all the way up your gun-grabbin, fascist butts; they still do it! And now they give a gun away every day for the whole damn month of October!!!!
And look at that grand prize – the gun – we might say. The one for Friday the 18th. A Berreta A400 Extreme. Like this one:
Beretta.
Nice. Very nice.
But still not as nice as knowing a little chunk of the old world still survives. Unhindered? Maybe not. I noticed in the small print, above, that the guns must be picked up elsewhere. Maybe that’s just for the dailies. Maybe the main event still happens at half-time. Maybe my ladies and I will find out for sure come the next reunion.
Whatever it is, I’m just happy as a clam – and I had to stop and dance twice during this writing – about the story. Americans: 1; Wimps: 0. I’ll take what I can get.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to scrape together some ticket money.
12 Wednesday Oct 2016
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Ah, deadlift, my old friend.
The good news is I offed those pesky pounds I fretted about last week. Water, I suppose. And they took another one more with them. 174 pounds at 5′ 10″. That equates to a “normal” BMI of 25. That number means little. This one counts for a little more:
That’s the really good news. Still stumbling into my strength program and recently returned to deadlifting, I pulled 405 this morning. Twice. Two reps. Consecutively. Non-stop.
I’d like elite. I’ll settle for advanced for now. By the way, 86% of y’all are weak.
Now, the bad news: I also pulled my back, and my legs, and I think I pulled my knees, if that’s possible.
This blog, and all other work, may continue from bed. Horizontal typing. Hmmm.
Stay strong!
11 Tuesday Oct 2016
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I once read somewhere, maybe in The Art of the Deal, that Trump never carries a briefcase. Fine and well for him but I sometimes do. I have to have a convenient place for cigars, a laptop, brass knuckles and pens I appropriate from hotels.
Over the years I have been through a number of models. I had this terrible habit of using them as file cabinets, stuffing them with papers I would never read and tossing them around until they were destroyed. I try to be a little more careful these days and I try to avoid paper.
Anyway, until last week I ran with an old (16 years) Dell laptop case. It was worn, tattered and the zipper was coming apart. Still it worked for me. That is, until the handle fell off. Many defects may be tolerated. A broken carry handle is not among them. Thus began my search for a replacement.
Earlier this year I lamented my inability to find a decent man’s suitcase. I still haven’t found one and I ponder if they even exist at this point. At least three end of the year travels await and I’m still using the old, frayed Land’s End bag. And you thought the election was problematic.
I worried that perhaps the briefcase market would be equally bleak.
One warm morning I ventured to one of the big box office retailers. Midway through the store I stumbled upon a collection of modern satchels, attaches and book bags. All of them seemed designed for women, children, metros, weaklings, and colorblind rave-goers.
They were, all of them, huge. I need to carry a small computer, not hike the AT, end to end. They had a variety of wheels and straps. I’m not moving furniture. They were in colors and patterns better suited for signaling other intelligent life in the galaxy. I just need to tote a Chromebook to the cigar bar. One even expanded vertically into a standing desk. It had a desk lamp and a washing machine built in. Another featured Barbie riding a pony while waving a BLM banner at a pride parade scene.
My growing snarls, tremors, and the crushing of a steel shelf support brought the attention of a clerk. He nervously pointed out that they had a men’s selection.
And, there, far in the back of the store, back by the storage room door, away from the lights, and out of hearing of the Muzak, I found this:
No wheels. No straps. No colors or themes. Simple, classy, utilitarian. Something your grandfather might have sported. And cheaper than its flashy cousins.
And there you have it. Justice, economy and common sense in the modern world.
Case closed.
08 Saturday Oct 2016
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So admonished Paul in 1 Thes. 5:18. This isn’t always easy to do and many people forget it or don’t understand. People constantly sing the praises when something benefits them or theirs. Yet it’s hard to comprehend that from the worst of circumstances good can also emerge. Or, even harder to imagine, that we should be grateful just for something “bad”.
A recent example: two recent hurricanes this season in the Southeast, one happening right now. Hurricanes, while mere natural phenomena, are viewed as “bad”. Wind and water may be damaging although they are hardly unpredictable. Still, they also bring benefits.
Without these storms, this year many parts of the area would have 8-10 inch rainfall deficits, drought conditions.
So, thank you, hurricanes.
Also, as confirmed by a random Facebook “quiz”, I’m Batman.
07 Friday Oct 2016
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beer, college, Libertarian Party, marijuana, Perrin Lovett, politics, UGA
As sad as it seems I graduated from college nearly 20 years ago. A little education and a lot of experiences. This story involves one of the latter. It is such ancient history that any parts I have forgotten will be creatively embellished for a seamless narrative.
We’ll say it was 1994. Back then I was a right-leaning “conservative”, one of millions about to be suckered in by the Contract ON America. (Remember that?) I still listened to Rush Limbaugh who, at the time, was still entertaining. Per my stance against joining I had never affiliated with any political party.
The previous year I attended one debate between the campus Republicans and Democrats. I should say “debate” because it wasn’t. All I saw were two sides of the same coin arguing over which one was uglier. I being new, they asked me for my opinion once the show was over and I told them something similar to the previous sentence and left. I never went back.
That next year I found myself still interested in political comradery. A decent, seemingly informed classmate told me about the UGA Libertarians and implied I should visit a meeting. I knew my views were much more inclined to those of the LP than the GOP but I saw the former as too weak to make a difference. They still have the same problem. But, then, I decided to plunge in and take a look.
I don’t even remember what season or quarter it was but it seems like the event was held in the evening. (Maybe it was 4:20…) Intrepidly I ventured to the Tate Student Center, home of the pool tables and the corn-dog. I reported, as instructed, to room 107.
There I waited patiently as the room filled up. It filled with women. I was the only man present. Oddly, I didn’t feel all that lucky. These women were pleasant enough. There was a semi-wide variety. Some were overtly attractive. Most wore black and all of them exuded a strangeness that, at the time, I couldn’t comprehend.
Their leader arrived and commenced some sort of weird, hypnotic, arms-waving chant. The group responded in like fashion. I grew slightly nervous. I asked the black-clad, chanting young lady beside me if this was the UGA LP. She said, “No, sweetie. We’re the UGA Witches. This is room 107. You want 207.” Not wanting to be turned into a frog or something, I excused myself politely.
On my way up the stairs something told me to abandon the night. Somewhere in Athens a beer was waiting for me. I shook it off. I was no quitter. Liberty needed me. Uggghhh…
In room 207 I found a gathering crowd of pleasant, normal-looking, seemingly okay people. No chanting. No black. I confirmed with the first man I saw that this was in fact the campus chapter of the LP. I took a seat near the middle of one side of the large table which occupied the room’s center.
Very soon thereafter a large group was present. I still detected no unusual activity and I began to relax. That beer could wait.
The president or chairman or whatever took his place at the head of the table. He called the meeting to order, made some perfunctory remarks, and welcomed any newbies. Very orderly, efficient and polite. I felt genuinely welcome.
He then said the best way to kick off the affair was to have everyone state the main issue which attracted them to the LP. He started; his issue was the legalization of marijuana. The comments moved clockwise, to his left and towards me. By coincidence the next person’s main issue was marijuana. As was the next’s. And the next’s. Pot, pot, pot, pot, green, and weed.
The process came to me and I, looking around thoughtfully, said that I thought Americans paid too much in taxes. Taxes, I said, should be cut – dramatically. These remarks caused a stir in the room with many heads nodding affirmatively. In fact, the dude to my left, next in the rotation, acknowledged my sentiments. He said that if taxes were cut, then we would all have more money to buy pot. Pot was his central issue. The discussion rounded the table.
Pot, pot, reefer, green, pot, weed, pot, pot, MJ, pot, whacky-tobacky, pot… At last the floor again belonged to the leader. He seemed pleased with the direction of the discussion and avowed to keep it going. We should all, he said, explain our second issue of attraction. His was still marijuana. Pot, pot, pot, pot, pot and back to me.
Now, somewhat flustered, I thought hard. At the time I really didn’t care one way or the other about pot. I still don’t. Yes, I agree it should be legal. I had no problem with the opinions of my fellows, only with their redundancy. I thought for a second and said, “I like guns.”
More murmuring and many a nodding head. The man next to me became animated with delight. He declared that they had long needed “this guy”, meaning me. He said we would definitely need guns in order to protect our … pot…
Pot, pot, pot, pot, pot, pot …
I then knew this was an exercise in the futile. I asked the animated character to my left where the restroom was. He got even more excited. Leaning in, with a half-crazed look in his glazed eyes, he asked, “You going to smoke a joint?”
No I said. Gotta…number two. Big. One… I … I have to run. And I did.
I left and headed downtown. I did use the restroom – at a bar, though mainly to ask the mirror what the hell I had just been through. The beer and I finally connected. It turned out to be a good night.
And that was my defining experience with the LP. And with the witches of America.
I still like and admire the Libertarians. Thereafter I went on to (lazily) support Harry Browne’s 2000 presidential campaign. He, you might recall, did not make it. I also paid for a dinner for a Georgia LP congressional candidate and his senior staff. He also failed to win office.
I no longer associate with politicians (or witches) – at least not in the formal, supportive sense. As I noted yesterday, the Pot Party is still the party of pot. Whatever else they may be, they are consistent on that issue.
They still want to toke and I still like guns. There is a constant in the universe.
Happy Friday, all.
06 Thursday Oct 2016
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I’ve made it up to chapter four, where I believe the substance of the book begins. Again this is The Nine Laws by Ivan Throne.
Throne / Castalia House.
So far I can say it certainly is interesting. I’m not ready for a full review, obviously, but I can say that I recommend it, at least for investigation purposes. It purports to be a textbook of sorts, a teaching of self-improvement, and I think it is ramping up to that. At any rate, it does cause thought which is a hallmark of any good book, technically useful or not.
The book offers a bleak but honest look at the world and our lives within. I find it most refreshing that the author doesn’t tip-toe around with foolishness and idle politically-correctness. If it is a self-help book, then it is only for those who embrace reality. And, of those, only the ones willing to do something about their status and places. It is not for the weak. Thus, I hate to say, it is not for most people. Readers, here, I presume will benefit or at least will not be harmed.
Very good, so far. I may have a full report when I am finished.
04 Tuesday Oct 2016
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Nothing. The safe answer is “nothing.”
Yesterday I was at a cross-roads. My gym schedule was disrupted to the point of a reset. I had a choice to make. Was it a legs day, a chest day, arms, or something else? I narrowed it down to legs or back/shoulders. My problem then was that I wasn’t digging any of it. My cardio (dirty boxing and violence) has been going swimmingly. But between that and the lifting of generous quantities of iron, I had kicked my own butt.
So, I skipped the gym entirely, smoked a cigar and went for a walk. Best routine in weeks, that was. I slept better for it.
Lately I’ve been sluggish. I think I’ve even mentioned it here. Weak, irritable and unproductive even beyond my usual laziness. Why?
I spent most of the year getting rid of excess flab – shedding 24 pounds in the process. My intent, once trimmed, was to beef up a little. “Cut” and “bulk” they call it. The bulking is followed as needed by another cutting.
Anyway, I was starting on a half hearted power program. No results yet to speak of. I gained 3 pounds but that could be water or a little fall cushioning (gotta watch that). Where was I…
Yes. A summer I spent cutting and conditioning and suddenly I ramped up the weights, rather carelessly. I’m a small time believer in “no pain, no gain” but I seemed to have reached the point where the pains aren’t so small time. I have a couple of nagging injuries that keep getting aggravated. And it’s aggravating me.
Today I did – or started – what I thought would be a light workout. It was going to be a general upper-body tune up. Three sets of bench-presses and I had a sharp pain. One sharp one in addition to the naggers. For once I actually listened to my body and backed off. Another cigar and another stroll in the woods. I also made use of one of my several compression cast things. It seems to be working.
For the short interim I’m going to monitor the diet, ease off the heavy stuff and recover. Sometimes that’s the best course of action.
And that’s the point of this admittedly rambling post – take it easy:
I hope this resonates with at least one of you. I’m always here (physically at least) to help.
Dr. Perrin says, “Take two breaks, skip the debates, and don’t ever call me again.”
By the way, you can help me too! If you happen to be an extraordinarily attractive woman with stronger hands, questionable morals, and a massage license (or not), I could use your (free) help. The cast thingy needs help… I’d like a free, deep tissue massage…for free… If you fit these exacting requirements and operate anywhere between Columbia, SC and Tampa, FL, please let me know. The world will thank you.
And, thank you, good people, for enduring this one…
Night!
PERRIN LOVETT 
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