Patsy Cline never had a knife like this

I was wrong.

There isn’t much wiggle room on the knife edge and those of us who attempt to live out there have to face one fact: Sometimes you’re wrong and you’ve got to own it.

I don’t like country/country-western/western music. Something about the sameness of the music or the typical rhythms the vocals have. Of course there are the themes: cheating, lost love and unrequited love. Of course that covers also most forms of music.
I never liked Patsy Cline.

Recently National Pubic Radio had a review of a CD, “Patsy Cline: Sweet Dreams - Complete Decca Collection 1960-1963.” I normally would switch stations, reviews of old CW singers don’t rock my boat, but this time I stayed tuned because I was waiting for a later report I was teased with. I don’t remember what that was, but I remember the review.

After listening to a sampler of selections in chronological order, starting with the first and moving to the last, I have to change my mind. Listen to her first “I Fall to Pieces” and then “Crazy” written by Willie Nelson. The difference is impressive. This record also helped establish Willie as a talent to be reckoned with. Then listen to her “Sweet Dreams.”

Patsy Cline died in a plane crash in 1963. She was just about to become the center of a storm in CW music. Patsy Cline would have been the most influential female vocalist of the 20th century, and no doubt, would have changed country western music in ways we can not imagine.

NPR has an excellent review of a newly assembled CD called “Patsy Cline: SweetDreams The Complete Decca Masters”

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=129526320

And of course, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patsy_Cline for much more information.

I was wrong and I admit it – Patsy Cline could sing.


On The Knife Front

I just got my hands on a CRKT Ignitor. It’s an assisted opening knife but what separates it from the rest is the lock. The lock doubles as the opening stud.

Opening stud and lock, two functions in one








Press the opening stud into the blade and it depresses the lock on the other side of the blade.

                                 It takes a little practice to incorporate the press and then the flick,


Now just flick the blade forward and it opens. This knife might be legal in NYC… The blade can’t be flicked open unless you unlock it first.

Open Sezs Me!



Note, I’m not a lawyer. I don’t even play one on the radio so carrying this knife in NYC could be hazardous to your bank account. Cheaper to just stay home. Safer too! Besides considering how unfriendly NYC is to the knife and gun culture, why would you want to go any way!


Knife specs? I thought you would never ask:
Blade: 3.38 inches long, 0.11 inch thick and made of 8CR14MOV steel
Handle: G10
You can get it plain edge or that wicked Veff serrated edge
Weight: a nice 3.5 ozs.

I think the assisted knife craze is leveling off. But still, this is one nice knife and I think I’m going to enjoy it.

The Duke of Numbnuts and Listing

Unsensible Manly Things


I wanted to write about manly things, but what could be more manly than high speed automobile jumps on your average stretch of I-675? 

Seems the Dukes of Hazard County have moved up to Sugarcreek Township around Dayton. Or a least their half-wit cousin, Numbnuts, has.

Get a load of the video: http://www.wired.com/autopia/2010/08/video-insane-100-mph-crash-caught-on-tape/

The 19-year old genius decided he needed to pass a police car at 100 miles an hour and the grassy median between highways was the perfect place for it. The dashboard camera of the cruiser caught the action as Numbnuts shot past him, used the metal crash barrier as a ramp and catapulted himself and his car up and into a bridge support.     Eee-haw!! Ride 'em cowboy!!

I have been known to state the gene pool needs a little natural chlorination. If you don’t believe me, watch the video again. All we can hope is he left a little highly specialized tissue in the wrecked car and is now out of the procreation lottery. I understand he survived in critical condition. I’m sure someone loves him, but…..



Sensible Manly Things

I have a friend who had list of things he thinks every man should be able to do with some degree of ability. As I remember them and in no particular order they were:

Ride a horse;

Build a fire;

Shoot a gun and hit your target;

Pitch a tent without instructions;

Read a map (I think he meant topographic and not road.);

Sharpen a knife.



Looking at the current crop of young men around me, I have to wonder if their list might be:

Change or recharge batteries in an ipod/pad/phone thingie;

Drive a shift stick;

Open a beer bottle without an opener;

Golf just over par;

Make reservations.


That’s my list drawn from my interactions with them. I’m sure their list isn’t quite so vacuous.



My list from my younger days was:

Darn socks and stitch a button on;

Sharpen a knife;

Build a fire;

Cook a simple meal more or less from scratch (No TV dinners—Do they even make them any more?)

Change a flat;

Put a bit on a horse.

I asked my wife to name 3-5 things she thinks any man should be able to do. I think I caught her off guard. After sputtering a bit she came up with three:

Drive a car;

Cook a subsistence meal (no peanut butter and fried banana sandwiches, men!);

Operate a computer.

Seems modern woman has lower expectation levels than I would have thought.

With time comes maturity or at least some kind of an excuse for it. My basic list now is:

Keep a knife sharp;

Stitch a button;

Drive a stick shift with a clutch;

Build a fire;

Cook a simple meal for two;

Know which target needs to be shot and when.


Of course this is all minimum listing and just a little sexist. Everyone should be able to change a tire or diaper, gas up a car, fill the washer reservoir and burp a baby. I used to say change plugs, replace hoses and belts, but every time I stick my head under the hood my brain spins.

I don’t know about darning socks, but everyone should be able to fix a button, repair a hem or a small rip. This doesn’t seem too unreasonable. Preparing food seems like such a useful skill, but I know people who couldn’t grill a steak or bake a potato if their life depended on it.

You should be able to balance a checkbook, clean a bathroom or a fish (your choice) and paint a wall.

All these lists deal with survival at some level. There also seems to be a note of caution that more primitive skills could be called upon. Maybe I should add knap flint and shoot a sling-shot.


What’s your list? I’ll publish it.

On the Edge – Continued!

“Morning comes early in northern Greenland. The bright sun made the igloo walls glow with inner light. The howling wind had abated. I had survived the arctic storm.”

“I pressed on the snow door plug, but it failed to move. I was frozen in. The storm had formed a layer of ice on the igloo protecting me but imprisoning me as well. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You simply chopped a new hole in the ice wall and crawled out. I reached for my smatchet, knowing the heavy blade would make fast work of this problem. It wasn’t in my sheath. It wasn’t in my sleep bag. It wasn’t loose on the floor. “

“I saw it in my mind’s eye. I had placed it under supplies on the sled last night so I wouldn’t lose it in the darkness. I had intended to slip it back in my sheath before I pulled the snow cork in behind myself. It was still outside.”

“I was trapped. I had no way out.”

Sven paused to let the enormity and irony roll over us. He was trapped in the classic locked room with no way out, but clearly he had escaped.

After a few moments, I was about to break the silence when Rodger spoke up.

“Are you telling us you’re dead? You look very much alive to me.”

“I thought you would immediately see how I escaped my predicament. I needed a knife and didn’t have a knife, so I improvised.”

It must have been clear from our faces we had no idea what he did.

“The solution,” Sven said “was alimentary. I dropped my trousers, had a bowel movement and shaped the still warm excrement into a stout, knife-shaped form. It soon froze and hardened and I chopped a hole big enough to wiggle through. I found my knife where I put it, recovered my gear and freed the dogs from their ice covered dens.”

“The rest of the trip was uneventful.”

Sven went back to his paper and the knot drifted apart. I waited until everyone had left before I leaned over and partially pulled his newspaper down.

“So, how does a turd knife lay claim to the expression of ‘two is one and one is none?”

“It doesn’t. But when I returned to camp, I requisitioned a second knife. The quartermaster wanted to know what happened to the first one and I explained that two is one …”

“I supposed,” I interrupted him, “he gave you one.”

“He was a very intelligent man and immediately saw the sound logic in it.”

Having satisfied my question, Sven sat back to finish his paper, but not before snagging my untouched spare brandy.

I was about to comment on the theft when from behind the newspaper came, “After all, two is one…”