70s rockstar haircut

It was haircut time as we approached the end of 2015. I usually get one every 2 or 3 months. I can tell when I need one by how long the hairs on the back of my neck are. If the werewolf hair back there is joining my head to my shoulders by hairs of greater than 2 inches in length, its time to go see the girls at Mastercuts at the mall. I went for a bit shorter on top and more length at the back so its a bit Ziggy/Faces kind of style but not spiky or anything that would turn heads.

The year Twenty Ought-Fifteen has been one I will remember. I had a pretty major health issue that I seem to be beating and had to really pay attention to for a few months. Feeling pretty good now, and science confirms that I should have a few years in me yet. People over a certain age tend to talk about their health issues to the extent that it makes me roll my eyes. I didnt wish to share with every single freakin friend or relative in the world that I had some health problems, and if you ask me how I am, I will say "fine" unless I have something contagious you should know about, and then at a certain point, ideally far into the future I will say "not so good. dying soon." but in the meantime, lets go with "fine."

Nevertheless, feeling fit and feisty at the end of 2015 means more than it used to, so I will say "fuckin rights, I really am fine" and feel stoked about that.
Happy New Year, folks.

We have earned our Curmudgeon badges

A buddy of mine from way back is even more of a curmudgeon than I am. My beefs are largely about cellphone addicted arseholes who don't respect others' rights to not hearing them blabber away on their phones. Also the blank-eyed calves who wander around, even crossing busy streets, looking at their stupid fucking phones instead of paying attention to the actual world which is present around them, including people driving cars and big trucks that might turn them into a grease spot if they dont look around. Part of me (the dark Darwinian part) wants a few of them to get punted by a Peterbilt out of the gene pool.
My bud likes hunting and fishing, hates kale-smoothie asshats and votes considerably to the right of me. I have other compadres , all over 45 and most over 50, who wish we could return to simpler times.
I miss working on 60's cars where everything was out in plain sight, a dozen beer for 5 bucks, more wildlife and fewer people, iron frying pans and woodstoves you cook on, less rules and tickets, more do-it-yourself and make-it-last. I miss being younger and less cynical too, but I will take the scraps of wisdom life has afforded me and hope they are worth the time it took to get them.

There are good things about this time in history: I love not having a TV and loading good shows I want to watch without commercial blather. The fuckin intanet: avoid the stupid and the tabloidy, and enjoy reading 3 newpapers a day without having to plug a quarter in the box. I like that we are moving toward saner laws regarding smoking a little weed. Yeah, sure, maybe its a medicine in some cases; I recall smoking a few bowls with my cousin who was on heavy chemo for leukemia 40 years ago,  it made him feel better. Then we split a pail of Neapolitan ice cream. But I think we should just sell pot (carefully and securely) and tax it like booze.

 A lot of us curmudgeons are comfortable with small gas engines, such as those on lawnmowers and older boat motors, able to fix things without panic with found materials in some cases, can make a fire with few matches, know the difference between catshit and coyote shit, how to get rid of a bear without a gun, always carry jumper cables, useful little life skills .

I will be outside cooking dinner on an engine block and mending my fishing gear, if anyone is looking for me.