Why?  Well, lots of reasons really.  A collection of small annoyances, difficulties, and hurdles in my life whirled together in a blender to make what I call a SHIT FRAPPE.  Now don’t worry.  Not any one of these things, whether it’s my job, familial commitments, or money issues, is anything to be terribly concerned about.  But when these little things pile up, one after another, well…that’s when you get your shit frappe.  And shit frappes don’t taste very good.  I know.  I’ve been digesting them every single day as of late.  I haven’t been myself and it’s left me feeling pretty hollow.  And when you have nothing inside well, it’s hard to put yourself out there.  Like on a blog, for instance.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that I need some time to fill my tank back up.  An empty tank, as you know, goes nowhere. 

So what does this mean for the Lime Juice Boys?  I don’t know.  I don’t want to see it wither away and die.  I put a lot of time and effort into it and I’m very proud of it.  I hope to be back.  No.  I hope to be back soon.  I just can’t guarantee anything right now. 

I’ve got to fix the frappe first. 

–Cap’n Blackjack

Did any of you notice that I didn’t post an update last time?  Yeah, that’s because I’ve been hovering around 207 and 208 pounds since the first week of October.  It was bothering me.  A lot!  I was still biking all the time…  I’ve been walking every weekend…  I’ve been eating well and not drinking a lot…  Basically my entire plan for weight loss success.  A plan that has led to thirty lost pounds since March and sixty-five since my peak two years ago.  But it wasn’t working anymore.  And it came on suddenly.  I didn’t know what to do.

So I started over analyzing things.  Should we not have gone to John Brewer’s the other night?  Maybe I should have walked last Sunday…  My stupid cubemate keeps bringing me egg sandwiches!  That last sentiment, of course, is completely ridiculous as egg sandwiches are possibly mankind’s single greatest achievement.  But that’s how I was thinking!  All because I was still at 207.  Bah!

Then things got worse.  I busted up my toe.  It was my pinky toe.  The little guy.  It happened quite randomly and it is a tad bit embarrassing.  My daughter has a prison now, you see.  We have two gates up pretty much 24/7 to keep her trapped in the living room.  Good for us in that we don’t have to chase her all over the house all the time, but bad when it comes to traveling between the rooms.  Eventually, I just stopped taking down the gate to walk through.  That means stepping over it, of course.  Well, and I’m sure you all can see this coming, I stepped over the gate last Sunday and thought I was over it when my trailing leg caught the top of it.  I went straight forward.  The wood floor was ready to give my nose a hearty high five.  Luckily, however, I got my hands under myself to protect my face.  My trailing foot, meanwhile, just dropped straight to the floor like a dead weight.  Right on my pinky toe.  What I then discovered was just how much a small appendage could hurt.  The pain just shot right up through the foot and up the leg.  A day later it was purple and I was pretty sure it was broken.  I couldn’t walk in shoes and stairs were rather unpleasant.  Long story short(er) it’s not broken and I’ve missed a bunch of days to ride the bike, walk, etc.  No exercise.  So that, coupled with all my over analyzing led to me definitely not wanting to weigh myself this morning.

But fuck it.  I did it anyway.

203.3 pounds.  BWAH?!?  Yeah!  A loss of about 4.5 pounds in two weeks.  How did that happen?

It was then that I realized all the good habits of the past two weeks.  Yes, I was over analyzing, but I was also taking steps to solve the problem.  Like realizing that my lunches weren’t as “light” as they were when I was thirty-five pounds heavier.  Maybe the yogurt didn’t need to be in the mix each day.  And what about those granola bars?  I made the connection that my lunches were too big.  That I could cut things back and not be hungry.  And lunches weren’t just it.  Breakfast could be reduced too.  That’s a lot of cereal there, Captain.  I started adding bananas to my Grape Nuts and Newman’s Honey Flax Flakes too.  All good habits, in other words.  But my frustrated self wouldn’t let me focus on them.  Funny, it all seems so obvious now, but it’s strange how the mind works when it’s so close to a goal and unable to reach it.

A goal that’s only about four pounds away I might add.  See you soon.

–Cap’n Blackjack

[image via mmaflex]

It’s 11/11/11 so what better way to celebrate than by celebrating the man behind the number:  Nigel Tufnel?

That’s right.  There is no better way.

–Cap’n Blackjack

[image via dennismillerradio]

Remember that scene when Daniel-San is playing table hockey with Alli-With-An-I at Golf n’ Stuff and he scores a goal?  He makes the spastic face you see above.  It’s one of my favorite moments in the Karate Kid and I think I just made that same face myself.  Why?

Because Daniel Laruso is fifty fucking years old.  I can’t believe it.

I can’t believe that the guy who hid in a ballroom kitchen with a bright red jacket and slacks and subsequently got a plate of spaghetti poured all over him is fifty years old.

I can’t believe the kid who tossed his bicycle into a dumpster while angrily muttering “Stupid bike.  I hate this bike,” is fifty years old.

I can’t believe the young man who dressed as a shower, got an egg broke on his face, and couldn’t believe how “wild” that chicken was is fifty years old.

I can’t believe the nervous youngster who kicked a brick off of Alli-With-An-I’s doorstep is fifty years old.

And I can’t believe the kid with a so-called “pet nip” is fifty years old.

It’s crazy.  It means I’m getting old, just like Daniel-san.  But you know what won’t get old?  The Karate Kid. 

Keep waxing on n’ off, Ralph.

–Cap’n Blackjack-san

Forget about buying a pass to view art and experience all its wonders by subsuming an aesthetic experience while musing, revering and pondering the “contemplation” of it all while putting together observational discourses replete with “pattern discernment” and other perceptual and cognitive elements that fuse the substantial encounter of a painting or sculpture.

I’m talking about Trolls. And the people who hunt them!

-Limejuicegutt

A week ago was my second ghost hunt.  (You can find my detailed write-up for the first right here.)  Due to some last minute changes the locations remained almost exactly the same.  But, unlike last year, I brought the Limejuiceboy along for the ride.  And our good friend Lush Here joined in for good measure.  Unlike last year I’m not going to recount every single stop on the hunt.  If you need details please check the link above.  But I am going to delve into two moments that defined the day.  The first involved a very personal ghostly encounter for the Lush Here.  The second involved something I’m very familiar with:  orbs.

Take it away, Lushy:

So the Cap’n has asked me, this humble mutt, to relay an experience I had on our recent Ghost Hunt 2011, to you, their loyal readers.  During our travels, I had two major responsibilities:  Drive the temporarily christened “Ghost Jeep”  and run the video camera.  On our second stop of the afternoon, we entered Gilson Road Cemetery.  While filming, I walked from the main gate, back along the road-side wall, and made my way towards Walter Gilson, whose famous headstone is easily identified by the hole driven through it.  Upon my approach, I felt the air become more ‘dense’, and my breathing became a bit more labored.  I also felt a ‘weight’ on me, like a heavy leaden blanket.  I stood there, facing the head stone for another minute or two, before the Cap’n and Limey joined me, at which point the ‘weight’ lifted and the sensation passed.  I was hoping to hear some sort of sound, or see something on the digital video playback, unfortunately, nothing can be heard beyond my breathing. 

Pretty creepy right?  The moment I appeared beside Lush Here and the headstone (seen above) it was obvious he had just been through…something.  Unfortunately that something is nothing one can put a finger on.  As is the case with ghosts, the mystery lives on.

Next up are the orbs.  This time I encountered them at South Yard Cemetery in Wilton, NH.  I had been talking with Lush Here for a moment.  Just chatting, nothing terribly important.  But once he left I took the following picture:

I immediately noticed the large amount of orbs on the camera viewfinder and proceeded to take the next few snaps:

As you can see, while some orbs remain the great majority had vanished within seconds.  I was able to snap another picture of orbs later on that night, but it not to the same degree as the first:

I’ve gone on record as not really believing in orbs.  I’m generally under the impression that they’re the reflections off of airborne particles.  The fact the Lush Here left the scene just seconds before might support that.  After all, maybe these are dust particle kicked up by his feet?  Still, I must admit the orbs did add a cherry on top of the trip.  It was exciting to catch something, any little thing, on film that might support the existence of ghosts.  Suddenly the whole endeavor didn’t seem in any way silly.  It justified the whole day.

And it will fuel another trip next year. 

Until then…

–The Dead Cap’n Blackjack

I think it came out pretty good, don’t you think?  It was our first time trying the peeling technique instead of straight up carving.  Took a LOT longer to do, but I think the results speak for themselves.  It’s the perfect finishing touch to scare away all the trick or treaters…

–The Dead Cap’n Blackjack

Dressed my daughter as a skunk for Halloween.

Is that wrong?

–The Dead Cap’n Blackjack

-Pumpkinheadboy

After my visit to the Bishop White House, it was a short stroll to another local Philly haunt: The City Tavern. Located at 138 South 2nd Street, this was a meeting place for John Adams and George Washington.

My plan was to have lunch there and soak in any ambiance, nonchalantly walk from room to room and try to get a feel for the place where wedding parties in particular have noticed the face of an unknown woman in photos taken upstairs in which she is wearing what looks like a bridal gown. Some patrons have even seen the apparition of the phantom bride in the halls and rooms of the tavern. Why? Well, because back in the day, the day being March, 1834, a fire broke out and a bride and many of the bridal party perished. Sounds like a good enough reason to haunt the place for all of eternity.

But lunch did not happen, as the large group I was meeting had already taken a look at the menu: Mallard Duck Sausage, Mushroom Toast, Braised Rabbit and Beef Pie, just to name a few. Sounds delicious to me, but I wasn’t traveling with an adventurous type.

So, after lunch nearby, I returned for a pint.

Needless to say, this was a fun place and I would have liked to look around a bit more, especially out in the gardens where, “a waiter met his untimely death in a duel around 1790 and his bloody apparition is sometimes seen falling to the ground in the tavern. He is also blamed for moving table settings and clattering silverware.”

Too much commotion and goings-on at 1:30pm on a Saturday afternoon.

-LJB