Sunday Drive: Mozart, Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major

Waitin' for the Weekend

CONSUMER ALERT:  
EMERGENCY RATIONS NOW AVAILABLE

Mindful of the dire state in which our truckbuddies may find themselves at this time, our procurement specialists have been scouring the globe for replacement hunks to satisfy our clients' needs.  Although world supplies are woefully short of meeting present requirements, we take pleasure in presenting this emergency ration for your short-term relief.

Limit two cans per household.  Customary shipping and handling charges are waived.

Make 'em last, buddies.  No substitutions.  No exceptions.  No returns or exchanges.  All sales final.

We will post further disaster updates in this space as information comes available.  

Cowboy Up, Part IV

A guest post by my truckbuddy Tim from England, now resident in Spain:

Cowboy Up

Ch. 4.  The Fiery and the Snuffy

Detail from Brokeback Mountain special edition by SpyrousSeraphim.  My thanks.

Summary:  Most things we do in life have consequences.  After pleasure can come pain; love and fear often follow on from one another.  So when Piers saved Chris's life and then Chris fell in love with Piers, there were bound to be consequences: The Fiery and the Snuffy.

************************ 

Chris heard Piers sucking-in deeply through clenched teeth, felt him filling his lungs as he tried to steady himself under Chris' sweating body.  For the older rancher, long years of abstention, frustration, anger, guilt, and now desire, had release through the golden skinned man below him.  But it wasn't purely carnal, there was an element that Chris didn't recognize at first ... it had been so long ... love?  He slowed down his frenzied pounding, then stopped and listened.  Piers seemed to have now ceased breathing ... .

Piers had wanted to cry out, at the pain, at their unwanted intrusion.  Just as before, his body had gone rigid.  Control Piers, regain control ... his mind still functioned ... but his physical form just seemed to hang there, suspended, frozen between breaths.  The stabbing pain again, exploding inside him, like a brilliant white light illuminating an empty room.  It was always like this.  Was that it then, part of his curse?  Pain before, during and after pleasure.  Would they always go hand-in-hand?  Were they the same thing?  A voice burst inside his head, then another, were they pain and pleasure too?

Continued after the jump . . .

Sunday Drive: Vivaldi, Spring

Itzhak Perlman performs:

Waitin' for the Weekend

We regret to inform our loyal customers that despite our best efforts, stocks of hot men are now exhausted, and what with quarantines, border closures, and flight cancellations, we cannot say with certainty when we will be able to obtain fresh stock from our suppliers, domestic or foreign.

So for the duration of the present world crisis, you will just have to make do with whatever men you have lying around the house already.  If you have any men you are not using at present, please consider donating them to the Red Cross for relief of those in greater need, or share with a friend.

This department will be closed until further notice. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. For billing questions, please press the pound sign. If you believe you qualify for emergency assistance, please contact your local service office of the National Bureau of Manpower.

Cowboy Up, Part III

A guest post by my truckbuddy Tim from England, now resident in Spain:

Cowboy Up

Chapter 3.  Chowin', jawin', fallin'

Detail from Brokeback Mountain special edition by SpyrousSeraphim.  My thanks.

Summary:  Piers Nivans continues to intrigue and mystify everyone at the Lazy-R ranch, and Chris takes a tumble, or is it two?

Chris was just about to help himself to a generous slice of tamale pie when Piers spoke out.

"Shall I say grace?"  he said pleasantly.  Chris' hand retreated from the pie and went back to his lap.  Claire gave her brother a look.

"Lord, bless this food and us that eats it.  Amen."

"Amen." said the others sheepishly.

"Hee hee, that's a proper Cowboy's grace, Boss" laughed Andy, looking at a red-faced Chris.  "Merciful short!  Ain't heard it here in long while, not since Miss Jane was alive."  Every lady was a Miss in Andy's opinion, even the married ones.

Chris lifted the pie dish and offered it to Claire.  "Er, yes, quite, ladies first."

Claire gave her brother another look, even more incredulous than the first.  "Why Christopher, thank you, wonders will never cease!"

"So Piers, what are your first impressions of the Lazy-R?" asked Claire as they helped themselves to the various dishes laid out on the big kitchen table.

"Like I've come home." replied Piers.  Chris glanced at him quizzically.  "Like I belong I mean."  added Piers, catching the look.  "You're like family."

"Um, where is home?"  asked Claire, fishing.

"Down on the coast, south of San Francisco."  Piers smiled, but didn't offer any more.

"Have we met before Piers?"  Claire was nothing if not persistent, another Redfield trait.  "You seemed to know me this afternoon."

"How could I forget you, with that wonderful red hair?  A mutual friend's party perhaps?  There were so many after college." he smiled disarmingly.

Claire appreciated the compliment and the smile so much she forgot her next question for a moment.  And then, just as she remembered it, Chris butted in.

"Give Nivans some space Sis!   Let the man eat first, questions later.  You gotta' try this cowboy cabbage Nivans, and the chicken and dumplings.  Claire's dumplings are real sweet."

Continued after the jump . . .

Sunday Drive: Pachelbel, Canon in D Major

In the face of worldwide hysteria and folly, I offer my truckbuddies a lovely moment of serenity - as performed by Impetus Madrid Baroque Ensemble in 2012:




The odds are extremely high that nothing at all is going to hurt you.  So do keep calm and carry on, fellas.

This, too, shall pass.

Cowboy Up, Part II

A guest post by my truckbuddy Tim from England, now resident in Spain:

Cowboy Up

Chapter 2.  First Impressions

Summary:  The mysterious young stranger seems to be getting under Chris Redfield’s skin. But who exactly is he?

"Oh, er, well, if you're not Peter Carney, who the hell are you?"

"Piers, Piers Nivans."

Chris Redfield stared hard at the young man.  He was trying to regain control of the situation.  A situation which, at the moment, confused the hell out of him.

"So let me get this straight, you're not Peter Carney?"

"Nope."  Nivans smiled.

"Any reason why he didn't make it?"

"I made him a better offer."

"You what!"

"I made him a better offer than your job here."  

Chris looked dumbfounded, so the young man continued pleasantly.  "Oh, he wasn't really suited for it, preferred a life on the ocean waves.  You'll thank me later, I'm sure." Another smile.

"I see."  said Chris, although he didn't.  "OK, forget about Carney.  What about you?  I need a junior hand on my ranch.  Have you got any experience, references?  Mr, er ... ?"

"Nivans, but I prefer to be called Piers."

"And I prefer someone with references, and who shows some respect for their employer!"

"Oh, so I've got the job?  Thank you."

"What, no ... !  I don't know... dammit!"  Chris had suddenly felt flustered.  He took a deep breath, and started again.  "Your references!"

"They're from the highest authority, trust me."

Chris held his hand out.  He was scowling now, and he was getting hot in the midday sun.  He seemed to be a supporting actor in something he didn't quite understand.  Not for the first time since meeting this strange young man, he shook himself out of his thoughts.  

"References!"

"I left them at home, in the rush.  Can't go back now."

"No, I suppose not ...Wait!  Who's running this conversation?  I'm the boss, you'd better understand that Nivans!"

"Piers."  Another devastating smile.

Chris scratched his head, he had to force himself not to return the smile.  "Can you ride?"

Piers nodded towards the tan saddle and a couple of holdalls sat under the tree.  "Got all the gear."

"That's not what ... Oh, never mind!  Pick up all the gear, and put it in the back of the truck."

Piers collected his belongings, and put them into the flat-bed of the old Ford.  

"Nice, you like antique cars Chris?" Piers said conversationally.

Chris looked at him, he knew his jaw was dropping.  He decided attack was the best form of defense.  "Are you gonna' put a shirt on?  The sun's fierce this time of day.  And I prefer to be called Boss, or Mr Redfield."

"Nope, I'm fine.  I like being warm.  It's the cold I don't like ... you?"

"I like the fall ... wait, listen, you'll be no good to me sunburned Nivans!  Have you any idea about ranch work?  And by the way, the winters here are really cold, you ready for that?"

"I, I don't burn.  Don't know if that's a blessing or a curse.  And yeh, I know what I know, I'll put a shirt on come winter."

It was the first sign of hesitation the young man had shown.  Chris grasped at it, still trying to regain control.

"Any reason you don't burn, Mr Nivans?  Most people with your coloring do, normal people."

"Ha, ha!  I'm not normal then, Chris ... by your standards."

"Get in Nivans!"

Continued after the jump . . .

Cowboy Up, Part I

A guest post by my truckbuddy Tim from England, now resident in Spain:

Cowboy Up

Chapter 1.  Angel?

Detail from Brokeback Mountain special edition by SpyrousSeraphim.  My thanks.

Summary:  Chris Redfield is a rancher, plain and simple.  Then a mysterious young man turns up, seeking employment.  And Chris soon finds himself in unfamiliar territory. 

"Yeehaw!  Ride him, Uncle Bob!"  The dust swirled around the legs of the big black stallion as it bucked and reared, trying to dislodge the unfamiliar weight now on its back.  The horse's mouth and nostrils were flecked with foam, its flanks were shiny and streaked with sweat.

He had only been on a minute or so, but to Bob, it already seemed like forever.  Of all the horses he'd broken over the years, none had ever felt quite like this one.  He could sense the power in every muscle, every sinew of the horse, as it twisted and turned beneath him.  And as he tried to counter, then second guess, each and every move, he realised it had become a battle of wills, not just a simple bust.

Chris waved his black Stetson in the air, his brown eyes wide and bright, his heart pounding in his chest.  He wished he was in the saddle himself, but that was his uncle's right, as the ranch's owner.  One day,  perhaps ....  And the big stallion was magnificent, Chris had kept his eyes on him from the first time he saw him as a yearling, over two years back, up near the high ridge.  He had never asked his uncle that the horse be his.  But secretly, he dreamt it would.

Andy clapped a strong hand on Chris' shoulder.

"Boy, ain't that something.  Boss has got his hands full today."  The foreman gave Chris a friendly, toothy grin.  He too, had broken a few broncs in his time, as his missing teeth testified.

"I wish ... I wish ..."  started Chris.

"Don't say it, Chris, if you say it, it won't come true, boy."

Suddenly, without warning the big horse wrinkled his spine.  He kicked off with his hind legs, and then dug his forelegs into the dirt and dust of the small coral.  And Bob Redfield never saw it coming, only the dirt and the dust as they rushed towards him.

The smiles faded from Chris and Andy's faces.  They both heard the 'snap' as Bob hit the ground head first.  His legs twitched briefly and the rowels on his spurs squeaked as they slowly stopped spinning.  Then there was a sickening silence.

"Oh Jesus, no!"

Chris leapt down from the top rail and ran over to the prone figure.  Bob's head lay at an odd angle to his shoulders.  Chris knew he was dead, even before he gently rolled his uncle's body over.

"Easy, Chris!"

Andy knelt down beside him as Chris closed his uncle's eyes.  The big horse stood still in a corner of the coral, looking at them balefully.

"Sonofabitch!"  Andy went for his gun, but Chris stopped him.

"Let him loose Andy, just get him out of my sight."

It was Chris Redfield's first order as the new owner of the Lazy-R ranch.

"Boss."

Continued after the jump . . .

Sunday Drive: Sunrise Serenade

As performed by Glenn Miller and his Orchestra: