About hams

hams has been a member since September 16th 2010, and has created 398 posts from scratch.

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The Greatest Debut Album of All Time (Conservatively Speaking, as Only a Proud Poppa Can)

 

 

 

Long ago and far away I blogged. Then I stopped. Now I am back, briefly, to plug Junior’s debut album before this blog goes down the digital gurgler.

Master Eli Moore spent the last three years seeing the world (47 countries at last count), improving his killer piano chops, falling in and out of love, experiencing many experiences, and writing amazing songs about it all.

Which brings us to “Ship Life“.

Honestly, I have not had so much fun since the hogs ate my sister.

Eli wrote all the songs, produced the album, and even designed and wrote the extensive liner notes.

Thankfully, he got his looks from his Singaporean momma, plus her mad art skills. From Poppa hog, he got his word chops. All together, he’s a total creative bad-ass.

 

If you happen to be in Auckland, New Zealand on July 21, 2017, drop by Parnell’s Juice Bar for the album’s debut bash. Eli will autograph a copy and I’ll buy you a beer, if you behave, mate.

In the meanwhile, head over to Junior’s website elimooremusic and check out the Q&A. Pretty interesting, innit?

And just because I like you, click here… and you can watch the video/clips that Junior produced as part of his fundraising effort.

Plus here’s a great review.

And with that said, it’s time to go walk Kasey in the boggy paddocks, to feed the chooks and check on the sheep, cows, pigs and horses.

Oh, did I forget to mention the bit about retiring to a farm in Northland, New Zealand?

 

Hmmm. Must be the Old Timers.

Cheers.

 

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Mighty Kasey Has Ducked Out

(Hogs note: Just to bring you up to date, the Missus is still ‘rearing’ all sorts of wild ducks in the back yard, a.k.a. Duck Med. And a few days ago we adopted a wee 18-month-old pup, Kasey, from German Shepherd Dog Rescue. Yup.)

 

Kasey being all innocent

Kasey being all innocent

 

DUCKDATE… October 2

Kasey is just doing “stay” so well on the back upper deck.

So the Blog decides to walk down to get a broom under the carport and sweep up.

Kasey, who is “staying”, can’t see the Blog.

And the Blog can’t see Kasey who, as we may have mentioned, is PRACTICING staying.

What could possibly go wrong?

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La-Z-Boy — Recliner or Magical Tardis?

Recliner

We are in the process of decluttering our house of 18 years, as we prepare for retirement.

This blog is not about THAT.

We are in no way prepared to get into THAT.

But we are happy to write about the La-Z-Boy.

Because, damn, ya’ll.

A sister here in NZ asked us to store her twin La-Z-Boy recliners a few years ago while she was overseas doing mission work.

They went into our basement (a.k.a. “rumpus room” in New Zealand Speak). Thanks to the huge Sony Brava/sound system from the same sister, our rumpus was turned into into a surround-sound-theater.

That’s the background.

Now, as Paul Harvey would say, this is the rest of the story…

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On Steven Adams’ Balls … And the Endless Man-Woman Debate on Pain in the Privates

balls

Nothing on Earth more painful…

This blog has choice about entering the discussion on Steven Adam’s balls.

First off, let me stress that while Steven and I both have New Zealand citizenship, and both have made *major contributions to the game of basketball world, this blog has no direct relationship with, or knowledge of, Steven’s balls.

Every guy of the male persuasion, with the possible exception of Obama, has an intimate relationship with his family jewels.

And we have immense compassion for a brother when he “takes one in the cods for the team,” as did our Steven in Game 3.

There is no greater pain or sacrifice on the face of the Earth, as we personally experienced many times on Nebraska Street and at Owens Stadium.

This blog is well aware that millions of women readers are at this very moment discharging their pink tasers.

And that they will go on and on and on about the unbelievable amount of excruciating pain caused by childbirth.

Yadda yadda yadda childbirth

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Wet, Cold and Afraid

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The stray Mr. Biggles

The all-grown-up musician son rings at 12.30 a.m.

Which, despite him being all grown up, always makes Dad’s heart miss a beat.

“Dad, there’s this little white dog running around in the street in the rainstorm by the Watercare plant. He has a collar on. What do you think I should do?”

Father and son over the years have had many conversations like this. Pretty much always, we agree that “something has to be done”.

And, usually, we end up doing it, because ain’t nobody else interested.

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