Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Giving it up for Lent

Today is Ash Wednesday. Adherents of certain trains of philosophical traditions are nursing hangovers and beginning a period of atonement known as Lent. Lent usually involves acts of self-sacrifice to demonstrate the adherents moral superiority or tendencies toward masochism. While Cousin QRM is not a follower of any organization that purposefully restricts his dietary regime or demands public displays of smudginess and self-flagellation, even if figuratively, the occasional exercise of self-restraint is not a bad thing, and, if mother is to be believed, may even build ‘character’. I don’t think that’s the same thing as being called a character.

In faux observance of Lent, Cousin QRM is giving up the following for as long as he can stand it (give it a week):

- Reading CQ-Contest and trying to follow the arguments on the debate topic de jour. Especially those of a certain Irishman that are absolute. Except when he feels an exception should be made.

- Performing my duties as a DX Frequency Cop. Yes, all bedlam may result if I don’t helpfully direct the clueless that the DX station is listening ‘UP’, but for the next month or so, they’ll have to figure it out on their own.

- Posting yet another complaint about the lack of sunspots and paucity of DX on the bands despite the fact that recent events contradict this.

- Cick and pounce DXing and contesting. I will just that big round thing in the middle of my radio’s face to find stations on the air. My carpal tunnel isn’t so bad that my wrist can’t twist a little from side to side.

- Ever using the term ‘desitinated’ anytime. Anywhere. Period.

I know it looks like a set of tough goals, but one of the LIDS gave me some funny beads on a string that he said would help me get through it. Last time I had beads on a string, they were candy. I don’t think I can eat these.

1 comment:

  1. Inspired by your self-sacrifice to give up checking into the Bitter Clingers Net on 75 phone. May also allow my D104 to be pried from my sausage-like Cheeto-stained fingers when the gross of Cinna Stix gets delivered.