Marquis de Saydrah

Because I’ve moved from thinking, “I’ve GOT to blog that!” to doing it.

The Hunt for Red Octob– I Mean, Red Sunglasses June 18, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — saydrah @ 5:19 pm
Tags: , ,

Me wearing a Renaissance costume of a green skirt, black bodice, and white blouse, sitting on my SO's lap. He is wearing red mirrored sunglasses.

Would you like to see something impossible?

 

Apparently, the sunglasses on my SO in the picture to the right (taken about 4 years ago at the Colorado Renaissance Festival) don’t exist, nor is it possible for them to be made. That’s a direct scan of a photograph, not altered or Photoshopped in any way. They existed, but according to the “experts,” they’re impossible.

 

It seems there’s something about the curvature of sunglass lenses and the layers of color used to make mirror coating in a high-voltage chamber that makes it impossible to do a plain red mirror coating. Thus, you see those glasses that are red but shimmer yellow or blue on the sides, but never a plain red mirror coating.

 

However, the glasses from the photo, purchased on a trip to Tofino, British Columbia, were red from all angles. They were fabulous. Gorgeous. And my SO loved them. I mean, he loved them. He wore them every day, he kept them polished perfectly. He treated those $16.00 sunglasses like a child.

 

Until, in Las Vegas, someone stole them out of his car. Apparently there are other folks who love red glasses and knew how rare they were. I didn’t though– I didn’t save the tags, so I don’t even know what brand they were.

 

I want to get him some new red mirrored sunglasses, and I’ve been to, literally, every sunglass chain in the Denver area, and most of the gas stations. I have gone through 50+ pages on thefind.com, and I’ve begged for help on fashion forums.

 

Nothing.

 

I have tried to have them custom made. The labs that do mirror coating say it’s impossible, even when shown the photo.

 

I have even tried locating the surf shop in Tofino where I bought them and finding someone who worked there four years ago to ask if they remember what brand carried red mirrored lenses.

 

No luck.

ARGH!

 

If anyone knows where I can buy some “impossible” red mirrored sunglasses, or better yet, a mirror lens overlay maker that will put red mirror coating on some custom made lenses, I will be eternally grateful.

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22 Responses to “The Hunt for Red Octob– I Mean, Red Sunglasses”

  1. Tom Clancy Says:

    Tom Clancy is the maestro in the genre of “military fiction” and this book is considered one of its best.

    A Russian nuclear missile submarine (carrying over 150 warheads, enough to annihilate half of the USA) with a new extra-silent is led by a commander and a group of officers who want to defect to the USA. The Russian fleet chases it, the Americans raise their own fleet to answer the provocation and brilliant intelligence plot to take it over.

    This book is interesting in two aspects. One is the pure military story – chases between submarines, battle-groups of carriers, and so on. All sounds very realistic (except for a too-machoistic behavior of the commanders/sailors). The other is the interesting intelligence/politics games on the two sides. It’s a complicated setting, where each side has spies on the other side, double agents, sleek ambassadors and so on.

    The action is enthralling, especially the quick jumps from one place to another in times of intense activity.

    This book has some downsides, like loose ends and inconsistencies (it feels as if Clancy planned the “caterpillar” to be a real feat, but then changed his mind), but overall it’s pretty good, and certainly very interesting to read.

  2. Kirk Lincoln Says:

    This narrative presents one of the most frightening deceptions in modern history; Captain Marko Ramius intends to defect to America, while his crew remain loyal to the Soviet Union.

    This deception is made doubly daring by the Soviet Navy’s claim that he is a renegade who threatens independent missile launch. Luckily, the crew believes him after his sub is fired upon by a Soviet aircraft, narrowly escaping.

    He says, “if they were really shooting at us, we’d be dead.” This study in the psychology of leadership presents a fascinating conclusion: though there are only 12 officers aboard, the 180+ enlisted men obey them faithfully, simply because the naval code requires it. Apparently, that’s what has the navigator so worked up when he exclaims, “we could have a mutiny on our hands.”

    The possibility of a renegade or “rogue” launching nuclear weapons is quite real. In today’s new world order, that possibility is increased dramatically, as evidenced by the recent crisis in the formerly Soviet Chechnya. Some of the new states in the Commonwealth have nuclear weapons which were strategically placed by the Soviet equivalent of the Strategic Air Command.

    Thus the Soviet ploy of telling the U.S. that the missile launch was imminent was actually a shrewd move. In this way, the U.S. would have to destroy the sub or else let on that top officials knew Ramius’s true intentions, alerting the Soviets that their leadership had been penetrated by CIA.

    However, since Ryan acted alone and used his own instinct, the U.S. was able to simulate the destruction of the sub and take it to Norfolk, VA, where it may remain today.

    Interestingly enough, President Reagan endorsed this book when it was first published, implying that the story is true. If such a tale is indeed fact, it would mean certain doom for the relationship between the U.S. and Russia if made public, as shown in Executive Orders.

    Some day, we will know the truth (in 2035, when the 50 years expire). It would be really great to one day walk aboard a Soviet ballistic missile submarine, not so much as an object of conquest, but as an intriguing representation of the nuclear threat that could have destroyed everyone on earth.

  3. Marko Ramius Says:

    I take offense to this blog posting. The Hunt for Red October was no joke, I should know, I was the Captain on Krazny Oktober’s maiden voyage. Men DIED figthing to bring that vessel to America’s shores! How dare you suggest that losing your sunglasses is even close to the trial by fire that I and my crew suffered through. My first officer died in my arms. He never even got to see Montana. How dare you, how dare you mock our achievements.

  4. Dane Cook Says:

    Tom Clancy is the maestro in the genre of “military fiction” and this book is CONSIDERED ONE OF HIS BEST!!!!!!!!!!!

    A RUSSIAN NUCLEAR MISSILE submarine (carrying over 150 WARHEADS, enough to annihilate HALF OF AMERICAAAAAAA) with a new extra-silent is led by a COMMANDER and a group of officers who want to DEFECT TO THE U S OF A!!!!!!!!!! The Russian fleet CHASES it, the Americans raise their own fleet to answer the provocation and BRILLIANT INTELLIGENCE plot to take it over.

    This book is interesting in two aspects. One is the PURE MILITARY STORY – chases between submarines, BATTLE-groups of carriers, and so on. All sounds VERRRRRY realistic (except for a too-machoistic behavior of the commanders/sailors). The other is the IIIIINTERESTING intelligence/politics games on the TWO SIDES!!!!! It’s a complicated setting, where each side has spies on the other side, double agents, sleek ambassadors and SO ON!!!

    The action is ENTHRALLING!!!!!!!! Especially the quick jumps from one place to another in times of intense activity.

    Also, women are DIFFERENT. FROM MEN!

    This book has some downsides, like loose ends and inconsistencies (it feels as if Clancy planned the “caterpillar” to be a real feat, but then changed his mind), but overall it’s pretty good, and certainly very interesting to read.

  5. Carlos Mencia Says:

    Tom Clancy is the maestro in the genre of “military fiction” and this book is CONSIDERED ONE OF HIS BEST!!!!!!!!!!!

    A RUSSIAN NUCLEAR MISSILE submarine (carrying over 150 WARHEADS, enough to annihilate HALF OF AMERICAAAAAAA) with a new extra-silent is led by a COMMANDER and a group of officers who want to DEFECT TO THE U S OF A!!!!!!!!!! The Russian fleet CHASES it, the Americans raise their own fleet to answer the provocation and BRILLIANT INTELLIGENCE plot to take it over.

    This book is interesting in two aspects. One is the PURE MILITARY STORY – chases between submarines, BATTLE-groups of carriers, and so on. All sounds VERRRRRY realistic (except for a too-machoistic behavior of the commanders/sailors). The other is the IIIIINTERESTING intelligence/politics games on the TWO SIDES!!!!! It’s a complicated setting, where each side has spies on the other side, double agents, sleek ambassadors and SO ON!!!

    The action is ENTHRALLING!!!!!!!! Especially the quick jumps from one place to another in times of intense activity.

    Also, women are DIFFERENT. FROM MEN!

    This book has some downsides, like loose ends and inconsistencies (it feels as if Clancy planned the “caterpillar” to be a real feat, but then changed his mind), but overall it’s pretty good, and certainly very interesting to read.

    Also, Mexicans wouldn’t do this sheet mang.

    Dee Dee Dee

  6. John Cena Says:

    Cool post!

  7. Rick Astley Says:

    Well now that’s just in poor taste.

  8. Hulk Hogan Says:

    The Red October was a vital part in winning the cold war, almost as important as when Hulkamania ran wild on the Iron Sheik.

    That’s right, you hear me sheik? THE HULKSTER IS GONNA RUN WILD, YOU KNOW ITS COMING! WOOOOOOOO! HULKAMANIA BABY! USA! USA! USA!

  9. Dane Cook Says:

    What the hell I didn’t post here!

    I detect trickery of some kind!

    Must be my EX GIRLFRIIIIIIIIIEND! THAT GIRL IS A BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH

  10. Bizarro Saydrah Says:

    HAHAHA I STOLE YOUR SUNGLASSES, YOU STACK OF CUNT!

    BRB OFF TO SHIT ON A LABRADOR RETRIEVER.

  11. Tucker Max Says:

    I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.

    I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:

    9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.

    9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.

    9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.

    9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.

    9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.

    9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.

    9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.

    9:29: I blow again, a .04. I’ve been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming…four drinks…a .04…that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.

    9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.

    9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven’t ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.

    9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn’t pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.

    10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.

    10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl’s class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a “legitimate, certifiable science,” while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) “legitimate, certifiable idiots” because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.

    10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.

    10:10: .07

    10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.

    10:26: .09

    10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.

    10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don’t leave money for my drinks.

    10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I’m only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.

    10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.

    11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.

    11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn’t even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.

    11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.

    11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don’t have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.

    11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.

    11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.

    11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.

    11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.

    11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.

    11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. “Cognac and Alize.” There is a God, and he hates me.

    11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.

    11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.

    12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.

    12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.

    12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, “Who runs this bar now, BITCH??” The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.

    12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.

    12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.

    12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.

    12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn’t go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.

    1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.

    1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.

    1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.

    1:14: I can’t figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.

    1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to “get that fucking light out of my face.” The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. “Son, where are your pants?” Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn’t laugh. Another long pause. “You’re not driving tonight are you?”, “Oh, NO, NO, NO…no sir, I don’t even have a valid driver’s license.”

    1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.

    1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don’t know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.

    1:24: I can’t find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn’t thrown up yet. I tell them to “kiss my fucking ass.” My last clear memory.

    8:15am: I wake up. I don’t know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.

    8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.

    8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can’t find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.

    8:22: I drive home anyway.

    Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That’s fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.

    My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.

  12. Samuel Harwood Says:

    I don’t get it.

  13. Matt Damon Says:

    Maaaat. Daaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyymuuuuuuuuuuunnnnn!

  14. Alexander Kalal Says:

    THIS POST WAS A FAR INFERIOR SPECIMEN WHEN COMPARED TO YOUR PREVIOUS WORKS. I ENJOYED IT FAR LESS, THE PUN AT THE BEGINNING LEFT A SOUR TASTE NOT UNLIKE MY JIZZ CARTON WHEN I LEAVE IT OUT IN THE SUN. THIS MADE ME DISGUSTED AS WELL AS CONFUSED. THIS POST AND THAT JIZZ ALSO CAN RELATE IN THE SENSE THAT I STILL AM ABLE TO GET OFF FROM IT IT JUST ISN’T AS GOOD.

    I RATE IT A 3.5/10
    YOUR FACE I RATE A 3.9/10
    YOUR TITS I RATE… A 9/10

    BAYBEE

  15. FBI Says:

    Hold on a second, GET BACK HERE MR. KALAL.

  16. Horse Says:

    I fucking hate you.

  17. Johnny Depp Says:

    JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP JOHNNY DEPP

    WHEEEEERE’S THE RUUUUUUUM!

    LOL Alice in Wonderland, in theatres 2010

  18. Morgan Freeman Says:

    Well now, isn’t that something. My my, what have we here? It appears, little girl, that what we have here is a yarn spun in reference to works of an author, an author known and cherished by many, but scorned by others of higher tastes. Far be it from me to interrupt your, shall we say, proclivities? Everyone wants to be someone, something. But this I can say to you, right now. You are no Tom Clancy. And isn’t that just fascinatingly marvelous?

  19. Professor Farnsworth Says:

    Good News Everyone!
    I’ve invented a device that allows you to be free from this drivel! I discovered it while in a kerosene fueled dream sequence I had whilst repairing the thermal reactor in the basement! It’s very simple to operate, simply click the X in the upper right corner of your screen, and the stupidity will disappear!

    • Zoidberg Says:

      Wonderful! Now everybody will read MY blog!

      • Hermes Conrad Says:

        Sweet gorilla of Manilla, No, ya won’ta, not on company time Zoidberg. Our web traffic bill is climbing faster than a green snake up a sugarcane, now get yourah lazy butt back to work.

  20. Abe Miller Says:

    Man them red sunglasses sell faster than HOTCAKES AT THE HUNGRY CONVENTION.


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