Saturday, September 24, 2016

Still standing

So the "Protest" and attempt to remove the Andrew Jackson Statue in the name of Black Lives Matter because "racist or something" kinda fizzled out. And General Jackson is still there.

I did not get arrested. But four or five losers did, including this one who called on everyone to follow him over the police line, and then, after jumping it, was surprised to find himself alone...well alone except for these nice officers.

There were police on foot and on horses.
And they were arrayed against a few hundred white kids, most of whom are NOT New Orleans residents if the sample I talked to is representative of the whole.
Whitest BLM protest I ever saw. Guess the black folks in this city didn't care enough to come out. But then these statues were never an issue until Mayor Mitch Landrieu decided that he needed an issue to build a base on so that he could get a job on Hillary's team when/if she gets to Washington. And most of the agitators are either college kid temporary transplants with no ties to the city and probably no intent to stay, or else they came from somewhere else.

I hung around with them for a while at their rally point in Congo Square, taking all their pictures, but finally they started noticing me and taking MY picture, so I figured that was a good time to just go back to the statue and wait on them.

Oh--and David Duke was there too.
I'd loved to have seen someone run up and hit him with a pie or something. Because I hate Illinois Nazis, and he's like the closest thing we've got to one here.

The toads get repulsed when they tried to rush the statue. NOPD got in there FAST with the horses and closed the gap, and they only tried once. (See pic of arrested guy above.) Then they marched off down Decatur Street, a few throwing small balloons filled with paint at police and EMS vehicles from the safety of the middle of their crowd. By then I'd had enough so I went to get beer and came home. Nap time now, because Saturday night starts in a few hours.

This should be fun.

In an hour or so, buncha poverty pimps and liberal Social Justice Warriors, most all of whom are from out of town or recent hipster transplants to the area, are going to be acting the fool at Jackson Square and threatening to tear down the statue of Andrew Jackson because it hurts their feeling or some such.

On the other side: people opposed, some decent folk and some white supremacist types coming to show their ass.

In the middle, tons of southern cops ready to kick ass and take names.

I'm on the way down now. Wouldn't miss this for the world.

Back later with pics. If I don't post an update by dark, send a lawyers, guns and money.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Small world...again

So I'm in bed for the night, ready to get a good night's sleep. Suddenly there's noise outside. Fireworks. Down on the river. So I get up, go outside, and take my bike down a block to the corner bar to stand in the street and watch them with everyone else. Rumor has it, it has something to to with the Saints.

Anyway, when they were done, an old man there invited me in to shoot some pool. So I went in to shoot pool and have a drink at the bar. And I got to be talking to a woman sitting next to me at the bar. Turns out that we were both living in Detroit at the same time 20 years ago, and lived RIGHT AROUND THE BLOCK FROM EACH OTHER. For three years, we lived a block apart and we both went to the same university there. Gotta wonder how many times we passed right by each other and never even knew that two decades down the road, we'd be reunited in some bar nearly 1200 miles away.

This city is so weird for stuff like this. And I love it.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

A great night indeed

Tonight I took the heck hounds down Bourbon Street to Johnny White's bar, where I met blog readers Steve and Connie and their cool little Fox Terrier Joey for dinner on the bar's second floor outdoor patio. Johnny White's is one of the most dog-friendly restaurants in the French Quarter and the food is good and priced right. We spent a couple of nice hours watching the street scene below and getting to know each other, and it's been a while since I've met such charming folks. But then they ARE from Nebraska...

This was just the night I needed after a hectic day. Hopefully they come back again soon.

And the dogs were very well-behaved, with the exception of Murphy being Murphy and grabbing a chicken wing off of Steve's plate. (Sigh.) That Dog...

Oh yeah...

Grilled oysters and garlic bread at midnight. With beer.

Probably not the best decision when I've gotta be at work at seven, but right now, it works for me.

So damned good.

I love this city.

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Lookin' good, Mom!

For your age, anyway.

Happy Birthday, Ma.

A rifle with an identity crisis

I saw this rifle at the range Saturday morning, and I felt so sorry for it.

I had to go over and look at it to see if it was real. And then I had to go all the way back to my car to get my phone to take pictures, because no one would believe it.

And the owner: Dead serious about how great it was...and getting set to put another one together just like it for his girlfriend.

Yep. the rifle has two scopes--once with a "rangefinder good out to a thousand yards" (per the owner*). The upper scope is a red dot "for close-in tactical work".
The big thing on the side of the large scope is a light, with a red lens attached with electrical tape. The "lens" has tee word "LEE" on it, indicating that it began life as the cap to a Lee powder measure. But it does have a really nice Globe and Anchor on the mag well. The owner says that he's a former Marine. He also says that he built this rifle based on his experiences in the Marines. I didn't even go down that rabbit hole with him.

The other side: Just a bit busy and cluttered.
Note the cord from his red light on the right side that goes down to the left side of the pistol grip. Yeah, that'll never be in the way or get snagged on anything...

And it's "blessed" with both a bipod AND a Gripod, because you can never be too steady. And yep, that's a second light on the forward end of the handguard. This one's white though.

Out front, it's got this muzzle brake that's "precision tuned to dampen the recoil down to where you never even feel it". (As if adding thirteen pounds of junk to the rifle isn't gonna do that already.) And it's got prongs on the forward edge "because it's a bayonet, too. Razor sharp. Drive that right through somebody." Yeah, maybe if the bipod doesn't get 'em first, I guess.

This rifle is such a hot mess that it hurt my feelings.

The only thing missing is a sling, to actually help carry it.

View from the rear.

It wasn't a hoax prop. He was really shooting it and proud of it. With 40-round magazines, of course, "because the thirty-rounders run empty too fast in a real fight."

Like I said, I felt sorry for the rifle. It wasn't the rifle's fault that the owner let a Cheaper Than Dirt catalog throw up on it. I'm sure that underneath all that crap, there's a decent rifle in there somewhere.

Call me old-fashioned, but I keep my rifles trim and lean and tailor them to a specific task or role. If I want a rifle to do two different jobs, I get two different rifles and set one up right to do each job. I have distance rifles and I have close-in rifles. I don't try to play golf with one club and I don't try to handle every course of fire with just one rifle. I love my Savage 110 Tactical .308 but I wouldn't try to clear a house with that. I have an Uzi and a suppressed AR in .300 Blackout with a 9" barrel for that sort of thing. I wouldn't shoot any of those in a High-Power match or go hiking in the desert with them. Different weapons for different tasks.

Unless you'r a "former Marine". Then I guess that you do this:

*All statements in quotes were actually said by the owner. I shit you not.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

From the "People never to take a class from" file.

I apologize for not posting about this six months ago when it happened, but I'd not heard about it somehow.

Tactical Response BANNED After Instructor Negligently Discharges Into Student’s Truck

There's a lot wrong here, starting with an instructor throwing his students' guns on the ground and stomping on them just to mess up their finishes. I think had James Yeager or one of his toadies thrown my H&K P7M13 on the ground and done this, or one of my 1911s, or even one of my Glocks, we'd both be going to the nearest hospital--him to get a prosthetic foot out of his ass and me to get my foot back.

But geez...the 'tard takes it to the extreme and does it with LOADED guns?

I was going to let it pass, but then I remembered this bit from the movie "The 'burbs", and it fit too well.

Tactical Response. Teaching Bruce Dern to handle rifles on roofs since 2014 or so...

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

North Carolina Sheriff auctions off a Thompson gun.

So nice. So rare. Going to be out of my price range without a doubt.

1928 Colt .45 Caliber Thompson Sub-Machine Gun

Actually issued to their SWAT guys in the 1980s because they didn't have enough M-16s. I gotta say that, shortcomings aside, that would be a pretty cool gun to have issued.

Get your bids in.

And on the Thompson front, mine has been shipped off again for repair, this time to John Andrewski, who, like his father, legendary machine gun expert Stan Andrewski, has likely forgotten more about these guns than most of us will ever learn. The first time I talked to him on the phone about mine, he described exactly what it was doing without me telling him, and then he explained why it did what did did...or in this case, didn't. So he got the gun and I'll be writing him a check while cursing the seller's (David Spiwak) "100% guarantee", which apparently meant "I'll take it back three or four times and have my guy do the bare minimum on it until it runs half-way decent and that's as good as these guns will ever work so stop sending it to me."

Can you guess that I'm not a fan of this guy any more? I don't want a gun that works 90% of the time, or 95%. I want one that goes "BANG!" every single time I pull the trigger...or in this case, I want one that goes "BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!..." And one that doesn't look like mis-matched shit would be nice too, but John's going to take care of that as well.

Anyway, great guns from the past, the Thompsons. Heavy and not the easiest gun to reload quickly in a fight, but .45ACP and too damned cool otherwise.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Hillary Health Humor.

Hillary Clinton had been having all sorts of health problems lately, so when she didn't show up at a big left-wing fund-raiser, her handlers got worries and went out looking for her. A few miles down the road, out in what Hillary always called "fly-over country", they found her car in a ditch but no sign of her. Looking around a bit farther, they came upon a farmer who was just smoothing the dirt out over a recently filled-in hole. They asked him if he'd seen Hillary Clinton.

"Yep," he replied, spitting a stream of tobacco on the ground. "She crashed her car back there a couple of hours or so ago"

They anxiously asked him if he knew where she's gone.

"Ain't gone nowhere," the farmer replied. "I just finished burying her right here. He patted the dirt where he'd been shoveling. "I wanted to get her in the ground before the smell got too bad."

Her handlers were shocked. "You mean she was dead?"

The farmer spit another stream of tobacco. "Well, she kept saying that she wasn't, but she's such a liar, who can believe her?"

Sunday, September 11, 2016

A Displaced Louisiana Day.

So today, the dogs and I had a visit from Baton Rouge in the form of Displaced Louisiana Guy, who came to hang out, eat food, drink beer and deliver a holster that he spent some time making.

Here's the finished product;

It's a beautifully stitched left'handed cross-draw holster for my Uberti Colt SAA clone which will enable me to wear it in the fashion of Western icon Lee VanCleef, who always wore his gun cross-draw beneath a bad-looking coat.
The pistol fits great, but I'm going to need a bit of new wardrobe to cover it properly so I didn't wear it when we went out.

After DPL petted Murphy and Belle for a while and validated their little egos, we went out to Chalmette Battlefield to see where the Brits under Packingham got totally shellacked by Andrew Jackson and his men, earning him a place on our money until Barack "I hate America's white heroes of the past" Obama unilaterally decided to replace him last year.

Then we went to Jackson Barracks, the Louisiana National Guard facility, to see and photograph all of the wonderful tanks and aircraft on display outside of their museum. which was regrettably closed on Sundays. And alas, as we drove onto post, the MP at the gate gave us two instructions:

1. You cannot take pictures here on the post.
2. If you do take pictures, they cannot show any of the buildings.

Well ok then...and damn. I interpreted that to mean "leave the nice camera in the car and sneak shots with the camera phone then crop the hell out of them".

So here's an F-15 on a stick for Juvat.

There was an F-4 Phantom in there too that I wanted, but I would have been seen trying for it, so I did not. I did get these great shots of their A-26 Invader, one of my favorite things with wings.
There was an F-86 with the radar nose and the belly-mounted rocket launcher, too.
And an F-102 Delta Dagger, partially hidden behind Displaced Louisiana Guy.

There were several tanks and armored vehicles there, but all were in direct line of sight of the MP who'd told us "no pictures" so there's none of those today. But rest assured, I'll go back soon and get the proper permission to get better ones.

We did find this groovy Dodge Command Car that really looked sharp.

I told DPL not to mess with it, but he did not listen.

Oh, wow. That engine has new wires and belts and obviously runs.
Now close that back up before you get us in trouble, DPL! Sheesh.

Then it started to rain on us so we drove back to the French Quarter where is was not raining and I took him to a bar that serves fantastic "Hangover Burgers" which are topped with, among other things, hash browns and a fried egg. Oh, heaven..especially when accompanied by a couple large Abita Amber drafts.

Then we wandered around the Quarter and got an after-dinner coffee.

Then we strolled some more and ogled the chicks enjoyed the street scenes for a bit before DPL realized what time it was and had to call the Missus and ask for permission to stay a bit longer.

Yeah, nice bag, right? Man walks down the street carrying that bag, people know he's not afraid of anything.

Then it was into Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop for one more beer.

It was a good day and hopefully he comes back again soon.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Doin' my part for foreign relations

So last night I was on the patio of one of my favorite bars--just minding my own business and not bothering anyone--when I overheard one of the waitresses griping about a group inside that was getting obnoxious. Apparently a party bus had dropped off a group of German tourists for a bit and they were getting loud and annoying, particularly by monopolizing the Karaoke machine and singing the songs in German, which was kind of irksome to a lot of the other patrons, especially when they kept doing it.

Well some of you know me well enough to know that I'm kind of like a ASJW--an Anti-Social Justice Warrior. And it didn't help that I'd had a few drinks and was surrounded by friends who'd had a few drinks. So finally, I walked into the main bar, went over to the Karaoke screen, and picked a song that I'd seen in there but never bothered trying to sing on the stage, Karaoke really not being my thing. But the song is on my running music track and I know it well enough that I figured I could give it a shot once I'd elicited a pledge from my friends to back me up if the Germans didn't have a sense of humor and this went sideways.

So I knocked back the rest of my drink, got the microphone, and stepped up on stage to give this number my best shot in a room full of drunken Germans.

The room got real quiet when I started and people realized what the song was, but then the applause started, first from the regulars and then even from the folks who are now known as my new German friends. And I didn't have to buy another drink until after the Germans left. Turns out they did have a sense of humor.

Pity I couldn't do Basil Fawlty's "Don't mention the war".

And this morning, when I went in for my Saturday morning coffee, the bar manager, who'd been there last night too, shook his head and asked me what I'd have done if they'd all gotten pissed and wanted to fight. I just shrugged and told him "hey, I just start shit. Once it breaks bad, it's your problem."

Sunday, September 04, 2016

Back...and with minions!

Sorry for the long absence again. Things have been bust on many levels here, including trips out to the flooded areas to assess damage.

But yesterday was my day off, and because I was tired after a long week, I went to bed early, only to be woken up by a phone call from some friends who were down in the French Quarter.
"Come down!" they said.
"No, I'm asleep." I replied.
"We're buying!" they said.
I was there in twenty minutes.

Stayed out way too late, but screw it--I had Saturday off. Got to bed about 0400.

At 0800, my phone rang again. This time it was a neighbor down the block. "Hey, you're still going to help us with Tulane's volunteer day, right?"

This was a program in which Tulane University makes it's young charges "give back" by sending them out into impoverished communities like my neighborhood to work for elderly and disabled poor folks (my neighbors).

"Yeah. I said I would. When is it, again?"

"This morning. They'll be here in about an hour."

Fuck. Me.

Not sure how I got up, got dressed and got down there, but I did. I didn't want to, but a promise is a promise and staying out too late isn't grounds for breaking one. You play, you pay.

I'd just gotten some donuts and three cups of coffee down my neck when the kids came, all bright-eyed and cheery. I hated them just for that.

Oh, and I was going to work them, too. "Why is your dirt in my hole?! Do you expect those storm drains to clean themselves out?! You've got five minutes to get that abandoned car off my street and out of my sight!! MOVE IT!!"

But alas, they were too damned nice and chipper. Now I know how Sergeant Carter felt when he had to deal with Private Pyle every damned day. (If you were born in the 80's or later, go ask your parents.)

So I took them down and set them up to mow lawns, pull weeds, clear out yards full of junk and take care of other business, all while staying hydrated, of course. Other kids got to paint houses, inside and out. In one morning, we dumped about 400 man hours of labor into the neighborhood. And to their credit, they worked their asses off. Even I was impressed.

And here are some of them. All told, there were 77 of them, plus their student chaperones.

Seventh Ward Rooster approves.

They finally went away, neighborhood temporarily improved. And I went inside and passed out on the couch. But only for a few hours, because Saturday night and a steak fry at one of the local bars.

I'm not young like I used to be. But I ain't dead yet, either.