As they point out...he couldn't even be bothered to devote one day--Memorial Day--to spending time with our troops instead of pleasuring himself (ironically on a military golf course).
Obama goes golfing on Memorial Day--70th game since taking office.
It would have been nice to see an American newspaper comment like this. And we all know that had it been George Bush or Sarah Palin golfing on Memorial Day, they would have.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
How Low Will Code PINK Go?
Remember Code PINK? The radical leftist group that supposedly assembled to protest the wars? They heckled and harassed President Bush for much of his term and disrupted meetings of Congress numerous times during the Bush Administration. They even snuck into--and got thrown out of--several elite political functions, all to protest our involvement in two wars and the continued operation of the military prison at Guantanamo Bay.
At least they pretended that's what they were protesting.
You see, as soon as Barack Obama took office, Code PINK rolled up their banners and took off their pink t-shirts and went into hibernation. Now here we are, three years later. Guantanamo is still open and now we're involved in three wars, not two, and Code Pink's little band of bitter women, effeminate males and a few transsexuals apparently doesn't care any more. This is more than a little bit telling about their actual motives and the desires of their big-money backers behind the scenes. They can't protest Obama, even though militarily, he's following the Bush plans to the letter. Obama, you see, is their guy. But don't you worry. As soon as 2013 rolls around and the new Republican president takes office, they'll be right out there in front of the White House demanding that he end "his" wars immediately. And by "his", I mean the wars that Obama oversaw without objection from the loons on the left.
So what are the pinkos doing these days just to stay active?
Well they've taken up the cause of Hamas in Gaza, gushed admiration for Hugo Chavez, and interrupted Prime Minister Netanyahu when he tried to speak to Congress. But apparently that didn't get them enough press, so now they're deliberately getting arrested at the Jefferson Memorial by deliberately dancing and causing a disruption inside the monument itself, one of the few small places in demonstration-friendly Washington, DC where demonstrations of any kind are not allowed.
This is the best that Code Pink can do now that Obama is in power and George Soros or the Democrats have ordered an end to their protesting the wars? Seriously?
At least they pretended that's what they were protesting.
You see, as soon as Barack Obama took office, Code PINK rolled up their banners and took off their pink t-shirts and went into hibernation. Now here we are, three years later. Guantanamo is still open and now we're involved in three wars, not two, and Code Pink's little band of bitter women, effeminate males and a few transsexuals apparently doesn't care any more. This is more than a little bit telling about their actual motives and the desires of their big-money backers behind the scenes. They can't protest Obama, even though militarily, he's following the Bush plans to the letter. Obama, you see, is their guy. But don't you worry. As soon as 2013 rolls around and the new Republican president takes office, they'll be right out there in front of the White House demanding that he end "his" wars immediately. And by "his", I mean the wars that Obama oversaw without objection from the loons on the left.
So what are the pinkos doing these days just to stay active?
Well they've taken up the cause of Hamas in Gaza, gushed admiration for Hugo Chavez, and interrupted Prime Minister Netanyahu when he tried to speak to Congress. But apparently that didn't get them enough press, so now they're deliberately getting arrested at the Jefferson Memorial by deliberately dancing and causing a disruption inside the monument itself, one of the few small places in demonstration-friendly Washington, DC where demonstrations of any kind are not allowed.
This is the best that Code Pink can do now that Obama is in power and George Soros or the Democrats have ordered an end to their protesting the wars? Seriously?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Memorial Day Bike Ride
I took the bike out today. First ride after it's annual tune-up. It now shifts so smooth that I can hardly feel it changing gears.
A ten mile ride down the C&O Canal towpath and back was a perfect way to spend an hour this morning.
Exercise. It really doesn't matter how you get it, so long as you get it.
A ten mile ride down the C&O Canal towpath and back was a perfect way to spend an hour this morning.Exercise. It really doesn't matter how you get it, so long as you get it.
To Any Readers/Shooters In The Carolinas
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Murphy's second swim
And this one was on purpose.
I took him down to the boat landing, both to try him out in the water proper and to test out my newly-redesigned swim leg. Murphy still has to stay on his leash but I put him on his 30-foot training lead and then I walked down the ramp into the water. Murphy followed me until it got to be about chest deep, and then he stopped. I kept going, and I called to him a few times, but he wasn't coming.
Funny thing about leashes...
And once I reeled him in a bit and forced him out into the water, he started swimming and came right to me. This is usually where it gets bad, because both of my last Shepherds tried to climb up on me, and those claws and bare skin aren't a good match. But Murphy just swam around me, not panicking or trying to get out...just paddling around. When I started swimming away from him, he followed, and when he caught up, he just went right on past me, having a good time in the water.
Of course it was at this time that a whole flotilla of canoes and inner tubes coming down the river all began to come into the boat landing, so for the next ten minutes or so, Murphy and I dodged canoes and tubes. But those didn't faze him, either. He just took it all in stride and paddled around, relaxed as a dog in the water could be.
We finally got out, and typical dog, Murphy had to walk right into the middle of a large group of boaters who were standing around and only then did he shake the water from his fur...all over them. What IS it with dogs that can't shake dry unless they're near someone?
But I think he had fun, and the new swim leg works fantastically. A little trimming and I think it'll do just fine on the next dive trip that Aaron and I take.
I took him down to the boat landing, both to try him out in the water proper and to test out my newly-redesigned swim leg. Murphy still has to stay on his leash but I put him on his 30-foot training lead and then I walked down the ramp into the water. Murphy followed me until it got to be about chest deep, and then he stopped. I kept going, and I called to him a few times, but he wasn't coming.
Funny thing about leashes...
And once I reeled him in a bit and forced him out into the water, he started swimming and came right to me. This is usually where it gets bad, because both of my last Shepherds tried to climb up on me, and those claws and bare skin aren't a good match. But Murphy just swam around me, not panicking or trying to get out...just paddling around. When I started swimming away from him, he followed, and when he caught up, he just went right on past me, having a good time in the water.
Of course it was at this time that a whole flotilla of canoes and inner tubes coming down the river all began to come into the boat landing, so for the next ten minutes or so, Murphy and I dodged canoes and tubes. But those didn't faze him, either. He just took it all in stride and paddled around, relaxed as a dog in the water could be.
We finally got out, and typical dog, Murphy had to walk right into the middle of a large group of boaters who were standing around and only then did he shake the water from his fur...all over them. What IS it with dogs that can't shake dry unless they're near someone?
But I think he had fun, and the new swim leg works fantastically. A little trimming and I think it'll do just fine on the next dive trip that Aaron and I take.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Murphy's first swim
This afternoon, I took Murphy down to Harpers Ferry. For the most part, he was very well-behaved despite the large crowds. I sat and read my book, and he lay next to me, undisturbed by everyone around us.
Good dog.
The only flaw was when I was looking at a Civil War display that the park service had set up, and a stranger started to pet and play with Murphy. Murphy was getting a bit rambunctious so I pulled him back, only to have him turn and leap up onto a large man standing next to the guy who'd wound him up. That man had a white polo shirt on and Murphy's paws were covered with mud. You can imagine how that went over. That man was not amused, nor was he much inclined to accept my apology.
Bad dog.
So I took Murphy for a walk down by the river, and there were a number of geese in the water. Murphy, predictably, wanted to go after the geese and he was getting excited again as I slowly walked him down to the shore. There was a small, shallow area right in front of us, and a little stone wall separated this from the rest of the river. The geese saw Murphy coming and prudently moved to the other side of the wall. I walked over to the wall and let Murphy run in the shallow water to the extent that his leash would allow. I just wanted to see how he'd do, because as far as I know, Murphy's never been in deep water before. I had planned on gradually working him into the deeper areas, but he saw the geese on the other side of the stone wall and leaped over the wall trying to close with them. Unfortunately for Murphy, the water on the other side was 3-4 feet deep, and when he jumped the wall, he hit the deep water and completely submerged.
Surfacing again, he turned around and dog-paddled back to the wall that I was standing on. He put his front paws up on the wall and just stood there, looking at me with his wet face, as if to say "What happened? Why did you let me do that?"
And the geese laughed.
Funny dog.
But at least now I know that he can swim. And Murphy learned--again--that an adventurous young dog's life is full of surprises.
At least Murphy got his ice cream cone from Sharon over at Swiss Miss.
Good dog.
The only flaw was when I was looking at a Civil War display that the park service had set up, and a stranger started to pet and play with Murphy. Murphy was getting a bit rambunctious so I pulled him back, only to have him turn and leap up onto a large man standing next to the guy who'd wound him up. That man had a white polo shirt on and Murphy's paws were covered with mud. You can imagine how that went over. That man was not amused, nor was he much inclined to accept my apology.
Bad dog.
So I took Murphy for a walk down by the river, and there were a number of geese in the water. Murphy, predictably, wanted to go after the geese and he was getting excited again as I slowly walked him down to the shore. There was a small, shallow area right in front of us, and a little stone wall separated this from the rest of the river. The geese saw Murphy coming and prudently moved to the other side of the wall. I walked over to the wall and let Murphy run in the shallow water to the extent that his leash would allow. I just wanted to see how he'd do, because as far as I know, Murphy's never been in deep water before. I had planned on gradually working him into the deeper areas, but he saw the geese on the other side of the stone wall and leaped over the wall trying to close with them. Unfortunately for Murphy, the water on the other side was 3-4 feet deep, and when he jumped the wall, he hit the deep water and completely submerged.
Surfacing again, he turned around and dog-paddled back to the wall that I was standing on. He put his front paws up on the wall and just stood there, looking at me with his wet face, as if to say "What happened? Why did you let me do that?"
And the geese laughed.
Funny dog.
But at least now I know that he can swim. And Murphy learned--again--that an adventurous young dog's life is full of surprises.
At least Murphy got his ice cream cone from Sharon over at Swiss Miss.
Saturday Man Movie
In honor of Memorial Day, we'll look at movie footage of a real man playing himself. To Hell and Back(1955), a movie about Audie Murphy, played here by Audie Murphy.
And there was a song, too.
And there was a song, too.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Slow posting. But still shooting
It's just been slow here.
Yesterday I took a neighbor shooting. She said that it was only her second time shooting a gun, but she was great. She understood that guns are dangerous to the user if not handled properly and her respect for the weapons was evident, however she wasn't scared of them and she followed my instructions and retained what I'd told her in my initial safety briefing. Being new, she had few bad habits to un-learn, and though she had trouble working a few slides and double-action triggers, she concentrated on what she was doing and almost every shot went right where it was supposed to. It was an excellent day out, both for her and for me watching.
Weapons used were as follows:
Walther PPK, caliber .380 ACP
Smith and Wesson Model 642, .38 Special 2"
Smith and Wesson Model 66, .357 magnum. 4" (she still shot light .38 loads)
Browning "Hi-Power", Model of 1935. 9mm
Smith and Wesson M&P 40, .40 S&W, borrowed from another shooter.
Marlin Model 1894 lever-action rifle, .357 magnum
She wants to buy a handgun, and eventually a long gun, both mainly for self-defense, so we tried a few representative samples that fit her rather small hands. I'm thinking that the Kahr 9mm would have been a good addition, but I don't have one. Anyone else have recommendations for a small-handed shooter? And for a long gun, next time out we'll try the M1 carbine as well. I'm thinking a 20ga. shotgun'd do her well, too.
She shot a lot, all close-in and with no time constraints, but the point this time was familiarization and technique, just working on being safe and smooth. If you're smooth, speed will come. But a good foundation with solid technique and safety has to come first. To her credit, she was there. In fact, she was there so much that when three yahoos showed up and started to shoot rather carelessly, she pointed it out to me. I was very proud. And she can shoot with me any time.
Yesterday I took a neighbor shooting. She said that it was only her second time shooting a gun, but she was great. She understood that guns are dangerous to the user if not handled properly and her respect for the weapons was evident, however she wasn't scared of them and she followed my instructions and retained what I'd told her in my initial safety briefing. Being new, she had few bad habits to un-learn, and though she had trouble working a few slides and double-action triggers, she concentrated on what she was doing and almost every shot went right where it was supposed to. It was an excellent day out, both for her and for me watching.
Weapons used were as follows:
Walther PPK, caliber .380 ACP
Smith and Wesson Model 642, .38 Special 2"
Smith and Wesson Model 66, .357 magnum. 4" (she still shot light .38 loads)
Browning "Hi-Power", Model of 1935. 9mm
Smith and Wesson M&P 40, .40 S&W, borrowed from another shooter.
Marlin Model 1894 lever-action rifle, .357 magnum
She wants to buy a handgun, and eventually a long gun, both mainly for self-defense, so we tried a few representative samples that fit her rather small hands. I'm thinking that the Kahr 9mm would have been a good addition, but I don't have one. Anyone else have recommendations for a small-handed shooter? And for a long gun, next time out we'll try the M1 carbine as well. I'm thinking a 20ga. shotgun'd do her well, too.
She shot a lot, all close-in and with no time constraints, but the point this time was familiarization and technique, just working on being safe and smooth. If you're smooth, speed will come. But a good foundation with solid technique and safety has to come first. To her credit, she was there. In fact, she was there so much that when three yahoos showed up and started to shoot rather carelessly, she pointed it out to me. I was very proud. And she can shoot with me any time.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Murphy the Mighty Hunter
For the past twenty minutes, there has been a huge fly buzzing around inside the Lair. It's one of those big ones, about the size of a dime. You can hear it buzzing two rooms away.
I have not moved to kill it yet though, because Mighty Hunter Murphy has been relentlessly chasing it around the house like Javert the policeman pursuing Jean Valjean. He chases it, he leaps at it, jaws snapping. If it lights on a window, Murphy bashes into the window trying to get it. When it flies above him, Murphy springs up onto his back legs--or off the ground completely--trying to snap it out of the air. As it goes from room to room, so does the Attack Shepherd. He's knocked several things off tables in his pursuit, and he just toppled a chair over, but still the deadly game continues.
Frankly the only things keeping this fly alive right now are Murphy's lack of finesse and the fact that Murphy's trying so hard that it seems a shame to just step in and end the contest with a slap of the flyswatter.
Yep. He's back to "normal".
I have not moved to kill it yet though, because Mighty Hunter Murphy has been relentlessly chasing it around the house like Javert the policeman pursuing Jean Valjean. He chases it, he leaps at it, jaws snapping. If it lights on a window, Murphy bashes into the window trying to get it. When it flies above him, Murphy springs up onto his back legs--or off the ground completely--trying to snap it out of the air. As it goes from room to room, so does the Attack Shepherd. He's knocked several things off tables in his pursuit, and he just toppled a chair over, but still the deadly game continues.
Frankly the only things keeping this fly alive right now are Murphy's lack of finesse and the fact that Murphy's trying so hard that it seems a shame to just step in and end the contest with a slap of the flyswatter.
Yep. He's back to "normal".
More Liberal Civility on Display.
MSNBC's Ed Schultz on Tuesday called Laura Ingraham a "right-wing slut" for daring to criticize Barack Obama's decision to go party in Ireland as hundreds of Americans lay dead, injured or missing following the devastating tornado that struck Joplin, Missouri on Sunday.
This must be what the Dems mean by "a new kind of civility"
Personally, I was surprised to hear that "Special Ed" still even has a show. My guess is that he's just jealous because Laura Ingraham has millions of listeners and he has...I'm guessing about a dozen. I suspect that the only reason that he's still even on the air is because he still has pictures of someone high up at MSNBC naked with a goat or something.
This must be what the Dems mean by "a new kind of civility"
Personally, I was surprised to hear that "Special Ed" still even has a show. My guess is that he's just jealous because Laura Ingraham has millions of listeners and he has...I'm guessing about a dozen. I suspect that the only reason that he's still even on the air is because he still has pictures of someone high up at MSNBC naked with a goat or something.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Obama puts full-time propagandist on government payroll
Obama is has just created a new staff position expressly for the purpose of making him look good on-line and retaliating against anyone who dares criticize him.
Hardly new, this sort of thing has up until now been handled by political committees or supportive groups. But apparently that wasn't good enough. Now Obama wants one on the taxpayer payroll, in the White House, answerable to him and him alone.
From now on, we can expect the blogosphere to circulate pro-Obama puff pieces designed to make him look good, and scurrilous attack pieces on anyone that Obama deems a political threat. And it'll all be coordinated by Jesse Lee, Obama's personal minion and hench-boy.
When's the last time we've seen something like this? Wasn't it that Goebbels fellow?
Come to think of it, his boss tried to wipe out the Jews, too.
Hopefully conservative lawyers will look into this. This just has to be a violation of any number of campaign finance laws or laws restricting the partisan political activity of government workers. We all know that if the Bush Administration had ever done something so bold, the liberal establishment would be screaming right now. But since it's their guy doing it...
Hardly new, this sort of thing has up until now been handled by political committees or supportive groups. But apparently that wasn't good enough. Now Obama wants one on the taxpayer payroll, in the White House, answerable to him and him alone.
From now on, we can expect the blogosphere to circulate pro-Obama puff pieces designed to make him look good, and scurrilous attack pieces on anyone that Obama deems a political threat. And it'll all be coordinated by Jesse Lee, Obama's personal minion and hench-boy.
When's the last time we've seen something like this? Wasn't it that Goebbels fellow?
Come to think of it, his boss tried to wipe out the Jews, too.
Hopefully conservative lawyers will look into this. This just has to be a violation of any number of campaign finance laws or laws restricting the partisan political activity of government workers. We all know that if the Bush Administration had ever done something so bold, the liberal establishment would be screaming right now. But since it's their guy doing it...
California Learns That Elections Have Consequences.
Hey--all you Californians who proudly voted for Obama, are you happy now?
After you gave him millions of campaign dollars, countless celebrity endorsements, and 55 electoral votes, he won. And then he put two leftists on the US Supreme Court, did that make you happy?
I hope so. Because those two leftist Justices, Kagan and Sotomayor, just swung the vote in favor of releasing up to 46,000 convicted felons from California's prisons.
Yeah, suck on that one, California. And next time you rush to the polls, remember that the guy that you're voting for gets to appoint people who might get to weigh your safety against the comfort of the worst sort of scumbags. Two more conservatives on the Court--or even two moderates--and you guys might not all have to start looking over your shoulder for all of those felons who will be coming out of prison, all short on cash.
Now a smart state government would at least try to mitigate the harm by culling out all of the illegal aliens in the prison system--and they make up a fair chunk of California's prisoners--and releasing them all straight to ICE for deportation. But California has not had a smart government since Ronald Reagan was governor, and the current bunch of looters are way too deeply indebted to the illegal alien lobbies to ever consider such a thing. I mean, that would be (all together now) RACIST!
So buy alarms, buy dogs and buy guns, Californians...Oops! Your government pretty much restricts your right to own guns too, doesn't it? And you voted for these people too!
Screw it. let all the felons out. Just make sure that there's a big border fence preventing any of them from getting out of the state, both felons and idiotic voters alike. I can accept losing that state, but I'm not willing to let it contaminate the rest of America with it's collective bad judgement and disregard for consequences.
After you gave him millions of campaign dollars, countless celebrity endorsements, and 55 electoral votes, he won. And then he put two leftists on the US Supreme Court, did that make you happy?
I hope so. Because those two leftist Justices, Kagan and Sotomayor, just swung the vote in favor of releasing up to 46,000 convicted felons from California's prisons.
Yeah, suck on that one, California. And next time you rush to the polls, remember that the guy that you're voting for gets to appoint people who might get to weigh your safety against the comfort of the worst sort of scumbags. Two more conservatives on the Court--or even two moderates--and you guys might not all have to start looking over your shoulder for all of those felons who will be coming out of prison, all short on cash.
Now a smart state government would at least try to mitigate the harm by culling out all of the illegal aliens in the prison system--and they make up a fair chunk of California's prisoners--and releasing them all straight to ICE for deportation. But California has not had a smart government since Ronald Reagan was governor, and the current bunch of looters are way too deeply indebted to the illegal alien lobbies to ever consider such a thing. I mean, that would be (all together now) RACIST!
So buy alarms, buy dogs and buy guns, Californians...Oops! Your government pretty much restricts your right to own guns too, doesn't it? And you voted for these people too!
Screw it. let all the felons out. Just make sure that there's a big border fence preventing any of them from getting out of the state, both felons and idiotic voters alike. I can accept losing that state, but I'm not willing to let it contaminate the rest of America with it's collective bad judgement and disregard for consequences.
Free at last!
The stitches came out today, and the comedy cone is gone...what's left of it, anyway. Note all of the wrinkles and dents and the duct tape used to fix it where Murphy cracked it by running into stuff at top speed.
And he never ceased to hit things with it, or run into the back of my legs every time I stopped walking because he follows too closely. On the plus side, my basketball skills have gotten much better over the past two weeks as I've seldom missed an opportunity to lob dog snacks, crumpled-up paper or dirty t-shirts into the "hoop".
Well ok, I had to stop with the t-shirts after he decided to start tearing them up. But otherwise it's been fun.
Now it's over though, and he's back to being "normal".
Free at last, Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!
And he never ceased to hit things with it, or run into the back of my legs every time I stopped walking because he follows too closely. On the plus side, my basketball skills have gotten much better over the past two weeks as I've seldom missed an opportunity to lob dog snacks, crumpled-up paper or dirty t-shirts into the "hoop". Well ok, I had to stop with the t-shirts after he decided to start tearing them up. But otherwise it's been fun.
Now it's over though, and he's back to being "normal".
Free at last, Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!
Monday, May 23, 2011
It looks like it wasn't my fault after all
I'm almost totally back among the living, and I've come to find out that numerous other people who were at this same event I was at on Thursday were also hit hard by a stomach virus over the week-end. Some of them actually wound up going to the hospital Saturday night.
I know a lot of the other people that were there, and they seem to have all got hit, too. So it probably wasn't my spaghetti sauce after all. That room was jam-packed, standing-room-only, and we were all right up against one another. Apparently it swept through the room.
However Murphy wasn't at that meeting, so why'd he get sick? Can dogs catch viruses from us?
Anyway, I'm thinking that I should call up that married gal and she if she got it...you never know, but she might have given it to her husband and if he got sick enough, the new widow might need some consoling right about now.
Never let it be said that I'm not a thoughtful and caring guy.
I'm still pretty much swearing off spaghetti sauce from a jar, though. Just in case.
I know a lot of the other people that were there, and they seem to have all got hit, too. So it probably wasn't my spaghetti sauce after all. That room was jam-packed, standing-room-only, and we were all right up against one another. Apparently it swept through the room.
However Murphy wasn't at that meeting, so why'd he get sick? Can dogs catch viruses from us?
Anyway, I'm thinking that I should call up that married gal and she if she got it...you never know, but she might have given it to her husband and if he got sick enough, the new widow might need some consoling right about now.
Never let it be said that I'm not a thoughtful and caring guy.
I'm still pretty much swearing off spaghetti sauce from a jar, though. Just in case.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
And now for something totally different...
Hey, I'm feeling a little bit better. Murphy is back to his old self (and I hate him for it) so maybe I'll recover, too.
I'm still wide awake at 3:30 AM though, randomly cruising the interweb. So here, watch Fred Grandy with me. Before he was a conservative radio icon in Washington, DC, before he was a Republican member of Congress from Iowa, before he was Gopher on The Love Boat...he used to bomb around in an old van with three monsters, fighting crime in a ridiculous yellow sweater.
Monster Squad.
Yes, it was a real show. And no, it had nothing to do with anything, other than it's just what's out there on the outer edges of the interverse.
Far out, man.
I'm still wide awake at 3:30 AM though, randomly cruising the interweb. So here, watch Fred Grandy with me. Before he was a conservative radio icon in Washington, DC, before he was a Republican member of Congress from Iowa, before he was Gopher on The Love Boat...he used to bomb around in an old van with three monsters, fighting crime in a ridiculous yellow sweater.
Monster Squad.
Yes, it was a real show. And no, it had nothing to do with anything, other than it's just what's out there on the outer edges of the interverse.
Far out, man.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Food poisoning, Or: "When am I going to find a chick who cooks?"
Anyone know how long an opened jar of spaghetti sauce will keep in the refrigerator before you should not use it? I think I found out what's too long.
And it had to be the spaghetti, because Murphy's sick, too.
Ugh!
EDITED AT 10:34PM TO ADD:
Ooooohhhh.
Fever. Sweats. Vomiting. Body temperature up to like a hundred thirty degrees. Every burp tastes like spaghetti sauce.
Nausea. Chills. Not enough blankets in the whole house now. More vomiting. There is NO WAY I ate as much as I've been heaving up. No way.
Aw, Hell--I recognize that. I had that breakfast. Last Wednesday.
Back to bed. Buried under 60lbs of quilts, a wool cap, and a mildewed raincoat I found in the basement. I swear that I will not get out of this bed again. The world did really end on May 21st, at least for me.
Cue sound of dog running into other room and vomiting on the floor. Aw, come ON now!
Just shoot me, someone.
And dog vomit smells like...spaghetti. Ulp!
Calm down....slow, deep breaths. Think Brigid cookies.
And Murphy, if you try to scratch your ear through that cone one more time, you're sleeping out in the car.
If I die tonight, bury me with my M60 and a couple of cans of ammo, just in case the crossing of the River Styx is contested. And my 1911A1, because that M60 will never keep running for all eternity.
EDITED AT 1:13AM TO ADD:
Why is it when you wake up and feel like it should be dawn, you look at the clock and see that it's only been about an hour and a half or so? That's just not right.
If I die tonight, everything I own absent the guns mentioned above goes first to Audie Murphy and then to whoever blows up the Food Lion Generic Spaghetti Sauce Factory.
On the plus side, I'm not dead yet.
That's a good thing, isn't it?
Isn't it?
I was supposed to fly in the morning. Photo flight. That's not gonna happen.
EDITED AT 4:48AM TO ADD:
Emergency Action Drill: Wake from semi-death and determine the need to be somewhere else immediately. Find prosthetic leg in dark and attach by feel as quickly as possible. Run through dark room, regardless of obstacles--or dogs--in the way.
I initially set up a routine and practiced this to repel bad guys who might decide to drop in suddenly after hours. It also works when suddenly sick, I've learned. Instead of grabbing ballistic vest and weapon, run to bathroom--for me--or patio door--for dog--before bad things happen (because if you vomit on the floor, then the terrorists have won). Success rate thus far: two out of three, or 66%. Murphy needs to be trained to give me a bit more warning before he barfs.
Old NFO, why are you up at 3:16 AM?
Will this night ever end? I hear birds outside. I think they're vultures.
EDITED TO ADD AT 10:34AM:
Well it's morning. I woke up to one of my neighbors sitting on his patio a couple of hundred yards away talking loudly on his cell phone. Seriously? So I came in here, found this video, and played it as loud as I could out the window a couple of times.
He seems to have gotten the hint.
Breakfast attempt of dry toast and water didn't work so well. I think I'm going to be on the Karen Carpenter Diet Plan for a while.
Cookies might save me, Brigid...specifically those big flat ones with just a touch of coconut.
And it had to be the spaghetti, because Murphy's sick, too.
Ugh!
EDITED AT 10:34PM TO ADD:
Ooooohhhh.
Fever. Sweats. Vomiting. Body temperature up to like a hundred thirty degrees. Every burp tastes like spaghetti sauce.
Nausea. Chills. Not enough blankets in the whole house now. More vomiting. There is NO WAY I ate as much as I've been heaving up. No way.
Aw, Hell--I recognize that. I had that breakfast. Last Wednesday.
Back to bed. Buried under 60lbs of quilts, a wool cap, and a mildewed raincoat I found in the basement. I swear that I will not get out of this bed again. The world did really end on May 21st, at least for me.
Cue sound of dog running into other room and vomiting on the floor. Aw, come ON now!
Just shoot me, someone.
And dog vomit smells like...spaghetti. Ulp!
Calm down....slow, deep breaths. Think Brigid cookies.
And Murphy, if you try to scratch your ear through that cone one more time, you're sleeping out in the car.
If I die tonight, bury me with my M60 and a couple of cans of ammo, just in case the crossing of the River Styx is contested. And my 1911A1, because that M60 will never keep running for all eternity.
EDITED AT 1:13AM TO ADD:
Why is it when you wake up and feel like it should be dawn, you look at the clock and see that it's only been about an hour and a half or so? That's just not right.
If I die tonight, everything I own absent the guns mentioned above goes first to Audie Murphy and then to whoever blows up the Food Lion Generic Spaghetti Sauce Factory.
On the plus side, I'm not dead yet.
That's a good thing, isn't it?
Isn't it?
I was supposed to fly in the morning. Photo flight. That's not gonna happen.
EDITED AT 4:48AM TO ADD:
Emergency Action Drill: Wake from semi-death and determine the need to be somewhere else immediately. Find prosthetic leg in dark and attach by feel as quickly as possible. Run through dark room, regardless of obstacles--or dogs--in the way.
I initially set up a routine and practiced this to repel bad guys who might decide to drop in suddenly after hours. It also works when suddenly sick, I've learned. Instead of grabbing ballistic vest and weapon, run to bathroom--for me--or patio door--for dog--before bad things happen (because if you vomit on the floor, then the terrorists have won). Success rate thus far: two out of three, or 66%. Murphy needs to be trained to give me a bit more warning before he barfs.
Old NFO, why are you up at 3:16 AM?
Will this night ever end? I hear birds outside. I think they're vultures.
EDITED TO ADD AT 10:34AM:
Well it's morning. I woke up to one of my neighbors sitting on his patio a couple of hundred yards away talking loudly on his cell phone. Seriously? So I came in here, found this video, and played it as loud as I could out the window a couple of times.
He seems to have gotten the hint.
Breakfast attempt of dry toast and water didn't work so well. I think I'm going to be on the Karen Carpenter Diet Plan for a while.
Cookies might save me, Brigid...specifically those big flat ones with just a touch of coconut.
Saturday Western (man movie)
Today we revisit James Stewart, as legendary (and unusual) lawman, Thomas Destry jr.
And that blonde firecracker...Marlene Dietrich. Rawr!
And that blonde firecracker...Marlene Dietrich. Rawr!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
There ought to be a law...
So this afternoon, while waiting to take care of some business in a government office, I happen to strike up a conversation with a pretty woman who is also waiting.
We chat. We laugh. She's witty, personable, a bit flirty...and did I mention pretty?
I got her name.
We talked a bit more, I found out that we've both spent some time in the same cities over the years and that she's a local business professional who loves German Shepherds. So then I asked her out tonight.
THAT is when I found out that she's married.
Granted, she had a ring on, but it was under the jacket she was holding and I couldn't see it.
Much as I enjoyed that half an hour, I'm thinking that there needs to be a law where a gal has to let a guy know within a minute or two if she's married or otherwise seeing someone, or maybe there needs to be some sort of unmistakable visible marker...like an "x" on the forehead if they're off the market.
What do you think, guys?
We chat. We laugh. She's witty, personable, a bit flirty...and did I mention pretty?
I got her name.
We talked a bit more, I found out that we've both spent some time in the same cities over the years and that she's a local business professional who loves German Shepherds. So then I asked her out tonight.
THAT is when I found out that she's married.
Granted, she had a ring on, but it was under the jacket she was holding and I couldn't see it.
Much as I enjoyed that half an hour, I'm thinking that there needs to be a law where a gal has to let a guy know within a minute or two if she's married or otherwise seeing someone, or maybe there needs to be some sort of unmistakable visible marker...like an "x" on the forehead if they're off the market.
What do you think, guys?
What a nice neighbor
So I come home today and find a 5 gallon pail with a lid on it on my driveway. The lid was held down with a chunk of firewood, and a note from my neighhbor which read: "Caution! Big snake inside! 10 foot!"
That's odd, I think.
I nudge it, and something inside it moves.
Yep. Definitely odd.
So I cautiously pop the lid and I look inside.
Yep...it's a snake. It's black, so I'm guessing that it's a black snake. Because it's black. It's only about 6 feet long though. It doesn't look happy.
I let Murphy check it out. He cautiously peered into the pail and jumped back as if to say: "Oh, HELL no!"
So I took it out and turned it loose by some big rocks on my land.
Now it's presumably happy. The blue jays, however, have yet to stop screaming.
Now I have to figure out what to get my nice neighbor in return. Anyone got a spare skunk they're not using?
That's odd, I think.
I nudge it, and something inside it moves.
Yep. Definitely odd.
So I cautiously pop the lid and I look inside.
Yep...it's a snake. It's black, so I'm guessing that it's a black snake. Because it's black. It's only about 6 feet long though. It doesn't look happy.
I let Murphy check it out. He cautiously peered into the pail and jumped back as if to say: "Oh, HELL no!"
So I took it out and turned it loose by some big rocks on my land.
Now it's presumably happy. The blue jays, however, have yet to stop screaming.Now I have to figure out what to get my nice neighbor in return. Anyone got a spare skunk they're not using?
Almost back to square one again.
So I've been letting Murphy have his cone off when he's with me or where I can watch him. He's only got a week to go and he's been doing well.
But this morning, I left him out on the deck with a new bone and no cone, only to check on him a few minutes later and catch him red-handed (red-pawed?) going at his stitches with his teeth.
Now he's enconed again, and he's sad. If the picture had audio, you'd hear him whining.
Murphy, I like you a lot, but if you rip those stitches out again, I will shoot you. Just FYI.
But this morning, I left him out on the deck with a new bone and no cone, only to check on him a few minutes later and catch him red-handed (red-pawed?) going at his stitches with his teeth.
Now he's enconed again, and he's sad. If the picture had audio, you'd hear him whining.
Murphy, I like you a lot, but if you rip those stitches out again, I will shoot you. Just FYI.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Memories of Colorado
Some of my favorite memories of my time attending an ultra-liberal Graduate program in Boulder, Colorado for a summer many years back involve my interactions with the faculty there.
From the professor who swore that she'd call the police the first time that I failed to show up for class on Monday because she knew that I was spending my week-ends exploring old mines by myself, to the dean who got me hooked on Steinbeck, I sometimes think that I gained more from personal interaction with these folks than I did from the actual subject matter, most all of which I've forgotten by now.
A professor whom I had first thing in the morning will always be remembered fondly, not so much from what he taught me about the subject, but what he taught me about punctuality.
My daily routine during those days went something like this:
--Wake up in the morning. (Remember--I'm sleeping in a camper somewhere up around Nederland.)
--Police campsite and clean out camper. Any trash was used for target practice, then bagged and hauled to the trash or recycling bins at school.
--Get breakfast at a little Mexican diner. Flirt with waitresses without success.
--Go to school gym. Work out, then shower and shave.
--Go to class building. Hit computer center in basement first to check e-mail. Stay too long.
--Walk into class just about five minutes late and take seat.
Well one day, my professor had had enough. As I breezed in late again, he stopped his lecture, sighed loudly, and exclaimed: "Late again, Mr. Murphy's Law? How hard could it be for you to get to class on time just once? My God, man, you live in the parking lot!"
Well I was on time from that day forward. And I can still hear the roar of laughter from the rest of the students in that very full lecture hall. Point taken, lesson learned.
And then there was that dean again, who showed me that sometimes those around us see far more than we give them credit for. After my last final exam, I was walking back out to my camper and getting ready to roll on out of Boulder for the last time when I encountered him as he was walking in. He stopped, shook my hand, and said: Well Mr. Murphy's Law, it's been interesting having you here and I can say that things will be a bit different now that you're leaving."
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, you know. I've enjoyed our discussions of Steinbeck and your travels, and I'll miss those. Your dog's been kind of a fixture around here, too. And speaking for the school, we'll miss all of the shot-up dog food cans in the recycling bins every morning."
This school had a strict policy barring guns from campus. Possessing one gun was grounds for expulsion; I'd had three of them locked up in my camper all summer.
"Whoa! Why would you think that I had anything to do with that?"
The dean just smiled. "Mr. Murphy's Law, I didn't get to be the dean of this school by being stupid. Have a safe trip." Then he shook my hand again and walked away. I just stood there for a moment pondering that. And then I burst out laughing. It had been one hell of a summer.
From the professor who swore that she'd call the police the first time that I failed to show up for class on Monday because she knew that I was spending my week-ends exploring old mines by myself, to the dean who got me hooked on Steinbeck, I sometimes think that I gained more from personal interaction with these folks than I did from the actual subject matter, most all of which I've forgotten by now.
A professor whom I had first thing in the morning will always be remembered fondly, not so much from what he taught me about the subject, but what he taught me about punctuality.
My daily routine during those days went something like this:
--Wake up in the morning. (Remember--I'm sleeping in a camper somewhere up around Nederland.)
--Police campsite and clean out camper. Any trash was used for target practice, then bagged and hauled to the trash or recycling bins at school.
--Get breakfast at a little Mexican diner. Flirt with waitresses without success.
--Go to school gym. Work out, then shower and shave.
--Go to class building. Hit computer center in basement first to check e-mail. Stay too long.
--Walk into class just about five minutes late and take seat.
Well one day, my professor had had enough. As I breezed in late again, he stopped his lecture, sighed loudly, and exclaimed: "Late again, Mr. Murphy's Law? How hard could it be for you to get to class on time just once? My God, man, you live in the parking lot!"
Well I was on time from that day forward. And I can still hear the roar of laughter from the rest of the students in that very full lecture hall. Point taken, lesson learned.
And then there was that dean again, who showed me that sometimes those around us see far more than we give them credit for. After my last final exam, I was walking back out to my camper and getting ready to roll on out of Boulder for the last time when I encountered him as he was walking in. He stopped, shook my hand, and said: Well Mr. Murphy's Law, it's been interesting having you here and I can say that things will be a bit different now that you're leaving."
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, you know. I've enjoyed our discussions of Steinbeck and your travels, and I'll miss those. Your dog's been kind of a fixture around here, too. And speaking for the school, we'll miss all of the shot-up dog food cans in the recycling bins every morning."
This school had a strict policy barring guns from campus. Possessing one gun was grounds for expulsion; I'd had three of them locked up in my camper all summer.
"Whoa! Why would you think that I had anything to do with that?"
The dean just smiled. "Mr. Murphy's Law, I didn't get to be the dean of this school by being stupid. Have a safe trip." Then he shook my hand again and walked away. I just stood there for a moment pondering that. And then I burst out laughing. It had been one hell of a summer.
A little legal levity
So Starbucks just fired a dwarf, allegedly for being "too short", and now the federal government is suing the chain on her behalf.
I have to ask: Will this be a small-claims case?
I mean, geez. It's not like they asked her to sing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" all day, or anything.
I have to ask: Will this be a small-claims case?
I mean, geez. It's not like they asked her to sing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" all day, or anything.
Blah day
Murphy and I are both a bit under the weather this morning, so in lieu of any gun pics, dog pics or miscellaneous commentary, I give you this cartoon clip to watch.
Pity today's kids. They miss out on all this good stuff.
Pity today's kids. They miss out on all this good stuff.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Obama shows his disrespect for police officers again
Sunday, May 15th, saw the surviving family members of 165 police officers who were killed in the line of duty honored at the US Capitol building as part of the 30th annual Peace Officers Memorial Service, one of the highlights of Police Week.
Notably absent--again--was Barack Obama. He skipped this event, and turned his back on our fallen law enforcement heroes and their families, to play yet another round of golf at Andrews AFB.
This marks the second time that he ditched this event. He couldn't be bothered to attend in 2009, and while he did show up in 2010, many people suspect that it was only damage control as it took place right after he called Cambrige, MA police "stupid" for arresting his pal, black activist and professor, Henry Gates.
By way of contrast, President Bush attended and spoke seven times out of eight, only missing it one time, when he was in Jerusalem.
Barack Obama has never shown our nation's police officers the respect that they deserve. We saw this last week when he and Michelle hosted rapper Common at the White House despite his songs containing lyrics threatening police and praising cop-killers like Mumia abu Jamal, among others. New Jersey's State Troopers protested, as Common wrote a song idolizing Assata Shakur, a fugitive currently hiding in Cuba who killed one of their own, but Obama blew them off, calling Common, a fellow attendee of Reverend Wright's racist America-hating "church", a "socially conscious artist."
Bringing a thug like Common into The People's White House was bad enough, but doing it during Police Week, and blowing off the families of those officers who gave their lives for their communities across this country, is reprehensible, even for the Obamas.
Notably absent--again--was Barack Obama. He skipped this event, and turned his back on our fallen law enforcement heroes and their families, to play yet another round of golf at Andrews AFB.
This marks the second time that he ditched this event. He couldn't be bothered to attend in 2009, and while he did show up in 2010, many people suspect that it was only damage control as it took place right after he called Cambrige, MA police "stupid" for arresting his pal, black activist and professor, Henry Gates.
By way of contrast, President Bush attended and spoke seven times out of eight, only missing it one time, when he was in Jerusalem.
Barack Obama has never shown our nation's police officers the respect that they deserve. We saw this last week when he and Michelle hosted rapper Common at the White House despite his songs containing lyrics threatening police and praising cop-killers like Mumia abu Jamal, among others. New Jersey's State Troopers protested, as Common wrote a song idolizing Assata Shakur, a fugitive currently hiding in Cuba who killed one of their own, but Obama blew them off, calling Common, a fellow attendee of Reverend Wright's racist America-hating "church", a "socially conscious artist."
Bringing a thug like Common into The People's White House was bad enough, but doing it during Police Week, and blowing off the families of those officers who gave their lives for their communities across this country, is reprehensible, even for the Obamas.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
USS Requin.
As promised, here's a photo tour of USS Requin, (SS-481), which is on display behind the Carnegie Science Museum in Pittsbugh, Pennsylvania.
I've tried to describe everything as best I could, but if any old submariners want to correct me or add things I've missed (Keads?), I'll welcome the comments and add material where appropriate.
This is the way that the crew used to enter the hull and the way that I'd like to do so--via the crew hatch into the forward torpedo room.
Sadly, this is the way we enter nowadays: down a stairway through the old torpedo loading hatch.
View of four of the the six bow torpedo tubes that gave the submarine it's bite. The other two are below these. It's all bronze, to resist the corrosive effects of seawater.
One of the bunks in the forward torpedo room. Less than two feet of space above the rack and a nice explosive torpedo directly below it.
The hatch separating the forward torpedo room from the rest of the boat. Immediately through this hatch, going aft, lies officer country, the section of the boat where the officers live.
The smaller kitchen for the officers wardroom. Most of the food was prepared in the galley (aft) and served to the officers from here.
The wardroom, where the boat's officers dined. Quite a bit nicer then the enlisted mess farther aft.
One of the rooms that three officers shared. Barely room for the three bunks, fold-down sink, and small desk with typewriter.
The next five shots were taken in the control room, the large compartment below the conning tower. (The conning tower was off-limits, as it is on most of these boats today, just due to liability reasons owing to the ladder required for access. Here we see the helm (steering wheel), and the gray barrel beside it is a compass.
The "Christmas tree" which contained both a red and green light bulb for every hatch and vent on the boat, telling the status of each of them. Below are some of the controls that open and close the vents needed to dive the boat.
The controls for the stern and bow diving planes. Each of these wheels controlled one set of horizontal planes when the Requin was submerged, directing the sub up or down or just helping maintain an even keel.
These valves control the distribution of high-pressure air through the boat.
So close, yet inaccessible. These switches control the alarms on the boat. At sea, they were used to warn sailors of emergencies. Now, they exist for my amusement and I love to activate them on the boats I tour, just because. Alas, there was a volunteer in the control room who was parked next to these switches, so I had no chance....this time, anyway.
Requin's prized possession. An autographed picture of Betty Grable. This hangs in the radio compartment, port side just forward of the galley. Owing to the tight quarters and a plexiglass shield, I couldn't get any pictures of that space.
Galley, where all the food for 85 men was prepared. Seriously.
Crews's Mess. This is where all of the enlisted personnel ate. Just four tables.
George, one of the volunteers aboard. Retired Navy, he has fifteen years worth of sub service stories and listening to him alone was worth the time spent visiting Requin.
Crew quarters. Not exactly a lot of personal space or privacy.
Even underwater, when you gotta go... Requin had four of these for a crew of approximately 85. And one was officers only. Note all the neat valves required to flush with high-pressure air underwater. Get the sequence wrong and you might end up wearing what you just got rid of.
Forward engine room, looking aft towards the hatch to the after engine room, a mirror of this one. Engines to each side are Fairbanks-Morse diesels, originally designed for railway locomotives. Shiny thing to the right of the hatch is a centrifuge that spins the oil free of sea water and other contaminants before feeding it to the engine. Each engine has one. And yes, that's laundry handing above the engine to dry. (Hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right?)
Control panel, No. 1 Engine. ( I tried, but I could not get it to start.)
Engine with top cover removed, exposing crankshaft. (Aft Engine room)
Centrifuge to get sea water out of the boat's lubricating oil.
Maneuvering room, port side view. Here's were all of the electrical energy from the motors is transferred, either to propulsion and ship's use, or into the storage batteries.
Maneuvering room, starboard side, looking forward.
After torpedo room. The tubes and racks were removed in 1946 to put a radar unit back here. That was subsequently removed but the tubes were never put back. It's now a small display room for the Requin.
After torpedo room, looking back forward.
Port side rudder machinery.
Exit, stage up.
Murphy gave Requin two paws up.
For more sub tours, please visit my other articles on the USS Cod and the USS Torsk. Most of the pictures are still visible, but Blogger is apparently slowly eating them and other old post pics one by one.
I've tried to describe everything as best I could, but if any old submariners want to correct me or add things I've missed (Keads?), I'll welcome the comments and add material where appropriate.This is the way that the crew used to enter the hull and the way that I'd like to do so--via the crew hatch into the forward torpedo room.
Sadly, this is the way we enter nowadays: down a stairway through the old torpedo loading hatch.
View of four of the the six bow torpedo tubes that gave the submarine it's bite. The other two are below these. It's all bronze, to resist the corrosive effects of seawater.
One of the bunks in the forward torpedo room. Less than two feet of space above the rack and a nice explosive torpedo directly below it.
The hatch separating the forward torpedo room from the rest of the boat. Immediately through this hatch, going aft, lies officer country, the section of the boat where the officers live.
The smaller kitchen for the officers wardroom. Most of the food was prepared in the galley (aft) and served to the officers from here.
The wardroom, where the boat's officers dined. Quite a bit nicer then the enlisted mess farther aft.
One of the rooms that three officers shared. Barely room for the three bunks, fold-down sink, and small desk with typewriter.
The next five shots were taken in the control room, the large compartment below the conning tower. (The conning tower was off-limits, as it is on most of these boats today, just due to liability reasons owing to the ladder required for access. Here we see the helm (steering wheel), and the gray barrel beside it is a compass.
The "Christmas tree" which contained both a red and green light bulb for every hatch and vent on the boat, telling the status of each of them. Below are some of the controls that open and close the vents needed to dive the boat.
The controls for the stern and bow diving planes. Each of these wheels controlled one set of horizontal planes when the Requin was submerged, directing the sub up or down or just helping maintain an even keel.
These valves control the distribution of high-pressure air through the boat.
So close, yet inaccessible. These switches control the alarms on the boat. At sea, they were used to warn sailors of emergencies. Now, they exist for my amusement and I love to activate them on the boats I tour, just because. Alas, there was a volunteer in the control room who was parked next to these switches, so I had no chance....this time, anyway.
Requin's prized possession. An autographed picture of Betty Grable. This hangs in the radio compartment, port side just forward of the galley. Owing to the tight quarters and a plexiglass shield, I couldn't get any pictures of that space.
Galley, where all the food for 85 men was prepared. Seriously.
Crews's Mess. This is where all of the enlisted personnel ate. Just four tables.
George, one of the volunteers aboard. Retired Navy, he has fifteen years worth of sub service stories and listening to him alone was worth the time spent visiting Requin.
Crew quarters. Not exactly a lot of personal space or privacy.
Even underwater, when you gotta go... Requin had four of these for a crew of approximately 85. And one was officers only. Note all the neat valves required to flush with high-pressure air underwater. Get the sequence wrong and you might end up wearing what you just got rid of.
Forward engine room, looking aft towards the hatch to the after engine room, a mirror of this one. Engines to each side are Fairbanks-Morse diesels, originally designed for railway locomotives. Shiny thing to the right of the hatch is a centrifuge that spins the oil free of sea water and other contaminants before feeding it to the engine. Each engine has one. And yes, that's laundry handing above the engine to dry. (Hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right?)
Control panel, No. 1 Engine. ( I tried, but I could not get it to start.)
Engine with top cover removed, exposing crankshaft. (Aft Engine room)
Centrifuge to get sea water out of the boat's lubricating oil.
Maneuvering room, port side view. Here's were all of the electrical energy from the motors is transferred, either to propulsion and ship's use, or into the storage batteries.
Maneuvering room, starboard side, looking forward.
After torpedo room. The tubes and racks were removed in 1946 to put a radar unit back here. That was subsequently removed but the tubes were never put back. It's now a small display room for the Requin.
After torpedo room, looking back forward.
Port side rudder machinery.
Exit, stage up.
Murphy gave Requin two paws up.
For more sub tours, please visit my other articles on the USS Cod and the USS Torsk. Most of the pictures are still visible, but Blogger is apparently slowly eating them and other old post pics one by one.
Stupid is Supposed to Hurt
Pain is nature's way of slapping you on the head and telling you to smarten up next time.
Normally I'm quite sympathetic to new amputees for obvious reasons. But when one is as dumb as Ponce Wyckoff--climbing between railroad cars while holding your two-year old son--well, not so much.
Anyone care to bet on how long it takes this guy to find a cheap lawyer and try to sue the railroad? Here's hoping that Conrail stands tough and refuses to pay so much as a dime in settlement. But then this did happen in Michigan, and close enough to Detroit that the odds of finding twelve jurors who don't regard the court system as a lottery program is going to be problematic.
Normally I'm quite sympathetic to new amputees for obvious reasons. But when one is as dumb as Ponce Wyckoff--climbing between railroad cars while holding your two-year old son--well, not so much.
A 42-year-old Ecorse father had his arm cut off as he impatiently tried to bypass a stopped train with his 2-year-old.Seriously, 42 years old is a little late in life to be making stupid decisions of that caliber. But then it's also a bit late to be having a two-year old son AND not working at 3PM on a weekday afternoon.
On Thursday, Ponce Wyckoff climbed up the ladder and across the coupler. As he tried to climb down the other side of the train at Visger near Eighth in Ecorse, the train began to move, Ecorse Detective Lt. Stephen Salas said.
Wyckoff's son, Karon, was on his shoulders, Salas said.
"Whenever they start, there's a violent jerk," Salas said. "This threw him off balance, he lost his footing. As he's falling, he pushes the child off his shoulders, both of them fall. As soon as he hits the ground, the train rolls over his right arm and severs his right arm."
A woman waiting on the other side of the tracks tried to catch the boy, who hit the ground and suffered a bump to his head, Salas said. He was treated at Children's Hospital of Michigan in Detroit and is expected to be fine, Salas said.
The father, who lost a lot of blood, was in critical condition Thursday at Oakwood Hospital in Dearborn but is expected to survive, Salas said.
Anyone care to bet on how long it takes this guy to find a cheap lawyer and try to sue the railroad? Here's hoping that Conrail stands tough and refuses to pay so much as a dime in settlement. But then this did happen in Michigan, and close enough to Detroit that the odds of finding twelve jurors who don't regard the court system as a lottery program is going to be problematic.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
All's well...
So the neighbors whose dog bit Murphy paid the damages in full today--for both vet trips. That shows some class, since I found out that he is, in fact, out of work right now and they're dependent on her income solely. Times are tight for them, but they did what they had to do.
In return, I took him shooting this morning. I helped him sight in an M1 Garand that he'd bought a few years back and never shot, and we did some pistol shooting. I know how it is when money's tight, so I brought out an ample quality of my ammunition (I reload so I have tons in .30-06 and 9mm) and told him to just save his for another day.
We got his M1 dialed in perfectly at 100 yards, and I shot mine a bit, too.
Then a bench-rester who was shooting his rifle at the other end of the line came down to look at the Garands and asked a few questions about them, showing real interest. I showed him mine, explained how to get them from the CMP, and then I handed him a clip and told him to give mine a try. He shot all eight, then when the clip ejected with a loud "PING!" he turned to me with a massive grin on his face and said "My wife's going to hate you."
I told him that I could deal with that so long as I saw him out on the line by fall with his own Garand. And in his case, I suspect that I will.
Whoa--me shooting Garands with the guy whose dog bit Murphy AND a bench-rester? Was this some crazy dream resulting from a late-night trip to Five Guys?
No, it really happened, just like that. Just another day in banjo county, WV.
In return, I took him shooting this morning. I helped him sight in an M1 Garand that he'd bought a few years back and never shot, and we did some pistol shooting. I know how it is when money's tight, so I brought out an ample quality of my ammunition (I reload so I have tons in .30-06 and 9mm) and told him to just save his for another day.
We got his M1 dialed in perfectly at 100 yards, and I shot mine a bit, too.
Then a bench-rester who was shooting his rifle at the other end of the line came down to look at the Garands and asked a few questions about them, showing real interest. I showed him mine, explained how to get them from the CMP, and then I handed him a clip and told him to give mine a try. He shot all eight, then when the clip ejected with a loud "PING!" he turned to me with a massive grin on his face and said "My wife's going to hate you."
I told him that I could deal with that so long as I saw him out on the line by fall with his own Garand. And in his case, I suspect that I will.
Whoa--me shooting Garands with the guy whose dog bit Murphy AND a bench-rester? Was this some crazy dream resulting from a late-night trip to Five Guys?
No, it really happened, just like that. Just another day in banjo county, WV.
Saturday Man Movie
In the 1968 film Villa Rides, we see Pancho Villa's right-hand killer Rodolfo Fierro, played by Charles Bronson, killing captured Mexican soldiers for fun. American pilot Lee Arnold, played by Robert Mitchum, tries to stop him, rather unsuccessfully. But just as Fierro takes aim to shoot Arnold, Pancho Villa makes his entrance.
Recognize Villa? That's Yul Brenner with a toupee.
And in this second clip, with better graphics (and, regrettably, Dutch subtitles), Fierro refuses to fly in the plane, so Villa orders Arnold to teach him to fly it...immediately.
My flying lessons were nothing like that!
Recognize Villa? That's Yul Brenner with a toupee.
And in this second clip, with better graphics (and, regrettably, Dutch subtitles), Fierro refuses to fly in the plane, so Villa orders Arnold to teach him to fly it...immediately.
My flying lessons were nothing like that!
Friday, May 13, 2011
So Blogger's back on line.
36 hours of on-line life denied, a post gone, and no doubt a few comments left were wiped out.
If you left a comment and don't see it, it's not my fault. Thank Blogger and leave it again.
If you left a comment and don't see it, it's not my fault. Thank Blogger and leave it again.
Took the little ones out to shoot.
THESE little ones--(from top to bottom) The Ruger LCP, Walther PPK, and Smith and Wesson Model 642.
The first two are .380 ACP and they hold seven shots each, the S&W is .38 Special and it holds five.
Given my druthers, the .38 is still my favorite carry pistol because it's the most powerful of the three, and I consider five .38's worth seven .380's any day, especially in a quality pistol like this little Smith. But all three of these pistols have their applications. The LCP has the worst sights and trigger but it practically disappears into my pocket. And that horrible trigger acts as a reliable safety to keep negligent discharges in said pocket from occurring.
In between, the PPK...well it's got style going for it. James Bond and all... (Yes, I know that his was .32ACP and not .380, but I didn't need yet another anemic caliber in my ammo closet.) But this PPK probably has the best trigger and sights of the three of them. It's got a serious Double-Action/Single-Action trigger and small but prominent front and rear sights, whereas the other two only have front sights and a channel instead of a real rear sight.
The PPK came broken from a Gunbroker sale although it was represented as being fully functional and I just fixed it after finding the necessary part and schematic at Numerich Arms.
None of these are match pistols, nor do they have the stopping power and magazine capacity of a modern combat pistol, but they all have one thing in common that makes them handier than larger, better fighting pistols--they're small. They're easier to conceal than a full-size 1911 or K-frame revolver, and they can often just be slipped into a pocket, making them more convenient to carry into more places than a full-sized pistol. That means that sometimes they wind up with me where one of my regular carry sidearms might not be. And Rule #1 of a gunfight is: "Have a gun".
These three also have the one prerequisite for any gun that I'll ever own or carry: They're reliable. They shoot when I squeeze the trigger and the round goes where I aim it. They may be small, but in a crunch they'll still put rounds on target every time, and that's not something that you can take for granted when buying a gun. If your pistol won't fire your chosen self-defense rough a hundred times out of a hundred, it's not reliable enough to trust you life to no matter how small or light or "cute" it is.
The first two are .380 ACP and they hold seven shots each, the S&W is .38 Special and it holds five.Given my druthers, the .38 is still my favorite carry pistol because it's the most powerful of the three, and I consider five .38's worth seven .380's any day, especially in a quality pistol like this little Smith. But all three of these pistols have their applications. The LCP has the worst sights and trigger but it practically disappears into my pocket. And that horrible trigger acts as a reliable safety to keep negligent discharges in said pocket from occurring.
In between, the PPK...well it's got style going for it. James Bond and all... (Yes, I know that his was .32ACP and not .380, but I didn't need yet another anemic caliber in my ammo closet.) But this PPK probably has the best trigger and sights of the three of them. It's got a serious Double-Action/Single-Action trigger and small but prominent front and rear sights, whereas the other two only have front sights and a channel instead of a real rear sight.
The PPK came broken from a Gunbroker sale although it was represented as being fully functional and I just fixed it after finding the necessary part and schematic at Numerich Arms.None of these are match pistols, nor do they have the stopping power and magazine capacity of a modern combat pistol, but they all have one thing in common that makes them handier than larger, better fighting pistols--they're small. They're easier to conceal than a full-size 1911 or K-frame revolver, and they can often just be slipped into a pocket, making them more convenient to carry into more places than a full-sized pistol. That means that sometimes they wind up with me where one of my regular carry sidearms might not be. And Rule #1 of a gunfight is: "Have a gun".
These three also have the one prerequisite for any gun that I'll ever own or carry: They're reliable. They shoot when I squeeze the trigger and the round goes where I aim it. They may be small, but in a crunch they'll still put rounds on target every time, and that's not something that you can take for granted when buying a gun. If your pistol won't fire your chosen self-defense rough a hundred times out of a hundred, it's not reliable enough to trust you life to no matter how small or light or "cute" it is.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
"We don't need no steenking gringo laws..."
And speaking of students, here we have the Obama Administration once again refusing to enforce existing immigration laws as five illegal aliens trespass into Indiana Governor Daniels' office to protest that state's passage of bills that will cut illegals off from the same tuition subsidies that American students get.
Five Illegal Aliens Won't Be Deported, ICE Says.
They got arrested and were turned over to ICE, and ICE refused to deport them despite the fact that all five of them were in our country illegally. So instead of going back to their countries, they walk out to the cheers of other illegal aliens and their interest group.
Since when do illegals even get a say in our country's laws? And she's already barred from getting a job later--she's illegal. I'd also like to know how she's coming up with $8000 a year already, but we all can guess at that answer: identity fraud and quite probably tax evasion as well. No respect at all for our country and our laws, but a sense of entitlement nonetheless. In other words, a solid Democrat Party vote just waiting to be legalized.
Five Illegal Aliens Won't Be Deported, ICE Says.
They got arrested and were turned over to ICE, and ICE refused to deport them despite the fact that all five of them were in our country illegally. So instead of going back to their countries, they walk out to the cheers of other illegal aliens and their interest group.
[Sayra] Perez, who just finished her freshman year at Indiana University-Purdue University, Indianapolis, said during a jailhouse interview Tuesday that the protest was "absolutely" worth the arrest.
She said the laws would cause her tuition to skyrocket and could prevent her form getting a job later.
"I can afford my $8,000 per year for college but that's it," Perez said. "I can't afford laws like SB 590 and HB 1402."
Since when do illegals even get a say in our country's laws? And she's already barred from getting a job later--she's illegal. I'd also like to know how she's coming up with $8000 a year already, but we all can guess at that answer: identity fraud and quite probably tax evasion as well. No respect at all for our country and our laws, but a sense of entitlement nonetheless. In other words, a solid Democrat Party vote just waiting to be legalized.
Do any of these idiots ever think about consequences?
I have to wonder about our current crop of college graduates. Based on recent news stories, some of our "best and brightest" are really the dumbest.
First we have Isaac Eslava. This idiot Psychology major at Louisiana State University decided to vandalize a war memorial (and his apartment building) and burn the American flag the day after bin Laden was killed. He also appears to have stolen a car. Now he's in jail.
Then we have Johnathan Perkins, a law student at University of Virginia who is just about to graduate and presumably sit for the bar. He recently made up a story about being harassed and racially profiled by campus police and sent it into the school paper. When police investigated however, they discovered that his story had more than a few holes...and when confronted, he admitted making it all up.
Moving back to LSU, we now get Benjamin Hass, a Communication Studies (what the hell is that?) grad student who decided that he too would burn an America flag. This one at least got shut down by numerous patriotic Americans.
I won't even bother listing the names of all of these stoner kids at University of Colorado, Boulder.
Don't any of these morons realize that they're about to go out into the real world? That means finding a job. These days, many if not most prospective employers for any decent job (one that doesn't involve wearing paper hats and asking people if they want fries) do basic internet searches on prospective candidates. Idiots like the ones above spend years in school, undoubtedly at their parents' expense, only to do stuff that puts them in the public eye and makes them pretty much undesirable to an employer.
From the Colorado article:
And does Johnathan Perkins believe that he's ever going to get hired as a lawyer now that he's publicly shown himself to be dishonest? Hell, he's going to have trouble getting admitted to any state's bar association now, much less get hired by any reputable firm.
All of these fools are about to find out that the internet is forever.
Of course there's always the Democrat Party. They always seem to be able to make a place for dishonest America-haters and dope-smokers in their ranks.
First we have Isaac Eslava. This idiot Psychology major at Louisiana State University decided to vandalize a war memorial (and his apartment building) and burn the American flag the day after bin Laden was killed. He also appears to have stolen a car. Now he's in jail.
Then we have Johnathan Perkins, a law student at University of Virginia who is just about to graduate and presumably sit for the bar. He recently made up a story about being harassed and racially profiled by campus police and sent it into the school paper. When police investigated however, they discovered that his story had more than a few holes...and when confronted, he admitted making it all up.
Moving back to LSU, we now get Benjamin Hass, a Communication Studies (what the hell is that?) grad student who decided that he too would burn an America flag. This one at least got shut down by numerous patriotic Americans.
I won't even bother listing the names of all of these stoner kids at University of Colorado, Boulder.
Don't any of these morons realize that they're about to go out into the real world? That means finding a job. These days, many if not most prospective employers for any decent job (one that doesn't involve wearing paper hats and asking people if they want fries) do basic internet searches on prospective candidates. Idiots like the ones above spend years in school, undoubtedly at their parents' expense, only to do stuff that puts them in the public eye and makes them pretty much undesirable to an employer.
From the Colorado article:
CU sophomore Renny Ratliff said he secured a medical marijuana license because he has an ankle injury, joint pain and attention-deficit disorder. "Legalizing marijuana would be a big change for the better, and we're here to support that but mainly just to enjoy," he said.Yeah, that's the one I want to hire to do something important...NOT!
And does Johnathan Perkins believe that he's ever going to get hired as a lawyer now that he's publicly shown himself to be dishonest? Hell, he's going to have trouble getting admitted to any state's bar association now, much less get hired by any reputable firm.
All of these fools are about to find out that the internet is forever.
Of course there's always the Democrat Party. They always seem to be able to make a place for dishonest America-haters and dope-smokers in their ranks.
Back to the vet...
Murphy pulled all of his stitches out last night.
I might as well just have my paychecks direct-deposited to the vet's account.
I might as well just have my paychecks direct-deposited to the vet's account.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Barry blaming GOP for not doing what he didn't do.
2008. Candidate Obama says: "I think that we need to give illegal aliens a chance to become American citizens. They should be able to go to college, get driver's license, and walk our streets without being afraid of the police or ICE. All Hispanics need to vote for me because I'll do these things for you."
2009 - 2010. Obama is president and his party controls both houses of Congress. He says: "Immigration? Whatever. Not my priority any more. Be quiet, you Hispanics."
2011. GOP now controls house due to anti-Obama backlash. Obama now says: "How dare that GOP not give these poor illegals a chance to get legal! How dare the GOP not let them go to school or have jobs here! All Hispanics should vote for me, because the GOP won't do anything for you!"
Latino voter in the back of the room: "But why didn't you do anything for us when you had all the power? Why should we trust you again?"
Obama: "Somebody get that Republican plant out of the room! Where's SEIU when I need them? Nobody pay any attention to that guy...Turn those cameras off! George Bush probably sent him in here! Hey, anyone wanna see my secret pictures of dead Osama?"
Yeah, ok. I made the last two up. But can any of you honestly see Obama saying anything different? Anyone?
By the way, after reviewing his latest speech, in which he openly mocks and derides people who want the borders secured and the illegals deported, I have to ask you all when did it suddenly become fashionable or even acceptable for a sitting president to insult and disrespect any and every American citizen who doesn't agree with him politically? Neither Bush did, nor did Clinton, Reagan or even Carter. But B.O. seems to think that he's filling in for Letterman and that it's "hip" or "cool" to put down American citizens, be they bitter Pennsylvanians "clinging to their guns and their religion" or just mainstream Americans who don't want to see this country take one hard left turn after another. Is this the "unity" that he keeps telling us all that we need to come together and adopt?
You may be president for now, Barry, but that doesn't give you license to disrespect us all. It's unpresidential and you come off looking like a punk who has been promoted beyond his abilities.
2009 - 2010. Obama is president and his party controls both houses of Congress. He says: "Immigration? Whatever. Not my priority any more. Be quiet, you Hispanics."
2011. GOP now controls house due to anti-Obama backlash. Obama now says: "How dare that GOP not give these poor illegals a chance to get legal! How dare the GOP not let them go to school or have jobs here! All Hispanics should vote for me, because the GOP won't do anything for you!"
Latino voter in the back of the room: "But why didn't you do anything for us when you had all the power? Why should we trust you again?"
Obama: "Somebody get that Republican plant out of the room! Where's SEIU when I need them? Nobody pay any attention to that guy...Turn those cameras off! George Bush probably sent him in here! Hey, anyone wanna see my secret pictures of dead Osama?"
Yeah, ok. I made the last two up. But can any of you honestly see Obama saying anything different? Anyone?
By the way, after reviewing his latest speech, in which he openly mocks and derides people who want the borders secured and the illegals deported, I have to ask you all when did it suddenly become fashionable or even acceptable for a sitting president to insult and disrespect any and every American citizen who doesn't agree with him politically? Neither Bush did, nor did Clinton, Reagan or even Carter. But B.O. seems to think that he's filling in for Letterman and that it's "hip" or "cool" to put down American citizens, be they bitter Pennsylvanians "clinging to their guns and their religion" or just mainstream Americans who don't want to see this country take one hard left turn after another. Is this the "unity" that he keeps telling us all that we need to come together and adopt?
You may be president for now, Barry, but that doesn't give you license to disrespect us all. It's unpresidential and you come off looking like a punk who has been promoted beyond his abilities.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Things you learn while walking your dog
Vicious Pit Bull mixes hit from behind without provocation.
Murphy's sleeping off the anesthesia following a suture job this afternoon. Poor guy.
And poor me. The vet wouldn't take my Blue Cross card.
Sigh.
Murphy's sleeping off the anesthesia following a suture job this afternoon. Poor guy.
And poor me. The vet wouldn't take my Blue Cross card.
Sigh.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
What's Happening Lately, and Why?
Let me see if I get this straight...
If a state government tries to do something that Barack Obama disapproves of, even if they have the right to do it, his administration will sue that state or otherwise find a way to covertly shut them down.
But if a Democrat-run state wishes to publicly defy existing federal law, and it's a law that Barack Obama or his hoped-for constituency doesn't like...
Cue the crickets.
Remember when we were a country of laws, and we had this thing called a decentralized government that operated through a deliberate separation of powers? And remember when we had a media that scrutinized everything that the federal government did and screamed bloody murder when something seemed wrong?
You should--it was only three years ago.
If a state government tries to do something that Barack Obama disapproves of, even if they have the right to do it, his administration will sue that state or otherwise find a way to covertly shut them down.
But if a Democrat-run state wishes to publicly defy existing federal law, and it's a law that Barack Obama or his hoped-for constituency doesn't like...
Cue the crickets.
Remember when we were a country of laws, and we had this thing called a decentralized government that operated through a deliberate separation of powers? And remember when we had a media that scrutinized everything that the federal government did and screamed bloody murder when something seemed wrong?
You should--it was only three years ago.
Silly dog.
All day long, Murphy's been getting on my nerves. Every time he sees a cat outside the patio glass, he runs barking at it and jumps up on the glass. It's loud, it's distracting and it's new glass, but so far, unless I'm actually in the kitchen with the sink sprayer in hand, I've been unable to deter him from doing this. And he's done it a dozen times today easily.
And then, this last time, I heard "Bark! Bark! Bark! WHAM!" (sound of dog slamming into glass door), followed by a yelp, then whimpering. A few second later, he come hobbling into my office, hopping on three legs, with his left front paw held up off the floor. Apparently he hit the glass wrong and jammed his paw. He hops over, and, still whingeing, stands there looking at me with his paw held up off the floor. As soon as I touch it, he yelps again.
So I get down on the floor with him, get him to lay down, and gently check the limb over. I find a spot of point tenderness on the backside of the leg where the first joint is. I know it's tender because he yelps again when I press it. So I massage it for a minute, then I give him a gentle tummy scratch. His tail thumps happily on the floor and I get a lick or two as I go to get up. He gets up and now he's walking fine. All better.
Five minutes later: "Bark! Bark! Bark! WHAM!"
They never learn, do they?
I got a boo-boo smashing into your new glass door. Will you make it better so I can do it again?
And then, this last time, I heard "Bark! Bark! Bark! WHAM!" (sound of dog slamming into glass door), followed by a yelp, then whimpering. A few second later, he come hobbling into my office, hopping on three legs, with his left front paw held up off the floor. Apparently he hit the glass wrong and jammed his paw. He hops over, and, still whingeing, stands there looking at me with his paw held up off the floor. As soon as I touch it, he yelps again.
So I get down on the floor with him, get him to lay down, and gently check the limb over. I find a spot of point tenderness on the backside of the leg where the first joint is. I know it's tender because he yelps again when I press it. So I massage it for a minute, then I give him a gentle tummy scratch. His tail thumps happily on the floor and I get a lick or two as I go to get up. He gets up and now he's walking fine. All better.
Five minutes later: "Bark! Bark! Bark! WHAM!"
They never learn, do they?
I got a boo-boo smashing into your new glass door. Will you make it better so I can do it again?
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Please Don't Feed the Animals
I read this story about a dumb kid getting bit by a zoo's leopard today and I just had to shake my head.
Zoo Leopard Attacks Boy Through Cage
Seven years old is old enough to know better. But he was still unsupervised, and that's on his school. What gets me though is the fuss afterwards. OK, yeah--it sucked for the kid, but it was his own fault. However, per the story, we've got grown adults claiming that they're traumatized, we've got crisis teams assembling to make sure that none of the other little kids have bad dreams, and I'm sure that every lawyer within a hundred miles is trying to find a way to cash in on this by suing the zoo, the school, and/or the leopard.
Come on...
A couple of decades ago, I was on a motorcycle trip across the country when I stopped into a zoo. It was the one in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. They had similar enclosures for their animals--cages with safety rails several feet back to keep people from actually getting close to the animals. Well me being about as bright as that kid and just as well supervised, I decided that a timber wolf in the enclosure wanted to play. I'd already managed to get him to run back and forth the width of his cage several times just by walking back and forth on the outside, and now he was sticking his nose through the bars. He obviously wanted some petting, just like the big, harmless doggy that he was. So I went over the safety rail, approached the bars, reached through, and began scratching the wolf behind the ears. And he was loving it! I did this for a minute and then the other wolf in the pen walked up.
"Oh, do you want some of this, too?" I reached over to pet that one and like a flash, it bit me. Lesson learned: A friendly wolf and a hungry wolf look a lot alike. Fortunately it just caught a little bit of my hand.
So now I had blood dripping from my hand, and I was starting to wonder if zoo wolves carried diseases. I made my way to the Information kiosk and got the attention of the staffer inside.
"I have two questions," I said. "And they're not necessarily related. Can I have a band-aid, and have these animals had all of their shots?"
So what do you think happened next? Crisis teams? Lawyers? Cash settlement offers?
Nah. I got a proper bandaging and a free tetanus shot, and then I got escorted to the parking lot and told that I should not hurry back.
No biggie...I've been thrown of of many better places than the Sioux Falls Zoo in my life. Point is, it never crossed my mind to seek counseling or file a lawsuit. It happened, it was my fault, and I survived. End of story. (Well almost. Because I didn't learn, I got bit again a couple of weeks later, this time by an otter in the Vancouver, BC zoo.) But how did we degrade as a society to the point where now instead of just smacking the stupid party on the head, we treat them and everyone else within fifty yards as if they are all victims of some massive and unprovoked shock trauma tragedy?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Anyone?
Zoo Leopard Attacks Boy Through Cage
Seven years old is old enough to know better. But he was still unsupervised, and that's on his school. What gets me though is the fuss afterwards. OK, yeah--it sucked for the kid, but it was his own fault. However, per the story, we've got grown adults claiming that they're traumatized, we've got crisis teams assembling to make sure that none of the other little kids have bad dreams, and I'm sure that every lawyer within a hundred miles is trying to find a way to cash in on this by suing the zoo, the school, and/or the leopard.
Come on...
A couple of decades ago, I was on a motorcycle trip across the country when I stopped into a zoo. It was the one in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. They had similar enclosures for their animals--cages with safety rails several feet back to keep people from actually getting close to the animals. Well me being about as bright as that kid and just as well supervised, I decided that a timber wolf in the enclosure wanted to play. I'd already managed to get him to run back and forth the width of his cage several times just by walking back and forth on the outside, and now he was sticking his nose through the bars. He obviously wanted some petting, just like the big, harmless doggy that he was. So I went over the safety rail, approached the bars, reached through, and began scratching the wolf behind the ears. And he was loving it! I did this for a minute and then the other wolf in the pen walked up.
"Oh, do you want some of this, too?" I reached over to pet that one and like a flash, it bit me. Lesson learned: A friendly wolf and a hungry wolf look a lot alike. Fortunately it just caught a little bit of my hand.
So now I had blood dripping from my hand, and I was starting to wonder if zoo wolves carried diseases. I made my way to the Information kiosk and got the attention of the staffer inside.
"I have two questions," I said. "And they're not necessarily related. Can I have a band-aid, and have these animals had all of their shots?"
So what do you think happened next? Crisis teams? Lawyers? Cash settlement offers?
Nah. I got a proper bandaging and a free tetanus shot, and then I got escorted to the parking lot and told that I should not hurry back.
No biggie...I've been thrown of of many better places than the Sioux Falls Zoo in my life. Point is, it never crossed my mind to seek counseling or file a lawsuit. It happened, it was my fault, and I survived. End of story. (Well almost. Because I didn't learn, I got bit again a couple of weeks later, this time by an otter in the Vancouver, BC zoo.) But how did we degrade as a society to the point where now instead of just smacking the stupid party on the head, we treat them and everyone else within fifty yards as if they are all victims of some massive and unprovoked shock trauma tragedy?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Anyone?
Saturday Morning Man Movie
Today we get a clash between two of Hollywood's real men--James Cagney vs. Humphrey Bogart in The Roaring Twenties, a 1939 film from Warner Brothers.
Eddie (Cagney) and George (Bogart) are World War One buddies who fall into bootlegging during Prohibition. They do pretty well for a while, but the friendship soon goes by the wayside.
Eddie eventually hits the skids due to the stock market crash and a bad deal with George. George continues to do well, however. In the end, Eddie confronts George over George's plan to murder the guy who stole a gal that Eddie loves. And things kind of go downhill for both men during that meeting.
Eddie (Cagney) and George (Bogart) are World War One buddies who fall into bootlegging during Prohibition. They do pretty well for a while, but the friendship soon goes by the wayside.
Eddie eventually hits the skids due to the stock market crash and a bad deal with George. George continues to do well, however. In the end, Eddie confronts George over George's plan to murder the guy who stole a gal that Eddie loves. And things kind of go downhill for both men during that meeting.
Friday, May 06, 2011
The Revenge of the Bench-Resters
So I was rummaging through one of the ammo closets in my gun room last night (I have two such closets--one for pistol ammo and one for rifle ammo) and I happened to find a couple of boxed of Prvi Partisan 6.5x52mm ammunition. Carcano food! I really did not even know that was in there, but there it was, shoehorned in next to the 7.5 French rounds. I really need to inventory those closets one of these days.
So with that stuff in hand, I grabbed up the new Carcano and a couple of pistols and headed back out to the range.
I got out there and joy, oh joy, I had the place to myself! So I set my targets and spotting scope up, got the Carcano out, and loaded some of the ammo into those neat six-round clips that the rifle needs in order to function. And it does need them, as I found out. I tried to single-load a round by pushing it into the chamber and closing the bolt only to find that the extractor will not ride over the base of a cartridge that is already in the chamber. The bolt has to pick the cartridge up as it comes up off the follower, and the only way that the round will stay in position for that is if it's in one of those clips. This is not exactly an engineering point in the rifle's favor as it means that soldiers in the field were dependent on these flimsy clips to be able to load and fire even one round.
But the bolt operated so smoothly that you'd think that it was on rollers. It's not on rollers--it's just well-worn, smoothed out by what was probably considerable military use in one if not two world wars and whatever else it did in it's 113 years of existence. Likewise, the trigger is light and smooth and breaks with no indication at all that it's about to fire. I'm used to a two-stage trigger where you feel a bit of resistance or back-pressure before the rifle actually fires, but this rifle, like a couple of other that I have, is completely smooth. It actually makes for a good "surprise break" and once I got used to it, I started to really enjoy it. That 6.5 cartridge is very mild to shoot compared to the 8mm, .303 and .30-06 that I'm used to. And while I wouldn't exactly call the pattern downrange a "group", it was at least fairly consistent in where it put the rounds and after a bit of experimentation I was at least able to keep most of the shots on the paper plates that I use as targets.
The rifle's biggest problem at this range is it's sights. It has the old-style "humpback" sight and the gradations go from 600 meters to 2000 meters.
Yes, the sight starts at 600 meters. Optimistic in 1897, weren't they? And with the sight parked in the 600M position, it was hitting a bit over a foot high at 100 yards.
So I flipped the sight to the "battle sight" position, which should have been sufficient for 100M-400M body hits, and to my surprise, it actually worked quite well on the 100-yard plates with a six o'clock hold. Brilliant!
Here's the battle sight. The rear blade flips up and all the way over into a notch in the front handguard, and the shooter is left with this fixed rear blade that was beneath it.
So with that figured out, I settled in and began firing aimed shot at the plates, one shot every ten seconds or so, with a check of the spotting scope in between each shot. And I was killing those plates--this rifle is no match rifle and I don't see myself keeping it loaded by the bed to deter late-night home invaders, but it was well worth $40.00.
And then, after I finished and went down to retrieve my targets, upon my return I saw the range care-taker come strolling up.
"Hi", I say.
"I got a complaint that you're shooting too fast down here," he said.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," he says. "And you know that you shoot fast. I've talked to you about it before."
"Yes you have," I admitted. "And it's always been for sustained, well-aimed fire, with every round on target. You know that I'm not out here bump-firing like an asshole or putting rounds over the berms."
"I know," he replied. "But a couple of other members complained and I have to come talk to you when they do."
"Dude, I'm shooting a bolt-action Carcano."
"A what?"
"Car-CAY-no. Italian World War One rifle. Bolt-action, holds six rounds. It's not exactly a machine gun. And I'm checking the target with my scope after every shot, so it's not like I'm making with the rat-a-tat-tat here."
He looked over my rifle, and even used my scope to check my target at my invitation. I wanted him to see and count the holes and know that I was putting a bit of care into actually aiming the rifle. Satisfied, he decided that nothing warranted any official club complaint. But when I asked him who complained, he wouldn't tell me. Not that he had to, because by then I'd seen the trucks parked behind the bench-rest clubhouse. They must have come in while I was downrange or otherwise occupied and they apparently decided to lodge a complaint because some non-bench-rester was daring to shoot on "their" firing line. And then they wonder why the rest of us shooter hate them.
Well I was done on the rifle line anyway, so I packed the rifle back up and headed over to the pistol line. The purpose today was to burn up some of the remaining test rounds from my new 9mm load I'd worked up, and also to try out my Browning Hi-Power now that I've got it's new ambidextrous safety installed. The safety, made by Cylinder and Slide, allows lefties like me to use the thumb safety, a must for condition-one carry.
And yeah, about that...I found out now why Cylinder and Slide charges so much to install this piece on your pistol. It's because there was a lot of fitting required, and all of it involved removing metal from their parts and substituting a roll pin that actually fit for the one that they included. That stuff was WAY out of spec, and it took me and a competent smith quite a while to actually get it to fit together. (Thanks, Mike!)
But it works, and it works well. So I shot this pistol and my Beretta 92, just because I'd been using the 92 as a test platform for the new round and had a couple of loaded magazines for it ready to go.
You know, I'm really starting to enjoy shooting this Beretta. It actually is a nice shooter, and if I can get over my tendency to thumb the decocker down, mistaking it for a thumb safety, I could really get to like it as something more than a wall-hanger. This one is an ex-New Orleans Police Department pistol, and it's marked as such. It's noteworthy as an example of blatant hypocrisy for the time that the City of New Orleans under then-Mayor Marc Morial filed the first lawsuit against gun manufacturers--including Beretta--claiming that the manufacturers had irresponsibly flooded the city with guns that criminals were using to shoot themselves and other people with. It did not take long for one of the defendant gun companies to produce a Beretta much like my own and point out that the City of New Orleans had a long history of selling both seized firearms and surplus city-owned firearms to the same wholesale distributors that the companies being sued sold their products to.
Pot, meet Kettle. And quit calling him black.
Anyway, I've never been a fan of the Beretta, but the more I shoot this one, the more it grows on me. And this ex-Commonwealth military Hi-Power has been a favorite of mine since the day that I got it. Until now, the only thing keeping me from carrying it has been the lack of an ambi-safety like my 1911s all have. But now it has one. Woot! And here the two of them are together. The Hi-Power (top) and NOPD Beretta 92 (bottom).
I've never really been a 9mm fan, despite the fact that it's been the cartridge of choice for police and military use in Europe for over a hundred years now. My figuring is that 9mm is ok for shooting Europeans, but if you want to put an American bad guy in the dirt, you need a .45.
Still, they just keep making so many wonderful pistols in 9mm. Darn it!
But now I'm home with Murphy, and we're going to sit out on the deck and clean these firearms just as soon as I get all the yogurt out of his fur.
Yeah, I accidentally dropped a container of yogurt on him when he was pestering me in the kitchen. Serves him right, but now I'm the one stuck cleaning him up.
Wait a minute...it's starting to rain. Maybe I can just put him out in the rain for a while. That ought to do it!
So with that stuff in hand, I grabbed up the new Carcano and a couple of pistols and headed back out to the range.
I got out there and joy, oh joy, I had the place to myself! So I set my targets and spotting scope up, got the Carcano out, and loaded some of the ammo into those neat six-round clips that the rifle needs in order to function. And it does need them, as I found out. I tried to single-load a round by pushing it into the chamber and closing the bolt only to find that the extractor will not ride over the base of a cartridge that is already in the chamber. The bolt has to pick the cartridge up as it comes up off the follower, and the only way that the round will stay in position for that is if it's in one of those clips. This is not exactly an engineering point in the rifle's favor as it means that soldiers in the field were dependent on these flimsy clips to be able to load and fire even one round.
But the bolt operated so smoothly that you'd think that it was on rollers. It's not on rollers--it's just well-worn, smoothed out by what was probably considerable military use in one if not two world wars and whatever else it did in it's 113 years of existence. Likewise, the trigger is light and smooth and breaks with no indication at all that it's about to fire. I'm used to a two-stage trigger where you feel a bit of resistance or back-pressure before the rifle actually fires, but this rifle, like a couple of other that I have, is completely smooth. It actually makes for a good "surprise break" and once I got used to it, I started to really enjoy it. That 6.5 cartridge is very mild to shoot compared to the 8mm, .303 and .30-06 that I'm used to. And while I wouldn't exactly call the pattern downrange a "group", it was at least fairly consistent in where it put the rounds and after a bit of experimentation I was at least able to keep most of the shots on the paper plates that I use as targets.
The rifle's biggest problem at this range is it's sights. It has the old-style "humpback" sight and the gradations go from 600 meters to 2000 meters.
Yes, the sight starts at 600 meters. Optimistic in 1897, weren't they? And with the sight parked in the 600M position, it was hitting a bit over a foot high at 100 yards.So I flipped the sight to the "battle sight" position, which should have been sufficient for 100M-400M body hits, and to my surprise, it actually worked quite well on the 100-yard plates with a six o'clock hold. Brilliant!
Here's the battle sight. The rear blade flips up and all the way over into a notch in the front handguard, and the shooter is left with this fixed rear blade that was beneath it. So with that figured out, I settled in and began firing aimed shot at the plates, one shot every ten seconds or so, with a check of the spotting scope in between each shot. And I was killing those plates--this rifle is no match rifle and I don't see myself keeping it loaded by the bed to deter late-night home invaders, but it was well worth $40.00.
And then, after I finished and went down to retrieve my targets, upon my return I saw the range care-taker come strolling up.
"Hi", I say.
"I got a complaint that you're shooting too fast down here," he said.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," he says. "And you know that you shoot fast. I've talked to you about it before."
"Yes you have," I admitted. "And it's always been for sustained, well-aimed fire, with every round on target. You know that I'm not out here bump-firing like an asshole or putting rounds over the berms."
"I know," he replied. "But a couple of other members complained and I have to come talk to you when they do."
"Dude, I'm shooting a bolt-action Carcano."
"A what?"
"Car-CAY-no. Italian World War One rifle. Bolt-action, holds six rounds. It's not exactly a machine gun. And I'm checking the target with my scope after every shot, so it's not like I'm making with the rat-a-tat-tat here."
He looked over my rifle, and even used my scope to check my target at my invitation. I wanted him to see and count the holes and know that I was putting a bit of care into actually aiming the rifle. Satisfied, he decided that nothing warranted any official club complaint. But when I asked him who complained, he wouldn't tell me. Not that he had to, because by then I'd seen the trucks parked behind the bench-rest clubhouse. They must have come in while I was downrange or otherwise occupied and they apparently decided to lodge a complaint because some non-bench-rester was daring to shoot on "their" firing line. And then they wonder why the rest of us shooter hate them.
Well I was done on the rifle line anyway, so I packed the rifle back up and headed over to the pistol line. The purpose today was to burn up some of the remaining test rounds from my new 9mm load I'd worked up, and also to try out my Browning Hi-Power now that I've got it's new ambidextrous safety installed. The safety, made by Cylinder and Slide, allows lefties like me to use the thumb safety, a must for condition-one carry.
And yeah, about that...I found out now why Cylinder and Slide charges so much to install this piece on your pistol. It's because there was a lot of fitting required, and all of it involved removing metal from their parts and substituting a roll pin that actually fit for the one that they included. That stuff was WAY out of spec, and it took me and a competent smith quite a while to actually get it to fit together. (Thanks, Mike!)
But it works, and it works well. So I shot this pistol and my Beretta 92, just because I'd been using the 92 as a test platform for the new round and had a couple of loaded magazines for it ready to go.
You know, I'm really starting to enjoy shooting this Beretta. It actually is a nice shooter, and if I can get over my tendency to thumb the decocker down, mistaking it for a thumb safety, I could really get to like it as something more than a wall-hanger. This one is an ex-New Orleans Police Department pistol, and it's marked as such. It's noteworthy as an example of blatant hypocrisy for the time that the City of New Orleans under then-Mayor Marc Morial filed the first lawsuit against gun manufacturers--including Beretta--claiming that the manufacturers had irresponsibly flooded the city with guns that criminals were using to shoot themselves and other people with. It did not take long for one of the defendant gun companies to produce a Beretta much like my own and point out that the City of New Orleans had a long history of selling both seized firearms and surplus city-owned firearms to the same wholesale distributors that the companies being sued sold their products to.
Pot, meet Kettle. And quit calling him black.
Anyway, I've never been a fan of the Beretta, but the more I shoot this one, the more it grows on me. And this ex-Commonwealth military Hi-Power has been a favorite of mine since the day that I got it. Until now, the only thing keeping me from carrying it has been the lack of an ambi-safety like my 1911s all have. But now it has one. Woot! And here the two of them are together. The Hi-Power (top) and NOPD Beretta 92 (bottom).
I've never really been a 9mm fan, despite the fact that it's been the cartridge of choice for police and military use in Europe for over a hundred years now. My figuring is that 9mm is ok for shooting Europeans, but if you want to put an American bad guy in the dirt, you need a .45.Still, they just keep making so many wonderful pistols in 9mm. Darn it!
But now I'm home with Murphy, and we're going to sit out on the deck and clean these firearms just as soon as I get all the yogurt out of his fur.
Yeah, I accidentally dropped a container of yogurt on him when he was pestering me in the kitchen. Serves him right, but now I'm the one stuck cleaning him up.
Wait a minute...it's starting to rain. Maybe I can just put him out in the rain for a while. That ought to do it!
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