Tweaker has a frightening tale of a rampaging gunman in his very hometown.
Read this hair-raising tale of a man with a gun run amok. No, wait, he was running errands.
Either way, congrats tweaker!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
People of the Gun
CAUTION: BAD LANGUAGE AHEAD
Over at the NES forum, someone posted this story:
Common sense also alien to Lynnfield
Common sense also alien to Lynnfield
By his own admission, Antonio Montenegro is an illegal immigrant.No. Reason. To. Arrest. Him.
He’s also an unlicensed driver. And he’s the guy who sent a 12-year-old Lynnfield boy to Mass General with a broken leg after running him over with his cargo van and dragging him down the street.
The one thing that Antonio Montenegro isn’t? A criminal. At least, not in Lynnfield.
Media reports that Montenegro was “released on his own recognizance” are in error, said Lynnfield Police Chief Paul Romano. “Mr. Montenegro was never released, because he was never arrested.”
Never arrested?
“We ran him through the NCIC [National Crime Information Center]. He had no outstanding warrants,” the chief said. “We cited him for driving without a license, we cited him for failure to yield at a crosswalk, but we had no reason to arrest him.”
Let that sink in for a second. Here's a guy who openly admits to being in our country illegally. Strike one. He drives around without a license. Strike two. He ignores our traffic laws and causes grave bodily injury to a child. Strike three.
And yet, in the Commonwealth of MA, no arrestable offenses have been committed.
How about ATTEMPTED FUCKING MURDER? How about being in this fucking country illegally and not having the common fucking decency to LEARN OUR FUCKING TRAFFIC LAWS?
Anyone want to bet as to whether the kid's dad would be charged with a "hate crime" if he'd yanked the guy out of the van and kicked the ever-lovin' shit out of him?
I didn't think so.
Gah. Fuck this. I'm off to the range.
You Gotta Admit, This Is Cool...
No need for dissection as see-through frogs jump in
The Biologist in me thinks this is some seriously cool bidness. Having performed small animal surgery in previous employ, I'm pretty attuned to both the need for animal models and the tightrope act that is vivisection in today's society.
However, whatever will students protest about in high school bio now???
(Of course, we dissected cats, which as far as I can tell haven't had sunroofs installed yet...)
The nit-picker in me has to call this out, though:
It's Rana, not Rena. Rana is the genus. Having worked with both Rana catesbiana and Rana pipens (as well as bufo bufo and bufo marinus), I know the difference...
TOKYO (AFP) - Japanese researchers have succeeded in producing see-through frogs, letting them observe organs, blood vessels and eggs under the skin without performing dissections.
"You can see through the skin how organs grow, how cancer starts and develops," said the lead researcher Masayuki Sumida, professor at the Institute for Amphibian Biology of state-run Hiroshima University.
"You can watch organs of the same frog over its entire life as you don't have to dissect it. The researcher can also observe how toxins affect bones, livers and other organs at lower costs," he told AFP.
The Biologist in me thinks this is some seriously cool bidness. Having performed small animal surgery in previous employ, I'm pretty attuned to both the need for animal models and the tightrope act that is vivisection in today's society.
However, whatever will students protest about in high school bio now???
(Of course, we dissected cats, which as far as I can tell haven't had sunroofs installed yet...)
The nit-picker in me has to call this out, though:
The researchers produced the creature from rare mutants of the Japanese brown frog, or Rena japonica, whose backs are usually ochre or brown.
It's Rana, not Rena. Rana is the genus. Having worked with both Rana catesbiana and Rana pipens (as well as bufo bufo and bufo marinus), I know the difference...
Friday Gun Pr0n #26
I seem to be on a rimfire kick this month...
Today's Gun Pic reaches waaaaay into the back of the safe for an old, albeit tired, favorite:
This is a Hi-Standard HD-Military .22LR semi-automatic pistol. 6" bull barrel. Raking grip angle. One of the most accurate guns I've ever shot. Also the most finicky and hardest to keep running. Which explains why it's in the back of the safe...
That is all...
Today's Gun Pic reaches waaaaay into the back of the safe for an old, albeit tired, favorite:
This is a Hi-Standard HD-Military .22LR semi-automatic pistol. 6" bull barrel. Raking grip angle. One of the most accurate guns I've ever shot. Also the most finicky and hardest to keep running. Which explains why it's in the back of the safe...
That is all...
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I Think I'm In Trouble...
Apparently I've pissed someone off:
I've got a brilliant idea: How about if we enforce the laws we already have? It's already illegal to tailgate. Last time I checked, obscene gestures fall into that pesky "freedom of speech" thing. And who, praytell, is going to determine if honking is necessary or unnecessary?
I'm sorry, but when you slam on your brakes, sit dead in the middle of the road for no apparent reason, and then make a random turn without a signal, you deserve a blast from the horn-o-density. That's necessary.
When you blow through a stop sign or red light and then putter along at 5-10 MPH below the speed limit, a blast on the tooter is mandatory.
When you sit at the green light for more than 5 seconds because you are more engrossed in your phone call than the flow of traffic, yeah, I'm blaring the horn.
If they really want to stop road rage, here's some handy hints from your ol' buddy Jay:
*Ticket people for blowing through red lights and stop signs.
*Pull people over on the highway for failing to keep right except to pass.
*Hand out tickets like breath mints for failing to signal a turn.
*Finish one road "improvement" project before starting a new one.
*Shoot on sight anyone passing a school bus with its lights on.
There. Hope that helps.
Getting rage off the road
Motorists will have to check their anger at the curb before putting their keys in the ignition if proposed legislation to crack down on road rage becomes law.The Legislature's Joint Transportation Committee is considering a bill to crack down on a range of bad behavior on the roads - from tailgating to unnecessary honking to making threats or obscene gestures.
I've got a brilliant idea: How about if we enforce the laws we already have? It's already illegal to tailgate. Last time I checked, obscene gestures fall into that pesky "freedom of speech" thing. And who, praytell, is going to determine if honking is necessary or unnecessary?
I'm sorry, but when you slam on your brakes, sit dead in the middle of the road for no apparent reason, and then make a random turn without a signal, you deserve a blast from the horn-o-density. That's necessary.
When you blow through a stop sign or red light and then putter along at 5-10 MPH below the speed limit, a blast on the tooter is mandatory.
When you sit at the green light for more than 5 seconds because you are more engrossed in your phone call than the flow of traffic, yeah, I'm blaring the horn.
If they really want to stop road rage, here's some handy hints from your ol' buddy Jay:
*Ticket people for blowing through red lights and stop signs.
*Pull people over on the highway for failing to keep right except to pass.
*Hand out tickets like breath mints for failing to signal a turn.
*Finish one road "improvement" project before starting a new one.
*Shoot on sight anyone passing a school bus with its lights on.
There. Hope that helps.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Just When You Think They've Hit Rock-Bottom...
...they grab a shovel and start digging:
Preschool’s rabbit stolen in anti-circus protest
Got that? These sick bastards broke into a fucking pre-school and took the class's pet rabbit. Some filthy tree-hugging hippie feels morally superior to a group of 4 year olds. What a hero.
I'm going to have veal for dinner for the rest of the week JUST FOR YOU, ASSHOLE. Bunny, be free! Baby cow, be my dinner.
Asshole.
Preschool’s rabbit stolen in anti-circus protest
SPOKANE, Wash. - A pet rabbit named Sugar Bunny was stolen from a preschool and fliers protesting circus animal acts were left in its empty cage.
The preschool’s children gathered in a circle Monday to remember Sugar Bunny. “We talked about how some people have different ideas about animals,” said teacher Lori Peters. “Some people don’t think they should be in cages.”
Got that? These sick bastards broke into a fucking pre-school and took the class's pet rabbit. Some filthy tree-hugging hippie feels morally superior to a group of 4 year olds. What a hero.
I'm going to have veal for dinner for the rest of the week JUST FOR YOU, ASSHOLE. Bunny, be free! Baby cow, be my dinner.
Asshole.
Itchin' For a Fight...
My pal doubletrouble, over at the newly minted Rattail Bastard, asks a thought-provoking question.
Well, I'll speak only for myself, both as a young man growing up and as a father to a young boy just entering the cutthroat world of schoolyard taunts and bullies.
First off, personally, I didn't get into many fights growing up. I got the snot beaten out of me on a regular basis as I've mentioned before. I was always smaller, a year behind everyone else in the growth spurt curve, a fat kid awkward in body with a gung-ho cop dad whose only advice was "don't come crying to me if you lose" [the fight].
As I grew older (and started working out), it became apparent to me that I was not cut out for fighting - I wouldn't fight over small stuff, and if something got big enough to fight over, I was in it to win. I found that, in the rare cases where someone pushed me to the point of fighting back, that I wasn't just fighting that person - I was fighting a long list of people who had wronged me in the past and I had never confronted.
Which usually had dire consequences for the person who tangled with me. Fortunately, there were only a couple of incidents, and in neither case was anyone permanently injured. There was a young man picked up and held out of a 7 story window, though...
All this, of course, doesn't answer doubletrouble's question...
"You showed amazing restraint back then. It's kind of funny- you younger folk (not disparaging your age- wanna trade?) didn’t "fight" much, it appears. I know my son didn’t, nor did many of his friends. Back in the ‘50s- ‘60s, when I was a yute, it was damn near a daily occurrence. That’s how we settled our differences, mostly. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, but I wonder what happened? Now, of course, you’d have the swat team out @ the first sign of fisticuffs, & an army of lawyers right behind.An interesting, albeit strange commentary on the "evolution" of civilization, no?"
Well, I'll speak only for myself, both as a young man growing up and as a father to a young boy just entering the cutthroat world of schoolyard taunts and bullies.
First off, personally, I didn't get into many fights growing up. I got the snot beaten out of me on a regular basis as I've mentioned before. I was always smaller, a year behind everyone else in the growth spurt curve, a fat kid awkward in body with a gung-ho cop dad whose only advice was "don't come crying to me if you lose" [the fight].
As I grew older (and started working out), it became apparent to me that I was not cut out for fighting - I wouldn't fight over small stuff, and if something got big enough to fight over, I was in it to win. I found that, in the rare cases where someone pushed me to the point of fighting back, that I wasn't just fighting that person - I was fighting a long list of people who had wronged me in the past and I had never confronted.
Which usually had dire consequences for the person who tangled with me. Fortunately, there were only a couple of incidents, and in neither case was anyone permanently injured. There was a young man picked up and held out of a 7 story window, though...
All this, of course, doesn't answer doubletrouble's question...
For me (and, by extension, my generation), fighting was not (yet) completely discouraged. We hadn't seen the idiocy of both boys getting in trouble when a bully finally received his comeuppance as seems to be the case these days. Schoolyard fights were still commonplace; school shootings were practically unheard of; the most you could expect from a fight was a talking-to by the vice principal. There was no anger-management counseling, nor were kids expelled under idiotic "zero tolerance" rules.
Alas, things are different for my son and his contemporaries. In a mad rush to "de-boy" the schoolboy, fighting is now harshly punished for all participants - even when it's a kid fighting back to defend himself. Grief counselors are called in whenever something bad happens in a foolhardy attempt to insulate kids from the cold harsh reality of life. Simple childhood games of "tag" are banned because we don't want to hurt the feelings of the kid who's "it".
We're rounding the edges off of everything, wrapping these kids in bubble-wrap, and only allowing them to play with safe and sterile Nerf™ toys. Even worse, we're deluding ourselves into thinking that this is somehow good for our kids - as though failure is something that they need to be protected from, rather than learn from. And we're doing them a terrible disservice.
We learn the most not when something works, but when it doesn't work. When something works, when everyone gets along, we don't question anything. When something doesn't work, when someone in the group just won't play well with others, we have to examine the situation and decide if the group is wrong or if it's the individual. And yes, sometimes fighting is necessary. Bullies cannot be allowed to go unchecked. Wrongs need to be righted, lest we spend our lives looking over our shoulders.
I fear for the day when I get the call that my son is in trouble for fighting. Because if he's in trouble because he was defending himself (or someone else); if he's facing disciplinary action because he stood up to a bully; I will raise all sorts of holy hell about it. I refuse to accept that fighting is never allowed, for there are still things worth fighting for. And one's dignity is one of those things.
That is all.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Blogroll Additions...
First up is someone I am proud to call friend, longtime commenter doubletrouble who has found his own voice at Rattail Bastard. He describes himself as "Another cranky old bastard", but he's substantially deeper than that brief description may appear. Go. Read. Encourage him to post more.
Next up is LB at Honesty Is Underrated. Her profile reads, "I'm in my mid 20's. I'm outspoken, generally tactless and addicted to politics. I shoot competition pistol and I'm good at it. Most people either love me or hate me. There is very little inbetween." Got that? She's a political junkie, a shooter, and has "Anybody but Hillary" as her motto for 2008. What's not to like?
Once again, go. Read.
And, one more time: If you'recrazy kind enough to add my insane ramblings to your blogroll, let me know - I'll do the same.
Next up is LB at Honesty Is Underrated. Her profile reads, "I'm in my mid 20's. I'm outspoken, generally tactless and addicted to politics. I shoot competition pistol and I'm good at it. Most people either love me or hate me. There is very little inbetween." Got that? She's a political junkie, a shooter, and has "Anybody but Hillary" as her motto for 2008. What's not to like?
Once again, go. Read.
And, one more time: If you're
Relief Is...
...hearing lights and sirens behind you - after you burned rubber going around the jackass in the dumptruck who cut you off - and it turns out to be the fire chief.
That is all.
That is all.
In Retrospect...
Ambulance Driver has, per his usual standard of excellence, a "must read" post up. He tells two starkly different stories of two patients that stick out in his memory and the two radically different paths they took.
The first story reminded me of something that I did when I was YDFoC.
First, though, a little background. One thing that I will not tolerate is a man hitting a woman. Under no circumstances. It is simply not done. One of the VERY few times I have ever actually punched someone, it was my own cousin because he pushed my little sister down. I will not stand for it, and if you are a man and you abuse a woman in my presence, you had best be prepared to fight.
So, I'm cruising Hampton Beach (local meat market) in my pickup truck with a big group of buddies. We've got the radio blaring, the windows are open, we've got the good-looking guys in the back of the truck acting as bait for the girls, and my buddy Todd and I are in the cab. We're crawling along in traffic, livin' large and enjoying life, when...
"Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?" Todd yells out.
"Huh? What was it? How big were her ti-" I started to reply.
"Right over there. Look at that piece of shit" Todd pointed the guy out to me.
Picture in your mind the stereotypical snot-nosed punk lowlife. He's got the hat on backwards, the sleeveless shirt, the jeans three sizes too large.
And he is open-handedly slapping the shit out of his girlfriend. Loud, audible, visible slaps. Her head recoils noticeably with each hit.
{WHUMP}
I drive the truck up over a curb and slam the gearshift into park. The door is still open as I tear-ass across the street with Todd close behind me. Guys are spilling out of the back of the truck wondering what the fuck is going on.
Now I'm in the kid's face. At the time, I'm running about 220 pounds, and I'm lifting weights every day. I'm 6' of slicked-back hair, muscle-bound Italian anger, and I'm right in this skinny dude's personal space. He's about four or five inches shorter than me, and can't weigh more than 150 pounds.
"You think you're a tough guy? Why don't you take a slap at me?" I am taunting him. I am daring him.
"Go ahead. Take your best shot, hero. I won't even block it.
Don't tell me you're a pussy."
By now there's a big crowd of people all around us, and I am in this guy's face. I'm questioning his manhood. I'm impugning his masculinity. I'm casting aspersions as to the status of lower primates in his family tree.
All the while, I am all but begging him to take a poke at me. Taunting won't do it. Openly emasculating him in front of the entire beach isn't cutting it. He is too fucking chickenshit to do anything except glower at me.
It doesn't take long before the cops start to roll on the scene. Before they get within earshot, I lean in close to the guy and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that if I *EVER* see him LAY ONE FINGER on his girlfriend again, I will gladly break every bone in his arm and my entire group will swear I was two states over. Three of my friends nod grimly. I'm not certain, but I think he peed in his pants.
Since I technically hadn't touched the guy, the cops just broke the circle up and sent us on our separate ways.
Looking back, I realize that, in all likelihood, that poor girl probably got the living shit slapped out of her later on that night.
The only possible counter would be that she saw what a fucking worthless pussy he was and kicked the crap out of him the next time he touched her.
At least I sure hope that's what happened...
The first story reminded me of something that I did when I was YDFoC.
First, though, a little background. One thing that I will not tolerate is a man hitting a woman. Under no circumstances. It is simply not done. One of the VERY few times I have ever actually punched someone, it was my own cousin because he pushed my little sister down. I will not stand for it, and if you are a man and you abuse a woman in my presence, you had best be prepared to fight.
So, I'm cruising Hampton Beach (local meat market) in my pickup truck with a big group of buddies. We've got the radio blaring, the windows are open, we've got the good-looking guys in the back of the truck acting as bait for the girls, and my buddy Todd and I are in the cab. We're crawling along in traffic, livin' large and enjoying life, when...
"Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?" Todd yells out.
"Huh? What was it? How big were her ti-" I started to reply.
"Right over there. Look at that piece of shit" Todd pointed the guy out to me.
Picture in your mind the stereotypical snot-nosed punk lowlife. He's got the hat on backwards, the sleeveless shirt, the jeans three sizes too large.
And he is open-handedly slapping the shit out of his girlfriend. Loud, audible, visible slaps. Her head recoils noticeably with each hit.
{WHUMP}
I drive the truck up over a curb and slam the gearshift into park. The door is still open as I tear-ass across the street with Todd close behind me. Guys are spilling out of the back of the truck wondering what the fuck is going on.
Now I'm in the kid's face. At the time, I'm running about 220 pounds, and I'm lifting weights every day. I'm 6' of slicked-back hair, muscle-bound Italian anger, and I'm right in this skinny dude's personal space. He's about four or five inches shorter than me, and can't weigh more than 150 pounds.
"You think you're a tough guy? Why don't you take a slap at me?" I am taunting him. I am daring him.
"Go ahead. Take your best shot, hero. I won't even block it.
Don't tell me you're a pussy."
By now there's a big crowd of people all around us, and I am in this guy's face. I'm questioning his manhood. I'm impugning his masculinity. I'm casting aspersions as to the status of lower primates in his family tree.
All the while, I am all but begging him to take a poke at me. Taunting won't do it. Openly emasculating him in front of the entire beach isn't cutting it. He is too fucking chickenshit to do anything except glower at me.
It doesn't take long before the cops start to roll on the scene. Before they get within earshot, I lean in close to the guy and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that if I *EVER* see him LAY ONE FINGER on his girlfriend again, I will gladly break every bone in his arm and my entire group will swear I was two states over. Three of my friends nod grimly. I'm not certain, but I think he peed in his pants.
Since I technically hadn't touched the guy, the cops just broke the circle up and sent us on our separate ways.
Looking back, I realize that, in all likelihood, that poor girl probably got the living shit slapped out of her later on that night.
The only possible counter would be that she saw what a fucking worthless pussy he was and kicked the crap out of him the next time he touched her.
At least I sure hope that's what happened...
Monday, September 24, 2007
Gunnie Bleg...
Okay guys (and gals). I've got a conundrum. A quandary. An enigma, if you will...
I've got a line on a NIB Smith & Wesson model 910S - a traditional double-action semi-automatic pistol in 9mm caliber.
It comes with some serious goodies - six genuine pre-ban full-capacity magazines (yes, I know, move out of MA, blah blah blah). And the price is excellent.
I don't have many traditional double action semi-autos - they're either all single-action (CZ-52, 1911, etc) or DAO (Kel-Tec, SW99). I've only got one other 9mm, and with the price of centerfire ammo continuing to skyrocket, it makes sense to have another 9mm.
I've shot my dad's model 39, which is essentially the single-stack version, and it's a nice, solid gun. He loves it - and qualifies expert with it every year.
So... What's the consensus out there? I've always heard that S&W makes great revolvers, but fair-to-poor semi-autos. I love my SW99s and my 422, and have heard nothing but glowing reviews from the M&Ps. Any and all input would be appreciated...
That is all.
I've got a line on a NIB Smith & Wesson model 910S - a traditional double-action semi-automatic pistol in 9mm caliber.
It comes with some serious goodies - six genuine pre-ban full-capacity magazines (yes, I know, move out of MA, blah blah blah). And the price is excellent.
I don't have many traditional double action semi-autos - they're either all single-action (CZ-52, 1911, etc) or DAO (Kel-Tec, SW99). I've only got one other 9mm, and with the price of centerfire ammo continuing to skyrocket, it makes sense to have another 9mm.
I've shot my dad's model 39, which is essentially the single-stack version, and it's a nice, solid gun. He loves it - and qualifies expert with it every year.
So... What's the consensus out there? I've always heard that S&W makes great revolvers, but fair-to-poor semi-autos. I love my SW99s and my 422, and have heard nothing but glowing reviews from the M&Ps. Any and all input would be appreciated...
That is all.
Random Numerological Geekery...
Okay, so I just checked my sitemeter stats and chuckled a bit that my "Daily Hits" number for today was 223...
As part of my workout routine, I run the rowing machine about 20 minutes. In that span, I aim for reaching 300 calories burned. When the counter hits "300", I have the overwhelming urge to yell out "SPARTAAAAAA".
And, yes, I note when the calorie counter hits 223, 270, 303, 357, etc. As well as doing a happy dance when the time elapsed hits 19:11...
My name is Jay, and I'm a geek...
That is all.
As part of my workout routine, I run the rowing machine about 20 minutes. In that span, I aim for reaching 300 calories burned. When the counter hits "300", I have the overwhelming urge to yell out "SPARTAAAAAA".
And, yes, I note when the calorie counter hits 223, 270, 303, 357, etc. As well as doing a happy dance when the time elapsed hits 19:11...
My name is Jay, and I'm a geek...
That is all.
Monday Morning Musings...
*Wow, this weekend flew by. But that's what happens when you cram about five days worth of stuff into two days...
*Cub Scout Pack Meeting went pretty well - no injuries other than my son's rope burn from the tug-o-war. But it's a small price to pay for the cubs "beating" the grown-ups. :)
*Gun show was significantly less successful. It's sad when you walk in with a whole bunch 'o' cash with the intention of finding something neat and instead walk out with ~ $60 worth of ammo...
*Did I miss something in the driver's ed training? It appears that people can no longer operate a motor vehicle without a cell phone glued to their ear? It seems like 9 out of 10 people have a phone permanently attached in the car.
*This week's going to be another busy one. Will try to post more at night, provided I can shake this creeping crud...
*Cub Scout Pack Meeting went pretty well - no injuries other than my son's rope burn from the tug-o-war. But it's a small price to pay for the cubs "beating" the grown-ups. :)
*Gun show was significantly less successful. It's sad when you walk in with a whole bunch 'o' cash with the intention of finding something neat and instead walk out with ~ $60 worth of ammo...
*Did I miss something in the driver's ed training? It appears that people can no longer operate a motor vehicle without a cell phone glued to their ear? It seems like 9 out of 10 people have a phone permanently attached in the car.
*This week's going to be another busy one. Will try to post more at night, provided I can shake this creeping crud...
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Busy Day Comin' Up...
Let's see...
Gun show in the morning.
Cub Scouts Pack Meeting/Game Day in the afternoon.
Yeah, it's gonna be a busy one. Just hope I don't mix up the two backpacks I have set for each event - it would be embarassing to get to the gun show to find out that all I have to sell/trade is a bunch of camping stuff... ;)
Gun show in the morning.
Cub Scouts Pack Meeting/Game Day in the afternoon.
Yeah, it's gonna be a busy one. Just hope I don't mix up the two backpacks I have set for each event - it would be embarassing to get to the gun show to find out that all I have to sell/trade is a bunch of camping stuff... ;)
Friday, September 21, 2007
Smart People Doing Stupid Things...
The blogosphere is abuzz with the story of one Star Simpson. She's the 19 year old MIT student arrested at Logan Airport with a device resembling a bomb strapped to her chest.
While I have to gasp audibly at the sheer idiocy of going to an airport with a fake bomb in plain sight, I can't say it surprises me. MIT students can sometimes be the phsyical embodiment of "All College, No Knowledge." Or, as Dave Barry puts it, they don't have the common sense that G-d gave gravel.
It is entirely possible that Ms. Simpson (D'oh!) really, honestly, and truly didn't think about her "art" looking like a bomb. I've met a fair amount of MIT students (Mrs. G.'s youngest sister graduated from MIT), and they are all EXTREMELY bright. Painfully so. However, as a sweeping generalization they are also very self-absorbed, intensely focused (like, to the complete and utter exclusion of the rest of reality if it doesn't pertain to their project-at-hand), and devoid of common sense.
This is not meant as a knock to MIT, excessively smart folk, or others in similar situations. Just my observation...
While I have to gasp audibly at the sheer idiocy of going to an airport with a fake bomb in plain sight, I can't say it surprises me. MIT students can sometimes be the phsyical embodiment of "All College, No Knowledge." Or, as Dave Barry puts it, they don't have the common sense that G-d gave gravel.
It is entirely possible that Ms. Simpson (D'oh!) really, honestly, and truly didn't think about her "art" looking like a bomb. I've met a fair amount of MIT students (Mrs. G.'s youngest sister graduated from MIT), and they are all EXTREMELY bright. Painfully so. However, as a sweeping generalization they are also very self-absorbed, intensely focused (like, to the complete and utter exclusion of the rest of reality if it doesn't pertain to their project-at-hand), and devoid of common sense.
This is not meant as a knock to MIT, excessively smart folk, or others in similar situations. Just my observation...
Same As It... Ever Was
Man... There has got to be something in the water these days...
*Followed a MA DPW dumptruck (What's yellow and sleeps 6?) for several miles at 15 - 20 MPH below the speed limit. Complete with seven or eight epileptic-seizure-inducing flashing yellow LED lights (newsflash - if they can't see your 22,000 pound dumptruck, they're not going to see a 3"X5" flashing yellow light). Now, I understand that it's in your self-interest to get to your destination as slowly as possible, thereby delaying any actual or theoretical work you will do. So, in the interest of helping you waste my tax dollars further, here's a hint: pull the fuck over and let the parade of cars behind you pass you. Asshole. Not only did you waste my tax dollars, but I was late to work to earn more of them. Gah.
The sad part is, this wasn't the worst I encountered this morning:
*Come around a corner on the small, curving back road I travel every day to get to work, and there's a Chevy Suburbanator in the road.
Stopped.
Completely.
I roll up behind it, and am about to hop out to see if I can help with something, when I catch a glimpse of the driver in the side view mirror. She's yakking away on her cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that she is STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROAD. I give a quick tap to the horn.
Nothing.
I start backing up the truck to go around this ignorant cum-burping blow pig, and just as I lean on the horn for the pass, the 'Burban lurches out into traffic.
And then she proceeds to pull into a driveway not 100 feet down the road. This stupid fucking bint stopped in the middle of the road just before her damn house.
BTW, the windows were rolled down. She's going to have to explain to her kids what those words were...
Some days, it's not worth chewing through the leather straps...
That is all.
*Followed a MA DPW dumptruck (What's yellow and sleeps 6?) for several miles at 15 - 20 MPH below the speed limit. Complete with seven or eight epileptic-seizure-inducing flashing yellow LED lights (newsflash - if they can't see your 22,000 pound dumptruck, they're not going to see a 3"X5" flashing yellow light). Now, I understand that it's in your self-interest to get to your destination as slowly as possible, thereby delaying any actual or theoretical work you will do. So, in the interest of helping you waste my tax dollars further, here's a hint: pull the fuck over and let the parade of cars behind you pass you. Asshole. Not only did you waste my tax dollars, but I was late to work to earn more of them. Gah.
The sad part is, this wasn't the worst I encountered this morning:
*Come around a corner on the small, curving back road I travel every day to get to work, and there's a Chevy Suburbanator in the road.
Stopped.
Completely.
I roll up behind it, and am about to hop out to see if I can help with something, when I catch a glimpse of the driver in the side view mirror. She's yakking away on her cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that she is STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROAD. I give a quick tap to the horn.
Nothing.
I start backing up the truck to go around this ignorant cum-burping blow pig, and just as I lean on the horn for the pass, the 'Burban lurches out into traffic.
And then she proceeds to pull into a driveway not 100 feet down the road. This stupid fucking bint stopped in the middle of the road just before her damn house.
BTW, the windows were rolled down. She's going to have to explain to her kids what those words were...
Some days, it's not worth chewing through the leather straps...
That is all.
Super Special Friday Gun Pr0n...
Last Friday I went to the GOAL Heritage Banquet (mentioned here). As part of the banquet, they have various and sundry raffles, auctions, and other assorted fundraising-type events.
Since GOAL is the GUN Owner's Action League, some of the auction items are firearms. They posted a list of items up for auction before the event, and I saw a good number of shoot-a-licious boomsticks I wanted to bid on...
One of the two top contenders was nowhere to be found the night of the auction. The other one, the one I wanted the most, I won:
This is a Marlin Golden 39-A lever action rifle chambered in .22 short/long/long rifle. It has a 24" barrel, drilled & tapped for scope mounts (although I agree with Kim that scopes on lever action rifles are heresy), and can carry 26 rounds of .22 short, 21 rounds of .22 long, and 19 rounds of .22LR (Yes, it's an eeeevil assault rifle according to our bloviating Senator Jabba the Kennedy).
Here's a picture of my newest acquisition in all its glory:
I can't get over how freakin' gorgeous this gun is. The serial number puts the date of manufacture sometime in the 1960s (I have to check the dates of all new-to-me used guns to see if I need to enter them in my C&R Bound Book). For a chunk of shootin' iron that's older than I am, she looks pretty damn good. Everything I've read about this rifle indicates that it's one of the better models out there...
And price? Well... I'll just say that had I paid twice what I got this gun for, it would still be at the bottom end of asking prices for the dozen model 39As I saw on GunsAmerica...
Since GOAL is the GUN Owner's Action League, some of the auction items are firearms. They posted a list of items up for auction before the event, and I saw a good number of shoot-a-licious boomsticks I wanted to bid on...
One of the two top contenders was nowhere to be found the night of the auction. The other one, the one I wanted the most, I won:
This is a Marlin Golden 39-A lever action rifle chambered in .22 short/long/long rifle. It has a 24" barrel, drilled & tapped for scope mounts (although I agree with Kim that scopes on lever action rifles are heresy), and can carry 26 rounds of .22 short, 21 rounds of .22 long, and 19 rounds of .22LR (Yes, it's an eeeevil assault rifle according to our bloviating Senator Jabba the Kennedy).
Here's a picture of my newest acquisition in all its glory:
I can't get over how freakin' gorgeous this gun is. The serial number puts the date of manufacture sometime in the 1960s (I have to check the dates of all new-to-me used guns to see if I need to enter them in my C&R Bound Book). For a chunk of shootin' iron that's older than I am, she looks pretty damn good. Everything I've read about this rifle indicates that it's one of the better models out there...
And price? Well... I'll just say that had I paid twice what I got this gun for, it would still be at the bottom end of asking prices for the dozen model 39As I saw on GunsAmerica...
That is all.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Don't Haze Me, Bro...
Pretty much the entire blogosphere has weighed in on the Kerry heckler at the speech in Florida.
I agree with the inimitable LawDog's take on the matter. The kid was an ass who wanted his 15 minutes of fame. Well, he got a little more than he bargained for, and now he's crying like a schoolgirl with wet panties.
Boo fucking hoo.
Look, to those out there who use the "there were six cops and only one guy", what the fuck did you want the cops to do? Strongarm the kid into compliance? Oh, yeah, that would have gone over just fucking swimmingly - give the asshole 10 - 20 seconds of pure gold video of six burly cops wrestling with poor Mr. "Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed".
Bullshit.
This was a sponsored event, so knock off the First Amendment crap, too. Someone PAID for Kerry to speak, and that same someone told shit-for-brains that his time was up. There's no squelching of political speech here; it's a simple case of market forces - the guy who paid for the mike wants it back.
99.99 times out of 100, the person is asked to leave and complies. Or they are quietly escorted out. They don't have friends with video cameras placed in the fucking audience so their little drama play can go up on YouTube minutes after he's done "fighting the man". Had he left when asked, this wouldn't have been a story.
Were the cops wrong to taser this doofus-maximus? What are the other options the police could have taken?
1. Strongarm - force the kid into cuffs. Oh yeah, that would have had every Kossack and his comrade just SCREAMING brownshirt.
2. Let him go. Uh, no.
3. Wait him out. Why? Why should everyone else in the room be held hostage to a publicity seeking boor?
4. O.C. - in that crowd? Are you fucking serious? Let one - just one - student catch a single droplet of capsicum spray and the lawsuits would be flying.
5. Pain compliance technique - i.e. taser/nightclub. Folks, the cops went really fucking easy on this kid. They would have been perfectly within their rights to bodily drag him, kicking and screaming, out of the room. They could have stepped on his neck. Bent his arm back. Forced him bodily into submission. A shock with the taser to a subject who continues to resist is relatively mild.
And one last thing: Anyone claiming this dorkasaurus was a Republican because he questioned Kerry needs to
a) Learn how to fucking read; and
b) Get a fucking clue.
That is all.
I agree with the inimitable LawDog's take on the matter. The kid was an ass who wanted his 15 minutes of fame. Well, he got a little more than he bargained for, and now he's crying like a schoolgirl with wet panties.
Boo fucking hoo.
Look, to those out there who use the "there were six cops and only one guy", what the fuck did you want the cops to do? Strongarm the kid into compliance? Oh, yeah, that would have gone over just fucking swimmingly - give the asshole 10 - 20 seconds of pure gold video of six burly cops wrestling with poor Mr. "Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed".
Bullshit.
This was a sponsored event, so knock off the First Amendment crap, too. Someone PAID for Kerry to speak, and that same someone told shit-for-brains that his time was up. There's no squelching of political speech here; it's a simple case of market forces - the guy who paid for the mike wants it back.
99.99 times out of 100, the person is asked to leave and complies. Or they are quietly escorted out. They don't have friends with video cameras placed in the fucking audience so their little drama play can go up on YouTube minutes after he's done "fighting the man". Had he left when asked, this wouldn't have been a story.
Were the cops wrong to taser this doofus-maximus? What are the other options the police could have taken?
1. Strongarm - force the kid into cuffs. Oh yeah, that would have had every Kossack and his comrade just SCREAMING brownshirt.
2. Let him go. Uh, no.
3. Wait him out. Why? Why should everyone else in the room be held hostage to a publicity seeking boor?
4. O.C. - in that crowd? Are you fucking serious? Let one - just one - student catch a single droplet of capsicum spray and the lawsuits would be flying.
5. Pain compliance technique - i.e. taser/nightclub. Folks, the cops went really fucking easy on this kid. They would have been perfectly within their rights to bodily drag him, kicking and screaming, out of the room. They could have stepped on his neck. Bent his arm back. Forced him bodily into submission. A shock with the taser to a subject who continues to resist is relatively mild.
And one last thing: Anyone claiming this dorkasaurus was a Republican because he questioned Kerry needs to
a) Learn how to fucking read; and
b) Get a fucking clue.
That is all.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Ahoy Me Hearties!
I would be remiss in not pointing out that today is Talk Like A Pirate Day.
YYYYEEEAAAAAARRRRRRGRGGGHHHHH!!!!Quick Question...
Did I miss something? Is today National Go As Slow As You Can (Without Actually Stopping) Through Intersections Day, or did I just have the misfortune to get behind a string of mouth-breathing Darwin rejects?
That is all.
That is all.
Wow...
While bringing some kid-related stuff up to the attic, I came across a stack of my "fat clothes" that I'd put in the attic to eventually make their way to Salvi.
Here's an "after" shot of me now wearing the pants I wore less than 2 years ago:
Here's an "after" shot of me now wearing the pants I wore less than 2 years ago:
That's a size 32 waist in size 44 pants. That's when I weighed 270+. Got weighed at my doctor's appointment today: 178. Nearly 100 pounds lost. Damn, I was a fatass...
I'll Take "Careers Measured in Picoseconds" for $400, Alex
Should teachers be allowed to pack a gun?
What? Provide for her own protection? Is she crazy? Doesn't she know that schools are "gun-free" zones? Well, they are until some lunatic decides they want to end their pathetic existence by killing a bunch of unarmed people...
And a teacher, at that. I wonder what the teacher's union says about armed teachers? [cue crickets]
But, but, but... She took out a piece of paper against him. Isn't that enough? Or does the school expect her to wait until he actually makes good on his threats against her life? Are they willing to provide her protection against his attacks since they won't allow her to carry? Don't bet on it.
Expect to see her very quietly get the axe. Soon. And I'll give 500:1 odds the local teacher's union doesn't lift a finger to help her...
Ashland, Ore. - In court documents, she's known as "Jane Doe." Innocuous enough, but the woman behind that pseudonym pushes one of the nation's hottest political buttons: guns and school safety.
What Ms. Doe wants to do is take her Glock 9-mm pistol to the high school in Medford, Ore., where she teaches.
What? Provide for her own protection? Is she crazy? Doesn't she know that schools are "gun-free" zones? Well, they are until some lunatic decides they want to end their pathetic existence by killing a bunch of unarmed people...
And a teacher, at that. I wonder what the teacher's union says about armed teachers? [cue crickets]
She's licensed to carry a concealed weapon and she has what many supporters say is a legitimate reason for being armed: a restraining order against her ex-husband based on threats he's allegedly made against her and her children.
But, but, but... She took out a piece of paper against him. Isn't that enough? Or does the school expect her to wait until he actually makes good on his threats against her life? Are they willing to provide her protection against his attacks since they won't allow her to carry? Don't bet on it.
Expect to see her very quietly get the axe. Soon. And I'll give 500:1 odds the local teacher's union doesn't lift a finger to help her...
Link kindly provided by reader Brad...
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Blue Angels
As I mentioned earlier, I attended the Blue Angels Air Show on Sunday. Seeing the Blue Angels is something I've wanted to do my whole life, and doing it for free as the guest of GE (who just happen to make the engines that power the F-18s they fly) was icing on the cake.
Enough with the typing. On with the lookie-lookie...
We start with the taxiing. Even on the ground, these birds are impressive:
But once they're in the air, they're downright spectacular. Here's a fly-by:
And here's the tight formation flying they're famous for:
(I couldn't imagine driving cars that close together. Let alone flying an airplane at 800 MPH...)
Awesome. Truly awesome.
Enough with the typing. On with the lookie-lookie...
We start with the taxiing. Even on the ground, these birds are impressive:
But once they're in the air, they're downright spectacular. Here's a fly-by: And here's the tight formation flying they're famous for:(I couldn't imagine driving cars that close together. Let alone flying an airplane at 800 MPH...)And, finally, the last peel-out before the show concluded. This was all six planes right after they separated from the final diamond configuration:
Awesome. Truly awesome.That is all.
Monday, September 17, 2007
You Might Be A Gun Nut If...
...when you fix a squeaky door hinge, you don't use WD40, you use Rem Oil. Both because it works better and you've got it closer.
To your bedroom closet.
That is all.
To your bedroom closet.
That is all.
Word of the Day
Drive-By Posting...
Just needed to get this out:
*Don't give a shit about OJ
*Don't give two shits about Sally fucking Field's incoherent quasi anti-war rant
*It was fucking cold this morning. Bitch to be turning on the heat on gorram September...
*Oh, and, a message from the New England Patriots to the rest of the NFL: Who's. Your. Daddy.
*Don't give a shit about OJ
*Don't give two shits about Sally fucking Field's incoherent quasi anti-war rant
*It was fucking cold this morning. Bitch to be turning on the heat on gorram September...
*Oh, and, a message from the New England Patriots to the rest of the NFL: Who's. Your. Daddy.
Bisy Backson
I'm a good Bisy Backson today. Will try to get pics from yesterday up, honest...
More later, if I survive...
More later, if I survive...
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Whattaday!
Went to see the Blue Angels at the Naval Air Station in Brunswick, ME today.
I'd post some pictures, but I can't get the smile chiseled off my face yet. I'm still stuck in "15 year old" mode, since that's how old I was when "Top Gun" came out, and I've been having flashbacks all day...
More tomorrow. Honest.
That is all.
I'd post some pictures, but I can't get the smile chiseled off my face yet. I'm still stuck in "15 year old" mode, since that's how old I was when "Top Gun" came out, and I've been having flashbacks all day...
More tomorrow. Honest.
That is all.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
A Hint (The Good Kind)
Okay. Went to the GOAL Banquet last night. Sat with a bunch of fellow gun nuts enthusiasts from NES. Had a great time, a great meal, and a nice night out without the chillens (quote of the night: "We're having an adult dinner! One with real pauses in the conversation!")
And I have a new acquisition to post Friday... Anyone want to guess? (And Derek, no fair, you were there...)
Answer in this coming Friday's Gun Pr0n...
And I have a new acquisition to post Friday... Anyone want to guess? (And Derek, no fair, you were there...)
Answer in this coming Friday's Gun Pr0n...
Friday, September 14, 2007
A New Wrinkle...
Okay, so the usual level of idiocy apparently wasn't enough.
Random brake-stompers? Yawn.
3 micron tailgaters? So yesterday.
Blowing through stop signs? Old news.
What's the new wrinkle today, you ask?
Well... Coming up on the (illegal alien) landscaping crew whose dumptruck and 20+' landscaping trailer are already taking up a good third of the two-lane road, when I see Miguel in the back of the dump body emptying a garbage can of grass clippings.
He then proceeds to through the empty barrel OUT INTO TRAFFIC. Yes, even with the truck and trailer taking up a good chunk of the travel lane, he felt compelled to throw the barrel out of the truck INTO TRAFFIC rather than onto the lawn.
I had to slam on my brakes and pray that the guy behind me didn't stuff into me. I took a second to compose myself, realized that anything I said would most likely:
a) not be understood; and
b) be construed as a "hate crime";
so I did what any other red-blooded American male driving a full-sized pickup truck would have done:
I ran the fucking barrel over.
That is all.
Random brake-stompers? Yawn.
3 micron tailgaters? So yesterday.
Blowing through stop signs? Old news.
What's the new wrinkle today, you ask?
Well... Coming up on the (illegal alien) landscaping crew whose dumptruck and 20+' landscaping trailer are already taking up a good third of the two-lane road, when I see Miguel in the back of the dump body emptying a garbage can of grass clippings.
He then proceeds to through the empty barrel OUT INTO TRAFFIC. Yes, even with the truck and trailer taking up a good chunk of the travel lane, he felt compelled to throw the barrel out of the truck INTO TRAFFIC rather than onto the lawn.
I had to slam on my brakes and pray that the guy behind me didn't stuff into me. I took a second to compose myself, realized that anything I said would most likely:
a) not be understood; and
b) be construed as a "hate crime";
so I did what any other red-blooded American male driving a full-sized pickup truck would have done:
I ran the fucking barrel over.
That is all.
Friday Gun Pr0n #24
I'm hoping that today's gun pic will act as a harbinger...
This is a Winchester Model 1906 pump-action .22 rifle. It's got a tubular magazine that holds 11 rounds of .22LR or 15 rounds of .22 shorts (I think; I've never fired anything but .22LR through it).
It's got no bluing left anywhere; the wood could use some serious refinishing/replacing; it has no butt pad; and one of the past owners scratched her name and town into the sideplate with what appears to be a chisel.
And I wouldn't have it any other way. Damnedest thing, too - it shoots like a dream. Even fooling around I can hit a 1" target at 50' all day long, and I'm no rifleman by anyone's standards...
This is a Winchester Model 1906 pump-action .22 rifle. It's got a tubular magazine that holds 11 rounds of .22LR or 15 rounds of .22 shorts (I think; I've never fired anything but .22LR through it).It's got no bluing left anywhere; the wood could use some serious refinishing/replacing; it has no butt pad; and one of the past owners scratched her name and town into the sideplate with what appears to be a chisel.
And I wouldn't have it any other way. Damnedest thing, too - it shoots like a dream. Even fooling around I can hit a 1" target at 50' all day long, and I'm no rifleman by anyone's standards...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tomorrow...
Meeting a whole bunch of the good folks at Northeastshooters forum at the GOAL Heritage Banquet. With any kind of luck/money I'll be helping the folks at GOAL out by buying some of the donated firearms at their auction, too...
Cross your fingers, and next Friday there'll be new gun(s) in the Friday Gun Pr0n...
Cross your fingers, and next Friday there'll be new gun(s) in the Friday Gun Pr0n...
One More Hint...
Was reminded of this one on the way to work this morning:
*If there's a car in front of me going below the speed limit, tailgating me at a distance of roughly 4 millimeters is not going to make them go any faster. All it's going to do is piss me off, and tempt me to hit my brakes so you rear-end me. That'll put my class IV receiver hitch right through your grill and into your engine. I, of course, will leave the accident scene in an ambulance, writhing in pain and giving a performance that would make William Shatner blush...
That is all.
*If there's a car in front of me going below the speed limit, tailgating me at a distance of roughly 4 millimeters is not going to make them go any faster. All it's going to do is piss me off, and tempt me to hit my brakes so you rear-end me. That'll put my class IV receiver hitch right through your grill and into your engine. I, of course, will leave the accident scene in an ambulance, writhing in pain and giving a performance that would make William Shatner blush...
That is all.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Helpful Hints...
*You are a crossing guard. Not a traffic cop. Learn the difference, and accept your limitations. The next time you wave a fucking Expedition directly into my path out of the side street with stop sign, I will file a complaint. There were no children (or adults) crossing, no school buses offloading, nothing. You apparently felt bad for Suzy Soccermom who had to wait more than five seconds to merge into traffic (but couldn't be bothered to cut her phone call short), so you go against the rules of the road to make me stop and let her out. Knock it off.
*Learn basic physics. A 3 ton truck can't stop on a dime. And when you're in a 1,500 pound Yaris, you're in no position to argue with me, either. Especially running the red light. Fortunately for your stupid ass, my truck is new and I didn't want to have to scrape Toyota poop out of the tire treads. Use your fucking brain for something other than dead brain cell storage...
*In that same vein, don't give me the finger because I refuse to let your impatient ass out into traffic. It's not my fault you're an inconsiderate fuck-knob who's already blocking a full lane of traffic. It is also not my fucking job to let you in. I've been waiting, too.
*If I were a resident of the town of [redacted], I would make it my life's mission to attend every town meeting ever scheduled to complain about the abysmal use of funds with regard to road maintenance. Seeing town crews rip up a BRAND NEW STRETCH OF ROAD, complete with the granite curbing and freshly-laid concrete sidewalks, a stretch that has been rebuilt TWICE BEFORE, would make me inquire as to an investigation into the town manager and their relationship with the local asphalt/concrete companies. Who's the town manager, Tony Soprano???
Ah. That feels better. As you were.
*Learn basic physics. A 3 ton truck can't stop on a dime. And when you're in a 1,500 pound Yaris, you're in no position to argue with me, either. Especially running the red light. Fortunately for your stupid ass, my truck is new and I didn't want to have to scrape Toyota poop out of the tire treads. Use your fucking brain for something other than dead brain cell storage...
*In that same vein, don't give me the finger because I refuse to let your impatient ass out into traffic. It's not my fault you're an inconsiderate fuck-knob who's already blocking a full lane of traffic. It is also not my fucking job to let you in. I've been waiting, too.
*If I were a resident of the town of [redacted], I would make it my life's mission to attend every town meeting ever scheduled to complain about the abysmal use of funds with regard to road maintenance. Seeing town crews rip up a BRAND NEW STRETCH OF ROAD, complete with the granite curbing and freshly-laid concrete sidewalks, a stretch that has been rebuilt TWICE BEFORE, would make me inquire as to an investigation into the town manager and their relationship with the local asphalt/concrete companies. Who's the town manager, Tony Soprano???
Ah. That feels better. As you were.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
8:46 AM, 9/11/01
Nearly 3,000 people lost their lives six years ago today in the worst terrorist attack ever on American soil.
Let's remember them today, and every day. Let's not lose sight of the dangerous enemy we face, either.
I can't say any more right now. I am still too fucking angry.
Others who have much to say:
Linoge says it really well, though.
As does Raven and her co-bloggers.
Kevin has some pictures.
Countertop details his experience in the area of the Pentagon.
Kim has some excellent thoughts on how to handle things.
Kevin has a pictorial roundup of various radical Islamofascist terrorist acts.
Here's Buck's recollections of the day.
Jay Tea at Wizbang has a series of posts on the timeline. Start at the top and read down.
UPDATE:
Mark also has a series of posts, but has the names of those who lost their lives on 9/11/01.
I had been doing okay until I saw the name "Vicky Yancey". As Ricky mentions in comments, we participated in a political bulletin board with "Yancey" (her chosen handle; mine was Guy Montag after Ray Bradbury's erstwhile fireman in Farenheit 451; I'll not spill Ricky's handle). She was a left-leaning poster, and we never saw eye-to-eye on all things political. But she was the personification of class; I don't think I ever saw her resort to argumentum ad hominem or invoking Godwin's Law or otherwise inmpugn, malign, or badmouth anyone, no matter how big a knuckle-dragging troglodyte right wing neanderthal they might be.
And those bastards took her from us. They deprived a husband of his soulmate; they deprived two daughters of their mother; they extinguished a bright and shining star far too early. And this was only one of the thousands of lives lost; only one person out of thousands who fell victim to an ideology run amuck.
When I think of the murderous bastards who met in a nightclub where I used to take my wife dancing to plan this attack, I am filled with a white-hot, blinding, all-encompassing rage. I want them dead. Every last fucking one of them. I want their families dead. I want the countries that harbor them destroyed. I want the countries that provide funding for these men demolished, broken, and the heads of their leaders displayed on a pike outside the State Department.
Let's remember them today, and every day. Let's not lose sight of the dangerous enemy we face, either.
I can't say any more right now. I am still too fucking angry.
Others who have much to say:
Linoge says it really well, though.
As does Raven and her co-bloggers.
Kevin has some pictures.
Countertop details his experience in the area of the Pentagon.
Kim has some excellent thoughts on how to handle things.
Kevin has a pictorial roundup of various radical Islamofascist terrorist acts.
Here's Buck's recollections of the day.
Jay Tea at Wizbang has a series of posts on the timeline. Start at the top and read down.
UPDATE:
Mark also has a series of posts, but has the names of those who lost their lives on 9/11/01.
I had been doing okay until I saw the name "Vicky Yancey". As Ricky mentions in comments, we participated in a political bulletin board with "Yancey" (her chosen handle; mine was Guy Montag after Ray Bradbury's erstwhile fireman in Farenheit 451; I'll not spill Ricky's handle). She was a left-leaning poster, and we never saw eye-to-eye on all things political. But she was the personification of class; I don't think I ever saw her resort to argumentum ad hominem or invoking Godwin's Law or otherwise inmpugn, malign, or badmouth anyone, no matter how big a knuckle-dragging troglodyte right wing neanderthal they might be.
And those bastards took her from us. They deprived a husband of his soulmate; they deprived two daughters of their mother; they extinguished a bright and shining star far too early. And this was only one of the thousands of lives lost; only one person out of thousands who fell victim to an ideology run amuck.
When I think of the murderous bastards who met in a nightclub where I used to take my wife dancing to plan this attack, I am filled with a white-hot, blinding, all-encompassing rage. I want them dead. Every last fucking one of them. I want their families dead. I want the countries that harbor them destroyed. I want the countries that provide funding for these men demolished, broken, and the heads of their leaders displayed on a pike outside the State Department.
Monday, September 10, 2007
PSA...
To the person running the search on ".22 422 takedown", if you need it, I can scan the owner's manual and send a picture.
Or you can contact S&W directly and they'll send one out to you. They've got excellent customer service - I can't recommend them highly enough.
That is all.
Or you can contact S&W directly and they'll send one out to you. They've got excellent customer service - I can't recommend them highly enough.
That is all.
Quelle Difference!
Lots of changes in the G. household. Mrs. G., after spending her entire professional career to date on "off" shifts (started out 3rd shift, went to 2nd shift when we had kids), has finally gotten herself a day position. It's a pain right now, but next year, when my little princess goes off to Kindergarten, we'll be in fantastic shape - no child care expenses!
What this means for me is that, since Mrs. G. is working 6AM - 2:30PM, I am responsible for waking the kids,making sure they don't leave the house nekkid overseeing the dressing process, getting them breakfast, and generally cracking the whip with sufficient force to get two little procrastinators out the door in time for one to catch a bus and the other to get to pre-school. I'm also in charge of creating ginormous run-on sentences.
It's really no big deal; I got das boy up and out the door all last year. This year I have to toss Miss Sleeps-a-lot in the mix.
What it does change, though, is my workout schedule. I'd been waking up at 5:30AM every morning and heading over to my parents' house (all 100' away) to use the ~ $5,000 worth of fitness equipment my dad bought after he had his heart attack/triple bypass. Best kinda gym - free. Well, with my wife going to work at 6, I'd have to be home by 5:45. Which means I'd have to start my workout at 4:45AM. I'd have to wake up at 4:30AM to accomplish this. Now, it's only an hour, right? Hell no, that's a BIG hour... 4:30 AM just ain't happenin'.
So I decided to switch to working out at night. Since Mrs. G. has to be up at 5:00AM, she's in bed by 8:30PM. We put the kids to bed at 8, they're asleep by 8:30, I'm next door working out at 8:35. Tonight was the first night of this new schedule. I had been concerned that working out at night, at the end of a long and hectic day, would be harder than in the morning.
I was wrong.
It was a LOT easier. On the treadmill, I was able to maintain my standard workout pace with no extra effort, and on the stationary bike I actually burned more calories. It dawned on me what the difference was - I was exercising after dinner, with a body full of fuel it was just itchin' to burn, as opposed to first thing in the morning after slowly burning off the previous day's excess calories...
Plus there was the psychological edge of not having to rush home to take a quick shower, get the kids up and ready, and then spend the whole day at work. Now I do my situps/pushups/curls/etc. in the morning before I wake the kids and the cardio portion at night. So far it seems to be a good system. Time will tell - I've been at this for over 9 months now, and can count the number of days I haven't exercised on one hand.
So far it seems to be as good if not better than before. Color me pleasantly surprised...
What this means for me is that, since Mrs. G. is working 6AM - 2:30PM, I am responsible for waking the kids,
It's really no big deal; I got das boy up and out the door all last year. This year I have to toss Miss Sleeps-a-lot in the mix.
What it does change, though, is my workout schedule. I'd been waking up at 5:30AM every morning and heading over to my parents' house (all 100' away) to use the ~ $5,000 worth of fitness equipment my dad bought after he had his heart attack/triple bypass. Best kinda gym - free. Well, with my wife going to work at 6, I'd have to be home by 5:45. Which means I'd have to start my workout at 4:45AM. I'd have to wake up at 4:30AM to accomplish this. Now, it's only an hour, right? Hell no, that's a BIG hour... 4:30 AM just ain't happenin'.
So I decided to switch to working out at night. Since Mrs. G. has to be up at 5:00AM, she's in bed by 8:30PM. We put the kids to bed at 8, they're asleep by 8:30, I'm next door working out at 8:35. Tonight was the first night of this new schedule. I had been concerned that working out at night, at the end of a long and hectic day, would be harder than in the morning.
I was wrong.
It was a LOT easier. On the treadmill, I was able to maintain my standard workout pace with no extra effort, and on the stationary bike I actually burned more calories. It dawned on me what the difference was - I was exercising after dinner, with a body full of fuel it was just itchin' to burn, as opposed to first thing in the morning after slowly burning off the previous day's excess calories...
Plus there was the psychological edge of not having to rush home to take a quick shower, get the kids up and ready, and then spend the whole day at work. Now I do my situps/pushups/curls/etc. in the morning before I wake the kids and the cardio portion at night. So far it seems to be a good system. Time will tell - I've been at this for over 9 months now, and can count the number of days I haven't exercised on one hand.
So far it seems to be as good if not better than before. Color me pleasantly surprised...
Liar, Liar...
...pants on fucking fire.
So let's get this straight. Ogonowski, who has spoken at the past four ceremonies, is all of a sudden mysteriously dropped from the roster, while Marty "Four Terms" Meehan is now the keynote speaker, while his wife chairs Ogonowski's opponent's campaign???
Are you for fucking real? It would be more fucking believable for them to claim the giant talking broccoli stalks from the planet Weembo appeared in a vision and told them to exclude Ogonowski.
The worst part is, the man doesn't have a prayer. Paul Tsongas was absolutely LOVED by his constituents, and he fought a brave battle against cancer. His widow is an absolute shoe-in for the seat, no questions asked.
And yet they have to play bullshit petty politics with the 9/11 ceremony and have the unmitigated fucking gall to LIE THROUGH THEIR FUCKING TEETH ABOUT IT.
Thanks to reader Brad forraising my blood pressure through the roof bringing this to my attention.
Ogonowski exclusion not political, 9/11 ceremony panel says
In organizing a State House ceremony for Tuesday to mark the sixth anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001, planners said yesterday they never envisioned they would set off a political firestorm by not inviting Jim Ogonowski, whose brother was killed in the attacks and who is now engaged in a
heated race as he seeks to become the state's first Republican congressman in more than a decade.
Ogonowski, who has been a speaker at the ceremony the past four years, was not asked to come back. However, added to the program as the keynote speaker was Martin Meehan, a former US representative whose wife is chairing Democrat Niki Tsongas's campaign against Ogonowski.
So let's get this straight. Ogonowski, who has spoken at the past four ceremonies, is all of a sudden mysteriously dropped from the roster, while Marty "Four Terms" Meehan is now the keynote speaker, while his wife chairs Ogonowski's opponent's campaign???
Are you for fucking real? It would be more fucking believable for them to claim the giant talking broccoli stalks from the planet Weembo appeared in a vision and told them to exclude Ogonowski.
The worst part is, the man doesn't have a prayer. Paul Tsongas was absolutely LOVED by his constituents, and he fought a brave battle against cancer. His widow is an absolute shoe-in for the seat, no questions asked.
And yet they have to play bullshit petty politics with the 9/11 ceremony and have the unmitigated fucking gall to LIE THROUGH THEIR FUCKING TEETH ABOUT IT.
Thanks to reader Brad for
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Geek Cred...
Tam points out that today marks the 41st anniversary of the airing of "Star Trek."
So I just have to throw down my geek cred here.
1. I have an autographed copy of "I Am Spock."
2. My closest friend's cousin wrote an episode of "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine."
3. I also have an autographed copy of "To The Stars", the autobiography of George Takei.
[edit to add]
4. How did I forget this one? I have my own bat'leth and d'k tahg. Pics forthcoming...
So I just have to throw down my geek cred here.
1. I have an autographed copy of "I Am Spock."
2. My closest friend's cousin wrote an episode of "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine."
3. I also have an autographed copy of "To The Stars", the autobiography of George Takei.
[edit to add]
4. How did I forget this one? I have my own bat'leth and d'k tahg. Pics forthcoming...
Like A Sucker Punch to the Gut...
Just got an e-mail from the wife of a good friend of mine. Andy and I have been friends since Junior High (what they now call Middle School), but since his job (computer programmer) took him out west (CA, then relocated to OK), we've lost touch. We send each other e-mails now and again, usually trumpeting a family triumph or lamenting a lost pet.
I just got word that he has liver cancer, the same kind as in long-term alcoholics (which he is not). The official diagnosis is "Well-Differentiated Hepatocellular Carcinoma".
Sonofabitch. We are too young to be losing our peers.
G-dspeed, Andy. If anyone can beat this, you can.
I just got word that he has liver cancer, the same kind as in long-term alcoholics (which he is not). The official diagnosis is "Well-Differentiated Hepatocellular Carcinoma".
Sonofabitch. We are too young to be losing our peers.
G-dspeed, Andy. If anyone can beat this, you can.
Friday, September 7, 2007
"New" Bin Laden Tape...
How come ol' Osama's beard looks like it has a shine to it? All the pictures they've shown us up to today show it as a salt-and-pepper affair, and now it's jet-black.
Now, I'm not saying it's fake or anything [ed.: Yes, he is] but doesn't it strike anyone as just a tad suspicious that ol' Ossie shows up sportin' a fresh new look and talking about global warming?
Anyone spotted Donna Brazile lately?
Now, I'm not saying it's fake or anything [ed.: Yes, he is] but doesn't it strike anyone as just a tad suspicious that ol' Ossie shows up sportin' a fresh new look and talking about global warming?
Anyone spotted Donna Brazile lately?
'Nother New Blog...
Linoge over at Walls of the City is crazy kind enough to link to my inane scribblings, so on the blogroll you go!
Go. Read. Do like I did and drool over the shiny M1A pics...
Go. Read. Do like I did and drool over the shiny M1A pics...
New Biker Blogs!
Got a couple new additions to the blogroll, both are fellow bikers and all around good eggs.
First up is Sailorcurt over at Captain of a Crew of One. His self-description reads: "Rantings and Ruminations of a broken down old sailor." He's got some seriously interesting stuff. Go. read.
Second is Strings at Pirate with a Permission Slip. Strings is making the cut for many reasons: Fellow biker, on the board of directors of BACA, and he makes his own meade. How freakin' cool is that? Also go and read.
That is all.
First up is Sailorcurt over at Captain of a Crew of One. His self-description reads: "Rantings and Ruminations of a broken down old sailor." He's got some seriously interesting stuff. Go. read.
Second is Strings at Pirate with a Permission Slip. Strings is making the cut for many reasons: Fellow biker, on the board of directors of BACA, and he makes his own meade. How freakin' cool is that? Also go and read.
That is all.
Like Father, Like Daughter...
Got a call from Mrs. G. yesterday afternoon. Apparently while waiting to pick our son up at the bus stop, our daughter was dancing in the front seat of the car (obviously it was not moving at the time) and managed to bang her head into the windshield.
She's fine.
The windshield looks like someone tried to hurl a bowling ball through it...
So, the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree - my sweet little girl has inherited my hard head (insert your own joke here, I've made it nice and easy for ya...)
There's more, too - as I tucked her into bed last night, I joked about her being the "windshield slayer" (a la "Oscar the Shark Slayer" from Shark Tale). She gave me her "mad" face and told me to stop teasing her. Well, me being, well, me, I had to get one more in (something about thinking I had another 10 years before the kids started wrecking the car).
She head-butted me. Hard. My sweet innocent little girl reared back and butted heads with her old man. Literally.
I (almost) feel sorry for the first little bastard who tries to pressure her into doing something she doesn't want to do. Because he's going to be the laughingstock of the school when he has to tell everyone that he got his arm broken in three places by a girl...
I steadfastly maintain that she's not going to break hearts. She's going to break legs.
That is all.
She's fine.
The windshield looks like someone tried to hurl a bowling ball through it...
So, the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree - my sweet little girl has inherited my hard head (insert your own joke here, I've made it nice and easy for ya...)
There's more, too - as I tucked her into bed last night, I joked about her being the "windshield slayer" (a la "Oscar the Shark Slayer" from Shark Tale). She gave me her "mad" face and told me to stop teasing her. Well, me being, well, me, I had to get one more in (something about thinking I had another 10 years before the kids started wrecking the car).
She head-butted me. Hard. My sweet innocent little girl reared back and butted heads with her old man. Literally.
I (almost) feel sorry for the first little bastard who tries to pressure her into doing something she doesn't want to do. Because he's going to be the laughingstock of the school when he has to tell everyone that he got his arm broken in three places by a girl...
I steadfastly maintain that she's not going to break hearts. She's going to break legs.
That is all.
Friday Gun Pr0n #23
This is a Smith & Wesson model SW99 full size. This particular model is the .40 S&W variant, which is visually identical to the 9mm and .45 ACP series. Smith & Wesson made this series in conjunction with Walther, who makes the P99 series in 9mm and .40 S&W only.
Here's the Walther P99:
Hence why I think the firearm in question (see the links) is the SW99 and not the P99...Thursday, September 6, 2007
Movie Review... And More!
Today's movie review is the aging buddy flick "Wild Hogs". This is your standard fare buddy/road trip flick with a slight twist: They're all middle-aged guys on Harleys.
Well, since I happen to ride a Harley, and mathematically am rapidly approaching middle age, Mrs. G. thought this one would be right up my alley. Plus, with an impressive cast - Tim Allen, who I don't believe has made a bad film yet (or at least one that I've seen); John Travolta (too bad he's never done any buddy pictures of note...*g*); Martin Lawrence (who IMHO has the oddest buddy road trip pairing against Tim Robbins in "Nothing to Lose"); William H. Macy (fave appearance: The Shoveler in "Mystery Men"); Ray Liotta (man was in "Goodfellas", one of my all-time favorite movies) and Marisa Tomei (who is just as cute as a button) - it seemed like a can't-miss proposition.
The story is pretty rote fare: Four guys who have been friends since high school (which, BTW, pretty much covers my group of buds...) have formed their own motorcycle club (called the "Wild Hogs") as a protest against growing old. Each one has their little quirks - Doug (Allen) is a dentist who craves the approval of his teenaged son; Woody (Travolta) is going through a messy divorce; Dudley (Macy) is a single programmer nerd who is utterly clueless vis á vis women; and Bobby (Lawrence) is hen-pecked to within an inch of his life. They decide that a week-long road trip to CA on their bikes would be a cool thing to do to renew their zest for life.
Here's where I have my first quibble, and it's a minor one. They live in Cincinnati. They want to ride motorcycles to southern California. By my reckoning, that's approximately 2,000 miles one way. Unless all four are former participants in the "Iron Butt Rally" (a hardcore biker run when participants put on in excess of 1,000 miles a day), it's highly unlikely they'd have time to do little more than stop in CA, take a picture, and then head immediately home...
Also, anyone who's ever taken a motorcycle on any length of a trip will recognize the gaping reality problem - they're shown at their first stop for the night in a tent, with sleeping bags, an air mattress, camp stoves, etc. All four bikes are cruiser-style - none have saddlebags or trunks - and are shown en route with minimal gear strapped on.
But it's escapist cinematography, not a biker documentary, so we can forgive a multitude of sins. Not to mention there's a cameo by Paul Teutul Sr. and Paulie from Orange County Choppers as the co-owners of the bar that the Wild Hogs frequent.
The plot twist, where everything comes off the rails as all buddy-road-trip pictures must, happens in a bar in New Mexico where the Wild Hogs stop in a biker bar run/owned by the "Del Fuegos" (would have been a cute touch to have "Don't Run Wild" playing on the jukebox...). Interesting side note: The Del Fuegos were originally supposed to be Hell's Angels, but the Hell's Angels actually sued Disney to halt the unauthorized use of their name. Let me repeat that: The Hell's Angels sued the Walt Disney Corporation. Isn't that the most surreal sentence ever???
Suffice to say, good guys win, bad guys lose, everyone goes home happy in the end.
The movie was cute enough, with enough glorious New Mexico landscape to paste over the plot holes. Definitely worth the $20 for the DVD.
The "more" referenced in the title is my personal objection to a theme in the movie. The whole reason that Jack (Ray Liotta's character, the leader of the Del Fuegos) goes after the Wild Hogs is that he doesn't like the "yuppification" of the biker scene.
This is something I've picked up on in many letters to the editor to various and sundry motorcycle-based magazines I read. There's the lament that most bikers today are lawyers or doctors or investment bankers, and that this is somehow a bad thing.
Now, I'll grant one thing: I don't like poseurs. Guys that drop $35K on a CVO custom Harley only to ride it 250 miles a year drive me nuts; it kills me that I only put 3K a year on my bike as it is. But my bike isn't a fashion statement. I've loved motorcycles since I was 5 years old and took a ride on the back of my dad's State Police Harley. I've owned a bike of some sort for 12 years now, and been a member of the AMA for over 10 years. I didn't turn 40 and suddenly discover my inner Wyatt.
To me, though, it's really true that "It's not what you ride, it's that you ride." I'll wave to any biker I pass, even if they're on a crotch rocket, rice racer, metric cruiser, Hondabago, etc. - they don't have to ride a Harley (or simply an American bike) to "prove" anything.
That is all.
Well, since I happen to ride a Harley, and mathematically am rapidly approaching middle age, Mrs. G. thought this one would be right up my alley. Plus, with an impressive cast - Tim Allen, who I don't believe has made a bad film yet (or at least one that I've seen); John Travolta (too bad he's never done any buddy pictures of note...*g*); Martin Lawrence (who IMHO has the oddest buddy road trip pairing against Tim Robbins in "Nothing to Lose"); William H. Macy (fave appearance: The Shoveler in "Mystery Men"); Ray Liotta (man was in "Goodfellas", one of my all-time favorite movies) and Marisa Tomei (who is just as cute as a button) - it seemed like a can't-miss proposition.
The story is pretty rote fare: Four guys who have been friends since high school (which, BTW, pretty much covers my group of buds...) have formed their own motorcycle club (called the "Wild Hogs") as a protest against growing old. Each one has their little quirks - Doug (Allen) is a dentist who craves the approval of his teenaged son; Woody (Travolta) is going through a messy divorce; Dudley (Macy) is a single programmer nerd who is utterly clueless vis á vis women; and Bobby (Lawrence) is hen-pecked to within an inch of his life. They decide that a week-long road trip to CA on their bikes would be a cool thing to do to renew their zest for life.
Here's where I have my first quibble, and it's a minor one. They live in Cincinnati. They want to ride motorcycles to southern California. By my reckoning, that's approximately 2,000 miles one way. Unless all four are former participants in the "Iron Butt Rally" (a hardcore biker run when participants put on in excess of 1,000 miles a day), it's highly unlikely they'd have time to do little more than stop in CA, take a picture, and then head immediately home...
Also, anyone who's ever taken a motorcycle on any length of a trip will recognize the gaping reality problem - they're shown at their first stop for the night in a tent, with sleeping bags, an air mattress, camp stoves, etc. All four bikes are cruiser-style - none have saddlebags or trunks - and are shown en route with minimal gear strapped on.
But it's escapist cinematography, not a biker documentary, so we can forgive a multitude of sins. Not to mention there's a cameo by Paul Teutul Sr. and Paulie from Orange County Choppers as the co-owners of the bar that the Wild Hogs frequent.
The plot twist, where everything comes off the rails as all buddy-road-trip pictures must, happens in a bar in New Mexico where the Wild Hogs stop in a biker bar run/owned by the "Del Fuegos" (would have been a cute touch to have "Don't Run Wild" playing on the jukebox...). Interesting side note: The Del Fuegos were originally supposed to be Hell's Angels, but the Hell's Angels actually sued Disney to halt the unauthorized use of their name. Let me repeat that: The Hell's Angels sued the Walt Disney Corporation. Isn't that the most surreal sentence ever???
Suffice to say, good guys win, bad guys lose, everyone goes home happy in the end.
The movie was cute enough, with enough glorious New Mexico landscape to paste over the plot holes. Definitely worth the $20 for the DVD.
The "more" referenced in the title is my personal objection to a theme in the movie. The whole reason that Jack (Ray Liotta's character, the leader of the Del Fuegos) goes after the Wild Hogs is that he doesn't like the "yuppification" of the biker scene.
This is something I've picked up on in many letters to the editor to various and sundry motorcycle-based magazines I read. There's the lament that most bikers today are lawyers or doctors or investment bankers, and that this is somehow a bad thing.
Now, I'll grant one thing: I don't like poseurs. Guys that drop $35K on a CVO custom Harley only to ride it 250 miles a year drive me nuts; it kills me that I only put 3K a year on my bike as it is. But my bike isn't a fashion statement. I've loved motorcycles since I was 5 years old and took a ride on the back of my dad's State Police Harley. I've owned a bike of some sort for 12 years now, and been a member of the AMA for over 10 years. I didn't turn 40 and suddenly discover my inner Wyatt.
To me, though, it's really true that "It's not what you ride, it's that you ride." I'll wave to any biker I pass, even if they're on a crotch rocket, rice racer, metric cruiser, Hondabago, etc. - they don't have to ride a Harley (or simply an American bike) to "prove" anything.
That is all.
Mini-Metalheads...
Heh.
Sitting in the truck this morning at the bus stop, the kids ask me to put the radio on. What's playing? Metallica's "Creeping Death".
From the back seat, my daughter inquires, "Daddy, is this a head banging song?"
To which I reply in the affirmative. Which, naturally, leads to both kids banging their heads in time with the music.
So, to the soccer moms at the bus stop with their mouths agape in abject horror at the sight of two small children banging their heads to Metallica, all I can say is "lighten up".
I'm just worried what my kids are going to listen to that will shock me. After a steady diet of Metallica, Anthrax, Iron Maiden, Slayer, Danzig, etc. in my teens, I can't think of anything out there that would genuinely shock me to hear my children listening to.
[okay, the parents out there with teenaged kids can stop laughing hysterically...]
Sitting in the truck this morning at the bus stop, the kids ask me to put the radio on. What's playing? Metallica's "Creeping Death".
From the back seat, my daughter inquires, "Daddy, is this a head banging song?"
To which I reply in the affirmative. Which, naturally, leads to both kids banging their heads in time with the music.
So, to the soccer moms at the bus stop with their mouths agape in abject horror at the sight of two small children banging their heads to Metallica, all I can say is "lighten up".
I'm just worried what my kids are going to listen to that will shock me. After a steady diet of Metallica, Anthrax, Iron Maiden, Slayer, Danzig, etc. in my teens, I can't think of anything out there that would genuinely shock me to hear my children listening to.
[okay, the parents out there with teenaged kids can stop laughing hysterically...]
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Cold Chills...
It just occurred to me that my son is almost exactly the same age Adam Walsh was when he was kidnapped and murdered.
I cannot even begin to imagine that hell. I can only pray to G-d that I never have to find out.
I do know someone who hasn't been just close to tragedy, but in the thick of it. I've been on the periphery, still ripped open raw, hurt, and stunned beyond belief; but that's as close as I've gotten. It's never been one of mine taken too young; I've never been through that level of hell on earth.
I talk a lot about personal defense, options one has, all the planning and training one can/should do. Sometimes I feel like it's all just window-dressing, a charade I play to convince myself that there is something I can do to provide for the safety of my loved ones. I hope and pray I never have to find out; I hope I can be fast enough, trained enough, hardened enough should I ever be put to the test.
But what if there's nothing I can do? What if I'm blissfully ignorant of the danger, whether it be a stranger abducting my child from the mall, or some deranged lunatic running rampant through their school? Admittedly, either scenario is several orders of magnitude less likely to happen than a car accident (which is also WAAAAY at the top of the list of shit I don't like thinking about), but it's still out there in the "fears that make Jay wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night".
Sometimes, a little knowledge is, indeed, a dangerous thing.
But y'know what? Part of loving your kids is worrying about 'em. The trick is to weigh the fears, the rational, irrational, and otherwise; against the realities and striking a balance between coddling/smothering/protecting/liberating them. Hope I can be quick enough, close enough, tough enough, and strong enough to save them when they need savin' and letting them fall when they need to fall. Because part of the process involves screwing up, getting banged around, and learning from it.
There's just as much danger in protecting them too much...
I cannot even begin to imagine that hell. I can only pray to G-d that I never have to find out.
Have you ever been close to tragedy
Or been close to folks who have
Have you ever felt a pain so powerful
So heavy you collapse
I've never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if
I've never had to knock on wood
And I'm glad I haven't yet
Because I'm sure it isn't good
That's the impression that I get
I do know someone who hasn't been just close to tragedy, but in the thick of it. I've been on the periphery, still ripped open raw, hurt, and stunned beyond belief; but that's as close as I've gotten. It's never been one of mine taken too young; I've never been through that level of hell on earth.
I talk a lot about personal defense, options one has, all the planning and training one can/should do. Sometimes I feel like it's all just window-dressing, a charade I play to convince myself that there is something I can do to provide for the safety of my loved ones. I hope and pray I never have to find out; I hope I can be fast enough, trained enough, hardened enough should I ever be put to the test.
But what if there's nothing I can do? What if I'm blissfully ignorant of the danger, whether it be a stranger abducting my child from the mall, or some deranged lunatic running rampant through their school? Admittedly, either scenario is several orders of magnitude less likely to happen than a car accident (which is also WAAAAY at the top of the list of shit I don't like thinking about), but it's still out there in the "fears that make Jay wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night".
Sometimes, a little knowledge is, indeed, a dangerous thing.
But y'know what? Part of loving your kids is worrying about 'em. The trick is to weigh the fears, the rational, irrational, and otherwise; against the realities and striking a balance between coddling/smothering/protecting/liberating them. Hope I can be quick enough, close enough, tough enough, and strong enough to save them when they need savin' and letting them fall when they need to fall. Because part of the process involves screwing up, getting banged around, and learning from it.
There's just as much danger in protecting them too much...
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Blog Math...
What Would John Wayne Do - Blogger/Blogspot/Google + new digs = Call Me Ahab.
Adjust your links accordingly.
That is all.
Adjust your links accordingly.
That is all.
More Gun Control "Success"...
This is just priceless: Ministers 'covered up' gun crime
Got that? In gun-free Britain, where handguns are completely banned and rifles are heavily regulated, gun-related violence has more than quadrupled.
Gee, it's almost like they've provided a target-rich environment... For the fucking criminals.
Not only that, but the government has to actively lie about the extent of the gun-related violence. Stunning. Gun control in England is such an abysmal failure that it is having the exact opposite response. Crime committed with firearms is rising.
Someone get this idiot a drool cup:
NEWSFLASH, shit-for-brains: CRIMINALS ARE NOT TURNING IN THEIR FUCKING GUNS. The only people who have turned in their firearms are the good, law-abiding folks. You know, the people WHO AREN'T COMMITTING THE FUCKING CRIMES???
Apparently Mumbles has been doing some across-the-pond consulting work on reducing gun crime...
THE government was accused yesterday of covering up the full extent of the gun crime epidemic sweeping Britain, after official figures showed that gun-related killings and injuries had risen more than fourfold since 1998.
Got that? In gun-free Britain, where handguns are completely banned and rifles are heavily regulated, gun-related violence has more than quadrupled.
Gee, it's almost like they've provided a target-rich environment... For the fucking criminals.
Not only that, but the government has to actively lie about the extent of the gun-related violence. Stunning. Gun control in England is such an abysmal failure that it is having the exact opposite response. Crime committed with firearms is rising.
Someone get this idiot a drool cup:
Smith last night proposed the setting up of neutral “drop-off zones” where illegal weapons could be handed in. “This means we can actually take that gun out of circulation and stop it from doing harm,” she said.
NEWSFLASH, shit-for-brains: CRIMINALS ARE NOT TURNING IN THEIR FUCKING GUNS. The only people who have turned in their firearms are the good, law-abiding folks. You know, the people WHO AREN'T COMMITTING THE FUCKING CRIMES???
Apparently Mumbles has been doing some across-the-pond consulting work on reducing gun crime...
Monday, September 3, 2007
Range Day
Took a loooong overdue trip to the range this morning. It had been a while since I last went shooting, and the last trip was oriented around target-shooting. So today's trip was a practice session comprised of my three main carry guns:
1. Kel-Tec P3AT (.380 ACP)
2. Smith & Wesson model 38 (.38 special)
3. Smith & Wesson model SW99 compact (9mm)
I learned a lot from this session, even though my round count was kept short (the model 38 bit into my trigger finger and I got the bum's rush when the local PD came in to practice).
*The Kel-Tec sights are woefully deficient. At ~ 25 feet (my standard combat distance), I had to actually aim off the left side of the target to hit the center. However, the groupings were more than adequate. I have to remember if the shit ever hits the fan to aim at the goblin's buddy on the left...
*Speaking of the Kel-Tec, the +1 mag extension is a piece of shit. Maybe I got a rare bad apple, but this thing sucked monkey balls. Not only does it not go fully into battery unless you force it, but it binds the follower badly. Gone. I'll buy an extra mag and carry two rather than rely on the extended magazine.
*The SW99 is not only pleasant to shoot, but by a large margin the gun I shoot best. All shots were kept COM, with 6" being the maximum spread at rapid fire. I need to carry this more.
*I really like the Bianchi speed strips. I actually was able to load the 38 faster with the speed strips than with an HKS speedloader. Next stop: MidwayUSA to order 2 or 3 more pairs (one .357 Mag, one .38 Special +P, two .38 Special).
*Speaking of stuff I really like, MagLula's ROCK. Any item that can help me spend less time loading and more time shooting is a good 'un in my book...
*Cleaning goes really fast when you've got only three guns, and all are small, short-barreled, and two of the three are polymer-gripped...
*Shooting stuff, even just paper targets, is fun. (with tip 'o' the keyboard to the Box'o'Truth...)
That is all.
1. Kel-Tec P3AT (.380 ACP)
2. Smith & Wesson model 38 (.38 special)
3. Smith & Wesson model SW99 compact (9mm)
I learned a lot from this session, even though my round count was kept short (the model 38 bit into my trigger finger and I got the bum's rush when the local PD came in to practice).
*The Kel-Tec sights are woefully deficient. At ~ 25 feet (my standard combat distance), I had to actually aim off the left side of the target to hit the center. However, the groupings were more than adequate. I have to remember if the shit ever hits the fan to aim at the goblin's buddy on the left...
*Speaking of the Kel-Tec, the +1 mag extension is a piece of shit. Maybe I got a rare bad apple, but this thing sucked monkey balls. Not only does it not go fully into battery unless you force it, but it binds the follower badly. Gone. I'll buy an extra mag and carry two rather than rely on the extended magazine.
*The SW99 is not only pleasant to shoot, but by a large margin the gun I shoot best. All shots were kept COM, with 6" being the maximum spread at rapid fire. I need to carry this more.
*I really like the Bianchi speed strips. I actually was able to load the 38 faster with the speed strips than with an HKS speedloader. Next stop: MidwayUSA to order 2 or 3 more pairs (one .357 Mag, one .38 Special +P, two .38 Special).
*Speaking of stuff I really like, MagLula's ROCK. Any item that can help me spend less time loading and more time shooting is a good 'un in my book...
*Cleaning goes really fast when you've got only three guns, and all are small, short-barreled, and two of the three are polymer-gripped...
*Shooting stuff, even just paper targets, is fun. (with tip 'o' the keyboard to the Box'o'Truth...)
That is all.
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