Thursday, October 27, 2016

Overheard on the Phone...

Phone: *RING! RING!*

Me: "Hello?"

Phone: "Hi! This is...*fake static*...Amy; I'm a Medicare advisor. How are you today?"

Me: "You're not a Medicare advisor, Amy. You're a robot."

Phone: "Great! Our records show that you are enrolled in Medicare or someone in your house is enrolled in Medicare. Is this right?"

Me: "Medicare makes me sooo hot, Amy. What are you wearing?"

Phone: "..."

Me: "Amy? Are you there? Did I not use the right keywords for your dialog tree?"

Phone: "..."

Me: *click*


I spent three weeks on Mountain Time and now I'm back on EDT. This is the first time I've been gone long enough that re-acclimatization is a thing; it feels like I'm up and about at a reasonably bright and early 7:17AM, but instead it's after nine.

I'm snowed under with work to catch up on. I promise myself I'll do a bunch of stuff while I'm on the road and then I'm lucky to do half of it.

To top things off, either the HDD or the drive controller on my desktop machine went toes up while I was gone, and the last backup of the documents folder is months old. Plus my copy of Adobe Acrobat is installed on that machine and that makes it hard to uninstall to allow it to be reinstalled on the laptop.

There's plenty more grief where that came from here at Roseholme Cottage, but that's enough whining for this AM.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Tab Clearing...

Things go wrong, Part One...

Guy in the plaid shirt walked up on our hero (in white) and said "Hey, you gotta phone? I need your phone. Gimme your phone and your wallet."

Our hero drew and the bad guy stopped, arms out to his side, and asked  "What're you gonna do? Shoot me?" He must've twitched the wrong way, because the good guy promptly did.

It was at that point that things went pear-shaped with the arrival of the Good Samaritan bystander who immediately started Samaritan-ing the wrong dude: "Hey, man! You just shot this guy!" Good Guy tries to explain what happened, while not letting Samaritan get too close. Samaritan interprets Good Guy's refusal to let him get close as being a sketchy guilty dude trying to get away.

Good Samaritan decides he's going to play hero and detain Good Guy for the cops. A tussle for the gun erupts, likely because of Good Guy's understandable reluctance to shoot Good Samaritan, and so Good Samaritan ends up stabbed fuckity-eleven times in the retention fight for the gun. It was ugly.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Derpening? The Derpvergence? The Derpularity?

So, there you are, hunkered down with a good (well, good-ish) cheekweld on the stock of your bullpup Mosin 91/30, squinting through the 36-color illuminated mil-dot reticle of your UTG 6-24x50 at the advancing horde of shambling blue-helmeted UN Nazi zombies. It's your job to provide overwatch for the third platoon of the Mom's Basement militia, and if you can't cover their flanks with accurate sniper fire, they'll be overrun and turned into zombie merde.

But who will cover your flank? If only your spotter had a weapon worthy of protecting you, the wielder of Tsarina, so that you could keep her barking defiance at the undead!

Never fear, your spotter's weapon is here.

Monday, October 24, 2016

Overheard in the Truck Last Night...

Me: "Hey, everybody remember to push your buttons down, because you know what I don't want to do today? Get into a f****ing gunfight."

Stingray: "Oh, wait. We already did that."

Me: "Okay, you know what I don't want to do today? Get into another f***ing gunfight."

Where I've been all weekend...

ECQC started out at 6PM on Friday and ran through 10PM that night. We were sweaty and sore and grabbed a quick bite at Denny's before bedtime. Left the motel at 6AM the next morning, were on the range by 7:45, class started at 8:00, and ended at 7:30PM with me flat on my back on the caliche, wearing a FIST helmet and getting housed in the headlight glare of a couple of trucks.

Remember: At these distances, it's not your gun, it's y'all's gun.
Stopped for supper on the way back to the motel, and Sunday morning was a repeat of the previous day, with things wrapping up about six-ish with the final evolution of the class: A fight in a car. We went out for a class dinner and then it was time for the drive back to Los Alamos, arriving at Nerd Ranch shortly after midnight.

I didn't have a lot of time to write this weekend, but I'll be writing plenty about this class this week. It was nothing short of a transformative experience.

Friday, October 21, 2016

I don't care who you are...

...that's funny right there.

Breathtaking lack of self-awareness...

So, this happened...

There are no clich├ęs in a gunfight (or rather "there are no cliche's in a gunfight" because an apostrophe means "Look out! Here comes an 's'!" in internetese) is just gem-like; perfectly fractal in its utter lack of clue at every level.

There was only one thing left to do. Quick, Robin! To Teespring! (And by "Robin", I mean PHLster, who saw genius and seized the day.)

I've ordered two. Excellent apparel for SHOT or NRAAM. That is our mascot, Sheepdogwolfbear.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Historical realism...

Declassified testimony that had been redacted from Douglas MacArthur's Senate hearings paints a pretty grim picture of our overall military readiness posture during the Korean War.

Conventional interpretation is that somehow the Chinese benefited more from the limited and only-in-bounds nature of the conflict than we did. I was certainly never encouraged to think about, say, the effects on our supply lines of the Russian sub fleet at Vladivostok being turned loose to prowl the sea lanes between Japan and Korea.

(H/T to Weaponsman.)

No respecter of kings.

Here's a pretty interesting little piece on dysentery's effect on the monarchy of England.

It probably claimed more than one royal victim. A drafty garderobe or campaign tent in the field would be a hell of a place to poop your life out.



On my daily peregrinations about the internets yesterday, some photos from a travel piece on CNN caught my eye.

By Cristian Bortes - Salina - TurdaUploaded by Rsocol, CC BY 2.0, Link
Apparently an ancient salt mine in Romania has been converted into a sort of underground theme park, with minigolf and an underground lake and everything. Best of all, its name is "Salina Turda".

Tell me that your inner third grader would not just be in absolute nirvana paddling a rowboat around an underground lake and singing "Salina Turda! Salina Turda!" just to listen to the echoes.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

How it's framed...

The headline at CNN looked pretty grim:
Yikes. Well, NYPD pistol training is hurting pretty badly these days, and we all know what happens when you give an undertrained person a gun and a healthy dose of paranoia via hours of scary dashcam videos.

Then I read the body of the piece:
The woman grabbed a baseball bat and attempted to strike the sergeant, Nikunen said. The officer fired two shots, striking the woman in the torso, he said.
Wait, what? What's the problem here?

Look, y'all, if you see someone swinging a baseball bat at me and I'm not already shooting them, I'd be much obliged if you'd get to shooting them for me. I don't care if they're 16 or 66 or what bathroom they use or if they're white or black or a sort of tie-dyed color.

A baseball bat to the cranium is lethal force and don't kid yourself otherwise. You start lethal forcing at me and I'm gonna lethal force right back at you to make you stop.

EDITED TO ADD (because it came up in the BookFace discussion):

Ignore the "Why didn't he draw his taser?" thing. That's a red herring. The use of force spectrum is not like baseball. You do not have to touch every base. If you need to run straight home from second, that's perfectly legal.