Monday, October 31, 2016

Product Improved

On the bottom is the early Robar Custom Glock 17 that has been my inadvertent carry gun for several months now.

I say "inadvertent" because I installed an Overwatch Precision trigger that they sent me for T&E in it and decided to use it in the Rangemaster class I took in Nappanee back in early August. Since the class would involve a large amount of drawing and holstering, I moved the Gadget from my carry G19 to the 17. Out of sheer laziness, I never moved it back and therefore have been carrying the 17 since then, including using it at the Citizens Defense Research class in Ohio and at ECQC out in Albuquerque.

Other than a few user-induced FTEs at the Givens class and once fouling the slide on my right bewb shooting from retention in ECQC, I've had absolutely zero trouble from the gun. According to my logs, I've put 2,660 rounds through the gun since I've had it, which means it's nearing time for a prophylactic recoil spring change.

Incidentally, I'm glad I let Dark Star Gear talk me into the G17-length holster even though I was intending to carry the G19 in it.

People were telling me that the ECQC class was going to be a lens through which I viewed a lot of stuff very differently afterwards and they weren't kidding. One example is that I now really prefer holsters from holster makers who've attended that class. There's a reason that a handful of holster makers are dramatically over-represented in that sector of the training community...

The P320 Compact I won at the Friends of the NRA dinner immediately received the Boresight Solutions frame transplant (I had the frame on hand; it's why, when I had first pick off the Wall of Guns, I picked the 320C) and that's the state it was in when I took it along out to Blogorado to let some other folks try it. It's now had 226 rounds through it, and this weekend I swapped the fire control unit to a friend for his Gray Guns tuned FCU, so it's now technically a different gun. The trigger is phenomenal, and I've ordered a set of Dawson Precision sights to go on it.

I guess this marks the start of 2,000 rounds for the 320C, then? 226 down and 1,774 to go?

Sunday, October 30, 2016


A photo posted by Tamara Keel (@tamarakeel) on

It's fun show weekend.

Posting has been interrupted by me hanging out at the fun show. I split a table with a friend, as much for the people-watching as anything else. Let's sing the Fun Show Song!
Flintlocks and Flop-tops
And Number Three Russians
Black-powder Mausers
From jackbooted Prussians,
Shiny Smith PC's from limited runs
These are a few of my favorite guns.

Socketed bay'nets
On Zulu War rifles,
Engraved, iv'ried Lugers
That make quite an eyefull
Mosin tomato stakes sold by the ton
These are a few of my favorite guns.

Rusty top-breaks!
Smallbore Schuetzens!
And all of Browning's spawn
I just keep on browsing my favorite guns
Until all my money's gone.
Not much of a crowd, and nobody's buying much of anything. You'd think that folks would be in the middle of a frothing election panic right now, seeing as how the gun-buying public is prone to such things, but maybe folks are all panicked out? Alternatively, folks might be too broke to panic.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Overheard in the Office...

RX: "Hmm. 'Smoked mullet'..."

Me: "I'll go with 'What is what happened when Joe Dirt's trailer caught fire?'"

True fact.

Really close quarters...

My final evolution of the weekend:
To paraphrase the great warrior-poet, Lt. Aldo Raine, the problem with fighting in a car is that you're fighting, in a car.

When that gun came up in his left hand, it got all up inside my OODA Loops.

Friday, October 28, 2016


I had more stuff to write up about the ECQC class today, but this morning I discovered that Soldier of Fortune magazine has decided to lift one of my columns whole from Shooting Illustrated.

They say that blatant copyright infringement is the sincerest form of flattery, but flattery don't pay no bills.
EDITED TO ADD: I am now informed that SoF had permission to reprint the column.

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 clichés 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. 

Tuesday, October 18, 2016


It's feeling pretty vacation-y today.

Maybe later.

Monday, October 17, 2016

Fry Your Fingertips

Patent Troll

This is one of those things of whose existence I was vaguely aware, but had never paid much attention to.

Now that I've actually stumbled across the patent while looking for something else, I have to think that Mister Albert B.Pratt of Vermont was trolling the patent office, or was completely off his nut.

Come to think of it, I'll bet the folks at the patent office get to deal with plenty of nutters.
How was the hat not supposed to fly off your grape under recoil?

As a side note, even limiting my search to patents issued prior to 12/31/1920, it's amazing how many were issued that contain "breech block".

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Saturday night's alright for fightin'...

Well, a roller derby bout isn't exactly a fight, but derby's definitely a contact sport...

At some point around the turn of the Millennium, roller derby somehow exchanged the trailer park for a loft in the arts district, and swapped PBR for IPA (unless you're drinking the PBR ironically.)

My hosts here in New Mexico are both heavily involved, Stingray as a referee and LabRat skating for the local Los Alamos team. The latter had its final bout of the season Saturday night, an away game against Albuquerque at Expo New Mexico, which I gather is the state fairgrounds. I have an affinity for fairgrounds, so I tagged along.

The lighting indoors was...let's go with "suboptimal", and I almost went and locked the camera bag in the truck, but I decided to keep it with me rather than risk window breakage on the Nerds' vehicle. Besides, I'd hate for a thief to be embarrassed by trying to pawn the contents of my Lowepro.

I had the D1X and the D200 with me, but the usual zoom lenses I keep on them for travel are painfully slow for the lighting conditions in the exhibit hall, and especially when attempting to do action photography. Oh, well, I dialed up the ISO and opened wide...

Los Alamos was ahead at the half, but they were short a few skaters and the home team blew it wide open in the second period in front of a wildly enthusiastic all-ages home audience that filled the bleachers, the chairs, and the floor in front of my seat. After the buzzer, the fans all crowded the track to exchange high fives with the circling skaters, home team and visitors alike.

After the bout, we repaired to the local Rudy's for some well-earned postgame chow: baby back ribs and prime rib and a Shiner Bock to wash it down.

And then it was time to drive back up to the ranch, listening to Wolf 359 podcasts on the truck's stereo.

It was a pretty good Saturday night, all-in-all, even if it did ensure that I'm going to have to save money for some faster glass.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Tab Clearing..

Weird dream.

I dreamed I was back in Atlanta. I was hanging out with a photographer friend in the area around Lenox Square of a Saturday afternoon, and we were walking from restaurant to pub, taking photos and reminiscing about the good old days and how much the area had changed. (It had changed a great deal, since my brain was fabricating a dream Buckhead/Lenox that was a sort of amalgam of mid-'90s Atlanta and Twenty-Teens Near Northside Indianapolis, cityscape-wise.)

The night dragged on well past midnight and our wandering afoot had wound us up in the parking lot of the Brookhaven MARTA station, from where my friend bid me adieu and headed home.

I am now realizing that I'm in an empty big city parking lot, afoot, at 0430, with a camera bag containing a couple DSLRs and other very pawnable stuff, and I'm mildly inebriated and the better part of a mile away from my car. So I start walking southwest along Peachtree Industrial. As I'm trundling along, I'm taking heart in the fact that we're nearing the end of the crook's working day and it won't be but another thirty or forty-five minutes before joggers and early-rising first-shift types outnumber gang bangers, dope dealers, and last-call-dodging drunks on city streets.

Sure enough, a few blocks along and I pass a couple groups of runners headed in the opposite direction on the sidewalk; two to four dudes out huffing and puffing a few miles before work. As the second group passed me and I turned my head to follow them, I noticed I had a guy following me. He was looking around as though keeping an eye out for witnesses, and gaining on me pretty steadily.

I stepped up my pace but, P'tree Industrial being seven lanes wide at this point and already starting to pick up in traffic volume from its wee-hours doldrums, I couldn't easily just jaywalk across the street to see if the guy followed or if I was just being nervous. I would have had to pause long enough to look both ways and make sure it was safe to cross, which would have given him time to catch up, and that seemed no bueno.

Glancing over my shoulder again, I saw he was closing fast and still scanning around him. I quickened again into the shambolic jog that's the closest thing I have to a run these days. I heard him start to jog behind me.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. I just need..." he says.

"I don't have anything. Go away!" I yell.

"You stop!" Fingertips brush my right shoulder.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" My right hand goes under my jacket and onto my pistol as I try to run even faster.

Accompanied by a growl, his hand tries to grab my right shoulder again, misses its grasp, and instead gives a forceful, unbalancing shove. I start to stumble forward, half turn, draw the gun and fire twice. He's very close. I hit right where I'm aiming and the dude stops running forward, stands up straight for a second...

But I've already turned and run another half-block. Finding an open doorway, I back into it. I fumble my phone out of my shirt pocket with my left hand. I haven't holstered the gun and I'm trying to work the phone and safely hold on to the pistol at the same time. I can't get my fingers to work my phone's screen right and end up asking Siri to dial 911. (Can Siri do that? Note to self...)

The guy doesn't follow me. I set the gun and the phone down on the pavement, collect my breath, pick the gun up and holster it, then pick up the phone to wait for the po-po. The cops show up. Detectives show up. There's yellow crime scene tape being strung up back down the block. The cops tell me the dude is DRT. For some reason, I feel compelled to defend myself, to relate the entire narrative I've just told you to the police.

I lay out the details of the guy closing on me deliberately, and all the pre-attack cues, everything from his constant scanning combined with direct movement towards me, to actually physically laying on of hands. Kathy Jackson is there for some reason. "Mas would be very disappointed in you," she says, somewhat wryly, after I finished my tale to the responding po-po.
"I didn't want to clam up and ask for a lawyer and look guilty, but I probably said too much and look like a Strange Ranger," I moped.

I had to wait there for a while. I'm relieved of my gun. By the next afternoon, they'd got video from cameras in three or four locations, including one of him trying to shove me to the ground and me shooting. They'd also completely combed over my social media accounts. It turned out that dude had a big knife under his coat and a long prior record. I woke up in the middle of them telling me that I was free to go, for now at least.

That was extremely weird.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Things I Don't Get #719,582

So there's a some sort of Instagram-like app called "Rich Kids" that is apparently just like Instagram, but charges you a thousand dollars a month to post your photos?
"To ensure the quality and exclusivity of our members the membership is set to be $1,000 per month.
By charging a thousand clams a month to do the same thing one can do for free on Instagram, one is definitely ensuring something of one's membership, but it has more to do with density than any other quality.
"A ____ and his _____ are soon ______" Ready? Go!
Maybe I'm instagramming wrong? I thought I was posting pictures of guns and food and cameras mostly because I like taking pictures of things I like, but also because I like sharing those pictures with my friends? I mean, the majority of the people I back'n'forth with via social media on any kind of regular basis are people I know, either in meatspace or in that weird pen-pal way you can get from years of online correspondence.

I had no idea that we were supposed to be keeping some kind of score.

Training opportunity...

The Contextual Handgun: The Armed Parent/Guardian class being held in Brookville, Ohio the weekend after this still has seats.

As for the quality of instruction, I watched John & Melody working with a shooter who was having difficulty keeping them on the paper on the morning of day one, and by the end of day two, she'd passed the FBI qual handily. Drawing from concealment.

Thursday, October 13, 2016


It purely boggles my mind how many of my 'net acquaintances who used to quote Ayn Rand at the drop of a fedora are all in the middle of awkward no-homo man-crushes on a balding Russian autocrat. However much the FSB spent to suborn ZeroHedge, they certainly got return on their investment.

Pot, meet kettle.

So the US government is going to hector me about cyber security in this op-ed allegedly co-written by Valerie Jarrett:
"That is why recently we launched the Lock Down Your Login campaign. This is a public-private campaign designed to educate everyone on immediate and simple steps we can take today to better secure our data, personal information and online transactions."
Hey, Valerie, you .gov employees need to just slow your roll on the finger-wagging about cyber security at me. After all, I'm not the one with servers in my bathroom or using "00000000" for an ICBM launch code.

(This is, of course, from the same executive branch that spies on you like a mofo and always wants backdoors in any encryption scheme which they will, honest injun, only use in a constitutional manner.)

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Pictures and words.

Earlier this year I read of the passing of longtime Car and Driver photog Aaron Kiley in a glider crash in France, and now this.
Here's his obit at the magazine's site.

A lot of what I know about writing comes via osmosis from the pages of C/D, and not a little of it was via Mr. Yates.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Silly Season '16

I'm not saying that the Voluntary Human Extinctionists are right, but let's hear them out at least. We don't want to be hasty and rush to judgment.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

Impressed thus far...

The LCP II was tried by several shooters yesterday. It's now had 111 rounds run through it with only one stoppage, and that was caused by a dud primer in a round of MagTech .380 FMJ. I ran it through twice without it igniting, and then tried it in my Sig P250 with similar results.

Stuff like this is why I get skeptical when I hear people telling me they've fired zillions of (un-logged, un-corroborated) rounds through their blaster. "All those cases and cases of ammo and not a single dud primer or out-of-spec case?"

"Nary a one."

"I am dubious."

I was shooting plates at fifteen yards a lot more easily than I would have been with the DA triggered original. It's still not the sort of gun you'd want to shoot all day, but the wider backstrap did help mitigate felt recoil.

Friday, October 07, 2016

Quote of the Day: Be Real Edition

I have probably used the term "dress around the gun" on these pages before. And the truth of the matter is that a lot of people do carry a smaller gun than they could (or no gun at all) because they're unaware of concealment options. With tuckable holsters and other options, a G26 or G19-size gun can be carried lots of places. However...
""Dressing around the gun" is the single dumbest goddamn concept the industry has ever come up with. Espoused principally by two groups; those who carry under color of law and those who don't have real jobs. That is to say, not on the same planet as the rest of us." -Claude Werner
There are people who work daily in non-permissive environments with dress codes, where a gun may be legal to carry, but would be a firing offense. Telling a 5'4" woman in a skirt with no belt loops to "dress around" a Glock 19 in an IWB holster makes one sound a little dense. 

There are people who have social lives who like to dress normally around their friends and peers at dinners or cocktail parties. There is a place for a gun that can be carried very discreetly.

Small nines like the Shield and G43 have changed this somewhat, but like I wrote elsewhere on this blog:
"Maybe they'll shoot like gangbusters, but single-stack guns too big to go in a pocket just don't have any practical use for me. Since I'm rarely in anything you'd call a "non-permissive environment" and I dress like a hobo, if I'm carrying a gun on my belt, it's going to be a service-sized pistol. The next size step down for me is "small enough to slip in a jeans pocket", which leaves out a lot of otherwise fine guns, like the P-239, Shield, or the 3913."
We do not live in a world where everybody can wear an untucked polo shirt over a gun belt with a Glock 19 and centerline fixed blade knife, and can take all their vacation days every year to attend gun school. Nor should we. By making that sound like the lowest hurdle for responsible self defense, we turn off more people than we attract.

Thursday, October 06, 2016

New Ruger LCP 2!

A total redesign on Ruger's best-selling pocket .380: Single-action, better sights, fatter backstrap for comfort, last-round hold-open. A pocket holster is included in the box.

Overheard at 34,000 Feet

Hell is other people.

A worse hell is other people's children.

The worst hell is other people's children kicking you in the small of the back halfway across the continent. And, because the steady chatter from row 36 was in Mandarin or Cantonese, you're pretty sure that your turning around somewhere over Arkansas, fixing the child with heavy eye contact, and saying "Let's play a new game called Stop Kicking The Seat In Front Of You" was just so much wasted breath.

I changed my phone's wallpaper.

So now I have a cat staring reproachfully at me even when I'm not at home...

Now if I can get it to make random querulous noises, paw at the hem of my gun burkha, and occasionally bite my ankle, I will have an electronic portable housecat.

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

Purity Check

Examine your wardrobe.

Award yourself one point for any garment that meets any of the following criteria:

  • Military surplus
  • Has MOLLE loops
  • Non-hunting-oriented camo (double points for Multicam, triple for Kryptek)
  • Any gun- or gun-related company branding other than Beretta or Browning
  • Made by: Arc'teryx, Kitanica, Propper, 5.11, Blackhawk, et al
  • Has gun-specific features like mag pouches or holster compartments
  • Has epaulets 
Tally up the total number. This is your score. It is important that it be displayed prominently in online interactions because everyone with a lower score is a Fudd and everybody with a higher score is a Tactard. You must fight with them to the death,


The 37 sports Ameriglo CAP sights and a ZEV Fulcrum trigger.
The proof is in the shooting, right?

I took the 39 to the range with a hundred rounds of ammo, and the firing pin safety and extractor assembly from the 37 installed in its slide.The light, off-center strikes still occurred, so I drove home and retrieved the G37 (which now had the possibly problematic parts from the 39 installed in it.)

Raven Freya magwell on G37 is working out well.
The 37 continued to run like a top. According to my logbook at, it has fired 2,180 rounds of all kinds of .45 GAP ammo since last October, with one failure to feed and one failure to fire in that time. I want the 39 to run like that.

Tuesday, October 04, 2016

I should be a much better shooter than I am...

Worth a thousand words...

On balance, this photo pretty well sums up the first half of 2016. It had some bright spots, but there was a lot of nasty-looking wilted-ass broccoli and nowhere near as many big chunks of beef as I was led to believe there'd be.

(The latter half is off to a decent start, though.)

Ups and Downs...

Yesterday morning I corrected one obvious error I'd made with the Glock 39: When I'd swapped in a new trigger bar, I swapped in the entire assembly: Trigger/trigger bar, and the trigger mechanism housing/ejector assembly.

But the trigger mechanism housing I'd swapped in was one for a 9mm, which has a different ejector than the one used by the .45 GAP. So yesterday I swapped the original trigger bar and trigger mechanism back into the gun, while also replacing the entire striker assembly in the slide with a complete spare I had on hand.

(The fact that someone with my level of total mechanical ineptitude can do this in five minutes on a TV tray in the office before heading to the range is a testament to the simplicity of the design.)

Unfortunately, this didn't clear up the problem. I had high hopes, as the first three magazines (19 rounds total) went down without a hitch, but the light, off-center primer strikes quickly reappeared.

My last try here is to replace the firing pin safety assembly and extractor assembly with the known-good ones in my Glock 37 and take it to the range today and see if it works. I want it to work, because the little gun really does shoot great, and there's something about a tiny little gun that launches huge fat bullets that appeals to my inner gun nerd.

Monday, October 03, 2016

I'm so over this.

I went to bed after Bobbi left for work this morning. 3AM? 4AM? I have no clue.

I woke up at 8AM, when a frantic cat managed to rouse me.

I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. I lay in bed for another three hours, mostly staring at the ceiling and listening to the TV drone in the background.

I made it to the range. The Glock 39 is still not fixed. I've got about one thing left to try before I just mail it to Glock in frustration.

The empty box of crushing disappointment bolted to the front of the house just made the clanking noise with its lid, indicating that the mailman has been here. He left me nothing.

I couldn't tell you what time it was on a dare, except that the mailman comes between 3:30 and 6:00 so it's probably in there somewhere.

Waking up today was a mistake.

Maybe tomorrow.

Sunday, October 02, 2016


Bobbi's working the weird shift again and that's got my sleepytimes all scrambled, too, since I try to stay awake at least until she wakes up, and then have to wake up to feed the cats at 0600.

This morning I had a delicious Broad Ripple breakfast at Taste with Shootin' Buddy, and then we repaired to Indy Arms Co. for a little shooting. After busting caps, a trip to check out Redemption Alewerks up on 96th street...

A flight of six little beers at Redemption Alewerks
Home for a quick nap and then met Keads who had dropped by Indy to see some sights. We sat on the patio at the Broad Ripple Brewpub and chatted over a late lunch while watching the neighborhood enjoying a glorious early autumn evening. He needs to come back when he has time for the museum tour!

Saturday, October 01, 2016


Huh. Not a lot of posting action in September. It could have something to do with the fact that I spent a total of eight days on the road that month, three at the Citizens Defense Research class in Troy, OH and five at the Ruger event down at FTW Ranch.

Of course, August was busy, too, with both the Friends of Pat Rogers celebration in Alliance, OH and the Rangemaster class in Nappanee, IN eating up seven days put together, yet I managed almost half again the number of posts.

I need to write more on a recreational basis. It's good for keeping the brain limber.

Lions and tigers and badgers...

I dreamed that Bobbi and I had moved to a '70s-vintage contemporary ranch in a subdivision in the Colorado mountains.

I was out in the glassed-in sun porch when I noticed that there was a bear rolling around just on the other side of the low chain-link fence surrounding the back yard, using the fence as a back-scratcher. I checked to make sure the cats were inside and went to go fetch Bobbi, so she could take a picture of it for her Facebook page.

As I headed down the hall to fetch her, I glanced out another window into the back yard and noticed that right outside the window, in the yard, was a leopard eating a freshly-killed pronghorn. The leopard looked up from its meal and right into my eyes, which was pretty creepy.

Yes, I know that leopards aren't exactly endemic to Colorado, and have I mentioned that the bear in question wasn't a black bear or a grizzly, but rather a polar bear? Clearly my dream zoologist was taking the night off.

Anyway, I return to the glassed-in sun porch with Bobbi to find that the polar bear and the leopard are now sitting cheek-by-jowl in front of the sliding glass door, where they have been joined by a badger for some reason I can't possibly fathom. All three are staring intently into the sun porch at the cats therein, and the bear has started idly pawing at the sliding glass door, which is unlocked.

So now I'm holding the door shut and asking Bobbi to please latch the little latch on the handle and hustle the cats into the house. When she does, I let go of the half-latched door and rush to follow her. The problem is that the doors that divide the porch from the rest of the house are flimsy-ass accordion doors like you'd find on a closet, with little siding bolts at the top for privacy locks, but hanging free at the bottom. If a bear hit that, it'd hinge open like a giant cat door.

So Bobbi helped me slide a small bookcase in front of the doors and then while she was on the phone with Animal Control ("Yes, a polar bear and a leopard. No, I'm not kidding. Please don't hang up!") I ran and grabbed my carbine and, because it finally had a purpose in life, my .405 Win T/C Encore...

Then I woke up.