Flying along the edge of the airspace of another country is fairly standard practice in the Nation State game. What you're attempting to do is to get the other team to light you up with their radar so that you can get fixes on the locations and types of their air-defense radar tracking sites. If you're really lucky, a missile battery might decide to track you.
If you're a really big power trying to intimidate a weedy little breakaway former possession, you may even penetrate their airspace in an attempt to get them to power up everything they have before you zip homeward safely. What are they going to do? Risk a war they'd certainly lose by shooting at a plane that had only "gotten lost"?
Suppose something goes wrong, though. Suppose that Threat Warning Receiver warbles really loud and convincing-like. Suppose your pilot panics when he thinks he's being launched on. Or, alternatively, suppose he's getting in a bit of practice of his own with acquiring targets for his Anti-Radiation Missiles and accidentally pickles one off...
...and it not only doesn't hit the target, it doesn't explode either.
Now you don't look like a big, scary intimidating power in the incident. In fact, the affair makes you look a bit buffoonish. Hell yes, you'd be denying involvement. I know I would. I'd lie. I'd fling wild counter-accusations. Then when finally cornered on it months from now, I could claim that the rogue pilot was acting alone and had been re-assigned to mail flights in Siberia.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Note to Self:
When you drink a huge glass of apple juice right before bed time and wake up to the inevitable at 4:45AM, if you decide to check the computer "just to see what's happening" before you go back to bed, do not drink an energy soda like Diet Pepsi MAX or Vault Zero while doing so.
If you do, you're up for the day.
May as well start typing...
If you do, you're up for the day.
May as well start typing...
Blog Stuff: Overheard on the Porch.
Me: "Bob, there's a spider on your leg."
Gunsmith Bob: "Where?"
Me: *points*
GB: *gently herds/brushes spider off leg*
Me: "What the hell are you doing? You herded it towards me! Kill it!"
GB: (With an air of great patience) "There are only two kinds of spiders we kill. Do you know what those are?"
Me: "Yeah. Ones that are on me, and ones that are trying to get on me."
Like I said previously, the spider population around here and I may be in an uneasy sort of détente due to their admitted usefulness as nature's bug netting, but if they violate our little truce by touching me...
I %$^&ing hate spiders.
Gunsmith Bob: "Where?"
Me: *points*
GB: *gently herds/brushes spider off leg*
Me: "What the hell are you doing? You herded it towards me! Kill it!"
GB: (With an air of great patience) "There are only two kinds of spiders we kill. Do you know what those are?"
Me: "Yeah. Ones that are on me, and ones that are trying to get on me."
Like I said previously, the spider population around here and I may be in an uneasy sort of détente due to their admitted usefulness as nature's bug netting, but if they violate our little truce by touching me...
I %$^&ing hate spiders.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Not necessarily true, but I can't resist the snark:
Do you have any idea how hard it is to write five or ten paragraphs on a French rifle and make it at least moderately interesting?
Two words: Paint. Drying.
Two words: Paint. Drying.
I was about to comment...
...that it's hot as dammit out there on the porch, but then I realized that to do so would make me sound a little thick. It's the Dog Days of August in the Tennessee valley. Of-friggin'-course it's hot and sticky out there. Besides, nobody put a gun to my head and made me dress like Blackwater Barbie this morning. Do you Yankees know why Southerners seem to talk and walk so slow? It's so that we don't die of heat stroke in the summers, that's why.
I'm about a quarter of the way through Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga for the third time. Man, oh man, can she write great characters. I've often quipped that a good story can rescue bad writing, but as time goes by I've decided that what's really important are the characters. If you can write great, three-dimensional characters that readers can believe in and care about, you could put them in an empty room and have them talk to each other for 600 pages and it would still be enjoyable.
So all-in-all it's a pleasant day to be on the porch, if you don't mind a little melting around the edges, and to top it all off I'll get to watch Smoltz v. El Duque tonight. Life could be a lot worse. Laundry can wait 'til mañana.
I'm about a quarter of the way through Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga for the third time. Man, oh man, can she write great characters. I've often quipped that a good story can rescue bad writing, but as time goes by I've decided that what's really important are the characters. If you can write great, three-dimensional characters that readers can believe in and care about, you could put them in an empty room and have them talk to each other for 600 pages and it would still be enjoyable.
So all-in-all it's a pleasant day to be on the porch, if you don't mind a little melting around the edges, and to top it all off I'll get to watch Smoltz v. El Duque tonight. Life could be a lot worse. Laundry can wait 'til mañana.
I gotcher carbon footprint right here.
In comments to the post on the B-36 Peacemaker, a joke was made by "rickn8or" that the six Pratt & Whitney radials and four GE turbojets on the Big Stick must have made a heck of a "carbon footprint." This, of course, paled compared to the carbonized footprint it could leave with its 42 ton maximum bomb load.
On May 22nd, 1957, a B-36 preparing to land at Kirtland AFB in New Mexico had a bit of an accident, dropping its Mark-17 thermonuclear gravity bomb into the desert below. Although the bomb's conventional explosive trigger detonated, the nuclear payload on the unarmed weapon was not triggered.
Anybody want to bet on the size of the "carbon footprint" in the bombardier's trousers?
On May 22nd, 1957, a B-36 preparing to land at Kirtland AFB in New Mexico had a bit of an accident, dropping its Mark-17 thermonuclear gravity bomb into the desert below. Although the bomb's conventional explosive trigger detonated, the nuclear payload on the unarmed weapon was not triggered.
Anybody want to bet on the size of the "carbon footprint" in the bombardier's trousers?
Today I continued my long tradition...
...of inserting my foot in my mouth around all-'round nice guy Michael Silence.
I was reading his blog this morning, specifically the bit about "Bloggers vs. MSM, Round 6.23x10^27" taking place in Nash Vegas at the moment, when I reached the supposed quote from Liz Garrigan:
*facepalm*
I was reading his blog this morning, specifically the bit about "Bloggers vs. MSM, Round 6.23x10^27" taking place in Nash Vegas at the moment, when I reached the supposed quote from Liz Garrigan:
Most bloggers wouldn’t last an hour under the journalistic quality control that a newspaper demands.Of course I saw red and cracked off my retort immediately:
If I thought my writing was only good enough for a newspaper, I'd slit my wrists.Then I remembered whose blog I was posting on...
*facepalm*
Blog Stuff: I found my nice shoes.
And it only took 13 1/2 months. They were in a box in the back of the crawlspace, under another box filled with old curling irons and blow-driers, an ALICE LC-1 backpack, and a milk crate full of documentation from fifteen-year-old computer games, including the big poster with the tech tree and all the military units from Civ II.
It's been like Christmas friggin' morning here at VFTP Command Central. :)
It's been like Christmas friggin' morning here at VFTP Command Central. :)
Boomsticks: Why ban health and safety gear?
Another gem from Oleg Volk.
You'd be surprised how many people don't see suppressors from this angle. When they give you the "Silencers should be illegal!" jazz, fire back with:
"If I don't put a silencer on my car, my motorcycle, or my chainsaw, they can throw me in jail, but if I do put one on my gun they can throw me in jail. I don't get it. Is my hearing important, or isn't it?"
Before we get too carried away...
...making fun of the latest bit of moonbat silliness from CommonDreams:
...let's not forget that in late '99 up through early '01, conservative-leaning message boards were rife with our side's brand of paranoiacs wringing their hands about Clinton canceling the '00 election and making himself President-For-Life. I just did a search over at TFL on "Clinton + dictator", and some of those old threads were priceless...
Will Bush Cancel The 2008 Election?
by Harvey Wasserman & Bob Fitrakis
It is time to think about the “unthinkable.”
The Bush Administration has both the inclination and the power to cancel the 2008 election.
The GOP strategy for another electoral theft in 2008 has taken clear shape, though we must assume there is much more we don’t know.
But we must also assume that if it appears to Team Bush/Cheney/Rove that the GOP will lose the 2008 election anyway (as it lost in Ohio 2006) we cannot ignore the possibility that they would simply cancel the election. Those who think this crew will quietly walk away from power are simply not paying attention.
...let's not forget that in late '99 up through early '01, conservative-leaning message boards were rife with our side's brand of paranoiacs wringing their hands about Clinton canceling the '00 election and making himself President-For-Life. I just did a search over at TFL on "Clinton + dictator", and some of those old threads were priceless...
More from the place Great Britain used to be.
Kim du Toit's post makes one wonder "What happens to the sinking ship and its passengers when the rats stay but the crew leaves?"
(As a bonus, if you go look in the comments to the linked article, you'll find Genuine Christian Identity looniness!)
Britain is facing a mass exodus of people looking to escape the crime and grime of modern living. The country’s biggest foreign visa consultancy firm has revealed that applications have soared in the last seven months by 80 per cent to almost 4,000 a week. Ten years ago the figure was just 300 a week.Pretty soon the wagon will still be full, but those pulling it will have left. Whatever the outcome, it won't be a pretty one.
(As a bonus, if you go look in the comments to the linked article, you'll find Genuine Christian Identity looniness!)
Today In History: Six turnin', four burnin'.
August 8th, 1946 marks the maiden flight of the Aluminum Overcast, the Big Stick, the Convair B-36 Peacemaker. Jimmy Stewart was not flying.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Guns and blue jeans and stuff.
It's down to the wire for laundry day. We're down to either baggy SigTac pants (and I'm just not feeling that tactical today,) or an old pair of jeans that haven't seen wear in a while. They were starting to show wear on the knees and a bit of fraying along the seams and therefore weren't dress code compliant, but the dress code is pretty relaxed around VFTP Command Central these days.
When I put them on, I was a little baffled at the amount of rise in the waist before I realized that it's been so long since I wore them that they are now rather completely out of style. Hmmm... Combine that with laundry-induced shrinkage, and there's no way that a 1911 and holster is fitting in there with me. Comp-Tac to the rescue! I have a Comp-Tac Gurkha holster for 3"/4" N-frames that actually positions the cylinder of the gun slightly above the belt-line, making for surprisingly easy IWB carry.
I reached down and scooped up my 3" Model 657. It's a nice gun, fits my hand well, and I shoot an N-frame pretty okay. The only downside? My choices in .41 Magnum ammo on-hand were Buffalo Bore's 265gr LSWC, which lobs a big, hard-cast flat meplat bullet at over 1300fps, and some Winchester Platinum Tips, which throw 240gr bullets that take their jacket design from the Black Talon/Ranger Talon downrange at 1200ish. Neither one's going to be exactly fun to shoot from the N-frame snubby, but in the absence of escaped rhino reports from the local zoo, I think I'll go with the Winchesters.
When I put them on, I was a little baffled at the amount of rise in the waist before I realized that it's been so long since I wore them that they are now rather completely out of style. Hmmm... Combine that with laundry-induced shrinkage, and there's no way that a 1911 and holster is fitting in there with me. Comp-Tac to the rescue! I have a Comp-Tac Gurkha holster for 3"/4" N-frames that actually positions the cylinder of the gun slightly above the belt-line, making for surprisingly easy IWB carry.
I reached down and scooped up my 3" Model 657. It's a nice gun, fits my hand well, and I shoot an N-frame pretty okay. The only downside? My choices in .41 Magnum ammo on-hand were Buffalo Bore's 265gr LSWC, which lobs a big, hard-cast flat meplat bullet at over 1300fps, and some Winchester Platinum Tips, which throw 240gr bullets that take their jacket design from the Black Talon/Ranger Talon downrange at 1200ish. Neither one's going to be exactly fun to shoot from the N-frame snubby, but in the absence of escaped rhino reports from the local zoo, I think I'll go with the Winchesters.
Just hearsay so far, but it might warrant a closer look.
Gun confiscation still a problem in NOLA?
Do you need a CCW permit to keep a pistol in your car in Louisiana? I didn't think you did, but www.packing.org seems to be tango uniform.
Do you need a CCW permit to keep a pistol in your car in Louisiana? I didn't think you did, but www.packing.org seems to be tango uniform.
Blog Stuff: Get well wishes.
It turns out that web buddy Phlegmfatale's "I feel a little under the weather," translated into medical-speak as "Get in the hospital now, because you have a lung full of pneumonia."
Get well soon!
Get well soon!
Where do I sign up?
Les Jones links to some juicy tidbits on the state of the Emergency Room in Quebec...
During my big motorcycle wreck drama of '00, the first place the ambulance whisked me was Grady Memorial, the big Atlanta public hospital. As soon as I was conscious enough to wave my insurance card, I was whisked off to nice, private Piedmont for rehab. Talk about night and day... One place treated me like an inmate, the other like a customer. Call me fickle, but I definitely prefer the latter.
A PS: Ironically, I met several folks at Grady who were obviously dedicated, competent folks on a health care mission, from the compassionate ER nurse to the Orthopedic surgeon who rescued me from abandonment in the X-ray room, to the nice guy who removed the eleventeen jillion staples from my right leg without flinching at my language or swinging back at me (I throw a lousy left jab, anyway) before bandaging me up again. But they were as scattered roses among the manure piles of indifferent administrative types, surly orderlies, and various other functionaries who acted as if you were somehow interrupting their mandatory break time by having the audacity to be all busted up in their hospital. A case in point:
I'm lying in bed, a morphine drip in my arm and three out of four limbs immobilized, when the orderly comes strolling in pushing the meal tray. He leaves it by the foot of the bed.
"Uh, excuse me..."
He keeps walking.
"Hey, um, excuse me a minute!"
He's at the door.
"Hey! Wait! PLEASE!"
He's gone.
I'm lying there, unable to even sit up under my own power or move anything but my left arm. That food tray might as well have been in Nairobi for all my chances of reaching it. I pushed the nurse call button and waited. Nada. I pushed it again. Nothing. One last time. Bupkis.
About fifteen minutes after the final push, the orderly strolls back in.
"Oh, thank God you're here!" I gush.
He takes the (untouched) cart and starts pushing it towards the door.
"HEY! Waitaminnit, dammit!"
Gone.
Try selling me on some public health care, will you? Believe me, I've developed some pretty strong opinions on the topic. (Remind me to expand on the "abandoned in the X-ray room" part from above, sometime.)
I can hardly wait to get some of that down here...
During my big motorcycle wreck drama of '00, the first place the ambulance whisked me was Grady Memorial, the big Atlanta public hospital. As soon as I was conscious enough to wave my insurance card, I was whisked off to nice, private Piedmont for rehab. Talk about night and day... One place treated me like an inmate, the other like a customer. Call me fickle, but I definitely prefer the latter.
A PS: Ironically, I met several folks at Grady who were obviously dedicated, competent folks on a health care mission, from the compassionate ER nurse to the Orthopedic surgeon who rescued me from abandonment in the X-ray room, to the nice guy who removed the eleventeen jillion staples from my right leg without flinching at my language or swinging back at me (I throw a lousy left jab, anyway) before bandaging me up again. But they were as scattered roses among the manure piles of indifferent administrative types, surly orderlies, and various other functionaries who acted as if you were somehow interrupting their mandatory break time by having the audacity to be all busted up in their hospital. A case in point:
I'm lying in bed, a morphine drip in my arm and three out of four limbs immobilized, when the orderly comes strolling in pushing the meal tray. He leaves it by the foot of the bed.
"Uh, excuse me..."
He keeps walking.
"Hey, um, excuse me a minute!"
He's at the door.
"Hey! Wait! PLEASE!"
He's gone.
I'm lying there, unable to even sit up under my own power or move anything but my left arm. That food tray might as well have been in Nairobi for all my chances of reaching it. I pushed the nurse call button and waited. Nada. I pushed it again. Nothing. One last time. Bupkis.
About fifteen minutes after the final push, the orderly strolls back in.
"Oh, thank God you're here!" I gush.
He takes the (untouched) cart and starts pushing it towards the door.
"HEY! Waitaminnit, dammit!"
Gone.
Try selling me on some public health care, will you? Believe me, I've developed some pretty strong opinions on the topic. (Remind me to expand on the "abandoned in the X-ray room" part from above, sometime.)
Boomsticks: Now that's funny!
LawDog has uncovered an eBay auction for an Assault Rock.
Currently legal in all fifty states, but cannot be shipped to eBay bidders in the UK or the District of Columbia.
UPDATE: 35,000+ views in just a few days. eBay should take a hint but they won't, for they are dumb.
Currently legal in all fifty states, but cannot be shipped to eBay bidders in the UK or the District of Columbia.
UPDATE: 35,000+ views in just a few days. eBay should take a hint but they won't, for they are dumb.
Maybe the funniest thing I have ever read on teh intarw3bz.
Bloggers consider forming labor union.
CHICAGO (AP)- Do bloggers need their own Norma Rae?
In a move that might make some people scratch their heads, a loosely formed coalition of left-leaning bloggers are trying to band together to form a labor union they hope will help them receive health insurance, conduct collective bargaining or even set professional standards.
A blogging labor union... Whoever thought that one up is as dumb as an acre of fungus. Who are you going to wield your mighty collective bargaining power against? Your readers? "I'm not typing another post until I buy myself some decent health insurance!" Good luck with that.
"I think people have just gotten to the point where people outside the blogosphere understand the value of what it is that we do on the progressive side," said Susie Madrak, the author of Suburban Guerilla blog, who is active in the union campaign. "And I think they feel a little more entitled to ask for something now."Ah, there we go. "Entitled" to "ask for something". That's what these folks see a union as: A magic wand they can wave to Get Stuff. Look, Susie, it's a blog. It's like a diary for exhibitionists with egos. You're just nattering on the internet, and if you're good at it, you'll eventually get noticed, and if not, then it doesn't matter whether you've reciprocally blogrolled everybody on the planet and hung little banners all over your WordPress template, nobody's going to read your crap. It's as pure a meritocracy as the planet's ever seen, and no union card on earth will change that. (Maybe you can get President Hillary to call for a "Fairness In SiteMeter Results Act" or something.)
I hope they succeed in forming their little union. With any luck, the new Bloggers Union will do for the progressive side of the blogosphere what the UAW did for General Motors.
Just call me a scab.
(H/T to Michael Silence.)
Oh, and "Yesterday In History"...
...in 1991, Tim Berners-Lee posted this in the alt.hypertext newsgroup.
You'll note that he did not use "LOL", "ROFLMAO", or "1337" anywhere in the post, marking him as a total n00b on teh intarw3bz. Somewhat curiously, his post mentions nothing about a series of tubes.
You'll note that he did not use "LOL", "ROFLMAO", or "1337" anywhere in the post, marking him as a total n00b on teh intarw3bz. Somewhat curiously, his post mentions nothing about a series of tubes.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Today In History: Tojo says "Oh, yeah? Or else what?"
...and Truman responds "Or else this."
And the mayor of Hiroshima utters the famous last words "What the hell was that noi..."
AtomicNerds have on-site coverage of the annual whine and cheese fest at Los Alamos. Myself, I just couldn't summon up the energy to drive out to Oak Ridge and harass some hippies again this year.
And the mayor of Hiroshima utters the famous last words "What the hell was that noi..."
AtomicNerds have on-site coverage of the annual whine and cheese fest at Los Alamos. Myself, I just couldn't summon up the energy to drive out to Oak Ridge and harass some hippies again this year.
Blog Stuff: Today's Google idiot.
Levi's, Bongo, Gap, Guess, Wrangler, Faded Glory, Vickie's Secret, and Lucky, you cretin.
I pray to Wotan that this was at least an elementary school student, but I fear someone's boning up for a college paper. I weep for the future of our species.
Seeing some of the comments...
...on "Corporate Taxation" here have me in a quotin' kinda mood:
Folks, I've said it before and I'll say it again: Corporations Can't Pay Taxes! Only Their Customers Can! A corporation can no more pay taxes than the government can create wealth. The only people that can generate wealth and pay taxes are individuals, because they turn time, effort, talent, or smarts into money.
"Evil will always triumph because Good is dumb." -Dark Helmet, Spaceballs
Folks, I've said it before and I'll say it again: Corporations Can't Pay Taxes! Only Their Customers Can! A corporation can no more pay taxes than the government can create wealth. The only people that can generate wealth and pay taxes are individuals, because they turn time, effort, talent, or smarts into money.
Heady company...
So, the Democrats stiffed the oil companies...
...to the tune of $16,000,000,000 for the ostensible purpose of funding government-paid grant toadies and other political whores scientists to research ways to put the oil companies out of business "alternative energy" sources.
Unlike the congressional Democrats, though, the oil companies can't just print money; they actually have to earn it by selling stuff because, also unlike Congress, they can't run in the red year after year after year. In order to come up with this $16,000,000,000extortion payoff tax, they're going to have to... Class? Anyone? Bueller?
That's right, they're going to have to raise prices on their products to generate the additional revenue. This is going to make gas and fuel oil more expensive. Any bets on how long it takes the Dems to cry "GOUGING!" whenthe starveling poor their electoral base can't afford to buy fuel?
(H/T to KdT.)
Unlike the congressional Democrats, though, the oil companies can't just print money; they actually have to earn it by selling stuff because, also unlike Congress, they can't run in the red year after year after year. In order to come up with this $16,000,000,000
That's right, they're going to have to raise prices on their products to generate the additional revenue. This is going to make gas and fuel oil more expensive. Any bets on how long it takes the Dems to cry "GOUGING!" when
(H/T to KdT.)
He's got such a way with words. :)
Apparently the bridge collapse is all Bush's fault.
According to some sources we have neglected the boring ol' infrastructure of the nation because the Eeeeevil Chimpy McHitlerburton has stopped taxing his rich cronies, or something. Never mind the fact that we have poured enough money into the bloated DOT over the last decades to fill every pothole in this nation with shredded hundred dollar bills and prop up every rusting, crumbling bridge with towering stacks of Sacajawea coins.
This money wasall wasted on pork barrel Bridges To Nowhere and spent on business cards for a bureaucracy that would make a Byzantine blush not enough to prevent the Minneapolis disaster. Gh0d knows that a privately-accountable and profit-driven infrastructure would be infinitely more efficient step on the throats of the starveling poor.
(H/T to BabyTrollBlog.)
This money was
(H/T to BabyTrollBlog.)
Baseball: That Traitor Glavine...
...has won his 300th game, making him a member of a pretty select club and a shoo-in for the Hall Of Fame. Grudging props are in order. Too bad the Braves won't be facing him in the upcoming three game series in New York so that they could beat him like a drum by way of congratulations.
Boomsticks: I hope y'all like it.
The Schmidt-Rubin piece is finally up at the other place, replete with lots of Oleg Volk gun pr0n.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Blog Stuff: Snapshots from the Dog Days.
The actual View From The Porch in the dead of Summer '07.
To the left, a view from the porch, across the street and over the lake. In a little over a month, I will have been driving the Zed Three for six years, which is about twice as long as I've ever owned a vehicle before. Across the street you can see my neighbor's goat farm, from which we can derive protein sustenance come Zombie Apocalypse.
To the right can be seen one of my neighbors from across the street. Despite the weird horizontal pupils, he's probably quite tasty, especially done up with some kind of Jamaican jerk sauce...
To the left, a view from the porch, across the street and over the lake. In a little over a month, I will have been driving the Zed Three for six years, which is about twice as long as I've ever owned a vehicle before. Across the street you can see my neighbor's goat farm, from which we can derive protein sustenance come Zombie Apocalypse.
To the right can be seen one of my neighbors from across the street. Despite the weird horizontal pupils, he's probably quite tasty, especially done up with some kind of Jamaican jerk sauce...
Put a spatial anomaly on your desk.
Need to open a rift in the fabric of space/time? Want a portable spatial anomaly of your very own? Think Escher is only for the 2D world?Put M.C. Escher on your desk top, for those times when three dimensions just aren't enough to hold the contents of your In Box...
Boomsticks: It's not a magic wand.
Joe Merchant reminds us that yes, you can miss with a shotgun, even from across the room.
(With a pistol, you can miss in a phone booth under stress. This is why repetitive practice and constant refreshers are very important.)
(With a pistol, you can miss in a phone booth under stress. This is why repetitive practice and constant refreshers are very important.)
Can you doubt it?
I can't believe there's actually some question about steroid usage by The Big Giant Head.
"The who, Tam?" you ask.
The Big Giant Head. Barry Bonds.
Look, I could maybe, just maybe, believe the nonsense about all that muscle bulk coming from workouts in the weight room and a diet of protein shakes, but there is no workout regime on this planet that will make a grown man swell up four hat sizes in a couple of years.
"The who, Tam?" you ask.
The Big Giant Head. Barry Bonds.
Look, I could maybe, just maybe, believe the nonsense about all that muscle bulk coming from workouts in the weight room and a diet of protein shakes, but there is no workout regime on this planet that will make a grown man swell up four hat sizes in a couple of years.
Politics: Oh, boy! Just in time!
Talk about your perfect timing! CNN received a video tape from an al-Qaeda mouthpiece saying that they were still targeting U.S. embassies and interests "at home and abroad". (This is for those of you following along with the home game who may have thought the Muj were going after the Albanians.) The DHS terror alert threat level, however, remains set at "Bert".
Purely coincidentally, the House of Representatives just rolled over and signed off on the "Bend Over And Spread 'Em Act of '07", and it's sure to get across the president's desk faster than you can say "George Orwell". Now, I'm not saying that there's a connection between the two events, but I'm not saying there's not, either.
Purely coincidentally, the House of Representatives just rolled over and signed off on the "Bend Over And Spread 'Em Act of '07", and it's sure to get across the president's desk faster than you can say "George Orwell". Now, I'm not saying that there's a connection between the two events, but I'm not saying there's not, either.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Today In History: "Lizzie Borden took an axe...
...and made quite a mess of the old homestead."
The Wikipedia article is careful to note that she was acquitted and that "Dispute over the identity of the killer or killers continues to this day."
Yeah, and some people still argue about who killed Nicole and Ron, too...
The Wikipedia article is careful to note that she was acquitted and that "Dispute over the identity of the killer or killers continues to this day."
Yeah, and some people still argue about who killed Nicole and Ron, too...
News: I hate it when they do that.
I go to CNN.com this morning to see what's shakin', and I'm greeted by the usual:
"A bunch of people are dead in Minneapolis."
"A bunch of people are still dead in Minneapolis."
"Oh noes! Dead people in Minneapolis! The Fed.gov should spend zillions and create a new Department Of Preventing Dead People In Minneapolis!"
then we get some entertainment headlines:
"Steroid boy still hasn't tied Hank Aaron's home run record."
"Ving Rhames' dogs get a little frisky; eat caretaker."
and finally, buried in with the boring stuff, is what I'm looking for:
"Bathrooms in Capitol Building run out of toilet paper; Senators forced to use Fourth Amendment instead."
Ah well, at least it was bipartisan.
(You know, if we wanted to bump off Iran, we just missed a splendid opportunity. We could have carpet bombed Tehran and been in and out while every reporter in America was running around Minneapolis like chickens with their heads cut off...)
"A bunch of people are dead in Minneapolis."
"A bunch of people are still dead in Minneapolis."
"Oh noes! Dead people in Minneapolis! The Fed.gov should spend zillions and create a new Department Of Preventing Dead People In Minneapolis!"
then we get some entertainment headlines:
"Steroid boy still hasn't tied Hank Aaron's home run record."
"Ving Rhames' dogs get a little frisky; eat caretaker."
and finally, buried in with the boring stuff, is what I'm looking for:
"Bathrooms in Capitol Building run out of toilet paper; Senators forced to use Fourth Amendment instead."
Ah well, at least it was bipartisan.
(You know, if we wanted to bump off Iran, we just missed a splendid opportunity. We could have carpet bombed Tehran and been in and out while every reporter in America was running around Minneapolis like chickens with their heads cut off...)
Friday, August 03, 2007
It was bad enough...
...when it said "Would you like to play a game?"
If it had started singing "Daisy", I'd have run screaming from the room.
If it had started singing "Daisy", I'd have run screaming from the room.
Yeah, but it's not a dry heat.
So Weather.com is telling me that it's mid-80s and sixty-something percent humidity out there. Not horrible, but without a breath of wind, perspiration isn't going to do much in the way of evaporating. Being on the lake, and with the ground wet from a week of rain, the side porch is going to feel like a sauna. Though nowhere near as bad as yesterday; before the rain broke out, it was a 90/90 (temp/humidity) day on the porch, and let me tell you, that'll take the starch right out of you.
A couple of summers ago, my friend Byron and I were visiting Art in Terlingua, TX. It wasn't but 10 or 11 o'clock in the A.M., we were standing on the porch, and I asked Byron (who hails from parts even stickier in the summer than the Tennessee valley) how hot he thought it was.
"I don't know; it doesn't feel all that hot. If I were going by how comfortable I felt, I'd say probably high seventies, low eighties..."
I squinted at the thermometer. "Says here that it's 98 degrees. In the shade. And we got a ways to go 'til noon."
"Yeah, but it's a dry heat."
I had never appreciated what that phrase meant before, really.
On the drive back east, we made Houston the first night. Opening the truck door and walking across the parking lot on the way into a Waffle House with its windows fogged with condensation reintroduced me to the summer sauna of the South. I've thought about that day on the porch in the Texas desert every summer day since then.
A couple of summers ago, my friend Byron and I were visiting Art in Terlingua, TX. It wasn't but 10 or 11 o'clock in the A.M., we were standing on the porch, and I asked Byron (who hails from parts even stickier in the summer than the Tennessee valley) how hot he thought it was.
"I don't know; it doesn't feel all that hot. If I were going by how comfortable I felt, I'd say probably high seventies, low eighties..."
I squinted at the thermometer. "Says here that it's 98 degrees. In the shade. And we got a ways to go 'til noon."
"Yeah, but it's a dry heat."
I had never appreciated what that phrase meant before, really.
On the drive back east, we made Houston the first night. Opening the truck door and walking across the parking lot on the way into a Waffle House with its windows fogged with condensation reintroduced me to the summer sauna of the South. I've thought about that day on the porch in the Texas desert every summer day since then.
How had I not seen this?
Brilliant commentary on the War on
Boosted from Ninth Stage who stole it from Radley Balko.
News: Ain't nobody's business if you do.
Writing here at View From The Porch is easy. I stagger out of bed in the mornings, toddle off to my morning ablutions, jostle VFTP Command Central into life, and go check the news sites for something to make fun of. CNN rarely disappoints, and if I don't see a nice hanging curve belt-high over the middle of the plate from them, I'm off to Fox, then Reuters.
This morning CNN didn't offer much in the way of funny, except for an article that was ostensibly about a major al-Qaeda honcho getting smoked in Iraq but which was really two sentences on the dead hadji and ten paragraphs on US casualty reports (big surprise there), so I went over to Fox. There, I hit the motherlode almost immediately. It seems that some family in Arkansas has managed to generate spawn number seventeen. Oh, goody! When you have a generic, whitebread, suburbanite, Protestant family that has enough kids for their home schooling efforts to include intramural softball, the snark should flow as freely as anti-Hillary innuendo from the Obama campaign.
Fired up by the temptation of such an easy target (this should be like going after Polled Herefords with a scoped elk rifle), the snide comments boiled from my brain to my lips to my fingertips. Keys clacking, I glanced back at the picture in the open browser window and...
...the kids were all smiling. None of them looked malnourished or sported shiners. They were all well-dressed. Mrs. Duggar didn't appear to be chained to the bed. I stopped typing.
What the hell business of mine is it how many kids these people have, if they can feed them and clothe them and keep them happy? I may find some of their beliefs silly and they may think some of mine are heathen, but Michelle's not making nasty posts about me. Why should I go after her? What gives me the right? So I held back on the snark.
After seeing this whine-fest from hand-wringing bedwetter Mark Morford, I knew I'd made the right choice. If this dickhead is complaining about their hairstyles, I know I'm on the side of the angels by keeping my snark to myself. At least if I had snarked, it would have been coherent and funny...
This morning CNN didn't offer much in the way of funny, except for an article that was ostensibly about a major al-Qaeda honcho getting smoked in Iraq but which was really two sentences on the dead hadji and ten paragraphs on US casualty reports (big surprise there), so I went over to Fox. There, I hit the motherlode almost immediately. It seems that some family in Arkansas has managed to generate spawn number seventeen. Oh, goody! When you have a generic, whitebread, suburbanite, Protestant family that has enough kids for their home schooling efforts to include intramural softball, the snark should flow as freely as anti-Hillary innuendo from the Obama campaign.
Fired up by the temptation of such an easy target (this should be like going after Polled Herefords with a scoped elk rifle), the snide comments boiled from my brain to my lips to my fingertips. Keys clacking, I glanced back at the picture in the open browser window and...
...the kids were all smiling. None of them looked malnourished or sported shiners. They were all well-dressed. Mrs. Duggar didn't appear to be chained to the bed. I stopped typing.
What the hell business of mine is it how many kids these people have, if they can feed them and clothe them and keep them happy? I may find some of their beliefs silly and they may think some of mine are heathen, but Michelle's not making nasty posts about me. Why should I go after her? What gives me the right? So I held back on the snark.
After seeing this whine-fest from hand-wringing bedwetter Mark Morford, I knew I'd made the right choice. If this dickhead is complaining about their hairstyles, I know I'm on the side of the angels by keeping my snark to myself. At least if I had snarked, it would have been coherent and funny...
I sense a great disturbance in your methodology.
Apparently, weather satellites measured a million zillion google times more tropical storms in the Atlantic in 2006 than they did in 1901.
*blink* *blink*
No kidding?
*blink* *blink*
No kidding?
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Pull the string, and he sings old Bauhaus lyrics...
...and starts a LiveJournal!
It's new "Tickle Me Emo".
It's new "Tickle Me Emo".
Today In History: Busy day.
On August 2nd...
...in 216BC, the Romans got their calzones folded by a numerically inferior force of Carthaginians under Hannibal. Ever since then, generals have attempted to copy the double envelopment, even ones who weren't sure what it was. Not only was this an important part of the victory, it's also the only one a general in the field has any control over. It's kind of hard to duplicate the other ingredient of the success, because if you call your opponent's Senate on the phone and ask them to assign two amateur dilettante boobs as your opposing co-commanders, they might smell a rat.
...in 1798, Admiral Nelson picked up his first career win, at the Battle Of The Nile, on the way to a 3-1 lifetime W-L record.
...in 1870, the British discovered a whole new venue for urban crime by opening the world's first subway.
...in 1934, von Hindenburg died and Adolf Hitler became Fuhrer, Chancellor, President, Grand Poobah, Dictator-For-Life, and Homecoming Queen.
...in 1939, Einstein and Szilard scribbled their missive to Roosevelt, encouraging him to go ahead with the Manhattan Project. Both showed restraint by not using the phrase "bang for the buck".
...in 1943, JFK got his PT boat T-boned by a Japanese destroyer, starting a Kennedy family tradition of waterlogged accidents.
...in 1964, the part of the Tonkin Gulf incident that actually happened, happened. The USS Maddox (376ft long, 2200 tons displacement) is hit by one (1) 14.5mm projectile (.59" caliber).
...in 1990, Saddam Hussein got himself cross-threaded with the rest of the planet by invading Kuwait. He's probably wishing he hadn't done that now.
...in 216BC, the Romans got their calzones folded by a numerically inferior force of Carthaginians under Hannibal. Ever since then, generals have attempted to copy the double envelopment, even ones who weren't sure what it was. Not only was this an important part of the victory, it's also the only one a general in the field has any control over. It's kind of hard to duplicate the other ingredient of the success, because if you call your opponent's Senate on the phone and ask them to assign two amateur dilettante boobs as your opposing co-commanders, they might smell a rat.
...in 1798, Admiral Nelson picked up his first career win, at the Battle Of The Nile, on the way to a 3-1 lifetime W-L record.
...in 1870, the British discovered a whole new venue for urban crime by opening the world's first subway.
...in 1934, von Hindenburg died and Adolf Hitler became Fuhrer, Chancellor, President, Grand Poobah, Dictator-For-Life, and Homecoming Queen.
...in 1939, Einstein and Szilard scribbled their missive to Roosevelt, encouraging him to go ahead with the Manhattan Project. Both showed restraint by not using the phrase "bang for the buck".
...in 1943, JFK got his PT boat T-boned by a Japanese destroyer, starting a Kennedy family tradition of waterlogged accidents.
...in 1964, the part of the Tonkin Gulf incident that actually happened, happened. The USS Maddox (376ft long, 2200 tons displacement) is hit by one (1) 14.5mm projectile (.59" caliber).
...in 1990, Saddam Hussein got himself cross-threaded with the rest of the planet by invading Kuwait. He's probably wishing he hadn't done that now.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Here they are, seeking good homes...
Left to right are the Dark Ages sword, swept-hilt rapier, and Gothic bastard sword. They all include scabbards and have never been sharpened or sparred with. The rapier includes a belt and an elaborate buckled frog. Like I said before, $150/ea or $400 takes the trio, plus actual shipping costs.
(If all you're used to is stainless flea market swords and United Cutlery movie swords, you will be amazed at how light, well-balanced, and fast these are. The sword on the right, despite a 36" blade, weighs less than three pounds and balances about 2.5" forward of the guard.)
Tamslick AT a o l DOT com with questions.
EDIT: Sold pending funds.
"Man's best... um,..."
What do you call a rented friend that you only see for short periods of time? (I mean, one that you see outside of a cheap motel room, of course.)
Canine escort service?
(H/T to Dustbury.)
Canine escort service?
(H/T to Dustbury.)
Oleg Volk pwns j00.
Some whiny emo weasel troll shows up in the comments at Oleg's and lets drop this pearl of wisdom: "Guns are for fags."
At which point Oleg totally pwns him, and shows why he's The Minister Of Propaganda for The Forces Of Good:
At which point Oleg totally pwns him, and shows why he's The Minister Of Propaganda for The Forces Of Good:
Heh.
Boomsticks: Lies, damn lies, and statistics...
About 200 people in the United States kill someone each year in self-defense.Just out of curiosity, I wonder how many of those were in the 15-18 age bracket and received their "gun-related injury" when they shorted a client on a dime bag?
But how many die each year -- innocently -- from guns?
Let me tell you.
In the 10 years ending in 2006, 486 children under age 18 in North Carolina, alone, died from gun-related injuries.
The article had one other thing that just baffled me:
In our house, we'll remain unarmed.Since when is that a binary? How is remaining defenseless going to ensure nobody winds up dead? What faulty logic makes you think you are incapable of safely storing a handgun?
Defenseless is better than discovering someone we love dead.
(H/T to the pistolero.)
Insomnia, midnight snacks, and nightmares.
So I fell asleep early last night, while reading, and was awakened sometime around 1:30AM by my tummy reminding me that I had forgotten to feed it dinner. So I toddle out to the kitchen to whip up a midnight snack.
Now, everybody has their favorite midnight snack. Some folks do ice cream, others popcorn or breakfast cereal. I had a friend who'd wake everyone in the apartment up by busting open a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, dumping them into a glass bowl at 3AM (plastic too quiet?) and munching them loudly. My choice last night? Well, I'm here to tell you that Clifty Farms sells heaven in 1.125lb tubs. The pulled pork barbecue in vinegar sauce is the best, although they also offer sweeter tomato-base sauce and a mustard sauce for heathens from across the mountains. The size means you can throw the whole tub in the microwave, chow down on about half a pound of freakin' delicious barbecue (seriously, for you yankees out there, unless it's Clifty Farms, don't waste your time on grocery store "BBQ",) and still have just over half a pound to re-heat for lunch the next day.
One thing you should not have with your delicious smoked pulled pork in vinegar sauce that makes your mouth water (sorry!) midnight snack is two cans of Vault Zero. If you were to drink two cans of Vault Zero, especially on a night that your cat felt it important to remind mommy over and over and over again how much she loves you by head-butting you and licking your ear while you're trying to fall asleep, you might have difficulty drifting back off again. I know I did.
Worst of all, after I finally nodded off, I dreamed I heard something outside. In my dream, I vividly imagined walking to the windows by my door and looking down into the yard, and the motion detector lights on both corners of the house were on. (You'd think I would have twigged to the fact that it was a dream right there, since there's only a motion detector light on one corner of the house visible from my front door, but anyway...) So I cut on the light switch by the door and there was a dude coming up the stairs. From my vantage point I'm looking straight down on this big guy, who I don't know, coming up my stairs to my front door at three in the AM. I live on a secluded semi-rural dead end, he ain't here to ask directions. And I'm. Empty. Handed.
I ran back toward the bedroom. He forced the front door. He was wearing this horrible '80s down vest; gray, with horizontal rainbow striping across the chest. I grabbed for my AR15 and it fell on the floor and all I could do was think about getting my hands on a loaded gun. I grabbed for the .38 snub nose I keep near the bed because I know it's loaded and I can't fumble it and I turn and...
...wake up...
...not gently...
...because the cat has just picked that time to bat at the front door chimes. I am bolt upright in bed, heart racing, covers thrown back. Get my hand on the .38. Suddenly I'm standing in my bedroom doorway looking across the living space towards the closed front door. Closed. It's closed. Room empty. No bad guy. Dream.
I'm good and awake now.
And the gun is in both hands. In the low ready (a safe position, pointed downwards at a 45 degree angle.) My finger is off the trigger. And I'm peeking toward the front door from behind cover. I have never been so thankful for all the training and years of repetitive practice as I was at that moment. Whatever my feet were doing, my hands were on autopilot once they touched the gun and never once violated the Four Rules.
I have never had a nightmare that vivid before, and I hope I never do again. But if I do, I hope it happens while my heart is still fairly young and fit, 'cause I don't think I'd like to pressure-test an old circulatory system the way I did last night...
Now, everybody has their favorite midnight snack. Some folks do ice cream, others popcorn or breakfast cereal. I had a friend who'd wake everyone in the apartment up by busting open a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, dumping them into a glass bowl at 3AM (plastic too quiet?) and munching them loudly. My choice last night? Well, I'm here to tell you that Clifty Farms sells heaven in 1.125lb tubs. The pulled pork barbecue in vinegar sauce is the best, although they also offer sweeter tomato-base sauce and a mustard sauce for heathens from across the mountains. The size means you can throw the whole tub in the microwave, chow down on about half a pound of freakin' delicious barbecue (seriously, for you yankees out there, unless it's Clifty Farms, don't waste your time on grocery store "BBQ",) and still have just over half a pound to re-heat for lunch the next day.
One thing you should not have with your delicious smoked pulled pork in vinegar sauce that makes your mouth water (sorry!) midnight snack is two cans of Vault Zero. If you were to drink two cans of Vault Zero, especially on a night that your cat felt it important to remind mommy over and over and over again how much she loves you by head-butting you and licking your ear while you're trying to fall asleep, you might have difficulty drifting back off again. I know I did.
Worst of all, after I finally nodded off, I dreamed I heard something outside. In my dream, I vividly imagined walking to the windows by my door and looking down into the yard, and the motion detector lights on both corners of the house were on. (You'd think I would have twigged to the fact that it was a dream right there, since there's only a motion detector light on one corner of the house visible from my front door, but anyway...) So I cut on the light switch by the door and there was a dude coming up the stairs. From my vantage point I'm looking straight down on this big guy, who I don't know, coming up my stairs to my front door at three in the AM. I live on a secluded semi-rural dead end, he ain't here to ask directions. And I'm. Empty. Handed.
I ran back toward the bedroom. He forced the front door. He was wearing this horrible '80s down vest; gray, with horizontal rainbow striping across the chest. I grabbed for my AR15 and it fell on the floor and all I could do was think about getting my hands on a loaded gun. I grabbed for the .38 snub nose I keep near the bed because I know it's loaded and I can't fumble it and I turn and...
...wake up...
...not gently...
...because the cat has just picked that time to bat at the front door chimes. I am bolt upright in bed, heart racing, covers thrown back. Get my hand on the .38. Suddenly I'm standing in my bedroom doorway looking across the living space towards the closed front door. Closed. It's closed. Room empty. No bad guy. Dream.
I'm good and awake now.
And the gun is in both hands. In the low ready (a safe position, pointed downwards at a 45 degree angle.) My finger is off the trigger. And I'm peeking toward the front door from behind cover. I have never been so thankful for all the training and years of repetitive practice as I was at that moment. Whatever my feet were doing, my hands were on autopilot once they touched the gun and never once violated the Four Rules.
I have never had a nightmare that vivid before, and I hope I never do again. But if I do, I hope it happens while my heart is still fairly young and fit, 'cause I don't think I'd like to pressure-test an old circulatory system the way I did last night...
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Blog Stuff: Singing for my supper...
"GoogleAds, Tam? Tip Jars? Spinoff blogs? What's going on?"
Okay, here's my cunning plan:
About five years ago, Oleg and I kicked around the idea of a book (or an ebook) that would combine his gorgeous firearms photography and my keyboard diarrhea into something with prettier pictures and less technical reading than the stuff from Collector's Armory, but more facts and more detail than the typical Salamander or Barnes & Noble coffee table book. For the last several years, though, talk is all it was; I just couldn't find the time to actually write.
With my recent transition from Merchant Of Death to Unemployed Bum, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I have a small monthly stipend that is large enough to keep a roof over my head and my cupboard full of Ramen Pride, and get some actual writing done. Most of what goes up at The Arms Room (except for the Sunday Smiths filler) is a sort of condensed book format of what the book will eventually feel like. I'm also finally making some progress on Better Killing, Incorporated, which has been percolating in my noggin for the better part of a decade now.
I'm hoping that by singing for my supper here at VFTP, the tip jars and AdSense will keep me from having to sell too much stuff before I finally go look for something low-stress and part-time that will leave me the time to finish the first project up and find a publisher. With any luck, I'll not have to go punch keys on a cash register 'til September or so. To those of you who have contributed (Amazon's tip thingy keeps it anonymous, so I'm not sure who you are,) a sincere "Thank You".
(...and a PS: I've got three swords I was about to list on eBay, all from Museum Replicas. Good carbon steel, never sharpened or sparred with, all in excellent shape. With the news from eBay yesterday, I'm all in a quandary. Do I boycott in righteous indignation? Anyone want a Gothic Bastard Sword, Swept-Hilt Rapier, and brass-hilted Dark Ages Sword? I've got a sword belt for the rapier, too. $150 ea, or $400 takes the trio, plus actual shipping costs... I figure I'll try here first before holding my nose and going to fleabay.)
Okay, here's my cunning plan:
About five years ago, Oleg and I kicked around the idea of a book (or an ebook) that would combine his gorgeous firearms photography and my keyboard diarrhea into something with prettier pictures and less technical reading than the stuff from Collector's Armory, but more facts and more detail than the typical Salamander or Barnes & Noble coffee table book. For the last several years, though, talk is all it was; I just couldn't find the time to actually write.
With my recent transition from Merchant Of Death to Unemployed Bum, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I have a small monthly stipend that is large enough to keep a roof over my head and my cupboard full of Ramen Pride, and get some actual writing done. Most of what goes up at The Arms Room (except for the Sunday Smiths filler) is a sort of condensed book format of what the book will eventually feel like. I'm also finally making some progress on Better Killing, Incorporated, which has been percolating in my noggin for the better part of a decade now.
I'm hoping that by singing for my supper here at VFTP, the tip jars and AdSense will keep me from having to sell too much stuff before I finally go look for something low-stress and part-time that will leave me the time to finish the first project up and find a publisher. With any luck, I'll not have to go punch keys on a cash register 'til September or so. To those of you who have contributed (Amazon's tip thingy keeps it anonymous, so I'm not sure who you are,) a sincere "Thank You".
(...and a PS: I've got three swords I was about to list on eBay, all from Museum Replicas. Good carbon steel, never sharpened or sparred with, all in excellent shape. With the news from eBay yesterday, I'm all in a quandary. Do I boycott in righteous indignation? Anyone want a Gothic Bastard Sword, Swept-Hilt Rapier, and brass-hilted Dark Ages Sword? I've got a sword belt for the rapier, too. $150 ea, or $400 takes the trio, plus actual shipping costs... I figure I'll try here first before holding my nose and going to fleabay.)
"It's not a big truck! It's a series of search warrants!"
Today In History: Dune buggies on the moon!
Apollo 15 astronauts took the first lunar joyride on this date in 1971. You'd think that a car with a $950,000 window sticker would go faster than 8 mph. (I did like the ingenious duct tape repairs, though...)
eBay punks out.
"After learning that some items purchased on eBay may have been used in the tragedy at Virginia Tech in April 2007, we felt that revisiting our policies was not only necessary, but the right thing to do."
Translation: "How many victims? And their families each have a lawyer. F&*#, that's a lotta lawsuits! We'd better be seen doing something proactive before they get the idea to come after us, too." The only "right thing" they are concerned with here is the kind that can be deposited in the bank.
Trust me, they've already crunched the numbers and have determined that firearms parts and reloading supplies net them only a tiny fraction of the revenue of, say, counterfeit Hello Kitty merchandise...
Who this is really going to affect is folks with old guns looking for repair parts. Maybe even more than Numrich, eBay was the place to go to look for that hand you needed for an Iver Johnson revolver or an extractor for a Frommer Stop.
Translation: "How many victims? And their families each have a lawyer. F&*#, that's a lotta lawsuits! We'd better be seen doing something proactive before they get the idea to come after us, too." The only "right thing" they are concerned with here is the kind that can be deposited in the bank.
Trust me, they've already crunched the numbers and have determined that firearms parts and reloading supplies net them only a tiny fraction of the revenue of, say, counterfeit Hello Kitty merchandise...
Who this is really going to affect is folks with old guns looking for repair parts. Maybe even more than Numrich, eBay was the place to go to look for that hand you needed for an Iver Johnson revolver or an extractor for a Frommer Stop.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Boomsticks: "Biden, Baby. Baby, Biden."
Gee, I hope I'm "mentally qualified" to exercise my inalienable, Constitutionally-protected, natural right.
Boomsticks: What a bunch of big babies.
Tired of taking a beating from a clue-by-four in the comments section of their own blog, the Brady Campaign has apparently taken their ball and gone home.
When every argument you have can be easily refuted with facts hyperlinked by anyone with a browser, it makes your cause a tough sell on the Infobahn.
When every argument you have can be easily refuted with facts hyperlinked by anyone with a browser, it makes your cause a tough sell on the Infobahn.
Today In History: Still waiting...
On this date in 1975, Jimmy Hoffa said "You guys wait here, I'll be right back..."
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Chris Muir is paying for my sinuses...
...'cause they've suffered serious damage from Diet Code Red Mountain Dew.
"I can totally see down Media Chick's top, LT."
That's funny right there, I don't care who you are... :)
"I can totally see down Media Chick's top, LT."
That's funny right there, I don't care who you are... :)
Color me shallow...
I make a comment over at Lawdog's joint, and next thing you know I'm bopping about the house to the 7" dance mix of the Pet Shop Boys' Absolutely Fabulous.
"Remember, I've known you longer than your daughter has." :D
"Remember, I've known you longer than your daughter has." :D
The other other blog...
While I re-write the Schmidt-Rubin thing, here's another Sunday Smith to keep you interested. (Maybe my second or third favorite of all the Smiths I own...)
301 to go...
I'm three hundred and one hits away from the magic half million mark.
I'm all tingly. :)
I'm all tingly. :)
Does anybody fall for this crap?
You may have seen the little animated banner ads for some skin care product that are headlined "Smarter than Botox!". You know, the ones that feature the "before" picture of what looks like a dried apple doll that, after the magic screen wipe, looks like a Miss Teen America contestant.
Does anybody believe that?
Then again, optimism causes folks to respond to 419 scams every day...
Does anybody believe that?
Then again, optimism causes folks to respond to 419 scams every day...
Today In History: I'm pretty sure this violates the Geneva Convention..
On this date in 1014 AD, Byzantine forces handed the army of the Bulgarian Empire a stomping at the Battle of Kleidion.
Capturing some 14-15,000 Bulgarian troops, Basil II of Byzantium had them blinded, but showed what a nice guy he was by ordering that one man out of every hundred be left one-eyed so that he could lead the other 99 home.
Capturing some 14-15,000 Bulgarian troops, Basil II of Byzantium had them blinded, but showed what a nice guy he was by ordering that one man out of every hundred be left one-eyed so that he could lead the other 99 home.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Free plasma televisions!
Why not? They're cheaper than most medical procedures...
Thanks to MattG for the pointer to this 'un.
Thanks to MattG for the pointer to this 'un.
The Analog World and the Big Blue Desktop.
I'll be heading out shortly, laptop in tow, to go meet whoever is showing up at Bailey's from the local K-town blogging scene. Maybe I'll see you there...
There's a subtext, here...
I bet I could have gotten three seats free. (Actually, I bet I would have called ahead and reserved three together, but never mind that.) I would have approached a couple of my fellow business class passengers and said, "Excuse me, please. These three ladies are friends traveling together. Would you mind swapping seats with them so they can sit together for the flight? I'd really appreciate it." Failing the subtle and polite approach, I'd have asked my friend Ben Franklin if he'd help persuade them.MILAN (Reuters) - A Qatar sheikh held up a British Airways flight at Milan's Linate airport for nearly three hours after discovering three of his female relatives had been seated next to men they did not know.
When none of the other business class passengers agreed to swap seats...
I can't imagine what kind of colossal prick it took to get the entire complement of business class passengers turned against him, but I'll wager that it has something to do with his wishes not being phrased in the form of a cordial request.
This is, of course, ignoring the somewhat quaint nature of a faith that won't let a woman sit next to a strange man on an airplane because we might somehow get 'stranger cooties' or something.
Politics: Plaster saints.
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints...
-from "Tommy", by Rudyard Kipling
My fascination with military history and the soldiers who made it began at a young age. In my early teen years my mother would go down to the town square on Saturday mornings to make her circuit of the thrift shops. Just off the square was a dusty little storefront that dealt in militaria from the Civil War to the present, run by an older gentleman by the name of Mr. Woodlief. Soon my Saturday mornings became a ritual; while my mother did her rounds at St. Agnes' Attic, St. Gertrude's Garage, and St. Sophia's Spare Room, I was deposited under the watchful eye and curmudgeonly tutelage of Mr. Woodlief, eagerly soaking up the tales spun by the old man and his customers. One morning I received a lesson that was to remain with me to this day.
The tinkling of the door bells announced my weekly entry into the cocoon of musty history and dancing dust motes that was my Saturday hideaway. On Mr. Woodlief's display counter, illuminated in a shaft of watery winter sunlight through the fly-specked windows, was a dress dummy wearing the tunic of an officer in the Army Air Force of WWII. I stopped and stared, transfixed by the gleaming officer's insignia and the impressive rows of medal ribbons. "You like that?" asked Mr. Woodlief. "That was mine during the war."
He began to name the decorations, narrating a little story on the origins of each one. I stood agog, absorbing the information. He squinted at me. "So, can you believe all that?"
I nodded mutely.
"Don't be an idiot," snapped my mentor, "I made all that up. Don't believe some guy's stories just because he tells them, unless you know some kind of facts that can back them up."
Plying my trade in later years, this skepticism served me in good stead. I saw many German Luger pistols brought back from WWII. If their bearers were to be believed, every other one was taken from a dead Nazi general, complete with a "swastika armband" which now couldn't be found. Apparently the Western Front was manned by whole divisions of Luger-armed generals, whose "swastika armbands" must have surely hampered any attempts at camouflage. Similarly, every other Japanese military sword had an ill-defined smudge on it, which was of course dried blood, from where the former owner of the sword had decapitated the foxhole buddy of the sword's current bearer before being bested by Our Hero. As for Vietnam tales, such popular currency in those pre-Gulf War days, I resolved that I would just flatly disbelieve anyone who claimed to have served in a combat capacity unless their story rang particularly true or was supported by outside evidence; as best I can tell, the US military effort in Vietnam consisted of thousands upon thousands of Ranger Sniper Green Beret SeALs, supported by one cannon-cocker, one truck driver, one helicopter crew chief, and one guy running a radio at Tan Son Nhut.
For the better part of my adult life, I have worked in the company of soldiers and veterans. I have learned a lot from them, some good and some not so much. On the negative side of the ledger, my language has taken a pounding. People who only know me through my writing, which while still heavily colloquial, benefits from at least a modicum of editing, are sometimes shocked to find that in person I speak like Bea Arthur with Tourette's Syndrome. ("F__k", while impossible to use as a conjunction and hopelessly awkward in the adverbial, is so remarkably versatile in every other part of speech.) On the positive side, I have become conversant with the War Story (and its close cousins, the Sea Story and the Cop Story.) Many, however, are unaware of the lore and protocol surrounding these tales.
The first important thing about the War Story is being able to identify it, and to tell it apart from a Fairy Tale. This isn't as hard as it may at first seem. A Fairy Tale begins with "Once upon a time..." while a War Story starts out with "No shit, this really happened..." Next is the appropriate usage of the War Story. A War Story may be used to instruct the new guy, astound your friends and relatives back home, or get a free beer at a bar from fellow veterans. Lastly come the elaborate rules surrounding the War Story: 1) If you are in a rear area, and the War Story happened to anyone in your unit, and no one from your unit is present, you may claim the story happened to you; 2) If your buddy told you the story but it happened over one year ago or over one thousand miles away from your current location, you may claim it happened to you; 3) If there is anybody in earshot who can flatly contradict your War Story, you may not claim it happened to you. Telling your story to a national audience puts an awful lot of people in earshot.
Once upon a time, an up-and-coming movie director wrote a tale of Vietnam. His story, informed by his own experiences there, rang superficially true. However, as time went on many veterans of that conflict pointed out that the experiences his protagonist went through, while individually and separately occurring on occasion over the duration of that long conflict, would have been impossible for one man to experience in one unit on one tour. Oliver Stone had been caught telling War Stories.
It seems Oliver has a groupie.
News: Somewhere in this story...
...is a commentary on American pop culture, the media, and TV journalism:
(CNN) -- A police chase through the streets of downtown Phoenix turned into a midair tragedy Friday afternoon when two television news helicopters covering the action collided and crashed to the ground in smoke and flame, killing all four people on board.Hey, baby, if it falls flaming from the sky, it leads!
Friday, July 27, 2007
For those of you who have been living under a rock lately...
...one of the neatest things I have ever seen done on any blog ever is up for your edification. MattG, Ambulance Driver, and Babs RN tell a tale of a rough night on the job from the point of view of the responding officer, the paramedic, and the ER nurse.
You're cheating yourself if you don't read it.
As someone who has had to make use of the professional services of their brethren and sistern more than once, it really, really makes me appreciate all those people do. (If you've never looked up a hazy black tunnel at the ceiling of an ambulance to hear an EMT yelling "Hey! Breathe, honey! Breathe!", I don't recommend the experience. They're swell people and all, but it's more fun to meet them socially.)
You're cheating yourself if you don't read it.
As someone who has had to make use of the professional services of their brethren and sistern more than once, it really, really makes me appreciate all those people do. (If you've never looked up a hazy black tunnel at the ceiling of an ambulance to hear an EMT yelling "Hey! Breathe, honey! Breathe!", I don't recommend the experience. They're swell people and all, but it's more fun to meet them socially.)
Visible Panty Lines are now a requirement...
...to visit your critter kin in Tennessee prisons.
The new regulations are supposed to prevent... er, something, I suppose. Just what isn't adequately explained.
The new regulations are supposed to prevent... er, something, I suppose. Just what isn't adequately explained.
Raise your hand if you're surprised.
My Conservative Identity:
You are an Anti-government Gunslinger, also known as a libertarian conservative. You believe in smaller government, states’ rights, gun rights, and that, as Reagan once said, “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’”
Take the quiz at www.FightLiberals.com
Seen over Marko's shoulder at the Munchkin Ranch yesterday. Vishnu knows where he found it. Probably AmboDriver; he's forever taking these little quizzes.
Nefarious Criminal Mastermind Claims Another Victim.
It appears that poor ex-Professor Churchill was a victim of the nefarious Sumdood:
(H/T to Zendo Deb.)
When confronted, he asserted he was not responsible. According to one report, "Professor Churchill has, on more than one occasion, claimed that certain acts that appear to have been his were instead the responsibility of some other actor: his editor or publisher, his assistant, or his former wife and collaborator.""I didn't fake the research! And those sock puppets weren't me! It was Sumdood!" Yeah. Sure.
(H/T to Zendo Deb.)
If it explodes, it leads.
In a story that could have come from the desk of the Anti Technology and Capitalism Commissar of the Luddite Party, CNN is reporting on an explosion on the Scaled Composites test pad in southern California.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Taking the load off...
Just like I spun most of the stuff about one of my favorite hobbies (old rifles) off onto another blog to leave VFTP free for nothing but snark, I'm putting most of the stuff about another one of my favorite hobbies (old computers and video games) on yet another blog. This will make most folks happy, and some others sad, because they'll need to go elsewhere to read me maundering on about my geekitude. With any luck, I'll be able to get a few fellow geeks whose writings I like to contribute the occasional post, too.
Behold: Digital Fossils.
Behold: Digital Fossils.
Politics: Not-so-rock-solid proof...
...that the other side is a bunch of boobs.
(The link over there is not only NSFW, it is, like most nudist camps, clear proof that most folks need to put their damn clothes back on.)
(The link over there is not only NSFW, it is, like most nudist camps, clear proof that most folks need to put their damn clothes back on.)
For a minute, I actually thought the AP had grown a spine...
KABUL, Afghanistan (AP) -- A top South Korean envoy is headed to Afghanistan, scrambling to save 22 of his country's citizens held captive by Taliban kidnappers after the militants killed one hostage.I initially misread that. I thought for a second that it said "...after the mutants killed one hostage."
Incidentally, seeing the headline SKorea Races To Save 22 Hostages, I had visions of them sending the 707th Special Missions Battalion to settle some Taliban hash. Nope, turns out they're sending a negotiator.
"We will not use force against the militants to free the hostages," he said. "The best way in this case is dialogue."...Well, you tell 'em, Chun. That oughtta strike some fear in the heart of the Hadjis."We oppose military operations and there won't be military operations that we do not consent to," Chun said.
Boomsticks: Do you love the smell of cosmoline in the morning?
Are you a fan of old military rifles (and pistols)? Would you rather restore a WWII-vintage Mauser or Mosin Nagant than play with the latest synthetic-stocked Remington in .300 Ultraboomer? Do you lament the tiny number of factory loadings available in .30-40 Krag?
Have I found the message board for you.
Have I found the message board for you.
Ah, the innocence of the young...
So, over at LewRockwell.com I see an article title that I just have to click on: "The Anti-Government Message Is Being Spread Through Sci-Fi/Fantasy"
"Cool," I think to myself, and so true. All the good stuff is borderline subversive. Heinlein, Bova, Pournelle... Even Poul Anderson is hardly what one could call a fan of monolithic government. This is leaving out the obvious polemics, like Alongside Night, The Probability Broach, and Kings of the High Frontier, which don't even attempt to disguise their contempt for the Nanny State.
This isn't what I found discussed in the article. Instead...
Look, sprout, I'm here to tell you that government wasn't all marshmallow skies and gumpdrop mountains before Bush took over as the latest in a string of American presidents of varying degrees of crapitude running clear back to Herbert Hoover. (And before Coolidge, it's a long walk back to Jefferson.) If the Bush administration with its Patriot Acts and foreign wars is what it took to get you on the pro-freedom bandwagon, all well and good. But don't forget that ten years ago we weren't reading Harry Potter, we were reading Unintended Consequences.
"Cool," I think to myself, and so true. All the good stuff is borderline subversive. Heinlein, Bova, Pournelle... Even Poul Anderson is hardly what one could call a fan of monolithic government. This is leaving out the obvious polemics, like Alongside Night, The Probability Broach, and Kings of the High Frontier, which don't even attempt to disguise their contempt for the Nanny State.
This isn't what I found discussed in the article. Instead...
I realized that this is just one part of a larger trend within the Sci-Fi/Fantasy genre since the Bush administration has taken office. I do not intend to connect people’s view of Bush with anti-government Sci-Fi/Fantasy movies and books, but rather will just use his ascension into office as a time period in which to examine.
Look, sprout, I'm here to tell you that government wasn't all marshmallow skies and gumpdrop mountains before Bush took over as the latest in a string of American presidents of varying degrees of crapitude running clear back to Herbert Hoover. (And before Coolidge, it's a long walk back to Jefferson.) If the Bush administration with its Patriot Acts and foreign wars is what it took to get you on the pro-freedom bandwagon, all well and good. But don't forget that ten years ago we weren't reading Harry Potter, we were reading Unintended Consequences.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
News Flash: Matt Damon is a tool.
In claiming that Jason Bourne is so much better than James Bond, Damon said:
This is why people still go to James Bond movies after all these years. Sure, they're formulaic, but like Eleanor Ringel said "Going to a James Bond movie is like going to the zoo; either you're happy to see the giraffes again or you're not." Obviously, folks are still happy to see the giraffes.
"I don't get paychecks from Bond movies."No, wait, that's not what he said. He said:
Bond is "an imperialist and he's a misogynist. He kills people and laughs and sips martinis and wisecracks about it,"Well, Matt, that's what people like about James Bond. They want the hero of their escapist fantasy to smoke a half dozen SMERSH heavies after an epic car/gondola/snowmobile/autogyro chase, make a joke, and get hammered on martinis. If they wanted their hero to be tortured in his soul after being forced to carry out his duty, they'd be reading the After Action Reviews and psychology articles in law enforcement trade magazines, not standing in line to get tickets for the latest Bond movie at the Cinema Gargantuplex. You want to know three more reasons why Bond is totally cooler than Bourne?
- Jason Bourne doesn't have an Aston Martin with machine guns in the bumpers and an ejector seat.
- Jason Bourne never chucked Richard Keel off a cable car.
- Jason Bourne never totally wiped out a secret underground base with an army of friggin' rappelling ninjas.
This is why people still go to James Bond movies after all these years. Sure, they're formulaic, but like Eleanor Ringel said "Going to a James Bond movie is like going to the zoo; either you're happy to see the giraffes again or you're not." Obviously, folks are still happy to see the giraffes.
Remember the Richard Davis beating in NOLA?
When the NOPD covered themselves in glory by beating a 66 year-old black man until his skull cracked, leaving him face down and bleeding on the street?
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Today In History: Texas lawn dart.
A Concorde jet, Air France Flight 4590, augered in, hitting a hotel in Gonesse, France, and marking the end of the first successful attempt at commercial supersonic air travel.
*sigh* I'm going to hell for this, aren't I?
French doctors are amazed that a 44-year-old civil servant with an abnormally small brain has led a normal life with a slightly lower than normal IQ, according to a report on Physorg.com.The article goes on to state that "the brain was virtually absent" and that the condition is rare, affecting about 1 in 25,000 live births.
You'll notice that it hasn't seemed to affect the man's career as a "civil servant". I believe that if they ran some bulk CT scans down at, say, the DMV or OSHA, they'd find the condition is a bit less rare than they think.
(H/T to War and Peace.)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Coolness!.
This is just so amazingly, extravagantly, over-the-top silly, that words fail me.
I think it may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I think it may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe...
Working third shift at an inconvenience store on Roswell Road in Atlanta, lying athwart the exit route for folks partying in Buckhead to return to their homes in the northern bedroom 'burbs, I saw all manner of weird and exciting stuff: A crew-cab duallie low-rider with a hot-tub full of drunken revelers in the bed. Armed robberies of the businesses on all three sides. A guy with black hair, black clothes, pale skin, muttonchop sideburns, sunglasses at 3AM, and a black suicide-door Lincoln Continental with tinted windows and the license plate "NATAS". The little Mexican dude who did his weekly grocery shopping at the stop'n'rob in the wee hours with his pet snake draped around his neck. But I never, ever saw anything this weird.
(H/T to Dustbury.)
(H/T to Dustbury.)
Trivial Pursuit
Did you know that, like, half the pizzas on the menu at Pizza Hut in Hong Kong use Thousand Island dressing for a base instead of tomato sauce?
Don't you feel better knowing that?
Don't you feel better knowing that?
We get signal. Main screen turn on.
Tech showed up.
Cable to the house needed to be turned back on.
All accomplished lickety-split.
I'm pulling pages off my own intarw3bz.
Thank you, Charter Communications.
Cable to the house needed to be turned back on.
All accomplished lickety-split.
I'm pulling pages off my own intarw3bz.
Thank you, Charter Communications.
I've gotta throw a flag on this one...
Over at Hotair.com in a piece debunking the latest "Scott Thomas" crap from Iraq, I read the following blurb in response to the claim of finding a 9mm shell casing "with a square back" and knowing it came from a Glock:
I could walk onto a commercial firing range littered knee-deep in spent 9mm shell casings, pick one up, and immediately tell if it was fired from a Glock by the rectangular firing pin imprint on the primer (or "square back" in non-technicalese).
Let's be careful to stick to debunking the factoids we're sure of, okay?
UPDATE:
I'm no Oleg Volk, and I apologize for the crappy picture quality, but on the left is a round of .357SIG brass from a Glock 33, and on the right is a .40S&W shell casing from a Beretta 96. Note the squarish outline to the primer strike on the left-hand shell casing as opposed to the round dimple on the right.
I know for sure that the round fired by the Glock 17 (their standard 9mm service pistol) fires the same round as the 9mm Beretta, the M9 (known in the civilian world as the 92… I know quite a bit about guns, and I have NEVER heard of a 9mm round with a “square back”. In fact, I’ve never heard of ANY centerfire cartridge with a squared-off rim. A square rim would screw up how the round would sit in the magazine, and how it would feed into the chamber. The only “square” “cartridges” I’ve ever heard of came with caseless rounds, and weapons using caseless ammunition is so complex that it has yet to be fielded in any form.Now, when I read that, I knew immediately what the writer meant. On the back of the shell casing is the primer. When it strikes the primer, the firing pin leaves a mark. Glocks use a striker with a rectangular (or "square") cross-section, unlike pretty much every other pistol on the planet, which all use a round firing pin.
I could walk onto a commercial firing range littered knee-deep in spent 9mm shell casings, pick one up, and immediately tell if it was fired from a Glock by the rectangular firing pin imprint on the primer (or "square back" in non-technicalese).
Let's be careful to stick to debunking the factoids we're sure of, okay?
UPDATE:
I'm no Oleg Volk, and I apologize for the crappy picture quality, but on the left is a round of .357SIG brass from a Glock 33, and on the right is a .40S&W shell casing from a Beretta 96. Note the squarish outline to the primer strike on the left-hand shell casing as opposed to the round dimple on the right.
Socialism in a decaying concrete nutshell.
If you want to see everything wrong with communism in one easily-framed photograph, you have to look no further than downtown Pyongyang. There, a 1,083-foot pile of badly-reinforced crumbling concrete remains a monument to the fact that in the whole of the Korean peninsula north of the 38th parallel there was not one single marketing guy to step up and say "Uh, yeah, great idea and all. But out of six and a half billion people on the planet, where are we going to find 3,000 who actually want to rent a room in Pyongyang?"
Ah, that might explain it...
I always wondered why the satellite imagery of my house on Google Maps was so out of date. It obviously dates from early spring or late fall several years ago. Trees and grass all brown, neighbor's garage still an unfinished cinderblock pile...
It wasn't until today that I backed out the magnification a bit and noticed that the "out-of-season" segment containing VFTP Command Central was a large strip that included most of the Y-12 complex out at Oak Ridge. You think that might have anything to do with it?
It wasn't until today that I backed out the magnification a bit and noticed that the "out-of-season" segment containing VFTP Command Central was a large strip that included most of the Y-12 complex out at Oak Ridge. You think that might have anything to do with it?
Yay! More inflation!
In an attempt to drive up the prices of consumer goods and fast food, as well as improve the under-the-table employment opportunities for illegal aliens, the "Fair Minimum Wage Act of 2007" takes effect today.
Boy, the name alone tells you everything you need to know about the law, its future consequences, and the mentality of the jackanapes and scoundrels who penned it.
Boy, the name alone tells you everything you need to know about the law, its future consequences, and the mentality of the jackanapes and scoundrels who penned it.
I can has intarw3bz?
Still poaching the unstable WiFi. Don't know how long this will last. Today I'm going to call them and see if we can take another run at provisioning the account, and if not, then I guess I'll have to schedule a service call to check the lines. I emailed the cat from Charter who posted in the comments here, by-the-by. We'll see what that does.
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