Shootin' Buddy and I were reminiscing in the car about Big Little Books. I whimsically thought it might be fun to re-read a couple that I remembered from my childhood, especially the one where Lassie and her master find the frozen mammoth in Alaska, and then a tree falls and pins the man to the ground and Lassie... anyway... I thought it might be a lark to track some of these down and re-read them and see how they'd aged.
I assumed they were probably collectible, and it turns out they are.
What I didn't expect is that they'd technically be illegal. That's right: The Safety Nazis, the GreenShirts, are banning the sale of old children's books in the name of safety.
I don't think I've ever felt quite the quiver of rage I felt at that moment.
I will adapt to my cigarettes getting messed with; I will improvise and overcome if you want to take my bayonet lug away; but I am this close to saddling up and busting caps over The Wizard of Oz.
Keep your slimy, regulation-encrusted hands off my childhood, you bastards. I'm not kidding.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Let them fly coach.
So, in the middle of the biggest governmental fiscal crisis in the history of our republic, with everybody and their brother pissing and carping about the high pressure jet of red ink shooting out of the congressional fire hose, congress decides it needs three congressional Gulfstream luxo jets, to the tune of $200mil?
Guys, you're congressmen. There's, like, five-hundred-something of you interchangeable little cogs; you're barely more special than dogcatchers. You put those jets back where you found them right now, and you can darn well fly coach like the rest of us as long as you're flying on my dime.
(H/T to Sharp Stuff.)
Guys, you're congressmen. There's, like, five-hundred-something of you interchangeable little cogs; you're barely more special than dogcatchers. You put those jets back where you found them right now, and you can darn well fly coach like the rest of us as long as you're flying on my dime.
(H/T to Sharp Stuff.)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Overheard on the phone...
*RING, RING*
Me: "Hello?"
RX: "Did you call?"
Me: "No"
RX: "Well, my cell phone just rang and rang..."
Me: "Maybe it was the cats. They've been awful quiet."
RX: "Hey, do you have a rage-filled blog?"
Me: "Rage-filled? I wouldn't call it rage-filled. I can probably fit some more rage in there. Should I?"
RX: "No, you do not want a rage-filled blog."
I take it this has something to do with yesterday.
Please stay off my side.
The joking nickname for Beech Grove Firearms in the circles in which I run is "Death Camp Guns & Gear", because it's almost literally across the street from the Amtrak rail car repair facility that some tinfoil hatter decided was a FEMA concentration camp, (much to the surprise of the people who work there, since their job is fixing choo-choo trains and not nerve-gassing patriots.)
These days the .gov can't do any construction without some loony tune on the internets raving about how it's really a secret bunker for the Illuminati. For instance, a barracks construction project at a New York ANG base was spotted for a clandestine Gnomes of Zurich hideout by one Nancy Genovese who, like a moth bumping off a porch light, kept showing up with her camera looking for damning pictures of flying saucer wreckage or whatever until they finally arrested her on some dubious charges.
When they did, it turned out she had a Benelli Nova bird gun and an Assault Weapons Ban-compliant Bushhamster M4gery in the car, along with enough ammunition to have a pretty good weekend at the range. (But only two spare mags; obviously not a Thunder Ranch grad.) Now, it's a good thing they didn't pull me over on the way to the range, because the trunk of my car on the way to Wildcat Valley would net them a junk-on-the-bunk display that'd make Genovese look like a rank amateur. However, I rarely combine range trips with scouting missions against the New World Order, so the point is kinda moot.
Of course, she has sent the lefties into spasms of "zomg right wing terrorist militia!" Nice work, Nancy.
(Oh, but Mr. Neiwert? She may be a complete wookie-suiter, but she's right about the "Molon Labe" part.)
These days the .gov can't do any construction without some loony tune on the internets raving about how it's really a secret bunker for the Illuminati. For instance, a barracks construction project at a New York ANG base was spotted for a clandestine Gnomes of Zurich hideout by one Nancy Genovese who, like a moth bumping off a porch light, kept showing up with her camera looking for damning pictures of flying saucer wreckage or whatever until they finally arrested her on some dubious charges.
When they did, it turned out she had a Benelli Nova bird gun and an Assault Weapons Ban-compliant Bushhamster M4gery in the car, along with enough ammunition to have a pretty good weekend at the range. (But only two spare mags; obviously not a Thunder Ranch grad.) Now, it's a good thing they didn't pull me over on the way to the range, because the trunk of my car on the way to Wildcat Valley would net them a junk-on-the-bunk display that'd make Genovese look like a rank amateur. However, I rarely combine range trips with scouting missions against the New World Order, so the point is kinda moot.
Of course, she has sent the lefties into spasms of "zomg right wing terrorist militia!" Nice work, Nancy.
(Oh, but Mr. Neiwert? She may be a complete wookie-suiter, but she's right about the "Molon Labe" part.)
Do Want.
Simply Rugged holsters makes a nice-looking belt holster for the Colt Pocket Hammerless. (Holster #27.) And they're having a "Buy One Get One Free!" sale.
But payday isn't for another two weeks. Le sigh.
But payday isn't for another two weeks. Le sigh.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Much better.
A one hour nap has me feeling a lot saner, thank you very much.
Also, I realized that the only solid food I'd eaten all day yesterday was a bag of Pirate's Booty and a heel of bread with three slices of pepperoni on it. My blood sugar was probably a little low.
Also, I realized that the only solid food I'd eaten all day yesterday was a bag of Pirate's Booty and a heel of bread with three slices of pepperoni on it. My blood sugar was probably a little low.
This cannot be happening.
So I got a load of laundry in, because I had no summer-weight socks left, and I'm not about to wear wool socks in Indiana in August, record cool summer or no. Those things make my feet sweat when its fifty degrees outside; my little hooves would melt at 80.
Also, I am extremely low on clean black tee shirts. Understand that me being low on clean black tee shirts is like the Pope being low on clean funny hats: Nothing to wear without being gigged for being out of uniform. And I just used the last of the laundry detergent on the socks.
No laundry detergent and only one can of Vault Zero in the house. I really don't see any way around a trip to the grocery store at this point, but I'm going to take a nap first so I don't get confused and think I'm playing Gran Turismo 3 instead of Drive To Grocery Store 1. (I must be punchy, because just typing that has me laughing so hard my face hurts. Why am I babbling all this to you people, anyway?)
Also, I am extremely low on clean black tee shirts. Understand that me being low on clean black tee shirts is like the Pope being low on clean funny hats: Nothing to wear without being gigged for being out of uniform. And I just used the last of the laundry detergent on the socks.
No laundry detergent and only one can of Vault Zero in the house. I really don't see any way around a trip to the grocery store at this point, but I'm going to take a nap first so I don't get confused and think I'm playing Gran Turismo 3 instead of Drive To Grocery Store 1. (I must be punchy, because just typing that has me laughing so hard my face hurts. Why am I babbling all this to you people, anyway?)
Spring Ahead, Fall On Your Face.
The clocks are all wonky at Roseholme Cottage this week because Roomie is covering for a vacationing coworker. Said coworker works the shift from OMG-thirty to WTF-o'clock, so this means going to bed and getting up at some pretty bizarro hours, which has thoroughly scrambled my internal chronometer.
Posting may be light. Or heavier than usual (there's not much else to do in the wee hours). It will also probably be even more incoherent than it normally is, because I've been pretty punchy for two days straight now, and I don't foresee it getting any better until I get back to my usual schedule. As a creature of habit, I fear change; it discombobulates me.
UPDATE: It's currently LOL:15 and I've already been up for three hours. Or is it four? There are words in my head, but I can't get them through my fingers and into the keyboard. Only one can of Vault Zero left in the house; I obviously seriously underplanned for this last night. I don't think driving to the store right now would be the smartest of ideas, though.
Posting may be light. Or heavier than usual (there's not much else to do in the wee hours). It will also probably be even more incoherent than it normally is, because I've been pretty punchy for two days straight now, and I don't foresee it getting any better until I get back to my usual schedule. As a creature of habit, I fear change; it discombobulates me.
UPDATE: It's currently LOL:15 and I've already been up for three hours. Or is it four? There are words in my head, but I can't get them through my fingers and into the keyboard. Only one can of Vault Zero left in the house; I obviously seriously underplanned for this last night. I don't think driving to the store right now would be the smartest of ideas, though.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Spuds McKenzie Party Animal ProTip:
When picking out a designated driver, always pick one that:
- Is not also intoxicated.
- Is not a fugitive from justice.
- Is not imaginary.
- Is not your nine-year-old daughter.
Just not getting it.
I don't much need to know anything about duck calls, skeet guns, bird dog training collars, or who's making a new rifle rack for Yamaha ATV's, so I don't often read The Outdoor Wire.
Apparently, some "Jim" guy over there had his staff send him an internets through the series of tubes stating that the "blogosphere" was spreading nasty false rumors about the imminent demise of Daniel Defense.
This came as something of a surprise to people who were actually, you know, in the blogosphere and who hadn't read anything of the sort, specifically Bitter, who hit the ceiling. The "Jim" guy apologized, sorta, explaining that "blogosphere" is shorthand for "internet" in Jimspeak and what he meant to say was "email".
This makes sense. I mean, email is kind of like the blogosphere in much the same way that the U.S. Mail is like The American Spectator. After all, they're both full of words printed on paper, right?
Apparently, some "Jim" guy over there had his staff send him an internets through the series of tubes stating that the "blogosphere" was spreading nasty false rumors about the imminent demise of Daniel Defense.
This came as something of a surprise to people who were actually, you know, in the blogosphere and who hadn't read anything of the sort, specifically Bitter, who hit the ceiling. The "Jim" guy apologized, sorta, explaining that "blogosphere" is shorthand for "internet" in Jimspeak and what he meant to say was "email".
This makes sense. I mean, email is kind of like the blogosphere in much the same way that the U.S. Mail is like The American Spectator. After all, they're both full of words printed on paper, right?
Yes, we have no bananas.
Struck out on ammo at Premiere Arms; they had nothing in .45 or .32ACP, and naught in 9x19 but some Middle Eastern surplus corrosive stuff. I picked up 100 115gr .355" FMJ projectiles and 100 155gr .358" LSWC bullets for reloading.
They still have that beautifully engraved S&W .44 double-action top-break and a 4" Model 25-9 in .45 Colt. Tempting, but too rich for my blood.
They still have that beautifully engraved S&W .44 double-action top-break and a 4" Model 25-9 in .45 Colt. Tempting, but too rich for my blood.
Well...
I was about to head out the door to check on the ammunition situation at Premiere Arms, but it started raining like a cow peeing on a flat rock, with some lightning and hail and suchlike thrown in. I guess y'all are stuck with me here for a while longer.
Try to remember not to forget.
August Indy blogmeet info here.
Also, Larry Correia, the author of Monster Hunter International, will be the guest on Gun Nuts Radio tonight, so you can ask him "What gun for werewolf?"
Also, Larry Correia, the author of Monster Hunter International, will be the guest on Gun Nuts Radio tonight, so you can ask him "What gun for werewolf?"
Fast. Like a marsupial.
Caleb uses a post about reviewing one's shooting with a camcorder to show off.
He's right; it's a great tool, because the camera doesn't lie, and also because you can use pauses and slow-mo to isolate problems with your form. I need a better video camera.
He's right; it's a great tool, because the camera doesn't lie, and also because you can use pauses and slow-mo to isolate problems with your form. I need a better video camera.
Brilliant new health care idea!
With everyone gathered around the cannibal pot for a nice bowl of Cash For Clunkers stew, Og figures that such a scheme should work well with health care, too. Heck, the concept transposes perfectly: Cash For Codgers!
Monday, August 03, 2009
Build a stranger mouse trap...
Weird gun laws create weird workarounds. Everybody is no doubt familiar with the product of the bazaars of the Khyber Pass, the village smithies of Mindanao, and the basement machine shops of Belfast.
In places where guns are quasi legal, legitimate manufacturers will often build quasi-guns. Witness, for example, this Hungarian double-barreled, over-and-under, slide-action, breech-loading, rubber-bullet-launching shotgun-type thingummy. I'd rather have an 870, but given the legal restrictions under which it exists, it sure beats a handful of nothing, plus it practically oozes ingenuity.
The only thing that would make it better is if it had a bayonet. Or if it launched bees. (Preferably African killer bees, but regular old honeybees would do in a pinch.)
In places where guns are quasi legal, legitimate manufacturers will often build quasi-guns. Witness, for example, this Hungarian double-barreled, over-and-under, slide-action, breech-loading, rubber-bullet-launching shotgun-type thingummy. I'd rather have an 870, but given the legal restrictions under which it exists, it sure beats a handful of nothing, plus it practically oozes ingenuity.
The only thing that would make it better is if it had a bayonet. Or if it launched bees. (Preferably African killer bees, but regular old honeybees would do in a pinch.)
Ammo Scarcity Update.
I wasn't really looking for rifle ammo, but I did check out pistol ammunition at both Beech Grove Firearms and the Mountain of Geese this weekend.
Rimfire: No bulk rimfire at Beech Grove, but a good selection of the more upmarket CCI stuff in the 50rd boxes. 100rd plastic boxes of Mini Mags were ~$7. Gander Mountain had pretty much a normal rimfire selection out and available. If you wanted bulk, your only choices other than some Fiocchi were unplated Winchester or plated Remington Golden Bullets. I'll usually go with the occasional dud over lead fouling, but that's just me. 525rd cartons were $24.99; I splurged and bought one so I can hold off on busting out my reserve Mohawk and Thunderbolt unplated stuff for another weekend or three.
Centerfire: There was something in every caliber at Beech Grove, but you couldn't be fussy about the brand. You want .45ACP? You're getting Sellier & Bellot. You want 9x19? CCI Blazer for you. Gander Mountain had a similar situation with somewhat better selection: Most calibers had two or three choices for range ammo, usually Blazer Brass, Fiocchi, and one or another of the Big Three's budget lines. Prices ran slightly more than Beech Grove, but it looked like the going rate was ~$14/50 for 9mm and ~$24/50 for .45. Better than early Spring, but unlikely to cause anybody to stop handloading 9mm.
Rimfire: No bulk rimfire at Beech Grove, but a good selection of the more upmarket CCI stuff in the 50rd boxes. 100rd plastic boxes of Mini Mags were ~$7. Gander Mountain had pretty much a normal rimfire selection out and available. If you wanted bulk, your only choices other than some Fiocchi were unplated Winchester or plated Remington Golden Bullets. I'll usually go with the occasional dud over lead fouling, but that's just me. 525rd cartons were $24.99; I splurged and bought one so I can hold off on busting out my reserve Mohawk and Thunderbolt unplated stuff for another weekend or three.
Centerfire: There was something in every caliber at Beech Grove, but you couldn't be fussy about the brand. You want .45ACP? You're getting Sellier & Bellot. You want 9x19? CCI Blazer for you. Gander Mountain had a similar situation with somewhat better selection: Most calibers had two or three choices for range ammo, usually Blazer Brass, Fiocchi, and one or another of the Big Three's budget lines. Prices ran slightly more than Beech Grove, but it looked like the going rate was ~$14/50 for 9mm and ~$24/50 for .45. Better than early Spring, but unlikely to cause anybody to stop handloading 9mm.
Even I think that's geeky...
Posting may be light this morning because I have discovered the TV Tropes website and fallen into the intarw3bz, but that's not what this post is about.
What this post is about is that somewhere on this planet there is somebody who actually cared enough to take the time to write a great big long dissertation about why the Stormtroopers' shooting wasn't really that bad.
Hey, Earth to Commander Solo: How about beaming off the bridge of the USS Mom's Basement and onto the surface of planet Fresh Air? Go for a walk. Ride your bike. See if your tricorder will let you communicate with the natives. Something like that.
What this post is about is that somewhere on this planet there is somebody who actually cared enough to take the time to write a great big long dissertation about why the Stormtroopers' shooting wasn't really that bad.
Hey, Earth to Commander Solo: How about beaming off the bridge of the USS Mom's Basement and onto the surface of planet Fresh Air? Go for a walk. Ride your bike. See if your tricorder will let you communicate with the natives. Something like that.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Weekend Report: Shooting.
We went to Iggle Crick yesterday AM. The range was open and practically full when we got there a little after nine.
There's always been a sign there at the entrance to the range areas that says "No Loaded Concealed Weapons Beyond This Point", which I've long thought odd but, hey, IMPD uses the range all the time, so who knows what baroque gun-handling protocols they have. We'd just make it a point to uncover when entering the range area and everything would be okey-dokey, right?
Right. At least up to a point.
Yesterday we showed up to shoot, like we have better than every other weekend for the past year, and I noticed that there were two RSO's there that I'd only seen maybe once before. As Shootin' Buddy and I turned away from the registration table to go up to the line, they saw the guns on our hips and drama ensued:
"No loaded guns in holsters on the firing line!"
"Your sign says no loaded concealed guns beyond this point."
"Well the rules say..." et cetera and yadda.
While teh n00b RSO's and Shootin' Buddy played "Perry Mason and the Case of the Hazy Guidelines", I pulled aside the one RSO I knew and asked him what was up. Apparently the chief RO had usually been pretty casual about the no holstered guns rule with shooters who had demonstrated competency (...and while neither myself nor Shootin' Buddy is being actively recruited by ninjas or SEAL Team 37½, we're a breath of fresh air on a range where the average shooter gets chided for muzzle discipline by an RSO at least once per session) but, yes, technically this was supposed to be a cold range. So I unloaded and showed clear for my guy and apparently Shootin' Buddy had done likewise.
Now the pistol of mine that was so safe that morning eating breakfast at Le Peep and that afternoon at the grocery store was unloaded so it would be safe at the pistol range, too. Raise your hand if that makes sense to you.
See, this is one Lowest Common Denominator "safety" policy that is only going to lead to unnecessary bullet holes. If rigidly adhered to, it means Cletus and Jasper have to fiddle-fart around with loaded guns twice; once on arrival and again on leaving, instead of leaving them safely in their holsters and not touching them. Now, the po-po firearms training building at Iggle Crick is right off the parking lot and has a handy sand-filled clearing barrel, but how many people are going to look for that, much less use it religiously?
Remember: One handy rule for preventing negligent discharges is stop touching your damn gun so much! Think about every story of an ND you've heard: It was somebody holstering or unholstering or clearing or loading or otherwise somehow futzing with the gun, right? It's almost never "The gun was sitting in the holster and went off." Why then, in the name of safety, would you encourage the former rather than the latter?
There's always been a sign there at the entrance to the range areas that says "No Loaded Concealed Weapons Beyond This Point", which I've long thought odd but, hey, IMPD uses the range all the time, so who knows what baroque gun-handling protocols they have. We'd just make it a point to uncover when entering the range area and everything would be okey-dokey, right?Right. At least up to a point.
Yesterday we showed up to shoot, like we have better than every other weekend for the past year, and I noticed that there were two RSO's there that I'd only seen maybe once before. As Shootin' Buddy and I turned away from the registration table to go up to the line, they saw the guns on our hips and drama ensued:
"No loaded guns in holsters on the firing line!"
"Your sign says no loaded concealed guns beyond this point."
"Well the rules say..." et cetera and yadda.
While teh n00b RSO's and Shootin' Buddy played "Perry Mason and the Case of the Hazy Guidelines", I pulled aside the one RSO I knew and asked him what was up. Apparently the chief RO had usually been pretty casual about the no holstered guns rule with shooters who had demonstrated competency (...and while neither myself nor Shootin' Buddy is being actively recruited by ninjas or SEAL Team 37½, we're a breath of fresh air on a range where the average shooter gets chided for muzzle discipline by an RSO at least once per session) but, yes, technically this was supposed to be a cold range. So I unloaded and showed clear for my guy and apparently Shootin' Buddy had done likewise.
Now the pistol of mine that was so safe that morning eating breakfast at Le Peep and that afternoon at the grocery store was unloaded so it would be safe at the pistol range, too. Raise your hand if that makes sense to you.
See, this is one Lowest Common Denominator "safety" policy that is only going to lead to unnecessary bullet holes. If rigidly adhered to, it means Cletus and Jasper have to fiddle-fart around with loaded guns twice; once on arrival and again on leaving, instead of leaving them safely in their holsters and not touching them. Now, the po-po firearms training building at Iggle Crick is right off the parking lot and has a handy sand-filled clearing barrel, but how many people are going to look for that, much less use it religiously?
Remember: One handy rule for preventing negligent discharges is stop touching your damn gun so much! Think about every story of an ND you've heard: It was somebody holstering or unholstering or clearing or loading or otherwise somehow futzing with the gun, right? It's almost never "The gun was sitting in the holster and went off." Why then, in the name of safety, would you encourage the former rather than the latter?
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