TIME.com has a piece up about Mitt Romney's disappointing campaign, trying to analyze just what it is that the journalist doesn't like about ol' Mitt.
Why this takes a whole page is beyond me. Look, here's why you don't like him: He's a politician from Massachusetts. There you go, Mr. Klein; your whole column re-written in only five words. You're welcome.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Boomsticks: Who cares what it looks like?
There has long been a cult of purists among 1911 buffs who deride various modifications, mostly beavertail grip safeties, because they "look ugly". This is something I've never understood; sure, the beavertail looks a little goofy, like someone thought the gun needed a spoiler on the trunk lid or something, but it's not there for looks. It's there to locate your hand properly when you take a firm grip high on the gun, and especially if you shoot with your thumb on top of the thumb safety. The Commander-style hammer is also not just there for looks, since it goes hand-in-glove with the beavertail; a GI spur hammer would bottom out against the enlarged grip safety and prevent the gun from cycling.
As you can see in the picture on the left, with the thumb actually bearing down on the thumb safety, the beavertail prevents the pistol from being pushed down into the hand. I suppose there are people out there who want a beavertail for the looks (after all, there are people out there who bought Pontiac Azteks and who like the designated hitter rule,) but I just like what it does.
Lately, however, the Crusty Purist Cult has spread from the Church of the 1911 and infected the world of AR-15 owners, too. It was one thing to want an old "no-fence, no-forward-assist" Colt SP1 to collect for its retro 1970's SWAT cool, but soon the purists were demanding the old triangular handguards because the new ones were "ugly", as though someone was actually concerned with what the AR-15, not a particularly attractive rifle to begin with, looked like. Look, buddy, if you want flimsy, rattling, gotta-be-kept-in-matched-pairs A1 handguards on your rifle, be my guest. The A2's are infinitely better: sturdier, quieter, and it doesn't matter which goes on top or bottom since they're both the same. And as far as a railed forend goes, you don't buy those for looks; you buy them... well, let me quote Lyle, posting at Oleg's blog:
As you can see in the picture on the left, with the thumb actually bearing down on the thumb safety, the beavertail prevents the pistol from being pushed down into the hand. I suppose there are people out there who want a beavertail for the looks (after all, there are people out there who bought Pontiac Azteks and who like the designated hitter rule,) but I just like what it does.
Lately, however, the Crusty Purist Cult has spread from the Church of the 1911 and infected the world of AR-15 owners, too. It was one thing to want an old "no-fence, no-forward-assist" Colt SP1 to collect for its retro 1970's SWAT cool, but soon the purists were demanding the old triangular handguards because the new ones were "ugly", as though someone was actually concerned with what the AR-15, not a particularly attractive rifle to begin with, looked like. Look, buddy, if you want flimsy, rattling, gotta-be-kept-in-matched-pairs A1 handguards on your rifle, be my guest. The A2's are infinitely better: sturdier, quieter, and it doesn't matter which goes on top or bottom since they're both the same. And as far as a railed forend goes, you don't buy those for looks; you buy them... well, let me quote Lyle, posting at Oleg's blog:
The forend rails aren't there for the nifty looks (at least not for some folks). They're there to hold your PEQ-2, and etc., so you have more of an advantage over your low-tech, dirt-sucking prey.I buy old Mausers and prewar Smiths for looks. My 1911s and ARs are built the way they are for different reasons entirely.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
You're not good enough, you're not smart enough...
...and gosh darn it, people don't like you.
I am absolutely sick and tired of the very phrase "Self Esteem"; embodying as it does the concept that one should have warm fuzzy feelings about one's self for no adequately explained reason whatsoever, as though by simply existing, one was doing something inherently good rather than merely converting oxygen into greenhouse gas. With "Self Esteem" came the notion that we were to go to any extent to avoid things that may damage it in our little tricycle motors, even if it meant dumbing down grades and no longer keeping score at kiddie sporting events. All this seems to ensure is that we're producing whiners who will expect the real world to be as careful of their self esteem as the artificial environment of William Golding Memorial Elementary School was, and who will proceed to vote for anyone who promises to make it that way.
Whatever happened to self respect? The idea that one should have some sort of internal code and judge one's self based on how well one lives up to it? Or would that reveal that so many people are worth very little esteem at all?
I am absolutely sick and tired of the very phrase "Self Esteem"; embodying as it does the concept that one should have warm fuzzy feelings about one's self for no adequately explained reason whatsoever, as though by simply existing, one was doing something inherently good rather than merely converting oxygen into greenhouse gas. With "Self Esteem" came the notion that we were to go to any extent to avoid things that may damage it in our little tricycle motors, even if it meant dumbing down grades and no longer keeping score at kiddie sporting events. All this seems to ensure is that we're producing whiners who will expect the real world to be as careful of their self esteem as the artificial environment of William Golding Memorial Elementary School was, and who will proceed to vote for anyone who promises to make it that way.
Whatever happened to self respect? The idea that one should have some sort of internal code and judge one's self based on how well one lives up to it? Or would that reveal that so many people are worth very little esteem at all?
Signs I'm getting old, #2743
I'm moving my PC case around on the desk here at VFTP Command Central while the Guns 'N' Roses tune "Breakdown" drones from the speakers, with iTunes causing the hard drive to chortle away during the process. This is reminding me of my first hard drive, a 10MB Seagate unit that took up a whole full-height drive bay in my PC case and stretched clean to the back of the chassis, weighing a couple pounds and matching the physical dimensions of a small shoebox. The .mp3 file I'm listening to would have taken up 65.4% of that drive's capacity (which held SimCity, Test Drive, Wizardry III, RoboComm, SillyLittleMailReader, and much more, with room to spare) and I'd have never dared to move the PC's case while the drive was running!
Who out there remembers having to "park the heads" on the drive before so much as jostling the case, even when the PC was off, in order to prevent a head crash?
(PS: Ooh! Now "Estranged" is playing! I haven't heard this in forever! Lurve it! More exclamation points!!!!!!!!!1!!!!11!!!!!one!!1!!)
Who out there remembers having to "park the heads" on the drive before so much as jostling the case, even when the PC was off, in order to prevent a head crash?
(PS: Ooh! Now "Estranged" is playing! I haven't heard this in forever! Lurve it! More exclamation points!!!!!!!!!1!!!!11!!!!!one!!1!!)
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Boomsticks: Suffer from projection much, Reverend?
Peaceful man of God, Rev. Michael Pfleger, exhorted his flock to "drag out" and "snuff" a law-abiding business owner. He also called for pro-civil rights politicians to be "snuffed". I am not sure, but I would guess that spittle flew as he made these exhortations.
If I was asmuch of a dangerous nut case psychologically unstable as he is, I wouldn't want anyone to have a gun either, I reckon.
If I was as
Blog Stuff: Overheard at Work.
Me: "My fingertips are about to split open. Handling all those 4473 forms has leached all the oils right out of my skin."
Co-worker: "Put some lotion on them. Don't you keep some girly lotion in your purse?"
Me: *roll eyes* "Sure, it's right next to my $%&@ing nail polish."
(Note to self: Little tube of lotion on vanity at home should go in purse tomorrow where it may actually do some fricken' good. And I should cowboy up and stop sucking on my dried-out, stinging fingertips because it looks goofy.)
Co-worker: "Put some lotion on them. Don't you keep some girly lotion in your purse?"
Me: *roll eyes* "Sure, it's right next to my $%&@ing nail polish."
(Note to self: Little tube of lotion on vanity at home should go in purse tomorrow where it may actually do some fricken' good. And I should cowboy up and stop sucking on my dried-out, stinging fingertips because it looks goofy.)
Obligatory immigration post.
Say you had a problem with bugs in your kitchen. You had a big pile of spilled sugar in the middle of the kitchen floor, and it just kept attracting bugs. You complain to me that you've tried everything: roach motels, bait traps, hermetically sealing your house, but all to no avail since the sugar keeps attracting bugs.
I'm just going to stand there and blink in goggle-eyed amazement, wondering "Why don't you try getting rid of the sugar in the middle of the floor?"
There is always going to be a problem when a prosperous nation has a land border with a poor one (you'll note that we don't have swarms of Canucks pouring across the border, except maybe to buy cigarettes,) but why compound it by offering a vast cornucopia of free stuff that makes entry too enticing to resist? As long as this is the land of the handout, people who want handouts will come here looking for one. When you subsidize freeloading you can't complain about freeloaders, domestic or imported.
I'm just going to stand there and blink in goggle-eyed amazement, wondering "Why don't you try getting rid of the sugar in the middle of the floor?"
There is always going to be a problem when a prosperous nation has a land border with a poor one (you'll note that we don't have swarms of Canucks pouring across the border, except maybe to buy cigarettes,) but why compound it by offering a vast cornucopia of free stuff that makes entry too enticing to resist? As long as this is the land of the handout, people who want handouts will come here looking for one. When you subsidize freeloading you can't complain about freeloaders, domestic or imported.
Politics: Her words, not mine.
Cindy Sheehan titled her throw-in-the-towel post at the Daily Kos "Good Riddance Attention Whore".
I find I have nothing to add.
I find I have nothing to add.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Obsession.
The capacity for the human mind to focus upon a goal and pursue it with single-minded determination is amazing. Given free reign, it is this tendency towards obsession that makes great things happen: Everest is climbed. The South Pole is reached. The Atlantic is flown solo. Diseases are conquered and devices are invented. And sometimes the same obsession goes a bit wonky and model battleships thirty feet long are built.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Today In History: Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
May 27th, 1942: Reinhard Heydrich gets his via IED in Prague.
I hadn't known about his piloting. Knowing fighter pilots, they must've loved that. Some pogue REMF old-guy bureaucrat from Berlin shows up, demands a plane, orders that it have his personal goofy Dungeons & Dragons-esque Germanic rune painted on the fuselage, and within a month, he's balled it up on takeoff. (A notoriously easy thing to do in a 109; like all the great piston-engined fighter planes, it was notably unforgiving of a ham-fisted novice at the stick.)
I hadn't known about his piloting. Knowing fighter pilots, they must've loved that. Some pogue REMF old-guy bureaucrat from Berlin shows up, demands a plane, orders that it have his personal goofy Dungeons & Dragons-esque Germanic rune painted on the fuselage, and within a month, he's balled it up on takeoff. (A notoriously easy thing to do in a 109; like all the great piston-engined fighter planes, it was notably unforgiving of a ham-fisted novice at the stick.)
Latest press releases from the Ministry of Too Much Information.
One of the things that happens to bloggers is the occasional tendency to share and overshare alike...
Marko gets a BFA. (Blank-Firing Adapter, for you non gun nuts.)
Joe Huffman plays Fantastic Voyage. (Personally, my rule of thumb when offered anesthesia is to go for the option of unconsciousness. If that's not on the menu, I'll take the closest thing they're offering. I'd have gotten knocked out to get my ingrown toenail fixed if they'd have let me.)
Marko gets a BFA. (Blank-Firing Adapter, for you non gun nuts.)
Joe Huffman plays Fantastic Voyage. (Personally, my rule of thumb when offered anesthesia is to go for the option of unconsciousness. If that's not on the menu, I'll take the closest thing they're offering. I'd have gotten knocked out to get my ingrown toenail fixed if they'd have let me.)
Saturday, May 26, 2007
So, yeah, Star Wars....
Cultural icon of my generation... changed cinema forever... blah, blah, blah.
You know what the whole Star Wars thing boils down to? One magic blockbuster summer movie, and five toy commercials. Oh, sure, Empire Strikes Back was more critically acclaimed than the original; darker, moodier, better script... But it ended as a cliffhanger, and cliffhangers have to be resolved, and it got resolved with the horrible formulaic commercial for stuffed Ewok toys and little plastic speeder bikes that is Return Of The Jedi. The third movie just put on display the weaknesses of George Lucas as a science fiction writer. Here was no Tolkein, painstakingly crafting languages with consistent rules of grammar and syntax; here was a guy naming races and spaceships after breaded seafood dishes.
Why didn't they just let it end with the first one? The good guys had won, the bad guys had lost, Luke had got the girl, Han got his cash, Chewbacca got a medal, and we were all screaming ourselves hoarse in the theater. Pinko film critic Eleanor Ringel in my hometown was pissed because a movie that just plain regular folks liked for no other reason than it was fun had completely overturned the Hollywood apple cart. What better way to let it end? Instead, Lucas had to pretend that he had the rest of the stuff all written down already, and there was more to come. Sure, George. Say what you want about having the whole shebang planned ahead of time, but we all saw that kiss in the first flick.
Anyway, thirty years later, I sure remember Star Wars. It's everything that came after it that I wish I could forget.
You know what the whole Star Wars thing boils down to? One magic blockbuster summer movie, and five toy commercials. Oh, sure, Empire Strikes Back was more critically acclaimed than the original; darker, moodier, better script... But it ended as a cliffhanger, and cliffhangers have to be resolved, and it got resolved with the horrible formulaic commercial for stuffed Ewok toys and little plastic speeder bikes that is Return Of The Jedi. The third movie just put on display the weaknesses of George Lucas as a science fiction writer. Here was no Tolkein, painstakingly crafting languages with consistent rules of grammar and syntax; here was a guy naming races and spaceships after breaded seafood dishes.
Why didn't they just let it end with the first one? The good guys had won, the bad guys had lost, Luke had got the girl, Han got his cash, Chewbacca got a medal, and we were all screaming ourselves hoarse in the theater. Pinko film critic Eleanor Ringel in my hometown was pissed because a movie that just plain regular folks liked for no other reason than it was fun had completely overturned the Hollywood apple cart. What better way to let it end? Instead, Lucas had to pretend that he had the rest of the stuff all written down already, and there was more to come. Sure, George. Say what you want about having the whole shebang planned ahead of time, but we all saw that kiss in the first flick.
Anyway, thirty years later, I sure remember Star Wars. It's everything that came after it that I wish I could forget.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Baseball: Revenge, unlike hot dogs, is a dish best served cold...
John Smoltz picks up win number 200 in a 2-1 victory over the Mets and That Traitor Glavine.
It makes me smile. :)
It makes me smile. :)
Blog Stuff: Overheard at Work.
So I'm walking back in from a break on the side porch at the shop, and Mr. P and Sgt. P are in a huddle by the registers. As I walk past, I hear Mr. P saying "...and they're really not necessary. They're like your appendix; you can have them out with no problem."
Wondering what they were talking about, I asked "What are?"
"Anal glands," said Mr. P.
"Eeeew! Ohh! I just want to go back to the world of five minutes ago, when everything was happy and clean!"
Sgt. P looked at me and said "How long has it been? A year now? You think you'd learn. Every time you come around a corner and find us laughing and ask 'What?', you wind up all grossed out."
It turns out that the two of them, both dog owners, were discussing some pooch-specific malady. Makes me want to snuggle my cat. Suddenly the occasional hairball doesn't seem like too high a price to pay...
Wondering what they were talking about, I asked "What are?"
"Anal glands," said Mr. P.
"Eeeew! Ohh! I just want to go back to the world of five minutes ago, when everything was happy and clean!"
Sgt. P looked at me and said "How long has it been? A year now? You think you'd learn. Every time you come around a corner and find us laughing and ask 'What?', you wind up all grossed out."
It turns out that the two of them, both dog owners, were discussing some pooch-specific malady. Makes me want to snuggle my cat. Suddenly the occasional hairball doesn't seem like too high a price to pay...
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
This space for rent...
I can't think of a darn thing to put here, and I have to go into work early today. Bleh.
I've been fiddling with my MagPul PMAG, doing silly things like tossing it down my stairs fully loaded, only to find that my camera batteries are dead, so I'll need to do the whole thing over again if I'm going to make a post out of it.
Anyhow, maybe more this evening. Chat amongst yourselves.
I've been fiddling with my MagPul PMAG, doing silly things like tossing it down my stairs fully loaded, only to find that my camera batteries are dead, so I'll need to do the whole thing over again if I'm going to make a post out of it.
Anyhow, maybe more this evening. Chat amongst yourselves.
And it's a dessert topping!
The lakeside cottage I live in, while not technically drafty, is far from bug-tight. This means that once in a great while I will be sitting here at the keyboard of VFTP Command Central, only to have a droning buzz announce that a wasp is circling under the light fixture in the middle of the room. I'll grab the can I keep close to hand and wait for him to light on the dangling pull cord under the fixture. They always do. Then I give them just a little squirt. Just a dribble, really.
Of Gun Scrubber.
Unlike Wasp & Hornet sprays, which are pressurized to a brazillion PSI to spray nests under a house's eaves, you can make just a trickle come out the straw nozzle of a Gun Scrubber can, to drip down on the carefully-placed newspaper below. Along with the dead wasp. Because believe you me, it kills them Dead Right There. No flying around in their death throes, the way they do when nerve-gassed by more conventional anti-wasp ordnance.
Ah, Gun Scrubber. Cleans guns, kills wasps... is there nothing it can't do?
Of Gun Scrubber.
Unlike Wasp & Hornet sprays, which are pressurized to a brazillion PSI to spray nests under a house's eaves, you can make just a trickle come out the straw nozzle of a Gun Scrubber can, to drip down on the carefully-placed newspaper below. Along with the dead wasp. Because believe you me, it kills them Dead Right There. No flying around in their death throes, the way they do when nerve-gassed by more conventional anti-wasp ordnance.
Ah, Gun Scrubber. Cleans guns, kills wasps... is there nothing it can't do?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I should have seen the punchline coming...
...from a mile away, and yet soda came out my nose anyway.
Blog Stuff: Further rumination on the party thing...
Part of the thing that made me a bit incredulous at the whole Prom Party Shenanigans Scandal was the fact that there were criminal charges at all. I was unaware that it was against the law to allow a minor to drink at a private residence. Does this mean that if you allow your kid to have a glass of wine with dinner on special occasions, you're a bona fide criminal? Unreal (and also uncool.)
I'm not sure it was criminal in that time or place, (if it was, the statute of limitations has definitely run out,) but I remember that at the high school graduation party I attended, the parents who hosted it supplied beer and liquor. Car keys were deposited at the front door, and the only person allowed to leave before the next morning was a teen who could prove she hadn't had anything to drink, and even then she wasn't allowed to take any other partygoers with her on her snack run to the local grocery store. Heaven forbid that a bunch of young adults who are old enough to vote be allowed to sample alcohol under those circumstances.
I'm not sure it was criminal in that time or place, (if it was, the statute of limitations has definitely run out,) but I remember that at the high school graduation party I attended, the parents who hosted it supplied beer and liquor. Car keys were deposited at the front door, and the only person allowed to leave before the next morning was a teen who could prove she hadn't had anything to drink, and even then she wasn't allowed to take any other partygoers with her on her snack run to the local grocery store. Heaven forbid that a bunch of young adults who are old enough to vote be allowed to sample alcohol under those circumstances.
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