The Fun Times category encompasses those unfortunate events that can be looked back on with anything other than horror. The prowler/burglar that became a flying squirrel chase. The TV turning itself on, prompting myself and my brother to do honest-to-God house-clearing.
------------------------------------------------
Went running yesterday around 4 maybe. Got home, showered, watched an episode of House. I notice out my bedroom window that's it's getting dark. 5:45 sees thunder and distant lightning. I shut my laptop off and unplug it at 6, as thunder and lightning start booming directly overhead.
I go down to the junkroom where my mom is using the computer and feeding the rats. At this point we've got torrential rains to the point where you can't see through the backyard, and the oak trees are waving like palm fronds. The sky is nasal-discharge green.
Mom says "hey, that'd make a good picture" goes to get her camera. Three things happen at once.
1.The back screen door is practically ripped open.
2.The garage door explodes inward (open) and something long flies in.
3.There's the noise of an explosion and all the lights go out.
Mom screams and dives to pull the backdoor closed. It's a fight against the wind. My first thought is "Someone just kicked the door in and I'm on the only end of the house without the appropriate equipment for shooting them." Second thought is a tree fell on the house and a branch came through the ceiling. It is dark as night in the house and I can't tell if there's structural damage, what's going on.
I go shut and lock the garage door. I go shut and lock the back door, run to the other end of the house and grab my Maglite and dad's weather radio. Mom's tripping on shoes and whatever flew in when the door burst open. Doorjam maybe?
I flick the light over the other end of the hallway - it's the curtain rod from over the window in the door. My brother's downstairs, taking a shower, and the next order of business is to get him light. No problem he yells up, there's an emergency light in the bathroom.
I'll expound on emergency lights in a little bit.
It still sounds like the end of the world outside, so we take the rats and the bird downstairs and set them on pool table, and I set about flipping the breakers to see which one will turn the power back on. None of them do. This wasn't a fuse that snapped, this is interruption of power to the house.
Twenty minutes later the worst of the storm is over. We go outside and find a tree branch snapped off, tore the powerlines down in the neighbor's yard. Later we discover that the powerpole in our backyard has been sheared off about five feet from the top, bringing the transformer down. No power for us for a long time. It's probably 7 at this time.
In the meantime we've lit candles, because it is DARK out and in.
We order a pizza and eat, and around 9 my brother and I go and get ice to keep the contents of the downstairs freezer frozen.
The power company gets here about 10:30 and commences wandering through the yards with flashlights, laughing and joking and looking around.
I go to bed in the junkroom around 11:00. The garage door won't close, so the house is pretty much open to whoever wants to come in. If you've ever watched Jericho, you remember the episode Rogue River, which ends with Jake sitting up in his family's livingroom with a shotgun waiting for trouble to show up. That was pretty much me last night.
Power was restored around 4 this morning.
---------------------------------------------------
Power outages are not normal occurances, but they're not alien either. I remember big chunks of the US going dark due to too much traffic on the electric grid a couple summers ago. I remember NY having a similar problem I think just last summer. Those problems lasted long than 10 hours though.
Emergency lights are one of the best things you can have in your house. $5-10 at Menards/Fleet Farm/Home Depot, and they plug into your wall outlets. In the event of an outage, they come on, providing 1-3 hours of constant power. These should be in every room of the house and will provide enough light to get you to a flashlight.
We've got 3 good flashlights, and that's not nearly enough. You should have one flashlight per room, if not more. A decent Maglite will set you back $20, and by my estimate, will provide 4-8 hours of constant power. You should have a decent stock of batteries, and check the flashlights often to see if their batteries are leaking or are running down.
Once you've got the situation assessed, it's time to light candles in the main parts of the house and turn the flashlights off. You should have LOTS of big candles. We've got 8 hurricane candles, which each provide about 16 hours of meager illumination, as well as probably 8 big decorative candles and maybe thirty candles ranging in size from drinking cups down to tea-lights. Candles don't do a very good job of illumination, so you'll need more of them. By my estimate, those eight hurricane candles would've lasted us three nights.
When my brother and I went to Walmart to get ice, I bought 4 packs of chemlights. They're in camping section, Ozark brand. They come 2-3 to a pack, and come in multiple colors. Bend them till they crack and then shake, and they provide strong light for about six hours. I snapped one at 9:30 and it was still going somewhat strong at 4:30. As soon as I pay off the eight shotgun magazines I bought, I'm going to fill a .30cal can with chemlights.
First aid kits should be kept on hand, and should be capable of addressing decently sized wounds. One of the first things my mom did once the storm was over was to go and check on the elderly immigrant couple on the corner, and wound up coming back to get supplies to clean and bandage a medium serious gash on the man's leg that he got from tripping in the dark.
Here's what I keep thinking - we lost power for 10-12 hours. Our main concerns were light, and keeping the stuff in the freezer frozen.
Now imagine it's the middle of summer and the grid goes down because everybody's running 3 airconditioners. Businesses AND houses are dark. No more fans, airconditioners, lights, computers, whatever man, if it's plugged in, it's dead. Now imagine that going 3 or more days. I don't know if that would affect water pumping stations, but I suspect so. Suddenly I don't feel so paranoid. Every population center, major or not, is 24 hours of no power away from a breakdown of social order. We've got about 40 gallons of water downstairs and tons of canned food, and right now it doesn't feel like enough.
Or imagine a major blizzard lasting 3 or 4 days. Ice dragging down powerlines, whiteout conditions making the roads impassible. Such a thing is not unexpected here.
A little hardship, and suddenly, I feel vindicated.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Patriot's Day
Wrote this for 4/19, and life got in the way of posting it. Here it is, finally.
I want you to imagine a small town. Let’s say it’s in Montana. It’s rural, but not isolated, small but not quaint. The majority of its citizens are churchgoers. The majority of them home school their children. They are doctors and lawyers and shopkeepers and most of them are farmers. They are, without exception, hunters.
The most interesting feature of this town is the fact that most of the men in the town are soldiers. From the age of 16 and on, the boys and men train outside the town as soldiers. Nearly every home in the town has at least one automatic rifle per person, and several of the townspeople possess rocket propelled grenade launchers.
Many of them hold anti-government views. The preachers continually harangue on the topic of taxation. Many of them are upset about perceived government abuses, like redistricting, the importation of foreign troops, and federal investigation of conspiracy theory groups.
In a nutshell, our small town is filled with heavily armed, religious anti-government radicals. Their religious leaders continually reinforce their extreme beliefs, and the parents continually indoctrinate their children in these extreme beliefs as well.
Obviously, the government sees this town as dangerous. It sees this small town as a place where domestic terrorists are born, bred, trained, and constantly reinforced in their beliefs. This town is an American version of Sadr City, it’s newspaper and pulpit the American version of Al-Jazeera. Radicals infest every layer and class of the population.
The federal government decides to defang the radicals in our small Montana town. Generously, they decide not to issue any arrest warrants. Instead, they’ll secure and destroy the heavy weapons like the rocket launchers, and then vacate the town, leaving the townspeople to continue their paramilitary training with their automatic weapons. This is an unprecedented move – if you or I were to possess machine guns without the proper permits, we’d be sent to prison for ten years.
But whatever their reason, federal officials have decided to spare the anti-government radicals in our small Montana town from prison. All they want are the heavy weapons.
They are not going to take any chances however. They send Humvees filled with men, eight hundred of them, to secure the town while the weapons are destroyed. As every able-bodied person, sixteen years of age or older is proficient with military style weapons equal to those possessed by the army, this is not considered overkill. Given the residents familiarity with the area and the extent of their paramilitary training – nearly to same level of proficiency as the soldiers – this is somewhat less than one would recommend.
Around eight in the morning on a crisp spring day, the humvees and troop carriers pull up in the town square and start disgorging the nearly one thousand men. Eighty of the town’s paramilitary group moves into the square, fully armed, to oppose them.
Faced with a threat to his men, the commander of the government force orders the civilians to leave immediately. Sensing the futility of going up against a force ten times larger, the commander of the paramilitary group orders his “soldiers” to withdraw. A few do, and the majority begins to warily fall back.
Suddenly, a shot booms out, and then the violence starts. No one knew who fired first. Men are running, shooting, shouting, and dying. The armed townsfolk, faced with certain death, run for their lives.
Eight of them are left dead on the town square.
Their blood up, the soldiers prepare to storm the houses throughout the town, looking for those who attacked them. Remembering his orders, their commander assembles them and proceeds to carry out his assignment searching peaceably for the rocket launchers and other explosives.
The only violence they employ before leaving the town is to hold the bar owner at gunpoint, whereupon he gives up the location of the illegal weapons. These, and their ammunition are destroyed by the troops.
Then, despite being attacked, despite the seriousness of the crimes for which they’ve been dispatched, they pack up and leave, having harmed no civilians and damaged no one’s legally owned property.
Communications being what they are, the surrounding communities hear about the raid very quickly. Local communities are quite similar, and mobilize their paramilitary forces just as soon as they hear about the federal incursion. They themselves fear being raided, and are considering coming to the aid of our small Montana town.
The highway traveled by federal convoy forces their vehicles to drive through a valley just before a bridge. As the convoy is crossing the bridge, the local paramilitary groups pull up at the out-end of bridge, and along either side of the valley, trapping them.
Faced with armed and threatening men, examples of which had opened fire on them hours earlier, the federal officers open fire. There is no confusion this time, everyone knows it’s the government troops who fired the first shot.
The Montana paramilitary groups open fire on the surrounded men. It’s as close to a massacre as one the federal government has ever faced. On that road, they lose nearly an eighth of their men, and nearly another quarter are wounded.
How would the government respond? How would the media respond? How would the American people respond?
How would you respond?
With praise? With support? With condemnation?
Would you stage a protest? Write a letter to your congressman? Send funds? Hold a candlelight vigil?
Show up with your rifle?
If you support them, praise them openly, drive down to Montana with your deer-rifle in the back seat, ready to defend the town, then you’ve just declared war on the federal government.
If you condemn them, accuse them, you just opposed the start of the first American revolution.
Throughout history, on this day, men and women have shown up with their rifles. They’ve held in their untrained, civilian hands primitive and unsuitable weapons, stared down the guns of better-armed and trained soldiers – more often than not their countrymen – and said –
No.
We are free.
And we would rather die than be anything else.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Militias are defined as civilian soldiers, or all able-bodied civilians capable of bearing weapons in defense of their nation, state, city, or family.
The Massachusetts men standing before the guns of the British military were a militia.
The Southerners standing before the guns of the Northern military were a militia.
The Jews standing before the guns of the Nazi military were a militia.
The Branch Davidians standing before the guns of the American military were a militia.
They were Patriots.
I want you to imagine a small town. Let’s say it’s in Montana. It’s rural, but not isolated, small but not quaint. The majority of its citizens are churchgoers. The majority of them home school their children. They are doctors and lawyers and shopkeepers and most of them are farmers. They are, without exception, hunters.
The most interesting feature of this town is the fact that most of the men in the town are soldiers. From the age of 16 and on, the boys and men train outside the town as soldiers. Nearly every home in the town has at least one automatic rifle per person, and several of the townspeople possess rocket propelled grenade launchers.
Many of them hold anti-government views. The preachers continually harangue on the topic of taxation. Many of them are upset about perceived government abuses, like redistricting, the importation of foreign troops, and federal investigation of conspiracy theory groups.
In a nutshell, our small town is filled with heavily armed, religious anti-government radicals. Their religious leaders continually reinforce their extreme beliefs, and the parents continually indoctrinate their children in these extreme beliefs as well.
Obviously, the government sees this town as dangerous. It sees this small town as a place where domestic terrorists are born, bred, trained, and constantly reinforced in their beliefs. This town is an American version of Sadr City, it’s newspaper and pulpit the American version of Al-Jazeera. Radicals infest every layer and class of the population.
The federal government decides to defang the radicals in our small Montana town. Generously, they decide not to issue any arrest warrants. Instead, they’ll secure and destroy the heavy weapons like the rocket launchers, and then vacate the town, leaving the townspeople to continue their paramilitary training with their automatic weapons. This is an unprecedented move – if you or I were to possess machine guns without the proper permits, we’d be sent to prison for ten years.
But whatever their reason, federal officials have decided to spare the anti-government radicals in our small Montana town from prison. All they want are the heavy weapons.
They are not going to take any chances however. They send Humvees filled with men, eight hundred of them, to secure the town while the weapons are destroyed. As every able-bodied person, sixteen years of age or older is proficient with military style weapons equal to those possessed by the army, this is not considered overkill. Given the residents familiarity with the area and the extent of their paramilitary training – nearly to same level of proficiency as the soldiers – this is somewhat less than one would recommend.
Around eight in the morning on a crisp spring day, the humvees and troop carriers pull up in the town square and start disgorging the nearly one thousand men. Eighty of the town’s paramilitary group moves into the square, fully armed, to oppose them.
Faced with a threat to his men, the commander of the government force orders the civilians to leave immediately. Sensing the futility of going up against a force ten times larger, the commander of the paramilitary group orders his “soldiers” to withdraw. A few do, and the majority begins to warily fall back.
Suddenly, a shot booms out, and then the violence starts. No one knew who fired first. Men are running, shooting, shouting, and dying. The armed townsfolk, faced with certain death, run for their lives.
Eight of them are left dead on the town square.
Their blood up, the soldiers prepare to storm the houses throughout the town, looking for those who attacked them. Remembering his orders, their commander assembles them and proceeds to carry out his assignment searching peaceably for the rocket launchers and other explosives.
The only violence they employ before leaving the town is to hold the bar owner at gunpoint, whereupon he gives up the location of the illegal weapons. These, and their ammunition are destroyed by the troops.
Then, despite being attacked, despite the seriousness of the crimes for which they’ve been dispatched, they pack up and leave, having harmed no civilians and damaged no one’s legally owned property.
Communications being what they are, the surrounding communities hear about the raid very quickly. Local communities are quite similar, and mobilize their paramilitary forces just as soon as they hear about the federal incursion. They themselves fear being raided, and are considering coming to the aid of our small Montana town.
The highway traveled by federal convoy forces their vehicles to drive through a valley just before a bridge. As the convoy is crossing the bridge, the local paramilitary groups pull up at the out-end of bridge, and along either side of the valley, trapping them.
Faced with armed and threatening men, examples of which had opened fire on them hours earlier, the federal officers open fire. There is no confusion this time, everyone knows it’s the government troops who fired the first shot.
The Montana paramilitary groups open fire on the surrounded men. It’s as close to a massacre as one the federal government has ever faced. On that road, they lose nearly an eighth of their men, and nearly another quarter are wounded.
How would the government respond? How would the media respond? How would the American people respond?
How would you respond?
With praise? With support? With condemnation?
Would you stage a protest? Write a letter to your congressman? Send funds? Hold a candlelight vigil?
Show up with your rifle?
If you support them, praise them openly, drive down to Montana with your deer-rifle in the back seat, ready to defend the town, then you’ve just declared war on the federal government.
If you condemn them, accuse them, you just opposed the start of the first American revolution.
Throughout history, on this day, men and women have shown up with their rifles. They’ve held in their untrained, civilian hands primitive and unsuitable weapons, stared down the guns of better-armed and trained soldiers – more often than not their countrymen – and said –
No.
We are free.
And we would rather die than be anything else.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Militias are defined as civilian soldiers, or all able-bodied civilians capable of bearing weapons in defense of their nation, state, city, or family.
The Massachusetts men standing before the guns of the British military were a militia.
The Southerners standing before the guns of the Northern military were a militia.
The Jews standing before the guns of the Nazi military were a militia.
The Branch Davidians standing before the guns of the American military were a militia.
They were Patriots.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Quoted For The TRUTH!
#1)
A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like so many others her age, she considered herself to be a very liberal Democrat, and was very much in favor of the redistribution of wealth.
One day she was challenging her father on his opposition to higher taxes on the rich and the addition of more government welfare programs. The self-professed objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and she indicated so to her father. He responded by asking how she was doing in school. Taken aback, she answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA, and let him know that it was tough to maintain, insisting that she was taking a very difficult course load and was constantly studying, which left her no time to go out and party like other people she knew. She didn't even have time for a boyfriend, and didn't really have many college friends because she spent all her time studying.
Her father listened and then asked, "How is you friend Audrey doing?" She replied, "Audrey is barely getting by. All she takes are easy classes, she never studies, and she barely has a 2.0 GPA. She is so popular on campus, college for her is a blast. She's always invited to all the parties, and lots of times she doesn't even show up for classes because she's too hung over."
Her wise father asked his daughter, "Why don't you go to the Dean's office and ask him to deduct a 1.0 off your GPA and give it to your friend who only has a 2.0. That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly that would be a fair and equal distribution of GPA."
The daughter, visibly shocked by her father's suggestion, angrily fired back, "That wouldn't be fair! I have worked really hard for my grades! I've invested a lot of time, and a lot of hard work! Audrey has done next to nothing toward her degree. She played while I worked my tail off!"
The father slowly smiled, winked and said gently, "Welcome to the Republican Party."
#2)
I was having lunch with one of my favorite friends last week and the conversation turned to the government's recent round of tax cuts. I'm opposed to those tax cuts,
the retired West coast college instructor declared, because they benefit the rich.
The rich get much more money back than ordinary taxpayers like you and me and that's not fair.
But the rich pay more in the first place, I argued, so it stands to reason that they'd get more money back. I could tell that my friend was unimpressed by this meager argument.
So I said to him, let's put tax cuts in terms everyone can understand. Suppose that every day 10 men go to a restaurant for dinner. The bill for all ten comes to $100. If it was paid the way we pay our taxes, the first four men would pay nothing; the fifth would pay $1; the sixth would pay $3; the seventh $7; the eighth $12; the ninth $18. The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59.
The 10 men ate dinner in the restaurant every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement until the owner threw them a curve. Since you are all such good customers, he said, I'm going to reduce the cost of your daily meal by $20. Now dinner for the 10 only costs $80.
The first four are unaffected. They still eat for free. [Ah, what a sweet deal that man who cleans the airport urinals for $6 an hour has. He eats for free! Or how about that woman who cleans your hotel room. She, too, eats for free! Except for the payroll tax taken out of their checks and the sales tax they pay. And the tax they pay on their gasoline and their phones if they can afford gas or a phone. Why should the rest of us pay taxes to help educate their kids and provide them with health care? They shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. And if they have them anyway, those kids don’t deserve decent schools and health care. Our first priority has got to be cutting taxes for the top, not providing good schools and health care
to deadbeat six year olds.] Can you figure out how to divvy up the $20 savings among the remaining six so that everyone gets his fair share? The men realize that $20 divided by 6 is $3.33, but if they subtract that from everybody's share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would end up being paid to eat their meal.
The restaurant owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same percentage, being sure to give each a break, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay. And so now the fifth man paid nothing, the sixth pitched in $2, the seventh paid $5, the eighth paid $9, the ninth paid $12, leaving the tenth man with a bill of $52 instead of $59.
Outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings. I only got a dollar out of the $20, complained the sixth man, pointing to the tenth, and he got $7! Yeah, that's right, exclaimed the fifth man. I only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got seven times more than me!
That's true, shouted the seventh man. Why should he get $7 back when I got only $2? The wealthy get all the breaks! Wait a minute, yelled the first four men in unison. We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor.
The nine men surrounded the tenth man and beat him up. The next night he didn't show up for dinner, so the nine sat down and ate without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They were $52 short! And that, boys, girls and college instructors, is how America's tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes should get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up at the table any more.
A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like so many others her age, she considered herself to be a very liberal Democrat, and was very much in favor of the redistribution of wealth.
One day she was challenging her father on his opposition to higher taxes on the rich and the addition of more government welfare programs. The self-professed objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and she indicated so to her father. He responded by asking how she was doing in school. Taken aback, she answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA, and let him know that it was tough to maintain, insisting that she was taking a very difficult course load and was constantly studying, which left her no time to go out and party like other people she knew. She didn't even have time for a boyfriend, and didn't really have many college friends because she spent all her time studying.
Her father listened and then asked, "How is you friend Audrey doing?" She replied, "Audrey is barely getting by. All she takes are easy classes, she never studies, and she barely has a 2.0 GPA. She is so popular on campus, college for her is a blast. She's always invited to all the parties, and lots of times she doesn't even show up for classes because she's too hung over."
Her wise father asked his daughter, "Why don't you go to the Dean's office and ask him to deduct a 1.0 off your GPA and give it to your friend who only has a 2.0. That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly that would be a fair and equal distribution of GPA."
The daughter, visibly shocked by her father's suggestion, angrily fired back, "That wouldn't be fair! I have worked really hard for my grades! I've invested a lot of time, and a lot of hard work! Audrey has done next to nothing toward her degree. She played while I worked my tail off!"
The father slowly smiled, winked and said gently, "Welcome to the Republican Party."
#2)
I was having lunch with one of my favorite friends last week and the conversation turned to the government's recent round of tax cuts. I'm opposed to those tax cuts,
the retired West coast college instructor declared, because they benefit the rich.
The rich get much more money back than ordinary taxpayers like you and me and that's not fair.
But the rich pay more in the first place, I argued, so it stands to reason that they'd get more money back. I could tell that my friend was unimpressed by this meager argument.
So I said to him, let's put tax cuts in terms everyone can understand. Suppose that every day 10 men go to a restaurant for dinner. The bill for all ten comes to $100. If it was paid the way we pay our taxes, the first four men would pay nothing; the fifth would pay $1; the sixth would pay $3; the seventh $7; the eighth $12; the ninth $18. The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59.
The 10 men ate dinner in the restaurant every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement until the owner threw them a curve. Since you are all such good customers, he said, I'm going to reduce the cost of your daily meal by $20. Now dinner for the 10 only costs $80.
The first four are unaffected. They still eat for free. [Ah, what a sweet deal that man who cleans the airport urinals for $6 an hour has. He eats for free! Or how about that woman who cleans your hotel room. She, too, eats for free! Except for the payroll tax taken out of their checks and the sales tax they pay. And the tax they pay on their gasoline and their phones if they can afford gas or a phone. Why should the rest of us pay taxes to help educate their kids and provide them with health care? They shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. And if they have them anyway, those kids don’t deserve decent schools and health care. Our first priority has got to be cutting taxes for the top, not providing good schools and health care
to deadbeat six year olds.] Can you figure out how to divvy up the $20 savings among the remaining six so that everyone gets his fair share? The men realize that $20 divided by 6 is $3.33, but if they subtract that from everybody's share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would end up being paid to eat their meal.
The restaurant owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same percentage, being sure to give each a break, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay. And so now the fifth man paid nothing, the sixth pitched in $2, the seventh paid $5, the eighth paid $9, the ninth paid $12, leaving the tenth man with a bill of $52 instead of $59.
Outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings. I only got a dollar out of the $20, complained the sixth man, pointing to the tenth, and he got $7! Yeah, that's right, exclaimed the fifth man. I only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got seven times more than me!
That's true, shouted the seventh man. Why should he get $7 back when I got only $2? The wealthy get all the breaks! Wait a minute, yelled the first four men in unison. We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor.
The nine men surrounded the tenth man and beat him up. The next night he didn't show up for dinner, so the nine sat down and ate without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They were $52 short! And that, boys, girls and college instructors, is how America's tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes should get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up at the table any more.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Uncomfortable
Class today, teacher gave us a list of ten, we were supposed to write down answers to questions she would ask. Answers to be somewhat coded, list just to be 1-10, no explanation. Be honest with yourself, no one's going to ever know what you wrote.
A couple of those questions caused physical pain to hear. And I put down blanks for them. In a coded notebook entry, with no explaining notes, with no one ever to read said entries, I could not write down what I wanted to. Could not even bring myself to THINK what I wanted to put down.
I'm being honest now, I could not be honest with myself. Could not face the thought of committing those answers, however vague or hidden to paper. Hell, to thought.
I don't like that.
How am I supposed to attempt something when I can't bring myself to even think it?
A couple of those questions caused physical pain to hear. And I put down blanks for them. In a coded notebook entry, with no explaining notes, with no one ever to read said entries, I could not write down what I wanted to. Could not even bring myself to THINK what I wanted to put down.
I'm being honest now, I could not be honest with myself. Could not face the thought of committing those answers, however vague or hidden to paper. Hell, to thought.
I don't like that.
How am I supposed to attempt something when I can't bring myself to even think it?
Teen Beating
Saw the video of the girl getting the crap kicked out of her by six other girls.
What a load of Fail all the way around. The victim doesn't seem to comprehend she's under attack, or doesn't take it seriously, even after she's pummeled on a couch. gets up, walks away, BAM!
This is how not to be under attack. Get the heck out of the area pronto. First action should always be to retreat if possible. Don't just get up and mosey on out, run like your butt's on fire.
When that is not possible, fight like a demon. That was assault and battery. You hit someone hard enough to render them unconcious, you've just hit them hard enough to cause brain damage or death. That is the very definition of deadly force.
Someone does that, it's time to fight. Pencils, knives, bites. You don't just take it.
Whatever she did or didn't do, that girl should've had a folding knife. I've said something similar before, and I'll say it again.
What a load of Fail all the way around. The victim doesn't seem to comprehend she's under attack, or doesn't take it seriously, even after she's pummeled on a couch. gets up, walks away, BAM!
This is how not to be under attack. Get the heck out of the area pronto. First action should always be to retreat if possible. Don't just get up and mosey on out, run like your butt's on fire.
When that is not possible, fight like a demon. That was assault and battery. You hit someone hard enough to render them unconcious, you've just hit them hard enough to cause brain damage or death. That is the very definition of deadly force.
Someone does that, it's time to fight. Pencils, knives, bites. You don't just take it.
Whatever she did or didn't do, that girl should've had a folding knife. I've said something similar before, and I'll say it again.
Sixx A.M. - Tomorrow
Where ya gonna be Tomorrow
How ya gonna face the sorrow
Where ya gonna be when you die
'Cause nothing's gonna last forever
And things they change like the weather
They're gone in the blink of an eye
Just look at yourself
Can you see where you are
Look at yourself
Now you can't hide the scars
Just look at yourself
'cause there's nowhere to go
And you know
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow
And everything you do
Is coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
And are you terrified by sadness
And have you given into madness
You're running out of places to hide
'Cause everybody's got a reason
To justify how they're feelin'
Maybe you should open your eyes
Just look at yourself
Do you like what you see
Look at yourself
Is this how it should be
Just look at yourself
'cause there's nowhere to go
And you'll know
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow
And everything you do
Is coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
Are you waiting for the reason to change?
Are you waiting for the end
'cause it came
Nothing's gonna stand in your way...
Just look at yourself
Do you like what you see
Look at yourself
Is this how it should be
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow...
And everything you do
It's coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow...
--------------------------------------------------
Great song. I don't need to explain this one. Actions have consequences. Reactions.
I just took a couple of steps forward in this unholy little exercise I mentioned a few posts ago. Got a couple of contacts out now. I'm making myself do this. And dammit, if this song doesn't fit.
How ya gonna face the sorrow
Where ya gonna be when you die
'Cause nothing's gonna last forever
And things they change like the weather
They're gone in the blink of an eye
Just look at yourself
Can you see where you are
Look at yourself
Now you can't hide the scars
Just look at yourself
'cause there's nowhere to go
And you know
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow
And everything you do
Is coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
And are you terrified by sadness
And have you given into madness
You're running out of places to hide
'Cause everybody's got a reason
To justify how they're feelin'
Maybe you should open your eyes
Just look at yourself
Do you like what you see
Look at yourself
Is this how it should be
Just look at yourself
'cause there's nowhere to go
And you'll know
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow
And everything you do
Is coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
Are you waiting for the reason to change?
Are you waiting for the end
'cause it came
Nothing's gonna stand in your way...
Just look at yourself
Do you like what you see
Look at yourself
Is this how it should be
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow...
And everything you do
It's coming back for you
You'll never outrun what waits for you
Tomorrow
You're gonna have to live with the things you say
Tomorrow
You'll have to cross bridges that you burned today
Tomorrow...
--------------------------------------------------
Great song. I don't need to explain this one. Actions have consequences. Reactions.
I just took a couple of steps forward in this unholy little exercise I mentioned a few posts ago. Got a couple of contacts out now. I'm making myself do this. And dammit, if this song doesn't fit.
Friday, April 11, 2008
More 12 Gauge Goodness
Took the big 12 out to the range in the pouring rain today because I wanted to function test the birdshot with an adjustment made to the gas system. Also, it doesn't look like Gander will be getting in any #4 buck any time soon, and I bought some Federal to try out. Wanted to try shooting some slugs for accuracy, but that was low on the priorities.
Shot the bird at the 25 yard range because I was afraid it'd bounce off the tires covering the dirt on the pistol range. Shot the buck and slugs at the 15 yard pistol range.
First round of bird fails to eject, and I'm ticked. I jack it out of the chamber, slap the bolt closed, and fire off the next four rounds semi-auto. Ejection varies between weak and frantic. Ten rounds of bird was enough to make a believer out of me - this gun will eat ANYTHING.
Next up is 5 rounds of Federal #4 buck. Absolutely shred the **** out of the target holder. The target looks I spent 6 hours with a .22LR. At this point, I cannot imagine any worse day that to get hit with #4 buck. It blew part of the target holder 20 feet into the air for cryin' out loud.
So I load up 3 Brenneke KO slugs (all the KOs I'd brought) and try shooting them for accuracy. NOW, I can imagine something worse than getting hit with #4 buck. I blow three holes the size of quarters in the target, one big ragged hole. My brother steps up with some Winchester Super X slugs, and while his accuracy is a little worse, the holes are still impressively big.
I've got 150 rounds of slugs downstairs, and I'll go out to Gander tomorrow and buy a couple boxes of birdshot, drive over to FleetFarm, and pick up the rest of the buck I need to fill an ammo can.
Oh yeah and, I've got 2000 rounds of Wolf 9mm on the way. I'm gonna be a busy little beaver next Saturday night. Everybody else'll be out dancing, I'll be watching Enemy At The Gates and filling 30cal cans.
That do say more than a bit about me, don't it?
Shot the bird at the 25 yard range because I was afraid it'd bounce off the tires covering the dirt on the pistol range. Shot the buck and slugs at the 15 yard pistol range.
First round of bird fails to eject, and I'm ticked. I jack it out of the chamber, slap the bolt closed, and fire off the next four rounds semi-auto. Ejection varies between weak and frantic. Ten rounds of bird was enough to make a believer out of me - this gun will eat ANYTHING.
Next up is 5 rounds of Federal #4 buck. Absolutely shred the **** out of the target holder. The target looks I spent 6 hours with a .22LR. At this point, I cannot imagine any worse day that to get hit with #4 buck. It blew part of the target holder 20 feet into the air for cryin' out loud.
So I load up 3 Brenneke KO slugs (all the KOs I'd brought) and try shooting them for accuracy. NOW, I can imagine something worse than getting hit with #4 buck. I blow three holes the size of quarters in the target, one big ragged hole. My brother steps up with some Winchester Super X slugs, and while his accuracy is a little worse, the holes are still impressively big.
I've got 150 rounds of slugs downstairs, and I'll go out to Gander tomorrow and buy a couple boxes of birdshot, drive over to FleetFarm, and pick up the rest of the buck I need to fill an ammo can.
Oh yeah and, I've got 2000 rounds of Wolf 9mm on the way. I'm gonna be a busy little beaver next Saturday night. Everybody else'll be out dancing, I'll be watching Enemy At The Gates and filling 30cal cans.
That do say more than a bit about me, don't it?
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Royal Scottish Dragoon Guards - Caledonia feat. Steve Balsamo
I don't know if you can see
The changes that have come over me
In these last few days I've been afraid
That I might drift away
I've been telling old stories, singing songs
That make me think about where I've come from
That's the reason why I seem
So far away today
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Now I have moved and I've kept on moving
Proved the points that I needed proving
Lost the friends that I needed losing
Found others on the way
Kissed the ladies and left them crying
Stolen dreams, yes, there's no denying
I have traveled hard, sometimes with conscience flying
Somewhere with the wind
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Now I'm sitting here before the fire
The empty room, the forest choir
The flames have cooled, don't get any higher
They've withered, now they've gone
But I'm steady thinking, my way is clear
And I know what I will do tomorrow
When hands have shaken, the kisses float
Then I will disappear
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
-----------------------------------------
This was an instore play at the store where I work - only heard about a third's worth of the songs due to the instore radio. Brought the CD home a couple of days ago, and really discovered a new depth to it.
I don't know why it's reminding me of the topic that it does. It seems to be about a traveler (I think a soldier) that's settled in Caledonia, and then decides he needs to leave, despite how much he loves being there.
Well crap, that's why it reminds me of the topic.
In the next few weeks, I'm going to trade something that I absolutely love doing (and have done well for 2 years) for something that I absolutely hate doing. I'm probably going to lose a lot of my friends, and I know I'm going to lose a lot of money doing it, but it needs to be done. God willing, it will be temporary, but I have no idea. It is going to open up a bunch of possibilities for me, professionally and personally, but the idea of voluntarily giving up what I will be scares the hell out of me.
I took the first step towards this trade last night, and then the second major step this morning.
It's starting to seem real now.
The changes that have come over me
In these last few days I've been afraid
That I might drift away
I've been telling old stories, singing songs
That make me think about where I've come from
That's the reason why I seem
So far away today
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Now I have moved and I've kept on moving
Proved the points that I needed proving
Lost the friends that I needed losing
Found others on the way
Kissed the ladies and left them crying
Stolen dreams, yes, there's no denying
I have traveled hard, sometimes with conscience flying
Somewhere with the wind
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Now I'm sitting here before the fire
The empty room, the forest choir
The flames have cooled, don't get any higher
They've withered, now they've gone
But I'm steady thinking, my way is clear
And I know what I will do tomorrow
When hands have shaken, the kisses float
Then I will disappear
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me, now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
-----------------------------------------
This was an instore play at the store where I work - only heard about a third's worth of the songs due to the instore radio. Brought the CD home a couple of days ago, and really discovered a new depth to it.
I don't know why it's reminding me of the topic that it does. It seems to be about a traveler (I think a soldier) that's settled in Caledonia, and then decides he needs to leave, despite how much he loves being there.
Well crap, that's why it reminds me of the topic.
In the next few weeks, I'm going to trade something that I absolutely love doing (and have done well for 2 years) for something that I absolutely hate doing. I'm probably going to lose a lot of my friends, and I know I'm going to lose a lot of money doing it, but it needs to be done. God willing, it will be temporary, but I have no idea. It is going to open up a bunch of possibilities for me, professionally and personally, but the idea of voluntarily giving up what I will be scares the hell out of me.
I took the first step towards this trade last night, and then the second major step this morning.
It's starting to seem real now.
Monday, April 07, 2008
12 Gauge Fun
Got my first shotgun (an auto) not so very long ago, and took it out to the range for a try.
Scared the hell out of me. I actually crossed myself before pulling the trigger on the first round of high-brass.
First off was five rounds of target load #8 bird. Failed to cycle, so I cycled the next four with the charging handle. Ran like 7 rounds of #4 field loads next. Much more recoil, but I managed it.
Then it was time for 5 rounds of 2 3/4 #4 buck. The gun seriously jumped, but it was controllable. I wasn't shooting for accuracy or sighting in or anything, just function testing. I held the gun a little tighter, fired off another round from the rest, then stood and ran the next 3 from standing off-hand.
Two Brenneke KO slugs were next. Felt about the same as the buck, maybe more vertical movement on the recoil. Then two Winchester SuperX slugs. More fields loads, more buck, finished up hand-cycling 5 rounds of birdshot.
The guys at the range were great. 2 of them, looked like they were from Benjamin Martin's militia in The Patriot. Real rough looking. They let me fire off 3 shots from a scoped H&R .243 single shot. I have to own one of those. Then they let me shoot a cylinder through a single action .357. Beautiful gun, great trigger. I did decently well with it at 25 yards too. I can't imagine going into combat with one, like people used to.
Packed up, headed home, and cleaned the shotgun out. Very dirty, so I'm glad they provided a wire bore-brush with the gun.
I have to get out and try tinkering with the gas system to get it to take the birdshot. Probably do that tomorrow.
I've figured out a .30 spam can holds 134 rounds of 2 3/4 shotgun shells, so I've got to buy up enough to fill a box each with slugs, birdshot (field or target, tomorrow will decide) and #4 buck. Probably order 2000 rds of 9mm tomorrow too. I'm going to do another one of my late night ammo stockpiling sessions next Saturday. Not only is it a way to celebrate Patriot's Day, but it's also prom night for a lot of highschools in the area.
When everyone else is out doing stuff with the opposite gender, Vincent watches war movies and boxes up ammunition. It's kind of a tradition.
Scared the hell out of me. I actually crossed myself before pulling the trigger on the first round of high-brass.
First off was five rounds of target load #8 bird. Failed to cycle, so I cycled the next four with the charging handle. Ran like 7 rounds of #4 field loads next. Much more recoil, but I managed it.
Then it was time for 5 rounds of 2 3/4 #4 buck. The gun seriously jumped, but it was controllable. I wasn't shooting for accuracy or sighting in or anything, just function testing. I held the gun a little tighter, fired off another round from the rest, then stood and ran the next 3 from standing off-hand.
Two Brenneke KO slugs were next. Felt about the same as the buck, maybe more vertical movement on the recoil. Then two Winchester SuperX slugs. More fields loads, more buck, finished up hand-cycling 5 rounds of birdshot.
The guys at the range were great. 2 of them, looked like they were from Benjamin Martin's militia in The Patriot. Real rough looking. They let me fire off 3 shots from a scoped H&R .243 single shot. I have to own one of those. Then they let me shoot a cylinder through a single action .357. Beautiful gun, great trigger. I did decently well with it at 25 yards too. I can't imagine going into combat with one, like people used to.
Packed up, headed home, and cleaned the shotgun out. Very dirty, so I'm glad they provided a wire bore-brush with the gun.
I have to get out and try tinkering with the gas system to get it to take the birdshot. Probably do that tomorrow.
I've figured out a .30 spam can holds 134 rounds of 2 3/4 shotgun shells, so I've got to buy up enough to fill a box each with slugs, birdshot (field or target, tomorrow will decide) and #4 buck. Probably order 2000 rds of 9mm tomorrow too. I'm going to do another one of my late night ammo stockpiling sessions next Saturday. Not only is it a way to celebrate Patriot's Day, but it's also prom night for a lot of highschools in the area.
When everyone else is out doing stuff with the opposite gender, Vincent watches war movies and boxes up ammunition. It's kind of a tradition.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Spring Is Here
The snow piles at the base of the drive way are shrinking, and the average temperature for the last few days has been in the fifties. I just looked at the thermometer, and it says sixty.
I love this time of year, and I love going running even more. I'm still coughing though, so no running for me. Dang it.
I love this time of year, and I love going running even more. I'm still coughing though, so no running for me. Dang it.
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