In the spirit of transparency and honesty I must submit another confession.
I am jealous. Actually, envious. In my own defense, I’m envious in a good way. I seek to merit such a position by my own hard work and application. Not that I want to cheat someone else out of theirs.
I envy Amos Van Hoesen in the cartoon strip “9 Chickweed Lane” by Brooke McEldowney. If you do not understand this, you don’t read the strip. Or you lack a soul. Whatever.
It is now 21 December AD 2017. The Winter solstice. The first day of Winter in the Northern Hemisphere. The day (twenty-four hour period) with the shortest day (period of daylight) in the year (in the Northern Hemisphere). At this hour of 5:43 PM – or 1743 if one prefers – the Sun has set. It’s DARK outside. The temperature is below freezing and there’s a layer of ice on the sidewalks and streets. Not sure about the grass, I haven’t been outside.
Going to the range is ‘inconvenient’ at best. The cold attacks my hands and I cannot do anything productive this time of year. Can’t do much recreational, either.
I am at, what used to be called, “…loose ends…” Not much to do. Bored. Humdrum. Bah. I’ve some new brass in the reloading room and need to prepare it for reloading. Check length, de-burr flash holes, verify primer pockets, check for sizing status. Maybe segregate by weight.
Reloading room is in basement. Feet get cold. Don’t feel like much.
Maybe I should clean some guns. I hate cleaning guns.
I’ll be all right. In a couple days I’ll adjust and sort of return to normal. (“Normal” is a large word in my world.) Right now, I’d like to sleep until about half-past May.
The title reminds me of an old mock up cartoon drawing of Daffy Duck in a foul mood (as if he had alternatives) saying, “Daily I am forced (forthed) to add to the every growing list (litht) of people who can just kiss (kith) my … [- uh – tailfeathers]!”
I like Brownell’s company for firearms parts and tools. I’ve used them. I have an account with them. They’re good people. But the advertising…
The ‘catch my attention’ line in the email is “Don’t settle for the same old gun!” So I’m already a bit chaffed. I’ve carried this old Colt (lightweight) Commander in .45 Awfulmatic for a number of years and had it longer. I like it. I like what it does. I have no intention – and regardless of ‘deal’ – to change it for something – Lord help me! – new.
Then I opened the advertisement. It shows a pistol – looks like a Glock – with ‘enhanced’ sights, a holographic sight along with the sights, an extended barrel with a boss or lug on the end, a flashlight or laser beam attached under the slide/barrel, fancy decorative milling on the slide and and oversized base to the magazine. I cannot see it, of course, but I would imagine a beveled magazine well.
I carry my Commander as a concealed weapon. It is already big enough to hide. I do not need all that foo-foo crap to hide as well.
I do have high visibility fixed sights and some work on the trigger. That does not add any weight or size to the pistol. The pistol is sighted in with the load I carry and I am confident of hitting a human silhouette from the muzzle to in excess of fifty yards (depends on how the eyes focus that day; I’m getting old.) Head shots only to twenty-five to thirty yards.
No, I’m not ‘settling’. No, I do not require a ‘new gun’!
By now everyone has heard this news. Eighty-year-old Charles Manson, infamous as the so-called brains behind the Sharon Tate and Leno / Rosemary LaBianca murders. A total of seven people.
Now a twenty-six year old woman has decided Mr. Manson is innocent and the two of them have a marriage license. Afton Elaine Burton is the blushing bride.
Strange things happen, I suppose.
Perhaps I should feel ‘encouraged’. Perhaps there is a woman for me in my old age. But I don’t want to murder seven reasonably innocuous people and go to prison for life to find her. I know: Picky, picky, picky…
Hillary Rodham Clinton, former (annoying) First Lady, former (mediocre but Liberal) Senator from New York State, former (wretched) Secretary of State – announced she and her husband President William J. “Bill” Clinton were ‘broke’ when they left the White House. Which may explain why they attempted to steal all the dinner ware and many other items not permanently attached when they left.
Even for a leftist with a by-nature tenuous hold on reality, Madam Secretary shows an amazing ability to deceive herself about her financial status AND the stupidity of the listening public.
What does it mean to a woman with more money than most of us will ever earn in a lifetime to be ‘broke’? Does that mean she cannot buy a Senate seat without others to pitch in with the purchase price? How does she keep a straight face saying this sort of stuff? Stephen Wright keeps a straight face during his monologues, but everyone involved knows he’s presenting ‘humor’, not absolute fact. The late Buster Keaton was known for his deadpan delivery and acting, but I understand he sometimes laughed on set and had to shoot the same sequence more than once. But not Madam Secretary.
Seriously, folks; can you believe this? She charges – according to the article – “… a six figure speaking fee …” (a minimum of $ 100,000.00 just to be clear) for her speaking engagements. (In comparison, I get about $36,000 a year from my retirement/Social Insecurity payments. I collect guns, support a son in university and I’m mostly comfortable. What the blazes does she do with her money?) But she’s not “… truly well off …” she says. AND she claims her income comes from ‘hard work’. Frankly, I could foul up foreign policy and then lie about it in front of credulous graduates for much less. What’s so ‘hard work’ about being a protected, pampered, ignorant loser?
Oh. She wants to be President of the United States. Does it warm the cockles of your heart knowing she would be a President who identifies with us ‘lesser’ folk?
While perusing television as of late, I have been involuntary witness to any number of commercials. Commercials are of course what pays for television production, so on the few shows I like to watch – mostly fictional detective programs – I find commercials a proper time to visit the loo, pet the dog, scratch or find something upon which to snack.
Every twice in a while though, I see a commercial. One cannot always be relieving, petting, scratching or snacking.
One of those commercials is the one featuring a young man, seemingly good looking, healthy and of not more than 30 winters in age. The young man in question is telling of all he has accomplished in the past five hours with the energy drink being promoted.
In the past five hours, he has run a marathon while knitting a sweater, learned to play guitar while reading a book, and become a Ping Pong ‘master’ while recording his debut album.
He asserts the use of the energy drink has enabled him to accomplish all these feats. In five hours.
My thought is, if such a healthy young man suffers such hallucinations and is thrust into such a delusional state, what might it do to a run-down, slight off kilter, old coot like me?
I’ll stick with Scotch. Much safer.
I’m not sure what this means, but I just noted a news article about something odd in southern Mexico. One of the larger small indigenous groups of Indians have gone missing. They seem to have gone missing nearly a week ago now. They were in the area of Yucatan and Quintana Roo.