Lost

The internet is full of black holes. One minute, you're minding your own business, surfing some blogs, and the next minute you're off clicking link after link until you find yourself wondering just how in the Nine Hells you got where you are, if you're even sure where that is.

Take today, for instance. I hit a link in this post at Robb Allen's blog, and off I went into a massive hunt for information on the 6.8 SPC cartridge, then to Wiki for some comparison to the 5.56 to find out just how it (physically) works out so well in ARs. That lead to looking at 6.8 uppers, which meant looking at magazines, and that lead to looking at magazines for every gun I own (and a couple that I don't).

Somewhere along the way I remembered how folks put a D mainspring in the Beretta 92FS to lighten up the DA trigger pull. The I found out that the 92 and the Px4 use the same mainspring, and that people put D mainsprings in Px4s for the same reason. Then I found that the hammer group on a Px4 Storm comes out as a unit without special tools. At this point I decided that it must be done. I would learn this, and then I would be ordering a new mainspring for my carry gun.

It took nearly making a big mistake on the trigger pin (if you have to force it, something's wrong!) only to later find out that I didn't need to remove it (which I didn't). Getting the hammer pin out is a three-handed-job, but I got it.

So, what started out as catching up on Robb's blog turned into learning that I don't need to pay someone to replace the mainspring in my Px4 and proving it.

Yeah. Black holes.



tweaker

Pride and Prejudice

Seen in comments here:

It is because we prize individual freedom so much that we will allow that church to be built, and in so doing, despite the fact that for some it may represent a victory of hate, let it stand as a testament to the principles of freedom upon which our nation was founded and which we refuse to surrender to the hatred of violent men.

That wasn't written by a famous writer. It wasn't a historic political figure. It wasn't anyone that most folks would know, but it was someone I know well.

That was written by my brother. Sumbitch can write.

Now, if we can just get him to post...



tweaker

We Were All Yellow*

*Alternate title: We All Live On A Yellow (Journalism) Submarine.

I was perusing the headlines and found a particularly promising piece entitled "Stealth jihad behind ground zero mosque". I knew, right away, that I was in for a particularly gripping work of prize-worthy journalistic prowess.

It didn't let me down. I didn't make it all the way to the end. I just couldn't do it. Honestly, I don't know how I was able to put my eyes in the comments section, other than the need to pressure-test the blood vessels in my head (shamelessly stolen from Tam). I was a bit surprised to find in comments:

The bottom line, a clear two third majority of Americans are objecting to the Mosque and the majority right should be respected. Islam is not a native religion to America and Moslems are not only relative new comers to the States as Immigrants, but they are few in numbers and have no right yet acquired to impose their will so arrogantly on the majority.

His comment was much longer, but I got what I needed from the first couple sentences. I was surprised that my comment lasted more than six seconds:

The bottom line, a clear two third majority of Americans are objecting to the Mosque and the majority right should be respected. "Democracy must be more than two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner." (James Bovard) It matters not a flying flip what two-thirds of Americans want. Neither the Constitution nor the Bill of Rights works that way. Two thirds majorities and the like are reserved for some passages of some laws or resolutions under some circumstances. The two-thirds majority is not a legally binding way for Americans to decide what they do and do not want in this country or where it should be located. What the Bill of Rights does enumerate, however, is freedom of religion. If we, as Americans, want to continue to practice it, we'd better be willing to extend it. I don't recall any protests of any Christian Church anywhere near the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, do you?

Islam is not a native religion to America and Moslems are not only relative new comers to the States as Immigrants, but they are few in numbers and have no right yet acquired to impose their will so arrogantly on the majority. First of all, Christianity isn't a native religion to America either. Ask an Iroquois. Second, you don't have to have to have been here for a certain amount of time before you can build a church/temple/mosque/etc. This is a free country; you may build a church before you build your home as long as you do so within the bounds of established law. To build such an establishment is not to impose one's will on another, be it an individual, the minority, the majority, or the entirety of the people. Last, it doesn't matter if you have been here for two weeks or two thousand years. In this country, you never have the right to impose your will on anyone. Ever. Full stop.

That pretty much sums up my feelings on the matter, BTW.



tweaker

It's Electric

Well, damn. I was gonna come home today and mow the (long overdue for a mowing) lawn while The Wifey cooked dinner. Instead, I'll be sitting in my hot house hoping this storm only knocks out power.

Could be a long night. At least I have my iPhone.

Slave to the Grind

Well, that week off is coming to a close.

In the time I've been off work, much has happened. I painted The Little Girl's room (Holy Purple, Batman!!), got rid of no less than 7 bags of stuff we were keeping that was trash, assembled 3 bags of stuff that needs to be shredded, and donated several bags of clothes and shoes plus a CD changer and DVD player to a local children's home. I took another stab at a new way of managing my finances, and it's working. Got rid of about a dozen recipes by getting them onto my hard drive. My office is clean - a Praise-Jesus-Miracle considering that only a couple weeks ago you could only walk through the door and sit in the computer chair. We're prepping the Master Bedroom for paint, and then it'll be the Living Room and hall after that.

All that, plus I worked from home (albeit not full-time by any means). Rebuilt my company laptop, got a bunch done, embarrassed a dude without even trying for flying off the handle at me before he had all the facts, took care of a client-in-crisis, and found out that my boss - second only to the owner - quit. Guess we've got some salary-cap room now, don't we...

Got back into regular reading, and have advance my position in The Fellowship of the Ring, only to realize that, despite not having made it to the Prancing Pony, I have seen three significant plot items that were never even hinted at in the movies. (As a sidenote, I don't care, because the movies still kick asses up between shoulders.) I won't meet my initial deadline of having the trilogy finished before Monster Hunter: Vendetta hits the shelves, but Larry won't mind because I'm still buying it the moment it hits the shelves and he's just in it for the money anyway;) All that on top of finishing another expansion of Dragon Age: Origins. Busy, busy.

I can see parts of my house that I haven't seen for months or years. There are ever fewer people at my office. My walls are changing colors. My wife is parking in the garage.

I am gettin it done, y'all. I'm gonna go get a beer.



tweaker

I Wanna Thank You

Dear Internets:

Today, I am thankful for Netflix. Without Netflix, I would not be able to sit down with The Wifey and The Little Girl over fajitas and enjoy the animated hi-jinx of The Warner Brothers (and The Warner Sister).

That is all.



tweaker

Smokin'

Wow. You know, having this blog thing is an awesome responsibility. I mean, with so many people counting on you day in and day out, you can do a great deal of damage to the psychological well-being of a great deal of people by simply not showing up.

I wish I had a blog like that.

Anyway, work has, once again, kicked my ass up between my shoulders and left me dead to the world when it came time to post. Sucks, too, because there has been no shortage of good blog-fodder as of late. So, I'll just pick up with what's recent.

*************************************

Not everyone knows this - and I'm risking my life by just saying it from within the borders of Texas - but real barbecue comes from Memphis, TN. I know everyone from The Carolinas to Kansas City to even Texas says the same thing, and it's okay that they all say that; they are all just wrong.

They don't hold the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest in Memphis because of the weather, savvy?

Having spent the first 20 of my years on this rock just under Memphis, I know that barbecue, in it's purest form (and I'm talking right up there with the Gospel of John Moses Browning, y'all; this is no laughing matter) is smoked pulled pork. Generally the shoulder, but occasionally conquered by those with giant steel testicles on an entire pig - a.k.a. Whole Hog - the meat is smoked around 200-250F (YMMV) for about 1.5 hrs/lb. Some folks rub the pig, some folks let the wood do the flavoring.

Memphis barbecue, like all the lesser other types of barbecue, features a unique local style of sauce. Memphis sauce is tangy and sweet, from the vinegar and sugar, respectively.

Last, but not least, is the assembly. Barbecue is meant to be consumed on a sandwich. It's in the Bible. Go check. The sandwich, according to The Lord (I'm pretty sure) is to be assembled as follows: Bun (ala hamburger), sauce, way too much pulled pork, more sauce, a big dollop of sweet cole slaw (to use tart slaw is abomination, Sayeth The Lord), and the other half of the bun that hath been stained with yet more sauce.

Anyone who would argue this method as the One True Method should expatriate themselves post haste to the nearest communist nation to await their eternal fate that will be to smoke a turd in hell with Hitler and Pol Pot. You have been warned, sinners.

And no, ribs don't count. That is a whole other discussion. It's like the difference between dressing nice and wearing a suit. Ribs are the "Sunday Clothes" of the barbecue world.

So where, you are assuredly asking while wiping drool, am I going with all this? Well, there are many great men of this world that possess wondrous abilities with the holy device known as The Smoker. Sadly, I am not one of these great men. My next-door-neighbor, on the other hand, is one such great man. I am humble before him. Having sampled smoked brisket and smoked baby-backs he's done, I was quite confident in his ability to ably handle the Work of The Lord on a Boston-Butt. Opportunity struck when The Wifey and I were grocery shopping and spotted a 16-lb Butt that was calling out to me sweetly, like a gentle voice on a gentle breeze, saying "SMOKE ME AND EAT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!". Okay. Maybe not so gentle. Anyhoo.

Memphis sauce was prepared from scratch, homemade slaw was cut, and that Heavenly shoulder smoked the day away. Sunday dinner was most Holy, and the Texan masses rejoiced.

Rejoicing occurred on into Monday night, as The Lord blessed us with leftovers.

In nomine Patris et fillii et Spiritus Sancti.

Go in peace.



tweaker

Heroes of Our Time

Wow. I'm beat.

For a while now, we have been working on getting our house in order. I mean physically. We - and when I say "we," I really mostly mean her, since I'm not the one who can't get rid of stuff (looking at you, woman!) - had piled up so much stuff in our garage that it started taking over my office and the empty parts of our bedroom floor.

Did I mention I love my wife? I'm sure I did, mostly because I'm afraid of her. Anyhoo.

Seriously. I'm actually glad you can't view my office behind me through the webcam, because it would look like we're the type of people they make reality shows about. Finally, The Wifey (I love you! Please don't hurt me when I'm sleeping!) and I started the process of getting rid of all the crap in our house. It involves renting a mini-storage unit so that we could move all the crap over there and sort it out, leaving us a house that looks like, well, an actual house.

We grabbed a 10x10 unit Saturday morning after The Little Girl's riding lesson. We came home, ate lunch, and sent her off to spend a few hours with her cousins while The Wifey and I emptied the garage. We made five trips with the bed of the Tundra filled full, and that left me with odds and ends strewn all across the garage floor. Sorting, sorting, that goes in the garbage, this is my lawn stuff, where am I gonna OWTHATFUCKINHURT, tidy up, sweep, hey I was looking for that, and voila!

As of last night, The Wifey is officially parking indoors. I'd bet dinner I'm as happy about that as she is.



tweaker

Ride The Lightning

No trial. No jury of his peers. This one goes straight to the chair, and I don't feel the least bit bad.

I'm a cranky bastard in the mornings, eh?



tweaker

I've Got No Soul To Sell*

I don't usually get telemarketing calls. I have no home telephone, and all our company phones are on the national Do Not Call list. Those calls are rare, and most of the rare ones are Spanish-speaking.

Today was a bit different. There was no recorded voice; they went straight for the pushy salesman. And I'm talking classic, used-car-salesman pushy. I fully expected him to say in that ridiculous radio voice, "What'll it take to get you to buy a five-year membership today?!"

What was this jerk-off selling, you might ask? He was with the National Rifle Association. That's right, folks. Dickhead was getting all in-your-face with the pro-gun hoo-ha, telling me all about how eeeevil the government is and how eeeeevil the anti-gunners are and how righteous and pure the NRA is, and he did it all in one breath without letting me get a single word in edgewise.

Normally, I'd have dumped a call like that right away, but this was the NRA. I told him that I intend to renew my membership, but I'm not going to do it right now. Then he just laid it on thicker and heavier, with extra helpings of EEEEEVVVIIIIILLLL Government and RRRRIIIIIGGHTEEEOOOUUUUSSS National Rifle Association. Oh, and the NRA's victory in the Supreme Court this year. Funny, but I thought Otis McDonald was the plantiff in that case...

Once he finished that breathless tangent, I told him that I was rather well informed where gun politics are concerned, and reiterated that I planned on renewing my membership, but that I would not do so today.

Then comes the Beeeeeeeg Savings you get when you sign up for five years, and the slightly lesser but still Beeeeeg Savings you get if you only do it for three (apparently, the one-year membership is only an option if this asshole isn't the method you use for membership). I grit my teeth, took an overtly deep breath, and told him that I was not going to renew at this time, and thanked him for his call. He finally let it go.

NRA, if you're reading this, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I have had a membership, renewed yearly, for several years now. I have contributed to the cause monetarily, I have defended the organization in political arguments, and I have promoted the general welfare of All Things Firearm at every appropriate opportunity. I am in the fold, make no mistake. I do not need to be marketed to. I understand that organizations require money to function and that the NRA thrives primarily on membership, but if you ever sick one of these generic, buddy-buddy, sales-tactical hacks on me ever again, I am going to light his candy-ass up so hard that he's gonna glow in the fuckin dark. Saavy?



tweaker



*I have expanded blog titles to include song lyrics instead of just song titles. There is a song for every moment in life, but I can't be expected to remember all of 'em!