You'd think, after killing the fish in very short order, that I would be scared off from ever getting another aquatic critter. After all, there's all sorts of complicated factors to worry about, like pH, water temperature, and lighting, and I tend towards the hands-off when it comes to pets.
No, not me. There's got to be another watery denizen whose lifespan won't be measured in hours once they come through the front door of my house.
Frogs. How about frogs? I had frogs as a kid, and they always worked out OK. Of course by "had" I meant they lived in the mud puddle behind my house and "worked out OK" means they lasted a couple of days before something four-legged ate them.
Back to PetsMart, which was rapidly closing in on Lowe's as an excellent place to waste (in the purest sense, ie deriving no utility whatever) money. I walked out twenty minutes later with a small (about 2") aquatic frog that the clerk assured me was plenty durable. Just condition the water like with the fish, clean the tank, and feed it on a regular schedule. No problem, I said, can do.
Into the tank he went, after the requisite scrubbing and tank preparation. The frog frolicked around, in that odd little breast stroke thing they do. "Kick like a frog, like a frog!" I heard my 5th grade PE teacher yell during swimming lessons. "So that's what he meant...oh." I am a horrible swimmer, always have been, and the fact that it took over twenty years for a simple lesson like that to sink in is testimony to my aquatic incompetence, or maybe the teacher just sucked. Probably the latter.
The next morning, as I was trying to get the coffee maker going, my daughter padded into the computer room where we keep the fish/frog/poo tank, and shrieked. Sure enough, the Grim Reaper had visited yet again. I wandered in, and there the frog lay, in the same paralyzed backflop the fish had demonstrated, only the frog had legs, and well, he was a frog.
Crap.
I distracted the rug rat long enough to scoop the frog out and give him a dignified burial. My next door neighbor is going to be pissed when he sees that frog in his front yard.
That does it, I told my wife, we're getting something four-legged.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Body Count
Early last week, my toddler started asking for a pet. Now, my first reaction was to point to our two dogs, but that just brought a pouty "but I want my own pet!" in response. I had to admit, the little rug muffin had a point. Both of our dogs are approaching ten years old, and they've been a part of our (my wife and I that is) lives much longer than my daughter. I'm all for empowerment and whatever new-age psychobabble that people want to attach to a young child's emotional development, so I was open to the idea.
But, we argued, what to get?
Another dog was out, right off the bat. We don't have the space in our house, and frankly I didn't want to start a caninine battle royale by introducing a puppy into a well-defined pecking order of two older dogs. Cats? I'm badly allergic to them and don't like them anyway. Birds, Guinea Pigs, and other small critters were similarly vetoed due to past bad experiences.
Fish? That's an option. After all, how dummy-proof are fish?
I scooped up my daughter, grabbed the checkbook, and headed to the local PetsMart, which is basically WalMart minus the groceries and shotgun shells. While I was looking for durability and ease of maintenance, my daughter's main point of interest seemed to be color. After a little (OK, maybe twenty minutes, which is easily a year in toddler time) dithering, we settled on an orange tropical fish about two inches long.
"OK, you also need to add this, and keep...and...make sure to....and keep this...." The clerk, trying to be helpful without sounding pretentious, droned on about minute details until I had obviously glazed completely the hell over, probably in the same way my Pug does when I explain vector physics to him.
"Umm, it's in the operating manual, right?"
With a couple of perfunctory nods and a little damage to the checking account, we were out the door. Twenty minutes later, we walked in, set up the tank, and started waiting. The instructions said to let the water set for four hours to settle, which I decided was probably some sinister plot to bore the fish to death as he sat there in his plastic bag on the kitchen table. Never one to argue with logical instructions, I waited.
An hour. Reasoning that water settling, or whatever the scientific term for it is, occurs on a reverse exponential scale where the greatest impact is the most immediate, I gently (picture an anchor dropping from a battleship) scooped the fish in, flipped on the filter, tossed in some food flakes, and stood back and watched my toddler oow and aww as much as her attention span would allow. About a minute later, she wandered off, as did I.
The next morning, on the way out the door to work, I peeked in on my still-sleeping munchkin. So silent, so peaceful, I thought, as she lay there wrapped up in her blankets. I tip-toed across the room to peer in the fish tank. Ahhh, I thought, so silent, so peaceful....so dead. Now, it's been twelve years since my last animal-related college biology class, but I do know that doing the horizontal stationary backstroke is generally not a good sign. Not wanting to be less than an hour early to work, I creeped out of the room and left for work. I had made it roughly a mile down the road when my cellphone went off. My normally inflappable wife, actually very flappable before her second cup of coffee, wanted to know why I left a dead fish in the tank.
Excuses I offered, in that order:
1. I didn't want to wake the little one - didn't fly.
2. Running late - didn't work either.
3. Ashes to ashes, dust to.... - nope.
4. I'm allergic to dead fish guts - sorry.
5. Maybe the fish was still sleeping - ummm, no.
Tomorrow - adventures in rodentia.
But, we argued, what to get?
Another dog was out, right off the bat. We don't have the space in our house, and frankly I didn't want to start a caninine battle royale by introducing a puppy into a well-defined pecking order of two older dogs. Cats? I'm badly allergic to them and don't like them anyway. Birds, Guinea Pigs, and other small critters were similarly vetoed due to past bad experiences.
Fish? That's an option. After all, how dummy-proof are fish?
I scooped up my daughter, grabbed the checkbook, and headed to the local PetsMart, which is basically WalMart minus the groceries and shotgun shells. While I was looking for durability and ease of maintenance, my daughter's main point of interest seemed to be color. After a little (OK, maybe twenty minutes, which is easily a year in toddler time) dithering, we settled on an orange tropical fish about two inches long.
"OK, you also need to add this, and keep...and...make sure to....and keep this...." The clerk, trying to be helpful without sounding pretentious, droned on about minute details until I had obviously glazed completely the hell over, probably in the same way my Pug does when I explain vector physics to him.
"Umm, it's in the operating manual, right?"
With a couple of perfunctory nods and a little damage to the checking account, we were out the door. Twenty minutes later, we walked in, set up the tank, and started waiting. The instructions said to let the water set for four hours to settle, which I decided was probably some sinister plot to bore the fish to death as he sat there in his plastic bag on the kitchen table. Never one to argue with logical instructions, I waited.
An hour. Reasoning that water settling, or whatever the scientific term for it is, occurs on a reverse exponential scale where the greatest impact is the most immediate, I gently (picture an anchor dropping from a battleship) scooped the fish in, flipped on the filter, tossed in some food flakes, and stood back and watched my toddler oow and aww as much as her attention span would allow. About a minute later, she wandered off, as did I.
The next morning, on the way out the door to work, I peeked in on my still-sleeping munchkin. So silent, so peaceful, I thought, as she lay there wrapped up in her blankets. I tip-toed across the room to peer in the fish tank. Ahhh, I thought, so silent, so peaceful....so dead. Now, it's been twelve years since my last animal-related college biology class, but I do know that doing the horizontal stationary backstroke is generally not a good sign. Not wanting to be less than an hour early to work, I creeped out of the room and left for work. I had made it roughly a mile down the road when my cellphone went off. My normally inflappable wife, actually very flappable before her second cup of coffee, wanted to know why I left a dead fish in the tank.
Excuses I offered, in that order:
1. I didn't want to wake the little one - didn't fly.
2. Running late - didn't work either.
3. Ashes to ashes, dust to.... - nope.
4. I'm allergic to dead fish guts - sorry.
5. Maybe the fish was still sleeping - ummm, no.
Tomorrow - adventures in rodentia.
Friday, July 6, 2007
News of the Day
Two completely unrelated news items and some extraneous commentary.
The AK-47 turns sixty years old.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,288456,00.html
I have often pondered that two of my hobbies over the past two decades were both designed by humble and relatively simple people while unconscious. Mikhail Kalashnikov drew up the idea for the AK after being knocked goofy by a German shell in 1941, Adolphe Sax designed his namesake woodwind sometime in 1840 (coincidentally slightly more than 100 years earlier) while in the hospital after banging his head on the street in front of his Belgian house. According to legend, in both cases, the designer woke up and asked for a pen and paper to scratch out a design that had been floating in their respective heads over the past few days. The Kalashnikov story is much easier to verify, but I have no reason not to trust my 5th grade band teacher who helped me get into music. For the record, after a bad experience in 9th grade band, I gave up playing the saxophone (a Keilwerth tenor) and sold the instrument two years later. I had an AK (Romanian SAR-1 in 7.62x39) for about two years earlier this decade, but sold it to help fund another AR-15. Some day, I'll get another....of both. On a related note, I have inked out some of my best ideas, while nowhere near the significance of either the AK or saxophone, on fast food napkins sprawled over the console of my truck.
11 year old Alabama girl arrested for DUI after 8-mile police chase.
http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/07/06/child.driver.chase.ap/index.html
I'll leave the commentary simple. WTF???
The AK-47 turns sixty years old.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,288456,00.html
I have often pondered that two of my hobbies over the past two decades were both designed by humble and relatively simple people while unconscious. Mikhail Kalashnikov drew up the idea for the AK after being knocked goofy by a German shell in 1941, Adolphe Sax designed his namesake woodwind sometime in 1840 (coincidentally slightly more than 100 years earlier) while in the hospital after banging his head on the street in front of his Belgian house. According to legend, in both cases, the designer woke up and asked for a pen and paper to scratch out a design that had been floating in their respective heads over the past few days. The Kalashnikov story is much easier to verify, but I have no reason not to trust my 5th grade band teacher who helped me get into music. For the record, after a bad experience in 9th grade band, I gave up playing the saxophone (a Keilwerth tenor) and sold the instrument two years later. I had an AK (Romanian SAR-1 in 7.62x39) for about two years earlier this decade, but sold it to help fund another AR-15. Some day, I'll get another....of both. On a related note, I have inked out some of my best ideas, while nowhere near the significance of either the AK or saxophone, on fast food napkins sprawled over the console of my truck.
11 year old Alabama girl arrested for DUI after 8-mile police chase.
http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/07/06/child.driver.chase.ap/index.html
I'll leave the commentary simple. WTF???
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Hostage Negotiation, Asian Style
I received this in an email last week, and post it for everyone's perusal. The email said this was in Japan, but I can't verify it, so let's just leave it as "Somewhere in Asia". I think that will work.
The hostage taker lists his three demands. No idea what they were.
The negotiators confer in the next room. Anything that starts with a staff meeting of some sort usually ends in violence. Notice the pensive "yeah I think that might work" chin rub towards the left.
Negotiations begin.....
.....and fail. Notice the "monkey strap" on the guy's waist. Safety first, you know.
Verbal judo has nothing on a good hollow point.
After a little paperwork, everyone gets to go home on time. Well, almost everyone.
The hostage taker lists his three demands. No idea what they were.
The negotiators confer in the next room. Anything that starts with a staff meeting of some sort usually ends in violence. Notice the pensive "yeah I think that might work" chin rub towards the left.
Negotiations begin.....
.....and fail. Notice the "monkey strap" on the guy's waist. Safety first, you know.
Verbal judo has nothing on a good hollow point.
After a little paperwork, everyone gets to go home on time. Well, almost everyone.
Hunting Season
It's a wiley creature, almost always traveling in pairs and working in seamless harmony. Strangely, it is also for some reason usually attached to a larger beast, tagging along like some apparently harmless parasite, there for the ride and occasionally actually contributing something useful.
On selected days, they are hunted. Yesterday was one such day.
The hunt began innocuously, the hunter creeping cautiously around the corner, exploring every hidden nook and cranny in search of the silent threat.
Suddenly, it appeared in a flash. The hunter, as is custom, appealed to the creature to surrender and submit without a fight, knowing that this was ever so unlikely.
"PoliceStopPutTheGunDownNow!"
Seeing continued resistance, the hunter stroked the trigger of his highly tuned weapon, the muzzle barking as a projectile screamed towards the prey.
POP!
The creature flinched at the impact. The larger beast on which it was riding growled in indignation.
"Owww! Dammit!"
Just as suddenly as it had started, the hunt was over, as an unseen voice instructed the hunter to desist.
Over as well was the day of the wiley creature, as it skulked off to the corner. A fascinating creature, this thing, this monster....this elbow.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Tank Museum, Pumpkin Update
On Friday I took the family to the American Armored Foundation Tank Museum in Danville, about 90 minutes from the house. Being a bit of a history buff, I am always eager to explore a new museum.
The good:
- An incredible stretch of amored vehicles and artillery, the most I have seen under one roof (in this case, a converted factory). All air conditioned, although a little muggy on a hot day, but most importantly, dry. There were vehicles and static displays from the late 1800's up the present day, including a good mix of WW2 and Cold War items.
- An equally expansive small arms display, including a nice mix of WW1 and WW2 rifles. I lost track of the number of times I saw guns that I had read about in books but never seen in person.
The bad:
- The helmet/headgear display was badly disorganized, with 1980's helmets mixed in with 1770's helmets. A little shuffling to make the dates more relevant would fix this.
- The ponytailed, t-shirted, security guard toting a revolver at the front door. Thankfully we ignored each other, but he really struck me as unprofessional. Put on a clean shirt, trim the hair, and hide the gun.
Overall, very much worth a visit.
http://www.aaftankmuseum.com/
The pumpkin plants are growing like proverbial weeds. The largest leaf on one of the plants measured 14" across at the widest part, and more tendrils are already reaching out. I pulled off two flowers from each plant yesterday, in keeping with my goal of delaying fruit set for at least another three weeks. In the mean time, the plants need to concentrate on developing their root systems. With the recent hot and sunny days, I have been watering twice a day - once before I leave for work around 6:30am, and again when I get home at around 5:00pm. I am going to switch the morning watering to a feeding this week, and on cloudy or rainy days possibly skop the afternoon watering if it doesn't look like they need it.
The good:
- An incredible stretch of amored vehicles and artillery, the most I have seen under one roof (in this case, a converted factory). All air conditioned, although a little muggy on a hot day, but most importantly, dry. There were vehicles and static displays from the late 1800's up the present day, including a good mix of WW2 and Cold War items.
- An equally expansive small arms display, including a nice mix of WW1 and WW2 rifles. I lost track of the number of times I saw guns that I had read about in books but never seen in person.
The bad:
- The helmet/headgear display was badly disorganized, with 1980's helmets mixed in with 1770's helmets. A little shuffling to make the dates more relevant would fix this.
- The ponytailed, t-shirted, security guard toting a revolver at the front door. Thankfully we ignored each other, but he really struck me as unprofessional. Put on a clean shirt, trim the hair, and hide the gun.
Overall, very much worth a visit.
http://www.aaftankmuseum.com/
The pumpkin plants are growing like proverbial weeds. The largest leaf on one of the plants measured 14" across at the widest part, and more tendrils are already reaching out. I pulled off two flowers from each plant yesterday, in keeping with my goal of delaying fruit set for at least another three weeks. In the mean time, the plants need to concentrate on developing their root systems. With the recent hot and sunny days, I have been watering twice a day - once before I leave for work around 6:30am, and again when I get home at around 5:00pm. I am going to switch the morning watering to a feeding this week, and on cloudy or rainy days possibly skop the afternoon watering if it doesn't look like they need it.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Pugs, Pumpkins, and Shorts
A recent email through this site asked if that is my Pug pictured to the right. No, it's not, it's a photo swiped from somewhere on the internet earlier this year. That in mind, it's a dead-ringer for my now 9-year old Pug when he was a puppy.
My two surviving pumpkin plants have really taken off. I let a mid-afternoon thunderstorm take care of the watering today, then Miracel-gro'd them heavily. The weather around here is supposed to be nearly perfect for the next week - sunny and low 80's, so I am really hoping the plants make up some more ground. I am still planning on picking off all flowers until late July to help make the plants focus on root development, but once fruit sets, it's off to the races.
Dill's Atlantic Giant, the variety of pumpkin I planted, is known in Latin as Cucurbitus Maxima", I discovered today. In English, that translates into "Really damn big squash". I can only hope.
After three summers of being worn almost daily, my favorite pair of shorts has gone kablooie after I caught my back pocket on the door frame of my truck. They are now relegated to yard work and any other time where having a significant part of the seat torn out and then amateurily resewn isn't a handicap. They're comfortable, have huge pockets, and wear like iron.
http://www.511tactical.com/index.asp?dlrID=511&dept=2&number=73312
My two surviving pumpkin plants have really taken off. I let a mid-afternoon thunderstorm take care of the watering today, then Miracel-gro'd them heavily. The weather around here is supposed to be nearly perfect for the next week - sunny and low 80's, so I am really hoping the plants make up some more ground. I am still planning on picking off all flowers until late July to help make the plants focus on root development, but once fruit sets, it's off to the races.
Dill's Atlantic Giant, the variety of pumpkin I planted, is known in Latin as Cucurbitus Maxima", I discovered today. In English, that translates into "Really damn big squash". I can only hope.
After three summers of being worn almost daily, my favorite pair of shorts has gone kablooie after I caught my back pocket on the door frame of my truck. They are now relegated to yard work and any other time where having a significant part of the seat torn out and then amateurily resewn isn't a handicap. They're comfortable, have huge pockets, and wear like iron.
http://www.511tactical.com/index.asp?dlrID=511&dept=2&number=73312
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Short Mag (again)
A week after I spent most of two hours working on the .25WSSM a customer brought in with a feeding problem, the rifle is back on the shelf. The guy brought it back and explained that while he liked the rifle and appreciated everything we did to fix its issues, he simply couldn't afford to shoot it. We worked out a trade involving that rifle and some cash, and he walked out the door toting a Remington 700 in .270. .270, Jack Connor's pet cartridge, has been around nearly 80 years, and is two things that the .25WSSM isn't - cheap (relatively speaking) and available. Walk into any sporting goods store or WalMart in the country, and you'll be able to find .270, usually somewhere around $12 a box or so. .25WWSM, by contrast, costs, on average, three times that, and you're going to have to do some serious hunting to find it.
I respect and understand his decision. Now, anyone who wants a very lightly used .25WSSM Winchester M70 with black synthetic stock, drop me a line and we can probably work something out.
I respect and understand his decision. Now, anyone who wants a very lightly used .25WSSM Winchester M70 with black synthetic stock, drop me a line and we can probably work something out.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Political Platitudes
Earlier this week, an MSNBC report confirmed what most of us already knew, or at least suspected.
The huge majority of journalists are liberals.
Nothing ground-shaking here, but the proof in the proverbial pudding, MSNBC noted, is their political contributions. Of the 144 journalists they tracked, 125 gave to Democrats or liberal organizations, only 17 gave to Republicans or conservative movements, and two joyfully equally opportunistics gave to both. Breaking out the old calculator, 125 out of 144 makes 86.8%. I'm tempted to make it 127/144 (88.2% for the record), but the two who contributed both ways are OK with me for now. Read the link for more, it's interesting nonetheless.
In other political news this week, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced that he is leaving the GOP and registering as an independent. Many conservatives, myself included, met this with a huge yawn. How, I ask, can you leave something that you were never really a part of to start with? The one and only reason that Bloomberg ever ran as a Republican was to capitalize on an association with (and endorsement from) his predecessor, Rudy Guiliani. Bloomberg's track record in Gracie Mansion has been anything but conservative, and frankly he is no big loss to the GOP.
One person, if anyone, who took serious notice of Bloomberg's announcement had to be Hillary Clinton. If Bloomberg decides to run for President in 2008 as an Independent, he will siphon away a large portion of the New York (and New Jersey and New England) center/left voters from Hillary, and with them, any chance at she has of winning. Look for some seriously freaky political twists in the next 13 months leading up to the conventions.
Today's obligatory Fred Thompson reference. Come on already, Fred. Just run.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Borat, A New Take
"Borat" was possibly the funniest movie released last year. That said, something was missing.
Guns.
One guy's take on a solution:
For the record, I thought "The Punisher" was awful.
Guns.
One guy's take on a solution:
For the record, I thought "The Punisher" was awful.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Thinning the Crowd - Sort Of
When I had to restart the pumpkin patch in mid-May thanks to my toddler's eager hands, I planted five seeds, in three spots (two of two seeds and one of one, if that makes sense). The singleton never came up, but apparently to compensate for it, both seeds of one of the doubles just took off. Eventually, in the form of yesterday, it was time to pull one up, so logically I pulled up the weaker sprout. Weaker is kind of subjective, since it was still pretty big. Survival, Charles Darwin wrote, goes to the fittest. Three months after a package of ten seeds arrived in my mailbox, I have two vigorous sprouts, each with ten leaves. The biggest leaf I measured a little while ago was a heart shaped 5"x8".
Far from just thinning, yesterday was a time of rescuing. I pulled up an eggplant sprout from another section of the garden that had gotten almost choked out by weeds, and planted it in the corner of the pumpkin patch. It seems to be doing well so far, and I'm hoping to get a fruit or two off of it before the pumpkins in turn crowd it out.
Far from just thinning, yesterday was a time of rescuing. I pulled up an eggplant sprout from another section of the garden that had gotten almost choked out by weeds, and planted it in the corner of the pumpkin patch. It seems to be doing well so far, and I'm hoping to get a fruit or two off of it before the pumpkins in turn crowd it out.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Tinkering With a Short Mag
Last week a customer brought in a Winchester M70 bolt action rifle chambered in .25 Winchester Super Short Magnum. The .25WSSM has a short and wide case, and basically duplicates .25-06 ballistics but with an action almost an inch shorter.
The problem, he said, was that the bolt was skipping over the rear of the cartridge case and not chambering the round, resulting in an empty chamber and a "click" instead of a "boom". Not good.
The first place to look with almost any gun problem is the springs. In this case, it made sense to check the magazine spring, since it's responsible for pushing the rounds upwards and having them ready to be loaded into the chamber.
Oddly enough, the spring felt fine. It felt a little mushy towards the front of the magazine, but very strong towards the rear. The thing about leaf springs (it looks like a "Z" from the side) is that they will sometimes be inconsistent, and the strength towards the back end made me think that it wasn't the problem.
Next we checked the follower, the little platform in the magazine where the round sits. It looked to be a little short, but not short enough to cause the problem by itself. For some reason Winchester's quality control has slipped a little recently, and magazine bodies are no exception.
By this time, I'm baffled. Having no .25WSSM inert rounds or action dummies laying around (it's not a common round yet), I took the firing pin out of the bolt and used a couple of live rounds to check the feeding for myself. Any time you have a live round near a firearm and you're not planning on firing it, take the firing pin out to prevent any chance of it going boom. I have been around guns fired indoors unexpectedly, and it's unpleasant.
After loading the magazine and running several rounds through the action, I found the problem. The rounds fed fine if they were feeding from the right side of the magazine, but coming from the left side, they left the magazine feed lips at a bad angle and the front of the round nose-dived towards the front. Pull the bolt slightly back to fix this, and it skips over the round entirely. Problem identified. I pulled the magazine box out of the rifle, and immediately noticed that the magazine feed lips were completely different on the right side and left side. Reasoning that they got it right (no pun intended) with the right side and wrong with the left side, I carefully bent the left side lips to match its twin. I put the rifle back together minus the firing pin, and checked the action. Perfect cycling from both sides.
Total time to fix, after the head scratching? Five minutes with a pair of sheet metal pliers.
The problem, he said, was that the bolt was skipping over the rear of the cartridge case and not chambering the round, resulting in an empty chamber and a "click" instead of a "boom". Not good.
The first place to look with almost any gun problem is the springs. In this case, it made sense to check the magazine spring, since it's responsible for pushing the rounds upwards and having them ready to be loaded into the chamber.
Oddly enough, the spring felt fine. It felt a little mushy towards the front of the magazine, but very strong towards the rear. The thing about leaf springs (it looks like a "Z" from the side) is that they will sometimes be inconsistent, and the strength towards the back end made me think that it wasn't the problem.
Next we checked the follower, the little platform in the magazine where the round sits. It looked to be a little short, but not short enough to cause the problem by itself. For some reason Winchester's quality control has slipped a little recently, and magazine bodies are no exception.
By this time, I'm baffled. Having no .25WSSM inert rounds or action dummies laying around (it's not a common round yet), I took the firing pin out of the bolt and used a couple of live rounds to check the feeding for myself. Any time you have a live round near a firearm and you're not planning on firing it, take the firing pin out to prevent any chance of it going boom. I have been around guns fired indoors unexpectedly, and it's unpleasant.
After loading the magazine and running several rounds through the action, I found the problem. The rounds fed fine if they were feeding from the right side of the magazine, but coming from the left side, they left the magazine feed lips at a bad angle and the front of the round nose-dived towards the front. Pull the bolt slightly back to fix this, and it skips over the round entirely. Problem identified. I pulled the magazine box out of the rifle, and immediately noticed that the magazine feed lips were completely different on the right side and left side. Reasoning that they got it right (no pun intended) with the right side and wrong with the left side, I carefully bent the left side lips to match its twin. I put the rifle back together minus the firing pin, and checked the action. Perfect cycling from both sides.
Total time to fix, after the head scratching? Five minutes with a pair of sheet metal pliers.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Primaries, Magazines, and Pumpkins
It's still a little early, but it looks like Ralph Smith is going to eke out a win in the 22nd district Republican primary for the State Senate, pulling in, at last count, 51% of the vote over incumbent Brandon Bell. I'll be really interested in the coming days to see why voters (at 6%) turnout) picked Smith, although I have previously listed my rationale for supporting him. Either way, congratulations, Mr Smith.
Good local coverage here:
http://www.wdbj7.com/Global/story.asp?S=6648897
http://www.roanoke.com/politics/wb/120435
Up at the shop, we got in a couple of MagPul polymer AR-15 30 round magazines, their new PMag. My previous experience with plastic AR mags, in the form of Orlite (Israeli), Thermold (Canadian) and RamLine (US) has been less then stellar, but I'm hoping for good things here. MagPul doesn't turn out junk - I have their enhanced followers in all my USGI magazines, and either RangerPlates or MagPul's on about half of them. I'm going to buy a couple of these magazines this week and get a range report up soon.
http://www.magpul.com/catalog/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=80_120&products_id=268
Pumpkin update: all three plants are up to eight very healthy leaves. I let two thunderstorms do the watering over the past couple of days, but tomorrow, they're getting fertilized.
Good local coverage here:
http://www.wdbj7.com/Global/story.asp?S=6648897
http://www.roanoke.com/politics/wb/120435
Up at the shop, we got in a couple of MagPul polymer AR-15 30 round magazines, their new PMag. My previous experience with plastic AR mags, in the form of Orlite (Israeli), Thermold (Canadian) and RamLine (US) has been less then stellar, but I'm hoping for good things here. MagPul doesn't turn out junk - I have their enhanced followers in all my USGI magazines, and either RangerPlates or MagPul's on about half of them. I'm going to buy a couple of these magazines this week and get a range report up soon.
http://www.magpul.com/catalog/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=80_120&products_id=268
Pumpkin update: all three plants are up to eight very healthy leaves. I let two thunderstorms do the watering over the past couple of days, but tomorrow, they're getting fertilized.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
A Reminder of Heroism
Yesterday, the 6th of June, was the 62nd anniversary of the Allied landings in Normandy, D-Day. D-Day was the largest amphibious operation in history, a fact that even a former Marine like myself can appreciate. As each year passes, so do the veterans who sacrificed so much, at a rate of almost 1,000 a day by some estimates. Of the 16,000,000 (that's sixteen million) Americans who fought in WW2, less than a fifth of them are alive today. If you see one, shake his (or her) hand, it's the least you can do.
A friend took this photograph of the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial last month, and it's always a worth another look.
Monday, June 4, 2007
A Little Sick Humor
There's very little funny about the scourge of crystal meth. It's destroying lives at a record pace in a tsunami of stupid brought on by the desire for a quick rush. Search the 'net for for photos of meth users, and I guarantee that you won't sleep well tonight. I've seen them in person, and people like that are the closest thing to the undead that I have ever seen.
That said, any topic can rear some humor, however sick and twisted. I present:
Back in my day, I sold popcorn and iced tea on the front steps. What are kids coming to?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Run, Fred, Run!....?
Many of the major news outlets are reporting that Fred Thompson, former Tennessee Senator and "Law and Order" regular (he was also excellent in "Hunt for Red October", among other movies) is scaling back on his TV work.
Why is this relevant?
He might be running for President. Might, coulda, woulda, shoulda. There's already at least a dozen websites devoted to drafting him to run for the 2008 GOP nod, and with good reason. A Thompson (not to be confused with Tommy Thompson, already running) would fill a clear and obvious void in the ballot. The GOP cast of ten, or however many it is at any given moment, has a broad range of possibilities, but none that really appeal to the moderate conservative base that the Republicans have to energize in order to win. I like both John McCain and Rudy Guiliani personally, but I can not get over their past anti-gun movements and will gladly support someone else. Mitt Romney? Too liberal, and we all saw what happened to the last two men from Massachussetts who ran for President - they lost (although being liberal democrats might have something to do with it). Jim Gilmore, Tommy Thompson, Mike Huckabee, Duncan Hunter are all good men, but they simply do not have the name recognition, or perhaps more importantly, the energy to realistically win the vote.
That leaves Fred Thompson.
Look for him to make an early July announcement either way. These days, you get in early and you get in strong, or you get left in the dust.
Why is this relevant?
He might be running for President. Might, coulda, woulda, shoulda. There's already at least a dozen websites devoted to drafting him to run for the 2008 GOP nod, and with good reason. A Thompson (not to be confused with Tommy Thompson, already running) would fill a clear and obvious void in the ballot. The GOP cast of ten, or however many it is at any given moment, has a broad range of possibilities, but none that really appeal to the moderate conservative base that the Republicans have to energize in order to win. I like both John McCain and Rudy Guiliani personally, but I can not get over their past anti-gun movements and will gladly support someone else. Mitt Romney? Too liberal, and we all saw what happened to the last two men from Massachussetts who ran for President - they lost (although being liberal democrats might have something to do with it). Jim Gilmore, Tommy Thompson, Mike Huckabee, Duncan Hunter are all good men, but they simply do not have the name recognition, or perhaps more importantly, the energy to realistically win the vote.
That leaves Fred Thompson.
Look for him to make an early July announcement either way. These days, you get in early and you get in strong, or you get left in the dust.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sprouts, Huge Pigs, and Politics
I took a tape measure to the pumpkin sprouts this afternoon, and all five of them are right at 3" tall. I'm still planning on thinning them in a couple of weeks, but for now I am just reveling in the fact that they are growing so well. Today I watered them, tomorrow they are getting a healthy dose of MiracleGrow and some of the organic slop I have been mixing up in a bucket.
The bacon I bought at the grocery store this morning reminded me of some other pork in the news. 11 year old Jamison Stone dropped a wild boar in the woods of eastern Alabama earlier this month. Big? Try 1,051 pounds and over nine feet long. Picture a VW Bug with sharp teeth and a really bad attitude. Firearm used was a S&W .500Magnum, from the pics apparently the 8 3/8" version. Good shooting, young man.
Here in Virginia, the primaries for the state legislature are approaching. Of particular interest in this part of the state, at least to me, is the race for the Republican nomination for the 22nd District seat in the State Senate, pitting incumbent Brandon Bell against challenger, and former Roanoke Mayor, Ralph Smith.
I am supporting Ralph Smith, for the following reasons:
- Brandon Bell was one of the main supporters of the smoking ban in restaurants. For the record, I don't smoke, and never have, although I have no problem with the habit or those who choose to so indulge. With a toddler usually in tow when I go out to eat, a smoky atmosphere is often reason enough to go somewhere else. If a restaurant owner wants to go completely smoke free, as many around here have, so be it, it should be their personal choice. Read that again. Personal choice, not the government's, and any politician who tries to ram that down a business owner's throat has lost my trust, and by default, my vote.
- I have met Ralph Smith several times. He says what he means, and means what he says. He's a humble, self-deprecating and modest man with an easy smile and an open ear. He's a principled conservative who makes no bones about where he stands, and someone who you respect, and like, instantly.
- Personality aside, I agree with his stands on all of the relevant issues. He's not a professional politician, which I always like (remember "government of the people, for the people"), rather a self-made business man who, like Reagan, believes in small government and fiscal conservatism. Foreign policy opinions are for the most part completely irrelevant to state-level politicians, and I am glad he doesn't waste time holding forth on matters not directly important to the office which he seeks.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_K._Smith
http://www.ralphsmithsenate.com/
Those of you in the 22nd district, make the right choice on Jne 12th.
The bacon I bought at the grocery store this morning reminded me of some other pork in the news. 11 year old Jamison Stone dropped a wild boar in the woods of eastern Alabama earlier this month. Big? Try 1,051 pounds and over nine feet long. Picture a VW Bug with sharp teeth and a really bad attitude. Firearm used was a S&W .500Magnum, from the pics apparently the 8 3/8" version. Good shooting, young man.
Here in Virginia, the primaries for the state legislature are approaching. Of particular interest in this part of the state, at least to me, is the race for the Republican nomination for the 22nd District seat in the State Senate, pitting incumbent Brandon Bell against challenger, and former Roanoke Mayor, Ralph Smith.
I am supporting Ralph Smith, for the following reasons:
- Brandon Bell was one of the main supporters of the smoking ban in restaurants. For the record, I don't smoke, and never have, although I have no problem with the habit or those who choose to so indulge. With a toddler usually in tow when I go out to eat, a smoky atmosphere is often reason enough to go somewhere else. If a restaurant owner wants to go completely smoke free, as many around here have, so be it, it should be their personal choice. Read that again. Personal choice, not the government's, and any politician who tries to ram that down a business owner's throat has lost my trust, and by default, my vote.
- I have met Ralph Smith several times. He says what he means, and means what he says. He's a humble, self-deprecating and modest man with an easy smile and an open ear. He's a principled conservative who makes no bones about where he stands, and someone who you respect, and like, instantly.
- Personality aside, I agree with his stands on all of the relevant issues. He's not a professional politician, which I always like (remember "government of the people, for the people"), rather a self-made business man who, like Reagan, believes in small government and fiscal conservatism. Foreign policy opinions are for the most part completely irrelevant to state-level politicians, and I am glad he doesn't waste time holding forth on matters not directly important to the office which he seeks.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_K._Smith
http://www.ralphsmithsenate.com/
Those of you in the 22nd district, make the right choice on Jne 12th.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Finally, sprouts
Finally, I have pumpkin sprouts again, so I am only two weeks behind schedule. I planted the second batch of seeds in three groups of two, so I'm going to give it a few weeks and then pull up the least vigorous pair. The tomato plants I put in are also doing well, but one of the eggplants is probably going to kick the proverbial bucket soon.
US Cavalry is having a Memorial Day sale, 15% with internet code HL15MEM07 at http://www.uscav.com . I've had mixed results with them in the past and they don't get my highest endorsement, but still, savings is savings.
Now that my Detroit Red Wings are out of the playoffs, do I still care who wins the Stanley Cup? No, not really, although I am predicting Ottawa wins in five games. The NHL playoffs are, for my money, some of the most exciting sports to be seen on TV.
US Cavalry is having a Memorial Day sale, 15% with internet code HL15MEM07 at http://www.uscav.com . I've had mixed results with them in the past and they don't get my highest endorsement, but still, savings is savings.
Now that my Detroit Red Wings are out of the playoffs, do I still care who wins the Stanley Cup? No, not really, although I am predicting Ottawa wins in five games. The NHL playoffs are, for my money, some of the most exciting sports to be seen on TV.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
On Finding a Long Lost Friend The Hard Way
The National Law Enforcement Officer's Memorial sits quietly at Judiciary Square in Washington DC, in a dignified yet understated manner befitting the sacrifices it represents. I've been to it a half dozen or so times, and always take a moment to walk quietly around the inside of the low sand-colored walls etched with the names of the fallen. Of the 18,000 or so names, a small handful resonate personally. The rest I consider friends by association, knowing the bond they felt with other officers and the profession.
Yesterday, during an idle moment at work, I was pawing through the latest issue of a trade magazine, something to do with the latest and greatest law enforcement products. I like these magazines, even if they are the printed version of an informercial, if nothing else to have some ideas on hand the next time the budget allows the purchase of new equipment. Towards the end of the magazine, it had a couple pages detailing some of the recently killed officers. I was glancing over the articles, ever curious about the circumstances, when one name jumped out at me.
Callemyn. Officer from Durham, North Carolina. I know that name. Somewhere.
I usually hear rather quickly about an officer down in Virginia and the adjoining states, but for some reason I had missed the news. I shifted in my office chair as I read about how he had died in a patrol car wreck on the way to help another officer. News articles, or any writing for that matter, is usually so sterile that you can't begin to imagine what exactly happened, but for a brief second I pictured him running hot down the road, wishing he could be there quicker to answer his friend's calls. I stopped before I got to the end of that thought. No point, I told myself.
Callemyn. That sounds familiar.
I scratched my head, the checked the online listings at ODMP and NLEOMF, then google'd for the local newspaper.
The face in the photo jumped out at me. I know you, I thought. My mind flashed back to May of 1993, when we were classmates at the School of Infantry, Camp Geiger, North Carolina. We were in different platoons, going through the same session of the 0311 course with Charlie Company, Infantry Training Battalion. Class 14-93, I remembered, another one of those otherwise useless tidbits of information stuck in the back of my mind. I strained to remember him, pondering his easy smile and the friendly southern tilt to his voice. I remember that spring well, days of sweat and grime in the woods as I aproached the ripe old age of 19. After graduation we had gone our separate ways, he to a Security Forces Company in Panama, me to an infantry company. I never saw him again. I may have barely known you, but you're still my friend.
My desk phone rang, shaking me out of my thoughts. My stomach hurt as I scolded myself for not reading the news back in February and wishing I could have been there for the funeral. Police funerals are one of those things where one is too many, and after each time you catch yourself hoping you never have to do it again.
As soon as I got home that night, I ran downstairs to the shelf in my basement where I store some of my old Marine Corps books and equipment. I flipped through my Parris Island graduation book without finding his photo, then vaguely remembered that he had been in another series of platoons that graduated the same time. Parris Island recruit companies ran, at the time I went through, in two series of three platoons each. His platoon 2024 formed a few days before my platoon 2029, so he might have had three days' seniority on me.
I flipped through a binder I had kept from 14-93, hoping to find his name, at the same time wishing I was wrong. Not him, I thought, not my friend. A couple of dozen pages in, I found it. Scribbled on a scrap from a legal pad that had spent much of the last two decades in a ziplock bag was a list, probably a loading order for a truck, 3rd from the top.
Pfc Callemyn.
I looked at the page I printed from ODMP, his photo displaying the same world-weariness every cop seems to have. That's him, I thought.
I folded the paper up and stuffed the binder back on the shelf. I trotted upstairs to my home computer and tried to leave a reflection on the ODMP but couldn't come up with anything that I felt had the requisite dignity and honor. That's a project for another time.
http://www.odmp.org/officer.php?oid=18713
Yesterday, during an idle moment at work, I was pawing through the latest issue of a trade magazine, something to do with the latest and greatest law enforcement products. I like these magazines, even if they are the printed version of an informercial, if nothing else to have some ideas on hand the next time the budget allows the purchase of new equipment. Towards the end of the magazine, it had a couple pages detailing some of the recently killed officers. I was glancing over the articles, ever curious about the circumstances, when one name jumped out at me.
Callemyn. Officer from Durham, North Carolina. I know that name. Somewhere.
I usually hear rather quickly about an officer down in Virginia and the adjoining states, but for some reason I had missed the news. I shifted in my office chair as I read about how he had died in a patrol car wreck on the way to help another officer. News articles, or any writing for that matter, is usually so sterile that you can't begin to imagine what exactly happened, but for a brief second I pictured him running hot down the road, wishing he could be there quicker to answer his friend's calls. I stopped before I got to the end of that thought. No point, I told myself.
Callemyn. That sounds familiar.
I scratched my head, the checked the online listings at ODMP and NLEOMF, then google'd for the local newspaper.
The face in the photo jumped out at me. I know you, I thought. My mind flashed back to May of 1993, when we were classmates at the School of Infantry, Camp Geiger, North Carolina. We were in different platoons, going through the same session of the 0311 course with Charlie Company, Infantry Training Battalion. Class 14-93, I remembered, another one of those otherwise useless tidbits of information stuck in the back of my mind. I strained to remember him, pondering his easy smile and the friendly southern tilt to his voice. I remember that spring well, days of sweat and grime in the woods as I aproached the ripe old age of 19. After graduation we had gone our separate ways, he to a Security Forces Company in Panama, me to an infantry company. I never saw him again. I may have barely known you, but you're still my friend.
My desk phone rang, shaking me out of my thoughts. My stomach hurt as I scolded myself for not reading the news back in February and wishing I could have been there for the funeral. Police funerals are one of those things where one is too many, and after each time you catch yourself hoping you never have to do it again.
As soon as I got home that night, I ran downstairs to the shelf in my basement where I store some of my old Marine Corps books and equipment. I flipped through my Parris Island graduation book without finding his photo, then vaguely remembered that he had been in another series of platoons that graduated the same time. Parris Island recruit companies ran, at the time I went through, in two series of three platoons each. His platoon 2024 formed a few days before my platoon 2029, so he might have had three days' seniority on me.
I flipped through a binder I had kept from 14-93, hoping to find his name, at the same time wishing I was wrong. Not him, I thought, not my friend. A couple of dozen pages in, I found it. Scribbled on a scrap from a legal pad that had spent much of the last two decades in a ziplock bag was a list, probably a loading order for a truck, 3rd from the top.
Pfc Callemyn.
I looked at the page I printed from ODMP, his photo displaying the same world-weariness every cop seems to have. That's him, I thought.
I folded the paper up and stuffed the binder back on the shelf. I trotted upstairs to my home computer and tried to leave a reflection on the ODMP but couldn't come up with anything that I felt had the requisite dignity and honor. That's a project for another time.
http://www.odmp.org/officer.php?oid=18713
Sunday, May 20, 2007
On sprouts, air rifles, and Colonel Jessup
No pumpkin sprouts yet, although judging by the germination rates they should be coming up literally any day yet. I weeded, fertilized with a healthy dose of MiracleGrow, and mowed around the patch.
On the bright side, the sunflower seeds that I planted have come up and really taken off. Well, at least the ones that survived the birds. I put in two rows of about 30, and I think I'll be lucky to see maybe ten between them. I've been daydreaming about getting an air rifle...maybe this one - Cabela's has pretty good prices.
"Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because, deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punch line. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand at post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to."
On the bright side, the sunflower seeds that I planted have come up and really taken off. Well, at least the ones that survived the birds. I put in two rows of about 30, and I think I'll be lucky to see maybe ten between them. I've been daydreaming about getting an air rifle...maybe this one - Cabela's has pretty good prices.
http://www.gamousa.com//Catalog.aspx?Product=136
One of my favorite movies of all time, and not that I am any sort of Tom Cruise fan, is "A Few Good Men". I saw this flick in the theaters a month or so before I left for Parris Island in 1992, and frankly it scared the hell out of me. Thankfully, Hollywood is Hollywood, and as such there are some brilliant lines in there, most notably Col Jessup (Jack Nicholson)'s court room tirade."Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because, deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punch line. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand at post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to."
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Adventures with the PS90
During a rare idle moment at the gun store this morning, I had a chance to handle one of the Fabrique Nationale PS90 carbines we recently got in. For those unfamiliar with the PS90, it's a relatively new (introduced to the US civilian market in December 2005) carbine that fires FN's proprietary 5.7x28 cartridge.
We have a couple in the store now, one with the permanently attached MC-10-80 scope, and two of the tri-rail versions (PS90TR), which come sightless but beg for an Aimpoint or EoTech. Being a bit of an EoTech fan myself, I put an EoTech 512 (AA batteries, no nightvision capability) on it. In my humble opinion, the TR is the way to go. I honestly had a very hard time seeing the 10-80 reticle, and I like the flexibility of being able to pick my optics. It's almost as hard to see as in this picture:
Cool little gun, one of the guys at the store has one that he promises I can shoot any time. I have also been hearing rumblings that importation of the PS90 and its companion pistol, the FiveSeven, may be shut down in the not-so-distant future. Nothing like a little fear to spur some buying...
We have a couple in the store now, one with the permanently attached MC-10-80 scope, and two of the tri-rail versions (PS90TR), which come sightless but beg for an Aimpoint or EoTech. Being a bit of an EoTech fan myself, I put an EoTech 512 (AA batteries, no nightvision capability) on it. In my humble opinion, the TR is the way to go. I honestly had a very hard time seeing the 10-80 reticle, and I like the flexibility of being able to pick my optics. It's almost as hard to see as in this picture:
Cool little gun, one of the guys at the store has one that he promises I can shoot any time. I have also been hearing rumblings that importation of the PS90 and its companion pistol, the FiveSeven, may be shut down in the not-so-distant future. Nothing like a little fear to spur some buying...
Friday, May 18, 2007
Cool link of the day
Guy shooting a series of watermelons using a .500S&W revolver. I have never fired one of these, but they seem to sell pretty well at the gun store where I work part-time.
The video is a complete hoot, check it out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoW8nHIVuRk&mode=related&search=
The video is a complete hoot, check it out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoW8nHIVuRk&mode=related&search=
Rainy week
Finally a little rain this week. I have been so busy at work this week that I haven't spent much time in the garden, although I did take a minute to check on the vegetables, and long enough to note that I really need to cut the grass sometime. Still no pumpkin sprouts (I can almost hear Pat Morita chiding, "Patience, young grasshopper..." but the peppers and eggplants are thriving.
One of the websites I checked once for gardening tips suggested making a sort of natural organic fertilizer tea with rain water and whatever food/garden waste/clippings you can find. Out of curiosity, I tried it this month, leaving a 5 gallon bucket in a corner of my yard partially stuffed with kitchen scraps and dead leaves and letting it fill with water. Just like the instructions said, I have been ladeling the green goo out with an old coffee cup. I'm sure it's helping...somehow, but for now its main use is as a mosquito farm. I'll withhold judgement another week, although getting chewed up every time I go near it isn't helping.
One of the websites I checked once for gardening tips suggested making a sort of natural organic fertilizer tea with rain water and whatever food/garden waste/clippings you can find. Out of curiosity, I tried it this month, leaving a 5 gallon bucket in a corner of my yard partially stuffed with kitchen scraps and dead leaves and letting it fill with water. Just like the instructions said, I have been ladeling the green goo out with an old coffee cup. I'm sure it's helping...somehow, but for now its main use is as a mosquito farm. I'll withhold judgement another week, although getting chewed up every time I go near it isn't helping.
New River Valley redux
A little more than three years later, a Montgomery County prisoner named William Morva was taken to the local hospital after complaining of leg pain. After asking to use the bathroom, he brutally attacked the MCSO deputy who was with him, then, stealing the deputy's Glock, murdered a hospital security guard, Derrick McFarland, who bravely came to help before running from the hospital.
The next morning, August 21, 2006, like almost every law enforcement officer in the area, Eric Sutphin was out looking for Morva. Riding his police bicycle up the Huckleberry Trail, a paved route of about seven miles connecting the northern part of Christiansburg to downtown Blacksburg, he was flagged down by two women who pointed towards a bridge where they had seen a scruffy-looking man hunkered down several minutes earlier. Nobody knows what exactly happened next, but a few minutes later Eric Sutphin was gunned down at the side of the trail. Morva ran of into the bushes and was finally caught a few hours later by members of the Blacksburg PD SWAT team.
Eric Sutphin left behind a wife and twin daughters. As of this time, Morva is still awaiting trial.
Rest in Peace, my friend.
http://www.odmp.org/officer.php?oid=18452
The next morning, August 21, 2006, like almost every law enforcement officer in the area, Eric Sutphin was out looking for Morva. Riding his police bicycle up the Huckleberry Trail, a paved route of about seven miles connecting the northern part of Christiansburg to downtown Blacksburg, he was flagged down by two women who pointed towards a bridge where they had seen a scruffy-looking man hunkered down several minutes earlier. Nobody knows what exactly happened next, but a few minutes later Eric Sutphin was gunned down at the side of the trail. Morva ran of into the bushes and was finally caught a few hours later by members of the Blacksburg PD SWAT team.
Eric Sutphin left behind a wife and twin daughters. As of this time, Morva is still awaiting trial.
Rest in Peace, my friend.
http://www.odmp.org/officer.php?oid=18452
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Continuing the reflection
The legacy of Scotty Hylton didn't end that cold May day in 2003.
Second after Hylton was murdered, a Montgomery County Sheriff's deputy named Eric Sutphin pulled his squad car into same parking lot. Seeing the officer down on the ground and the murderer standing over him, Sutphin threw his car in park, stepped partially out, drew his Glock, and ordered the man to the ground. The orders were met by a fusillade of .40cal bullets. Sutphin dropped back into his car as the bullets flew past his head, fired off all 16 rounds in his pistol, and ducked below the dashboard and reloaded. When he peeked up, the suspect was running across the lot. Accompanied by a Christiansburg PD supervisor, Sutphin chased him behind a building, where, after pointing Hylton's stolen H&K at the officers, the offender was shot and killed.
Eric Sutphin was later honored both locally and at the state level for his incredible bravery that morning. His actions then were, I have been told, just a snapshot of a career filled with honor and intelligent policework.
That shooting, however, rattled him, and like a small portion of law officers involved in on-duty gunfights, he decided that enough was enough, and he left the Sheriff's Office, taking a job nearby assembling mobile homes.
It's done with, all in the past, he might have thought. Just as he might have felt the pull to leave the law enforcement profession, less than a year later he was drawn back into it and he was, once again, a MCSO deputy.
....to be continued......
Second after Hylton was murdered, a Montgomery County Sheriff's deputy named Eric Sutphin pulled his squad car into same parking lot. Seeing the officer down on the ground and the murderer standing over him, Sutphin threw his car in park, stepped partially out, drew his Glock, and ordered the man to the ground. The orders were met by a fusillade of .40cal bullets. Sutphin dropped back into his car as the bullets flew past his head, fired off all 16 rounds in his pistol, and ducked below the dashboard and reloaded. When he peeked up, the suspect was running across the lot. Accompanied by a Christiansburg PD supervisor, Sutphin chased him behind a building, where, after pointing Hylton's stolen H&K at the officers, the offender was shot and killed.
Eric Sutphin was later honored both locally and at the state level for his incredible bravery that morning. His actions then were, I have been told, just a snapshot of a career filled with honor and intelligent policework.
That shooting, however, rattled him, and like a small portion of law officers involved in on-duty gunfights, he decided that enough was enough, and he left the Sheriff's Office, taking a job nearby assembling mobile homes.
It's done with, all in the past, he might have thought. Just as he might have felt the pull to leave the law enforcement profession, less than a year later he was drawn back into it and he was, once again, a MCSO deputy.
....to be continued......
Monday, May 14, 2007
Reflecting on lost heroes
Last night was the annual candlelight vigil at the National Law Enforcement Officer's Memorial in Washington D.C. I try to go every couple of years, but due to some work conflicts and my own bad planning, I couldn't make it this year.
http://www.nleomf.org/media/press/CV_May307.htm
As part of my daily news fix, I scoured the major online news sites looking for mentions of the vigil. I checked the main pages and their respective U.S./National news sub-pages, and was, unsurprisingly, disappointed.
Washington Times (my favorite national daily) - nothing
CNN - nothing, although they joyfully clinged to a two-day-old screed on LAPD's "warrior culture"
New York Times - nothing
Richmond Times (largest non-DC paper in Virginia) - nothing either
FoxNews - nada
According to the NLEOMF, 145 law enforcement officers died in the line of duty during 2006. Their names, along with the names of officers killed in past years but for whatever reason forgotten to the ages until recently, were added to the memorial over the past week. As the roll of honor approaches 18,000, I reflect on some of the men who are more than just names to me. In addition to http://www.nleomf.org/ , the Officer Down Memorial Page, http://www.odmp.org/ is a highly useful and instructional resource for learning about these heroes.
http://www.nleomf.org/media/press/CV_May307.htm
As part of my daily news fix, I scoured the major online news sites looking for mentions of the vigil. I checked the main pages and their respective U.S./National news sub-pages, and was, unsurprisingly, disappointed.
Washington Times (my favorite national daily) - nothing
CNN - nothing, although they joyfully clinged to a two-day-old screed on LAPD's "warrior culture"
New York Times - nothing
Richmond Times (largest non-DC paper in Virginia) - nothing either
FoxNews - nada
According to the NLEOMF, 145 law enforcement officers died in the line of duty during 2006. Their names, along with the names of officers killed in past years but for whatever reason forgotten to the ages until recently, were added to the memorial over the past week. As the roll of honor approaches 18,000, I reflect on some of the men who are more than just names to me. In addition to http://www.nleomf.org/ , the Officer Down Memorial Page, http://www.odmp.org/ is a highly useful and instructional resource for learning about these heroes.
I thought about Officer Scott Hylton of the Christiansburg Police Department. I met Scott in passing a few months before he was murdered by a shoplifting suspect in a cold parking lot May 9th, 2003. Tall, friendly, polite....time has blurred my memory of him, the little interaction we had, lost to the ages. I wrote the following the day after I attended his funeral.
I went to Scott Hylton's funeral yesterday.
I counted the patches and car markings of at least thirty departments from four states. Tiny departments like Narrows and large organizations like Virginia Beach and Fairfax County all sent officers. With traffic neatly directed by local firefighters and Virginia State Troopers, slowly they converged on the small church, diffidently socializing, recognizing old friends but unable to let go of the reason for their presence. I was no different. I looked for familiar faces, glanced curiously at shoulder patches, then recoiled, feeling slightly ashamed of turning a somber occasion into a sight seeing tour. Soldiers from Officer Hylton's Army National Guard Unit of the 29th Infantry walked by, no doubt feeling the same mix of grief and confusion as the rest of us. No matter the color of the uniform, we were drawn here to say goodbye to a man many of us had never met but with whom we shared a deep but unspoken bond.
With the church filled to capacity with friends and family, many of us sat outside and watched a video feed on a large television propped outside. We listened to the minister and friends remark on the life of a man driven to do what was right, then cut short in a moment of murderous madness. I shifted slightly in my chair, noting from the markings that it belonged to the same Radford University where Officer Hylton had worked during the previous decade, and remembered the words from the National Law Enforcement Memorial in Washington D.C. "It's not how these officers died that made them heroes, it's how they lived." The more I heard about him, I realized that while the author of that quote couldn't have known Scott Hylton, those words fit him to the letter.
As a bagpiper played in the distance, officers and soldiers lined the short walk from the chapel to the gravesite. The lonely notes bounced across the windy Floyd County hillside, like plaintive bells, calling a final roll call for someone unable to answer. We formed a corridor, several ranks deep, of blue, green, gray, and countless other fabrics and stood rigidly, swaying slightly in the wind as family, close friends and CPD officers made the lonely walk towards Officer Hylton's final rest. I watched silently as his sons walked by and couldn't even begin to imagine what thoughts passed through their heads. I made eye contact briefly with an old friend, with whom I shared many frantic nights on the old midnight shift my department, and thought he looked somehow much older than when I last saw him. Another officer, with whom I served for several years in the Marines, walked firmly up the path, eyes fixated on something far off in the distance, but keeping the same even pace I had seen on muddy Quantico trails.
I listened through the wind as flags popped and people spoke, glancing at other officers and swallowing hard. Birds chirped in the background, blissfully celebrating a sunny spring day as we mourned. A detail of soldiers fired three rifle volleys skyward, the rifles barking a final goodbye to a man who had devoted so much time to serving his country. The wind whistled past my face as I reached up to brush away a tear, and saw many of the guests, some of the hardest and most accomplished lawmen in the area, doing the same. A lone bugler sounded "Taps" in the distance, and I followed the notes into the distance as they faded. "All is well, safely rest, God is nigh…" the tune says at the end of verse 1. "Safely rest" indeed, I thought to myself. Rest in Peace, Scott Hylton.
I counted the patches and car markings of at least thirty departments from four states. Tiny departments like Narrows and large organizations like Virginia Beach and Fairfax County all sent officers. With traffic neatly directed by local firefighters and Virginia State Troopers, slowly they converged on the small church, diffidently socializing, recognizing old friends but unable to let go of the reason for their presence. I was no different. I looked for familiar faces, glanced curiously at shoulder patches, then recoiled, feeling slightly ashamed of turning a somber occasion into a sight seeing tour. Soldiers from Officer Hylton's Army National Guard Unit of the 29th Infantry walked by, no doubt feeling the same mix of grief and confusion as the rest of us. No matter the color of the uniform, we were drawn here to say goodbye to a man many of us had never met but with whom we shared a deep but unspoken bond.
With the church filled to capacity with friends and family, many of us sat outside and watched a video feed on a large television propped outside. We listened to the minister and friends remark on the life of a man driven to do what was right, then cut short in a moment of murderous madness. I shifted slightly in my chair, noting from the markings that it belonged to the same Radford University where Officer Hylton had worked during the previous decade, and remembered the words from the National Law Enforcement Memorial in Washington D.C. "It's not how these officers died that made them heroes, it's how they lived." The more I heard about him, I realized that while the author of that quote couldn't have known Scott Hylton, those words fit him to the letter.
As a bagpiper played in the distance, officers and soldiers lined the short walk from the chapel to the gravesite. The lonely notes bounced across the windy Floyd County hillside, like plaintive bells, calling a final roll call for someone unable to answer. We formed a corridor, several ranks deep, of blue, green, gray, and countless other fabrics and stood rigidly, swaying slightly in the wind as family, close friends and CPD officers made the lonely walk towards Officer Hylton's final rest. I watched silently as his sons walked by and couldn't even begin to imagine what thoughts passed through their heads. I made eye contact briefly with an old friend, with whom I shared many frantic nights on the old midnight shift my department, and thought he looked somehow much older than when I last saw him. Another officer, with whom I served for several years in the Marines, walked firmly up the path, eyes fixated on something far off in the distance, but keeping the same even pace I had seen on muddy Quantico trails.
I listened through the wind as flags popped and people spoke, glancing at other officers and swallowing hard. Birds chirped in the background, blissfully celebrating a sunny spring day as we mourned. A detail of soldiers fired three rifle volleys skyward, the rifles barking a final goodbye to a man who had devoted so much time to serving his country. The wind whistled past my face as I reached up to brush away a tear, and saw many of the guests, some of the hardest and most accomplished lawmen in the area, doing the same. A lone bugler sounded "Taps" in the distance, and I followed the notes into the distance as they faded. "All is well, safely rest, God is nigh…" the tune says at the end of verse 1. "Safely rest" indeed, I thought to myself. Rest in Peace, Scott Hylton.
They say that time helps ease the pain brought on by loss. From reading some of the reflections left on the website, I have to wonder about the accuracy of that statement.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Reminiscing about hardware gone by
Interesting thread going on over at GlockTalk about one's first handgun and whether you still have it.
http://www.glocktalk.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=695965&perpage=25&highlight=&pagenumber=1
The earliest purchase I found in that thread was 1955, courtesy of one of the older members, and some of the guns mentioned go back to the 1870's. The one guy on the second page of the thread who says he just bought his first hangun last week is, for some reason, making me feel really old all of a sudden.
Me? I had a 2nd generation (no light rail or finger grooves) Glock 19 mid-size 9mm that I bought new in October 1995. The date sticks in my mind because it was the same weekend of my then-girlfriend, now-wife's birthday, and she was a little chapped about having to share my attention.
To answer the other question, I don't have it any more. In a fit of stupidity, defined as anything other than needing to pay pressing bills which however it may suck is still the only legitimate reason to part with a firearm, I sold it. I wish I still had it.
http://www.glocktalk.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=695965&perpage=25&highlight=&pagenumber=1
The earliest purchase I found in that thread was 1955, courtesy of one of the older members, and some of the guns mentioned go back to the 1870's. The one guy on the second page of the thread who says he just bought his first hangun last week is, for some reason, making me feel really old all of a sudden.
Me? I had a 2nd generation (no light rail or finger grooves) Glock 19 mid-size 9mm that I bought new in October 1995. The date sticks in my mind because it was the same weekend of my then-girlfriend, now-wife's birthday, and she was a little chapped about having to share my attention.
To answer the other question, I don't have it any more. In a fit of stupidity, defined as anything other than needing to pay pressing bills which however it may suck is still the only legitimate reason to part with a firearm, I sold it. I wish I still had it.
Seeds
I realized that in the previous post, I forgot to mention the type of pumpkins I am growing. I'm growing Dill's Atlantic Giants, which hold the world record for largest pumpkin ever at 1502 lbs.
http://www.howarddill.com/
He sells seeds from his website, but for the record, I bought mine from Gurney's at http://www.gurneys.com. Good bunch of people, and only took three days to get my order to me.
http://www.howarddill.com/
He sells seeds from his website, but for the record, I bought mine from Gurney's at http://www.gurneys.com. Good bunch of people, and only took three days to get my order to me.
That's Mr Howard Dill himself on the right. Lots of good information on his website, including a link to some growing tips courtsy of the Backyard Gardener :
http://www.backyardgardener.com/secert.html
My plan, on the other hand, is fairly simple - pluck the flowers until mid-summer to let the roots develop, and water and fertilize the hell out of it. For fertilizer, I'm using generic MiracleGrow from the hardware store and anything else I can find laying around.
Starting over
Time to start over with the pumpkins.
Before I started this blog, I had planted a batch of pumpkin seeds on April 16th in a small plot in my back yard. I tilled it, added 80 lbs of compost/manure from K-Mart ($1.87/bag), then put them in, just as the package said to, in a small hill of five seeds. Three had sprouted, two on top of each other and one about six inches away after it, I guess, rolled down the mound when I watered it. I later found two seed carcasses, dug up and chewed on by birds, in the nearby grass, but I still had three survivors.
Until today.
I was enjoying the mid-spring weather, reading a magazine on a blanket in the backyard when my three year old bounded up. "Look Daddy, I pulled weeds!". Normally I am thankful and appreciative of her help, but, as you can guess, she had pulled the pumpkin sprouts up.
Thankfully I had kept five more seeds, so into the ground they went. I scolded her a little, then made a small fence around the plot using some leftover vinyl siding. The first batch of seeds took about eleven days to sprout, so I'm really only about two weeks behind. There's still time.
Before I started this blog, I had planted a batch of pumpkin seeds on April 16th in a small plot in my back yard. I tilled it, added 80 lbs of compost/manure from K-Mart ($1.87/bag), then put them in, just as the package said to, in a small hill of five seeds. Three had sprouted, two on top of each other and one about six inches away after it, I guess, rolled down the mound when I watered it. I later found two seed carcasses, dug up and chewed on by birds, in the nearby grass, but I still had three survivors.
Until today.
I was enjoying the mid-spring weather, reading a magazine on a blanket in the backyard when my three year old bounded up. "Look Daddy, I pulled weeds!". Normally I am thankful and appreciative of her help, but, as you can guess, she had pulled the pumpkin sprouts up.
Thankfully I had kept five more seeds, so into the ground they went. I scolded her a little, then made a small fence around the plot using some leftover vinyl siding. The first batch of seeds took about eleven days to sprout, so I'm really only about two weeks behind. There's still time.
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