By Rob Watson
I believe that at least some of you readers have made poor choices from time to time. This blog is a chronicle of a small sampling of my poor choices. The subject came up a few days ago and was renewed yesterday by a visitor to my new home, my Fishing Cabin as I call it.
This cabin is surrounded by a forest. The trees are mostly 90 feet (30 meters) tall. Outside the area of the yard, the underbrush ranges from thick to impassable. Lots of varmints live there. I have seen squirrels, rabbits, and one coyote. I have caught three mice. Evidence abounds of wild hogs, mostly rooted up sections of my yard. Though Wife and I have made an effort to limit varmint access to the area under the cabin, it is not unusual to hear thumps, bumps, and gnawing in the night.
Because the floor under the bath tub has been damaged (and desperately needs repair) there is a hole through that area and varmints like to take up residence there. One would think rats or squirrels would be fairly quiet but they are not. My cursing and energetically pounding the sides of the cast iron tub, seems in no way to discourage what ever is there.
Though I am an occasional hunter, I am not a killer by temperament. Even bugs, flys and mosquitoes excepted, get a free pass if they stay outside my home. Therefore the idea of killing my visitors came slowly. The first prompting came when I caught a mouse alive. I put him in a 30 gallon trash barrel and fed him mouse poison. Took him nearly a week to die. Next I saw a mouse dash from the living area to the kitchen. Speeding up the killing process seemed prudent. I bought a trap and set it in the kitchen. When it snapped I found the mouse, caught by the nose, and very much alive. I took him outside and smashed him with something. I hate to see animals suffer, even mice. The third mouse was fortunate enough to put his whole head in the trap and died instantly.
Things got serious when some varmint, most likely a squirrel, caused $300 damage to Wife's van by chewing through three of six spark plug wires. I have a tendency to let things slide but this was a bit over the top. Wife, on the other hand, elevated herself to mortal enemy to all varmints. (Due to shoulder injuries she cannot fire a shotgun so now I am in the process of creating shot shells for my revolver.) This sent her looking for the poison I had used earlier.
This brings us to the poor choices with which I began this post. A mouse, in search of food, had gnawed his way into the box of poison and eaten some.
Wife bought more poison, conveniently packaged in little trays, and put it out under the van, the motorcycle, and my truck. It is not clear if the spark plug wire culprit "got his" but the poison keeps disappearing. I, being the cheapskate I am, buy the poison in whole boxes, without the convenient little trays... I just reuse and refill the ones remaining after I ran over the one under the truck.
The varmint under the tub has died. I found him while crawling around under the house trying to get water to a sink in the laundry room. He has been replaced. Nearly a half cup of poison has disappeared from the handy trays in the last 24 hours. The trays have been refilled and I have high hopes that the new resident under the tub will continue the poor choices of his predecessors.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
First Dates
By Rob Watson
My alternate title for this piece was "An Idiot on the Loose". As you will see, this was an accurate description of my first dating experience. So, lets begin, jumping forward three full years from the incident related in my post: "Fear". Never having asked any girl for another date. (You may recall, I claim to have been unsuccessful with the females. In this almost year long relationship DD never directly expresses any form of affection toward me and allows exactly one kiss... You be the judge. But then, six or seven years later I end up living next to this girl. She tells my first wife, that I am the one that got away.)
By some forgotten sequence of events, I am in the lake cabin of the neighbor of one of my high school teachers. Present are the cabins owner, his wife and their 14 year old daughter (lets call her DD to save typing). The time is the Autumn of my freshman year of college. The older ones have put on a humor record by Rusty Reynolds. By the record jacket one can see Rusty is a rather attractive red head. She is also the flithiest mouthed woman I have ever encountered.
The wife and mother notices that I am embarrassed to the absolute limit of my ability to cope. She takes this as a sign that I am the boy for her little girl. I am, thereafter, invited to their cabin whenever they are in town. They live about 50 miles from the lake, and, 50 miles from my college.
DD is physically well developed for a 14 year old, (or for a 20 year old) has a pretty face, keeps her auburn hair well fixed, and dresses to accent her figure without "over exposing" it. I eventually learn she emotionally flashes from warm to cold and back again at short intervals that are unpredictable in all respects.
Sometime along the way, I ask for a date and we begin to correspond by snail mail. (actually, back then, a letter deposited at the end of the day at college would be delivered 280 mile away in the next days mail... Also 50 miles away) DD liked the attention of receiving a daily letter and was quite put out when I failed to deliver. She, however, only felt the need to write once or twice a week.
While at college, my only mode of long distance transportation was hitchhiking. One week I was invited to DD's home for the weekend and hitchhiked there. Her mother picked me up and transported me to the house after I got to their town. I knew hitchhiking after dark was an iffy enterprise and, at the end of my visit, I asked to be delivered to the road back to college in late afternoon... too late afternoon.
I stood beside the road for an hour, until full dark, with my thumb out. Then, having classes the next day, began to walk. At the time it was in vogue to do 50 mile (80km) hikes in 24 hours. (a resurrection of some Teddy Roosevelt thing) I had just over 14 hours. Walking being my main mode of transport otherwise, I had developed my own technique for racewalking and switched into high gear. A faster mode, developed and fostered by the boy scouts, was to run 50 steps and walk 50 steps. As time began to get short, in the later hours of the night, I switched over to this mode. I never failed to present myself as a hitchhiker to any passing vehicle until the last one.
An hour or more could pass between cars on the road. I got very tired and decided to take a nap on a bridge... you know the footing of the bridge side rails. I was awakened by a car passing a foot or so from my nose. Thereafter I kept moving.
At 4:30 AM. I was 5 miles from my destination when I heard a car coming. I decided my ego could not stand another rejection and I ignored the man as he zoomed past. He jammed on his brakes and backed up. He asked if I needed a ride... Yep!! Forty five miles in ten hours, nap included, must be some kind of record. Heck, I could have been a Teddy Roosevelt Marine twice over, or a Stonewall Jackson Foot Cavalry, or an Idiot on the loose.
The last I saw of DD (until six or seven years later) began with an outdoor party the following summer. She, or her mother, invited 20 or so people, our age, for a weenie roast beside the lake. I spent most of the evening following DD around as if I were a lost puppy, and being totally ignored. After an extended period I began to feel like one and stopped following her. Within minutes she came and punched me in the back, wanting to know why I was ignoring her.
The next evening, we were suppose to have a date. She was out, standing on the dock, when I drove up in my family's car. I walked out to her and she turned. "Go away. I don't want to see you any more." was all she said. I said nothing, turned and walked away. Six or seven years was not enough time for the anger to go away. I lived next to her for a year and never remember speaking a word to her.
The good news was it opened the door for the Merry Bee (and Mary B. ), and, the girl from Dallas, and, more tales of an idiot on the loose.
Notes on the above: President Theodore Roosevelt initiated the requirement that the Marines be able to march 50 miles in a day. Someone brought this up again in the 1960's and it was the in thing to do at the time, for non military boys trying to prove their manhood.
During the American Civil War, Infantry usually moved 10-15 miles a day. Cavalry moved 25 miles. General Thomas J, Stonewall, Jackson frequently moved his infantry corps 50 miles in a day, earning the moniker: Stonewall's Foot Cavalry.
My alternate title for this piece was "An Idiot on the Loose". As you will see, this was an accurate description of my first dating experience. So, lets begin, jumping forward three full years from the incident related in my post: "Fear". Never having asked any girl for another date. (You may recall, I claim to have been unsuccessful with the females. In this almost year long relationship DD never directly expresses any form of affection toward me and allows exactly one kiss... You be the judge. But then, six or seven years later I end up living next to this girl. She tells my first wife, that I am the one that got away.)
By some forgotten sequence of events, I am in the lake cabin of the neighbor of one of my high school teachers. Present are the cabins owner, his wife and their 14 year old daughter (lets call her DD to save typing). The time is the Autumn of my freshman year of college. The older ones have put on a humor record by Rusty Reynolds. By the record jacket one can see Rusty is a rather attractive red head. She is also the flithiest mouthed woman I have ever encountered.
The wife and mother notices that I am embarrassed to the absolute limit of my ability to cope. She takes this as a sign that I am the boy for her little girl. I am, thereafter, invited to their cabin whenever they are in town. They live about 50 miles from the lake, and, 50 miles from my college.
DD is physically well developed for a 14 year old, (or for a 20 year old) has a pretty face, keeps her auburn hair well fixed, and dresses to accent her figure without "over exposing" it. I eventually learn she emotionally flashes from warm to cold and back again at short intervals that are unpredictable in all respects.
Sometime along the way, I ask for a date and we begin to correspond by snail mail. (actually, back then, a letter deposited at the end of the day at college would be delivered 280 mile away in the next days mail... Also 50 miles away) DD liked the attention of receiving a daily letter and was quite put out when I failed to deliver. She, however, only felt the need to write once or twice a week.
While at college, my only mode of long distance transportation was hitchhiking. One week I was invited to DD's home for the weekend and hitchhiked there. Her mother picked me up and transported me to the house after I got to their town. I knew hitchhiking after dark was an iffy enterprise and, at the end of my visit, I asked to be delivered to the road back to college in late afternoon... too late afternoon.
I stood beside the road for an hour, until full dark, with my thumb out. Then, having classes the next day, began to walk. At the time it was in vogue to do 50 mile (80km) hikes in 24 hours. (a resurrection of some Teddy Roosevelt thing) I had just over 14 hours. Walking being my main mode of transport otherwise, I had developed my own technique for racewalking and switched into high gear. A faster mode, developed and fostered by the boy scouts, was to run 50 steps and walk 50 steps. As time began to get short, in the later hours of the night, I switched over to this mode. I never failed to present myself as a hitchhiker to any passing vehicle until the last one.
An hour or more could pass between cars on the road. I got very tired and decided to take a nap on a bridge... you know the footing of the bridge side rails. I was awakened by a car passing a foot or so from my nose. Thereafter I kept moving.
At 4:30 AM. I was 5 miles from my destination when I heard a car coming. I decided my ego could not stand another rejection and I ignored the man as he zoomed past. He jammed on his brakes and backed up. He asked if I needed a ride... Yep!! Forty five miles in ten hours, nap included, must be some kind of record. Heck, I could have been a Teddy Roosevelt Marine twice over, or a Stonewall Jackson Foot Cavalry, or an Idiot on the loose.
The last I saw of DD (until six or seven years later) began with an outdoor party the following summer. She, or her mother, invited 20 or so people, our age, for a weenie roast beside the lake. I spent most of the evening following DD around as if I were a lost puppy, and being totally ignored. After an extended period I began to feel like one and stopped following her. Within minutes she came and punched me in the back, wanting to know why I was ignoring her.
The next evening, we were suppose to have a date. She was out, standing on the dock, when I drove up in my family's car. I walked out to her and she turned. "Go away. I don't want to see you any more." was all she said. I said nothing, turned and walked away. Six or seven years was not enough time for the anger to go away. I lived next to her for a year and never remember speaking a word to her.
The good news was it opened the door for the Merry Bee (and Mary B. ), and, the girl from Dallas, and, more tales of an idiot on the loose.
Notes on the above: President Theodore Roosevelt initiated the requirement that the Marines be able to march 50 miles in a day. Someone brought this up again in the 1960's and it was the in thing to do at the time, for non military boys trying to prove their manhood.
During the American Civil War, Infantry usually moved 10-15 miles a day. Cavalry moved 25 miles. General Thomas J, Stonewall, Jackson frequently moved his infantry corps 50 miles in a day, earning the moniker: Stonewall's Foot Cavalry.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Lost Opportunities
by Rob Watson
I think I may have an inferiority complex. If not, then I feel most other people are superior to me in many ways. I spent time pondering this tonight as I lay awake in bed. Such contemplations often lead me to recall opportunities in which I failed to take advantage.
The two things I have sought most and failed to find most often have been love and money. Lest you be concerned, Wife is as good a love as any man may hope to find, and as long as our government remains solvent, we will have enough money to survive, perhaps even taste a bit of the honey in this life.
In my favor I have to say I have two advantages that might have been used to take advantage of opportunities. The first I learned at my mother's knee. Polite treatment of others. This skill was further refined at the movies by observing the hero cowboys of the Saturday movies of the 1950's...Yes Ma'am, no sir...everybody deserved respect until proven otherwise. (Mama also taught me to cook, wash my own clothes, and keep things neat...though this latter is frequently left unpracticed.)
My other asset is the ability to understand science. I first developed this skill in the library of my elementary school. Later in life I learned to enjoy reading fiction and history. In these early years science was the subject that interested me. There in the cradle of education I sought out science books. (I am sure I was forced to go to the library, outside was where I longed to be.) As early as the third grade I found and read the fourth, fifth and sixth grade science books.
One day, business was slow at my parents business. During such times I would sit on a bumper guard out front and look at rocks I picked up from the gravel parking lot. On this day I found a rock that was the shape of two pyramids base to base. It was clear in color and about 1/2 inch on each side. After carefully examining it I threw it out to the middle of the lot and forgot about it until the third year of college. There in geology class I learned that rock was most likely a diamond (Flaws not withstanding, my diamond might have been cut into a round brilliant cut about 1/2 inch across and weigh 10 carats or so. Coincident with my college discovery was the discovery that the gravel pit where my rock originated contained diamonds. (For those who like irony, the roads of one of the poorest states in the Union are paved with diamonds.) Going back to recover my diamond was not an option as my parents had, by then, paved over the gravel parking lot.
A few years after this I took a few thousand dollars to a stock broker, and by moves based entirely on good fortune, parlayed them into $106,000. I was able to pick the turn in the stockmarket correct to the hour. There, good fortune deserted me and learning began. I lost nearly all of the gains in a few weeks time. Unfortunately the lesson learned was not applied until I had confirmed my hard found knowledge after repeating the process a second time quite a few years later. If I make another pile of money, I hope to have the wisdom to hold on to it. There is a huge uptick in the markets these days....
Opportunities in love are not so easily defined... but I got a treasure there: Wife!!
I think I may have an inferiority complex. If not, then I feel most other people are superior to me in many ways. I spent time pondering this tonight as I lay awake in bed. Such contemplations often lead me to recall opportunities in which I failed to take advantage.
The two things I have sought most and failed to find most often have been love and money. Lest you be concerned, Wife is as good a love as any man may hope to find, and as long as our government remains solvent, we will have enough money to survive, perhaps even taste a bit of the honey in this life.
In my favor I have to say I have two advantages that might have been used to take advantage of opportunities. The first I learned at my mother's knee. Polite treatment of others. This skill was further refined at the movies by observing the hero cowboys of the Saturday movies of the 1950's...Yes Ma'am, no sir...everybody deserved respect until proven otherwise. (Mama also taught me to cook, wash my own clothes, and keep things neat...though this latter is frequently left unpracticed.)
My other asset is the ability to understand science. I first developed this skill in the library of my elementary school. Later in life I learned to enjoy reading fiction and history. In these early years science was the subject that interested me. There in the cradle of education I sought out science books. (I am sure I was forced to go to the library, outside was where I longed to be.) As early as the third grade I found and read the fourth, fifth and sixth grade science books.
One day, business was slow at my parents business. During such times I would sit on a bumper guard out front and look at rocks I picked up from the gravel parking lot. On this day I found a rock that was the shape of two pyramids base to base. It was clear in color and about 1/2 inch on each side. After carefully examining it I threw it out to the middle of the lot and forgot about it until the third year of college. There in geology class I learned that rock was most likely a diamond (Flaws not withstanding, my diamond might have been cut into a round brilliant cut about 1/2 inch across and weigh 10 carats or so. Coincident with my college discovery was the discovery that the gravel pit where my rock originated contained diamonds. (For those who like irony, the roads of one of the poorest states in the Union are paved with diamonds.) Going back to recover my diamond was not an option as my parents had, by then, paved over the gravel parking lot.
A few years after this I took a few thousand dollars to a stock broker, and by moves based entirely on good fortune, parlayed them into $106,000. I was able to pick the turn in the stockmarket correct to the hour. There, good fortune deserted me and learning began. I lost nearly all of the gains in a few weeks time. Unfortunately the lesson learned was not applied until I had confirmed my hard found knowledge after repeating the process a second time quite a few years later. If I make another pile of money, I hope to have the wisdom to hold on to it. There is a huge uptick in the markets these days....
Opportunities in love are not so easily defined... but I got a treasure there: Wife!!
All You Can Eat
By Rob Watson
Those who know me understand I like to eat. I am a fair cook but, eating in great homes and good restaurants is better. (You might look back to Wife's post: Eating our way through Louisiana.) In moving to New State, Wife and I were hoping to find some good places to eat, as Last State had slim pickings. (Having been a long time resident of New State in a former life... You may be from New State if... You find the food everywhere else slightly disappointing... Has been mostly true in my case. My apologies and condolences to those other places I have lived for the last 1000 years.)
Without looking very hard, and being seduced by their 30 shrimp add, wife and I decided to try Red Lobster here. I looked up the address of the local restaurant on the internet and programed the trusty GPS to take us there. On arrival, it was a vacant lot. a local resident informed us it had gone out of business years before. So, then the search began in earnest.
The area had a number of places near by. The first we passed touted fresh seafood, steaks, and sushi... too many things to be good at any of them... There were two cars in the large parking lot. Other places were about the same... big signs, big parking lots, two cars. Then we came upon a small place with six parking places and nine cars parked around. My fried catfish was served, along with hush puppies, coleslaw, pickles, and fries, on a beer tray... you know the ones you see on beer ads all the time. Eighteen inches (Half a meter) in diameter and 2 inch (5 cm) high sides. Oh, yes, it was $11 each. Beer not served.
I use to say, in my gun business, If you need an excuse, almost anything will do. So when Wife and I could devine a good excuse, we went there for great food and good service. The bad news being it is fifty miles away.
Near by our fishing shack, places to eat out are as slim pickins as in Last State. That is until the restaurant near by, 13 miles (17 KM) got mad at the world and closed down... leaving an unfriendly comment as a headline in the local newspaper. The business was taken over by another entrepreneur, remodeled, and reopened.
Wife and I passed by the place a number of times but did not stop due to forced fiscal responsibilities, brought on by over indulgence in other areas. We did, however, notice fair numbers of cars and trucks stopped there at meal times. Today, we felt able to treat ourselves after an uplifting Palm Sunday Service. The food was great... Fried Catfish... and one other thing, if you are considering visiting in our area...
You have heard of places that offer "All You Can Eat", right? These two new places offer twice as much as I can eat for about $10.
Those who know me understand I like to eat. I am a fair cook but, eating in great homes and good restaurants is better. (You might look back to Wife's post: Eating our way through Louisiana.) In moving to New State, Wife and I were hoping to find some good places to eat, as Last State had slim pickings. (Having been a long time resident of New State in a former life... You may be from New State if... You find the food everywhere else slightly disappointing... Has been mostly true in my case. My apologies and condolences to those other places I have lived for the last 1000 years.)
Without looking very hard, and being seduced by their 30 shrimp add, wife and I decided to try Red Lobster here. I looked up the address of the local restaurant on the internet and programed the trusty GPS to take us there. On arrival, it was a vacant lot. a local resident informed us it had gone out of business years before. So, then the search began in earnest.
The area had a number of places near by. The first we passed touted fresh seafood, steaks, and sushi... too many things to be good at any of them... There were two cars in the large parking lot. Other places were about the same... big signs, big parking lots, two cars. Then we came upon a small place with six parking places and nine cars parked around. My fried catfish was served, along with hush puppies, coleslaw, pickles, and fries, on a beer tray... you know the ones you see on beer ads all the time. Eighteen inches (Half a meter) in diameter and 2 inch (5 cm) high sides. Oh, yes, it was $11 each. Beer not served.
I use to say, in my gun business, If you need an excuse, almost anything will do. So when Wife and I could devine a good excuse, we went there for great food and good service. The bad news being it is fifty miles away.
Near by our fishing shack, places to eat out are as slim pickins as in Last State. That is until the restaurant near by, 13 miles (17 KM) got mad at the world and closed down... leaving an unfriendly comment as a headline in the local newspaper. The business was taken over by another entrepreneur, remodeled, and reopened.
Wife and I passed by the place a number of times but did not stop due to forced fiscal responsibilities, brought on by over indulgence in other areas. We did, however, notice fair numbers of cars and trucks stopped there at meal times. Today, we felt able to treat ourselves after an uplifting Palm Sunday Service. The food was great... Fried Catfish... and one other thing, if you are considering visiting in our area...
You have heard of places that offer "All You Can Eat", right? These two new places offer twice as much as I can eat for about $10.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
A Small Tornado
By Rob Watson
Everyone has seen the destruction done by large tornadoes. Whole towns, even significant parts of cities destroyed. The average tornado is 75 yards (meters) wide. An average of 55 touch down in State every year. Here I would like to show you the effects of a small tornado. This property belonged to my friend Charlie. This first view is of an equipment building that was blown down.
The august person in the center of this second photo is your humble
correspondent. Notice that the large, full, grain bin in the background
is undamaged as is the small empty one in the foreground.
The tornado bypassed these empty grain bins as well...
Here is a combine head for harvesting sunflowers... it is mostly undamaged.
In the background is an undamaged animal barn.
Below, the large bin on the left was empty. The small one in the middle was used to store odds and ends.
Here, part of the roof of the equipment building rests in the shelter belt north of the place.
The rest of the roof landed about 200 yards (meters) north of the shelter belt.
The trail of this tornado wandered across a milo field for a few hundred yards before doing the damage seen in the pictures above. The corn in the foreground of this last picture shows it was still on the ground a few dozen yards after the row of trees. Then, no doubt satisfied with itself, it lifted and went to that great thunder cloud in the sky.
Everyone has seen the destruction done by large tornadoes. Whole towns, even significant parts of cities destroyed. The average tornado is 75 yards (meters) wide. An average of 55 touch down in State every year. Here I would like to show you the effects of a small tornado. This property belonged to my friend Charlie. This first view is of an equipment building that was blown down.
Below, the large bin on the left was empty. The small one in the middle was used to store odds and ends.
The Song In My Heart
By Rob Watson
The other day one of the love songs of my youth came back to me. I sang it to myself. Today it came back to me in the early predawn hours. I sang it again. It set me to thinking of songs and their relationship to my life. For many years I was a closet romantic, or at least, an unsuccessful one. I entertained myself with songs, lots of songs.
"The Wayward Wind" should have been my lifelong theme song. I have lived in nearly 30 places in my 60 plus years and traveled to hundreds. Trouble is, I never thought of myself as a wanderer. I always loved coming home to rest. After about two weeks of wandering I was ready for my own house and bed. I didn't grow up to the sound of the "outward bound" and I always found train whistles in the night a great irritation, as opposed to a calling. I have made a number of train trips but they never really attracted me either, as departure time always seem to be 12 midnight. "Wandering Star" from "Paint Your Wagon" is one I sing frequently, for entertainment, because I would like to identify with its theme... but do not.
"The Impossible Dream" from "The Man of La Mancha" is one of my favorites. I use to spend a lot of time dreaming... impossible dreams... in former years, mostly about the girls. This is no longer necessary as Wife is an amiable and satisfying companion.
The love song, learned early in adolescence, that I frequently immagined myself singing to a girl, went like this:
When I was young and dreams were new, I loved a girl a lot like you.
I saw her face in mountain streams and lost myself in dreams.
but we were young and tossed away our precious love along the way,
we parted strangers and set our hearts to wander aimlessly.
But looking back, somehow I see, how seldom love has come to me.
and I confess, I think of her, remembering when...
If I were young, and dreams were new, I'd love a girl a lot like you.
I'd hold her close if she'd agree to love, perhaps, a boy a lot like me.
Trouble is, there was never a "her" or a "we". No face to see "in mountain streams". No "love" to "toss away." The truth to tell, is, I had a serious lack of boldness. If there ever might have been a "her" I was too cowardly to make it a "we".
The song I really always sang and really resonated in my soul was "On The Street Where You live" from "My Fair Lady". I would walk, ride my bicycle, or drive past the home of my crush de jour singing that song. This lasted well into my college years, until... One very pleasant day I took a rather attractive young woman on a fancy evening out... Dinner at a fine restaurant, and a movie: "My Fair Lady". In the process I learned my favorite love song was sung by the looser. This fact struck way too close to the truth. I was truly a looser in love. I do not recall if I ever passed another young woman's home again, but I clearly remember never singing that song again.
The character trait women want most, in their man, is self confidence, a quality I was wholly lacking until the middle years of my life. Then I met Wife and have lived happily ever after. An impossible dream coming true. That is the reason love songs now seem to come only from a long, dark, and distant past.
The other day one of the love songs of my youth came back to me. I sang it to myself. Today it came back to me in the early predawn hours. I sang it again. It set me to thinking of songs and their relationship to my life. For many years I was a closet romantic, or at least, an unsuccessful one. I entertained myself with songs, lots of songs.
"The Wayward Wind" should have been my lifelong theme song. I have lived in nearly 30 places in my 60 plus years and traveled to hundreds. Trouble is, I never thought of myself as a wanderer. I always loved coming home to rest. After about two weeks of wandering I was ready for my own house and bed. I didn't grow up to the sound of the "outward bound" and I always found train whistles in the night a great irritation, as opposed to a calling. I have made a number of train trips but they never really attracted me either, as departure time always seem to be 12 midnight. "Wandering Star" from "Paint Your Wagon" is one I sing frequently, for entertainment, because I would like to identify with its theme... but do not.
"The Impossible Dream" from "The Man of La Mancha" is one of my favorites. I use to spend a lot of time dreaming... impossible dreams... in former years, mostly about the girls. This is no longer necessary as Wife is an amiable and satisfying companion.
The love song, learned early in adolescence, that I frequently immagined myself singing to a girl, went like this:
When I was young and dreams were new, I loved a girl a lot like you.
I saw her face in mountain streams and lost myself in dreams.
but we were young and tossed away our precious love along the way,
we parted strangers and set our hearts to wander aimlessly.
But looking back, somehow I see, how seldom love has come to me.
and I confess, I think of her, remembering when...
If I were young, and dreams were new, I'd love a girl a lot like you.
I'd hold her close if she'd agree to love, perhaps, a boy a lot like me.
Trouble is, there was never a "her" or a "we". No face to see "in mountain streams". No "love" to "toss away." The truth to tell, is, I had a serious lack of boldness. If there ever might have been a "her" I was too cowardly to make it a "we".
The song I really always sang and really resonated in my soul was "On The Street Where You live" from "My Fair Lady". I would walk, ride my bicycle, or drive past the home of my crush de jour singing that song. This lasted well into my college years, until... One very pleasant day I took a rather attractive young woman on a fancy evening out... Dinner at a fine restaurant, and a movie: "My Fair Lady". In the process I learned my favorite love song was sung by the looser. This fact struck way too close to the truth. I was truly a looser in love. I do not recall if I ever passed another young woman's home again, but I clearly remember never singing that song again.
The character trait women want most, in their man, is self confidence, a quality I was wholly lacking until the middle years of my life. Then I met Wife and have lived happily ever after. An impossible dream coming true. That is the reason love songs now seem to come only from a long, dark, and distant past.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Gun Bans
By Rob Watson
Back in the day, August or so of 1994, I was in the gun business. I had a retail store and, for the first time in 3 years, was making a significant profit from it. The profit making would end in three months. The profit making began when President Bill Clinton proposed banning fire arms. This prompted good, law abiding, citizens, who had never owned a gun, and never seriously considered owning one, to go out and buy. Many bought more than one.
The profit making ended when 12% of gun owning democrats voted republican in the November congressional elections. After more than 40 years of dominating congress, Democrats lost a fair percentage of their seats in the House of Representatives and in the Senate. It would be 12 years before they regained control of Congress, and that by a vastly slimmer margin than previously. This last because the democratic "Solid South" started turning republican.
With political history behind us, lets turn to the guns and magazines that were "banned". (Careless people have taken up the habit of calling "magazines" "clips". I find this irritating but will pass on it for now) Any magazine that held more than 10 rounds of ammunition was banned. Any pistol that weighed more than 56 ounces (3.5 pounds or 1.5kg), was semiautomatic and had a removable magazine was banned. Any rifle that had more than three banned features was banned. Banned features? What are banned features you ask. Removable magazines, semiautomatic actions, fore grips that prevented the user from burning his hands on a hot barrel, flash hiders, muzzle breaks to reduce recoil, bayonet lugs or bayonets, and a few other features that I don't recall. So, let us look a little closer.
You may think of a magazine as a metal or plastic box, open at the top and enclosed on the four sides with a removable bottom. Inside is a false bottom forced upward by a spring. The open top is formed such that the contents, being forced upward by the false bottom (also called the follower) are held in place until pushed forward by some part of the firearm. The magazine is held in place inside the firearm by a spring loaded latch. Press the latch and Sir Isaac Newton removes this magazine for you. (or, more correctly, Sir Isaac Newton's Law of Gravity).
Banning these was silly because... First off, the removable bottom (and the cleverly crafted law banning high capacity magazines) allowed the original manufacturer to remove the bottom and install a spacer between the follower and the bottom that restricted the magazine capacity to 10 rounds of ammunition. The new owner needed only remove the bottom of the magazine, remove the spacer, and replace the bottom to return the magazine to it original capacity. (which may have been slightly illegal. But if one were to go murder a school full of kids, this slight infraction might get over looked) Or, secondly, one could just buy several of the millions of extra magazines manufactured between the proposal of the law and its passing and effective date. (predating bans being against the law here)
In fairness, many original manufacturers eventually redesigned their magazines to hold only 10 rounds. This resulted in some odd looking devices becoming even odder looking.
Of course, if one were to shoot up a theater full of people, one only needs a container full of 10 round magazines. The one or two seconds required to change magazines couldn't allow that many targets to escape. Shooting up a mall full of people could be more of a problem in that the shooter might have to aim to hit his targets instead of just spraying bullets indiscriminately.
Now, to the firearms themselves... A 56 ounce pistol... that is 3.5 pounds without ammunition. What perp in his warped mind would carry a pistol or two (most mass murderers bring more than one weapon) that heavy. After all, the gun ban is going to require him to carry a bunch of magazines.
The AR15 is now the ultimate assault weapon. Prior to August 1994 it had a semiautomatic action, a removable magazine, a foregrip that protected one from burning ones hands on a hot barrel, and a flash hider. After the gun ban you could no longer buy one with a flash hider. Or, if you really, really needed a flash hider, for shooting up darkened movies, you could buy one of the preban, Grandfathered AR15's. (after the previous gun ban expired a few years ago, manufacturers added the flash hiders to their new rifles)
So, a mental defective can now, and in the future, go into a legitimate gun dealer, purchase a preban (or not) weapon, and preban (or not) magazines, any amount of ammunition, pass a federal background check, and do as he pleases until 23 minutes after he shoots someone. (23 minutes is the average response time for 911 calls, or longer if the responding officer waits for backup)
The alternatives are an extra brave officer who does not wait for backup, as in Texas a few years back, an armed off duty deputy at a theater in Phoenix, AZ (The day after Sandy Hook Elementary) or an armed citizen. Unless you go into one of the places that ban law abiding gun toting citizens.
Research shows that prior to the 1994 gun ban about 20 mass killings occurred each year. During the gun ban, 1994 to 2004, about 20 mass shootings happened every year. After the gun ban expired in 2004, about 20 mass murders occurred every year. So much for gun bans. Research also showed, in the 38 shooting investigated, one or more people were told, in advance, by the perp, of the plan to shoot up a bunch of people.
Mental defectives, and those proposing gun violence, are not in the data base used for background checks. They need to be put there. There is a method for being removed from this database if one is a law abiding citizen, with proof of such. I have seen it. It is inconvenient but it works. And background checks need to be made universal. A little gun training wouldn't hurt either.
The only way to stop a bad person with a gun is by a good person with a gun... NRA
Back in the day, August or so of 1994, I was in the gun business. I had a retail store and, for the first time in 3 years, was making a significant profit from it. The profit making would end in three months. The profit making began when President Bill Clinton proposed banning fire arms. This prompted good, law abiding, citizens, who had never owned a gun, and never seriously considered owning one, to go out and buy. Many bought more than one.
The profit making ended when 12% of gun owning democrats voted republican in the November congressional elections. After more than 40 years of dominating congress, Democrats lost a fair percentage of their seats in the House of Representatives and in the Senate. It would be 12 years before they regained control of Congress, and that by a vastly slimmer margin than previously. This last because the democratic "Solid South" started turning republican.
With political history behind us, lets turn to the guns and magazines that were "banned". (Careless people have taken up the habit of calling "magazines" "clips". I find this irritating but will pass on it for now) Any magazine that held more than 10 rounds of ammunition was banned. Any pistol that weighed more than 56 ounces (3.5 pounds or 1.5kg), was semiautomatic and had a removable magazine was banned. Any rifle that had more than three banned features was banned. Banned features? What are banned features you ask. Removable magazines, semiautomatic actions, fore grips that prevented the user from burning his hands on a hot barrel, flash hiders, muzzle breaks to reduce recoil, bayonet lugs or bayonets, and a few other features that I don't recall. So, let us look a little closer.
You may think of a magazine as a metal or plastic box, open at the top and enclosed on the four sides with a removable bottom. Inside is a false bottom forced upward by a spring. The open top is formed such that the contents, being forced upward by the false bottom (also called the follower) are held in place until pushed forward by some part of the firearm. The magazine is held in place inside the firearm by a spring loaded latch. Press the latch and Sir Isaac Newton removes this magazine for you. (or, more correctly, Sir Isaac Newton's Law of Gravity).
Banning these was silly because... First off, the removable bottom (and the cleverly crafted law banning high capacity magazines) allowed the original manufacturer to remove the bottom and install a spacer between the follower and the bottom that restricted the magazine capacity to 10 rounds of ammunition. The new owner needed only remove the bottom of the magazine, remove the spacer, and replace the bottom to return the magazine to it original capacity. (which may have been slightly illegal. But if one were to go murder a school full of kids, this slight infraction might get over looked) Or, secondly, one could just buy several of the millions of extra magazines manufactured between the proposal of the law and its passing and effective date. (predating bans being against the law here)
In fairness, many original manufacturers eventually redesigned their magazines to hold only 10 rounds. This resulted in some odd looking devices becoming even odder looking.
Of course, if one were to shoot up a theater full of people, one only needs a container full of 10 round magazines. The one or two seconds required to change magazines couldn't allow that many targets to escape. Shooting up a mall full of people could be more of a problem in that the shooter might have to aim to hit his targets instead of just spraying bullets indiscriminately.
Now, to the firearms themselves... A 56 ounce pistol... that is 3.5 pounds without ammunition. What perp in his warped mind would carry a pistol or two (most mass murderers bring more than one weapon) that heavy. After all, the gun ban is going to require him to carry a bunch of magazines.
The AR15 is now the ultimate assault weapon. Prior to August 1994 it had a semiautomatic action, a removable magazine, a foregrip that protected one from burning ones hands on a hot barrel, and a flash hider. After the gun ban you could no longer buy one with a flash hider. Or, if you really, really needed a flash hider, for shooting up darkened movies, you could buy one of the preban, Grandfathered AR15's. (after the previous gun ban expired a few years ago, manufacturers added the flash hiders to their new rifles)
So, a mental defective can now, and in the future, go into a legitimate gun dealer, purchase a preban (or not) weapon, and preban (or not) magazines, any amount of ammunition, pass a federal background check, and do as he pleases until 23 minutes after he shoots someone. (23 minutes is the average response time for 911 calls, or longer if the responding officer waits for backup)
The alternatives are an extra brave officer who does not wait for backup, as in Texas a few years back, an armed off duty deputy at a theater in Phoenix, AZ (The day after Sandy Hook Elementary) or an armed citizen. Unless you go into one of the places that ban law abiding gun toting citizens.
Research shows that prior to the 1994 gun ban about 20 mass killings occurred each year. During the gun ban, 1994 to 2004, about 20 mass shootings happened every year. After the gun ban expired in 2004, about 20 mass murders occurred every year. So much for gun bans. Research also showed, in the 38 shooting investigated, one or more people were told, in advance, by the perp, of the plan to shoot up a bunch of people.
Mental defectives, and those proposing gun violence, are not in the data base used for background checks. They need to be put there. There is a method for being removed from this database if one is a law abiding citizen, with proof of such. I have seen it. It is inconvenient but it works. And background checks need to be made universal. A little gun training wouldn't hurt either.
The only way to stop a bad person with a gun is by a good person with a gun... NRA
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