New Year's Eve

It's the last day of 2013, and I'm glad to see it go.  It's been a heckuva year, with lots of work, lots of changes, lots of frustration and aggravation.  It's also been a year with a lot of love, a lot of joy, and a lot of fun.

I've got errands to run today.  Milady is working till noon-ish, and I have to make a grocery run.  Gotta get the fixin's for cabbage, black-eyed peas, and cornbread.  In these parts, it's a traditional New Year's feast.  Cabbage for luck, black-eyed peas for frugality, and cornbread for humility.  I'll cook a pork tenderloin or roast, because... pork.

Not that cornbread is humble, but it is a southern staple and source of pride.  The eternal controversy of adding sugar to cornbread splits families and friends.  Some say that sugar in cornbread is heresy, some say that cornbread isn't complete without a taste of sweetness.  Milady makes a dandy cornbread, and she normally makes two batches, at least when the grandkids are about.  One pone without and a bunch of Jiffy sweet muffins for the grandkids.

I don't know Milady's recipe, and I bet that if I asked her, she could tell me the ingredients but the amounts would be in question.  She just makes it.  Goes into the kitchen, stirs some stuff together, puts it in a black skillet and makes it.  The best cooks work like that.  Some cornmeal, an egg, a little milk, then cook the cornbread.  It's not magic, but it's close, and they don't think about it.  Like putting on socks in the morning, you just make cornbread.

This is also the day that I traditionally clean my blogroll, that little list of blogs on the right sidebar.  Blogs and links I read, if not every day, then several times a week.  If you're interested, go over and click on some links.  Good stuff there.

When Milady gets home at noon, we'll rest for the evenings celebration.  I'm not completely sure what we're doing tonite, but we always do something on New Year's Eve.  Christmas is for the family, and New Year's is for us.  We got formally engaged on New Year's Eve (when she proposed to me), and we keep that night special.  We'll drag in tonight after toasting the New Year, then get up tomorrow and finish cooking the meal.  Lots of family and friends over tomorrow for the New Year's feast.  Cabbage and peas are cheap, so we're cooking plenty.

Happy New Year's everyone.

More Shooting Pics

As promised, some more shooting pics from yesterday's outing.

Snap shooting is an important part of practice here in our thickets.  Here, my youngest son is engaging a 100 yard target with a .308 bolt gun.  Yeah, he's a southpaw, and he has a left-handed rifle, but he wanted to try the Remington..  And, he hit the 100 yard gong, which is plenty good for whitetail deer or hogs.  All of my sons are very good shots.

In this family, you can't be afraid of recoil.  Eldest son's wife with my 7.5 inch Super Blackhawk in full recoil.  She's not shooting magnums, but she does have a cylinder of Skeeter's Load, which is the load I most use in that gun.  A 240 grain bullet pushed to 1000 fps is plenty good medicine for most handgunning tasks.

A view from the firing line, toward the target butts.  Behind those hangers is a berm made with blow-down trees, wood chips, dirt, anything  we can put on that berm.  It's a measured 100 yards from the chair to the swingers.

Inconvenient Truth

I don't know how many of you have been following this saga, but there is a team of scientists trapped in the ice off Antarctica.  As National Geographic explains:

The ship, the M.V. Akademik Shokalskiy, is waiting for emergency help—though help might take some time to come, given a blizzard that pummeled the area. The ship locked up in the ice on Christmas.

Getting stuck in Antarctic ice is a problem, and they've had two rescue cutters trying to get to them, but without much luck.

 An Australian icebreaker on Monday suspended efforts to reach the icebound research ship because of adverse weather. The Aurora Australis got within 10 nautical miles of the ship, but then turned back.

Never fear, it looks like someone is going to land a helicopter on the ice, as soon as weather permits, and evacuate the passengers and crew.

As I sat shivering in my deer stand this morning, I was reading about this disaster, then it suddenly occurred to me that in the Antarctic, it's summer.  And, these are climate scientists.  Stuck in the ice during the Antarctic summer.  The irony is simply delicious.  Are they experiencing weather, or climate?

Sunday Shooting

My daughter told me that she wanted to do some shooting today, so we slipped off after lunch for an impromptu family shoot at our private range.

That's darlin' daughter trying on my Smith and Wesoon Model 66.  She likes that gun a lot.

Then she tried her brother's Ruger Security Six.  She liked that too.

We had other shooters as well.  Like grandson Elyas, trying out his BB pistol.

He ate the center out of that target.  Shooting glasses, indexed finger, his Dad is teaching him well.

Grandson Jeffrey had to try out his new rifle.  I gave it to him for Christmas, it's a Remington 700 ADL in .308 Winchester, and I've had that rifle since 2011.  All my rifles are destined to belong to the grandkids, and I though it was his turn.

He's hitting well with it and it should serve him properly the rest of his life.

That's enough for now, I'll post some more pictures later this week.

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog and the cat continue to harass each other, becoming fast friends.

The cat eating, while the dog pesters her.

The two of them wrasslin' in Milady's chair.  It looks like the dog has the upper hand, but looks are deceiving.

Saturday

Got up this morning, way before daylight.  Made a thermos of coffee.  Went hunting.

Got to the stand before daylight.  Settled in.  Heard something on the roof of the stand.  Rain.

Dammit.  Watched squirrels pack off all my corn.  Deer ain't eating it, I guess the squirrels can eat it.  Deer are bedded down in the rain.  Only fools out here are me and the squirrels.

Sat in the stand till 10:00, said the hell with it.  Filled the feeder with fresh corn, put in fresh batteries.  Went back to the truck.  Called it in.  Milady said that she wanted a burger for lunch.  Picked up burgers on the way home.

Probably going to sit in my easy chair the rest of the day.  That is all.

Naming Tanks

The Muse tells a story about the lead tank that broke the siege at Bastogne.  It was named Cobra King by its crew, assigned to Company C, 37th Armor, 4th Armored Division.

Photo courtesy of Army.mil

It is a Sherman Tank  The story at Army.mil is here.  Known as the M4, the Army had over 19.000 issued during the Second World War, but this little blog post isn't about the M4, it's about naming tanks.

For some strange reason, tank crews like to name their tanks.  Normally, the first crew gets to name the tank and that name sticks with it throughout it's life in the unit.  When a tank goes back to depot for re-fitting, it gets a new paint job and the next crew that gets the tank gets to re-name it, but if one tank commander leaves a unit, a new tank commander comes in and tries to rename the tank, it's considered bad luck.  Bad juju, a harbinger of disaster.  The one rule is that the tank's name must start with the letter of the assigned Company.

I was assigned to Company C, so my tanks were named ChiTuKemu (don't ask, I never figgered that one out) and Cap'n Krunch (after the breakfast cereal.  When I took the platoon, my tank was ChiTuKemu, but after several months it was sent to depot for a rebuild and I got a replacement tank  My gunner, Sgt Ramirez, got up on the front of the turret, (the turret face, or ablative) and felt gingerly with his fingers.  He knew that whatever that tank had been named, the depot hadn't sanded it away, only painted over the name, so he searched with fingertips and a flaslight.  Then he climbed down and announced to the world that the tank's name was Cap'n Krunch.  As a young, brash lieutenant of Armor, I was considerably dismayed that my tank was named after a breakfast cereal for children, but Sgt Ramirez was already on the front slope with a can of black enamel, so I deferred to the more experienced tanker.

Three months later, we took Cap'n Krunch downrange and began tank tables for annual gunnery quals.  That tank (and Sgt Ramirez, Specialist Elliot, and Private Dudley) helped me get the first of several qualification badges to sew on my tanker's jacket.  Still, I had a tank named after a breakfast cereal.

Hat tip to My Muse.

Ham Bones

Part of the Christmas tradition is a ham or two, depending on the crowd that shows up to eat.  Normally, I cook a spiral-cut ham, but this year I was gifted two smallish hams that we cooked for Christmas Eve.  This morning I took the remains out of the fridge and worked on reducing them to a more manageable size.

That bag on the left is almost a gallon of sliced ham bits that will be used in sandwiches, omelets, and recipes for the next several weeks.  That bag on the left is two ham bones, with a small amount of meat on them.  Those bones are very important to next week's festivities, because Milady always cooks blackeyed peas and cabbage on New Year's Day, and invites all and sundry to our humble feast.  Those ham bones will go well in those peas and cabbage, adding a special flavor that can't be captured with any other seasoning.

Yeah, the sliced ham has a couple of rings of sliced pineapple.  Those rings were a garnish for the glaze, baked on the ham, and I didn't think that it would hurt to include them in the bag.  But, those lovely ham bones are the real attraction for any good Southern cook.  You can season a lot of simple food with a ham bone.

Back At It

Christmas is over, and the detritus is pretty much cleaned away.  The tree is still up, and will remain so until later this week.  It's time to settle back into a routine, but we've got plenty of things left on our calendar until the New Year.

Later today, I'm going to help brother-in-law mount a TV to a wall.  I've done a fair amount of carpentry over my lifetime, and I'm pretty comfortable with hand tools, but I've never screwed a TV to a wall.  BIL bought himself a huge-ass TV for Christmas, and we're going to take his less huge-ass TV that was in the living room and mount it into the bedroom.  Like he needs a 42" TV six feet from the soles of his feet.  Still, I get it.  He watches a lot of TV, and he loves his apps, so that he can check weather in far-flung places.

I've never screwed a TV to a wall, but I know all about joists and brace-points and lag bolts.  So, after this post, I'm going to do some YouTubing and get an idea of how to do this right.  I'm thinking that a nice bubble-level might be a good idea, so I've got to remember to put one of those in the car.  Now that I think about it, I've got a stud-finder in the toolbox, that might be a good idea too.

After we get the TV mounted.  we're going to drive an hour up the road, and go see the lights in Natchitoches.  Natchitoches, LA, puts on one hell of a Christmas display every year.  It's quite festive, and while we're reviewing the lights, we'll stop in Momma's Restaurant for a bite of seafood.  I haven't been in Natchitoches for a couple of years, after having lived there from 1981-2002.  It'll be nice to walk on those brick streets again.

Reba McEntire



Merry Christmas, everyone.

Christmas Eve

Reading the internets between chores, I am reminded that in 1968 we had astronauts orbiting the moon on Christmas Eve, and they transmitted the famous Christmas Eve broadcast from lunar orbit.



That was back in the day when you could read the Bible over government radios.

Whether Christ was born on December 25th is open to historical interpretation, and frankly, I've always doubted that we know the day He was born.  Still, we should designate a day to celebrate, and that's tomorrow.  Merry Christmas, everyone.

Cheer!

It's shaping up to be a busy Christmas, quite the celebration, and I'm looking forward to it.  Several years ago, Milady and I chose Christmas Eve as our portion of the celebration.  We've assembled family and friends at our house on the 24th.  After dinner, we'll let the grandkids open their presents and we'll share our gifts, along with our table for the opening of the celebration.  Which reminds me, I need to take the hams out of the freezer.  (Okay, that's done, where were we).  Oh, yeah, Celebration.

We picked Christmas Eve several years ago, simply because it gave us a chance to have the grandkids over. After they leave our house, they return home so they can awake on Christmas morning to their own tree and their own presents, and later that day they can participate in their assorted in-laws celebrations.  As most of them live within an hour or so, this is very convenient.

Which left Milady and I with a quiet Christmas day.  Some Christmas days, I'd never even get out of  my slippers, sip on egg nog and nibble on leftovers.  This year, though, we've been invited on Christmas day to Milady's brother's home across town.  He's cooking a Turduckhen, which is a turkey stuffed with a chicken, stuffed with a duck.  I'm sure it will be a wonderful entree, and I'm looking forward to sharing the day with my wife's family, who I consider my own.

But, the big event hereabouts is tomorrow, and PawPaw has a list of things he must accomplish.  I'll get busy with that, and take this moment to wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

Sunday Song

The incomparable Kathy Mattea.



Merry Christmas, everyone.

Sunday Morning Dawg

Rainy weekend, with lightning and thunder and the dog doesn't respond well to heavy weather.  All he wanted to do was lay on the floor by Milady's chair and pretend that the weather didn't exist.

It's okay, pup.  The rain will be over later today and we'll have a great afternoon.

Adulthood

Ed Driscoll, over at Pajamas Media, is talking about Pajama Boy, and they're trying to decide how old Pajama Boy might be, at least the image they're touting.

They are trying to make the point that Pajama Boy must be at least 27 years old, because he could stay on his parents insurance until he reached his 27th birthday.  Good point.  To my mind, a kid that's 26 and still on his parent's insurance is a severe case of arrested development.  (To be fair, we're talking about the PR image here.  The guy who modeled for the photo might be 24, rides a Harley, and skydives after a successful tour in the military.  I doubt it, but we're not talking about the person, we're talking about the image.)  The image shows a wimp.

This must be a fairly new development.  Let me show you another photo, taken in 1978.

That young man is 25 years old.  At the time, he had completed a bachelor's degree, been commissioned, lead a tank platoon, been an executive officer, and was sitting for a command photo.  He was a father, a husband, and a company commander.  He commanded Co D, 2nd Bn, 4th Bde, at Fort Knox, KY, and his command included almost 350 trainees and cadre.  He considered himself an adult, and so did the Army.

Pajama Boy?  Not so much.  He needs to nut up, grow up, and get out of his mother's basement.  Pajama Boy is a frigging wimp, and he's not representative of anyone I know.  I have a nephew who is about his age, with two tours in the sandbox (US Marines) and a bachelor's degree.  He ain't a wimp either.

Pajama Boy's parents did him a huge disservice when they didn't kick his ass out of the house at age 19.  President Obama does the youth of our nation a grave disservice by infantalizing them until age 26.  It's a damn shame.

Deer Hunting

I awoke this morning with ever expectation of watching the sun rise over the deer woods.  The Mule is loaded on the trailer and hitched to the truck, the rifle is cased and the backpack is loaded.  I woke up at 4:00 a.m.. and put on a pot of coffee, then went outside to look at the weather.  I immediately got rained on, then came back inside to check the radar.  Oh, hell.

It's misting, spitting rain out there right now, and I'm not nearly as concerned about those deer as I was when I was a young'un.  If the weather plays out like I expect it to, we'd be right in the middle of it on the return, with plenty of rain and thunder, and lighting, and who knows what other weather goodness.  I think I'll sit my sorry, 60-year-old butt at home today, and pester Milady.

Remembering my youth, today would be a magnificent day for an early duck hunt.  This wether pattern is excellent for moving ducks.  An unseasonably warm day in advance of an energetic cold front, and the ducks move, trying to find shelter and feed in front of the weather.  When I was a duck hunter, I'd look for exactly these conditions, and high-tail it out  to the duck blind whenever they presented themselves.  However, I don't even own a duck blind anymore.

Oh, well, we'll go check on those deer next week, after Christmas.

Birthday

On this day, 60 years ago, PawPaw fell kicking and screaming into this world.  In celebration of this event, Milady bought me a new flannel shirt and a new flannel jacket.  I've been told that this jacket is NOT for working on small engines, or wearing to the deer camp.  I now have a flannel jacket that I can wear in public without embarrassing her, and I should endeavor to keep it presentable.  We'll see how long that lasts.

It's been a hell of a run, and I hope it lasts a few years longer.  Tonight, I'm going to a sit-down restaurant and eat a big steak.  I'm a lucky man, have much to be thankful for, and just for today I'm going to enjoy a respite from worrying about the news or imposing my opinion on an unsuspecting public.

PawPaw's celebrating today.  I'll get back to this later.

Blind Hog Finds Acorn

Chris Mathews, over at MSNBC.  You remember him?  The guy with the tingle in his leg?  Yeah, him.  He's worried about the anger in America today.  As reported by Hot Air.

No, I think it’s about that other, fiercer emotion these days: Fear. Downright fear. People in this country, are lot of them are afraid of what’s happening in these early decades of the 21st century. Just afraid. … They worry about the national debt that’s growing right on past the size of our economy itself. They see the Congress year after year unable to stop spending more than it takes in. … And this makes people angry. It makes them mad. The number one solution to this country’s rightward shift, to all the craziness out there, is for those of us in the center and on the left to get control of our government. Firm, rational, progressive, grownup control…

Firm, rational, progressive, grownup control, huh, Chris?  Yet you shilled for Obama, not once but twice.  Firm, rational, grownup control?  That's funny, right there, I don't care who you are.

Phil Robertson and Pajama Boy

Okay, lets talk about this.  Two iconic images this week, first from the ObamaCare .  We've got pajama boy wearing a onesie and talking about insurance.

Then we've got Phil Robertson, who was recently suspended by A&E for his unabashed defense of Christian values.

Now, for the record, I know nothing about pajama boy.  I'm sure that he's a fine, upstanding, pillar of his community.  And, I don't watch Duck Dynasty.  It doesn't air at a time that's convenient for me to watch it.  But I'm also sure that Phil Robertson is likewise a fine, upstanding, pillar of his community.

Yet Phil got fired (excuse me, suspended) for sharing an opinion.  What did he say, among other things?

… “It seems like, to me, a vagina—as a man—would be more desirable than a man’s anus. That’s just me. I’m just thinking: There’s more there! She’s got more to offer. I mean, come on, dudes! You know what I’m saying? But hey, sin: It’s not logical, my man. It’s just not logical.”
… ”We never, ever judge someone on who’s going to heaven, hell. That’s the Almighty’s job. We just love ‘em, give ‘em the good news about Jesus—whether they’re homosexuals, drunks, terrorists. We let God sort ‘em out later, you see what I’m saying?”

So, Phil's got an opinion on homosexuality, and it got him fired (excuse me, suspended) after he said that he didn't judge, that he loves everybody, and he'll let God be the arbiter between heaven and earth.  In the meantime, Phil will love everybody and pray for them, his opinions aside.  That sounds terrible, doesn't it?

You see, the article I linked makes the argument that there are two Americas, and I agree.  We've got the elite, urban America that wears onsies and we've got rural, fly-over America where we pray for everyone, even folks we disagree with.  And some of us wear onsies.  I think I saw my sister wearing a set, once.

I don't understand what Phil said that was so wrong, and I don't understand why the urban, elite America thought that Sarah Palin was foolish, or why they think that guns are bad, or why having an opinion that is outside the politically correct meme du jour might be a bad thing.

Ed Morrisey has a pretty good take on it, over at Hot Air, and I like some of what he says.

That’s what makes this decision by A&E so absurd. Duck Dynasty is clearly on their schedule for the latter purpose — because the Robertsons are so different from their target audience that they may as well be aliens.  That’s fine for the Robertsons, who have a large following, and A&E too, for that matter, even if it’s not my taste.  I wouldn’t demand that they stop airing reality television; I’m just not going to participate in it, that’s all.

Which also serves to highlight the two Americas argument.  Phil is on reality TV because he's real, and his reality conflicts with the political correct reality to the point where it seems almost... alien.  But, Phil's views are very mainstream to a big part of America.  I'm not proposing that this is a First Amendment issue; the government isn't censoring Phil, the network is doing it.  The fact that they're firing (excuse me, suspending) him for his mainstream views only highlights the hypocrisy of them putting him on a REALITY TV show in the first place.

A&E doesn't have a clue about reality.  I haven't watched them in years, and I don't watch Phil unless I happen to surf across him.  But I respect the man, I share a lot of his beliefs, and I'd love to share a duck blind with him.  We'd let pajama boy come too, but he'd have to dress better, and he'd have to bring the hot chocolate.  He might learn something about the other America.

The End of Lead Bullets?

That's what Fox News is trumpeting, that lead bullets will be a thing of the past in several years.

Whether by state or federal regulation, or by market forces, lead bullets will be all but phased out within a few years in favor of so-called green bullets, experts say. While many believe that this will help the environment by keeping lead from contaminating groundwater, others say switching to copper-based bullets will cost hunters and sportsmen more and have little effect on the environment.

Yeah, right.  They're not taking into account the hundreds of thousands of us who cast our own bullets from lead scrap.  I'm not likely to stop that any time soon.  I've heard good things about the all-copper bullets from places like Barnes and Nosler, but I don't have any intention to stop using lead bullets.   If it's plumbous, I'm apt to make bullets from it.

Arapahoe Shooting

Breitbart is reporting that a school resource officer was instrumental in ending the Arapahoe shooting in 80 seconds.

While Pierson was able to critically wound one student, from his first shot to his last, the only life that was lost was his. Robinson said "a critical element" in this scenario was the deputy who ran toward "the noise of gunshot," when "many would run away from it."
Robinson said the deputy "went to the thunder," which brought him to the library where Pierson was holed up.
On the way into the library the officer directed students to "get down" and let everyone know he was a "county deputy sheriff."

Hooray for the brave deputy who works the schools.  It's a thankless job sometimes, with long hours and very little acknowledgement. But, when it comes time to earn the pay, you earn it all at once.  As I've said before, being an SRO is a great job, right up till the second that it isn't.

This guy should be promoted, given his choice of assignments, and have honors showered on him.  He did good, and I'm here to sing his praises.  Eighty seconds.  I wonder how long it took for the adrenaline dump to subside?

Just Another Monday

Not much to report today, it was just another Monday at the schoolhouse.  While surfing around today I did notice that a federal judge whacked the NSA over their metadata mining program.  That's good news.

A federal judge ruled Monday that the National Security Agency's bulk collection of phone records likely violates the Constitution, in a major setback for the controversial spy agency. 

What this might mean in the long run is up for grabs, and whether a sitting district judge even had reason to look at the program is questionable, but I'm happy that the judge is on our side.  Evidently when he asked some direct questions from the NSA and they blew him off... well, it's never a good idea to blow off a judge.

But in his a 68-page, heavily footnoted opinion, Leon concluded that the government didn't cite a single instance in which the program "actually stopped an imminent terrorist attack."
"I have serious doubts about the efficacy of the metadata collection program as a means of conducting time-sensitive investigations in cases involving imminent threats of terrorism," he added. 

 When the judge asks you a direct question, and you don't provide evidence, don't look for your program to go well.

Trimming the Tree

We're late this year, but after lunch, I dragged out the tree and Milady pressed the grandkids into service, trimming the tree and getting ready for the season.  We've got the grandkids presents wrapped and ready to go.  PawPaw is on schedule for this year.

That looks pretty good for a tree decorated by grandkids.  I think they did a pretty good job.

While unwrapping other things, they found my elf hat, which I always pack in the same box with the stockings.

I got it at the Dollar Store a couple of years ago.  The question is whether I'm going to wear it at work this week.  There's always that possibility.

I think I'm going to pour a celebratory drink and relax in the glow of the tree.

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog and the cat continue to hang out on the back porch.  The cat seems to take particular pleasure in aggravating the dog.  The dog, for his part, tries to maintain his dignity while ignoring the cat.  Like this.

Studiously ignoring the cat while the cat prances and preens around him.  Occasionally, though, I get the feeling that his aggravation is coming through.

I got that snap by simply holding the camera down close to him and firing blindly.   Y'all have a great Sunday.

Saturday Song

One of my favorites.  Fur Elise, by Beethoven.



Who is Elise?  No one's sure.  They have their suspicions, but they're not sure.

Junk Science

I am reminded that five years ago today, Al Gore told us that the North Pole would be completely ice free.  Of course, we all know that's not the case.

As was the case for October 2013, sea ice extent for November 2013 remained within two standard deviations of the long-term 1981 to 2010 average.

On the other hand, Cairo (Egypt, not Illinois) experienced the first recorded snowfall in over 100 years.  Yeah, the planet seems to be heating up according to Al Gore's schedule.

 One wag on a forum I frequent wondered if Al had been in the Middle East, what with all the cold weather they've been having lately.  It's a lot of fun to talk about the Gore Effect, but that's probably junk science too.

Fire Ant Art

The red imported fire ant is an invasive species that lives in the Southern US, among other places.  Here in Louisiana we face a constant battle with the damned little ants, striving mightily to keep them out of our yards, pastures and woodlands.  You can't completely eradicate them, but you can make them pay the price for setting up their house on your land.

As a bullet caster, I'd sometimes have an alloy that wouldn't act right, had too much trash in it, or for some reason was unsuitable for bullet casting.  When I'd get an alloy I couldn't use, I'd sometimes pour it down a convenient ant hill.  We'd let it cool, then dig it up, wash the dirt out of it, and the kids could see the intricate little tunnels that the ants dug.  The kids learned from the exercise and I eradicated one ant hill.  Win, win.

It seems some guy is doing this with aluminum, which is still cool.



All the usual disclaimers apply.  Don't try this at home, molten metal is hot, your mileage might vary.  Don't pour molten metal into your boots, keep away from children, etc.

Fundamental

Last November, the voters of Louisiana approved an amendment to our state constitution making possession of a firearm a fundamental right, subject to strict scrutiny.  What does that mean?  We're still figuring it out.  Two days ago, though, the Louisiana Supreme Court offered a narrow opinion that sheds some light on the question.  Mr. Justice Clark, writing for the majority, said:

After reviewing the statue under a strict scrutiny analysis, we hold La. R.S. 14:95.1, as applied to a convicted felon still under state supervision, does not unconstitutionally infringe upon the right to bear arms secured by article I, section 11 of the Louisiana Constitution. The district court’s ruling that La. R.S. 14:95.1 is unconstitutional is reversed. The district court's ruling granting the defendant's motion to quash the bill of information is reversed. This matter is remanded to the district court for further proceedings. 

So, it appears that our convicted felon law still applies to persons under state supervision.  Will it apply to those folks who have completed their sentences?  We don't know yet.  That question and others will have to work their way through our court system for clarification. Those questions will make life interesting for the police and prosecutors, but we're up to the challenge.

Let Freedom Ring.

In Other News

In other news, water is wet.  My thanks to JWF, who links to this article, where Kathleen Sebelius tells us that she wants an investigation into the botched ACA (ObamaCare) rollout.

Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius said in a blog post early Wednesday that she is asking the department's inspector general to investigate the contracting process, management, performance and payment issues that may have contributed to the flawed launch of HealthCare.gov.

Really, Kathleen?  You need an investigation?  I can tell you what contributed to the flawed launch.  Management.  You screwed up.  You screwed the pooch on the rollout in an unbelievably incompetent manner.  You had three years to get this right, and you botched it.  You, dear heart.  The singular you.  You yourself were responsible and it's a rolling disaster that some wags have dubbed The Fail Fractal.

The very first lesson of management I ever learned, Kathleen, is that an organization will do what the boss checks.  Evidently, you didn't check.  You didn't manage, you didn't cajole, problem-solve, or lead.  Worst, you let your boss find out about it through the news cycle.  You screwed up, Kathleen.  You.

You deserve to be cashiered, Kathleen, and probably tried for malfeasance.  The only saving grace (for you, not the rest of us) is that your boss failed, too.  It's like a huge onion of fail, with more fail as you peel layers.  So, here's what happened, Kathleen.

The President failed to properly supervise you.
You failed to properly supervise the managers under you.
Those managers failed to properly lead their units.
Those units failed the American people.

There's no need for an investigation.  This is a management failure, purely and simply.

Bad-Teries

It's easy to tell a cold snap, because vehicle batteries die.  A month ago, my daughter called me and told me that her car wouldn't start.  She was in the Wal-Mart parking lot, so I grabbed some tools and went to her assistance.  Sure enough, a quick look at the battery revealed it was five years old, so I put a battery in her car.  Easy-peasy.

Two weeks ago, I tried to start my work car without success.  Lifted the hood, saw that the battery was six years old, so I went to the parts house and bought a battery.  Such is my karma.

An hour ago, Milady called me.  She's stuck at work, the Explorer won't start.  She purchased that vehicle brand-spanking new in the autumn of 2009.  That battery is four years old, and Ford probably didn't put a five-year battery in that vehicle.  Guess what I'm doing this afternoon?  You guessed it.

Neutered Cat

The little cat that adopted us went to the vet's today for neutering.  It's one thing to be adopted by a cat, it's something else entirely to find a litter of kittens living under your deck.  My daughter-in-law works at the vet office and got us a deal on a neutering job, and I'm very grateful for that.  The cat's a little groggy, so we'll leave it in the carrier until Milady gets home in another hour.

The cat is in no particular distress, but I bet that it is no mood to play, and Beau is worried sick about his cat.

They've become fast friends, and Beau can't figure out why that cat won't come out and play.  He's going to worry himself (and pester me) until Milady gets home to release the cat.

Sunday Song

Chloe Agnew, of Celtic Woman.

Sunday Morning Dawg

It's been a crazy week, with house guests both human and pet.  It's been fun, but crazy, and the dog has had plenty of playmates.  This morning he looked at me as if to ask what's happening next?

I don't know, pup, we'll just have to see.  As long as we're keeping family sheltered and safe, we're doing good.  Things should get back to normal really soon.  Whatever normal is.  That's subject to change at any time.

Knife Rights

Knives and the Second Amendment.  By David B Kopel, Clayton Cramer, and Joseph Edward Olson.  It's .pdf file, but it's worth the read.

Remember

Today is the 72nd anniversary of the day that the United States found itself finally, irrevocably, embroiled in Word War II.   When the naval forces of Japan launched the attack on Pearl Harbor.  Today was a defining day for my father's generation, just as the Kennedy assassination was a defining day for mine, and the September 11th attacks were a defining day that my children will always remember.

Today is a day that will live in infamy.

Cold Day

It's been cold today.  Rainy, drizzly, a clammy cold that sinks into your bones.  The weather snapshot doesn't tell the whole picture, because it doesn't show how miserable this type weather makes us in subtropical Louisiana.

Normally in December, it's not this cold.  Many times on Christmas Day I've worn a simple long-sleeved shirt and slacks.  Tonight we're cold and the temps will get under freezing, odd for this early in the winter.  I'm glad that we didn't get the ice that was predicted earlier this week.  Louisiana doesn't do well in an ice storm.

Two Sleeps

Instapundit leads me to an article on the history of sleep, where for much of our recorded existence, we've slept twice a night.  Generally two or three hours, then wakened, then gone back to sleep until morning.

His research found that we didn’t always sleep in one eight hour chunk. We used to sleep in two shorter periods, over a longer range of night. This range was about 12 hours long, and began with a sleep of three to four hours, wakefulness of two to three hours, then sleep again until morning.

Cool!  I do that sometimes, going to bed early, then waking for an hour or so, then falling back to sleep to await the morning alarm.  Milady and I do this frequently enough that we call it "vampire-ing".  As in "I vampired for a couple of hours last night.

As I understand the article, sleeping eight full hours is a fairly recent invention, since the time that electric lights were invented.  It seems that our forefathers thought that sleeping twice per night was perfectly common.

Cool!

The Mule

As far as I can recall, I've had the Mule about seven years.  The choke cable has become quite stuck, which is problematic when you're trying to start it on a cold morning.  Also, the designers at the Kawasaki plant tried to make it easy to use the choke cable, but they routed it so that it's a huge pain to replace.  So, I started casting about for a quick fix.

On looking at the engine, I realized that the choke lever and cable points directly to a body panel.  A quick disassembly of the choke cable, a quick hole punched in that body panel, and a short section of mild steel rod, and I can pull the choke from the driver's seat.  After the engine is started simply releasing the loop in the  rod releases the choke, since it is spring operated.  Easy, peasy, about a half-hour job, including figuring out just exactly how I wanted to route the rod.  It may not be beautiful, but it's certainly simple and workable.


Here's a picture.  Sorry about the focus, it's getting darker, earlier.

It ain't pretty, but it's darned sure workable.  When I grab that little ring and pull, the choke opens.  When I release it, the choke closes.  Now, maybe I can start it when it gets cold.  Until I can find a choke cable.

Sleet?

The weather weenies over at Weather Underground are calling for ice pellets (sleet?) for Friday night/Saturday morning.  Really.

Of course, this is right at the bitter edge of their forecasting powers.  Friday night is 72 hours out, and I've never seen a weather man that could predict what is going to happen in three days with any degree of certainty.  Still, a "wintry mix" storm would be quite early for these latitudes.  I can't ever recall icy precipitation in Central Louisiana in December.

We'll see.

Abolish the TSA

Professor Glenn Reynolds, of Instapundit fame, has an article at USA Today, where he makes the case for defunding the TSA.

The 9/11 attacks worked because they caught people -- used to theatrical hijackings that didn't kill anyone -- by surprise. Once Americans figured out this new game, which took, as Todd notes, only 109 minutes, they put an end to it by themselves. The creation of the TSA didn't do any good, and it costs a lot of money, and it does a lot of harm. Put an end to it.

Oh top of Reynolds excellent reasons, the TSA has become an overgrown parasite, existing in the public eye solely as a hindrance and a bother.  Regular readers here have long known of my contempt for the organization and their abuses.  For newer readers, I'll link to my own post from November 2010.

I'm renewing my objection to the TSA in general and calling on my Congressman and Senators to defund the TSA. Completely defund it.

I agree with Professor Reynolds that the TSA should go away.  Either defund or abolish, but it should become a tarnished memory of government over-reach.

Speed, huh?

Drudge is all over some guy named Paul Walker who was killed in an auto crash yesterday. I've never heard of the guy, but evidently he was a pop culture guy in a movie called "Fast and Furious".

Investigators have been unable to find evidence of a second car in the accident that killed popular "Fast & Furious" actor Paul Walker on Saturday, a Los Angeles County Sheriff's spokesman said Monday.

I'm not a traffic accident investigator, and I certainly haven't been on the scene, but I can pretty much tell you what caused this crash.

 Speed was a factor in the crash, the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Office said. A 45 mph speed limit sign was attached to the light pole knocked down by the Porsche.

Really?  Speed was a factor?  I bet if the car had been standing still, it wouldn't have been involved in the accident.

Again, I'm not a TAI, but I bet that there are very few calls involving parked cars and light poles.  Of course speed was a factor in the accident.  Speed was a factor to the point where the car was in flames when the cops got there.

Speed was a factor?  Really?  Imagine that.

Busy.

Life intrudes on blogging, sometimes.  I'm not neglecting y'all, I'm just taking care of family.  It's good, it's just busy.  Really, though, if I'm going to be busy, now's the time for this to happen.  The job is very calm and stable, so it's not like I'm juggling multiple requirements.  We're getting ready for Christmas with all the dynamics of the season, For the past several weeks, just about every time I think things are going to settle into a routine, something changes and I'm back at square one.  It's interesting.  I can't wait to see what's going to happen next.

Sunday Song

In my mind, I'm always going home.

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog and cat continue to play on the back patio, enjoying a sunny spot that warms the November air.

The cat is bad about taking it vertical, climbing where the dog can't go.

If you ask the dog where the cat went, he's liable to look at you as if to say "I'm not sure.  She was here just a minute ago."