I see where Florida botched an execution. Florida and California have suspended executions till the procedure can be fine-tuned. That's all well and good.
Folks have been botching executions for as long as there have been people. Botched hangings led to the electric chair, or the gas chamber. The problems with those devices led to lethal injection.
Some take issue with the death penalty and that debate has gone on for years. It will continue to go on.
Captain Ed takes issue with the death penalty, and names three prisoners who were exonerated through the use of DNA evidence. He uses that as an argument against the death penalty and goes forward to offer life without parole as an alternative. Life imprisonment is a poor alternative, without closure for the victim.
While it is true that we didn't have DNA evidence when a lot of the current prisoners on death row were convicted, we have it now and it has helped to clear people who were wrongly convicted. Everyone in the criminal justice system is happy when an innocent man goes free. We don't want to see anyone in jail who doesn't deserve to be there, but one part of sentencing is to provide closure for the victims. Therein lies the problem with a life sentence.
Often, it isn't.
Victims families are told that a prisoner who murdered a loved one will be held until they die. This promise is often a lie, best illustrated by the case of Wilbert Rideau. Tried three times for murdering Julia Ferguson in 1961, the facts of the case are not in doubt. Rideau robbed a bank and kidnapped three persons. Before the crime was completed, he had shot one and knifed one. Julia Ferguson was his knifing victim. His case was fraught with legal problems, but the facts have never seriously been disputed. He was sentenced to die, but kept winning retrials until in 2005 he was again retried, convicted of manslaughter and released.
The fact that there were problems with the makeup of the juries used to convict him did not change the facts of the case. Rideau murdered a woman who didn't deserve to die. He cold-bloodly stabbed her to hide his identity. After each trial, the family of Julia Ferguson was told that Rideau would never be a free man, that he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.
That was a damned lie. The case of Wilbert Rideau is a blot on the record of criminal justice in Louisiana, both because of the methods used to convict him and the fact that the system couldn't keep this cold blooded murderer locked up.
Wilbert Rideau is the reason that a life sentence will never provide closure for the victims, nor for society.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Then there was Ney
All good cops cultivate whatever sources of information are useful. The people who live and work on the streets are excellent sources of information, not to mention a certain source of entertainment. Back in the late '80s I was working in a parish near Toledo Bend and there were a great number of landings and marinas whose population swelled during the weekends. What was probably the last whorehouse in North Louisiana flourished there during that time, under the guise of a bar and motel near a marina. Lots of fishermen came in during the weekend, away from spouses and girlfriends and that part of Louisiana took on a wide-open attitude. Vice was everywhere, bubbling just below the surface.
One source that I cultivated was a black street prostitute called Ney-Ney. Ney-Ney was supporting herself by giving oral sex at rock-bottom prices and she was willing to negotiate on her rock bottom prices for groups. She was a good source of information about people coming and going (no pun intended). She and I came to an uneasy truce: If I didn't see her actually plying her trade, I'd leave her alone and she'd pass along information that I normally didn't have access to. Occasionally I'd slip her a twenty so she could go home early.
One day I saw her limping up the road on crutches with a cast on her leg and I asked her about it.
"Well, hell, white boy. I was partying with a bunch of rednecks last weekend and when we was through, they put me out of the truck."
"You broke your leg getting out of the truck?"
"Naw, Damn! We was a bunch of us in the back of the truck and when they was through, they threw me out of the truck. It was going about 40 miles per hour. Mister Brandon (a local constable) picked me up and brought me to the hospital. If them white boys come back, Mr. Brandon is going to take them to jail." Ney-Ney hobbled up the street toward a local hangout.
Three or four days later I got a call from Dispatch of a report of a white gentleman in a red GMC pickup having a heart attack. I rolled on it from the north, and another cop rolled on it from the south. We arrived at the vehicle almost simultaneously. A white-haired fellow was in the front seat. His head was back and he was twitching. I called for an ambulance and got out of the cruiser then noticed a cast containing a foot sticking out of the passenger window.
"Ney-Ney," I hollered. "Get off him!"
Ney sat up, a surprised look on her face. I told her to get in my cruiser and wait for me there. I cancelled the ambulance and went to talk to the fellow.
He zipped himself up. "I paid her $50.00 and I didn't get my money's worth."
"And you're not going to, this afternoon anyway. Do we need to take you to jail and call your wife to get your truck, or are we going to call this a lesson?
"We'll call it a lessson."
"Yeah, an expensive one," I continued. "She'd have done it for five."
I dropped Ney off at her apartment and told her to stay off the highway during broad daylight.
One source that I cultivated was a black street prostitute called Ney-Ney. Ney-Ney was supporting herself by giving oral sex at rock-bottom prices and she was willing to negotiate on her rock bottom prices for groups. She was a good source of information about people coming and going (no pun intended). She and I came to an uneasy truce: If I didn't see her actually plying her trade, I'd leave her alone and she'd pass along information that I normally didn't have access to. Occasionally I'd slip her a twenty so she could go home early.
One day I saw her limping up the road on crutches with a cast on her leg and I asked her about it.
"Well, hell, white boy. I was partying with a bunch of rednecks last weekend and when we was through, they put me out of the truck."
"You broke your leg getting out of the truck?"
"Naw, Damn! We was a bunch of us in the back of the truck and when they was through, they threw me out of the truck. It was going about 40 miles per hour. Mister Brandon (a local constable) picked me up and brought me to the hospital. If them white boys come back, Mr. Brandon is going to take them to jail." Ney-Ney hobbled up the street toward a local hangout.
Three or four days later I got a call from Dispatch of a report of a white gentleman in a red GMC pickup having a heart attack. I rolled on it from the north, and another cop rolled on it from the south. We arrived at the vehicle almost simultaneously. A white-haired fellow was in the front seat. His head was back and he was twitching. I called for an ambulance and got out of the cruiser then noticed a cast containing a foot sticking out of the passenger window.
"Ney-Ney," I hollered. "Get off him!"
Ney sat up, a surprised look on her face. I told her to get in my cruiser and wait for me there. I cancelled the ambulance and went to talk to the fellow.
He zipped himself up. "I paid her $50.00 and I didn't get my money's worth."
"And you're not going to, this afternoon anyway. Do we need to take you to jail and call your wife to get your truck, or are we going to call this a lesson?
"We'll call it a lessson."
"Yeah, an expensive one," I continued. "She'd have done it for five."
I dropped Ney off at her apartment and told her to stay off the highway during broad daylight.
Comments
Thanks, guys, for all your input on the two posts below. On reflection, the pepper spray story was about cruelty, and the cops actions were inappropriate, and probably illegal.
It is a cold cruel world out there.
A lot of writing is about getting a response from the reader. If I can't get a response, then the writing isn't up to par. In standard print media, we get a response through sales of magazines, books, or newspapers. In this media we get a response through comments.
Some have asked why I blog, and writing is part of it. This is a medium that is fairly new in our history and a lot of us are still trying to figure out how to use it. I blog for a variety of reasons. One of them is to get some of these stories down on paper. Published writers have said that I should write a book about police work over the past thirty years, incorporating these stories and others. I don't know if I'll ever do that, or if I'll incorporate those stories in some other media form. The important thing is to get them down on paper.
Police work, like most other trades, has changed dramatically over the past thirty years. Some for the better, some for the worst, history will decide what we've done right and what we've done wrong. Fortunately, we're still fine-tuning our craft and I hope we reflect what American society is.
One thing that I tell students is that whatever laws we enforce, we don't get to make the laws. Cops don't write the rules. The rules are made in the legislatures and the city councils. We try to apply them to a real-world scenario. If you don't like the rules, don't blame it on the cops. Get involved, hammer your city councilman. Write letters to your Congressman. Go to the local office of your guy or gal in the statehouse and let them know, in no uncertain terms what you are thinking.
If you don't like a law, work to change it. Don't expect us to ignore it just because it is unfair, or it is poorly written, or you really don't see any harm.
That's what being a citizen is all about.
It is a cold cruel world out there.
A lot of writing is about getting a response from the reader. If I can't get a response, then the writing isn't up to par. In standard print media, we get a response through sales of magazines, books, or newspapers. In this media we get a response through comments.
Some have asked why I blog, and writing is part of it. This is a medium that is fairly new in our history and a lot of us are still trying to figure out how to use it. I blog for a variety of reasons. One of them is to get some of these stories down on paper. Published writers have said that I should write a book about police work over the past thirty years, incorporating these stories and others. I don't know if I'll ever do that, or if I'll incorporate those stories in some other media form. The important thing is to get them down on paper.
Police work, like most other trades, has changed dramatically over the past thirty years. Some for the better, some for the worst, history will decide what we've done right and what we've done wrong. Fortunately, we're still fine-tuning our craft and I hope we reflect what American society is.
One thing that I tell students is that whatever laws we enforce, we don't get to make the laws. Cops don't write the rules. The rules are made in the legislatures and the city councils. We try to apply them to a real-world scenario. If you don't like the rules, don't blame it on the cops. Get involved, hammer your city councilman. Write letters to your Congressman. Go to the local office of your guy or gal in the statehouse and let them know, in no uncertain terms what you are thinking.
If you don't like a law, work to change it. Don't expect us to ignore it just because it is unfair, or it is poorly written, or you really don't see any harm.
That's what being a citizen is all about.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Oooh! Outrage!
Evidently, the commenters are unhappy with cop humor. Tough.
We don't see the best in society. No one calls us when things are going well. We get to see the wrinkled underbelly of our culture and most of it isn't pretty.
I've laughed over corpses, because my mind didn't want to deal with what was laying at my feet. Sick? Twisted? Yeah, maybe so. Get over it. I had to.
You want entertaining cop stories. You don't want to hear about 4 year old rape victims, or children burned in ovens.
You don't want to hear stories about hating to come to work on Friday night because of one woman who at 8:00 calls in a domestic disturbance. You go arrest hubby and she drops the charges on Saturday. Next Friday we're back to domestic disturbance because she can't handle him after he's had a few drinks. This goes on for months, yet she drops the charges every time. And expects us to come running whenever she calls.
Only one Friday night she doesn't call and the shift progresses normally. Until Saturday, when someone calls it in, and we get there and he's strangled her with the phone cord. Because, basically, he was tired of going to jail every Friday night.
Then there was the young adult guy who was sniffing gasoline while he smoked marijuana. One Sunday morning he gets the sequence wrong and burns the house down while his parents are at church. The punch line? They didn't even know he was in town that weekend, or they wouldn't have left the house alone. They didn't trust him to be at their house alone, yet when they drove up from church to find their home smouldering, they suspected he had done it.
Ya'll probably don't want to hear stories like that, either.
We don't see the best in society. No one calls us when things are going well. We get to see the wrinkled underbelly of our culture and most of it isn't pretty.
I've laughed over corpses, because my mind didn't want to deal with what was laying at my feet. Sick? Twisted? Yeah, maybe so. Get over it. I had to.
You want entertaining cop stories. You don't want to hear about 4 year old rape victims, or children burned in ovens.
You don't want to hear stories about hating to come to work on Friday night because of one woman who at 8:00 calls in a domestic disturbance. You go arrest hubby and she drops the charges on Saturday. Next Friday we're back to domestic disturbance because she can't handle him after he's had a few drinks. This goes on for months, yet she drops the charges every time. And expects us to come running whenever she calls.
Only one Friday night she doesn't call and the shift progresses normally. Until Saturday, when someone calls it in, and we get there and he's strangled her with the phone cord. Because, basically, he was tired of going to jail every Friday night.
Then there was the young adult guy who was sniffing gasoline while he smoked marijuana. One Sunday morning he gets the sequence wrong and burns the house down while his parents are at church. The punch line? They didn't even know he was in town that weekend, or they wouldn't have left the house alone. They didn't trust him to be at their house alone, yet when they drove up from church to find their home smouldering, they suspected he had done it.
Ya'll probably don't want to hear stories like that, either.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Wednesday all ready?
Yeah, it looks like Wednesday, although the days are starting to run together. Of course, it's about 8:00 p.m. and I'm still at work.
Still, tomorrow starts the Christmas season for me. Tomorrow night we go to Milady's office party which is going to be held a some restaurant. I intend to be polite and not drink. I'll get Milady home safely.
Friday night is my office party. I intend to eat copiously, drink responsibly, dance, tell lies, and listen to bullshit. When you put a couple of hundred cops in the same room, with wives and whiskey, there isn't any telling what you're liable to hear.
Here's one from last year. An old-time cop who spent a lot of time in a small sheriff's office was talking about the early '80's. They had just been issued pepper spray (OC) for the first time.
"I was patrolling up north in the parish when the sheriff came on the radio, said he had just passed a hitchhiker on the Scenic Highway, and someone get up there and get that bum out of the parish, so I rolled that way. Sure enough, about five miles from the parish line, there was this guy hitchhiking, thumb out for the world, and he was headed north, so I pulled over and told him I'd give him a lift to the parish line.
"He got in the cruiser and we hadn't gone a more'n a mile before I realized the guy was gamy. Real gamy. Smelled like he hadn't showered in a week. I knew I was going to have to drive around for an hour or so to get the funk outta my car, and it was July and hot outside. I told the fella he needed some deodorant. When we got to the parish line, I handed him my canister of OC, told him it was a new deodorant my wife had bought. He got out of the car and unbuttoned his shirt and sprayed each pit. He dropped my spray on the passenger seat and I turned my car around to head back.
"When I looked in the rearview mirror at him, he was flapping his arms like he was trying to fly north toward Shreveport. I don't suppose he ever got off the ground, though, because he wasn't running quite quick enough."
Still, tomorrow starts the Christmas season for me. Tomorrow night we go to Milady's office party which is going to be held a some restaurant. I intend to be polite and not drink. I'll get Milady home safely.
Friday night is my office party. I intend to eat copiously, drink responsibly, dance, tell lies, and listen to bullshit. When you put a couple of hundred cops in the same room, with wives and whiskey, there isn't any telling what you're liable to hear.
Here's one from last year. An old-time cop who spent a lot of time in a small sheriff's office was talking about the early '80's. They had just been issued pepper spray (OC) for the first time.
"I was patrolling up north in the parish when the sheriff came on the radio, said he had just passed a hitchhiker on the Scenic Highway, and someone get up there and get that bum out of the parish, so I rolled that way. Sure enough, about five miles from the parish line, there was this guy hitchhiking, thumb out for the world, and he was headed north, so I pulled over and told him I'd give him a lift to the parish line.
"He got in the cruiser and we hadn't gone a more'n a mile before I realized the guy was gamy. Real gamy. Smelled like he hadn't showered in a week. I knew I was going to have to drive around for an hour or so to get the funk outta my car, and it was July and hot outside. I told the fella he needed some deodorant. When we got to the parish line, I handed him my canister of OC, told him it was a new deodorant my wife had bought. He got out of the car and unbuttoned his shirt and sprayed each pit. He dropped my spray on the passenger seat and I turned my car around to head back.
"When I looked in the rearview mirror at him, he was flapping his arms like he was trying to fly north toward Shreveport. I don't suppose he ever got off the ground, though, because he wasn't running quite quick enough."
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Blowin' Leaves
There is this parking lot where I work. It's not a large parking lot, holding about 90 vehicles, but it is beautiful, dominated by five large live oak trees.
Live oaks shed leaves constantly. They drop their acorns in the fall. Our yardman normally keeps the lot cleaned, but he's been out sick, and we hired a temp. The temp needs great doses of adult superivision, and no one thought to tell him about the parking lot and blowing the leaves. Until today. Somebody mentioned it today.
It rained last night and the leaves are wet. Cars have been running over acorns and the nuts are ground into the consistency of cornmeal. Wet cornmeal. And the yard guy is out there blowing wet cornmeal and wet leaves with a big Stihl leaf blower.
It's the damndest mess you ever saw.
Live oaks shed leaves constantly. They drop their acorns in the fall. Our yardman normally keeps the lot cleaned, but he's been out sick, and we hired a temp. The temp needs great doses of adult superivision, and no one thought to tell him about the parking lot and blowing the leaves. Until today. Somebody mentioned it today.
It rained last night and the leaves are wet. Cars have been running over acorns and the nuts are ground into the consistency of cornmeal. Wet cornmeal. And the yard guy is out there blowing wet cornmeal and wet leaves with a big Stihl leaf blower.
It's the damndest mess you ever saw.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Blanco wants exit plan
Governor Blanco wants an exit plan for withdrawing military and police forces and returning them home to their families.
Not from Iraq, but from New Orleans.
Yeah, it's time to get the Guardsmen home. They've served long enough in a place without an exit strategy, in a hostile environment, with unclear rules of engagement, and with no real civil government.
I'm beyond words.
Not from Iraq, but from New Orleans.
BATON ROUGE -- Gov. Kathleen Blanco said Saturday that she will order State Police and National Guard troops to remain in New Orleans past the end of the year, but stopped short of making a long-term commitment to backing up the storm-damaged city's strained police force.**snicker**
Yeah, it's time to get the Guardsmen home. They've served long enough in a place without an exit strategy, in a hostile environment, with unclear rules of engagement, and with no real civil government.
Blanco said. "We can't do it indefinitely. If we tried to do this indefinitely, it would cost us an arm and a leg."Oh, the cost!
I'm beyond words.
Sunday church
I go to a small country church where everyone knows everyone else. It's like a large extended family with lots of aunts and uncles. You cannot be anonymous at my church because the congregation will simply NOT allow it.
My wife and my mother share the same first name. I've never called either by their name in this venue, simply because I don't use names of private persons here.
Anyway. Dad is going through a hard time medically and I got to church this morning and didn't see his car. I knew the congregation would want an update, and I've been working 15 hours days this week, and I haven't kept track of my parents, so I called Pop on the cell phone to check on him. He's feeling better, just puny, and was staying home this morning. My wife, being a night nurse, and me being a daytime cop, I haven't seen my lady for three days. She's normally asleep beside me when I get up in the morning, but we haven't spoken three words since Thursday afternoon.
So, we get to the part of the service where we share joys and concerns. The pastor look right at me and asks "So, How's Miss **** doing? Remember, my mother and wife have the same Chrisian name, and I panic. I think they're asking about my mother, and I'm not even aware that anything is wrong. So, I stand, and smile sheepishly. "I don't know... I talked to Pop this morning and he didn't say anything. I guess I need to check on that." Then I sit down.
The pastor looks at me like a lost puppy. And says words to the effect of "No, dummy, your wife."
So I stand, and say the only thing I can say. "I guess she's okay. I haven't seen her in three days." Then I sit back down. It wasn't one of my finest moments.
My wife and my mother share the same first name. I've never called either by their name in this venue, simply because I don't use names of private persons here.
Anyway. Dad is going through a hard time medically and I got to church this morning and didn't see his car. I knew the congregation would want an update, and I've been working 15 hours days this week, and I haven't kept track of my parents, so I called Pop on the cell phone to check on him. He's feeling better, just puny, and was staying home this morning. My wife, being a night nurse, and me being a daytime cop, I haven't seen my lady for three days. She's normally asleep beside me when I get up in the morning, but we haven't spoken three words since Thursday afternoon.
So, we get to the part of the service where we share joys and concerns. The pastor look right at me and asks "So, How's Miss **** doing? Remember, my mother and wife have the same Chrisian name, and I panic. I think they're asking about my mother, and I'm not even aware that anything is wrong. So, I stand, and smile sheepishly. "I don't know... I talked to Pop this morning and he didn't say anything. I guess I need to check on that." Then I sit down.
The pastor looks at me like a lost puppy. And says words to the effect of "No, dummy, your wife."
So I stand, and say the only thing I can say. "I guess she's okay. I haven't seen her in three days." Then I sit back down. It wasn't one of my finest moments.
NOLA Death Watch
I'm watching the results come in on the Carter-Jefferson race in New Orleans.
Jefferson took his precincts in Jefferson Parish, 11,934 votes to Carter's 4967 votes, with all precincts reporting.
New Orleans parish is still coming in. At 10:34 p.m. local, we see that Carter has 5,093 votes to Jefferson's 4,780. This with 106 of 392 precincts reporting.
I can't believe that Jefferson carried Jefferson parish, with over 66 percent of the vote. What are those people thinking? In NOLA parish, the vote could still swing either way. You can watch the results here.
This is just too bizarre for words. It's like watching a friend go slowly insane.
UPDATE: At 11:30 p.m. with 194 of 392 precincts reporting, it is Carter 9863 and Jefferson 9650 in New Orleans parish. Jefferson still has that 7000 vote lead that Jefferson Parish gave him. This is like watching a train wreck.
UPDATE: Sunday morning, the bloggers are all over this one. Here, and here, and here. The Oyster weighs in here.
New Orleans just shot itself in the foot. With a shotgun. Some are wondering what Speaker Pelosi's take on the matter will be, and whether the crook will get a committee seat commensuate with his seniority. I predict he will. The people have spoken, after all, that they prefer a crook representing them in Congress. The Congressional Black Caucus (a racist organization) will support him. Jefferson is the poster boy for the Culture of Corruption that the Democrats railed about prior to the election.
Jefferson took his precincts in Jefferson Parish, 11,934 votes to Carter's 4967 votes, with all precincts reporting.
New Orleans parish is still coming in. At 10:34 p.m. local, we see that Carter has 5,093 votes to Jefferson's 4,780. This with 106 of 392 precincts reporting.
I can't believe that Jefferson carried Jefferson parish, with over 66 percent of the vote. What are those people thinking? In NOLA parish, the vote could still swing either way. You can watch the results here.
This is just too bizarre for words. It's like watching a friend go slowly insane.
UPDATE: At 11:30 p.m. with 194 of 392 precincts reporting, it is Carter 9863 and Jefferson 9650 in New Orleans parish. Jefferson still has that 7000 vote lead that Jefferson Parish gave him. This is like watching a train wreck.
UPDATE: Sunday morning, the bloggers are all over this one. Here, and here, and here. The Oyster weighs in here.
New Orleans just shot itself in the foot. With a shotgun. Some are wondering what Speaker Pelosi's take on the matter will be, and whether the crook will get a committee seat commensuate with his seniority. I predict he will. The people have spoken, after all, that they prefer a crook representing them in Congress. The Congressional Black Caucus (a racist organization) will support him. Jefferson is the poster boy for the Culture of Corruption that the Democrats railed about prior to the election.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
18 degrees?
Milady's thermometer registered 18 degrees as she was leaving work this morning.
Accuweather has Alexandria/Pineville LA at 20 degrees as I type this. Accuweather tells me also that warmer weather is on the way. I know how to deal with warm weather.
In short, it's colder than a whatchacallit out there. I'm glad I'm inside. This is Louisiana, folks, and it doesn't get that cold down here except once every ten or twelve years. We're a sub-tropical climate, or we were until Thursday, when it got truly cold.
PawPaw remembers some truly cold weather. He has pictures of kids slipping and sliding on a frozen pond.
My neices from Vermont tell me I don't know squat about cold weather, and I admit my ignorance.
Working last night at a detail, some citizen mentioned that it was cold and I replied that yeah, it was chilly, but the mosquitos had been hammered back. So, there's that, anyway. The mosquitos shouldn't be too bad today.
Accuweather has Alexandria/Pineville LA at 20 degrees as I type this. Accuweather tells me also that warmer weather is on the way. I know how to deal with warm weather.
In short, it's colder than a whatchacallit out there. I'm glad I'm inside. This is Louisiana, folks, and it doesn't get that cold down here except once every ten or twelve years. We're a sub-tropical climate, or we were until Thursday, when it got truly cold.
PawPaw remembers some truly cold weather. He has pictures of kids slipping and sliding on a frozen pond.
My neices from Vermont tell me I don't know squat about cold weather, and I admit my ignorance.
Working last night at a detail, some citizen mentioned that it was cold and I replied that yeah, it was chilly, but the mosquitos had been hammered back. So, there's that, anyway. The mosquitos shouldn't be too bad today.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Savage 110 - .30-06
Mounting a scope is frustrating sometimes because a lot of it is a "try and see" procedure. Manufacturers make rifles in all shapes and sizes and scope builders make scopes in all shapes and sizes. The key is to throw the rifle to your shoulder in firing position and have the reticle come sharply into focus. That is easier said than done.
Then there is the esthetics of the mount itself. When you mount the scope, you want it to look right. Until yesterday, I wasn't happy with the way my scope was mounted to the Savage. Back 40 years ago, or longer, the scope mounting companies settled on one of two systems. The Weaver system (which is a takeoff from the 1917 Picatinny system) and the Redfield system, which uses dovetail joints to attach the scope to the rifle.
I've always preferred the Redfield system. So, when I was mounting my scope to the rifle, I tried to get Redfield mounts that fit the rifle and scope. The only problem is that the Redfield system doesn't lend itself to adjustment. It locks up rock solid. With a standard front mount and standard rings, the front of the scope was too far forward, which meant that the rear of the scope was too far forward and eye relief suffered. In short, I couldn't see through the scope. That wouldn't work.
My next step was to send call Brownells and see what the techs had to offer. They recommended extended rings, which I ordered. When I installed those extended rings, the eye relief was almost right, but I had to crane my neck slightly forward for proper viewing. I sighted the rifle with that system, but after a number of range sessions and a couple of hunts, I wasn't happy with the scope mount.
So, I started looking for extended bases. The base mounts to the rifle, the rings mount to the base, the scope sits in the rings. After a great deal of searching the Brownell's catalog, I clicked on my old standby, Midway USA, and found a set of Burris extended bases. I mounted them yesterday after work, and set the extended rings in those bases. Voila. Everthing came together.
So, this morning, I can throw the rifle to my shoulder in street clothes and the reticle comes immediately to my eye. With a hunting coat on, it is still almost right. With the rifle snugged in tight on a bench, I don't have to crane my neck forward to see through the scope. And it's only cost me, what? Two sets of bases and two sets of rings? The scope itself is a Weaver K6, a classic fixed power scope. I will probably never take it off that rifle.
Then there is the esthetics of the mount itself. When you mount the scope, you want it to look right. Until yesterday, I wasn't happy with the way my scope was mounted to the Savage. Back 40 years ago, or longer, the scope mounting companies settled on one of two systems. The Weaver system (which is a takeoff from the 1917 Picatinny system) and the Redfield system, which uses dovetail joints to attach the scope to the rifle.
I've always preferred the Redfield system. So, when I was mounting my scope to the rifle, I tried to get Redfield mounts that fit the rifle and scope. The only problem is that the Redfield system doesn't lend itself to adjustment. It locks up rock solid. With a standard front mount and standard rings, the front of the scope was too far forward, which meant that the rear of the scope was too far forward and eye relief suffered. In short, I couldn't see through the scope. That wouldn't work.
My next step was to send call Brownells and see what the techs had to offer. They recommended extended rings, which I ordered. When I installed those extended rings, the eye relief was almost right, but I had to crane my neck slightly forward for proper viewing. I sighted the rifle with that system, but after a number of range sessions and a couple of hunts, I wasn't happy with the scope mount.
So, I started looking for extended bases. The base mounts to the rifle, the rings mount to the base, the scope sits in the rings. After a great deal of searching the Brownell's catalog, I clicked on my old standby, Midway USA, and found a set of Burris extended bases. I mounted them yesterday after work, and set the extended rings in those bases. Voila. Everthing came together.
So, this morning, I can throw the rifle to my shoulder in street clothes and the reticle comes immediately to my eye. With a hunting coat on, it is still almost right. With the rifle snugged in tight on a bench, I don't have to crane my neck forward to see through the scope. And it's only cost me, what? Two sets of bases and two sets of rings? The scope itself is a Weaver K6, a classic fixed power scope. I will probably never take it off that rifle.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Thursday afternoon speed typing.
I've been busier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest, and it doesn't show any signs of slacking up.
I'm scheduled to work some extra duty in about an hour, and working all weekend, so blogging will be light until Sunday after church. Unless I decide to go to the deer woods, or the range, which is sounding like a wonderful idea.
This afternoon's event is unscheduled, which means someone screwed up and didn't tell administration or the deputy that an event was scheduled. I've double-checked and it is not on the schedule I was given a month ago. I had originally scheduled LIFE for this afternoon, that little activity I so enjoy when I'm not working. However, I now have to put LIFE on hold while I do my duty.
I will do my duty.
The question that organizers of events have to consider is just exactly what type of deputy they want working an event. Do they want a deputy who is happy, contented, working a schedule, or do they want a deputy who is just about three-quarters pissed off because the coach can't get his head out of his butt and make a schedule he is willing to live with? That is a very important question, especially when I have vast assets at my control that can be brought to bear, and a virtually unused ticket book.
I'm scheduled to work some extra duty in about an hour, and working all weekend, so blogging will be light until Sunday after church. Unless I decide to go to the deer woods, or the range, which is sounding like a wonderful idea.
This afternoon's event is unscheduled, which means someone screwed up and didn't tell administration or the deputy that an event was scheduled. I've double-checked and it is not on the schedule I was given a month ago. I had originally scheduled LIFE for this afternoon, that little activity I so enjoy when I'm not working. However, I now have to put LIFE on hold while I do my duty.
I will do my duty.
The question that organizers of events have to consider is just exactly what type of deputy they want working an event. Do they want a deputy who is happy, contented, working a schedule, or do they want a deputy who is just about three-quarters pissed off because the coach can't get his head out of his butt and make a schedule he is willing to live with? That is a very important question, especially when I have vast assets at my control that can be brought to bear, and a virtually unused ticket book.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Congress to work 4 days a week.
Yeah, they've got to be in town on Monday evening, and they get off on Friday afternoon.
Which, I have to admit, is a more stringent work schedule than the Republicans kept.
It seems that Stenny Hoyer is making a schedule and trying to get some work accomplished. I applaud him, yet some are whining.
Kingston continues the stupidity:
Then, the House Minority Leader chimes in:
Now, Representative Boehner, get your head out of your butt, and get to work.
Hat tip to No Quarters.
Which, I have to admit, is a more stringent work schedule than the Republicans kept.
It seems that Stenny Hoyer is making a schedule and trying to get some work accomplished. I applaud him, yet some are whining.
"Keeping us up here eats away at families," said Rep. Jack Kingston (R-Ga.), who typically flies home on Thursdays and returns to Washington on Tuesdays. "Marriages suffer. The Democrats could care less about families -- that's what this says."Hey, you dumb SOB! No one assigned you the job. You asked for it. Campaigned for it. Maybe, JUST MAYBE, if you and the rest of the Republican Congress hadn't pissed away the opportunity to lead, you would still be having a three-day workweek. Now, get to work and shut-the-hell-up.
Kingston continues the stupidity:
Time away from Washington is just as important to being an effective member of Congress as time spent in the Capitol, Kingston added. "When I'm here, people call me Mr. Congressman. When I'm home, people call me 'Jack, you stupid SOB, why did you vote that way?' It keeps me grounded."Oh, Jeez, Jack, you're making this too easy. I called you a stupid SOB from down here in Louisiana. Your constituents call you that to your face. Methinks thou doth protest too much.
Then, the House Minority Leader chimes in:
Setting a calendar that satisfies 435 members is impossible, said the current majority leader, Rep. John A. Boehner (R-Ohio), who will become minority leader in January. "Between the travel issues, the members' work schedules, the family and district issues, it was a Rubik's cube," he said.Well, hell, Boehner. There's the frigging problem. If you're in charge you don't set a schedule that satisfies the memebers. You lead. Frankly, the people of the United States don't give a tinkers damn about whether the member of Congress are satisfied. We expect them to lead. Your failure to lead, sir, is the major reason that the American people made you the minority party.
Now, Representative Boehner, get your head out of your butt, and get to work.
Hat tip to No Quarters.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Getting a raise
It looks like I'm getting a raise. Governor Blanco, through the powers of her office, is giving all the cops, firefighters, and corrections officer a $125.00 raise in the supplemental pay.
Supplemental pay is an interesting concept. Normally, a cop is paid by the city or parish in which he works. There are great, huge differences in the pay rates of the various agencies. Generally large outfits pay better than small ones, however that is a generality and isn't always true.
The politicos in the state, years ago, decided that since a great portion of our time is spent enforcing state law, that the state should pony up some of our pay. The current state supplemental pay comes to $300.00 per month for each first responder.
State Police don't get supplemental pay. They are already paid completely by the state. Probation and Parole officers don't get supplemental pay, nor does the State Fire Marshall's office, or any of the horde of inspectors, detectives, or investigators that the state sends forth to harry the populace. Supplemental pay is for us local guys, set at $300.00 per month. It looks like I'm going to get a raise to $425.00 per month, courtesy of the Queen Bee herself.
Before anyone sheds any tears for the State Police, spare me. Those boys, whose primary duties involved writing speeding tickets and working wrecks, get paid a princely salary, with lots of perks. No one in the State Police is underpaid, and most of them retire to luxurious leisure, taking their pleasure in exorbitant style.
Before all the cheering and huzzah-ing dies down, we must remind ourselves that the Governor is a political beast, facing a substantial challenge in 2007. There are a lot of folks who would like to see her go away. Look for raises for teachers, for state employees, and any other way she can spread the government largesse while running her campaign. This raise is pure politics folks, with more to come.
Of course, I'm not going to turn the money down. That would cause huge headaches in the payroll department and I'm going to keep those folks happy.
Supplemental pay is an interesting concept. Normally, a cop is paid by the city or parish in which he works. There are great, huge differences in the pay rates of the various agencies. Generally large outfits pay better than small ones, however that is a generality and isn't always true.
The politicos in the state, years ago, decided that since a great portion of our time is spent enforcing state law, that the state should pony up some of our pay. The current state supplemental pay comes to $300.00 per month for each first responder.
State Police don't get supplemental pay. They are already paid completely by the state. Probation and Parole officers don't get supplemental pay, nor does the State Fire Marshall's office, or any of the horde of inspectors, detectives, or investigators that the state sends forth to harry the populace. Supplemental pay is for us local guys, set at $300.00 per month. It looks like I'm going to get a raise to $425.00 per month, courtesy of the Queen Bee herself.
Before anyone sheds any tears for the State Police, spare me. Those boys, whose primary duties involved writing speeding tickets and working wrecks, get paid a princely salary, with lots of perks. No one in the State Police is underpaid, and most of them retire to luxurious leisure, taking their pleasure in exorbitant style.
Before all the cheering and huzzah-ing dies down, we must remind ourselves that the Governor is a political beast, facing a substantial challenge in 2007. There are a lot of folks who would like to see her go away. Look for raises for teachers, for state employees, and any other way she can spread the government largesse while running her campaign. This raise is pure politics folks, with more to come.
Of course, I'm not going to turn the money down. That would cause huge headaches in the payroll department and I'm going to keep those folks happy.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Huh?
This from CBS/AP.
They caught the gator, by the way, and it was destroyed as it was overly aggressive.
Gators are everywhere in Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida. If you've got more than a half acre of water, it is an even bet that you have gators. Get used to it.
We are not the top of the food chain, especially if you've been smoking crack.
(CBS/AP) A 45-year-old man was hospitalized after four sheriff's deputies rescued him from the jaws of a nearly 12-foot alligator Wednesday, while he was naked and high on crack cocaine.The hell you say.
Adrian J. Apgar was taken to the hospital in critical condition with an apparent broken right arm, leg injuries and his left arm hanging by a tendon. Hospital officials did not immediately release information about his condition. It was not clear why Apgar was in the lake. Judd said Apgar was naked and told deputies he had been smoking crack.Well, hell. The reason he was in the lake was because he had been smoking crack. You don't swim in lakes at night with 12 foot alligators if you're sober.
They caught the gator, by the way, and it was destroyed as it was overly aggressive.
Gators are everywhere in Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida. If you've got more than a half acre of water, it is an even bet that you have gators. Get used to it.
We are not the top of the food chain, especially if you've been smoking crack.
Pretty Lame
I'm a pretty lame traveler, when you think about it.
When you see it on a map, it's even more apparent.
The red is the states I've visited. The white states show my sloth. I really need to get out more. There is so much of this country I want to see, and I haven't taken the time to see it.
Hat tip to these folks. And to this one for the link.
When you see it on a map, it's even more apparent.
The red is the states I've visited. The white states show my sloth. I really need to get out more. There is so much of this country I want to see, and I haven't taken the time to see it.
Hat tip to these folks. And to this one for the link.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Seasoning cast iron
Termite mentions, in comments:
I've heard those old wives tales too, and to tell you the truth, I bought into them too for a long time. The simple fact is that they ain't true. A lot of folks have a particular cast iron skillet that is used exclusively for cornbread and they never give that skillet more than a wipe with a paper towel. I'm not going to convince them and we'll just have to disagree. So be it.
Seasoning in a cast iron pot is lard, fat, oil, that seeps into the pores of the iron. It imparts an almost non-stick surface to the metal. A well-seasoned cast iron pot is a thing of joy. Nothing sticks to it, but from time to time (every five years or so) you need to thoroughly clean the metal and re-season. My pots, and most of the cast iron I've seen, gets a crust on the outside. This crust is oxidized carbon from food splattering on the outside of the pot. Eventually, you'll look at it and gag, then it is time to clean the pot thoroughly. Washing it in a sink ain't gonna do it. You have to burn that stuff off, in a hot fire.
So, you go outside and build a fire. When I lived in the country, I'd use a brush-pile of various hardwoods and deadfall I had accumulated over several months. I'd put the pots in that fire and light it. When everything had burned and the ashes had cooled, I'd pull the pots from the fire. Occasionally, one would crack from the heat, and that is just part of the charm.
But, all that crust would be gone. Then I'd take them inside, give them a good washing with soap and water and re-season them. It's simple. Give the inside a good coating of Crisco or other solid shortening, then put them in a 450 oven for a half-hour. Take them out of the oven, let them cool and repeat the procedure. When they've cooled a second time, take them out, wipe them with paper towels and store them away.
I'm convinced that what makes a cast-iron pot non-stick is the smoothness of the interior surface. The seasoning (shortening, oil, fat, whatever) floats out during heating and keeps food from sticking to the surface. If the surface is smooth, nothing can stick to it. If the surface is rough, then food has an opportunity to stick.
Bon apetit.
Cast iron in the dishwasher?!?! OH THE HORROR OF IT!!Yeah, okay.
Actually, it won't hurt it, but it will take most of the "seasoning" out of it, and you'll have to reseason it. i often don't even use soap when I clean my cast iron skillets, just hot hot water and lots of "elboy grease". Then dry well, and wipe down with a very light coat of either mineral or vegetable oil.
The Termite
I've heard those old wives tales too, and to tell you the truth, I bought into them too for a long time. The simple fact is that they ain't true. A lot of folks have a particular cast iron skillet that is used exclusively for cornbread and they never give that skillet more than a wipe with a paper towel. I'm not going to convince them and we'll just have to disagree. So be it.
Seasoning in a cast iron pot is lard, fat, oil, that seeps into the pores of the iron. It imparts an almost non-stick surface to the metal. A well-seasoned cast iron pot is a thing of joy. Nothing sticks to it, but from time to time (every five years or so) you need to thoroughly clean the metal and re-season. My pots, and most of the cast iron I've seen, gets a crust on the outside. This crust is oxidized carbon from food splattering on the outside of the pot. Eventually, you'll look at it and gag, then it is time to clean the pot thoroughly. Washing it in a sink ain't gonna do it. You have to burn that stuff off, in a hot fire.
So, you go outside and build a fire. When I lived in the country, I'd use a brush-pile of various hardwoods and deadfall I had accumulated over several months. I'd put the pots in that fire and light it. When everything had burned and the ashes had cooled, I'd pull the pots from the fire. Occasionally, one would crack from the heat, and that is just part of the charm.
But, all that crust would be gone. Then I'd take them inside, give them a good washing with soap and water and re-season them. It's simple. Give the inside a good coating of Crisco or other solid shortening, then put them in a 450 oven for a half-hour. Take them out of the oven, let them cool and repeat the procedure. When they've cooled a second time, take them out, wipe them with paper towels and store them away.
I'm convinced that what makes a cast-iron pot non-stick is the smoothness of the interior surface. The seasoning (shortening, oil, fat, whatever) floats out during heating and keeps food from sticking to the surface. If the surface is smooth, nothing can stick to it. If the surface is rough, then food has an opportunity to stick.
Bon apetit.
Cookware
The Instapundit (yeah, like he needs the links) is talking about cookware. My favorite, my most treasured cookware gets one single line.
Dishwashers don't hurt cast iron, although some prefer to hand wash them. I currently regularly use eight pieces of cast iron cookware, and am constantly looking for more. Yeah, I know that Lodge makes new cast iron, but I prefer to find mine at yard sales or flea markets. The heritage cast iron has a nicer patina than the new stuff. Also, the new cast iron seems to be rougher than the old stuff. I'm not sure if that is part of the manufacturing process or if the smoothness of the old stuff reflects years of use. Still, we have a new dutch oven that I'd like to use sandpaper on to smooth it out. When you can, buy heritage cast iron. When you can't, buy new.
Some folks swear by Griswold cast iron. I've never seen the difference between an old Griswold and an old Lodge. They both work fine, which is to say, like cast iron.
We keep the smaller skillets on a pot rack above the kitchen island, and this isn't a display rack. We use these skillets for a number of tasks. The larger skillets and the dutch ovens are kept under the counter. The majority of our cooking is done on cast iron. Looking at that picture, I notice one of the frying pans is missing. It's probably in the dishwasher.
When Milady and I set up housekeeping, one of my tasks was to determine which cast iron we kept and which was sent forward to the children. One of my sons has a cast griddle that his great-grandmother used. I have no doubt that with just a modicum of care, my pots will be used three generations from now. If that ain't durable, then nothing is.
For good heat transfer, durability, ease of use, and just general "cool" nothing beats cast iron.
So, to Glenn Reynolds, I give this advice. Go visit a flea market or garage sale and pick up a piece or two of cast iron. Run them through the dishwasher and tell me if they're hurt. I'll wager not.
Cast iron is good. Once again, however, for me the dishwasher issue rears its ugly head. Again, your results may differ.Oh, please.
Dishwashers don't hurt cast iron, although some prefer to hand wash them. I currently regularly use eight pieces of cast iron cookware, and am constantly looking for more. Yeah, I know that Lodge makes new cast iron, but I prefer to find mine at yard sales or flea markets. The heritage cast iron has a nicer patina than the new stuff. Also, the new cast iron seems to be rougher than the old stuff. I'm not sure if that is part of the manufacturing process or if the smoothness of the old stuff reflects years of use. Still, we have a new dutch oven that I'd like to use sandpaper on to smooth it out. When you can, buy heritage cast iron. When you can't, buy new.
Some folks swear by Griswold cast iron. I've never seen the difference between an old Griswold and an old Lodge. They both work fine, which is to say, like cast iron.
We keep the smaller skillets on a pot rack above the kitchen island, and this isn't a display rack. We use these skillets for a number of tasks. The larger skillets and the dutch ovens are kept under the counter. The majority of our cooking is done on cast iron. Looking at that picture, I notice one of the frying pans is missing. It's probably in the dishwasher.
When Milady and I set up housekeeping, one of my tasks was to determine which cast iron we kept and which was sent forward to the children. One of my sons has a cast griddle that his great-grandmother used. I have no doubt that with just a modicum of care, my pots will be used three generations from now. If that ain't durable, then nothing is.
For good heat transfer, durability, ease of use, and just general "cool" nothing beats cast iron.
So, to Glenn Reynolds, I give this advice. Go visit a flea market or garage sale and pick up a piece or two of cast iron. Run them through the dishwasher and tell me if they're hurt. I'll wager not.
Islamic surrealism
As I drink my Sunday coffee and prepare to attend Church, I am struck by this posting from Little Green Footballs.
Whoever these Just Swords are, they sure know how to treat women, don't they? This is the face of Islam. It's not a religion that any thinking person would want to associate with. Islam treats women as chattel and requires men to impose their will upon the females in the household. How can a man love a woman yet treat her as property? How can a family exist where half of the union is seen as a lesser entity? How can any thinking person support such a religion?
I am reminded of the words of Alan Jackson.
Islam surely isn't a religion of tolerance, kindness or understanding. It's a religion of submission.
I, for one, will not submit.
A hitherto unknown group calling itself the Just Swords of Islam issued a warning to Palestinian women in the Gaza Strip over the weekend that they must wear the hijab or face being targeted by the group's members. Addressing female students, the group said: "We will have no mercy on any woman who violates the traditions of Islam and who also hang out in Internet cafes."I don't even know where to start on this one.
According to the group, its members used rocket-propelled grenades to attack 12 Internet cafes and a number of music shops in different parts of the Gaza Strip.
It said the places were targeted because they were "distracting an entire generation of Palestinians from their duty to worship [Allah] and jihad so that they could serve their Zionist masters and the Crusaders."
Whoever these Just Swords are, they sure know how to treat women, don't they? This is the face of Islam. It's not a religion that any thinking person would want to associate with. Islam treats women as chattel and requires men to impose their will upon the females in the household. How can a man love a woman yet treat her as property? How can a family exist where half of the union is seen as a lesser entity? How can any thinking person support such a religion?
I am reminded of the words of Alan Jackson.
I know Jesus and I've talked to God and I remember this from when I was young. Faith, hope and love are the good things he gave us. And the greatest is love.
Islam surely isn't a religion of tolerance, kindness or understanding. It's a religion of submission.
I, for one, will not submit.
Friday, December 01, 2006
McCain loses election
Did y'all see this? Evidently, John McCain put his name on a ballot for committeeman for the Republican party, in his home district in Arizona, and lost.
His spokesman says that he didn't campaign for it, and didn't expect to win. That is disengenious at best. A sitting US Senator can't even draw enough votes in his own precinct to get elected to the Republican committee, and he wants to run for President? He better get his act together at home before he decides to run for a national office. Personally, I wouldn't vote for him for dogcatcher.
John McCain has earned his stripes as a warrior, as a POW, as an honorable American. I have nothing but admiration for his uniformed service to our country, but as a Senator, he leaves a lot to be desired.
I've known for a long time that John McCain is a bonehead, but I never expected to see absolute verification of it in print.
Haney also noted, with some satisfaction, that McCain himself ran as a state committeeman Tuesday and lost. But McCain spokesman Paul Hickman said the senator, who did not attend, did not seriously seek a spot as a committeeman at the next state party convention. McCain submitted his name but will soon move from the precinct. "He didn't campaign for it and didn't expect to win," Hickman said.What the hell was he thinking?
His spokesman says that he didn't campaign for it, and didn't expect to win. That is disengenious at best. A sitting US Senator can't even draw enough votes in his own precinct to get elected to the Republican committee, and he wants to run for President? He better get his act together at home before he decides to run for a national office. Personally, I wouldn't vote for him for dogcatcher.
John McCain has earned his stripes as a warrior, as a POW, as an honorable American. I have nothing but admiration for his uniformed service to our country, but as a Senator, he leaves a lot to be desired.
I've known for a long time that John McCain is a bonehead, but I never expected to see absolute verification of it in print.
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