TGIF

I'm off for the weekend, and getting ready for a shoot.  My boys and I are going to shoot with the Cenla Sports Shooters tomorrow.  I'm puttering around, making sure that I have ammo, guns, magazines, hearing protection, all the thing we need to go to a range.

Because today I carried my pistol on duty, I had to take the duty ammo out and put it back in the box.  The Sheriff gives us one box of duty ammo per qualification, and we're supposed to shoot it at the next qual.  That way, we keep fresh ammo in the pistol.  I definitely don't want to shoot that duty ammo this weekend, so I had to unload it and segregate it.  It'll get loaded back in the magazines tomorrow afternoon, late. Here's a picture of one of the stages.

That's going to be an interesting stage for sure.

Smartphone Case

Cell phones are an indispensable part of police work these days.  Rather than clog up the radio net with traffic, we're likely to use the cell phone more often than the police radio.  Yeah, cell phones are susceptible to the radio-frequency scanners, but they're less likely to be monitored than the police radio frequencies, and we're not broadcasting over the open net.  It might be your buddy, or it might be the boss, but with cell phones have changed the way that we do business.

But, you've got to carry the damned thing, and there seems to be a dearth of smartphone cases that will fit on a standard duty belt.  Before now, I've carried my cell phone in the same pocket as my little spiral ring notebook (which no self-respecting cop is ever without). But, when we bought new phones last week, and put the Otterbox cases on them, I'm having a hell of a time fitting it into that shirt pocket.  Oh, I like the new phone well enough, but it's big, especially when it's in that case.

So, I 've been surfing around looking for a case that will fit on my duty belt, and they're scarce as hen's teeth.  I finally found one at Gall's, a case made by Boston Leather, which the review tells me will fit my Samsung Galaxy with the protective case.  I ordered it, and it should be in the mailbox in a week or so.

Hey, Safariland.  Y'all need to make a series of smartphone cases for commonly used phones.  I bet you'd sell thousands of them.

Shop Rags

There are very few things as valuable as a shop rag.  It's used for a variety of purposes, but the whole idea is that when it's done, you throw it away without a second thought.  Sure, shop rags can be washed, but eventually they're done.  Throw it away .

I make mine from old tee shirts.  I can get 10 shop rags from a single shirt.  When a tee-shirt has reached the end of it's service life, it goes under the scissors.  First I cut off the sleeves, which make two small rags.  Then I cut the shirt across the top and sides, which gives me two big pieces of cloth.  Cut each of those into quarters, and that's a total of 10.  Four quarters, plus the sleeves.  One of those rags has a pocket, because I use pocket tee-shirts.

I make heavy-duty shop rags from the legs of old blue-jeans.  Sometimes, a piece of good, blue denim is just the ticket for a particular project.  Gun-cleaning, refinishing furniture, light mechanic work, there's nothing like a good shop rag, and while blue denim is durable, there's some times when you just want a piece of nice tee-shirt.  Just a few minutes ago, I looked down at an old tee-shirt I was wearing and decided that it should never again be seen in polite company.  I took out my scissors and converted it into shop rage.  Now it's got a new life and a new reason for existence.

You're welcome.

A Scale

I've been writing about guns for many years, and I've been blogging about guns for many years.  One of the things we talk about is weight of a particular rifle, scope, sling combination and while I had the ability to weigh a gun, I didn't have the ability to post a visual image of that weight.  Until recently.

I told my mother that I was looking for an old-style scale and she went into her closet, pulled out a scale and handed it to me.  How cool.

Now, if I want to talk about a rifle that weighs 8 lbs, 4 oz with sling, mounts and scope, I have a way to show that rifle on the scale.  Old-time gun writers used this method and I think that it's simply the best way to show the weight of a particular rifle.  Like this.

That's the rifle I call the ugly rifle.  It's a Savage 11, bone stock in .308 with a Weaver Buck Commander scope, good steel Leupold mounts, and it weighs 8 lbs, 4 oz with sling.  Ammo would add a little more weight, but we never count the weight of the cartridges anyway.  Of course, you can click the picture to make it larger.

Thanks, Momma!

Back to Work

One of the benefits of being a school-house cop is that we get K-time.  All that extra time we work gets put in an account, and we take off during the summer.  During the school year we accumulate a bunch of extra hours and we take those off when school is out.  Today that comes to an end.  The teachers report today for inservice training, to get their classrooms ready, and to make preparation for the kids to show up on Friday.  So do the Resource Officers.  In another hour or so, I'm going to pull on my boots, strap on my duty belt, and go to a meeting with all the other school officer.  Summer's over, at least from a holiday perspective, and it's time to get back in harness.  It's been fun, but I'm ready to hit it hard, get it done.

I wonder what changes they made this year?  I guess I'll find out in another couple of  hours.

Technology

I'm still learning this new phone, and I'll probably be learning it for a while.  There's lots of bells and whistles on this thing, and honestly, these things have become more personal assistant than telephone.  Really, talking on it is a fairly minor part of the whole experience.  It's a telephone, for sure, but they've crammed a lot of other technology in that little box.  I doubt that I'll ever use half the capability of the device, but what I'm seeing is impressive.  And, this isn't even this year's technology.  This is last year's tech.   It's a phone, a camera, a GPS, a compass, an email device, a video-watcher, an internet browser, the list just goes on and on.

Dad was a telephone man, worked all his life for the local Ma Bell affiliate, and back in the '70s he told me that one day we'd all carry a phone in our pocket.  I thought that the old man was bonkers, but his predictions have paid out.  He got to see some of the results of the technology before he died, but I'd love to let him play with a smart phone.  He was an early-adopter of technology, and I believe that he'd have the latest and best smartphone in his pocket.  He enjoyed gadgetry, and when he worked for Mother Bell, he'd go off to schools at Bell Labs, and come back and tell us the wonders of micro switches and computers.

Anyway, I've been playing with this device, and evidently, it's got two cameras.  You can take something called a Selfie.  They're not very flattering, and as we're talking about un-flattering photographs, PawPaw is trying to expand the knowlege base.  Milady's been gone this weekend and when she returned last night, she brought me a hat, given as a joke gift by one of her cousins.  I think it's quite stylish, but I'm not sure where I'll wear it.

Editing these things is a problem.  The subject matter is lousy and the camera wants to flip the picture on it's side.  For the time being I think I'll stick with my digital SLR.  I understand that camera, and it orients the pictures the way I want them oriented.

The Bob Job

Years ago I obtained a Smith and Wesson Model 60 revolver.  I carried it for many years, used it in a plainclothes role as a police officer, and carried it on duty after my retirement.  You can read the first chapter of its life with me at the Snubnose Files, where they asked me to write an article on my little pistol.

Everyone has seen these little pistols, the first stainless steel revolver made by Smith and Wesson.

Until today, that's what it looked like.  Classic, spur hammer revolver.

Last year, my daughter-in-law was looking for a pistol suitable for concealed carry.  She had shot her husband's model 638, and she had shot my steel Model 60.  She preferred the Model 60 for the extra few ounces of the steel frame.  She said that those few ounces moderated the recoil of self-defense ammo, and I have to agree with her.  Good, clean Model 60s are rare as hen's teeth around here, and I had recently acquired a Model 38, so I passed the Model 60 to her.  She carried it for her CCW training, and she's carried it since, but that hammer spur caused her problems while she was working.  That little spur kept working itself into her, and as she does a lot of bending and stooping at her job, she decided that she wanted the hammer bobbed.

Today, after church, the sons and I got out Kuhnhausen's manual, and did a quick read-up on the project.  My elder son is a wizard with metal, and we enlisted his help in this delicate project.  In about twenty minutes we had the hammer out of the frame, then we let him chuck the hammer in a lead-lined vise and let him work his wizardry.  For about an hour, sparks flew, and motors whined, and in short order he had removed that offending spur.

I think he did a great job.  The offending spur is gone and what's left is nicely rounded, de-horned and blends niceley wit the curves of the hammer.  Here's a closer view.

I don't  think we could have paid for better work.  It's altogether a worthy project for a Sunday afternoon, and certainly worth the meal I fed him after the job was done.    I'm very pleased.

Aw, heck, one more picture, from the very back of the pistol.

 Is that good work, or what?  My children are the greatest blessing of my life.

Sunday Morning

About time to head to church.  As it turns out, mine is a little brick church in the woods.



After church, some of the kids and grandkids are coming over.  PawPaw is going to fire up the pit and cook hot dogs and sausage.  Cut up an onion.  Heat up some chili.   Big ole bag of chips.

Y'all enjoy Sunday.

Sunday Morning Dawg

The dog has been morose this weekend.  He's beside himself that he can't find Milady, the being that gives meaning to his world.  She went to a family reunion in Alabama this weekend with her brother, Bill.  I've told the dog a dozen times that she'll be home this afternoon, but he is still looking for her.  Beside himself with worry.

When we're outside he looks in all the places she might be.

Wandering from one spot to the other, looking to see if she sneaked in when he wasn't looking.

I know, pup, it's too quiet in this house when she's not here.  She'll be home late this afternoon.

Saturday Sleep-In

I slept this morning to the glorious hour of 7:00, which might as well be noon, on my schedule.  I'm one of those guys who is usually up at 5:00, coffee and morning routine by 6:00 and ready to start the day.  Today I feel positively lazy and have nothing on my dance card.  Yesterday I was busier than a cat in a sandbox, watching a grandkid and taking care of household chores.  It's amazing how much energy a 5-year-old can put in the house.  After his dad showed up to take him home, I went to the auction, hung out with the guys that run it, and we went to eat afterwards, breakfast style, at a local dive.  I got back to the house about midnight, scratched the dog and went to bed.  Today, I'm going to revel in my sloth, do some light housework, and piddle in my shop.  I'm 'bachin' it' this weekend as Milady is gone to a family reunion.

In Thursday's post, the one with the video, Joe Mamma asks the question:

The low shooting was pretty interesting. My guess is that the video was not garden variety annual requalification....Do cops talk about or practice those kinds of things?

I don't know about all cops, but I practice it, and I thought it was interesting that the guys in the vid were getting as close to the ground as they could.  That's a good idea.  If you pick a standard sedan, get down and look under the vehicle.  You've got about eight inches of ground clearance, maybe less.  So, you've got to get low, much lower than a standard prone position.  The simplest way is to roll onto your shoulder and shoot the carbine sideways.  This causes some problems because your sights are normally atop the rifle and in this position they're on the side of the rifle, and the ejection port is pointed directly at the ground.

For lack of a better term, I call it "cruiser prone", and while it opens up opportunities, it also presents problems.  Still, low is good, and if you can get down and start taking out ankles, the gunfight will probably be over sooner, rather than later.  Use available cover, return effective fire, and make the bad guys worry about you rather than inflict damage on innocents.  Using a carbine is one thing, but for the true effect, shoot your shotgun like that.  It's a whole 'nuther experience and one that has to be felt to be believed.

great Video

I was surfing around, looking for something this morning, and I stumbled upon this video.  Great feel-good video, with guns, guns, and guns.



More later.  I think I'm going to the range.

Hot

Warm today, but this is August.  A screen capture from the Weather Underground.  The official recording station is just a mile up the road, north of my little acre.

That's an official 99F, with a heat index of 106.  I finished my outdoor work today before noon and headed inside where I started digging around in the fridge for a noon-day snack.  I found some left-over chicken salad, with some left-over diced tomatoes, then looked some more and found some left-over taco shells and a small packet of guacamole in the cheese drawer.  Game on!  Chicken salad tacos for lunch.

It's hotter than a whatchacallit out there, and I don't intend to spend much time sitting on the veranda this afternoon.  Just not interested.  It is August, after all, and my Momma didn't raise any fools.

Alexander Retiring

My US Representative, Rodney Alexander (R) is retiring this year.  Thank God.  Rodney was originally a Democrat, but changed his party affiliation in 2004 in a blatant political maneuver.  He's always been a Democrat at heart, but is very good at getting re-elected.    He'll say whatever you want him to say, as long as you vote for him.  I often looked for the string in his back, and wondered who was pulling it.

“Rather than producing tangible solutions to better this nation, partisan posturing has created a legislative standstill,” he said. “Unfortunately, I do not foresee this environment to change anytime soon. I have decided not to seek reelection, so that another may put forth ideas on how to break through the gridlock and bring about positive change for our country.”

Rodney is the guy, when taken to task about his pork-ish ways at a local Tea Party rally, defended his actions, saying that he spelled it 'PORC' for Projects of Regional Concern.  He was booed lustily from the stage and that's the last time that we heard of PORC.  His district (LA-5) is hugely conservative, which meant that Rodney had to suppress his basic instincts.  He's an old-style populist southern Democrat who found it convenient to don the Republican mantle. 

It'll be interesting to see who announces to fill his seat.  Let the games begin.

New Phones

Like many Americans, Milady and I have a Verizon plan, and we went into Best Buy yesterday to see what's up.  For the past two years, I had been using a Blackberry phone and wasn't really impressed with it.  Aggravated by it, but not impressed.  Milady had been using a Samsung slider, but didn't like the speed of the device.  She's an RN and wanted the ability to access data a whole lot faster than she could with her old phone.

We walked out an hour later with two new Samsung Galaxy S3 smartphones.  I've been tinkering with mine a little bit, and the learning curve is steep.  I'll get the hang of it, but this thing has a lot of bells and whistles.  I doubt I'll ever use 10% of it.  We wanted to get cases for the phone, but the very helpful lady at the store told us "sshhh.  Amazon.", so I'm about to order some Otterbox cases, as soon as Milady decides on a color.

Here we go again.  Zoom, zoom.

Procedure Clear

I just got back from the hospital from my colonoscopy.  Everything is fine, no problem with me medically.

I knew that, but bowed to pressure to get it done.  As it turns out, it was totally unnecessary.  A waste of time, money and effort.  They found norhing.  NOTHING, which I could have told them last week, but evidently no one believes me, they've got to put me on a table, anesthetize me, and see for themselves.  Which as it turned out, is just exactly what I told them. 

We got to the hospital at 6:00 and they did they had me sign some releases, took some blood, then put me in a Day Surgery room.  Told me to put on the gown and they'd be back in a few minutes.  Sure enough, they came back in a few minutes to start the IV and to have me tell them my date of birth and the last four of my social security number.  Then they left, told me that I'd be going to the scope room shortly.  That was a damned lie.  Four hours later I was still in that room, starting to get a case of the screaming red-ass.

When I have a procedure done, I want to know what's going to happen.  Down to the nitty-gritty.  No one told me that I'd be spending four friggin hours in a small room waiting for them to get their act together.  Some one else's problem is not my problem, and while I feel sorry for them, that doesn't mean that I want to be pushed to the back of the line.  Even if they die, to me they're just another obit in tomorrow's paper.

I got to the hospital at 6:00 and was pushed out the door at 12:20, after the entire nursing staff told me that I'd be home at noon.  Evidently, lying to patients isn't a problem for nurses.  I'm tempted to write the nursing board and put the whole Day Surgery staff on report.

They roll me to the scope room at 10:45 local and push me into a room.  I a few minutes they tell me they're going to have to move me.  My scope room is ready.  Turns out they've put me in a storage room, a broom closet.  They have a multi-million dollar facility and the best they can do is to put a pissed-off patient in a broom closet.  They wheel me to the scope room, and there's a really nice lttle lady in there that wants to make small-talk.  I tell her that she's got a truly angry patient, and all I want from her is cold, efficient professionalism.  I'm not interested in her grandkids, or her anecdotes, just do your damned job and let's get this show on the road.  She tell me that it isn't her fault, and I tell her that I'm not assigning fault, I'm simply making sure that the job gets done.  Anything that gets between the job and completion is totally unacceptable.

The Doctor comes in shortly, and tells me that he had a bad surgery this morning.  Again, not my problem.  His problem.  "Let's get this done, doc."  He gives me some anesthesia, and I'm out like a light.  Wake up in Day Surgery.  They want me to fart.  No problem.  I can fart on command, so I rip off a couple of good ones, ask the nurse if that's sufficient, and tell her to give me my pants.  I'm outta here.  I walked out of the hospital at 12:10, fully ten minutes later than the day surgery nurses told me I'd be home.  Another lie, and they lie to patients without even a pause.  Some might say that it's an honest mistake, but if you don't know to a certainty, keep your damned mouth shut.

They push me to the curb.  I get in the car, come home and make myself a couple of fired egg sandwiches.

Now, to a medical certainty, there is nothing wrong with my colon.  I knew that last week, but again, no one listens to the patient.  However, it is now a medical certainty, and I'm still pissed off at the inconvenience, the incompetence, the lack of patient care, and the purely disinterested way that modern medicine looks at a patient.

Sunday Morning Dawg

We hosted a birthday party yesterday, and Milady made a big ol' bodacious cookie cake at the request of the birthday boy.  The dog, of course was hoping that something hit the floor.

As the Shih Tzu is descended from the Kitchen Midden Dog, he's fulfilling his destiny, waiting patiently on the kitchen floor. 

Saturday Sitting-Around

Two cups of coffee, and the morning paper.  I hear grandkids puttering around in the back of the house, and I know I'm going to have to get busy in a few minutes.  I've conned a teenaged grandkid into mowing the back yard in exchange for a ten-spot when he's finished.  I hear the push mower running now, and there's very little grass in that yard.  Birthday party later today, and we're expecting about 20 folks for the celebration.  PawPaw's cooking hamburgers at the request of the birthday boy, who is turning eleven.  PawPaw makes very good hamburgers. 

The weather-weenies tell me that the temps will be 97F this afternoon, and with the humidity stuck at 85%, it will feel like a balmy 110F.  Luckily, the barbeque area will be in shade by the time I fire off the pit, at about 5:00 p.m. local.  We'll eat about 6:00, with birthday cake to follow. 

PawPaw is expecting a small package today from the UPS guy.  The tracking site tells me that it's out-for-delivery.  Rifle bullets for this hunting season, along with spare turrets for the handgun press.  I want to set up the spare turrets for .45 ACP, .38 Special, and .44 Magnum.  No sense unscrewing dies when spare turrets are so cheap.

My biggest concern today is what I'm going to eat for lunch.

Charlie Rangel, Idiot

Charlie Rangel is back in the news.  You remember Charlie, right?  The Democrat Rep from Harlem, who doesn't know American history, but was recently censured by the House for violating numerous ethics rules, not to mention the laws of New York.

Well, Charlie says that the Tea Party is the same bunch that fought for segregation during the Civil Rights movement.  And he used the term 'white cracker' improperly.  We all know that the 'crackers' are the group that settled Florida, as oppposed to the snowbirds who come down in the winter, or to retire. One of my daughters-in-law is a 'cracker', a sobriquet she proudly claims.

Charlie's mouth is open, because he can't believe that the truth of the matter, is that by a huge majority, the Democratic party was the party that fought for segregation in the South.  It's an inconvenient truth, but the truth nevertheless.  I feel sorry for guys like Rangel, because they've so bought into the revisionist history of segregation in the US that they don't know that the Democratic party was the party of Jim Crow and fire hoses.  He'd do well to learn the history of the party that he swear fealty to.

Frosting

Elias was helping Milady frost a birthday cake, and managed to get a little on himself.

I wonder if it was any good?  We'll find out tomorrow.

More Errands

I started mowing grass this morning, and one of my spindles broke.  The little star that keeps the blade aligned turned loose and the blade would freewheel on the shaft.  That's no good.  I took the shaft off and headed to town to see my parts guy.

On the way to town, I remembered a camping store that's been in business for years.  They were in business in the late '60s and still bravely hang on.  I thought they might have a Convert-a-ball in 1 7/8th so I pulled the truck into their lot.

The Convert-A-Ball is a hitch system that uses a shaft with a hole.  The ball fits over the shaft and a pin secures the ball to the shaft.  You can get balls in all the popular sizes, and they all fit the shaft.  Reese has a similar system that is found in most box stores.  It's not the same, and Reese sells Convert-A-Ball hitches as well.  Online the best price I could find was $9.75 and shipping would drive that to over $20.00.

So, I swung the truck into the camping store and went inside with my 2" ball in my hand.  The lady said that they quit carrying the Convert-A-Ball system ten years ago, then she stopped herself.  "Hang on, let me look in the back."  She came back in a few minutes with a 1 7/8 inch ball for my system.  She charged me $6.95 and I whistled myself out of the store.

Stopped by the lawn mower parts store and let him abuse me for $50.00 for a new spindle.

Then I stopped by the pharmacy to fill a prescription.  I need something called Golytely, which I understand is a misnomer.  I'm turning 60 in December, and Milady has decided that I'm overdue for a colonoscopy.  I'm scheduled for the procedure on Monday, so I do the prep on Sunday.  The less said about  that whole process, the better.