Still Feeling Lazy

But not so much as yesterday. 

After spotting my activity level yesterday somewhere inbetween little to nothing, I’m thought that I’d find today to be running at the same level.

Then I got a call from my friend Saechong who asked if I would come over to help her with her yardwork. Pulling weeds and cutting grass didn’t appeal to me, and I told her so. She then informed me of what she considers ‘yardwork’.

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I’m pretty sure that I have a degree or two in that kind of yardwork, and a professional goes where he is needed.

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At 1400 Hours PST

My surprise will be ready to pick up. I also learned yesterday that there might be two surprises instead of just one.

Though it will be difficult, I must sleep.

Hints tomorrow.

Have a good day, all.

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Doggie Liveblogging

Everybody’s invited to peek in on our pups while we’re away in Europe. They’re staying at the Woodland Veterinary Hospital (and kennel, natch). Go here. The user ID is wvh4, the password is 4. Presto! Live doggies!

Alaska (the white shepherd mix) has a long history with the Woodland Veterinary Hospital (which is why I drove 90 minutes to board the dogs there instead of choosing someplace closer to home). As a pup, he was found by the side of the road with a shattered rear hip and broken front leg. Some Samaritan brought him in to Woodland Vet, where Dr. Dennie performed pro bono surgery on the poor little guy, removing the ball joint in his rear leg. They named him Klondike, and he then lived at the hospital as a companion to one of their blood-donor dogs while he healed up. Eventually they had to put him up for adoption at the pound. It soon became painfully obvious that nobody wanted to adopt a lame dog. He had a few reprieves, and Dr. Dennie went to the trouble of posting one of his staff at the pound as a ringer specifically to adopt Klondike the instant he was put on the euthanasia list. After his fourth month at the pound, I saw a picture of him in an old copy of the Davis Enterprise, called the pound and was astonished he was still there. About a week later he came home with me, and my daughter named him Alaska. (Later she picked out his sister Kaya, but that’s another story.) A few months of cautious exercise, and he was running without any trouble from the rear leg. Apparently, muscle fills in the space where the ball joint was. Sure wish humans could heal like that!

Alaska came into our lives almost seven years ago now. Few staff at the Hospital are left who remember him as the “legendary” Klondike, but even so we’ve continued giving them our business even after we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area. They’re simply the best vets around.

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You can never have too many pockets

Unless you feel bad about annoying the civil servants. 

In one of the things I had to do yesterday to start out my busy weekend involved walking into a government building. What I didn’t know, because I’m new to the township, is that this building also contained a courthouse.

Washington State law for carrying concealed weapons states that your permit is invalid in three locations: Schools, establishments that serve alcohol and Courthouses. The state capitol building is OK, but those three types of structures (and federal property) are strictly no-no’s.

I leave my vehicle with my pistol on, walk to the door and see a sign measuring 24 inches by 12 inches that quotes the Revised Code of Washington reminding me of this. I’m not going to get into a discussion of legal minutiae with the local police officer working light duty at the metal detector, nor am I going to leave my firearm with him, so I walk back to my truck, climb in and proceed to relieve my belt of the gas propelled projectile weapon residing on my person and lock it away in the very handy lock box Ford provided in the cab of my truck.

I then walk back to the building and proceed to the silver arches, where I will be scanned for keys and other metal objects.

I walk up to the scanner and say hello to Officer Friendly and get the standard “Please empty your pockets into the bin” from him. He pushes forward a 5inx8inx2in plastic bin, and this is where the silliness begins.

Truck keys, thumbdrive, Bic lighter, $.24 cents in change, 4-$1 bills and a folded Post-It note from work with a phone number on it come from my front two pockets and get put into the bin.

“Please step through” he says. I reply, “I’m not done just yet. Hold on.” 

A Gerber Pocket Tool and a cell phone come out of their belt holsters and into the bin. The wallet comes out of my right back pocket and a gas pump receipt from the other.

“OK go ahead and step through” he says. “Just a sec, I’ve got to empty my coat pockets.” I reply.

Right upper pocket gives up my time card from work, which has a metallic strip in it, my stainless steel writing pen comes out of my left upper pocket. I see him prepare to ask me to step through again, but then stop as I reach into my lower coat pockets.

The left coat pocket holds my work pager and the work key ring. The right pocket holds my house key ring and my barely legal hawkbill folding knife, which Officer Friendly looks at very disparagingly.

“OK, that should be it”, I say, feeling somewhat like Mad Max trying to get into the Thunderdome. Luckily, there is no one waiting to get through behind me. The officer snatches up the pocket tool and the folding knife out of the bin, pushes it down the table to the other side of the detector and asks me once again to walk through the arch.

I walk through and you’d have thought I was carrying something nuclear, what with the number of buzzers that went off. Knowing the proceedure, I stop, extend my arms out and wait for the wanding to begin.

Across the chest and down the front. Wand goes off. I want to make some sort of smart-assed reference to bionics below my belt line, but I just say “Belt Buckle” instead and show the officer. He grunts and wands to the left hip, out the left arm and down the left leg.

The wand goes off again.

“Steel toed boots?” he asks. I concur and he grunts again and says “Turn.” I turn to my right and he wands my back from heel to shoulder and then tells me to gather my stuff.

I do so and walk 20 feet from the detector to the window I need to do my business. I’m done there in under two minutes and I go back and say hello to Officer Friendly again, only to find him admiring my folding knife. He looks up at me, closes the knife, and says something to the effect of “We went through all that for you to be done that quick?” I tell him “Yep. Kind of pointless, huh?” and he agrees. I walk through the arch, setting off the nuclear warnings again. He hands me back my folding knife and pocket tool and I wish him a good day and go back out to my truck.

I wonder if he even thought about the fact that he never scanned my right hip?

Posted in Life in the Atomic Age | 1 Comment

It is a Lazy Day

And the time will pass in a lazy way.

The Kid has got his ‘surprise’,

But by the afternoon sun and my eyes,

I see where Miss Emma decided to lay.

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I’ve got a surprise for yoooooo!

But you don’t get to see it until Monday. HA!

Can you feel the anticip——-ation? (thank you, Dr. Frankenfurter)

In other news, I’m stuffed for time this entire weekend, actually starting today, and won’t be able to make it to the range at all these next three days. Hopefully, gathering my surprise up will make it so that I’m not too grumpy come Monday.

In the meantime, swing on over to Mr. Completely’s Rimfire Round-Up. I was so busy that, even with the reminders I forgot to send in my post about my Ruger from Monday, but you’ve already read that. I’m sure he’s got some stuff over there that you haven’t read yet though.

OK, gotta go. I’ve got to make sure to get to the Ford dealership in time for one of my free oil changes I spoke of yesterday. I’ll also get to find out if the braking improvements I did on my F150 shortly after I got it have warped my rotors to point where I need to replace them or if they can just be turned. There’s no wobble in the pedal yet, but I can feel just a little in the truck when I come to a stop.

Oh, the suspense!

Posted in Life in the Atomic Age | 1 Comment

If’n you need a chuckle

Head on over to this post at the dKos by Tom Kertes. He apparently hasn’t kissed Markos’ ass enough to be a front pager, but he did get a link to his post from Kos on the front page, so maybe his smooch count is increasing?

Anyway, in his post, Tom talks about “Summer of Justice” events in Baltimore.

I am currently working with a group of low-wage workers in Baltimore whose goal is to secure the economic human rights of everyone.  The UN’s Declaration of Universal Human Rights includes the rights to housing, education, health care, just wages, labor organizing and to freedom from poverty.

This summer we are planning a series of Freedom from Poverty events and programs as we continue our campaign to organize the day laborers who clean Camden Yards after Orioles games there.  The summer, Summer of Justice, follows last year’s Summer of Honor and the Summer of Hope the year before.

Baltimore is a city engulfed with poverty.  There are entire neighborhoods almost totally abandoned.  Rows of houses are boarded up, emtpy, some falling apart.  Parts of the city are in ruins.

And he goes on and on about how non-skilled laborers are having to work for minimum wage, how Baltimore is “a virtual police state” and how “Progressives” need to “start talking about class politics again” to win elections.

Now, to make sure we’re all on the same page here, we all know that when the word “Justice” is used by a leftist, they aren’t talking about letting homeowners shoot violent, armed criminals who break in at 3am, they’re talking about taking your money and giving it to someone who didn’t earn it, right? Good.

If you re-read the part of his quote about the abandoned neighborhoods, boarded up hoses, etc, and then scroll down to the comments of his post, that is where your chuckle will come from.

You see, in there someone tells Tom about the City of Baltimore doing something called “LandBanking”. This involves buying buildings for ten cents on the dollar or some ridiculously low rate or even taking building for back taxes and then holding onto them until they collect enough land to make it profitable to sell, sometimes entire city blocks. The city leaves them in an uninhaitable state, which drives the rental rates and purchase prices.

Or, if the city cannot foreclose on the whole block legally or buy it for a price they like, they just leave it a dump until private individuals improve the rest of the block, bringing up the price of the city owned property along with them.

And how much would you like to bet that the Baltimore City Council is made up of at least 80% Democrats?

Maybe these Kos types should think a little deeper before they vote?

Naw. That’ll never happen.

Posted in The Left is Never Right, Too Stupid to Live, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

London Calling

(Note: I wrote the below before learning that I will not be attending Boomershoot this year.)

Determining the best .300 Weatherby load for Boomershoot will have to wait another week or so. We’re kicking off what looks to be a month insanely full of travel (Europe, Idaho, Nebraska) with Our Honeymoon.

My wife and I have been together for twelve years now, but only formally tied the knot two years ago. Twelve years ago, we said we loved each other, and that nothing either of us could ever do to the other could cause us to part. It was true then as it’s true now, and any piddly state certificate is pretty darn meaningless compared to that.

Also, our idea of a wedding is a nice big party for our friends and loved ones, and we just couldn’t afford either the time or the money to have one until a couple of years ago. (Even so, it wouldn’t have happened without lots of assistance from my Mom. Thanks again, Mom!) At that time, we spent a nice nuptial night in the Lafayette Park Hotel & Spa — but lovely as that was, it wasn’t a real honeymoon.

So tonight we’re off to London, first time for both of us.

I’ll satisfy my Sherlock Holmes obsession by visiting the Holmes Museum at 221 B Baker Street, we’ll try warm English beer at a pub or two, and see the usual tourist sights, but our main sightseeing will be on Sunday, and the reason I’ve categorized this post under Have Gun Will Travel is:

The arms and armor exhibits at the Tower of London!

The wife just thinks we’re going to visit an English castle. Little does she know what’s inside! My reading material on the plane will be W.W. Greener’s classic The Gun and Its Development, so I’ll be able to tell a snaphaunce from a wheellock from a flintlock. If they let me take pictures, I’ll post them here a fortnight hence. Look, I’m already talking like a Brit!

Posted in Have Gun, Will Travel | 9 Comments

The Soundboard: Fitting Tunage

What with all the car talk going on around here lately, is there any other song more fitting that this one from the RNS House Band?

Rush – Red Barchetta (Live)

From their second live disc “Exit…Stage Left”

I don’t think so.

Posted in Kewel! | 5 Comments

Famous Last Words

Yesterday in my ode to obtuse Toyota performance engines facts, our good man, Rivrdog, stopped by and said the following

Cubic inches beats revving horsepower every day of the week, and twice on Sunday.

It is basically the “There’s no replacement for displacement” mantra, repeated by lovers of big V8’s everywhere.

And it is also utterly and completely false.

I classify them as ‘Famous Last Words’ because, in my previous life, which I have tried to keep seperate from blogging for the longest time, I’d race my cars for cold hard cash. I have been getting that itch more and more frequently these last couple weeks, but alas, have no outlet for it apart from maybe borrowing a vehicle from one of the few remaining members of the old group and joining them on a ‘road trip’ and writing about it here. A ‘road trip’ would not only get me in trouble with the Analog Wife, but also with the ‘detector inspectors’, so you’ll forgive my dalliances of late on this subject.

Yes, we’d race on the public highways and byways, and yes, we’d do things so strange that you’d wonder why we’d waste the gas and time to do them, but it entertained us and generally kept us from larger banks of trouble, though not from harm. In the not too distant past, I’ve turned wrenches on just about everything from the retarded but sturdy 1.6L Land Rover 88 mills to the intelligent but fussy 5.7L Lamborghini Diablo powerhouse. I have tired of getting my hands dirty in recent years, even going so far as to work oil changes into the sale price of my F150 when I bought it so that I wouldn’t have to be bothered with them any longer. That is also changing as of late.

“There’s no replacement for displacement” was the last thing usually said before some poor sap lost the green papery contents of his wallet, because my follow up line to it was “Would you like to put some money down on that?”

It got to the point to where it was a running joke with my friends. Someone would say it, my friends would chuckle while counting to five, at which time I would face up to the speaker and ask if they’d like to test that theory. I got my fair share of “umm, well, yannow” weenies, but on a good night I could get at least a couple takers to pay for the next round of improvements for my cars. My last roller had a 3-Liter I-6 engine and I would have to give guys with HiPo 350’s a lesser distance to travel just to make it fair. Of course, I was using technology to measure, multiply and cool my fuel/air mixture while my opponents were just hoping for the best.

The replacement for displacement is technology.

In the 120 or so years we humans have been making use of the internal combustion engine, we have learned to make it work more efficiently, so that we can do less with more. We have learned which bore and stroke combinations work best for what application.

If the saying was true, then why would Ford drop their cornbinder 7.3 liter diesel engines for 6.0 liter pushers? Because they used technology to make the six cylinder work more efficiently and create more power. Ford also dropped their famous 302 (5.0L) engines for a 281ci (4.6L) mill and the 351 (5.8L) for a 330ci (5.4L) because they figured out how they could do the same with less.

Now, if you combine displacement with technology, then you have some interesting things happening. Get the largest air pump of an engine you can find, force air into it while tuning it with a specialized computer program and hold on tight. This can be seen in what I like to call “I’m going to floor it for a 1/4 mile, dude” (aka IHRA).

Yes, I know that I just pissed upon at least half of the sacrament of everything that is automotive manhood in America, but give me break. Yes, there is skill involved in drag racing but how about we run for a full mile so I can watch your car overheat and blow up. Now that’s entertainment (and worth the cost of my fuel)!

Better yet, let’s make a turn or two, and not just in the lefthand direction (Oops, now I just pissed on NASCAR! How will I survive?)

Which brings me to my other point: vehicle application. If you look at IndyCar and NASCAR, they both run on the same tracks with the same skillset, but IndyCars are running faster even though their mills are almost half the size of NASCAR’s.

Or to put it into non-superhuman terms: you can have an LS5 454 in your 1970 Corvette and you can run it pretty fast in a straight line, but try to take a country road corner at speed and you may have to clean your pants out shortly thereafter. However, try the same trick with the same car, except that this one has an LT1 350, and depending on your heel-toe skill level, you’re almost guaranteed a good time.

The LS5 will get to the first corner faster, but the LT1 will be able to hold more of it’s speed through the turn and therefore not have to work as hard to get back up to speed afterwards. Give the LT1 a few of those turns to make and the LS5 will be seeing four round tail lights in short order because the LT1 engine is at least 100lbs lighter than the LS5 mill (probably closer to 150lbs) and not having to stop, start and steer that extra weight on the nose of the car around gives the LT1 car an advantage over the LS5 car (which is why I’ve never owned a car with air conditioning as the hardware for that weights 50-70lbs and sits right up front).

You want to have your car set up for a certain application. Unfortunately, a car you want to run quarter miles with is going to piss you off on the interstate and vice versa, a car you want to go fast on the interstate will have horrible ET’s. Also, a car that does great on the interstate will probably not do well in tight twistys, and so on and so on. My Supra was good for the highway and long distance touring, my MR2 was for carving two-lane mountain roads and their wonderful switchbacks and the Series 1 Celica, with it’s solid rear axle and 1400lb body was best for the solid 11.61 quarter mile.

I could go on and on about this and ask why a Chevy hasn’t gotten near 200mph with their 5.7L mill (the 350) even though Lamborghini was able to build cars all day long that would go as far as a driver was willing to take, even up to 201mph, with their 5.7L. Or I could talk about why Cadillac’s V-16 didn’t sell or Volkswagon’s W8 isn’t selling, but I think I’ve gone on for quite long enough. Sorry if I got a little bit ‘inside baseball’, maybe next time I’ll post a glossary?

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