A nice batch of .30 Carbine cases followed me home recently, and I started processing them last evening. I didn't feel like dealing with the STP-on-a -pad mess. I dampened a rag with WD40 and wiped the cases. They resized butter-smoothly in what I think is an overly tight die.
I'd heard about the magic oil as case lube for a long time but never tried it. I'm a convert. It's cleaner, faster, and probably cheaper.
Note to self: You don't have a Lee dedicated taper crimp die for this caliber. Order one today.
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 13, 2011
In lieu of scriivening
Sometimes writing is more fun than real life. Often enough, the opposite is true. For four days yours truly didn't even glance at a computer.
 |
| Shortly after the launch below the lower St. Cloud dam near Mile 925 of the upper Mississippi River, the Patriarch sees his family from a most-favored angle. |
 |
| The Next Generation pulls away from the older folks in an eventually successful effort to catch up with Gramps (who is solo in a tiny Wenohah Voyager, the liveliness of which is graceful and fascinating. Love with a ballerina.) |
 |
Now in the lead, the Next Generation displays the naked ambition and drive which has made the family what it is today. |
 |
| A lunch break midway between St. Cloud and Clearwater features world-class rock skipping demonstration. |
Jul 8, 2011
Post of the Day
By Tam, and cogent even beyond her usual standards, explaining again that the Bill of Rights is not a technicality designed to let known criminals go free.
It should be required memorization work in every high school civics class in America, and if that ain't the solid gold truth I'll kiss your arse at high noon on the Supreme Court steps and let you engage Bill O'Reilly to do live commentary with B-roll closeups.
It should be required memorization work in every high school civics class in America, and if that ain't the solid gold truth I'll kiss your arse at high noon on the Supreme Court steps and let you engage Bill O'Reilly to do live commentary with B-roll closeups.
Jul 7, 2011
Into the lutefisk jungle
I face the future with fear, not for Camp J which will be under the care of an armed house-sitter whose only failings are a short temper, a surly disposition, and a lamentable territoriality. It's the best I could do for next week's short venture into the jungle of government-free Minnesota.
As always, I prepare for the northern safari with extreme care. Sidearm; check. Another sidearm; check. Body armor; check. Case of survival food; check. Most importantly, the precautions include 16-ounce disposable cups in the face of locked-down public pissoirs.
---
My intel always includes poring over the Star-Tribune, Minnesota's second most important newspaper*, for the latest danger, and I discover my peril if some happenstance should require emergency admittance to a geriatric facility.
Under a headline shouting, "Care for elderly, disabled starting to show strain," it reports that a storm blew the roof from a Belleview nursing home.
The facility needs state approval to rebuild. But administrator Jim Broich can't get the safety checks required by state law because the engineers who review plans were laid off.
I see. The rain will fall into the old folks' little bed chambers because it is illegal to rebuild a roof without a public inspector on hand to inspect. After careful reflection, I deem this a splendid law. The highly experimental state of roof-building technology requires such marvels as rafters, sheathing, and shingles -- all installed with inter-fibrous friction fasteners. No private citizen (such as, say, a journeyman carpenter) can be trusted with the job, and certainly no owner is qualified to say, "yep, it looks like it won't fall down, so I probably won't need to sue your ass off. Here's your check."
---
I'll also need to avoid camping in the state parks. However could I make it without a ranger to guide me to the showers?
Anarchy is such a horror.
---
*After the St. Cloud Times, in case you forgot.
As always, I prepare for the northern safari with extreme care. Sidearm; check. Another sidearm; check. Body armor; check. Case of survival food; check. Most importantly, the precautions include 16-ounce disposable cups in the face of locked-down public pissoirs.
---
My intel always includes poring over the Star-Tribune, Minnesota's second most important newspaper*, for the latest danger, and I discover my peril if some happenstance should require emergency admittance to a geriatric facility.
Under a headline shouting, "Care for elderly, disabled starting to show strain," it reports that a storm blew the roof from a Belleview nursing home.
The facility needs state approval to rebuild. But administrator Jim Broich can't get the safety checks required by state law because the engineers who review plans were laid off.
I see. The rain will fall into the old folks' little bed chambers because it is illegal to rebuild a roof without a public inspector on hand to inspect. After careful reflection, I deem this a splendid law. The highly experimental state of roof-building technology requires such marvels as rafters, sheathing, and shingles -- all installed with inter-fibrous friction fasteners. No private citizen (such as, say, a journeyman carpenter) can be trusted with the job, and certainly no owner is qualified to say, "yep, it looks like it won't fall down, so I probably won't need to sue your ass off. Here's your check."
---
I'll also need to avoid camping in the state parks. However could I make it without a ranger to guide me to the showers?
Anarchy is such a horror.
---
*After the St. Cloud Times, in case you forgot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)