Santorum won big on purity platform. "God tells me that you must never wear a condom."
He was running against an Obama position. "Rubber it up, sucka. Don't sweat the money. Your homies gonna pay the drug store."
It's the battle of the Trojan Whores.
.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 7, 2012
Geeky Malevolent Vampires
If you need someone to troubleshoot an SPS-10 radar, I'm you're man. Filament voltages checked and six-pound capicitors cheerfully replaced. I'll even climb the mast for preventive maintenance on the antenna and wave guide.
More lately, I have determined that modern electronic malfunctions are best thought of as supernatural phenomena.
When my iBook came home from the shop, the fresh hard drive corrected most problems, I assume because Rick's Computers down in Danbury has a pretty good -- but not perfect -- voodoo kit. The old gal was smokin' hot on the web, but the Safari email program was still croaked.
After a week of messing with it to no avail I dripped a little fresh chicken blood on the keyboard and the GMVs fled. All is well, and I am serene. Some might argue that downloading the latest Safari "fix" from Apple contributed to the solution. Maybe, but I remain skeptical.
---
I don't expect anyone to be very interested in Cold-War era radar, but it's almost worth clicking the link just for an example of perfectly true but quite meaningless statements:
"The SPS-10 surface search radar had a shorter range than other shipboard radars."
Duhhh. The only other common ship radar was for air search, aimed higher and looking for higher targets.
More lately, I have determined that modern electronic malfunctions are best thought of as supernatural phenomena.
When my iBook came home from the shop, the fresh hard drive corrected most problems, I assume because Rick's Computers down in Danbury has a pretty good -- but not perfect -- voodoo kit. The old gal was smokin' hot on the web, but the Safari email program was still croaked.
After a week of messing with it to no avail I dripped a little fresh chicken blood on the keyboard and the GMVs fled. All is well, and I am serene. Some might argue that downloading the latest Safari "fix" from Apple contributed to the solution. Maybe, but I remain skeptical.
---
I don't expect anyone to be very interested in Cold-War era radar, but it's almost worth clicking the link just for an example of perfectly true but quite meaningless statements:
"The SPS-10 surface search radar had a shorter range than other shipboard radars."
Duhhh. The only other common ship radar was for air search, aimed higher and looking for higher targets.
Loophole AAR (or) I chickened out
My God How the Money Rolled in. Quite a lot of my junk found new homes. Same with the dealer leftovers I was liquidating.
And I recall promising if the junk moved as well Sunday as it did Saturday, I would buy something deadly enough to make Boxer -Pelosi hearts go glurg.
The vision materialized late in the loophole when a dealer friend offered me an outstanding deal on two pretty old Browning Nomads. I thought about the new Bernanke/Obama/Geithner cartoons in the mad-money fund, sighed, thought about a family opportunity, and concluded, "Naahhh." Could the end of my adolescence be drawing nigh?
---
The manner in which the dealer junk moved interested me. Young guys bought the bubble-packed accessories -- tactical scope covers, P85 magazines, anything painted camo, almost any macho thing you can plug-and-play.
Graybeards -- guys who obviously knew how to read a mike, which end of the screwdriver to hold, and what actually makes a cartridge go bang -- bought the swivel sets, odd reloading gear, and scope mounts. There were only a few of the latter, and that makes me a little sad. It sort of confirms my feeling that the country is becoming wanna-buy instead of can-do.
---
it's hard to say enough about how well the Emmett County Ike Walton league runs this little show. For one small instance: when I checked in Friday afternoon, the Ike-in-charge made sure the table location was satisfactory; he was willing to move things around to make sure we were happy. Then, about four of his club partners traipsed out to the truck and carried in most of my gear for me. I don't recall that ever happening before, and this is a public thank-you to them.
And I recall promising if the junk moved as well Sunday as it did Saturday, I would buy something deadly enough to make Boxer -Pelosi hearts go glurg.
The vision materialized late in the loophole when a dealer friend offered me an outstanding deal on two pretty old Browning Nomads. I thought about the new Bernanke/Obama/Geithner cartoons in the mad-money fund, sighed, thought about a family opportunity, and concluded, "Naahhh." Could the end of my adolescence be drawing nigh?
---
The manner in which the dealer junk moved interested me. Young guys bought the bubble-packed accessories -- tactical scope covers, P85 magazines, anything painted camo, almost any macho thing you can plug-and-play.
Graybeards -- guys who obviously knew how to read a mike, which end of the screwdriver to hold, and what actually makes a cartridge go bang -- bought the swivel sets, odd reloading gear, and scope mounts. There were only a few of the latter, and that makes me a little sad. It sort of confirms my feeling that the country is becoming wanna-buy instead of can-do.
---
it's hard to say enough about how well the Emmett County Ike Walton league runs this little show. For one small instance: when I checked in Friday afternoon, the Ike-in-charge made sure the table location was satisfactory; he was willing to move things around to make sure we were happy. Then, about four of his club partners traipsed out to the truck and carried in most of my gear for me. I don't recall that ever happening before, and this is a public thank-you to them.
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