...356.8 miles, almost non-stop; just three pit stops, including a gasup.
... plus one other refreshing pause unrelated to bladders, human or canine. I leave it as a deep secret until the morrow. I now totter off to my pallet, hoping I hit it on the way down.
I will hint only that few places in the world approach this mystery site as a Mecca for those whose blood is fearfully diluted with Hoppe's No. 9.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 26, 2011
Advice to young men
Written as I button up the place for a short holiday trip. The house sitter and her puppy ("Sic," of large German heritage, including a 1939-ish German personality) are on the way.
Assembling the pocket things I carry on the road, it occurred to me that I might pass on a serious word or two of counsel to young folks venturing out into the civilized world of 21st Century America.
1. Never flash money. A wad tempts the morons who still believe American Federal Reserve Cartoons are worth stealing. They tend to be armed, if only with shanks they learned about watching "Lockup." It's better to look not worth bothering about as you pay for your Coke in the convenience store. If you must carry large cash in a money clip, shield the 20s and 50s with a fews ones on the outside. (A side note on linguistics. This is the reverse of the "Kansas City Wad.")
2. A good place for your real wallet is locked away in your vehicle. When I'm in on the street in Injun Country like Washington, D.C. or Illinois, I like to carry a fancy one of imitation leather holding a couple of long-expired credit cards, six ones, two fives, and home-made IDs saying my name is Newton Perry Bachmann and listing an address at least 100 miles from Camp J.
3. Dress is a challenge. You want to look respectable enough to get decent treatment from the clerks and bureaucrats with whom you must deal but, again, too poor to look profitable to the lurking goblin in the parking lot. I tend to go with clean jeans past their prime, dirty tennies, and a completely noncommttal shirt. Mustard is a nice color for the latter. (Avoid new Air Jordans at any cost.)
All this -- plus trying to keep my head out of my butt -- helps my confidence that the .45 can stay comfortably hidden. Having one is a comfort. Using it exposes a guy to all sorts of inconvenience.
Happy trails.
Jim
Assembling the pocket things I carry on the road, it occurred to me that I might pass on a serious word or two of counsel to young folks venturing out into the civilized world of 21st Century America.
1. Never flash money. A wad tempts the morons who still believe American Federal Reserve Cartoons are worth stealing. They tend to be armed, if only with shanks they learned about watching "Lockup." It's better to look not worth bothering about as you pay for your Coke in the convenience store. If you must carry large cash in a money clip, shield the 20s and 50s with a fews ones on the outside. (A side note on linguistics. This is the reverse of the "Kansas City Wad.")
2. A good place for your real wallet is locked away in your vehicle. When I'm in on the street in Injun Country like Washington, D.C. or Illinois, I like to carry a fancy one of imitation leather holding a couple of long-expired credit cards, six ones, two fives, and home-made IDs saying my name is Newton Perry Bachmann and listing an address at least 100 miles from Camp J.
3. Dress is a challenge. You want to look respectable enough to get decent treatment from the clerks and bureaucrats with whom you must deal but, again, too poor to look profitable to the lurking goblin in the parking lot. I tend to go with clean jeans past their prime, dirty tennies, and a completely noncommttal shirt. Mustard is a nice color for the latter. (Avoid new Air Jordans at any cost.)
All this -- plus trying to keep my head out of my butt -- helps my confidence that the .45 can stay comfortably hidden. Having one is a comfort. Using it exposes a guy to all sorts of inconvenience.
Happy trails.
Jim
Dec 25, 2011
The Pleasures of the Season to You
I celebrate the day by wrapping gifts and finding the stocking stuffers.
The TMR blood family is scattered, and schedules make it somewhat unusual for us to get together on the actual, official Day. It's a blessing in a way. It gives me an extra day or two to compensate for my habits of procrastination.
For all of you -- gathered with family today or not -- I send wishes for serenity. May the little ones enjoy the magic, the big ones at least a simple day of peaceful respite.
Merry Christmas, Friends.
The TMR blood family is scattered, and schedules make it somewhat unusual for us to get together on the actual, official Day. It's a blessing in a way. It gives me an extra day or two to compensate for my habits of procrastination.
For all of you -- gathered with family today or not -- I send wishes for serenity. May the little ones enjoy the magic, the big ones at least a simple day of peaceful respite.
Merry Christmas, Friends.
Dec 24, 2011
Sons of Guns and the BATF
In re: Red Jacket Armory and Soap Opera; BATFEieio; Discovery Channel; Sons of Guns.
Retaining my general view that anything Holder's Batfee does will be an affront to civil liberties and logical throught processes, I can't whip up much excitement about this one.
For one thing it's a chore to figure out who did what to whom and who still owns what ever is left of the company. Don't tell me. Don't care.
For another, my tolerance for contrived drama has faded to zero since the days when I got puckerbutted about whether Trigger would untie Roy in time to escape the murderin' rustlers. And whether Tonto could really pull the Lone Ranger and Silver out of the quicksand under a hail of Comanche arrows.
'course, there was that great episode on mounting a couple of M242s and a grenade launcher on the sherf's river boat. That'll learn them catfish poachers and pot puffers a thing ot two.
Retaining my general view that anything Holder's Batfee does will be an affront to civil liberties and logical throught processes, I can't whip up much excitement about this one.
For one thing it's a chore to figure out who did what to whom and who still owns what ever is left of the company. Don't tell me. Don't care.
For another, my tolerance for contrived drama has faded to zero since the days when I got puckerbutted about whether Trigger would untie Roy in time to escape the murderin' rustlers. And whether Tonto could really pull the Lone Ranger and Silver out of the quicksand under a hail of Comanche arrows.
'course, there was that great episode on mounting a couple of M242s and a grenade launcher on the sherf's river boat. That'll learn them catfish poachers and pot puffers a thing ot two.
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