big cliché

Been doing a lot of reading lately on ear stretching, and I have come to the conclusion that there are a serious lot of stoopids out there with nothing to do. I was reading this one FAQ board in particular (I lost the link and don't feel like looking it up now) and there were people asking questions like "hey! I just gauged up to a 6 from my Claire's Boutique piercing (usually a 22g or 20g). Should it be black, blue and bleeding?" Man, if you have to ask that question, you did it wrong my friend. Very wrong. A piercing may bleed, but that is because you are PIERCING. If a stretch bleeds, you haven't stretched at all--you have torn your ear. Dang. Then there were the kids asking crap like "hey! I just got my ears pierced yesterday at Paul's Piercing Pagoda in the mall, can I gauge up to an 8 tomorrow using soda straws and duct tape?" The best though, were probably the 'tough guys' posting "you wussies, I gauged from 14 to 8 to 4 to 00 over the last week, and my ears are fine. Yeah, it hurts and bleeds, but just suck it up and it'll be fine in a few days." Actually, it's a toss up between the tough guys and the kid who used roofing nails and plumbers teflon tape to try to gauge up. There is so much tin, zinc and nickel in those nails, he's lucky his ears didn't immediately explode. Granted, the teflon tape is a viable method, but can you imagine roofing nails in your ears?

After reading all that crap, I decided I better go ahead and get the 12 gauge taper to go with the 12 gauge rings. Partly because I didn't want a rip, but mostly because I know I am smarter than those stoopids. Or at least I thought I was until I reviewed my invoice and noticed that I had ordered an 18 gauge taper! E-gad. Thankfully, the fine folks at Painful Pleasures are on their game and promptly responded to my message by shipping the 12 gauge taper instead of the 18. I haven't even received the rings yet, and they have already impressed me. You should check them out. Especially you, Kelly.

First off, there is a scam sweeping our great nation you need to be aware of and I'm going to be the first one to break the story: Mega M&Ms are not, by any stretch of the imagination, mega. Please refer to photo for scale. In fact, I would go as far as to say that these M&Ms are only marginally larger than their 'non mega' comrades. I personally feel duped. I know you've seen the commercials and you were probably thinking the same thing I was: those things have to be huge! Once again, clever marketing claims a victim. But no more. You hear me, M&M/Mars corporation? No more will I buy your so-called mega m&ms!

Secondly, The Grudge is only slightly better than The Ring, and The Ring sucked complete anus. Well, that's not entirely fair to The Grudge. I didn't laugh out loud when they finally revealed the cause of the haunting. Which, when you really boil it down, is what you have: a haunted house story. The more I see of horror movies, the more I think Zombie may just be the next Wes Craven. Don't get me wrong, the imagery was sufficiently creepy, but relying on creepy imagery to sell an entire story just doesn't work for old Wayne. We even turned out all the lights in a vain attempt to increase the creepiness factor but, alas, it wasn't to be.

And in other news, I'm going to stretch my lobes next weekend. Couldn't really do it this weekend because I won't be able to leave the new rings in all week, which is the preferred thing to do, or so I've read. So, take a last look, wee kiddiewinkies, for this is the last time you will see 16ga rings--next week, we go to 12ga! The process is usually done with a long, tapered rod of acrylic or, preferably, stainless steel, but I think I should be able to just put in the 12s without the aid of a taper. The ones I'm wearing now are the heaviest I've ever worn and they do a fairly good job of stretching the holes after wearing them for about 48 hours straight. Unfortunately, I made the 'official' inquiry about earrings at work, and my boss stated they would not be appropriate for me, since I am in a leadership position on a contract where the expected dress is "professional". And I can actually dig that. It isn't like I'm back at United Design dumping trash cans or something. So, the plan is next Friday night, after work, I take out the retainers, and put in the 16s. Sunday, after a full weekend of gravity doing it's thing, I gauge up to 12s and wear them all week while I'm on vacation. By the way, I'd love to come visit you all in Texas, but we're putting up a shed this year, so no travel for us! My goal is either a 10 or an 8, but that will remain to be seen. I love the look and feel of the bigger jewelry, but I don't want my lobes down around my nipples, if you know what I mean. So after wearing the 12s for a while, If I decide they are too heavy, I may settle on a 10. But then again, there's always titanium. So I could go to an 8 and the weight shouldn't be too much of an issue.

I'm not really sure what caused this sudden renewed interest in the piercings. I know the last time I priced body jewelry, I had a serious case of sticker shock, so that may have been why I stopped wearing initially. Well, that and taking this job, too. I still remember the night shift super referring to me as "that kid with all the earrings" and I only have 3. I also remember thinking that perhaps I was getting a bit too "old" for earrings. That, I've decided, is just pure poop. I ain't that old yet, so I'm going to finish what I started all those years ago. But don't look for any 0 or 00ga plugs. That's just a wee bit too far outside of my comfort zone. By the by, isn't that just the sexiest ear you've seen all dang day? Mmmmmmmm...Scrumptious!

I would ask all of you dimwits who truly believe that the war in Iraq is about cheap oil and gas just one question: WHEN DO WE START SEEING THAT CHEAP OIL AND GAS?

It's hard to believe, but it is really over. After 5 short years, Six Feet Under is no more. I can't think of another series that I can boast seeing every single episode ever made, in the order they were aired. Except for Carnivalé, but that is still running and is only on it's third season. Six Feet Under was probably HBO's best yet. Yes, even better than SEX and waaaaaaay better than 'The Goombah Show'. Fahgedaboudit. It was smarter, funnier, darker, and much more gay than anything else I've ever watched. I've heard people say that the true measure of a man can be determined by what makes him laugh. If that's true, I'm doomed. Just plain doomed. At least I'm in good company.

The more foreign films I see, the more I think hollywood is A.F.U. And even when it isn't, it really is. But the point is that I'm digging on foreign movies, and I wouldn't be if it wasn't for my buddy Aimee. It wasn't so long ago that I maintained a strict "no reading" policy when it came to my movies. And it was only very recently that I relaxed my outright ban on French films. I have always figured that any culture that likes Jerry Freaking Lewis that much must have some serious issues. It is, however, a very good thing I finally got over that or I would've never seen Amelie and that has got to be one of my absolute favorite movies. Seriously. It's right up there with Saving Private Ryan and A Clockwork Orange--which, according to IMDB, are ranked well below Amelie on their top 250 movies list. But...just so you know, I'm not talking about these dark, convoluted, art-house crap films that are made only to stroke the producer's ego. I'm talking about regular movies. The kind you probably won't see at Cannes or Sundance, but are still very good despite lacking the official 'seal of approval'. This weekend's selection was L'auberge Espagnole--The Spanish Apartment. I have a feeling most folks will either love it or hate it, so just catch it on HBO or IFC or wherever you can find it and check it out.

In case you needed more proof that this current generation of stoopids is nothing if not selfcentric, let me tell you a little story. Sunday, the battery in the big black truck died. It was a hot day and after 7 years of faithful service, the poor thing just couldn't take it any longer. The complication here is that we had dropped off Aim's car at the dealership to get the 45K tuneup, so it wasn't like I could just call her and say "hey, come pick me up" because she was sittin' right there with me. We were having lunch while we waited for the shop to finish, so of course that would be when the battery has to go. I made a few cursory checks, but it was obvious the battery was the culprit. Fortunately, the cables were in the truck so all I had to do was wait for someone to pull up next to us. Which, amazingly, was only about 40 seconds after I decided a jump-start was indeed going to be the remedy. A silver mustang rolled up next to us, but the windows were tinted so dark and there was so much glare, I coudn't make out the operator, so I had to stand there outside the door like a stalker, trying to look anything but threatening, until he or she opened up. After way too long, the door finally swung open to reveal a young woman, probably in her late teens or early twenties. She was well-heeled and obviously in a hurry. As politely as could, I explained the situation and asked if she could help. I swear to you, folks, she hmmmed and hawed for at least 15 seconds before asking "will it take long?" Now I understand it was indeed hot Sunday, and I'm sure she had other things to do, but what the hell? She was looking at me as if I had just asked if it would be too much trouble for her to hold my frozen heron between her buttcheeks while I robbed the nearest liquor store of enough money to buy a bologna sandwich for my three-headed baby. Seriously, it was that kind of look. She acquiesced shortly after I assured her it would only take two minutes. I had her re-park her car so the cables would reach the battery, pop the hood and re-start her car. Obviously, this was the first time anyone had ever asked her for a jump-start. While I was connecting the cables, she pipes up with "oh, now I'm going to get all sweaty and stuff". I had to fight the urge to jerk the cables off the battery and tell her to go ahead and take care of whatever the freak was so much more important than being a human dang being for two whole minutes of her life. But, I really needed to get the truck started, so I just made the connections and cranked the ignition. Thank God it started on the first go. I don't know if I could've fought it back a second time, and the poor girl may have melted. After all, our auto insurance does include road-side assistance, but I really didn't feel like waiting an hour for them to show. I disconnected her car first, then shut her hood and again thanked her for her assistance. I contemplated going into the restaurant after her and telling her a thing or two, but I thought better of it because she did help, after all, and I knew I'd be slaggin' her right here as soon as I found time. If I had really been on my game, I would've gotten her tag number and reported it to OCPD as a hit and run. But then there's that whole felony thing about filing a false report and then I'd actually have to deal with the man for at least an hour while we hashed out the paperwork. Not really worth it in the end, I suppose.

And finally, I found the perfect earrings...yeah, I said it...but I don't have the guts to wear them to work. They aren't anything super-special, but trying to find captive bead rings and circular barbells anyplace other than a piercing shop, in the gauge I was trying to find, is next to annoying. Everyone has the big stuff, but I don't have big piercings--just the run-of-the-mill "I've been out of the military for 3 days now so I have to pierce my ears just because The Man said I couldn't" stuff. I was looking for 18ga, but had to settle for 16ga because that was all they had in stock and I was so excited to find them. This, of course, meant there was gonna be some stretching involved. 16ga is practically a mosquito bite when one considers that people routinely opt for 8ga Prince Alberts, but when you haven't worn earrings in years, it becomes big. Anyway that's all sorted, but like I say, I don't think they would go over too well at work. There isn't anything I know of that expressly prohibits men from wearing earrings to work but I remember the reception I received the last time I wore them, which, come to think of it, was the last time I wore them. It's like I told the girl at the store when I went back to buy the clear lucite retainers: "I'm just not at that place where I can stand up and tell The Man that I can't live by his rules any more". A good salary buys a lot of conformity these days, and while I may be easy, I ain't cheap. Which really means I will be happy to sit quietly by, nod attentively and smile like Howdy-Freakin' Doody while you carp on endlessly about TPS report coversheets, if the price is right. I tell you, if these guys hadn't already done it, I'd have to come up with my very own 'SELLOUT' t-shirt design.

While I'm emjoying my lunch break at work, I usually listen to the AM radio. Mostly because London doesn't come in with a crap during daylight hours and I don't speak enough German (well, any German really) to enjoy Radio Deutschland on the shortwave, which comes in clear as a bell. Anyway, I listen to a (and you knew this was coming) conservative talk radio guy called Ron Black. His shtick being that he covers local stuff rather than the same national stuff that everyone else has already flogged to death. So last week sometime, I'm looking over his website, and I notice he's actually linking to the videos of those hostages in Iraq being murdered. Murdered is putting it nicely, by the way. Those guys literally hacked off their victim's heads with bread knives. The others were shot--point blank, bound and blindfolded--in the back or in the back of the head.

When these vids initially hit the internet, I decided against watching them for two reasons. First, because they were real. No hollywood special effects, no slight of hand. These are real people losing their lives for no good reason. Secondly, because I didn't want to remember those people in that way. We'd all seen the media pictures of these guys before and since we all knew what happened, I didn't see a lot of reason to watch the videos.

Last week I changed my mind and decided to watch all of them, back to back, for the express purpose of reminding myself what kind of people we're dealing with when we say the word "terrorist". I'm not talking about the obscurity of the "war on terror" here, I'm talking about the rank and file guys who have absolutely no qualms about hacking off someone's head or detonating themselves outside the play area of a day care in Jerusalem. Or OKC for that matter. I use the word "obscurity" here because, even though I support the president, I'm a bit confused as to how one can wage a war against a state of mind? Think about that for just a second; how can you shoot terror? How can you capture terror? The correct phrasing should be something like "war against terrorists". You can shoot a terrorist. You can even capture one--although, after watching those videos, I'm more inclined to go with shooting them. And I hate to say that because it is just plain wrong, but I know after watching those videos that these people would take my head just as quickly and with just as little remorse as they demonstarted in the videos. Which, sadly, makes it a very obvious decision when it comes down to the "me or him" scenario.

I don't know what your take is on these events. Some people view them and think we must get out of Iraq. We must make sure this never happens to anyone else. The Filippinos pulled out their troops as a direct result of those videos. I personally think that this is exactly why we have to hunt terrorsts down and stop them. Sadly, "stopping" means killing them before they have a chance to kill us. Would I feel differently about this if it was one of my family members in those videos? I honestly can't tell you. But I can tell you that if I was in one of those videos, I would want every nation on the planet to continue, and even increase, their efforts to hunt down my killers and stop them before they had a chance to do it again. But that's just me.

Yahoo! News Photo

Living proof that no matter how attractive you might find her, somewhere, someone is tired of her crap!

First Coast News | Local News

Just in case you ever needed to know when to hang it up.

FOXNews.com - U.S. & World - BTK Killer Sentenced to Life in Prison

Old Boy should've got the firing squad, but that's just my opinion.

The desktop is officially back from the land of the dead. (And I just realized I'm wearing my headphones, but still haven't actually started the music. I hate when this happens. Hang on. There, that's better). Anyway, I got the memory (thanks, Justin) installed and tried to bring the system up but, alas, there was no love. Turns out when the memory dumped, it took part of my boot files with it. Why, I don't know. It just did. XP does most things pretty well, for a bloat-ware windows product, but repair is not one of them. Just hope you don't have to do it soon is all I'm sayin'.

The longer it takes for the weekend to get here, the more this magazine jam thing wears on my nerves. I've taken one of the springs out of a Beretta mag and smacked it in the Sig mag. The problem is I don't have anywhere to test fire the pistol. It occurred to me, while at work this evening, that this town needs an all night shooting range. Yessir, that's what we need 'round these here parts. Just after mentioning it, Rob W. said "yeah, but can you imagine the sort of folks who'd visit an all night shooting range..." Hello? I'm sitting right here. You could at least wait until I'm out of the room before talking the smack about me. But in the really real world, even after I get this magazine thing sorted, I've still got to figure out if I want to mess with sending the entire pistol back to Sig to have the thing diagnosed or just have a local smith do it even though the danged thing is still under warranty. Some of you may know that for me (read: NO FFL) to ship a gun back to the manufacturer, I have to send it overnight with either FEDEX or UPS. Back in the day you could send it regular ground service, but their employees developed sticky fingers so they mandated you would have to send it overnight, hence lessening the amount of time said sticky fingers have access to my gun, which means around 50-70 clams to get it from here to Exeter, NH. Now I suppose I could take it up to my FFL guy in OKC and have him ship it for somewhere in the neighborhood of $25, but that opens a whole different can of worms (read: ATF paperwork) the details of which I will spare you. Yeah, I know, I know. Kids in this state--most assuredly even here in my quaint little burg--are going to bed hungry and I'm wanking about whether or not I can get my extraneous killing machine to function properly. I believe the phrase your looking for is "bourgeois war-mongering pig". Unless you happen to be a fellow conservative, in which case you may be thinking "where's the problem?" I'm just kidding, and you know it. I know you understand the feeling--when you have something that should be working and there is no legitimate reason for it to malfunction, yet it does. Repeatedly. Kind of like after you've rebuilt the carb in your 54 BelAire and you know you've done everything right, but the dang thing still won't turn over. I think it will be mandatory that our next home have enough land that I can put in a 50 meter pistol range for use whenever I dang well feel like it. It wouldn't take that much land and most of Norman, outside of the city proper anyway, is zoned so that as long as the projectile doesn't leave your property it's all good. Anyway, enough wanking about that.

So have you seen the Sin City yet? Of course you have. You are still going to theaters, aren't you? Well, we hadn't until last night. I ran right out after work and bought it not even knowing if it was going to be worth a turd. How's that for wild, reckless abandon? Yessir, we are livin la vida loca! I really liked it. The first act was a bit over the top--Madsen was playin the part a little ham-fisted, but once I was acclimated to the constant narrative (which is almost always present in graphic novels because they don't have an audio track to do the talking for them) it was right as rain. Well maybe not 'right as rain' but it worked for me. Apparently, it worked for a lot of us--it turned in a very respectable 8.4 at IMDB and made their top 100 after being out for less than a year. Most folks I've chatted with felt Mickey Rourke stole the show, but I didn't quite see it that way. I felt each of them played their part well and it all just fit. I think this is probably the best actin' he's done in years, but in a movie where everyone does so well, it's hard for me to give one cast member all the props. Having never read any of Frank Miller's stuff, there weren't any expectations for me going in. One of the guys at work was "bitterly disappointed" by the screen version, but he is also an admitted Miller fan, having most of the material from which the screenplay was adapted. If you were going to nail me down on one cast member, I would have to say Benecio's Jacky Boy was spot-on. And in a stunning film achievement, Brittany Murphy didn't make me vomit! Maybe she should get the oscar just for that. I think it should suffice to say that I'll be keeping it. Even if you don't like the material, I think most people are correct when they say that the presentation could change the way movie adaptations are made, and for that it definitely deserves all the kudos it's been given.

Usually I'm of the opinion that any weekend I don't shoot off the pinky-toe is a good weekend. Truth be told, this weekend wasn't bad per se, but there was a lot transpiring to bring it down. First, and most notably, I was on-call. That is the one part of my job that I truly hate. I always thought getting out of the Navy meant getting out of the "duty weekend". Not so, wee kiddiewinkies. Once a month, for 48 straight hours, I am at the beck and call of "the client" and ultimately responsible for any feces that hit the fan. But that, as they say, is why they pay me the big bucks. And, as I always say, "He knew the job was dangerous when he took it". In fact, being on-call actually turned out to be the least of my worries this weekend.

If you've checked out the 'evil black firearms' link (which was created to get a link to all my gun pics in one place) you know the Sig slide was sent back to the manufacturer to have the sights adjusted. Well I got it back Friday so, of course, I had to test fire it Saturday. Things were going beautifully until the slide failed to lock open after the last round. Again. The next magazine netted a jam. As did the one after that, and the one after that, too. Honest to God, the thing jammed on the 14th round of every magazine! I was already irritated with all the freaking tourists who were there to shoot the free guns, but this was really getting to me.

You see, H&H, which is normally a very enjoyable place to shoot, has taken to hosting these manufacturer expo things where a bunch of factory reps descend on the place like some kind of well-meaning plague. Well-meaning in the sense that they really want you to buy one of their new 500 ultra-mag's so they will kiss that booty proper--tongue and all. Hence, if you point at a gun while making any kind of guttural sound, and appear to have all your fingers and at least one eye, they will give you the weapon with a handful of free ammo to get your rocks off. If I was looking to buy something new, I'm sure I would be happy to partake of their wares, but when I'm up there to shoot, the net effect is that my lane, the one I'm paying for, is surrounded by a bunch of wannabe buffoons. I am not kidding you at all when I tell you one particularly oblivious and nonchalant couple actually drew eyeglasses, a crooked nose, fat lips and a pearl necklace on their smurf target with the caption "Don't shoot me! I'm too cute!" scrawled across the bottom. That is not a lie, kids. You have no idea how hard it was to fight the urge to centerpunch their target then peek around the barrier and give them the "oops, did I do that?" Drawing on your target isn't particularly loathsome, but it was indicative of their overall lackadaisical attitude and you have to remember there are something like 15 lanes there. Which is, potentially, 15 loaded guns in one place with people of varying, or no, experience. That is not the place to be assin' around, in my book.

I took 200 rounds with me, but only fired about half that before I'd had my fill of the jams. Just before I decided to pack it in, I noticed my shots were pulling to the right on the second target. Hmmm. That's odd. I had just finished putting almost 75 rounds through one ragged, albeit large, hole in the exact center of the first target. I knew I wasn't jerking the trigger, so I checked the front sight and sure as shootin (pun intended) it was off to the left by about a millimeter. Again. E-gad.

At this point, I'm just plain saddened by the whole state of affairs. So it looks like I'll be calling Sig customer service back to see exactly what was done and why it isn't working. And before any of you who are 'in the know' ask, I was shooting Winchester white box, which is well within SAAMI spec's and has functioned flawlessly in the Beretta time and time again. It wasn't like I was shooting some half-baked handloads I got "by the pound" at the gunshow, so it just baffles the mind. All I can guess is that as the barrel heats up, it transfers that heat to the slide and the dovetail expands before the front sight has a chance to heat up as well. Mix in a little recoil and the sight moves to the left. Whatever the case, it ain't s'posed to happen. Certainly not on a Sig. I could understand this on a Bryco or something like that, but this is the same pistol the SEALs chose as their sidearm over the 92FS.

Just to make sure the weekend ended on a high note, the system memory in the desktop took a huge dump (bad pun intended, again). I had forgotten the motherboard in that machine has POST voice alerts, so it was a little eerie when the computer wouldn't 'wake up' from standby mode and we could just barely make out a woman's voice in the distance. At first, we couldn't tell where it was coming from or what she was saying, but Aimee figured out it was the computer and turned the volume up. "System failed memory test, system failed memory test" was all she said, over and over again. I pulled the memory and smacked it in another bank. No love. Thankfully, it is under warranty so all I have to do is wait for the company to issue an RMA number and ship a new stick after they receive the defective unit. Fortunately, one of the homies at work has a spare stick or two to get me by while they are processing my warranty claim. Life just ain't worth living without the computers, kids. I don't know how I ever made it by without 'em.

And in movie news, we watched Hostage with Bruce Willis and Hitch with, well, you know who. To quote Aimee after we finished Hostage, "that didn't suck nearly as bad as I thought it would". It was decent, but it's not like Willis is doing any mysteries these days. You know when you get the DVD home that there are going to be a lot of people shot and at the end, the good guy will win. He's kind of predictable like that. Hitch, for all its efforts, was still a perfectly-to-formula romantic comedy. If you have to pay for either of them, you may want to wait 'til they show up on cable. I borrowed them from Dad, so I feel I got my money's worth from each.

Finally, am I the only one who thinks that maybe, just maybe, Sharon is having all the Israelis pull out of Gaza and the West Bank so that there won't be any 'friendly fire' incidents the next time the Palestinians act up? Think about it: if all the Israeli settlers are out, and the IDF finds that a bomber came from X house in the strip, what's to stop them from droppin' a daisy cutter or two, clearing the rubble and moving back in? Just remember: if it goes down like that, you read it here first.

From the Great Zoo Trip of '04--just for Jefe. Sure, there aren't any corpses laying around, and he's not all covered in blood, but it wasn't like they were throwing dead wildebeest in the vulture enclosure, if you know what I mean.

Just so you know, I am the man. Well, not really, but I noticed the other day that the picture I took of my 92FS is the first hit you get if you do a google image search for "92fs". Go ahead, you know you want to try it. I'll wait. Check the top, left hit. Yeah, that's right.

I was trying to find a picture of a certain crazy 92FS I had seen where they stripped the Bruniton and polished the aluminum to a bright mirror finish. What I didn't notice initially, probably because I'm so used to seeing that image, is that it was staring right back at me from the top left corner. I know it's not really that big a deal, and the picture could be better, but it is a bit of a boost to see a photo I made, for my own personal satisfaction, come right up. Just so you know, I have never submitted any of my stuff to a search engine. I don't know for sure how google finds stuff or rates it, but I can tell you that if you do a search for any of my other gun pics, you get nada.

In movie news, you should run right out and get yourself a copy of Talk To Her and then promptly watch it. It's a bit different, but in a good way. The story is unusual and I've never really seen anything quite like it. Good times, I tell you. Also worth watching, maybe even purchasing, was The Machinist. This movie was so good, I was finally able to forgive Christian Bale for American Psycho. I hated his character in that movie so much, I had made it a point to miss every single movie he's starred in since. And I'll tell you this much, if you ever thought DeNiro was all that for gaining a few pounds to play a boxer, you will not believe how much weight Bale lost to play Reznik. It is absolutely astounding. Seriously. Just do an image search for "Trevor Reznik" and you'll see what I'm talking about. It is just plain crazy, I tell you. Aimee and I really wanted to see this one at the OKCMOA theater, but we just kept forgetting about it. I know I've mentioned it before (when we saw Supersize Me ) but I can honestly say it was the best theater experience we've had in years.

I need to make more photos. However, I'm lazy and a procrastinator. Send ideas, please!

and it is freaking expensive!

This is just about everything I want in a hand-held. Too bad it is 5 bills. I'll pick one up off ebay in 18 months when they down to the really real world price.

Now that I've started off with something all nice and mellow, it's time to roll out some hate for the brady campaign. I often read their website just to see what they are up to (know thy enemy) and I am always, always amazed at the strange, unsettling brand of crazy they are cookin' up over there. Their current crusade is to get someone to ban the FN FiveSeven. They even made a nice little video that shows a couple of brady nutters shooting class IIA kevlar. (And doing a lousy job with their muzzle discipline, I might add). In the video I watched, the sound was off because quicktime was afu, they hit it with the 5.7, then what looks like a .45 and finally a shotgun. Of course, the 5.7 penetrated, because that it what it is deigned to do, and they are all freaked out. Why? Because this pistol fires a proprietary round that pierces kevlar without a steel penetrator core and is therefore NOT classified as armor-piercing ammo. This makes it perfectly legal for homies all across the nation, just like you and me, to own one. So now they are, once again under the guise of protecting the world, they are calling for congress to enact some type of federal-level ban on this weapon.

One thing they don't tell you is that after even one hit, even if it doesn't penetrate, officers replace their vests. Not that it would really make much difference in this case, but their "scientific testing" (my phrase, not theirs) methodology is flawed in favor of shock value. Either that, or they just couldn't afford 3 vests after buying the pistol and the ammo. It is that expensive.

I swear I could just vomit every time I visit that site, but I have to do it. I must keep myself abreast of what they are trying to do, and you should too. It actually makes me queasy to read some of the stuff they try to pass off. Lest you think me one-sided, I assure you I am well aware of what those stuffed suits at the NRA try to pass off as fact too--so the road runs both directions, if you know what I mean.

The bottom line is this: people kill people. People are base evil. People will kill other people using whatever means are at hand. Whether it is a handgun, knife, rifle, rock, rope, garrote, stick, poison, baseball bat or their own two hands, people have killed since creation. Anyone remember Cain and Abel?

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if these dimwits were really so concerned with public safety, why aren't they all over the 40,000, or so, annual automobile fatalities? Where's their outcry against the shaken baby syndrome? Why is it I don't hear them calling for stricter legislation on repeat sex offenders?

I bet Sarah Brady would be singing a different song if her husband had been run over by some gansta's hooptie. There would be sweeping, nation wide bans on deep-dish "victim crushing" wire spoke rims, elaborate "victim disorienting" paintjobs and subs. I wonder if I can sue these dolts for emotional distress. Sure, I went to their website of my own accord, but that didn't stop the tobacco suits of the 90's now did it?

Puke, I tell you. I could just. plain. puke.

If you've been on the prowl for a good piece of smoked salmon, I have a surprise for you: Prima Della Traditional Smoked Salmon. Aimee and I loved the smoked salmon, but it is hard to find a store-bought fish (most are farm raised and taste like they were grown in a bucket of muddy water) that just does not suck. Fortunatley, the portions we sampled this evening are quite good--albeit just the tiniest bit tough. The portions are good sized, wonderfully smoky, richly succulent and perfectly salted. Which, in the really real world, is just a bit saltier than I would make them, but it isn't overbearing and you don't feel like someone has tried to salt-cure your mouth. Blech. They are fully smoked, so you could just cut open the vacuum pack and serve on a snack tray with some other assorted seafood bits and you'd be the host with the most. All in all, a great fish for under 3 smacks. Try ordering smoked salmon with steamed veggies and rice in your favorite bistro and see how much it sets you back. All of a sudden, wm fish doesn't seem so outlandish, now does it? Look for it in the fish section of the refrigerated case. NOT the freezer. And check out that Ultra-Sexy Tuscan Red SengWare, while you're drooling over the fish--it makes everything taste better. The SengWare, that is. Not your drool.

In other news, I found out, second hand, that passing a kidney stone must surely be the most intensely painful thing that can happen short of losing a limb. Yesterday, just after 15:30, one of the other stupidvisors came over to let me know that one of his peeps was not feeling well and he thought he had a kidney stone working it's way towards freedom. He says I should check on him in 30 minutes because he is laying down (this should have been the first indication that things were not at all well) on the floor in his office to see if it will pass, and I may need to shuttle him to the ER. Not 15 minutes after that, the guy is at my desk telling me that he's going to need a ride to the ER, because he can't stand the pain any longer. I notice that he is not able to stand fully upright without making a series of very woeful, disturbing noises and shaking. I grabbed the truck keys, a company cell phone, and we were on our way. When we got to the lobby, I told Old Boy to stay put and I would bring the truck around to the front door. Just as I get to my truck, one of my peeps calls me on the cell and asks if I'm supposed to be taking Old Boy to the ER. "Well yes" I say, "but I can't carry him and I don't want him walking arcoss the parking lot in his current condition". My guy then tells me he can see Old Boy on the lobby security cameras and he is laying on the floor rolling around. I squealed the tires on every turn getting to the front door. As soon as I could get him in the truck, I called the HR director to make sure Norman ER is on our insurance so he won't get stuck with a giant 'out of network' charge and even fatter bill. I'm driving as quickly as possible without attracting too much attention, and doing my best to keep it together, while my passenger has turned around so his knees are in the floorboard and his head is resting on the seat. Then the pain must've gotten really bad at that point, because I have never heard a grown man make those types of sounds who was not carrying a part of his body to the ER. I honestly thought he was going to pass smooth out right there in the truck, but much to his credit, he kept it together. I'll put it like this: when he asked me to run the last light between us and the ER, I tried my level best to do so. Only reason I couldn't was because I was boxed in by some slow-mover in the turn lane. If I could've gotten around her, I promise you I would've gladly risked the ticket to get him there just 30 seconds quicker. Finally, the light changed and we got to the ER intake area. Did you know Norman ER has valet parking? Neither did I until yesterday. The valet kid saw right away the kind of pain he was in and went after a wheelchair. We very gingerly got him transferred and wheeled him in to admission. Then, for me anyway, it got a little surreal. Here is Old Boy, in obvious, excrutiating pain, so they set the brake on his chair and start asking for his insurance information! Hello? "I'm sorry sir, but even though you are in the worst pain you've ever experienced, I can't start your pain management until after we get this insurance thing worked out, now what was your middle initial again?" No kidding, they actually asked him for his middle initial! So they finally get him admitted and send him to a room while I'm calling his wife to let her know what is up. She tells me she is about an hour and fifteen away, so I let her know I'll hang out until she shows up, or until he is OK to be left there. While I'm on the phone with my HR director, again, trying to ascertain if there is any paperwork that needs to be filled out, they whisked him way to CT to get a closer look at the culprit. As it turns out, the stone was 3mm and slowly making its way down his right ureter. 3 freaking millimeters! I almost soiled my pants. As a side note, the doctor was a very uncharacteristically young and handsome. That may sound a bit off, but think about it: every medical show you have ever seen shows these young, hot people being doctors. Now think about your doc's office. Do any young, hot doc's come to mind? Almost assuredly not, but I digress. By that time, they'd established his i.v. and the pain meds were finally doing their job. Enough so that he could hold a lucid coversation. Whereas, before, he was doing good to manage 3 consecutive words. So we chatted a bit about how he felt, some college football and the Air France crash that was simultaneously unfolding on the Fox News. He was obviously in good hands, so I started back to the office very resolute in the decision that if any of my crew (or me for that matter) even think they're getting a kidney stone on, we're heading straight for the ER at the first tickle. I checked on him after getting to work today and he was feeling better, resting at home, but still hadn't passed that dang thing. Hopefully, it will drop soon--that pain is for real, people.

Finally, the holster auction is in full swing so go buy it. I'll tell you what: since you're my peeps and all, if you buy it and mention that you read the blog, I'll pay for shipping! How's that for love?

After purchasing The New 9 I had a little scratch left, so I figured "what the heck", I'll go for the ultimate in handgun geekdom: a shoulder holster! Not that anyone outside of law enforcement NEEDS a shoulder holster, mind you, but it is one of those things that will genuinely come in handy at the range. ***Note to newbs: any weapon with a black finish will promptly rise to a temperature roughly equal to the surface of the sun when left on the unshaded table at the outdoor shooting range for any period longer than 2 minutes. This occurs even faster if you've been firing it.*** And who knows, it might even be useful when "big coat" season rolls around again.

Anyway, I spent a week or so scouring ebay and gunbroker before finally finding one that was new in the pack and less than half retail. After being outbid on two previous auctions, I decided to take the plunge and use the buy it now. Well, I got the holster today and it turns out the auction description was exactly correct: it is a LEFT HANDED draw! I got so giddy about the whole thing I completely failed to notice in the description where it reads "left hand" until last night. Yessir, stoopid is catching, and I had a full-on case last week.

So if you know a handgunner who has need of a Bianchi X-15, left-hand draw, size medium, let a brother know, wouldja? Otherwise, it's going right back on the ebay. Stoopid Wayne--RTFA.