Dreaming...

Of Daddy. Casey has recently become obsessed with Mr. Abby. For years, she more or less ignored him and tolerated his presence. But the past few weeks...she adores him. They went on a "date" last night (car ride). Sparky had to stay home with me, so she was feeling most superior.

Now she's knocked out on the couch, and I'm fairly sure she's waiting for him to come home in the hopes he'll take her for another ride.

Poor Mr. Abby. When he called her out of the yard to get in his truck last night, she raced right through some dog poo in her excitement. Then tracked it into his truck. So he's got some vehicle upholstery de-poo work to do tonight.

Tasker - 5 Things you don't know about Abby

These "memes," they frighten me. Tripping Daisy tagged me for this one.

Don't hold your breath for anything too juicy - family members read here. Here goes-

1- I dance in supermarket aisles in the afternoon if the muzak is good. I inherited from my father a shocking lack of a capacity to be embarassed by bad public singing and dancing.

2- I want to get auburn highlights in my hair. But my Mom decided to be a faux redhead while she's chemo-bald. Now I don't want to get the highlights until she gets her normal hair back because I don't want to be a chemo copy cat.

3- I was thrown out of the National Honor Society in high school.

4- I have kicked my dog to correct problem behavior. Worst thing about that? It worked. Still, I've only done it twice. Once to find out, once to correct a porch-crapping habit.

5- My one and only court appearance was because of my dog, and it was unrelated to the kicking. She was escaping the yard and chasing children. Specifically, black children. I had to confess this when enlisting in the Army and at every security investigation I've participated in. "My name is Abby and my dog is a violent racist."

How's that for weird ephemera? I'm only an egg, so I don't tag people. But that was fun.

Sittin' here, looking at my watch...

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, you say! What is Abby doing posting before 0900?

I know, I do not normally exist until around 1015 (or so). But this morning Mr. Abby was involved in a drawn-out phone conversation that woke me up just enough to have the single coherent thought, I really want a bowl of cereal.

Our house sale is closing today (we hope). So I'm just sitting here waiting for afternoon and insane phone calls. I'm also waiting on the pack of Cubans to come look at my ceiling.

I do need to do a WalMart run later, but let's not get all excited and do all the fun shit early, mmmkay?

So. Damn. Sexy.

I get a lot of people launched in here on Google looking for information about M1 carbines.

It's getting closer, people. It looks like they may not come up for sale on 1 March like we were hoping. But it still bears watching.

So listen - here is the page for CMP M1 carbine updates.

Here is the page that tells you about the requirements and procedures for purchasing rifles from CMP.

If you are on active duty, that suffices as "club membership" and "proof of marksmanship activity."

If you are a veteran for whom a DD214 suffices as proof of marksmanship and simply need a club, you need to join the Garand Collector's Association. It suffices for CMP purposes. I belong.

OK. That's the best I can do. Remember - M1 carbines rock, and you need one. You should buy two, and send one to me.

It's a rough life

I swear we did not pose him for this shot. This is life with Sparky.

Yep. That's a beach towel and a couch blanket. And a pillow. It's a rough life he leads, hey?

I've got a dog story for you guys. A good one. But it involves sex. And vomit. Want to hear it? Let me know...

Valentine's Day

If you're in Tampa and need a last-minute idea for Valentine's Day, and if you're a weird, sick individual...

You can go watch critter sex at the zoo. Watch weasels screwing like weasels. See actual goatfuckery. Or something.

No - you will NOT see Mr. Abby and me there.

Policy Statement

We turned on CNN a couple of minutes ago and President Bush was holding a press conference. As an aside, he's looking much more comfortable since he's not going to stand for re-election again. I can't blame him for that.

But an important question came up. As soon as the transcript is posted, I'll link to it, but for now I'll paraphrase.

Reporter: Mr. President, is there any way it's possible for Americans who disagreed with you to still support the troops?

President: Blah blah blah...yatta yatta yatta. Standard answer about how everyone's patriotism is equal...

I'm going to go out on a limb here. I'm going to say something blunt, and I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings.

If you stand for anything but U.S. victory in Iraq and Afghanistan, you do not support the troops.

I'm sure you still like the troops. I'm not saying you're the type to throw rocks at them, but you do not support them.

But, but, you whine. I didn't support the war before it started, and I still think the best way to support them is to bring them home!

Nope. The time to oppose the war was before it started. The world is not equipped with a rewind button. The war happened and it's happening. That debate is over.

There is debate about what, exactly, defines "victory" in Iraq. Definitions vary. For working purposes, I'll say that a win looks like this:
1- an elected representative government
2- working and transparent judicial system
3- all major ethnic groups living with minimal strife - or at least wary tolerance
4- Armed and organized military and paramilitary bodies under the strict and functional control of government bodies
5- A total lack of internal meddling by other states or groups.

We can refine that.

If you do not support this outcome (or one very like it, remember, it's a flexible definition), you do not support the troops.

Note that this does NOT equate to wholehearted and total enthusiastic support of George W. Bush and his policy. Really. You know those polls that the defeatists, the cut-and-runners, keep trotting out? (This was published at the end of 2006)

Only 35% of the military members polled this year said they approve of the way Bush is handling the war, and 42% said they disapprove. While approval of the president's war leadership has slumped, his overall approval remains high among the military.

Just as telling, in this year's poll only 41% of the military said the U.S. should have gone to war in Iraq in the first place, down from 65% in 2003. That closely reflects the beliefs of the general population — 45% agreed in a recent USA TODAY-Gallup poll.

You know what this poll is saying? I can put it in quote marks for you, what "the troops" are saying with these numbers.

"Fucking president fucked this up. Now it's a giant political goatfuck and we're just not going to do what we have to do to win it. Fuck. I'm going to be back here in ten years, and my kids are probably going to end up fucking around in this shithole."

Seriously. That's it. That's the point. They're losing confidence in our national commitment.

There can be national debate, and it can be vigorous. There are more than two options. It's too bad that so many Americans think there are only two.

A) I support the President and everything he says and he's RIGHT!
B) I hate the President, and everything he says and does. We ought to bring those poor soldiers home right now. Bush lied! People died!

We are at war. If we give up and bring everyone home, that will have major consequences in the world. No kidding. Major bad serious no-shit consequences. We've talked about that before.

We need a win. And we need to find a way to do that. It won't be easy. I think we're on the right track with the surge. I honestly think we need more bodies. There's a bit of history in Iraq which should have taught us that it's entirely possible to push the Bad Guys out of one area and have them simply hide in another until things settle down.

It's okay to want to do things differently. And it's okay to disapprove of the current plan, or a past plan. In fact, that's great.

That, folks, is the ultimate support you owe your troops. You, through your elected representatives, need to ensure they are employed in the pursuit of victory. You cannot allow your representatives to wobble. You must decide what you believe is the course to victory and urge that pursuit. Be vocal. Hold their feet to the fire. Get on the phone, buy a map of Iraq, read about what's going on, and call your representative! Send a damn eight-page letter with YOUR strategy for victory. Take an active interest in finding a solution.

Your troops will do anything for this country. No kidding. They will, and do, walk through fire and hell for you. All they ask is that you use them with care. That you do not send them off with a fanfare, then get distracted by Anna Nicole Smith and, after having your TV-watching interrupted, grow bored and want them to stop fighting and come back.

Our country has committed. Our troops have committed. Many, many American civilians have committed. We have a duty to keep our leaders committed, and on a constant and vigorous hunt for victory.

Iraq, whether we all thought it was the right part of the swamp to drain or not, is now a part of a true battle between Us and Them. It's really that simple. There are two major movements in the Middle East that are committed to attacking the United States, our civilians and our way of life.

Saying it's too hard and bringing everyone home for hugs is technically an option, but it's a very very bad one. A long view is called for.

We get to choose. We get to choose between whether we're fighting another Vietnam or another World War II. One war cost us 58,000 in a halfhearted politically-wavering effort. The other, more than 291,000 killed in an effort that ultimately saved the world as we know it.

Dispatches from a foreign land...

Or something like that. I guess.

I read Slate fairly regularly. Lots of good writing. But there is a trend I've found a little tiresome. Slate treats the midwest (and the south, but especially the midwest) like it's...Madagascar or something.

I'm kind of used to hearing people talk about the rural midwest like it's some sort of imaginary, idealized place. That always strikes me as odd - I don't know that many midwesterners who really think the major coastal cities are like...Saturn. In fact, I think most midwesterners I know have, at one time or another, been farther from home than their local VFW pancake breakfast.

Normally I think this is slightly amusing, in an eye-rolling sort of way.

"Yes," I'll say to my more urban, metropolitan friends. "My high school had a dairy farm next door. No - we didn't lock the doors. In fact, they propped them open in the spring. No - that didn't lead to a problem with gangs or crazed gunmen, but the school smelled like cow shit an awful lot."

And they'll chuckle. Oh, those quaint midwesterners!

But for some reason, this chapped my ass. The "Ain't that America" photo selection from Slate.

It's white people and farms and harvesting! Oh my! Come here, darling - observe these strange images from the hinterlands! It's as though this is some strange anthropological study from Papua New Guinea or some shit.

Dude! This is like...I dunno...normal pictures of a reasonably large portion of the country. Some people have cows. And they go to fairs. And they even have cars and driveways! And yes, the people who live on wheat farms harvest the wheat, because that's what they do for a living.

Jesus H. Christ.

Further (you could tell this was going to be long one, couldn't you?), why are like half the pictures from the 50s and 60s? The desperation to achieve a sense of provincialism absolutely reeks from this collection, but mixing in even grainier imagery of old people at gas stations in 1954...

What the hell is the point of this photo essay?

I don't know, but it pisses me off. I may have to rant more on this subject from another angle. There is a significant part of the country, and it's a statistical minority, that really believes its day-to-day experiences are some sort of "norm" for Americans. The only problem is, this minority lives in coastal enclaves and seems to think about things for a living.

That's not most of the country. And - here's a hint - it's not the important part of the country.

On strike

This is unbelievable. That springer spaniel was okay...but definitely not the best offering in the sporting group. The PBGB? If I hadn't been on the phone, I'd have put a boot through the TV.

I can barely bring myself to watch the herding group. I wonder which undersized fruitbat will win this one?

Leaky roof

So the leak wasn't too bad. We were getting some pretty torrential rain, and we've got a couple "weak spots" in the kitchen. It really shouldn't surprise me that one of them finally went.

Of course, this means a call to the landlord. Although our slumlords are very nice people, they have not in the past shown a lot of enthusiasm about spending money on the place. They're trying to sell it, so that's not a good sign.

I figure there's a 50/50 chance they'll dispatch a horde of illegal immigrants to fix the problem. They've done that before (which explains, in a strange way, how I ended up with a bathroom towel bar bolted to my old refrigerator in place of a handle).

There's an equally good chance they'll just send someone over to paint the area and persist in trying to sell it.

I could really give a rat's ass, but we're going to be here a little while longer, and spring/summer in Florida brings nothing so much as torrential downpours. I can see the entire ceiling collapsing inward when the first hurricane brushes by.

So I have a phone call to make tomorrow.

[sigh]

More from the dog show...

So we're hanging around preparing to be underwhelmed again. Last night, Westminster seemed to like the really faggy dogs.

Hunters, hounds and herding dogs, oh my!

shit...shit shit shit

Yeah, it's raining like hell here. And I'm talking to the dogs and drinking coffee. And then I hear, "tink...tink..."

No...I think. Please, no....

"tink...tink...tink tink...."

I had to look. The goddamn mutherfucking cocksucking sonuvabitch ratbastard piece of shit ROOF IS LEAKING!!!!

Poor Sparky

It's storming here. It's a good storm for this time of year, with good thunder. We just had a nearby BOOM that was almost enough to put me on the floor.

Casey's in our bedroom, hiding. Sparky is on my lap shaking like a leaf. He was okay up until that last one, but I think it pushed him over the edge.

Must be scary to be a dog in a thunderstorm.

John Couey

I assume you're familiar with this SHPOS (that's sub-human piece of shit, for y'all who don't know).

John Couey is the guy who kidnapped, raped and buried alive a young girl here not all too long ago. She did not survive. He was already registered as a sexual predator when he did it.

We feel comfortable saying he's guilty because he admitted to the crime (seriously, read the background if you're not already familiar with the case). A procedural error caused his confession to be excluded from the trial on the matter.

So the good Florida legal system moved the trail to Miami, since it was decided he couldn't get a fair trial here. Now they're trying to decide if it can be a death penalty case, because maybe Mr. Couey ain't all there.

OK. You know, this all seems pretty simple to us. But apparently it's not. So here's a solution. Release him. Turn John Couey loose. Televise the fact that you're going to do it, then turn him loose in a set of bright orange prison overalls. Anywhere in the state.

I don't approve of much about Florida, but I do approve of the way I know that would be handled. Some people really have foreited their right to live. John Couey is one of them.

Oooh! Surprise!

We get another group tonight! We have the non-sporting group. Favorites include dalmations and english bulldogs (it's a Marine thing).

We cannot abide the bichon frise. We're knee-deep in old people down here, so we're knee-deep in these. Man, they look like they'd make for some good dog kickin'. Of course, we don't.

Chows. Man, I see almost as many of these tied up outside of trailers as I do pits.

The Tibetan Spaniel looks like another one I should be cooking.

The...the...standard poodle? Jesus GOD!

(bonus points if you know who I stole that closing saying from!)

Toys...

I hate these dogs. Seriously. I want to cook them.

I'm watching the Pekinese right now and I just want to kick it.

"one of the most popular breeds of all time, the poy toodle - uh - toy poodle..." So say the announcers. Looks like I'm not the only one who feels like wine is the best way to cope with the toy group.

I've met some pretty good poodles. How could anyone inflict this haircut on a dog? Either of my dogs would kick your ass for this haircut.

The pug? Someday I'll tell you about Scooter Lady and her pug. And her retarded son.

Sparky says, "what the fuck is the deal with that yorkshire terrier?"

I agree. We disapprove.

Hmm...the yorkie made the cut. This judge is trying to look far too manly to be judging the toy group.

Oh no - the toy poodle?

So what we get out of tonight is the akita, the dandie dinmont freakin' terrier, and the toy poodle?

I spit. Tomorrow night better cough me up a serious hound, a nice big dalmation and a G. Shepherd.

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me...

Mr. Abby has been insisting on switching back and forth with some stupid sci-fi show, so I didn't catch the end of the group. Please tell me it wasn't the dandie dinmomt - OH GOD IT WAS!!!

Jesus Christ...

I try not to hold the haircuts against the dogs. I really do. I've known some awesome miniature poodles in my time.

But come on...that name isn't even a dog name. Dandie Dinmont? I'd kick its ass on the playground. And so would you.

Bad terrier!

Someone just bit the handler! The soft-coated wheaten! Right when he was lifted off the box!

Bad terrier!

Pit Bull (Terriers)

I do feel for all the "pit bull" types. I've met some very nice pits, and some very nice American Staffordshire Terriers, etc. I do tend to believe it's nuture, not nature, that makes these dogs bad neighbors.

However, I own a herding dog, so I can't totally discount the degree to which genes bear on behavior.

If you own a "pit type," I think you have a particular responsibility to ensure your dog is a good canine citizen. Because they can be. And no dog deserves to be labled "dangerous" and euthanized in the county shelter just because its owner couldn't take the time to train it.

Terrier Group

We don't talk about the terriers. It is the Official Position of BDC that Yorkies are terriers, not toys. Thus, we view any winner in the terrier group to be invalid.

More when the Toys are complete.

I hate this commercial

the one with the homeless dogs? Hate that. Props to Pedigree, but c'mon...we already love the dogs if we're watching the show. In fact, I regularly ignore "people charities" to give money to homeless dogs. The commercial is a bummer.

I detect a distinct anti-bullmastiff bias in the judging. We like the boxer (of course), and the Newfoundland. The rest are sled dogs and decorations. OK - we do think the Bernese Mountain Dog is handsome. I hate that stupid mop dog.

Akitas, malamutes and then the Newfie?

Tellwiddem, as Garrison Keillor would say. More later.

Welcome to the dog show!

I always forget these things are two-night evolutions. So no herding group until tomorrow night. Not that I'm bitter. We're going to start off with the working group here in a minute. I, of course, have a breed favorite here.

- Note - the best part about watching dogs shows is the commercials. Who doesn't love these Pedigree "We're for dogs" ads?

Casey isn't overwhelmingly into the dog show, but she is overwhelmingly into the pretzels I'm sharing with her. Sparky is having a car ride (beer run w/ Mr. Abby), so he'll be back in time for the Toy Group.

Oooh! They're entering the ring and I just caught a flash of bullmastiff! I had bullmastiffs when I was growing up and they are awesome. Totally under-recognized breed.

Wow - the Akita and its handler look a lot alike. Judging strictly from appearance, I don't think I'd want to have either over for a beer.

These announcers are amazing. The malamute is "the equivalant of the horse, but in the north."

Man, these Bernese Mountain Dogs look great. But hairy.

Oooh! Boxer boxer boxer!!! He is SO not as handsome as Sarge. I do not approve of those cropped ears.

Now, hold on - is that bullmastiff not a fabulous looking dog? What a tough guy. You don't get to know what sweeties they are unless you get one. Love 'em.

More to follow - Mr. Abby being needy and I've seen most of my group favorites already.

Hey, there, Trojan!

Yeah, YOU. Whoever was checking out the blog from my old high school today. Howdy!

Random info

I know you all are used to like 7,000 posts a day, and I'm sorry to disappoint. We've been involved with the whole selling-a-house-via-FEDEX adventure today. I also went back to the did-you-bring-a-passport job place ("staffing consultants" aka "temp agency") this morning.

Mr. Abby and I were talking about my lack of success at finding any menial job, and decided we could probably chalk it up the I-feel-like-shit-applying-for-this-stupid-job attitude that I probably can't hide during interviews. Fortunately, the "staffing consultants" don't seem to care if I hate myself for being there - I think they'll be employing me. Which is fortunate, because the CMP is going to release those carbines soon, and Abby needs some scratch.

In other news, the dogs and I outvoted Mr. Abby, and the main TV will be tuned to the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show tonight. I am working on a bottle of pinot grigio that's very nice, so you all can probably look forward to mildly inebriated dog show blogging later.

I know - you're on the edge of your seat.

Frank discussion

...of an adult topic.

Listen, I'm really thrilled that there are products out there to help men "of a certain age" continue to...experience all facets of life in a satisfying manner. Know what I mean? I really am happy for all involved. Sex rocks. I assume it would suck to want sex, be in a situation where sex was available, and not be able to have sex.

So I'm totally over the Levitra, Viagra and Cialis commericials. With the exception of the dude throwing the football through the tire swing, they don't bother me a bit. "Smiling Bob" from the Natural Male Enhancement commercials is cool.

But now there's a new one. Who out there has seen the Maxoderm commercial? There are two and they usually run back to back. The first one is pretty normal, late middle-aged dude in a bar picking up some sleazy chick. But the second one...I defy you to watch it and think anything except, "that's an Amway salesman picking up a hooker!"

And for some reason, the commercial sets it up like the hooker cares that they guy is using Maxoderm. I totally don't get that. I mean, other than shortening the total amount of time before she grabs the stack of 20's off his nightstand at the Amway convention hotel, what the hell does she care about his...potency?

A note - I really tried to bring you all this commercial for easy viewing. The only youtube maxoderm commercial, though, is a different one. And the Google search? You don't want to hear about that.

Good Sunday - Range Time, etc

Had a range day today. I continue to adore the Warrior, and recommend it most highly. The M9 is handling very well. The "D spring" conversion helped significantly with the DA first shot. I still prefer to not take a DA shot, but it's center mass if I do, so that makes me happy.

The range was a zoo today. It usually is on the weekend, but that makes for better people watching. Some pretty decent shooters today. Nobody fabulous, but less cringe-inducing than normal. Right before I left, a fairly large laugh-and-shriek-and-shout group came in. I'm all about people having social range outings, but too much tomfoolery gives me the willies, so I was happy to be finishing up.

Okay - question for all you men out there. Why do you insist on bringing your girlfriend to the range and renting her a large caliber, double-action pistol? She doesn't do very well with it. Actually, normally you don't do very well with it either. Stop that. It's not nice.

How 'bout this, tough guy? Next time I see you rent your chick a DA .45 and then laugh at her for not shooting well with it, then proceed to not shoot much better yourself, I'm going to put her on my 1911 and have her shooting better than you in 5 minutes. Dorks.

-In reality, I'm the last person who will accost you at the range and "offer advice." I hate people who do that. But if you're at the range, and you want to chat or shoot my toys, just ask. I'll share.-

Weblog maintenance

OK. If you've commented here before, I love you and I have your comments in archive, but you can't see them anymore.

That's because I'm trying out HaloScan, which will run my comments and allow me to participate in this magical "trackback" thing.

So...Hammer, LeeAnn, and all the rest of you who occasionally drop in, please leave me a remark so I can see if it works!

Weird Sunday Project

Today finds Abby cleaning out her jewelry box. Good Lord...

But, Abby - I can hear you saying - you don't seem like the jewelry type!

I'm not, mostly. I wear my wedding ring most of the time (not when shooting or running or swimming - that type of activity). I adore bizarre earrings, mostly featuring fish (don't ask - it's a theme).

And, like any female in the United States, I have accumulated stuff. I have my grandpa's wedding ring that I'm fairly sure he made himself. I have a saphirre ring my folks brought me from a trip. A small diamond from Mr. Abby.

And necklaces. A zillion necklaces ranging from "keeper" to "something you'd give a 5-year-old." And the vast majority of them were snarled together in a giant knot that I just finished unraveling.

And charms/pendants? Whoo, brother. I haven't ever disposed of anything in my jewelry box. I think I have a Strawberry Shortcake charm, for chrissake. Of course, mixed in with these are the ones I really want to keep - the whale tail, another sapphire, etc. And some weird ones. A small likeness of the Virgin Mary?

Anyway, I'm off to finish this one up. An explanation of the why will follow later.

Oh - weird-ass highlights from the jewelry box? A small crescent wrench, several car fuses, one gold finish Marine Corps chevron for wear with a uniform item I don't think either of us owns, a .22 hollowpoint, and half a candy cane.

Just FYI

I'm from West Michigan. You do not want to know about the google search that led to this information, but I was pleased to learn that if you want to see DRAG QUEENS and play EUCHRE at the same location, you can do it in West Michigan.

I can hear Mom and Dad heading out to the car right now. I know Dad likes euchre, and everybody likes drag queens.

Anyway, here's the site. You can thank me later.

Scary World

On TBO.com today, we find this: Man Charged In Rape, Home Invasion.

The whole "home invasion" thing is often, I think, an over-inflated threat. I've seen several of them in the paper down here recently, though. Perhaps it depends on where you live.

Normally, I'd say woe betide the scumbag who comes univited into the Bad Dog Hacienda. We have a solution for that around here. ("Do ya want the shepherd, or the .45? Oh hell, have both!")

This one's a little different, though. Check this out.

The pair were armed and confronted a man outside an apartment, stole jewelry from him and then forced him inside, Carter said.

So instead we say, woe betide any pair, armed or otherwise, that tried to force Mr. Abby anywhere. I wonder how good Tampa General is at removing weapons from the colons of would-be home invaders.

Oh - and Mr. Abby does not wear man-jewelry. What kind of freak wears man-jewelry?

A roundup - Election '08

OK - this is too much fun. I've started bouncing around the campaign websites, and each and every one seems kind of entertaining in its own special way. So I'm going to hit some of the highlights for y'all.

Sam Brownback, wildly conservative conservative, brings us this gem, with which I think we can probably all agree:

We need a different income tax system altogether. This one, the Internal Revenue Code, should be taken behind the barn and killed with a dull axe.

Mr. Brownback seems like a nice enough man. If he'd just stop worrying about my morality. And yours. And that of your children. In fact, I wouldn't be offended if he thought about all our morality, but he's got the tone of someone who would like to legislate that I adopt his.
****************************************
Let's check on John Edwards, shall we? No - not John Edward. That'll get you to the home page for that weirdo psychic guy.

John Edwards' website is full of lots of earnestness and excessive use of the term "folks." It also has this picture, which proves that John's hair has always been...remarkable.


***********************************************
Dennis Kucinich has an entire page devoted to the importance of hemp. He also has a registered user on his site right now who goes by the handle "peacenik veggieman." Dennis Kucinich is someone I wish was my neighbor. But I have never ever wished he was my president.

Moving right along...
*************************************
Oh! Mitt Romney. We all known Mitt frightens me because he's a Mormon. Sorry - it's true. Here's a picture of Mitt standing in some poor family's living room in New Hampshire. Maybe. It looks more like one of those giant cardboard cutouts.



Okay...one more.
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Mike Huckabee. I like to say his name. Say it with me now - huck-uh-bee. Doesn't that make you smile? Ol' Mike is a little too far out on the religious conservative edge for me, but he lost 110 pounds, runs marathons and is probably another candidate who'd make a nice neighbor. Also, he's the only person I've ever heard refer to gay sex in the following way:

"While I respect people having a right to be different and even engage privately in conduct I find unbecoming or even abnormal..."

Being gay is...unbecoming? Well, at least he's polite.

That's all I've got for you tonight, ladies and gentlement. I hope I've encouraged you to learn more about your candidates. It can be FUN!

However - thoughts on Hillary

BUT! But! Although we all know I oppose the Hillary Clinton candidacy because I cannot stand to hear the entire country shriek about the Clintons anymore...

I have got to give the woman and her campaign props. Why, you ask?

This is why.



Her campaign site features an entire Pets For Hillary section. And that's just cool.

My Bad Dogs have not yet declared favorites. Sparky is little lefty, and thus far is in the Al Sharpton camp (it has something to do with Al's support for gay marriage, which appeals to Sparky because, well, he's a Yorkie). Casey is beyond conservative, and so I assume she'll come out for whoever wants to chase down and kill illegal immigrants on the border. Hey - she's a German Shepherd.

Hey - a note - no matter what your political convictions, we don't say rude things about other people's pets in Abby's comments.

Election '08 - Observations on Rudy

So, with only something like 600 days to go, I'm still all up in the air. I gotta tell y'all, though, Rudy Giuliani interests me. I hear all these complaints..."all we know about him is that he exhibited mad leadership skills in New York City immediately following 9/11!"

Ummm...yeah. That counts. Considering that nobody else anywhere in our government seems to be able to exhibit anything in the way of inspirational leadership, I'll hang around and watch Rudy.

Y'all know I'm a pro-choice, pro-gun, tree-hugging, fiscal conservative who really thinks we should spend more tax money on care for homeless pets.

But I'm going to be a single issue voter as long as people I know bleed and die in foreign countries. I believe in why they're there. And the candidate who stood before the council of foul corruption that is the United Nations and said this:

On one side is democracy, the rule of law and respect for human life. On the other, it's tyranny, arbitrary executions and mass murder. We're right and they're wrong. It's as simple as that. And by that I mean that America and its allies are right about democracy, about religious, political and economic freedom. And the terrorists are wrong and, in fact, evil in their mass destruction of human life in the name of addressing alleged injustices.

Let those who say that we must understand the reasons for terrorism, come with me to the thousands of funerals we're having in New York City--thousands--and explain those insane maniacal reasons to the children who will grow up without fathers and mothers and to the parents who have had their children ripped from them for no reason at all. Instead, I ask each of you to allow me to say at those funerals that your nation stands with America in making a solemn promise and pledge that we will achieve unconditional victory over terrorism and terrorists.

He's worth a second look. I will be watching Bill Richardson, and all the others. But because of that speech, if for no other reason, Giuliani starts with an advantage in my book.

Complete text here.

Meat, sweet sweet meat

OK. You evil beggars failed to give me any good ideas, so I'm roasting this bad boy. But I did promise imagery...


So we started with the sweet hunk of gorgeous red meat. I know a few vegetarians. I try not to judge. But c'mon...you know you want it. And that's okay. It's okay to love the meat.

Then I fire up the pan for a little hot meat-on-iron action. Little kosher salt, little fresh ground black pepper. Yeah, baby.


Searing locks the juices in. It also gives a little crispy flavor that lasts through the roasting. I use a light, thin coat of olive oil in the pan. I skip that when I do pork, but I like it for beef and venison.

A brief sear on each side. Then into the dutch oven. I am madly in love with this dutch oven for meat roasting. Madly. I'm contemplating leaving Mr. Abby to pursue my deep, consuming passion with the dutch oven.



[begin Barry White voice]
Ooooohhhh, yeah....
[end Barry White voice]

The discs are half-inch slices of onion. There's garlic down there, too. The other half of the onion went on top. With a splash of red wine. Then into the oven to be ignored for a couple hours. I'll put potatos and carrots in later.

Mmmm...meat.

Can't stop...

I just can't! Forgive me!

Are YOU the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby? As near as I can tell, somewhere between three and six men are currently claiming to be the father.

I'm reasonably sure Mr. Abby isn't the father, because he's pretty hispanic and the baby looks pretty white, but you can never know for sure.

So! If you're the father, speak up! Leave your confession in the comments! Maybe we can ALL go on the Nancy Grace show and talk about it.

Uh-oh - Sparky is now claiming to be the father! I thought Sparky was neutered, but the jury is still out!

I can't help myself

It's like a messy car wreck, I cannot turn away.

Local new site headline: Smith's autopsy under way; mother blames drugs for her death

No shit?

Yes - I clicked on it. I feel so...dirty. But here's a great one:

In another bizarre twist to the case, the husband of actress Zsa Zsa Gabor, Prince Frederick von Anhalt, claimed that he might be the father of Smith's infant daughter.

This is the most thought I've given to this woman at any point in her sordid life. And I honestly can't decide whether this media frenzy is infuriating or sad. This woman's entire life, and her death, adds up to nothing but a punchline to a tacky joke. Bummer.

I'll try to stop now.

Games you can play with your spouse

Mr. Abby has recently been participating in some sort of "continued training" in military martial arts. The Marine Corps, in all its wisdom, decided a few years ago to redo its hand-to-hand combat program. Part of the new idea is "belts." Because Marines don't have enough to be competitive about.

This actually kind of smells of "Army" to me. I mean, when I think, "meaningless variation in basic uniform accessories" I think Army. Perhaps we'll talk more about this later.

But today we're talking about the Marine Corps and its "belts." Mr. Abby came home today qualified to wear a "gray belt."

Which I took one look at and said, "Oh! That's the Army's new foliage green!"

Pow! His head exploded.

"It's gray!!!!"

Yeah. Whatever. Foliage green.

It amused me, but I bet he's at work right now, standing next to some poor Soldier, comparing his belt to their ACUs.

Sorry about that...

I know I have a few loyal readers out there who assume that when I say I'll post on something, I will. You'll have to wait for the sports car commentary.

But the job interview...

Now, remember, since Abby ain't gonna be at this location for a whole lot longer, Abby just needs some damn work. Not a real job. But let's keep this short. You all don't need to hear me rationalize why I'm seeking a shit job.

If you, a company, call and ask me to come in and talk to you, the last question I will ask you on the phone is, "Is there anything you'd like me to bring when I come in?"

If you say, "just your resume," I will assume that is what you want. If I show up and you ask for my passport or birth certificate (to prove ability to work - it's a Florida thing), I will not have that item.

So, the interview is re-scheduled and I did NOT kill anyone. Although it was tempting. Pigfuckers.

Meat - calling for some help, here!

I was roaming through Publix today, rebuilding the Meat Stockpile. I noted some corned beef briskets. Mmmmm...corned beef. But - more than I wanted to spend. Then...I saw it. [start romantic music now]

A non-seasoned brisket. Don't see those often. It was beautiful. So I bought it.

Now, I need to decide what to do with it.

I could pot roast it. I have about five different pot roast conversations going on with different people at any given time. I do pretty well with roasts, which I normally credit to two things:

1- I sear everything I roast. It helps. Keeps the meat juicier. I swear by it.

2- I use cheap, fatty hunks of meat. Half the reason nobody's roasts taste like the ones their Mom made is because 25 years ago, we weren't obsessed with "lean" meat.

But the brisket...well, it has the look of being a potentially fabulous pot roast. But I also have a recipe for barbecuing a beef brisket, and Mr. Abby and like barbecued beef brisket.

And I'm sure there are other options. So - hey, if you have an idea, leave it in the comments. I'm cooking this beast tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest. If you've got a brisket suggestion, I'm open to it.

Promise I'll let you know how it turns out. And I'll probably take brisket pictures because, damn, that's one fine lookin' hunk of meat.

At home gunsmithing

also known as "listen to Abby swear." As if me cursing really merits notice...

Anyway, I ordered a couple aftermarkets for the M9. I had to go with an all-steel guide rod, just because. I also ordered something called a "D" spring. It's a mainspring (aka, apparently, "hammer spring") that Beretta makes for a different model, but which is rumored to greatly reduce the double-action trigger pull. I hate DA, but hey - why not.

The installation really wasn't bad. Remove grips, pop out pin at the base of the grip, ease out lanyard loop, swap springs.

This was greatly eased by a hammer and punch set I picked up as a result of Santa's generosity (Thanks, Robby!).

At home gunsmithing is one of those things that will be much easier when I get somewhere where I can set up a vise again. There's really only so much one can do on a coffee table covered with a towel. Although, as the M1 carbine bolt rebuild demonstrated, one can do almost anything if one is stupid enough to try.

Anyway. Easy stuff. Do not fear the "D spring."

A walk

Put off my run and took the Bad Dogs for a walk around the lake, since it was either that or Mr. Abby was going to shoot them for being hysterical during his nap. (I can't blame him - it's super annoying and they time the hysteria to co-incide with his return home in the evening).

So we trooped around the park. Casey is definitely feeling good - she dragged me most of the way. We stopped at the far side of the lake so Sparky could jump in. As I approached the water, I saw it. Fishing line (discarded).

I'll skip the drawn out details of unwrapping the dogs while they tried to hurtle around on their extendo-leashes. Suffice it to say I'm not forgetting a pocketknife next time I walk them. It was really fine line, too, maybe six pound test. If it had gotten any worse, I'd have had to carry Sparky home to cut him free.

Please, if you fish in my park's lake, don't leave 20 yards of fishing line on the shore.

The forecast is fabulous, with no pending rain. I think I'll take the top down tomorrow. Maybe the doors off, too.

Stop the presses

We here at BDC categorically disapprove of all pop culture silliness. Every time I see "celebrity news" on CNN while we've got, like, you know, a WAR going on, it chaps my ass.

However, we do feel the need to point out that not only did Anna Nicole Smith die today, but she did it, of course, in Florida. Because Florida is tacky and so was she. And to maximize tackiness, apparently she checked out at an Indian Casino hotel in Hollywood.

Maybe this will eventually move us to the point where I don't have to see her, or any of her associates, on my TV ever again.

No - I haven't included any links. If you care about this crap, you have to go to another site to learn more about it.

Whiny northerners

We know Abby's Pack hails from Up North. Michigan, to be exact. West Michigan. And we know Abby recently lived Up North. That was in Minnesota.

So I have a fair number of northern readers. Many of them are being affected by the current arctic weather. And man...are they whiny about it or what?

I don't bitch about living in Florida when I'm on the phone with the Frozen People. I've been the Frozen People. I'm of the mindset that these northern winters only become worthwhile on that first warm day, when the sun comes out and you can suddenly smell the unfrozen ground. That part is nice. These weeks are shitful. It's cold, it's dark, it's boring. Ick.

So I haven't mentioned that's it's been like 70 and sunny here. In fact, I'm probably going to run a little early today so I can do it in a tank top and work on my tan a little.

Try not to hate me. I've got tornados, one of the annual shark migrations, and pending hurricanes.

More later, including such fascinating topics as job interviews, sports cars and MORE!

Fast update

Oddly enough, I actually have some things to do today, so you all will have to wait for whatever pointless ramblings I have up my sleeve.

I've been looking at the sitemeter, and it seems some poor, sad folks wander in here after harmless Google searches.

We had one today looking for "women ground infanty." Assuming he wasn't looking for women's favorite recipes for ground-up infantryman, the answer is: no - there aren't. The further answer, Abby-style, is here

We also had someone asking about "dog nectarines." Apparently this individual has a fruit-bat dog. That's cool, so do I. Listen, the nectarines, in moderation, will not hurt your dog. I'd keep 'em away from the pits, but that's just me.

OK. I have to take a shower and find some pants, because apparently some disoriented individual has decided to ask me in person about my qualifications to perform some sort of work-for-pay. I'm sure we all know how this will turn out, but I'm headed off anyway.

More later.

Taxes

Ugh...well, that seems to be done. Taxes are...challenging in our household. Not as bad as some people I know, because we're more or less impoverished and we don't have all sorts of wild and crazy investments. Couple of CDs, some really tame IRA stuff, nothing too complex.

But there's the part where the online tax software chokes on its coffee and says "what they hell is the deal with this W2 with zeroes in block 1 and a bunch of money in box 12 with some weird-ass code in front of it???"

I scratch my head and select the "income earned in a combat zone" box. At which point the software asks, "really?" And I say "uh-huh." And then I do Mr. Abby's W2. Probably six months were tax-free for him this year.

So finally the software looks up at me and says, "You people earned like $12 in taxable income this year."

Sorry...then you have to convince the software that you don't qualify for the people who come and deliver free frozen turkeys to your house. "Really, we do get money. It's just weird money."

The tax software looks at me suspiciously. "You sure you want to file this return?"

"Yeah."

You should have seen it almost grind to a total halt when we came to the part about home ownership, rental income and depreciation.

I live in absolute terror of getting audited. All I'll be able to do is shove a giant file folder at the auditor and say, "hey - I tried."

I've done my own taxes since I was a kid. The year we got married, we had H&R Block do it, but I prefer to keep track of the process. The military offers some assistance, and we've taken advantage of that before. But again - since I'm the one who'll get called on the carpet if it's dicked up, I like to know what's going on.

One year, I did state taxes by hand four times in order to pay a sufficient amount to the state we'd lived in half the year. See, Mr. Abby's active-duty status means many states aren't interested in taxing his income, but they do want their share of mine. And we render unto Caesar...

Well, finished for another year. If I suddenly drop of the radar, it means I really screwed something up.

Rev. Ted Haggard Part II

Praaaaaaise Jeeeeesus, Reverend Haggard is healed! He's totally straight now.

Nope, no more of that sweet man-on-man lovin' for Reverend Ted. 'Cause, you know, the man prostitutes and the drugs were the Devil, working through Ted. He's much better now. No sidelong glances at attractive young men. No late-night slow drives through seedy districts, seeking company. No "off the books" time at his wild and crazy praise conventions.

Nope. He's fixed.

I can't help but comment about this guy. Every time I catch an article about him, I'm probably going to have to say something about it. It's just too precious.

Crane Update

We talked a little about the loss of the 2006 cohort of whooping cranes a couple of days ago.

Those who know me well have probably heard me rant a little bit about these cranes. In my less-than-sympathetic moments, I have occasionally referred to them as "poster children for evolution."

However, there seems to be at least one whooping crane that could be a poster child for "survival of the fittest." As in he DID, so he must BE. Crane #15 somehow escaped his pen and survived. He found some other cranes to hang out with, and was located with a transmitter.

Story at TBO. Good crane!

Oohrah! A sense of duty

Via Hugh Hewitt, we find an outstanding article about an outstanding young man - Track Captain Sean Barrett Ready to Serve His Country.

What's the big deal, you ask? Some guy who runs track is joining the military. Maybe you even think, must not have had any good job offers! Or, perhaps, dummy.

Well, I don't think that's the case, since Sean Barrett happens to be the captain of the Harvard track team. And he's joining God's Blessed Marine Corps.

“I think this is my generation’s greatest calling,” said Barrett. “Fighting for the freedom of others is a uniquely American value. Protecting my family, my country, our values and way of life is of the utmost importance to me.”

Get some, Sean - you make my old jarhead heart of stone go pitter patter! Your country has a place for you. And lest you think Sean is an aberration, it appears the Barrett family is actually doing a pretty good job of raising the unique critter we think of as a "citizen."

Neither of Barrett’s parents is involved with the military. His older brother, a law student at the University of San Diego has committed to serving in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps (or JAG) upon his graduation. Barrett’s younger sister, a student at Boston College, is enrolled with the Army ROTC program there.

That's good shit. Anyone who signs on that dotted line ever - that's a pretty big thing to do. Anybody who's signed on that dotted line for the first time since Sept. 11, or re-signed since then...

If you don't know our men and women in uniform, you can think they're victims. You can think they're stupid, or unemplyable. Or foolish. Or gullible. And some of them may be any or all of those things.

But every single one of them signs on that dotted line knowing full well what they're doing. Oh, Aunt Martha, they might even lie to you about it. They might tell you they're doing it for the college money. Because that's what you want to hear.

But they're all doing it to serve their country. They're doing it to find brotherhood, and to test themselves in the oldest, toughest crucibles that remain in our culture of ease. They might not sit down with you at Thanksgiving dinner and say, "This is my generation's greatest test, and I'm not going to sit at home in comfort and safety while it's going on, because I don't think I can live with that." But that's what's going on.

Sean Barrett is a good young man. And so are the thousands of other young men and women who sign on that dotted line every year. Beyond good. So far beyond good that they might not know for years the importance that their signature, their committment, their offering, has to their country.

The sense of duty is an intensely personal thing. I suppose someone out there of a suitable age can watch the news and see their peers in harm's way and not feel like a freeloading shit. Soldiers I worked with couldn't, so they volunteered to come out of the IRR. Or to do a second tour. I know soldiers and Marines and sailors and airmen in reasonably safe posts who feel so uncomfortable having their comrades under the gun that they volunteer to go forward. Some beg. It's their duty. It's where they're meant to be.

A sense of duty is complicated, and it's hard for some people to understand. Fortunately, many folks do feel it. And they're the ones who sign up every year.

STILL training the Outlook

Oh, come ON!!! Today's word it didn't recognize - "Dumbass." Now, since it can apparently suggest I capitalize every internet-related term that could possibly be associated in any way shape or form with Microsoft, are you really telling me it doesn't know "dumbass???" Or is Outlook making some sort of value judgement?

Trust me here, Outlook - I'm not having a good year. Don't judge me, and I won't track down whoever built your dictionary and whack him/her with a stick. While shouting, "You dumbass!"

Love will make you crazy

Women are competitive about men. This is a fact. The better the overall quality of the man, the more vicious said competition can be.

Now, I'm just talking out my ass here, because I don't know any of these people, but I'd have to say that an astronaut is probably a pretty high-quality man.

Commander Oefelein is a space shuttle pilot. Pilots are automatically sexy, and so, I suppose, this guy probably has a pretty high level of sexiness. This isn't a very good picture, but I'll cut the commander some slack and assume he's more of a studpuppy when he's not wearing a big orange spacesuit.

Apparently, he's enough of a studpuppy to cause some serious strife over at NASA.

Hard to tell exactly what's going on with this. But we will note that it falls squarely into our sights, as it involves both the military and Florida.

I do feel the need to point out that all involved are officers. All my old NCOs out there know officers are a little flaky.

Thoughts on the M9

We all know I picked up a Beretta M9 this past week. I bought it specifically because it was my issue weapon. For that reason, I did not want a 92FS. I did not buy this to be a target pistol, or a carry pistol. I bought it to have it. It's an easy-shooting gun, and it will see lots of range time. It will also be a "starter gun" when I take new shooters out and they're ready to move past the .22.

OK. That's out of the way. More disclaimers.

The Marine Corps never felt the need for me to shoot a pistol. The Army required me to qualify with it, but offered no instruction. That was fine, because our qualification course prior to deployment consisted of man-sized targets that popped up from very close out to 25 yards. The target popped up, you shot the target (anywhere), it fell down. I shot all the targets and they all fell down.

That was the extent of my work with the M9. I carried it every day in Iraq, yet it's the only one of the three weapons systems I signed for with which I never fired a shot.

So taking this to the range was an experience. First off, it shoots way better than minute-of-bad-guy. We can do single ragged holes at 15 yards. Beyond 15 yards, I'm not sure if it's me or the pistol, but the groups open up. I'm willing to take the hit for that, but I'd like to shoot it from a rest at some point.

I primarily shoot 1911s. My other 9mm is a compact, all-steel EAA Witness, so the M9 has a much different balance than I was used to. My first five or six shots were LOW. I corrected this without a problem, it was just an issue of different handling.

But the sights have me confused. You're going to have to forgive some bad photography here. I'm hoping Mr. Abby can do better with our point-and-shoot digital when he gets home.

This image is the rear sight on my 1911.



Shut up. I told you the picture sucked. OK. So what we do, as shooters, to achieve "good sight alignment," is line up the front sight post in the middle of this notch. Ideally, the top of the front sight post is even with top of the pillars on each side of the rear sight notch. And centered. The clear tip of the front sight post bisects that which we intend to hit. My 1911 has dots. When everything is correct, the three white dots line up straight across. Because I spent a buttload of money on this particular gun, they also glow. It's cool.

Now, a picture of the rear sight on the M9.



I do not get this rear sight. It's a half-circle, circle part down, and it's centered. Mr. Abby and I were talking about it, and he postulated, "well, you use the front sight dot and complete the circle."

Sounds good, but when you do that...well...suffice it to say you could shoot someone in the kneecap that way.

Here's a slightly-less-awful picture of the M9 front sight. All front sights look pretty similar.



This handgun shoots to point of aim very nicely. If you line up the front sight post and rear sight notch, and totally ignore the half-circle. I'm okay with that - paint is an aid, not a fundamental component of successful shooting. But I wish I understood the point of it. Is there a theory? Maybe someone will come along and explain it.

And yes - I propped the guns in a towel for photos. It's the best I could do. Yes - we have a vise. Three, in fact. But they're in the storage unit. Don't make me put up the pathetic picture of the storage unit again.

Just a note...

Dear U.S. Government,

ATTN: HR Professionals

I once worked for a federal natural resources agency. It was a wonderful experience, and I'd like to do it again. However, in the process of applying for such positions, something has come to my attention and I felt you should be aware of it.

Each and every sub-agency of every department seems to have developed its own very similar but entirely different automated application process. And although there's always a disclaimer on the website about mailing in an application, that's obviously discouraged.

Although I recognize that automated systems are all the rage, and probably help contribute to the idea of the "paperless office" that the federal government is so attached to, they are a little slice of hell.

We all know the federal government loves personal information, so I enter mine regularly in up to 38 slightly different formats. Sometimes, you require me to enter ten years of work history in order to view your list of firefighter jobs. I really wish you'd let me see the list first, since I'm not a firefighter.

You always ask if I've been in the military, so how about a little box to check if the nature of my military service makes it impossible to enter a street address for a job I did? I know you all could do this - you have lots of little boxes.

One more - I know you all think you're really onto something, because the Federal Weasel Management Office (subordinate to the Little Mammal Agency, which falls under the Department of Outside) has an automated HR system. What would be a real accomplishment would be truly centralized hiring. It would be amazing to apply for very similar jobs with both the Navy and, say, USGS, using the same data set. Just a thought.

OK. Keep up the good work. Love y'all. I'm off to run some errands and that will include faxing off a sheaf of documents, each with its own cover sheet. These same documents have been emailed in two different formats and uploaded in three. They've also been faxed to one of your sister agencies. But I understand that your hiring manager uses a different system, and so I'm faxing them again.

Thank you,

Abby

Product Endorsement! Cast Iron

This past Christmas was the Christmas of Cast Iron cookware. After several pointed hints to Santa, I received a 12-inch skillet and a dutch oven, with a lid that fits both of them.

This stuff is great. Mine is Lodge cookware, from their "Logic" line. Its claim to fame is that it comes "pre-seasoned." Seasoning is the process by which one breaks in cast iron, and it involves heat and oil and many, many repititions of them. Seasoning protects your cookware from rust and creates the fabulous black, slick finish in your skillet.

Seasoning is a giant pain in the ass, and buying pre-seasoned cookware means there's no chance you'll screw up the process and end up with rusty cookware.

There is maintenance involved with pre-seasoned stuff, though. You have to clean it properly (no abrasives!), dry it immediately and give it a rubdown with a paper towel and a couple of drops of vegetable oil.

Cast iron is great. The skillet is a hoot - it gets very hot and holds heat well. The dutch oven makes searing a roast easy, and provides what seems like a radiant heat effect. I've been thrilled with it.

So go get yourself some cast iron. It's great to cook with, and you can do a nice arm workout with a dutch oven. Stuff's heavy.

Why yes, I did just use my skillet. Pork chops. Good stuff.

Movie Night

Well, I think we've fixed Mr. Abby. It's fairly simple if you know the trick.

We've got a couple of movies to watch, and since it's dreary and rainy here, that's what we're going to do.

I'm not feeling conversational today, so unless I get a burst of late-night inspiration, don't look for much from me until tomorrow. I owe y'all a report on the new pistol, and I'm working up a rant about these dumbasses in the Senate.

The day after

Well, Super Bowl recovery is underway at BDC. I took it pretty easy last night, so I'm feeling fairly good. Mr. Abby got a bit more enthusiastic with his beer-drinkin'-and-yelling-at-the-TV, so I'm getting sad little emails from him at work, mostly made up of phrases like "ughhhh..... "

I don't drink and raise hell the way I once did, and that's without a doubt a good thing. I miss some of the hell raising, but not the ughh.... mornings. I'm not as tough as I was in my Sergeant-of-Marines days either, and I cannot fathom how I used to get up and make it to work every day.

These days my drug of choice is still brewed, but it's hot and has fewer calories. Speaking of, I desperately require a coffee drink with milk and sugar and caramel (I normally drink coffee black, but sometimes a candy-bar-in-a-cup is soooo gooood). I think I shall get one.

It'll enable me to drop the rent check at the landlord's place. You'd think at this point I'd remember that right after the end of one month, it's the beginning of another one, and would thus mail the rent check in a timely manner. No such luck, so I'm off to hand-deliver it.

3rd Quarter

I don't think it's necessary to say where my loyalties lie for this game. I mean, it's Chicago and Indianapolis, and I really don't care. I'm just here for the ads. Speaking of, I just saw something involving a squirrel. I missed the product, but squirrels rock.

Alright - 4th quarter about to start, so I'll leave you all to your own devices. I checked the sitemeter, and people are coming here during the game. Listen - I love you all, and I love traffic. But c'mon - go get some beers and watch football. I'll be here tomorrow.

Geez...

Superbowl halftime update

So it's raining olive oil in Miami? Apparently, it's almost impossible to hold on to the football tonight. Whatever - makes the game entertaining.

Haven't been overwhelmingly impressed by any commercial yet. There've been several "black history" themed spots. That's cool, and they've been good commercials. Budweiser had one with its clydesdales during pregame that featured a "flyover" by a bunch of bald eagles.

Other than that...one dog-themed commercial, which was actually kind of a downer. And that one with the robot...for GM or Chevy or whatever. All I came away from that one with was the thought, "wow...I guess it can be a bummer to be a robot."

C'mon, advertisers. I'm counting on you. Where's this year's "herding cats?" I'm sitting on my couch, drinking Mexican beers, and waiting for advertising greatness.

An aside - I finally had to intercede when Mr. Abby was feeding the dogs cheese and sausage. I love my pets, but if I've spent $75 on gouda, edam and various dry meats, it doesn't all need to go to the dogs... So guess who's the favorite dog parent right now?

Computer stuff...

I switched to the "new blogger" quite some time ago. Being such a non-expert, it didn't make a big difference to me, and in fact has spared me some HTML nightmares.

A couple of days ago, my laptop started making noises about switching to Internet Explorer 7. I ignored it, and it just got more insistant. Stupid MicroSoft... So I let it go ahead and update me.

Man, I hate this new IE7. What the hell is the deal with these "tabs?" What function do they serve that wasn't served by "windows?" A couple of times I've glanced up on my screen to see a "tab" open to some random site I'd visited. Of course, I still can have multiple windows, so I have two different things performing the same function.

And this stupid new "favorites" bar... The good thing? If I want to add something to my favorites, I can store it in the appropriate folder immediately. The downside...click on the wrong part of my "blogs" folder, and 37 different blogs open in 37 different "tabs." Aggggh!

I was briefly subjected to Mozilla Firefox by the Army. I wasn't nuts about it, but it did seem to be fairly intuitive. I may very well have to look into switching to Firefox for my own use. Unless this IE7 starts making a lot of sense in a real hurry, it's going to get kicked to the curb.

Pre-emptive walking

I just took the Bad Dogs for a nice brisk walk to try to head off hysteria during the ball game. We'll see how much luck I have with that. Since they seem to have developed the availability to tell time, no matter what we do during the rest of the day, they expect me to entertain them between 1600 and 1800. It's super annoying.

We covered some new territory today, which led to much peeing on mailbox posts by Sparky. Apparently, that's a real highlight.

Trying something new

I promise not to do this often. I know some of my readers lack high-speed connections, and I apologize to them in advance. I know some of my readers probably find country music loathesome, and I apologize to you as well.

But I had CMT on as my background noise the other day and caught this one... Darryl Worley is, it seems, a big fan of our fighting men and women. He's done some good work on the subject before (and some that's been a little over the top). His song "I just came back from a war" is quite good.

But the video is fantastic. Aside from being a little heavy on images of Darryl singing, that is. Other than that, this is a pretty good depiction of what it felt like at first (and feels like sometimes even now). I really enjoy the last 60 seconds or so.



As always, when talking about this stuff, I make no claim that my experience is or was like anoyone else's. But this seemed to hit the nail on the head, particularly for those of us who didn't go as Active Duty types. At some point, they just drop you off back home. Very weird.

Oh - and no - I have no idea what uniform that chick is wearing in the very beginning. Just ignore that.

It's good shit.

Wildlife news

I was checking out TBO.com to see what sort of horror and madness is going on today. Lots, it seems. Abby may be commenting on lots of things today. But one jumped out at me: Endangered Cranes Killed In Storm.

The entire group of young whooping cranes that came south this year with the assisted migration died in the recent storm. Mostly because they were in pens. Makes it hard to get to high ground.



You can learn about the assisted migration program through the Whooping Crane Eastern Partership site.

Long ago and far away, Abby worked for a federal agency involved in this program. I had the opportunity to go out and see a lot of this firsthand. You can say what you want about the federal government, but there are a lot of phenomenally bright, devoted, intellectually curious and hardworking people in your federal natural resources community.

The whooping crane migration was a nightmare of coordination and committees. But still, somehow, it happened every year.

The young whoopers in the first year of the migration suffered a pretty hard toll from bobcats once they made it to Florida. So the "crane people" decided that in future years, the youngest group of cranes would be penned to protect them.

Yes, they decided, nature must take its course, but the young cranes were too valuable to let bobcats eat them all. So - the pens.

They're still penning the cranes to prevent evolution from weeding out the ones with no good bobcat survival skills. The pens cost an entire cohort of cranes this year. Let's not discuss the actual investment of your tax dollars those cranes represented. The best laid plans of mice and men...

It's here

I woke this morning to the Gun Pimp on the phone - my M9 arrived. Happy hapy joy! Note to self - avoid driving before consuming coffee - you're a danger to yourself and others.

Looks good. I'm pretty happy with the turnaround to get the replacement here.

Initial notes -
1- These 15-round magazines (3 of them) look way better than the ones I was issued. If the .mil bought the good magazines, half of complaints about the M9 and M16 platforms would just vanish.
2- I'd never noticed the half-moon rear sight paint before. I think this is because on the M9 I was issued for Iraq, there was no paint. No red safety dot, nothing on the sights. That worked just fine, this will work better.
3- Man, they really like the stick figures in the safety part of the manual. If I get really bored, I may scan some in and make sarcastic comments about them.

Well, I'll get this thing to the range later. I think I've got some new shooters to take out in the near future, and I'd like to have this available, so I have no choice but to put a couple hundred rounds through it to make sure it works.

Product Endorsement! Dog water

I have this groovy setup for dog water. It's the Petmate LeBistro water dispensing thingy.


Of course, I bought mine before they became "anti-bacterial!" Mine is 2.5 or 3 gallons, but I never fill it all the way. If you put too much water in, creepy stuff starts to grow in the bowl. I don't like to drink nasty water, so I assume the Bad Dogs don't, either. I fill the bowl, then fill the jug a third to half full. That seems about right.

Due to its design, occasionally it make a water jug "glugging" sound. This scares the beejesus out of Sparky. I love glancing out into the kitchen if he drinks right after Casey, because I know what's about to happen.

Glug glug!

He leaps backward, then backs out of the kitchen while looking at the water thing with great distrust. Too funny.

Well, I'll be damned....

So I just got this forwarded email from Abby's Mom. It was a link from an old school friend of mine who...(c'mon, can you guess?)...has a blog! Groovy...

I kinda checked out of my hometown in a big way when I joined the Marine Corps. There weren't many people I cared to keep knowing, but Jess is one I feel very bad about not doing better at keeping up with. She's a wonderful person. She came to my wedding, and visited when I got back from downrange.

So I went to her blog. And it looks like her life is very good right now. And you know, there's probably no reason for that to make me as happy as it does. Actually brought a tear to my stony little eyes. Good for Jess.

So, without further ado, if you care to drop in on her, go here.

Damn. The blogosphere. Cool.

Being prepared

Many of my fellow Floridians are having a very crappy evening. The news coverage of the tornado situation (Florida - where the weather tries to kill you all year 'round!), combined with a comment on my earlier Laundry Loadout post, got me thinking about emergency preparedness.

We're pretty well set here at BDC. In hurricane season, we become very well set up. Hey - it's a small house, I'm not keeping 55 gallons of drinking water in here year 'round.

But what I don't have is a good first aid kit. Oh, we've probably got enough crap around here to perform surgery. But it's not in one place. So I did a little googling...

There's a fantastic site called LifeKit that appeals to me immensely. OK - so the really cool kits are like $1500 and would probably enable you to be seriously useful if a 747 skidded off its runways near your house. But if you poke around the site a little, they've got some nice cheaper setups for less than $50.

But none of those include DRUGS. And let's be honest, in most awful situations, you're just as likely to need antibiotics, anti-screaming shits drugs, and painkillers as anything else.

And the packages suck. So I kept looking. I found another site for discount cool shit.

Hmmm...those first aid kits are ok, but they still lack drugs. However, the same site offers really good prices on one of Abby's Favorite Things In The Whole Wide World - PELICAN CASES!!!!

I'd tell you all about these fabulous cases, but even thinking about them makes me almost too giddy to speak. But if you were going to pack your own first aid kit, you'd want to do it in a Pelican case. 'Cause they're so damn cool.

I was just about to pull the trigger on this one. Selected it in yellow (going with the whole "hi-viz" theme). Entered all my info...shipping and handling was like $16! WTF??? I don' think so, Guido....

But I think I'm going to keep an eye out, and pick one up (somewhere where they might charge me more, but at least the won't pretend it's "shipping"). Perhaps on Fleabay. Because Pelican cases ROCK, and I'm getting kinda stuck on this vision of a bright yellow one strapped in the Jeep...

You know what's awesome?

Velcro. Velcro is awesome.

I was a little burned out on Velcro for a few months when I came back from Iraq. Once the Army discovered the miracle that is "hook and loop fastener," it was sheer madness. They used it on all the equipment. They covered the new stupid Army Combat Uniform with SO MUCH Velcro that it became possible to take all of your laundry out of a washer by grabbing one sleeve.

So I took a couple of months off from Velcro.

But this stuff...man...you go to a craft store. Those places are creepy, and they always give me the feeling I'm trying to "pass," like I'm trying to get by pretending to be a normal craft-store person. But the crafts stores...man, that's where they keep the real good Velcro. The shit, as Dennis Leary once said, that killed Belushi.

Of course, Dennis Leary was talking about cocaine. Whatever.

So my enhanced tactical shoulder bag that's not a "purse" but that's more like a "purse" than it is like anything else, in fact maybe it is a purse but it's OD and I can stick a gun in it...that project? This velcro stuff makes it much easier. We'll see how it holds up. Pics to follow. I'm on the right track, but there's work still to be done.

What? No - I'm not drinking at 1700. I'm just thrilled about my bag and the Velcro. But it IS Friday, and it IS 1700. The cocktail hour approaches...

I can do that!

Old (that is, recovering) Marines are dangerous. When you're at boot camp, it's slowly drummed into you that "This recruit can't do that!" is NOT a valid response. After boot camp, young Marines are taught, by word and by example, that they can and must do anything.

Not trained to do something, but still it needs doing? Better figure something out, Devildog, because I can't do that is not a valid response.

I've seen some truly hilarious disasters result from this (involving, variously, camo netting, trailer hitches, floor buffers, commo wire - the list goes on). But it has always remained one of my absolute favorite traits of Marines in the ranks of sergeant and below. They'll get it done. Whatever it is. Somehow. It probably won't be efficient or pretty, and in fact it may be horribly unsafe, but it will get done.

The Army is a little different. Being a large organization, the Army has a course and a guide for everything. "Analysis paralysis" is a bigger problem in the Army. Soldiers will wait for a qualified "camo net installation specialist" to show up with "Field Manual 32-14 - camo net in the temperate environment" and the prescribed net-hanging accessories.

While the soldiers are waiting on those things, three Marine PFCs, under the direction of an overdue-for-promotion lance corporal, will be hanging by their toes and hanging the netting with 100mph tape. It's a cultural difference.

Anyway, the problem is that this carries over into later life. Marines will look at an idea, a project, and think, I can do that. Somehow. I can make that happen.

I have an old Marine friend who, being a bird lover, designed and built a remote-detonation device to keep squirrels out of his bird feeder. Sort of an anti-squirrel IED. An old Soldier probably would have just purchased something out of a catalog.

I'm not even going to comment on how awfully this manifests itself with vehicle repair. Or home gunsmithing.

But today I have a fabric-related project. Can't find the bag you want, Abby? That's no problem...I can do it myself!

Stay tuned for the doubtlessly disasterous resolution on this one...

Sharing a moment...

...with Casey.

As you can tell, it's late. Mr. Abby is off to work very early, so he's all curled up in bed.

I decided to eat a pear. This, of course, brings the German Fruitbat out of the bedroom at a dead run. I stood in the kitchen munching on my pear while she gazed hopefully up at me.

Then I noticed a ruffled patch of hair on her back. Uh-oh, I thought. Does she have an itchy spot? (We're gaining on this issue since the antibiotics started, but I'm being paranoid)

So I stuck the pear into my mouth, grabbed the bottle of prescription Preemptive Itch Strike Spray the vet provided, and set to sprayin'.

Remember me telling you how much this dog loves fruit? Here I was, dangling a partially-eaten good-smelling pear at her eye level, and both of my hands were occupied with spraying. This resulted in a weird hysterical dance during which I swore at her. Quietly, so as not to wake Mr. Abby.

Being the human and having opposable thumbs, I did win. But it was close. Washed my hands (let's hear it for antibacterical hand washing foam! Yea!), then gave Casey a big chunk of pear.

I cannot wait until this weird skin disorder is in the past.

Seriously - when can we leave?

In more lovely Florida news...Diner Reports Razor In McMuffin.


Good lord. I'm not a big fast food eater if I'm not on the road, but one of the few things I will make a stop for if I'm tooling around town is an Egg McMuffin. Mmmmm...they're yummy.

Except, you know, when there are RAZOR BLADES in them.

Sonsabitches

So my Gun Pimp called earlier.

"Hey, Abby, guess what I have?"

I jumped in the shower and raced through the Tampa streets. Walked into Guns And SCUBA Supplies (Your Friendly Local Source for Expensive Stuff!). And my Gun Pimp looked up.

"I think we might have a problem. It doesn't say M9. I called you as soon as it came in, but I just don't know..."

He brought out a blue plastic box. This was not a good sign. The M9 does not ship in a blue plastic box. Opened the plastic box. Hmmm... extracted the pistol.

"Shit. Wrong gun."

The GP shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you if they -"

"No. That's cool. Let's turn it around and get the right one."

They shipped a 92FS. Now, I'm aware for that for all intents and purposes these are the EXACT SAME GUN. But I ordered what I wanted, and that is what I shall have. Further, that writing on the slide - the "read manual before operation to avoid shooting small children or yourself" warning? That's super gay.

So. Back to waiting. I told the Gun Pimp to go ahead and get bitchy with the distributor - tell them lies, like that screwing up my order somehow negatively affected my life, and that they should send free additional stuff to make up for it. Doubt that'll happen, but we shall see.

Oh, by the way. Please do not be insulting my gun pimp in comments for not being certain it was the wrong gun. The actual FFL at my shop is in poor health, and so the SCUBA expert is the one usually in the shop. He's the one I refer to as my "Gun Pimp," but it's not really his area of expertise.

Things you never knew existed

It's amazing the shit that's out there we'd never know about if it weren't for the internet. Mr. Abby just called me in to see this.



In case you're not clear, that's a plastic dog that plugs into a USB port and humps your computer. There is, of course, video. Go ahead, go watch it.

OK. So it should come as no surprise to us that this product hails from Japan. It is worth noting, before you shell out $45 for a set of three, that these are NOT flash drives. There's no memory storage capacity. It is, simply and entirely, a small plastic dog that will hump your computer.

Huh. Who'd'a thunk it? Shall we make this a product endorsement? No, I think we shall NOT.

Slow news day at BDC

I'm writing posts, but I'm not publishing them. They seem even more rambling and without point than normal (and that's saying something).

I've got several drafts saved that just suck.

I think not getting my M9 today has me bummed out. Or something. Tomorrow I'll take some dog pics and put them up. Everybody likes dog pics.

Oh - in news you truly don't care about, I ate a giant Quizno's sub for supper. I devoured the entire thing in like 45 seconds, and now I'm laying on the couch like an anaconda that just hoovered up a tapir. Ugh....

Oh, GO AWAY!

So I'm pissed. My gun didn't come in today. It'll get here tomorrow, but that made me cranky.

So I went for a run. But I didn't get good sleep last night and got up early for the world's most stupid reason (which I won't bother telling you about), so my run sucked weasel ass.

Then Mr. Abby came home and, although he's in the middle of coordinating logisitics for...some group of yahoos, is still persisting in insisting we have some sort of motorcycle related dinner outing.

So I'm tired. I don't have a (new) gun. All the phones in the house are ringing. Mr. Abby is talking into one and fumbling with the other. And some ASSHOLE knocks on my door. Which causes the Bad Dogs to flip the hell out into a barking, yowling, door crowding frenzy.

I open the door, kicking dogs, and stick my head out. Mormons! Two earnest looking young fellas with LDS nametags.

I'm afraid I wasn't as polite as I could have been. I should probably load up an extra gat and put out the claymores. Once Mormons get into your neighborhood, they can harder to get rid of than moles.

Only in Florida

You know, I probably don't want to live in a world where one's past can disqualifty one from any future random good fortune.

But still. Good Christ.

Registered sex offender wins $14 million lottery jackpot in Jensen Beach

Is there no justice?

FDLE records show Cowal is a registered sex offender and has a record of arrests for alleged offenses beginning in 1993, ranging from burglary, lewd and lascivious or indecent assault upon a child, trespass, aggravated assault, driving under the influence, probation violation and high-speed fleeing from law enforcement. He was sentenced to 23 months in prison between 1993 and 2000.

I can't even find the words. It's not like this is some good-ol-boy drinkin' and raisin' hell kind of record. We're talking about one of Florida's legion of child sex predators.

Now, according to the article, the guy opted for the $8 million lump sum, seeing as that's what you get out of $14 million after the tax bite (just lie back and think of England, oh taxpayer, or try to pretend it's all going to beer for soldiers). Anyway...$8 million.

Now, surely, the State of Florida ought to be able to snatch a goodly amount of that. Certainly, with that record, I'd like to think this jackass has been incarcerated. I'd like to think the State has some sort of program in place to recoup the funds spend on locking his ass up. And I would THINK there'd be some sort of fines levied for at least some of his crimes. Have those been paid?

I guess I don't have a problem with criminals (who've served their time) having good luck. But someone out there ought to be keeping track, and ensuring that this asshole pays back every dime the people of Florida have spent on his worthless carcass, and that he's made proper financial restitution for his wrongs.

Then, if there's something left, Mr. Cowal can perhaps go somewhere far away and enjoy it.