I’ve got Trade Show Hoof and Mouth disease. My feet hurt from standing, and my throat hurts from talking.

Open Bar in 13 minutes.

It’s Startuptown, Jake…

The bottom line to yesterday’s blast-off is that zombies* have nothing to fear until they get to the 10 ft. line. And they’re probably still a pretty safe bet to eat me if I’ve got less than three shots. This speaks to the appeal of those high-capacity pistols, and the unignorable need for much more range time.

On the M1A vs. FN-FAL shoot-off, it was a draw. We both sucked. I shot my cheapie red-dot sight loose somewhere in the first few rounds, but failed to notice it. And when I did, I was only marginally better shot with open sights. I’m tempted to buy a 2x or 4x scope for this rifle, simply because I’ve shot through a magnified scope my entire life and don’t have any kind of feel for these modern electronical wonders. Then again, I’m tempted to buy a really good one and see if I can improve. The Genius Boy Programmer found a very loose peep sight on his FN. At the end of the day, though, this was a shakedown run for both of us on our respective rifles, kind of a getting to know you deal. I look forward to many more hours of shooting, with a proper rest and a proper spotting scope and getting some serious accuracy into my life. Let me tell you something, though…those are some heavy freaking guns. I am going to seriously have to do some weight work to be able to manage that SOCOM with any kind of authority. It’s a beast.

The other bad news is that my Springfield Basic 1911 is just a mess. It was constantly low and left, anywhere from 6 inches to a foot. I blamed myself, but the GBP got the same results with the durn thing. So, I need to upgrade the sights to adjustable 3-dot ones, then who knows what else. Regardless, my baby shot everything I put through it, so I’m happy with it’s reliability, anyway. No stovepipes, no misfeeds, no jams, no nothing. It’s a good base to build on, and it’ll be fun to accurize and accessorize it.

The XD shot superbly, six inch groups at 10 ft, and twelve inches at 25 ft. I know neither one of those is anything to write home about, nor are they going to impress anybody anywhere, but I was happy with myself, that I could get them on the paper, period. This accuracy stuff is a slow process, with not near enough time for proper practice.

The six-shooter is a dream. It’s Ruger Super Blackhawk, three-screw, old-style model, 5½ inch magnaported barrel. The grip is longer than the New Model, so it sits in my hand nicely. I only shot it at 25 ft., and I got them all on the paper, so no complaints. It’s fun to shoot, period. Now, I want a smaller caliber version to play cowboy with some more. I need to look into that.

What else?

• JHP ammo in my basic 1911: does it feed reliably? (this could be expensive) Yes, it does, no problems with 32 rounds of Remington Golden Saber JHP. Need to do more, of course.
• FMJ ball and JHP ammo in my XD-45 Yes, no problem with 13 rounds of RGS JHP…didn’t expect any, either.
• Silver Bear (Russian?) ammo in my SOCOM: is it as bad as the GBP thinks it is? No, it’s just fine. Yes, it’s Russian. I have two more magazines of this stuff, and I want to do some patch tests with it, though, just to be sure.
• The cheapie red-dot scope that came with my SOCOM: how do these crazy electronic gizmos work? Undecided – operator not qualified to answer.
• .44 magnum vs. .44 special in the wheel gun: how’s the recoil feel in my paw? Completely spaced the .44 Special ammo. .44 Mag doesn’t bother me, though, at least not through 50 rounds of it.
• His hand-built ARs (I think he’s bringing one of those) Nope, just the beefy 7.62s.

Oh, yeah…GBP’s Kimber. Very, very nice…made me want one.

* Remember, zombie kills take head shots. Note to self: don’t lose the Mossberg.

A really good article about the ongoing search for the perfect best rifle possible for those fine folks out there shooting bad guys:
U.S. Army Has a Better Rifle, But Not for All

Faced with troubles using the M4 rifle in combat, members of Delta Force worked with a gun maker to come up with a better weapon. The 416 is now considered in many circles to be the best carbine in the world — a weapon that combines the solid handling, accuracy and familiarity of the M4 with the famed dependability of the rugged AK47. But the Army is sticking with the M4 and M16 for regular forces.

It is somewhat shocking to realize that the AR/M16 platform is over 40 years old, and we still hear stories about it failing catastrophically in battle. Are they just anecdotes that would pop up about any weapons system (or as we old timers call them, “gun”)? The problems with the direct gas impingement design are supremely well-documented, but so are there rafts of people who say that those problems aren’t really problems.

I don’t know, and I can’t claim any expertise. I shoot at most 100 rounds at any one time, all of them aimed at paper targets with well-cleaned, well-lubricated, well-stored weapons systems. There have been years where I never pulled a trigger, and certainly my whole life where I never pulled a trigger in defense of something precious to me. Therefore, anything I have to say would be just chatter. But, I wouldn’t put my life or the lives of my family on the line with something that seems to have the potential to fail. Which is why I keep a Mossberg pump under the bed, and not an AR clone or any other rifle.

Via Haft of the Spear…

[doing a little white-boy neutron dance here]

The Genius Boy Programmer just called and he wants to go burn up some of his freshly-delivered 3,000 rounds of South African mil-surp .308 (ca. 1980), so I’m fixing to go help him. I’m taking mi pistolas, too.

It will be USA vs. furriners — my Springfield vs his FN-FAL, plus my Ruger cowboy Super Blackhawk, plus his new Kimber. Fun, fun, fun. There are so many things I want to try out:

• JHP ammo in my basic 1911: does it feed reliably? (this could be expensive)
• FMJ ball and JHP ammo in my XD-45
• Silver Bear (Russian?) ammo in my SOCOM: is it as bad as the BGP thinks it is?
• The cheapie red-dot scope that came with my SOCOM: how do these crazy electronic gizmos work?
• .44 magnum vs. .44 special in the wheel gun: how’s the recoil feel in my paw?
• His hand-built ARs (I think he’s bringing one of those)

There will probably be enormous collateral damage done to innocent but tasty Mexican food, too. The boy likes to eat, and who am I to say no to a Birkenstocked giant who wants the #2 plate? That’s what friends are for, no? Enabling your worst instincts.

It’s this. Ken Bethea playing great, absolutely murdering, electrified guitar loud enough to drown out most of Rhett’s ju-co lyrics and girly voice.

Sorry for the interruption, but a seriously great song, Time Bomb, just came in from outer space. I always think about those guys…if only they’d let Murray sing more. Oh, well. Chicks dig The Rhett. But he should have been shackled in a basement to write songs, because he’s pretty good at that, but he ruined a great American band with his fey crap. So says me.

And it’s Stars-Ducks. It’s actually on the teevee, too, with no stupid Spurs game clogging up the satellite. The bad news is that the Stars have lost the last few games I’ve been able to watch. If they lose this one, I’ll know I’m the jinx and just commence to drinking earlier on game night.

OK, then…

Sleep well:

They did tests with conventional explosives and non-radioactive dust mimicking common radioactive materials, and found that most of the dust did not travel long distances. This means that relatively few people will be hurt by a dirty bomb, and that a relatively small area will be affected.

Pardon me for being the That Stupid Guy, but this is not news. Maybe to real scientists it is, but not to me, or anybody else with a lick of common sense, or who might have, say, hypothetically, sometime in the past, blown shit up for no real reason except to blow shit up — or been around someone who blew some shit up. No, the real fun part is this – remember, it’s from Scientists! at Science! Now!, a division of Science! Magazine:

The article doesn’t make it clear how small the distance was, but apparently it was smaller than many previous estimates.

There you go. Quit wetting the bed over dirty bombs. If it happens, it’ll probably happen a few houses down, or a few blocks over, or a few kilometers away. Maybe degrees of latitude, or astronomical units. Whatev. Just quit wetting the bed. You know what would be fun to go with this? One of those statistics roll-ups that show you’re more likely to win the lottery than to be hit by a dirty bomb or any other kind of terroristic acts, so quit wetting the bed, you big puss.

This mainly reminds me of an old Aggie joke: upon learning that most accidents happen close to home, the Aggie moved. It took me a couple of hours to figure that one out.

…and being a responsible family man. I’m not going to make the 2007 Pokerati Invitational. It’s not as if I’ve covered myself in glory in past years (two? has it really only been two? no, I think it’s three.) I made a ‘final two tables’ one year, but I was so shortstacked that it was two orbits and out, so it doesn’t much matter.

Live cash poker has been non-existent for me for the last few months, too. I haven’t spent much time looking for regular games or quasi-legal rooms here in SA. Whtever I’ve done has been mostly random strip-club freerolls and APA-type bar games which, to be generous, don’t do much for me except as training to play in push-fests. So, it’s basically, when I’m not exhausted or painting or moving furniture, Poker Online.

You know…I’ve got a lease on a little apartment for another month. Maybe I should try to start a “room” over there. Find some like-minded pokerers, buy a table, throw open the doors…nah, I’d end up in trouble somehow.

Since we’re doing what is essentially a slow-motion (or stop-action, really) move from the DF&W to the Cradle of Texas Liberty, I thought it would be a good idea to use those PODS guys. They drop off a storage container, you fill it up, then they pick it up and take it to your new place, where you then de-fill it. Well, it’s still a good idea, but not at the cool price of 1,000 simoleans for an 8×8x16.

Not vs. a 17 ft. U-Haul for $300.

Granted, I have to drive the stupid U-Haul, but I can do that. It’s not that big a damn deal driving a one-ton. I could probably even talk my son-in-law into doing the driving, since he’s such a sweet boy and an ex-long-haul trucker. He’s also an enormously strong giant, which helps at load/unload time.

For that matter, I’m sure I could find a moving company with a 24 ft. truck and couple of strong backs to do the loading and unloading at each end for under a grand.

Nothing pleases a Texan more than to hear a non-native catch the gist of what we’ve had drilled into our native bones since the day we were born. Sgt. Mom of the Daily Brief does a fine job of demonstrating that on a regular basis. It’s great, (re-)reading stuff I knew once through the eyes of someone making it a study:

The Rangers of that time were nothing like their present-day iteration… an elite State law-enforcement body. And under Hays’ captaincy, they became more than just the local mounted volunteer militia, called up on a moments’ notice to respond to a lightening fast raid on their settlement or town by Indians or cross-border bandits. They took to patrolling the backcountry, looking specifically for a fight and hoping to forestall raids before they happened, or failing that, to track down raiding parties, recover loot and captives, and to administer payback. There was only one abortive attempt to have them wear uniforms.

The fun part, for me, is catching up on stuff that I’ve heard before from old-timers. Being born in nineteen-and-sixty, I had the pleasure of having two granddads who’d grown up in the early parts of this century in this state, and they had granddads, of course, who told them stories. Being outdoorsmen, of course, they were often accompanied by other men who shared their taste in horses, guns, cattle & whisky, and so, the tales were often spun ’round the campfire.*

These kinds of stories, told of the men who knew the men who knew the men who rode under Jack Hays, were, to say the least, a shaping force for a youngster. I don’t claim anything but common dirt with these heros, but I like to think I’ve learned something from them, and I’m not so sure that would have happened had I been born elsewhere.

* Hyperbole alert — by the time I was out hunting with these wondrous geezers, they were all quite damn glad to have a tin roof over their head or a floor of wood to lay their mats on, and thought it nothing short of crazy to build a campfire when there was a perfectly fine barn that could be heated by God’s own wonders, propane and white gas. Hell, chopping wood was anathema, what with chain saws. Still, the tales told, over a glass of shine in the glare of a Coleman lantern with a deck of cards on the table, were nice. They might have been all lies, but they were my lies, and they always will be.

I keep reading John Robb’s web writings because he’s probably the most hell-in-a-handbasket guy out there getting book deals and making enormous bucks. There’s clearly a market for such folks, and if possible, I’d like to get in on it, because I can imagine monstrous dystopian futures to scare the shit out of all you Pollyanna mofos poking along out there, too. Today’s link sent me to Subtopia, where there is no hope, either. Too bad I can’t write, or Photoshop, all that great. Is it too late to learn?

This kind of stuff makes me feel like having 1000 rounds of ammo on hand is nowhere near enough, too. Because I’m not quite ready to leave my country and it’s ideals to the machinations of black swans, global guerillas, systempunkts, and other such seemingly invincible Assholes of Civilization.

I’d suggest you start reading these people, because they have influence. You can expect to hear more of this radical & logical doomsday talk. Robb’s a Peak Oil guy, FWTW.

That was a pretty exciting little car race…first one I’ve ever watched in it’s entireity, and that’s thanks to Ken Nelson, who hipped me to the free-this-weekend DirecTV NASCAR Hot Pass. Cool stuff, and it made the race a more exciting and watchable experience. I was actually on the Tony Stewart channel when he exited the proceedings, but sadly it was in a commercial break when it happened, so I didn’t get the full effect. I’m guessing that if you have to pay money for it, you won’t be stuck with a dumb razor commercial in the middle of watching your favorite driver crash and burn. I also liked the HD part of it, too…I’m pretty sure that I’m hooked on that teevee crack. I could care less about normal teevee (so far), but I sure do like watching sport in high-def.

As a certified alkie stiff, I enjoyed these parts of the race particularly:

• The Crown Royal car runs over another team’s pit crew, and then goes on to cause the last wreck on the last turn of the race.
• The Jack Daniels car crosses the finish line, upside down on it’s roof, with flames shooting out of the windshield.

Heh, heh.

P.S. My wife is very worried about me becoming a NASCAR guy. This, from her, as she wipes tears from eyes during a Lifetime movie. I’m not the one with two Tivos loaded with five quadrillion episodes of Everyone Loves Raymond, The Simpsons and Roxanne.

I was in Lowe’s last night to pick up a curved shower rod (the Depot was out of the chrome model). On the overhead music system, they were playing k.d. lang’s My Chatelaine. I don’t think I’ve ever had a bigger case of musical cognitive dissonance, at least not since I heard a Muzak version of AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long on an elevator.

It also brought to mind the image of me in a slinky black dress & velvet gloves, in a spotlight, crooning My Chatelaine to all the shoppers in the checkout line, while perched on a pile of pressure-treated 2×6s. Thanks, brain.

X Country.

Say no more. It comes with my teevee package. I’ve only moved it off that channel for a hockey game. I’m just going to have to break down and get it for the truck.

Bolognas this big…no way, Jose!

Venezuela’s President Hugo Chavez has threatened to nationalise stores that sell meat above a government-set price.

The government says supermarkets have been artificially boosting prices of basic foods by manipulating stockpiles.

But critics blame regular food shortages on prices imposed four years ago, forcing shops to sell at a loss.

Many privately-owned supermarkets have suspended sales of beef, milk and sugar after one chain was temporarily closed for pricing meat above allowed levels.

Hugo Chavez is a never-ending source of amusement for me, and a complete pain in the ass for any Venezualan. It’s going to be interesting to see how long he lasts. My personal feeling is that folks are less interested in putting up with a dumbass of his nature than they used to be, but human beings never cease to amaze me.

One things for sure, though…anyone with a way to do it is getting out. Why finance this idiot, after all?