Just 'cause I think it's cool

Imagine the pants-shitting horror of the anti's at the sight of an 11 YO girl practicing a shooty martial art. That alone is worth the price of the ticket. I've never understood what's supposed to be so terrible about a young girl who, even if she doesn't win, won't be a victim. And they call us "haters?" Huzzah to her, is what I say.

H/T to Unc.

Youch. Holy Crap. Other Comments.

Couldn't have been a government tornado. It was destructive enough, but far too efficient.

Our little boy is growing up...

Landlady's house now has one coat of stucco, but only on the front where the porch is. Too long a story, but basically we ran out of stucco. So this morning I was free to go and nod at my shit-shoveling duties.

This is Comet, J&H's newest colt. He got rejected by his mother, and the only two things in life he's not afraid of are Gaia, Torrie's foal, and the milk bottle. Actually now he's graduated to drinking it out of a bucket.

He'll rarely have anything to do with me, but sometimes he can be surprising. This morning I went down to a little gully in the big corral to rescue the babies' big play ball. I sent it rolling across the corral, and Comet ran after it. Then he abruptly left it and walked up to touch noses with me, out of the blue. After a few seconds (I carefully didn't try to touch him, because he hates that) he seemed to remember that he was supposed to be afraid of me, started champing his jaws in the body language I'm told means "Don't kill me, I'm just a baby," and bolted off.

He does love to play with Gaia, though, and they'll play in the sun for hours at a time.

And this is Visioness, the mare H replaced Solari with. She's the closest thing to a friendly horse on the whole place. When I clean her enclosure, I have to schedule time to do her homage or she gets testy. She thinks the world of mankind exists to worship her, and for all I know she's right.

BTW, when I got home this afternoon I had a granddaughter update. Due date is still about four weeks away, but now the OB is hedging her bets. Basically, I could be a granddad any minute now.

This could be fun to watch...

Last week saw the Texas legislature cave under a TSA threat to shut down commercial aviation in Texas should it pass legislation limiting where TSA goons were allowed to put their hands. Needless to say the legislature caught more comments for pulling the bill than anybody ever got for introducing it, and the comments all seem to have gone something like this...

...spineless weaselly chickenshit bigmouth no balls assholes whose parents should have been more attentive to menstrual cycles...

I expected that to be the end of the matter, but it seems somebody couldn't take the heat. The bill may be back.

What's more, Texas isn't the only one.

Regrets and Bad Memories

I'm having flashbacks to a bad time, in a typically neurotic way.

A man who doesn't have a lot of regrets by the time he's pushing sixty, hasn't lived very hard. By that dubious standard I must have lived as hard as any stoner, because I've got a lot of them. Most are mere embarrassments – Okay, I was a commie for about 45 minutes of my teens, which is how long it took to recognize what a mistake it is to rely on the simple nostrums and soundbite philosophies of self-serving bastards. It's still an embarrassment and a regret, but I comfort myself that I was just a kid. It was a learning experience.

Other regrets...I can't let myself off the hook. And the biggest is that I had one child and I was mostly a terrible father to her. It wasn't lack of affection, because I'd have jumped into a fire for her. It was lack of time and energy – and a very poor choice of priorities. When you're Mr. Suburban Man, climbing that ol' corporate ladder, it's easy to convince yourself that it's your responsibility to keep doing that. Even when you see other, more important things sliding. And whatever their complaints, the family you're neglecting expects you to keep doing it too. They're not gonna give up the big house, the shiny car, the wardrobes, that massively expensive kitchen upgrade...no, you've got to keep your whole head to the grindstone if you don't want to listen to money complaints. And you'll hear them anyway, so it's very easy to ignore that inner voice that says you're making a horrible mistake. After a few years or decades, if you're not putting in 10-12 hours on the job plus commute, you really don't know what to do with yourself. When you're home you're thinking about work, or just too worn out to think about anything. You barely know your wife, you don't know your kid. You're a bad husband and a terrible father. Never mind that you had enablers, it was your responsibility to get it right and you didn't. And you get to carry that for the rest of your life.

My daughter, a forgiving soul, still likes me. It wasn't always so, and I didn't blame her. I'm just happy for what I've got.

Anyway, that's all over and all I've got to show for it is a grown daughter who somehow turned out all right in spite of me, and a lot of regrets. I'm sort of semi-retired now – completely retired from my Suburban Man phase – and my immediate family consists of two needy dogs.

Whom I have been neglecting lately. And it's bringing me some nasty flashbacks.

Okay, it's not really the same thing at all. First, since my round-trip commute is a big two miles and I'm not working eight hours in a day, they see more of me than my daughter ever did. And they really aren't guilting me too badly over the Gitmo thing, now that they're used to it. In my limited experience, dogs tend to like whatever it is they're used to as long as it isn't too actively unpleasant, and they're used to Gitmo now.

But still – flashbacks. My big activity of a typical day used to involve long walkies with the boys. Now they get a belly-rub and a treat, and into Gitmo till I get home. I'm sure I'm taking this too seriously – in fact I'm sure I'm being completely silly. But it's bringing back bad memories.

But what were they doing in the guy's back yard?

You come out of your shop at the sound of gunfire. There you see three cops lined up at the shore of your pond, blazing away at an alligator.

Except there isn't any gator there.

Be patient - you first need to endure 20 seconds of heartwarming monkey story...
 

My favorite part of the story...

After realizing their bullets were bouncing off the yard art alligator, police left.

Without explaining what they were doing on the guy's land in the first place. Without so much as a "sorry for the [trespass, gunfire, spinning ricochets, property damage]. I wanna be a cop in my next life, if they can get away with bullshit like this, consequence-free.

Analysis of a deadly cluster[actoflove]

I've basically got nothing to say today, but over at Confederate Yankee there's an excellent second-by-second analysis of the brief video released of the Jose Guerena shooting. I highly recommend it.

Also: A pointless SWAT raid in which no innocent dogs or people are gunned down: Story of a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

That's kinda creepy. And also misses an important point.

Geiger Counter Guy has a couple of neighbors who aren't my very favorite people. He's an ex-cop, she's nosy and talkative. Lately I've been spending a lot of time in her presence, since she works part-time for GC Guy. Their house overlooks GC Guy's yard, and whenever I've been doing something in his yard I've had the feeling - paranoia, I'm sure - that I'm being watched. I don't like that feeling, which is why I live so far back in the boonies.

A few days ago, in the morning before entering Geiger Counter Central, she verified that feeling for me. She showed up shortly after I did and immediately started chattering. "I told [ex-cop] that I didn't know whether I should go down, because it seemed a little early. But he said, 'Well, I see Joel down there smoking a cigarette, so I guess it's okay." I hate that.

Today I learned I'm something of a topic of conversation at Casa De Ex-Cop. A few days ago I was shooting the breeze with GC Guy while we were working, about how M and I had set the long rifle range back up but we both needed to learn how to dope the wind because beyond three hundred yards we were sorta relying on luck. And this morning Nosy Neighbor came in and announced that Ex-Cop had made me a gift.

A gift? For me? I don't think I've passed half a dozen words with the guy in going on five years. Well, except for that time that he came to the property on "official business" and Fritz bit him. That time he reached for his holster before recalling he was surrounded by armed people, and came very close to death. We're not good friends.

But sure enough, she hands me a DVD that's hand-labeled, "Reading the wind in long-distance shooting."

Thoughtful, I suppose. Ironic in ways I don't choose to explicitly express here. But thoughtful. Still, it creeps me out that everything I say and do at GC Central goes back to the cop.

She Did It Again!

It's been quite a while, and I'd really dared hope we were past this. There's something not-at-all-vaguely disconcerting about being awakened to the sound of moist crunching and snapping bones three feet from your head. And even though I knew it probably wasn't true I couldn't help thinking, “Geez, I hope Little Bear isn't eating Click.” Even so I couldn't relax and go back to sleep until I felt her jump onto my bed and settle into her place behind my legs.

For late arrivals, Click thinks LB is her baby. She cleans him, she plays with him, she punishes him when he's too rough (and he takes it). Every now and then, in the middle of the night, she feeds him. He's her personal monster.

Being a cat, Click is a nocturnal hunter. There's nothing at all unusual about having to start my day cleaning up mouse and rat offal from the floor before I can walk around. When she brings in smaller prey, the boys never disturb it. But once in a while she goes for a larger kill. Several times she's dragged rabbits in through her (long since broken) cat door. She presents these to her baby Little Bear. He greets them with joy, and he eats every little scrap. LB loves him some rabbit.

LB's a little over two years old now, in the full flower of his strength, and perfectly capable of catching his own rabbits. For all his bulk he's still young and capable of remarkable speed over a short sprint. If he can catch it inside fifty yards or so, Thumper is lunch. Except for the need to worm him regularly I don't really mind this, which is just as well since there's nothing I can do about it anyway.

But the first time I found him eating a large rabbit inside the Lair, when there was no way he could have caught one, I thought he'd stolen Click's kill. It happened again a bit later, and I wondered why she'd go to the trouble of bringing it into the Lair to be swiped by a dog. Then one evening while I was still awake I watched her struggle through her hole dragging a cottontail bigger than she was. I watched further as she calmly and rather tenderly presented it to Little Bear. Who ate it with no ceremony. So I've seen this with my own eyes, it's not conjecture. She's bringing her kill to her baby, and (considering the obvious fact that he's many times her size) knows he needs bigger prey than she normally prefers.

Ain't love grand?

The thing. I would talk about it now. If I could use my words.

Oy.

After I've betrayed the revolution and become president-for-life, I'm gonna outlaw long weekends.

Yeah, I know. It sucks, but it's gotta happen. Why? 'Cause they're too much work, that's why.

I knew I was in trouble this morning, as soon as I got more or less vertical. I emptied the pockets of last night's jeans. In one pocket was a jackknife and a pretty rock. I don't know why I pick up rocks, but I do. I can only assume that for reasons of his own my maker incorporated magpie genes into my DNA. Anyway, a little while later I stuck my hand in my pocket to get my knife and came out with a pretty rock instead. I'd put that in my pocket and left the knife home.

Like I said. Oy.

We got the Meadow House papered and wired, put in a couple of new attic vents, and completed two coats of waterproofing on M's Dome. Today around noon we all went to town for Subway, M and Landlady went their separate ways, and I went off to shit-shoveling. Just now got back.

I'm gonna go collapse in a heap now.

The Meadow House gets a new skin...

With four of us working, things went pretty fast once we got into the rhythm. Naturally we picked a windy weekend, but this time of the year they really don't come in any other variety.

By the end of the day we'd completed two sides and most of the third. Still have the front to do, and the bit over the porch needs care as it's kinda dangerous. We'll do that first thing this morning, then head over to M's Dome for more waterproofing! Yay!

Then of course there's the actual stucco to look forward to. Yay.

Had a nice evening, though.

Is it raining in here?

Got out of work at Geiger Counter Central around three. Spent a little time gathering rocks for the Trench That Will Not End, then headed home through the wash. I'd felt bad all day because last week I'd promised to help M with his dome waterproofing, but that was before I knew GC Guy was back in business. But halfway through the wash I actually encountered M, headed back toward the dome. So I told him I'd be there as soon as I changed my clothes. Hurried to the Interim Lair, grabbed some grubbies and started yanking off my good clothes.

Click the Cat is normally very self-sufficient. If she could handle a bag of cat food she'd rarely want anything to do with me at all. But being a cat, sometimes she changes her mind. I am then obligated to immediately change my own. This afternoon as soon as I walked in she started yowling for attention. I didn't have time for her, so I pretended she wasn't there. I sat on my bed, ignoring her clamor and pulling on my pants. Drops of what appeared to be water started landing on my leg.

I looked up at the storage loft over the bed:

Yes, cats drool. And this one really, really wanted attention.

Tired.

Grouchy. Sore. Antisocial. Not ready for prime time. Ol' Hermit Joel is basically working seven days a week lately. I'm getting paid for it, so I shouldn't bitch. I'm bitching anyway, 'cause that's how I swing.

Here are some funny pictures.

...Menacing us with an endless series of hobgoblins...

That we may remain clamorous to be led to safety.

One reason may be that a growing number of senators...have been raising concerns about a classified “sensitive collection program” that makes use of the sunsetting “business records provision,” also known as Section 215. They’ve joined Dick Durbin and (former Senator) Russ Feingold in hinting that there may be abuses linked to this program the public is unaware of, and that, moreover, the secret Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court has interpreted this provision (in a classified ruling, of course) in a way that the general public would find surprising, and which goes beyond the law’s apparent intent.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Heh. I'm changing M's blog name to "Double-H."

While I live, he's never living this down.

TSA Threatens To Cancel All Flights Out Of Texas If ‘Groping Bill’ Passed

From this Forbes article...

Upset about invasive screening techniques at the airport, the Lone Star State was considering a bill that would make a TSA patdown that involves touching “the anus, sexual organ, buttocks, or breast of another person including through the clothing” a misdemeanor, allowing Texas law enforcement to arrest TSA officials and charge them with sexual harassment. It would have meant that TSA officials could be fined $4,000 and spend up to a year in jail for doing their jobs of feeling up prospective fliers.

...

On Tuesday, the bill was set to be voted on in the Senate. This called for more of a response than a simple blog post. Federal government officials descended on the Capitol to hand out a letter (embedded below) from the Texas U.S. Attorney letting senators know that if they passed the bill, the TSA would probably have to cancel all flights out of Texas. As much as they love their state, the idea of shutting down airports and trapping people in Texas was scary enough to get legislators to reconsider their support for the groping bill.

And so it goes.

Things I probably shouldn't say...

Me: Hey, did I tell you? I've been rigging one in ten of these things to peg the meter and go completely nuts at any hint of radiation.

Geiger Counter Guy: Wha?

Me: Yeah, that way whenever somebody so much as touches the button, the counter tells'em they're gonna die a slow and painful death...

GC Guy: You're...

Me: Have you heard anything about the suicide rate lately?

GC Guy: ...Fired.

Me: My job here is done.

An "Apparent Physical Encounter"

From the Huffington Post, oddly enough...



The cop says the guy in the wheelchair "assaulted a police officer." Seriously. By bleeding on him, apparently.

The Washington Post describes it as "an apparent physical encounter" Seriously. Because the WashPo writer doesn't want to commit himself as to whether the encounter was physical or philosophical, apparently.

Money quote:

Metro issued a statement Sunday saying that the man, whom police have not identified, had resisted arrest, "which resulted in him falling out of his wheelchair."

Because when two beefy cops heave you out of your chair and land on you on the pavement, it will often result in your falling out of the chair.

I was about to end with something like "unbelievable." Except it's not.

QoD: "Wish I'd said that" edition

"So Lt. Evers is openly, publicly, and without any apparent shame promising that if gun owners exercise their constitutional rights in Philadelphia in a manner that is well within the confines of the law, they can expect a violent confrontation with police." - Radley Balko

For the moment, at least, we're back.

Just sayin'.