I hesitated to post this, as most gun bloggers who post about food post about fine food: seafood, chili, gourmand cuisine. Think Brigid, and many others.
I like to cook, and am not half bad at it – traditional American fare: lasagna, deep-dish pizza, steak, hamburgers, hot dogs. Baking. Some sugar-free stuff. But, with my various infirmities, standing and cooking usually isn’t a pleasant experience. (I need to eat more salads, anyway).
So, I’ve taken to finding foods I like near my new digs. Mexican food, bar & grills, pizza. Usually accompanied by alcohol (or diet soda ). Much depends on how close it is to ‘payday’.
We used to frequent a pizza place near my old house. Our favorite waitress appeared to be a recovering tweaker from Boston – always pronounced beer as beah, so we adopted that. For fun. (Yes. sarcasm and mockery are our stock in trade!)
Of late we (my roommate and I) have found a couple new places. One had excellent burgers and fries – at steak prices, and 52 craft beers available. We took immediately to Mr. Pineapple Ale, then found out the craft beer was $7.00/pint!
As much as we liked the food, we went on the hunt to find Mr. Pineapple, and found it at another place we have been known to frequent. For $4.50/pint! Have three beers and you’re saving money! (see what I did there?)
The problem is, the food at the cheaper beer place, while good, is not as good (or as costly) as the expensive beer place. They do have 1/4 pound BACON-WRAPPED hot dogs, though!
I’m certain my doctor would agree.
Probably without the dark chocolate, though…
FTC – San Tan Brewery gives me nothing. Now go away!
The lovely Tamara had a recent post regarding personal vehicles, with political stickers there-a-fixed. The consensus among correct-thinking-folks is to maintain a low profile. No longer is a pro-gun, gun rights or even a libertarian rear plaque or bumper sticker deemed appropriate.
At the very least it’s considered non-tacticool. Don’t want to alert potential auto-burglars of the Glock possibly stuffed under the seat in our absence! (One of the Bob’s had one stolen outside a coffee shop in broad daylight!)
In my callow youth, I owned a number of nondescript cars, mostly with libertarian bumper stickers attached. Never had a problem. One did read ‘Question Authority‘. Never had a problem during traffic stops for not current registration.
But, as the 90s appeared, and political clouds foretold of personal liberties being trashed (the Clinton Assault Weapon Ban, for example), I opted to be less visible. Not concerned with the bad guys (criminals) as much as the bad guys (government). And I attached fewer stickers.
After the accident, I acquired my dream vehicle – a 1989 Isuzu Trooper. Molly and I had been looking at them, as the ‘gee, perhaps one day’ car to take us to the desert to shoot. She never got to see her, but she paid for her.
She was christened Molly’s Trolley with a dash placard. And once my time payment Life Membership to the NRA was paid off, I affixed an appropriate sticker on the driver’s wing window. Remember those – wing windows?
But no other defilement was allowed. Low profile, in a silver 4×4 with a cammie spare tire cover. Yeah right. And many trips were made to the desert, and to friends in New River. And other places.
My youthful dreams of joking magnetic door signs reading ‘ANFO Distributing‘ never happened. And I never even considered the ubiquitous gun show sale bumper sticker, ‘Vote From The Rooftops‘.
I did see (once, during the Nixon years) a sticker on another car reading, ‘Where is Lee Harvey Oswald When You Need Him?‘
I don’t think that would fly, today. No one remembers who he was.
h/t Siddhartha, Tam
I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy. Or should I say old-school. I still like revolvers.
But, this doesn’t mean I’m a luddite. I DO appreciate what technology brings us. Anesthesia, antibiotics, magazines that hold more than 7 rounds…
And cellular telephones. Brought to us as a result of the Space Race.
I bought my first cell phone at a gun show (quelle surprise!) in the mid 90s. Why? Because I spent more-and-more time in the desert, and thought (presuming service was available) that modern communication was preferable to walking in 20 miles, if my then 8-year-old Isuzu Trooper failed.
And, just like advances in home computers, I’ve grown to appreciate the advances made in cell phones. But, with my financial condition, I was never able to afford anything past the basic flip phone. And I’ve kept them long past their expected life span. Two in eight years. My last one was on four years, had a screen failure, and was over her contract. I was paying month-to-month, not able to improve my technological lot.
Until 10 days ago…
My roomie, a savvy businesswoman who lives and runs her business on her smart phone, decided she wanted to upgrade her phone to the new Apple IPhone – and she asked me if I wanted her ‘old’ smart phone! At first I balked, because I was unfamiliar with the operation (okay, it scared me a little), and I started trolling the Internet looking for new smartphones. Then, I saw their price!
The fact that I can surf the Web, check all my email accounts, take wonderful photographs, do text messaging (which I loathe), and even make telephone calls is amazing! AND, if my four-year old-PC fails, in a pinch, I can even write this blog from there! That, and check email without climbing stairs – which is a good thing with my disabilities.
Thanks, J. for your kindness and generosity!
PS – I like semiautomatic pistols, too!
PPS – attn FTC, neither htc nor Apple gave me anything. Go find your own phone!
Collectors Weekly takes us back to another time – to a more elegant weapon.
“When I got this sword, it was completely covered in blood rust.” Sword maker Francis Boyd is showing me yet another weapon pulled from yet another safe in the heavily fortified workshop behind his northern California home.
“You can tell it’s blood,” he says matter-of-factly, “because ordinary rust turns the grinding water brown. If it’s blood rust it bleeds, it looks like blood in the water. Even 2,000 years old, it bleeds. And it smells like a steak cooking, like cooked meat. I’ve encountered this before with Japanese swords from World War II. If there’s blood on the sword and you start polishing it, the sword bleeds. It comes with the territory.”
Swords, sword history, swordmaking, swordcraft. This is the domain of Francis Boyd, swordmaker extraordinaire.
I’m fascinated by weaponry. Especially that which I might be able to own and actually employ. Sadly, while most equipment is now out of my reach, I still enjoy the appearance of fine craftsmanship. The long dedication of the master gunsmith or sword-maker. No plastic here! (Sorry Gaston Glock!)
You should go to the link above and learn. I did.
“If there’s blood on the sword and you start polishing it, the sword bleeds.”
h/t Miss Cellania
Two years ago, today, I began writing this blog.
I’d been on disability, and passed the time on the Internet reading blogs. I was frankly looking for some female friends who liked guns, and found some female gun bloggers. Unfortunately, these were in Ohio, Indiana and Idaho. They became my blogmothers. (Note-to-self: find female gun bloggers in AZ!)
I had no clue what I was doing. Some would say I still don’t.
In the past two years I’ve learned to write in paragraphs, write about those things I know, and to be disciplined. (sometimes)
I’ve written at least one blog post daily (sometimes two, occasionally three, once or twice four) every day.
And I’ve included a cartoon, a tasteful photo of a beautiful woman and a You Tube clip of my choosing, every day, as well.
And a quote of the day.
I told a couple friends locally I was writing a blog, and, before I knew it, I had followers (!)
Follower number 10 was North , the first person not actually known to me at the time. Since then he and many others have become friends!
As of this post, I have 89 followers, including a female blogger in Pakistan.
Over 164,821 pageviews! (if we include the 84K from the first year’s BLOGGER version) 5,397 comments, (some of which weren’t even from me!)
I’ve written 1,146 posts, about 2/3 of which were of my own authorship (not stolen borrowed or expounded upon from another blog).
And I’ve made many friends in the United States, and around the World.
I’m proud to say I’ve actually met some of these folks, and spoken with others on the telephone. Some have regularly communicated via email. A few have become close. One even gifted me ammunition! I’m both proud and humbled.
And still amazed.
One of my early followers was my good friend Mark Bell, who passed away February 1, 2012. He told me one of his first stops every morning was Guffaw in AZ. I like to think he still stops by.
I will continue to strive to report the facts and truth as I know them, for as long as I am able, and I care to.
And perhaps a few more PI stories.
tampered with amended The Usual Suspects to add those who have been friends and contributors and delete those who have stopped blogging. Sadly, some have passed away.
My thanks to all of you for your support.
Your obedient servant,
In another lifetime, I was working as a security guard, and sometime private investigator. My company would draft me for undercover assignments, which got me out of the guard thing for a while. I didn’t mind being drafted.
On one of these occasions, I was sent to a small town in the mountains North of Phoenix. Worked undercover in a variety store as a management ‘trainee’ whose real function was to spy on all the employees and management. Great stuff!
In such a position, I was quite concerned about my safety. If something untoward was going on, I didn’t want to get ‘made’ and ratted out, or worse. So, I carried a gun. Sadly, I’d sold my handguns for rent money (AGAIN – I was young, this was the 70s – sigh) and the only firearm I owned was my Ithaca DSPS Model 37 police pump. Not exactly concealable on-the-person.
So I toted her from under the motel bed into my car and back using my Dad’s weather-beaten trench coat as a gun rug! Sadly, she had to stay in the car while I was working.
And the motel was on the main drag through town; single-story, L-shaped, rough hewn, not unlike a(n) (in)famous motel of Hitchcock movie fame. I remember Triple A rating it, but not excellent. And I was so stoked not being a guard and doing undercover work, I’d wind down after my 12 hour shift with pizza and beer, while writing my daily report (dropped in the mailbox the next morning en route to work – this was WAY before the Internet!). Then I’d watch some late night movie on the 13″ B&W TV supplied in the room.
The first night the movie was In Cold Blood.
Not exactly restful slumber. But, I did this for a couple weeks, didn’t find any opium dens in the back room of the store, or mob-related activity, and returned home. Back to the guard stuff. Sigh.
But, I never looked behind the motel to see if there was a swamp containing cars. Guess I’ll never know…
Two days ago, I posted about a blogfriend (TM) giving me the gift of ammunition. For which I am most grateful.
Yesterday, I’m checking the mail for my roomie and I, and there are two packages. One is for the roomie, something for which she is in need, the other, a small item, also sent in her name.
Good for her.
So, I bring her her bagel in the living room for breakfast, and take mine to my chair. Something is on my chair. Usually it’s the cat, who must be coaxed away by showing her a spray bottle. Today, it’s the contents of my roomie’s small package. I assumed it is for her, and she is showing it to me.
It was for ME!!
I continue to be surrounded in my personal life and in my Internet/blog life by persons of generous character.
For this, I am grateful!! Thanks, roomie!
Brigid just did a post regarding an educated view of distilled spirits, especially Scotch. I was immediately brought back to my history with spirits, sadly much less educated.
I hail from Irish and German stock, both (in)famous for their (mis)adventures with alcohol. My own father having his issues with it didn’t stop me from wanting to ‘be a man’ and ‘learn how to drink’. And what.
A friend’s older brother procured for us a bottle of Scotch (so it read on the label) from a local discount store. We were in high school. We enjoyed it, but didn’t have anything with which to compare it. Ummm – good turpentine!
Years later, I was celebrating at my bachelor party, and feeling no pain. I began drinking from a Haig Pinch bottle I’d received for my birthday a month earlier, then got the bright idea I should drink my Michelob beer and chase it with said Scotch. I was nervous – after all, I was getting married in four days! While the quality of the alcohol had improved, my desire for subtlety had not, and I went from euphoric to ill in short order. It’s a good thing I wasn’t getting married the next day. I was unable to stand up.
I was well into my forties when I developed a taste for finer liquors. And the ability to afford them, occasionally. I also began to develop appreciation for the sublime, the subtle. Not just the buzz. Bourbon and tequila became interesting. Not together.
And now? A good microbrew, maybe a Margarita? An occasional dram of bourbon or blended whiskey. Not always drinking to excess, but sometimes as a supplement to lessen my chronic pain. And, appreciating it for what it is.
Not always while watching Moonshiners on satellite, though…
Miss Cellania brings us the little-known tale of a man born a slave, who became a prodigious lawman: Bass Reeves.
Over his 32-year career as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, Bass Reeves arrested 3,000 felons, killed 14 men, and was never shot himself. His reputation for persistence, his total fearlessness, his skills with a gun, and his ability to outsmart outlaws struck terror into lawbreakers in what we now call Oklahoma. Although other colorful characters made their way into our pop culture, Bass was the real badass of the Old West
The marshal was famous for fair-mindedness and was impossible to bribe or corrupt. In 1902 he arrested his own son, Benny, for murdering his wife (Reeves’ daughter-in-law). Benny had fled to the badlands after the crime, and no other marshal was willing to pursue him. As distasteful as the task was, Reeves brought him back, and Benny served twenty years at Leavenworth.