Tam did a recent post mentioning “Cobb-ray”, which was a memory flogger for me. In my callow youth, when I was first interested in things firearm, I remember lusting after a Cobray-Sionics Ingram MAC-10 submachine gun.
Then I saw Mitchell Livingston WerBell III on the Tomorrow Show.
And I was transformed. Here was a real spook, mercenary, soldier-of-fortune, firearms manufacturer and trainer. Right there in my living room!
Of course, who knows how many of his exploits were disinformation, propaganda or hype?
Even though it’s been surpassed by the H&K, the MAC-10 still holds a place in my heart. Even got to fire one once, with a suppressor. All one hears is the clackety-clack of the bolt-hammer operation.
I think of folks like WerBell when I think of the history of covert ops. The predecessors of today’s Special Forces, Delta, SEALs and other folks, many anonymous. You should visit the Wiki link above, especially if you are not familiar with him.
(The name Kardashian never crosses my mind…)
I used to announce this, dripping with irony and humor, at my former workplace, usually to the women whose fashion choices included clogs, sandals, and stiletto heels. All of which I thought were designed to make the loudest and most annoying sounds possible. Repetitively.
(Unless you count the folks who sit at their desk, and unwrap their (snacks, lunch, spare socks, etc.) contained in those plastic grocery bags! It would take them five minutes of incessant rustling just to extricate the object. Then another five to roll close the $%^*&^^$#% bag!)
Initially, we were required to wear dress shoes, but eventually, the East Coast management figured out we were largely more casual here in Arizona, and kept making up pointless contests wherein we peons could ‘win’ the privilege of dressing ‘casually’. We went from white shirts, ties and dress Oxfords, to chinos, polo shirts and athletic shoes. And sometimes even blue jeans!
But the women continued to largely wear noisy footwear.
When I was in my 20s, even with my physical limitations, I thought I could be pretty stealthy. Two years of karate and all. And I lived in athletic shoes. Quietly.
Now, being medically retired, I live in Wranglers, colored T-shirts, and my orthopaedic shoes. One built up to accommodate my leg disability. And, as I put more weight on the opposite foot, that shoe tends to wear out sooner.
And now is making squeaking noises.
I’ll never be a ninja.
Karma is a bitch!
I like women. I like guns. I’m funny that way.
I especially like it when women and guns get together. Not much is better for me than to see a woman take control of her own personal security by owning a firearm, training with it, and carrying it!
Ah, there’s the rub. Literally.
Most of my female shooting students have had difficulty over the years with the whole male-dominated gun culture. And as a result, they either don’t carry or cannot find a comfortable way to carry which meets their needs.
Fortunately, just like firearms themselves evolving, the carry equipment industry has evolved, too.
My roommate has a number of .45s, mostly 1911s and mostly compact (for carry). But what to do? Like most women, she is structured differently. And, she rarely wears pant belts, and it’s usually too hot here for a shoulder rig.
Then she ran across The Well-Armed Woman based on advice from you blog readers. And what a find!
Numerous products for female carry. Below the chest area, waistband (with and without belt), belly bands, and many other choices. As they are HQ in North Scottsdale, we had to take a road trip. And she spent money. Got three concealment holsters of different varieties, and another (sigh) handbag – this one by Gun Tote’n Mamas!
There may be a little banging of the feminist drum, in that these businesses are for women, by women. But I don’t care if the holsters and handbags are designed by Martians, as long as they do the job!
This far, my roomie loves her new stuff. I sense another road trip in our future.
I got to go to a new indoor shooting range yesterday! Huzzah!
The range is called C2 Tactical (seriously?) and isn’t far from my house. It’s affiliated with the Caswell Shooting Range in neighboring Mesa Arizona.
First impressions: It was busy, but, after all it was a Saturday. Lots of cool stuff in the store: handguns, rifles, knives, suppressors (!) They even rent ARs with a can attached, and a Thompson Submachine Gun! No, I didn’t ask the prices. Well staffed, mostly young, pretty people. Armed. The rangemasters (yes, that’s plural) in the handgun range (there’s also a rifle range) were attentive, friendly and polite. There wasn’t much of a space on which to place multiple pistols, revolvers and ammunition, though. The shooting bench was pretty spartan (see photo above). On the good side, the electronic control to move the targets to-and-fro was pretty high-tech. Punch in the distance, hit enter, and off she flies! It’s programmable, somehow. (I’m guessing for advancing targets during training or competition). They make a big deal on promoting ‘the most advanced ventilation system available’, as well as their air conditioning. Unfortunately with the onset of the Arizona monsoon, the humidity’s up and the range still resembled a sauna, albeit a cooler one. My roommate, who already has breathing issues, asked to leave early; the environment made it difficult for her to breathe.
We did enjoy the short time spent there, overall. The store seems well-stocked, including women’s purses from Galco and Gun Totin’ Mamas.
We will return, during the week, soon (?), when it’s less crowded and hopefully less humid.
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…