Sispey Street Irregulars has a link to a story about the United States Department of Justice proposing a ‘change’ in the Freedom Of Information Act (FOIA) rules, wherein they can stonewall requests for certain items at their discretion, even denying such items exist! (link below)
Obviously, this defeats FOIA prima facie, and would ‘allow’ intentional concealment of records involving the preservation of firearm purchase records (in direct criminal violation of the Brady Act), as well as records pertaining to knowledge of Gunwalker/Fast & Furious and other government-sponsored crimes.
As Mike Vanderboegh so eloquently put it:
‘Call, email and write your Congresscritters NOW. If they adopt this rule, they must be defunded. See how they like going without paychecks. Frigging secret policemen. I despise their kind.’
Justice Dept. proposes lying-hiding existence of records…
As most young people, imbued with TV violence in my childhood, I was fascinated with submachine guns. I was immediately informed they were illegal, something from ages past.
Upon adulthood, and my induction into the gun culture, if found out that simply was not true. Submachine guns were legal – at least in some states. There were forms to complete, and hoops to jump through, but, one could actually own a fully-automatic weapon! Or multiples of them!
Then, I found out the cost.
So much for that idea.
As my education and enthusiasm grew, I made contact and sometimes friendships with legal Class III owners.
And, I had the privilege of shooting a couple.
One was an Ingram MAC 10, in .45 ACP. Complete with sound suppressor! (more taxes!) What a fun way to empty a magazine! And all one heard was the clack-clack of the bolt operating.
I never did master the technique well-enough to keep the muzzle rise to a minimum, though. And the rivets holding the rear of the grip frame on sheared while I was shooting her. Thus endeth the lesson.
I also was drawn to a Thompson.
I never did get to shoot a Thompson, though. An obvious draw, after watching years of Untouchables re-runs. I would think the weight would make it ideal.
When I first became aware of such things (in the 70′s), a Mac was going for $400 (+ the $200 federal transfer tax) and a Thompson for $2000 (+ the transfer).
Now, of course, costs are obscene, if one can find one for sale.
As Thompsons became older, and Macs no longer manufactured, costs continue to rise. The 1986 Hughes Amendment to the Firearms Owner’s Protection Act stopped ownership of any full-auto firearms manufactured after 1986, stopping domestic production.
So, the costs continued to rise, and rarity increased in the available pool. Thus, I’ve never owned my own Class III device. And, frankly, after the burglary, it would have been gone, anyway.
But, I still dream…
This time about Lysander Spooner, American individual anarchist, political philosopher, Deist, abolitionist, supporter of the labor movement, legal theorist, and entrepreneur. (Wikipedia)
Oath Keepers has an excerpt from Murray Rothbard’s Vices Are Not Crimes. A small sampling:
‘For Spooner was the last of the great natural rights theorists among anarchists, classical liberals, or moral theorists generally; the doughty old heir of the natural law-natural rights tradition of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was fighting a rear-guard battle against the collapse of the idea of a scientific or rational morality, or of the science of justice or of individual right. Not only had natural law and natural rights given way throughout society to the arbitrary rule of utilitarian calculation or nihilistic whim; but the same degenerative process had occurred among libertarians and anarchists as well.’
Persons who are libertarians at the deep philosophical level, as well as other interested persons should go read. Rothbard’s analysis of Spooner in the historical context of The Civil War is educational. Especially as some folks are making parallels to today’s political climate.
h/t Oath Keepers, Murray Rothbard
Maddened Fowl reports that an Air Force veteran is upset, because her daughter has to recite the Pledge of Allegiance in her multi-cultural school. Fox News.com
“In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin.
But this is predicated upon the person’s becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American…” - Theodore Roosevelt
Please go to the links above, and read more about the complaint, and what Theodore Roosevelt said further.
I’m a big believer in freedom of choice in these matters, but, I’m also a believer in assimilation.
We are Americans. Some people don’t seem to think this way.
h/t The Duck
Back-in-the-day, when I was hanging out with Chip, we used to hit the desert as often as possible, to engage in recoil therapy. And we developed a training scenario, on the cheap.
Our main venue was about ten minutes from the City of Tempe, in the desert behind South Mountain (now the Ahwatukee community and golf course).
We’d drive a mile or so into the desert, on the few dirt roads available, and scout for a proper site, e.g. one without dirt bikers.
Then, we’d find a wash, deep enough for the sides to be berms, usually in a ‘dogleg’ shape.
One of us would scout the dogleg, and after the turn, set up targets (usually IPSC buff cardboard) against the berms, in various locations, somewhat hidden by brush and such. (It’s against the law to shoot cactus in Arizona!)
The we’d return to to the waiting
victim trainee, and he would commence to clear the path, after the dogleg turn.
As an added stressor to the shooter, the
target setter, coach, range officer would follow the shooter a few feet behind. When he first saw a target he had just placed, he’d count to three in his head, then yell “TARGET” (we never thought of bringing a whistle), alerting the shooter to the impending danger. Which the shooter should have noticed by now. Then we’d advance to the next target.
This made for great tension, coupled with a time element with which to locate and dispatch the bad guy(s).
The targets were sometimes placed in hostage (overlap) patterns to be even more challenging. One time Chip
stole borrowed a tie from his stepdad, and placed it on the the hostage target. “Don’t shoot Dad’s tie!”
Being young and stupid, we never brought enough to drink, and sometimes got sunburned. But, we always had fun, and never brought alcohol. That was for after the firearms had been cleaned and put away!
PS – There was a famous story regarding shooting cactus. Years ago, some fool was shooting a saguaro cactus with his 20 gauge shotgun, repeatedly. The saguaro, being tall and very heavy, broke, and fell on the fool, killing him. Karmic justice!
My family is complicated. After my real Mother passed away, my Dad remarried. I’ve posted about my step-Mother. She had two almost-grown children, a boy and a girl.
And, both my original parents had been married, previously. And there were two additional girls. One I met when I was a small child. I’ve no memory of her, one or two photos. Lots of step and half folks.
The other girl lived with us. My half-sister. My Sister.
I was the baby in the family, and as such, she took care of me, especially after our Mother passed away. She was in high school, I was in early grade school. She was a friend, a playmate, a babysitter.
I remember the early 60′s, when she transcended her beatnik period, and gave me her bongos. Who would give a grade-schooler bongos? My sister, that’s who!
When my parents denied me any pets, she bought me a goldfish. Took me to Baskin-Robbins for my birthday. Drove me on a road with many ups-and-downs, because it was like an amusement park ride. Just for fun. (I got a little sick.)
She’s one of a handful of people who just seeing her makes me smile. And, when we get together, or even speak on the telephone, we instantly become each other’s straight man. Set-ups for mutually exchanged one-liners. The Smothers Brothers, Jerry Lewis and Ernie Kovaks are common ground.
Who couldn’t love a sister who took you to see It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World in Cinerama? And who had a friend at the Wax Museum, so you could see behind the scenes, like John Wilkes Booth’s head, when that exhibit was closed, and that display was under repair?
My other siblings are good people. One stepsister lives with her husband, a retired Army LTC, in Alaska.
My stepbrother lives nearby, and is a good guy. Sadly, he’s much older than I, and we’ve very little in common. The other half-sister may be out there on the East Coast, but, I’ve no idea where. The internet isn’t always a find-all.
Such is the nature of the so-called modern family.
Now, my sister is the matriarch of her family. A grown son and daughter, with their families, and a stepson, with his.
Her ex-husband and another stepson have passed. Good people all.
And the common link for all these folks is my sister. This is not coincidental!
I love you, Ellie!
The first gun I ever shot was my Dad’s .25 Colt. I was six. Being small, skinny, and with no muscle-tone, shooting one-handed, as a dueler might, my arm went from horizontal to vertical. No eye or ear protection, either!
Years passed. I got into firearms, and began acquiring a small collection. At first, my focus was police guns, then that evolved to military guns.
So mouse guns never had much appeal for me, nor held my attention.
Then, one day…
It occurred to me one of these new-fangled, pocket-sized semiautomatics might be a good idea. I was drawn to the Keltec P-32. A flat, light, .32 ACP pistol. (They hadn’t developed the .380, yet!)
AND, one could acquire one with a hard-chromed slide (my blue steel destroying perspiration having been previously lauded in song and story. Or at least this blog.)
So, off to my favorite gun shop. And, soon, she was mine, complete with a tiny gun rug, two seven round magazines, a box of .32 ball and a box of Winchester Silvertips.
On to the indoor shooting range!
A target pistol she was not. Tiny sights, crunchy trigger. Obviously intended for CQB (Close Quarters Battle) consisting of manual insertion of the pistol into the assailant’s most-convenient orifice, and emptying the magazine.
But, I liked her. For absolutely no good reason.
As the Colonel (and many others) have said (re: mouse guns), “It would be a good thing to have, if one didn’t have a gun!”
She went with me most everywhere. Until I was at a wedding where there was some potential trouble, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was unarmed – while carrying my .32!
After that night I upgraded, carrying a .38 or a 9mm, or my 1911. And sometimes the .32, as well!
You never know if an offending orifice is going to make itself available.
As many blog visitors use blog readers and don’t even see the thrilling stuff on the sidebars (and, I’m feeling MEH) I thought some random humor from the Internet was appropriate. Or, perhaps, inappropriate.
|325 degrees of Kevin Bacon|
I just haven’t ‘felt right’ the past few days. I don’t think it’s anything actually physical, more mental, emotional, attitudinal.
Malaise (pronounced /məˈleɪz/, mal-aze) is a feeling of general discomfort or uneasiness, of being “out of sorts”, often the first indication of an infection or other disease. Malaise is often defined in medicinal research as a “general feeling of being unwell”. This word is originally a French word existing since the 12th century. (from Wikipedia)
Perhaps it’s my old bugaboo, fear. I’ve not yet heard from the private insurance company re: my appeal of their decision to cut my benefit pay. I have heard (in the form of another form letter) that my appeal is being reviewed.
If things remain as they are, eventually, I’ll have to leave the house, the home I shared with my daughter. Obviously, staying is important, if possible.
And I hate being in the dark.
If they re-institute my benefits, I might have more with which I can negotiate to keep the house.
And my new shooting student is dealing with some stuff, so he’s not been available for recoil therapy. (for either of us, Damn!)
The good news is not only do I have an ever-increasing group of friends, but an old friend from TMCCC and I spoke today. Old-school. She wants to buy me lunch this weekend.
But, sometimes, people just feel weird, ya know? No epic complaints, though.
When I was a kid, I liked single-action revolvers. Of course then, I didn’t know they were single-action. But most of my heroes from TV and Western movies wore them.
And, my cap guns were double-action, and had an infinite number of (roll) caps!
(Except, of course for my Mattel Fanner-50, which took actual cartridges, primed with Greenie Stickum caps!)
Then, I grew up. And took notice that the police and detective revolvers I admired were different from those of the Old West.
My focus changed, from single to double action. Superior technology?
A few years back, when I was working part-time at the gun store, I took it upon myself to learn about those Old West style guns.
At first, I wanted a Colt Single-Action Army, then a Schofield, then a LeMat, then a Colt Walker…
Cowboy Action Shooting was big at the time, and I fancied getting a gun (guns) a rig, boots, the whole shootin’ match.
It never happened though. My focus was too much based in reality, and self-defense.
It’s just as well. Whatever I’d succeeded in acquiring would have been taken in the burglary, anyway.
But, I can still watch John Wayne or Richard Boone and get that old feeling.
“You’d do it for Randolph Scott.” (whispered)“Randolph Scott!” “RANDOLPH SCOTT!”