I lived in my parent’s house after high school, and into college. The University was about a mile-and-a-half North, and an easy walk. Things became ‘complicated’ when I dropped-out after a year, and was on academic probation. (long-time readers will remember Joe Cool?). My parents then required rent and employment (I had been working the entire time), and two years later (age 20) I moved out simultaneously with starting at a community college.
I thought I was a failure.
Ultimately, I completed community college (3.615 GPA,with high distinction, don’t ya know!), got my Associates Degree (Administration of Justice), and entered life. It’s amazing how the realities of financial obligation and low paying jobs motivate! During the recession (1975). No decent jobs.
BUT, somehow I survived. I paid my own way through college (no loans, no parent money), worked then entire time (mostly in private security) and paid rent – sometimes even on time! 😛
The idea of moving back into my parent’s home was anathema to me. My father’s passing in 1977 further reinforced the concept (I didn’t have a good relationship with my stepmother).
For the first time in modern history the most common living arrangement for young adults is living in their parents’ homes. (18 to 34)
I wonder how this happened? Poor employment opportunities? Low pay? Bad economy? I suspect the liberals will blame it on the debt based on Bush’s wars. And the banks.
And the conservatives will blame the race-baiting, anti-colonialist communist administration currently in residence in the White House.
But I blame government. ALL of it. Between inflation, costly inefficient government programs and the cost of education requiring student loans. And Fabian socialists forging dishistory and uneducated youth since the early 1900’s. They work glacially.
It’s who I am.
h/t Theo Spark
New York Times Stumbles onto the Truth About BaltimoreJared Taylor, American Renaissance, April 29, 2015Discovers why blacks riot.An article from yesterday’s New York Times about the relative calm in Baltimore stumbled by accident onto something like the real reason why blacks were rioting. Near the famous burned-out CVS–the city had begged the company to “invest” in a dodgy neighborhood–the Times reporter found someone it identified as “Robert Wilson, a college student who went to high school in Baltimore.” The article concludes with Mr. Wilson’s explanation of why blacks rioted. He said nothing about Freddie Gray or police brutality. Instead, he said this:We’re just angry at the surroundings–like this is all that is given to us?–and we’re tired of this, like nobody wants to wake up and see broken-down buildings. They take away the community centers, they take away our fathers, and now we have traffic lights that don’t work, we have houses that are crumbling, falling down.This quote almost perfectly captures the black mentality that leads to rioting. Blacks live in neighborhoods that they, themselves, have wrecked, and then ask, “This is all that is given to us?”Hard-working white people built the “broken-down” buildings Mr. Wilson is complaining about. Many had parquet floors, high ceilings, and fine moldings found today only in the most expensive new construction.After the riots in Baltimore in 1968, whites panicked and sold their property at desperation prices. Now, these houses are “broken down” because blacks didn’t maintain them. This pattern of white flight and “broken down” houses was repeated in Detroit, Philadelphia, Chicago, New York, Washington, St. Louis, Memphis, Atlanta, Birmingham, Jacksonville, and countless other American cities. Some of the best city housing in the world was handed over to blacks who wrecked it. Neighborhoods filled with irreplaceable architecture are now wastelands.Mr. Wilson complains that “we have houses that are crumbling, falling down.” The remedy for crumbling houses is for the people who live in them to fix them, but instead, Mr. Wilson asks, “Is this all that is given to us?”Like so many blacks, Mr. Wilson doesn’t realize how perverse it is even to think in terms of pleasant houses and neighborhoods being “given” to anyone. Does he imagine the white authorities “giving” nice neighborhoods to whites and cruelly handing out slums to blacks? They didn’t start out as slums. Whites saved and worked hard to build those neighborhoods. They maintained them, repaired them, and loved them.But in today’s world of welfare, food stamps, government housing, and white guilt, Mr. Wilson doesn’t know any better than to ask for handouts. Jesse Jackson is just as self-absorbed. At the funeral for Freddie Gray he wanted to know, “Why can’t the [black] West Side get the same things downtown gets?” Jesse Jackson is asking the same question: “Is this all that is given to us?”And who, exactly, is not giving enough? Baltimore elected its first black mayor in 1987. Today, the mayor, the police chief, the fire chief, and half the police force are black. Two thirds of the population and most of the city council are black. But when Mr. Wilson and Jesse Jackson complain about stinginess, they are not blaming Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake; they are blaming white people.Mr. Wilson says Baltimore’s blacks rioted because they are “angry at the surroundings.” Blacks make their surroundings ugly and miserable, and then make them even more ugly and miserable by burning them down. And then they ask, “Is this all that is given us?And fathers? In 1983, Baltimore had the highest black illegitimacy rate in the country: 76 percent , at a time when the national rate for blacks was about 55 percent. Now that the national black rate is 72 percent , what is the figure likely to be for Baltimore? Ninety percent? Ninety-five percent? Whoever “they” are didn’t have to work very hard to “take away our fathers.” Black fathers were never there to begin with.It’s no surprise that Mr. Wilson thinks blacks haven’t been “given” what they deserve, and that “they” took away his father. He’s a college student–probably on scholarship–and that’s what blacks are taught from grade school.The New York Times invariably blames “racism” and white privilege for the plight of blacks. It assumes that if only whites could curb their bigotry, blacks would bloom and flourish. It is remarkable that it concluded this article with a quotation that so brutally undercuts its own assumptions. People who think “they” have taken away their fathers, who blame others for their “broken down buildings,” who look at misery of their own making and ask “Is this all that is given to us?”–such people will not bloom and flourish no matter what white people do. Nor do they deserve to.Best Regards,
If you’ve shot anything more than a revolver or a single-shot firearm, you are probably aware of the safety problems inherent in ejected brass.
It’s dirty. It’s fast. It’s HOT!
Most folks learn rather quickly why experienced shooters wear safety gear. Not only hearing and eye protection, but proper clothing.
Burned fingers, hands, arms. I’ve known two guys who had ejected brass wedge between their shooting glasses and faces! Not pretty. And most of us have been beaned in the head a few times.
A brimmed hat or cap, and an ‘appropriate’ shirt. Female shooters especially can be in danger from hot brass, if they wear a low neckline. I used to know a woman who was president of a group of female shooters called The Annie Oakleys. She would often joke their unofficial salute was to bend forward at the waist and shake rapidly! :-) (to divest themselves of ejected, hot brass)
But this is not just about minor discomfort or humor.
(from The Firearm Blog, in part)
Just this past weekend, a father took his 14 year old son out to an indoor range in Sarasota Florida to celebrate Independence Day early. You can read about it here. They were using the far right hand lane. The father was shooting a handgun when the brass ejected and hit the wall. It bounced off and went inside his shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary there. What happens next is the problem. The father reaches back with his right hand to pull his shirt so he can get the hot brass out. The handgun was still in his right hand. He had a negligent discharge and his son was shot. I am sad to say that son died due to his injuries.
We can bleat about The Four Rules all we want, but unless we take them to heart and use them religiously, even during a perceived emergency, there isn’t much point.
My heart goes out to the father and family in this story.
Well, here we are.
Another @&%$)_+%$^ holiday anniversary date!
My roommate wanted to ‘celebrate’, as she believes I was a good, loving father, and my daughter is unfortunately not capable of celebrating me.
My roommate is a good person.
Molly would have been 33 this Father’s Day. My imagination leads to thoughts of an alternative future, wherein she married, had children, and a career. And I had grandchildren.
It was not to be.
She loved animals (during her time here we had two dogs, three cats, a hamster and two goldfish). She wanted to become a veterinarian.
I also imagine a house filled with numerous animals and kids, running willy-nilly, screaming and playing.
Sometimes, a good imagination is not a good thing.
To all the good Dads out there, Happy Father’s Day.
Remember to hug them and kiss them and tell them you love them. Daily.
Because, you never know.
Even ONE of these heroes making this choice is unacceptable! (Day #17 of 22)
It’s a cereal; it’s a board game. A defunct television series.
It also is what it is.
My favorite line from the James Bond books, is ‘M’ (the head of MI-6, Admiral Sir Miles Meservy) telling Bond when he complains about receiving an assignment change, “Things change, 007.”
And that might be one definition of Life. Things changing.
Of course, the best part are the good changes – grand nieces ascending from 6th Grade, and another graduating High School. Others having birthdays. A dear friend’s birthdays and their elder daughter getting her doctorate!
That dear friend (Bob Hall) being unable to be present for his daughter’s doctoral degree.
Daily dealing with issues regarding aging, illness and finances – both my roommate and I.
Friends, relatives and acquaintances becoming severely ill. Some almost certainly in their way out, others hanging-in-there, but…?
And some already gone. More than I ever expected.
Even some leaving voluntarily, but still present. Apparently, friends no longer. :-(
“Things change, Guffaw.”
I haven’t needed a fictional intelligence department head to tell me.
I already know.
Things are as they are.
This just in. Ray Carter passed this morning.
Puts my whining in perspective.
When I ran across this article on Facebook, I truly thought it must be either dizinformazia, or an article culled from The Onion.
After a little side research, I determined this to be the genuine article. By a genuine LGBT activist. Who is quite obviously NOT a libertarian!
Famous LGBT Activist Reveals The Scary, Real Goal Of The Bathroom Battle (And It’s Not Bathrooms…It’s Way Worse)
What you may have been suspecting has been confirmed. LGBT activists’ end goal is not ruling over the bathroom. It’s obliterating the family. Riki Wilchins, a famous transsexual who recently wrote a piece in the gay publication The Advocate, revealed that many conservatives and even LGBT activists are missing the forest for the trees.
Titled,“We’ll Win the Bathroom Battle When the Binary Burns,” Wilchins says the real goal is to kill the notion of male and female altogether. The “binary” refers to gender distinction, and getting rid of the “heterobinary structure” is the goal. Wilchins writes that the fact that we are arguing over male and female facilities is proof that we still have far to go–that there should be no gender distinctions in general.
In fact, Wilchins points to an emerging group of people who don’t want to affiliate as any gender. Life Site News explains, “’Non-binary’ people don’t identify as male or female and they often want to be referred to as ‘they’ or ‘hir’ or ‘zer.’ So the fact that there are even intimate facilities that reflect the “binary” truth about gender should change, Wilchins wrote.”
If you are confused, you are not alone. But beneath all of the titles and non-titles, the insidious plan is the destruction of the family, reveals Stella Morabito, senior contributor to The Federalist.
“What we are really talking about is the abolition of sex. And it is sex that the trans project is serving to abolish legally, under the guise of something called ‘the gender binary.’ Its endgame is a society in which everyone is legally de-sexed. No longer legally male or female. And once you basically redefine humanity as sexless you end up with a de-humanized society in which there can be no legal ‘mother’ or ‘father’ or ‘son’ or ‘daughter’ or ‘husband’ or ‘wife’ without permission from the State. Government documents are already erasing the terms. In such a society, the most intimate human relationships take a hit. The family ends up abolished.”
Morabito hits home the point: “Sex distinctions are the germ of all human relationships. Abolishing them legally basically abolishes family autonomy. And this is an act of violence against children because it would serve at some point to separate them from their origins. Every child’s first transcendental question is ‘Where did I come from?’ If the law will not allow the child to see his own origins and wholeness in the faces of a mother and a father, it destabilizes the child’s sense of self. It creates personal dysfunction in children and basically ends up spreading more dysfunction and even dystopia in society.”
This is scary. If Morabito and other cultural watch-dogs are right, the bathroom battle is far more serious than many think. We need to really pray and ask God for help–before it’s too late and our future generations end up really damaged. Do you agree? (Faith Family America)
SO. Either Ms. Wilchins is a dystopian uber-Statist of the first order, or is a deepest cover agent promoting such nonsense reductio ad absurdum*!
I truly hope it is the second choice offered.
If this is indeed the true ultimate agenda, it goes way beyond men ‘self-identifying’ as female to visit women’s rooms and/or taking surreptitious photos of women and girls, or worse!
But, as The President is taking a hard line on this issue, ‘blackmailing’ the States to conform to this agenda in their schools, or lose federal funding(!), and many believe him to be a variety of Marxist…
Reductio ad absurdum, also known as argumentum ad absurdum, is a common form of argument which seeks to demonstrate that a statement is true by showing that a false, untenable, or absurd result follows from its denial, or in turn to demonstrate that a statement is false by showing that a false, untenable, or absurd result follows from its acceptance. (Wikipedia)
No, not the birds and bees with your children, or the inane TV show.
(from the USCCA and Kevin Michalowski)
Sooner or later you will have to talk to your non-gun-owning friends about why you carry. You might be asked not to carry at someone’s house. Or you might be grilled on gun safety at your house when people come to visit. I can’t give you the exact words; they are your friends, not mine. But understand that…
SO…it’s NOT just about Safety.
It’s about rights, and protection, and so much more.
There have been a few places I’ve chosen to not carry, and not by government edict, either. It’s been about respect, perceived security, and sometimes plain ol’ convenience.
But sometimes having a civil Talk is just what seems appropriate.
There were a couple, or three.
The first I owned because of my Father’s disconnect.
He was raised on the East Coast, in a more poor part of town, by a railroad policeman/former Marine. An Irish neighborhood.
In my mind, his youth resembled a Dead-End Kids movie, except not in NYC.
And, laws aside, there were knives and guns around. And his Dad’s rules about them – were something akin to ‘touch anything without permission and you get a beating’!
Fast-forward to 1960s Arizona. A desert, agricultural college town. Lots of farm and ranch kids. About 3/4 or whom carried some kind of folder with them. Girls included.
We had a couple guns at home, which I was not allowed to touch (see above).
One day, while I was in grade school, my Dad came into the back yard where I was playing. And he handed me a folding knife. I was going to be leaving for camp in the Summer, and he thought I should have one of his (!)
AND, not unlike The Dead End Kids, he gave me a quick lesson in Mumbley-Peg with it! Not understanding knives didn’t stick well in the dry, desert dirt. See, disconnect.
None of my friends had ever seen such a game. And, anyway, they didn’t bring their knives out at school.
And, I took the knife to camp, a fellow camper borrowed it, cut himself, got taken to the ER(!), and I never saw it again! He was okay, though.
Fast forward to a year or so later. I’d made friends with a couple of kids a block over, including a little red headed girl (!) (Puberty had yet to hit, and, anyway, she was younger than me and a friend’s sister…I wonder where she is now? STOP THAT!)
My birthday came around, and surprise-surprise, the little red haired girl stopped by with a present! (Hell, most of my friends hadn’t given me anything!)
And what do you think it was…?
NO, not a folding knife.
A sheathed belt knife! How cool was THAT? Of course, my Dad immediately glommed onto it for his camping and fishing trips.
And it resided in the truck’s over-the-cab camper for years. Until my Dad passed and everything was given away or sold. 😦
Now, my maternal grandfather (aka ‘Gramp’) always carried a knife! When I was a kid, I thought this was a disconnect, as he was an East Coast banker-type. The only time we ever say it was when there were presents.
Used to open the boxes! A Christy gentleman’s knife!
And it, too, is lost to history. 😦
Although, if I really wanted one, Christy still makes them!
(Well, Here We Are, March 5, 2011)
I’ve been posting something (sometimes
copied stolen from others, sometimes amended, sometimes original) EVERY DAY since March 5, 2011. Sometimes multiple somethings…
Along with a quote, funny, beauty and a You Tube clip.
What a long, strange, but mostly good trip it’s been…
I began blogging, as I’d been reading other’s blogs for about eighteen months (being on disability, and wasting time on the computer). It occurred to me “Hey, maybe I can find a woman who likes guns” this way?
I did. Unfortunately, the female gun bloggers I first found were in Idaho, Ohio and Indiana. If you didn’t guess, I’m in Arizona. So much for THAT idea! 😦
They became my Blogmothers™
This blog has seen me through good times and bad times. Loss and regain of benefits. Skin cancer (post recovery from lymphoma) and minor injuries. Loss of good friends like Mark Bell and Bob Hall.
But the BEST, and most surprising part, are the friendships I’ve developed through this medium. Who knew?
A huge thank you goes out to the generosity of people I only know through the Internet, who have offered me support, both moral and financial. And given me gifts! You know who you are…
I miss those who are no longer blogging, by choice or life circumstance – North, Matt, Maura, CoolChange, William the Coroner and many others. (If I’ve left you off the list and you are still around, please forgive me).
I am SO GRATEFUL for (in no particular order) Bobbi, Doc in Yuma, Ron, Proud Hillbilly, Paul, Kevin Baker and the other Kevin, Southern Belle and KX59, Tom, Biff, Keads, Bluesun, Wirecutter, Jim, Greg, Kenny, Quizikle, Sean, Irish, Jeffery and Wilson.
And especially Murphy, Brigid, ASM826 and Borepatch! And Judy, my roomie!
And my dear friend Dave the genius (who prefers to be called Dave the mechanic) who sends me multiple funnies daily to possibly include in the blog! And who – when he is in town – takes me out for Red Devil pizza! And who has been a loyal friend since 1973.
And to all you loyal folks who don’t blog or even leave comments but bother to stop by – THANK YOU!
I don’t know what the future holds, but I do plan to continue posting some useless nonsense daily for a while longer.
It gives me something on which to focus – a routine and discipline.
FIVE YEARS! Here’s to five more!
(Now, if I could just find that WOMAN!)
Today would have been our daughter Molly’s 33rd birthday.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOLLY!
Of course, I love her and miss her. Daily.
I heard via the almighty Internet (on FB) that her best childhood friend is pregnant!
With a boy.
While I wish she and her husband well, part of me always wanted to be a grandfather. And, of course, that never happened.
And I’m a little jealous.
I’m certain Molly is happy for them.