Monster Hunter International

I got my copy back today; it was in my mailbox at work. I'm guessing that means my coworker is done with it.

That would be the guy I loaned it to last spring. . . . but in his defense, he told me he was very busy and it probably wouldn't get back to me very quickly. He tried to warn me, but did I listen?

Uh . . . Hell No. Bill Ayers Is On His Own.

From Cam Edwards, I find that there's actually a petition online you can sign to show your support for William Ayers, the guy who built bombs for the Weather Underground, killed people (mostly his own people, sure, but incompetent evil is not OK.) You may recall that Ayers later reinvented himself as the only creature more useless than a bombmaker who blows up his own comrades--a Professor of Education.

The petition says Ayers "passionately participated in the civil rights and anti-war movement." I guess it takes passion to murder people with explosives, all right. And he must have been truly passionate about it, because over thirty years later, after he had reinvented himself as the mild-mannered radical leftist college professor, he was still telling the press that he doesn't regret setting bombs. He does have regrets, of course, but he regrets not setting more bombs. The link says he participated passionately "as did hundreds of thousands of other Americans." I don't know whether they don't know what the word "as" means, or whether they think there were hundreds of thousands of Americans setting bombs for pacifism back then. Either way, it doesn't look good.

So, to sum up, these people are lying about Ayers to get teachers to put their good names on their petition to do . . . . what? Salvage his reputation? He HAD a good name of his own. Then he made some choices. His choices were evil, and his name got some on it. Why would I want to get it on my name?

Great Lies of Humanity, #1

"It's so sexy when a man changes diapers."

Alternate wording:

"The sexiest thing a man can do is take care of his baby."

Bokonon would approve, because it's a sweet lie.

Windows Errors

I wish I could blame Microsoft. I really do. But as it got dark, and the mosquitoes settled in on the backs of my knees while I ladder-surfed unsteadily with a 3x4-foot window in my hands, all I could think was "This is all your fault, dummy."
I was talking to myself.

Our windows are atrocious. We need to replace all of them, more or less; most are original to the house, which makes many of them close to 100 years old. They consist of single panes of glass caulked into wooden sashes which ride in frames constructed of cut plank sections. Long ago, these window sashes rose smoothly to admit fresh air and sunshine, aided by large iron counterweights hung from ropes which ran over pulleys hand-fitted into the window frames. Nowadays we usually find the counterweights in the bottoms of the walls when we strip the old plaster; the ropes have rotted to the point that they can be plucked apart by children. The kids like to tie each others' wrists with the window ropes and then burst free in the manner of Superman. But I digress; the point is that the windows are terrible things. They let in entirely too much fresh air, particularly when the air temperature hovers around zero in the winter, and they are difficult to open and close (except for the ones entirely painted shut, which don't open at all.) In the kitchen, there were two small windows side by side over the sink that particularly seemed to hate me. Both broke (more than once) and both were nasty in the winter. When it was cold, I repaired the panes. This summer, when those broke, I simply removed the bottom two panes and substituted aluminum wire screens. That worked as long as the summer lasted, but on the first 35-degree night, we had a cold morning. I taped wax paper over the screen (hey, Laura Ingalls was used to wax-paper windows and considered glass windows a luxury!) and purchased a new window. It was a fairly cheap unit, but it was big, it let in a lot of light, it had a simple sliding mechanism and "Low-E" glass with nitrogen between the panes, and did I mention it was cheap?

Between yesterday and tonight I labored to install the window. I skipped the setup for the IPSC shoot at Lefthanders' Gun Club on Saturday to haul old furniture to the city cleanup days at the dump, and figured I might as well get that window in. Ha, ha, ha. By the time 9:00 PM rolled around, I gave up and My Bride stapled a sheet over the opening. Let it never be said that we don't make an effort to support our neighbors' property values. In my defense, I had a pretty good-sized hole made in the wall by then; it was the installation of the window that was stumping me. Specifically, the hard part was figuring out how to add the right thicknesses of lumber in the right places to get the hole down to a more-or-less standard opening, because NOTHING on my house is standard, or straight, or square. Or level or vertical, of course. The walls are strangely thick, being contstructed of 2x4's which are very nearly four inches wide, sheathed in oak planks exactly one inch thick, covered over with wooden clapboard siding which no one bothered to remove when they installed half-inch thick green foam insulation board, followed by vinyl siding. Getting anything to work is an exercise in patience. I ended up cutting up some old 2x12 boards I had lying around from an old waterbed frame so that I could cut some 2-by-4.75-inch custom lumber to frame the opening.

None of that would have worked very well without my dad. See, I don't have one of those large hand saws you see carpenters use. I have a circular saw, a pull saw for making neat cuts on trim, shims, and other things that aren't right out where you can get at them, and a couple of smaller hand saws for miter boxes. Well, I used to have all those things, but apparently my circular saw has disappeared. I believe there may be a pocket dimension with an entrance somewhere in the closet of the New Bathroom, which concerns me somewhat, but luckily for me, my dad has four circular saws for some reason. The odd thing about my dad and his four circular saws, however, is that he wasn't sure he had one. Then, when he started looking through the antique store warehouse that is his garage, they sort of jumped out at him one after another. The one he loaned me is an ancient Craftsman monster; I'd guess it's from the 1960's. The body is cast, polished aluminum, and the trigger is a simple affair. The carrying case is an elaborate steel suitcase that opens wide like a clamshell, with the saw resting on a platform to which it can be bolted securely for travel. It is a most excellent circular saw, and I am impressed. With it, I was able to make many fast and true cuts, and tonight I finally have the window in, nailed and screwed. It works. There's no trim and no weather-sealing yet, but that will come Tuesday night (the Sangamon County Rifle Association meets tomorrow, and a man needs priorities.)

When I do that, I'll also do exterior trim for the other window I installed quite awhile ago and left looking ghetto, and then I hope to put up siding where the fire stripped it. That will leave only the bay of tall windows looking bare and unfinished, and once the other windows arrive, we'll finish that, too. Then the neighbors' property values should cease to plummet. I hope.

Congratulations ISRA: CCRKBA Affiliate of the Year

Illinois State Rifle Association: CCRKBA Affiliate of the Year

"Out of hundreds of eligible organizations, the ISRA is the only group to have received this award twice. The ISRA was first recognized as Citizens Committee for the Right To Keep and Bear Arms Affiliate of the Year in 1999. This year's award was presented to ISRA President Don Moran and ISRA Executive Director Richard Pearson by CCRKBA Chairman Alan Gottlieb during the Gun Rights Policy Conference held this past weekend in Phoenix, AZ."

Years ago, when I first got involved in the concealed carry battle here in Illinois, I took a look around to see the lay of the land. Who were the players? How was it going so far? What was the strategy of each side, and where was it working? What I saw was not encouraging. The "other side," such as it was, was disorganized and often foolish, but they had the advantage of inertia. They didn't really have to convince most people that the "bear arms" part of "keep and bear arms" was outmoded and best ignored; most people in Illinois didn't even realize that they'd ever visited a state where law-abiding citizens carried firearms for their own defense. They were certain that decent people had never done such a thing in Illinois. If they gave it a little thought, they often decided that it wouldn't be so bad if, say, a woman who'd been threatened by her abusive ex-husband were allowed to carry her gun with her, but generally the leapt from there to the assumption that there was some sort of license such a person could get by showing need, perhaps from a judge or something. That isn't true in Illinois, but the thought satisfied most people, in my experience, and they were loath to give it up.

My side, on the other hand, had an uphill battle. It wasn't rolling the boulder up the hill that was stopping us so much as budging the damn thing out of its rut to get it moving in the first place. And "our" solution to the problem seemed to involve fighting amongst ourselves to determine the strongest group (we'd know which one was strongest because it would be the only one that survived all the infighting) and then wishing what was left of that biggest dog the best of luck in taking on not only anti-gun activists, but a fiercely anti-gun Democrat political machine in Chicago, a pragmatically anti-gun Republican political machine in the state government, and of course our old friends inertia, apathy and general ignorance. This did not strike me as a wise course, but I still got sucked into it. In those days there were, I think, about the same number of pro-gun organizations in Illinois, but some have gone by the wayside and some have sprung up in the meantime. Maybe I'll profile each in a post of its own soon; that's better than having to think of a topic.

In those days, the ISRA was the bogeyman for many Illinois groups. The national NRA groups wanted nothing to do with Illinois, and the ISRA was more or less on its own. The perception, fair or not, was that the ISRA was more a shooting club for ISRA members around Chatsworth, IL with a pretty good record of defensive lobbying--you might say many of us thought the ISRA was bitterly clinging to its guns, but not going out on the offense. Now, having gone out on the offense a little bit myself, I've begun to realize the difference between criticizing others for their lack of initiative and taking the initiative yourself. But, at the time, it was a widespread perception. Probably still is, actually, for a lot of people, but I believe those people are missing out.

Well, we've come a long way since those days. The ISRA today is reaching out to bloggers (some of you might have gotten here from my new ISRA link; it accounts for about 5% of my traffic lately, which is pretty productive) and to internet forums like Illinois Carry. They're working closely with Guns Save Life and these new internet resources, and it's starting to show. We still haven't budged that boulder out of its rut, but it's starting to feel like more people are pushing on the rock instead of pushing their personal rivals out of the way. The ISRA deserves a lot of credit for that turnaround, and this week the CCRKBA gave them an award. I hereby bestow the Armed School Teacher's Seal of Approval, which I'm sure will have everyone sighing a big sigh of relief at ISRA Headquarters, because, really, what's the point of an award from the CCRKBA if you don't get my approval?
Actually, they got my approval months ago, when I bought memberships for my entire family. I don't agree with the ISRA leadership every time, but everyone in my house is an ISRA member, so take that for what it's worth.

Dwindling

In case anybody other than my wife cares, I'm down almost 10 pounds from my Blackwater weight. I don't look any different yet, but there's a certain pleasant smugness.

Rites of Passage

"Dad?" he asked in the car as the dark fields and bright signs flowed around us.
"What, buddy?"
"I hope the guy in the shirt with the glasses is at the match on Saturday. I forgot to tell him thank you for doing my safety briefing and stuff."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know if he'll be there, but I'm glad you want to say thanks."
"Yeah. He took his own time from his shooting just to help me get started."
I smiled in the dark as he sipped his milkshake in grown-up fashion and turned the radio back up. We were almost home.

Obviously, this is NOT the obligatory VP debate post. You can find that here or here.
I didn't watch the debate. I didn't even listen on the radio until the last half hour or so. I took my son to the weekly USPSA shoot instead. I do not regret my choice; it's just too bad that his brother's grades have dropped, so he couldn't come with us.

Tonight was Kane's first chance to shoot, but it didn't start out that way. I've been bringing him and his brother along for a couple of months now, except when their grades or behavior aren't good enough. They watch people shoot, load magazines, pick up brass and magazines, reset steel, even paste targets--the only jobs they haven't done are RO and Scorekeeper. I haven't let them shoot because, frankly, I've been worried. It's a lot to keep track of all at once, when you're trying to shoot, move, make reloads . . . . I didn't want to push them into doing something they weren't ready to handle, because I certainly didn't want to put them or anyone else in any danger. And, as long as I'm being honest, I've messed up before. We were shooting at an outdoor range and having lots of fun a couple of years ago, and Kane wanted to shoot my P220. My .45 ACP P220. Sure, I said, why not? I loaded one round, we moved up to about three yards, and I stood behind him and held his hands on the grip. He did a great job, squeezing the trigger smoothly back in one motion and hitting more or less dead center. But I, on the other hand . . . well, I cupped my hands under his, rather than wrapping them around his hands to help him control recoil. The pistol came up so hard that it hit him in the forehead, and he was clearly shocked at the violence of the recoil. I couldn't stop thinking about how eager he'd been to try that, how much he had trusted me without even really thinking about it, and how badly I'd let him down. I've never let him shoot a centerfire handgun since, but the experience hasn't dampened his enthusiasm. And when he saw people shooting USPSA courses . . . . he was hooked in the first moment.

With all these things in mind, I packed our trusty old Ruger MkI (that's right, not a MkII, I shoot a MkI while the rest of the world has moved on to the MkIII) and a couple of boxes of .22's tonight. We don't have a holster for the old plinker, but I knew the guys at my club would work with us. I told Kane that we would find someone else to give him his safety briefing (mandatory before your first time in any case) and then talk about how well he'd done at that. No guarantees, I told him; he could do well at the safety briefing and I still might not let him shoot, and although I would listen to his briefer, I reserved the final decision to myself. I was still nervous, if truth be told. We talked about the safety rules as we drove back up to the range; I can tell Kane to "show me your trigger finger" at any time, and he'll make a fist with a perfectly straight index finger to show where the finger belongs. It does my crusty old heart good, I tell you.

We arrived to find a very small crowd, since the first of the month is the dreaded Classifier night (Classifiers are standard stages shooters run to find out how they stack up to "standard" runs by Grandmasters on the same stage--they're usually challenging, but with low round counts--old-fashioned IPSC-style stages, you might say. People who have their classifications often avoid them, but I shoot them so I can find out my classification--and because it's still an excuse to bust caps.) The course tonight was simple, but not easy: from a box behind a bar a little above navel height, the shooter was to engage two targets, each half-covered, from above the bar. The two were about 15 yards away. Between the targets were four poppers, arranged so that one was behind (and guarded by) another, and the shooter was required to engage these from below the bar. Personally, I tanked it twice. I used the Gun Blog .45, which worked very well, but I managed to miss a popper each time--and since I only loaded the 8-round magazines and not the chamber, that left me doing a reload before I could make that last shot. I did not cover myself in glory.

But when I was done, it was time to get Kane a safety briefing. He'd picked out the shooter he wanted to ask for help, so we approached him and he readily agreed. We retired to the safe room, where I picked out a comfortable chair in the corner, sat down, and shut up. He did a great job with Kane, but I have to say with no bias whatsoever that Kane did a great job himself. He listened carefully, he followed every direction to a T, he asked thoughtful questions, and he laughed at his instructor's jokes (the mark of a great student.) When he was done, his instructor seemed to take it for granted that he would fill out a stage sheet and go shoot. Having seen his safety briefing, I couldn't help but agree, so we headed out to load magazines and fill out his form.

We loaded two MkI magazines with nine rounds apiece, Kane plunked them into my FOBUS dual mag carrier. They rattled like broomsticks in buckets, but they were where he wanted them. We don't have a holster for the old .22, but it was agreed that Kane would start from low ready. After filling out his form (Shooter #62, Kane Gwinn, USPSA # N/A, Class U, Production, Minor) we headed into the range area with eye and ear protection firmly in place. Kane only had to wait for two shooters, which probably helped cut the nerves. It might not have hurt that the shooter before Kane, a very good A-class shooter with years of experience, scored a zero after he forgot to duck below the bar to engage the four poppers. He ended up with 2 Charlies, 2 Deltas, 4 steel, and 4 Procedurals. Oops!

When Kane's turn came, he didn't hesitate, but there was some discussion. The bar was right at eye level; he couldn't engage over the top. The RO suggested that he engage all targets from below the bar, but a voice from the peanut gallery suggested that he be allowed to stand in front of the bar and engage freestyle. This was quickly seconded as I carefully and silently studied my shoes. I didn't want to favor Kane, but more than that, I didn't want to embarrass him or put any more pressure on him. I brought the pistol case when I was summoned, let him take it out safely and carefully, and withdrew to the crowd. I can't be sure, but I don't think he was nearly as nervous as I was. His RO took him through indicating readiness, loading and making ready, and the low ready stance; the little gamer was planning to start with his sights on the first target when the beep went off. At the beep, he brought the pistol up quickly and squeezed off two shots at the left target, then swung over slowly to take two shots at the right target. Then he dropped to one knee to engage the poppers (Later, he explained that "I didn't want to do it an easier way unless I had to.") He missed several times, but once he found his sight picture, he rang the things like bells, going through two magazines. Since they were calibrated for 9mm, he only knocked one down--my guess is that he hit that one near the top edge. But when it was time to unload and show safe, he stepped out of the box, handed me his magazines and asked to go again. The smile on his face was clear and easy to read. And me? I was just proud. The kid did great.

And so another gun nut is born. He's going to need a holster for that .22 of his, and one of these days I want a .22 upper for the Gun Blog .45 so we can all shoot it more. But in the end, Kane's vision is his limiting factor. He sees very poorly, and his glasses can't help that much. Focusing in three focal planes with standard sights has to be next to impossible for him, but he does well with a red dot sight on his .22 rifle. He may be the only middle-schooler shooting in the Open Divsion if he sticks with this, because the red dot really makes a huge difference for him. And it wasn't a perfect night for him; he came close to "breaking the 180" (pointing the muzzle back up range toward the other shooters, an automatic disqualification if it happens) when he dropped a magazine and tried to retrieve it. But he handled even that very well, and when his instructor and I each took a moment to remind him about the 180 rule afterward, he accepted our advice with equanimity. His comment on his only regret? "I wish Donovan was here."

In a way, Kane opened my eyes tonight. I wouldn't have let him shoot if I hadn't thought he'd been handling himself more maturely lately, and certainly not if he hadn't gotten his grades up. But even so, I found myself riding a wave of surprise and pride when I watched him take his safety briefing and step to the line to shoot his first stage. I've raised him for six years now, but the kid managed to surprise me. He's really not the kid I thought he was, and even the next time he does something stupid and immature (and he will, sooner or later) it won't change the fact that he was this new, grown-up little man tonight at his first USPSA shoot.