How would you like to die?

Living well is best. Dying well is next best. Living badly is worst.

On Valentine's Day of this year, a horrible person murdered 17 people at Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida, kicking off an enormous clash about gun control, almost immediately.

The murderer was 19 a years old man, and had been identified as a dangerous person before. In fact, friends and counselors had called the FBI about him. He slipped through. It happens. He committed these crimes, and no one else is blame.

During the murders, there were heroes. A coach who shielded the bodies of children as he died. A 15 year-old ROTC student who held the door to get more kids evacuated out of the building. There were others.

One of those heroes was not School Resource Officer Scot Peterson, who "took a position" outside a door of the building where 900 students were, and listened to the shooting continue for four minutes. To make this clear: this man was an armed, sworn deputy, who was made aware of shooting in a school, where his primary duty was to see to the safety of students there, and he did nothing.

There are those who would argue that a man with a pistol has little to no chance against a man with a working AR-15. As a rule of thumb, it is true that any rifle is superior in a gunfight to any service pistol. And I could argue right back that in a majority of the cases in which a shooter was confronted by armed response, the shooter has either given himself up, or killed himself, ending the killing in either instance, for the vast majority of the cases.

But the odds are not the issue. The duty is. Each shot is potentially a student dying. Each moment's delay can mean yet another mother's child being taken. It is imperative to not-walk-but-run toward the sound of that gunfire, and stop the killing.

This deputy has trained with his weapon for over twenty years. If he hadn't settled this in his head beforehand, he was criminally negligent in his duties.

Some might say that the issue was his training. Back when I went to police academy in 1994, the training was to form a perimeter, and wait for SWAT. Certainly a single officer wasn't supposed to go in alone. (I clearly remember sitting in the back of the classroom, and thinking that this was a hill that I would die upon; I would take whatever write-ups they cared to throw at me, but I was going in.) The massacre at Columbine High School in 1998 changed that doctrine forever. The doctrine since the turn of the century has been to go in hard and fast and take the shooter out. We are specifically trained to step over and past the wounded, to rapidly close distance with the shooter, and take him out without any warning. This is as it should be. It is not a secret. It is how you help the bleeding and those yet unwounded.  How could a man or woman assigned to the duty of being a School Resource Officer not have studied this topic?

It is rare in one's life that one can recognize such an important crossroads, illuminated so clearly as this one.  One could absolutely guard one's own life, forsaking his moral duty to act, and die several decades later in one's bed, aware for the remainder of his life that he was living the life of a coward. One could swallow one's fear, and attack the killer, and fail. This would be horrible, because it would mean that one didn't stop the killer. But it's a worthy death, to die in the attempt to stop the murder of children. In fact, if an officer stopped the killer, but the officer was killed as well in the engagement, that is not a failure.  It is sub-optimal, but the goal was achieved: the killer was stopped. Dying while SAVING the lives of children is so much more preferable than dying of old age, after failing to even try. I am not suggesting that one should martyr one's self; I'm simply saying that one should fear the long life of a coward, rather than the quick and worthy death of a peacekeeper.  

My excellent friend and colleague LawDog said it better, here.

I was discussing this with friends recently, and one good friend cautioned (correctly, of course) not to give the impression that one should hope to find such an event occur. I agreed, but shared the following:

Back when I was a rookie working evening shift, I caught my first Sexual Assault case. My chief happened to drop by the police department at that time, and he took it off my hands. I had been flustered and out of my depth. My chief at the time was an expert at such cases. He said afterwards, “I am sorry that the event occurred, but I am so glad that it happened when and where I could do something about it.” He had skills that the average beat cop did not. He applied those skills to take care of the problem (the actor got 20 years, IIRC). I probably would have muffed it.

Living well is best. Dying well is next best. Living badly is worst.

Choose wisely. And train.

My daughter's senior year begins.... Now.

To lots of people, the summer doesn't end until September First, or the observance of Labor Day, or when regular school is back in session. But when your child is in band, it starts earlier.

My elder daughter is a senior in high school this year, and is a drum major in the band. Today is the first day of band camp. Even though she has some kind of stomach ailment, she is fighting through it, and put together materialsm and cupcakes (hopefully safe?), and her water bottle and color-coded cards to give notice from across fields, and sunblock and sunglasses and her ever-present whistle (nicer than mine)-- all to get to school a half-hour early for the day.

This kid has been sleeping in until noon or later the last couple of weeks, staying up reading and watching movies with her sister. And she's been dating a little bit. But, she's been practicing her horn obsessively for the last month. She took a week earlier in the month and went to an elite drum major camp.  She's been working on summer assignments for her honors English, Math, Biology, and Spanish AP courses. We've been getting her into dual credit classes and getting her car set up for the school year, which basically for her starts today.

Here. We. Go.

Wednesday evening this and that.

--Steampunk Lego sets? Why had this not happened before. Unless they are fools, this will be made of win.

--Nancy Grace has always irritated me, even before I happened to be stuck in a doctor's office or something, and saw her try to corner Elizabeth Smart in a bullying manner. (Note Smart's semi-eye roll at 1:21, to a rather stupid question put up by Grace.)
But she's especially irritating as a commentator, when she does a split-screen interview with a woman who is in the same parking lot as herself. On-scene stand-ups are over-used in the news. There is NO POINT in sending a reporter out to stand in front of City Hall at 07:00, to tell you about the agenda that they're going to talk about, later that day. So now CNN is using three tools that irritate me at the same time: unnecessary stand-up remote broadcasts, unnecessary split-screen interviews to attempt to show that they're ALL OVER on the coverage of this salacious story, and of course, Nancy Grace.

--On a side note, that Jodi Arias chick is so bat-feces crazy guilty (she took the stand, for 18 days!!!), she'll be extremely lucky if she doesn't get the needle.

--I like that now-defunct Nickel Creek band.

--From F. Scott Fitzgerald's entry in Wikipedia:

"Among the attendants at a visitation held at a funeral home was Dorothy Parker, who reportedly cried and murmured 'the poor son-of-a-bitch,' a line from Jay Gatsby's funeral in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby."

I would have expected more out of Dorothy Parker. But I'm planning on collecting crude statements by Marko Kloos, Cranky Professor, PhlegmFatale, and Larry Correia, so that I'll look literary when I cuss. Larry says that he can write me up a good funeral scene. I look forward to reading that. I'm thinking along the lines of a Valhalla send-off, delivered in the style of John Cleese at Graham Chapman's funeral.

--Phillip, a fine historian of firearms was giving a presentation of a Teddy Roosevelt double rifle at the end of the NRA Convention in Houston this weekend. This is something that they will do for accredited news media, to educate about some of the noteworthy pieces in the amazing NRA firearms collection. I went to the one last year in St. Louis. This time, just like last time, a security flunky came up to these officers of the National Rifle Association (the group that just spent million$ to lease the space), and tried to give them and the media the bum's rush. Phil politely let her have it with, uh, both barrels. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)  He took a breath, and continued with the demonstration. Well done, sir. One of my colleague web correspondents caught the action on video, here. Hopefully next year in Indy, we'll have this issue worked out.

--I didn't get to go to the NRA Convention. I'm still kinda pouty about that. But Dad got to go, and I'm glad about that.

--Lots of graduation notices, this May. Pricey.

Cold December Morn.

--The temperature is in the mid 20s, this morning. We had a wet front come over at about about 5:00 this morning, and we found this when the kids left for school:

Y'all up north may not believe this, but this , but my daughters literally were excited about this as our first snow of the season.

--I have my final for Public Administration tonight.

--The morning news talk guys are talking about how the Dallas Cowboys had another player get arrested after he rolled his Benz and killed his teammate. I'm curious about the decision to charge him with Involuntary Manslaughter, rather than Intoxication Manslaughter. EDIT: They reported it wrong. It's Intoxication Manslaughter.

--The football player's defendant's attorney is claiming that the bond of $500,000 was 17 times too high for the charge, and that this was more appropriate for a capital murder charge. Bond is set to secure attendance at trial, and not as punishment. When you have a person likely to abscond, the bond is set higher. When someone has a great deal of money, the bond is often set a good deal higher, because the intent is to make it significant. The judge may well have been aware of the minimum salary paid professional football players.

--I shaved my moustache off last night. My wife cheered. I kept going and buzzed my head again. My wife booed.

--Careful observation will find the Anti-Feline-Disruption Device which we have installed on our Christmas Tree:

We lost a pretty good number of glass ornaments last year.

--The good weather has had a lot of people putting up Christmas decorations. It's cheery. But I'm not a fan of the inflatable lighted yard decorations. A popular one this year is a helicopter that has spinning blades and Santa, and is emblazoned "Holly-Copter." I've seen it on the ground, on a black wire stand to make it appear to be hovering over the lawn, and perched on the roof near the chimney of houses in my town.
--One of our officers at qualifications this week feels that .45s just shoot better. His proof? He turned in a better group with his Glock 21 than with his issue G31, and I turned in a better group with my Kimber 1911 than with my issue gun. Hey, I'm all for people getting their confidence from whatever magic feather they've got to hold onto, but the opposite of data is anecdote.

--My wife bought a 100 count case of Tillamook individually-wrapped 3/4 oz Sharp Cheddar, and another of Colby-Jack. She was embarrassed, but pointed out that they were only $10 a case. I had her get another case, of Pepper Jack. Our refrigerator crispers are packed with over 14 lbs of handy slices of quality cheese. We thought they'd go for lunches, but it's amazing how handy those are for quickly slapping together a Quesadilla without dirtying a knife. At some time we may have to admit that we have a problem.

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Random stuff.

--Last night, we drove my mother and my newly-minted 14 year-old to dinner last night for their respective birthdays. We went to a French bakery and cafe that, while a chain, still puts out some really great food. Mom got a Sacher torte, and moaned: "This is as good as the one that I had in Brussels." Mom had gone on a tour of Europe after graduating from SMU in the mid-'60s.

My brother's eyes shone. "My mother has been waiting over 40 years for just the right opportunity to say that!" he proclaimed. I laughed so hard the excellent coffee that I was drinking almost came out my nostrils.

--While checking out some city property on duty last weekend, I got stung in the right earlobe by a wasp. After finishing what I was doing, I found some Windex to spray on my ear, the ammonia in which actually did quell the pain somewhat. For the next several hours, my ear lobe was bright red and swollen, but it went down within the day. But for the next several days, there was a seriously sore nagging kind of itch behind my jawbone in the neck, ranging up to the ear. The venom must have managed to get to the mandibular nerve, and sat there.

Back in police academy, they taught us how to use the mandibular nerve as an effective pressure point for pain compliance techniques.  One technique was to place the thumb into the notch behind the jaw to activate the mandibular nerve, and the stiff blade of the hand rolled firmly into and across the philtrum to activate the infra-orbital nerve. This is called the "C-Clamp," and is pretty effective at getting an uncooperative person (especially if they are sitting, as in an automobile) to move where you want them to go, without causing injury. We practiced it on each other repeatedly in class, and the soreness behind my jaw felt a lot like it did after those pressure point classes, but with an extra kick. Today it finally feels better.

--The Subaru Outback that we bought had a lot of road noise in the rear. The salesman that demo'd the car to me assured me that it was a tire that needed replacing, with a broken belt in it. I didn't think so, and took it by my mechanic. He rode in the back seat, and pronounced the problem to be the right rear wheel bearing. He then got out his laptop, and I bought a new bearing for $79 and had it sent to him. I took the car to him yesterday. He chatted with me as he swapped out the bearing over a leisurely hour in his driveway. We hopped in the car to road test it, and it was silent. Success. I picked up some cash from the bank to pay the guy. This was undoubtedly why no one else had bid even $7k on a car that was about $30k six years ago. Success! The wife is happy (it's her car), which means that I'm happy.

-- The Outback has heated front seats, with a rheostat for each seat. This will be really useful for that weekend when the temperature drops below 30 degrees.

--I've signed up for a Public Administration graduate class this semester. Three hours. $1370. Good gawd.

--My old roommate Bill needs a gun to shoot his CHL class with. I'm borrowing Dad's Glock Kit, which is a .30 cal ammo can stuffed with a Glock 19, a loaded magazine, two spare magazines in a carrier, a Fobus paddle holster, a box of 9mm, and usually an oily rag to keep everything from rattling around. Dad keeps it as a quick and easy loaner kit, and frankly, I think that it's a great idea. It also would make a great car gun set, in its almost indestructible O-ring-sealed steel box. I need to set up something modular like that, myself.

--My 14-year-old daughter doesn't much want her picture taken. She's okay with her Dad, but she's aloof. Hugs are rare. The 10-year-old still loves to come hug Daddy. But I know that the time is coming when she'll be too cool for that, too. I expect these things. But it still makes my heart ache a bit when they come to pass.

--This weekend, I have to do some work on a state grant, and get a hunter's license, and get my text book, and install a new porch door for my mom, and get Bill his loaner gun, and speak to my university adviser, and... I better get moving.

I don't much care for this.

My elder daughter recently got back from high school band camp, up in Oklahoma. She had a great time, and has a lot of stories to tell, and some T-shirts. One of them was supplied by the local high school, just as freebies to the visiting school's band, which was nice, I thought.

I looked at the back, and there seems to be a pretty major lack of separation of church and state:

Keep in mind that the shirts were given to my kid while she was at a school-sponsored trip, and were provided by another school band. My school district and theirs subsidized this.

Not a problem, you say? Would you be as fine with it if it was like this?

No.

Religion is fine, if that's your gig. But please don't use taxpayer money to put your religion onto my kid's back.

Monday bits.

--Saturday we practiced drafting and water movement at the fire department. It was actually pretty fun. First, we threw up a temporary pool, made of a folding steel frame and rubberized canvas. It was about 10'X20'X3'. I pulled the lever over the chute at the rear of the tanker truck, and we had the tanker emptied in under three minutes, and 3,000 gallons in the pond. We then practiced drafting water from it through the engine, and had guys practice handline technique, refilling the pond. We also nursed the tanker, and used it like an "engine" to pump to a handline. We were taught to have the nozzle man backed up by a hose man, both leaned forward into what looks for all like a stance for shooting SMGs and shotguns. But it was just a piddlin' 1.75" attack hose, so the guy in back wasn't strictly necessary. (NOTE: The guy at the nozzle gets all the glory, but it's the guys behind him that do the real work. If they're doing their job, the nozzle guy has it very easy.)

--When I got on the nozzle, I asked for more pressure. I had my backup guy step away from the hose. I called to the engineer: "More pressure! MOAR!!"  They took me to 170psi (100 foot hose), and I finally felt it feel like it might push me over. I wasn't doing it as a stunt; I really wanted to know how much I could handle on my own. Frequently, we arrive at a fire with nobody much to help. An engine might arrive with one engineer and a hose man. I feel very confident about handling a 100 foot 1.75" hose with 150psi. 170, I could do, but I want a really firm place to stand, and I want the engineer to have eyes on me. More than that, and I'll look like this guy, but not having as much fun.

--I noticed that the round analog gauges showed some space for negative pressure, and showed us somewhat above zero when the pumps were off. I asked why. The captain explained that they showed atmospheric pressure. He snapped his fingers to recall it. I mentioned that it was 14.7 pounds, or about 30 inches of mercury.  He said, "Yeah, I knew it was somewhere around 20 psi." Later, in the firehouse during whiteboard talk, one of the young cocky guys looked up from his iPhone and announced happily that atmospheric pressure was 14.7 pounds, unlike what I had said. "You said it was about 20 psi!" He crowed. I found myself surprised at irritated this made me. "Look, you might not have been paying attention in school, but my A's in college physics were earned, you little piss-ant," I began. "I could no more forget SATP than I'd forget the speed of c or the distance of an A.U.!" He scurried off.

--My old college roommate had the cork break in his bottle of MacAllan sherry-casked 12 year-old. He called me over. After we reduced the volume, it was filtered and decanted. What a fine way to spend a Saturday evening off.

--My neighbor has offered to put up the rest of my fence for a case of Budweiser. I bought said case, and learned that he drinks longnecks only. So now I've a case (minus two) of Bud red in cans. Maybe we'll cook with it, or just keep it around the house for friends. Eh.

--My daughter was upset that her tennis coach had told the kids that if they skipped the tournament that he set up tomorrow, they were off the team. This after he had changed the date of it. Lots of kids had planned to go on a trip to see a play with the school, and had a mandatory band practice. I found myself sitting in the office with the principal today, saying, "Look, I refuse to slam the instructors in front of my kids, but can we PLEASE back the pressure off my kid a notch, here? She loves it all." She assured me that this would all be worked out to my satisfaction. This would be the first time that I've ever been in the principal's office on either of my kid's behalf. I really meant it when I said that I support them whole-heartedly. I suspect that that sentence is uttered in that office with somewhat less sincerity by some.

--This week we have a board of review for a new officer, which I am to sit on. I'm picking up my partner to have him sit on the board, too. It'll be good to see him back in the saddle in some way, again.

--Asparagus is shooting up out of the ground in our garden at such a speed that one should wear eye protection while about the garden. I'm only sorta joking.

Professional. (Student.)

Recall that test that I went in to get? Turns out that I got a 92. It was a take-home test that my professor had given to us two weeks before, and I started working on it just after midnight of the morning that it was to be turned in. My wife is furious at me for getting an A on something that I put so little effort into (It's 40% of my semester grade.). "You'll never learn if you don't get stomped with a D or something when you do that! Instead, you get rewarded for procrastinating!" she fumed. "How do you do that?!?" (It was just a 12 page paper, plus a page of works cited.)

"I did it because this is the crap that I've been thinking about for over ten years," I answered. This is what I do."

And by that, I mean that I evaluate the state of our Homeland Security from a street-level bureaucrat's perspective, and from a graduate student's perspective.

And I play with kids in sandboxes like this one, and this one, and this one, and... well, lots of smart folk.

My evaluation of Homeland Security is that we're spending $58 Billion a year real money (and losing another ~$40B) for something that doesn't work. The guys that we're catching? The cases are thin, man. They're usually turned in or caught by citizens. And TSA, which won't publish its efficacy (National Security, don't you know) is rumored to be missing 70% of what it's there for, while being proven publicly to be responsible for thefts, frauds, inappropriate gropings, ridicule by public servants, and general abuse of office.

How many freedoms do we want to give up? Remember how we said "They hate us for our freedom?" Have we decided "Well there's your problem, right there!"?!?

Wednesday night random thoughts.

--So apparently a pretty funny spare actor named Daniel von Bargen decided to check out, and shot himself in the temple with a .38 , only to find that it didn't work.  Still alive and now blind, the guy called 911 and summoned help. This confounds me. First, because all the news reports reference his work in Seinfeld rather than in Malcolm In The Middle, but second, because the guy had to put down his gun, find his phone (he was blinded by the shot) and call 911, and then wanted them to come help him. Amazing. He had been unhappy about needing some toes amputated, before. I would not have guessed that he would find life more worth living after having caused brain damage through a failed suicide attempt. Huh. I'm not trying to make the case that he should have just shot himself again; I'm merely pointing out that the logic that had him shoot once would seem to me to induce a second shot. Perhaps he didn't have a second round chambered?  Interesting.

--Well-cooked lentils are worth eating. Seriously.

--I have to evaluate what best plan to use to bolster my mom's fence against my brother's dog that he's leaving there. She's my next door neighbor. I don't want to have to chase the damned hound whenever it gets out. This means some work today. And money. I'm thinking about buying an Invisible Fence setup and running the wire along on the fence with staple gun.

--Why don't we standardize the buttons on the device that we swipe our credit cards or debit cards in? The questions are always different. The soft keys are in different places. One machine says: "Your total is $25.81*. Is  this okay? Push 'YES' if you wish to proceed." The next machine says: "Your total is $25.81. Do you want cash back? Push 'YES' if so." And so on and so forth. Look. I just want to swipe the card, get my receipt, and go. Why am I having to look at each proprietary system? When I get into another manual transmission vehicle that I've not driven before, I don't need to study on the fact that the accelerator is on the right, the brake is in the middle, and the clutch is on the left. Can't we just standardize these things?

--It was 80 degrees today.

--My shift partner and best work friend is leaving to go to another agency soon. I have cracked the ice and permitted him to see this blog. It's kind of fun finally letting someone from work know about this thing. He's sworn to secrecy, and I know that he won't tell. He's a great guy.

--There is some evidence that I've been burning the candle from both ends. I don't buy it, though. I've been pretty lazy.

--What's your experience with the durability and corrosion resistance with the firearms finish known as "French Gray?"

--I'm going back to sleep. Need to bank it for the weekend. I should actually be working on my take-home test on Homeland Security.


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*Note: This is the root of all evil.

Random Wednesday Thoughts. Day after V[F]D.

--I'm older than I've ever been. And now I'm even older.

--There was a "BuyCot" yesterday, as you may have heard. Folks wanted to boycott Starbucks on Valentine's Day for going hands-off on gun-carriers and refusing to impose more restrictions than the state laws already did. Gunnies around the web decided to show support for Starbucks by giving their business. When I went in to get my wife a Great Big 'Un* coffee drink and myself a pound of coffee, I noticed a couple of middle-aged guys sitting about the place wearing vests, and unwinding with their coffee. I'll bet good money that I wasn't the only armed guy in the joint. While Starbucks reports their shares were "flat" yesterday, I'll bet that their revenues for the day took a little jump. But I don't expect them to volunteer such information. If I were Starbucks, I'd be of the exact same position that they've been taking, lately: "Look, we make and serve coffee. Don't drag us into that battle." That's all I want.  

--Valentine's Day was yesterday. I heard more backlash over it ("It's just a corporate-induced holiday to sell things and make the fat cats money!", "It's a damned quid pro quo by the women, who expect the man to do something for them if they expect the women to be physically affectionate!") than I ever had before.

--My 13 year old daughter came home with two carnations yesterday. One was from her girl friend, but another was from a boy. She insists that he's "just a friend," and it's true that he hangs with her circle of girl friends a lot, but still, it's her first flower from a boy. She reported that another one of her friends received from her boyfriend a necklace with a diamond and ruby pendant on it. These kids are in 8th grade. I explained to my daughter that if she received such a gift from a boy, she would be returning it.

--My 13 year old had made home-made chocolate truffles in four flavors to give to her friends at school. She then made cute origami boxes with separators and lift-off lids to give them in. That kid's got skills.

--My 9 year old daughter made dinner last night. She pulled out her Mollie Katzen cookbook the other night and  reported that she was making the meal, and we were all expected to attend. So, after school yesterday, she set about to making a hearty soup (she modified the vegetable soup to be vegetable beef soup, because she likes meat), a Mediterranean salad, and a rich chocolate desert. She then set our table thusly:

That kid's got skills, too**. Very good soup. I am told that the soup was better this morning, but I was not left so much as a bite.

--I didn't get to finish my bowl of soup. I got a fire page during dinner. It was an alarm at an apartment complex, and those can be nothing, or very, very nasty. I got up and said, "I'll probably be right back," I said. "No, you won't," my wife said. "But go, anyway." She smiled at me. I got there in time to gear up and jump on the engine. This was the first time that I had ridden in what is traditionally the Captain's seat, front right. As I got in, the air horn went crazy. The driver mildly informed me that I was stomping on the horn button on the floor. I moved my foot off in a hurry. The mechanical siren cranked up, LOUDLY, with us still in the firehouse bay. I had moved my foot to another button. How many buttons were there, anyway? (Three, it turns out.) Given the size of my fire boots, the best thing for me to do was to try to tuck my feet up under my seat, which is how I rode to the call. At each intersection, I called out traffic conditions to my side, and tapped the air horn briefly. It was only as I arrived on scene that I realized that I had forgotten to put on the headset.

The fire alarm was inconsequential. It was my first run.

--After going home and getting the girls to bed, I got toned out for another pair of calls. I went back to the station, and found that most of the apparatus and all of the crew were gone to the calls. I checked in on the radio, and was advised to stand by at the station, in case we received another call. I hung out with a lonely brush truck for an hour, while the other guys worked a wreck several miles out of town, and staged for a police call just out of town (but in our fire district). Here I was: a guy that barely knew where the bathroom was (literally, I had to ask last week. I just hadn't needed to use it before, there), and yet I was the sole guy with the penultimate piece of apparatus in the city (there was also a tanker) there to answer fire calls. I laughed at myself (I know I've got a LOT to learn, and don't take myself too seriously). But it made me feel good to be there for the city, if something DID happen. Like a gun of minor caliber ready in a closet or a drawer. Not ideal. Probably not even adequate. But serviceable, and a hell of a lot better than nothing. This is why I volunteer.

--If you're shocked to read that a rookie volunteer firefighter would be given such a responsibility, don't be. That's how lots of volunteer fire departments are. By area, most of our nation's land is served by VFDs

--I've made a vow to myself to be the slowest, most careful apparatus driver in the department.

--I'm waiting for the mail. I have a small paper presentation due in class today, and the text book that I'm referencing for it, which I ordered a week ago, hasn't arrived. I know that it's been en route for two days. If it doesn't arrive by the time I finish this post, I've got to download it on my Kindle, and effectively pay for the same book twice. That galls me. My fault, though. My class starts in three hours. Better hurry, Matt!

--Just checked the mail again. The book has arrived. (And Matt is again rewarded for procrastination, which might not be best.) Got to run.





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*I refuse to use their silly terms for size. A big iced mocha is served in a cup that is closer to a quart than to twenty ounces, so "vente" is just stupid. As a bonus, I got to watch the barrista flinch when I said it. I liked it so much, I ordered a second one. Damn, but those things are tasty. My bride liked her afternoon coffee pick-me-up  more than the two dozen tulips that I brought to her office.

**Yes, I see the error in the place setting. No, I didn't see it last night. Not sure I would have said anything.

Shooting the kid.

The other day, Brownsville cops shot and killed a 15 year old boy who was brandishing a gun in a school with over 700 kids in it.

The family is upset, saying it was unnecessary use of force*. The boy was just an 8th grader. He was a Good Student**. He was a Good Boy. Active in his church. Not affiliated with gangs. It was only a pellet gun. They shouldn't have shot a minor and certainly not more than once, and DEFINITELY not in the back of the head. Tragic over-reaction, says the family.

Really? Let's listen to the 911 call.  Huh. People were bunkered down. The kid was roaming the halls of a school full of kids. He'd been told repeatedly to put the gun down. He was not in Taser range. He'd said that he was not afraid to die. He was displaying this:

I've posted my concerns about bullet magnets before, and written of an incident almost ten years ago with one. I recall how, at that time, when I presented the boy with his own Airsoft version of a CZ75 from my own holster, the kid didn't even recognize his own plastic gun:

In Brownsville:
The boy threatened people with the gun, which looked very realistic.
The boy talked about not being afraid to die.
The boy was mobile in a school full of potential victims and hostages.
The boy had been challenged, and refused to put the apparent weapon down.
Bullets from the gun of a juvenile kill people just as dead as those from the gun of an adult.
This was sadly a suicide by cop, performed by an unstable kid.

The Brownsville cops did what they had to do.
And that's a damned shame.



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*In that ridiculous story, the reporter does his Live! stand-up in Dallas, TX. Even using Google Earth to stretch a line from Dallas to Brownsville, it's 475 miles, and that takes you over the Gulf of Mexico. Google Maps says that the short route to drive it (through Victoria) is actually 529 miles. Why the network thought that it means ANYTHING to have the reporter stand outside in Dallas, TX is beyond me. It would make about as much sense to have a reporter stand outside of a mobile van in New York City to report on a shooting in Hampstead, NC. (which is the same distance by air.)


** Nothing like getting it right the third time. My 8th grader is only 13, and actually started 8th grade when she was only 12. By age 15, I was about 6'4", 200+ lbs, and wore my first beard as a sophomore in high school. Physically, I was indistinguishable from a grown man.

Not a fan.

I'm going to do a little hatin', here.

Look, I'm not against sports. I'm not against American football.

I'm just not a fan. Oh, the athleticism can be fun to watch, especially when you know the players. But I don't get the obsession.

I understand the ritualistic warfare aspect of it. I understand that something has to be popular, and if it's not feetball, it's soccer, or baseball, or basketball or... whatever.

But I resent that my mandatorily-contributed school tax dollars, which make up the larger portion of my property taxes, go toward this over-wrought spectacle. I resent that my daughters will benefit, from what I can see, not one whit from this spectacle.

I resent that the same school district that refuses to hold any kind of educational camps or tutoring over the summer has a football spectacle in the first week of frickin' August, when it's 93 degrees at 11PM, according to the sign at the friendly small town bank. Said football spectacle is complete with over-loud P.A., over-bright stadium lights, and rambunctious teens drinking in the parking lot while their more-rambunctious parents cheer themselves hoarse over the exploits of Little Johnny, sweating on the pitch in full pads.

My best friend Scott and some others insist that this is a money-maker for the school, and that my daughters' education will benefit. Bollocks. Show me the figures. I ain't buying it until I see them, broken down.

Well, duh.

U.S. District Judge Stefan Underhill said what we all knew: Cheerleading is not a sport.

As the father of two daughters who was told that the huge bond floated to build a new football stadium would "benefit the girls as much as the boys" in our school district, I've just got to say, someone had to finally admit this.

David Benke.

When it is Go Time, you must have your decision made, already.

David Benke, a math teacher and track coach, had several points to his advantage yesterday when a crazy man* was shooting children at a Littleton high school: he could run, and he could think, and he had at some point made up his mind to do what needed doing. In this story at CNN, Mr. Benke mentions being conscious of how long it took the guy to rack a round in after each shot. He launched his 6'5" frame into the guy, disarmed him, and held him. Yeah, yeah, others helped, and that's good. But who shall bell the cat? Who's first?

Why, it's the person who already decided before it all came down. If you will keep it in your head that you are a sheepdog rather than a sheep, then you are a lot closer to winning than some might think, even when apparently "unarmed."

There are some things worse than dying. I'm glad that David Benke didn't get hurt, but he would still have been a role model if he hadn't been successful in his attempt to stop the attempted murderer.

You are the first responder. Act accordingly.
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*Whose name I'll not bother mentioning here. He gets no glamour from me.

Haiku #14: Finals week distraction.

Days of frustration.
Come night time, a dram of corn.
End of semester.

Firearms Instruction School: Day Four.

Today, I went back to my car, feeling only slightly-- SLIGHTLY-- let down.

We had been scheduled to go to the range in the afternoon and put in a couple of hours of shooting and diagnosing problems of other shooters. But instead, we stayed in the classroom, and each student had to give a 15 minute presentation. Mine, on the familiarization with the various forms of the M1911, was well-received.

The former Marine and current SWAT officer who gave a 15 minute demo on the Marine method of disassembling the M16/M-4/AR15 platform was very well done.

The woman who taught the full familiarization with the USP .40 taught a great course.

They guy who taught methods of securing and unloading various esoteric guns, with props, was very well-received.

The guy who taught the safety lecture did a good job.

The fellow who taught on various common shooting errors had some insights, and good pictures.

Everyone used good props. Everyone was passionate about what they taught on.

The instructor pointed out our errors in teaching (mine was in time management-- 5 minutes on History of Adoption of the M1911 was a bit excessive for a 15 minute lecture in which I was going to try to demonstrate the safety differences, wouldn't you think?) We all learned from the topics, but more importantly, we learned How To Teach more efficiently.

Basically, I got paid to talk about guns all day, today.

Tomorrow, I'm slated to shoot 600+ rounds, as we each run each other through the qualification courses that we write tonight. Awwww.... poor me.

_____________________________________
Yesterday, we shot shotgun, and I found that my patrol 870 was shooting well to the left of center. At 15 yards, the center of my pattern was at the left edge of a sheet of typing paper. I asked if they had punches and a mallet, and I drifted my front sight left. I went to 35 yards and shot at a sheet of typing paper with a Federal Tactical rifled slug. On paper, but still left of center. I drifted it further left, and shot another slug, this time from 50 yards. Dead center. Perfect.

I found that Federal Tactical 9 pellet 00 Buck is a very comfortable round to shoot, and turns in decent patterns. That said, the Federal PREMIUM Vital-Shok 9 pellet 00 Buck turns in astoundingly tight patterns, by virtue of its shot cup, which seems to envelop the shot out to about 10 yards. Would you believe 2" patterns at 12 yards? No, I'm not kidding.

Our group had a long discussion on the relative merits and demerits of a sling on patrol long guns, and one guy, who is very knowledgeable about shooting, stated flatly that he doesn't like them, and doesn't need them. I was astounded, and made some transition demonstrations for him, and gave him scenarios in support of slings. Nope. They "get in the way." Ooooookay. Our instructor, who had sparked the discussion on purpose, made us justify our positions on slings, as we would to an admin person who knows nothing of firearms and police work.

The training that I'm getting is really quite good, here.

Busy, again.

Every May that I've been at university, I've hated myself for putting off my studies for my classes. This May is no different.

Things have been slow here, I know. That will continue for a short while longer. Sorry.

Quick updates.

Sunday morning, Dad and I had coffee before breakfast. I was slightly sore from moving a friend before working the night before. We went to a fairly new little coffee shop down the road, and enjoyed our over-priced coffee and pastries on the porch, basking in the lovely October morning. Some of the most cherished moments in my life have involved swilling coffee outside in the cool early day of a tenth month. Lots of those have been with Dad, and this time was no different. He handed me yet another birthday gift, which this time was a Bianchi Speed Strip with 6 rounds of Remington 158 g SWC +P in it.

"You might try this. They work pretty well," he said.

He was speaking of the Speed Strip. As I stated in comments, I've been meaning to try them out, and now I am doing so. When I ran some errands about town yesterday, I carried a M36 on my belt and just tossed the Speed Strip into my off-side pocket. It carried well, with less clinking than I'd expected. I need to get to the range and practice fast loading with it, 2 by 2 by 1.

- - - - - - - -
The house is very nearly ready for move-in.

I've got a truck rented for this weekend, and days off to move. We've built my wife's studio (something I've been promising her in earnest for a decade) in the garage. The bamboo looks stunning against the slate. The carpet is a low shag, and it makes my wife happy, so it makes me happy. I've called to have the 30 yard dumpster removed, as it is packed and brim-full of cast-off material from the house. I wish it had more room; I'd keep it for cast-off from the move.

I need to find that pesky gas leak from the stove, though. Until I do, the gas cock at the wall underneath is turned off.

- - - - - - - - - - -

I've a test tomorrow night in Statistics that I'm really not quite ready to take. Interestingly, while my professor (an kindly old man of about 80 who tends to ramble afield a bit with his anecdotes) was giving us a review in class last week, a group of women sitting in back were chatting. Not in whispers, but in normal talking voices. I put up with this as best I could. I sit in front when the topic is boring (and rest assured, Statistics is a boring class.), so I could generally hear him despite my tinnitus. But when another student from across the room asked a question about the test, and neither I nor the professor could hear it over the din of conversation, I turned around and spoke loudly to them:

"Ladies: 'Disruption Of Classes' is a Class C Misdemeanor, and your continued talking qualifies as an offense. I have paid $1016 to take this class, and I will not put up with your interruptions. If you wish to speak further, take it out to the hallway, and I will bear you no ill will. I speak to You, You, You, and You, miss. Yes, I mean you. Do you understand me?"

They nodded. It turned back around and tried to concentrate on my review. I wasn't just irritated that they were interfering with my class, but that their actions were what I considered insulting to this gentlemanly elder instructor. Worse-- but for myself and one other, I knew that everyone else in the class was working on post-graduate degrees of one kind or another in Education. I should have thought that they would show more professional courtesy. But alas, most of them were young (early 20s) women, and probably have not yet entered their career field. (I had never seen such activity in any of my Criminal Justice classes, I can assure you.)

One of the talkers--a very fit, attractive girl-- had tried at some lenghts to wheedle some extra points out of the professor after we got our grades on our first test. I had been proud of my professor for mildly refusing her repeated urgent whining request.
- - - - - - - - - - -

Yesterday afternoon while checking my mail, I heard gunshots. I looked to my neighbor, who was checking his own mail. We both felt the wind, a nice mild southerly breeze. We live just four blocks from the south edge of our little town. "Sounds like the dove are still flying," he laughed.

I grinned and took the mail in to thow away.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Note: mothers-in-law who were born during the Depression (a real depression, not this BS little recession thingy that people are getting their panties in a wad over) are constitutionally incapable of draining the grease off of the cheap hamburger that they fried up for hash. Not one drop. While the hash was tasty, I could have plunged a wick into a bowl of it and lit it to make a passable lamp which would burn for days.

No post for you today. You come back tomorrow.

Studying for Statistics test.

End of the school year duties.

My elder daughter had an awards thingy at her school, the other day. I hadn't really monitored how she was doing, because, frankly, as long as she's able to do the math, reading, history, and science at the level that I expect, she's doing fine. Oh, sure, she'd better pass, but that's not a real issue. I knew that they had some kind of reading achievement chart that they expected her to keep up with, and occasionally my wife and I would sign off on, but it's a pain in the butt, and I pretty well gave up on it some months ago, because it was silly-- nobody was tracking 1/10 of what she was reading. Seriously. I figured I'd give her $20 and another trip to big used book store, instead of whatever baubles and trinkets they award at the school.

So I was kind of impressed when the teacher kept handing her stuff at the podium:
--Reading achievement
--Free ball pass bowling for a free game every day this summer
--Gift card at a local restaurant,
--"A" Honor Roll All Year
--Six Flags Read To Succeed free ticket
--*Field Day Participation Award ("We're All Stars On Field Day!")
--*Outstanding Effort In Physical Education
--*Certificate of Participation in the TAKS Pep Rally." ("Tackle The TAKS")

You see those asterisks on those last three? Everyone got those. And that's not hyperbole. EVERYone. Not a single kid went without one. Not a single kid had to remain seated. What is the worth of an award that everyone gets?

It turned out that documenting less than 1 in 10 of my daughter's readings was sufficient to more than double the requirement to win a free ticket to Six Flags Over Texas. By being the top reader, she got the gift certificate to the restaurant. Somewhere in there came the bowling pass. Hey, why not?

She didn't win the Perfect Attendance award. I'm utterly fine with that. Missing that meant that she was able to take three-day weekends to visit her grandmother, aunt and uncle, and cousins in Austin. That's representative of family time that's incredibly important, in my estimation. I've nothing against Perfect Attendance; it shows diligence, and I'm all for that. But it can seriously be over-rated.

She didn't win the award for running the most laps on their running day. The girl who did ran 44 laps on a quarter-mile track. She's NINE.

Friend Ashley Emerson related to me about how he went to his daughter's Open House, and asked her about how she felt about the recent achievement test battery. "It makes my head hurt," she said. He pursued the matter, concerned. She elaborated: “Whenever we finish the test before the end of the provided time, we have to put our heads down. I keep finishing early, and my neck always hurts from laying it down on the little short desk tops. I end up getting a headache.”

So I made sure my kid took a book to read. Well, crap. Maybe I distracted her by that.

After the awards thingy, this school, like so many schools do, had a talent show. And I've got to say, I'm very uncomfortable with 4th grade girls singing songs with lyrics that include: "If you want to be with me, baby there's a price to pay..." "I'll make every wish come true."

More uncomfortable, even, than I was while watching boys break-dance to “My God Is An Awesome God.” And that's saying something... especially when their dad breaks out of the audience and joins them up on stage.

I wish I were kidding.