The spatter of matter.

The new theory, supported by some radio and X-ray astronomy that even I can sort of grasp, is that black holes spit out quite a bit of energy in the form of twin jets from their poles. This is easier for me to understand than just the Hawking radiation that we first were hearing about in the late 1980's and early '90's.

It makes the superdense things seem less of a curiosity, to me. We always wondered where matter might go. I know. It's foolish to think such things.

But it brings to my mind that old question about recycled mass. I've heard various speculations about how, given the way that water evaporates and then gets redistributed, we all have likely molecules of water in us that ran down Jesus Christ's (or Herod's, or Moses, or David's, or Muhammad's) throat. What of interstellar matter that gets split off and spat out by a black hole, only to feed a nearby galaxy, then be pulled into the ever-growing black hole? Surely there's a chance that some of that matter will be recycled and spat out again. Some even again.

Training, with firearms. (Pt. II)

When my Lieutenant told me that I was to attend Firearms Instructor School, he handed me a printout of what was required. I was at first a little surprised at the ammunition requirements:

• 1000 rounds of duty ammo for my duty pistol.
• 250 rounds of revolver ammunition for the revolver (.38 or greater, 4" or longer) that I bring.
• 50 rounds of duty-worthy 9-pellet 00 buckshot for the cruiser shotgun that I bring.
• 5 rounds of slugs for the shotgun.

That's 1305 rounds, for those of you keeping track at home. Getting shooting fatigue is not an option: if you don't score 90% at the initial qualification course on Day 1, you pack your stuff and go home.

I was a bit surprised that there would be so much shooting, in a class that is ostensibly designed to instruct its students how to teach shooting. Presumably, we would already know how to shoot, right? Why all the shooting?

But after some reflection, it makes some sense. Weed out the posers and wanna-be's on the first day. Make sure that your candidates can actually shoot like an expert. Because who's going to listen to what they have to say, later on, if they can't shoot well, themselves? There's a strong potential for a credibility issue.

And while the basic state-mandated peace officer firearm qualification requirement is ridiculously easy (whenever I administer a firearms qualification, I write the course a great deal harder than the state requires), I have to believe that they're going to ramp it up a bit for the initial hurdle of this class. I can't recall the last time I've dropped more than a single shot at a firearms qualification (usually when firing weak-handed), but suddenly I find myself a teeny bit nervous.

Hey, what's that? "Nervous?" You mean that I feel tension about making the grade on an in-service class? Holy cow. I had forgotten what such a feeling even felt like. How lovely! No. Seriously. Tension drives us to excel. If you don't believe you can fail, then why put yourself out by trying?

So I'll be taking my issued duty Glock 31 that I'll be shooting out of my regular duty rig.

I'll take my issued duty Remington 870P that is in my patrol car rack.

And I'll be taking a revolver. Hmmm. Which revolver?

Initially, I had thought of a certain Model 10 that my father has, which has possibly the smoothest double action trigger that I've ever felt on a duty-worthy gun. But it has a 3" barrel, and the requirements for the class specify a 4" barrel or greater. (Why? I don't have a clue. But what's the point in questioning the specifications? Just show up with what they require. First rule of the range: don't argue with the rangemaster.)

Because I have few revolvers in my stable of personal guns, I of course requested permission to run barefoot through Dad's gunsafe to find an appropriate revolver for school. While we were sighting in a rifle (another post about that, later), Dad opened up a large pistol case with some likely candidates. I tried out several Model 10's, pre-numeral M&P's, and a nice M19 with an enormous target hammer spur. We had no 4"+ J-frame .38s, so that wasn't a concern. I decided against a Colt, because the vast majority of my double action time has been behind a Smith trigger. I decided against N frames because of holster, speedloader, and ammo (in some cases) availability. (Though it would be fun to shoot the 1917 in class.) I can't deny that I was not blind to Kewl Factors while choosing which revolver to shoot. But finally, I settled on pure practicality.

Yes, of course it's a Model 10. Bonus points if you can get the dash number on the first guess, without a book. I took off the wooden gold medallion presentation stocks without a speedloader cutout, and put on these ugly-but-highly-functional Pachmayers, which also benefit by virtue of sporting a built-in grip adaptor for my orangutan-like hands.

I also tried out holsters, and was surprised that, between Dad and me, we didn't have a handy thumb-break duty-style holster available. But with a bit of practice, it's surprising how fast you can get with a snap-down holster. I tried the various snap-downs that Dad had, and liked this one the best. This is an interesting example of a very distinct style that was born in the 1960's, with a rear-sight shroud. It's hand-made by Oliver Ball, a holster-maker of some fame, of Fort Worth. My father knew Mr. Ball, and learned a bit of holster-making from him (Including how to stamp that quality of basket-weave). I hope he'll post a little something extra about the history of this holster, on his own blog.

So now, with a week before class, I suppose I should, uh, cheat.

I'm going to go practice.

More later.

ObamAscension

Bunkering down?

Nope. Moving in, more thoroughly.

The last of the stored crap is moved in. The storage unit is swept out. The attic is rough-decked, and I've blown in a bunch of pink stuff to make the house more cozy, by an extra R19. (Only fell through one time. Dammit. Now I've got to learn how to patch a dry wall ceiling.)

A bunch of crap that I don't need is going to the dump today.

Might as well; a bunch of other crap I don't need is appearing on a dais in DC today.

Dunno if I'll be watching; I haven't watched an inauguration since Reagan's second term.

Follow-Up To: ""Baby, the sun is over the yardarm early today.'"

At about 2:15 PM, I showed up at Dad's and poured us each about a finger's worth of The MacAllan 18 Year Old Scotch Whiskey. If you're a fan of Scotch, or even if you're not, and you haven't tried the pride of Craigellachie, Moray, of the Speyside region of the highlands of Scotland, than I submit that you've never really given good Scotch a chance. This particular bottle was casked in 1979 and bottled in 1997, and was presented to me by my friend Bill (thanks, Bill!) on the occasion of my birthday, some years back.

I don't drink from it often. In fact, I've had that bottle for a decade, now. Most drinks I've taken from it, I've also poured one for my father. Just before retiring on a good hunting trip, or on momentous occasions, usually.

Today was a day worth pouring from that bottle.

Having had a short dram each, and a spot of conversation, we picked up a Garmin Nuvi 200W GPS at Cabella's. I was HIGHLY impressed at how easy it was to use, on our ride back home. Very intuitive to use. Dad and I bought a Garmin 12 GPS in 1997 for an elk hunting trip, and the state of the art has come a long way. At $169, it's a hella good deal.

I also bought some factory .380 acp ammo, and some factory .38 Special ammo, to feed my P3AT and my Airweight Chief during upcoming quals. I was shocked to find that UMC .38 Spl was more expensive than Remington Express. I've always thought of UMC as the bargain brand for Remington. Huh.

Test your relationship.

Clean out the refrigerator together.

"You like that? Is it even still good? Then why haven't you eaten it?"

"Why are you putting the refrigerator shelves back there?"

"I cannot believe I married someone who would even eat that crap fresh, more less..."

[In unison] "Toss it." "Heh. Jinx."

[In unison] "Toss it. Ewww."

"We should make that, sometime."

"House rule: NO MORE Tobasco until these three --no, four-- bottles are used up."

"This is my fourth jar of that spicy mustard. It gets trashed."

We are rather condiment and spice heavy in my house. When you buy a pricey marinade or dry soup base and only use half of it, it gets the lid put on and is shoved into the fridge, in the back of a short shelf. There it resides until the Clean Out. There is nothing wrong with properly refrigerated marinades and sealed dry soup bases remaining in your 'fridge for a long while, but they do tend to take up a lot of room. In our case, the bottom right drawer of the crisper is now designated as the place for those, and the big jar of pre-grated ginger, and the jars of red, yellow, and green thai curry paste, mole, and the like.

I suspect that my already varied diet is about to step up to "circus-like," just as soon as we have vanquished the Giant Ham Of Doom (~25 lbs), and its sidekick, Traditional Black-Eyed Peas With Ham Bone. Oh, and corn bread. Always corn bread.

Esprit d'Escalier

"The wit of the staircase," or what you should have said...


Ever found yourself pronouncing your comebacks to an irritatingly smug person (say, an honors high school instructor) 18 years after the fact?

Anyone?

Heh. No, me neither. Haw. I was just joshin', y'know?







[That old bitch. Sure would like to... But she was in her early 60's then. She may be dead. (A world without that old battleaxe? I can't comprehend it. And choose not to.)]

Hmmmm. . .

We got the house listed this morning.

At 09:35 AM, the phone rang for an appointment to show. I was asleep, so I didn't call 'em back until 12:20 PM.

At 1:00 PM, the very first possible buyer showed up.

At 1:30 PM, they offered to buy at my price.

Barring any snags, we'll be outta here by mid-July.

Maybe we listed too low?

Oh, well.

Guess I better go find a house to move into.