A Joke link.

This one, from an ASpie http://aspiesinc.blogspot.com/index.html is just priceless. It deserves it's own special post:

It was late afternoon near Savannah, Tennessee. Johnny was riding back from a gig in Nashville. He sat with his head against the window of the bus looking bored at the roadside as it passed. A sign in front of a house changed his boredom to curiosity, and he had his driver turn around. The sign said:

“Talking Dog for Sale”

He rings the bell and the owner tells him the dog is in the backyard. The guy goes into the backyard and sees a yellow Labrador retriever sitting there.

“You talk?” he asks.

“Yep,” the Lab replies.

“So, what's your story?”

The Lab looks up and says, "Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running."

"But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security wandering near suspicious characters and listening in."

"I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals. I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired."

Johnny is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.

"Ten dollars," the singer says.

"Ten dollars? This dog is amazing. Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"

"'Cause he's a liar! He never did any of that stuff!"

And this honesty about high-schooling...

Raging Dave at Four Right Wing Wackos http://4rwws.blogspot.com/ has a very interesting autobiographical account of his feelings about high school (posted on Sunday Feb 25). His emotions pretty much describe the way I felt about my father and home when I was growing up. And I had the same resultant problems with anger and rage, although I never had the physical strength to actually do much damage. Unfortunately the damage was mostly to myself. And the scars are still there - they never go away. You just try and learn to deal with them.

Totally off-topic, a little blurb ad for the IAF got included at OPFOR http://op-for.com/ on the 26th. (It's actually available from YouTube, I think.) It's not completely accurate, but sure is impressive. 'Course, so's the IAF.

Procrastination - I'll feel better later.

This little something via Michael Totten http://www.michaeltotten.com/ who has often VERY interesting observations about the Middle East, and Lebanon in particular. Always an interesting read.
Anyway, I suspect I'm procrastinating about posting this bit about procrastination. It raises some interesting thoughts about everything from corporate start-ups to ASpie behaviour.

"The most impressive people I know are all terrible procrastinators. So could it be that procrastination isn't always bad? Most people who write about procrastination write about how to cure it. But this is, strictly speaking, impossible. There are an infinite number of things you could be doing. No matter what you work on, you're not working on everything else. So the question is not how to avoid procrastination, but how to procrastinate well.
There are three variants of procrastination, depending on what you do instead of working on something: you could work on (a) nothing, (b) something less important, or © something more important. That last type, I'd argue, is good procrastination.
That's the "absent-minded professor," who forgets to shave, or eat, or even perhaps look where he's going while he's thinking about some interesting question. His mind is absent from the everyday world because it's hard at work in another. That's the sense in which the most impressive people I know are all procrastinators. They're type-C procrastinators: they put off working on small stuff to work on big stuff."

I feel better already. But - what exactly is the "big stuff".

John Gary, Pittsburgh & Clearfield

John Gary was a curious fellow. Nice singer in that older style of relaxed tenor. He had his own TV show back in the 60's. It ran for a couple of seasons, if I remember rightly.
Easy to work with, and his material wasn't very demanding - simple arrangements, small band, straight-forward tunes; some of it rather nice folksy stuff (The Possum Song comes to mind).
And rather athletic in his own unusual way: he was a fine archer (world-class actually) and supposedly held some sort of underwater swim record for a while. He was also a qualified flyer and had his private pilot's licence.
But he had limited patience under stress, and wasn't the most mentally organized kind of guy.
I flew into Pittsburgh once to do a county-fair show with John (the show was actually in Clearfield Pennsylvania), and met him there, along with his SO of the time, and the piano player, who happened to be Eric Knight. John had rented a car for us to drive to Clearfield. OK, fine, all the gear was to be provided on-site, so one car was adequate. Except...
John couldn't get out of Pittsburgh. We left the airport, drove around and around and around, and ended up back at the airport. And again. And again. And again.
The fourth time this happened, John stopped the car, and proceeded to exit the vehicle. In the middle lane, in the middle of traffic, in front of the airport. He grabbed his lady from the passenger side of the front seat - Eric and I were sitting in the back - and announced that this was %(*^%^%#$ and that he was going to rent a plane and fly to Clearfield!
I was stunned. I thought - crap, all the way to Pittsburgh, and that's the end of this gig.
NoSir. Eric evidently was accustomed to this sort of thing, and promptly got out of the back, slid behind the wheel, and motioned for me to occupy the passenger's seat. And off we went, in John's rented car, while he and his lady vanished into the airport.
Eric and I drove John's rented car to Clearfield, and there was John, all prepped to rehearse. He had actually rented a small Cessna and flown there. Undoubtedly cost him more than the job paid. But that was John.
I'll tell about the actual show another time. Including the pigs.

"Assault" Rifles - Wrong!

Currently there is a huge ruckus about "assault" rifles. The gist of the dispute is that many people want to ban them. Gun-owners think that's a ridiculous position. On this one, I'm with the gunnies. Why? Because...
There is no such thing as an "assault" rifle. That is a manifest category error. There are rifles designed and built for military use, and those designed and built for civilian (hunting) use.
All rifles are weapons. All rifles are meant to kill things.**
Whether it be a a gopher or a gazelle, rifles are designed for killing. That is their function. A hunting rifle is designed to kill. Period.
The only difference between a hunting rifle and an "assault" rifle is the situation of use and the consequent demands placed on design. Diversity of environments, harsh environment, necessity of personal transport, and reliability requirements determine the design of any military arm. Any decent hunting rifle can be used as a military gun - as an "assault" rifle. But hunting rifles are not optimal for military use. And there is a crucial reason.
Military rifles are also defensive weapons. Opponents shoot back! Any military rifle must combine offense and defense. This defensive aspect greatly determines the design choices of a military rifle. Critics who use the term "assault" totally misunderstand that it is defense that requires firepower in the form of large magazines and rapid fire.
Attack requires precision. That is why hunting rifles are built for precision. Many military rifles are used as hunting guns, and have been for centuries. But they are not optimal for hunting.
Were hunting rifles to meet the same usage requirements as military rifles, they would look and act the same.
**Remember, please, fencing is an Olympic sport. And a sword is definitely an "assault" weapon. Swords were designed to kill people.

Proust Questionnaire

From Kim du Toit (see list of blogs at side-bar) comes this revealing little piece of history; a self-analysis questionnaire derived by Marcel Proust. OK, I don't particlulary like Proust - too many words, like Mozart said. But the questionnaire has to make one think. I'm good at that!
So here goes:
What is your most marked characteristic?
- Intelligence
What is the quality you most like in a man?
- Honesty
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
- Intelligence
What do you most value in your friends?
- Integrity
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
- Procrastination
What is your favorite occupation?
- Mine
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
- Family together
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
- Extreme poverty
In which country would you like to live?
- Besides Canada - Finland
Who are your favorite writers?
- Jacques Barzun, many others (probably because I read non-fiction)
Who are your favorite poets?
- T.E.Lawrence
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
- Pierre in War and Peace
Who is your favorite heroine of fiction?
- No-one comes to mind
Who are your favorite composers?
- Oh. Too many on the list
Who are your favorite painters?
- Dali, Klee, DaVinci, Seurat, many others
What are your favorite names?
- What?
What is it that you most dislike?
- Hypocrisy
Which talent would you most like to have?
- Painting
How would you like to die?
- Not at all
What is your current state of mind?
- Questioning
What is your motto?
- Don't need one

Hit and Run on Daughter #2.

Hmph. Daughter number two was in a car accident the other evening. She was in the front seat as a passenger, with her friend driving; stopped at a red light, and got rear-ended by somebody. HARD. Really smashed the car they were in pretty badly. And the other driver raced away.
OKAY. Hope your karma catches up with you, buster. Real soon now.
One good thing, though. Thanks to seat belts, neither of them was hurt. Despite being clobbered hard. Both of them were belted-in, so almost no whiplash. They're both fine now, only two days later. Fine way for my SO to spend her birthday, waiting at the hospital emergency while daughter got x-rayed as a precaution.
But all that was needed was a couple Ibuprophen. And a large *#^%&%$ for the hit-and-run driver. Hopefully what goes around comes around.

Sharia and Insult.

Once upon a time I believed that a theocracy was probably the best form of government. This is only one more small example of why that cannot be true. Any form of free speech or criticism that runs counter to the revealed truth cannot be tolerated. Even of correct.
From BBC news:
An Egyptian court has sentenced an internet blogger to four years' prison for insulting Islam and the president....During the five-minute court session the judge said Soliman was guilty and would serve three years for insulting Islam and inciting sedition, and one year for insulting Mr Mubarak.
I can get the inciting sedition (please note - not treason); but even that is questionable. And a FIVE MINUTE court session?
Justice cannot be served in five minutes.

An Autie::Aspie comment.

Wednesday being blog-view day, I run across many things. But this one, from Abnormaldiversity
http://abnormaldiversity.blogspot.com/ really struck me, especially as regards ASpies, aka high-functioning autistics.

"...autism doesn't cause social deficits, but rather social differences. Autistics tend to need more alone time and have an odd pattern of interacting..."

It's a little out of context, but VERY accurate. Especially as ASpies tend also to be in the high-IQ group (immediate family of spouse and four children has median of 130+). And boy do I relate, especially the "odd pattern of interacting". Still working on that bit.

Della Reese - a little story.

Here's a little story that I have never told anyone.
Della Reese is a VERY nice lady. It's interesting to watch her on television, because she isn't really acting. That's just HER. She's really like that! (Of course the best casting happens when people play themselves.)
Della is a good singer, and had a lot of good material in her show. But, the band was having some troubles - technical stuff, clumsy rhythmic playing, ensemble issues. Nothing catastrophic, but not that good either. I was unhappy about it, but with the budget restrictions I had, that's what happens. And of course, I get the heat, since I'm the bandleader.
But not from Della. Nope. Not a peep. I knew it wasn't good; she knew it wasn't good; and I knew that she knew; but she just let it go. Not a word.
On my way upstairs to her dressing room one night, I overheard her manager advising her to get rid of the band and get some players from Detroit (nearby).
I have to love Della for her response: "No. They're trying. They're doing the best they can. It's OK."

Bob Francis

I worked with Bob quite often a few years back. Big guy, big voice, very good singer. And very easy to work with. Knew his stuff and presented it well. He used to work some of the cruise lines quite often as special guest artist. I assume he did very well there.
Story:
In April and May, we used to get a lot of US kids in the club for Prom night. They would appear in the middle of the evening - obviously did NOT stay for the prom at whatever school was hosting! And for the most part, they were noisy, but fairly well behaved. (And the predominantly black schools were always the best-dressed, but that's another story.)
But not all of them behaved. Some were loud and generally obnoxious - and we always knew from the names of the schools how the evening would unfold.
But one evening was a little different. The second show usually hit at 11:00, and there would be some "opener" to fill the first 15-20 minutes, and then Bob would come out to do his stuff. OK, fine. But what Bob did was primarily suited to a little older crowd (35 yrs and up, roughly). This evening, we had several tables - about 40 kids - from a bad-actor school. And they were seated stage-right, fairly close, and when they went to the washroom, they walked right past the front of the stage. And this evening the material especially did not interest the prom kids. They got progressively louder and louder. With more frequent trips to the washroom. Back and forth, back and forth. Bob, being a pro, put up with this for quite a while, trying to get everyone to ignore them. But it eventually made the show impossible for the rest of the audience.
(Now remember, Bob's a big guy. I mean a BIG guy. He must have weighted a good 250 lbs, and was built like a fullback.)
Bob's solution: As one of the prom ringleaders was walking past the edge of the stage - for the fourth time - Bob casually reached down and grabbed the guys hair with his right hand. With the microphone in his left hand, he just ever-so-gently lifted this miscreant off the floor about 3 inches. And held him there, suspended. This while continuing to sing, so the audience did not realize what was going on. This lasted for about 15 seconds. And then Bob let him down, gently, and let him go.
The rowdy prom crowd paid the bill and quickly disappeared.

Meme.

Sunday is blog day - sort-of - so here's one from Geekgab:
Threshold::Pain
Jason::Argonauts
Suspicion::Alfred Hitchcock
Tender::Night (or is Steak?)
Tempted::Eat
Crimson::Tide
Repulsive::Ugly
Bulldog::English
Garage::Cement
Racket::Boombox
I obviously have a little movie-thing going on there. Where did that come from?

Global Warming Arrogance.

From a meteorologist, via The Countertop Chronicles: http://www.countertopchronicles.com/
"I’m not sure which is more arrogant for humans: to say we caused it or to say we’re going to fix it."
OHO. In a nutshell. (There's that phrase again - second time today. Hmmm.)

Pratical Gunnie Stuff - K.I.S.S.

A very brief summary of the article at Survivalblog: http://www.survivalblog.com/weapons/
It's well worth a quick read, but here's the stuff in a nutshell (that's me, the nutshell...)
1. Keep it Simple.
2. Know your weapon.
3. Know how to clear malfunctions.
4. Being skilled with a handgun can give you a sense of confidence out to 10 yards or better.
In Canada, of course, that last one is not acceptable, since we have no CCW. - But it's still true.
Note: That's a variation of why gangbangers like to carry a gun - that macho thing. But the gangbanger thing is a totally different state of mind from someone looking to protect their families.

Excerpts from The Lawdog.

As a semi-regular reader, I find the Lawdog to be alternately deadly serious (pun intended) and absolutely hilarious. Here's a small sample of gunnie stuff, excerpted:

Placing your pistol back in a holster with your finger on the trigger will cause you to walk with a limp.
Flash hiders don't, nor do silencers.

Pacifism is dangerous!

“The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who do not do anything about it.” – Albert Einstein.

Said many times, many ways. Always true. (I want a CCW!)

Frank Ugrits - my first Bass teacher.

I really must memorialize (?!) my very first bass teacher. Frank Ugrits - originally from somewhere in Germany. At least I think so - I never actually knew. He could play - moderately well - all the strings from violin to bass, but normally he played viola. I'm not sure why that particular choice, since violists are often relegated to relatively simplistic accompaniments. At least compared to violin. And if you don't believe it, just ask a violist to play the viola part to any Strauss waltz. (I guess he thought I had talent or something, because he bequeathed me his stamp collection from the 1920's. One day I will look at that collection again.)
Anyhoo, along with taking lessons on bass every week, I actually played a few Saturday evening dances with Frank at the local German club. There, he always played violin. And anything went! Polkas, waltzes, anything the dancers asked for. No request was too small. (Of course this was for a basically German-immigrant crowd, so rock was not even considered.)
The interesting part of the job for me was learning from Frank. When he knew the tune (and he knew a lot!) he would play melody, and then play accompaniment while others played. Sometimes he would let someone else play the lead in a tune while he played accompaniment, all the way through. (And naturally I knew exactly none of those tunes. Talk about exercising your ears!) Needless to say, I got thoroughly lost most of the time. But I just thumped along in time; I guess that was enough.
But the really interesting part came when someone asked for a tune that Frank didn't know. Or when he couldn't think of anything in particular. Then - hoho - watch out. He would name a key, give a count-in, and we were away. He would make up everything. Melody, accompaniment, introduction, verse, chorus, trio to a waltz; always in proper form, with trios or bridges with correct modulations, and in properly related keys, etc. To me it was amazing. What's more, it always sounded exactly like Strauss!
I think I could do that now, after all these years, but I'm still not sure I could do it as well as Frank Ugrits.

Eye Pressure - Woot!

Went to the Opthalm...... You know - the eye doctor - yesterday.
HOHOHOHO - eye pressure was 12! Last month was 19, because we were trying an experiment to see if the one medication was superfluous. Nope. Need it. BUT.
Yesterday with the combined meds, the pressure was 12. So I said: "Does that mean I don't need to buy a dog?" And the doc's reply was:
"No. Not now. NOT EVER."
With pressures that low, the probability of me ever going blind is almost zero. After 20 years - no retinal damage at all. So thanks to Dr. Newel Smith and his early diagnosis, I only need a dog as a pet, not as a necessity. That's a lot of pressure off my mind.

Frankie Laine

Frankie Laine just died (last week). A real Old Pro. I thought he would go on performing forever - he just seemed like one of those indestructible people. OTOH, he's been away from public prominence for some years. Too bad. A unique style. He often considered himself somewhat special because he was a "male" singer" - strong voice, strong rhythms, and a masculine approach, rather than a crooner. Not that he had any disdain for crooners, he just realized that was not his style. He WAS his singing style.
(Big show-biz secret there - find out what you are, and DO THAT.)
Story:
Lots of years ago, at the long-lamented Elmwood Casino, we were rehearsing Frankie's show (Mule Train, Lucky Old Sun, and the one he co-wrote, We'll Be Together Again, others I don't remember) and the trumpet section was having a bit of a problem with a passage. Not a disaster, but not close either. His MD/piano player stopped several times, wanting to get it right. Not Frankie.
"Never mind, It's OK, they'll get it right tonight. We don't want the guys to blow out their lips on rehearsal. Let's keep going."
It was note-perfect the very first show that night. And perfect every time thereafter.
That was Frankie. Not only a nice guy, but good sense combined with experience.
That's why I use the term "Old Pro" with affection.

So I'm Dante, eh!

So I'm most like Dante Alighieri!
"According to you most of humanity will spend at least some of their afterlife in hell. You have a high likelihood of being exiled, but anyone as romantic as you deserves what they get. You have an exceptional moral code, overshadowed by the fact that you yourself cannot uphold it.
Your existence bears a definite irony, although of fairly Christian morality, many pagans, satanists, communists, and intellectuals admire you and your works for all the wrong reasons. Also, the brighest star in your sky is never going to be your lover...
It takes a lot of grief to be the cartographer of hell." (Thanks to Geek Gab for this one I guess...)

Well, I've been called both a Medieval Man and a Renaissance Man, so it is only fitting that I resemble a man on the corner of both worlds, so to speak!

Po-Po is gone.

Well, Po-Po, the matriarch of the family, is gone. Yesterday.
She was 95 years old. Born in the year of the revolution of Sun Yat Sen. Lived through the years of the war-lords, lived through the Japanese invasion in World War II, lived through the Communist Revolution ending in 1949. Came to North America. Lost her husband, who had been resident in Canada for decades, 40 years ago.
She lived in interesting times.

A Safety Nazi and an AD!

A fellow bullseye-shooter posted this and I thought it worth sharing. You can NEVER be too safe!

Gun cleaning night at my house. I have a parts cleaner and air compressor in the garage that make deep cleaning easier.
I did a Mk I Ruger first. It had only a few rounds through it. Magazine out, open the action, chamber empty, overall not to dirty, a bore snake and little cleaning with acid brush. Wipe and Blow it dry lube bolt.
Now GF's Mk II Ruger. At the league shoot it was giving her a fit with malfunctions due to dirt and crud build up. I knew it was going to take a complete disassembly. I also remember how fun it is to get the mainspring out of that particular Ruger Mk II. Mag out, open action, I must not have checked the chamber, drop the action and Pull the trigger to relieve mainspring.

BANG - SH*T

Obviously there was a round in the chamber that the dirty extractor left there. By hitting it again it went off. Shot through the lid of the pistol box near missing an old chain saw and exiting through garage wall. Finally landing in deck behind garage.
Oops, Good news, muzzle direction meant I did not destroy anything more valuable than my undershorts. Still very scary. I guess even a safety nazi can unintentionally ventilate the garage.

CVN - The Tim Horton

The deck of carrier during flight ops is no doubt the most dangerous place on the planet. Or at least the most dangerous 3 acres or so (used to be less).
But Tim Horton's donut shops are running a close second: last week I was in one where there were 8 staff working behind the counter, in a space of not more than 30 square feet (that's about 4 square feet per person - I don't want to know 7 other people that well). Of course, there were no spinning sharp thingys or whirling sucky things that can chop you to Timbits; but hot coffee and donuts are dangerous too.