I was listening to NPR this morning.  Some guy had recently written a book about all his phobias.

He is both agoraphobic and claustrophobic.  He's afraid of both open and closed spaces.

He is also afraid of both crowds and being alone.

It's okay if you laugh.  I know I did.

But one remark caught my ear.  He was talking about the benefits of fear, and I heard him say, "We all know that evolution is a miracle..."

That, I thought to myself, is certainly a curious turn of phrase.

February 28:

Santa Anna receives the news that Fannin is coming from Goliad with approximately 200 men.  By this time, Fannin has already decided to remain in Goliad.

A messenger arrives at Goliad with the news that Mexican forces under General Urrea have defeated Colonel Frank Johnson's forces at San Patricio, about 50 miles south of Goliad.  Most of the Texans there were killed, although Johnson and a few others escaped.

February 29:

A break in the weather as the norther ends.  Santa Anna decides he should deal with Fannin's forces before dealing with the Alamo.

The cold weather continues unabated.  Fannin calls a council with his officers.  They realize that they probably don't have enough food to keep their force fed during the march to San Antonio.  Also, if they did leave Goliad, it would leave the left flank of Texas exposed to attack from the Mexican Army.  They decide to return to Fort Defiance in Goliad.

Launcelot Smith reaches San Felipe with Travis' "Victory or Death" letter of February 24.

Travis sends James Bonham to Goliad with another plea to Fannin.

Santa Anna sends a messenger to Mexico City with the information that he has "taken San Antonio," but neglects to mention anything about the armed resistance still inside the Alamo.

The weather turns cold and nasty as a norther begins to blow through south Texas.  James Fannin departs Goliad for San Antonio, bringing reinforcements of 320 men as well as additional artillery.  Troubles begin very soon, with wagons breaking down and extra oxen being required to haul the artillery across the San Antonio River just outside of Goliad.  By late in the day everything has finally been brought across the river and they make camp.

If things work as they should, this blog will go offline sometime tomorrow morning, and return Thursday morning.

It's 4:20 PM here and there have already been over 500 hits.  Not quite as bad as yesterday, but still.

Oh well, I could use a few days off, anyway.  Maybe by Thursday some of the furor will have died down.

Another Trinity Blood post.

Check these pictures out.  These are from the manga, not the anime.




Notice anything?  I didn't do any trigger finger photoshops on any of these--my gimp-fu is not that great, anyway.  It makes me think someone involved in this knows something about guns.  So far, all the pix I've seen of Abel with his gun "at rest" shows him with his finger off the trigger.  I know the second pic is kind of iffy, but in the bigger-res version it's easy to see that it's not inside the trigger guard.  The only time he is portrayed with a finger on the trigger, he is actually in the act of shooting (or at least aiming).

Anyone have any idea as to what exactly that gun is?  It looks to me like a Colt cap-and-ball, but maybe it's supposed to be a conversion to cartridge.  Considering how far into the future this story takes place, it's odd that anyone would be using a cap-and-ball conversion.  Maybe that's just a gun that he picked up when he was...much younger...and he's just been keeping it all this time.  So far I haven't found any pix showing him doing any reloading.  Whatever that thing is under the barrel, it doesn't look anything like a loading plunger, to me.

Anyhow, I thought that him having his finger off the trigger in all these pictures was kind of cool.

Also, he's left-handed, I think.  I'm not sure exactly what he's supposed to be doing in that second picture.

Via War On Guns is this petition to "forgive" Jim Zumbo.  Most of the "signatures" so far are facetious and sarcastic, but a couple are for real.  One signer left this comment:

I thought we lived in a country where folks could express their opinion without fear of attack or reprisal.

Proving that too many not only don't get the Second Amendment, but they also do not get the First.

The First Amendment protects your right to express yourself.  It also protects the right of those who disagree with you to voice their disagreement.  It's not a one-way street.  You express yourself freely, you have to be prepared for vociferous disagreement when you say something a lot of other people believe is wrong and/or offensive.

I really wish I could stop posting on this topic, but the idiots out there just won't let me.

Yesterday when I said the traffic was almost as high as last Tuesday, I was wrong.  It was higher.


I don't know exactly why there was a new explosion of traffic.  Most of it came from search hits.  I guess everyone is playing weekend catch-up.  It's certainly been a record-setting week here.

A small group of Alamo defenders sneak out and burn La Villita--"the little village"--a collection of huts across the river from San Antonio and near the Alamo, which the Mexican soldiers had been using as cover.

I figured out the problem, but I still don't know why it happened.  I had edited the base template so that when certain sites pick up my rss feed, it will show the name only as "Blogonomicon" instead of "Blogonomicon:  Main Page."  For some reason, this made the link button not work.

So if anyone sees the name of this blog turn up somewhere with that "Main Page" attached, that's why.  It doesn't look right, but I guess there's nothing I can do about it.

But I've had to go into comment moderation mode.  I'll change it back, I hope, once this hoopla dies down more.  Today the traffic is almost as bad as last Tuesday.

Comments are permanently closed on the original post.  The Zumbotees are coming out of the woodworks, proving that too many members of the hunting community refuse to get it even when slapped in the face with it.

For those of you who think black rifles should be banned so you can continue to hunt:  I wash my hands of you.  You are nothing but Quislings who are willing to sacrifice an essential freedom just so you can extend your willful stupidity a little longer.

Ignorance is one thing, it merely shows a lack of knowledge or perhaps wisdom.  But when such knowledge is supplied in force, those who refuse to accept it are no longer ignorant.  They are stupid.

P.S.  Folks, this blog has no connection to Zumbo whatsoever.  If you want to tell him something, contact Outdoor Life or leave a note at that T*d N*gent forum, because complaining about it here just isn't going to work.  This blog isn't even a blip on his radar. You're just wasting your own energy and blowing my bandwidth for no good reason.  So screw off.

Well, here's one I've never mentioned before.

I have a 25-gallon "tall" tank that I was intentionally not restocking for a long time because I wanted a chance to rejuvenate it.  Finally, a few days ago, my last ancient pl*co kicked the bucket.

So today I worked it over.  Drained almost all the water, then dumped more water back in to stir up the substrate and suction a bunch of the embedded crud out.  Installed a new power head, rearranged the cover and the plastic plants, refilled it with almost entirely fresh water.  There should still be enough gunk in the gravel to keep the good bacteria alive for a while.  I also give it a double-whammy by running a biowheel and an undergravel filter at the same time.  The water coming out of the tap was kind of cold today, but it's back up to the safe zone right now.

I think I'm going to put some of these in it:


I had some ghost shrimp before I did the truck driving thing, but while I was gone my wife didn't take so good care of the tank and they all died.  These are fascinating little suckers to watch, much more interesting than your average guppy.  They are very acrobatic when it comes to snagging bits of food, and if one of your guppies happens to keel over, don't bother scooping it out.  Ghost shrimp are the ravenous little buzzards of the fish tank.

I'll see if I can get these guys established and then go from there.

I'd like to set up a 50-gallon tank, but I don't quite have the room.  I see a lot of abandoned tanks like that while I'm working, and I'm often tempted to offer to buy one.  Right now the only place it could go is where the 25-gallon tank is, so I'd have to completely break it down and move it out of the house before I could bring in a different tank.

New Zealand

New Zealand fishermen may have caught the largest Colossal squid ever found -- weighing around 450kg (992 pounds) and with rings the size of tires.

The adult Colossal squid (Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni) was caught by fishermen long lining for toothfish in deep ocean off Antarctica, New Zealand Fisheries Minister Jim Anderton said on Thursday in announcing the catch.

[...]

Colossal squid are one of the most mysterious creatures in the deep ocean, growing up to 12 to 14 meters (36 to 42 feet) in length. Anderton said the squid would be photographed, measured, tissue sampled, registered and preserved intact.

"On-going examination of this giant will help to unlock some of the mysteries of the deep ocean. Even basic questions such as such as how large does this species grow to, and how long does it live for are not yet known," he said.

Local media said early estimates put the squid at 10 meters (30 feet) in length and weighing 450 kg (992 pounds) -- 150 kg (330 pounds) heavier than the next biggest specimen found.

[...]

O'Shea said if calamari were made from the Colossal squid's rings it would be the size of tractor tires.

The Colossal is even bigger than the famous "giant squid," and this article says they are not related.

Huh.  I figured all squid were related, being squids.

No guns in this one, I just like the colors.

I got tired of the blogging stuff today so I went snooping for some cool anime pix.  This guy is from Trinity Blood.  I think he's the one who is an android.  He was built to do exactly what he's doing here, and not much else.

Here's another nice one from TB, although not as "tactical."

Although Shooting The Messenger is the most recent place I've read about it, this is already all over the gunblogger world.

The Washington Post says that the NRA, America's most powerful gun lobby, cost Zumbo his job, his sponsorships, et al.

Wrong.  Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.  The NRA was actually the last one to jump on the bandwagon, and for a few days remained conspicuously silent on the matter.

As anyone else will most likely tell you, this was grassroots activism, pure and simple, moving at the speed of electrons.  The NRA didn't have squat to do with it.

And though the WaPo claims he was famous, I don't know how many other gunbloggers besides myself prefaced their comments with something akin to "who is this guy, anyway?"

But what else can we expect from the Washington Post.  Everything they print are either lies, mistakes, or both.

Somebody should put together a timeline.

I skipped an update last week because there were no additions.  However, this week 2 new sites joined, bringing the total to 32.

The War On Guns once against generated the most average daily hits to the ring, with WOG and End the War On Freedom at a tie for the sites receiving the most average daily hits from the ring.

For the first time I actually had to delete a comment.  Some anonymous passerby condemned me as a "fake" because I never used an EBR to shoot at things that "shot back."  Apparently since the only living things I've ever shot were "defenseless herbivores," and I wasn't using an M-16, I'm not a real gun owner.

I think that kind of proves my point.

Edward Fox is from a family of actors and theatre people.  His big breakthrough film was Day of the Jackal in 1973.  Other movies he has starred in are A Bridge Too Far, Force 10 From Navarone, and Ghandi.

He was made an Officer of the British Empire in 2003.

I was sure I'd be safe this month, since February is so short.  But the huge increase in traffic since last Sunday wiped me out.  This blog will be offline for a few days, and be back on March 1.

James Bowie, having been in joint command of the Alamo defenders with Travis, now becomes so ill (with tuberculosis) that he turns sole command over to Travis.

Travis sends out another letter, addressed "To the People of Texas and All Americans in the World":

Fellow Citizens and Compatriots:

I am besieged with a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a considerable Bombardment and cannonade for 24 hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison is to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the wall. I shall never surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, and everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets which is due his honor and that of his country.

VICTORY OR DEATH.

William Barret Travis, Lt. Col. commanding the Alamo

I hope it is, anyway.

The thing about this whole Zumbo deal that bothers me the most is the outright hostility between hunters and non-hunting gun owners.  As with many other situations in my life, I find myself standing outside, looking in with amazement and sorrow at a conflict that should have never existed in the first place.

I grew up a hunter.  My dad taught me to shoot--not because he thought I might have to someday use extreme measures against a tyrannical government, but simply for two practical reasons:  to put meat on the table, and to protect livestock from predators.  The fact that one could enjoy, even have fun, hunting was secondary to the primary purpose of acquiring food that didn't have to be paid for.  We had a lot of land that we could hunt on for free.  Many people these days would like to hunt, but can't afford several hundred to a couple thousand dollars for a weekend deer lease that doesn't even guarantee they'll be going home with any venison.  I was lucky.

But somehow, as I grew older and learned about such things, I knew the Second Amendment wasn't about hunting.  I don't know how I knew.  I don't remember my dad or any other member of my family explicitly pronouncing an opinion on it.  It wasn't until as an adult when I got into an argument with another relative on this matter, and suddenly (somewhat to my surprise), I discovered my dad backing me up, quite vehemently.

So he knows, too.  And somehow, without ever saying anything explicit, he must have taught me that the Second Amendment is not about hunting.

So I am often offended by the hostile attitude and derisive comments by some non-hunters toward hunters.  I am also offended and worried by the complacent condension displayed by some hunters to non-hunters.

For example, one widely-read blogger recently used the term "bambi-zapper" in reference to a hunting rifle.  Now where do you usually hear references to "shooting bambi?"  I'll tell you where:  gun-grabbers and animal right extremists.  A gun owner and supporter of the Second Amendment has absolutely no business ever using this term.  Unless he or she also happens to be an animal rights extremist.  Then I guess it would be okay.

A "hunter" commenter on another blog considers anyone who uses a semi-auto rifle to hunt as a spray-n-prayer, someone who will obviously blast away and destroy all the usable meat of an animal.  This is the other extreme, and is just as stupid.

I might as well take this opportunity to voice another hare-brained opinion:  "hunters" such as Zumbo aren't really hunters.  They're just another version of celebrity, living a cushy life and not being anywhere near humble enough about their extreme good fortune in life.  I'll take someone who wears old fatigues picked up at the Army surplus store because he can't afford fancy camo, someone who makes every shot count because he can't afford to fire hundreds of rounds of ammo in practice every year, someone who freezes his butt off in a tree stand because he knows his family is so strapped for cash that they can't afford to just drive to the supermarket and load up on steak and pork chops.  I'll take a hunter like that over one of Zumbo's ilk any day.

Certain of the "hunting" crowd need to educate themselves about the real meaning of the Second Amendment.  They also need to shed themselves of the anti-gun brainwashing that makes them think anyone with a semi-auto gun is going to just blast the hell out of anything that moves until they run out of ammo.

Certain of the "non-hunting" crowd need to realize that for many, many decades, the biggest--perhaps the only--thriving gun culture in this country was the hunting culture, and it isn't going to vanish overnight.  They also need to realize that every time they call a hunter a "Fudd" they're doing the anti-gunners a favor by increasing dissension where there should be no dissension at all.

The anti-gunners aren't completely stupid.  They will happily use quotes by non-hunters to show that some gun owners think we should get rid of "long-range telescopically sighted high-powered sniper rifles," while simultaneously quoting hunters who think we should get rid of "assault" or "terrorist weapons."  And all the while we are at each other's throats, they will be laughing and high-fiving behind our backs.

Zumbo got what he deserved, in my opinion.  Have no doubt about that.  But it seems to me that some people have used this incident as an excuse to increase their overt hostility toward everyone on the "other side" of whichever side they're on.  This kind of behavior is only going to hurt all of us in the long run.

General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna arrives in San Antonio commanding some 5,000 soldiers.

William Barrett Travis sends a messenger to the town of Gonzales with a plea for help:  "To any of the inhabitants of Texas. The enemy in large force is in sight. We want men and provisions. Send them to us. We have 150 men and are determined to defend the Alamo to the last. Give us assistance."

Another messenger is sent to James Fannin in Goliad with the message:  "We have removed all our men into the Alamo, where we will make such resistance as is due to our honour, and that of the country, until we can get assistance from you, which we expect you to forward immediately. In this extremity, we hope you will send us all the men you can spare promptly. We have one hundred and forty-six men, who are determined never to retreat. We have but little provisions, but enough to serve us till you and your men arrive. We deem it unnecessary to repeat to a brave officer, who knows his duty, that we call on him for assistance."

Santa Anna flies the red flag of "no quarter" from the San Fernando cathedral, where it can be easily seen by those inside the Alamo.  Travis fires the defenders' 18-pound cannon as an answer.

Mattexian asked about the header graphic.

What is quite odd is that when I first went looking for this online, I had a hard time finding a decent version that I could work with.  I actually had to enlarge it to use for the header, which is why it looks a little blurry.  I couldn't find a big, high-res version.  But I Googled it again just now and immediately found a very nice high-res version here courtesy of the Texas State Library.

The name of it is "Dawn at the Alamo," and it was painted in 1905 by Henry McArdle.  He created several portrayals of notable events in Texas history.

I think I'll have to re-do the header now that I have a better graphic to start with.

The current header is on honor of this time of the year, which was a critical time in Texas history.

Received by email from Hammer.

Or so it seems, because Oliver somehow managed to run over himself with the car:

Witnesses told police the man was fixing his car after it broke down. Suddenly, the vehicle went in reverse and made several doughnuts and ran over him.

"The first time it missed him," said Mando Carrasco, who witnessed the incident. "The second time, it clipped him ... and his legs twisted. The third time it just bumped him off."

Thanks to Shooting the Messenger.

Oliver was not seriously injured.

Statcounter recorded 990 total hits yesterday.

Eponym recorded 637 hits to the you-know-what post alone.

Eponym also recoded 432.2 megs of bandwidth.

Records, all.

FAA WITHDRAWS COLLECTIVE RIGHTS INTEPRETATION OF SECOND AMENDMENT:

In final rule FR Doc. No FAA-2005-23449, published on December 15,2006 (71 FR 75616), make the following correction: On page 75626, in the third column, fourth full paragraph, lines 16 through 20, correct, ``Additionally, nearly all courts have also held that the Second Amendment is a collective right, rather than a personal
right. Therefore, despite the Second Amendment collective right to bear arms, the FAA has'' to read ``By analogy, and for the reasons given when the FAA issued its human space flight requirements, the FAA has, consistent with the right to bear arms secured by the Second Amendment.''

From Jim Shepherd of Shooting Wire:

AR-style rifle enthusiasts have forced the entire shooting industry to acknowledge a blinding glimpse of the obvious: there are many, many more "recreational shooters" out there than there are hard-core hunting types.

For many in our industry, this was a frightening epiphany. They've continued to market their products to the hunting community while blithely ignoring the growth segments of the industry.

They are decidedly not ignoring us anymore.

Click on it today to read the whole thing, because they don't archive the articles (as far as I know).

Technorati Tags: jim zumbo, rkba, second amendment

How about instead of using the name of a poor, innocent fictional cartoon character (Elmer Fudd) to refer to gun owners who have supped on the "sporting use" kool-aid, from now on we just call them "Zumbos" instead of "Fudds."

I think now that we have a real-world person to provide us with this epitome, we leave Elmer Fudd alone.

I know everyone is all cranked up over the incident.  I've had all kinds of Google hits for just about every iteration of Jim Zumbo I can think of, and then some.

However, I must take time to mention that my newest experiment of adding a tiny pinch of Perique to Yale Mixture is really, really good.  I just need to put some up and let it meld for a month or so.

The sample I tried today was mixed 15:1.

Outdoor Life suspends Zumbo's column, "for the time being."

Info at War On Guns.

Visit the WOG link in case you came in late and want the links to the cached versions, because Zumbo's blog at OL has been removed.

I guess you could say Outdoor Life has taken a Zumboni to it.

(Oh man, that's a good one.  Har har har!)

From BBC NEWS:

The UN draft treaty would establish who should be in charge in the event of an asteroid heading towards Earth, who would pay for relief efforts and the policies that should be adopted.

In addition, it would set out possible plans to deflect the object.

Ideas could include hitting the asteroid with a spacecraft or rocket to deflect its orbit.

Other less destructive proposals include a "gravity tug" that would simply hover over the asteroid and use gravity as a "towline" to change its path.

But any decision to deflect an NEO could come with its own set of conundrums for the UN, as changing its path may simply alter its final target.

"It's important to understand when you start to deflect an asteroid that certain countries are going to have accept an increase in risk to their populations in order to take the risk to zero for everyone," said Dr Schweickart.

It is difficult decisions like this which can only be addressed by the UN, the Association of Space Explorers believes.

1. I didn't realize we actually had tractor beams yet.

2.  So which country(ies) is going to be asked to accept the risk?  With the UN in charge, I know what my guess would be.

3.  "Only be addressed by the UN."  Right.

4.  The likelihood of this actually happening is very small.  However, just one more mark on the chalkboard to keep tally of the utter arrogance of the United Nations.

UPDATE:  The Nose On Your Face comments.

At Free Constitution.

Technorati Tags: second amendment, rkba

UPDATE:  Okay, the party's over, folks.  I don't know where all you freaks are coming from but it's getting annoying that you keep leaving comments here apparently addressed to Zumbo.  This blog has no connection with him whatsoever.  Comments are also being made that show the intellectual acumen of a second grader.  Comments are closed on this post.

I don't read Outdoor Life, so I've never heard of this guy, but he apparently is a regular writer for that magazine and is considered some kind of hunting guru.

He reveals himself to be a total elitist who has not only drunk the "sporting use" kool-aid, but seemingly mixed it and dispensed it.

Sorry, folks, in my humble opinion, these things have no place in hunting. We don't need to be lumped into the group of people who terrorize the world with them, which is an obvious concern. I've always been comfortable with the statement that hunters don't use assault rifles. We've always been proud of our "sporting firearms."

This really has me concerned. As hunters, we don't need the image of walking around the woods carrying one of these weapons. To most of the public, an assault rifle is a terrifying thing. Let's divorce ourselves from them. I say game departments should ban them from the praries and woods.

It's good to see that the vast majority of commenters have reamed him a new one.  If I had been a reader of that magazine, I would be no more.

What concerns me is that the ranks of "those who should know better" have been infiltrated by such an elite Brady shill like Zumbo.  Disgusting.

He also misspelled "prairies."

Via Xavier.

UPDATE:  Blogswarm.

UPDATE 2:  Thought I might mention that the cable channel affiliated with Outdoor Life magazine is NOT the Outdoor Channel (which carries Shooting Gallery, Shooting USA and Guns & Ammo Television).  The channel to contact and/or boycott is Versus, which was previously known as Outdoor Life Network.  And which I apparently never watch anyway, since they don't carry any of the shows I mentioned. Not entirely accurate.  He did have a show on the Outdoor Channel, so theoretically either/both channels could have been targets for boycotts.  It's all pretty much moot now, since the show has been dropped.

UPDATE 3:  Zumbo apologizes.  Many commenters over there aren't buying it.  I am prone to give him the benefit of the doubt due to my generous nature, however, he spent his entire life building up to his belief that EBRs are bad and should be banned.  It's hard to believe he completely changed his mind overnight.  Still, all those comments on the original post did add up to one big two-by-four.

UPDATE 4:  His last line is "I'm sorry for inserting my foot in my mouth."  Not "I realize now that I was wrong and that what I said may have caused enormous damage to the RKBA movement."  But "I'm sorry I said something that everyone else thrashed me for."  Hmph.

UPDATE 5:  The War On Guns receives confirmation that Remington has terminated its association with Zumbo.  One step closer to driving the golf cart at Walmart.

Technorati Tags: rkba, second amendment, jim zumbo

I haven't posted any Saturday night poetry in a while, but I'm in the mood to do so tonight.  Technically I guess this isn't a poem because it's actually lyrics to a song, but it'll do.

I like to sing this softly to myself sometimes just to disturb people.

---

When I come down from Liverpool, the day was dull and bleak;
I met an old seafarin' man, his name was Jack McTeague.
He told to me a story about a robber mean,
Who lived in a cave on the Scottish coast, and his name was Sawney Beane.

'Twas in the reign of Jolly James, in 1424,
His incestuously inbred family patrolled the Galloway shore.
They robbed the innocent travelers, but worse than that they did,
For they feasted on roasted, murdered men, and then their bones they hid.

So good King James, he heard of this, and he sent 400 men.
On hooks in the cave they found human flesh, and they took the family in.
The women they burned in the public square, but not before they'd seen
The men bleeding to death with no hands and feet, with their leader Sawney Beane.

---

Here's the Wikipedia entry on Sawney Beane.

From Cryptomundo:

Ross “Rocco” Clevenger (pictured above), 21, of Marsing, Idaho, was a U.S. Army Reserve sergeant, who died with two other Idaho buddies when a roadside bomb hit their armored vehicle in Iraq.

Clevenger was a big fan of crypto-critters as well as dinosaurs.  He gave a speech in 10th grade supporting the existence of Bigfoot.

I don't know what I'm getting at, except that war touches everyone, eventually, one way or the other.

There are a few blogs I read that, when the page is loading, I often notice that something is being loaded from www.stopthenra.com.  I finally got around to viewing the page source for one of these blogs and figured out what's up.

These are the same blogs that have that "NRA Blacklist" widget thingy in the sidebar.  You know, the one that shows a slide show of celebrities that are allegedly on the "NRA Blacklist."  Only thing is, whoever originally slapped this widget together didn't actually use an slide show of celebrities on some "NRA Blacklist."  They used a slide show of celebrities who have joined or endorsed stopthenra.com, which is openly affiliated with the Brady bunch.  The slide show was actually produced by, and is still hosted at stopthenra.com, and is actually meant to show others of their ilk which celebrities they should support.

So their own information is turned against them.  Heh.

Maybe everyone else already knew this, but I didn't.

By now word of this renewed atrocity is all over the gunblogger nichosphere, although it appears almost no one outside our little circle of discontent knows or even cares about it.

There's nothing new to read here. I will just mention that it can be tracked via GovTrack.us at H.R. 1022.  You can subscribe to GovTrack's newsfeed on this bill, too.

So far, no cosponsors, and the full text (any text other than the title, for that matter) has not been published.

I just love that "and for other purposes."  I guess that's their euphemism for "infringing on a fundamental right which we should be protecting if we actually believed in the Constitution, but you know how that is."

Technorati Tags: h.r. 1022, second amendment, rkba

Finding a good portrayal of the legendary Huck Finn wasn't easy.  This one looks a little too much like Alfred E. Newman, but it's the best I could find.


The lads came gayly back and went at their sports again with a will, chattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the genius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would like to try, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices had never smoked anything before but cigars made of grape-vine, and they "bit" the tongue, and were not considered manly anyway.

Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff, charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:

"Why, it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt long ago."

"So would I," said Joe. "It's just nothing."

"Why, many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I wish I could do that; but I never thought I could," said Tom.

"That's just the way with me, hain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk just that way -- haven't you, Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't."

"Yes -- heaps of times," said Huck.

"Well, I have too," said Tom; "oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the slaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you remember, Huck, 'bout me saying that?"

"Yes, that's so," said Huck. "That was the day after I lost a white alley. No, 'twas the day before."

"There -- I told you so," said Tom. "Huck recollects it."

"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day," said Joe. "I don't feel sick."

"Neither do I," said Tom. "I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn't."

"Jeff Thatcher! Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him try it once. He'd see!"

"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller -- I wish I could see Johnny Miller tackle it once."

"Oh, don't I!" said Joe. "Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch him."

"'Deed it would, Joe. Say -- I wish the boys could see us now."

"So do I."

"Say -- boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're around, I'll come up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.' And you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything, you'll say, 'Yes, I got my old pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't very good.' And I'll say, 'Oh, that's all right, if it's strong enough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up just as ca'm, and then just see 'em look!"

"By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was now!"

"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating, won't they wish they'd been along?"

"Oh, I reckon not! I'll just bet they will!"

So the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvellously increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable, now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed. Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with might and main. Joe said feebly:

"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it."

Tom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:

"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the spring. No, you needn't come, Huck -- we can find it."

So Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.

They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well -- something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.

About midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys huddled themselves together and sought the friendly companionship of the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger. Then another. Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered with the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There was a pause. Now a weird flash turned night into day and showed every little grass-blade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And it showed three white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the tree-tops right over the boys' heads. They clung together in terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few big rain-drops fell pattering upon the leaves.

"Quick! boys, go for the tent!" exclaimed Tom.

They sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming thunder-blasts drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one they straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the river-bank. Now the battle was at its highest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies, everything below stood out in clean-cut and shadowless distinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving spray of spume-flakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloud-rack and the slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging thunder-peals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the tree-tops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.

But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found there was still something to be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.

Everything in camp was drenched, the camp-fire as well; for they were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no provision against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and chilled. They were eloquent in their distress; but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had been built against (where it curved upward and separated itself from the ground), that a handbreadth or so of it had escaped wetting; so they patiently wrought until, with shreds and bark gathered from the under sides of sheltered logs, they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they piled on great dead boughs till they had a roaring furnace, and were glad-hearted once more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on, anywhere around.

As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over them, and they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them interested in a new device. This was to knock off being pirates, for a while, and be Indians for a change. They were attracted by this idea; so it was not long before they were stripped, and striped from head to heel with black mud, like so many zebras -- all of them chiefs, of course -- and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an English settlement.

By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and scalped each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an extremely satisfactory one.

They assembled in camp toward supper-time, hungry and happy; but now a difficulty arose -- hostile Indians could not break the bread of hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.


And behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high promise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening. They were prouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will leave them to smoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use for them at present.

For the last nail in my geek coffin I will confess that I have an extensive, though regrettably not 100% complete, Doctor Who videotape collection.  Our local PBS station showed the entire series through twice and then some in the 1980s, and by great diligence sometimes treading the boundaries of obsession, I taped almost every episode.  They began with the very first episode and broadcast everything that had been made up to that point in time.

Of course, there are gaps.  Like the great loss of most of the Second Doctor's series because someone at the BBC destroyed most of them to make room in storage.  And I missed an episode here and there, but not many.

At bit of trivia.  The first episode aired on November 22, 1963.  But of course, the world was focused on something much less trivial than a new science-fiction series that day.  They re-ran that episode one week later instead of going on to the second episode.

When they began showing the newest Who on BBCAmerica, I tried it and at first didn't like it, for some reason.  I think I was just being irrationally nostalgic for the old format.  Several weeks ago I started giving it another go, and now I really enjoy it.  There have been moments of poignancy and sorrow that the old series never touched.  The episode where Rose prevents her father's death, only for him to willingly sacrifice himself to save her (and all the rest of humanity) was especially touching.  One line that notably sticks in my mind from that story was, "I'm your father, Rose.  It's my job for it to be my fault."

I never went out of my way to read all the novels, considering them somewhat non-canonical.  But I could see myself getting into them sometime, just for fun, since I believe I will still be a sci-fi geek when I'm a crochety old man.  And there have been several novels and stories that were Doctor Who/Cthulhu Mythos crossovers.

I guess my favorite Doctor is still #4, Tom Baker.  He was the first one I ever saw, and he played the Doctor longer than any other actor.  Following closely behind him would be his predecessor John Pertwee tied with Doctor #7 Sylvester McCoy.  Doctor #7 was when things finally began to be more "modern," and there were several things that were tied in with very early episodes that helped to explain a little of the mystery of the Doctor.

I suppose all Whovians like to speculate as to the actual identity of the Doctor.  I came to a conclusion about this a long time ago, myself.  It helps to have a good ability for the suspension of disbelief, coupled with a decent knowledge of the fantasy/sci-fi genre in general and the ability to "correlate the contents" of different bits of unrelated lore.

The Doctor is always seemingly turning up where he is needed most.  How does this happen?  He is being, if not controlled, at least heavily influenced by an outside source.  Many times in the series he mentions that the TARDIS is actually a living thing, with its own intelligence.  I think the TARDIS is this outside source.  He is always accompanied by a companion who turns out to be a vital helper in his battle against chaos.  In times of confusion between regenerations his companions have sometimes been more aware of his identity than he is.  He has had many faces and many identities.  He travels through time, space, and the many dimensions of the universe.  Has anyone guessed what I'm getting at yet?

In other times, other worlds, and other dimensions, he has also been known as Corum Jhalen Irsei, Erekosë, Dorian Hawkmoon, Jherek Carnelian, or Elric of Melniboné.  All were controlled by a more powerful outside source, all had their artifacts of power, and all were dedicated to the battle of order over chaos.  The Doctor is none other than the Eternal Champion.

It may be a stretch to compare Stormbringer with the sonic screwdriver, but it does make some sense, in a way. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to compare Stormbringer with the TARDIS itself.

For Gone Rick Motel caption contest.

UPDATE:  Second place!

Via this thread at packing.org.

I've been trying to change the blockquotes so they are more set off and distinct without being jarringly distracting.  I went for a very low-key dark-colored box and a different font (Times).

Does Times look okay, or would something like Courier work better?  I ask because Times always looks sort of squished together, to me.

I found this blog post about