Apparently so, but many of the posts from Thursday seem to be gone forever.


I gather that the crack engineers at Google haven’t figured out how to fix their Blogger feature, as it is approaching a day off-line.  That’s like something being broken for a week in the real world.  Maybe longer.

I need to find a sling for this rifle.

The local gun shop had hunting-type slings, but only a military-type leather sling will look right on it.  It shoots OK, I took it to the range last weekend.

Google’s blogging service, Blogspot, has been broken now for five hours.  You can read blogs, all right, but you cannot comment on them.  Nor can you post new entries.

That might give you something to think about if you’re considering buying Google’s new Chrome netbook.

I did make the trip to the rifle range a few times.  I bought a Savage Mk II as the nearest range is an indoor one and it is rimfire only.  They frown on prone shooting, but they seem OK with the kneeling position, which is better than nothing.

I made it to the regular rifle ranges a few times.  I still don’t have a place to shoot from most of the field positions.

Lost my job, as well.  I still have a place to life, food on the table and my health is good, so that is 3 out of 4.

I am getting tired, though.  In one of his “Easy Rawlins” books, Walter Mosley said that life can be like a boxing match– the thing is that a punch that would barely faze you in the first couple rounds can put you flat on the canvas in the later rounds.  I am finding that to be true.

I know, it is a bummer.

So it seems.   I really need to get to the rifle range.  The problem I have is that either range is at least an hour’s drive.  Sometimes there is a significant wait for a shooting position to open up.  And the ranges I can use only allow shooting from a bench rest.  That is fine for sighting in, but as for serious practice from various shooting positions, it is worthless.  I can’t shoot prone, kneeling “rice-paddy prone” or sitting from those ranges.

Years ago, my family owned rural property that packed up to a large hill/small mountain.  My brothers and I set up an informal range that had distances marked out to 300 meters.  We got to be right handy with our rifles.

How I miss it, now.

I’ve been pretty neglectful of this blog.  I haven’t been to the rifle range in months, for that matter.

Now if I can only figure out how to attach a евёна image…

I think this might have gotten munged over at my home blog, so with no further ado:

The big advantage of living in a solidly blue state is that my telephone is not ringing off the hook with robocalls or pollsters or live campaign calls. McCain would never have the cash to try and put my state into play and anyway, the Wingnut fucktards who normally would be funding the 527 groups have seen their investment/trust fund balances crater within the last month, so they aren’t ponying up the cash.

I’ve got friends in a “battleground” state, who are registered Democrats. They’ve received personal invitations to McCain rallies. One asked the last caller if he was smoking crack.

I make heavy use of caller ID, anyway. I also list my phone under the first name of one of my cats. When a call comes in for the cat, I know it’s a bloody telephone solicitor.

So the other day, a call came in and I was by a phone that doesn’t have a caller ID display (have to fix that). I picked it up and I could hear the “boiler room” sounds of a phone bank. (Shit, shit, shit.) The guy asked for my cat.

I said “hold on,” put the phone down and went into the kitchen. Three minutes later, I picked it up and said “I can’t find him.”

“Can I talk to Mrs. (cat’s last name)?”

“Hold on.” Three minutes later: “She wants to know who’s calling.”

“I’m (first name) from the State Police Benevolent Association.” I’ve heard of those guys; there has been no shortage of newspaper stories about how they turn over 3% or 5% of their fundraising to the charities and take the rest as expenses.

“Hold on.” Three minutes later: “She said she can’t talk to you right now, call back later.” I hung up on the guy.

After doing a bunch of research, I sent the stock to a guy who specializes in the repair of old rifle stocks.  He’s going to refinish it as well, in a reddish shellac that should look something like the way it came from the Soviet armory in the 1940s.

I’ve managed to sight in my Mosin rifle, complete with a PU scope, but now I see that the stock is cracked.

Going to be fun trying to find a new military stock for this thing, ya sure, you betcha!