Place a butcher tied beef tip roast in a crockpot.  Pour in a can of low-salt beef broth and half a cup of bourbon.  Douse well with Worcestershire and Soy Sauce.  Season well with Canadian Steak Seasoning, rosemary, and thyme.  Add a handful each of dried mushrooms, fresh cranberries and finely chopped sweet onion.    Top with a washed bag of baby carrots.

Place crock in cradle and set to low heat for 9 hours.

Serve over al-dente pasta of choice.  We used egg noodles, but penne or rotini would also have worked.

Yummy!

I just read that the Beatles catalog is now available on iTunes.

I will be unavailable for the rest of the day, and those of you in Louisville may notice a slowdown of your broadband connection this evening.

Sorry about that, but I learned Beatles lyrics at the same time my mother was teaching me English.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The McRib is back
Third rate barbecue sandwich
My reaction – meh

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Recently a rash of assaults against young women has hit Indiana University in Bloomington.  Apparently the goblin or goblins involved have smartened up a bit, since all of the reported assaults have occurred away from the well-lit, easily found emergency phones.

IU has responded by upping the number of police patrols and holding several self defense classes for students and faculty.  If I’m not wrong, and that has been known to happen, these self defense classes will boil down to

• Avoid poorly lit or empty areas of campus after dark
• Travel in groups
• Walk assertively
•  If attacked, yell “Stop!”, kick them in the balls, run away, and call police.

Remember, I’m not a woman, and didn’t attend university in the traditional manner, so I don’t know for a fact that this is what is going to be taught.  But when a civilian goblin decided to take advantage of our open post at Monterey and started attacking lone, unarmed female soldiers as they walked along the non-sanctioned Ho-Chi-Minh trail, our leadership held classes that had these as the main tenets of the course.  The attacks continued until Mr. Goblin decided to attack my then-girlfriend, a 5’1″ Marine Lance-Corporal who used Thai kick boxing as an additional workout because Marine PT wasn’t good enough.  After beating the snot out of the guy, she stood with her foot on his neck and yelled her head off at him until someone came along to save the poor bastard.  My guess is he would have continued his assaults for a much longer time if he hadn’t stumbled upon one of the physically toughest women I have ever met.

Suffice it to say that I have little faith in what these classes will accomplish in the IU situation.  These things are a good start, but the women who attend and work at IU deserve better.  Since IU is a victim disarmament zone, I’m guessing there will be little to no discussion of the tools that a woman can use to equalize the force equation with a male attacker, namely firearms.

If IU leadership truly cares about the women on their campus, they should drop their irrational fear of effective defensive weaponry, and hold defensive training that will actually teach these ladies the tools and methods that they can use to protect themselves.  But what will probably happen is that the attacks will continue until either the attacker moves on, the campus police gets extraordinarily lucky, or he makes the mistake of messing with one of the women in the IU population who have made personal defense a personal decision.

Took myself out to Knob Creek this afternoon.  My main goal was to check zero on my two deer hunting rifles, center fire and muzzle loader after getting new glasses this year, and to familiarize myself with the CZ-82 I bought last month from Southern Ohio Guns. To my surprise, I had to wait for a spot on the firing line.  Normally it’s quiet during business days, but the RSO told me that it’s been busy every day for the past couple of weeks, even taking into consideration that modern gun deer season starts tomorrow.

Once I got on the range, I put my two wooden target holders out at 100 yards, and placed a political yard sign with a target pasted to it at 25 yards.

First up was the muzzle loader.  I have used the same Thompson Center Omega .50 caliber for years, and have found that two 50grain pellets of 777 black powder substitute work very well out of it.  I have also settled on 295 grain PowerBelt Aerotip bullets.  These go down the barrel of the Omega much easier than the sabots I used for the first couple of years shooting black powder, and seem to have comparable performance.

Here’s what I got out of the muzzle loader today:

The group on the right was my first three rounds, and after an adjustment, I fired the second group.  Not too shabby for a muzzle loader using a cheap Red Head 3-9 shotgun scope, if I do say so myself.

Next came my Savage 110 in .270, with a Bushnell 3-9 scope.  I switched from the Winchester white box ammunition I was using last year to Federal 130 grain soft points.  The cost difference was significant, and I wanted to see how they performed.  I had a few fliers, and I need to get more practice in, but overall, I’m happy with it.

I finished out my rifle time by plinking with the Mosin.  My goal is to get good enough with it that I can give Girlie Bear the .270 for hunting and hunt with it over open sights until I find a .30-06 or .308 that I like and can afford.

The CZ-82 is surplus, and shows it with some slight blemishes and wear on the bluing, but overall it’s in good condition.  No pics tonight, but some will be forthcoming.  I forgot to purchase rounds for it last week, so I was forced to purchase 9×18 Makarov from the range at a premium.  $17.00 for a box of Norinco.  Ouch.  I’ve been shooting .45 ACP and .38 Special for so long, I’d forgotten just how small 9mm rounds of any form are.  It took some getting used to when handling them, but they certainly have a bark when you touch them off.

I like the CZ.  It sits very comfortably in my paw, and all of the buttons (slide lock, mag release, safety) are where I instinctively look for them.  SOG sent along an extra magazine, so I was able to practice mag changes as well.  The first couple of magazines were mostly fliers as I learned how the pistol wanted to be pointed, but once I settled in with it, it was consistently hitting the target at 25 yards.  Not a tack driver, at least not yet, but not bad for the first time I’ve shot it.  Once I’d gone through all 50 rounds of 9mm, I put 20 rounds of CCI Blazer .38 Special through the Taurus Model 85 that I carry.  I limited myself to only one cylinder worth of single action shooting, then shot strong hand double action.  Somewhere along the line, a couple of my rounds hit the wire holding up the sign, so it became a semi-reactive target as it was hit by successive rounds.

This was a good range day.  As usual, I enjoy going out to Knob Creek.  The facilities and staff are excellent, and conditions were perfect for zero-ing and plinking.  One highlight of the day was the father and son next to me.  He was a 5 year old who was being taught the four rules and how to shoot with a Cricket.  Extremely well behaved, and had the worlds biggest grin on his face every time his dad let him touch a trigger. 

As always, any products I mention in this blog are those that I use myself.  I get nothing from the companies or facilities I write about other than the experience of being their customer.

For those who wait for us to come home:

For the Bushmasters, the Herd, the Professionals, and the Gators, and all of the other starke truppen I served with, you are always my brothers and sisters, and I will miss each and every one of you until we all come together again on that far green field:

And for those who had to put up with me as a dumbass private, thank you for using music such as this to get my sorry butt moving, and for keeping at it until I was no longer a danger to myself and those around me:

I saw this a few years ago at Blackfive, and I’ve kept a copy of it pinned to my desk wall ever since.  I think it’s appropriate for today.

I’m asking You God, to give me what You have left.
Give me those things which others never ask of You.
I don’t ask You for rest, or tranquility.
Not that of the spirit, the body, or the mind.
I don’t ask You for wealth, or success, or even health.
All those things are asked of You so much Lord,
that you can’t have any left to give.
Give me instead Lord what You have left.
Give me what others don’t want.
I want uncertainty and doubt.
I want torment and battle.
And I ask that You give them to me now and forever Lord,
so I can be sure to always have them,
because I won’t always have the strength to ask again.
But give me also the courage, the energy,
and the spirit to face them.

I ask You these things Lord,
because I can’t ask them of myself.

Sunny day
Sweeping the clouds away
On my way
To where the air is sweet!

Can you tell me how to get
How to Get to Sesame Street?

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Ever since the first cave men grouped together around a fire, there have been those who wanted to steal that light and warmth from them.  Accordingly, there have always been the warriors who would step beyond the safety and warmth of the campfire to protect the young, the old, and the infirm. When these men, and sometimes women, would return to the circle of firelight, they would be different.  Maybe they would be scarred physically, but they would always be changed.  They had gone into the night, and willfully looked for those things that most of their group had fled.  They knew just how precious the women and children, the good food and warm fire, and the safety of their group was.

So, as long as there have been people, there have been warriors.  Almost as long as there have been warriors, there have been veterans.

Don’t take this to mean I place myself in the warrior grouping.  I was just an intel weenie in a mostly peacetime army.  I was closer to Sad Sack than to Sergeant Rock.  But as the man says, I served in the company of heroes.

92 years ago tomorrow, the guns fell silent on the biggest, most deadly war the world had ever seen up until that point.  On the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, 1918, the meat grinder shuddered and sputtered to a halt, at least temporarily.  An entire generation of mankind prayed in vain that it would never be restarted.  When it roared back to life a generation later, the best of humanity stood up to make other men free, and stood guard over the world trying to contain the beast for yet another generation.  Sometimes they just watched it, sometimes they fought it. Now, another generation is fighting against those who would steal the peace and the light from the world.  My prayers go out for their success and their safe return to our campfires every night.

I was lucky to meet an extraordinary man, Robley Rex, several years ago.  This man joined the Army for World War I, but didn’t get to Europe until after the fighting was over.  He lived out his life quietly here in Louisville, and in 1986 devoted himself to his fellow man.  He volunteered regularly at the local VA medical center, and never seemed to meet a stranger.  I only spoke a few words with him, and only learned his story after he passed away earlier this year, but his example touched my life.  That is what a veteran is to me.  After a youth dedicated to his country, he gave his older life to us as well.

So, if you’re a veteran or are currently serving, thank you.  When you get to Valhalla, look me up and we’ll tip back a few.  For those of you who are protected, please take a few minutes out tomorrow to remember those who place themselves outside the circle of light and warmth for our sake.

Psalm 91

 ¹ Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
   will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.<sup class="footnote" value="[a]”>[a]
² I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
   my God, in whom I trust.”  ³ Surely he will save you
   from the fowler’s snare
   and from the deadly pestilence.
⁴ He will cover you with his feathers,
   and under his wings you will find refuge;
   his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
⁵ You will not fear the terror of night,
   nor the arrow that flies by day,
⁶ nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
   nor the plague that destroys at midday.
⁷ A thousand may fall at your side,
   ten thousand at your right hand,
   but it will not come near you.
⁸ You will only observe with your eyes
   and see the punishment of the wicked.
 ⁹ If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”
   and you make the Most High your dwelling,
¹⁰ no harm will overtake you,
   no disaster will come near your tent.
¹¹ For he will command his angels concerning you
   to guard you in all your ways;
¹² they will lift you up in their hands,
   so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
¹³ You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
   you will trample the great lion and the serpent.
 ¹⁴ “Because he<sup class="footnote" value="[b]”>[b] loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;
   I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
¹⁵ He will call on me, and I will answer him;
   I will be with him in trouble,
   I will deliver him and honor him.
¹⁶ With long life I will satisfy him
   and show him my salvation.”

A couple of posts on a couple of blogs caught my eye and my mind over the past few days.

OldNFO talks about how being in the military changes you, and how you never completely leave the uniform behind.

The military, for all its flaws, is a comfort zone for anyone who has ever worn the uniform. It’s a place where you know the rules and know they are enforced; a place where everybody is busy but not too busy to take care of business. Because there exists behind the gates of every military facility an institutional understanding of respect, order, uniformity, accountability and dedication that becomes part of your marrow and never, ever leaves you.

Brad Torgersen, who will be going up on my bloglist next time I update it, talks about what it means to be a gentleman:

I think this code can apply anywhere, at any time, and it’s a shame to see so many males advance through adolescence and into adulthood without receiving either a proper role model — or proper guidance. Because the honest truth of it is this — and I speak comfortably as a man who knows his limitations: women civilize us. Left to our own devices, we are selfish, brutal bastards. We need the women in our lives to remind us of a higher responsibility, beyond our own carnal lusts and the rumbling of our stomachs. A gentleman rises to this challenge like a falcon rises to the morning sun. He does not shirk it or shrink from it, or cast it off as old-fashioned.

Go read the entirety of both articles.  What I have to say can wait while these two gentlemen have their say.

What I believe both of these articles boil down to, and my own personal views go along with them to a large part, is respect.  Respect for yourself, respect for another, and respect for your group as a whole.

NFO talks about how people in the military tend to work together towards a common goal with a lot less of the societal grease that you find in a civilian organization.  In a corporation, there is a lot of stroking of egos, both individual and collective, in order to get cooperation.  In the military, while it is also a common phenomenon, it’s not absolutely necessary.  If you give a group of professional military people a goal, explain the goal to them, and let them know what resources they have to achieve the goal, they will tend to maximize each others skills to achieve the goal.  In the civilian realm, where power relationships aren’t as cut and dried and personal gain is usually more important than collective success, a lot more convincing is necessary to get coordinated work accomplished.

Mr. Torgersen makes excellent points about how a gentleman (or lady) acts.  He boils  these down to a few maxims, but again, it’s all respect.  A gentleman respects the women he comes into contact with, and treats them accordingly.  A gentleman also doesn’t stand for someone else acting disrespectfully to others. 

I’ll admit it, I sometimes oggle.  I have to concentrate to not look down a woman’s shirt.   I use rough language in mixed company.  But if I ever catch myself crossing lines, I’m quick to throw it into reverse and apologize without prompting.  I never use my position, knowledge, or privileges to get away with outrageous behavior.  In fact, those who do make my stomach turn. 

To bring this down to a point, those of us who miss the military miss it because it is an organization based on trust and respect.  Members of that organization are exceptionally good at policing themselves and correcting or ejecting those who can’t work within that framework.  While it’s not codified anymore, “An Officer and A Gentleman” is still part of the ethos, for officers, NCO’s, and privates who took the oath of enlistment last Thursday.  “Conduct Unbecoming” is still one of the worst things that can be said about you. 

As for why the general population has lost this to at least some extent, I believe it has a lot to do with how you were raised.  If I ever show disrespect to a woman or an older man, I fully expect the ghost of my sainted German grandmother to rise up and bring Gotterdammerung down upon me.  Men who are younger than me or my age are expected to correct me themselves.  Women are capable of doing this, and I’ve had my butt kicked by enough older men to know they can too, but they should never have to.

Example:  This evening, I stopped at Walmart to buy a new power supply for Little Bear’s laptop.  It had one of those strapped-on electronic alarm gadgets on it, and the elderly lady working the register had trouble taking it off with the proprietary magnetic tool.  She took it to customer service for help after a few fruitless minutes of trying to remove it.  I stood and waited quietly, and when she’d left, I turned to the teenager behind me to apologize.

His answer, which caused the hair on the back of my neck to raise up, was “Dried out old woman shouldn’t be doing this anyway.  Guess it’s a too complicated for her.”

As I counted to ten in Serb under my breath, a hand appeared in the air behind his head, and smacked him hard enough his glasses came off.  You guessed it, it was an older, female family member who was in line behind him.  He stammered his apologies to her and stood there silently while the cashier returned and finished ringing me up.  All this time, his Auntie was watching him with a look that would turn most men to stone.

If more young men were raised by women who weren’t afraid to beat some sense into them about how to act, maybe the gulf between those who know respect and those who don’t wouldn’t be that wide.