Cough, cough...

It's been a week since I saw a doctor about my cough. At that time, I was told my “issue” started as seasonal allergies, then became a sinus infection, then bronchitis, then bronchial pneumonia. Three new prescriptions and a week later, I am coughing less (a good sign). Today, I am much less congested, but I am wheezing and dry coughing. It's like my system is trying – hard – to cough up the remaining phlegm in my lungs, but to no avail. I cough the least when I am sitting still and not talking, which sucks for me, as I am a radio DJ by profession.

Sometimes, I Suck

Sometimes, you have a revelation. It could be an "a-ha" moment about your life or something in it. It could be a moment when all becomes clear for the first time. Sometimes, though, it's a painful reminder of poor life choices in the past, or a reminder of just how much you consider your childhood self as a waste of space.

I try to do good by others, and try to do good by myself, because - when my mind wanders - I am reminded of just how much of an asshat I think I was when I was younger. And there are times I think I am less-than-worthy as an adult.

I was a much different person when I was younger, and the structure I give myself today is my way of trying to atone for the kind of person I used to be. Nowadays, I am quiet, cautious, even-tempered, and accepting - everything I was not when I was younger. My childhood behavior is not acceptable by adult-me. It's an albatross around my neck, and something I regularly need to address. As a human being, I'm tarnished.

Most days, I'm fine with it. Some days, like today, I feel very guilty for being me.

Curse Me and My Gun Enthusiasm

Somehow, I managed to bugger-up my favorite handgun, my .45 Colt revolver. Disassembled it for cleaning, got it cleaned to factory spec, then missed a part while re-assembling it. Not it's all jibbered. I've got a friend looking at it. Hopefully, she can get is functioning correctly.

I Can Cook, Yet Sometimes I Can't

I have been told by a few more people than my self that I can cook, and I can cook well. Lately, though, I have found it very difficult to come up with dinner at a moment's notice, or when time is short to have a meal ready.

Granted, my culinary specialty is “comfort food”, and that slice of cuisine is definitely off the menu these days (Wifey and I on a diet). But I would think I could come up with SOMETHING in a pinch that is diet-friendly. I used to. With the diet, Wifey and I are buying much fewer grocery items. Perhaps I am intimidated by the lack of ingredients to choose from? Perhaps I am intimated by the questionable meat products that would require lengthy defrosting times to get a meal put together? I don't know. What I DO know is my wife is coming home from puppy school shortly, and I have yet to come up with a decent meal for the two of us, and I hate the idea of asking her to just “pick something up” on the way home, or to repeat the go-to meals we've been having – heating up hot dogs (leftover social gathering foodstuffs).

Such a conundrum...

That Guy With The AK (That's Me)

This past weekend, my wife and I went on a double-date with two of my coworkers (married couple) to our local shooting range. They, like Wifey and I, are gun owners, and go to the range as often as we can afford to, to improve our accuracy with the firearms we own. This past weekend was a “fun” date – meaning, we brought some of our favorite firearms for all of us to try. Among the ones I brought to the party was my new Century Arms C39v2 (AK).

Late in our double-date, I invite our guests to give my new AK a try, with quick instruction on how the rifle works, safety, aiming, etc. One of our guests (who is very familiar with firearms) had initial difficulty with it – difficulty seeing the target with his bad eye, and being shorter than I, he ended up putting a hole in the ceiling of the range. Knowing what he had done, he put the rifle down, and said he would not be shooting it again. In most cases, “no harm, no foul” and move on. Nope.

A gentleman a few bays down from us immediately come over to me, and offered to ask the range officer to supply me with some extra cardboard to lower my target (to accommodate my shorter shooting companion). I thanked him and waited for said cardboard. This gentleman (whom I will refer to as Range Nazi from this point on), proceeded to bang on the range officer's window, yelling, “that short guy over there (my guest) is shooting your ceiling!” “That guy with the AK is shooting up your ceiling!”. Range officer comes out with cardboard in hand, and proceeds down the bays. Range Nazi (pointing at me) - “no, THAT guy with the AK! That guy with the AYYY KAYYY!!!!!”

The range officer – a very nice young man, by the way – provided me with extra cardboard from which to hang my target (for the shooter who has now moved on to one of his own firearms in his own bay), and tried to give me a quick course on angular momentum (which I already knew – just didn't know my friend would shoot the ceiling). I thanked the range officer, and looked down to where Range Nazi was. He seemed pretty pleased with himself for calling out the dangerous goings-on in my bay.

Now, I've seen Range Nazi at our local range before. He only shoots an air gun (I have heard him boast about to anyone within earshot as being VERY expensive). Perhaps he competes, I have no idea. The time I have seen him spend at the range has been fine-tuning his air gun accuracy. Not once have I seen this guy smile, or give any other indication that he is having fun at the range, outside of “calling me out” for being a danger to others by having a friend of mine try my new rifle. To him, it's all business, and no fun. For anyone. Including me, my wife, and our guests. I learned afterward that - from the moment I brought out my AK - he was watching my bay like a hawk, waiting for me or someone else shooting my gun to make a mistake. Perhaps, if I was shooting an air rifle instead, he would have been less of a jerk. I can only guess that my rifle - much more powerful than his air gun - was was too much for his own shooting experience.

My response that day to Range Nazi? I mounted a new target, sent it down to the end of the range, put 10 out of 10 shots in the middle of the target, packed up, and walked out.

Water cooler talk at the office today – the consensus is that I should get a t-shirt made with “That Guy with the AK!” on it. If' grumpy-ass Range Nazi is going to be there next time I go shooting, I want him to see me wearing it. I'll happily own (and wear) that moniker.

I know range safety, as did my friend who declined to shoot my new rifle again, after landing a round in the ceiling. One round in the ceiling, with a rifle new to a shooter, was the only "glitch" in our range time.

Screw you, Range Nazi. Screw you.

SIDE NOTE: During our range time, I was able to determine ammo load issues with two handguns, increase my accuracy with my .45 Long Colt revolver, try a few new-to-me firearms, including a .357 revolver, and discover my accuracy with the AYYY KAYYY is better than I had originally thought. Screw You, Range Nazi!

Mens' Grooming Tip of The Day

Gun Porn - Uberti Bisley Revolver

Tonight's Gun Porn is my Uberti Bisley revolver.

The Bisley revolver was originally designed and manufactured by Colt for a target shooting competition in Bisley, England (hence, the Bisley model name).

The frame is based on Colt's Single-Action Army revolver, with a slightly larger frame, a hammer flush with the top of the gun, and a distinctive grip, suited for target shooting.

My revolver, manufactured by Uberti (an Italian company known for it's cowboy gun replicas), has a case-hardened frame, 5-1/2" barrel, and is chambered in .45 Colt (think cowboy rounds).

This particular gun is a hoot to shoot. It doesn't poke holes in paper, as much as it punches holes in it with a Chuck Norris fist. The heft of the gun mitigates a lot of the recoil, and it almost feels like the gun wants to move forward, as opposed to backward, with every pull of it's hair-trigger.

The Gun Porn image itself is with spent casings (from my first time shooting my baby) on a Detroit Lions towel, gifted from friends in Arizona. The picture was taken with my cell phone.

Range Time

This past Sunday, Wifey and I went to our local gun range. She wanted to get more time with the 9mm I bought her for Christmas (a Ruger LC9S). I wanted to do three things – more range time with my Walther PPK, more range time with my Uberti Bisley revolver, and to shoot (for the first time) my new Century Arms C39v2 AK-47.

We arrived at the range, just as it was opening (the best time to shoot, in my opinion), and were there for about an hour and a half.. We shared a lane that day, alternating between who was shooting – one would shoot, the other would re-load.

While Wifey was getting more familiar with her new firearm, I brought out the Walther. The day before, I bought new ammunition for my little spy gun. PPKs are notorious for being picky about the ammo you put through them – you could have two PPKs, with consecutive serial numbers, and they won't like the same ammo. I found this out again Sunday, as the round I put through it resulted in many double-feeds. The ammo I purchased was just too “hot” (too many grains of gunpowder per round), for my gun to act normally. After about 3 magazines of trouble (including some help from the range officer), I put the Walther away and picked up the revolver.

Our targets were at “personal defense” distance – about 15 feet out. First shot with my revolver landed dead-center of the target. I turned around to ask Wifey, “did you see that?” She was doing something with her phone, her back turned away from me and my (surprisingly) exemplary marksmanship. Later, with the same target, I blew a 3-inch diameter hole in the center of the target, turned to Wifey for a “good job”, and she was on the phone again.

About 10 minutes later, with a different target, she was watching. I fired six rounds at the target, and only saw four holes, all in the center. She informed me that I had placed two shots in the holes I had already made. So, larger bore revolver accuracy at that range – established. The gun has a hair-trigger, and has a larger barrel length, so not for carry.

Finally, with a new target up, we tried out the new AK. Again, at “self-defense” distance. Great feel, little recoil, and (like the revolver) I was landing shots in the center of the target. I don't think Wifey liked the rifle as much as I did, but I'm sure she will come around, after we have more range time with it.

In Summary:

• Wifey is getting more and more comfortable with her new 9mm, and liking it more and more every time we get to the range.
• The .380 ammo I bought for my very picky Walther will go to my less-picky Bersa. Will need to find less-powerful ammo for the Walther.
• The revolver is, and has been, the most accurate firearm I've shot. Looking forward to more time with that beauty.
• My new AK is a ton of fun, but I need to shoot it a lot more to truly appreciate it.

Cultural Appropriation? My Love of Food Says "Screw You"

Bought the Olive Garden Italian salad dressing at Costco a short while back. While tasty, it is so acidic, it literally melts vegetable matter shortly after application. I must find an alternative.

I am eating a restrictive diet, in order to lose weight and get my heart rate and blood sugar down. My diet usually consists of a salad to start my day, and a light, tasty, salad dressing makes the morning routine all that more tolerable.

But, in hindsight, should I give up on my search for a delightful, delicious, Italian salad dressing? After all, I'm not Italian, and to like - and use - Italian dressing on my iceberg lettuce is considered cultural appropriation of Italians, right?

I've been seeing more and more outrage online by Social Justice Warriors (SJWs, or as I prefer to call them, "Snowflakes") about how everything is racist and the appropriation of other cultures. Disappointing and rather ridiculous.



As I write this, Cinco de Mayo (the celebration to commemorate the Mexican Army's victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862, under the leadership of General Ignacio Zaragoza) is coming up. In the United States, Cinco de Mayo has taken on a significance beyond that in Mexico. In the U.S., the date has become associated with the celebration of Mexican-American culture.

While I fully understand the true meaning of the celebration, and that it's become an Americanized excuse to eat Mexican food and drink tequila and cheap Mexican beer, I still love to use the day to recreate an authentic Mexican dish or two. I greatly love Mexican food (cheap Mexican beer, however, is no better than cheap beer from any other country, so I recommend you avoid it. Can you imagine folks outside the US using the Fourth of July as reason to drink a crap-load of Schlitz, or Lucky Lager (although I'm sure there are SJWs our there who would get triggered by the word "Lucky" - "You're appropriating Irish culture!"))

What about St. Patrick's Day, when Americans flock to their local pubs to drink green beer and eat corned beef and cabbage? Is that an appropriation of Irish culture?

Or how about those non-holiday occasions where you and your loved one decide to eat out, or get take-out, for dinner? Pizza? Chinese food? Sushi? Chicken tikka masala? BBQ? Yeah, all considered cultural appropriation.


Now, I'm so Northern European (Swedish, Norwegian, and Welsh), I run the risk of exploding if exposed to enough sunlight, but do I think every person who eats Swedish meatballs at their next wedding reception is a horrible person, appropriating MY culture? Of course, the answer is no. And SJWs agree with me. The whole concept of cultural appropriation, as promoted by the Snowflake crowd, is promoted to get schlubs like me to feel guilty for not being in their targeted minorities. So far, I have not seen outrage over non-Scandinavians liking stinky brown goat cheese (Brunost), or non-Welsh liking rarebit, or non-Norwegians loving smoked salmon.

I would love to see SJWs do one of two things: codify their message, decrying everything not in YOUR culture as cultural appropriation (and ordering you to stop appropriating other cultures and stick to your cultural heritage, only), or; shut the hell up. It's not appropriation - it's love and appreciation of another culture, which I think is part of the progressive agenda of a global culture. What's happening now is selective outrage, to further sociopolitical gains.

I make a greatly-received slow-cooked brisket many times per year, along with BBQ'd ribs, a German sausage and sauerkraut medley, a homemade salsa that has received nothing but praise, a curried lamb with saffron rice, and a fairly decent Korean BBQ. I'm not appropriating any culture, I'm appreciating it.

Fish

I grew up in - and still live - in the Pacific Northwest. And when it comes to food, the first thing many people think about the PNW is seafood. Tons of seafood. As if everyone who lives north of California and east of Idaho consumes nothing but salmon all day long. Granted, areas like Western Washington State are famous for their seafood restaurants and markets. But once you get east of the Cascade Mountains, seafood is not available fresh, so it's red meat territory. Oregon is not known as a fresh fish Mecca. I think those in Oregon feed themselves - mostly - on kale and Voodoo Donuts, but I have yet to find an Oregonian (vegan or otherwise) who can muster enough energy to dispute this claim.

As I got older, I developed an allergy to seafood. Specifically, salt water fish and crustaceans. (Side-thought here - why is it that freshwater fish, like trout, are still called "seafood", when they don't spend any time in salt water?) Anyway, as I got older, my allergy to seafood got stronger, to the point where I can no longer eat things like shrimp (I used to be able to eat breaded or beer-battered shrimp by the boxcar-load) or fish like salmon (salt-water season), without a severe allergic reaction.

Now, I'm a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but when I'm in the mood for fish, I'd like to have an option that doesn't send me into anaphylactic shock. Fortunately for me, there is halibut.

While I was in high school, my father and I went on fishing trips to Alaska and caught some nice-sized halibut, which he would craft into these golden, breaded nuggets of awesome.

Just last weekend, after learning I could - possibly - be able to eat halibut, my seafood-loving wife and I went to Uwajimaya in Seattle and bought a rather sizable slab of fresh, right-off-the-boat halibut. Growing up in Eastern Washington, she had never had halibut that fresh. We ended up making a few dishes from the fish slab. Having spent so many years accommodating my dietary restrictions, and to finally find seafood I could eat without allergies, she was happy and I was very pleased.

Next time we buy halibut, I hope we can recreate those seasoned, breaded nuggets my dad would make for my family. It was the memory of those tidbits of yum that brought me back - albeit partially - into the seafood-loving Pacific NW fold.

I Don't Give Up

A person I've known for decades unfriended me on social media after the election, claiming that my "privilege and guns" are part of the problem. He gave up on the friendship because of a difference in political persuasion. He then made an effort to cut as many ties as he could with me online.

Today, I found out he hadn't blocked me on Instagram. He posted a picture of something he made with his kids. I gave it a "love" and left it at that. I'm sure he didn't expect my reaction to his post, and I'm pretty sure he will block me once he sees it.

Folks, I don't give a rats ass who you voted for. Friendships (for me) transcend voting preference. If I see you post something that resonates with my values (friends, family, etc.), I'll let you know I appreciate that.

I don't give up on friendships because of who they vote for. The friendships I have earned don't involve politics, and I don't value the quality of a relationship on voting choices. I've lost a ton of long-time friends recently, because they found out what box I checked on my ballot. Their choices are theirs to make. I choose to NOT do that.