An Excellent Day To Go Shooting...

...was exactly how today turned out and shooting is exactly what I did for the better part of 3 1/2 hours today. Despite really wanting to go to a local indoor range or two before I leave Phoenix, I could not resist the allure of the really fine weather. After all, it was in the mid 60s, the sun was shining, the skies were blue and that had outdoor activity written all over it so I again opted to go to the Ben Avery Shooting Facility North of Phoenix. Luckily for me, I already had enough ammunition for a good few hours of shooting because a couple of the local Wal-Marts in which I stopped to pick up some extra ammo were out of it in two of the three calibers I wanted. I did pick up a box of 9MM Luger, but they had no .22LR and no S&W .40 caliber. Did not matter though - I had enough for today.

I got to the range just before 11:30, checked in and then had to wait about 10 minutes, at most, for a shooting lane. The range was pretty packed, what with the nice weather and all; still though, 10 minutes was okay by me. Once in the range and during the next cease fire (about another 5 minutes) I set up my target at the 15 yard line. I had some new Aguila .22LR ammo, both Standard Velocity and High Velocity rounds, with me today and wanted to try them out in my Henry Survival Rifle. I also had those shoot n' see targets. I was pretty impressed with my shooting the Henry today. While I got some groups with which I was not all that happy, I also got some groups that were great for me with that particular gun. That was with the Aguila Standard Velocity and with CCI Standard velocity. The Aguila High Velocity was another story. I shot well enough with it at 15 yards but when I later moved my target to 25 yards the group spread out by about 3x the size of the one I had at 15 yards. On the other hand, with the Aguila Sand CCI Standard velocity ammo I was able to maintain a pretty good group at 25 yards for this rifle. There was no doubt that had I had a bead on a squirrel at 25 yards there would have been dinner for the pot and most likely head shot dinner at that. I got a couple of groups about the size of a nickel at 15 yards and a couple of others about the size of a half dollar at the 25 yard line. That was with the standard velocity stuff. The high velocity ammo just was not on the mark anywhere near as well at either distance though it was passable at 15 yards.

I also shot my Glock 26 and my issued Sig 229 (double action only). I did alright with both of them but for some reason was shooting fairly high at 15 yards and somewhat high at 25 yards with the Glock today. This is unusual for me and I am wondering if anything about the ammo or the gun was causing this. Even from the bench with my hands supported by a carpet covered wood block my shots were going pretty high at 15 yards. Maybe it was me but as I said that was pretty unusual for me so I will give the pistol a good check-up when I clean it tonight. I shot a bit low with the Sig, only about an inch under where I was aiming, and that was only after I exhausted my supply of 155 grain ammo and then switched to newly issued 180 grain ammunition. It took only a minor adjustment of how I held on target for me to correct that and it should not be a problem. That was only at 15 yards and did not happen at 25 yards. At 25 yards I was pretty much right on as far as elevation went. I am estimating I shot about 125 rounds of .22LR, 175 rounds of .40 S&W and 200 rounds of 9MM.

The whole experience was a pleasant one from check in, to set up, through shooting, to departure. The range officer who was down at my end, and I was almost all the way at one end on shooting point 62 (it goes up to 67), was an elderly gentleman with great manners and respect for the shooters. I did not hear him yell at one person for getting something wrong as range officers often do the first time they see a minor infraction of range rules. Instead, he corrected folks nicely although there was one person nearby who kept screwing up the same thing regarding range safety and probably needed the decibel level raised a bit to have it sink in. While he seemed about to lose patience with that shooter, he managed to remain a gentleman while admonishing her about her lack of safety. Had it been me as range officer, her ears would have hurt after she screwed up the third time in a row; in fact I might have removed her from the range. Oh well, I guess he kept his eye on her pretty good and she did finally get it right although I don't think he would have remained calm had he had to correct her again. Nice to see range officers actually paying attention to the shooters and making sure they are keeping things safe for everyone and doing it nicely too.

Speaking of being nice, I did my good deed for the day while at the range. I saw a young lady holding a semi-auto pistol with the thumb of her weak hand crossed over the thumb of her strong hand while shooting. The only reason the slide did not take a bite out of it was because she was holding the grips down way too low. Had she moved up just a bit, she likely would have felt the bite of the slide as it would have raked across the knuckle of her left thumb. I told her boyfriend and he got to it right away and corrected her. They seemed pretty happy I told them about this. I am often leery to give advice at the range but this seemed harmless enough and proved to be welcome.

Now that the fun part of the day is over it is time for more mundane things like laundry, gun cleaning and getting stuff ready for work tomorrow. Of course, dinner time is almost upon me and as soon as the laundry is all in the drier I think I will be off for a bite to eat. Thinking of the George & Dragon Restaurant & Pub for tonight, they have a wide variety of pub and traditional British foods.

All the best,
Glenn B

Want To Do List

I've been in Phoenix, away from home, for about 2 1/2 months now. Being away from home hasn't exactly made me homesick but I have to admit I miss a lot of things especially my wife and children - who are now both young adults. I also miss our pets, the 4 dogs, 4 tortoises, musk turtle, 4 lizards, and two tanks of tropical fish. I miss doing things with the family and miss enjoying hobbies I usually enjoy at home but have not had much time for while on my temporary assignment. I even miss my regular workplace. Well, not so much the place as some of the people in it - they know who they are - for sure. In addition I missed the winter - not that I really miss it what with all the snow shoveling that had to be done this year so that is no great loss. As for the seasons though, I was also out here, actually in Tucson, last spring into the summer and missed the whole spring last year and everything that comes with it in NY. Those things included planting the vegetable garden, seeing the first blooms of spring, the greening of the trees, an early fishing trip, the aromas of early, mid and late spring and so on.

All of those things I have been missing got me to thinking about what exactly I want to do when I get back home. Heck you miss a lot when you have been away from home for over 7 months out of a year and that is what it will be, all combined, by the time I get back so I have lots of catching up to do. Not only did I start thinking about what I want to do as soon as I can when I get back but I expanded it to thinking about what I'd like to do within about the next year or so. With that in mind I will give you my list and mind you it is a realistic wish list. All of these things are within my reach so I am truly hoping to do most of them. You can join in, either in the comments section, or in your own blog, if you want or not as you see fit.


My To Do List For The Next Year:

Have a happy home coming with my family.

Get along better with my wife.

Go out to a nice dinner with my family at least twice a month.

Visit my mom at least biweekly, weekly when I can.

Attend my daughter's graduation and see her receive her Master's Degree.

Start and stick with an exercise program.

Lose about 35 to 40 pounds.

Walk the dogs at least once per day (hmm, does that qualify as exercise).

Visit old friends in the old neighborhood and try my best to visit them once every month.

Buy myself a new rifle.

Start a crested gecko breeding project.

Have a new floor put in in my living room.

Convince my wife we should move out of NY when I retire.

Visit Las Vegas on vacation with my wife.

Attend an NRA Law Enforcement Instructor Development School (where else but in Las Vegas).

Find and buy a retirement home.

Start a 2nd career.

Write a book (at least get it well started within the next year).

Go on a deep sea fishing trip with my son and daughter.

Go camping at least a half dozen times over the summer/fall.

Get to upstate NY and do some backpacking hikes at least biweekly over the summer.

Stock up on survival supplies to be prepared for at least a one month hardship.

Buy a new car.

Visit my aunt and uncle in Florida.

Take my nephew on a camping trip.

Scout out a really excellent deer hunting spot.

Be there to see my son take his first whitetail deer.

Get a new computer.

Get to the shooting range at least monthly.

Talk my daughter into coming to the range with me and Brendan.

Talk my wife into it too.

Have some friends over to dinner.

Shoot my first turkey (hopefully in time for Thanksgiving dinner).

Have family over to dinner more often.

Start baking again.

Cook at least one nice meal weekly.

Plant and tend the vegetable garden.

Reseed my front and back lawn.

Enjoy the fruit from my Mulberry tree.

Get a male Hermann's tortoise for my female.

Search for treasure with my metal detector.

Enjoy a movie with my family at least once a week.

Have surgery to remove a cyst in my neck.

If that goes well, have surgery on my right shoulder to relieve my bursitis and repair the rotator cuff.

Buy a handloading kit and start reloading ammunition.

Visit the Bronx Zoo this spring.

Chop down two dying trees in my backyard.

Take my wife to a Broadway show.

Pig out in Chinatown (in NYC).

Visit St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Visit Washington D.C. and Philadelphia.

Get myself a new camera.

Get my income tax returns done on time.

Retire.

Well, that's it. Not a huge list for a year but enough things to keep me busy mixed in with everything else in life. It is also a manageable list of things that I truly hope to accomplish. Hopefully I'll keep track and let you know how I have done after a year has passed. I am not going to start most of this until I get back home from Phoenix but I had best get working on my income taxes really soon.

All the best,
GB

Keeping An Edge...

...on the various knives I have owned over the years has never been all that difficult for me. I have a really nice Arkansas Whet Stone at home that used to belong to my great-grandfather. It came in a nice box which I now only have 1/2 of (even that half is minus a short side) but the stone is in excellent condition and will last years to come being it is about 6"x3"x1". Now while I have found it easy to sharpen virtually every one of my knives on that stone, I have found that when I sharpen them, I often scratch the sides of the blades. I'll be darned if I know how I manage that because, even when I pay very careful attention to what I am doing, I never see the sides of the blades touch the stone. Another thing I noticed is that even though I can quickly put an edge on most of my blades with it, the length of time that any individual blade holds an edge varies from sharpening to sharpening for that particular blade. That one was easy to figure out, it was likely because I was sharpening at different angles each time I sharpened any particular knife. I also have a nice pocket stone that with which I get virtually the same results as with the bigger stone including the scratches. There had to be a better way.

Looking for the better way I went out and purchased a few different new age knife sharpeners that utilize crossed carbide blades, that in essence form a V, through which you simply run the knife while holding it vertically - edge down and spine up - and pull it through the sharpener so the edge runs through the V. After a few passes you then use the ceramic rods, also in a basic V shape, to put a finer edge on the blade. They work great for a lot of knives but always use the same exact angle for any blade run through it. Remember I just indicated that changing the angle at which you sharpen can change how long a blade will hold its edge from one sharpening to the next and that is not optimal - so wouldn't it be good to only use one angle? Nope. You see, sharpening all types of blades at the same exact angle as one another is also not good. This is because sharpening a utility knife requires a different angle against the stone as compared to the angle for a kitchen knife as compared to that for a hunting knife. They all require different angles from that required by the other type for each to obtain the optimal edge. Then you need to maintain that particular angle for each hunting knife, and he other angle for each kitchen knife and so on. Sure, some folks can do that and come out with finely honed knives each and every time. Like I said though, I can get a nice edge but all to often wind up scratching the sides of the blades or just not getting an edge that last as long as it should. So how is it that you, or I, can do it just right each and every time without just relying on line of sight, guesswork and luck when you are almost all thumbs like me.

The answer was developed many years ago and has been on the market for decades. I remember a fellow agent using one way back when I was in the Border Patrol in Calexico, CA and that was at least 26 years ago, well at least a similar product but it was made by Lansky as I recall. As a matter of fact, the company who makes these started selling their products the year I started government service in the Border Patrol - 1979. All throughout the years of my career, I have often thought of getting myself one but I suppose I just never thought enough of the knives I sharpen and knife sharpening to go out and buy one. Then this Christmas it wound up on my wish list and lo and behold there it was under the tree come Christmas Day. My son Brendan was really nice and bought me that and a nice Victorinox Huntsman folding knife. The it I am hinting at is a Lansky Knife Sharpening System; Brendan got me the deluxe model.

The deluxe version comes with 5 sharpening hones. Each hone is permanently attached to a plastic base that is color coded. A guide rod is inserted into the base, levelled with it, then tightened in place with a screw that is part of the base. There are 5 guide rods included. Nice thing is you can set up all 5 honing stone bases with a guide rod at once so when you want to switch stones you do not have to take a guide rod out of one and put it into another base since all can be ready to go. Once the rods are set properly in the hone bases the knife is then paced into a provided clamp. The clamp has 4 differently positioned guide holes through which the guide rod is placed and depending on which hole you use you get a particular angle at which the hone will then be guided over the blade. You use the right hole for the particular type of blade you wish to sharpen or the particular angled edge you want to put on any knife. You hold the clamp with blade firmly secured in its jaws, then run the honing stone over it in a sort of angled sweeping motion over a small portion of the knife's edge and move along the blade until the length of it has had likewise done to it. Then you flip over the clamp and do the other side of the blade's edge in a likewise manner. The angled guide holes assure you maintain proper angle as you sharpen the knife. The 4 different angles afforded by the guide holes allow you to put the proper edge on various types of knives such as hunting, Exacto, utility, general purpose and kitchen knives. The instruction manual tells you which angle to use for various types of knives.The 5 different hones allow you to start with coarse stone to quickly achieve an edge even on a pretty dull knife and then work you way to the medium through finer stones as you go along until you reach the perfect the edge. There is also a spare tightening screw for the plastic bases of the hones and one spare screw for the clamp (only one despite the fact it takes two different types of screw). A small bottle of honing oil is included in the kit. Everything is packed away in a small plastic carrying case. Everything fits quite neatly into the case. My only peeve is that the carry case is the very cheap type, one piece molded plastic, meaning its hinge is simply a piece of plastic which will break over time from it bending back and forth as you open and close it. Besides what came in my kit, there are several accessories you can buy for the Lansky Knife Sharpening System. Some of these include: a universal clamp mount/base that can be used as a portable or permanently attached base (can be attached to a work table), a pedestal clamp base/mount, various hones such as natural Arkansas stone or diamond faced hones, and a field carrying case (made of Cordura nylon).

It has taken me quite a while before trying it out. I used the sharpening system only about a week ago for the very first time. I tried it out on a couple of the kitchen knives in my temporary quarters while here in Phoenix. It took a little getting used to to hold the clamp right and move the hones over the blades as per the instructions but I had it down within a few passes of the hone. I found out you need to be careful - even if you do it just like they tell you, your hand can be in a position to get sliced as you pass the hone over the blade if you get lax. As opposed to holding the knife in your hand and running it over the stone, you are holding the stone and running it over the knife. just make sure none of your flesh is hanging over the sides of the hone and in the path of the blade. If you are careful all should go well. If you want to see a video on how to do it - click here.

The end results of my sharpening efforts were some darned nicely sharpened kitchen knives with no scratches on the sides of the blades. They had a pretty sharp edge too and I used only 3 of the 5 stones provided. I then sharpened my Buck Bantam 285. I used all of the stones on it. Once done, I was fairly confident you could shave with it - after testing it on my arm hair I was convinced. Once again, no scratches on the sides of the blade and the edge looked pretty uniform over the length of it. Next thing you know, I'll be ready to sharpen my Spyderco Bill Moran - FB01 on it.

In all, I am a happy man who is quite content with his new knife sharpening system. I foresee my blades being somewhat easier to sharpen, with more uniform edges, and that hold an edge longer thus necessitating less sharpening over the long haul. In addition it is all small enough to bring along on most types of trips that I make such as hunting or fishing trips. To top it all, it only retails for around $40 and can be had at places like sporting goods stores or online at retailers like SMKW. What is not to like about a sharpening system like that - I love it.

All the best,
Glenn B

Went Out To Grab a Bite...

...to eat over at the Turf Accountant Irish Pub. It was drizzling lightly when I left and I had the thought I ought to go back and grab my boonie hat but did not do it. I had a very delicious steak sandwich with sauteed onions and tomatoes (yes the tomatoes were sauteed too at my request) with a side of fries. Great meal, excellent service, I have not gotten anything otherwise at this place yet. No booze tonight. I had enough on Friday night to last a week so I am taking it easy but I will say they have a darned good selection of it and excellent service at the bar too.

Once I finished up and headed outside I had the passing thought of heading over to the movie theater at the Arizona Center after eating, but as luck would have it, it started pouring out just after I left the pub. So, I headed to my apartment instead. I got about two blocks from the Turf, then it started to really pour, as in buckets. By the time I had walked the few blocks to my apartment, I was soaked. This was definitely the heaviest downpour I have seen here in Phoenix while on this trip. Seems to be primarily a Sunday thing as of late - it has rained for the last three Sundays in a row. I guess I'll just have to download something from Netflix and I'll have to remember to keep that boonie rolled up in my pocket on Sundays.

All the best,
Glenn B

The Luck of the Draw...

...and as luck has it it is another soggy Sunday in Phoenix. Hoping to get some planned shooting in today, I called Ben Avery Shooting Facility and although they were open they would only remain open until three. It was already 1245 but figured I would give it a try anyway. I did not get on the road until about 1:15 and was guessing it would take me about 35 minutes to get there. That would leave me all of a bit over and hour to shoot - not a lot but I wanted to shoot today. Just before hitting the Indian School Road exit on I-17, I remembered that Shooter's World was virtually right off that exit but I was unsure of the exact location. I exited there and tried my GPS. I tried a few searches by name, under all recreation, and using the word Range. There was no listing for Shooter's World in any way, shape or form. Great another 5 minutes wasted. Then the light bulb turned on and I remembered Free 411. So I called it (1-800-FREE 411). They had the number and the address 3828 28th Avenue. I was already nearby but had to drive about 5 minutes to get what would only have been a block or so because I had to go around a canal. When I got there I saw the parking lot was full and cars were arriving every few seconds and a small crowd was gathered outside the front doors. I did not even get out of my car but did give them a call while staying dry inside of it. I was told there would be an hour and a half wait for a shooting lane! So much for that. I headed back to the freeway and realized that it was already about 1:45 - where had the time gone - and that even if I made it up to Ben Avery I would have less than an hour to shoot. So I just turned around and headed elsewhere. No place in particular but I did get some shopping done for some essentials.

I am back at my apartment now doing laundry, and thinking about how to kill the rest of the day. It may be a good night for a movie - for some reason the theater close by to me never seems crowded rain or shine. I think though that right now, I'll walk up the block and grab a hot cup of Joe, relax at the cafe and enjoy the weather from inside looking out.

All the best,
Glenn B

Weekend Wanderings...

...have taken me no more than about a mile from my apartment so far this weekend but that was enough. While there is usually little to do in or near downtown Phoenix over the weekends this one was different. Yesterday was the day that made the difference being that it was First Friday. First Friday is simply a street fair of sorts held the first Friday of every month on Roosevelt Street in Phoenix. I suppose you could call Roosevelt Street the heart of Phoenix, at least on First Fridays - at other times it takes on the standard look of Phoenix on most days - post apocalyptic virtually empty streets. Best not to dwell on it when there is nothing going on so allow me to return to m thoughts about it when there is some hoopla and festivity.

I have walked up and down Roosevelt Street from Central to 7th several times during the three First Fridays through which I have been here so far. The first two of them, one in January then one in February, were fairly well attended. Several hundred, if not a thousand people were doing likewise each time. Last night though was different, there had to have been thousands of people there for sure. It was mobbed. I don't know what made last night's FF different than the others, it was not warmer or cooler out, the weather was pleasant as it had been for the others. It is not a holiday weekend or anything like that. There was nothing unusual in the offering among the many street vendors and the street performers were pretty much the regular thing you would expect to see at a street fair. Yet, it was mobbed.

I did not go directly there from my apartment, I skirted around it up to 3rd Street and went to a credit union ATM machine to get some cash. I had a purchase in mind and wanted to make sure I had the cash to pay for it. After I got my cash I headed back toward Roosevelt in between 1st Street and Central to look for Aleta Welling's booth. She is a local artist, a painter, who paints mainly surreal fantasy works. At the fair she sell prints made from her works. I like surrealism but have never even considered buying any for my home until I saw hers. Then again, I wasn't really considering a piece of surreal art last night either. Instead, my aim this time was on something more along the lines of a piece of Operatic art. The print I was interested in buy was a copy of one of Aleta's oil paintings (the original was already sold) called The Lady of the Woods. Her painting is in essence a copy of something she had seen once upon a time and that immediately struck her as worth the time, effort, paint to put on canvass. The something she had seen was an Opera Poster from the early 1900s.

Well, when I got to where Aleta's booth should have been - it was not. I walked all the way up to Central and did not see her. I did an about-face and started looking on both sides of the street figuring maybe she had to move her location because there were some new vendors in evidence. Then suddenly, almost as if by some magic out of a surreal scene, the crowds parted and there she was right where she was supposed to have been. You see, I missed her the first time because the crowd was so large. There were so many people in and around her small both when I went by it the first time that I simply did not, could not, see it.

As I walked into her booth, I caught her eye and said something like: I see you brought along the large one tonight. She was a bit flummoxed until she saw me looking at The Lady of the Woods print she had hanging on the left just as you would enter her booth. A smile lit up her face and she asked/said: "So you're the one.... I had stopped by her booth a couple of times on each of the previous FF's I had attended and then had written her a couple of emails inquiring about the availability of the original (yes I was pretty taken by this painting and beleive me my camera flash did not do it justice) and about availability of different sizes of the prints once I found out the original was already sold. I think most of her other works are great too, but I sure did like this one the most. It seems others feel the same way she told me this is one of her best selling prints. I just like it because it reminds me of several things in life that I enjoy: hunting, Greek mythology goddess of the hunt type things, The Hobbit (even though woman played only a small role in the book), mother nature, the forests and their serenity, wood nymphs and the like. There is also something else the print will always remind me of when I look at it and that would be the artist, you see even though she claims it is not - it could be a self portrait. The resemblance between the subject of the painting and the artist is remarkable. Aleta thought this a great compliment because she considers the woman in the painting very beautiful although I figure that this was equally complimentary to the woman in the painting because Aleta is stunning herself. Anyway the resemblance is there.

I wound up buying a 16x20 print that is on stretched canvass and ready for framing. I had debated buying the 8x10 size but the larger one just is so much more outstanding. here of course was a slight dilemma in making m selection. On one hand I could get the one that looked better because of its size and on the other I could get the one that would be much easier for me to take home when i leave Phoenix at the end of my assignment here. I am pretty sure I will be allowed to carry the print on the plane with me as carry-on but I am somewhat concerned of it getting torn or otherwise ruined during my travels. I guess time will tell if it will eventually hang in my home in one piece.

To tell you the truth, I cannot remember the last piece of art I bought as far as paintings go. The most artsy things I can think of having bought in recent years were Hummels for my wife and a very pretty vase or two. There was just something about this one though that said take me home. So I bought it. That may be indicative of another side of me, one that I have not dealt with all that often, but that I would not mind seeing more of out and about. Now I have to overcome the trip home with it, then and more importantly I have to hope my wife likes it. Chances are she won't and will be wondering what on earth had me buying a print showing a woman, for some unknown reason holding antlers on her head. So to the basement it probably will be relegated but that is okay - I already have a place for it in mind and the basement is kind of my private retreat anyway. Of course, I may be surprised and Linda may love it, it which case it may wind up in the living room or dining room. My guess is that searching for and selecting just the right frame for it could be something both of us might enjoy. I hope so.

If you would like to see some samples of her works click here.

All the best,
Glenn B

keepshooting.com

I ordered 5 pre-ban 30rd AK magazines from KeepShooting.com two days ago, I placed the order after the place's business hours. The magazines were delivered today. My son opened up the package and said the invoice and packaging are clearly marked to show they are pre-ban mags and that the country from which they were imported is Germany (which could make them East German mags but that is unknown with certainty). Brendan said they appear to be steel mags and that 4 of the 5 are not ribbed along the backside and one has a rib.

This was the first time I had dealings with KeepShooting.com. It was a pretty pleasant experience as far as ordering shooting supplies, or anything else for that matter, goes over the Internet. So, I give a hat tip to KeepShooting.com. I will shop with them again.

All the best,
Glenn B

Ballseye's Gun Shots 50 - Pre-Ban, Hi-Cap, Magazines - It's A Chore To Find Them but...

...they are still a necessary requirement in places like New York State where if you want to own a high capacity magazine it still has to be pre-ban as per state law. (Don't even think of owning one in New Dork York City though or Bloomberg and the boys in blue will lock you up post haste.) As for the rest of New York State (and I think this applies to all of it but some other cities may have total bans on hi-cap like NYC, so check first) I am fairly confident that you can legally own high capacity magazines that were manufactured prior to September 13, 1994.

Now, if you are at all familiar with firearms that are capable of using high capacity magazines you probably realize that there used to be a similar federal ban on high capacity magazines that went into effect under Commeraden President William Jefferson Clinton. That one is no longer in effect because there was a sunset provision built into that law. It arrived at its sunset under President George W. Bush and was never brought back into law (at least not yet but I am pretty sure the Obama Administration would like to do so). Good for us that is was allowed to sunset - well for most of us - because as I said NY State still requires you to use only pre-ban hi-cap mags for them to be legal. Finding them nowadays is not always easy.

Take for example my two visits to gun shows since I have been on temporary assignment in Phoenix. The first time around I picked up two so called 'pre-ban' 30rd AK magazines from a dealer at said show. He assured me they were pre-ban. I never shopped for these mags before except maybe once and knew little about them. These were the best looking ones he had, in almost pristine condition. I have seen military surplus like that before, and I figured why would this guy lie to me to make a $30.oo sale and take a chance of investigated later on if I had problems because of them. So I bought them after telling him I would be bringing them back to NY and they absolutely had to be pre-ban mags. As it turns out, I cannot find any reference on the Internet to magazines that look like these as being pre-ban. Maybe they are and maybe not - but I have seen similar ones sold as post-ban. Whoops. That is okay for now because they are legal in AZ even if they are post ban. If I find out for sure they are post ban or even if it remains very questionable about them being pre-ban or not, I will not bring them back to NY. I will sell them here before I leave.

Sadly, I did not realize that those magazines might be post-ban until after this past Sunday. You see on Sunday, I went to my second gun show here in Phoenix and guess whom I bought two additional pre-ban AK 30rd magazines from this time. Yep, the same guy. These were different magazines and are blued steel. They were labelled as:

MAGAZINE CENT ARMS ROMANIAN AK 30RD 010
(A BAR CODE)
MGCAMA521PB

He said they were pre-ban. Other dealers had the same exact ones on sale, all hawking them as pre-ban magazines. I bought two of them. They were only about $14.00 each. With tax - $30 plus small change. Not bad. In NY these might go for as much as $40 to $50 each from a gun store. As I walked away from his tables with the mags, I realized he had given me two ten dollar bills as change from $40 I had given to him. I went back and told him, he thought he had given me two fives but I was sure he had not since I only had one five and that was my change from my admission fee. Otherwise I had all twenties and the two tens he gave me. He took one back and said thanks looking at me like I was a jerk but i felt okay about returning the excess to him.

I went online yesterday, simply interested in finding out more about pre versus post ban hi-cap magazines. I found a few interesting descriptions of AK magazines - not much about post versus pre but some. The best piece I found was on a site called Glock Talk - go figure! You can see it here. Well from what I can make out - the first two mags I bought are not listed there but his is not an all inclusive picture guide to AK mags. The second, the blued steel ones that I bought, are not as questionable as the gray ones. What makes them somewhat questionable is that although marked Romanian they do not appear the same as this guy's Romanian mags. Of course, I realize there are probably production differences throughout Romania. Being more confused than ever, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, I figured I would get some more knowledge and go to the source for these mags. Well, at least I would go to the US distributor. So I contacted Century International Arms by email in the wee hours of this morning. I was quite surprised they replied to me later this same day. That was quick. First they told me they did not know when they were imported and could not really help with legal issues. I clarified in a second email to them saying all I wanted to know was the manufacture date because I already knew that pre-ban are legal in NY State. They got right back to me again saying they were uncertain of the date of manufacture but that they were issue magazines and most likely pre-ban. Okay - so the dealer maybe got it right this time but is maybe good enough?

In the same wee hours of this morning, I also searched out pre-ban hi-cap AK mags for sale online. I actually found two places selling them at what seem fairly reasonable prices. I contacted the place that had them for less (a buck apiece less is a buck apiece less after all. That was KeepShooting.com, the online sales division of BTP Arms. I asked if they would deliver the mags they advertised as pre-ban 30rd AK mags to me in NY State. Their reply also came later today and was a simple: "Yes we do". This evening, after reading their reply, I ordered two of those magazines. I know that $17.95 each is not a great price, but these are being sold as pre-ban (shown as such on their website) and are being offered by a regular dealer with a business - so I figure that is good enough for me and ought to be good enough in NY for any authorities who might question me at a range or wherever. I also know that the price was not terrible. I would rather have paid what they are probably worth - about $10-$14 apiece - but you have to take em as you can find em and I found em at a decent enough price to take em - so I took em! I may buy more if these arrive as promised. I limited myself to 5 mags for the first purchase because I have never before dealt with this company. Time will tell if they are reliable.

As for the five magazines I ordered from KeepShooting.com, they are slated as European manufacture, metal (hopefully steel and they look to be blued steel), 30rd, AK, pre-ban magazines in excellent condition. You can see the web page for them here: http://www.keepshooting.com/firearmaccessories/magazines/ak4730rdmag.htm. Maybe you live in NY, or in another state, with similar Draconian laws. If you do, and if you need some pre-ban hi-cap AK mags now you have a potential source.

Now to find pre-ban hi-cap AR magazines for my son's new rifle. Something tells me this new task may not be as easy.

All the best,
Glenn B

Internet Disappointments

I joined Facebook probably within the last 4 months or so, maybe a bit longer ago. To date, I have received several emails from Facebook members that contained links to viruses. I know that the people from whose account came those emails did not send them to me with a virus attached. Some malevolent son of a bitch dog was up to no good and somehow managed to engineer a virus and send it out from other people's Facebook accounts to those listed as friends in those accounts. I have had enough. I deleted my Facebook account tonight. According to the window that popped up, my account has been deleted temporarily for 14 days and if I do not sign on within 14 days it will then become permanent.

I will stick to blogging - that is if Google does not cancel my account. It appears this is another thing going on in the virtual world of the Internet. A fellow blogger recently had a few of his blogs and his Google email shut down by Google. I have heard of this before and it usually seems to apply to conservative bloggers for the great majority from what I understand. I am not talking about extremist conservatives either. I mean regular run of the mill conservatives although my information of this is pretty much limited to those among them who write a lot about guns, politics, terrorism, the current administration and hopes for a conservative replacement and related topics. If it is true that this group is being targeted then I imagine my blog is not long for this site. I do not believe I have ever violated the terms of service of Google or Blogger but then again I would not have thought that the other guys did either.

Hopefully I will continue to blog here but if for some reason my account is deleted I will start blogging from a purchased web domain/website or whatever you call it.

All the best,
Glenn B

A Full Moon Tonight & The Wolfman...

...that is the movie The Wolfman and some bone chilling moments were in the stars for me tonight (I guess last night by now since it is just after midnight here in AZ). I did not need a Gypsy fortune teller to read my palm to tell me any of that. After all, there was a full moon out, clouds eerily sped by hiding then revealing the moon's cold face, and rain seemed inevitable. So I was off to the theater figuring to get some thrills and chills from a classic horror themed movie. Sadly, there was not a single scream, gasp, nor even a mere "oh my" from anyone in the audience throughout the duration of this oft times slow and boring werewolf movie. I thought for one brief moment there had been a gasp, then realized someone was yawning. Seems I cannot win when it comes to seeing a good movie while here in Phoenix. First I walked out of The Book of Eli about 1/2 way through because the media quality was terrible (scratched and dirty) and besides that the movie was truly extremely boring (although a coworker told me while he found it boring too, the ending was worth thee wait). Then I watched this one hoping for something a least in the thrilling range if not actually scary. At least I stayed all the way through this one but I was disappointed. Let me just put it this way, the movie was mediocre at best.

After the movie had ended and as I walked back to my apartment I realized I had been right about one thing - that I would be getting some chills tonight - it was raining and quite cool and I had to zip up my fleece and turn up my collar. Not exactly the type of chills I had been anticipating though but chills nonetheless.

All the best,
Glenn B

Ballseye's Gun Shots 49 - Letter From An Angry Reader

Nope, I have not received any hate mail regardless of the implication of this post's title. I just figured that it was once again time to post about, and share, a certain letter to a certain magazine from a certain angry reader who talks about guns and our right and need to own them and be proficient with them.

The Letter From An Angry Reader was a letter received by Esquire magazine way back in 1981 from a reader who was disgusted by a piece previously appearing in said magazine. The previous article, from the April 1981 issue of Esquire, was called ''50 Million Handguns' and was about as anti-gun and anti self defense as it could be and was basically a flip side to a previous article in the February 1981 edition of Esquire that was pro-gun and supported self defense (apparently Esquire was willing back then to show both sides). At least one person who read the anti-gun article '50 Million Handguns' got angry; his name was Chip Elliot. He penned his anger in a letter he sent off to the editors of Esquire. The editors were impressed, they asked him to expand it into an article length piece. He obliged. His article Letter From An Angry Reader first appeared in the September 1981 edition of Esquire magazine - it was the front cover piece. Thus we have what is one of the most well thought out and realistic documents covering some of the reasons for firearms ownership and the need to be ready to defend one's self. Once upon a time, I had an original of that edition. I picked it up when it first came out - only because of that article. It was something I treasured for years to come but alas, somewhere over the years, it became lost treasure. Yet, it is still available for viewing on the Internet, where I just found it, at:

http://www.keepandbeararms.com/information/XcIBViewItem.asp?ID=3499

Or maybe you can find a copy of the actual magazine.

Or read it here:

Letter from an ANGRY Reader

A Letter to the Editor of Esquire Magazine
from Chip Elliott

The streets of America...are as dangerous as the roads and alleys of an earlier century. But before we resign ourselves to helplessness, this reader urges us to listen to the story of how he took up arms in defense of his life and property.

In regard to Adam Smith's April column, "Fifty Million Handguns," come off it. Smith laments the fact that large numbers of people are prepared to defend themselves with handguns. He can't really accept the fact that we are living in a world where personal self-defense is a necessity. Didn't he read the article in the February Esquire called "Shooting to Kill"—about middle class citizens who are determined to shoot to defend their lives? Did he or you think that was a joke? That it was made up?

I went from being where both of you seem to be at this point to carrying a 9mm Smith & Wesson automatic in ten weeks. My wife is a psychiatrist. Very attractive, very easy to intimidate, very abstracted, a likely target for muggers both outside, because she's lost in her thoughts, and at home, because punks think doctors keep drugs in their houses (they don't). She has a gun, too, a .38, and she knows how to use it. We are not hillbillies: we are people who went to Radcliffe and Stanford, respectively. Appalling, huh? It used to appall us too, until we were forced to realize that our lives, both as a married couple with a deep commitment and as individuals doing important and meaningful work, were worth protecting.

In the spring of 1976 we were living in the San Francisco Bay area. My wife was doing her psychiatric residency. I had just walked out on the advertising business and was working on a novel. That spring, Peter Brook directed a play called The Ik, a hair-raising piece created by the troupe of the International Center for Turnbull's anthropological study called The Mountain People. Sponsored by the French government, Brook and his gang made a six-week American tour and played Berkeley.

The play cast in theatrical bronze the lives of a tribe of hunters in Uganda who had been displaced from their centuries old hunting grounds by the creation of a national park and a game reserve. What followed was an utter disintegration of their social structure, and it turned everybody—including members of the same family—into mortal enemies seeking, each alone, food.

The play's premise is that what we call human values are actually luxuries qualities that only emerge and exist under the best and calmest of conditions. It was a spooky production and great theater, but I did not see how it could possibly relate to America in the late Seventies.

Two years later, we moved to Los Angeles. We did not move to the glamorous, movie-struck Los Angeles of The Ginger Man and the Beverly Hills Hotel—though I would be lying if I said the thought had never crossed our minds. We moved to the Los Angeles of the Nuart theater, the Fox Venice, the Jung Institute, a city with the sense of being in another country with American hamburger overtones. And, of course, the sea. Not the beach, the sea.

Our friends Boris and Ute—a Yugoslav sculptor and a German painter—had just bought a house in Venice, and we quickly rented a house nearby on Electric Avenue. Electric Avenue yet! Whooee! It was dirty pink with a gray-green roof, and its outstanding feature was an eight-by-thirty glassed-in porch. A grown man in good condition could have torn this house down with his hands, but I loved it because it swayed when you walked through it. It was like being on a weather-beaten but seaworthy closed cabin schooner.

Venice at that time seemed like Sleeping Beauty after a century of trance: musty, dusty, and long stagnant, but with the promise of awakening magic. On that porch I intended to write a new Threepenny Opera, to invent at least two or three new Sally Bowleses. I would knock the world on its ear.

More friends quickly turned up—Rene and Renata, European graphic wizards; Carolyn and Chris, a mime and an actor who wanted to get away from off-Broadway and into movies and television; a middle-aged Australian writer and adventurer and his half-Irish-half-Mexican wife with her wall-to-wall cheekbones and her head full of D. H. Lawrence and Denise Levertov...and many others.

My beloved French Lop rabbit, Nicole, had a yard to romp in. We quickly discovered a sensational wine from a local vineyard, a county fair prizewinner that sold for $3.38 a gallon at the local Safeway.

Our days quickly became ordered: group breakfasts, work all day, talk all evening, lights out by ten p.m. My wife took a job as staff psychiatrist for a county mental health clinic in downtown Los Angeles. We settled in in a hurry. There was no time to lose. We were going to recreate the world not of the Sixties but of F. Scott Fitzgerald's friends Gerald and Sara Murphy in the years 1922 and 1923. We would throw a two-year-long working party.

But it quickly became apparent that all was not as it seemed in Venice. For starters, we had moved to the intersection of turfs of two rival Mexican gangs. We got along with them. When they shot at each other—as they did less than a week after we had moved in—they shouted to us in Spanish to get out of the way. We did.

There were other clues. Walking, I would occasionally see brown spots on the sidewalk that, from my experience as a police reporter, I could recognize as bloodstains. I would notice this the way you might notice a scruff of feathers where something has gotten a small bird: a tiny memorial to violence.

One morning, as I was sitting on the wobbly glassed-in porch, I watched a gang of black teenagers pour gasoline all over a parked car and set it on fire. This was at ten o'clock in the morning. Broad daylight.

A few days later, I heard of a robbery two blocks from where we lived: A woman came to the door of a house and asked to use the telephone, said it was an emergency. When the man opened the door, her henchmen came in right behind her. The three of them stabbed the man to death and left his wife barely alive. In the next block a woman was raped twice after her nose and jaw were broken.

Just to be on the safe side, after a kitchen table powwow, we went to a gun shop on Pico Boulevard one Saturday morning and bought a 38 snub-nosed revolver. After all, this was Los Angeles, land of Joe Friday. Strange things had happened here. Sharon Tate had once had a very bad evening here. But a gun! Who had ever owned a gun? I picked the revolver up after the normal fifteen-day waiting period and wrote the guy a check from the Santa Monica Bank. It cost $160. It seemed like a lot for a silly object. I would rather have bought a painting. We put the revolver under the corner of our mattress and there it stayed. For ten days.

One night we went to the Fox Venice to see Forbidden Planet, you know, the movie about monsters from the id. When we returned, the door had been broken in. The stereo was gone, the television was gone, the paintings and cameras and typewriters were gone. The dressers had been turned over and ransacked, the bed had been torn up and the revolver taken; the birdcage had been torn off the wall and the parakeet set free for a while until the cat got it and ate it, leaving the remains on the floor where a rug had been. All the jewelry was gone, such as it was. Including my Cartier watch. I had earned that watch, you know? I had saved for it just as surely as I had saved the money for a house or a car or a couple of new suits. That ended my romance with Cartier watches. There is an enormous black market for them in Los Angeles, but I don't want one now. I wear a Thirties Gruen Curvex now, a sister to the watch Bogart wore in Casablanca. It's worth about the same as a tank watch but very few people know what it is.

Three thousand in after-tax dollars. It took the police two hours and forty-five minutes to show up.

Our revolver, which had begun as a museum piece, a curio, as far as we were concerned, had now entered the underworld. We were unprotected now, and we felt so. We reported the gun stolen, of course. Serial number and all that. Big deal. Five months later, it was used in an assault against a Los Angeles woman. I made up my mind that the way to handle a gun in a dangerous situation was to never let it out of my sight.

Our friends were robbed, burglarized. Carolyn, of her sewing machine, her typewriter, her clothes. Another couple, of all their photographic equipment, used not for a hobby but for their livelihood. Easygoing Boris bought a twelve-gauge riot gun and hid it in a trunk with his sixteen millimeter movie equipment so no one would steal it. And a huge black shepherd dog to protect the trunk. Someone broke in anyway and slit the dog's throat.

Easygoing Boris bought a twelve-gauge riot gun and hid it in a trunk with his sixteen millimeter movie equipment so no one would steal it. And a huge black shepherd dog to protect the trunk. Someone broke in anyway and slit the dog's throat.

We bought a new revolver, a. 38 Special Smith & Wesson, and had the handgrips filed down so my wife could hold it easily. The two weeks while we waited for the permit to go through were the most terrifying of my fife.

It turned out that my wife's work for Los Angeles County was more like a Clint Eastwood movie than a medical practice. One of her street patients quickly fastened on her and began writing her death threats with sexual overtones. There was no place to put him away because there was no money for any serious treatment, and there were no available psychiatric beds in any of the local hospitals. She began carrying the .38 in her briefcase along with her patient case load progress notes.

We quickly developed a pattern: when she came home at night she would park her car and blow the horn; I would go outside and escort her into the house. It dawned on me for the first time that we might be killed. That it was possible we would die here.

I bought a second handgun, a 9mm automatic that would fire as fast as lightning. I phoned around, discovered where to go to practice with it. And I practiced.

A word about revolvers versus automatics: If you don't know much about all this, a revolver is better because it is a simple mechanism. You can see if there are cartridges in it.

I also went to the police and got a carry permit. A carry permit is not as difficult to obtain as a lot of people would have you believe. You have to give a good reason for wanting the permit You have to not be a felon and not have, for example, eleven hundred outstanding parking tickets. If you are a crackpot, someone will sniff it out and you will not be issued the permit.

One night I was awakened by a noise outside on the street. I got up, peeped through the dining room curtains and saw a gang of teenagers taking the fog lights off my car. I raised the curtains and knocked on the window. The sight of a thirty-three year-old naked guy is not going to frighten very many people anymore, but the sight of a thirty-three-year-old naked guy with an automatic did the trick. They fled.

Our lives settled down again. We cut a safe into the floor of our dining room and hid our remaining valuables in it. It was never discovered, even though they took the Oriental rug that covered it.

We went to a wedding in San Francisco on a Friday night. The week before, I had prepped the house as you might prepare for medieval warfare: two-by-six boards bolted into doorframes with lag bolts six inches long and a socket wrench. That sort of thing. Anything we had left that was slightly portable—my wife's doctor bag, a pair of binoculars, our passports and checkbooks—I threw into two suitcases, which I put into storage.

When we returned from the wedding there was no back door and no doorframe, only an enormous hole with smashed edges leading into a set of empty rooms. We were left with a bed, some pots and pans, and a bookcase. It was one of our more memorable Thanksgivings.

On the seventeenth of December in 1978, I saw a woman mugged for her purse—and I watched her run screaming after her assailant until she collapsed, crying in the street.

On the eighteenth or nineteenth of December, my wife was at a meeting, everybody else was busy doing something, and I walked alone to the Venice Sidewalk Cafe for some dinner. It occurred to me that it was silly to put on a shoulder holster just to go out for a beer and a sandwich, but I did it anyway, although I had never been threatened physically, ever, except in foreign countries.

Walking home about six-thirty at night, just off the corner of West Washington Boulevard and Westminster Avenue, I was confronted by five young, well-dressed uptown brothers. Black. Okay. Let's get that right out front. They could just as easily have been white. We were directly under a streetlight and less than fifty feet from an intersection thick with traffic.

I was not dressed as a high roller. I am not a high roller. I don't look like a robber baron or a rich dentist. I look like exactly what I am, a middle-aged guy who's seen a little more than he needs to see. I thought, what are these guys doing?

Their leader pulled a kitchen knife out of his two-hundred-dollar leather jacket. His mistake was that he wasn't close enough to me to use it, only to threaten me. He smiled at me and said, "Just the wallet, man. Won't be no trouble."

That was a very long moment for me. I remember it just as it happened. I remember thinking at the time that it was one of those moments that are supposed to be charged with electricity. It wasn't. It was hollow, silent, and chilly.

I looked at this guy and at his companions and at his knife, and I thought: Don't you see how you're misreading me? I am not a victim. I used to be a victim, but now I'm not. Can't you see the difference?

I pulled the automatic, leveled it at them and said very clearly, "You must be dreaming."

The guy smiled at me and said, "Sheeeit," and his buddies laughed, and he began to move toward me with the knife. I thought, this guy is willing to kill me for thirty-five dollars. I aimed the automatic at the outer edge of his left thigh and shot him.

He dropped like a high jumper hitting the bar and yelled "Goddamn!" three times, the first one from amazement, I guess, and the second two higher pitched and from pain.

He yelled at his buddies, "Ain't you gonna do nothing?" They did do nothing.

	The guy smiled at me and said, "Sheeeit," and his buddies laughed, and he began to move toward me with the knife. I thought, this guy is willing to kill me for thirty-five dollars. I aimed the automatic at the outer edge of his left thigh and shot him.

I backed off and walked away, right across busy West Washington Boulevard, with the gun still in my hand. I remember thinking, shouldn't I call a doctor? And then I thought, would he have called a doctor for me? And I kept right on walking.

I am not a macho guy. White water to me is club soda. I haven't been skiing in ten years. Anything I order from L.L. Bean ends up on the dining room table and then in a box in the basement. I'm never going to shoot a zebra and have it made into a rug, okay?

I was not coming on like James Bond, and I was not being territorial or aggressive. I was simply protecting my right to walk around town with a lousy thirty-five dollars in my pocket and not be afraid for my life.

I walked home. I felt terribly strange, but it was a strangeness that I could identify. I realized that what I was doing—in our current state of affairs—was a cultural procedure no different from going to the grocery or getting a haircut or buying a shirt. And that I had balked over it and felt strange because it was a new procedure, something I was doing for the first time, not unlike dealing with one of those twenty-four-hour banking devices with the code numbers and the buttons—and that if I wanted to stay alive, it was possible I would have to get used to it.

I am not proud of this. I did not swallow it easily, either. More than a year passed before I talked about it with anybody, not even my wife. But I did it. And I could do it again if I had to.

What happened to us, of course, is that we got hit in the face with time's swinging door. My world changed sometime between 1975 and 1980, and we had a couple of tough years getting from one Pullman car to another. We were lucky. We lost more than eleven thousand dollars of what we owned, but we weren't killed. We adapted. Now the guns are a normal part of our lives. We accept them, just as we accept the seven motors of suburbia. They are a necessary convenience, like the washing machine or refrigerator or one of those devices that zaps mosquitoes with electricity.

Sometimes I think, this is a stupid, abhorrent, exasperating situation. And it is. But we've adapted to other stupid, abhorrent, exasperating situations: 20 percent interest rates. Iran. And now we've adapted to this one.

Let me tell you how we've adapted. We dress low key, we don't flaunt anything, we keep loaded guns in the house, and we don't keep them stashed in some drawer where we can't find them if we need them. We keep them right out in the open, and we always know exactly where they are. The difference is in that exterior framework of protection and in our attitudes toward it: it is something that was not necessary when we were younger, and it is something which most of us, Adam Smith included, still carry on about. We don't even think it's too bad anymore; we're beyond that. We accept it as a fact of life and go right on. And it will stay a fact of life until our fellow countrymen get it out of their heads that they can do as they please, that there is no such thing as social responsibility, that they have a right not to behave. Because the way we see it, if they have the right to mug us, we have the right to shoot them.

I used to believe that these people had some justifications on their side. I used to feel that I ought to have some compassion for them, and I did. I used to believe that a job and some credit would put them on the right path. It isn't true. I also used to believe that much of the human wreckage—the millions upon millions of people with emotional damage—could be repaired. That isn't true either. They can't be, for the most part, because the effort necessary to straighten out a single one of them is enormous: four or five years perhaps of therapy, in an age when there is no time for anything but emergency medicine.

Let's face it. Some of these people are poor Some of them are driven crazy with desire for stuff they will never be able to afford. But not all of them are poor, not by a long shot. A lot of them make as much money, or a great deal more, than you or I do. They do it because it's easy. They do it because they believe no one will stop them. And they're right.

Let's talk for a moment about John Lennon. Adam Smith brought him up. I'm particularly interested in this one because John and Yoko had something very similar to what my wife and I have: two equal people who happened to be able to witness each other's life to the fullest possible extent. The grand passion. The real thing. Now it's gone.

When all is said and done, the real tragedy of John Lennon is that he dinosaured out. He ought to have known better. He stayed in the house for four or five years, and when he came out again, the world had changed. He could have had a bodyguard, for Christ's sake. He could have lived in the country. He did not have to stay in New York City and rub people's noses in it with his $150 million and his blue jeans. The clown who killed him did it for fame, not money, obviously. But if someone is willing to stick a knife in me for thirty-five dollars and not bother to find out what blood type I am, you can just imagine what they are willing to do to someone who has real money.

I think a lot about John Lennon. You know what I think? I think, Jesus Christ, if it's this bad for my wife and me now, what will it be like if either of us ever becomes well known?

More to the point, let's talk about Adam Smith's friend Michael Halberstam. I did not know Halberstam, but I liked his work. He surprised a burglar in his Washington, D.C., home and was shot.

Halberstam figured all of this out in the very last seconds of his life. He didn't like being killed. He must have thought it was pretty damned unfair. He was furious. In his last few moments, rushing adrenaline and pouring blood, he got in his car and ran down his assailant.

You know what? If he had made this discovery even slightly earlier—long enough to buy a weapon and wait for the permit to go through—he would very likely be alive right now.

Now listen to me a minute. The guns themselves don't cause all this. What causes it is that people think they can have the American dream by sticking someone up for it. They think that there ought to be a huge equal society out there. Equal shares for everybody. Forced equal shares if necessary.

Now listen to me a minute. The guns themselves don't cause all this. What causes it is that people think they can have the American dream by sticking someone up for it. They think that there ought to be a huge equal society out there. Equal shares for everybody. Forced equal shares if necessary.

What is true is that we are entering a time of vast restratification. The United States is becoming more European...but it is a Europe of a different century. We are moving toward a culture in which we'll have cooks, chauffeurs, maids, carpenters, brewmasters, vintners, industrialists, bankers, machinists, hat makers, shopkeepers, and kings and queens of a sort. And, of course, we'll also have highwaymen, cutthroats, and thieves. Think of it in terms of a vast panorama, a huge cross section much like the—world Balzac,, Hugo, and Dumas described. Think about Dickens. Read Weber's The City. Read Pirenne's The Economic and Social History of Medieval Europe. None of this is new. What is new is that we're experiencing it. What was new was the social structure in America of the past three or four decades, which has collapsed.

To have any kind of culture or civilization in a world like this, it is going to be necessary to stop talking about things like prisoners' unions and start talking about the concept of crime and the definition of the word "criminal."

It would be nice also to talk about police. But if you'll read these books, you'll find very little mention of police. What you will find are numerous references to people who wore swords and pistols whenever they went anywhere.

People now fashionably put down the Seventies, but it was a time when many people reached a level of personal success and satisfaction that may not be achieved again in our lifetimes. By comparison, we are in the pit, and I don't mean the floor of the commodities exchange. In many ways the Seventies gave us a glimpse of what life may be like in 125 years.

But it's like the Dark Ages now. Each time there is a major change, it is necessary to gain a clear understanding of what the changes are, what skills still hold, which ones need to be discarded, which new ones need to be developed.

Now, about those fifty million handguns: taking them away will not automatically give us a society like England's or Holland's. We are just not like that. It would be nice if we were. That's why Americans run away to Europe. What might help is a good set of disk brakes on people's behavior here. But anything that might put such desperately needed stops on people's personal "freedoms" is perceived out there in the streets as a violation of civil liberties, of constitutional rights. That is, it is a "right" to mug, rape, burglarize, murder, and commit arson for the insurance money. So there you are: a nation of pirates.

I would like to see impossibly tight gun registration laws, but I secretly scoff. Anyone who's honest can get through any registration process we can come up with. Anyone, who's not honest won't bother. The way guns get into the criminal underworld is that they are stolen. That makes registration a useless exercise.

As for the manufacture of all those devices and all those bullets, during World War II the United States became "the great arsenal of democracy." It is a damned good thing for the English that we were, too, or they would be holding Oktoberfests right now.

Do you really think the rest of the world sees us as insane because we bear arms? Try going to one of the South American countries. Try going into a country in which only the government has weapons. Try watching armed soldiers carrying their semiautomatic carbines around the airport gates and the customs offices, while the people have none. You want the wealth redistributed? Try it under those circumstances.

Don't talk to me about the saintly Japanese either. Everyone says they have a very low crime rate. No one really knows. It could be, because they are very big on making each person responsible for himself and also to his fellow countrymen—a sort of "One for all, all for one" attitude. They are sublimated like mad and they are rich because of it. It looks good on the surface, but just below that surface is a caldron; and if you look close you can see it. They have a history of barbarism that goes back for centuries and that we could never hope to match.

When the Soviets invaded Afghanistan, the first thing I thought was, now I'll never get to go there. Try putting yourself in Afghan shoes: no matter what you think, from your current vantage point, with a cellarful of good vintage wines and a wallful of Wittgenstein, if you lived there and the Soviets came trucking in with tanks and occupational forces, I am willing to bet you would hock your house, your automobile your Baume & Mercier watch, or your ass on the street for a good gun and the bullets to put in it.

So much for international relations; on the home front, suffice it to say that as long as we live in a society in which a large constituency thinks it can do whatever it damn pleases—no sense of morality asked for or required—then those of us who have the middle-class work ethic, those of us who believe the Freudian epithets of work and love, will be seen as potential victims by the flocks of hustlers and lurkers who are out there. It is sometimes tough to get a job. It is also, right now, easier to rob people than it is to work for money. It's easier because it can be gotten away with. These people believe no one will stop them. They're right. No one will. Not the police, not the courts, not the penal system. No one but the growing number of us who have decided we will not be victimized again, ever.

We moved from Venice in 1979. Our old friends blew away to various other places. Their dreams, like ours, blew away too.

We moved to a condominium in Culver City. Very uptown. Top floor, surrounded by Russian olive trees and flaming bougainvillea. Three swimming pools, Jacuzzis at every turn, an underground parking lot, and a tennis court. We didn't have anything to put in our place, but still it was pretty.

People were robbed in the parking lot. People were mugged on the tennis court. There was a rape nearby and then another. My wife began carrying her .38 again when she walked from our place to the car. We were burglarized again. We didn't even call the police.

One night we went to West Hollywood to see the movie Watership Down. We sat through it twice and couldn't understand why neither of us could stop crying. Sometime after that, we packed up—a simple matter, believe me—and drove east. We parked my rabbit, Nicole—who had survived Venice by digging a hole and hiding in it—in a picnic basket so we could sneak her into motels.

While we were looking for a house and staying in a motel, a white teenage boy and his girlfriend knocked on the door of a nearby room and asked to use the telephone. Inside, they held the couple at gunpoint; tied them to chairs with wire rope; took their wallets, clothes, luggage, traveler's checks, and car. We slept peacefully that night. If they had come to our door, they would have been surprised.

Now we live in a big old house out in the Midwest, big enough for each of us to have a studio. Huge yard, ravine, et cetera. The neighbors are friendly. A lot more friendly than we are, because we have memories we're trying to forget. It's not completely safe here, but it is a notch or so better than other places we've lived. We keep the guns, loaded, in the house, but we don't have carry permits anymore and we don't carry them around as though it were 1880...or 1980.

I've stopped going to target ranges to practice. But I still keep my hand in, as they say. Because every time we leave this relatively sublime neighborhood and enter the world of hotels and airports, we enter into a world of imminent danger—an area where the law is no recourse. So we remember how to use the guns, and try to forget that we have had to use them or ever will again.

When President Reagan was shot, I was outside painting a trellis. Some neighborhood children told me. At first I thought they had just seen a documentary on JFK. It seemed as far away to me as the moon...or the "forbidden planet." But it isn't.

Are human values luxuries? Could be, right now. If so, I lead a pretty luxurious life. I've paid for it, though, and the price was too goddamned high, because those human values used to come free. Part of the American package. Although sometimes I wonder if something so precious could ever have been, or be, free.

So you can fuss and bitch, Adam Smith, all you like, and you can rail at the hillbillies in the NRA, but the next time someone breaks into your house or your apartment, the next time someone busts the window of your car and rips off your FM radio and your thirty-five millimeter camera, the next time some woman you know gets raped and busted up and you have to visit her in the hospital and try to cheer her up, the next time you are totally freaked out after coming up against a gang halfway between the restaurant and the car, sit yourself down and do some serious considering about who has the right to do what to whom. Often this stuff has to touch people personally before they think about self-protection, and often by then a tragedy of far more epic proportions than getting knocked off for a Sony stereo receiver has occurred. I hope that doesn't happen to you. You have a right to carry on merrily with what you're doing.

Whenever I'm perplexed, upset, need some stillness, you'll find me out in the yard somewhere, pulling thistles out of my rosebushes, digging in the dirt. That's where I am today.

Let us know, you guys, when you figure out that sociopaths may be worthy of your concern, but not your life. The rest of us would like to come out of hiding."


Amazing story, isn't it. No not really, it could happen at any time. What is so amazing is that too many of us don't want to believe it and pefer to believe in the fairy tale of a White Knight arriving to save us in the nick of time after dialing 911. Yeah - right - good luck on that.

All the best,

Glenn B

References:
Esquire Magazine, September 1981
http://www.esquire.com/cover-detail?year=1981&month=9

http://www.keepandbeararms.com/Information/XcIBViewItem.asp?ID=3499

The Census - On What Authority

Is the taking of the Census by the United States Government legal? You may have thought that it is indeed legal, I thought so especially since the Constitution of the United States allows for it. Then again have you ever read just exactly what it is with regard to the Census that our Constitution allows? I have not, at least not lately. You may be surprised at how little of the information collected acrually is authorized by the Constitution which by the way is the only document from which any authority at all of our federal government is derived. Watch the following video and be prepared to be flabbergasted when considering what authority our government has, if any, to demand our personal information in the Census.




Pretty interesting stuff isn't it!

All the best,
Glenn B

Portlands...

...is a restaurant on Central Avenue just north of Roosevelt near downtown Phoenix. I went there tonight as a 2nd choice of restaurants because the place at which I had hoped to enjoy dinner was closed for this one night. So, a coworker, a young agent, who came out to dinner with me suggested Portland's. She made a wonderful choice. We split an appetizer of BBQ ribs, fall off of the bone type that tasted great. She had a couple of appetizers and side dishes for dinner - scallops - au gratin potatoes and such and it was delicious. I had their fillet of salmon dinner over a bed of sauteed spinach and white beans; it was scrumptious to say the least. A delicious dinner shared with good company is an excellent thing even though we just talked about ordinary things like family, married life, work and so on. That over it was then back to the cell room and to my blog for me. I may sneak out later for a whiskey or two, and to enjoy the music of The Waters, at The Turf Accountant for an hour or so. Other than that, I expect it to be a quiet night. Still though, it would be nicer still to be at home for a quiet night, snuggled up close to my darling on this cold winter's night in NY. Oh well, only a month and a half more to go before I am home again and by then the first blossoms of Spring will be blooming.

All the best,
Glenn B

Gun Show Anticipation............

...has ahold of me even though if I do attend tomorrow's (or Sunday's) Crossroads of the West Gun Show in Phoenix I cannot buy a gun. I don't know what it is about gun shows, but I do enjoy them even when I don't buy a thing. I guess it is simply because I like guns and enjoy shooting as much as I do. So, regardless of the fact that I cannot buy a gun at this weekend's show, I will be there at least one of the two days that it runs. Well, really I could buy a gun, then have it shipped to an FFL dealer in my home state, but the thing is it would have to be an earth shattering bargain to make the extra FFL transfer expenses worth it. Thus, I will attend but not purchase any firearms. Of course, that does not mean I can not buy accessories and the like and as usual I will probably spend a tidy amount when there. If you are at the show, keep an eye out for me and stop me to say hello if you happen upon me.

All the best,
Glenn B