A Day at the Range: Sunday, March 21, 2010

What better way to spend a Sunday than a trip to the range followed by a civilized lunch?  My brother Big Mike and I put Mike's Chrysler 300 on the street around noon and headed for the Bullet Stop, about an hour down the road.  It's a nice drive when the weather is good, but not a trip I'd willingly take during the winter.

Bullet Stop
15445 West Walbridge East Road

Graytown, Ohio 43432
www.bulletstopinc.com

Hours
Closed Wednesday
Mon - Fri 6PM-9PM
Sat 10AM-6PM
Sun 11AM-5PM

Although the address is officially on West Walbridge East, the Bullet Stop is actually on Bullet Stop road.

The first time Mike and I came to the Bullet Stop we found it by process of elimination - there isn't anything else around that could hold a shooting range.  Seeing no one around, we sat out in the parking lot for a few minutes discussing just where the front door might be and whether or not we should walk up to the barn and try the door or give the whole thing up as a bad job and go somewhere else.  Obviously we tried the door, but only after we reassured each other that we were both armed and, if we were wrong, we could apologize to the owner of the barn on our way back to the car.

If you haven't been to this place before, I'd encourage you to give it a try.  Don't be put off by the desolation of the place or the rustic appearance, and don't retreat from the two large dogs that will greet you with fierce barking as soon as you open the door.  If you're a new shooter, tell the people behind the counter your story and ask for a tour or something.  They'll help you and they're friendly.  In any event, please be aware that the Bullet Stop, the owners and the patrons are all people who mind their own business.  Keep that thought in mind as you enjoy the range.

I took my Smith & Wesson K22 revolver with me and put 30 or 40 shots through it.  It's a difficult gun to shoot as the grip seems to be at an odd angle.  I managed to do pretty well, but I definitely shoot my Ruger Mark II a lot better.  Here are some typical results from about 30 feet, two handed, single action.

Target from my K22

I also brought along my Smith & Wesson model 59 double action automatic in 9mm.  I originally bought this pistol for self-defense, as it came with two 14 round magazines and the double action feature would allow me to carry it with one round in the chamber.  The gun is light and the 9mm cartridge gives the recoil a nasty snap.

Smith & Wesson Mod. 59, 9mm

I never did very well with this pistol and considered selling it several times, but one way or another I hung on to it.  9mm ammunition isn't exactly cheap either, but I had some 9mm stockpiled and thought I'd shoot some of it up and at the same time see if I could get the hang of shooting this S&W without embarrassing myself.  I didn't do too badly.

Target with the S&W Mod. 59

I may have mentioned this in another post, but the targets I'm using were designed and printed by my brother Mike, who became sick and tired of trying to hit a black target with black sights in a dimly lit shooting range.  Both of us are getting on in years and can barely see anything at 50 feet in dim light, let alone a black on black on black combination.  Prior to using Mike's target, if my sights vanished against the target I figured it might be time to torch one off.  My shooting has improved somewhat since the advent of the color target.

Big Mike brought his Glock 9mm along and offered to let me test drive it.  It's easier to shoot than my S&W.

 Glock 9mm

Target with Glock 9mm

The things I don't like about the Glock are the plastic stock, which gives it a strange plastic feel, the balance which doesn't feel quite right to me and the two stage trigger.  The Glock (as most people know) has no safety.  Instead, it has a two stage trigger with the first stage being the safety.  The things I like about the Glock is that it's set up nicely for the 9mm cartridge (other calibers haven't worked as well), it's been optimized for production so as to keep manufacturing cost down, and the sights are outlined in white which is a big help for a man of my August years.

Glock Sights

Mike finished up with his Kimber 1911 in .45.  The Kimber has an amazing trigger pull, even better than my V-16.  Mike did well with his Kimber today, completely humiliating his shooting partner, Mad Jack and using his final target to rub a little salt in the wound.

Mike's Final Target

As usual we went in search of a civilized lunch.  We tried the Maumee Brewing Company at the old Oliver House, but it was closed.  Second choice was the Claddagh Irish Pub.

Claddagh Irish Pub

5001 Monroe St, Toledo, OH

Eternal Patio Flame

For reasons best know to the leprechauns who work at the Claddagh, the eternal patio flame was lit.  The temptation to throw various combustibles into the eternal flame is not as strong as it once was, but I think that a few packs of firecrackers at the height of happy hour would do a lot to liven the place up.  The Claddagh is a good enough place to eat so long as you understand up front that it is not an Irish pub and never will be, that it is in Westfield mall and therefore expensive and that the service at the bar can require patience, as the bar is very often understaffed.  Past that, the food is good, there is sports TV, various kinds of beer (not Bud-BudLight-Mick-MickLight...) and overpriced top shelf whiskey.  The bartender, when you can get him, knows how to pour a shot and serve it straight up, neat, or on the rocks.


I had boneless wings, which I can recommend.

Boneless Wings at the Claddagh

All in all, this is a very good day.

Plaza Azteca

 Plaza Azteca Mexican Restaurant

5125 Monroe Street, Toledo, OH 43623
Hours 11a - 10p Sun through Thurs; 11a - 11p Fri & Sat
(419) 841-9250
www.plazaazteca.com

I've been meaning to try the Plaza Azteca restaurant on Monroe Street for several weeks, and I finally got around to it today.  In short, I'm not all that impressed.  The place is over-staffed, which is rare in the restaurant business (generally speaking, being over-staffed means that the manager screwed up the schedule) but in this case it means that one person seated me, another person took my order, a third person served my order and a fourth person finished serving me - he took over for a waitress that left or was no longer available.  The only trouble with this arrangement is that the wait staff is very unlikely to know what the kitchen is doing, and my visit was no exception.

My order started out with complementary taco chips and two kinds of dip, white and red.  I have no idea what the white dip is about; it tasted a little like a combination of tarter sauce, mayonnaise and El Gringo's Authentic Mexican Spices! (the last ingredient is called poetic license, but go ahead and try to find it anyway).  The red dip is standard salsa, very mild.

I ordered the Burrito San Jose, a burrito that was supposed to come with chicken, chorizo sausage, refried beans and rice.  My burrito arrived on a large square bright white tray plate, and it just fit the diagonal.  I noted that the beans and rice were conspicuous by their absence.  My waitress didn't serve my food, and the server left as soon as the tray plate hit the table.  Naturally my waitress was not to be seen (service: strike one!).  Being hungry, I started eating anyway and found the burrito was good.  The sauce was spicy if a little on the rich side.  So, when my mouth was full and I couldn't talk, my waitress comes by and asks if I need anything (service: strike two!).  With some difficulty I explain the lack of beans and rice, and my server vanishes to find out what's going on.  The server reappears in a few minutes and explains that the beans and rice are to be found within the burrito.  This isn't what I expected, but so what - I'm hungry and I'll eat it anyway.  My server vanishes.  About halfway through my burrito I conclude that the beans and rice are not appearing in this feature.  I'm not too happy about this, but my server isn't around.  I continue to eat, and again while my mouth is full (service: strike three!) my server comes by with another server and explains that I'm changing hands.

By the time I could explain the absence of beans and rice to my new server, the burrito was history.  My only concern here was that I was charged, and subsequently paid for two items I didn't receive.  The manager, who never appeared at my table, offered a side dish of beans and rice which I declined.  I wasn't hungry and I really didn't care.

The atmosphere at the Plaza Azteca is that of a family style restaurant, and the portions and prices live up to those expectations.  The place is noisy and Mexican elevator music plays in the background.  I didn't sample the margaritas, reasoning that any bar featuring a dozen different kinds of margarita and a half dozen different varieties of a martini is not going to have anything that I want to drink.  If you don't believe me, find a place like this and try ordering a dry martini straight up, then watch as the waitress's eyes glaze over.

Kevin Moore over at the Toledo City Paper wrote an infomercial on the Plaza Azteca, Spicin' Things Up in the Mexican Scene,  which makes the place out to be something it isn't.  I include the link mainly because I like reading the City Paper and Kevin writes pretty well.

The thing about Plaza Azteca is that it's located right next door to Shorty's, which has some of the best barbecue available in the Toledo area along with equally good service and an outdoor patio.  So whatever I have at the Plaza, it's going to have to beat Shorty's - and that isn't happening today.  Tomorrow isn't looking good either.

On my own personal scale of restaurant excellence, I would give Plaza Azteca a very shaky 5 on a scale of zero to 10.  The place is headed to four or less, but who knows?  Maybe I'm being overly critical, maybe the kitchen will get their act together, maybe the service will improve.  Maybe not.  I'll probably eat there again, but not right away.

My Black Cat

We're painting at the house.  Cupboards are being emptied and their doors removed, drawers are pulled out and naturally everything must be sorted and washed before it can be carefully returned to storage.  As a result of the painting, I no longer have a black cat.

I suppose the paint will wear off or he'll shed the fur.  Meantime I have a less than perfect feline.

Police Shooting

On January 5, 2008 Sgt. Joseph Chavalia of the Lima, Ohio police department shot and killed Tarika Wilson.  Tarika's 1 year old son, Sincere, was wounded twice in the same shooting.  Sgt. Chavalia was subsequently charged with two misdemeanors: negligent homicide and negligent assault.  Chavalia was wrongfully acquitted of these charges at trial.  Here's why.

When I was nine years old I got my first rifle for Christmas – a .22 caliber Ithaca Model 49.  This is a lever action rifle with an external hammer.  The hammer operates separately from the action, so loading and cocking the rifle are two separate operations, making this rifle the safest .22 on the market.  Even so, the very first thing my father did after Christmas morning was over was to reiterate the four rules of gun safety.  Everyone reading this can recite them, can't they?  Here they are, as codified by Jeff Cooper and rephrased by my father:

1.The gun is always loaded.
2.Don't ever point the gun at something you don't intend to shoot.  Point it at the ground or up in the air.
3.Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot.
4.Be sure of your target and see what's behind it.  That lead has to go somewhere.

You can find links to the four rules here and here.  Rather than pontificate on all four, I'm going to concentrate on rule number 4: Be sure of your target and of what is beyond it.

God made man, but Colonel Colt made 'em equal.  When anyone picks up a gun and decides to carry it for protection, whether they know it or not they are stating that they, the gun owner, are accepting responsibility for their own actions involving the firearms they possess.  This is particularly true with rule number four.  If a pizza delivery man is confronted by an armed robber and he defends himself with his pistol, the lead has to go somewhere.  Likewise, if a homeowner empties a few shots from his SKS into a home invader, those shots could go through the invader and the wall behind the invader, and end up in the house next door.  The shooter is responsible for this.

Sgt. Joseph Chavalia is a policeman with about 30 years experience so I think it's safe to credit Chavalia with knowledge of the four rules of gun safety.  During the raid when Tarika Wilson was killed Chavalia was headed up the stairs with another officer close behind him.  Chavalia knew there were children in the house, and should know that children do really dumb things (any parents out there want to argue that one?).  Chavalia was shouting commands at unseen inhabitants upstairs to get down and surrender.  As he peeked over the top of the stairs Chavalia heard shots from somewhere in the house, and by his own admission Chavalia saw movement on the second floor that he couldn't identify.  Chavalia then opened fire with a fully automatic rifle without identifying his target.  As a result, Chavalia killed Tarika Wilson and wounded her one year old son Sincere that Tarika was holding in her arms.  Chavalia's crime stems from his violation of the fourth rule; he couldn't see his target, much less what was behind it.  He couldn't identify a threat, he knew there would be activity from the children in the house, but he opened fire anyway.  The real miracle is that Chavalia didn't kill a few of the children, who were also upstairs.

I cannot for the life of me imagine a jury so completely stupid and ignorant as to find Chavalia not guilty.  Nor can I conceive of a prosecutor so incompetent as to not get a guilty verdict, even from a stupid jury.  I can easily imagine some cooperation between the prosecutor and the defense attorney to present the best possible case for Chavalia.  Chavalia can go back to work and the city of Lima can brace itself for a civil suit, which is better than nothing but certainly not what should have happened.  Until the police are held culpable for their own abuse of power, this is the kind of behavior we have to expect from the police.  There is no reason for the police to change their policy on the use of force or deadly force, as misuse has no repercussions.

As an example of a real 'professional' at work, here is the infamous video of the police giving a lecture on firearms and firearm safety.

Lincoln Woods Activity

As promised earlier, I continued my citizen patrols of Lincoln Woods, searching for subversive activity.  I found none, but the dog and I did stumble across a sure sign of global warming.

Yellow Flowers

I don't know what these flowers are called but I hope they survive the snow that's certain to arrive before March is finished with us. 

Blue Flowers

I like these flowers too.  I was trying to get a photo of a very busy honey bee that was doing what bees do during spring.  The bee was camera shy.

The weather nit wit says we'll likely have snow on Sunday.  We'll see.

Racism and AmRen

Fred Reed sounds off on racism and AmRen, and in the process has seemed to ruffle a few feathers, or maybe a bit more accurately, has managed to step on enough toes to fill a podiatrist's office for the next few months.  As usual, Fred's essay is worthy of a read.

The Cost of Health Care

I read the story about Manny Evans and his mother Annisha Evans in this morning's Toledo Blade.  Naturally The Blade wouldn't publish the article on line, so screw 'em.  Here's the article as published in two other news sites: PhillyBurbs and Cincinnati.  Manny is seven years old and has neurofibromatosis. Annisha Evans has two other children, is unemployed, and is unable to care for Manny at home.  Therefore, Manny lives at Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.  The cost for Manny's room is about $3000 per day.  Medicaid pays $1000 and the hospital writes off the rest as a bad debt.  Manny has been living at the hospital for the last four years, which amounts to $365,000 per year plus handling costs from the government workers at medicaid, and this is just the room.  If we believe the article, four or five children in the same situation exist at this hospital.

Granted that this is one case, making it anecdotal evidence of the high cost of medical care for the uninsured.  However, if Obama's health care plan becomes law, how much longer before this case is no longer anecdotal, and who is going to set the spending cap?  Or is the government just going to keep on spending?

Morning Dog Walk

Rather than let Main Lady face the elements and the subversive dangers of Lincoln Woods with only Rachmaninoff for company, I dragged myself out of the sack and into the rain.  I felt better after only a few minutes - I had fresh coffee, my Main Lady and my excellent dog.

Rocky pointed something about two blocks into our excursion, but it wasn't until later that I saw what he did: Mathew and Millie Mallard off on a morning stroll of their own.

Mallard Ducks

I hope the duck weather doesn't last, no offense to the Mallards.  Naturally Rachmaninoff doesn't mind the inclement weather, but not all of us are all-weather, all-terrain vehicles.

The Passing of a Toledo Landmark

I was Eastbound on Airport Highway the other day and to my very great surprise I found myself arriving at Cleland's Outdoor World before I passed the good old Yoko Health Spa.  A bit odd, that.  Maybe my age was starting to show.  Anyway, I concluded my business at Cleland's, having discovered that Cleland's refuses to take reservations for their indoor pistol range, and that it is always first come, first served.  I therefore wish a pox on Cleland's and henceforth will take my business somewhere else.  Returning from whence I came, I was Westbound on Airport Highway when I came across conclusive evidence that the Yoko Health Spa is closed once and for all, and will never be under new management with new girls.

Yoko Health Spa

10095 Airport Highway
Monclova, OH 43542-9735

For those readers too young to remember the history of this venerable bastion of hedonism I shall relate the history of this establishment as I remember it.  Around the 1950s a long forgotten entrepreneur decided to open what was then called a motor hotel next to the Toledo Express Airport.  The motel was name the Airport Motel and was made up of a large private home and a host of small bungalows.  I recall there being eight or ten in a row running perpendicular to the highway.  This wasn't a large operation, but then Toledo Express wasn't a large operation either.  Along about the 1960s the place changed hands and became the Airport Motel and Massage.  Businessmen arriving in Toledo at the economic height of the auto industry could find a nice place to stay that was close to the airport, and having been cramped up in an airplane for several hours could get the nasty muscle cramps out of their back with a relaxing professional massage.  By the 1970s (1974) the place was looking just a little run down, the bungalows having been neglected since the 1950s and the rate per night was $20.  The rate did not include the services of the masseuse.  In the 1980s the place changed names (and likely hands) again and became the Airport Massage, then the Airport Tokyo Massage, and by the 1990s the owners settled on the Yoko Health Spa.  Putting it bluntly, the place became a brothel in the 1960s and stayed in business until 2010, about a fifty years stretch.  You know, maybe I'm just being somewhat naive, but it would seem to me that in 50 years the law enforcement authorities just down the road (the Ohio State Police) would have deduced that there was some hankypanky going on at the Yoko and the place would be busted.

I guess not, though.  It seems that there was only one way to close the Yoko spa.

End of the Road for Yoko

And that, as they say, is that.  Hark!  Off in the distance!  Do my ears deceive me or is it the delicate strains of the proverbial fat lady, closing out the show?

Dog Walk

The weather was so nice yesterday that I went on an excellent dog walk in the Lincoln Woods neighborhood.  Naturally I had my excellent dog with me, and we both enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of the neighborhood.  Rachmaninoff has to tell me about the smells as I have allergies and so my sense of smell is not what it could be.  Anyway, we passed this house which I have always admired.  I have noticed that when I pass through a neighborhood all the houses seem to be pretty much the same, and I've never been able to understand this.  How do you know which house is yours?  If you're coming home late and pretty well oiled, what do you do if you can't find your house?  Are they all alike inside as well as out?  No one seems to know.

A House I Admire

A little further along our walk we found something suspicious.  Look at these antennas on this house.  I wonder just what kind of radio set up the owner has inside, and who he might be talking to.  Why use a radio when the telephone is so much more convenient?  Notice that this house looks like all the other houses, but then we have the radio antennas.  I may have to take a few more dog walks along this route and see what may be seen.

Radio Antennas

Further along our route I found an explanation – a foreign flag!  It's hard for me to believe, but deep within the Lincoln Woods neighborhood someone is flying a foreign flag instead of the American Red, White and Blue.  This house is right next to the other house with the radio antennas.

 Foreign Flag in America

This is our final sighting.  As we were passing Olander Park we saw another foreign flag, this time being flown over a public park!  This is a place where American children play, and they should be safe from foreign subversion.  It seems that is no longer the case.

Foreign Flag in the Park

It's clear to me that the enemy has infiltrated Lincoln Woods.  I will continue to gather intelligence on my seemingly harmless dog walks, and I hope to see results soon.  It is clear that the enemy is over-confident and has become careless, but it is also clear that the American citizens have become equally complacent and soft.

The Walrus in New Orleans

'O Oysters, come and walk with us!
The Walrus did beseech.

And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

I was in New Orleans recently and a good time was had by all... except for the oysters, I'm afraid.  How terrible to be an oyster, knowing nothing but eating, excreting and procreating.  You are completely protected by the safety of your shell until the inevitable searing pain of the oyster knife.

Poor oysters.

Oh well.

I often think of the poem by Lewis Carroll as I enjoy my oysters.  I feel that if the oysters didn't want to end up on my plate, they shouldn't have left the oyster bed.  Here is the poem in its entirety.

The Walrus and the Carpenter, by Lewis Carroll

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright --
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done --
'It's very rude of him.' she said,
'To come and spoil the fun!'

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead --
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
'If this were only cleared away,'
They said, 'it would be grand.'

'If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,' the Walrus said,
'That they could get it clear?'
'l doubt it,' said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

'O Oysters, come and walk with us!
The Walrus did beseech.
'A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.'

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head --
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

Out four young Oysters hurried up.
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat --
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more --
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings.'

'But wait a bit,' the Oysters cried,
'Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!'
'No hurry!' said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

'A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said,
'Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed --
Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.'

'But not on us!' the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
'After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!'
'The night is fine,' the Walrus said,
'Do you admire the view?'

'It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
'Cut us another slice-
I wish you were not quite so deaf-
I've had to ask you twice!'

'It seems a shame,' the Walrus said,
'To play them such a trick.
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
'The butter's spread too thick!'

'I weep for you,'the Walrus said:
'I deeply sympathize.'
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,
'You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none --
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

So sad.  I think I'll have another dozen.

Unintended Acceleration

Back in the era of the muscle car and 25 cent per gallon leaded gasoline I decided that I wanted to be an automobile mechanic.  One thing that influenced my decision was my neighbor across the street owned a race car which he built himself.  I'd watch quietly while he put the engine together, adjusted the valve lash and set the points in the dual point distributor.  The end result is that by the time I was 21 I knew enough about auto mechanics to be a tolerable shade tree mechanic and to avoid being ripped off by the occasional scam artist who told me I needed a new muffler bearing.  So when the unintended acceleration problems with Toyota surfaced I had some idea of what might be going on.

When I first began my career of choice computers where huge things that read paper tape and required a climate control system that would rival the royal palace in Saudi Arabia.  The electronic calculator cost over $75 for a basic model.  Still, a good friend of mine worked for a branch of General Motors concerned with R&D, and one night over six drinks he finally broke down and told me that GM was working on a computer controlled engine.  I realized that the mechanic's shade tree was slated to become part of a new development and resolved to find a different career, one that didn't involve jump starting cars in sub-zero temperatures.  I did so, and surprisingly the auto industry progressed without me.

In the old days, cars had a mechanical linkage between the accelerator pedal and the carburetor.  Not so anymore.  Today we have a sensor in the accelerator pedal which sends an electronic signal to a computer, which decides how best to control the engine.  What this amounts to is that when the driver is trying to accelerate at, for instance, full throttle, as the gas pedal is mashed to the floor the throttle is not immediately opened.  Instead, the pedal sensor signals the computer and requests an open throttle.  The computer decides just how to proceed, meaning that your request may not be granted right away or may not be granted in full, so to speak.  When the driver takes his size nine off the pedal, the same process occurs.  The computer decides, based on the state of the car, just how to proceed.  Not the driver; the computer.  Therein lies the rub.

My car has a standard (or manual) transmission, otherwise known as a stick shift.  I don't need some gear head in Detroit or Tokyo to tell me when to shift; I'll decide that for myself, thanks.   Not everyone feels this way.  For the uninitiated, which encompasses everyone under 30 (I'm being generous here) and most people over thirty, this means I have an extra pedal on the floor of my car.  It's called the clutch pedal, because when the electronics in your Toyota screw up and your car heads for a viaduct at 120 mph, you can duck down in the floorboards and 'clutch' this pedal as you wait to meet your maker.  All police vehicles have a built in clutch sensor unit which will inform the police of your plight and they will come and rescue you.  Okay, I'm kidding.  The clutch pedal controls the clutch and is connected to the clutch by a mechanical linkage.  When you press the clutch pedal to the floor, your engine is disconnected from the wheels of your car and you coast.  The car's computer system knows this, but can't do a thing about it.  To drive the car, the driver evaluates the state of the car, depresses the clutch pedal, selects the proper gear using the stick shift, then releases the clutch pedal.  The driver must do this constantly around town, less so on the freeway.  There is a skill that must be developed to drive a stick successfully.  Advanced drivers know how to double clutch, and really advanced drivers can drive an unsynchronized transmission, a thing you're not likely to find these days.  New drivers take a good deal of pride in being able to drive a stick shift without stalling the car out in first gear, and shifting without grinding the gears.  If you've never driven a stick shift, I recommend you try it sometime.

Compare this to the automatic transmission, which is what most yo-yos have in their vehicles.  With the automatic transmission the driver puts the shift lever into 'D' and promptly forgets about it until the car is parked.  Then the shift lever must be moved to 'P'.  How easy!  How convenient!  Anyone can do it as it requires no skill.  I think it's worth noting that the automatic transmission was originally marketed towards women – Hey guys!  Now the little lady can drive and not burn out the clutch or grind the gears – just look at our new Dynaflow transmission.  The Dynaflow was a Rube Goldberg meets Dr. Frankenstein design and we don't have it today.  Note that on most cars there is no mechanical linkage for the automatic transmission.  Again, it's two electronic sensors routed through the computer.  This means that if you demand that the transmission cycle from reverse into drive, you may not get an immediate response from the transmission.

The unintended acceleration problem with automobiles is thought to be a wide open throttle which refuses to close.  I think that it's safe to say that in such a situation seconds matter.  Some application of grade school math reveals that at 55 miles per hour your car is actually traveling 80.67 feet per second (do the math yourself if you don't believe me, and you shouldn't.  I'm not credible.).  At normal highway speeds of 75 mph, you're going 110 feet per second, and at Detroit speeds of 110 mph you're moving right along at 161.33 feet per second.  Now then, if this unintended acceleration problem happened to me I have to realize that my throttle is stuck open, about 2 seconds.  I curse to myself and depress the clutch and brake pedals simultaneously, about 1 second.  My worst case scenario is that I've covered 322 feet (2 seconds at 110 mph) instead of 220 feet I expected, or about 100 feet more than usual.  Still plenty of time to have a major accident, but not as bad as it might be.  Compare this with the fool driving the automatic transmission.  Leave the time it takes to realize what is happening as a constant, even though it isn't.  Why?  Because people who drive a stick have to drive the car constantly.  They can't just forget about it.

Since the engine overpowers the brakes, stopping requires shutting the engine off or disconnecting the engine from the wheels.  In this case the driver will practice their normal stopping or slowing routine; they take their foot off the gas and stomp the brake pedal, and when that doesn't work they stomp harder.  The car continues to accelerate.  If the driver keeps their head about them, and most do not, they'll put the car into neutral.  This should be a fool proof way to stop the car, and it would be were it not for the fools in Tokyo.  You see, the linkage between the shift lever and the transmission is electronic, not manual.  The computer, now suffering some kind of electronic indigestion, decides if and when the transmission will shift into neutral, and since the throttle is wide open this is clearly not the time to switch gears.  The driver might try switching the engine off, but again this is not a mechanical linkage.  It's electronic and it routes through the computer.

I'm not the only one who sees this as an unreasonable design.  In the January edition of Business Week a few details on a class action suite Toyota Speed-Up Suits Say Problem Goes Deeper Than Gas Pedal are revealed and a retired retired US Army Colonel is suing due to personal injury.

The federal government didn't learn much from the Volstead Act of 1920 and it should have learned that US citizens do not like being told what to do.  Likewise, our elected officials were too busy to learn much from the Ford Pinto gas tank fiasco back in the 1970s, when it became evident to anyone who could watch TV that big business cares nothing for its clients.  I don't expect anything will happen here, either, and this is one area where the general populace could be protected. 

I think I'll hold off buying a new car until they gets the bugs worked out of the voice recognition system.

Shades of HAL 9000.
Mad Jack: What the - ? The fucking brakes don't work!  Brakes!!!
HAL: I'm sorry, Jack. I'm afraid I can't do that.
Mad Jack: You junkyard refugee!  I'll turn you into a toaster!

Health Care

Maggie Thurber writes about government funded health care and cites two opinion pieces that are worth reading.  In the first piece, Lori Zignato points out that it's all about government and uses an opinion by Mark Steyn as a basis for her article.

The essence of Steyn's article is that the health care reform bowel movement in Washington is that the whole thing is a Moonbat conspiracy to gain permanent control of the United States civilians for ever, and that the only thing standing between us freedom loving wolves and an extermination plan are a handful of venerable Republicans who are slowly being forced into compliance.

Bullshit.

Here's a quote from Mark Steyn's opinion piece:

Once the state swells to a certain size, the people available to fill the ever-expanding number of government jobs will be statists – sometimes hard-core Marxist statists, sometimes social-engineering multiculti statists, sometimes fluffily "compassionate" statists, but always statists.

His fallacy is that the size of the government does not need to reach a certain threshold.  Statists have always been present in the U.S. Government and have been since General Washington took office.

From Steyn: The short history of the post-war welfare state is that you don't need a president-for-life if you've got a bureaucracy-for-life: The people can elect "conservatives," as the Germans have done and the British are about to do, and the Left is mostly relaxed about it

Stop right there.  I'd like to know just what Left he's talking about, because I've never seen any evidence of that kind of behavior.  Let the Moonbats lose an election and you can hear the howling and gnashing of teeth all the way to the Kremlin.  Moonbats go absolutely bat shit whenever they lose an election, even if they lose to another Moonbat.  I think the Stupid Party is marginally better, but only because they immediately surround a bottle of snake bite medicine and begin plotting revenge.

Steyn continues: because, in all but exceptional cases (Thatcher), they fulfill the same function in the system as the first-year boys at wintry English boarding schools who, for tuppence-ha'penny or some such, would agree to go and warm the seat in the unheated lavatories until the prefects strolled in and took their rightful place.

Maybe in Jolly-Old, but not in the U.S.  In the good old US of A the Freshman class performed these duties under the very real threat of violence by larger, well-organized upperclassmen.  The idea of paying the miserable Frosh to sit and think in a freezing bathroom would have never crossed their mind.

Steyn: Republicans are good at keeping the seat warm. A bigtime GOP consultant was on TV, crowing that Republicans wanted the Dems to pass Obamacare because it's so unpopular it will guarantee a GOP sweep in November.


Would you mind naming this mysterious big time GOP consultant?  Passage of Obamacare will not guarantee a Stupid Party victory in November or any other time.  What might give the Stupids a victory would be uncommon fiscal responsibility, meaning a reversal of King George the Second's disastrous economic policies combined with an admission of guilt and a human sacrifice, along with candidates several magnitudes better than John McCain and Sarah Palin - which shouldn't be hard to do, at least in Palin's case.  I'm digressing here, and I'll stop.

One big reason that the Manhattan phone book sized health care reform bill hasn't passed is that the Moonbats can't agree on anything.  They spend so much time fighting among themselves that they haven't been able to get anything done.  The second reason is that the members of the Stupid Party are able to put aside their loathing for each other just long enough to unite against a common enemy for reasons of re-election (otherwise known as self-preservation).  The third reason, and there is every chance in the world that I'm wrong about this, is that it is barely possible that a few members of both parties realize that implementing The Anointed One's plan will be so completely financially ruinous for the population that the Federal government will actually go bankrupt, and they do not want to be in office when that happens.

Mark Steyn observes that the US federal government continues to grow and will grow faster if the federal government becomes even more involved in health care, and he's right about that.  But to attribute this as a Leftist plot?  No.  Not now, not ever.  The government continues to grow because if it doesn't it will shrink, and our elected officials cannot have that.

On Pistols and Parents

I grew up in a somewhat remote part of Sylvania Township, Ohio. When I was in grade school urban sprawl had just crawled out of the storm drain and a very few home builders had tipped to the fact that in ten years they could retire comfortably with a second home in Florida, a major toy (boat, RV or airplane) and a twenty something mistress that the ball and chain would never find out about.

Dad always kept a pistol in his top left dresser drawer, and from the time I was old enough to understand English I knew that the pistol was real, and that I wasn't allowed to touch it. One evening my parents had another couple over for cocktails prior to going out to dinner, and the woman wondered if we were ever afraid of burglars because we lived off by ourselves without any neighbors around. My father replied that he was not worried, as he kept his pistol close at hand. The woman was politely horrified.

“A gun? You have a gun in the house?”

“Sure.” Dad said. “I keep it in the top drawer of my dresser.”

“Well, it isn't loaded is it?”

“Your damned right it's loaded.” Dad said emphatically. “All you have to do is point it and pull the trigger.”

And that was that. I wasn't old enough to understand the herd mentality that made this bovine feel safe living in the midst of others just like her, or ask her just what her neighbors might do to prevent everyone from reading about her and her docile family in the morning paper in their new (and possibly more useful) office as victim of the day.

My father's pistol of choice was a Smith and Wesson Model 17-3 in .22 Long Rifle. This amounts to a .22 on a .38 frame which means that the pistol is somewhat overbuilt. I don't see that as a detriment, although I'm sure some people would.

The .22 caliber is light for home defense, but has the advantage of light recoil. Additionally, it's cheap to shoot. I can shoot all afternoon for $10, and prior to The Anointed One moving in to the White House I used to be able to shoot all afternoon for $5. Thanks, Obama.

The revolver is dead easy to operate. As my father pointed out, you just point it and pull the trigger. It has no safety to worry about, and in the case of a misfire you just pull the trigger again. If you carry your revolver (either concealed or openly) you have the option of leaving the chamber under the hammer empty so as to prevent doing yourself a mischief, but in doing so you haven't added any complexity to using your weapon – you still point it and pull the trigger.

When I feel the need to carry my pistol with me, I choose a revolver over an automatic. But that's just my preference, and it wouldn't prevent me from putting Betsy in a shoulder holster when I feel like it.

Police War Story

I've been reading Beat and Release for quite a while now and have learned quite a bit about police life from an old school cop.  Officer Beat has written a superb war story in six parts, which I highly recommend for everyone who enjoys high adventure.  Here are the links:

Beat and Release: War Story - Part 1
Beat and Release: War Story - Part 2
Beat and Release: War Story - Part 3
Beat and Release: War Story - Part 4
Beat and Release: War Story - Part 5
Beat and Release: War Story - Part 6 (Conclusion)

In keeping with police and a law and order theme, the incomparable Fred from Fred On Everything weighs in with his own curmudgeonly opinion on the mangling of the war on drugs which he compares to Vietnam.

Good job, Fred.

Rare Sight

Here is Dante, my cat that I adopted in Florida.  Dante was the smallest of three strays that would come around my door looking for handouts, and being the smallest he would go short on food unless I let him inside to eat.  One day just after he'd finished his cat food I chanced to open my closet door and a roach the size of a Shetland pony jumped out.  I swatted at the roach and knocked it to the floor, where it took evasive action and headed back into the nice, dark closet.  Dante nailed the roach, so I decided to keep him.  Here he is, relaxing in the morning sun.

 

Note that Dante doesn't miss many meals these days.  Dante is completely black, which I gather is somewhat unusual.  He has a nice disposition, but tends to be wary of strangers.

Here's a rare sight:

 

The cat in the upper tier is Zeus, who used to belong to Shotgun Bob until my dear mother stole him.  The cats rarely occupy adjacent tiers of the cat tree, at the cat above is prone to reach down and tap the cat underneath.  A few minutes after I took this picture, Zeus allowed his tail to descend into Dante's area, prompting Dante to catch the tail and nip at it.

A Day at the Range

I went out to the range today with my brother Big Mike and a few of the girls, and a good time was had by all.  Mike shot better than average, and so will not get any of his targets posted here.  Suffice to say he cut the bull out of several targets and mutilated many more.  I didn't do badly, but I've shot better.  These days my shooting depends upon my eyesight that day.  At my age and mileage things are starting to blur without the aid of whiskey.  Anyway, here are the results for all to see.

 

Here is the range at Toledo Trap and Skeet where we shot.  The photo is deceptive and doesn't do justice to the real distance, but it should give you some idea of the difficult task ahead - killing that paper!

Here's the first 3 clips out of my .22.  Not too bad, but there are a few stray shots that I can't account for.

I took the next ten shots one handed.  The stray shot at the bottom is yours truly torching one off at the wrong time.  I knew it was bad when I squeezed the trigger that extra millimeter.

Here's my .22 pistol.  This is a Ruger Mark II Government with a bull barrel.  The pistol is far and away more accurate than I'll ever be.  Worse, I haven't come up with a good name for this one, and I've had her for years.

Here's my first 5 shots with Betsy.  I'm a little off, but my real problem is trying to see black on black at what looks to be 400 yards.  The sights are black as is most of the target.  That's fine when I steady Betsy on the pretty orange center, but when my nerves start shaking I can't hold her steady.

I put another ten down range.  The pattern of pulling to the left stayed with me all day today, and while it didn't ruin my day I've had times when I've done better.

Here's Betsy.  She is a .45 Springfield Mil Spec (built to military specifications) that I bought in Florida.  I was driving home from work and saw an advertisement on the reader board of a gun store I passed twice a day: 45 Mil Spec $400.  Who could resist?  When I came back to Toledo three months later Marge Cleland was offering the same pistol at $450 and calling it the deal of the century.

I switched pistols and shot a few clips with Big Nose Kate.  As you can see, my shots started to drop at the end.  I think I was getting tired by this time.

This is Big Nose Kate, a .45 caliber Springfield V-16 Long Slide.  Kate is capable of eating any kind of .45 ammo there is, including the rare .45 magnum/high power loads.  I bought Kate from Teton River Traders Gun Shop, where The Poor but Honest Gun Trader of South Dakota, Cody Williams, strives tirelessly against government communist bureaucracy, damned thieving liberals and crazy animal rights activists to bring his loyal customers the very best gun prices anywhere.

Here are the results from my .357 Colt revolver.  I shot this using a two handed grip, single action with .38 special ammo.  Not bad.  The target is the invention of Big Mike, who suffers the same eye problems I do.  The main difficulty is that black iron sights wash right out against a black target, which is generally what I have to shoot at.  After a great deal of thought and a few drinks, Mike began experimenting with various target shapes and colors, and this is the result.  When I tried this target, my stress level headed South and my shooting picked right up as the sights no longer wash out.

This is my .357 Colt Trooper.  I bought this revolver at a gun show some years back.  The vendor was packing up and hadn't sold much that day, and so made me a good price on her.  I don't have a name for her just yet, which isn't a good thing.

The revolver on the left is Mike's carry piece, .357, five shot, double action only with a fully shrouded hammer.  I've shot this in both .38 and .357 and it doesn't kick as bad as you think.

Naturally we had to have some lunch somewhere.  This isn't Guinness, but is actually Boddingtons Pub Ale.  We went to the Claddagh Irish Pub over at the Westfield Mall.  We didn't see any riots, gang fights or unsupervised youth in search of opportunity for economic advancement, but we were ready if we did see them.

If it matters, I had naked chicken tenders with Jack Daniels sauce and Pots O' Gold.  Mike had fish and chips.  The food was good, the beer was better.

Should anyone think of a good name for my Ruger or Colt revolver, don't hesitate to sound off.

Web Logs and Privacy

HistoryMike has written an excellent post about protecting your identity online, which I encourage everyone to read (click here)

I've been reading Mike's musings for some time and have enjoyed his presence at several social gatherings of Toledo area bloggers. I've found him to be an intelligent man having moderate political opinions and excellent diction who is given to few eccentricities. I also know that he's suffered unreasonable attacks and harassment due to the publication of his well-reasoned views by the fatheads, trolls and cretins who have learned to read but who have yet to master reading comprehension.

Compare Mike's somewhat mild rantings to that opinionated but lovable ledgend of the right wing blogosphere, Kim du Toit. Kim wrote and self- published such essays as The Pussification Of The Western Male, Alpha-Beta Males And Females and Cry Havoc: Taking Off The Gloves. If Kim isn't extreme enough for you (or even if he is), consider the tequila induced rantings of an author I admire greatly, Fred Reed. It's difficult to say what portion of Fred's essays are hyperbole and which portion are pure unadulterated fact, but one thing is certain – Fred is never understated. Fred used to cover the crime beat and did ride-alongs with the police as described in his police essays, such as Gangbanger Up Close. Fred also hates abuse of authority and obstructive bureaucracy, as found in TSA and Its Brethren. Sadly, Fred is no longer with us: Mexican Deaths.

I have no idea if Kim or Fred were ever seriously threatened, but I know that in Kim's case having an identifiable web log hurt his business terribly. Kim is a business consultant and a good one, but any client on the East coast immediately disavowed knowing anything about Kim du Toit after reading a few of his essays. (Sarcasm Alert) Can you imagine any warm, sensitive man of the nineties ever subscribing to the idea of acting like a red-blooded American male? Fred Reed may or may not be in the same shape, what with political correctness being what it is.

Excluding the extremism and vehemence of their opinions, I think the biggest difference between HistoryMike and the Kim-Fred camp is the reaction to being threatened. I envision Fred wordlessly pulling out a Mexican switch with a nine inch blade and shaving a patch of hair from his arm to test the edge. Kim would likely smile and open his gun safe to select just the right armaments for an expected attack, and as an afterthought emailing a few Internet friends to say that there's an outside chance to put some lead in the air down in Texas.

As for me, I have no desire to share business problems like Kim du Toit has. I have enough migraines of my own, thanks. Nor do I need undue harassment from pseudo bad boy groups who are threatening to publish my personal information on the Internet. I am, however, always willing to lend a hand where it's needed – so if HistoryMike needs to borrow a shotgun or asks for a few volunteers to help guard his house while he sleeps, I'll be near the front of the line.

Getting the Boot

Council OKs 'boot' or tow for ticket scofflaw vehicles

If your car is photographed by a Redflex Traffic Systems Inc. camera running a red light, the owner of that car becomes liable for a traffic violation. At least, that's what the Toledo city government would like you to believe. The trouble with this is that the city government is wrong. Consider that in criminal violations of the traffic law an individual is arrested by a law enforcement officer who has seen the violation and (in most cases) a traffic ticket is issued. The accused can begin the tedious procedure known as due process. Tedious for everyone except a person who is wrongfully accused and found not guilty.

The city government of Toledo and its cat's paw Police Chief Mike Navarre espouse that red light cameras are being used to make the streets of Toledo a safer place for everyone. Opponents of red light cameras counter argue that this isn't true, that the motivation behind the red light cameras is revenue for the barren city tax coffers. I've got news for both groups: one does not preclude the other.

One absolutely infamous intersection in Toledo is Secor at Monroe street. Prior to the installation of red light cameras at this intersection Northbound traffic on Secor wanting to make a left turn onto Monroe street would wait for their green arrow, then continue to wait as two or three more cars deliberately ran the red light to make a left from Monroe to Southbound Secor road. Drivers did this because they knew that the chance of getting stopped for a moving violation was slim to none, and the chance of getting hit by another car was even slimmer.

After red light cameras were installed I was waiting to make that left turn to Monroe street and when the light changed I saw something I never thought I'd see – an empty intersection. What a relief to not have to wait for drivers that are too arrogant to wait their turn in line. Does this make the intersection safer? Maybe, maybe not. I'll tell you what though, it has gone a long way towards alleviating road rage.

At the same time The Blade reveals that “Some of that money is owed to Redflex Traffic Systems Inc. of Arizona. In 2008, the city approved a five-year agreement with the company to continue operating the cameras. The deal increased the share of revenue the city receives from 25 percent to 54.2 percent.”

I would accept this as conclusive evidence that implementing these traffic enforcement cameras was motivated in a large part by additional revenue. If not, why would the city of Toledo get any revenue at all? The cameras cost the city nothing to maintain, and the 'fine' for violators must make camera profitable. If not, Redflex would have filed bankruptcy years ago, and they haven't. In fact they seem to be doing pretty well, financially speaking.

The problem with this automated traffic law enforcement system is that the city government would like everyone to believe that when they receive a red light violation in the mail they are involved in a criminal case, and that isn't true. The case falls into civil court. To get around this, the government disposed of the pesky 'due process' rule that is supposed to hold the government in check. This plan worked pretty well for a while, until a few malcontent activists pointed out that what the government was doing was unconstitutional and accused violators didn't have to pay the fine. When a few brave souls tried this novel method of declining to pay and were successful, others followed suite. Now the problem isn't violating our Constitutional Rights so much as it is practical collection. The solution? Bring in the police.

From The Blade: Toledo City Council last night authorized police to tow or immobilize a person's vehicle by putting a "boot" on it if the owner fails to pay red-light or speed-camera tickets.

Critics of this decision are quick to point out that this is unconstitutional, and the critics are quite correct. Many critics wonder, with a great deal of frustration, just why city councilmen don't understand the Constitution and specifically question why councilmen have this incredible blind spot. The critics don't get it. The Toledo City Council understands perfectly well. The City Council doesn't care. Even the two who voted against this high handed violation, Ludeman and Webb, don't care about the citizen's Constitutional rights.

From The Blade: Councilmen Rob Ludeman and Lindsay Webb voted against the plan. "The process of sending officers to boot cars will put a greater strain on the police department," Ms. Webb said. Under the law, which takes effect in 30 days, police will be able to immobilize a vehicle after a fine has gone unpaid for 21 days.

So according to Ms. Webb if Toledo had enough police on the street this would be a perfectly acceptable law enforcement action instead of the unconstitutional act it really is. Go read the United States Constitution, Ms. Webb, and pay particular attention to the Bill of Rights.

I like the effect that red-light cameras provide. I enjoy seeing a clear intersection when I get the green arrow at Secor and Monroe. I am not willing to exchange my civil rights for a clear intersection or an increase in city tax money.

The Doggie in the Window

Around October of 2001 Main Lady's dog Snella (a Swedish term of endearment) passed away from natural causes.  Anyone who has lost a dog will automatically know the emotional turmoil that goes along with having to give your dog up; for those of you who don't, I'm not going to bother explaining - you wouldn't get it anyway.  A few weeks after we lost Snella, in the first part of November, my father called me up and told me that his neighbors Sue and Joe had found a stray dog and were looking for a home for him, and that he was a good looking dog.  I decided to take a look and see for myself.

Sue and Joe have a horse barn and keep about ten horses, including a few that they board.  Sue had a stable girl she hired to help with the work, Kelly, who adored animals of all kinds.  I got the dog's story from Sue, who told me that she was driving out on County Road V in the middle of nowhere when their truck broke down.  While she was trying to decide just what to do, a little dog came trotting out of the woods to say hello.  He was hungry and thirsty, so Sue put him in the truck with her, intending to find him a home.  It turned out that the little boy still had his puppy teeth, so Sue got him his shots and kept him out at the barn, Joe stating emphatically that three large dogs and a pot bellied pig should be more than enough for any household.  Kelly took one look at the little boy and adopted him on the spot, buying him a collar, food and water dishes and a toy.  Kelly's father took a look at the dog and sent him back to the barn on the same day.

I liked the little dog.  He was friendly and seemed inquisitive, so I allowed as how I'd take him home and see what Main Lady had to say.  He hopped right into my car and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat, and Kelly crossed me off her Christmas list.  I was a little uncertain about the reception we might get as it had only been a few weeks since Snella passed away, but I needn't have worried.  Main Lady took one look at him and exclaimed, "Oh look!" and scooped him up in her arms.

The little dog weighed ten pounds, most of which seemed to be legs and tail.  We needed a name for him.  Main Lady wanted to call him Snugglefluff Snickerdoodle.  I wanted to name him Killer Butch, after the famous German Shorthair Pointer of the same name, you see.  Main Lady suggested a compromise; we could name him Rocky.  I later lengthened this to Rachmaninoff, as the little dog was much too important to be named Rocky.  I will only refer to him as Rocky for brevity's sake.

Rachmaninoff is the smartest dog I've ever owned.  He learned how to sit and stay before he got his adult dental work.  We hung a bell on a string from the back door which Rocky learned to ring so as to be taken on a dog walk.  He was immediately house trained and has only had one accident, which was my fault.  I didn't understand he needed to go out again.  If I take him for a walk when Main Lady isn't home, he'll note the presence of Main Lady's car in the driveway upon our return and associate the car in the driveway with her presence in the house.

Rocky weighs about 50 pounds.  He absolutely loves his family, and he is very good with other dogs and cats.  He shares his food with the cat.  I taught him to let any of us take food out of his mouth while he's eating, which is a very valuable asset for any dog.  Rocky is just about perfect except for one thing: he bites.

 When he was still a puppy Rocky would react very badly to children and to the school bus.  To this day he hates children and doesn't tolerate their presence well.  Joggers and bicyclists who pass us are just begging to be run down and hamstrung.  Anyone who approaches is a threat.  Worse, Rocky doesn't give much of a warning.  He doesn't growl or show his teeth - he gets right to the point and tries to bite.  So far he's chomped on Main Lady's eldest little darling (which my brother Mike suggested he get a pass on, and he's right) and he's nailed Main Lady's sister when she kept screwing around with him, which I privately praised him for.  You have to experience this lady for a few hours and you'll see what I'm talking about here.

It gets better.

I cannot for the life of me imagine what goes on Rocky's head, but professional dog handlers have no problem with Rocky at all.  In fact, they think he's the perfect dog.  Main Lady has taken him over to Karnik Pet Lodge to board him when we're both out of town and the staff at Karnik think Rocky is a sterling example of what all dogs should aspire to.  My brother Mike doesn't agree with their opinion.  Mike thinks that Rocky is nuts and that sooner or later all that stuff in his head is going to shake into a new configuration and Mike will end up reading about us in the morning paper.  Personally, I don't think so.  We just aren't that important.

I've never been able to determine what kind of dog Rocky is.  Any suggestions would be appreciated.  His behavior is getting better as he can be taken off the sidewalk and instructed to sit and stay, which he performs very well.  Rocky has been examined by a dog behaviorist which cost several hundred bucks and accomplished absolutely nothing.  The behaviorist confirmed that Rocky's behavior was aggressive, unpredictable and unique.  She hadn't seen anything like it before, but she'd be willing to do another session or more.  Fat chance, lady.

I suppose there are worse things than having an aggressive dog.  I'm out of town a lot and Main Lady lives alone.  Rocky provides an excellent early warning system as well as a first line defense.  Main Lady has a Smith & Wesson model 686 in .357 magnum loaded with red hot hollow point ammunition as the second line of defense.  I guess that's good enough.

And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Rachmaninoff got his picture in my profile because it pleased me to put it there.  Anyone who knows what kind of dog Rocky is or has any thoughts on correcting his behavior, please sound off.

Here's an offer you can't refuse

Public offered a chance to walk in officers' shoes

I'll take that offer.  Where's my back up?

This is a carefully scripted eight hour segment of police training that was presented to local notables, not to the general public, AKA the great unwashed.  I gather that Lucas County prosecutor Julia Bates was present, as was Lisa Renee of the liberal oriented blog Glass City Jungle.  The taxpayers are picking up the bill for the session.  The motivation for this unusual event is the harsh criticism the Toledo police have had to face over the high number of police shootings.

From The Blade: This is Decision Alley, the final real-life police scenario in a program that invites the public to face the sort of conflict and violence that Toledo Police must accept as part of their job descriptions.

"Mad Jack," said my uncle Bud "Someday a man is going to walk up to you and bet you he can make the three of clubs jump out of a deck of cards and squirt cider in your ear, and the minute you put your money on the line you're going to end up with an ear full of cider."  Put another way, never bet on another man's game, which is exactly what's happening here.  The police department sets up these scenarios, which is fine - right up until you realize that the motivation for this entire eight hour session is to gain sympathy, acceptance and approval for police shootings.  I think it's likely that the motivation tends to color the scenarios.  Contrast this for a minute with a story written by Shannon McDonald who rode on patrol with police officer William Thrasher in the city of brotherly love, Philadelphia, PA., and who got to watch the police in action (links here and here).  Who do you think learned more about police work, Shannon McDonald or the people in this training session?

Consider the real life scenario involving the late Linda Hicks:

From The Blade: Sergeant Gilmore referred several times to the most recent officer-involved shooting - the Dec. 14 death of Linda Hicks, who wielded scissors as she lunged at the two police officers who confronted her in her group home.

Though the sergeant declined to discuss the case in detail, he repeatedly referred to it as "the incident with the scissors" as he noted the criticism police face after such a shooting. He said officers who face a suspect armed with a sharp object keep in mind the 21-foot rule, which says a suspect could advance 21 feet in the time it takes an officer to fire a gun.

Linda Hicks was a whole lot more than 'the incident with the scissors' as the sergeant delicately puts it.  Linda was an overweight, elderly black woman who was going through a psychotic episode.  She was not armed with a Paul Basal Shadow fighting knife with a nine inch razor sharp blade; she had a pair of common paper scissors.  The police outnumbered Linda two to one, were younger, faster, in better physical condition and (we hope) had martial arts training.  Police could have used pepper spray, a Taser, a baton or their bare hands to subdue Linda, but they chose to use a gun.  Police could have simply closed the door to Linda's bedroom and waited until she quieted down, but that might have implied a compromised police authority.  There are any number of things the police might have done to preserve Linda's life, but it's easier and faster for everyone just to shoot first and clean up the mess later.

Police officers Rebecca Kenney and Diane Chandler were cleared of any wrongdoing and both are back on the job.  We can assume they received unofficial 'atta-boys (atta-girls?)' for their excellent police work.  The worst part about this is that the Toledo police, the Toledo Mayor and the Toledo city council approve of these officers actions, and so will not change any of the policies the police are said to follow when dealing with the mere civilians they are sworn to protect.