Press Conference. The New Pistol - An Unexpected Eating Exercise

Ok. So I finally made a freaking decision about both my competition pistol and a replacement for my venerable and now retired Sig P226.

For those who missed it I finally put the 226 back in the safe. Made in West Germany she's now pushing hard on 30 years old. She's tired, starting to break down and has earned an honorable rebuild and quiet retirement. That left me stuck. I needed both a replacement and a new competition gun.

But before I unveil the new gun let's go back in time a few weeks to the pistol class I took with Ron Avery. That 3 day, 1500 round shoot-a-palooza that saw changes in both my stance and grip. Turns out I also experienced a sea change in attitude as well. In that course I started to finally see and feel the limitations of the 226. High bore axis. It's heavy, the DA first shot is slower than SA or striker and it's just getting old. I also figured out a grip that will let me shoot pretty much any handgun I pick up with increased speed and accuracy. A worthy learning experience that opened what I thought was a closed door. Ok. Ready? Here it is.

Yep. It's my Glock 35. The same one I've had for about, oh, 7 years or so. The same one I said I was done shooting and gave to Lu. Well, I took it back. (It was a struggle but I claimed victory when she got distracted. I told her that the eggs she had on the stove had exploded. When she went to look I snatched it and ran away laughing maniacally. Win!)

Now, now. Settle down back there unless you want me top have the bailiff clear the room and start whacking pee-pees. Yes, I know what I said a bare few months ago. That I didn't like the Glock and was going exclusively to the Sig because I just liked and shot it better. I may have referred to the Glock as a steaming pile unworthy of my exalted touch but I've now evolved on this issue and have acquired a better appreciation of what the Glock brings to the table. Think this is bad? Wait for the other shoe. Here's my replacement for the Sig P226.

That's a brand spanking new Gen 3 Glock 17. I picked it up today. It's about the same size as the Sig, weighs quite a bit less and is about half the price. I paid $499.00 for this example. The mags are cheaper, hold 2 extra rounds without an extension and are available even at Frank's Bait and Tackle (serving the greater Anal Point area since 1973). It's rugged, dependable and I couldn't care less about it so long as it goes bang when I want it to. I can use it for both carry and the occasional match. I'll probably shoot a bit of USPSA Production with it as well as some 3 Gun. The holster and mag carriers from the G35 fit it as nearly perfectly as one could wish. Plus you know what an obsessive compulsive slob I am about platform compatibility. I tend to want all the guns I shoot regularly to conform as closely as possible. Cheap cost, simple easy upgrades, rugged construction and frankly I don't give a crap about beating on them unmercifully.

So. This is my answer at present. I still think there may be a CZ in my future for Production at least but for now I'm satisfied. Now I can stop shopping and get back to some serious training.

Ok, the floor is now open to questions. Yes, you in the back?

Iqbal Nudnick with The Tactical Timmy Times. Does this mean you've become a Glock Fanboy? Will we now see you on the Glock Forum exclaiming to all the world that Glock is the shiznit and that anyone who doesn't shoot a Glock is an encephalitic retard who needs his hand held when going number 2? Will you now tease your erstwhile buddies on the Sig Forum about bore height, cost and how even their team shooters don't actually shoot Sigs?

No. Stop asking me that! I love my Sigs and I always will. It's not Sig, it's me.


But didn't you say, just a bare few weeks ago, that Sig was the only intelligent answer and that you wouldn't touch a Glock with Gecko 45s paste smeared fingers?

I don't think I went quite that far...

I believe you once referred to Glock shooters as short bus riders who better understood the taste of window snoz than what a modern pistol consisted of.

I never said that! Besides, as I believe I mentioned earlier, my position on this subject has evolved over time. I'm much kinder and gentler than I was in my misspent youth, way last month...

Were you wrong then or are you wrong now? How can we, your trusted and dog like devoted followers, believe anything you now say if your opinion can change so drastically over a few short days? How can we be sure Glock didn't just pay you to switch to their product? After all I believe it was you who once threatened to fly to Europe and cram a Glock up a certain Austrian engineers 4th point of contact so far all he'd taste for the rest of his life would be CLP, abject failure and shame.

That was a joke. I was just kidding. Totally. The restraining order ended last week. As a world famous and fabulously wealthy Blogging Gun Idol to millions I am well aware of my responsibilities when it comes to my opinions on all things firearm and competition related. Let me be clear here. I did not and will not accept gratuities in exchange for a positive review of any manufacturers product. (This is an out and out lie. I will so totally do that. Contact me. Please wear a dress. A blue one.) I swear.

But, the children. Aren't you concerned about the children. Why won't anyone think of the children!? By the way. How do you like your Ebon Avian prepared? Deep fried, sauteed with butter or just wolf it down raw?

That's it! End of the press conference! Everyone get the fudge out!

This press conference brought to you by Missed It By A Mile Inc. (an Embarrassment Foods Group Company), purveyors of the finest Crow Meat products on Earth. Remember, if it doesn't say Embarrassment you're not eating Crow!
Six

A Match And A Reminder

2 Gun match on Saturday. I'm trying out a different rifle. It's my updated Budget 3 Gun Rifle now with a free float forearm and a 3x12 optic and 45 degree offset BUIS. We'll see if it makes those long shots any easier. I checked it's zero today and shot it well. Saturday will tell the tale though.

I've settled on a handgun (finally). I hope to post about my decision this week. Seeing how it's currently Thursday and everything maybe not. Soon. Real soon. I swear.

And a little reminder about trigger control courtesy of Howard Tayler of Schlock Mercenary fame.

See you guys at the range.
Six

Been In School

I started a shooting class yesterday. Three days and 1200 rounds It's been...interesting. I have managed to pick up a few pointers that will hopefully allow me to find some accurate speed with a handgun. Last day tomorrow. We should be shooting some stages and breaking down our performance.

They have revamped my stance and grip so how it'll go tomorrow is anyone's guess. I even missed a 3 Gun match today for this class so it had better be worth it.
Six

This post brought to you by Don't Try This At Home.

From The Police Story Files

This story is true. Names have been changed to protect the terminally stupid.

So I'm working swings one fine evening, perusing the streets for drunks at just south of 2 AM. I espied an intrepid motorist turn west and head up an eastbound only street. Being a fine example of police officerhood and having extraordinary powers of observation I recognized that this was unusual behavior and that it possibly required further investigation. Cutting down a parallel street I came out behind our antagonist and hit the overhead lights.

Yep, he ran. Shocking I know.

Now this street is arrow straight but ends in a T intersection. Beyond the T is a small parking lot and the shores of Lake El Estero (Literally 'Lake of Questionable Decision Making'). Mister Brilliant Motorist (aka Driver De Intoxicanto or DDI in Six parlance) speeds up and tries to flee my awesomely powerful police cruiser (complete with a speed of light Motorola) in his somewhat ratty Toyota 'Youhavegottobekiddingme' mini pickup powered by what I later learned was an elderly squirrel with a bad cough. Well, not exactly his pickup but more on that later.

Over the course of several blocks DDI manages to coax the plywood, chewing gum and blind faith constructed alleged pickup to as fast as 12 and a half miles per hour in his Bergermeister Beer (Official Motto: Horse Piss Free Since Last Week. We Swear) fueled attempt at vehicular freedom. Problem is traveling at the speed of ooze seemed to have been way too high for him to convince the rubber bands serving as the steering system on the conveyance to turn either left or right. At one point I saw him put his feet on the ground through the floorboard, looking for all the world like a drunken Fred Flintstone, in an attempt at some sort of braking maneuver but, alas, it was to no avail. Across the parking lot he went, leaving a trail of smoking tennis shoe rubber and desperation behind him before going off the bank and into the aforementioned lake.

Have I mentioned that it was a somewhat cool night? Well, it was. Not Global Warming cold but definitely on the chilly side. Plus, the water in that lake has never seen the sunny side of 50 degrees in it's entire existence being taken as it is directly from the frigid waters of the adjacent Monterey Bay (Official Motto: Happily Disappearing Swimmers Testicles Since 1764).

I pulled in behind DDIs launch point, got out and sauntered over (I stopped moseying after the Great Motorcycle Squid Slime Debacle of 1997). I managed to fish out the squirrel with a stick. I didn't detain him as I heard him muttering under his breath something about jamming 'the whole bag of peanuts' up someone's ass. I tended to infer that meant that he was unaware of the actions of his pilot and was just an innocent bystander in the whole sordid affair. Plus it sounded quite painful and I was hoping I'd get to watch.

So. You'd think that by this point our miscreant would have had the time to orient himself and doggie paddle back to shore. Or wade. I mean the depth of that lake is measured in inches, not feet. But no. He was doing his best impression of an Olympic swimmer who has never actually seen water before and has an IQ of 20 and a BA of 2.0.

Me: "So. You gonna come out?"
DDI: MFPJKLGHORBG!!
Me: "You're gonna freeze to death in there and the chances of me going in after you are about that same as you enjoying what that squirrel is going to do to you later."
DDI: TRGBDSUOFGTRW!!
Me: "Ok then."

DDI then attempted to swim away, toward the far side of the lake. And by swim I mean a kind of drunken, retarded flailing about that involved much splashing if not any actual movement through the water. Think angry 3 legged cat in a muddy bathtub full of really cold water. At some point, through his Mad Dog 20/20 obscured vision, he must have noticed the other officers positioned strategically about the periphery of the lake. Finally, after about 5 minutes of denial and synchronized hypothermia, he gave up. He stood, stumbled to the bank and flopped out gasping and shivering. He was, of course, naked. To this day I have no earthly idea where his clothes went. If my experience is any indicator there's some kind of alien clothing transporter powered by cheap booze and activated by the screaming death of brain cells. If I live to be a thousand I will never understand the public nudity proclivities of the severely inebriated. I cuffed him, cast a wary eye out for a squirrel with a paper bag and wrapped him in the yellow emergency blanket from my trunk. The one that oilynakedguyrunningdownthestreet gave me back after I dropped him off at home a few nights previously. Yeah, that blanket. Seemed only fitting somehow. Passing it on to the next drunken nudist in line as it were.

The pickup was removed by a tow truck and as the cardboard that made up the bulk of the thing seemed to have melted off in the frigid waters it was pretty much a total write off.

As I was introducing DDI to the rear seat of my car, and explaining how his troubles were in fact just beginning, I couldn't help myself. I had to ask him why. He wouldn't respond but he did drop me one nugget of interesting information. It seems DDI was a soldier stationed at the Defense Language Institute and he had 'borrowed' his roommates car for a night of merry making, revelry and unscheduled skinny dipping. His roommate who was also a soldier. A soldier who had just completed his language training in Urdu and was currently at the Army's Marksmanship Training Unit undergoing....wait for it....

Sniper School.

"He's gonna kill me" seemed to be the predominant sentiment. I could only agree. 

I advised him to plead immediately, go AWOL, change his name and appearance and take up regular and heavy prayer. I never got subpoenaed for a trial so I gotta assume he took my advice. Either that or his roommate caught up to him. Or the squirrel.

I'd have chosen the roommate. That squirrel was pissed!
Six

Now With More Angus

A little intermission so we can bring you some more Angus pictures. 'Cause nothing drives hits like pics of a cute dog. None of that here so you'll have to settle for Angus. Kidding. I keed.

He's doing very well. He had an abscess on his surgery scar that was giving him trouble but the Vet put him on antibiotics and it finally burst. We treated it and it seems to have stopped hurting.

"Grab the rope. Grab the rope. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease!"

One of my favorite breakfasts, Lu's pancakes and eggs.

Apparently Angus agrees. "Man that looks good!"

"Look how cute I am. Can I have a bite?"

"No? Awww shucks."

His favorite place in all the world, curled up next to Mama in her chair.

He's become such a Mama's Boy. When she leaves him home he sits by the front door, staring at it and whining softly. In the evening he snivels at her until she sits in her chair so he can cuddle up and sleep. I don't know what I'm going to do when Lu goes out to Florida to pick up the kids in a few months. Probably hire a hooker. Wait, did I say that out loud? I meant I'll comfort him in some other way. By myself. No hookers at all. I swear.

Six

Spam Fans

Like most of you who also blog I get my fair share of spam. Most of it is dreck but there are the occasional nuggets. And the love. I mean, really!

Let me clear up a few administrative matters first.

I do not speak nor read any of the Asian languages. I know, shame on me but there it is. What you gonna do amiright? I speak some Spanglish, enough to get by and know when someone is talking bad about my momma but that's about it. I appreciate the hits and all but really, you're kinda wasting your time. I apologize to my Asian readers but I tend to hit delete as soon as I see these comments. If anyone wants to wade through the prodigious amounts I'm getting please let me know. I suspect they're for penis enlargement devices. Speaking of which..

I really don't want any penis enlargement devices, breakthrough remedies, advice or, Lord help me, exercises. I mean, I'm not even entirely sure what that would entail beyond something obvious and distasteful. If my wife ever caught me doing such I'm quite sure her total and complete respect and admiration for me would go down a few notches. Not really worth it so far as I can determine. Besides, she assures me I am more than adequate in that specific department and she's never lied to me before. So I'm content to let sleeping dogs lie. As it were.

No, I don't want to buy your "Cheap, almost free even, no prescription needed we swear would we lie to you?" drugs. Especially the peepee ones (see above). Aspirin or the occasional anti inflammatory seem to be working out well for me and so far, knock wood (mmphffle!), I'm doing Ok in the 'other' department. I'm not even entirely certain a lot of that stuff is legal to be sending me through the mail and I really, really do not want to find out the hard way. Heh heh. The hard way. I kill me again. I'm way too pretty for prison (if you know what I mean and I think you do). I'm sure the meth is first rate and totally not cut with Baboon poop and Lemming urine but I'm just gonna have to go with No on this one. We can still be friends though. Right?

Now that that's out of the way.

I also get the odd comment containing the highest of praises, admiration and just general love and kudos from some obviously adoring fans. I mean, of course! I am a much beloved blogger after all and like any good high powered celebrity I'd be remiss if I failed to respond to each of them. (These are verbatim BTW):

Hi thеre, I found уour web site by meanѕ of Google whilst sesarсhing forr a comparable mattеr, your website got here up, it seems to be good. I have bookmarked itt in my google bookmarks. Hi there, simply changed іnto alert to your blog via Google, and locateed that it is really infοrmative. I am gonna wωаtch out for brussels. I'll be grateful if you happen to procеed this in future. Lotѕ of οtheг folks ωill likely bе benefited from your writing. Cheers! On Michael's Belts

I am so glad you found me whilst sesarching? I'm not really sure what that means but I'm certain it's quite awesome and all. Something about sailing perhaps? I must protest though as my website never once "got here up". I am quite sure it doesn't even know how to do that and if it does I don't want to know. I'm glad you think it seems to be good and are wwatching out for brussels, both the Belgians and the vegetables I presume. They're a sneaky bunch alright. If it ain't delicious chocolate it's gas, am I right? Your gratitude is heart warming but totally not necessary. I do accept donations though. Say, small, unmarked bills? I'll send you my bank account information soonest though you may have to have a discussion with a certain Nigerian barrister. He has first dibs.  I will most definitely proceed this in the future and I'll pass along your admiration to Michael. I know he'll be thrilled. And Cheers right back at ya! (Also, I don't know if you realize it or not but you said Hi there twice. The NSA considers that a Fox Pause and Terrorist Related probable cause for a ten fingered cavity search. Word to the wise)

see natural event!pain With Online mercantilism turn cyberspace selling miscarry. Be convenient. motion-picture show a prominent put up on the net. await done some of these borders present feel peachy in whites and greys as symptomless. favourable experts severalize and that you may fair end up frailness currency on Michael Kors Handbags Outlet it is prodigious that your contest is in focal point but obscure the prospect purpose be practically fewer emphatic and shy of what you take in to be successful. If your relieve oneself-up is not all stores all respectable. Do writer problem solving prior to constituent a influence online. Check tat you on Sunday Kipling.

Always good to see another Kipling fan out there though I'm not quite sure how to respond to this. Did you need some online, prescriptionless drugs? Perchance the ones devoted to the downstairs department? Because if you do I know just the guy. Totally legit. I swear. I'm afraid I don't have a contact for Thorazine at the moment but don't despair. I'm sure one will turn up any minute. Check tat with me later. I do in fact feel quite peachy in whites and greys though I don't think they're in fact symptomless. My wife gets queasy seeing me in them. It may very well be constituent a influence online but I can't be completely certain at this point. Thank you for your letter though I feel that I must point out that telling me that "it is prodigious that your contest is in focal point but obscure the prospect purpose be practically fewer emphatic and shy of what you take in to be successful" is quite unnecessary. Everyone knows that.

Fіne way of describing, aand fastridiоus post to get facts concerning my pгesentation subject matter, which i aam going to present in schоol. On Bald Head Care

Thank you. If I'm anything it's fastridious and I'm glad to see I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve for that. I'm not quite sure why you'd want to psesent a study of Bald Head Care at school but best of luck with that. What school does one attend for such a course of Study? Harvard? Yale? Bud's School Of Maimery and English Composition perchance? Whichever, I'm quite certain you'll get an A with such subject matter at your disposal. No. No need to thank me, I'm just proud to be a part of such a fine undertaking.

To all my wonderful and supportive Spam Fans out there know that I deeply appreciate the time you took out of your busy day shaving goats, fleecing grandmas, evicting family members and stealing from orphans to write your missives of love and devotion to me. I am humbled by your attention and promise to treat each and every message you send me with all the care and respect they deserve. I know I didn't get to every one of your oh so precious comments but never fear, I have them all archived and I will get to them. Each and every one. Pinkie swears!

Keep 'em coming kids!

Six
Grand Poobah, Presidente For Life and Great On High Commander of the Golden Spam Fan Horde
Viva La Spama Revolucion!

3 Gun Pics. Now With More Suck!

You asked for 'em, you got 'em. Well, you didn't ask for them but narcissism and a strong tendency toward self humiliation kinda require my posting them. Just wait for the videos. Then you'll really see some humiliation! In random order with commentary amounting to "I think" and "What stage was that?" and "Tell me again why exactly you took that picture? Have you no shame?" As always click to embiggen.

I think that was Stage 3, the second one we shot. Yeah, it's all mixed up. We shot stages 2,3,4 and 5 on day 1 and stages 6,7,8 and 9 on day 2. Then stages 1 and 10 on day 3. Confusing for someone already suffering from a few too many head injuries as it is. Note please the mud. The day started out cold as a well diggers....bum. Or something. The ground was frozen. Then the day warmed. Slightly. Just enough to turn it into a sea of mud. Quite fun actually.

We shot from platforms, rifle and pistol.

Running the 870. Take a good look as that didn't last very long.

AR with an Aimpoint red dot. I was decidedly Meh about that optic. The scope was a better choice. Note please the surplus M14 mag pouch. Another really bright choice. I need a keeper.

I wanna say Stage 5. Shotgun and rifle, then a quick trip through the pit of despair...

Across the slack line... (Still looking cool. That's important)

To the pistol bay. 5-11s and a black mock turtleneck. It just doesn't get more stylish than that.

I think this was my last stage with the Aimpoint. Please note the presence of those tires on the right there.

Yep. Dragging 'em. Yah mule! Yah!

All the way across the road to the pistol bay.

Note please that large pipe on the right, near the top of the berm.

But first a spinner. One of two in the match. I tanked both of them, adding 120 seconds to my time in penalties. I could get them soooo close but not quite over. Next time a .300 Win Mag. Or maybe some C-4.

Up the berm, through the pipe and down the other side. 870 clutched safely in hand.

Shooting a pump shotgun through tires is one thing...

Doing it whilst twisted into a knot, one handed, is something else. I look cool though, don't I? Wait, don't answer that.

Day two and here came the snow. Man was it cold. Me and a buddy planning strategeries and plotting revenge at the shoot house. But mostly just walking around, trying not to freeze to death.

By this point it had been snowing all day and I was mostly trying to avoid becoming a sequel in The Zombie Snowman Story: Part VII, The Freezening.

We were laughing here because the 870 had pretty much become a lump of inert metal and wood by this point. Laughing at me and not with me you understand. And I've completely lost track of which stage this was. 7 (below) I believe.

Last stage of the day. I'd just run through The Obstacle Course, differentiated from all the no capitol letter obstacle courses only in length and amount of snow accumulated on clothing. I had also switched to the 3x9 for the rifle somewhere along the line. Stuff got a little hazy there for a while. Cannibalism was discussed. I'll say no more.

Last shot on the last stage of the day (9 if my math is correct and it probably isn't). Note the empty holster and ear muffs. I started out wearing plugs but as the temps dipped so did my desire for a proper cheek weld. I wore the muffs for about a week afterward. In fact, I think I still have them on. I have no idea where the Sig went. Lu handed it back to me afterward so I'm assuming everything is cool.

Yes, the suckage was strong with me that weekend. Still, it could have been worse. I don't know how exactly but I am assured by Top Men that is could have and who am I to argue? A guy with a frozen 870 and a 101st place finish, that's who.

Video tomorrow if I can figure out how to post them.

Oh DO...... Have I got a job for you!

Six

A New Miracle Gun Lube?

The Rev. Paul reminded me of a story with this post.

This is how I learned what the slickest substance known to man is.

In Monterey they still have the remnants of a fishing fleet that works squid in season. Calamari don't you know. Well, they process it in a building on the wharf and then load it into large semi trailers. Open top trailers. It's really a quite disgusting process what with the squid sliding down the chute, making disgusting plopping noises when the hit the mound in  in the trailer. Massive flocks of Seagulls then swoop down in search of an easy handout while a foreign worker stands in the back, armpit deep in eviscerated squid bodies and waves his hands in the air while yelling vile and unintelligible curses at the birds all to no avail. It's all quite exciting.

One day a trailer was a bit over filled and as it made the left turn onto Del Monte Avenue a good bit spilled out onto the road. By a good but I mean several tons and by on the road I mean pretty much curb deep.

Well, we got the call and, what with Patrol being busy with actual police type things going on and all, me another Motor Officer headed over. He got there first. Fortunately. En route I heard one squawk from his radio and then utter silence. Um, probably not good but, I mean, what's the worst that could have happened? Unless there was some radiation involved and Zombie Squid were suddenly hell bent on world domination the call was absolutely routine. Right?

Well, not so much as it turned out. When I got there this is what I saw. A mass of raw squid covering the road with a very Motor Copish looking trail right down the middle. Standing on the side of the road, next to an unexpectedly Cephalopod encrusted Kawasaki KZ1000P, was my partner. The entire left side of his uniform, from helmet to bitchin' Motor Boots, was covered in a thick, viscous slime that looked exactly like the ectoplasm from Ghost Busters. He was dripping with the stuff. It didn't smell too good either. Imagine a fish that's been dead for about a week or so that has been farted on by drunken hobos on a daily basis and you'll at least be in the ballpark. Though why anyone would ever imagine such a thing is quite beyond me.

I parked well short of the disaster and sauntered over, sauntering being something they teach you on the first day of Motor School. I majored in sauntering with a minor in RayBan sunglasses. Anyway. As I approached my by now quite distressed partner I stepped in a little of the disgusting glop, just the edge really, and nearly ended up on my can myself. It was like walking on ice while wearing butter soled shoes that were made by the Grease Gnomes in their ancestral snot tree.

My buddy tried to explain it all away, using every excuse in the book from "I didn't see it" to "Those stupid Gnomes" but in the end he had to admit that he'd tried riding right through the mess and ended up trying to pilot an already inherently unstable contraption through a squid tsunami while trying not to look like a 5 year old on his first two wheeler calling for Dad to come rescue him before he hits the mailbox. Obviously he didn't quite make it and ended up on his side, sliding through about a thousand Surf & Turf dinners worth of dead squid. We laughed and laughed. Well, I laughed. He mostly glowered and swore dire imprecations upon me if I didn't stop.

I learned two things that day.
First, never admit anything on the radio. If it didn't break nothing happened that some chrome cleaner and a good dose of Tide and Kiwi won't fix.
Second, Raw squid is the slipperiest substance known to man. Why some Mad Tyrant doesn't use this stuff to grease the treads on his Tanks of Inevitable Destruction will forever be a mystery to me.

I offer this story to you both for your amusement (If you can't laugh at someone else who can you laugh at? Hey, it didn't happen to me) and as a free tip to all the gun lubrication companies out there searching for the next great answer to the eternal question of why my Raven Arms .25 won't cycle.

Squid grease. I'm tellin' ya, it's the bomb. Just ask a certain motorcop somewhere in California (but nowhere near anything that even vaguely resembles a squid loading Wharf). He'll be the one with stained breeches, a newly washed motorcycle and a very chagrined look on his face.

Approach from upwind. Trust me on this.

Six

The Caliber Wars Are Finally Over

Heh heh.



And there was much rejoicing throughout the land!!

Six

New Gun!!!

Finally, after waiting and waiting the new gun has arrived. What is it you ask? I'll give you a hint.

The grip should give it away. If not....

A Springfield Armory XDM-9 5.25. The 5.25 refers to the barrel length and the 9 to caliber. Yea verily it is a 9mm bullet hose. It is primarily a competition gun and is used by a lot of USPSA shooters. A lot of others hate it but what do they know. I love it and more importantly so does Lu. More on that in a minute. Here it is in all it's glory.

It came with a veritable plethora of stuff. Two additional back straps to mold it to perfection, three (count 'em three) 19 round mags, a mag loader, holster, mag pouch and the hated and useless gun lock. $760 bucks out the door. The front sight is fiber optic. Gamer all the way baby.

Why this particular gun? Lemme 'splain. No, there's no time. Lemme sum up. Warning: this is competition talk about a gun I got strictly to shoot competition. Any resemblance to a combat firearm are strictly coincidental. (Though I'd take it into a dynamic scenario in a heartbeat but that's just me)

I am currently shooting a Glock 35 (after my Sig crapped out on me) in .40 S&W. A fine pistol but one that just doesn't fit me as well as I'd like, especially when I'm desperately trying to master a new discipline. What I needed was a more traditional pistola, one chambered for a softer cartridge and suitable for hosing those difficult stages when actually aiming just won't do. I looked and searched and asked and the majority decision seemed to be this gun. Then I shot it and was instantly hooked. It's very accurate, easy to shoot and points instinctively. Ooh baby, now we're talking! Plus it's amenable to some simple adjustments (like a trigger though the stocker is pretty dang good) that are not only USPSA approved but that will take it from good to totally fabulous.

But wait, it gets even better. Lu has come along very nicely and is ready to take the next step in her development (Whatever that next step turns out to be. That's still being discussed). She's been shooting her Sig P226 9mm which she adores but which isn't exactly suited for this type of shooting. Recently she got the chance to shoot one of the guy's XDMs and she loved it. So much so that we've been looking at getting her a 4 inch. Then she saw mine and decided to wait until she could shoot it and then decide. Well, she shot it today and can you guess what she now wants? That's right, one just like mine. In fact she has already taken a decidedly untoward interest in my very gun. I have had to take it away from her numerous times. The slobber all over it is just so hard to remove. Hang on a sec.

"Lu, put that down! My gun. Mine."

"But we needs the precious. Yes we do!!!"

"My gun. Bad Lu. Bad!"

Where were we? Oh right. I am also considering a 1911 (Or maybe a 2011. One never knows...) so I can shoot Single Stack and Heavy Metal 3 Gun. If I do that we can share (Yeah, wishful thinking right there) the XDM. I'll probably get it on alternate weekends and she'll yell at me for feeding it junk food and not properly giving it a Sunday bath.

"We loves the precious. Yes we do."

So, there we are. At this point we're cussing and discussing where we're going. I've been perusing the 1911 offerings while Lu tries to hide the XDM. I may just throw in the towel and buy a second one just so I don't have to engage in a continual Tug-O-War with the woman who cooks my food and knows where I sleep. I mean it's only money. Right?

Did I mention that the gun store just got in a H&K MP5 and I have wanted one for like forever? Or that the same gun store is well stocked with a variety of tasty1911s?

Hey Sweetheart? If you really want that XDM I think we can work this out....

"We gots the Precious! Oh yes! Oh yes, my Precious!!"

I'm gonna need a bigger gun safe.

Six

Grandkids - A Lttle Awesome and A Little Ewww

We went for a nice trail ride today. It was the first chance to try out the new suspension bikes we bought for the kids. The bikes were a hit and the kids got quickly back into the swing of mountain biking. Of course there was one more purchase we had to make.

When we got rid of the old bikes everything went with them. That meant new helmets were in order. We decided to wait and let the kids pick out their own so off to the big box store we went. Miss Princess went with Grandma while Captain Awesome and I perused the offerings. When each saw the helmets we eventually bought they were instantly grasped by excited hands and pronouncements of their awesomeness were both voluble and oft repeated. Which ones did they pick out you ask?

That's a cat on the left and a mohawk on the right. Cool Kitty and Mysterious Mohawk. They were in 7 and 9 year old heaven. Miss Princess refused to take hers off even in the restaurant where we went for an after ride breakfast. Which brings me to the Ewww part of the story.

I have now seen consumed what is perhaps the most vile and noxious meal ever imagined in the fevered dreams of even the most jaded and exploitative restauranteur. It was at IHOP so you may already have an unsettling idea of what we witnessed.

They both ordered the chocolate with chocolate chip pancakes. With whip cream of course. They then proceeded to absolutely cover them with every type of syrup available. Maple, butter pecan, blueberry and the horrible boysenberry. The plates were swimming in the stuff. It soaked into the pancakes and combined with the whip cream to produce a vile concoction that both kids ate with barely concealed glee, pronouncing it 'delicious'. I got a toothache just sitting at the same table. I couldn't even watch them eat. It was like two sugar sharks in a feeding frenzy with little bits of brown pancake flotsam and multicolored syrup jetsam. Even the gore channel would have begged off filming it.

It occurred to me that they may have stumbled upon the perfect interrogation technique for adults.

"Won't talk eh? Well how about we add some....BOYSENBERRY!! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!

"No no. Anything but that. I'll talk! I'll talk!" (Sounds of uncontrolled sobbing and retching)

Then again, it might just be too cruel. I know I'll never look at the kids menu the same way again.

The horror. The horror.
Six

Hot

112 yesterday. 111 today and more in the teens and low hundreds into next week. I've even heard 114 or 115 being thrown around. The Kids have been living in the pool. Even Angus thinks it's too hot to go outside until after dark. I'm thinking walkies will be well after the sun goes down.

I'm going to cover myself with ice and think cool thoughts.
Six

The Creeping Gamboo

I was walking along the other day, just minding my own business and basking in the oneness that is man and communing with nature. As I often do. When suddenly and without warning I was confronted by an apparition. He (It was probably a He as She's rarely confront someone without any advance warning whatsoever, shoe store sales notwithstanding) was dressed head to toe in skintight, green spandex and wearing what I can only describe as the skin of a deceased Yak on his head. One who pretty obviously died from Ebola exposure.

"Hi" I said. I am after all naturally polite. "Can I help you?"

"Aarrgghh!" The apparition cried.

"Yes, well....Er, is there something I can do for you Mister Aarrgghh?" Did I mention I am unfailingly polite?

"I am the bringer of discomfort, illness and loose bowels! Fear me puny mortal! And my name is not Mister Aarrgghh. That was just my way of introducing myself."

"Yes, I see." I was taken aback. I mean, how often is it that one finds themselves face to face with the bringer of all those maladies, especially one dressed like Liberace's Dancercize instructor and who clearly thinks he's a gay, disco version of Kermit the frog with a bad toupee?

"Don't you know who I am you pathetic worm?"

"Ah no. Sorry about that. If you're lost I think the Democrat Party headquarters is just down the street there a bit. Hop on in and be sure to ask for Muffy."

"Fool! I am the scourge of the world. The Fifty Second Horseman of the Apocalypse though at the moment I'm riding this moped. My horse is in the shop. Broken Miter Valve."

"Yes, I see." By this time I was becoming somewhat alarmed. I mean, I know people in this town and if they caught me carrying on a conversation with The Green Satyr from Sesame Street there'd be talk. "Um, is there something you need? I'm afraid I don't have any spare change on me at the moment."

"My name is The Creeping Gamboo you weakling human! Does that not strike fear into your quivering heart?"

"Well, no. I've never heard of you. Sorry. And I don't think my heart actually quivers. Shimmy maybe but never quiver."

"I am the The Creeping Gamboo, bringer of discomfort, illness and loose bowels! Also sometimes headaches and sore throats. I've even been known to inflict body aches on the particularly unwary."

"Yes, I believe you may have mentioned that. What is it exactly that you want?"

"Your very sooouuulll!!! To devour!!! Well, not to devour exactly but at least to chew on a bit."

"I see. Well, thanks for that and all but really, I must be on my way. Got a long ride home tomorrow don't you know."

"That is a ride you will never make for you see I have already smitten you with a curse. Hahahahaha!!!"

"A curse? What kind of a curse?" I inquired. Because I'm just a naturally inquisitive type as well as being polite. Besides, it seemed kinda important to humor the guy at that point.

"I already told you before. Weren't you listening? Sheesh, what's a guy gotta do to get a little respect around here?"

"Oh, that bit about war and famine and all? Sorry, I may have been a bit distracted there for just a moment what with the outfit and all. Plus there's the odor coming off whatever that is on your head. I mean, really, that thing positively reeks. Couldn't you, I don't know, wash it or something? Maybe try some Rogaine? A nice bottle of Fabreeze? I think I've got some in my saddlebag."

"Oh, insult and sarcasm! Listen, don't start on me with that stink and washing crap. You don't have to wear it on your head. Besides you're way balder than I am. So why don't you just piss off already with that kinda talk. And it was discomfort, illness and loose bowels. Plus some other stuff. Idiot."

"Ok, Ok. Sorry about that. I'm just having a real tough time taking you seriously. I mean, who goes around dressed like that, approaching total strangers on the street and throwing curses about all willy nilly?"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be in a few hours. Maybe a couple of days but no more than that I'm sure of it. Then - Bam! - You'll be all Woe and Alas and Honey can you bring me some more NyQuil? Then we'll see who's a smartass too distracted to pay attention to the guy who is clearly a Harbinger of Doom and not a gay Sesame Street character."

"So what happens now? Do I fall over dead with my stinking corpse rotting in the street while the city burns around me and the world sinks into the abyss of Heck where life is pretty darn inexpensive and chocolate chip cookies becomes the black market currency?"

"Nah, nothing like that. You're just gonna feel like shit for a while. You'll probably recover in a few days, unfortunately, and then go on about your life making wisecracks to hard working pestilence mongers and generally being a huge pain in the ass to everybody else. Serves you right."

"Of course. If there's nothing else...?"

"G'wan, beat it before I decide to give you a bad case of jock itch."

"So, I'm still good for the ride then?"

"Oh yeah. I don't think the curse will really kick in until maybe Wednesday. But then watch out! Because it's gonna be horrific. Can't be fathomed I tell you. Epic. I swear."

"Well...thanks. I guess. I'll just be on my way then. Goodbye. Oh, I do have some change after all. Here's 87 cents."

"Thank you you cheapskate and goodbye. For now. Muahahahahahaha!!!"

If you haven't guessed it yet, yes, I am sick. I blame small persons of the child variety. Little germ factories. I was fine until today and then, just like Mister Gamboo predicted, I feel pretty much like I got ate by a Coyote and crapped off a cliff.

Stupid harbingers of discomfort, illness and loose bowels. See if I ever give him my spare change again. Friggin' evil Sesame Street characters. Next time I'm just gonna start shooting.

Six

Bug Hunt

1430 hours. It's a dreary outpost on the planet Sixtopolis. We're at the verge of human controlled space and charged with keeping an eye out for humanities enemies. Unfortunately we've hit the mother lode if you will.

We've been invaded by an enemy force. Exoskeletal, large legged, possessed of a huge head and bulbous eyes. They are a vicious and ravenous species who know neither civility nor mercy.

It's no good waiting. Waiting is good for them, bad for us. We needed to take the fight to those damn murderous Orthopteras. I put my best man on it. "Just another Bug Hunt huh boss? I'm on it."

He's young and raw. Just out of the Academy but he's a hardcore killer. If Private Angus couldn't get it done then we were all in deep kimshi. As good as dead. Up the river without a paddle. In serious trouble is the idea I'm trying to get across here."Go get 'em Private." Morale is my job.

He picked up the scent almost immediately. He has a nose for trouble. Sometimes it even finds someone other than himself but that's another tale for another day. Today we're hunting bugs.

And the hunt was on.

The bugs are wily and secretive. They tend to attack in packs, ambushing unwary patrols and slaughtering it down to the last man. Pvt. Angus was on his toes, head on a swivel and ready to rock and roll at all times.

"Aaiiee!! I saw one over there! I think it touched me!"

Suddenly he was off like a shot, taking the fight to the enemy. It was an epic charge worthy of the Light Brigade. Or at least the Chihuahua Brigade. "Come back you fool!" I yelled but to no avail. Poor, brave bastard. Luckily the forces of evil scattered at the approach of his Chattering Teeth of Deadly Death and he was saved from being consumed in a horde of chitinous nibbling.

But we lost them in the dark and heavy fog. I had to settle the big fella down and get him back on track. He's a loose cannon but he's our loose cannon and when you're facing down the Hordes of Hell there's no better man...er, dog to have at your side.

Of course even the hardest charging soldier occasionally needs a break to take care of some urgent business.

In no time at all he was back in business (No pun intended), drawing ever nearer to enemies lines. We all knew that when contact was initiated all hell was going to break loose. Hey, that's just what we do. We're soldiers and Earth's last line of defense. Or maybe first. I sometimes get confused when I've missed my nap. Totally awesome, killer, high speed low drag naps of course. We were ready.

CONTACT!!! The enemy was found and pinned down. Intense, no mercy, all or nothing, Lord of the Rings style Battle was joined.

Combat was fierce but fortunately brief.  The enemy was routed and killed in vast numbers. The field was littered with their hideous corpses, their brown fluids staining the grass. The stink was great. And by great I of course mean pretty darn stinky.

Private Angus was magnificent. He waded into the battle with virtually no thought for his own safety. Probably with no thoughts at all but hey, that's what cannon fodder means. At the end he even managed to capture one of them. I'm pretty sure it was at least a General. Maybe even a Field Marshall. Private Angus handled the interrogation himself.

"Speak you vile, twisted crustacean from another world! Where is your headquarters? Take me to your leader!"

"Won't speak eh? Maybe a little slobber therapy is in order here. If this won't loosen your tongue I have other ways to make you talk! Hehhehheh!"

I went to check on his progress. "Private Angus Report! How goes the interrogation? Getting any good information from our little green friend?"

"He refused to divulge any information Sir. So I had to eat him"

"You ate him?!? Bad Private, no biscuit!"

"Right Boss. I'll be over here having a nap. If you need me just whistle. You do know how to whistle don't you Boss?"

I should have promoted Private Angus to at least Corporal for his bravery in battle but eating the prisoner demanded a demotion to stockboy. I called it a wash and we went inside for dinner.

So the fight is over and an uneasy peace reigns o'er the land. For now. We know they'll be back but we're ready. This battle has been won but the enemy is devious and has the advantage of numbers.

But no worries, Private Angus is on the job.

It's quiet out there. maybe too quiet....

Six

Fearless Freep And Yosemite Sam Walk Into A Bar....

And the bartender says "You shot my Paw!" Hahahahaha!!

Ok, so I suck at jokes but I am in fact an actor of, dare I say it, genius level abilities. I had a role in a movie where my character was supposed to fake an Achilles injury. I went that extra step and actually ruptured my Achilles Tendon, all in the name of gritty realism of course. Hey, That's just the way I roll. Nick Searcy Style baby. My rendition of 'Police Officer Giving Talk On Dog Park Etiquette' brought tears to many eyes. It may have been the pepper spray but I assure you, tears were shed in abundance. Which brings me to the topic of this post which is:

There's No Such Thing As Ghosts. Seriously You Guys. Stop Being Such A Pack Of Wusses.

Have you watched those ghost hunter shows on TV? You know the ones, where the hosts explore supposedly haunted places with lots of dramatic camera work and much screaming, hand flapping and general pants wetting.

They drive me up a wall.

They remind me of a bunch of 8 year old boys daring each other to go into Old Lady Maginty's house that's been abandoned for 40 years and is supposedly haunted by a ghost who specializes in sucking the blood from children who are foolish enough enter the premises without the proper specter proof blanket over their heads. Look into the mirror and say "Scary Ted Kennedy" three times and he will suddenly appear. We swear. Seriously you guys. It happened to my friends cousin's brother's Kindergarten teacher's fourth pupils younger sister. And she totally died!

They employ all manner of Ghost Buster technology like 'Ghost' cameras, 'Ghost' thermal imagers and super sensitive 'Ghost' detectors that shows cold spots, hot spots, room temperature spots, background noise, spooky spectral glows, theremin music and much other eerie 'evidence' of the presence of the Ghost of  TV Ratings Past and Present. The shows emphasize the Ghost Hunter's fearlessly going to places no one else but a double dared preteen boy would go.

I want to create and star in a different paranormal show.  In it I will fearlessly go into places such as abandoned IRS offices, eerily empty Congressional Halls and even the Oval Office that is reportedly inhabited by the Screaming Banshee of Scandal and just kind of wander around, all without saying things like "Did you hear that?" Or "What was that!?" And "Aaiiee, something's got me! Save me spirit of Calvin Coolidge!!"

I will pick my nose and flick the resulting booger directly on the Sacred Duvet Cover thereby insulting the Dead Scientists Brain In A Pickle Jar. From Hell. I will walk around and purposely enter a room while looking over my shoulder at nothing at all behind me. I will investigate spooky noises in the basement alone while wearing nothing more than a thin, see through nightie (Viewer discretion advised. Don't blame me you were warned). I will take a whiz in the Garden Of Evil Undead Buried Stuff. I will even pet the Fluffy Cat Of Disdainful Horror and The Black Lab Of Face Licking Death.

You'd watch that, right? I mean, it's gotta be better than watching a bunch of Don Knotts impersonators in a remake of The Ghost And Mister Chicken, plotzing themselves and running around willy nilly in the darkness embarrassing their friends and family and especially their kids who can no longer show their faces in school lest they be teased unmercifully. Won't someone think of the CHILDREN!?

Now all I need is a basic cable channel willing to pay millions thousands hundreds of dollars to a bald, fat ex-cop willing to go on TV and poke Poltergeists in the eye.

Wait. Did you hear something? What was that? Something's got me! Aaiiee!!!

Six

My Life Probably Won't Be Saved By My Dog

I love Angus a lot, I really do. He's a happy dog. It doesn't matter what we're doing he's completely ecstatic to somehow be included. I'd say he loves one activity more than others but I'd be lying, or running for office as it's colloquially known. Walkies, runnies, swimmies, poopies. He loves them all. Of course sometimes runnies and poopies meet and the result is somewhat less than ideal but that's probably best left for another post. Still, nothing ever seems to get him down. If I could harness his tail wag we could power greater Las Vegas for a decade.

But a guard dog he most assuredly isn't. Oh he barks. There's nothing he likes more than a good session of "Hey! Who's that!? What's that? Did I hear something? Will you throw that ball? You will? Oh Joy!?" barking and general mayhem where he throws himself around the room convinced that the Boogerman is right outside the door and if I don't open it so he can run around the yard in a butt tucked frenzy we'll all die in a mucous catastrophe the likes of which the world has never known. The surprised look on his face when he finds the yard empty of any traces of Minions Of Evil always makes me chuckle in a slightly Mad Scientist who has just watched his Hero Nemesis step into his implausible and highly complicated trap kinda way.

But Angus never gets embarrassed or disappointed. He's always absolutely certain that this time the Sultan of Snot will actually be there and then he can save everyone by barking madly and dancing around with a toy in his mouth and trying to get someone to throw it for him. I've always been a little dubious about the efficacy of this plan but then I'm not a Labrador Retriever so what do I know? Angus assures me it will work perfectly so I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now anyway. He's a bit more sanguine on walks though. I've seen him scared senseless by a stationary garbage bag of leaves on the curb that had in no way made any threatening moves against him despite what he claims.

So the other night we were walking our normal route around the block. A walk we've done more than once if you know what I mean and I think you do. Now, Angus tends to get fixated on one thing to the exclusion of everything else. He's a little like a guy at a strip club that way. Not that I'd know anything about that. I just heard is all. Anyway. As we got to this one house there was a small male child playing in the driveway. He had clearly been riding on his toy scooter as it was lying on the sidewalk, kinda sorta in our path. Angus was zoned in on the boy as he generally really likes kids. I think it's because their hands are at his level and they often carry scrumptious snacks that are clearly meant just for him. Hey, a free meal is a free meal and a little kid with an ice cream cone is a gift from The Great Provider. So Angus is watching the boy, almost certainly hoping for a game of 'Feed the cute puppy' to suddenly break out, and he has completely lost sight of the toy scooter on the sidewalk.

Now I must admit here that I saw it and kinda, sorta had a hunch what might happen and probably could have steered Angus around it but where's the fun in that? The comedy potential was clearly very high and I do need blog fodder after all. Don't judge me, Lu saw it too and she was totally silent as well so I'm just going to go ahead and blame everything on her. The scooter was shaped like that gorked tow truck from that cartoon movie, Lethal Weapon, so there's that. Moving along.

 Just as Angus got to the scooter he must have decided that the boy wasn't in fact a Magical Food Faerie after all so he began to turn his head back in the general direction of our walk. Now at this point we were still walking down the sidewalk so Angus had some forward momentum built up. He was moving in that kind of sidling, hopping, crabbing, 'is that candy in his hand?' way known all too well to any Lab owners out there. It's the "you can't get mad at me 'cause I'm still moving forward even though I think that's food/a squirrel/something shiny and I'm pretty sure I need it" walk that ensures your forward progress is as miniscule as your chances of tripping over a furry body is great. Angus was turning his head and must have just caught sight of the scooter out of the corner of his eye. He was suddenly confronted by what was clearly a device and/or minion of Immediate Impending Doom.

Angus jumped approximately nine feet into the air all the while emitting 'barks of agitated surprise' and 'gyrations of great consternation'. He cleared my head by a good three feet on his way in the opposite direction while simultaneously leaving a steaming pile on the ground in the neighborhood of the offensive toy. Stitches 'Crash' Squidboy, the current X-Ray Games concussion champ (douchetastic division) would have been so proud. I know I was. Angus hit the end of the leash at a full gallop, heading back the way we'd come as this was obviously an area free of nefarious implements of canine maimery. I figure he was doing about Mach 3 when he hit the limits of my retractaleash. There then ensued a tug of war twixt man and dog that could best be described as desperate and by desperate I mean hilarious. Angus was pulling one way with all his strength while casting incredulous looks at me as if to say "Flee You Fool!" while I was pulling the other way just as hard while trying to contain a bad case of the hysterical giggles. I know, I am a bad man.

After a minute or two of this I was starting to really question my decision to let this comedy/drama play out to it's totally unforeseen by me I swear conclusion. I even remember thinking "Was this the right, the mature thing to do?" Of course the answer is "I'll take Vexatious Consequences for $100 Alex."

At last we managed to convince Angus that it was indeed nothing more dangerous that a child's riding toy and with much snuffling and not a few accusatory looks we managed to circumnavigate the offending object and continue on our way. But 'The Incident', as it has come to be known here at Casa Six, was far from over. Have you ever seen a dog sulk? I swear, the term Hangdog was invented by Angus and if not he has certainly perfected the craft. He punished me for a good hour. He sat by the couch, close enough that he knew I could see him but far enough away that I couldn't actually reach him, and hung his head. Whenever he thought I wasn't paying enough attention to him he'd let out a small whine followed by a huge sigh. He even turned his head away in a clear snub when I tried to give him a chewy treat by way of assuaging my by now mounting guilt. Snubbed by my dog. I have now clearly plumbed the very depths of social ostracism.

But it all turned out Ok in the end. If there's one thing a Lab can be counted on it's forgiveness. Probably because they have the attention span of an elderly May Fly but I think that's profiling and I'm told that's bad so forget I ever said anything of the sort. Eventually he came over for pets and I even convinced him into a game of Tug O War. By simply picking up his favorite rope because, as I may have mentioned once or twice, Angus is a Lab.

And I have learned a great lesson form all of this. That lesson is...Wait, I had it a second a go. It's...No, that wasn't it. I think it was something about never playing with a sleeping dogs drool or the bark is funnier than the leap or some such. I never was any good at epiphanies. Oh wait, I remember now.

Underdog Angus ain't
and
It's a dang good thing I decided against arming him 'cause if he'd had a gun....

Six

Career Day

It's Career Day! Well, not really I just wanted to talk about jobs and stuff. Still, I am nothing if not a giver so here's a cute little song featuring kids and hats. I seem to have an unseemly preoccupation with hats these days.



Careers are funny things. Sometimes we choose them and sometimes they choose us. Take me for example. "Please!" as my wife would say but then she thinks Henny Youngman was a historian so what does she know. I was seemingly born to be a Soldier and Cop. I can take abuse (witness the aforementioned wife), look reasonable in blue wool serge and love wearing bus driver caps.

I could never have turned to a life of crime. Stealing, lying, all those buried bodies. And that's just local politics. Still, I seemed destined for a life in uniform. But that's not what I wanted. I didn't want the violence, the late nights, the bad porn mustache. When I was a lad I wanted something else, something refined and genteel. Something that didn't require exposing my tender skin to danger and the heartbreak of jock itch. Oh no my friends. I wanted to be....

A ballerina.

Not a ballet dancer like Rudolf Nureyev but a ballerina like Anna Pavlova. Wearing leotards and a pink Tutu. Flowing gracefully across the stage performing Croise Derrieres and Efface Derrieres. Heh heh. Derriere.

But, alas, it was not to be and why you may very well ask. I mean, I wouldn't ask because I'm just naturally incurious but you could. Anytime now. Ok, I'll just answer.

Because Racism, that's why. Apparently bald, clumsy, middle aged, fat men cannot be ballerinas. As if that were some cosmic reality writ large upon the vast continuum of the ethereal universality. Yeah. I went there. I guess ballerinas must be thin, beautiful and of the gender known as 'Female'. So I never got to realize my dream of dancing Swan Lake at Bubba's Repertory Theater and  Rib Joint where every Friday is Hoe Down day. But that doesn't mean I don't still have that urge every once in a while...

Such grace. Such beauty. Such brain freezing awesomeness. Once seen it can never be unseen and you'll never view ballet the same way ever, ever again.

You're welcome.

Six