Okay, let's say your house has, among all of its assorted doors, windows, cabinets, etc., one door, maybe just a cabinet door, that squeaks a bit. What do you do? Most of us think we'd just oil the offending hinge and be done with it. Ah, but then there's the socio-political way of handling it. Remove all the doors from their hinges throughout the house. Or, hey, just tear down the whole damn house.
What on Earth am I on about, you ask? Just how it amazes (sickens, saddens, etc.) me how we seem to strike all around the problems at hand, doing all kinds of damage without ever actually fixing anything, and in many instances making it worse.
Take this town where I work. We've had a couple of bank robberies in the last year. A major city nearby has had a few, and in truth there have been several over the last couple o'years within a 100 to 150 mile radius. Yeah, that's pretty much everywhere that's populated, I realize, so what? Well, the robbers, it seems, to everyone's amazement, tended to wear dark sunglasses and on occasions, hats. So, naturally, the local banks are all on high alert. Now, no one, to my knowledge has seen a weapon, and no one has been hurt. But still, 'tis only a matter of time, right? Let's face it, if you think you're gonna get any real money by robbing a bank teller, you're either desperate, stupid, or a wee bit of both. Desperate, stupid people do really foolish things so I'll agree some heightened security might be in order.
Okay, then, so what do we do? Let's see in some convenience stores, the clerk is surrounded by bulletproof glass. One would think banks would have a wee bit more money in their security budget than a corner Stop-N-Rob. So, have our local banks done this? Um ... no. I'm sure the land abounds with retired police officers and military men and general folks of good character who wouldn't mind donning a uniform and a gun and adding a bit of protection from some back corner of the building. In my youth, it seems that every bank, even the little closet sized ones had armed security on hand. Oh, but that would be introducing the great evil of a GUN into the picture ... oh, wait ... the robber might already have done that. I guess the banks just don't want to stoop to the bad guys' level? Or ... what the hell are they thinking?! Do they upgrade their security systems with crash-down cages and locking doors like some jewelry stores use? Why, no, that might be unfriendly or something. Personally I'd love to see the video of a bank robber get his money, turn, and suddenly POOF! Bulletproof glass pops up around the tellers' desks, a cage descends over the robber, all the doors lock ... muh-ha-ha-ha ... We could even give the bank managers Sting-Ball grenades to ... well ... I'll just draw a curtain of censorship around that deviously delightful notion.
Well, I imagine you've all figured out that none of the banks around here seem to have done any of the above steps. What have they done? Well, one bank put up these little signs: Remove all hats, hoods, and sunglasses before entering bank." Inside the bank, at the teller windows, are little signs, "Hats, hoods, and sunglasses are not allowed to be worn inside the bank." Now, let me get this straight, some desperate (and probably stupid) evil-doer who has already opted to commit a crime that might well net him 20 years in Club Fed, who might already be illegally packing heat, who may well have no problem whatsoever in dealing out death and destruction in a steely-eyed, sociopathic manner, is going to see these little signs and thing, "Oh, goodness, I can't rob this place! They don't allow my hat and shades in there!" Or do the brilliant minds that be think the criminal, in the midst of committing his crime, will see the sign as yon teller fills his loot bag, realize he's breaking the rules (oh, my!), and immediately remove his hat, hood, and/or shades so they cameras will get a better view?
So, rather than implement actual physical security for their employees, their clients, and our damn money, the banks decide to restrict everyone's freedom. I have to remove my hat and my shades (even though a brightly lit, window surrounded lobby is often painful to my unshod eyes) all in order to be afforded the privilege of handing this fine institution my hard-earned money so they can boost their claimed holdings and thus earn higher ratings and loan it out to make more money. I am at a loss to explain this anti-logic. This goes right in line with the anti-gun laws. "Gun Free Zone" signs don't seem to deter people bent on committing murder. Wow, who'da thunk that people about to commit mass capital felonies would not be deterred by some minor institutional rules (or at most misdemeanors)? I'd point this kinda stuff out to the gobshite morons, but when you try to educate a certain class of liberal eejit, all you seem to get is drool, dumb looks, and frustration.
Well, the next time a bank is robbed, I'll make sure to make a big deal out of the fact that said robber blatantly ignored the bank's unenforceable rule to remove his identity obscuring accoutrement's. Yeah, I don't think they'll appreciate my sense of humor.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
A Little Ray Of Sunshine
Normally I reserve my more bitter comentary for this blog ... and of late, gun reviews, some game reviews, etc. But I a recent even has occured which makes even a grumpy old misanthrope like me smile a bit each day.
Thursday night our first grandchild was born. Yep. All kinda unexpectedly like, too. Well, she was due in about a week and a half, but there we were, The Missus and I, exausted after spending an entire day cleaning up a building and getting it ready to become the new dojo for our jujutsu system ("our" as in the one I am so active in, that Herself is the semi-official "dojo mamma-san", not "our" as in we run it. I'm one of the instructors, but the other instructor owns the system, thus it's "his"... although methinks he'd prefer it if everyone involved in the school used the possessive "our"). Anyway, lest I take yet another unscheduled jaunt on the digression express, let me get back on track here: Last Thursday, the wife and I spent the entire day running hither and yon getting supplies, planning-on-the-fly, cleaning, scrubbing, mopping, repairing, etc. to get the new building ready. Then I rinsed off, donned my doji (those heavy pajama-like things we wear and, oft as not bleed all over), ran and taught the night's two classes. I ended the adult class a wee bit early and the students pitched in and helped us move the mats and everything from the place we had been using to the new (and MUCH BETTER) location. By the time we got finished it was nigh on 9:30 pm and Herself and I were, to put it plainly, worn slap out. We elected to eat out since neither of us could even begin to summon the energy to cook. Having burned countless calories, we didn't feel too bad about deciding to patronize our favorite Mexican restaurant. Heck, I even had a regular (as in non-light) beer! To hell with carbs!
Anyway, there we sat, tired but quite happy and even a wee bit proud of what we had done. The head honcho was (and is at this moment) out of town for some urgent and very important business. This meant we could both exercize our not-so-latent OCD and make a lot of decisions as to what went where, etc., etc. We'd done a lot of work for one day and though a lot more needed doing, we were actually proud. Then came the phone call. Youngest daughter, BLK calls Herself's phone (thinking I was still at the dojo) and let us know that the pregnant eldest, SAK was at the hospital. Once I got the phone and started asking questions (hey, give a man credit when he knows the diff 'tween regular contractions and Braxton/Hicks contractions!), BLK put her mother on the phone (gee, thanks, kiddo, le sigh). Come to find, there was some fetal distress going on but it looked like SAK was stabilizing and would be sent home in a wee bit. She wanted to see me ASAP, though, big ol' Daddy's girl that she is. I called the waitress over and told her to bring the check as soon as she could as we might have to jump and run. She complied and about five minutes later, I get another call from BLK ... t'was time for an emergency c-section. Oh, boy ... but I did not panic. We jumped up, paid up, and made it the three miles or so up the road to the hospital. There, amid the ex's constant gloom-and-doom predictions, espousing of medical psudo-knowledge, implications to my wife (who has known me all our lives) that she (the ex) knows me better, we got to my daughter's side. I told her to ignore the gloom-and-doom, c-sections are relatively routine, "and besides, you were a HELL of a lot more trouble than this and look how good you came out!" They wheeled her away, and moments later we heard the baby cry ... I mean CRY!!! What a set o'lungs! And, sweet child though she seems to be, when she is displeased, she has no trouble getting that point across and making sure EVERYONE knows it! ... I ... um ... I wonder where she ... inherited ... that particular ... trait?
Baby girl, Riley (or NeBWuFf, as I call her ... they had NBWF on her bassinette for New Born White Female so I announced that must be her name, as per the medical staff, right? ... um ... not, as it turns out, everyone shares my sense of humor. Who knew?), is quite healthy as is her new mama. Tiny, tiny, but very, very healthy. Puts a lot of things into perspective for me, that's for sure.
So, amidst all my whining and grumpy comentaries, let it be known that this man is smiling! Well, okay, not all the time, I mean I wouldn't want the fabric of the universe to split or anything, and I'm more determined than ever to open some people's eyes so our Granddaughter has all the freedoms we enjoy today and maybe even more. But, yeah, I'm happy and proud and all the usual cool grandparent stuff. Methinks I need one of my next gunsmithing projects to be builing her a first rifle, and I already told her mother I'm ordering a size triple zero dogi. Heh-heh-heh. ;)
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Gun Review: Kahr PM40
Recently I embarked on a quest to find the best OD/BUG (off-duty / back up gun) on the market. This is a quest I undertake from time to time. After all, technology changes, my particular needs might change, etc. What does not change, however, is that I need a weapon that is comfortable enough to carry 85-90% of the time (saving the smallest and lightest and less powerful for that other 10-15%). That weapon must be reliable, reasonably accurate, and preferably chamber a duty-caliber round. If all else fails, I'm willing to take a .380 but I normally reserve that for my tiniest OD/BUG, the Kel-Tec P3AT.
Well, I wound up recently purchasing a very lightly used ("Like New Condition") Kahr PM40. By very lightly used, it was, so the dealer told me, bought new by a deputy a couple o'counties over. Said lawman put, reportedly, two magazines or less through it and promptly traded it in. Hmmm ... I love a challenge! In fairness, it did not appear to have any wear whatsoever on it. When I closely examined the interior I saw a very fine amount of smudge on the inside. About right for a couple o'mags, I reckoned.
First, let me describe this little wonder. It's a double action only (DAO), polymer framed ultra-compact pistol chambered in .40 S&W. Mine came with a stainless steel slide, barrell, and trigger. The finish is matte, bordering on satin. The trigger pull is quite smooth and easily managed without being nerve-wrackingly light. It measures 5.35" long, 4" high, .94" thick, and weighs about 17 ounces with an empty magazine.
I'm actually amazed at how close it is to the size of my uber-tiny Kel-Tec P3AT .380. It looks like it's maybe 1/3 bigger, but that's just an eye-ball guess. I haven't done any actual measuring yet. Still, it's under an inch thick (just) and rides very comfortably in my waistband inside a Don Hume clip-on leather holster. The thin, formed leather adds very little bulk and the reinforced mouth let's it stay open for relatively easy reholstering. I've worn it IWB (inside waist band) behind my hip, cross-draw, appendix, and even just barely fore and aft of 3 o'clock (along the outseam of my pants) and in all those posts, it concealed under an XL t-shirt. I've also worn it quite a bit in an Uncle Mike's pocket holster. It literally just becomes a small not-at-all-gun-shaped lump in my office kahkis. It almost disappears in my relaxed fit Levis. This polymer framed Kahr is even comfortable on my ankle. That's something I could not say about it's slightly larger and much heavier brother, the K40 Covert.
The PM40 takes either flush-fitting 5-round magazines, or 6-round mags that extend about a finger's width below the grip. My PM40 came with one of each, the 6-rounder having a large polymer floorplate that fills in the gap between the bottom of the pistol's grip and the bottom of the magazine. Some folks who've held it commented that they preferred the longer magazine as they did not like having to curl a finger underneath the grip. I personally prefer as small a grip as possible. Why? Simply put (and generally), the smaller the grip, the less bulk there is to print under a shirt. So long as there's enough to get a grip on when drawing, I'm usually happy. But, to each their own. I even heard a few comments to the effect that it was "too small." Sure, I've carried even full-sized USP .45 concealed and yes, I mean in this semi-tropical environment of the SouthEastern Gulf Coast. I can carry big guns concealed. I don't like carrying big guns concealed. It's not comfortable (for me, anyway ... I'm 5'09" with a waist that varies from 34" to 36" depending 'pon the season). This little Kahr is quite comfortable and in several modes of carry. Plus, it's light enough that it doesn't drag down the pants even in pocket carry and send all sorts of red flares up.
My model came with Trijicon Express-style sites rather than the standard ones. These feature a huge white dot front site and a rear site that, rather than the typical square cut-out, is just dished down somewhat from left to right, with a vertical white stripe down the rear center. Both the dot and the stripe feature Trijicon's glow-in-the-dark feature. Express-style sites are not designed for precision target shooting. They are designed to come up on target very quickly and go back on target very quickly after recoil. They do that and do it very well. Put that huge dot on the target, bring it down to dot-the-i over the rear site, squeeze the trigger, and ... there you go. A few days prior I had been shooting a friend's PM9 (fractionally smaller if you happen to have a micrometer handy, but otherwise virtually the same pistol in 9x19mm). His had standard gun sites installed. I was able to make hits on metal Pepper Poppers (chest sized falling metal plates) out as far as 75 yards. With my PM40 and it's express sites, though, I was having great difficulty repeating that feat. For one thing, at that distance that big front dot covers most of the target. Nevertheless, this ultra compact is not designed for precision target shooting. From 25 yards and in, it is very, very fast on target and very easy to hit with. From 15 yards and in, it really begins to shine. At the more realistic self defense range of 7 yards and in, I can't think of faster set of iron sites on a pistol.
Now then, recoil is, in a word, interesting. I equate it with shooting an air-weight j-frame .38 special with hot and heavy +P loads. After about half a box of Winchester "White Box" 180 grain FMJs, the web of my firing hand around the thumb joint was aching. I don't view this as a problem, however, unless one is recoil sensitive. This is not a pistol you're going to be firing a whole lot. The next day I qualified with it on our off-duty/back-up course. This consists of a total of 25 rounds fired from 15 yards, 7 yards, and from the hip at 3 feet. The last bit concerned me simply due to the fact that this being such a light pistol in such a high pressure cartridge, the shooter must fight the recoil or risk a feeding failure. Indeed I had one during the course. I limp-wristed the second shot and the slide did not go back far enough to load the next round. It tied up with the next round nose-diving into the feedramp. All it took to resume firing was to tug the slide back and let go. Still, it was a lesson first I and then later another shooter had to learn. Do NOT limp wrist this pistol at all! The "firm but relaxed" grip we are taught to use on service pistols does not apply here. Grip that pistol like it's a highly venemous, very angry snake and hold on! The tendecy I've observed is that once the shooter realizes the recoil isn't in the light weight .44 magnum category (ouch!), the firing grip relaxes a bit and then curse words follow. So, hold on, hold on tightly, and you should be okay. In fact, the ten rounds I had to fire from three feet one-handed and from the hip did not produce any stoppages at all. I seem to actually do better holding it one-handed. Perhaps this is due to my normal manner in which, utilizing two hands, I actually let the "weak hand" do most of the gripping and mostly consentrate on using the firing hand to pull the trigger smoothly. My extensive experience with the tiny .380 P3AT taught me how to overcome these hard recoiling tiny guns that are so dependant on a very firm wrist.
Kahr pistols are quite expensive. I've seen used Kahrs go anywhere from $450 to a couple of hundred more, with most hovering around or just over the $600 mark. That's a lot of cash. Still, if your needs include a super small, very light, high quality, big-caliber pistol, I don't know where you'll find one in this class for less. I only have about 100 rounds or so, maybe a wee bit less through mine at this point, but so far [knock-on-wood] I have to say I approve.
Game Review (PC): Turning Point-Fall of Liberty
Let me start out by stating that I have this weird love for fiction involving alternative history. I am especially fond of game and fiction wherein the setting is spun off either of the World Wars. When I first saw a trailer for Turning Point: Fall of Liberty I knew I had to have that game.
Fast forward a bit and there it was on the store shelf. It was a wee bit pricey ($40) but I decided to go ahead and make the purchase. I went home and installed the program and ... promptly rode my home PC to the dreaded "Blue Screen O'Death." Um, yeah. I got the machine going again, added some nice (also expensive) software to help keep it running smoothly, and found the game simply would not run on my system [le sigh]. So though I am hardly worthy of the lofty title of "Techie," I did some research and ordered the necessary parts to upgrade my year old computer to get it to run TP:FoL. I have never, not once upgraded a computer myself. Yet, so badly did I want to play this game, so determined was I that the demi-gods of obsolescence not win, I boldly embarked on the quest to get my pc all up and fully qualified to run the game.
Long story short, I succeeded, quadrupling my RAM and installing a MUCH better graphics card. The game ran and ran oh-so-well!
The game takes place in the 1950s, explaining at the begining that Winston Churchill was killed in a pre-war accident (whereas in real life, he was injured in the same accident). Thus with England in less capable hands, the war did not go well. The U.S. remained isolationist and the world was taken over by the Nazi war machine. You play the part of a construction worker in 1950s New York. You are up walking the iron of an under construction sky-scraper when the Nazi bombers hit the Big Apple. You work your way down from the framing, wrestle down a Nazi paratrooper, take his gun (and any others along the way), fight your way to street level, and join the resistance.
Those familiar with other war-based First Person Shooters will figure out the mechanics almot instantly. The first few times you do something (like, say, use a ladder) the game has a built-in tutorial that shows you what key to hit (E in the case of the ladder). If you like games like Medal of Honor, Call of Duty, etc. you'll like the gameplay here. The weapons are very interesting and well modeled with a lot of detail. They are essentially weapons one might expect to have seen if the ones Germany used in WWII had an additional five or ten years of prosperity to evolve further. The MP-40 of WWII fame has evolved into the MP-50, and so on. American weapons (M1 Garand, Thompson SMG, 1911A1 .45 pistol, 12 gauge shotgun, etc.) are also found througout the game.
The game is mission based and saves automatically at certain points (usually just before anything serious enough to be likley that you'll die a few times). Your characters life level recharges its self so there is no need for frantic hunting for life packs. There's sniping opportunities and missions, all out assaults, room clearing, defending against wave attacks, boss-like zepplin and tank killing sub-missions, etc. There is a fair amount of puzzle solving, too, where you have to figure out just what part of the environment you can manipulate in order to progress (e.g. which dumpster will let you climb over a fence, which pipe or ledge can you shimmie across...). In short, it's a lot of fun and the whole game revolves around a central story and plot. It's quite an exciting and fun game with only a couple of moments of frustration where you might think there's no practical way to get through a mission ... then suddenly you'll make it. It provides some really fun gameplay, but it's not a terribly long game. If you're proficient or just really lucky, you'll get through with it in a couple or three long sittings. Those are long sittings for me, by the way. After I play a game for about four hours, I generally take a break. It's much better for the temper and much less destructive on the ol' PC that way. ;)
******************* Spoiler Alert! **********************
Okay, my gripes about Turning Point: Fall of Liberty are as follows and there's really only two ... okay, maybe three.
The first gripe is really a pretty trivial one, but it got annoying so I'll include it. Unlike, say Medal of Honor Airborne or Call of Duty 4, there really aren't a lot of options as to how you go through this game. You can f0llow the path laid out before you or you can ... well ... okay you can follow the path laid out before you and that's pretty much it. Not a whole lot of options. This is disguised pretty well, though so it's not like this is a glorified side-scroller or any such. But I like options. Call me a rebel, call me a non-conformist, but I sometimes don't want to go from this point directly to that other point, and dammit, maybe I can find a better sniper post on my own, so let me, okay?
I told you that first one was a bit trivial. Now the next two have spoilers in 'em so be thee warned. First, (or, you know, second, if you're counting) there are a couple of points where the hot spots or whatever just don't want to pop up and you'll swear there is just no way past a point. The most infamous of these is toward the end, on your last mission to destroy a nuclear equipped zepplin (which brings up a whole host of questions ... not a lot of means to escape a nuclear blast when one drops an atom bomb form a blimp ... hmmm ... those crazy Nazis, eh?). You have to walk outside, jump up and grap a ledge to shimmie along. Supposedly you'll see the little icon pop up telling you when you can pull up and enter a window to continue the mission. But ... no, not so much. Mind you, when you try and fail, you have to start back a ways, and go through a rather spectacular if not all that difficult fire-fight (hint: shoot the fuel cans) all over again ... and again ... and again ... Get the idea? This is a game bug and hopefully will be patched. In any case the 'net abounds with walkthroughs and hints but I just got on the ledge and kept moving a wee bit, then trying to climb up 'til it worked. Then what to do from there presented the same problem though every now and again, the annoying, cheeky little icon would pop up.
Okay, my final complaint? The ending! It's ... TERRIBLE!!!! I mean, I played this whole game (SPOILER ALERT!) just to freakin' die in the end? Sure, sure, the death has that whole "13 Rue Madaline" dramatic middle-finger-salute tragic yet heroic ending. But it still SUCKS!!! Sheesh, I did not drag this construction-worker turned war hero though all these levels just so he can freakin' die at the end of his last successful mission! Ah, but are there happy endings anymore? Maybe we've had our eyes opened by the reality of war ... maybe some game designers need to get their heads out of the Washington Post and remember this is supposed to be FUN!
************* End of Spoilers (wasn't that FUN?!) *****************
So, in closing, let me say, this game is a lot of fun (grumbles about the three things mentioned above, especially the last one), and I enjoyed it. All in all, though, I'd wait for the price to drop before I shelled out $40 bucks or so for it. Maybe someone will toss out some fun mods for it and punch it up a bit.
Fast forward a bit and there it was on the store shelf. It was a wee bit pricey ($40) but I decided to go ahead and make the purchase. I went home and installed the program and ... promptly rode my home PC to the dreaded "Blue Screen O'Death." Um, yeah. I got the machine going again, added some nice (also expensive) software to help keep it running smoothly, and found the game simply would not run on my system [le sigh]. So though I am hardly worthy of the lofty title of "Techie," I did some research and ordered the necessary parts to upgrade my year old computer to get it to run TP:FoL. I have never, not once upgraded a computer myself. Yet, so badly did I want to play this game, so determined was I that the demi-gods of obsolescence not win, I boldly embarked on the quest to get my pc all up and fully qualified to run the game.
Long story short, I succeeded, quadrupling my RAM and installing a MUCH better graphics card. The game ran and ran oh-so-well!
The game takes place in the 1950s, explaining at the begining that Winston Churchill was killed in a pre-war accident (whereas in real life, he was injured in the same accident). Thus with England in less capable hands, the war did not go well. The U.S. remained isolationist and the world was taken over by the Nazi war machine. You play the part of a construction worker in 1950s New York. You are up walking the iron of an under construction sky-scraper when the Nazi bombers hit the Big Apple. You work your way down from the framing, wrestle down a Nazi paratrooper, take his gun (and any others along the way), fight your way to street level, and join the resistance.
Those familiar with other war-based First Person Shooters will figure out the mechanics almot instantly. The first few times you do something (like, say, use a ladder) the game has a built-in tutorial that shows you what key to hit (E in the case of the ladder). If you like games like Medal of Honor, Call of Duty, etc. you'll like the gameplay here. The weapons are very interesting and well modeled with a lot of detail. They are essentially weapons one might expect to have seen if the ones Germany used in WWII had an additional five or ten years of prosperity to evolve further. The MP-40 of WWII fame has evolved into the MP-50, and so on. American weapons (M1 Garand, Thompson SMG, 1911A1 .45 pistol, 12 gauge shotgun, etc.) are also found througout the game.
The game is mission based and saves automatically at certain points (usually just before anything serious enough to be likley that you'll die a few times). Your characters life level recharges its self so there is no need for frantic hunting for life packs. There's sniping opportunities and missions, all out assaults, room clearing, defending against wave attacks, boss-like zepplin and tank killing sub-missions, etc. There is a fair amount of puzzle solving, too, where you have to figure out just what part of the environment you can manipulate in order to progress (e.g. which dumpster will let you climb over a fence, which pipe or ledge can you shimmie across...). In short, it's a lot of fun and the whole game revolves around a central story and plot. It's quite an exciting and fun game with only a couple of moments of frustration where you might think there's no practical way to get through a mission ... then suddenly you'll make it. It provides some really fun gameplay, but it's not a terribly long game. If you're proficient or just really lucky, you'll get through with it in a couple or three long sittings. Those are long sittings for me, by the way. After I play a game for about four hours, I generally take a break. It's much better for the temper and much less destructive on the ol' PC that way. ;)
******************* Spoiler Alert! **********************
Okay, my gripes about Turning Point: Fall of Liberty are as follows and there's really only two ... okay, maybe three.
The first gripe is really a pretty trivial one, but it got annoying so I'll include it. Unlike, say Medal of Honor Airborne or Call of Duty 4, there really aren't a lot of options as to how you go through this game. You can f0llow the path laid out before you or you can ... well ... okay you can follow the path laid out before you and that's pretty much it. Not a whole lot of options. This is disguised pretty well, though so it's not like this is a glorified side-scroller or any such. But I like options. Call me a rebel, call me a non-conformist, but I sometimes don't want to go from this point directly to that other point, and dammit, maybe I can find a better sniper post on my own, so let me, okay?
I told you that first one was a bit trivial. Now the next two have spoilers in 'em so be thee warned. First, (or, you know, second, if you're counting) there are a couple of points where the hot spots or whatever just don't want to pop up and you'll swear there is just no way past a point. The most infamous of these is toward the end, on your last mission to destroy a nuclear equipped zepplin (which brings up a whole host of questions ... not a lot of means to escape a nuclear blast when one drops an atom bomb form a blimp ... hmmm ... those crazy Nazis, eh?). You have to walk outside, jump up and grap a ledge to shimmie along. Supposedly you'll see the little icon pop up telling you when you can pull up and enter a window to continue the mission. But ... no, not so much. Mind you, when you try and fail, you have to start back a ways, and go through a rather spectacular if not all that difficult fire-fight (hint: shoot the fuel cans) all over again ... and again ... and again ... Get the idea? This is a game bug and hopefully will be patched. In any case the 'net abounds with walkthroughs and hints but I just got on the ledge and kept moving a wee bit, then trying to climb up 'til it worked. Then what to do from there presented the same problem though every now and again, the annoying, cheeky little icon would pop up.
Okay, my final complaint? The ending! It's ... TERRIBLE!!!! I mean, I played this whole game (SPOILER ALERT!) just to freakin' die in the end? Sure, sure, the death has that whole "13 Rue Madaline" dramatic middle-finger-salute tragic yet heroic ending. But it still SUCKS!!! Sheesh, I did not drag this construction-worker turned war hero though all these levels just so he can freakin' die at the end of his last successful mission! Ah, but are there happy endings anymore? Maybe we've had our eyes opened by the reality of war ... maybe some game designers need to get their heads out of the Washington Post and remember this is supposed to be FUN!
************* End of Spoilers (wasn't that FUN?!) *****************
So, in closing, let me say, this game is a lot of fun (grumbles about the three things mentioned above, especially the last one), and I enjoyed it. All in all, though, I'd wait for the price to drop before I shelled out $40 bucks or so for it. Maybe someone will toss out some fun mods for it and punch it up a bit.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Celebrations..??!
Over the last couple o’weeks I’ve been around/involved in/have overheard/etc. plans dealing with weddings, birthdays, funerals, retirement parties, etc. Two things all these celebrations seem to have in common:
1. They all have to do with a single person (i.e. the birthday person, retiree, etc.) or single select group (i.e. the wedding couple, the family of the deceased, etc.).
2. The planning of said … celebrations? (a rather inappropriate title for a funeral, I realize, just bear with me) … wind up having nothing to do with the wishes and feeling of those for whom the entire occasion is supposed to represent!
What do I mean? Okay, let’s say you’re getting married. You’re going to have an actual wedding. You and your soon-to-be have all these grand ideas of how you want things to go. You have your guest lists (which you manage to hopefully condense into one list without breaking the engagement). You have, perhaps, your own vows written. You’ve picked out your music and have burned a stack of CDs full of same. You know what pictures you want taken and how you want everyone posed. This is, after all your day … right? Ah, but then the parents get involved and they know what’s best. The priest/preacher/chaplain/minister/boat captain/pilot/justice-o’the-peace/president/grand-poo-bah-of-marital-bliss steps in with they way he/she/they have always done it, and thus is how it shall be, forever, and ever, amen (alternately, “Ar! Walk th’ plank if ye don’t agree, me hardy! I be the cap’n o’this here boat!”). The photographer decides what pictures he thinks are nice. The music director no one remembers hiring tosses your CDs in the trash because he, after all, knows best what music to play. Next thing you know, Dear Aunt Tilda-May, a life-long spinster decides that everyone is wrong and she, quite obviously somehow an expert at weddings, having avoided her own for 60+ years, demands that everything be done her way.
Next thing you know, you are, on your day, on the day folks are supposed to come together to celebrate your union, being ordered around by parents, ministers/captains/grand-pooh-bahs, /Dear Aunt Tilda-May, etc. You find yourself being yanked from place to place by a pushy photographer, whose orders you cannot hear over the blaring crap the music director is blaring out over the building’s tinny sound system. With your day thus stolen, you can at least, in the inevitable times of trouble ahead, look at each other and say with some honesty, “Look, if we survived our wedding and managed to not kill any of our loved ones, we can work through anything!”
Okay, what about birthdays, retirements, and similar celebrations? They are, in general, about one person. Okay, there’re the occasional multiple births, and sometimes more than one person retires from a firm on the same date. But still, even then, you’re dealing with a celebration for each of the individuals, no matter how many are crammed into the same room wearing idiotic cone-shaped hats and eating food they’ll need six months of dieting to overcome. These days are supposed to be about celebrating the achievement(s) of the (wo)man of the day, right? Well … yes, supposedly so. But, once again, everyone starts making plans for where they’ll hold the party, who will be invited, what presents are or are not appropriate, where we all go for dinner, … Then next thing you know the celebration is no longer about the birthday boy, retiree, employee-of-the-month, or whatever. No, it’s about the person-of-the-day submitting to everyone else’s whim.
Go back and read that last bit again. Think about it. Yes, it becomes a day dedicated to the main celebrant having to submit to everyone else’s whims. Even if anyone bothers to ask what the subject of the celebration wishes, or I he manages to voice a meager protest, his words will be in vain. The Planners know what is best. Do not question them. Just grit your teeth, locate all emergency exits, and count the minutes as they fly by like hours … slow hours … swimming through thick molasses … in January.
This brings us ‘round to the solemn subject of funerals. What the HELL gives ANYONE the right to dictate how a grieving loved one must act? What if I just want to be alone with my grief? Huh? What then? What if I just want to have a quiet gathering of only a tiny handful of the deceased’s closest loved ones at grave-side? Everyone else can gather together somewhere and support each other, right? I mean, why do I, while trying to control my own miserable grief, have to deal with the melo-dramatic bleating of someone who couldn’t bother to come see this loved one when they were bloody alive but show up at the funeral and do their dead-level best (no pun intended) to jerk tears out of everyone else?! I just LOVE the comment made by some aunt or other that I overheard to the shattered teenage daughter of a lovely lady taken by cancer. There, in front of her open casket, just as the young lady had managed to bravely compose herself, this over-perfumed hippopotamus wrapped her in a crushing hug, managed to wring out a few tears of her own, and blubbered, “Oh! It’s soooo sad! You’re mother will never see you graduate school, marry, or give her grandchildren! You must be so sad!” Thankfully there were several people between me and the blubbering hippopotamus so there was not, in fact, a need for a second funeral.
Ah, then, of course, we have the funeral director/minister/priest/ necromancer/whatever. Why, oh why do these people feel like it is their solemn, sworn duty to further upset everyone present? First they insist on playing fecking sad, stupid dirges. Okay, we’re not upset enough. Our loved one has died, they’re gone, they are no longer here, we must shuffle on through Life without them. I think that point is abundantly clear. In case anyone forgot why we’re all here wearing black and it’s not a Goth party, why, there’s the corpse lying in state right in the front of the room. Yeah. I think we all know why we’re here, thank you. If we are not personally upset by the loss, then we are present to comfort those we love who are devastated. So, with that in mind, why on God’s Green Earth do these fecking vultures feel the need to play the saddest, most tear-jerking songs ever written? Then they’ll get up in front of the grieving family and see how much more emotional damage they can render upon them. There, they should offer a brief litany about how good a life the deceased has led, how we’ll all miss them, sure, but they are beyond pain now, and would, no doubt, berate us at this moment for being so sad … etc., etc. Do they do this? No. Instead they look at those in the audience who are already hysterical or very close there to and begin firing off painful quip after barbed dirge. This minister will look at the deceased’s son, a young man barely holding it together and trying to keep his own children from hysterics, and he will then begin to relate the saddest tale he ever heard about the young man’s childhood. I’ve found that making a clear, steely-eyed promise of the most painful death that can be envisioned will often silence such a man … but it often upsets other present. Oh, well, can’t win ‘em all, right?
So, what’s this social commentary and rant all about, then? Just that, as food for thought, consider the next time you are in a position to plan some activity on the behalf of another’s accomplishment/celebration/grief, that perhaps, just perhaps, since this day belongs to them, it is they that should get first choice at what transpires. Oh, and take your birthday gag gifts, embarrassingly sexual wedding presents, etc. and stuff ‘em where the sun don’t shine. Donate that money to some charity in the honorary’s name instead. We’ll all feel better then, m’kay?
1. They all have to do with a single person (i.e. the birthday person, retiree, etc.) or single select group (i.e. the wedding couple, the family of the deceased, etc.).
2. The planning of said … celebrations? (a rather inappropriate title for a funeral, I realize, just bear with me) … wind up having nothing to do with the wishes and feeling of those for whom the entire occasion is supposed to represent!
What do I mean? Okay, let’s say you’re getting married. You’re going to have an actual wedding. You and your soon-to-be have all these grand ideas of how you want things to go. You have your guest lists (which you manage to hopefully condense into one list without breaking the engagement). You have, perhaps, your own vows written. You’ve picked out your music and have burned a stack of CDs full of same. You know what pictures you want taken and how you want everyone posed. This is, after all your day … right? Ah, but then the parents get involved and they know what’s best. The priest/preacher/chaplain/minister/boat captain/pilot/justice-o’the-peace/president/grand-poo-bah-of-marital-bliss steps in with they way he/she/they have always done it, and thus is how it shall be, forever, and ever, amen (alternately, “Ar! Walk th’ plank if ye don’t agree, me hardy! I be the cap’n o’this here boat!”). The photographer decides what pictures he thinks are nice. The music director no one remembers hiring tosses your CDs in the trash because he, after all, knows best what music to play. Next thing you know, Dear Aunt Tilda-May, a life-long spinster decides that everyone is wrong and she, quite obviously somehow an expert at weddings, having avoided her own for 60+ years, demands that everything be done her way.
Next thing you know, you are, on your day, on the day folks are supposed to come together to celebrate your union, being ordered around by parents, ministers/captains/grand-pooh-bahs, /Dear Aunt Tilda-May, etc. You find yourself being yanked from place to place by a pushy photographer, whose orders you cannot hear over the blaring crap the music director is blaring out over the building’s tinny sound system. With your day thus stolen, you can at least, in the inevitable times of trouble ahead, look at each other and say with some honesty, “Look, if we survived our wedding and managed to not kill any of our loved ones, we can work through anything!”
Okay, what about birthdays, retirements, and similar celebrations? They are, in general, about one person. Okay, there’re the occasional multiple births, and sometimes more than one person retires from a firm on the same date. But still, even then, you’re dealing with a celebration for each of the individuals, no matter how many are crammed into the same room wearing idiotic cone-shaped hats and eating food they’ll need six months of dieting to overcome. These days are supposed to be about celebrating the achievement(s) of the (wo)man of the day, right? Well … yes, supposedly so. But, once again, everyone starts making plans for where they’ll hold the party, who will be invited, what presents are or are not appropriate, where we all go for dinner, … Then next thing you know the celebration is no longer about the birthday boy, retiree, employee-of-the-month, or whatever. No, it’s about the person-of-the-day submitting to everyone else’s whim.
Go back and read that last bit again. Think about it. Yes, it becomes a day dedicated to the main celebrant having to submit to everyone else’s whims. Even if anyone bothers to ask what the subject of the celebration wishes, or I he manages to voice a meager protest, his words will be in vain. The Planners know what is best. Do not question them. Just grit your teeth, locate all emergency exits, and count the minutes as they fly by like hours … slow hours … swimming through thick molasses … in January.
This brings us ‘round to the solemn subject of funerals. What the HELL gives ANYONE the right to dictate how a grieving loved one must act? What if I just want to be alone with my grief? Huh? What then? What if I just want to have a quiet gathering of only a tiny handful of the deceased’s closest loved ones at grave-side? Everyone else can gather together somewhere and support each other, right? I mean, why do I, while trying to control my own miserable grief, have to deal with the melo-dramatic bleating of someone who couldn’t bother to come see this loved one when they were bloody alive but show up at the funeral and do their dead-level best (no pun intended) to jerk tears out of everyone else?! I just LOVE the comment made by some aunt or other that I overheard to the shattered teenage daughter of a lovely lady taken by cancer. There, in front of her open casket, just as the young lady had managed to bravely compose herself, this over-perfumed hippopotamus wrapped her in a crushing hug, managed to wring out a few tears of her own, and blubbered, “Oh! It’s soooo sad! You’re mother will never see you graduate school, marry, or give her grandchildren! You must be so sad!” Thankfully there were several people between me and the blubbering hippopotamus so there was not, in fact, a need for a second funeral.
Ah, then, of course, we have the funeral director/minister/priest/ necromancer/whatever. Why, oh why do these people feel like it is their solemn, sworn duty to further upset everyone present? First they insist on playing fecking sad, stupid dirges. Okay, we’re not upset enough. Our loved one has died, they’re gone, they are no longer here, we must shuffle on through Life without them. I think that point is abundantly clear. In case anyone forgot why we’re all here wearing black and it’s not a Goth party, why, there’s the corpse lying in state right in the front of the room. Yeah. I think we all know why we’re here, thank you. If we are not personally upset by the loss, then we are present to comfort those we love who are devastated. So, with that in mind, why on God’s Green Earth do these fecking vultures feel the need to play the saddest, most tear-jerking songs ever written? Then they’ll get up in front of the grieving family and see how much more emotional damage they can render upon them. There, they should offer a brief litany about how good a life the deceased has led, how we’ll all miss them, sure, but they are beyond pain now, and would, no doubt, berate us at this moment for being so sad … etc., etc. Do they do this? No. Instead they look at those in the audience who are already hysterical or very close there to and begin firing off painful quip after barbed dirge. This minister will look at the deceased’s son, a young man barely holding it together and trying to keep his own children from hysterics, and he will then begin to relate the saddest tale he ever heard about the young man’s childhood. I’ve found that making a clear, steely-eyed promise of the most painful death that can be envisioned will often silence such a man … but it often upsets other present. Oh, well, can’t win ‘em all, right?
So, what’s this social commentary and rant all about, then? Just that, as food for thought, consider the next time you are in a position to plan some activity on the behalf of another’s accomplishment/celebration/grief, that perhaps, just perhaps, since this day belongs to them, it is they that should get first choice at what transpires. Oh, and take your birthday gag gifts, embarrassingly sexual wedding presents, etc. and stuff ‘em where the sun don’t shine. Donate that money to some charity in the honorary’s name instead. We’ll all feel better then, m’kay?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Well 'tis that time of year again. Time for the yearly list of the top most dangerous toys. Okay, I'll give you that a few of them, most notably those coming from China present some poisoning dangers. I mean, c'mon, who the hell thinks it is at all acceptable to put lead in a child's toy? And those "Aqua Dots?" Why on Earth would anyone make a toy for children that is so toxic (can reportedly break down in the digestive tract and have an affect similar to the drug GHB). So, yeah, I agree there are some hidden dangers out there that everyone needs to be aware of. Still, though, as usual, the rallying cry "for the children!" hath been uttered and with it, common sense hath flown the coop.
One of the top "offenders" on the list? A spinning wrist dagger thingy based on the ever popular Pirates of the Carribean toy line. The complaint? It's a bit stiff and, yes, "you could put an eye out with it!" Seems like I've seen a warning video wherein one of these was stabbed into an apple. My inner child was thinking, "Alright! I gotta get me one of those!" So, yeah, okay, don't give one to your five year old. If your kid is a bit irresponsible, maybe don't give him one at all. But hell, when I was in my later single-digit years, one of my toys was a great uncle's 1917 Enfield bayonet that he used in WWI. So happened that it fit nicely onto the bayonet lug on my one of my toy rifles. So long as I was playing alone and not wandering too far from the house, I was allowed to get the two foot long bayonet from my room (yes, I kept it there, along with a couple of billy clubs, dozens of toy guns [some fired stoppers, oh, my!], toy swords, etc.) and go play soldier. Note, please that I managed to not impale myself or indeed anything that I should not. I respected the damage it could do as I respected the fact that my father would be a bit perturbed should I misbehave with it.
Ah, but that was then. No, wait. See I remember when this "dangerous toy" list came out back then. I remember being maybe 8 or 9 and horrified to hear some of my favorite toys that I either already had or wished to soon be given were "too dangerous for kids." Yard jarts were definately a no-no on that list. Remember yard jarts? Lawn darts? Those pointy metal things with fins that one threw in the air trying to ring a plastic circle? Oh, my! The fear was that some kids might throw them at objects other than sweet Mother Earth and thereby risk injury to themselves, other children, and pets. My question, even back then was that if some kid did this, where the heck were their parents? My father thought that an excellent question. Indeed, we agreed even way back then, that the problem with nearly all the "dangerous" toys was a lack of training by the parents, supervision by the parents, and/or the parents' judgement in giving such items to an untrustworthy kid. In fact, the only time I ever say lawn darts being misused, even with all the goofy kids I knew, were when the 18 - 20 crowd got their little mits on them. Sure, everyone knew someone who's cousin's friend's eight year old neigbor got a yard dart stuck in their head, but none could honestly confess seeing this.
Like I said, though, there are certainly a few dangers that all parents should be made aware of. Flammable bedclothes, electronic toys with bad wiring, toys with poisonous paint or other such issues. Still, call me old-fashioned, call me out of touch with today's liberal society (I hope!), but I think it is still the parents' responsibility to ensure their child's safety with the spinning wrist daggers, lawn darts, BB guns, stopper pistols, baseball bats, hockey sticks, wooden swords, etc. Problem is, just like with hurricanes, it has somehow become public opinion that it is our goverment's job to protect us, to regulate us, to save us. Um ... no. See, we are a Republic. In our republic, though we elect officials to respresent us (hence it being a republic and not a democracy), WE THE PEOPLE are the real government. Certainly I have no problem with regulations agains hidden dangers like lead-based pain in kids' toys, or GHB-like glue in childens' art kits (and, oh, wow, check it out, it appears they both come from China, hmm... more on that at a later date, perhaps). What I DO have a problem with is the government being expected to tell me what I can and cannot buy, how I can raise my kids, what I can teach them, what I cannot, and even what toys they can see on store shelves. The goverment, remember, is all too willing to come in to handle your private affairs once invited, but seldom is the government so willing to leave once it gets in. Think about it.
No, really, think about it. In the 1930's we wanted them to regulate guns because there were bad guys running around armed. So, the National Firearms Act was formed and the dreadded Tommy Gun and other "dangerous" firearms were restricted. Funny, that, since hardly anyone could afford them anyway, and let's not forget that the criminals by their very nature have no problem breaking laws. Look where we are today. Whole cities and even states wherein only the criminals are well armed.
We let them regulate automobiles ... Go read your state Rules of the Road. It's damn near impossible to leave your driveway without breaking some law. Of course that helps us a whole lot when it comes to drug enforcement.
We let the government declair a "War on Drugs." Now, we all know, drugs are bad. Well, bad drugs are bad. I say that last b/c I have had to point out to young kids who have had the "Drugs are Bad" speech in Kindergarten or First Grade that it is, in fact, okay to take their cold medicine, and it's okay if Mommy has an Advil and Daddy has a beer. However, in war, as we all know now, certain things are allowed that are usually not tolerated. We let the goverment go all ga-ga on drug enforcement and now look how full the prisons are. Look at the entire culture that has grown up unafraid of prison, the police, even death. Drugs are a prime example of where a little government regulation and enforcement is good, but a lot is very bad.
Where am I going with this (as if it isn't obvious)? Well, quite simply, as disturbed as I was while watching a news feature about the dangers of "Aqua Dots" (the little beads ... from China ... that if swallowed have a glue or some such that can act like GHB), I was horrified when I heard this woman say, "I think the goverment should do something about it, y'know? It's for our children!" (emphasis added). Once again the "For Our Children!" banner is being waved and with it we willingly surrender a wee bit more of our freedom as parents. Yes, yes, Aqua Dots should be removed from the shelf. Yes people should be warned. Hey, wait, that's already been done. What is it, exactly the goverment is supposed to do? Let's see ... they already require you, under penalty of jail and having your kids removed from your sight, to send them to state-ran schools (don't fool yourself, even private schools must follow the state-mandated formats). You must thereby submit your kids to being programmed to being gun-hating, religion-fearing, pacifistic conformists. And if your kid happens to ... oh, ... let's say draw a picture of a gun (like kids do), or is a bit bored with school (as the smart ones are), he or she might wind up suspended or expelled (must cast out the non-conformists, after all) and you can be turned over to the state prosecutor, be investigated by child welfare, etc. Yes, it can all happen. And we not only allow this to go on, but some of us, like the above-quoted lady, encourage it!!!
New set of rules proposed:
One of the top "offenders" on the list? A spinning wrist dagger thingy based on the ever popular Pirates of the Carribean toy line. The complaint? It's a bit stiff and, yes, "you could put an eye out with it!" Seems like I've seen a warning video wherein one of these was stabbed into an apple. My inner child was thinking, "Alright! I gotta get me one of those!" So, yeah, okay, don't give one to your five year old. If your kid is a bit irresponsible, maybe don't give him one at all. But hell, when I was in my later single-digit years, one of my toys was a great uncle's 1917 Enfield bayonet that he used in WWI. So happened that it fit nicely onto the bayonet lug on my one of my toy rifles. So long as I was playing alone and not wandering too far from the house, I was allowed to get the two foot long bayonet from my room (yes, I kept it there, along with a couple of billy clubs, dozens of toy guns [some fired stoppers, oh, my!], toy swords, etc.) and go play soldier. Note, please that I managed to not impale myself or indeed anything that I should not. I respected the damage it could do as I respected the fact that my father would be a bit perturbed should I misbehave with it.
Ah, but that was then. No, wait. See I remember when this "dangerous toy" list came out back then. I remember being maybe 8 or 9 and horrified to hear some of my favorite toys that I either already had or wished to soon be given were "too dangerous for kids." Yard jarts were definately a no-no on that list. Remember yard jarts? Lawn darts? Those pointy metal things with fins that one threw in the air trying to ring a plastic circle? Oh, my! The fear was that some kids might throw them at objects other than sweet Mother Earth and thereby risk injury to themselves, other children, and pets. My question, even back then was that if some kid did this, where the heck were their parents? My father thought that an excellent question. Indeed, we agreed even way back then, that the problem with nearly all the "dangerous" toys was a lack of training by the parents, supervision by the parents, and/or the parents' judgement in giving such items to an untrustworthy kid. In fact, the only time I ever say lawn darts being misused, even with all the goofy kids I knew, were when the 18 - 20 crowd got their little mits on them. Sure, everyone knew someone who's cousin's friend's eight year old neigbor got a yard dart stuck in their head, but none could honestly confess seeing this.
Like I said, though, there are certainly a few dangers that all parents should be made aware of. Flammable bedclothes, electronic toys with bad wiring, toys with poisonous paint or other such issues. Still, call me old-fashioned, call me out of touch with today's liberal society (I hope!), but I think it is still the parents' responsibility to ensure their child's safety with the spinning wrist daggers, lawn darts, BB guns, stopper pistols, baseball bats, hockey sticks, wooden swords, etc. Problem is, just like with hurricanes, it has somehow become public opinion that it is our goverment's job to protect us, to regulate us, to save us. Um ... no. See, we are a Republic. In our republic, though we elect officials to respresent us (hence it being a republic and not a democracy), WE THE PEOPLE are the real government. Certainly I have no problem with regulations agains hidden dangers like lead-based pain in kids' toys, or GHB-like glue in childens' art kits (and, oh, wow, check it out, it appears they both come from China, hmm... more on that at a later date, perhaps). What I DO have a problem with is the government being expected to tell me what I can and cannot buy, how I can raise my kids, what I can teach them, what I cannot, and even what toys they can see on store shelves. The goverment, remember, is all too willing to come in to handle your private affairs once invited, but seldom is the government so willing to leave once it gets in. Think about it.
No, really, think about it. In the 1930's we wanted them to regulate guns because there were bad guys running around armed. So, the National Firearms Act was formed and the dreadded Tommy Gun and other "dangerous" firearms were restricted. Funny, that, since hardly anyone could afford them anyway, and let's not forget that the criminals by their very nature have no problem breaking laws. Look where we are today. Whole cities and even states wherein only the criminals are well armed.
We let them regulate automobiles ... Go read your state Rules of the Road. It's damn near impossible to leave your driveway without breaking some law. Of course that helps us a whole lot when it comes to drug enforcement.
We let the government declair a "War on Drugs." Now, we all know, drugs are bad. Well, bad drugs are bad. I say that last b/c I have had to point out to young kids who have had the "Drugs are Bad" speech in Kindergarten or First Grade that it is, in fact, okay to take their cold medicine, and it's okay if Mommy has an Advil and Daddy has a beer. However, in war, as we all know now, certain things are allowed that are usually not tolerated. We let the goverment go all ga-ga on drug enforcement and now look how full the prisons are. Look at the entire culture that has grown up unafraid of prison, the police, even death. Drugs are a prime example of where a little government regulation and enforcement is good, but a lot is very bad.
Where am I going with this (as if it isn't obvious)? Well, quite simply, as disturbed as I was while watching a news feature about the dangers of "Aqua Dots" (the little beads ... from China ... that if swallowed have a glue or some such that can act like GHB), I was horrified when I heard this woman say, "I think the goverment should do something about it, y'know? It's for our children!" (emphasis added). Once again the "For Our Children!" banner is being waved and with it we willingly surrender a wee bit more of our freedom as parents. Yes, yes, Aqua Dots should be removed from the shelf. Yes people should be warned. Hey, wait, that's already been done. What is it, exactly the goverment is supposed to do? Let's see ... they already require you, under penalty of jail and having your kids removed from your sight, to send them to state-ran schools (don't fool yourself, even private schools must follow the state-mandated formats). You must thereby submit your kids to being programmed to being gun-hating, religion-fearing, pacifistic conformists. And if your kid happens to ... oh, ... let's say draw a picture of a gun (like kids do), or is a bit bored with school (as the smart ones are), he or she might wind up suspended or expelled (must cast out the non-conformists, after all) and you can be turned over to the state prosecutor, be investigated by child welfare, etc. Yes, it can all happen. And we not only allow this to go on, but some of us, like the above-quoted lady, encourage it!!!
New set of rules proposed:
- Get to know your kid. Know what he or she can be trusted with. Give them some room, let 'em prove themself to you. Reward and punish reasonably.
- Supervise your kids. Give 'em some room to screw up, but keep 'em in eye-sight so their mistakes aren't life-threatening. See #1 above.
- Insist the government give you back control of your children. You produced them, you pay for them, you love them, YOU, therefore should be the one in charge. Oh, and see # 1 and #2 above. No sense giving the gov't any ammo.
- Teach your children that safety and success is their responsibility; it is not the Government's responsibility to keep them safe, make them successful, or bring down anyone more successful than they are. Life is not fair. Teach them that. Treat "fair" like any other curse word. I recommend soap and a toothbrush. Teach your kids to be responsible for themselves and each other. Review #1, #2, & #3.
- The next time some liberal eejit shouts out the "For the Children" cry, duct tape their mouth shut. THAT's for the children, per #4 above! Oh, and see #s 1-4.
Okay, enough o'my ranting for now. I think my kids' X-box might have lead paint on it ... I'd better go confiscate it and do a few hours of "safety testing." ;)
Friday, September 21, 2007
A Captive Audience
Yesterday I picked my 14 year old son up from school right as school was ending. He normally rides the school bus, but I had to get him to a doctor's appointment. Anyway, as he got in the car he told me a very intereting and HIGHLY annoying tale:
One of the councellors at his Middle School (Foley, AL) brought all the kids to a mandatory assembly yesterday (each group gave up their PE time for this). At that assembly, the councellor got up and told them the Iraqi war is wrong, there is never an excuse for violence, etc., etc., liberal prattle, etc. My son, being afterall, my son, asked him, "So if someone holds me down and is beating me to death, I should just ... let it happen?!" The Councellor said, yes, he should. He also said that fighting back (violence) is never the answer. "But it should never get that far," the goober went on to say, "If you disagree with someone, just bring them to me or a teacher so I can mediate the disagreement."
Um ... yeah ... I can see how THIS would play out:
Thug: "Gimmie your lunch money, Homie! Or I'll kick your ass!"
Kid: "No, I don't believe that is the right thing to do in this instance."
Thug: "I'll kick your scrawny little white ass! Gimmie the money!"
Kid: "Wait, rather than perpetuate the cycle of violence and social sterotyping, let us take this argument before our learned councellor."
Thug: "Ah, I can see the wisdom in your words. Let us not tarry but rather we shall rush forth and seek his sage council."
[later]
Thug: "I can see now the error of my ways. Previously, by carrying on such I was pepetuating a cycle of violence and hatred. I should be ashamed, yet I shall channel that emotion in a positive light and go forth now and preach peace, love, understanding, and urge everyone to seek non-violent alternatives. We should never harm nor kill our fellow man ... except for unwanted unborn babies, of course."
Methinks, instead that there are two far mor likely outcomes:
ONE - the kid hands over his money and the thug goes on to abuse others, coming back regularly to this kid since he has proven to be easy pickings.
TWO - the kids wails the crap out of the thug and win, loose, or draw the thug decides that it's just not worth loosing his crooked little teeth to mess with THIS kid again!
Why do we insist on creating a whole generation of voluntary victims? I do not understand how we, the people of the strongest nation on this Earth, a nation born of fire and blood and constant struggle, could ever embrace the idea of being a willing victim. It is abhorrent; it is disgusting; and it is patently Un-American.
It's bad enough this liberal yahoo wants the kids to be fodder for whatever social deviant decides to pound upon them, but to hold a captive audience of impressionable young teenagers and start blathering on to them about your own political beliefs is unforgivable. Methinks this jerk needs to spend a wee bit more time in his school's history classes and a lot less time in liberal chat rooms!
I'm still undecided as to what would be the best course of action. I was thinking at first to have a word with the new pricipal there, maybe a column in the local "Sound Off", perhaps see if a local reporter might cover this on the evening news ... In any event, I'm telling as many parents as I know who have kids in that school what happened.
On a good note, my son tells me that most of the student body ignored this moron and despite their youth, seem to know better how the real world works. That, at least, is somewhat comforting.
I'm thinking of having a few words with the principal (which is a HUGE thing for me ... I do so hate confrontations), maybe a write up in the local newspaper's Sound Off column, and perhaps a "news tip" to sympathetic local reporters. I'm also telling every parent I know about it. I'm ... perturbed.
One of the councellors at his Middle School (Foley, AL) brought all the kids to a mandatory assembly yesterday (each group gave up their PE time for this). At that assembly, the councellor got up and told them the Iraqi war is wrong, there is never an excuse for violence, etc., etc., liberal prattle, etc. My son, being afterall, my son, asked him, "So if someone holds me down and is beating me to death, I should just ... let it happen?!" The Councellor said, yes, he should. He also said that fighting back (violence) is never the answer. "But it should never get that far," the goober went on to say, "If you disagree with someone, just bring them to me or a teacher so I can mediate the disagreement."
Um ... yeah ... I can see how THIS would play out:
Thug: "Gimmie your lunch money, Homie! Or I'll kick your ass!"
Kid: "No, I don't believe that is the right thing to do in this instance."
Thug: "I'll kick your scrawny little white ass! Gimmie the money!"
Kid: "Wait, rather than perpetuate the cycle of violence and social sterotyping, let us take this argument before our learned councellor."
Thug: "Ah, I can see the wisdom in your words. Let us not tarry but rather we shall rush forth and seek his sage council."
[later]
Thug: "I can see now the error of my ways. Previously, by carrying on such I was pepetuating a cycle of violence and hatred. I should be ashamed, yet I shall channel that emotion in a positive light and go forth now and preach peace, love, understanding, and urge everyone to seek non-violent alternatives. We should never harm nor kill our fellow man ... except for unwanted unborn babies, of course."
Methinks, instead that there are two far mor likely outcomes:
ONE - the kid hands over his money and the thug goes on to abuse others, coming back regularly to this kid since he has proven to be easy pickings.
TWO - the kids wails the crap out of the thug and win, loose, or draw the thug decides that it's just not worth loosing his crooked little teeth to mess with THIS kid again!
Why do we insist on creating a whole generation of voluntary victims? I do not understand how we, the people of the strongest nation on this Earth, a nation born of fire and blood and constant struggle, could ever embrace the idea of being a willing victim. It is abhorrent; it is disgusting; and it is patently Un-American.
It's bad enough this liberal yahoo wants the kids to be fodder for whatever social deviant decides to pound upon them, but to hold a captive audience of impressionable young teenagers and start blathering on to them about your own political beliefs is unforgivable. Methinks this jerk needs to spend a wee bit more time in his school's history classes and a lot less time in liberal chat rooms!
I'm still undecided as to what would be the best course of action. I was thinking at first to have a word with the new pricipal there, maybe a column in the local "Sound Off", perhaps see if a local reporter might cover this on the evening news ... In any event, I'm telling as many parents as I know who have kids in that school what happened.
On a good note, my son tells me that most of the student body ignored this moron and despite their youth, seem to know better how the real world works. That, at least, is somewhat comforting.
I'm thinking of having a few words with the principal (which is a HUGE thing for me ... I do so hate confrontations), maybe a write up in the local newspaper's Sound Off column, and perhaps a "news tip" to sympathetic local reporters. I'm also telling every parent I know about it. I'm ... perturbed.
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