Storage Food SALE!

Courtesy of Mr. Rawles' Survival Blog.

Safecastle and Ready Made Resources are both having 10%~25% off sales, with FREE shipping!

I just ordered some Mountain House stuff to add to our "Earthquake Kit".

If you can't stock up on Bullets, get some Beans while you can at lower prices.

Both of the vendors linked above also carry other items besides bulk food, so do a little looking around over there. I'd be curious how their prices match up to other sources.

I tried some of the Mountain House stuff I bought earlier this year, and it's quite good. Just follow the directions when you rehydrate and heat it, and you'll be surprised.

Even my wife enjoyed it, and she's a little picky about her food.

Sure beats eating MRE's every day!

Where's Waldo?

I'm sure you know who I'm talking about....

In between working on the new driveway gate, I've been listening to my scanner seeing if I could hear anything about the whereabouts of Mr. Dorner.

The only obvious thing, besides the huge amount of air assets and boots on the ground, is that they don't have a freakin' clue where he is.

Somebody "thought" they "maybe heard a shot" come from the cabin that burned down, suggesting a suicide rather than burning to death, but until what's left of the cabin cools down, and they can get in there, it's just speculation.

And I find it somewhat amazing that this guy has reached Folk Hero status in just a couple of days.

But then that's usually the case with this newfangled "Social Media"......somebody pops up out of nowhere, gets a huge following, and then just fades away.

It'll be real interesting to see how this all plays out, and if, indeed, Mr. Dorner self-terminated rather than burn to death or surrender.......


****UPDATE****

Well, this is real interesting. It seems the SBSO deliberately set fire to the cabin, and then delayed allowing the USFS in there for about an hour.

There was radio traffic indicating they lobbed 7 "burner" (aka "smoke") grenades into the cabin.

Quotes from a  radio BB I get:

 What's interesting - the SBSO lieutenant called for "Burners" - then later said "We have 7 Burners deployed and fire to the front" -

 Interestingly, LAPD SWAT turned up close to the scene unannounced and unrequested and were advised by SBSO to redeploy and stage in Big Bear. An LAPD SWAT officer was overheard stating "Why can't we go to the BBQ!"

The Daily Breeze (and I'm sure other papers) have some audio of the radio traffic online.

So much for "Due Process", eh?
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Home Improvements

WELL...I finally got started on replacing the gate across our driveway.

It looks like a "kit" of some kind, with the pipework supplied by Sears, and possibly the wood, too.

It's got 6 posts properly leveled and anchored in concrete, with two frames that swing, and some tongue-and-groove pickets attached to the frames.

The problem is the wood is all rotted out and falling apart.

When I cleaned out the rock garden along one side of the driveway, I patched and re-screwed most of the wood back on to the cross pieces, but when the cross pieces are rotten, well....there's just not much for the deck screws I used to grab onto!

So, after making several pages of notes and drawings, I figured out what sizes of boards I'd need to make the backing, and we picked out some nice cedar fence panels to use for the new fronts.

I went and got all of the "backing" wood today, along with a couple of boxes of galvanized carriage bolts, flat and split washers, and nuts. The original hardware was cheap-o zinc-plated 1/4-20, and I upgraded to 5/16-18, so it should be a little stronger.

I'm also going to change how it's built. The cross pieces were bolted to the pipe frames with the 1/4-20 hardware, and then the front picket sections were nailed to the wood cross pieces. I'm going to run the new, bigger bolts through both the picket sections AND the cross pieces, so ALL of the wood is securely bolted to the frames.

And in those areas between the pipe frames, I'm going to bolt the picket panels to the cross pieces rather than rely on the small nails they used.

The whole thing should be much stronger, and being made of cedar, WELL soaked with Behr Premium waterproofing and sealing compound, should last a good bit longer than the original gate.

The way the gate is now, I have a feeling if you got our dogs mad enough, they could bust through it, NOT something we'd want to happen!

Tuesday will be spent measuring and cutting the backing cross pieces and treating them, and Wednesday I'll do the same for the cedar fence panels I'll mount to the frames.

If everything is dry enough on Thursday, I'll mount to two fixed panels, and then do the swinging parts on Friday.

Back Home to Rain

Got off the ship today about 1400, picked up my luggage, and was headed out the gate at 1430.

As far as the cause of the launch failure, NASA_Spaceflight.com has an excellent discussion at this thread.

The actual discussion of the launch problem starts here.

This site has NO affiliation with NASA, and is a privately run website that caters to all aspects of spaceflight.

And I don't mind the rain, as SoCal is a couple of inches below "normal" for this time of year, and we can really use it!

We Need More Boot Control!

After all....only crazy people and bitter clingers need assault boots!!

L- 2hrs, 20 minutes, and counting

They started filling the launch vehicle with LOX and Kerosene, and all is proceeding well.

Gonna get pretty busy here, so see you all tomorrow!

"Sundown at Coffin Rock"....Our Future?

I remember reading this years ago, and it took me a while to track it down.

For those that haven't read it, it's definitely worth the time.

So, presented here as I found it, with all attributions, is "Sundown at Coffin Rock"

MOLON LABE!

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This article was originally posted to the Internet by "Annonymous" This story originally appeared in "The Blue Press" (a catalog/magazine put out by Dillon Precision Products, Inc., 7442 Butherus Drive, Scottsdale, AZ 85260, phone 602-948-8009.) The editor, Mark Pixler, was kind enough to allow distribution on the Internet.
This story may be reprinted as long as due credit is given to the author and publisher.

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Sundown at Coffin Rock

by Raymond K. Paden

The old man walked slowly through the dry, fallen leaves of autumn, his practiced eye automatically choosing the bare and stony places in the trail for his feet. There was scarcely a sound as he passed, though his left knee was stiff with scar tissue. He grunted occasionally as the tight sinews pulled. Damn chainsaw, he thought.
Behind him, the boy shuffled along, trying to imitate his grandfather, but unable to mimic the silent motion that the old man had learned during countless winter days upon this wooded mountain in pursuit of game. He's fifteen years old, the old man thought. Plenty old enough to be learning. But that was another time, another America. His mind drifted, and he saw himself, a fifteen-year-old boy following in the footsteps of his own grandfather, clutching a twelve gauge in his trembling hands as they tracked a wounded whitetail.
The leg was hurting worse now, and he slowed his pace a bit. Plenty of time. It should have been my own son here with me now, the old man thought sadly. But Jason had no interest, no understanding. He cared for nothing but pounding on the keys of that damned computer terminal. He knew nothing about the woods, or where food came from...or freedom. And that's my fault, isn't it?
The old man stopped and held up his hand, motioning for the boy to look. In the small clearing ahead, the deer stood motionless, watching them. It was a scraggly buck, underfed and sickly, but the boy's eyes lit up with excitement. It had been many years since they had seen even a single whitetail here on the mountain. After the hunting had stopped, the population had exploded. The deer had eaten the mountain almost bare until erosion had become a serious problem in some places. That following winter, three starving does had wandered into the old man's yard, trying to eat the bark off of his pecan trees, and he had wished the "animal rights" fanatics could have been there then. It was against the law, but old man knew a higher law, and he took an axe into the yard and killed the starving beasts. They did not have the strength to run.
The buck finally turned and loped away, and they continued down the trail to the river. When they came to the "Big Oak," the old man turned and pushed through the heavy brush beside the trail and the boy followed, wordlessly. The old man knew that Thomas was curious about their leaving the trail, but the boy had learned to move silently (well, almost) and that meant no talking. When they came to "Coffin Rock," the old man sat down upon it and motioned for the boy to join him.
"You see this rock, shaped like a casket?" the old man asked. "Yes sir." The old man smiled. The boy was respectful and polite. He loved the outdoors, too. Everything a man could ask in a grandson ....or a son.
"I want you to remember this place, and what I'm about to tell you. A lot of it isn't going to make any sense to you, but it's important and one day you'll understand it well enough. The old man paused. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to start.
"Before you were born," he began at last, "this country was different. I've told you about hunting, about how everybody who obeyed the law could own guns. A man could speak out, anywhere, without worrying about whether he'd get back home or not. School was different, too. A man could send his kids to a church school, or a private school, or even teach them at home. But even in the public schools, they didn't spend all their time trying to brainwash you like they do at yours now." The old man paused, and was silent for many minutes. The boy was still, watching a chipmunk scavenging beside a fallen tree below them.
"Things don't ever happen all at once, boy. They just sort of sneak up on you. Sure, we knew guns were important; we just didn't think it would ever happen in America. But we had to do something about crime, they said. It was a crisis. Everything was a crisis! It was a drug crisis, or a terrorism crisis, or street crime, or gang crime. Even a 'health care' crisis was an excuse to take away a little more of our rights." The old man turned to look at his grandson.
"They ever let you read a thing called the Constitution down there at your school?" The boy solemnly shook his head. "Well, the Fourth Amendment's still in there. It says there won't be any unreasonable searches and seizures. It says you're safe in your own home." The old man shrugged. "That had to go. It was a crisis! They could kick your door open any time, day or night, and come in with guns blazing if they thought you had drugs ...or later, guns. Oh, at first it was just registration -- to keep the guns out of the hands of criminals! But that didn't work, of course, and then later when they wanted to take 'em they knew where to look. They banned 'assault rifles', and then 'sniper rifles', and 'Saturday night specials.' Everything you saw on the TV or in the movies was against us. God knows the news people were! And the schools were teaching our kids that nobody needed guns anymore. We tried to take a stand, but we felt like the whole face of our country had changed and we were left outside."
"Me and a friend of mine, when we saw what was happening, we came and built a secret place up here on the mountain. A place where we could put our guns until we needed them. We figured some day Americans would remember what it was like to be free, and what kind of price we had to pay for that freedom. So we hid our guns instead of losing them."
"One fellow I knew disagreed. He said we ought to use our guns now and stand up to the government. Said that the colonists had fought for their freedom when the British tried to disarm them at Lexington and Concord. Well, he and a lot of others died in what your history books call the 'Tax Revolt of 1998,' but son, it wasn't the revolt that caused the repeal of the Second Amendment like your history book says. The Second Amendment was already gone long before they ever repealed it. The rest of us thought we were doing the right thing by waiting. I hope to God we were right."
"You see, Thomas. It isn't government that makes a man free. In the end, governments always do just the opposite. They gobble up freedom like hungry pigs. You have to have laws to keep the worst in men under control, but at the same time the people have to have guns, too, in order to keep the government itself under control. In our country, the people were supposed to be the final authority of the law, but that was a long time ago. Once the guns were gone, there was no reason for those who run the government to give a damn about laws and constitutional rights and such. They just did what they pleased and anyone who spoke out...well, I'm getting ahead of myself."
"It took a long time to collect up all the millions of firearms that were in private hands. The government created a whole new agency to see to it. There were rewards for turning your friends in, too. Drug dealers and murderers were set free after two or three years in prison, but possession of a gun would get you mandatory life behind bars with no parole.
"I don't know how they found out about me, probably knew I'd been a hunter all those years, or maybe somebody turned me in. They picked me up on suspicion and took me down to the federal building."
"Son, those guys did everything they could think of to me. Kept me locked up in this little room for hours, no food, no water. They kept coming in, asking me where the guns were. 'What guns?' I said. Whenever I'd doze off, they'd come crashing in, yelling and hollering. I got to where I didn't know which end was up. I'd say I wanted my lawyer and they'd laugh. 'Lawyers are for criminals', they said. 'You'll get a lawyer after we get the guns.' What's so funny is, I know they thought they were doing the right thing. They were fighting crime!"
"When I got home I found Ruth sitting in the middle of the living room floor, crying her eyes out. The house was a shambles. While I was down there, they'd come out and took our house apart. Didn't need a search warrant, they said. National emergency! Gun crisis! Your grandma tried to call our preacher and they ripped the phone off the wall. Told her that they'd go easy on me if she just told them where I kept my guns." The old man laughed. "She told them to go to hell." He stared into the distance for a moment as his laughter faded.
"They wouldn't tell her about me, where I was or anything, that whole time. She said that she'd thought I was dead. She never got over that day, and she died the next December."
"They've been watching me ever since, off and on. I guess there's not much for them to do anymore, now that all the guns are gone. Plenty of time to watch one foolish old man." He paused. Beside him, the boy stared at the stone beneath his feet.
"Anyway, I figure that, one day, America will come to her senses. Our men will need those guns and they'll be ready. We cleaned them and sealed them up good; they'll last for years. Maybe it won't be in your lifetime, Thomas. Maybe one day you'll be sitting here with your son or grandson. Tell him about me, boy. Tell him about the way I said America used to be." The old man stood, his bad leg shaking unsteadily beneath him.
"You see the way this stone points? You follow that line one hundred feet down the hill and you'll find a big round rock. It looks like it's buried solid, but one man with a good prybar can lift it, and there's a concrete tunnel right under there that goes back into the hill."
The old man stood, watching as the sun eased toward the ridge, coloring the sky and the world red. Below them, the river still splashed among the stones, as it had for a million years. It's still going, the old man thought. There'll be someone left to carry on for me when I'm gone. It was harder to walk back. He felt old and purposeless now, and it would be easier, he knew, to give in to that aching heaviness in his left lung that had begun to trouble him more and more. Damn cigarettes, he thought. His leg hurt, and the boy silently came up beside him and supported him as they started down the last mile toward the house. How quiet he walks, the old man thought. He's learned well.
It was almost dark when the boy walked in. His father looked up from his paper. "Did you and your granddad have a nice walk?"
"Yes," the boy answered, opening the refrigerator. "You can call Agent Goodwin tomorrow. Gramps finally showed me where it is."

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Editor's note: "Sundown at Coffin Rock" is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual events or to actual people, living or dead, remains to be seen. - Mark Pixler, Editor

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World-Wide-Web html format by

Scott Ostrander: scotto@cica.indiana.edu

Little Duece Coupe

Watched "American Graffiti" today, and every time I saw Milner's '34 coupe, this was in the back of my mind.

Enjoy!










Little Deuce Coupe, you don't know what I've got
(You don't know what I've got)
Little Deuce Coupe, you don't know what I've got

Well, I'm not braggin', babe, so don't put me down
(Deuce Coupe)
But I've got the fastest set of wheels in town
(Deuce Coupe)

When something comes up to me, he don't even try
(Deuce Coupe)
'Cause if it had a set of wings, man, I know she can fly

She's my little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got
Little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got

Just a little Deuce Coupe with a flathead mill
(Deuce Coupe)
But she'll walk a Thunderbird like it's standin' still
(Deuce Coupe)
She's ported and relieved and she's stroked and bored
(Deuce Coupe)
She'll do a hundred and forty in the top end floored

She's my little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got
(She's my little Deuce Coupe)
(You don't know what I've got)

She's got a competition clutch with four on the floor
And she purrs like a kitten till the lake pipes roar
And if that ain't enough to make you flip your lid
There's one more thing, I've got the pink slip, Daddy

And comin' off the line when the light turns green
(Deuce Coupe)
Well, she blows 'em outta the water like you've never seen
(Deuce Coupe)

I get pushed out of shape and it's hard to steer
(Deuce Coupe)
When I get rubber in all four gears

She's my little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got
(She's my little Deuce Coupe)
(You don't know what I've got)

She's my little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got
(She's my little Deuce Coupe)
(You don't know what I've got)

She's my little Deuce Coupe
You don't know what I've got, what I've got
(She's my little Deuce Coupe)
(You don't know what I've got)

We've Arrived

At the launch site, 0*N, 154*W, elevation ZERO.

We started performing our "L-3 Day" launch processing, BUT ULA is launching an Atlas-V with a TDRSS bird for NASA, and they have priority for use of the TDRSS network.

 They were supposed to launch a day before us, but due to some problems with their launch vehicle, have slipped one day, and are jnow right "on top" of us.

SO....we'll go ahead and finish the L-3 day processing, and do about half the L-2 day processing, and then stand down until they either launch, scrub, or abort.

If they scrub the launch, we *might* be able to go ahead and launch, depending on what NASA decides to do. If they don't want to, or aren't able to, reconfigure for our launch, and meet their crew rest requirements, we'll just sit here and wait for the Atlas-V launch.

If they slip a day, then we slip a day, and so on, up to a 4 day maximum at which point they have to roll their launch vehicle back for various reasons.

We're hesitant to go ahead and finish L-2 and proceed to L-1, as this is when we roll the rocket out and stand it up. At that time we start using up liquid nitrogen to keep things purged and inerted, and since we have a finite supply with us, we'd rather not do that.

The "Saturday Night Movie" for me will be "Quigley Down Under", which I'm looking forward to watching.

I also brought "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" with me, and a whole back-pack full of other movies, so I should be able to keep busy!

In the meantime, we're all "Standing By To Stand By", as I'm sure some of you are very familiar with.....
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"The Night Stalkers" by Durant, Hartov, and Johnson

The Night Stalkers

My wife bought me this for Christmas, knowing how much I respect our troops.

It's the story about the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne) of the U.S. Army.

In case you don't know, these are the helicopter pilots who take the various Special Forces units into combat, and retrieve them.

I have to say this is a wonderful book. While I enjoy reading books by Matthew Bracken, and Kenneth Royce, those are fiction.

This book is about REAL people getting shot at, wounded, and killed, by REAL bullets.

As Admiral Tarrant says at the end of the movie The Bridges at Toko Ri, "Where Do We Get Such Men"?

Where, indeed..........
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Quiet Weekend

Well, we pulled out of Long Beach at 1000 Saturday morning right on schedule.

We'd had our safety and lifeboat drills by 1130, so I had a light lunch, and took a nap.

Proceeded to finish reading "Patriot Dawn", and watched "Casino" before hitting the hay at 2200.

Today was a "No Work" day for most of us, so I started watching the PBS series "Warplane", narrated by Stacey Keach.

If you haven't seen it, it's great, and Keach, as usual, does a great job narrating it.

The IT guys set up streaming video on the big TV in the Lido Lounge, and football was enjoyed by all.

Except me.

I. DON'T. Watch. Football.

Period.

"Pro" football has to be the stupidest scam ever foisted on the American "Sports Fan".

How ANYBODY can take a nominal ONE HOUR game, and bloat it out to FOUR FREAKING HOURS is beyond me.

And I won't even go into the obscene money paid to the thugs on the field, the team owners, and the ticket sellers.

It's almost as bad as "Pro" basketball, but I won't go there, either.

ANYWAY....the ship's catering crew set up a nice hot buffet for all the people watching the game, and we had hot dogs, burgers, and meatballs in red sauce.

Hope you all have a good week!