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Different Time

Men & Women, Traditions

I sense that people I speak to are getting tired of me excusing excesses of my youth by saying, “It was a different time.”

Granted, the difference between then and now (for so many things) is vast, but not much compared to, say, my earlier life and the late Victorian- or even Edwardian eras.  Now that was a jump.

What brought this all to mind is the story of former King Juan Carlos of Spain:

His passion for exclusive sports, from hunting and shooting to skiing and yacht-racing, has been matched only by the vigour with which he has pursued women, clocking up roughly 5,000 sexual partners, according to a historian called Amadeo Martinez Ingles, who, in a recent book, dubbed him ‘an authentic royal stud’ and ‘sexual predator’ whose list of best-known conquests ‘represents the tip of a monumental sexual iceberg’.
During one short spell at military academy in his early 20s, Juan Carlos seduced 332 different women, according to Ingles, whose research drew on confidential reports compiled by spies of the country’s former dictator, General Franco.
He has described the tally as ‘good for any actor specialising in porn films — four per week’. At the height of the King’s romantic career, a ‘passionate period’ between 1976 and 1994, Ingles reckons he bedded 2,154 women.
Even in his so-called ‘winter period’ of 2005 to 2014, when he was aged between 67 and 76 and supposedly slowing down, the King’s libido seems to have remained as unchecked as that of his namesake, the legendary seducer Don Juan, allowing him to squire another 191 mistresses.

Hey, great work if you can get it.  Of course, this Evil Womaniser And Seducer once turned Spain from a fascist dictatorship into a parliamentary democracy but that’s just, like, Ancient History, Dude.

Men in positions of power seldom lack for female attention — ’twas ever thus — and let’s be honest, the king of a Mediterranean country… Grace Kelly, anyone?   The higher the rank, the classier the totty.

And his latest — last? one hopes not — squeeze probably epitomizes the type, being a commoner who married into royalty herself:  the wonderfully-named Corinna, Prinzessin zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, a Danish chick who married up (and up again) before finally ending up in the bed of the old Spanish goat.

I know, I know:  who cares about outdated political constructs like royalty, anyway?  Of course it’s not important.  But an average of four women per week for over forty years?  Even for those different times, that’s impressive.

Flying Rats

Nature

I think I’ve told this story before, but anyway…

When I was at The Englishman’s cottage in Cornwall, I had the rare pleasure of hanging out with the Sorensons (Mrs. Sor is “The Catholic” in Comments) for a couple days.  I walked down to the kitchen one morning to find Mrs. Sor sitting alone drinking tea.

“Where’s Himself?” I asked.
“Down by the harbor, feeding Tesco plastic bags to the seagulls.”

He hates seagulls, and so do I.

When I read this sorry tale, I just shook my head.

Monique Sveinsson, 46, from Cambridgeshire, was on a mini-break with her friend Emma Wilshaw when she was attacked by the hungry seagulls at Brighton beach on August 3.
The mother-of-two, who runs her own planner and diary company, described how the aggressive birds circled above her before launching themselves at her food and flying away with the chips.

There is a way to deal with these airborne rodents, and anyone who is going to the seaside (or anywhere seagulls are in abundance, e.g. the Great Lakes) should avail themselves of this advice.

  • Go to your local Goodwill or thrift store, and buy an old tennis- or handball racquet, the older and more battered (therefore cheaper) the better.  (Tennis is better, as it has a longer handle.)

  • Leave it in the trunk of your car.
  • Then, when going to any place where there are seagulls, take it with you.
  • When the gulls start to pester you, swat them like flies.

I had to live in San Francisco for a couple weeks on a client assignment, and my walk to the office from the hotel took me through a couple parks.  The fucking crows and seagulls didn’t just annoy me, they attacked me, pecking at my head.

So on the way back from the client I stopped at a junk store and bought a racquet.  Then when I  went to the park the next day, the little bastards attacked me again.  Miraculously, however, they stopped attacking me after I’d popped three of them out of the sky. (It’s just a little more strenuous than playing badminton.)

Some stupid Karen took offense and called the cops on me.  When the cop asked me what I’d been doing and I told him, he stifled a laugh and said, “I’m going to have to confiscate that weapon.”  Then he winked at me and said, “I’ve been wanting to do what you did for ten years.  Enjoy your stay.”  And he walked off, swinging the racquet like a billyclub.  I think he was daring the birds to attack him.

As with all my advice given on these pages, there’s a “you’re on your own if you follow it” warning.

But I have to tell you, it’s almost as much fun as shooting them with a shotgun.

News Roundup

Bad News

All the news that’s fit to ridicule, like this idiot.  (Hint:  it’s not the fake tits you should be regretting as much as those foul tattoos.)


…because the New York Times, CNN/ABC/CBS/CNBC, the Washington Post and the L.A. Times are always prepared to showcase both liberal and conservative viewpoints.


…LOL Biden could pick Giggles The Girl-Clown as his VP, and he’d still lose in a landslide.


…because lions don’t care about things like “exclusivity” when it comes to menu choices.  Africa Wins Again.


…so refuse to pay the fine, get sent to jail and then sue to get released immediately because of the Chinkvirus risk.  Piece of cake.


…I’m going to go out on a limb here and predict that this is not going to work.


…because the Massachusetts courts have obviously nothing better to do than bother with shit like this.


…my bad for thinking “Beverly Hills” meant that all the participants were White.  Pay no attention;  that’s just my White privilege speaking.


…no, it isn’t.  The only “catastrophe” is that parents are realizing how little their kids need government-managed schools in order to be educated.


…wait, we’re not going to see the customary four presidential debates?  I feel cheated.

And finally:


…good question, although I think the voters of Colorado, Michigan, Oregon, New York and Washington (to name but some) may have a few quibbles about that.

Also in the news:

Lady Gaga looks like a dog (okay, maybe that’s not really news, but whatever).

Not My Kind Of Gun

The Gun Thing

My first-ever carry gun back in the 1970s was actually an inherited Baby Browning (.25 ACP, about the same as a .22 Mag in effectiveness), and I have to tell you, I never carried it with any confidence.

That youthful feeling of skepticism has carried over into my later years, with a vengeance.

This article here gives all the reason why I don’t carry a “pocket gun”.  Here’s my summary of reasons:

Mostly, the caliber choices are inadequate (.380 ACP is marginally effective, but only with super-premium cartridges like Hornady or the like), and if you do carry a beefier chambering, the gun is well-nigh uncontrollable.  Newton’s law will not be denied.

I have fairly big hands, and shooting a Ruger LCP / Kel-Tec P3AT-type is frankly a real hassle for me.

 

I find it easier, in fact, to shoot a micro-handgun like the NAA Mini-revolver (which I do carry, loaded with .22 Mag snake shot cartridges but only when I’m in, um, snake country).

(And I have the oversized rubber grips on mine [see below], to make it more controllable.)

Here’s my take on this whole issue.  The common rationale for carrying one of these peashooters is that it’s better than carrying no gun at all.  Maybe that’s true, but I think it’s more likely not true — accuracy (in almost any chambering) is problematic, which leads to the counter-argument that these are really “under the chin” guns (or as I call it, “halitosis range”).  Quite frankly, though, I’m not comfortable with getting that close to a goblin — hell, if you’re going to be in kissing distance, a decent fucking knife is the equal of any of these peashooters, and I’m too old to be getting into knife fights or, for that matter, grappling with some asshole who’s forty years younger than I am while I struggle to put a bullet into his eye, throat or belly.

No, thank you.  My sole concession to carrying a smaller gun is my S&W 637 Airweight, and to be frank, I feel undergunned when I head out on a pizza run (the most common reason to take “any” gun when leaving the house).

Here are my primary carry choices:

Not pictured:  Browning High Power.  Still to come (from):  a Colt Python, S&W 66 / 627 / 686, Ruger GP100, Kimber K6 and maybe a couple others.

I have no plans — none — to buy a pocket anything except a watch.  But that’s a story for another time…