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Wait A Minute

The Gun Thing

I know, I know… Smith & Wesson has decided to leave Massachusetts because the MassGov hates them, wants to tax them out of business, and wants to make it illegal for them to manufacture products (AR-15s) which account for 60% of S&W’s sales.

So unsurprisingly, S&W said, “Fuck you” and are planning to move to…

…Tennessee?

I mean, I have nothing but love for the Davy Crockett state, but what are we Texans?  Chopped liver?  S&W didn’t even consider Texas for relocation, and surely we could compete with Tennessee in the “nice places to do business” competition.

All that said, the Maryville area is a pretty area.  I’ve been there several times to call on a former client (hi, Pat!) and it’s only a stone’s throw from the Smoky Mountains.

Of course, the announcement could have been wrong, in that S&W are planning to move to Marysville TX, which is a little unincorporated area just south of the Oklahoma/Texas border;  but then again:


…probably not.

I still think we should have been given a chance, though.

Out Of Touch

Deep Thoughts, Entertainment

One of the besetting problems of getting older is that much of what passes for the modern-day zeitgeist  simply passes one by, either unnoticed or else rejected without even attempting to follow.

I must have been getting old when I was still young, because:

  • I have never watched a single minute of Dr. Who
  • …or the Kardashian women’s show
  • …or any of the “competition” shows like Dancing With The Stars
  • I never watched any of the Rocky shows after Rocky II
  • I’ve only ever watched the first three Star Wars movies, and even The Return Of The Jedi  sucked
  • I pretty much stopped listening to “new” popular music when grunge appeared (at age 40-ish)
  • I have never played an online computer game, of any description
  • and so on.

At some point, therefore, I must have started looking at new trends, and decided, “Best not” (in the words of Lord Salisbury, circa  1894).

Don’t even ask me about politics, cars or clothing.  (Longtime Readers will know all about my antipathy towards those modernistic monstrosities anyway.)

I know that everyone gets this way in their later years, but it seems mine started long before I actually reached my seniority, way sooner than when this happened to my friends of like age.

If I’d owned a house at that time, I’d probably have been yelling at the kids to get off my lawn when I was in my late twenties.

None of this means that I reject all things new, of course, just that I am extraordinarily picky about adopting any of them.  This is being typed on a laptop that is hundreds or times more powerful than the corporate IBM 360/40 I worked on as an operator in the mid-1970s, and I love the cord-free existence of Bluetooth and wi-fi.  But if I had to, I could easily revert to an earlier generation of comm technology.

I’m even getting bored of writing about this topic right now, so I think I’ll quit.  There are a couple of books that need reading — paper books, not that Kindle nonsense.

Monday Funnies

Funny Stuff

This Monday, things are looking up…

Let’s dodge the Monday Falling Anvils with a joke or two:

And from Over There in Britishland:

…and back here in Murka:

And back in the U.K… this is Addison Rae Ellis:

She seems nice.  No, I have no idea who she is or what she does, either.

Sunday, Italian Style

Architecture, Drive Time, Gratuitous Chick Pics, Gratuitous Gun Pics

It’s Italy Day here on this back porch of mine:

…and here are some fine Italian things.

First up, a matched pair of Rizzini shotguns:

Next up, a 1955 Fiat 8V, styled by Zagato:

…and a 1967 Fiat 2400 Dino Spider:

Speaking of fine Italian models of yore, it’s about time we looked at Sophia again:

…and her younger compatriot, Monica Bellucci:

And speaking of yummy:

 

Where could one buy such things?  Well, in Milan, for instance:

That’s all Italian style, folks, and it’s pretty much unbeatable.

Flash Back

Drive Time

I have mentioned before that New Wife used to drive a red MGB GT back in the days of yore, when she were a weeny in her early 20s.  Unlike me, she has photos — well, one photo, anyway:

That’s her brother, upon whose shoulders many of the (frequent) repairs fell.  In true Brit sports car driver fashion, however, she accepted that frequent breakdowns were just a fact of ownership:  the joys of open-top driving in a perfect climate on the hill roads around her house were more-than-adequate compensation.

While she was swanning around like Lady Muck, Your Humble  Narrator was chugging around in one of these, hauling band equipment (which was way heavier than the recommended top load):

…only it was colored in a sort of sickly bamboo yellow.  Don’t laugh;  I got over 175,000 miles out of it before it was stolen.

Here’s what Drummer Knob was driving:

…as part of his trainee-plutocrat program.  It was never stolen.

Earworm:  Those Were The Days