Personal stuff
I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, the actual new year will begin on January 20 and not on January 1.
So no, I’m not going to be celebrating anything tonight or at any time before the Inauguration.
But on January 21, I will be celebrating with gunfire at the range. Anyone in the north Texas area is welcome to join me. Details on request.
Today’s posts may be a little tardy. Why? Because most of yesterday was spent at the range with Doc Russia and Combat Controller, in which time a ridiculous of ammo was expended and dizzying range of firesticks employed.
Then we went off for some post-shooting drinks (note, children: shooting and then drinks), followed by a noisy dinner which all went on for far too long.
So now it’s bed-time, and I shall resume writing later today when/if I wake up and when/if ever I can quell the storm of hobgoblins running around in my head.
I’m getting too old for this nonsense. The drinking, that is, and not the shooting.
Last year I posted two lists of My Favorite Things (Part 1 and Part 2), and while I’m not going to redo the blessed things — as I said I wouldn’t — there are a couple of substitutions on the list, mainly because the items are no longer available or I’ve found something I prefer. Here’s an example:
which has been replaced by the CZ 600. But upon reflection, I think I’d rather go with this one:
Anschutz 1761 DHB Classic — $2,985
Yeah, it’s kinda spendy for a .22 — but it also comes in .223 Rem, for those extra-special varminting excursions — and the quality thereof is matchless. Remember, this list is all about beauty and quality.
Interestingly, as I peruse both lists, I find that all the items are as alluring as they were a year ago. But as I suspected may happen, I’ve found an alternative for a couple:
I know I said they were scarce, but sheesh. “Unobtanium” about covers it. But here’s one that is available, albeit at a Silly Money price:
1964 Alfa Romeo Giulia Spider — $104,000
And while the exterior is lovely, it’s the interior that gets me all a-twitter:
None of that stuffy wood nonsense here: if that doesn’t scream “FUN!!!” at the top of its lungs to you, you’re deaf and we can’t be friends. And as with most cars sold at E&RClassics, this one has been completely resto-modded and restored to what it should have been back in the day, but wasn’t. A hundred grand is spendy, mind, but let’s not compare it to today’s “exotic” sports cars, shall we? And as an added bonus, there is not a single computer chip or electronic transmission device anywhere to be found, which means your Spider won’t be a Spyder, either. (I know, I know: I should be ashamed of myself.)
One more, for fun:
Now I have nothing against the 686, no sir not me. But I think I prefer this one over it:
S&W Mod 48 .22 Win Mag — $1,100
Blued steel, long barrel, chambered for my favorite rimfire cartridge… sorry, I need to get something to wipe the drool off my keyboard. Second-hand, they run about $700-$800, depending on condition.
Those are pretty much all the changes I’ve run across, so far.
Feel free to browse the links and make some suggestions of your own.
Other than guns and maybe knives, I don’t know that I’ve ever been much of a “collector” of anything. Oh sure, I’ve thought of collecting stuff before — watches, for example, if I were ever in a position to afford such a collection — but perhaps it’s a factor of growing older that the desire to own stuff of any one particular kind is no longer as attractive to me as it once was.
A good example is that of the aforementioned watches. I’ve long had a list of watches I’d like to own, simply because I love the workmanship and craft involved in the creation of such creatures. Then my list began to shrink, and a few criteria started to assert themselves: no battery-powered — or “quartz” — movements, and even automatic movements began to lose their desirability because, frankly, they keep shitty time, almost regardless of their cost. So: manual-wind watches. And then when I acquired my plain-Jane Tissot as a gift (thankee thankee, you-know-who):
…my earlier desire for other watches just evaporated. (I have a couple others which I wear, very occasionally, for specific occasions, but this Tissot works wonderfully well for me, 99% of the time.)
Shocking as it may be to some, this “shrinkage” has started to manifest itself in my most long-time passion, guns. (You may administer smelling salts at any point, now.)
Seriously. I have a few guns that I judge as essential for self-, home- and social defense needs, and a very few sentimental favorites — the Browning High Wall 1885 in .45-70, the Winchester 94 in .30-30 and of course the Mauser K98 in 8x57mm, to name but some, and then the plinking equipment (which don’t count because, of course, .22 guns are household appliances and not guns, as I’ve stated ad nauseam in the past).
Unlike many of my acquaintance, I have absolutely no interest — none whatsoever — of chasing after the latest whizzbang offering from SIG or Canik or whoever, so forget newly-manufactured guns, in toto.
But as I cast my eyes upon the contents of Ye Olde Gunne Sayfe on occasion, I sometimes wonder whether I should perhaps just get rid of a few outliers not because of financial reasons*, but simply because I cannot see myself shooting them ever again. And having reached that realization, what point is ownership?
In one of my occasional Lottery Dreams (see the post above), I often wonder what car or cars I’d get to replace the Tiguan, and what’s interesting is that I’m having precisely the same feelings that I have with guns and watches: nothing of recent manufacture at all — especially given that they’re all without exception loaded with electronic gizmos I don’t care for, or else gizmos that spy on you and/or could possibly be used to control your driving. In fact, the more I think about it, I’d probably have to go back to pre-1970s cars — fully resto-modded of course — to find a car that has not a single computer chip in its driving operation. And yes I know, modern cars are so much more efficient and economical than their forebears, but frankly, I’m prepared to put up with all the hassles involved with a stick shift and carburetors, for example, just as I’m prepared to have to manually wind my wristwatch every day or work the bolt of my rifle. (If push came to shove, I could even go with a wheelgun, much as I love me my 1911s, as any fule kno.)
Hell, I’ve even tossed out the kitchen knife block in favor of just two or three basic knives hanging on the magnetic strip on the side of the fridge. (I haven’t reached this stage with my other knives, however: I’m sentimentally attached to pretty much all of them for one reason or another, but I don’t know if I’m ever going to buy another one.)
It’s an interesting thing, this change that is coming over me: the desire to cut back, to simplify, to accept less in favor of plenty.
Anyone else out there feeling this way?
*Loyal Readers may recall that I had to hock all of them a while back, but I am pleased to report that the status quo has since been restored.
Feeling shit: yesterday I suddenly got a sore throat, sinus drainage/blockage (I don’t know how they can coexist, either), and the beginning of a hacking cough.
Same as I had a few months ago. Anyway, when I called my GP yesterday to see if he could just send a Zithromycin Rx to CVS, he insisted that I come in to see him. Couldn’t fit me in yesterday — it was after 5pm, to be honest — but I do have an 8.30 appointment this morning.
My Brit Readers (and anyone else living under a nationalized healthcare system) are allowed to feel envious.
Anyway…
Till later.
Update: Just got back from the above. No big deal, not a bronchial issue, no Covid, just a nasty upper-respiratory tract infection. Z-pack, and I’ll be better by Thursday.
To be honest, I felt a little foolish at having wasted his time for so trivial a thing. Still, his N.P. is a total doll, so it wasn’t a complete waste of my time.
Once more via Insty, I see this little exposition:
Confession: I’m really bad at replying to messages. Sometimes it takes me days, even weeks, to get back to people. I constantly find myself typing out some variation of the words sorry for not getting back to you sooner, oops sorry I completely missed this, hey sorry I thought I replied! It’s an endless cycle: feel pressured to reply, feel guilty for not doing it, procrastinate, feel worse the longer I wait, finally apologise, they respond—and then I do it all over again.
I’ve tried to be better. I’ve made countless New Year’s Resolutions to respond quicker, set myself strict rules to always reply the same day, even added texting people back to my to-do list. Nothing works. But lately I’ve been wondering if that’s because there’s a problem with me, or if it’s this expectation to always be available, to be instantly accessible, that’s the problem.
Because it turns out I’m not alone in this.
You bet you aren’t. I’m in the same camp, albeit for slightly different reasons. I get a ton of email messages each day, mostly junk / spam / phishing but also a lot from Readers. The latter are all welcome, always; but as for the former, may they and their entire families suffer the fate of Julius Caesar and be killed by their associates.
I’m worse on the phone — unless it’s from immediate family, either actual calls, or else text / WhatsApp. Here again, I love this Caller ID thing, because if it’s not a number I recognize, or doesn’t appear on my phone book, it’s utterly ignored. (Some people miss the old days when the phone — landline, Princess — rang and you answered it. I don’t. Even back then, if I didn’t feel like answering the call, I wouldn’t. I figured that if the news was that urgent, they’d call me again immediately; and if not, well, c’est la vie.)
I think I’ve mentioned before that back when I was flying out of Chicago at least once a week, I loved that “alone” time, whether at the airport or on the plane itself. It gave me a chance to think, to plan, to dream… you know, what men did before some fucking intrusive electronic thing screamed in your ear 24/7, demanding IMMEDIATE ATTENTION!
Somehow, businesses survived without being in constant contact with bosses and subordinates. When I was a manager with staff, I would tell them that if I was unreachable but a decision had to be made, to make the best decision they could, and I’d back them. Or they could talk to my boss and ask him, if the decision was that important. (90% of the time, it wasn’t, as I would discover later that day when I’d call in from my hotel room or from the client’s office.) Not only did I tell them to make a decision, I’d encourage it, to help with their personal growth in the company. I think that in over 20 years, they made maybe one questionable decision, and the fact that I cannot remember any details now just goes to show that it wasn’t that important. No matter how much companies think that such things are life-and-death matters, they pretty much aren’t; and as one of my bosses once remarked, “There’s no business decision that can’t be made tomorrow,” and in fact most times it’s even better to sleep on it before deciding.
So I often disconnect from the world. Unless I’m expecting a critical call from New Wife or my kids, I don’t freak out if I’m at the grocery store and discover I’ve forgotten my phone at home (which I often do). If I’m in bed and the phone rings, I won’t get up to answer it — once again, if it’s that important, my family knows to call again immediately to get a response from me. (Corollary: I never take the phone to bed with me; it stays in the living room next to my laptop. The only time I fetch it is on Saturday mornings — when I spend most of the day in bed with New Wife — just in case one of the kids or my sister wants to chat. And that’s after I wake up and made the morning coffee.)
Yeah, I’m mostly disconnected from the world when I don’t feel like “interacting”. When I’m at my desk and on the laptop, however, an email message from an acquaintance will often be answered immediately, unless I’m working through the backlog from the night before.
I value my privacy, and I’m at the stage of my life when I’m at the beck and call of nobody except of those I choose to be: a number that is frighteningly small.
I have learned that the world, such as it is, is best kept at arm’s length.