I sat through the first half of my concealed carry class Wednesday, and found it informational—but somewhat repetitive. The instructor I’m learning from has taught qualification courses for forty years to cops, FBI agents and other security professionals, and knows his stuff. He knows I’m not interested in carrying for stupid reasons, and focuses on the responsibility that goes along with it. I’ll be clear: I don’t intend on wearing a handgun wherever I go. This is primarily to get ahead of the weird Maryland law loophole that says you can own a gun but can’t technically transport it to a range with just a regular HQL. Knowing the way this country is trending right now, I want to be as legally above board as I possibly can. And I intend on doing a lot of range practice with the Glock to become proficient.
On Friday I went back for the second half, which included the remainder of the class time and then an hour of range practice. He set me up with a SIG chambered in .22 and fitted with a silencer, which was a hoot to fire (not silent, but MUCH quieter than I thought it would be). Then I used my Glock 48 to shoot two-handed, then right, then left at 30 feet. He was very happy with my groups, remarking that they would pass the State Police qualification test. I did feel better shooting the Glock this time—the refresher on grip and stance was extremely helpful, and because I focused on using my right eye instead of switching from my left, I was much more successful.
He gave me some basic instruction, a training plan for proficiency at 30 feet, and a paper certification. So now I have to go back and get fingerprinted again, fill out the online form, and send everything in to the Staties.
Meanwhile, because I was up in the area, I stopped in to the mighty Andy Nelson’s for lunch on both days. God, I miss that place. The barbecue is as good as ever, and almost nothing has changed—although I was sad to read that Andy just recently left us a week ago. Godspeed, sir.
I found a new (well, published in 2017) game to play through the Xbox Game Pass—Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon Wildlands. It’s an open-world FPS where you can run around to complete missions, command a squad of three team members, and drive various vehicles. It’s got some of the same mechanics that The Division does in that you can modify weapons and earn points to upgrade gear, but it’s not as convoluted to figure out as that title. There are, of course, plenty of missions to complete, which unlock new missions at greater difficulty. It’s been fun so far, but getting used to squad-based combat is a challenge when I’ve been playing solo for so long.
A small glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak world: Defector, the creator-owned website founded by former writers at Deadspin, is five years old and profitable, quietly publishing excellent journalism. I’ve been a member since they launched, and will continue to do so (as well as the Autopian). Today I’m adding the Baltimore Banner to this group.
I had a shooting date with my neighbor the Marine last night. He’s had a ton of experience at the range and I respect his judgement, and he loves to practice so it wasn’t hard to convince him to go. His favorite range is one I’ve been to before under a different name, but the basic rules are always the same. We signed in, put our ear protection on (I used Dad’s green headset) and set up in a lane.
My first goal was to put rounds through the Glock, and I ran through two magazines with limited success. My neighbor gave me some advice and I adjusted some things, but still found my shots placing off to the left of center. He asked me if I was right-eye dominant and I realized I was still sighting with the wrong eye, and I explained what the instructor had talked about when I qualified. I reloaded, switched eyes, and immediately found improvement although my placement was still dispersed.
I then switched over to the 1911. I brought one magazine and a box of Dad’s ACP rounds dated from 1974, and lined up in the lane. I’m not going to lie, I was nervous with this one, because I figured the kick was going to be double that of the Glock. What I found surprised me, though: as a much heavier frame, it was smoother to shoot, and my placement was much tighter—after I’d run through the second magazine and we reviewed the target, he laughed and told me this was clearly the gun I was meant to use. It feels solid in my hands, and there’s much less kick than the polymer Glock. The trigger pull is much lighter, and that took some getting used to. I dislike the sights on it though—they’re aftermarket add-ons from decades ago, and the sight picture is very small. That would be something to look at upgrading in the future.
We cleared our brass up, packed things away, and went out for a beer afterwards to catch up, which was a great way to wind up the evening.
I need to drill myself on range safety: slowing down, keeping the muzzle pointed downrange, and trigger discipline at all times. But I very much enjoyed the experience, as nervous as I was, and I intend to keep practicing.
These days I’m drinking very light beer and mostly staying away from the brown alcohols, but the Wirecutter’s rating of canned cocktails piqued my interest, especially the Old Fashioned option. I recently bought a bottle of Bulleit’s premixed Manhattan cocktail and found it a bit harsher than what I’d been mixing at home; it’s amazing how much a proper vermouth smooths out the recipe. Given their cost per unit, I won’t be testing any of these anytime soon.
I drove over to my friend Bennett’s house on Saturday morning to give him a hand rebuilding his porch, which we demoed a year and a half ago. He’s run into several roadblocks since then, including sinking concrete posts, a leaking sink drain, and a 40-year-old clematis bush that had rooted under the entire structure, so it’s been slow going. We leveled and secured one of the side rim joists and then joined it to the back rim with an angled section. Then we trimmed and hung several interior joists so that Bennett could continue cutting and installing deck planking.
When I got back home, we all cleaned up and went out to a local Dim Sum restaurant that got a glowing review in Baltimore Magazine this past year. I know nothing about Dim Sum but figured it would be fun to try for our anniversary meal, and the girls agreed. We wound up ordering much more food than we bargained for, but everything we tried was delicious.
Sunday I drove down to St. Mary’s county to spend the day with Bob, who was already dressed for lunch when I rang the doorbell. I took him out to the local barbecue joint for some brisket and he polished the whole thing off with a look of satisfaction. After stopping to fill his gas jugs, we headed back to the house and I sat on the couch looking over his utility bills while he told me the usual stories. He was a lot more animated this week than he was the last time I was down there, which got to be pretty tiring by the time I had to leave.
Memorial Day broke sunny and chilly, and Hazel was desperate for a walk, so after we filled up on coffee, Jen and I took her out for the two-mile circuit. Back at home, I sat at my desk keeping watch over Finn while she finished up some homework. I submitted a new COAL story to Curbside Classic, something I’ve been working on for a couple of weeks, comparing both of the CR-Vs—which mainly wound up being a review of the OG. Next I finished up a postcard design I put together to promote T-shirt sales at Nationals in June and sent it out for printing. I shopped around and got a pretty decent price for 100 of them, and I figure that if I wear a couple of the shirts and have the postcards on hand, I might be able to make some sales.
When Finn was done I hustled out to the driveway and got some work done on the Travelall, which I’ll write about on the other site. We grilled some steak and Jen picked some arugula from her garden for dinner, and had a quiet meal at the table together.
Four years ago, I knew just enough about engines and brakes and car stuff to do basic maintenance without getting myself into trouble. I was comfortable with the basics of a tune-up; I could swap spark plugs and wires and change oil and brake pads and do basic bodywork—mainly skimming Bondo over dents. I’d had enough experience in the repo lot, with my own cars, and with home renovations to know the ins and outs of most the tools and materials. But as the years went by, the guys willing to work on old iron started retiring, and it got harder and harder to source a reliable mechanic.
When I bought Darth Haul I knew I was going to have to take a lot of the work on myself, and that was the point. I’d already taken the welding class so I knew I was in good shape to try more serious bodywork, but the engine stuff—the deeper stuff beyond cleaning out a carburetor—that was the scary part. Over the course of the last two and a half years, between working on Darth, Bob’s Chrysler, and several of my friends’ trucks, I’ve learned a ton about how engines work, how to diagnose more complicated issues, and most importantly, how to not let the fear of breaking something stop me from trying.
A couple of weeks ago, I took the plunge and installed a fuel injection system on Darth. We’re not talking about something as serious as tearing the top of the engine off and getting down to the camshaft, but it was a lot more involved than swapping the plugs. My experience pulling off grotty old carburetors and cleaning them came in handy for bolting down a shiny new unit. Ordeals with clogged, leaking and absent fuel lines was vital for routing a fuel system not designed the way the EFI manufacturer was expecting. After getting everything installed, I was stymied by a weird electrical glitch—but I fixed that by installing a relay, something I’d recently learned how to do when I put an auxiliary fuse panel in. Then I couldn’t get it to start—and used my previous experience working through Bob’s ignition system to diagnose a burnt out condenser in the distributor, a result of me welding on the truck without disconnecting the battery.
Yesterday I swapped a new condenser into the distributor, switched the cameras on, and turned the key: the truck fired right up. She ran like dogshit, because the timing settings are way off, but she started. I’d been having a kind of shitty week up until that point, and that victory, plus a couple of wins at work was enough to turn my mood around.
It feels really good to work towards something and see the light at the end of the tunnel; if I can get the timing sorted out tomorrow and get the truck running smoothly, then I can try to break the clutch free from the flywheel and see if she’ll move.
In my continuing quest to get current on all of my vaccinations before Bobby Brainworms makes it illegal, I got my shingles vaccine this morning at about 11 o’clock. By 2 o’clock my left arm felt like somebody had hit it with a baseball bat. I can’t tell, but I think I might have a low-grade fever. We’re going to see how this affects me tomorrow and that will tell whether or not I’m going to work. I’ve still got several more to go plus a booster for this and for hepatitis B upcoming. I’m trying to stretch them out every two weeks so that I give my immune system time to bounce back before I dose with something else.
Update: You thought I was wearing my tinfoil hat when I wrote this, but you’d be mistaken.
Finn and I were up in New York State to visit my family over the Easter break, and spent the majority of the time sitting, eating, and relaxing, which was lovely. Their seasons are about three weeks behind us, so it was nice to drive south toward home and watch the trees go from gray to green. All of the fields in Pennsylvania are that brilliant iridescent shade of Kelly green I remember from Ireland, and the daffodils have mostly given way to the second wave of bulbs blooming. Apparently Hazel has caught the springtime bug; because everything outside is waking up, she’s pacing the house whimpering and barking because she can smell it all and the FOLO is overwhelming.
I went to the pharmacy yesterday to continue getting current on my vaccinations; we’ve decided to get as current on as many of them as possible before any political interference might occur, knowing who the current head of HHS is. I did a two-fer of Pneumococcal and Hepatitis B, both in the left arm, and I could clearly feel the needle in my muscle both times. Today it’s more sore than usual (I didn’t feel anything after the MMR shot two weeks ago) but I’m still able to move my arm, which is a relief. And so far I don’t feel any of the side-effects that a double-whammy might have brought, even with a suppressed immune system. BRING ON THE TYPHUS.
I don’t feel like I have a lot to share at the moment. Just trying to manage my anxiety and hang on to my sanity. I’m just going to keep focusing on the few things I can control, and try to do those things to the best of my ability.
I took the week off from work this week to burn up some excess PTO time, and I’ve been working on the truck and doing some small house projects to relax. On Wednesday, Jen and I signed up to be chaperones for a class trip Finn’s school was taking to the local community college and then to the NSA’s National Cryptologic Museum. I wasn’t expecting much out of the college visit, but because this trip was organized by the graphic design/IT/CompSci teachers, they took us through the fabrication labs first and then up to the CompSci classrooms. I was thrilled to learn they’ve got an entire program focused on machine tool training.
The first room they took us through was lined with CNC machines, and the professor explained how they start with the math and programming, then move up to training on the machines. We then entered a second lab lined with Bridgeport lathes—there were maybe 15 of them—where they do hands-on training.
Down the hall is another lab with 3D printing machines—not the consumer grade stuff I’ve played with, but multi-process industrial units that do resin, powder, and plastic. And they mentioned that they’re putting in another lab in the summer to do more 3D processes.
It’s not cheap; I’d love be able to go through the entire course for a certificate, but that would cost many dollars. Individually, though, some of the courses are very affordable and are offered at convenient times after work hours.
The Cryptological Museum was fascinating. There’s a ton of stuff there to look through, including the machine that used to make and decode the nuclear launch codes, several Cray supercomputers, and a pair of original Enigma machines you can actually use to decode messages. I read a lot about Enigma when I went through my Neil Stephenson phase, and vaguely understood how the machines worked through his descriptions, but it was another thing entirely to be in front of them, see some of the rotors disassembled, and to see the American version of the Bombe, designed by Alan Turing and built to break the code on a daily basis. The math is mind-boggling but the physical machinery made it much more understandable. We were also happy to see they’re still highlighting the unsung women and people of color who were instrumental in breaking codes up to and during WWII.