All posts by Rob Darnell

Because I stayed off Facebook today…

…I wrote 1,671 words, made two submissions and got all the chores done.

The Tigers didn’t play today. I did have the Buccaneer-Jaguar game on, but didn’t pay much attention to it. The Lions’ next preseason game is Saturday, against the Jets. The Lions did very well against the Colts in Sunday’s game.

College Football starts in a couple weeks. The Wolverines will kick off their season against the Gators.

A Better Day

Yesterday sucked. I was in a bad mood and had a headache that lasted the entire day.  But today is better and the headache is gone.

I’m pleased that all of my friends and family on Facebook, Conservatives and Liberals alike, who posted anything about the Nazis in Charlottesville made it clear that Nazis are not welcome in America. In the comments of a few friends’ posts, I saw people defending or making excuses for the Nazis. But none of those people were friends of mine.

Yesterday there was a bit of Conservative Vs Liberal battling. I was frustrated with all the finger pointing. But things seem to have calmed down today.

I’m getting bored with the discussions and that’s a good thing. I’ve been horribly derailed the last few days. I’d like to get back on track.

The Tigers are getting their asses kicked again. Bottom of the 8th, DET 4 – TEX 11. But that’s been the season.

Nazis in America

People keep saying “racists” when they talk about Nazis. But Nazis are much more than racists. I’m too tired to list all the things Nazis stand against, but freedom is one of the things. Actually, the Nazis anti-freedom stance can cover it all.

As we all know, the Nazis are responsible for the deaths of millions of people. They murdered people because of race, religion, sexuality, disability, political leaning. The list goes on and on.

They would arrest you, stick you in a concentration camp if you didn’t show full support of the Nazi Party. You were required to make the Hitler salute whenever a band of storm troopers marched by on the street. You couldn’t listen to the music you liked, read the books you liked. You couldn’t express yourself freely, and so on.

Nazis in America might have freedom of speech like the rest of us. But I don’t care. I’m fine with the idea of beating the shit out of them whenever they show themselves. No more of this sign waving and chanting as counter protest. Grab those assholes and beat the shit out of them. I think the best way to get rid of Nazis is to make them fear the people.

Revisiting Ford Vs Chevrolet

I can’t think of anything else to blog about today. So, I’m going to revisit this topic.

I said before, I’m not opposed to either make. I like both, and other makes too. But, I do lean a little toward Ford. It’s just that I was brought up to know Ford. Can’t really say which is better, I’m sure both have their pros and cons.

A lot of folks I know are team Chevrolet.  Ford is deemed the enemy to all vehicle owners. “Don’t buy a Ford!”, “Ford sucks!”, “How to fix a Ford? Buy a Chevy!” And so on.

I see a lot of thirty and forty year old Ford pickup trucks still on the road. They might be rusty hunks of metal, but they’re still running. And I see a lot of ten and fifteen year old Chevrolet pickup trucks broken down.

Recently the Chevrolet of someone I know broke down. I guffawed when I saw the flatbed truck that brought the Chevy home was a Ford.

What does this mean? I don’t rightly know. Another day and I might see a Chevy flatbed bringing home a Ford.

How often is a Ford pitted against a Chevy in demolition derby? Which make wins the most? That’s what I want to know.

The Samoa Incident – Chapter 1

The Samoa Incident is something I’m writing for fun. I’m going to publish it on my blog a chapter at a time.

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The plane touched down at Faleolo International Airport. A broadcast from the cockpit came over the speakers as the pilot confirmed the smooth landing.

Sean sat on a couch, two rows from the last. The reek of the toilets was strong, his flight had not been pleasant because of this.

“Enjoy your stay in Samoa,” the pilot said and the broadcast ended.

Samoa.

Sean was not entirely sure why he had chosen to come here. But Samoa was far from home and that suited him just fine.

The plane rounded the runway and at last came to a stop. Sean unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. He gathered his bag from the overhead stowage bin and waited.

It had been a full flight. As far as Sean could tell, not a seat had been empty. Now passengers were in the aisle waiting for the moment they could get off the plane. Sean guessed that more than a few people were travel weary and cranky.

The line started to move. Sean walked carefully, carrying his bag in front of him. He hated planes, because of how tight they were. There was barely enough room to move. No wonder terrorists saw airplanes as worthy targets. Passengers were grounded to their seats and would not be able to do much in a crisis.

He reached the end of the aisle, had a brief look into the cockpit and then exited the plane.

The heat consumed him as he walked down the steps to the pavement. The moment he was on solid ground again was the moment he felt relief.

It was dawn, the sun still a thin yellow line to the east. People back home would be finishing their lunch hours and going back to work. Alicia was probably lodging in the living room of the house she and her sister shared, watching TV and wondering when he was going to call.

He hadn’t told her he was leaving. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone for that matter, and he wasn’t sure when he would. He wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, especially Alicia, and he didn’t want to think about her.

He turned away from the rising sun as if turning his back on home.

Sean walked across the tarmac toward the huge building. Every window was alight and he could see various people inside, many looking out on the aircraft he had just arrived in. A sign near the entrance glowed white, red and blue.

 

Talofa & Welcome

Samoa

Arrivals

 

Sean pushed through the door and got into one of the lines of people waiting to have their passports stamped by the immigration officer.

Sean recognized some of the people from the plane. There was the big guy who had sat a few rolls in front of Sean. The guy had been talking a lot on the plane, but now he was quiet.

The elderly couple who had been in front of him on the plane just had their passports stamped and were moving off, each towing a suitcase on wheels.

The line shortened.

The three young women in front of Sean were a group that had sat across the aisle from him on the plane. They put their passports and other identification on the counter together and the immigration officer looked over each quickly and stamped them in order. The passports were handed back and the women moved on.

Sean stepped up to the counter and handed over his passport and driver’s license. He was lucky he remembered to bring the passport at all. He had left home in a hurry, just threw some things into a bag and hit the road. He had no idea where he was going, but somehow ended up at Bishop International Airport in Flint and booked a flight out of state.

That flight had taken him to Chicago and he still didn’t know where he was going.

The immigration officer stamped Sean’s passport and handed it back over the counter with his driver’s license.

“Have a nice time,” she said and smiled.

Sean nodded politely and stuffed his passport and license into his bag.

He left the immigration area. Four men in Aloha shirts stood on a platform playing acoustic guitars. Two of the women who had been in front of him in the immigration line were collecting their bags from the baggage claim. Both were in their early to mid twenties. The third member of their group was not there, but she had been at least a few years younger than her two friends.

As Sean walked by, one of the women said something to the other in a language he didn’t recognize. When they started looking around, Sean understood that they had realized the third member of their group was not with them.

Sean made a quick scan of the airport, but the youngest of the trio was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she stepped into the bathroom and hadn’t taken the time to inform her friends because of a sudden kick of leftover air sickness. He remembered the girl had said very little on the plane, while her friends had talked constantly. If they spoke English, though, they had not uttered a word of it while in his presence.

Sean wanted to suggest the two women check the bathroom, but he didn’t want to deal with an awkward moment if it turned out they couldn’t understand him. He moved on. If their friend didn’t show up soon, he was sure they would check around and find her.

He walked into the middle of the airport and stopped. The exit was in front of him, but he didn’t know where he was going from there. There would be taxis and buses, he was sure. But he hadn’t made reservations anywhere and hence had no destined place to be. What would he tell a taxi driver?

Then a sign for Discovery Rentals caught his eye.

Forty-five minutes later, Sean walked out of the airport with a temporary Samoa driver’s license and a rental agreement in his pocket. The  Hyundai Tucson was already parked at the curb and a Discovery Rental employee climbed out.

“Have fun,” the man said.

“Thanks,” Sean said. He slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Relieved that the man had let the air conditioner run, Sean dropped the gear lever to Drive.

He had driven cars with the steering wheel on the right side many times before, but he still felt awkward as he drove through the parking lot.

He turned left onto the road. Traffic was almost nonexistent as he drove east toward Apia.

Slinged

I got a sling on my break-action .20 gauge shotgun. The swivels are meant for bolt-action rifles, but they work fine on shotguns like this.

I was going to put a sling on the Mossberg 500 too, but for pump and semi-automatic shotguns it’s a little different. Although the swivels I bought say on the package that they fit most pump and semi-auto shotguns, the part that you screw on the end of the tube is way too small for a .12 gauge. It doesn’t say anywhere on the package what caliber it’s for, but looks like it would be the right fit for a .410. So now I gotta get a .410 pump or semi-auto shotgun.

The other day, my dad and I stopped by the hardware store in Davison because my dad needed some pipes. The owner, Dave, was my FFL dealer. Dave was working the register the other day. He told us he’s not selling guns anymore and that he recently sold the hardware store. He’s still there for the time being, but he’ll be moving out soon.

I’m disappointed about that. I preferred to buy from Dave because he knew my dad and he’d gotten to know me. I don’t like the idea of buying guns from FFL dealers who don’t know me. Years ago, when I went to buy a shotgun, the dealer mistook my cerebral palsy for drunkenness and was asking why I was weaving from side to side. He also couldn’t understand why I had trouble reading the form or hearing him. It was explained to him, but he wasn’t convinced. He believed I was drunk or on drugs. It was pretty humiliating.

With Dave, it was easy and relaxing. He was understanding about my disabilities.

So, guess I have to find another FFL dealer.

Uncle Mike’s IWB Holsters

Finally. An Uncle Mike’s size-15 IWB. I’ve been trying to find one for a while now. Every time I wanted to buy one, all the right hand ones were sold out and I’m not left handed.

I’ve had the size-1 for my .380 for a couple years. I really like how thin it is. It’s not much thicker than a shirt and it’s comfortable in my waistband. I wanted a size-15 for my 9mm because all the other IWBs I’ve tried were stiff and they would pull my waistband too tightly around my guts.

A concern people have about carrying larger pistols in thin holsters like these is the holster will not be strong enough to hold the pistol. That might be true if you’re carrying outside the waistband in a thin holster. But these holsters go inside the waistband. They’re held between your body and pants, and they’re clipped to the waistband. They’re not going to fall.

I’m telling you, with this holster I’m very comfortable carrying my 9mm in my waistband. It doesn’t feel much different than a tucked in shirt. I knew this was the holster I needed and I was right.

If you’re interested in Uncle Mike’s IWB holsters, first go to unclemikes.com and use their Holster Finder. From there, you can look up hundreds of pistol makes and models and the site will tell you which size holster is right for your pistol.

Rain

I think it rained enough today. It started in New York City, at Yankee Stadium. I believe it was the bottom of the 7th, the score was DET 2 – NYY 0, when the sky dumped gallons of water on the field. I don’t think they were expecting that. The downpour was heavy before they started rolling out the tarp.

Eventually I turned the TV off, but I just checked tigers.com. Looks like the Tigers were declared the winners.

Just a little while ago we had a long rain and thunderstorm here. Lightning struck too close a few times and the thunder made me jump.