Well Portland Oregon and sloe gin fizz
If that ain't love then tell me what is
Well I lost my heart it didn't take no time
But that ain't all. I lost my mind in Oregon
— Loretta Lynn
So I'm deep asleep in Portland, Oregan, sans sloe gin fizz when the iPhone next to my bed goes off. Like one of Ivan Pavlov's drooling dogs, I pop right up out of bed, take a show, shave, fret over my hair, iron a performance shirt...then look at the clock. Sigh...instead of the alarm, it was the ubiquitous and endlessly entertaining Tom Knapp calling from Planet Shotgun, which is apparently in a different time zone.
With my extra time I finally read Peggy Noonan's new column — We Are Governed by Callous Children — in WSJ Online:
...This is historic. This is something new in modern political history, and I'm not sure we're fully noticing it. Americans are starting to think the problems we are facing cannot be solved.[...]We are governed at all levels by America's luckiest children, sons and daughters of the abundance, and they call themselves optimists but they're not optimists—they're unimaginative. They don't have faith, they've just never been foreclosed on. They are stupid and they are callous, and they don't mind it when people become disheartened. They don't even notice.
Nicely put and probably why writing about politics isn't any fun anymore. I think I'm like most Americans in that every morning I turn on the news with a sick feeling of dread...what new outrage do the callous children have for us today? Another long sigh...
Totally changing directions for no apparent reason, our pal Mr. Completely has a lucid, thoughtful article on .22 rimfire ammunition. He shoots more of it than any sane person — and even me — so he should know. I agree with his conclusion that it's impossible to recommend any one .22 ammo, because lots vary a bunch over time. I would like to add that Russian biathlon ammo made by some obscure arms company left over from the Cold War is the dirtiest stuff I've ever seen, but boy is it accurate...haven't seen any around for a while...
BTW, yesterday before I headed to the airport my Sweetie and I drove up to the 35 acres we own north of the present Secret Hidden Bunker (SHB). It's about 3000 feet lower than the Bunker and we were interested in how badly it got clobbered in last week's snowstorm, of which we have about a foot and a half left in the yard at the SHB. What a difference elevation makes — 15 degrees warmer and all the snow gone baby gone! We'll hopefully start building next year, if the callous children don't completely wreck the country buy then.
I gotta go find another gallon or so of coffee...