More on Holsters – A Different Direction

I’ve had an idea rolling around in my head for some time for a holster that I’ve got to start playing with. This would not be a CCW holster like what I’ve been making, but rather it will be an IPSC-style holster: flashy, spartan, and beautiful, but mine will be leather.

My sis-in-law recently started working at the local gun range. She will be able to CCW and/or OC while at work. Currently, her only handgun is a S&W 686 SSR. Although she loves her SSR, she’s a small-framed girl, and this gun is a little on the bulky side for her to CCW. It looks like she’ll probably wind up buying a Springfield for CCW when her license comes in.

So, back to the holster… I think my sis-in-law is going to be my guinea pig for my new holster idea. I plan on making her an IPSC-style, custom leather holster with just enough retention for daily wear for her 686. If this one comes out the way I want it to, it’s going to be one sweet step towards a whole new world of gunleather products for me! At that point, I’ll experiment more with gaming leather, including magazine pouches and speedloader and moon clip carriers (for which I do have some preliminary ideas). There are a couple of projects that I’ve got to finish up before I can do any of that, but it’s definitely next on the agenda!

Stay tuned!

Moon Clips and Stuff

Both of my readers,

You should be pleased to hear that I got the Tech Sights ordered for the Ruger 10/22’s in the house, and I should see those sometime this week. I’m looking forward to getting those installed and start playing with them. I haven’t heard anything bad about them, and it should be good to see if they meet all of my expectations. I still need to pick up some more magazines for all three guns prior to Appleseed, but we’re getting there.

Also, last week I got my new stocks ordered for my twin carry revolvers. I did order the round butt finger grooves…

in padauk…

I got my check and order sheet mailed off on Thursday, August 20. Snail mail will probably take about a week to get there. Kim Ahrends said that they are running three to four weeks on orders recently, and snail mail will probably be another week back. So, I’m looking at five to six weeks from the 20th. That should put them in my greasy mitts at the end of September, hopefully.

They’re going to be really pretty! I know that I’m going to have to make myself a matched pair of holsters when they come in. The holsters I wear are structurally perfect, but they have visibly taken a beating in my torture testing. With my newer finishing methods, I expect their replacements to look good for longer, even under the same duress.

I started looking at getting some extra moon clips for these as well. That’s something that I definitely want to do, but I’m not going to be able to do that right away. I’ll probably order my 7-shot, .357 moon clips from Ranch Products. They sent me a sample and pricing, and I like what I see. The sample is slightly thinner than what came with the guns, so it accepts all types of brass. The Winchesters don’t want to go into the clips that came from S&W, however strange as that may be. The Ranch sample works well with all of the .38 and .357 that I have laying around the house, and slips into the cylinder easily. I’m impressed. And, all of this gunny shopping has me on a roll!

Jenni has mentioned that she would like to have her 640 cut for moon clips.

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A lot of people complain about clipped .357 Magnums, saying that the long cartridge is difficult to manage in a moon clip. With our experience with guns that accept moon clips, I could not disagree more. (Please pardon the dark photos.)

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To me, any double action .357 Magnum revolver should be able to accept moon clips. To someone that has never used clips or speed loaders, the moon clips do feel awkward. To someone that is familiar with the use of speed loaders and not moon clips, they feel doubly awkward. To someone who has spent a little time reloading a .357 with moon clips, they are incredibly fast, and offer many advantages that you simply can’t get using any other device. You don’t have the bulk of a carried speed loader, extraction is a solid, one-piece ejection, and you don’t have to stop to pick up your speed loader and loose brass in your range session. Clean up becomes one piece for every six, seven, eight, or nine – depending on the capacity of your cylinder.

Even then, you can still load from loose ammo, speed loaders, or speed strips with a gun that is modified to accept clips. Here’s the video from TK Custom, showing the machining process and demonstrating the utility of the finished cylinder:

So, I’m thinking of sending off Jenni’s cylinder for this treatment, and I’m thinking of doing it soon. It looks like the going rate for the machining is ~$100.00. Since I don’t have access to a CNC mill, the charge seems very reasonable – especially since these people do this repeatedly to many guns. Clark Customs will machine the J frame cylinder for $100.00 and throw in one moon clip. Additional moon clips run $3.99 each from Clark. Ranch Products doesn’t charge nearly so much for their clips, but unfortunately they don’t make a .357 J frame clip. It looks like they are in fairly low demand. I’ll probably get her about 25 additional clips from Clark when we have the work done. Ironically, I’ll be able to get 100 of my seven-shot clips from Ranch for the same price.

Anyway, that’s what’s on my mind. Well, there’s that and the whole Ted Kennedy deal, but I don’t really feel like getting all political and stuff today. I’m sure you understand.

Wanted

To both my readers,

Last night, Jen and I watched Wanted. It was a fun, campy little flick. It was evident that nobody in the production of the film had so much as handled a real firearm before in their life. There were so many cringe-worthy mishandlings and safety violations, it was truly embarrassing. Then, there’s the whole ‘throwing bullets in a curve’ deal. Yeah. That was special. They explained it by telling us that the assassins can speed up their metabolisms to the point that they can move unnaturally fast. They fail to explain how this hyper-speeding of organic systems can overcome chamber allignment, barrel rifling, a projectile moving at 800+ feet per second, or, you know – physics. All that being said, it was actually a well-made flick, and if you can get past all of that ridiculous stuff, it is worth the watch. Please don’t run out and invest in the special edition Blu-Ray Disk or anything. But conversely, if it comes on TV, don’t throw a brick through your screen and run screaming out of your house, tearing at your eyes.

Jenni and I have agreed for years that Angelina Jolie is quite the physical specimen. I know that she’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I find her to be a truly beautiful woman. I find it difficult to complain about seeing her trot around in the buff on the screen. If I met her in real life, I’d probably be making a conscious effort to not act goofy. Granted, I wouldn’t forsake my family and run off to Brazil with her given the chance, but she’s a looker, for sure!

Towards the end of the film (and I’ll try not to give too many spoilers here), we see the heroine fall to the floor. I Googled, and tried to find a screen shot of the image in question, but failed miserably in the quest. When she collapses, there is an angle shown where her butt looks – well, kind of floppy. I don’t know if that’s a problem area for the actress, or it was simply a game of poorly-chosen angles, but it really doesn’t look good right there, for only a few frames.

As the screenshot changed, I blurted out to Jenni, “You have a better butt than Angelina Jolie!!!”

“What?” she looked at me like I had spinach in my teeth.

I responded, “Didn’t you see that?”

“OK,” she said, “You better back it up. I’ve got to see this!”

So, I complied. I wound the disk back a few frames and paused it. “See?” I pointed, and made a sound effect, “Boyioing!”

She cracked up, “Well, look at that!”

That really didn’t get me as many brownie points as I thought it would, but it was still fun.

The biggest tragedy with this movie was what I detailed in that first paragraph. The firearms handling and attitude toward shooting in general were flat-out hokey. Anytime some big-shot producer puts out the money to make a shooty, action-esque film, they ought to make sure there’s a firearms instructor on the payroll. There should be someone on the set, during practice and filming that has a clue how to handle a gun, and what they are and aren’t capable of. I know, I know – that would completely eliminate the explodey-head-geyser-of-blood-from-a-9mm screen candy, and it would mean that the characters would be reloading from time to time, if that strikes you as a negative. But, it would portray shooters handling their weapons like they knew what they were doing – and not like some unknowing, Hollyweird, lowfat, half-caf with Splenda latte-sipper. I’m just sayin’

UPDATE:

I was thinking about how disrespectful this post could come across, so I wanted to give a little addendum. My wife is a beautiful, sexy, intelligent woman, and I love her socks off! I am continually humbled at the fact that God put her together so perfectly, with me in mind. I can’t imagine that any other woman would have the patience or energy to come along with me on all of my insane adventures in life. I can’t imagine any other woman even close to Jenni in the looks department wanting to hang around with me. Beyond all that, if there were some such magical woman out there, I’m sure that she would not keep me mentally stimulated – and that one is a biggie! I think Jenni has a great butt (yup, better than Jolie’s!), however the most beautiful woman in the world who can’t keep up in conversation is like an empty eggshell. After eleven years together, we still stay up talking about this or that way too late in the night, just like a couple of stupid teenagers. I would hate for one instant to give anyone the impression that I’m not nutty-in-love with my wonderful wife. And, I would hate to make her mad because she thought that I was being disrespectful to her on the interwebtron. I meant nothing of the sort. OBTW – I don’t know whether she’s read this post yet, but I kind of doubt it.

Mah Birfdai.

OBTW…

Did you know that it’s by biological birthday today?

When I turned 30, I decided to claim two years on each year. That way, when I biologically turn 40, I’ll say that I’m 50, and I’ll look in-freaking-credible for a 50-year-old.

So, although I was born on August 23, 1978, I’m 33 today… except for the fact that I’ve decided to postpone my calendar birthday until October, when the weather will be so much better. So, I suppose I’m not 31 anymore, but I’m 32 for a short period of time until my birthday in October.

I’m not a superstitious person, but my birthday has always been bad luck. I get pulled over and ticketed alarmingly frequently on my birthday. This year, I’ve made a total joke of my birthday, and it’s really been nice!

It feels good to be 32 before I turn 33 in October!

Yeah, and read the weird stuff I dreamed about last night. I hope to never get in a tangle like that!

Dream – August 22, 2009

I have vivid dreams from time to time…

I had a pack of Now-and-Laters in my pocket that I had picked up somewhere at the day’s event. It was the five-pack like they give out for Halloween. Jenni, the boy, and I were in a church sanctuary. The woodwork was white. The walls, the pews, and even the ceiling were painted white. The carpet was red. There were a lot of people present, but there was no sermon or service going on yet. The crowd was waiting for an event. I was in the second row, our son was in the row behind me, and Jenni was two rows behind him. Everyone was starting to settle down for what we were expecting.

That’s when there was a terrible crash from the back of the auditorium. Wind blew through my short hair, and made me squint my eyes. “Get down!” I shouted at my family. As I hit the floor under the pew, I could see my wife and son on the red carpet, under the white pews. The wind increased in intensity, and the heat grew as some kind of jet or rocket entered the room.

The sound of automatic fire filled the room, booming in my ears. I vainly tried to cover my ears with my hands, while holding myself up under the pew. I heard the cries and screams of victims and prayed that my family was not among them. It seemed like an eternity as the automatic bursts gave way to wailing and crying. Then, as soon as it started, I heard the rocket engines settle into a space directly overhead and begin to cool down. The backs of several pews cracked off and the benches creaked under the weight of the pod as the craft thumped heavily on several pews directly overhead. Turbines whirred down, and the machine came to a rest.

I heard servos whir as a hatch opened, and an artificial atmosphere was released. The air that escaped from the pod was far dryer and cooler than the ambient air, causing coils of mist to form even where I was in hiding. I saw a boot clomp from a ladder to the floor only feet in front of my face on the red carpet. I struggled to not audibly breathe. I could hear my wife and child breathing behind me, and I wanted to scream for them to shut up, but I knew that would be suicide for the three of us.

I could hear the faint moaning and groaning of the survivors of the attack. Apparently, we were the lucky ones. I saw the attacker run from his craft to a doorway at the front corner of the sanctuary. He paused in the doorway and pulled up his sleeve. He spoke into a device strapped to his wrist. From this distance, I could not tell what he was saying, but I could see his face.

Just then, I heard the whine of a large capacitor charging up from within the pod, as the attacker ran away through the doorway. “Run, run, run!” I screamed to anyone that could hear, as I scrambled under the pew for open ground. Just as I reunited with my family in the aisle, the pod exploded. I threw my body down under the cover of the sides of the pews over them. The wood splintered and was consumed by fire and steel shrapnel. I felt the heat against my back as I tried my best to shield them with my body and arms.

When I regained consciousness, I was being questioned. When I realized what the authorities were asking for, I happily complied and answered all their questions. I saw my wife and son, across the room from me, giving their own accounts of the attack. I had never seen weapons like this before. I have never even heard of some of them! The police didn’t seem interested in hearing my description of the suspect.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on a bench in the foyer of the church. My family was still inside some classroom, talking to the authorities. I carelessly lit up a cigarette and felt an uncomfortable lump in my pocket. I reached into my pocket and rediscovered the package of Now-and-Laters. I nervously worked the package between my fingers, trying to take my mind off the current stress.

A young man walking past paused and addressed me, “It’s you!’

“What’s me?” I said.

“You’re the one, you bastard!” he snatched the pack of candy from my hand and threw it at my chest. It fell to the floor as I stared at him. “You DID this!” he cried.

I stood up, and he rushed me. I put my right hand at his throat and walked him straight back through the wide room. I pushed him through the “Men’s” door and put him on his back. His hat fell off and locks of long hair cascaded onto the floor from underneath. He continued to struggle and ghasp accusations at me. I was in no mood for such idiocity. I quickly wrapped my left hand into his long hair and told him to shut up. He did not comply. He kept shouting insults and accusations. I mashed my right fist into his crotch to silence him. It worked. He doubled over reasonably quietly and I was able to say, “It wasn’t me, you idiot!” I left him in the restroom to collect himself, and returned to my bench to finish my cigarette.

Eventually, the police released us, and we went home. Life went on like usual for the next few days. There was work, school, and house work. We tried to ignore the news, and TV altogether, as our bizarre encounter was all over the waves. Several days later, we had the opportunity to go to a local festival. It was a traveling carnival that teamed up with a local group of retailers. There were rides and games and all kinds of great things to do. The parking was terrible, and our car was several blocks away.

After an exhausting evening of entertainment, the three of us headed out from the park towards our car. We cleared the park and walked along the dark city streets. We passed a closed store that had stacked screens in the display window. There were cameras overhead that alternated a view of the street ahead of us and the view behind us. When the monitors flashed to the street behind us as we passed, I saw the image of a figure. It was the man who had attacked the church only days before.

“Phe, phe, phe,” I quietly tried the attract the attention of my wife, “He’s behind us.” Jenni whirled around to look, knowing exactly who I was talking about. The man rushed us. I did my best to come between him and my family.

He addressed my wife, “‘phe, phe?’ What does that mean?”

As the words escaped his mouth, two older women mysteriously rushed to his side from nowhere to stop him. “We traced vocal patterns. That wasn’t her!” one of them said emphatically.

“What’s going on here?” I played dumb, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The woman continued, “The vocal signature sounds like him,” she pointed at me.

The strange man pulled a strange gun from his belt. It looked like some kind of nondescript, slab-sided, European, semi-auto, but it had some kind of hand-guard from the butt that met the trigger-guard, and the slide was extremely long. The top of the gun must have been at least a foot long! The two odd women were gone as quickly as they had appeared. I reached down to grab the slide of his gun before he got it pointed. My wife had grabbed my son’s arm and they were running away. Good girl.

I wrenched down on the attacker’s gun, and his grip released. He shoved his palms against my shoulders and rushed past me towards my family. I spun around and assessed the situation. Anyone with this level of technology was certain to be wearing body armor. I drew my right-hand revolver and took aim at his neck as he rushed toward my wife and son. At about shot three, I had the left-hand revolver drawn in low-ready. After the seventh shot, I brought the second revolver to target and emptied it as well.

After fourteen shots of 158-grain lead, my target collapsed in the dark streets, the thunder still echoing through the night. I’m not sure which shot killed him, or how long it had taken to empty both, but it seemed like an eternity before he hit the cold pavement. I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over.

That’s when I woke up and needed to pee. For several nights in a row, I’ve had vivid dreams. Try to imagine this all in a Frank Miller production. That just about sums it up. I imagine that if I had failed to fell the enemy, Jenni would have pulled her 9mm and shot him through the armpit, under the same assumption that I was under, that he was wearing a vest under his clothing. If I had missed, I’m confident that she would have finished the job. That’s just the way we work.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little narrative on my dream.

New Revolver Furniture – Help Me Decide – UPDATED!!!!!

So, shortly before I got my CCW license, I started shopping for a suitable CCW Smith & Wesson revolver. I wanted to go with something bigger than a snubby, but smaller than an N-frame. I wanted to have something with a tuned action, chambered in .357 Magnum that would accept moonclips for quick reloads. After scouring the S&W catalog and online product lists, I eventually wound up buying a S&W 586L-Comp. It is one seriously sweet little gun! When I decided that it was about time to get a BUG, I wound up buying another one just like it. That was about a year ago. Since then, it is rare to find me without my twin L-Comps. Each gun came with a Hogue Bantam rubber grip and an Altamont wood laminate boot grip. I have not been in love with either of these. The Altamont is too chunky for my short, fat fingers and the checkering is way too aggressive for my tastes. The Hogue’s rubber material catches my clothing. For about a year now, I’ve been wanting replacements.

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Jenni has been asking me what I would like for my upcoming birthday. I keep telling her that I don’t know. I really haven’t thought about it. This morning, it hit me! I want new stocks for my revolvers! So, I’ve been emailing back and forth with Kim Ahrends to determine exactly what it is exactly that I want to put on them. I believe I’m going to go with his round butt finger groove grips on both guns.

He has several woods to choose from, and I’m having a hard time trying to decide. I’ve pretty well decided that I like the maple or the padauk.

But, I’m having a difficult time choosing. I think that either would look really sharp on my blue guns. So, I’m asking for opinions. Please share your thoughts and opinions.

UPDATE *cheesy telegraph sound*

I’m going to get the padauk grips. The maples are gorgeous, and I’ve gotten other recommendations such as moradillo, walnut, oak, and bubinga. If I need something a little dressier later on, I may go and get something else. Really, it takes two minutes to change out a set of grips. Where is the law written that one must have but one set of grips per gun? Should not a handgun be able to accessorize itself according to the occasion? OK. Now, I’m just justifying. I placed the order for the padauk grips. For better or for worse, that’s what I’m getting. I’m sure they’ll be gorgeous. Between Ahrends and The Evyl Robot Empyre and back is about a week. Kim said they are about 4-weeks for order turnaround right now. That means that in about six weeks, The Twins, Wrath and Gluttony will be wearing new furniture! Squeeeeeeee! *all kinds of girly sounds* We’re going to have a photo shoot, Yay!!!…. *looking around nervously, grunting and scratching crotch…*

Campus Carry

“In actual shootings, citizens do far better than law enforcement on hit potential,” said White. “They hit their targets and they don’t hit other people. I wish I could say the same for cops. We train more, they do better.”

My lovely wife pointed me at this one.

A high-quality handgun: $650 – $1000

Training courses: $300 – $1000

CCW Permit costs: $200

Practice ammunition: >$1000

A box of defensive ammunition: $50

The Sheriff acknowledging the unmatched, unrivaled value of armed citizens:

Priceless.

Oh noez!1!! We Haz 2 Git teh Oozies awf teh Streeetz!!!!!!1!!

Go read this article. It is worth the laugh. (Thank you, Breda!)

Allow me to share some of the gems:

Mayor Byron Brown said, “We will get anything from long guns rifles, AK-47’s, oozies, so we have gotten those assault weapons.”

Translation: ‘long gun rifles’ = Super Soaker, ‘AK-47’ = Nerf Dart Blaster, ‘oozies’: Home Depot brand caulk gun. In truth, most of the guns were simply children’s toys, but the authorities and media have nearly no experience with actual firearms, so we can’t really blame them for the confusion.

“I found the pistol in my backyard and I found the sawed off shotgun in my trailer in the middle of winter,” he said.
He doesn’t know what they were used for but doesn’t want them near his home.

Not going to take them to the police, like he should have, but definitely, definitely doesn’t want them near his home when he can get $100.00 for them!

“The reason I brought them in is because I have a 9 year old and a stepson that was shot with a handgun, quite a few years ago and he survived,” Holiday exclaimed.

So, he needs a bigger handgun to shoot his stepson with? What is he trying to tell us here?

So far there have been more homicides this year than in all of last year.

…with a rapidly shrinking number of legal guns in the area, but that couldn’t possibly be a valid correlation, could it?

Surveillance video shows a passenger holding what appears to be a gun but the suspect has not been caught.

‘Appears’, huh? So, who knows? Maybe he was holding a kitten…

I’m shocked by the lack of intelligence in this op ed. No, on second thought, I’ve seen the wonderful stuff that’s been coming from the major media recently. God help us all!

UPDATE!!! *cheesy telegraph sound*

Sometime in the last few hours, they corrected their misspelling from ‘oozies’ to ‘uzis’, which thinly veils their complete and utter ignorance concerning firearms. I still think they got confused concerning the identity of an old caulk gun, but that’s just my opinion.

What Happened to the Weekend?

I mean, I know I had a weekend. I even remember it!

On Friday evening, we picked up our boy and the three of us went to the gun range for some family shooty goodness. It wasn’t the best shooting I’ve ever done, but it certainly wasn’t the worst, and I believe it was valuable practice towards being the marksman that I want to be. The range cafe food was excellent as usual, the firing bays were hot as usual, and we did have fun. A couple of kids enlisted in the Air Force stopped us to compliment us on our shotgunning. I was flattered. My mom has her Winchester 69A right now, and I missed it. We went to sleep relatively early for a Friday night.

We slept in later than expected on Saturday. I fully expected that I would wake up at about 7:30, and get my outside chores done well before the heat of the day. As it happened in reality, I didn’t wind up rolling out of bed until 10:30. We were completely out of roasted coffee, although I had already received 10-lbs of fresh, green beans, so we had Dr. Pepper. I mowed the lawn, front and back, and started dividing out green beans to roast. As I do, I poured out 1/2-lb for The Evyl Robot Empyre to drink this week, and a 2:1 blend of Panama Hard Bean and Columbian decaf to roast up for work for the week. I haven’t played with the Panama before, and was very much looking forward to roasting it. In addition, I measured out 1-lb of ‘old trusty’: Zambia Terranova Estate AA, for Cat O’Nine Tails and her family, as they were so kind to put us up on our recent trip. I also measured out 1/2-lb of the Zambia for Jen’s cousin Kay, who was also nice enough to board us. She doesn’t drink a lot of real coffee. Living by herself, she prefers to brew from pods. She likes that nearly-burned, cajun-style coffee, so I made sure to give her 1/2-lb a nice, dark, french roast. The two and three quarters pounds of coffee all came out very nicely.

The weather was strange, even by Oklahoma standards. Atypical of an Oklahoma August, it was in the mid-nineties and the air was relatively dry. There was a cooler, blustering breeze, and the sun was impossibly intense, only interrupted by the intermittent dense cloud blowing past. By the time I finished mowing and roasting, it was almost 2:00 in the afternoon, and it was becoming all too clear that my 12-oz Dr. Pepper didn’t have the caffeine that my body has grown accustomed to. I ground and brewed some of my newly-roasted Panamanian coffee. The batch that I roasted for The Empyre came out nicely, barely lighter than a vienna roast. Seeing as how it was already two in the afternoon, I put a half-shot of bourbon in each of our triple espressos. That tasted divine!

After our coffee, we showered off the the yard sweat, played on the interwebtron for a little while, and listened to some Daft Punk. (Yes, our tastes in music go all over the spectrum.) We had to drive to the other end of suburbia to pick up our son from his grandparents’ house, and on the way home, run by Target to pick up some essentials. Upon arriving home, my brother and sister-in-law met us at the house so we could grill up some bratwursts and eat. They left relatively early, about 10:30, as I can recall.

Yesterday, we woke and got ready to go to church. It was not our turn to pass communion and offering plates, but this week’s team was running short-handed, so we volunteered. The boy was upset that he had misplaced his new, stainless steel and CZ ring that his grandparents had bought him in Branson. He was doubly upset that we would not turn the church building upside down to locate the trinket. We tried our best to be sympathetic and comforting, without stealing the value of the lesson of keeping track of one’s belongings. Parenting is a juggling act – a balancing, juggling act. Go too far one direction and you coddle, too far the other and you are cold. He is growing up into a thoughtful and admirable young man, so we must not be screwing up too badly.

Jenni had to stay at the church building for the ‘Choir Revival’ and the boy and I continued to my parents’ house for lunch. We had barbecue chicken sandwiches and my dad’s delicious home brew. He tapped a keg that he’s had lagering since November. It was a really nicely-balanced Summer brew. Jenni called me to tell me that the choir was done and to ask if I would come and pick her up (we still have only one vehicle at the moment). Unfortunately, the phone signal is weak at my parents’ place, and someone had decided to sound-check the piano next to my wife at the church just as she got on the phone. Between the weak signal on my end, and the cacophonous piano pounding on hers, we could barely communicate and the phone call quickly devolved into slow yelling.

The boy and I loaded up in the car and headed back to the church. He was again displeased at my refusal to turn the church building inside out to look for his illusive jewelry. I think he believes that Golem will find it before next Sunday, and carry it into the bowels of Middle-Earth. When we got home, I finished reading MHI (and I will HIGHLY recommend that to any readers out there), and made some sandwiches for dinner. We watched two episodes of Eureka Seven with the kid before he showered and went to bed.

This morning, I dropped Jenni off at work, and the boy at his grandparents’ for the last time this Summer, as he starts school tomorrow. I don’t know what happened to the weekend. It doesn’t feel like I had one!

I checked my blog stats this morning. I’m more consistently hitting over 100-page views a day. I really never saw that coming! Both of my readers, I’d like to tell you that you’ve been joined by possibly several hundred others. I still can’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to read my thoughts though…

With that, I’ll leave you with ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’ by Daft Punk.