Blessed is the Pizzamaker

Sometimes when God gives you exactly what you asked for, it can be very hard to realize it.

There is an old story I’ve heard and read more than once this year. A flood comes. A guy is trapped on his roof. He prays for God to help him. A kid goes by in a canoe, and offers the guy a ride, but he turns it down, saying God is going to rescue him. Two men in a bass boat go buy and offer to help. He turns them down, saying God is going to rescue him. A National Guard helicopter arrives, and a cable comes down with a harness, and the crew signals for him to put it on. He turns them down, shouting that God is going to rescue him.

He drowns. He asks God why he didn’t rescue him. God says, “I sent a canoe, a bass boat, and a helicopter.”

What’s the other side of the coin? You get the help you need, and then you tell God, “Never mind! It worked out without your help.”

Lately I’ve had concerns about a piece of doctrine that may be heresy. A well-known pastor who has a TV show has been telling people to “loose angels” to fix their problems. He says he ordered angels to bring him money for his ministry, and a man showed up with a five-figure check, almost immediately. On top of that, he doesn’t command one or two angels. He’ll issue orders to a hundred thousand, which seems extravagant, given that one angel killed the firstborn of Egypt in a single night, and one angel killed 185,000 Assyrians between sunset and sunrise. How many angels do you need to bring you a check?

I know of no Biblical example of a person commanding an angel. Even Jesus said he would ask his father to send angels, which is not the same thing. I think commanding angels is idolatry. You may think you’re commanding angels of God, but what if you’re commanding demons without knowing it? I will not take part in this practice without confirmation that it’s correct.

In spite of this concern, the new doctrine has reminded me that you can ask God to send his servants to help you. So I do that. These days, I ask him to send out his servants, both spirit and human, to deliver me and my family from trouble, to bring us blessings, and to teach us so we can avoid chastisement. I have no problem doing this. I’m not presuming to tell an angel what to do, nor am I asking for venal pleasures or things the flesh can put to bad use. I just want protection, guidance, and growth. It’s like asking your company to send consultants or new employees to help you get its business done. It’s to advance God’s goals, not mine.

Last night I made pizza at the church. This is a gargantuan job for one person. I have to arrive two hours before the first pie is served, driving through 18 miles of Miami traffic. I have to mix the yeast and water. I have to make dough over and over. Prepare 10 pans. Make sauce. Get pies ready to go in the oven. Bake them twice. Slice them and put them on the steam table. I have to clean up after myself and others. One person can’t do it well.

People have been offering to help, but they haven’t come through yet. Some are busy. Last night, however, a guy named Anthony showed up to work in the cafe, and on his own initiative, he started helping in the kitchen.

I taught this guy almost everything, and boy, did he make a difference. I never had to show him anything twice. He did everything well. He anticipated needs that would come up in the future, much better than I do. With his help, I had so much dough ready to bake, I was able to sit down for maybe forty-five minutes. At the end of the night, we had to bake two pizzas and give them away, because he was too efficient. He had prepared more than we needed. He also worked the fryolator; the pastor who usually runs it couldn’t be there, and nobody else knew anything about it. He kept me going, he kept the fries going, and then at the end of the night, he washed things up before I could get to them. I literally had a hard time finding things to clean up.

I couldn’t get much information out of him. He said it was his first night at Trinity! He hadn’t bothered with the service. He had gone straight to the kitchen. Nobody does that. He said he had been going to Pentecostal Something or Other, on 7th Avenue. I tried to promote the church to him, listing the things it offered.

I could barely get him to talk. Most of the time, he just said, “Okay,” and started getting things done.

There were times when I truly wondered if he were a human being. God sometimes clothes angels in flesh and sends them to do things. At the very least, he was an answer to my prayer for human help. Not just an answer, but an extremely appropriate and effective answer.

As for the leftover pies, one of the girls said that if I boxed them up, she’d see if she could find some homeless people to give them to. That’s not waste. These people would be receiving food from a church, worked and shaped by the hands of people baptized with the Holy Spirit. That has to be a good thing. You can’t tell me God doesn’t work through objects that have come into contact with anointed people.

In my opinion, the extra pies were a blessing.

Naturally, I’m all freaked out.

I don’t want to be like the guy on the roof. I’m not going to wait for a helicopter and still think God is ignoring me. I think Anthony was the kid with the canoe.

If Anthony is on the job, what about the other helpers I’ve asked for? They must be at work, too. God has told us his angel encamps around those who fear him, and that the angel delivers them (Psalm 34). God says he gives his angels charge over us (Psalm 91). God has never lied.

My testimony seems to get better and better, regardless of the challenges I face. I keep going out on a limb of faith, and God keeps holding me up. I leap into space over and over, and he catches me, even though my faith is not perfect. It’s incredible, but it’s true.

It’s important to note that my faith is not perfect. Neither is my behavior. You should always work to have faith and avoid sin, but God can be extremely powerful in your life even when you have doubts or chronic transgressions. Never let anyone tell you you have to be perfect to get God on your side. Think of the people Jesus healed. He didn’t heal the Apostles. He healed drunks and beggars and so on. It’s always better to be good, but your failures won’t destroy you as long as you stay on the path. I believe the trend, not your current location, is what matters.

Moving on to another subject, I had a very odd dream last night. I was trying to cook something, and I noticed lizards had befouled a measuring pitcher I was trying to use. In Miami, this can actually happen. I started cleaning it up at the sink. I reached into a cupboard for something, and I saw a lizard’s toe hanging down into view, and I grabbed some sort of ceramic vessel, like a cup with portions cut out of the sides, and it was full of lizards having group sex. This, too, can actually happen, although the group size is limited to two!

I walked this thing to the back door and shook the lizards out into the yard. At this point, somehow, they had become a single lizard. It landed on a tree by the door, which was covered with snowy white cockatoos. I knew the lizard was in trouble. A cockatoo started climbing down to get him, and he leapt into the yard, where a bluejay grabbed him and took off. Birds do that here. There are lots of bugs for the lizards, and lots of lizards for the birds.

Last night, before going to bed, I saw a gecko in the laundry room. These are very creepy lizards because of their appearance and movement. Though dry, they appear slimy, and they undulate like snakes. This wasn’t one of the usual house geckos we have here. This was a new kind. Bigger and creepier. Every year, something new shows up in town.

It took off down the wall to get away from me, and I told it that it was welcome to hang around and poop wherever it wanted, as long as it ate plenty of roaches. The lizards in the dream were Jamaican anoles, though.

I wonder if the dream has significance. I see the lizards in the cupboard as household demons, making trouble. They interfere with things that need to be done. I see the cockatoos as angels, guarding the “gates” of the house. I see the bluejay as a warring angel that carried off a demon and got it out of my life.

Was the house a house, or was it me?

I guess this has no relevance, but I insure my vehicles with GEICO.

Today I’m waiting for UPS to deliver the ridiculous Makarov BB pistol I ordered. I have to get my point-shooting up to speed. Sadly, UPS requires me to be here to receive it, to prevent punk kids from getting annoying toys via mail order. It ought to be tremendous fun. But I have to sit here all day or miss it. And knowing UPS, there is a good chance it won’t arrive before I have to leave for tonight’s volunteer meeting at church.

I think I’m going to recommend this to the other armorbearers. Can’t hurt.

No Heat

This is a black day.

I made pizza at church on Sunday. The main oven pooped out. I was supposed to make pizza tonight, at a service which usually draws over a thousand people. I called about the oven, and it has not been fixed.

Tonight hundreds of people who are hungry for pizza as well as righteousness will show up at my church, and they will not be filled.

I guess it’s a good thing. I can relax and stay home tonight. I’d like to go to the service, but I have another one tomorrow, and attendance is mandatory.

I still have not received my gun parts. It’s killing me. I have to see my Vz58 properly dressed, with a pretty green laser and a strobing 200-lumen flashlight that causes nausea and disorientation. Surely I don’t have to explain.

It turns out the cheap Vz58 rifles selling at Classicarms.us are made by Century Arms, not D-Technik. This is why they cost around half as much. Caveat emptor.

Dang. The church just called. The oven MAY be working, so I have to go see what I can do.

Bye.

Fasting to Resume

When are my gun parts supposed to get here? I know they’re coming from Israel, but it’s taking so long, you would think they’re carving them from bar stock with a Dremel tool.

I guess you can’t carve plastic parts from bar stock. But still.

There should be plenty of stuff to keep me busy until the parts arrive. Tomorrow I’ll be making pizza at church again, assuming the oven is working. I hope they get it fixed. It’s depressing, making ten portions of dough, baking six, and throwing the rest out while customers wonder why we won’t sell them pizza.

I’m also working on a handbook for the armorbearers at my church. The big hindrance here is that I’m a lowly, relatively new armorbearer, and I’m the one writing the book. The higher-ups know much more than I do. My strategy is to lay out the chapters, fill them with blather that seems right to me, and then go to my superiors and work with them to fix it. Editing is always easier than writing from scratch.

Okay, it’s usually easier. Sometimes the best thing to do with something a person wants you to edit is burn it.

The church is putting on a play pretty soon. A passion play. Today the head Servant Leader asked for armorbearer volunteers to help strike the set on the Sunday night after the last show. I had to refrain from signing on. The last time I tried to help strike a set, the stage was filled with volunteers who had no leaders and no directions, and somebody dropped a huge piece of plywood scenery on me and left me with an injury that hurt for weeks. I feel that my career as a stagehand has come to a close. But I did send a return text, mentioning the possibility of cooking.

I got out my book and started looking for likely dishes, but all I could come up with was baked ziti. My other real crowd-pleasers have wine or liquor in them, and I would feel a little funny slinging a bottle of Marsala around in a church kitchen.

Baked ziti is a fine thing. That is especially true when you use pizza-quality ingredients. But I’m not sure it’s far enough from pizza.

I could do chicken curry, but while the Jamaicans and Trinis would eat it, the Haitians would probably think I was trying to poison them. Not everyone in the Caribbean appreciates a good habanero.

All I know is, I don’t want any more sets falling on me.

I’ve decided to get more serious about fasting. Last year, I got permanent deliverance from gluttony after a fast, and my behavior improved in other respects. But fasting started cutting into my week very badly, and I scaled back. I think I’ll do a good long session. I truly believe ordinary people have demons assigned to oppress them, and that these things show up in bad habits that are hard to control. I know of three proven examples in my own life, plus an illness that left as a visible spirit fled my body, and I’m sure I’m not alone. And I’m not the only person who believes this. You don’t have to be running around naked in a cemetery, eating rats, to be under the influence of a demon.

Maybe the way I was fasting last year was wrong. Maybe fasting a lot every week is not as good as long fasts, farther apart. I’m supposed to do one partial-day fast each week as an armorbearer, but other than that, maybe it’s not a great idea to clutter every week with fasting.

I look forward to this, because I know how powerful fasting is. I hate every second of it, but look what it does for you. I make pizza semi-professionally twice a week, and I’m still losing weight. Slowly, sure, and with little fluctuations, but it’s happening. And yesterday while I made pizza, guess what I ate? Two crummy protein bars, half a tuna sandwich (forgot to eat the second half), and half a chocolate bar.

Fasting evicts trespassers. I think the story of Jesus’s forty-day fast is an example for everyone. Even Jesus was oppressed demonically. His demon was Satan himself, and after the fast, Satan gave up and left, just like lesser demons fled the people Jesus and the disciples freed. It was after the forty-day fast that the real power began to flow. I suspect that the same principle applies to all of us. God probably doesn’t want to drop major power on people who are subject to a lot of malevolent influence from hidden co-pilots.

How long would the average bariatric surgery patient be willing to fast, in order to get what I got? It’s an incredible blessing. In my own small way, I know how people who have been healed of cancer feel. It’s fantastic to get free of something you ordinarily would be unable to conquer. The general rule with fat people is that they stay fat and get fatter. And the worst part is, you do it to yourself, and you can’t stop.

I love being free. What if I can get free of the majority of my big behavioral and attitudinal problems by fasting? From what I’ve seen so far, it’s highly likely. It’s clearly worth a shot.

When I fasted last year, some beings that were accompanying me through life realized I was going to be doing this kind of thing for the rest of my days, and they said, “We have had ENOUGH of this guy. We QUIT.” I need to resume deportations.

God willing, my testimony is going to be even better later this year than it is now. I can’t wait.

“She Won’t Come Out From Under the Porch”

I cannot control myself. I decided I had to start working on my point-shooting, but I did not want to spend money. So I’m getting a Umarex Makarov CO2 pistol.The plan is to sit out back working on my moves. Once I get it down using cheap BBs, it’s time to try it at the range.

And I finally have a way to fix my neighbor’s barking dogs.

If this kind of thing interests you, you may find my conclusions useful. I wanted a semi-auto repeating pistol, because you learn faster when you don’t have to fiddle with the gun between shots. I got something that is more than accurate enough for this kind of practice, but it’s not great for long distances. People who have used this gun say it’s fun to shoot, it’s reasonably accurate, and it feels like a real pistol. Plus it’s very cheap. SOLD.

My Preoccupations

I trammed my mill the other day. I had to. I knocked it out of tram while using a fly cutter. Guess what? It turns out you have to lock the spindle when you do that. Otherwise the fly cutter can sink into the work, and suddenly instead of ten thousandths, you’re trying to trim off a quarter of an inch, and the mill doesn’t like it.

I can’t be expected to remember these tiny insignificant details.

I trammed the mill using my cheap CDCO coax indicator. Seems to work fine. I also used it to align the vise. I just milled the side of a piece of aluminum using a 1/2″ carbide cutter, and the result was gorgeous.

I was going to use a fly-cutter to test the tramming, but then I remembered how I got where I was. I believe I’ll save that for finishing the part.

The part I was making for my Saiga 12 has to be completed, and the mill was so out of tram, I could not get a good finish. Now that’s fixed.

I have been discouraged from using carbide, but now that I’m using the tables instead of guessing at feeds and speeds, I find carbide pretty exciting. I can mill 1018 steel (of which I have maybe a hundred pounds) at 1000 RPM. That sure beats HSS. Anything that gets you out of the garage in half the time is good. I don’t know for sure, because I’m too lazy to find out, but I’ll bet a regular carbide end mill will rough steel faster than an HSS roughing bit.

I had to quit working in the garage because my bread had risen. I must be honest. I do not have great hopes for this “loaf.” But satisfying my idle curiosity is a vital priority, so here I am, waiting for the oven to beep.

The part I’m making is a replacement for a Magnolia Armory ISA. This is a doodad that fits in the rear of a Saiga weapon and lets you attach a manly buttstock. The one I got from Magnolia doesn’t really fit. It’s probably intended for Saiga rifles. It’s aluminum. I could have made the new one from aluminum, but here I am with all this steel, and if I make it from steel, it will last for eternity. So I’m putting up with the slower speeds.

I can’t do the tapping, unfortunately. I don’t have fine-thread taps. At least I don’t think I do. I’ll check, but it sure looks like the screws I’m using have finer threads than the ones my taps make. Guess I’ll need to pick a couple of taps up.

I have no way of bluing the part, other than Super Blue. I should look into that. If I had used aluminum, I’d have no way at all. I’d have to order something from Brownell’s.

It’s pretty cool to have concerns like these. Three years ago, I had no Saiga, no mill, no drill press, no lathe, and few clues.

I hope I can pull this off on the first try, although I’m already wishing I had gone for a folding design instead.

More

The bread worked fine, but I think it was actually TOO kneaded. The texture was very tight. I think next time I’ll mix it in a bowl.

Knowledge Plus a Rifle is Real Power

Man, I wish my new rifle parts would arrive.

I ordered plastic furniture for my Vz58 folder because the cool faux-wood furniture was not accessory-friendly. Broke my heart, but I had to do it. Now I’m scanning the horizon for the UPS truck.

I was all worried about 922(r) compliance, but I double-checked, and I’m in the clear. Not that I would care, if I heard footsteps in the hall. You can always put the original parts back on while you wait for the cops to arrive. After that, you have the Fourth Amendment on your side. Like they would care.

I keep thinking I should have an AK47 and an AR15, but it’s hard to get excited about new defensive rifles when you have a Vz58. The magazines hold 30 rounds, the rifle is as reliable as an AK, it’s light, the ergonomics are great, it’s short, the ballistics are excellent, it’s not stamped out of surplus Soviet rain gutters, and it looks cool. What more do I get if I buy an AK? Nothing whatsoever. I suppose with an AR15, I’d have the potential for better accuracy, and accessorizing would be more fun, and the AR15 is more of a well-finished, upscale weapon. But getting one ready to use would probably cost me over a grand, and then I’d have one more caliber to shop for.

I didn’t realize until last week that 7.62mm is actually an inch-based caliber. I was sitting around when it occurred to me that 7.62 is an integral multiple of 2.54, which is the precise number of centimeters in an inch. That means 7.62mm is exactly (down to the angstrom unit) 0.30 inches. Can’t be a coincidence. I’m always the last to know everything.

I still think a Tommy gun would be a great defense weapon. It’s heavy as lead, but it won’t kill you to carry it household distances, and the weight seems to make the recoil less objectionable. There isn’t much recoil to begin with, since .45 ACP is a pistol caliber. Put a 30-round magazine on one (or a huge drum), pop a laser on it, and wait for the boogerman to come up the stairs to your bedroom. If you can’t hit him with this thing, you might as well murder yourself and rob your own house, because someone is eventually going to do it successfully.

Sondra is blegging for a Tommy gun. I can’t believe it. A while back, she asked for advice on her first rifle, and my lone voice recommended the Tommy gun, mainly because it would look great in photos with Sondra. I figured I would be dismissed out of hand, but now she says she wants one!

Yes, it’s expensive, but it’s only about a hundred bucks more than a good Vz58, and if you reload, the ammunition is $5 a box. Come on, work with me. We want Sondra to buy this thing.

The pistol version is really cute. The barrel is short, so it’s more like a real Tommy gun. The new Auto Ordnance Tommy guns have longer barrels than the originals, except for special, government-regulated short-barrel models. Buy the pistol version, and you avoid this cosmetic problem.

I don’t see how you could use the sights. The recoil is pistol recoil, so you don’t need to shoulder it to deal with that issue, but I think it would be hard to hold a Tommy gun up like a 1911, so you could sight down the barrel.

I don’t care. It’s still cool. Put a laser on it! If the battery goes dead during a firefight, throw the gun at the criminal and crush his skull! Use the magazine as a blackjack!

I have all the rationalizations answers.

Have you ever been to Israeli-Weapons.com? I shopped for some Vz58 stuff there. Later, I went back and looked at it again, and I realized this is a very serious site. They sell tanks, for crying out loud. Now I know where to go when I need a vehicle to patrol the Central Florida compound and scare the fertilizer out of Jehovah’s Witnesses and meter readers.

You have to love the Internet. You can order a tank. You can order a live anaconda. You name it; it’s five clicks away.

More “Coincidences”

Sometimes I think I should rename this blog “testimony.com.”

Last night I made pizza at the church. There were problems. The pastor who led the service didn’t mention the cafe or pizza to the congregation, so we didn’t get nearly the traffic we got last week. The pre-service traffic was excellent; I could barely keep up. I got rid of 8 pies in a hurry. But I believe we only sold two afterward. Then something went wrong with the ovens; maybe the propane was running out. I couldn’t keep the temperature up. I had to quit.

I threw out maybe eight dough portions. Sad. I arrived at the church at about 4:15, and I didn’t leave until 10:45, and I achieved nearly nothing.

We’ll do better next time. This is how churches are; efficiency is not what Christians are known for.

When I got home, I had to take the birds out for half an hour each. I had forgotten to do it before going to church. I got to bed at 1:30, and then my eye started bothering me. I don’t know if it’s conjunctivitis or what, but I looked carefully in the eye and used drops and washed it out with water, and I still was not able to get to sleep for quite some time.

I figured I’d sleep late, but my father had other plans. He had an appointment to meet someone at his boat at 10:00 a.m., and he wanted me there, so he woke me up.

The boat had three problems this week.

A freshwater pump needed to be reinstalled; it had quit working earlier in the week, and I had removed it yesterday. I checked the motor, and it ran fine. He took it to a store, and they looked at the pressure switch, and it worked. So today it had to be reinstalled, and I had to check the wiring.

A cable on a transmission had fallen apart, and it needed to be fixed or replaced. I looked at this yesterday, but I couldn’t see a way to repair it.

Last time we took the boat out, the GPS couldn’t get a signal. I poked around yesterday, trying to find an antenna problem, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. When I turned the GPS on, it worked.

Today we still had to worry about the pump and the cable. We also needed to install some 12-volt bulbs in the engine room.

I was grumpy for several reasons. First, I was born that way. Second, I had not slept well. Third, the boat guy was late. Fourth, my morning prayers had been derailed. My dad left to buy some mounting screws for the water pump; he had lost the ones I removed. That left me sitting on the boat alone.

I rewired the water pump and put it in place without screws, and then I decided to try to catch up in prayer. I ordinarily do half an hour of prayer in the Spirit every morning, so I started the stopwatch feature on my phone and got started. After 12 or 13 minutes, I heard the boat guy, Juan, out on the dock. He was on his cell phone, talking to someone for business purposes. I prayed he would keep at it long enough for me to get to 30 minutes.

At 29:55, he stepped onto the boat, and we started talking. He had been working at his own church until after 2:00 a.m. He had to redo a bunch of audio wiring under the altar, and naturally, it was so screwed up it took forever to fix.

He started working on the cable, and my dad showed up. He loves to give Juan a hard time about religion, so he brought it up. He said he was starting to think there was something to it, because every time he had a problem with the boat, I showed up, and the problem disappeared. That’s not quite true, but it’s not far from it.

That got Juan going. He started telling my dad how good his life was because of God. His marriage worked. His job went well. His kids were doing well. I’d say he gave my dad a good half-hour of testimony. He told about his involvement with the Promise Keepers. He’s also an avid hunter, and he helps with a Bible-based hunting camp for kids. He said he had been filmed for one of the outdoor channels, teaching kids to hunt. He said he’d bring the video next time so we could watch it on the boat.

My dad used to be extremely hostile to Christianity. It made him angry. It filled him with contempt. But his attitude has gotten more and more open. Today he almost sounded like he was ready for a visit to church.

I left the boat ahead of my dad and thanked Juan in the parking lot, and he said he talks to my dad like this all the time. I had no idea. It means much more when this kind of thing comes from someone outside of your family, so this is a big deal.

The dockmaster was standing next to Juan when I approached him, and I explained what I was thanking Juan for, and it turns out he’s a Christian, too. And a hunter. I used to let him hunt on my land in Kentucky.

What a morning. I didn’t feel like going over there and crawling around in the engine room on this particular day, but I told myself there would be a blessing for me if I did the right thing and honored my father, so off I went. And look what happened.

Now my dad wants to buy me lunch, so I guess I’ll be blessed with a Dan Marino’s cheeseburger. That’s gilding the lily.

Time Out, Mr. Burglar

Today I got some comments about point-shooting, which is the practice of shooting a gun without using the sights.

Gun nuts generally frown on point-shooting. They have solid reasons. If you’re in trouble, and you have an opportunity to use your sights and squeeze off carefully aimed rounds using the same skills you use at a gun range, you should do so. That’s my opinion, anyway. You can’t beat the sights when it comes to accuracy.

Here is the problem. You won’t get that opportunity. Criminals are crummy targets. Criminals shoot back, they move, and they don’t give you time to aim. They’re very inconsiderate when it comes to providing you with good lighting, too. If you need to use your gun, you may not even be able to see your sights, let alone use them.

So imagine yourself in a dark place (like your home) with an armed idiot coming at you from fifteen feet away. Seriously now, are you going to assume a modified Weaver stance, take a deep breath and let half of it out, line the top of the front sight up with the center of mass (taking care to let the target blur while the sight remains in focus) and carefully squeeze the trigger?

Please. This has never happened in the history of mankind.

First, you’ll probably forget where your gun is. Then you’ll forget where the safety is. By the time you have your gun ready to shoot and you’re trying to aim, you’re full of cheap FMJ .38 Special ammunition fired by the idiot, who has never been to a gun range and who is holding his gun sideways like they do on TV.

Now, what if you’ve been practicing your point-shooting, and you carry a gun like a Glock which is always ready to fire? A long gun is better, but let’s say it’s in the next room.

Draw. Point. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Reach for spare magazine, if necessary. Try to avoid getting criminal’s blood on your new shoes.

Call me crazy. It just sounds better to me.

When I was a kid, my cousin and I used to drive around in my car, shooting signs. I realize this was stupid. It was bad enough when we used his Crosman pellet pistol, but we also used a .22 rifle. While the car was moving. I actually shot signs while in the driver’s seat, while most of my body was hanging out the window and my cousin was steering.

We used to shoot mile-marker signs with the pellet pistol, with no hope of aiming. We held the gun with one hand. We almost always hit the signs. A mile-marker sign is smaller than a human torso, and a smoothbore pellet pistol is less accurate than a rifled firearm.

Granted, a pellet pistol has no recoil. Placing a second pistol shot would be harder with a real gun. But what about that first shot? No difference. And what if you’re shooting a low-recoil pistol, like that nutty Herstal thing that has all the hippies scared? Combined with point-shooting skills, that may be the ultimate personal defense handgun.

I remember standing by the side of the road with my cousin’s pellet gun, by a tall streetlight. I guess it was forty or fifty feet tall. I raised the pistol and fired at the light globe without aiming. PING. Nailed it. Expected to. I’m fairly sure I never used the sights on that thing, but it didn’t matter. I knew what I could hit and what I could not.

Maybe we shot it so well because we didn’t know we weren’t supposed to be able to do it. Being ignorant kids, we learned a lot of our marksmanship standards from cowboy movies. If Clint Eastwood could make a can dance up the road while shooting from the hip, why, we could, too! If we had known point-shooting didn’t work, we probably wouldn’t have been as good at it as we were.

I think the skills we learn at gun ranges are a lot like the languages we learn in high school. I won prizes in high school French, but I could not understand real French people very well. They broke the rules! They used slang, too! That wasn’t fair! Here in Miami, Cubans speak Spanish as if they have marbles in their mouths. No high school teacher will prepare you for that. And the things you learn about pistol shooting at gun ranges will not prepare you all that well for encounters with criminals.

I’ve read a lot of stories in the NRA’s “Armed Citizen” magazine feature. I’ve noticed two repeating themes. First, in many encounters, everyone misses. Second, in many encounters in which the victim prevails, the victim still gets shot. That’s no good. One shot can blind you or sterilize you or paralyze you. One shot can cost you an arm. You want to end the encounter before that happens.

You want to be able to shoot accurately and quickly, and you want to be able to hit the criminal with a large number of shots, because there is a huge difference between a mortal wound and a wound that prevents a criminal from harming you. You can shoot a burglar through the heart and still be killed by a blow from a rolling pin he took off your kitchen counter. You want to empty your magazine into him; shoot horizontally until you have to shoot downward because he’s on the ground. When you pull the trigger and hear a click, you know you’re done.

The last time I went to the range, I shot round after round into a hole the size of a golf ball. The leader of my church’s armorbearers was a few booths down, shooting into a much wider area. But he was shooting three shots quickly. Two in the chest and one in the head. I was shooting slowly. I started shooting his way (which is not allowed at the range I usually use), and my groups opened up by several inches. And that was at seven measly yards. It became obvious to me that practicing for ideal circumstances was stupid.

If I practice point-shooting, there will be no down side. I’ll still be able to use the sights when circumstances permit it, but I’ll also have a skill that allows me to get by without them. I see no reason not to do it. It’s all plus and no minus. The only problem I foresee is that if I do it with a pistol, I’ll have to carry the same gun all the time, because different pistols point differently.

As for point-shooting with a long gun, I think it’s probably a fine idea at household distances, when you’re using a weapon with limited recoil. The longer a weapon is, the easier point-shooting is, until recoil becomes a factor. Pick up a rifle and stand across the room from a chair and point the rifle at the chair, while holding it shouldered. Seriously now, are you worried about missing? I’d be much more worried about being shot while trying to find the front sight. And if recoil makes a second shot harder when point-shooting, it will be even worse when you’re trying to locate the sight after a loud blast and a bright flash.

If you point-shoot a long gun from the shoulder, you should have ample accuracy for hitting a human target at fifty feet. If you can’t hit a man that way, the sights probably won’t help you.

Here’s what I think should happen, should I be the victim of an armed home invader. I pick up a semi-automatic shotgun or a semi-automatic rifle which is ready to fire. I turn on the laser and strobing flashlight. I point the gun at the criminal and pull the trigger over and over until he falls. Then I retreat to a safe place and call the police. If I can manage to remember to do that short list of things under that type of stress, I’ll consider myself very lucky.

When Richard Marcinko ran SEAL Team Six, he made his men practice point-shooting, with tons of ammunition. If it’s a good idea for a Navy SEAL, it’s probably a good idea for anyone.

Freeze, Heathen

Second cup of coffee, second blog post.

Today I found out that some items I ordered from Israeli-weapons.com are on the way. I can’t wait. I wanted to keep my Vz58 stock, with the weird old plastic-and-wood furniture, but it turned out it was not practical, so I ordered some stuff to help me mount a laser and flashlight properly.

I have a polymer foregrip on the way, plus two pistol grips, front and rear. The front grip has an incorporated flashlight mount. I also ordered a laser mount. This combination should enable me to operate the light and laser without taking my hands off the pistol grips. Because my gun is a folder, I may be able to hold it at hip height while shooting, which would be a huge advantage indoors.

Shooting a folded rifle is generally considered to be a stupid idea. You can’t use the sights. But does that matter when you’re a civilian protecting your house? The distances you’ll be working with will never reach a hundred feet, so it seems like a laser should be more than adequate. And you can’t see ordinary rifle sights in the dark anyway.

I don’t think recoil would be an issue. The Vz58’s recoil is not all that bad. Not to me, anyway. I need to find a permissive gun range so I can find out.

One of the most notorious Internet videos features a police officer being shot over and over by a man holding an M1 carbine at hip level, without a laser. By the time he shouldered the rifle and used the sights, he had already won the gunfight. But he did use the sights in the end. Does that mean shooting a folded long gun is a bad idea? Can’t tell unless I get a chance to try it. It’s a bummer, living in a place where I can’t walk outside and start shooting.

I used to shoot from the hip all the time, and I had no problem hitting things, but I was using BB guns and video game guns. Not a great way to test the theory.

When this junk arrives, I’ll have to sit down and do a parts count and make sure I’m not violating federal law.

I decided not to get a pistol grip with a built-in bipod. This is a pretty neat invention, but in a self-defense situation, how likely are you to shoot from a prone position? The flashlight mount seemed like a better choice.

I haven’t been able to shoot my long guns folded, but I’ve been able to use my lasers, and guess what? They work. If the dot is on the bad guy when you pull the trigger, he’s going to get shot. People criticize lasers, but I’ve seen all sorts of shootout videos on the web, and I’ve noticed that virtually every shooter misses over and over, and that they often don’t use their sights. I don’t see how a laser can be anything but helpful. The sights will still be there, if you get a chance to use them. When an armed idiot is in your house threatening your safety, the shooting will probably last less than ten seconds. I think you want a system that will give you the best possible chance of hitting something other than the ceiling during that time. To me, that means a laser.

I really like 7.62 x 39mm for self-defense. The meanest pistol on earth has puny stopping power in comparison, and pistols are harder to aim, and my rifle holds 30 rounds. What’s not to love? I like the 12-gauge better, but it has more recoil, and the magazines are smaller.

Last night I was the guy who accompanied my church’s ushers when they counted up the offering. I realized what a big responsibility this is, and what the risks are. You’re in a locked room with a steel door that’s hard to force open but easy to shoot through, and you don’t know what’s happening outside. They need a camera in there, to film people who approach the door.

We’re working on security training. Might as well know what we’re doing.

I think somebody in the church should always have access to a long gun. Pistols are fun, but they seem pretty pathetic in real-life shootouts. It seems like a pistol’s usefulness decreases as the suddenness of the encounter increases. If you can lie in wait with your pistol drawn, great, but if you have to yank it out in a hurry, the likelihood of missing seems to go up fast.

Famed church defender Jeanne Assam worked a near-miracle when she shot an armed intruder repeatedly from a distance of over sixty feet. At that range (or a fifth of it), most people armed with pistols would miss. Even more amazing: the guy she disabled was using a Bushmaster. If some crazed doofus shows up at your church with a rifle or shotgun, you don’t want to be fifty feet or fifty yards away, holding a Glock with a 3″ barrel. It’s great that Jeanne Assam succeeded, but it’s almost always better to be the guy with the rifle.

It sounds silly to talk about weapons and church, but before Jeanne Assam put him down, Matthew Murray killed two people and shot three more. Defensive weapons are only silly until you need them. And if you never need them, what have you lost by buying them? A few hundred bucks. You can’t even treat a minor gunshot wound for that kind of money. And they don’t hurt anyone while they’re sitting in storage. As we all know, guns don’t actually kill people.

The main reason for carrying isn’t to be a cop wannabe who waves a pistol and orders people around; it’s self-defense, just like it would be in your living room. But in any big church, some members will have the training to use guns to defend others, and they ought to have the tools they need.

I look forward to putting this stuff on my rifle and taking a trip to the range.

Last night, the leader of my church’s armorbearers called on me to say the prayer at the end of the evening. I was totally flustered, but I managed to put in a reference I thought was helpful.

Over the last few months, I’ve often asked for guidance as to which scriptures to read, and over and over, I hear “Nehemiah.” A few days ago, I picked up my Bible at the start of the day, and it fell open to the first page of Nehemiah.

What did Nehemiah do? He rebuilt Jerusalem. He rebuilt the temple and the city walls. His enemies tried to kill him, and they also wanted to kill the people who helped him. So Nehemiah and his helpers developed a habit of working with one hand and holding a sword in the other. Last night, I prayed that the armorbearers would be like Nehemiah and his friends, building God’s house while remaining ready to defend his people and keep them safe.

On the way home, a thought occurred to me. “The sword of the Spirit, like any sword, only works when carried on the person.” I think we should be armed physically, as Nehemiah and his friends were, but they were probably also intended to be spiritual examples. If you don’t learn scripture, how can you think you have the sword of the Spirit? As I see it, the sword of the Spirit only exists in two forms: the written word of God, and the things the Holy Spirit says through us today, through the spiritual gifts. If you don’t know the written word of God, you’re missing a big part of your armament.

Nehemiah carried his sword with him, like an extension of himself. We should carry God’s word in our minds, so it’s always ready to use. It’s the best concealed weapon you can have, and it doesn’t require a permit. Yet.

My advice: load your magazines. Memorize scripture during lulls in battle, so you’ll have it ready when your enemy comes calling.

Gun Show!

First up today, two prayer requests.

I guess everyone knows Chile was hit by an 8.8-magnitude earthquake. This defies comprehension. The Port au Prince earthquake measured 7.0, so the Chile earthquake was ten to the power of 1.8 as intense. According to an online exponent calculator, that means it was 63 times as strong.

What earthquake intensity means, when measured numerically, is not clear to me. But this was an extraordinarily powerful quake.

When you get done praying for relief in Chile and the safety of all the people who are now threatened by tsunamis, consider adding a word for my friend Linda. She works for the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. Tomorrow she is having a cataract removed.

Today I went to a gun show with my prayer group. I enjoyed it a lot. I tried to give good advice to a couple of guys who were considering buying pistols. I steered them toward Glocks and Springfield XDs. One friend of mine was looking at cheaper guns. I think that’s a mistake. You save money up front, but then you don’t know what you have when it’s time to face a burglar. Will it fire? Will it jam? Bad time to have to worry about things like that.

I saw some okay gun prices, but ammunition was ridiculous. Twenty bucks for 9mm. Forty bucks for primers. The Obama ammunition bubble is behind us, or at least the peak is. I can buy 9mm for between ten and eleven bucks a box, and primers are back down to $30.

I saw a Saiga-12 for $489. That was a good deal. But it occurs to me that Saigas are only worthwhile for gun nuts, because you have to take off all the estrogen-oozing Hillary hardware and convert them back to real AK47s.

At breakfast, before the show, our group leader talked about the concept of fences. This is what our pastor is covering in his new series of sermons. The idea is that we have barriers in our lives, to keep us from getting into things we shouldn’t be messing with, and to keep evil out. Some barriers are intangible–rules–and others are physical.

We begin our lives in cribs, with bars around us. Then our parents expand the space we’re allowed to move around in, as we become better able to control ourselves. As we grow, the rules also change, and our freedom increases.

I find this concept interesting, because it ties into the concept of strongholds. We talk a lot about Satan’s strongholds, such as addiction and abuse, but we don’t talk much about God’s strongholds, such as the family, the home, the physical body, and the church. We are supposed to be like walled cities, and we should monitor our “gates,” which include our eyes, ears, and senses. We should control the people and things that go in and out of our homes. We should try to keep our churches pure.

A lot of people think an adult can’t be harmed by exposure to bad ideas and immorality, but that’s not true. You’re never too old to be subject to negative influences.

On the way back from the show, I stopped by church and grabbed some pizza cheese. I want to do an experiment. The other day I made a thin pizza in the church’s conventional gas oven, and it was very, very good. But judging from the time it took to bake, the temperature wasn’t as high as the temperature in my own oven. So I want to bake a pie at 500° here at home, to see what the result is like.

Pizza “experts” always yammer that you have to have a ten-thousand-degree oven to get a good pizza, but they’re wrong about all sorts of things, so I want to give this a shot and see what happens. The oven at my church was set on “Broil,” which should have been over 600°, but the pizza took eight minutes to bake, so clearly, it was not that hot.

I’m making the pie with non-kneaded dough. It’s a pain to make, because it’s hard to get the water-to-flour ratio right, but I think it should give a better texture than kneaded dough. I need to start weighing the ingredients so I can come up with exact amounts. That will make the corrections and additions unnecessary. When that happens, non-kneaded dough should be faster than kneaded dough.

I’m also considering giving up activating my yeast. I recently learned that there is a difference between active dry yeast and instant dry yeast. Supposedly, anyway. The directions on my instant yeast say you can mix it directly into the flour. I’m a bit wary of that advice, but it can’t hurt to try it a few times to see how well it works.

Eventually I’ll reach the point where I throw three ingredients into a bowl, stir it for ten seconds, microwave it for fifteen seconds, and eat it.

Maybe not. But the process does get shorter and simpler with time.

Saturday Outing

Tomorrow I’m going to a gun show with my PRAYER GROUP. Don’t even try to tell me my church isn’t great. Can you imagine running that by your average Catholic priest or some lesbian who pastors a Lutheran church?

Now that I think about it, I’ll probably run into a fair number of lesbians tomorrow.

What happened to the good old days, when priests boxed and were full of shrapnel from Iwo Jima?

My Busy Agenda

It’s another exciting day. I just got a new lead on Costco mozzarella.

I use Costco’s Kirkland shredded mozzarella in my pizza. It tastes fantastic. But I can’t get it delivered to my church.

Today somebody on a forum told me a company called Foremost supplies the cheese Costco uses in its retail pizza. It’s not unlikely that this company also makes the cheese Costco sells in bags. I’m going to give Foremost a call.

I’m also going to run by Costco today or tomorrow and buy a slice of pizza. If the cheese they bake is the same as the cheese they sell, I should be able to tell.

UPDATE: I called Foremost, and while I can’t get them to tell me much, they did say they sell cheese to Sysco. This is pretty funny, because I already told the church’s Sysco rep their cheese did not interest me. I said I’d be happy to try a sample, but he hasn’t come across with one. I better fix that.

I am told that the big advantages of Grande cheese are that it bakes well and reheats well. The reheating thing is something I never considered. I make small pizzas at home, so reheating is rarely an issue. I don’t know what it means when a cheese reheats well. Does that mean it stays rubbery and crunchy, or does it mean it softens up? My cheese blend is softer after reheating than when originally baked. Maybe that’s good.

I’m also told I’m supposed to add other cheeses to Grande to compensate for the mild flavor. But that jacks up the cost. Grande runs about $2.75 a pound right now. Grated cheese costs maybe three times that much. Not a bargain.

Right now, using Costco and GFS, I can average about $2.50 per pound, and the taste and texture are perfect. Nothing to add.

Tomorrow I’m going to a gun show with my prayer group. That will be fun. My gun show motto is, “Look, but don’t buy.” I haven’t seen many good deals at shows. But I’ve seen fun products and hilarious T-shirts.

I have amazing news for Second Amendment believers. I guess I’m late to the party, but I just learned that Classic Arms is selling beautiful Czech Vz58 rifles for under $500. I paid way more than that, and I felt like I got an okay deal.

These things are similar to AK47s, but they’re lighter, and they ship with 30-round magazines. Unlike AK47s, which are miraculous bargain rifles mashed out of sheetmetal, these are real guns. The receivers are milled. Czechs make good stuff.

When I got mine, there weren’t all that many accessories available. Now you can buy sweet aluminum foregrips with rails. It ruins the funky “Guns of Navarrone” look of the original Czech fake wood furniture, but you can put a flashlight and laser on the gun, without screwing anything to the barrel. I tried a barrel-mounted rail thing, and the screws came loose at the range, even with Loc-Tite. I guess the shock of firing was too much.

Bonus: you can get a foregrip made in Israel. Strike a blow against anti-Semitism.

Maybe I should just screw a rail to the fake wood. It’s not like I’d be defacing a Rembrandt. I could keep the look and still have a laser. Or I could give Loc-Tite another chance.

This is the kind of gun you would expect to see Steve McQueen carry in a war movie. That alone makes it worth carrying, even if you get killed by someone with a more modern gun like an AR15. Although the AR15 is probably not as useful at close range. This baby folds, and it has that big magazine. When you fold the stock, it doesn’t interfere with firing.

Gun nuts will yell at me now. “MY AR15S NAME IS LURLENE AND SHE WIL WASTE YU AND YUR PUNEY COMIE HAND ME DOWN.”

Another interesting gun: Classic Arms has a Polish AK with a US milled receiver.

As you can see, I have many important things to think about today.

My House Needs Fiber

I had a moment of clarity last night, unfortunately. It can be very relaxing to be wrong and not know it, so it’s always upsetting when I get an epiphany.

I had the TV on because one of the birds was out of the cage, and I happened to see a show called “Hoarders.” It’s about people who fill their houses with junk, until the rats take over and the kids have to sleep on piles of boxes.

The show bugged me. I’m not a true hoarder, but I’m related to one, and I have lots of hobbies, and I’m absent-minded. Put it all together, and you end up with a person with lots of junk, who puts stuff down in the wrong places and forgets it’s there for weeks or months. Hoarding Lite.

I got up and started relocating things. I had a pile of books and gun parts by my bed. I made room in a closet and stored it. I took tool-related items off the dining room table and put them in the garage. I threw out a number of stupid and worthless items.

Of course, I will need all of those items very badly today. That’s how decluttering works. As soon as the garbage truck drives away, you need whatever is in it.

I hate clutter. It’s like living in a little dirty crevice. It probably raises your blood pressure. But I have a clutter-prone personality. It’s like Felix and Oscar are in my head, duking it out like Rock’em Sock’em Robots.

I have a feeling that the Holy Spirit reduces clutter. Hear me out. When you’re not living for God, you do stupid things with your time and money. You will wander down fruitless paths, involving yourself in futile pursuits. That’s because only God can guide you in the direction you’re supposed to take. Result? You end up with stuff you weren’t supposed to have. Not just stuff, but time obligations. For example, you may give up church because your talented kid has sports practice every day, or simply because you want to squander time watching football on TV. You might end up devoting three hours a night to drinking beer. You may find yourself at a strip bar three times a week, blowing your money.

When God takes over, your priorities and desires change with time. Suddenly, you don’t need an entire closet for your porn collection. Or, like me, you may want to get rid of your delicious Cuban cigars. You find yourself selling things and giving things away. Life becomes more streamlined. You start discarding the things Paul referred to as “dung” so you can make room for the pearl of great price.

I still have a rolling toolbox full of gun stuff by the dining table, and a lot of my canning supplies are sitting on it. I have to move that to the garage. I have to throw out or give away some of the garage objects I will never need. I think it’s safe to throw out my old PC cabinet, and I need to Craigslist my brewing kegs.

I really need to get rid of the Super Genie Lift I inherited from one of my dad’s tenants. A guy at my church said they’ll take it, but it may be ten years before they get around to coming for it.

One of the reasons I don’t like Miami is that there is no space here. I’d like to have a home with an outbuilding for my hobbies. Here, that would run maybe three million dollars. A hundred miles north, maybe two hundred and fifty thousand. Cities are for limited people. If your only hobbies are TV and clubbing, Miami is perfect for you. Add three hobbies, and you’re out of luck. You need to move and get more room.

Last night I thought about my grandfather’s house in Kentucky. It had five bedrooms, including a little spare bedroom that held some of his guns and my grandmother’s sewing stuff. It had a big kitchen, a full dining room, a full living room, a big den, a second den in the basement, a second kitchen in the basement, tons of extra basement square footage, a big foyer, and three baths. It also had a tool shed and a barn, plus a carport and a concrete patio.

Mind you, this was not a mansion. It was just a nice red brick home. It brought $120,000 when the heirs sold it.

THAT is living. Bring your tools. Bring your cooking equipment. Buy three smokers. Get four gun safes. Get a bass boat and an RV and five motorcycles. No problem!

My idea of an ideal home is a three-bedroom CBS house with a big commercial-style kitchen, terrazzo floors, and no curtains, with nothing on the walls except maybe NRA calendars. Put a 1500-square-foot building out back with lots of room for musical instruments, tools, and storage. Give me two acres or more to grow food. I’m done. Let me live there until I die. You would have to hold me at gunpoint to get me to leave that house to go to paradise.

Forget antiques. Forget rugs; they hold dirt and stains and smells. Forget hardwood. It rots, termites eat it, and it makes noise. Put a drain in the kitchen floor so I can spill things. Tile the kitchen walls all the way to the ceiling. Get me white dishes and cups from a restaurant supply house, and put in a deck oven for pizza. Kill every plant that isn’t grass or something that produces food. Give me an entire room for Maynard and Marvin. That’s luxury!

The “stronghold” concept is well known among Christians. Satan has spiritual strongholds we have to conquer. The Canaanite cities Joshua destroyed are symbolic of these strongholds. Addictions and bad habits are strongholds. Bad attitudes are strongholds. A physical illness or poverty may be a stronghold. We’re supposed to break these things down by spiritual warfare.

It has occurred to me that God has strongholds, too. Every human believer is described as a house or a temple or an embassy. We belong to the nation of heaven, even though we live on earth. Within us–within our “walls”–God’s ways prevail. And we have to strive to keep Satan out, and we pray in the Spirit to build ourselves up, so there is something stronger than Satan within us, to repel attackers.

Similarly, a Christian’s home can be a stronghold. It can be an embassy of God. That’s what I want. I know life isn’t supposed to be a breeze, but we’re supposed to live in victory, and it seems to me that within our homes, Satan should be relatively powerless. A stronghold home should be a place where a Christian can retreat and recharge. We have to fight the enemy everywhere else. At home, we should have more peace.

A home should be like a military garrison. You defend it and keep it free from invaders, and from time to time, you make excursions into enemy territory and do damage. Then you retreat back to the garrison and prepare for your next assault.

This is what I want. I don’t want fancy furniture or snooty neighbors or a location shallow people would crave. I want a fortress where I can find a little relief.

Before the clutter show, I say a show called American Pickers, about two guys who go around talking old people into selling them valuable antiques below the market price. They went to visit a man who had twelve buildings full of junk. They had a hard time persuading him to sell them anything. He had to be 75 years old, and this stuff was falling apart, but time after time, they would show him a rusty object and ask the price, and he would tell them it wasn’t for sale. It seemed to me that this guy was in the same boat as the hoarders. He’s going to die, and all that neglected, decaying stuff will be loaded up in dumptrucks and destroyed so the new owners will be able to use the buildings. Crazy.

I also caught a few minutes of a show called Intervention. You can probably guess what that’s about. I plan to record it from now own. It’s helpful to see how tough professional addiction counselors are. It reminded me of an important truth: if you don’t fix a loved one who has an addiction–if you withdraw and wait for them to change, and it doesn’t happen–it doesn’t mean you didn’t try to help. It means the addict didn’t try. Every bad thing that happens to an addict as the result of not trying is the addict’s fault. If someone asks you why you’re not helping, say, “Shouldn’t you be asking why the addict isn’t trying?” Don’t fall for blame-shifting. If you accept even the smallest particle of blame, you might as well be handing the addict a bottle of pills.

It’s funny how I happened to tune in to three very instructive shows, on a night when I was just trying to find entertainment while I communed with my pets. Dang these “coincidences.” They are swarming on me.

Perhaps my Brain Can be Useful on Occasion

I don’t know what’s going on with ammunition prices. I’ve found factory 9mm for under ten bucks per box, but I still get “sale” ads by email, advertising it for sixteen dollars. I think I would have to be high to buy that.

A while back, I got five boxes for something like $10.50 each. Acceptable.

Small pistol primers are getting more common. Back when Obama still had new-car smell on him, they were selling for double the usual price, if you could find them at all.

I’m even finding Swiss GP11 ammunition for the old price now, and they no longer make it. When the current supply vanishes, people will have to buy something else. So it’s very nice to see it coming back down.

I’m still getting comments about the Romney Rage incident. I’m sorry, I cannot support a guy who appoints himself Meter Maid and grabs other passengers to make them straighten their seat backs. This is the very opposite of the conservative philosophy. You don’t butt into someone else’s business and insist they give you something that belongs to them, and you don’t break the law in order to do it. An Air Marshall wouldn’t have done what Romney did. Law-abiding law enforcement officers don’t touch people until it’s necessary.

There are countless examples of leftist intrusions that are fundamentally similar to what Romney did. Union bosses won the right to enter private property uninvited, to organize. Social workers can abduct your kids and put them in foster homes without due process, if they don’t like your policy on spanking. Where I live, you can be fined or jailed for cutting or trimming a worthless mangrove tree–which you own–that obstructs the dock at your five-million-dollar mansion. Meddling is fundamentally a leftist concept, and so is demanding handouts.

When you buy an airline ticket, you rent the space around your seat, and that includes the space it takes to recline. It does not include the space the seat in front of you occupies when it reclines. You have no more right to that space than you do to another guest’s bathroom, when you rent a room at a hotel. If you want a favor, you ask nicely. You don’t give orders, and you keep your hands to yourself. If there’s a dispute, you call the nice flight attendant and work it out. You don’t play airline vigilante.

You have to wonder what kind of person Romney is, to think he had the right to treat another person this way. And it doesn’t help that Romney is a rich white conservative and the offended party is a black Democrat rapper. This is not the kind of PR we need, when we are trying to attract minorities to our side. The story that came out of this is “Spoiled White Conservative Batters Black Passenger on Plane; Authorities Blame Black Passenger.” It’s a highly credible story. This kind of thing does happen. It’s more credible than the story Romney’s hired mouthpiece put out.

Even Epic Beard Man behaved better than Romney, and he was off his medication at the time.

Good fences make good neighbors. That’s how I feel. It’s not about selfishness. It’s about preventing confusion and disputes. It’s about maintaining peace and civility. Most people who don’t understand that are not prominent conservatives.

Mike called today. The pizzeria idea is driving him insane. I should probably quit pouring fuel on the fire. But he’s not going to move down here, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe if he dreams about it until he can get out of DC, he’ll put in time preparing to open a proper business. Maybe it will be good for him.

I’m learning stuff about pizzanomics. For one thing, it’s a mistake to worry about excess inventory. I want to make dough for 20 pizzas tomorrow. Maybe we’ll only sell 15. So what? The dough for five pizzas costs a dollar or two. THROW IT OUT. Who cares? The profit on one pie is about nine bucks. You’re betting two dollars you can make forty-five. That’s a good bet.

I’m also falling in love with toppings. Topping five pies with a seventy-five cent onion is a good idea. You charge seven-fifty for the topping, at one-fifty per pie. That’s a net profit of $6.75. You don’t do as well with meat, but you still profit to some degree.

We need a soda dispenser. I have no idea what a fountain soda costs, but it has to be less than a can, and it’s faster. Right now, people have to step out of line, go to a small fridge, and take sodas out. Then they get back in line. When business is good, the sodas are warm. That needs to change. Who will buy food, if they have to chase it with warm soda? At the very least, the drinks should go in the walk-in.

Christians are wonderful people. But we are not known for our efficiency.

I plan to make a cheesecake. I’m going to the store to see what berries are available. I may try frozen pie cherries, if they have them. If I dump a cheesecake at the church’s cafe tomorrow, we can find out whether people will buy it. And they will. Then they’ll start asking for it. Then we’ll have to have it every week. Then we own them.

For God, I mean. Yes.

Better get to the store while the sun is shining.

Disturbing but Encouraging

This is the greatest campaign ad I’ve ever seen. I stole it from Sondra. Not only does it support my values; it appears to prove that Harry Reid is experiencing some gender confusion.

Those ladies can SHOOT, too.