JACKSONVILLE, Fla. — An 81-year-old Jacksonville man who was cooking dinner when a robber burst into his home defended himself with a frying pan full of potatoes…Smith confronted the man with a pan full of potatoes, his supper for the night.

“I came around just like that, like baseball players do,” Smith said. “(I) hit him upside the face, and the potatoes went all over.”

Smith is disabled from a stroke and has a 65-year-old caregiver, but he said he is still strong enough to fight back. In fact, after he hit the robber with the pan, he wasn’t done yet.

“He sank to his knees. I hit him, No. 2 frying skillet, and it was red hot,” Smith said. “I reached back six feet, and I got this pitchfork, then I went to work on him.”

You know that thing on your noggin must hurt some. Well done Sir, well done!

The Pain…The Pain!

Over at the  Coalition to Stop Gun Rights Violence’s Facebook page.

It is official, they are scared shitless of becoming irrelevant.Even the sacrosanct bastion of printed Liberalism known as the New York Times has this to say about Gun Fight.

There isn’t anything new in the film to upset the gun lobby, but there’s plenty to depress anyone who thinks that the country would be better off with fewer than its tally of some 250 million guns.

We keep saying. We are winning.

I tried to renew my membership on line but since I seem to live in a dark uncharted hole of Miami Dade County, the software could not find my address. I called 1-877-NRA-2000 and found out there is a 2 year renewal for $50. Plus the young lady taking care of me could not have been any nicer and funny.

When was the last time you checked your NRA card? I bet you ain’t active!

See? Made you look.

Six has and excellent post about a squib and two minds about it.
Familiarity breeds contempt and KaBooms. We all get like that and we shouldn’t.

Apparently this quiet fella got tired of being maligned by the Antis and has taken to the Interwebs to express its views. A bunch of his cousins reside in my closet and let me know about him. Assault Clip appears to be 30, of steely determination and Slav background.

Good luck to you!

Back in the Dark Ages (The 1980’s) recording engineers would religiously await for the latest issue of our favorite industry rag: Mix Magazine. A well designed, magnificently printed and very helpful audio publication dedicated to the hardest working and least appreciated sector of the recording industry. Amongst its many writers, there was one weird fella named Roger Nichols who never failed to make us laugh with his wit and drool at the chances he had of testing and abusing the greatest and latest in audio gear.

Recording Engineers are (were?) a very weird bunch. They are animals with no apparent biological clock which allows them to work any combination and quantity of unholy hours as set by the artist. Their stomachs are the envy of any alligator or great white shark since they are able to digest any load of fast, homemade and exotic foods or go hungry at will. Their ears must be so finely tuned as to detect and locate the smallest foreign noise such as a feather flying inside a hit hat during a drum solo and then edited it out of the track. Any engineer worth his salt is father confessor, couples’ counselor, luthier, concentration camp commandant, juggler, referee, accountant, quartermaster supply officer and able to know where to find avocado flavored tofu with Cheetos at two in the morning. And, let’s not forget, damn good recording what some artists call music.

They are scary loyal to brand and gear. Forget what you nowadays read in the gun forums. Glock Zombies and Magpul Fanbois mere Gerber babies compared with the fury that engineeres would unleash if you dare to criticize their gear. Otari vs Studer? War of the Hundred Years. SSL vs Neve? Japanese-Russian war.  Michrophones? Don’t go there! If Mahatma Ghandi was a recording engineer who favored the Senheisser 441 for overheads, you dissed him and favored a pair of Shure 57s, he would remove his loincloth and strangle you with it.

And as weird and stubborn as we were (are,) if Roger Nichols spoke, we’d listen. We knew he would torture the crap out of any piece of equipment, extracting every and any ounce of magic out of it. He’d give you tips, share resources and kept you a bit sane once a month. We would listen to his records trying to decipher how in the hell did he achieve a particular sound and we would make a bee line for the record store whenever he recommended the recording of a particular artist. In the Church of the Vibrant Ears, Roger was our Pope.

And Great Engineer in the Sky Said it was time to finish the Roger Nichols project.

Fade out………..

Press Stop.