Libercontrarian

Crushed between the wheels of capitalism and big government.

I think I just got something in my eye

Read this story from The Emporia Gazette:

Ethan Moyer is far too young to worry about the rigors of military training or the dangers of combat. But the 9-year-old Emporian wanted to become a member of the U.S. Army, and his mom, Debbie Coleman, is very grateful that the Army and the Make-A-Wish Foundation came together to make it happen.

Young Ethan Moyer is a patriot, albeit a sick one, and if his illness relents, he wants to be a soldier when he turns 18. You see, this child loves the Army - and wants to be a part of that great organization.

I guess loving your country just can't be drummed out of some people by the public education system. Please read this story; you might discover something in your eye, too.

posted by: underwhelmed at March 29, 2008 15:05 | link | comments |

Update: Spartacus to the Gladiators

I did some more research - the piece I posted last Saturday was written as a monologue for boys to memorize and perform by Rev. Ellijah Kellogg, a Maine native who lived between 1792 and 1835. He was the son of a minister as well, and that man fought in the Revolutionary War, which doubtlessly influenced the son to write of this.

The piece was abbreviated, I think, by my father, so it would fit on the board and still be legible.

Here it is in full:

Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua

Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on.

And yet I was not always thus,--a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars.

That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse,--the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To-day I killed a man in the arena; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died;--the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph!

I told the prætor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at the sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans."

And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay! thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe;--to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled!

Ye stand her now like giants, as ye are! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours,--and a dainty meal for him ye will be!

If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If ye are men, follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylæ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle!

I am getting some perspective on the piece now at 43 - I have been looking at it all the days of my life, and now I can discern where my father got the piece, and what his thinking was when he edited it for brevity. Thanks to the Internet, I have learned something about my father I didn't know!

posted by: underwhelmed at March 23, 2008 07:01 | link | comments (1) |

Spartacus To The Gladiators

I was fathered by a fine man, a Warrior-Teacher. He served our nation through its' longest and coldest war, and when he tragically passed 17 years ago just the other day, still relatively young, he bequeathed to me a curious relic.

See, he had an artistic soul, and was compelled as a young man in the 60's and 70's to produce some fine works in a variety of media - pen, pencil, oils, carpentry.

I have several of the paintings, and they are as striking today as they were when I was a child. My most prized possession, however, is a worn piece of calligraphy which hangs, fading and warped from years of mistreatment, on my gun room wall.

It is a message from Spartacus to the Gladiators.

I have looked for this piece on the internet and have never been able to find it. I would like very much to see the book he took this passage from so I can see the context in which it is written. It is presumably a recollection of the words said by Spartacus to his Gladiators as he urged them to join him in revolt, and what they must certainly have known was suicide - for they would directly challenge the authority of the state of Rome. Few who did that before Spartacus or after lived very long. As it stands, it is the very quintessence of The Warrior Spirit:

Ye call me Chief, and ye would do well to call him Chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast that the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and has never yet lowered his arm... Yet I was not always thus, a hired butcher, a savage chief of more savage men. My early life ran quiet as the brook by which I sported. I was taught to prune the vine, to tend the flock, and at noon I gathered my sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute. I had a friend, a neighbor's son; we led our flocks to the same pasture, and shared our rustic meal...

Today I killed a man in the arena, and when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold, he was my boyhood friend. He knew me - smiled faintly - gasped - and died.... I told the Praetor he was my friend, noble and brave, and I begged for his body, that I might burn it upon the funeral pile, and mourn over his ashes. Aye, on my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that favor, while all the Roman maids and matrons, and those holy virgins they call "vestal," and the rabble shouted mockery, but the Praetor drew back as if I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot! There are no noble men but Romans!

O Rome! Rome! Thou hast been a tender nurse to me! Aye, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher sound than a flute note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through rugged brass and plaited mail, and warm it in the marrow of his foe! To gaze into the eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a smooth-cheeked boy upon a laughing girl. And he shall pay the back, Rome, 'til they yellow Tiber River is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze they lifeblood lies curdled!

Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! Hark ye you lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he tasted meat; but tomorrow he shall break his fast upon your flesh, and ye shall be a dainty meal for him.

If ye are brutes, stand here like fat oxen waiting the butcher's knife; if ye are men, follow me! Strike down yon sentinel, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work as did your sires at old Thermopylae! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves beneath your master's lash? O Comrades! Warriors! Thracians! If we must fight, let us fight for ourselves; if we must die, let us die under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle.

posted by: underwhelmed at March 15, 2008 07:47 | link | comments |

St. Patty's Day Parade - tomorrow!

I have elected to drag my poor spouse Princess and my neighbor-friend Dave to the drunken saturnalia known as the Denver St. Patrick's Day Parade, being held tomorrow from 10a.m. to 1:30p.m. in Lower Downtown, also known as LoDo. As Princess is the one in our family who has a bit o' the Blarney in her, I think it important for her to attend so as to enhance her cultural connection with this portion of her lineage.

We are to meet famous blogger Richard Combs of Combs Spouts Off, one of our Hero Bloggers here in the Denver Metro Area, at the Union Station turn for the parade. Richard writes poignant, intelligent and sharp-minded commentary on current events, from the Spitzer fiasco to the Pink Poodle Incident.

There's a gun show tomorrow and Sunday in Denver at the Merchandise Mart. Dave and I will be in attendance Sunday with Richard. You are welcome to meet us there, 11-ish, at the back tables where we usually go. Our brother Jed from FreedomSight will not be attending; he is compelled to avoid the nasty temptation of a gun purchase. Doubtlessly through his puritanical denial of self-pleasure, he will attain the strength and personal calm he is seeking. Resist, oh Brother, resist!

posted by: underwhelmed at March 14, 2008 20:47 | link | comments |

The search for Dave's gun

I am commiting to go to "Phase Two-Alpha"  in the search for for Dave's AR-10-type hunting/personal defense rifle.

It seems that DPMS makes a rifle that weighs in at just under 8 lbs., and they sell a four-round mag for the weapon - in its other role, you can always pop a FAL 20-rounder in there for good measure. Add a nice Leupold VXIII scope and that takes the weight to right around 10 lbs with sling; perhaps a little heavy in the field, but a damn sight lighter than the comparable Armalite product at 10.4 lbs without scope or mag. Cradling a long gun in the brush for three hours, or hauling the dog-gone thing up a hill after a long walk can flat wear a man down. Every ounce counts after around 10 lbs.

But Dave's a big man. He can make the effort, and for a MOLDD dude (Middle-Aged Old Dude) he's in good condition. I have faith that this guy will go into the field and come back on his boots, not on a gurney.

My only concern is that the DPMS product uses FAL magazines. Sure, they're cheap, but so are Hyundais - and you wouldn't drive the Pope around in a Hyundai, would you? I have read that some manufacturers that will go nameless (like Bushmaster, for one) ;-) had serious trouble with their rifles as they could never solve their feeding problems - with FAL magazines.

DPMS has been making these guns a couple of years at least - and their model lineup in the .30-cal range has done nothing but expand. I can't imagine they'd have market success if the rifles weren't going bang every time the trigger gets pulled, although I will research this more before I give my "thumbs up" to a gunbuddy on a product or service. It sounds arrogant, I know, but I can't recall the last piece of gear I recommended that wasn't heartily loved by one of my pals - and I'd hate to change that trend.

posted by: underwhelmed at March 12, 2008 21:00 | link | comments |

Discovered: a shooting school, right here in sunny Colorado!

I have a neighbor friend I will call Dave. I have injected poor Dave with an evil and insidious infection known as Black Rifle Disease. I have taken this poor bloke to the range a few times and have let him shoot some AR-15s, my Carbon 15 (what a rifle!), and my G-3/HK91 and HK-93 clones, and on the last shoot, he nearly collapsed from lust over the experience.

Dave is a successful single man who's looking for love in all the right places; i.e. gun shops. He is now primarily looking for The One, that special bond a man makes with a battle-rifle, so his heart is now set on finding an AR-10 of some sort... He likes the feeling he gets when he shoots the AR-15 but wants to "dual-use" the weapon as a personal protection/hunting gun, so the AR-10 is the natural choice, being offered in .308 AND with a 5-round magazine for the law-abiding sportsman.

In searching for a good deal on Dave's gun for him (it's gotten so that I can't get through a day without one of my friends asking me to help them find the right gun for them, mount a scope to one I have built for them, or to teach them pistol basics) I discovered that there's a rifle school that teaches the Art of the Long Gun to the military and the police organizations, and have now offered courses to endow the Great Unwashed such as myself with their valued knowledge.

The school is called PRW, which stands for Precision Rifle Workshop, and it has been created as a traveling school for Front-Range area shooting ranges. In their civilian offering, this school has in its cirricula, courses ranging from pure-D "this here's tha BIDNESS END, what the bullets come outta!" to advanced long-range shooting against moving targets, called "PRW-Hunter 1000," with this mouth-watering description:

"Put that favorite hunting rifle and your shooting skills to the test.  PRW will take you out and let you shoot from 100 to 1000 yards.  We'll show you what you and your rifle are capable of one on one with a PRW Instructor.  Unknown distance training and moving targets. We don't expect you to shoot your game at 1000 yards, but this will be a huge confidence builder for that 350 yard shot. (120 rounds) ($350 One Long 12-14 hour Day)"

Sounds pretty exciting, doesn't it? I am eager to see how my "go-to" long-range rifle would handle this course. Clearly, the man behind the boomstick will be the primary factor in successfully completing such a course, and while I have plenty of trigger time, it's never been as a result of formal training. I'd certainly learn a thing or twelve. There's a more basic course which might be less of a challenge for me to take on called PRW Hunter Advanced. If you've ever read my blog, you'll understand that I don't point the Business End at anything that isn't threatening me, and as the Safeways continue to stock beef cow, I doubt that starvation would drive me to hunt, but... it's good to be prepared.

Anyway, more to come on Dave's descent into Black Rifle Madness and the school. Once Dave gets his shootin' ahron, I think I'm gonna cajole the hapless feller into taking that course with me.

posted by: underwhelmed at March 12, 2008 20:27 | link | comments |

Hello Again

Hello, I am Libercontrarian.

I am posting again, for the first time in just under a year. I feel like Lazarus, returning from the grave, disoriented and a little scared.

Much good has happened. Lives have been changed, mostly for the better. I have taken some minor personal adventures - a trip to a foreign land, bought three new cars, and dug myself into some rather impressive consumer debt. Bought a few guns along the way, shot some rounds downrange, converted a few Sheep into Sheepdogs.

Princess and I continue to be grateful for our health, our stable lives, our animal-family - oh, we added a couple of friends, then three or four more by default. Things are a little tight in the new home.

I am not certain that I won't be wasting your time here in the future. There are no guarantees - I went back and read some of my old posts, and was able to give myself some constructive criticism - "Hey, lighten up on the sentence structure, the emotionality, the paragraph length. Make people WANT to read this stuff!"

I am not sure that I want to commit to posting daily. I suspect my fatigue grew originally out of a compulsive need to make certain I made the most stinging rebukes, the most convincing arguments, the brightest observations... I was like that dopey kid who always raises his hand in class (and true-to-form, Mr. Arrogant-Know-It-All WAS that kid); a little overeager and severe.

There are many interesting things to discuss here - there have been numerous suicidal mass-shootings over the past year; indeed I can safely say it's a trend amongst the sociopaths and the weak-minded. We have an election that has unprecedented events happening: a man of mixed-race ancestry looks to be making a successful bid for the White House, as is a woman. The War looks like it's going... almost better.

Where do I go with this? What will I do? I will definitely continue to talk about guns. I will discuss politics on here again. Maybe I'll redesign the damned thing and let some buddies post here.

We shall see. I make no commitments other than to likely offend some of you. ;-)

posted by: underwhelmed at March 08, 2008 23:25 | link | comments (2) |

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