Author: Kim du Toit

The Thief Of Time

Two-Minute Hate

I am really, really old-fashioned when it comes to being on time for anything. In the first place, I spent seven years in boarding school whose attention to time meant that second bell for morning roll-call rang at 7:02 am, and if you arrived even a few seconds after that time you were adjudged late, and got punished. (Note that it was 7:02 am, and not 7:00 or 7:05.) In the second instance, I have always worked in industries where time was measured in seconds or minutes, not hours or days, and deadlines were critical — hence the “dead” in deadline — so timeliness was not only important, but tardiness was expensive.

My motto is quite simple: “Five minutes early is on time”, and no matter where I’m coming from or how fraught the journey, I make every effort to make the 5-minute deadline. The corollary to the motto is that I get pissed when people are as little as a minute late, which makes me something of a tight-ass, and I’ve been thus called many, many times.

I don’t care.

As far as I’m concerned, by arriving late you’re telling the other person that his or her time isn’t important, or at least isn’t as important as your time, and that attitude is unbearably rude and inconsiderate. Don’t even ask me how I feel about “Mediterranean-” or “African Time”, where an appointed time is not even a “guideline” but wishful thinking. Likewise, I’ve walked away from doctors’ offices when I’m kept waiting for longer than half an hour — and when one doctor had the effrontery to bill me $70 for “breaking the appointment”, you can imagine his surprise when in return he got a bill from me for $250 (my rate for the hour-and-a-half I spent driving to his office, being ignored and driving home). The only excuse for lateness that I’ve ever accepted in a business situation is if the guy was talking to a client, or if the guy is the client.

So you can imagine my reaction to this little snippet, wherein a woman admits cheerfully that she’s always a few minutes late for social engagements, but always on time when it’s a business appointment — and is then astonished when she’s called a bunch of rude names by people who have the same standards as I have. Here’s a tip: if you know that you may be held up by traffic, or a family emergency (e.g. a full diaper belonging to a baby), then leave half an hour before you would otherwise do.

We’re always told that “time is money” by so-called efficiency experts. It isn’t. It’s worth a lot more than money. Time is the most precious resource on Earth, we each have only a finite amount of it, and when people waste my time through their careless and rude tardiness, I get so angry I have to be restrained from slipping the safety off the 1911.

And please: of course I make exceptions if someone had an actual car crash, or had to take their kid to the Emergency Room or some such situation. I’m not an unreasonable man. But outside those situations, it pisses me off that when I excoriate someone for their rudeness that somehow, I’m the bad guy for being so persnickety about time. Well, you’re fucking right I’m persnickety — and I’m going to get worse as I get older and time becomes all the more limited and precious.

Quote Of The Day

QOTD

This comes from a friend’s grandfather, shortly before his death:

“You know, over the course of my life I spent most of my money on whiskey, women and guns… the rest, I just wasted.”

I got nothing.

Fresh Meat

Men & Women

I have talked about this phenomenon before, but this latest Mrs. Robinson event (please look at it) has triggered a few further thoughts on the topic.

Let’s leave aside that the 38-year-old woman is not bad for an old broad (from a teenage boy’s perspective), with blue eyes and a sorta trailer-park-Elizabeth-Taylor look about her.

In my foul yoot, I might easily have availed myself of her offerings (certainly the sex and the booze part, but not the cash and definitely not the weed). What I would have done differently is kept my mouth shut. Now, the report on the affair [sic] is severely lacking in details, but this “fifteen-year-old” sounds like quite the little weasel, ratting the woman out and taking money from her bank account.

I’m going to ignore the fact that the woman is quite clearly demented and/or retarded, as witnessed by her stupid behavior, and I’ve already confessed to my ignorance as to why older women are doing this stuff in the first place. It is abundantly clear, however, that this youth took massive advantage of her. If I were to put a timeline on the various activities, my guess is that she invited him in for a little nookie — and maybe a beer to help him along — and then he quite possibly blackmailed her into all the other stuff: more booze, weed and visits to the ATM — all aided by the fact that she’d already committed a felony by having had sex with an underage boy. And the whole sorry thing came to light either because he bragged about his “conquest” (as teenage boys will do because, duh, teenage boys), or else he was busted with weed in his possession and howled, “The old lady gave it to me while we were having sex!” or some such excuse. Whatever.

Like I’ve said, I’m guessing because I have no proof of any of this and I don’t know what actually happened; but you have to admit, it’s certainly a plausible situation.

What makes it all the more tragic is that if the above scenario is close to the truth, then the woman fell foul of a kid who was, shall we say, mature beyond his years, and who could take advantage of her to a much greater degree than she ever took of him. Had this happened in, say, the 1950s or around that era, I’d be the first to look severely at the older woman. Nowadays, however, boys are a lot more venal and worldly, and more likely to be total shits about something like this.

I’m not excusing her behavior, by the way, nor am I “blaming the victim”; but you have to admit, the world has changed since statutory rape laws were enacted and not, I would suggest, for the better.

The Cost Of History

The Gun Thing

I’ve always loved the little WWII-era M1 Carbine, because it’s so much fun to shoot, it doesn’t weigh a ton, and the ammo isn’t fearfully expensive (relatively speaking, in today’s market).

In my various travels about Teh Intarwebz, I came across a YouTube video which looked at the ” Most Overpriced Mil-Surp Rifles On The Market”, in which the host opined that the M1 Carbine is the second-most over-priced. (I think that ALL guns today are overpriced, thank you again, Urkel Obama and Hillary Bitch Clinton, but I’ve ranted about that before.)

I’m not going to argue much with the man’s take on the M1 being overpriced; it is, and horribly so. (A refurbished Korean Inland M1 Carbine for over $1,200? Are you shitting me?)

However, welcome to the gun nut’s Rock (fun to shoot etc.) and Hard Place (damn spendy). It’s a problem as old as time, and one we gun nuts have always had to deal with — only now, it’s worse than ever.

Let’s just assume, however, that the Rock has won you over, and you just have to have this lovely little gun in your safe. How can you get some kind, any kind of a cost saving out of this? Here’s the rundown, as I see it:

  • Rifle: $1,200 (which seems to be about the cost of a decent mil-surp M1 Carbine these days; less, and buyer beware; more, and you’re looking at IBM and Rock-Ola rifles, most probably)
  • Three spare 15-round mags @ $11 each: $33
  • Bulk .30 Carbine ammo (250-round bulk pack): $85
  • Total cost: $1,318 (ignore shipping and FFL transfer costs, because they’ll be a constant no matter what you buy)

Here’s a thought. What you’re paying for with one of those WWII / Korean War M1 Carbines is history — the fact that some GI might once have used this rifle to whack Nazis and/or Commies (always a Good Thing, IMO). But if you can forego that nostalgia (and it’s hard, believe me), you can get a newly-manufactured M1 Carbine from Thompson/Auto-Ordnance (Kahr) for about $765… which means if you forego the history and end up spending the same $1,318 for the whole package, you’d essentially be getting the same shooting fun — only now with three free mags and 1,250 rounds of ammo.

Or, if you can’t shake all aspects of nostalgia and you want a carbine which can take the good old M3 bayonet, you can get a new Inland M1 Carbine (yes, they’re making them again) for about $980, which would mean your “package” cost of $1,318 would get you three spare mags and 750 rounds of ammo.

Or you could just pocket the savings, either way.

As with all my opinions on matters such as these, please don’t pepper me with “I can get this cheaper at X” or my favorite: “OMG I paid $250 for my Carbine” comments — yes, so did I… back in 2004. Unfortunately, we’re living in a different world now, where panic buying (did I forget to thank Barack fucking Obama again?) has caused prices of all gun-related stuff to skyrocket. On the one hand, I like the fact that more guns are in private hands today than there were in 2007, but on the other, those additions to armed citizenry have come at a cost to us Old Gun Nuts in the form of higher gun prices. Intellectually, I’m cool with the outcome, but the dollar-cost reality makes my nuts ache.

Also, don’t think you’ll be able to snap up an M1 Carbine for $600 at a gun show. One, there are no more decent deals to be had at gun shows anymore which leads to two, your $600 “cheap” Carbine will most likely require five hundred dollars’ worth of parts and quality gunsmithing to make it work properly.

So, if you have a spare grand and a half (shipping and FFL transfer costs, ugh), here’s one way to spend it.

One last thought: the regular .30 Carbine round with its little 110gr. bullet has always been knocked as being underpowered. Well, Buffalo Bore now makes these puppies with a 125gr. bullet, and with BB’s amped-up power, the muzzle energy of the .30 cartridge has been increased by over a third — more than twice as much, in other words, as a .357 Magnum firing the same bullet from a 6″ revolver barrel — which turns the .30 Carbine into a bona fide stopper. (Don’t ask about the price of Buffalo Bore ammo; but if you want the best, ya gotta dig deep, as any fule kno.)

Disquiet

Travels

As I begin my preparations for my British sabbatical, a couple of things have started to concern me about my impending globe-trotting — and remember, I haven’t flown domestically or internationally for about ten years.

A recent New York Times article [no link, fuck ’em] has pointed out that the root causes of the current woes being experienced by hapless revenue providers (fare-paying passengers, to you and me) lie in two areas: the shift in airline management’s emphasis from passenger comfort / treatment to fiscal measures such as pre-tax profits; and the fact that since 9/11, airline staff can treat passengers like nuisances (at best) or as “security risks” (at worst) without too much repercussion.

The airlines, of course, are bleating that all this is being driven by their soaring costs (despite the massive drop in fuel prices), and that in order to maintain any kind of decent profit margins, they have to “unbundle” features like free baggage, seating choice and comfortable seating and turn said features into revenue lines. Thus, when I went online to pre-book an aisle- or window seat for my trip to Britishland, I was hit with a $15 fee, each way. My checked bag (actually a small trunk — I’m going to be Over There for three seasons and some hunting withal) will also occasion an “oversized bag” fee, despite it being within the size / dimensions criteria posted on their website because, as the reservations clerk informed me, “It’s rigid” (i.e. it can’t be squashed flatter like normal bags and suitcases, something you may want to consider in the future when packing those bottles of wine).

By the way: talking to an actual person as opposed to doing everything electronically also triggers a fee.

Of course, because I’m flying in steerage (okay, “economy”) it means that I’m lower than shark shit shadow on the airline’s list of Necessary Evils, so there may well be a “Get off the plane, asshole!” moment in my future.

I do have a frequent-flier account with this particular airline, and have logged hundreds of flights with them in the past, so one might think that I can escape “Involuntary De-planing” (such a nice euphemism for GTFO, isn’t it?) — but sadly, all those flights took place in the distant past, which means that I’ll probably fall victim to the “But what have you done for us lately?” policy. (And if you think there’s no such policy, please direct me to the place where you bought your unicorn.)

Now there’s talk among the Big Four airlines of charging passengers for carry-on bags, something Spirit Airlines (motto: “We Invented Cheap ‘N Nasty Travel”) — are already doing.

It seems that the only way one can even begin to escape being treated like a dog turd on a tablecloth is to buy more expensive tickets (a.k.a. “added profit for not much more service”) in Business- or First Class.

Great Caesar’s bleeding haemorrhoids… what a lovely prospect.

Please note too that I haven’t mentioned which of these bastard airlines I’ll be using to get to England, because I bet that somewhere in their oh-so-tight budget is a line for “Snooping on passengers’ social media in case they say ugly things about us”. Motherfuckers.

And yes: I haven’t even started talking about having to deal with the TS fucking A, yet.

I need to stop now before I get angry.

Safe Sex

Men & Women

Apparently, eligible bachelors are taking measures to have safe sex, just not quite in the manner you’d think:

Hamptons bachelors are getting vasectomies so gold-diggers can’t trap them

I bet it’s not just bachelors in the Hamptons, although the New York media, easily among the most parochial in the world, would like to think so. (I especially like the added wrinkle that they’re having their sperm frozen prior to the operation, so if they decide later to have children, it will be entirely their choice.)

Why would they resort to such extreme measures? From the article:

Child support is 17 percent of the father’s salary up to $400,000, after which the amount is at a judge’s discretion, according to Garr. For someone who makes $1 million a year, Garr estimates annual payments of $100,000 — a total of $2.1 million until the child turns 21. Meanwhile, a vasectomy is typically covered by insurance or costs $1,000 out of pocket.

If I were a healthy young bachelor, I’d do it too. (I did have it done, of course, only at age 42, long after I’d become a daddy. I just didn’t want to become a repeat offender.)

This was always going to be a possibility in the Battle of the Sexes, by the way, after that loony court decision which ruled that even an anonymous sperm donor could be held liable for child support. Predictably, after that, fertility clinics reported that the donor count had fallen to zero and the flow had dried up [sic].

And it’s not just for child support, either: if the woman is an illegal alien, a U.S.-born baby becomes a residence visa.

And if you think I’m being overly cynical about this, please read the horrifying experience one guy encountered (also from the article):

[He] doesn’t want a repeat of last summer, when a woman he met at a party tried to pull a fast one after sex.
She offered to dispose of the used condom, but when she was in the bathroom for a while, John got suspicious. He found the woman seated on the toilet and inserting his semen inside of her.

Now that’s cynical.