Category: Modernism

Waffen Durch Plastik

Modernism, The Gun Thing, Traditions

Yeah, I’ve noticed this alarming development too:

Taking a look at some of the most popular firearms companies, I was honestly a bit shocked to see how the synthetic/polymer/laminate wood stocks have come to dominate the market. The vast majority of Ruger, Remington and Savage rifles and shotguns are stocked in something other than walnut. The Winchester Model 70 maintains a walnut stock advantage, as does the lineup of Winchester lever-action rifles, but synthetic-stocked lever-actions are popping up regularly these days; Marlin and Henry being two examples which come quickly to mind.

This bullshit is something I’ve bemoaned ever since I was first able to hold a gun.  Here’s why:

A well-sealed walnut stock will actually stand up well to most hunting situations, though they aren’t as rigid or easy to produce as a synthetic stock. While the mass-produced stocks are created by machinery, the higher-end walnut stocks are finished by hand. Custom stocks are a work of art, and to watch a classically trained stockmaker hand-carve a stock is like watching Michelangelo work. Names like Ralf Martini, Todd Ramirez, D’Arcy Echols, Mark Renmant and JJ Perodeau, just to name a few, can make the stock of your dreams. And I firmly believe that, like a fine watch, everyone should own at least one gun with a stock they are truly proud of.

That’s part of it, but not all of it.  I love the feel of a wooden stock in my hands, a feeling that is entirely absent when I hold a piece of fucking plastic.  Wood is warm, it feels natural and somehow seems to form a bond between gun and man in a way that some synthetic material just… doesn’t.

And I don’t buy this “wood warps and pushes the barrel out of register” bullshit.  I’ve shot rifles in some pretty damn extreme conditions (African heat and Wisconsin cold, not to mention Scotland windy and wet) and I have never experienced that, in any rifle.  I suppose it could  happen, if the stock is too tight against the metal (which it shouldn’t be to begin with);  I’ve just never noticed it.

Frankly, I think the clue to this nonsense lies in here:

Those [wood] stocks—even the blanks from which they are made—are not cheap. The custom walnut stock is extremely labor-intensive, and the highly figured walnut, which was much more common a century ago, has become a rarity. Many of the hardwood stocks in use today are rather plain looking, and the figured stocks come at a premium, for certain.

Much easier, cheaper and more “efficient” (fuck, I’m starting to hate that word) just to pour some polymer crap into a mold and screw the rifle action in, ten seconds’ work and all done.

Bah.

I have only two rifles with Tupperware stocks — my Marlin 880SQ and 882SSV rimfire rifles — simply because Marlin doesn’t offer those two models with wood stocks, and it’s a long-term project of mine to replace the soulless black plastic with wood, one day, even though the stocks will probably end up costing me more than the original rifles themselves.

Compare the above with the rifle below, and tell me I’m wrong.

Let’s not even GO here:

(I note, by the way, that fine shotguns seldom come with PoliGrip stocks, so that’s all I need to say about that.)

I know:  yelling about this is like moaning about the wind-tunnel shape of modern cars — it’s pointless, and as a trend, plastic stocks are no doubt here forever.

But I’ll tell you this (and it’s a promise):  the day that new rifles are ONLY offered with plastic stocks is the day I stop buying new rifles altogether.

Character

Beauty, Modernism

I always enjoy reading Theodore Dalrymple’s articles, and this one at Taki’s Mag is no exception because as he takes on the topic of modern architects and their pulchriphobia (fear of beauty), he drops little diamonds like this into the discussion:

Taste is very revelatory of character, and though we live in an age in which we delight to talk of ourselves, in fact we do so while carefully protecting ourselves from true self-revelation or true self-examination.

Longtime Readers will know that while this may be true of a lot of people, there’s a distinct lack of that nonsense in this little corner of the Internet — most especially when it comes to discussions of architecture, or guns, or cars, or women, or practically anything which can be beautiful or made beautifully.

Pulchriphilia is more the order of the day, here.  How could it be otherwise when I marvel at things like this:

or this:

or this:

or (wrenching myself unwillingly away from further contemplation of Suzanne Pleshette) this:

…or, to return to the article’s original topic, buildings such as this:

Going along with Dalrymple’s quote above, I am quite aware that my classification of all the above as “beautiful” may reveal aspects of my character, and to be honest, I don’t care a fig.  I am what I am, it is what it is, and each of the above is a perfect example of the eponymous poem by John Keats:

A THING OF BEAUTY is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
’Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

Having pulchriphobia means denying the spirit that endless fountain, and we are much the poorer for its loss.  Here’s Keats’s musk-rose:

Pause a while and smell it, while listening to this.

First They Came For The Airline Stewardesses

Gratuitous Chick Pics, Men & Women, Modernism

Back in the day when airline flying meant a chance to ogle some beautiful young women in uniform, they were called “stewardesses” or “stews”.  Often, the airlines enforced a “no married women” and even an age limit policy for the stews because, the reasoning went, if the stews had families, they’d be affected by the absense of Mommy while she’d be out of town so often.  So We The Passengers had to put up with stuff like this:

 

Then some asswipe in Big Airline HR decided that this was eeeevil  and anti-womyns  or something, with the result that nowadays, international flights resemble Grab-A-Granny Night at TGI Friday, or Open Bar Night at The Villages.  (No pics, I can’t bear the thought.)

Then last year, Sports Illustrated  took some shit because, and I quote:

“…the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue  doesn’t care about plus-sized women, athletes, or religious models. It cares about staying relevant while also profiting off men buying a magazine to drool over hot women. These silly claims of empowerment through the swimsuit issue cannot change the fact that pages of sexualized women marketed toward men are inherently sexist, insulting, and gross.”

(I even talked about it here.)

Needless to say, the stupids at Sports Illustrated  decided to make their crap magazine yet more crappy, by taking the above criticism to heart for this year’s T&A issue, hence this appalling prospect:

Wait till you see the “plus-sized” (i.e. grossly overweight) entrant… it’ll put you off chocolate cake for life.  (By the way, the granny in the above pic is quite hot, IMO, but if yer gonna put some granny-aged totty in a bikini, why not someone like Sharon Stone, or Stephanie Seymour?)

This modern attitude towards women’s bodies is starting to get to me.  As are the Woke Generation, in toto.

Non Decorum Est

Gummint, Marxists, Modernism

Apparently, the issue of a “dress code” or “decorous clothing” seems to have gone bye-bye in, of all places, Britishland (and to be specific, in Parliament).  Witness this outfit chosen by a Labour MP (of course) to deliver a speech in the House of Commons:

Needless to say, the response from the BritPublic was not complimentary, prompting this classless Trot to respond in kind:

I know, I know, dear Tracy;  perhaps you weren’t any of those things — it just looked  like you were all  of them.  Of course, you were an actress once, which pretty much explains everything.

And just so we’re all clear on the implications of this:  had Boris Johnson not won the last General Election, this harridan would now be a member of the Prime Minister’s Cabinet.

Day For Night

Men & Women, Modernism, Two-Minute Hate

Oh FFS, here we go again:

Bosses at Warner Bros. are allegedly considering taking on a female actress to play the role of the iconic chocolatier, after two previous adaptations starred Johnny Depp and Gene Wilder.

Is any male role safe anymore?  Dr. Who, James Bond’s “M”, Ghostbusters and countless other male roles have recently grown tits and vaginas — I mean, Jane  Bond was even considered a while ago.  (“I’d like a strawberry vodkapop… stirred, not shaken.”)

I really want some brave producer (I know, I know) to propose a movie project entitled “John Of Arc” :  the story of a humble French shepherd boy who gets a message from God, becomes a fearless military leader and rallies an army to defeat an English occupation force.  Then he’s captured and burned at the stake.

Nah, that’s just too far-fetched.  Might as well just cast a chick for the role, to get the green light.  Of course, the movie will bomb spectacularly and lose money — but who cares, as long as Teh Womynz get the gig?

Fucking bullshit.

Asking For It

Feminazis, Modernism, Nannies

Here we go again:

A Belgian sports journalist has sparked fury after making a crude comment about a young reporter’s top on Twitter. Sven Spoormakers posted a picture of Belén Mendiguren interviewing cyclists during a race in Argentina, adding the caption: ‘Is it cold in Argentina?’.
The comment prompted a backlash from fellow journalists who took aim at the Belgian for ‘objectifying’ the young reporter. Spoormakers, a former junior cycling champion, initially defended his comment but later backed down and admitted it was ‘offensive to a lot of people’.

Here’s a pic of the “reporter” in question:

I remember our band’s favorite question when faced with an outfit like this:  “Is it cold, or are you just pleased to see me?”

A more pertinent question would be this:  “Why did you put that top on this morning?”  And don’t give me that “It’s so hot!”  bullshit;  she wore it to attract the attention of the men she wanted to interview, and any other reason is a fucking lie.

Sorry, love;  if the goods aren’t to be looked at, don’t put them in the window.  And as for all the other scolds:  FOAD, and take your “fury” with you.