Don't Be Fooled--

     Sure, the sign says, CROSS TRAFFIC DOES NOT STOP, but the truth is, the happy, smiling, friendly traffic doesn't stop, either.

     Doggone lying sign.

NRA Indy: Yes, More Pictures

With only a little comment -- I was moving pretty fast when I shot these photos, most of them Sunday:

Yes, hand-carved ebony, hand-engraved, cast and carved steel.

Beautiful work.  I didn't think to get a snapshot of the tag -- appears to have a monogram, "HZO." (Notice also the predicted price range for the ebony marvel.)

My first thought instead was of L. Frank Baum.

Colt rifle -- lovely, dangerous, and long before your "Circuit Judge."

Gas-delayed blowback.  Tam and I were mulling over why Walther has yet to really have a big hit with a serious gun in the U.S.

What came before the Luger?  This did.  Georg Luger redesigned it.  Hugo Borchardt wasn't impressed.  Other people were -- and they owned gun factories.

Does not, I am told, actually have a hemi in it.  But it might as well.

If four are good, three should be almost as good...

But this one goes to 16: that's a pair of 8-bores and darned short ones.

These are kid-sized but I kinda want one.  Single-shot .22. peep sight, a nice, basic rifle.

Not kid stuff.  Doug Turnbull's take on the AR-15, looking like something from a Harry Turtledove novel.

     There's still a little more to come, but that'll hold ya for this morning.

More Images From NRA Indy 2014

Tamara insists the "!" must be pronounced.

Colorful Coonans

Can I get a Witness?

Yeah, can I get a Witness?
(In fact, I own two and I like them both)

Study in contrasts.  Pretty sure the Wolverine is in "way too darned" pink.

One corner of the venue, general view.  Huge! (Ceiling by M.C. Escher.)

High Power!  I like these -- and the "scratchy" trigger doesn't bother me.

Actual "crime gun." 

"The name is Volk.  Oleg Volk."

     He's not often caught on that side of a lens.

Good Night, Good Night

     Dinner at Dick's Last Resort with the blog-survivors of NRA AM 2014!  Oh, the horror!  The horror!

     It ain't BF Egypt, but you can walk to it from there.

     ...The motley multitude.  Tam's there, hiding behind Kathy Jackson, along with a whole sleeeeeew of Your Online Pals.

     (Earlier that day: Volley Gun!)

Pictures From An Exhibition

     Presented without much comment, NRAAM 2014:

Walking

Walking...

Wait, an air rifle, you say...?

Not an air gun.  Definitely shiny!

B...A...R

He's not doing what it looks like at first.

Chiappa!  There's something appealing about the single-shot .22

R-51!  They feel good --lots of stuff happening but they've been racked a few thousand times: field-polishing!

Swag.

Cabot 1911's.  High-end, and they have the kind of extraordinary fit & finish that shows it.

When is a Ruger Mk. II not a Mk. II?  When it's an imported air pistol!  Looks like it would be fun.

Turk Turon, demonstrating that Tactical Bacon is Serious Business.

     And that's Saturday's NRA AM photo-essay.  I need to go help my Mom this morning, hoping to get downtown a bit after midday.

World's Smallest Shoulder Thing That Goes Up?

     Maybe it is...

     Maybe it ain't. 

     Sure seems like it could be.

All Under One Roof

     At Thr3e Wise Men in Broad Ripple at Old NFO's blogger roundup, and what a roundup:

     Danno of Sandcastle Scrolls
     The Smallest Conservative
     Linoge
     Larry Weeks (!) of Brownells!
     GayCynic
     Tam Keel
     Turk Turon
     The Miller
     Mr. B.
     Midwest Chick
     Erin Palette
     Ambulance Driver
     Matt G
     Mad Saint Jack
     Don Gwinn
     Eric Wenthe
     The Jack
     New Jovian Thunderbolt

     ...And dozens more.  (Let me know if I missed mentioning you -- I totally lost track.) You won't see this much of the gunblogosphere under one roof until next year's NRA Annual Meeting

NRAAM Diary

0530: Awaken to the sound of my clock-radio humming to itself, as fire-truck sirens scream by a few blocks over -- College Avenue, maybe -- and dwindle slowy

0540: Awaken again.  Headache like a dull hammerblow, centered between left cheekbone and temple. Find book (Stross's The Jennifer Morgue, on my third re-reading in as many years) and carry to reshelve, since I finished it last night.  (Stross's SOE-spinoff occult-intelligence agency, "Capital Laundry Services," operates in a universe very compatible with that of Larry Correia's "Monster Hunter International" series, with Stross's US-based "Black Chamber" playing NSA to Correia's FBI-analog "Monster Control Bureau."  While the style, setting and tone of the two bodies of work neatly illustrates at least some aspects of the UK-US cultural divide as personified by the two writers, their mutual debt to H. P. Lovecraft and the good entertainment to be found in both men's work tells me that gap -- and other divides in SF -- isn't nearly so deep or wide as might be supposed.)

0550 - 0615: Make toast and coffee, feed cats, check charging state of Chromebook.  (0600: TV wakes up, starts talking to itself about the news until Tam wanders into my room and looks at it to see if "anything interesting" [World War III, invasion of Formosa, Bloomberg suddenly Seeing The Light] happened overnight.  Apparently not; she wandered back out shortly after Huck finished wolfing down his breakfast.)

0615 - 0630: Ibuprofen (at last) with food, post Some Darned Thing on The Internet.

0630 - Whenever: Shower, etc.  Hey, that's now!  Seeya.

0700 - 1000: Uh-oh. Last night's dinner revolts.  I blame the chow-chow relish.

1300: NRA Press Room wi-fi does not work well for anyone -- and doesn't work at all for my Chromebook.  Major fail!  NRA staffers very apologetic.  Hire an IT gunslinger, NRA!

Photos coming.  Saw lots of kewl stuff, met online friends in RL.  Big fun was had!

BANG--  Er, no: it's a laser!

"No Guns" At Downtown Claddagh

     They're claiming "IMPD told us to do it."  I've asked IMPD, and I've asked the Claddagh manager who wrote to me if she can document this, and if she'd be available for an interview.

     Next move...?

     In the meantime, don't go there; tell your friends not to go there.  Use Twitter and Facebook.  My goodness, we couldn't want to pollute the place with firearms, would we?  No matter how peaceably carried, no matter how well-concealed.

     (A reminder to visitors: in Indiana, "No Guns" signs do not have the force of law other than at government buildings, schools and TSA travel checkpoints,* where they will be matched with metal detectors and/or searches.  On the other hand, if you are found to be carrying in a posted business, they can tell you to leave and you'd best comply, or be charged with trespass.  It's not comfortable.  Besides, why spend money with folks who don't want your kind around?)
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* Dammit, "Travel Checkpoints."  In America.  "Papers, 'please,'" and the cold-eyed pat-down and luggage-pawing by uniformed officials was a hallmark of the bad guys, of oppression.  I think it still is.

Overheard, Underhanded

Tam, arriving with an awkward armful of stuff from a day at the NRA: "I'm just at that easily frustrated stage...!"

Roberta X:  "You mean, 'Awake?'"

NRA Convention, Thursday

     Tam and I, escorted by Turk Turon (disguised as a regular member instead of semi-Press blogger), picked up our credentials and press package -- the latter, these days, is a thumb drive full of info instead of the old packet of expensive, glossy handouts -- and I only got us a little lost in the vast and labyrinthine spaces of the Convention Center.  Foot traffic outside was moderately high and pretty steady inside, a combination that leaves me not quite panicked but distracted and desperate to keep in motion.

     The setup looks nice and the NRA has done their usual smooth job of arranging check-in (members get in free!), ticket counters  and access to the exhibit halls.  From early indications, this should be a nice show.

    On the way out, we met Bitter and Sebastian on they way in.*  They were looking well and enjoying the coolish Chamber of Commerce weather; I hope they don't mind this morning's spitting rain, predicted to be gone by 10 a.m.

     Today's a school day for me; what I'll write about for Friday's NRA Convention report will have to come from the press handouts or at second hand.
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* Later on, they found their first dinner choice posted -- I guess Claddagh wants no part of our feeelthy gun-owner money -- and were delighted at where they ended up instead. 

Yeah, What He Said....

We've come to a point where every four years this national fever rises up — this hunger for the Saviour, the White Knight, the Man on Horseback — and whoever wins becomes so immensely powerful, like Nixon is now, that when you vote for President today you're talking about giving a man dictatorial power for four years. I think it might be better to have the President sort of like the King of England — or the Queen — and have the real business of the presidency conducted by... a City Manager-type, a Prime Minister, somebody who's directly answerable to Congress, rather than a person who moves all his friends into the White House and does whatever he wants for four years. The whole framework of the presidency is getting out of hand. It's come to the point where you almost can't run unless you can cause people to salivate and whip each other with big sticks. You almost have to be a rock star to get the kind of fever you need to survive in American politics.

          --Hunter S. Thompson