Hah! Just lost the veneer of one of my two front teeth on breakfast. Crap. New Year, new challenges. How can a fried egg demolish dental fixtures?

Add another thing to the list for the working week. Crap. I hate Mondays.

As we lurch toward the next artificial crisis here in town, the Administration is rolling out the Replacements. This should be fun.

Let us put aside the matter of the possible criminal conspiracy at EPA for the moment. We will see what results from the surrender of the 12,000 Richard Windsor emails soon enough. That was the name on the email account used by Administrator Lisa Jackson, who was at war with Big Coal, among others. The media this morning appears to be trying to spin her departure as an act of principal, opining that she is leaving in protest because the Administration will cave on the issue of completing the controversial Keystone Pipeline.

I think it is fear of jail, personally. But of course no one is really responsible for anything any more. John Kerry will be nominated as the next SecState, a through-the-looking glass nomination of that scruffy ex-Naval Officer who took such delight at attacking his erstwhile comrades before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee long ago.

Kerry was, at best, an ambitious stooge, and at worst a lying self-aggrandizing knave. I don’t know what to think about Chuck Hagel being the next SecDef, but am more willing than the GOP Senators who appear ready to turn on a man who was one of their own. John Brennan to be the next Director of the CIA? That is where he grew up, and he was only in the West Wing as the Counter-Terror Advisor because he was toxic on extraordinary renditions and could not be confirmed in 2009.

I had no problems with rendition at the time, but I guess we will see if anyone remembers to be outraged. As a general principle, I think the President ought to be able to appoint people he trusts to the jobs he needs done.

Being on the farm, I did not think about this particular rearrangement of the deck chairs on the SS America. I hoisted my American flag on the pole at the end of the gravel driveway and luxuriated in not being in Washington.

It was a marvelous crystal clear weekend, with temperatures that soared into the fifties. I did some work on the house, signed a check for the new awnings. I think that will be a worthwhile upgrade to life on the deck, enabling quiet moments sitting under cover in the rain. We had intended to do some shooting in the afternoon, but it did not work out that way.

Football games on the satellite television made it too drunk to have the firearms out, and as you know, nothing good can come from the combination of guns and alcohol. So, we decided to skip church on Sunday morning and shoot up the property before the resurgent Redksins took on the Seahawks. I had received an invitation to watch the game back up north with my old boss from the Phone Company and his lovely bride, and that was going to make for fine entertainment later.

In the meantime, we had a grand time at the farm complex. The pleasant weather had some of our neighbors out and about, and we could hear period gunfire from the range at Happy Acres and decided to join them.

We set up a range and blasted away with the Russian’s 9mm Glock and my Sig-Sauer Mosquito .22. I had the .45 Colt M1911 Combat Commander with me since Matt wanted to feed some rounds through it to evaluate what his next his purchase might be. Did the classic look of the Colt trump the high tech aspect of the new Glocks and Sigs?

We did not have a chance to see. Problem was, he offered to buy a box of ammo to defray depletion of my inventory, and he purchased a box of .45 long Colt, not .45 ACP. So, that pistol sat out the match.

(The Colt had to sit it out. Photo Colt Firearms)

There is nothing cooler than going through a clip rapid fire, heavy or light caliber. Natasha’s daughter Ludmilla was visiting from Moscow with her partner Boris and son Sacha. She could punch nice tight groups, and had an elegant stance and steady grip on the weapons. She shot like an ace- nice tight groups.

When she was done and the range was cold, I asked her where she learned to shoot so well. “We cannot own firearms in Russia,” she said. “We must join chartered shooting clubs. My dressage horse is injured, and I took it up to have a hobby.”

“I prefer to have my own,” I said, and Matt nodded in agreement. She looked a little wistful but brightened.

“Perhaps when I come to America for good,” she said. The Russians slipped effortlessly between English and their native tongue.

I can’t see that well anymore, but the Slavs managed to get me pointed downrange and I managed to punch some holes in the paper and was concentrating on the compromise between accuracy and rapidity of fire- that is the strong point of the .22; ammo is no object, price-wise, even given the run on the available stocks as the Congress prepares to contemplate the ten separate gun bills introduced for the 113th session.

(Sig-Sauer .22 long rifle sport pistol. Sweet little gun. Photo Sig-Sauer.)

This was the first outing for the Sig, and I liked it. Nice heft, crisp efficient action and impressive sight presentation. I like the Sig; so much so that I may get one in .40 or .45. “Not the right time,” you say, and I agree about the current price gouging among a panicked gun-owning population.

But given the times, the alternative is maybe never.

(Glock 9mm. Matt liked this as Natasha’s carry gun, due to the light weight. Photo Glock.)

I can understand why people like the Glocks- composite construction light, powerful and many fewer moving parts than the Old School semi-auto pistols. I still preferred the Sig; better feel on the grip.

We are going to have the range set up for when the young Russians come back in May. We are also going to build a berm for greater range safety (no problems noted, but hey, safety first) and the thought is to commit to reloading and recycling brass, at least in the larger calibers.

What freaking fun. Liberating. Empowering. The Russians liked it a lot. It is called Freedom.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com