eStory Economics

I mentioned that I stuck a couple stories up on Amazon.com and Smashwords. I did this for a couple reasons, neither of which is to make money–at least not directly. I don't expect that either will add much to the family coffers.


A fair price for a short story, at least in my mind, is $.99. That seems to be the going rate, and the royalty on such things, set by the seller, is about a third of that, plus or minus. (I didn't bother to send these to Dan, and that's just because I know it's more hassle for him than it's worth. He gives me a much higher royalty than anybody else, and his cut on something like this is like a dime. I mean, really, he has to track the things for a dime each?)


You have to sell a whole lot of stories earning thirty-five cents a pop to make enough to do anything. Ten of them pay your parking at a meter for a couple hours; A hundred might let you take the grandkids to Mickey D's for burgers and fries; a thousand of them is what? Part of a car note? And probably about what you get if you sold it to a magazine or anthology.


Chances of me selling a thousand of either title in the next, oh, couple years? 


Approaching zero. They aren't bad stories, but that's how the market goes.


And yes, there are folks who offer an entire novel on Amazon.com for $.99 and get rich. There are also folks who get struck by lightning or eaten by sharks, and chances of you doing any of these are probably in the same ball park. You could win the lottery, too. 


So why do it?


Two reasons: One is for my hardcore fans who might find it interesting. Doesn't cost them much, and there you go.


Second is, like a snowball rolling down a hill, there is a certain amount of inertia added when readers have more things from which to choose. They log on, see the list, and if they like some of it, they might be willing to risk buying more of it. 


When I find a writer I like, I tend to buy everything they have available, then drum my fingers waiting for them to get off their ass and write some new stuff. (And yes, if somebody is going to point that finger at me, I acknowledge it–we're a lazy bunch, us writers.)


Just so you know ...

Tarzan!

Tarzan Meets La of Opar, by Frazetta

Speaking of visually-impressive, check out Frazetta's painting, "Tarzan Meets La of Opar."


In it, for those of you at work where erotica might not be good, Tarzan, being held by two amazonian nudes, faces a very naked La, Queen of Opar. What is more fun, is that in the original painting, Tarzan was mightily aroused at the sight of the Queen's charms, with one of the guard girls looking down at his major wood as it lifted his loin cloth. Alex Acevedo, the owner of a NYC art gallery, wanted the painting, but due to the pornographic nature of it, Frazetta wouldn't sell it to him, it was a visual joke he'd done to amuse himself. This was in 1944, and Acevedo was willing to pay $45,000 for the painting, which was a goodly sum back then. (How goodly? Inflation would make that somewhere around half a million in today's dollars.)


Frazetta would only sell it if Acevedo agree to alterations, and he reluctantly did agree. Frazetta whipped out some paint, scraped the willie off, and touched up the loin cloth and the guard's eyes, and sold it. 


Acevedo thought it was criminal, but Frazetta allowed that he could always paint another one. Apparently, he never did, unless it's in a private collection somewhere ...


Read about it here: The Day Frazetta Took Away Tarzan's Erection ...

Old Short Story

I put up my martial arts erotica story, "Tigers in the Rain." Link to Amazon should be live today or tomorrow.


I did stick "Tigers," and "Jolly Roger" up on Smashwords, but it won't make their "Premium" status–they want formatting I don't like, and an ISBN, which I don't do for short stories, so if you want to download it from them, you'll have to do it manually. Shouldn't be a problem, just pick your format and click.

Smoker Beware

Trying to quit smoking? Thinking you can add one of those cute electronic cigarettes to your nicotine gum and patches and beat the nasty habit?

Might want to reconsider that idea:

"A Florida man trying to kick the smoking habit was puffing on an electronic cigarette when a faulty battery caused it to explode in his mouth, taking out some of his front teeth and a chunk of his tongue and severely burning his face, fire officials said Wednesday.

"The best analogy is like it was trying to hold a bottle rocket in your mouth when it went off," said Joseph Parker, division chief for the North Bay Fire Department. "The battery flew out of the tube and set the closet on fire."

Rest of the story is here.

Could inspire a new song: Don't Bogart that Bomb, My Friend ...

Art

Lest you think I'm totally against the notion of modern art, after my previous post on the subject, I confess I've always liked Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase," above. I suspect anybody who has done psychedelic drugs could look at that, nod and get it. Yeah, sure, the trails, man, the trails ...


Quite the scandal when it was first shown. Teddy Roosevelt nearly had a heart-attack he was hurrying so fast to tell people it wasn't art ...


Of course, I still believe that Ramos' "Nude Descending a Staircase (below) is, while not so avant-garde, more, um ... fun ...

Once Upon a Secret

 

New book out by a woman who was a nineteen-year-old intern at the White House when Jack Kennedy was the Prez, says they had an affair. Lasted for eighteen months, even once she went back to college. Last time she saw him was a couple of weeks before he was assassinated.


Once Upon a Secret, by Mimi Alford.


Do I believe her? Oh, yes. Jack was ever the horn dog, and from the passages quoted, it sounds like he didn't lose any time. She was a pretty girl, to look at her picture from 1961:

Still is a good-looking woman today at nearly seventy, (below):

Back then, he took her into Jackie's bedroom four days after she arrived and worked his charm upon her virginal body, Hey, hey, baby, welcome to D.C.!


Long been known that power is a major aphrodisiac. 


Why'd she wait almost fifty years to write the book? She says she planned to keep it a secret, told only close family and a couple of friends, but a few years back, she was outed by somebody poking around. She woke up one morning and there was her story in the New York Daily News, and oh, shit!


I won't buy the book. I don't need confirmation that Kennedy was a pussy hound–there is ample evidence of that already made public; plus it sounds as if it's a sad story–she was young, bowled over by the most powerful man on the planet, and while she went along willingly, even down a couple of roads that must have seemed very risque at the time, it messed her up. 


She says it drove her divorce, put her into therapy, and resulted in long-running guilt, and the tone of the excerpts show that. 


Of course, she was only one of a fairly long list of Jack's partners, several of whom were also White House staffers. I wonder if that mitigates it–or makes it worse?


No wonder the man had a bad back. The Tiger Woods of Presidents. Makes you wonder if the guy on the grassy knoll might have been a jealous husband ...


Some tawdry stuff–Hey, my friend Dave (Powers) here is tense, can you, uh, take care of him? and Mimi nodded, and gave the guy a blowjob while Jack watched, right there in the White House swimming pool.


Wonder if the Secret Service got pictures? And where they might be?


Liked Amyl Nitrate poppers, Jack apparently did, though Mimi didn't care for the experience.


Always called him "Mr. President," she said. Never "John" or "Jack."


Um. For those folks who thought Camelot was shining and bright, the revelations after Kennedy's death must have been disheartening. Sad when your golden idols turn out to have feet of clay. 

Nibbling Ducks, Falling Dominoes

When it comes to staying in shape, I believe inertia is the biggest obstacle. That first step is the hardest. Once you get to the gym or the pool or the ball court, whatever, once you start your warm-up, you are good. It might be hard, you might be tired, but generally, my experience is, that far, you will go for it, and after you are done, you'll be glad you did.


But, ah, that first step. That's where fitness gets made or broken.


In lifting, they tell you that if you take care of the big muscles, the little ones take care of themselves. It seems to be true, but sometimes, the little stuff is what trips you up. 


There's a Safeway store about a block from my house. Three-four minute walk, counting the two intersections you have to cross, you hit them right. (And best you cross those quickly. The narrower one gives you eighteen seconds protected in the crosswalk; the wider one, you have twenty-three seconds. I walk fairly fast, and it takes me twelve seconds to make the narrower one, and seventeen across the wider street. People who move much slower have to dodge traffic given back the green light. I've seen folks take thirty-five seconds to amble across, and this is a busy four-lane street, speed limit going from 4o mph to 45 in the next block.)


Today, I needed to run by the store to get some milk for the cat. It was gray, drizzly, about forty, and as I stepped outside, I thought, "Hmm, maybe I'll just take the car."


For a round-trip under two blocks, and not really any faster in the automobile, time you crank it up, make the block and lights, park, get into the store and then do it the other way to get home.


I was tempted. 


I decided to walk.


I think that's how physical decline sneaks up on you. Well, you think, it's cold and nasty out, I'll just drive over, no big deal. And it's not a big deal, but once you default to taking the car instead of hoofing it, then some other small choice will pop up, and having folded once, it is easier to fold the next time. You'll eat too much of something you really don't need. Skip a workout because you feel a little under the weather. Put off doing your exercise routine until tomorrow. No big deal.


Then you find yourself having a third beer and chowing down half a bag of Fritos, and wondering how come your pants have shrunk so much in the wash, why your belt needs a new notch, and how come you get winded going to collect the mail ... ?


Friends, rust never sleeps, and entropy is always hiding in the bushes waiting to pounce. You need to pay attention to them or they will get you. (Well, to be honest, they will get you anyway, eventually. But you can delay it some ...)

Gator Got Yore Grammy

Watched the Grammys last night. There was the usual bespangled and bedecked crowd of singers, dancers, musicians, actors, producers, A&R guys, ranging from children to Tony Bennett. Geezers doing rock, from Springsteen to McCartney, with a Beach Boy reunion, a tribute to Glenn Campbell, who has Alzheimer's, and Glenn himself, doing "Rhinestone Cowboy."


The usual good, the bad, and the ugly.


Rather than a listing of who won what, who I thought the real winners and losers were.


Best Presenters: Folk/Country duo Civil Wars, who introduced Taylor Swift. They sang a couple of verses of their Grammy winner "Barton Hollow," just them and a guitar, and it was terrific. And of course, Taylor is cute as a ladybug.


Best Costume: You could barely see them it was so dark, but the dancers backing girlfriend-beater Chris Brown for his rap with L'il Wayne, with the Foo Fighters and Dangermau5, in the tent, wore what appeared to be spandex about as thick as spray paint.


Best James Brown Re-incarnation: Bruno Mars, right down to the drop-split and bounce up.


Best Tribute to Whitney Houston: Jennifer Hudson. Woman has a voice on her.


Best Line in an Acceptance Speech: Adele, for "Oops, a bit of snot," when collecting the Best Album Grammy.


Best Hair: Bonnie Raitt, of course.


Best Plastic Surgery: Gwyneth Paltrow. Also Least Necessary Plastic Surgery.


Best Impression of a Cylon and Gort the Robot: Dangermau5. I must be way out of the loop. I'd heard of this guy, but the only way that electronic head does it is if you are maybe on good-quality psychedelics. I mean, really, kids? A DJ in a mouse-head?


Worst Dressed Male Performer: Jason Aldean, who wore a black tuxedo with a shirt unbuttoned to his sternum, with cowboy boots and a thirty-gallon hat that looked as if it had been airbrushed to look like a desert and sprayed with shellac. 


Worst Dressed Female Performer: Nicki Minaj, who also wins Worst Overall Performance for that hideous mash-up of The Exorcist and ... whatever else it was. 


Worst Rock Jam: I hate to say this, because I love the songs and the performers, but the McCartney medley, "Golden Slumbers," "Carry That Weight," and "The End," was way too choppy. I mean, Sir Paul had Bruce Springsteen, Dave Grohl, and Joe Walsh to switch off leads with, and he was pointing to them and giving them all of six or eight bars before moving to the next player. I know the show was running long–it always runs long–but Geez Louise, couldn't they have eliminated one of Chris Brown's numbers? The one where he did gymnastics all over a disco-lit hill of boxes, but you couldn't hear him singing? 


I'm sorry Whitney Houston died. The tragedy, of course, unfolded over several years, drugs, bad marriage, booze, and being found face-down in a hotel bathtub is just the final fall. Accident, suicide, murder? The coroner will get back to us, and one can never be sure guessing in advance, but I'd guess an OD is not a bad bet if you want to make it. Her ghost haunted the show this year, even when Alicia Keys and Bonnie Raitt came out to do their tribute to Etta James, they had to mention it, and it sounded tacked-on. 


I wonder why somebody didn't step in and do something for Houston when she was alive. It would have mattered a lot more.


Um. Anyway. So another Grammy show goes ...

Inspiration

Got a message on Facebook from a writer/editor I know earlier today, putting together a theme-anthology with another writer and editor, and would I be interested in doing a story? (Or at least would I indicate that I would be interested in doing one, to help sell the idea.)


Original anthologies are tough sales, and one of the ways to help make it go forward is to have a list of writers who have enough fans to tempt a publisher. My name doesn't carry much weight, but if you could get a couple of Neil Gaimans or China Miévilles or Connie Willises to sign up, that would probably be enough to interest a publisher.


These days, I'd guess the chances are much better that it will go as an ebook instead of treeware, but you never know.


No money up front, but if it sells, the writers split the pie, usually a pro rata share based on story length, and probably about what you'd get if you wrote it for a treeware 'zine.


Um. Anyway, I was asked, and I said "Sure." The gimmick is, there is an opening line that everybody will use, and then sky off in our own directions with it. This is usually a fun thing, because of how different those directions tend to be when you ask a bunch of writers to take a line and run with it. 


Back in the day, some of the magazines used to do a variation on this by showing a picture and then asking writers to do a story based on it. Those invitation were usually more limited, a handful, but it's still an interesting trigger. 


I dunno if the project will go, and I can't talk about it in detail yet, but the opening line was intriguing enough that it immediately bought a scene to mind, so I thought, Huh, I'll just write that down. 


Which I did. 


And then the scene moved into the next scene, and the next, and in an hour or so, I had a story. Less than 1800 words, and I dunno if the editor will like it, but hey, it's done.


I had no idea where it was going when I started, just that one short scene, but halfway through the second page, a light bulb lit and I knew who the main character was, and then I just followed him to see what road he'd lead me down. Flowed like warm oil down a clean glass pane. 


Sometimes it happens like that, and it's always magic when it does, because you lose track of everything save the tale, entering into the state known as Flow.


Click, start. Click, done. No sense of elapsed time. 


If the anthology doesn't get picked up, I'll probably eventually stick the story up somewhere. I can tell you my working title: A Few Minutes in the Kitchen and Dining Room of Hamelin's Restaurant.


And now, back to the novel ...

Casery

I decided to go with a leather book-style case for the iPad, for several reasons. So, TwelveSouth's BookBook.


First, because it carries the thing safely and is likely to protect it from an accidental fall. You can zip it shut and I suspect an edge-on drop won't do much from any height from which I am apt to drop it. It's padded fore and aft, too.


Second, because I like the appearance of distressed leather books and that's what it looks like. 


Third, because I already had it, and that makes it my cheapest option, too. It's what I used until I got the late, lamented Grove Bamboo case.


The drawbacks are that it is bulkier than a smart cover and shell, and that standing it up, either in portrait or landscape modes is a tad more involved than simply rolling the smart cover into a triangle. Very low-tech, though. There's a leather string and a button, and you just wrap one around the other and voila! 


Mine is an old one, for the original iPad, so it doesn't come with the cut-out for the camera lens. Not that the camera is all that good, but I can auger out a slot for that. The new ones come with it. 


It doesn't have a smart cover, either, which for those of you who don't have a clue about which I am blathering, that's a cover that, when you close it, puts the notebook to sleep, and when you open it, wakes it up. Uses an embedded magnet to toggle the system. Saves a lot of wear and tear on the mechanical switch. 


However, being the clever lad that I am, I realized I could tape one of those tiny rare earth magnets, (taken out of an old electric toothbrush head,) inside the front cover of the case at the right spot, and voila! again, a do-it-yourself smart cover.


Piece of black tape and an itty bitty magnet. More low tech, have a look:

It'll make a good knock-around case for local use. If I'm going on the road, I have a Zagg Bluetooth keyboard case

Modern Art

I consider myself relatively unsophisticated–lot of stuff just blows right past me, some of which is modern art. Guy sticks a vacuum cleaner under a plexiglas case, I get it that the idea of it, and the presentation is, um, art, sorta, but c'mon, if somebody is willing to pony up a couple hundred grand for that? 


Somebody's got a screw loose.


I mean, sure, Picasso painted stuff like this:

But Picasso could also paint like this:

So it wasn't as if he was just slapping oils on a canvas every which way because he didn't know any better.

This next one is also beyond me, but maybe I might could see something in it. Some kind of dynamic symbolism embodying the fractured forces of nature at the beginning of creation ...

Uh huh ...

But this?

A black square. Too bad we can't get a better view of the museum-goers' faces.

Um ... ? What ... ?

Relative

See this size comparison? Give you an idea of how small our little blue marble is ...

Dem Bones

Saw this article on "fracture putty." Essentially, goop made from stem cells and injected into a bone-break, with the idea that such will increase the healing speed dramatically. Works in rats, but large-animal and human testing hasn't happened yet.


I knew this one was coming way back, only I called it "orthostat glue."  


So, I got the iphone, now this ...


Not only is the future already here, it just keeps coming ...

Welcome to the Future, Part XCVII

Got a buddy who, for reasons medically-chronic, has been unable to spend much time at the gym of late. Part of it is physical, part is motivational–hard to stir yourself after a restless night. 


He lives in a complex that has a pretty good gym on the premises, and recently, he decided he need to get back into shape, and could I maybe help out a little?


Sure.


Thing is, he lives the better part of a thousand miles away, so me standing there and yelling "One more rep!" ain't in the cards.


However, through the miracles of iPad and Skype, we can achieve a kind of connection, and I can see him on the machines and offer coaching on exercises as he does them. 


Not that I'm particularly qualified, but you work with what you got.


I realize there are a lot of folks who do this kind of at-a-remove coaching, everything from music lessons, to university classes, to how-to-make-and-bake-a-cake, but this is my first experience in this realm.  


Not exactly Dick Tracy's 2-Way wrist TV, but we are way past that. Day before yesterday, my wife and I watched one of our great-nephews crawling around and taking some tentative steps, courtesy his parent's cell phone.


Welcome to the future. 


Again ...

Coach Perry ...

New Space Opera Series

I believe I mentioned that I had turned in the manuscript for the first of the three-book military space opera series I'm doing for Ace.


Cutter's Wars: The Ramal Extraction.


Apparently it's not so awful they wanted to burn it, salt the ashes, and get their money back, and I am told it is scheduled for publication in January, 2013. As a paperback and an ebook, for those who might be interested in one over the other ...


Meanwhile, I hope to get the next Matador book, Churl, done before I need to swing into the second Cutter's Wars. I'll give it a try ...

Super Bowl Commercials

We watched the game, of course, we always do, a tradition started by one of my football player kung fu students thirty-odd years ago in Louisiana. Jim was a place-kicker at LSU. Went on to become a sportscaster on TV. How can you not watch the Super Bowl?! he asked us. 


So we had a party and did, and that became our yearly football fix.


Go pee while they are playing, be sure to get back for the commercials. Saw the original Mac ad in the early eighties. Saw Janet's hooter. Mean Joe Green for Coke ...


We rooted for the Giants. We liked their helmets better.


This year, they were hit-and-miss, the commercials, but there were several at which I grinned. 


Car commercials mostly ruled. Top of that list, the Chevy truck drivers after the Mayan Calendar apocalypse, with the Ford reference and the Twinkies. The exploding vampires for Audi. The Kia bring-me-a-dream sequence.


And you gotta love The Dog Strikes Back, for VW. I mean, really. Clever. I didn't see it coming and as a Star Wars geek, how could I not laugh?


There were a couple other long-forms, Matthew Broderick's Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and Jerry Seinfeld, also car commercials, Honda and Accura, respectively. Most of the audience won't get most of the references in either, I suspect. 


Much amused at the Great Dane Dorito missing-cat hush-money spot. 


Far and away the winner? Clint Eastwood's Half Time in America, for Chrysler. Yeah, it was a button-pusher and string-puller, but it was Clint Fucking Eastwood, wasn't it ... ?

Chuck the Knife

More progress. Left to do, the handle will be shortened a bit, and a slight indentation added, in line with the edge; the blade and guard are to be etched to bring out the damascus pattern; and the wood polished and shined up. Looking great, isn't it?


And we aren't even talking about the leather, of which Chuck is also passing expert in making ...

All Things Must Pass

When I got my iPad 2, I found there was a local maker of bamboo cases for such things, Grove. There was a waiting list, but because I got on it early, I got a discount on the case. Still wasn't cheap, but I really liked it. 


Here's the original posting with images.


It really was a spiffy-looking accessory. Anytime I took the iPad out in public wearing it, I got nice comments and questions. Folding leather screen-cover, magnetic switch to turn the iPad on and off, I was happy with it. 


There was, however, a major flaw, about which I found out last night. I had the iPad on the table next to my chair and when I reached for my water glass, I knocked the flatscreen onto the floor.


It landed on the top edge. The bamboo shattered as if it was so much glass.


Beyond repair, as I quickly realized once I got the glue and toothpicks out. Not enough surface area to make a strong enough bond to hold.


So, it's a beautiful case, and it gave its life to protect the iPad, but buyers should beware. Once upon a  time, I recommended it. Not, alas, any more ...


Ah, well, live and learn.


I'll be getting another case, not sure what yet. Maybe a leather one, make it look like a book. Or maybe a shell, they make those in rubber or carbon fiber or plastic that allow the use of Apple's Smart Cover, which is a nice screen protector. Open the cover, the thing comes on; close it, it goes off. Saves wear and tear on the mechanical switch. 


They also make cases that are almost bulletproof, including one that offers enough anti-slide-off-a-table protection that they test  it by putting it on the roof of a Porsche and driving down the road at sixty. There's one they dropped from a high-flying balloon that protected the contents. Had a camera going as it fell. 


I don't think I need something quite that heavy-duty, but I will have to get something. This is the first time I've dropped it since I got it in June, but a new case every eight months would get kind of spendy. 

Asylum Run by the Inmates

Probably you've heard about the deaths at a soccer game in Port Said, Egypt a few days back: Seventy-four people were killed during the riot. The Egyptians are blaming the army for it.


Really?


If you look at the graphic, you'll see some pretty interesting numbers, staring in the 1960s and moving our way. More than a thousand people have been killed in soccer stadium disasters, most of these stampedes or crushes. 


In a stampede, you fall down and the herd stomps you to death like a bug; in a crush, you get pressed against a locked gate or door and squashed like a bug. Plus there are some who are killed by falling debris, such as an overloaded wall, and the odd person now and then who gets battered to death by somebody flailing away to keep from getting squashed or stomped. Assorted heart attacks and strokes, probably, too.


Sunday afternoon at the morgue with George ...


You'll note these incidents are worldwide, save for a couple of conspicuous exceptions: Nobody in North America, nor Australia. Not that many people in the U.S. jam into stadiums for soccer, and, of course, it's too cold in Canada to riot, plus the Canadians are too polite. The Aussies are as looney tunes as the rest of the world when it comes to sports, but maybe they've just been lucky.


What I get from this? Soccer fans are fuckin' crazy. I mean, wouldn't you just, you know, stay in your damned seat until the place cleared out? Lot easier to step around a few bodies after the mob finishes the slaughter, you think?


Better yet, don't go there in the first place. Watch it on TV. and listen to that crazy announcer go: "Scooooooorrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee!" Which is the most exciting thing about watching soccer anyhow. Drying paint or grass growing are surely more interesting to anybody who isn't born and raised watching the sport. Camera is a thousand yards away to include all the players, who look like manic ants darting hither and yon ...

News From the EBook Front

Just under a month ago, I uploaded the rest of the Matador novels to Amazon.com. While Dan Moran's Fat Sam store is still my market of choice–the links on the right mostly go there–Amazon.com has a bigger pool of readers.


(I can't wait for Amazon.com India to come online, supposedly later this year. More English readers there than in the U.S.)


I didn't expect to blow the bestsellers on Kindle out of the water, nor did I. First batch of these books are twenty-five years old, and most of them long out-of-print. They did sell enough copies to make me smile and shake my head. My best month at Amazon.com.


At this stage, it's all free money.


What I found most interesting was something I had heard from other writers who have ventured into ebookery: The titles I already had up got a bump in sales. Again, not major, no new, custom-made concert-class guitars in my future from the profits, but noticeable. A title that had been selling eight or ten copies a month jumped to twelve or fifteen. Even a couple titles that were moribund trickled up to three or four copies each.


Allowing for the new readers that people got for Christmas, that's still a snowball-effect I find intriguing.


Here's the deal. It sounds like a "Well, duh!" but attend:


The more books you have available, the more sales you are apt to make. I'd heard this from writers who have a backlist a mile long, and it seems to be true in my case.


I can understand why. If you have one book up, it's hard to get it noticed. If people find and buy it, and even if they love it, then they are done–there's nothing else of yours to read. If you have five books up, then if they like one, they will probably at least preview the others. 


If you have twenty books up, there's is a built-in momentum factor. Find a writer you like, enjoy one of her books, chances are you will check out her other work. Get into a series, if you are like me, you want to read them all. What happened the character before and after this one? 


The rising reader floats all boats ...

Magic Bullet

So somebody has come up with a prototype  laser-guided.50 caliber round. In theory, you load up your M2 and a shot that might be ten yards off at half a mile, you can get within eight inches of a target.


See the story here.


Three things pop immediately into mind. First, a good sniper can already do that with several platforms, and the thousand or two thousand yard shot has been done more than a couple of times. This new round in development is not for them, but for the relatively-untrained shooter.


Seems like it would be better to, you know, train the soldiers to hit what they are aiming at, but maybe that's not the case.


The second thing involves this quote:


"Jones said there are still some engineering problems to be sorted out that will make the bullet more practical — for example, it will have to be tough enough to be dropped off the back of a truck and still work."


Really? How about, it has to be tough enough to be fired from a fifty caliber machinegun and withstand a big explosion and acceleration from zero to three or four thousand feet/second in less than a heartbeat?


Plus how much are these rounds gonna cost? Surplus .50 cal runs what? Three or four bucks apiece? If they cost thirty bucks a round and you have some yahoo from Open Sewage Ditch, Idaho, hosing the neighborhood with 'em, how is that going to work in the new, slimmed down military budget, hmmm ... ?

Distracted

You know how when you are doing something you do routinely, and you idle your brain and switch on the autopilot? 


Most of the time, no problem, but now and then, some glitch will mess you up. 


I was loading the car for this week's trip to the jam session. Since this is done in the garage, and the space is tight, it involves opening the driver's door, edging the guitar case past the steering wheel and sliding it bout first onto the passenger's side floor. Toss the song book onto the seat, button it up, and go.


It's a small car, and tricky to hold onto the end of the case and get it in the right position. Only weighs like eighteen pounds, but you have to do it with some care.


As I wiggled the guitar into place, my keys in hand, I accidentally hit the remote for my wife's car, turning off her car's alarm. Well, crap. So I got the case in, reset the alarm, buttoned it up and backed out the garage.


That tiny bit of business? It intruded just enough so I missed something. 


Tooled along about half a block and I realized I had left my song book, which is a fat, loose-leaf notebook, sitting on the roof of the car. Wouldn't have been a problem, save for how I realized it.


That would be the loud clunk! that caused me to look at the rearview mirror, and see the book bouncing off the car's fender, down to the road, and the pages fluttering hither and yon onto the street.


I said a bad word. An expletive. Of the anglo-saxon variety.


Said several bad words, actually. Equally bad and expletively.


Braked, pulled over, put the flashers on, and went to fetch the book and loose pages. 


Fortunately, it was not raining, neither was it windy, and not much traffic, so I was able to retrieve the loose papers, but higgledy-piggledy and in no particular order, which made trying to find songs at the subsequent session kind of like a treasure hunt, sans map. Wound up cheating  over the shoulder of another player.


It's always something ...