The first firearm I’ve ever owned, a Ruger 10/22 rifle, shown with a 25-round magazine, the regular 10-round magazine, and the all-important Fine Manual. It’s simple to operate, fun to use, and ammunition for it is cheap. I probably won’t actually be able to use it until Sunday, when a lot of us are going out to the range again, but no worries. I’ll have some time to get familiar with field-stripping and cleaning the thing.

That reminds me of something Juan was talking about on Saturday: He walked into a gun store and said, “Hi, I’m looking for a .22, bolt-action, youth model.” The clerk said, “We don’t have any! There aren’t any here! There’s no market for anything like that!” Juan replied, “I think I see one on the rack over there. Could I take a look?” “You’re wasting your time! We don’t have anything like that,” said the clerk. Some places just don’t understand customer service at all, I guess. Juan ended up buying a rifle that was what he wanted from a different store. Companies take note: If your salespeople are idiots, your smarter customers will buy things from other companies.

Fuzzball was a lot quieter yesterday since I was home all day catching up on stuff like laundry and cleaning. She’ll have a rude awakening tomorrow when I get up early to catch the bus in to work. I don’t know for sure how long it’ll take the bus to get there; they claim 15 minutes. The bus going back from Phoenix to Tempe takes much longer, over 30 minutes.

Been reading The Impossible Bird, a sci-fi novel about parallel universes, government conspiracies, and two protagonist brothers who have a seriously messed-up relationship. It’s not profound great literature, but so far it’s been interestingly weird. I hope that when all the actual motivations behind the shadowy conspiracies are revealed, they don’t turn out to be lame, stupid, or totally implausible.