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In your lasagna example, if pressed for a time, I'd say about 2/3 of the time for the full receipt. Usually I just cook it "Until it looks done" and don't worry about timing to the minute. I know to check it after a little while. Of course, the times given in a receipt often need to be modified. Some of it might be my oven (a small ~30 year old, 24" wall oven), but I've had that issue with other ovens, too. "Bake at 350F for 45 minutes" and then have to add half an hour to bake it through. Or should have taken it out after 20 minutes. I almost prefer the old receipts "Bake in a moderate oven until done."

I'll take the 12 guage lee loader.

Now that it is no longer a crime to be a thief and break into cars, I don't leave my EDC in the vehicle, it's much safer on my person. Oh well!

How is 1.525 shorter than 1.455?

LORDY! https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-london-68895233 https://nypost.com/2024/04/24/world-news/blood-soaked-military-horses-run-amok-in-london/

In great shape. Do not have the drop tube. $75 shipped

Every time I watch Ol' Yeller or Savage Sam, I think of how they would make a movie like that today. Kids left alone with guns, axes, cooking fighting injuns, bobcats, hydrafobe.

Full of Rooster Red BP lube. In box with instructions. $100 shipped

I started using mine years ago when I was using that nasty Trail Boss powder. My brass was so black that the vibratory tumbler just polished the black soot! So I started soaking them first in a 50-50 mix of Simple Green. Then into the dehydrator for an hour and a half, then vibrate another hour and a half. Came out nice and shiny! Going to wet has given me nice clean brass, but not quite as shiny as the corn cob with polish did! Good Luck!

.45 caliber press mounted wad punch. Like new in box. $60 shipped

Mystery meat

run the other way

I think I'd back that crimp die off a bunch and run some through uncrimped and see if the issue disappears and then readjust the crimp die if all is good. For as best I can see in the pic, they look way over crimped to me. But then, I haven't slept at Holiday Inn in a quite a while.

Screw in choke, Limbsaver pad, big bead. Barrel cut to 18 1/4”. D series made in 1905. Has been parkerized. It does hold 6. Has Wild Bodie Tom spring and follower. $750 shipped to your FFL.

Ignore the "Age Restriction" on the above. It's just the setting of the Youtube page.

FORTRESS FORD AND BATTLESHIP BUICK Mitch didn't get out much, at least not like his peers. He did quite a bit of traveling, most of it through an old-fashioned telegraph key. Jacob Keller got him started in ham radio, right after the drunk driver took Mitch's legs: Mitch threw himself into learning Morse code and radio theory, antenna theory and propagation, he studied with a single minded focus: when he sat for his exams, he paid his money to take the Technician exam, then for no extra cost, he immediately took (and passed) the Extra and the Advanced as well. When his set began an urgent set of tones, he drove his powered wheelchair over to his shack bench, frowned, reached for the key and sent a quick burst, then went to his window and picked up a set of binoculars. He had a bay window that afforded him 270 degrees of view; as he was well up on the mountainside, he had a grand vista ahead of him, none of which he saw. He turned the focus wheel, leaned forward, watched for several long moments, then backed his chair, turned it, gripped the key again and sent one word: ALIVE Angela's Gammaw still taught, in spite of her being dead for a lot of years now. Angela's Gammaw videotaped a variety of presentations for the Academy, and Angela watched every last one of them, from early childhood to the present day. Willamina could convey an idea fast, clearly, concisely, and did: she taught her troops that there is no such thing as routine patrol, and there is sure as hell no such thing as a routine traffic stop, and she set up a variety of realistic scenarios based on actual stops gone bad. Angela called in a plate, pulled over a vehicle: she'd not come to a full stop behind the subject vehicle when the driver's door flew open, the driver came out, running toward her, shooting. Angela dumped the shifter in Go Backwards gear and quite honestly mashed the throttle: her cruiser screamed backwards, the driver ran back into his car, he started to jackrabbit out of there, until Angela rammed his rear quarter panel, PIT-ing him, hard, when he was barely moving. She backed up, yanked the shifter savagely into gear: the driver started moving again and Angela rammed him again, hard, just behind the driver's door, shoving him sideways and into the ditch. She just honestly bulldozed him off the roadway and over on his side. Angela backed again, made a quick sweep of her mirrors: she reached up, hit the release, shouldered her own door open and stepped out, using her engine block and front wheel for cover. She jacked a round of genuine US Military 00 Buck into her Ithaca, dropped the barrel level, glared through the ghost ring peep, and waited. Her tan cruiser's big block engine whispered mechanical secrets to itself, patiently waiting for the next demand upon its services; her red-and-blue LED bar, and the other pretty little lights Weenkeeng and Bleenkeeng fore, aft and on running boards and mirrors, were silent; Angela waited, knowing the other driver's only exit was through his driver's-side door, unless he kicked his windshield out -- which would give her well more than enough advance warning, to line up a killing shot if need be. Michael and Victoria sat side by side at what used to be Jacob's ham radio desk. It now belonged to the twins. Victoria had the enlarged map on display; she'd placed rectangular markers to show the positions of Angela's cruiser, and as best they could estimate, location of the subject vehicle. It was too far away for them to intervene, and they knew better than to interfere with a law enforcement matter, but both knew the moment Angela's windshield starburst with the first hostile gunshot, and both sprinted upstairs, to where the scanner patiently ran the bands, and their natural affinity for things electronic enabled them to play back radio traffic, and they heard Angela's professional voice -- she sounded different when she spoke professionally -- call in the plate number and location, then they heard the sound of bullet strikes, the squall of tires, the sound of the well-muffled engine's protest and Angela's clipped, "Shots fired, taking evasive, backup, NOW!" Michael consulted another map, turned an antenna's directional control: a Yagi-Uda swung obediently in response to his safecracker's touch on the directional knob, then he gripped the straight key and tapped out a message to a set of ears he knew would be listening. Mitch watched, shocked, as the tan Sheriff's cruiser rammed the vehicle, turning it: his mouth opened in surprise as he saw the cruiser, like a bull, lower its head and ram the stopped car in the side, pushing it off the roadway and into the ditch, where it rocked once and stayed. He made a mental note to rig a relay so he could run a key from his chair, while here in his overwatch, and kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He pulled back and sent Michael a one word reply, then rolled back into his bay window, glass glued to his eyes, watching. Angela waited for backup, then took a ballistic shield, jumped the ditch, walked around the car and tapped on its underside. "Anybody home?" she called. The reply from within was less than kindly in nature. "Tell you what," Angela called, and she smiled as she did: "Roll down your window, throw out your gun and we'll get you out of there!" The reply was to fire a half-dozen rounds through the bottom of the car. "I thought you might say that," Angela muttered: she went to the back of the car, smacked the back glass with a glass breaker, dropped the pointy nosed hammerhead. She pulled the pin on a tear dust grenade, drove its end into the roof of the car, then tossed the can inside. A muted detonation, a cloud: blinded, unable to breathe, the driver fought his way out the back and through what used to be his rear window, where he was cheerfully dogpiled and cuffed. Mitch waited until the rescue truck unspooled a compressed air line and blew the excess tear dust off the prisoner and out of his hair, then rolled back to his key and sent a brief reply to Michael. Victoria's eyes met her twin's and they smiled a quiet smile of satisfaction as they heard the all-well, as they listened to Angela requesting a shots-fired team to help process the scene. Michael and Victoria were as accustomed to watching their Gammaw's training videos as was their older sister. They watched as their Gammaw's voice narrated the scene as a driver stepped out of a simulated stopped vehicle and charged the camera, firing paintballs as he came: splats of red blasted against the windshield and Willamina's voice said "Congratulations, you're dead. Now let's see how else we might handle this." Pale eyed twins watched and listened as the stopped vehicle's driver's door flew open, as the driver emerged weapon in hand, as the camera's vehicle accelerated hard in reverse. "Distance is your friend, and your vehicle provides some cover," Willamina's voice said. "Your vehicle gives you speed, mobility and protection. It runs faster than you can, it hits harder than you can. The vehicle itself is a weapon and can be used to counter deadly force." The scene changed, melted, coalesced into an attractive woman with Marine-short hair and a tailored suit dress, behind a podium, in front of the now-blank projector screen behind her. "Remember, boys and girls," she smiled, "when you are behind the wheel, on duty or off, you are driving Fortress Ford, and Battleship Buick!"

In that first picture she looks like Darla from the Little Rascals !

I had a similar idea for clearing the camps out . . .

Wait, 1.525 is longer than 1.455. I thought you said they were too long?

Nope, I don't leave firearms unattended in vehicles. I would never rely on anything electronic to work 100% of the time.

I'm glad that they reestablished communication with Nomad and that it, and Voyager 2, are still relaying information back to Earth. Launched the same year I graduated high school and the same month I moved out of the house and out on my own at 17. I'm still about 10 miles from where I launched from, Voyager 1 is 15 billion miles away from where it launched from...Hmm. Every time I hear about Voyager 1 (and 2), it reminds of the Star Trek episode with the spacecraft Nomad in it.

I personally will not use this kind of safe or gun box. At least not yet (waiting to see how the technology improves). I have had a computer for work that required a fingerprint to access and it failed to recognize my print roughly 10% of the time. That's not much when you're trying to access your laptop, but it's WAY to high of a failure rate for accessing your firearm if you need it for self defense. Then there is the consideration of batteries draining or running low and you not realizing it until you need to access the box. Just my 2 cents, but I always recommend a box with some kind of mechanical opening method instead of biometric.

HARLEYSuzuki

... trying to think of something intelligent, educational, informative, supportive, actually useful and at least a little entertaining, and the mind just went blank! As I suffer a terrible condition -- you might've heard of it, Hoof In Mouth syndrome -- might be I'd be wise just to stay hush! What was it the wise man admonished me? ... "a closed mouth gathers no foot ..." Looking forward to your after action report! Safe travels, enjoy yourself!