Quote:
Originally Posted by LearnMe
A very interesting dynamic if you ask me. Car enthusiasts, tattoos, sports, guns, etc...
I'm not sure at what point any obsession becomes unhealthy, but I think we all know when we encounter someone who seems a little "off the deep end" with their obsession. I enjoy all these things to a point. I've been to more than a few car shows. I don't have a tattoo, but I think some are cool. I'm a sports fan, and I have used guns. Own one.
Then there are those who can hardly think about anything but cars. Talk cars, magazines about cars, forever under their cars or driving their cars. People covered from head-to-toe with tattoos. Sports nuts covered in sports garb, wearing sports face paint, and some of them too will actually fight over their favorite team.
Again, I'm not sure whether any obsession is necessarily "unhealthy," but sometimes there is the hint that someone's obsession is a "red flag." Something ain't exactly quite right, and although I know gun owners who are perfectly fine respectable people, they are not the sort that would post comments like some gun people post in these threads.
Right or wrong, I think some people become obsessed with their particular fancy because they imagine themselves as something bigger or more than they really are. You might say it's something of a need for them, and they really don't seem to see it in themselves or how they act. They feel special in a special sort of way, with the help of that car, or all their tattoos, covered in their team colors, or forever polishing, building, and going on about guns, as if perhaps one of the most singular important aspects of their lives.
Any of these sorts of obsessions tends to make me leery about what's going on between the ears, but then again I can't really fault someone for loving something to such an extent. "Whatever turns you on" as they say, but I'm pretty sure most of us not so inclined have to wonder about these people at some level, more or less.
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I enjoy everything mechanical.
Motorcycles. Dirtbikes. Quads. Jetskis. Jet boats. Snowmobiles. Cars. Trucks. Gas. Diesel. 2 stroke. 4 stroke. Firearms.
I enjoy fabricating. Be it wood working framing, roofing, metalworking (English wheel, welding, mandrel tubing benders lathes brdigeports etc) but because I don't do with my talents and skills that others would rather see me do, I'm "selfish" or "obsessed".
Not my problem they aren't into motorsports hot rods car shows shooting sports hunting fishing water sports.
Who is anyone to question the integrity of others by ones hobbies?
I see building firearms, cars/trucks, race cars, motorcycles, quads, dirtbikes, as a form of art/expression.
While someone may enjoy painting, sculpting, etc, I enjoy just a different form of it.
And when someone wants to be a busy body and state it's dangerous... I double or triple down on it out of spite.
If my father were still alive, he'd tell ya. He looked down his nose on my choice of vehicles. What did it get him? The opposite intended effect.
Sure it was okay for him when he was a teenager to build hot rods from cars of the 40s and 50s, but I had to be rolling in 4 cylinder chitboxes?
When I'd hear how "stupid" it was, or how "you'll get killed in that damned thing" or how "you don't need"... well... I knew I was doing something right.
Example. He bought a new Chevy SSR.
I loved that truck I wish he had kept it.
It is a hard top convertible 50s styled pickup.
Well. I had to get me a convertible pickup. So I did. An 85 C10.
I wasn't happy with the crate 355 that was in it. So I swapped the cam, heads, and intake. Took a Sawzall whacked the junk Flowmasters off it put glasspacks on it. When I brought it home from a buddies shop...
He glared in pure hatred.
worse than the S10 I built when I was 16.
"You better be welding a roll bar in that damn thing! There is no roof you'll get killed in it!"
Said back to him. "Why don't you lead by example and weld one in your SSR or how about mom's Mustang, that's a convertible too."
Zing. He didn't like that response.
The more inherently dangerous something is perceived. The more intrigued I am by it. The more someone says "you don't need" the more I need it. The more someone says how inherently dangerous something is. The more I go out of my way to prove it isnt. If I could source nuclear materials I'd build a reactor to power my house. If others knew about it they'd scream from the rooftops and soap boxes that I'd be building nuclear bombs or contaminating the environment. And they'd gladly see a setting of men from the government descending upon me with tanks helicopters and troops to stop it. When all I'm doing is generating power and studying how to use nuclear waste as a fuel source in a molten salt reactor to burn up waste that has half lives tens of thousands of years into either inert or much lower half life.
It's the busy body mentality which is compelled by emotion is what the downfall is within modern society. When claiming the intellectual or moral high ground as a I am right, you are wrong, can't really say you are for any form of progress to be made as progress gets hamstrung by overbearing regulations.
My mother was that way with me on dirtbikes and quads...
She saw me take a spill once and demanded that my father sell my dirtbike. A dirtbike I had bought with my own money. I went down on pavement with it. Tore my right arm and leg wide open full of grit and dirt. Her being a nurse, cleaned the wounds and bandaged them up. That was fun. Wire brush, wound wash, alcohol, and big bandages/gauze.
Next day. I was out in the garage swapping the handle bars that were bent to death and replacing the broken front brake lever. She figured I was fixing it to sell it as if it had scared me. Hours later on the same dirtbike I made sure to ride wheelies up and down the road in front of the house, went into the field across the street, and jumped the road, out of the ditch over the road into the front yard. Damn near gave her a heart attack. 3rd gear pegged would get up about 20 feet in the air and easily across both lanes and about 20 feet into the yard. I did it just to spite her. To really get her and my father worked up, I used to sit up on the gas tank with my legs over the handle bars and pull wheelies on that and my quads and go the length of the driveway.
Neither of them had an issue with me being up in the woods on my own from age 13 on with rifles and shotguns, then again I didn't portray being "irresponsible, stupid, or dangerous" with a firearm.
But a dirt bike, a quad, a snowmobile, a car/truck building and racing stock cars... that was the end of the world... You should have seen the fireworks show over coming home with a 3 wheeler in the bed of my truck when I was 17
The real fireworks happened when my little sister turned 23 and came home with a pink ninja 600. Barely able to hold it up at a stop with her toes.
"Are you nuts! You'll get killed on that damn thing!"
LOL picture a 5'2 90 pound little blond chick with a Kawasaki Ninja 600.
My dad asked her. How do you even hold that thing up at a stop sign or red light? (The seat is high up, you need to be at least 5'7 mostly leg to be able to plant both feet firmly on the ground)
She goes like this, watch! She fired it up in the driveway, kicked the kickstand up, stood to the left of it, turned around and shouted, you watching? He gave her the thumbs up, she gently rolled on the throttle and released the clutch walking turning into almost a jog, then she'd hop up and throw her leg over the top of the seat and she was on it.
I died laughing. All I could picture is her tripping and going full whiskey throttle into a wheelie and her legs dangling in the breeze.
Oh did my parents freak out. What did they expect? We both had dirt bikes growing up... we always went up to our trails and track. I stole pops bulldozer and backhoe and went up and made a legit motocross track when he'd leave town for business meetings.
Big bro hooked her up with adjustable coil over out back a modified kickstand and adjusting the front forks for her. Then she had to go and throw a loud ass exhaust on it. I hated them back then as much as I do now. But I didn't have to listen to a whiney high pitched bike she did. If that's what she liked, ohwell.
Someone at her college bumped into it with their car, and broke the fairings and clutch lever, so it was off to my buddies body shop, got fixed and I ordered her a set of crash bars (big mistake) to be paint matched.
Why do I say big mistake for the crash bars?
Well. I was only looking out so she wouldn't have to worry about the fairings getting annihilated or her crankcase cracking.
When she was in college she was dating a guy that had a F4i, he was into that stunt riding stuff. Where you rip a wheelie and ride around in a circle or figure 8 stand on the seat going down the road etc. Jab the front brake get the back tire up off the ground and spin it around on the front tire. She used to pull into the college parking lot on the front tire and steer it around into a space.
She got into doing that stupid chit. The kicker, She's a nurse and has had to treat fractures and injuries from motorcyclists going down on pavement... So much for that theory of seeing the end results and being "scared straight". In a way she's alot like me. Tell her you can't or shouldn't do something and follow up with, "because it's dangerous".
She doesn't do it anymore after those 2 broke up. She will pull wheelies still. Sometimes she'll stand it straight up and scrape the plate.
Once the 4 of us went out riding and went up to Lake George.
My mom and dad were on my dad's bike, I was on the sportster 1200 I put together, she was on her crotch rocket. Pops rode too slow so we both blew by him like he was standing still. We never heard the end of it for "flying through the corners" like we did. He'd slow down for the turns. Me, I always would haul ass through the turns. When it was just him and I it was no big deal other than him saying, one of these days your pegs are going to catch and send you into the ditch or worse, but I had to "behave" when mom was on the back with him.
Me I always rode in jeans and a t shirt or button up shirt. My sister had matching pink fox boots, and icon pants and jacket with spinal elbow and knee protection pads matching gloves and helmet. Rarely did I ever wear a leather jacket. Unless it dropped into the 40s at night.
They both wanted to shred our bike licenses.
As always... I encouraged her to do it. I corrupted her.
it was always my fault somehow...
She's had to treat gun shot wounds in the ER/ICU as well. Think that scares her from firearms? Nope. When we were kids, I'd take her shooting. She hated shotguns!
I had a pigeon thrower that I staked into the ground and added longer string so I'd stand behind her when she'd shoot. The first time she shot a shotgun, she got knocked on her ass, a bruised cheek and shoulder and she got up and said Nope. Nope. To hell with that thing. I'm done with that. And that was a 20 gauge.
She's got the bug from me. I built her an AR for christmas. She on her own, took over her husbands work bench, added a vice and bought the tools and builds ARs herself. Not just slapping a completed upper on a completed lower. She has all of the armorers tools I have and then some, even bought herself a pink Snap-On torque wrench, and builds from stripped uppers and stripped lowers.
She's got a pink hello kitty themed one.
She's got a SpaceForce lower that she is building to look like a futuristic AR. She wants to have it sent out to be painted to look like a night sky/galaxy as "space camo" LOL.
She reserved a Wall AR10 lower so she can go deer hunting at her surgeon friends place in Texas.
She's already got a LaRue 6.5 Creedmoor upper kit, sold the rail that it came with because it was too short which I agree aesthetically rifles look retarded with short Mlok rails. (Her Surgeon friend owns machine guns too)
My brother in law is just like.
where did you learn how to do this!
Hehe. Oops.
My girlfriend likes AKs more than ARs. She's built a couple of her own. She has an AR that she built. She rarely shoots it though.
With all that I've done, if I had to start it all over, I wouldn't do it any different. Tell me it's dangerous. That it should be banned for the Childrunz. Chances are, been there, done that when I was 12-26 years old. I wouldn't be overbearing with my kids either.
That's how they learn, that's how I learned. From the falls, the bumps, the scrapes, road rash, bruises. And I'd never tell them because they made a mistake trying that jump or trying that wheelie that they were stupid. I'd just ask them what they learned from it. Improve on it. Don't give up until you get it. Don't let fear consume you. Don't let that dirt bike that quad whatever scare you or you'll never enjoy it again if you are perpetually afraid of it.
Think, don't
feel.
What's interesting, is openly admitting judgement upon assumption.
Your words.
Quote:
Originally Posted by LearnMe
Any of these sorts of obsessions tends to make me leery about what's going on between the ears, but then again I can't really fault someone for loving something to such an extent.
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Well, I'm not accusing you directly of this, however it does enable the lemmings.
Well LearnMe says they wonder what's going on between someones ears, so we're justified in assuming if gun lover then homicidal scumbag.
Which is just false equivalency and conflation for their focal point is the implement and not the individual.
When does someone's hobby become an obsession?
Usually when their hobby is seen as immoral or evil or want it banned. Then those that enjoy said hobby dive deeper into it just to play others by their emotions out of spite. Then it's feeble perception that if this, then, obsessed.
Realistically, a hobby become an obsession when the hobby takes precedence over daily life. As in, dropping responsibilities to make a hobby into the main consumption of free time even cutting into the worklife. Like a drug addiction almost.
To most I am sure I give the impression I have a blanket made of rifles they want banned.
I dont, but it sure is entertaining seeing the hyperbolic accusations and assumptions. And sometimes I lend the rope to allow others to hang themselves proving my point for me, for they feel, I think.
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