Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
That Gun Free Zones are the closest correlation to mass shootings? I knew it was hgher but I did not know it was so high. Well, according to NRO, it is.
“With just one single exception, the attack on congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in Tucson in 2011, every public shooting since at least 1950 in the U.S. in which more than three people have been killed has taken place where citizens are not allowed to carry guns.”
One way or the nother the headaches are giving me some fits, and only large doses of guaifenesin are keeping me from drilling holes in my head to let the pressure out.
it has made for some pretty strange sleep/dream cycles, in any event.
Last night, in the middle of a bathroom excursion, I found myself leaning against the wall and a sentence rushed into my head.
It was one of those sentences, the ones you dream that your muse will bestow on you, a sentence that has the depth of hemingway, the cleverness of Steinbeck. It was such a good sentence that I had to say it out loud, and feel it on my tongue, and it felt like drinking 1928 Chateau d’Yquem. Then I realized what subtle snark it contained, of a level on a par with the very best, in language old enough that Twain would have understood, and laughed immediately, but PJ O’Rourke would have found it current and fresh. it lit up my whole brain, and I thought, I can write a whole book around this one sentence, and it will be a bestseller. I was still giggling when I drifted off to sleep.
And now it’s gone. it’s like losing a pet. I feel like crapola. Damn.
Not to join or align with the media blood dancers, but if you have a kid who is known to be an occasional whackjob, why in hell do you let him have access to firearms? I don’t know what the exact details were, but I do keep hearing he was living in a house where firearms were laying around.
When I was a kid, you gun-proofed your kids, you didn’t kid proof your guns. If you had kids incapable of learning, you kept the guns elsewhere.
I always knew where dad’s guns were. He kept them in the closet behind his suits, in their cases. Had I ever taken one out for ay reason I might as well have shot myself with it, because that was gonna be preferable to what was gonna go on when he got home.
One night when the rents were out on the town, we had kids prank calling, and they graduated to knocking on the door and then throwing things at the windows, breaking one. I turned off the lights and grabbed dad’s 870, loaded the tube, and chambered a round.
I figured i was gonna get a beating when Dad got home, but i was scared. Plus my sister was in the other room sleeping. SO I sat in the living room in the dark while dirt clods and rocks pelted the house, shivering like a dog shitting razor blades. When Mom and Dad pulled in the driveway I was relieved, and only slightly dreaded the upcoming asswhipping. Dad took the shotgun from me and emptied it. He put the shells in his pocket, and put the gun back in it’s case, and we all went to bed. I figured the asswhipping had been put off till the next day, but it never came, he never said a word about it after that, ever.
That has flavored my attitudes about a lot of things since then. Eventually it dawned on me that he knew I knew where the guns were, and he trusted me to do the right thing at the right time. Had I not been trustworthy he would have kept me from having access.
Edited to add: Read Ed Herings most excellent dissertation on the subject.