Thursday, February 7, 2013

Are you a liberal who supports more gun control?

Do you think that only the police and the military should have guns?  Then I challenge you to read (in full) this brilliant essay, written by one of your own.

The Polemicist: The Rifle on the Wall: A Left Argument for Gun Rights

Credit is due to Marko Kloos on whose blog I first found the linked essay, and who penned "Why the Gun is Civilization," an excellent essay in its own right.

The Second Amendment isn't about the National Guard, nor is it only to benefit the likes of Donald Trump with his very rare New York City carry permit.  It's about this:

Malcolm X at home with an M1 Carbine.
And this:

A scene from Deacons for Defense, the true story of a group of African-Americans in Louisiana who organized in opposition to the Klan and local law enforcement.
And this:

Koreans defending their own, without police assistance, during the 1992 L.A. riots.
And, yes, even this:

Former WWII servicemen fire on the McMinn County jailhouse during the Battle of Athens (scroll to the bottom), a genuine example of American citizens ousting corrupt officials and asserting their rights by force of arms.
Gun control is not Progressive.  It is regressive, authoritarian, and elitist.  The undercurrent of modern gun-control arguments is uniformly one of, "Let's get guns out of the hands of those people," a group that can variably include anyone from red-state bitter-clingers to poor people in urban slums.  It has a disproportionate affect on minorities (as do most misguided policies) and invariably benefits the wealthy, who can either afford to jump through the red tape of ownership or simply employ hired guns.

So, liberals, I ask you:  Do you, in fact, want to live firmly under the boot heel of the 1% once they've tired of your mucking about in the streets in front of their steel and glass towers?  Or would you prefer to at least have the option of following the examples above, should it come to that?

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

According to Sarah

squirrel coconut: see ACORN

Example: "Scrat loves his squirrel coconut."

Monday, August 11, 2008

Inheritance: sense of humor

Gracie has decided that she wants a betta fish. I don't know where this current obsession came from, but she asks about it frequently.

This weekend, the conversation in the van went like this:

Gracie: Can we get a betta?

Me: No.

Gracie: Why not?

Me: Because it's something else we'll have to keep up with, and it's something else for you to cry over when it dies.

Gracie: How long do they live?

Me: I dunno. Two or three years, maybe?

Gracie: So it'll be a while before it dies, and I won't cry.

Me: Except that you're not taking into account Colin dropping a radio into the bowl.

Gracie: Colin's not going to turn them into fish sticks.

She's already developing a dark sense of humor, and she's only nine. She comes by it honestly. Just last week, when her mother was stressing over starting with a new workgroup, Gracie suggested that, if the new group gives Amanda any trouble, she should simply "Punch them in their grill," complete with mimicked illustration. I have no idea where she got that.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

I am the great Cornholio!

You will give me TP for my bunghole.

Monday, November 12, 2007


It's a day late , but yesterday was both busy and not one of my better days.

In keeping with the point of the holiday, I reflected on the lives of two men close to my heart - my grandfathers, both of whom served in the U.S. Navy in the Pacific theater during World War II.

My paternal grandfather served on board the USS Pennsylvania, dreadnought flagship of the Pacific Fleet, leaving behind his wife and infant son (my uncle) to pay his dues to his country. He was proud of his service, and I remember growing up that he always kept a model of his ship built by one of my cousins on a shelf in his dining room. At his funeral, one of his brothers, also Navy, saluted him as he lay in state in between a Knights of Columbus honor guard, and the scene broke my heart.

I have his Bluejacket's Manual at home, kept carefully among my other WWII memorabilia. Jim, I'm honored to be your grandson, and I miss you. See you when the time comes, Granddaddy.

My maternal grandfather was a 16-year-old kid from a rough background who decided he'd join up after the attack on Pearl Harbor. He lied about his age to get in, and was assigned to a destroyer, the USS Abner Read, which was sent to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. The Japanese sunk his beloved ship when a kamikaze pilot dropped a bomb down one of her stacks and the plane came down athwartships. My grandfather's closest shipmate credited him with saving his life while they waited for rescue, and that man's family forever held my grandfather in the highest of esteem for this act. My grandfather looked back on those days of service with the greatest of pride, and I believe he felt at home during those years like never before or after, until he found his place in the world again in Colorado.

He was cremated after his death and his ashes were spread in his beloved Colorado. His flag rests upon my mantle next to a wartime photograph in which he's in uniform, grinning ear-to-ear like the schoolboy he was. My own memory of that same grin is most clear when, not too long before his death, he watched my daughters play in my mother's yard. They were running back and forth to him as he sat in a lawn chair, and the occasional tear trickled down his face as he watched them. Ken, I'm honored to be your grandson, and I miss you. See you when the time comes, Pappaw.

Thank you both for your service and the families you started on your return.

Thank you to the men who fought alongside you who did not come home - their sacrifices will not be forgotten, not by me or my children or my grandchildren.

And thank all of you who have served, and especially those who are serving now in some far corner of the world, far from home. God bless you, and take care of yourselves.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Happy Birthday, Fuzzy!

This is my Fuzzy, the brightest of the stars in my life. She's given me my three beautiful babies and the best seventeen years of my meagre existence. She's stuck by me through the lowest points, too, and was the rock I clung to and the reason I pulled myself up and trudged forward.

Thanks to her, I'm a better man that I could ever have hoped to be, and I've been blessed far beyond what I deserve.

Happy birthday, Fuzzy. I hope to make you as happy as you've made me.

P.S. Sorry for the crappy picture quality. Cell phone cameras suck!

Monday, October 15, 2007


Amanda and I are watching the Titans play poorly yesterday when the boy wanders in. "Ina watch nananudis," quoth he.

Eyebrows raised, Amanda asked him to repeat. "Ina watch nananudis."

The call went out for the translator - "Gracie! C'mere and tell me what he wants, please."

"Ina watch nananudis." More raised eyebrows.

"I have no idea," Gracie said, grinning in amused bewilderment.

And then little Sarah, who had followed Gracie into the room, informs us in a tone of voice that suggests we're all retarded: "He wants to watch Milo and Otis."

Ah. Of course; how unintuitive of us.