The way of the gun

I hope Teresa Nielsen Hayden doesn’t mind, but this comment that was put into a thread at Making Light, and was then posted in full to her own front page, is sufficiently sobering and well-considered that I’m quoting it in full here. (Let me know, TNH, if you want me to remove it.)

UPDATE: TNH requests that I credit the comment’s author, who goes by the handle “Old Jarhead”. While he doesn’t seem to have a blog or site of his own, his entire commenting history at Making Light (a short history thus far, but insightful) can be perused here.

If you intend to get a carry permit and pack heat for self protection, you should keep several things close to mind:

1. Unless you have invested the time and money to be well trained in the defensive use of a handgun, don’t carry one.

2. Unless you are willing to spend the money and time to go to the range and fire your weapon at least monthly and at least a box of ammo at that time, don’t carry one.

3. Unless you are certain that you have the emotional and psychological ability to shoot another human being dead, don’t carry one. Do not count on “brandishing” the weapon to frighten the other party into submission – it is far more likely to dramatically increase the level of violence. Do not even consider “shooting to injure”. Unless you are willing to put two rounds, center of mass, into the other person and kill him (usually) dead, you are far more likely to end up the dead or grievously injured one.

4. A handgun is not a magic wand. Displaying it will not cast a spell of caution or calmness on the various parties. A loaded weapon makes people crazy – the person at which it is aimed, the persons who are witnesses, and often the person who is holding it.

5. Unless you are willing to purchase and practice with a handgun that is large enough and packs a sufficient punch to put an attacker down and down now, don’t carry one. In the early 70s a female student at [University] was in her apartment with her daughter when an attacker burst through the door. She had a .22 pistol and shot him 4 or 5 times. He had a .45 and shot her once. He was arrested at the hospital. She was dead.

There are lots of sources of good advice on combination of caliber, proper ammo, and frame size for control.

What it comes down to is that there is no way to prepare for the first time you point a loaded weapon at an identifiable human being and have to pull the trigger. The reason the military does repetitive, mind-numbing training is to try and ingrain the muscle memory and develop the reflexes so that brain does NOT interfere, because if you give it a vote it will pause and then it is too late. Soldiers call the enemy by racial or ethnic names to depersonalize them so that they don’t have to think about the fact that they are killing other people with mothers, fathers, kids, wives, and families. Troops assigned to Special Operations forces or Delta Force fire hundreds of rounds a month because in their job they have to be able to make a split second decision on whether the human in their sights is a target or a hostage or innocent.

The passive defensive measures discussed herein are excellent approaches and will be far more effective in providing security than a sign that says “This family law attorney is protected by Smith & Wesson”.

When I was a young Marine we lived in southern Cal, and one night about 2 am my wife said that she had heard a sound in the garage. I scoffed of course (husbandly response #1), but then I heard the sliding door of the VW van. There WAS someone in the garage. I got up and sneaked to the garage door and peeked – the dome light was on. Heart beat at 120, adrenaline everywhere. As I whispered for my wife to call the cops I saw an arm – a little arm. A 5 y/o girl’s arm! I stormed out into the garage to confront my little daughter and as I demanded an explanation she sobbed that she couldn’t find her bunny rabbit and was looking in the car.

I had numerous weapons in the house – all locked up. After that I asked myself – “If I had had a weapon quickly available would I have gotten it and had it ready?” My answer was “yes”. And then I realized that if I had, I would have been confronting my little girl with a .357 in my hand. Accordingly I have never kept a weapon out of the safe in the house.

Given my background I obviously am not an anti-gun crusader. I believe, however, that the decision to carry a weapon in the office or on the street places an enormous responsibility upon the bearer to obtain excellent training, to commit to frequent practice and refresher training, to choose a weapon ideally suited for you and the purpose, and to stare into the mirror and ask yourself if you could really use it – and if you would make its use a truly last resort.

If you shoot and kill someone in the office you are not going to be celebrated as “Annie Oakley” and carried around the Family Law convention on a sedan chair. You are going to go to a private place and vomit until you don’t think you will ever be able to stand up straight again.

I have never had any problem with gun ownership, but I do have a problem with the idea that the more people are packing heat, the safer we’ll all be. I personally do not own a gun, nor do I have any desire to own one. Guns give me the willies.

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Quizinalia

Time for another quiz, via Tosy (or was it Cosh?):

What was the first recorded music you bought?

The soundtrack to The Empire Strikes Back. Holy crap, I played that thing into the ground over the next nine years or so. I played it so much that it has taken years of listening to subsequent CD releases to get to the point where I no longer hear the music the way that it was edited together for that album. (The tracks were not in film order, and some bits of score from different scenes were edited together into longer tracks.)

What was the last?

The 4-disc set of the scores to the Karate Kid movies, music by Bill Conti. Wonderful 80s cheese for the most part, but there’s one track in The Karate Kid Part Two (underscoring the tea ceremony between Daniel and Kumiko) that I consider to be among the finest bits of love music in all films.

What was the first “professional” music show you ever went to?

The Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra, when I was ten or eleven. My sister was taking French horn lessons from a then-member of the orchestra. I don’t recall what was on the program, but Julius Rudel was the conductor, I believe.

What was the last?

I haven’t been to any live music in so long that it’s really very depressing.

What’s your “desert island” album?

Lord, I can’t name one. Truly. The LOTR scores? Geez, I dunno.

What’s your favorite album/song title?

Album title? Maybe Fire in the Kitchen by the Chieftains (amazing album, by the way). Song title? I’ll go with “Seven Spanish Angels”. A song with a title like that can’t help but be gorgeous.

What’s your favorite album art (include an image of it if you can)?

I always loved this cover to the Solti/VPO recording of Das Rheingold:

The version I own has this dull cover:

(OK, that’s for Gotterdammerung, but the art’s the same, just with the right name for the opera.)

Ideal choice for a karaoke song?

Lord, I don’t know.

Song you don’t like that WILL NOT LEAVE YOUR HEAD if you hear it.

“Hey Jude”. I absolutely detest that song. And yet if I hear it, I end up hearing that interminable “Na na na nanana naaaa…” crap in my head for hours.

Which is cooler? — Vinyl? CD? Cassette? 8-track?

CD. I like having a physical object, and I’m not wild about the idea that if your hard drive goes kerblooey, there goes your music.

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A quiz thing

Geez, two angry rants in a row in this space. I need a quiz to push them down a bit, and here’s just the thing! I saw this on Andrew Wheeler‘s blog. (Bad enough that I keep giving the guy my money — he’s one of the honchos with the SF Book Club — but now I’m giving him traffic, too!)

What do you think about Ouija boards? Complete nonsense.

Your favorite TV shows? Scrubs, American Idol, Grey’s Anatomy, The Office. I’m also enjoying NBC’s midseason show Raines, but I’m not holding my breath since the spectacular failure of the last midseason show I liked, Eyes (the Tim Daly private-eye caper show — did anybody besides me watch that?).

What’s on your mouse pad? My mouse. Duh.

Favorite board game: We just taught The Daughter checkers, so that’s probably it right now. Chess will come in a year or two. But I love Chinese checkers. Othello is fun, too. Some day I want to learn Go.

Favorite magazine: Just subscribed to Mental Floss, and that mag is just a ton of fun to read. I wish it came more often. I also still faithfully read WIRED (even though I still find their “Digital good, not-digital BAD” stance annoying at times).

Favorite smells: Cooking garlic and meat. The Chinese restaurant when I walk in. The main food alleys at the Erie County Fair. Maple. Tilled earth. Freshly-cut wood.

Worst feeling in the world: Losing a child.

Best feeling in the world: Ask me again when the Sabres win the Cup! But for now, noticing that The Daughter has learned something new, or getting a smile from a pretty woman. Good thing I married one.

Favorite soundtrack: Star Wars (all six), Lord of the Rings (all three).

What is the first thing you think when you wake in the morning: If I’m getting up for work: Ihatetheworldandeverythinginit. On my days off: Huh. I could sleep a little more. Think I will.

Roller coaster – scary or exciting? Fun, but I don’t like the upside-down ones.

How many rings before you answer the phone? Zero. We don’t answer the phone, and the ringer is shut off. If it’s important, we’ll get back to you. (Seriously. Why should I feel any requirement to answer the phone?)

Future daughter’s name:

Future son’s name: (You know, I’m going to avoid these ones for now.)

Favorite foods: See here. Not enough space here.

Chocolate or vanilla? Both! I reject your dichotomy! (But Dark Chocolate over Milk Chocolate; and French Vanilla or Vanilla Bean over regular vanilla.)

Do you like to drive? Yes.

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? No.

Storms – cool or scary? Thrilling, actually. Except the ones that destroy stuff. Those aren’t very much fun at all.

What type was your first car: 1984 Volkswagen Rabbit with a diesel engine.

If you could meet one person dead or alive – who would it be? You know, I think I will now vow to never answer this question in any blog quiz again.

Favorite alcoholic drink: Spum-and-Coke. (“Spum” being “spiced rum”, of course. Since Spam is “spiced ham”.)

What is your zodiac sign? The Avenging Sword of Dismay and Doom. (I got bored with Libra, so I made up my own.)

Who is your favorite poet? Alfred Lord Tennyson

Do you eat the stems of broccoli? Broccoli is a vile, hateful thing that should be expunged forever from the Universe.

If you could have any job you wanted, what would it be? Keeper of one of the Beacon Fires of Gondor.

If you could dye your hair any color, what would it be? Fiery red that might strike fear into the hearts of my foes.

Have you ever been in love? Are you kidding? My default reaction with stuff is to fall in love with it.

What is on your walls in your room? For the purposes of this quiz, I’ll assume “my room” to be my work area at home. I have two maps of the world, one a print of an antique Renaissance map and the other a National Geographic map of the world (both are now partially obscured by bookshelves), a wall sconce bearing a candle, and posters for Casablanca and Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace.

Is the glass half empty or half full? The glass is always in flux. But the bottle? Ahhhh, that’s too empty. Gotta get to the store this weekend.

What is your favorite Snapple? Oddly, I no longer drink Snapple. No real reason; I just like other stuff now. Like that Vitamin Water stuff. And pomegranate juice, but that crap is expensive. Boy howdy.

Favorite movie(s): Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, My Fair Lady, Casablanca, and so on.

Are you a lefty, righty, or ambidextrous? Right handed.

Do you type with your fingers on the proper keys? No. And I still type at around 70 wpm.

What’s under your bed? The bodies. Oh yes, the bodies….

What is your favorite number? Pi, because it rhymes with pie and I like pie.

Favorite sport to watch: Football and figure skating. (Were the World Championships even televised this year? Did I miss them that completely?) And here’s an embarrassing admission for a Buffalonian: I’ve always had a hard time watching hockey on TV, so much so that I actually liked it when they superimposed that little dot over the puck for a while and did this “streaking laser” thing when the puck was shot.

Say one nice thing about the person who sent this to you: Well, I don’t know him personally, but I’ll ask a favor that he go a few months without putting books I want into the SFBC flyer, so I can get caught up on some reading and bills? Please?

[Two questions from this quiz’s original e-mail circulation genesis removed]

Favorite quote: Too many to list, but I’ll note one thing I once read in a book of funny quotes. Apparently there was once a photo in a sports magazine of the officials with the stop watches in a track-and-field event, which was captioned thusly: “These are the souls that time men’s tries”. I love that.

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Mr. Jaw, meet Mr. Floor (part deux)

I often think that the Right in this country is living in some kind of dream world, and the reason why is stuff like this idiotic thought by John Derbyshire:

As NRO’s designated chickenhawk, let me be the one to ask: Where was the spirit of self-defense here? Setting aside the ludicrous campus ban on licensed conceals, why didn’t anyone rush the guy? It’s not like this was Rambo, hosing the place down with automatic weapons. He had two handguns for goodness’ sake—one of them reportedly a .22.

At the very least, count the shots and jump him reloading or changing hands. Better yet, just jump him. Handguns aren’t very accurate, even at close range. I shoot mine all the time at the range, and I still can’t hit squat. I doubt this guy was any better than I am. And even if hit, a .22 needs to find something important to do real damage—your chances aren’t bad.

“Count the shots”? “Just jump him”? “Even if hit, your chances aren’t bad”?!

My God, this guy — and anyone who has thought anything like this — is just living in a delusional fantasyworld where the things that people do in action movies or shows like 24 are actual options in real life. We might as well wonder why anyone didn’t just slip on a Ring of Power and then use the resulting invisibility to sneak up behind the shooter and then eviscerate him with their lightsaber. He probably thinks that in the face of a massive explosion people can outrun fireballs, too.

I hate this kind of crap. I really do. I hated it a few weeks ago when those British soldiers were released by Iran, and a number of right-wing bloggers actually seemed disappointed that they hadn’t been murdered. I hate that Derbyshire has the audacity to bring up Flight 93 (“Did we learn nothing?”), as if the situations were in any way similar. I hate the impulse, the ever-constant reflex, to blame victims for everything: it’s your fault for not leaving the city when the hurricane came, even if you had no means and nowhere to go if you did. It’s your fault for not getting a better job, even if you applied and applied and applied and no one was hiring.

And it’s your fault this guy was able to shoot as many people as he did, because your actions didn’t match the hypothetical macho-man fantasies of a guy who once engaged in a conversation with Jonah Goldberg (Mr. “I’ll have my book done just as soon as my readers are done researching it for me”) about why the victims of the Titanic didn’t just float to safety on armoires and hutches, and who thinks that women hit their peak of attractiveness just after puberty.

Tell me again about right-wing civility. Please.

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Sentential Links #95 (the Martin Luther edition)

One Sentential Links post for each thesis that Martin Luther nailed to the door of…wherever it was that he nailed them to the door. Crap, I used to know this. There was college tuition money well-spent….

[off to Google!]

Ah, he nailed them to a church door at Wittenberg, Germany. Not to be confused with Wartburg Castle, where he translated the New Testament into German from the original Klingon (and thus provided a handy name to some people in Iowa centuries later who needed to name a college).

Anyway….

:: Will the demands for authenticity expand to a ban on flush toilets? Shall the sewers be open? How about no electricity or phone? Candles and torches only. (Local issue here, but I’m generally a lot more sympathetic to preservationists’ arguments when there is something to preserve.)

:: Some things are so titanically great that we can even loose sight of how amazing they truly are: living for too long in their shadow, we come to underestimate their size. (What a friggin’ truth this is. I think of this every time I listen to Beethoven’s Seventh: everybody knows that it might be the greatest of all symphonies, and yet to listen to it anew as I do every year or two is to amaze myself again at how stunning it still is. But he’s talking about something else; go find out.)

:: And whenever we’ve called in repairmen they always begin by saying the exact same thing:

“Well, that’s weird.” (Interestingly, in my job I’m now getting experienced to the point that I’m starting to recognize instances in which it’s appropriate to say, “Well, that’s weird”.)

:: This is a full shot of the character concept from a few posts ago. (Wow, nifty art here. For obvious reasons, I really dig the ones for the Space Opera project he’s working on.)

:: $2,600 each. Chump change for the rock jawed captains of industry running American Airlines, I’m sure, but probably not to the flight attendants.

:: Do you know how we can tell the difference between people who were wearing their seatbelts and those who weren’t, at the scene of an automobile accident? The ones who were wearing their seatbelts are standing around saying “This really sucks,” and the ones who weren’t are kinda just lying there.

:: There’s something both bizarre and funny about giving the house tour, walking into my master bathroom with one of these celebrities and pointing out the virtues of the new hot water heater or the large storage closet. But yes, it’s true, the famous and wealthy have plumbing needs, just like the rest of us.

Tune in next week, as always.

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The Unnamed Hero Cometh!

OK, folks, I just saw this “Make Your Own Superhero” gizmo over at Aurora Walking Vacation, and I just had to give it a try, using his suggestion of creating a superhero based on myself. Here it is!

How about that! Lightning from my right hand, and a blaster in my left; long hair blowing in the wind; some kind of green energy crackling ’round my Eyes Of Hot Instant Death; nifty wristguards that may or may not have extra powers within them; and on my feet, Rollerblades of LightSpeed! Note the battle scars on my powerfully-muscled arms, and the necklace made from the teeth of my vanquished Rigelian foes! Note my faithful companion through many dangers, Ozzy the Avenging Ocelot! Zap! Pow!

(Yeah, my alter-ego is a smoker, I’m sorry to say. Maybe the cigarettes deliver some kind of super-duper battle drugs into my bloodstream or something. And yeah, I was surprised that overalls were a clothing option there, too.)

I did have a problem, though. See that empty text box at the bottom? That’s where the name of your Superhero goes. Problem is, I couldn’t think of a name for this guy. That’s where you all come in. Put your suggestion in the comments!

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I don’t understand the world

I just don’t get this world we live in sometimes.

Actually, I never get this world we live in. Not one bit.

UPDATE: Oh, my God:

THE FIRST SHOOTING TOOK PLACE AT AROUND 7AM. I WENT TO CLASS AT 9AM. THEY DIDN’T CLOSE CAMPUS UNTIL 10AM.

More here.

UPDATE II: Sorry, folks, but this pretty much kills my mood for blogging today. I’ll have Sentential Links and some other stuff up tomorrow.

It seems trite to offer condolences, but I offer them anyway to the families and friends and neighbors of those killed or injured today.

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Sunday Burst of Weirdness

This apparently happened a couple of weeks ago, but I’m seeing it now, so it counts. In the For Better or For Worse comic strip, April Patterson turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago, and here’s how that Sunday’s strip began, for those whose Sunday papers don’t include the “big splash panel” thing that many Sunday strips use:

What’s weird about that? April’s a young musician, right?

Well, what’s weird is that they actually recorded that song she’s playing and put it on the FBoFW official site.

Listen, if you dare. Aieee!

(via)

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River of the Monks

I recently read Bill Bryson‘s latest book, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, in which Bryson recounts his experiences as a kid in 1950s America (Des Moines, IA, specifically). This was one of the more delightful reads I’ve enjoyed in a long time, full of the kind of loving naivete that marked, say, the funnier episodes of The Wonder Years or the less-serious parts of Stand By Me.

People [in the 50s] looked forward to the future, too, in ways they never would again. Soon, according to every magazine, we were going to have underwater cities off every coast, space colonies inside giant spheres of glass, atomic trains and airliners, personal jet packs, a gyrocopter in every driveway, cars that turned into boats or even submarines, moving sidewalks to whisk us effortlessly to schools and offices, dome-roofed automobiles that drove themselves along sleek superhighways allowing Mom, Dad, and the two boys (Chip and Bud or Skip and Scooter) to play a board game or wave to a neighbor in a passing gyrocopter or just sit back and enjoy some of those splendid words that existed in the fifties and are no longer heard: mimeograph, rotisserie, stenographer, icebox, dime store, rutabaga, Studebaker, panty raid, bobby socks, Sputnik, beatnik, canasta, Cinerama, Moose Lodge, pinochle, daddy-o.

(Well, a couple of those words are still around, aren’t they? Just last week at The Store I had to help move our rotisserie, and believe me, that damn thing is heavy, so much so that when we have to move it, we then refer to it by its official name, “the f***ing rotisserie“.)

This book was often laugh-out-loud funny, and it describes a world that is not only gone but that we also seem to admit is gone and thus try to preserve or recapture as best we can. Just last week in a Buffalo suburb, an injunction was sought by some preservationists in order to preserve a drive-in movie theater. The only mis-step in the book comes in a chapter toward the middle where Bryson delves into the dark underbelly of 1950s America (McCarthyism and the Red Scare, the dawn of the arms race, the seeds of Vietnam, race relations); it’s a well-written chapter, but it doesn’t really fit the rest of the book at all, and as such that chapter stands out like a sore thumb.

As usual with books like this, toward the end it takes on an elegiac tone about the passing of an age. Here’s the final passage:

That’s the way of the world, of course. Possessions get discarded. Life moves on. But I often think what a shame it is that we didn’t keep the things that made us different and special and attractive in the fifties. Imagine those palatial downtown movie theaters with their vast screens and Egyptian decor, but thrillingly livened with Dolby sound and slick computer graphics. Now that would be magic. Imagine having all of public life — offices, stores, restaurants, entertainments — conveniently clustered in the heart of the city and experiencing fresh air and daylight each time you moved from one to another. Imagine having a cafeteria with atomic toilets [you have to read the book to know what the hell Bryson’s talking about here], a celebrated tea room that gave away gifts to young customers, a clothing store with a grand staircase and a mezzanine, a Kiddie Corral where you could read comics to your heart’s content. Imagine having a city full of things that no other city had.

What a wonderful world that would be. What a wonderful world it was. We won’t see its like again, I’m afraid.

You see faint hints of that old world every now and then in American cities these days. Obviously things will never be like that again, but maybe as we move forward, we will draw inspiration from the best of that time? Who knows?

Anyway, this was a good book. I’m a big fan of Bill Bryson’s writing.

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The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer

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