Packing Heat?

There is a new hobby blazing through my part of the world. It seems close to a passion among its devotees, men and women. Many of my friends have taken it up, and I don’t quite know what to make of it. It appears that I stopped paying attention for a few minutes and suddenly half of my friends are packing heat!

I hear the stories about otherwise stable, ordinary, unthreatened people my age buying Smith & Wesson’s, and heading off to the shooting range for some good old fashioned family fun. Others, even more alarmingly, have secured concealed carry permits and so they never have to leave home without a deadly weapon.

Ok, before you guys get all “fired-up” and start lecturing me on the 2^nd Amendment let me first say that I fully recognize your legal and constitutional right to keep and bear arms. I’m not part of the anti-gun crowd. It’s just that the idea of a movie theatre filled with upper middle class middle aged men and women packing newly issued handguns, makes me nervous as hell!

Of course, if while walking from the movie to my car in the parking lot, I suppose I would be grateful for one of those Glocks if I got accosted by some drugged up meth head demanding my money or my life. Although, come to think of it, I would just give him my money. Gun play with a twitchy addict might prove problematic.

I guess the rise in popularity of guns has something to do with the growing sense that society has gone off the rails and that we are headed for some sort of dystopian world where only the fully armed citizen will have a chance at survival. Either that, or we upper middle class folks are getting more bored by the minute and enjoy the thrill of filling a sketch target with lead. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

Knowing that so many of my friends are now armed does give me pause. Maybe I should think twice before playing that 100 point triple word score at Words With Friends against someone carrying a .357 magnum. Perhaps I should rethink trying to sink that 5 foot putt on the 18^th hole for the match. Or maybe…just maybe, I should buy a gun. Can you just imagine? Me and my nervous energy, can’t sit still, practical joke-loving, easily pissed off, quick with the snarky putdowns self, walking around with a Springfield XD-S 45 on my hip?

Yikes!

Thunder and a Memory

Just a few minutes ago the strangest thing happened. I was transported back in time…by a sound.

I was sitting in my recliner reading P.J. O’Rourke’s new book when I was surprised by the tingling of sleet on the window pane. I turned off the floor lamp to my left so I could see out and there they were, tiny sparkling pellets of ice dancing on the sill. Then I was startled by the sudden, misplaced peel of crackling thunder. In an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, I flew through time to the basement of the Winn’s Baptist Church parsonage, to a wildly similar cold April night in my eleventh year. It was after 10 and I was supposed to be asleep, but on this night I was sleeping in the bed in the basement, not my warm room upstairs for one reason and one reason only. It was opening night of Major League baseball, and my green hard plastic radio could pick up the Cleveland Indians games better from the basement. It was either 1968 or 1969, I’m not sure which. The Indians were playing the Tigers, or the Orioles, or somebody.

The radio was a mess, the color of diseased avocado, with a disfigured glob of burnt plastic on one side from where Donnie and I had propped it up against the baseboard heater one night to improve the reception for a Yankee game. As ugly as it was, there was something about the unheated, molded, mice infested atmosphere of our basement that agreed with my second hand radio delivering perfectly the high fidelity radio waves from WERE, 1490 AM in Cleveland along with the dulcet tones of Herb Score.

On this particular night I was about three innings in to a pitcher’s duel when I noticed the wind blowing a gale outside. Then the sound of sleet against the window panes of the outside door, and finally a frightening peel of thunder so full of cracks and pops, that it sent this eleven year old scurrying up to his bedroom faster than Lou Brock going from first to third on a single to left field.

I hadn’t conjured up that memory since it happened. But tonight, 17,000 sunsets later, it comes rushing back as clear as a bell. The mind and its memory is a terribly awesome thing.   

Guilt-free Eating

It has been my experience that there exists nothing on Earth more irritating than the zealot, the passionate fanatic, the newly converted to some perceived kernel of truth. The one person every smoker tries to avoid at a party is the guy who has just quit. Nothing can rip the joy out of a Holiday spread faster than the arrival of the guy who has just lost twenty pounds at Weight Watchers. Not that there’s anything wrong with losing weight or stopping smoking of course. It’s just that there is something so off putting about people who think they have figured everything out, especially when they suddenly believe it their duty to enlighten the rest of us.

I make this observation in light of the torrent of newsfeed-killing stories warning me about the mortal dangers lurking in practically everything I eat. From the evils of genetic modification, to the diabolical designs of high fructose corn syrup, all the way to the sinister intentions of “Big Food”, I am constantly being scolded for not educating myself, of being a victim of glutens, or worse, a hater of animals for my disgusting consumption of meat.

I am tempted here to tell the joke about the guy who gets run over by a truck while riding his bike ten miles out of his way so he can buy organic tomatoes. Actually, I just did…sorry. Here’s my opinion for what it’s worth. I am 55 years old and in pretty decent shape. I work out 4 times a week in a manic attempt to keep my weight down and to relieve stress. Having said this, I must admit that I love food and eat prodigious quantities of my favorites. Most of my favorite foods fall into the category of “dangerous to human beings." However, if someone told me that I could no longer have them, I might conclude that life wasn’t worth the living. The following is a list of the staples of my diet, the consumption of which provides me with great joy and about which I will never apologize.

• BREAD. Not stuff that comes from a bag, but the homemade kind, made from scratch, biscuits and rolls hot out of the oven slathered in…
• BUTTER, not margarine.
• CHEESE, not the stuff that gets squirted from a tube or covered in cellophane, but hard, block cheese from places like Wisconsin, Vermont and France
• SAUSAGE. Pretty much any type, from Andouille to Jimmy Dean. Links or patties, it matters not and the spicier the better.
• MEAT which includes but by no means is limited to…chicken, beef, pork.
• MASHED POTATOES loaded with salt and pepper
• VEGETABLES, drizzled with olive oil and caramelized in the oven on a flat cookie sheet
• COFFEE. Two cups a day with cream and a half teaspoon of SUGAR, not sweetener
• SWEET TEA with lemon.
• BEER, the darker the better and please, nothing “Lite”

There are many other foods which I love, these are just the basics. Now, I’m sure that many who are reading this are aghast at the fat content, the artery-hardening, politically incorrectness, the sheer audacity of what, to you, seems like an assault on healthy living. To each of you I say, the one thing I know for sure is that I am going to die from something. If the diet listed above is the thing that kills me, then I will die with a satisfied smile on my face. Incidentally, with the exception of the beer, this is virtually identical to my 89 year old Dad’s diet. So, there’s that.

Don’t get me wrong. If you’re a devoted, gluten-avoiding, Monsanto-hating organic-loving vegan, I take my hat off to you and wish you well. But don’t ask me to buy into the guilt thing, because I’m not interested.   

16% Socialist??

Over the weekend, during a brief interlude of faint curiosity/ boredom, I succumbed to the temptation of filling out one of those internet surveys. You know the ones I’m talking about…take our ten question survey to discover your ideal Tuesday work outfit!! Only this one promised to tell me which political party I was most aligned with. My son had taken it and posted his results so I thought what the heck?

It was a rather lengthy list of questions. Since the survey was presented by a Libertarian website, I expected the questions to be phrased in such a way as to encourage Libertarian responses, but generally found them to be fair. It was a YES, NO format. A third option was CHOOSE ANOTHER STANCE. When this was checked a dropdown box appeared that listed four or five alternative answers. An example follows:

Should gay marriage be allowed in America?

Yes

No

Choose another stance:

• Let each State decide
• No, allow civil unions for same sex couples, but don’t call it marriage
• Take the government out of marriage and instead make it a religious matter
• Yes, but allow churches the right to refuse gay marriage ceremonies

 Not surprisingly, I found myself clicking the choose another stance option most of the time. The problem was that often I was unsatisfied with any of the options I was given even then! Then I was reduced to the, “add your own stance” answer. It took me forever to finish the survey. Once completed, I pushed the results key and was informed thusly:

Parties You Side With:

89% Libertarian

86% Republican

41% Green

30% Democrat

16% Socialist

 This survey blows! First of all, I know without question that the Republican and Libertarian parties do not agree anywhere approaching 85% of the time, and yet it says I agree with them almost equally. Secondly, the Green party? Do they have a position on abortion or gay marriage? If so, why? What does the death penalty have to do with the environment? And lastly, I agree with the Socialist party on something?? Wait..what??

So, I comb through the results searching for my latent Socialist weaknesses. It turns out that I am a closet pinko because of my opinion on the National Park Service, as follows:

Should National Parks continue to be preserved and protected by the Federal Government? My answer was “Yes.” I believe this largely because the National Park service is one of the very few government success stories. I have visited many of them and found them to be beautifully maintained, well run National treasures. The alternative of having a for profit business running these parks is wrought with peril. I keep imagining a gigantic billboard announcing how 15 minutes could save me 15% on my car insurance right next to the Presidents on Mt. Rushmore! The actual “Socialist Party preferred answer was “Yes, and expand the Federal Governments domain to protect more land.” Since my answer was “Yes”, it was deemed “similar.” Like I said, this survey blows.

Another thing that suggested Socialist leanings was my answer to the question, “Should the US interfere in the affairs of other countries?”  My initial answer was “No.” Then I clicked the other responses.  What I really believe is closer to “Only when there is a direct threat to our National security.” But, that opening allows the pinheads in Washington too much parsing of words and nuance and before you know it the discovery of nonexistent weapons of mass destruction become a direct threat. So, I just went with plain “No.” BAMM, I’m in league with the Socialists.

So, there you have it. I’m 89% Libertarian and 16% Socialist. Let’s legalize Marijuana and redistribute wealth!! Potheads of the world unite!!

Wedding Planning: Part III

My wife and daughter just left the house giggling merrily, and disappeared down the street, cutting through the misty fog of this miserable day. What, you might ask could they possibly be so giddy about? Today, they are on the hunt for…wait for it…bridesmaid’s dresses!

Yes, just yesterday Pam produced a color swatch for my consideration. She held it up to the lamp light in the breakfast nook and began extolling the virtues of the rich, teal color and how it so perfectly complimented a throw pillow on Kaitlin’s sofa. I had just walked in the house from a workout at AMFAM and as is my unfortunate habit, had missed the first sentence of this exchange, resulting in the mistaken conclusion that Pam was planning on painting the walls of the kitchen this dark, foreboding color.

“NO, silly!” she explained. “This is the color of the bridesmaid’s dresses. Come on honey, keep up!”

So, off they go today in search for wedding finery. I sense just a hint of cockiness in them. Fresh off of last week’s wedding dress triumph; I fear that they may be under the mistaken impression that they have this business well in hand. I know better. When it comes to all things nuptial, I am a pessimist. At each and every turn I expect glitches, missteps, bitter disappointments, and escalating, out of control costs. I have steeled myself for these unhappy outcomes and have determined that no matter how bad it gets, I will be calm and collected. Above all else, I intend to smile and be of good cheer. I am determined not to pull a George Banks. I will not be reduced to the confines of a jail cell because of hot dog bun type meltdown. See, George’s problem was that he actually thought that it was possible for everything to work out well and at a reasonable price. Well, I’m not falling for that delusion. I am fully prepared for the financial and emotional implosion to come and will face it with hearty good cheer!

So far the problem seems to be that I have done all this steeling and girding up of loins…for nothing! They picked the venue with a minimum of angst and within a reasonable range of our budget. Then the photographer was booked along with the DJ, again with nary a tear. Next thing I know they’re out there picking out a wedding dress in one trip to David’s Bridal. It would be very tempting to let my guard down a bit. Things are going quite well. It’s actually quite eerie.

But, I know full well that there are many minefields ahead, what with a wedding cake to order and flowers to buy. I’ve watched enough cooking shows to know how volatile bakers and chefs can be, and I don’t even want to think about dealing with the eccentricities inherent in the personality of your average florist. It could still get very ugly, very quickly.

But, for the time being, all is well here at Dunnevant Wedding Central.

Understanding Chris Christie

Chris Christie. I like him. I like his combative, straight shooting news conferences and town meetings. I like his style and the fact that he’s trying to bring back obesity in our public servants. Call it Grover Cleveland Chic. Even though I don’t agree with 100% of his ideology, I think he would make a good President. Anyone who can manage to actually govern New Jersey in a reasonably conservative way deserves my attention. He has the guts to take on unions and the career feather-bedders in both parties. He doesn’t condescend to voters. He speaks to them as adults. As a Republican in a deeply Democratic state he governs like he’s playing with house money, like he can hardly believe he got elected in the first place so since he’s here he might as well kick some ass.

Having said all this, I don’t believe for a minute that he didn’t know what his staff was up to concerning the lane closure controversy. Despite his protestations, Christie IS a bully…to which I say, so what?

For most of our nation’s history, mayors and governors were known as “bosses”, or at least the most successful ones were. They got things done through a combination of persuasion, competence and yes…intimidation. In this sense, Christie is something of a throw back. He asked the Democratic mayor of Fort Lee for an endorsement of his reelection campaign, part of Christie’s overwhelmingly successful bipartisan strategy of co-opting his potential political enemies. The mayor refused. Then Christie did something small, petty and vindictive as a demonstration of his power to make trouble makers pay. His aides ordered the closure of several lanes of the interstate right around the Fort Lee exits causing days of chaos, anger and frustration among its citizens.

When the Governor claimed in yesterday’s press conference that he knew nothing about any of this and that he had no idea what his staff was up to, he was telling a technical truth. He is a CEO and as such, his aides and top staff understand the time tested reality of something called plausible deniability. Basically this is an operating system whereby the boss allows only the most reliable and trusted people into his inner circle, then charges them with doing his will. If something gets messy in the discharge of doing his will, the CEO is to be carefully kept out of the loop so when and if it blows up, he can stand in front of a room full of reporters and honestly say, “I had no idea.”

But if you think he wouldn’t have approved of this lane closure business, you don’t understand A. politics and B. Chris Christie.

So yes, he is a bully and yes, this was a petty, revengeful, score-settling tantrum. But people, this is politics. Even worse, this is New Jersey politics. Nobody was pulled out of the Hackensack River wearing cement shoes. There are no bullet holes ripped throughout the mayor’s office. As score-settling goes in New Jersey, this is grade school horseplay.

The best we can hope for in our politicians anymore is competence. If you find one who is also tough as nails, that’s a bonus. But, there aren’t any more Jimmy Stewarts out there. The last Sunday school teacher to get elected President was Jimmy Carter and, God bless, our Republic won’t survive another one like him.

My prediction is that once the dust settles from this story, Christie’s poll and favorability numbers will go…up. I don’t think I’m the only American left who would like to see an ass-kicker in the White House.

Feeling the Itch

I turn to fiction in the winter, both the reading and writing of it. I’ve often wondered why this is, and have come to the reluctant conclusion that death is inspirational.

Last year about this time I began writing a novel. It is the second such book I have written, the first back in my twenties which was also started during the cold snowy months. Both plots are driven along in no insignificant way by death. This is not to say that the stories are about death, but rather that death serves as an excellent driver of plots.

In winter, it’s hard to escape death. It’s everywhere around you. Green gets replaced by gray. Leaves wither into brown and fly away except for the ones that stubbornly cling to the branches of tall oak trees, making them look sickly and tattered. Then the cold comes and the plants on the deck turn pale green and rubbery. The lush green lawns of the suburbs become matted and powdery, the color of sand.

Unlike the death of men, this is just a season. We know that in a few months time, the color will come back. We know this because it is reliably true. It happens every year. Still, to watch the world around us shrivel and die three months every year has always visited waves of melancholy upon me along with bouts of introspection. Ultimately, I escape to the reading and writing of fiction.

Once again, I’m feeling the itch to create something. The germs of ideas have lately come to life in my imagination. Most of them I reject because I lose interest so easily. Once they are rejected, I can’t even recall what they were, so complete is their banishment. Others fester up there for days, then weeks, until finally I find myself sitting here writing.

But if I’m going to write another book, I better get started while it’s winter. Once it’s warm and green again, I would much rather be outside living my real life than putzing around in an imaginary one.

Here’s a project for all of you literature fans. I wonder what percentage of the greatest novels ever written were started during winter? I’m willing to bet 75%.