Friday, December 14, 2012

Guns and 'Merica



There are many reasons to be frustrated by the extreme far right ideology:  medieval views on sex, the uterus and abstinence, a belief that no American—ever, under any circumstances—should pay taxes, hilarious-if-they-weren’t-so-common-and-terrifying statements about rape…so many things leave me shaking my head and wondering where these folks went to school.  They can’t all have gone to the “Alabama School of Jesus and Book Learnin’ ” can they?

But our nation’s love affair with guns truly confounds me.  Allright, I get that people love their guns and want to protect their family and possessions against a home invasion.  That is entirely understandable and it is my understanding that there are many safe gun owners out there; I know and admire a few of them.  What I don’t understand is the steadfast belief that more and bigger guns in the hands of anyone and everyone somehow makes our nation “safer”.  I know I don’t feel entirely safe walking around Chicago at night.  Or even in the day, in certain neighborhoods. 

What frustrates me most, however, is that anytime a politician or someone in the media attempts to have an adult conversation about guns, this person is shouted down by very angry and—let’s face it—clever gun advocates.  The mere mention of gun control elicits an immediate and vile filled tirade about the “scoring” of political points in the immediate aftermath of a mass shooting or, more colorfully, “socialist pussy liberals” comin’ to grab the guns.  “It’s too soon to have this conversation,” a gun advocate might say, “The bodies aren’t cold yet!  We’ll have this conversation at another time!”

When is that time?  When can we have the conversation?  If it’s too soon the day of the tragedy, when is it ok?  In a week?  Well, “We’re still in mourning,” they say.  What about three weeks?  “What?  That shooting is old news.  Let it go already.”  In the wake of the mass shooting at that Portland shopping mall three days ago—victims who had the gall to sit down and eat at the food court after a day of listening to holiday music and cheerily Christmas shopping—I vented a bit at my favorite news blog, Slog.  I’m not making this up when I tell you this; just yesterday, I posted a snarky-but-thoughtful reply to such an unhinged gun advocate (“It’s too soon!”), never actually considering that this would contain an important truth:

“Just so I'm clear on the rules: what IS the proper amount of time that should pass after a mass shooting incident before we have an adult conversation about guns? And what if, in the immediate aftermath of that time there's another mass shooting? Do we have to wait for another period of time to pass or are we grandfathered in from the first shooting?”

Which brings us to today:  27 dead.  So far.  Mostly children.

Fuck.

This news has made me physically ill.  That's not hyperbole...I’ve wanted to throw up since hearing of the story.  Maybe it’s because I have 9 nieces and nephews in various levels of school.  Maybe it’s because unlike Columbine, Virginia Tech, NIU, etc, these were little kids…the school was K-4th.  Maybe it’s because it hits home; I was a wee lad in school when Laurie Dann went on her little spree up in Winetka in 1988. 

Or maybe because this type of event is so damn common these days.

One doesn’t want to jump to too many conclusions here.  We know very little about the circumstances thus far; all we know is that 20 or so kids won’t be around to open their presents on Christmas day. 

What we do know is that the NRA will issue a statement filled with sympathy for the victims and condoning the action of the shooter.  Someone will suggest things would have been different if the teachers at the school were armed, as if bringing more guns onto school grounds is a sensible idea.  Many crackpots will say that a day like today is the price America pays for freedom.

And this scene will replay itself in 100 days or 30 days or—god help us—2 days when this happens again.  Because if there is one thing we all know, another mass shooting is not an “if”, it’s a “when”.

**********

I’ve always said that if you want to defend your home, buy a shotgun.  You don’t necessarily have to aim a shotgun with pin-point accuracy, it’s intimidating as all get-out and if you buy a pump action shotgun, the mere sound of the pumping itself gets your point across to an intruder pretty damn quickly.  You never, ever read about a 3 year old accidentally picking up a shotgun and killing him/herself or a sibling.  It just doesn’t happen.

What you do hear about all the time is a lone gunman taking a handgun to his ex-wife’s place of work, concealing it until the perfect moment—very difficult to do with a shotgun, by the way—and killing his ex, her gay BFF, two patrons of the establishment and then himself.  You constantly hear about a child picking up a handgun and playing with it, knowingly or unknowingly, and killing his/her parent, sibling or themselves.  And what kind of gun is typically used in Chicago gang violence?  Why handguns, of course!

The only purpose of a handgun is killing someone quickly and efficiently, with as little damage to the upholstery as possible.  This is true whether you’re defending your home, dealing smack or standing your ground against a group of black teens who happen to be playing their music a little too loud for your liking in a 7-11 parking lot.  The handgun is the only instrument of death embraced by our culture.  Why on earth is that?  Why is this ok with people? 

Gun advocates like to quote statistics about the lethality of cars.  While it is true that you are far more likely to die in a car accident than by some dude who flunked out of college and takes out his anger on a movie-theatre full of people, cars do have other uses than killing people.  Honest to god, it’s true.  Cars are sometimes used to get people from location A to location B.  Many times, these drivers make it to their destination without killing a room full of kids and teachers. 

Again: the purpose of a gun is death. 

And don’t even get me started on assault rifles.  No one—NO ONE—that is not in the military or on a police force should have access to an assault rifle.  Seriously, the Queen of England is not about to kick down your door and force her way in to your house…you don’t need a gun that is capable of killing the entire staff of Buckingham Palace in 30 seconds or less.  

**********
 Sigh.  So what’s to be done?  Many things really, most of which will anger the tea party.  Greater access to mental health facilities and doctors would be a great start.  These unhinged folks need a place to vent and heal without ending their lives and those of a few worshipers who were joyously making dinner at their Sikh temple.  I would like to see an out-right ban (and subsequent government buy-back program) of any high-magazine gun, be it a hand gun or assault rifle.  National—and comprehensive—back-ground checks are needed and instead of just closing the gun show loophole, since we’re no longer selling assault rifles, I would end gun shows themselves.  If a gun is used in a crime, be it murder or liquor store robbery, I would give a jail sentence not only to the perp, but also to the owner of the gun.  If that means grandpa goes to jail because he didn’t secure his gun properly and his meth-head grandson stole the firearm, so be it.  No sweat off my sack. 

Can we ban guns?  Not bloody likely.  Should we?  Probably not.  Like I said, responsible gun owners do exist.  You know what I’d do?  While we may not be able to ban guns, I think it would be a spectacular idea to tax the shit out of bullets.  Kind of like the cigarette tax but for death. 

This isn’t a new idea; making bullets prohibitively expensive has been spouted out before and will be spouted out again.  In my opinion, people should only be able to buy, say, 10 bullets per, I dunno, 3 months.  I would tweak this plan, however:  when people buy guns they (theoretically) have to register for said gun.  Under my plan, people purchasing bullets will also have to register.  This way, big brother can keep track of any yahoo trying to go from store to store purchasing enough bullets to really do some damage at his ex-wife’s salon.  I think it’s appalling that in this day and age someone can go and buy a few thousand bullets without raising any significant eyebrows.  

**********
Now, I don’t think that any of these ideas will gain any traction.  Maybe, however, today’s school shooting was the tipping point.   Something has to be done now, right?  27 dead—again, including many, many children--in the 2nd worst mass shooting in US history? 

What we can’t do is just fall back on the old “If we ban guns the only people who have guns will be criminals” type of thinking.  Again, guns are not going anywhere.  But we can’t just sit idly by and wait for the next attack. 

I think what is readily apparent is that there is no single, problem solving solution.  Of course nothing will stop a truly determined guy who absolutely has to kill his former boss at the foot of the Empire State building.  Think about this, though:  according to former FBI profiler Clint Van Zandt, there are 20 mass shootings per year in the US, on average.  Look at this list from the last calendar year alone:

December 14, 2012: At least 27 dead, approximately 18 of whom were children in Connecticut Elementary school.
December 11, 2012: One injured, two killed at a mall by gunman in Clackamas, OR.
December 8, 2012: Four killed and two injured on the Tule Indian Reservation including the shooter's three children only one of whom survived the initial attack.
September 28, 2012: Five killed by a recently fired employee in Minneapolis, MN.
August 24, 2012: Two killed, 9 wounded in 'Empire State Building' shooting.
August 5, 2012: Seven killed in Sikh temple shooting in Oak Creek, WI.
July 20, 2012: Twenty killed and 58 wounded in Aurora, CO.
April 3, 2012: Ten shot, seven killed in Oakland's Oikos University.
March 31, 2012: Two killed and 12 injured in shooting outside Miami funeral home.
March 2, 2012: Fourteen injured in mass shooting at concert in Tempe, AZ.
February 27, 2012: Five shot, three dead in a Chardon, OH school.
February 21, 2012: Four killed in Korean Spa shooting in Atlanta, GA.
December 25, 2011: Seven killed in Grapevine, TX on Christmas Day.
December 1, 2011: Four killed in Bay City, TX mass shooting.

This is not ok.  This is not the price of “freedom”.  As far as I’m concerned, the NRA can go to hell.  And quickly, too, if their 3 year-olds accidentally shoot them.    

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to call my congressman.  
 




Monday, December 3, 2012

I got a little drunk last night....

Brad, Marc, Odle and I went to the Bears game yesterday.  Here's a fun game!  Try to count how many times Brad, Marc, Odle and I have gotten together and not gotten drunk.  I'll wait while you count...

Give up?  It's never happened! 

While you sit and ponder our raging alcoholism, I'll bring up another subject for you to turn over:  Forrest Gump.


Ladies and gentleman, the GOP!

My father thinks that Forrest Gump is the greatest movie of all time.  That's a difficult opinion to argue.  It won a ton of Oscars, has an excellent story and features some fabulous performances from Tom Hanks, Sally Fields, Gary Sinise and the black guy who played Bubba.  Tom Hanks, of course, won an Oscar by not going full retard. 

He knows what I'm talking about

Anyhoo, Forrest of course has a kid at the end of the movie that hopefully wasn't born with AIDS.  There's a lovely sequence to end the film where Forrest takes his kid to the bus stop, the kid asserts himself with the white trash bus driver and goes to school where he can sign his name on any given test and outscore his father. 

Forrest then sits down, drops his feather and a nice Alan Silvestri score takes us to the credits.   However, the implication is that Forrest sits on that tree stump all day waiting for his son to come home. 

So, we have Forrest sitting in the sun all day.  In Alabama. 

Forrest Gump can run real fast but he can't outrun skin cancer. 

(End scene!)

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Jury Duty! Or Why the City of Chicago Paid Me $17.20 to Decide the Fates of Others

Sorry I haven't been blogging much lately.  Unless I wanted to brag about Notre Dame football--and I do.  I really, really do--I realize that outside of Mary Kate, none of my dedicated fanbase of 9 gives a fig about that dancing Leprechaun.  Other than ol' ND, my life has been pretty boring lately.  Unemployment will do that to you.  If I wanted to blog about my day, it would look something like this:

11:04 AM:  Wake up
11:27 AM:  Emerge from the bathroom
11:29 AM:  Power-up my trusty lap-top, go to job searching websites/ESPN
11:32 AM-12:38 PM:  Read about sports/apply for jobs.  Mostly read about sports.
12:39 PM:  Eat a power lunch of leftover pizza while watching Parks and Recreation.
1:15 PM:  Consider going to the gym.
1:16 PM:  Turn on PS3.

And so on.  That's not good reading. 

But yesterday that all changed because I was summoned for jury duty.  I was called down to the Cook County Court House to be part of the Justice Squadron and possibly send someone to jail or set an innocent man free.  Honestly, I was looking forward to the experience.

The only other time I was summoned for jury duty, it turned out I didn't have to go.  Funnily enough, I was also unemployed at the time, having just returned home from Tulsa post-college to live with the parents.  Back then, an extra $17.20 could go a long way on $2 Well Drinks Night at the Reagle Beagle in Lisle.  However, I called the 800 number listed on the summons and it was determined that I was not needed the next day at the DuPage County Court House.

Fortunately, Cook County doesn't have such an appalling lack of criminals.  I was to report yesterday morning at 9:30 AM.

How exciting was it?  Well, it wasn't.  At all.  Not even ironically.  

I arrived in the jurors waiting room and was told that shortly there would be an orientation video.  This 13 minute video was about 12 minutes too long for most of the attention spans there--almost immediately smart phones came out and I could see 200 faces simultaneously say "Yeah, yeah.  This has been Law and Order my entire life".  Since I hate lawyers and lawyer shows, I found it all fascinating.  Plus, the video was narrorated by a judge who claimed to be the chief justice of Cook County, but I was fairly certain he was actually Smokey Robinson.



After the video, we were told to sit and wait patiently for our group numbers to be called; I was given group number 21.  I settled in with a good book--"Receding Tide:  Vicksburg and Gettysburg--The Campaigns That Changed the Civil War"--and waited.  

And waited.  

And waited.

Seriously, there were no crimes committed this month?  Groups 19 and 20 were called.  "I'm next!" I excitedly thought.  I had excited visions of the vetting process ("Have you, sir, ever been convicted of a felony?"  "Convicted?  No.  Never convicted.") and was ready to serve my city by being the only juror to fight for a clearly innocent man's life or getting put on a famous murder case that I would later make millions of dollars off of by writing the best selling book: "Stabbed 1,000 Times in the Eyes By a Clown: My Experience on the Jury of Kirk 'The Ringling Brothers Stabber' Donkowski".  Today was going to be my day!

"Will group number 24 please report to the front of the room, forming double lines in front of the officers, please?"

Wait...what?  Where was group 21?  What the hell?  

Group 24 was followed by groups 17 and 25.  Around noon they told us to go to lunch which was super as I didn't have any change on me for the vending machines and they wouldn't let me leave.  After a fatty McDonald's lunch, I returned at 1 PM and waited for another 3 hours before they eventually released us of our duties. 

I walked to the train more than a little dejected.  Not because I wasted my day--I did, after all, get paid $17.20 by Cook County to read a pretty awesome book in peace--but because I wanted to do my part.  Or at least experience the system while not in handcuffs.  Now I have to wait at least a year before I get called again.  

Of course, by then, I should have a job.  Right?  Right? 

Looking for a last minute Halloween costume, gents?


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Sports, sports, sports, sports, sports, sports, sports, sports....

"Marge, Bart gets to ride up front today because he's a good guy at sports." 
                                                                      --Homer Simpson

Now, while Homer may have been talking about hockey--hockey still is technically a sport, right?--his point remains:  sports are awesome. 

I've sort of been puttering around the house muttering Homer's sports chant these last few weeks because all sorts of sporty-type events have transpired.  Notre Dame is back playing football with the first defense that I've looked forward to trotting out in, what, 18 years?  The NFL is back and while I am a Bears fan in name only, NFL games this year have been a riot to watch because of those pesky refs that last refereed during the Central Michigan/Southern Alabama game.  Also, not to be forgotten but the Chicago White Sox are--as I type this--still in first place.  However, I'm willing to admit that by the time you read this, my beloved Sox will be in first place no more.  Sigh.

But it's not just that stuff.  Except for the whole refereeing debacle, all this stuff happens most Octobers.  You know what doesn't happen most Octobers?  This:


Isn't it glorious?  Ok, a little background.  I have this wicked-awesome friend named Kalena.  Seriously, she's one of my favorite people ever.  Up there with Abraham Lincoln, Peter North and Carlton Fisk.  She's always super-positive--unless she's talking about James Franco, ovens or (for whatever reason) Tom Hanks--and whenever I have a totally dumb idea like "We should have a night where we play Disney music and drink Mai Tai's and rent a mouse and a duck and make them act out Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck skits" she always says something like "That's an AMAZING idea!"  She's wonderful.  

Kalena, seen here in the shadow of my trophy, being awesome.

But she's also a dirty Michigan fan.  Now, it's not all her fault.  I mean, she went to Ann Arbor intentionally to learn readin' an writin' and 'rithmatic but she's not the total moron that you would expect.  She somehow climbed above the stereotype and became a honest, decent, intelligent person.  

Last year, we were watching the Notre Dame/Michigan tilt and--whilst drinking, of course--came up with the daft idea that we should watch the series together every year and that maybe we could find a trophy to pass back and forth, depending on the winner.  This is where drunken ideas tend to go off the rails but she has this theatre tech boyfriend and when he heard about the idea, he said "Yes.  Yes, we should do that."  So, Marc set about brainstorming some kind of trophy that he could build and, over the course of the year, Kalena and I pestered him enough that he built the damn thing. 

Look at the fine craftsmanship involved.  He took a standard trophy for, weight lifting, probably, and added another trophy to it.  Because, why not?



Then, he found some old "Starting Lineup" football action figures, painted them in the manner of the Irish and Wolverine colors and glued them to the sides and top of the trophy.

Rarrrr!

 Then, he topped the trophy with a few more starting Lineup action figures...



...and, because he knows us, he made the damn thing light up:

It'll orb through green, red, blue, purple, etc all while I giggle and clap my hands.

And that's it.  Just kidding!  Marc took a step back, looked at his creation, and asked, "How can I make this trophy more obnoxious?



So, this past Saturday, I found myself surrounded by a group of friends and dirty Michigan fans at Matilda's, the Michigan bar of choice.  Because Notre Dame lost a sizable fourth quarter lead last year and lost, I had to watch at an "away" bar.  And boy was this game awful.  At one point, Michigan had 5 consecutive passes picked off by the Notre Dame D.  Not sure I've  ever seen that before.  On the ND side, the very first pass of the game was picked off and then our Frosh quarterback through an awful, awful interception into a crowd in the end zone from the 10 yard line.  It was an ugly start.

However, we settled down after inserting our backup QB and the Irish squeaked out a 13-6 victory.  A victory, I might add, that was made all the more sweet by the fact that I could lift an amazing trophy over my head and blast an air horn over and over again to the chagrin of the clientele at Matilda's.  

It was fun.  We walked around that neighborhood blasting the air horn and I was sort of a mini-celebrity.  Folks asked about the trophy and a few wanted to take a picture with it.  Good times.  

Kalena was an amazingly good sport through it all.  But while I tried not to be super obnoxious, did I mention that I had an air horn?  I just hope that I haven't made her hate list.  It'd be awful to someday end up on the same "must be destroyed list" as ovens and Tom Hanks. 

Saturday, September 8, 2012

A few notes on marriage

1)  This is the kind of thing you don't see in all those romantic movies HBO plays on a constant loop:  last night, I found myself watching a Cheers with my wife as we went to bed at about 10pm.  On a Friday night.  Woooooo!

2)  Our exhaustion was actually not our fault.  We spent the better part of the day at the bank arguing about our property taxes.  It seems that some fairly important information about said taxes was mailed to our neighbors instead of us and as such, we never received word of said information until a whole lot of bullshit financial penalties were added on.  Want to know what the problem was?  The "one half" in our address.  

See, we live at 5934.5 N Paulina (send money!).  Sometimes whatever system we're working with--be it the Chase bank system, Grub Hub, PizzaHut.com, etc--won't let us put a decimal point in the address.  Sometimes you have to list it as 1/2.  Sometimes you can't put any indication at all.  This leads so some moderately annoyed delivery guys and some important information about our taxes never actually reaching us.  

Yesterday, at the bank, Krishni and I sat with an incredibly patient banker for over 3 hours while she tried to make things right.  No shit:  we found four different versions of our address in the Chase bank system.  Three or four times, she shook her head and said "I've never seen anything like this."  At one point, I was on the phone with a rep from another department and that rep requested that I confirm my address.  When I did so, she said "That is not the address in our system" and demanded that I confirm the incorrect address at which she happened to be staring.  In a moment of frustration, I asked "I'm sorry ma'am, but I have no idea what incorrect address you're staring at.  How on earth am I supposed to confirm an address when I don't know how the address is wrong?  This is the whole point." 

3 hours later and nothing is resolved.  We're going back Monday.

While waiting to hail a cab outside the Chase tower yesterday, my gorgeous--and under the weather--wife, turned to me and asked if incredibly complicated situations like this ever happened to me before I met her.  "No," I replied, "This is just one of the added bonuses that comes along with being married to you."  She took it as an insult but honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Maybe with less Chase Bank, anyway.

3)  As I mentioned, Krishni is a bit under the weather today.  She was all hopped up on DayQuil yesterday and chugged some NyQuil at night.  However, this morning at about 7am, I rolled my fat ass over in bed and noticed that she wasn't there.  Typically, I'm not awake at 7am unless the leafblower guy is asking to be murdered so it was just by sheer coincidence that I noticed she was no longer in bed.  

Well, it wasn't by sheer coincidence: I was just awakened by a nightmare where Krishni was still asleep but nonetheless cupping my balls in her hand and staring into my eyes as she slowly crushed them.  In the dream, I was screaming "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP!" while trying to slap her awake so that my balls may survive to eventually produce Vladimir Voorhees Jacklich, Supreme Ruler of the Universe

Now awake and thankful that my magnificent balls were still intact, I became concerned that I had shouted out "WAKE THE FUCK UP!" in my sleep for my entire condo to hear while simultaneously flailing about with my arms and driving my sick wife from our marital bed. 

Nope.  I found her on our couch and nudged her awake and asked if she needed anything.  She said no and then told me why she came out to the couch in the first place:  "I was cold so I turned off the air and then I was sleepy and then sneezy so I just went to sleep on the couch."  Being a smartass, I asked "Just how many dwarves are you?"  In her sleepiness, she just replied, "Doc?"

I love my wife.

4)  For the record, I do not believe my wife is trying to castrate me.  When I did wake up, alone and confused and concerned for my manly bits, I found that I had tangled myself up in my sheet and my bits were wrapped up tightly in said sheet.  I have to believe that was the cause of the dream.  Also, I'm oddly glad it was Krishni and, not, say, Brad crushing my nuts.

Because that would have been weird.   

5)  My concern for accidentally slapping my wife in her sleep is grounded in one actual incident.  It would appear that a few years ago, I was asleep with my arm over my head while my wife laid (lied?  Layed?  Whatever) next to me watching TV and researching the Ebola Virus on her iPhone.  Seems that my arm had a spasm and sort of karate chopped her in the face with such force that it woke me up immediately.  Holy fuck I never felt as bad as I did that night.  I apologized profusely and offered to go sleep on the couch but she declined.  

A few days later I made the mistake of telling this "humorous" anecdote to Krishni's Mother.  I know it's all in my head but I still feel Darlene looks at me funny every once in a while, suspecting me of beating her daughter.  Guilt and all that.

Again, these are the stories the rom-coms don't tell you about.  

6)  Finally, you know how I feel about gay marriage.  If you only ever read one thing on the subject, make it this.  That essay is a reply written by Minnesota Vikings Punter Chris Kluwe to a Maryland state delegate who was complaining about a different NFL player who stated his support for marriage equality.  The highlight?

"They won't magically turn you into a lustful cockmonster."

Seriously.  Go read it