You couldn't make this stuff up

CNN) – “A 9-year-old girl learning to fire a submachine gun accidentally killed her instructor at a shooting range when the weapon recoiled over her shoulder, according to Arizona authorities.”

Do I even have to rant about this? Did anyone with a brain and a conscience get past “A 9-year-ol girl learning to fire a submachine gun…” without having to go back and make sure they’d read it correctly?

“Some experts say…” (an Uzi) “…is the wrong choice of firepower for instructing a child.”

You think?

And is there a right choice of firepower for instructing a child?

Sam Scarmardo, owner of Burgers and Bullets – the site of the little mishap – is quoted as saying “they really don’t know what happened.”

Hm-m-m… Pretty sure I do.

There are so many wrong-headed quotes in this article that I half expected it to turn out to be a parody. An unfunny one. Sadly, not so much.

One ‘expert’ opines that “there are some machine guns I could have trained my eight-year-old on. It can be done under the right circumstances.”

Is there a place in this universe where the ‘right circumstances’ exist for teaching young children to use automatic weapons? Or for that matter, weapons?

This perfect day (with apologies to Ira Levin)

Allow me to begin this by stating categorically that I love my wife and enjoy spending time with her. I love visiting with my sibs and I live for times spent with my Daughters, One and also Two. The EE Girls and Bill and others fill my soul.  I even enjoy the folks I work with. Well, most of them anyway…

But sometimes I really just like to be alone. And with me beloved in Ohio for a high school reunion, well…

Today was the first of a three day weekend for me. I just finished managing a conference in another state, the arrangements for which have had my brain running in high gear these last several weeks. So I scheduled a vacation day Monday to extend the weekend and allow time to wind down.

Which is precisely what I did all day. Wind down, that is.

I didn’t get up until almost 7:00am, much to the consternation of two canine members of the family whose usual breakfast hour is 6:00. (They survived this great trauma.) Having fed the mutts and made my morning brew, I went back to bed with coffee and book for the better part of an hour.

Breakfast was casual.

I started watching Under the Skin because I usually like Scarlet Johansson but I realized early on it was a boobs and butts movie and forced edgy, neither of which are high on my hit parade. I like movies with actual, you know, stories and as I’ve previously opined in these virtual pages, it’s all about context when speaking of nudity. Alone before noon with a cup of coffee and a naked Johansson just felt too creepy so I killed the movie and got on with the chores du jour.

I spent the greater part of the day dismounting doors, removing hardware, sanding and taping in preparation for Mary to paint said doors. Since these are doors of the French variety with fifteen lights per, the sanding and taping will continue tomorrow and possibly even Monday, although I’m hoping by then to have moved on to reorganizing the office.

This evening I grilled a small steak, watched a couple of Big Bang Theory reruns and got to my writing for the night. My other writing, the writing I do when I’m not blogging, which of course accounts in part for the paucity of blog entries of late.

Soon I shall repair to bedchamber mine with a new book, having finished the old one during my lunch break (pulled pork sandwich and nonfat milk).

Now, some or all of this might be boring to my faithful readers and at risk of being thought impolite, let me just say that this possibility does not really bother me all that much.

This was a perfect day.

MY perfect day.

Computers

The laptop computer I use at home – the one on which I’m composing this missive – is getting a bit long in the tooth. I haven’t had a new computer in maybe a decade, perhaps longer.Oh, I’ve had them new to me, but not, you know, new. This is because as One and Two went through high school and then college and Mary through various work-related upgrade needs, there has always been a hand-me-down available when my then-machine wore out. And since my needs are limited to creating Word documents and the occasional spreadsheet, there was never a need for me to have the latest and greatest machine.

The thing is, since I got a discounted copy of Office Pro 2013 and was gifted a good program for transferring VHS home movies to digital, where I’m going is no longer supported by my confuser. Plus, since it was a hand me down from my daughter, it’s a girl shade of purple, which is always a bit disconcerting when I take it out in public. So, Mary is currently shopping for a new computer for moi.

Why Mary, one might ask? As head of household, of course I make the big decisions – how to achieve world peace, whether there will be rain this Fall, etc. Mary makes the small decisions for which I don’t have time – where we live, schools for One and Two and which computer I get. It works for us.

Of course, she had to first know where my comfort level resides, so last night we went over to the computer emporium so I could try different arrangements of keyboards, sizes of screen, swipe screen versus mouse, etc. And it appears that my next computer will be substantially lighter and faster, small enough to use on an airplane fold down tray, flexible enough to comfortably use in my lap.

Of course, the same (except for being faster, of course) could be said about a pad of foolscap which has always been my favorite writing medium. But with my age has come shaky hands, which has made my horrible-at-best penmanship largely indecipherable. And I can still type about as fast as most people can talk so more and more, my writing is done by keyboard rather than with #2s on yellow pads.

So, as has been the case with so many small decisions over the years such as when she bought me my pickup truck, I’m a bit on pins and needles to see what my next keyboarding device will look and feel like.

I spend a lot of time with a keyboard. This is a big decision.

Dancing to the copier

When I was younger, I was much more likely to spend my time making music than dancing to it. Add to that an unfortunate (and harmless, except that it crushed me) remark by one of my parents about how tall, gawky young guys looked so funny when dancing, and you have a guy who studiously avoids tripping the light, fantastic or not. Even at my own wedding, Mary and I had to pose in a “dancing-like” position so the photographer would feel he’d gotten his money shot and would shut the hell up and let me enjoy our party.

So anyway, the fact is I never learned to dance. No charm school, no Arthur Murray, no practicing in the mirror – ew, ESPECiALLY not in the mirror, sheesh!  – and absolutely never, ever danced with a girl, not even a little bit, not even for a minute.

Now, some of you who knew me back when are going to claim that I’ve forgotten all the shows I was in when I was young and shameless. But then I would have you consider whether Cornelius Hackl or Ezra Reber or Caiaphas or any of the other characters I played ever did anything that actually resembled dance. Nay, I say. No ballet, no tap, nor soft-shoe nor even clog. No pirouettes, whirls, twirls, flits, frolics, leaps or jetes for this boy, no soirée! Neither a Kelly nor a Baryshnikov shall I be.

In high school, I was impressed, even enthralled watching Jerry and Val and Cecille et al. I was amazed at how they moved so seemingly effortlessly and I wished like hell that I could move a tenth as well as any of them. For myself, I did the minimum amount of somewhat rhythmic shuffling to get through the shows I was in and that. Was. It!

Now, I do admit to the occasional insane flurry of disjointed flailing that I’ve been known to do when I thought I could get a laugh out of Daughters One and also Two. Or better yet, when I could horrify them.  That’s the best. But it’s not really dancing and no one will ever see me do the actual dancing deed.

Here’s the problem – I can’t help moving rhythmically in response to, you know, rhythm. I played drums for eleven or twelve years as a kid and The Beat is engrained in my soul. Can’t help it.

So how does one avoid the near occasion of gyration? Well, I never watched Bandstand and I avoided high school dances and I’ve never hung in bars with any wide empty floor spaces.

Still, there’s that rhythm thing. And the copier / printer I use most often at work creates a really danceable (I give it a nine, Dick!) percussive rhythm when you make more than about three copies. And as a curriculum developer and frequent teacher, I spend a fair amount of time in close proximity to this machine just when it’s doing its shiggity-diggity thing.

It gets me every time. I stand there positively shivering as I try me hardest not to start moving in response to this damned office machine. Of course, I can’t give in to these urges because someone might actually, you know, see me. And as a humanitarian, I just couldn’t do that to the people with whom I have to work the next day.

No Ricoh Rhumba for this boy! (And a sigh of contentment was heard throughout the land.)

Okay, it’s actually more of a samba, if the truth be told.

What I do

I’m running a conference next week so this week was hell week. Actually, the last few weeks have been hell week. I’ve come home every evening dog tired and brain dead. And it will all be worth it in a few days.

From Sunday through Thursday next, I will spend most of my time running to and fro, shoring up this, plugging that, dealing with A/V failures and special dietary needs and misunderstandings and egos and, and, and…

…and I will love every minute of it. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!

The folks who will attend this conference spend their working lives and for most of them, significant portions of their personal lives working to achieve some measure of social equity. The way we go about it is woefully inefficient.  But it’s what we’ve got.

We should achieve social equity – and by this I mean its most basic form, an equal playing field for everyone who’s willing to come out and play – simply by everybody and every community being fair and compassionate and empathetic. But the thing is, not everyone is that way. And those of us who try to be frequently fall short of the mark. I know I do.

We shouldn’t have to create this whole web of non-profit organizations of people working to give a fair shake to people living with disabilities. But right now, we do. It’s what we have.

So, next week, as big of a pain in the yadooch as it will be to be the guy charged with running this sonference thing, as tired as I’ll be and no matter how many times I’ll want to just find a corner and cry, I won’t. Because I’ll be having a great time.

These are my peeps.

And that’s one of the most egotistical things I will ever be able to say about myself.

A shopping trip

I am NOT a big fan of shopping. When I go to retail emporia, I like to take a list with me. The better to get in and get back out doncha know. Grocery stores are better than other types but I would not be crushed to have our food delivered, most times. Except I’m also cheap, so I do go to the supermarket.

So, why am I so looking forward to shopping this evening? And especially because it’s to be shopping in a foo-foo mall for gifts for people I don’t know?

It’s like this… Daughter Two heads back to school clear across the continent in four days – three and a half, more like. Don’t know where the summer went but go it did. And of course, the few days remaining are work days, with evenings scheduled to be taken up with various get-ready-to-go-back-to-Boston chores.

In a few minutes, Two will get home from work and gym, shower and then we’ll all head out to an air conditioned mall for gift shopping. Fortunately for me, we’re a fairly pragmatic family. I will not be expected to pretend to take part in the shopping per se, given my utter dearth of any shopitudinous aptitude.

I will be allowed to follow along, looking at stuff I find interesting and not required to feign interest in the bulk of the retail offerings we’ll encounter. I can people watch and sip a coffee (NOT Starbucks, blech!) and just be around my daughter for another evening.

That’s enough for me. I really like time spent with my daughters. Even if it means going shopping.

Reasons to live

I am married to the best spouse in the world.

And still close friends with my first girlfriend.

And Sindy and Bill and, and, and…

One daughter is facing life decisions as an adult – which is exactly what she is.

The other daughter is facing life decisions as an adult – which is exactly what she is.

Dear friends are celebrating a healthy baby and FIVE generations!

Siblings are hanging out together with their collective children in Tahoe.

The weather is just right – warm during the day and cool evenings.

I’m seriously writing again – sorry if that impinges on my output herein.

We got another big home reno project finished.

I really enjoyed Pat and Patty’s visit and am in the early planning stages for Brocession, the epic road trip Pat and I will take (next fall?) and I can’t wait!

Mary passed her cert test (like there was any question).

I just had some really great watermelon.

Auschwitz

I just finished reading Auschwitz: A New History by Laurence Rees. And I suppose you might wonder why.

We’ve previously established in these posts that there are many more books to read than years I’ve available for their reading. And it’s not like I don’t already know a great deal about the Holocaust. I do.

So why another tome about this horrendous period in humanity’s frequently sordid past? Why not read of more palatable topics?

Because of a dread fascination with how this came to be. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really not interested in the motivations of the Nazis (and others) who perpetrated this massive horror. I’ve known since I was small that there is evil afoot in the world. Evils like ignorance and avarice and ambition and cowardice and sociopathy, all of which played heavily into the formation of the Nazi psyche.

I can’t say it doesn’t bother me that there is evil in the world. There is and ever shall be. But Elie Wiesel reminds us that it is the enabling of evil through the inaction of bystanders that allows evil to find outlet through such atrocities. And Rees’ book, through reliance on interviews with perpetrators, survivors and bystanders, goes further than other sources I’ve seen in explaining how this was allowed  to happen. 

Why did the Danes save 95% of their Jews and the Poles almost none? How did it happen that the citizens of ‘modern’ European countries so readily accepted the persecution of their neighbors, of the Romani people and communists and disabled children and the mentally ill and, and, and…?

I was actually going to go much farther with this but I think I need to leave it for now and spend more time thinking before I continue tapping out my thoughts. Sorry if this seems unfinished because of course, it is. I’m pretty sure I’ll never have an answer to this question but I’m also pretty sure I’ll never stop asking it.