♫ That’s what we are. ♫ (with apologies to the late, great Nat King Cole)
From Caleb @ Gun Nuts:
Carrying a gun does not make me special. It doesn’t make me different, it doesn’t make me a sheepdog, and it shouldn’t be treated like an occasion. The act of every day concealed carry should be no more interesting or dramatic than the act of buckling your seatbelt, washing your hands during flu season, or changing the batteries in your smoke detectors.
Stop treating CCW like it’s special. It’s not. You’re just carrying the most effective tool available to defend yourself from violence. It’s a fire extinguisher. There’s nothing special about keeping a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink. I want owning and carrying a Glock 19 to have the same level of remarkableness as owning a Toyota Camry.
You should really go to the link above and read Caleb’s entire editorial.
He is correct, of course. Unless you are military, spec ops, civilian police or private security, you are NOT a sheepdog, superhero or James Bond. You are just a piece of flotsam out there taking some responsibility for your own protection. Good for you (as far as that goes) but your adrenaline and bp shouldn’t go up just because you gear up.
Putting on an IWB holster should be no different than picking up your keys or clipping your folding knife in your pocket!
There is no big red S on your chest.
I posted a few days ago regarding losses – specifically the loss of my daughter, and a good friend’s loss of most of his lower left leg and foot.
Hardly an upbeat read.
However, Life is not just loss. Life also gives us lessons!
Since I heard from my good friend Bob regarding his diabetic amputation surgery, I’ve tried to contact him. We exchanged texts initially a couple of times, and he advise me he would call.
I feared the worst.
So, I took it upon myself to call him. Not to incessantly badger him (thinking he was busy enough) but once a week, just to check-in on him and his condition. And attitude.
And I ended up leaving messages. And this concerned me.
Bob returned yesterday’s message last night. I needn’t have been concerned.
Bob – (my former PI and gun store boss) was in great spirits! YES, he did lose his left foot and about 12″ of lower leg. And yes, he has a long, painful recovery and rehab ahead.
But he was not only doing physically well – he was doing well emotionally and spiritually, too!
Now, Bob would be the first to tell you he is not a religious guy. And not the most spiritual. But he almost lost his life to sepsis, and took his survival to mean he is supposed to remain here a while longer.
And not wallow in his losses.
He is fortunate to have the great support of his wife and two daughters. And his brother. And he reminded of previous losses and near-death experiences he has suffered.
AND HE SEES THIS AS YET ANOTHER CHANCE TO REDEEM HIMSELF!
Or, in the words of his parents (both deceased), “Put on your big boy panties and get on with it!”
And his is and has.
And, he reminded me (indirectly) that I have similar lessons. I, too, have had losses, and near-death experiences. And I have wallowed. Or more specifically whined.
I might lose some benefits. So what? Big boy panties are available for the wearing.
Bob has set an example for me to try and emulate.
aka, boy, THAT was close!
After my morning routine yesterday, I didn’t get back to my computer and the Internet until late last night. I usually leave her on and connected, but in sleep mode. That way, all I have to do is hit ESC and I can respond to email, review blogs, whatever…
Except last night, I reviewed a couple of emails and went to respond to them. And nothing happened. Nothing. Bupkis, zilch, a big goose egg.
The screen was there, the mouse worked to maneuver between screens; I was able to open files and emails.
But, I was unable to type anything! My wireless keyboard was not working!
And, this was not the usual ‘battery indicator indicates they need changing’ (although, just in case, I did change them)
I thought, perhaps, I would be ‘living off the grid’ for real!
(I did set up a fledgling post on my cellular telephone, although I am unclear how to change out my other blog items – the quote, funny and women pic. Guess I need to do additional research, huh?)
So…I went to bed, awakened this morning, showered, dressed, etc. and began to address the computer issue head on.
I turned her off and ran diagnostics, reinstalled the mouse, and prayed. And did a cold reboot.
That was the initial solution for all computer problems at TMCCC for the 20+ years I worked there. Have a problem with your terminal? Reboot! Or, move to an empty desk and reboot! Hell, it worked for the IT guys there about 75% of the time, so…
Fingers now crossed (note to self, very difficult to type in this fashion!), I began to type.
And the keyboard now works!
It’s November 24, GUFFAW’S Birthday! I’m 62 !
AND, it’s time for a tonsorial update.
Remember, June 26, 2014, the post entitled Tonsorial Splendor?
Well, here’s an update:
Or Gabby Hayes*…
(*Children, ask your parents, or use that Internets thing!)
I can’t find a single study from Bloomberg’s groups that aren’t loaded with errors. They have an anti-gun agenda and will lie to achieve it. – John R. Lott, Jr.
How Bloomberg’s Million-Dollar Desire For Gun Control Is Backfiring
[While I think there is a fair amount of lying going on they don’t think of it as lying. They just don’t understand facts are independent of their feelings. If they feel something then, in their view of reality, it is true. I’ve had people flat out tell me this. I would point out that what someone was saying was in direct contradiction to verifiable facts. And I would get a response of something to the effect, “Well, it’s true to them and that is what matters.”
There is also a very telling anecdote about liberal “research” in this same article:
In 2006 I was at a cocktail party in Arlington, VA, talking to a liberal journalist about his soon-to-be-released book on Iraq when John Lott joined us. John listened for a moment and then said to the author, “I’m curious. You say you just finished a book on the Iraq war. I always find it so hard to finish a book. I get so deep into the research I have a hard time stopping to write. I’m guessing you had a hard time leaving Iraq. There is so much to investigate and understand.”
The author said, “I didn’t go to Iraq.”
John paused with this quizzical look on his face before asking, “Oh, how did you do your research?”
The author said, “I didn’t have to do much. I mean, I already know what I think.”
Feelings versus facts. It’s a type of mental disorder.—Joe]
There’s a thesis in popular conservative/libertarian culture that liberals (or at least the current flavor of liberal, the progressive) act(s) based on feelings more than facts, even if the facts deny their feelings. “Oh, those cute polar bears are dying in records numbers, due to global warming!” – even though recent data shows their populations have increased and so have the square footage of ice on which they live. Not to mention they are extremely dangerous to humans, cuteness aside. “If it just saves ONE life.” or “It’s for the children.”, facts aside are other feeling-based statements.
I cannot speak for all conservative libertarians, but, I have on occasion questioned my use and ownership of firearms, looking at how doing so affects my community, my family and myself. And I stuck to my principles. And didn’t buckle to ‘feelings’ about some whack-job shooting up a school by disarming myself.
I did the same process after the accident that killed my daughter. However, I ultimately didn’t give up my driver’s license, my vehicle, or insist others do the same “for the children”.
I see that as counterproductive, and unscientific.
h/t The View From North Central Idaho, John Lott
Yeah, it’s a song title, above.
Sometimes, I get down on myself, because I once had a wife, a daughter, a home, a ‘career’.
No wife, no daughter, no ‘career’ (I’m disabled). I DO
have share a home, though.
And that’s my point.
Living Freedom recently had a posting entitled
It mentioned traits of folks down-on-their-luck who, if they are not thriving, do more than just survive.
I could have been worse off than I am. I lost my home as my income decreased, and a good friend took me in.
But, that’s not my point.
MY POINT IS I’M GRATEFUL FOR HER HAVING DONE SO!
Certainly, I wish things could be different. It would be nice to have a wife, to have my daughter back. To have my house back. To have the income I once had.
But, not being a child, I know wishing doesn’t make it so.
So (most days) I choose GRATITUDE!
I’VE MADE IT, yesterday.
I’m not normally a superstitious person. I do sometimes say ‘knock-on-wood’ (jokingly) when wishing for a positive outcome, but really don’t believe it. I own no rabbit’s feet or lucky charms. I don’t throw spilled sodium chloride over my shoulder. I’ve not crossed my fingers since I was, well, 7 or 8.
However, I do pay attention to specific calendar anniversaries, and some events have meaning to me.
And sometimes, I’m compulsive about them.
Case-in-point: My Father passed away, after a series of smaller heart attacks in 30 days prior, from a heart attack, on August 14, 1977. He was 61 years old. His birthday was November 16th. MY birthday is November 24.
I am currently 61 years-of-age. (You do see where I’m going with this?)
We are of similar physical types, and have similar ‘issues’ – like weight ‘issues’, diabetes. Fortunately (knock-on-wood) I’ve no apparent heart problems.
Subtract 16 from 24, this leaves 8. 8 from 14 is 6.
YESTERDAY WAS AUGUST 6, AND I’M STILL ALIVE!
I don’t know why, but for the past 5 years or so, as I approached age 61, this loomed over me. My Dad’s dad lived until he was 68. My maternal grandfather until 85. This shouldn’t have been an issue, or even a blip on my radar. I’m a rational person.
But it was.
It didn’t help that I was born premature, with an unnamed twin brother, who died – I nearly did; Lost my Mother in grade school due to emphysema; had a near-fatal automobile accident (in which my daughter was lost); have had flesh-eating bacteria, diabetes and two kinds of cancer. Life and Death have cropped up more than with most with me, I think.
I’ve made it, AGAIN.
Still flipping off the Reaper! :-)
PS – If I suddenly fall off the Internet, in the next couple of days, you’ll know he was delayed in traffic.
My own Father was not a hugger (of other men). Perhaps it was his generation (b. 1916), or time in history. But for him, a firm handshake said it all. A man’s word is his bond was often something implied in the handshake. Whether the word meant agreement to an implied contract (Yes, I will clean up my room), welcome (Welcome home, son, good to see you!), or even LOVE. (no verbal statement made)
As a result, when it comes to interaction with other men, I welcome a firm, dry handshake – as described numerous times in Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. Not simply gripping the others hand with the tips of the fingers and thumb, but full engagement – thumb crotch to thumb crotch (or whatever they’re called). Not the (again, intoning Mr. Fleming) slimy, wet, limp grip of the Middle East, which makes a man want to wipe his hand on his coat tails, either.
It has come to pass that scientists have determined over-use of soaps, antibacterial hand cleaners and sanitizers have weakened our respective immune systems. In the effort to ‘keep clean’, we have invited more resistant microbes into the mix.
And now, scientists (I wonder if they are the same ones?) have determined the following:
I remember when I first saw the ‘fist bump’, as part of a ‘cool’ ritual of Black youth. Instead of shaking hands (as the White Devil slavemasters had done) they ‘checked in’, sometimes additionally bumping forearms and even hips!
I thought it was well, stupid then, and my opinion hasn’t changed.
Then, a popular comedian and game-show host began fist-bumping. He said it was because of his aversion to spreading or receiving bacteria. (I wonder if he kisses or has other personal contact with women?)
NOW, such behavior is reaching the mainstream (as shown in the news item, above).
I can see not wanting to shake hands with someone who is openly infectiously diseased. That’s just prudent. But fist-bumping like a hipster is just silly.
I know, I’ll probably die younger because of it.
But, my word remains my bond, and I’ve no other way I can comfortably express that.
And, I like hugging and kissing women, too! :-)
Must be generational.
My good friend Old NFO discussed this most recent of ‘infamous’ drug deaths. I was reminded of the PBS Series on JAZZ. They’d mention some historic jazz figure, and then, more often than not came this line:
…and then, they died of an overdose…
Is it the artistic personality, fame, fortune or humanity which binds all these folks together? Are we all, at our core, addicts of some sort? (Wikipedia – List of Drug/Alcohol related deaths)
I come rife with an addictive personality. I have excess weight, due to compulsive overeating. I’m neurotic, but not particularly artistic. My real mother died when I was in grade school as a direct result of her cigarette addiction. She had emphysema. ( I remember her turning off the oxygen tank and lighting up!) My father was an alcoholic, ate too much and smoked cigars. I come by my addictions honestly. Even though I’m getting ‘help’ for my addictions, in all seriousness, I don’t expect to see 85, like my maternal grandfather did. My fraternal grandfather made it to 68. My own father to 61.
Today is my daughter’s birthday. She would have been 31. Auto accident, age 12.
At least it wasn’t drugs or alcohol. :-(
I’ve always been a picky eater. You wouldn’t know that by looking at me.
But one of the things I’ve always enjoyed has been MUSTARD. Hot sweet mustard, stone-ground mustard, spicy brown mustard, mustard mixed with horseradish, even plain ol’ yellow mustard. And Grey Poupon.
On hot dogs, cheeseburgers, pretzels, Polish sausages, bologna; used for chip dip (!)
This liking isn’t too surprising. I was born on the East Coast. Many East Coast subcultures thrive on mustard.
Not so much out here in the West.
Many of the fast-food franchises stock mustard. But, ask for it on a sandwich? Or ask for extra? It is as if you said staple that bag of onion rings to my forehead. And extra means two drops instead of one
Most drive through help doesn’t get it.
I’ve a theory about this. One of the subcultures not famous for mustard use is Mexican. And many fast-food places hire Mexican help. One place hired Bosnians. Equal difficulty with the Mexicans in (not) understanding English, but they certainly understood mustard!
Don’t get me started on A-1 Sauce. I LOVE A-1 SAUCE! And loathe mayonnaise – especially on hamburger!. And ketchup is meh…