I remember (way back in the 1970s – when I got into gun stuff as an adult) fantasizing that I lived in a State that had concealed weapon permits! How cool would THAT have been? Being able to be armed – discreetly!
One of the reasons I wanted to become a cop was that very reason. It seemed sad that few States had permittage, and most of them were may issue. Usually meaning unless you were one of the special few (or perhaps funds changed hands) you either did nor carry concealed, or did not carry concealed legally!
Now, here we are in the new century, and the tide has turned. A significant number of States how have concealed weapon laws and some even passed Constitutional Carry – no permit needed!
Specifically, with the addition of Missouri, 11 States (22% of the 50!) no permit required!
41 States, and Guam(!) now have some provision for shall issue permits! (Wikipedia)
Of course, we still have States like California (and New York), with their difficult to get may issue permits, and checkerboard of convoluted and restrictive gun laws.
And with the ever-present nonsense by the Statists equating gun ownership with terrorism. (Hillary?)
BUT, things have definitely improved since the 1940’s, and in spite of warnings to the contrary regarding every CCW (carry concealed weapon) and Constitutional Carry law being passed, there has been no blood in the streets!
(It seems every time such legislation is suggested, the ANTI-RIGHTS folks trot out the same, tired meme.)
It’s been said that the American Revolution was started and maintained by just 3% of the population. In spite of the ubiquitous onslaught of the anti rights control folks, we seem to be winning!
Hooray for the responsible, law-abiding citizens, going about their private business invoking their right to possible self-defense!
Now, if we could just reverse the rampant surveillance and searching without warrant! I know, one Amendment at a time…
(NOT to be confused with LSMFT**)
Kevin Baker (aka The Smallest Minority) ALWAYS brings it. If he doesn’t, he brings to us others who do. Brewing in his blogmind prior to the recent announcements regarding the firm placement of the cap on the Rule of Law, his latest megapost is truly worthy of your time.
Here is a taste:
In the intervening twelve-plus years I’ve done a lot of reading, observing, thinking and writing. I’ve currently got a bookmark folder entitled “Civil War” with about fifty links in it, and those are just the ones I knew I’d eventually want to go back to. Apparently I’ve been ruminating on this particular essay for a couple of years without realizing it. The piece that finally forced me back to the keyboard is a year-old post over at Sultan Knish, No Truce With the Left. It echos a lot of the sentiments I have posted here over the years, but as Daniel Greenfield is wont to do, he says it more eloquently than I. A short excerpt:
The left does not care about gay rights. If you doubt that, consider how many of the left’s favorite Muslim countries have gay rights. The left has recently divided its campaign passions between gay marriage and defending Iran. Iran denies the existence of gays and hangs them where it finds them.
The USSR treated homosexuality as a crime even while it was recruiting gay men as spies in the West. Cuba, the darling of the American left, hated both gays and blacks. The ACLU backed the police states of Communism. If the left supports an enemy nation, the odds are excellent that it is also a violently bigoted place that makes a KKK rally look like a hippie hangout.
To understand the left, you need to remember that it does not care about 99 percent of the things it claims to care about. Name a leftist cause and then find a Communist country that actually practiced it. Labor unions? Outlawed. Environmentalism? Chernobyl. The left fights all sorts of social and political battles not because it believes in them, but to radicalize, disrupt and take power.
The left does not care about social justice. It cares about power.
That is why no truce is possible with the left. Not on social issues. Not on any issues.
You should really go and read the whole überpost!
The Smallest Minority
*LMTFA – leave me the f*** alone!
**LSMFT – Lucky Strike means fine tobacco
The Brilliant-and-Lovely TAMARA spake thus:
Just because H. habilis was several branches back on the family bush doesn’t mean we’re supposed to stop being handy.
I get not carrying a pistol. It’s not for everybody and, if done with any level of seriousness, demands certain commitments and obligations that not everyone wants to undertake, and that’s cool. It’s still (mostly) a free country.
But how do you go through life without a flashlight and some kind of knife? Our most primitive ancestors carried sharp rocks around with them. Hell, carrying a sharpened rock around in case of future need is basically how we tell where the apes stop and the people start in our fossil family album. If they could have carried a light around without it burning their fingers or going out all the time, you bet they would have.
They make flashlights and knives small enough to accommodate any code, dress or legal, up with which you have to put.
I (and many of my brethren and sistern) have carried knives in perpetuity! And many times flashlights. (Especially now, with the advent of modern technology involving LCD bulbs and lithium batteries! – small!)
Unfortunately (or fortunately) my knife is mostly utilized to open envelopes (my maternal grandfather would cringe at persons using thumbs and fingers to open envelopes – he had a Christy!)
, and packages (my roommate is going for the Amazon customer of the year award – of course, she has her own cutlery!) My Kershaw Ken Onion Blur
rests clipped in my right, front pocket.
And Flashlights? I’ve a two-inch long one affixed to my keychain, and a larger one (with lithium batteries) in my car console, and another in my nightstand. AND, a Maglite nightstand adjacent!
Sight is of some value.
As is a cutting, stabbing, slashing device.
Yesterday, November 16, would have been my Father’s 100th birthday. Instead, he passed at age 61.
There were so many life lessons he was unable to impart to me.
Calm reflection (he was an angry rage kind of guy); Moderation (he was an alcoholic and a compulsive overeater); Mechanical ability (I once saw him attempt to repair a leaky radiator hose with Scotch tape(!) I was a kid, and even I knew that wouldn’t work).
But I knew he loved me.
After all, when I was born prematurely (and my twin brother didn’t make it) he hurriedly ran to the nearest church to pray for my survival.
He tried to make me an athlete, as he had been. Alas, my developing a physical disability @ age 12 stopped those attempts in it’s tracks. And from that point forward, he was unclear how to relate to me.
I only saw him cry once. When he told me how proud he was of my graduating the Eighth Grade, and that I never asked him for money. To be fair, I didn’t know I was allowed to! When my Mother passed, he kept his grief private.
I’m certain his childhood was horrific. A stern father who had been a Marine and railroad policeman, and his having grown up poor during the Depression.
He had not been raised to be a hugger. I don’t remember him ever hugging me. A firm handshake was the order-of-the-day.
But, he did teach me a few important things. Loyalty (be true to your friends – he was to his); Honesty (your word IS your bond); and yes, Love.
He loved his wife (my mother) with all his heart. Watching her die @ age 41 of emphysema must have been horrible. (I was in the Second Grade, what did I know?) And in spite of the fact they were estranged, my (half)sister was his jewel. He was very protective of her, which probably in-part caused the estrangement. But she was another connection to his wife, which I don’t think she ever saw.
And he kept his heart disease hidden from me until it was too late.
He was flawed – he was human.
I love you and miss you, Dad. Happy Birthday!
From the time we are very small, we believe Life is about acquiring things. Food, warmth, love…stuff. It’s when we are a little older we realize that Life, too, is about loss.
The Yin to the Yang.
And, most of us don’t understand or like that. In fact, most of us hate it!
And, it becomes a matter of degree. That toy that broke (with which we didn’t play, anyway), gives way to the lost book. The dog that died. The high school girlfriend who moved away.
And we choose to suffer for our loss.
But, there is a larger picture, if we choose to see it.
If we didn’t lose ‘it’, we wouldn’t really appreciate it.
My dear friend Bob (of the many Bobs I know) texted me yesterday, to advise me that on Friday he had his left foot and about six inches of his left leg amputated. He’s been diabetic for many years, and had already lost a toe. Even though I lost the use of my right hip when I was 12, I still grieved for him. I’m certain he has a long and arduous road ahead involving prosetheses, crutches, and much pain.
And grief over the loss of his foot.
Most of us don’t even think of our feet or legs, unless they are giving us difficulty. A blister, a bunion, a corn. Calluses. For me, calluses are difficult, because grinding them off is problematic with a fused hip. And, I too, am diabetic.
I still am fortunate enough to still have all my extremities, though. You can bet my nightly cursory examination of said feet was more than cursory last night, though!
Today, is my daughter Molly’s 32nd birthday. I spent most of her 12 years on this planet operating with the assumption that, as nature intends, she would outlive me, and would suffer with my passing.
I was wrong. And I survive here to do the suffering.
I love you and miss you, Molly. And sometimes grieve over you.
But, I also appreciate the time I had to know and love you. I believe so much more than if we had continued in our parallel life paths. Because of the yin and yang.
And I’ve my memories to keep.
Go and hug and kiss those you love, and tell them. Because you never know.
And, if you are diabetic, check your feet often.
I’m in whine mode.
(I know I said at the outset that I wouldn’t use this weblog for therapy, but, hell, it’s my blog, so here goes…)
Why? Not only do I not have any funds to get neat presents for friends and family, but, I’ve no one with whom to share the non-materialistic parts of the holidays. One terrific couple I know gifted me with a cool assortment of cheeses and beers (including Lindeman’s raspberry ale!), and all I could give them in response was a small bag of garlic goldfish.
Hardly an even trade.
I love my sister and her kids, and her kid’s kids dearly, but going to a family celebration alone with certain people in absentia is always painful.
Now it’s the downhill slide from the New Year, to Molly’s birthday, to the anniversary of the accident, in March.
We’re told the best way to get out of this kind of funk is to create a gratitude list. So here goes…
I’ve a roof over my head, and a working car. Thanks to my friends! I’m on Medicare. I’ve disability benefits, which, while in no way am I rich, I can buy food, gas, and pay rent. I’ve a select group of friends, both locally and on the Internet, who help out whenever they can. Many of these friends have gone above and beyond – for years – when I am unable to give back in kind.
This must mean something.
I’m disabling comments for this post. Because, in lieu of giving me an Internet “there-there”, or a virtual hug (or a kick in the pants), please stop for a moment and create your own gratitude list.
Most of you know I was raised on TV and movies. It was an escape from my somewhat dysfunctional family and from the daily stress of life. My roomie and I still enjoy much on electronic media, especially now that so many choices are available.
I recently completed watching the many morality plays that made up Have Gun – Will Travel. Certainly NOT your typical horse opera. And I went looking for something else.
And I found something. It was produced in 2008. (see, behind the times!)
It was an HBO production, and I found it on On Demand on DISH. A seven part mini-series.
This, too, is no horse opera. It is based on the David McCullough book about our second President, and his life leading up to his Presidency. He was not handsome; he was not a great orator. He didn’t stir the passions his cousin Sam Adams did.
But, he WAS a man of principle.
I find myself wondering if he was the last man of principle to hold that office, politics being as they are.
He abhorred slavery, and unlike some of the other Founding Fathers didn’t own any. He was very uncomfortable with Dr. Franklin’s dalliances while they were on a diplomatic visit to France during The Revolution, and by all accounts was loyal to his wife. He was not afraid to pick up a gun in defense of his country.
But few remembered the second President. Until the book and this mini-series.
You should read/watch it!
I’ve NEVER thought of myself as cool.
(Even when I was ‘Joe Cool’ hanging around the student union. “What classes are you taking, Joe?” “Classes?”)
I’ve always been dorky. Dorky thin, dorky fat, dorky thin again. Now dorky less fat. But never cool.
I get grief from my roomie about calling myself an iconoclast. When everyone had long hair – mine was short. When they all went yuppie short – I had a pony tail. All these groups of ‘individuals’, copying each other to find themselves. Sheesh.
But I was never cool.
Below, here’s a picture of me driving:
I’m all about building character.
Not THIS kind…
Largely because of errors-in-judgement I’ve made in my own life, I find myself drawn to other’s opinions with regard to how one should live. And I sometimes even try to apply them to my standards, and see how (or if) they fit.
I’ve occasionally referred to The Art of Manliness in this blog. While much of what is written there is a how-to, some of it is a paradigm-breaking thing. Thinking outside the box, as it were.
This recent essay challenges the mold of modern parenting. The one wherein a parent tells the child they can accomplish anything if they put their mind to it. Now my parents tried their own version of this which was I wasn’t living up to my potential. Not exactly a positive message. I tried to encourage my own daughter, but let her figure out her own limits for herself. She wasn’t necessarily supposed to live my dreams. She was to live hers.
“You can do anything you put your mind to!”
“The sky’s the limit!”
“You’re the best!”
“Follow your dreams!”
Did you hear these kinds of things growing up? Your parents sure meant well. They really felt like you were the most special creature to arrive on planet earth – a beautiful boy full of limitless possibilities. You could do anything in the world!
But now that that boy is grown up and in his twenties, you might find that such encouragement has become more paralyzing than motivating. If your possibilities really are endless, how will you ever decide which path to take and what to do with your life? (TAOM)
I would encourage you to visit the link above and also read the other essays. I often learn things there – and I’m old!
Better than thinking I can blow up the Earth because it blocks my view of Venus!