Tangled Up In a Twist Of Fate 40/ An uninspected mind
Posted on February 1, 2013
When is too much? Karma for Wayne. A last stand. Steamed up. Odd bits
I live in Connecticut. We had had a mind bending event in Newton. Twenty elementary school children were murdered by a mentally unbalanced person who then took his own life. The tragedy itself should be etched into any normal mind by now. There’s a problem though, we’re not letting go. Don’t get me wrong those children will live on in their families minds and when another incident occurs they will be used as a comparison. What I’m talking about is the deaths being used as news filler. A local news station, when returning from break, put up a visual that they used when the tragedy was fresh. The news reader then updates us on the progress of survivors, the gun control hearing or a statement made by someone who is covered by the media. The local media has forgotten the family of the shooter. He STOLE the semi-automatic weapons from his mother. I wonder how secure they were before her son decided that twenty six people or more didn’t deserve to continue their lives. Why isn’t mom in jail? We’re always told to keep weapons locked away from children. Apparantly Mrs. Lanza didn’t get the memo. She’s as responsible as her son. If she had secured the assault rifle her son couldn’t have walked away with it. That’s what’s missing in all of the gun control legislation that’s being proposed. If you own an assault rifle, shotgun, pistol or anything that can fire a projectile you should have to bear some responsibility if your guns are stolen. We should extend the circle of responsibility. Dealers who sell outsized magazines and unlimited ammunition, the ownersa who think it’s a real great idea to have a loaded shotgun, pistol or faux assault weapon handy in case a ravaging horde should overun their home in search of plunder. These people hide behind the Second Amendment. They have the mistaken idea that they can arm themselves to the teeth in what is geneally assumed to be a civilized society. The manifacturers should have a share of the responsibility. Why produce thousands of weapons designed by the companies to be used in armed conflict or to supplement an apartment dweller’s manhood. The whole thing comes down to one thing; There are all together too many guns out there. Don’t tell me you need fifteen rifles and ten pistols to protect youself. Our pioneer forebears. who many extreme gun owners compare themselves to, by and large had one firearm, usually a shotgun. It got food, protected the homestead and felt damn good when you held it. Enough, let’s move on.
Wayne’s karma. Wayne Lapierre the grand poobah of the NRA has crept into that evil, though somewhat small, area of my brain that demands justice. I believe in karma. Christians, stand down. Going to Hell for being an asshat during your life is karma. The mimisters just don’t want to be too closely related to Eastern religions. If there is justice, Wayne will die in a gun related accident. Pick your favorite. The Great Powers are just and Wayne goles to Hell. All those people who listened to his bloviating are up for payback for being naive. Again Christians, listen up. The HR people give Wayne a job that he’s singularly qualified for, assembling rifles. The only little hang-up is; as soon as he’s finished one, Oswald, J.W. Booth, Giiteau, Princep pick up the finished rifle and kill him. He spends five minutes on the floor of Hell, probably having a nightmare, and gets up. He’s back at the bench. It’s full of parts for a new rifle. The learning curve isn’t too steep. He resists. An imp with a .22 caliber Derringer shoots him in the ass.
If you are a responsible gun owner and I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. If you have fifteen assault weapons and five thousand rounds of ammunition, pay attention. Karma doesn’t dicriminate. I’ve got time to do for all those squirrels and bird I shot at, and missed, I hope now.
My laptop is channeling David Crockett. It’s the last stand at the Alamo. It’s going to fight to the end. This entails loading the bottom task bar with sites that can’t be deleted, wandering off the page I’m on, operating glacially and generally being a pain in the ass. Why? It knows the first site I checked this morning when I got back from the VA was e-mail, specifically an e-mail from Toshiba. Accordig to them I should be taking delivery on the new laptop at 4:30 today. Fedex willing. Bestowing human qualities on mechanical objects is foolish. We swear at our cars when they won’t start. We curse the washing machine when it’s danced accross the floor. We kick the coffee table, like it meant to trip us as we walked by. I believe this. Everything is part of a larger conciousness. Machines included. Hear me out. We leave a little of ourselves in everything we make, use, own. It builds up. Why did my printer die just before the laptop began acting up? It explains a lot. The keyless entry to the car malfunctions when we’ve got to be at the doctor’s, we’ve had three hours of sleep and we need to be minimally awake and the coffee maker decies to go on strike, stuff happens. It’s not going to be a quick switch. I’ve got a bunch oh of documents that need to be put on a flash drive, and I’e got to thanl my Dell Insiron 1525 for getting me through lessons, pieces of stories, all the information I’ve acquired, all of the puzzles I’ve done and most of all for introducing me to a world of bloggers who I follow and answer my replies. It’s not goig away. In time, when I’ve saved up enough money, my friend is going to have its memory cleared and be rid of all the nonsense that I’ve out there. It will have a nice place to rest, in a well-padded backpack. I know it’ll make an appearance. Oh, the back-up Ive got now? It’s waiting for me to find a nice place where it can be recycled.
Today, I hope, marks the end of my war with the little black bugs. I brought in the weapon that I’ve been avoiding, steam. I purchased a home steamer. The alternative was calling an expert. Most of which use beagles. The cats would not like that. I applied steam to all the areas around my mattress, I have a waterbed so flipping the mattresss etc. isn’t an option. I found their point of entry, a crack in the basboard molding. The doorway was liberally doused with killer/repellant puttied it shut and in the near future will spread some borax nearby in case any of them can still get through. The steamer isn’t a one trick pony. We’ve got carpeting all over and stains that want to go away. You’ve got to check the strip in front of the couch. On the other hand, don’t.
I’m building up a list to submit to my favorite radio station. It’s just a few artists that can have their airtime reduced, drastically. The Police, New Fleetwood Mac, CCR, Peter Frampton are leading candidates. I’m not saying axe them but when you hear them five times a day on a station with a playlist in the thousands, it’s a bit much. I’d like a bit of Bonnie Raitt, Norah Jones, Tom Waits and the indiviual Beatles.
On music, I finally heard Smells LIke Teen Spirit by Nirvana. Prior to that the only contact I had was Weierd Al’s parody. Kurt Cobain might have been a genius but I din’t get the song. It’s whiney and uninteligible. Maybe I’m getting old but I’d like to be able able to understand the lyrics of a song on say, two listenings.
See you on Monday.