Your Kind Of Terrorist

They told me I shouldn’t point out that around 80 people died in two separate incidents of gun violence because it is too soon to talk about a tragedy.

When I persisted they accused me of not understanding how guns work and of intentionally mischaracterizing the latest event I shook my head and persisted in demanding they demonstrate the value of thoughts and prayers.

“Good guys with guns stop bad guys. We need more people carrying and we need good training.”

I asked them to respond to what one of the musicians from the Las Vegas shooting had to say and pointed out I am not anti-gun.

“I’ve been a proponent of the second amendment my entire life. Until the events of last night,” he wrote. “I cannot express how wrong I was. We actually have members of our crew with [concealed handgun license], and legal firearms on the bus. They were useless. We couldn’t touch them for fear police might think that we were part of the massacre and shoot us. A small group (or one man) laid waste to a city with dedicated, fearless police officers desperately trying to help, because of access to an insane amount of fire power.”

They ignored my comment about being anti-gun and insisted again I shut up but I persisted. I asked them to justify their willingness to label some people as terrorists and to use less emotionally loaded terms.

I pushed back hard and said I can’t take their comments seriously because the refusal to engage in a real discussion is telling and shameful.

“Shut up snowflake and go back to holding hands and singing love songs.”

I almost said ok and shared the line below.

You helped me to remember that love is meant to sting, that to be apart is to feel an ache that no drug can touch and to be together is to know the meaning of union.

It would have made for a good non-sequitur and I might have but if you gain the kind of attention from me these people had I’ll oblige by pumping out words by the thousands.

Not just my own, but those of others that are relevant to the conversation such as what the courts have said, expert information about the guns used and all sorts of other fun information.

Not that these people want to be inconvenienced by fact because they like living in lollipop land where they can talk about your kind of terrorist and use it as pejorative.

It Is Not Normal

A certain 13-year-old girl screamed at me and said I don’t know a thing about being 13 and screamed today when I said the difference between me and her is I already was 13.

She is right about a few things because I never was and never will be a 13-year-0ld girl.

I didn’t have a smartphone that enabled me to continue talking to everyone in California as if I had never left.

That is a double-edged sword in my mind because while it solved some issues it created a few others. I am relatively certain no child wants their parent to respond to texts that were addressed to them.

I also know there is a two hour time difference and if you insist on trying to contact my child in the wee hours I am going to reserve the right to be the face you see on the other side of the phone.

Should this hypothetical situation take place there is a fine chance the child on the other end isn’t going to appreciate the civil tongue lashing they receive.

“You know we are two hours ahead and it is 2 AM. You know you were asked not to contact her and that I have screenshots of the insults you sent. Should I wait until 2 AM your time to send them to your parents or should I do it when I wake up, which is roughly 4 AM your time?”


Intermixed in said conversations and tales is the one in which your favorite blogger’s child asked at the dinner table if these shootings are becoming the new normal.

“They aren’t normal and I don’t want them to become normal.”

The words were said with vigor, but I have to concede these events have happened so many times I wonder if maybe I sound like I am out of touch.

I have to wonder if the better approach is to say they have happened too often and that I want to see them become the odd and irregular tragedy.

It is shameful to have to say such a thing.

Traffic School and Stuff

I am some hours into online traffic school or so I hope. The thing is so boring it is possible an hour has barely elapsed.

Boring or not I am paying attention because there are quizzes throughout it and I intend on passing them all the first time so I can get this done.

It doesn’t matter whether five 0ther cars were driving faster than I was because I was the driver that was pulled over and cited.

Doesn’t matter that I was traveling just a few miles over the speed limit or that I wished the cop was focused on stopping real crime.

Hell, I wish he was speaking in front of Congress about a real solution to gun violence and promoting a plan that wouldn’t automatically be shot down by people who have been bought and sold by the NRA.

But wishes are like thoughts and prayers–things that make you feel good but aren’t always stuff that turns into action.


When I wasn’t involved with traffic school or taking care of a long list of things that had to be done I was focused on dealing with a different storm.

It is hard to believe we’re almost 2 years into it and I can’t begin to guess when the end will come or exactly what it will look like.

I have some ideas but most are based on wishes and dreams. Though I undoubtedly do know some things I also know the words of Lennon and Murikami ring so very true for me.

So I hold out my hand in two different directions and push to control the very few things I can.

Whenever my time comes I am going to be able to say I lived a life.

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