Some Arms Are Too Darned Big to Bare

Thought for the day:  So what? Americans have right to bear arms? In Russia, we have right to whole bear. [Yakow Smirnov]

[seniorark.com]

I get it. I really do. I understand why so many Americans are so adamant about the Second Amendment, and their Constitutional right to own guns. Heck, I even own some myself, because, frankly, I like to target shoot. But, you know? There must be something wrong with me. Something seriously wrong. See, I have absolutely no desire to strap on a Glock before making my usual senior discount day run to the grocery store on Wednesday mornings. Granted, the sight of a little heat on my hip might encourage those other seniors to shuffle their chubby butts outta my way a little faster, and I'll betcha nobody would argue with me about who should get that last can of tomato soup anymore, either. Better yet, I'm sure I'd get much better service at the check-out counter, too. Oh yeah, I'd shoot right through that line... but no, no, never mind. Not my thing. I'll wait my turn.

I also have no interest in slinging a rifle onto my back before taking a walk around the block, or dragging a mini-cannon into town to show off at the next festival.

Even though, according to Georgia law, I can. If our state doesn't grant the broadest gun-owner rights in the country, it's gotta be in the top two, especially since our legislators passed their Guns Everywhere law. Wanta take your gun into a bar or restaurant? Okeydoke. To the park? No problem! You might not be able to smoke a cigarette in the park anymore, but by golly, feel free to tote your favorite sidearm.

[morguefile]

I've been to places where guys are walking around sporting guns, and it's almost gotten to the point of it not making me overly paranoid. Almost. It's a little like being in the Old West, if you think about it. Then again, in the Old West, gunslingers had to disarm before going into town, just to make it easier for peace officers to maintain the... peace. Oh, I dunno, maybe I'm making much ado about nothing, because there certainly haven't been any High Noon kinda shoot-outs around these here parts.

So I'm (gulp) not nervous. Nope, not a bit.

See, I don't have a problem with guns, and I'm well aware of a whole slew of famous quotes about the importance of the right to bear arms.

Like what Thomas Jefferson said about the dangers from within: The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government.  

And having an armed population has probably saved us from dangers from without, too. Like during WW II, when Japan's  Isoroku Yamamoto said, I would never invade the United States. There would be a gun behind every blade of grass.

(Especially in Georgia.)



But none of that is what prompted me to write this post. This is: a few weeks ago, a local guy (AKA gun nut) took his AR-15 to the airport. The big airport in Atlanta. You know, the busiest airport in the world. What...? You don't know what an AR-15 is? Here... I'll show you.

                                                               THIS is an AR-15:

[morguefile]

But our local guy (AKA gun nut) wasn't satisfied with the idea of toting around an AR-15 with a standard clip, as shown in the picture. Oh no, not him. His gun was fitted with a 100-round drum magazine. Here's one of them in action:

The only difference was, the guy at the airport (AKA gun nut) had a single 100-round drum, instead of the two 50-rounders, as shown in this clip. Just the sort of thing you want to see someone carrying when you go to the airport, eh?

So why was he carrying it? Because it's his right, he said. Because, by Georgia law, he can carry a gun into the airport. Tell me, if you see somebody carrying around a weapon like that at the airport, are you gonna feel secure... or are you gonna pee in your pants a little?

Now, I will admit it. I have fired an AR-15 before... and I enjoyed it. Matter of fact, I laughed most of the time I was shooting, because it made this little old lady feel like a real badass... but I fired it under safe operating conditions at the range. And we don't even carry loaded weapons into the shooting club... weapons don't get loaded until we're actually situated at one of the shooting lanes. Again, that was at a range. Not in an airport. Not in the midst of an international crowd of travelers.

See, I don't get it. If that man wanted to bring a loaded gun into the airport, which makes me a tad nervous anyway, but if he did... why not a handgun? Something for simple self-protection, if that's what he felt he needed to do. Something he could carry in a holster, or unobtrusively in his pocket. Why such a kick-ass in-your-face kinda gun that's gonna scare kids half to death, give three people heart attacks, and make grandma tinkle in her undies? I'm just saying... why? To prove something, but... what? I get it. It's his right. How, I ask you, are the police supposed to know he's one of the good guys when they see him toting that bad boy around? See, here in Georgia, the law also says police aren't allowed to ask to see anyone's carry permit. How do ya like them apples? The game warden can ask to see fishing and hunting licenses; police can ask to see a driver's license, but as for asking to see a paper concerning the legalities of carrying a gun? Nope. Can't do it.

[morguefile]

Here's what I think. That guy is an ass. Sure, he acted well within his rights. But were his actions really intended as a means of embracing those rights, and making the public more comfortable with him and other gun owners exercising their rights, as he said, or was it more a matter of him trying to get his stinkin' fifteen minutes of fame? More like infamy, but he definitely got... and continues to get... a lot of attention.

I think it was the latter. I think that guy (AKA gun nut) has a bad bad attitude, and I also think his narcissistic actions only served to frighten people, demonize gun-owners, and stir up a hornet's nest of anti-gun sentiment. And the people who genuinely care about the right to bear arms should be just as ticked off at his look-at-me antics as the travelers he terrified at the airport are. To be perfectly honest, gun rights aside, it saddens me to think of anyone who only feels safe while carrying a loaded gun.

                                                        What do you think?


                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves and each other.

My Lucky Day

Thought for the day:  I've done the calculations, and your chances of winning the lottery are identical whether you play or not.  [Fran Lebowitz]

Are you superstitious? Do you stay in bed every Friday the thirteenth and walk a mile out of your way just to avoid a black cat?

Nah, me neither.

How about signs and omens? Believe in them?

Ordinarily, I don't pay them much mind, but sometimes they're so blatant, it's impossible to ignore them. Like last Wednesday.

The notion that it was my lucky day kept smacking me in the head... again and again. Lady Luck kept yelling in my ear, and I'm pretty sure she was telling me to buy a lottery ticket. Or a bookmark, as we call it in our house.

Let me tell you about it.

You know what Wednesday is, don't ya? It's senior discount day, and if you wanta know what I think about that, you can read about it right here. So anyhow, I got all dressed up in a clean tee shirt and cut-offs to go to the bank and grocery store. And whattaya know? There sat a four-leaf clover right there on my dressy flip-flops.

A propitious start to a lucky day, wouldn't you say?

I have no idea how that horseshoe landed in our front yard. But, woo HOO... another good sign! Especially since I didn't break my toes when I smashed into it with my flip-flop-clad foot.

When I limped into the bank, get this! There was no line. None. Nada, zip, zilch, zero. Not another customer in sight. Just me, and a bunch of smiling tellers.

That has NEVER happened to me before. Never.

Spooky, huh?

Then, holy moley, outta the blue, the palm of my hand started itching. Just like that, for no reason. You know what that means, dontcha?

It means money. An itchy palm means you're gonna get some money.

Okay, so technically, I was in the bank to cash a check, so I got some money because of that... but still, it could've been a sign that I should buy a lottery ticket, right?

My teller thought so.

Now this is just scary. In the grocery store, I didn't get run over by a single blue-haired lady. Nobody blocked the aisles, and I (gasp) found everything I was looking for. But here's the clincher: when I paid for the groceries, guess how much change I got? Eight dollars and eighty-eight cents! Three eights! Three lucky eights. (Ask anyone from China...) And my last car tag? It had three eights on it, too.

What? Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not Chinese. Hush. Whose story is this, anyway?

So, natch, when I was driving home, I was considering the string of good omens that had been pummeling me ever since I left the house. Should I buy a lottery ticket?

Then I heard a train whistle.

Dare I say it? Yet another good sign! As I sat beside the train track with my frozen vegetables melting in the trunk, I considered how lucky I was that it was such a fast-moving train. And only one hundred and six cars long.

Kismet kicked me in the keister again. Buy a ticket! it screeched.

Wait, no. It didn't screech. That was the train. When it stopped. But it didn't sit there all that long. Only about fifteen minutes or so. Lucky, right?

I was almost home when I saw it. Not just a rainbow... a double rainbow.

And it wasn't even raining.


So what do you think? Did I buy a ticket and win a kazillion dollars?

After all...
Fortune cannot aid those who do nothing. [Sophocles]

Nah. I went home and had a nice cuppa tea. Hey... that's something. Like somebody smart said, (No, I don't remember who said it... I'm not that smart) The only sure way to double your money is to fold it and stick it back in your pocket.

Euripides said, Fortune truly helps those who are of good judgement. And my judgement was to take Brian Koslow's advice. He said, Forget the lottery. Bet on yourself instead. 

Yep, works for me! Besides, we already have more than enough bookmarks around here.

Know what? A positive attitude can determine what kind of day you have. The way I see it, any day my hubby and I wake up and we're both still here... that's a doggone lucky day in my book. Life is good.

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[Thanks to the fine folks at Wikipedia, morguefile, seniorark, and icanhascheezburger for the use of their images.]

Grandmas Can Be Hot, Too... in Flashes

Thought for the day: I'm very young at heart. Unfortunately, some of my other parts are a bit older. 

Some people hate Mondays. Not me. Some people can hardly wait for the weekdays to be over and done with, so they can get down to the serious business of squeezing every ounce of pleasure out of the weekend as they can. Not me.

See, once you smash face-first into the glorious age of retirement, every single day has as much potential to be a Funday as the day before... and the day after.

However, I must confess... I do have a certain affinity for Wednesdays.

That's because Wednesday is senior discount day.






Last week, I decided to cash in on a hard-to-resist double-header. Not only do the grocery store and hair cutting chain store both offer old fogie discounts on Wednesdays, but (ta-DA!) they're right next door to each other. Convenient, right?

So, I go diddy-bopping into the hair butcher first, happy as a piggie in the mud.

Until it was time to pay.

They didn't think I was old enough to merit their stinkin' discount.

I mean, just because my Cinderella hair was tied up in a pony tail, and I was blowing bubbles with my chewing gum didn't mean I wasn't old.

                                           Just because I was wearing hot pants and go-go boots

                                                            and a totally tasteless tee shirt

                                                       didn't mean I wasn't OLD, dammit.

Now, if you need it, I'll give you the last dollar in my wallet. Hungry? I'll gladly share my food. Cold? I'll give you the shirt off my ... okay, so maybe not that, but you get the point. But DO NOT MESS WITH MY SENIOR DISCOUNT. (Even if it IS only ten cents...) Nice person that I am, I explained to the young gals in the shop that you don't have to look old or act old to be old. I flashed my ID ... and my pearly whites.

                                              And I got my damned discount. Life is good.

Okay, so I wasn't really wearing hot pants. What can I say? The darned things shrunk like crazy since I last wore them. Wasn't wearing that (shudder) shirt, either. Ditto the boots. (My go-go boots went-went a long time ago.)

But if I can find them, I'm gonna have to get a pair of these hot pink ones for the next time I get my hair cut ... just for a laugh. They should go quite nicely with my gray sweat pants, dontcha think?

                                                                The face in the mirror
                                                                Isn't wrinkled or drawn.
                                                                My house isn't dirty---
                                                                The cobwebs are gone.
                                                                My garden is lovely,
                                                                And so is my lawn.
                                                                I think I will not
                                                               Put my glasses back on.
                                                                  [Cary Fellman]

Oops, gotta run. I hear they're having a wet shawl contest at the senior center tonight, so I gotta get ready. What can I say? This red hot grandma was born to be wild.

                                      Until next time, take care of yourself. And each other.  

 ** Images courtesy of morguefile