I’ll tell you right off that nothing dramatic happened. But it was interesting.
I’ve been working my way up to making my quarterly stop at the town liquor store. Today was the day for me to buy my Bloody Mary vodka. But as I pulled up at the curb in Old Blue, a black-clad, hooded young man wearing a backpack stepped inside the shop.
Something about him caused my hackles to rise. I nearly drove off. Then I thought about Deana (not her real name), who owns the pocket-sized liquor store. A young woman in there all alone. I got out of the car, laid my hand on a weapon and peeked through the glass door.
Deana seemed relaxed behind the counter and the stranger, with his back to me, didn’t appear to be doing anything untoward. So I went on in. The only money in my wallet was a $100 bill somebody gave me last week. Even though everything felt peaceable, I knew I didn’t want to wave that thing in front of that man, so I paid by debit card and as I was doing so he left.
Deana sighed and said, “Thank you for coming in just then. That guy was creeping me out. He says he’s trying to get to (Big City) and he wanted me to drive him there. Maybe he was harmless, but …”
I asked her if she was armed. She showed me a couple of non-lethal weapons behind the counter, admitting that she couldn’t find them in a hurry if she needed to.
“Have you considered getting a gun?”
“Well, you know how it is. They say you’re more likely to shoot yourself than somebody else.”
“That’s old debunked nonsense.”
We then talked about training and muscle memory and how we might react in a panic. Apparently, some of her friends, including police, have urged her to take training with the man who instructs all the local cops. She’s not inclined to, but I told her about the kind of training they get — not just plinking at a target, but using cover and concealment, shooting while lying on their backs or crawling on the ground, even shooting when half-blinded by Vaseline-smeared goggles. That interested her.
Don’t know if she’ll change her mind. But in her position, I sure would.
The new frontier of negative interest rates. You know, if I didn’t realize this stuff is for real, I’d think articles like this one were parodies. Or bizarre fantasies. Oh, the weird world of economics!
LOL, and here you thought the media just fawned on HRC because they choose to. Sometimes, though, they’re simply following orders.
Well, this is depressing. Fear of punishment from a vengeful god turns out to produce social good. Not surprising, really. That’s probably why vengeful gods were invented (by those who wanted to define social good for everybody else).
Nicki on government health care as the ultimate sickness. Man, such horror stories should have been left behind in the Soviet Union.
Smart guns, stupid science (and that’s even without addressing their “features” of being hackable and remote shut-offable).
Just five years old and already the the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau is a hotbed of abuse, including race-based corporate shakedowns.
Maybe you have some candidate you’re passionate to support. Or maybe your sole goal this election season is merely to (somehow, against all odds) remain sane until November. Or you simply want to minimize your exposure to the endless media noise. I don’t know.
But even if you try to tune out electoral politics, I suspect there’s still something you want out of this election above all else. For me (I just realized), my main interest in watching this circus is to see Hillary Clinton take a well-deserved fall from the high-wire of “inevitability.”
When she tumbled in 2008, the media attributed it less to her own innate, immeasureable horribleness than to Barack Obama’s sizzling charisma and organizational savvy. They eventually boosted her back up on the high-wire. Now, with her only opponent being an elderly socialist with a laughable loser’s history, her fall (should the media allow it) will be entirely on her.
Being that she’s the scummiest, phoniest, and least charismatic politician since Richard Nixon (and that’s saying something), I cannot wait to witness her collapse, whether it comes at the hands of Sanders fans or, better yet, the FBI. Given the bunch of jokers and clowns running in 2016, that’s the best outcome I think this election could bring. I just don’t know if I want it to happen quickly, say by Super Tuesday, or slowwwwwly, suspensefully, and agonizingly, taking down the entire Clinton dynasty with it. I want this so much I wouldn’t even care if it meant she got beaten in the general election by that foul authoritarian troll, The Donald. (Shudder. But there it is.)
You and I both know there are a lot of reasons not to vote for Bernie Sanders. But it never occurred to me that fear of burning in hell was one of them. More madness in gender feminism? Or just desperation in Hillaryland?
Per jed in comments: If anyone had any doubt that big-city police are mostly nothing but armed gangsters (not that you actually had such): the woman who pulled over a cop for speeding gets doxed by his union pals.
I finally finished a good first draft of that cannabis article and got it sent off to 10 people so they could check the parts about them and offer corrections on anything else they spot.
Already heard back from three. Not a single change requested or goof noted. That’s unusual. It won’t hold for all 10, but very nice start.
The interviewees range from a police chief to a couple whose medical dispensary was destroyed by the DEA. And here they are, all in harmony, even as they come from such different perspectives. I simply can’t stress enough what a remarkable experience this is, both writing about it and witnessing it.
The one big drawback of the writing part: It’s exhausting. All the research (and all the things I still didn’t learn). The scheduling and pulling myself out of my hermit hut. The days and days of drafting, which, with so much information, is like wrestling an octopus. Even the best moments, the interviews themselves, leave me all emptied out. It’s the most glorious exhaustion. But still.
The last couple writing days were all about shifting the last bits into their place in the article, polishing, and — above all — cutting, cutting, cutting, cutting. I sacrificed nearly 1,500 of my own, precious, darling words in the interest of the whole. By the time I’d sent all the emails winging on their way with article attched, I was — not kidding — slightly faint.
I don’t mean to sound melodramatic. After all, I’m not also dying of tuberculosis in a garrett. (Always a plus. that.) Life’s good. I’m just tired. If I’ve been a little quiet and continue to be a bit more this week, that’s why.
I wasn’t sure they’d ever do it: The Free State Project now has the 20,000 pledgers it said it needed for critical political mass. I wonder whether they’ve checked to see if all those pledges are current and good. I know I withdrew mine around the time they started the move prematurely. The FSP is an intriguing effort that’s made waves. More power to it and all its people. How well they can stand against the rising tide of “socialism” is anyone’s guess.
Resist the VAT or any other national sales tax. Always and forever. (I’ll never understand those for whom “tax reform” means “more taxes.” Or those who believe that the income tax will magically go away when some new tax is imposed. Do they not know how government works?)
U.S. Capitol cops have to abandon their shooting range after “safety” improvements caused unsafe conditions. (And what’s that about getting a little nick at the corner of your eye, fella? Not wearing your goggles, were you???) (H/T Jim Bovard)
Sometimes I’m not sure which is harder: writer’s block or that rare and supposedly wondrous state of flow, where words fly from the end of your fingers without conscious input from your mind, where things like eating, getting dressed, and taking the dogs for a walk either get forgotten or force themselves upon your attention like the unforgivable person from Porlock.
I used to live for the flow state. Now it exhausts me. Definitely more exhilarating and productive than writer’s block, though.