my work here is done

Every woman in my life now either has or is considering a gun for self-defense. Many of them have gone on to get their CCW, including my mom.

I'm satisfied.

I'm immune

Thank you

...to all who have served. May we strive to be worthy of your sacrifice.

photo courtesy of William the Coroner, who seems to have blogged today, a ghost in my machine.

cast ballots

Today Ohio will vote itself a gloriously tragic, shortsighted and yet stupidly inevitable economic seppuku.

Elsewhere is looking better and better every day.

I know!

Maybe the girls of OWS should have a slut walk! Or walk in groups, rape whistles in hand. Or, hey, maybe they could all wear burqas!

Free, but not easy.

Or, perhaps, just perhaps...they could aspire to the same liberty of the Tea Party protester shown above.

(h/t Snarkybytes)

smile for today

farewell, I never said goodbye.

I got an email late Monday and the unusual subject line - "My friend, Zeus" - was the only reason I didn't immediately hit delete. I read it.

And read it again.

And again.

I kept staring at the screen. There were names I recognized but somehow...well, the facts just didn't fit together. "William," the email said, "is no longer with us."

I wrote back one word, all in caps. "WHAT?"

A reply came from a stranger, a thousand miles away, offering details of what he knew - which really wasn't much more than any of us could have guessed.

William.

Gone.
Slipped away in the night.

That's all I know.

Not that any of it matters, the details of how and why he came to that final breath. He should more be remembered for how he lived.

I was welcomed into that life for a short time and didn't know William nearly as much as I would have liked, but I knew for certain I liked him, even from the moment we met.

I try to console myself knowing that the last time I saw William, he was happy, had his rifle in hand and was shooting alongside those of us who had somehow, amidst all those bits and bytes, found each other and formed a jolly little tribe of gunny geeks. If you're reading this now, know that there's been a death in one of your families and we are all quite a bit poorer because of it.

It's odd how my brain works, how I'm left with these mental snapshots of those few and far between times I spent with William. How handsome I thought he looked in his sportcoat and tie the evening we spent on a restaurant patio, the first of a few local William the Coroner dinners we were lucky enough to attend. He had style, although quietly, and in small ways. A smart-looking watch, a nice pullover, those wonderful round glasses, a bit of flair on his walking stick. I found out recently that he owned a bowler hat and I honestly can't imagine anything that might suit him better.

The times he'd meet us at the brewery, we'd laugh and laugh. I always made sure to sit next to William because I loved his wit and his stories (& oh, he was so brilliant I kind of sort of hoped that I could soak up at least a little of it by osmosis). I never wanted to miss anything in the din of a crowded pub. There were times, after a pint or two and plenty of puns, that he'd be sly, let slip a naughty comment and then give me that grin. He had a way about him, an old-fashioned gentleman scholar navigating the modern world and quite enjoying it, besides.

He invited us over to his home for a small cookout this past summer. He was learning how to smoke meat, he said, and could we bring a side dish? So we sat together on a bench in his backyard, soaking in the warmth of the late summer sunset and shared smoked shrimp with one of his cats. Conversation as usual, about everything and everything else in between, and there were lovely boozy grilled plums with whipped cream for dessert. I'll never forget William's big hands, covered in dough, as he made bread on the grill. He never did send me the recipe, but now perhaps I think it's best left as part of the memory of that golden evening.

After one of our outings, William gave me a toy turtle which has ever since sat in the windowsill above the kitchen sink next to a dish of droopy succulents, a curious brass chime and a special rock I collected from the banks of the Chagrin River. He presented it to me along with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I never knew why, if there ever was a reason beyond "just because" but it was wonderful and unexpected, like William's thoughtfulness. I'm sure someday I'll see it and be able to smile, thinking of the friend I wish I'd known better. But not today.

huh.

Seems I missed my 4th blogiversary. Whoopdeedoo.

les misérables

“This is its own city. Within every city there are people who freeload, who make people’s lives miserable. We just deal with it. We can’t kick them out.” 

- Michael Glaser, a 26-year-old Occupier of Wall Street

I feel ya, buddy. I really, really do. 

remember all those rapes at Tea Parties?

Yeah, me neither.

But a bunch of self-proclaimed feminist pacifists all working for social justice and fighting for human rights and equality are reportedly, at least in some small way, condoning rape?* What? How? This cannot possibly be true!

But no, it's not fake - and it seems to be a trend. The organizers of Occupy Cleveland (where there has been a documented rape) are planning to "reach out" and offer counseling so that another such incident will not occur.

So, yeah - the Occupiers' answer to rapists in their midst seems to be holding hands around the drum circle chanting, "Rape is bad, mkay?" while passing a bong, crapping on police cars and begging for someone else to pay off all those student loans (that they voluntarily took on, mind you) for their womyn's studies/interpretive dance degree. Oh, and they also insist that rapists will not be "welcome" at Occupy events. Shunned by hippies, that'll teach 'em.

The 99% does not speak for me.

* Rape-rape, you know.

well, darn

I was going to try to learn how to sew (again...for like the 5th time and after almost failing Home Ec) but it seems I'm not allowed to shop for fabrics and notions at Jo-Ann's.

Some gunbloggers seem to think the "Ohio safari" is funny. Or darkly funny.

Oh, okay...let's see...a lot of beautiful endangered animals lived miserable lives and died miserable deaths all because of one crazy, selfish, miserable fuck's vanity.

Hilarious.

What a knee slapper.

Messaging mom

My mom has an iPad, which means we can now iMessage (it's a verb because I say so) each other for free.

This evening I was telling her about a book I just checked out (I'm in blue):



See, I had quite a few "odd bits" experiences growing up. I learned very early on that if Mom said, "It's roast beef, just eat it." she was being honest. Kind of.

Anyway:



Damn you, autocorrect.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

iUpdated

I had a nerve-wracking 3+ hours yesterday updating my iPhone. I cooked supper and folded laundry while I waited, occasionally checking on its progress and having momentary fits when it became apparent that it was Doing Mysterious Apple Things. On its own. Which is freaky.

Eventually I had to just walk away, accepting that the phone was smart enough to know exactly how to go about its own business of downloading and backing up and whatever else it needed to do to continue being awesome.

I'm still pretty much stuck in the "Holy moly, this is the most amazing, magical gadget ever invented! Music, internet, camera...WOW! I can do all this stuff! And it fits in my pocket! I live in the future!" mindset when it comes to smartphones. I hope I never stop being amazed.

But you know, there's always someone who rains on my iParade. SayUncle, who keeps trying to invent a 1911 vs. Glock-esque rivalry between iPhones and Droids, had better go out and get himself a pair of skinny jeans and a bad haircut because he's becoming a smartphone "I had that app before it was cool" hipster.

hometown heroes

Famous for having a river that caught on fire, topping the 2010 Forbes list of most miserable cities, and being the home of sports teams that can never quite win, even our disgruntled hippie protests kind of suck...

Occupy Cleveland looks pretty...unoccupied.

(via Sacbee)

it's the muffin, man.

Just look at that pumpkin muffin. Look.
Now imagine it warm out of the oven, accompanied by a cold glass of apple cider.

You want it, I know you do. But, alas, you'd have to bake to get it. What a chore.

But here I am anyway, showing off my gorgeous, moist, crumbly, spicy homemade baked goods. Taunting you.

Aw, now, don't make that sad face. Don't pout. I'm really not that mean.

So, here. I want you to have muffins. Honest...I'll even make it easy for you.

1 box of super moist spice cake mix
1 can pumpkin puree
Mix
Bake at 350°F for 20-25 minutes

And if you feel like being fancy, add a struesel topping (like I did) or some cream cheese frosting.

not a new thing

I know that the whole "chicks with guns" thing might seem like a recent American phenomenon (to some) but it appears that tool-using has always been a fairly international and non-gender specific pursuit.

you go, girl.

I'm not sure I know who Ann Barnhardt is, but I think I love her.

Also? this is her rifle:

Yes, really.

a day late, but

before you Italians (and for that matter, Norse-types) continue to congratulate yourselves, I just wanted to point out that the New World was most likely discovered by an Irishman.

welcome to the party

righteous indignation and requisite glasses

Oh, honey, I know! Isn't it just awful?

That's why I started marching all the way back in 2009.