Our SIG Sauer-ing relations

“One critic said my show wove a narrative even Frank Zappa couldn’t understand. His review had an asterisk next to Frank Zappa’s name that went to a footnote explaining who Frank Zappa was. Those sure are some readers, I’ll say!” Bruce McCullogh

“’The rhetoric seems more revolutionary than ever,’ Winkler, the UCLA law professor, said. Also new, he said: the possibility of ‘a lot of people coming in from out of state’ to join protests against local Virginia gun laws. … Winkler, the gun law expert, said he believed responsibility would ultimately come back to the NRA if the tensions in Virginia did spark any violence. For decades, the NRA has been pushing ‘overheated rhetoric about the second amendment protecting your right to rise up against the government’, he said. ‘This is the natural result.’” The Guardian 1/10/2020

“Hegel remarks somewhere that all great world-historic facts and personages appear, so to speak, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce. … Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living. And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and things, creating something that did not exist before, precisely in such epochs of revolutionary crisis they anxiously conjure up the spirits of the past to their service, borrowing from them names, battle slogans, and costumes in order to present this new scene in world history in time-honored disguise and borrowed language. Thus Luther put on the mask of the Apostle Paul, the Revolution of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the guise of the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire, and the Revolution of 1848 knew nothing better to do than to parody, now 1789, now the revolutionary tradition of 1793-95. In like manner, the beginner who has learned a new language always translates it back into his mother tongue, but he assimilates the spirit of the new language and expresses himself freely in it only when he moves in it without recalling the old and when he forgets his native tongue.” Karl Marx


“Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble.” Dr. Johnson

Let’s make the most of this beautiful day, since we’re together, might as well say “Would you be my, could you be my, won’t you be my Boog Squad?”

What an odd week. As it came to an end many people took to social media to point out how the new Space Force logo looks like an old Star Trek insignia. Not that it really makes much difference as no one is going to see it against the background of those space camo uniforms the Space Force is expected to wear. But it does leave open the question as to whether or not The Grand Negus in his second term will pursue some sort of don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy for any Space Force applicants who might be Klingon.

That aside – the week got off to an auspicious start. Not only was Monday Martin Luther King Day, a federal holiday, it was ostensibly the start of the Second Civil War. Not that I really know why we need a second one. The first one lasted five years, it spawned any number of historical studies, countless books have been written about it, and school children still learn that it was one of the most significant events in American history. Some 150+ years later it still works its way into our lives in ways we rarely notice. The Civil War is why your dopey cousin nobody likes never comes to the family gatherings as he’s usually off in some meadow pretending to be Col. Shad “Squirrel Stew” Armstrong, Defender of the Honor of Virginia.

A state he has never set foot in nor seen.

At last summer’s family picnic after Grandma said, “Eddy won’t be joining us. He’s at one of those things he goes to.” a little golf clap broke out and she rolled with it. Please don’t misunderstand, she loves all of her grandchildren, but Eddy is a bit of a hill to climb.

Moving along –

The whole gun thing is pretty foreign to me as I’ve never owned a gun nor put any thought into getting one. Which is why I think bills before the Virginia legislature don’t seem all that unreasonable (e.g. a limit on hand gun purchases per month) and while that would seem to lead to no end of arguments I’ve never been in one. The only gun related conversations I’ve had centered around my alleged rejection of my birthright as an American male to not only own a gun, but to pass down any firearms I might have to my male offspring.

The worst and lengthiest came when I had to sell of my father’s shotgun as part of the settlement of his “estate.” For those of you just tuning in, Father thought that all you needed to do business was a handshake. Sadly, the folks in charge of Medicare and Medicaid don’t work that way so I was left with a tangled financial mess to untangle during his last couple of years of life. So per the court order the shotgun was put on consignment at a well known locally owned sporting goods in my hometown. My arrival coincided with some sort of Glocktastic Weekend. A Glock rep was there with all manner of t-shirts, holsters, pins, buttons, and no end of Glock tchotchkes. The only thing that was missing were some doll clothes so you could dress your Glock up like Topo Gigio and kiss it good night. When he overheard me talking to the guy behind the gun counter he charged over and started berating me about abandoning my birthright and being a negligent parent for not keeping the gun to pass along to my progeny. He kept insisting, “Think of your sons, think of your sons!”

Told him it’s son – singular – who was all of a year old at the time.

That really riled up Mr. Glock. He then ran out some rant about how my kid’s peers would make fun of him, belittled him, and how he’d be shut out of any gun-related bonding experiences later in life. I told him we live in Seattle and the only real dad-n-lad hunting we had available was to go down to the beach and see how many seagulls we could take out before the cops arrived. He stormed off and the guy handling the transaction took a quieter approach asking, “Why sell the gun?” I showed him the legal paperwork and said I’m not all that interested in guns. He was then more curious as how I arrived at that and I said I had no answer. I’d been in these situations before – someone looking for a single motivator. For example, while I can say that we drive Japanese made automobiles because I had Ford and Mom had a Chevy, I have no similar explanation for why I don’t own a gun.

Sorry.

This also begs the question, “Where’s something about the impeachment in this post?”

Because while the impeachment will come and go the idea that American men has some sort of sacred obligation regarding firearms will go on. Compounding matters is that the gun issues we face in the cities is very different than the gun issues that pop up elsewhere. The Atlantic had a recent issue devoted to where or not we’d have another Civil War. The single outtake was that when people think they have no voice they will act out. The South saw that it had no allies in whatever would come from the westward expansion so they decided to hold their own turf.

Who’s to say the same won’t apply of all those people who showed up in Virginia?

Who is to say they won’t act out if they think the walls are closing in?

Last Monday went as well as could be expected.

No one was hurt.

But what about the next moment of Booglaoo?

The impeachment?

It’ll come and go. Nothing will change. But the moment it is complete then we can point to that very moment when the 1980s became triumphant. At that moment we will be the America that was build by junk-bond traders, downsizing artists, and the countless MBA’s who were certain that there was much money to be made in being just good enough. The moment the impeachment of the man, who can be considered the Hegalian figure of the 1980s, is over we will have fully transitioned from being America, The Shining City on a Hill to America, The House Brand Mayonnaise.

Hey there, it is or is not Yogi Bear!

Some of you have heard, others haven’t, but two weeks ago I was kicked off Facebook. While trying to log in a notification popped up saying my account was suspended and my access to the site was restricted as my page had been identified as an imposter site. There was some other boilerplate and a generous amount of BLAH BLAH BLAH involved. Per them – my email for the the log-in did not contain my real name.

Seriously.

As far as FB is concerned I am Texas Chuck.

Never mind that there’s some guy out there logging on with his parrothead1952@aol account who does nothing but put up anti-Hillary memes and recycle jokes from the August 1978 Playboy. Never mind that half of Parrothead1952’s FB friends are all named Cheyenne, Autumn, Breezie, and Pepsee. Never mind that all those young women are really Texas Chuck’s co-worker, Yuri. Parrothead1952 is gold as far as FB is concerned.

Some have asked if there’s a way to appeal.

Yes, you have to send them something from this approved list to prove that you’re you.

Passports? Blank checks? Utility bills?

Hell, why don’t I just spit on a fucking Q-Tip while I at it?

Thrown in a little DNA for good measure!

In reading up about this it’s easy to find no end of people who have willingly surrendered many if not most of the items on that list only to find nothing happened. When they asked why they only got an automated response that said, send it again. That left me with the impression that I could send all manner of ID along with a suspiciously damp Q-Tip and still be in the same boat. Never mind that I’d be giving all that sensitive information which might include credit card and bank routing numbers to an organization that’s flirted with having its own currency, its own retail credit market, pioneering work in face recognition while telling The Wall Street Journal they might need to come up with their own OS.

Really?

An OS that could have you wake up one morning and find out your computer didn’t work and there was no way to get it work?

Thank you, but that was called Windows Vista and no one wants to do that again.

Among the many things that can get out bounced off FB is having someone report you as a stranger. Sadly that didn’t happen to me, but it would have been far, far more amusing if that was the case. Think about it – getting reported because somewhere out there in the ether there’s some guy who thinks he’s King Shit Yogi Bear Fan #1 and he’s not putting up with any pretenders to the throne?

That would be glorious.

Better yet it would give some FB middle manager with a moral compass worthy of Martin Shkreli the opportunity to introduce me to the other guy. He could even set us up with some space in that shitty little cloud farm FB has stashed behind a trailer park in the Dakotas. He could lock us in and walk away not giving a rip about what happens next. Then he’d have every right in the world to walk straight up to the big boss and say, “Excuse me, Mr. Zuckerberg? I took the liberty of rounding up all the sad assholes and putting them somewhere where they can’t bother anyone.”

Don’t tell me that’s not the fast track to a corner office.

So for the time being I’m embracing my inner Texas Chuck which is not to say I won’t be returning to FB, but it sure is relaxing to be away from it. There’s no being greeted – at 6:30 in the morning – with a long post about someone who has been through a terrible night of panic attacks because the new meds aren’t working. While you’d like say something and it’s not that you’re unsympathetic to their plight, it’s just … well the poster is only a FB friend, not a real friend.

Also I’m not missing the people who have to post every few minutes about what Hannity/Maddow (pick one) just said. But I do miss all those people who shared what the Tammy Larren gal was guaran-damn-teeing. I can only hope that she’s still out there guaran-damn-teeing stuff which relieves the rest of us from the awful burden of having to guaran-damn-tee things.

But I do have one thing to say that you’re not going to like.

Too many of you keep running out FB post after FB post linking to articles most of us have already seen.

You’ve really gotta stop doing that.

Because that’s what Twitter’s for.

But am I an imposter?

The Twentieth Century produced two great mystics, Gurdjieff and Councelor Troi’s mother. Both said that we are many people and we bring different ones to different situations. Gurdjieff summed it up best when he said, you are one person when you are with your lover and another when you are with your mother.

And I don’t want to know what any of you are like when you’re around Councelor Troi’s mother.

So by that definition the person I appeared to be on FB is not really who I am so therefore I was an imposter.

Truth be told?

When it comes to platforms and methods of expression who is to say that this page isn’t my meadow and I its Col. Shad “Squirrel Stew” Armstrong?

Again – I’m not saying I’m going to walk away from FB, but blogging seems to come more naturally.

And one last thing thing – in this meadow do you know who the King Shit #1 Yogi Bear Fan is?

Damn right.

So shut up and sing along.