Tam and I get along well, but there are days when we take turns being one another's person from Porlock. Other days, it's the calendar's turn -- this morning during breakfast, I was pondering a fairly light-hearted story from Alaska (for paranoid-theorist values of "light-hearted") as a launching-point for a blog post while Tam watched the news, when she suddenly realized it was trash day and very near the time the trucks start.* Mad dash ensued, and now I'm back to breakfast.
Meanwhile, the news drones on with photos, full name and half-informed speculation about the college shooter in Oregon, press and politicians blithely, blissfully unaware that the more attention they heap on pathetic losers who harm easy victims, the more of them there will be. They're rewarding the behavior and continuing to fail to harden the target. Yeah, keep on blaming me and people like me instead -- who'm I after all, who are we all but powerless worker bees in the vast, dull middle of the country who own guns and use them responsibly, not very photogenic, easy to blame, easy to push around. By the time I retire, we'll probably be accused of poisoning wells and stealing babies. Accused by persons from Porlock and by their Great Leaders, and taken out with the trash.
* The sadists who run trash pickup vary their starting locations from time to time, which changes their pickup time. Our truck is usually by about 9:00 a.m. but is occasionally as late as 11:00 or as early as 7:00.
1 week ago