I'm Swamped

We interrupt this hiatus...

Yes, the musings have been stagnant for a while. And there's no reason to think it'll change anytime soon. Between baby-showers, nursery prep, work, and studying, I've been busier than a dog with two... uhm, busier than a hen in the chick... err, busier than a cocktail waitress at the annual "slap-n-tickle" in Vegas.

Regular readers are probably still scratching their heads about that above statement - no, not the slap-n-tickle; the "studying" comment. That's right, I've been studying. It was such a way of life for so many years that I just sorta naturally slipped back...

I can't do that to you. Actually, I'm been dragged back in, kicking and screaming, to the world of difficult differential equations, thermodynamics, statics, kinetics, active and passive circuits, motors, and a whole bunch of other stuff that I've already learned and am having to relearn. Why all this torture? I've got the FE (future engineer) exam coming up in two and a half weeks. It's the first step towards gaining my professional engineering license, which is a must if I ever want to work as a consultant.

Oh, and after that, there will be more studying for my CAP certification (Certified Automation Professional). In amongst that, I'll be balancing work, keeping a new baby alive and clean, a 9th wedding anniversary, Guilder to frame... I'm swamped.

10 points for the movie reference, no hints needed.

A Student with a Gun: My Response

In 1966, Charles Whitman, a student at the University of Texas, climbed to the top of a building and opened fire on every student he could put his sights on. The total carnage for the day was 14 killed, 31 wounded.

And that's where it all started. For the first time ever, the sanctity of a school campus was tarnished, no longer seen as a safe haven to send young adults to. And, like many things, it was only a matter of time before this kind of violence would find it's way into younger halls of academia.

Thirteen years later, in an elementary school in San Diego, CA, Brenda Ann Spencer, possibly high on drugs, entered an elementary school and started shooting. Two were killed - the principal and the custodian - and 8 kids and a police officer were injured.

Ten years after that, in 1989, the Stockton massacre - where a deranged gunman took an "assault rifle" to a children's playground, killing 5 before taking his own life - put gun violence in to the national spotlight. In 1991, a bill was signed in to law taking guns out of schools.

The only problem is - it didn't.

First, some perspective. Starting in 1966, with the UT shooting until January of 1991, when the bill was effected, there were 6 shootings* that would fall under the term we know as "school shooting." That's on incident every four years.

At this point you may want to sit down and brace yourself.

Starting with the year of the "gun free school zone" and going til the present, there have been 37 shootings. In 18 years. That's right at 2 shootings per year that shouldn't be happening inside this bubble of safety we've supposedly cast around our younger generation. What hasn't been realized is we've essentially cloaked our little ones in the Emperor's New Clothes.

So, what to do after the laws aren't obeyed and shootings increase? Well, restrict the guns even more. The Clinton administration did just that when they signed in to law what has become known as the Assault Weapons ban in 1994. Until it expired in 2004, there were 19 school shootings - with maybe one exception (Columbine - and I did say maybe) none of the weapons used in those shootings were banned; furthermore, the gun free zones were still in effect.

It hasn't worked, and it won't. Gun control is a myth. Gun laws, like any other laws, only work for the law-abiding citizen. They mean nothing to a criminal, much less a deranged person hell-bent on destroying others... and themselves.

Note: this is a more fleshed out comment to a post by Jrazz about the Israeli school shooting. As a source, I used the wiki page on school shootings. I generally don't consider them very reliable, but these incidents have been so well documented that the wiki page contains the citations.

Fly Me Friendly

This week marked a big first for me - my first commercial flight since being grown. Until Monday afternoon, I had only been on planes on two other occasions: once when I was ten months old flying back to the states from overseas, the other was a Cessna 172 when I was in college - the first time. Now, it wasn't because of fear - though I do believe had the Almighty intended for us to fly he would have given us feathers and wings - but more because, while growing up we, as a family, just didn't take vacations that would require flying anywhere.

So, with much guffaw and circumstance, I boarded flight 113 from ATL to DFW on Monday of this week, headed for a week of training in fantabulous Dallas, TX. Here are a few of the things I found out on the flight over:

• Airtran = itty-bitty living space
  
• My MP3 player, a Sandisk, at 98% volume, can mostly drown out the cries of a baby.
  
• Blasting aliens in Contra 4 helps drown out the desire to wake the obnoxiously loud snoring person two rows back. On an afternoon flight!
  
• Flying above the clouds is quite etheral.
  
• Not seeing the ground for nearly 90 minutes of a two hour flight can cause tears upon the first glance of terra firma.
  
• Window seats are cool. Til you have to pee.
  

1000 points to the person that can correctly identify (without the use of the internet) the movie the title of the post comes from. Here's a hint: the line isn't ever spoken.

Again with The Rules

This is not directed at anybody I've ever shot with or handled firearms around. Most people I associate with and handle firearms around obey The 4 Rules; even if they have a brain-fart and violate one, they take correction and apologize.

Why are my boxers ruffled, you ask?

A friend of mine was sitting in his living room when some "friend" of his did just that. His friend was clowning and, after hearing about Rule Number 2 - never point the gun at anything you don't want to destroy - pointed the gun at him and said [bubba voice=on] "Like this?" - smiling and chuckling all along.

This guy is an absolute , and deserves to never be around you with anything more than a water gun. Ours is not a culture of pride. Egos must be checked at the door. Nobody is above reproach.

"What do I do if this happens to me?" Glad you asked...

For starters, get out of the line of fire. This doesn't need to be done with great dramatics - no diving for the ground, yelling "take cover!" And for everybody's sake, don't pull your own firearm, unless you honestly believe this person is trying to shoot you. Calmly step aside.

Next, inform the person of their transgression, but keep it civil. No need in getting anybody excited, especially when there is a loaded gun tossed in the equation and Bubba the Funny Clown/Redneck. Reacting in anything more than a professional and courteous manner will most likely give him the satisfaction he was looking for in the first place. Refrain from calling him names - that time will come.

Now comes the crucial point. Instruct the person to safety the weapon* and put it down. Keeping with the earlier advice, maintain politeness - use the word "please." Never threaten action on your part if he does not comply!!! He just might call your bluff - remember, we're dealing with an , obviously of one of the upper order s. This step MUST (note the use of absolute wording) occur - there will be no wrestling when somebody is holding a gun.

Once the gun is on a table, the floor, wherever, take it and clear it, but most importantly DO NOT violate one of the safety rules in your haste to end the confrontation! This person is going to be watching you like a hawk, and at this point will hopefully feel ashamed. If not...

... this is the point where you can beat him down and call him a scruffy-looking nerf-herder.

*Astute readers, or anybody who's ever gone shooting with me before, know that I don't particularly care for mechanical safeties on a gun with two exceptions - 1) a drop safety, and 2) thumb safety on a 1911. Even with those, safeties tend to give a false sense of security and can (and will) fail if given the right conditions. That said every gun comes with one safety - YOUR trigger finger. Keep that booger hook off the bang-switch til time to go boom.

Letter to my son: Grandpa

Dear Rerun,

This should probably wait til you're a little older, but I figured at this point you're pretty much a captive audience. That's just the way life in the uterus is.

When you come in to this world, you're going to have a lot of people to get to know and names to put with faces. Obviously, momma and dada are (hopefully) near the top of your list, somewhere just behind "Aunt Payton." Shortly thereafter - or possibly even before - will come the words Papa. Congratulations - you've found the word that will get you something out of the cookie jar every single time.

One of your Grandpa's you will know right from the start. I'll give you a hint - he'll be the one putting a fishing rod in your hands before you even know what a fish is. He'll also be the one responsible for blinding you with the flash of his camera. This is mommy's dad, and it's very important not to pee on him too much - he's got a convertible.

Your other Grandpa, well, it's gonna be a while before you know him. Sorta. You see, many years ago, that Grandpa - daddy's dad - got a call. Not a phone call, or as they'll say by the time you're here, a cellphone call. And not the one Mommy will most likely be yelling throughout the neighborhood when it's dark and dinner's getting cold. In fact, nobody else heard the call but him. It was God, saying something about like, "Time to go, Larry."

Yes, Grandpa was named after a stooge. And it fit.

You see, Dad - that's Grandpa to you - was a cut-up, and one of the best. He constantly kept his friends and family laughing. He had a love for the game of baseball - it is your destiny, son. He loved cars and motorcycles. He had a knack for fixing things, anything. He loved electronics. Believe it or not, he even loved videogames - this too, is your destiny, my little padawan.

But most of all, son, he had a passion for God and for putting his faith in to action. He could talk church and scripture with the best of them, but wouldn't bat an eye at putting some sweat in to spreading the Gospel. He loved people, and engaged everybody, even total strangers, in conversation.

I realize that you're a bit young for all of this. For you, growing up and seeing one Grandpa will be the norm. But at some time, I know you're going to ask about him, your other Grandpa - the one you'll most likely have only seen in pictures and in videos. I just hope that one day you realize, like I already have, that there's somebody here that, for better and worse, is just like him.

And that's me.

Things Not To Say During Childbirth

• Gosh, you're lucky. I sure wish men could experience the miracle of childbirth.

• Do you think the baby will come before Monday Night Football starts?

• I hope your ready. The Glamour Shot photographer will be here in fifteen minutes.

• If you think this hurts, I should tell you about the time I twisted my ankle playing basketball.

• That was the kids on the phone. Did you have anything planned for dinner?

• When you lay on your back, you look like a python that swallowed a wild boar.

• You don't need an epidural. Just relax and enjoy the moment.

• This whole experience kind of reminds me of an episode from I Love Lucy.

• Oops! Which cord was I supposed to cut?

• Stop your swearing and just breathe.

• Remember what we learned in Lamaze class! HEE HEE HOO HOO. You're not using the right words.

• Your stomach still looks like there's another one in there.