“Armed = dangerous” explained

A few weeks ago, I posted a simple equation as a comment on a news story about toddlers and others who had been shot over the weekend.

Armed = dangerous

Just yesterday I learned that it isn’t simple enough for some gun-ownership advocates to comprehend. One asked me what it means. Another, if I understood the fuzzy thinking, took it to mean that I am for banning personal firearms ownership. When I said that I am for no such thing (I used the term “paranoid bullshit”), I was called a liar.

man-886601_1280The equation neither says nor implies anything about intent. It’s a simple statment of fact. An armed person is a dangerous person. If good guys with guns weren’t a danger to bad guys with guns, what would be the point?

Unfortunately, armed men and women with the best of intentions routinely prove to be dangerous to themselves and others by handling firearms carelessly, wrongly assuming weapons are not loaded, and accidentally shooting themselves and others.

Armed people who don’t understand that carrying a deadly weapon makes them dangerous need to learn this.

Responsible gun owners recognize the danger that is inherent in carrying firearms. They learn how to handle guns to prevent accidental discharges. They keep guns out of the hands of children who don’t have the knowledge, judgment or experience to handle deadly weapons safely.

You hear news reports of suspects at large who are described as “armed and dangerous.” That they are armed says it all.

What do I want for Father’s Day?

For as long as I’ve been at this business of being a father, you would think the question would get easier to answer. It’s tougher than it looks. It is tougher than ever.

My wife and children have already given me everything I need. They don’t stop.

What do I want?

What I want is the same as every other day.

jupiter_ganyA cure for cancer.

A cure for Alzheimer’s Disease.

An end to these dreadful politics.

Relief from my country’s addiction to guns and violence.

Love, not war.

I want Jupiter to align with Mars.

That’s all.


On plumbing, omnivores and procrastination

It’s time to install the new garbage disposal* yet here I am.

Its predecessor disposed of itself Monday night in a rattling, grinding paroxysm of destruction, brutally digesting its own entrails and leaking greasy drippings over the assorted spray cans and bottles of caustic chemicals that live in the dark just below the sink.

We put the old thing out of our misery and pulled the plug.

On the way home after a long day today, I picked up a replacement and some plumber’s putty. Since it was Tuesday, I hauled the trash and recycling to the curb. Since it was well past dinner time, too, I grilled ham and cheese between slices of sourdough and sat down with a cold beer.

The laptop was sitting right there, with my free digital trial of High Country News reminding me of an impending threat to the omnivorous Ursus arctos horribilis, my second-favorite mammal.

Not three feet away on the countertop sat the new fixture, a 1/3-HP chicken-bone pulverizer looking harmless for the moment but cleverly named for another voracious omnivore, Taxidea taxus.

wisconsin-badgers-stencilAh, Bucky, I thought. How many times have you chewed up, swallowed and crapped out Hawkeye fantasies of glory, you bastard?

Awesome marching band, though.

Funny how one thing leads on to something else and the next thing you know it is too late to deal with a simple plumbing task.

That’s why we have tomorrow.

Why is it not a garbage disposer? Are we the disposers who feed the disposal?

This is now The America Compound

The other day I renamed the protagonist of my first crime novel Detective America, and I will use the new name, Blood Solutions: A Detective America Novel, for marketing purposes until after Election Day in November.

I was going to replace just his last name, Shaw, and go with Blood Solutions: A Red America Novel, but that didn’t feel quite right.

In fact, I am so inspired by America, and the beer formerly known as Budweiser, that I’m going to change my last name until after Election Day. I think you should, too.


B.J. America

B.J. lives in Longmont, Colorado, U.S. of America, with his wife, Susan America, and their American cat and dog, Sophie and Red.

Who killed my Tumblr last night?

It only makes sense to look at me as a prime suspect right from the start, I suppose. I certainly had the means and opportunity. But what about motive?

There was no life insurance, no jealousy, no bad blood as far as anyone knew. The little blog seemed harmless enough and certainly was no threat of any consequence to anyone.

Or was it?

I am not under oath and will not testify if it comes to that. Much goes on out of view of even the closest family and friends, so who’s to say the killing was not justified anyway?

It could have been me, or my nemesis, or some stray bit of mayhem and elemental chaos that struck at random because that is what it does. No one and nothing has come forward to claim responsibility.