Parking Lot Conversations

I was just walking in the parking lot, towards my car, at the super market. I noticed a silver Jeep Cherokee coning towards me hauling ass. Older female drive, just casual as can be.

I’m already in a foul mood, unrelated to this.

“LOOK OUT!” I shouted, hands raised like she’s about to plow into a littler of kittens.

The driver slammed on her brakes leaving a good 10-15 feet of tread marks. She turned to me in a panic, “What?”

“Slow the fuck down. You’re in a parking lot.”

Apparently older lades in Jeep Cherokees know a LOT of foul language because she pretty much called me names I’ve never heard of as she rolled off.

I still hope she peed herself a little.

Range Failure

Should a 9-year old, without previous shooting training, be handed a fully automatic weapon? No. Should a skilled firearms instructor know better? Yes.

I believe that kids should learn about proper firearms use and shooting skills early on, no exceptions. Learning those skills – effectively – does not begin with a family vacation one-off with a fully- or even semi-automatic firearm. It begins with introduction to parts, names, concepts. It continues with sighting, trigger pull, breathing, recoil control, targeting. These are all basics that can be taught to a child with a pellet rifle, or a .22.

Progression up to larger caliber rounds and more sophisticated firearms takes time and demonstration of capability. I would no sooner hand the keys of a sports car to a 15 year old than I would an automatic handgun to a child who has no experience with any firearm whatsoever.

I have zero sympathy for the instructor. He paid the price for his reckless mistake. Unfortunately, its the child who will forever be scarred by the horrors of unintentionally killing another human being through no mistake of her own. Her parents – who had to consent to this – will owe her a debt they can never repay. She truly is the victim here.

Broken Things

For the record: broken things like cars are just that… things. Meaningless, vapid, decaying and expensive things. As much as it was inconvenient today, my priorities weren’t the thing of the broken car insomuch as the important people it transported. Thankfully, none of them were in the car when it broke. It was entertaining to make fun of the inconvenience, but it was just silly inconvenience.

Things have been tight here lately. I’m just glad the insurance was up to date when it was needed. I don’t want to be on the flip side where things that matter aren’t attainable because so many things that shouldn’t matter get in the way. Too many of my friends and our families are on that cusp, and I would give anything to rid them of those stresses.

Hug the kids and kick the DVD to the curb.

I’m reminding myself tonight to ignore the dent and embrace the texture you can wear, chin held high.

Lost Love

It was with a heavy heart that the television shut dark, its few remaining options of intelligent entertainment laid to rest. The History, Discovery and Science channels – all once bastions of their own namesake – now wastelands of the greed and desperate want for approval; victim of their own willingness to whore out what little palpable meat remaining on the bones of their once hearty and voluptuous flesh. I could no longer stomach the carrion of the shell I once adored, nauseous by its perpetual screen burn and animated enticements for the next eventual betrayal, endlessly featured in High Definition deceit.

With shame I turned to a dear lost friend and begged forgiveness in my despair and loneliness. Her pressed pulp and ink wrapped in a dust-covered binding, she opened warmly to me as if not a day had passed since our last encounter. She whispered greetings to me, a blessing of absolution. Then she lay, vulnerable and exposed, admitting her birth so long ago as evidenced by her curved spine and her softened corners. There she lay, as beautiful as the day we met.

“Take me, lose yourself in my lines again. Consume me, embrace me as I swallow and absorb you,” she enticed. Without hesitation I pursued.

She is weathered and gorgeous and left me no choice but to celebrate her as such. Her facts dated and somewhat disproven, she lay reclined, fiercely resilient and unapologetic, a testimony to her eloquent refusal to comply with the status quo. Yes, one could compare her to younger, fresher content dressed in flare, sparkles and wondrous noise; but, in that one would quickly be spent and left wanting, hungry after a disturbingly abrupt and bloodless meal. Meanwhile, there she purred softly in the corner, like a panther exhaling patiently, awaiting the lights to dim for the opportunity to strike with unparalleled force by the flicker of candle light. Now that she was uncaged, her will was mine.

“Judge me by the way I look,” she smiled knowingly while exposing her throat to me as a feast in waiting, confident that I would partake. My apologies of absence were clearly laid out before me and yet she invited, ‚ÄúTaste me.”

My resistance dissolved into the vaporous confessions of one already forgiven and I returned to the warm, comfortable embrace of a long lost mistress: a great book.


Installed and reviewed a dozen or more mobile apps since midnight, all named after misspelled verbs. Sneezr, snottr, stinkr, fapr…whatevertheFr…. All seem mysteriously tied to getting laidr.


Worst Dad Ever

According to my kids, the definition of cruelty is dropping them off at summer day camp when there’s a brand new map pack for Call of Duty that released today. They’d much rather stay home in front of the XBox.

To add insult to injury, it includes a new map that ties in Minecraft, Indiana Jones and Call of Duty beautifully.

Worst. Dad. Ever.