A Note of Thanks to the People of Canada from Stephen Harper

A note of thanks to the people of Canada from your lord and ruler, his majesty, the always-right, and honourable (because it says so in my title!) Primus Regis Maximus Minister, speaking of his will over the peons and plebes, his godship, Stephen Harper.

Subjects,

It is with great hope for the future of my rule that I set these words to cyber-paper—well, I’m dictating them to a nameless lackey (Helena Guergis) and I’ll have another lackey check them over for grammar and proper fear-mongering—but basically it is I, your lord and master, deigning to speak to you now.

I need to start with a word of thanks. What, you ask, I thanking you? No, your petty eyes are not deceiving you. I am truly thankful, for you see, I could not continue to rule you as I see fit without your continued ignorance and apathy, so: thank you. *Ahem. That was much more distasteful than I expected.*

I shall now present to you, point by point, the reasons I am thankful, through a concise and comprehensive list compiled by another of my lackeys.

1.     Thank you for not understanding how our democracy works. This is extremely helpful in my quest to reorganize it into: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNAHjsAnTd4

I have been able to do this by convincing you that you are voting for me, or against Stephan Dion’s accent, Michael Ignatieff’s education, Jack Layton’s moustache or Elizabeth May’s right to exist. Thank you for not understanding in Canada that you vote for your MP, not your PM. Your cooperation in this matter has continued to help me perpetuate an American-based system rather than British. Please, watch more FOX News.    

2.     Thank you for not knowing what the word “minority” means. If you watched the Canadian news rather than The Bachelor or pro sports once in a while, you might have learned that more people voted against the Conservatives than for us in 2008. If I were any other leader, I might have to play nice with those scum who use the big words and sit across the floor from me. But you have allowed me to ignore facts and numbers and proceed as I will.

3.     Speaking of words, thanks for allowing me to convince you that the word “coalition” is nastier than Armageddon, hospital waiting rooms, and HST combined. It’s helpful that you believe me when I say it is unconstitutional and undemocratic (I’ve never glanced at our constitution and democracy is what I make of it), even when many European nations govern with coalitions quite nicely, appealing to a greater set of the populace’s interests (I mean, who cares what you want—governing is about POWER!). Thanks again for not knowing that our system has a British basis, not an American one. OH! And thanks for believing me when I tell you the opposition parties are a coalition already, even though they deny it, and there are no facts to supprt my claims. Pffft, evidence. Always in my way. Also, thanks for forgetting altogether that my Conservative Party (3.0) is a COALITION of the right, featuring former Progressive Conservatives, Reformers like me, and that Canadian Alliance thingy. It's swell that you forget that I proposed my own coalition in 2004, and that I refuse to speak about a letter I sent to the Governor General then. My word always trumps the facts! My daily needs to re-write history are duly served by your inattentiveness.

4.     When those dastardly, puppy-skinning, Lenin-worshipping Liberals ruled us, we Reformers and Conservatives rightly decried every prorogation of Parliament. Who did those lazy sos-and-sos think they were, calling a pause to Parliament—y’know, every decade or so? But it’s super cool that I can do it every time the Opposition starts using that constitution thingy to form a coalition (EVIL!), or when you get wind of us hiding the abuses of Afghan detainees from you. Thanks for allowing me, when the chips are down, to take an extended holiday so I can go see some hockey. I know that letting you have some time to get worked up about who is getting kicked off the island will cool your passion for politics faster than you can say "abuse of power."

5.      That short-term memory of yours is awesome! I mean, if you remembered my gay-bashing newspaper ads back when I was an out-of-the-closet Christian fundamentalist Reformer, you might not prop me up so readily. Thanks also for letting me campaign on Senate reform, then get into power, learn what the Senate actually is, then load the sucker up with Conservative sycophants. I mean, this way, if Parliament fails to pass a bill but I can get it to the upper house, we can just re-route the system and I can make all kinds of crazy laws. How come Arthur Meighen never thought of this?

6.     Thanks for missing the whole “contempt” thing. I mean, sure, we’re stealing your tax dollars and lying about campaign spending, super-prisons, shiny jets, and we created a budget with the sole purpose of goading the Opposition into a contempt vote so that we could blame them for the election we don’t need right now because, dang it, I’m just so concerned about Japan and . . . that Arab place with the guy who has the kind of power I want. Y’know, the one Obama asked us to help bomb? So, thanks for not knowing that “contempt” means your government has broken your laws. Repeatedly. What’s that you say? “Corruption?” LOOK, THE COALITION IS DROWNING KITTENS!

As we’ve begun this election—that I wanted, but know you don’t, so I’m blaming it on the other guys—it’s become apparent that you, my subjects, will let me say and do anything.

Because you just don’t care.  

You either blindly follow my party with the same sort of reverence you hold for hockey teams, never taking silly things like policies or issues into account, or you just stand aside and do nothing. You don’t follow politics, you don’t vote. I couldn’t continue to translate “minority” to mean “empire” without your continued zeal or apathy, respectively.

So, thanks. People throughout North Africa and the Middle East are protesting, fighting and dying for the rights you have given up to me with nary a shrug.

Sincerely,

            The (Always) Right Honourable (as I define “Honour), Prime Minister cum His Majesty, President (in Deed if not Name), Dictator (in Intent and Practise), of Canada,   

                                                                                                                             Steve

                                                                      

Blognote: Today ask yourself who the real fools are.

There is Best Away

           
            Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, William Faulkner, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and the rest of the first and best Lost Generation wrote some of their greatest work in 1920s Paris. What they created about their homeland in expatriation intrigues me.

            Joyce’s Ulysses is many things: the greatest novel ever, the worst novel ever, allegory, confusing, illuminating, bragging rights at a party if you’ve read it, really heavy in a bag, obscene . . . It is also a love letter to Dublin. Joyce wrote about the city in such detail that pilgrims still trace Bloom and Dedalus’ paths over the course of their extraordinary day. It is one of the Irish people’s most revered texts. There’s also a good deal of stout consumed in it.

            And he wrote the whole thing while in France.

            He knew which buildings were where, containing which businesses—if he was ever unsure of anything, he wrote a friend in Ireland for details—but the point is he wasn’t in Dublin for any of it.

            Henrik Ibsen wrote the greatest of his plays—all set in Norway—while living in Germany and Italy.

            Stein did it, so did Fitzgerald. Hemingway commented in A Moveable Feast—a book written about France while he was travelling in Spain and then Cuba, decades later—that the best way to write about a place is when you are not in it. 

            This is funny for me. I mean, I like writing about places. I have an idea for a Viking novel set in Norway and Iceland that I have felt for some time requires me returning to those countries. I’d also like to write about some of my time living and teaching in Asia, but I feel that I need to go back again to get a feel for my old home.

            What Hemingway has made me think is that you can get a better feel for a place away from it than in it.

            The fantasy is that writing about a place while there allows for you to employ more of the pertinent and accessible imagery. You’re experiencing it, you’ll remember it. Little, seemingly meaningless sights, smells—sooo important, the sounds; anecdotes that strike you as worth putting in; basically, things that I’m worried I’ll forget after the fact. These are all things that matter to the people there, but don’t to anyone reading me who isn’t there. There’s creating the flavour, and then there’s dumping the whole spice rack in the soup.

            The Ah-ha moment. These little things, though charming, are distractions. When you’re tasting another culture soup, every little flavour makes you want to add it. However, your reader might not care about the garnish and instead just want to get down to deciding whether it’s a milk or water base.

            Writing about a place when away, then, might be the best idea, because you can distil what matters from that setting and let it aid you, rather than hinder you, in twisting things to produce something good and true. 

           

The Ground Cried Out, but the Crowd Sat Politely

An open letter to Jeff Martin regarding his performance last night (March 11) at Bert Church Theatre in Airdrie, Alberta. (For Sunni and Ed, but mostly for Sunni).

Dear Jeff,

I'm a fan. A big one. Have been since "Save Me." I have seen you perform with The Tea Party six times. My favorite album is Interzone Mantras and I have both of your solo albums, your live solo album, and your hard to find Armada album. Seriously, big fan.

First, let me tell you how much I appreciated you returning to Canada. I miss TTP, yes, but I enjoy your solo/Armada/777 stuff so much that that particular void in my life is filled. I learned last fall of your forthcoming show at the small theatre in Airdrie at Bert Church High School, and was elated to acquire second row tickets for my wife and I (our friends Sunni and Ed, who this Blogletter is dedicated to, were unable to attend due to a last minute family emergency).

I loved the show, and in writing this I'd like to tell you how I interacted with it, so I can give our friends a touch of what they missed.

On the venue: I've seen you with The Tea Party in halls, auditoriums and outdoor festivals. The 377 seat Bert Church Theatre is nice enough and has great sound, but its stage and glaring EXIT doors on either side cannot let you forget there's a high school twenty feet away (as well as the fella who welcomed us, warning us there was a basketball game going on down the hall. Weird.) The sound was great, but it was really hard to work the crowd into a frenzy in that place.

On the frenzy: When we bought our tickets, you were only playing this show and one in Edmonton. Months later we learned of your new album, and then the rest of a Canadian tour wrapped around them. S'cool, but I was expecting that venue to draw you into your acoustic, hand-drumming, tabla material. The Ground Cries Out is a rock album, and you came to rock. We were pleased, but I guess I have to say I was a little sorry not to see you pull up a stool, and that you played only guitars. Thanks for the twelve string and the bow solo, though.

On openers: My wife loved Gabriel Lee, the Australian lad who played an acoustic set while sitting on a stool (inviting further speculation that you might do the same), channeling Jimmy Page and Robert Plant through one medium. Flowerchild was less impressive, although they succeeded in sounding like the bands they wanted to, most notably The Black Crows. Vocalist Gregory Vitale went up in our estimate when he high-fived a really young audience member and then invited the kid to meet him later to get a CD and a T-shirt. That sort of thing really gets my musically-passive wife on your side.

On your show: Okay, I checked your website for a set list, and couldn't find one. So if I'm wrong about anything--I am doing it from memory.

"The Ground Cries Out" from The Ground Cries Out

Right, so, it's this ittby bitty theatre where they didn't even close the curtain, so when you and your band strode on, the less than psychedelic lighting came up, it seemed a bit anti-climactic. I do remember feeling the same thing at Edgefest in 1997, though. Then you tore into the song any of us who are fans knew you'd open with. It rocks, it's a little eastern, which makes you you, and it's your single. After we sat through Gabriel and Flowerchild, I wondered how you'd react. I saw you once in Saskatoon at a larger auditorium and you didn't say a thing about the sitting in the comfy chairs--everybody was standing by "Temptation" anyway. There's a word you roared pre-chorus that on the album is Persian or Arabic--I won't insult anyone by guessing--but it sounded like you were pissed off and telling us to "stand up." My wife, who hates standing and clapping and the like, would have been lost at a show I'd convinced her to take in if that was your demand. I was wrong. At the end you just smirked out at us and went, "Well, this is intimate." Relief.

"Overload" Seven Circles

Also knew you'd play this one. Happened upon a video online of it with your new band (777) backing you. Figured it would appear. Was actually pleased because I have often worried that Seven Circles will be the neglected child of The Tea Party canon, because the idea of doing a stripped down rocker album seemed less than inspired at the time. Mind you, that could be personal, seeing as it followed my fave, Interzone. Anyway, you showed us with these two furious openers that this would be a rock show, and you flutter-kicked and tore out solos to remind us you can command a stage, sir, and that famous Martin ego was still safely intact.

"Reqium" Interzone Mantras

Thanks for this one. One of your better ballads, and though I thought you might be playing it--you have been in your solo touring that I've bought or bootlegged--but this contaned one of the few surprises of the night for me. (C'mon, I knew you would play "Sister" that way.) A ways in, past the bridge, you cut into "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails. The uninitiated may have said, "Oh, that's clever. Johnny Cash did this, and Jeff's also a Man in Black." TTP fans knew you had done this sometimes in "Save Me" back as far as the Transmission tour, but who cares, it was an effing glorious touch to this beauty.

"Queen of Spades" The Ground Cries Out

This sucker rocks, and I believe, though my memory may fail me, that this is the song where you cut into the Hendrix riffs while soloing. I love those allusions, and this show had some of the more subtle ones. Got us going singing back the "S'alrights." Then, just a few songs in and, to my surprise you invite the "crowd" to stick around for an autograph signing after the show. Wow. Okay, maybe it's standard this tour, but I told myself that you liked us after all. That sorta thing matters to me.

"The Cobra" The Ground Cries Out

This is my favourite track off the new album and I dug it when you said the same. It rocks hard, and blasts along. I didn't know it was a reference to the Kama Sutra, but that takes a back seat to nice, bumpy drive, recalling "Temptation" and its E-key ilk.

"Riverland Rambler" The Ground Cries Out

Ah, drug-inspired songs. You were telling us the tale of this one--a hippie guru you know in Australia with a really hot wife; a pot-hazed drive where you saw a sign for a housing complex--when some electric hum bothered you. You didn't get pissed, but you also didn't really finish the story before cutting into this groovy swamp blues number.

"Santeria" The Ground Cries Out

Another new rocker. You know, I really like the new album, because I wasn't at all disappointed with the amount of new material you packed into this set. At the end, we clapped and hollered, then stopped. You were bending over to look at a pedal and glanced up at us saying, "It's very quiet." We laughed. "I like the applause and everything, but. . . ." You didn't finish, you cut into the next song, but I was staring to worry the venue was costing us something.

"The Pyre" The Ground Cries Out

Here's my confession: I can't be sure if you played this or "1916" off the new album. I like both, and have been listening to the album a lot since the 1st so I can't be sure. Let's just say you played one.

"Shadows on the Mountainside" Edges of Twilight

I have heard the story of this song--you were reading Native Canadian philosophy, were high on mushrooms, were driving thought the Rockies in 1994--a few times. I found it fun how you cleaned it up for the all ages show (though you'd mentioned smoking up, being hungover from a vodka binge last night, and tantric sex already, so it seemed kinda moot), and loved this acoustic break. Neat to see your new bassist Jay Cortez cover the mandolin parts on it, something Stuart Chatwood never did when I saw TTP. Just as an aside, it didn't do anything to rid him of his "shaggy blond Lurch" moniker with my wife. And what's with all the Aussie rockers having unkempt hair in front of their eyes and creepy open-chest shirts? Moving on . . .


"Sister Awake" Edges of Twilight

This got you a standing ovation--which you deserved long before, but we were a tame crowd. I'm guessing my 33 years was about the average age, so we were work. I am very familiar with this Egyptian version of TTP's greatest single, but many in the audience weren't. It's huge. Ten minutes of intros from other tracks, some Persian/Egyptian/Arabic (pardon my ignorance, I am but a Viking) chanting, a bow solo (YES!) and an ending featuring the outro of "Save Me" which only a handful of us caught. But it wouldn't be a Jeff Martin show without it. Oh yeah, when you went from the intro of "Halcyon Days" to that familiar (to me) B-B-A riff of "Sister," that one guy who recognized it, cheered loud, then told his wife--yeah: me.

"Black Snake Blues" Exile and the Kingdom

The slide guitar told me it would be this song, but I expected you to do a little "Sun Going Down" first. What you did was homage to Zeppelin with some "In My Time of Dying," then a necrophilia joke that I could have taken or left, then this, my favorite song of your solo career (though I hate the vocal mix on the Armada version, I just have to say). And that was your walk off.

"Coming Home" Edges of Twilight

I wasn't surprised we only got one encore. It was a small show, and your encores tend to last--this I figure was eight or nine minutes. What I wasn't expecting was this, on of my favorite Edges songs that I've never heard live. Okay, maybe you were pandering to us--you live in Australia now, you have come back to Canada for a tour. Don't know, don't care. Thanks for playing it. After a solo, you slipped into "Fire in the Head," and again I felt like the only person hollering for recognizing it, and you told us how you've wished that song--which I felt a little slighted for not getting all of--would've been recorded in the days of ring tones. "You--have a message." I laughed really hard at that. My wife thought I was a dork, but that's par for the course. I was in the second row, and that was good enough for me. Some older folks and some drunk/stoned age mates started dancing in front of the stage at this point--this was where you started working us. During "Black Snake" you reminded us this was a rock show, insisting we stand up, and clap. I didn't think that was much to ask, and complied. I thought for a moment about a mosh pit I was caught in at a 1997 TTP show, and hating it because it didn't suit. But tonight I felt like we'd swung too far the other way.

Done. I loved the show, but, as stated, I'm a big Jeff Martin fan. I smirked when you mentioned your Jag, and I would have liked to hear something about Django (I played "Daystar" to each of my boys when they were born), but we all have our wants. After all was over, a dude started screaming the lyrics to "Temptation." TTP draws your crowds for you, but I for one can love a Jeff Martin show in 2011 without having to hear "Heaven Coming Down."

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

A recent tradition, going back to about 2007. As a double present for his birthday and Christmas, my younger brothers and I buy our dad Flames tickets. It's become quite the event. Tim Hortons, Princess Auto, Red Lobster, a pub or two, and then finally an NHL hockey game.

As time's gone by, we've seen the Flames play Colombus, San Jose, New Jersey and tonight Nashville, moving further down the bowl with each year. Tonight we were lower bowl, seventh row--and tonight Jarome Iginla scored a rare penalty shot about fifty feet from us. A rare triumph, an enjoyable tradition. How will we top it for next year?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvesLm9R3Og

I Like, Therefore I Matter

I currently have two pages open: my blog and my Facebook page.

I normally compose a blog in my journal, type it into a Word document, save it, come back to it after a day or two for edits, then finally post it. I'm creating this one on the fly. I want to capture the free-wheeling, status-frenzy language of Facebook. I promise to only edit it for spelling and grammar, though I know already that I end it with a preposition.

My Facebook is open because, as I search for the next set of "Twisted Words" to type here, I'm "unfriending" while listening to Radiohead.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not drunk and I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I've been meaning to do this for a while. A recent Facebook experiment I tried made me realize that some of the comments that I think about the most when offline are those that greatly annoy me. Sometimes, I don't even consider the people who make them to be friends, yet, in a knee-jerk reaction I added them as such when requested. At times I have probably sent the request myself. I can't remember. Can you ever?

I think every blogger or writer or person who can get past his own insecurities over the general public finding any value in his words has written about the double-edged sword that is Facebook. Kudos to the fellas biographed in The Social Network for causing us tho think about it that much. My own thinking of late is, "Are these people actually my friends?" Because the answer is no, and because I spend far too much of my day overthinking--I should just start watching The Bachelor and Survivor like everyone else, they seem to be cure-alls for thinking--I've been dwelling on the comments, the negative comments people make too much. So I've asked myself, what do I want Facebook to do for me? Do I just want it to be the open fridge or the channel-surf? I mean, shit, I had ex-girlfriends as friends. Only on Facebook can you turn that breakup lie into a truth.

They were the first to go, the exes. Next will be the people I don't consider my friends, really. This will be followed by several hand-wringing hours ruminating on the definition of "friend." (Do my best friends consider me to be their best friends? Do I have any best friends? Are they all just acquaintances? Alas, alas!) Then will be the former students who have achieved adulthood. This one will be hard, because some of them I value for their maturity and intelligence, already surpassing my own. But far too many of them are of the age where they have to tell us their every move or--my personal bugbear--say something opaque to gain the sympathies of their friends.

Status: "I can't believe you'd do that to me!"
Comment 1: ":( What's the matter?"
Comment 2: "ru ok? Your [sic] to [sic] good for him, anyway!"

Family will be hard. That's because we all know we don't always like who we love, and they're certainly not always our friends. I have had a girl try to add me multiple times because we're related through marriage, but I have ignored her every time because I don't want her "Jesus loves ya!" posts smattering my wall. I think I'll keep all family over twenty, but younger than that--again, I just tire of the narcissism. Maybe I should just stay away from the Home page. . .

A blog for another time--seriously, it's half written--is about how indecent we are to each other when using our online personae. When we're anonymous, it's awful, but it's bad enough on FB. Consider how many people would never have the balls to say to you in person what they post on your wall. Pity those who feel they can only express themselves in this fashion.

Facebook, you're a tool. You're an untrustworthy tool that tries to own everything I connect to you, that tries to sell me things I don't care about under the auspices that I might--but I have chosen to hook in and, despite frequent reconsideration, I've never gone offline. It's my own doing. But tonight I've decided it's time to be friends with only those people whom I value receiving input from [sic].  

Guns

"Shoot a few, knock 'em down, cost you half a buck now,
Guns, guns, guns"--The Guess Who

So, here’s the scene:

It’s late spring/early summer, my parents’ farm. It’s one of those long stretches of fixing machinery and waiting for things to ripen.

I’ve come to a visit to southwest Saskatchewan from wherever I’m living this particular year. This scene has been replayed continuously since the mid-90s.

I discuss books and politics with my mother over breakfast, then get caught up on the latest family news and gossip. I step outside to enjoy the steadily heating morning air and the peace of this place.

Then, my dad and I pile into a half-ton or his Rhino ATV, clinging to our .22 calibre rifles. Boxes of ammo rattle on the seat between us as we tear out into the prairie in search of gophers marauding the frail wheat plants. We spend hours chatting, listening to the wind or the piercing whistles of our soon-to-be victims. The stillness is only broken by these and the reports of our “plinkin,’” and perhaps by the squeals of the dying.

This massacre also brings me a peace. I’m a farm boy enjoying a farm boy’s pastime, and it’s more of a hobby than a job—for we’ll never make a dent on the gopher population this way.

I love it. Mark me as a hypocrite.

I grew up playing Cops and Robbers with my brothers and friends, my action figure of choice was G. I. Joe. Though it horrifies me to see it in my own son, I know that for every little boy, a hockey stick or a twig or a pointed finger and thumb are all eventually turned into a gun by boys who may have never even seen one.

Today, I hate guns.

When Democrat Gabrielle Giffords and eighteen other people were gunned down in Tucson last month in an “It Can Only Happen There” spree, any Canadian haughtiness was shut right up when Canmore police shot and killed a man a few days later. He’d been making threats and brandishing a mock handgun, and officers claimed they had little choice. It’s not good that it happened, but it drove home for me that it can happen anywhere—all that where needs is guns.

In the wake of the Tucson shooting, CBC’s Anna Maria Tremonti interviewed a Charles Heller of the Arizona Citizens Defence League, a pro-gun group who believe that gunman Jared Lee Loughner would have been stopped sooner (than the fifteen seconds it took) if more of those present were armed, and had the training to use their weapons. If they were in, “a constant state of code yellow.” This is because having a gun makes you a different type of person, though Heller and I would disagree on what kind.

More guns and more itchy fingers would prevent gun violence? Come the hell on.

When prodded on Arizona’s lax (read: insane) gun laws, which allowed Loughner—a former student who had been brought to the attention of authorities before for his Travis Bickle potential—to purchase a weapon with a 30+ magazine, and which allow teenagers to buy assault rifles at gun shows, Heller remarked that anybody can buy a muscle car too, and a car is much more dangerous than a gun.

Seriously?

Even a shiny, $50,000 penis-extension is, at root, a form of transportation. Yes, the wrong driver can make it dangerous, but a gun is a killing instrument right from the start. It serves no other purpose than to kill.

I’m no hunter—those of you more appalled by guns than I am might question my seasonal vermin-blasting habits, and rightly so—so I don’t get any sporting angle to gun ownership. Many of my friends and family hunt for fun. I don’t like those guns, but I also know that none of these men—and they’re all men—carry a gun with them at all times, or would even turn it on another human being. At least I sure hope not.

I do know that there are some nutty rednecks on both sides of the 49^th who are insistent on keeping their mounds of weaponry free from official hands and eyes because, y’know, if the Nuclear Holocaust ain’t coming, then the Zombie Apocalypse sure as hell is. I recall being an appalled at about seventeen when my MP stood up in parliament and told Chretien’s Liberals that he would openly disobey their gun registry laws. Imagine a Marijuana Party or Neo-Nazi getting elected and saying the same thing.

There’s just something so passionate about gun owners, in their insistence on being free from government imposition, in their defence of accumulating an arsenal, in their hazy purposes for needing it. Freedom, they say, or the U.S. Second Amendment, or perhaps that idiotic “gotta protect yer house” philosophy. Oh sure, home invasion can happen, and then if the odds start stretching and you’re home when it happens, you’ve then got to have the cajones to put a bullet in another human being. Buddy, it’s 2011 and you aren’t in a war—you may, but I don’t have it in me to put a bullet in another human being. Threaten? Frighten? Intimidate? Call those whose job it is to deal with this? Yes, yes, yes and yes. Shoot? Nope. Not even if they damage my daddy’s crops.

Prime Minister Harper’s attempts to undo the gun registry—for reasons he has never made clear, and despite the opposition of law enforcement—has its fans and foes, but I’ll tell you this: if you told me that tomorrow all guns were banned in North America, Dad and I would simply start playing more games of cribbage before checking crops on a sunny morning.

There is no sensible reason for private citizens to own guns, and I’ve never heard a logical attestation to the contrary.

Comments

I like and encourage comments on my blog, and wanted to open it to anyone who doesn't have a Google account to comment (though they can't follow it). If you're a frequent commenter (Jennifer, Kent, Carla . . .) please don't be put off by the moderation statement that now appears--I'll still post and try to reply. I just want a bit more control now that it's open to a wider group of people who can remark on it.