(Clark Bros Gun Shop, EZ-on, EZ-off from Virginia Rt 29 in rustic Opal, VA. Photo Clark Bros.)
Surprise! It is Monday, snuck right up on me, and I am far behind already. I hate the first day of the working week as it is, since the industry as a whole is very agitated for all the obvious reasons, and some of the individuals in it are frankly off the chart.
Plus, I have noticed of late that I am plagued with friends who have retired, have plenty of time for mischief, get up early and start thinking about things that bug them.
One pal sent the full text of SB-150 (Sen Feinstein’s gun bill) and we got off on a prolonged discussion about the astonishing and frankly bizarre provisions contained therein. The “purpose” statement of the bill is clear, and clearly stated right after the title:
“To regulate assault weapons, to ensure that the right to keep and bear arms is not unlimited, and for other purposes.”
Bolding is mine, and I thought it was sort of interesting. The right to keep and bear arms, I read somewhere, “shall not be infringed,” so as Diane set about crafting a long bit of legislation to do exactly that, I think we have entered into terra incognita, where the real words of the document that is the real foundation of the nation are- well, not unlimited, you know?
There is room for vigorous debate, of course. I am not sure I need a rocket launcher, or crew-served weapons, but of course the Framers didn’t know about them. They might well have thought that the “well regulated militia,” composed of the people as a whole, might have a use for them.
I know, I know. I have a pal in Mexico who I respect greatly, and she thinks I am nuts. She might be right, but times being what they are, I will err on the side of caution.
There was an incidental reason to interact with the Bill of Rights on Saturday. I had Jigg’s Ruger .22LR target pistol, which was not functioning as designed. He got it in a pawn shop (after a background check to which he did not object) and asked me to drop it with the gunsmith at Clark’s, since it is a reputable and scrupulously compliant institution, and right on Rt. 29 on the way to the farm.
“Have them fix it,” he said, handing it to me, and I agreed to do it, since I go by the place at least once a week.
I dread having to stop because the parking lot is jammed, which means that the guys at the counters inside are swamped with people trying to fill out all the existing paperwork. There was a media crew interviewing an African American gentleman cradling an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle in the parking lot when I pulled in. inside, after waiting in line for thirty minutes to get to the counter, I saw a shotgun that sort of summed everything up:
Terra incognita, man.
Another pal wrote about weather, and climate change, which provoked a heated (hahaha) exchange on the difference between weather, climate, orbital mechanics, solar activity and the rising level of a harmless trace gas in the atmosphere. No conclusions. It is a degree or two warmer than it was a century ago. What do we do about it? Anything we can do that won’t jack the cost of energy through the roof and fall disproportionately on those least able to afford it?
Yet a third pal wrote a contemplative piece on the role of physical gold in a thoughtfully managed portfolio, and how to acquire it in amounts low enough to avoid government scrutiny. The Feds have confiscated gold before, back when FDR thought it was inconvenient to the New Deal, so I take his caution as only being prudent.
It was all thoroughly policy-wonk crap, which has the power to get me worked up, since policy actually matters, even if no one understands it.
It would have been nice if someone wrote about sex, so I could characterize the morning as having had the whole spectrum of bizarre human conduct, but no such luck.
Anyway, I would have tried something more upbeat and fun, but I don’t think the week is going to work out that way. I hope yours is better. I would have been lyrical about the weekend and the joy of not having to be anywhere in particular, or the way the cheery light of the fire played on the walls of the Great Room at the farm in the evening, and the fact that the crocuses are poking their little green heads above the soil.
Ah.
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com