March 26, 2018

Gun fetishes are a public health hazard just like smoking and drunk driving.

They ought to be treated as such.

Anyone who loves their guns, especially hand guns and assault type weapons has a problem.

For now, the law may not be adequate, but parents and children, spouses and lovers, friends and community can encourage gun fetishists to destroy their weapons, and seek help for whatever problems make them desire these sorts of weapons.

The law will follow, just as it did for drunk driving and smoking.

Gun fetishes are dangerous and disgusting.

March 6, 2018

I could write the story of my life along Route 66.

Santa Monica to Chicago. My wife and I have made the trip a few times following the old highway as closely as possible. We've lived in Southern California, New Mexico, and Illinois within walking distance of the highway.

My San Francisco great grandparents had a small second home on Route 66 Santa Monica Blvd., Southern California, long before that was any big deal, a place from which my great grandfather could pursue his grand schemes of 20th century dairy, movie, and aeronautical business. Unfortunately for the family wealth my great grandfather knew exactly what the future looked like with factory farms, movies, and aircraft, but he leveraged everything he had and bet on all the wrong players. And then his daughters, my grandma included, fled stuffy San Francisco and went wild in Hollywood, making Route 66 in Santa Monica their home base.

I once had a girlfriend who lived in Santa Monica. I'd been doing some field work out in the desert not far from Route 66 and I was at least two weeks desert filthy when I decided to visit her on a break. I drove to her house "Radar Love" style.

But when I got there I thought maybe we were not that close that I should presume to wake her up before sunrise, so I decided to park on the street and sleep in my car. The Santa Monica Police saw me as some worthless homeless guy and woke me up by throwing me out of my car and smashing my face against the pavement. I was totally Clarke Kent about it so then they realized maybe I was something different, and white, so they picked me up, brushed me off, and were somewhat apologetic, a kinder gentler version of asshole.