I Did It So You Don't Have To

A while ago, dw and I were sitting around of an evening, idly reading --- some travel show on PBS providing background noise --- basically bored and boring. We agreed that our lives were lacking a certain je ne sais quoi, that we needed to step out of our comfort zone and get more variety in our lives.

Pursuing that thought, a few weeks ago I decided to get a concealed carry permit (hereafter known as a ccp). Not that I am likely to carry a concealed weapon, but I was curious about the permitting process, particularly how restrictive it is. My parents gave me a 30-30 rifle when I turned 13 and I've owned a gun of one sort or another since then. However, not so oddly, I've never felt the need to carry a concealed gun. Also, not so oddly, I've never been in a situation where I felt a gun would improve things. (Except for the times I've gone hunting. While I had limited success I did think the gun was more efficient than a rock or a stick would have been)

(A friend who I put down as a reference said: "I'd never get one of those, I'd be sure to shoot somebody." -- He owns a boat moorage and a couple of rental houses -- he doesn't seem to attract the cream of the crop as renters)

The NRA seems to think everyone should have any weapon they want and carry it wherever they want. That sort of makes sense -- "Dick" Cheney, for example: He nearly missed when he used a shotgun to shoot that guy in the face, but if he had a Predator Drone it would have been a sure thing. And a Predator would make snipe hunting easier (let alone golf -- you could put the holes wherever you wanted them -- and the holes would be a more satisfying size) I'm not so ambitious. I'm just curious about a simple .45 magnum and a simple quick-draw shoulder holster.

In the event, I signed up for a ccp class. I'm now going to write down everything I learned so you too can get a ccp.

The 30 or 40 people in the class were a bit surprising: Most were 40 and above and a slight majority were women.               
There was only one younger guy who seemed to be a bit primitive, and another guy who (I'm guessing) seemed to be worried about blue-helmeted U.N. armies in black helicopters.
     (By golly, with his AK-47 and pistol and ccp he'd show them blue foreigners. He was prepared to
      defend his two bedroom -- in need of repairs -- ranch against all comers)
But most were ordinary middle-aged people (Look out! Grandma's packing heat! And she's mad as hell and she's not gonna take it anymore!!)

On to the lessons:

Number One: Safety. Don't shoot yourself. No, Really! Don't shoot yourself.

Two: These are some different types of guns. (Don't be absurd, of course you can't actually touch them. Just because you're going to get a ccp doesn't mean the instructor thinks you should handle a gun)

Three: These are some different types of ammunition. (They're cut in half or otherwise de-activated so you can touch these)

Four: Video of armed citizens in action. Scene: with the subtlety of Elmer Fudd stalking Bugs Bunny a bad guy sneaks up on a woman. She whips out her revolver with a speed that would have made Wyatt Earp proud and thwarts the villain. The class got to watch several variations of this scene. We were inspired.

Five: If you shoot someone, don't talk to the police, or anyone else. Get a lawyer.

Six: Over half of the class time (about 2 hours) was spent filling out the application forms. (The forms are available on line. If you can read this, you won't need 2 hours to fill them out.)

Silly me. Before the class I thought there might be some actual discussions or information on gun safety. Where applicants might go to get some real practical practice with gun handling. Some actual real-world information like: If you think you need to pull out your gun, just get the hell out of there.

The whole thing was astonishingly useless. However, I sent my application to Utah (!)  and now, thanks to reciprocal agreements between states, I can carry a concealed weapon in nearly 40 states. Oregon, I'm happy to say, takes a little longer so if I want to shove an assault rifle down my pants and carry it concealed, I have to go to Washington or Idaho.

The entire thing was appalling.

Books: It's more browsing than reading straight through, but: ...isms ... understanding architectural styles (Jeremy Melvin) it concisely explains architectural styles -- with illustrations -- from Pre-Classicism through Meta-rationalism (!?). It's inclusive and informative. A foot deep and a mile wide. It satisfies my architectural need to know.
   and The Nothing That Is -- A Natural History of Zero (Robert Kaplan) I'm re-reading this book. It's everything I need to know about zero and more besides. It's tough sledding in places.  As a history of  zero, it also applies to the ccp class.

Word of the day: It seems like this should come up several times a day: Malversation -- Corrupt behavior in a position, office, or position of trust.

Finally: "Privilege and self-interest are most likely to triumph when they can be concealed behind a mask of severity" (Pliny the Younger) -- Tea-Party and the Koch brothers anyone?   and so it goes DJA.


 

Thinking About Hats

I am not obsessed with hats even though I have a modest (20 some) utilitarian collection of them. I have my favorites, as well as some that I rarely wear (although I did in the past), but having hats at all is a curious thing. After all, humans, along with sheep, can grow great mops of hair so a hat would seem to be superfluous. On the other hand, it's far easier to deal with an oiled rain hat (like my Filson) or a Borsalino than a mat of felted hair that looks like the wearer glued a dead labradoodle to his head.
     Once upon a time, men wore hats. Men were expected to wear a hat, and none of this baseball cap stuff unless the guy was a pre-teen or playing for the Dodgers. With a casual dip of the brim and a slight tilt, a hat displayed a certain style or insouciance far beyond the reach of a beanie with propeller or it's baseball cap brother. And a real hat makes a statement: An English Walking Hat (such as my Kangol) says "Come mist or rain, I'm going for a walk." and nothing more needs be said.

  

Here's a picture of a guy wearing a proper hat. Looking classy. It's not on backwards or twisted to the side

   Admittedly there are hats and other hats. Carmen Miranda wore proper statement making hats but most of us would choose a different style, at least for casual wear. Even with the jazz hands, few of us (I suspect) would choose this hat for an evening at the theater.

 

Queen Elizabeth wears hats that make a statement:

But even paired with her foul little ankle-biters I think she looks a bit goofy. And besides I don't think that hat would do squat for keeping off the rain. Her perm would be sagging and dripping in no time with even a modest mist. This particular hat would offer some protection against rock-fall on any sport climb she tried, but a standard Joe Brown (although a bit old-fashioned) would do a far better job.

 

A few months ago, I decided my hat collection was sadly incomplete. If a hat guy lives in the West, even the Pacific Northwest, a hat guy needs a Stetson. (Not a stiff brimmed Stetson. The evil, eponymously named, Dick Cheney wears a stiff Stetson) So after a bit of searching for the proper hat, I bought a Stetson:

 

I didn't wear it when we hiked the Grand Canyon -- style be damned, a dark brown felt hat is a bit much when it's over 100 degrees. But I was wearing it last week when, walking down a sidewalk, I started to pass a little four year old girl who was playing in the back of a pickup (watched over by her grandfather). She stared at me for a moment, then waved and said: "Hi, cowboy!" I smiled, tipped my hat, said "Howdy, miss." and continued on my way. This little event neatly illustrated the difficulty of wearing a cowboy hat:

   It isn't a problem in the country where a guy isn't going to meet many women, but in the city where there are likely to be a lot of women it's hard to get anywhere. To correctly wear a cowboy hat, every time the cowboy-hatted man meets a woman, he has to tip his hat, or actually doff his hat and greet the lady. And how to properly address any particular woman is a huge problem:

    For instance, one of my nieces is a school teacher, and "Schoolmarm" is the correct term. But another niece works in international banking and how does that translate into cowboyese? A third niece is larking about in Paris France. A cowboy hat would clearly indicate Paris Texas. I've been to Paris Texas and there's little larking about there, so referring to the third niece while wearing my new hat would only lead to confusion. And what if I accidentally called a Miss a Ma'am or a Mrs.? Or vice-versa? All of these problems really slow down a guy, and my walks could come to a full stop. 

  

 So this little essay illustrates the importance of having a collection of hats (even a modest one, such as mine).  With a variety I can fit the hat to the occasion. When I walk in the city, I wear a walking hat.

When I walk in the country, I wear the Stetson. (Of course, if I ever ride a horse I'll wear the Stetson.)

When I bicycle, I wear the helmet (a hat by another name). It's all good and appropriate. 

 

Word of the day: For the men. (if this applies to you, get help. It isn't really happening -- unless you're swimming in cold water)  Koro: the belief that your penis is shrinking and that it'll disappear and then you'll die.

 

Moot Point: a cow's opinion, so it doesn't matter unless it's referring to cow things, such as cow flop. 

 

Books:  re-reading The Horse's Mouth (Joyce Cary) A very funny book -- Artist as an irascible old fart --  Alec Guinness wrote and starred in a movie adaption that took this fine plate of English roast beef with hot mustard, and turned it into an insipid  blanc-mange. If you have a chance, by all means, skip the movie.          And so it goes. DJA

 

P.S. the occasional weird word spacing is a function of this terrible blog program. At some point I'm going to start a different host.