Category: Traditions

Different Take

The Gun Thing, Traditions

Well, here we go again:

Rhode Island Democrat House members are pushing legislation to require Rhode Islanders to obtain a “Firearm Safety Training Certificate” prior to purchasing a gun.

The text of H 7755 requires the would-be buyer of a handgun to “Present to the person selling the firearm a valid firearm safety training certificate issued by the office of the attorney general.”

The text further states: “The firearm safety training certificate shall certify that the purchaser has completed and passed an approved basic firearm safety training course within the previous five (5) years.”

Of course, your initial reaction to this is going to be a snort of fury and the ensuing Red Curtain Of Blood coming impeding your vision — as was my initial reaction.

But then I started thinking.

Somebody remind me:  what does that Constitution thing say about guns?  Oh yeah (sing along with me):

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

…and a damn fine piece of writing it is, too.

Now, for the benefit of the hoplophobes, let’s just get a few definitions out of the way.

“Regulated”, when it was written, did not mean “subject to laws and regulations” (as it might mean today).  Back then, “regulated” meant “trained”, as exemplified  by how several states used to mandate some kind of monthly military training (marching in step, learning to obey military commands, and so on).  That regulation also required learning proficiency in the use of firearms (and other military equipment, such as cannon).  We’ll get back to this in a moment.

“Militia”, also when it was written, did not mean the National Guard or anything like that, simply because the Guard hadn’t been invented yet.  A militia meant armed citizenry — and the United States Code goes on to define who constituted the armed citizenry as “every able-bodied man of at least 17 and under 45 years of age” (Teh Wimmens were added later, by the way).  And just so we’re all clear on the concept:  membership of the militia was compulsory.

So let’s take this proposal of the legislators of Rhode Island (lest we forget, one of the first states in the union) and make it comply with the spirit of the Constitution (because otherwise? it’s un-Constitutional).

  • Install mandatory firearms training in the operation, safety and handling for all high school seniors. The only exclusions are students who have a conviction for a violent crime resulting in a juvenile criminal record.
  • Certification must come from designated, qualified volunteer instructors (probably the sole reason for the NRA’s continued existence) who perform the function as a civic (i.e. unpaid) duty.
  • A passing grade — 90% or better, because this is serious business (as opposed to English Lit., which isn’t) — will entitle the student to a state-certified proficiency license which will guarantee the holder the right to purchase any firearm, most definitely including “military” ones, after their eighteenth birthday.
  • Re-certification must take place every five years until age 30 — once again, said service to be provided by volunteer agency and not the state — and after then at age 45 (kinda like how driver’s licenses require re-testing), whereupon the re-certification requirement ends.
  • The proficiency certificate can be withdrawn only in the event the holder is convicted of a violent crime (any, not just firearms-related).

So, Rhode Island legislators (and others of the same ilk):  how about it?

And by the way:  this is an either/or choice:  either institute mandatory firearms training in high schools, or drop your current idea in the trash because it’s un-Constitutional.

Oh, and fuck you, all of you.

A Question Of Time

Conservatism, Lifestyle, Traditions

Longtime Reader preussenotto writes:

Thanks for maintaining the last interesting thing on the internet.

You are probably 20 years older than I am give or take, but I have a question for you.

We hear a lot of nonsense now about “Someone born in the wrong body” but do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong time? That your preferences, tastes, attitudes always seem about 40 years out of step with what is happening now?

It isn’t just a “getting old” thing, I always felt it even when I was a callow yoot. I would read about Victorian England, or Coolidge America, and think… I would fit perfectly into that time, where in the hell did it go? Keep in mind I have no desire to live without electricity, or painless dentistry, but I always mentally fit better into a bygone (often imagined, I grant you) era, and it has never gone away, fifty plus years on. Dunno if there are others of my ilk out there.

Maybe its just inevitable nostalgia, or “O Tempora, O Mores”?

 Let me address the primary issue up front.

When presussenotto writes:  “Keep in mind I have no desire to live without electricity, or painless dentistry…”

Whenever I talk about preferring to live in another time, some smartass always comes up with “So you want to live in a time before [penicillin, automatic transmissions, antibiotics, take your pick]?”  Of course I don’t, and neither does preussenotto.

When we think of earlier times, we speak of the culture of the time, the mood of the time, the manners of the time and the social constructs that were in place then, but are not now.

Using cars as an example of the technology, for instance:  I like having the excellent brakes, better wiring, better suspension and such of today;  what I don’t like is stupid shit like On*Star, nanny warnings about seatbelts, electronic rather than mechanical handbrakes and all those things that have supposedly improved the driving experience but have really served only to drive the price of cars upwards, for little real or lasting benefit.

What we are talking about is a time when you could leave your car unlocked in the parking lot at the supermarket, or your house unlocked during the day, or talk to people without worrying about triggering their ultra-sensitive emotional antennae, or visit decent public libraries with thousands of worthwhile books to take out.

When politicians didn’t try to “improve” or “safeguard” your life, and didn’t take over a third of your salary in taxes.

When the next generation would come along with at least a decent chance of living a better life than their parents.

When capitalism was the way to a better future, and Communism was actually illegal or at least frowned upon.

When you could work at a company for a long time, maybe for life, and wouldn’t be fired just because some accountant thought he could find someone else who could do the same job for less, with fewer benefits.

When your kid could take his air rifle or .22 to school and just leave it in his locker so he could go shooting in the woods with his buddies, unsupervised, at the end of the school day.

When raising a family was seen as the primary duty of a married couple, with the man earning the salary and the woman staying at home to look after the kids and the household — and she wasn’t forced into the workplace because even a modest house had suddenly become unaffordable on only one salary.

When a family outing was a picnic in the park, and not a trip to Disneyland that costs thousands of dollars.

When girls showed modesty in their attitude, their behavior and their clothing, and boys embraced their masculinity while understanding the duties of citizenship and responsibility.

When people could still be shocked by bad language in public.

To return to the question:  “Do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong time? That your preferences, tastes, attitudes always seem about 40 years out of step with what is happening now?”

I feel that way every single day.  And it’s not just nostalgia, where your memory saves only the good parts and never the bad parts.  The fact of the matter is that I do remember the bad parts, but in almost every case the good parts back then were far better than the best of times now — and the bad parts back then were not even close to the horrors of everyday life today.

I try to live my life today as close as I can to the way people lived their lives a long time ago — and at every turn I’m laughed at, patronized and dismissed as just some old fart living in the past.

Well, guess what?  I want to live in the past.  I don’t care which time, particularly:  it could even be a mixture of some parts of the 1910s all the way to the early 1960s.  I wasn’t alive back before 1954, but even without having lived back then, I feel far closer to those earlier decades than I do to the bloody shambles of our so-called “civilization” of today.  The people of, say, 1960 lived lives with a philosophy far closer to the civilization of 1900 than the people of today do compared to the people of 1965.

When I say despairingly, as I often do, that I don’t want to live in this world anymore, I’m not being suicidal:  I just feel so damn hopeless. because everything that was once so wonderful has disappeared completely, leaving no joy behind.

And so does Reader preussenotto, and so, I suspect, do many of my Readers.

The tempora  have changed, and not for the better;  and the mores  have disappeared completely.

Update:  Here’s what I mean:

And here’s the thing:  I know that not all men today dress like the the loon on the RHS, and that some men still dress today like the one on the LHS.

However, back in 1950, not a single man dressed like the RHS twerp.

Now ask me the question again…

MIA

Traditions

Spot the missing part(s):

Begging the question:  what is Schrodinger’s Swiss Army Knife?

Well, that would be the above, which contains every possible mini-tool except for the implement in its title.

And Victorinox is now party to this silliness.

I’m just glad I already possess a number of the original knives, all of which contain one or more blades.

And anyone who thinks that a Swiss Army knife could be used as a weapon is a fucking moron.

Mind you, that razor-sharp mini-saw would sure leave a mark if dragged across some scrote’s face…

Just sayin’.

Missing Comfort

Food & Drink, Guy Stuff, Traditions

As any fule kno, I am partial to the occasional visit to a pub.  [pause to let laughter die down]

But  not just any pub.  I have strict rules for places which charge me far too much for the pleasure of indulging myself, because if I am going to be hit with a $7 (or more) tab for a single beer (!!!), the establishment had better offer me more than just a pint.  Here’s a short list of necessities:

Decent beer.  Any bar in the U.S. which doesn’t give me a choice of at least three British-ale equivalents won’t see me after a single awful American beer, and never again as well.  (Curiously, I find Mexico’s Negra Modelo  to be the closest thing to a decent ale, although I do have to pour it from glass to glass a few times to get rid of the appalling and excessive fizz.)  If they serve Fuller’s London Pride or Boddington’s, then we can be friends and they can be assured of a follow-up visit (or two, or three).  And if the beer isn’t up to snuff, they’d damn well better have a decent selection of single-malts or gins, or else it’s to the door I’ll be heading.

No loud music.  I’ve talked before about my hatred for this piece of modernism, whereby the acceptable noise of drunken people having a good time has to be drowned out by music — any kind of music, really, not just the revolting  thumpa-thumpa  of hip-hop — as though the background noise of simple conversation and occasional laughter are somehow incompatible with drinking pleasure.

Loud TV programs.  I can live with this if a.) it’s a “sports” bar or b.) there’s a big game being played (e.g. Bears vs. Packers or Chelsea vs. Arsenal).  But if I walk into a bar and there’s a large-screen TV showing ESPN’s SportsCenter (i.e. people talking about sport instead of playing it), I turn around and walk out.  Don’t even get me started if it’s CNN, Fox News or (gawd help us) Oprah Winfrey (I had to endure that once — client lunch, so I had no control — and it took me days to recover).

A foot-rail at the bar counter.  This may seem a strange one, but it’s a critical part of drinking that’s too often overlooked.  Note this otherwise-excellent setup (in a private house, withal):

But the Arrow Of Accusation points to the missing piece, and the whole pub is ruined by the glaring omission.

It’s a simple thing, really.  I (and many others) actually prefer to drink standing up, and especially around the bar counter, where space is at a premium.  It’s the one time I don’t mind being in a crowd, because I am in the company of people with a common goal, that of getting a good buzz on and enjoying life, and I far prefer a crowded bar to a nearly-empty one, which is depressing.  If one is enjoying the company of a lady, standing close to her bar stool makes the whole activity more intimate, too.  But if you’re going to stand, you must have a rail to rest a foot on, because otherwise you get tired of standing.  (I don’t know why that it, but it’s a fact nevertheless.)  Look at this place:

That picture simply screams out that I’ll be there till closing time, or later (don’t ask; I’m still banned from The Blue Cow which, needless to say, served about five excellent ales — all of which I sampled extensively —  and had a brass foot-rail).

Decent decor.  I hate modernist interior design, as all my Readers know well, but while I prefer the traditional pub style, it doesn’t have to be that.  Here’s the inside of the fantastic Randolph’s Bar at the Warwick Hotel in Manhattan:

…and yes of course it has a foot-rail at the counter.  And yes, I have been tossed out of that place too, several times, but always gently as I used to be a frequent guest there (hi, Carlo!).  On each of those occasions, the company was excellent and much disposed towards trying to finish all the Scotch in the place, but the atmosphere and decor did no harm to the attempt, either.

Here’s yet another of my favorite haunts, the Coq d’Or at the Drake Hotel in Chicago (where I do not have a tempestuous history, albeit not for lack of trying):

It’s a little hard to see (bottom left), but yes, there is a foot-rail, and it’s brass.

All this bar talk is making me thirsty.  And now, if you’ll excuse me, my post-birthday hangover needs a little TLC and that gin isn’t going to drink itself.

Vanishing Point

Drive Time, Modernism, Traditions

I have spoken often of my distaste for much of modern life, and here’s just one more thing to make me want to pack a picnic lunch and an assault rifle, and go find a tall building somewhere.

Sadly, the end of the manual transmission is near, and the unfortunate truth is few people will miss it. Most young adults don’t know how to drive a vehicle with a manual transmission, and they aren’t interested in learning. Many modern automatics offer better fuel efficiency and quicker acceleration than their manual counterparts. Porsche now delivers 75% of its 718 and 911 sports cars with automatic transmissions. The new C8 Corvette is only available with one. When the stick shift loses Porsche and Corvette buyers, you know it’s quickly heading for the rearview mirror.

But it gets worse.

In the future, cars won’t only be automatics; it appears they’ll increasingly be automated, electric vehicles. The satisfying throbbing of the exhaust and the pleasure of driving will also become victims of progress. Traveling in a personal vehicle will be as exciting as riding in an elevator with windows.

And this guy adds his take, talking about

the dystopian future in which you’ll sit passively in your computer-driven car with government-mandated speed limits and instantly-revocable travel permissions programmed in.

In the next year or so I’ll be needing to get a new car because the old Tiguan has north of 115,000 miles under its belt.  Don’t be surprised if I get something with a stick shift (assuming I can find one, and even if it does limit my choices), if for no other reason than to shake my fist at the Empire.

  

And just let some future asshole government mandate “smart” guns with chips embedded so that they can be “controlled” by some central source — essentially, the same principle as automated cars.

At that point, my prospective trip up to the rooftops won’t just be a joke anymore.