HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2012-08-30, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, AUGUST 30, 2012. PAGE 5.
So here’s Adaisha Miller, a vivacious,
law-abiding 24-year-old woman, lying
on the patio by the barbecue, bleeding
out from a massive bullet wound in her chest.
Who shot her? Well, a cop…sort of. But she
kind of shot herself, too.
See, Adaisha was a guest at a neighbourhood
fish fry at the home of the cop (an off-duty
officer). The shooting occurred when she, the
cop and several others were dancing to
recorded music. Adaisha, who was behind the
cop, touched – touched – the holstered
automatic the policeman was wearing on his
belt. The holster leather was so soft that the
gun it held discharged from Adaisha merely
brushing the holster with her fingers.
The question you’re probably asking
yourself is ‘Why is anybody – even an off-duty
police officer – wearing a holstered, cocked
semi-automatic handgun at his own party?
You only ask that question because you’re
Canadian. This homicide didn’t happen in
Canada; it happened in Detroit. Detroit is an
American city. And when it comes to
handguns, America is crazy.
Consider the National Republican Conven-
tion which will unfold in all its multiple
weirdnesses at the end of the month in Tampa.
Naturally, personal security of everyone
attending is a major concern for officials.
That’s why glass bottles and any kind of sticks
or poles have been pre-emptively banned.
Even little kids carrying squirt guns will be
asked to check their playthings at the door.
But concealed, loaded handguns? No
problem. Bring ’em on in.
According to Florida Governor Rick Scott,
banning handguns from a convention in
downtown Tampa, “would surely violate the
Second Amendment.”
The state of Florida is particularly loony on
the subject of gun control. They should switch
their motto from The Sunshine State to the
Moonshine State. Legislators must have been
glassy-eyed drunk to pass a law that banned
state doctors from even discussing firearms
with their patients. That law was recently
overturned by a federal court, but the infamous
‘Stand Your Ground’ law – the one that
allowed self-appointed neighbourhood
watchman George Zimmerman to gun down
an unarmed 17-year-old kid – that one’s still
on the books.
It’s not just Florida. Martin Luther King was
shot in Tennessee; Bobby Kennedy was blown
away in California – both in 1968. Since then,
more than one million – that’s right 1,000,000
– Americans have been killed by guns. Last
year alone, more than 30,000 Americans lost
their lives to bullets.
Those statistics would flabbergast the
countrymen of any democratic state – hell,
they’d raise the eyebrows of an African
warlord – but Americans are blind on the
subject of guns.
Or blinkered, thanks to the consummately
evil machinations of the National Rifle
Association whose lobbyists, year after year
and administration after administration, see to
it that the right pockets are padded and votes
bought to ensure that, well, for instance, every
American has the right to own, carry and
discharge an M-16 or AK-47 assault rifle. The
AK-47 can fire 775 rounds a minute; the M-16
can fire 940 rounds a minute.
Neither weapon would be effective for
rabbit or grouse hunting – or indeed any
hunting at all. But in the field of battle they can
lay down a wall of lead that would give the
enemy pause. That’s all they were ever
intended for. But each weekend, at gun shows
from Okefenokee to Oregon, AK-47’s, M-16’s
and a Satanic smorgasbord of other absurdly
overpowered lethal weapons are snapped up
by conspiracy theorists, ubernationalists, neo-
Nazis, anti-Semites, KKK cultists and other
assorted right and left wing fruitcakes.
“Guns don’t kill people; people kill people”
goes the moronic mantra of American gun
nutters.
Tell it to Adaisha Miller.
Arthur
Black
Other Views Gun Control, the American way
There is an old way of thinking, whether
it’s Aboriginals, Native Americans, the
Mayans or the Aborigines of Australia,
that a photograph steals part of your soul. At
Fan Expo Canada last weekend, there was a
resurgence of this thought process, and if you
were going to steal some soul, you were going
to pay for it.
I have a few friends who made their way to
the weekend-long event in Toronto and who
have gone in the past, but this was the first time
that I was tipped off to autograph and photo-op
fees.
Talking to a friend of mine, she informed me
that she was planning on having her picture
taken with one of the actors from one of her
favourite TV shows, The Walking Dead. She
said she was even more excited because he was
“only charging $30”.
After pulling myself up off the ground, I was
directed to the event’s website where I found
that nearly everyone there charged fans for the
right to stand next to them while a camera
flashed on and off.
Do you know who Jamie Bamber is? Neither
do I. Apparently he stars in the TV series
Battlestar Galactica. A picture with him will
run you $40. Julie Benz from Angel? $40 once
again. Amanda Tapping of Stargate SG-1? $50.
That same $50 will get you a picture with
James Marsters of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.
Kate Mulgrew from Star Trek is $50.
Christopher Lloyd from Back To The Future is
$50, or $75 with the film’s iconic DeLorean
time machine. LeVar Burton from Star Trek
will run you $40, while creator of such
characters as Spider-Man and The Incredible
Hulk will run as much as $60. Speaking of the
Incredible Hulk, he was there too. Lou
Ferrigno cost $40; and the list goes on.
I have been told that some of these people
charge as much as $100 for the privilege of
taking a picture with them. Coming from a
sports background, this is just something I
have a hard time wrapping my head around.
When I was a kid. You went to a baseball
game early to watch batting practice. There
was a slight chance that you might catch a
batting practice home run if you positioned
yourself correctly and then you made your way
down to the expensive seats with the
expectation that one of the players on the field
might autograph it for you. There is also the
time-honoured tradition of waiting for players
to arrive and depart from the stadium in hopes
of obtaining an autograph or a picture with one
of your heroes. At no point was there a cashier
there waiting to take your money.
The argument was made to me that they have
to make money somehow. However, last time I
checked, these folks got paid for their
television roles, so I’m sure their ramen noodle
days are long behind them.
The other argument is that the real travesty is
that people pay these fees. That same friend
went to Expo and was turned away from a $30-
a-pop picture line because the celebrity was
booked for the day. So it’s obvious that not
everyone out there shares my thoughts on this
topic.
For me there’s just a principle and a class
system implication when you’re paying
someone to take a picture with you.
I suppose the days of being grateful to your
fans for getting you where you are in the first
place are long gone. The days of fleecing them,
however, are alive and well.
Most athletes realize that if there’s no one in
the stands, they don’t get paid, this doesn’t
seem to translate to the comic book/science-
fiction world.
Souls for sale
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
I’m going to borrow a little bit of style from
my fellow Citizen editorial page roommate
Arthur Black.
“A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
– Abraham Lincoln
See, I borrowed the whole (kind-of) starting
with a quote modus operandi that he uses. That
particular quote, a paraphrasing of a Bible
verse, was issued by Lincoln when he accepted
the Republic Party’s nomination before he was
elected president of The United States of
America.
While there are dozens of things he could
have been referring to, he was talking about
slavery. He stated that the United States could
not endure if it were to half-support and half-
oppose slavery.
Now, while I certainly am not having to deal
with slavery, I find myself at a similar cross-
roads and conflict of being.
Can I survive with half of my stuff several
hours away?
As of Tuesday of this week I’ll have vacated
the amazingly great little house on Hamilton
Street in Blyth and will have (hopefully)
handed the keys over to some great folks who
will be renting my former abode.
(For those of you unaware, my girlfriend,
Ashleigh, recently found herself a wonderful
job in Mississauga and has relocated to that
area. In turn, we have tried to sell and rent our
home and the latter came about first.)
I’ll be moving southwest to bunk with my
family in Goderich for the time being until the
future is a bit more certain but, since Ash is
now in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), she
needs some furniture and kitchenwares and...
well everything you need in a home.
To that end, on Tuesday, I’ll be splitting my
“stuff” as George Carlin called it, into two
different piles.
There will be the pile of things I need to
keep myself entertained and comfortable and
the stuff that can go to an apartment in the
GTA.
In that, I guess I’ll be somewhat divided. I
can’t stand not finding something I’m looking
for in my home as it is, imagine if I have to
scour two different places.
The second division is myself being divided
from the community I work in.
I don’t foresee this as being much of a
problem; I really believe that the connections
and relationships I’ve made in the past year
and a bit of living in Blyth and the past two
years of working in The Citizen’s coverage
area are good ones and will continue to help
keep me in touch with what is important to the
people here.
Sure, it means I don’t really have a lawn to
cut or a deck to sit on or a place people can
drop by when they have some tid-bit of news
they want to share, but I think things will
continue on as they have.
The only real downside to the move is that
I’ll no longer be able to roll out of bed 45
minutes before I have to be at work; 25
minutes of each morning is going to be driving
to and from work.
While I am divided from Ashleigh by nearly
two hundred kilometres (and three to four
hours depending on traffic), we’ve done the
long-distance thing before, so I don’t see any
huge problems erupting from that. (Heck,
she’ll probably love not having to find small
pieces of plastic all over the kitchen from me
opening freezies on hot days).
However, with every closed door opens a
window and I’m more than happy to climb
through it.
Moving to Goderich will afford me some
chances to reconnect with a couple family
members (beyond my father) that I haven’t
seen anywhere near often enough over the past
few years (since I last lived in Goderich); my
father’s two dogs Bishop and Maverick.
Bishop, a cross of several large breeds of
dogs is one of the most energetic large dogs
I’ve ever met and, if you can get past the fact
that he sheds enough to build another version
of himself once or twice a week during
shedding times, he’s probably one of my
favourite dogs of all time.
Maverick is a Heinz 57 if ever there was one.
Unfortunately, he may be less fond of me after
I kick him out of the room that he’s typically
claimed as his own. To be fair, though, I did
have that room first before he ever came to live
at my dad’s place.
I’ll also get to spend some time with my
brother, for better or worse, and try to be as
positive an influence as I can be on his life.
That may sound a bit off or a bit sappy but,
given that he’s 10 years younger than I, my
five years at school meant that I missed out on
a lot of opportunities to spend time with him
and his twin sister.
So yes, I am a man divided from a house
divided for the time being and I’m trying my
darndest to make it work and prove Mr.
Lincoln wrong.
Oh, and just since so many huge world news
stories are breaking as of late that I’m sure I
won’t have enough time to properly address in
a column given that I like to try and keep them
timely, here are a collection of comments I
would make about the state of the world:
• The engagement rules that United Forces
are being held to that are forcing them to act as
bait for Taliban fighters are ridiculous.
Soldiers shouldn’t have to risk getting shot at
first before they can shoot at combatants.
• Leave Chad Kroeger and Avril Lavigne
alone. Even if you don’t like their music, they
are both wildly successful musicians, so
someone out there must enjoy what they do
enough to buy their albums.
• Hockey players are still paid way too
much.
• Man, I hate Gary Bettman.
In the meantime, if you’re one of the folks I
talked to on a regular basis in Blyth and you’re
really jonesing to hear what life is like for the
reporter commuting from Goderich, I’ll
always need to get a cup of coffee or a meal
somewhere local since I won’t be heading
home for lunch four-out-of-five workdays a
week. Feel free to drop by and say hello.
A man divided has to stand
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den