I’ve been trying to post more often and more regularly. I’ve been aiming at a new blog every two days, but the best laid plans of moose and men, etc., etc., etc. All my brain cells are off on summer holidays. I can’t think of a single topic I want to discuss or rant about, so this will be another “Olio” post about a little of this and a little of that, and some chilli fries on the side.
I claim to be open-minded, and adaptable, but there are portions of my life that are perhaps just a little too well-ordered. I had a Cadbury Creme Egg tonight while watching a bit of TV. I waited till after Easter, when those $1.49/$1.99 babies went on sale for 50 cents/ea. I bought ten of them, and I’ve had one, each Wednesday night, for the last ten weeks. Needing to control my weight (gain) makes it a little easier to ration them, but the organization and pleasure deferment seem to be part of me. I’m definitely old-school. I didn’t have any dinosaurs as classmates, a couple of teachers maybe, but no classmates. I seem to be impervious to “instant”. No instant food, no instant messaging, no instant gratification, no instant connections to an insistent and stressful world, unlike a large majority of the younger population.
When we moved into the old house I wrote about growing up in, in my Home Sweet Home post, there were two 15 amp fuses controlling electrical flow to the entire house. The children of technology might find that difficult to believe. My present small house had 36 breakers when we moved in, and we had to add four more when we installed the electronic furnace filter and the A/C unit. How did we survive back in the dark ages? Well, it was dark! One light in each room, on the ceiling, only in the kitchen and living room, and we had a radio.
We used to have blocks of ice delivered in a horse-drawn wagon in the summer for an ice box. Then we bought a refrigerator. We had a wood stove and a coal furnace in the winter. Then we got a propane furnace with electric blower. We had wind-up clocks in bedrooms, and no other timepieces in the house, till we bought a plug-in electric clock. The washing machine rolled to the center of the kitchen floor, and it, and the iron plugged in, next to the clock. TVs became available, and, we weren’t the first on the block, but we finally got one. TV/stereo/record players became the rage, and we finally got one of those.
As we grew more and more into the electronic age, we started having problems with blowing fuses. Whoever had installed the electrical wiring before we owned the house had not foreseen the growth. He had installed the little two-fuse box right where the wires entered the house, on the ceiling, in the attic. So, if a fuse blew, all we had to do was climb up into the attic, and up onto a stepladder, in the dark, to replace it. Dad finally bowed to the inevitable, and had a twelve fuse box installed. Dad sold the house because the 130 year-old elm-tree support beams were starting to crack. A chiropractor bought it. He lives in part of it and uses part for an office. I wonder how much he had to pay to brace up the floors and upgrade the power supply even further.
Canadians don’t tend to get polarized on issues like the Americans, but firearms is one that will do it. Like other contentious issues, there’s a lot of heat, but very little light, a lot of well-intentioned ranting, but sadly, very little actual thought. This is a problem that divides the urban from the rural. City-dwellers have gang-bangers and are told by self-serving politicians that they will be safe, “if we just get rid of guns!” The rural folks have rats of a different kind, as well as groundhogs, skunks, raccoons, coyotes and wolves. An urban politician managed to get the bear-hunting season cancelled a few years ago, and the first bear was spotted in the north end of Toronto this summer, in over fifty years.
There is a Latin philosophical argument tag. It is “Reductio in Absurdum.” This means that if you push an argument to its extreme, and it still makes sense, it’s a valid assumption. Most politicians have trouble speaking plain English. They can’t handle Latin. Handguns have been registered and restricted in Canada, since 1932. About ten years ago, to make their urban majority of voters feel safe, the Canadian government set up a registration bureau for long guns. The populace was told that it would only cost two million dollars to set up and licence fees would pay to run it. After pouring over two billion dollars down the rabbit hole, 40% of long guns are still not registered, but they’re not being used to commit the increased number of urban firearm crimes.
A female Toronto councillor recently went on a “mom and apple pie” crusade after a shooting spree at a major downtown shopping center, by a gang member with previous convictions and an illegal pistol. She wants to ban the ownership and storage of any handguns or ammunition, by anyone except police. She claims that handguns are used for one purpose only, to wound or kill someone. Hundreds of thousands, or millions of bullets are discharged at safe, controlled firing ranges each year, without wounding or killing one person. I feel that the responsible, registered right to continue to do so is a valid reason.
Here’s where the absurd part comes in. If she manages to ban the guns, what is anyone going to do with the bullets? Throw them at people? If she really thinks that this incentive will remove all the dangerous guns, why do the police need to continue to carry them? Ah, thinking, there’s the problem. If the rap-sheet rappers continue to own and use illegal, smuggled guns, what good is accomplished by preventing a relatively small number of safety-trained, law-abiding citizens from following their increasingly un-PC hobby? The cynical answer is, it makes her look good and gives her more power to control everybody else’s life.
That’s my mini-rant for today. I’ll be back. Salut!