When Boycotting the 4th of July is a Great Idea

 Nine years out of ten in Philadelphia, the weather sucks on the Fourth of July. It's usually hot as hell, or else there are thunderstorms or hurricanes.

This year the weather was outstanding. Low humidity, temperatures topping out in the mid-80s, sunshine from horizon to horizon.

Philadelphia always hosts this big ass "Welcome America" festival on the Fourth. The city closes down the Benjamin Franklin Parkway and has a concert and fireworks overtop the Art Museum.

I've never gone to this festivity. I don't like heat, and I don't like crowds. I do like fireworks, but this year I didn't even have the appetite to see them.

So about an hour before Philly's firework show was scheduled to start, I settled into the La-z-boy recliner for another evening of "American Carnage: Active Shooter." Otherwise known as CNN.

I entered into a text conversation with a friend of mine named Nicole.

Nicole: You always pop into my head on July 4 remembering the time we sat and watched the fireworks together

Anne: Aw, I didn't even see any this year!

Nicole: I'm at the Art Museum now waiting

[Nicole sends crowd photo]

Anne: Here I sit at home. I've never done it!

Nicole: I was here two years ago and it's the best I've ever seen by far. I believe Channel 10 is broadcasting them should start in a few minutes

Anne: Next year I will go with you

[Nicole sends a smiling emoji.]

18 hours passed before Nicole and I exchanged a few more texts.

Anne: Almost afraid to ask you about last night ...

Nicole: All good, just a lot of panicking people. I thought of you in the middle of it and glad you weren't there

Anne: I'm glad you're ok!!!

Nicole: Thanks

In case you missed it, there was a shooting on the Ben Franklin Parkway at the height of the fireworks display. Two cops were injured. The shooting sparked a panic, needless to say, and people -- thousands of them -- ran for their lives.

I'm glad I wasn't there. I can't run very fast anymore.

Stick a fork in America. It's done.

This Annie Doesn't Want a Gun

Hi there, buckaroos! It's me, Anne Johnson, back from being president and safely in civilian life again!

I could have stayed at the White House forever, since it's so much more lavish than my own humble home, but after this latest horrible school shooting, I decided I was needed more at the Vo Tech. What, really, is more important than caring for our vulnerable teenagers?

New Jersey has some hella strict gun laws (another reason to love the Garden State), so I'm pretty doggone sure my school administrators aren't going to hand me a pistol and send me to the firing range. And that's a good thing, because I will quit my job if they start bringing guns into my school.

LIST OF JOBS ANNE WOULD DO RATHER THAN HAVE A GUN IN HER CLASSROOM

*Taco Bell drive-thru window, graveyard shift
*Goat judge (wish this paid better, it's a great job)
*Shrimp boat
*Wal-Mart ... yes. Wal-Mart cart collector
*Busting rocks with a sledgehammer
*Fox News focus group
*All natural mosquito eradicator
*Flagpole sitter
*Janitor, turnpike restrooms

If I couldn't find one of those compelling jobs, I would do anything that provided a meager paycheck. ANYTHING rather than having a gun in my hand in a classroom!

I'm not pretending to speak for all public school teachers here, but as for me and my classroom, we will follow the path of peace. No. Damn. Gun.

Ever.

Why I'm Marching #1: Production for Use

I thought I would give my reasons for marching in order of importance. I've changed my mind on that. There are so, so many reasons to brave freezing temperatures and a long day on flat feet in Washington, DC for a march against the Republican juggernaut. No use to front load all the big ones.

Here's a reason that I would put on the lower end of the "Why I'm Marching" scale -- probably because I live in a state with tough gun laws.

I'm sure you've heard the saying, "Guns don't kill people. People kill people."

Well, folks, I don't believe that. Here is a meme I had to make myself, because apparently no one else has thought of it:

What is a gun? It's a tool. What does this tool do? It shoots bullets. It has been produced to shoot bullets that can kill things.

Gun owners can spend their whole lives shooting tin cans off fence posts, but bottom line, the whole reason for gun production is to be able to kill another human being. You shoot at the tin can so your aim is good when the time comes to use your tool for its primary raison d'etre.

I call that "production for use."

President Obama called constantly for comprehensive background checks as a precursor to gun ownership. Candidates Clinton and Sanders were both anti-gun. Candidate Trump enthusiastically endorsed gun ownership.

A government run by Republicans will be very tolerant of rampant gun purchases with little to no oversight of the individuals purchasing the tools.

What is overlooked in the heated discussion on the free purchase of firearms is how profitable they are for the factory owners who make them. Each weapon costs a lot of money. Someone is making bank. And there are those who profit from the sale of ammunition and the rental of target practice facilities. Somewhere out there, a person is living large on the profits of these tools, while other people are mourning the deaths of loved ones when the tools were put to use. Don't ask me how these people can sleep at night. They must have "Guns Don't Kill People. People Kill People" written on their mirrors with shaving cream.

I will be marching on January 21, 2016 in Washington, DC because I believe that no individual who is not on active duty in the military should be allowed to own a semi-automatic weapon. This is my reading of the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution. Guns should only be in the hands of "a well-regulated militia."

I've written a lot about this, mostly after senseless shootings of unsuspecting, innocent Americans. Today was one of those days.

Public School Education Prior to 1975

Wow, this one sounds dull as dirt, doesn't it? But hold tight, because don't I always offer you some laughs?

I am in a unique position to evaluate this premise. My public school education began in 1964 and ended in 1977. Spoiler alert: I didn't learn diddly squat about guns.

I did learn stuff, though.

I learned how to turn chicken eggs in an incubator so that the chicks would develop properly. By doing this, I learned that birds turn their eggs. This stuck with me. That was kindergarten.

Grade 1 I learned to love snowfall. The teacher let me stay in the hallway and watch a snow storm, all by myself, while the other kids had recess in the classroom.

Second grade I learned that being left-handed sucks. Cursive writing was a horror.

Third grade I memorized all my times tables. I understand they do it differently now. Rote worked for me. We had flash cards and practiced at home.

Fourth grade I learned that there was an author named Laura Ingalls Wilder, and that she wrote fabulous books about growing up on the prairie in the 19th century. Literally, I think all I did in fourth grade was read "Little House" books and solve long division problems.  Oh yeah! The teacher was so furious that none of us knew the words to the National Anthem that she gave us one night to memorize it and then made all 31 of us sing it, solo, the next day.

In fifth grade I learned that if you can't play kickball very well, you can earn props from the more athletic kids by being a fair umpire.

In sixth grade *spoiler alert kinda gross* I learned in health class that I had been putting certain feminine items on backwards. My mother never showed me.

In seventh grade I didn't learn much of anything, because my mother had a major nervous breakdown, and that made me irritable, distracted, and prone to acting out in school. I would have been keenly interested in gun use classes at this moment in my life, but I didn't get them. There was no gun in my home, at any stage of my life, and that's why I'm sitting here writing this today. I might be dead otherwise.

Eighth grade I remember looking in the Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature about a movie star and then getting magazine articles from the school library to write a report. It's funny how things work. I wound up making a decent living doing exactly that task, from 1984 until 2005.

In ninth grade biology class, I learned that eating a balanced diet every day makes multivitamins unnecessary.

When I was in tenth grade I learned that it's possible to fall head-over-heels, deeply in love with someone that modern society would bar me from pursuing.

Again in 11th grade, life was chaos at home, so I didn't learn anything. As with seventh grade, I would have remembered vividly having gun lessons.

In my senior year of high school, I learned a little bit of Latin. I wish I had studied it from freshman year forward. It's really great, and not just because of the bored gods.


So there, not terribly abridged, is my public school education! It did not include gun safety or gun use.

You know what? I'm going to tag this post with a "moron" label. Think about that quote above. In order to teach gun safety, there would have to be a gun or guns in school. That gun would have to be a common enough model to have readily available ammunition. For the love of fruit flies! What an explosive situation!

So, now addressing the moron who said I had gun safety classes in school, I reply most forcibly: Oh HELL no, I did not! The closest I got to a safety lesson upon which my life depended was in geology class, where we learned protective measures for exploring wild caves. Bite me, Mr. Gun Owner. There was a war being fought almost throughout the entirety of my public schooling. Three major political figures were assassinated. People thought differently about firearms in those days. Trust me on that, reader.

The Well-Regulated Militia

"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."

Here it is Memorial Day, and I'm thinking about re-animating dead people.

I would like to re-animate a Civil War soldier, maybe one of those ambitious 14-year-olds who lied about his age, and ask him, "What do you think of guns?"

I would like to re-animate Thomas Jefferson and ask him, "Could you be more specific about who should bear firearms? And oh, by the way, Tom. Look at this 21st century weapon! Who should keep and bear it?"

After all, it took at least 60 seconds to load and fire a gun in Jefferson's time.

The people who died in combat in our various wars were members of the well-regulated militia. They learned how to use weapons from professionals. They used weapons in professional situations. And a bunch of them died doing it. Given a second opportunity at life, how many of them would (as Shakespeare put it), throw their distempered weapons to the ground?

We talk about Big Coal and Big Oil, but we give short shrift to Big Guns. The selling of firearms and ammunition, the rental of target practice facilities, all of that is big business. The National Rifle Association is not a lobby for Constitutional freedoms. It is an arm of a big business.

My sister owns a weapon. She keeps it by her bed, in case someone breaks into her house and tries to rape her. She told me this. Now, she has a husband, a son, four dogs, and three parrots. Who is going to break into that house? And yet she worries about that rapist. This is brainwashing by Big Guns. And its a set-up for misuse of a dangerous weapon under non-rape circumstances.

You know what else I'm thinking about on this sunny Memorial Day? I'm wondering how many psychopaths are out there, behaving normal long enough to build arsenals, that they will then use to kill unsuspecting, innocent people.

Last week one of my most troubled students pulled yet another day in all-day detention. She wrote an essay according to a prompt (this is my standard assignment for "behavioral development program," aka sit in a room all day). The prompt was: "If you could live one day of your life over again, which would it be?"

The student wrote that she wished she could re-live the day of her brother's funeral, because at least she would get to see his precious face one more time. This brother did not die of a horrible illness. He was shot.

We have no well-regulated civilian militia. We have an Apocalypse. There is no solution. The cat is out of the bag. And just as in Shakespeare's plays, we won't quit until the stage is covered in dead bodies, and one or two baffled onlookers have to wipe up the mess.

The Bill of Wrongs

Yesterday I cleared some English ivy from a big pine tree in front of my house. I used large pruning clippers and some smaller thingy. I cannot find a picture of that thingy on Google Images or the Home Depot web site. So I must resort to words: The thingy is hand-held, about 8 inches long. It has a sharp hoe/trowel side and a sharp three-prong rake side. Like two tools in one.

As I was using this tool to rake back the damned invasive pain in the ass ornamental ivy, I got to thinking about my sister. It seems she has joined the well-regulated militia.

Sis told me that she bought a handgun and is learning how to use it because an intruder might come into her house to rape her. She says this has happened to friends of hers. Her ten-year-old has a shotgun, which he is not yet allowed to use. Sis keeps her gun separate from her ammo and says the kid doesn't know where the ammo is.

This is the self-same sister who has four dogs and three parrots.

Anyway, it's very heartening to me to know that, when the British invade and try to move into our houses and steal our crops, Sis will have at them in defense of this nation. As for the well-regulated part, well ... she's not in any branch of military service, nor has she been. But she is taking target practice.

This brings me back to my little garden thingy.

As I held the tool in my hand, it occurred to me that this simple thingy, strategically placed by a bed, would be far more effective as a rapist deterrent than an unloaded pistol with ammo in some other location. I base this thought on the presumption that someone bent on rape will steal quietly into my home and be upon me before I have time to react. (Also presumes that Decibel the parrot and Mr. J are out on the town somewhere.) Maybe I've been reading too much Game of Thrones, but I'm starting to look at my garden equipment in a whole new light.

School teachers need to assess their classrooms for weapons as well. So far we have not been asked to join the well-regulated militia and carry firearms in our classrooms. That being the case, my students have always asked me, "Miss, what would you do if a gunman shot his way into the room?" Giving it some thought, I would have a moment while the person was blasting in to grab a chair and at least attempt to give the sucker a solid whack with it. And if I was spot on, well, those chairs are heavy. The assailant might actually be staggered. I would sure try.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying that people are not paying close heed to the Second Amendment. The Constitution specifically states that Americans have a right to bear arms because we need a well-regulated militia.

We're falling down on the well-regulated militia part.

My sister is 49 years old. She wears glasses. She has no military training. I'm not saying she shouldn't own a gun. I'm just saying she ought to pass the entrance exam for the U.S. Army and then do basic training so that she really is ready to defend our republic in its hour of need. I think that everyone who purchases a firearm should be required to do the same testing and training.

 It would be lovely to have a well-trained citizen army in this country. What we have right now are requirements of gun ownership that are about as strict as what you go through to adopt a ferret.

Alas, the cat's out of the bag. There are so many firearms at loose in America that we will never, ever be able to account for half of them. Which either makes us a country that cannot possibly be invaded, or our own worst enemy. You choose.

Should Teachers Pack?

To: National Rifle Association and Others Who Believe the Best Defense Is a Good Offense

From:  Anne Johnson, Public School Teacher

Re: Carrying a weapon in order to protect my students

Considering the fact that my classroom is the very first door on the front center hallway, literally the first door any visitor to the school sees, I can rather confidently predict that I would be directly in the line of fire if an insane gunman came into the school building. I might have time to lock myself and my students into the classroom whilst said insane gunman blasted his way into the door (which is usually locked). But after that, where would he go? Straight to Room 105. That's me.

In theory I agree with you that it would be wonderful for me to have a loaded gun of my own that I could unsheathe, aim, and fire with deadly precision.

In fact, the only weapon I've ever used effectively is a fly swatter. Even then I am only partially proficient.

Back in the 1960s when I attended day camp, I shot BB guns at targets. I missed. Every time. I have hit the sides of barns with Super Soakers, but never a moving human being.

Therefore, even though I would love to be part of your happy solution to random gun violence in public places, I fear that by the current tools of evaluation, I would not satisfy the requirements of the position; namely, public school teacher.

This is not to say that I could never be trained to wield a firearm effectively. I'll bet after 100 hours of professional development on the community firing range I could perhaps pull a trigger without knocking myself down. From there, considering the intelligence of many gun owners, I ought to be able to figure the weapon out. But if there's some assembly required, all bets are off. I'm an English teacher. Assembling things happens in math and science classes. I can hardly assemble a peanut butter sandwich. (I can understand Shakespeare, though. Everyone is skilled at something.)

See this fine female? She's not me. I'm not her.

I brake for squirrels. When I play Monopoly, I let people stay in my hotels for free. Back in the day, I hid from the food fight in the middle school cafeteria. Once my grandfather asked me to bring him his squirrel gun. I had to drag it across the floor, because I couldn't lift it.

So if some assailant tries to shoot my students, the best I can hope for is to be a meat shield while they scramble under the desks. I have given this long, hard thought, and that's pretty much the sum total of my capacity to protect anyone.

Sorry to disappoint you. The militia will have to be well regulated without me.

Respectfully,
Anne Johnson

Our Very Wonderful Well-Regulated Militia

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," fellow soldiers! It's time to protect America!

You see, each and every one of us over the age of 18, with very few exceptions, are members of the well-regulated militia.

You've probably noticed that I write a lot about the First Amendment. In the interest of fairness, it's time to look at the Second Amendment:


"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to bear arms, shall not be infringed."


Here comes the Hun! Where's my gun?


It's not easy being a member of the United States of America well regulated militia. People so easily overlook your role in protecting our free state.

Just this morning, I heard that the mass transit police in Philadelphia apprehended a patriotic militia man on the busiest subway in the city. This soldier was carrying an AK 47 assault rifle and several rounds of ammunition. (His ration kit also included marijuana.) The cheek of those transit cops! Honestly!

My daughter The Heir rides mass transit in Philadelphia, and I am personally offended that a well-regulated militia man was hauled off the train and arrested. No doubt he was there in the first place to protect Heir and the other passengers from the ever-present danger of an enemy in our midst.

You are going to see more of this, readers. Our state security is going to be compromised because our militia members are being arrested, and in some cases denied firearms altogether. I quake, I absolutely quake, for my daughter's safety on the El. Everywhere you look there are Nazis, North Koreans, Viet Cong, and bearded terrorists shouting about Allah! What's the name of that little island in the middle of nowhere that the U.S. invaded back in the 1980s? Slips my mind, but you just know the leaders of that island are out for serious reprisals. (Just remembered: Grenada. Full of enemies.)

As for the arms we can bear, well, I say that whatever we can carry should be bearable. At my very next opportunity, I am going to a gun show in search of a surface-to-air missile. If I am going to be part of the well-regulated militia, I don't want to take any chances with those flocks of geese that pass this way in the fall. Haven't you ever heard of germ warfare?