No easy answers

Perhaps the dumbest thing I have heard uttered recently is, “Guns don’t kill people, people do.”

Here’s a thought: People with guns kill people. Simple as that. A trigger is pulled, a bullet leaves a barrel and someone gets shot. Take away the gun, and no one gets shot.

Before you throw boxes of ammo my direction, consider this: Take the guns away from Adam Lanza, and 20 innocent children may have lived to see Santa Claus on Tuesday.

I have not spoken or written publicly about Friday’s tragedy until now for a reason. Social media sites have been flooded with enough posts expressing outrage, disgust and anger for me to jump into the opinion pool. At risk of sounding like a broken record, let me at least say that my heart, along with the rest of the world, aches for the families of those impacted by the actions of a disturbed man-child. Their grief is unimaginable. As a parent of two pre-teens, I have never felt so vulnerable to the evils that exist in this world.

This tragedy, as with the Columbine and Virginia Tech massacres, dredges up all the hot-button issues associated with mass shootings: Video-game violence, gun control, Second Amendment rights, school safety and mental health care to name but a few. As a habit, I have always steered clear of politics. Not even my family knows how I cast my ballot. I used to own a handgun, but got rid of it when children came along. I am neither a gun control advocate nor a card-carrying NRA member.

I am not a Constitutional scholar, but I do know this. The Second Amendment is based on archaic English law dating back to the English Bill of Rights of 1689, which includes language protecting the right of Protestants against disarmament by the Crown. This document states: “That the Subjects which are Protestants may have Arms for their Defence suitable to their Conditions and as allowed by Law.” According to Wikipedia, the historical link between the English Bill of Rights and the Second Amendment, which both codify an existing right and do not create a new one, has been acknowledged by the U.S. Supreme Court. But when the second amendment was ratified, the weapon of choice was an 18th-century musket, not a Bushmaster .223-caliber AR-15 semi-automatic rifle, one of the three weapons found on Lanza and believed to be the one used to methodically mow down children as young as 6. The AR-15 is a civilian version of the military’s M-16. Versions of the AR-15 were outlawed in the U.S. under the 1994 assault weapons ban. That law expired in 2004, and Congress failed to renew it under pressure from the gun lobby.

It is reported that 1.5 million AR-15s, described as a killing machine, were made in the last five years alone. One for every 209 Americans.

Manza had legal access to the weapons, as they were purchased and owned by his mother, Nancy. News reports say the pair would visit the shooting range together. Is this what you do to bond with a child with possible mental issues? Take him to the range and pop off hundreds of rounds for fun?

I don’t know what the answer to averting tragedies such as what took place Friday is, if there is one. President Obama vows to reform gun control legislation. I hope our country can move forward from this day forward so the 26 lives lost won’t be in vain. Like the rest of us, I am angry and sick to my stomach at the inhumanity and evil that was inflicted. The Rev. Rob Hinman, pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Lenoir, NC said during a candlelight vigil held Tuesday night in memory of the victims that “Evil walked into a place that is usually safe, and left the footprint of death behind it.”

Something has to happen. Just don’t tell me guns don’t kill people, people do. At Columbine, Virginia Tech and sadly at Sandy Hook Elementary, people with guns killed people.

STOP THE INSANITY!

I recently attended my 34th high school reunion (I know, spare me). Thanks in large part to Facebook, friendships that flamed out over the decades were rekindled, and soon class reunions for my high school alumni began popping up all over the country (as military dependents overseas, we scattered like shotgun pellets as soon as we landed on home turf). Facebook kept us together in spirit long after the last reunion dance. Since then, we have had a Presidential election, probably the most visible, media-exposed in history.

Now, the same folks we were arm-in-arm with a month ago reminiscing about Thursday night dances in the high school day room are using Facebook as a tool to destroy opinions, freedom and free thinking.

Call me naive, politically unaware, passive, whatever. There are reasons why I don’t talk openly about our country’s leadership. I value friendships, for one. Since the election, I have been stunned by the vitriol spewing forth from a handful of classmates whom I had no idea were so idealistic and opinionated about the state of the Union and its governance. Never heard an utterance during the off election years except for the occasional sniping over a hot-button issue. I am a seasoned journalist, yet I don’t have enough ammunition to carry on a healthy political debate even if I wanted to. Trying to help raise a family tends to occupy much of my attention.

There also is a reason I carry no party affiliation: I abhor partisan politics. Evidently, others thrive on it to the point friendships have been cast aside to make way for nation-bashing. But the bullets are flying from both the left and the right, and are raining down on my parade.

Yes, I care deeply about the nation in which I became a naturalized citizen. I also have serious concerns about the future of my children and the decisions being made by those we voted into office. But I have been mortified by the wedge that has been driven because of, and since, the election.
Many on Facebook know the feeling when someone “un-friends” you. Yet, since the election, I have seen folks whom we were toasting four weeks ago become un-friended en masse over personal political viewpoints.

“I expect to be defriended any second now,” wrote one classmate about the Facebook election fall-out. “One of her posts called us all dirtbags yesterday. Hmmm. Nice. This has just gone beyond all sanity.”

“So many (sic) have called me horrible names, absolutely disgusting things, just because I do not agree with them,” another reunion attendee posted on Facebook after a future reunion was discussed. “Some of the vile filth that comes from them has wounded me. They are mean spirited and rude, and I have no desire to go to a reunion and act like these people are my friends. They are nasty and awful. I have gotten inbox messages that would shock you.
“They are dead to me.”

Wow.

Growing up, my family was as politically divided as my classmates evidently are. For me, it provided great dinner table entertainment. But it never got personal. While you might bemoan the election results and the next four years, I just don’t need to be beaten over the head with it. I understand the sentiment. I get it. You’re not happy.

I have endured good leaders and bad, lived through prosperous times and economic hardships. I didn’t blame our presidents for my own dismal economy. I like to feel I, more than anyone or any party in power, control my destiny (with some help from above).

Perhaps another classmate put it best: “Better to find the humor in life, than to get stressed out over things that don’t really matter, like political posts on facebook.”

Please, stop the insanity.

Order in the court: Or, spit out the gum when the judge is sentencing you

Many of us have found our way into the judicial system at some point in our lives. All it takes is a speeding ticket to earn a front row seat in the inner sanctum that is the courtroom. One bit of advice if you find yourself at the mercy of the court: First impressions matter to that person in the black robe they refer to as “Your Honor.”

I find myself at the courthouse at least once a week as part of my job. I’ve sat through trials, listened to roll calls from prosecutors and heard the myriad charges read aloud for the world to hear. You can almost see those nervously sitting in the courtroom rehearsing what to say in case their name is called.
If you find your way to a courtroom at some point in your life, show a modicum of respect to the person in the black robe who may be deciding your fate. A courtroom is a solemn place, representing the judicial branch of the government, and a judge, as a representative of the government, demands respect. The judge, and the attorneys, have earned the right to hear and litigate your case. You’re already in the hole from the get-go as it is because you allegedly broke a law. If you needed a job, would you show up for an interview in tattered jeans and baseball cap? Probably not.

Based on personal observations from years of sitting in courtrooms covering cases, I offer a few tips to the uninitiated who have found their way to a courtroom at some point in their life.

• Don’t have a wad of gum in your mouth. If you do, and need to discard it, don’t stick it under the bench (again, I base these on my observations from years of sitting in courtrooms covering cases).

• I know you can buy denim jeans off the rack with holes already in the knees. Don’t grab a pair before heading to the courtroom and talk to the man in the black robe who may be deciding your fate.

• Take the lid off BEFORE you enter the courtroom. If you don’t they will ask you to in a not-so-cordial manner.

• A T-shirt that reads “Warning - I do stupid things” should probably stay in the closet for another day.

• While the new mohawk you just got at Great Clips is all the rage at your college mixer, it might not convey the right message in the courtroom.

• If your last name begins with a “Z,” I somewhat understand the boredom you show in your body language. Laying down on the bench and audibly snoring may just find you a temporary cell to finish that nap.

• While that new “Give Me Back That Filet O’ Fish” ringtone may be the download of the month, turn the sound off your cellphone before the bailiff decides to keep it for himself.

There are more, but I would need more space.
To those who find themselves in a courtroom many times over the years, you know better. To the uninitiated, post this column on your refrigerator before your next court date.

If your last name begins with a “Z,” you’re on your own.

Ay Caramba, Disney!

   I love everything Disney. My kids can guide me through the Disney World parks blindfolded. We sailed on the Disney Dream cruise ship, which has everything Disney except all the walking. I even wear a Mickey Mouse watch.

   However, the latest news coming from Cinderella’s castle troubles me. Disney, the world’s largest media conglomerate, welcomed this week its latest princess, Sofia, into the fold. Sofia the First is an upcoming television series featuring the Disney princesses, and introduces Sofia as a young girl on the verge of becoming a princess. With her fair complexion, blue eyes and auburn hair, Sofia will have no problem fitting in with the animated Ya-Ya sisterhood.

   There’s only one problem: Sofia is Latina.

   When news first hit in December that Disney would introduce its newest tiara-toting diva, there was no mention of her Latina background. Until now.

   “We never actually call it out,” says vice president of Disney Junior Original Programming Joe D’Ambrosia. “It’s sort of a matter-of-fact situation rather than an overt thing.”

   Really? Sure it’s not just a company trying not to ruffle the feathers of the masses ready to plunk down dollars at your nearest Disney resort? No doubt there are some Latinas who are fair-skinned, blue-eyed and auburn-haired. But the outrage also lies in the fact there is no mention of her background, and that Sofia’s mother is from a “place with Latin influences.” So are 16.7 percent of the the U.S. population of Hispanic or Latinos, the largest ethnic or race minority in the nation.

   I applaud Disney’s efforts to reflect our diverse culture and racial makeup. In 2009, Disney took the bold step of introducing Tiana, the first African-American princess, in “The Princess and The Frog.”

   “We wanted (Tiana) to bear the traits of African-American women and be truly beautiful,” Peter Del Vecho, producer of the movie, told the New York Times.

   Someone in Disney Junior Original Programming didn’t get the memo.

   A spokeswoman for Disney released the following statement about Sofia to CNN: “The range of characters in ‘Sofia the First’ — and the actors who play them — are a reflection of Disney’s commitment to diverse, multicultural and inclusive storytelling, and the wonderful early reaction to Sofia affirms that commitment. In the story, Sofia’s mother, Queen Miranda, was born in a fictitious land, Galdiz, a place with Latin influences. Miranda met Sofia’s father, Birk Balthazar, who hailed from the kingdom of Freezenberg, and together they moved to Enchancia, where Sofia was born.”

 Nickelodeon’s Dora the Explorer and her counterpart Diego are both Latinas who embark on a trip every episode with the help of a map. They both look the part.

Give Disney the map, please.

‘Service animal’ works for scale

    Daniel Greene loves reptiles, especially the legless, unblinking, fork-tongued kind. His pet boa constrictor, “Redrock,” is his constant companion. Greene, an epileptic, also owns two pythons, but it is his loveable Redrock that he claims can detect seizures three minutes before they happen, saving his life three times in the process in just a month. Greene claims the boa alerts him by gripping his neck and squeezing it before slithering into its carrier.

   OK, I’m throwing the red penalty flag. There’s a reason they’re called constrictors: That’s how they kill prey. And people.

   The online resource Epilepsy Action, offers some helpful tips on what to do if someone you know has a seizure:

• Protect the person from injury - remove harmful objects from nearby.

• Cushion their head.

• Look for an epilepsy identity card or identity jewelry.

• Aid breathing by gently placing them in the recovery position once the seizure has finished.

   Nowhere does it suggest wrapping a large boa constrictor around your neck to apply pressure.

   I, too, love snakes. Years ago, I purchased a baby reticulated python from a pet store. “Monty” grew to about 9 feet in length before becoming too large and cumbersome. Greene says he loves the feeling of a boa constrictor wrapping itself around his neck and gently squeezing. I also  thought “Monty” to be a loveable sort, until he mistook my hand for food and tried to eat it, fist first.

   Greene, of Shelton, Wash., says the boa, which can attain a length of 12 feet or more, senses increases in blood pressure or other bodily changes before jumping into action.

   “He knows what to do,” says Greene, who in a moment of clarity, also decided to carry seizure medicine with him.

   Greene has been an epileptic for the past 22 years. He saw service potential in Redrock, and despite the snake’s initial nervousness, took only a weekend for it to get used to Greene, and another month for it to become a service animal.

   According to the American Bar Journal, the federal government does not recognize snakes as service animals because entering public places with a boa constrictor would be potentially alarming to other people. Proposed revisions to the Americans with Disabilities Act would also exclude other reptiles, amphibians, rodents and monkeys born in captivity.

   It’s heartening to know salamanders also may be spared from the rigors of service animal training. The government thinks of everything.

   Greene is hoping the feds won’t put the squeeze on Redrock. Like me, I saw value in the slithery serpents as pets. They don’t bark, shed or require daily walks. They don’t beg for food at the table, and only need one meal a week. I understand.

   “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Greene said.

   They can be a real pain in the neck, sometimes.

Superior Intellect? Not so fast, Mr. Reporter

Recently, out of sheer boredom, I took an online Intelligence Quotient (otherwise known as IQ) test. While I consider myself smarter than your average bear, no one has ever used the word “intellect” and my name in the same sentence. Ever. When I left college, I didn’t feel like I knew more, but that I didn’t know less, if that makes any sense at all. See what I mean?

Anyway, getting back to the IQ test. The questions comprised the same type queries you see in those brain-scrambling exams we endured periodically in school. Questions like, which number is out of place in the sequence, or which of these doesn’t belong. They got harder: Unscramble the 12 letters to identify either a football player, Supreme Court justice, president, or singer.

Much to my surprise, the score came back a 125. The Wechsler Intelligence Scale classifies an IQ Score of 125 as superior intelligence. A score of 125 or higher, according to this Wechsler fellow, is higher than 95.2 percent of the general population.

Before you call me to emphatically dispute my score, let me put you at ease. An intelligence quotient, or IQ, is a score derived from one of several standardized tests designed to assess intelligence. The abbreviation “IQ” comes from the German term Intelligenz-Quotient, originally conveived by psychologist William Stern. The mean (average) score within an age group is set to 100 and the standard deviation almost always to 15. Two-thirds of the population have IQ scores within that range, or  85-115. It is estimated that  2.5 percent of people are very superior in intelligence (over 130), depending on which study you believe.

My dubious IQ puts me in good stead. Bill Clinton’s IQ score is three points lower than his wife’s at 137. Arnold Schwarzenegger  comes in with a score of 135. Both Jodie Foster and Nicole Kidman have IQ scores of 132. At the same time, the late pop artist Andy Warhol came in at an 86, while former Presidents Dwight Eisenhower and Gerald Ford scored 122 and 121 respectively.

So what does this all mean? Sources say although IQ attempts to measure some notion of intelligence, it may fail to act as an accurate measure of intelligence in its broadest sense. In other words, I am of average intellect, despite the accomplishments of my esteemed colleagues mentioned above.

I never felt better about myself. I think..

Fewer piggies going to market

They say the most expensive aroma in the world is the smell of a new car. Next year, the wonderful smell of sizzling bacon wafting through the house on Saturday mornings may take the top spot, as an expected shortage of bacon and pork will drive up prices faster than you can say squeal like a pig.

This stinks to hog heaven. According to a Purdue University study, crop damage from the worst U.S. drought since 1956 sent corn feed prices to record levels last month and may mean losses of about $44 a head for hog farmers in the fourth quarter, the most since 1998. A world shortage of bacon and pork is predicted as pig feed becomes unaffordable, which has governments increasingly concerned.
Some forecasters believe the price of pork eventually will increase to more than one-third of the current market price.

“It usually takes at least six months for higher production costs to filter through to shop prices,” said National Pig Association chairman Richard Longthorp, “but pig farmers simply haven’t got that long.”

Globally, pig farmers are selling their herds because they can no longer afford to feed their pigs.
This “pork-apocalypse” has my semi-clogged heart racing for a solution. Already a confirmed doomsday prepper, thanks to the looming zombie apocalypse, I now must take even more drastic measures in preparation for the day the National Pork Producers Council hires Kevin Bacon as a spokesperson to roll out its new slogan, “Th-th-th-th-that’s all, folks!”

The U.S. government has introduced a pork-buying program in a bid to keep its pig farmers in business. The Defense Department is being urged to speed up purchases and hold the meat for later use. The buying will help farmers, and the government will get a better price on products than if they were bought later, according to President Obama.

Wow. There’s a crisis raging in the Middle East, but move over, we have a looming meat shortage to deal with first.

“We’ll freeze it for later – but we’ve got a lot of freezers,” Obama said during a campaign whistle stop in Iowa recently.

I am placing a call to Washington to let them know I have a deep-freeze in the basement for just that purpose.

Pig industry leaders from across the European Union met in London on Friday to explore ways to ensure pork remains the world’s most affordable meat. They reported that pig herds are being sold because prices are not rising fast enough in supermarkets to cover the cost of record-high pig-feed costs.

I will never turn my nose up at pork, no matter what the price. I am rooting for the government to pull off the porcine stimulus package before I have to hock my material possessions to once again smell the aroma of sizzling bacon on Saturday mornings.

I know, when pigs fly ... .