My First Gun Show (What I Did Last Weekend)

For whatever reason – my New York City Jewish heritage? my upbringing in a liberal college town? – guns have just never been a part of my life. I shot a few BB guns at camp in Kentucky when I was a kid. I know a few people who hunt. But most of what I know about guns and gun culture comes from what could pretty objectively be called the liberal magazines I read and websites I frequent. So, when I saw an ad in the paper last week for a gun show in Manassas, Virginia, half an hour from where I live, I figured, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Virginia, go to a gun show.

I thought I’d broaden my horizons a bit, but what I really, secretly wanted was to whip out my little video camera go rock some good Michael Moore action on my unwitting subjects. (see video below) I thought maybe I’d meet some real frothing-at-the-mouth, militia peddling nut jobs talking about the government slipping brainwashing drugs in the water supply, capture it all on video and put together an exposé so outrageous that no one would believe my stories until they watched the footage.

So I paid my six dollar entrance fee and walked past the hot dog vendor and into a not very big, slightly run down fairground building, ready to be morbidly shocked and appalled. But, alas, it just wasn’t meant to be. My maiden gun show turned out not to be all that crazy. In fact, if you replaced the military fatigues with North Face jackets, the ammo boxes with sleeves of Titleist Pro V1s and the sniper rifles with pitching wedges, you’d be hard pressed to tell the difference between this and any one of the golf expos I used to frequent. In both places, most of what you hear is people talking obsessively about the mind-numbingly dull minutiae of some product. Whether it’s club head speed or recoil, if it’s not your bag, it’s just not that interesting.

Also, it turns out I’m a bit of a wuss when it comes to trapping people into exposing their lunatic, anti-social tendencies in front of my probing video camera. Whatever you think about Michael Moore, you have to admit the guy’s got some balls. I ended up just sneaking my camera out a few times and taking some quick shots of the room, hoping nobody would notice (nobody did). This place was full of guns, after all. Probably best not to cause a scene.

I saw a few things that were a little nutty. A sign at the entrance noted that no loaded or concealed weapons were allowed. But then, of course, guns and ammo were being sold at every table, and a booth in the back was selling “The Ultimate Conceal Carry Holster.” Was this meant to be ironic? Maybe just good business. Like, if you want to have a loaded, concealed weapon inside the pavilion, you at least have to spend some cash. Speaking of which, guns are not cheap. Most of the regular-looking handguns were in the $500 to $750 range, and one of those Rambo-ass fully automatic sniper-looking things would set you back over two grand. I still can’t quite fathom what an upstanding, law abiding citizen would do with one of those things. It would be hard to have one of those in your hands and pull off the “I’m just a good ol’ hunter boy who learned to shoot from my dead grand papi” story with a straight face. Anyway, the crowd at the show was not what you’d call particularly affluent looking. And so, at the very least, I think most of the folks there would probably have to save up for a while before taking one of those babies home.

There was some pretty rich literature for sale. A whole assortment of books on protecting yourself in the event of a school / office / chain-restaurant-where-you’re-just-trying-to-enjoy-your-unlimited-bread-sticks shooting. A few pretty paranoid kinds of titles like “The Policeman is Your Friend and Other Lies.” Some things that were just weird, like “Sneak It Through: Smuggling Made Easier” and “Drink as Much as You Want and Live Longer” (not sure what this one has to do with guns, but I’d be interested in learning about that in any case). And a lot of books focusing on various levels of off-the-grid living. I learned a few good tips from some of the selections in this last category. Like figuring out what kind of RV would be best for my needs. And that mainstream society frowns upon gaps in your resume, which I know personally to be one hundred percent correct from several HR-types who almost died of ecstasy when they “exposed” the missing one year in my work history (my brief career at the bagel store). I realized that some of the gun nuts’ conspiracy theories are not all that different than my own. Mostly just a difference of opinion as to who we think The Man is. They seem to think it’s the government; I think it’s big corporations. You say tomato; I say tomato (how do you write that?).

So, all things told, my first gun show was a bit disappointing. The folks I encountered were, sadly, pretty ho hum looking. Maybe if I had worked a little harder, dug a little deeper, I would have exposed some of the wingnuts I was sure would be lurking around there. Maybe I exude such profound yuppiedom that, like what Eddie Murphy suspected when he dressed up as Mr. White, people knew not to say anything juicy to me. Or maybe I’ve got a ways to go to become the muckraker I aspire to be.

Here's the video:

Democratic Discourse: Nuke Their Ass and Take Their Gas?

I was in northern Florida last week and saw a beat up old pickup truck go by with a bumper sticker that said “Nuke Their Ass; Take Their Gas” (don’t recall for sure whether there was actually a semicolon; my guess is no). Dang, I thought, that’s pretty harsh. In my native lands of Ithaca and Jamaica Plain, you’re more likely to come across bumper stickers of the “No-one is free when others are oppressed” or “If you love somebody, set them free. If they don’t come back, they were never yours” variety. Well, I guess each of us is entitled to our own opinion. And, in this democratic country we live in, we get one vote apiece. And that’s all good. Right? I think so. Still, Nuke Their Ass; Take Their Gas? Maybe I’m just thinking like one of those liberal elite types I keep hearing about, but man, is that really an opinion that should get as much consideration as my own?

First off, let me deconstruct the bumper sticker to be sure I’m correctly interpreting what this guy is advocating. Who exactly is it we should nuke and take their gas? Gas is what you find at a service station. Maybe this guy had some kind of beef with the night manager at the Pump-N-Go over on Elm and 22nd Street and just wants revenge? Maybe the night manager gave him the wrong change or looked at his girlfriend funny? If that’s the case, nuking the guy seems a little overkill. The whole town and all its residents would be obliterated. The earth in the surrounding hundred square miles would be radioactive for centuries. Seems like it would be easier to go shoot the gas station manager in the face with a shotgun or something. Or just give him an old-fashioned ass whooping. So that’s probably not it. I’ve got to assume then that “gas” is supposed to mean “oil” – the tasty-sounding “light, sweet, crude” whose trading price you always hear about – and that gas just rhymed better with ass (“Nuke Their Soil; Take Their Oil” comes across as a bit highbrow).

Assuming it’s oil we’re talking about, then who should be nuked? Alaska maybe? With its big pipeline and negative income tax? That sounds weird. You don’t usually hear even the most off the chart domestic whackjobs talking about dropping a nuclear bomb on their own country. Brazil? They have a lot of oil. I don’t know. That doesn’t sound right either. Everyone likes Brazilians. They’re just fun and musical and always dancing or laying around topless on the beach. I don’t think folks generally want to nuke them and take their oil. By process of elimination, that leaves the OPEC nations. I’m guessing that’s who bumper sticker guy is talking about. The Arab world does control a lot of oil, and they get a lot of press whenever oil is being discussed.

It is my hypothesis, therefore, that had I had the opportunity to engage in a dialog with the driver of the Nuke Their Ass; Take Their Gas truck, he would have articulated a proposed U.S. foreign policy paradigm whereby this country would drop nuclear warheads on the primary oil-producing nations in the middle east and, upon extermination of all inhabitants of the region, we would assert control over the land and expropriate any oil extracted thereafter.

I believe this strategy to be flawed. I am generally opposed to killing people and stealing. Just on principle alone, I don’t think we should take anyone’s oil, much less nuke them. I’ve even met people from middle eastern oil-producing countries. They were nice. I wouldn’t want them to be vaporized. Plus, there are some treaties out there that I learned about in a college international relations class – the names escape me at the moment – that I’m pretty sure would be violated by this kind of thing. There would probably be some ramifications, even with our allies, in the political realm. Distilled down its essence, you could summarize my opinion on this issue as: We Should Neither Nuke Their Ass Nor Take Their Gas.

So, the scene is set. There are two schools of thought. To nuke and take gas or not to nuke and take gas? How are we to resolve this difference of opinion, this interesting subject upon which reasonable people can disagree? In this country, we all get to vote. Our forefathers fought hard to give us the right to vote without a poll tax or a literacy test. And that’s the way it should be. You shouldn’t have to be rich or educated to have your opinion considered. But what about the unavoidable reality that money and education are powerful ingredients in having a broader understanding of the world? Should my opinion, based on a college education and on reading The Economist, that we should not bomb asses and take gas, carry more weight than a contrary opinion that is based solely on some kind of general feeling and maybe a little urging by Rush Limbaugh?

Maybe the answer is that, yes, everyone should get to weigh in equally, but that particularly extreme points of view will be mitigated by the relatively blunt instrument of electing a handful of individuals who are tasked with representing their constituents on a wide range of issues. Nuking a country is, I assume, one of those government actions that can’t be done without complying with a whole big set of protocols. So even if bumper sticker guy were able to organize all his friends and elect a guy running on the Nuke Their Ass; Take Their Gas platform into office, that rep would still have to do some maneuvering through the political channels.

Or maybe, even before the issue made it up into the ranks of elected officials, our difference of opinion could be hashed out in a dialogue. If there were something inherently better about my Neither Nuke Ass Nor Steal Gas platform, I should be able to state my argument and convince a rational individual in the competing camp of its superiority. Having emerged from the marketplace of ideas as the more worthy philosophy, such philosophy will be even stronger yet, tested and proven to all. And the newly enlightened convert will be able to proceed on his way and disseminate the idea to even more people.

OK, never mind all the intellectual angst. I guess it’s all good. I think I’m on the right side of this issue. And I’ll rest better knowing that my more worthy opinion on this subject will, in the end, prevail. And next time I see a big scummy mean-looking dude with an offensive bumper sticker, I’ll make sure to flag him down and engage him in a principled discussion of the merits of our respective points of view – a battle of the minds, a stimulating intellectual discourse.

Hmm. Or maybe I should just keep on driving.

Yes, I Am Ready For Full-Service Living

I was driving past a big not-quite-completed building in Boston’s très chic South End last year when a sign on the construction fence caught my attention. It said “Are You Ready For Full-Service Living?” If so, you were supposed to check out the developer’s web site or “call now for details.” I reflected for a moment and thought, well, hmm, yes actually, now that you mention it, I am in fact ready for Full-Service Living. The ad turned out to be for a very fancy residential development. Full-Service Living for yuppies, apparently, at what was a substantially higher price point than my current means (or future prospects, in all likelihood) could support. So Full-Service Living in the South End wasn’t going to work out. But the seed had been planted. I had to figure out a way. Then, an obvious solution: maybe I could move into an old age home. Geriatric facilities are all about Full-Service Living. I’d just need to figure out how, as a 35 year-old, I could make that work.

First, a few clarifications in my defense. Just because I want to move into an old folks home at the age of 35 doesn’t mean I am lazy or lacking in ambition. I just feel that the pace of things at a convalescent facility very closely mirrors the simpler, slower-paced kind of existence I’ve been striving for. Kind of a Zen thing. Life in a modern city is too fast and materialistic. Too often, we multi-task away the ability to appreciate life’s simple pleasures, like a slow walk in a park, or soup. Old people don’t generally have much of a choice but to slow down. Slow is the default pace when a broken hip is lurking around every corner. So, while you can always try to find moments of tranquility in the zip zap hubbub of the electronic world, it seems like it would be a lot easier when everyone surrounding you was shuffling around at a few thousand RPMs slower.

I envision a typical day of Full-Service Living as looking something like this: wake up with the sunrise, stand on balcony looking at birds, be served oatmeal, attend guided, in-chair stretching class, nap, be served soup, bus trip to a park, nap, read newspaper, be served more soup, crossword puzzle, go to sleep at sunset. All much more in tune with humankind’s natural rhythm. And I think most retirement homes offer maid services and on-site dry-cleaning too. Some may even have turn-down service, but I could do without that.

Also, mind you, I’m not talking about being a freeloader here. I know that the typical convalescent home resident doesn’t move in until after having toiled away in the working world for half a century or so, and probably has some sense of having earned the right to be pushed around in a wheelchair by a young nurse and to have another person cut his food. As consideration for what some may view as my “unconventional” status as a geriatric resident, I would be willing to take on more responsibilities than those of the typical resident. Perhaps I could lead the stretching class, or maybe drive the bus to the park. I suppose I could even import some of the skills from my prior life and spend a few hours per week offering pro bono estate planning services or, if anyone were interested, giving funk bass lessons.

I would hope that other residents would be accepting of me, but I would understand if there were some degree of resentment, some feeling that I was a “lazy degenerate” or some kind of “sociopath who couldn’t fit in with the rest of normal society.” Maybe the gents would resent my catching the attention of some of the choicest elderly ladies. I know that every group has its own particular pecking order and turf wars. If necessary, I could embellish my age a bit. Tell people that I was 89 years old. Have good skin because I always wore sunscreen and because people from my country (some made up place that sounded familiar enough that nobody would call me on it, maybe Tribecastan or something) tend to age exceptionally well. I could probably play the part well enough too. I do genuinely hate winter more every year and have started to notice that kids today are just not as respectful as they used to be. And, though I certainly hope it would never come to this, if some resident just had to be all up in my business and couldn’t step off, chances are I could probably take him.

I recognize that I may not have reached the age yet where falling asleep at the table or being a pervert are excused as cute, but I still feel that I could transition nicely into the geriatric realm, a more economical means of Full-Service Living. Being young is just a state of mind. I am old and crotchety beyond my years, and that’s what counts.