I don't own a gun

In fact, although I've shot a lot of weapons, including machine guns (which might explain some hearing loss), I've never even bought one. My father gave me a couple of shotguns and a bolt action Remington that was essentially a smaller caliber version of the USMC sniper rifle (which is a Remington 700 with custom barrels), but I ended up giving them all away within a few years of getting out of the Corps. I wasn't into hunting, there really isn't anything I want to kill, and I'm not afraid of anything, so they didn't seem necessary -- plus you have to clean them all the time.

So, I don't own a gun, and don't want one. In fact, merely owning a gun would probably increase my chances of getting into a situation where I might find it necessary to use it, which would be deadly -- I wasn't trained to wound people. The following goes for anyone, not just former military: if you pull out a gun, you better be prepared to use it; And if you do use it, make sure you take out everyone around you who might be a threat. In light of that, I chose not to have one -- I don't want to kill anyone, ever, for any reason, and that includes the death penalty. When my time comes, it comes, and if by chance it's a gun that kills me, at least I won't be the one that bought it -- I'll let some other poor dumb bastard pay for it, I have other plans for my money.

The other problem with all the guns around is that they sometimes get into the hands of the "wrong" people. Now, I'm not talking about criminals, they'll always get just enough firepower to overwhelm their victims (which means a lot nowadays, since so many people have guns), but I mean those folks like the guy involved in the terrorist attack in Texas today. (in case somebody has a problem with my calling it a terrorist attack, don't worry, anytime someone tries to blow up a police station, be it Baghdad or Dallas, it's a terrorist attack -- skin color and religion don't matter)

Sure, he lived in the country and could have gotten the fertilizer and gas anywhere to make his bomb, but he also had a bunch of guns. Guns he used on police. A guy I knew at my last job had a tag line on his email that read: "Half the people your meet are below average." Well, I'm pretty sure this guy was one of them, but does that mean we need to give him free access to that much fire power?

Hunting is one thing, but you don't hunt with a semi-automatic pistol. I should know, I carried one for years in the Corps, and although I was a decent shot with it, it was only effective for about 25 yards. Heck, if you get that close, you might as well use a knife. And as Molly Ivins eloquently put it, "I am not anti-gun. I'm pro-knife. Consider the merits of the knife. In the first place, you have to catch up with someone in order to stab him. A general substitution of knives for guns would promote physical fitness. We'd turn into a whole nation of great runners. Plus, knives don't ricochet. And people are seldom killed while cleaning their knives."

I have a few knives on the boat (which aren't weapons), but if I had to choose, my weapon of choice would be pugil sticks. I'm 1 - 0, with pugil sticks. That's because when we had to fight another platoon on the "bridge over troubled waters," and I won my one and only bout. Our Senior Drill Instructor had the bright idea that he'd have the guide and all the squad leaders (I was 4th squad leader, and everyone, including the guide, had to align on me when we marched), fight first, then go back to the barracks to prepare everyone for inspection later that afternoon.

Normally, they align everyone by height, with the tallest/biggest going first, so at least the first couple of rounds are fair -- if you get knocked off the bridge, you get soaked and are eliminated. But since he wanted to get us out of there as quickly as possible, he put us at the front of the line and we had to fight much bigger guys right off the bat. Luckily, I was the only one who won his bout and didn't get wet. Even so, I had to go back to the barracks with my wet colleagues and didn't get to fight again. I've always wondered how I would have done. Not that I would have won, there were some pretty big guys out there, but the guy I beat was a head taller, so who knows. I was able to get low and hit him a couple times and knock him off balance, so my height may have been an advantage.

Zoe watch:

She in the boat with me right now. They're mowing in the yard, so I brought her on board after our walk so she wouldn't get hit by a stray rock or anything. It's only going to get up to the high 70's today, so the cabin sole is nice and cool.

Poison Ivy watch:

It's been about 6 days, so it's getting much better, with some of the original areas dry and red, but it seems like I keep getting new outbreaks all over. I cleaned the ladder and a few other surfaces and changed my bedding, so hopefully that'll help. My hands are much better, but since the hydrocortisone is a little greasy, I haven't tried to do any work on the boat. It would just make a mess that I'd have to clean up before I could epoxy or paint. I might end up loosing another week.

Also, I got an email from my sister Karen after my last post. She wrote me about the first time I got poison ivy. She didn't say how old I was, but I think it was before I started school, perhaps 4 or 5. She said that we (I was probably just an innocent bystander due to my age) were burning weeds and I got "smoked," as she put it. I had it on my eyelids, scalp, under my armpits, everywhere. She said I had to lie on the couch under a sheet with calamine lotion spread all over me for a few days. She didn't say it, but that's probably also the time when I went from being one of skinny Hinton kids to the only chubby one. I remember getting a lot of cortisone shorts, and always being really hungry around this time. After I got over it, I remember overhearing my dad say that it was the cortisone that made me so hungry all the time.

Although I've read that's a common side effect, he probably experimented a bit with me and gave me too much. As I got older, he told me other stories of how he had over medicated others, including his nurse: once by over injecting some sort of substance to collapse the little spider web varicose veins in her foot. He said he got tired of trying shooting each little vein and finally gave her a bunch in one of the larger ones which turned her whole foot white. He was afraid she was going to loose it, so he kept her under observation for the rest of the day (kinda reminds me of Charles Bovary treating Hippolyte's club-foot), but it seemed to have turned out alright. I'm pretty sure she still has both feet.

The other time was when he over induced her when she was in labor with her second son, who was as he said, "limp as a dishrag" when he was delivered. No wonder he named her sole beneficiary in his will. Which is also why I declined to contest it. That and the fact that I'd prefer to make my own money, albeit not a lot. Luckily, I don't spend much.