Mass Murder in Oz

"From 1984 to 1996, Australia had over a dozen mass murders by firearms, largely copycat killings prompted by media coverage in the U.S. and in Australia. Unstable people do insane things. After one lone nut gunman killed 35 and wounded 21 people in 1996, the Port Arthur Massacre, Prime Minister John Howard banned all semi-automatic rifles and pump-action shotguns because of the outrage felt by Australian citizens. He introduced highly restrictive gun licensing laws. Hundreds of thousands of guns were purchased from Australian citizens and destroyed.

Do you know how many mass shootings we have had since then? Not one. In addition, firearm homicides have dropped 59% with no corresponding increase in non-firearm murders."

People kill people, not guns? Rubbish. Guns give the mentally ill ruthlessly efficient killing power, and escalate domestic violence from assault to homicide. The U.S. needs to act now, and the gun lobby needs to wake up to its culpability."  
The preceding is an anonymous quote.  

For an explanation read Douglas Cooper's article.

Bushmaster - as used in Newport

And don't forget!...

1. Charlotte
2. Dan 
3. Olivia 
4. Josephine 
5. Ana 
6. Dylan 
7. Madeleine 
8. Catherine 
9. Chase 
10. Jesse 
11. James 
12. Grace 
13. Emilie 
14. Jack 
15. Noah 
16. Caroline 
17. Jessica 
18. Ben 
19. Avielle 
20. Allison

Bird 'Expressions'

Capital Casino Chips
(Yes, more than 30k - from a much better day.)

It all began innocently enough...
I was deeply involved in my usual Sunday poker tournament
At Sacramento's Capital Casino
Julieann had armed me with her typical counsel
Just before leaving home; "Be patient and good luck."

So I spend the first couple of hours practicing patience
As luck was hard to come by
Finally after the second break... in the third hour
I started catching hands

I was soon up to around 30,000 in chips
And was enjoying the momentum
Cards dealt again...maybe 90 hands into the tournament
And I was looking down at pocket Kings

I raised to ten thousand in early position
And a guy to my right, who had more chips than me
Said, "all in."
I called and he flipped pocket Aces
The rest of the cards were dealt and I didn't hit

That's the game... it happens to everyone
I wished everyone "good luck", bowed my head
And retreated to the parking lot
Where I had carefully parked the RedSled
To avoid dings from others

(The "RedSled is a 2002 Corvette with 30,000 miles on it...
Another gift from my tolerant, forgiving Babe of 42+ years)

Blackbirds were fluttering in and out of a tree

RedSled's hood in better days too
With water drops and reflections
No bird expressions

That shaded most of the Sled
And as I approached
I notice that there were a few dozen splats
Of bird crap all over the car

I resigned myself to the fact that
My streak of bad luck had not yet played out
What I mean is I put on my Forrest Gump composure
And accepted the fact that (bird) "S___ happens."

So I  headed to the nearest spray car wash...
It didn't all come off so then I headed home
To work on it some more

I carefully removed the remaining resi-doodoo
And then noticed some patterns remaining on the paint
So I brought out my heavy artillery

"Bug and tar remover" - nope
"Goo-gone" - nope
"Rubbing compound" - sort of...
So I applied 80 strokes per spot (yes I counted for consistency)
Then a final layer of wax

Still - some etching remained - a couple of dozen instances
If you looked at it from the right angle
"Uh-oh"
(perhaps I used stronger words...)
So I Googled it
Asking the almighty god of knowledge
"What to do?"
It said, "clay bar"
I tried it - nope


Note: Along the (Google) way.
I also discovered that Red is the favorite color for 
Birds to 'express' themselves on - go figure.


I am now out of home remedies
So next stop - body shop
To see what I can see about professional buffing
Besides, I dropped a ladder on it not long ago
And put some dings in the hood,
Need a pro to fix that too
But that's another story

Through it all I am still practicing Julie's advice,
At least the "be patient" part.

Cards in the Air!

Load of coffee

A few Google maps

Rental car, full tank

Free weekend

To roam the South

Plot a course

Skirt the Appalachians

North past Manassas

Past Harpers Ferry

To Charles Town, West Virginia

Historical names of substance to stir the curiosity

Through countryside

Horse country – estates large and small

Farm country – corn tall and turning color

Almost ready for harvest

So green… no drought here…

America the beautiful as only it can be

Poker tournament at the Hollywood Casino

Poker room at Charles Town's Hollywood Casino

In Charles Town West Virginia

Plunk down hefty entry fee

Worth it

After all, how many times in life?

Not many casinos out this way either

Players from all walks

Just like the Sacramento bunch

Just like the Harrahs, New Orleans bunch

Just like the Reno bunch

Just like the Beau Rivage Biloxi bunch

“Cards in the air.”*

The signal to get the tournament rolling

Hitting slow, missing draws

Stack whittles down

Finally a double up against an “all-in”

Finally a quarter of us left

Almost at the money “final” table

Stacks and wagers get bigger

Still just hanging in

To eleventh (the famous “bubble”) then tap out

On a bad beat … The cards falling where they may

Five hours of concentration

Tempting chance

Shuffling chips

Squeezing cards

This great restaurant in old town Winchester, Virginia

Comfort on the felt, with the surroundings

The vast majority of players being

By and large good sports

Overnight at Winchester, Virginia

Dinner in old town Winchester

Chanced upon Italian restaurant

The “Violino Restorante Italiano”

All the authentic trappings

Including the all important

Real Italian chef: Franco Stocco
(http://www.violinorestaurant.com)

A truly memorable dinner

I corralled Franco to tell him so

Found out he rides Harley’s too

(He mentioned it after noting my perennial HD t-shirt)

We talked a while…animated

Owner/chef opera singer
and
fellow Harley enthusiast Franco Stocco.

Food and Harleys in common

Plan A was another tournament there

The next day

But it started late

I wanted to leave enough time to get back

To my current gig in Raleigh

Plan B was to take a slow ride

On the Blue Ridge Parkway and thereabouts

A slow ride back

Weather forecast a lot of rain

What would be to see?

Plan C was route back

Through Richmond

Hit a few Harley dealers

Shirt and dealer pin check

Sniff leather, ogle chrome

Get my proverbial fanatic card punched

It was C

Three more pins for my famous corkboard collection

(What will become of that pin packed board in the end?

Who would want it?  Gotta’ quit building it.)

Return through a couple of bouts of hard rain

So hard we were creeping along the freeway

Emergency lights flashing

Finally back in time for dinner

A weekend adventure worth noting?… well, yea.....!

A harvest of great food, pins, chips and memories


*"Cards in the air" is a phrase used by pit bosses and commentators to signal the beginning of tournament play. Another common expression is; "Shuffle up and deal."

HOG Runnin' Sweet...

... as a maraschino cherry.
Sacramento to Reno's
2012 biker event, "Street Vibrations"

Just got off a project in the Carolinas 
So all I could make was the last day

A two hour run
Getting some wrinkles out
Of the Harley and me
After a couple months of inactivity

Partly cloudy, partly overcast day
Perfect riding weather
Not too hot.  Not too cold.

Chaps and jacket for the cold
Over Donner pass
Then lose a layer in the high Sierra Nevada desert
That envelops Reno

Reno area has three major vendor exhibit areas
Reno Harley Davidson dealer "Chester's": A mile or so out of town
Sparks, Nevada:  A couple miles out near the Nugget casino
Downtown Reno:  Main drag, Virginia Street
Closed off for foot traffic, booths, tractor/trailers
And a visitor from Sacramento

There are a lot of people here for the last day, a Sunday
No sign of the recession I am thinking
Judging from experience at this event over the years

Silver Legacy - replica of full working mine
inside that dome

Got a good, cheap room at the Silver Legacy for the night
So I have plenty of time to rubberneck
Accompanied by a fine stogie
Enjoying the great weather
All the chrome and leather eye candy
The outdoor bands
And some of the great junk food

Later, I join the players
Mostly locals
For a friendly Texas Hold'em game
At the El Dorado casino next to the Legacy

There is an elder gentleman (no, not me)
Who is there every time I attend
A fine silver mane
A lean figure
Who dresses in shirt, slacks and sportcoat
With just a little bling, a small cross on chain
Worn outside mock turtle

I always compliment him
As consistently the best dressed poker player
I have come across

I stick in the game a few hours
And finally quit when I am a few bucks ahead
He compliments me; "You are a good player."
I return the compliment.

Next day back to Sacramento
Via the longer but more scenic way

Highway 50 sweepers near Spooner summit

Through Carson City and Lake Tahoe

I have written before about the
Thirty or so mile run between those two towns
Half of it includes a stretch of long, gentle curves "Sweepers" up the mountain
To Spooner's summit
Speed limit there is "50"
That is for cars though

On a big Harley bagger it is very comfortable at 70
Tucking those handle bars inside each corner
Matching the natural rhythm the mountain offers
It unfolds as a ballet between rock, metal, pavement and man
The music that ties it being the bagger's pipes
We all work it together

Winning Losing

He emerged slowly, without a sound.  First his hair, smoothly through the water... next his forehead, then his ears and finally his eyes and nose.  He kept his lips below the water line and, moving gently so as to not cause a ripple, he scanned the horizon.  His prey was just 20 feet away... anxious, splashing, nervously looking ahead then back over his shoulder.  He lifted the gun just as quietly above the water's surface, took careful aim and fired.  The missile struck directly above his victim's fourth rib on the left side.  It was a fatal blow.

Smack!  Sonny's side immediately turned bright red as the inner tube band hit.  He knew he was a goner then and there.  He hit the water with an open hand, sending a spray toward his opponent and shouted; "*Motherfucker! You snuck up on me again!"
*Neither quite knew what the word meant then... just that is was a way adults expressed shock or something...

He stood up then, six years old, grinning while quietly reloading his rubber gun just in case Sonny suddenly decided he wasn't dead after all.

Rubber gun - much like they used to make them back in the day. 

That was how the game was played in the shallow North Dakota sloughs among the cattails.  One would 'shoot' the other and a decision would be made as to whether the shot was fatal.  There would of course, very often be arguments on either side.  It was played that way in the corn fields and yards too.

Thinking.  Thinking of ways to win. He loved to compete no matter where, no matter when.

***

"Eleven ball, corner pocket."  His much older opponent attempted a fairly difficult bank shot in an effort to carry out his call.  Cue stick struck cue ball and it sent the eleven ball on its mission. The eleven appeared straight in as it came off the rail at an angle. Then as it reached the corner it caught the rail ever so slightly and caromed across the lip of the pocket, coming to rest just a quarter inch away.

He was sixteen years old, a Junior in high school and "majoring" in billiards.  He was  five balls down in the game and five bucks down on the match.  He picked up the house cue, caught his rhythm, set his smooth stroke and practiced eye then went to work. Six shots later, the eight ball was in the pocket and his opponent was out a sawbuck on the double down bet.

"Motherfucker!  Where did you learn to run off the table like that?"

He grinned and pocketed the sawbuck.  "It felt good that run.  Just found the sweet spot I guess..."

God he loved it.  Stepping into competition, adrenalin putting all his senses in high gear.

***

Years later.... Lajes Field, the Azores, Portugal.  Air Force Base fast pitch softball championship game.  It was 1-1 in extra innings. Opposing team had a runner on third.  He was 19 years old, in right field, playing ball on a gorgeous night in the islands.  He was pumped... every time he saw his pitcher go into his windmill wind up he stopped breathing and every fiber of his body went into full alert.  

All of a sudden the right-handed batter hit a short opposite field line drive right at him.  He was instantly running at full speed in an attempt to intercept the ball before it hit.  It was literally at his feet and he had both hands down near his shoelaces... the ball hit his bare left hand and slid to the ground.  The runner scored.  Game over.  Potential hero to actual zero in a heartbeat.

He would come back though.  That's the thing about loving to compete.  Losing most often just deepens your resolve to win.  "Next time, Motherfucker!"

Sinner? - Definitely

It was really quiet in the drunk tank.
Early morning and not a sound...
There was no one there but him...

A fledgling crook at 15
He and some pals of similar persuasion had broken into
A small popular restaurant in town that also sold liquor

They got a few bucks and a few bottles of booze
It was his first taste of "Four Roses" bourbon whiskey
Pitiful tasting stuff but a manly act for all involved

It was The Watermelon Effect... Big time
(Yes that is a link to more about the little crook.. and find out here
what I have in common with Mark Twain on the topic.)

The little town's population tripled in summer
With tourists coming in from Cleveland and inland towns
To vacation on the beaches of Lake Erie
Lots of time for girls and boys to discover each other

He met one
Mary Stahl from Ashland, Ohio
She was smart, beautiful and beguiling
For him, it was another serious case of being in love....'fatuation

Later that year he decided to hitchhike to Ashland to see her
It was just over forty miles away
He had to be home to babysit his little brother that night
As his parents were going out
He caught some rides and made it to Ashland for a short visit
But struggled getting rides on the way home

He found himself stuck in Attica, Ohio
Still over thirty miles away
While the sun was getting real low on the horizon
He knew he was going to be late and in trouble

He took a quick look in a back parking lot of a tavern
Climbed in an old Ford station wagon, looked around
Dropped the driver's side sun visor
And the keys fell in his lap
A real strong dose of serendipity that was...

He took off for Huron
Struggling as darkness set in
Afraid, without his glasses,
(He only wore them in school,
To see the blackboard
Otherwise lived a blur for distances but didn't mind)
And not exactly sure how to drive

He made it though
Parked the Ford near the town library
And walked a couple of blocks home (Williams Street)
Figuring the police would quickly find it
And return it to its owner
For some reason he kept the keys

A week, then two went by
And the station wagon was still there
Driving was so exciting

Not the Mansfield dance but looks a lot like it...
"Teen angels" everywhere...
Some, not so much the angel.

He couldn't bring himself to leave it alone

So, he started driving himself to school
When asked, it was his "Uncle's car"
Temporarily left in the care of the family
After a week or so of that
He and a buddy, Tony M., were on their way to Mansfield, Ohio
For their popular Sunday night dance

It was the early days of rock and roll
And he loved to dance

He had been driving pretty cautious
Partly because he was still early in the learning stages
Partly because he didn't want to get picked up
Suddenly, a patrol car appeared directly behind
Flashed its lights and he pulled over

With no papers at all to show
The policeman grew suspicious
And called the station to check on the Ford
Shortly thereafter; "We'll have to take you in son."
It wasn't hard to convince the police his buddy
Was not involved in the crime
And his family later picked him up

The fifteen year old sinner though
Was left over night in a vacant cell block
The drunk tank in the Attica, Ohio Police Station

Nah... it wasn't as 'nice' as this one.
The chains holding it had a more aesthetic appeal though.

The solitary cell
Had a metal cot with fifty cent size holes in it
(Easier to hose down?)
It was hung from the wall with chains
There was a toilet and a wash basin

They let him grab as many army blankets as he wanted
Before they put him in for the night

Next morning
He did push-ups - seemed like the right thing to do
Had a little breakfast they brought him
And daydreamed
There and then he decided
He would never spend another night in jail

It wasn't long before his parents showed
And took him home

During the drive
He was feeling more adult or something
And asked his Dad for a cigarette
He knew they knew he smoked
All he got was funny looks and continued silence

His Dad and Mom never said much about the incident
Just helped him pick out a new outfit
On credit at the local clothing store
It was his first ever as a teenager
It was supposed to help his appearance in juvenile court

It was the works and he was dazzled by it
A green trench coat with matching leather gloves
New shoes, trousers, and a shirt
With a green and white argyle cardigan sweater

The judge put him on six month's probation for
"Driving a car without the owner's consent"

His family moved to Seattle while he was still on probation
He was a Junior in high school
They never reported the move to the court
Fifty years later, he could still be wanted in Ohio

The experience turned him away from a life of crime
One of the first in a string of truly fortunate developments

That would last a lifetime.

I Don't Know His Name

An affable fellow
Tall, fit
Married to a younger Asian lady
I have seen him (and her)
Many times in our local gym over the years
We have often exchanged pleasantries
He asked about the different Harley shirts I wear
"Have you been to all those places?"
"Yes, I am a fanatic about the ride,
And picking up souvenir t-shirts."
He said; "It is good to have a passion."
He is a friend
I don't even know his name

A courageous lady
A serious limp
A condition...
For years, the hardest working person in our gym
Works the bikes to 20 miles
The machines to a heavy sweat
A twinkle in her eye
A wonderful smile
We have often exchanged pleasantries
Returning quickly to the gym tasks at hand
I would like to be her friend
I don't even know her name

When our lives are full...
How do others fit?

What I Be - The Project

The What I Be Project
A young man hereabouts

Steve Rosenfield is his name
With a passion for photography
And people

"I am not my anxiety."

Has combined his interests
Into the "What I Be" project

Risking oversimplification
I would say
He uses a photo image
Of a person,
With a few words
Boldly written on skin
To convey what that person
Believes may be the worst part of their image
Or... self

He includes a tag that says; "I am not my ........."
It could be about the person's behavior
Or their looks
Or what others may see, or think

Each, in their own way
Says there is more
Than what you see of them

"I am not my weight gain."

Or what you see in them

This... is a link to: What I Be
It seems to have a life of its own
It seems to have a healing effect
It seems to help people understand

The Tunnel
Modern Sacramento California
Is connected to Old Sacramento California
By a small tunnel
That passes under Interstate 5

A song was recently written
For the What I Be Project
Then recorded in that tunnel
With the steady sound of traffic in the background
Three musicians played and sang their song

These are the lyrics:

Verse 1:
If this was the last song that I ever could write…

I would think of a journey that brought me through a good life
If this was the last song that I ever could sing…

It would give me a reason to believe in what I be

Chorus 1:
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on

Verse 2:
If these were the last words that you ever could speak
What would you pass on… to leave here… as your legacy
If these were the last thoughts that you ever could think
Would you ask yourself deep down what you be

Chorus 2:
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on

Verse 3:
The last words that I sing will drip from my heart
Boiling over from my life so my soul can part
I'll echo myself through the caverns of existence
I hope in this world that my sound will make a difference
I hope my love is left behind when thoughts have all escaped my mind
For someone to find.

Chorus 3:
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on
Who's going to be me when I'm gone…
What will give them strength to carry on

This... is a link to the song: What I Be
Filmed by Steve Rosenfield


All told, it is a fine body of work
By some terrific artists and a great humanitarian

As Time Goes By

The Sides of Aging
Loss of family	On occasion of their 43rd anniversary.	More patience
Loss of friends		Awareness of beauty
Erosion of senses		Strength of character
The withering vine		Mellowed emotions
The ravages of time		Stronger sense of self
Advancing infirmities		Deepening relationships
September of our years		Greater appreciation for life
Diminished physical endurance		Increased mental endurance

Double Rainbow

One evening not long ago
It blessed Sacramento

A double rainbow

A re-enactment (meaning a photo taken elsewhere by someone else)

In a surreal sky

Ninety percent low overcast

Save a slight opening straight west

Light rain had just finished

The double rainbow hung in the East

Toward the mountains

Toward Tahoe

The colors of two rainbows 

Each in the same order

Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, Red and Purple

Notice the sequence

Note the beauty

Leaving hope for tomorrow

I have to go look again...

Saint... ah, Thomas - well... sort of

They moved to Ohio
Via a short stay (2-3 yrs) in Michigan
It was lock, stock and barrel
Well there wasn't any stock of course
Probably no locks or barrels either
It was just them and everything they owned
In and on an old '49 Pontiac (I think - coulda' been a Chevy.)
(Here's a link to more on that!)

Catholic Church/School, Huron Ohio
He was there... fifth through eighth grade
Sister Arcadia, the Principal...
A real Nunzilla she was

Arcadia once took him into the cloak room
Tugged sharply on his ear
Gave him a smack on the face
And essentially told him to
Shape up or else

Sister James, sixth grade teacher... 

His Earth Angel
Sister James once took him aside
And told him how bright he was
That he had a fine future in store

His Dad was the janitor
His Aunt ran the cafeteria
He was an altar boy

After hours no one was ever surprised to see him there

In the building that contained church, school and cafeteria
He often served Mass seven days a week
He was filled with curiosity and a need for adventure
That prompted him to sneak tastes of altar wine
The taste was never any good to him
He kept at it for the excitement though

(Certain priests would nudge the chalice 
With their fingers positioned in saintly fashion,  
For more to drink during Mass 
So he would just keep pouring until they nudged again...
signalling "stop")

Yup - they looked like this!

He also discovered how to pilfer school lunch tokens
And had them hidden all over
The combined school and church building
It was a twisted entrepreneurial move
Netting him the buck and a half a week
Mom coughed up for his lunches

When he was twelve he was elected to the #2 position
In the altar boys, "Vice President Grand Knight Commander"
True, there weren't many voters
It was a fine title for a little thief though
Whose related shenanigans
And relentless pursuit of the "Watermelon Effect"
(You might remember this from the "Hayseed" chapter.)
Wouldn't stop until he was 15 and spent a night in jail
(If you are thinking "scared straight", you are right.)

Still, at that age it seemed to him he was destined for serious Catholicism
So he volunteered to become a Maryknoll missionary
They had a high school for aspiring priests in Syracuse, New York
Maryknoll priests came to interview him
He tried to guess the right answers
And pass them along to make the priests happy
He never found out how that went
Because he was soon too preoccupied
By man's all time greatest distraction

(Yes, he was a pandering puppy back then,
Some called it "charming".
In any event a habit that is tough to break.)

Huron, Ohio beach

During that same period
(summer between 8th and 9th grade)
He was swimming in Lake Erie one day
Right at the beach
By "Laylin's Court",
The combination cabin and trailer park
They lived in

Among others in the water that day
There was a girl, petite, from Ireland,
Or maybe Scotland
Raised in the the South
Who had a wonderful mixed Irish/Scottish and Southern U.S. accent and smile - Patty Markin

They exchanged a few insults and rude remarks
And immediately fell in love...fatuation
Patty's dad worked in an auto factory in Norwalk
They lived in one of the trailers in Laylin's Court
Patty was 'Trailer Treasure" of the highest order

He quickly decided he wasn't cut out to be a priest
Instead, he became dedicated to
Hot pursuit of the opposite sex and true love
A pursuit he would fail at repeatedly,
Sometimes on purpose, until his early twenties

There was a problem though...
The transition from 8th grade and Catholic school
To 9th grade and public school
Was pretty much like getting out of prison
There were so many new (wrong) things to do!

It made him soon Shuck the Shackles of Sainthood
To pursue the Shady Side of Sin - well... sort of.
He was kind of headed in that direction anyway...

(Next chapter: Sinner - it's just a temporary job...)