Skip to main content

Put down your weapons

Buck Henry and his posse of toothless, pickup-driving hillbillies are down at the gun range again blowing sh*t up and polluting my writing space with their god dammed racket.

I'm one POP away from marching over there and taking them down with my husband's pink remote control airplane or maybe his potato gun. 

It's 8:00 at night. I think it's quite reasonable to expect all gunfire will cease by the time some boring people go to bed. 

I'm trying to concentrate here, but my train is interrupted every half second by explosions and echoes of explosions and the faint clang -- they're a mile away -- of Henry's moonshine jugs being tossed in the back of some buttworm's rusty hunting vehicle.

What if I started a commune next door to the gun range?

What if I blasted sitar music and tantric chanting on really BIG -- for lack of any audio words -- speakers?

I know a guy who sells  patuli-scented tiki torches and sandalwood peace arches.

Imagine: free-range chickens in bullet-proof vests -- obviously -- and a token furry naturist couple.

I'll find me some yurts, a dozen-or-so barefoot beatniks, a ton of Kevlar and some tambourines, and we'll see how the trigger happies like it when their space is interrupted.

My husband says I'm unreasonable, but I don't think so. The gun guys can shoot round the clock if they want to -- I just think out of common courtesy they should use silencers after 7 p.m.


  1. Hahahaha. I just stopped over from IWSG, and although it's not your Wednesday post, I just couldn't help commenting. I feel the exact same way!!!! For me it's bubbas hunting geese in the field right across the road from my house. The first day they were almost IN my yard and shooting up and over my house. Nothing kills my mood faster than an up close view of slaughter.

    Add to that that I am a full time working mom, writer, and about a million other things. I only rarely get the chance to sleep past 6a.m. You eff-tards waking me up at 7am on Saturday AND Sunday AND Monday (when we had a holiday) is just too much.

    I also don't want to explain what's going on to my 3 year old.

    Wow. Thanks for letting me rant. I lost a whole weekend of writing to them, as every barrage of gunfire made my blood pressure rise a few points. I realize I should be able to control my reaction- but I lost that battle. I decided I should vacuum my car while blasting my radio, since I was up anyway. I like your commune idea better, though.

    Hope you get some peace!

  2. You could live next door to a race track and listen to sprint cars every friday and saturday night up to and sometimes past 11:00. These are probably the same people that go to the gun ranges.

  3. Or even worse, an international airport as i do.

    24/7 planes planes and more fucking planes...


Post a Comment

I showed you mine -- it's your turn now.

Popular posts from this blog

The insecure writer's support group

The ground is important -- for several reasons.

Among them

Gravity makes no sense without it -- there's no mandate that science be logical so long as our scientists are the smartest smartypants on the planet, in which case "because I said so" is an acceptable explanation. The ground is important, because it's something to build on -- a starting point, a foundation.

I respect the ground, because it has on occasion fallen out from under me, and it's rather unsettling to watch your life in free-fall mode -- to see your accomplishments disintegrate in an instant or a decade in some cases. It all depends on how fast you're falling.

Most of us drop in slow motion. We'll catch a ledge or an up draft every once in a while and think "this is it!" But then we go on falling. Or do we? Is the "bottom" just a figment of our imaginations? Can we lay new ground wherever we choose?

Ask Alice

None of my friends growing up were impressed with Disney's…

Writers get laid

Writers get laid -- or they would if they tried -- because people -- especially women -- are impressed by the phrase, "I'm a writer." It's romantic.

Introducing yourself as a writer insinuates substance and depth of character; people like that. They don't know why, except that one-dimensional characters on T.V. sitcoms and big-screen romantic comedies prattle on and on about the whole package -- a good looking, funny, intelligent single with rock-solid values and money.

People admire the skill and dedication it takes to be a novelist or a journalist or a screen writer  -- "I always wanted to be a writer," they tell you with stars in their eyes.

Whether they know it's a myth or not they imagine us in rich, thrilling lives with sports cars and beach houses and Louboutin shoes like Carrie Bradshaw. So the woman at the grocery store doesn't feel bad when she puts back the US Weekly she read cover to cover before she checks out.

Or downloading unauth…

The mirror

Ashlyn discovered the funny mirror at the park today. I could tell you all a long, silly story about our adventure -- the chasing after crows, the falling (me not Ashlyn), the rc plane crash, the dog poop and the climb to the tippy-top-top of the play structure -- but the pictures in this case are funnier.