Ian McClellan's Blog, page 2
August 25, 2013
Meeting a Fan
My neighbor was getting new glasses and overheard the manager at Eyeglass World discussing the new theatrical contact lenses with a customer. There were some zombie lenses, and he mentioned what a big fan of zombie books he was.
“My neighbor wrote a zombie book,” she told him. “It’s called Zombie Apocalypse something.” She smokes a ton of weed. Cut her some slack.
“Is his name Ian,” he asked. She told him it is. For her, this was an open and shut case. A guy named Ian who wrote a zombie book couldn’t possibly be anyone but me. I know that it could be dozens, or even hundreds, of Ians or even Iains. It’s a popular name amongst zombie authors.
He explained that when he was serving in Afghanistan, he and his fellow soldiers enjoyed passing the time reading zombie books and that Zombie Apocalypse Something by Ian was one of his favorites. I doubted very highly that it was my book he’d read, but decided to go by and give him a copy anyway. It was the least I could do for a veteran who enjoys zombie literature. “William, Thank you for your service- Ian McClellan,” I wrote inside the cover and drove over to Eyeglass World in the clothes I’d worn to Comic Con the day before.
Well, when I got there and explained who I was, he was ecstatic. He had read my book and loved it. I didn’t know this, but the U.S.O. sends a lot of books to our troops. I haven’t sold many physical books, so I’d guess that someone donated one they won in a giveaway. He took the copy I’d brought and told me the one he’d read hadn’t looked as good. “Traveling six thousand miles and sitting in sand for a few weeks will get you a little rough. Believe me, I know.”
So I guess I met a fan today. Kind of weird. It almost makes me feel like an author. The fact that that fan had discovered me while serving this country overseas is monumental to me. In my opinion, he is a hero and has no cause to admire a truck driver who writes stories about dead people coming back to life.
By the way, something most of you probably don’t know about me- I did enlist in the Marine Corp and passed most of the tests until the visual. I have special eyes like that guy in that commercial, and they kept me from serving my country. Although I wasn’t born here I am very Americanized and staunchly patriotic. While I have come to disagree strongly with our foreign policy and the situations in which we choose to involve ourselves, I would NEVER hold that against the brave men and women of the United States Armed Forces. I have nothing but love and respect for them.
“My neighbor wrote a zombie book,” she told him. “It’s called Zombie Apocalypse something.” She smokes a ton of weed. Cut her some slack.
“Is his name Ian,” he asked. She told him it is. For her, this was an open and shut case. A guy named Ian who wrote a zombie book couldn’t possibly be anyone but me. I know that it could be dozens, or even hundreds, of Ians or even Iains. It’s a popular name amongst zombie authors.
He explained that when he was serving in Afghanistan, he and his fellow soldiers enjoyed passing the time reading zombie books and that Zombie Apocalypse Something by Ian was one of his favorites. I doubted very highly that it was my book he’d read, but decided to go by and give him a copy anyway. It was the least I could do for a veteran who enjoys zombie literature. “William, Thank you for your service- Ian McClellan,” I wrote inside the cover and drove over to Eyeglass World in the clothes I’d worn to Comic Con the day before.
Well, when I got there and explained who I was, he was ecstatic. He had read my book and loved it. I didn’t know this, but the U.S.O. sends a lot of books to our troops. I haven’t sold many physical books, so I’d guess that someone donated one they won in a giveaway. He took the copy I’d brought and told me the one he’d read hadn’t looked as good. “Traveling six thousand miles and sitting in sand for a few weeks will get you a little rough. Believe me, I know.”
So I guess I met a fan today. Kind of weird. It almost makes me feel like an author. The fact that that fan had discovered me while serving this country overseas is monumental to me. In my opinion, he is a hero and has no cause to admire a truck driver who writes stories about dead people coming back to life.
By the way, something most of you probably don’t know about me- I did enlist in the Marine Corp and passed most of the tests until the visual. I have special eyes like that guy in that commercial, and they kept me from serving my country. Although I wasn’t born here I am very Americanized and staunchly patriotic. While I have come to disagree strongly with our foreign policy and the situations in which we choose to involve ourselves, I would NEVER hold that against the brave men and women of the United States Armed Forces. I have nothing but love and respect for them.
August 11, 2013
Movie Review: Cargo
I'm writing for Zombie Guide Magazine now, and will be sharing my articles on my blog. Hope you enjoy.
http://www.zombie-guide.com/movie-rev... Read It
http://www.zombie-guide.com/movie-rev... Read It
June 25, 2013
Zombies Suck and If You Like Zombies It's Because You're Dumb. And You Smell.
I don’t usually vent in my blog posts, but I’m really getting tired of the anti-zombie discrimination that seems to be getting more and more rampant these days. I’ve come to expect it in certain places and have learned to live with it, but one place I hate to see it is in a zombie book. Yes, that’s right, in a zombie book. I opened a book on my Kindle yesterday and in the author’s notes he described the way he was browbeat into helping write it with his partner despite the fact that he found zombie books to be, “…played out, trite, boring, and in most cases, downright bad.”
Wow, excuse the rest of us who enjoy them and took a momentary interest in your book before deleting it from our e-readers when we realized what an uppity douche you are. Why would you publish a book and insult fans of that book’s genre before you even begin to tell the story? Why not keep it to yourself altogether? Oh, I see. It’s because YOU’RE the guy who’s going to write the brilliant masterpiece that changes the entire genre and saves us brain-dead, zombie-loving schleps from ourselves. YOU’RE the one that the prophecies told us would come and enlighten us. Well, thanks but no thanks, Mr. Self-important. I choose to wallow in the same cesspool of ignorance I’ve spent most of my life in and will continue to read the books I love while somehow managing to not drown in my own drool.
Believe it or not, I also see this discrimination amongst other fans of horror. I belong to a few horror discussion groups on the internets. For the most part, I love the groups, but whenever someone posts anything about zombies, the horror intellectuals come out to sneer at it. Fortunately, there isn’t a ‘disdain’ font. If there was, that’s what they would all use to type their replies, which usually go something like this:
“Zombies are dumb. Everyone at the coffeehouse I hang out at says so. Tonight’s slam poetry night. I can’t wait.”
“I’m better than you, because I’ve read all of Joe Hill’s books and you haven’t.”
“If you’ve never read Kin or When We Join Jesus In Hell it’s because your parents were probably siblings.”
Maybe when they’re done typing those things they take their noses out of the air long enough to smell the stink of arrogance on themselves. I doubt it, but one can always hope.
I’ll never understand some people’s need to crap on the things that other people enjoy. I’m sure I’ll ever get around to reading any of the Twilight books. Nothing about them appeals to me at all. However, millions of people love the series. Who am I to judge what others enjoy? Poetry is another good example. It’s the creative outlet for a lot of people. Being deemed a Poet Laureate is an esteemed honor. Last I checked, there were no Horror Laureates, although I think there should be. Despite all that poetry means to the world of literature, the art form is lost on me. I have no use for it whatsoever. Maybe that makes me unsophisticated, well, a lot of things make me unsophisticated, but it’s just not my thing. I do not, however, run around trashing poetry because it doesn’t appeal to me. I’ve always been a ‘whatever floats your boat’ kind of guy. Especially on subjects that involve reading and writing. To me, anything that gets your nose in a book is a good thing, especially if it’s a zombie book.
Wow, excuse the rest of us who enjoy them and took a momentary interest in your book before deleting it from our e-readers when we realized what an uppity douche you are. Why would you publish a book and insult fans of that book’s genre before you even begin to tell the story? Why not keep it to yourself altogether? Oh, I see. It’s because YOU’RE the guy who’s going to write the brilliant masterpiece that changes the entire genre and saves us brain-dead, zombie-loving schleps from ourselves. YOU’RE the one that the prophecies told us would come and enlighten us. Well, thanks but no thanks, Mr. Self-important. I choose to wallow in the same cesspool of ignorance I’ve spent most of my life in and will continue to read the books I love while somehow managing to not drown in my own drool.
Believe it or not, I also see this discrimination amongst other fans of horror. I belong to a few horror discussion groups on the internets. For the most part, I love the groups, but whenever someone posts anything about zombies, the horror intellectuals come out to sneer at it. Fortunately, there isn’t a ‘disdain’ font. If there was, that’s what they would all use to type their replies, which usually go something like this:
“Zombies are dumb. Everyone at the coffeehouse I hang out at says so. Tonight’s slam poetry night. I can’t wait.”
“I’m better than you, because I’ve read all of Joe Hill’s books and you haven’t.”
“If you’ve never read Kin or When We Join Jesus In Hell it’s because your parents were probably siblings.”
Maybe when they’re done typing those things they take their noses out of the air long enough to smell the stink of arrogance on themselves. I doubt it, but one can always hope.
I’ll never understand some people’s need to crap on the things that other people enjoy. I’m sure I’ll ever get around to reading any of the Twilight books. Nothing about them appeals to me at all. However, millions of people love the series. Who am I to judge what others enjoy? Poetry is another good example. It’s the creative outlet for a lot of people. Being deemed a Poet Laureate is an esteemed honor. Last I checked, there were no Horror Laureates, although I think there should be. Despite all that poetry means to the world of literature, the art form is lost on me. I have no use for it whatsoever. Maybe that makes me unsophisticated, well, a lot of things make me unsophisticated, but it’s just not my thing. I do not, however, run around trashing poetry because it doesn’t appeal to me. I’ve always been a ‘whatever floats your boat’ kind of guy. Especially on subjects that involve reading and writing. To me, anything that gets your nose in a book is a good thing, especially if it’s a zombie book.
June 24, 2013
Pinterest Nazis
I recently received an e-mail from Pinterest. This was my reply.
My apologies. Next time I will be sure to include a swastika, which I'm sure you will approve of.
Ian McClellan
Subject: We removed one of your pins from Pinterest.
From: pinbot@pinterest.com
To: ianmcc2010@hotmail.com
Date: Tue, 25 Jun 2013 01:57:10 +0000
Hi Ian,
We recently removed one of your pins because it goes against our policies.
The pin was from your board "Wait... what?" and its description was "You'll never unsee this...wtf is wrong w/these people?". (Sorry, but we don't have a link to the image.) Could you please remove any other pins like this from your account?
We don’t allow things that are inappropriate for the general public, like sexually explicit pins, anywhere on Pinterest. We do allow works of art and educational pins, like you might see in a museum or classroom.
Could you please delete any other pins that go against our policies?
Thanks for your help,
Ben & The Pinterest Team
My apologies. Next time I will be sure to include a swastika, which I'm sure you will approve of.
Ian McClellan
Subject: We removed one of your pins from Pinterest.
From: pinbot@pinterest.com
To: ianmcc2010@hotmail.com
Date: Tue, 25 Jun 2013 01:57:10 +0000
Hi Ian,
We recently removed one of your pins because it goes against our policies.
The pin was from your board "Wait... what?" and its description was "You'll never unsee this...wtf is wrong w/these people?". (Sorry, but we don't have a link to the image.) Could you please remove any other pins like this from your account?
We don’t allow things that are inappropriate for the general public, like sexually explicit pins, anywhere on Pinterest. We do allow works of art and educational pins, like you might see in a museum or classroom.
Could you please delete any other pins that go against our policies?
Thanks for your help,
Ben & The Pinterest Team
June 20, 2013
Ash Williams Vs. Daryl Dixon
The very, very cool people a Zombie Guide Magazine published an article I wrote. You can find it here.
http://www.zombie-guide.com/ash-willi...
http://www.zombie-guide.com/ash-willi...
April 10, 2013
Huge Television Industry Secret EXPOSED
_ One night last year, I was waiting for my date to arrive in a restaurant that shall remain nameless. Since I could only keep myself occupied by flirting with the waitress when she was somewhere in the proximity of my table, I decided to pass the time by eavesdropping on some of the other patrons of the establishment. Bear in mind, I live in Port Charlotte, Florida. The median age in this little burg is like ninety-two. People from all walks of life move down here to retire and eventually kick the bucket. As luck would have it, that night a former television executive was sitting behind me, or, perhaps, I was sitting behind him.
“So what you’re telling me is that the show will be a diving competition featuring a bunch of has-been celebrities.” While the old man’s voice had developed a slight quiver, he still spoke with authority. This was a man who was used to people listening intently to whatever he had to say because it was something worth listening to. “You’re pulling my chain, right?”
“No, Dad. I’m not pulling your chain.” The other man at the table had much less conviction in his voice. This was a man who was used to people listening intently to whatever he had to say because they were paid to. “We’ve got a bunch of people signed on to do the first season.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Those pariahs will do anything to get their faces on TV. I just can’t believe you’re going to make that into a show. Why would anyone watch it?”
“I keep telling you, Dad, you overestimate the American television-watching audience. They’ll watch whatever trash we put on.”
My date arrived at this point. She was way too thin and I could see a bellybutton ring. The clothes she had on would have been more appropriate on a seventeen-year-old girl. She started to introduce herself and I put a finger to my lips and motioned for her to sit down. She looked confused and apprehensive, but put her purse in the booth and took her seat. I held up a finger to ask for a minute and leaned back with my ear to the table behind me.
“I just don’t know where you come up with this stuff. I taught you better than that. Are you on drugs?”
“Yeah, but everyone in the business is on drugs. Why don’t we drop this. We’re never going to see eye to eye on how things are done now.”
“Everyone doesn’t do it that way. There are still good shows on television. The Walking Dead, Breaking Bad, The…”
“Yeah, screw AMC,” he interrupted his father, making me dislike him more. “I hate that ‘story matters here’ garbage! What a bunch of crap. Those guys need to get with the program. No one…”
“Are you eavesdropping on those people,” my date leaned in and whispered. I nodded. “Great, another weirdo,” she said under her breath. At least I don’t buy my clothes at Hot Topic or wherever it is that teenagers shop these days. I tried to get back in on the conversation.
“…probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” the son said. He paused, as if debating whether or not he should continue. “It’s all just drunken bets now. That’s all we do- go to work, get drunk, and try to come up with the dumbest, most intellectually offensive crap we can put on TV. Then we take bets on whether we’ll be allowed to air the shows or if the viewers will have enough self-respect to reject them. When we came up with Toddlers and Tiaras, guys were betting that anyone involved in the production process would do jail-time. That’s when I knew it would be a hit.”
“What? Are you…” The old man was flabbergasted. I could tell he didn’t want to believe it, but knew that it was sadly true. “If you don’t want to have an adult conversation, maybe I should just leave.”
“I’m being honest, Dad. It all started years ago when some MTV exec came to work black-out drunk. He told his team to get the most vapid, erratic, ignorant people they could find, make them live together, and film it. He didn’t remember giving the order, and no one wanted to question him. They created a show that they thought would be a huge flop but turned out to be a giant hit. Ever since then, almost everyone in the industry has been trying to replicate the process. I kid you not, at most networks, if you’re not drunk by ten-thirty, you’re unemployed by noon.”
“So that’s what you do now? You go to work and start drinking? Is that what I should tell my friends when they ask about you?”
“Well, no, Dad. I’m not some peon. I’m already drunk when I get to the office. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in.”
“What a jerk. I’m outta here,” I heard a woman say. I assumed it was my date. Oh well.
I turned my attention back to the father-son dinner going on behind me. There was a strange gurgling noise coming from that direction and the sound of someone slapping a table in pain.
“Jesus, Dad! Are you alright? DAD!” I heard the crunch of crisp lettuce and the clang of a bowl as the old man’s face went into the salad. Guessing that the conversation was at least temporarily over, I turned my attention back to the table I occupied. As I had suspected, I was alone.
I decided to finish my drink and maybe flirt with the waitress some more, but didn’t see her by the time my glass was empty. I looked around and saw that she was preoccupied with some commotion that was going on at the table behind me. I went over and handed her a ten.
“Keep the change, gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and pointed at the man being given C.P.R. behind her. “I’m sorry, but…”
I waved her off. “No worries. I understand.”
“What happened to that girl who came in and sat with you?”
“Oh, her.” I tried to think quickly. “That was my… cousin. The babysitter called. Damn kids locked her out of the house.”
She laughed. “Kids. What a hassle.” I wondered if this might be the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.
“Do you like TV,” I asked her.
“God, yeah,” she said. “I love TV. Whenever I’m not at work I just veg on the couch and watch whatever’s on.” Oh well.
“Hey, have a great night,” I told her and left.
“So what you’re telling me is that the show will be a diving competition featuring a bunch of has-been celebrities.” While the old man’s voice had developed a slight quiver, he still spoke with authority. This was a man who was used to people listening intently to whatever he had to say because it was something worth listening to. “You’re pulling my chain, right?”
“No, Dad. I’m not pulling your chain.” The other man at the table had much less conviction in his voice. This was a man who was used to people listening intently to whatever he had to say because they were paid to. “We’ve got a bunch of people signed on to do the first season.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Those pariahs will do anything to get their faces on TV. I just can’t believe you’re going to make that into a show. Why would anyone watch it?”
“I keep telling you, Dad, you overestimate the American television-watching audience. They’ll watch whatever trash we put on.”
My date arrived at this point. She was way too thin and I could see a bellybutton ring. The clothes she had on would have been more appropriate on a seventeen-year-old girl. She started to introduce herself and I put a finger to my lips and motioned for her to sit down. She looked confused and apprehensive, but put her purse in the booth and took her seat. I held up a finger to ask for a minute and leaned back with my ear to the table behind me.
“I just don’t know where you come up with this stuff. I taught you better than that. Are you on drugs?”
“Yeah, but everyone in the business is on drugs. Why don’t we drop this. We’re never going to see eye to eye on how things are done now.”
“Everyone doesn’t do it that way. There are still good shows on television. The Walking Dead, Breaking Bad, The…”
“Yeah, screw AMC,” he interrupted his father, making me dislike him more. “I hate that ‘story matters here’ garbage! What a bunch of crap. Those guys need to get with the program. No one…”
“Are you eavesdropping on those people,” my date leaned in and whispered. I nodded. “Great, another weirdo,” she said under her breath. At least I don’t buy my clothes at Hot Topic or wherever it is that teenagers shop these days. I tried to get back in on the conversation.
“…probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” the son said. He paused, as if debating whether or not he should continue. “It’s all just drunken bets now. That’s all we do- go to work, get drunk, and try to come up with the dumbest, most intellectually offensive crap we can put on TV. Then we take bets on whether we’ll be allowed to air the shows or if the viewers will have enough self-respect to reject them. When we came up with Toddlers and Tiaras, guys were betting that anyone involved in the production process would do jail-time. That’s when I knew it would be a hit.”
“What? Are you…” The old man was flabbergasted. I could tell he didn’t want to believe it, but knew that it was sadly true. “If you don’t want to have an adult conversation, maybe I should just leave.”
“I’m being honest, Dad. It all started years ago when some MTV exec came to work black-out drunk. He told his team to get the most vapid, erratic, ignorant people they could find, make them live together, and film it. He didn’t remember giving the order, and no one wanted to question him. They created a show that they thought would be a huge flop but turned out to be a giant hit. Ever since then, almost everyone in the industry has been trying to replicate the process. I kid you not, at most networks, if you’re not drunk by ten-thirty, you’re unemployed by noon.”
“So that’s what you do now? You go to work and start drinking? Is that what I should tell my friends when they ask about you?”
“Well, no, Dad. I’m not some peon. I’m already drunk when I get to the office. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in.”
“What a jerk. I’m outta here,” I heard a woman say. I assumed it was my date. Oh well.
I turned my attention back to the father-son dinner going on behind me. There was a strange gurgling noise coming from that direction and the sound of someone slapping a table in pain.
“Jesus, Dad! Are you alright? DAD!” I heard the crunch of crisp lettuce and the clang of a bowl as the old man’s face went into the salad. Guessing that the conversation was at least temporarily over, I turned my attention back to the table I occupied. As I had suspected, I was alone.
I decided to finish my drink and maybe flirt with the waitress some more, but didn’t see her by the time my glass was empty. I looked around and saw that she was preoccupied with some commotion that was going on at the table behind me. I went over and handed her a ten.
“Keep the change, gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and pointed at the man being given C.P.R. behind her. “I’m sorry, but…”
I waved her off. “No worries. I understand.”
“What happened to that girl who came in and sat with you?”
“Oh, her.” I tried to think quickly. “That was my… cousin. The babysitter called. Damn kids locked her out of the house.”
She laughed. “Kids. What a hassle.” I wondered if this might be the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with.
“Do you like TV,” I asked her.
“God, yeah,” she said. “I love TV. Whenever I’m not at work I just veg on the couch and watch whatever’s on.” Oh well.
“Hey, have a great night,” I told her and left.
March 30, 2013
The Assault on Irish-American Gun Rights
As a proud American of Irish descent and a responsible gun owner, I am outraged at the recent measures that have been taken to try to limit the second amendment rights of Irish-Americans. The constitution of this great country does not single out any one ethnic group and exclude them from the freedoms that are granted to the rest. Well, there was that whole three fifths of a person thing in there, but I think that’s mostly been fixed, even in Mississippi. Slavery notwithstanding, the “owner’s manual” of America is an all-inclusive document that does not specify which groups get which rights.
I have heard all of the arguments why Irish-Americans should not be able to own guns and find them to be nothing but bigoted drivel. It’s sadly amusing to me the way they all start, “I’m not prejudiced, but…” When someone starts a sentence that way you can bet the farm that the rest of the statement will be that person giving you an example of how they are prejudiced. As someone who knows and values the rights of all United States citizens, I can say as a matter of fact, and not opinion, that to deny any one group those rights is a violation of us all and nothing short of bigotry. When someone says, “I’m not prejudiced, but this particular group of Americans should not have these particular rights,” what they are really saying is, “I hate this particular group of Americans.” Make no mistake, to deny someone a right that everyone else has is hate. Period. There is no other word for it. There is no excuse for it. If you think that I should not be allowed to own a gun just because I am Irish you must hate Irish people.
There are a lot of folks claiming that this violation of my civil liberties is a matter of their religious rights. I understand their not wanting the Irish to bring guns into their churches for fear that the troubles of our motherland have followed us to the new world. No one wants to see a holy war on the streets of America between Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants. However, the people making this argument are misguided and ill-informed. Gun ownership is a civil right that can not be infringed upon by religious dogma. The teachings or opinions of a church should have absolutely zero effect on any laws in our society. Conversely, the rights of a church can not be infringed upon by the people or the government. If a specific church chooses not to allow the Irish to carry guns in their place of worship, that is their right to do so. Although I find it offensive (and, hopefully, so do you) the separation of church and state goes both ways. If it didn’t, then women could sue the Catholic church and force them to allow female priests. The first amendment actually gives religious institutions the right to discriminate in such a manner. I wouldn’t change that if I could. I don’t want to trample on their rights any more than I want them to trample on mine.
Remember that the constitution is for every American. Every right given to us in that sacred document is for ALL of us. Even if you are not Irish, or are just a little Irish, I would like to think that you do not support this current movement to have my rights stripped away. Please call or write your local congressperson or senator and tell them that you oppose any actions that would limit the rights of any group of Americans. If you do happen to be one of the folks calling for the elimination of the second amendment for Irish-Americans ask yourself a few questions. Whatever your ethnicity, what if people were calling for an end to YOUR specific rights? What if YOUR right to protect your home and family was being questioned? If they can do it to me, they can do it to you next.
“No one is free when others are oppressed.” - Author unknown
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me
Martin Niemöller- concentration camp survivor
I have heard all of the arguments why Irish-Americans should not be able to own guns and find them to be nothing but bigoted drivel. It’s sadly amusing to me the way they all start, “I’m not prejudiced, but…” When someone starts a sentence that way you can bet the farm that the rest of the statement will be that person giving you an example of how they are prejudiced. As someone who knows and values the rights of all United States citizens, I can say as a matter of fact, and not opinion, that to deny any one group those rights is a violation of us all and nothing short of bigotry. When someone says, “I’m not prejudiced, but this particular group of Americans should not have these particular rights,” what they are really saying is, “I hate this particular group of Americans.” Make no mistake, to deny someone a right that everyone else has is hate. Period. There is no other word for it. There is no excuse for it. If you think that I should not be allowed to own a gun just because I am Irish you must hate Irish people.
There are a lot of folks claiming that this violation of my civil liberties is a matter of their religious rights. I understand their not wanting the Irish to bring guns into their churches for fear that the troubles of our motherland have followed us to the new world. No one wants to see a holy war on the streets of America between Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants. However, the people making this argument are misguided and ill-informed. Gun ownership is a civil right that can not be infringed upon by religious dogma. The teachings or opinions of a church should have absolutely zero effect on any laws in our society. Conversely, the rights of a church can not be infringed upon by the people or the government. If a specific church chooses not to allow the Irish to carry guns in their place of worship, that is their right to do so. Although I find it offensive (and, hopefully, so do you) the separation of church and state goes both ways. If it didn’t, then women could sue the Catholic church and force them to allow female priests. The first amendment actually gives religious institutions the right to discriminate in such a manner. I wouldn’t change that if I could. I don’t want to trample on their rights any more than I want them to trample on mine.
Remember that the constitution is for every American. Every right given to us in that sacred document is for ALL of us. Even if you are not Irish, or are just a little Irish, I would like to think that you do not support this current movement to have my rights stripped away. Please call or write your local congressperson or senator and tell them that you oppose any actions that would limit the rights of any group of Americans. If you do happen to be one of the folks calling for the elimination of the second amendment for Irish-Americans ask yourself a few questions. Whatever your ethnicity, what if people were calling for an end to YOUR specific rights? What if YOUR right to protect your home and family was being questioned? If they can do it to me, they can do it to you next.
“No one is free when others are oppressed.” - Author unknown
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me
Martin Niemöller- concentration camp survivor
February 24, 2013
Rats in New York and Brilliant Raccoons
I’ve been seeing a lot of reports about the serious rat problem plaguing areas of New York in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Many people don’t realize how big a problem rodents and insects can be in the wake of these disasters. It makes sense, however, when you consider the effects of these storms- prolonged power outages, massive amounts of rotting food, flooding- all help contribute to pest infestations.
While my heart goes out to those poor folks who are probably wondering when their myriad of problems are going to end, the whole thing did remind me of a funny story regarding my own hurricane-induced rodent problems.
After Hurricane Charley walloped Charlotte County, I was facing nightly attacks on my trash cans by raccoons. Raccoons aren’t very polite. They don’t root around in your garbage until they find what they want and leave. Instead, they overturn the bins and scatter trash all over your lawn so that all of your nosey neighbors can see what sort of naughtiness you’ve been up to and are trying to dispose of evidence of. After a few days of this I invested in a havahart trap, because I don’t like to kill things.
A neighbor suggested I put some cat food, a big hit amongst raccoons, in the trap. I set the trap with a can of nine lives inside and went to bed.
My wife was a voracious reader who kept odd hours. Some days I would get up for work and she would still be up reading. As I was sleeping, like the dead as always, she heard a commotion outside and went to look at the trap. Apparently, cats also like cat food (who knew?) and we caught ourselves an orange tabby. The poor thing was scared to death and could not be coaxed out of the trap. My wife found a couple of sticks and rigged the door open so it could come out once she was gone and it was more comfortable. She went to bed and didn’t think much else of the matter.
The next morning I got up very early, as usual, and left for work having no idea what had happened the night before. I looked at the trap, saw that the cat food had been eaten and the door was held open with sticks, and said to myself, “These are the smartest fucking raccoons ever. We’re never going to catch them.”
While my heart goes out to those poor folks who are probably wondering when their myriad of problems are going to end, the whole thing did remind me of a funny story regarding my own hurricane-induced rodent problems.
After Hurricane Charley walloped Charlotte County, I was facing nightly attacks on my trash cans by raccoons. Raccoons aren’t very polite. They don’t root around in your garbage until they find what they want and leave. Instead, they overturn the bins and scatter trash all over your lawn so that all of your nosey neighbors can see what sort of naughtiness you’ve been up to and are trying to dispose of evidence of. After a few days of this I invested in a havahart trap, because I don’t like to kill things.
A neighbor suggested I put some cat food, a big hit amongst raccoons, in the trap. I set the trap with a can of nine lives inside and went to bed.
My wife was a voracious reader who kept odd hours. Some days I would get up for work and she would still be up reading. As I was sleeping, like the dead as always, she heard a commotion outside and went to look at the trap. Apparently, cats also like cat food (who knew?) and we caught ourselves an orange tabby. The poor thing was scared to death and could not be coaxed out of the trap. My wife found a couple of sticks and rigged the door open so it could come out once she was gone and it was more comfortable. She went to bed and didn’t think much else of the matter.
The next morning I got up very early, as usual, and left for work having no idea what had happened the night before. I looked at the trap, saw that the cat food had been eaten and the door was held open with sticks, and said to myself, “These are the smartest fucking raccoons ever. We’re never going to catch them.”
Rats in New York and Brilliant Raccoons
I’ve been seeing a lot of reports about the serious rat problem plaguing areas of New York in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Many people don’t realize how big a problem rodents and insects can be in the wake of these disasters. It makes sense, however, when you consider the effects of these storms- prolonged power outages, massive amounts of rotting food, flooding- all help contribute to pest infestations.
While my heart goes out to those poor folks who are probably wondering when their myriad of problems are going to end, the whole thing did remind me of a funny story regarding my own hurricane-induced rodent problems.
After Hurricane Charley walloped Charlotte County, I was facing nightly attacks on my trash cans by raccoons. Raccoons aren’t very polite. They don’t root around in your garbage until they find what they want and leave. Instead, they overturn the bins and scatter trash all over your lawn so that all of your nosy neighbors can see what sort of naughtiness you’ve been up to and are trying to dispose of evidence of. After a few days of this I invested in a havahart trap, because I don’t like to kill things.
A neighbor suggested I put some cat food, a big hit amongst raccoons, in the trap. I set the trap with a can of nine lives inside and went to bed.
My wife was a voracious reader who kept odd hours. Some days I would get up for work and she would still be up reading. As I was sleeping, like the dead as always, she heard a commotion outside and went to look at the trap. Apparently, cats also like cat food (who knew?) and we caught ourselves an orange tabby. The poor thing was scared to death and could not be coaxed out of the trap. My wife found a couple of sticks and rigged the door open so it could come out once she was gone and it was more comfortable. She went to bed and didn’t think much else of the matter.
The next morning I got up very early, as usual, and left for work having no idea what had happened the night before. I looked at the trap, saw that the cat food had been eaten and the door was held open with sticks, and said to myself, “These are the smartest fucking raccoons ever. We’re never going to catch them.”
While my heart goes out to those poor folks who are probably wondering when their myriad of problems are going to end, the whole thing did remind me of a funny story regarding my own hurricane-induced rodent problems.
After Hurricane Charley walloped Charlotte County, I was facing nightly attacks on my trash cans by raccoons. Raccoons aren’t very polite. They don’t root around in your garbage until they find what they want and leave. Instead, they overturn the bins and scatter trash all over your lawn so that all of your nosy neighbors can see what sort of naughtiness you’ve been up to and are trying to dispose of evidence of. After a few days of this I invested in a havahart trap, because I don’t like to kill things.
A neighbor suggested I put some cat food, a big hit amongst raccoons, in the trap. I set the trap with a can of nine lives inside and went to bed.
My wife was a voracious reader who kept odd hours. Some days I would get up for work and she would still be up reading. As I was sleeping, like the dead as always, she heard a commotion outside and went to look at the trap. Apparently, cats also like cat food (who knew?) and we caught ourselves an orange tabby. The poor thing was scared to death and could not be coaxed out of the trap. My wife found a couple of sticks and rigged the door open so it could come out once she was gone and it was more comfortable. She went to bed and didn’t think much else of the matter.
The next morning I got up very early, as usual, and left for work having no idea what had happened the night before. I looked at the trap, saw that the cat food had been eaten and the door was held open with sticks, and said to myself, “These are the smartest fucking raccoons ever. We’re never going to catch them.”
