Some thoughts on Aurora

My heart goes out to the Aurora shooting victims and their families. They should be the focus right now. However, I do have a few words for that sanctimonious sack of shit, Rep. Gohmert, and anyone else who believes that a law-abiding gun-wielding citizen could have stopped this. Gohmert asked, "Did no one else in that Aurora theater have a gun?" No, asshole, because that's not the kind of society--the kind where one feels one must be armed at all times--in which most people want to live. And I say this as a 2nd Amendment supporter.

But, that's a whole other argument. Let's say one or two, or even ten of those moviegoers were armed. Maybe then only 35 people would have been shot instead of 71. Then again, maybe not. It took the entire fucking LAPD an hour to contain TWO armed and armored bank robbers in 1997, and they were in broad daylight in the middle of the fucking street, and even still, one of those guys offed himself only after his weapon jammed. If 40 or 50 police officers, who I assume regularly trained with firearms and for violent situations, had that much difficulty taking down two perpetrators with body armor and weapons out the ass walking down the middle of the street in broad daylight, you can't fucking tell me that Joe Blow in Aurora, who goes to the range to pop a few caps once a month, could have done any better. (I absolutely mean NO disrespect to the police who responded to this incident--they are much braver than I.)

Let's just destroy this myth that once you put a gun in someone's hand they suddenly become Jason Bourne. You might be able to handle a gun. You might even be able to shoot smiley faces in targets at the range when there's no pressure, no surprise, no confusion, no darkness, no teargas, and oh yeah, no bat-shit crazy motherfucker wearing body armor and shooting at you with a much bigger and faster-firing weapon than yours. However, add a few of those conditions, much less ALL of them, and you have a much more fucked up situation than any normal person (normal person=non-Navy Seal), armed or not, is equipped to handle. You're probably doing well just to get down and hide and hopefully save your own ass.

So, fuck you, Rep. Gohmert. I know you would have been down on the floor, shitting your pants like any other normal person, or maybe trying to escape, and that's ok. The world which you envision, where we all walk around strapped and blowing holes in criminals like Dirty Harry is not realistic, and even if it was, I would not want to fucking inhabit it.

I could learn a thing or two from my daughter

The 21 hours in between 10 a.m. on Tuesday September 8 and 7 a.m on Wednesday September 9 were the darkest hours of my life. My wife, Leigh, had taken our then 1 year-old daughter, Eleanor, in to the pediatrician's office that morning because of a slight fever and what appeared to be a rash. The threat level rose to orange when the pediatrician suggested Eleanor's blood be tested. DEFCON 2 was reached when doctor called back with the results but wouldn't tell Leigh anything specific other than we had a room waiting on us at Children's Mercy Hospital--pack a bag and get there as fast as you can. These are words no parent thinks they will ever hear. We clung to a dissipating hope that this was just Eleanor's immune system overreacting to a minor infection she had a week prior.

The strange new surroundings were probably enough to prevent Eleanor, an already touchy sleeper, from reaching dreamland; the seemingly constant interruptions to check her vitals and the struggle to place an IV sealed the deal. This is not to mention the 10,000 lb. metaphorical weight of the question "Why are we here?" and all its possible answers. The twin mattress Leigh and I had to share didn't help either.

That weight finally dropped on us at 7 in the morning, only that weight turned out to be a hydrogen bomb. Leukemia. Specifically, acute lymphoblastic leukemia. But, none of those words really matter. We know what this is. This is cancer and cancer=death.

Regrettably, shamefully, my first thoughts: "She's gone. We celebrated her goddamn first birthday three weeks ago and you better have enjoyed it because it's the last one. She's gone."

And then from the doctor's next words, hope. "We cure 85% of kids with this disease. Most of my patients stop seeing me because they get too old." And right then ended any negative thought that wasn't immediately followed by a new mantra--"This is what we must do. Once we get through this, it will work out."

We did what we had to do, and it looks like it will work out. We are almost done with what are supposed to be the hard parts of this journey. We couldn't have been luckier or more grateful that things have progressed the way they have since Eleanor's diagnosis back on September 9. It could have gone differently.

Since that moment, that introduction of hope, every single day has been a revelation to me of Eleanor's indomitable character and strength. As I sat at the dinner table tonight watching her eat, I was suddenly overcome with emotion. Every bad thing she had to endure over the past 8 months came back and hit me all at once--every needle stick, every milliliter of blood drawn, every day spent in a hospital, every spinal tap, every bout of nausea, weakness, and pain caused by every dose of every drug necessarily given to poison her just enough--all of it. There she sat, happily chowing down on her favorite meal of whole wheat penne and Prego and chatting up a storm. And the reason for this wave of emotion finally dawned on me--she's been this happy through all but the very worst of her treatment.

Life's big lessons can come from all walks: philosophers, scientists, religious figures, educators...the list goes on. Today, mine came from a 20 month-old girl fighting leukemia who just happens to be my daughter.

The smartest person in the world is the one who knows the limits of his own knowledge

We were called to what was the best fire of my short career the other night. It was a great experience, and, when I sit back and think about it for a while, it's amazing how much I learned from that one incident. One could spend 16 weeks or 160 weeks in the academy, but there's no teacher like the real thing. That's not a knock on training--I think we should train more than we do...a lot more. I just don't think it's possible to create the same environment in a training situation that exists at a real incident. But, that's a tangent I don't want to explore right now.

The real point of this drivel was my realization of how much I don't know. It's a huge wake-up call. I now know that I've been skating by. It's pretty easy to sit around and get lulled into thinking you know everything when you work at a station like mine--one of the highest call volumes in the department but a low occurrence of fire, especially first-in fire. Then, I get one of those fires, and I end up feeling like I'm bumbling around while all the people who know what they are doing act quickly and with purpose. They intuit things that I'd actually have to see happening. I can bury my head in the books, and I will, but there's a lot of knowledge that doesn't lie within those books. I sure hope that knowledge comes with experience. If it's instead an innate knowledge, I might as well find another vocation.

So, I'll reopen the books, but, I'll also hope for more fire (sorry, property owners) and take every bit of knowledge I can from both. On a side note, it was pretty fulfilling to finally have a "good" fire. It makes you feel a little less like a social worker in a KCFD uniform and more like a firefighter.

Missed moments? Not really.

I'm a firefighter. I work a 24-hour shift. Within a three week period, I will have worked every day of the week. I'm either working a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday every week--in short a lot of weekends. As a result, I miss many of the social outings my friends have. The 24-hour shift means I miss many of the events at home too. With an 11-month old daughter at home, this would seem to take on an even greater magnitude as she is starting to complete "the firsts"--first steps, first words, first time sleeping through the night (still waiting on that), etc. I'm going to miss a lot of these firsts. But, it doesn't really bother me. I may miss "The First," but there will always be a first time for me, and it's just as good. I liken to Uluru in Australia. That rock has been around for a few million years and millions of people have seen it. But, it was still quite a moving experience when I saw it the first time. This is some solace for me, as the worst part of my job is that every third day, I leave my family for 24 hours. The reconciliation of that is that I get the next 48 hours with them. That's 48 hours of make-up time, and I'm grateful for it.

Legacies

Here we go--I'm sure all the world needed was another take on Michael Jackson's death. But, it drives me nuts how crappy people are suddenly canonized just because they die. Michael Jackson paid at least $15 million to a family to shut them up about abuse allegations. We seem to have forgotten that now that he's recently died. He's the King of Pop again and was just "eccentric." This I know--innocent people, even eccentric ones, don't pay $15 million. Steve McNair was killed by the woman with whom he was engaging in an illicit affair, yet we're constantly being told what a great player and person he was. NO!! If there is anything that should be illustrated by his death, it's that he's dead because he cheated on his wife. How else can one sum up these men's lives? What mitigates all these horrible acts committed in order for people to see them in the best possible light after they have died?

A "victory" for abstinence-only education

Somewhere, deep inside a dark cave, there's a drawing done by ancient people depicting a story of an unwed pregnancy. Of course, Gov. Sarah Palin and other abstinence-only advocates would dismiss as irrelevant the implications of this--the fact that pregnancies out of wedlock have been occurring since man and woman discovered they could get it on, or at least since Adam and Eve took a bite out of that apple. This is the reality. Of course, reality obviously isn't really a consideration for these wackos--witness the following explanation of why the couple would have sex by a poster on another forum to which I subscribe:

they loved each other to have sex, why shouldn't they love each other to tie the knot? If there is no desire for commitment, then what they have isn't love and since there is no love, they have no business having sex and bringing a baby into the world.

That's certainly an effective way to approach the problem! Start out with a false premise--love is required to have sex. Follow that up with a ridiculous conclusion-whatever love, if any, was present allowing them to have sex is enough to sustain a marriage. Finally, give unwed teenage parents an abstinence lecture.

Naturally, the proposed answer to teen pregnancy is, what else, to get married. Why not top one of the most stressful and life-altering occurrences in a young teen's life with, you guessed it..another of the most stressful and life-altering occurrences in a young teen's life? Would someone please tell me why, other than to uphold some already obliterated facade of morality, this is the first option? If you watch the RNC, anybody present commenting on the situation feels the need to happily exclaim "And they're going to get married!" Well-intentioned people will claim that this is for the good of the child, the child needs a mom and a dad, and that the two teenagers should step up and "do the responsible thing." Folks, they've already proven they CAN'T DO THE RESPONSIBLE THING--not have sex, or at the very least, use birth control. If they can't do it once, why is the response to their mistake entering into a covenant which requires them to do the responsible thing over and over forever? Let them build up to it and if it works, then that's a beautiful thing. The child can still have two parents--they just don't have to be married at first, or if it doesn't work out, ever. This is a set-up for failure--teenage marriages are two to three times more likely to end in the first 5 years. They made a mistake--why pile it on?

In Memoriam--Keith Barnes

My high school biology teacher, Keith Barnes, passed away June 6, 2008. He was so much more than just a teacher, though. He was my good friend and probably even a mentor. I've known him since I was a little kid and he and my mother were co-workers.

Like many of his former students, Barnes was my favorite teacher. According to my grade card, he taught biology and genetics, both being studies of life. However, his teachings weren't limited to the scientific realm--he also taught us about life in a much more general sense...and he loved what he taught. That was one of his most important qualities. I think we might have had textbooks in his class, but I don't ever remember him telling us to read them. I think this was because it was important enough to him that an outdated textbook would be a failure to his students. So, the source of what he taught was always the latest article on genetic disorders or DNA replication, and the old man had it all in his head.

Barnes always made it a point to recognize the efforts of his students--how many of us did he nominate for the Who's Who Among American High Schools? He knew he ran a tough class. He was never hesitant to push us harder if he thought we were lagging, either. I'm sure every one of his students remembers a particular class when getting answers and class participation was akin to pulling teeth. Barnes was more than happy to play the dentist. He would get all riled up, possibly chucking an eraser at the chalkboard or yelling at the top of his lungs "THINK, PEOPLE!" He was never mad, he just cared that much. That caring resulted in relationships lasting well beyond high school. I can remember his annual Thanksgiving dinners when the line of alumni was 40 deep.

I don't know how many people know this, but he was one of the most charitable people I've ever known with his time. He volunteered at various times at the Nelson-Atkins Museum and Union Station. He always had the some hidden hobby or interest that would pop up and surprise you. These were all symbolic of his love of life.

Barnes probably blurred the line between teacher and student moreso than most teachers would. I mean that in this way: he was one of only two former teachers with whom I ever drank. Maybe some other teachers would frown upon drinking with their former students who are of age. Maybe you could talk to Barnes in a way that other teachers would not appreciate. Maybe, on senior skip day, he'd take those of us too goody-two-shoes to skip out to lunch despite a closed campus policy. He probably caught a little flak for these actions, but I can tell you this--I learned more from him than any other teacher I've ever had.

Most importantly, Keith was a wonderful friend to my mother. They helped eachother through the shared experience of losing a parent. They went to lunch or cultural events together at least once a month. Probably most importantly, they never passed up a chance to give eachother a little good-natured shit--in my opinion, one of the most important components of a strong friendship. He was, after all, older than dirt. Yup, had to get that last one in, my friend.

I know my mom is hurting right now. The only thing I can tell her is this:

Keith Barnes' passing saddens me deeply. I feel like I lost a member of my family. His charity, compassion, humor, enthusiasm, thirst for knowledge, belief in his students, and friendship will be missed. However, you only need to read the messages on his memorial web site to feel a little better (and keep in mind that there are hundreds more who feel the same way but maybe didn't write.) It is then you realize that he left a little piece of himself with the many family and friends he had and the students he taught, and, in that way, he'll live on for a long, long time.

Garrett Wood
Olathe South High School '95

There will be a celebration of Keith's life on Friday, June13, from 3-8pm at the Ball Conference Center, 21350 W. 153rd Street, Olathe, KS. Memorials are suggested to the Keith Barnes Educational Memorial Fund, in care of First National Bank of Olathe, P.O. Box 150 Olathe, KS 66051.

Neither snow, nor ice

The National Cyclocross Championships are being held at Wyandotte County Park this weekend. Yes, the riders are as crazy as this photo would suggest. I had a blast out there and hope to make it out Saturday. You can check out more photos I took here.

Here we go again

Well, the first snow beyond a dusting hit the metro area yesterday, and you know what that means! Yep, time to take part in the Kansas City time-honored tradition of purchasing mass quantities of canned goods at the grocery store in case we're snowed in for two weeks. Hopefully everybody went out and bought four gallons of milk, six loaves of bread, and eight cases of canned peas. Nevermind the fact that in the 31 years I've resided in this city, there have only been two days that I can remember when it was actually too dangerous to drive. However, maybe I'm wrong, considering the fact that there were 278 wrecks between 10 a.m. and 2:30 p.m. yesterday. Or maybe it's just a matter of Kansas Citians NOT KNOWING HOW TO DRIVE!!!!!!!

Charleston Fire Tragedy--politics as usual

The City of Charleston has politicked its way out of admitting any wrong-doing in the June 18 blaze at the Super Sofa store that killed nine firefighters. You'd think that if nine people died, somebody (or a whole lot of somebodies) did something horribly wrong. Although the Charleston Fire Department seems intent on improving to hopefully avoid another tragedy like this, isn't the first step in recovery always to admit there is a problem?

KC music scene alive and well

Contrary to popular belief (ok, maybe just my belief), music is alive and well in Kansas City. The fiance and I went to Jardine's Sunday night to catch the very first performance from the Goombahles, a band put together by KC fixture Todd Wilkinson. The band also features on keys John Brewer, a fellow firefighter who earned his master's degree in music at the University of New Orleans. They reminded me a lot of one of my favorite bands, Robert Walter's 20th Congress. I had forgotten how much I like Jardine's and had no idea that this level of talent was present in KC. It's a pleasant surprise.

Working Fire

BAM!!! The bells go off and I'm pretty sure the sound waves lift me out of bed. Some guys manage to sleep through that sonic blast. Not me. It hits me like a freight train. The heart goes from 40 to 120 in half a second. Head for the rig and listen for the tone: two short ones and it's a car wreck, automatic alarm, or some drunk passed out on the street; one long one and it's MOVE. YOUR. ASS. Shove your feet into your boots, feel that lump of sock that somehow always gets wedged where it shouldn't be. Grab the suspenders, wing 'em around your shoulders and jump on the rig. Try to get dressed in a four-ton runaway rollercoaster going 60 down streets never meant to be taken at 60...with a load that tends to shift. Watch that car always creeping closer in the intersection, never knowing if it's really going to stop despite the Bright Flashing Lights, Two Different Wailing Sirens and Constant Blast of the Airhorn. The windows are down, you can smell the smoke from 6 blocks away. It's a worker and your heart beats that much faster. You get close enough to see the house--another pumper beat you on scene--that's ok....they're gonna need water and there's plenty of work for everyone. You pull up next to a hydrant, the plug man jumps out, grabs big yellow and the hydrant wrench, wraps the hose around the hydrant and gives the signal to GO! shuck....shuck....shuck Big yellow flops out the backside of the pumper and into the street. The fire is a block up and the neighbors are out, migrating toward the scene. You pull up to the house, thick black smoke chugging out of the eaves. Grab a hook and an axe and up to the front porch. Your driver is fixing the first pumper up with water. Other guys are on the roof, chopping away. Flashing lights and radios speaking up everywhere. It's your turn to work. Don the facepiece and fumble with the regulator. Put on your gloves and go in. The smoke is lower and thicker with every step until, finally, you can't see six inches in front of your face. Don't fall into a hole--test that ground in front of you. You can hear it now, always louder than you think it would be--crackling and blowing like a furnace. The ceiling needs pulled in that room. Jam the hook up into the plaster and through the lathe, now pull down. It crumbles, but you need a hole twenty times bigger. Arms churn, hook jigsawing up and down, falling debris covering you in God knows what....until the black gives way to glowing orange--"I got fire here!!" The guy on the nozzle comes in, you open the hole up more for him. He lets it fly and the orange immediately darkens. The smoke begins to clear out through the 4' by 4' holes cut by the guys on the roof. What was invisible before begins to reveal itself. You can take a breath, remove the facepiece, take a look around. The smoke still burns your eyes and throat, but the amount of air left in your bottle is directly proportionate to how much of a man you are (this just in: cancer risk is twice as high for firefighters). There's that pile of junk you tripped over on the way in. There is always junk, everywhere. You chuck it out the window if it was or is on fire. The fire is probably in the walls, so you go to town on them. Some idiot is still breaking windows--NEWS FLASH--this fire is almost out and there is no more need for ventilation. It could be nine degrees out, or ninety. Either way, you're drenched in sweat inside your gear. If it is cold, now is the time you start to notice. You mop up the hot spots--don't want to be coming back two hours later. "Chief Rekindle" does not work here. You exit the house, drop your air bottle and tools in your rig, and help the other companies roll up, all the while avoiding any TV camera that might be present. Back at the station, rolled up dirty hose is tossed on the bay floor--the next shift can get that. Dirty tools don't get cleaned--the next shift can get that too. Peel off and hose down your nasty gear and replace it with dry stuff. Smooth out that lump of sock. Wet gear hangs from every conceivable place. Maybe you take a shower, or maybe you fall right back into bed. Maybe you sleep the rest of the night, maybe you run 6 more calls of homeless alcoholics and automatic alarms. Either way, that serene woman's voice wakes you at 6 a.m. every work day. The next shift can tell you had a fire that night the second they walk into the bay--the smell hangs in the air. You sip coffee, skim the paper, talk about the fire a bit and watch the local early news with a keen eye looking out for any fireman's face--any TV time earns you the privilege of buying a couple dozen donuts. Take your gear off the rig, roll up your bedding, and go home. Take another shower, the smell is still there, lingering in your hair. Kiss your wife, your kids, whoever, and tell them you love them. Wait two days. Repeat.

It begs the question

We were dispatched to a car wreck last night, which, en route, turned into a pedestrian hit by a vehicle. (This is common; you can't blame the dispatchers, as they are only relaying the information they receive.) We were then told to stage for the police, as a disturbance had supposedly developed. So, we sit at the corner for a moment until we see the ambulance barrel on through and go to the scene, which happens to be right outside a bar. We figure we'll follow them in. Once on scene, we are told by a really drunk and loud guy that his friend was supposedly hit by the big-ass tour bus idling in the middle of the street. "I saw everything," the drunk guy says, which is an immediate indicator that he is the last person from whom I'd want to get the story. Anyway, I'm looking at the three guys standing by the bus, one of whom was supposedly hit by said bus, and I can't tell who that would be, because they all look fine and drunk to me.

So, it begs the question--if someone was hit by a bus, but you can't immediately determine who that person is, was anyone really hit by a bus?

Cormac McCarthy is right

For all of my three readers out there, this thing will probably start to get a little more personal. I've been leaning a bit hard on the politics, but I've come to the realization that there are probably more than enough blowhards out there yapping about how much Bush sucks or rules--I don't need to be constantly adding to that pile. But, I promise, I still won't talk about my feelings.

I said: It starts when you begin to overlook bad manners. Any time you quit hearin Sir and Mam the end is pretty much in sight. I told her, I said: It reaches into ever strata. You've heard about that aint you? Ever strata? You finally get into the sort of breakdown in mercantile ethics that leaves people settin around out in the desert dead in their vehicles and by then it's just too late.--Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

I sat at a wedding last night while the best man gave a speech that may have been a bit long, and he may been a bit preachy for some by quoting Biblical passages, but that was his time. He laid it out there the best way he thought, and I respected that. Lots of other people didn't, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from slapping them upside the head (women too!) and saying, "Look, you self-important little snobs--this isn't your time to talk about your new apartment, it's his time to talk about his brother getting married. Shut the f#$% up, eat your free food and drink your free alcohol and give the man his due respect." It wasn't one or two people, either. More like 20 or 30.

Bad manners.

I was punked by a 10 yr. old

Some kid was riding his bike to school this morning. Guess from where I saw him...yes, my car window. Because I'm too lazy and too weak to get up early and ride. This shouldn't happen again.

Wake up! We're fat!

Twice as many Americans as Europeans can't stop shoving food into their mouths, a new study says. Americans used to be among the fittest and the tallest people in world. We've eaten our way off of that lofty perch, and we are sicker for it. We spend $2 TRILLION on health care--16% of the GDP. And yet, none of this makes us put down the Ho-hos, turn off Judge Judy, and go for a walk. Are we idiots? Or are we so lazy that we're unwilling to prevent our own untimely deaths by heart attack and diabetes? Either way, it's pretty sad.

Another stupid invention we don't need...

Is the greeting cards that play music when opened. Every time I go into a card shop now I have to listen to some idiot opening every single one of these infernal things. As if it's not going to play the song listed on the label, or they need to hear "Bad to the Bone" or "Celebration" one more time. Not to mention the fact that the unadjustable volume on these things is set at a level that would make a deaf person cup their ears.

The Great Iraq Swindle

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/story/16076312/the_great_iraq_swindle

Great reading, if you can stand to learn just how badly private contractors are bilking the American taxpayer out of billions at the expense of the safety of our own soldiers, the contractor companies' honest workers, and the Iraqi people for whom we are building all of this stuff. Oh yeah, the government hasn't brought charges against a single company or person ripping them off. Maybe they're too busy wiping off the fecal matter falling from the ceiling of the Baghdad Police College or looking for the $8.8 billion in CASH that is unaccounted for. Or, maybe they're just too busy writing up the next contract.

Back from vacation...

Although a few things going on in the world prevented me from complete relaxation. Here's a list for your perusal:

1. Kia Vaughn--Vaughn is the Rutgers basketball player suing Don Imus in civil court for the infamous "nappy headed hos" comment that led to his eventual firing. Kia, get over it, and get over yourself. You were called a name. If you follow through with this suit and win, you're worse than anything Don Imus called you. You're now a pimp, and the legal system is your ho.
2. Ted Haggard--Good to see this blowhard is inserting himself into the public eye again. And guess what? He wants your money! It seems the disgraced former head of the National Association of Evangelicals can't get by on the $336,000 he's earned since the beginning of 2006 (plus book royalties), not to mention the house in Colorado Springs he's been trying to sell for $700,000. Hey Ted, I hear the drug trade is a pretty lucrative game.....wait, you've already tried that, haven't you? There's always male prostitution, but you've had a taste of that, too.
3. Idaho Sen. Larry Craig--What else can I say but another morals-spouting, gay-hating conservative wacko gets pegged for a sex crime. Upon further examination, the list of allegations through the years against this guy reveals his career is spottier than Britney Spears' sheets under a blacklight. Larry, can't you find any place more private than the bathrooms of Union Station or the airport to do your deeds? And, do you really need legal representation to advise you to plead "not guilty" if you are innocent?
4. Congress--I hope they, especially Democrats, had some good boots on, because they had quite a time stomping all over the Fourth Amendment with the passage of the Protect America Act of 2007.
5. Iraq War--No politics, no finger pointing this time. The reason for my vacation was to see my brother, a Marine, who will be leaving for Iraq again in 10-12 days. I'm tired of these trips.
   

Bottled water is a joke

I had a rough idea of some rant I wanted to make about the stupidity of bottled water. Lo and behold, somebody did it better than I ever could.

http://www.effbombs.com/2007/08/03/stupid-waternazis/

This has even more relevance in Kansas City, where our tap water is routinely ranked among the best in the country. Add to that all the petroleum used to make the bottles and transport them to the stores where they are sold, and I just can't understand why anyone buys this crap.