This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
   - from The Hollow Men, by T.S. Eliot

My sister called me this morning. She was brimming with good humor, laughing over a news item she'd recently read that she wanted to share with me. When she finished her story and I offered appreciative laughter over the punchline, she added, "Oh, and I wanted to talk with you one last time before the world ends."

She and I have had several conversations over the past couple of years about the "Mayan Calendar" prophecy -- you know, the one where the ancient Mayans supposedly knew when the last moment of earth was going to arrive, and in their infinite wisdom decided to not waste the carver's time in recording anything beyond that fateful date -- but she's never given me any indication before today that she might have been seriously believing the world was about to wink out of existence. Incredulous, I asked, "You believe this?"

"No," she answered. "I think it's ridiculous. People have lost their minds. You won't see me building a survival pod under my house. Forget about the 25% of us who are supposed to be insane -- I think the number's closer to 80%."

We talked a bit about the various doomsday preppers and the wingnuts who are running around panicked today, and surmised how stupid they're going to feel when they wake up the day after tomorrow and realize they were mistaken. I told her I would be very interested to see if there is a spike in consumer lending, based on the wrong-headed notion that the loans wouldn't need repayment. And I asked her if she planned to celebrate the holiday tonight, or were they going to wait until after the end of the world.

She said, "Oh, we'll just wait until after the world ends. Much less hassle, that way." She added, "Besides, he's still on the river. Will be, until Sunday." The "he" she mentioned is my brother-in-law.

Great. So the world's ending, and she won't even get a decent kiss goodbye.

After the call, I sat thinking. I've got a miserable cold, replete with cough, fever and bone-breaking muscle aches. My husband has one, too. We've taken up residence in separate bedrooms so as to not pass the colds back and forth, or keep one another awake with the all-night coughing and hacking. Neither of us feels like eating or cooking. We look like hell and sound like it, too. 

I'd like to think that if the world's about to end, I'd be able to muster up a better front for facing it, and that we'd at least go hand-in-hand together, as we have traveled most of our lives. So tonight, no matter what else, I'm sleeping in our bed, spooned up against the beating heart of the man I have loved these many years.

The conversation also raised a question. If this really was the world's last day, what should I be doing, and who do I need to see? I came to the conclusion that I'm doing the right thing by writing now; that those who I hold in my heart know they are there; that in not losing my hope that I will awaken the day after tomorrow, I am remaining fully human.

Excuse me. I have to tidy my house before the apocalypse hits it.
R.B.

The answer to problems caused by guns is more guns, 
millions of guns, guns everywhere, carried openly, 
carried secretly, in bars, in churches, in offices, 
in government buildings. Only the lack of guns can 
be a curse, not their beneficent omnipresence.  

     – Gary Wills, from “Our Moloch”

I think that gun control matters. The issue has become vastly complex and vexing because of individual interpretations of what constitutes “civil liberty” and a personal reading of the 2nd Amendment.

The 2nd Amendment says: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” That’s all. No qualifiers, no conditions, no explanations other than what is offered in the single sentence.

I would point out that the first four words, “A well regulated Militia,” are the most overlooked words in the Amendment, and the last four words, “shall not be infringed,” are the most cited. The argument is that in order to meet the necessary level of security in a free State, there must be a well regulated Militia, and for it to properly function, the people must be allowed to keep and bear Arms. The conclusion is that in order to sustain the necessary security for the free State, the government may not infringe upon this right of the people to keep and bear Arms.

I keep going back to the first four words. Where is the “well regulated Militia” referenced in the amendment? At the time the Amendment was passed (1791), the USA did not have a standing military, the way we now do — if invaders showed up on our shores, the only way to protect ourselves was for every able-bodied, trained person to take up Arms and join the fight to defend our freedom. The colonists thought of themselves as primarily peace-loving, and made the conscious choice to not fund a standing army in times of peace. Now, however, we can scarcely imagine not having a standing army, navy, air force, and marines, along with whatever special forces and weapon-bearing alphabet-soup agencies we can underwrite.

I submit that we ought to be looking at the intent, and legislating accordingly. If the people are to keep and bear Arms as a “well regulated Militia,” then by all means, let’s invest in the regulating and training that goes with it, and get rid of the standing forces. We don’t need them if we can call on all citizens to take up their Arms and go into battle. On the other hand, if we think we need those standing armies, then why do the citizens need to keep and bear arms, if they aren’t a “well regulated Militia?”

I don't think we can have it both ways. Do you?

Excuse me. I have to write notes of condolence to the families of the 26 people who were mowed down in the Sandy Hook, Connecticut elementary school.

R.B.

Our Moloch

The answer to problems caused by guns is more guns, 
millions of guns, guns everywhere, carried openly, 
carried secretly, in bars, in churches, in offices, 
in government buildings. Only the lack of guns can 
be a curse, not their beneficent omnipresence. 
     – Gary Wills, from “Our Moloch”

My husband, who has a history of heart problems, called my cell phone last month and left a message while I was having coffee with an old friend. "I don't know when you're planning to be home, but when you come up the street, don't be worried. There may be police cars and fire trucks in front of the house, but it's okay. They're not here because of me, they're here to help Jane (names are all changed)." Jane, my neighbor down the street, is a good friend.

I drove home faster than usual, my stomach in a knot. When I arrived, the street was normal, the driveway empty. I rushed inside, and found my husband sitting in the kitchen. I asked what happened.

He told me that Jane had arrived an hour earlier, breathless and shaking, having run from her house all the way up the hill to ours, hoping she'd be safer with us than at home.

Two months earlier, her 28-year-old son Joey moved back into her home until he could find a place of his own. Joey has a history of mental illness, a diagnosis of adolescent-onset paranoid schizophrenia. Joey does not hold jobs for very long, and hates his medication as it stifles his "creative edge." Jane wasn't happy about Joey's return home, but she didn't want him wandering the streets homeless.

On the day in question, she'd been talking with Joey about his apparent lack of a plan to find work and she questioned him about whether or not he was taking his meds.

His fury was instantaneous. He destroyed the kitchen cabinets and drawers and threw all the contents around the room, all the while screaming that he "could kill her."

She backed away through the dining room, toward the front door, Joey following and gesticulating wildly.

Jane managed to get outside. Joey, taller, faster, younger and stronger, caught her by the back of her shirt, ripping it at the shoulder. He held fast and tried to drag her back into the house. Jane dropped to the pavement and went limp before he could haul her back inside. He'd screamed, "I'll kill you with this cup!" and hurled a heavy ceramic mug he'd been holding at her head as she lay on the ground. It narrowly missed her and shattered. He ran back into the house, presumably to get another, more effective weapon.

As soon as he was out of sight, she'd jumped up and ran, terrified, to my house, where my husband was home to help. He'd brought her inside, calmed her and called the police.

Armed, wary, the police team made its way down the block. One officer returned to report that they'd found Joey sitting on the family room sofa, watching television, perfectly calm. The officer said that everything in the kitchen was "orderly," and the only sign of a disturbance was a single kitchen cabinet with its door missing. The police called the hospital and had an ambulance take Joey away. The officer asked Jane to sign a complaint, which she did without hesitation. Jerry, her husband, arrived shortly after this to go with her to the hospital.

Joey spent a week in a psychiatric care facility, went back on his meds, and was released after the psychologists determined he wasn't a threat. Jane and Jerry paid for a housekeeping hotel room until they could find an apartment they could afford for Joey. I gave Jane a key to my house; we now have a "safe phrase" between us so that if she ever says it, I'll know to get immediate help. The restraining order is still in place. It makes Jane and Jerry feel safer.

Joey could be living next door to me, to you, to any of us. On a good day and in the current state of affairs, Joey wouldn't have any trouble buying a gun. Maybe even an assault-style weapon.

There are eight elementary schools in our town. Do the math.

I came home at the end of all this drama. I am thankful I missed it, and I'm thankful that my neighbors didn't have any guns in their house, or the story might have ended in a very different way.

Excuse me. I have to write a letter to my Congressman, asking her to support a ban on the sale of assault-caliber weapons to private citizens. I urge you to do the same.

R.B.

"Legitimate rape victims rarely get pregnant."
    - Rep. Todd Akin (R-Missouri)

The quote above comes to you courtesy of a man who is arguably as dumb as a stump. Or a box of rocks. Take your pick. Stupidity at the level he exhibited on Saturday during his televised interview on KTVI in St. Louis is rarely seen in the civilized world. But then, Todd Akin isn't the kind of guy to let science, history, or even human decency slow him down, is he?

Ladies, what is it going to take to convince you that casting votes for Republican incumbents and office seekers is not in your, or my, best interests?

During the first half of 2012, there was Republican-sponsored legislation introduced in twenty-two bills across thirteen states looking to mandate transvaginal ultrasounds as a requirement before permitting an abortion to occur. In Alaska, Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, Texas, Rhode Island and Montana, Republicans used Oklahoma's law regarding the "ultrasound-forced view of the image-verbal description of the fetus" requirements as their model for legislation. In Arizona, Florida, Michigan, Texas and Virginia decided that the ultrasound was mandatory, but the viewing of the fetus or listening to the description of it was optional. Texas managed to get this approved by one house. Arizona tinkered with the legislation, and the governor signed the bill into action. In Arkansas and Connecticut, Republicans feel that only the ultrasound is necessary.

It's 916 pieces of legislation, ladies. Think about that. In a time when our country is at war on several foreign fronts, our economy is in the toilet, the middle class is shrinking to nothing, and education is no longer affordable or even adequate, our Republican legislators found the time to draft, sponsor, lobby and vote for 916 separate pieces of legislation that absolutely represent a declaration of war against women.

You have the right to make decisions about your own body. You have the right to maintain your privacy and dignity when it comes to your medical records and history. The decisions about whether or not you choose to carry a pregnancy to term belong ultimately to you. You also have the right to be treated like a human being. You are not a pet, or a prize pig. You are not a breeding ground for the next generation of Republicans.

Put an end to the misogyny that has infected our government. Our grandmothers fought for our rights. We have to be vigilant, informed, and recognize that this war against women has high stakes -- we must fight for our grand-daughters, and end this once and for all.

Rep. Todd Akin fired a shot across the bow that luckily didn't hit us (his aim is as bad as his science, apparently). You have the chance to fire back -- in the voting booth on election day. He's just one man, yet he's got a lot of company in his party. Senator Paul Ryan willingly co-sponsored the odious "personhood" bill; don't be fooled by the nice smile or blandishments about what's good for the country. What's good for the country has to be good for women, too, or it's a lie.

Excuse me. I'm going to just sit here and wait until I see the whites of their eyes.

R.B.

And now, for something
completely different..."
   - Monty Python's Flying Circus

Okay, so let’s set the record straight right now -– I am not now, nor have ever been, a fan of snakes. As one of Eve’s daughters, I naturally recoil when confronted by a slithering reminder of mankind’s fall from grace. My reaction to such encounters is invariably horror, followed by a hasty retreat that puts as much distance between me and the slithering reptile as is humanly possible.

Today, I read that a Burmese python was discovered in the Florida Everglades that makes my reaction seem fully warranted, if not actually understated. They’ve found a record-breaking snake, at 17 feet, 7 inches (5.3 meters) long, 165 pounds and nearly a foot in girth. As if that’s not sobering enough, this mammoth python is a female, carrying 87 eggs. The pythons are considered an invasive species, and now scientists are worrying that the snakes will be a danger to humans as well as other species in their vicinity.

I’d have to agree, since even reading about this beast has raised my heart rate considerably. I can only imagine what an actual encounter might do to me. The news article indicated that researchers found feathers and bones inside the snake (oh, good, it’s an ex-snake) which they’ll process to determine what its feeding habits were. I imagine that a python hauling around 87 eggs could work up quite an appetite. Birds, turtles, raccoons, opposums, fish, skunks, squirrels, dogs, cats and now humans must share their space with a large, ravenous, deadly predator. 

It’s not a thought that comforts me.

I also learned that these snakes were imported to this continent via exotic pet sellers nearly thirty years ago. I can just imagine the internal conversation the first seller had with himself:

“Whoa. Look at that thing. It must be ten feet long.”
“What if it gets loose? Is it dangerous?”
“Aww, how fast can a snake move? It’s not like it’s poisonous.”
“Somebody’s going to want to own it. I wonder how much I can get for it.”

And just like that, voila! The decision was made to bring Burmese pythons into the United States. Now, thirty years after the fact, the pythons that did get loose, either accidentally or deliberately, are thriving (many are longer than 10 feet) and reproducing at a seriously alarming rate (dozens of eggs per hatching). Brace yourself. This is what we’re up against:

Excuse me. I’m off to find St. Patrick, now that we really need him.
R.B.

“One of the great mistakes is to judge 
policies and programs by their intentions 
rather than their results.” 
    ― Milton Friedman

Want to know what upsets me?


In the last month, Republicans spent something on the order of twenty-five million dollars on negative campaign ads. I don’t have the numbers on what the Democrats (or anyone else) spent, but I’d bet it is comparable.

Twenty-five million dollars. When we’re so accustomed to hearing our politicians discuss billions, it doesn’t sound like much, does it? However, here’s what twenty-five million dollars can buy (each item represents the full twenty-five million):

• 52 weeks’ worth of food for 4,800 families of six;
• 4 years of state college education for 658 students;
• 150 houses that cost $165,000 (fully paid, no mortgage)
• 505 30% down payments on $165,000 houses (fixed rate mortgage)
• nearly 14,000 monthly bus passes for a whole year
• more than 83,000 bicycles
• about 12,500 motor scooters
• $100 worth of shoes for 250,000 people
• 294,000 polio vaccinations
• 272,000 tDAP vaccinations
• 500,000 textbooks (at $50 each)

You can do the match and double up the numbers, assuming the Democrats spent a comparable amount in the same period.

Instead of getting food, clothing, shelter, education, and health care, however, we got treated to 30-second and 1-minute compilations of lies, innuendo, hearsay, and misdirection – and all of it promising that the sponsoring party is going to do right by us.

It really makes me sick, not just angry. It also tires me mightily, knowing that a very large number of people will go to the polls this November and vote from fear, paranoia, jealousy, bigotry, classism, and gender inequity. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to find something better to do with my vote this year, even if it means I have to cast it for somebody that NOBODY thinks has a chance of securing office. I’m going to pay attention to who spends money on negative advertising, who is saying one thing and doing another, and who consistently votes against my best interests. 

If I see them do it even once, it’s too much.

Excuse me. I want to review the last term’s output, and assign some blame to the offending incumbents and seekers. It’s richly deserved.

R.B.

If we listened to our intellect, 
we'd never have a love affair. We'd 
never have a friendship. We'd never 
go into business, because we'd be 
cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've 
got to jump off cliffs all the time and 
build your wings on the way down.
   - Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury

August 22, 1920 – June 6, 2012

---

Chronology 
(includes story collections, novels, verse, plays)

1947 –	Dark Carnival
1950 –	The Martian Chronicles
1951 –	The Illustrated Man
1953 –	The Golden Apples of the Sun, Fahrenheit 451
1955 –	Switch on the Night, The October Country
1957 –	Dandelion Wine
1959 –	A Medicine for Melancholy (UK title, The Day it Rained Forever)
1962 –	Something Wicked This Way Comes; “R” is for Rocket
1963 –	The Anthem Sprinters and Other Antics
1964 –	The Machineries of Joy
1965 –	The Vintage Bradbury
1966 –	Twice 22; “S” is for Space
1969 –	I Sing the Body Electric!
1972 –	The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit and Other Plays; The Halloween Tree
1973 –	When Elephants Last in the Dooryard Bloomed
1975 –	Pillar of Fire and Other Plays
1976 –	Long After Midnight
1977 –	Where Robot Mice and Robot Men Run Round in Robot Towns
1978 –	The Mummies of Guanajuato
1979 –	This Attic Where the Meadow Greens
1980 –	The Last Circus & The Electrocution; The Stories of Ray Bradbury
1981 –	The Ghosts of Forever; The Haunted Computer and the Android Pope
1982 –	The Complete Poems of Ray Bradbury; The Love Affair
1983 –	Dinosaur Tales
1984 –	A Memory of Murder; Death is a Lonely Business
1987 –	Death Has Lost its Charm for Me; Ray Bradbury; Fever Dream
1988 –	The Toynbee Convector
1989 –	The Climate of Palettes; Zen in the Art of Writing
1990 –	A Graveyard for Lunatics
1991 –	Ray Bradbury on Stage; Yestermorrow
1992 –	Green Shadows, White Whale
1996 –	Quicker than the Eye
1997 –	Driving Blind; With Cat for Comforter; Dogs Think That Every Day is Christmas
1998 –	Ahmed and the Oblivion Machines
2001 –	A Chapbook for Burnt-Out Priests, Rabbis and Ministers; From the Dust Returned
2002 –	One More for the Road
2003 –	Bradbury Stories
2004 –	Let’s All Kill Constance; The Cat’s Pajamas
2005 –	Bradbury Speaks
2006 –	The Homecoming; Farewell Summer
2007 –	Now and Forever

When Bradbury turned 80 years old in 2000, he said, "The great fun in my life has been getting up every morning and rushing to the typewriter because some new idea has hit me. The feeling I have every day is very much the same as it was when I was twelve. In any event, here I am, eighty years old, feeling no different, full of a great sense of joy, and glad for the long life that has been allowed me. I have good plans for the next ten or twenty years, and I hope you'll come along."

I went along, Ray, and I have to say, it was a glorious, thrilling ride from beginning to end. You taught me a lot about life, and a lot about writing.

Excuse me. I’m going to have a glass of dandelion wine in Ray’s memory.
R.B.