Joyce Carol Oates; Ted Kennedy; Chappaquiddick

For a real piece of work, check out Joyce Carol Oates’ recent article about Ted "Stone Cold Killer" Kennedy:

'There are no second acts in American lives'– this dour pronouncement of F Scott Fitzgerald has been many times refuted, and at no time more appropriately than in reference to the late Senator Ted Kennedy, whose death was announced yesterday. Indeed, it might be argued that Senator Kennedy's career as one of the most influential of 20th-century Democratic politicians, an iconic figure as powerful, and as morally enigmatic, as President Bill Clinton, whom in many ways Kennedy resembled, was a consequence of his notorious behaviour at Chappaquiddick bridge in July 1969.

Yet, ironically, following this nadir in his life/ career, Ted Kennedy seemed to have genuinely refashioned himself as a serious, idealistic, tirelessly energetic liberal Democrat in the mold of 1960s/1970s American liberalism, arguably the greatest Democratic senator of the 20th century. His tireless advocacy of civil rights, rights for disabled Americans, health care, voting reform, his courageous vote against the Iraq war (when numerous Democrats including Hillary Clinton voted for it) suggest that there are not only "second acts" in American lives, but that the Renaissance concept of the "fortunate fall" may be relevant here: one "falls" as Adam and Eve "fell"; one sins and repents and is forgiven, provided that one remakes one's life.

Kennedy was 36, a senator from Massachusetts whose political career had been managed by his father Joseph Kennedy and facilitated by family wealth, as his expulsion from Harvard as an undergraduate for cheating on a final examination was rectified by family pressure. Like George Bush, another spoiled younger brother of a well-to-do and influential family whose subsequent success in politics had little to do with his own evident talent, intelligence, or ambition, Ted Kennedy was groomed for public office despite dubious qualifications.

At Chappaquiddick, having been drinking and partying with young women aides of his brother Robert Kennedy, Senator Kennedy, at this time a married man and a father, slipped away with 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne, who was trapped in his car after he took a wrong turn off the Chappaquiddick bridge, lost control of his car which was submerged in just eight feet of water.

Kennedy chose to flee the scene , leaving the young woman to die an agonising death not of drowning but of suffocation over a period of hours. Incredibly, it was 10 hours before Kennedy reported the accident, by which time he'd consulted a family lawyer. The senator's explanation for this unconscionable, despicable, unmanly and inexplicable behaviour was never convincing: he claimed that he'd struck his head and was "confused" and "exhausted" from diving and trying to rescue the young woman and had gone home to bed.

There followed a media circus, as all of the world rushed to Chappaquiddick to expose Kennedy's behaviour and to speculate on his future. Yet, appealing to his lawyer and not rather seeking emergency help for the trapped Mary Jo Kopechne would seem, in retrospect, to have been a felicitous move.

If Kennedy had summoned aid, he would very likely have given police officers self-incriminating evidence, which might have involved charges of vehicular manslaughter or homicide. The local prosecutor was not nearly so outraged by Kennedy's behaviour as other prosecutors might have been: the charges were "failing to report an accident" and "leaving the scene of an accident." The punishment: two months' probation.

That the Kennedys had always been a family operating outside the perimeters of the sort of legal restrictions that bind other citizens to "moral" behaviour publicly, is well known; no occasion so exemplifies this than Chappaquiddick and the subsequent cooperative silence of the Kopechne family who agreed never to speak of the tragedy.

One is led to think of Tom and Daisy Buchanan of Fitzgerald's the Great Gatsby, rich individuals accustomed to behaving carelessly and allowing others to clean up after them. It is often in instances of the "fortunate fall", think of Joseph Conrad's anti-hero/hero Lord Jim as a classic literary analogy, that innocent individuals figure almost as ritual sacrifices is another aspect of the phenomenon.
Yet if one weighs the life of a single young woman against the accomplishments of the man President Obama has called the greatest Democratic senator in history, what is one to think?

The poet John Berryman once wondered: "Is wickedness soluble in art?". One might rephrase, in a vocabulary more suitable for our politicized era: "Is wickedness soluble in good deeds?"

This paradox lies at the heart of so much of public life: individuals of dubious character and cruel deeds may redeem themselves in selfless actions. Fidelity to a personal code of morality would seem to fade in significance as the public sphere, like an enormous sun, blinds us to all else.

Wow...man. That's, like, deep...and, you know...trippy, man.

So...in other words...it's totally okay to cruelly cut off a young woman's life, as long as you spend the following decades doing "good" things. You don't have to be sorry, and you can allow your worthless, oxygen-thieving family to help you stay out of trouble, but it's all good anyway, because you're obviously more special, influential, and important than the likes of Mary Jo Kopechne.

H/T to Snark and Boobs for this’n.

Dear Joan Rivers

Dear Joan Rivers:

I recently saw a YouTube clip from "The Celebrity Apprentice," in which you called poker players "trash." You were not, judging by what you said - and here comes the clip, just for the record - referring only to Annie Duke (who, admittedly, is annoying as snot - but still).



Yes, I realize that the Vegas of decades past was rife with corruption. Obviously, anyone who's capable of picking up any sort of book that recounts the fabled city's history will know about the mob, and the Binions, and all the other big-time things that have happened there over time.

I realize that poker has a sordid, nasty history. We don't call Aces and eights "the dead man's hand" just because it sounds cool, after all.

But things change, and group dynamics change. And even back when Doyle Brunson was a young'un, there were plenty of poker players who would stab themselves in the face before they'd renege on a deal, or backstab someone. Though not every poker player, then or now, is a wonderful person, there have always been good guys and gals in the game. You fail to see that, and that's your shortcoming, not ours.

What's saddest, though, is that you're nobody, Joan. The only thing that I knew about you before this fiasco was that you were on "Hollywood Squares," which my grandmother watched when I was a young'un. And that, frankly, was a very-dim memory until "The Celebrity Apprentice." How great is that - knowing that you're just a random, tiny recollection based on some grandmother's television-viewing habits?

Even though you're fighting very hard to look like you're only twenty or so, Joan, you're going to die at some point. And when you go, who's going to remember you...and for what?

The poker community - millions of us, by the way, and that's just here in the United States - will remember you as the bitter old woman who called us all trash. People who are addicted to reality TV aren't going to remember much about you, because they have the attention spans of toddlers on meth. Folks who were around back when you were doing stand-up, or whatever you did when you were really as young as you're trying to look now, are going to be either dead or senile, and therefore won't recall anything about you.

Some dusty, old obit will be yanked out of some dusty, old filing cabinet in some newsroom. Some lackey will update the file to include the date of your death, as well as a couple of details about it, then publish it on the Internet and in the papers. But the odds are good that the kid doing that menial, thankless job isn't going to know much of anything about you. He probably won't really care, one way or another, that he's updating Joan Rivers' obit.

Now, you're best known as the woman who pitched a childish tantrum on a game show. This is what people in and near my generation will remember about you every time you make any sort of appearance on television or in the news. Unless you do something huge, and soon, this is what people are going to remember even after you're gone.

There's nothing wrong with being nobody. There's nothing wrong with being somebody. But there's nothing right about being known for being a rotten, nasty, bitter person. Even though I don't particularly care for Annie Duke's on-camera antics, and even though I wouldn't exactly be thrilled to be stuck playing at her poker table, the heat is on you, because you're the one who stereotyped a very-large group of people...many of whom are not even remotely close to being "trash," despite what you think.

So, Joan, the real reality here is that, among "my" kind of people - the trash, don't you know - you're basically a big donk. Congratulations - we very-rarely award the "donk" title to anyone who doesn't play poker, so you should bask in the glory of your awesome achievement.

Sincerely,

A poker player

P.S. LOL Trumpaments!

Look! I'm Funny Too, Y'all!

Wanda Sykes - man, I hope she falls into a giant vat of boiling grease. That would be great…if she fell into a McDonald’s vat and just bubbled away to a pile of deep-fried bones. They could put her skeleton on the dollar menu, right next to those kangaroo-meat burgers and fake-chocolate shakes. They’d have McRibs, McSkull, McFingers…the single restaurant that was lucky enough to get her would be the most-famous McDonald’s ever!

Better yet, they could prop her up in the McPlayground with her arm extended to the maximum height limit for the kids who want to go into the ball pit. They could crack open her French-fried jaw and insert a tape recorder so that kids would hear, “You must be this short to play” over and over and over.

Oh. None of you are laughing? You don’t think my comedy routine is funny? I’m just being bitter and mean?

Wait. Wait. Hang on, guys. You mean to tell me that it’s not funny to wish serious, physical harm – up to, and possibly including, a painful death – on someone? I’m shocked. I took my comedic cues from Sykes, and was led to believe that this was hee-larious stuff. You’re saying that, even though everyone’s sense of humor is different, and even though not very many of us laugh at everything that’s presented as a joke, she’s just not cutting it?

Well, pooh. That’s the last time I let a celebrity tell me what to think and do.

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms out there, especially my own.

Ahh, Mom. What can you say about her that won't get you slapped upside the head with a cast-iron frying pan? Would it really be Mother's Day here at my house without the distinctive BONG! that my sibs and I know and love? Of course not.

She whips up on me at Scrabble 99.999 percent of the time, sure. (The rest of the time, she has a migraine, so I win by challenging words like "aqwoer" and "paweroi.") Sometimes, her evilness scares me - like when she realized that she could just dump the corpses of those who anger her into the septic tank instead of making the effort to dig a shallow grave. And every now and then, she takes the very-last piece of chocolate in the entire house.

But those things just make her even more awesome.

So, Mom, Happy Mother's Day.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

I Love Cats

Dear USPS Employees:

When I retrieved my Undergear catalog from my Post Office box, I noticed that the seal had been broken. You know: that small, round sticker that secures the pages for mailing? Yeah, that seal. Broken.

I also noticed that there were a few crease marks, where someone’s thumbs had been turning pages. Obviously, at least one person saw my catalog and, before I could get up to the Post Office to grab it, decided to take a look.

It’s okay, ladies. I totally understand. The man on this particular catalog’s cover is smokin’ HAWT. I would have totally checked out the rest of the pages too if I were one of your coworkers and had a few free minutes to revel in the eye candy.

P.S. Judging by the intensified crease marks on page 20, I imagine that you really, really liked that page. Yeah, so did I. Whoever you are, at least you have good taste.

Weird Conversations with Mom

My Mom and I really need to get out more.

Mom: I have two choices for you.
Me: I choose “Cleveland.”
Mom: “Cleveland” is “Do the dishes.”
Me: Then I choose “Springfield.”
Mom: Good. “Springfield” is “Make dinner.”
Me: “Austin.”
Mom: “Do dishes and make dinner.”
Me: “Los Angeles.”
Mom: “Clean the bathroom.”
Me: Fine. “Akron.”
Mom: “Clean the kitchen.”
Me: Which option is “Go play online” anyway?
Mom: None.
Me: I give up. I’ll go with “Springfield.”
Mom: Good choice. The good knives are in the dish drainer.

Dear Acquaintance

Dear Acquaintance:

We run into each other every few weeks, because you work at one of my favorite stores. This being the case, we see each other often. I do enjoy the random snatches of conversation that we have when you aren't too busy with actual work. You're intelligent, which is always a plus. You know the products in your store very well, and almost always recommend great things. I appreciate you as both a knowledgeable store employee and an interesting human being. Believe me, if you ever mention that you enjoy firearms, you have a standing invitation to the range.

However, I'm not interested in a date. As much as I enjoy chatting with you, and as interesting as I think time spent together outside of your place of employment would be, we just aren't compatible.

It's not because you're older than I am. I like older - usually, my relationships work best when I'm younger by at least a few years. You being several years older bothers me not one bit.

It's not because you wear weird pants, either. I'm not sure why you insist on wearing pants that cut off the circulation to your calves, but that's your choice. A bit odd, but hardly a reason to turn down a date. It's not anywhere close to being a registered sex offender, or owning a VW Microbus with "Virgin Sacrifice Tour '08" emblazoned on the side door.

It's not because you work irregular shifts, either. I'm quite happy to work with the other half's schedule, as long as he's willing to work with mine. We could make time to hang out together. I've done it before, after all.

It's because you're not a man. Call me closed minded if you want, but I like girls as friends - not girlfriends. You're an attractive lady, and I'm sure that another woman out there is waiting to meet you and make you happy in your weird pants, but that woman just isn't me. You haven't actually asked me out on a date, but you're making it quite obvious that this sort of thing is on your mind. I don't have gaydar, but I don't need that ability when I notice you eyeballing my ass, and pretend not to notice that you keep asking me questions about my love life.

Also: If you're going to ogle my almost-nonexistent rack, please do it in a more-subtle fashion. I really don't want to have to acknowledge the fact that I know you're looking. That would be uncomfortable for us both. If you take infrequent glances, I'll pretend that I don't notice, and you can keep enjoying yourself.

Sincerely,

Strictly Dickly

Melissa Etheridge Says "No" to State Taxes

In response to California residents' collective vote against gay marriage in that state, rocker Melissa Etheridge has announced that she won't pay her state income taxes until something changes on that front.

People here are talking about this, and quite a bit. As a result, I have a list of Frequently Asked Questions regarding this announcement.

Q: Who the hell is Melissa Etheridge?
A: Back in the 1980s, she was one of the coolest rock musicians we had. Her debut album was packed with ten guitar-driven, lyrically sound songs about how much love blows.

The only real problem with this was the fact that the next few Melissa Etheridge albums were also...ten-track records about how much love blows. At some point, a good number of her fans said, "Dude, what? AGAIN? I'm not paying fifteen bucks for this. If she wants my money, she can write about something else."

Q: So, um, who cares about her now?
A: A lot of people. Some of us continued to check out her releases because we were convinced that she'd eventually find something different to write about. We were correct. She did grow as a songwriter...eventually. Too bad we wasted, like, seventy-something bucks on her records before that happened, though.

Q: So, she said that she won't pay her state income taxes. What's the point?
A: She thinks that, by withholding money from the government, the voters will be very, very sorry for what they did. Somehow, I doubt that the people who voted against gay marriage will lose much sleep over the condition of their state's coffers.

Q: Isn't she just, you know, hurting herself?
A: In the short-term, no. She'll have some extra money to spend on...whatever she spends her money on. Janis Joplin's toenail clippings, recovered from her childhood bed in Port Arthur, Texas, would be my guess.

Q: What about the long-term?
A: Oh, she's boned, dude. If she doesn't pay her taxes, California will have its revenge. Apparently, she missed the news: their governor? The Terminator? Same guy.

Q: What can California do to her if she doesn't pay up?
A: Confiscate stuff. Auction off stuff. The more she doesn't pay, the more stuff she loses. SOMEBODY on eBay is BOUND to want that toenail collection, you know.

Q: Can she go to prison?
A: I dunno. That's a good question.

Q: If she does go to prison, will she do a cover of "Jailhouse Rock"?
A: Of course. It'll be part of the benefit album that a whole group of musicians will put together in an effort to save her stuff. Personally? I'm looking forward to Ellen Degeneres singing a show tune for the record. Maybe she'll do "Hard Knock Life." Oh, please, God, let it be "Hard Knock Life."

Q: Why are you such a jerk?
A: Because I find this entire protest absurd, ridiculous, and whiny. This is not going to change voters' minds at all. California will, one way or another, get its money from Etheridge, and anybody else who joins her. In fact: if they tack on penalties and other fees, the state will actually benefit from this tantrum by getting even more money. Etheridge is hurting only herself with this hissy fit, and I for one don't see the point in doing the financial equivalent of throwing a Molotov cocktail at your own feet.

Friendly Advice for Gentlemen

Gentlemen:

I know that chivalry is in the ICU right now, gasping for its last breath. But some of you are trying to bring that poor soul back from the brink. I appreciate that, by the way. Social courtesies and “being neighborly” aren’t always welcome in our society, but thank you for making an effort to keep these things alive for us all.

However: Some of you are going about things in ways that are not quite safe - for you or the other person.

When I get a flat tire, I appreciate that you stop to offer me assistance. However: Please do not jump out of your car and try to get into my personal space to offer me help. This puts me on edge. What is your intention? I don’t know.

But I do know that, if you aren’t careful, a nervous woman might empty a can of pepper spray into your eyeballs. That wouldn’t be very pleasant, I’ve been told. I’d really rather not see an honest, decent guy coated in OC spray for his troubles.

Instead, please stop your car several feet away from mine, roll down your window, and offer help without opening your door – or even unbuckling your seat belt, for that matter. As long as you’re inside your car, and I’m several feet away from you, I don’t have much to be nervous about. I can, while we converse through the car window, assess you.

You can also assess me. Remember: I could have an (armed, perhaps) accomplice hiding on the other side of the car. Do you really want that big, nasty guy to have a shot at you just because you were kind enough to stop for a woman with a flat tire? I don’t want that to happen to you at all.

[Incidentally: I do not lay traps for people. Just so we're clear on that detail.]

Sometimes, I will gladly accept help. Most of the time, however, I can change my own flat tire. If I have the situation under control, I see no need to waste your time. Though I appreciate your concern, I’ll thank you for your kindness and let you know that I’m doing fine.

When I say “No,” I get uneasy if anybody decides to test that boundary. Bad guys test boundaries to see how solid that “No” really is. Some good guys unwittingly test the “No” as well, which is unfortunate because you tend to be marked as bad guys at that point.

Instead, please wish me a good day and leave. This will mark you, in my mind, as a decent person. Your good deed will be remembered, and praised.

Your gentlemanly attitude is wonderful. I really don’t want to discourage this character trait in any of you. Please continue to care. But please show your concern in ways that make your innocent intentions clear. This is safer for you as well as the people you’d like to help.

I'm a Student, Not a Criminal

Concealed handgun licensees here in the Great State of Texas have been fighting for the right to carry on campus for...quite some time now. As of right now, our best hope is that Governor Perry will attempt to change things during our 2009 legislative session. This is one of the rare times in which I think that meeting every other year is a very bad thing. We're trying to be patient, but...it's getting harder.

With the recent shooting on a college campus in Tyler, Texas, we have no choice but to acknowledge that this type of thing can happen anywhere. Even here in Texas, where more than a quarter million of us are legally licensed to carry our concealed handguns in many public places (except, of course, school).

And then, the University of Texas at Arlington reported that there was an armed robbery on campus. There was also an incident involving a pellet gun.

So: we need concealed carry at Texas schools. Right now, only the criminals have weapons at school. By definition, criminals break laws. You can post all the "No Gun" signs you want, and you can pass all the "No guns at school" laws you want. The criminals are going to ignore all of this. Those of us who follow laws will obey...and by doing so, put ourselves at risk.

This ticks me off because I'm a UT-Arlington student. (I'm taking off this semester, but I'm returning in August.) I have to walk, by myself, across several parking lots. The campus is wide open to anybody who wishes to show up. Cooper Street, which basically runs right down the middle of the school, is a large and public road open to anybody who'd like to drive down it.

And though many of the people who live in the numerous houses near the campus are wonderful, law-abiding citizens...some of them are not. Not every person in the surrounding neighborhood is a good guy or gal. The criminals who live right off campus have very easy, free access to the unarmed students who are in the parking lots and on the streets.

There aren't enough campus police officers to personally escort every student all over the campus. Until or unless we each have armed escorts, we're responsible for protecting ourselves. But right now, legislation and school policies make this difficult. Very difficult.

Because, quite frankly, I have no delusion about what would happen if I were confronted by a criminal armed with a handgun. I have...pepper spray and a folding knife. Oh, yes, those are highly effective against handgun-wielding purse snatchers, rapists, school shooters and other, miscellaneous thugs.

This is not fair. I haven't done anything wrong, but the law puts me at a distinct disadvantage re: my own protection. The State of Texas licensed me to carry a loaded .45 at church, in Wal-Mart, and at the hobby shop. But I cannot carry that same gun to classes. I'm the same law-abiding citizen no matter where I go, but for some reason, I am not worthy of self protection when I'm attempting to better myself through higher education.

The Brady Campaign's "Drop out of school" solution would be a fine idea if it weren't for the fact that I have just as much right to attend college as an anti-gunner's kid does. I earned my seat at UT-Arlington. Wishing to defend and protect myself while I'm occupying that seat does not make me any less worthy of what I worked to earn.

Besides: the anti-gunners still have the right to NOT carry guns. They have a choice. I do not.

The sooner we get campus carry, the happier I'll be.

The Dreaded Purse

Right now, I carry inside the waistband. This, for me, is an ideal way to tote my .45 around. The setup is comfortable and the gun is concealed, so I'm content to keep doing things this way as long as possible.

But last week, the bursitis in my right shoulder flared up. Having dealt with this eight years ago, I knew that I would need a doctor. This, of course, requires me to take off my shirt. The doctor has to look at the shoulder. And if things go as they did the last time this happened (eight years ago, thankfully - this isn't a huge problem for me), I'd get a steroid injection in the shoulder too. Definitely a "please take off your shirt" kind of visit.

So I got dressed on Thursday morning and suddenly wondered where I would carry my gun. I had not planned this doctor's visit very far in advance. I called on Wednesday and got the appointment for the next day. There really wasn't time to go shopping for another holster.

Being a tomboy is tough because, well, I hate purses. I've never even OWNED one because they're not my thing at all. If I can't fit my junk in my pockets? I don't need it.

But there I was, in the doctor's office, holding one of my Mom's purses with my .45 carefully tucked inside. I looked, quite frankly, like a tool. You know how your husband looks when you ask him to hold your purse while you do whatever? I looked exactly like that, but with small boobs and no facial hair. Even down to the "I'm so embarrassed to be seen in public with this...thing" look on my face.

[shameless self-promotion]
So, eligible bachelors: If you date me, I promise to not hand you a purse to carry around in public. Or private, for that matter. I might hand you car keys, a cell phone, or a Dr Pepper. But no purses. I won't even ask you to hold my wallet. It doesn't really LOOK girly, so it might be okay for a person of the male persuasion to hold. But I won't even ask you to do that unless it's very important. Like, "Hold this while I shoot this wannabe mugger" important.
[/self-promoting singles ad.]

The snickering from Kid Sis didn't help any, either. "Man, you look like a weirdo," she announced. Yeah, well. She was right. I couldn't argue with her. (But I COULD tell her to shut it. Which I did. Repeatedly.)

Purse carry, I learned, is difficult because the purse is not attached to my body. When the nurse called me back to the scale for weighing, I had to put down the purse. Had I been carrying the gun in my waistband holster, I wouldn't have said a word or done anything. Let my weight be five pounds over. I don't care. That's all metal and polymer, baby! Yeah!

After that awkward moment, though, I learned that purse carry is probably a good thing when you're going in to see a doctor about a shoulder problem. The purse was safely stashed while I:

* Posed for X-rays
* Let the doctor manipulate my shoulder - to the point of excruciating pain, naturally. Because, for some reason, doctors don't believe you when you say "It hurts" unless it's accompanied by a yelp, profuse sweating, or a fist to their crotches.
* Learned that, despite current medical knowledge, the brilliant doctor wanted me to drop my jeans for a shot in the ASS. My SHOULDER needed the steroids, but my ASS was going to get them. The truly sad part was that I was in too much pain, and too tired of being in the doctor's office, to make a decent Major League Baseball joke while the nurse was stabbing me. Man, I suck.

So, purse carry can be good, but it's a really complicated and frustrating way for certain people - like me - to do things.

---

And then, yesterday morning - after an entire weekend of my "The shot isn't working. Somebody give me tequila STAT!" whining - I went back to the clinic to see a doctor whose head was not lodged someplace dark and smelly.

Once again, I was NOT prepared for this appointment. I had been awake until four in the morning. So I was fast asleep, finally, when my Mom decided to take pity on me and call on my behalf.

So one moment, I was having a very pleasant dream that involved a very pleasant person of the opposite sex...and the next, I was blinking several times and wondering where Johnny Depp went.

Next thing I knew, I was in the kitchen, holding The Dreaded Purse.

So we repeated the entire freaking weigh-in process at the clinic. But, fortunately, I didn't have to get more X-rays or take another needle in the butt. The whole thing was still awkward, Kid Sis still snickered at me, and I still vowed to never willingly carry a purse again if I could help it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm shopping for an ankle holster this weekend. If I have two decent carry methods, then I don't have to worry so much about being caught up in an unexpected doctor's visit that will leave me clueless and frustrated.

Situational Awareness: Parking Lots

Even though the holiday-shopping season is over, we still need to watch out for criminals when we're out in public. Christmastime is a bad time of the year because the bad guys really like to hang out at malls and other stores. The places are packed nearly to the overflowing point, which means that the cretins have a better chance of finding good victims, dashing off with purses, jacking cars, et cetera.

But even though things have calmed down, there are still bad guys out there. As long as they're around, we have to pay attention.

Parking-lot safety is a big deal because this is a favorite place for bad guys to find their victims. Many shoppers are distracted, so it's easy for a criminal to sneak up and do whatever it is that he wants to do. But if we pay attention to our surroundings, we will discourage most criminals from even trying to mess with us.

Here's a fairly-long, but hopefully helpful, step-by-step rundown of parking-lot safety. Though my advice is gender-specific, the guys out there can benefit from some of it.

You should pick a good parking spot. This is not necessarily the closest to the door, though. The best parking spots are under lighting (after dark) and within eyesight of the store entrances. Don't park by the side of the building if you can avoid doing so: it's a good place for bad guys to linger and wait for lone victims to stroll by. If you can't help but park there, you will definitely need to pay extra attention to what's happening around you.

Before you unlock your car door, make sure that all of your crap is ready to go. Put your phone in your purse, take the face plate off your stereo, grab your grocery list, whatever. You do not want to sit there in the parking lot with your door halfway open, especially if you're distracted.

While you're still in the car, with the doors locked, you should subtly double-check whatever defensive weapon you're carrying. I take the opportunity to stealthily check my handgun and folding knife - just to make sure that they're exactly where they need to be. They're useless to me if I can't easily and quickly reach them.

When you walk up to the store, square your shoulders and stand straight up. Keep your eyes focused on the people around you. Don't stare: keep looking around. If you make eye contact, make sure not to lock eyeballs with anybody in particular. Some people see prolonged eye contact as a challenge. But brief eye contact, combined with strong body language, tells the people around you that you're paying attention and will not, therefore, make a good victim.

You should still pay attention once you're inside the store. People snatch purses (or worse) even though they're under the security cameras. Glance around at the people on "your" aisle while you're trying to grab your can of tomato soup. Take a quick inventory of the person who's standing behind you in the checkout.

And pay careful attention to your purse the entire time. More often than not, when I go to the grocery store, I see at least one woman who leaves her purse in her cart while she trots halfway up the aisle to grab something. Once, I saw a woman leave the purse with a little girl who was still small enough to fit in the "kiddy seat" part of the cart. She actually told this tiny girl, "Watch Mommy's purse," while she took off to go grab something. Why? I don't know. She did this even though I, a complete stranger, was standing all of two feet from her cart. This woman had no way of knowing what type of person I am. I could be a kidnapper or a purse snatcher. I'm not, but I could be as far as that lady's concerned.

Speaking of purse storage: I don't carry a purse, myself, but you can get one with a shoulder strap. Wear that thing across your body. That in itself discourages snatchers. You might get somebody who wants to try and pick out your wallet, but that's why you a) keep the purse zipped or snapped, and b) pay attention to the people around you.

So you've finished shopping and are standing in the checkout line. You should still be paying attention to the people around you. Make sure that you glance at the person in line behind you - and that you're keeping an eye on the people on the other side of the checkstand. You really don't want some random person to walk by, grab your wallet while you're in the middle of swiping your debit card, and take off. You'll never catch him - and neither will the security guard who's somewhere in the back of the store, watching the crime unfold on closed-circuit TV.

Getting across the parking lot with a bunch of purchases can be a real challenge. This is true even if you don't have children with you. But either way, you should pause while you're still inside the store to surreptitiously double-check your defensive weapon. Make sure that your pepper spray or Taser or handgun or whatever is still right where you need it to be.

You should also make sure that your car keys are already out. You should be ready to unlock your door as soon as you get to your car. If you have a remote-unlock button on your keychain, then be sure that you don't unlock the door before you can clearly see what's going on around your car. You really don't want a bad guy to slip into the back seat from the other side and wait for you.

Walk back to your car with the same confident body language that you telegraphed on your way in. If you have a hinky feeling, you should go back into the store and ask for an escort out to your vehicle. Many stores will provide one. If they don't, you can always hang around inside until the hinky feeling passes. Don't discount your gut instincts. They've saved many a life and kept countless people out of trouble in the past.

Unlock your car and start loading your purchases. Keep your purse on your person, though. Don't leave that thing in the kiddie seat of the shopping cart. Don't leave any other valuables there, either - your kids, your cell phone, whatever.

While you're tossing your bags into the trunk or back seat, keep glancing around. Don't become absorbed in your task. Look up every few seconds. That way, if somebody is watching you, he (or, sometimes, she) will see that you're paying attention. Most of the criminals that you'll encounter in a parking lot do not want hard targets. They'd much rather sneak up on a distracted victim. It's just easier. They're lazy asses: if they weren't, they'd have an honest job.

Now you should get into your car and lock the doors. Before you put the keys in the ignition, dig through your purse for your phone or cigarettes, or tune to your favorite radio station, you should go ahead and lock up. You also want to start your car and pull out of the lot as quickly as possible. Just sitting there makes you a better victim because you're distracted by whatever piddling task you're trying to finish before you pull away.

And while you're driving home, you should keep an eye on the cars around you. Make sure that nobody's following you home. If you think that somebody has been behind you for too many turns, don't go back to your house. Head for a safe place instead, like the nearest police station.

Yes, this was a long post. And yes, I'm sure that parts of it are a bit boring. But please trust me when I say that this is important. Right now, I'm teaching my younger sister how to keep all of these things in mind - and do them every time she leaves the house. I'm hoping that, by organizing my thoughts here, I can be a better teacher for her. And because everybody on the Internet has access to this post, I might help somebody else.

If You Don't Want Your Baby...

I'm talking specifically to you new mothers down here in Texas because I honestly don't know how things work in other states, much less other nations. But for you Texas-based women, here's how things work.

So you have a baby. Maybe you didn't want to have a baby. Perhaps you either missed the abortion deadline or couldn't make up your mind before that deadline passed. But whatever the case, you ended up with a bundle that isn't so joyful as far as you're concerned.

Now, I'm sure that having an unwanted baby sucks. I can't say that I understand how it feels, because I've never been there. And this is not going to be a "You shouldn't have an abortion" type of post, either. I'm pro-life, yes. But I'm sure that you've all heard every single thing that anybody could possibly say about alternatives to abortion, why abortion isn't necessarily the best idea, et cetera. The subject has been beaten half to death.

Back to the unwanted baby thing: so this kid's just been born. Oh, great. What do you do now? You don't want this responsibility. You're young! You're supposed to be out having fun with your boyfriend(s), your buddies, your classmates. Squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a garden hose was NOT on your mind when you did the horizontal mamba with your favorite member of the male species.

All right. Mistakes happen. This does not have to be the end of your life. You don't even have to keep this baby if you don't feel like you can handle the responsibility. If you decide, right this second, that you can't deal with this, you can take care of things right now. No waiting, no phone calls, nothing.

Down here in Texas, we have the Baby Moses Law. It's a very simple, straightforward procedure that is designed to encourage you to do the right thing.

Simply put: you take the baby and physically hand him or her to a hospital employee, law-enforcement agent or fire fighter. You don't have to identify yourself, or stick around to fill out any paperwork. Simply hand off the baby and walk away - nobody will bother you ever again. The person who takes the kid will make sure that the little guy or gal is taken to the hospital, checked out, and put through the adoption process. Somebody who really wants a baby will get that kid - and you can walk away knowing that the baby is safe.

Oh, and there are no legal consequences, either. Nobody is going to arrest you or sue you. Nobody will bug you for child support. Unless you open your mouth and talk about the extremely-difficult decision that you just had to make, nobody will even know that you participated in the Baby Moses program.

This program is well publicized. Drive around to different hospitals and fire stations. Do you see the big, yellow and black signs? The ones that depict a mother holding a baby? These signs mean that the building you're staring at is part of the Baby Moses program. Somebody inside will gladly take that baby from you.

Therefore:

There is NO excuse for abandoning, torturing or killing babies, at least here in Texas. I don't know if other states have this program, or one like it. But I DO know that I'm sick of hearing about newborns being abandoned when I turn on the local news.

What excuse do these mothers have for tossing newborns into Dumpsters? What's the reasoning behind the decision to give birth in a public restroom and let the newborn drown? How can these scumbuckets explain why they decided to beat the kid to death, lock her in a box, and send her floating on the water in Galveston?

There is no excuse. None whatsoever. You might convince me that a FEW of these people are victims of crippling mental illness - like post-partum psychosis. Yes, that's possible. It does happen. But I can't believe that ALL of these women (and the boyfriends/husbands who, shockingly enough, HELP torture and kill the kids) are mentally unstable or sick.

If you can't or won't keep the baby, then you have an obligation to make sure that he or she rests in safe arms. You have a duty - because you chose to reproduce - to pass off the kid to somebody in the Baby Moses program. Or consult an adoption agency. Or something. With all of these options and choices...with the anonymity of Baby Moses and the guarantee that you'll never be identified, much less hassled or prosecuted...I can't excuse the sick and twisted things that some of these mothers are doing to their children.

The sad part: I don't even LIKE kids. I'm danged near allergic to babies, folks. But it still drives me out of my skull when somebody intentionally harms one of them.

Rudeness vs. Personal Safety

I don't understand why so many of my fellow females are terrified of being rude to potentially-dangerous people. I'm not talking about being blatantly offensive or rude just because somebody dared to ask for the time, or for a handful of change. I'm talking about actual threats here.

For example:

If I'm in a drive-thru, I keep some space between my car and the one in front of me. If somebody threatens me in any way, I want the ability to cut the wheels, stomp the accelerator and speed right out of there - without hitting another vehicle. Keeping that space between the vehicles gives me that chance. And even though most drive-thru experiences are pleasant and free of trouble, it's still a courteous thing to do. Even if we're in a drive-thru, not many of us appreciate having a car right on our bumpers.

So if I'm in the drive-thru and somebody walks up to my car window, I am going to do two things.

First, I'm going to cut my wheels in anticipation of having to get the heck out of there. I am not going to sit there and see what happens without preparing myself for the worst. Paranoid? No. Bad things have happened to people in drive-thrus before. They could could happen again - to me - if I let it.

Second, I'm going to keep a very close eye on that person. Not all bummy-looking strangers are evil. Not all well-dressed strangers are nice. I can't judge by appearance, but I can certainly pay attention so that I'll have as much reaction time as possible.

Some women tell me that these are rude things - and that I should not be so off-putting, paranoid, abrasive, mean, et cetera. They actually think that it's not polite to prepare one's self for the worst when faced with a possible threat. I'm sorry (actually, I'm not), but I can't live my life that way. If other women want to be soft targets, then that's their choice. I've spent plenty of time being one myself. Believe me, however, when I say that this is not a good way to live. I prefer the way that I do things now. I pay attention, but I enjoy myself. I have conversations with random strangers, but I don't let down my guard. I make new friends, but I don't allow just anybody into the inner circle. This is prudent, not rude. If I offend strangers, then I offend strangers. What do I care? At least I'll be alive and not robbed (or worse).

I focus on women's reactions because I don't get this type of response from most men. It seems that females are often taught to be polite in all situations. We're the fairer sex, so we're supposed to be nice. We should be accommodating and friendly because that's how women are meant to be.

If a guy in a police officer's uniform knocks on my door, I'm supposed to open up without verifying that he's really a cop.

If a stranger asks me to help him jump-start his car in a dark parking garage, I'm not supposed to lie and claim that I just started my period and therefore must get home, post haste.

If somebody tries to rape me, I'm supposed to shut up and comply because fighting back allegedly makes things worse. I'm supposed to be "morally superior" to the bad guy.

Women aren't supposed to make waves. We're supposed to just deal with whatever comes our way - without fighting back, showing our suspicions, or trusting the voices inside of us that scream, "DANGER! RUN AWAY! GET OUT OF HERE YOU IDIOT!"

I don't believe any of that. I trust God and the sense of discernment that He bestowed upon me. I trust my precautions and "paranoid actions" to help keep me safe. And when all else fails, I trust my .45 - as politically incorrect and "evil" as that is in this day and age.