The Batman Shootings

The shootings at a midnight showing of the new Batman movie are sure to re-ignite the national debate over gun control. At least for a little while.

As this is written the shootings are less than nine hours old. Twelve people are known dead, with dozens of others wounded. The alleged gunman is in custody.

Reports I've seen are calling this horrific incident one of the deadliest mass shootings in recent U.S. history. And I suppose it is. But the sick truth is that incidents like this are all too common in the United States.

And they happen because in America, we are armed to the teeth.

Here's what I think will happen. For a brief time we'll hear from gun rights advocates arguing that if there had been an armed movie-goer present, he or she could have shot down the asshole responsible for these murders, and thereby prevented this crime from reaching the scale it did.

Gun control advocates will respond that if deadly weapons were not so readily available in the first place, then persons of unstable minds might not be able to do these terrible deeds.

Piers Morgan will devote a program to a debate featuring responsible parties from both sides of the issue.

And then the whole thing will blow over, until the next mass shooting.

This crime is striking closer to home than usual, because it happened not too far from where I live. A dozen or so years ago we were all stunned by the shootings at Columbine High School. Last night's crime is especially frightening for me because my son was among those attending the midnight opening of Batman – although at a different theater.

Shit like this will continue happening in our violent and gun-obsessed society. It is a symptom of the deep societal sickness with which we all must live. I have commented on gun violence elsewhere on this blog, in regard to the shootings in Tucson, the murder of John Lennon, and the NRA.

Fourth of July 2012

We didn’t have any fireworks in my town on Independence Day this year. As with most surrounding communities, the powers that be canceled fireworks because it's so damned dry. Colorado has had serious fires this summer.

But we had most of the other festivities associated with the Fourth. In late morning I took a long bike ride (or long for me) up to a little berg called Niwot. I didn't plan it that way, but I got there just in time for the tail end of their Fourth of July parade. Cops were out in full force directing traffic around the Main Street area (actually Second Avenue) but as a cyclist, I could skirt most of the congestion.

The streets were thick with pedestrians. It was a little strange being in a crowded place, and so close to home, yet not knowing a soul.

The Niwot event had all the typical stuff: people waving little American flags, kids in strollers, kids on bikes festooned with red white and blue, the firetruck at left, and women in skimpy attire on this very hot midday. I brought my little pocket digital camera and took pictures, as you can see (not of any women). I am consistently surprised by the quality of the pictures from this tiny device.

I took about a dozen photos, and most of them were shot from the same location. I wasn't really there to take pictures.

By chance I found myself right next to a small Niwot business I'd never heard of called My Mom's Pie. (Andy Griffith just died. He was in that movie a few years ago about the pie-making woman.) You probably live too far away to give My Mom's Pie any business, but what the hell. Check out their web site!

I like taking long bike rides on the Fourth. Traffic is usually light, which enhances the experience. Here's my description of last year's ride. And here's a story about the 2007 holiday. I'm pleased to say this latter item pissed some people off, although I don't know why it did, exactly.

Still a troublemaker at heart.

The Fires of Hell

June 29 update: As of this morning, the Boulder area fire is reported at 40 percent containment, and the worst appears to be over.


Wildfires have raged here in Colorado for weeks now. They're getting a  little closer to home.

The scariest by far are the fires burning down in Colorado Springs, where we used to live and where both of my children were born. This is the Waldo Canyon fire. At least one person has died in this conflagration.

Brushfires started yesterday just west of Boulder, not too far from where I live. It's almost funny – almost – that my mom emailed me (from 1,500 miles away) the day before knowing only what the national media has reported. I assured her we're quite safe.

We're still safe, but it's getting a little too close for comfort.

The fire began yesterday afternoon. Last night around 6:30 I jumped on my bike and rode to a place where I could get a better look. I took a series of pictures, including the one at left. As you perhaps can tell, this fire is in a canyon located behind the mountains in the distance. (These are the Flatirons, part of the Front Range of the Rockies.)

I emailed a few friends last night. So far, everyone I know is well out of harm's way.

As of this morning, the fire is reported at about 300 acres. This is peanuts compared to the Waldo Canyon inferno and the High Park fire, which is burning north of here, near Fort Collins. But these situations can escalate rapidly, so there is still plenty to worry about.

I never got very close to the fires on my bike ride last night. Not that I wanted to, and not that I could have if I'd wanted to. I reached a point where the road I was on turned into a narrow lane of cracked and broken asphalt, and this gave way to a rutty old dirt road. At right is a detail of a photo I got from this locale.

While I was there, the wind really picked up. The fires are already aided and abetted by tinder-dry conditions brought on by low precipitation this past spring, and by soaring temperatures over the last week or so. This is expected to continue for the foreseeable future. High winds are an X-factor, a frightening part of the equation.

When I turned my bike around to start heading home, a few stray raindrops dotted the ground. I felt a few of them splash on me. A tease, really. A tortuous tease.