A Texas neighbor of the president fired a shotgun into the air today, nearby where the Sheehan "attention vigil" is taking place. When something like this happens, most people's first reaction is to wonder what the reaction might have been from the peace-loving collection of dried up hippies in Crawford. Well, it turns out I have some insight into this very subject.
About 12 years ago I found myself in the heart of France with a rock band. I, the lead guitarist in a typical early-90's metal-meets-Thomas Dolby group "with a message." The message, of course, was one of peace and love, racism awareness coupled with a healthy disdain for America. I know, I know, embarrassing.
As one might suspect the band line-up included myself, a liberal at the time, and three other guys who made my liberalism look more akin to that of Tom Delay or Justice Rehnquist. By far the most liberal of the group was "Garlic Drummer," a Canadian ex-patriot living in Los Angeles because, as I am sure he would tell you, it means more to trash America when you actually illegally reside there.
Garlic Drummer was a typical liberal, a vegetarian in a leather coat and leather boots, with a leather day-planner. A friend of animals who couldn't be bothered to train his own dogs, meaning they spent most of their time sitting on your lap breathing on you during dinner. Naturally the dogs came to France, because after all, they were people too.
As one might suspect, we of the rock and roll lifestyle had a great deal of free time during the daylight hours and often spent them wandering through the nearby French countryside. I loved it--the moss covered stones, the foreign foliage, and the knowledge that in the near past American tanks had rolled right through the area beating back the Nazi's. I would actually worry at times that we would come across rotting live ordinance.
On one such day, Garlic Drummer, his hypochondriac girlfriend, the two huskies, and myself embarked on just such a journey over the terrain of our regular route. About a third of the way around our loop we encountered a man dressed in hunting clothes sporting a side-by-side double-barrel shotgun. The dogs, as per their usual reaction, started jumping all over the guy while Garlic Drummer informed the hunter, now covered in paw mud, that it was okay, the dogs were "gentile." Personally I don't think the hunter gave a shit.
After we left the hunter's immediate vicinity I suggested that since hunting season appeared to be open, perhaps it wasn't a wise time to be meandering through the woods. Garlic Drummer's reaction was typical. "Fuck them," he said. "I hate fucking hunters." I just shrugged. Garlic Drummer knew I was an avid hunter.
As we continued on our way, we began to hear the sound of dogs working back and forth beyond the tree-line to our right. And sure enough, we came upon another gun-bearing hunter who would soon enough find himself covered in mud while learning from Garlic Drummer that the dogs were "gentile." Again I suggested that we abort the walk, that we had enjoyed access to the woods many times and we should be respectful on this weekend morning and make ourselves scarce. "Besides," I added, "it really isn't my idea of fun to be walking around the woods while a bunch of guys are hunting."
"Oh, fuck them," said Garlic Drummer once again. "I'd like to see them try and shoot me." As before, hypochondriac girlfriend echoed his sentiments.
Then, just as we turned onto the final leg of the walk, the inevitable happened. The dogs passed by rather close and a plethora of shotgun blasts pierced the morning stillness. Having expected it I barely flinched, which was a good thing because had I reacted I might have missed the show.
Garlic Drummer jumped about two feet in the air and started frantically scrambling for any available cover. If the shots had continued much longer I have no doubt he would have started digging a foxhole with his bare hands. Hypochondriac girlfriend started running as fast as she could while screaming and waving her arms around her head. It looked like she was being chased by a swarm of killer bees.
It was one of the funniest thing I have ever seen and I couldn't help but laugh out loud while I continued on my leisurely pace back to the house.
Needless to say, Hypochondriac girlfriend spent the rest of the walk in one stage or another of hysteria while Garlic Drummer, after regaining his color and composure, spent his time on a tirade about those "evil bastards" killing animals and how "someone should hunt them," all the while wearing his leather boots and jacket, and waxing rhapsodic about his enlightened lifestyle.
Thinking back, what I wouldn't give to have been in Crawford today with a camera to capture the grip of fear and throes of hysteria that I am absolutely sure followed the rather harmless "pop" of the shotgun today. Were it anyone else, my mind would be put at ease simply knowing that no one was hit by the blast. But knowing how liberals react to the mere sound of a shotgun, I must confess I am worried for the peace-lovers' present psychological condition.
One can only hope their is a solid ratio of therapists and grief counselors amidst the protesters to help them cope with the trauma of a loud noise.
No comments:
Post a Comment