24 August, 2006

Haven't We Heard This Line Before?

From a reader email to Talking Points Memo:
Theme number 1 - Iran is a bigger security threat and more important to deal with quickly than Bin Laden.

Theme number 2 - Iran is supporting Bin Laden anyway, via their intelligence services and funding, so going after Iran is really the same thing as getting Bin Laden.
Hmmm... A case of deja vu all over again, perhaps?

Too bad they used these exact same justifications in the run-up to Iraq, really. If they would have saved them for Iran, they might have actually worked for the population in general. Now, all it does is read like the same tired reasoning as they used to bring about the fall of the Hussein regime.

I find it ironic, really. People will look at this and dismiss the possibility of Iran being a possible credible threat to the region simply because the former government of Iraq turned out to be an impossible uncredible threat.

That's not simply a case of shooting yourself in the foot. It's a case of firing an entire magazine into your leg before getting into an ass-kicking contest.

23 August, 2006

Untitled... For A Reason



From David Darlington at In The Agora comes a series of motivational posters.

Old school Star Trek-style.

My personal favorite is this one.

Spread the news. We have a new leader in the clubhouse. Now go and pick one for yourselves. Maybe two.

Who knows... We might end up seeing these in a Spencers near you. If so, I'm buying at least three of them.

22 August, 2006

The Legacy Of Happy Harry Hard-On

Sixteen years ago today, a movie hit the theater screens. At the time, it was not well noticed, just another movie to be reviewed through Hughes-colored glasses, to use the words of one writer. Yet today, Pump Up The Volume has a meaning, and message, much more appropriate than those innocent summer days of 1990.

For those of you who have never seen the movie, first let me say this. What are you, crazy? Go now. Rent it. Buy it. Amazon it with next-day air. Because for us here in Blogville, it personifies our raison d’être in a way that nothing else out there can.

Right now, there are 51.8 million blogs being tracked by Technorati. Each and every single one of us started off as a lone voice crying into the wilderness. We had no audience. We had no feedback. We had no clue that anyone even knew we existed. Yet still we sat, sending our missives into the vast emptyness of inner space, not caring that there was no ears to hear our cries.

Certainly we all have our own vast and varied reasons for starting in this enterprise. Yet, when it’s all said and done, our reasons are eventually reduced to one: getting things out of one’s own head. Regardless of how we do so. (Or how often.) Regardless of the programs we use. (Even Myspace. Ugh.) Regardless of the time we do it. (No fair glaring at the timestamp, people.)

For the average blogger, we will eventually find that we have an audience, however small or large it may be. Like-minded souls (or sometimes opposite-minded ones) who found our words to hold a certain something: a deeper meaning, an excellent analysis, an interesting turn of thought, or whatever comes to mind. And soon, where there was once wilderness, tiny villages of interaction are formed.

Some remain static and remain as they are, small outposts still able to contribute to the whole like my own little island of inane rambling. Some become shining beacons, providing direction and certitude to a vast multitude, like Glenn Reynolds and Duncan Black. Some, like ourselves at Creative Destruction, become crossroads, bringing together those of us who, by ourselves, would never have thought to cross paths. Some grow beyond all imagination, creating entire civilizations of thought and discussion, such as DailyKos and Little Green Footballs.

Yet still, the basic concept remains the same regardless of how big or small our traffic counters become. These are our thoughts, our emotions, our ideals, our philosophies, our selves we set into these pages. By doing so, we have taken control of an entire medium of our own creations. (Although who was first on the scene seems to be up for debate.)

And as such, we have fulfilled the battle-cry of Harry.

Sieze the airwaves. They are ours. Pick a program. Choose a name. Find your voice. There is nothing that they can do to stop us. They can try. And they may stop some of us. But they will never stop us all.

And the day will come when they will look inside themselves and see us waving up at them.

Naked.

Type hard.

[Crossposted from Creative Destruction]

15 August, 2006

BOOOOOO!!!

Remember back in January when I said that if someone "proves that there's a chemical in coffee that causes impotence" would get a cup of Sanka as punishment?

We may have our first winner. Not really entirely within the lines of the concept, but it's close enough.
"One cup or less of coffee per day may set off heart attacks in people with a sedentary lifestyle or with three or more risk factors for heart disease," said study author Ana Baylin, an assistant professor in the Department of Community Health at Brown University, in Rhode Island.

This latest finding will most likely keep the coffee debate percolating among health experts. Previous research has suggested that coffee does not raise heart risks, and might even protect against high blood pressure and diabetes. As a matter of fact, only decaffeinated coffee has been shown to possibly boost the chances of cardiovascular trouble.
Definitely decaf Sanka. Less than one cup per day, even.

[Turn signal: Ezra]

13 August, 2006

British Humor

Seems like the folks at the Guardian have an even greater penchant for humorous article titles than we Yanks do.

Turn Signal: David

01 August, 2006

A Day Late

Don't you guys just hate it when you're wandering around, knowing that you're forgetting something important but you can't for the life of you remember what it is? Or, for you women out there, when the man in your life forgets something that's important to you?

I've been doing that for the last three days. Something was supposed to have happened yesterday, and I couldn't remember what it was.

Now I remember.

One-year blogiversary.

The good news is that you don't have to go out to dinner, buy a dozen roses, and do all the household chores for a full week in a futile attempt in apologetic exercises to your blog. Inanimate objects rule!

(Of course, my computer is a bit put off. It's been making Winamp start of with "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" for the last week or so. And I don't even have any Beatles songs on my hard drive... Ummmm... Someone call the Turing people. I may have a problem here.)

30 July, 2006

Just About Right

Go read today's Ezra-blog posting by Shakespeare's Sister. And let the title be my only editorial comment.

24 July, 2006

Meatloaf Experiment Gone... Right?

In a post I just got done writing over on Creative Destruction, I mentioned meatloaf. To be perfectly accurate, it was a meatloaf experiment, and one I was making up as I went along because we didn't have any more onion soup packets in the apartment.

But by God, it worked well.

Here's the recipe, while I still have it stuck in my head.
  • 2 lbs. ground beef
  • 1 small yellow onion
  • 1 cup bread (four slices, without crust)
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/2 cup ketchup
  • 2 tsp. celery salt
  • 1 1/2 tsp. cumin
  • 1 1/2 tsp. marjoram
  • 1/2 tsp. thyme
  • 1/2 tsp. brown sugar
  1. Peel and chop onion almost to the mincing stage. (For you non-technical chefs out there, that means small-but-not-too-small pieces.)
  2. Manually tear bread into pieces the size of your fingerprint.
  3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
  4. Setting aside ketchup and brown sugar, mix remaining ingredients well (about 5 minutes of constant kneading action) and form into a loaf in a greased baking pan.
  5. Pour ketchup on top of loaf (I mean in lines across the loaf, not one big gloop of tomato-based condiment.) and sprinkle with brown sugar.
  6. Put in oven and bake for 50 minutes.
  7. Enjoy. But leave some for everyone else.
The result? Moist, juicy, and tasty meatloaf, just like my grandma used to make. Only better. And seeing as how my grandma was a gourmet chef... Well, at least I can say I've done well in something. Even though meatloaf is hard to screw up (But believe me, it is very possible to screw meatloaf up.), it is even more difficult to have a "Wow!" moment with one.

And by my count, this one has three "Wow!" moments. Try it, kids. Trust me.

21 July, 2006

So Sad To Say

And here is the third and final part of the three-part series called "The Cats Of OC"!

Tell me, what is this cat sad about?

Is it because she isn't in Barcelona with Fiat Lux? (I know I'd rather be in Barcelona.) Or that she doesn't have a chance to take a nap in the new Tesla Roadster? (Singing: All I want for Christmas is...) [Turn signal: Political Animal]

Meet Wendy. As she is technically my roommate's cat, my roommate got the rights to name her, and then she proceeded to hang the most horrible name of Gwyndolyth Fyionna on to the poor soul. (Note of odd reference: While I was typing her full name, Wendy decided to cough up a hairball. Coincidence? I think not.) And then she shortens it to Wyndy, which is simply too much for me to do. Hence my more common spelling of her name. And like the other two, she has her own list of official nicknames: Her High Sable Eminence, Dark Mistress Of The Ebon Night, The Royal Drool, Felis Snuggleupagus, and She Of The Claw.

I must profusely apologise to Wendy for the above photo, as it does not do her fur justice. When in normal house lighting, she looks as black as a moonless night. But when seen in direct sunlight, she has the kind of highlights that most human females would have to go to a salon to achieve: layers of burgundy, rust, amber, and mahogany. One of the most beautiful cats ever known, thy name is Wendy.

Wendy came into this household just in time. Just in time for Wendy, that is. She was found at a county animal shelter, mere hours before she was to be put to sleep. And that would have been a pure shame, as she is probably one of the most loving, adoring, and attentive cats I've had the pleasure to know over my 29 (plus) years on this planet. Just about every human that crosses her path becomes Her Human. And if they don't like cats... Well, it's bad luck to be them. That goes triple when they would wear an especially roomy sweater, as she has dug herself inside that self-same sweater and snuggled up into a little ball of purr on the resulting stomach.

Unlike the other two, Wendy does not have any socially embarrassing habits. Yet when newcomers take a close look at her front legs, they are usually wierded out by the double dewclaws. On both paws. Well, no. I take that back. She does tend to drool heavily when she is curled up with one of Her Humans. Like a teenager falling asleep in history class, what/whoever she curls up on tends to collect a small puddle of drool.

And as she is feeling particularly affectionate tonight, I'm going to go to bed and collect a puddle of drool on my elbow. Either that or we'll fight over who gets to sleep on the pillow. In which case, I might end up with her drooling in my ear. Again. And you dog people complain about the cold nose on the foot in the middle of the night... Sheeeeeesh, you don't know how good you have it.

14 July, 2006

Samba Time Later

No, not just former U.S. Senate candidate Pete Coors...

Welcome to the second of a three-part series known as "The Cats Of OC."



This is Buffy. And like Alice, she has a long list of nicknames: Dearest One, Barfy, The Cat That Knows Stephen Hawking, The Lapcat Singularity, and The Philosopher's Stoned.

She came to me via a long, convoluted game of Six Degrees Of Seperation as my then-girlfriend's mother's friend's daughter's co-worker (Got it? Good. There may be a quiz.), whose parents happen to be highly allergic to cats, had to boomerang back to the empty nest after a particularly nasty divorce. And due to me already living with The Amazing Pretzel Cat (Scroll down if you missed it. For you can't miss her.), it came down a long line of "Hey, do you know anyone who likes cats?" and brought her into my life. For which I am profoundly pleased.

Unlike Alice, however, Buffy did not come from a pet store. She originally was found at the Denver Dumb Friends League (Please, send them some love. They do good work.) by the end of that long SDOS chain and, as is common for cats in residence there, is extremely introspective, often staring at the wall for hours on end and thinking deep thoughts. Probably about advanced-level particle physics or a study in lesser-body gravitational theory, as sometimes I come home and actually find these things on my computer screen. After I had turned the computer off, too. (I don't read anything above the layman level in those fields. I can't understand the math, and that gives me a headache. So you tell me how they get there, hmmm?)

But when Buffy is stationary, particularly while sitting on and/or near a human she cares for, you better not have any plans. She has mastered the ancient feline art of gravity control, and brought it to a whole new level. A Buffy on your lap means that you will not move. Bladder full? Tough. Phone ringing? Inconsequential. Remote out of reach? Bad luck to be you. Hungry? You need to go on a diet anyways. Bed time? Why bother, as she is already asleep.

Yet as wonderful and caring as she is, Buffy has two problems, neither of which are cause for anything other than mild disgust and/or human hilarity. First, she also practices the ancient feline art of bazooka barfing. This is probably a leftover habit from her previous human, as she tends to simply inhale her food rather than sit and chew. With this, we tend to have little piles of Buffy-Barf (tm) scattered around the apartment. And my bed. The monitor. On the PS2. Kitchen sink. On the fridge. Behind the sofa. Under the sofa. In shoes. And on clothes just before a job interview. Truly prolific regurgitation. She's like Bill The Cat, but without underwear. And smarter. And no beer. And doesn't have a penguin for a friend. And... Okay okay okay, so she's not like Bill the Cat. Berkeley Breathed, you can stop threatening to sue now.

Her second problem is that she is really a klutz. This is the only cat I know that can roll out of bed, loosely defined term for cats I realize, while being fast asleep. And as one of her favorite sleeping places is on top of my monitor (I have to have at least a 19" CRT so as to leave Buffy enough room to curl up.), I cannot count the number of times that the sound of a sudden scramble of claws echoes through the apartment. And, of course, in the truest traditions of the Feline-Murphy Treaty of 1793, she will land on my power strip, sending whatever I'm working on down the memory hole. And for which, dear readers, you should thank her. Some of those posts were completely awful.

I wish I could join the Buffy in that picture right now, but I'm almost late for work. Perhaps later. For she is one of the dearest cats I've ever known. Unless she's been in the catnip, that is. Then there's no getting a straight answer out of her...

Oh crap. She's in the catnip again. I'll go put on The Wizard of Oz and The Dark Side Of The Moon for her.

Darned stoner cats.

12 July, 2006

Hey Blenderhead!

(Title taken from this song by Bad Religion.)

Atrios just linked to this post by Glenn Greenwald, and I find myself perturbed at the lack of comprehension involved. Here is the parenthetical comment that makes me wonder if Mr. Greenwald truly understands the concept he is ranting about.
(Incidentally, Instapundit, who claims with great self-satisfaction to be an adherent to the privacy-protecting "Online Integrity" concept, links to Riehl, who currently has posted on his blog satellite photographs of Punch Salzburger's home along with his home address).
Now, please show me where in the Statement of Principles it says that signatories are to police the blogosphere for violations? (Short answer: It doesn't. Compliance is voluntary.) Where does it say that the Statement applies to any blog writer, even those that do not sign on to the concept? (Another short answer: It doesn't. "Adherence to this statement begins at the moment of endorsement[.]")

Now, I was part of the first 24-hour rush to sign on to the Statement of Principles. I found this to be one of the best concepts I have run across. Why? Because I found it disturbing that folks would post the private information of people, simply because they vehemently disagree with them. (Atrios himself has done that many times over the years, as I recall. Yet for some reason, Google Blogsearch doesn't have his site available to search through so I can bring up the specific examples. Odd, that.)

Now, on the off chance that Duncan Black would sully his pointer over a link to my site, he would probably point to this post of mine and proclaim my hypocracy on the issue. Why? Because I linked to the professional e-mail addresses of the FCC commissioners. Yet look again at the Statement of Principles. It only protects private information such as home addresses, personal email, telephone numbers, and the pseudonymous. A member of a governmental agency's professional email would not be considered a violation, particularly seeing as how the right to petition the government for redress of grievances is enshrined in the same First Amendment as the right to freedom of the press that we bloggers use every single day.

So the Cliff Notes version of Online Integrity: Voluntary. Self-policing. Applies only to signatories.

Is that really so hard to understand? I don't see why obviously intelligent, though misguided, people such as Duncan Black and Glenn Greenwald have difficulties understanding this.

[UPDATE: 12:01a MDT]

The impossible has actually happened. I crossposted this over on Creative Destruction on an impulse and... I GOT INSTALANCHED! Does that mean I go from a W-List blogger to a V-list blogger? Only time will tell. But in the meantime, I feel like another rabid squeal.

09 July, 2006

Questions Answered

You know, I've been reading this for the last hour or so and, even constantly going over it in my head, I cannot find anything that I disagree with. Anything at all. It seems tailor-made to answer more than one of the questions I put forth in this post back in October.

So go read Terry Michael's post called "Re-claiming our Jeffersonian liberal heritage, with a back-to-the-future re-branding of the Democratic Party" over here on Thoughts From A Libertarian Democrat. Seriously. The whole thing.

And for the second time in a week, I find myself going "I really wish I could write like that." Maybe I should take a class or something.

07 July, 2006

If She Only Had A Brain

I know. You're looking at that post title and thinking that this will be about Ann Coulter's ongoing plagarism problems, right?

Wrong.

While I would love to see the Queen of the Damned tied to the same burning stake as Ward Churchill and Jayson Blair (Not to mention owning the TV rebroadcast rights to that one... Yeowsa!), that's not what this one's about.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first of the three-part series called "The Cats Of OC!" I finally got around to borrowing a friend's digital camera, and my cats actually cooperated with me for a change. And so, I'll be starting off with perhaps the dumbest cat ever to accidentally walk off a kitchen table.

The Grey Daemon
This is Alice. Also known as Kätzchen, The Grey Daemon, Miss Alice, Malice, The World's Only Codependent Feline and, as you can tell by the above photo, The Amazing Pretzel Cat.

There are few things this cat appreciates more than being curled up with me. Whether underneath my arm while I'm trying to sleep, on my shoulders while I'm trying to cook, or on my lap while I'm in the bathroom. (I still haven't figured out the eternal feline fascination with humans while we are using the toilet. Are we a source of amusement? A source of a convenient lap? Or simply a source of "You're weird, mister"? The floor is still open for debate.) She is my cat and I am her human. And not Hell itself, much less a "I thought I closed that" door, will keep her from my side.

Oh, and she is dumb. Sack of hammers-style dumb. I've known many intelligent cats over the years, and trust me when I say that this one is on the opposite side of the spectrum by any meaningful definition. She's dumber than how President Bush is viewed by most of my left-hand-side cohorts. If there was an intelligence competition between Alice and the dumbest Labrador retriever puppy ever known to Humanity, the puppy would win in a landslide. She's so dumb, she makes the commenters over at Eschaton sound like Nobel Prize physicists. If stupidity was the equivalent of gravity, she would have her own event horizon.

Yes. She's that bad.

Should anyone ever come over for a visit, don't plan on seeing this cat if your stay is shorter than 5 hours. When I said that I am her human, I mean it. Antisocial does not begin to describe Alice's general outlook to the human species. Any human that does not already have her seal of approval will be fortunate to view a single ear as she peeks around the corner, wondering if it's safe to dash for the food dish.

Of course, this is all readily explained by the fact that she was a pet-store cat. She was purchased for me by a now ex-girlfriend as a birthday present, and has never wanted to leave my side since she first arrived in my life four and a half years ago. Most of the pet-store cats I've known have been neurotic to a fault, and more than half have had under 10 working neurons available to them.

And really, I wouldn't have it any other way. For she is my cat. And I am her human. Ad infinitum. Ad astra. Forever. World without end. Omayn.

Now, if you will excuse me, it's time to go and curl up with my cat. She's been glaring impatiently at me for a while now, as purr time is a-wasting.

06 July, 2006

Gibson Speak. You Listen.

I wish I could write like this.
“A nation,” he heard himself say, “consists of its laws. A nation does not consist of its situation at a given time. If an individual’s morals are situational, that individual is without morals. If a nation’s laws are situational, that nation has no laws, and soon isn’t a nation.” He opened his eyes and confirmed Brown there, his partially disassembled pistol in his hand. The cleaning, lubrication, and examination of the gun’s inner workings was ritual, conducted every few nights, though as far as Milgrim knew, Brown hadn’t fired the gun since they’d been together.

“What did you say?”

“Are you really so scared of terrorists that you'll dismantle the structures that made America what it is?” Milgrim heard himself say this with a sense of deep wonder. He was saying these things without consciously having thought them, or at least not in such succinct terms, and they seemed inarguable.

“The XXXX—“ [Four-letter word edited for content. Ed.]

“If you are, you let the terrorist win. Because that is exactly, specifically his goal, his only goal: to frighten you into surrendering the rule of law. That's why they call him ‘terrorist’ He uses terrifying threats to induce you to degrade your own society.”

Brown opened his mouth. Closed it.

“It's actually based on the same glitch in human psychology that allows people to believe they can win the lottery. Statistically, almost nobody ever wins the lottery. Statistically, terrorist attacks almost never happen.”
I mean, really. I was trying to say the same thing over on Creative Destruction a few days ago. But Gibson's method of prose and smooth usage of language simply annihilates my pitiful attempt to call myself a writer, even at the base amateur level.

And hells, I didn't even know William Gibson blogged... This one's going into the blogroll immediately, I assure you.

[Turn signal: Fiat Lux.]

(P.S.: Wouldn't it have just been so freakin' cool if Gibson wrote that after reading my post? Pardon me whilst I squeal like a fanboy from the merest vague possibility.) [INSERT RABID-FANBOY SQUEAL] (Ah. Much better.)

28 June, 2006

The Right To Keep Arms

With the United Nations taking up , again, the issue of small arms, I find my civil-libertarian-absolutist instincts kicking in again. (Don't blame me for that way of describing it. Blame Jeff Goldstein. He's the one that put it that way.) And, just as with my views on immigration, this one will probably alarm my more progressive readers (All three of them.) and shock my more conservative readers (All three of them.) But what is life without a little apoplexy?

Personally, I don't like guns. I find them far too noisy for my tastes. (And yes, folks. Silencers for firearms are highly regulated.) For personal defense, I much prefer a pistol bow similar to the one found here. No muss, no fuss, and no inconvenient brass laying around for the cats to play with afterwards. And there are few people that will dare to move quickly when they find themselves with a 2-foot long piece of live cold steel held to their necks. (I keep this exact one sheathed under my bed.) Yet just because I don't personally like firearms does not mean that I do not specifically endorse the right to bear arms in this country. Indeed, I would suggest that the right to bear arms has been reduced too far. But first, a history lesson.

The right to bear arms came from the heavy reliance on citizen militias during the Revolutionary War. (Or, if you are British, the Great War Of Insurrection.) That was precisely why they phrased the Second Amendment that way: 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. These days, with a standing army and both active and inactive reserve troops available, the concept of an independent militia has been degraded in the public eye to being mostly a bunch of conspiracy theory secessionist whack-jobs running around the woods of Montana and Idaho. (Albeit there actually are a number of those folks, which helps maintain the public viewpoint.) Yet militias are still active in every state and county in the country, with a good number of cities and townships also containing an, at minimum, semi-organized militia. (One of my former roommates was a member of the First City Rifle Corps in Redlands, CA, for an example. And could still be, for all I've heard from him.)

Now, it is argued that the creation of the National Guard has entirely consumed the concept of the state militias, at least in the realm of jurisprudence. (Scroll down to Sec. 3.22) Yet, for the local example, the Colorado State Constitution's Article XVII is in regards to the purportment of the state militia, not the National Guard. One major difference: In the National Guard, all officers are promoted to their positions, just as in the regular army; in the State Militia, company-level officers are elected into their positions. Note of full disclosure: There is, yet again, a ballot measure to strike Art. XVII from the Colorado Constitution. This makes the fifth effort to do so, by my count.

Yet that says nothing about the county-, city-, and township-level militias out there. And as they obviously exist, there should be some provision in gun regulations for them. So my proposals are:
  1. All members, current or former, of any branch of the United States Military, including the Coast Guard of the Department of Homeland Security, of good standing and/or honorable discharge from said service(s) shall be held exempt from laws limiting the possession of semi- and full-automatic weapons upon request.
  2. All members of organized militias, of sound moral character and current good standing as determined via the bylaws of said militias, shall be held exempt from laws limiting the possession of semi- and full-automatic weapons upon request.
  3. All citizens, regardless of military standing, of sound moral character, shall be granted, upon request and after the completion of a rigorous training and safety program, carry and/or carry-concealed weapons permits.
  4. Use of the above approved weapons upon another human being, except in cases of a)defense of self, b)defense of others, c) defense of personal property, or d) with the authorization from duly constituted authority, shall result in the permanent removal of said weapons from the person of the offender.
For the first part, anyone that goes through military training has been instructed as to the use of these forms of weapons. And if you can't trust them to be able to use it, why in God's name are we training them to do so in the first place? And should those members of the military choose to maintain their personal weapons after they complete their terms of service to the military, I see nothing wrong with it.

For the second part, this holds true with the entirety of the Second Amendment. If people wish to ban military-grade weapons from the hands of those not in the military, they should first strike down the Well-Regulated Militia Clause. Also, please note the inclusion of the term "sound moral character" above. That means, essentially, that people who have not committed a felony or violent misdemeanor. (I believe that felony tax evasion would be part of the grey area here. Jaywalking and parking tickets are well into the realm of the white area.)

For the third part, things get complicated. On the one hand, the National Rifle Association has pressed for the weakening of carry permits around the country. And, for the most part, they have gotten what they ask for. On the other hand, the Brady Campaign has a point when they talk about the statutory lack of training involved with carry permits. But for this issue, falling back on one of the bedrock principles of American justice, that of "presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law" as they say on Cops, should be the base principle for determining whether or not a person should be allowed to possess a weapon. (Again, the prionciple of sound moral character comes into play.) So should the person pass an NCIC background check, that would be considered sufficent to prove a sound moral character.

And for the fourth part... Well, this should be self-evident. Society at large has determined that hurting folks for little to zero legitimate reason is not appropriate. Period. Ad nauseum. And contrary to the time-honored traditions of shotgun weddings and the code duello, simple matters of honor are not considered legitimate reasons.

To actively defend yourself from harm? Yes.

To actively defend your family from harm? Certainly.

To defend your personal property from theft or destruction? Absolutely. (The bastage that stole my wallet in February would have found out how hard it is to run with a 12" steel shaft through one leg, for example.)

And when people who are technically civilians finds themselves under the orders of due authority (National Guard duty, for example. Indeed, if I were in the Guard command structure, I would look into using the irregular militias in cases of natural disaster as a force multiplier.) then they should be treated as they would under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

Any other use of a weapon against a human being, however, would be ruled as a violation of the other person's rights. And, as such, would result in the removal of all weapons, permits, and ammunition from the offender for the remainder of their lives. (Note that hunting is exempt. Unless you're hunting humans in order to try out the new recipe you found in To Serve Man. Then you're FUBAR anyways.)

This should be the principle behind our gun control regulations. Instead, what we have is "guilty until proven innocent". And that is not how this country works.