You are all back on my radar now, so if I don't comment from now on, it's because I cannot think of anything to say - not that that normally stops me.
Last night, I was going to put up something about that 9 year-old girl who shot her 'instructor' in the head with an Uzi machine-pistol, but it all got a bit too contentious anyway, what with various other comments about how I relate to my fellow bloggers - real or contrived personalities, shaped according to the time of night or the quantity of alcohol consumed.
That is the great thing about posting stuff up like this - it's a bit like how everyone's personality used to change as soon as they got behind the wheel of a car. On foot, they would not dream of barging in front of an old lady who is trying to enter the doorway of a shop, but once they were clad in metal with a couple of hundred horse-power under the bonnet, it suddenly seemed to turn into a dog eat dog world.
My persona is not too far off the one I portray here, but I still occasionally fall into the trap of thinking that there is no use or room for inhibitions in the blogoshpere. The reason I am so consistently polite to the Hattatts is because they are always so unfailingly polite to everyone else. Simple as that. Even when they have been told to 'fuck off', they respond with a polite apology before complying with the request.
The other aspect of blogging which is relentlessly exploited by some who think they are isolated in the rarified atmosphere of this make-believe world (guilty, before accused) is the sure fact that if you express any extreme or untrammelled opinion about any world event, your comment hit-rate goes through the roof. Example: Recommend the nuking of Islamic extremist murderers - that should do the trick.
Thus, someone whose comment rate rarely rises above 10 or 15, will suddenly accrue about 50 in the space of an hour or so. The quality of these comments is not always what you would call 'top-grade', though, and often amount to just a couple of words, one being 'fuck' and the other being 'you'.
I am always astounded by the little piece of advice at the top of the Hattatt's comment box, and it says something like, "If the comments left here amount to more than 200 in number, there may be an additional box created in order to accommodate them." All this for posts involving art, interiors and a life-style which can only be maintained by living behind what used to be called 'The Iron Curtain'.
I have - in the past - harboured unworthy suspicions about the Hattatt's hit-rate, hearing somewhere that it is possible to buy great sheaves of hits for modest amounts of money, but I cannot imagine Mr Gray going to the expense of that, so all those reactions to rivers of dog-shit must be genuine.
The only contentious thing that I will (deliberately) say in this post is that there can be no reason for anyone to be given a military assault weapon to play with, let alone a nine year-old girl - even if it is in an Arizona theme park called 'Bullets and Burgers'.
I saw the video, and the 'instructor' casually leans over the little girl to switch the machine-pistol to automatic mode, then stays leaning over her as the thing writhes out of her hands and swings in the direction of his unprotected head.
This maybe a harsh thing to say, but I feel for the girl far more than I do the foolish instructor. At least he doesn't have to live with this ghastly childhood tragedy. If it had been the girl to shoot herself, then the balance of my sympathy might have been reversed.
Come on NRA - do your worst.
My late mother. - This is the last of my series of old photos, and a particular favourite of my late mother. Not too PC these days, but I like it anyway.
2 hours ago