This week Ammo Grrrll is celebrating an anniversary: THE COLUMN TURNS TWO — And What a Difference a Year Makes. She writes:
Well, friends, be careful of hitting “Send” in an impulsive manner (always good advice), lest you become an inadvertent columnist having to think up a new topic every dang six days. Now that is nothing compared to the Power Line Boys, who have to think up topics or react to breaking news several times A DAY. Plus, take a ton of crap from the blogosphere for their efforts.
Which puts me in mind of a quote from the late, great Phil Woods, who was an outstanding jazz saxophone player. One night he was playing in a club and a snotty patron approached him and said, “Hey, man, all you do is imitate Charlie Parker.” At which point, he handed his instrument to the guy and said, “Here. YOU imitate Charlie Parker for awhile.”
Everything is harder than it looks. Writing a clever two-sentence “gotcha” criticism of something someone else has written is not the same as writing and researching the thousands of topics that the Power Line Boys have written. For a couple of decades. While holding down big-deal full-time jobs. And raising families. A little slack, if not appreciation for the effort, couldn’t hoit. As angry as you think you are, these guys are not your enemy, I promise.
As you may remember from last year’s anniversary column, in March of 2014, after standing in line several hours a day waiting for ammo with a diverse assemblage of shooters, some certifiable but fun, I thought it might provide grist for a column. I was almost always the only woman in line, and soon was called Ammo Grrrll. I wrote a tentative opening inquiry to my friend, Scott, hit “Send” and a few moments later saw it appear in “print.” What appears on the Internet, stays on the Internet. Forever. So now even my husband calls me Ammo Grrrll.
A year ago, we had a cast of dozens who wanted to challenge Hillary to prevent Obama’s third term. At least half a dozen would have been great as either President or Vice President. I would have bet the ranch that the GOP (elite and Tea Party) would have gathered the contenders into a nice resort in a pleasant location and said the following:
“Look. We need to win one for The Gipper, and The Republic if it is to survive. We already start out with virtually all the mainstream media against us, a fact which is supposedly worth at least 15%. This is a war. Soldiers do not shoot at their comrades. You must all pledge to say nothing negative about any of your opponents that can be used as fodder for ads in the general election. You may tout your own records, your own visions, but you must show some discipline in refraining from attacks on other candidates. Save your fire for the real enemy. Moreover, anyone who violates this level of decorum will be banned from further debates. Calling people liars and worse will not be tolerated.”
And so it went exactly as planned. And rainbows and unicorns were the order of the day.
Haha. April Fool! It could not possibly have gone worse if all the campaigns had been run by Hillary agents. Some conspiracy nuts claim that they were. Had I bet the proverbial ranch that things would go smoothly, I would be homeless now.
Further, we have an utterly fractured and fractious group of center-right voters who are hardening into enraged enemy camps. We have the “Anybody But Trump” crowd, the “If Trump Doesn’t Get the Nomination, I will Freak Out” Crowd; the “I Will Stay Home” crowd, and the “Let’s Blow up the GOP Altogether and Form Another Party” crowd. Meanwhile, the lying sociopath and influence-peddler cruises to her coronation, cackling all the way. Bill is taking applications for new interns.
Well done, GOP!! But there is more to Life than elections.
In my personal life, of course, I have just lost the beloved woman who gave me life, who was one of my best friends whom I spoke to every day. I mention this only for perspective, not for further condolences which you have already given in open-hearted abundance.
On the other hand, the sun is shining; it is 90 degrees in Arizona; my fat little baby hummingbirds are outgrowing their adorable, tiny nest. I have a loving family, a circle of supportive friends, a beautiful son and wonderful husband, a nice home, several supermarkets full of foods that the monarchs of Europe and robber barons of America could only have dreamed of, and excellent health. I will not be made miserable by investing too much emotion in this every-four-year spasm. I suggest you all count your blessings, have a stiff drink or go for a long stroll, and relax.
And thanks for reading my column.