Five points for anyone who can tell me what movie that line is from!

Today was sunny. In Ohio that means a diffused light, and not like the direct sun against a vivid blue of the Rocky Mountains. In the last week, it seems as though Disney or a paint-by-numbers artist has been at work, suddenly saturating the grass GREEN, with flowers PINK and YELLOW.

I've been painting many of the rooms in my side of the duplex. In the past, I enjoyed designing rooms around mis-tints and paint returns picked up cheap. But with this place, I recently decided not to use color; instead I have been painting in shades of nothing but white.

This morning, I woke up to a room glowing in light. Fresh air gently moved the blinds through the open windows, and the proportions of the room and the imperfections of its walls and ceiling gave a feeling like being in a European monastary. For a moment, I imagined I would spend the day in blessed silence, thinking about forgiveness or man's fate or ... something. I didn't want to get up, and instead lay considering the patches of sun and listening to the birds.

The sun stayed all day. I spent the late afternoon on the front porch. I sat on an old red and white-painted metal swing left with the house, reading a blog-friend's manuscript. Grace watched attentatively from the screen door. Neighbors mowed the grass, repaired things, walked the dogs. At any moment, I thought I might hear the crackle of the radio with the Lucky Strikes Parade of Stars hour.

My tenant's son came out from their side, carrying a stuffed bunny toy and a shirt.

"Hey Hugshyhermit, man, I'm on my way to visit Mom in the hospital."
"The hospital! What happened?"
"You see the easter eggs in the trees? We were decorating, and the leg of the plastic chair just snapped and she fell. She's fractured the bone beneath her knee in two places."

I had no idea! The son, who's been not-staying next door for the last six months, freaked. The Ladies who live one door down (three lesbians who are also ex-tenants) called the Ambulance. My tenant has had a rod inserted into her leg, with a second operation due as soon as the swelling goes down. She will be moving into her sister's house for an anticipated recovery of several months. I told him to wish his mom the best and, uh....Happy Easter? "Thanks man."

As we were talking, the Ladies parked their car next door and began unloading groceries. Not one minute had gone by when one of the Ladies fell at their front stoop, cardboard boxes of pop thumping on to the porch. "Shit!" (That's lesbians for you.) "I tripped on the god damn door!" A moment later, they both were laughing.

Shortly after that, my mind short-circuited as I thought of my tenant: What about the rent? What about the lease? My mind shuffled through potential causes of action: Would I be considered liable for my tenant's actions?

So then, I thought about chance. We all fall. Sometimes we laugh, and sometimes we land in the hospital. But, even with a hospital visit, there's nothing you can do except live with it and deal with it as best as you can.

Some folks sure seem to be accident-prone. My tenant has had issues already. I've been lucky, so far, but I could fall in the tub taking a shower tomorrow. I haven't had a car-crash dream in awhile, but I bet I'm due for one tonight! It's fate.

Ah. Well. I've calmed down now. Things returned to normal in the neighborhood -- once again the sounds of mowers and distant hammering. I suppose my tenants might have to move; I suppose I could be served with papers. But I've always treated them respectfully, and I hope I will be treated respectfully in return: Rent will be paid or premises left in good condition. In the quiet of the evening, I'm really thinking about how weird my mind works.

Note: Easter Sunday, 2004
If you want to be depressed, type in "falling" under images on any search engine. I searched on this for visuals for this entry, and what came back was disturbing: People burning, falling; People jumping from the World Trade Center buildings; People falling off other buildings.

Arriving at BIPC last Monday, a gold-colored adhesive had been stuck to the entry. Next to a graphic of a revolver inside the familiar symbol of the red circle with a slash through it, a notice read:

Unless otherwise authorized by law, pursuant to Ohio Revised Code, no person shall knowingly possess, have under the person's control, convey, or attempt to convey a deadly weapon or dangerous ordnance onto these premises.

Was this for real? I stopped and stared to get the full impact of what it represented.

Since last Thursday, we Ohioans are now safer by being lawfully allowed to carry our concealed weapons. Now criminals have a greater risk of choosing their next victim in this state because that person might be packing some heat.

There are exceptions under the law. You cannot carry the weapon into government buildings, schools and child-care centers, places where alcohol is served, or any privately-owned business that has a clearly-marked warning like BIPC. You are required to take a gun safety class.

I was amazed to see how far this movement has taken the country. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this. Folks are distributing No Guns - No Money cards to businesses prohibiting guns on their premises. That means BIPC, too!

Since I run in a pretty hippy-love group at BIPC, I haven't yet heard of any negative repercussions, but perhaps I should complain: If I had a gun at my cozy cubicle, then I wouldn't have to worry about any Grumpy Gusses and Gretchens that BIPC has recently laid off. And there's always the risk of those pesky Al-Quaeda cells overtaking the quiet -- too quiet -- corporate buildings next door or in the condominium development down the street.

In recent years and on previous blog entries, I've questioned whether we are really free as a people in this nation. How free are we living with the one of the highest violent crime rates in the civilized (so-called) world? How does carrying a concealed gun change that for the better?

It is true that our constitution holds dear the Right To Bear Arms. But that point of view and cultural mindset is turning us into a country that, in its application, seems more and more like living in the middle east or, hmmm, certain occupied territories.

However, I have discovered a cheap and clever alternative. On Thursday, D and his boyfriend T came to visit me. In discussing the No Guns - No Money topic, we created a stir in the restaurant over our alternative: Gun-Friendly Zone plaques and stickers! We designed a couple of visuals to help: A gun cartoon looking like a cowboy and a female sexpot version with a pearl handle and snub nose.

Ingenius! With a "Gun Friendly" sticker affixed to the door of my apartment or in the window of my car, what right-minded criminal would think of attacking me? Why should anyone drop hundreds of dollars on a gun purchase, registration and training fees, when my friendly, highly-affordable stickers give the impression of owning a gun? (I'm copyrighting the idea, and registering the figures tonight!) One day, you can tell your friends I knew him when...

And if anyone steals my ideas? They better have a concealed weapon permit for real!

This is the start of a new entry. I'm not feeling well, so it's just the start.

Here's another weighty topic to write about. This case, which I fell across during a BIPC research project, exemplifies -- and in this case, in equal amounts of salacious and tragic detail -- a tremendous waste of this government's resources. Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

I've taken myself off the market, but to remind myself why I have gone out on a couple of dates.

At some point, I also plan to acknowledge my two most avid commentators: RobW and Lars. Thanks, guys, keep those comments coming.

Perhaps that's really four blog entries.