I was thinking about this after my initial writing, and I wanted to add a few words. So here goes, this is my final draft of this post as of 11:30pm on Friday night.



I'm in Florida for a few days. The flight down was uneventful with the exception of seeing a HUGE forest fire in Georgia; the smoke stretched for at least 200 miles. Kitsch took a few pics which I'll post shortly. Our rental car is a Fusion, which is a zippy little car with a bass-y stereo system, but a pretty cheap-looking interior. Yesterday Kitsch locked me in the trunk of said car to see if the trunk escape mechanism works, and I'm pleased to report that it does. Last night we went to some downtown restaurant and feasted while sitting out on the patio, which is something I haven't been able to do in Toronto since last September.

Today we went to the beach and I saw a guy wearing a hair suit so that was interesting. From a distance it looked like he was wearing a shirt, but as we walked closer I saw he was wearing a red speedo and nothing else. He sparkled in the light; his sweat was trapped by his back-fur and in the hot spring sun he glistened like Ron Jeremy after a 17-hour duty day. He was standing by the lifeguard shack, hitting on an older woman who was wearing a one-piece suit that would have been considered modest in 1815. He was explaining to her that he didn't drink any more, as the wind rippled across his back hair like a breeze through Saskatchewan wheat in June. I don't think I believe in God, but I said a quick prayer just in case. The beach was nice, if boring. The skies were clear and blue and the water was warm and well populated with a mixture of retirees and hard-core sun-tanners, with their fruit leather skin and apple-doll faces. Does that make them sound like food? Jerky, maybe.

Oh yeah, today we also went to a gun range. Yeah, I know that's pretty inappropriate and I have no real reply to that. I figured when in Rome...and I wanted to see the world from behind the barrel of a semi-automatic handgun. In Canada, that's nearly impossible. In Florida, all I have to do is show my driver's license.

My handgun had a laser sight - I put the red dot on the target, squeezed the trigger and a little hole magically appeared under the red dot. The shell casings felt warm on my chest as they were ejected, and they sounded like quarters falling out of slot machines as they skittered across the ground. Each 9mm bullet I fired was really noisy, and I'm glad I had hearing protection on. I betcha lots of old cops are half-deaf

I'm glad I don't own a gun. Guns make things appear waaaay too simple, and combined with human nature, that's a serious problem. I really shouldn't be allowed to own a gun, and after today's shooting session I have serious doubts that anyone should. I have never tried crack, but I bet I know what the rush feels like now.