The Start of a New Season

Greetings, gentle readers.
Oh the world is filled with many perplexing and mystifying things.  The most shocking thing to strike the people of North America this week was not the tear-filled recovery of dozens of primary schoolchildren recovered from the ruins of an earthquake-ravaged school in Mexico City, nor the spiralling death count from the overly-moistened and battered island of Puerto Rico.  Surprisingly, it was also not some criminally inane thing burbled out by the American White House's equivalent of Ralph Wiggum.

Instead, it was some jackhole in Las Vegas who stockpiled 23 automatic assault rifles on the 32nd floor of the Mandalay Bay Hotel, Casino, and Resort and sprayed a crowd of people half a kilometre away, murdering 59 of them and wounding more than 400 more.
Mass shootings have become commonplace in the U.S., but this one seemed to really take the biscuit.  The shooter was an elderly, retired, rich white male with no criminal history.  He's not a terrorist with a political, religious, or socio-economic agenda.  He was a tired, lonely guy who nursed a ball of unhappiness, rejection, fear, and anger for years.  When he finally grew sick of it all, he decided that he would take as many people with him into the abyss as he could, and he used the easiest and most efficient means to do so at his disposal.
It's actually quite easy to understand.  All of his human relationships were superficial and conditional.  People in Vegas loved him because he splashed money around, but every night he was never valued for himself.  His mother was getting blasted by a chorus line of tropical hurricanes from the Caribbean, and his brother played the part of the dutiful and loyal son in taking care of her.  Voting for Donald Trump hadn't fixed the country the way he wanted it to; in fact, things had gotten worse.  After a while, you could see how the ugly duckling got tired of waiting for swanhood and decided to drain the pond.
The question of whether he should have been able to construct an enormous arsenal of lethal assault weapons so that he could maximize the size of his flare-out is another one.  The vast majority (almost two-thirds) of gun fatalities in the United States are suicides.  There are arguments to be made that the number of overall suicides would be reduced if the expeditious means of self-removal due to firearms was made less accessible.  The propaganda wars of statistics can be seen HERE.
In any event, when someone wants to shuffle themselves off this mortal coil, one could at least reasonably be expected to do it quietly, and without disturbing the neighbours. 
The bottom line here is that making large-scale, long-distance homicide readily available and convenient under the pretense of recreational entitlement or an antiquated constitutional amendment is probably a bad idea.

Ablution Blues

Without further ado, since I'd like to get to bed at some point, here is the playlist from my last showertime scrubbing.

• Broken Arrow, by Peter Gabriel and Robbie Robertson
• Jake, by Lisa Loeb
• Comfortably Numb, by Pink Floyd
• Be Good to Yourself, by Journey
• What's the Story Morning Glory, by Oasis
• Centerfield, by John Fogarty

Cam Newton's Sexy Presser

As a final note, I leave you with Cam Newton and his burbling comments to sports journalist Jourdan Rodrigue HERE.  Some have called them sexist and misogynist.  In this instance, I shall defer to the wisdom of my friend Kevin Huenison, who is often heard to say that it is better to avoid assuming malice where ignorance will suffice. 
In short, Newton isn't so much a misogynist as a giggling idiot who is as amused by the workings of his nose goblins as he is by the mysterious intricacies of human anatomy.  Give the man another spliff and let him fiddle about with his belly button until he soaks his sleeveless undershirt with warm drool.  Ms. Rodrigue could probably have provided the limited intellect of Mr. Newton with all manner of entertainment by correctly pronouncing any word not found on a McDonald's Happy Menu.

Epilogue

Well, here's hoping that following this Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend, which coincides with an international World Cup Qualifying break, will be followed by some of my usual inane prattling about items of sports, rather than items of political analysis.  Thank you very much for your attention, ladies and gentlemen.
Until next time, goodnight England and the colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS