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Dragoncaller Multidimentional
I know you are all an hallucination, but thanks for coming anyway.
dragoncaller
What is a teacher?

The obvious answer is simple and yet, not so. Providers of information, but also installers of knowledge. A book can provide information, a video can provide facts but a teacher makes it knowledge, takes zeros and ones of binary and makes it graphic.

A teacher is also a baby sitter. Let's be real. Part of our school's existence is to keep children out from underfoot until they are old enough to be useful for something other than a dish hoover. Since we're not allowed to let them earn valuable experience and wages by crawling through tight and dangerous machinery, we have to do something with them when they are not eating, crying and other wise annoying us.

A teacher is a counselor. Providing children with options of the future, a path to wander. They are also to peel them off the ceiling when their meds wear off, or peel them off the ground and boost their confidence after I destroy it.

In a teacher's career, parades of children march by, and you'd think once the bell rings the faces and names of the little O2 waste units would vanish from memory like an unsaved Word Doc, but they don't. They rattle around in a teacher's brain box long after the semester, long after school is out.

Long after that.

"Oh, I remember your brother." They said to me, which is a euphemism for, "Don't think I'm gonna put up with that crap again, I'm shutting you down now."

Seriously, that was four years ago. You've have nearly 500 students sitting in front of you and you remember, MY brother? Well, they remember all 500 of those students, those faces. That kid with the crayon wedged in his nose, that kid who glued his lip to his note book, that kid who's essay was read at the teacher's convention to a standing ovation.

As each child walks in and out of a teacher's class, that teacher is embossed on that child and in the inverse, that child is impressed on that teacher. Both teacher and child have grown and for the rest of always there will be a link connecting the two.

Tell me why I don't like Mondays?

In 1979 16 year old Brenda Spencer took her rifle to school and murdered first her principal, and then a janitor, before opening up on her classmates, wounding nine of them. She then went home where she was later taken into custody. When asked why, she said, "No one likes Monday's. I just wanted to cheer them up."

Sir Bob Guildoff wrote a song about it. It became a hit in 32 countries.

School shootings are nothing new.

Here's a fun fact. In the cellar of Butler Elementary School in Noank Connecticut is a gun range. I have seen it. It's not an urban legend. I wouldn't go mucking about down there because of all the lead dust but it is there. In fact, many schools back in the day had shooting clubs. These have fallen out of favor.

Many of these schools had strict rules and zero incidents. Brenda Spencer, who was a member of her school rifle team, changed all that.

Have you seen the Disney movie, Ol' Yeller? I'm not going to tell you how it ends.

Now, with all that we've talked about, let's get to the meat of this entree, shall we.

Guns in the hands of teachers.

School shootings have become all the rage now. For the purpose of this essay, I want to define a school shooting as a wonton and intentional act of inflicting mass casualty for reasons other than terrorism. That's my definition, I just made it up. We can work on it if you like.

There was a case when a girl walked into her class, shot her friend dead, then declared, "This don't concern y'all." Then put the barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger. That's not a school shooting.

Sandy Hook, Columbine, Parkland. Those are school shootings.

Another job for a teacher is guardian. Protector. Stoping children from harming themselves and protecting them from harm is a difficult task under ordinary circumstances because kids are just so danged good at harm.

But now one of your students, that goofy mouth breather you reared as a pup, taught, counseled, aided, advised, lead, trained, has come in with a gun, snarling, his brain boiling, his aura unrecognizable, and is killing people. Bang, bang, bang.

You must protect your students, get them out of harms way.

There is a call to arm teachers.

Give Teachers Guns!

Only a good guy with a guy can stop a bad guy with a gun.

Think about that.

This is, by extension, your progeny, your squire, your student, your ward...

Your child.

Yeah, for that time a teacher is teaching, that child becomes the teacher's child. That's why they remember them for so long. Teaching is taking onto oneself the responsibility of being a parent.

Now we expect that teacher to drop a hammer on their child.

Ol' Yeller.

But what about times of peace? What about all the other times you've got your student and you're the teacher and all is well.

You will always have bubbling in the back of your head, "What if I gotta drop a hammer on Billy, on Peggy Sue, on Walter?"

Imagine teaching in that environment.

Maybe some teachers can live like that, function like that, teach like that.

We underpay and under-respect our teachers as it is. Now we add the additional burden of gunslinger to them.

Should a teacher who chooses to exercise his 2nd amendment right to possess a fire arm on school property be allowed to do so?

Ol' Yeller.

That's a decision between that teacher and his conscience. (Edit, with specific school/tactical firearms training and appropriate equipment)

We can play the fun game of what if, but I won't. I think a teacher's first job is to get his students into a safe place and remain with them.

If you're interested, I'll post about other avenues of school safety at a later post.

But to sum this one up.

Teacher, you teach. Teach unfettered and unbridled. These are your kids. Teach them well.

Security should be left to the security personnel. Towns, SPEND MONEY ON SECURITY and on TEACHERS instead of stoopid things like buildings you don't need! You'll be surprised how that works. Good guys with guns stopping bad guys, there's something to that.

More on this if you care.

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Current Mood: thoughtful thoughtful
Current Music: That I'm never changing who I am

1 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
I am saddened to announce my friend of many years, photodharma Tony Baldwin, has passed away after his battle with cancer. He was a passionate man who always looked out for the disenfranchised, under dog.

He was one of the reasons I wrote Shard's Thugs as a novel. I had written Shard's Company, as a short story. I had no destination for it, no second chapter. I wasn't thinking.

He was head over heels for it and encouraged me to do something with it. He even did some art work.

. PFC Gralfange.

I figured I I can inspire someone to do this, then I had a story needed telling.

He was a good man. He will be missed.

Current Mood: sad sad
Current Music: ...

Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
Comi-con! Gen-con! Creation-con! Con-con! Wrath of Con! By Fans for Fans with Fans because it gets hot in here and you'll need a lot of fans!

Come put your geek on!

Meet legends, meet the makers, meet your heroes of Science Fiction and Fantasy!

Comic books will come to life!

Oh, let it die already.

Hypocrisy at its finest. Lying, cheating sacks of shit. You've lost yer way! Forgotten the cause! Betrayed your kind. Outcast!

Christmas used to be magic. Mesmerized by the flashing lights of the Christmas tree and a little creeped out by We Three Kings of Orient Are. It held such wonder. Cons used to be like that. Stuff to see, people to see, toys and games and panels.

Christmas is now the Holiday Season and no one gives a shit if you've been good. Cons are now a money making scheme, much like the feudal system raising lords over us. All on the backs of the peasants, I mean, volunteers.

I blame, of course, the fans. Greedy, crumb-snatching, illiterate fans who want their content pre-chewed and sterilized. And listen, it's Cosplay, not fucking Halloween. Put a little thought into it, huh? No! You don't have to go out and BUY everything, and you don't have to become a FX master, just some thought, and get a mirror. I think a mirror would really help you out.

Check this kid out. I think he was 8 or 9.


Cardboard, spray paint and duct tape. I spoke to his mom who said they kid put the whole thing together. The circle on his chest, an old plastic Tupperware lid. Knee joints, coffee cup lids. The face, a cardboard cut out. Now that's cosplay. He had the C3PO walk down pat! It was brilliant!

One thing the really bugged me about cons in the 80's was everyone was bootlegging stuff. "I'm a fan but I'm okay with STEALING stuff." Here's an idea, why not support the writers and directors and producers trying to give you great stuff. Well, just frigging YESTERDAY, December 10th, two thousand and mother fucking seventeen, some mouth breather BRAGGED to me he was going to pick up a bootleg version of some show he was watching. REALLY? You pay thirty dollars to get into a con to by and blackmarket version of a program you could probably download legally for $2.99?

Well, I stammered and said something along the lines of, you could probably get it off of Amazon really cheap and he mumbled something I couldn't hear and wandered off, giggling and nose picking with his minion.

Running the Con. It takes A LOT OF WORK to run a con. I don't mind that guy gets a salary. But, if he(she) is getting paid, I expect professional service, ESPECIALLY if I'm paying close to $300 for a 6 foot table.

Gamer-Con $275
Conneticon $300
Super-Con $220
Phil-Con $160
SuperMegaFest $180
Wicked Fare $450-800. Really? Mother fucker? $450? FOR WHAT? A table?
And of course Gary-con. $90

Gary-Con. I was sold a bill of goods from that guy. This brings me to,

CON DRAMA!

I never had given it much thought but cons are a bunch of friends who get organized and make a con happen. Friends, like husband and wife, like family, like brothers, fight. Sometimes irreparable damage occurs. That is what happened to Phil-Con. Pissy, pretentious, arrogant white misogynistic racists who thought Fiction could only be written by white old men couldn't get along with the idea of, "Why not have a black female author as our guest of honor" so they destroyed 80 years of fandom. This was the story I was told and in looking at what was being salvaged from Phil-con, that story made sense.

Gary-con was different. (here's what I heard) A bunch of guys who couldn't agree; okay, Gary packs up and makes his own Con. But his old buddies don't like the idea of competing with Gary so they sue him. During this time, one of them discovered that Gary hired a registered sex offender to be a photographer. He then starts a social media spiel calling Gary out on it. Gary foolishly doubles down defending they predator and torpedoes his own con. By time he comes to his senses the damage is done. He's already got my money and the money of all the venders, so it's no skin of his nose. Gary wins the law suit and thinks that somehow vindicates him from hiring a sex offender.

Gary Con had the highest percentage of kids I've seen at a con. At a minimum, he should have checked his paid staff on the sexual predator list. It's free. It was reckless of him and if a person had been harmed I think Gary would be culpable for it. But he didn't. Okay. When he was called on it, he shoulda cut the guy loose. Sure, the whistle blower's motives for calling this guy out may, MAY have alternate motives, but a lit fuse is still a lit fuse. He didn't cut the guy loose but instead tried to battle it out. Wow. A good general chooses his battlefield. Gary chose very poorly. Defending sexual predators while pushing a Kid's Event is not a good battlefield.

This brings me to a really sore spot with me. Sexual Predators. I'm all for injecting Drano into the testes, but I've been told that's Draconian. Okay, fine. But why are we the ones defending ourselves from predators?

Here is what isn't happening:

One, if you're on the list it's like parole. You have to check in with your parole officer and he gets to randomly spy on you to make sure you're telling the truth. If you're not in compliance, Drano to the testes.

There must be conditions on the order. Announcing someone is a predator and putting no conditions on the form is just confusing and frightening. Also, with no conditions, he CAN'T violate it. Nothing stops him from hanging out at the parking and watching your kids, or getting a job watching your kids. Why do I have to do a background check on anyone I meet? That's the parole officer's job!

If what this guy did is so slight there are NO conditions of the order, get rid of it. There you go, either no order or Drano to the Testes.

Yes, Marion Zimmer Bradly is a different kind of monster but we gotta start SOMEWHERE.

Hey! Here's an idea! GPS tracking bracelets! Wander too close to a school too many times, Drano to the Testes. DONE.

But back to cons. Some of these cons have 50-75 volunteers. Checking ALL of them would be problematic. And what about the fans? How many of them are sexual predators? All walking around looking at all that lovely spandex, how do we stop them? People get sexually assaulted at Cons, it happens and we need to STOP IT RIGHT BLODDY NOW! As in now, NOW. Yes, NOW, NOW.

Cosplay is not consent is a great start. It is about the fandom, not assaulting each other.

Jeez! I just wanna sell books.

Books.

That is the heart of Sci-Fi. It's the heart of all stories. It is the story that drives EVERYTHING. No writers, no nothing. NOTHING. Heck, even professional wrestlers need writers.

You would be surprised at the amount of people who said, "I don't read."

The saddest three words ever.

Here are some more bad words.

Without books, without stories, we're all fucked.

So,

Buy a book and save your world.

Current Mood: grumpy grumpy
Current Music: The sailor says, Brandy, you're a fine girl.

4 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

Out on the back deck, oil lanterns burning, in desperate need for a gaming night.

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
We are moving along at a brisk, 66,000 miles an hour, 292 times fast that the Bugatti Veron, 34 times faster than the F-35 Fighter Aircraft, and 6,000 times faster than my recumbent.

That is fast.

Yes, it is a painful crawl compared to the speed of light, a thrilling 670,616,629 miles an hour, but seriously, would you enjoy the scenery as much?

It is that time of year again. My seventieth time where I strip off all my clothes and walk out my front door. This really isn't much of a dare since no one can see me, The Shire being surrounded on all sides by woods, but it's my little thrill non-the-less. Yes, I'm rather vanilla, but their is no shame in that. Not everyone like the bukkake muffins and that is okay.

But it is a moment, a moment out of the 2,628,000 moments we have in a year to take stock of that year...

While standing naked in my backyard.

This year I wore sandals and my dog tags, and new this year, a hair tie. I have a pony tail.



I have been formally retired for just over one year now. I don't miss it a bit. It doesn't even feel odd. I do feel guilty and I make sure my day is packed with meaningful stuff, but guilt is guilt. I earned my retirement. I worked in underpaid jobs for 27 years for this reason. I stood on the front line of Freedom around the world with the Marines and on the front line of justice with the police, both rather dangerous places. Technically, I was in a war, but saying that is like saying I was in Viet-Nam while I never left the barracks in New Haven CT.

I was never shot at, thank God.

Here's the thing about lusting after action, the moment you get it you wish to be elsewhere, preferably action-free.

Well, you can keep it. I always fantasied about being the hero but it never happened.

I shit you not, I got an award once for my expert handling of a phone during a time of crisis. If that isn't hero material, what is?

I have a beard now, a Lovely Frans Joseph. This way no one confuses me with my brother who also has a beard.

I'm an actor now. I have a resume and I have been paid so that means it is a real job and I can add that to my list of things.

Truth is I'm busier than a long tailed cat in a room of full of rocking chairs.

And that's just it.

66,000 miles have gone by. 66,000 miles laid down behind me I won't get back.

66,000 miles further along on my journey.

I wouldn't mind for it to slow down, just a bit.

66,000 miles sounds so far away, a long arduous journey, but I just finished it. Done! On to the next 66,000 miles. I figure I have another 3,600,000 miles to go.

I wouldn't mind seeing 36,000,000 miles down the road. I imagine I'll need new shoes before then.

But this year alone I've been on Television, a couple movies, radio, met Lee Majors, the Six Million Dollar Man, and by GOD he looks like eight million, easy, met so many interesting and wonderful people, traveled, had experiences,

Lived.

And, God willing, I get to do it again!

Current Mood: happy happy
Current Music: Oliver! Oliver, never before has a boy wanted more!

1 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
Tonight's part of, The Body Snatcher, will be played by me!

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Current Music: You're dying just to be there, just crying on your knees!

Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

On August 18th, 2016, I said goodbye to my wonderful friends and coworkers at the Town of Groton and headed out to a new, shiny adventure.

I have never been defined by other things.  They have been part of me, yes, but not what makes me, me.

I'm an Eagle Scout, Marine, AD&D Player, Sniper, Knight/Master, Lieutenant, Special Forces, SWAT, Crisis Intervention, Domestic Violence Liaison, Community Policing, Records, Accountant, Computer Geek/gamer, trekie, Writer, Classic Car owner, Cyclist, Black Belt, Backpacker, Archer, Comicbook Nerd and Scientist (tru fakt)

And now...

What.

Actor!

It is certainly a redefining moment but I suspect it still won't define me.  So much to do.

I've been at it a year and we're moving right along.  I have my first real audition last Wednesday where they go, "Go from being angry to sad... Action!"  And I did.  I may not get the part, but this is where you learn and train.  I could take a class but I think I would have to take a class first before taking a class.  But then, looking at some of the others, I think I could teach that class.

I still want this to slow the fuck down, not the adventure but the time.  A year.  I went to Florida three times, Disney once.  I took a train, a plane, went to Birka and Supercon.  I went to New York more times than I care too.  I'm learning how to save receipts for EVERYTHING and filing monthly state taxes, BASTARDS.  I'm learning about my local town government, BASTARDS.  

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

It sucks.

I'm seriously beginning to believe it's all a hoax.  Not from the first, miserable, stupid night wearing the stupid thing, but of the presentation, the doctor acting like an infomercial, the tech who showed me how to use it going through the same spiel and me constantly saying, 'Yeah, I get it, it's why I'm here.  Can we talk about facts now?'

STOP SELLING THIS TO ME!

There was a movie called Dave who is a president look alike and he, as president, sees in the budget that we're spending a huge amount of money to make people feel good about cars they already bought.

Reality is this:

My insurance company, dicy as they are, are covering 100% including supplies and maintenance.

I can't get them to fix my knee but a 1,200 CPAP unit with another 1,200 annual cost for supplies is covered 100%.  It means people are healthier and it saves the insurance company money.

No insurance company gives a hottie pattotie over my health.  My health is only a means to make them money.

And don't say, "They're getting a kick back from the CPAP people."  Where are they getting their money from?  People can't afford this thing out of pocket so it must be the insurance company.

Therefore there is real science here.

I know it is only the first day, but I am growlingly grumpy and in desperate need for a nap at 10am.



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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

We've seen the news.  White Supremacists, Art-Right, Nazis.

First let me say, Trump was wrong and yet right at the same time.  There was fighting on both sides.  But let's put this into perspective, 1,000 Neo-Nazis vs 200 hundred counter-protestors.  The Neo-Nazis had batons, shields and helmets.  Shields and helmets are NOT defensive items when you have a baton.  It is now an offensive posture.  The counter-protestors were carrying signs.  Many of the Neo-Nazis had guns although to their credit never used them.  However the simple presence of a gun changes impact of a conversation.

To say there was fighting on both sides is a misguided view.

The Neo-Nazis also had a very powerful weapon, one that dominated the field louder than anything else.

The Neo-Nazis had their symbols of hate.  

Fear is a very powerful weapon.  Don't let anyone kid you.

There was a symbol used in Asia for thousands of years.  

Adolf Hitler took the symbol, inverted it (which heradrically dramatically changes the meaning to be either opposite or insulting) and used it as his personal ad campaign to strike terror.  It's color scheme is built to be frightening, distinct.  He then backed it up by murdering millions of people.  

I visited the Death Camp in Jasenovac Croatia.  It happened.  The bodies where found.  You CAN'T deny it.  Somewhere in the area of 600,000 men women and children were killed there in that one camp.

So this stolen symbol, stained heavily in the blood of horror speaks louder than any words.  

That symbol is a weapon; a brutal and harsh weapon.

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

355 days ago I was counting the remaining days of my career as a police officer.  21 years dedicated to truth, justice and the American Way was coming to an end.  Jerry Garcia would have called it a long, strange trip; and it certainly was.

Now nearly a year has flashed by.  I wanted it to slow down, I want it to last.  I remember Marine Corps Boot Camp.  God!  Those days lasted for ever, like the summer of 1975.  They packed so much in a day!  Drill Instructors yelling at you, marching you, yelling some more and we were the 90 day wonders.  Our boot camp experience was trimmed by nearly four weeks so they could get everyone off of Paris Island by Thanksgiving.  

1975 was a world all on my front stoop.  Big Jim action figure was all the rage and I had one.  He could flex his big muscles and break an arm band.  My yard was huge and we had a sprinkler to run and play in and cool off; we were addicted to it!

1975 seems so far apart from 1985 when I went into the Marines, but somehow 1995 was yesterday compared to 2016.

And now a year has fled.

I want to drag my fingernails across the span of time, slowing it all down.

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2 Dragons or Call a Dragon