Last minute notice, but my guest DJ spot on Sirius/XM channel 38 will air today at noon (8/14) and again on Sunday, 8/18 at 9 pm and Monday, 8/19 at 6 pm, all ET. Check out my five classic metal and hard rock selections, plus my deep redneck baritone voice and my dumb excitement talking about METAL from the greatest era of music in human history. This is slightly more exciting than having my college DJ time pre-empted by NPR. ROCK AND ROLL, BABY!
One of the hardest things about blogging is finding funny topics when the world is on fire, so I reluctantly dive into the pool on the other side from time to time. This is one such time. After a mass shooting, the blame game starts and I believe this, along with the constant attention given these animals has more to do with the frequency of them than anything. I read an LA Times article that I have linked to that showed what all mass shooters have in common. https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2019-08-04/el-paso-dayton-gilroy-mass-shooters-data
What I saw from the article, which in fairness, is just one source, is that violence to the person, experienced and witnessed, is a common factor, along with a “trigger” event before the shooting and then the ease of access to information about other mass shooters. These guys are trying to be famous or known; trying to make a splash. I won’t go into that side, but let’s look at what not’s the cause: video games.
I tried to go back and see what video games I’ve played with violence in them. Discounting sports games like hockey, football, and boxing, I still am in the hundreds. I’ve played games where you could be evil or good. Games where you had to fight other characters to the death. I’ve also read books and seen movies with extreme violence. Even classical literature has murder, rape and torture. At any time, you can go to a theater and see at least one movie with someone getting killed. People I’ve killed so far? Zero.
In fairness, there are some limits. We don’t allow actual murder and/or death to hit our airwaves. Beheadings and other video clips of car accidents are typically firewalled or blocked on social media. I remember the “Faces of Death” series being one kids tried to watch, usually without success. It was video footage of horrible accidents compiled on a VHS series. It was heavily restricted (correctly, I believe) in distribution. For video games, the two most controversial of my life were the Call of Duty “No Russian” scene and Manhunt. “No Russian” was where, as an undercover CIA agent, the player was told to massacre civilians in an airport. Turns out the leader of the terrorist group knows the player is American and kills your character as a way to blame the killing on the American government. A kid planning a school shooting actually referenced this scene when he was caught. The player does not have to shoot anyone during the level and it can even be skipped. I will say, despite my disgust with this scene/level in the game, even that cannot be directly tied to a mass shooting. It was roundly criticized and years later is generally frowned upon as a marketing gimmick in poor taste, but still not a direct influencer.
Manhunt was actually involved in a lawsuit for a murder and led to countersuits. It was a game where you were a death row inmate released in an asylum in a kill or be killed scenario that was being filmed. Very dark, very violent and banned in 2003 and 2007 in several countries. Again, outside of one case that wasn’t settled, it was never shown definitively to have led to murder, but it absolutely was in poor taste and probably to date is the most violent non-underground video game ever released. Whatever you think about the companies that release these games, actual violence to kids has been proven to be astronomically more involved in serial killers and mass shooters’ motives than any game.
In summation, is it moral to make (or play) games with extreme violence? Probably on some level, no. If you blame such games, however, I hope you don’t watch fights or contact sports, read murder mystery or horror novels, or watch action movies. I also have no issue with a stance on video games, but it clearly isn’t a direct cause of mass shootings, no matter how pretzel like your logic. Take that energy and work on child advocacy to prevent abuse, rape and domestic violence. It’ll do a lot more good than taking away a game.
My wife was offered tickets as a special deal to take the kids to a planetarium last night. We mapped it out, decided when we needed to leave and made plans. We had to leave by 6:30 to get there early. All set. Parenting done right!
6:15 – G: “I don’t want to go to Sesame Street.” One time we went to something like this, it was Sesame Street themed and for some inexplicable reason, my daughter is currently scared of Sesame Street. I have no idea why, but probably some damned You Tube ad shoehorned in to an Elmo song. The anti-smoking Truth ad with the weird faced people terrifies her. Spent five minutes convincing her that Brutus Buckeye would likely be there. Still trying to surmise which Sesame Street character went rogue. She hints it’s Grover. I’m still in shock.
6:20 – “I have to poopy.” There goes ten minutes. Luckily it wasn’t me, or we would have lost double that.
6:30 – “I need my Brutus Buckeye.” My daughter has, no lies, over 100 stuffed animals. Brutus is shoved into a cubbyhole with about 99 other toys. I give up, my wife succeeds. Ten minutes lost.
6:40 – We have 16 minutes on the GPS, but it glitches, costing us two more. I have to get two kids out of a car, up to the fifth floor and have two minutes to do this. Main doors locked to event facility. Failure. Doors lock promptly at 7, $20 lost. Wife still looking for parking, maybe as I type this.
7:10 – We have to find a Brutus statue on campus to appease my daughter. Then go to Target. Entire night lost, but we did get two boxes of diapers and a stress headache. Tomorrow there’s an outdoor movie free down the road. Let’s see what adventures await.
Last week I traveled to Pennsylvania for work and had a reminder why traveling all the time sucks. I have driven to Savannah, Georgia, Minnesota, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the far side of Maryland for comedy. Michigan was the worst; it was late December and I drove from one end to the other. The road was so white, I couldn’t see the edge lines, so I followed the tire tracks which were dead center. There were more shuttered gas stations than open ones and every time a truck passed me I had no idea if I was going to run off the road.
Last week, not so bad, but there were some things that gave me the flashbacks and not the good ones. I drove within about ten miles of my first stop and the road was shut down. I had to detour 30 miles out of the way. This happened once in comedy where I took a shortcut in Southern Ohio right into a town parade. I sat for an hour so a firetruck and five tractors pulling wagons could drive two miles through this town.
Second, I saw a man nearly merge into me, then he jerked the wheel back, started slapping himself and talking very aggressively. Great, either sleep deprived or on drugs. I slowed down to 55 until he got out of sight. “HEY I’M EXHAUSTED – DRIVE FASTER!”
Lastly, I had to take a leak and found a Taco Bell off an exit. I walked down the hall and a man was leaning into the women’s restroom. I did a double take and prepared to say something and/or possibly chokeslam him, but as I got right there, I heard him talking to his lady, who I then saw was doing her makeup in the sink. At a Taco Bell. And they couldn’t wait to discuss this over burritos. Something about the babysitter and not urgent, from the four seconds I overheard. I can promise you, if I’m leaning into a public restroom to chat, there’s a fire or they’re giving away free quesadillas for the next 14 seconds and we have to move. Actually, forget that, I’m just getting the quesadillas, you’re on your own.
It’s funny how you can forget stories until you run into someone, but I was reminded recently about my interaction with the Dean at my college in 1999. My junior year, I was asked to undertake a covert operation – find out if classes would be cancelled the next day. The weather was going south that December evening, but the next day was a scheduled round of early morning classes and final quizzes for a lot of the guys in my fraternity. My college also NEVER cancelled for weather. The campus was small and it wasn’t a commuter school, so someone “heard” they hadn’t cancelled school since the 1970’s.
I was volunteered to call the Dean, posing as someone’s dad, to ask if school would be cancelled. Was it for my killer wit? No. My sharp mind? No. Just based on the fact I have had the deep voice of a 45 year old man since I was 15. I agreed and formulated a quick plan in my head. I would act like the dad of an off-campus student trying to make sure his son was safe. In fairness, I did stuff like this in high school. I called people’s parents posing as other parents to let them know their kid wasn’t partying.
I picked up the phone and called the Dean. He had, prior to coming to our campus, been in the CIA for 25 years. He’s even now got two published books on covert operations. Adding to the difficulty, there were about twelve people in the room with me trying not to laugh. The following is my best recollection of the conversation.
The phone was dialed, ringing directly into his house. “Hello?” “Hello, Dr. Clark, I am very sorry to bother you at home, but my name is Ken Whitmire. My son lives off-campus and we have heard a lot of nasty weather is heading that way and my wife is really concerned for his safety driving around tomorrow. I wouldn’t call, but my son won’t answer his phone. My wife thinks he’s lost power or phones; I think he’s probably getting into trouble, YOU KNOW HOW THEY ARE AT THAT AGE.” I then cut a really corny dad laugh HA HA HA HA. The Dean chimed in, “Oh to be that age again, I hear you! HA HA HA!” We had established rapport; time for phase 2.
“Well, again, I hate to call, but we didn’t know if classes were going to be cancelled – you know how women are, she’s really worried and can’t relax. (Lowers voice) It would really help me out to get her calmed down. (Back to normal voice, extra cheesy dad mode) You know how women can be when they’re worked up!” “I hear you! HA HA HA!” We both had a chuckle. Him again, “Well, I can tell you we haven’t announced anything, but we are definitely going to cancel classes tomorrow.” Me: “Well, that’s great. You really helped us out (and me HAHAHA). I appreciate that; now I guess I have keep calling my son.” “Good luck with that!” “No kidding, thanks again for your help. Have a good night!” “No problem, good night.”
I hung up the phone – the entire time the primary instigator of the incident had been pressing his face into my back to keep from laughing out loud. The room was a smattering of muffled laughs and buried faces. I shot my arms upward, “CLASS IS CANCELLED!” Cheers erupted from the group and beers were cracked. Another beer run was scheduled and the music was cranked. Chris, the subject of the call, didn’t find out I used his dad’s name for about ten years, but he told me his parents thought it was hilarious. Part of me thinks I’m really good, but another part of me realizes he saw through my idiocy and just was cool with us getting hammered on a Tuesday. Either way, fortune favors the bold.
When I was heading into eighth grade, my family moved back to Ohio. I had no friends and not much to do, so I was talked into volunteering to help at the food stand at the county fair for my Grandma’s church. It meant I got into the fair for free, where if my hammer skills were solid, I could win a cigar – seriously, it was the early 90’s. They’d even light it for you.
I had no time for smokes, though, because Grandma Eunice’s church stand was hopping. The go to was a greasy pork patty sandwich. Now, if you’ve never been around a middle school boy, they can eat at a level unprecedented among all ages and genders. My mom used to buy .49 cans of Chili Mac to keep me from bankrupting the house. I’d eat 2-3 a day in addition to regular meals. Probably why I’m fat now, but I digress.
My grandma liked to talk to strangers (that gene skipped me) and wound up messing up several orders. I ended up eating five of the greasiest pork patty sandwiches you’ve ever seen. The first three were good, the fourth was tough and Grandma guilted me into eating the last one. “We can’t throw away that sandwich, just eat it, you’re a growing boy!” The ride home was four miles, but over a road that looked like it belonged on a Bond movie. Up, down, up, left, down, right, up and repeat. I made it about 80% of the way and violently puked out of the window. Six pounds of non-FDA regulated swine meat ejaculated from the depths of my gastric system. To this day, I’ve never eaten a pork sandwich or worked at the fair. My dreams of being a carny lie shattered on the ground. It may have been the best thing that ever happened to me.