I went to the gun range monday night. It had been awhile, so I was little nervous. It never fails to amaze me that you can walk in, get a gun and ammo without hearing the question "Have you ever touched a gun in your life?".
Oddly enough shooting handguns evokes fond childhood memories. It's the white trash background I suppose.
I remember being 10 or 11, and cutting up shotgun shells to get the gunpowder out. Just so you know, if you get 4 or 5 shells worth of powder, you can arrange it in a pile on the floor and ignite it. It makes quite a flash.
How I escaped:
1) burning down the house
2) seriously injuring myself or others
3) Mark Greer injuring me
is a mystery.
I've been super productive. The hallway and dining room are now painted and I'm about to start retiling the fire place. Amazon just sent me 10 new zombie books. It is bliss.
There is a Henry Rollins spoken word show coming up at La Zona rosa. I highly recommend it.