Senators Agree on a Framework for Gun Violence Legislation

 The bipartisan agreement focuses on mental health, school safety, red flag funding, and juvenile records.

WASHINGTON—

Senators from both parties announced an agreement on a legislative framework aimed at reducing mass shootings in America by keeping guns out of the hands of potentially dangerous people.

On Sunday, a bipartisan group of senators announced that they were working on legislation that would increase funding for mental-health programs and school security, as well as provide incentives for states to implement and enforce red-flag laws and include juvenile records in background checks for people under the age of 21 who buy guns.

"Our plan saves lives while also protecting law-abiding Americans' constitutional rights." "We look forward to gaining broad, bipartisan support and enacting our commonsense proposal," said the group, which is led by Senators Chris Murphy (D-Conn.) and John Cornyn (R-Texas), as well as Senators Kyrsten Sinema (D-Ariz.) and Thom Tillis (R-Texas) (R., N.C.).

Ten Republicans signed on to the agreement as a crucial show of support.
Negotiators have been working to garner enough support to pass legislation in the 50-50 Senate, where any bill would require significant bipartisan support to advance.
All Democrats are expected to support the legislation, which means that a final bill would require the support of at least ten Republicans. 

Senators Cornyn and Tillis were joined by Roy Blunt of Missouri, Richard Burr of North Carolina, Bill Cassidy of Louisiana, Susan Collins of Maine, Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, Rob Portman of Ohio, Mitt Romney of Utah, and Pat Toomey of Arizona in signing on to the framework.


The final legislative text still faces challenges, including determining how much money to spend on the programs.
Nonetheless, the framework puts lawmakers on track to pass the most comprehensive bipartisan gun violence legislation since the 1994 assault weapons ban, which expired a decade ago. 

While many Democrats have sought sweeping measures such as bans on assault-style weapons and magazine capacity limits, President Biden and party leaders have indicated that they would support a narrow agreement in the face of widespread Republican opposition to measures limiting gun ownership.


Legislators have ruled out raising the age to buy assault-style weapons like AR-15s from 18 to 21.
Democrats and some Republicans had expressed support for such legislation, but it lacked broad GOP support.
There was also little appetite among Republicans to outright ban such weapons, as President Biden had proposed. 

While many Democrats have sought sweeping measures such as bans on assault-style weapons and magazine capacity limits, President Biden and party leaders have indicated that they would support a narrow agreement in the face of widespread Republican opposition to measures limiting gun ownership.


Legislators have ruled out raising the age to buy assault-style weapons like AR-15s from 18 to 21. Illegal immigrants will be limited to half a dozen weapons per individual.
Democrats and some Republicans had expressed support for such legislation, but it lacked broad GOP support.
There was also little appetite among Republicans to outright ban such weapons, as President Biden had proposed.

Nothing says "I'm back in the office" quite like peanuts for lunch.

(Dedicated to journalist Katherine Dill.)

 

workers by the millions are refusing to return

to their office settings just plain money for to earn.

why go back, they query, where our lunches are so rushed,

we often dine on peanuts that are stale and slightly crushed?

that long commute was murder when we did it yesteryear,

by bus or train or auto or by costumed gondolier. 

the office we have built at home is cozy and productive;

the furnishings are lovely and the atmosphere seductive.

we can get our work done in less time than you would think

it takes to clean the toilet or repair the kitchen sink.

the fridge is always handy and when meeting over Zoom

we can merely dress our tops and let our bottoms bloom.

plus we're feeling burnt out and a glass of wine or two

washing down a Zoloft helps us keep from feeling blue.

(when you do it at the office you become a real hoodoo.) 

Besides you never know if other workers are orthodox

or if they've been infected with the dreaded monkeypox.

Stranded elevators and crazed shooters do abound;

and if there is a plumbing leak you risk becoming drowned.

we have pandemic goldfish that cannot be left alone;

we want no foreign keyboards or unsanitary phone.

and so we are refuseniks, when you ask us to come back;

we'd rather face a horrid case of constant dental plaque!

 

Narrative Poem: Shoes at the gym

 you're not allowed to look

at people's faces anymore.

everyone's freaking out about

facial recognition --

so to make eye contact

with strangers

is tantamount to attacking

them with a pen knife.

so I look at their shoes.

especially at the gym

when I'm working out

on the stationary bike.

there are big TV screens

bolted to the walls that

silently play ESPN,

but I find that about as

interesting

as plywood. so I

look down at the kind

of shoes people wear

while they work out.

or pretend to work out.

one in three are Nike brand.

one in three. and that's not

counting the Nike socks

they wear.

that company has taken

a chain saw to

the money tree.

black is the predominant

color of gym shoes.

but there are hot pink

and highway orange as well.

lots of shoes have a criss-cross

on them,

or the letter 'N.'

are those brands?

me, I wear Crocs to the gym.

They're so comfortable.

and they keep my heels from

jarring.

because I'm fat.

I lost weight by skipping

breakfast for a few months.

but that made me cranky

and carnal.

so now I eat bacon and 

eggs, sardines and toast,

ramen noodles with kimchi

and fried ham

in the morning.

and I'm a better

fatter

person for it.

News Deserts.

 

"Many newspapers have become a shadow of their former selves. News deserts are spreading around the country, places where people have lost access to trusted local news sources, and where local coverage has disappeared."

Larry Ryckman.  Colorado Sun.

Parched for news, the public cries

for stories they can idealize.

Local rags have disappeared

and so the news is engineered

by demagogues and other sages

on misleading Facebook pages.

No one's checking facts or figures;

reporters must deal with hair triggers.

The truth is down a hidey-hole,

or hidden on a totem pole.

Hildy Johnson, where you gone?

The news bizness is woebegone!

Today's Timericks: Janet Yellen Tells Lawmakers She Expects Inflation to Remain High

Inflation now has come to stay.

With our dough it wants to play.

Can't put none of it away.

What now of the rainy day?

Guess I'll wind up eating hay.

 

Sayonara, balanced budget,

say the experts by and large;

all they ever want us trying

is most ev'rything to charge.

In Japan and Bora Bora

banks are rubbing hands in glee --

and they're getting ready, boychik,

to charge a giant finance fee. 

Target inventory, overstocked and overpriced,

is going to be discounted and even sacrificed.

Supply-side economics have given them a vexing glut;

they're gonna be a catalogue just like old Fingerhut.

Today's Timericks: Elon Musk’s Bot Problem on Twitter Is Extraordinary

 

bots and spam has Elon Musk;

making him feel mighty brusque.

to avoid their botheration

he must break with automation.

will he do this? I dunno --

will termites leave Pinocchio?

My luncheon break is sacred time;

a love affair with my own chyme.

Two hours to digest a meal

is what I call my beau ideal.

Then my body I compose

for a twenty minute doze.

 

Boris Johnson held a fete

during Covid-19 yet!

When the public heard the news,

they began to blow a fuse.

So his latest balance sheet

bounces him from Downing Street.

Book Reviews: David Sedaris. Nora Roberts. Bill O'Reilly. Kellyanne Conway. Jon Krakauer. Tara Westover.

 

Happy Go Lucky.

by David Sedaris.

In this new volume the noted humorist sets his sights on common human foibles, like necrophilia and living in Arkansas. His light-hearted literary banter goes well with a bite of camembert and a sip of needled kombucha. In fact, savvy readers who know the Sedaris cannon will forgo reading the book altogether and simply pop it in the oven at 350 for an hour and then serve it with sauteed beet greens. 

 

Nightwork.

by Nora Roberts.

In her latest opus the noted novelist spins a tale of intrigue, murder, romance, and eczema.

Master thief Harry Booth has a daughter he has never met, and a bar tab he's never paid. Things get weird when the IRS agent sent to arrest him is that same daughter. They meet up at the bar where his name is chalked on the wall, and the figure of two billion dollars next to it causes mayhem and supply chain gaps.

Ms. Roberts needs to find a new plot structure that doesn't do to cliches what Dr. Frankenstein did to stray body parts. 

Killing the Killers

by Bill O'Reilly.

Are terrorists already embedded in our elementary schools as janitors? Will sharia law overtake our country state by state, until we're all forced to eat halva and like it? Is the hajib just another type of baggie for humans?

O'Reilly doesn't answer any of those questions. In fact, the whole book is just a long monotonous narrative of his last fishing trip to Lake of the Woods. Where he got skunked, by the way.

The reader will also get skunked if they pay full price for a hardback copy of this drek. Pick it up at Goodwill for a quarter in about another month . . . 

Here's the Deal.

by Kellyanne Conway.

She was a seminal figure in the Trump administration.

Reason enough to use her book as mulch or processed as an additive to Metamucil. 

Under The Banner Of Heaven.

by Jon Krakauer.

A good example of fictional nonfiction. Nobody gets the Mormon angle right, so why do they still bother to try?

The group is always painted as extremist or moony. This time around is no different. We wish someone would do to Mormons what Jessamyn West did to Quakers in 'The Friendly Persuasion.' Now THAT would be worth reading . . . 

Educated.

by Tara Westover.

Isolationist rednecks try to wreck their daughter's life with their simplistic and lunatic delusions. But she goes to college and writes a best seller that makes her rich and liberal and she probably winds up with an addiction problem and existential despair at the state of the world. So who's better off and happier, the ignorant lunatic fringe or the well educated cynics? You won't find out by reading this book, but it's a pleasant way to pass a Sunday afternoon in your Laz-e-Boy when the cable TV is out.

 

Personal Essay: My Day -- Sunday June 6. 2022.

 

a little lower than angels

is what the Bible states

am I and all thy children --

celestial delegates!

I wish I were seraphic

when I do stub my toe,

and not so diabolic --

as my words often show!

 

 

and so my day begins up here in Wendell, Idaho. on a four day visit to amy's sister kathy and hubby steve. 

if i understand amy right, she wants to come up every weekend to visit her sister until they have to sell the farm in july. i initially put up quite a fuss about it, because the four hour drive is expensive and my tailbone would be throbbing by the time we arrived. plus their house is unheated this past winter and our basement bedroom was a virtual icebox. but all that has changed because i decided i would change my mind about the whole thing. instead of complaining and playing the martyr i decided to believe the whole thing is a jolly weekly holiday for us. so i increased my credit card limit to 1500 dollars. I cadged an old rocker/recliner to bring up to Idaho so I'd have some place decent to sit and rest my aching tailbone. and i bought a cheap ceramic space heater at walmart. turns out we didn't need the heater -- wendell was undergoing a heat wave when we got here this week, so the basement bedroom was actually a cooling relief. the rocker/recliner has been wonderful -- i can spend all day in it gazing at the flat idaho fields of alfalfa through the living room picture window. there are birds a-plenty winging their way through the manure-perfumed air, as the wide horizon fills with tumbling clouds just for my amusement. oh, and i stopped at the dollar store down in provo before we left to stock up on cheap sardines. i got five cans of sardines in louisiana hot sauce, and have relished ingesting a can every morning for breakfast. somehow it feels right to eat canned fish in a farm house in idaho . . . my life's summation, to be written on my tombstone should be:  He Finally Ate Cheap Sardines While The Chickens Befouled The Back Porch.

we drove fifteen miles yesterday to the moribund hamlet of Buhl, just to buy ice cream. amy said they had the best ice cream she ever tasted, so i insisted we go get some. and she is right. it is the best i've ever had. while in buhl i spotted an orange spire towering over the town. i asked amy what it was and she said it was a hindu temple. having been married long enough now to know better i did not immediately pooh pooh her answer. but instead when we got back to the farm house i googled hindu temples in idaho, discovering there was certainly none in buhl. what there is is an old Odd Fellows Hall, built in 1922, and painted orange. i did not rub it in. so, good for me! -- maybe i'm learning how to handle this marriage racket after all.

now, as i gaze out on the back forty while tapping away on my laptop in my rocker/recliner, i begin to miss not having my usual can of sardines in louisiana hot sauce. because today is Fast Sunday, and we will be going to the wendall ward for 9:30 a.m. services. i will be bringing along my notebook to jot down my observations, and you, dear reader, will have the benefit of my keen scrutiny later this afternoon . . . 

 

************************************************

 

 

Individual Income Tax Payments on Pace to Reach Record Level

the man inside the barrel with no clothes to wear at all

is no longer just a fiction or a piece of folderol.

for Uncle Sam is greedy and needs money by the sack,

and so he dings us one by one until our wallets crack.

I want to finance freedom, but these taxes are a joke --

how can I savor liberty when I am always broke?

 

i just had to write that after reading the above headline in the online wall street journal after coming home from church. here's what i wrote during sunday school in church today, based on the book of judges from the old testament:

 

after Joshua did pass

the Israelites turned into glass --

they shattered often due to sin

and let the philistines move in.

but when the hebrews did repent

a righteous judge was often sent

to set them straight and lead the way

all commandments to obey.

then the land had rest again --

as long as they stayed humble men.

 

i know i promised a full and scathing report on fast & testimony meeting in the Wendell first ward, but now i'm wondering if my observations are too bitter, cynical, and worldly to do any good or be considered a worthwhile literary endeavor?

believe it or not, it is not my intention to be cutting and sarcastic about anyone or anything. i just want to report what i see, what i hear, and what i feel. and to rejoice in the lushness and complexity of the english language while i'm using it.

 

there were ten people, plus the Bishop, who bore their testimonies this morning. rather than go through them one by one I'll just make some general observations.

seven women, one child, and two men. that's the breakdown. i've noticed over the years that women bear their testimony more often than men.

a woman in an orange polka dot dress said she wanted to walk with Jesus and not just bump into him occasionally -- which struck me as memorable. 

an elderly woman in a red and white horizontal stripped sweater was effusively descriptive of her grandchildren, and then gushed "everything denotes there is a God!"

she also said "i'm so grateful i can go anywhere in the world and find church every sunday at 9 in the morning!"  i'm still pondering that statement.

a man who had moved away from wendell thirty years ago got up to say he was back for his daughter's wedding. i lost the thread of his remarks after that. 

 

sunday school, as i said, was all about the book of judges. i got off one nifty during class, by stating that Samson was a great entertainer because he brought the house down. didn't get much of a laugh. idaho people are rather solemn, i guess. you would be too if your state license plate motto was 'great potatoes.'  

 

well, i guess that's all for now. the day is only half done, it being just 1230 p.m. but i doubt much more of anything will happen the rest of the day. i'll read p.g. wodehouse in my rocker/recliner until dinnertime at 4, then glut myself on beef, potatoes, creamed peas, and a flagon of that chocolate ice cream from Buhl, then sit comatose in front of the TV until 9, when amy and i will stagger to bed and sleep the sleep of the well-fed just.

tomorrow we head back to provo. to home. to smog.

insincerely yours,

heinie manush 

Our Summer Home in Wendell, Idaho.

 

Our rustic cottage on the outskirts of Wendell --

a bucolic Idaho town where the natives roll potatoes

down the streets each morning to keep the grass

from growing.

Lolling in our leather recliners the other day, Amy and I felt the need to get away from the brittle hurly-burly of Provo, with its obtuse academics and Silicon Valley wannabes. So we have rented a charming little villa in the midst of the wilds of Idaho.

We spend long weekends there now, soaking up the local color and reveling in the quaint traditions of the peasants. 

The manure-scented zephyrs and abundant road kill refresh our spirits. Clouds scud along the horizon like a billowy cattle stampede, and the corn is as high as a skunk's rheumy eye.

Stephano and Katrina, the caretakers of our rural retreat, greet us each morning with platters of potato knots, freshly churned butter, and parboiled alfalfa sprouts. Chickens in the doorway cluck happily while scratching lottery tickets.

The back forty, where we keep a few emus and 

mountain goats for their eggs, meat, and milk.

We had several yaks but they didn't care

for the liquor laws in Idaho and have

migrated to Nevada. 

 

Our days are filled with pleasant, non-stressful, activities -- such as skeet shooting, turkey raffles, and tenement removal. At night the peaceful rasp of armadillos mating with abandoned hubcaps lulls us into a deep refreshing sleep.

 Amy in a pensive mood, as she ponders the problem of

rural poverty, which condemns most rural residents to

a lifetime diet of milk, cream, potatoes, strawberries, and local unprocessed

meat -- all the time breathing nothing but

fresh mountain air.

 

The sleepy pace of life here along the frontage road suits us to a T.  The mail comes once a fortnight. The grocery store in town still gives Green Stamps. And the local bank only opens on Fridays, when the workers at the turpentine distillery get paid.

All in all, Amy and I are as happy about our decision to spend part of each week out here in the boondocks as a pig on an airplane. 

We hope you'll come visit us this summer, before the snow flies and the Visogoths return from Canada. We can promise you smoking platters of fried canal weed and a bed in the hayloft with the pigeons and earwigs!

And we'll only charge you by the hour.

The quilt on our bed is an authentic hand-woven Balkan

Coverlet -- sewn by Armenian albinos and bindlestiffs,

who settled this land a hundred years ago in

search of mascara deposits.

  

 

Today's Timericks: Nephi's Boat, among other things.

 

Nephi's boat had sails of skins,

which PETA would call grievous sins.

Had they been around that day,

Nephi could not sail away.

Thus we see fanatics cross

the will of God at ev'ry toss!

 

 

My house has got a mortgage on it

that strangles like a too-tight bonnet.

It's worth a fortune, that is true,

but I can't pay now what is due.

And so the bank will repossess

and I will deal with homelessness.

 

". . . an undertaking that even seasoned auto executives say is fraught." 

(WSJ)

 

'fraught' ain't meant to stand alone;

cuz otherwise, it's overblown.

the editor who shaped this piece

ain't fit to write a press release!

 

Baby Formula Shortage Expected to Persist Weeks Longer.

(WSJ) 

Hungry infants fill our ears

with their hollow shrieks and tears.

Formula is lacking still;

our supply chain serves them ill.

Little babies, don't you cry;

Mother Biden is close by!