I tried something new yesterday, something I'd never really thought about doing and something I've never really had much interest in doing. I did it because I was invited to try it, and because I thought it might be an interesting experience.

I can now say that I've fired a gun. Several of them, actually. I went up to a rifle range and did some target shooting, and later on, shot at bottles and cans. I started out with a 22, which has about all the kick of a pellet gun, and graduated to a couple of higher caliber rifles, the last of which left my shoulder a bit sore. While shooting cans, I dropped back down to the 22 and also used a 9 millimeter handgun.

I'm told a did quite well for a first-timer. I managed a relatively tight cluster of shots on the targets, and I used the 22 to put a hole through a 3 inch ammo box from 120 feet, and moved on to perforate countless larger cans and bottles.

I found that it was a much more zen-like experience than I would have expected. You have to have a steady hand, and a fair amount of focus. It is not something you want to rush, and procedure is law.

That said, a fire was not ignited within me. I enjoyed the experience, but I am not hooked in any way. I'm not too surprised - I've always leaned away from "macho" interests and activities. I don't drink, have never been to any sort of sporting event, prefer small to moderate sized vehicles... well, you get the idea. Hell, I don't even eat meat.

I guess the more "manly" side of my personality has manifested itself in my occasional need to listen to loud heavy metal and my fascination with lethal animals.

Still, I'm grateful for the experience. The invitation enabled me to try something new, and that's almost always a good thing. I might even do it again someday.

In the evening, I ended up in Berkeley doing something more typical - watching a theatre/dance piece called Twobird, a solo show by Michael McCamish of the Sun and Moon Ensemble. The story took us through southern preaching, love, attempted murder, prison, and work at the chicken factory. The music was handled by Nils Frykdahl and Chuck Squier (the both played together in Idiot Flesh many moons ago), and beautiful, silly, and haunting it was! It's hard to pull off silly and haunting together, so hats off to them! Afterwards, we ate fried okra, rice, and cornbread (with chicken for the non-vegetarians).

Now, onwards into Spring!