Guns N Shit

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• March 2, 2015

America is no longer a violent country.  Not in the true sense of the word.  We are “Die Hard” violent.  We love a good action movie, where the protagonist can drive a car off a bridge, AK-47 in hand, shooting the bad guy, and right when you think he’s going to die, a smart-ass helicopter pilot swoops in, and the protagonist grabs the skid of the helicopter at the last second.  We’re zombie skull smashing, secret agent gadget, video game type never actually dying, violent.

I love a good action movie.  Even though “Kingsmen” is a British movie, it is very much in the vain of how American’s love their violence.  Gratuitous blood with ridiculous fighting, and my goodness, Colin Firth is so fucking hot kicking ass in a Westboro Bapist type church wearing glasses and a suit.

I’ve always been “Die Hard” violent.  Growing up as a tom boy, I played manhunt and paintball with the boys in the neighborhood.  My brother and I would fence hop through the neighborhood, hiding in shrubberies and climbing trees, defending the world from bad guys.  We played violent video games, often celebrating as we were killing each other in a virtual world.

I still want to star in action movies.  Partially because there’s still a severe lack of awesome, kick-ass, but funny female action heroes, but mostly because I’m “Die Hard” violent, and I want to sword fight someone, even if it’s a choreographed dance.  I want to slowly walk away from an explosion without looking back.

In real life, the sight of blood makes me dizzy.  When I watch actual footage of the carnage in the Middle East, my stomach turns.  I can’t take real violence.  It makes me sick.

When we were kids, we had Airsoft guns, which shot tiny plastic bb’s.  If you shot someone close, on the bare skin, it hurt.  But otherwise, it didn’t really hurt.  One of the benefits of growing up in Suffolk County, LI, is we had big back yards.  So we would set up an arena in our backyard, using lawn furniture to create bunkers and have battles (I was the only girl).  Sometimes it would get heated.  Usually because someone would accuse another of hitting them and they would deny it.  It’s possible they lied, but with clothing on, it’s also possible you didn’t feel it.  Now, you have two kids with guns fighting about who is out.  Sometimes this resulted in open fire and someone yelling, “stop it! Dick head!”  I would recommend to any parent to encourage their daughters to play Airsoft and/or paintball.  There’s a thrill to hunting while being hunted.  You have to be fully immersed in the game in order to be good at it.  If your mind is elsewhere, you’re going to lose.  It forces you to be in the moment, with a side of fear, because it hurts to get shot.  It’s not real, so it’s fun, but it certainly gets the adrenaline pumping.

When our friends weren’t around, sometimes my brother and I would compete one on one.  I remember one time we were playing our game of war in the backyard and I ran towards a bunker (a bench turned on it’s side) and dove, dodging the yellow pellets fired at me from my brother’s gun.

Then, I smelt an awful smell.  Shit.  Dog shit.  We didn’t own a dog.  We never had a dog.  I stood up.  Sure enough, I dove into dog shit, and it was smeared from my chest down to my knee.  Our neighbor’s had this mildly retarded golden retriever, and it often got into our backyard.  My brother shot at me, until he realized I wasn’t fighting back.  I threw my safety goggles on the ground, and cursed under my breath, “stupid fucking dog.”  When my brother realized I was covered in dog shit, he started laughing hysterically.  There’s nothing funnier than someone else being covered in shit.

I stomped to the back door and called for my Mom.  She wouldn’t let me in the house.  She handed me a towel and told me to change outside.  I was pissed, and trying not to vomit from the stench. My brother was still howling and making fun of me for diving into dog shit.  My mother was yelling at my brother to not say “shit.”  Then she told me to make sure I didn’t take my “shitty” clothes into the house.

As the cliche goes, “it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”  But any comic would add, “then, it’s hilarious.”  Diving into dog shit took me right out of my pretend world, into the reality.  I’m the first to argue against violent movies or video games making kids violent.  Kids are innately violent, simply because humans are.  But we’ve evolved.  I’ve been a babysitter for years, and I’ve played so many games with toy guns and swords.  Guess what?  I’m always the bad guy.  When kids are playing a violent game, they are almost always the good guy (I enjoy playing the villain. A hero is only as good as his villain).  They fight for justice, for their country, for their family.  They know the difference between real and play (at least the ones who aren’t complete sociopaths).  “Die Hard” violence is fun, and always will be.  Actual violence, like stepping in dog shit, is sometimes unavoidable, but should be repulsive, whether or not it is just.