Bull Crap

Y'a know, I've been skydiving. I've driven fast on un-posted highways. I've gone on long road trips with no one but myself. I've jogged the strip in downtown Vegas at 5 a.m. I've swam in the ocean, fired an automatic weapon and even — now here's the real shocker — taken the red and blue lines, alone, late at night.

(But not all at the same time)

All of these things may seem unnecessarily dangerous to some. But they all have at least one thing in common: there was no immediate danger and — even with skydiving — so long as you go into a situation prepared (and your parachute is packed correctly), there's a good chance you'll come out alive. That's not to say I had absolute control of every situation; just that these were calculated risks wherein the potential for life-threatening danger was relatively small (insofar as it wasn't immediate).

But I would never — never — participate in that running of the bulls nonsense in Pamplona. Because bulls are wild creatures. Because they're enormous. Because they're powerful, and surprisingly fast. Because they cannot be adequately controlled when forced into a stampede.

Or am I the only one who got that memo?


PS - I don't care what Hemingway said. I feel I should add here that I'm terribly opposed to bullfighting though — yes — I "get" that because bulls (when poorly treated and/or riled up) can be quite dangerous, it requires some degree of skill for a matador to stay alive. But, c'mon, there's no excuse for this. We're not talking about being attacked by a bull in the wild; we're talking about taking bulls out of their natural environment and then provoking them to attack for our own entertainment, part of which involves the ritual maiming and public torture of said bull. It's sick.