‘Til Death Do Us Part

Is this what it feels like to get married? I’ve never been great at commitment. That’s probably why I’m still single and have always struggled to keep any job that I didn’t create from scratch. Before now, every time I thought about the doing anything for “life,” it only reminded me of the 1999 movie with Martin Lawrence and Eddie Murphy (where “Life” meant decades of periodic surface-level laughter as a fleeting distraction from the ball and chain).

Alas, I’m getting older now, and I figured it was time to settle down. How bad could it be, right? So, after years of flirting and toying with NRA allegiance in annual spurts, I finally took the plunge (I admit the gigantic promotional discount made the decision a lot easier). And today I got my packet in the mail, so I suppose it’s official. I’m a lifer!


It’s no secret that I have a love-hate relationship with the NRA (oddly befitting, now that we’re tied together ’til death do us part). But I can’t deny that they are the muscle of this whole pro-gun outfit. I decided that if my Second Amendment rights mean anything to me, I better get on board 100%. I’ve also been encouraged by their more recent ads, some of which seem to celebrate diversity and take a more proactive stance on outreach. I went forward with the life membership at first out of a somewhat begrudging sense of obligation (begrudging only because I kept thinking about how many movies I could see with the membership fee… or how much ammo I could buy). But once I got my packet in the mail, I was pleasantly surprised as the sense of pride that welled over me.

And it turns out that Life Membership has its perks, like getting a glimpse at the upper-level sausage-making that happens among the big wigs. Back when I was a lowly annual toe-dipper, I tried a few times to dig up clues to the NRA’s governance and leadership (other than the public figureheads who send me 18 emails a day). All I could find were hit-pieces from Mother Jones and screen-grabs on the Wayback Machine. Not sure why the inner workings are so top-secret (leaving Mother Jones free to frame the narrative); but hey, at least now I might get to learn a little more about the belly of the beast — and just in time to attend my first NRA Convention next year. I wonder what else I’ll learn this weekend while perusing the seventeen articles of the NRA bylaws.

And with that, I’ll treat you all to one of the best parts of the 1999 film: The title song, Life, by K-Ci and JoJo. Nineties new jack swing at its finest. And the perfect background music for my leisure reading. Enjoy!