Speaking of violence, my stepfather Jerry is an old cowboy/hippie with a great gun collection. We went out on Monday and burned of some powder, which is one of the things I'd most been looking forward to in my visit. He brought out a .357 revolver, a .44 magnum revolver (though we shot off lighter loads in both of them), a 9mm pistol, Jerrry's 1911 .45 ACP, his five shot .38 special snub nose, a beautiful .22 Ruger target pistol with an aim-point scope, and my completely rebuilt and revamped .22 Ruger 10-22 rifle, set up for long range plinking with a target stock Jerry made himself and some nice Buress optics. I shot all of them. A lot. The .22s were the most fun, though, becuase they were the most accurate. At 110 yards I was spinning old bowling pins around with both of them, and with a pistol--even from a bench rest--that's some pretty good sooting.
Best part was when a cow wandered onto the range and my mother called out "Cow" as though it were a perfectly normal occurance. The cow meandered around among the bowling pins for awhile and then wandered off.
Cows and guns. There are some reasons to love Nevada.