The image of the dad and kids in TV commercials is not generally flattering.
Dad is a total dimwit who is desperate for his kids' approval. The kids are disrespectful little brats. Unfortunately life too often imitates TV. I won't say art in this case. Plus I believe art reflects life. TV tends to set trends.
Enter, finally, an ad in which the dad is exactly how a dad should be. I offer the Ballistic Tour Best Dad in a TV Advertisement Award to the guy in the Geico advertisement who got his kids a 'possum instead of a puppy to save money. And when the thing hisses at the kids he doesn't blink an eye.
Whoever created and approved that ad has done America a service. If you are one of those people who gets wrapped up in the whole role model thing, there you go. If you know any young fathers, steer them toward the 'possum pop as their role model. We'll all be better for it.
I hope it sets a trend. There are many kids who don't deserve a puppy, and many families who cannot reasonably afford a dog; or kids for that matter.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
I Heart Misty and Kerri
Somewhere in CA I am availing myself of AC and watching some Olympics. I've never seen the kind of heart displayed by the US women's Volley ball pair. They narrowly defeated the Chinese and they overcame a sizable lead by the opponents.
Correct or not, I hate it when communist countries' athletes win anything. It gives their police state way of things an air of credibility which is sickening to me.
Those two women are unbelievable. Apparently the other American pair--don't know the names--are exceptional as well. I think they are a younger pair.
The cool thing is that those are the two teams to make the finals. I guess that means the USA wins that medal no matter what. Good.
Every time I travel it amazes me what a great land this is. It also puzzles me that people often don't get it. That strain of something that makes our species want to go extinct. Odd.
I've had ample opportunity to see "Your Tax Dollars At Work". I know because they have signs telling me so, just in case it is not clear to me.
They say the fines are doubled in work zones. I noticed a couple of work zones marked off but no clue regarding what work was being done. I suspect it was merely a speed trap which would result in double the ticket cost. I slowed down.
I had no interest in seeing the olympics, but then I caught some of Phelps kicking foreign butt in one event or another and I couldn't help myself. That guy has it made, and he has to be doing something right to have been such a major force for so long. I love seeing people succeed in exceptional fashion.
I do find it odd that the red China team wears blue, and the USA team was in red. Probably my paranoia concerning totalitarian states that tempers many of my observations and emotional reactions. It must have started with that tyrant Mrs. Anderson in kindergarten, reinforced by that sadistic, evil killer of the human spirit, Mrs. Marshall in 1st grade. Fortunately there were some fine teachers after that who convinced me that only 56% percent of teachers work for the devil.
Correct or not, I hate it when communist countries' athletes win anything. It gives their police state way of things an air of credibility which is sickening to me.
Those two women are unbelievable. Apparently the other American pair--don't know the names--are exceptional as well. I think they are a younger pair.
The cool thing is that those are the two teams to make the finals. I guess that means the USA wins that medal no matter what. Good.
Every time I travel it amazes me what a great land this is. It also puzzles me that people often don't get it. That strain of something that makes our species want to go extinct. Odd.
I've had ample opportunity to see "Your Tax Dollars At Work". I know because they have signs telling me so, just in case it is not clear to me.
They say the fines are doubled in work zones. I noticed a couple of work zones marked off but no clue regarding what work was being done. I suspect it was merely a speed trap which would result in double the ticket cost. I slowed down.
I had no interest in seeing the olympics, but then I caught some of Phelps kicking foreign butt in one event or another and I couldn't help myself. That guy has it made, and he has to be doing something right to have been such a major force for so long. I love seeing people succeed in exceptional fashion.
I do find it odd that the red China team wears blue, and the USA team was in red. Probably my paranoia concerning totalitarian states that tempers many of my observations and emotional reactions. It must have started with that tyrant Mrs. Anderson in kindergarten, reinforced by that sadistic, evil killer of the human spirit, Mrs. Marshall in 1st grade. Fortunately there were some fine teachers after that who convinced me that only 56% percent of teachers work for the devil.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Live From Oregon
Somewhere outside of Eugene, I am resting the night and regrouping after an intensively festive and recreational three day wedding celebration. Observing the way one's extended family grows in size and quirkiness through marriages and offspring is interesting.
What amazed me as much as the fact that my nephew and his wife have so many friends and family who would travel, some with children, all the way from Miami, Maryland, Wisconsin, Ohio, Texas, Seattle--the happy couple's home, and elsewhere just to celebrate this event, was the way that so many of the close to one hundred people pitched in to prepare food, manage games, clean up, and generally do the work that something like this involves.
There was a main building which housed a kitchen that reminded me of the big mess hall kitchens in which I preformed KP in basic training. It was a huge affair with a slot in the wall where people could put dirty dishes, an industrial dishwasher (clipper), and many freezers and refrigerators. Big ones.
This wasn't a weekend of easy picnic food. It was real food and I never saw a paper plate or plastic fork. I even ran the dishwashing part a time or two--usually when the majority of able bodied folks were three sheets to the wind and conversations involving more than one sentence by the participants were next to impossible to conduct. Not that everyone was drunk. Some were off in remote tents renewing or deepening their knowledge--or so I guess.
We went into the river which was not too deep, floated down, availed ourselves of a rope swing, then made the challenging journey back upstream. I managed to hang in OK with the thirty-somethings. The friends and the new bride and groom are early thirties people. That is the best decade of life until you reach maybe sixty.
Some of the kids, particularly one, in the bride's extended family were enough to give one hope for the future. 5 1/2 year old Riley was the nicest, most articulate, bright kid I've ever seen at that age. If his mother was single, I'd marry her just because her kid is so cool. She was kind of cute, too, but --- that damned ring is to me like an electric fence to a sensitive farm animal.
My brother was in rare form the whole time. He and his wife made the food and whatnot run on Friday to stock the place--about fifty miles to the Costco in Eugene. I followed them to bring back frozen pizzas the the starving first arrivals while they went shopping for everything on the phone book sized list. They ended up having to leave Costco when it closed and get other items at the all night Walmart. I guess they don't care if they sell Chinese goods, however I doubt and of the Walmart food comes from Bejing. My people rarely boycott if the price is right.
I made it back by about 8 PM. They made it back about midnight. I must admit, I was the first to start worrying. There was no cell reception so I was going to drive the five or ten miles into the phone zone and check up on them. Just as I was starting to leave my other nephew's in-laws were heading out to the house in a "nearby" town which my brother, they and oldest nephew, wife and baby were renting for this affair. Oh boy, is that little baby girl cute or what? At Christmas you couldn't tell, but she's turned out top be a little brown baby; brown hair, dark eyes, and tans easily I guess. Looks like my nephews did way back when. In Miami, people always thought they were little Cuban boys.
I was the first one on the site by thirty minutes, so I pitched my tent in a place that was shady most of the time. Then young nephew clued me in about the two rooms in the huge A-frame log building where the kitchen and dining hall take the first floor. We never ate in there. There was a big basketball court which had a roof but no sides. It was filled with picnic type tables dragged from all over the property. At one point I silently noted in total political incorrectness that this had to be a predominately white event. Other games may have been played, but few, if any had any interest in shooting hoops. I only saw one person try to make a basket, and he missed from about five feet out.
Many engineers were there. Young nephew is one and so are some of his friends, and my brother the ex-pilot, paleontologist, has a degree in engineering. There were others too. This made some of the solutions to various logistical matters interesting when three or more would get together and out complicate one another until some walked up and did the obvious simple thing.
If I still drank, I'd have been in trouble. No way to run out of beer or any of a variety of liquor options. They took no chances. Even so, I did not see anyone make a big scene or embarrass themselves drastically. It did look like one or two couples may have been in conflict, mostly the female mad at the male, but I could be wrong. Not much of that, considering the number of people.
Oh, so I never did sleep in my tent. It did look nice sitting there. I could see it from my window. My room up in the A-frame has three free-standing bunks/cots with one equipped with two of those foam pads stacked. It was great. There was a bathroom with a shower across the little hall between the two rooms up there. And only one night was the other room occupied. I had the best accommodations in the park.
There were wooded paths that opened into meadows where some set tents. There were also some shelters with one side open by the river, and a few other similar type places which had bunks off in the trees. Many of those places were secluded enough that I have no idea who was where. The main area would be loaded with people, then people would hang around the big fire pit until late, and they just faded into the night and there they were again the next day.
Music played through someone's PA in the basketball place, hooked into various person's song lists running through a mac laptop. Someone had great taste in tunes and knew what to play when. Obviously one or two lists were put there by fine R&B fans. It was an eclectic mix overall.
Well, no one is crazy enough to read all of this. But it is good for me to put it down.
I have to say, just watching and paying attention to things at his gave me food for thought. Being family, and due to my odd history, I often find family hits some nerves, or I feel guilty or who knows what it is, but it is clear that my brother has become one extremely nice and entertaining person. He got on well with the most stuffy of people, and with the loosest, falling down reprobates.
The little things that the couple did to prepare were impressive. They made name tags out of discs of wood cut from three inch diameter logs, and she wood burned names on all of them, then a clasp pin was clued to the back. The young bride must have had to burn the name John twenty times. I was by no means the only John there. It was clearly the most common name in the hood. They looked good, those tags, and people liked them well enough that they wore them.
I left there very proud to be blood related to him and my nephews and related by association to there spouses. People like that don't grow on trees. Rarely, anyway.
What amazed me as much as the fact that my nephew and his wife have so many friends and family who would travel, some with children, all the way from Miami, Maryland, Wisconsin, Ohio, Texas, Seattle--the happy couple's home, and elsewhere just to celebrate this event, was the way that so many of the close to one hundred people pitched in to prepare food, manage games, clean up, and generally do the work that something like this involves.
There was a main building which housed a kitchen that reminded me of the big mess hall kitchens in which I preformed KP in basic training. It was a huge affair with a slot in the wall where people could put dirty dishes, an industrial dishwasher (clipper), and many freezers and refrigerators. Big ones.
This wasn't a weekend of easy picnic food. It was real food and I never saw a paper plate or plastic fork. I even ran the dishwashing part a time or two--usually when the majority of able bodied folks were three sheets to the wind and conversations involving more than one sentence by the participants were next to impossible to conduct. Not that everyone was drunk. Some were off in remote tents renewing or deepening their knowledge--or so I guess.
We went into the river which was not too deep, floated down, availed ourselves of a rope swing, then made the challenging journey back upstream. I managed to hang in OK with the thirty-somethings. The friends and the new bride and groom are early thirties people. That is the best decade of life until you reach maybe sixty.
Some of the kids, particularly one, in the bride's extended family were enough to give one hope for the future. 5 1/2 year old Riley was the nicest, most articulate, bright kid I've ever seen at that age. If his mother was single, I'd marry her just because her kid is so cool. She was kind of cute, too, but --- that damned ring is to me like an electric fence to a sensitive farm animal.
My brother was in rare form the whole time. He and his wife made the food and whatnot run on Friday to stock the place--about fifty miles to the Costco in Eugene. I followed them to bring back frozen pizzas the the starving first arrivals while they went shopping for everything on the phone book sized list. They ended up having to leave Costco when it closed and get other items at the all night Walmart. I guess they don't care if they sell Chinese goods, however I doubt and of the Walmart food comes from Bejing. My people rarely boycott if the price is right.
I made it back by about 8 PM. They made it back about midnight. I must admit, I was the first to start worrying. There was no cell reception so I was going to drive the five or ten miles into the phone zone and check up on them. Just as I was starting to leave my other nephew's in-laws were heading out to the house in a "nearby" town which my brother, they and oldest nephew, wife and baby were renting for this affair. Oh boy, is that little baby girl cute or what? At Christmas you couldn't tell, but she's turned out top be a little brown baby; brown hair, dark eyes, and tans easily I guess. Looks like my nephews did way back when. In Miami, people always thought they were little Cuban boys.
I was the first one on the site by thirty minutes, so I pitched my tent in a place that was shady most of the time. Then young nephew clued me in about the two rooms in the huge A-frame log building where the kitchen and dining hall take the first floor. We never ate in there. There was a big basketball court which had a roof but no sides. It was filled with picnic type tables dragged from all over the property. At one point I silently noted in total political incorrectness that this had to be a predominately white event. Other games may have been played, but few, if any had any interest in shooting hoops. I only saw one person try to make a basket, and he missed from about five feet out.
Many engineers were there. Young nephew is one and so are some of his friends, and my brother the ex-pilot, paleontologist, has a degree in engineering. There were others too. This made some of the solutions to various logistical matters interesting when three or more would get together and out complicate one another until some walked up and did the obvious simple thing.
If I still drank, I'd have been in trouble. No way to run out of beer or any of a variety of liquor options. They took no chances. Even so, I did not see anyone make a big scene or embarrass themselves drastically. It did look like one or two couples may have been in conflict, mostly the female mad at the male, but I could be wrong. Not much of that, considering the number of people.
Oh, so I never did sleep in my tent. It did look nice sitting there. I could see it from my window. My room up in the A-frame has three free-standing bunks/cots with one equipped with two of those foam pads stacked. It was great. There was a bathroom with a shower across the little hall between the two rooms up there. And only one night was the other room occupied. I had the best accommodations in the park.
There were wooded paths that opened into meadows where some set tents. There were also some shelters with one side open by the river, and a few other similar type places which had bunks off in the trees. Many of those places were secluded enough that I have no idea who was where. The main area would be loaded with people, then people would hang around the big fire pit until late, and they just faded into the night and there they were again the next day.
Music played through someone's PA in the basketball place, hooked into various person's song lists running through a mac laptop. Someone had great taste in tunes and knew what to play when. Obviously one or two lists were put there by fine R&B fans. It was an eclectic mix overall.
Well, no one is crazy enough to read all of this. But it is good for me to put it down.
I have to say, just watching and paying attention to things at his gave me food for thought. Being family, and due to my odd history, I often find family hits some nerves, or I feel guilty or who knows what it is, but it is clear that my brother has become one extremely nice and entertaining person. He got on well with the most stuffy of people, and with the loosest, falling down reprobates.
The little things that the couple did to prepare were impressive. They made name tags out of discs of wood cut from three inch diameter logs, and she wood burned names on all of them, then a clasp pin was clued to the back. The young bride must have had to burn the name John twenty times. I was by no means the only John there. It was clearly the most common name in the hood. They looked good, those tags, and people liked them well enough that they wore them.
I left there very proud to be blood related to him and my nephews and related by association to there spouses. People like that don't grow on trees. Rarely, anyway.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
We Fight It With Popcorn
A graph of my condition would look much like a sine wave. Up we go, and back to neutral, then down we go then back up to neutral, and on and on. The good thing is that the period of the cycle is much longer these days, and the curve is a much shallower one.
I think that one day, before I die, it will be as shallow as the rhythms of people who are in the healthier range. I would say , "normal", but I am not so sure that healthy and normal are synonymous.
The disturbing part about the crest of the negative loop of the curve is that it finds me in a state where doing anything but reading, writing, or driving makes me almost unbearably sad. I know it is not real, and I constantly try to avoid acknowledging the feeling. Sometimes being in touch with feelings is not a good thing, not healthy, and certainly no fun. A lot of the stuff that is out there on the subject is pure bunk.
I'm able to get to work as needed, but it is like trying to chop wood in a tank of mud ten feet deep. If you've ever chopped wood in such a setting, you know the feeling. It doesn't even have to be thick mud for it to be quite a nuisance.
This is the main reason I've let the ones get away who got away. Even though the down side of the curve brings on feelings of loneliness, being around friends or anyone makes it worse. It is too much strain to carry on face to face conversations.
So, I soothe the want-to-crawl-out-of-skin fits with diversions like watching shows or movies on HULU, reading whatever, or driving to the water machine to fill up the water bottles.
All the while during this, I try to find a way to trick myself into doing something worthwhile, like get packed and on the road for this trip. Again I am writing way ahead of when it will show up.
One day I hope to find more ways to compensate so I won't feel guilty when a swell woman shows interest. In the past there has been a strong force whose motto was, "I like her too much to let her be saddled with this", pointing to myself. And invariably I forfeited something I valued through pure neglect. I'm not sure I did the wrong thing, but maybe I did.
Many women are highly attracted to trouble and the impossible, so they do sometimes seem interested. Not as many as those who seek money and power, but they are out there. Women love power whether anyone admits it or not. And power can be found in many forms. But the need is set in nature. It is not bad. Men need nurture and some kind of reinforcement.
We pretend nature is not real, but it is. So are the blues.
When the downer thing seems like it is beginning to get too far out of control, my solution is to make a big bowl of popcorn, like I did a minute ago. It's a good weapon against full tilt bonkers blues lunacy. Eat popcorn and say to myself, "It is going to be OK. It is OK".
Catching things before they go too far is essential. I've been over that edge, down in the pit, and when I see it coming, I bring out the popcorn and any other weapon I can dream up. No way I'm going back to that. I pity people who have this and drink a lot because alcohol only fuels depression in the long run. Besides it is a highly potent gateway drug which is often involved when people have sex with people or items that are inappropriate and disgusting. Alcohol is way more of a gateway drug than pot. Amazing the misinformation on that subject. Some people do well with it. Not talking about them.
I know there are others who have similar struggle, but I haven't met many. I do know it is not one of those "we all feel that way sometimes" issues. Like many things which are extreme, it can probably be used to advantage. In my case the manic is rarely very energetic. Mostly it is about up to normal motivation and energy level. Well, maybe once I get rolling it goes beyond that.
Now I feel a little better. I'll have to get out of here soon. Like tomorrow which will be some yesterdays by the time this is up.
I think that one day, before I die, it will be as shallow as the rhythms of people who are in the healthier range. I would say , "normal", but I am not so sure that healthy and normal are synonymous.
The disturbing part about the crest of the negative loop of the curve is that it finds me in a state where doing anything but reading, writing, or driving makes me almost unbearably sad. I know it is not real, and I constantly try to avoid acknowledging the feeling. Sometimes being in touch with feelings is not a good thing, not healthy, and certainly no fun. A lot of the stuff that is out there on the subject is pure bunk.
I'm able to get to work as needed, but it is like trying to chop wood in a tank of mud ten feet deep. If you've ever chopped wood in such a setting, you know the feeling. It doesn't even have to be thick mud for it to be quite a nuisance.
This is the main reason I've let the ones get away who got away. Even though the down side of the curve brings on feelings of loneliness, being around friends or anyone makes it worse. It is too much strain to carry on face to face conversations.
So, I soothe the want-to-crawl-out-of-skin fits with diversions like watching shows or movies on HULU, reading whatever, or driving to the water machine to fill up the water bottles.
All the while during this, I try to find a way to trick myself into doing something worthwhile, like get packed and on the road for this trip. Again I am writing way ahead of when it will show up.
One day I hope to find more ways to compensate so I won't feel guilty when a swell woman shows interest. In the past there has been a strong force whose motto was, "I like her too much to let her be saddled with this", pointing to myself. And invariably I forfeited something I valued through pure neglect. I'm not sure I did the wrong thing, but maybe I did.
Many women are highly attracted to trouble and the impossible, so they do sometimes seem interested. Not as many as those who seek money and power, but they are out there. Women love power whether anyone admits it or not. And power can be found in many forms. But the need is set in nature. It is not bad. Men need nurture and some kind of reinforcement.
We pretend nature is not real, but it is. So are the blues.
When the downer thing seems like it is beginning to get too far out of control, my solution is to make a big bowl of popcorn, like I did a minute ago. It's a good weapon against full tilt bonkers blues lunacy. Eat popcorn and say to myself, "It is going to be OK. It is OK".
Catching things before they go too far is essential. I've been over that edge, down in the pit, and when I see it coming, I bring out the popcorn and any other weapon I can dream up. No way I'm going back to that. I pity people who have this and drink a lot because alcohol only fuels depression in the long run. Besides it is a highly potent gateway drug which is often involved when people have sex with people or items that are inappropriate and disgusting. Alcohol is way more of a gateway drug than pot. Amazing the misinformation on that subject. Some people do well with it. Not talking about them.
I know there are others who have similar struggle, but I haven't met many. I do know it is not one of those "we all feel that way sometimes" issues. Like many things which are extreme, it can probably be used to advantage. In my case the manic is rarely very energetic. Mostly it is about up to normal motivation and energy level. Well, maybe once I get rolling it goes beyond that.
Now I feel a little better. I'll have to get out of here soon. Like tomorrow which will be some yesterdays by the time this is up.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Reading
Lately I've read some Michener, Robert Heinlein, and Kurt Vonnegut. Heinlein's book was amazingly prohetic in ways, considering when it was written. I could tell the used book store lady is no fan. He was probably a bit libertarian leaning. She was obviously approving when I purchased some Vonnegut works.
After reading Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle and most of Deadeye Dick, I think I got the flavor of why the lady was a fan. He seems to be just on the edge of the genre of writers which is cynical and slightly arrogant, but he tends to pull it back some where others whose names escape me go over the edge. I've decided I am not much of an admirer of the hipster types who mock sincerity and the heroic side of humanity. The critics often gush over these people but I think it is like the ones who gush over bad art because they are afraid not to.
Vonnegut is definitely way beyond the wallowers in the underbelly of society who love to glorify self destruction in smugly superior tripe. His work is amazingly readable and cuts through several layers of possible meaning. I'll be done with Deadeye Dick and onto something else by the time this is published.
I forgot why Kurt was recommended to me, but it was worth checking out. I'm not sure it leaves me all that uplifted, but the style is noteworthy and hopefully some of it will rub off one day. Especially his treatment of dialogue.
It is interesting to see what the favorable reviews pasted on the back cover say about various books. In Vonnegut's case, I wonder if some of them didn't just jump on the bandwagon without reading the book. It deserved praise, but you can snese when they are trying to outdo one another in how they pour the superlatives into their reviews. It almost seemed that they were kissing up and trying to glean some hipster creds in the process. If I were him, I'd have been pleased and nauseated at the same time. I wonder if it is a case in which different people get different meaning out of the same thing.
I'm glad he stops short of being a prose version of a beat poet. He treads the edge, but not so close that I walk away. It is worth exploring great American writers. This country has produced some interesting and wild literature. Often the ones that get the most raves from the critics are not my favorites. In Kurt's case, I'd love to go against them because I think they were fulfilling an image at the time, but I can't.
I'm fairly certain that you can't teach a person to be an artist when it comes to writing. Some of the skill can be taught, but the rest must just be an element of the author's make up. Probably not even a genetically transferred trait. It is a weird thing. That's where Kurt gets me; it is not strained or forced or akward, Even the parts which might normally be boring are easily followed word for word, except for the insertion of recipes here and there in Deadeye Dick. I don't read those closely.
Michener's subject matter and research make his stuff interesting, most of the time, but it is sometimes a little boring unless I am really interested in the details of whatever he is belaboring. And when he throws in his political parts, he can leave me a bit cold. John Irving sometimes does that too; throw in heavy handed politics in a story where it seems out of place. I understand the temptation. Too bad they are both on another wave length from me. Maybe I wouldn't mind if we were in accord.
That's probably why I like Heinlein. He seems less inclined to see official authority as the end all. Or, interpreted another way, maybe we do see official authority, unchecked, as the end all; as in end of all
After reading Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle and most of Deadeye Dick, I think I got the flavor of why the lady was a fan. He seems to be just on the edge of the genre of writers which is cynical and slightly arrogant, but he tends to pull it back some where others whose names escape me go over the edge. I've decided I am not much of an admirer of the hipster types who mock sincerity and the heroic side of humanity. The critics often gush over these people but I think it is like the ones who gush over bad art because they are afraid not to.
Vonnegut is definitely way beyond the wallowers in the underbelly of society who love to glorify self destruction in smugly superior tripe. His work is amazingly readable and cuts through several layers of possible meaning. I'll be done with Deadeye Dick and onto something else by the time this is published.
I forgot why Kurt was recommended to me, but it was worth checking out. I'm not sure it leaves me all that uplifted, but the style is noteworthy and hopefully some of it will rub off one day. Especially his treatment of dialogue.
It is interesting to see what the favorable reviews pasted on the back cover say about various books. In Vonnegut's case, I wonder if some of them didn't just jump on the bandwagon without reading the book. It deserved praise, but you can snese when they are trying to outdo one another in how they pour the superlatives into their reviews. It almost seemed that they were kissing up and trying to glean some hipster creds in the process. If I were him, I'd have been pleased and nauseated at the same time. I wonder if it is a case in which different people get different meaning out of the same thing.
I'm glad he stops short of being a prose version of a beat poet. He treads the edge, but not so close that I walk away. It is worth exploring great American writers. This country has produced some interesting and wild literature. Often the ones that get the most raves from the critics are not my favorites. In Kurt's case, I'd love to go against them because I think they were fulfilling an image at the time, but I can't.
I'm fairly certain that you can't teach a person to be an artist when it comes to writing. Some of the skill can be taught, but the rest must just be an element of the author's make up. Probably not even a genetically transferred trait. It is a weird thing. That's where Kurt gets me; it is not strained or forced or akward, Even the parts which might normally be boring are easily followed word for word, except for the insertion of recipes here and there in Deadeye Dick. I don't read those closely.
Michener's subject matter and research make his stuff interesting, most of the time, but it is sometimes a little boring unless I am really interested in the details of whatever he is belaboring. And when he throws in his political parts, he can leave me a bit cold. John Irving sometimes does that too; throw in heavy handed politics in a story where it seems out of place. I understand the temptation. Too bad they are both on another wave length from me. Maybe I wouldn't mind if we were in accord.
That's probably why I like Heinlein. He seems less inclined to see official authority as the end all. Or, interpreted another way, maybe we do see official authority, unchecked, as the end all; as in end of all
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Rates
Another pre-written, post-dated entry. How can you pre write something? There are a bunch of those terms in the lexicon. Pre-audit, etc.
Someone on the radio news was discussing tax cuts, or more correctly, the repeal of tax cuts. I was thinking that the term was a bit misleading. What they are saying is that they either think the current rate is fine or that it should be a higher rate. There is no cutting actually involved. Then, of course, it goes into who gets to pay a higher than present rate and who doesn't.
People tend to not know what that really means. So, often they turn to the easy thing which is to resent those who have a good bit of wealth left over. I'll leave them to it.
In related matters, when we hear of debt reduction and such, what is quite often the reality is that the rate of increase has slowed. It is like acceleration in the realm of Newtonian physics---rate of change of velocity. So if we acquire additional debt at the rate of x billion per month, and then manage to acquire it at the rate of x-.1 billion one month, the would be kings will proclaim debt reduction. Not true. We added debt, but not quite as fast as last month.
Maybe that's why Newton and co. developed calculus--to adequately describe rates of change; usually relatively speaking.
There are many times when statistics are quoted, and figures are bounced about, and people discuss things as if they follow a linear path when, in fact, they follow a curve with an increasing or decreasing slope. Rates.
Of course, if we could reduce the increase of debt by 1% every month, then in 100 months, we'd not be adding any new debt. Of course the accumulated debt might be bigger than the galaxy, but if we then began to accelerate the rate of change in the other direction, we'd be actually reducing it every month. A pipe dream, surely, but that is how it works.
So, any politician discussing the debt under current conditions is only telling the truth if he or she deals in rates of increase. They won't very often because it doesn't sound good, and because people don't really get the whole concept of acceleration vs velocity. Lies are often all that maintains spirits, and always what buys the votes of the greedy, the gullible, the lazy guilt ridden, the angry, and the gimme dolla guys.
Rates of increase and decrease cover all sorts of things in life. Then there are little snafus that come into play which involve rotational dynamics and more. Still, there is usually some sort of rate involved. Static is not the way the universe appears to roll. But the totality of the thing may be so different from what we know that it puts all this on its ear. It is pretty cool that here we are, yet existence and life and beginning and end are still beyond our grasp. And we're smart. We can fly and make artificial joints and make air conditioners. Bears can't do that.
Someone on the radio news was discussing tax cuts, or more correctly, the repeal of tax cuts. I was thinking that the term was a bit misleading. What they are saying is that they either think the current rate is fine or that it should be a higher rate. There is no cutting actually involved. Then, of course, it goes into who gets to pay a higher than present rate and who doesn't.
People tend to not know what that really means. So, often they turn to the easy thing which is to resent those who have a good bit of wealth left over. I'll leave them to it.
In related matters, when we hear of debt reduction and such, what is quite often the reality is that the rate of increase has slowed. It is like acceleration in the realm of Newtonian physics---rate of change of velocity. So if we acquire additional debt at the rate of x billion per month, and then manage to acquire it at the rate of x-.1 billion one month, the would be kings will proclaim debt reduction. Not true. We added debt, but not quite as fast as last month.
Maybe that's why Newton and co. developed calculus--to adequately describe rates of change; usually relatively speaking.
There are many times when statistics are quoted, and figures are bounced about, and people discuss things as if they follow a linear path when, in fact, they follow a curve with an increasing or decreasing slope. Rates.
Of course, if we could reduce the increase of debt by 1% every month, then in 100 months, we'd not be adding any new debt. Of course the accumulated debt might be bigger than the galaxy, but if we then began to accelerate the rate of change in the other direction, we'd be actually reducing it every month. A pipe dream, surely, but that is how it works.
So, any politician discussing the debt under current conditions is only telling the truth if he or she deals in rates of increase. They won't very often because it doesn't sound good, and because people don't really get the whole concept of acceleration vs velocity. Lies are often all that maintains spirits, and always what buys the votes of the greedy, the gullible, the lazy guilt ridden, the angry, and the gimme dolla guys.
Rates of increase and decrease cover all sorts of things in life. Then there are little snafus that come into play which involve rotational dynamics and more. Still, there is usually some sort of rate involved. Static is not the way the universe appears to roll. But the totality of the thing may be so different from what we know that it puts all this on its ear. It is pretty cool that here we are, yet existence and life and beginning and end are still beyond our grasp. And we're smart. We can fly and make artificial joints and make air conditioners. Bears can't do that.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Fits of Melancholy
I'm still writing and post dating the publish option so it will show up later. I still haven't left home for the road trip. Sometime tomorrow I expect to be out of here. I have to be far away, up the state to pick up the crate for my nephew. Printing plate machine.
If I don't get out, I'll be compelled to write for maybe 24 hours straight. It is m best defense against what idle isolation can do to me. Or even not so idle isolation.
Lately, I've been a little more social in some ways, so these few days of alone time began to show hints of old habits, and morbid thinking.
The people who have been the most hateful toward me in the last few years seem to have been irked mostly because of their unreasonably high opinions which flipped into unreasonably low opinions. The common thread is that they seemed upset because they assumed I had a high opinion of myself, which they had finally concluded was unfounded, then upon my assertion that I was pretty certain of both my worthlessness, and my right to be worthless, their ire flamed up even more intensely.
The other common thread is that the riffs were about me when I did not even want any of the interaction with these people to be about me. They moved the discourse in that direction. Other than being pretty sure I harbor fewer ill feelings and wishes toward others than most people do, I have little true confidence in my assessments of my own worth or lack of it.
For the most part, I have minimal trust in affection; whether it is felt by me or toward me. This is a curse which I may never succeed in breaking. I try from time to time. I also find that the sort of people who fuel that kind of confusion have been drawn into my life at intervals. It rings of the childhood frustration of being punished, beaten, or oppressed "because we love you". Often in response to situations in which I was merely an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in no way connected.
The sad thing is when confusion of this nature leaves those who come in peaceful affection baffled, hurt and feeling rejected. By "peaceful affection", I mean they seem to enjoy liking me for what they think I am, and don't make big efforts to remake me in their image.
I have concluded I'm pretty screwed up, but have managed to find ways to compensate, and to minimize the troubles I cause. I'd be so much better off if I'd stayed married at a young age. It may not have lasted, but I think it may have helped things. Then again, maybe not. It is just that life is far better with a woman around who is on your side, and who is not overtly insane. believe it or not, that combo is less common than one might think. At least in my case. But I have faith that one day I won't run the potential mate off for no good reason. Who knows? I have to ignore the ticking clock. I'm here now, regardless of how many days prior to this I was here.
So, either I write or I get cracking on all the chores which must be done so I can be on the lovely open road.
I should emphasize that the above mentioned conflicts are very few and far between. It gives me pause, though, because I thought I'd mastered the defect that has brought such strife into my life. It has happened less and less often as the years pass, and I believe that is because I've learned better how to dodge, avoid, and escape such things.
Even so, the couple of situations I do recall from the last five years do cause me some distress. And that in itself is probably an error on my part. Once you see how a pattern works, and you aren't going to change the other person's philosophy or mode of behavior under a certain set of circumstances, it becomes clear that the only way to avoid the unpleasant game is to not participate. Just don't be there.
I don't harangue others about how they battle their personal demons, and I think I am fairly good at not crossing boundaries uninvited. Some people do not get that distinction; when it is polite to knock, and when it is OK to enter.
Maybe I'm not really useless and a waste. I'm not with the IRS, and I'm not the current president of Mexico, or governor of California. Life, time, and so much else are purely relative. Hmmm, how much else is there really?
If I don't get out, I'll be compelled to write for maybe 24 hours straight. It is m best defense against what idle isolation can do to me. Or even not so idle isolation.
Lately, I've been a little more social in some ways, so these few days of alone time began to show hints of old habits, and morbid thinking.
The people who have been the most hateful toward me in the last few years seem to have been irked mostly because of their unreasonably high opinions which flipped into unreasonably low opinions. The common thread is that they seemed upset because they assumed I had a high opinion of myself, which they had finally concluded was unfounded, then upon my assertion that I was pretty certain of both my worthlessness, and my right to be worthless, their ire flamed up even more intensely.
The other common thread is that the riffs were about me when I did not even want any of the interaction with these people to be about me. They moved the discourse in that direction. Other than being pretty sure I harbor fewer ill feelings and wishes toward others than most people do, I have little true confidence in my assessments of my own worth or lack of it.
For the most part, I have minimal trust in affection; whether it is felt by me or toward me. This is a curse which I may never succeed in breaking. I try from time to time. I also find that the sort of people who fuel that kind of confusion have been drawn into my life at intervals. It rings of the childhood frustration of being punished, beaten, or oppressed "because we love you". Often in response to situations in which I was merely an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in no way connected.
The sad thing is when confusion of this nature leaves those who come in peaceful affection baffled, hurt and feeling rejected. By "peaceful affection", I mean they seem to enjoy liking me for what they think I am, and don't make big efforts to remake me in their image.
I have concluded I'm pretty screwed up, but have managed to find ways to compensate, and to minimize the troubles I cause. I'd be so much better off if I'd stayed married at a young age. It may not have lasted, but I think it may have helped things. Then again, maybe not. It is just that life is far better with a woman around who is on your side, and who is not overtly insane. believe it or not, that combo is less common than one might think. At least in my case. But I have faith that one day I won't run the potential mate off for no good reason. Who knows? I have to ignore the ticking clock. I'm here now, regardless of how many days prior to this I was here.
So, either I write or I get cracking on all the chores which must be done so I can be on the lovely open road.
I should emphasize that the above mentioned conflicts are very few and far between. It gives me pause, though, because I thought I'd mastered the defect that has brought such strife into my life. It has happened less and less often as the years pass, and I believe that is because I've learned better how to dodge, avoid, and escape such things.
Even so, the couple of situations I do recall from the last five years do cause me some distress. And that in itself is probably an error on my part. Once you see how a pattern works, and you aren't going to change the other person's philosophy or mode of behavior under a certain set of circumstances, it becomes clear that the only way to avoid the unpleasant game is to not participate. Just don't be there.
I don't harangue others about how they battle their personal demons, and I think I am fairly good at not crossing boundaries uninvited. Some people do not get that distinction; when it is polite to knock, and when it is OK to enter.
Maybe I'm not really useless and a waste. I'm not with the IRS, and I'm not the current president of Mexico, or governor of California. Life, time, and so much else are purely relative. Hmmm, how much else is there really?
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Living The O Doctrine
What we can usually get from US presidents is a new twist on language and philosophy.
Depends on what is is
Strategery
And now, "the buck stops there." (yes, it is a twist on the Truman quote, adding a t to one word. That makes all the difference)
Words to live by. It's kind of like the old, "I'm rubber, you're glue, anything you say bounces off of me and sticks to you". Except it's shorter. Buck stops there.
In a world of bolsheviks, stalinists, and oppressive hall monitor syndrome, one must keep up with the lingo. Red doesn't necessarily mean red, go may mean stop. It is tricky business.
Many people have forgotten that freedom was more fun than a soviet or Cuban style state. Probably more dangerous too. Certainly less litigious than modern America.
Depends on what is is
Strategery
And now, "the buck stops there." (yes, it is a twist on the Truman quote, adding a t to one word. That makes all the difference)
Words to live by. It's kind of like the old, "I'm rubber, you're glue, anything you say bounces off of me and sticks to you". Except it's shorter. Buck stops there.
In a world of bolsheviks, stalinists, and oppressive hall monitor syndrome, one must keep up with the lingo. Red doesn't necessarily mean red, go may mean stop. It is tricky business.
Many people have forgotten that freedom was more fun than a soviet or Cuban style state. Probably more dangerous too. Certainly less litigious than modern America.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Good Things People Do
(pics were sent to me from facebook. someone put them up and someone else shared or however FB works. from a local party on someone's back deck)The Olympics hooplah caused me to think. Dangerous, I know.
At one time, the first thoughts of the games would be who might win what. Now the first thought is, "I hope some terrorist outfit doesn't make an appearance and create havoc.".
I have a feeling that I'm not the only one who kind of holds his breath wishing the opening and closing part would be over with. Since I don't have TV coverage, I am not as inundated with it as most.
But I was thinking how hard we try to keep going in spite of all the madness. The solution has been to subject everyone to search and more. No comment on that, or on what has been done that feeds this stuff. The point is that, one way or another riffraff of the world have managed to make fun a lot more work. At least the large scale event fun.
Then I remembered how cool it was to be at that gathering on a guy's back patio, overlooking a little canyon in Spring Valley. Lots of people, and people playing live music and having a great time. This sort of thing seems to be more common here than most other places I've lived. Either that or I was not paying attention.
I was able to play with my group from up here on Ballistic Mountain, and a group of older, very seasoned, very professional country players. Everyone called them the cowboy band. Their guitar player, Les, sat in with us--CopperCreek aka Ballistic Mountain friends.
There were some very good players there. Very good. I made a few new friends and think I may have more playing opportunities as a result of my showing there. I think being a sort of blues crossover guy helps. Plenty of better blues harps out there, and better all around. Just not many of the crossover people around here. That allows me to be of value.So, we can still voluntarily gather and associate with our choice of people in situations like that party. A bit of freedom to be had.
They had a gazebo back there with a P.A. and sound board and it was good. I was able to work the mic for best dynamic range. What a treat. Haven't had it that good in awhile. Only screwed up a little bit.
***since I keep posting and will be gone, I am trying the write-now-post-it-later-automatically option
Friday, July 27, 2012
At the Crossroads
(somewhere in the neighborhood. pulled this off a 4x4 site. The road is not quite that bad. Lots of places off the path for these guys. I searched my street name and photos and this is definitely where I live)At the top of the steep hill which is all unpaved, bumping dirt road, I turn left to reach my place. There is a sign there at the corner and little area for other signs or what have you.
Today there were cars pulled over at that corner and a woman flagged me down. They were gathered to toast a man who died up here recently. He was a big force in the neighborhood fire council, and road maintenance. His illness came fairly quickly and he did not suffer for too long. The condition of the dirt road speaks loudly of how much his influence is missed. I have to reduce speed to about two miles per hour in spots, or else my fillings would be rattled out of my teeth. I don't have many fillings, but I need them.
I thought it was an interesting and touching thing that people stopped and the ones already there handed them ginger ale or a martini to toast Dave. This is a unique neighborhood.
A group of five people on horseback stopped by while I was there. They were just out for a late afternoon ride, in the cool before sundown. They live a little further up the road. There are several horses up here. East county is horse country.
I'm somewhat less social than just about everyone else, but they flagged me down by name. Then the lady said she'd been keeping up with my music exploits on facebook. Cliff's wife and others post video clips and pictures which include me or sometimes feature me. I don't put anything there. It was a nice thing to hear, in any case. I guess the people remember me from the party last year. And maybe from my short lived association with the cute cowgirl up the hill. That was a case in which backing up was the correct solution for me. But I have no regret.
I've never lived anywhere like this. If I moved and didn't have a mile of dirt road and lots of distance from other dwellings, I'd be disappointed. This place could spoil a guy. It has spoiled a guy. Some very nice people. We also have our crazies, but they cause few problems. What a find this place was.
****when you can't cover your corruption otherwise, and your lies are transparent, best thing to do is appeal to a vaguely religious nerve, even if it is nonsense.
Jerry Brown and Arnold recently came to Alpine to dedicate the sunrise power link fiasco, and I guess rub salt in the wound:
Gov. Brown: "Earth’s Future is More Important Than Preserving East County". ????Come again? You've created a fire hazard, destroyed land, etc. etc. Well, good news, Earthlings, the future of your planet is now secure. Dingbat Brown has pronounced it so!
east edge of Alpine (I love these official dedications by corrupt bureaucrats pretending they are doing a favor to the world instead of stealing and lying. Such phony creeps)The point is: our ex republican governator and our present democratic governor, Moonbeam, are in on the same corruption. Do not believe that republicans are into big money and dems aren't. That is patently false.
Oh, the ex-Governator also had a great quote at this event: "Dis wil bwing Mega Bytes of ewectwicity to da people..." Can't wait for them mega bytes, Ahnold. Watt you say?
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About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
