Park people

Today I felt like a hamster in a running wheel and the wheel was winning.

I love the work I do and particularly the work I’ve been doing this week but it’s definitely kicking my ample caboose. I’m preparing materials for teaching next week and managing a startup project that I’m not sure I totally understand and, and, and…

My evenings are alternately taken up with the quest for health and the quest for a reasonably clean house and orderly yard. Spending time with mine frau occupies a lot of quality time and of course, there’s sitting around. QUALITY sitting around, doncha know.

The park across from my office has of late become populated by denizens. Bums, as it were. Mostly fairly young, certainly young enough to be working gainfully at something. They take up a lot of the park and in the morning you literally have to step over them to get off the bus.

Between their obvious commerce in illicit drugs and having to walk around evidence of their public and copious bladder emptying activities, they are not what one might call a positive presence. And this particular group makes clear while asking for the proverbial spare change that the line between begging and strong arm robbery is defined only by the near presence of the police. I don’t like that they’re there. And I could do a whole rant about it except that I find myself feeling a bit sorry for them.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t like them and I DO judge them. They got themselves where they are. They could be working a couple of the crap jobs I worked at the less exalted junctures of my journey to where I am now.

The thing is, I can’t help reflecting that at least once each evening - most likely as they lay down on the concrete swaddled in gospel mission blankets - that street  life is not deluxe and it’s going to get worse before morning.

I wish they were hardworking and dependable and productive and honest. I wish they were willing to do the things I've done to get along in the world. But I also wish they were warm and dry.

Another rant list

Herewith, a list of verbally distributed nonsense that I wish would stop:

·         “…with au jus.”  This means “…with with jus.”  Get it?

·         “You guys,” when used to refer to my wife and me, as by a restaurant server. Pretty sure my wife is a gal. Not going to prove it to you, but it has been categorically proven to me. Not a guy.

·         “Like,” when used merely as unneeded punctuation. A young lady on the bus last week used ‘like’ in this manner over twenty times in two minutes, by the clock. (Sometimes it gets boring on the bus when you neglect to charge your Nook battery.)

·         “…spare change?” We’ve been over this one before but I heard it four times while walking two blocks to the bus stop today.

·         “…don’t…” as in “He don’t…”   Damn, really?

·         “Anyway…” followed by nothing. What does this mean? (Except when I use it; then, it is meaning laden.)

·         “…bitch…” Unless we’re referring to a female canine… However, the more high toned ‘bee-otch’ is entirely acceptable.

·         “Duh!” As in, this is so obvious, you’d have to be an idiot not to understand it. Usually used by someone who is inappropriately confident of their own understanding of the concept in question.

·         “Awesome!” when referring to anything that does not actually inspire awe.

·         “You feel me?” Yeah, my head’s tight to where you’re at.

Moral: When you’re a grumpy old Fudd, there’s no such thing as blogger’s block.

A little insight into the minds of men

One of you recently posted a link on a social network which purports to offer a view into the minds of men. It’s titled The One Thing All Men Feel But Never Admit.  

(Note to poster: I love you, always have and always will. More than that, I respect you probably more than you’ll ever know. If you were an idiot or a stranger, I could let this pass. But you and your thoughts are too important to me to let this one slide.)

The piece is chockablock with unsupported assertions and downright untruths. Ludicrous assertions and hateful untruths.

Between trumpeting that “every single boy growing up in the United States has heard these phrases at least once over the course of his life” and “although men are dying to speak, they are taught to stay silent,” we are supposed to understand and accept that all American males grew up living in fear of being taunted as less than manly.

Hmm.

Why is it misogyny when a male makes a sweeping generalization about women but “insight” when the shoe’s on the other foot?

I’m not sure just how gullible (or inappropriately judgmental?) you need to be to accept the outrageous blather that “most men grow up in toxic environments where they are encouraged to repress their emotions (and) express power through dominance.” Many males are so raised, and to their detriment, I agree. But the gulf between many and most is wide and deep and it’s into this chasm of illogic that both the writer of the article and the director of the film project have apparently blithely leapt.

Through my work I am regularly required to take part in “diversity” training and that would be a positive thing if diversity as understood by the leaders of the effort was driven by a desire to be inclusive. Basically, as an older white male, I am given to understand that diversity means hanging my head in abject apology to the myriad demographics toward which members of my demographic have acted badly through the centuries.

I am the accepted, standard bad guy. I get it. Mea maxima culpa. Now, can we please move on?

In order to believe that all men are homophobic, domineering bullies because of their toxic upbringing, one must first accept the premise that all men are in fact homophobic, domineering bullies. If you know me well and still believe this, then at least one of us is delusional.

Bigotry is bigotry. And not all bigots are balding, sweaty, pink-faced white male Southerners or towel-headed Allah-worshiping terrorists. Some of them are film directors and writers of Internet appeals.

 Jennifer Siebel Newsom should not look for my donation to her project any time soon.

And by the bye, while we’re on the topic of talking about how awful men are (this is the thinly veiled sub-text of this whole thing, after all), perhaps we should remember that it was overwhelmingly white, middle-aged males who voted to grant women the voting franchise in the United States. This country – along with many others – has a horrible history of subjugating identifiable demographics, women included, and the men of yesteryear have much to answer for, were they not already silenced by time. But the continued slamming of men intentionally overlooks an obvious truth: men are no more homogenous in their upbringing and attitudes than are women, gays or store clerks. And a ‘researcher’ who denies this is no researcher at all.

Scary things

One of our family’s favorite memories is of the time we were driving late at night with Two ensconced in her car seat in the far back. We were talking about creepy things when suddenly then-four-year-old Two announced to the world, “I’m not afraid of nothin’!”  And at that moment, she was probably telling the truth.

Most of us are afraid of something. Spiders, heights, snakes, fire, all sorts of things. But most of our fears have some grounding in reality. My lifelong fear of going up in tall buildings has less to do with the actual altitude than with the fact that there’s not a ladder truck in the United States that can reach above about floor seven.  So, I never, ever, for any reason go above seven.

Not overly fond of driving over bridges but that one has more to do with shivers down the spine than any actual sense of incipient danger. This is not to say I don’t drive over them and I’ve walked over the Golden Gate and Deception Pass bridges, no problem. Why being in a car should make it scarier I admit is a puzzle.

I kill spiders for Mary. When our neighbor who’s blind hears bumps in the night, I am the one who checks out her garage or backyard. I’ve stood down a huge guy who socked a woman in a parking lot (I was pretty sure I was going to get the snot slapped out of me that time, but the police showed up) and I’ve no problem dealing with the denizens of Third Ave on the way to the bus stop.

Not a hero, but not a coward, either.

So, can someone please tell me why I’m deathly afraid of butterflies?

We’re talking cold sweat, run like a rabbit, squeal like a little girl, arms flailing, spittle spraying, back shuddering, unable-to-form-an-intelligible-thought frightened.

I’ve had people suggest a negative butterfly encounter in early life. Or maybe it’s because they’re so unpredictable. Or maybe just because they’re so dad blame ugly (I’ve a right to my opinion!). Of course, most people just don’t believe me. How could a grown man be afraid of something so harmless?  But sooner or later, they see my butterfly dance. And then they believe:

I am sore afraid of butterflies.

And I don’t know why.

 (NOTE: I may have made reference to this in an earlier blog. Can’t help it. It’s butterfly season.)

A hero

Helen Thomas has passed away. 
As the father of daughters, she was a hero to me. She was never flashy and not heralded as are the frequently empty suits and hair dos that sit at the big desk during prime time news.
She was the consummate journalist. In a time when most news people were news men, she was at the top of the game.

If you're a daughter or have daughters or if you just value competence, Google Helen Thomas and read up.

Stick to what you know

I was trolling for something interesting on the tube tonight and came across a re-enactment of the oral arguments before the Supreme Court in re:  Gideon v. Wainwright, 1963. This is the landmark case in which Clarence Gideon requested that the Supremes consider whether he should have been afforded counsel during his trial. Fifty years ago, the Court granted certiorari, Abe Fortas agreed to argue it, and the right to counsel became enshrined as one of the basic protections.

This is one of my all time fave cases and while I’ve read the pleadings and decision, I’ve never seen it re-enacted. Yes, yes, I’ve seen Gideon’s Trumpet, but that great movie nevertheless takes liberties. I looked forward to watching the whole thing play out in the original words.

Turns out the ‘actors’ are lawyers from the WA State Supremes and UW law school.

As long as these folks are around, Arnold Schwarzenegger need not worry about being called the worst actor in the worst movie ever.

So, a life lesson for lawyers: stick to what you know.   Please!

(And while we’re here, I’m equally unimpressed with actors doing PSAs to tell me how to run my life. Again, stick to what you know.    Please.)

Alaska

Coming home is one of my favorite things in the world to do.

I was teaching in Fairbanks this week. It’s really a cool place and there’s a lot to do and see. The Ice Museum is excellent and there are a number of attractions related to the Chena River. Google it and you’ll see what I mean.

Permafrost combines with wind to make for some interesting growing patterns.  Flying in or out, you can trace the effects of weather and time.

Time is a major  theme up there if you’re interested in noticing. The University of Alaska Fairbanks is built on a series of ridges that raise the viewer four- or five-hundred feet above a valley that goes on seemingly forever, except that you can see mountains rising on the horizon. Stand on that ridge and you’re looking at time. I swear I’m not just trying to be profound.

You can see both the past and the future from that ridgeline. Or from an airplane as you pass over glacial flows that go for miles. From my window seat I could see the ice blocks calving off at one end and the never-ending genesis of the winding river of ice at its origin.

I love road trips in large part because of all the history to be seen. But in most places, you have to already know the story or understand how volcanism or tectonics or alluvial flows work and then apply your imagination to complete the story.

Not so in Alaska. All you have to do is look down or up or around and the masterpieces of nature show you how they came to be. How they’re still coming to be. In Alaska, you don’t need to spot a caribou or an eagle or a bear to be looking at a living thing.

I'm ba-a-a-a-ack!

I'm just back from Fairbanks and I have to say it's one of my favorite places in the world. And I got to work with some fabulous, caring people. Sometimes, I just have the best job!
Will post soon.

Choices

It’s still morning – 9:18 as I type this. A gorgeous Saturday, full of possibility.

Mary is off on a hike with her sister, Daughters One and also Two are far away following the pursuits of their day. Odin the Large and Lazy is stretched out in the sun on the back lawn, living up in all respects to his moniker. Zoey the Small and Annoying can’t decide exactly where her presence is required and so has just come back in to stare questioningly at me for a moment before she goes back to her primary job description, laying half in and half out the sliding door, peering.

I fed them when I got up and have since spent an hour reading. Time to eat some cereal and then get out in the yard for a couple or three hours of grunt labor before the sun angle makes outside work too unpleasant. And then, a trip to the gym and perhaps an hour of housework before showering and settling into the unplanned part of the afternoon and evening.

I may do some writing or perhaps, put in a CD and spend the early evening  sorting give-aways in the continuing quest for a clutter-free house. I will probably spend some time prepping for next Saturday’s paddling session on the safety crew for the Fat Salmon swim race. I love working that race each year.

Paddling solely for recreation is great fun, especially when my brother or Two are part of the outing. And my recent session with the paddling meetup group was cool.  But working Fat Salmon is special. It’s not boring, like working the triathlons for which the kayak volunteers are essentially human marker bouys. In Fat Salmon, you actually provide a service as part of the team. Hence, the need to make sure my safety gear is all in place and serviceable.

My favorite is to be assigned to the tail end. The swimmers who will never win and may not finish before they time out and we have to cut them short but who nevertheless give it their all are awe-inspiring. I hated the couple of times I’ve had to pull swimmers. But in both cases, they were thankful that I did, once they got over the initial disappointment.

Anyway, that’s next Saturday’s choice. Today’s choices await me more immediately.

Choices are precious. My friend’s son’s choices are fast dwindling. He lies in a hospital bed and he’s just started the conversation with his parents about what he wants done after he’s gone. Which, he’s told, may be a year or three but most likely not much longer.

His mother, my friend, has basically run out of choices. She can only love him and that choice was made long ago. None of the rest is up to her.

I hope I make good use of my choices today and tomorrow. I’m certainly going to try.

Special offer

“…and if you call now, we’ll throw in another (product of questionable value) for free; all you’ll pay is $7.99 for additional shipping and handling.”

Now, just what idiot swallows the claim that it costs more to handle, box up and address two than one of these junk drawer stuffers? And please don’t say the second one adds additional weight, thus driving up the shipping cost. For one thing, none of these things weighs more than a few ounces. And please tell me you know that the original price was already way inflated.

I’m pretty sure we spend more on crap in this country than some countries spend on food, shelter and hospital care combined. Designing, making and selling crap is big business. And years later, when the crappers have long since made their money and relocated to Florida and the crappees have passed away or downsized, many hardworking people will be employed hauling away the residual crap and using is to create air holes in landfills, thus enhancing the decomposition of organic discards.

So, I guess at the end of the day, the crap has some use, anyway.

We have some crap here in the manse. Not TV crap – we don’t call strangers in boiler rooms to give them our credit card numbers. Nevertheless, crap we have. So please feel free to think of this missive as less a lecture than a lament.

Think I’ll go throw away some crap. Then I’m going to bed.

You get a good rest, too. Good night.

(BTW: My nomination for the dumbest product in the history of As-Seen-On-TV? Perfect Polly, the fake parakeet, wins the contest hands down. And by the way, call right now and you can get two for the same low price!)

Keeping busy

There are some days you’re busy and other days, you’re BUSY. Today was one of the latter variety.

I love what I do for a living and being busy is certainly better than being bored to tears. But today and this week and the next couple of months are just going to be silly. I’ve three teaching trips and a major project starting and, and, and…

The thing is, at sixty years of age and counting, I’m finding it difficult to foresee a time when I druther sit contemplating my navel than do something useful. At the same time, I can easily foresee a time when I won’t want to be bound to a bus schedule or trip plans at others’ demands as to time or doing work that is of value to someone else but not so much to me.

Time to start thinking of a change. I finished my degree a couple weeks ago and even with summer chores related to landscaping, I now have evenings free. So I’m back to working on the book. The book I mentioned in an earlier post.

I love writing and I hope it sells at some point but mostly, I’m getting more and more into these characters and their stories. It will take me a thousand hours plus to get the first draft ready for editorial readers and it will be a great thousand hours. It will be spent in the company of some of my best imaginary friends.

Some kinds of busy are just plain fun.

In the spirit of Icarus

The Solar Impulse, a completely solar-powered aircraft has today completed a multi-stage flight across the continent, from Moffit Field near San Jose, CA to New York City.

I don’t care all that much about the flight. I mean, it’s interesting and I took the time to read an article and check out some photos on the Net. But the flight itself isn’t what caught my fancy. For me, it’s all about the technology involved.

The strong, lightweight materials, the highly (by current standards) efficient solar cells, the finely tuned motors and propellers, all speak to solutions. Solutions tied to getting the most output from the least input.

All over the world, there are people living without power and power is key. Power can convert brackish water to potable, cold to warm or vice versa, immediate consumption food to storable. And in order to feed and clothe and shelter those people, we need to find solutions that are efficient, resource cost-effective and locally deployable.

We use a LOT of power in this country and often for some pretty frivolous pursuits, as compared to the subsistence needs of people living where power is scarce. I’m not slapping ‘us’ for our power use but I am thrilled at some of the emerging technologies designed to make ever more effective use of the power at hand. Especially power that’s free for the asking and essentially inexhaustible.

Wars are fought over power and will continue to be, so long as we base our economies on power sources that are both non-renewable and unevenly distributed geographically.

Power is key to development and in a larger sense, to social equity. Wider use of inexhaustible resources such as solar power and efficiency in the use of other resources (Google “rocket stove”) hold out the promise of a leveling of the playing field such as the world has never seen before.

So, while I don’t care all that much about the flight or who flew the plane, I am thrilled and fascinated and yes, reassured by the interest and energy flowing in the direction of these worthy technological pursuits.

More on facts and truth

Some of you might recall an earlier post in which I discussed the difference between facts and truth. In reading a friend’s blog yesterday, I came across a quote that says it much more betterly than ever I could. In describing why she generally prefers  a book to the movie version of the same story, she said, “…my mind did a much better job creating the picture and making the story real.”

Toni, I couldn’t have said it better. Just wish I’d said it this well.

Hot weather

Cons:

·         Sticky

·         Hot

·         Glare

·         Low energy

·         Limp clothes

·         Use more electricity

·         Dogs lethargic

·         Mary lethargic

·         Brer Michael lethargic

Pros:

·         Dogs lethargic