Smoking Mirrors

Trish and I are in the process of laughing riotously at a letter printed in a recent Enterprise Record. I don't know if it is from a lack of submissions, editor “discretion,” or what, but the Letters to the Editor lately have been closely resembling the random and anonymous babblings that make up the infamous “Tell it to the ER” column. Great and entertaining stuff – our King sitting his royal ass on a bejeweled throne, black supremacy, a thumb up, or a thumb down for the whacked out, maniacal, and desperate “plan of the day.” Come to think of it, it is sort of starting to resemble the fall of the Roman Empire around here - I can smell something, burning in the air.

But that's a myth anyway – the Roman Empire didn't collapse overnight; more accurately it broke up, or eroded away, over a period of time, centuries I think. The Soviet Union had a more abrupt collapse a few decades back, but they seem to be chugging along, a series of confederate countries.

Now the Middle East is on fire. Governments are being overthrown right and left. The latest leader to go is Moammar Ghadaffy – the infamously titled (by President Ronald Reagan):

“Mad Dog of the Middle East.” 

Reagan could turn a phrase. You can start to understand why people still hold him in such high esteem when you hear a phrase like that. It's got alliteration, action, tension. Never mind policy; nobody really has a firm grasp on policy anyway; that's all a bunch of smoke, and mirrors.

People are throwing around a lot of political terminology these days: Capitalism, Socialism, Communism, Anarchy, Direct Democracy, Radical Direct Democracy, Utilitarianism, Fascism, Horizontalism... It can make your head spin trying to keep up with the latest political philosophy to be making the scene on any particular day.

Isms, isms, isms... I'm not sold on all that stuff. All the “isms” seem  to ignore the potential for human miscalculation, confusion, and corruption. Folks act as if choosing the right political and economic theory is going to catapult human-kind into thinking and acting decently towards one another. Sorry y'all – it's entirely the other way around.

Out of Iraq

Well as of the end of this year we are out of Iraq, out military troops anyway. No one seems to know if this is a good thing or a bad thing – it's probably a bit of both. These times, man, there is no satisfaction. I had so many strong opinions ten years ago – now I don't know which way is up. It feels like we're treading in a pool of oil, slogging along, not sure which way to turn. I don't blame the President for this, or the Congress – they are only as confused as the rest of us. We hold something around a 40% approval rating for our sitting President, and around a Nine percent approval rating for the acting Congress. The headline I'm reading says: “Even Congress hates Congress,” and I don't think hate is the right word, but we don't understand ourselves these days.

madbob@madbob

The American Dream, Inc.

I was listening to a call-in radio station the other day, and heard about the most appalling statement I have ever listened to. A caller was talking about the controversial Supreme Court decision that gives corporations the same freedom of political speech as an individual. That decision (Citizens United vs. Federal Election Commission) has basically opened the flood gates for any group with money to run as many political ads as they can afford. It's a truly horrifying prospect; but apparently it has its fans.

This caller made the statement that corporations are comprised of people, (never mind that no corporation I am aware of is comprised entirely of people who agree politically, that's another issue for another day) and furthermore, that corporations, because of their accumulated wealth and power, are essentially “successful people.” Therefor, corporations deserve to have a brighter and louder voice than individuals. I am paraphrasing, but this was the gist of it.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

I'm not against capitalism, or corporations, necessarily. But I am vehemently against the idea that those who prosper financially in a business environment comprise the be all and end all of what it means to be a “successful” American. What a mediocre, unimaginative, derivative, and utterly disappointing American Dream that would be!

This Dream is Your Dream, This Dream is My Dream

What defines us as Americans, in my opinion, is our ability to determine for ourselves what makes us happy, what constitutes “success.” While society may tell you you need that fancy car and that big house to be successful, the Declaration of Independence calls bullshit.

Our forefathers believed that our Creator (I know, I know, also another issue for another day) gave us the inalienable right to pursue our happiness – and that means we also have the right to determine for ourselves, individually, what that happiness is.

And we were also given voices, and votes, so that we could express our individual points of view to our representative leaders; because they need to understand what is important to each one of us.

Americans have, since our inception, been the most unique people in the world. It's partly because of our country's make-up as a nation of immigrants – a blend of different cultures and ideas; but it is also partly because there is a certain character inherent in a person that is willing to pick up and leave their homeland, everything they have ever known, and travel across sea or land to get to some foreign country, where  they might not know the language, and certainly won't no the customs – in order to chase after something as amorphous and undefinable as “The American Dream.” Every one of us has ancestors who picked up and left everything they knew to come to this country.

Corporate America cannot be allowed to define the American Dream. They cannot they cannot they cannot they cannot they cannot...

For someone to tell me that a corporation, because they have more money than I do, should be entitled to a greater voice within our political system – well frankly, that person can go to Hell!

madbob@madbob.com

Michelangelo Picking His Nose

Say You Want a Revolution?

Okay, let's see – it is time to orient myself. We are in the midst of a world-wide revolution. I am feeling a combination of exhilaration and terror. Every moment of every day, my mind is screaming along, trying to understand what is happening all around me. It's weird, to be going about one's daily routine while the social and political tectonic plates are shifting underneath our feet. Like Michelangelo picking his nose in the midst of painting the murals under the canopies of the Sistine Chapel. These things happen.

Narratives are being shaped around what is happening – but personally I am not comfortable with any of the narratives I have heard thus far. It seems to me that the ones spinning the narratives are relying on old traditions, historic precedents; leaning into the comfort of the status quo. I believe we can come up with something more dynamic, more conscious-shifting, more trans formative than the traditional explanations for complicated times.

Patience...

Words right now are hard to come up with – so let's give ourselves the luxury of patience. The thing is though, if we are going to be patient, we've got to work together to deflect the assorted, fundamentalist narratives that are going to definitely and inevitably emerge. Push those aside. Make room for the new consciousness to emerge by rejecting the remnants of the old consciousness. This will happen; I can't tell you when.

I think the traits we are going to need for the revolution will include a certain amount of self-reliance, complete accountability, and an immense dose of compassion and empathy for our fellow human beings. More than ever, we are all in this thing together. The time for choosing sides and selecting enemies is passing – the time for understanding is emerging.

Maintain positive energy. Sing, dance, flirt, cry, smile, make love, laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

One Love

I was imagining a world in which we could all read one another's' minds. It's not the most original thought; but there would be no secrets. We would be constantly revealing, contemplating, understanding, and empathizing with each other. I don't know that we would become homogenized in our thinking - I would like to think the individualities would remain, but maybe some of the rougher edges, and the more dramatic pitfalls, of individual personalities would be assuaged.

The Fall

Anyway, in the mean time the weather has shifted. Right now rain is drizzling down and getting heavier, clearing the dusty valley air. Beautiful. Gives us all a chance to think and to meditate and to visualize; figure this whole thing out. Together together together. That word keeps floating into my thoughts. Together together together. No more “isms,” no more “definitions,” no more “ideologies,” no more... Together together together. Anything ending in an “ism” will let you down. Capitalism, communism, socialism. Marxism, nationalism, nihilism. Theories only work in the theoretical realm.

You and me, we aren't theories; we are flesh, blood, and spirit.

madbob@madbob.com

Cooking Candy for Violent Babies

Taking Several Readings...

I really don't know what is going on. Trish just explained to me that there is some temperature the oil must reach, and that she thinks we have a meat thermometer somewhere; but then she thought a candy thermometer might really do the trick. We do not have one of those. I feel like I've heard that you can't let the oil get too hot. We talked about how to measure the height of a particular oak tree in the yard by using paces, and a protractor, and a formula involving a triangle. It all sounds like it could work out fine. It sounds like, if someone knew what the hell they were doing, it would work out fine. That's not our current situation.

Confusion is all around us these days. I mean, you turn on the television or pick up the newspaper, and you cannot really figure out what the hell is going on. Fortunately I spent a lot of years of my life in a state of perpetual confusion; I've got this, I have been here before. There is a collective thing going on that makes this confusion slightly different - you've got a whole bunch of confused people all being confused together. That sort of wild and subdued energy can manifest itself in some bizarre and interesting ways. Still, I've got confidence when it comes to confusion. Over here, follow me.

So when you cook, your ingredients have to reach a certain temperature – so that the different chemicals can melt and congeal. Cooking is chemistry and art. A good cook is a chemist. Sugars, oils, fats, plant material (starch?); heat, temperature.

Things are cooking; you can smell smoke in the air.

Violent Babies

We start out brutal. No matter what we do, elegance develops over time, and with practice. We all start out heavy-handed, clunky, and generally violent. Think of your average baby. Sure, they have their moments, peace, and innocence; then in between there is the rage, the torment, the anguish and the destruction. I don't think we ever get completely under control, but we develop patience, and we learn to act more gently.

I mean we all do, as individuals, as nations, as cities, states, as a whole people, as the human race – we are continually improving upon a really shaky start. I keep wanting to write that we aren't perfect yet – but that's not precisely how I feel. I think we are perfect, we only have to figure that out. It's like there is some form embedded in this beautiful, coarse chunk of rock; and we are continually chipping off the exterior pieces of stone to reveal the underlying skeleton.

Details are Murky...

I was planning to get more precise with this, and to give greater, detailed explanations of strategies and philosophies, but now I'm seven or eight “banquet beers” in, and the details of strategies are evaporating like so much heated vinegar.

So for now, I'm just going to forget it – simply ride the thing out to... who knows where? Who cares? I may end up shell-shocked and out of it, stuck between the couch and the wall, drooling, coughing, puking. I'm just going to ride the thing out, for now, and see where it takes me.

madbob@madbob.com

Upgrades, Relaxation, and a New Member of the Family

Tuesday's gone. The fan is moving hot air around and my fingertips feel like they are on fire - I can't figure out exactly why that is. It could be from tile grout, or maybe I cut my fingernails too short last night. Whatever the reason, it hurts when I strike down on the keys - I am suffering for you tonight. Now it's your turn to suffer for me. Queue the sinister laughter.

I Want Candy!

We've got a new member of the family – a 6 or 7 year old chocolate lab who goes by the name of Candy. She's been with us now for only a couple of hours, and right now Bill and Candy are in the process of figuring out how exactly they are going to get along. So far the results are mixed. There is a lot of herding, a little humping, some snarling, and the occasional baring of teeth followed by some biting. Par for the course in doggy world I guess. As I am writing this, Candy is exhausted and lying near me, while Bill is lying next to her and staring intently at her – as though daring her to make a move. This too shall pass. Now they're both finally starting to relax a little.

Relaxation

I'm not sure if I will ever be able to relax again. It's never really been my strong suit. I'm not exactly anxious, or nervous – but I always tend to be thinking about things: stories, politics, sex, music. Some people describe their mind as a continuous monologue – but I'm not like that. The thoughts are distinct, and clear; they just always keep coming. I enjoy it, I guess;  I don't think I have much of a choice. The brain is a mystifying organ.

Hillbilly Watering Phase 2

We've made a serious upgrade to the “hillbilly watering system” I had described in an earlier column. The old system was comprised of a series of water vessels, including several five gallon water jugs, a couple of coolers, and a bathtub, that were all piled into the back of my old F-150. The truck is still the same, but yesterday I drove down to Orland and picked up a 255 gallon water tank. It's a sweet set-up that saves me both time and effort. Instead of having to dip buckets into the bath tub to get the water out, now I simply turn a lever. The next piece I need is a hose attachment, and on my watering wish-list is some sort of pump and generator combination. Oh that would be living. Until then though, I'll have to dream.

Well it looks like I've got one jealous dog to deal with here, and the other one's  homesick and crying. On top of that, it seems that the night is starting to get away from me. I hope I can manage to get a decent night's sleep – it's been awhile now.

madbob@madbob.com

Rambling Thoughts from a Semi-Old Man

Be Here Now

Back to school. Jesus. I haven't been in school for decades, and I still experience anxiety-ridden dreams involving classrooms I can't find, or tests I haven't studied for. School and I do not really get along. I got through it, but I'm glad to be done with all that. I much prefer the role of a plain old working citizen. These days some of my time is occupied by the nine to five, but otherwise I do nearly exactly what I want. Still, good luck to you. Welcome back to those of you returning, and welcome to town to the incoming students. For some of you, college will be the best six years of your life, and you probably won't remember five and a half of them. Sad, really, but that's the way it goes.

Ann Landers, I am Not

I used to give advice in these columns, for the back to school issue: for what to do, and what not do; but you know what, figure it out. I don't know any better than you do. At this point, I would probably give you obsolete information that wouldn't do you a damn bit of good anyway.

I start writing out advice and it sounds like the fucking motivational posters some of you will see when you end up sequestered inside cubicles, your souls slowly being sucked up into the gently humming fluorescent lights and air conditioning. I've been there. It's not that bad at first – you don't realize how rotten it is until the element of time makes itself clear. Time is a bastard. You probably can't really understand that right now – unless you've been diagnosed with some sort of early onset cancer, or spent time in prison. At a certain point, time feels meaningless – infinite and abstract. You'll find yourself waiting for time to pass, waiting for something interesting to happen. I can remember being bored, endlessly craving action and excitement.

That will shift on you. It will flip. Eventually, you won't be wanting time to pass, you'll be wishing time would slow down, stop, or move in reverse. But it won't. It's a horrifying realization, and one that you can't make until you can. There's nothing I can say, nothing that hasn't been said a million times before. Youth is wasted on the young. Don't waste it. Use your mind while it is sharp, your eyes while they're strong; use your body while it is still supple, and hot.

Ah shit, there's the advice I said I would not give. Oh well, who gives a shit? Not me.

madbob@madbob.com

Primitive Systems

I'm dirty right now. There's a lot of dried mud – dirt – on my pants and on my boots. There are streaks of dirt on my vee-neck undershirt, and there are streaks of dirt on the skin of my face and arms. My hands are relatively clean on account of the gloves, and the subsequent cooking. This is the way things are around here sometimes. There is a wine cooler at my feet where the dog should be – but Bill hasn't been feeling too well the last couple of days and so he is sprawled out on the carpet, about seven feet away from me. He's looking in the direction of the bathroom, where Trish is soaking off the day's leftovers – including a sharp thorn that has embedded itself in the bottom of her right heel. My left hand is blistered from neglecting the gloves while planting a crab-apple, or was it the maple? Well, the end result is a peeling pocket of translucent white skin, and clear puss, on the left side of my left palm, as I'm looking at it, just above the “head line” and beneath the “heart line,” (for those of you who know anything about palmistry.)

Hillbilly Watering

We have this system for watering some of the trees we've planted in the further reaches of the yard, beyond where the irrigation will reach. It's really an insult to hillbillies to name it as I have. I am sure that hillbillies have much more efficient means of watering their trees. But anyway, I have my old Ford pick-up loaded with containers: a couple of 5 gallon water jugs, an old 5-gallon paint bucket, two coolers, and a bath-tub that came with the yard. I fill all of these vessels up with water, pour a little more water in the truck's radiator, and then drive around the yard pouring the water onto the various trees and shrubs. All said and done, this way I give water to eight flowering plum trees (dark purple foliage), one maple, four magnolia trees, four patches of bamboo (two different varieties), two rhododendrons, two flowering cherry trees, one bald cypress, two “dragon trees” (weeping, gray colored evergreens), four azaleas, and a newly planted ficus that is supposed to grow like a vine. Don't ask me, I dig the holes, I run the water. Trish is the brains of the operation.

It's a kick though, driving the truck over the bumpy, rutted dirt road that cuts through the property – the water sloshing out of the bath-tub and running out of the truck's bed. I collect as much as I can at each stop with one of the empty coolers. I'll either dump it into the five gallon paint bucket with the handle, or pour it back into the bathtub.  With this primitive system we've managed to keep the bulk of the trees alive through this temperate summer. We really couldn't have asked for a better weather pattern to get us started – lots of moisture in the spring to soak everything in, and now basically low temperatures for the summer; everything hasn't fried.

UPDATE: I dumped my fucking wine cooler all over this table, computer, and onto the linoleum floor.

madbob@madbob.com