Adaptive Curmudgeon

Common Ground Given The Lack Of Shared Experience: Part 1

It is 298 days since I first “took action” about COVID. We’ve each walked our own path (or been dragged down it) in 2020. I can’t lie, it’s wearing me down. It’s been a long two weeks to flatten the curve. It has and will continue to take a toll.

This is partly because I’m naïve. For a brief moment I thought this would be a “moonshot moment”. In a world already gone mad with politics, the universe had provided all of humanity (or at least my society & nation) a non-political and well defined threat. What better time or reason to come together and work as one?

Holy shit was I wrong!

But I’m not here to piss and moan. I’m here to laud a well reasoned article, and maybe add a little more based on my own point of view. First, a solid “well done” goes to Assistant Village Idiot which recently posted Ways Of Knowing. It’s a reasoned discourse on how people make decisions based on their own experience. Their personal world leads to human (and therefore understandably biased) choices; including which “expert” to believe. Please read it. What better thing are you doing today? Here’s a quote to entice you:

“However, I am qualified to ask you to look carefully at what your sample and your experience is…

And next, how much does this personal bias, which is a natural but unscientific influence your assessments. There’s no quiz on this.  No one is grading your answers except yourself.”

It’s a good point. Do you base your reaction to COVID on your daily interactions as a nurse at the old folk’s home or is it based on your life as a solo long haul trucker?


I was ruminating on this. How could I add to it?

When I’m thinking, I’m usually building. I put thoughts of blogs on the back burner and began messing about in my shop. I was welding some shit to some other shit when Mrs. Curmudgeon gingerly entered. She only peeked in, stepping a mere foot into the shop. She looked around with concern; as if she’d just entered a mad scientist’s laboratory… which is basically what she’d done.

I was holding the electrode to a SMAW (shielded metal arc welding) unit. Mrs. Curmudgeon cares less about welding than a trout cares about interest rates, so she knows little about how they work. One thing was clear, I was holding a device that melts metal. Over my face was a huge Darth Vader-ish mask. Why? If you look directly at welding in process it can burn your retinas out.

I’m thinking “how cool is this new little welder”. Mrs. Curmudgeon is thinking everything but that. Her husband is faffing about with a device that uses an unholy amount of electricity to turn metal into something akin to molten lava; all the while emitting something like the direct rays of the sun… That ‘aint normal.

Actually it is. But it’s normal for me. Not for her.

To my left was my coffee cup. It was perched on my radial arm saw. A rotating arm with a shiny toothed blade ready to sever a finger with the flip of a switch. My shop is awash in toothy sharp devices. Any of them would happily disembowel an idiot who misuses them.

I started to look about with a different point of view. I was happily puttering about in a room that’s basically a staging area for scary shit. A chainsaw in the corner. A motorcycle tire hung on the wall. A rifle on a rack. (I’m a redneck, wherever I am, there’s a firearm in the vicinity.)  Tools were scattered everywhere; each capable of diverse and freaky mayhem. I’m a slob so there were a half dozen empty beer bottles scattered about; right next to a shelf filled with every chemical known to man (all of which have warnings for Californians).

Paints, adhesives, and epoxies… Cables, bolts, and wires… Spark plugs, screwdrivers, and sawblades…

This is how civilization is actually built. Few people ever see it.

Heavy metal was blaring from my radio and the piece of steel I’d been futzing with was still smoking. It was a real pleasant atmosphere.

My coffee cup was empty and Mrs. Curmudgeon had kindly popped in to tell me she’d brewed a fresh pot. Excellent news!

I warmly greeted Mrs. Curmudgeon but she fled. My shop, my “safe space” and “man cave”, is a dangerous mess. It’ll kill you if you’re not careful. Which is why Mrs. Curmudgeon wouldn’t go further than a few steps past the door. I’ll spend all day in the same space and love it.

This… this is what I’ve learned about COVID.

Stay tuned…

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