Adaptive Curmudgeon

I had a story in mind. One that really happened. (I don’t have to be creative, I just have to be observant in a mad world.) It had a simple punchline.

But what I thought was obvious (and funny) wasn’t. While I was off grid, everyone lost their goddamn minds. Where do I pick up the thread?

I theorized “news” (which isn’t news at all) follows Cycles. A Topic is selected (or invented). Then players from both sides (which I might derisively call the “uniparty”) play their assigned roles. They act in Stages, each one following the other. Everyone knows what to do and nobody derails the call and response format. To deviate from the pattern, for any reason, be it ineptitude, a reasoned choice, an unscripted but heartfelt opinion, or even honest personal ideals, is verboten. (They’ll move heaven and earth to replace politicians who misbehave with ones who stick with the format.)

As the Stages progress, the media breathlessly reports this crap like they didn’t know it was going to happen; keeping the populace wired. Ideally both sides harvest money and votes from a frantic citizenry. This continues until the last Stage is completed and the Cycle is done or the Topic upstaged by a different sexier Topic.

Once you spot the Topic, you can expect a repeat of it’s last Cycle. Do that and politics becomes predictable. It’s almost beautiful in it’s manipulative symmetry. You wonder if there ever was a time when it was not like this.

Back in my silly Novocaine story. I’d pinned the Kavanaugh Supreme Court Nomination as a Topic and recognized it’s Cycle as “Preening In The Mirror“. In a few minutes of CNN on mute I measured the situation as Stage C, the climax of “Preening In The Mirror”. This is the portion of the cycle where Congress Grandstands and protesters protest and everyone has a party at the expense of both decorum and the nominee’s self esteem.

Stage D is when everyone can either come to their senses and just vote or they can go full retard and lead to Stage E. There’s no chance in hell 2018 is going to lead to an outbreak in compromise and reasonable behavior; so Stage D was certain to lead to Stage E.

Stage E is the “October Surprise”. This is the most colorful part. I made some predictions:

• Kavinaugh would be accused of something. This is guaranteed. The nominee could be Jesus Christ and there’d still be an accusation.
• The accusation comes in the 4th quarter of the game. Timed for maximum damage.
• The accusation would be old. Many years. Decades. Many decades. Most of a human lifetime. A new variation on the theme might involve crossing the college threshold and leaking into high school. I made that guess by noticing how young Kavinaugh (age 53) looked compared to Dianne Feinstein (aged 85). (Count on the Senate could make someone 53 seem “boyishly young”.)
• The accusation would be well beyond the statute of limitations, possibly not even a crime. If it was a crime it wasn’t reported at the time. Regardless, there will be no corroborating evidence whatsoever.
• The accuser would be biased. I was guessing an NPR reporter or some politician’s wife. I don’t know why, but the October Surprise accuser is usually female. After one accuser shows up, others will follow. They tend to be even less corroborated. None took action at the time.
• The accusation has to be something immoral but not too criminally actionable; ideally creepy/weird with shades of grey.
  • Clearly criminal; “Kavinaugh murdered Mr. Smith”, is no good. A clear crime may  find it’s way into courts which have evidentary procedures and presumption of innocence. That’s the last thing anyone wants in an October Surprise. What’s best is a “leak” of a heavily redacted FBI investigation or an IRS audit or “sealed” divorce proceedings. Even an old accusation on Facebook is fine.
  • Traditionally accusations involve sex but I think that’s about to change. I think sex has been done to death. Especially since it was used pretty much identically against Clarence Thomas.
  • Bork got Borked over pot but that didn’t seem right.
  • White collar crime accusations are good… but they’re quickly quelled by a paper trail. I doubt that’s a salacious enough topic for 2018.
  • I guessed something about cheating in college (or high school?!?).

So here was my prediction:

“Suddenly, after decades of distinguished service, weeks of questioning, and six FBI investigations we’ve found ‘Jill Jones’ who says she saw the nominee cheat on a spelling test in 12th grade. She didn’t report it to the authorities, there’s no evidence whatsoever, there’s probably no law broken, and she’s a member of the ‘Kavinaugh sucks donkey balls’ Facebook group.”

Thus would begin Stage E.

Here’s the punchline. It took 20 minutes.

The dentist showed up and shoved what felt like a cement mixer in my face. After some abnormal sounds and a shocking application of pliers, it was over.

They left me in my chair, drooling and bleeding; to “recover”. I wouldn’t let them turn on the infernal TV. I fired up my tablet, jacked into the wifi from the coffee shop across the street, and checked the “news”.

BAM! Moving from crayon level (muted CNN) to laser guided scope (internet search) I verified that Stage E was in full swing. That fast!

My predictions weren’t perfect, but they were damn good:

• Kavinaugh would be accused of something? Win! Called it. 
• The accusation was timed for maximum damage? Win! Called it.
• The accusation would be old? Win! I called it. 
  • They crossed the college threshold and now were discussing high school? Win! This is an especially good prediction. I made the call the first time it happened. Up until… yesterday, behavior in High School was more or less ignored.
• Well beyond the statute of limitations? Win! I called it.
  • Possibly not even a crime? Miss. Sexual assault is less than rape but it’s a crime.
  • If it was a crime it wasn’t reported at the time. Win! I called it.
  • No corroborating evidence whatsoever? Win! Was there any doubt?
• The accuser would be biased. Close but not as obvious as I expected. 
  • I expected an NPR reporter or a politician’s wife but I got a California Psychology professor who scrubbed her Facebook profile in advance.
  • I don’t know why, but the October Surprise accuser is usually female. If it’s a sex thing it’s likely female accusing a male. I’ll call it a draw on that one.
  • Often, after one accuser shows up, others will follow. Not yet. (Update… in due time a few others showed up.)
• The accusation has to be immoral but not criminally actionable? Win. I called it!
  • Nothing that touches an actual court of law? Win. I called it!
  • In my opinion sex has been done to death. Wrong! Fail! Sex hasn’t yet been been done to death. A big miss on my part.
  • I guessed something about cheating in college (or high school?!?). Wrong! Not academic at all.

I found myself chuckling, despite being in dental pain. I’d made a prediction based on nothing more than watching the ebb and flow of Cycles (or Propaganda if you prefer that term). I’d called the content of an October Surprise with stunning accuracy.

Then I made two more predictions:

• This is too obvious. If I can see it that clearly so can lots of other people. It’ll blow over in 3 days.
• This is irrelevant.
  • Every Democrat is/will/always has voted against Kavinaugh.
  • Every Republican is/will/always has voted for Kavinaugh.

Then I went off line for several days of bleeding and drooling. I wrote some shit that went live (a bit delayed) while the game was being played. Then I went off line again. As it played out… following the script exactly as expected… I was horrified to see real people suffering. It’s Stage E of a pre-ordained, predictable, can see it coming from miles away, game… and it is terrible that people should take this to heart. I hammered out a quick post that everyone should take the weekend off.

So was I correct?:

• This is too obvious. It’ll blow over in 3 days. Wrong! It’s devastating to many people on both sides. My heart breaks for them.
• Every Democrat is/will/always has voted against Kavinaugh. BINGO! Nothing changed anyone’s mind since July 9th, 2018.
• Every Republican is/will/always has voted for Kavinaugh. BINGO! Nothing changed anyone’s mind since July 9th, 2018.

So there you have it. We all should have known the vote outcome almost 3 months in advance. I thought the whole “Bork as a verb” and “high tech lynching” thing was just so plain and obvious that it was funny. Something we could all chuckle about. But people fell for it. Hard. It bothers me that politics is hurting so many people.

Here’s my next prediction:

• Every man (and many women) nominated by an R (or sometimes a D) will continue to be accused of something sexual. All of them. Every time. Even if they’re Boy Scouts with squeaky clean behavior. Especially then.

In the meantime. They telegraph their moves y’all. The script was written in stone long ago. It shouldn’t hit so hard because we all know what’s coming. Harden your heart or dodge because the game will continue until it doesn’t.

I’m out of contact with most everyone. I’m traveling alone, my phone isn’t hitting any antennas, and my laptop is barely catching a thread of sketchy intermittent wifi. Generally that would suck but today it’s a blessing. I humbly think forced detachment at least today makes me among the luckiest citizens in America.

The last part of this week has been an epic steaming heap of political shitstorms. I was hoping to make light of it with my Novocaine stories but events got dumber and dumber, faster and faster. Reason took a powder and DC is faceplanting quicker than I can write jokes. More distressingly, players with a dark heart gleefully cackle as many good people dance like marionettes. It’s terrible.

Buried amid the um… “debate” surrounding the Kavanaugh… um… “process” is a simple truth. One way or another, the sun will rise tomorrow. Breathe deep. Count to ten. All that stuff.

I had some more rambling associated with my earlier series of posts. I didn’t finish the text yet because I had things to do in real life. Dentistry, jobs, family, and so forth. So do we all. I might get back to it but who knows? Maybe I dodged a bullet getting out of the way? Judging from the vitriol emerging from my truck’s radio and in conversation with everyone I meet, both sides, left and right, have forgotten the mundane grounding moments that are real life. We all still live on earth. Life as we know it is still in effect.

I just looked at the sky… no meteor… us humans still have life to live and shit to do. Isn’t that grand?

OK, I’m glad I said that and if it sounds trite I’m sorry. I mean well and I’ll wrap up quickly. (I’ve only got a few minutes because I’m typing on the tailgate and it’s getting dark.) I’m going back off line for a while. Not because of anything Republicans or Democrats did, but for reasons that involve mountains and radio propagation. Or, as I’m lucky enough to feel deep in my bones, reality.

Be happy folks, we’re a reasonably peaceful, reasonably wealthy, reasonably free, reasonably self-actualized, very blessed nation. Smile. On all sides, take heart. We have survived war, famine, pestilence, disco, and the AMC Gremlin. We’re not entirely wimps. This too shall pass.

I gently entreat anyone who’s jacked into the matrix or freebasing network news to step back from the ledge. If you’re suffering, the solution is to stop. If God wanted to remind us all that we were acting like toddlers wouldn’t it look a lot like this? Perhaps we’ll benefit from a nice weekend; drink a beer, play catch with a dog, talk to your kids, buy your wife a flower, hell if it makes you happy run around naked and howl at the moon… but whatever you do never let politicians turn your mind into a gamepiece. Mellow out, and lighten up. There’s too much stupid in the air and I think we all need a fuckin’ nap.

Good luck y’all. This is just politics. Don’t let people who benefit from playing with your hearts and minds take it too far. Compared to bourbon and butterflies it don’t mean shit.

To distract myself from impending dentistry I watched CNN (on mute). In a drooling Novocain haze, I saw two “topics” and analyzed the “cycles” that go with each topic.

Topic #1 was an image of books. That’s how the press communicates “judge” or “lawyer”. Clearly the topic was Kavanaugh. Supreme Court nominees (and recently every executive nomination) follow what I call “Preening in The Mirror”.

In stage A everyone picks a side. In 2018 this takes 5 minutes. Trump is (nominally) party R so party D opposes Kavanaugh like their very soul is at stake. They’re not entirely faking it. Kool-Aid drinkers are so invested that they really think their soul is determined by Congressional votes. Holy Screwtape! Whether the nominee is Socrates or Barney the Dinosaur, nobody changes their minds after this stage.

In Stage B opponents tear into the nominee like a pack of wolves. It starts by calling the nominee an idiot. There is no exception. The opposition always calls their adversary an idiot. If he has six PhDs and can cure cancer with the power of his mind some troglodyte who’s never had a job that didn’t come from connections will insult his or her intelligence. The “you’re an idiot” attack can readily draw blood. Not that any either is a genius, but Sara Palin and Dan Quayle got more shit than they deserved. Heck, Carter had a degree in physics but was dismissed as a “peanut farmer”. Maybe he was a lousy president but nobody with a journalism degree should mock someone who passed physics.

Stage C is “Preening in The Mirror”. If a Senator spends 20 minutes “questioning” the nominee without asking a question… that’s preening. This goes on until someone stops it or the entire world dies of boredom. If the nominee makes an unforced error Senators will swarm like a ham sandwich has been tossed in a piranha tank. Luckily, judges rarely make such errors.

Like getting pecked to death by ducks, the nominee must smile while nitwits ritually debase him. It’s embarrassing to watch but Senators love it. This is how you know Congress is filled with middle school playground bullies. The cruelty warns future nominees with a low bullshit tolerance to preemptively bow out.

“Preening” is also when the freaks come out. They’ll chant on the streets, burn a flag, throw a pie, hurl bricks at a Starbucks, get tased… that sort of shit. I haven’t watched the news but I assume pro choice protesters and maybe global warming people are “disrupting” hearings. For all I know alien abductees and vegan furries are taking their turn. 2018 is not a time of serious people. The press will mercilessly stalk and harass the nominee’s family and friends. The circus atmosphere creeps me out.

At stage D, opponents have a choice. They can vote like adults or go full retard. This year, full retard is a given. They’ll try rhetorical shenanigans. “Have you stopped beating your wife yet?” Perhaps a perjury trap. Senator Bullshit asks “Have you driven a Ford Lately?” The nominee says “No, I own a Toyota”. Then the Senator shrieks J’ACCUSE and documents that three years ago the nominee rented a Ford at an airport. “Given this photo of a Ford at the airport I conclude the nominee is a lying shithead who’s literally worse than Hitler’s ass crack. He can’t be trusted with the sacred Constitution I’ve been ignoring my whole career. I demand that everything start all over with some fresh meat! Nominate someone else for another round of ritualistic hazing!” Luckily, the third-rate mind of a politician rarely outwits a judge.

Stage E is the disgusting endgame. They dredge up and/or invent an “unexpected” sudden, unverifiable, impossible to defend against, accusation. It’s best of it’s something from a zillion years ago. It doesn’t have to be illegal but ideally it sounds weird (“Romney put a dog on the roof!”). Drug legalization means Bork getting Borked over smoking a joint wouldn’t get traction now. The tradition is unsupported accusations of sexual harassment that are unverifiable, possibly not even illegal, and exceed the statute of limitations.

Clarence Thomas is so grumpy plants won’t grow near him, but for one brief moment Congress compared him to a high-wattage sexaholic. “I’m shocked shocked by this unfounded accusation! Good thing I discovered it 72 hours before the confirmation vote.” Everyone knows it’s as legit as an e-mail from a Nigerian prince. (Note that a Clinton or a Kennedy might string together dozens of “incidents” but for Thomas it was only once.)

The hard part is guessing the subject of the inevitable unsupported accusation. Sex seems burned out. They’ve been throwing hookers at Trump for years and it’s not affecting his supporters. “Billionaires get blowjobs? Quelle surprise! All this time I thought supermodels materialized out of thin air around a billionaire because they were attracted to his mind.” Also, with the whole “MeToo” thing what male hasn’t been accused of sexual harassment? (Aside from Pence who’s carefully bulletproof and looks wiser every day.)

I decided to predict Stage E will come soon and it will be “he did something pathetic and stupid in college”. He’ll be accused of cheating on a test? Yeah, that sounds good. I’m calling it something academic from long ago.

Kavanaugh looks surprisingly young. Can they push the clock back to high school? But nobody cares if you cheat in high school. Underage drinking?

Also, they showed some protesters being dragged away. Stage C in progress is verified!

Only time will tell. Y’all keep an eye out for Stage E because that’s when you know it’s almost over. I predict an accusation from a biased source that’s probably not illegal and completely unverifiable. (It’ll be made by an NPR Reporter or some Senator’s wife or kid.) “This one time at band camp my best friend, who’s name I forget, told me that in 1983 Kavanaugh drank three Red Bulls and then peed on the college’s geraniums.”

That’s my prediction. Call me on it if I’m wrong.

Stage F is the vote. The vote will be identical to whatever would’ve happened at Stage A. Everything else was bullshit.

The Dentist came in, gave me more Novocain (thanks!) and left. I think she did someone else’s appointment to procrastinate on the bearded freak. I can’t blame her. I had time to observe further.

Topic #2 was a hurricane. Sweet! The “Never Let A Crisis Go To Waste” cycle is classic!

Stage A is the prediction of Armageddon. Usually pumped up with assumptions. If the storm hits while the tide is high, and at the same time hammerhead sharks are in mating season, then it’ll be the end of life as we know it. Bonus points for a total lack of rational limits. “This is because the sharks will breed with eagles and shark-eagles kill everything!”

Don’t forget the blame! If the president if party of R, it’s his fault. Even if the storm is in Botswana. Or in the case of George Bush Jr, a tsunami in the Indian Ocean. If none of that sticks, global warming caused it; which is due to your failure to buy a Prius. Jerk!

Stage B is the press standing in the rain and hamming it up. The “Dan Rather Moment”

The scene shifted and… Oh. My. God!

Some dude was standing next to a road sign and flopping around in the wind. The Dan Rather career move was right on time!

What fun! You go, weather dude!

I looked at the trees behind him. Gusty winds, but nothing that’ll jack up the balance on a grown man. Dude was a shitty actor. Stage B confirmed!

Stage C is when (some) Americans act like adults. The Cajun Navy, Waffle House, and Walmart handle things like a boss. This is a new addition to the cycle and I love it.

Stage D is wind down and allocation of free money. Rational citizens shrug; “it’s just fucking weather” and start mucking out basements. Politicians whine that their particular district no longer supports life. This can only be fixed with Federal funds. NPR blames the nearest Republican.

There’s one exception, Puerto Rico. Even New Orleans or Fukushima got back in the saddle but Puerto Rico is stuck in Stage D. I guess they can’t leave Stage D until they finally consume all the supplies from Hurricane Maria?

The dentist came in. She shoved the TV aside and whipped out whatever they call things that look like pliers.

Things happened. Trust me, you don’t want a description.

The aftermath in the next post.

There are times when people think I’m nuts. I’m not… or at least the thing I’ve done that freaks people out has a perfectly reasonable explanation. Not that it helps.

No shit, there I was… in the dentist’s chair. Wait! Let me add some backstory.

As a child I actually liked dentists. What’s not to like? I was a good boy and brushed regularly. A dentist visit meant a day off school and I’d get a free toothbrush. Not to sound like I grew up in a cave or anything but a free toothbrush was a big deal! (Remember when a toothbrush had real wood handles? You don’t? Now I feel really old!)

When I was a teenager, my mom took me to a different dentist. No quick cleaning and free wood handled toothbrush this time. Instead, he declared I had eleventy zillion cavities. I saw no reason to disagree. Nor was I suspicious of his motives. However, I wondered why a decade and a half of perfect teeth had suddenly turned into multiple cavities? Perhaps my house’s well water, which wasn’t fluoridated, had a role in this….

AAAAAAAAAUUUGHGHHGHGGHGH…

Without warning the motherfucker basically attacked me. He didn’t drill cavities so much as run amok. I didn’t get Novocain, I didn’t get gas, I didn’t get any pain treatment at all. It was just me trying to hold still while he drilled like he was looking for the Comstock Lode. He drilled a lot, he drilled deep, he drilled several teeth all at once; both sides of my jaw, upper and lower. He drilled everything but the pavement on the street in front of his office. It was torture, pure and simple. There was blood everywhere, screaming, bits of teeth, I shudder just remembering it. The man was the works of Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock, and Edgar Allen Poe all rolled into a single sadistic asshole.

In 2018 a man that incompetent would be sued until he and any man, woman, or houseplant associated with him was bankrupt. He’d get Yelp reviews or whatnot that would put him out of business in a month. He’d get reported as incompetent to whomever governs the dentistry profession. He’d probably get beaten in an alley by angry patients; including six-year-old kids and little old ladies. Americans simply won’t shrug off treatment that painful anymore.

But that’s now. In my youth, things were different. He had free rein to be the stuff of nightmares and my mom just cut him a check. His office should’ve been firebombed.

That was the last time I needed any serious dental work. My teeth, which were reportedly healthy before that shithead attacked me, have been remarkably healthy for many decades after. He probably had a boat payment?

So back to 2018. I’ve been fortunate for decades and decades so my time is due and it seems fair. Plus, my teeth already hurt and I was anxious to get them fixed. Also, modern dentists are super-efficient and this one is working specifically to earn my cash. Entirely unlike the barely qualified cretin from my youth, she’s on the ball. Everything is going my way.

Yet, I’m only human. I’m having flashbacks to fucking dental Ragnarök and my eyes have the wild look of an animal that’s cornered. It doesn’t help that I don’t look like the average dental patient. I have a huge beard and strange vocabulary. I come off like an unholy cross between a homeless guy, an unemployed physics professor, Santa Claus, and someone who walked off the set of Mad Max. The dentist’s assistant is looking at me like I might tear the building down brick by brick and I’m thinking I shoulda’ drank a fifth of whiskey for breakfast.

The dentist is a frail tiny young woman. I could bench press her whole body while holding a beer in the other hand. Wisely, she moves slowly.

I’d have happily paid for a general anesthetic. I’d even pay extra for the “we drive up in a van with dart guns like they use on bears in an urban dumpster and kidnap you off the street” approach. But that’s not remotely medically necessary. She pumps me full of Novacaine (or whatever they use these days) and she’s like a stealth ninja. I’m numb before I even realize what’s going on. Well done! I try to congratulate her.

“Well done! A shot like a thief in the night. My compliments.”

But I still have wild eyes and her assistant is moving the tool tray (whatever they call it) away from me. The assistant and the dentist are looking at each other as if to calculate the odds I’ll jump up and do a Bourne Identity improvised weapons attack on the entire block.

The dentist hesitates.

I’m ready. “Don’t worry. I’m cool. LET’S DO THIS THING!”

That didn’t reassure her. Not one bit.

Now my face is numb. I’m not speaking clearly. “Blaurgh whauf flooop.” I try again. “Punch it! Hit the ripcord! Dial to eleven! Ger ‘er done before I chicken out!”

Nope!

They dim the lights and back away. She explains she’s giving the shot time to work. She’s talking with the same tones I’d use to coax a wounded dog into letting me get a look at its injury.

“Soothing tones.” I acknowledge. “Bloogle groof. Norf norf. Fluxnawney flupter foort.” I try again. “Thanks, I’m mite nervous but just have at it.”

Then, because it would work with most people and she has no idea I’m an outlier, she uses another tool in her arsenal of “calm a patient down”. She clicks on a TV. It’s on a swingarm right in front of my face.

She backs out of the room, explaining I need 20 minutes to let the shot do its thing. I nod.

The TV is playing “The Price Is Right”. I think back to the bastard who wrecked me decades ago. He was a sadistic monster but at least he didn’t inflict television on me. I collapsed in the dental chair. It was going to be a rough day.

In May I noted a finish line is a dangerous place. I go all out for personal goals but sometimes go too far. I’ll inadvertently set myself up to get steamrolled. Fate tends to take advantage of these brief moments of weakness. Spring was rough but I muddled through; mistake acknowledged, mental note to be wiser in the future, etc.

“Hi, I’m Fate. Congratulations on finishing a marathon while simultaneously solving the technology behind cold fusion and saving a kitten from a tree. You look a bit peakèd; possibly exhausted. Your mental and physical reserves are drained. Therefore, I’m going to kick your ass. Here’s an overdue tax bill, the cat just threw up in your boots, your truck’s transmission has a beer can jammed in the gears, the taco you ate for lunch was packed with salmonella, and your chicken coop is on fire. Bwa ha ha ha!”

Fate’s a wily bitch. I try to anticipate the one two punch combination that’s her style but life is… well… life is life. As with most things in life, results are mixed.

Earlier this month I crossed another finish line but carefully left myself an open schedule immediately afterwards. Ideally, I wanted a bit of time to bask in the moment, but I was also paranoid. I wanted options in case another shoe was about to drop.

Damn glad I did! I didn’t necessarily get hit by the second shoe but things did get uncomfortable.

I had a minor pre-existing dental situation. No biggie. It wasn’t even bloggably interesting. I knew it was coming and planned for it. I’d arranged an appointment well in advance. I was “looking forward(?)” to the privilege of a modern skilled dentist in a clean facility packed with gleaming technology. I paid cash, in advance, several weeks early. I’d worked out all the details.

I wasn’t in pain; I just had a situation that needed handling; in no particular hurry. I was feeling pretty confident because I had all my ducks in a row before I went off to climb my personal mountains and slay my personal dragons. I even had antibiotics in my pack while on my walkabout. They were insurance in case things went pear shaped while I was far from town. (I didn’t need them.)

Everything went swimmingly at first. I enjoyed my short break. Then things changed. It hit me solid and I didn’t see it coming. A tiny twinge became a larger headache and subsequently a multi-day skull splitter. It happened gradual enough that I didn’t quite realize what was happening and yet too fast for me to catch it before I was l already miserable. It’s odd how subtly a situation can go from “nuisance to be handled in due time” to “pull this fucking thing out of me even if you have to do it with rusty pliers”.

In the last few days before my appointment I wasn’t able to accomplish jack shit. I tried but it was no use. I only later realized I’d been “toughing out” pain for many days and it had been increasing every day. What a dumbass! I was acting like the parable of the frog in boiling water. There was no clear moment where I said “wow, I’d better take stronger action”. I eventually found myself in a situation when the moment to be proactive was already in the rearview mirror. Whoops.

Then, the dentist did a fine job and I recovered in a few hours.

WRONG!

I’ve been blessed. I haven’t had many dental “events”. I didn’t know what to expect. I gave myself a whole day to recover from a procedure that lasted under an hour. Surely that would be adequate?

WRONG!

Either I’m a wimp or I was optimistic because it hurt more than I expected and recovery took longer than I planned. It killed the scheduled day, and then killed the subsequent weekend, and I was vaguely messed up several more days. I’m still not firing on all cylinders.

That said, I’m not complaining, it really wasn’t that bad and modern dentists are better than the crude sadistic ghouls of my youth. It’s hardly worth mentioning in the overall scheme of things. The bummer is that my awesome planning didn’t really help me dodge pain and downtime.

I’m not sure what the lesson is in all this. Is it that I should’ve freaked out on day one? Or that fate is always going to outwit my feeble plans? Or maybe I was going to lose a lot of productive time no matter what. I can live with that. Possibly there’s no good time to have dental work and no magic way to recover faster. Everyone has occasional pain and wasted time and that’s that.

Either way I planned like a pro but still “lost” a week or more. On the other hand, I’m thankful for the good care that I received. It can get much worse:

Everyone makes goals for themselves. Some are large, some are small, and some are bullshit. (For an example of bullshit, I refer to New Year’s Eve resolutions loudly proclaimed by inebriated yoyo’s that know they’ll pussy out within the week. Wiser heads play their cards close to the vest.)

I endeavor to skip the bullshit and earnestly chase personally defined awesomeness. I suspect my readers are of a similar bent. A fortunate subset of us muster the time, skills, resources, grit, determination, and (grudgingly accepted) luck to reach our ambitions. Since nothing real is gained without risk of failure, success is never a sure thing. When we succeed, it’s a proper time to celebrate.

All of this is a strange way of saying I just had an achievement accomplished moment. Despite providing no specifics, I’m blogging about that joyous emotion. I’m somewhere between pleased and stoked. Can y’all feel it?

If I’m over generalizing it’s because things I do “off blog” are generally kept there.* An unfortunate side effect is stilted language. Please forgive me.

I never know if success will be as sweet as I anticipate. Sometimes my pursuits kick my ass. This spring I handled a physical challenge poorly and, despite nominal success, it handed me my shattered spirit on a platter. I succeeded but at a high cost.

This recent event was a vastly less physical and far more mental challenge. I “leveled up” without drama or injury. Yay! Then, in keeping with my own admonition to myself, I went on a walkabout. Here’s my quote from several months ago:

If you’re going to push it, prepare an end game.

That’s precisely what I did. Before doing my thing and especially after I spent an appropriate time sipping coffee by the campfire. Nothing is quite so recuperative as sitting by a campfire. Also, since this was a purely personal goal, I had a bit more control. I altered plans and schedules as needed; which is right and proper. In fact, there’s “push it” in a positive sense and “push it” in a negative sense. The English language has words for both; “distress” and “eustress“. It says a lot about our culture that we all know the word distress but even my spell check can’t figure out eustress. It’s a shame! The two sides make the whole. We shouldn’t have allowed ourselves to lose eustress. Regardless, I endeavor to wisely discriminate between them. This time, thankfully, I got it right!

I accomplished what I set out to do. It took well over a year to get to this particular goal. But I handled it properly. I was fully prepared so that I could walk up to my personal goal, take a good look at the metaphysical finish line, and stride across that motherfucker like I own the world. Chalk up a happy moment for the Curmudgeon!

When I was sure of what I’d done, I quickly sat down and chilled by the campfire. Others have done far greater things than I. My little “hobbies” are of small import. Etcetera.  No need to let the Gods sense my hubris and squash me like a bug. It’s a complex balancing act to allow yourself earned pride without opening to door to hubris. I may never be wise enough to invariably thread that needle. I try. I hope this post doesn’t indicate my immaturity.

At any rate, I’m still taking “time off” from my blog. It may be a few more days before I get back into the groove. In the meantime, if you’re pursuing your own goals, I’ll hoist a brew in your honor. Good luck folks.

A.C.

*This may change in time. It depends on if I get motivated to write it up.

My last post mentioned “digital bugout”. Then I went to radio silence for a week. There’s no correlation.

The weather’s nice. I’ve gone on a walkabout. I’ll be back when I get back.

I should elaborate about my last post. It’s rude to crap on a dude who got hosed by a media platform without describing a reasonable alternative:

First of all, unless you’re radioactive it’s not necessary to build an elaborate offshore cyberbunker (unless that’s your desire). I’m not an island. I voluntarily interact with “platforms”. I’ll do so until I stop. That’s the hard part. You need to stop when you know you ought to. That’s very hard.

Here’s some of the “partners” I work with: Patreon (thanks supporters), Amazon (thanks for using my links), and PayPal (thanks donaters). Patreon and PayPal (and surprisingly WordPress) have all been good faith partners. Amazon has been “fair” (for some definition of fair) so I can live with ’em. YouTube was annoying so I decided to stick with text instead of video. F***book is a machine-gun blast of privacy violating anal probes so I avoid that 500 pound gorilla. I dislike the character limits of Twitter because it turns us away from nuanced thought and toward bludgeoning each other.

But that’s all logistics, what really matters is my readers. You good folks have tossed enough money to keep me floating even though you could have it all for free if you want. If extortion is the game… I suck at it. Also, thanks!

That’s the big point; readers matter but platforms don’t. Each and every platform (and pretty much any organization that wasn’t explicitly designed otherwise) should be viewed as present or future hazard. They all have a hard on for screwing non-left folks. Patreon is a shoe I wait to drop. It’s meant for street jugglers in Seattle and not rural creative writing squirrel nuts. They haven’t gotten around to censoring me… yet. So I haven’t run from them… yet. My time may come.

This isn’t new. “The man” has been this way since I was a wee lad. My school teachers were to the left of Trotsky and many of my subsequent college profs. For Americans, this is common. “The man” has been to one degree or another biased against the right side of thought (as opposed to left) from birth for many of us. “The man” has no problems with censorship. Media platforms are only a small part of interacting with “the man”. That’s the world as it is, not as we’d wish it.

Since “the man” is biased, every platform has the innate inclination to become censorious shitweasels. It takes humility to stay out of the “deciding which speech is allowed” game. Shitweasels lack humility.

I’m not complaining. It’s simply the worlds as it is. Dominoes have fallen for decades. Have you read a news magazine lately? A newspaper? Watched TV news for information? Of course not. They’re all hollowed out. Each subsequent editorial decision was as dumb as the last. They dutifully marched the golden incremental path to a Utopian circle-jerk of bubble dwelling hive minded like-thinkers. In the short term they got a thrill up their leg. In the long term, they’ll eventually virtue signal themselves broke. Get woke, go broke! When they’ve become a unified lite beer of milquetoast sameness, some of the audience realizes Star Wars sucks, nobody likes MySpace, and the news is shit. They move to a new communication realm. The rest stay put and tune in for Ow My Balls. Such is the eternal cycle of stupid.

Personally, I figure the way to handle things is to recognize it’s a cycle and get along with platforms so long as they’re on the correct phase of the cycle. Cooperate with good faith partners, but tarry not a minute after they turn. The instant they start jerking me around it’s time to pull the rip cord. If they “Shadowban” me (or whatever corporate euphemism du jour for “censor the Deplorables” is in play) and I’m taking my ball and going home.

Poof!

This is utterly unlike Mr. Molyneux. He wound up posting on YouTube about a pissing match with YouTube.

That’s just weird.

They punched him in the face and they hold all the cards. The post after the punch should be “my new location is www.fucktheseguys.com”. Walk away proud. Why give any platform the keys to your ego? It’s fitting your nuts into their vice like trained human livestock.

With that simple attitude, frumpy nitpickers in the social justice department of Global Oligarchs Inc. can’t hit me too deeply. They can be a hassle, temporarily hide my words, or distract. “Oh look, something shiny. Over there. Not here. This place is lame and icky so it’s dropped off the search list. Over there is cool. Go there.” That’s not as bad as “I just lost 12 years of my hard work”.

At worst, you might someday have to look around a bit more to find me. If humorless dicks rule a platform I use, and I’m too spirited to dance like their pet monkey, then I’ll be harder to find. But I won’t be gone. It probably won’t be a big deal. Looking for that which is hidden is what you’re doing right now. You’ve got (probably) 200 channels of professionally produced full motion sound and color shit on the TV piped 24/7 into your home and yet you’ve chosen to read random multi-part rambling essays by some freak who raised a butterfly in a jar. That wasn’t Viacom’s plan for global domination. Way to go rebel! Also, thanks for joining me!

I’ll always write (and I still have squirrel stories to continue) but I do so because it makes me happy and I think it makes my readers happy. No platform can deeply alter that. (Even the wonderful shot of joy I get from PayPal donations, Patreon subscriptions, and Amazon purchases is platform independent. The day one of them pisses me off is the day I announce I’ve cancelled them and started a bourbon based GoFundMe alternative called “GetMeWasted”.) The alternate would leave me clinging to someone else’s sinking ship as the internet goes full-retard.

I don’t know when (or even if) it’ll happen, but I’m always ready to electronically bug out. Either I’ll find an alternative platform or I’ll make one myself. If that doesn’t work I’ll say fuck it and go fishing. The thing to avoid is complaining that 12 years as YouTube’s sharecropper just wasn’t enough servitude and groveling to be let back on their plantation.

As always, your mileage may vary, I’m not a lawyer and this is not legal advice, ask your doctor if freedom is right for you, and all advice causes cancer in the State of California.

A.C.