“If I had six hours to chop down a tree, I’d spend the first four sharpening the axe.”
Abraham Lincoln
I was rushing to get some more wood cut before the sun went down when I jammed my chain into the dirt. You know the drill…shower of sparks and now the chain is duller than dishwater. It couldn’t cut butter now. Ah well, I was going to call it a day in a few minutes anyway.
Hat tip to Small Dead Animals.
I’m on my screened porch sipping coffee and enjoying the weather. There isn’t a soul for miles, no traffic noise, someone’s rooster is crowing about a half mile off (we shot our rooster….long story). The sky is brilliant blue and the air is sweet. A single crow is cawing in the field and there’s an owl hooting from one of the oaks. Our chickens are pecking contentedly at the unmowed lawn. This is the good life. Urban dwellers can get pizza delivered. I’ve got nature.
Not two feet from me a hummingbird feeder is hanging from a cord. There are also patches of flowers and an ancient rose bush…all in bloom. There’s a screen between me and the feeder. It’s a good thing too…
…because the humming birds are having a full fledged aerial combat showdown. At least four and possibly more are going at it like Snoopy and the Red Baron. There will be a brief period of peace. Less than a minute. Then all hell will break loose.
A hummingbird will make a run at the feeder. This will cause a couple others to dive in from nowhere chattering what I assume to be death threats and songs of havoc in hummingbird language. They’ll bully the intruder away only to find a different party has slipped past the radar and is Bogarting the nectar. They’ll charge at the one on the feeder and he’ll charge right back at ’em. “Oh yeah! You and who’s army!” Which will send opposing forces into disarray. He’ll turn back to the feeder only to find his perch has been taken. While he hovers, planning his attack, a couple more will circle behind him to come up from underneath and chase him back to the trees.
Meanwhile someone else is making another run at the feeder, a couple others will drop out of the sky to fend him off, another one will slip in behind the defenders…and it starts all over again.
I like humming birds. They’re cool little guys. I love the precision of their flight. I love their energetic manner. On the other hand they engage in constant war. The only reason it’s amusing is because they’re two inches long and don’t actually kill each other. If they were the size of crows and battled so incessantly I’d have to take down the feeder and disperse the party.
Everyone else is inside watching TV. TV sucks! I prefer Mother Nature’s dogfight demonstration.
Update: Holly shit! There’s more than I thought. I knew there seemed to be a constant supply of fueled aerial fighters ready to join the action but I’d never seen more than four simultaneously. I don’t know how long each one would sit out in the trees between jousting runs? I surely had more than four but how many? Just now six were going at it in a swarming, chriping, fluttering, clashing (yes they collide!) battle that improbably fit in about 3 cubic feet of space…constantly swirling with activity. Even the cats couldn’t follow the action.
I still don’t know how many reinforcements are watching from the trees but it must be several more. Castle Curmudgeon is rich in hummingbirds if not in cash. I think I need to get another feeder.
It was a sunny day and all was right with the world. I was trailering my wood splitter to a pile of cut aspen. Nothing makes my heart soar like “recreational logging” (and adding to my winter fire wood supply).
My truck was loaded with chainsaws, axes, and other implements of destruction. The window was rolled down and the air was fragrant. My gas tank was nearly empty…not that it’s a relevant detail. My treasured camouflage baseball cap was screwed on my head. The sky was brilliant blue. Nothing was going to rain on my parade.
I was singing loudly, off key, and with gusto. My tinny OEM stereo was blaring Queen’s most excellent song; “Fat Bottomed Girls“. Karaoke machines all over the world threatened to commit suicide as I screamed out lyrics like:
"Hey I was just a skinny lad Never knew no good from bad But I knew life before I left my nursery - huh Left alone with big fat Fanny She was such a naughty nanny Heap big woman you made a bad boy out of me Hey hey! Wooh"
Deep!
The song ended in a flurry of guitar power chords. Freddy Mercury’s amazing voice sadly faded out. It was replaced with the pandering blather of idiots pitching car sales and specials on roofing materials. Reluctantly I switched stations. Bad move!
Some flake on Public Radio (is the “flake” part redundant?) was ranting about how rural America is backwards and mean spirited. The gist was that rural losers are in cahoots with nasty evil Republicans to perpetuate a gay-bashing homophobic culture.
Really?
Don’t I count? For all the world I have the outward appearance of a rural loser. Chickens graze on my lawn. I hunt deer. I think a baseball cap and denim jeans is suitable attire for anything short of meeting the Pope. Urbane sophistication vanishes in my presence. I’m the type of knuckle dragging redneck who might cling to guns and religion. So from the announcer’s point of view I’m precisely the kind of retrograde dickhead that spends my spare time time hating gays and shaking pitchforks at the city limits to Los Angeles and New York.
And yet I’m nothing like the negative image the woman was painting. Frankly her homophobic nightmare exists more in theory than reality. I haven’t got a problem with homosexuality. None of the other redneck losers I know do either. (We’re far more invested in the great Ford versus Chevy debate.) I’ve hung out with rural folks all across America; in sawmills, on ranches, in truck stops, in gun shops, in junkyards, in private homes and in public: homophobia is pretty much ancient news. It’s about as relevant as poodle skirts and jokes with Nixon as a punchline.
I wondered where the woman got her ideas about the world? Does she actually know any rural folks? Then I realized I’d just finished singing along with a dead bisexual British rocker who’s band name is synonymous with gay. I’d shouted song lyrics which reminisce about a morally questionable, possibly pedophilic, sexual relationship with an obese female caregiver. (And I’d sung it loud. Hey hey! Wooh.) The song had been played on a generic FM station in flyover country. The song has been played that way since it was a hit in 1978. 1978 is 33 years ago…it’s hardly cutting edge. All that time I’ve been singing along with Queen while publicly funded radio stations insist on talking down to me.
Luckily I soon arrived at my destination. I fired up my gear and worked like a dog for several hours. On the way back home I carefully avoided public radio’s buzz kill. Instead I cranked the rock and roll and happily sang along with a favorite violent anthem of mayhem. I’ve always liked Elton John’s “Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting“. Good thing I’m not homophobic or I’d die every time a good song came on.
This is what happened to a clutch mounting bolt.
This is what hell looks like.
This is what I have to say about it.
People ask me why it takes me so darned long to fix a tractor…
…and I tell them it’s because January is so darned cold.
Behold the future! Carbon neutral, decentralized production of locally sourced solid fuel.
I was still confused about how the Tea Party got compared to Hobbits. So read the original source:
The idea seems to be that if the House GOP refuses to raise the debt ceiling, a default crisis or gradual government shutdown will ensue, and the public will turn en masse against . . . Barack Obama. The Republican House that failed to raise the debt ceiling would somehow escape all blame. Then Democrats would have no choice but to pass a balanced-budget amendment and reform entitlements, and the tea-party Hobbits could return to Middle Earth having defeated Mordor.
Lots of Machiavellian scheming. The whole article is like that. Misdirection and blame are arranged like layers on a cake. All I was interested in was Hobbits: “…and the tea-party Hobbits could return to Middle Earth having defeated Mordor.”
Suddenly I get the comparison. It’s a good one.
Tea Party folks really are Hobbits. They have reluctantly accepted what they perceive as an onerous task and when they finish they want to go home.
Going home is key. Tea Party folks would probably stay home trimming the hedges and painting the shed. That’s where the “return from Mordor” comparison fits perfectly. Tea Partiers want to fix problems and then go home. The beltway crowd doesn’t want to fix anything and they won’t go home…ever. They have no home.
Beltway establishment members live and breathe for power. Many of them are the carefully constructed product of generations of power aggregation. They’re raised in an environment of clannish groupthink and are groomed for their purpose from birth. They were bred for it. It’s is their life’s purpose and they have no other. Some examples from the top of my head:
The inability to go home is a defect that crosses party lines. Here are examples from the other side of the spectrum:
Tea Partiers piss off every inch of both parties in the beltway. (And their pet press.) Why? Partially because the Tea Party is not merely a vehicle to attain power. The other parties exist for the aggregation of power. So they mirror the interests of their staunchest proponents; politicians who exist to rule. Tea Partiers are alien and threatening to the status quo because they can pack their bags and leave.
Tolkien’s Hobbits fought to resist power. Career politicians wallow in it. Too much power makes politicians hollow and disconnected. Lacking anything else, they cling to power until they drop dead. A defeatist mentality of emptiness. If you’re wealthy enough to retire but hold elected office until you die in old age; power has destroyed you.
Conservative Strom Thurmond and liberal Edward Kennedy are egregious examples. One died in office at age 100 after 47 years in office. The other at age 77 after 46 years in office. Virtual opposites in politics; yet they both clung to power until their dying breath. Both apparently thought the best use of their time on Earth was to win elections.
I, like normal humans, consider my day job to be work. It doesn’t define me. I’d like to retire some day. There is fishing to do. I’d like to have more time for my garden. There’s beer to drink and relaxing to do. Hopefully someday I flip off the lights at the office and go home…forever.
Hobbits didn’t want to be kings or rulers. They knew that their role in things was “temporary”. Their story was filled with temptations that they had to resist lest they gain wealth and power and lose their way. The Tea Party, in its present form, has a similar feeling of “temporary” and “while they have a task to do”. The Tea Party wants to get it done as quickly and painlessly as possible. Then they want to go home. Tea Partiers (if they are not co-opted and destroyed by one of the parties) will leave DC the instant they’ve accomplished their goals. The Tea Party crowd wants to go home. The beltway really is Mordor to them.
The comparison is a good one. Tea Party folks really are Hobbits! Certainly it’s better than being insulted as terrorists or tea baggers.
Which brings us to the brilliance of Tolkien’s story: Hobbits, humble, honest and resilient did what the greatest of wizards and bravest of warriors could not. They alone were (mostly) uncorrupted by power and strong enough to stop dangerous events. All they ever wanted to do was go home and enjoy their peace. Being compared to a Hobbit is the greatest of compliments! No wonder it was taken out of context by McCain and most of the press.
Someone told me that McCain was getting flak for comparing Tea Partiers to Hobbits. “You mean the little dudes from Tolkien?” I said. I didn’t believe it. Nothing is too silly for politics but who’s got a beef with Hobbits? Did McCain read the books?
It’s true. McCain haplessly quoted an op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal which compared Tea partiers to Hobbits. Not one of his brighter moves.
I was mystified. What’s wrong with Hobbits? I love Tolkien. His signature creation, Hobbits, are one of the greatest literary devices since the Greek Chorus. Every story needs a hero. Tolkien needed heroes too. But heroes are usually portrayed as glitzy assholes who stomp around smashing things. Testosterone soaked behemoths starting wars, slaying dragons, slaying opponents, slaying each other, and… Well that’s about it. They slay stuff (and occasionally get laid…but only after the slaying has been well and truly hammered home). Sometimes they feel bad about it (like Achilles) and sometimes they don’t (like Beowulf)…but there’s scant room for humility in the average hero. Tolkien knew that humility is among the greatest of character traits.
So Tolkien created Hobbits to be heroes grounded in humility and simplicity. Hobbits don’t like fighting. They’re capable of enlightened self-defense but would rather just avoid trouble. Hobbits aren’t princes or kings, wizards or warriors; they’re unimportant gardeners. Genius! Had Tolkien churned out a generic gore fest led by the usual sword wielding bodybuilder he’d be long forgotten by now.
Tolkien’s Hobbits are the antidote to Thor/Hercules/RoboCop. Tolkien showcased the triumph of common everyday decency, morality, and resolve. His pleasant, overfed, peaceful Hobbits enhance the story’s scale. He threw his innocent but not naïve characters into a world of epic mayhem and violence. He made them walk amid wizards, face dragons, and parley with otherworldly elves. They had to swim against the tide in a universe awash in currents of power and evil beyond anything in their simple honest little world. End result? An exceptionally good story with a unique type of hero.
How can it possibly be bad to be compared to Tolkien’s decent and honest little heroes?
This is a crankshaft…
…there are many like it, but this one is mine.
I’ve got a simple statement that needs to be chiseled in stone on the steps of every state legislature (and possibly the skull of many governors). You might want to write this down for future generations because it’s true and habitually ignored:
It is not now, nor has it ever been, the legitimate business of any branch of the United States Government to build sports arenas for the benefit of private owners.
Governments have legitimate duties; maintaining borders, negotiating treaties, defense in times of war, etc… Stadiums for private entities are not among those duties.
I know. I’ve heard it all. It’s good for the community, multiplier factor, go team, role models for children, makes the community better, blah blah blah. I don’t care.
Even if you were born with you favorite team’s name tattooed on your ass it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if your team is so awesome they can levitate the ball through the hoop using force of will. I don’t care if they cure cancer at halftime. I don’t care if the new stadium shits a truckload of solid gold for the treasury.
Profitability doesn’t make wrong into right. Popularity does not make wrong into right. Using the force of government to build a toy for a private franchise owner is immoral, it’s wrong, and it’s not the proper role of the government.
If you want an arena, build one. You can build it any time you can afford it. That’s freedom.
If you can’t afford it, band together with other folks and form an organization called a business, sell stock or your soul or whatever you need to and invest in the construction. Sell tickets and get filthy stinking rich. That’s capitalism.
If you can’t afford to pay for it you can’t own it. If a business can’t afford to pay for it they can’t own it. That’s life.
