Adaptive Curmudgeon

Also read this.

This was all baked into the cake back in March 2020 when governors started deciding if restaurants could be open and how workplaces would operate. It was unavoidable from that moment. It took a while for the effects to become obvious but they were present instantly. It will get more obvious with time. Furthermore, none of this will resolve until the government takes its hands off the wheel and there’s not the slightest hint they’ve got the intelligence or humility to do so.

Get used to it.

Update: The whole point of the video is that immensely complex endeavors “self organize” among free and economically interested people planet wide and that no single person can understand or control it all. President Potato lacks the humility to allow a system to operate on its own. So, he ordered the docks in California to work harder, like any clueless boss would do.

Every employee has at least once watched a boss wade into a complex situation, bitch at the people in the vicinity to work harder, and then run away with the smug condescending air of someone who has no clue how anything gets done but feels like they control it all. Admit it, you’ve seen this in just about every workplace you’ve experienced.  Every shitty boss in creation thinks bitching at employees will make the whole system more productive. After all, pouring over spreadsheets and figuring out to invest more in forklift maintenance or whatever would require a lot more effort… so bitching at employees is the default.

Predictably, Biden’s simple obvious solution sounded great and did no good at all. Things have gotten worse. Anyone who has thought about a simple pencil already knew that would be the result.

menticide (n): the systematic effort to undermine and destroy a person’s values and beliefs, as by the use of prolonged interrogation, drugs, torture, etc., and to induce radically different ideas.

Yesterday I wandered in the weeds. I added a spare paragraph to a perfectly adequate post. I don’t know why I added it. We already know it’s true. Why bother to state the obvious?

…Unless you’re Amish, you don’t have a society free of propaganda in which to take refuge. You’ll be surrounded by people in the thrall of electronic “media” and they’re hooked deeply. They’re junkies. They can’t quit.

The addiction merits attention. It must be addressed. It cannot be endured or ignored. Because our world is awash in propaganda, we need to attend to our mental health. It’s vital we withdraw from the avalanche of lies to the extent we can; at a minimum one must periodically come up for air and become reacquainted with reality. Few know such an option exists. Even fewer try it. Compared to just a few years ago, possibly even compared to Soviet Russia, propaganda has reached vast proportions.

Z-Man fleshed out the concept better than I have:

Whether by design or by accident, mass media is a form of menticide, a systematic destruction of the conscious mind of the people. Instead of the quiet predictability of familiar routines, the modern mind is a riot of chaos, doubt, and outrage. The natural human desire to live a peaceful life is drowned out by a riot in the head, triggered by the constant stream of insanity from the mass media.

Menticide. Precisely.

One thing menticide robs from us is connection. I’m as much a loner as anyone and yet even I seek connection with my fellow human. This is almost impossible now. Two people cannot connect unless both are free of the spell.

When you talk to a person steeped in mass media you are not connecting with that person at all. Whatever unique personality might have been there is submerged. Layers of training defend it against true interaction. If they’re a lefty, they’ll quote from the many media sources that instruct them on what to say. If they’re the opposite, they’ll still tell you a narrative. It’ll be what they heard on Gab or a meme they liked or some scrap from whatever slivers of media the censored Deplorables can unearth.

When I try to mention some thought I had that doesn’t come from “approved sources”, it’s literally unintelligible. Perhaps an idea is digested from my imperfect reading of history, or arrived at from personal experience, or even through some revelatory thought while hunting grouse. If it didn’t originate on a screen, it goes nowhere. My idea might be dumb or wise, but it’s not evaluated. Because it’s unique, it won’t be considered. It can’t be considered. The programmed follow a pattern. An idea that breaks the pattern doesn’t exist.

When a nerd like me says “you know, Marcus Aurelius had some ideas about…” or “when I was hunting I thought…” or “this one time in band camp I did this thing…” it’s doomed. Ideas from the media are evaluated in light of the media by avatars of the media. I might as well talk to my woodsplitter.

Most concepts cannot be communicated in any depth greater than Crimethink.

What to do? Z-Man offers the same prescription I offer:

…those who seek to survive it will need to find a way to silence the riot of the modern mind. Ironically, that means going back to where it started and taking a page from the cultural radicals. To quiet the mind, to break free of the narcotic of media menticide, it means you must turn off, tune out, and drop out.

This doesn’t mean you’ve got to go Amish and spend your days plowing potato hills behind a Percheron. But it does acknowledge that’s one way to go. The Amish, who live in close proximity to madness, have not themselves gone mad. (If they’d open a sanatorium for us overwrought English I’d gladly pay.)

A personal note: My temporary salve in 2021 was camping (sometimes with my little motorcycle parked next to my tent and sometimes with a homemade sailboat beached nearby). It was good clean fun. I basked in the timeless simple joy of it all.

I hadn’t realized it, but I’ve become dependent. As 2020 (now entering it’s 23rd month) lumbered forward, each new week brings more manufactured chaos into my world. My banked and stored “chill” is dangerously depleted. In a world gone mad, I crave nights lying in a sleeping bag, listening to owls and voices on the wind, with a thirst bordering on desperation.

I shouldn’t have painted myself into a corner. It’s better to have many outlets instead of one. But it happened and the next step is up to me. Logistics is now an enemy. Winter is nigh and camping in winter is less fun than it once was. (I used to love winter camping. I would love to do it again. However, sleeping on the ground in a snowdrift is from a time I have passed. Age is not a curse, but it will not be denied.)

I was idly pondering the acquisition of a hot tent. I hadn’t made the buy. I failed to act with proper dispatch. While I considered an expensive “luxury”, President Potato yanked the rug out from under me. He decided to actively undercut my income; because of course no life is too remote or unimportant to evade the Governmental edict. The Eye of Sauron sees all and have opinions on everything. Captain Droolcup has put my job on the chopping block of his Utopian world of mandatory medicine. He may succeed or he may not. I’m too chicken to risk unnecessary expense until I know.

The snow is not deep. I think I’ll try a week of day hikes and low key hunting. I may lack a suitable tent but I have boots. We’ll see if that calms the soul.

In the meantime, take care of yourself. Keep the media at bay. Do it for your own health. Don’t give up. 2020 isn’t done with us but there’s hope. Recreational panic is wearing thin in the zeitgeist. In the long run, we may emerge sane.

If you learn nothing else from 2020 (a year which is now 23 months long) it’s this:

Propaganda works on you even if you know it’s propaganda.

We’ve all experienced it. You spend all day in a world where the sky is blue and gravity points down. Everything seems normal.

Then the folks in power squat over your house and dump propaganda through electronic devices* into your mind. It’s a brutal assault!

Some pinhead on TV says that virtually every voter in creation wants free shit from the government and they’ll burn their own neighborhood to get it. You’re reminded that this is a good thing. Your vote is important, unless you vote wrong, in which case it’s bad. Morality is outdated. God is dead. Earning things is bad. Having them granted to you is good.

Ads feature lesbian plumbers, black fly fishermen, and everyone who doesn’t buy a particular product is racist. Subarus are made of love and electric cars run on magic. Every corporation loves you. Every fictional CEO is a white male amoral monster. Every actual CEO wants to fix your bad mentality. The former spends his spare time tying widows to train tracks and and the latter is saving dolphins from climate change. Politicians accused of sexually assaulting empowered women who are completely helpless is sorted based on party. Believe all women, unless they accuse a Clinton.

Your sports team is taking a knee for… you have no idea. Their name is racist, millionaire players are victims, and they play in a stadium named by a corporation that’s morally superior to you.

The president announces a huge infrastructure bill is “free”. The “press” nods in agreement like they actually believe it. If you like your doctor you can keep your doctor. Enjoy your $2100 savings.

Facebook labels any doubt about any pronouncement by any bureaucracy “misinformation”. Nobody’s fat on Instagram.

Your kid’s homework would make RuPaul queasy. You examine closely and realize your kid’s teacher is nearly illiterate. Any kid that takes this shit seriously is going to become a basket case and your kid will be there for 13 years. You start to panic and you’re called a domestic terrorist because you questioned the numbskull education majors that march in great herds.

Arson is peaceful protest. Speech you might agree with is violence. Violence against someone like you is free speech.

“News” tells you that inflation doesn’t exist, store shelves are not empty, the climate is affected by tax policy, a zillion illegal immigrants is going to improve your life, and worrying about your winter heating bill means you hate nature.

You’re told that printing unlimited money is just fine. You’re told that parking a $60,000 car in front of a $400,000 house is completely normal. You’re told that it’s completely normal that you’ve financed them all.

Then… the clock ticks and it’s minute two.

It’s relentless. It never ends. Each glimmer of truth comes with a truckload of lies.

The whole situation was designed. It serves a purpose. It’s targeted and delivered by the truckload. Lies this pervasive and endless are almost irresistible. They percolate through the most armored mind and take root in a weary soul.

Soon you feel despondent. Everything is hopeless. This is the new normal. It’ll never get better. You’ve become demoralized… as was intended.

The miasma of failure is a dense fog. It interferes with your thinking. From within, you cannot navigate out. As was also intended.

The best solution to this is a great big laugh. It’s all ridiculous. Quit taking any of it seriously because not a damn part is true or real. Once you step out of the onslaught you see how dumb it is. Under the earth’s true sun, you see the horizon again. Up is once again up. Down is once again down. Anytime you laugh it breaks the spell.

The defeat for evil is not hate… it is mockery.

The thing bullies and tyrants fear most is being made fun of. They don’t fear war, famine, and death… they fear being ridiculed. They fear it because it exposes them as what they are… empty failures.

Which brings me to this:

“I must admit it. I must come clean. I try turning myself over to the better angels of my nature, but I don’t know if they will have any luck, because I am 100%, prime time, on board the “Let’s Go Brandon!” bandwagon.”

When I’m feeling down, nothing warms my heart more than a good loud round of Fuck You Biden (or the PG version, Lets Go Brandon). That’s not the sound of crass misery, it’s the sound of American Citizens acting with the irreverence and spirit that marks a free people. Humor, as much as guns and laws, is what made our nation free. Without it, we are already in chains.

The power of humor to defeat asinine bastards is as old as time. Remember this?

I’ll also point you to one of my favorite blogs, The Ultimate Answer To Kings:

“It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.

The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.”

Also, I’m working on my contribution to humor. I’m 3/4 of the way through a book. It’s a combination satirical allegory and my unified field theory of the most powerful force in the universe: bullshit. Feel free to read the as yet unfinished but definitely not forgotten Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels.

Whenever modern politics gets you down, just chuckle and say “Let’s Go Brandon”.

A.C.

*While 99% of propaganda is delivered by electronic devices, it’s harder to dodge them than you think. I will go days and weeks without media or internet only to get nuked by society the instant I make contact. Unless you’re Amish, you don’t have a society free of propaganda in which to take refuge. You’ll be surrounded by people in the thrall of electronic “media” and they’re hooked deeply. They’re junkies. They can’t quit. When a junkie meets a person who’s “clean” (like yours truly at times) they are programmed to download everything… and they will… instantly! They literally cannot help themselves. If there’s a popular show they’ll turn into a Meat Tivo and tell you the plot… as if you somehow don’t have the ability to watch TV if you want. They’ll repeat CNN talking points or what they heard on NPR as if it’s vitally important you know the same bullshit that was crammed onto their tiny little hard drive. This isn’t by accident and it’s very distinctive behavior. One example; I could not avoid listening to a dozen recounts of “Game Of Thrones” from HBO. I don’t have HBO and I didn’t want some yo-yo’s rendition. I’d read the fucking books. It didn’t help. I couldn’t stop them. They couldn’t stop themselves.

(P.S. This post’s title is in honor of the American Revolutionary War’s Continental Navy captain John Paul Jones. During a pitched sea battle, he was taunted by British Captain Richard Pearson. Pearson asked “Has your ship struck?” Jones replied “I have not yet begun to fight!” As banter goes I’ll give that 3 out of 4 Klingons, an honorary Churchill cigar, and a Viking seal of approval. Within 12 hours, after a desperate battle, Pearson surrendered. Jones took Pearson’s ship. This is fortunate because the American’s ship was mortally wounded and sunk before it could be repaired.)

The Forty-Five has an interesting observation:

”I have learned silence because I have come to accept the twin facts that I have no power to change a person’s mind and that events are much farther along the path than what people believe them to be.”

I too have had such a change in my demeanor. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one. I’m not perfect. I fail to keep quiet at times (I’m a blogger after all) but I’ve generally intended to do so.

For example, earlier eras on my blog included discussion of economic issues which interested me. Now, years later, I see vignettes of brewing coffee by a campfire as more “important”. Why? Because the die is cast. The choice is in the rear view mirror and all that’s left is to adapt to the inevitable effects. If adaptation takes the form of a grouse hunt or campfire coffee who is to say that’s the incorrect path?

Thus, it’s the second part of Forty-Five’s observation that resonates with me. There was a time when this or that policy threatened bad outcomes. That time is over. The policy has been done. What “might” result from unwise potential choices now “must” result from unwise concrete actions.

There’s no point bemoaning the inevitable, unavoidable, obvious,  clear, deserved results at hand. Faffing about in 2021 that shortages or inflation “might” be an “unexpected” occurrence is just displaying one’s deliberate (and often feigned) ignorance. Folks that somehow missed the cause are either unreceptive to a discussion about causes or absolutely livid at the suggestion we make our own fate.

Shortages and whatnot were more or less intentionally created. They’re already in evidence. Why discuss it with folks that are still trying to deny that which they created?

That is not to say we’re all doomed. Only that it’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Do the right thing for your soul and those you love, even if the world burns. I hope to emphasize camping and squirrel stories in the future. It seems so much saner than emulating CNN or Facebook as they fret over newly discovered reasons why shelves are “unexpectedly” empty.

Cliffs Notes Version: Hollywood Didn’t Fuck Up: The new Dune movie is good. I know! I’m as surprised at you! I didn’t expect anything good from the wretched hive of scum and villainy (or woke and stupid) that Hollywood has become.

Somehow a miracle happened. Hollywood pulled it’s head out of its ass! It managed to make a movie that wasn’t stupid, trite, preachy, woke, repetitive, or retarded. Honestly, I’m shocked. I’d resigned myself to never seeing decent movies as an art form ever again. Dune rekindled a bit of hope. It’s the first Hollywood production in years that didn’t leave me feeling intellectually insulted and almost violated in it’s failure to deliver.

It’s a good movie. It’s actually a great movie. It’s art. It was nice to see art again!

Slightly Longer Version: The Source Material Is Superlative: Frank Herbert’s Dune is one of my favorite books. It’s excellent! I read the book back when normal people (or at least nerds like me) read books. This summer, I read it again. It had all the magic it had before. A timeless book, well written, by an author who knew his craft.

Dune is so good that it would never get published in our current dipshit world. In case you haven’t noticed, science fiction went full retard decades ago. Censored, trite, woke, groupthink held the entire genre underwater until it stopped kicking. Then it took a shit on the corpse. All that remains is stupid derivative insulting shit. Even as I reflect on the spectacular success that is this new movie, I see that its excellence is because it closely followed a book written in 1965. That’s 56 years ago! Are there equally excellent books in 2021? NO!

Like all good books, it’s a better book than a movie… and always will be. Why? Because books are better than movies. You may have a different opinion. If so, you’re wrong.

If you haven’t read the book, drop what you’re doing and read it. Yes, read. It won’t hurt you. It might do you some good. As the wise man said, “Read a book, read a book, read a  motherfucking book!”

Here’s the link to the book. >>>READ THIS BOOK<<< (Amazon requires me to point out that I get a haypenny if you buy from the link. They might think my link to a 56 year old book is part of my clever plan for massive financial gain through duplicity? Now that  you’ve been informed of my fiscal biases, you can evaluate if I’m recommending it as a great book or because I’m a shitty marketer.)

Warning: Dune is meant for intelligent people. It has world building that’s epic and thoughtful. It has great arcs of time and space. It has character development. It grapples with everything from the nature of God to predestination. It’s more nuanced than “Fifty Shades of Harry Potter’s Hunger Games” or whatever other drivel publishers are currently excreting from their nether regions onto the virtual page.

Buy the book. Sit in a comfy chair. Read.

Some Minor Commentary About The Movie: Movie criticism is not my gig and I’m deliberately avoiding spoilers for those unfortunate souls who haven’t read the book (losers!). I’ll just mention a few things:

1. It’s slow: Not slow as in plodding but slow as in proper depth for a true work of art. It’s meant to be watched by thoughtful adults. It’s going to be a hill to climb for generations who’ve been warped into chimps with the attention span of a gnat. The main characters ponder their fate, they stare off into the gorgeous landscape, the plot is given time to unfold. It’s wonderful! It’s not a 90 minute “twits in tights” superhero retread. Adjust your expectations to bask in a movie that takes its time. (As a practical note, if you see it in the theaters, don’t drink a kidney buster extra large soda in the first few minutes.)
2. It demonstrates why CGI exists: I’m sick of special effects made for the purpose of making special effects. If I wanted to see a video game, I’d get a video game. It’s refreshing to see a movie that uses effects to enhance storytelling and not cover up the lack of plot.
3. You should have read the book but if you didn’t it’s OK: If you read the book, you’ll better appreciate the movie. However, the movie is perfectly understandable to a person who didn’t read the book. I’m impressed they managed that. One of many failings of the Lynch Dune movie of 1984 is that David Lynch tried to cover too much. I liked it well enough but viewers of the ignorant and sad variety who hadn’t read the source material (losers!) were completely baffled. They probably focused on Sting prancing around like a skinny gay weirdo and dismissed the rest. The modern effort benefits from years of Hollywood generating “series”. They took half the book and ditched it. Lynch didn’t have that option. Thus, the new movie has time to properly explore the first half rather than a race to check all the boxes in a very deep plot.
4. It just ends: The book is huge. It covers massive arcs or time, plot, worldbuilding, and thoughtfully staring at sand wondering what it all means. One movie to cover it all would be either abridged or confusing. (Sorry Lynch, you tried.) There’s no perfect place to stop, so they did their best. It’s fine. It couldn’t go on forever and I like where they stopped. It’s a bit jarring if you thought need a conclusion that wraps it all up with a bow. I like it. Life doesn’t wrap up with a bow either. Well done!
5. The soyboy did well: Paul Atreides is a young man still developing his skills but also a Duke’s son and a Bene Gesserit genetic timebomb. Destined, trained, and literally bred for a vicious society, he is an spiritual, physical, and mental warrior. Paul is written as if he can beat you at chess while sliding a knife in your back. He can kick your ass in a fight using the Weirding Way or simply because he was raised for a world where the son of a Duke may be assassinated on any given Tuesday. He can pilot a craft, manipulate minds, probe the future, and fight like a spell casting death machine. The plot foreshadows his ultimate fate as the Kwisatz Haderach; tragically destined to unleash war upon all living things. For this mighty role, they cast Timothée Hal Chalamet. Chalamet looks as imposing as a newborn kitten. I’ve taken shits that look tougher than that boy! I expected the worst. However, Mr. Chalamet somehow pulled it off. It had to be acting because it sure wasn’t physical presence. Well done sir! (Note: The movie doesn’t mention Paul’s Mentat abilities. A wise choice as it was unnecessary to the story in this form.)
6. Chani was miscast but didn’t ruin the movie: Keep a muzzle on her! Chani Kynes is supposed to be a fully realized Fremen; a night stalking, worm riding, desert dwelling, killer nomad. She’s meant to be so awesome that she can be the future concubine of the Kwisatz Haderach. For this weighty role, they cast some dipshit called Zendaya. Zendaya has one name; like Cher, or Oprah, or dogshit. She’s beautiful and can stare with smoky intensity… which is all she seems capable of doing. Thank God, they only gave her a few lines! Because she did so little, she was adequate. When they make Part 2, they need to hire a team of acting coaches and outfit Zendaya with a shock collar set on electrocute. By keeping keeping her screen time more on the level of a model than an actor, they kept the movie solid. For Part 2, they’ll have to stick with it. Zendaya won’t level up in screen presence. If they give her too much work she’s going to be a trash can painted in the background of the Mona Lisa.
7. Big screen? Meh: Everyone says “watch it on the big screen to experience the full glory”. I think they’re repeating an old wisdom that has faded. It made sense when people were trying to watch Laurence of Arabia on a 15″ RCA with color washout. Times have changed. Your household TV is better than what a millionaire would have in 1980. Also, you can pause to take a leak if you were dumb enough to drink a big gulp in the opening credits.
8. The score was excellent: It was weird and gorgeous. I have no idea who did the music but they went all out. It’s like they bred a bagpipe with a Theremin, fed an opera singer some LSD, and then dropped them both out of a plane. They probably recorded the whole thing backwards and underwater. It was eerie when it needed to be eerie, resplendent when it need to be resplendent, and imposing when it needed to smack the visuals down a bit. Perfect!
9. I have nothing more to say: Stop reading my dumb blog and go watch it. Also, READ THE BOOK!

Filthie (who I read every day and you should too) recently mentioned his desire for a coffee percolator. This is one of my favorite topics! I’m sick of bullshit and pearl clutching Covid ninnies, so I decided to riff off of Filthie’s coffee meanderings. I hope he doesn’t mind.

I have a percolator so my life is complete. You can have one too. Here’s the Curmudgeon way to find your coffee happy place.

Step 1: Completely abandon society.

Just say “fuck it”. Take a good look at every dumb thing out there and mutter “not my circus, not my monkeys”.

Then fire up whatever vehicle you’ve got and go to where you need to be. Trucks, motorcycles, ATVs, horses, snowmobiles, reindeer, hovercraft, boats, canoes, and teleportation are all reasonable ways to get there. Walk if you have to.

It’s a proven fact. Coffee tastes better while camping.

Step 2: Gather wood.

This is recreation coffee! This is not “slurp it on your way to the rat race” coffee. Therefore, it must be heated on something that puts soot on the percolator. That means “no propane, no electricity”. Say it with the tone Leon uses to say “no women, no kids.”

Ideally, use a Sequoia you felled with a stone axe. In the interest of reasonableness we must allow exceptions. If I’m in a State Park, I use pallet wood. I always carry a trash can of pallet wood in my truck. I’m that classy!

Step 3: Light (and contain!) a fire.

Ideally you’d make a 6′ diameter bonfire surrounded by a self built mini-Stonehenge. However, campgrounds frown on it. Also this whole summer had ridiculously high fire danger and nuking nature through carelessness is poor form.

I use and recommend a Redcamp Wood Burning Folding Camp Stove. (The cretins at Amazon require I explicitly state that I get a tiny kickback if you buy from this link. I have no idea how any human made it this far without knowing how Amazon links work but it is what it is. Yes, I get a tuppence if you buy from the link. However, it’s a product I like and recommend because I’ve used the hell out of mine and been pleased. I also promise to squander my massive theoretical profits on more campouts.)

Ideally the folding firebox got there while strapped to the front of a motorcycle. I’m a reasonable man, so a Dodge will do in a pinch.

Step 4: Spend hours relaxing.

Park your ass in nature and enjoy. Pretend that coating the percolator in soot is your calling in life. (Maybe it is!) Brew several pots of coffee. If possible, mix it with whiskey. (Skip that last step if you’re going to be sailing, hunting, trail riding, or doing advanced math in the near future.)

Here’s a photo from a campout this summer. Is that not a vision of heaven?

I wander our beautiful world. I often go alone. I don’t always follow paths. When it suits me, I make my own. Thus, I get where I’m meant to go.

When you’re alone, it’s easy to get lost. The naïve might cling to their GPS… hoping technology will save them. The more experienced are not in the forest so much as they are of the forest. One of their skills is to recognize terrain. They strive to understand the overall nature of their environment. It’s important not to get distracted by minor obstacles and focus on the big picture.

My current path is daunting. The hills are steep and the footing unclear. Everyone crowds the valley, penned into a box canyon. I scale the scree slope seeking to rise above. They leer and chant. “It’s useless. Don’t be a fool. It will never get better. Lower your expectations for this is the only option available.” It takes confidence to work your way to a new place.

If you scale a mountain, you walk alone. Fortunately, you are never truly alone. As you rise, your horizon broadens. From there you can see further than the packed sardines so far below.

From where I am I can see the future and it’s an echo of the past. As soon as I look, I recognize this terrain. I have been here before. I remember what it is like. I have walked out of this place and into better places. What I’ve done once, I can do again.

Amusingly, I see the avatar of failure that made my youth so cold and foreboding. He’s still there. He never left.

Formerly, the worst president of my lifetime.

Jimmy Baby, I never thought I’d see your homeland again. Yet that’s where we are. Drift fences slowly nudged the herd from the vote farms into the corral. They’ve branded themselves for easy identification. From there, the exits are numbered. Cattle cars are positioned for ultimate use.

Bless your heart Jimmy, you weren’t the only one who could drive a nation into the wall. We have found another. A second to renew the task. A walking source of inflation, economic stagnation, intellectual poverty, and foreign policy disaster. He lacks your soul, reeks of corruption, and yet remakes the nation just as you did. I remember the cold winters. The upcoming winter will be just as cold.

From my view, as I approach the canyon rim, I can see you and your cardigan; beckoning the masses. “Join me! Wallow in malaise and helplessness. Tie ribbons on trees and blame others for the fates each man chose for himself.” The nation is one OPEC embargo and a hostage crisis from joining you on that 55 mph slow ride to nowhere.

Meanwhile, I remember something else from that time. I’d almost forgotten it. There was resistance then too. I will now sing the song of my people:

I never mention my work on my blog. They are different and separate parts of life. They should remain separate. Work should not interfere with the personal. The personal should not interfere with work.

I did not break that rule. My employer did. So I share this with you.

Today I told my supervisor I have not gotten the vaccine and that I will not get the vaccine.

The discussion should never have happened. My employer shouldn’t have been involved in that part of my life. It isn’t their business. Personal medical decisions are between me and God.

Regardless, I did not submit.

The wheels of bureaucracy turn slow but they do turn. Today nothing happened. Tomorrow may be different. I’ve no idea if I’ll have a job by Christmas.

I’m at peace. I acted according to my morals. What better thing can a man do?

You may be in the same situation. If you’re like me, it feels like the media, every bureaucracy, and the whole world is arrayed against you. Maybe they are.

Yet there’s hope. You are not alone. You know what’s right for you.

I walked the path. You’re walking it too… or not. Millions of us are either walking our path or not walking it. Such is life.

Even if you feel all alone, you will know what you did and how it feels. If you made the right decision for yourself you will know. If you failed yourself you will know. In your heart you will always know what you did when a choice was necessary.

Take heart. There are worse fates. We may all be fine. A job is just a job.

I hope everyone does the best they can. Good luck.

In my last post I wandered all over the place. Now I’m going further afield. Please enjoy a parable from my life:

Once upon a time, through chance alone, I wound up in a big deal tournament. It wasn’t the Podunk level where I belonged. I was paired against a guy half my age, twice my size, and (this is the important part) with skills that made mine a rounding error. I was among the cannon fodder high end guys wade through before they meet in later rounds.

I was terrified! I was also doomed.

I reasoned “it’s safe” but that didn’t help. A guy from the round before was sent to the hospital. There’s degrees of safe. One of those degrees bled all over the ring.

Could I do this? I didn’t know. I just sat there, watching them mop up blood. It wasn’t much but it took forever to clean it up! It was the longest wait in my life.

My name was called.

I stood up and entered the arena…

I’m still proud of that. I entered the arena.

Life has a thousand spectators for each one that’ll step up. Everyone thinks they can enter the arena. They dream about it. They imagine it. They tell themselves they could do it if they wanted.

They can’t. If they could, they’d be there.

With the ability, comes the desire. If you can, you want to.

You’re wondering how I did? I lost.

I was always going to lose. Real life ‘aint a movie plot. The power of “main character” doesn’t defeat a superior adversary. Everyone knew I was doomed the minute I started.

Regardless, the contest was a good one. I went at him with hammer and tongs. I tried to catch his timing and went for the kill. When his footing was off, I went full howler monkey on a kick that came ever so close to a full win. Some other moves were blocked, but it was always close. Then, I got through! Past his block and landed it. Yay me! Meanwhile, his attacks came at me like a nightmare. Experienced highly skilled people are a whole different dimension of speed and power. You have to see it to believe it. Even so, I blocked just enough to stay in. I did not dominate, but I was not dominated. Eventually he got through; but it was just barely. I was still in the competition! Then, after a few more exchanges, I blocked but a half second too late. The judge called it. I’d lost. At least he’d had to work to defeat me.

It was a good experience. The second they called my name, my jitters vanished. I didn’t have fear. I had joy. I did all my skills and body could do. It took him a while to put me down.

What more could a man want? I walked in of my own free will. I fought honorably. I walked back out.

It was one of the best days of my life.

Until I did that, I simply didn’t know if I could.

If you haven’t done it, you don’t know either.

Since then, I’ve noticed something. I hear barflies and students and dumbasses and politicians talk about “fighting”. For most of them I instantly know they’re talking shit. It’s an automatic assessment. I feel it in my bones. There’s no hesitation. I know.

Maybe I used to think they had something. Now I know better. They don’t have spine. They don’t have balls. They don’t have heart. They’re not quite adults and never will be.

President Potato is exactly the kind of hollow man I’m talking about. A fifty year politician from a State nobody cares about. A life so bereft of heart that he has to tell made up stories from odd jobs as a teenager.

He’s your drunk Uncle explaining how he’d do better than the quarterback at a football game. He really imagines himself out there. He couldn’t make it to that arena. He’s not even allowed to try. Put him on the field and he’d be dead on the first play. But in his mind, he’d have thrown a better pass than the guy who’s really doing it.

Biden himself picked a fight with 80 million citizens. His whole administration teeters at the mere thought that the system might have to back up his blustering rant. Being a weak poser himself, he imagined 80 million limp noodles. Were starting to find out how wrong he was.

He’s angry and frustrated. We don’t respect him and he senses it. The guy that beat me in the tournament; I respected him. Afterwards, I bought him a beer. He bought the second round. We had a great time drinking at the bar. Neither one of us would piss on Biden if he were on fire.

Biden screwed up when he threatened people who are mostly better than him. Many know he’s talking shit. The ones that don’t are sensing it from those who do. Bluster is all he’s got. He doesn’t belong in the big chair and everyone knows it.

Biden might be the perfect representative of the giant army of mediocrity that made “before times” a reference to 2019.  Unfocused, inept, insecure, losers; they are many but they are weak. Unaccomplished desk jockeys. Paper pushing irrelevancies. Ineffectual Walter Mitty dreamers. Clueless lackeys. Window licking morons. “Revolutionaries” that have never had an original idea. Box wine guzzling harpies; faces frozen by Botox and furious to have naught but a cat for companionship.

Collectively they can destroy. There’s proof; our economy is in shambles, gas costs a fortune, and grocery stores are empty. Yet none of those losers can build back anything. Each day is their newest failure. They’ve been at it less than a year and they can barely keep the lights on.

President Corn Pop, who talked about wrapping chain around his knuckles, couldn’t handle press questions about Afghanistan. Nobody asked him to fly a helicopter or fire a rifle. He couldn’t even talk. “Stand at this podium and explain what you’re doing.” It’s a basic skill of any politician. Public Speaking 101, the elective even retards pass. It was too much for Biden. He was given a test. He blew it.

I was given a test. I passed.

That’s why I’m vaguely optimistic. Almost everyone, including President Geritol, is pushing to create violence… but they’re complete zeros. Their will to rule by iron fist feels a lot we’re like getting nibbled to death by ducks.

Biden’s a man who never stepped into the arena. He’s leading a gaggle of losers who never stepped in the arena. They can’t think the real world into submission. Nobody can. That’s why, Biden looks more like a marketing failure than the boss. He’s New Coke. A one man shambling Impossible Burger. We chant mockery at him… because we should.

What a chump. Soon (I hope) we’ll know how strongly reality reasserts itself. I’m a big fan of reality. I have no idea what’ll happen next but at least the wait is over.

A.C.

P.S. I highly recommend the speech by Teddy Roosevelt called “The Arena“. This is the section I love the most:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”