Adaptive Curmudgeon

I have taken up the hobby of hot-tenting. (A hot tent is more or less a winter specific tent with an internal wood stove.) To facilitate this new adventure I’ve ordered this* and this*. Once I overcame the stroke induced by the price tag I’ve been nothing but smiles since.

It’s gonna’ be awesome!

Like anything else I do, this isn’t for everyone. Just as my beloved TW200 dirt bike can give you a broken collar bone, overnighting in the winter can lead to:

• Spending too much money on gear.
• Figuratively freezing your ass off.
• Literally freezing your ass off.

If you are inspired by me I’m delighted. However, I implore you to go into this with open eyes. A certain personality (myself included at times) can be perfectly happy crouched under a spruce bough in a blizzard… but if you’re of that ilk you already know it. Mother nature is a harsh mistress and she’ll kill you dead if you’re poorly equipped (or mentally unaware) in true winter. I don’t want to hear about it when you are down to eight toes.

As for me, I’m working on the learning curve of new (and quite impressive gear). I’ve already slept overnight and already nature has gone batshit insane on me. Sorry but I don’t have many pictures yet. Then again I don’t have hypothermia. So far so good.

Here are some videos that explain the ridiculous objects I just purchased. Note that they’re filmed in Alaska and Siberia. Also, two of three were filmed in snow. This gear isn’t for snoozing in Florida during a mild freeze.

The first video is from Far North Bushcraft and Survival:

The next two are from Survival Russia:

*Note: Amazon gives me a small kickback if you buy something (anything!) from a link on my blog. It costs you nothing but I get beer money out of it.

Dreams are sneaky buggers. They’ll come up from behind when you least expect it. You’ll be minding your own business when WHAM; the dream is already in your mind.

It’s fuzzy at first. Undeveloped, incomplete. But the idea will grow. You’ll imagine all aspects of it. You’ll imagine all the fun times you’ll have. You’ll imagine the feeling of accomplishment, or beauty, or peace, or fellowship… whatever makes your clock tick is what you’ll imagine. This is good. A man without dreams is already dead.

You’ll try to ignore it. “I can’t do that thing right now. I’m broke. I’m tired. I’ve got to mow the lawn.” Still the idea will grow; the more spirit you have the greater the dream’s pull. Along the way a funny thing happens; the dream grows from your spirit but the spirit grows from the dream. Directed toward healthy ends, the dream is good for you.

Then comes the part where almost everyone fails. They fail to act. Actions don’t have to be grand; even the simplest step on the path is enough… just to take the step is the point. It’s when you begin to shake off life’s inertia. Fail to act, and you’ve done yourself a disservice. The brain learns your dreams are silly distractions. It stops having them. Deny yourself enough times and you’ll stop trusting your own heart. Then, five or fifty years after you’ve already died, they plant your ass in the ground.

Got your attention? Good, I take stupid dreams seriously and here’s a new one for me.

Many moons ago, as a young Curmudgeon, I loved camping in the winter. The forests were all mine. What others perceived as hassles, I experienced as adventure. As a Boy Scout I earned the Year Round Camper patch. I was proud of that. It did nothing to advance rank. I didn’t care. Ranks aren’t my motivator.

Later, as a young man, I’d drive whatever crappy vehicle I owned to nowhere in particular, wander around the frozen wood, sleep somewhere like a vagabond, and return home feeling renewed. It was pointless and I was always alone… which is to say it was deeply meaningful and I became at peace with myself.

I was limited to shitty equipment purchased on a budget of zero. The exception was my sleeping bag. I scraped and saved to buy the best damn sleeping bag I could afford. That was enough. Good boots and a top quality sleeping bag will get you pretty far. Sometimes I’d toss a cheap tarp on top of a snowdrift, plunk my sleeping bag on top, and nestle in as the bag sank into the drift. I’d pull the tarp over me, hope my nose didn’t freeze off, and sleep like a baby.

Time came and went and the distractions of life did what they do; college, and work, and broken down cars, and moving from place to place all seemed important. A job became a career, and there were kids, and marriage (to the world’s most delightful wife!). Day to day focus, took my optional winter camping trips out behind the barn and put a bullet in them. I still camped sometimes. Maybe one campout per winter at best and a lot of camping by canoe. However, a canoe (like my motorcycle) is a creature of warm months. I was generally trapped indoors until the waters thawed enough to float canoes once more.

Recently, I’ve been camping more often. I’ve enjoyed ridiculously easy “State Park” summer camping. Nothing impressive, just a base camp from which to sail my homemade boat or ride my off-road motorcycle. Those simple campouts felt like a “renaissance”. Perhaps the wisest use of my time is to sit under a tree?

All was well until two months ago.

I was sleeping in my wonderful “Supertent“* with my awesome cot*. I was on a motorcycle ride / grouse hunt trip. When I rolled out of bed, it was chilly. I shivered. It was a shot across the logistical bow!

I wound up huddling by the fire cursing at how long the coffee took to heat. It wasn’t a big deal. Within an hour I was nice and toasty. By mid afternoon it was sweatshirt (not T-shirt) weather… but I’d gotten the hint. Winter was coming.

That was to be my last campout of the year. Soon the motorcycle would be stored, unused and inert. The tent too. It was a downer in a tough month. President Potato’s vaccine mandates were worming their way into my life. All has been chaos with society for years. My off grid solo campouts had become less a luxury than a necessary line to sanity. I felt a stab of cabin fever. So soon! Before the first flake of snow I already felt trapped.

This is when the dream snuck up on me and stuck a shiv in my head.

I camped in the winter when I was young and stupid. Why not camp in the winter now that I’m old and stupid?

Why indeed?

I unpacked good memories of winter camping and examined them. I’m no longer that guy. My back aches just thinking about lying in the fucking snow. Was I tough or dumb? Perhaps both. Regardless, laying on snow is officially done for me. I like my cot!

The idea wouldn’t leave. In retrospect the idea has been growing for years. Just simmering beneath the surface.

Something about that morning a few months ago pushed it over the top. Probably because it was paired with the threat of losing my job and the friction of a society that’s slowly crawling up its own ass; the need for escape to nature seems more urgent than ever before.

Do it now!

The Universe was offering the adventure. The heart wanted it, the spirit craved it, and the body was on board so long as the cot came with the package deal. It was the moment when one makes their choice. Does one drift in a state of catatonic loss or take action knowing the attending risk, expense, and hassle?

You already know how I roll. I’ve ordered this*:

And this*:

Wish me luck. Things might get interesting!

A.C.

*Note: Amazon gives me a small kickback if you buy something (anything!) from a link on my blog. It costs you nothing but I get beer money out of it.

Some years ago I wound up idly watching Emporium Outdoors. The host and his charming dog were rambling about in a Honda Pioneer. (*Note: he has since evolved through an Argo, a tracked and untracked CanAm, and now he’s in a Jeep… the vehicle is not the journey.)

There’s so much harmless fun in seeing someone having happy little campouts in the Canadian outback. The idea took hold.

Could I regain a thing I’d lost? I’d done much camping and even more rambling about forests in earlier stages of life. All that got put on hold for certain family obligations… all men know this story. Yet here I was, emerging on the other side of my allotted time… if a dude and a dog on YouTube can ride an ATV to a campsite why couldn’t I?

This is the dream. It resides in many of us.

That’s all it takes. You simply gaze at the Universe and think “there is this thing I wish to do, how shall I act upon that idea?”

Everyone has their dream but not everyone takes the next step. A third are lazy and never try. Another third don’t get the chance; unavoidable external forces keeping the leash tight. Most of the rest let finances or inertia chain them to a couch. A few… the madmen, do it.

In this case, it was perfectly attainable. An ATV and a dog. Well my ATV is very old and unsuitable. Then dog died. That’s OK, I knew that was coming.

I sought a new and tougher ATV to facilitate the dream. I test drove several. They weren’t weird enough for my tastes. I went so far as to test an Argo and wind up getting bitched out in a ditch in front of some guy’s house. (Not my finest moment.)  I settled on a specific CanAm but my fiscally conservative mind was visited by the Joker and I knew I couldn’t spend the scratch.

Then I watched this. FortNine knows how to explain the dream:

Fast forward a few months and I was rolling about on a TW200. The adventure had begun. As with all adventures there were mishaps. Almost immediately I misjudged both myself and the trail and I’d submersed it in water. Later I smashed it against trees, leaving my turn signals in tatters and terrifying my mirrors. As this was happening I’d upgraded safety gear and various bits on the machine. I got a better front tire and adapted my pavement skills to dirt riding. In short I was doing what I’d set out to do.

The dream is not to get there… it is to journey.

Everything coalesced this summer. It’s my second year of dirt bike riding and stuff just seemed to work out. Nothing too adventurous. Nothing too fast. I’m not going to impress anyone… which is fine because that’s not my purpose. I was out exploring; enjoying nature. What better thing is there to do?

I wish I could take the whole world on a nice relaxing campout. Society has spent two years cowering in fear, and it’s doing them harm. If not physical, most definitely spiritual and mental. Rather than go down with the ship I started swimming. I routinely leave the world behind. It’s not that hard once you start doing it. The real enemy is inertia.

A gallon of gas and I’m in heaven. The tiny tank is cheap to fill and will sputter down the trail to a world of peace (and fun). Check out my “Walkabouts” stories and you’ll find 36(!) posts about just this year’s ramblings.

Here’s the cheap little toy that got the ball rolling. Isn’t that the cutest bike you ever saw?

None of this is without risk, mind you. Oh heck no. Soooooo many ways things can go wrong. But that’s the adventure part of the dream. Adventures are risky. The trick is to mitigate, anticipate, adapt, overcome, and learn. Alas, sometimes when it all falls apart you just plain take the hit. This is what separates the adventurer from human barnacles on the couch of life.

There’s a thing I didn’t anticipate. Unexpectedly, I was inspiring people.

I wrote about my adventures… however mild and peaceful they are… because people enjoy them. I hoped to make people happy. In this, the time of a manufactured global COVID panic, it’s nice to hear about rabbits and pine trees.

Just as Filthie building a balsa RC plane makes me think I may do that sometime, other people read about my ridiculous little bike and thought they might do that. Like I said, most people don’t take the leap, but some to. At least two of my readers actually did.

Look at this happy photo a reader e-mailed me. Is that not a fun little adventure in the making?

Did I mention risk is part of this. The barnacle on a couch stays perfectly safe until they die of heart failure… but the adventurer is not safe. Here’s a photo a different reader sent:

Daaaaaaaamn.

Let nobody say I sugar coat things! Also, this particular photo has inspired me to do something else this spring… buy more safety gear!

Anyway, life is never safe but it’s always glorious. Do what you can while you’re still standing. I’d also like to add a sincere thanks to the two readers (who remain anonymous) that contributed the photos. They’re both in good humor and I’m glad to hear it.

They’re adventurers. Good for them.

Over at Filthie’s Thunderbox an adventure is taking place. Dude’s building an old school RC airplane. He’s making a classic “balsa wood and glue that fries braincells” design. I’ve been enjoying the story as it unfolds (lurking?).

Filtihe knows the score. Every endeavor is an opportunity to soar and also an opportunity to crash and burn… in the case of an airplane, literally. Victory and defeat are two sides of the same coin. The harder you try the further you skate on thin ice. He begins with a second hand story:

“When my ship was in Tokyo a bunch of years back, I was watching Nip TV. There was a guy who had built a HUGE R/C plane. I’m an aircraft illiterate, but this thing had four engines on it. The guy started all the engines, taxied onto the runway, and commenced his roll. As soon as he rotated the plane did a huge wing-over and AUGERED into the ground. The camera panned back to the pilot. He stood there for a few seconds, and then just began to bawl. The plane had apparently taken YEARS for him to build… Yeah; keep it simple this time, Glen…”

It is true. Build a thing that can fly and you have built a thing that may break your heart. Filthie knows that it would be wise to have a certain amount of emotional reserve… and also knows it’s impossible:

It’s too late. My heart is lost. I’ve glued up the wing of the Filthiebird, And … it is a thing of sheer beauty.

This is what the world is all about! Build and do, try and learn, soar and (sometimes) crash. Good for him!

Filthie’s braver than me. This is the cruel world of the internet, where some pajama clad toadstool with literally no accomplishments can (and will) gloat at your downfall should things go belly up. They’ll phrase this as “advice” but it’s not as constructive as one might hope. Much is preening by the otherwise inert. “You used the wrong glue, everyone knows you need XYZ Style Adhesive or the thing will crash. Ya’ dummy.” No, everyone doesn’t fucking know that XYZ Adhesive was necessary. Nobody’s born with that knowledge! Never gloat when a person who tries what you have not, struggles to accomplish it!

Which brings me to one of my favorite accomplishments. I built a sailboat. Yes, it’s a small odd little contraption but the fucker sails like a beast. It carries me wherever I’m brave enough to point it. I haven’t yet drowned.

Did I post about the construction process? Not until after the thing floated. I’d worked too long and too hard; too many late nights pondering laminate strength, lofting measurements, and yes… XYZ Epoxies. It would have been a hell of a blow to mind, soul, and ego if it had sunk on it’s maiden voyage. If I’d posted about my progress in advance and then it sunk? Some fucknut on the internet would almost certainly have mocked me and I’d have been crushed!

I only posted a photo after I had succeeded. Even then it took me a whole lot of hemming and hawing to explain my motives; Check out the “Walkabout” menu on this blog. It was spring of 2019 when I finally let the cat out of the bag.

I added some Curmudgeonly advice about building a boat:

If you’re considering it, do it. Start immediately.
Don’t wait another day. You will have the time of your life.
However, if you just want to own a boat and not build one…
…run away from the workshop like your hair’s on fire.

So as much as building a boat was a wonderful thing for me, I faced the prospect of disaster quietly and in obscurity. Like I said, I’m not as brave as Filthie.

You might think I’m done, but I’m not. Folks of a certain mind (or addled mind) are always seeking the next adventure and Filthie’s struggles with balsa and aerodynamics has me thinking about adventure. There’s more! Stay tuned for the next post.

As far as I can tell there are several vax mandates. They’re all aimed at different populations based on President Potato’s ability to hassle that group. One to affect private employers with more than 100 employees… through the misuse of OSHA. One to affect military personnel… through the misuse of Commander in Chief powers. One to affect Federal Employees… because the President is the Chief Executive and most Feds work for the executive branch. It is that one that (I think) is somehow extended to contractors… which can probably be bent folded and spindled to apply to lots and lots of people you’d never think of as contractors. I’m not sure how it’s explained but airlines get Federal money and are Federally regulated and use Federally subsidized airports, but they are not contractors so… um I dunno maybe Biden has a magic wand? Another line of attack (I think) applies to medical people through some Federal medical system.

The point is there’s no official “because I said so that’s why” clause in the Constitution, so President Potato (or his handlers) using an array of methods.

The one that applies (somehow) to all medical people, just got a kick in the balls. Here’s the quick explanation from Raconteur Report:

Dogpiling onto yesterday’s federal court ruling blocking any vaccine mandates for healthcare workers in 10 states, today another federal judge expanded that injunction against the vaxx mandates to all 50 states.

So, 10 states said “fuck this let’s go to court”. The court said “those 10 states have a damn good argument that’s likely to yield a win for them… so the action is blocked until this thing is sorted out”. Then, and this is a new one to me, the court said “fuck it, you can’t pull this shit on the 10 that came to me for a ruling but you can’t do it on the other 40 states either. Let’s put all the chips on the table.”

Wow! I didn’t see that coming! But that’s what Federalism is supposed to do. In this case, the rights of people in 40 states are “protected” by the 10 that have balls. Or at least it does until some dipshit “activist” judge somewhere tries to say “it’s just a tax” and therefore a “penumbra which emanates” (from Brandon’s ass?) makes it OK.

That strange and unusual sensation you’re experiencing; it’s called winning. For the moment and for medical employees, it’s a win. We who care about freedom are not used to it. It’s nice. Raconteur Report sums it up:

In short, the federal judiciary is functioning as intended, and has told the Biden regime to go fuck itself.

And it only gets worse for Poopypants from here.

Also, every argument cited applies to federal workers, and all private employees. Vaxx mandates are effectively dead UFN.

Ahh… yes. It feels good to see folks remembering the difference between a President (you know, the Geriatric Zombie who got a record number of votes in a series of “DON’T FUCKING QUESTION THEM” statistically improbable events) and a King.

We don’t have a king. Thank God.

Also, this does not stop anyone who wants to from getting whatever vaccine they desire.

May we live in interesting times indeed.

A.C.

P.S. Hat tip to The Last Refuge.

American Thinker is on a roll and also they’ve got something to say that’s pretty darned optimistic. Click over there to read The Frogs Have Begun Fleeing the Government’s Boiling Pot. I cut out just a few excerpts, you should read the whole thing:

The federal government spies on every email, text, and call you make.

…

Now, whom does the government fear most under these conditions?  Hint: It is not the millions of illegal aliens who pour through our uncontrolled borders

…

Rather, it is the person who has no problem walking away from the government’s panopticon to go hunting in the woods, who decides to pay in cash, or who has woken up to the reality that the federal government is in the business of control.  It is the solitary American capable of questioning the government’s official State narrative and willing to think for himself who scares the bejesus out of the powers that be.

Yes!

I have to repeat it because it’s such a simple beautiful concept. The thing an oppressive Government fears most is the person who has no problem walking away from the government’s panopticon to go hunting in the woods. 

There is nothing to be found in the woods, save yourself; which is everything.

It’s not just a matter of leaving the panopticon… it’s a matter of leaving the thick morass of propaganda and letting your mind actually think. Take three days fishing off grid and you’ll return to the endless soup of propaganda with new eyes. You’ll do the unthinkable… you’ll ask questions. “If the vaccine is awesome, why do they care if I take it?” “If COVID is the worst thing since ever, why aren’t the streets filled with dead bodies.” “The Amish didn’t get the shot and the Israelis did, who’s doing better?” “What’s the real reason there’s 100+ cargo ships sitting off the coast of California? And how wise was it to make ourselves dependent on that long supply chain?” “How did we go from exporting oil in 2019 to begging OPEC for oil in 2021?” Left, right, or center; if you’re in the usual 24/7 marinade of propaganda it’s affecting you.

There’s more! The article has a wonderful discussion of how brittle and hollow a top down, created by force, society becomes. If you ever wonder why America in the 24th month of 2 weeks to flatten the curve seems barely capable of stocking the grocery store shelves… this is it. Coercion may get grudging minimal compliance but it never gets more. The Soviets learned that too. The USSR didn’t collapse because America went to war… it collapsed because the “Glorious People’s Widget Factory” couldn’t maintain society.

When coercion and surveillance are required to artificially keep society intact through a top-to-bottom tyrannical squeeze, the whole system is at risk of collapse from a single dissenting voice that chooses to throw sand into the rusting, brittle cogs.

This is why President Potato can shrug off a zillion new illegal residents charging across the border, ignores a doubling in the price of gas, and doesn’t give two shits if Seattle riots for the umpteenth time, yet he loses his shit over moms at a school board meeting or unarmed, truly peaceful, January 6th, protesters who walked in an open door and tracked mud on the carpet.

Like the author, I think the tide is turning. The “get an injection or we will punish you” approach was their Waterloo. When many thousand citizens simply said “no”… the whole thing ground to a halt.

Of course, the thing is not done. President Depends will never stop. His puppet masters will never stop. But they can’t move forward either. Australian cops are herding people into concentration camps. The American government would love to do it too… but can’t.

That puts us all, but especially the authoritarians, in the vapor locked twilight zone between an order that cannot be enforced on a free people and an small but significant number of people who are still free. Once Americans stopped oppressing themselves, all their devious plans stopped working. Jamming a third or fourth booster into a Prius driving masked up Karen won’t matter if Bob the mechanic is vaccine free and still in business. When some large and visible portion of society is still free the contrast becomes obvious.

Watching the government lay down fresh mandates and executive orders demanding that citizens submit to its will or suffer the consequences should be seen not as a sign of unstoppable power, but rather as evidence that its grip on power is spinning out of control.  For the time being, even its most important objectives — training Americans to accept forced injections and digital passports — have been put on hold because too much of the workforce has said, “No.”  What’s the lesson here?  That pushing back on the immoral and unconstitutional dictates of a government exercising illegitimate power works!  And, even more importantly, that the government is more afraid of the people than the people should ever be of their government!

What a breath of fresh air.

A few days ago I mentioned how masks among the services workforce has created a dangerous situation where a visible signifier of a lower class job seperates our society. Masks, regardless of their benefit or lack thereof, signify a lower importance, inferior social position for entry level workers. I don’t like it one bit!

This isn’t just from State or Federal regulation; which theoretically apply to everyone. It’s from corporations and applies largely to lower respect jobs. It’s a very local thing but I can and do go about my business without a mask. As I do, certain employees, as part of their job, have to watch me do what they can’t do. They’re getting sick of it. Corporations created a lower caste of people who are forced to wear a mask as part of their job. Workers are responding by quitting. Here’s a quote from that post:

…getting served by masked subservient (and almost universally female) servants feels hinky. It makes me nervous. It feels like they’re lower class and I’m upper and I hate the very idea of that!

…

For the masked, a formal line is drawn and they’re clearly lesser beings than the unmasked freak driving the truck. I try to mumble “thank you” but they almost subconsciously have eyes averted like there’s something unclean about their job at the drive through.

The phrase “supply chain disruption” does not explain any of this.

I didn’t bother to find a photo to explain my concern. Today I stumbled across this:

Look at this image. It shows DOCTOR Jill Biden, the President’s wife. She’s receiving ceremonial delivery of the traditional Christmas tree. Do you see that she does not wear a mask? Do you see that everyone else in the photo does wear a mask. Do you see that the people operating the cart MUST wear a mask while the high social status wife of a prominent politician doesn’t? Do you see that a person in a military uniform (!) is wearing a mask while the high social status wife of a prominent politician doesn’t?

If masks are necessary because of a virus, why is the politician’s wife not wearing one?

If masks aren’t necessary because of a virus, why are the workers FORCED to wear one?

This is not good. If I were in a photo like this, I’d be embarrassed.

It’s a photo that shows different social classes forced/not-forced to wear a mask in a way which shows who is inferior and who is dominant. The society that existed just two years ago is better than the mess that DOCTOR Jill Biden, wife of a highly placed politician is clearly enjoying.

A.C.

P.S. Hat tip to American Digest.

P.S. Also a friendly nod to kind words from Nebraska Energy Observer.

P.S. Everyone says if they were magically transported to the past, they’d stand up against oppression in that era. What luck! We don’t need a time machine and the stakes are much lower. The servants of the wife of a highly placed politician are getting shit right now. It’s happening right in front of us. There’s nothing hidden. This is “just another day” to our red coated, unelected, serving in no official function, Marie Antoinette and you can see the same unfair treatment I see. DOCTOR Jill’s victims are right there; including a military person who’s technically willing to put their life on the line to defend the nation. It’s obviously not the same thing as a slaver with a whip, but it’s on the spectrum. Jill is right before our eyes separating a lower class from her higher and more important standing. The time to stamp it out is now.

In October I wrote:

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

In November I wrote:

“Like many (most?) employees, I was ordered to take the vaccine. I resisted. I’m not naïve. I know nobody cares about an employee. I’m probably toast.”

It’s December:

I still have my job and am very happy about that! I’m also as surprised as anyone. How long will this last? Maybe for a day. Maybe indefinitely. It feels like nobody, literally nobody, actually knows. I endeavor to get used to the uncertainty. Maybe our increasingly fallen world cannot support the stability of “the before times”.

I blog about it because other people are in the same tight spot. They might gain hope knowing they’re not alone. For the smallish but not insignificant portion of society that just stood up and said “nope… I won’t do it”; thanks for joining me! It sure is a tense time!

I doubt President Brandon intended this mess but he should’ve known better than to create it. He crossed a line when he decided to go from providing citizens with voluntary options to forcing subjects into mandatory injections. He doesn’t seem to know how to put the toothpaste back in the tube and now the workplace is vapor locked.

Meanwhile, there’s a positive feel to it. Americans are slowly remembering they’re Americans. Nobody lightly shrugs off being targeted and when President Potato literally and specifically isolated 80,000,000 Americans with whom he’d “lost patience” he wrote a very big check for his ass to cash. I still don’t know where it’s going but it sure as hell didn’t grind me into dust… yet.

I’d have preferred to keep my struggles to myself. However, I came to believe God had other plans. If my blog could offer hope (no matter how minor), who was I to withhold it? Also, I’m not the one that broke with tradition. I’m under no obligation to respect that which does not respect me.

Anyway, I about had a stroke from all the stress… as did so many others. Yet I’m still standing. I’m in the strange twilight zone of not knowing what will happen next. Things seem like they may mellow out and get rational; which would be nice. It’s the 24th month of 2020 so I’ve grown to expect chaos and irrationality but there’s always hope.

Here’s a video of Wesley from the Princess Bride discussing his time in the same situation. Dread Pirate Roberts, who takes no prisoners, interacted with his new valet Wesley in a way that would make a modern HR department proud.

On a more serious note, sometimes facing a challenge leads to growth. This whole thing forced me to do things I hadn’t done. After a lifetime of never saying a damn thing in the workplace (because it was verboten) I stated my faith clearly, in writing, to my boss and HR. I’d have never done that had they played by the rules they themselves established. Only when they they forced the issue did they get a response they didn’t want.

I wonder if God wanted my isolationist self to nut up and speak my beliefs? Having publicly “outed” myself and taking action knowing my career would probably burn to the ground… it wasn’t all bad. I feel renewed. God apparently felt I needed a reminder why I’m here. Anyway, I’m happy I behaved honorably instead of choosing submission.

Was this a necessary step not just for me but society? I spent the last two years watching society behave like a scared little bitch. Only since crowds started shouting “Let’s Go Brandon” and vax mandates are grinding to a halt does the tide feels like it’s turning.

These last few years have been terrifying. Not Covid. That hasn’t scared me since the first data was solid. By April of last year it was obvious most of us have a 99.xx% chance of survival. If I get it, which I haven’t, I’ll piss and moan for a while, and then have immunity. Meanwhile, I take a bigger risk than Covid every time I drive my truck. We all have things that might take us out, but if you’re a normal healthy person Covid risk is pretty fuckin lame. The thing that’s scary has been watching fellow human beings turn into a bleating stampeding herd of dipshits.

I have personally seen that people who deeply believe in their heart they’re honorable… aren’t. They think they’d have never put a Jew on a train in 1938 or own a slave in 1800 or burn a witch in 1692; they proved they’d do exactly those things. Social pressure, fear, and groupthink are all it takes to make a monster of a weak person. Watching Americans stampede to comply with anything Commander Fauchi said was terrifying. Free travel is gone. Free speech is gone. The economy is in shambles. For what? Because of a 0.10% chance of death. I fuckin’ take risks like that every time I eat a McRib!

Surprisingly, Americans are not the most damaged. Unarmed Australians (including aboriginal elders) are being carted to concentration camps. EU bureaucrats ponder how to lock heretics out of food supplies and banks. I walk around free and eat McRibs like a boss… my biggest risk has been losing a job. It freaks me out but people lose jobs all the time.

The mandate has damaged many but (so far) it also marks the highest tide of compliance. It was meant to break everyone. It didn’t. How soon until those that were fired start lawyering up and come back for round two?

By the way, I’ve no beef with people who got an injection because that’s what they wanted. I’m glad they had the option. I wish them well. I hope they never get Covid, they have long happy lives, and so forth. When it’s a choice, it’s their call, not mine.

However, anyone who wanted an injection had one by mid summer. Nobody was stopping them. After that point, most who got an injection got it because they were pressured. What’s worse, a significant portion of society first submitted to pressure and then began to hate those who didn’t submit to pressure. They would like “the hesitant” to die. If you sincerely hope for the death of the unvaxxed… you’re evil.

I always knew a big portion of any human society would gladly round up “outliers” and put them up against the wall. The real question is “did I have the balls to remain sane when the world loses its shit?” I think so. If you haven’t submitted after the last 24 months of social pressure, you’re a fuckin rock! Whatever evil happens… you won’t be causing it.

On the other hand, the witch burners are starting to recognize who they really are. The future will be a bit harder for them. This has happened in many eras to many people. Weak people have learned a tough thing to know about themselves… only after they’ve done the unthinkable. Forgetting Covid for now, the last Salem witch trial was held in 1693 and the last Nazi concentration camp was liberated in 1945. How many years after 1693 and 1945 did cooperative people who did exactly what the government wanted and claimed it was for the good of society wrestle with what they’d done? Now, in a much less bloody world (so far) how many mushy middle management HR paper pushers are right now wondering about the anti-vax loon they fired a month ago. How long will they try to hold the idea that canning a long haul trucker a month before Christmas was… good? Remember, the people that sent Anne Frank to Auschwitz were obeying the law. The HR harpy at Woke Inc. who drives another “supply chain disruption” is obeying CNN’s exhortations. How does that guilt feel years and decades later? What does it do?

Ah hell, it’s a lot of “not my circus, not my monkeys” anyway. I did my thing and they did theirs. Their soul ‘aint mine to worry about. Soon it will be Christmas, a glorious season in which I hope they find peace and tranquility. There is always room for forgiveness. At least from me.

My neighbors wound up dragging a dead animal though my yard… with my full approval. This made my driveway look like a murder scene… which I dont’ mind one bit.

Our dog made a through investigation of the fascinating scent left behind. I can’t help but laugh at the dog’s look. It’s as if to say “what have you done?”

I hope y’all had a great Thanksgiving. I sure did! I turned off the outside world of bullshit and enjoyed a peaceful rational time with family and friends; as is right and proper.

Today I’ve got a fun little story from the Holiday. Nothing too deep. Just a thing that happened. It reminded me of how divergent my actual local world is from the frothing batshit weirdness of the greater (and more urban) environment.

Thanksgiving season (it’s not just a day to me) is a good time to acknowledge the easy, gentle, respectful way among rural folk that one wouldn’t know about if they lived in a city or got their “news” from “journalists”. I suspect many of my readers know this but some might not. Here goes with a vignette of rural life:

We are on call: During one of several Thanksgiving celebrations at Curmudgeon Compound (I really went all out in 2021) my neighbor dropped by. Did they call ahead? Nah! I don’t answer my landline and they probably don’t know my cell number. I sure as hell don’t know theirs. They just showed up. That’s not rude. It’s fine and proper behavior; in part because their welcome is not overused. They rarely intrude on my life and I rarely intrude on theirs. I assumed they had a good reason to show up… and they did.

We respond: I immediately gave them my full attention. I care about and wish to support my neighbors. This feeling, I hope, is reciprocated. We respect each other’s charity by almost never calling upon it and also by not being assholes. (There are no Karens bitching about masks or HOA Nazis measuring grass length in my location.) If a neighbor shows up it’s not to hassle me because nobody hassles me. However, could be an urgent serious issue; perhaps livestock is loose or a truck is in the ditch. Or it might not be a serious issue at all, in which case it’s usually good news. Folks might drop by to share their excess tomato harvest on a good year, or to wave money under my nose trying to buy an old farm implement they’ve seen sitting near my barn. Regardless, I was immediately ready to give aid.

We hunt. We respect each other’s boundaries: They explained that they’d wounded a game animal while hunting. It had crossed into my property. They were asking permission to track it. These things happen. Normally, I won’t let anyone onto my property, but given the very reasonable situation and the polite request, I assented immediately.

We don’t judge (at least openly): If you’re running to the keyboard to bitch about how one never should take a bad shot and how you’ve never ever shot an elk but what it died within its own shadow… just stuff it. I too am very careful about hunting and I’ve never had drama tracking wounded animals. However, my day may come. Endeavoring to be perfect doesn’t make one perfect. I did not give him shit about a less than perfectly fatal shot. Especially in his moment of concern. He was worried about the situation. It wouldn’t be productive to be an asshole and make him feel worse. Six months later, if he’s a good friend, there might be some gentle ribbing. “About time you learned to hit the broadside of a barn… yuck yuck yuck…” This would be meant only in jest. Life isn’t social media. Shit happens. Wise people don’t lightly judge others.

Everyone is armed: My neighbor showed up in his truck. His wife showed up shortly after on their ATV. He had a crossbow; with which he’d been hunting. She had a rifle. I didn’t bat an eye. I don’t piss myself over guns. This is something that city dwellers never seem to understand but it bears repeating; almost everyone in every rural farmhouse in every state has every firearm you can imagine. Some hobbyists have enough firepower to give every man-bun in Manhattan a case of the shakes. Others have just a few. Some folks hunt with dusty old relics. Others, like my neighbor with his fancy new crossbow, tinker with new technologies. We think that firearms are cool. We’ve been buying them since forever. It doesn’t have to be a political thing. Every urbanite that buys a Peloton or a spiffy TV has a rural reflection that dropped his or her money on a rifle scope that can see molecules on the moon or a pistol framed in high-tech unobtanium alloy.

Everyone follows safe procedures: Rural folks aren’t stupid about guns. Nobody was waving things around like a dipshit. Unsafe behavior is not tolerated. Only inner city thugs and Alex Baldwin act stupidly with firearms.

We’re not the sexist, racist troglodytes portrayed in the press: My neighbor’s wife was dressed head to toe for hunting and carrying a rifle. I didn’t freak out about a woman with a firearm. Why would I? The only people that think women can’t shoot are men who can’t shoot. Rural people just aren’t jerks like the hyperventilating ninnies on social media theorize. I wouldn’t have cared if my neighbor was black, speaking Russian, or gay. Who would? It’s simply not a thing. The 1950’s were a lifetime ago and we (possibly unlike urban areas) are pretty chill. All I wanted to know was where the animal tracks led.

We’re equipped: He showed up with his truck and a support crew of an armed ATV riding wife. I grabbed my jacket and offered the use of my tractor with bucket loader. I have other equipment and was willing to deploy what was needed. Shit needed to be handled and it would be.

We’re effective: He didn’t need my help. He had a pretty good idea where it had gone. The animal was found in short order… already dead. I just stood around holding a flashlight while a rope and ATV did most of the work. In no time it was dragged out of my forest and onto my driveway where his truck was parked. Soon after it was in his truck. I got covered in blood during this process. So did everyone else. So did my driveway. If you’re afraid to get your hands dirty, you’re no help to anyone.

We’re thankful and try to be kind: I didn’t expect it but gratefully accepted their gift of a nice summer sausage from an earlier hunt. He didn’t expect it but had the offer of a bucket loader should one be needed. We exchanged local gossip for a bit and Mrs. Curmudgeon brought out hot coffee. Mostly we talked about the scandalous price of hay bales and tracking conditions in icy snow. I wish them well. They reciprocate.

Sure, it’s not all puppies and rainbows. People are people and I wasn’t guaranteed to have such great neighbors. Some rural folk are meth addicted fucknuts. (I guess it’s now fentanyl, whatever the hell that is.) Others are dumb as stumps and no fun to talk to. Just like anywhere else. But in general, we’re sane and nice.

“Media” talks about normal average American citizens in “flyover country” like we communicate in grunts. They proselytize about various government interventions to re-educate us. They marvel when we fail to vote as instructed. They shake their heads dismissively when we don’t cheer for the newest monorail construction project. They consider us, folks with a different lifestyle but humans all the same, as if we either are or ought to be subservient to authority figures and urban population centers. It has probably been that way since Rome sneered at uncouth Barbarians… but it doesn’t have to be that way.

In case you’re wondering, nobody wore a mask. I didn’t ask about their vaccination status and they didn’t ask about mine. Inquiring about such a private matter would be creepy. Also, if my neighbors were freaked out about the black plague they can indulge that notion simply by staying put on their land. Our paths need never cross. Going batshit about whether someone else got an injection seems remote and oddly twisted to us.

So there you have it. Absolutely nothing funky happened; for which I’m thankful!