Adaptive Curmudgeon

Monsters like Hitler, Mao, and Stalin couldn’t take a joke. Neither can lesser demons like the Karen screeching at children in the playground, the bully in your HOA, or the human nullity in the HR department. Laugh well and laugh often; it’s for your own health.

I’m not a huge fan of official campgrounds. I prefer dispersed camping. Then again I’m not picky. Sometimes good enough is just fine.

I often want nothing more than a place to sit for the night and a place to have a little campfire. Here’s some life advice from the Curmudgeon; never let the desire for “awesome” stop you from having a “not so bad” trip.

Sometimes it’s just fine to park my ass at a campsite and forget all about the glorious, multi-week, outback trip that ‘aint in the cards at the moment. So, campsites have a place.

I bitch about the $25 (or whatever) fee but it’s worth it. I can set my tent up in 90 seconds (not exaggerating!) and my cot and mattress are the kind of luxury no backpacker has ever seen. I’ll grumble about a crowded campsite and then half an hour later realize I’m fat and happy sitting a tree somewhere and it’s all good. (With the exception of Yellowstone National Park. The cretins that run YP Campsites are just plain assholes! I dunno why that particular place sucks so bad? I assume they they breed their parkies in a pit of smug. A haughty obnoxious breed; formed from the clay of failed dreams and beaten hourly with a book of regulations regulations, they’re simply detestible in behavior and attitude. Yellowstone unleashes the most sexually repressed, humorless, badge sniffing, power tripping, fucknuts they can find. On who? On poor innocent tenters who just want to look at the pretty scenery. If all the parks in the Nation got together and had a competition over who’s staff had the most humorless pretentious fucksticks… the Yellowstone guys would be out in the parking lot writing up parking tickets.)

Anyway, parks generally don’t like you bringing your own firewood and I get that. It’s one of the few rules I actually accept as not some evil illuminati plan to rule the world. They’re attempting (mostly futilely) to cut back on invasive pests in forestland. No shit, that’s a thing. Historically it’s stuff like Dutch Elm Disease, Chestnut Blight, and White Pine Blister Rust. For those, the horse already left the barn. Right now, at least out East… there’s Emerald Ash Borer. I seem to recall a pine borer in the Black Hills too… though I forget the entomology at play with that one. Anyway, shit happens when you pick up stuff from one place and move it somewhere else. I don’t want to cause it.

I’m old enough to remember parks just having a pile of wood hanging around. Detritus from whatever landscaping and hazard tree removal they’d done. That was nice. “A tree fell across the bike path and we chopped it up. There’s a pile out yonder. Grab what you need.” My youth must have been an innocent time because that’s long gone. Now, parks charge ridiculous fees for a little bit of wood. Seven bucks for an armload? The market rate is $150 a cord! Seven bucks for a handful of sticks when a C-note will buy a chest high wall running 16′ linear feet? The mind boggles. Camping is historically supposed to be a good option when you’re poor; count on bureaucracies to mess that up.

I found a personal solution. I started by rooting through my scrap heap and found kiln dried dimension lumber. Aint’ no bugs in that. I also scrounged some pallets (which are also kiln dried and milled). This is all (as far as I can tell) totally allowed.

Here’s some scrounged raw materials:

Pallets pretty much suck in raw form. You need to disassemble the mess and get all the nails out without somehow stepping on one and getting tetanus. Good luck. I figure about 1/3 of the pallet stock was just too messy. I chucked that portion back in the pile. For the rest, I whacked the pallet stock into nice little chunks; carefully removing any hint of a nail. They’re all bone dry. There’s not a nail, nor a staple, nor anything else left. Any hint of crap and the piece got chucked. I wound up with perfect little bits of fuel for a Curmudgeon looking to percolate his coffee.

I sprung for a clean new trash can (park people are tense about such things so I’ll keep everything real clean).

I’m not sure how to strap the can in my truck without having the lid blow off. I’ll improvise and report back if it worked.

It ought to be enough for several little campfires. I’m feeling pretty clever about it. Now I’m off to kick back and read a book by the fire. Where? Anywhere but Yellowstone, because fuck those guys.

I occasionally go looking for sheds. I’m not very serious about it. I just wander around wherever I happen to be; listening to the birds and getting bit by ticks. Maybe I’ll find one, maybe I won’t. Sheds are just an excuse. Just like fishing ‘aint about fish.

More or less by chance, I found a little one. Can you see it?

I’m pretty sure this is from fall 2020. It’s pretty clean.

I’ll leave it hanging about the shop forever, and then probably put it to use in some manner I haven’t yet guessed. I was wondering if it would look cool or lame if I cut it up to sever as a couple cleats on my little sailboat. What do ya’ think?

I can’t remember where I saw this first so I can’t give a proper hat tip. Sorry.

Regardless, I love the story and I especially like the animation style.

I wrapped up The Curmudgeon Goes On Phone Hiatus Part 1, 2, and 3 with this:

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work like a demon to get the damn fence repaired. The clock is ticking!”

Just in case you think I’m full of shit… here are a few pictures.

Cute little buggers eh? Well they are but they’re also a pain in the ass. They’ve run me ragged. Maybe I’ll explain sometime.

Springtime on a homestead is always busy; posting might be a bit light and fluffy until I get a handle on the situation. Stay tuned.

AC

P.S. Yes I said “light and fluffy”. It’s my blog and I’ll misuse adjectives as I see fit. Aside from Edna and the Dog, I’m willing to skate on thin metaphorical ice. Plus, I thought it appropriate because when I write fluff, I know it’s fluff. (Unlike “journalists” who like the smell of their own farts while flitting between dying corporations and impending bankruptcies like exceptionally dense, quasi-literate, lemmings.)

I hate being spied upon and it annoys me that my government has become creepy about it. They turned phones into snitch machines. Luckily phones are just radio based devices. (Let’s not get into wavelengths… I’m painting with a broad brush). Anything that’s radio based can be thwarted (I like to think “managed”) by the ultra simple device called a Faraday cage.

Six years ago I made a Faraday cage out of tinfoil and duct tape. It worked:

Anyone who wants to spy on me has to do me the honor of personally lurking in the bushes and peering through drapes like the little perverts they are. I’m old school like that.

Alas, the tinfoil approach has drawbacks. For one thing it looks like you’re carrying a baked potato in your pocket. Also, people are trained like seals to laugh at anything that involves tinfoil. I have no idea why.

(Note: I did sell a Faraday Cage cell phone case to someone who wanted a laugh. I think I hammed it up and sent a cardboard mock up iPhone with the case. It was all in good fun. If that’s you, I’m glad you’re still reading my blog!)

Back in reality, the goal is to to block a signal without working too hard and/or looking like a complete nut. It’s really easy. Nor is it expensive. Thus, it’s worth it to buy a Faraday bag for your phone and other stuff. Here are my recommendations:

Option 1: Vaguely high tech looking, fully nerd recognizable, Faraday bag set.

I recommend a Faraday Defense 15pc kit. Get the assortment and then you’re set for every size and multiple instances. One of the envelopes will fit whatever you’re thinking about. It’s about $40 or $50 for a set of 10 or 15 bags. The bags aren’t for multiple gadgets. Plan on one “gadget” per bag. You know how your old or spare laptop works OK but it’s not your “daily driver”? That’s a good use for these bags. You can put stuff in the bag, forget about it, and rule the world when the EMP pulse reduces the society to the stone age.

I have personal experience with Faraday Defense bags. I’ve been using mine about 5 years and there’s almost no sign of wear. They look like overpriced sandwich bags but they’re tough.

I mostly use them for “excess” or “too important to leave connected” computer shit at home. The big ones hold full laptops. The small and medium ones hold external hard drives (and whatever else I can think of).

I’ve used them on the road too. For example, I have a highway tool booth transponder. That little demon goes in an envelope and in the glove box when I’m not on the toll road. This is a heck of a testing environment! Anything that goes in my glove box takes a beating… yet the envelope still works great. How awesome is that? (Yes, they’ll do fine with a cell phone too.)

For when you want to look tactical and/or have zero fucks to give about appearance you can’t go wrong. I do recommend getting an assortment. You’ll find more junk to EMP-proof with time.

One more note. The price I paid 5 years ago and the price on Amazon now is almost the same. Yeah! No inflation on this. Ten thumbs up from the Curmudgeon!

Option 2: Super cool, expensive but sexy, James Bond level tactical bag:

This is a lot more high-end than my usual recommendation so be aware I’m expanding my (and your) horizons. Sometimes it’s nice to have nice things and this is a very nice thing. If you want to protect your laptop or whatever and also be a super stud, I highly recommend the EDEC Faraday Duffel Bag.

This is a huge step up from cheap-ass tinfoil or Mylar (or whatever they’re made of) bags. It’s just plain nice to use. It’s much better than the usual shit I’d buy for myself.

It came to me as a gift from Mrs. Curmudgeon (she’s a keeper!) and I love it. I’ve been using it for 5 years.

OK, now sit down because this is scary. It costs like $250. That’s way over my usual level. It’s damn near “sneakers in the ‘hood” price! But it’s so nice I recommend it anyway. I really enjoy mine. Also, it’s so nice it’ll outlast several cheap laptop backpacks. Mine is 5 years old and looks great. I’ll beat a normal laptop case to death in a year or two. For me, it’s worth it. Also, kudos to Mrs. Curmudgeon for thinking of such a sweet gift!

Did I mention it’s tough? Even after being tossed in a truck’s back seat and hauled all over creation, it looks as good as new. Actually, it looks better in person than in the photo.

It’s a bit larger than the usual laptop bag, so you can cram extra shit in there. It’s roomy so everything fits without being careful how you stack things. Just toss it in and go.

How big? It’ll easily carry a big laptop (or two!), a mouse, and everything else you might want. I carry a huge keyboard because that’s how I roll. There’s room for extra hard drives and also stuff that doesn’t need a Faraday cage, like clipboards and papers and textbooks and spare glasses and… you get the picture. On a few notable trips I stuffed some clothes and a pair of socks with my computer and called it “overnight bag”. (That’s not my normal use but it did work.)

The only limitation I’ve found is that it’s a soft case. If you stampede a rhino over it… you deserve what happens. That’s my recommendation: “perfect for anything short of stampeding wild animals over your laptop”.

I know I’m just gushing about this neat thing I own but I can’t help myself: The cool part is it looks normal and even good. You can carry it around a college campus or among uptight vegans at the coffee shop and they won’t notice a thing. Business presentation, job interview, banking, it’s all good. You can be Bert Gummer paranoid about things and still look good.

It just looks a bit larger than usual. That’s all anyone will notice until you open it up. I actually think it looks rather stylin’ but that’s me. There’s only so many “cool points” a bag can add to a bearded redneck blogger and I’m hardly up to date. What I’m saying is it’s awesome, well built, and looks good but maybe you shouldn’t take fashion advice from me.

Also, this item seems to be immune to inflation. (I have no idea why.) It costs the same now as it did 5 years ago. (Try that with a can of tuna!)

Option 3: Completely generic, utterly unremarkable, cheap, phone wallet:

There are a billion people selling Faraday bags for phones. As far as I can tell, they’re all more or less the same. I’d like to recommend one I’ve tested but mine is a brand that I don’t see on Amazon. Don’t worry, they all probably come from the same factory in China. Don’t overthink it.

What I use looks virtually identical to the 2 Pack Faraday Bag for Phones, RFID Signal Blocking Bag, Faraday Key Fob Protector, Anti-Tracking, Anti-Spying and Privacy Protection. I can’t honestly say I’ve tested that exact model but it sure looks similar. Also the cost is $10 for a two pack. You ‘aint risking the world if you buy it and the stitching pattern or whatever is not up to your standards.

Just get it, stuff your phone in it, dial the phone and observe it not ringing, and then you’re set. It cost less than a six pack of beer to isolate a phone. I can’t believe that these aren’t more popular.

Also, the comments are a hoot! Faraday cages aren’t rocket science but occasionally someone will ask if it’ll block the space rays that affect his sperm count on Wednesdays. Some folks could use a little more basis in how radio waves work.

Final note, if you click on a link from this post and buy something (anything!) on Amazon, I get a kickback. I appreciate the extra cheddar but that’s not why I wrote this. I’m just recommending stuff I’ve used. I assume many people are like me in that they don’t enjoy sorting through eleventy options to find the thing they need. (Someone write a dozen blog posts about entry level HAM base stations… please!)

Also, every time someone puts a cell phone in a case, a creepy stalker working for the NSA loses his wings.

Happy shopping.

A.C.

P.S. This is basic stuff for law abiding people. An extreme case might need to take better precautions. If you’re a super spy or Mafia hitman, don’t take advice from me.

When I’ve been spared an annoyance I forget even the existence of the shit I was trying to avoid. The phone reminded me why I hate phones.

I spent the next few days hanging up on telemarketers and getting blast broadcasts about the nearest place to get a COVID shot.

The COVID “bulletins” really burned my biscuits! As if maybe I was unaware of the vaccination situation? What with 2020/2021 being such a normal time maybe I just had no idea why the streets were empty? Lumber costs more than cocaine, perfect strangers pry into medical decisions which are none of their damn business, and everyone is either wearing a Lone Ranger mask or bitching about them based on which State you’re in. That’s the environment where some asshole starts blasting information at me using my own phone? Are they terrified people will mellow out. If we’re not informed good and hard and repeatedly and involuntarily over and over again would that be so bad? One might go about their day like a relaxed normal human being instead of stewing in a frothy panic. It’s rude, demeaning, and bullying. If I want a shot I’ll get a fucking shot. It’s not like I don’t know how. If I don’t want a shot it’s because I made a fucking decision. It’s not like the advice I’d get from a four ounce plastic square would change my mind. Those infernal bulletins can only influence the lowest most sub-sentient section of the dipshit side of the bell curve; those who haven’t made a choice and who do what their phone says.

That’s why public service announcements are pointless. You’d have to be droolingly laughably unfathomably clueless to be unaware of the topics at hand.

Then I almost had a heart attack when a loud alarm went off about a kid that was missing 300 miles away. I don’t want any kid to suffer but what the fuck am I to do about it? Go outside and check the chicken coop? Then there was a smaller alarm when the kid showed up; it too woke me up.

The damn thing just wouldn’t shut up. I’d been “off line” a little under a month and that’s all it had taken to get used to the silence. I missed the silence soooo much.

But I had an important communication need. I’d ordered feeder pigs from the busiest farmer in creation. They’d be ready soon. Things of this sort aren’t an exact calendar thing. I’d been told to expect a call “around May 1^st”. May 1^st rolled around with no word.

A note about the busiest farmer in creation, the dude is a legend. When I picked up piglets last year it was less like a modern farm than Dr. Doolittle at a zoo. There were ducks and geese and goats and sheep and cows and chickens and a horse and piglets and sows. The grass was green, there were six kinds of shit on the ground, and every possible smell wafted through the air. It was a whole damn Ark. I was impressed and pleased.

The mix of all those things meant his operation was awesome! The pigs were excellent (and tasty now that they’re in my freezer). I suspect the guy is an absolute master of livestock. However, any guy with that much critter under his care is too busy to deal with humans. Everything was in the most curt and efficient manner possible. He never says three words when two will suffice and he says those two words with the authority of a drill sergeant. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t advertise. He doesn’t stop working. I assume he never sleeps. When I ordered piglets I didn’t get a receipt or anything like that. He didn’t write anything down. There was no chit chat. It was a thirty second phone call back when there was a foot of snow on the ground.

“Yeah, I’ll have feeders. <MOOOOO> I’ve got your number on caller ID. <CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK> They’ll be ready about May first. <BAAAAAAAA> Don’t call me, I’ll call you. <EHHH HAAAWW>” Click.

I think he must have a donkey too?

A dude like that doesn’t have time to fuck around. Dipshit homesteaders like me are not his main deal. He’s all business, expects you to be paying attention, and talks fast. He’s less a business contact than a very busy drug dealer for homesteaders who need a piglet fix.

And he didn’t call around May 1^st! Shit!

He must have called while my phone was dead. Oh No!

I called him. It went like this

“Yeah? <QUACK QUACK QUACK> I tried to call you but you never answered. <MOOOOO>”

“Sorry, my phone was broke.” I lied.

“Very inconvenient. <BAAAAAAAA>”

“Do you still have piglets?” I begged.

“Yes. <SQUEAAAAAAL> Tomorrow. <CLUCK CLUCK> In the evening. <MOOOO> Around seven.”

“Yes, thank you I…” The phone was already dead. A man as important as the busiest farmer in creation doesn’t waste time with niceties. He was probably driving a tractor and trimming hooves while balancing a feed bag and chasing a goat. Lord knows how he was holding the phone in the middle of all that.

I don’t own a piglet hauling trailer and I’d agreed to show up. I’d had only one shot to buy those pigs. Blow it now and he’d never take a phone call from me again!

What’s worse, I had one shot to get a trailer. I called the only rental place within 100 miles. This place is as slow and unreliable as the busiest farmer in creation is brutally efficient “PLEASE HELP ME, I NEED TO RENT YOUR TRAILER.”

“Well…” Pause. “we’re pretty busy…” Pause. “it’s spring ya’ know.”

Does anyone not know it’s spring? “Can I reserve it?”

“It’s out somewhere today.”

“What about tomorrow, in the evening.”

“Let me check.” Ten minute pause in which time I assume they hung up the phone and went fishing. “Yeah, tomorrow’s OK.”

I reserved and paid in advance to reduce (not eliminate, only reduce) the odds they’ll rent it out to someone else.

Then I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d enjoyed my month of phone-lessness but almost missed my piglet drop date. It was a close call.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work like a demon to get the damn fence repaired. The clock is ticking!

I wasn’t planning a definitive lifestyle change. I just figured I was tired of talking to people. So why not forgo renewing my phone minutes?

Two weeks passed. I didn’t notice anything missing from my life. I liked the peace of a phone which didn’t ring… ever. I usually bring my phone with me as I travel but it’s invariably off; now it was dead silent all the time. It was close to the perfect phone!

I was still using text, which is either impossible or unsafe while driving; depending on your point of view. So text only matters when you’re at your destination and it’s usually brief: “I got beef jerky and tomatoes.” “You were supposed to get milk and TP.” An ideal level of conversation!

I travel with the infernal device off and I disable the GPS. This probably means nothing. I assume the little fucker is never off and it’s my experience that GPS is never off no matter how many times you say “no” to various apps.

GPS tracking is a bridge too far to me. In our weirdly unstable clowns-in-charge era, the FBI and a whole ecosystem of internal Stasi-like agencies are simply in love with domestic spying. GPS tracking is entirely too much power in the hands of psycophants.

Didn’t the FBI used to um… catch criminals? When’s the last time they rounded up an actual criminal? Bank robbers, counterfeiters, pedophiles, human traffickers, people who fart in elevators, there’s still real crime. When’s the last time the FBI made an airtight case against an actual no-bullshit criminal? Did they forget how? Does the mafia no longer exist? Are there no crimes but wrongthink?

No point in pretending otherwise; several agencies are focused exclusively on domestic spying against unpopular political views and trying to talk retarded dumbasses into doing stupid shit that’ll bulk up the anti-terrorism budget. The FBI as criminal enterprise instead of FBI as crime stopper is one reason among many to watch your back. They’re signaling their priorities loud and clear! They gave up even the appearance of propriety. It’s up to us to take the hint. One instance among many: law abiding people that drove to the vicinity of DC on Jan 6th seem to have been “questioned” by folks who have no particular legal reason to know where those citizens were that day.

Yet, supposedly, I’m the paranoid one.

The point is I travel a lot within a society that’s fading. Neither domestic tranquility nor the rule of law can be assumed. I won’t bother wishing it were otherwise. Accept what is, not what ought to be.

This summer there will be riots. The only question is where, when, how violent the “peacefully protesters” get, and who will be scapegoated. The last part is key. I don’t want to be that guy. Someone has to be victimized to cover the asses of jerks who confuse “peaceable assembly” with “loot a TV from Target”. You know it, I know it, we all know it… so act like it’s true.

I started wondering “what happens if something stupid goes down in the vicinity of my truck”? Suppose I’m rolling down a highway, completely ignoring a city where long festering mismanagement is boiling over into riots. Suppose a person of a protected political class gets hurt. Suppose people with large budgets and loose morals need a handy white male redneck upon which they’ll build a “narrative”?

Imagine the discussion: “The guy with six outstanding warrants stroked out on drugs after setting fire to a WalMart. While he did this about 300 cars passed by. The people in the cars were mostly acceptable; thugs, assholes, protected classes, useful idiots, angry harpies with green hair, and limp soyboys that spend a lot of time talking about their genitals. Luckily one deplorable in a farm truck passed a half mile away. It was driven by a bearded freak from flyover country. He’s perfect! He looks like a serial killer, he’s grumpy as fuck, he uses big words, and he we can quote his satirical squirrel stories out of context to make him sound like a monster. Lets blame this event on him!”

In a fortnight I’d be accused of racism, my reputation (such as it is) would be ruined, they’d impound my truck, accuse me of aggravated free thinking, and force me to rack up huge legal bills.

Sounds paranoid doesn’t it? Yet, is it impossible? Really? What behavior of the government or the application of law in recent time assures us the travesty I imagined couldn’t happen? Can we count on limits, norms, common sense, or moral behavior in 2021?

The fact that I’m law abiding edges toward irrelevant. This ‘aint Mayberry and the law ‘aint what it once was. As the law devolves from written words to “mob rule”, nobody is truly safe.
Long story short? I don’t expect my truck to catch on fire; but I carry a fire extinguisher. Likewise I don’t expect the FBI to kick down the door because I drove past a riot; but I put my cell phone in a Faraday cage.

(On a related note, I’ve been meaning to get one of those Dash Cams too. Any Dash Cam advice with specific makes and models submitted in the comments will be rewarded with a gold star.)

So there I was, stuffing my GPS off, powered off, out of minutes, phone into a Faraday envelope when Mrs. Curmudgeon says “does that really work”.

Hell yeah it works! Radio waves, unlike modern society, are still bound by reality.

Then I had doubts. “I dunno’ give me a call and see what happens.”

So Mrs. Curmudgeon dials and my “phone” (which is both out of minutes and blocked in the Faraday envelope) “hangs up on her”. Except that’s not what happened at all. It’s merely what it sounded like on her end of the call.

I’d never thought of what happens to anyone calling me. I assumed I’d get a thing on my phone “Person X tried to call you at date Y”. Maybe even a voicemail (which I never check).

At my prompting, she sent a text message, which looked “sent” as usual. An hour and 70 miles later I opened the envelope and the text popped up within 5 minutes. Damn impressive message routing!

Because it was out of minutes, there was no indication she had tried to call. It simply didn’t register the attempted communication! (When I have minutes, the instant the phone is out of the Faraday cage it’ll notify me of who called and when.)

I grudgingly decided that maybe, possibly, hypothetically, there could have been a few important calls. I might have missed something because my phone had been out of minutes for a month. Late that night I bought some minutes (online) and then… nothing.

Just kidding.

A couple hours later, in the middle of the night, the fucking thing woke me up from a deep sleep.

“We’re calling to contact you about the warranty on your car.”

DAMMIT!

“That’s why I’m so pissed off about modern gasoline additives.”

“Agreed, and if I get another lecture about recycling I’m gonna’…”

“Yes! Also, the bastards in DC can kiss my…”

Click!

I’d been having a delightful conversation with a good friend. We were listing all the things that suck and therefore it was a long conversation. I’d only gotten partway through enumerating reasons why most politicians should be roasted on a spit and fed to weasels when the phone went dead.

Text still worked. I sent out a text:

“Drive through a tunnel?”

The response was quick:

“I’m at my house dumbass.”

So much for that theory. I postulated another:

“Pissed off the NSA?”

My conversation partner had a more reasonable theory:

“You’re out of minutes again aren’t you?”

Ah, yes. That would be the thing. I’m the last living person who buys minutes for his “pay as you go” phone. Even homeless crack addicts and illicit mafia goons have generous monthly plans.

Not me! I’m sticking with the geezeriffic business model of buying minutes of cell phone time, consuming them, running out at inconvenient times, and then buying more. It’s the last gasping breath of a world where people bought shit and subsequently used the shit they’d already purchased. I loathe the modern approach of slapping a monthly payment on everything and then watching your money inexorably fade. I’ll pay up front and avoid the feeling of a vampire that shows up every night to take a little more blood.

That’s just how I roll; pre-paid cell phones fit my life. I don’t talk much. When I do talk, I talk until the minutes are gone. Then I shut up until I get around to buying more minutes. In the long run I save so much it would make the average consumer cry… except the average consumer can’t do math so they wouldn’t understand.

“So, buy more minutes eh?”

I’d forgotten I was still having a text exchange. Then I responded with the most subversive statement any citizen in 2021 can say.

“No.”

“WTF?”

“I’m done talking. I’ll just quit making voice calls.”

“Dude, you NEED a phone.”

“Meh. I’ll write you a letter sometime.”

And that was it. I’d officially checked out of modern society.

Nothing make me happier than satire. It doesn’t get much better than this:

AN FAQ ABOUT YOUR NEW BIRTH CONTROL: THE MUSIC OF RUSH
by LESLIE YLINEN

What’s in it?
Every woman deserves to know exactly what’s in her birth control. Rush is a Canadian progressive rock power trio whose golden era is generally considered to be from 1975 to 1982. Thankfully, for your long-term family planning strategy, the band has an extensive discography that spans from 1974 to 2012.

The music of Rush is marked by erratic signature changes, unconventional chord structures, heavy use of synthesizers and electronic effects, and, most importantly, lead vocals that sound like an ancient witch is being exorcised out of your body with live wires. In less clinical terms, imagine taking the most annoying parts of science fiction and Libertarianism, isolating them, and then somehow blending them up into a cursed musical slurry. Then, infuse that slurry with a distinctive incel vibe, and presto! You’ve got one of the most powerful contraception options on the market.

That’s just beautiful! Read the whole thing (it goes on for half a page and each sentence is better than the last).

It’s enough to make Geddy Lee’s full on hippie hair, which persists despite being a Boomer of the right age to be hawking medical insurance supplements and pricing a golf cart for orbiting a Phoenix retirement condo at 5 MPH, turn a tiny bit grey.

Now, before y’all jump to conclusions, I love Rush. My first speeding ticket was directly caused by a Rush cassette in a 35Watt car stereo cranking YYZ on a sunny open highway. That and the fucking 55MPH speed limit. (Oh, those were dark times indeed. I will never forgive mankind for making me endure such bullshit!)

I can even deal with Lee’s um… unique vocals. Why the hell not? We live in a word where people listen to Bob Dylan voluntarily. Anything is possible if Bob can have a Nobel in literature(!) while singing like that. Plus, much of what I hear of recent years is infested with the unforgivable horror that is autotune.

In fact, I like Lee’s voice, sometimes it’s just the thing. Just not too often. It goes down in the same way I sometimes want to slam a couple shots of cheap tequila just for the taste. That’s right boys and girls, I love me some tequila, just not every day.

It’s a fact that Rush merits good hearted mockery. Like this:

No one has ever gotten pregnant while listening to the music of Rush. Clinical studies show that when combined with watching a male sexual partner play air bass along to the extended solo in “Freewill,” the contraceptive efficacy of Rush approaches 100%.

Remember, I like the band. I’m just willing to admit it’s an acquired taste; and a relatively testosterone laden one at that. If Sinatra will get a lady in the mood, Rush will send her running.

In case you’ve never heard of Rush, you really should. Seriously, love ’em or hate ’em, you’re incomplete if you haven’t heard at least a few of their songs.

I’m linking to YYZ, an instrumental that spares the novice a headlong plunge of Lee’s singing. Note that it starts with the IATA airport identification code of Toronto Pearson International Airport. Yes, they heard morse code on a VHF aviation radio and said “fuck it… lets turn this into something that’s neither rock nor jazz”. Then Neil Pert set out to destroy his cymbals and the other two somehow managed to keep up.

Isn’t it nice to hear a three man band where they don’t just play instruments but they wring them out! Plus, half the time I listen to them I start wishing I had a better handle on the science of music theory. Enjoy the song; it won’t get you laid and it’s fun to mock but I still think it’s damn good music.

Hat tip to Cold Fury.