Adaptive Curmudgeon

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.

I’ve scooped The Babylon Bee! Babylon’s story Facebook Blocks Story That Says We Weren’t Always At War With Eastasia is pure gold:

“In recent remarks, President Joe Biden stated that we had always been at war with Eastasia. This had gone unmentioned by most of the press, but the New York Post wrote a story contradicting Biden’s remarks, giving evidence that until recently we had been allies of Eastasia. Facebook has now blocked this story from being shared on its platform.”

I had about the same thought about a month and a half ago:

The campus students, finely tuned to the zeitgeist of any moment, moved as one. It only takes the flick of a tail to drive a school of fish and the students were now all on their feet. Winston always carefully watched crowds. The closer they came to storming the castle with torches and pitchforks, the better it was to be the first guy holding a torch. This is how he managed to still have a job. Plus, it was fun watching the puppets dance.

. . .

Winston decided to ham it up even further. He grabbed Mascara Girl by the shoulders and shouted in her face “And that is why we have always been at war with Eastasia!” Mascara Girl began shouting back, carried aloft in the frenzy. “Fuck Eastasia!”

His wife was shouting in the other direction. Screaming at Robert Mublowski who was jumping up and down. “There are five lights! There are five lights!” Robert was shouting back “Five lights!”

It’s not every day you post a joke and then a month later the awesome folks at Babylon Bee do a similar bit. I’m pretty proud of that! (In case you’re wondering, the Eastasia bit came up in my serialized novel Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels, Chapter 7, part 12.)

Also, if you’ve no idea what this Eastasia thing is all about, drop everything and go read 1984. It’s a short book, it won’t kill you, and if you haven’t read it… you’re fucked. Honestly, it’s a big deal. If you just lived through 2020 without a basic smattering of Orwell, you might have bought all this bullshit; and that would be tragic.

While you’re at it, you might as well enjoy Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. If you haven’t read it, make sure you do so before you can’t.

Remember, the shit we’re living in 2020 (which has drooled over into the next year) was pondered well in advance. Orwell and Bradbury nailed it in 1948 and 1953 respectively. In broad strokes, everyone knew these times were coming.

I wrote posts (here and here) about how strange our world has become. I’d observed and described real events. They were weird because I still remember “normal”.

I assumed I was alone in my observations until I stumbled across this from Z-Man:

“There is no getting around the fact that our present is unimaginably weird, relative to our standards of just a generation ago. People like to laugh at what people a century ago imagined was the future, but those past predictions were based on the assumption that crazy people would not take over the country.”

Yes… unimaginably weird. Then more from Sarah Hoyt:

“Not just the conviction that ‘it can’t happen here.’ There is also the deep in-built certainty that tomorrow will be more or less like today, and the worst that can happen within relatively safe bounds. Even while everything is shifting against you. From Pompeii to Nazi Germany, from Alexander’s conquests to Communist Russia, the normalcy bias has killed more human beings than any other factor in history.”

Sarah found the word I was looking for; Normalcy Bias.

Current day has a trajectory and velocity that’s… off. People pretend it’s not weird so they can continue ignoring it. Normalcy bias is a weakness of mind.

If one simply observes, they’ll know shit’s gotten weird. We’re disconnected from reality. Lacking reality, society is going full on spastic, lunatic, batshit crazy.

As I composed my earlier posts, sipping coffee at the home planet of the woke, I realized I’ve completely given up on “going back”. That’s part of rejecting normalcy bias. Certain events have already happened. I can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Perhaps all historic times of madness feel like this.

One example was the time in history after Luther nailed the Ninety-five Theses on the church door but before the shit hit the fan. During that time, nobody, not Luther, not the blacksmith on the corner, not even the Pope, knew what would happen next. At the time one could assume “it’ll all blow over”. It didn’t blow over, it blew up.

Normalcy bias means people believe bullshit because they must believe. They’ve also discarded societal tools that keep us out of the ditch. They believe (without evidence) that magic new awesome solutions will appear out of thin air. These new solutions will be better than what we have now… because they must.

Imagine the stupidity in that! The richest, most peaceful and free society in human existence is flushing it. The replacement will be so excellent and groovy that flushing it  was wise. Suuuuure.

Think of the things we once did but simply quit:

There are methods for orderly transition between generations. Speaking generally here; Baby Boomers aren’t/didn’t use them. Subsequent generations hate Boomers. Boomers reciprocate. Gen X took it in the shorts decades ago; they have zero fucks to give and always will. Gen Z is watching Tic Tok and hasn’t a fuckin’ clue how to “adult”. They invented the use of “adult” as a verb to describe what they don’t know how to do. How much wisdom (and joy) is lost when each generation reinvents the wheel?

Mental health is part of happiness. We have means to care for mental illness. Yet do we? Homeless crazy people shouting at street lamps is a normal part of city life. We elect and revere genuinely strange people who’ve made trainwrecks of their own lives. In general, when someone is unsuccessful in plain old living we shouldn’t put them in charge.

We have ways to build community, fellowship, and trust. We ditched all that and freebase social media as an alternative. This may be the biggest rug we’ve pulled from under the world’s structure. We put a mass propaganda device in every pocket and let that unfeeling droid Zuckerberg dole out dopamine like a crack dealer. Starting in 2004 (not that long ago!) he trained the living shit out of us. Seventeen years to build human beings who think collectively instead of as humans.

I’ve seen people when they’re out of cell phone range. It’s funny and a little sad. Like a chain smoker who can’t light up. Grab the phone. No service. Put it away and try to do something. Ten minutes later check again. Still no service. All day long.

Social media trained us to think “fact” is determined by social media. Share, like, and subscribe and that makes it true. What kind of idiot thinks “likes” and “upvotes” makes truth? Trained ones.

There’s humor in this. Upvotes make “truth” and downvotes make “false”. So when Biden’s YouTube speeches are less popular than an anal probe… YouTube changed the upvote/downvote mechanism. That’s funny! A real leader doesn’t give a shit about upvotes and downvotes… he earns respect. We’re told Biden got more votes than any candidate in history, but we observed that he can’t get people to upvote. Suuuuure.

We’re dropping the ball on education too. A Neolithic huntsman who failed to teach his children the magic spell of fire would be a monster who doomed his progeny to misery. An MIT lecture hall discussing why math is racist does the same. We have a system that churns out waves of schooled but clueless walking vote tallies. The can do naught but what they’re told, for they know nothing at all.

A recent term in support of normalcy bias is “follow the science”. Drones say this as if science is leading a parade. They think “science” is what the guy with a Federal grant and a lab coat says at a press conference. I remember that same guy in 1975. Back then he was on network news telling me we’d starve in a Population Bomb. Later he insisted we’d freeze in an ice age. Difference is back then we weren’t nuts. We didn’t hunt down and persecute “Population Bomb Deniers”.

This has bit us on the ass and it’s going to get worse. Anyone who thinks “science” comes from “consensus” can never know anything but what he’s told to believe.

Our economy is all about normalcy bias. There have always been ways to corrupt currency. The Romans, on the way down the tubes, made their coins of base metal. We, started with real coin, degraded to base metal, and now we’ve gone all the way to an “idea”. We call it Modern Monetary Theory. Money is whatever we say money is. If we believe another trillion just appeared in a database, they did. Isn’t that neat?

The most obvious weirdness is what’s replacing rule of law. Laws were once written on paper. The words roughly meant what they said or they’d have used other words. Now law is whatever you can do or can be done to you.

If it’s illegal in theory but you did it and weren’t punished… is it illegal? If it was legal on paper and you got fucked over anyway, was it really legal?

Laws no longer apply to everyone. They don’t apply to this race (which is a construct), or that sex (which is whatever you define it as). Whatever you did is legal if they’ve got a reason to let it slide. Holding a valuable political seat, running a big company, if the judge is sympathetic, or if it would further a narrative to drop the story. If there’s a reason to fuck you, then you’re toast. If a mob screams for your head, or you’re from the wrong party, or crushing your reputation will earn clicks then words on paper mean nothing.

This scales all the way to the top. Even the most egregious crimes can be forgiven. Arson and violence is legal if you hold the right opinions. It’s OK to get pissed off at the government and burn down a shoe store, provided you live in Portland, Oregon. In Burns, Oregon, ranchers were pissed off at the government so the Feds shot their ass. I’m a nobody who lives nowhere so I’ve got to play by the rules. Joe Biden got more votes than any other candidate in history and therefore it’s totally fine that we’ve all seen photos of his son with a crack pipe in his mouth.

Not all of this is tragedy. Some is comedy. The press became so political that the President used a thing called Twitter. If Trump had used Morse code and a shortwave transmitter, the FCC would have shut it down. Since he was using Twitter, a corporation banned him. Meanwhile, people moaned that he was an oppressive fuckhead… using Twitter to do it.

People using Twitter bitched that a guy who couldn’t use Twitter was oppressing them.

That’s hilarious!

When you dispense with normalcy bias you look around with clear eyes. It’s bittersweet. That’s why I wrote a story about coffee and my newly repaired truck. I wanted to say; “You’re not alone. You’re sane in an insane world.”

That insane world thing has happened before. I’m reading Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Yes, that’s right, I’m reading shit written 1,841 years ago. He’s talking about the proper way to live. From a society that collapsed 1,600 years ago. One of the things he wrote is on this blog’s header:

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Don’t fall prey to normalcy bias. This shit ‘aint right. Take care of yourself and see with open eyes. Being on the side of the majority (whatever that means in 2021) isn’t the goal.

Also, remember when your mom scolded you “if all your friends jumped off a cliff would you?”

Well? Would you? You’re about to find out.

A.C.

[Between well appreciated blog donations, selling a kidney on e-bay, and other financing activities which definitely don’t involve work as a contract killer or a Tupperware Ponzi scheme, the Curmudgeon managed to fix his truck’s transmission! In celebration, he ventured into a strange alien place called “city” during a time of madness called “now”. His goal? Hardware purchases and decent coffee. This is the conclusion of his story.]

Wandering aimlessly, I spied a chain where I used to eat. I haven’t been there since “a few weeks to flatten the curve” began 13 months ago. For a while it was presumably shut down. At the moment it’s open. It’ll be open until it’s closed again. Thus, a business will rise and fall based on obscure regulation promulgated by people who have neither the right, the authority, nor the skill to make a taco. I’d have more respect for politicians if they could make decent tacos.

I don’t know where this place falls on my mental map of “mask” and “free” territories. Cautiously, I parked, stepped out and walked past the obligatory “nanny sign” (“wear a mask because governor whoever the fuck he is said something six months about about, conform, obey, be like us, we control the horizontal, we control the vertical, etc…”).

Like a wild animal sniffing the air before entering a clearing, I scanned for signs. I noticed three Sheriffs chowing down long before they saw me. That hints that the food is tasty and I’m unlikely to get stabbed. Then again it’s not a good place to test the waters of freedom or I could get Tazed. On goes the mask which reminds me of a child’s Halloween prop. Did I just sell out my beliefs? Hard to say. I wanted a fucking taco!

At the table, the pointless fabric beard covering went off, because that’s how viruses work. There’s no ketchup on the tables, because that’s also how viruses work.

The Sheriffs were bitching about an ongoing “protest”. I listened for gossip. They were on break from watching dickheads prance in the streets. It wasn’t clear on what was being protested. It could have been racism, oil pipelines, court proceedings, the moon is in the seventh house, anything else, or nothing at all. They didn’t seem to know and they didn’t seem to care. Just another weekend of babysitting loud assholes who like to emote in teh streets. Their concern was the weather. If it warmed up it would encourage the snowflakes to flake harder. If it rained the “warriors for peace” would go scurrying for mom’s house. Rain meant they could clock out early. They were rooting for rain.

I wanted to give them a friendly ‘atta positive vibe; “Go punch a hippie for me boys”. But it’s 2021. Humor is dangerous now. Keep your head down.

They left. Presumably to get more verbally abuse from losers. Rough way to make a paycheck.

The free WiFi requested I click agreement to something. I didn’t read it. I agreed. I was connected and immediately blocked.

The page I wanted to see, which was about economics, was “hate”. Uh huh. Economics is hate and kumquats are lust. It’s 2021.

Step back and bask in our new new world. A taco joint has an opinion about Keynesian economics. It enforces these opinions lest I fall prey to incorrect economic theory while eating beans and rice.

Roll that around in your head. Repeat the last few sentences aloud. I’m not making any of this up. I once lived in a world where a taco joint didn’t have contracts with services that act as a censor. You did too. Do you remember the before times? Keep your memories safe. They will fade.

I activated VPN. A minute later I was surfing the economics page; from France.

I don’t know when I started routing around censorship but it became a practiced reflex. The same training that teaches a schoolboy to glance at teacher before throwing a spitball is part of adulthood in our infantilized society. They say of Prohibition that there was a Speakeasy in every town. Would you like to “speak” “easily”? Nothing new under the sun.

Consulting my mental “mask” / “no mask” map, I remembered a free hardware store. Same town, same regulations (none of this is “law”), but different level of uptight. A short drive later, I walked past yet another “we are required by law to post this” sign. In this locale, nobody cares.

The year old “sanitation station” made me laugh out loud:

“Hand sanitizer, for sanitizing hands”

Has there ever been a more glorious COVID era sentence? Without the sign I’d be lost! Maybe I’d shove the sanitizer up my nose, or decide to wash my dick instead of my hands.

A few customers wore masks. Most didn’t. It was all very chill.

I know a person from this very town who insists “everyone always wears a mask”. I’m not sure he’s been to this or any hardware store ever. He frequents an organic food store and a bicycle shop. Everyone at the two stores he’s been to is masked to the hilt. Thus, he concludes there’s 100% compliance planet wide. Uh huh.

The plumbing selection had stuff identically priced to the bigger chain I’d avoided. It was more or less exactly the selection I’d get from Amazon. I paid cash and rolled out.

Now for my reward; expensive coffee! It was served by one of a half dozen identical cheery masked basic college girls. Very few men work at trendy coffee shops. All people are equal so men aren’t part of the staff. (Don’t ask me, I don’t work for HR.)

I’ve mentally mapped this place as a demilitarized zone in the mask/freedom matrix. Maybe that’s why I like it?

It’s the classic American “pretend we’re elite but I’m an unpaid intern at the local college” scene. A long haul trucker who owns his own semi would be the richest person in the room, and look the least wealthy. They all have a useless degree. They’d support anything socialist. I look broke by comparison.

Ironically, here in the heart of Woke, the hive mind that terrorizes people like me everywhere they can… loses traction. They don’t even think to hassle me over PC shit because here’s the place where everything is PC. Also, they can’t differentiate between acceptable “Geezer-Poet Shabby-Chic” and unacceptable “Old School Homesteader Dirtman”.

Also, I can play in their arena in a way they can’t play in mine. I have genuine overeducated grad-school street cred and I ‘aint afraid to hit them over the head with it. Anyone who Karens me will get a rant that will remind them they’re just dumb fish in a small pond. I’ll mix Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and Metallica lyrics in ways that will confuse their little goldfish minds. They’ll need a Google definition search before they understand enough to weep at the thought of how little they know. The scary bearded man knows mean words from old times! Or maybe I look close enough to a homeless guy that I’m invisible. Either way is fine.

Universally, they’d hate me if they knew much about me. They don’t so it’s all cool. Also, they’re inactive. They would gladly sign a petition to throw gun owners into a wood chipper but none of them is going to do the deed themselves. I suppose their plan is to tax Deplorables to hire Deplorables to exterminate Deplorables? Regardless, they’re not in any hurry about anything. The closer you get to a college the more the Woke relax and quit being assholes.

Everything is shallow and happy. The music is pleasing mush. It’s a 20 year old channeling a Bob Dylan who’s old enough to be her grandfather. Truth to power lyrics as a Boomer worship re-enactments of 1968. So long as it’s played low and quiet, I don’t care. There’s no autotuner and that’s key.

The chatter of voices is noticeably not-strident. Most don’t bother to wear masks. The ones that wear masks do so without going full Karen. Its an actual diversity of action, if not opinion.

The bulletin board has a drummer seeking a gig. There’s a bad poem about recycling. I could post selling farm fresh eggs and they’d be cool with it. If I posted about selling butchered pigs they’d wait until I left and then eventually work up the bravery to rip the sign down… anonymously. Those rebels!

Ranch trucks jostle with minivans in the drive through. College girls are yammering about their hair. College boys stuck in the friend zone are pretending to listen to them talk about hair. Several mothers are ignoring kids in baskets after a hectic day of being a mom. One sweet little kid is on her third hot coca. She’s about to go into a sugar mania. I can see it in her eyes. Cornholio!

Bearded outliers like me sitting in the corners is appropriate scenery. We give the place a little extra authenticity so we’re allowed. It’s a traditional old-school coffee shop, which means it’s in a five year old rented storefront that has no history at all.

I’ve heard there are uneasy truces between predator and prey at African waterholes during drought. I imagine I’m experiencing the same. I’m not even sure who’s predator and who’s prey here. The vegans don’t get up in my grill and I’m not open carrying an AR. I think it’s hilarious that they not only have plastic straws but disposable cups… but I’m not openly mocking them. It’s their home and also they made the right call. Disposable plastic was bad for polar bears but that when washing cups during COVID would kill them dead they decided plastic wasn’t so bad after all. A false choice among unlikely premises but they did make the call for self preservation. That’s a good start.

It’s a truce upheld by universal values; we all like mocha in our latte. Here, in the land of hippie coffee, we are civilized.

I didn’t check if the WiFi is censored because of course it is. I hit VPN, checked my blog, and started typing about freedom and squirrels. Writing fiction and “people watching” is a proper coffee shop activity. I wrote this right under the nose of the woke. A happy story about a man and his truck as they witness the strange alien planet that replaced the rational one of his memory.

…and you’re reading it right now.

Have a free day.

AC

I was reunited with my truck. Checkbook bleeding but new transmission installed, I happily set out to do errands.

Where to go? In our new world, decisions involve different variables than “before times”. I needed stuff best found in the nearest city. Yet cities feel cruel and unfriendly to me. Did I really want to go to there? Were my errands worth getting dipped in groupthink?

It’s a trivial hassle… for now city dystopia remains largely hypothetical. The chaos is mostly smoke and mirrors. That may be all it ever becomes. Everyone suspects our future is written stone but it’s not. One side pokes the bear; sometimes in earnest but often with listless ineffectuality. The other side grumbles and does nothing. Most humans are nice people who want to live in peace. Places that have utterly crawled up their own ass are still anomalies (i.e. Portland, Detroit, etc… Or observing at larger scales Paris, London, Stockholm, etc…).

Until all hell breaks loose, which may never come or maybe it already happened and we haven’t caught up with the reality, we pretend everything is fine. The keyword is pretend.

The man who unquestionably won more votes than any other candidate in history is mentally solid, firmly in charge, and making wise rational choices… because he has to be. Is not the alternate horrific? Epstein really hung himself, the power grid is stable, adults are in charge, there is no inflation, and the press never lies. It would be best if these things were true, so we say they are.

I need a new shower head. I’m sick of buying shit from Amazon. I wanted to buy a physical object from a store run by human employees.

Also, I was desperate for hippie coffee.

About coffee; we all have irrational desires and this is one of mine. Paradoxically, I like hippie coffee shops and overpriced coffee. There’s no reason why overpriced coffee is the exclusive domain of elitist twits. Don’t redneck farmhands like coffee too? Can’t I drink a latte while listening to Hank Williams Sr. instead of thirty year old folk / poems by Bob Dylan? Apparently, not. Things are what they are and this is something which simply is.

I’ve grown to like the paradox. Young and schooled but unlearned and otherwise unemployable, “baristas” add to the coffee experience. Haven’t you noticed?

We’re all thinking it but I’ll say it aloud:

Coffee tastes best when served by a pierced snowflake with no job prospects and student loans they’ll be paying until their tattooed boobs sag to the floor.

Now that I’ve said it you know it to be true. If a “barista” has neon hair, answers to Zer, and thinks socialist dinosaur Boomers like Bernie Sanders will fix “zer’s” problems, the brew is better. Coffee just isn’t the same when served by sane humans.

I’ve no idea why I think this. Maybe I like to visit the zoo?

The truck hummed flawlessly. I’d burned thousands of dollars to make it exactly like it was a month ago. Even in this matter, our “new universe” informed my decisions. Should I repair an old truck or buy a new one? Part of that calculation was “what options have faded or are already gone”? Our world is bereft of ammo and grocery stores periodically become sparse in ways I’d never seen in America before 2020. Political speech is now our biggest industrial output. Talk will never construct a torque converter. I can get a remanufactured transmission today. Will that be true in six months, a year, five years? Are we slowly depleting our stocks of truck parts? Are we eating the seed corn?

Uncertainty also means buying new is unthinkable. What maniac would take on unnecessary debt in 2021? Six (!) years of payments starting… now? Who knows what’ll happen but if there’s a year when Chicago or Portland will become a crater… 2021 is a reasonable guess. New long term (or longish term) debt in a nation that “elected” Joe Biden? To quote a one term president; “Wouldn’t be prudent at this juncture”.

Better to stick with what I know. Best to enjoy the option while parts are still on the shelves. If the world is going to shit, I want a good truck immediately. Wise? I’ll know in a decade. If I’m still running the same truck, it was worth it. If everyone else is limping around in gutless electric toys (which I don’t expect but is a literal and clearly stated political goal), I’ll have won the game.

Hm… there’s a thing to notice. Think about my big diesel and imaginary fleets of electric puddle jumper car-like-objects. I don’t expect everything to go electric. Why? Because I understand mechanics and energy density. Pretty much nobody else believes we’ll go all electric either. Yet, leaning that way is officially “the plan”. We all hear the words and half the nation nods as if saying a thing makes it true. Nobody believes it but everyone believes it. Neat!

For shopping, I had a box store in mind. Run by Kool-Aid drinking woke fuckheads, the place is a corporate marketing bitch-fest. You just know they’ve got an official mission statement about every possible political choice. I don’t want to hear discussions of LGBTXYZ sexuality while I’m examining drill bits. I don’t care if they have a position on abortion when I’m buying a Torx wrench. What’s wrong with these people?

Correlation is not causality but everyone in the store is always grim. I don’t know if the bullshit makes people unhappy or the bullshit attracts the already unhappy. All I know is that nobody, shopper or worker, ever smiles. Did I really want to shop in East Germany? I pulled into the mostly empty, acres large, parking lot and pondered.

Nope. I can still avoid grim cold miserable people. So I did.

(More in my next post…)