Adaptive Curmudgeon

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…)

I’ve been without my truck for three weeks.

Three. Weeks.

They’ve been long weeks.

Some folks might take this in stride. It’s an inconvenience and an expense (a huge one) but nothing more. Not me!

Vast swaths of the population consider a vehicle nothing more than a way to get from point A to point B. These are the sort that think self driving cars are keen and exhort me to vote for light rail subsidies.

I’m not of that tribe. I need my wheels! A vehicle is not merely transportation… it is freedom.

I might have faired better if it was motorcycle weather but it’s not. So… I’ve gone slowly mad. Everything feels like this:

I’ve been bumming rides off Mrs. Curmudgeon. She’s been very nice about it. She even accepts my apologies when I stuff 200 pounds of chicken feed in the back seat.

But homestead chores are backing up. You don’t know how much you use your truck until it’s… not.

I’ve had three weeks of not.

I considered buying a new truck. I didn’t want a new truck. I wanted my truck.

Everyone has an opinion of a better truck brand I should own. They form into teams; Ford, Chevy, Dodge… or teams from other leagues… Jeep, Toyota, etc… But to be honest no team is perfect. If you want huge and you’re in America, you’re stuck with one of the big three. I know y’all have a story about your pappy’s truck that went eleven million miles in 1970 without so much as a flat tire… but for every one fondly remembered, there’s another one sitting in a junkyard. I guess what I’m saying is that they all suck in special and different ways.

My Dodge, for example, decided to expose me to “Death Wobble”. In no universe should “Death Wobble” be a known flaw! I wrote about it here:

• Death Wobble: Part I
• Death Wobble: Part II
• Death Wobble: Part III
• Death Wobble: Part IV
• Death Wobble: Part V
• Death Wobble: Part VI
• Death Wobble: Part VII
• Death Wobble: Fini
• Death Wobble: It Never Ends

We live in a world where they’ll recall seven million Hondas because the passenger drink holder once failed and scared a Chihuahua in Pasadena. They’ll recall a generation of mini-vans because the heater fan switch has the wrong font. But I had a catastrophic failure of steering due to a know issue and that’s “a common occurence”.

WTF?!?!

How can “death wobble’ not be a big deal?  “Here, drink this soda. It has a known flaw called ‘exploding anus‘. It happens sometimes. Drink up.”

Anyway, I fixed death wobble (by hurling money at it) and got seven years of good service. It was expensive and annoying when it happened but seven years of good service isn’t bad.

Then, BOOM, transmission blown! Weirdly, I’d been rather impressed with the six speed auto. The tow setting shift points were just right for dragging an iceberg and (combined with the exhaust retarders) it was pretty good at crawling down anything short of a cliff. I was happy with the transmission right until it was flinging innards onto the pavement. I didn’t see it coming. Who knew?

You place your bets and you takes your chances. I decided to hurl more money at it and hope I get many years of service. It was cheaper than buying a new (or comparable used) but not cheap!

It’ll be done soon. Actually, it’s already done, I just haven’t paid for it yet. All I’ve got to do is spend all my money (big thanks to the folks who tossed a tip my way, you’re awesome!).

Soon. I’ll be a man with a truck again. I’ll be back where I feel best; at the wheel and enjoying the open road.

phe·nol·o·gy

noun /fiˈnäləjē/

1.The study of cyclic and seasonal natural phenomena, esp. in relation to climate and plant and animal life

In the modern era everything is political. It shouldn’t be. Some things simply are. Thus, I assert that spring is coming a bit early and it doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with global warming. I just had to get that out of my system!

This winter was within the range of normal but a bit on the mellow side. I sure appreciated it. After the man-made hell that was 2020 I was reeling and I’m glad either God or nature cut me some slack. It is important to recognize good fortune and acknowledge it.

Further good fortune in relation to the mellow winter? I made it this far on a mere four cords of firewood. I burned damn near every stick… but I made it. Home sweet hovel has been more or less toasty warm all this time and (as with most years), I get the satisfaction of having personally wrestled most of our BTUs from the forest.

In other news, I went scouting some distance from Curmudgeon Compound and found a nice little gem. I stumbled into a valley I hadn’t heretofore explored. It was near a village I’d heretofore never visited. What a treasure I found.

A mere speck on a map, it was a place time forgot. There was a campsite handy too. It was so pretty that I was inspired. Unfortunately, camping was not the purpose of my travels and I was not in my truck (a pox on Detroit!). So I didn’t have my usual and ridiculously overprepared level of gear. No tent. No sleeping bag. Not even a fishing pole! (Not that it’s the right season for fishing, it’s just that I always have a fishing pole handy. Without one, it feels like I’m wandering around naked. What if there’s a trout emergency?!?)  Anyway, the point is I found a place so peaceful and mellow that I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to camp right there.

I stayed a few hours, soaking up springtime, but then, alas, I returned home. I smell as many flowers as I can; but I can’t smell all of them.

Thinking of that, and thinking of nature and my role in it… I camped out… on my fuckin’ lawn. Sure, it’s cute when you’re six and creepy when you’re a grown ass man but I don’t fuckin’ care. I need to chill out and a night in a tent is as good as a bender at the bar (cheaper too!). Folks, you’re never too old to park your ass in a sleeping bag and snooze!

I told myself I was “checking and airing out” my tent. Which is bullshit. I was pretending I was nine again. There’s no shame in that. Plus, I needed a good night’s sleep and I like my cot and “supertent”. (Some of the best “investments” I’ve ever made.)

I set it up in late afternoon. I was under the watchful eye of one barn cat (nicknamed “Evil”) who would love to scratch a new-ish tent to shreds and another (“Tardo”) who would love to lay on my sleeping bag purring and shed until the whole tent was a nylon homage to car fur.

I explained to the cats that if there was so much as one scratch on my tent, I’d broil both their asses and feed ’em to my chickens. I think they understood.

Meanwhile, it was the earliest I’ve ever heard a ruffed grouse. They have a distinctive non vocalized low frequency sound I call “starting a lawnmower engine half a mile away”. Other people call it “drumming”. Regardless, this is pretty early! It seemed like only one. I think he’s got cabin fever like me. (I say “he” because I think drumming is the way males attract females.)

I thought nothing of it and got distracted with other things. I turned in around midnight. The moon was obscured. It was kind of eerie out. Very dark.

As I drifted off I heard the silly grouse drumming. Just one. Drumming. At midnight?

I have always thought ruffed grouse don’t drum in the dark. I’ve never noticed it before. Yet it was clear to hear. I lay there listening to the wind and that silly damn grouse. He kept it up.

“Jesus bird, you’re going to attract an owl and get eaten. Call it a day.”

Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.

“Dude, check your calendar. The females aren’t ready yet.”

Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.

“I admire your moxie. You’re going to get eaten but you’re clearly horny and don’t care who knows it. Are you mental?”

Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.

I checked my thermometer. It was 37 degrees. “Dude, you’re not going to attract a decent mate at 2:00 am in 37 degrees. Try again in the morning.”

Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.

It wasn’t an annoying sound. It was merely that I thought I understood that one basic part of grouse behavior and apparently I need to learn a new understanding. He was still at it when I drifted off. It was sometime around 2:00 am. I dreamed about ruffed grouse and how they were using the wrong clocks.

Then the coyotes kicked in. Two groups were competing. They woke me up.

“We’re the sharks!”

“We’re the jets!”

“This is our hill! We rock!”

“This is our swamp. We’re cooler.”

I’ve a theory that wolves and coyotes don’t co-exist. A lot of my neighbors say they’ve seen wolves but I’ve seen no sign that I can personally vouch for within a good 5 mile radius. So far I’ve been ignoring my neighbors. But I did get a good report that I d consider reliable. That’s a sighting of a wolf about 8 miles away… which is real close by wolf standards. I’ve been listening to hear a wolf respond to the coyotes. Something like this:

“We’re coyotes! Lets party!”

“I’m wolf! I will eat you!”

“We’re coyotes… we’re going to run away now. You’ll get your comeuppance when our Acme order comes in.”

I was thinking this but there was no audio evidence of wolves. Instead I got to hear this:

“We’re coyote team A. We’re super cool. Join us.”

“We’re coyote team B. Those other guys suck. Join us. We have better pay and a superior dental plan.”

“Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.”

“What the hell was that?”

“The birds are weird. We’re done howling.”

“Same here. Peace out.”

“Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.”

As soon as the coyotes stopped their party I drifted off. I have no idea what the hell that grouse was thinking.

So there you have it folks. Grouse don’t “drum” in the dark… except when they do.

As long as I’m pondering genre crossing performances I might as well include Bluegrass (Hat Tip: Loan Star Parson):

I’m shocked how cheerful bluegrass sounds even when the lyrics are pure darkness. They were jamming with banjos and sweet harmonies and I wound up tapping my feet happily to lyrics like this:

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word
And never mind that noise you heard
It’s just the beasts under your bed
In your closet, in your head”

That sounded happy when it was “bluegrassified”! Is there nothing that bluegrass can’t make sweet? Here’s the original, which I will always love. I’ve heard it played live in all it’s thundering magnificence and it was awesome:

One comment related to yesterday’s post linked to playing music with Tesla Coils. I didn’t know such a thing was possible. I feel I was denied critical, need to know, information!

I present for your enjoyment Seven Nation Army as originally played by The White Stripes, but now played by a mad scientist using raw electricity:

As a a genuine knuckle dragging deplorable fly-over county citizen it’s politically popular to assume I listen to nothing but Lynyrd Skynyrd; probably while doing meth and setting my house trailer on fire. (Don’t blame me, I’m only reporting the zeitgeist. Then again nobody in the media knows the definition of zeitgeist.)

This, of course, is gold plated bullshit. I’m all about high culture!

Let’s begin with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (3rd Movement):

Then enjoy a bit of light hearted opera (hat tip to Maggie’s Farm):

Finally, because pipe organs are awesome, I simply had to include Bach’s Toccata & Fugue in D minor: