Category: This Dangerous Year

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Things I Learned While Staring At Trees

a lovely panorama this evening

Friends,

I was really looking forward to having a respite in 2015 from the nightmare that was 2014. Make no mistake, 2014 was no picnic. I had to quit the job I relied on to get away from an evil boss. Racial turmoil and mass shootings roiled these United States. War, disease and privation made above the fold headlines every single day. Soft media concerned themselves with glossy asses and selfie sticks. Surely, the jackals could take a moment to reflect and step away for a while. This was not to be.

The Paris offices of French magazine Charlie Hedbo were shot up yesterday by Muslim extremists, killing 12 and shocking a nation. This was one of the few publications that republished the cartoons depicting Mohammed published in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten in 2005, earning the magazine a fatwa.

The day before, a chapter of the NAACP in Colorado Springs was bombed, leading to hardly a peep of news coverage. Apparently, this wasn’t fireworks or a gas leak as some have suggested. Rather, this domestic terror attack was intentional, but the outrage machine has been mostly dormant.

The 2016 Chevy Volt was unveiled at the Consumer Electronics Show the day before that. One of its key features is the ability of the car to extend to you GM’s “commerce and engagement offering” by showing you ads and offering you coupons when you drive by participating businesses. You can also receive a discount on your insurance via the car’s built-in connection to Progressive Insurance by opting into allowing the car to tell them if you’ve been speeding or doing other naughty things. Hashtag: snitch.

We have also been bombarded in this nascent year with the news that our New Year’s snow storm did not put a dent in California’s drought. which is the worst that has ever happened in the history of forever. We will need, it is supposed, 11 trillion gallons of water to cure this deficit, which is an unimaginable and unattainable number. Therefore, we are doomed.

Or are we?

Okay, yes, maybe we are doomed. What has changed is that we’re being constantly beat over the head with our own failures and our own suffering. The bludgeoning by the media with the cudgel of despair must drive ratings or SEO or clicks or something, but I can see a way to manage the gloom…

Require the media to offer solutions.

None of this “spark a dialog” or “encourage a conversation” nonsense. I’m talking about real solutions. If the drought is caused by too many of those little silica desiccant packs in our packages drying out the air, let’s get rid of them. If the bombers in Colorado mistook the NAACP building for an Arby’s, let’s find a way to get them better maps. If French Islamist extremists don’t understand that cartoons aren’t actually photographs of the prophet, let’s give provide them with a better arts education.

Okay, I couldn’t think of real solutions for any of those problems except for this: Never buy a GM product with OnStar. Ever.

Your pal,

– bob

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Wait! Come back!

A lovely centered picture of a girly dog spying something very interesting and smelly.

Friends,

I’ve hit my head very hard this evening on the kitchen cabinetry and I’ve surely earned a concussion for the effort. There’s every reason to believe that I’ll be fine, but I’m a little worried that the dizziness and confusion I’m experiencing at the moment signal something much more than a little bump on the noggin.

But that’s boring, so let’s get on with a little housekeeping!

Since I last uploaded something here over a month ago, we’ve had two fire scares. One that prompted the mobilization of over three thousand men and women to beat down the furious blaze that eventually consumed over 27,000 acres, and a smaller one today that was put out fairly quickly through our own corps and the quick attention of neighbors in Fern Valley. In the words of internationally noted photographer Jenny Kirchner on Facebook, “Yard abatement is important.” Indeed it is.

I don’t really have a headache exactly. Truth is, my head feels mostly okay. There’s going to be a bump for sure, but the biggest worry is that I don’t really have a good idea where I am right now. Well, never mind that. On with it…

During the Mountain Fire, I evacuated myself, papers, photographs, and Mme. Puppy Dog to the desert. From our emergency evacuation center in Cathedral City (whose city council has never met a boondoggle it wouldn’t agree to fund in full), we could watch the flames charging along the ridge towards the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway’s Mountain Station. Horrifying. I took pictures, but they’re kind of terrible camera phone shots not worth posting. This one is nicer.

A lovely centered picture of a meadow.

Let’s see, what else happened? I got a new boss at the Far Eastern Outpost of a charity from out west somewhere in a city with a mayor. You know, that mayor. Mayor Headlock, they’re calling him. “Mayor Fingers” is creepier, so I’ll stick with that, since all signs point to him being really creepy.

Sorry, a little confused at the moment. I should get back on topic. Crickets are interesting, aren’t they? 78 degrees in the house, shouldn’t be sweating. Sweating might be bad.

I started installing a new french door on the weekend before guests were to arrive a couple weekends ago. Here’s a tip, all of the locksets you can buy at the hardware store have a defined offset. The offset is the distance between the edge of the door and the center of the lock and most are between 2 3/8 and 2 5/8-inches. You can get shorter deadbolts if you trim down the side of your door to be a lot narrower, but they’re blindingly expensive. You are hereby warned.

Very sleepy all of the sudden. Goodnight everyone.

Your pal,

– bob

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The Time Stealer

A lovely centered picture of a silly costumed man.

Friends,

It’s the interstitial between THE CHRISTMASTIME and THE NEWYEARTIME and I had many grand plans for this weekend. So I wake up late, as you do on the weekend, and realize that my rat fink traitorous lower back betrays me and thwarts any plans to walk, install brilliant gifts on my slab-sided pickup, or even carry laundry to the washer. Dammit.

You’re surely thinking, “Well then, why are you sitting in a chair writing this instead of laying down?” Because this is the only comfortable place and position to be in at the moment. Even then, it’s not great, but I really do love Ikea’s jesus chair (that they don’t sell anymore, but is kinda like this one) at the moment since it’s very nearly the right height.

Is it the cold, snowy weather? A dog huddling up into my lower back overnight? The fates? Broken osteothings? Maybe something else entirely?

Surely yes.

More tomorrow on the thrilling consequences of these circumstances!

Your best pal in the world,

– bob

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Terror of The Ice People

A lovely centered picture of ice warriors.

Friends,

The winter storms have passed through and while roads are slippery there isn’t enough snow on the ground in this alpine wonderland to assuage fears about drought. All of the danger, without enough benefit.

It’s impossible to remove all danger from life, of course. Sometimes, you and your buddy waiting at the gas station, might be attacked or your store might be broken into. My hope is that I’ll receive a call from a local institution very soon asking me to write for them. Can this remove all the danger of driving to work? Removing 95 miles from the round trip is a great start.

Please take a moment to employ whatever arcane rituals you think will help. Thanks!

Your best pal ever,

– bob

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I’ve Got A Headache

A lovely centered picture of a rollercoaster.

Friends,

I really will get back to the science and the future and whatnot, but please allow a moment for this public service announcement:

When you go to Knott’s Berry Farm to have a lot of fun with people whose company you enjoy and you’d like to not be a wet blanket, I strongly recommend that you not ride the Boomerang. It will beat your brains out. First, I’m too tall and didn’t fit in the seat. Second, because I didn’t fit, I had to sit up too high which moved my head above the cushions on the restraint hoop. Third, riders pull 5.2 g* going forward AND in reverse. Fourth, I have an ungainly and too large head with not enough strength in my neck to keep this melon from bouncing around at 5.2 g. Fifth, this really isn’t anybody’s fault but my own.

Also, I had something to write here, but I can remember what it might’ve been.

Your pal,

– bob

* The unit of measure for g-force is styled with a lowercase g. Uppercase G is for the gravitational constant. You’re welcome!

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If You Say Something Often Enough

A lovely centered picture borrowed from a nice person.

Friends,

What? The Republican nominee for president of the United States just said in his acceptance speech at his party’s convention that, among other nonsense, gas prices have doubled since President Obama has taken office. This is among the many things that the partisans have said over the last couple days that are demonstrably false. The fact that these people are spending so much time lying about stuff is really very stunning. These kids can’t win with facts? Well, I guess they can’t win anyway, but they can’t be proud of how they’d spun reality into some weird netherworld that even Peter Jackson wouldn’t touch.

To our suffering friends at the Republican National Convention,

You guys must cry yourselves to sleep with the terror of your terrible nightmare world bearing down. We can help you. There are meds available. They will be affordable for you once the Affordable Care Act is fully implemented. It’s time for us as a nation to eliminate the stigma of mental illness, and we’re here to help you.

Good night, GOP.

– bob

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Somebody’s Trying To Tell You Something

A lovely centered picture of near devastation.

Friends,

It’s Friday and I know it should be a magical time where the paycheck faeries gently press their sugar-dusted lips to your filthy foreheads, grimy from the sweat and toil of a week picking at the wisps of salt veins down in the mines, but by the gods themselves, I must say that this particular day stunk to the ends of your earth and the next one as well. I’ll tell you how in a moment, but it’s important to note something that should be very obvious and might be casually missed. This writing exercise is largely about me, so what follows may seem self-centered, which is how this works. Stick with it though, because eventually it stops sounding like whinging and more like a weird string of happenstances coming together as an unsubtle note from the fates that my time working in the desert has come to an end.

Exhibit 1)

I had been listening to the On The Media podcast (which I encourage you to download and support) Thursday night and plopped the iPod into the clock radio. 0400 rolls around and the “Ayn Rand’s influence on the GOP” story is blaring. Hit the button to stop the alarm, proceed with the morning ritual.

Exhibit 2)

I check the Facebook app on my phone during breakfast. One of my coworkers Likes Mitt Romney’s page. “Damn,” through a milky bite, “And she was one of the good ones, too. I’ll miss her.” Like real zombies, she’s been infected and has self-identified as one of them. Data point. Moving on.

Exhibit 3)

The drive down the hill to work was as easy as any. Slowpokes pulled out right away, people dipped their high beams quickly and courteously, and the stoplights all the way to the Festival of Dirt were obligingly green. I take Highway 111 all the way across the valley because when it’s quick, it can be very quick and I had four minutes to make up. The timing is really working out and I’ve made up two of the four minutes when I see the flashing gumballs in the distance. Getting closer, the plume of smoke is evident and Indio Police have the highway blocked off. I take the detour, but what could be on fire? Starbucks? Game Stop? It’s hard to tell and I’ve lost three minutes. Now I’m on the hairy edge of being late.

Exhibit 4)

Arriving at work I have a minute to spare, so I rush around the building to my favorite shady parking space. The one now dominated by the fallen foliage in the photo at the top. The clicking in my head isn’t the normal clicking that always clicks (don’t ask. i think one of the gears has lost a tooth, but he’ll argue the point. – ed) but another click that starts analyzing all of the events of the morning. What’s the connection? What’s going on here?

Exhibit 5)

Logged on to the various computers in the office after clocking in successfully within the seven minute window, but the biometric time clock gives me a score of 90. Single-digit scores mean that it really believes that the picture it’s just taken of the back of my hand is really me. Higher scores mean that it’s not so sure. A score of 90 means that it’s giving me a pass, but stop being creepy, okay?

The Twitter feed starts buzzing (aw, c’mon. we’ve been through this. it’s twittering. – ed) with news about the fire. It’s this…

A lovely centered picture of devastation.

If you’ll notice the second business from the left, it’s my favorite taco shop. The only one I know of in the valley that makes a decent potato taco.

A lovely centered picture of the inside of Don Jose's Taco Shop.

…or used to. They’re all gone. The owner of the building promises to rebuild, but will the rents be too high for the previous tenants, as is often the case? I’m very sorry for their losses but the clicking continues.

Exhibit 6)

I had hoped that the teleconference that was scheduled for the late morning would include video so I could see who I was talking to in America’s Third or Fourth Finest City for Border Violence, but I got an email that they didn’t even have a phone. The solution was to put a cell phone on the center of the table in their meeting room and call me at my remote location. This made my blood sugar drop, so I ducked out to grab a late fast food breakfast. I’ve got fifteen minutes for my federally mandated fifteen minute break, so why not?

I pull in the parking lot and spy my coworker’s car. It’s unmistakable and I’m a little perplexed. This coworker should’ve arrived at the office hours ago, but the car is here. What gives? Then I see the windscreen sun shield pressed up against the passenger side door glass, impressions of hands from the interior to prevent my view inside. Fair enough! I back into the adjacent space, head into the joint and power down a greasy egg sandwich and box of orange juice (to prevent scurvy, as you do). Back out to the Jeep and the sun shield is hurriedly rearranged and mashed up to the window. What’s going on in there?

Exhibit 7)

Cell phone teleconference goes better than expected. I put my phone on mute and just listen, but send stupid jokes to my colleagues over SMS. No response.

Exhibit 8)

I violate my rule about working on coworker’s personal computers due to tears. Hers, not mine.

Exhibit 9)

I get my first speeding ticket in two years on the way home. My Jeep was clocked at 69 MPH heading up a hill with the A/C on in 4th gear while next to a car that was overtaking. If I was going 69 MPH in 4th gear, I would’ve had to rev the engine up to over 4,000 RPM, so I’m thinking that the Lidar was, once again, lying. If I can’t do traffic school, I’m going to contest this one.

So, in the words of the prophet, how was your day?

Your pal,

bob

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Abraham Lincoln, Treadwear Killer

A lovely and sexist centered picture.

Friends,

You can’t see the top of Abe’s head yet, but I need new tires on my seven month old Jeep. Seventeen thousand miles seems to be not a lot, does it?

By the way, seventeen-inch wheels need some expensive tires. Hundred and seventy bucks? Cripes. Maybe I can get the Goodyear Wrangler SR-As prorated, eh?

Guh.

– bob

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Fire!

Your ticket to burn.

Friends,

There’s a forest fire burning not too far away from our secret alpine laboratory right now. While some people during this election year will suggest that private enterprise is our salvation, I’m relying on government action to keep my house from burning to the ground. You can smell the smoke (like some delightful artisanal barbecue smoking something over mesquite and manzanita) and I think we’ve had a little ash fall this evening. I’m gathering up household things and will leave the mountain in a little while, but here are some fun links to keep you busy:

So, um, goodnight everybody!

– bob

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Terrified

A lovely centered picture that's surely a fair use of another picture.

Friends,

The roads to my house are really highways. Not huge highways, but the speed limits are 55 MPH until you reach the center of my teensy and astoundingly quaint village.

But I’ve heard that because these highways have curves, drivers become “terrified.” Here in our Secret Alpine Laboratory, we have studied this phenomenon at great length and have discovered that each of our subjects, when they reach a condition we’re calling hodophobia gravitas, that they all slow down to precisely 42 MPH. Why?

Here’s one possible answer:

42 (forty-two) is the natural number immediately following 41 and directly preceding 43. The number has received considerable attention in popular culture as a result of its central appearance in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy as the “Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything”. The Question to the answer is: “How many roads must a man walk down.”

Or fall off of.

– bob

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Dude, I Flaked

You know, a thing about a thing.

Friends,

There’s the old saw around these parts about moving day in Ocean Beach. You call your buddy with a pickup to help on Saturday morning at the end of the month and he assures you that he’ll show up at the appointed hour. Back when this was an ongoing problem for me, we didn’t have cell phones, so we’d wait around for hours and hours for the guy, then give up and strap furniture to the tops of cars. Days later, when we’d cross paths, he would always give the excuse, “Oh man, I totally flaked.” No apology, just a statement of the obvious.

Today, there’s a hand gesture for that. It’s the old man wave. The one where you’re driving down a country road and pass an older gentleman walking on the shoulder. Should you wave, his wave back is subtle. An acknowledgement, but nothing more than expending the least energy possible to lift a hand to the point where you might see the palm, but probably not. You may even get the closest to zero angle nod that he can muster, but don’t count on it.

I was walking the dog this morning with one of those extending leads that can reel out twenty feet or so. Mme. Puppy Dog was about five feet away when some jamoke in one of those execrable Lincoln LS abominations cut in close around the blind right hand corner where we were standing. The dog’s natural response was to rush out into the street, of course, restrained only by my twirling around, gathering the lead around my midsection. This particular road is a dead end, so he had to turn around and when he passed us coming down the street he gave us the old man wave. In this context, it clearly meant, “Dude, I totally flaked when I went around that corner too fast and almost killed your dog.” Or at least that’s what I took from it. Windows rolled up, still driving too fast, no apology.

I later drove down the hill to the post office, when a woman in a black Lincoln LS (no kidding) full of passengers, backed out of her driveway without looking, 50 feet in front of my Jeep. My stop looked more panicky than it was, since the Jeep’s suspension is very soft and allows all sorts of crazy nosedive during these things. I stopped in time and was greeted with, yeah, the old man wave.

It seems like piling on at this point, but my drive back from the post office involved waiting for an extended period of time for another person to back out into my street and negotiate putting their mid-sized American sedan into Drive to get into a lane. This guy figured it out eventually then offered the old man wave.

Now what you’re thinking is, “This seems pretty minor in the scheme of things,” but it’s not in a respect that I’ll get to a couple posts from now. The thrust of this argument is that piloting two tons of machinery around shouldn’t be considered a casual endeavor. These things are dangerous and require skill and attention. If you’re missing either of those attributes, somebody could really get hurt. “But what about all of the safety devices we have now?” I hear you ask. Those things keep you from, on the whole, getting killed, not from getting hurt. And hurt very badly indeed.

Keep your eyes peeled! More tomorrow,

– bob