Food For Thought

"When the stomach is full, it is easy to talk of fasting."
Saint Jerome

I've never known a hungry day in my life. I don't know what it is to suffer under the weight of concern regarding the source of my next meal. I don't worry about seeing tight skin pulled over bones when I look at my family. I have never gripped the stock of my gun with white knuckles as I anxiously wait for an animal to come into view or when a random sound in the dark could be that of a thief taking my last two pounds of chicken. I thought of this today when, for the first time in a long time, I was prepared something to eat that I didn't particularly like. As a grown-up, this doesn't happen as often as when one is a child. As a child, everything is new and novel and other-worldly. And, it is also out of your control: you get what you get and that is it. I recall my early reactions to such things as sweet potatoes, broccoli, beets, Brussels Sprouts and so much more. Today, I give them not a thought as I send them off to their appointed task: keeping me alive.

As I considered the meal, I wondered if I would eat it with more gusto if I had no ability to taste (like Bart Simpson's Aunt Selma, who lost her ability to smell and taste after a freak bottle rocket accident). But, I quickly remembered that the tongue/olfactory partnership also had a greater calling: to prevent my death. If it smelled bad to me, it was likely due to something wrong with the food. I often forget that fact even when I see the family dog gorging himself at the compost heap after chasing away a murder of crows for the privilege. The tongue is a wondrous thing. It can taste, feel textures and often act independent of and in spite of our brains. But few remember that it can save our lives as well. So, why the hell was I thinking this when sitting in front of a freshly created lunch? Was I that desperate for an excuse to pass on the repast? Hey, I'm the daddy... I do whatever the hell I want. I can just say, "No, thank you" and be done with it. So, what is the deal?

Do I have point and, if so, can I please get to it?

Imagine, if you will, what you will be doing tonight if you are the person charged with creating the meal. Even if you are not that person, try to imagine it anyway, for my sake. You likely come home, change into more relaxing clothes, open the refrigerator and take stock of what is illuminated by a 40 watt bulb. Some prefer lists and automatically know that there will be meatloaf tonight because it is Tuesday (shouldn't meatloaf be served on Monday just for the alliterative value?). Regardless, with Oprah in the background and a glass of Chablis by your side, you concoct your cuisine and manage the meal's multiple members with a deftness that inspires aloofness. Not, not all of you are like this and not all of the time, but I'd likely say many of you are and quite often. I say that because I venture to guess that a large percentage of us don't even bother with the fabrication of the meal beyond the time it takes to remove the polysomething skin from the vessel containing the Frankenstein's monster we call "dinner" and prepare to reanimate it through the infusion of radiation. "Give my Salisbury Steak LIFE!"

Have I gotten to the point yet? Ummm... no. I'm trying.

Imagine now that you are in a small, hand-built cabin in the middle of a cold and snowy plain. The temperature evokes stress analogous to a pack of sixteen year-old boys crossing over to your side of the dark, empty streets at 2:00 A.M.. You don't really have a refrigerator since you don't have electricity. You don't have Oprah to keep you company nor Chablis to dull the senses that scream at you after another day spent doing things that are dehumanizing or vapid. All you have are a few vegetables of questionable quality, a can with some oil, flour that you hope has not been raided by the furry, unwanted guest in your home and a small amount of meat left from a steer you raised from its birth. In this moment, you are not distracted by the plethora of provender possibilities. You don't linger over the cool air wafting from the top door of the Kenmore as you struggle to read through the slightly frosted boxes marked "Lean Cuisine". What you do is pray to god almighty that you don't fuck up this meal because there is no fallback plan. You will be totally present in those ensuing moments when the knife sinks into skins and husks and shells. You will estimate every micron of useful ingredient, carefully measure your steps and movements, check and recheck your temperatures and surfaces, observe progress with the eye of a mother of a newborn and ensure that all that needs to be done is, in fact, done at the appointed time. This isn't making diner. This is ensuring that your family will not die. This is loving them with the greatest give we can give. This is why people say blessings before a meal.

So, even when I sat down to the meal and gladly turned off the cheerful lady on the Food Network who just can't seem to stop shoving her cleavage into my face, I realized that food isn't just art and science and the reason for a 24 hour channel and book tours and celebrity cruises. No. It is life and should be taken seriously. No, I don't think for one moment that it shouldn't be enjoyed or cherished. I don't think that there should necessarily be a ritual. If you like Ben and Jerry's, you eat it. If you dig Hot Pockets, my blessing on you. But what I am saying is that when you take a bite and find it isn't to your liking, you may consider trying to eat it anyway. Short of it being stale, fetid, or moldy, I'd say practice eating something that you don't like simply because it might be a skill you'll need in the not-too-distant-future: A likely near future when the ships slow down over the winter and stop delivering Chilean grapes and Israeli oranges and Mexican kale. This will be the point at which food isn't a substitute for love or your drug of choice; it will again regain its position as that which stands between you and death.

So, as I looked down at the jazzed up chicken salad, all these thoughts flashed through my mind in less time than it took to spoon the goop onto a slice of toasted whole grain bread. And, as I saw the variety of cheeses and beautifully sliced apple that stood in the wings as understudies, I realized that I had the right not to like what I was eating, but I wasn't sure if I had the right not to eat it. I honestly did think of the starving children in whichever country today's moms use to heap on guilt at dinner time. I thought of all the people required to create this meal from around the globe. I thought of all the energy it took to plant, grow, maintain, harvest, prepare, ship, stock, purchase, deliver and cook. I thought that the last one hundred years of cheap oil hasn't only caused our population and average weights to increase exponentially, it also caused our souls to become smaller. And, I thought that I may not always have the luxury of voluntarily eating a meal that didn't appeal to me. In the interest of full disclosure, dear reader, this blog entry was created using the energy from an unappetizing chicken salad. I can't recall the last time I was so thankful.

So, my point is... I have no idea. I guess I'm still a bit logy from digestion.

Signs of Life

He's back.

No, it doesn't mean I am back, and that isn't the point. But my grandson has a father and my daughter has her husband. No, it won't make up for the fact that he missed his son's first words, his first steps, his first haircut, his first grown-up food or his first photo with Santa. But, he's back and that is all that matters now. As for me, I don't know. We'll see...

I'm Sick of Both

I've been a bit preoccupied the last couple weeks with two main issues: 1) The recent storm that kicked the Northeast in the nads and 2) My son-in-law was home on leave from King George's "war" in Iraq.

I've spent about 15 hours shoveling and still have another 3 or 4 to go. I hope I can finish before the next round of wintery water. I don't enjoy shoveling the way I once did. In the past, shoveling snow was a way for me to spend some quiet moments focusing only on the sounds of the shovel and the effect of gravity on the snow as it battered the ground. After a time you settle into a rhythm and all is right with the world. You gain a perspective and see what is important. Now, I'm just tired. I think I'm going to open the wallet and get a snowblower for the next season. I don't want to, but time has a way of forcing one's hand (and it beats moving to Florida).

More important than removing frozen precipitation is the fact that my son-in-law was home with us for a couple weeks and was able to spend time with his family. I can't tell you how wonderful it was for my daughter. But today, she is a shattered shell of a person. She has another set of months in which she must worry daily about his health and suffer under the weight which is life as a single parent, all thanks to our wonderful president. Being a parent is hard enough, but doing it alone while your husband is in harm's way is quite another. My grandson is the light of my life. I can't imagine what it must be like to be separated for so long from someone so marvelous. He is small, innocent, sweet natured and without a father. When he looks at you, his face lights up as if to say, "I'm so happy to see you." Each time he acknowledges my presence with his glowing visage I thank whomsoever created me that I am alive. I also remember that his father cannot see this every day and want to weep.

Even from the moment my son-in-law arrived, I couldn't help but fast forward to this day when I knew my daughter would have to let him go again. Since our commander-in-chief was spared combat, he doesn't know what it is like, so he has no motivation to end this sham. If he could see my daughter's face, he'd change his mind. I guess that is why they build ivory towers so high.

My mind has wandered from place to place over these last couple weeks. I've tried desperately to find a way out of this madness that is modern American life. But, like quicksand, the more I struggle, the deeper I find myself sinking. I have no way out right now. All I can do is hang on and wait this out. If only my anger would stop growing with each passing day. I've never hated my country before, and perhaps I don't now, but I can't help but wonder what is so wonderful about being in this place anymore? Where are the true Americans? Why has this insanity been allowed to go on for so long? God knows I've done what I can. I've marched and protested and called and written. Such words are wasted on the deaf and dumb (either definition will do).

So all I try to do now is deal with each day's tasks. All I have is the structured necessities of life for each day. I am starting to get my seeds ready for planting. I am thinking of building an electric car over the summer. I'm always trying to find ways to cut back so as to feel a bit less of the grip this world has on my flesh. I am drafting ideas for a local sustainability group. I might take a permaculture course in April ( but only if my taxes don't kill me). I try to get through the day without letting anger gain more territory. I guess I am at war too.

Deerly Departed

In yet another moment of self-realization, I found myself both saddened and ashamed by an event that transpired this past week. As I pulled into the driveway after work one evening, I noticed something new near my mailbox. Sadly, this was not a package and it wasn't some stray trash, it was a dead deer; a doe, to be more precise (although not the one in the image above). I live in the midst of the wild kingdom. I have untold numbers of white-tail deer, turkeys, foxes, coyotes, and other varmints running roughshod over my small speck of land. My neighbors on the same side of the road are all fields. These are used extensively by the wildlife. My yard is often the trail used to move from one set of fields to those across the street. I can't tell you the times I've come home late in the evening to find a small herd moving across the road, just a few yards from my driveway. If I wake up early enough each day, I can enjoy a cup of something warm while looking at a herd of something grazing. I've never been much of a hunter, but I find it easy to eat the flesh of an animal. If I were of the right mindset, my first inclination upon seeing this venison victim of vehicular violence would have been to drag the carcass into my garage. But it seems that any primitive instinct toward survival and provision for my family was long since beaten down by flush toilets, frozen peas, surround sound and pride.

This point really didn't hit home until the next morning when I was cleaning off the driveway. As everyone knows we've had a very warm winter here in the Northeast. The only snow we've had which stayed more than one day fell two days ago. The day in question was only an inch of snow that didn't make it to dinner time the next day. But I was up early to clear off the driveway just in case more came or the temperature dropped to the point it welded itself to the blacktop. After finishing the chore, I looked at the deer and thought of what might happen. Here in New York, they are good about things like putting up guard rails and removing roadkill in a timely manner. For what we pay in taxes, it is the least they can do. With the snow that had fallen and the additional portion plowed onto the doe, I worried that she might not be seen from the road. I was also concerned that the longer she remained on the road the more likely she would begin to be picked over by the scavengers. I didn't want to begrudge them a meal, but I also didn't want to be running a dining room on my front lawn. So, I did what any civilized male would do: I swept off the carcass with a kitchen broom to ensure she was visible to those who deal with such things. I wanted to laugh at myself over this but my self-loathing wouldn't allow it. I thought that I should be using this animal's flesh for food so it wouldn't have died in vain. Not that her life was lived in vain, but this excuse made the running mental monologue less uncomfortable. As I wavered between possible courses of action, I mentally replayed two incidents that would influence my decision...

The first was a time when my dad and his friend had shot a deer and brought it home. I had just moved back to New York from the west and was staying with my parents until we got settled. Dad and his friend were going to butcher the deer in the basement and he was concerned how my daughter would react to the sight. It didn't take long for him to find out how exciting she thought it was. It took a few moments for her to change into a suitable covering and begin helping out. She was in her glory. She came upstairs to show me the deer's heart (hoping it would gross me out... it didn't). She later came up wielding two forelegs like batons. It seems she greatly enjoyed the part where those legs were sawed off. I also recall the term "dancing in the guts" being thrown about, but I don't recall the context. I will admit that I wasn't shocked by her interest in this sort of task. She always had an edge to her. This is still one of the moments I enjoy recalling if only to remind myself how little we know those closest to us.

The second event was only a year or two after the "basement butchering" incident. Here we had a member of our then landlord's family telling us that he hit a deer with his car. He was upset over the damage to his vehicle, but thought he would feel better if he could at least have the meat. But, he lacked the skills to do such a thing and was worried that he'd have to simply throw it away. I told him to hold tight and I called my dad. Before long he was there and we set to work turning a dead deer into a delicious dinner. The deer was hung and bled for the required time and we then moved onto the next phase. After cutting the deer open, dad discovered that the insides had burst during the impact. He was not a happy man. The stream of profanity that flowed from his mouth as the narrative was uncomfortable for even an old military guy like me. Add to that the fact that the person for whom we were cleaning the deer was an elderly minister... well, it just ensured that I'd never forget this incident either. It was a mess and it was eventually cleaned. I don't know what they decided to do after that since the deer was gone when I got home from work the next day. I never asked because I didn't care. I wanted to forget the whole thing. Fast forward fifteen or so years. ..

As I stood there with a broom in my hand I thought how pathetic I had become. This was enough meat for a year and I didn't care. I allowed myself to believe the meat was likely tainted by internal damage during the impact (although there was no evidence of that in my vision). It was just easier to sweep off the carcass and let someone else take care of it. This has been my mantra for most of my life: "Someone else will take care of that; I have more important things to do." I came home that night and the carcass was gone. I should have been happy, but I wasn't. I felt as if something inside of me was hauled off as well. It was just one more opportunity lost due to time pressure, fatigue, age and the curse of civilized living. Another test I have failed. I guess I still imagine myself to be too good to eat roadkill. Hell, if I did that, I guess it wouldn't be a big step to making moonshine, lye soap and laying by the cee-ment pond before vittles.

I am pathetic.

Precious Commodity Fluids

Last night I switched to a Japanese TV station since it was in the clear. They charge for the station as a rule, but they also open it up for anyone to see when the news is on. I have no idea why I enjoy watching it since I don't speak Japanese, but I guess I sometimes hope to see footage of Godzilla (or, more properly, Gojira) rampaging through Tokyo or something. Anyway, as I watched an avuncular man use an old-fashioned wooden pointer to note special sections of Japan and their upcoming weather while an obedient young woman stood by and semi-bowed on occasion during his presentation, I distracted myself by reading the "crawl" on the bottom of the screen which was, strangely, in English. A story that caught my eye stated that Russia was determined to increase its oil production and become the world's largest petroleum exporter, passing even the mighty Saudi Arabia. I remembered from my youth how the United States and Russia were the two largest oil producers in the world, but with all the issues facing the former Soviet Union, I had long since lost interest in them as an oil producing nation. I was more intrigued by their infamous mafia and the infighting between the now-free republics. But after reading this I tried a bit of Googling here and there and now find myself more confused than ever. Some stories say that Russia is already the largest oil producer in the world. Some make the distinction that they produce more but do not export the same amount as Saudi Arabia. Some talk about refined oil vs. crude. Some talk about all energy products (which includes natural gas, etc.). In sum, the statistics are confusing given the report. I don't recall the story as I read it, but I think Davos was mentioned in there as well. So, what we have here is a typical news story: long on hype and short on facts.

What are the ramifications of Russia becoming the world's largest oil producer/exporter? Does this speak more of Russia's desire to make hard currency or to Saudi Arabia's inability/unwillingness to raise its own production? Can they, in fact raise production? How does this tie in to Peak Oil? Was Russia's vast holdings taken into account by Dr. Hubbert? What are the geopolitical implications? Will this, yet again, stall us from doing what needs to be done: making it a national priority to get off of petroleum? Will Russia sell to our competitors? If this story is true, why did I only see it on a crawl screen on a Japanese news program? Why do I care? What is a "commodity fluid gap?" Why are you still reading this?

Who Is My Neighbor?

Just when you think you have something figured out the universe poses a question just to put you into your place...


While reading through Farmlet today, I noticed Kevin posted a small bit about the Path to Freedom site and how the weather has affected them. This struck me since I just finished writing up a piece for a local tabloid regarding the need for renewed localization and regionalism (plus the fact that the site has been in my bookmarks for a long time now). My reasoning was to offset dependence on foreign products such a energy and food (to name a few) and to renew the dying sense of community in our nation. In the midst of such an idea is the hope of becoming capable again. We have deferred so much of our lives to mechanization, technology and imports that we've become nothing but a nation of consumers, entertainers and soldiers.

So a good dose of self-reliance seemed, in my mind, to be just what the doctor ordered. As with all things, finding the balance is difficult. Americans have leaned so far toward self-reliance for so many years, it has become a defining trait. We idolize the cowboy who rides off on his own to face and master his environment. But we've long since left that reality behind and are now simply smelling its vapors. We are reliant on many for much. We don't like to talk about it and won't really acknowledge it, but it is a fact. This world is smaller now and when a rock falls in Japan we feel it over here.

This jabbering has all been a preface to my attempt at figuring out the balance between the tribe and the individual. I know there is a balance there somewhere, but our tribal experience is with more primitive surroundings and more simple needs. Like it or not, the world has changed. Modern tribes are likely quite different. Now I find myself asking, "Who is my tribe?" "Do we have to live in the same area?" "Do we have to speak the same language?" In days past my tribe would have been obvious. Today, this is not the case. Today, a member of your tribe in New Zealand can note the weather in California and pass the news on to New York in the blink of an eye. The man in New York recalls reading the California tribe member's words for a long time and finding them inspiring. Across those miles is a bond. When news of crop destruction reaches New Zealand and New York, hearts are awakened and compassion is felt.

I am, by nature, an introvert. I do well in crowds but it takes energy from me. If I could I'd probably try to make it on my own like those cowboys of yore. But I know that this game is not meant to be solitaire. We are in this together and we will succeed together or die together. I don't know who is in my tribe and I don't know how this will all work out. I do know that I can't do it alone. I think we sometimes search too hard for answers to "Who am I?" and "Who is my tribe?" when the answers are right under our noses. Right now, all I can think of is reading through Luke 10:25-37 and replacing the word "neighbor" with "tribe member".

Our Father

I will not lie when I tell you that all my stereotypical images of what a "drop-out" would look like were personified in the incarcerated visage of one Alan G. Como. The handful of you who read this blog likely know by now that I think myself to be pretty open-minded and a self-described progressive. That may lead some to believe I have rainbows arcing out of my ass, a peace-sign tan line permanently inscribed on my chest and a visible furrow plowed into my forehead from years of tie-dye bandannas. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. I look like every other drone in the world who holds down a job to keep the cogs of the system well-lubricated with blood and to make enough money to keep my family in gruel. So it pains me when I must admit to holding such prejudices. I don't like admitting to such things because it makes me appear less-than superhuman. But I am just a man. I am fallible and made of flesh. I pray you seek my heart through my words and not just my moral weakness. But I have to admit, when I saw his face, I allowed all my prejudices about those who reject civilization to peek out, if only for just a moment.

When word of the arrest of Alan G. Como came to my ears, it piqued my interest. I live within a manageable driving distance from the beautiful and vastly underrated Adirondack State Park in New York. For those who are unfamiliar, the park is over six million acres of land in northern New York state that contains 3000 lakes, 2000 miles of hiking trails, 30,000 miles of streams and rivers and the entire Adirondack Mountain range. Fully half of the land is slated to be "forever wild" with the remainder being tightly managed. The park is the same size as the state of Vermont. I've spent some time up there and my uncle retired from being a local business owner in that region. It is remote, rugged and has volatile weather. It is also serene, verdant and awe-inspiring.

I am not waxing poetic to be maudlin or to educate those who think New York is nothing but concrete and taxi cabs. I am painting a picture that most of those who yearn to live a freer and more primitive life already hold in their heads. This is the sort of place one imagines when selecting a place to "drop out". This is a place where others have done such things. But this is also the place where police arrested Mr. Como under suspicion of 60 separate counts of burglary. Those burglaries were allegedly performed to secure supplies needed for survival. Mr. Como is not suspected of stealing expensive jewlery, electronics or anything other than items required for survival. This doesn't excuse the crimes, it just places him alongside Jean Valjean. His main crime was living alone, in the woods for over 20 years. His root crime was choosing to live apart from our society and within the confines of nature.

This is where I feel a bit ashamed to admit that I harbor such prejudices, yet I do. When I saw his grubby dwelling, I nodded to myself as if I'd built it myself. When I heard the stories, it was as if I'd written them. When I saw his mugshot, I thought, "There's the sort of man who lives in the woods." I am very interested in hearing what comes out of this.

It was just a couple days ago on Urban Scout's site that I commented how the desire to live a life outside of "civilization" will likely require one to live as a dependent or as a fugitive. This is exactly what I had in mind. This is the sad image I have in my head of those who wish to actually be free from the constraints of this, so-called, civilized world. These people are compelled to live on the edge and become fodder for "America's Most Wanted". It grieves me because it shouldn't have to be this way. One shouldn't have to be wealthy enough to afford hundreds of unspoiled acres or become a stereotypical "mountain man" in order to avoid the poison of the modern world. I don't know if Mr. Como was a person inclined to steal as a standard behavior or if he was forced to do so because he had no other way to survive. Given the facts as we know them, I assume it was the latter. I don't condone stealing, but I understand it in his case. Wouldn't it be better to simply allow people to live this way? I don't pretend to know the answers to all the nagging questions that are raised by such a statement, but I do know that we can never really call ourselves "the land of the free" when men such as Mr. Como are not allowed to actually be free unless it is defined as being shackled to a job, taxes, a mortgage, a car payment and a week's vacation in Amish country each year.

I don't feel sorry for the man, per se. I pity him because I pity all of us who are foolish enough to believe we are free. I weep for us because this man, for whatever reason, actually did what most of us only dream of doing. I mourn our world because we are foolish enough to think this man is the strange one rather than we who freely support this oppressive system (and I do, sadly, think him strange).

This is the face I see when I think of "going wild". This is the face I'm required to see because the system we live under won't have it any other way. God knows we couldn't have a happy, productive, prosperous, and close-knit community of neo-primitivists living in our park lands, could we? What sort of signal would that send? Why, we can't just have people quitting their jobs and running off to form tribes in the woods! Who would be here to watch our TV shows and buy our crap? No, we need to make it illegal. That way, the only ones who even try it will be the ones for whom it is as necessary as breathing. It will only be those who need it like the diabetic needs insulin and the drunkard needs a drink. And we all know what those types are like, right?

I'm so sad for him. But likely, Mr. Como would be sad for me. At least he got caught daring to live as he desired.

But, perhaps I have it all wrong? Maybe he's just another nut living in the woods like Theodore John Kaczynski or Randy Weaver? It may be wrong to try and made someone a symbol or a living martyr, especially when all the facts are still out there. But I really doubt all the facts will come in on this one. So, I'll just pretend that this man is a hero rather than an insane criminal. I'll pretend he is a man abused by the system when all he wanted was to be free. I'll sadly think about his captivity in a police cell when all he's known for 20 years is his six million acre room in Adirondack State Park or other wooded places. I'll be sad for him as I remember the line, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Professional Spectator

I'm always amazed by the number of people who insert the following phrases into their conversations: "I turned around one day and...", "I was so busy with...", "I never got around to...", "I always wanted to...", "I used to...", "I wish I was...", "I'd never be able to...", "...but I had to give it up.", and "At one time I loved to...".

All of those utterances are sounds of regret and passive abdication. We all, certainly, must see to responsibilities at various times in our lives. Some responsibilities are embraced voluntarily and happily (children, new job, etc.) while others are foisted upon us (anything done through guilt or manipulation, life-altering illness or injury, family crisis, etc.) There is certainly room for compromise on either side. At those very moments when our lives change it invariably brings a death. The death isn't physical but it is psychological or spiritual. I feel that we "grow up" when we become responsible for something. The extent of our growing up is related to our responsibility, but not directly. I think there is a point at which we can grow up no more and I don't think it takes too much to get us to that level. Upon growing up, we are often forced or believe we are required to, as the Apostle Paul encourages, "put aside childish things." We are told by society and civilization that a grown-up person acts in a certain way, so we must live up to those expectations. Since physics teaches us that no two pieces of matter can occupy the same space at the same time, the space now occupied by "childish things" must be vacated so "grown-up things" can take residence. This, far too often, is the tragedy of our modern world.

I am not giving advice either way here. I understand that the configuration of our civilization makes assumptions and requirements upon those who live therein. The doctor doesn't go out drinking hours before surgery. The expectant mother doesn't go rock climbing a week before delivery (does she?). The cable repairman doesn't go to the houses he feels like visiting. The fireman doesn't continue to play cards when the alarm goes off. The babysitter doesn't decide to leave the kids when she gets a better offer.

Modern life increasingly requires more and more specialization. The vast amount of data to be sorted and internalized requires more and more time. The pace of change is such that the ink isn't dry on a software manual before it has been updated. Techniques which once endured generations are swept away week to week for a modern spin or a more efficient adaptation. These requirements, added to the already overwhelming number of options, choices, varieties and possibilities has wrung us of much of our humanity. In a post made a couple weeks ago, I lamented our lack of time in the modern world. Another casualty of civilization has been the "amateur". No, the amateur is not gone or forgotten, but increasingly rare in the true sense of the word. The gist of the word amateur is "one who performs a task for the sheer love of the task." If I go to work and landscape for eight hours a day and get paid for it, I am a professional. If I go home and work on the lawn and gardens for eight hours a day, I am an amateur.

In days past one would aspire to a level of facility in home repair, auto repair, gardening, etc. My dad always made me help work on the vehicles and around the house. My father-in-law would rather get a beating than call a repairman. Today, we commonly contract out those tasks. We bring the car down to the corner lube shop for an oil change. We have someone come to take care of the lawn and garden. We order out. We drop off the laundry. We watch the game. We rent a movie. We buy a music CD. We listen to a sermon. We read a book. We go to the museum and look at paintings. We watch "reality shows" on TV.

We have become the nation of the "compulsive abdicator" and the "professional spectator." Time, certainly, has much to do with this. We've allowed our lives to become so complex and harried, we have no time or energy for extra pursuits. And, since many of us were reared in a home with a family in similar circumstance, we were never taught how to do many of these things. Lack of time is one reason for our incompetence but our lack of role models and mentors is another. Many never learned to change the oil from their mechanically inclined parent. Children have never learned how to cook for a large group.

When skills are not handed down, accessible or valued, they tend to die off. We tend to defer to, so-called, "experts". An example of this is how my wife always says, "You are so much better at that than I am," when I'm doing the dishes (at least I think it is when I'm doing the dishes). I generally quip, "It is because I practice. Maybe you need to get some experience?" I say it half-jokingly, but there is a serious aspect to it. People who wish they were better or even basically competent at something often do little to change the circumstances. Again, there is a limited amount of time and energy, so we must make difficult choices. The sad part of this situation is that we have less and less time to give an ever-increasing number of tasks, options and responsibilities. Also, when you learn a skill, you often learn why that skill is important (the skill's place in the universe and its purpose), not just the rote performance of the task. It is just as important to know why you do something as it is to know how to do something.

Most of the following examples are nothing more than bitches and generalities, but I think some have merit. Some examples of our abdication:

- We defer to a professional class when it comes to the spiritual rather than seeing to our own needs.
- We are more likely to listen to a music CD than to write our own songs.
- We are more likely to buy a book than to write one.
- We prefer our elected officials handle all political issues rather than becoming involved ourselves.
- We hire someone to grow our food for us rather than grow it (or some of it) ourselves.
- We will go to a play before we write and act in one ourselves.
- We will participate in less sports than we watch.

All generalities, yet all likely true. Something I will wager, though, is that many of these items would be less true for younger people. A child would likely feel more inclined to play sports, write a book, write a song, write a play (and act in it, of course) than someone who is an adult. For children, living is a spiritual, participatory adventure and they look to one another for answers to many questions ("What do you think happens when we die, Skippy?"). Kids may beg off politics, but I think they'd be more into participating than observing. That is, until they are told they are not competent. "A bee isn't blue, honey!" "Oh, you colored outside the lines!" "That is nice dear, but those words are nonsense!" "That's not how you do it!" The child learns they are incompetent and that their parents are not willing or able to make them so. I guess it is easier not to not try, eh? Of course, their parents are qualified to teach them one thing: It is easier to denigrate than to educate.

Our civilization has evolved into the mess it is with our complicity. We've abdicated our spirits to priests and holy people. We've given over the running of our lives to politicians. We wouldn't know how to grow our own food even if we had the land upon which to do it. We've allowed ourselves to be commodified. We've allowed ourselves to become parts of the machine. We are cogs, not kings.

This is the world of the specialist, the expert, the holy, the annointed and the gifted. No one dares intrude on that sacred ground. Yet, there are a few who still have the audacity to ask questions, bang on tables, pluck a string, paint a picture and tell a story. I think those who have that spirit will do well in the days to come. They won't need to wait around to be told what to do by an expert. They don't need a priest. They are the true renaissance men and women who give our world hope. They know the joy of dancing without knowing the name of the steps. They dare to write a poem without understanding the intricacies of meter. They will repair their shoes before throwing them out. They play games they make up rather than watch people play games in a stadium. They can hear nature speak clearer than they can hear the TV. They prefer to have a meaningful conversation with friends over renting, "My Dinner with Andre." They draw strength from community rather than experts.

There is a place for experts and seers. Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary skills. Everyone is made a better person by experiencing a performance by gifted musicians. Everyone marvels at the craftsmanship of a master builder. We are inspired by great writers and thinkers. But relying on them too much for too long has dulled our skills. Worse than that, by allowing technology and experts to perform these and other tasks, we become less human. We feel we are unable, unworthy and unwanted. We are step-children of the human condition and the human experience. We are helpless invalids in many aspects of life. We've abdicated the thrones of our own lives and given them over to strangers. We no longer pilot our ships. We make more "You Tube" videos showing us lip-syncing or covering a song than we do performing an original composition.

There is no way to recover all that was lost. We are not the same Americans we were in the 1700's when a man would walk behind a plow by day, read philosophy by candlelight and plan revolutions on the weekend. We are not the same people who could play multiple instruments, quote lengthy passages from key works, understand the rhythms and cycles of nature and fabricate our own tools. We do have modern skills that have some merit, but our souls are not modern. We are ancient souls in a modern world.

While we need such humans now, it won't be long before such humans are indispensable. Many of them read these sites. I pray that I live next to people like Comrade Simba or Kevin and Rebecca when the shit hits the fan. We need people that are not only competent, but human. Human in that we understand what makes us human and what nourishes our humanity. There is still time for many to turn their wheels just a bit and regain some of their sovereignty and humanity. For others, I fear it is too late. For them life is truly a spectator sport.

“Professionalism is environmental. Amateurism is anti-environmental. Professionalism merges the individual into patterns of total environment. Amateurism seeks the development of the total awareness of the individual and the critical awareness of the ground rules of society. The amateur can afford to lose. The professional tends to classify and specialize, to accept uncritically the ground-rules of the environment. The ground-rules provided by the mass response of his colleagues serve as a pervasive environment of which he is contentedly unaware. The 'expert' is the man who stays put”
Marshall McLuhan

And Now For Something Completely Different

Perhaps this is akin to sucking a lemon after a shot of tequila, but I thought I needed something to balance what I'm doing here. If you are interested, please click here.

Love on the Rocks

I read an article a few days back outlining some of the reasons men cheat on their wives. I don't know if the reasons were applicable to women who cheat, but I found it interesting nonetheless. The article maintained that some men cheat because they cannot face the fact that their marriage is not working or even over. Rather than confront their wife with the problem, they cheat. This behavior is the acting out of their unconscious desire to be caught. When they are caught this will likely end the marriage and prevent them from having to deal with the real reasons for its failure in any way. I'm sure I'm not explaining this idea as well as I should, but I think we can get the gist of it. I don't know if this is true or a load of crap, but I won't discount the idea. I know the human mind is unfathomable in its complexity and that we've only scratched the surface of its workings. This idea of unconscious marriage sabotage intrigued me as it applies to the various conversations we've had of late on the topic of dropping out. While the topic is likely running its course and nothing substantially new will be added (short of someone actually trying it and blogging about the effort for the benefit of all), I felt like adding a bit more to the pile.

I honestly wasn't trying to arrive at any practical guidelines for "dropping out" in these posts, but that would sure be nice. I was more struggling with what the term means in the broader sense and in the personal sense. My dropping out began when I started losing faith in the, so-called, respected institutions of our world (religion, government, business, education, etc.). That is likely when yours began as well (Ran Prieur didn't experience this). I have not lost faith in them as a concept (perhaps I need more time to get to that point) but I have lost faith in them as they currently function. My reasoning must take me to the next step, which is that these institutions are run by people. If people were trustworthy then these institutions would be trustworthy. I am not a philosopher, so feel free to skewer my reasoning. I am only using the horse sense that anyone's grandma and grandpa would have used. Not all people are untrustworthy. Not all aspects of institutions are untrustworthy. But the overall concept of a trustworthy church, government or corporation is long since dead in my heart and in my mind. Unfortunately, the memes they fed me over my formative years are very hard to shake. Anyone who has ever tried to stop smoking, drinking, taking drugs or eating a certain way understands this. Addictions are addictions and civilization is one hell of an addiction. We are in a state of addiction that portends a certain end or, at least, a horrific detox. This isn't so much about educating the world about peak oil as it is organizing an intervention. Honestly, this is where we are in this portion of our timeline. We are trying to convince someone that they are drinking too much. We are telling someone we love that putting down the Twinkies is the only hope they have. Good luck. Years ago, I had a film idea that, I imagined, would star John Candy. It was about a man whose weight was bringing him to the point of incapacitation. He had tried everything from counseling, to medication, to diets, but nothing worked. He had given up and was living his life in oblivion. His wife, who loved him dearly, decided the only thing left was to show him that he could live a different way, so she arranged to have him kidnapped and kept locked away under medical supervision. It would have been a story about our addictions and how their strong bonds are nothing more than vapor shackles, yet they bind us tighter than steel. I imagined what it would have been like to drop the weight off of John over a period of time and what it would have looked like to the world. It was just a fantasy script, but it rings true of our world today. We are beyond the point of rolling up our sleeves and digging in for a the good fight. We need to be compelled to act in a reasonable way. We need to be locked in a room and forced to comply because it is the only way our lives will be saved. But once you get to that point, it is all over. I don't want to live in that place.

So, why did I mention the article on cheating husbands at the start of this entry? Because I think that most of the world is living in the same mindset as the philanderer. We know things are beyond repair, yet we choose not to confront the situation. In my own life I am trying very hard to confront the situation, yet there is so much to do. I comfort myself with the knowledge that "slow and steady wins the race." I also use other pithy maxims such as "look before you leap" and "measure twice, cut once." But as a planet, we are all mindlessly committing adultery because we can't face the fact that there is likely nothing we can about this world in which we live. We feel powerless and helpless. I don't think we really are powerless and helpless, but it is generally how most feel. So, it is easier to commit adultery with an SUV and a McMansion than it is to sit down across from our lifestyle and say, "We need to talk."

I am a very optimistic person and I can see (in my own mind) how easy it would be to fix many of the large issues facing us. These remedies would cause only modest impacts on our lives. They would certainly be far, far less inconvenient that what awaits us just around the bend. I honestly don't think anyone has the best answer for a collapse or severe upheaval scenario. If you strike out on your own in the country with livestock and weapons, you are still subject to accidents, weather, government and gangs. If you live in a rural commune you are still subject to accidents, weather, government, gangs and each other. If you live in the city you are still subject to accidents, weather, government, gangs, each other, disease, etc. I'm not saying one way is better than another, I'm just saying that all ways have weaknesses. Besides, I think the best solution for the collapse scenario is to avoid it completely by taking action now. It is incredibly frustrating to know that the road to the cure for our world's ills is right in front of us, but we won't take it. We won't sit down and say, "Honey, I think we need professional help." No, we can't fix it all, but we can make things much easier. Ignoring a problem never solves it.

This takes me back to where we started this conversation: To me, dropping out is in your mind. There are certainly practical steps in dropping out, but they all are subservient to the mental aspect. Once the mental work begins, the other solutions will make themselves known. I wish mine was as easy as a tent, a rifle and a backpack full of gear, but it isn't. Even if we found a way to make the current American lifestyle extend for another 100 years, I would want out. The modern lifestyle is intertwined with a philosophy that reeks of lies, greed and exploitation. I feel as if my soul must go on a fast to purge out the bad things that this civilization has used to build up my cells. At the same time, there are marvelous things about this world that I don't want to change or lose. Sometimes we need to be still long enough to take stock of what is important so we don't throw it away rashly in a fit of zealousness. I do know that we can't all buy land. We can't all just start growing our own food and making our own clothes. We can't all just decide to build a cob house. We can't pack three kids and the dog in a car and head for the mountains. Without planning and preparation there will be nothing but disaster. We can start to learn these skills if we feel we want to use them, but they are not something learned or implemented in a day. Sure, maybe you could buy land with some others, but you'd likely fight over who gets to build their house in the sunny spot. Our great weakness is our fear. Call it inspired selfishness, call it sin, call it survival instinct, call it whatever. Unless that aspect of ourselves is conquered we will just bring the worst part of ourselves into the next phase of civilization. I know there are many great people with whom I'd enjoy trying to make a go at a self-sufficient life, but most would be poison to me.

I think those who have foreseen the impending phase of our civilization may be feeling fatigued from the work of sounding the alarm. I also see the danger that the mainstream are beginning to peddle a homogenized version of this message for their own ends. Once that happens there is no telling how the message will be distorted and diluted. Dropping out isn't giving up, but it is giving up on your former, unrealistic view of this world. I'm working out my plan with a heavy heart rather than with excitement. It will be me committing adultery. I will be stepping out on my long-term commitment to faith in humanity and my Polyanna hope for the future. On second thought, I really won't be committing adultery, I'll be asking for a divorce. Maybe I'm not as cowardly as I believe myself to be? Time will tell.

More on this later...

Happy Birthday Jesus

Brother, Can You Spare the Time?

This post is to simply state the obvious: there isn't enough time in this life. I wished to bewail and bemoan the fact that all I want to do and accomplish must be lived out within this reality that is constrained by time. The best definition of time I've ever heard is attributed to Einstein: "The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."

But it isn't my goal to be philosophical here or to rant about dropping out. The holiday season is difficult for me. I am not against the holidays and I will admit to the occasional warm feeling within, but there is more jeer than cheer inside my heart, I must admit. I detest shopping to begin with, but holiday shopping mutates that already odious chore into a casting call for "Survivor" (no, I don't watch it, but the image seemd to make sense in this sentence). My normal routine is time-challenged these days. I'm sure others have it worse, but I've been feeling the pinch lately. Work needed attention before I took some time off for the holidays. My family situation makes visits geographically and emotionally challenging. I really just want to close the door, lay under the covers and hold out until January 2nd. But I don't live in a vacuum and I need to get over myself, so I do my best to pitch in and try to make this a happy time for everyone. I do wonder how much easier this would be if my life were more simple? Maybe it would be worse? If I didn't have a car I wouldn't be able to see my family as easily. Even though Jesus' birth was purportedly in a place many in our circle would approve, the modern celebration is more about large homes filled with people and things and massive expectations. Mary just wanted a place to lay down. How far we've come!

The next few days are the worst. I am lucky that most of my driving is relatively close to the relatively few relatives to whom I must relate. I clocked in about 120 miles today. That is fine. Tomorrow is better because I will be hosting. The day after is not too bad either: just a short drive. The hard part will be making that small-talk I detest for hours among 40 or so family members. I love them all, but I'm just not so good in these situations any more. Again, I'll do what I must. I can schmooze with the best of them, but it takes a lot more energy to do so.

This time of year whips up thoughts of changes that need to be made and methods that should be altered. All this holiday activity eats into the energy and time that I so dearly covet. Then I think of all the things we are told we should do and I cringe. How does anyone do it? I'm fortunate compared to many regarding my work commute and hours and such. Many I know either work multiple jobs or make a two hour commute each way. How can there be any energy left for life and loved ones, let alone leisure? When you add up all the things you must do the list is staggering. Add to that the things you feel you should do and you simply want to quit. No wonder so many dream of dropping out.

There is so much I want to do. There is so much that interests me. There is so much the needs to be done. Time doesn't just prevent everything from happening at once, it prevents us from being the one doing it. We only have so much of the stuff and we must treat it with great care. What do you wish you had time to do? How do you make more time? Are there times when you spend money rather than time?

Why are there so many things we are told we should do each day? Meditate, exercise, talk to our children, get involved in your children's schoolwork, volunteer in your community, cook things from scratch, comparison shop, slow down, learn a language, keep up your property, read more, keep up on current events, study the politics of your local area, learn about the world, improve your job skills, write a letter, keep a journal, pray, learn to use a computer, turn off your computer, make time for yourself, learn to be less selfish...

I'll squeeze that all in after my normal day.

I enjoy my time on the computer because it is quiet and it demands little of me. It lets me talk and think without having to intrude an anyone else if they don't have the time. It informs me and entertains. It helps me unwind and it inspires me. It is ready to go when I am ready to go. It doesn't get offended if I don't want to talk. Some of that sounds selfish when I type it out. It is all true, though. I've learned so much in front of this digital diversion. I hope to learn more. I've especially learned how fleeting and precious time can be.

There is so much I want to say. There is so little time to say what I want to say. Perhaps that is a good thing? Yeah, I think so.

Second Hand Information

If all goes well, this will be a blessedly brief post. My previous post mentioned "Voluntary Simplicity". Only a couple days later this item was posted on MSNBC. I don't read MSNBC, but I think I caught the link on Reddit.


We all live second-hand lives. We learn from others who have learned from others who have learned from others. The food we eat is fertilized by the dead matter of that (and those) which (who) preceded it. In our modern world, second-hand anything is unthinkable. But if we see second-hand knowledge as unappealing, Odin-forbid if you walk into school with second-hand clothes! The second-hand knowledge that we need so desperately has been lost like a pair of MC Hammer parachute pants at the bottom of the bargain bin at the Salvation Army store. We need to know that second-hard information on how to hunt and gather and reap and listen and commune and survive. We need that information that great-grandpa tried to share. Alas, we were too busy reading about the latest pop star to listen. I found the article interesting only because it reinforces what we already know: 1) People want more meaning in their lives and they know it doesn't come from buying things and 2) The world (especially the corporately controlled consumer world) will think you are nuts or worse when you don't comply. Back to my idea that dropping out means non-compliance. Yes, this isn't quite dropping out, but it is counter-culture. Even this relatively benign act by a group of friends was met with hostility. If people react this way towards these folks, how do you think they will treat those who really drop out? I could go on and on about this, but you already know what I'd likely say.

I'm really beginning to think that this world is beyond hope.

I'm A Marked Man

As everyone is keenly aware, especially this time of year, businesses are pulling out all the stops in order to get you to part with your money. There is certainly a ploy, scam or manipulation that has been created for pretty much every potential consumer. But when you are a white, middle-aged, educated(?), professional male, there is a special place in the hearts of companies who like to sell shit. Kids may be a great audience for music and video games, but when it comes to big-ticket items, men are the holy grail. Because of that, I am a desired demographic. That means I have a target painted on me by business. I am targeted in specific ways in the hope that I will desire certain items. I am not a human, I am just a resource.

But in all this talk lately of dropping out, I am another demographic. Those who seek to follow what is popularly known as "Voluntary Simplicity" can be broadly labeled as "white" and "middle class". Men and women are about even in number within this group. Most who are interested in this path are well educated. I use the term "Voluntary Simplicity" only because it is a bit more accepted form of dropout. No, they don't really drop out, but they are sympathetic to the cause. I like to think of them as the sociological equal of marijuana: a gateway movement (yes, I know that a recent study debunks that theory, but I need it for that metaphor) to dropping out. Ted has been doing some writing on race and our culture that dovetails nicely into this idea of dropping out.

There have been some interesting conversations on this topic and I enjoy the give and take. My contention is that dropping out is quite serious and entails non-cooperation with the dominant consumer culture. But I also struggle with the difficulty faced by those who do not want to cooperate with this dominant culture but are unable to get out for various reasons. I will say that anyone who wants out can likely get out but the price is sometimes staggering. We've yet to discuss any concrete methods, but right now I am more concerned with the seeming hopelessness of dropping out.

I don't know why those who yearn for a simpler, freer life generally seem to be white, middle-class, educated "yuppie" types. I am certain that the desire for freedom and simplicity are not the sole domain of this socio-economic group, but the paradox within this little factoid is amusing. I think it is because white, middle-class, educated yuppies are the predominant consumer target in the nation that we even hear of "voluntary simplicity". When a noble idea is reduced down to a marketing term, we know we are in trouble. When the books, magazines, seminars, tapes and vacations that revolve around this idea become mainstream, the beginning of the end is near. I am not saying that books, etc. are bad things, but all these things are products. Products are created to be sold for a profit. When profit is involved a person's objectivity can often be called into question. Again, this is not an indictment of "voluntary simplicity" in any way. I am sure that most involved in the movement are genuine. I also do not fault anyone for trying to make a living. I hope we all know where I am coming from on this. It is analogous to creating a 12 hour mini-series on TV designed to educate Americans on the perils of watching too much TV. It could have a beneficial effect, but I would be suspicious.

Another aspect of this middle-class desire for a more meaningful existence is the fact that we are in a position to actually do something about it. One would think that the poor would lead the way in this lifestyle. But when you are poor, luxuries like movements and philosophies are often difficult to follow. You are generally too busy working several jobs and taking care of a family's needs to be spending your few moments of leisure figuring out how to "cut back". Again, the quotes here may smack of sarcasm, but they are asking a genuine question. There may be a few wealthy people who have sought a better life (John Robbins comes to mind), but I think that by and large the majority of the rich are quite happy with their lot. So if the poor have no opportunity and the rich have no desire, it leaves the middle class to struggle with this angst. Besides, the white middle-class does most the consuming, so who better to lead the way?

I don't know if it is our general white guilt that leads us to these ideas or if it is something else. Maybe it is the fact that we've come from something humbler and then tasted a "better life" but found it lacking? Maybe it is the stories of our ancestors and the romance of a more substantial life? Maybe it is our incessant working to achieve this life and finding that the pile of crap in the eight bedrooms in our homes is as useless as eating Twinkies? I really don't know what drives this behavior, but the fact that I fit into this category bothers me. Am I just doing this out of some sociological urge or am I interested because of a deeper spiritual need?

I am sure that the middle class is no more spiritual than the poor. It can't just be that. Is it that Christianity (at least the mainline branches that don't include the "Prosperity Gospel") seems to honor those who are poor? If so, why would the poor want to change their plight? And, if so, why wouldn't the middle-class want in on the action rather than face the potential difficulty of getting into heaven as one who would attempt to drive a camel through the "eye of a needle"?

I had a friend a few years ago who was brought up in rather beneficial circumstances. Her wealth allowed housekeepers and nannies and good schools. As fate would have it, she found love and religion and was willing to run away from all of her benefits. Her experiences remind me of what it will be like for those of us who are products of the modern world. She had no idea how to complete the simplest of tasks. Cooking, laundry and even cleaning a room were so foreign that the quest often brought her to tears. To anyone brought up to do their own work, it was sort of pathetic. But I saw her conviction. My wife spent time showing her the ropes and her common sense took over. Today, you'd never know it to look at her, but she has fully integrated into the mainstream of middle-class life from a life of ease. Four kids and several moves have toughened her up into an exemplary member of our stereotypical tribe. It gives me hope for the rest of us who need to learn how to milk goats, build fences and hunt game.

I don't know what it is that compels the white middle-class to look back. I do pray, though, that the same smugness that makes vegans and hybrid drivers crack jokes at the expense of meat eaters and SUV drivers will not bleed through to this movement. I hope that those who do actually drop out can look over their shoulders at those left behind and grieve rather than mock. It is easy to think about cutting back when you have enough. When you go from a three car family to a two car family it isn't a sacrifice, it is a start. Yet I won't be so quick to judge that step after seeing that even the well-off can suffer. Imagine what it would be like for you if you never had to lift a finger to do any sort of work around the house. What would it be like for you if you found yourself having to do all the mundane chores of life? Perhaps my sympathy isn't raised too high on that issue, but since I've seen the situation cause real tears, I can at least understand the struggle.

The poor don't have the luxury of cutting back. Maybe dropping out is an option? If I knew how to do it, I'd give advice. Voluntary Simplicity is often looked upon as the first step toward dropping out. I think we should encourage those who want out in any way we can. Even if they cannot actually make it, we shouldn't discourage them from trying. There was a saying used in the church in my circles: "Only the church shoots its own wounded." I hope that saying won't apply to those who foresee troubled times ahead. When you are 30, single and healthy it is easy to drop out. When you are 60, have four kids and are sickly, the potential isn't as great.

Who knows what is up with the white middle-class? I do know that I admire anyone who seeks to make life better for themselves and for their community. I, for one, will not discourage those who seek to slow down, cut back and, ultimately, drop-out. I will do my best to encourage them and support them on the trip. Yes, I will give constructive criticism and even challenge thinking I feel is faulty, but I'll do it in love as best I can. The stakes are so high that we don't have the luxury of alienation or degrading into further factions. I've been quite impressed by the people within this movement. I pray we can continue to learn from one another, share our experiences and support each other during the days ahead. As for me, I'm taking the targets off of myself and off of my brothers and sisters. I've got enough to worry about without adding to the pile.

Les Fourmis-dable

The second entry in the "dropping out" thread.

I do apologize if my writing has been disjointed and rambling (hehe... as if it isn't all rambling), but I feel like I'm trying to get a lot of thoughts out without the time to give them a spiffy framework. I see myself as a cook churing out plates full of food without worrying about arranging it artistically or concerned if the gravy has spilled over into the lima beans.

It is summer and I'm sitting under my favorite maple tree for shade and cool. I know that life is good because I'm eating a sandwich and drinking some iced tea. With each bite I realize how lucky I am to live where I live and at this time in history. Does an ant crawling under my chair stop and think about what he should do with the crumb of organic sourdough bread that he discovered? Does he have a spiritual struggle or a moment of conscience? After all, he didn't work to earn that bread, did he? He is nothing more than Jean Valjean with feelers and a metasoma. He is stealing bread to feed his family (the bastard!). What sort of example does he offer to society? What goes through his mind?

No, the human world isn't the ant world. The ant world isn't the anteater world. Yes, we are all interconnected, but we are also distinct and separate. How should we view the resources of the world if we drop out? Are they anathema or are they fair game? Are we "cheating" if we use the tools of the world? If you go into the woods to live free where no one will bother you, is it cheating if you bring a waterproof tent, sub-zero sleeping bag, survival knife, compass and boots? If you use a computer are you still part of the system and part of the problem? All are honest questions.

Dumpster diving has been raised as an issue on several of your blogs. Is this any different than the ant who stumbles upon a crumb? Well, according to your reports, yes. That dumpster is the property of someone and if they don't want you there, you have no right to be there, right? Aren't you stealing if you take something from that dumpster? Aren't you taking food from the mouth of someone's family by being a parasite instead of contributing to our society? Aren't you? (Hey, you look at me when I'm talking to you!)

Please allow me the following rant. I do not claim it to be anything more than a rant. If I am not accurate in what I say, please straighten me out (I won't be offended). I don't claim to be either an accountant or an attorney, just angry...

Somewhere in the southern part of the United States, someone plants a cotton seed. That seed came from another cotton plant harvested last year. That seed crop was harvested, processed and sold. The sale of the cotton was taxed. The labor of the man harvesting that seed was taxed. The lunch he bought that afternoon was taxed. The man who picked up the seed in his truck (which was taxed upon sale) was paid a wage that was taxed. The cotton seeds were then sold in bulk to a seed distributor (and that transaction was, again, taxed). The distributor paid employees (who had their wages taxed) to sort, package and ship those seeds. Another truck (insert the taxes you feel apply in this space) picks up those seeds and sells them to our farmer mentioned in the first sentence of this paragraph. This time, the farmer harvests the cotton and sells it in bales to another company (and they were charged tax on the transaction). This company sells it to a processing plant (who adds sales tax to the bill). The cotton is made into fabric and sold to a garment manufacturer (this transaction, oddly enough, is taxed). The garment manufacturer then creates a shirt from the material and sells it to a distributor (who pays a tax on the purchase, pays their employees who are taxed, etc.). The distributor packages and ships the shirt to your local store (involving a transaction that is most likely taxed on many levels). You then go into the store and grab that shirt since it goes perfectly with those jeans you just bought (which are made of cotton and have a story of their own). Are they taxed? Maybe. It depends on your local tax laws. But they could be. You wear that shirt a few times and like it, but you find it is a bit too tight (it must have shrunk, you couldn't have gained weight, right?). You "donate" the shirt to Goodwill, who will give you a receipt that can be used as a deduction when you itemize your taxes. Someone goes into Goodwill and buys the shirt. They love it. They pay a small price (and a small amount of tax) and go home. As time goes on, that shirt is worn and washed several times (in a washing machine that was taxed and with detergent that was taxed). It is still in good shape, but isn't so new anymore. Since it is spring, you start cleaning out your closets to make room for new, seasonal clothing. You look at the shirt and put it into the "donate" box. You drop it off at the Salvation Army, who gives you a receipt that can be used as a deduction for your taxes. The shirt sits on a rack for weeks and is marked down several times. Finally, the handwriting is on the wall; the shirt is discarded into the dumpster behind the store (by the labor of a hard-working, over-taxed employee). It is sad, but it is only taking up space from other items that might sell. That night, I go dumpster diving. Wow, look at all this stuff! A Rubik's Cube with a couple of the red stickers gone from the segments, a cassette tape of "America's Most Beloved Hymns", a Fischer-Price push toy that pops colored balls around a clear globe and... whoa... a shirt. Hey, it's my size! Sweet, I'll just grab that and be on my..."Freeze! Police! Put your hands up!" I go to jail (funded by taxpayers) and I am charged with burglary since I "broke into" private property to steal. That shirt was not mine and by stealing it I was harming the organization. The path from a seed to my greed is, indeed, storied. Can someone tell me how I am stealing?

My point in the above story isn't to say that I hate taxes or that stealing is permissible (I'll go off on taxes in another post). Rather, it is to show that when people dumpster dive they are only taking what others have discarded, so there is really no theft involved. These items have been sold and taxed repeatedly and have generated income on many, many levels before reaching that state. Yes, I took massive liberties with reasoning. No, stealing is not a value I cherish, but it is a few rungs above starvation and frostbite. In my previous post, I didn't want to imply that one should seek a life that allowed them to simply not pay taxes. Taxes in some form are often necessary and I gladly pay them. But we cannot ignore the fact that taxes fund the very institutions that enslave us. We all would smile if we knew our tax dollars went to feed and educate children or fund research into cancer treatment. But most of that money is used to buy weapons, train people to use those weapons and to fund ways and means to control us. I am not against defending our nation and its citizens from harm, but someone needs to tell me how we are currently doing that. I think we are causing more harm than we are preventing. You are certainly welcome to your opinion and I honor your right to hold it, but before you phrase it in a negative way towards me, please keep in mind I am a veteran and even have medal or two on my old uniform. These are not the rantings of someone with no experience in the real world. Alas, they are fueled by too much experience in the real world.

But, this isn't about dumpster diving, per se. It is about the rules of dropping out. Can you drop out and dumpster dive? You bet your ass. The ant won't pass up the crumb because it isn't theirs or they didn't create it. It is there and they need it. Yes, there are rules for living in civilized society, but I think some rules end where your hand reaches for the dumpster door. Part of the domination we are unders rests in "their" ability to locate, possess, allocate, control, create demand for, restrict access to, and qualify the rights to resources. Yes, nature has similar examples of such behavior, but it is no where near the detestibility that we've invented. When we even control access to that which no one wants, we've become reprehensible. In some work that my wife and I have done with the homeless, we've found that, generally, all fast food chains will throw perfectly good food out rather than give it to those who are hungry. When asked why they will not donate the food to those in need, the obviously frustrated managers of the restaurants obediently mouth the party line: "We are legally unable to allow that." In the end, we'll all be foragers anyway. Best to get with the program now, eh? That goes for walking into your local sporting goods store and purchasing all that high-tech camping gear. Fair game. It isn't about selling-out, it is about dropping out. It is about having the courage to live in a reality of your own creation while doing no harm. All the materials were stolen from the earth anyway. It is sometimes a narrow and difficult path, yet we must walk it out ourselves.

No one is sucking at the teat of the system. The system is sucking at the teat of the earth. The system is sucking at the teat of all those exploited to produce goods and services that are not essential to our survival and serve only to sate the greed of the powerful. When you take and take and take selfishly without giving back that is called parasitism. It is also the best description of modern civilization that I know. The system is sucking at the dry teat of an overworked mother and then selling the processed milk back to her so she can give it to her children.

Eventually, that shirt I "stole" from the dumpster was hauled away to a taxpayer-created landfill (the person who hauled it charged a fee which was taxed) and was buried. It eventually became compost and nurished a flower. I can see an ant crawling up its stem, looking for a meal. I wonder if he thinks about dropping out when he has lunch?

Tune In, Turn On...

This theme is rolling around our little circle as well as in my head. I really don't know how to answer the question. I don't even know how to pose the question.

What makes someone a "dropout'? What is a better term for "dropout"? What are we (am I) trying to achieve anyway?


I think casemeau started this and it was continued at Patriot Earth and then it was spotted at Village Blog. I'm sure others have discussed this issue for quite a while, but I am only noting what prompted me to write about it at this time.

This is a tough subject because it reveals our weakness and compels us to put up or shut-up.
-Casemeau is living in a van and trying to work out his next steps. He took the first step.
-Ian is soon to leave us and head to Ecuador. He has taken the first step. And, I loved the photo he posted a while back that inspired me to post the image for this entry.
-Ran has taken the first step and then some.
-Deanna has learned so much about living in the wilderness and living off the land.
-Jack has his van and is shaping his vision.
-Kevin and Rebecca have taken a giant leap and are sharing their journey with us all.
-Ted has wrestled with his demons over his next step and has kindly shared those moments with us all.
-Jason and Giuli have researched and reported and reflected on how we got here, where we are likely to go, why we do what we do and what is likely in store.
-Juris: Doctor of Doom bangs the warning drum hard so others will hear.
-Comrade Simba unashamedly reveals his strengths and his weaknesses and his humanity on this path.
-Nigel seems to be at about the same place on this path as I, only on the other coast.
-He who is nameless at Survival Acres is providing resources and information for those on the path.
There is also Aaron and Devin and Marcy and all the others I've left out only due to my ignorance.

It shocks me how many of you I feel I know in some strange way due only to these entries. We all have friends, families, lives, dreams, difficulties and demands, yet we all make the time to share pieces of ourselves with one another. Thank you. I really, really appreciate it. I know that our little conversations give me hope and encouragement, even when they are contentious.

I have been a typical American boy my whole life. I was born in a city, raised in the country and live in the country now (by choice). I did well in school, was well-liked by my peers and believed what those in authority told me. I started to think outside the box while in college, but was urged by my patriotism to serve my country when I felt she needed me. Later, I found that my country wasn't always being straight with me. I found that all those others in authority were not being straight with me either. I lost faith, yet found it again. I work in a capacity that allows me to serve my community, do what I love to do and still have time for a life. In the midst of this, my family and I have been rethinking what "life" is. Typical story and I only tell that bit to let you know where I am coming from.

I aspire to drop out. My presence in this community of ours is primarily because I wanted to get out of this thing we call civilization. One site led me to another which led me to Ran's site which led me to yours. So Peak Oil and collapse and anti-civilization and conspiracy is all well and good, but I am here because I don't want to be here. I want to be somewhere else. At the time I started looking around, I had no idea what I wanted (I still don't) in a practical sense or what "dropping out" meant, but I know I wanted to do it. As time has passed, I've learned much from all of you and had my ideas shaped in different ways. Your fingerprints are all over this little lump of clay. I really don't feel the need to define it or feel approved in order to know that I am actually doing it (rather than pretending to do it). It doesn't matter to me if you feel I am a poseur or the real deal. But I do think it is important that we at least talk about it, so I'm glad the subject has been moving around. I am, for whatever reason, somehow invested in your successes and your failures.

I'm sure my take on this is not yours. That doesn't make me right or wrong, just different. I am comfortable and relatively happy in all this civilization. Yet, I have been granted the gift of seeing it differently, just as most of you have. I've been able to see things as they are rather than as I'm told they are. My experiences and yours have shown me that there can be another way. I want to take the red pill. But it is hard to take the red pill unless someone like Morpheus is there to explain it to you and tell you that, yeah, it will be tough, but we'll make it.

I have no desire to codify, categorize, define, describe, encapsulate or explain what "dropping out" might be. It doesn't matter. They are only words. Words are not the thing, they are only a written or vocal symbol of the thing. They are a tool to allow us to make our thoughts known to others. You all know what "drop out" means to our circle.

Sure, perhaps there is a better term or phrase that could be used to describe this little cult to those who are not members. We could use less negative words or words without the baggage. In the end, we each know what we mean. And even if we don't all mean the same thing, I think we understand one another.

All I want to do is make sure that we all know one thing: dropping out is serious shit.

As Devin said, "Dropping out is NOT a fucking club. Dropping out has no fucking criteria." This reminds me of what Tyler Durden said, " Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat! It's not a seminar!"

My point is only to make clear that "dropping out" or whatever term we use to describe it is so much more than just dropping out. Sometimes we become so enmeshed in the mechanics of the immediate task we lose sight of the bigger picture: Dropping out is treason.

I like to call it "non-compliance". Again, it is just a word. Different heroes have shown their displeasure with the world by various forms of protest. Gandhi and Martin Luther King were not violent, but they were "in your face". They needed to show their displeasure by public protest. Those who drop out are an even heartier lot. We can simply vanish from the pubic eye and still make a great impact on the world. There is no need for publicity, attention or notoriety. In fact, that could work against us. In the end, it is most effective to simply disappear.

“I choose not to comply.”

Dropping out is the single most radical and dangerous thing we can do. It says that the American dream is really a nightmare. It says that Miss America is a whore. It says that the job, mortgage, 2.3 children, dog, station wagon and two-week vacation is tweaked Kool-aid we are forced to drink. It is saying that the Emperor has no clothes. It says that everyone is wrong. We can't have that now, can we?

It isn’t a full frontal assault on the “the man” or the “the system”. Doing that would make us terrorists or rebels or malcontents. That would let them imprison or shoot us.

It isn’t sitting in a peaceful circle holding hands and singing songs. Sure, that is nice and may even have some effect, but in the end we pick up our guitars, start up our cars, drive home to our HDTVs and lawns and go to work the next day.

Opting out is so hard because it is the one thing the “man” has made certain we cannot do! That must mean it is the most dangerous thing we can do and the most damaging to "him." You can protest all you want and it is fine. You can even go too far and cause trouble. Fine, we'll just send you to jail. We can deal with that. Even when you are in prison you are still part of the system. Your name is on a list. You have people who earn their living by watching you. Your name is still spoken. You have a role. But you can't just disappear. It isn't allowed. You can't live in the woods. Those woods are owned by the "man". They will force you to come back or put you in prison (back into the system). You need to contribute in some way. You can work and pay taxes, or you can be detained and have taxes spent on you so your presence justifies the system. You can't have it any other way. You are not allowed to live under any other reality.

-When you drop out, you don't pay taxes. No taxes means you're not funding the system that controls us.
-When you drop out, we don't know where to forward your mail, ask you questions, see what you are doing or use you in any way.
-When you drop out, you don't work so you can make money to buy things. No consumption doesn't help the corporations or the government that run this system.
-When you drop out, you are saying that the system doesn't matter. The system hates that most of all.

It reminds me of the most painful thing you can do to someone after a breakup: forget them. Some folks weep and grieve and suffer after a break-up. Some become bitter, resentful and angry. You talk about your past love behind their back. It may seem like a negative, but it is your way of keeping them in your life. But when you really break it off, you don't care who they are seeing or sleeping with or what they are saying about you. It doesn't matter. It is over. It has no meaning. It is irrelevant. This is what dropping out should be like.

Dropping out is, in essence, ignoring this world and fashioning your own. That is too dangerous to be allowed by civilization. Even if you rebel in the traditional sense, you will often get assistance by being offered "rehabilitation". Or, sometimes you will find those who sympathize with you and offer you support in some fashion. When you drop-out, you are on your own (or at least in the company of a small band who look out for one another). Sure, there may be others who know about you, but that doesn't matter. You are doing this because YOU must, not to please or impress or research a book. If others agree and are along for the ride, that is fine. But if they go off the path, you stay on the path.

Dropping out takes time. It may not happen all at once. It may unfold in stages. It may reveal itself in strange ways. Regardless, it is too radical to be allowed.

Again, this is my definition, so if you don't agree I won't argue. You are as correct as I. But dropping out, to me, isn't scaling back or tightening your belt or doing more with less. Dropping out is dropping out. It is the single greatest thing we can do. It is the single most difficult thing we can do. It is a weapon greater than all the bullets the man has. Unfortunately, it scares me even more than all the man's bullets.

To all those who are currently on the path, I am praying for you and looking for your footsteps to guide me. Good luck.

(T)errorism

I may be out of line with this quick rant, so please, gentle reader, do the right thing and let me know if I'm full of it...

Am I the only one who is confused regarding the case of Demetrius Van Crocker? I mean, given the issue, I would have imagined that every news agency would have been running constant stories about this guy. Granted, I don't watch mainstream media, but there is no way you'd miss this if it were given the airtime it deserved. This guy wanted to blow up Congress with C4 and fly a helicopter full of Sarin over African-American neighborhoods (we'll not go into the concentration camps he wants to set up for Jews).

Imagine you are with the office of Homeland Security. Imagine how you feel since you've been getting a lot of bad press and the public is starting to feel a bit oppressed? If you have a big victory to crow about, wouldn't you make sure the world knew?

Imagine you are the President. Imagine how you feel since your numbers are down, your party blames you for their staggering election losses, you have turned your nation into an Orwellian nightmare and no one really likes you. Do you think you'd try to win back some points and credibility by making it front page news that a potential terrorist was captured in a sting attempting to acquire Sarin and explosives? Would you like to try and justify the Draconian measures you've taken in some small way?

I guess the only thing stopping the above scenarios from happening is that Demetrius Crocker isn't brown or Muslim. Alas, he is white, right-wing and a racist. Mr. Crocker was convicted in April 2006 and just sentenced to 30 years last week. In the few things I've read, I didn't see the word "terrorist" anywhere. Of course, the fact that illegal wiretaps, waterboarding or "dissapearing" didn't have anything to do with the capture of this guy doesn't help either. This was done the old fashioned way: a stool pigeon.

How is it that I didn't know about this? I think of myself as reasonably informed, but this came out of left field. I hate displaying my ignorance this way, but my outrage is overriding my ego. I don't think I am the only one who didn't hear about this. Why wasn't this guy dragged around the Capital building behind a Texas pickup truck, horns blaring, lights flashing and flags waving? If this guy's name was Muhammad or Hakeem, Fox News, CNN and the rest would be heralding the victory of the administration's Homeland Security department and current hard line on this so-called war on terror. I guess attempting to destroy the legislative body of a nation isn't considered terrorism (but carrying nail clippers onto an aircraft is). Of course when all those safeguards we've put into place for our own safety didn't really produce, you are likely a bit hesitant to toot your own horn.

We have folks rotting away in Gitmo for nothing. I guess if your particular brand of carnage is right-wing and you are white, then you are not a terrorist. It sucks when you are brown or foreign or an environmentalist.

"I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns."
Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965)

Vs.

Slow Crash vs. Fast Crash
Roe vs. Wade
Coke vs. Pepsi
Britney Spears vs. Jessica Simpson
Godzilla vs. Mothra
Tide vs. The Other Leading Detergent
Oreo vs. Hydrox
Playstation3 vs. Xbox360
Apple vs. Microsoft
Pre-tribulation vs. Post-tribulation
Hulk Hogan vs. The Iron Sheik

Sure, we could all go on for hours with that and it would be fun...

I'm not sure what prompted this, but I figured I would just purge and be done with it. It may have started last night when I caught the end of the UCLA vs. USC game. UCLA was ecstatic in their victory. It was a stunning upset that changed the complexion of the college football season (yawn). What caught my eye was the sea of powder blue waving banners, shirts and flags. You knew who was victorious. One the other side, the red and gold were idle and sullen. You knew who lost. All the UCLA students were proud of their team. All the USC students were dazed and wondering what to do.

This morning I was reading through the news and items of interest when I noted a story on sales of the Nintendo Wii. The story simply stated that the Wii was selling many more units per day than the Xbox360 or the Playstation3. I have no idea what those statistics mean or how they were arrived at, but it was tech news and I do tech for a living. Below the story the comments and rants took off. Sides were chosen and the onslaught began. The more I read, the more I just wanted to scream.

I am someone who believes (whatever that means) in Peak Oil. I believe that we are facing an impending crisis on this planet that could be (note the qualifier "could") catastrophic. But, I also believe that I don't have all the data. As I've stated in my various ramblings here and on your pages, we don't know all the facts. And even if we did have all the facts, there are so many that we can't sift through them intelligently anymore. So, that gives me some wiggle room.

What I've stated in my previous paragraph is that I'm not a fanboy. For a while my wife had a Mac and I had a PC (actually, I have two, one runs XP the other Linux). I had a Sony PSP and a Nintendo DS. I watch NASCAR and English Football. I have a power mower and a push mower (two push mowers actually, one for me and one for my wife). I have a garden and I go to the grocery store.

What has bubbled up within me is this seeming fixation with being on a team or a side. People square off on the war (which is good) and become rabid and sanctimonious (which is bad). In this little blog universe some believe in Peak Oil and some don't. A few see a bleak future while others see one with more optimism. Some want to go primitive while others want even more tech. I still believe that America is a place where we can all believe and live as we choose as long as we respect one another and do our best to avoid harm. But I keep feeling like there is this mindset that says there is only one way to believe on each issue. There is only one valid side of the story. "We rule!" "We're #1!" "U-S-A! U-S-A!" "If it ain't country, it ain't music!" This thinking tells me that if I support the Palestinians (which I do) I hate the Israelis (which I don't). I'm told that I am either with the government (which I am not) or I'm with the terrorists (which I am not). I am told that two political parties are enough (not for me). I am told that elections should be either/or (which I don't believe). What the hell is wrong with us?

This all smacks of some sort of tribalism or cult. Maybe that is unfair, but I don't know a better way to phrase it. The feeling is that if you own the Playstation3, you can't enjoy the Xbox360. If you believe in a simpler life you are a Luddite. If you believe in Peak Oil you are a gloom and doomer. If you believe in Global Warming you are a rabid environmentalist. You have to belong to some tribe or team or cult or group or side or ideology or philosophy or class or neighborhood or nation or sect and then ride with it no matter where it takes you. You must stand up for it, protect it, defend it, fight for it and even die for it. You must not allow anyone to besmirch or sully the reputation of your little circle and take steps to silence or punish those who do. You've got to wear a t-shirt or have a bumper sticker or button that ensures everyone knows your cause. Opposing arguments are obviously a waste and shouldn't be allowed to be made. When making your points, be certain to inject as many emotional arguments and ad hominem attacks as you can.

I have no idea what tribal cultures of the past were like. I don't know if they welcomed outsiders or rejected anything that was new. I don't know if it was common to simply hate and fear everyone else outside of your group or to embrace that which was new. Likely it was some of both. I do know that the mess we are in today is larger than one ideology or agenda. It will take everyone cooperating and seeing the issues as larger than themselves. There is no more time or room for self-interests and living out our need to be right or on the right side.

My problem in this is that I don't have a lot of faith in humanity. When I sit down with one person and talk about the issues of the world, I generally have no problems with them. Sure, we may not agree on everything, but I try to disagree with respect. When the group dynamic kicks in, a club becomes a gang, a community becomes a cult and an organization becomes an army.

I can see a bright future where everyone rallies together for the common good, puts aside their selfishness and contributes to the well-being of our world. Alas, I also see a world where xenophobia, selfishness, arrogance and close-mindedness lead to the end of a planet.

Evidently my mind is so open that my brains fall out and gather dust bunnies.

Encouragement

God knows that I need encouragement right now. I've got so many things going to hell in my life that I've decided to stop numbering them. Then, just when you decide to roll up into a big, greasy ball of self-pity, you see something marvelous...


I saw this film one time almost twenty years ago and it has never left my heart or mind. The images and emotion of it would often bubble up inside of me at various times. It was (and still is) the single most moving and significant animation I'd ever seen. Today I stumbled upon a link to a stream of this magnificent piece of work and I wish to share it with you. "The Man Who Planted Trees" is a parable sorely needed in our time. It shows how man's passions can both destroy and revive a world. It shows how one person does make a difference. For those who have broadband (and perhaps those who don't), I urge you to take the 30 minutes and watch this Academy Award winning animation. Click here to view the video.

"Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin."

Driven to Tears

I attended a "Defensive Driving Class" today. My employer requires it (likely because the insurance company requires it). It isn't that bad really. I'm out of the office for the day and I get a 10% discount on my insurance when it is over. Hearing the same things you've heard over and over are quite difficult. But I notice that as I get older I am able to appreciate much of what the course is trying to achieve. Over the years we've changed our perspective on driving. We've had a soaring population but don't have many more roads upon which we drive. Traffic, Road Rage and stress make driving difficult. Long commutes make it worse. There is so much one could write regarding cars, driving and the American way of life. Automobiles are likely the symbol most associated with the United States; it is obvious why there is so much resistance to scaling-down and scaling-back the icon or our freedom.

The thing that I took away that wasn't on the practical side was how rules, however odious to us all, can save lives. When the statistics were being read regarding speed limits, seat belts, child safety seats, air bags, etc., it was staggering. It isn't so much that the devices saved lives, it was that the government had to fight so many people to make these things law. It is amazing to me how to this day so many people are offended by being forced to wear a safety belt or drive the speed limit. All the numbers I see build a strong case.

I don't like being told what to do. I don't really know many normal folks who do (sure, some like to dress up like Stormtroopers and... well, you know...). But one of the drawbacks of civilized living is that we must co-operate to live. I guess this is why I am as I am politically. It isn't that I want the jackbooted thugs telling me what to do, it is just that I don't trust others to do the right thing. The lives saved by government mandates is stunning. Same for clean water (get it while you can... Bush is doing his level best to get rid of that), clean air, safe working conditions, and not having to wake up to find your neighbor has started his own hog rendering plant. God knows that I don't like Big Brother watching me. I wish the government could back off on a lot of things. Again, we have to live, learn and compromise to figure out the best balance. There is no perfect way, there is just walking the path and making adjustments as needed. I think we've swung too far to one side over the last years and need to head back. But don't worry, we'll swing back the other way before too long. Maybe the pendulum will settle one day?

Sure, it would be great if we could make all the changes to our society that are urgently needed without being compelled. It would be nice to live in a Libertarian paradise where everyone is educated, rational and willing to compromise. Alas, we're not. We see the signs of energy crisis, environmental crisis, global war, overpopulation and consumerism out of control. Yet, we do nothing. We say we want to live "free", but we don't earn the right to be free by our actions. We are children acting as grown-ups. Better yet (in keeping with my automobile theme) we are driving down the interstate at 100 MPH. In the rear view mirror we see the lights flashing. We are busted. There are laws and we decided to ignore them. We used too much oil, we consumed more than our fair share, we acted selfishly and brutishly with other nations, we stood by and did nothing when confronted with a lying government, we treated those different from us with disdain and contempt, we sold our children's future for an SUV, we imagined ourselves to be the only species who matters and we didn't think beyond the next fiscal quarter.

"License and registration please."

Hail, Sate'in

The only reason I am bothering to post is because of what today represents. I know I've already talked about the subject a few days back, but this is less practical and more of a rant.

Today is "Black Friday" in the United States. Black Friday is the day that businesses officially open the holiday shopping season (which has been going on "unofficially" since September). The "black" of "Black Friday" refers to the color of ink used in the ledgers for bookkeeping. Black ink means profit, red ink means debt. In modern accountancy, red can be as good as black. I don't pretend to understand it all. Modern finance seems to be able to put a spin on any scenario. If you make a profit it isn't enough of a profit. If your earnings are up they are not up enough to jive with projections by experts. If you lose money it is good news because it wasn't as much as your competitor. If you lose money it is alright because you've invested in infrastructure and off-shore development. All economics are voodoo to me.

But I don't want this entry to be about ink color. I want this entry to be about satisfaction. Yesterday was a feast day. Thanksgiving is notorious for its overindulgence. We eat until we are literally in pain. Rather than stop, we simply loosen the belts (unless we had the foresight to simply wear pants with an elastic waistband) and keep on eating. We will lay in moaning piles on the floor hoping that the football game or the re-broadcast of a parade will somehow take our minds off our digestive distention. Then, in a fit of festive forgetfulness, we head once more into the breach. We writhe in joyful agony, wondering when that last piece of pumpkin pie will finally end its journey so we can feel normal again.

This is a nation fueled by dissatisfaction. We never cease in our quest to find more and better ways to satisfy the cravings within. If every day is a day of seeking contentment in this nation, Thanksgiving is the first day of our Bizarro Ramadan. These two days in November are a one-two punch to the concept of moderation and satisfaction. The High Holy day is Christmas and the fast (as in "consume faster") is broken on New Year's Day.

Let me quickly state that I am not writing this as one who is immune to this disease or even mildly aware of what causes it. I know I have it in some form or another and have examined the malady for a long time.

We are a bag of flesh that seems to instinctively seek ways to consume. We make room for this consumption by various purges (biological, emotional, psychological and economical). When we are eating our breakfast, we think about what we'll have for lunch. When we are on a date with a significant other, we look to the next table and mentally undress its attractive occupant. When we are buying a new music CD, we keep a mental list of all the others we need to buy next time. We'll "get into" eastern philosophy for a while, but notice that indigenous traditions are pretty interesting.

I wish I knew why we behaved this way. I know that variety is considered beneficial in a genetic sense. Perhaps this is a part of the riddle? I am not against variety of experience in life, but this goes deeper than simple curiosity or a desire for varied experiences. There is a hunger within us so deep than we simply cannot consume enough things or experiences to quell it. We use drugs, food, television, internet, sex, toys, sports, music, and anything within reach to stop the groaning. Like most people, I just assumed that I had yet to find the right thing for my hunger, but in time I'd stumble on to it. The more I looked, the more I knew something else was up.

In my thinking, the farther along we travel in our history, the less likely we are to find something that satisfies our longing. I say that for several reasons (and I know the reasons are foolish):

1) The longer you work on a problem, the closer you are to the solution. We've been working on this one for a very long time. I don't even see small signs of hope (yes, I am taking into consideration Tony Robbins and Dr. Phil).

2) The more people you have working on a problem, the more likely you are to have it addressed by keen minds. In all our history, some pretty sharp folks have tried to tackle this one. Again, we're still waiting for the white smoke.

3) The longer it takes to find a solution, the more input and data will be available for consideration. More products, ideas, religions, and snack foods are introduced every day. Each one is a potential answer to our various hungers. But the more options we have before us, the longer it will take to explore them. The day has long since passed where one person could experience all the options available to him. We'll always be missing something. What if it is the thing we need to fill the void?

I'm not skilled enough in anthropology or sociology to know if there is a culture that is truly settled and satisfied. I don't know if there are people that wake up each day to simply experience what the day brings rather than anticipate how they'll fill the many holes in their lives. All I know is that American culture has dropped the ball and we are never going to find it by doing the same things we've done for years.

I started to think that our consumption wasn't so much to fill our void as it was to distract us from it. At least when that grumbling place had a new philosophy or salsa to evaluate it wasn't bothering us with its incessant bleating. That new relationship may be good for a few months of peace. Trying out model airplane piloting is good for a month. Yoga may get you through half the year. A new outfit is good for a week. A video game system works great for a fortnight, but you'll need to add a new game regularly for about a year.

I'm not saying there isn't an answer, but I am saying that consumption isn't the answer. I'm sure everyone has experienced buyer's remorse. We've all ordered the Linguine in Clam Sauce when we should have ordered the Asian Stir-fry. Besides, we're just hungry again in a short time. If we all know that consumption isn't the answer, why do we keep pursuing it as if it is?

The down side to this insanity is that the more we feed this beast, the hungrier it gets. When it realizes that all our previous attempts at satisfaction were failures, it panics and increases the urgency of our quest. We seem to be positively racing toward new levels of consumption every day. All we get for our trouble is more debt, more disappointment and less room in our homes. Our bank accounts are empty, our hearts are empty and the future looks empty. Meanwhile, the beast has grown to the point that we cannot hope to fight it. I feel like we are totally lost in this country. I feel as if there is no hope for us to leave this insane consumer culture behind us and embark on a journey towards compassion, contentment and sustainability.

Maybe if we can sit still long enough to actually hear what our inner longing is saying, we might be able to figure it out? But when the sound of ad jingles, snack wrappers, fragging, clinking glasses, riffs, moans and crowds get in the way, we've no chance at all.

I really don't know the answer to the question. I not even sure I know what the question might be, but at least we have an anthem. In the end, all I can do is what I think is best. Today, that is staying home and not buying anything. I wish I had something more upbeat to post, but this is what is rattling around inside. January 2nd won't come soon enough for me.

An Inconvenient Booth

So I've got an outhouse.

No, it isn't the one pictured here. It is one of those new-fangled deals made of plastic that has locks and such. You know, the sort used by folks with city ways, what with all their fancy book learnin' and shoes and the like. We've had more than our fair-share of rain this month and one particular day was bountiful in ways we've not seen in years. Not only did our cup runeth over, but our ceptic system did as well. The plumber snaked his pipe cleaner down twenty-five feet and found nothing but clean water. He wrinkled his youthful brow, scratched his head and gave me a sympathetic look as he handed me the bill. When it comes to toilet-related decisions, time is most certainly of the essence. I ordered a porta-potty for the back yard until we could figure out what our next step would be. My hope is that the water will drain out and I'll be able to deal with this in a more comprehensive way in the summer. Alas, I fear I may not have the luxury of time.

Speaking of luxury, as outhouses go, this one isn't too bad. There is this delightful blue liquid into which one does their final staging of the digestion process. Not only is it lovely to behold, but it keeps the air springtime fresh. It is not lit by anything but nature (or a flashlight) and even has a dual toilet paper roll (honestly, I'm not trying to put on airs). It isn't a long walk to access this marvel, but it is far more inconvenient than staggering half-asleep across the hall.

I guess this blog entry has some tangental relationship to Thanksgiving, but certainly not in the Hallmark Channel or Norman Rockwell sense. According to a document released at the 4th UN World Water Forum, more than 2.6 billion people do not have indoor plumbing. Sure, it is fun to roam around with a flashlight when you go camping, but it can be quite an adjustment when you must make it a part of your daily life. I guess I don't mind it so much, but it would be much easier to bear (at least my bottom would be much easier to bare) if it were May rather than November. When I make that short walk out back in the middle of a frigid and lightless evening, I remind myself of how coddled and spoiled I've been all my life. I've never been hungry or put in harms way or lacked the basic necessities of life. If this is hardship, then I think I can take more. No, I won't be a better person for this, but I will be more thankful. The word "inconvenient" stirred memories of reading casemeau's inner dialog on the subject prior to his decision to go homeless.

I wish I could use this experience to at least make myself feel I am achieving a moral victory. I wish I could say "I am saving hundreds of gallons of water per month by not flushing", but I really don't know if I am saving anything. I might even be using more resources by doing this. I've read lots of blogs from simple living communities or eco-communities that process their waste in a more earth-friendly manner. I've read about "humanure" and composting toilets. THAT is saving water. No, I can't crow about being green or earth-friendly or environmentally sensitive. All I am is desperate and compelled to use this thing. How many other people are in those sorts of situations? How many people would love to be more sensitive to the earth and leave a lighter footprint? Most people don't have the choice. Being an environmentalist or "living simply" is often a movement led by fortunate people who have so much they can afford to "lighten their load". For most of us, there isn't always room to choose whether to eat organic or free-range or locally grown. Most are just happy to eat. I'm not casting negativity towards any of those movements, ideas or people that participate in them. In fact, if you knew me in my real life, you might even laugh (I try not to take myself too seriously). But I do take seriously the often desperate situation in which many find themselves. There is no choice between organic apples and free-range eggs and their alternatives. Survival is serious business. When you don't have a pot to piss in (either literally or figuratively) you do what you can.

I like the fact that I must now be relatively mindful about my bathroom use strategy. Where I might have a cup of tea right before bed, I will likely postpone it for morning. A flashlight, shoes and appropriate outer garments must be left in an accessible location. The weather may be checked prior to turning in for the night. Toilet paper stocks must be checked frequently to prevent what would certainly be a disaster for one's self or family. On the bright side, there is now so much more about which we can speak upon returning from the loo. In the past, what would one say after the deed was done? Not much apart from, "You might want to stay out of there for a few minutes" (which I've never said but have heard on several occasions). Now I can say, "There were deer in the back yard", or "I think the turkeys are interested in our potty" or "The coyotes are on the move" or "I can see all the stars tonight" or "It is so cold... come here and warm me up".

This whole deal about being afraid of losing something by scaling back our lives... I don't know why I struggle under it. No, I really don't want to use the bathroom this way for the rest of my life, but I know there are far worse things that could befall me. Maybe this is what I need to start slowing down? A little inconvenience isn't that bad. I wish it wouldn't cost me so much money to figure these things out. I'm coming to terms with the wood stove. I'm sure I could deal with water pumped by hand or by bicycle. I probably could live with the outdoor potty thing. One by one, my imagined fears of what the simple life holds are being... flushed away. I just wish there were not so many of them and that I had more time to watch them swirl down the bowl.

Speaking of which, I hope you'll all excuse me, but I have a pressing matter to which I must attend.

The Church of Impending Doom

As some of you may already know, I've got a religious streak in me. I don't suppose I'm much different than most, but I don't really pry into people's lives, so I won't make any assumptions. I can only say that there is a place within me that wants to be "right". And by "right" I don't necessarily mean "correct", but I think I mean "in good standing." If eating something is going to do me harm, I'd like to know. If buying a product is going to harm someone, I'd like to know. If flossing my teeth is going to help me live longer and happier, I'd like to know. If I'm going to burn forever in a horrid hell, that would be good to know as well.

The passion and energy of our little community (what should we call it?) is admirable. Also, I find a great deal of tolerance and open-mindedness within this circle. Now, that isn't necessarily saying that people who are concerned about an impending crisis are all tolerant. I think it means that the ones I read are that way. It is just my way of unconsciously sorting out rigid, intolerant types.

The more I read your works, the more I feel like I'm back in church.

I love your passion. I love your enthusiasm. I love your desire for a better world. I love your humor and your candor. I don't pretend to know the sequence of DNA or the electro/chemical process of the brain that makes one "religious" or spiritual. But I do know that I get the same vibe from this community. Is it a psychological or anthropological predisposition? Do we learn this at home? Do we catch it like a disease? I dunno.

I only bring up this little point to be candid with you all. I've always wanted to be "good" (sorry for the abuse of quotes here today, but vocal inflection doesn't travel well on a blog). I don't want to do any harm. I want to be someone who builds up rather than tears down. I want to leave the place better than I found it. I am beginning to worry that my interest in our various topics may be a reflection of my deeper religious predisposition. I am not saying that this interest negates the valid arguments (or supports the invalid arguments) we bounce around. All I am trying to figure out is "what's my motivation"?

What motivated me to be a zealous Christian all those years ago? What made me so politically active at such a young age? What fueled my youthful patriotism? My wife and I have always been interested in a simpler life. We've always been part of the health-food crowd. Even when I was at my most conservative I was this way. Once I discovered my nation's sordid political dealings and general dishonesty, I felt free to question other things. When I questioned the motives of organized religion in general and my place in it specifically, I felt free to leave that as well. I touched on this in a previous post regarding the Communist Manifesto.

Once I was freed from the shackles of "must" and the pressures exerted by friends and family, I allowed myself intellectual and spiritual freedom. Please understand that I am not saying that I finally know any sort of truth. I am saying that I feel mentally and emotionally released to change my mind and listen to conflicting perspectives with true interest. If I latch on to a concept, I can let it go when I see it isn't what I thought it would be. It was hard for me to do that in the past. Since I was so burned by the right, I've really moved far left. Maybe if I'm burned there I'll fall back into the center?

As I wade through the writings of my many online compatriots, I find a broad spectrum of thoughts, but a common grounding is the idea of coming calamity. The more I read, the more I feel I'm right back in the church. You all bring such passion to the urgent questions of life. We study various scripture-like writings by holy people (Kunstler, Ruppert, Jensen, Quinn, etc.) and belong to various sects (Peak oilers, Global Warmers, Green Anarchists, Anti-civers, Anarcho-Primitivists, etc.) The ideals we espouse are often derived from a feeling that the coming crisis is due to our "sin" and "gluttony". We consume too much and waste precious resources. This is a crime against nature and humanity. We've been deceived by the evil one(s). Our sins are finding us out. Just as Christians have varying views on the end of the world, our little group does as well. Some feel the end will be swift and uncomfortable. Others feel it will be a slower and manageable. Some see war, others see a chance for Utopia. Some forums have comments decrying and accusing those who drive SUVs and have large homes. Others have compassion on the lost and pray for the eyes of their understanding to be opened.

Another commonality I observe is what I call the "gleeful anticipation of the collapse". I know that sounds worse than I intend but it is how I see it. There is an emotional undergirding that appears to want this end to come. I don't think people want anyone to suffer or be harmed, but they need to feel vindicated. The anticipation is too great for it to continue, so let's get on with it! I don't think this attitude is as deep as the apocalyptic attitude held by the religious right and their desire to usher in the "end times", but it is pronounced. Like many Christians, when the end doesn't come soon enough, faith begins to wane. People will "backslide" and return to their old ways.

It is best explained in the pithy saying, "To the man holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail." When you are a deeply religious person, everything you see, read and experience must, in some way, relate to your faith. I think for those who have a strong view of the future and how troubled it is likely to be, everything becomes tainted with those thoughts. A news story you read may not have stirred you a few years ago. If you read the same story today it is used to support your view that Peak Oil is real and is being covered up by shadowy forces in unseen places. If someone doesn't buy a hybrid vehicle, they are part of the forces driving us to annihilation. When a born again Christian reads a story about unrest in Israel, they think that these troubled times prove that Jesus is coming soon. A Peak Oiler would think that we wouldn't care at all about Israel if they were not in the Middle East where so much oil is located. The Christian may encourage political policies which actually incite conflict in order to usher in the new millennium. The Peak Oiler may encourage political policies that pull us out of the Middle East and free us from reliance on OPEC oil. Both act on their faith. Both groups pass the collection plate.

You see where I'm going.

While the religious people I use as examples may seem to be unreasonable or irrational, I am not intending that to be the case. There are plenty of folks in our little circle that may not always be citing facts to prove their points (like I am right here). I think faith is exercised here as well. We use supposition as well as facts to make our points. And besides, who the hell really knows the facts? Do you really know the numbers with Peak Oil? You are using faith. You have faith that someone has done the work, done it without prejudice, accurately evaluated the data, accurately reported the results and those results were accurately disseminated. I use the example of a package of M&Ms with peanuts. How do I know what is in these things? How do I know how many calories are here? How do I know there isn't some other cancer-causing property in there? I don't. The only way to really know is to buy the bag and perform the experiments yourself. Good luck. It is all faith. In my youth there were a large number of "experts" warning of the next global ice age. I remember a half-built bomb shelter in my basement. None of that every came to fruition (at least not yet).

What am I getting at? I have no idea. All I'm trying to do is sort out my feelings regarding what I think is the best way to live against what my religious predisposition may drive me towards. It is hard to step back to take an objective look at yourself and your motives. I think Ted is having a bad (good) influence on me. As I read through your blogs and see the different styles and outlooks, I am glad that there are people like you out there. I learn from Ted's soul-searching. I am inspired by Ran's practical and dedicated life. I enjoy Jason's scholarly examinations. I am moved by Casemeau's journey of self-discovery. I am excited by Kevin's farm life and informed by his news analysis. There are so many more of you who affect me in different ways. I am a better person for being a part of your virtual lives. Your synergy is appreciated.

The broad array of ideas and temperaments will have a modifying effect on my religious predisposition. The word "religion" comes from the Latin which is loosely translated "to be bound again". I prefer to translate it as "a return to bondage". I have no desire to be in bondage again. You guys help keep me free. Thanks.

You Say You Want A Revolution?

I know what time of year it is because I can smell Turkey. No, not the nation (that smells more like the inside of 1973 Pontiac Bonneville) but the food. When this time rolls around my brain starts to release the memory of meals past. I think my body also anticipates the mighty task of digestion, because I have less interest in food. Perhaps this was similarly felt by our ancestors when they somehow knew the hunters were returning with their bounty? Regardless, I don't do too well after Halloween through the day after New Years. This whole season has become an orgy of consumption that I cannot bear up under very well. Too much food, too many people, and too much consumption. I am deluged with advertisements against my will. I am told to buy or be unfulfilled. I am compelled by tradition to be merry. The expectation level is always so high during the holidays that one is hard-pressed to live up to it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a lucky guy. I have a good job, a loving family and have had lots of luck. I have much for which I should be (and am) thankful. But what was a time of true thankfulness has turned into a horror story. With Thanksgiving just days away, I have heard more stories about Federline than famine. The hype online is about getting that Playstation3 so you can sell it on Ebay (without getting mugged or shot). The buzz is about Wii and how it will change things. Change what? How? For what purpose? I want change too. Will the Wii bring about justice in our world? Will it feed those without food? Will it protect the weak from the predator? The Nintendo Wii was once called "Revolution". It may be a revolution for gaming, but who really cares? We need a revolution of the soul of planet earth or we will all certainly perish. No, that isn't me being maudlin, it is a stone cold factoid.

I hate this time of year because it brings out all that is wrong with us. It shows how we can pervert and manipulate a sacred time of thankfulness into an orgy of consumption (both gastronomically and economically). Thanksgiving is less about being thankful for the blessings of our needs being met than it is the start of the holiday shopping season. Thanksgiving dinner has become a pre-shopping spree carb-up.

I hate how we've become a nation of economic targets to the corporations of the world. As you read this there are people in a room somewhere trying to figure out the best way to manipulate you into buying things. They want your money and they are not allowed to hit you with a rock and take it from you. The next-best thing is trying to figure a way to make you give it to them legally. They will lie, distort, manipulate, seduce, guilt, sway, hypnotize, shame, prey and threaten to get you to part with your money (whatever is left after the government gets their cut). This is redistribution of wealth for the clueless as opposed to redistribution of wealth for the powerless as it is with our government and taxation. We are feeding this monster by playing along. It is the addiction we silently allow. We look at our checkbooks, look at our kids, shake our heads and pull out the plastic. We are enabling this nation into economic and spiritual bankruptcy.


I didn't like it when Nintendo changed the name of the "Revolution" to "Wii". Euphemisms aside, it doesn't even have a pleasant sound when it is spoken aloud. The connotation is "We", but I just hear the nasally whine. I want a revolution, not the nasally whine. I want another American revolution. The clueless herds think that because the Democrats are back in power in the Congress that we're "taking our country back". How anyone can think that putting a collaborative, spineless, cowardly and complicit party in charge is "taking our country back" is beyond me. They are all bought and paid for, in my opinion. But if you want to take your country back, I'll tell you how you can do it:

"Don't spend any money."

Make this Black Friday "black" for a different reason. No, I'm not suggesting that we never spend money again. What I am suggesting is that we put this nation's movers and shakers on notice. (Please right click one of the following links and open in a new window or tab before reading further: lowbandwidth highbandwidth) "We the people" run this show. WE are the decider's, W, not you. We can, with a simple pull of a lever or mark on a piece of paper change the course of our nation and the world. No, I'm not so gullible as to think the government is the only problem we have, but it is how we start. What would be the ramification of a Black Friday without sheep-like consumers? What would happen if the stores were empty? Can you allow your mind to envision it? What would happen if we put our leaders on notice that we are not going to play along? What would be said in the board rooms? What would be discussed in the corridors of power? How would business change? How would we want it to change? By the simple act of civil disobedience known as "closing your wallet" you can do more damage to an oppressive system than senseless violence ever dreamed. Perhaps this idea's simplicity is its downfall? It is a practical, legal and fool-proof way to get the attention of corporate America and that of our government. We will have their full attention. You don't need a special outfit to do this. You don't need training. You don't have to plan. You don't have to call anyone. You don't need to stretch or warm-up. You don't need to convert anything to metric. YOU JUST DON'T BUY ANYTHING! Can you handle that?

Of course, this is all too simple and foolish to work, right? And, there may be some negative consequences. After all, there are no negative consequences to our current model, right? Ah, you're probably correct. We have to show the terrorists that we're not afraid of them by going out and buying stuff. That is what we do. If we don't shop, the terrorists will have won. I guess the only revolution I'll be getting this year will be the one renamed "Wii". It is sad that we've gone from "We the people" to "Wii the people". Revolution takes too much effort (unless you are buying one).

Kapitalist's Kooky Kavorting Krafting Kommie Komeback?

I remember an episode of "The Simpsons" where Bart is trying to escape the homicidal intentions of Sideshow Bob while trapped on a boat. He tries fleeing to one side of the boat and finds nasty alligators in the water. He flees to the other side of the boat only to find electric eels preventing his escape. He runs back to the same side of the boat from which he originally fled, only to find the very same alligators still anxiously awaiting his arrival in the water. Bart pauses and remarks, "Oh yeah!"


That is the image which came to mind as I was thumbing through the Communist Manifesto. Don't ask... really.

Let me start off by proclaiming right off the bat that I'm no commie. I bleed red, white and blue (I'm currently taking antibiotics to help with the white part). But seriously, I'm pretty left, but I've never had any romantic notions of Communism. I was fascinated by the entire spectacle as I was growing up with the looming spectre of the former Soviet Union on one side and the champion of freedom, the United States, on the other. When the game was over, we won and it was pretty damned cool.

Of course, now that the commies were gone, the world must be in for a new golden age of freedom and liberty, right? Right?

My political awakening, with its uncovering of the truth of our involvement in issues from Iran, Guatamala, Cuba, Panama, East Timor and so on, was a crushing blow to me. I never thought that my country, which I volunteered to serve during a time of unrest, would end up being the bad guys. When I look at where we are now it is like a shameful dream. We keep taking step after step toward the type of cold, totalitarian state I was always told was un-American. All the things those commies did (meddling in internal political affairs, dragging people off to prison without a trial, starting wars, having unfair elections, lying, etc.) seem to pale in comparison to our resume. It hit home this weekend when I saw a video of a stupid college student being tazed into frenzy for not having his ID ("Yoo haff zee papers, ja?") Just like everything else (except gymnastics, chess, weightlifting and caviar), at least we do those things better than the commies. When my heart was broken by my government, it allowed me a sort of freedom to open my mind. Since I couldn't trust them to make the best decisions for me any longer, I didn't think it treason to read through this document. It was high time I started making my own decisions. I've never looked back. To many, this is a "duh" moment. But for most people in this country, we trusted those in authority. We were raised to revere our nation, its Founding Fathers (which I still capitalize), the flag, our ideals and our government. I won't go into the reasons why no one should trust the government. The reasons are so voluminous and far-reaching that it would take me the remainder of my life to itemize and discuss adequately. Besides, you all know what is going on.

Related to my interest in the scaling back of the American dream due to the convergence of many dire issues facing our planet, I found a couple quotes of interest in this dusty old document. Had I read them years ago they would have meant nothing. Reading them now reveals a freshness and renewed vigor:

"The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the bourgeoisie over the entire surface of the globe. It must nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connections everywhere."

We have bases in something like 130 of the 190ish nations of the world. We are desperate for oil and are drilling, negotiating and threatening everywhere in order to secure it. We've hired out our labor force to third-world nations. Second only to our military expansionism and intervention around the globe is the marketing of our way of life to the world via TV, ads and films. We urge people to work like us so they can buy like us so they can live like us. Tyler Durden's words echo in my head... "we're slaves with white collars. Advertisements have us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need." We have lost our soul.

But it wasn't that much different back in the day of Marx. He saw the handwriting on the wall. Was he off the mark on this statement? Seems to me that history has validated it and then some. And what of this paragraph...

"The bourgeoisie has, through its exploitation of the world market, given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption in every country. To the great chagrin of reactionaries, it has drawn from under the feet of industry the national ground on which it stood. All old-established national industries have been destroyed or are daily being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries, whose introduction becomes a life and death question for all civilized nations, by industries that no longer work up indigenous raw material, but raw material drawn from the remotest zones; industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants, satisfied by the production of the country, we find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes. In place of the old local and national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal inter-dependence of nations."

There is a reason we can't keep our nose out of other nation's affairs: we are too busy exploiting them for our own gain and interests. Revered cultures and folkways are giving way to iPods, golden arches and swooshes on sneakers. The basics of life are giving way to Asics (tm) and Life (tm). There are fewer and fewer unique cultures and quaint customs. Everyone looks, speaks and dresses like Americans. Every suburb in America looks the same. We ship to and from all over the globe. No one here knows how to build or create anything any more unless it has to do with entertainment, sports or weapons. We ship ideas from one country and materials from other countries to yet another country where they are assembled partially, shipped elsewhere to be given final assembly and then shipped back to us here. We've made nations too dependent upon one another to their detriment and our benefit.

He may have been a commie bastard, but Marx seemed to hit the nail on the head. So when I see Bart Simpson seemingly forget what he saw that made him run away in the first place, I am reminded of what caused all this commie talk in the first place. I see it and I, like Bart, absently say, "Oh yeah!" Things have to change in our nation or this old theory may find new life. Our neighbors to the south seem to have no trouble whipping up the ghosts of the past. Nothing brings the commies out of the woodwork like a good, old-fashioned fascist regime. As we've created a renewed sense of Islamic pride and fundementalism in the Middle East due to our foolish policies, so, too, will we wake the dead bones of Communism in South America with our incessant sabre-rattling and rhetoric. I don't know which system I fear more.

But What If She Says "No"?

Maybe it is my recovering body inserting too many endorphins into my blood? Maybe I'm reading too many of your blogs.? I'm not sure what is up, but I do know that my real life is calling me. Maybe it has just been quiet enough lately that I was able to hear? Maybe I can keep writing sentences that start with "maybe"?

I'm edgy and unsettled. I'm not like that. I keep closing my eyes and seeing visions of long, quiet days at home tilling the ground. I see myself sitting under the big maple tree at 1:17 P.M. on a Wednesday and reading a book. I see myself chasing chickens around the yard. I see myself riding my bike everywhere. I see blisters on my hands from too much hoeing. I see myself hunkered over a sheet of figures trying to piece together a plan to never pay taxes again. I see lists of foods I can grow, how much I'll need and how I can store them. I see myself using the library much more than I've even imagined. I see myself buying clothes based on how long they'll last rather than how good I'll look when I wear them. I see the solar panels in the back yard. I see myself buying a couple more acres in the back yard. I see dairy goats playing with each other in a pen. I see my wife with dirt on her nose as she walks back from the berry patch. I see the look on my face as I sit in the remains of the first deer I butchered. I see the word processing document with two columns: "Why I Should Keep Working" and "Why I Should Stop Working". I see myself sizing everything up regarding how much it will cost me rather than how much pleasure it will bring me. I see myself losing track of what day it is. I see myself happy to get up in the morning. I see the look on the faces of everyone I know when I tell them I'm dropping out. I see myself beginning to understand what it means to be free. I see myself knowing that my eyes are beginning to open.

I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but it frightens me.

A Sack For My Nuts (or Why Peak Oil Is Bad For Your Scrotum)

Like many of you (no, not "many of you" in the sense that there are many of your reading this blog. "Many of you" in the sense of "many of you in the world") I spend a generous portion of my internet time reading sites with a "there may be trouble up ahead" flavor to them.

Editors note: I apologize for abusing the quotation mark only two sentences into this note. I tend to abuse parenthesis, ellipsis and quotation marks.

Much of the talk on these sites revolves around a potential future in which our current quality of life will be altered to varying degrees. Some portend of changes so drastic that the basic training list for prepartation includes "Mad Max". Others see changes that are less drastic, yet still profound (fuel prices out of reach of the poor, food rationing, etc.). Regardless of what the future holds for us, the thing that bothers me most is the fact that no one has written about the effect of this uncertain future on my scrotum. Yes, I know, I find it strange as well. The vacuum on this vital subject has forced my hand. I really can't allow it to go unaddressed any longer.

A couple days ago I went in for my second operation to remove a cyst from my sack. The growth itself is benign, but its effects are malignant. Imagine, gentlemen, somone inserting a swedish meatball in your pouch to keep the twins company. Sure, just like a real swedish meatball, it is interesting for all of ten minutes. After that, it is downright annoying. You can't walk properly, you can't lay down, you can sit, you can't do yoga, you can't walk around naked with your swim cap showing. All downside, no upside.

The first operation was successful, but I was warned that there was a good possibility it would recur. I find it interesting that we seem to know so much about how our pre-historic ancestors lived, what a dinosaur cared about, how to navigate craft into deep space and even how the U.S. economy works, but we don't know why a person grows a cyst or how to stop it. But, we do know how to remove it. I liked it so much the first time, I went back for seconds. I know, I'm a typical, greedy American.

Sitting down had become difficult enough, but after the operation, everything seemed to swell to super-hero proportions. What was once a light peach color was now a dark purple color. What was once smooth was now puffy. What once fit into my jeans now needed to purchase a separate seat when it travel by air. I think you'll all be happy to note that I've resisted the temptation to use the Vicodin (tm) they prescribed. I'm sure it is swell (no pun intended), but my personality is one that would quickly grow fond of such a thing. So, I sit and wait for things to settle down on their own.

This morning I awoke to find the old boy still looking a bit puffy. I clawed my way out of bed without asking my wife to give me a push (I'm just macho that way) and walked to the freezer like a cowpoke at the end of the Chisholm Trail. I needed two cool packs or ice bags to adequately cover my real estate (no, I'm not bragging and there is certainly not that kind of acreage down there, it is just a logistic thing) so I began to process the soothing solids when a thought came to me: When all this Peak Oil/Global Warming/Housing Bubble/Water Shortage/Population Explosion/Terrorist Induced/End Times horror comes down the pike, what will I do to benefit my burning balls? I mean, this is likely to happen again, so what will one do? I make ice with electricity. I use plastic bags made from petroleum. I drive to the hospital 15 miles away in a car that uses gas. I guess I could go stand in the creek a half mile from my house, but then I'd have to be sure to time the operation for the summer. I'd have to wrap my package in a... a... package so as to prevent infection. And I swear, I didn't write this in response to the recent entry in "The Archdruid Report" on public health decline in these challenging times, although it is a nice piece.

Seriously, what will I do in the future when I require procedures such as this? Will ice be a luxury? Will plastic bags be illegal? Will I have to buy blue-gel cool packs in back alleys?

Or, let's take a different approach: Would I have had these blue gel cool packs in my freezer if I were a person who lived a sustainable life? Now, let me be very, very clear here: I am a person who wants to live a sustainable life. My wife and I are really trying to keep the footprint smaller than it has been. I've driven the same four-cylinder car for over 13 years (238,000 miles and climbing). We even had our home evaluated for solar panels (we decided to go with new windows: cheaper and saved a LOT of energy). I'm plotting out how I can ride my bike to work next year (it is a long trip, but might be worth it). Sure, these are all typical, white, middle-class things to do when you are guilty about global warming, but I am really trying in my pathetic way.

As I reached for one (of many) of those blue gel cool packs I have stacked in one of my two freezers, the full force of my lifestyle hit me. I had the luxury of using one of those packs and then putting it back into the freezer in exchange for one of its colder compatriots. This is my lifestyle. No, I wasn't guilty. But I was very, very grateful. By Tuesday or Wednesday, I'll be healed up enough to drive to the doctor and let him have a look. The purple will be giving way to red, which will give way to pink, which will give way to peach. At that point, all of this will one of many repressed memories stockpiled in my psyche like so many dehydrated potatoes and firearms in a Montana bunker.

When the "event" we anticipate occurs, how will this affect my scrotum? Sure, those blue-gel cooling packs will last another year or two, but what will be done after that? Will I be able to (or should I even) buy plastic bags for my bag? Will there be enough affordable energy for me to make ice cubes for my cubes? Will I be able to drive to the hospital? Will I have a job or healthcare? Should I buy larger undies and just live with the extra chap in the sack? Should I just learn to whistle the "Three's Company" theme while dressing in the morning? Should I just stop being so civilized and soft and just learn to live what nature provides? Does using technology make me a bad person? Does anyone really eat and enjoy Vegemite(tm)?

Ultimately, these choices will be made for me and the questions they spawn will be answered. I can't see into the future and I can't stop it. It is easy to talk of victory gardens, bicycling, rain barrels and community support. It is all well and good to go on about hybrids, localization, energy policy and sustainability. But when it comes to a guy's bag, we have to be realistic.

Can't You See I'm Busy?!

Certainly the days and weeks and even months that have separated this post from its siblings bear witness to my sloth. But then, perhaps sloth isn't the correct word? The correct word is "inevitable distraction". Hmmm... that isn't a so much a word as a catch-phrase or an album cover title or a self-help book title. So there it is... I told you that this would happen in my first post. It isn't like I didn't warn you. But I know myself and I know how easily distracted I can get...



I guess most of my distraction comes from trying to figure out why our government is still trying to distract us from the truth of the war in Iraq? Check that... I'm still distracted trying to understand how so many people have been distracted by the governement from the truth about the war in Iraq. I am frustrated and angry and to the point of surrender. I want to vomit over the new crop of Democrats and even Republicans who have suddenly come out of the woodwork to (*gasp*) criticize the current administration's handling of this war on terror. It makes me sick to my bones. This what we've got. Someone said that we get the government we deserve. I can't for the life of me understand how anyone could deserve a government like this one. But, here we are...

To be fair, I'm also distracted by the normal distractions of life: disappointment with life, a soul-sucking job, family obligations, a new grandson (who makes this all worth bearing), technology, sports, bills, yardwork and a son-in-law who is about to be shipped to Iraq. Hmmm... I guess we're back to this thing again. Oh well. I, for one, am tired to the point of a hissy fit over this whole war. I'm sick of hearing about it and I'm sick of every so-called expert's opinion. I just want to drop out of the whole world and let it fester in its own juices. That won't happen, of course, but I want to.

In the meantime, I hope this blog understands and appreciates my plight. I realize that you are here, patiently waiting for me to click the "post" button. I know there is much to be added. One day, when my distractions are controlled, I'll be here. Until then, I've got nothing to say; not a damned word. Remember, I warned you about this.

A Million Little Pieces of Shit

Sometimes it is very cool to be right. Other times, it makes you reach for a bottle...


When I spewed my little rant about books (just a couple below this one), I really was just having one of those days. Don't you have days like that too? My anger there was fueled by my unfulfilled desire to have books be truthful and helpful and valuable. That desire is only the superficial manifestation of my true desire, which is that everything everyone in authority has ever said was true and not a steaming pile of crap. Alas, it seems my fear that far too many books are nothing but self-indulgent fertilizer is true. This guy's book is not only a best-seller, it seems that Oprah liked it too. My unfortunate quip regarding Oprah's Book Club doesn't seem quite as edgy as the first time I typed it. But, sometimes you don't have to make things up to prove your point. I wish James Frey knew that before he wrote "A Million Little Pieces" and inspired thousands of people suffering from addictions. God help him when Oprah gets ahold of his sorry ass.

Read the Expose at The Smoking Gun"

I hope they are wrong. We've got enough issues with credibility in this country.

"Woa There, Cowboy!"

In my mind's eye, I never thought that there would be lines stretched around the block to see "Brokeback Mountain" in the sprawling suburbs of Salt Lake City. Perhaps the film's setting, just up the road a piece in neighboring Wyoming, would stir interest, but I doubt most God-fearing (or LDS church fearing, whichever) people in Utah were going to care about the film one way or the other. And, I am also fairly certain that the folks at Focus Features, River Road Entertainment and Universal Pictures were not counting on the extra income generated from Utah showings to ensure the quarterly bottom-line. So, something that would have been a non-event has, yet again, become an event...

Frank Miller, the owner of the Megaplex at Jordan Commons (and the owner of the Utah Jazz basketball franchise) in Sandy (a suburb of Salt Lake City), Utah has decided that showing "Brokeback Mountain" was not in someone's interest. We're not sure who's interest is being protected since, at the time of this writing, no statement has been released to provide the reason the film was quickly pulled on Friday. I'm sure it was a business decision and nothing more. It would have to be, right? I mean CBC reports that Mr. Miller stated during an interview with KCPW-FM radio, "I don't think I'm qualified to be a community censor." So, now that we've got that uncomfortable little tidbit out of the way, we can explore what must be the real reason behind the sudden, unexplained and unusual removal of the film from the rotation at the Jordan Commons Megaplex 17 (and, I'm assuming, the other Miller-owned Megaplexes). Look, the guy only has 17 screens (correct me on that if I'm wrong...), so what can he do? He has a decent, upright and family-oriented community to serve. He can't waste precious screen time on some no-name movie that will probably go nowhere in the box office or with the critics. Utah wants wholesome, moral and uplifting films and Larry Miller is going to deliver for his community. Taking a quick look at his theater's web site I can see why Mr. Miller needed to remove "Brokback Mountain": He needed to make room for child and Mormon-safe films such as "Hostel", "Casanova" and, of course, "Grandma's Boy". So, you see, dear readers, he really had no choice. Now get off the man's back!


Look folks, I try to be open-minded, I really do. I'm going to state right off the bat that Larry Miller has the right not to show these films. He owns the theater and he can do with it what he wants. Do I like it? No. Do I respect his right to use his business in this way? Alas, I do. What I don't like is his duplicity of character. How can a man say that he isn't qualified to be the community censor on Thursday and then yank a controversial film on Friday without so much as a cowpoke joke? He scheduled the film, found out what it was and then pulled it with a call to someone using his forked tongue.

How can somone who feels that a homosexual love story is morally wrong justify showing a film like "Hostel", which touts itself as the most graphically violent film of all time? Is it taking the moral high ground to refuse to show the physical act of love between two men, yet make available the indescribable inference that a 71 year-old American icon, Shirley Jones, Mrs. Partridge for God's sake, gets stoned (no, not a good old-fashioned stoning Larry, but a Mary-jew-waanaa stoning) and also gets nailed by the grandson of her roommate? Good grief, to what will THAT drive Danny Bonaduce?

In the end, we all know what this is: censorship. Now that, oddly enough, is fine with me in this case as long as you call it what it is rather than stand behind some self-appointed moral office. Just say it Larry: "I don't want to see fags screwing!" I'd respect that more than what has happened here. Hell, even Pat Robertson is man enough to state his innane ramblings and allow us to judge the contents one way or the other. The irony here is that Mr. Miller has probably gone and stirred up more business for this film than he ever could imagine. Had he just offered it as an option and allowed the public to vote with their wallet, it would have closed the next week and no one would have cared. Of course that wouldn't have been the God-fearing thing to do, but it would have been the American thing to do.

Links:
Megaplex Theaters
CBC Story

Reading Between the Whines

Go into a bookstore. Sit down and just look around. Go ahead... look around... I'll wait...



If it is a locally-owned store, the odds are good that there will be less to observe. If it is chain bookstore, this will work better. Just look at all the books. Look at them! Lord have mercy, how many books are there in the world? How many opinions and ideas and thoughts and rants and stories and guides have there been? How many people have seen fit to share their wisdom with the world over these years of literacy? So many ideas on so many topics. So many ways to save yourself and the world. So many ways to finally find happiness in ten easy steps. So many first-hand observations of the great moments in history offered up through the filter of someone's philosophical, ideological or theological preference. Christ, so many words that have pretty much solved nothing. The world has wonderful things about it, but it is still largely fucked up in ways that scare even someone as jaded as I. What a waste. So many people thinking they know so much about so many things. What do they really know? What do any of us know? The only thing sadder than all those wasted trees is the fact that so many people think that this shit will really help them. They nervously fiddle with the hems of their clothes until Oprah tells them the next book to read. I love looking a shelves of books that are at odds with one another: Christian vs. Non-Christian, Capitalist vs. Socialist, America vs. the World, Atkins vs. Ornish, Free Weights vs. Machines, Rock vs. Rap, Windows vs. Mac. It goes on. Half the words written are outright lies and the most of the rest are probably suspect. But, if it makes us feel better, we'll overlook that.

Look, I'm not down on books. I love them as much as the next guy. I guess I find it depressing to see all this knowledge in one place and still having to acknowledge that we are as stupid as we've ever been. It is humbling (which is good) and discouraging (with isn't so good). Look, even if some books could actually help us, which ones do you read? How can you tell? There are millions of them! And most will never see the inside of your local bookstore. Bookstores, like TV, are not there to help you. Bookstores are there to turn a profit for the owner (unless they are a co-op or something similarly uncommon). Sure, some folks open stores to serve a point of view, but even so, most books ever written will never see the inside of your store. Those spots are reserved for the really important books. You know, like cookbooks and exercise books and life coaching books written by celebrities. I guess we get the world we deserve.

Sorry for the rant. I guess I'm just depressed. I think I'll go buy myself a book. That always cheers me up.

Sticker Shock

The new math is still totally lost on me.

I think we all can agree that (in spite of inflation and how much bread cost when you were a kid) a $20 bill is worth somewhere around $20. I think we also can agree that a quarter-sized sticker is probably worth 1 cent. But, to be kind and all, we'll spring for union-rate manufacturing costs and bump it up to a nickel. So, if I were to affix said sticker to the previously mentioned $20 bill, I think that we could agree that the total value of the new creation would be under $25. But, when you add the U.S. government to the mix, you get something quite remarkable:

Read the SFGate.com article

I really don't need anyone to explain to me why this bill will probably sell for $20,000 at an upcoming auction. What I need to know is: Why will this bill likely sell for $20,000 at an upcoming auction? I just need to know before I choose to shake my head, throw in the towel and walk around in footie-pajamas for the rest of my life. What the hell is wrong with us?