Tagged: Blogging

Free Vacuums

Mindlessly, perhaps distractedly, I sat at a stop light, patiently waiting my turn on this December evening. My eyes fell upon a sign over to the right on a building that said, “Free Vacuums”.

Now at work, the vacuum we have is terrible. It is one of those canister kinds that lets you see the dust swirling as evidence that it is working—that is, until it isn’t working and the dust just sits and now the volume seems to loud and you wonder if it always was this loud or has it just gotten louder when it stopped working correctly? I hate the canister kind. I’ve always preferred Oreck and bagged vacuums, myself. Just keep it simple.

Back to the sign, I thought, “How could they possibly have enough vacuums for any and all comers?” I wish, for your sake, you could have seen what I imagined the inside of this store looked like. Just a smorgasbord of refurbished (that’s surely the only type that could be free) vacuums. The old chrome ones, and maybe an Oreck a day was set out for a lucky shopper.

It didn’t seem real, but then who does like vacuuming? And I have been trying to give away a washer and dryer and am resolved that it will simply cost money to have someone pick them up. Maybe the vacuum market is similar? And maybe there is a government program to help encourage clean houses? Who knows?

Let me be clear, I almost re-routed in the direction of the sign.

Then it hit me. I almost couldn’t look again for shame and embarrassment. And I have barely been able to stop laughing long enough to type this out—of which the only reason I type is because the two people I called to share a good laugh with didn’t answer.

It was a car wash! Ha. Free vacuums!

As if someone would just give away vacuums.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

There is No Logic in the Human Heart

I tried. I tried to make it simple. I said, “Given: It is wrong for a man to punch a woman. Period. It’s obvious.” I then went on to say, “If you can understand this fact, then you can understand that I believe that when an ex-wife steals the kids and half the retirement from her retired military ex-husband, it is wrong. Period.”

I didn’t say this to be introducing some new concept. I didn’t say this to emote. I said it to move the conversation forward. My punch-to-stealing kids/money equivocation, so I had intended, was preliminary. I wanted to define terms. It didn’t work.

My only, but lovely, two commentators each offered, if tactfully and empathetically, that they believe there are two sides. There are always two sides.

Well, the place that I was going to go probably just involved me renewing bitter claims that us divorced fellas–robbed daily and without our children–are victims, metaphorical punching bags. But if I step outside myself and view the situation, I would never promote that someone should claim to be a victim, so I will not do so here.

We’re not victims. We’re not. No, we’re not victims; we are the optimists.

We are optimists stuck in the muck of this shitty, shitty world that spends its limitless energy on one goal: “Destroy hope”.

****

H-: You don’t have to read these, and I’d ask you not to if reading them means you won’t talk to me. Proceed at your own risk. In the end, please don’t hurt people.

American Divorce: The Way I See It

I believe in writing. I have been at this blog for a decade now. In the beginning, I liked encouragement. These days, I couldn’t care less when someone encourages me about my writing. It always has this air of “I wouldn’t have thought you were a good writer…” and that kinda bothers me. Why not? What about me sounds like bad writing? My job? My hobbies? The things I like to talk about? My clothes? Seriously, there is no signal that suggests that I wouldn’t be able to hold my own with a pen/keyboard.

Now-13.5 H- has shared that she reads these posts, and that the result of my “woman hater” (which would be “female hater” if I want to encourage the child to learn reading comprehension–I do–it’s “female hater” and I define “female” in contradistinction to “woman” in the post, H-) post from the other day is that she doesn’t want to see me or talk to me (at least for now). In any case, and this is the point of this opening, with encouragement, with discouragement, I maintain that writing is good. The rest of this post, then, the part that pertains to the title, is Exhibit A.

The last two posts have been on the topic of men and women and our relationships. In the background, many more thoughts and conversations have been taking place because of these posts and the events which inspired them. So again, I want to write, to catalog. I want to think on them.

The most important result of writing about my friend’s looming divorce (in which his wife of twenty years is going to steal his military retirement and hold hostage his two children in Europe, all with the blessing of Missouri and general American Culture), is my own wife and I have come to a shocking realization and subsequent clarity of our perspectives. We laid in bed the other night and bickered about whether I was claiming my friend was ‘perfect’ when I asserted that ‘he did nothing to make her steal from him’. In other words, we realized that even the two of us, husband and wife, see the eternal institutions of marriage and divorce TOTALLY different. (Makes ya wonder what any of us are even doing.)

(You with me thus far?)

I believe this woman–er, this female–, E-, is a terrible creature–less than human–worse than Hitler. I wrote as much a few days back. She is terrible, not for crimes committed, but for crimes she is going to commit until one of them dies. And I further maintain that my friend did not and does not have any influence on E-‘s decision to commit these twin crimes (to keep it simple, we’ll just call stealing his money and stealing his children the only two crimes–but there are more).

My wife hears me say this and responds, “Oh yeah! I’m sure he is perfect. All your friends are perfect!”

(The point of this post is to report to you, dear reader, not the entirety of the conversation, but the fruit.)

With this, I finally saw the stumbling block to my wife and I’s communication.

So I began again, in a new vein, “Do you remember that video of the blacks brawling at Disneyland several years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Remember how the dude just punches his girlfriend in the face? He just turns and punches her. It was horrific. I had never seen anything like that ever. That’s why I showed it to you. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember!”

“Okay. Did that woman have anything to do with him punching her? Was there anything she did that caused him to punch her? Were any of his needs not met by her and so he punched her? Is there anything she did that alleviates his punch of its evil?”

“That’s totally-“

“-‘No’. The correct answer is, ‘No. She had nothing to do with him punching her. A man punching a woman is wrong. It is always wrong. It is squarely wrong. It is never her fault. It is never something she caused. It is just wrong.’ And I am saying that, for precisely the same reasons, these women who divorce a man and then proceed to steal from him are likewise wrong. They are likewise committing evil. My friend has no more responsibility for E-‘s evil actions (continual actions keep in mind) than that woman did for her boyfriend’s punch (probably plural). And stop with ‘the Law’. The ‘Law’ has no bearing on my opinion, and, in fact, is the reason I am so adamant about this belief of mine. All these wives hide behind the ‘Law’ and comfort themselves with the thought that they are somehow not accountable for the evil they are committing since it is the ‘Law’. The ‘Law’, in this case, is immoral and needs to adapt to the times. Whatever the reasoning that went into ‘woman gets half the retirement’ was, it is now different. The ‘Law’ needs to change. You can’t take a husband and expect him to somehow ‘prevent’ divorce, when all the while, all that is required for a divorce is the wife saying, ‘I want a divorce.’ The way a wife would prove her innocence, would prove she had endured something terrible, is to not take the money. Just divorce him and move on with your life. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ What E- and all the wives are doing is morally wrong–evil.”

****

What do you think, dear reader? Think my wife bought my rant? Have I made a dent in your thinking with this analogy, ex-wife collecting retirement as same ‘obvious’ evil as man punching woman? Or do you need it in codified writing? Is it possible for my friend to have been an unqualified good husband and father and this still be the result of his behavior?

Or is the fairer sex just too pure to sow and reap evil? Too feeble to ever work for a living? Too unstable to ever reach old age without the financial backing of a man?

The Coffee Inspires

One more note to share, while on the unending topic of men and women.

“What’s it really like to be married to a woman who barely speaks English (though she doesn’t know it) and hails from one of the least educated countries on the planet?”

In short, if you can imagine how the first conversation with an alien (on his first—and surprise, think emergency landing—visit to the planet) would go, how you would quickly learn that you could assume no shared context or meaning or any easy place to start, then you may have an idea of how every verbal utterance we have plays out.

Don’t believe me? Try this recent experience.

As you know, I value reading and books. I am with TJ when he said, “Books are my friends.” I have tons and tons of books. And I recently got some great bookshelves upon which to display them in the new Colorado house.

Well, anyhow, as we recently were going through the ritual of shopping for home decor, I couldn’t help but notice they had some fake books to purchase. I dryly—too dryly it seems—picked them up and said, “These would be perfect for your new furniture. Ha.”

A week or so passes and then I see her placing a bunch of this nonsense all throughout the room and the fake books are included. When I comment with a hearty, if not literal, “WTF?,” she earnestly rebuts in kind with, “You said you would like them!”

Did I?

Keep in mind this is four years in. And it is not the first time I have pointed out or commented on the concept of fake books when shopping together.

Never assume, I guess.

Quite the life.

Never Incentivize the Female’s Fantasy—Divorce Must Actually Devastate Her

So I just learned of an old friend’s divorce. Like many other friends of mine this man just retired from the military, and only when this was clear did the evil cunt announce her intentions. To make matters worse, their last duty station was in Europe, and for the common, internationally known reasons, this first grade teacher has decided to keep the kids over there with her.

First, don’t even start if you’re going to take one step towards suggesting that anything about the situation is the natural result of their daily, twenty plus year relationship. This move is so low, and happens so frequently to retired military men that there is never anything about the actual personalities involved, no. The only two factors or variables at play are the fact that divorce is incentivized and the female (no “woman” as such would even consider accepting a dime more or a minute more from her ex), the female, as a creature, is the most depressed and despicable entity on the earth. You will never find another—no murderer, no rapist, no genocidal maniac—who can even tread water next to a female.

Unreal and uncouth, one must never incentivize, these, their fantasies. If this time-honored dictum is ignored, then children, men, and eventually a nation will be destroyed. They will all be destroyed because these mentally incapable females possess unbounded imagination. This results in one of two outcomes. The first possible outcome might best be embodied by the legendary George Washington. The second outcome is best embodied by the current population of the American penal system—fatherless males.

The female—as part of her growth into womanhood—must have her imagination bounded. She must have restrictions. Life cannot possibly appear to keep getting better and better and always improve and never disappoint. These fantasies must remain on the pages and stages.

No, the female must have a very concrete and inescapable situation staring at her to perform. This is how to bring her womanly character to the surface. She must see the limits to her life daily and she must, daily, face the fact that without her man, she will certainly face abject poverty and lose her children. This is the only way.

It seems that the male alone, for reasons known only to the LORD God himself, comes into the world designed to absorb the apparently latent happiness available within each breath of air. The female, on the other hand, hates the air, hates the sun—hates the very day. The female, on the other hand, listens to every lie, believes every instinct, and obeys every passion. I write this in the hopes that someday my two daughters read it.

Forest, Forrest Gump, A Joint Review of The Overstory by Richard Powers and Forrest Gump by Robert Zemeckis

The film Forrest Gump is simply a classic. I know it. You know it. And that’s all I have to say about it.

The Overstory, by Richard Powers, while provocative, was written with enough smugness to need this direct accusation of thematic plagiarism to ground it. Here is my accusation in full: In the end, Richard Powers’ The Overstory offers its readers little more than they already experienced in the film Forrest Gump—that is, a nostalgia-filled game of “memory”, though this new version is chemically-boosted by a fun combination of fabulist storytelling and apparently un-simpleton plants (or more accurately plantae or vegetation) as lens.

With that out of the way, let’s get to some detailed analysis. First up, I feel that I owe you, dear reader, an explanation of how I ended up reading this book. I owe this to you, faithful follower, because you know that I have stated many, many times that I have nearly vowed to never read anything newer than 100 years old, because the classics are the classics for a reason—they are better! Why waste time?

Life threw a curveball, however. I recently moved back to Colorado (mental note: never ever leave again) and this event saw me box up my nice library of classic books that I am diligently working through. As a reader and planner, I kept a couple books out, of course. But not enough, it turned out.

On one trip between Minnesota and Heaven, I stayed with my rich brother and his wife and planned to borrow the first of what I recall was a trilogy of fantasy books I had randomly given them at Christmas a few years back. I was jones’n for easy-to-read, escapist fiction. Unfortunately, and tellingly, they couldn’t recall the location of that box set.

None taken.

Genuinely wanting to rectify the situation, my brother looked over a tiny bookshelf—so small—and, like Belle in the bookstore, chose, The Overstory.

“Here. You might like this one. It’s about-”

“-No need, S-,” I cut in. “As long as it’s fiction, I’ll figure it out.

“Oh. And thanks.”

I set off on the second half of my drive and later that week began to read.

It was miserable. Pulitzer Prize? I thought. This is garbage. I think it’s woke, too. Something is off about it. It feels a little too Greta and not enough William.

A few more pages in, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to read some of the critical acclaim and the previously forgone description from the back. I had to get some sort of context.

Eco-fiction? I knew it. This is garbage. It’s not even a novel. It’s propaganda. I feel like a card-carrying Nazi.

However, if there’s anything I hate more than eco-fiction antifa propoganda, it’s quitting on a book.

“S-. Did you actually read this? I’m finding it very hard to read.”

“Na. I only made it about 50 pages, if that.”

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I see. I’ll relax then. I was getting worried that you thought I needed to read it. Gotcha. Might still be propaganda, but at least it isn’t brother-on-brother crime.”

So I kept reading. Slowly it grew on me. Like most books tend to do.

Then something miraculous happened.

“But one day she’s reading Abbott’s Flatland…” Powers writes.

“No way!” I said to myself.

You see, on a previous work trip for the new job, I encountered the same problem of no easy fiction. So I found a sweet used bookstore in Denton, TX, of all places, and boldly asked the college dude behind the counter for recommendations in fantasy/sci-fi short stories. After he brought me to the appropriate section of the shelves, he lit up as he pulled down Flatland.

“This is a must read!” he explained.

I fully agree.

But how in the world can you explain my having just read Flatland after a random recommendation from a random bookstore I had no business stopping in, and then stumbling onto a second non-classic book which refers back to the previous one as if everyone would obviously have been aware of the merely cult favorite? It defies explanation. But it was all I needed to keep reading Powers.

And I am glad I did.

The Overstory is not poetry in the sense that Shelley meant. It is far too technical and, as mentioned, smug. Too naive. Too progressive. Too dry, at times. But the story is compelling, and buyer beware, if true, the stuff about vegetation’s intelligence and ability (not to mention old, old age) and the detailed accounts of eco-terrorists and their deluded—yet unshakable—belief that we’re all missing something feels authentic.

Onto the terrible. One example of the smug faults of the book must be offered. And it relates back to that used bookstore in Denton. Besides Flatland, the kid also handed me Fragile Things, by Neil Gaiman, accompanied by his opinion that Gaiman is the “greatest living writer”. Wow.

Juxtaposed against the author’s of the “classics”, I quickly noticed how this Gaiman would attempt to show-off his mental powers by summarizing enormous works of classic literature in a word, or worse, one emotion. Smug.

And Powers does the same. A sign of the times, I guess.

But what I am talking about, the one drop of oil that ruins the entire ships water supply, has to do with more than fancy-pants pith. My children are old enough to pick up The Overstory offy shelf. They would not know the references to literary greats. No harm, no foul. But what about this line,

She has told him about the Judean date palm seed, two thousand years old, found in Herod the Great’s palace on Masada—a date pit from a tree-

…wait for it…

–that Jesus himself might have sampled-

…not yet…

–the kind of tree that Muhammad said was made of the same stuff as Adam.

BOOM!

Are you kidding me?

Do you seriously want me to believe that you believe this?

Only a moron in the 21st century would equate Muhammad and Jesus—themselves separated by six centuries of time, not to mention the plane between heaven and hell. And more to the point, illiterate Muhammad most certainly did not offer any commentary—nor could he have—on some particular species of tree that most certainly was not distinguishable from any other tree to this ignorant man who couldn’t distinguish the biblical Trinity—Father, Son, Spirit—from whatever bastardized version he heard about and further twisted in his undiscerning, savage head into “father, son, Mary”. Give me a fucking break, Dick. You go too far.

Excuse me. Something comes out of me when it comes to the name of our Lord and Savior.

Want me to consider your point about deforestation? Okay.

Want me to overlook your hubristic take on religion while doing so? No can do.

But not every book can be a classic. So it’s forgivable. I forgive you, Mr. Powers. Both for the Muhammad thing and for the Forrest Gump thing.

Maybe next time.

As for me, back to the classics.

When It Comes to Israel, Please Try to Focus

Terrorists—not some internationally recognized State military—executed a terror attack on Israel.

How does the en vogue question, “Whose land is it?” relate to the war?

Debates are being had across the world regarding some idea of “a two-State solution”—has Hamas made such a demand? Have they suggested that they will cease hostilities if only…? Moreover, is anyone in Hamas actually in possession of enough integrity to believe, even if they have?

Some heavy hitters in academia suggest that the claims of Israel’s tie to the Land—especially as it regards the Messiah—within the books of the Bible are irrelevant, having clearly lost out to publicly recorded statements and votes by nearly all leaders, on nearly any level in favor of a two-state solution. Is any Israeli earnestly citing scripture in an attempt to denounce Hamas or secure their country?

Then we come to my personal favorite of the many distractions from the issue, being the cries against violence upon innocents. “But the IDF is killing innocent people!”, they wail.

When it comes to Israel, please try to focus.

There is a difference between an academic discussion, or put concretely, a classroom discussion, and war. By my thinking, the only people who don’t seem to understand this might be thought of analogous to the two apparently ugly and old flight attendants at United who are pissed because they haven’t ever been selected to work as supermodels on Dodger’s charter flights.

Talk that is focused on the war sounds like a yes/no answer to this question: should Israel have your support (indirect as it might be) in their war?

I say, “Yes.”

You may disagree. That doesn’t revoke your US Citizenship. Just please don’t skip to the nuanced reasons for your position before stating it. That’s lazy and cowardly. The question of war is not answered by debate. Focus. Answer the question. And stop pretending that “reasons” are the answer. Please, if you fancy talking about the topic, focus and answer.

Tragic, Mostly True, and Wildly Naive (Even for Minnesotans), A Review of “In The Dark S1”, by Madeleine Baran

Despite the war in Israel, we all still have to work. And my new job happened to require my taking a heroic 12-hour road trip across this great land. For obvious reasons, I asked my family and friends for podcast recommendations.

The only one that came in was, “In The Dark”, by the New Yorker. It is a “True Crime” podcast. In other words, it is very similar to the, “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,” podcast that captured our attention a few years ago. If you’re uninitiated, then just think “long form journalism”. These types of podcasts are probably more easy to listen to at length than audiobooks, but that likely depends on the genre. In a word, they are binge-able.

This particular season, as it turned out, was all about a crime that occurred in Minnesota, the state I have been living and working in for the last four years. I immediately had a visceral reaction. It almost made me sick to my stomach. I felt like I knew exactly what this young, passionate, and indignant female investigator was about to bring to light.

For context, in case you live under a rock, there is a thing called “Minnesota Nice” up there. It’s surely unique and deserving of a unique name, but mostly it is similar to passive-aggressive behavior—nice-to-your-face-but-will-not-hesitate-to-viciously-cut-you-down-behind-your-back. (Naturally this is not limited to political boundaries of Minnesota, but the folks up there have perfected the art.)

The real “Minnesota Nice”, however, is far more annoying. The singular “Minnesota Nice” manifests itself most plainly when the Minnesotans play the part of perfect victim. They portend to not want attention or any ruffled feathers, but they will meticulously lay out all the perfect steps they took and “don’ cha know?” it didn’t stop the tragedy that those steps should’ve stopped. It’s like they’re seeking to be known as simultaneously the smartest and most unfortunate people on the Earth.

Remember, though! They did everything perfectly the way the system is designed to work, but “darn it”, they just couldn’t see the future after all! Who can?!

Like I said, it’s annoying.

(If you need a contemporary example that far outweighs the paltry example of this podcast, just consider the Minnesota Lutherans who specifically invited the Somalis. It’s a nightmare—but “we just were trying to help those who needed it most”.)

Back to the podcast. It clearly passed the time. I was cruising through episode after episode without even noticing the mile markers or the minute hand. So good work Miss Baran.

But my overall critique is that it was unduly unfocused.

In a long form magazine writing class I took several years ago, the professor taught us that when writing and reading long form pieces, we should be able to answer, “What is it about about?” For example, a long form article about the process of making french fries is not just a detailed recipe, but about a community that is dying or some terrible working conditions or climate change.

This doesn’t mean it isn’t about french fries. It just means that it is truly—if written well—about the other thing.

The trick, to be sure, is to just have only one about about.

And that’s the biggest criticism I have of this podcast. It’s about a notable missing child case that went unsolved for twenty plus years. But the about(s) about is a myriad of things to include a. the morality and effectiveness of publicly accessible national sex offender databases, b. revenge, c. punishment, d. role of law enforcement, e. grief, f. illusions of safety in small towns, and easily a few others.

The most pointed line which I believe she would agree summarizes her about about (for my thinking) was, “…and there is no government program responsible for making sure Sheriffs do their job!!” (Paraphrased.) Miss Baran more than once suggests that peer review and/or boards like other professions have are long overdue for law enforcement.

For my thinking, however, the most compelling storyline (and she did spend so much time on this that I thought it was her about about for a while) was how this one case was so pivotal in creating the sex offender database, and that by all accounts and measures, those databases are meaningless and ineffective—not to mention overly mean-spirited.

Then there was a possible about about regarding the fantastic incongruence that the kidnapping in question—which spawned the public databases—wouldn’t have been prevented by the database because the kidnapper wasn’t a known sex offender. That’s a doozy to contemplate.

And there were others.

And that’s my point. There were too many. So many, in fact, that the podcast fails.

Where the podcast fails, where it falls flat on its face and reveals that it is a far cry from real-deal quality reporting, is in its basic, and naive, presumption that the terrifically inept small town law enforcement departments have something to so with deterring criminal behavior.

The boy was murdered within the same night that he was kidnapped. No amount of police work can prevent a crime like that. And the experts on child kidnapping which ends in murder (whom she interviewed) said as much.

The sequence that would’ve had to happen to prevent the boy’s death is as follows:

1. Boy reported kidnapped by friends.

2. The “government” workers who were tasked to help then know to disregard all answers to their questions except the one neighbor who claimed to see a blue car turn around in his driveway.

3. The “government” workers somehow think to call nearby towns in ever expanding concentric circles to see if any weirdos have blue cars.

4. The “government” workers who answer their phone that night in a town 20 miles away happen to recall there is a man in his town that never breaks the law but is weird and drives a blue car.

5. Now that “government” worker tasks others in his town to go to the weirdos home and ask anyone there or nearby where he is.

6. When no one knows, they ask, “Is there anyone who knows where he liked to take boys to molest them?”

7. Then the “government” workers orchestrate a plan to travel to every single location listed—but especially the correct one.

8. As they approach, the “government” workers in their “government” cars keep their sirens and lights off. (The killer confessed that he decided to kill the boy when some cop car spooked him.)

9. Then the “government” worker who happens to pull up to the killer and boy somehow doesn’t themself break the law (can’t just shoot him) but prevents the killer from killing the boy (which he did—so he says—because he got spooked by a nearby “government” vehicle).

10. And all this before cell phones and within a couple hours of step 1.

Ten easy steps. And, had they been followed, Madeleine Baran would have nothing to do.

In case you missed it, this lengthier than normal blog post of mine is supposed to be a mimic of long form journalism. And my about about is the illogical, though trending for most of the Anthropocene, position of suggesting government problems can be fixed by more government.

My Favorite Part of the New War

My favorite part of the new war in the Middle East (totally serious—this is a new thought for me and I think it is worth your consideration) is the part where the bad guys take time to translate their words into English.

Hahahahahaha.

It’s like they secretly know what we all know (which is, “No one agrees with you!!”), but they can’t admit it. But if they don’t translate to the lingua franca, then they feel it too strongly. And that sucks. So instead they go ahead and neuter themselves with as great an effort as possible rather than die insignificantly.

Too funny.