Tractors & Treehouses

It turns out that Tractor Supply does not sell tractors. I learned that the hard way.

I run two computers all day. I am intrigued by the fact that my Mac internal clock is about 30 seconds ahead of the PC. Why would computers, set automatically, have different times? Clearly the Mac will be the correct one, but interesting Microsoft has not figured it out. Probably their code is so bad it is dragging the machine down.

The long tail of war has whipped back around to sting us again. An Afghan man shot and killed a West Virginia based National Guardswoman and injured another Guard member assigned to walk the streets of DC for no reason.

The Afghani man was brought to the US under a refugee program to assist those translators and other Afghans who helped the US military during our illegal occupation there. For whatever reason, this guy got a gun and shot the two people.

This entire scenario is simply an outcome of Bush’s crazy invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq. There are consequences to killing, starving, torturing, displacing hundreds of thousands of people and generally meddling in other cultures for no reason other than we are bigger, badder, and stronger. What was achieved after those trillions of dollars and 20 years of war and killing? Does anyone believe America is better off or ‘freerer’ or more safe?

My first dog, Mandela, the greatest dog ever in the history of the universe, loved to snuggle in and sleep with me. It was never a question. Day 1, I put her in bed and that was sorted. Martini, my current roommate, has a different view.

When I am getting ready for bed, Martini jumps on the bed and stares at me until I actually get in and start to pull up the covers. She then grabs the covers and we have a tug of war for the next 10 minutes. She pulls the comforter down, I pull it up. Finally, after I concede and say we are done, she runs off and sleeps in one of her favorite places and I am left with a comforter smeared with dog slobber.

If Brittany is with me, Marti will come back at some point and cuddle up and sleep next to her.

I was never a huge fan of Steve Jobs. Mostly because of his management style. He seemed to be unduly rude to people and indifferent to their feelings in pursuit of his own objectives and goals. He was exacting. But I did always believe he was sincere in his thought that technology could make lives better for people.

What he would think now? With all the tech titans lined up behind Trump and writing checks for his ridiculous ballroom. Conceding to Trump’s cheap shake-down schemes. All because these already mega-billionaires want to enable an ecosystem that allows them to make even more money and live more and more powerful lives. I like to think Steve would have been better.

I lived through the .com bust in 2000. In the space of a few months, Siebel stock price dropped from around $119 to I think around 19 at the low. The 19 was probably the more appropriate evaluation for the size and trajectory of the company at the time.

It seems obvious that’s what’s happening again today. The lordly geeks would have us believe the AI boom is finally going to deliver on the promise of tech solving all of humanity’s problems. If history is a guide, it will provide a few conveniences but mostly just make the techno leaders even richer than they are. We, the average people, get overpriced streaming services and ad-riddled newspapers.

The industry is completely indifferent to the environmental damage required to meet the energy demands of the AI revolution. Also, no one can actually point to the expected benefits from this massive global investment. By any measure the Internet and the technology gains from the 1990s to present have been mixed. Certainly there are advantages. But it has it been worth the price and cost. Remember the Internet of things? It was also going to take over the world? When’s the last time you ever heard that term?

If the papers are to be believed, people in the Unites States at least, are more stressed and depressed than ever. So how is technology making things better if our mental health has declined consistently since the 80’s.

I don’t know what this all means. It just seems that we are getting the same old sales pitch time after time. We pay up, they get rich, eventually crash the bubble and leave the smoldering remains for the government and taxpayers to cover the costs.

If tech history of the past 30 years is our barometer, why should we believe our lives will be enormously enriched by AI 5 or 10 years from now.

We celebrated mom’s 89th birthday over the weekend. She has slowed only slightly over the years. She has always been a person of motion, like me. I suppose that is where I got it from. She was just constricted to home more due to not being able to drive. But she maintains a high project load always.

I passed her on the street on the morning of her birthday as she was walking with Maggie and I with Martini. She looked cute in her purple overcoat, but she immediately told me it was ugly but warm. I gently corrected her as I thought she looked beautiful.

When I am in Ohio, I spend a lot of my time now driving mom and dad around. Mom is active and needs things, from many different stores it turns out. Dad goes along because he doesn’t want to be left out in case we stop for lunch or a cup of coffee. As we drive, dad calls out the price of gas at all the stations we pass. This is among his primary remaining interests in the world. He collects this knowledge and then repeats what he has learned to friends, family and total strangers he happens upon. He himself doesn’t drive, but he remains intensely interested in the price of gas and feels it’s his duty to spread the awareness.

I took in a nice haul in the mail today. A cute letter from Beverly and a card from Carla. My Idaho family always remembers me on the holidays. Also, a book of poems from Jim Wolper — one of the more interesting characters from the College Market days. Jim is a traveler, but also a math professor, pilot, and now a published poet. I glanced through it and initial reaction is positive.

Poetry is tough. Immensely personal and tough to share. At least for me. I am always afraid of being ridiculed because of my poor poetry.

I also obtained a bootleg copy of an annual update letter from an old acquaintance. Sadly, I am no longer on the mailing list. It’s always entertaining. The general sentiment that people are waiting for updates in a completely impersonal form letter cracks me up. This year did not disappoint. Good for a laugh.

I spent an hour with a racist last night. One of those semi-interesting people who must have to work to maintain their racist viewpoints because they are smart enough to know better. This guy has lived and traveled all over the world.

I went to the cigar lounge to read and perhaps do a little writing. I had just opened a beer and a book when he asked me a question. I answered and he asked another. He was sitting in a leather chair ahead of me and so he had turned his head, very uncomfortably it seemed, to engage with me. I made a half-hearted attempt to read, sorta like one does on an airplane when the person sitting next to you won’t quit talking, but it did not deter him. After a few minutes, he got up and moved to the chair next to me and I closed my book.

He was all full of curiosity and so the questions kept coming. I probably would have liked him if he didn’t say so many really stupid things.

I am an oddity at this cigar bar, being the lone liberal. I get along with everyone but they mostly leave me alone. I bring a book and my iPad and they watch Fox News or sports and talk MAGA shit.

This old boy, who goes by the name ‘H’ let me know in short order he and his sons owned the place and that he had started a few businesses which he has now turned over to his sons. I eventually pieced the info together and figured he was in the steel business supporting the oil industry as he told me about his time in Russia and Nigeria and South America. A school teacher by training and a welder by trade. He went with welding and industry to make money.

He has two friends who drive trucks for him. They are white men from South Africa. So H’s questions to me were basically along the lines of why are white farmers in South Africa being slaughtered. This is the part that confuses me. The part where I conclude that some people are so committed to remaining ignorant to maintain their ideological views, that they have to go to lengths to not accidentally learn something truthful by accident.

Anyway, his sole source of information appeared to be these two old white truckers and perhaps snippets from Fox News in the recent ramblings of DJT about how white farmers from South Africa were being persecuted (and now granted political asylum in America). Of course this narrative is vastly over-stated. It’s not there is no crime in South Africa. There is. And not insignificant in some areas. But the concept that it is out of control, and that blacks are killing all the white farmers, is lunacy. Anyone who drives across the country, as I have done several times, can see that it is mostly a peaceful country. And, of course if it were true it would be reported by actual news agencies.

H then asked why did the blacks think they could take the land. I gave him a stare — trying to figure out if he was just trying to wind me up or if he was really that ignorant. I stayed calm. And simply reminded him of the history of that country. The land never belonged to the whites. They had stolen it, and so there is a mentality that getting some land ownership back in the native population is credible.

I likened it to whites taking over lands traditionally populated by Native Americans and suddenly declaring themselves the ‘owners’ of that land. Because it happened a long time ago doesn’t mean the stories over.

The conversation meandered around and there was more racist rhetoric. The normal stuff like the civil war was about states rights and not slavery. He told me blacks were not even the most persecuted group in America — he said the Irish and Chinese were. I told him he was a lunatic. He reminded me he was a history teacher. I told him I could see why be became a welder. He made the ignorant observation that African nations seem to struggle with their economies and corruption and violence in the post colonial period.

I reminded him that the US had a civil war 100 years after independence. Also, that America coincidentally has a very high rate of violence, no universal healthcare, a wealth gap that puts every other nation to shame, and a pretty significant part of the population living in poverty even though we generate more wealth than 99% of the other countries.

It was all civil and aside from his racist bullshit, he was not an uninteresting person. But it did take away my 90 minutes of planned peaceful reading and writing.

Annely organized a secret Santa package for all the MYO learners so her and I collaborated on that. Of course MYO management is not happy when I do things for the kids. They always have some rationale about why they disagree — but of course I also don’t give a fuck.

We now have a Dept. of War and are actively trying to close the Dept. of Education. Perhaps our priorities have gone askew.

There seems to be a kerfuffle in college football because the coach of Ole Miss took a huge pay increase to move to LSU. All the sportscasters and pundits are up in arms about their sacred sport. All these men who have outsized salaries and privileged lives, built for decades on the backs of young men who were by law not allowed to get paid for creating the ecosystem in which these men made their money, are now astonished that full on capitalism has descended upon their sport. This, in a country who worships capitalism. In a country where a CEO was just voted a trillion dollar pay package by the Board of Directors. These men are outraged!!!!! at this turn of events. How can a coach leave a job for a higher paying job!

Donald Trump has been busy bombing boats in the Caribbean who he says are drug runners (no evidence provided). Because, you know, drugs are a national security threat. But then this morning he pardoned the former president of Honduras who was convicted and sentenced to prison for bringing drugs into the US. In fact, more drugs than any other drug smuggler ever caught and convicted.

Seriously. You cannot make this stuff up. This is next level craziness.

In the words of the brilliant Denis Johnson ‘And you, you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you.’

Friday Night Martini was taken at Strong and Company last week. When I am in Somerset, there are only two legit places for a martini so this week it was back to Strongs. Sylvia was behind the bar and it was crowded.

There is a guy who comes in to Strong’s every evening. Never misses a day. Ever.

TP is what everyone calls him. His name is Tim. I don’t know what the P stands for. He dresses like a farmer, but is not a farmer. I think perhaps he once was. I was told he donated all his land to the Catholic Church and so now has no income. He gets dropped off and picked up by someone because he does not drive — or does not have a truck. I don’t know which.

Tim has taken a shine to me, so on the days I pop in he wanders over for a chat. He is hard of hearing and I think only grasps about half of what I say, but we catch up and trade our respective updates. I feel he is probably lonely, but people know him and look out for him. Many buy his meals and I know the bartenders make sure he is taken care of.

I also met an interesting couple who are here visiting their son. Mary-Alice and Wade. They were dressed in upscale 1950’s Manhattan vibes and in fact it turns out they spend half their time in NYC and half in Italy. Cute and nice folks. Their son lives in Somerset for some ungodly reason.

For many years, for most of Mandela’s life actually, we had a ritual of going outside one last time just before bed. She would wander into the yard and take a pee and I would stand on the edge of the patio or porch and do the same. Martini, same. Every night before bed.

Tonight it is drizzling and very foggy. When we went out, she hopped and skipped into the fog and disappeared. I moved to the side of the deck and did my thing. I saw Marti making her rounds, but only occasionally as she moved in and out of the foggy areas. Dogs have a beautiful gate when they are in a trot. Marti is a perfect specimen of canine. Her athleticism is hard to fathom. I think she can jump more than 4 times her height and leap at least the same when on a dead run. Tonight, she quickly did her reconnaissance and took a squat, in her masculine way, and met me back at the door.

Then of course we had to play the game. This is the most important ritual of all. She is straining at the leash as they say — or otherwise put, shaking as she stares at the comforter in anticipation. I get into bed and slide under the covers and the game is immediately afoot. She darts ahead and grabs the blanket between her teeth and the tug of war is on. This goes on for 10 minutes or so, along with feints, drops, grabs, attacks on my hands, and basically a scrum in the bed.

I’ve no idea how this started. It seems like we’ve done it forever. It’s now just The Game and it happens every night. No matter where we are. But only with me. She does not do it with Brittany. We don’t understand it or question it.

I heard a congressman on NPR say, in response to a question about gerrymandering, ‘well, they started it’.

Our congressional playground.

Humbly Submitted
Robert Myres – Portneuf Valley Rugby Football Club, Flanker (ret.)