The River of Grass rolls, slow and steady, life and death in perpetual flow. Pines in rockland whisper secrets to the wind, a rustling curtain veiling murky depths. Devil Darter‘s wings, a warning to the wise, perched on cypress knees, ancient, strong, and gnarled.
Shark Valley‘s stillness broken by a fin, a silent hunter gliding through the reeds. Gators bask, the patience of armor, waiting for a careless egret’s slip. Airboats slice through the shallow glade, leaving trails that vanish… vanish and fade.
Flamingoes wade, a treat for the eye, a vibrant contrast of muted hues. Mangrove tunnels twist and bend, a labyrinth of arms, for hiding, sheltered by the tangled roots. Ten Thousand Islands stretch and fade, a watery maze where sea and land collide.
At Christian Point the skeets do swarm, the muddy bog, a perilous hike, proceed with caution, and leave at sundown, the tangle is alive, its hunger burns.
Marjorie’s voice, conscience of the glades, champion of the wild, fragile beauty. She spake the value of endless green, the interconnectedness of countless lives. Her words, a call to protect this place, a plea for balance in a ravenous space.
Remember remember, the lessons of the wild, the delicate balance that’s easily disturbed. Remember remember, our schoolyard sorrow, the shattered peace, the pain of tomorrow. Protect this wilderness, protect these children, till silence swallows both… in a rolling river of grass.
From Saint Auggy…… To Tallahassee… You’ll see the fire ants.. Prolificacy… And like the bears in… Yellowstone grassy… Don’t look FL Man in the eye.
Well, well, well… it seems we’ve reached the final stages of a long process dismantling the Rooseveltian status-quo. And with the reinstallation of D.J.T. in the White House, there’s a concerted effort to make these changes as permanent possible, given the constraints of the original constitutional design. With that in mind, and considering the current electorate’s chronic division, this would be a good time to gut-check where our neighbors are coming from. That is, if we care to avoid uncivil conflict.
Now, i think we can agree there are forces benefiting constant news cycle chaos, keeping potential voters focused on differences over commonalities. It keeps their eyes off the various power grabs going on behind the scenes. It keeps the respective tribes feeling threatened and fearful. This works for those who practice the “art of the possible.” I mean, not long ago, the possibility of having an ethically-challenged flim-flam man occupying the White House was patently absurd. I’m not saying the swamp didn’t need some scrubbing bubbles and a stiff brushing, it certainly did, but the intellectual gulf between someone like Gary Hart (a known philanderer) and Donald Trump (even worse) is unfathomably wide. For some reason, our fellow citizens decided expertise and competence was no longer as important as loyalty to their respective “identity” clubs (Ted Coppel summarized it best).
My decision to wade into this toxic pool was motivated by what appears to be an unfortunate side-effect of this “tribal” urge. Specifically, it appears the forces of Christian Nationalism have risen to the top of the power struggle in DC. This is alarming for me as a strong proponent of maintaining the church/state separation. Over the years, i have observed with dismay the rightward creep of our political overton window. I dread the possibility that, when the dust settles on the Trump era, we find ourselves in a totalitarian theocracy, the kind predicted by Frank Zappa in the 1980s. But then reason kicks in, i follow the money and no, i don’t believe the theocrats will end up on top.
That said, what’s coming up behind the theocrats concerns me more. That is the billionaire tech-bro libertarians lapping up Curtis Yarvin‘s notions of “corporate monarchy.” Not that he doesn’t have some interesting ideas, he does. And when he’s riffing at his trolly best, it’s a super entertaining read. However, i’m no historian, but i do pay attention, and it seems pretty clear that we’ve already litigated the divine rights of kings (1776), and we’ve already litigated totalitarian fascism (WWII), we’ve already defeated totalitarian communism (cold war), and we’re currently contending with totalitarian theocracy (global war on terror). Oh… and the planets, including ours, are spherical, not flat (i can’t believe these things have to be said out loud).
Anyway, Mr. Yarvin’s corporate monarchy is a libertarian pipe dream. He says “democracy is incompatible with ‘freedom,'” i say monarchy is… but again, we’ve already litigated this, right? Unfortunately, Mr. Yarvin’s now defunct Unqualified Reservations blog is all the rage with the billionaires backing the MAGA electoral coup. He says things like progressivism is a monolithic cathedral, not a bustling marketplace of ideas, and the Rand-worshiping self-interested billionaire tech titans lap it up like caviar. They know their ideas can’t prevail in the marketplace bazaar, let alone a functioning democracy.
And so… we have to address it. The contrast of Eric Raymond‘s thesis on the Cathedral and the Bazaar, and the reality of the Yarvin-inspired Project 2025, in fact, morphing the US Federal Government into a right-wing, totalitarian dictatorship before our eyes really does feel like a glitch in the Matrix. Will they succeed? Jury’s out, but if it comes down to the federal judiciary, Trump and Mitch McConnell have effectively stacked the deck for the MAGA version.
How will they do it? Well, by now, most of us are savvy to MAGA’s “flood the zone” strategy. That is keeping the press and those that follow along buried in outrage after outrage effectively wearing down resistance due to fatigue. Now, Yarvin’s musings can be seen in a similar light. In that, his “Open Letter to Open Minded Progressives” is 300 pages of cherry-picked history, and troll-speak blather making a scant few interesting points. Who has time to pour over 300 page troll manifestos? For Christ’s sake, get to the point, and move on.
For those unfamiliar, here’s a bare bones outline:
Progressivism is an orthodoxy every bit as monolithic as Catholicism.
He suggests the press and universities are part of this distributed monolith. He calls this monolith the “Cathedral,” a totalitarian society, lacking central coordination.
Conservatives are captive of the Christian Cathedral, and Leftists are captives of the Progressive one.
Progressive-inclined voters are the American equivalent of Brahmans in a class-stratified society (the ruling class).
Conservatives are everyday middle-of-the-road work-a-day citizens… Yarvin calls them, “Townies.”
Yarvin believes the Prog-Con duopoly needs to be smashed in favor of a neo-reactionary monarchical structure (back to the classical future), very much like the modern corporation, leveraging the latest technology replacing human bureaucracy with technology-assisted autocratic rulers (CEOs) answerable to appointed boards of directors.
He says the current system is incompatible with “freedom” and suggests military rule or restricting voting rights as part of the transition from democracy to a more libertarian-friendly patchwork of autonomous city-states.
Yay… no more participatory democracy… no more stupid voting… woohoo!
FREEDOM!
Ok… back to the original purpose of this screed (appreciating our neighbors’ definition of the word, freedom). There’s way too much assuming going on these days. What i mean is, when we hear someone talking about “freedom” whether accompanied with Manosphere chest thumping or NPR-style hushed tones, we are rarely treated to a specific definition of the term.
With that in mind, let’s start with the Oxford English Dictionary (freedom): As you can see, there are many ways to apply this Swiss Army Knife of a word, but i would argue a couple angles are of paramount importance within the context of our current crisis of incivility, 1.) freedom to exploit market opportunities, unhindered by cumbersome regulations (or taxes), 2.) freedom of agency and lifestyle choices unhindered by the dictates of patriarchal culture or the dogmatic demands of a particular religion or ideological concern.
Based on what they take from Yarvin’s Dark Enlightened vision, here’s what i think the MAGA brain trust plans to ram up Red (Con) and Blue (Prog) America’s backside:
1.) All will be free of the maddening obligations of participatory democracy. 2.) All will be free to trust gov-corp to deliver value for the customers (citizens). 3.) They will, because we know customers vote with their feet when they find conditions in their current “patch” (autonomous city-state) unsatisfactory, 4.) All will be free to move to a friendlier patch. One that caters to their particular cultural, legal, tax-code, healthcare, travel, climate, recreation and professional opportunity preferences.
Don’t like it…? lump it… Are you ok with any of this…?
The class war is over… we won.~ Warren Buffett (paraphrased)
This morning, i woke on the heels of a very strange dream. In that spilled neon netherworld between wakefulness and full-bore dreaming, i saw a TV debate of the most grotesque and farcical kind. A clash of larger-than-life personalities that seemed to pulse with the beat of a mournful tune. The exchange left an assembled host slack-jawed and angels reaching for their smelling salts. On one side, Raoul Duke, the fictional alter-ego of Gonzo Journalist, Hunter S. Thompson, a bit disheveled from what looked like a three-week bender in the heart of the American Nightmare. On the other side, Grigori Rasputin, peasant turned confidant to the imperial family of Nicholas II, the last Emperor of Russia. Basically, an unsanctioned agent from Hell, officious as ever in a full-length black tunic, his beard scraggly, his eyes glittering with infernal amusement.
DukeRasputin
The subject of this bizarre cage match? Nothing less than the relative merits of the Beatitudes versus the neo-reactionary agenda of a lavishly funded, high-tech, anti-democratic, ethnonationalist wrecking crew.
Duke, surprisingly, championed the Nazarene’s teachings, albeit with a somewhat impaired countenance suggesting he might have misinterpreted “turn the other cheek” as an invitation to sample every substance in his kit bag. He blathered on about meekness, mercy, and loving your enemy as yourself. His arguments punctuated by tics of paranoia and a banshee howl that rattled the walls.
Rasputin, meanwhile, was in his element, his sardonic wit honed to a razor’s edge. He expounded the neo-reactionary talking points with a gleeful malice, projecting contradictions, absurd fantasies of racist discrimination, and thinly veiled appeals to violence and hatred onto the distracted Duke. With the confidence of an operative well versed in Curtis Yarvin‘s litany of insipid Matrix anecdotes and historical cherry picking. He painted a portrait of red and blue pills, medical experimentalists, and treasonous enemies within, with minds controlled by a monastery of elites indoctrinating youth with a bankrupt philosophy of “the woke.” His heart filled with a venomous envy of anyone with a slightly brighter enlightenment, or an accurate take on Eric Raymond’s thesis of the Cathedral and the Bazaar.
“These libtards,” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, “prattle on about the merits of diversity while simultaneously demonstrating their utter intolerance of white male energy. They yearn for a mythical world of brotherly love that could never exist, a paradise of fools and dreamers lost in the mists of their own addled imaginations. The very embodiment of the Dunning-Kruger effect, their ignorance so profound it renders them incapable of recognizing their own stupidity.”
Duke, roused from his stupor by Rasputin’s shameless belligerence, attempted a rebuttal, but his words were lost in a torrent of incoherent babble. He stumbled over his own feet, his bucket hat askew, his kit bag waving erratically like a train conductor’s lamp gone haywire. Even in this impaired condition, he mocked his interlocuter’s obsession with gender ambiguity and critical history, his ludicrous claims of religious hegemony, and his pathetic attempts to cloak his bigotry in the mantle of patriotism.
Rasputin, sensing the rabble on his side, pressed the attack. “These are not patriots,” he thundered, “but parasites, feeding off the carcass of a once-great nation. They’re the enemies of freedom, foes of common sense, the very antithesis of everything that is good, sweet, and true in the human spirit.”
The debate, if one could call it that, ended in a whimper rather than a bang. Duke, thoroughly distracted and utterly outmatched, collapsed in a heap of red herrings and non-sequiturs. Rasputin, victorious but strangely melancholic, vanished in a puff of brimstone, leaving behind the lingering scent of sulfur and the echo of scathing laughter.
The assembled onlookers, meanwhile, were left to ponder the spectacle they had just witnessed. Had a cartoon character just delivered a wobbly, but eloquent defense of Christian values? Had the wizard of Petersburg just leveled an aggressive defense of neo-fascist philosophy? Had the world gone mad? Or was this just another Tuesday in the heyday of the New Apostolic Reformation?
One thing was certain: the universe has a wicked sense of humor.
I’d like to start this missive with a shout of gratitude to a few organizations. First, every public library in every town. So far, i have yet to be turned away for lack of digital nomad-friendly workspaces (WiFi, power, comfortable tables/chairs). Next, Cracker Barrel. Often, strangers in nomad vehicles are not welcome for overnight stay in commercial parking lots. But not with Cracker Barrel. THANK YOU! And finally, though there is a nominal monthly fee, Planet Fitness has been a godsend for those of us who can’t go more than a couple days without a shower…. thank you twice over!
RocinanteDanger Will Robinson
Now, transitioning from the professional treadmill into the ranks of fixed-income retirees has been a real eye opener for me. Things that would go unnoticed due to keeping head down and focusing on professional and parental knitting suddenly become glaringly obvious. For example, our nation’s once-proud melting pot has grown somewhat less tolerant of the stranger. Especially if the stranger is not of self-sufficient means. Intolerance and xenophobia have grown more and more common, and the problem isn’t confined to the United States, it’s a growing worldwide, human problem. Apparently, when we feel threatened, or fearful, we tend to default to selfish countenance, we struggle putting ourselves in the stranger’s shoes, we tend to point fingers and search for ready scapegoats.
And the unwelcome strangers are not only immigrants and refugees. We are strangers to each other over political, religious, or ideologic differences. And due to a lack of empathy in the wake of fear and threat, we find it difficult to agree or compromise on any topic of contention. This, despite the fact that the Internet has opened potential communication channels to literally anyone in the free world. Ironically, this hasn’t remedied the feeling of disconnection from one another but has exacerbated it. Thanks a lot, Al Gore!
I’ve heard of studies indicating the number of folks claiming to have no friends tripling over the last thirty years… ZERO friends?!?! Astounding! Another crowning irony in an age of social media where so-called “friend connections” can number in the thousands. Some say there is a loose correlation of social media exposure and loneliness. Of course, correlation isn’t causation, but so what? If there’s even a remote chance these correlations are indeed causal, should we not try a little harder to address them?
Even more troubling is a deeper correlation causation question originally posed by a truly loathsome individual. Recent tragic events have shone a light on the ideas espoused by the infamous luddite, Dr. Ted Kaczynski. That industrial society, mass-production culture, explosive urban sprawl, is a sickness whose only cure is the revolutionary rejection of industrial/technical society. And if violent means is necessary to bring this about, it is the obligation of right-minded revolutionaries to do what is necessary. Of course, we know how Dr. Kaczynski’s story ends. Unfortunately, there are folks out there who believe he was onto something, and some have put his ideas into action.
I cannot agree with the revolutionary luddites. I’ve been a techno-optimist for the entirety of my professional life. Unfortunately, exigencies of capitalism have tainted the affirming potential of global connection, democratic computing power, even machine intelligence. And so, at the end of my professional life, i’m forced to rethink these 5th Estate Evangelical tendencies. The baton is passed to the next generation of techno-optimists and i hope we can come to some sort of compromise between the needs of individuals and the needs of the commons before these revolutionary luddites blow up any more cyber confidence.
Kurt Vonnegut addressed the malaise of loneliness decades ago. He diagnosed our sickness and offered a remedy. He argued the tradition of rootless nuclear families was woefully inadequate to the task of providing human companionship. Specifically, ladies need lots of other ladies with whom to talk about anything and EVERY thing. Men need buddies with whom to punch in the arm and go do guy stuff with. Preferably away from the gaggle of ladies. He urged us to actively seek and spend as much time as possible with our “Karass” (extended families). They can be fraternal, they can be professional, they can be familial, but by surrounding ourselves with people who love and identify with us, perhaps we can cure this creeping cancer of loneliness and alienation.
If nothing else, this could give our kids a fighting chance of growing up with confidence and functional social skills. Seriously, Mom and Dad in the nuclear family arrangement only have each other for adult company? Dad doesn’t want to talk about EVERYTHING, and Mom doesn’t want to get punched in the arm bouncing around in a dune buggy. And what of the Moms and Dads who have concluded their union a mistake, and now don’t even have each other? Yes! This is a sickness. Bad for Mom and bad for Dad. As for the kids? Well many end up like the stranger. Ghosts, aimlessly wandering the Earth. Alone, ruminating society’s problems instead of practicing joyful follies with other like-minded imperfect human beings.
You may have heard of “The New Apostolic Reformation” (NAR). This is an antidemocratic movement at war with the secular order designed by our nation’s founders. They say the traditional family is the fundamental unit of God’s perfect order. But this “traditional” arrangement to which they refer is a patriarchal construct, and in the US, it should be glaringly obvious this male-supremacy arrangement has failed to deliver adequate human companionship and fellow-goodwill.
Mr. Vonnegut was right. Unfortunately, we are at a transition crossroad, and though the NAR believes they will dominate future cultural evolution on the coattails of the MAGA libertarian movement, what they don’t take into account is that the top of the MAGA food chain is populated by billionaires all about self-interest. They will abandon the NAR as soon as they come to cross purposes. As well, demographic trends simply can’t support a theocracy of any stripe. I hope saner heads prevail and we rethink what it means to be part of a traditional family with the aim of inclusion. Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Mormons, and Secular Humanists all together in a mega-karass where no one is the stranger.
So… here we are… watchin’ the Northern weather forecasts, thanking our lucky stars for a sustainable groove here in the Southern tip of Florida. Now, Ronnie absolutely hates urban traffic snarls, especially in new territory. We’re close, but not really in the vortex of Miami. Traffic’s still a tangle in rush hours, but Ronnie says he’s getting used to it. We found a fantastic library and reasonable provision outlets. Life may not be Island time, yet, but we’re only 3 hours from Key West. All things considered, conditions couldn’t be much better as weather has been a balmy 55 to 78. The best part…? No skeeters… 😉
So… The Keys? Ya… we took that drive last weekend… here’s the report:
THE GOOD: Imagine a place where the Margaritaville state of mind isn’t just a Jimmy Buffett song, but a freakin’ way of life. Welcome to the Florida Keys, loopers, where Tevas are formal wear and the most pressing decision is whether to have your Key lime pie on a stick or in a graham cracker crust. (Pro tip: get both, you hedonist). And the water? So turquoise and clear it looks like a cement pond built for Jed Clampett himself. Fish practically jump into boats, begging to be fried up with a side of hush puppies. And the sunsets? Forget about it. Like Poseidon took a paintbrush dipped in mango and fire and just went wild across the sky.
THE BAD: Of course, paradise has its price, and in the Keys, it ain’t cheap. Be prepared to shell out some serious clams for a condo that’s smaller than your first apartment. And speaking of shelling out, if you get seriously ill, well, let’s just say the medical facilities here are about as advanced as a World War II field hospital. Oh, and did we mention the hurricanes? Mother Nature throws a tantrum every now and then, and when she does, those pastel-colored houses go flying like confetti in a wind tunnel.
THE UGLY: Remember that turquoise water? Yeah, well, sometimes it’s teeming with more tourists than fish. Think Spring Break on steroids, but with more retirees in Hawaiian shirts. SIDE NOTE: We paid retail therapy visits to Wal Marché, Targé, and the nearest indoor shopping mall. NONE of the locals wear Hawaiian shirts. And good luck finding one on the retail racks. Result? Wherever we go, Ronnie looks like a freaking tourist. Which… he totally is…. LOL. Anyway… mosquitos in the summer? We’re told these aren’t your average backyard biters, oh no. These are kamikaze skeeters, dive-bombing your ankles with the fury of a thousand tiny vampires. Bring industrial-strength repellent just in case, or you’ll be itching like a fiend in a flea circus.
WHO’s WHO in the KEYS? Papa Hemingway: Yeah, the big kahuna himself. He lived and wrote here, probably with a daiquiri permanently glued to his hand. His house is now a museum where you can practically smell the testosterone and typewriter ribbon. By the way cat lovers, the Hemmingway House is home to nearly sixty of those furry buggers. Many of them have an extra toe.
This kitty is NOT amusedPapa’s Florida HomePapa’s writing room
Tennessee Williams: The playwright who brought us “A Streetcar Named Desire” also found inspiration in these steamy islands. Maybe he was drawn to the drama, or maybe he just liked the cheap margaritas. Jimmy Buffett: The patron saint of flip-flops and frozen concoctions. He didn’t exactly hail from the Keys, but he sure made a career out of singing about them.
WHAT to SEE CRUSIN’ the KEYS? Dry Tortugas National Park: Seventy miles west of Key West, this place is like stepping back in time. Think pristine beaches, crystal-clear waters, and a Civil War-era fort. Just watch out for the ghost of Dr. Mudd. Bahia Honda State Park: This is where you go to find that classic postcard-perfect beach. White sand, swaying palms, water so clear you can see your toes even when you’re up to your neck in it. It’s enough to make you ditch your shoes and never wear them again.
BELIEVE IT or NOT: Island rebellion? Key locals once broke away from the US like those Texans threaten to do whenever there’s a Democrat in the White House. They call their movement, “The Conch Republic” That’s right, the Keys once seceded from the Union. Well, sort of. It was a protest, but they still have their own flag, their own currency (the Conch Dollar), and their own wacky sense of humor.
Fantasy Fest: Imagine Mardi Gras, but with more body paint and fewer inhibitions. This annual festival is a celebration of all things weird and wonderful, and it’s definitely not for the faint of heart. Underwater Music Festival: Where else can you listen to Bach while surrounded by coral reefs and tropical fish? This quirky event is a must-see for any music lover with a sense of adventure.
So there you have it, loopers. The Florida Keys, a glorious, messy, hilarious, and utterly unique slice of paradise. Just remember to pack your sunscreen, your sense of humor, and a whole lot of cash. And if you see a guy in a Hawaiian shirt riding a bicycle with a margarita in his hand, that’s probably just Wimpy channeling his inner Jimmy Buffett. Offer him a cheeseburger on Monday. He’ll gladly pay you Thursday.
Onward through the fog… RH
From Saint Auggy…… To Tallahassee… You’ll see the fire ants.. Prolificacy… And like the bears in… Yellowstone grassy… Don’t look FL Man in the eye.
Ronnie thought, since we were pressed for time, we could get by with only one Florida post. So we took a shortcut, leaning on Ronnie’s memories of Florida. A bit dusty, those memories, like faded postcards from a bygone era. Back when Daytona Beach was the epicenter of spring break bacchanalia, before the revelers migrated to Panama City, seeking new shores for their timeless rituals.
But then, waking from an overnight stay in Tallahassee enroute to Mobile, AL, Ronnie opened his news feed to reports of Ol’ Man Winter reaching tentacles into his Midwest stomping grounds. This awakened a realization. Specifically, the point of this tour was to avoid any and all extreme weather, a comfort priority for van-life vagabonds.
Ah, but there’s the rub. In this digital age, consistency is king. To vanish for weeks is to be forgotten, swallowed by the insatiable maw of the internet. So, we stay. Florida, it seems, is too vast to be consumed in a single bite. There’s plenty to see, do, and write about as Ronnie has no plans for leaving till it warms up a bit up North.
NopeDouble Nope!
Now, for geography-minded loopers, Tallahassee is in the panhandle, East of St. Augustine, our first Florida stop. Well, that’s in the North, and we needed to be heading South, waaayyy south, in order to avoid all hints of Ol’ Man Winter. So… yea… we had to backtrack a bit, but now heading in the right direction. Spring Hill was the first stop enroute to Key West, all the while hoping for the best for our friends and family up North.
Anyway, it turns out, Ronnie’s plan to visit all 48 contiguous US states in a rolling studio apartment christened “Rocinante” has been done (and published to some acclaim), more than once. The Steinbeck version literally featured a tricked out pickup truck named… Rocinante. Now, more confessions. Ronnie was not aware of Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charlie” before 2024. And Heat-Moon’s “Blue Highways” was only a back-of-the-mind inspiration for Ronnie’s 5th music album of the same name. Truth told, he had not read Heat-Moon’s volume till hitting the road on our Hot Springs or Busk tour.
Rohlfie’s favorite library!Winter Redoubt
Actually, the inspiration for naming our van Rocinante came from the Netflix series, “The Expanse“. A multi-season series that delves into a rich tapestry of philosophical themes. Just a few examples would include social inequality, with vast disparities between the “Inner Planets” (Earth and Mars), the “Kuiper Belt,” and the outer colonies. Inequality that fuels conflict and raises questions about resource distribution, social justice, and the exploitation of marginalized groups. Sound familiar? Another theme explored by the series is the nature of humanity. The Expanse explores what it fundamentally means to be human. It questions whether our nature is inherently good or evil, and how we might evolve or adapt in the face of the unknown.
These are just a couple of the many themes explored by the series. Ronnie has seen the whole thing twice, he’ll probably watch it again cursing the numbskulls who canceled it. This is not to downplay the influences of Heat-Moon or Steinbeck’s road trip meditations. Both are masterful explorations of the hopes, dreams, and unique character of the people encountered off the “beaten paths” as it were. Heat-Moon called those back roads “Blue Highways” because of how they appeared in road atlas’ of the day. In Travels with Charlie, Nobel laureate, John Steinbeck makes a point of staying off the busiest highways in order to get the raw scoop from the people inhabiting the countryside. Both works chocked full of detailed dialog sequences from those encounters in diners and rest stops.
Ronnie, in contrast, is coming from a different angle. More an inner exploration, sharing windshield time with audio versions of Steinbeck, Camus, Dostoevsky, and Dickens’ takes on these universal themes with showers, meals, and sleep cycles provided by Cracker Barrel, and Planet Fitness.
And what does any of this have to do with Florida…? For those attuned to current events, these human challenges are alive and well here, as they are nation wide, but with Florida, the examples are much louder and prouder (think “Florida Man“). For example, Florida faces significant environmental threats, including rising sea levels, increasingly severe hurricanes, and the degradation of crucial ecosystems. These issues are exacerbated by rapid development and a history of prioritizing short-term economic gains over long-term sustainability. Environmental issues often become politicized, with disagreements over the role of government regulation and the balance between economic development and environmental protection.
As for Tribalism and Prejudice, Florida, like many places, grapples with historical and ongoing issues of racism, discrimination, and social inequality. These issues often manifest in disparities in education, healthcare, and economic opportunity. Sad but true, minority communities often face systemic barriers, and tensions with law enforcement. They also face incidents of racial profiling and police brutality which contribute to mistrust. Political rhetoric and divisive language and policies can aggravate existing divisions… and these days, politicians are saying the quiet parts out loud and proud.
And Florida’s leadership has a mixed record on these issues. While some initiatives promote environmental protection and social justice, others have been criticized for intensifying existing problems.
Yea… challenges… but until Greenland melts, Florida has some of the most bodacious beaches in the world. Come see it while you can. We’ll be here at least till Ol’ Man Winter retreats back to where he belongs.
Onward through the fog… RH
From Saint Auggy…… To Tallahassee… You’ll see the fire ants.. Prolificacy… And like the bears in… Yellowstone grassy… Don’t look FL Man in the eye.
Ok, Loopers, next stop, Florida, that dangling chad of a state, where the sun shines so bright you half expect to see Jesus himself waterskiing across Tampa Bay! Now Ronnie has some personal experience with the sunshine state. There was that six week high-tech bootcamp in Daytona. There was that corporate convention/retreat in Orlando, and Ronnie also has friends living in various Florida locations, Ft. Myers, Miami, and some little town in the panhandle. That’s right, Ronnie is uniquely situated for van life. He doesn’t have to hunker down for the winter or desperately scrounge for shade in the summer because he has friends and family from Washington State to Florida… and speaking of…
THE GOOD: Florida, where the manatees are loose, and so are the tourists. And beaches? Oh, they got beaches, miles and miles of ’em, the kind of white sand beaches that make you wanna ditch your shoes and do the Macarena, even if you don’t know how. Springs bubbling up from the earth like some kind of primordial jacuzzi, clear as gin and twice as refreshing. Everglades? Yep, got those too, a swampy wonderland where alligators lounge like they own the place (and they probably do). Wildlife galore, from pink flamingos strutting like they’re on a catwalk to manatees cruising along like underwater blimps.
And the weather? Forget about it. It’s like Mother Nature cranked the thermostat to “eternal summer” and then lost the remote. No state income tax either, which means more clams for your pocket and more margaritas in your belly. Theme parks? They practically invented the things. Disney World, Universal Studios, places where dreams come true (or at least your credit card takes a serious hit). Toss in some cultural diversity, a dash of history, and a sprinkle of those warm mineral springs in North Port, and you got yourself a cocktail of a state. Oh, and don’t forget the colleges, little intellectual oases scattered across the landscape like so many palm trees.
THE BAD: But hey, even paradise has its downsides. Like hurricanes, for instance. Those swirling cyclones of doom that can turn your beachfront condo into a pile of matchsticks faster than you can say “Margaritaville.” Then there’s the humidity. The kind of humidity that makes your hair frizz up like you stuck your finger in a light socket and your clothes cling to you like a lovesick octopus. And let’s not forget the environmental concerns, the creeping threat of rising sea levels, the pollution, the constant battle to preserve what’s left of this fragile ecosystem. It’s enough to make you wanna trade your flip-flops for a pair of waders and join the Sierra Club.
THE UGLY: Now, brace yourselves, folks, because it’s about to get real. Traffic. Congestion. Gridlock. Call it what you want, but it’s the kind of automotive apocalypse that makes you wish you’d invested in a helicopter. Cars piled up like a demolition derby, horns blaring, tempers flaring. It’s enough to make you want to abandon your vehicle and join a colony of hermits living in the Everglades. And then there’s the high cost of living. Rent, mortgages, groceries, it all adds up faster than a politician’s promise. Suddenly, that dream of owning a beachfront bungalow starts to look about as realistic as a unicorn riding a rollercoaster.
WHO’s WHO? Florida, land of sunshine and eccentrics. Hemingway, the literary lion, holding court in Key West with a daiquiri in one hand and a marlin tale in the other. Marjory Stoneman Douglas, the environmental crusader, fighting to protect the Everglades with the ferocity of a mama bear defending her cubs. Literary seminars in Key West, where wordsmiths gather to dissect prose and pontificate on the meaning of life. And the music scene, a veritable melting pot of sounds. Lynyrd Skynyrd, belting out Southern rock anthems that make you wanna raise your fist and chug a beer. Tom Petty, spinning tales of heartbreak and highway dreams. Creed, with their angst-ridden grunge, and Yellowcard, adding a punk rock twist. Jim Morrison, the Lizard King himself, leaving a trail of poetic chaos in his wake. Ariana Grande, the pop princess with a voice that could melt glaciers. And Zora Neale Hurston, weaving her literary magic with words that paint a vivid picture of Florida’s soul.
So there you have it, loopers. Florida, in all its glory and its grit. A state of contrasts, a land of extremes. Case in point, the apparent grip Christion Fundamentalists have on the state’s politics. At the same time, voters enthusiastically embrace morally ambiguous leaders such as Matt Gaetz and Donald Trump. Cognitive dissonance at its finest. Anyway, love it or hate it, you can’t deny Florida is one hell of a wild ride.
Onward through the fog… RH
From Saint Auggy…… To Tallahassee… You’ll see the fire ants.. Prolificacy… And like the bears in… Yellowstone grassy… Don’t look FL Man in the eye.
We’re holed up in a backwoods Georgia ranch, a relic of the Old South, guests of generous kin. Ronnie Hays is nursing a hangover from a Thanksgiving feast that would make a Kentucky Colonel blush. The pièce de résistance? Peanut butter pie!? Yeah, you heard right. A peanut butter pie. Only in the Peach State, where they grow enough peanuts to choke an elephant.
Rocinante, our trusty mount, was overdue for a shoe’n. New rubber, wheel covers, the whole nine yards. And while she rested, Ronnie busied himself working his chops and scribbling lyrics, trying to channel some cosmic inspiration. But the real question was whether the music gods would smile on us and grant a spot at South by Southwest. Only time, and a lot of caffeine, would tell. And if not, oh well, we were able to get a tour the Allman Brothers’ Big House museum. Now… we could go on and on about the rich and enduring musical legacy born in the great state of Georgia and it’s quite a list. But, for Ronnie’s money, the big bang was right here in this Macon Georgia Big House and the Allman Brothers Band.
Meanwhile, the Deep South has been a mixed bag weather-wise. We’ve had more cold snaps than a polar bear’s dream. Ronnie’s been wrapped tight in his mummy bag, snug as a bug in a rug. The propane heater, our only salvation, has been a fickle mistress. We’ve had a few close calls with insomnia and claustrophobia. But hey, that’s the price you pay for van life, right?
So, here we sit, waiting for the next chapter to unfold. Whether it’s a sunny beach in Florida or a frozen swamp in Louisiana, we’re ready to ride. Or at least, we’ll be ready once we figure out how to keep this damn propane tank full.
Anyway, Georgia, a state of contradictions, a tapestry woven with threads of beauty and blight. A place where the sweet tea flows as freely as the sweat during a humid summer day. A land of gentle giants and fiery tempers, where the past echoes in the present, and the future remains uncertain.
Boiled Peanuts?Cotton Pickin’ TouristGeorgia PinesAllman Brothers Compound, Macon, GA
Unfortunately, Georgia’s wonders don’t include naturally occurring, publicly accessible hot springs. It’s a cruel twist of fate, a geological oversight. But fear not, for relief can be found just a short drive away in the neighboring states of North Carolina and Tennessee, where bubbling hot springs beckon weary travelers.
While Georgia may lack geothermal wonders, it more than makes up for it in intellectual capital. The state boasts a diverse range of colleges and universities, each a beacon of knowledge and aspiration. From the serene campuses of Agnes Scott College and Berry College to the bustling urban centers of Emory University and Georgia College & State University, Georgia offers a wealth of educational opportunities.
And let’s not forget the literary giants who have graced Georgia’s soil. Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, a relic of the past, whispers tales of the South’s gothic heart. Margaret Mitchell’s birthplace in Atlanta, a city of dreams and disillusionment, echoes with the romantic saga of Scarlett O’Hara. The poet Sidney Lanier’s home in Macon, a quiet sanctuary of the soul, still resounds with the rhythms of his verse. And Savannah, a city steeped in history and haunted by the ghosts of the past, offers a literary pilgrimage for those seeking inspiration.
THE GOOD: Georgia, a land of natural beauty, where the coastal marshes reflect the sky and the Appalachian Mountains commune with the clouds. A place where the gentle rolling hills of the Piedmont Plateau cradle the soul. And the people! Warm and welcoming, they’ll make you feel right at home, even if you’re a stranger in a strange land.
The cost of living, a gentle breeze compared to the hurricane of other states. Affordable housing, reasonable taxes, and a laid-back lifestyle. It’s a place where dreams can take root and grow. And the job market, a bustling metropolis of opportunity, offering a diverse range of careers in technology, healthcare, and logistics.
The food, a symphony of flavors, a culinary masterpiece. From the classic Southern comfort food to the innovative fusion dishes, Georgia’s dining scene is a feast for the senses. And the natural wonders, a breathtaking spectacle. Amicalola Falls, a cascade of crystal-clear water, plunges into the depths, a testament to nature’s raw power.
THE BAD: But like all earthly paradises, Georgia has its flaws. Atlanta, a city of ambition and aspiration, is also a city of traffic congestion. A daily gridlock that can test the patience of even the most saintly commuter. And the summer heat, a relentless force that can turn even the most temperate individual into a sweaty, irritable mess.
THE UGLY: There’s a political divide that cleaves the state in two. A battleground of ideologies, a clash of cultures, a constant source of tension and turmoil.
Yet, despite its challenges, Georgia has produced some of the greatest minds and talents the world has ever known. Martin Luther King Jr., a beacon of hope in a world of darkness. Jimmy Carter, a man of peace and integrity. Hank Aaron, a baseball legend who broke barriers and shattered records. Maya Angelou, a poet and civil rights activist whose words continue to inspire. And Tyler Perry, a filmmaker and entrepreneur who has shattered stereotypes and defied expectations.
So, there you have it, Georgia: a state of contrasts, a land of beauty and frustration, a place where the past, present, and future collide in a chaotic, beautiful, and often baffling mix.
Onward through the fog… RH
In the Peach State… You find a full slate… You see at winter’s gate… You’ll need a warm plate… Screw up your Zen State… For Atlanta freeways… And don’t forget… The peanut butter pie.
A few days ago, i stumbled upon a digital mirage, a phantasmagoria of AI-generated imagery that sent shivers down my spine (see below). These spectral apparitions, purportedly depict John Prine and Bonnie Raitt together at a 1970 folk music festival. As you can see from the real 1970s image, the AI version is nowhere near accurate. This is a stark reminder of the rapid adoption of artificial intelligence creating “deep fakes” designed to alter history. At first glance, the images were mildly compelling because they kept appearing in my news feed. And as we know from real, even recent history, a lie repeated enough times can take hold in the public’s imagination, eventually seen as truth. Yet, a closer inspection of this particular deep fake reveals a grotesque parody of reality.
AI AbominationJohn & Bonnie (for real)
Now, i’ve long been a devotee of digital tools, embracing their potential to enhance my creative process. In fact, before the COVID/RONA pandemic, i considered myself an optimistic “5th Estate Evangelist”. From cloud service audio mastering, to grammar checkers, and voiceover generation using my own voice as a model, AI has become an indispensable part of my workflow. And now, with the exponential improvement of AI-generated imagery, i venture further into this brave new world. But the specter of inauthenticity looms large, casting a shadow over the application of these powers.
It’s a strange paradox, this symbiotic relationship between human and machine. We rely on AI to augment our abilities, to extend our reach, to expedite our tasks. Yet, we risk the atrophication of our native creativity, in the process, becoming mere conduits for the algorithmic output of distant server farms simulating the creative power of their human users.
The abovementioned deep-fake creepfest is a reminder; as we navigate this increasingly complex digital terrain, we must remain vigilant. We must not allow ourselves to be seduced by the siren song of technological disassociation. We must cultivate critical eyes, ears, discerning minds, and a heapin’ helpin’ of skepticism.
In the end, it’s the human touch that gives psychosocial relevance to our work. It is the cultural perspective, the emotional depth, the idiosyncratic style that sets us apart from non-human forms of sentience (animal or machine). Let us not sacrifice true human qualities on the altar of efficiency. Let us embrace the imperfections, the quirks, the idiosyncrasies that come with messy humanity. We should do everything we can to see AI as no more or less than a collection of tools available to help us reach our own creative potential in faster, more evocative ways.
And so, i shall continue to tread a cautious path, balancing the allure of AI with the enduring force of my uniquely creative impulses. I will strive to create material that is emotionally evocative, informative, inspiring, engaging, and thought-provoking. In addition, i will strive to maintain authenticity, a connection to my unique synergy with the real world.
Onward through the fog… Ron, Rohlfie, and Ronnie Hays
Arkansas, the Natural State, is a curious juxtaposition of backwoods charm and surprising sophistication. It’s a place where towering pines meet sprawling Walmart parking lots, and where the echoes of Johnny Cash’s mournful baritone mingle with the twang of a bluegrass dobro.
Here are a few impressions as we ease into Hot Springs or Busk, Phase IV:
THE GOOD: Arkansas is home to several natural hot springs, many of which are open to the public. The most famous is Hot Springs National Park, which features 47 naturally occurring springs. Other notables include those found in the Ouachita Mountains and the Ozarks. Arkansas has a rich cultural history as well, with several famous landmarks. These include the boyhood home of Johnny Cash in Kingsland, the birthplace of Al Green in Forest City, and Billy Bob Thornton, born right there in Hot Springs.
Eastman HotelHot Springs, AK
For outdoor enthusiasts, Arkansas features mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers. The Ozark Mountains and the Ouachita Mountains are particularly popular for hiking, camping, and fishing. The Buffalo National River is widely regarded as the state’s best natural sightseeing location. This scenic river is renowned for kayaking, canoeing, fishing, and hiking.
As for the cost of living. Arkansas is generally lower than the national average, making it attractive for families and retirees, residents are known for their warm and welcoming hospitality. A big plus is the rich culinary tradition, with dishes like barbecue, catfish, and fried pies. Arkansas cuisine is a hearty affair that will satisfy even the most discerning palate. And don’t forget the sweet tea, a beverage so beloved by Arkansans that it’s practically a religion.
Arkansans are a hearty breed, known for their hospitality and their dry wit. They’ll welcome you with open arms, but don’t be surprised if they also give you a sideways glance and a knowing smirk. It’s a state where folksy wisdom and modern cynicism coexist.
THE BAD: Arkansas has one of the lowest education attainment rates in the country, access to quality healthcare can be limited in some parts of the state, and the state’s infrastructure, particularly its roads and bridges, is in need of improvement. The state is a patchwork quilt of contradictions. It’s home to the serene beauty of the Ozarks and the eerie allure of Hot Springs National Park, a place where time seems to slow down and the earth itself steams. Yet, it’s also a place where poverty and opportunity often clash, a place where the past clings to the present. While the state’s natural beauty is undeniable, its infrastructure can be a bit of a rollercoaster ride. The roads, especially in the rural areas, can be as winding and unpredictable as a post-pandemic general election. But hey, that’s part of the charm, right?
THE UGLY: While Ronnie & Rocinante noted a fairly easy trek through the urban centers of Little Rock and North Little Rock, there are plenty of snags due to ongoing road construction. That said, less populated areas of the state can suffer from limited resources to health care, education, and infrastructure. This reminds us of a song found in the Harry Smith collection of American folk music. A ditty called “My Name is John Johanna” sometimes known as “The State of Arkansas”. The song tells the story of an unfortunate young man who finds himself appalled at the living and working conditions in Arkansas. The state of Arkansas was admitted to the Union in 1836. This song draws on fairly typical frontier stereotypes, Arkansas being a largely untamed wilderness during the mid-19th century.
My name is John Johanna, i came from Buffalo town. For nine long years i’ve traveled this wide wide world around. Through ups and downs and miseries and some good days i saw, But i never knew what misery was ’til i went to Arkansas.
To be fair, conditions in Arkansas are significantly improved since the 19th Century. Ronnie has family from the state and they are doing quite well. But, as earlier indicated, there are still areas for improvement. Even though many in the urban centers are enjoying upper-middle class to straight up opulent conditions for modest prices as compared to states like California, New York, or Washington State.
So, if you’re looking for a place where the ordinary meets the extraordinary, where the past and the present collide, then Arkansas might just be the place for you… Its natural beauty, affordable living, and friendly people make it an attractive place to live, work, and visit. However, the state also faces challenges in areas like education, healthcare, and infrastructure.
Onward through the fog… RH
You got your good days… You have your bad days… In Arkansas… You found your getaway… From the bubblin’ hot springs… To winding country roads… Life here is ah la Natural.
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