Social Media

The Chool Bus (ch10)

Chapter 10: The Forks spend a day among the “bougie” natives of Park City and Professor T. receives some troubling news from home.

As the Chool Bus rolled past Glenwood Springs, Professor T. was seen staring at his phone with the troubled countenance of someone coping with exceedingly bad news… a death in the family or something equally nasty. “Are you ok,” asked Jack noticing Professor T.’s expression?

“Oh, fine, i guess. I’m being summoned to join a Zoom conference next week… something about a Title IX inquest involving Abigail Weiser,” Professor T. frowned. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Something about instances of verbal and physical cringy conduct toward her. She’s retained the services of Scheizer and Bok and they’re filing a suit to recover punitive damages, for ‘egregious conduct’. What the hell? I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he sounded exhausted. “I’ll know more after the conference,” Professor T. looked crestfallen, but recovered composure presently and changed the subject not wanting to drag the general mood down.

“Let me know if there’s anything i can do. I’ll vouch for you,” Billie called from the driver’s seat.

Buck Wellstone only caught fragments of the conversation… he was doom-scrolling social media, looking for funny memes to post to his news feed. “I don’t know why some people get worked up by casual office banter. It’s just good-natured jest,” he said to no one in particular. Buck’s upbringing was steeped in old-fashioned southern propriety and genteel manners, though he found it a little stifling. “All these constraining conventions keeping the ladies down. Why not encourage an atmosphere of mutual frankness,” he mused under his breath. “It ain’t hurt’n nobody… give a little, get a little. Stand up for yourself… do no harm, take no guff.” Words to live by, thought Buck as he scrolled through the endless kaleidoscope of distractions the tiny glowing screen shoveled his way.

As the highway 40 miles rolled by, Rifle, Meeker, Dinosaur Colorado, then Vernal Utah, into the Ouray Reservation, then finally, Billie steered the Chool Bus into Park City, settling into a “park & ride” center where the Forks and Buck checked out electric bike rentals for an afternoon of sightseeing and lunch among the bougie locals.

It was the city of Robert Redford’s Sundance Film Festival held annually in the height of ski season. “The Greatest Snow on Earth”, goes the promotional slogan. Of course Jack, being a die-hard Kanorado native, would take issue with the brag. He had always preferred the more relaxed feel of places like Winter Park or the night skiing slopes in Keystone’s off the beaten path Summit County resort. Billie was partial to the bougies of Vail and Aspen, but had to admit for some reason Mother Nature was partial to Park City as she often gifted Utah’s slopes with fresh powder on the regular. “It’s all the same to me,” grumbled Professor T. as he was partial to warmer climates. “June in the Utah mountains suits me just fine… shall we find some fine culinary treats?” All agreed and they pointed their rented bikes toward the Après-ski resort district.

Buck did some Googlin’ and concluded the closest eligible spot was just off Main Street on 7th. And so, the gang gathered at the High West Saloon for some locally distilled cheer and swanky vittles. They got there in time to line up at 11:30am local time to get ahead of the lunch rush, but the crowd had already beat them to the punch. The host told them there would be a 15-20 minute wait for a table of four, so the Forks stepped back, opened their phones, and commenced some down-time scrolling.

Jack, taking his customary scan of the room, looking for potential escape routes should the relaxed atmosphere turn chaotic, turned his attention to patrons, making a game with himself to spot signs of “bougie-tude”, where conspicuous consumption, pretentious displays of wealth, and a dearth of self-awareness reigns. “Check out the incoming party,” addressing no one in particular. “It looks like a ‘Mean Girls’ movie entrance.” Jack was watching the one clearly in the lead, a “Queen Bee” type, regaling tavern patrons with her “total awesomeness”. She was clearly in command of a platoon of bougie ladies on the loose. They pulled up in one of those enormous party limos, most likely commissioned for one of those “girls gone wild” celebrations needing no special occasion. Each decked in at least several hundred dollars in footwear alone. “There we go,” said Jack. “There’s the bougie circus we came to witness.”

Billie flashed a side eye at Jack as the incoming party was escorted to a prime table instantly, strutting by the Forks without a glance. “I’m sure they had a reservation,” said Billie. She wasn’t bothered about the wait. “Next time we’ll call ahead.”

“Did you see the rock on the tall one,” said Jack. “I wonder if it’s real?”

“Hard to tell,” Professor T.’s uncle was a jeweler who had at one time invited him to an apprenticeship in his main street store front business. He knew about lab grown diamonds, that they can cost up to 95% less for the same quality. “Yikes, if it’s real, it’s very expensive,” his shoulders dropped as he suppressed a look of awe.

“You know, there’s no such thing as a Bourgeoisie any more,” said Jack. “The middle class has been effectively flushed down the toilet of globalism. It’s all about the uber-rich now. But they don’t hold sway over small town culture like the Bourgeoisie used to. In fact, they don’t even know what small towns even are any more. There’s the Yacht Class, the Laptop class, the Struggle-Bus class, and the Doomed.” Jack took another scanning assessment of the wild-girl party. “If you wanna rebrand the Yachtsters, who am i to argue? That said, we’ve certainly picked a perfect spot for bougie watching.”

Professor T. was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the trajectory of this exchange when, just in time, the host led the Forks and Buck to their table. “So, did you notice that guy at the register at our last fuel stop? He paid for the coffee and biscuit for the guy behind him. It’s moments like those that remind me humanity is fundamentally designed for selfless cooperation. These pay it forward acts, no matter how small, create ripple effects that can have big results… think ‘butterfly effect.’”

Jack scoffed. “Oh, please. He didn’t buy breakfast, he bought a social ego-boost, virtue-signaling. He probably checked the window reflection to see if he looked saintly while doing it.”

Billie looked at Jack with pinched grin, “I think we’re overthinking a mundane transaction. If he wants to spend eight dollars to feel good, and the guy behind him gets a free meal, it’s a net gain. I don’t care if his heart is made of gold or recycled plastic… the math works out.”

Professor T.’s pay-it-forward assessment put Jack in a cynical mood, “Altruism is just a sophisticated way of tricking our brains into feeling superior so we don’t have to face the fact that we’re all just hairless apes competing for resources. And that boulder on Ms Bougie’s finger is the Yacht Class version of hickies… just so much territorial pissings. See, that’s the problem, this ‘net gain’ nonsense ignores the reality of the jungle. If you spend your life looking for ‘ripples of kindness,’ you’re going to get drowned by the first person who marks you as a soft target. Self-interest isn’t ‘evil’… it’s honest. At least i know where i stand with a selfish person.”

Professor T. persisted. “That seems like a lonesome way to live, Jack! If we only look out for ourselves, the ‘jungle’ becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Altruism isn’t about being a ‘target’… it’s about courage. It’s the choice to be the light in a dark room. When we give without expecting anything back, we tap into something higher than biology.”

“‘Giving without expecting anything back’ is how you end up bankrupt and burnt out,” said Jack. “I’m all for helping people, but i have a hard boundary. I’ll help you change a tire, but i’m not giving you my car. My rule is simple… do no harm, but take no shit. If ‘altruism’ requires me to be a martyr, i’m opting out.”

Billie wasn’t going to let Mork T. get steam rolled while waiting for drinks to arrive, and though Jack usually plays the synthesis role in these occasional dialectics, she decided to reverse roles keeping the new guy (Buck) guessing. “You know, i’m a regular contributor to the local food bank because i couldn’t live with myself if i didn’t. Maybe that is a ‘biological trick,’ Jack, but if the trick helps me feed a hungry child, i’m happy to be fooled. Isn’t a world where we try to be good… even for ‘selfish’ reasons… better than a world where we stop trying altogether?”

“Like the Buddha says, there’s always a middle way.” ~ Jack Dean

Just then the bougie wild girls ordered another round of margaritas contributing to a festive air when the Forks’ food arrived. The tequila was setting a new lunchtime pace for the room, and it was kinetic. In the din, Billie turned to Buck Wellstone. “You’ve been kind of quiet, Buck. What do you think about this selfishness vs altruism lunch-banter?” Billie winked and smiled, giving Buck permission to chime in.

“Well, there was this widow i knew in Laramie. She was known in the county as someone who’d move a turtle off the road to save its shell. She lived by a simple creed… keep your heart soft, but your spine like spindly oak. She spent her days tending a productive garden and leaving jars of honey for neighbors in need, never raising her voice or looking for a fight. She treated everyone with a quiet, steady kindness, believing that peace wasn’t just a feeling, but a practice you had to protect.” Buck paused to enjoy some of his sandwich and the gang let him off the hook as they dug in as well.

When everyone was wiping the last crumbs from their lips, Buck resumed his story. “The widow’s peace was tested when a developer from Cheyenne tried to bully her into selling her patch for a bougie golf course and club. When his bribes failed, he turned to legal threats and trespassing, assuming a woman who talked to marigolds would be an easy mark. The widow didn’t flinch… she simply handed him a folder proving the land was a protected sanctuary and calmly informed him that her lawyer was already ahead of his next move. She told him plain… “I don’t believe in causing hurt, but don’t mistake my silence for weakness… a hornet’s nest is perfectly peaceful right up until you poke it.” The developer cleared out by sunset, realizing that while the widow wouldn’t start a war, she was more than prepared to end one.

“And there you have it,” cried Billie over the din of the wild bougie girls.

“You could take a cue from Buck’s Laramie widow,” Jack was looking at Professor Thompson. They (Billie and Jack) knew good ol’ Mork T. was prone to assume the best from everyone he meets. “Like the Buddha says, there’s always a middle way.”

That night, in his sleeping birth, Professor T. reread the email from home. He had known Abigail for many years, and he thought they had come to an accord regarding their relationship. He knew she had carried a torch for him in the beginning, but believed that was all water under the bridge. He was soon to find out how badly he was mistaken.

NEXT WEEK:
We learn a bit of Buck Wellstone’s back story and Professor T.’s Zoom Conference provides more questions than answers.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch8)

Chapter 8: The Forks prepare for a long swing through the western states. Professor T. ponders a vivid dream and Abigail Weiser takes advantage of his unsuspecting nature.

Mork T.’s eyes popped open around midnight. He hadn’t felt this giddy since The Forks’ early days. That is, before the charms of his grunge-metal song & dance routine began to wear thin. After an obligatory visit to the toilet, he would try to get right back to sleep as tomorrow would be a long day of travel along familiar highways. Sometimes however, the call of nature sings subtilly, not loud enough to force an immediate nocturnal trip to the commode, but just enough to invoke that foggy state of consciousness where textures, moving objects, interactions, and colors are vivid as ever, with the waking mind also present enough to recognize the dream state and, depending on the desirability of the images, works to keep the dream state going. In this straddled state, Mork T. witnessed a stunning tapestry of swirling figures, all moving in color-streaked spirals around his awareness. A hurricane of sensation where the locus of observation was like an aircraft in the eye of a category 5 storm. He saw artifacts of human progress and scientific inquiry. He saw the icons of religious tradition, spires of great cathedrals, microscopes, holy books, high-tech weapons, bottles of communion wine, communication satellites, pipe organs, advanced medical imaging machines, and gilded pulpits swirling around him in an ever expanding spiral. And just as Professor T.’s awareness worked for a finer focus at these swirling shapes, the dream state evaporated like so much morning fog. As he reached for the flush handle, he tried to focus his bearing toward slipping back into a cozy position in bed in order to get right back to sleep. Before pulling the covers and placing a pillow between his knees, he made a mental note to take up the dream impressions for later ponderings.

And now, in the department office, taking care of final details, Abigail Wiser, long-time office administrative manager, approached Professor T. with Buck Wellstone’s application paperwork. Just a couple more signatures, and the process would be complete. She approached him with a Mona Lisa smile. Had Mork T. been a bit more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed Abigail was dressed somewhat more provocatively than is her normal workday routine. She knew the rest of The Forks and Buck Wellstone were to meet in the office at noon. They would grab a lunch in the university cafeteria one last time before boarding the Chool Bus and striking west for Salt Lake City by way of Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Abigail was hovering a bit closer to Professor T. than he was comfortable with, but he thought nothing of this since he believed their relationship had settled into a strictly professional mode years ago. Little did he know, but Ms Wiser was setting him up to be caught by his traveling companions in the act of misconduct clearly prohibited by the policies of Title IX.

As Billie, Jack, and Buck entered the closed door of Professor T.’s office, what they witnessed would be very hard to interpret as purely innocent.

She tripped, fell against him, he caught her, hands around her waist and just as the Forks were entering the room, Abigaile struggled against Professor T.’s hold as if to escape an unwanted groping. As the Forks stood there, jaws agape, Professor T. tried to maintain a dignified countenance, but Abigaile played her part with great panache. “This isn’t what it looks like,” said Professor T. looking wide-eyed at his companions.

“Have a great trip,” said Abigaile with a cold sneer as she elbowed her way out of the office.

After an awkward, silent beat, “well… who’s hungry,” Jack enthusiastically inquired, eager to get past the chilly silence?

“Right… shall we,” Professor T. gestured toward the open door, leading the gang toward the cafeteria?

It was a perfect day for a road trip, and as Billie steered the Chool Bus into Silverthorn Colorado. Evening was approaching, it was time to pull over for some rest before pushing on to Salt Lake City where their next focus group interviews would be conducted on the campus of the University of Utah.

In a quiet reverie, with the hypnotizing sound of rubber to the road, Professor T. recalled images experienced in the early morning hours of this day. It seemed as if his unconscious was sending him messages related to the research The Forks were conducting. For most of his adult life, Professor T. would be dismayed at the behavior of his fellow Kanoradians. Staunchly conservative in rural areas, and moderately progressive in the population centers. Even so, there was much in the way of rancorous discontent between neighbors, even family. Some folks driven to the point of insisting the only solution to this stubborn culture clash would be a rematch of the Civil War. And with the rise of Social Media’s dominance of the Internet, these divides grew worse with each passing year. Professor T. dubbed this the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation” and he hoped this research project would help people see a way out of this corrosive state of affairs. Professor T. wished citizens would find a way to promote a willing detente between neighbors who have different ways of seeing the world. And so, the image of a swirling vortex of science and religion icons spinning around as if both attracted and repelled simultaneously held some hinting charm in his mind.

Then the memory of Abigail Weiser, someone with whom he had years of shared professional experience, inexplicably forcing a close unwelcome physical encounter within eyeshot of witnesses had him puzzled. He knew she had crushed on him many years ago, but believed she had grown to accept the fact that he was not open to that kind of relationship, especially with co-workers. The encounter caused no great consternation and so his thoughts drifted back to the research project.

The sound of Sam Jackson berating Billie for missing a turn in Silverthorn broke Professor T.’s reverie. Jack and Buck were finishing a chess match when Billie pulled the Chool Bus into the RV park where the gang would rest for the night.

“Check,” cried Jack with an almost surprised tone? Buck took a moment to confirm, but sure enough, “I think it’s mate,” he mumbled. “Well played,” Buck congratulated his new colleague for an interesting match.

Next Week:
Professor T. ponders mental residue of the previous evening’s dream and the newly expanded Forks make sightseeing plans before resuming research interviews.

GO BACK => (Preface & Chapter links)

Audiovision: 86 the Boogeymen

Or… Why Can’t we be FRIENDS?

And now, another desperate yawp from my perch atop a high rise bar-stool in the Texas A&M “Tejas Lounge”. Not really a bar… more like a living room in a co-ed dorm… people saunter to and fro. Holiday lights are hung by student workers piloting mobile telescoping scaffolds that make that garbage truck reverse warning BEEP BEEP BEEP whenever moved. Now, that sound is somewhat annoying, but nothing bothers me… i’ve raised boys… and if you know… you know. After that, NOTHING in the way of annoying sounds can break my concentration.

Anyway… i’ve been meaning to compose a piece aimed at one of the many things that keeps my beloved loopers at each other’s metaphorical throats. And yeah, some of them are prone to discuss the possibility of moving from bellicose words in the social chat threads to destructive action in the real world. My hunch is much of that talk is just that, empty posturing… just words. But i also believe there are loopers out there that would spring into action if they thought the “boogaloo” was actually on. This is a bothersome thought, but i was raised in an era where, at any moment, we could be coping with the chaos of city-obliterating nuclear exchanges. After surviving the Cold War, a few deluded psychopaths with guns and terminal bloodlust isn’t really that scary. In fact, these poor creatures desperate for validation are kind of pathetic, and i can’t help feeling sorry for them. Now, this is not a political statement. I know loopers on both sides of the artificial divide who take pride in their gun handling skills and unabashed hostility regarding political “enemies”.

So… today, i’d like to take a stab at defanging the ideological “boogeymen” cited in weak justifications for contemplating the murder of neighbors, acquaintances, or participants in distant social unrest (looking at you, Mr. Rittenhouse). Now, to be clear, distrust, and ill-will is clearly coming from the very top of our political hierarchy. From the right, the smoldering embers of racist fear and loathing leveraged to the maximus surpacity, with some success as politicians take steps to rid the nation of anyone not in possession of certified proof of citizenship. On the left, we have protesters warning of some sort of impending fascist coup, aimed at eliminating the democratic ship of state, among other issues. For one, the documented fact that law enforcement officials are far more likely to perceive bodily threat to the point of deploying lethal force when the threat is a person of color. This all came to a head with the death of George Floyd, and it led to a “summer of racial reckoning” leaving quite a bit of property damage in its wake.

Then came the #metoo and #blacklivesmatter movements infuriating those wishing to preserve what’s left of a patriarchal power structure favoring white dudes over people of color, but especially women, let alone women of color. So, imagine the seething fury of one of these “rugged individualist” alpha male types trying to cope with the likes of a Michelle Obama, Kamala Harris, Jasmine Crocket. Right? So many social media keyboards are coated with spittle flecks coming from the rabid foaming mouth of an alt-right edge lord, putting those uppity folk who have clearly forgotten their place in their rightful cages.

All must be “made great again”.

And so… both sides get on their favorite hobby horses with their metaphorical spears and magic helmets to slay the forces of their chosen ideological boogeymen. For those on the left, the boogeyman is turning the U.S.A. toward an ethnonationalist “fascism” similar to the one that infected Western Europe in the wake of the great depression. For the right the boogeyman is the Marxist camel trying to get its nose into their sacred Constitutional Republic’s tent. Because, you know socialism ALWAYS leads to injustice and mass atrocities… everybody knows, right? Besides, the camel stinks and makes funny noises.

So, shall we now pour some cold water on this dichotomy? Let’s open a few historical cautionary tales starting to look familiar as current events unfold. Starting from the left… the most egregious examples of regimes widely described as authoritarian socialist ruling as single-party states include the Soviet Union (especially under Stalin), the People’s Republic of China (especially under Mao), North Korea, and the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia.

In Stalinist U.S.S.R., there was a rapid, forced buildup of industrial capacity and collectivized agriculture. These efforts to strengthen the nation, unfortunately, contributed to mass starvation, most notably some areas of Ukraine. It also featured extensive political repression, including the Great Purge, a campaign of surveillance, mass arrests, and executions of perceived enemies of the state, with many sent to Gulag concentration camps.

In China, Under the leadership of Mao Zedong, extreme social and economic upheaval featuring a similar push for societal change, including the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution led to widespread famine, social chaos, persecution of the educated classes, and millions of deaths. The Chinese Communist Party has maintained a single-party, authoritarian system since taking power, which is considered highly repressive of dissent and civil liberties (see Tiananmen Square massacre).

Today, countries like China, Cuba, North Korea, Laos, and Vietnam are considered by many observers to be authoritarian states with ruling communist parties that exercise significant control over the economy and suppress political opposition. Loopers conflating U.S. socialist public policy (Social Security, Medicare, ACA, etc. ) with the abovementioned authoritarian communist examples, unfairly brand Democratic politicians with a scarlet “S”. But this is understandable considering the “conservative” mindset of eternal vigilance against the constant threat of “barbarians” outside their doors… they truly fear their Boogeymen.

Now, from the right, the most egregious examples of authoritarian fascism in history are considered to be Nazi Germany under Adolf Hitler, Fascist Italy under Benito Mussolini, and the Empire of Japan during the 1930s and 40s.

Nazi Germany is widely regarded as the most extreme and devastating example due to its systematic use of genocide and state terror. And though there’s really no need to belabor decades of History Channel cautionary tales, it’s important to note Nazism was based on a pseudo-scientific theory of racial hierarchy, promoting the idea of an “Aryan master race” and identifying Jews and other minorities as scapegoats for Germany’s problems. Their Atrocities include the well documented systematic, state-sponsored genocide of millions, including Romas, people with disabilities, political opponents, and roughly six million Jews in concentration and extermination camps.

And then there’s Il Duce. Mussolini’s fascism emphasized extreme nationalism, the glorification of war, and a corporatist economic model designed to suppress labor movements and consolidate state power. The regime utilized black-shirted paramilitary forces to dismantle free speech, intimidate and murder political opponents. It later passed antisemitic racial laws and cooperated with Nazi Germany during the Holocaust.

And rounding out the WWII Axis Alliance was Imperial Japan who’s military committed widespread atrocities, including mass murder and human rights violations considered on the same level as the European genocides. The ideology centered on emperor-worship, extreme nationalism, and the concept of a “Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere” to justify military conquest and imperial rule across Asia.

And let’s not overlook the Balkans and Spain. The Independent State of Croatia under Ante Pavelić‘s Ustaše regime committed some of history’s worst atrocities and advocated for a “Greater Croatia” at the expense of Serbs. And Francisco Franco‘s long-lasting Spanish military dictatorship, while not a pure fascist regime, absorbed many elements of the Falange fascist movement and implemented mass arrests and human rights violations.

Sam Clemons put it best. History may not repeat by rote, but very often rhymes with current events (see above… astonishing deja vous bars). And we’ve already mentioned how, with just about every attempt to build and maintain government run enterprise under the heading of “serving the people” in matters too big for private enterprise to manage without coordinated planning, the political left is branded with the Scarlet “S”. But now, with the right, loopers who have determined government run enterprise inferior to the invisible hand of market forces, have been hoping for a chance to “drown the U.S. federal government in the tub” after shrinking it down to a drownable size. These loopers are now in power, and the tactics they have employed look a lot like authoritarian fascism.

But, here’s the deal. Democratic leadership has yet to employ the authoritarian communist policies conservatives fear (Jade Helm, gun confiscation, etc.), and, so far, the right has not begun rounding up undesirables for mass extermination (that we know of). And they haven’t yet succeeded in overturning U.S. democracy in favor of an all powerful executive with a lifetime appointment (yet). They do make these kind of noises in the form of online trolling (Bannon’s “flood the zone” strategy), but getting their political opponents riled up is most of the point. Worst-case scenarios are most likely not part of the plan (call me overoptimistic, i’ve heard worse).

Bottom line, neither of these political boogeymen are anything more than red herrings, mirages meant to keep their respective bases outraged enough to make sure to vote when the time comes. So, if we can take a couple steps back from the outrage machines, acknowledge both sides have good and bad ideas. And since neither side will be free to put members of the other in ovens, it behooves us to get back to reasoned debate. Stop demonizing the “other” and look for ways for all of us to work together, identify common concerns, and draft policies that can accomplish agreed upon goals.

And with all of that said… seriously, the left is not going to “Cultural Revolution” the right out of existence, and the right is not going to march undesirables into ovens. OK? Ok! So, let’s now address the elephant in the room… let’s talk about religion. As much as i’d love to avoid the topic altogether, it’s unavoidable. We have at least two, maybe three supreme court jurists identifying with a sect of Christianity that is actively working toward a power structure placing apocalyptic Christians in total governmental primacy. They are literally working on ways to delete secular, pluralistic governance in favor of an ethno-nationalist monarchy. Do i believe they will succeed?? Hell… to the no! But the fact that this is in the works, and they’ve managed to capture the White House, the Speaker of the House and at least two SCOTUS justices is beyond anything i would have imagined in all of my adult life.

And the founders were unambiguous about the prohibition of religion capturing the levers of power. There will be no “official religion”. The sooner we can get the wall of Church/State separation rebuilt, the better. This has to be job #1! After that, time to drop the wedge issues and rancorous, bad faith rhetoric. Seriously, i don’t know ANYONE who wants to eliminate local police departments. Maybe divert some of the “socialist” resources to “community policing” and counseling, but only a delusional crazy person would take us back to the libertarian “wild west” days of vigilante justice. Full stop… there will be no defunding of the police. At the same time, no one i know wants their neighbors to stop going to their chosen church, or stop celebrating Christmas. It’s all just rage bait…. grow up people! Please let’s cut the stupid shit all the way out.

If you were to put a gun to my head for an answer to our current state of divisiveness, i would say forcing mainstream news organizations and health care practitioners into capitalist imperatives comes closer to the core of our cultural and economic strife than the spittle-flecked pseudo-debates over extreme abstractions such as “communism” or “fascism”. I know… it’s an opinion, and my opinion is about as good as anyone else’s. I’m just another slob … like Werner Herzog, or David Letterman, or Jesus… you know, one of us. But i do have skin in this game. I want to see a tenable future for my kids… that some day they too can thrive in a world they would be glad to welcome new souls into.

Right now, it’s not…!
So let’s do this thing, what do you say?
Let’s 86 these boogeymen together… OK? Ok!

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie

This Land – Mississippi

They say Mississippi is a great place to commune with ghosts, that Mississippians love a good story. And so, in honor of the great state of Mississippi, here’s a real doozy of a ghost story. Mostly inspired by a dream from our first restless night in here. For some reason, Ronnie awoke around 4:00am, probably from a limb scraping against the side of the van nudged by a gentle breeze (or something like that). Anyway, fragments of the dream are drastically embellished below… Enjoy!

The setting is a ghostly confab at a fabled haunted house, the McRaven House, in Vicksburg, Mississippi.

Attendees:
Sam Clemens
William Faulkner
Edger Poe
Margaret Mitchell
Ambrose Bierce
Kate Stone

The McRaven House, a skeletal silhouette against the bruised, twilight sky, pulsed with an unearthly chill. Inside, or rather, through the decaying grandeur of the parlor, a spectral congress convened. Skulking around the fringes of this gathering is the ghost of little Maggie, playing trickster pranks on the adults, generally bringing a sense of dark levity to the air.

We open with a tight shot on Mr. Clemons, a wisp of white mustache and sardonic grin, his cigarillo fuming. He’s leaning against the hearth, its phantom flames licking at the soot-stained bricks. “Well, gentlemen, gentleladies, and… whatever that is,” he gestured vaguely at a giggling, translucent figure flitting near the chandelier, “let’s get down to cases. How are our successors faring? Are any of them capable of spinning a yarn worth a damn?”

Mr. Faulkner, a cloud of tobacco-scented gloom, swirled into view. “Faring? They wallow, Sam. They wallow in the shallow pools of… of instant gratification. They cannot understand the… the weight of history, the… the tangled roots of the South. They write… tweets, truths, threads, blue butterflies. Shit postings! Hardly enough for Walt to call a ‘barbaric yawp,’ and this is supposed to encapsulate the human condition? Absurd.”

Edgar Poe, his eyes dark, hollow pits, floated near a dusty window. “They seek brevity, a fleeting spark of… of sensation. They have lost the exquisite agony of prolonged despair. They write of… of vampires with sparkling skin. My own horrors, once so profound, are now… romantic comedies.” He shuddered, a sound like a rustling death shroud.

Ms. Mitchell, her spectral Scarlett O’Hara flouncing slightly, adjusted a phantom shawl. “Darling, it’s simply dreadful. They’ve taken my beloved South, my tragic heroes, and… and they’ve made them into… into soap operas! They’ve diluted the very essence of suffering into… into sickly sweet drivel.”

Ambrose Bierce, his face a mask of cynical amusement, materialized near a broken mirror. “Irony, my dear Ms. Mitchell, is the universe’s most exquisite mistress. And it seems they have long since hung her in a cheap motel room. With the veritable parade of ironies cavalierly overlooked by average folks these days, one must imagine the poor girl spinning in her grave like a top. These mere mortals believe they have conquered death, disease, and ignorance. Hell, some of them actually believe their clever technologists have them on the verge of immortality! Absurd doesn’t even come close to describing their delusion.”

Ms. Stone, her translucent form radiating a quiet, melancholic strength, drifted near the window. “They have forgotten the true cost of war, the devastation it leaves in its wake. They romanticize conflict, turn it into… entertainment. They have no concept of the hunger, the loss, the sheer… futility. And now, they’re bringing those silly biblical prophecies into the picture… again. They can’t wait to launch a third global conflagration.”

A sudden, chilling giggle echoed through the room. Little Maggie, the spectral trickster, had replaced Faulkner’s pipe tobacco with a wisp of Spanish moss. He sputtered, the moss dissolving into thin air. “They also believe,” Maggie piped up, her voice a ghostly whisper, “that they can photograph ghosts with their… their ‘smartphones’. They take pictures of… of dust and claim it’s us.” She cackled, a sound like wind chimes in a graveyard.

Clemmons chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Indeed, child. They attempt to capture the intangible, the unseen, with their… their digital trinkets. They have become slaves to the very technology they believe liberates them. They spend their days staring at glowing rectangles, believing they are experiencing… life.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “They believe the darkness can be banished with… with light. They illuminate every corner, every crevice, yet they remain blind to the true shadows that lurk within their own souls.”

Mitchell sighed dramatically. “And the fashion! Oh, the atrocities they call fashion! They wear… leggings as trousers leaving nearly nothing to the imagination! It’s simply… barbaric.”

Bierce, ever the cynic, added, “They have created a world of… of curated perfection. Every image, every interaction, filtered and polished to remove any trace of… of authenticity. They live in a world of lies, and they call it… social media.”

Maggie, now floating upside down near the ceiling, began to hum a discordant tune. “They think they can solve the world’s problems with… with the pound sign, they call it a ‘hashtag.’ They use it to pass around short photoplays like chain letters spreading like the plague, and say these picture shows can change the course of history.”

Faulkner, still slightly flustered by the moss incident, muttered, “They cannot grasp the… the cyclical nature of time. They repeat the same mistakes, generation after generation, oblivious to the… the echoes of the past.”

Clemons, leaning against a bookshelf, concluded, “In short, they are a collection of self-absorbed, technologically addicted, historically ignorant… fools. And they think we are the phantoms.”

A chorus of ghostly laughter filled the McRaven House, echoing through the empty rooms, a testament to the enduring irony of the mortal plane. Little Maggie, her eyes gleaming with mischievous delight, began to pull the spectral drapes from the windows, plunging the room into an even deeper, more unsettling darkness.

Onward through the fog… RH

In the town of Vicksburg…
In the house McRaven…
You may encounter…
Some ghostly maven…
And like the flow of…
The Mighty Mississip…
Everything that changes…
Stays the same.

Below the Earth – Above the Sun: Stranger in a Strange Land

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!

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.

Cheers… Rohlfie

An Open Letter to the Future

Greetings, future Earthlings! As i write, the last echoes of graduation ceremonies, funeral potatoes, and bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace” are fading. And so, looking forward, i turn my attention to a melancholic note. One that spurs a most peculiar thought: an apology is due. Yes, a grand, sweeping apology from us, the bumbling knuckle-draggers of the past, to you, the magnificent inheritors of our glorious mess.

Now, hold your horses, don’t get all misty-eyed just yet. As your Nana, bless her soul, would say, “Things could be worse! You could be fleeing a warzone with the Red Army on your tail!” Perspective, loopers! But even nestled here in the (relatively) stable heartland, the news wafting in from Europe and the Middle East leaves a bitter taste in the mouth – like burnt toast dipped in existential dread. It’s almost as if humanity forgot the whole “war is a racket” memo.

And wouldn’t you know it, the blame falls squarely on our generation, the Boomers. We just can’t seem to learn, can we? First, the Y2K fiasco – imagine the horror, computers bursting into flames! Then, the Neocon warhawks with their delusions of global domination. Then, the financial meltdown of ’07-’09 – a real doozy, that one. And as if that wasn’t enough, we had to throw in the culture wars, turning political disagreements into a grotesque vaudeville show with enough vitriol to power a small sun.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on Trump, the Rona, and the current crop of armchair generals itching for a Civil War 2.0 – a Facebook-fueled spectacle for the ages! You, my dear loopers, didn’t ask for any of this. Yet, the fallout from our relentless greed and short-sightedness lands squarely on your laps. First, you’ll have to survive the mess, then sift through the wreckage, salvaging what’s left to build something better.

Look, i know i’m adding to the cacophony with this rant. But my anger isn’t fueled by the 24/7 news cycle’s relentless negativity. No, it’s a white-hot rage at the sheer waste! We have the resources, the know-how, to create a world where everyone thrives. But that would require dismantling a system designed to reward the greediest, most acquisitive loopers in the room. Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.

So, are we, the supposed “Citizens of the Milky Way,” doomed? Or can we make the changes needed? Only time, and you, the future inheritors of our legacy, will tell.

In the meantime, accept my apologies, my heartfelt (and slightly tearful) apologies, for the world you’ve been handed. May you rise to the challenge and create a future worthy of your dreams, even if it means starting from scratch on a smoking pile of our mistakes.

Sincerely (and with a touch of trepidation),

A contrite boomer… R.H.

The Campus Crusades: Hippies and Hashtags

So, the nightly news is all a-twitter about these “campus crusades,” wouldn’t you know it? Students these days, with their avocado toast and fidget spinners, are apparently throwing tantrums worthy of a cicada party. But fear not, America! We’ve got a crack security team on standby – guys in kevlar looking like they wandered off the set of a bad sci-fi flick. Apparently, pepper spray and zip ties are the new hotness in higher education.

Now, hold on a cotton-pickin’ minute. Back in the good ol’ days, when your grandpappy was dodging tear gas at a draft protest, things were different. It wasn’t a five-second news clip with dramatic music; it was a full-blown morality play beamed into every living room. Walter Cronkite, bless his soul, wasn’t whipping out metaphors about the wrath of God every time a student raised a fist.

But hey, that was then. Nowadays, the media landscape is more fragmented than a dropped kaleidoscope. Every Tom, Dick, and Harriot with a smartphone can be their own goddamn news anchor, spewing out half-truths and conspiracy theories faster than you can say “filter bubble.” Dissent ain’t a unified chorus anymore, it’s a cacophony of angry tweets and pixelated FB livestreams.

Back in the groovy 60s, students had their own media machine – underground newspapers, folk anthems that could launch Viking longboats, and even the occasional documentary that didn’t make the government look like a pack of bumbling buffoons. Nowadays, student activism plays out on TikTok, where teenagers with ironic mustaches film themselves chanting slogans in between dance challenges. Progress, they call it.

But let’s not forget the elephant in the room, shall we? The very foundation of our democracy is about as sturdy as a house of cards built on a sandbar. Politicians sling feces like it’s going out of style, and the concept of compromise has gone the way of the eight-track player. No wonder these kids are restless; they’re inheriting a world where “truth” is a relative term and civility is a forgotten relic.

And then there’s the whole “culture war” nonsense. It’s enough to make a body nostalgic for the good old days when everyone was united against a common enemy – like, say, actual fascism. Now, it’s all about who gets to use which bathroom and who gets offended by what pronoun. The lines are so blurry, Uncle Walter himself would need a double dose of Pepto-Bismol to sort it all out.

So, a word to the wise, folks: sending in the troops to silence dissent is a slippery slope steeper than a greased watermelon. Peaceful protest is the cornerstone of a healthy democracy. Take it away, and you’re left with nothing but a pressure cooker waiting to explode. Let’s not trade the right to disagree for the quiet hum of an authoritarian state. Because trust me, that’s a future that wouldn’t be very “groovy” at all.

Onward through the fog… R.H.