This Land: Ohio

ED Comment: Dear Loopers, let's talk about this AI revolution. Everyone's up in arms about robots stealing our jobs, but truth told, it's not ALL bad. We at loopcircus, we're using this AI stuff like a painter uses a brush, you know? It's a tool, not a replacement. Sure, we messed up Ohio and Iowa, but hey, that's just human error. We're not some soulless machines cranking out stories like a factory. We're still here, flesh and blood, trying to make sense of this crazy world. And if that means confusing cornfields with buckeyes? Well, that's just the price you pay for being a human in the digital age. 

Cheers... Loopcircus

Anyway, Ohio, sprawls across the American midsection like a contented hippopotamus. It’s a place where the sky is often as vast and indifferent as the soul of a Midwestern farmer, and where the earth is a rich, loamy tapestry, perfect for growing corn and disillusionment.

Hot springs? You’re kidding, right? This is Ohio, not Iceland. We’ve got hot flashes in July and frozen toes in January, but hot springs? No… not here.

Colleges? Ohio is littered with them, like fallen leaves in autumn. There’s Oberlin, a place where young people learn to play their chosen instruments and protest injustice with equal fervor. Then there’s Ohio State, a behemoth of higher education, where they churn out lawyers, doctors, and accountants like sausage. And don’t forget Kent State, a place where history was made, or rather, unmade.

Cultural landmarks? Well, after being upstaged by Rock n Roll’s Hall of Fame, there’s The Works at Newark, a place where they used to turn sand into dollar bills and now they turn sand into glass. It’s like alchemy, but with less magic and more pottery. And then there’s Victorian Village, a quaint little dollhouse of a neighborhood where time seems to have paused, like a stuck record on a dusty gramophone. All of this and much much more. After all, Cleveland does indeed, rock.

Ohioans are a singular breed. They’re as tough as a worn-out plow and as friendly as a puppy. They’ll share their last beer with you, but don’t expect them to beat around the bush. They call ‘em like they see ‘em, these folks. The weather? A fickle mistress. The economy? A roller coaster without the safety bars. And the brain drain? Well, let’s just say some of Ohio’s brightest bulbs prefer the cosmopolitan coasts.

Cuyahoga Valley National Park is Ohio’s piece of nature’s playground, a patch of green in a sea of cornfields. It’s very pretty, for sure… trees and rocks and the sound of silence.

Famous Ohioans? Presidents, inventors, and comedians. A real mixed bag. Edison, the man who brought us light, also brought us the electric chair… a true Ohioan.

The state runs on a three-legged stool: manufacturing, agriculture, and healthcare. It’s a sturdy foundation, but sometimes it feels like the whole thing is about to tip over.

As for everyday life? Ohio is a place where you can buy a house for the price of a parking spot in New York City. The jobs are there, if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. And while it may not be Paris, there’s a certain charm to watching the seasons change, and knowing that your neighbors will shovel your walk when you’re snowed in with a case of the RONA.

The drive from Medina to Kent, was a pleasure, but this was a pilgrimage of sorts. Ronnie felt obligated to stand on the ground where four students died in the cause of ending the Vietnam war. This event holds special significance for Ronnie as he was just waking up to the world, and it was not an encouraging sight. He was 10 years old in 1970, and the adult world appeared to be a super-hostile place. In the end, Mr. Nixon paid a political price and the US withdrew military forces from the Republic of Viet Nam before Ronnie’s actual entrance into the adult world. But he witnessed all of this on his family’s TV screen each night at the dinner hour, and the scars are still visible.

So… the pilgrimage is complete, and Ronnie leaves this soul-work nugget behind. Ohio… not the Ohio of hillbilly heartbreaks and Rust Belt blues, but the Ohio first flights and moonshots, the Ohio of young lives cut short. A place where humans learned to fly, where Rock and Roll history highlights the power of youthful energy and Kent State reminds us of the limits of that energy when colliding with the blunt force of authority. Ohio… the best and worst of humanity. But always… pure Americana.

From Rockin’ Cleveland…
To Cincinnati…
Your home Ohio…
Aviation alley…
You got Neal Armstrong…
You got Cuyahoga Falls…
Something on tap for everyone.

This Land: Phase III (back on the road)

Well, well, well. Look who’s still alive. August, the month of the dog days, has vanished into the ether, leaving behind a trail of dust, diesel fumes, and a smattering of state license plates. Phases I and II of the Hot Springs or Busk (HSoB) tour have been a whirlwind of wonder and wandering, taking us through seventeen states—a whirlwind tour of the American West and Midwest.

Now, granted, this was Ronnie’s stomping ground, so there wasn’t much in the way of culture shock. Yellowstone was a bit of a slog, a veritable gauntlet of switchbacks and disappearing hubcaps, but otherwise, it was smooth sailing.

That said, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Ohio, and Michigan proved to be a delightful surprise. Driving through those lake-dotted forests, those double-canopies of green, was like stepping into a horror movie. We’re talking ‘Friday the 13th’ vibes, with Jason lurking behind every tree, ready to strike. It was terrifyingly beautiful, a paradox that made Ronnie’s skin crawl.

So, we’ve been on the road, living the nomadic life, boondocking in parking lots, and tending necessary tasks in public libraries, laundromats, and grocery stores. We’ve returned to Hays for a brief respite, to tend to mundane matters like tag renewals, vaccinations, and voter registrations. After a couple of weeks, we’re back on the road, heading to Colorado Springs to equip Rocinante with a rooftop solar panel.

From there, it’s on to Phase III of the HSoB tour: the Pacific Northwest. We’ll be cruising down the coastal highway to LA, where Ronnie has friends and family. After that, it’s back to Hays for a month of voting and helping friends move before the snow flies. Then, it’s a family gathering in Kansas, followed by a caravan to Savannah for the winter. We’ll be exploring the deep south coastal states during Phase IV of our whirlwind tour.

Stay tuned…
Much more to come…
Onward through the fog… R.H.

This Land: Indiana

Ok… for Ronnie, Indiana is a couple things on the surface, 1.) it’s home base to one of his favorite authors, Papa Kurt Vonnegut, and 2.) the Indy 500 auto race. Now, these things might date Mr. Ronnie. After all, he can’t remember the last time the Indy 500 was headline news. This may have more to do with the fact that he cut the cord all the way back to y2k, so chances of him stumbling into a cable channel covering the race have been slim to none now going on 25 years. And though Mr. Vonnegut has been gone since 2007, his work is still quite popular with readers around the world… so there’s that.

Now, with all of that said, you would think Ronnie would make a point to visit Mr. Vonnegut’s hometown, Indianapolis, while in the Hoosier state. Alas, he’s still tethered to the technical details of outfitting Rocinante. Case in point, rooftop solar installs are now available at Wayfarer central, and Rocinate has a September 9 appointment… all the way back to Colorado Springs. So, the tentative itinerary is finish the Indiana post in Fort Wayne, head to Cleveland for the Ohio post, then Chicago for Illinois, then back to Hays to catch up on snail mail and Rocinante’s tag renewal, then back to the Springs for the solar install. Form there, it’ll be Hot Springs or Busk, Phase III. By then, we’ll be 17 states into the mission with all of the South and Sun Belt states saved for late fall and winter and nearly eight months to get the balance done.

So… back to Indiana, a state of contradictions. Its people are both fiercely independent and deeply rooted in tradition. They are known for their hospitality, but their conversations tend to revolve around the weather, sports, and the price of corn. There is a certain charm to this simplicity, a refreshing honesty in the lack of pretense. Yet, some would say also a stifling provincialism, a fear of the unknown that limits horizons.

The state boasts a few cultural gems, of course. The Booth Tarkington Civic Theatre, a grand old dame of a building, stands as a testament to a bygone era. And the Eugene V. Debs Foundation keeps alive the memory of a radical socialist labor leader. And let’s not forget Papa Kurt Vonnegut… cos Ronnie won’t.

Indiana… a place where time seems to stand still. The past is revered, the future feared. There is a resistance to change, a stubborn clinging to the familiar. It is a state that is both comforting and claustrophobic, a place where one can find solace and despair in equal measure.

Indiana… a state where the weather is as bipolar as a teenage girl, where the summers are a sweaty, humid hell and the winters are an icy embrace of despair. And Highland… our first stop here, is a place where the asphalt stretches on forever, a barren wasteland punctuated by the occasional strip mall hellscape. Ronnie, in a state of frustration, described it as a “abject cluster-boink ” of suburban sprawl, muttering darkly about the need for a good old-fashioned public flogging for the traffic planners. He envisioned a spectacle, a puritan circus of shame, where the engineers of this urban blight would be flogged with pool noodles, their misdeeds projected onto a giant screen for all to see.

Perhaps Ronnie needs to cut back on the coffee… 😉

Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to brave the Indy streets among all the Mario Andretti wannabes on our bumper, looking for the nearest Chipotle for a lunchtime burrito.

From Michigan City…
To Ohio Wabash…
Indiana… rolls like a slapdash…
But bring your high hand…
When you drive in Highland…
Everybody here’s an Indy flash.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter LAST (the bramble patch)

Behold, the monstrous menagerie i’ve conjured! A labyrinthine Loopcircus, with its three infernal subdivisions—Loop, Circus, and Packmule Productions—each teeming with rooms more convoluted than a Kafkaesque nightmare. Circus, you see, is the current carnival of chaos. There, the seemingly endless series, “Hot Springs or Busk,” a first-person fever dream of a year-long, forty-eight-state tour, a kaleidoscopic voyage seeking the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation”. Then there’s “This Land,” a series of fleeting impressions, like a tourist snapping photos without digging much deeper. And let’s not forget “Below the Earth—Above the Sun,” pseudo-philosophical commentary mostly focused on spiritual evolution, but sometimes veering into US politics as if i were a celestial cartographer charting the nation’s zeitgeist one post at a time.

I fear it has grown into a tangled bramble with no real prospect of gaining navigable coherence. On the whole, it has become… how did i put it in Indiana? Oh, ya… it has become an “Abject cluster-boink” of planning failure, where the traffic engineers are frog-marched to the city square and flogged with pool noodles while a giant jumbotron broadcasts implications of their misdeeds for all to see. Yes… i would take my punishment like a guilty man.

Yet, don’t we all agree the first step toward redemption is admitting there’s a problem? And I’ve certainly done that. Now, the question remains: what to do about this tangled mess? I’m either adrift, like a sailor on a stormy sea, my ship battered by the waves of misunderstanding, or i’m a modern-day Don Quixote, tilting at windmills of ignorance and injustice, armed only with a laptop and a compulsion. I cast my bloggy pearls into the void, hoping against hope that someone, somewhere, might stumble upon these digital messages in a bottle.

As an offering to the communion gods, i’ve even cloned my voice and began producing AI-generated spoken versions of the work, catering to the audio fans among us. Will i go a step further and offer video? Nope, pass. That’s a bridge too far. Perhaps i should seek an audience match-maker, something, anything. Self-publishing, perhaps? There’s a wealth of advice out there, from Substack to Amazon. But where do i fit in? I’m not driven by reputation or monetary gain. I tend to lean organic, unfiltered. But that also means i’m a lion without hunger, a correspondent without a deadline.

For now, the plan is to sift through the wreckage, salvaging what i can once the tour is completed. I’ll cobble together a volume of highlights, a testament to the gist of my experiences. And then, set sail again, into the uncharted waters of the next adventure i guess. Rinse, repeat till such time as i am unable. Anyway… back to it… one more trip to Colorado Springs. This time, we’re installing rooftop solar, a final urban nomading detail for Rocinante.

Onward through the fog… R H

Hot Springs or Busk: Chapter I (the purge)

by RonnieHays February 4, 2024

This Land: Wisconsin

They say Wisconsin is the Badger State, a moniker that conjures images of furry, fearless creatures defying the elements. And defy them it does. Winter here is a hulking, frost-bearded behemoth, a glacial titan that would make a Siberian husky quiver. We’re holed up in Fond du Lac, a quaint burg nestled on the shores of Lake Winnebago, a body of water so vast it seems to stretch to the horizon and beyond. In summer, it’s a playground of sailboats and sunbathers. But let the mercury plummet, and it transforms into a frozen expanse, a colossal ice rink begging for the tread of snowmobiles. Now that’s cold.

Ronnie, a man of sunnier climes, got a crash course in Wisconsin’s winter wonderland courtesy of a former flame, an art consultant with roots in this icy realm. She’d fled the frigid embrace of her homeland for the sun-drenched allure of Denver, trading snowdrifts for mountain peaks. A siren song of warmer weather, you see.

Wisconsin, they say, is a place of heartland charm and natural splendor. A tapestry woven with emerald forests, sapphire lakes, and the earthy scent of pine. But let’s be honest, there are no hot springs to soothe weary bones. For much of the year, it’s a land of frozen lakes and snow-covered barns, not bubbling cauldrons of relaxation.

Educationally speaking, the state offers a smorgasbord of learning institutions, from cozy liberal arts colleges to sprawling public universities. But don’t expect to stumble upon a literary Mecca. While the state has birthed a few notable wordsmiths, including the Cthulhu-conjuring August Derleth, it’s more of a land of hearty appetites and even heartier folks.

Wisconsinites are a breed apart. They’re like sturdy oaks, rooted deep in the soil, weathered by relentless storms. Their handshake is firm, their smile genuine, and their tolerance for freezing temperatures is nothing short of superhuman. Witness the spectacle of children frolicking in a water park on a day when even the hardiest soul would be sporting their autumn fleece. It’s a testament to their icy resilience.

Life moves at a gentler pace here. A place where neighbors wave and conversations linger. It’s a land of porch swings and pie-baking contests. And while the political climate might be as frigid as a January morning, the folks themselves are more likely to offer a warm cup of cocoa than a cold shoulder.

Door County, a slender peninsula that juts into Lake Michigan, is the state’s crown jewel. A summer paradise of cherry orchards, quaint lighthouses, and rocky shores. But when winter descends, it transforms into a serene, snow-kissed wonderland.

So, if you crave endless winters, a slower pace of life, and the opportunity to master the art of ice fishing, Wisconsin might be your Shangri-La. Just remember to pack your thermal undies.

As i was walking…
In autumn fleece, plain…
I saw the kids…
Play in the rain…
They didn’t seem to…
Feel the chill…
Badger kids are tough…
As polished steel.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

This Land: Minnesota

ED NOTE (oh boy... egg on our face):

You see, R.H. has always gotten Iowa and Ohio mixed up, so when we actually rolled into Ohio and learned it was the REAL "Buckeye" state, Ronnie felt some nostalgic pains for the days when publishers could afford to employ fact-checkers AND copy editors.

Anyway, the egregious error has been corrected, and apologies all around to the Cardinal AND the Buckeye states. We'll try to do better going forward, but will probably continue to do our best proofreading after hitting "publish".... Oy vey.

ONE MORE THING:
We think it's important to note, among the hubbub over AI wrecking creative and journalistic landscapes, the abovementioned error (confusing Ohio's with Iowa's state icons) was an all-too-human error.

Yes... we leverage AI tools to generate loopcircus content, but we aren't in it for monetary gain, and we don't ask Siri's drunk sister to invent stories out of whole silicon/digital cloth.

We do this because R.H. says he HAS to. Call it a pursuit of self discovery, call it vanity posting, call it what you will. R.H. calls soul-work, and the speed in which these little soul-work nuggets are produced is greatly increased using available AI tools.

Furthermore, we don't take a position on the relative goodness or badness of the introduction of these tools, but with that said, we recognize the direction of the wind, and if you can't catch it (the wind), you might as well hoist and trim the sails.

Onward through the fog... loopcircus

Duluth, Minnesota. A granite jaw jutting into the maw of Lake Superior. They say it’s a stone’s throw from Dylan’s stomping grounds. We’re in no rush. Time is a river here, meandering leisurely through a landscape of pine and granite. The locals, bless their frostbitten hearts, seem to operate on a different clock altogether, a sundial perhaps, or maybe an ancient Norse timepiece that only reads ‘winter’ and ‘summer’.

Our encounter across this land of sky and water began with the stories from Ronnie’s first college mentor. A woman of the theater. She’d painted the Twin Cities as a glittering metropolis of culture, a place where the soul could stretch its legs and breathe. The Guthrie, she’d called it, a temple to the spoken word. A siren song, it was, luring us to the heart of Minnesota. But the fates, or perhaps our wounded mount, Rocinante, had other plans. So, we veer west, towards the iron-rich womb of the state, Hibbing. A pilgrimage, you see, to the birthplace of a bard.

Minnesota, a land of paradox. Its people, a curious blend of Nordic stoicism and Midwestern warmth. They speak of a quality called “Minnesota Nice,” a veneer of sugarcoating that hides a core of sturdy, salt-of-the-earth practicality. It’s a concept as elusive as the Northern Lights, shimmering on the horizon but always just out of reach.

The state itself is a canvas painted with extremes. Winters, a brutal siege of ice and snow, when the land lies dormant beneath a thick, white blanket. Summers, a riot of green, when the air is thick with the sweet scent of pine and the relentless hum of mosquitoes. These are the beasts that rule the North, tiny tyrants demanding tribute in blood. It’s a wonder anyone stays. Perhaps it’s the lure of the lakes, those crystalline jewels scattered across the landscape like a giant’s spilled treasure. Or maybe it’s the promise of a quiet life, far from the maddening crowds.

Yet, amidst the frozen tundra and the mosquito-infested marsh land, a surprising bloom of culture thrives. Colleges dot the land, nurturing young minds in the heart of the country. And from this unlikely soil, literary giants have risen. Sinclair Lewis, a bitter pill of Midwestern realism. Garrison Keillor, a gentle humorist who found poetry in the mundane. And then there’s the music of Prince and the troubadour, Dylan, a cosmic wanderer who carried a piece of Minnesota with him to the farthest reaches of the world.

So, we press on, into the heart of the land, armed with bug spray and a healthy dose of curiosity. Hibbing awaits, a chapter yet to be written in the Hot Springs or Busk adventure.

Way up north…
You’ll find the great lakes…
If you’re not careful…
You’ll make a big mistake…
So don’t you hurry…
Don’t give to worry…
Minnesota neighbors feel your pain.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

This Land: Iowa

Iowa, the very heartland of America, is a place where the sky is as vast as an open range and the people are as sturdy as the cornstalks that dominate the landscape. A land of endless horizons and a peculiar brand of charm that’s as comforting as a warm bowl of chicken soup, yet as perplexing as a tornado watch.

Sadly, this flat, fertile expanse is devoid of the earth’s fiery embrace. No bubbling hot springs to soothe weary bones after a day wrestling with eight-row planters. It’s a geological oversight, a cosmic joke, perhaps. But fear not, for the lack of geothermal grandeur is offset by a surplus of Midwestern hospitality, which can be equally warming.

Sioux City, a metropolis of sorts in this agrarian expanse, offers a surprising array of intellectual pursuits. Morningside University, a quaint campus nestled amidst the cornfields, and Western Iowa Tech, a bastion of practical knowledge, cater to the region’s yearning minds. And for those who crave a touch of the exotic, South Dakota State University in nearby Sioux Falls offers a tantalizing glimpse beyond the Iowa horizon.

Literary luminaries have emerged from this seemingly prosaic landscape. The University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop has birthed wordsmiths as prolific as a swarm of locusts. Yet, tangible literary landmarks are as scarce as hen’s teeth. Iowa’s literary legacy is more a whisper on the wind than a towering monument.

Iowans are a peculiar breed. Industrious as prairie dogs, they toil from dawn to dusk, their faces etched with a determination as enduring as the land itself. Yet, beneath the veneer of hard-nosed practicality lies a wellspring of friendliness that can be both disarming and overwhelming. It’s like being hugged by a bear – a warm, fuzzy embrace that can leave you slightly confused.

Community is a cornerstone of Iowa life. Folks look out for one another with a vigilance that borders on obsession. Traditions are clung to with the tenacity of a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood. But this unwavering allegiance to the past can sometimes feel like a straitjacket, stifling individuality and progress. And though driving through Iowa might be a relentless parade of corn, corn, soy beans, Dollar General, corn, corn, corn, Dollar General, soy beans, corn, corn, and corn, the people have their pride as exemplified in their state motto, “Our liberties we prize, and our rights we will maintain”. In fact, several famous figures hail from the Cardinal State. Former presidents (Herbert Hoover), famous actors (Ashton Kutcher), coaches (Fred Hoiberg), and artists (Grant Wood and Donna Fargo) among others.

While Iowa may lack the dramatic topography of other states, the Loess Hills offer a surprising twist to the endless ag. These wind-carved bluffs are a testament to the land’s resilience, standing as silent sentinels against the relentless march of time. And yes… the weather, a capricious force that can transform the state from a winter wonderland to a sweltering inferno in the blink of an eye.

Agriculture is the lifeblood of Iowa, a monoculture of corn and soybeans punctuated by the occasional oasis of a small town. Yet, beneath the seemingly endless expanse of green, a diverse economy is taking root. Biotechnology, manufacturing, and insurance are injecting a touch of cosmopolitanism into this rural realm.

Life in Iowa offers a certain simplicity. The cost of living is as gentle as a summer breeze, and the pace of life is leisurely enough to cultivate a garden or catch a fish. Jobs may not be as plentiful as blades of grass, but the ones that exist often come with a sense of stability and security. And while the threat of tornadoes and blizzards adds a touch of excitement to everyday life, the state’s overall safety record is as solid as a silo.

Amidst the cornfields and small towns, Iowans exude a quiet confidence. Their faces, a canvas of weathered optimism, reflect a people at peace with their surroundings. It’s a quality that is both endearing and enigmatic.

You got your corn fields…
You got your small towns…
In Iowa… you’ll find your playground…
From the Mississippi…
To the Loess Hills Byway…
liberty and rights the Cardinals prize.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

Song for Bobby Z

I’m hittin’ the road in my Wayfarer Van…
Buskin’ the fields for all of my fans…
Looking for poets, hot springs, and ghosts…
Of writers and dreamers from coast to coast.

Yo, Bobby Z, i refried this song…
Rollin’ through your hometown, i didn’t stay long…
The Iron Range Country folks, give ’em a hand…
For raisin’ the bard we call Dylan.

Yo, Bobby Z, i want you to see…
The good things your life’s work has done for me…
I’m playin’ the chords, but i can’t do enough…
Your trickster enigma, nobody can touch.

Here’s to Robbie and Bruce and Steve and Ricky Lee…
All the 6-sting troubadours that followed your lead…
The songwriter’s era might be at an end…
But Simon Says can never be my friend.

This song is ending so i just wanna say…
You moved to electric back in the day…
And look at me now… i’m closing that loop…
From hard rock, to the hard luck roots.

Below the Earth – Above the Sun: Crossroads

I have to get something off my chest before moving on with Phase II of the Hot Springs or Busk tour. It veers into politics, and though i know it’s more polite to avoid politics and religion in casual conversation, both are on the ballot in the upcoming election. Though i don’t expect to persuade anyone away from their way of thinking, i feel it necessary to call attention to a few areas of personal concern, vis our future as citizens of the UNITED States of America.

First, i can appreciate the IT-system metaphor advanced by MAGA’s current brain trust (Peter Thiel, Steve Bannon, Curtis Yarvin, etc.) for modern governance. Specifically, that we need to shut the current system down and bring it back up. I mean, this (adaptive change) should be the goal of all democratic referenda, right? Strangely, there are powerful voices behind the new-right providing wind beneath MAGA’s wings. They assert (d)emocractic processes aren’t sweeping enough. (or, democracy is incompatible with “freedom”?) They say there’s an entrenched nefarious “deep state” at the root of all U.S. disfunction and the only way to fix it is to burn it all the way down. My problem with their proposed solution is that they would merely replace the existing “administrative state” with their own version. You know, “meet the new boss, same as the old boss”. I’m not persuaded that this will be an improvement for every day working people. Maybe for the billionaire or millionaire class, but not for the folks i know and love. They (new right) don’t want to merely reform the system, they want to scrap democracy (Lincoln’s version) and replace it with a techno-monarchy featuring all-powerful CEOs (like modern corporate governance). No, really. And ya… i’m not persuaded. They say we need to get over our “dictator-phobia”. WTF? We already litigated the divine right of kings, and we’ve also litigated authoritarian fascism.

Not only no, but HELL to the NO…!
We aren’t going there, ever again… hello!

That said, as a former IT professional, i understand the corrosive effects entropy can have on complex adaptive systems such as hardware/software synergies and electoral politics. And so, i’m open to ideas. But, rather than throw the founders’ baby out with the bathwater of institutional corruption (dark money, lobbyist/congress revolving door, etc.), let’s take a look at how our leaders are chosen. Let’s scrap the zero-sum “winner take all” method of the current electoral system and replace it with ranked choice contests, enforcing radical transparency in the funding of campaign messaging. This would force all campaigns to appeal to voters outside of narrow ideological lanes. If nothing else, taking down the temperature of divisive campaign vitriol.

I realize i’m veering off my lane as i’m not a political scientist, but i had to throw a couple pennies in there as the ideas these guys are throwing around, whether simply trolling for reactions, or worse, if they’re serious, have me more than a little concerned. Seriously… melt the underclasses down into bio-fuel? Jack them into “Matrix-like” virtual-world simulations, red pills, blue pills? Is this supposed to be funny? Sorry, i’m not on board. Enjoyed the movie, immensely, not amused by Mr. Yarvin’s analogy. In fact, he’s got it all quite backwards. He calls the administrative state and a collection of elite opinion makers a “cathedral”, but, as a fellow IT maven, he should remember the software development structures described in the early days of the Internet by Eric S. Raymond as the Cathedral and the Bazaar. With mission-aligned engineers developing commercial software being the Cathedral, and the loose confederation of developers contributing to open-source projects being the Bazaar. As i see it, the current loose configuration of influences making up MAGA’s nemesis, the “deep state” operate like Raymond’s description of the Bazaar, and the ideologically-aligned power structure Project 2025 aims to install “on day one” would be closer to Raymond’s description of the Cathedral. Yes… ass backwards. But enough of that digression.

You think i’m joking? Look it up… Curtis Yarvin is admired by Peter Thiel, Steve Bannon, and VP Candidate JD Vance. Project 2025 is the Heritage Foundation’s sanitized version of the brave new world order these radical libertarians have in mind, and they know libertarianism can never take power without totalitarian monarchical rule so, rather than face reality and modify their expectations, they propose we simply scrap democracy and install CEO Tzars…? Seriously… shouldn’t this simply be the end of discussion?

Well it’s not, and the way i see it, we stand at a very important crossroad in our nation’s history. Sure, the current system has major flaws, and corruption seems to have become the norm rather than the exception. So, we should consider seemingly wacky reform ideas and let the best rise to the top for implementation. After all, we still have the Electoral College. A reasonable compromise in the horse and buggy days. And it did serve a noble purpose at one time. Do we really need it now? This should be up for vigorous debate. And the lobbyist/congress-critter revolving door in D.C…? is this the best way to bring citizens in so they can have their say in the way the rest of us are governed? Some might say, “hell no”, but the critters in the revolving door will fight to keep that gravy train a’rollin’.

Thing is… we are still the gold standard City on the Hill. Surely everyone can identify areas of the founders’ brilliant framework that remain relevant, and fill the gaps of, how would Peter Thiel put it, outdated policy “software” in order to go forward in a manner that benefits all citizens, not just the millionaire/billionaire class.

Anyway… we report, you decide, and that’s all i wanna say about that.

Back to the search for the fibrillating heart of our divided nation, the 2024-25 Hot Springs or Busk tour.

This Land: Utah

REMINDER: This isn’t a typical state travelogue, loopers. This is a kaleidoscopic nightmare funhouse of experience, brought to you almost live from the Pike’s Peak Library’s flickering Wi-Fi. Remember Steinbeck in “Travels with Charlie”? Similar deal. We’re all peering at the world through our own warped lenses. We might bend facts from time to time, maybe even invent a story or two, just to get a point across or, hell, maybe just for a laugh.

Our mission: all 48 contiguous states in a year, a whirlwind tour fueled by hot springs and busking (the jury’s still out on the busking, frankly). This is entry number ten, and truth be told, we’re about hot-springed out. But hey, maybe when the snow flies and the world chills out, those pools of scalding water will look more appealing.

Speaking of the fickle finger of fate, this Utah entry is coming to you courtesy of a rogue trucker and a windshield that looks like it went fifteen rounds with Mike Tyson. First crack? We figured we could live with it, a battle scar from the road. Second crack? Sounded like a goddamn gunshot, leaving a gaping maw in Rocinante’s once-pristine view of the world. Check, and mate. We limped into Vernal, Utah, a dusty outpost seemingly populated entirely by paleontologists. Turns out, the magic replacement glass for our noble mount was not in stock. Combined with the fact that we had another technical problem waiting in the wings. Specifically, Rocinante’s power station link to the motor’s alternator is subject to a factory recall. That problem had a roughly 3-week lead time. So, the options? A: Become one with the Utah outback until the all the tech. planets align. B: Hightail it back to Hays, regroup, knock out a few repairs, catch up on snail mail from the PO box, and maybe, just maybe, have a beer (or three) with some friends. Option B, it was, and a good time was had by all… 😉

Now, back to Utah. Ronnie Hays, our intrepid (and slightly befuddled) explorer, first encountered the Beehive State back in the halcyon days of y2k. A freshly-minted network administrator for a Denver architecture/engineering firm, he found himself wrangling computers for their new Salt Lake City satellite office. Governor Mitt Romney was at the helm then, prepping for the 2002 Winter Olympics, a future success story veiled in construction dust and post-9/11 security paranoia. Ronnie, meanwhile, was juggling the network buildout and a blossoming romance with a lovely darling from Spokane with roots in the Church of Latter-day Saints (LDS).

Fast forward to a potentially career-ending decision. Ronnie, bless his naive soul, packed a yellow Ryder truck – yeah, the same kind that delivered fiery doom to Oklahoma City – with office equipment. Remember those angry militia types? Yeah, not a good look. After unloading the gear in the SLC office, Ronnie decided to grab a Godiva treat for his Spokane sweetheart. Parking spot of choice? Right next to the main LDS temple. Picture this: Ronnie, shaved head and all, looking like a skinhead with a bomb plot, abandoning a Ryder truck in temple proximity. Post-9/11, loopers! Here’s the kicker: No interrogation. No raised eyebrows. Just Ronnie, oblivious to his near brush with disaster, feeling strangely confident about the competence of the Olympic planners, particularly Mr. Romney. Measured and calm, that’s how Ronnie saw it.

Over the next decade, working with the loopers in SLC, Ronnie solidified his impression. These were some of the nicest, most genuine people he’d ever met, rivaled only by the deeply Mennonite denizens of Hillsboro, Kansas. Religious communities, Ronnie learned, are a mixed bag. Some, like the Mormons and the Mennonites, seem to genuinely strive for those good old-fashioned moral values and decency. This coming from a card-carrying secular humanist, mind you.

For the homegrown loopers, Utah’s a paradise sculpted by a celestial stonemason. Think towering crimson cliffs spilling out like a kaleidoscope on fire, and enough outdoor activities to make a grizzly bear envious. Hot springs bubble up like nature’s Jacuzzi, with Monroe Hot Springs a favorite amongst the locals (though let’s be honest, loopers, a quick Google search reveals a whole smorgasbord of options).

Outsiders, those poor bastards lost in a Greyhound bus-induced fugue state, stumble into Utah for the same reasons: the scenery’s a knockout, a visual uppercut that’ll leave you breathless. The “Mighty Five” National Parks – Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Arches, and Canyonlands – are a crown jewel collection fit for a psychedelic king. And hey, those hot springs add a touch of surreal serenity after a day of dodging rattlesnakes and “Mormon Crickets” (more on that later).

Now, about them institutions of higher learnin’. Utah’s got a decent spread of small-to-medium colleges like Weber State and Utah Valley slinging affordable educations. As for famous literary landmarks? Well, that’s about as scarce as a decent mojito in Salt Lake City. Though Robert Frost’s little stint at Brigham Young does add a curious footnote, like a stray haiku scribbled on a napkin in a Denny’s.

But hey, who needs Dostoevsky when you’ve got a community spirit stronger than moonshine and a work ethic that’d put a Puritan to shame? Utahns are a hardy bunch, the kind who’d build a log cabin with their bare hands and a smile (probably because they can’t drink a decent cup of joe in this state, but hey, more for the rest of us, right?). Sure, there’s a whiff of social conservatism clinging to the air, thicker than hairspray at a Miss Utah pageant. But Ronnie here, your fearless guide through this geological wonderland, can tell you this: it ain’t the in-your-face Bible-thumping you get down South. More like a politely phrased pamphlet tucked under your windshield wiper.

Speaking of windshields, let’s talk about the real star of the show: Utah’s natural majesty. Picking a single “best” spot is like picking a favorite flavor of crazy – you just can’t. But Zion National Park, with its towering red cliffs and slot canyons that look like they were carved by a deranged sculptor on peyote, is a definite contender.

Regarding Utah’s general vibe, their motto is “Industry”…? Now, this seems a bit too generalized to draw any meaning, but when you juxtapose the motto with their famous “beehive” iconography, it makes wagon-train loads of sense. In order for the early settlers to carve out a niche of civilization from the Great Salt desert, it would require singularity of purpose and cooperative action to get ‘er done. Very much like the machinations of bees all working for the interests of their hive in real time.

And the famous loopers? Utah’s got a surprising number of them. There’s Robert Redford, the man with a face that launched a thousand swoons, the Osmond family with their wholesome brand of earworms, Philo T. Farnsworth, the goddamn inventor of television (thankfully, he’s not around to see the logical Kardashian conclusion), and the whole Sundance Film Festival bringing current and future celebrities to Park City every January.

Now, the state’s bread and butter? Tourism, obviously, but mining, tech, and the government sector all play a role in keeping the gears of Utah turning. And for the average Joe (or Jane) punching a clock? The cost of living is reasonable, and jobs are plentiful, making it a prime stomping ground for young professionals still reaching for that “American Dream”.

Finally, a word about Vernal, a desert oasis that popped up like a mirage after we took a rock half the size of a golf ball to the windshield (thanks, Utah!). The desolation was epic, man. On the way there, we saw what looked like a stampede of miniature bison migrating across the highway – turns out, those weren’t tiny bison at all, but Mormon Crickets, these hoppy little buggers that look like something out of Gulliver’s Travels gone bad. Not exactly a threat to humans, but a surefire way to make any halfway curious road tripper slam on the brakes.

So there you have it, loopers. A taste of Utah, the state that’ll leave you with sun-bleached memories, a renewed appreciation for wide-open spaces, and maybe, just maybe, a hankering for a good cup of coffee (because seriously, Utah, what’s the deal?). Until next time, we’re hitting the road again, hoping to appease the windshield-exploding rock gods and delve deeper into the fibrillating heart of our divided nation.

Onward through the fog… R.H.

And now… more with ongoing apologies to Mr. Guthrie.

I saw a stampede…
Cross a Utah Highway…
I felt a calm vibe…
From a Beehive family…
But don’t you worry…
You’ll get your coffee…
Utah peeps can bee and let it be.