I don't remember exactly when it was but I remember the incident very well since it was so unusual. I was on my way back from target shooting (with a truck full of gun stuff) and stopped by a local hardware store. As I was leaving, a man came up to me and started talking to me about hunting; asking me what I hunted, where. Asking if I knew of other places to hunt, other people who hunt. The topic wasn't necessarily too odd, as I've had brief passing conversations about hunting while getting gas or the like after a day in the field. But, the depth and direction of the conversation was very unusual.
I think I originally heard about the book Poachers Were My Prey by RT Stewart from the local electric company newsletter. With the end of the local hunting season and cold weather, this is a good time to catch up on my reading.
The book chronicles several undercover investigations of RT Stewart as he worked for the Ohio Department of Natural Resources. It is coauthored by Chip Gross, who has also worked for the Ohio DNR and who has written many other things I have read (mostly in periodicals). The book is a fascinating read about many of the cases Mr. Stewart worked and his progression as a career wildlife officer. The first chapter is an attention grabber but it did make me angry. It tells the tale of a group of poachers who were routinely killing many deer anytime they felt like it by spotlighting at night. Thinking to the years when my personal hunting hasn't panned out well, it is hard to know if similar criminal activity could have played a role. Some years, just getting a doe within shooting distance has been a challenge.
From there, the stories continue to antler-chaser poachers, to profiteering from wildlife to any manner of wildlife violations and beyond. At the same time, Mr. Stewart talks of the toll that working under cover takes in his personal life, while still loving what his career is.
It was hard to read the book and not think to the close encounters I have had with poachers. In the most flagrant example, I was helping a friend move a motorcycle in my truck and picked it up at a friend of his. This man had apparently just been hunting at a local large land owner's property (well known in the area - I'll call them the Fountain's) and bragged how he had a doe right in front of him and he should have "blasted it" - all told while mishandling his 20-gauge shotgun in his kitchen. When I commented on the fact that it was well before the Ohio gun season this friend of a friend got aggressive (still holding the shotgun) and his wife said something to the effect of, "Oh, those hunters are the worst, they just seem to do what they want." To this day I regret not calling the the Ohio poacher phone line (1-800-POACHER).
It is easy to interact with people (criminals) who flagrantly ignore hunting laws and treat wildlife violations as degrees of bad - If I only do xx, I'm not near as bad as that guy who is killing deer every night by spotlighting from the road. But that is a race to the bottom, humans can rationalize all sorts of illegal, unethical and disgusting behavior.
And that was my major frustration with the book - and having read other work by Chip Gross I was disappointed. There was no mention of the fact that while the criminal taking of animals gets a lot of attention, the vast majority of us hunters are enjoying being in the field and following the rules, even when they might be a little frustrating. Since shooting an animal or catching a fish isn't really all that hard, but doing it within the rules and confines of fair chase brings satisfaction that no poacher will ever have.
Anybody who shoots wild game might be a hunter, but the difference between a Sportsman and a Poacher is a very clear, bright line. There is no grey area.
After reading the book, I appreciate that it was written. In the real world of limited resources, the fact that states like Ohio put effort into enforcing wildlife laws and deterring the illegal taking of game is good to know. And, the book was an interesting and exciting read.
One of the stories in the book talks about an operation very close to where I live, and the hardware store where I had the odd hunting conversation. It happened around the time that there was obviously undercover operations in my area. The information gathering tactics mentioned in the book sounded very similar to what I remember about the conversation. Mr. Stewart sounds like he mostly dressed as a Western Dandy which is not what I remember about the gentleman from that conversation, but I can't help bunt wonder if it was an ice-breaker looking for information. More likely, it was just some oddball hunter or something...probably.
I'm headed south in a short time to go hunt wild boar in South Carolina. It will be a good break from work to act as a Sportsman for a few days.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Sunday, January 12, 2014
(Almost) Running Out of Fuel in the Middle of Nowhere
I'm sure I have run out of gas at some point in my life, but I don't remember ever actually doing it. I know it hasn't happened in a long time and has been infrequent. I have never run out of gas while on one of my motorcycles, but the closest I came is vivid.
It was 2008 and I was headed east across British Columbia. Rain throughout the day had been sporadic but after over two weeks on the road in Northwest North America, rain was almost a friendly companion. Weather from Alberta to British Columbia to the Yukon and Alaska is always a bit unpredictable. And, in early June it had ranged from warm to well below freezing with precipitation in all forms.
I was on the Yellowhead Highway or CA16. Traffic in Prince George was tolerable, but more significant than much of the trip had been. As I approached and left the city proper, I saw a sign that said something to the effect of: No Petrol for 200 km. I quickly calculated how long I had gone since getting fuel and what that distance might mean in the miles I am more familiar with and knew I was fine for that distance with an acceptable safety margin. There are three possible reasons I was wrong:
The weather improved and cool temperatures warmed slightly. The scenery was wonderful as it had been for virtually all of the trip. At some point, while doing the normal monitoring of gauges, I looked at the odometer and fuel gauge and got the distinct feeling something wasn't right. Luckily, time on roads like the Yellowhead allow for thinking and I calculated things would be closer than originally thought. Shortly thereafter, I calculated again and saw that there was very likely no way I was going to make it to the next known fuel location.
I had a few options. The smart thing would have been to backtrack to Prince George. I hate losing time and my arrogance wouldn't let me do that. I could proceed and hope my math was right the first time (it wasn't). Or, I could slow down and conserve fuel by running at around 50 mph. Previous experimentation had told me this was near the most economical way to run a Goldwing.
I also don't always do slow well, but it was the option I went with. I had only gone a few more miles, when around a curve, I saw a resort-type building under some form of construction with a large red sign proclaiming: WE NOW HAVE PETROL. I don't know how I happen to have fallen into this, but there was a prayer of thanks. The "NOW" is burned into my brain as it implies only recently they had not.
Lake Purden is a remote area in North Central British Columbia. It was not the most remote place on the trip, but close. There is no electrical in the area. There is no copper land line into the area. There were very few facilities. What was odd, was that while the resort was obviously under construction, the gas pumps looked ancient. I wasn't going to argue with the discrepancy.
Approaching the the gas pumps in the muddy gravel parking area, each pump had a huge "divot" a few feet across and at least a foot deep making "parking" impractical at best. My SO jumped off the bike and went into the resort since the pumps had signs saying to get help at the cafe. Several minutes later, she returned with a very cute young girl, the pumps were turned on, which was apparently an exercise in itself with success not assumed.
Being in a remote area (with only generator electricity, etc.), I expected the fuel to be expensive and it was. The stated cost was CA$2.00/liter. This equates to approximately US$7.60/gallon. 2008 was an expensive year for fuel, but even the high average in remote areas was $4.00/gallon. Gas sales were rare at the resort, but I would have happily paid twice that much. It was, however, the only gas stop of the trip where I did not fill the tank.
After handing over the ransom, we headed out again through the treacherous parking area and while pulling through another trough in the gavel, an enormous rock reoriented itself and whacked into the belly pan I had installed on the GL1800 prior to heading into the North Country. The location and size of the dent that rock left in the belly pan told the story that without it, the coolant reservoir would have been destroyed, and remotely possible the lower engine case as well. Save number 2 in a very short amount of time.
McBride came soon enough down the road which was the stop for the night. As a slightly more traveled location, there were several hotels and restaurants...and ample fuel.
The bike may have made the distance by slowing down and it was a lesson to fill gas when the opportunity presents itself. The peace of mind that the fuel from Lake Purden brought was definitely worth it. In fact, at two loonies per liter, it was a bargain.
It was 2008 and I was headed east across British Columbia. Rain throughout the day had been sporadic but after over two weeks on the road in Northwest North America, rain was almost a friendly companion. Weather from Alberta to British Columbia to the Yukon and Alaska is always a bit unpredictable. And, in early June it had ranged from warm to well below freezing with precipitation in all forms.
I was on the Yellowhead Highway or CA16. Traffic in Prince George was tolerable, but more significant than much of the trip had been. As I approached and left the city proper, I saw a sign that said something to the effect of: No Petrol for 200 km. I quickly calculated how long I had gone since getting fuel and what that distance might mean in the miles I am more familiar with and knew I was fine for that distance with an acceptable safety margin. There are three possible reasons I was wrong:
- I am bad at math (I work as a scientist where math, including rapids approximation is needed daily so I don't think this is true but it is possible). Since much of the trip was in Canada, including the Alaska Highway, I should have been pretty good at knowing when I needed fuel - early and often.
- Having just passed a number of slower moving vehicles, I wasn't anxious to get behind them again on a long stretch of wet road.
- I wanted a little adventure added to my day.
The weather improved and cool temperatures warmed slightly. The scenery was wonderful as it had been for virtually all of the trip. At some point, while doing the normal monitoring of gauges, I looked at the odometer and fuel gauge and got the distinct feeling something wasn't right. Luckily, time on roads like the Yellowhead allow for thinking and I calculated things would be closer than originally thought. Shortly thereafter, I calculated again and saw that there was very likely no way I was going to make it to the next known fuel location.
I had a few options. The smart thing would have been to backtrack to Prince George. I hate losing time and my arrogance wouldn't let me do that. I could proceed and hope my math was right the first time (it wasn't). Or, I could slow down and conserve fuel by running at around 50 mph. Previous experimentation had told me this was near the most economical way to run a Goldwing.
I also don't always do slow well, but it was the option I went with. I had only gone a few more miles, when around a curve, I saw a resort-type building under some form of construction with a large red sign proclaiming: WE NOW HAVE PETROL. I don't know how I happen to have fallen into this, but there was a prayer of thanks. The "NOW" is burned into my brain as it implies only recently they had not.
Lake Purden is a remote area in North Central British Columbia. It was not the most remote place on the trip, but close. There is no electrical in the area. There is no copper land line into the area. There were very few facilities. What was odd, was that while the resort was obviously under construction, the gas pumps looked ancient. I wasn't going to argue with the discrepancy.
Approaching the the gas pumps in the muddy gravel parking area, each pump had a huge "divot" a few feet across and at least a foot deep making "parking" impractical at best. My SO jumped off the bike and went into the resort since the pumps had signs saying to get help at the cafe. Several minutes later, she returned with a very cute young girl, the pumps were turned on, which was apparently an exercise in itself with success not assumed.
Being in a remote area (with only generator electricity, etc.), I expected the fuel to be expensive and it was. The stated cost was CA$2.00/liter. This equates to approximately US$7.60/gallon. 2008 was an expensive year for fuel, but even the high average in remote areas was $4.00/gallon. Gas sales were rare at the resort, but I would have happily paid twice that much. It was, however, the only gas stop of the trip where I did not fill the tank.
After handing over the ransom, we headed out again through the treacherous parking area and while pulling through another trough in the gavel, an enormous rock reoriented itself and whacked into the belly pan I had installed on the GL1800 prior to heading into the North Country. The location and size of the dent that rock left in the belly pan told the story that without it, the coolant reservoir would have been destroyed, and remotely possible the lower engine case as well. Save number 2 in a very short amount of time.
McBride came soon enough down the road which was the stop for the night. As a slightly more traveled location, there were several hotels and restaurants...and ample fuel.
The bike may have made the distance by slowing down and it was a lesson to fill gas when the opportunity presents itself. The peace of mind that the fuel from Lake Purden brought was definitely worth it. In fact, at two loonies per liter, it was a bargain.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
What Is Healthy - and a (sort of) Book Review of The Heavy by Dara-Lynn Weiss
Definitions:
Healthy: in good health
Health: the state of being free from illness or injury
Heavy: of great weight; difficult to lift or move
Fat: (of a person or animal) having a large amount of excess flesh
Obese: grossly fat or overweight
CDC Definitions (Body Mass Index = Weight / Height^2 * 705):
Underweight: BMI under 18.5
Overweight: BMI 25 - 29.9
Obese: BMI 30 or above
(and where does the seemingly arbitrary constant of 705 in the calculation come from?)
Most years around the end of the year I get a health screening at work. Things often slow down between Christmas and New Years so it is a good time to do this. I knew I had bulked up a bit since the last screening; a stressful year means that food choices often contained some less healthy options. Also, my hunting had been less than stellar this year so the low fat wild game I tend to eat a lot off was not as available as it usually is (this did mean I ate a lot more baby-back ribs this year, mmmmmmmm.)
My weight was put just into the overweight category. I'm not surprised by this although my activity level has remained pretty constant. I still walk between three and five miles most days and in general, my food choices tend to be healthy. I have almost unmeasureably low LDL (bad) cholesterol, and high HDL (good) cholesterol. Outside of weight, all other numbers are near the ideal limits.
This prompted me to look into what the CDC considers healthy (defined above). If we look at the median height man in the US of 5'10" we see that a BMI of 25 splits healthy from overweight and this equates to about 173 pounds. At the lower end of the healthy range is a weight of about 123 pounds. Being about this median height, I don't know what it would take to get at the lower end of healthy, but it would probably require a good long methamphetamine run to achieve that drugs over food emaciated look. Simply put, I don't think the CDC guidelines represent reality. Reinforcing this, based on the %body-fat my health screening gave me, I would have to lose well over 100% of my body fat to reach the lower limit of the CDC's health guidelines - and I'm already short on upper body strength.
The health screening came on the heels of reading Dara-Lynn Weiss' book The Heavy. Spoiler alert, while the book is about Ms. Weiss and her overweight daughter, "The Heavy" in the book is actually Ms. Weiss, as in pushing for changes in her daughter.
I'm not sure how this book ended up on my read-list but I resisted for quite some time. I was expecting this book to be by some self-righteous preachy bitch pushing the latest health trend de jour of raw milk and kale (or something). I picked up the book in the library many months ago and flipped open the book to see how it was written. The part I happen to flip through did make Ms. Weiss seem like a psycho (if you've read the book, I happened to open it to the hot chocolate episode). With not much else to read around Christmas, I finally read The Heavy.
I was wrong about the book. What is described in the book is a frank and honest journey about weight loss. I appreciated that the approach used was a sensical math - calories in vs. out approach. Far from a tale about how well a health craze worked, the author admits that processed foods (in moderation) are sometimes a realistically good choice figuring in the time commitments most people face. After reading the book, I followed that up to see what the reaction to it and Ms. Weiss' Vogue article was. While the reviews of both were mixed, I believe the vilification of her is off-base. Much of the criticism revolves around pushing weight loss on a young child. Part of a parent's job is to teach good habits in childhood so the bad don't need to be unlearned in (young) adulthood. Kids are taught at a very early age that hitting and lying are wrong, even though the ramifications of both are minimal in kindergarten. I don't understand how it is less appropriate to teach healthy eating habits.
I think her methods are open for discussion and she is potentially overzealous, but with no shortage of fat people (apparently myself included), it is a goal that should be shared, not maligned.
The book was well written and tells the complete story well. I think there are a couple fair criticisms of the story. Writing about the situation in Vogue was really, really dumb. The same story (told in brief as opposed to the book) in a different magazine which doesn't pray to the god of heroin chic would likely have been better received.
The other criticism is believing the CDC guidelines as some kind of gospel. Ms. Weiss and her daughter's picture in Vogue do not show two people on the verge of being overweight (she addresses this picture in the book, but her explanation falls flat). Extending this argument, if two people were shown - and both were at the lower end of the CDC healthy scale, it would probably be hard to suggest that there wasn't some horrible eating disorder causing severe malnutrition.
So the CDC says I'm overweight. I'm just going to say I'm corpulent and will continue to eat relatively healthy, and walk my dogs almost every day. But, maybe I'll also lay off the bags of extra thick flavored chips.
Healthy: in good health
Health: the state of being free from illness or injury
Heavy: of great weight; difficult to lift or move
Fat: (of a person or animal) having a large amount of excess flesh
Obese: grossly fat or overweight
CDC Definitions (Body Mass Index = Weight / Height^2 * 705):
Underweight: BMI under 18.5
Overweight: BMI 25 - 29.9
Obese: BMI 30 or above
(and where does the seemingly arbitrary constant of 705 in the calculation come from?)
Most years around the end of the year I get a health screening at work. Things often slow down between Christmas and New Years so it is a good time to do this. I knew I had bulked up a bit since the last screening; a stressful year means that food choices often contained some less healthy options. Also, my hunting had been less than stellar this year so the low fat wild game I tend to eat a lot off was not as available as it usually is (this did mean I ate a lot more baby-back ribs this year, mmmmmmmm.)
My weight was put just into the overweight category. I'm not surprised by this although my activity level has remained pretty constant. I still walk between three and five miles most days and in general, my food choices tend to be healthy. I have almost unmeasureably low LDL (bad) cholesterol, and high HDL (good) cholesterol. Outside of weight, all other numbers are near the ideal limits.
This prompted me to look into what the CDC considers healthy (defined above). If we look at the median height man in the US of 5'10" we see that a BMI of 25 splits healthy from overweight and this equates to about 173 pounds. At the lower end of the healthy range is a weight of about 123 pounds. Being about this median height, I don't know what it would take to get at the lower end of healthy, but it would probably require a good long methamphetamine run to achieve that drugs over food emaciated look. Simply put, I don't think the CDC guidelines represent reality. Reinforcing this, based on the %body-fat my health screening gave me, I would have to lose well over 100% of my body fat to reach the lower limit of the CDC's health guidelines - and I'm already short on upper body strength.
The health screening came on the heels of reading Dara-Lynn Weiss' book The Heavy. Spoiler alert, while the book is about Ms. Weiss and her overweight daughter, "The Heavy" in the book is actually Ms. Weiss, as in pushing for changes in her daughter.
I'm not sure how this book ended up on my read-list but I resisted for quite some time. I was expecting this book to be by some self-righteous preachy bitch pushing the latest health trend de jour of raw milk and kale (or something). I picked up the book in the library many months ago and flipped open the book to see how it was written. The part I happen to flip through did make Ms. Weiss seem like a psycho (if you've read the book, I happened to open it to the hot chocolate episode). With not much else to read around Christmas, I finally read The Heavy.
I was wrong about the book. What is described in the book is a frank and honest journey about weight loss. I appreciated that the approach used was a sensical math - calories in vs. out approach. Far from a tale about how well a health craze worked, the author admits that processed foods (in moderation) are sometimes a realistically good choice figuring in the time commitments most people face. After reading the book, I followed that up to see what the reaction to it and Ms. Weiss' Vogue article was. While the reviews of both were mixed, I believe the vilification of her is off-base. Much of the criticism revolves around pushing weight loss on a young child. Part of a parent's job is to teach good habits in childhood so the bad don't need to be unlearned in (young) adulthood. Kids are taught at a very early age that hitting and lying are wrong, even though the ramifications of both are minimal in kindergarten. I don't understand how it is less appropriate to teach healthy eating habits.
I think her methods are open for discussion and she is potentially overzealous, but with no shortage of fat people (apparently myself included), it is a goal that should be shared, not maligned.
The book was well written and tells the complete story well. I think there are a couple fair criticisms of the story. Writing about the situation in Vogue was really, really dumb. The same story (told in brief as opposed to the book) in a different magazine which doesn't pray to the god of heroin chic would likely have been better received.
The other criticism is believing the CDC guidelines as some kind of gospel. Ms. Weiss and her daughter's picture in Vogue do not show two people on the verge of being overweight (she addresses this picture in the book, but her explanation falls flat). Extending this argument, if two people were shown - and both were at the lower end of the CDC healthy scale, it would probably be hard to suggest that there wasn't some horrible eating disorder causing severe malnutrition.
So the CDC says I'm overweight. I'm just going to say I'm corpulent and will continue to eat relatively healthy, and walk my dogs almost every day. But, maybe I'll also lay off the bags of extra thick flavored chips.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
The Average American (Part 2)
A couple weeks ago I wrote a sort-of book review about Kevin O'Keefe's The Average American. Reading this book was prompted by my continuing interest in what the average American is and isn't and how people actually live. While most people think they are fairly average (and by definition many will be), I wonder how many know what average is. I'm quite sure that politicians - especially on the national league - are so out of touch as to have very little idea what average is, and isn't. Again by definition, just getting into the club of Congress means that they are in such a small select group that a politician is no longer normal.
But, this isn't a post about anything political. Taking a different tactic on what Mr. O'Keefe did, I was curious about statistics about what is actually average in the US. Not what makes us so obliquely normal that only one person in the country can finally be average, but what are the norms.
Most of the information came from the Census Bureau's web site, which is a wealth of information, easily searchable and sensibly displayed. Other sources were from online news articles and sadly, some from Wikipedia. Most of the latter was backed up by verification (in overall scope) from other sources.
So what is an American? I've broken this down in four groups identified as: Fundamentals, Characteristics, Life, Financials. What makes life interesting are the differences, sometimes big - others small. These are merely soulless statistics about the bulk of people living in the United States. As an aside (and only an aside), some of the most interesting people I have met have fallen pretty far out of these norms.
Fundamentals
Citizen of the United States - 93% of the population
Born in the United States - 87% of the population.
Characteristics
Height (male) 5'5" to 6'1" - 80% of the population (median is 5'10")
Height (female) 5'0" to 5'7" - 80% of the population (median is 5'4")
Weight (male) 146 to 252 lbs - 80% of the population (median is 195 lbs)
Weight (female) 118 to 225 lbs - 80% of the population (median is 165 lbs)
Life
Graduated from High School - 75% of the population
Can read English fluently - 85% of the population
Family is important - 87% of the population (stolen form Kevin O'Keefe and the most nebulous statistic)
Can legally drive a car - 68% of the population
Uses a telephone - 98% of the population (likely in a few years this will be changed specifically to a mobile)
Uses the internet - 85% of the population
Eats meat - 95% of the population (while vegetarians are in theory greater than 5%, the vast majority cheat on occasion)
Financials
Own a home - 68% of the population
Annual family income between $13k and $145k - 80% of the population
Net household worth between $5k and $660k - 80% of the population
I wanted to include "Have Children" in the mix, but while accurate rates of childbearing are available for women, the same cannot be said of men. Data point to a consistent rate of 79% regardless of sex, but I didn't find this number compelling enough to include.
If all of these characteristics were randomly distributed in the population, that would mean about 6.7% of the 317 million Americans (from the Census Bureau's Population Clock as of this writing) would be average - or about 21.2 million. In reality, there is going to be significant overlap which is beyond what I can find hidden in the statistics easily available. For example, I suspect there will be overlap in the populations of people not born in the United States and those that can't fluently read English. In other words, I have no idea how many people are average but that isn't the point. As Mr. O'Keefe's book was a personal narrative about finding the Average American, perhaps this is a good excuse to continue to travel to discover how many of us are average - and how interesting the combination of average and bizarre can be.
Just as important, the list includes many things that would be common across the population of any developed country, suggesting that in most cases, these characteristics define what it means to live on the planet in a developed country?
Regardless of any of this, I'll continue to be fascinated by the norms of what it means to live in the United States and what it is to be different.
As the saying goes:
Remember that you are unique, just like everybody else.
But, this isn't a post about anything political. Taking a different tactic on what Mr. O'Keefe did, I was curious about statistics about what is actually average in the US. Not what makes us so obliquely normal that only one person in the country can finally be average, but what are the norms.
Most of the information came from the Census Bureau's web site, which is a wealth of information, easily searchable and sensibly displayed. Other sources were from online news articles and sadly, some from Wikipedia. Most of the latter was backed up by verification (in overall scope) from other sources.
So what is an American? I've broken this down in four groups identified as: Fundamentals, Characteristics, Life, Financials. What makes life interesting are the differences, sometimes big - others small. These are merely soulless statistics about the bulk of people living in the United States. As an aside (and only an aside), some of the most interesting people I have met have fallen pretty far out of these norms.
Fundamentals
Citizen of the United States - 93% of the population
Born in the United States - 87% of the population.
Characteristics
Height (male) 5'5" to 6'1" - 80% of the population (median is 5'10")
Height (female) 5'0" to 5'7" - 80% of the population (median is 5'4")
Weight (male) 146 to 252 lbs - 80% of the population (median is 195 lbs)
Weight (female) 118 to 225 lbs - 80% of the population (median is 165 lbs)
Life
Graduated from High School - 75% of the population
Can read English fluently - 85% of the population
Family is important - 87% of the population (stolen form Kevin O'Keefe and the most nebulous statistic)
Can legally drive a car - 68% of the population
Uses a telephone - 98% of the population (likely in a few years this will be changed specifically to a mobile)
Uses the internet - 85% of the population
Eats meat - 95% of the population (while vegetarians are in theory greater than 5%, the vast majority cheat on occasion)
Financials
Own a home - 68% of the population
Annual family income between $13k and $145k - 80% of the population
Net household worth between $5k and $660k - 80% of the population
I wanted to include "Have Children" in the mix, but while accurate rates of childbearing are available for women, the same cannot be said of men. Data point to a consistent rate of 79% regardless of sex, but I didn't find this number compelling enough to include.
If all of these characteristics were randomly distributed in the population, that would mean about 6.7% of the 317 million Americans (from the Census Bureau's Population Clock as of this writing) would be average - or about 21.2 million. In reality, there is going to be significant overlap which is beyond what I can find hidden in the statistics easily available. For example, I suspect there will be overlap in the populations of people not born in the United States and those that can't fluently read English. In other words, I have no idea how many people are average but that isn't the point. As Mr. O'Keefe's book was a personal narrative about finding the Average American, perhaps this is a good excuse to continue to travel to discover how many of us are average - and how interesting the combination of average and bizarre can be.
Just as important, the list includes many things that would be common across the population of any developed country, suggesting that in most cases, these characteristics define what it means to live on the planet in a developed country?
Regardless of any of this, I'll continue to be fascinated by the norms of what it means to live in the United States and what it is to be different.
As the saying goes:
Remember that you are unique, just like everybody else.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Christmas Cards
It is "The Christmas Season." Given that there is not one Christmas decoration up in the house, it is more appropriate to call it "Christmas Card Season." I have Christmas Trees up all year round in the back yard. One is dead and I'm hoping for the Christmas Wind to come by and knock it over so I can get rid of it. My trees never get to wear lights; they like it that way.
For a bit of an antisocial curmudgeon, I actually like the Christmas cards. I like writing an annual Christmas letter. There are rules for these things though. The letter needs to be short, no more than one page in reasonable font. Bragging must be minimized but retelling a few interesting events is OK. I try to mention a few tidbits of the year along with enough self-deprecation so as to avoid making things sound too much better than they really are. The letter does contain a bit of Facebook Reality though (the ongoing description of events to be better than, or worse than, they are in reality). A couple years ago I got a Christmas letter from an acquaintance which was the most depressing thing I had ever read (dog died, job lost, kid divorced and pregnant, etc.). I guess that does demonstrate a refreshing sort of honesty though.
I know many people do not read the Christmas Letter. Three years ago I included the move and new address information in the letter and since that day I receive less than half of the Christmas Cards that I used to. I would have thought that by this time the return address labels would have rectified, but perhaps the cards are never even opened, ending up in the dustbin with nary a glance.
I also enjoy getting the letters - much more than I used to. Some of the letters from relatives can feel a bit abstract. I come from a very large extended family and the updates from relatives about cousins I vaguely remember now having children I'll never meet almost seems like a Christmas Card from a near stranger. Last year NPR had a story on sending Christmas Cards to complete strangers. I had wanted to do that for years, but never had. Perhaps in addition to being a curmudgeon, I'm also yaller, worried that such an act could bring on a Christmas Ass-Kicking.
The cards that I find the funniest are from the businesses I interact with. I'm baffled with the motivation behind these as business wouldn't do anything like this if they didn't think it helped the bottom line in some manner.
I suppose my insurance agent does appreciate my business, but in addition to Christmas, I get Thanksgiving, New Years, birthdays, and possibly other cards I don't recall right now.
My vet sends a card. They probably don't want to be forgotten, although the dogs probably wish the vet wouldn't send reminders. I guess it was a cute card though. I appreciate their use of Christmas in place of the more generic "Holidays" or similar.
The most touching greeting came from the credit card company. I value their warm wishes and the frugality of not using any additional paper for salutation - just a bit of ink.
No doubt, these three businesses do get a phenomenal amount of money from me. The IRS also has a significant hand in reducing my financial liquidity, but I hope they don't start sending me holiday greetings.
There are only two more post office deliveries before Christmas.
Our warmest holiday wishes...
For a bit of an antisocial curmudgeon, I actually like the Christmas cards. I like writing an annual Christmas letter. There are rules for these things though. The letter needs to be short, no more than one page in reasonable font. Bragging must be minimized but retelling a few interesting events is OK. I try to mention a few tidbits of the year along with enough self-deprecation so as to avoid making things sound too much better than they really are. The letter does contain a bit of Facebook Reality though (the ongoing description of events to be better than, or worse than, they are in reality). A couple years ago I got a Christmas letter from an acquaintance which was the most depressing thing I had ever read (dog died, job lost, kid divorced and pregnant, etc.). I guess that does demonstrate a refreshing sort of honesty though.
I know many people do not read the Christmas Letter. Three years ago I included the move and new address information in the letter and since that day I receive less than half of the Christmas Cards that I used to. I would have thought that by this time the return address labels would have rectified, but perhaps the cards are never even opened, ending up in the dustbin with nary a glance.
I also enjoy getting the letters - much more than I used to. Some of the letters from relatives can feel a bit abstract. I come from a very large extended family and the updates from relatives about cousins I vaguely remember now having children I'll never meet almost seems like a Christmas Card from a near stranger. Last year NPR had a story on sending Christmas Cards to complete strangers. I had wanted to do that for years, but never had. Perhaps in addition to being a curmudgeon, I'm also yaller, worried that such an act could bring on a Christmas Ass-Kicking.
The cards that I find the funniest are from the businesses I interact with. I'm baffled with the motivation behind these as business wouldn't do anything like this if they didn't think it helped the bottom line in some manner.
I suppose my insurance agent does appreciate my business, but in addition to Christmas, I get Thanksgiving, New Years, birthdays, and possibly other cards I don't recall right now.
My vet sends a card. They probably don't want to be forgotten, although the dogs probably wish the vet wouldn't send reminders. I guess it was a cute card though. I appreciate their use of Christmas in place of the more generic "Holidays" or similar.
The most touching greeting came from the credit card company. I value their warm wishes and the frugality of not using any additional paper for salutation - just a bit of ink.
There are only two more post office deliveries before Christmas.
Our warmest holiday wishes...
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Hunting Pornography
No, this isn't about looking very hard for porn, this is about the direction that much of the media in the hunting industry is going and has been for quite some time.
This year's hunting season is pretty much over for me. I still have a tag and there is time left for muzzle-loader or late gun season, but I happily took a doe a few weeks ago and between that and my antelope I'm set for meat. It was a tougher season than most as for whatever reason I just wasn't seeing as many deer as I often have.
I get several hunting magazines. Some I subscribe to or get through other memberships, and I've recently started to get a few more that I assume are showing up gratas in the hopes I will love them and pay money to continue in the future (I won't).
I enjoy reading magazines early in the morning with my coffee, but I am finding myself reading less and less of the material in the hunting periodicals. There are always a few articles I find compelling or stories of hunts that are interesting, but much of what is written approaches fiction.
Hunting magazines have become analogous to what porn is to real personal relationships.
Too many writers (or hunting personalities/celebrities -ugh), will espouse an ethos that if just xx is done, big bucks will come rolling out of the hills and walk into the crosshairs. Or, if you buy yy product and use zz tactic, the biggest baddest bear in the area will gleefully appear ready to take a bullet.
Pure fiction.
To be fair, I do believe almost every area, no matter how heavily hunted will hold a few impressive animals. But most of us mere mortals are hunting public land or if lucky enough to be on private land, it will still be hunted hard enough that having a decent shot at a decent animal can be an awesome experience. With hard work, time put in, and a lot of luck, most of us mere mortals will have rare opportunities to see animals like the porn stars that grace the glossy pages of the hunting magazines.
I would also like to see more screw-ups admitted, bringing more reality to hunting fiction. Every hunter I know has more moments that end in expletives, than blood.
I don't pay for TV at home, but do occasionally find myself watching the rare hunting show while somewhere else. These are an even more exploitative form of hunting porn. While on a guided hunt several years ago, I found myself talking to a minor hunting celebrity (he was actually a really nice guy). He freely admitted that much of the footage used in the industry is restaged for effect or combined from completely unrelated time lines. I have seen examples of this where lighting changes dramatically from scene to scene, making it appear what happened in a brief period was actually done at much different times and different places (in one example, the hunter must have changed clothes and sponsors mid-hunt).
To industry insiders, hunting is an industry, a job. They have a product to sell, whether it is a do-dad from a sponsor or the porn itself.
I'll continue to get magazines for the interesting bits in them and skim the rest; the cost is relatively small. More importantly, I'll continue to enjoy real hunting, with the long wonderful days with little animal movement, the screw-ups and missed opportunities and the times it all comes together to put meat in the freezer.
This year's hunting season is pretty much over for me. I still have a tag and there is time left for muzzle-loader or late gun season, but I happily took a doe a few weeks ago and between that and my antelope I'm set for meat. It was a tougher season than most as for whatever reason I just wasn't seeing as many deer as I often have.
I get several hunting magazines. Some I subscribe to or get through other memberships, and I've recently started to get a few more that I assume are showing up gratas in the hopes I will love them and pay money to continue in the future (I won't).
I enjoy reading magazines early in the morning with my coffee, but I am finding myself reading less and less of the material in the hunting periodicals. There are always a few articles I find compelling or stories of hunts that are interesting, but much of what is written approaches fiction.
Hunting magazines have become analogous to what porn is to real personal relationships.
Too many writers (or hunting personalities/celebrities -ugh), will espouse an ethos that if just xx is done, big bucks will come rolling out of the hills and walk into the crosshairs. Or, if you buy yy product and use zz tactic, the biggest baddest bear in the area will gleefully appear ready to take a bullet.
Pure fiction.
To be fair, I do believe almost every area, no matter how heavily hunted will hold a few impressive animals. But most of us mere mortals are hunting public land or if lucky enough to be on private land, it will still be hunted hard enough that having a decent shot at a decent animal can be an awesome experience. With hard work, time put in, and a lot of luck, most of us mere mortals will have rare opportunities to see animals like the porn stars that grace the glossy pages of the hunting magazines.
I would also like to see more screw-ups admitted, bringing more reality to hunting fiction. Every hunter I know has more moments that end in expletives, than blood.
I don't pay for TV at home, but do occasionally find myself watching the rare hunting show while somewhere else. These are an even more exploitative form of hunting porn. While on a guided hunt several years ago, I found myself talking to a minor hunting celebrity (he was actually a really nice guy). He freely admitted that much of the footage used in the industry is restaged for effect or combined from completely unrelated time lines. I have seen examples of this where lighting changes dramatically from scene to scene, making it appear what happened in a brief period was actually done at much different times and different places (in one example, the hunter must have changed clothes and sponsors mid-hunt).
To industry insiders, hunting is an industry, a job. They have a product to sell, whether it is a do-dad from a sponsor or the porn itself.
I'll continue to get magazines for the interesting bits in them and skim the rest; the cost is relatively small. More importantly, I'll continue to enjoy real hunting, with the long wonderful days with little animal movement, the screw-ups and missed opportunities and the times it all comes together to put meat in the freezer.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
1980-something Ford F150
Ohio got snow yesterday.
It was a fairly significant snow by SW Ohio standards, with the immediate area getting somewhere around 6 inches; there is always drifting which makes determining how much a little inexact.
Where I grew up in Michigan, we got real snow - lake effect snow caused by the air blowing over Lake Michigan and picking up moisture, then dumping it on us. My "real" cars were typically MG's and although I did have a 74&1/2 MGB I drove for several winters, I mostly had junky rear-wheel drive cars to attempt to make it through the frequent deep snows of Michigan winters. Open differential coupled with questionable tires and no engine management meant it wasn't always easy, but still somewhat fun.
While still in college, I bought an older Datsun 620 Truck that I drove for several months. It was a blast to drive but was worse than most vehicles in even moderate snow. Getting started on slippery conditions made things difficult, stopping with questionable drum brakes on all four corners made it scary. I really, really wanted a 4wd truck.
While browsing the classifieds in the newspaper (it was around 1992 so there were no online ads), I saw a dealership that had a four wheel drive F150 for a crazy low price. I drove by it on a Sunday and saw it was pretty rusty, but on par with many of my "winter Vehicles."
Returning the next day I talked to the owner/salesman. He told me that it had a "tick" in the engine. Once started, the tick turned out to be a knock. But the oil pressure was good and the oil didn't look like tar so I wasn't too concerned. I was working at the time as a mechanic and wasn't intimidated by dropping the pan to replace engine bearings.
I told the salesman that I would give him my Datsun and $300. The salesman bawled foul and I said, "OK, thanks. Bye." I wasn't really trying to negotiate, $300 was about all that I had. As I started to leave, he quickly suggested my Datsun and $500. No, $300 and I started to leave - again, not really trying to play hardball. As I got in my truck the salesman came over and said, "OK, $300."
We shook on it and I was to come back the next day with the title and cash. As I left, I realized I didn't have $300 and payday was still a few days away. I was able to scrounge around and come up with the cash. $300 was a lot more then, than it is now...
After buying the truck, I was on top of the world driving home. The bed was totally rusted out, but Duke of 'Brother Love Towing' across the street from work gave me a very heavy steel plate that he had sitting in his property. The front gas tank leaked a little so I nervously tack-welded the steel place down the middle of the bed with several people around me holding fire extinguishers. And, I did put a fire blanket between the fuel tank and the bed. Also, the rear fuel tank was askew from some previous incident and the filling of it was glacially slow.
Turning to the "tick" in the engine, I isolated the noise to the #2 cylinder. Dropping the oil pan (had to remove the oil pump in place and drop it in the pan to get the pan off, replacement is the reverse, but not quite as easy as the drive mechanism is a looong rod that also drives the distributor), I replaced the rod bearings assuming that was the cause of the noise. Knowing I was in trouble when all the bearings looked good, I wasn't too surprised when the noise was unchanged.
I bought a used bedliner and truck box from a guy who turned out to be a former SO of my sister. There was no tailgate, so I fashioned one out of hardware store chain with a welder.
At the end of that first winter, I pulled the heads and found a bad wrist pin on further investigation. Only later did I learn this was a common flaw with the 351 Windsor engine. After reassembly the "tick" was gone, but I must not have got the oil pan on right since it leaked quite a bit of oil. The exhaust had been removed in a questionable manner, and there was only a small attempt to minimize the leaking. While not the intended reason, it did make it sound pretty good.
I loved driving that truck. As my first four wheel drive vehicle, I thought I was indestructible. I would find reasons to go out in the worst snow storms just because it was fun. I used it to hop the curb down the one-way road by my house to save a few seconds of my driving time. In my defense, a street has since been put in the curb-hopping spot so I was just a trend setter.
There are two very memorable events in that truck.
In one, while driving near home on one of those snowy days, I was approaching an intersection with a long line of cars in the cross street. After stopping at the stop sign, I started to pull across the intersection, only to have the woman in the cross street think I was turning in front of her as she quickly pulled forward, blocking my path across the street. I stopped, thought about it for a few seconds, and gunned it. She desperately tried to gain traction in reverse with a look of sheer horror on her face as this ass in a crappy Ford F150 was ready to take her out. However rude she was, I wouldn't do that now.
The second incidence was between college and a nearby town where I was going to buy something. On one long stretch of very snowy road, I blew past a long line of cars going too slow. Cresting a hill, I saw the recycling truck skidding out of a side street on the slippery road. There was no way this was going to end well. I had a glancing blow off of the recycling truck, taking out my mirror and putting a few dents and scratches in my truck. As the impact happened, I looked out the window and saw this large sign on the recycling truck that said 'How's my driving, call...' I ended up in someone's yard. No doubt all the "slow" cars I had passed rightfully had smug feelings as they continued safely on by. I told the Recycler, "I'll forget this happened if you will?" He readily agreed. The dents were new character marks and a little welding put the mirror back on, if in a non-adjustable manner. There are many lessons in life, that wreck taught me slower can sometimes be good. And driving in two-wheel drive, while holding on to four-wheel drive for when stupid happens can be a good tactic.
The picture above is likely the only picture I have of the truck. I don't even remember what year it was, but 1982 sticks in my mind. Nostalgia isn't always painted with a factual brush, but I do sometimes miss that truck, or maybe I just miss my early 20s. I traded in that truck when graduation was in sight as a present to myself on a very nice 1994 F150 - likely my most favorite four-wheeled vehicle I've ever owned.
Where I grew up in Michigan, we got real snow - lake effect snow caused by the air blowing over Lake Michigan and picking up moisture, then dumping it on us. My "real" cars were typically MG's and although I did have a 74&1/2 MGB I drove for several winters, I mostly had junky rear-wheel drive cars to attempt to make it through the frequent deep snows of Michigan winters. Open differential coupled with questionable tires and no engine management meant it wasn't always easy, but still somewhat fun.
While still in college, I bought an older Datsun 620 Truck that I drove for several months. It was a blast to drive but was worse than most vehicles in even moderate snow. Getting started on slippery conditions made things difficult, stopping with questionable drum brakes on all four corners made it scary. I really, really wanted a 4wd truck.
While browsing the classifieds in the newspaper (it was around 1992 so there were no online ads), I saw a dealership that had a four wheel drive F150 for a crazy low price. I drove by it on a Sunday and saw it was pretty rusty, but on par with many of my "winter Vehicles."
Returning the next day I talked to the owner/salesman. He told me that it had a "tick" in the engine. Once started, the tick turned out to be a knock. But the oil pressure was good and the oil didn't look like tar so I wasn't too concerned. I was working at the time as a mechanic and wasn't intimidated by dropping the pan to replace engine bearings.
I told the salesman that I would give him my Datsun and $300. The salesman bawled foul and I said, "OK, thanks. Bye." I wasn't really trying to negotiate, $300 was about all that I had. As I started to leave, he quickly suggested my Datsun and $500. No, $300 and I started to leave - again, not really trying to play hardball. As I got in my truck the salesman came over and said, "OK, $300."
We shook on it and I was to come back the next day with the title and cash. As I left, I realized I didn't have $300 and payday was still a few days away. I was able to scrounge around and come up with the cash. $300 was a lot more then, than it is now...
After buying the truck, I was on top of the world driving home. The bed was totally rusted out, but Duke of 'Brother Love Towing' across the street from work gave me a very heavy steel plate that he had sitting in his property. The front gas tank leaked a little so I nervously tack-welded the steel place down the middle of the bed with several people around me holding fire extinguishers. And, I did put a fire blanket between the fuel tank and the bed. Also, the rear fuel tank was askew from some previous incident and the filling of it was glacially slow.
Turning to the "tick" in the engine, I isolated the noise to the #2 cylinder. Dropping the oil pan (had to remove the oil pump in place and drop it in the pan to get the pan off, replacement is the reverse, but not quite as easy as the drive mechanism is a looong rod that also drives the distributor), I replaced the rod bearings assuming that was the cause of the noise. Knowing I was in trouble when all the bearings looked good, I wasn't too surprised when the noise was unchanged.
I bought a used bedliner and truck box from a guy who turned out to be a former SO of my sister. There was no tailgate, so I fashioned one out of hardware store chain with a welder.
At the end of that first winter, I pulled the heads and found a bad wrist pin on further investigation. Only later did I learn this was a common flaw with the 351 Windsor engine. After reassembly the "tick" was gone, but I must not have got the oil pan on right since it leaked quite a bit of oil. The exhaust had been removed in a questionable manner, and there was only a small attempt to minimize the leaking. While not the intended reason, it did make it sound pretty good.
I loved driving that truck. As my first four wheel drive vehicle, I thought I was indestructible. I would find reasons to go out in the worst snow storms just because it was fun. I used it to hop the curb down the one-way road by my house to save a few seconds of my driving time. In my defense, a street has since been put in the curb-hopping spot so I was just a trend setter.
There are two very memorable events in that truck.
In one, while driving near home on one of those snowy days, I was approaching an intersection with a long line of cars in the cross street. After stopping at the stop sign, I started to pull across the intersection, only to have the woman in the cross street think I was turning in front of her as she quickly pulled forward, blocking my path across the street. I stopped, thought about it for a few seconds, and gunned it. She desperately tried to gain traction in reverse with a look of sheer horror on her face as this ass in a crappy Ford F150 was ready to take her out. However rude she was, I wouldn't do that now.
The second incidence was between college and a nearby town where I was going to buy something. On one long stretch of very snowy road, I blew past a long line of cars going too slow. Cresting a hill, I saw the recycling truck skidding out of a side street on the slippery road. There was no way this was going to end well. I had a glancing blow off of the recycling truck, taking out my mirror and putting a few dents and scratches in my truck. As the impact happened, I looked out the window and saw this large sign on the recycling truck that said 'How's my driving, call...' I ended up in someone's yard. No doubt all the "slow" cars I had passed rightfully had smug feelings as they continued safely on by. I told the Recycler, "I'll forget this happened if you will?" He readily agreed. The dents were new character marks and a little welding put the mirror back on, if in a non-adjustable manner. There are many lessons in life, that wreck taught me slower can sometimes be good. And driving in two-wheel drive, while holding on to four-wheel drive for when stupid happens can be a good tactic.
The picture above is likely the only picture I have of the truck. I don't even remember what year it was, but 1982 sticks in my mind. Nostalgia isn't always painted with a factual brush, but I do sometimes miss that truck, or maybe I just miss my early 20s. I traded in that truck when graduation was in sight as a present to myself on a very nice 1994 F150 - likely my most favorite four-wheeled vehicle I've ever owned.
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