SO and I don't exchange Christmas gifts anymore; we haven't for years. Let's be honest: More stuff tends to clutter life, not improve it.
But there was a time when we did exchange gifts. Gifts would typically be something of moderate value on Christmas Eve, with much smaller things (fruit, candy, small hobby supplies, etc.) in stockings on Christmas morning.
Somewhere between 15 and 20 years ago, one of the items I put in SO's stocking was a cooking spoon. It was hard plastic and slotted with a figure-8 in it. At some point a short time after that Christmas morning, I handed that spoon to SO while we were making dinner. She commented something like, "Not that one, I hate that spoon." I laughed and reminded her it was a Christmas present, and that has become a long running joke ever since.
"I need a spoon from the utensil drawer."
"Do you want the one you hate?"
I'm trying to remember what I did last year around the end of the year. I had a few extra days off after I finished deer hunting, and there are always the days off around Christmas and New Years. Cabin fever usually sets in towards the end of the year.
I keep a running list of all the books I read - it serves as a good reminder so I don't inadvertently get the same book at the library twice. It also helps when I'm trying to think of a particular book or author to recommend to someone, and the list sometimes helps me remember what I was doing at a certain time by correlating events with what I happened to be reading. Looking back at late 2016, I wasn't reading very much so that was not helpful. Although I seem to recall rereading several books around that time. The spreadsheet I use to keep track of my work vacation time didn't add any perspective either. Emails from around then are similarly unhelpful. Sometimes even what I've written here may spark a reminder. Looking back at the end of 2016 appears like looking into a foggy mirror.
It makes me worried that I wasted a lot of time at the end of last year.
I hate wasting time. Time is the one commodity that is absolutely fixed. Once a minute is gone, it is gone forever. But then again maybe not. Big mistakes seem to live on in perpetuity. That sounds too negative - many good events take on a life of their own as well. But not like the blunders do.
SO made toffee a short time ago on a day she had off of work. I also noticed three new wooden spoons in the utensil drawer. Wooden spoons have their place, but they can also absorb stuff while cooking. The last wooden spoon was thrown away when mice somehow found it and ate a large percentage of it. The mice in the old house would often make their presence known. If the new house has mice, I've never noticed any evidence of them except in the garage on rare occasions.
I asked SO about the wooden spoons, only because there were three of them. A wooden spoon might ber a useful utensil to have around. But three? "I melted one of the plastic spoons when I made toffee." This should not have been unexpected. "I should probably throw the toffee away, I think there is still some plastic in it."
"One of the cheap fat plastic spoons?" I asked.
"No."
"The one you hate?"
"Yes."
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Monday, December 18, 2017
Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance
I was able to walk into the library and get a copy of Hillbilly Elegy - meaning it no longer carries the crazy impossible-to-borrow best seller (or borrower?) status it did for so long. Still, I hadn't read it before so it was new to me.
Hillbilly Elegy was a book that was on my want-to-read list, then it was taken off. Then at some point it made it back on. Like many best sellers, I was a bit apprehensive. Some of the criticism in the reviews also steered me away.
But the author lived fairly nearby where I live for much of his life and there was lots of positive about the book. Since I could walk in and get a copy, I did.
I was glad I did as the book was overall quite good. The author being native to the area I now call home and looking at the events and dates in the book - it is very possible our paths may have crossed. Not that I have likely ever met him or talked to him, but he wrote about places and things that are very nearby. While his upwardly mobile path sent him to live in San Francisco, my more lateral path sent me to live in the same rust belt area he called home. Although from the small amount I've read about him since finishing the book, it appears he has since moved back to Ohio to start a nonprofit helping his former community. This is deserving of praise as he now has the background and probably finances to live just about anywhere.
The book doesn't start off that well. The first few chapters are somewhat disjointed and lurchy. He introduces many characters - some of which feature prominently in the book and some of which do not. I had a hard time following many of them and the similar colloquial names did not help.
After those first few chapters, it almost seemed like the author got a different editor as the flow of the writing smoothed out considerably. The narrative started to form as the story began to build.
The story itself is one of J.D. Vance's movement within a transplanted Kentucky hillbilly family - his transformation from a poor and degraded section of Middletown, Ohio to a Yale-educated lawyer.
Some of the complaints I saw about the book took on a racial tone or that he was speaking for only one brand of hillbilly. I think this is unfortunate as he was telling his own story - pointing out what worked for him and what he saw as unsuccessful. One could lob the same accusations at Lac Su for I Love Yous Are for White People as the tale is similar. I never got the impression from the book that he was stating as fact that other people will be able to copy his success directly. But what leads to failure is often much easier to predict and duplicate.
Sadly, many have read and interpreted the book with a political slant. Donald Trump's election to the White House was coincidental to the release of the book, but unless the author has clairvoyance that he doesn't share, the 2016 election was unknown when the book was written. Despite what The Huffington Post or Fox News would like us to believe, not everything is political. His story is an interesting personal narrative - I think it is better to leave it at that.
Outside of the dramatic story, what struck me most was his interaction with some of the more elite of society while at Yale. He describes going to a Cracker Barrel restaurant with some of his classmates who had presumably never been to one before - or any of its ilk of restaurants. To them, it is merely “a greasy public health crisis.” Cracker Barrel is not my favorite places, but on the list of eating establishments I would consider “a greasy public health crisis,” it would not be near the top of the list.
What I found terrifying in this section is the people who consider Cracker Barrel “a greasy public health crisis” are the same people who are, by in large, writing our laws, interpreting our laws and running major corporations in the country. I work with some people who come from privileged background, and I can't think of any of them who don't occasionally go to eat fast food or cheap Chinese take-out. Treating Cracker Barrel as little more than barnyard fodder demonstrates a segment of society that is grossly out of touch with not just the poor and lower-middle class, but even some who would be considered rich.
I can only hope that this is one of a few exaggerations in the book.
Which brings up my main criticism of the text - I think he misses a big point, or doesn't make it forcefully enough.
Everybody makes mistakes and just about everybody makes a few doozies while growing up. What separates the rich from everyone else (or possibly what separates the poor from everyone else) is the ability to recover from those mistakes. The rich have an impossibly large safety net. The poor may have to rely on an overburdened court system which constantly sees similar people continue to make mistakes well into adulthood.
I don't mean that killing a carload of friends while drinking and driving should not have consequences for either the rich or poor. But being able to safely fail is an incredibly important part of learning as anyone grows up.
Peak behind the curtain of the wealthy Yale Law School students and I'm convinced things aren't quite as clean as what the author paints it out to be. Shake those rich family trees hard enough and a few surprises are bound to fall out. But the ability to work through that, to recover from mistakes has a sliding scale from the rich, through the middle-class, to the poor.
Sadly, luck also plays a role. Being fortunate cannot be underestimated.
Because my copy of Hillbilly Elegy came from the library, it had been previously read by an unknown number of other people. One reader had underlined several passages and written a few notes in the margins. This is, of course, not the first time I've seen this in a library book, and I often find this maddening. I probably over-interpreted what was there, but in this instance it added just a bit to he book - knowing another person who lives in the same area of the state as J.D. Vance was highlighting sections he or she thought pertinent. It really is a small world.
"...that those of us lucky enough to live the American Dream, the demons we left behind continue to chase us."
There but for the grace of God go I.
Hillbilly Elegy was a book that was on my want-to-read list, then it was taken off. Then at some point it made it back on. Like many best sellers, I was a bit apprehensive. Some of the criticism in the reviews also steered me away.
But the author lived fairly nearby where I live for much of his life and there was lots of positive about the book. Since I could walk in and get a copy, I did.
I was glad I did as the book was overall quite good. The author being native to the area I now call home and looking at the events and dates in the book - it is very possible our paths may have crossed. Not that I have likely ever met him or talked to him, but he wrote about places and things that are very nearby. While his upwardly mobile path sent him to live in San Francisco, my more lateral path sent me to live in the same rust belt area he called home. Although from the small amount I've read about him since finishing the book, it appears he has since moved back to Ohio to start a nonprofit helping his former community. This is deserving of praise as he now has the background and probably finances to live just about anywhere.
The book doesn't start off that well. The first few chapters are somewhat disjointed and lurchy. He introduces many characters - some of which feature prominently in the book and some of which do not. I had a hard time following many of them and the similar colloquial names did not help.
After those first few chapters, it almost seemed like the author got a different editor as the flow of the writing smoothed out considerably. The narrative started to form as the story began to build.
The story itself is one of J.D. Vance's movement within a transplanted Kentucky hillbilly family - his transformation from a poor and degraded section of Middletown, Ohio to a Yale-educated lawyer.
Some of the complaints I saw about the book took on a racial tone or that he was speaking for only one brand of hillbilly. I think this is unfortunate as he was telling his own story - pointing out what worked for him and what he saw as unsuccessful. One could lob the same accusations at Lac Su for I Love Yous Are for White People as the tale is similar. I never got the impression from the book that he was stating as fact that other people will be able to copy his success directly. But what leads to failure is often much easier to predict and duplicate.
Sadly, many have read and interpreted the book with a political slant. Donald Trump's election to the White House was coincidental to the release of the book, but unless the author has clairvoyance that he doesn't share, the 2016 election was unknown when the book was written. Despite what The Huffington Post or Fox News would like us to believe, not everything is political. His story is an interesting personal narrative - I think it is better to leave it at that.
Outside of the dramatic story, what struck me most was his interaction with some of the more elite of society while at Yale. He describes going to a Cracker Barrel restaurant with some of his classmates who had presumably never been to one before - or any of its ilk of restaurants. To them, it is merely “a greasy public health crisis.” Cracker Barrel is not my favorite places, but on the list of eating establishments I would consider “a greasy public health crisis,” it would not be near the top of the list.
What I found terrifying in this section is the people who consider Cracker Barrel “a greasy public health crisis” are the same people who are, by in large, writing our laws, interpreting our laws and running major corporations in the country. I work with some people who come from privileged background, and I can't think of any of them who don't occasionally go to eat fast food or cheap Chinese take-out. Treating Cracker Barrel as little more than barnyard fodder demonstrates a segment of society that is grossly out of touch with not just the poor and lower-middle class, but even some who would be considered rich.
I can only hope that this is one of a few exaggerations in the book.
Which brings up my main criticism of the text - I think he misses a big point, or doesn't make it forcefully enough.
Everybody makes mistakes and just about everybody makes a few doozies while growing up. What separates the rich from everyone else (or possibly what separates the poor from everyone else) is the ability to recover from those mistakes. The rich have an impossibly large safety net. The poor may have to rely on an overburdened court system which constantly sees similar people continue to make mistakes well into adulthood.
I don't mean that killing a carload of friends while drinking and driving should not have consequences for either the rich or poor. But being able to safely fail is an incredibly important part of learning as anyone grows up.
Peak behind the curtain of the wealthy Yale Law School students and I'm convinced things aren't quite as clean as what the author paints it out to be. Shake those rich family trees hard enough and a few surprises are bound to fall out. But the ability to work through that, to recover from mistakes has a sliding scale from the rich, through the middle-class, to the poor.
Sadly, luck also plays a role. Being fortunate cannot be underestimated.
Because my copy of Hillbilly Elegy came from the library, it had been previously read by an unknown number of other people. One reader had underlined several passages and written a few notes in the margins. This is, of course, not the first time I've seen this in a library book, and I often find this maddening. I probably over-interpreted what was there, but in this instance it added just a bit to he book - knowing another person who lives in the same area of the state as J.D. Vance was highlighting sections he or she thought pertinent. It really is a small world.
"...that those of us lucky enough to live the American Dream, the demons we left behind continue to chase us."
There but for the grace of God go I.
Friday, December 8, 2017
Ridgeline Nation
I'm not sure why, but I love going to the scrapyard. My introduction to it goes back about 25 years when the shop I was a mechanic at was moving. My boss had piles of classic car treasures - meaning troves of useless used parts from defunct scrapped cars containing enough valuable gems that everything was worth saving ... until the time came to move. He couldn't bear to part with them, so a few of us did near-daily runs to the scrap yard for a bit of extra cash. It was always fun to see what else was in the pile of metal at the scrapyard - everything from shards of tire shredding junk to nearly pristine automobile engines from an R&D facility a few miles away.
Ever since then, I've always tried to save metal for recycling, if for no other reason than an excuse to visit the metal scrapyard.
At times this leaves me feeling like a meth-head. I had a moderate amount of aluminum I was selling when the fuel pump on my F-150 went belly up. Standing in line with the people selling stolen water pipes and small bits of wire was an experience. It was not fun, after getting my cash, waiting for the tow truck to show up as it got darker and darker. They typically don't put scrap yards in the best neighborhoods.
When moving to my current house, I had piles of metal to be recycled, including the body of an MGB I had to cut up with a tiger saw. This was no meth-head operation, but quite the undertaking fitting all that steel in the bed of my Toyota Tacoma.
So when I heard about the book Junkard Planet by Adam Minter, I knew I had to read it. It is a fascinating look at the scrap and recycling industry, primarily the money and trade between the US and Western Europe to and from Asia. This is a must-read for anybody who has ever marveled at the piles of metal at the scrap yard, or the idealistic neighborhood recycler.
My 2017 Honda Ridgeline was made in Lincoln, Alabama. I have now had this truck for a year and about 13,000 miles. I bought it new, but at the risk of anthropomorphizing something inanimate, Junkyard Planet made me think about its former life. Exactly where did the metal, plastic, fabric, etc. of my Honda start out? How much of the materials that make up the Ridgeline are reclaimed vs. made out of new material extracted from the ground?
My original plan was to write either a 10,000 mile review of the Ridgeline, or a 1-year review. But 10,000 passed a while ago while driving through South Dakota. And yes, I do use the awful "Eco" button when on the interstate for long trips. It is OK on the interstate, but it makes the vehicle nearly intolerable to drive any other time.
When I reread my previous Original and Six-Month reviews, they still cover my experience with the Ridgeline extremely well. In the year and 13,000 miles that I've had the vehicle, I have really gotten to like this vehicle. There are a few quirks, but I've yet to see any vehicle that doesn't have them. Vehicle design must be an exercise in trade-offs. While initially I was somewhat neutral on the appearance of the truck, even that has grown on me.
There are, predictably, a lot of piddly complaints which can be read on sites like the Ridgeline Owners Club. Like most of the message boards I read, I'm a chronic lurker there. People love to complain online. But with few exceptions - it is just noise and this happens with just about every vehicle made ... ever. The two biggest complaints I've seen are a lack of radio knobs - but my trim level has radio knobs thank-you-very-much. However I rarely use them since controlling it from the steering wheel is easier. Having my dogs on the radio wallpaper is a great feature to have.
The other complaint is how far the back doors open. To be fair, I don't think any person has ever sat in the back seat in my truck. But the doors open wide enough to easily get a double rifle case in front of OR UNDER the back seat. That last option is great as it frees up so much more storage space for other things when I go on road trips.
And my Ridgeline has been on a few road trips. About 30% of the miles on my Ridgeline have been hunting road trips. The amount of stuff I can fit in it is vastly superior to my former Tacoma. In addition to interior room, the Ridgeline has a voluminous "trunk" under the bed that easily holds all the stuff I used to cram in the Tacoma's meager underseat storage (or in a cardboard box on the back seat in my former F-150).
The all wheel drive system on the truck has proven extremely effective - even while going through some nasty stuff while hunting.
Fuel economy has been adequate so far. It is about the same as my 4-cylinder Tacoma, but the V6 in the Ridgeline is a rocket compared to the grossly underpowered Taco. I still wish there was a smaller more fuel efficient truck available in the United States. I also mourn the slow death of the manual transmission. I have only a minuscule amount of hope that the someday Ford Ranger will fill that void.
The drop in fuel economy at the end of the graph below shows the very real dip that driving at a fairly high rate of speed en route to Wyoming will do - and both directions of the trip were fighting a significant headwind in cold temperatures. It is surprising how much of an impact that makes, even with a vehicle that is fairly aerodynamic (for a truck). The graph also shows actual calculated mileage; indicated is typically around 1MPG more optimistic.
The only maintenance the truck has needed so far has been a simple oil change. I suspect I'll be due for rear differential fluid and maybe even transmission fluid early in 2018 - but I'll let the Maintenance Minder advise what is needed. Thankfully, most of the routine maintenance looks brainlessly simple.
My RTS trim level is no longer offered by Honda which is sad as I really saw it as the sweet spot for what I wanted. I'm not terribly interested in a lot of extra doodads and much prefer cloth interior over leather. I do wonder how the seats will hold up over time as they seem to take stains a little more than I would have hoped.
In short, the Honda Ridgeline is a great vehicle for what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it is not.
The other thing Junkyard Planet made me wonder was what has happened to all my previous vehicles. Likely my Tacoma is still trucking around. Given the troubles I had with 2003 F-150, I'm less sure about that one. Thinking back, I'm sure many of the vehicles I used to own have been reclaimed and turned into new things - maybe even my current Ridgeline! (highly unlikely)
If I have any criticism of Junkyard Planet, it was that it felt a little dated. It came out in 2013, which was just after the global economic meltdown was getting into full recovery. Additionally, China seems to be changing weekly. I couldn't help but think that things had changed since it was originally written.
I also wish there was more information on Africa. Adam Minter is a journalist based in Asia, so the focus makes sense. But I suspect some of the environmental issues he writes about are much worse in Africa. Although, as he points out, versus what alternative?
The sections on plastic recycling and electronic waste I found depressing. I've experienced this before. There are, frankly, no good solutions for many of us in the developed world. Recycling may be messy in the developing world, but it also looks more complete.
Finishing the book, I couldn't help but wonder how long until we start mining landfills for the metals and plastics as raw materials for the next generation of "stuff" to saturate our lives. More stuff doesn't improve life, it just clutters it.
While I don't know what my Honda Ridgeline was in a past life, I hope and expect its next life won't come for many years and many miles.
Ever since then, I've always tried to save metal for recycling, if for no other reason than an excuse to visit the metal scrapyard.
At times this leaves me feeling like a meth-head. I had a moderate amount of aluminum I was selling when the fuel pump on my F-150 went belly up. Standing in line with the people selling stolen water pipes and small bits of wire was an experience. It was not fun, after getting my cash, waiting for the tow truck to show up as it got darker and darker. They typically don't put scrap yards in the best neighborhoods.
When moving to my current house, I had piles of metal to be recycled, including the body of an MGB I had to cut up with a tiger saw. This was no meth-head operation, but quite the undertaking fitting all that steel in the bed of my Toyota Tacoma.
So when I heard about the book Junkard Planet by Adam Minter, I knew I had to read it. It is a fascinating look at the scrap and recycling industry, primarily the money and trade between the US and Western Europe to and from Asia. This is a must-read for anybody who has ever marveled at the piles of metal at the scrap yard, or the idealistic neighborhood recycler.
My original plan was to write either a 10,000 mile review of the Ridgeline, or a 1-year review. But 10,000 passed a while ago while driving through South Dakota. And yes, I do use the awful "Eco" button when on the interstate for long trips. It is OK on the interstate, but it makes the vehicle nearly intolerable to drive any other time.
When I reread my previous Original and Six-Month reviews, they still cover my experience with the Ridgeline extremely well. In the year and 13,000 miles that I've had the vehicle, I have really gotten to like this vehicle. There are a few quirks, but I've yet to see any vehicle that doesn't have them. Vehicle design must be an exercise in trade-offs. While initially I was somewhat neutral on the appearance of the truck, even that has grown on me.
There are, predictably, a lot of piddly complaints which can be read on sites like the Ridgeline Owners Club. Like most of the message boards I read, I'm a chronic lurker there. People love to complain online. But with few exceptions - it is just noise and this happens with just about every vehicle made ... ever. The two biggest complaints I've seen are a lack of radio knobs - but my trim level has radio knobs thank-you-very-much. However I rarely use them since controlling it from the steering wheel is easier. Having my dogs on the radio wallpaper is a great feature to have.
The other complaint is how far the back doors open. To be fair, I don't think any person has ever sat in the back seat in my truck. But the doors open wide enough to easily get a double rifle case in front of OR UNDER the back seat. That last option is great as it frees up so much more storage space for other things when I go on road trips.
And my Ridgeline has been on a few road trips. About 30% of the miles on my Ridgeline have been hunting road trips. The amount of stuff I can fit in it is vastly superior to my former Tacoma. In addition to interior room, the Ridgeline has a voluminous "trunk" under the bed that easily holds all the stuff I used to cram in the Tacoma's meager underseat storage (or in a cardboard box on the back seat in my former F-150).
The all wheel drive system on the truck has proven extremely effective - even while going through some nasty stuff while hunting.
Fuel economy has been adequate so far. It is about the same as my 4-cylinder Tacoma, but the V6 in the Ridgeline is a rocket compared to the grossly underpowered Taco. I still wish there was a smaller more fuel efficient truck available in the United States. I also mourn the slow death of the manual transmission. I have only a minuscule amount of hope that the someday Ford Ranger will fill that void.
The drop in fuel economy at the end of the graph below shows the very real dip that driving at a fairly high rate of speed en route to Wyoming will do - and both directions of the trip were fighting a significant headwind in cold temperatures. It is surprising how much of an impact that makes, even with a vehicle that is fairly aerodynamic (for a truck). The graph also shows actual calculated mileage; indicated is typically around 1MPG more optimistic.
The only maintenance the truck has needed so far has been a simple oil change. I suspect I'll be due for rear differential fluid and maybe even transmission fluid early in 2018 - but I'll let the Maintenance Minder advise what is needed. Thankfully, most of the routine maintenance looks brainlessly simple.
My RTS trim level is no longer offered by Honda which is sad as I really saw it as the sweet spot for what I wanted. I'm not terribly interested in a lot of extra doodads and much prefer cloth interior over leather. I do wonder how the seats will hold up over time as they seem to take stains a little more than I would have hoped.
In short, the Honda Ridgeline is a great vehicle for what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it is not.
The other thing Junkyard Planet made me wonder was what has happened to all my previous vehicles. Likely my Tacoma is still trucking around. Given the troubles I had with 2003 F-150, I'm less sure about that one. Thinking back, I'm sure many of the vehicles I used to own have been reclaimed and turned into new things - maybe even my current Ridgeline! (highly unlikely)
If I have any criticism of Junkyard Planet, it was that it felt a little dated. It came out in 2013, which was just after the global economic meltdown was getting into full recovery. Additionally, China seems to be changing weekly. I couldn't help but think that things had changed since it was originally written.
I also wish there was more information on Africa. Adam Minter is a journalist based in Asia, so the focus makes sense. But I suspect some of the environmental issues he writes about are much worse in Africa. Although, as he points out, versus what alternative?
The sections on plastic recycling and electronic waste I found depressing. I've experienced this before. There are, frankly, no good solutions for many of us in the developed world. Recycling may be messy in the developing world, but it also looks more complete.
Finishing the book, I couldn't help but wonder how long until we start mining landfills for the metals and plastics as raw materials for the next generation of "stuff" to saturate our lives. More stuff doesn't improve life, it just clutters it.
While I don't know what my Honda Ridgeline was in a past life, I hope and expect its next life won't come for many years and many miles.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Starting Over
A few coworkers were discussing the relatively recent trend of "Tiny Houses" and the perceived benefits versus the negatives. This discussion evolved into one about the more generic wish to simplify. The interpretations of this ranged from winning the lottery and buying remote land to just moving to a smaller house. It seems like Tiny Houses keeps most of life the same but just deletes some comfort from that same reality.
My comment, "I want to sell everything and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life."
I'm assuming this exists in many cultures, but the idea of throwing off the shackles of work, of possessions, of interconnected responsibilities runs deep in America. America was built on the idea of carving out a new life as the country slowly migrated west. The image of the cowboy riding off into the sunset is part of many fantasies.
Elizabeth Greenwood wrote Playing Dead - about people who fake their death in order to start over. While not addressed directly in the book, the idea of walking away from everything by faking one's death is just an attempt at simplification. Albeit this rather drastic way to simplify is more often used to ameliorate one (or a few) specific problems. I enjoyed the book even as it was written from a very Millennial perspective. Her personal narrative shows the consequences of making some choices early without thinking about the long term implications. I suspect this is something everyone does to some extent. Faking death ultimately just appears to create lots of new complications in the end.
Cheryl Strayed tried to write about her experiences hiking the Pacific Trail. I admire her quest and success in taking on the challenge, but her writing reeks of self-help, and the self-help genre approaches a status somewhere between a cult and a drug. While self-help books may give short term relief, they too quickly need to be reinforced by another. And another. Sadly, Strayed is more Brand than honest inspiration now.
Bill Bryson hiked (most of) the Appalachian trail and wrote about it as only he could. Mr. Bryson is a bit of an enigma, he comes across as very condescending in The Lost Continent. Small-town America deserves better; the heartland is only as terrible as he makes it out to be if a traveler demands that it is. I suspect his interaction with the British is far different than mine has been. The people in small-town England could be small-town Americans if it weren't for the accent. Having spent a few days in Dusseldorf, Germany several years ago, I found it as charming as Gary, Indiana. A Walk in the Woods was more genuine, less snarky, more personal. Bill Bryson didn't use the Appalachian Trail to start over, but he paints it in places as a form of contemplation.
Geraldine Largay was determined to hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 66. Originally with a partner, she ended the adventure on her own, and it ended tragically. From the Donner Party on, American history is littered with the dead. As the saying goes, "Every corpse on Everest was once a very motivated person."
It is probably impossible to talk about this without remembering Chris McCandless. After bouncing around the country immediately after college and (literally) burning his money, he ended up in Alaska. He hiked out on the Stampede Trail near Healy, before living in a bus bear Denali National Park for a few months. Surging rivers prevented his return, and that bus ended up being where his life ended. Whether thought of as idealistic or a degenerate, his story is part of the American lexicon, with Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, PBS' excellent documentary, or Sean Penn's subpar movie all telling his story.
Christopher Knight really did throw off the shackles for a long time. A new book (I haven't read it yet) out by Michael Finkel tells the story of how he lived in the Maine woods for 27 years - living off of what he was able to steal from nearby homes and cabins. Mr. Finkel wrote a riveting article about this in 2013 and I can't help but wonder what new information will be included in the book given that the end of that article seems to indicate the end of that relationship, "...we are not friends ... I’m not going to miss you at all." Michael Finkel's book True Story - another book about people tragically starting over - was good, so I'll probably have to read The Stranger in the Woods. Hopefully it gives a little insight on how Mr. Knight is fairing now.
And among these more notable cases, there are countless tales never told of people doing something, anything, to start over.
I try to be very honest with myself and the chances of selling everything and traveling on the cheap for the next few decades is very, very unlikely. Not impossible, but the odds are terribly long. The events recounted here suggest no shortage of situations where these things end very tragically. But I can't help but wonder what else exists from vagabond and vagrant through beige suburbanite, and where on that continuum I am ... or could be.
My comment, "I want to sell everything and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life."
I'm assuming this exists in many cultures, but the idea of throwing off the shackles of work, of possessions, of interconnected responsibilities runs deep in America. America was built on the idea of carving out a new life as the country slowly migrated west. The image of the cowboy riding off into the sunset is part of many fantasies.
Elizabeth Greenwood wrote Playing Dead - about people who fake their death in order to start over. While not addressed directly in the book, the idea of walking away from everything by faking one's death is just an attempt at simplification. Albeit this rather drastic way to simplify is more often used to ameliorate one (or a few) specific problems. I enjoyed the book even as it was written from a very Millennial perspective. Her personal narrative shows the consequences of making some choices early without thinking about the long term implications. I suspect this is something everyone does to some extent. Faking death ultimately just appears to create lots of new complications in the end.
Cheryl Strayed tried to write about her experiences hiking the Pacific Trail. I admire her quest and success in taking on the challenge, but her writing reeks of self-help, and the self-help genre approaches a status somewhere between a cult and a drug. While self-help books may give short term relief, they too quickly need to be reinforced by another. And another. Sadly, Strayed is more Brand than honest inspiration now.
Bill Bryson hiked (most of) the Appalachian trail and wrote about it as only he could. Mr. Bryson is a bit of an enigma, he comes across as very condescending in The Lost Continent. Small-town America deserves better; the heartland is only as terrible as he makes it out to be if a traveler demands that it is. I suspect his interaction with the British is far different than mine has been. The people in small-town England could be small-town Americans if it weren't for the accent. Having spent a few days in Dusseldorf, Germany several years ago, I found it as charming as Gary, Indiana. A Walk in the Woods was more genuine, less snarky, more personal. Bill Bryson didn't use the Appalachian Trail to start over, but he paints it in places as a form of contemplation.
Geraldine Largay was determined to hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 66. Originally with a partner, she ended the adventure on her own, and it ended tragically. From the Donner Party on, American history is littered with the dead. As the saying goes, "Every corpse on Everest was once a very motivated person."
It is probably impossible to talk about this without remembering Chris McCandless. After bouncing around the country immediately after college and (literally) burning his money, he ended up in Alaska. He hiked out on the Stampede Trail near Healy, before living in a bus bear Denali National Park for a few months. Surging rivers prevented his return, and that bus ended up being where his life ended. Whether thought of as idealistic or a degenerate, his story is part of the American lexicon, with Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, PBS' excellent documentary, or Sean Penn's subpar movie all telling his story.
Christopher Knight really did throw off the shackles for a long time. A new book (I haven't read it yet) out by Michael Finkel tells the story of how he lived in the Maine woods for 27 years - living off of what he was able to steal from nearby homes and cabins. Mr. Finkel wrote a riveting article about this in 2013 and I can't help but wonder what new information will be included in the book given that the end of that article seems to indicate the end of that relationship, "...we are not friends ... I’m not going to miss you at all." Michael Finkel's book True Story - another book about people tragically starting over - was good, so I'll probably have to read The Stranger in the Woods. Hopefully it gives a little insight on how Mr. Knight is fairing now.
And among these more notable cases, there are countless tales never told of people doing something, anything, to start over.
I try to be very honest with myself and the chances of selling everything and traveling on the cheap for the next few decades is very, very unlikely. Not impossible, but the odds are terribly long. The events recounted here suggest no shortage of situations where these things end very tragically. But I can't help but wonder what else exists from vagabond and vagrant through beige suburbanite, and where on that continuum I am ... or could be.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Brother North-wind's Secret
"No, I understand now," Auberon said, calm in the woods - it was so simple, really. "I didn't for a long time, but I do now. You just can't hold people, you can't own them. I mean it's only natural, a natural process really. Meet. Love. Part. Life goes on. There was never any reason to expect her to stay always the same - I mean 'in love,' you know." There were those doubt quotes of Smoky's, heavily indicated. "I don't hold a grudge. I can't."
"You do," Grandfather Trout said. "And you don't understand."
Little, Big is not the type of book I normally read.
I rarely reread books.
I almost never buy books.
Two Thousand Four, the year I originally read Little, Big was a tough year. Despite doing unimportant work that was being done only to placate unimportant managers, I was almost fired for taking scheduled time off. My scheduled time off was for deer hunting - and I couldn't buy a vision of a deer that year despite spending more cumulative hours in the woods than I had in many seasons.
I had seen some references to Little, Big and so I got it from inter-library loan to read during the last few wretched days of the year.
I haven't read very much this year, but I've reread several books. One book that kept calling was Little, Big by John Crowley. Because my local library system doesn't have this book, I bought it used from Amazon. Used books from Amazon are amazing; I think the near-new book cost a couple dollars with a similar amount for shipping. If I was going to reread it, I knew I needed to keep this book on hand, since inter-library loans take too much time when it involves books that are outside of my norm. It sat on a shelf for much of the year until some time off this past week (coincidentally also due to deer hunting - although more successfully than 2004).
I know the 2004 and 2016 books are the same script, but the 12 years difference illustrates how time and place affect what is actually contained in the words. Things now are both bigger and smaller than they were in 2004.
Concepts from the book that I took away as critically important in 2004 were present but played a diminished role in the Tale overall. The entire story flowed so much more completely than it did during the first embodiment. And while, like much fantasy fiction, there are extended passages of descriptions and alliteration, it adds to the story in a way that sawdust filler does not in much fiction. I recall parts of the book as a hard slog on first read. This past week, I put off other important stuff only so that I could finish the book.
"Grow up? No. Well. In a sense. You see it's inevitable, or refuse to. You greet it or don't - take it in trade, maybe, for all you're going to lose anyway. Or you can refuse, and have what you've got to lose snatched from you, and never take payment - never see a trade is possible.”
There are synopses of the book elsewhere, so no need to recreate one here, but the Tale follows a family through many generations. Love. Loss. Marriage. Death. Infidelity. Birth. Hints of incest. Wealth. Poverty. Power. Astrology. Fish.
My biggest dislike with the book? Why does so much fiction have to be set in fucking New York??? Other places really do exist - even a few states that start with the letter I. The book does end both in and not in New York.
Looking through the list of books I've read over the last decade-plus (yes, I keep a list), there are quite a few which might be considered fantasy fiction - which surprised me. I didn't think I read fantasy fiction... But Little, Big remains the only one I've read twice as an adult.
The end of the Tale is much more coherent than I recall from my first reading - so much so that I sometimes can't help but wonder if the book hasn't greatly changed, grown older or moved to a new place, in the last 12 years.
I'm not sure if I'll ever read Little, Big a third time. But if it does call again, I'll keep a copy waiting. I'm sure it will be both bigger and smaller.
The cold compassion of bartenders, he came to see, was like that of priests: universal rather than personal, with charity for all and malice toward almost none. Firmly situated … between sacrament and communicant, they commanded rather than earned love, trust, dependence.
"You do," Grandfather Trout said. "And you don't understand."
Little, Big is not the type of book I normally read.
I rarely reread books.
I almost never buy books.
Two Thousand Four, the year I originally read Little, Big was a tough year. Despite doing unimportant work that was being done only to placate unimportant managers, I was almost fired for taking scheduled time off. My scheduled time off was for deer hunting - and I couldn't buy a vision of a deer that year despite spending more cumulative hours in the woods than I had in many seasons.
I had seen some references to Little, Big and so I got it from inter-library loan to read during the last few wretched days of the year.
I haven't read very much this year, but I've reread several books. One book that kept calling was Little, Big by John Crowley. Because my local library system doesn't have this book, I bought it used from Amazon. Used books from Amazon are amazing; I think the near-new book cost a couple dollars with a similar amount for shipping. If I was going to reread it, I knew I needed to keep this book on hand, since inter-library loans take too much time when it involves books that are outside of my norm. It sat on a shelf for much of the year until some time off this past week (coincidentally also due to deer hunting - although more successfully than 2004).
I know the 2004 and 2016 books are the same script, but the 12 years difference illustrates how time and place affect what is actually contained in the words. Things now are both bigger and smaller than they were in 2004.
Concepts from the book that I took away as critically important in 2004 were present but played a diminished role in the Tale overall. The entire story flowed so much more completely than it did during the first embodiment. And while, like much fantasy fiction, there are extended passages of descriptions and alliteration, it adds to the story in a way that sawdust filler does not in much fiction. I recall parts of the book as a hard slog on first read. This past week, I put off other important stuff only so that I could finish the book.
"Grow up? No. Well. In a sense. You see it's inevitable, or refuse to. You greet it or don't - take it in trade, maybe, for all you're going to lose anyway. Or you can refuse, and have what you've got to lose snatched from you, and never take payment - never see a trade is possible.”
There are synopses of the book elsewhere, so no need to recreate one here, but the Tale follows a family through many generations. Love. Loss. Marriage. Death. Infidelity. Birth. Hints of incest. Wealth. Poverty. Power. Astrology. Fish.
My biggest dislike with the book? Why does so much fiction have to be set in fucking New York??? Other places really do exist - even a few states that start with the letter I. The book does end both in and not in New York.
Looking through the list of books I've read over the last decade-plus (yes, I keep a list), there are quite a few which might be considered fantasy fiction - which surprised me. I didn't think I read fantasy fiction... But Little, Big remains the only one I've read twice as an adult.
The end of the Tale is much more coherent than I recall from my first reading - so much so that I sometimes can't help but wonder if the book hasn't greatly changed, grown older or moved to a new place, in the last 12 years.
I'm not sure if I'll ever read Little, Big a third time. But if it does call again, I'll keep a copy waiting. I'm sure it will be both bigger and smaller.
The cold compassion of bartenders, he came to see, was like that of priests: universal rather than personal, with charity for all and malice toward almost none. Firmly situated … between sacrament and communicant, they commanded rather than earned love, trust, dependence.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Road Trip Risk
Like many other things, it falls into the camp of, "I'd rather not know."
Two of the dogs had their annual check-ups a few days ago. En route to the vet, NPR had a story about an upcoming book The Voyeur's Motel by Gay Talese. I got to the vet a few minutes before they opened, so I was able to listen to the end of the story. A quick search on my phone revealed a pre-article under the same title in The New Yorker. I printed the article to a PDF and emailed it to myself for future reading. Interestingly, The New Yorker cartoon images did not render in the PDF, while the captions for the cartoons did, making the cartoons just as enjoyable had they been displayed correctly.
The article was disturbing - as I assume the book is. The basics: a man in Colorado bought a motel and created viewing ports in the attic to watch guests ... doing what guests do in motels. With a few weeks on the road every year, I stay in lots of hotels. I'm not terribly picky about the hotel, other than it be relatively clean and relatively inexpensive. I'm well aware it is very possible to make a room look clean, with actual cleanliness somewhat suspect. Sometimes clean and cheap compete. And apparently there are sometimes viewing ports in the rooms.
In one of my most conspicuous examples of cheap and clean competing, I was vacationing through South Texas well over 10 years ago. There was a very nice chain hotel that was more expensive than we wanted to pay, with a slightly rundown place (LCI) across the street, "Cheapest Rates on the Beach!" The hotel was cheap, but there was a $5 deposit on the room key - seriously. The room was tolerably clean, but the large front window didn't lock very well. After settling in, I was unable to find the remote to turn on the TV. Walking back to the lobby, I was informed that remotes are given out only after a $10 deposit. This was probably the only time I have stayed in a place where other denizens feel compelled to steal TV remotes. The restaurant next door that night was great and after several margaritas I slept just fine in the hotel room, even if it wasn't the best room I've ever stayed in. The broken window lock didn't even bother me (much). I still have the receipt for that hotel as a memento. For all the now forgotten hotels and motels I've stayed in, LCI was quite memorable, even if it wasn't for the best reasons.
Looking at Google Streetview, the hotel still exists, and the exterior looks better than I remember from my stay. Reviews for the establishment are largely wretched. No mention in the reviews of deposits for room keys or TV remotes. I can only hope.
There have been other cheap hotels which have ranged from exquisite to funky-smelling to pretty awful. I've been given the keys to rooms which were already rented, and had people try to enter in the middle of the night when my room was rerented, "I'm mad about this, I could have gotten shot!" Perhaps my penchant for travelling armed proceeds me. Road trips mean never staying in one place very long. If I do stay in the same place for multiple days, I generally try to get, at least, a more interesting place to stay.
I've always thought that there was some voyeuristic behavior in hotels, either by the staff and management, or by other guests. With housekeeping walking in and out every day, it is hard to imagine some snooping NOT happening. Even I, on occasion, have spent a few minutes peeking out of a hotel door peep hole. This may be due to safety more than anything nefarious as I can be a bit paranoid. One night in Illinois, I was sure I was going to be on an episode of Cops, as a woman screamed "RYAN," while pounding on the doors around my room. But hearing of the flagrant example of criminal peeping tomery in The New Yorker article was a little hard to stomach. While I expect this was, and is, the very rare exception rather than the rule, it is none the less disturbing.
I would actually think peering in on people going about mundane events would get quite dull very quickly, which makes the subject in the upcoming book all the more frightening since it went on for many years. Perhaps the mundanity is interspersed with enough novel events to continue. More likely, one must be the right kind of person to do this in the first place.
The comparison of the subject of Mr. Talese's book to the Norman Bates of Hitchcock fame is almost impossible not to make. In an early scene of the first Bates movie, Norman peeks through a small hole in the wall at a female guest in the shower, which begins to set off the unfortunate fictional events.
In this new book, the events are believed to be largely non-fiction. However, there are discrepancies noted and Mr. Talese is of the New Journalism school, which has at times split the hair between fiction and non-fiction. Hopefully this doesn't happen obliquely. After reading the article, I'm not sure if I'll read the book. I think I've learned enough at this point. Tell-all books are better when the alls that are being told are voyeuristically about something that affects other people.
The vet visit concluded that the dogs are getting older and are healthy with no new issues uncovered. They received annual vaccinations, including for bordetella - meaning they can be kenneled for a future road trip ... which will include motel stays.
Two of the dogs had their annual check-ups a few days ago. En route to the vet, NPR had a story about an upcoming book The Voyeur's Motel by Gay Talese. I got to the vet a few minutes before they opened, so I was able to listen to the end of the story. A quick search on my phone revealed a pre-article under the same title in The New Yorker. I printed the article to a PDF and emailed it to myself for future reading. Interestingly, The New Yorker cartoon images did not render in the PDF, while the captions for the cartoons did, making the cartoons just as enjoyable had they been displayed correctly.
The article was disturbing - as I assume the book is. The basics: a man in Colorado bought a motel and created viewing ports in the attic to watch guests ... doing what guests do in motels. With a few weeks on the road every year, I stay in lots of hotels. I'm not terribly picky about the hotel, other than it be relatively clean and relatively inexpensive. I'm well aware it is very possible to make a room look clean, with actual cleanliness somewhat suspect. Sometimes clean and cheap compete. And apparently there are sometimes viewing ports in the rooms.
In one of my most conspicuous examples of cheap and clean competing, I was vacationing through South Texas well over 10 years ago. There was a very nice chain hotel that was more expensive than we wanted to pay, with a slightly rundown place (LCI) across the street, "Cheapest Rates on the Beach!" The hotel was cheap, but there was a $5 deposit on the room key - seriously. The room was tolerably clean, but the large front window didn't lock very well. After settling in, I was unable to find the remote to turn on the TV. Walking back to the lobby, I was informed that remotes are given out only after a $10 deposit. This was probably the only time I have stayed in a place where other denizens feel compelled to steal TV remotes. The restaurant next door that night was great and after several margaritas I slept just fine in the hotel room, even if it wasn't the best room I've ever stayed in. The broken window lock didn't even bother me (much). I still have the receipt for that hotel as a memento. For all the now forgotten hotels and motels I've stayed in, LCI was quite memorable, even if it wasn't for the best reasons.
Looking at Google Streetview, the hotel still exists, and the exterior looks better than I remember from my stay. Reviews for the establishment are largely wretched. No mention in the reviews of deposits for room keys or TV remotes. I can only hope.
There have been other cheap hotels which have ranged from exquisite to funky-smelling to pretty awful. I've been given the keys to rooms which were already rented, and had people try to enter in the middle of the night when my room was rerented, "I'm mad about this, I could have gotten shot!" Perhaps my penchant for travelling armed proceeds me. Road trips mean never staying in one place very long. If I do stay in the same place for multiple days, I generally try to get, at least, a more interesting place to stay.
I've always thought that there was some voyeuristic behavior in hotels, either by the staff and management, or by other guests. With housekeeping walking in and out every day, it is hard to imagine some snooping NOT happening. Even I, on occasion, have spent a few minutes peeking out of a hotel door peep hole. This may be due to safety more than anything nefarious as I can be a bit paranoid. One night in Illinois, I was sure I was going to be on an episode of Cops, as a woman screamed "RYAN," while pounding on the doors around my room. But hearing of the flagrant example of criminal peeping tomery in The New Yorker article was a little hard to stomach. While I expect this was, and is, the very rare exception rather than the rule, it is none the less disturbing.
I would actually think peering in on people going about mundane events would get quite dull very quickly, which makes the subject in the upcoming book all the more frightening since it went on for many years. Perhaps the mundanity is interspersed with enough novel events to continue. More likely, one must be the right kind of person to do this in the first place.
The comparison of the subject of Mr. Talese's book to the Norman Bates of Hitchcock fame is almost impossible not to make. In an early scene of the first Bates movie, Norman peeks through a small hole in the wall at a female guest in the shower, which begins to set off the unfortunate fictional events.
In this new book, the events are believed to be largely non-fiction. However, there are discrepancies noted and Mr. Talese is of the New Journalism school, which has at times split the hair between fiction and non-fiction. Hopefully this doesn't happen obliquely. After reading the article, I'm not sure if I'll read the book. I think I've learned enough at this point. Tell-all books are better when the alls that are being told are voyeuristically about something that affects other people.
The vet visit concluded that the dogs are getting older and are healthy with no new issues uncovered. They received annual vaccinations, including for bordetella - meaning they can be kenneled for a future road trip ... which will include motel stays.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Stories I Tell Myself
A short time ago, I was complaining about the lack of winter having the effect of prolonging 2015. The 10th day of the year came with winter in full force. Temperature dropping all day. Wind howling all day. So brutal that only a short dog walk was tolerable. With a planned plumbing project apparently not needed, I sat down to read Stories I Tell Myself by Juan F Thompson.
I've read much of what Hunter S Thompson has written in book form, so when I saw on a website somewhere a reference to the book written by Juan, his son, I immediately requested it from the library. It was listed as "In Cataloging" which often means a long wait, but it was available within a day. I originally planned to read this on an upcoming trip, and I rarely sit down and read an entire book in one sitting. But I did so with Stories I Tell Myself on that frozen windy day.
The book tells the story of Juan growing up in the shadow of his father. I was sort of expecting something along the line of Agusten Burrough's Running with Scissors, but Juan's growing up was substantially more normal than that. If I were to compare it to another Burrough's book, it is almost closer to A Wolf at the Table, but not with the same level of overt brutality. Largely, it sounded as if Juan's youth was grounded much more in his mother, with his father a figure to be feared. After his parent's divorce, I read between the lines that there were several years with minimal contact between Hunter and Juan. Juan alludes to this, but doesn't come right out and say it.
Juan also goes out of his was several times in the book to point out that he is describing things from his memory and that his memory may be incomplete or possibly erroneous. This is part of the narrative that runs through the book, and I found it interesting as also something I've become increasingly aware of.
The most prominent theme in the book is one of the relationship between fathers and sons. This almost seems to be more important at some points than the fact that Juan's father is the famous and eccentric Hunter S Thompson. Still, after reading books like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or Screwjack, growing up with Hunter does have aspects and events that might be expected.
It was somewhat shocking some of the other figures who appear in the book: Jimmy Buffet, Kieth Richards, John Kerry - if more than eccentric, Hunter certainly had a diverse A-List crowd he moved in.
Sometimes the right book comes along at the right time and Stories I Tell Myself was one of those. As my dad's recent death has had me pondering my relationship with him over the years, Juan's book allowed for a different perspective and some introspection. Not that my dad, although he did work in the book publishing industry, should be compared to Hunter as this would be like trying to compare peacocks and robins, or maybe peacocks and suspension bridges.
The other thread running through the book is the overall theme of growing up. All of the painful moments of awkwardness, confusion, alienation, childhood difficulties are laid bare. This is more poignant as Juan appears to be somewhat clingy to his mother and quite an introvert.
Like most of us, Juan eventually finds his own life and ends up surprisingly normal, even somewhat boring at the end of the book.
There was one detail of the book I found somewhat maddening. Juan first goes to college at Tufts and writes about being lonely and quite unhappy there. Transferring to Colorado University and spending a year in England suites him better before returning to the US to finish college. He writes, "Upon my return to Boulder for the first of my two senior years, I declared English literature my major." And on the next page he graduates. This implies graduation from CU in Boulder, but his bio states he graduated from Tufts. So either he transferred back to where he was previously miserable, or his bio is wrong. Either way, something is missing either in the story here, or in the editing. While a minor detail, I find this hard not to perseverate on.
There are a few revelations about Hunter I found surprising as I read the 272 pages.
First, I was surprised at the level of money issues he faced. It reads like this was mostly self-induced, as it often is. But I would have thought that a famous writer who had sold millions of books could endure poor money habits without as much effect as was eluded to in the book. More than anything, this probably supports the notion that no matter how successful a person is, living at the end of means is dangerous.
The other revelation was Hunter's relationship with drugs and alcohol. I had always assumed that his consumption of drugs and alcohol was somewhat exaggerated as part of the persona that sold his wares. Peter Whitmer's unauthorized biography When the Going Gets Weird makes mention of health issues early in his life from overindulgence, and I inferred from this that as he aged, he was more careful - or possibly he needed to be more careful. Apparently, overindulgence in both alcohol and cocaine was a daily occurrence and it is somewhat surprising that Hunter lived as long as he did. Still, the effects of this debaucherous lifestyle become clear through the end of the book and the end of Hunter's life.
The book ends with a narrative around Hunter's ultimate suicide and final, spectacular sendoff.
The book was a good read and a different take on an interesting man. As with much of HST's writing, it wasn't always clear if the main thrust of the book was about Juan, or Hunter. I'll end, not with a something about Juan Thompson or Hunter Thompson, both of which would be easy, but I'll end with a quote from Peter Hamill's A Drinking Life. Because while Juan's story is distinctive as the only son of an eccentric, gonzo father, the larger story isn't unique - but is the same story experienced through history of growing up and becoming an individual separate from where anyone came from.
I was myself now, for better or worse. I was forever Billy Hamill's son, but I did not want to be the next edition of Billy Hamill. He had his life and I had mine. And if there were patterns, endless repetitions, cycles of family history, if my father was the result of his father and his father's father, on back through the generations into the Irish fogs, I could no longer accept any notion of predestination.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Douglas Coupland's Generation X
The content of some of the reviews was more troubling. That and the idea that this book, and the author, was somehow supposed to be speaking for Generation X - a group I fall in the middle of. This was not the apparent goal of Douglas Coupland, but a role that seems to have been handed to him. The author was born in 1961, putting him outside of the window of Generation X, or on the raggedy edge between Boomers and Gen-Xers depending on the definition one wants to use. It is troubling that Mr. Coupland has become "the voice of a generation" he didn't belong to - this is supposed to be a novel, not a documentary.
Perhaps more than anything, I've waited too long to read this, as I may have had different eyes at the age of 22 than I do in 2015. I wonder if the same situation could be encountered by someone who was a teen in the 1950's, but waited until the late 1970's to read On the Road by Jack Kerouac?
The book is also set in Los Angeles, which is a world away from anything approaching real life. This is a little unfortunate, since the author is Canadian and hadn't lived in LA very long before writing it. I actually think the book would have been more interesting if it was set in Toronto. There is subplot for the book in New York and the last thing the world needs are more books set in LA and NY. At least a minor portion of the book takes place elsewhere.
While the LA experience probably does not approximate that of most Gen-Xers, I was in Palm Springs for several weeks of the summer before the book was published in 1991. I was only supposed to go to California and drive a car back, but one thing led to another, as can happen if one is lucky enough as a late teen. This doesn't bring me closer to the stories of the book, but it actually did help with context. What I remember most about those weeks, was the absolute dichotomy of the area. I was staying in a large house in the shadow of Bob Hope's Palm Springs house, while also spending time in a small, poorer, working town called Banning. This dichotomy is touched on in the book, especially in relation to consumerism and its rejection that the main characters espouse.
Going through some old pictures recently, I've been struggling to envision what my world would possibly have looked like 10 or 15 years ago - or now - if some seemingly minor choices had gone differently in the early 1990's. Unquestionably, things could be vastly different due to some decisions at the time which seemed minor and almost arbitrary. But history can only be rewritten once there is a victor.
The book revolves around three main characters, Andy (narrator), Dag and Claire. A synopsis can be found elsewhere so I won't rehash it here, but the important thing to note is that there really isn't a plot to the book. This in and of itself is not a good or bad characteristic for a book. A plot can help push a book along. Generation X is a very quick read and the book is more about character development than anything else; generic characters to represent a generation. The lack of a plot does make sense in the context of a book set in the 1980's - there is no plot or narrative that can be distilled from the decade that birthed sport motorcycles, Miami Vice was on TV, Reagan was president, The Breakfast Club was filmed, and big hair bands ruled.
In 2015, the book reads like a conversation with an old acquaintance, possibly a conversation where two people have grown in totally different directions in the ensuing decades. There are awkward pauses and the discussion is somewhat forced. The stilted nature of the book isn't totally off putting at times since it allows thoughts to go back to a time of Sony Walkmans, family portraits with awful plastic backgrounds, large shopping malls, and Yuppies. Do families still take formal portraits anymore? Is there a 2015 synonym for Yuppies? The book is completely devoid of cell phones and the internet, let alone Facebook, making the lack of a plot that much more enjoyable.
I wish I had read this book shortly after the book Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Ready Player One isn't a terribly memorable book, but in some ways speaks to and about Generation X in a totally different way than Douglas Coupland's book. When video games were huge wooden boxes that required quarters, who didn't want all that wasted money and skill to go to saving the earth?
Spoiler Alert!
The book ends with an odd bit about a "cocaine white egret" and a burned farm field with some mentally retarded children. It is too bad that Mr. Coupland didn't start with this descriptive bird as it may have made him eligible for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Despite reading and rereading the ending a few times, it feels like a complete non-sequitur. I have yet to see any explanation of the ending that I think actually makes sense with the rest of the book. So if the 1980's didn't have a plot, as the book does not, maybe a nonsense ending out of nowhere is appropriate? I ... found it lacking.
End Spoiler Alert!
Beyond the end of the text of the book are a series of statistics without context. They seem to want to imply that Gen-X is screwed compared to the Boomers and the Silent Generation. But few people I know actually lived these statistics, and then it was most often by choice. Again, LA is not real life. Looking at the statistics now, they look frightfully similar to what could be compiled about Millennials right now.
And maybe that is the point - the book rails against consumerism throughout the pages, just as Millennials now attempt to do, stating emphatically that, "Advertising doesn't work on me." Yet ... once Generation X figured out how to sell to Generation X and Millennials are figuring out how to easily sell to Millennials, "consumerism" really isn't going anywhere. This is despite every generation since World War II vilifying their parents and arguing consumerism's last gasping breath. Even the subtitle can be transported between generations, Tales for and Accelerated Culture - "Everything happens so much faster now!" opines the Millennial.
Perhaps what really needs to be understood and taken from the book is that while we can recognize collective deviance in others, deviance is much harder to see in the generational mirror.
"You see, when you're middle class, you have to live with the fact that history will ignore you. You have to live with the fact that history can never champion your causes and that history will never feel sorry for you. It is the price that is paid for day-to-day comfort and silence. And because of this price, all happinesses are sterile; all sadnesses go unpitied." - Douglas Coupland
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Motorcycle Touring (and a little Zen); What is needed?
I recently finished reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. This book now falls into the very small subset of books that I have read twice in my adult life. It would not normally have been a book I would have reread, but my boss gave me a copy shortly before I left for my motorcycle road trip out west.
I am actually glad I reread it. I read it the first time over eight years ago and I don't think I understood it. I know I didn't get the end. Spoiler alert! At the end, the victorious character is Phaedrus, not the more societally acceptable narrator. That changes the book a bit from what I remember of the first reading. I hope my boss didn't give it to me as a commentary on my mental state, but he may have.
To be honest, some of the philosophy parts of the book are a bit painful to read. But the motorcycle parts are fun and the break-up of both with the other makes for an interesting read. What made the book extra fun to read this time is my trip out west took me through many of the same areas mentioned in the book. Mobridge, South Dakota; Miles City, Montana; Missoula, Montana; Lolo, Montana. I can't help but wonder if the canyon the author sees in Oregon is the same one I stopped at. The book is semi-autobiographical and semi-fictional and likely much has changed since the author took his trip. But, maybe not.
I was affected by reading the afterword to learn that the real life Chris was murdered while still young...
Motorcycle touring might have changed since the book was written in 1974. Roads have changed, bikes have changed, and even travel has changed to a degree. So, I give Part One of a few posts on motorcycle touring (not sure if these will be consecutive). I've been traveling on two wheels for over 10 years now and my adventures have taken me through at least 37 states and well over 100,000 miles.
My Philosophy of motorcycle travel revolves around minimalism. This might sound silly coming from someone who owns a Goldwing (a bike big enough to have its own zip code) and an ST1300 (a baby wing), so I admit some hypocrisy here. Previous bikes I've used for touring include a Harley Davidson Electraglide and SuperGlide T-Sport. The T-Sport was one of Harley's truly great all-purpose bikes; it is too bad it only survived for a few years.
Almost any bike can be used for touring. It needs to be interstate legal and interstate capable. The two are not the same. A 250cc bike may be interstate legal, but the capability with two? people and a load may be questionable.
If I didn't do long distance, 2-up touring, I would not have a bike as big as the Goldwing. I do and I do enjoy it. As one fellow who I met on the Alaska highway said of the corider role, "That has to be the hardest job in the world." An uncomfortable passenger is a short ride. I actually like the ST1300 a little more for most solo trips though. I've often thought an "adventure" bike outfitted for the road (and not dirt) would make a great single tourer; sort of a modern version of what used to be a standard bike.
My personal preference is that a bike used for touring should be LOW maintenance. I will have a hard time going back to chain driven motorcycles. I get wrist pain on really long days so I really like having the option of factory cruise control. As much as I like two-lane roads, going on long stretches regardless of the road can be much more enjoyable with cruise control.
One thing I don't care about is a radio. My first bike that had a radio was my 2004 Electraglide. I envisioned listening to tunes for miles down the open road. I found out quickly that with only brief exceptions, I like the contemplative quiet (relative) much more.
I enjoy camping, but not on the bike. Camping is an end to itself. Camping is about doing almost nothing; taking all morning to make breakfast and clean up only to start making lunch a short time later.
I love riding early morning and this is antithetical to camping. Traffic is less. Evil RVs are still in the campgrounds, not destroying an otherwise nice road. After long days on the road, I'll gladly pay for a bed, my own bathroom and a shower. This allows for much lighter packing. Even though I have a Goldwing, I pack as if it was a much smaller bike.
I feel sorry for people who need to motorcycle tour with a trailer. When asked how I can survive for two weeks or more on the road I usually respond (semi) tongue in cheek that all I really need are a credit card and a pistol. A trailer ruins too much of the mobility of the bike. Humans don't have tails, bikes shouldn't either. I've also known several people who have had accidents or problems on the road as a direct result of trailers. Nope, not for me.
To be fair, I used to say the same thing about bikes like the Goldwing or Electraglide though.
There are a few and only a few bike specific necessities. Any major problem on a bike is likely going to need a tow. And while I have fixed some things on the road, what I normally take is a few hand tools appropriate for the bike. Don't bring an american wrench set if you ride a K1600GTL. The one thing that should be in every touring bike is a good tire plug kit and a small tire inflater. The Stop-n-Go plug kit is great. I've used the plugs successfully for thousands of miles, even though any plug should be considered temporary. CO2 cartridge inflators work, but they will run out. The CyclePump is a bulletproof air compressor which is extremely small, if a bit heavy.
Road clothes should be all day comfortable. Leather looks and smells good, but I prefer textiles over dead animal skin. I've settled on a waterproof coat with many vents. I have the TourMaster Transition but there are may similar jackets. These can be a bit pricey, but when the cost is amortized over thousands of miles they are almost free. I do not use the liners but instead carry a heavy flannel shirt. It packs lighter, serves the purpose of a liner and is dual use as a light jacket or cool weather clothes. On trips expecting colder weather, I also carry a fleece shirt. These pack up very small. Boots must be waterproof and comfortable as old friends. I'm sure I'm approaching if not exceeding 80,000 miles on my current pair and I will be very said when they eventually crack or otherwise break.
A rain suit is a must too. Use it too. Too often, I see approaching rain and think it isn't that bad. Being cold and wet is miserable. Just stop and put it on - he says to self.
Wear a helmet. Put all the hype about freedom, neck injuries and the thickness of the skull somewhere else. They are required in some states, don't pack well and once someone gets used to wearing it, not having it feels odd. Find one that is likable (or tolerable) and just wear it. I'll stand down from that soap box.
What else to pack? A few underclothes, a few t-shirts, a pair of shorts and a second pair of squishable shoes (I have cheap imitation Chuck Taylors). And, always bring a camera. Always. Don't forget the credit card and pistol. With those two things, access is granted to anything else needed.
That is pretty much all that is needed to tour. If someone is thinking about it, Do It!
Future posts on the topic:
Why travel by motorcycle
How to travel by motorcycle (this may not be as obvious as it sounds); life is an adventure
How motorcycle travel has changed over the last ten years and 37 states for me
I am actually glad I reread it. I read it the first time over eight years ago and I don't think I understood it. I know I didn't get the end. Spoiler alert! At the end, the victorious character is Phaedrus, not the more societally acceptable narrator. That changes the book a bit from what I remember of the first reading. I hope my boss didn't give it to me as a commentary on my mental state, but he may have.
To be honest, some of the philosophy parts of the book are a bit painful to read. But the motorcycle parts are fun and the break-up of both with the other makes for an interesting read. What made the book extra fun to read this time is my trip out west took me through many of the same areas mentioned in the book. Mobridge, South Dakota; Miles City, Montana; Missoula, Montana; Lolo, Montana. I can't help but wonder if the canyon the author sees in Oregon is the same one I stopped at. The book is semi-autobiographical and semi-fictional and likely much has changed since the author took his trip. But, maybe not.
I was affected by reading the afterword to learn that the real life Chris was murdered while still young...
Motorcycle touring might have changed since the book was written in 1974. Roads have changed, bikes have changed, and even travel has changed to a degree. So, I give Part One of a few posts on motorcycle touring (not sure if these will be consecutive). I've been traveling on two wheels for over 10 years now and my adventures have taken me through at least 37 states and well over 100,000 miles.
My Philosophy of motorcycle travel revolves around minimalism. This might sound silly coming from someone who owns a Goldwing (a bike big enough to have its own zip code) and an ST1300 (a baby wing), so I admit some hypocrisy here. Previous bikes I've used for touring include a Harley Davidson Electraglide and SuperGlide T-Sport. The T-Sport was one of Harley's truly great all-purpose bikes; it is too bad it only survived for a few years.
Almost any bike can be used for touring. It needs to be interstate legal and interstate capable. The two are not the same. A 250cc bike may be interstate legal, but the capability with two? people and a load may be questionable.
If I didn't do long distance, 2-up touring, I would not have a bike as big as the Goldwing. I do and I do enjoy it. As one fellow who I met on the Alaska highway said of the corider role, "That has to be the hardest job in the world." An uncomfortable passenger is a short ride. I actually like the ST1300 a little more for most solo trips though. I've often thought an "adventure" bike outfitted for the road (and not dirt) would make a great single tourer; sort of a modern version of what used to be a standard bike.
My personal preference is that a bike used for touring should be LOW maintenance. I will have a hard time going back to chain driven motorcycles. I get wrist pain on really long days so I really like having the option of factory cruise control. As much as I like two-lane roads, going on long stretches regardless of the road can be much more enjoyable with cruise control.
One thing I don't care about is a radio. My first bike that had a radio was my 2004 Electraglide. I envisioned listening to tunes for miles down the open road. I found out quickly that with only brief exceptions, I like the contemplative quiet (relative) much more.
I enjoy camping, but not on the bike. Camping is an end to itself. Camping is about doing almost nothing; taking all morning to make breakfast and clean up only to start making lunch a short time later.
I love riding early morning and this is antithetical to camping. Traffic is less. Evil RVs are still in the campgrounds, not destroying an otherwise nice road. After long days on the road, I'll gladly pay for a bed, my own bathroom and a shower. This allows for much lighter packing. Even though I have a Goldwing, I pack as if it was a much smaller bike.
I feel sorry for people who need to motorcycle tour with a trailer. When asked how I can survive for two weeks or more on the road I usually respond (semi) tongue in cheek that all I really need are a credit card and a pistol. A trailer ruins too much of the mobility of the bike. Humans don't have tails, bikes shouldn't either. I've also known several people who have had accidents or problems on the road as a direct result of trailers. Nope, not for me.
To be fair, I used to say the same thing about bikes like the Goldwing or Electraglide though.
There are a few and only a few bike specific necessities. Any major problem on a bike is likely going to need a tow. And while I have fixed some things on the road, what I normally take is a few hand tools appropriate for the bike. Don't bring an american wrench set if you ride a K1600GTL. The one thing that should be in every touring bike is a good tire plug kit and a small tire inflater. The Stop-n-Go plug kit is great. I've used the plugs successfully for thousands of miles, even though any plug should be considered temporary. CO2 cartridge inflators work, but they will run out. The CyclePump is a bulletproof air compressor which is extremely small, if a bit heavy.
Road clothes should be all day comfortable. Leather looks and smells good, but I prefer textiles over dead animal skin. I've settled on a waterproof coat with many vents. I have the TourMaster Transition but there are may similar jackets. These can be a bit pricey, but when the cost is amortized over thousands of miles they are almost free. I do not use the liners but instead carry a heavy flannel shirt. It packs lighter, serves the purpose of a liner and is dual use as a light jacket or cool weather clothes. On trips expecting colder weather, I also carry a fleece shirt. These pack up very small. Boots must be waterproof and comfortable as old friends. I'm sure I'm approaching if not exceeding 80,000 miles on my current pair and I will be very said when they eventually crack or otherwise break.
A rain suit is a must too. Use it too. Too often, I see approaching rain and think it isn't that bad. Being cold and wet is miserable. Just stop and put it on - he says to self.
Wear a helmet. Put all the hype about freedom, neck injuries and the thickness of the skull somewhere else. They are required in some states, don't pack well and once someone gets used to wearing it, not having it feels odd. Find one that is likable (or tolerable) and just wear it. I'll stand down from that soap box.
What else to pack? A few underclothes, a few t-shirts, a pair of shorts and a second pair of squishable shoes (I have cheap imitation Chuck Taylors). And, always bring a camera. Always. Don't forget the credit card and pistol. With those two things, access is granted to anything else needed.
That is pretty much all that is needed to tour. If someone is thinking about it, Do It!
Future posts on the topic:
Why travel by motorcycle
How to travel by motorcycle (this may not be as obvious as it sounds); life is an adventure
How motorcycle travel has changed over the last ten years and 37 states for me
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