Set the Bar Low
It's hard to set the bar lower than my resolutions for the last couple of years, but I think I've done it: this year (so that my pants don't fall down, a struggle I've been having recently) I resolve to wear a belt when I wear blue jeans.
All's Well That Ends Well When the Well Delivers Running Water
An excellent end to 2016: a great day of snowboarding/skiing at Bromley Mountain . . . or a great day of East Coast snowboarding/skiing-- some decent snow on the ground, only a couple of icy patches, no lift lines, fairly warm (20s) and no major crashes; Ian did have one moment when he thought he was going to barf (he didn't) probably due to the combination of being overdressed in the steamy lodge and too much hot chocolate, but he recovered and did another run, where he zipped into the woods and then inadvertently did a jump back onto the trail . . . I'll be happy when my kids are old enough to navigate the mountain on their own, so I don't have to watch them; we then had a fantastic lunch at The New American Grill in Londonderry-- highly recommended-- and I had another laudable Vermont beer: Zero Gravity Cone Head IPA . . . and then the kids had enough energy to do some runs on the superfast and super scary sled run we built on a trail in the woods below the cabin, now that we've ridden it numerous times, the trail is slick and extraordinarily dangerous, especially when riding the orange plastic toboggan . . . I took some video, and I'll post it eventually-- the sled run has a cartoonishly Calvin and Hobbes quality to it-- there's jumps and bumps and logs to dodge and a sapling tree we bent out of the way that might turn catapult at any moment-- so I'm glad everyone is inside now, safe and sound and I'm sure we'll be asleep long before midnight, so we can do it again tomorrow . . . and I've come up with an extremely practical (and achievable) resolution, which I'll post sometime tomorrow.
Running Water Kicks Ass
Robert Gordon's book The Rise and Fall of American Growth asserts that some economic advances are unrepeatable-- technological innovations such refrigeration, air-conditioning, television, air travel, and motor vehicles are probably never going to be surpassed-- and thus, the era of massive economic growth is coming to an end; running water and indoor plumbing are in this exalted category, and though we survived a day without running water, flushing the toilet with melted snow, we were very happy when the well started pumping again this morning-- we were able to shower, brush our teeth, go to the bathroom conveniently, and do the dishes . . . and this also freed us up to do other leisure activities (just as all those major advances created massive economic opportunities) and we built a wild and fast sled run through the woods-- Catherine set a new landspeed record-- and played Settlers of Catan (I won, but more significantly, Ian bult a wall across the island, blocking all our advances and Alex called him Donald Trump and then Ian tried to engineer an absurd trade with me so he could bolster his wall and Alex said, "He's making you pay for it, Dad! You're Mexico!") and then Cat and I dug the car out-- we got over a foot of snow-- and we drove down 91 and ate lunch at the Whetstone Station in Brattleboro (I finally tried some Hill Farmstead beer: Edward and I pronounced it very very good, also had Legitimacy IPA, almost as excellent . . . wish I could find cans of this stuff in the stores here) and we wandered around town until we found a couple of new sleds for the boys (the old ones were fairly shredded) and some very good coffee and some houseplants for my home improvement project . . . you'll have to see it on Pinterest, and we plan on getting up early tomorrow to go snowboarding-- I was quite impressed by the job the plows and sanders did on the roads, even the dirt ones, so we should be able to make it west through the mountains to Bromley . . . and all this vacation stuff was made possible by running water . . . aside from the dog's vacation dream: he found a frozen dead mouse on the porch and ate it.
Snow Snow Everywhere . . . And You Can Drink It If You Have To
On the map, Westminster, Vermont looks fairly close to Bromley Mountain (Google Maps and my GPS say 22 miles) but we learned today that this is on dirt roads, which are passable if the weather is good . . . but once it started to snow folks along the way warned us that we'd better have a shovel and blankets if we wanted to get home later in the afternoon-- so we moved our lift tickets to Saturday and Sunday, stocked up on food and beer, and beat a hasty retreat back to the cabin at Windsor, and the snow has been falling all day and doesn't show any sign of letting up . . . we'll probably be snowed in tomorrow and, as an added wrinkle, the pipes appear to have frozen (or there's been a water main break) because we've got no running water . . . and we've got no cell-service, so we can't call a plumber or the town municipal office, but there's plenty of snow to melt if need be (for the kids) and I have beer and we showered last night, so I think we'll be okay (although I guess if anyone has to defecate, they're going to have to do it outside in the snow).
A Meditation on Vacation Juxtaposition
Our first day of vacation in the woods of Vermont was an odd mix of country living and science-fiction:
1) I supervised a wood delivery (the truck driver was very pleasant, but when he dumped the wood, he missed the tarp . . . the driveway was fairly icy);
2) our dog tried to eat a chicken;
3) Ian set up his Anki OVERDRIVE track in the main and only room of the cabin, under the only table, so he could race Alex . . . the track is wide and magnetic, and you use a cell-phone or Ipad to steer the cars and deploy digital weapons and force fields and such, which then affect the actual physical cars zipping around the track;
4) Alex played with his BB-8 app controlled droid robot-- he taught it some voice commands and made it navigate an obstacle course;
5) the kids built a snow fort and did some sledding, and incorporated their battery-powered Nerf machine gun into both activities;
6) we drove to Brattleboro and walked out on the frozen river to get a closer look at the ice fishing shacks, while I bored the children with a description of the ice industry in the 1900's;
7) we tasted delicious cheeses at the Grafton Village Cheese Shop and then hiked the retreat trails behind the farm, climbing the mountain overlooking the river and then passing the Ice Pond and the Harris Hill Ski Jump . . . I had never seen an Olympic-style ski jump up close-- it's much steeper, bigger, and monumental than I thought;
8) we ate at the Whetstone Restaurant and Brewery . . . and it may be my favorite place in the world: a great view of the Connecticut River from the bar and nearly every table, wide selection of delicious and obscure beers-- and fairly cheap too . . . the beer they brew themselves is only $4.95 a glass-- the food is awesome, and they kept giving us free stuff: the beer I ordered was kicked, so the waitress brought me a taste of the Off the Rails Imperial Double Black IPA, which sounds insane but it was delicious . . . so I ordered it, and then she brought me another tasting pour, which someone didn't want, and then she brought me another full glass of the beer, because the bartender had poured too many . . . by the time we left I was feeling quite good . . . and she also gave the kids free cookies, and to continue sci-fi/country-living theme, the beer menus were on little tablet devices so you could scroll through the many types and descriptions, while everything else about the place said Vermont-style microbrewery;
9) once we returned to the cabin-- in the spirit of a family vacation in the woods-- we started a fire and sat down to play a board game . . . we decided to play a new one (for us) that we got for Xmas: Carcassonne . . . but it's fairly complicated and while we don't have cell-service, we do have wi-fi, and so we watched a couple YouTube videos which explained the rules of the game and then we were able to play (I won!) without the usual bumbling (it took us six or seven times to learn Settlers of Catan);
10) the cabin doesn't have a DVD player but it does have a big TV and Netflix, so we finished the evening with a 30 Rock marathon, our new favorite family indulgence . . . how could you live out in the woods without Russian mobs, invisible motorcycles and sex pooping?
1) I supervised a wood delivery (the truck driver was very pleasant, but when he dumped the wood, he missed the tarp . . . the driveway was fairly icy);
2) our dog tried to eat a chicken;
3) Ian set up his Anki OVERDRIVE track in the main and only room of the cabin, under the only table, so he could race Alex . . . the track is wide and magnetic, and you use a cell-phone or Ipad to steer the cars and deploy digital weapons and force fields and such, which then affect the actual physical cars zipping around the track;
4) Alex played with his BB-8 app controlled droid robot-- he taught it some voice commands and made it navigate an obstacle course;
5) the kids built a snow fort and did some sledding, and incorporated their battery-powered Nerf machine gun into both activities;
6) we drove to Brattleboro and walked out on the frozen river to get a closer look at the ice fishing shacks, while I bored the children with a description of the ice industry in the 1900's;
7) we tasted delicious cheeses at the Grafton Village Cheese Shop and then hiked the retreat trails behind the farm, climbing the mountain overlooking the river and then passing the Ice Pond and the Harris Hill Ski Jump . . . I had never seen an Olympic-style ski jump up close-- it's much steeper, bigger, and monumental than I thought;
8) we ate at the Whetstone Restaurant and Brewery . . . and it may be my favorite place in the world: a great view of the Connecticut River from the bar and nearly every table, wide selection of delicious and obscure beers-- and fairly cheap too . . . the beer they brew themselves is only $4.95 a glass-- the food is awesome, and they kept giving us free stuff: the beer I ordered was kicked, so the waitress brought me a taste of the Off the Rails Imperial Double Black IPA, which sounds insane but it was delicious . . . so I ordered it, and then she brought me another tasting pour, which someone didn't want, and then she brought me another full glass of the beer, because the bartender had poured too many . . . by the time we left I was feeling quite good . . . and she also gave the kids free cookies, and to continue sci-fi/country-living theme, the beer menus were on little tablet devices so you could scroll through the many types and descriptions, while everything else about the place said Vermont-style microbrewery;
9) once we returned to the cabin-- in the spirit of a family vacation in the woods-- we started a fire and sat down to play a board game . . . we decided to play a new one (for us) that we got for Xmas: Carcassonne . . . but it's fairly complicated and while we don't have cell-service, we do have wi-fi, and so we watched a couple YouTube videos which explained the rules of the game and then we were able to play (I won!) without the usual bumbling (it took us six or seven times to learn Settlers of Catan);
10) the cabin doesn't have a DVD player but it does have a big TV and Netflix, so we finished the evening with a 30 Rock marathon, our new favorite family indulgence . . . how could you live out in the woods without Russian mobs, invisible motorcycles and sex pooping?
Country Living Lesson #1
After a violent bout of freezing rain last night, we are enjoying some unseasonably warm Vermont weather today; Catherine and I took the dog on a hike down the dirt road, and we met the neighbors . . . and Sirius met the neighbor's dog-- and everyone was friendly and social and having a good time, until Sirius attempted to eat the neighbor's chickens, which I found embarrassing at first, until the neighbor-lady told us that her dog had actually eaten one of her mother's chickens . . . so now I know that my dog, if given the chance, will eat a chicken, and if he's in the vicinity of a chicken coop, he needs to be monitored carefully to avoid this pastoral faux pas (this information is going to come in handy when I buy a farm).
Bonus Sentence: You Can Never Pack Too Much
Despite some freezing rain and wacky conflicts between the GPS, Google Maps, and MapQuest, we made it to our Vermont AirBnB rental cabin in the woods without incident . . . and I suppose I shouldn't have questioned all the packing . . . I didn't think my kids needed to bring the semi-automatic Nerf machine-gun they won in a steal-a-gift on New Year's Eve, nor did I think they needed to bring the Star Wars themed bobble-head dolls, but they set up a nifty shooting gallery from the top bunk bed-- the idea is to knock down as many bobble-heads as you can with one clip of Nerf ammo, and they haven't bickered with each other in over an hour-- a world record-- so the moral is: if you've got a minivan, you might as well fill it up.
Doing the Snow Dance
Perfunctory sentence . . . we are in the midst of packing everything we own into the minivan so that we can transport it to a tiny cabin in the woods of Vermont.
QuikCheck: Where the Learnin' Never Stops (Even on Xmas!)
After unwrapping our Xmas booty, my wife sent me on a last-minute-Xmas-errand; she needed eggs and a can of whipped cream so she could make a chocolate cream pie . . . the eggs were easy enough to find, but the local convenience (which possesses the oddest of names: B-B-Big Food Mart Inc) did not have any whipped cream, so my wife told me to try QuikCheck, but I searched the store and couldn't find any whipped cream and despite the long queue, I asked the young lady at the register if they had any whipped cream and she told me they did not because there was a whipped cream shortage, and this piqued my curiosity, and so-- despite the line-up of people that did not seem all that interested in the reasons for the dearth of ready-whipped canister cream-- I asked her why that was so, and she gave me quite a story: apparently one of the Airgas nitrous oxide tankers (in Florida) exploded, killing an employee and causing havoc at the Airgas facility, and the government is investigating why this happened and there are only two other nitrous oxide facilities in the country and they are having trouble meeting the demand for nitrous oxide, and medical uses take precedence over whipped cream (which makes sense) and I was quite stunned by this news and thanked her, and then I went home and did some fact-checking (because you can't trust everything you learn from the cashiers at QuikCheck) and her story checks out, Dan Tillema, of the U.S. Chemical Safety Board, is still investigating the explosion, and he implores you to think of the plant operator that died (Jesse Graham Folmar, 32 years of age) instead of lamenting over your lack of ready-whipped cream (and then, an Xmas miracle . . . Catherine found an unopened can of whipped cream in the back of the refrigerator . . . I suggested we sell it on Ebay).
School is Weird and Crazy
Nicholson Baker, the post-modernist who wrote an entire novel (The Mezzanine) about an escalator ride, has produced his weirdest piece of writing yet: a 719 page piece of non-fiction called Substitute: Going to School With a Thousand Kids . . . the premise is simple, Baker signs up as an on-call substitute and he provides his services for twenty-eight days, subbing at every grade level in several schools near his home in Maine, and he writes down everything that happens while he is in school, and nothing makes for weirder writing than reality . . . I read four-hundred pages-- enough to get the gist-- and then skipped to the end, and while Baker's findings are close to my heart-- especially since we've just been through the winter solstice, and sunlight is scarce, high school kids are groggy, and my school day begins before the sun is fully up-- which I think is nuts (and so does everyone else who has thought about this, including the CDC) but it's definitely not a priority; Baker agrees, he considers the school day insanely long and tedious and without empathy or logic . . . no one in their right mind who wanted people to actually learn would march them from one activity to the next, manically and without transition; he admires the kids who are just trying to make it though, the kids who aren't all that academic and don't really care about the work, but need to jump through the same hoops as the kids that do care . . . and he notes that the vast differences between the successful, smart and motivated kids and the kids who are not thriving -- he is always impressed by the studious children, and finds empathy for those captive kids simply surviving the day without going completely insane . . . he is frightened by the use of technology and the pervasive assessment, quizzing, and panopticon-like educational platforms, but also sees the value of cell phones and Ipads and laptops as an easy escape for the disaffected, and a way for kids to make the day passably interesting . . . he realizes what teachers know: that it's more about bus schedules and child care than setting up an ideal learning environment and schedule-- that anything else is just not feasible with the current set up-- and he is amazed by teachers that keep it together and do a good job under these constraints, and he is mildly indignant about teachers who do not sympathize with the plight of the students and by the end he professes his love for the "whole broken, beautiful, wasteful, totally crazy educational system" that he spent a short time being a part of . . . and though I often have similar sentiments about the problems with American education, in the end, I love it too, but if you're not familiar with it, browsing through this book will remind you how odd a school day is for the captive audience that participates.
The Test 71: One for the Ladies (Kitchen Stuff)
Apparently America is not ready for a female president yet, and so the women will have to head back to the kitchen for the next four years-- but this won't pose a problem for Stacey and Cunningham, as they ace this culinary quiz and appear to be overly qualified to cook and serve their male overlords in perpetuity (in fact, they are so knowledgeable on this episode of The Test, that they actually prove the fallibility of God and the internet . . . but feminists shouldn't get too excited, as Stacey still gets all sweaty doing math).
On a Highway to Hell or High Water
If you 're looking for a neo-noir thriller with moral ambiguity, compelling characters, and a slow burn, a movie in the vein of all those '80's and '90's classics: Blood Simple, Red Rock West, Fargo, Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead, Shallow Grave, Natural Born Killers, The Boondock Saints, and A Simple Plan, then you'll love Hell of High Water . . . Jeff Bridges has so much fun playing the archetypal old law officer on the brink of retirement and while there's a bit much on the Robin Hood financial thematics, that may be warranted, all things considered in bumfuck East Texas -- the economy has left many of these folks behind, and their way of life as well -- but everybody gets a last shot (literally) when the Howard Brothers start robbing Texas Midlands Branch Banks to raise a stake for the future . . . Marcus (Jeff Bridges) gets his last chance at adventure and all the law abiding Texas citizens get a chance to use those guns they're toting on some real villains . . . this movie is the exact opposite of Rogue One: quiet and slow in the right parts, with an ominous soundtrack, and enough action to make it exciting, but it's really the dialogue, between the two outlaw brothers and between Marcus and his Native American/Mexican sidekick Alberto that make it something more than the typical: five buried cars out of five.
Crimetown!
If you're looking for something to listen to in the vein of Serial, check out Crimetown . . . the first season investigates organized crime and corruption in Providence, and the show is going to move city to city, investigating how the criminal underworld operates in each location; my favorite episode is Chapter 2: The Wiseguys, because Jerry Tillinghouse, who was once an enforcer for the Patriarca family (and allegedly killed the bookie Mousie Rotondo) is also a D&D aficionado; Tillinghouse lovingly describes his role-playing character-- Hunter-- who is "psychologically" linked to a companion tiger, so that Hunter can send the tiger on scouting missions into dangerous terrain and (up to a mile) he can see through the tiger's eyes . . . as a bonus, Tillinghouse also lovingly describes nearly beating a man to death in jail with a twenty-five-pound weight; I love the show, but my only caveat is it's a little heavy on the theme music, the audio montages, and the sound effects . . . these are all entertaining elements, but they can sometimes make me lose focus on important plot and character details.
O To Be A Young Punk
I'm always trying to think of age-appropriate monikers for my ill-fated, slow-moving music projects (Almighty Yojo, Greasetruck, The Density, Mister Truck, King Daveman, etc.) but if I were young and forming an edgy punk-rock band, then I'll tell you the name I'd jump on . . . and since I'm not young and I'm not forming an edgy punk band, I've decided to cede this name to whichever gang of young punks claims it first . . . and here it is: President Don and the Pussygrabbers.
Dave Spoils Rogue One (No Spoilers)
We took the kids to see Rogue One, the new Star Wars movie, and while I wouldn't recommend it-- it is loud, frenetic, and exhausting-- I will admit that it's a serviceable storming-the-beach-style war movie, with lots of aerial cover, ground tactics, and important missions . . . and because it's detached from the actual Star Wars trilogy, anyone and everyone can die; my biggest problem with the film (besides lack of interesting characters, cheesy dialogue, and far too many scenes) is that you've got an advanced space-faring culture that's invented and perfected faster-than-light travel, but they have yet to stumble on the USB thumbdrive . . . a major part of the plot is stealing the schematics for the Death Star, which are stored on a bulky DVD ROM cartridge, that has no online access, so you have to pull it out with a manually controlled arcade-style grab-the-prize gadget . . . I know I shouldn't try to make sense of things like this during such a silly film, but it's so long that you've got time to ruminate . . . and why are all the fighter ships manned-- wouldn't you have some drones flying missions as well?
The Lorax and The Grinch Wish You Happy Holidays
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I finally convinced my wife to send a digital card instead of contributing to the environmental-materialist-consumer-disaster-that-is-XXXmas (the XXX is for the pornographic nature of online shopping, which I succumb to as much as anyone) and she did a fantastic job . . . now I just need to convince her that we should eschew wrapping paper, and instead do the old close-your-eyes-hold-the-gift-behind-your-back-style method of giving presents.
Good News and a Lot of Bad News
Amidst all the awful information Callum Roberts imparts about the state of our oceans in his book The Ocean of Life: The Fate of Man and the Sea, there is some good news:
"Great tits in cities sing shorter, faster songs at a higher pitch than those in the countryside,"
and while this doesn't override the problems discussed in the latter half of the book, which I will list in a moment, I'm always pleased when I hear about singing tits in the city, especially if they are great tits, especially a mated pair . . . but a pair of great tits, singing or not, isn't enough to undo what mankind has wrought: the undersea noise pollution that interrupts aquatic communication; the invasive species making their way across the globe; the sheets of sea lettuce, fertilized by pig-farm run-off, that that piled in sheets on the surface of the water and trapped poisonous gasses created by the very run-off that fertilized the sea lettuce; the rampant destruction of wetland and mangrove forest-- the coastline's safety system-- in order to create aquaculture pens and ponds; the hundreds of thousands of tons of krill and other small fish made into fishmeal to feed the aquaculture fish, thus eliminating food for the wild stock; the threat of genetically mutated fish breeding with wild fish; the growth of antibiotic resistant bacteria within the densely populated fish pens; the bays and river mouths that lack circulation because of warming currents, and so contain incredible amounts of toxins, heavy metals, and effluvium; the dredgers that destroy habitats and churn the polluted sediment back into the water; the loss of habitat and groundwater and storm protection because of the destruction of mangrove, salt marsh and wetlands; the utter devastation wrought by fishermen catching predatory fish high on the food chain-- the reported collateral damage of catching 211 mahi-mahi on a long line in Costa Rica is beyond abysmal (here is the death toll: 468 olive ridley turtles, 20 green turtles, 408 stingrays, 47 devil rays, 413 silky sharks, 24 thresher sharks, 13 smooth hammerhead sharks, 6 crocodile sharks, 4 whitetip sharks, 68 Pacific sailfish, 34 striped marlin32 yellowfin tuna, 22 blue marlin, 11 wahoo, 8 swordfish, and 4 ocean sunfish . . . and I though line-caught was something positive) and the difficulty of convincing politicians to mandate sustainable fishing practices-- despite scientifically proven paradox that if the fishermen fish a bit less, then there will soon be more fish . . . but though there are some bright spots, and a number of organizations and nations are getting wise as we approach the brink, we're going to need to change our ways sooner rather than later, or we're going to lose some of our greatest megafauna-- which would be tragic-- and destroy an incredible source of food . . . and delicious food at that, and we're going to destroy the wildest, most alien and possibly most resilient place on the planet.
"Great tits in cities sing shorter, faster songs at a higher pitch than those in the countryside,"
and while this doesn't override the problems discussed in the latter half of the book, which I will list in a moment, I'm always pleased when I hear about singing tits in the city, especially if they are great tits, especially a mated pair . . . but a pair of great tits, singing or not, isn't enough to undo what mankind has wrought: the undersea noise pollution that interrupts aquatic communication; the invasive species making their way across the globe; the sheets of sea lettuce, fertilized by pig-farm run-off, that that piled in sheets on the surface of the water and trapped poisonous gasses created by the very run-off that fertilized the sea lettuce; the rampant destruction of wetland and mangrove forest-- the coastline's safety system-- in order to create aquaculture pens and ponds; the hundreds of thousands of tons of krill and other small fish made into fishmeal to feed the aquaculture fish, thus eliminating food for the wild stock; the threat of genetically mutated fish breeding with wild fish; the growth of antibiotic resistant bacteria within the densely populated fish pens; the bays and river mouths that lack circulation because of warming currents, and so contain incredible amounts of toxins, heavy metals, and effluvium; the dredgers that destroy habitats and churn the polluted sediment back into the water; the loss of habitat and groundwater and storm protection because of the destruction of mangrove, salt marsh and wetlands; the utter devastation wrought by fishermen catching predatory fish high on the food chain-- the reported collateral damage of catching 211 mahi-mahi on a long line in Costa Rica is beyond abysmal (here is the death toll: 468 olive ridley turtles, 20 green turtles, 408 stingrays, 47 devil rays, 413 silky sharks, 24 thresher sharks, 13 smooth hammerhead sharks, 6 crocodile sharks, 4 whitetip sharks, 68 Pacific sailfish, 34 striped marlin32 yellowfin tuna, 22 blue marlin, 11 wahoo, 8 swordfish, and 4 ocean sunfish . . . and I though line-caught was something positive) and the difficulty of convincing politicians to mandate sustainable fishing practices-- despite scientifically proven paradox that if the fishermen fish a bit less, then there will soon be more fish . . . but though there are some bright spots, and a number of organizations and nations are getting wise as we approach the brink, we're going to need to change our ways sooner rather than later, or we're going to lose some of our greatest megafauna-- which would be tragic-- and destroy an incredible source of food . . . and delicious food at that, and we're going to destroy the wildest, most alien and possibly most resilient place on the planet.
Giving the Gift of Omelas
I've been pretty good this year about controlling my Xmas Ranting . . . maybe it's because my children have moved beyond The Age of Getting Loads of Plastic Toys to less overt consumption, but I've still had a couple of Grinch-like moments: in Philosophy class, we read the classic Ursula Leguin utilitarian-parable-turned-nightmare "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas" . . . if you haven't read it, then you must-- and after sharing some fairly typical Dave-like opinions on the evils of wrapping paper and the vacuous environmental disaster of mindless gift giving, I told my class that I had a brilliant idea: the only gift I would give my children for Christmas would be a gift-wrapped copy of the story (on recycled paper) and they told me I was an awful person, and I told them as much as I wished I could do that, my wife wouldn't allow it, and then I even offered them a different, more hopeful view on the story . . . an inspirational and fascinating TED Talk by Leslie T. Chang about how Chinese factory workers aren't oppressed slaves of the first world, and actually choose working in cities over awful rural conditions, and how these workers-- many of them women-- have far more autonomy and choice and upward mobility than Leguin's boy-thing in the closet . . . I recommend you consume both the story and the TED Talk, and then make your own decision as to how much you should rant about the holiday season.
Hillbilly Paradoxes
J. D. Vance's bestseller Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis is an excellent primer for liberal city folks who want to learn about the culture that voted Donald Trump into office: if you go by Vance's assertions, then these white mainly Scotch-Irish generally non-college educated majority-minority "hillbilly" folks are a bundle of paradoxes:
1) they are often fiercely loyal and protective of family, especially to outsiders, but within the family there is much violence, divorce, infighting, and abuse;
2) they are vocal about the value of hard work and express a desire for jobs, but often awful about actually working-- because of factors such as frequent absences, addiction, lack of motivation, self-entitlement, refusal to pursue training and education, teenage pregnancy, and general feeling of victimization;
3) they are vocal about religion, Jesus, and church, but often awful about actually attending church-- especially in Appalachia and rural Ohio; in southwestern Ohio, church attendance is the same as in "ultra-liberal San Francisco," but folks there are afraid to admit they don't go to church, so reported church attendance is high, but actual attendance is low;
4) for those that do attend church, according to MIT economist John Gruber, people are happier, make more money, liver longer, have better health in general, drop out of high school less frequently, commit fewer crimes, and all sorts of other good stuff . . . and this appears to be "causal . . . church seems to promote good habits" but while these hillbillies-- in Kentucky or transplanted elsewhere-- are "deeply religious but without any attachment to a real church community," and thus, not receiving any of the benefits of that people who regularly attend church enjoy;
5) though liberals see them as people that could use social safety-net programs and benefits, within the community the hard-working folks see the people who take these benefits (and often game the system) as scoundrels, who are "laughin' at our society! we're gettin' laughed at for workin' everday!" and this results in the weird situation that Thomas Frank has so often written about, that the people who need the government assistance most often vote against their best interests, but it's because they often can't stomach the people in their society that need and use these programs;
6) they lionize the American military and are jingoistically patriotic, but they are disgusted with the results in Iraq and Afghanistan;
7) despite their patriotism, they don't embrace the ideas that could vault them out of their social class-- they don't trust the mainstream media, think the deck is stacked against them, and believe that if you attend a superior college and develop critical thinking skills, then you're "too big for your britches" and "uppity," and even Vance still suffers from this cognitive dissonance . . . he made it out, but still often feels regret at the culture he lost, and finds himself an alien in the oddly nice, well-adjusted, healthy, well-educated liberal elite circles that he now frequents . . . these people don't understand that the kind of folks that join the military (as he did) are far more various than the liberal stereotypes and they don't understand the kind of folks that might take a circular saw to someone's leg because of a familial insult (as his uncle once did) and they don't understand these very very tough people that need to get even tougher (and a bit more flexible) because government policy isn't going to be enough to help them . . . they're going to have to be tough enough to shed some of their old-fashioned ways and tough enough to trust the institutions and the the liberal culture they find soft and unappealing and tough enough to love their kinfolk a bit less and the future a bit more.
1) they are often fiercely loyal and protective of family, especially to outsiders, but within the family there is much violence, divorce, infighting, and abuse;
2) they are vocal about the value of hard work and express a desire for jobs, but often awful about actually working-- because of factors such as frequent absences, addiction, lack of motivation, self-entitlement, refusal to pursue training and education, teenage pregnancy, and general feeling of victimization;
3) they are vocal about religion, Jesus, and church, but often awful about actually attending church-- especially in Appalachia and rural Ohio; in southwestern Ohio, church attendance is the same as in "ultra-liberal San Francisco," but folks there are afraid to admit they don't go to church, so reported church attendance is high, but actual attendance is low;
4) for those that do attend church, according to MIT economist John Gruber, people are happier, make more money, liver longer, have better health in general, drop out of high school less frequently, commit fewer crimes, and all sorts of other good stuff . . . and this appears to be "causal . . . church seems to promote good habits" but while these hillbillies-- in Kentucky or transplanted elsewhere-- are "deeply religious but without any attachment to a real church community," and thus, not receiving any of the benefits of that people who regularly attend church enjoy;
5) though liberals see them as people that could use social safety-net programs and benefits, within the community the hard-working folks see the people who take these benefits (and often game the system) as scoundrels, who are "laughin' at our society! we're gettin' laughed at for workin' everday!" and this results in the weird situation that Thomas Frank has so often written about, that the people who need the government assistance most often vote against their best interests, but it's because they often can't stomach the people in their society that need and use these programs;
6) they lionize the American military and are jingoistically patriotic, but they are disgusted with the results in Iraq and Afghanistan;
7) despite their patriotism, they don't embrace the ideas that could vault them out of their social class-- they don't trust the mainstream media, think the deck is stacked against them, and believe that if you attend a superior college and develop critical thinking skills, then you're "too big for your britches" and "uppity," and even Vance still suffers from this cognitive dissonance . . . he made it out, but still often feels regret at the culture he lost, and finds himself an alien in the oddly nice, well-adjusted, healthy, well-educated liberal elite circles that he now frequents . . . these people don't understand that the kind of folks that join the military (as he did) are far more various than the liberal stereotypes and they don't understand the kind of folks that might take a circular saw to someone's leg because of a familial insult (as his uncle once did) and they don't understand these very very tough people that need to get even tougher (and a bit more flexible) because government policy isn't going to be enough to help them . . . they're going to have to be tough enough to shed some of their old-fashioned ways and tough enough to trust the institutions and the the liberal culture they find soft and unappealing and tough enough to love their kinfolk a bit less and the future a bit more.
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