Too much Figgy Pudding this holiday season!

They say that one should never go grocery shopping while hungry.

In November my maternal grandmother succumbed to a sudden illness and died.  It was expected.  She was old and in poor health.  A couple years ago she took a tumble down the stairs - and though she didn't break anything, she lost a lot of blood and developed further issues with her heart.  After her son, my uncle, died in January, we've been expecting her to go. 

The death was especially hard on my mother and her sisters.  It has been a rough year for the family, a rough week even as my cousin's estranged daughter also passed on the same day.  This is the only time I recall that I've ever seen my mother seven sheets to the wind, as she and one of my favorite aunts took comfort in each other's company and with the help of a couple bottles of wine.

She was buried on what would have been her 82nd birthday.

So I was called to be a pall-bearer again.  And again experience the Lutheran Funeral Rites.  I must say, I appreciate the Lutheran Funeral.  There is crying, but most of the ceremony is about remembering the good things, as well as the message of hope.  I don't agree with that last, but hope beats despair and joy is preferred to sorrow.

The aftermath of which was that we finished clearing out her house, a job that was only begun after my uncle's funeral.  And when I say 'we' I mean my relatives.  I had to return to work.  Alas!  I regret this as I would have liked to get a photo of the afore mentioned porn collection.  I wanted to see how high it would stack and document this great personal achievement of my uncle's.

The natural result of the cleaning is that once again everyone picks through and claims the nicknacks and what-not that used to be part of our relative's everyday life.  Some for sentimental value, and the rest for practical purposes. (My cousin sprinted off with a Jesus clock).

I came away with this magnificent piece of art:

 *Eagles and Wolves are natural enemies*

Can you see that?  Majestic!  The artists really captured the truest spirit of Nature herself.   Oh what to do with this fine thing?

Earlier I learned that a good friend is set to inherit his father's firearms collection.  His father being a Yooper, who himself has inherited several other collections, is leaving behind a sizable legacy for his son. I've not actually seen it, but I like to picture it being locked in a basement rec room armory the likes of which what would drive Bert Gummer into a state of orgasmic bliss and sticky trousers.

This being said, as far as I am concerned the grand prize is the hand-made muzzle loader that his father built.My reaction is entirely to the concept.  His dad built a gun.  So, I am enthusiastic for this idea.  This is a fantastic combination of MacGyver and Yooper, down to the death grip on the mullet.   Plus, my friend and his father are a fraction Native American!

What does this matter?  Well a few years back I gave said friend the starter set of a Post Apocalyptic survival kit, and have been adding to it since.  This year I was going to run an experiment in protective armor, but I'm still contemplating the specifics(read this as procrastinating) of the build. 

He was going to get a gun rack worthy of his Family's greatest and most impressive heirloom!

*May they cherish it forever!*

With fast broken on a bowl of cereal, we set out to our local big box hardware store.  though I am not particularly handy, I love hardware stores.  They are an alter to the realm of possibility.  Under that roof is about tool or material any imaginative and skilled person will need to make their dreams a reality.  For those of us who lack the skills necessary, the contents within take on a darker shade as they will only lead to sadness and humiliation as a large pile of wasted scrap(Or, maybe it just looks that way -Abstract Sculpture is hard to read).

We spent at least a half hour rambling across the concrete floors and through the steel canyons of the store.  We were met along the way by bi-lingual signs and helpful employees.  I must say, Walmart this was not.  In the end, I found an approximation of what I thought that I would need.  Plus a few things extra just in case.

I blame all of the previous collection of coincidences on what terrible events were about to unfold.

Supplies in hand, we moved onto the weekly grocery shopping.  Even as the nutritional and fuel value of that lone bowl of raisin bran had long been exhausted.  Just in time to wander around a vast storehouse of tempting manufactured foods!

Hey!  You know that package of hotdogs that I would normally try to avoid eye contact with as I shamefully recalled past trysts?  Come on baby!  Get in that basket!  You and daddy have a date!

As I don't make a list, I am usually forced to wander back and forth, zigg-zagging about as I try to recall everything I need to buy.  This isn't all bad, I get out and get exercise.  This isn't all good either, especially when I'm in a whimsical or absurd mood and happen to feel like sampling some new bizarre find that I come across. So I wandered up and down and up and down, until my eyes landed on the Holy Grail! Bright pink she was, unnatural one might say.

Balderdash and poppycock!

*I call this self-hate in a cup!*

$.89 or a package of 4?  Doesn't need to be refrigerated?  And a mixture of artificial banana and strawberry flavorings? Stop talking and sign me the fuck up!

Later at home I cracked open a cup.  The pudding tastes like...   Well you know that flavor that 'food' manufacturers, especially those in the line of making candy, have concocted.  "This is Banana!"  They declare, though it doesn't really taste like any banana ever grown that I've ever eaten.  I know this, because I've had bananas.  I ate one today.  Neither the bouquet nor the taste match.  Really, all it has in common with actual bananas is that both substances are comprised primarily of molecules and the dreams of children.

It works in the same way that red Koolaid is Cherry drink rather than Cherry Juice.  It has the memory of cherry.

But still, the powder flavoring some how ends up in candy(now and laters) and drinks (Slurpees) and about everything else that is tinged yellow and packaged with an abstracted version of the fruit in question. Yeah, that flavor.  The foundation of the long defunct Banana flavored Nesquik, which I assume has been dumped, and acquired on the cheap by the makers of this modern delicacy.... Wait, Banana flavored Nesquik still exists?  I feel ill.

I do not know what the exact definition of pudding is.  In England it generally takes the place of Dessert.  Here in the States pudding is a sweet custard sort of food.  I guess that in the way the food industry operates, those four cups of flavored slop can be labeled pudding.  That's just how things seem to work.

I was offered home made pie today.  I declined.  I have pudding cups.

This is why I shan't survive the apocalypse.

Zombie Run. Geekiness and athletics are like oil and water.

Oh the Zombie Apocalypse! The meme seems to have spread everywhere in Pop-culture these days. As someone who writes zombie stories I suppose that I should be delighted by the sudden upsurge in my favored genre. And in fact I am. Tickled!

There are movies and tv shows and novels aplenty as everyone seems to jump in with both feet. Enough to feel drowned out in the clamor. Zombies in nerd/geek culture have been huge for decades, many of us look forward to the coming zombie apocalypse, to the point that I named my first novel Rapture, reflecting my view that my people look forward to the undead uprising with the same rabid fervor that Evangelical Christians reserve for their expected return of Buddy Christ.

Have you ever discussed what you would do in the advent of the Zombie Apocalypse? This seems to be a rather popular pastime. In fact, such a conversation was the catalyst for starting my stories. Such discussions seem to be growing popular, often starting with the simple question of :what are you planning to do for the zombie apocalypse? (I have a second blog that deals with the apocalypse and necessary skills that will be needed to survive)

My answer? Simple! As I question the quality and quantity of my luck, I plan to eat as many brains as possible until one of the crummy survivors finally puts me down. I don't put my chances at surviving to be very high – in fact I expect to be among the first to come down with the plague. Yeah, I am taking a slightly pessimistic view of my chances at surviving this a highly unlikely catastrophic event.

And now the infection is spreading exponentially, one infected survivor at a time.

Folks have been competing for world records on Zombie walks - a special event where people dress as zombies and parade through the streets of a given city. The city where I currently reside had one in the last few years and I believe that they even took the title.

In the last two years Walking Dead has become a hit television show. Though I've never seen it.

Then there is this Cracked article about why you 'secretly' hope for the Zombie Apocalypse. I am of course calling Bull Shit! I make no secret about any of those reasons. In fact they all seem rather bang on and obvious to me.

The united states military has gone so far as to run practice drills around a zombie outbreak. Really they were focusing on a response against a biological weapons based attack but just mentioning zombies these days really gets people's attention.

The whole world has gotten into the spirit of the mass-extinction of humanity! Now the mainstream society, starting with the athletic type folks are getting down with the sickness. Our society now combined zombies with exercise in the zombie run!  Which makes a bit of sense, as the first rule is always Cardio.

A zombie run? What is this? I imagine you ask, in a hilarious squeaky voice. Two of our friends were entered in the race. Which is why we went. Now I'm passing what I've learned onto you.

Well, here in the Big Grapple they set up a 5k(3 mile) loop in the downtown area. The runners wore white ribbons tucked into their shorts. The zombies were out on the course, waiting, which is what zombies do. The fucking undead don't have any ambition. And when the survivors approached they were mobbed by the zombies, who would go for the ribbons.

Also, there were the runners. So many pretty girls, and like the previously mentioned zombie walk, many of the contestants were dressed up. In the few minutes I was there, I saw at least 2 Batmen, and one Captain America - along with a giant pile of dirty dirty hippies. Shit, it was like a Comic con for Athletes! Mind you, this is a weekend on which Halloween is often celebrated for party purposes. So that could have influenced the showing.

I'm told that there were props and set-pieces to make the experience seem more realistic.

I don't know. I didn't run. My shins are borked(have I mentioned that here or was that my other blog?) and I'm not in near good enough condition to run so much as a mile, much less the full 3. Besides that, it was cold and windy. So we booked it for a coffee shop down-town. I rather wish that the weather had been nicer.

When we returned we found that neither of our friends had survived the gauntlet, but they had managed to complete the course. So huzzah for them.

As for myself I think that I shall stick with my previous plan, flawed though it may be, and try to make a bazillion bucks off my zombie novels and then in turn invest in land and an impressively fortified(and provisioned) homestead.

An oddly busy weekend.

This weekend was actually full. Fuller than I usually like. There after all is something about staring at a wall for the length of a Saturday afternoon and squandering those precious heartbeats one has on this earth. But that can't be helped now.

Where to start? Well, first there was the gathering of Hipsters. Darn they're neat. So much so that I've decided to become one. Anyone know where I can get a Hipster starter kit? I of course will need to get an iPhone and skinny jeans. And is it too late to mock Hipsters? Has that become passe?

I honestly bear Hipsters no real ill will. I have at least one friend that I suspect is a Hipster. How bad does that sound? Wow. Mostly I just buckle to the usual social pressures to gripe about this sub-culture or that (twihards) to struggle for something relatable to say. We live in an us vrs them sort of world.

But no, Hipsters just kind of are as they're out there living their lives and doing their thing. They bother me far less than people who watch reality tv, or sports fanatics. Hipsters are at least(in theory) living their lives and experiencing new things first hand. Good on them as far as I'm concerned, and may they get over the fad with those stupid skinny pants.

Our local hip neighborhood hosted a street faire this weekend. Food, art and live music they promised. We had other plans, but stopped by one of the local eateries that we favor for breakfast. The place is always packed, so we decided to wander around the faire as we waited. It was about as expected. The highpoint was the street poet dressed in what we figured was Hipster motley as he recited verse. Though he could have just been a crazy homeless guy ranting about the moon demons. Either way, I didn't make eye-contact. I get enough face time with the crazies at my job.

So I walked into their faire with my eyes open. It was hard to tell where the Hipster stopped and the Hippie began. Are these two sub-cultures closely related? It would seem to me not really so much. If one ignores the seeming cross-pollination. Where do Hipsters stand on free-love? Cause if that answer comes back positive, I'm off to get my iPhone and skinny jeans today!

Back to the faire, though I don't really know why I bother. It was a couple dozen tents of crafts and what-not, with people of all ages about. At one end there was a band that we were desperately hoping would be packing keytars(maybe even dueling keytars!) But neither of us stuck around long enough to find out.

I walked through later – I've been walking a lot lately, power-hikes through town trying to hit up as many hills as possible. My best distance yet was just over 7 miles, with 5.5+ being about average. Takes about an hour and a half, a large chunk of free-time that I could be using to write. But my ass needs to be firm when the zombies arise! - where was I going with all that? Oh yeah, I returned. And nothing really seemed to change. I just wanted to talk about my exercise routine. Suckers.

Have you ever been to an engagement party? Is that even a thing anymore?

My boss has just become engaged, and many congrats to her. She invited a few of the employees to the shindig. How utterly awkward is this? I don't like hanging out at bars. Period. Spending countless hours with strangers, or co-workers whom I partly know is somewhat stressful. I have very little in common with my fellow employees, less with my employer.

Not showing up seems like a poor life decision, as the boss was kind enough to offer the invitation. So I went. I put on my semi-finest black pants and dark shirt and spent some of the evening trying to fade into the black leather couch that was so conveniently located in the out-cast section. Huzzah for dim lighting and dark clothes.

Neither seemed to work in my favor. I attracted some attention.

After the small talk was made with the people I did know, I spent most of the evening trading stories about the wacky encounters with crazy patients that we've all had. Oh Pharmacy, you certainly do attract the crazy. As I'm sure that anyone who has read past posts know. Many of those very stories were rehashed at the party, and the list gets longer and longer each day.

I was actually asked by a complete stranger what my nationality was. Yeah, really strange that. I'm American, from this very state sir, I replied. But the gentleman in question claimed that I had an accent. Mind, we were in a bar with conversations buzzing all around and I had only spoken a couple sentences, and he was older (I'm implying that he might be a bit hard of hearing – for those who didn't read that far in. *wink wink*) man as well.

I really don't know what to say to that, as even my best Cockney would make Dick Van Dyke cringe in offended horror. But I have a rather plain mid-western accent. Nothing sexy. Unless you have a fetish for those things, then Hello.

This was about the extent of the evening. Free food and awkward chit-chat with coworkers and complete stranger. And far more the former than the latter. The food was very tasty. How's that for an adventure?

Finally there was the Irish Music Festival. We had to travel for this one, something I hate doing on my weekends off. Something about driving every night makes me inclined to avoid cars on the weekend. Oh well. I was invited on the outing, and didn't see anything else happening so I jumped at it. I've not been to a music festival before. So why not?

The layout consisted of fairgrounds on the lake shore and three large pavilions for the acts. A couple tents for the shopping stalls and the usual food vendors that one finds at a summer fair. Most of which had an Irish tint to it. The crowds were light and there was plenty of open space. Not to mention several different displays showcasing glimmers of Irish history – most notably the Irish Wake.

The gift-shops were selling vaguely Irish crap, most of it did not appeal. You know the kind, as it has been distilled and twisted by pop-culture to represent the Irish culture in the States. Bland caricatures and abstractions with their catchphrases.

The word of the day was green, as everything seemed to be awash in every shade of the color. Though looking back I should have gotten myself a kilt. They had some rather solid models on the relative cheap at one of the booths. I still want to get a good kilt.

I am not a fan of Irish music. By this I don't mean that I dislike the genre, I rather enjoy the Gaelic sound, it just isn't part of my daily life. My tastes are generally very broad, and extremely shallow. Does this sound Hipstery? I'm practicing as I await the answer to the above question. The music was enjoyable, the one band I listened to for any length of time. Strange, we drove an hour to get there, and paid $15 at the gate to get in, only to stick around for a couple hours.

Honestly, I went for the same reason I've gone to most of the other festivals, faires and conventions that I've written about. People watching. The pretty girls in their summer clothes really warm the blood of an old man like myself.

The Irish Music Festival was a lot like a comic convention. Though the mix of people was a bit skewed. At the latter, there are about 10 smelly male geeks for every person carrying 2 X genes. And the former? It was overweight, middle aged white people. A mob of them! The pretty girls in their summer clothes? Not so much. 10 to one against. Sad day.

But the music was good. And so was the pizza the the buffet that we stopped at on the way home. Fuck paying faire prices for food.  In the end, I felt quit exhausted while having actually accomplished so very little.

A severe lack of adventures.

It was hot this summer.  Really, nothing exciting to write about.  I spent a lot of time sitting about in my boxers and sweating.  Delightful mental image no?  No near misses on the roads.  None of the patients I visit have tried to kill me.  Accidentally ran over a possum, was bummed about that. Life has gone on as usual.

Shin splints are still rather unpleasant, and rear their head from time to time.  I've not tried to take up running again, though I do try to get out several times a week to hike around town for exercise(Longest trek was around 7 Miles).  During which I had a dude ask me if I was related to Elvis, and I have no more understanding as to why he did so than you do.

Still work nights, so hard to get together with friends to game.  My desktop, after 8 years of loyal service, died on me.  So fewer gaming options when I am able to play(mostly the original Starcraft with a friend)

Man, this was a suckatrocious summer for the Midwest.  Two months straight without so much as a drop of rain.  The temperature stayed at 90 for about the entire time, except when they topped 100.  If it weren't for weeds, our lawn would still be dead - in fact there is a layer of dead grass under the weedy green carpet.  The weather has been oppressive, and I refuse to imagine how bad it would have been living further south.

I live near the northern edge of the Midwest in a peninsula surrounded by the Great Lakes(Michigan, for those who aren't familiar with the Geography of the US).  We got off easy.  Still, I no longer look at 85f(29.4c) as being miserably hot.  Scary how my outlook has changed and how it might affect my outlook on colder weather.

Autumn is nearly here, with all the accompanying joys and sorrows.

With the weather being as it was, I stayed home and watched the Dream of the 90s video, while checking the weather in Portland Oregon.  Have you watched the linked video yet?  Watch it!  Portland!  I'm still youngish and I want to retire!

I guess the downside of moving out west to live in a cool community like Portland or Seattle is that I myself am not at all cool.  This isn't to say that I wouldn't fit in, but rather that I'm an introvert with severe tendencies towards being a hermit.  What would be the point in moving to a place like Seattle or New York to be in a kick ass new environment and then spend all of your days and nights at home hiding in your apartment?

This is what i see happening to me.  It is how I live my life now, and I little see it changing.  Certainly, I make my own Purpose and am capable of altering my own life and being.  Capable doesn't mean willing.

Well fuck it.  I started applying for jobs anyway. Seattle and Portland sound like kick-ass places.  Besides Winter is Coming to Michigan, and I think that with all the energy that the lakes have stored, we're bound for some bad storms.  I don't want to be driving in that.  I don't want to end up in one of the homes that I deliver to.

The Dream of the 90s is not alive here.  The only dreams that are alive are Rapture fantasies.

Now I just need follow through and luck.

Post-Apocalyptic Thoreau - the way he was meant to be.

Really, the idea of getting away and becoming more self-sufficient intersects with another of my long time passions. The Apocalypse. From the Tripod Trilogy by John Christopher through the Mad Max movies and then onto the Zombie uprising.

Self-sufficient. A strange concept to ponder in our current society where trades have been broken down into tasks via assembly line thinking. I doubt that I'll ever become completely so, not without vastly streamlining my life well beyond what I'm willing to sacrifice. One would have to embrace the primitive hunter-gather lifestyle and enschew all modern technology opting instead for whatever one could make with their own hands. To survive without needing to rely on the untrustworthy others.

This is the only path to true self-sufficiency. In the words of Thoreau “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!” Cut down your affairs to the bare number possible to keep yourself alive. (Thoreau argues that you need to live a good life, be good for something – largely he seems to have some suggestions while leaving the reader to define exactly what that means.)

Food and shelter. Your life will be a constant search for these if you wish to live the simplest life possible with the fewest possessions. And, in the case of the apocalypse, this may be how many people are left to live. Either as hunter-gathers or as scavengers on the bones of society(I prefer the latter, but it is the more treacherous of the paths).

Bah on that noise. In this respect I don't want to simplify but rather to expand. I want to learn more about the world, to feed my curiosity(sadly I am easily distracted and quickly flit away to the next shiny object that drops in my path). I want to build myself a mountain of knowledge and save as much of the memory of humanity as possible. This is why I'm building my library. I am an introvert and a hermit, but I still want people around. People who can share the burden of learning and knowing.

Only an utter fool goes through life alone and turns away help from friendly hands. In many cases I have been this utter fool. I think I shall try to change this. I think that I will likely fail. I wonder if I could gather and set up my own self-sufficient community of Future Apocalyptic Survivors. Or does that sound like a cult? Or worse, the plot to The Village.

My Skills blog lists some of the areas of knowledge that might come in handy. My own pallet is largely useless and difficult to apply in the modern world. I'm left hoping that my experience in weaving chainmail will be a valuable asset after the collapse.

*if you wish to join kindly compose and mail an essay relating your applicable skills along with a recent headshot.

In 8^th grade we read the novel “The Girl Who Owned a City” (Objectivist Propoganda) about a plague that only left prepubescent children alive. That fired my imagination for years, until my voice changed and I began collecting my own odd assortment of body hair. Afterwards, I had to drop my admittedly silly plans of trekking to Alaska and fetching food with a BB gun. Oh well, other scenarios were always there to fill in the gap.

In recent years, I've settled on the idea of finding a parcel of land away from a population center. This is in part where the previous post comes into play. Find land, and produce food. Ok, I suppose that is easy enough, I live in America and we've a lot of space and if we get a proper apocalypse where the lion's share of our species ceases to be, well then more for me. Still, I should quite prefer to get a few years of practice in afore the end. A dress rehearsal before going on.

*I predict that the world will end soon after Sarah Palin is elected president in 2016. Soon after she'll somehow release the zombie plague while visiting a secret CDC facility. I like to imagine it will involve her tripping while trying to walk and chew gum at the same time. That leaves me with 4 years to work with. Better get cracking.

So my to do list: Find land. Build house. Gather knowledgeable companions to join me in my mad quest. If video games have taught me anything, I will meet them along the way and after a brief interaction we'll become fast friends and trusted allies. I'll need a healer, builder/mage, fighter and thief to round out my party proper. I'm working on my Mandolin skills so that I can fulfill the role of Bard.

To date I've not managed to accomplish any of these Herculean tasks. A few hurdles stand in my way.

Firstly there are the years of student loans that I need to pay off. I suppose I could follow in Thoreau's footsteps and find a wealthy benefactor to donate the land, but I am the suck at schmoozing. Though, I would love to see the business plan that sells that one. “So, you're going to collect a ragtag band of hippies, bikers, survivalists, farmers and doctors and build a settlement out in the boonies. What sort of profits are you expecting after you get started?”

Yeah. Better do this myself. Come on lotto!

Assuming I do manage to scrape up a place to homestead, I've often wondered how to go about it. And where. I've had long discussions on the subjects, as well as debating myself. Locally I'm fond of Traverse City, mostly due to a partiality to the landscape. Climate is iffy and soil is sandy. Move on.

Really, there are going to be positives and negatives to just about any local I can dream up. The north east has a cold climate and poor growing season. North west has a superior climate but is prone to earthquakes and volcanic activity. Fuck the South(east) – More eloquently, the climate is far too hot for my preference, and the last decades have been dry, not to mention the bevy of overly religious folk. Religious folk are scary enough in quiet times, I fear that the end of the world will send them over the edge. The southwest is hot, dry, and hot and dry.

I of course have my preference after weighing the options. No I won't tell you. I will however move onto the last part of this muddled tirade.

Housing. As I don't plan to wander, I will need some permanent housing. Something sturdy that works with the land. Many ideas have come and gone.

For a while, I had a passing fancy for Microhomes. For those who aren't enlightened, they're a spin off of the Thoreau inspired Movement for Simple Living. Thoreau himselflived in a Microhouse. Generally to be considered a microhouse the domicile needs to be around 100 to 750 square feet. That's right, many of these places are the size of a studio apartment. Some are as small as my dorm room. Still, that should be enough space for one or two people – so long as they Simplify and slough off their unnecessary baggage.

A microhouse would be perfect. I am a hermit and need but little space and could easily get by with a mere couple hundred square feet. Mostly. Even without the imminent Palinocalpyse. I want a home that will be warm in the winter and cool in the summer. All with the least resources possible. To be honest, I've been fascinated by the concept of the underground home since I was a kid. Back then we lived near an underground home and it was an exciting landmark that we would point out on the daily commute. I don't recall that seeing the place ever got old, it was so damned exotic.

Then I found Earthships. They are a range of earth sheltered homes that were constructed of walls of earth filled tires. The creator, a raging hippie, claims to have designed for sustainability. He's been working on the project for 30 or 40 years now, learning and advancing through trial and error. Heated with passive solar, they collect rainfall for water and are outfitted with sources to manufacture renewable energy(solar panels and wind turbines). He claims that even in the harshest Taos winters that residents don't need to spend a dime on heating the home. Same goes for cooling in the summers.

*Pardon if I'm a mite obsessed with the idea, but we just had a heatwave where the temps topped 105. There have been many days this summer where I've wished my apartment was really one of these structures.

The south face of the house is a wall of windows that forms a greenhouse. The roof collects water and stores it in cisterns. These two features are combined to make a natural water treatment system as well as food production area. Fresh water > Shower > Planters(to filter) > Toilet > Outdoor Planters > Septic tank and field.

Fresh food 365 days a year from the greenhouse. Resistant to fires, tornadoes and earthquakes. These are the claims that the hippie architect makes, and I want to believe them. The houses were designed to allow the inhabitants to live their lives off the grid. The possibilities tickle both the inner hermit and survivalist.

I want to try it out.

More reflections from Walden Pond.

How I envy the man. In some ways at least. He was able to extract himself from the clutter and hone his attention on the aspects of living that he found to be the most important. HDT was a philosopher, so he thought about the nature of living a good life. This is what philosophers seem to do. Though he put aside his thoughts and words and went out an acted.

This is the hard part for me personally.

Henry David Thoreau called his approach “living the simple life.” As he forswore everything that he didn't actually need to survive. There were no luxuries. Instead of tea/coffee/wine he drank the cool clean water from Walden Pond. He labored on his own, where his fancies took him. Taking only the bare minimum of what he NEEDED in order to survive and devoting the rest of his life to enjoyment of the natural world.

Then, he came to the conclusion, all those things that a man doesn't need can be happily 86ed as they only hold him down and bring poverty and unhappiness. In fact at one point he considered spending his nights in a tool-chest by the railroad to avoid the burdens of rent and property. His thoughts cleave to the enlightened path of the Buddha that wanting more than you need to live is the ultimate cause of unhappiness in the world.

Tea, meat, fine clothing and all the other fripperies should be laid at the wayside.

But I like tea and fresh meat. Then there are the modern joys of video games. Who could live without the internet in these modern days? Owning a car is fantastic, how else does one get to Chicago in three hours? Well I suppose that there is the train. Not by walking Henry, not by walking. But one has to labor at unpleasant things in order to acquire and maintain these luxuries. And really luxuries they are.

The problem is that the world has changed dramatically in our post-industrial society. Where HDT's world involved a proto-industrial economy where 80% of the population was still working in an agrarian based economy. We've forgotten the skills of old and have laid down the tools of the trades. Who knows how to weave cloth anymore? We survive on trading haircuts and hand-jobs while less than 5% of the population is invested in growing our food.

I suppose I should focus on the problem of getting my own food(and water) first and clear up the rest later. The chemical foundations which power our bodies are the single universal need amongst humanity. We all need a daily intake of food and water or else we'll die. There are places on this earth where a human can survive without clothing, shelter or fire to provide warmth. But let even the craziest airatarian go without some proper nosh for very long and you'll be planting another corpse.

I've devoted a fair sized section of the Post-apocalyptic survival section of my library to the questions of food production and homesteading in general. Most of the books are encyclopedia types of volumes that cover a broad spectrum of topics that are linked to raising crops and cattle. Very few go into much detail. I suppose I need to track down better volumes, but this will require more study on my part as I discern what I might actually need to branch into.

*A note about the library, the intent was to build a base of knowledge that would be useful for a community that is attempting to rebuild. I have focused largely on skill subjects with the aforementioned food production as well as some traditional crafts such as pottery and metal work that seem to be the basis of most civilizations. Not to mention the books on mathematics. I suppose that one could consider this a capsule. I really should find some material about teaching people to read. How does one acquire that skill without another to guide them? So far acquisitions have been driven by subjects that I was interested in at the moment.

Very few people grow their own food in this day in age. Even those who garden as a hobby aren't self-sufficient. It is faster, cheaper and easier to pick of a can of Spaghetti-Os at the local big box than it is to plant even a small garden. A meal costs a dollar, though the meal is of questionable nutritional value and loaded with chemicals which may just be killing us.

I know, as I just consumed a can of Chef Boyardee's ravioli. A fondly remembered staple of my childhood that, much like Kraft Mac and Cheese. All of these canned an boxed conveniences have some delightful qualities that quite resemble real food, and maybe at one point they started as such. There are few times when I ingest said fare that I actually feel glad that I ate it.

In the process of processing food, much of the actual flavor is stripped away through the rather harsh treatment of high temperature cooking(to kill parasites). The companies are forced to add a bath of chemicals that interact with our sense in order to reintroduce those flavors. Really, why does every can of ravioli taste and smell exactly the same? They are constructed to be so. Corporations have food production down to a science.

For those who own the land, Even small scale Gardens are labor intensive. For those who don't own land? Well gardening is out of reach for most of us. In Medieval England an average of 30 or 40 acres were required to feed a family and their livestock. Keep in mind that not all soils or climates are equal to the task of keeping a farmer alive. Will I be able to grow the various foods that I enjoy? Bread alone requires flour, sugar, yeast and water. Various flours can be substituted here, but wheat seems to be the most common and has been since it's discovery some 8000 years ago. Sugar is the same. Water is usually easy enough to find. I'm pretty sure that wild yeasts can be gathered.

What about potatoes and the like? They'll grow in some of the worst soils and climates, and you can use barrels and tire-stacks to force them to grow vertically. They did well enough for the Incas and the Irish(at least until the potato famine). And there are a thousand varieties that have been developed to address various nutritional needs. They come in all shapes and colors and sized. Sadly we really only rely a half-dozen commercial varieties (which is the case for most of our food production).

Technology has improved in the last 1000 years, for better and worse. More importantly, the science behind agriculture has improved. There is a better understanding of soil chemistry as it applies to foods and the need for crop rotation and the best methods for fertilization. As a result we grow more food than we need and are able to devote tons and tons of it to making fuels and sugary drinks.

Last spring/summer my roommate and I attempted an experiment in indoor planter gardening. We filled several 5 gallon buckets with potting soil and placed them in behind our large south-facing window. The experience was delightful, but came to little. I think that we got a total of 5 grape tomatoes, no string beans, a half dozen peppers that grew smaller and smaller(the pepper plant lasted into December) and a fair sized collection of herbs. Of these plantings, only the basil is still with us. Some of the failure is due to inexperience on the part of the farmers(over-watered), while the rest stems from a poor situation of not enough room or direct sunlight.

I guess how we do things as a society is fine, when the system works. But sooner or later it will break and a whole lot of people will go hungry. And it will break. Great. We're efficient! Yay. The next problem is our increasing reliance on mono-culture crops. Basically most of our food plants are clones and many of our animals have had variation inbred out of the stocks. We've done this to increase productivity of our food stuffs and it has worked quite well in that respect, our yields have increased drastically over the last century. Even if it has some problems (tomatoes, I am told, used to be delicious, now they taste like Styrofoam).

The largest looming pitfall(what it does the the environment aside) for our mono-culture is the advent of a disease. According to the experts, when a disease appears that is deadly to a culitvar, it is uniformly deadly and can cause vast crop failures. True, we breed new crops to resist known diseases, but this takes time and doesn't help the present. Take for an example the fungus that is once again destroying banana plantations in Central and South America.

On a personal level, one can resume cultivating heirloom plants. Those ancient breeds of yesteryear that have been husbanded by dedicated hands. Yields will drop even as flavor, nutrition and security increase. Many of our crops have been bred with yield and endurance(for purposes of shipping) in mind. As well as uniform appearance.

That's all good for plants. What about animals? Many of the same issues seem to be applicable I'm afraid. Hogs have been engineered to bulk up in weeks where it took months. They are fed the same diet and loaded with antibiotics and hormones and driven faster than was ever intended. They live out their entire lives in smelly stalls, until the time for slaughter arrives. Industrial livestock operations seem to be rather mechanical and ugly. The living animal that is sacrificed for nourishment is treated like a product.

I say this from a standpoint of a man who has only intentional slain one mammal (numerous fish have died by my hands – despite the fact I don't like fish personally. The rest of my family is a different story.) in his life. And the life of that lone animal was wasted. I still feel shame over this. Wasting food is in my mind one of the few actual sins a human can commit. I've also not got much hands on experience in raising livestock, so I cannot be sure how widespread these practices are.

But I am not against eating meat, I quite enjoy it. I'm not against raising animals, or hunting them for food. This is just an area of expertise which I plan to personally avoid where possible. I think I should prefer to create goods and earn my meat through trade than to harvest it with my own hands. Honesty, the sight of blood and internal organs have affected me negatively in the past. I'm soft.

Sometimes I even feel a brief pang of sadness when I contemplate the sudden and wasted end of roadkill. These creatures have not died for any good cause, to feed another organism. This seems a vast waste. But nature does not waste. The carcass will be made use of.

All right, to the final point. I feel that it is important for people to take control of their own food production. At least to supplement what they buy from stores. We can never go back to what was, not while keeping what we have. There is little point in returning to the past anyhow and only fools and Conservatives gaze at the past with rose covered glasses.

Still, with the present, it appears that we're building up for some big trouble and I want to get ahead of it.

Welcome to the apocalypse. To be continued.

Reflections from Walden Pond

To future adventures.

I've not gone out for much excitement(for what approaches excitement in my life) lately, instead it has had to come to me.  As much as the temporary jolts of adrenaline can be considered an adventure.  But driving the equivalent of New York to LA and back every month rather quiets any desire I might have to travel in the short term on my days off.  Besides that, many of my friends are busy in their own lives, so travel companions are difficult to find.  Already drive alone five nights a week, and have no desire to do so on the weekends as well.

For the last several months of my resumed employment, I have been listening to audio books during my long car rides to fill some of the emptiness. Well at least on the way out.  Often on the way back I listen to music or just sit in the silence and let my mind grind away on the question of the day.  When the drudgery is neither dangerous and depressing it descends into a deep dull.  How's that for alliteration?  But I've complained about it enough about it in the past.

So far since January my listening list is as follows:  The Wheel of Time, all 13 books.  Then some of Mark Twain's travel journals.  Caesar's Legion.  I made a vain attempt at Descartes' Dissertation on Reason(this did not go well as most of it seemed to be the author talking about himself.  More than that, at least one of the readers sounded terrible).  Now I'm returning again to Walden.  The mood struck me so.

Walden.  My English teacher in my Junior year of high school was obsessed with the book and its author.  We spent an eternity wrapped up in four or five weeks working through the rambling work of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emmerson.  I hated it, as my love of reading involved mostly science fiction and fantasy novels.

Many years, and one boring job that I hated later, and I decided to give Walden another chance.  This time though, I would go with the audio version as I worked that boring job that I so hated.  Have you heard of librivox?  Got to Librivox, they are awesome.

That was in 2009.  The first half of the book tickled me greatly and I revered the man's words.  The last half, well he just wanders about in no particular direction.  Some of his stops are interesting, whilst the rest I could easily skip.

For those of you who have never heard of the book, it consists of the naturalist Henry David Thoreau's rambling narrative about his two years of experience in the woods.  Back in the 1840s he built a small shack on the shore of Walden Pond in Massachusetts and lived a rather care-free life.

Were he alive today, Walden would effectively be HDT's blog, as he writes about everything that crosses his mind.  From his observations of the natural world down to his views and thoughts about the nature of what the nature is of living a good life.  Some of his thoughts and words resonate deeply with me, while others are just nattering opinions. Still, you take what you wish from the giant soup of human thought as you mix together your own sustenance and leave the rest to burn or rot.

I wonder if this blog will be my Walden.  I suppose I could work to make it so.  If I manage some deeper thoughts.  But how has HDT affected my own thinking.  How have his thoughts struck me?  Here are a few quotes that I quite enjoy.

1) As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.

*To my thinking, this is a reminded of how much time we spend waiting for life.  I don't know if that was what he had intended with the statement as this brilliant line jumped out at me as the surrounding context faded back into the bushes.  I answer with “I do not wish to kill time, but embrace her.  Alas she slips away so quickly.”

I try to fill my days with as much meaningful work as possible.  Usually I fail as I am tempted away by funny cat videos.  It has been a week or more since I last picked up my zombie novel, or any other story.  As it is, I am squandering my existence with the struggle to survive.

2) Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good, be good for something

3) I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.

* As an introvert and a hermit, this one rings very true for me.  I spend about 22 in every 24 hours in a given work day in near complete solitude.  But there's a difference.  I have a phone and the internet.  If I wish to connect with someone I always can.  Loneliness is easy enough to stave off in that fashion.  What I wish is for more meaningful human contact.  As it is many of my good and interesting friends are far off.  As an introvert with a touch of social anxiety, it is difficult(read this as near-impossible) to refill those ranks, leaving a hole in my life. It does not help that I am very picky in the people with whom I wish to associate.

Glorious solitude though, and the bent of freedom that in bestows.  My thoughts are my own as is how I spend my time.  HDT also has a quote on that thought that I shall do my best to paraphrase:  A man who travels with a companion must wait for the companion before he may leave.  A man who travels alone is his own master.

Regardless, we all need companions, even a hermit.

4) Books are the carriers of civilization. Without books, history is silent, literature dumb, science crippled, thought and speculation at a standstill. I think that there is nothing, not even crime, more opposed to poetry, to philosophy, aye, to life itself than this incessant business

5) The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it

*This quote is ingrained in my bones, and has been for a number of years.  I often ask myself whether the object or experience is worth the hours of labor that it took me to get that money to pay for it.  Often the answer is no and I rightly move on.  Others, the answer is still no, but I ignore my gut and fork over a piece of my life for that shiny whistle(to mix analogies and bring Ben Franklin into the conversation).

The man is quotable and he gifted humanity with hundreds of such nuggets of gold.

I've so far in my life been content to be a grunt and work for my daily bread.  No thinking in my job, just simple monkey work.  My jobs are usually just a series of tasks, where I have few responsibilities.  This is really all I trust myself to do.  I fear the possibility that I'll be given a task that I am not equal to and be overwhelmed.  Call this an insecurity in my own skills.  I little understand the big picture in many endeavors of business or finance and the like.

I really hate the idea of being forced to focus on a task that doesn't really interest me.  I just wish to explore the world at my own rate and pick my own direction.  As Tolkien said, Not all who wander are lost.  Is this laziness?  I've completed some seven novels, two dozen short stories and a play.  They are not brilliant masterworks that will inspire future generations for centuries to come.  But they were fun and they are mine and I trust myself to accomplish that much.

Previously I was not bothered much by doing grunt work in low end jobs.  They allowed me my free time.  But then my co-worker has been talking about his life.  He lives in a trailer with his wife and three kids and has worked odd jobs all his life.  He seems happy enough and content, but I don't feel that I wish to follow that route.  But at the same time, I really don't have a mind for business.

Should I like to have a wife and kids?  I think that would be an excellent adventure in itself.  Life would be interesting.  Or maybe the wife and freedom from the duties of offspring.  Whichever.  Both seem to me fascinating possibilities.  After all, I've already experienced being alone.  Let's see what the universe brings.

There is another failing, waiting on the universe and fate.  It is half of why I play the lotto on occasion.  Waiting for Fortuna's kiss.  But the bitch ain't a'comin.

For now, I have simple dreams that seem to be out of my reach.

To be continued.

More Dull Tales of Driving

I've been quiet for a while. But life has fallen into a pattern largely devoid of much new and exciting B quality adventures. The last two weeks have been free from jolts of adrenaline and I wonder what sort of karmatic buggery is building. I hope it isn't worse than dealing with the insurance company. Actually, so far that hasn't been too terrible, aside from me feeling out of my element with this new and bizarre experience. Insurance company did I say? Yes indeed. The last two weeks have been slow. The week prior was quite full and lively. I shall begin. I'm still a delivery driver and I work second shift. By in large I like second shift. I enjoy the fact that I have the morning and afternoon to devote to my interests then I goto work and when I get home I goto bed. I am able to get my daily walk(about 4 or 5 miles, it takes a little over an hour) and after that I can spend time weaving chain working on this story or that novel. That of course is only when my discipline slips and I don't get stuck in a loop of checking websites on the net. There are some days where I circle through facebook, gmail, and then to my sales page at amazon(that rarely changes). Over and over. In fact, I expect that I'll run the circuit at least once or twice as I write this. It's a sad existence. See how that works? I was telling a story and got distracted. Happens every day. Anyhow, I still drive evenings and nights, about 250 miles a day, which gets me back in town around 11pm. Worse since It is construction season in my current home state. But we've had a mild winter with clear roads. So, in that much I have been largely fortunate. I am in effect getting paid to listen to audiobooks(The Wheel of Time has taken around six months at my slowish pace but I take breaks from the listening). I've had several rather unpleasant blips during my tenure as a driver. My new worst happened a few weeks back after my deliveries had been made and on the return trip. Full dark had come. I don't mind driving in full dark, as much as I enjoy seeing the scenery, as I get to pretend that I'm in some exotic place. Easy enough to do when the trees create a tunnel of blackness through which you only see the highway. What you might see is further eroded by that steady stream of traffic flowing at you with headlights glaring. I have perhaps a seventy-five foot bubble of clear vision ahead of me. And in this I fly through every night at 70mph. What was that Kenny G? I have been on the Highway through the Danger Zone. It's the Detroit to Saginaw(including Flint) corridor on 75. Headlights come right at you, which is tiring. Even the 4 foot tall concrete wall that separates the two opposing lanes of traffic does little to the strain. I sit surrounded by light but unable to see. What dickery. I had just come out of a construction zone, and up ahead of me a semi-swerved to the right onto the shoulder of the road. Well, this happens. Sometimes drivers get distracted and drift. Sometimes they just decide to pull over for a rest or due to mechanical problems. I noticed the strange occurrence but thought little of it. Until I got to that point myself and found that the driver had changed course to avoid that box-spring that was lying flush in the middle of the lane. Now I don't know why it was there, but I've imagined the scenario and most involve an idiot, twine and highway speeds. The semi driver had pulled right. I opted for the center lane instead. I slowed slightly and swerved out of the way. Really, the crappy aveo I often drive is quite nimble and it got me over no problem. Cool. Wait. Twenty feet further on another shape appeared. The mattress. Well that makes sense. Who would carry a box-spring without the mattress after all? More breaks! More swerving! Highway Slalom! Back into the outside lane! The Aveo did not like this. I don't know if it was the swerving or my application of the breaks, but the car decided that it wasn't done with the dance. Maybe it felt the need to spin about in a piroutte in celebration of such a grand feat of agility. Who knows, I turned the wheel against the spinout. In the next heartbeat the aveo tried to throw itself into that aforementioned wall. I fought that. Maybe I over compensated. The aveo decided to try to make a break and leap over the edge of the highway. I've decided that the car is EMO and wants to kill itself. My thoughts were: “Eat a bowl of fuck, I am going to crash! This is really going to suck!” Followed by “I really don't want to crash, I shall keep fighting until I do.” I did not crash. Nor did I shit myself. In no particular order of importance I'm proud of these accomplishments. Before you ask, I didn't pull over and drag the set off the road my own self. I was several miles further on before that course of action even occurred to me. I'm slow to react and some things take a long time to percolate as I worry them over. Just how my brain works(or doesn't). Looking back, I did notice a car and a couple people on the road-side. Maybe they were the bastards who inadvertently laid this trap. Event two. Less than one week later. Tucker and Dale vrs my HHR. The HHR is the new car that the company purchased to replace one of the older aveos(we had 2). By new, I mean it was a 2008 model with 55,000 miles. But newer than the 2006 aveo with 140,000 miles. I add around 1250 – 1500 miles a week. One of our salesmen also uses the company cars. I don't know how much he drives. Have you seen Tucker and Dale vrs Evil? If not, you should. Rent it, buy it, watch it on netflix. What-ever. The move is a delight. But I mention this because I got to meet the title characters, or their real-world avatars. It was not as awesome an experience as I would have expected. Sure, they were nice enough all things considered. But more jaded and not as lovable. Neither of them liked visiting the city, that was apparent by their tone and words. They were country boys through and through. I was making a local run in town driving along one of our main thoroughfares. This day, I was driving our newish HHR. I rather like the HHR, especially when compared to the Aveo. It's spacious, is easy on gas and rather comfortable to ride in. The extra added bonus is that it doesn't get thrown around in high winds like the Aveo. Driving an Aveo in storms is like riding a bucking bronco. The traffic was moderately heavy, being mid-afternoon and I was following along with the flow. The car in front of me slowed. So I slowed. Tucker and Dale did not. I heard a screech of tires behind me. I looked into the sideview to see where it was coming from when I was surprised by a loud crash and my vehicle being launched forward rather violently. I can recall hitting the seatbelt. Kids wear your seatbelt – I can't stress this enough, as every night I visit facilities which deal with auto-accident and head-injury patients. I've said it before and will repeat it, new drivers need to take a tour to these places as a part of their training. I pulled over. Tucker and Dale did too. They were driving an aged jeep with a heavy steel push bar on the front end. The bar had heavy black rings to attach chains or cables. Here is a practical demonstration why maces and hammers are more effective than words against plate armor. All of that force and power directed onto a single point. The vehicle needs some several thousand dollars in repairs, starting with a new hatch door. The car has since developed issues with starting up. I was standing on the side of the road and I must say that being in an accident is a new experience for me. I called my co-worker for advice. Dale was a bit upset and wanted to know if we'd have to contact the insurance company. Yes, we would. Judging by the huge dent in the back of the car. Dale was trying to access his insurance info with his blackberry. I made two points, get Dale's insurance info, and copy down the license plate number. Tucker in the mean time was going on a rant. I didn't catch much of it as the noises of traffic was too loud. What I did catch was “Not that I was talking about you!” I hope they got out of town without any more incidents, because this all happened on one of the college campuses in town. I'm pretty sure that Tucker was complaining some about college kids. Watch the movie. I drove the HHR to finish the run I had begun. Cause the meds must go through. Rain, sleet, tornadoes or hillbillies. Not only that, but I took it with me on the nightly run across state. Not bad engineering Chevy. The starting issues actually began the next day. Yay! New car is already borked! So, part two. I got to visit the police station and file an accident report. This was how I spent part of the following Saturday morning, filling out the report in four part harmony. Down to drawing a picture of the scene of the accident. At last, I get to put my art degree to good use. Not really, it was a crappy picture, but I wanted to get out of there and get on with my weekend. Finally I got to call the insurance company. Rather, I got to find the insurance company's phone number online, as that was not listed on my proof of insurance. I got through and the local monkey gave me a phone-number for an agent with Hartford. They were just a shell company it seemed. Great. Well, I called the agent, and got it all worked out sort of. She would send an adjuster soon. Soon of course is relative, it took a week for her to call back, and more than that to get the adjuster. This job is going to kill me. Worse, the weather has really take a turn towards the summer's heat. So. I am unhappy with my situation and I don't see how to improve it. I have no momentum and need to find something to get my boulderesque rolling again. I can think of a few reasons but still I hesitate as I ponder and dither. And now I bitch about my own stupid self. Really, I stand in a box of my own making, a wet cardboard box that I could easily punch through and step out of. But before I jump I want to see where I might land. Lately I've been looking at the Pacific North West as a place to jump. I have an urge to go. But these could all be a fantasies set up in my own head. Next time, I'll tell you about my heroic battle with shin splints.

Fortune's Least Favorites

The Mega-millions jackpot went up to over $640,000,000 this last week, sending the nation into a flurry of greed and hope. For that kind of money a lot of dreams could come true. Not the ordinary dreams about buying a home and family, those dreams that most families can attain in a dozen generations of work. Like buying a tropical island paradise and a fleet of F-16 fighter jets to defend it. The winner(s) of this drawing would be very wealthy, and all over night. Their wold would change and perhaps not all for the better. I suppose that this depends on the person in question and their ability to handle this huge overnight change.

One Hundred and Seventy Five Million to One. Those are the odds against any individual intent on taking the Mega-millions lottery jackpot. One Hundred and Seventy Five Million possible combinations of winning numbers. Only a fool would game in those odds. I brought it up so as you might expect, I am a fool who gamed with those odds. Every now and again I like to drop a dollar on a ticket. As a driver, every night I pass at least one billboard. Fuck the State for that reminder. That billboard keeps the notion alive – which is exactly what it is meant to do. Think of how many hundreds of millions of tickets had to sell for the purse to grow so large.

The process of the drawing is simple. The player pays $1 for a ticket with 6 numbers. The first 5 of those numbers are drawn from one pool of numbered balls ranging from 1-56. The final slot is drawn from a second set ranged 1-46. The more numbers you match on your ticket, the larger the pay-out. They say that the over all odds of winning on a given ticket are 1 in 40.

there is no skill involved ion this game, just reliance on the nebulous concept of luck. Luck is a funny thing that I'm not sure I fully understand what it all entails. It seems to be applied to the regular happenings of the world in addition to the combination of choices that you have made, as they interact with the decisions and actions of the people around you. Your decisions toss you out into the world and and the stream that is Luck, and maybe you'll find gold or be flung over a waterfall. The future lies unseen around the bend, and who knows what rocks have been tossed into your path.

What a Quantum way of looking at things. I have no doubt why people cling on a belief in a friendly Deity guiding their steps. After all, who but an utter maniac would willingly leave their house when they have so little control over their lives? This develops a sense of Fate I think, and lends itself quite well to taking extraordinary chances. After all, if God wills it, you may just win. Those odds are for other people. A small part of the back of my mind has that thought stuck on repeat, maybe I'm fated to win the big one!

But playing amuses me. I'm aware of the odds, vaguely, and thinking about such usually makes be break out in laughter as I recall the silly thing that I just did. I doubt I fully understand the full extent of the meaning of these numbers, my simple monkey brain isn't wired to grasp such concepts. But I know what the near edge of impossible is – and lotto odds are as close as one can get. Still, one in one hundred and seventy five million is far better than zero. There is still a chance and all the chance requires is for me to relinquish a single slim dollar.

That IF stands up tall and shouts loud to a lot of people. An inexpensive IF with a high payout against those long odds. What is a dollar, or even five or ten, against say quitting my job and buying a yacht and crewing it with gorgeous young women to sail the seas? These are pleasant enough daydreams, and they lead to why I play the lotto in the first place. I like to daydream about what I would do with the money. Help the family, invest in some causes and finally disappear over the horizon on my pleasure boat.

175,000,000 to 1. I know that I'm not going to win. It is a fine bit of magical thinking on the part of adults to believe that they will ever win. Even if you drop a c-note, your odds are still negligible. The employees of the company for whom I work for put together a pool. Kick in $5 and you get a share of the L00T should one of the tickets happen to hit. We're a small company, and the boss bought in as well. There were jokes that if we won the jackpot, the company's doors would be closed on monday. Mostly I laughed up my sleeve at the idea while day-dreaming about what I'd do with my winnings.

The pool lead to those interesting conversations about what we would do with the money. Sometimes people are willing to share their dreams when discussing hypotheticals, and you learn quite about about the people around you as they shed that light on how their minds work and what drives them. I don't think I'll discuss my own plans, beyond the fact that I would pay off my student loans.

In the end, somebody wins. Somebody has to win. And if somebody is going to win, then why not me? Hope is a funny thing like that. But for now, I need to go and cancel my Yacht order. Of the $90 we collectively put up, we got $5 back.

In the mean time, I'll be back in that place between Hope and Reality that I inhabit. Until that jackpot soars again.

Rider in the Storm

Fortune smile upon me, for the boatman Charon makes no change.

I don't care for driving at night. Oncoming headlights are wearing on the eyes. There is always that stream of bright lights that washes out the rest of the world. Two or three hours of that, makes for a poor evening. What you can see comes from that small bubble of light racing in front of you to illuminate the road. Just the road ahead, no further. So the scenery is usually lighted buildings and billboards. Oh how well I know the billboards that run the length of my route.

Finally there are the unseen dangers. In this part of the world at least, there are a lot of critters waiting in the wings to suicide by throwing themselves at your vehicle. Critters be dumb and numerous. I've not yet hit anything, luckily, but that's not for the lack of suicide squads what have tried. So far my nearest miss involved 3 feet of empty air between my fender and a bounding deer. Louis, you want to talk about deer again?

You know what makes driving at night better? A snow storm. Snow began falling early afternoon, and temperatures began to fall before night. The snow began to stick, the wet stuff. Slick. Ice. The snow wasn't too heavy, but it did diminish visibility some. There was one point in the afternoon as I drove into the storm when I thought my vision had suddenly begun to dim. It was like the house lights in a theater as a movie starts. I nearly panicked.

Wind too is usually a part of a storm. Driving in the wind? That also sucks. It doesn't seem to matter if the vehicle is large or small, a powerful gust can throw you around the road. I think wind is almost as dangerous as slippery roads, especially when driving at highway speeds. At least you can see the snow on the ground. There was wind that night too.

Compound all of that with a large cargo van with rear-wheel drive. So much more surface area for the wind to catch hold of. And poor traction to push the vehicle forward. I've only ever been in a single car accident, it involved riding in a van through poor weather at night. Said van spun out and then rolled over the edge. That was nearly a decade ago. Have you no idea what I'm talking about?

Though my knowledge of the universe is imperfect and I can only make deductions at any given time by my experience, I shall still try and explain:

Rear-wheel drive vehicles are when the engine is used to power the rear wheels (actually usually just one rear wheel as I understand it – my information might be obsolete or incorrect though.). I believe the problem here is the lack of weight over those wheels and the difficulty for the tires to get proper traction on the surface, especially when the roads are slick with ice. Thus, when you stop at an intersection, lo and behold when you go to accelerate, the wheels just spin unhappily.

This, I believe is the problem. And it leads to the wheels spinning, which can result in fish-tailing. Fish-tailing is when the rear of the vehicle swerves back and forth of its own volition. Not a pleasant experience when you're traveling anything above 20. Much less so when you're out on the highway at any speed. I imagine that this loss of grip was what sent so many of my fellow fools off into the ditch.

If I'm wrong, feel free to pipe up.

Every day I pass at least 4 billboards advertising the lotto. You know, at 11 at night, when headlights are blaring in your face, with the knowledge that you're going to have to do this again tomorrow and every night five nights a week for the foreseeable future, well those 1 in 100,000,000 odds seem like a good bet. Maybe that's their plan. This week the jackpot was 350,000,000. The mind moves quick to ponder what being rich would be like. What one would do with a few(or a great many) million dollars. Think those happy thoughts. Hope is what gets we the fools through the day.

I was an hour late to start on my route. Cycle(the monthly supply medications) was due for one of the larger clients and my company had recently divested itself of the truck that was used to haul larger deliveries(rather, this one delivery monthly). We instead started a new practice of renting a van once a month for that particular delivery(or maybe they're buying a van). But it is a new process and there was confusion – primarily that U-haul charges for mileage, where as their competitor Enterprise doesn't. After I picked up the van, I pointed this fact out – about a half hour before go time, right at the height of rush hour. We got rid of the first van and rented a second – $.59 a mile over the course of a 300 mile round trip is some heavy cash. Not exactly a conducive to good business.

We ordered a second van. I got to do the old switcheroo. Picking up the second van involved trudging through rush-hour traffic at the city's most busy intersection. I won't make that mistake again. The agent at Enterprise was delighted that we shared the same first name, and he mixed small talk with business as most reasonable people do. I lack the skill/ability/talent/inclination to make small talk. Just cannot do it, or make myself interested. Questions, those wonderful things that get the ball rolling, just do not occur to me. I am quite content to remain silent and think about candy. I can however engage in conversation when someone goads me along, I can answer questions and even show some whit. I just cannot make myself engage with a stranger.

Much to my disappointment, though not surprise, I found that neither of the cargo vans had a decent sound system. I don't expect top of the line speakers or whatever. But a line-in or cd player seems to be about standard. I was left with a radio for the duration. 8 hours is a long ass time to listen to NPR. Yes, I am a pretentious prick who listens to NPR. Normally I listen to music or Audio books when working. They both help the hours pass.

So, I got a late start. This isn't too terrible, if you believe in the theory that the rush-hour will pass you by, or at least thin out. It usually does during my normal route. Traffic starts slightly heavy, though flowing constantly, and then lessens as the evening grows. Usually. In ideal conditions. Or even less than ideal conditions. But it had been snowing for the last several hours and the highways hadn't been plowed completely clean. Most folks were careful. And the dumb ones were in the ditch. I swear, I saw more cars off the road that night than on all of my other trips combined. The wreckers must have made a killing and the highway patrol was kept busy all through the evening.

I have driven through worse weather. Twice I drove through a blizzard But that was when I was still profoundly stupid. Now I'm just moderately stupid. But

This night, there was a stream of slow moving traffic extending from both of my bumpers, kind of like a giant millipede that was just sputtering along. For a few short minutes I briefly hit my top speed of around 45MPH. Which then dropped down to around 10, with the average running around 35. Most nights I can happily cruise along at 70. Faster even, if I feel rushed. But I usually don't and feel that abiding by the limits are fair enough. 2 or 5 extra miles per hour won't make much difference in the course of a night as to when my route ends.

I ran into a strange effect of the conditions. There were times where I couldn't seem to make myself go over a certain speed. I spent the night with my foot on the accelerator pedal – where usually I opt to use cruise control. I often find myself getting swept up and following the flow of traffic whenever I have to feed the engine manually. Cruise control helps keep this impulse at bay, while freeing me up from keeping an eye on the speedometer. A feature that came in quite handy when I was young and just getting the hang of driving.

Now, mind, had I been in a smaller and more manageable car I would have gone a bit faster I think. No where near highway speeds, but I imagine that I would have been willing to broach 50 on some parts of the trip out. Though I still would have kept the cruise off. No point in tempting Fate further and being struck down like those other fools. A man cannot spin fantasies about wealth or romance if he's dead. Or worse, in one of the facilities my company services. Some of them deal with auto accident victims.

Needless to say though, it took twice as long as usual to arrive at my first stop. Really – that is the general theme of the night. I usually get back home around 11pm, and this time it was 3.30 AM. Just a recurring theme of the night.

I was met with an avalanche of Pity from the people I encountered at my final stop. Given, usually I get there around 8.30, and it was now fast approaching midnight. They make you go out in that? One asked me. While another said that she had been wrong before in thinking that her job sucked – not when she saw what was expected of me. Maybe they were wondering if I would be remanded into their care before the end of the night.

I hope not. Not that. Not ever. Though the irony makes me laugh now. I think I would weep later.

Anyhow, that last stop went rather smoothly, cold as it was. And soon I was on my way back home. Another long drive was ahead. This time I managed to get all the way up to 50 MPH at a few points. That is, until those heart jolting shots of adrenaline kicked in when suddenly the rear of the van would begin pulling to one side or another.

I'm not a coffee drinker and the headlights were grinding away at my eyes like sandpaper by the end. I was happy to be back in town safe. All that remained was to gas up and drop off the van before going home and finding my blankets. Sadly, I lost my credit card. I have a habit of placing important objects such as my glasses and keys into the same place. That way I never lose them. Same goes with the cards and their place in my wallet.

I must say that I was surprised to find out that the card wasn't in the proper place. Very surprised. I practiced some of my vocabulary of harsh language and jumped back into the van to head back home. The rest could wait until morning. (I found the card, it WAS in my wallet, but in a different slot. I blame a combination of the long night and general stupidity on the part of the user).

I would say that overall, the experience has driven me to think deeply about what I want out of life. This is not the case though. Generally I know what I want out of life. I just don't know how to go about making those dreams come true. My imagination doesn't extend to finding that necessary path. Some seem well out of my reach as I keep treading water. I feel like that stupid van, my tires are spinning while I sit still. I hate it. This leaves me feeling unfulfilled. Ennui is a close friend.

Funeral.

My uncle died last week. My mother's only brother. He spent more than two years battling and succumbing to an aggressive brain cancer. I don't know name it has been given, but they give people a 5% chance of surviving 24 months at whatever stage he was diagnosed. He beat those odds. In December of 2010, he was given 4 to 6 months. He survived into January of 2012. As the months passed, the pain increased and so did his medication dosages. You could see that he was fading. Or at least my aunts could. Until that last week he seemed about the same to me, a bit groggy, but still about the same.

Then on Saturday, on the morning before my Cousin's wedding, it all ended. I've stated that I have mixed feelings about it. He lived a sad life and had a sad death. Now he was no longer in pain. Were I a man of faith in a just universe, I think that this would test my faith. But only until I was able to convince myself that he would be getting Sky Cake at this very minute and that all was right again.

What really matters is my Aunts. They strove heroically to make sure that their only brother's last weeks and months were as full as they could make them. Concerts and roadtrips and everything else they could conceive. They got him out of the house and moving in an attempt to make the best of a rotten situation and I think to keep his spirits from flagging. I don't think they ever told him how bad his situation was. There was the implication that he may not be able to fully comprehend. Whatever. I feel that they did right, as hope can be a fragile thing.

I wasn't close to my uncle, so no need for condolences. I've spent most of my life on the far side of the state, when not the country. I would only ever see my uncle a few hours every few weekends when we came up to visit the family as a whole. Both sides, and those hours were divided between all of our familial obligations. When you're in town, people get offended if you don't drop by for a visit. Never mind that they don't ever bother to swing by your corner of the world.

We would only pass a few words of greeting. Hey, how are you, fine and you, fine. Before settling to watch television quietly and wait for the visit to pass. I'm not much of a conversationalist, and neither was my uncle. We held little in common besides – though maybe more than I thought. I won't utter any blather about how I wished I would have gotten to know him better. This would be empty prattle on my part. A lie. I am not one for connections for the sake of a misplaced sense of duty.

He had suffered from mild brain-damage. My mother went through a laundry list of possible causes – each was sadder than the last. From illness to falling and striking his head. He managed to graduate high school and hold a job for 20 years. The latter I have yet to manage, and beats my best attempt by more than a factor of ten. His illness though left him with a speech impediment. Once, when I was eight or nine, I made a joke about it. I don't recall getting punished or yelled at. I never did it again. Once was well more than enough. Even as a bratty smartassed child I knew that, though I had yet to learn that sometimes it was better to let a stupid joke go even though it seemed to be really funny at the time. Honestly, sometimes I still forget this lesson.

My uncle was generous and stable, whatever his flaws. He was a fixture of the community, if not a pillar. He was well loved by his family. I doubt that when the time comes, my funeral won't be so well attended. I am an abrasive introvert with hermetic tendencies. My circle of friends is small. I am OK with this. I prefer it that way.

As it was, I felt about the same about my uncle's illness and death as I would any acquaintance. Sad, but the sadness was more of an abstract. Like how one would feel if a friend of a friend were to die. More sympathy for those others than a sense of personal loss. I may not have had a connection with my uncle, but my mother and her sisters and most of my cousins, and my Grandmother most of all, he was a part of their life. Many of cousins grew up around him, seeing him daily. He and my Grandmother lived together. She's from stoic German farmer stock. Hers has been a rough life as well. I think that in the end that the final death brought a sense of relief.

This leads finally to the funeral itself.

Funerals are there for the comfort of the living. They do the departed no good, but allow those who were left behind a chance to gather and grieve. I don't think I want a funeral. I'd just like to be dumped into a hole and buried. No coffin or chemicals. Then have a tree planted over atop me. Something natural where I go back to where I came from in the most profound and literal way. The best way for the atoms that make up my body to rejoin the universe. That is for me. Now back to my uncle.

I've been to one other funeral in my life, my Great Grandmother's back in the 1990s. She died after a long bout with bone cancer while in her 90s. I was in high school. Hearing of her death left me with that 'punched in the gut' feeling. I can still remember some of the experience but not too much, bits and pieces mostly. What she looked like in the casket and the meal following. Who knows how much else, and what is real and what manufactured. Which details have changed over the years as memories have rubbed up against one another and merged. Was it a sunny day? Was the church full and as cavernous as I remember?

Along with five of the other nephews I was a pallbearer for my uncle. I was a part of the funeral ceremony. Thankfully for us, they have nifty carts for the casket. There is very little actual bearing of the pall, and most of that is into and out of the hearse. According to the Pastor my uncle had passions for Coke, Sweets and Pizza. More than one of us cursed these passions and wished that he prefered rice cakes, salad and exercise. We were there as an honor guard of sorts, to walk beside and 'guide' the casket as it left the church and entered the chapel. We were expected to be there an hour early to greet the guests and prepare.

That was to be my job. My anxiety kicked in. It does when I feel trapped. And here I was for an indeterminate length of time with no back door to flee to. So I sat off to the side as the various friends and family made their way in. I only really recognize the more immediate family, aunts and uncles and cousins. When it comes to great aunts and second cousins, well at best I've met many of those people only once or twice in my life. They were unknown faces. Maybe I had heard the names in the past and maybe not. They're family, but no more part of my life than is Christina Hendricks. Though she is most welcome to introduce herself.

We were gathered for the final viewing before the service began. One by one we were trooped by my uncle's casket. To say goodbye I suppose. The purpose of the ceremony wasn't explained. I'm not really one for goodbyes.

I didn't touch the body. Nor did I get to close. I didn't want the experience. Plus, there are far too many horror movies kicking around in my mind and revving up my superstitious monkey-brain. As I stood and looked at what remained of my uncle, my mind conjured a powerful image of him waking up and lunging at me with his hands open. I moved on quickly, opting to allow the next person in line deal with the wrath of zombie-uncle while I high-tailed it to safety.

After that the family gathered into a small classroom for a prayer/pep talk by the Pastor. I don't really recall the exact contents beyond Jesus is awesome. It was a repeated theme through out the day. The affirmation of faith was not unexpected.

I was raised with a somewhat obscure off-shoot branch of Christianity. For years I tried to adhere to faith. I didn't want to let that part of my life go. But I think too much, and read too much and finally came to the conclusion that the story was too circular for my liking. In order to buy in, you had to take some of the given material as granted, and I had reached the so-called age of 'independent verification of facts.' I shun descriptive adjectives when applying them to myself.

My mind and outlook are constantly shifting as I listen and read and ponder. But Militant Agnostic seems good, I don't know and neither do you. I do find myself being hostile towards the die-hard self-righteous religious types. Especially those who were just lucky enough to have been born into the 'true faith' without having ever had to explore the whole vast realm of the human spiritual universe before making up their minds.

I am ever questioning and unbelieving. In my writing, many of my characters tend to share these traits with me. I think I will trust more in science until God Almighty, the eternal asshole that he is, gets off his ass and sets the world straight in no uncertain terms. Give us evidence that we can all verify and share. That we can record and review and discuss. Nothing secret or personal – the experience should be shared by the whole of humanity and repeated for every generation. If God created us in his image and likeness, God should know better than to allow a bunch of stupid monkeys such as we to play a game of politicized gossip over the course of hundreds of generations by schizophrenics with a cause.

Until he fixes his vastly flawed system, he may eat a bowl of fuck. For this, if there is a hell then according to Christian teaching, I am going there. Depending on who's take is to be believed, I won't be alone.

As such, I've not been to church in years. In the future, I would like to sit in on other services for all the various faiths and sects. To get this basic human experience. To observe and perhaps record. I've noticed with the Lutherans, unlike my own experience, that they sit while singing hymns. I wonder how many other branches of Christianity do this and why. My own sect always stood. Baptists seem to as well. Do Muslims and Jews sing at their services? How about Hindus and Pagans?

I don't know about other funeral services in other faiths and cultures, how they are arranged. This one involved prayers and poetry and music. The pastor read selections from the Bible. Generally the service was cheerful and positive. I would like to suppose that this is how all Lutheran services are, focus on the good rather than the bad. In my mind this would be far better than those fear-mongers who forever harp on eternal damnation and hellfire and brimstone. Peddling hope is far more just than selling fear.

The Pastor spoke of my uncle's bravery in the face of adversity. I don't know if he spoke truly or if he was being flowery and painting a good face on the last to years of waiting. Then there was the promise of heaven. Many different faiths have a paradise that is held in trust for the true believers. The Jews invented heaven after they were conquered by the Greeks in order to keep their citizens from adopting Hellenistic culture. They taught that the faithful will meet God. Some Muslims believe that martyrs will be awarded a number of Virgins for years of awkward and traumatizing sex. While the Mormons are said to believe that they will become the God of their own universe. Or maybe they'll spend an eternity with their family. I'm not quite sure, I've heard both. Maybe one is for the men and the other for the women. Mormonism seems to be divided based on sex in many ways.

The Lutherans, at least judging by this Pastor, only promise beer and pizza with dead relatives. Oh, and an end to worldly complaints. Something to look forward to, and not really so far removed from reality that it would be impossible to believe. Life just keeps going on, only with all of the ups and no downs. I quite understand the appeal of this sort of belief. It is nice to think that there is some sort of cosmic justice or karma balancing the universe and rewarding the righteous. Even if the system doesn't make too much sense to me.

I have to wonder if it is just assumed at funerals that the recently departed will have made the cut and gained entry. How stringent are the criteria really? Will the preacher/pastor/priest/imam or whatever look down and say “well that dude was an asshole! Good riddance!”? Are the rose colored glasses assumed for the duration? We have a tradition of not speaking ill of the dead.

Following the funeral and the service graveside(in this case we used the chapel in the cemetery) the family and friends gather for a meal. Americans love to eat. Ham, Scalloped potatoes, beans and bread. Not to mention the rainbow of jello molds and salads. There are few things in life better than a substantial meal and feeling pleasantly full. You feel as if you're holding onto life. After the sad business of burying a loved one a meal seems that much more important.

Afterward.

You can learn a great deal about a fellow human being by pawing through their possessions. This is the basis of Archeology as the adherents uncover lost civilizations. What were the desires of the people and what did they believe? What sorts of things did they value? The same holds true with my uncle.

My grandmother asked us all to look through his things and take what we like. My uncle loved movies and music and had a fair-sized collection of DVDs and CDs, not to mention VHS cassettes and Audio cassettes. I wasn't the first through, or the last, so I picked a few of his films and a handful of cds that interested me.

Most of the music were by classic rock bands from the 80s and more recent pop-country stars. I think he had a dozen disks by the band Alabama. And at least 4 copies of ZZ Top's greatest hits. That was another thing about him, he was extremely fond of having back-up copies of everything – the man had hundreds of cassette tapes, many copies of albums he had purchased. His movie collection was even more diverse, ranging from love stories to action. But most were modern, those movies that came out during his lifetime. I personally snagged the Smokey and the Bandit collection. All seven movies in one box. Bad idea? Who would waste their money on that kind of crap? My uncle. I cannot really look down upon the collection much, I've knowingly purchased boxed sets that were bad and some which were much worse.

Finally there was his library of books. Most are hardcovers, not a one has been read. He, like much of the family, wasn't a reader. But he seemed to buy books almost obsessively. I cannot fault him with that, I do the same and have a substantial library of books that I will probably NEVER read myself. I just keep adding to the collection. It seems that he would hear someone mention a book and then go out and buy that book. I have done this exact same thing. Many times. I grab books that look like they might be interesting and often squirrel them away for a later date when I'm in the mood to read them.

My uncle had a substantial collection of porn. This didn't surprise me, I stumbled upon part of it when I was in high school some fifteen years back. The collection has grown since then. But to remember this changes my view of the man, that he was a man with all of the urges and needs. It makes my uncle less abstract for me and fills him out as a person. Like many men he yearned for female companionship, or at the very least sex. Biology is a powerful driver in human nature. Still, I think that the Aunts may have been shocked by the discovery. I wonder if the revelation would have altered the Pastor's funeral oration or opinion.

There he would be awaiting in the afterlife with beer, pizza and porn.

He was obsessive with his collecting and acquiring – even beyond the vale of movies and music. We found set upon set of drill bits and screw-drivers. Multiple copies of each, all the same, and most unopened. He collected them in what seemed to be madness. Why would he need drills or grinders? Or entire bins of tacks meant to hold down electric wires.

Then the revelation came out that my uncle wanted to be an Electrician. I don't know where he got the idea and why he clung onto that. Maybe he dreamed that he could master the skills. A noble thought, to try and improve yourself. The mom and her sisters don't think that he could manage it with his limitations. But that was his dream and more power to him. Life holds little meaning by itself. It is up to us to instill meaning into life, and we do this with goals and dreams and how we interact with the world including those around us. My uncle did this as well as anyone. So there he is, there he was. He inhabited that gray area between hope and despair.

The world will keep going.