Day # 46 End Days

Here we are once again, riding the last gasp of an expiring year, a new one on the way.  I will not bore anyone with inane resolutions because I don't believe in them.  Nor will I trouble anyone with my top ten list of anything as there are more than enough of those to go around.  While I love Christmas and Solstice and all of the holiday fun, for me, New Year's Eve has always been tainted with a bit of the amateur night tawdriness.  Years as a bartender I suppose, jaded and all of that.  Perhaps I am just a New Years grinch.

While I have been true to my news boycott, I have been hearing the rumours, strange whisperings on the wind, that "things" may be getting better.  Happy days may, indeed, be here again.  Holiday spending is up, nearing pre-recession levels and as we are always told, more and ever-rising spending is the lynch pin of the economy of the United States.  By the by, no one has ever explained to me how any economic system can be based on the impossibility of ever increasing consumer spending but there you have it.  The answer must lie in some mathematics that I am unfamiliar with.  Nonetheless, holiday spending is up and that is good for everyone.  Out with the old debt, in with the new debt.

Yesterday I spent an hour over coffee with a fellow in the West Coast moto community but one whom I had previously not had the pleasure of meeting.  Our business concluded, moto parts loaded for their journey South out of my shop and into the hands of needier persons, we adjourned to palaver.

In the course of our far ranging discussion, which included the state of the world, ex-wives and the business of  exporting vintage American motos to Japan, we happened upon the subject of current events.  I, as briefly as possible, outlined my news boycott and this blog.  My companion, rather than giving me the quizzical look I have become accustomed to in such situations, more than understood and offered his own experiences at stepping out of the pack of news hounds.  It was interesting to compare notes.  While he did not boycott the news altogether, He had stopped actively gathering news and for the very same reasons I had:  with the hope of being happier.

It was good to gather a different perspective on this experiment, my news boycott.  I am ending the year quite a bit less "informed" on the state of current events than I began it.  Over the last few months I have definitely read more, though not news and I certainly write more than I have in some time.  The writing is a good exercise for me, both as an activity and as an outlet.  Whether of not it is good reading is surely up to the reader and I would not venture to weigh in.

So from my smaller, more local world, I wish everyone a very Happy New Year, whether or not introspective milestones are your cup of tea or not.  I do hope that everyone prospers in the coming year but, of course, that is impossible.  Life being what it is, there will be times that are prosperous and times that are problematic. Tomorrow is just another day, with all of the trials and triumphs that come with a new day.

Now where did I put that silly party hat?  "Toot-Toot!!!!!"

Day # 44 Packin'

I started my day making the Kid's breakfast for the last time in the next two months.  He is heading back to Tucson today, something I always hate.  Next month, when I should be picking him up at SeaTac I will in Bangkok instead.  That's my news and all that I needed to get me through the day.

The idea of my long-awaited trip to Southeast Asia has become the reality of "hey, I'm leaving in less than a month".  So I allowed myself the luxury of moving from the theoretical to the practical.  I got out my travel gear list, being nothing if not organized, and piled everything from the list on the bed.  Then I carefully rolled, folded and stowed until everything I need for a month's time fit inside one 40 litre back pack that I can take on the plane as carry on.  I was very pleased to find that without too many re-packings, the entire pile fit inside the alloted space.  As a bonus, while I was going through my passport wallet, I found 30 Euros from my last trip!  That's another $40 for travelling.

I try hard to avoid living for something in the future, shortchanging today on the promise of tomorrow.  But seeing my bag completely packed, ready to go, and knowing that with one quick trip to the bank and then the airport I was ready to leave, I got pretty excited.  Like I said, it has all been theoretical up until now.  This summer I went to my employer and bought back a month of my life by reducing my salary.  I did my homework on destinations and what I want to see and do.  I made the reservations I needed, booked flights and a moto, did the footwork.  So far it has all just been planning.  Now that there is a bag, packed and waiting, it isn't theory anymore.  I am excited.

 I am ready to immerse myself in what a friend recently called the two great aspects of solo travel: anonymity and autonomy.  There is just nothing like moving through a new part of the world on one's own. Travelling as an individual, the journey is wholly owned outside of the whims of the travel gods.  There are no excuses or compromises, just oneself and one's sojourn.  Go here or there, stay here or there, eat this or that, talk or don't, interact or not without the need to consult one's fellows.  I hasten to add (not least of which because she will read this) that I like travelling with the TBG.  She is a good traveler, adaptable, adventurous, culturally aware and fun to discover new things with.  But she has taken to calling this next trip my "pilgrimage" and maybe she is right.  I invited her, repeatedly, to go with me but I think she knows, better than I do, how much I really need to be gone.  And so I will be.  Gone that is.

I have a few more weeks that call me here, require my attention and presence and I will give it.  Now, however, I am lending more than part of an ear to the siren song of a promised journey and that song, tonight, that song sounds damn fine.

Day # 43 Remains

Over the breakfast table I was told that someone, presumably an archeological team, has found Homo Sapien teeth that are something like 400,000 years old.  As the breakfast table talk went, these teeth, found in Israel, predate the previously oldest known Homo Sapien remains by 200,000 years.

Since I have slammed the door shut on outside news, I have successfully resisted the pull of politics, disasters and scandal.  A new archeological discovery may prove too much for me.  Would reading a scientific journal be perusing the news?  I have to submit this one to the news jury.  I never mentioned scientific journals in the original rules of this game.  In all fairness, the TBG asked my permission before telling me of the the discovery in the Mid-East, so I wasn't chasing down the news on my own.

The second thing I thought about, after I thought that I really wanted to read the article in question, was that it won't be long now before someone turns this discovery to their own political advantage.  I can already see the claims from folks with a religious agenda  Those who previously scorned the fossil record as the work of charlatan atheistic scientists will probably embrace the finding of old Homo Sapien teeth in Israel as proof that human-kind sprang, full formed, from the creative hand of divinity.

I guess my imagined conflict between new discoveries in the science of archeology and their collision with dogma will have to play out in the news without my help.  I an obliged to stick to my news-boycotting guns or the imperil my experiment in happiness.

Now where did I put those subscription cards to Scientific American and Nature?

Day # 42 Just Like Eric

Across a table of rellenos and burritos, The Kid says to us "You know, Dick Cheney is a lot like Cartman on South Park".  Whooo Lord, out of the mouths of babes, even if they are 6'-2".  Yuppers, holiday platitudes aside, I couldn't wait to rush home and get this entry done.

In one of my favorite episodes of South Park, "Red Sleigh Down", Eric Cartman is ranked "Naughty" on the naughty-or-nice list.  Cartman has just a few days to alter his naughty-or-nice standing so he can qualify for a Haibo Robot Dog which is his heart's desire.  In order to secure his desire, Eric will do anything, including jeopardizing Christmas for the rest of the world, Santa and even Jesus.  In pursuit of his own profit and agenda, Eric Cartman will use Mr. Hankey and the boys, convince Santa to fly over Baghdad to spread Christmas to the poor Iraqis and, when Santa is shot down, enlist Jesus for an armed rescue attempt.

In the end, the reindeer all die, Santa is tortured, the boys, with the aid of Jesus, rescue Santa only to have Jesus shot down and despite all of his selfishness (no improvement on naughty), Cartman is rewarded with the coveted Haibo Robot Dog.  Unfortunately for Eric, Santa also gives Kyle and Stan robot dogs as well.  This lack of exclusivity pisses Cartman off so badly that he kicks his Haibo Dog off into the South Park snow, muttering curses.  A miracle of Christmas redemption is not in the cards for Cartman: no Clarence will save him from himself.

Eric Cartman is the spirit of Christmas Past, Present and Future as well as Jacob Marley's salvation compared to Dick Cheney.  In 1992, while acting as the US Secretary of Defense, Cheney had the Pentagon pay Brown & Root, a Halliburton subsidiary, nine million dollars to produce a report which said that private companies (like Halliburton ) could provide logistical support to US Army Corps of Engineers.  Soon enough,  Brown & Root rake in over two billion (yeah, with a "B") dollars in revenue in the Balkans doing just that

A few years after the sudden influx of the two billion dollars into the Brown & Root coffers, Dick Cheney takes over as CEO of Halliburton.  He manages this without any prior business experience.  Wow!  Talk about your American success story!  That's using the old bootstraps!

From 1995 until the end of the "w" presidency, (intentional lower case), Cheney is busy giving Cartman a schooling on keeping your eyes on the personal prize.  Whether is helping in the creation of the Project for a New American Century, human rights abuses in Burma on Halliburton pipeline projects or engineering a bogus cause for war with Saddam Hussein, Cheney is right there, trying to get his Haibo Dog and succeeding brilliantly.

"Red Sleigh Down" ends just before the bombing of Baghdad and the start of Cheney's war with Iraq.  For Cheney, now the Vice-President of the US and one feeble and corroded heart-beat away from the presidency, this is just the beginning.  The start of the war against Saddam Hussein means one thing to Cheney and Halliburton: money.  Lots and lots of money.  Pallet loads of the stuff, ready to move forward all of the no-bid contracts awarded Halliburton to rebuild the Iraqi infrastructure after Cheney's buddy Rumsfeld bombed it back into the stone age.  It takes a great deal of taxpayer money, mountains of it, to keep Halliburton chugging ahead without any fiscal oversight whilst they rebuild that which US Forces, under the direction of Rummy and Cheney, had unbuilt.

The no-bid contracts keep rolling in for Cheney and Halliburton.  Kellogg Brown & Root, a subsidiary of Halliburton, have a continuing "cost-plus-award-fee indefinite-delivery, indefinite-quantity service" agreement with the US Department of Defense  This ten year contract started in 2001 and remains in effect as of this blogging.

You can't help make money with a no-bid contract.  In fact, you can make so much money that your company will have to pay a measly two million back to the government to settle a lawsuit for over-billing.  The difference between the billions in and a few million back out is, well, lots of money.  Enough money to buy lots of toys of your choice.

Cartman jeopardized Christmas, Santa and Jesus to get his desire.  And guess what, its a cartoon.

Cheney has disregarded domestic and international law, subverted the democratic processes of the United States, played a pivotal part in justifying a war that has killed hundreds of thousands of people and defrauded the citizens of this country of billions of dollars.

The biggest difference between the two is that Dick Cheney isn't the product of the imagination of Trey Parker and Matt Stone.  He is a dangerous nightmare that is all too real.

And its old news.

Day # 41 Boxing

Prezzies exchanged, torn wrappings tidied up and recycled like good little Seattle-ites, another Christmas has passed to be replaced by Boxing Day.  In our household, we do not have tenants living on our land or servants to give boxes of left-overs to.  Instead, we have the much more important tradition of the TBG's birthday.

When someone's birthday falls on the day after Christmas, it is critical for the rest of the household to grasp how imperative is it to separate the two holidays.  When the person in question is one's spouse, the need becomes of paramount importance.

So today will be about prezzies that have no green or red tints to them.  We have learned, years ago, the foolishness of something like "We got you an extra big present for Christmas and your birthday".  Trust me, that crap don't fly.

So Happy Boxing day to those who celebrate it.  And Happy Birthday to the TBG on a day that is so unlike Christmas as to be unrecognizable.  I better pay attention where attention is due.  I am sure I can work up a suitable rant for tomorrow.

And the news?  The TBG is letting our subscription to the local paper run out this week, something she has been asking me to do for some years now.  Hey, does my acquiescence count as a birthday prezzie?

Day # 40 Here's the news

Here's the news for today:

Merry Christmas to everyone or (enter appropriate holiday greeting).

Day # 39 What Pagans do For You

Sure, sure, you read in the media that Pagans and Pan-Theists are a scruffy New-Age lot shuffling about in a  mish-mash of belief systems.  While there is a decided lack of dogma involved in Paganism and I know that this lack really, really bothers some of your more structured religious folks, have you ever stopped to consider what would happen if Pagans weren't there?  Or worse yet, what would happen if all of the pagans converted to Christianity or stopped being infidels and embraced Islam?

The sun would stop coming up, that's what would happen.  Here's why:

Winter solstice has come and gone again.  In the magical and dangerous time when the veil between night and day, darkness and light, becomes thin and tenuous, certain rituals must be performed to ensure the return of the light.  The sun shines on the rest of you lot as well as the Pagans, so pay attention. Each year, with the coming of solstice eve, hardy bands of Pagans, Hippies and their Neo-hippie off-spring along with various Pan-Theist New-Agers, trek to the beaches, the forests, the mountains, or Stonehenge, to commemorate the passing of the world from darkness to light.  Bonfires are lit and libations toasted, drunk and spilled to earth as the longest night gives way to the promise of longer days.

Once again, our stout band of Manly-Men and Womanly-Women donned skis and snowshoes to trek up the mountain to a tiny lake perched in the bowl of a mighty mountain cirque to mark the passing of the night.  The traditional dura-log was packed to guarantee a roaring fire, even in the deepest snow.  Many a libation were lovingly slossed into stainless sig bottles and treats nestled in zip-lock bags.  Headlamps twinkled through the darkness of snow-bent trees and as we shoed and schussed our way up hill and avalanche chute to the tiny knoll above the frozen puddle of the lake that is the source for the Snoqualmie River.

Lightweight shovels made quick work of constructing the circle and snow benches, magical fire was lighted to bring warmth and the promise of a new dawn and the ring was joined with smiling faces.  Then began the carefully scripted ritual to ward off the night.  In a methodically choreographed sequence of drinking, laughing, eating and pyrotechnics, we ushered the longest night onwards and embraced the promise of longer daylight to come until the summer solstice.  Without this yearly Pagan vigilance, this selfless determination of small bands all over the world, the night might very well remain in place, ending life on this planet as we know it.  It would be dark times, dark times indeed my friends.

So the next sunny morning that you and the family  are off to the church or synagogue or mosque, ponder the light of day for a moment.  Think of the joys, the warmth and the wonder that comes from the jolly old sun.  And while the rays of that star caress your face, keeping you alive, remember to say a small thank-you.  Say thank you to the unknown ranks of pagans across the world who yearly sacrifice sleep and sensibility to keep the solstice vigil that brings the sun back from the night.  Remember, without our scruffy lot doing their bit for everyone, one of these days Mr. Hume could be right and then we would really need those LED headlamps.