Other Stuff

A friend from my past has been posting a lot of election-related stories that allege the Democrats stole the election. That Biden stole it. Not that some unscrupulous people did immoral acts, which is more believable as isolated happenings, but that some vast conspiracy occurred that solely provided extra votes to Biden. Meanwhile, after posting this person will put up his hands and say, “I’m simply pointing out questions and letting the facts play out – I won’t get involved in a he said she said situation.” However, does such behavior truly reflect letting the facts play out for themselves?

Disseminating opinions without much factual grounding at a rapid pace without doing much due diligence concerning them belies that perspective. Are we focused on the accuracy and robustness of the voting process (i.e., also investigating malfeasance or irregularities that cut against Republican votes — it appears that for many this concern is rather one-sided, justice is not being ferreted out but rather another partisan game is unfolding — are we focusing on the lawsuits that have been tossed out for being groundless)?

Trump told us before the election that he would question any outcome other than his winning and now he appears to be using federal resources alongside statements to social media, among other means, to achieve such ends. I suspect that there are issues with the vote-counting process at various levels. Anything happening on such a scale will have flaws, especially when humans are involved, but the assertion that there’s some concerted operation to steal the presidential election seems a tad unlikely, and to attribute specific instances of bad behavior to broad categories of people reeks of logical fallacies.

Each election there are issues — I recall dramatics re: Diebold with the Bush/Kerry election. In terms of purported statistical proof re: “bellwethers,” stats can be found to support most any claim. By bellwethers, since 2000 there are apparently 26 rural counties which had the same majority result as the presidential outcome, until this one. I’m guessing the data changes if you go back prior to 2000 and that you can find other trends that mirror this outcome as well.

It’s like the con where someone sends massive numbers of predictions out re: a tournament bracket with each batch varying the outcomes of the games with the promise to predict such games for your betting needs. Most will receive incorrect predictions, yet some will receive accurate ones, and some of those people will bite on the lure. People have seen Jesus in burnt bread and some such people have likely proceeded to pray to such a Jesus. Maybe they possess better access to reality than me, but I suspect otherwise (and pray for otherwise… for, as a side note, a deity who acts in such a way terrifies me, especially should such a being have domain over me). Let’s work together to not produce such people.

With so many counties across the country, you can find some county or another that matches the story you wish to tell. Also, there are narratives occurring beyond small rural counties in terms of who voted. I urge people to try to not let media or prominent voices ruffle them up, shifting the baseline of what is perceived as normal. We live in a world where people don’t provide all of the info they have and play up certain angles while minimizing others, often for some sort of selfish purpose. We must recognize who is partisan and for what reasons and discern how their biases might influence the veracity or robustness of their claims.

Hypocrisy is all around. More people need to step back and take a breath before perpetuating info in ways that don’t support its scope or accuracy. I’m not saying that I trust progressives or distrust conservatives or vice versa. People across the board can be shitty as well as inspiring. I’m glad that people are investigating the election results. There should always be such a process. What alarms me is the rhetoric the president has been mouthing all thus year and continues to speak. In terms of rushing, the day after the election, I seem to recall immediate claims of winning the election and a desire to not count votes (which is a reality that always happens — 100% counts don’t occur for all states the day of the election).I don’t need anyone else to distill or explain his words. Such messages speak for themselves.

None of these claims are a surprise, and I’m wondering what was done exactly to prevent such fraud since, from the president’s own words, this has been a concern for him for quite some time. The conspiracy theorist in me wonders whether Trump tried to steal the election and then was surprised when his attempt failed, and I can likely find stories to support this view, but that, I suspect, would be misleading of me despite what I feel to be the case.

I’ve entered a covid-19 slump. It’s not that my mood has declined or that repetition of daily cycles has begun to wear me down. At least, I do not believe that such things are at play. Whatever nags at me may lurk below the surface. Of its impetus or scope, I may remain blind, for I admit that the details of this quasi-malaise remain unclear. I do comprehend that each day feels rush. Weeks, as well. That August has arrived reeks of the surreal. Time has accelerated rather than slowed. I’ve compressed more activities into my days, and sans time spent in an office, everything sort of blurs.

The weekends have been busy. My memory of them lessens. They have become blinks of the eye. Imagine that you find yourself in a new location. You only have a second to intake your surroundings. A blink of time, and then the lights go out. You’re asked the draw what you saw during this fleeting span. Within such parameters, I’d be lost. The broad strokes I could provide, but the details would be absent. So resembles my storage capacity for the weekend. They’re clumps of experience, concrete in their overall abstraction yet vague when I scan for their intricacies.

Similarly, the workdays lump together. I rush through them, and they comprise the bulk of each week. Given their ongoing persistent and somewhat repetitive rhythms it seems like I retain more lucid accounts of them, and thus I have the impression that any summary of each week finds that what I can relay regarding work outbalances play. Merriment declines when I face this fact. Depression does not lumber into my days. It’s not dark yet. And, I wouldn’t say that it’s getting there. However, I need to slow down and appreciate the stretches in-between those spent earning financial flow.

One method to appreciate and retain memories shall be to write more. I fell off the narrative wagon once climbing roared back into the scene. The sport occupies much of my free time, in terms of going on trips as well as preparing for them. Similarly, we’ve visited the gym several times, which transforms spans of hours into concentrated blocks of activity. Since we’re not socializing at the gym and you only receive a limited block of time, we see little downtime. Efficiency dictates much of the experience, which has altered how I perceive climbing gym sessions: more work than play. Don’t misunderstand. They’re insanely fun, as usual. I love jumping on a new route to see how it goes, as well as projecting one that stymied me on a prior attempt. The magic remains despite the business-like process which we now follow. Though, I do look forward to engaging in interactions beyond waves and passing hellos that feel more furtive than shared.

Additionally, I endeavor to separate myself from mindless addictions. Much time each day finds me staring at banal content online. RSS feeds. YouTube feeds. News articles. Various websites. Onward go the distractions. Not much of it is meaningful and the content doesn’t last in meaningful ways. I appreciate laughs spurred by videos of cute animals and other related fodder, yet my intake of such distractions could decline while still allowing for such delights to inject smiles into a given day, or even every day. I’d rather go for a walk, take care of chores, interact with a friend, or do most anything else that distracts me as much as the Internet might yet would also provide something more sustainable and fulfilling than moments lost into a phone. Even the downtime, as an example, spent playing Gloomhaven with friends, waiting for a person to select a card, feels more poignant and connective than another minute lost online. The Internet ever lurks at the periphery, enticing me back into its embrace. The hours accumulate and disperse. Simulacra.

Mindfulness is a goal. As is taking moments to appreciate shared laughs, curiosities, quiet pauses, and everything else under our grand sun. That I tried to see Neowise delights me, even though all I managed to espy was a blur that may have been a nebula. Not a bad fate to mistake a nebula for a comet! What a wild universe in which we’re embedded. This weekend shall be replete with splendors. We climb on Saturday and shall catch up with some friends. More time shall be spent with Friends on Sunday. I foresee a run, some cleaning, a touch of gaming, cooking, and various other endeavors. The hours shall flow through activity, and I look forward to it all.

A few silver linings have arisen from 2020’s middle finger to Earth’s denizens, especially those of us who live in the country leading the charge in failing to adapt to mitigate COVID-19’s assault on our civilization. Go USA! Anyhow… So, specifically, the biggest gain has been the recapturing of segments of lost time.

Not needing to be in the office, I don’t squander time commuting or navigating related trappings. I can also make better use of the occasional flickers of workday downtime (e.g., it’s not like I necessarily made great use of five-minute gaps in-between meetings). These minutes stitched together provide ample swaths of freedom to focus on various hobbies and increase my cardio and general fitness training. For example, I have workouts that take a couple of minutes fit nicely into the various gaps throughout a workday – farewell tennis elbow, at least that’s the plan. What was once a thirty-to-forty-five-minute process, lunch has become retrieving food from the fridge that’s eaten as I work. Or, put another way, lunchtime involves a run, and then the sustenance bit need not overtake the day, unless that’s the plan.

Time spent at the climbing gym has taken a serious hit since hanging out in an enclosed space with other people, all of us breathing heavily as we exert ourselves, is no longer a wise way to spend three or four days a week. Visits typically lasted about three hours, which means a minimum of ten hours repopulate each week, mostly during weeknights. One or two nights can still see some form of exercise, such as HIIT, and then solo gaming, catching up with friends, reading, writing, or dabbling in some other pursuit (e.g., learning to cobble together videos) occupies the hours.

All in all, 2020 has become a year of learning, relaxing, exercising, and focusing on leisure alongside supporting friends and delighting in life. Staying fit has become a forefront goal; I want to retain my shape for climbing as well as keep myself as healthy as feasible so that the odds of surviving a possible COVID-19 infection remain as favorable as feasible. Asthma and allergies along with not being in my twenties or thirties aren’t going to aid me in battling the disease. Given that nebulizer treatments aren’t unknown events maintaining pulmonary health is key. Thus, I’m the lightest I’ve been during the past twenty years and am keen to keep this outcome alive.

I wouldn’t desire this fate, and this entire pandemic situation is terrible, but at least good can be wrung from it. Were someone offer me the opportunity to arise from a coma to discover Hillary Clinton is president and no novel coronavirus had overtaken our world, then, sure, let’s get the rehab going. But, outside of such an unlikely twisting of reality, whenever anything happens options arise and trying to squeeze out positive outcomes goal forever worth chasing.

The mask did not bother me while climbing at the gym. Sure, it wasn’t easy to speak while wearing it which resulted in stifled dialogue as we strove to comprehend each other’s words, yet its presence did not impede the act of climbing. A crux arrived and my awareness of the mask receded. Heading into the experience, I had imagined that it’d feel horrific to fall while half-gagged. Though, when I fell the mask’s presence became inconsequential. Friction ended up being what bothered me the most. Over the course of two-and-a0half hours, the ear bands dug into my ears and left them raw.

I suppose I hadn’t ever worn one of these things for more than thirty or so minutes. Grocery shopping has been the primary scene within which I’ve had to filter my breath so as to help protect my fellow citizens from me recast as a dragon who may emit pathogens rather than fire. In mentioning my sore ears, Daniel responded by sharing that he prefers masks that tie behind the head. I hadn’t considered that I might have a preference.

That anyone might have such a preference had eluded me. I have encountered articles about mask fashion and have seen advertisements showing all manners of styles, yet that I’d have any mask other than the two that Kelly had made me existed outside of what my brain had yet conceived. It all seemed foreign. Masks have been ancillary, rare accoutrements adorned in passing. Yet, now the notion that I might have preferences had fallen upon me. Might I have a preference? Should I ask Kelly to manufacture me a me mask with a different means to secure it to my face? Should I attempt to sew one myself? To dredge up whatever grasp of home economics had embedded itself into me years ago? I’ll just deal with what I have for now, for my ears will become used to the mask before long. Perhaps should more extended occasions arises that require greater comfort, I’ll develop a preference. Or, I might stumble into owning more masks, of varying designs.

Along the dividing line of West Virginia and Virginia we spent our weekend. Trekking across one side of the primitive campground to another would find us standing in a different state. Somewhat meaningless yet also a touch odd to think that people sleeping in a neighboring site would be subject to a different jurisdiction’s laws. I did not analyze the map carefully though now I am curious whether any of the sites straddled the divider as well. Funny how the closer you get to liminal spaces the less defined things can become. You learn this concept in various forms at various ages, whether as Zeno’s paradox, Paul Simon’s Slip Sliding Away, To Kill a Mockingbird, or a host of other fodder for the brain. Truly, though, state lines such as this one matter little for the point of the adventure was to be outside, and for much of the time when immersed in the woods and surrounded by critters flocking about and the vacillations of weather concepts like state lines become inconsequential.

Generally, Kelly and I would not car camp if not for climbing or it being part of a larger trek, such as a stop along the way to a destination. Should we jet toward Ten Sleep this year, it likely won’t be via a plane but rather involve an extended drive to and from Wyoming, which will surely find us sleeping in tents as we churn through the miles. The prospect of this drive makes me desire a vehicle more suitable for sleeping within. Nothing against car camping, but my preference would find me trekking away from the car with my supplies on my back, to escape people and get deeper into the thick of the vistas and away from roads and the like. Some friends haven’t been camping and this seemed like a reasonable way to share this sort of experience without complicating things. And, it’s not like car camping isn’t fun, for we had a great time passing time through enjoying nature while conversing. And, I appreciated the convenience of a cooler and even the sanctuary of a car when rain arrived, though the tent would have sufficed as well.

It is lovely to listen to the birds as you feel the air currents and smell the richness of earth and flora. Owls called, as did scarlet tanagers, orioles, towhees, among others. Squirrels and chipmunks performed their frantic dashes. Surely somewhere a snake or two slithered and hid, though our eyes never noticed any such animals. Gnats and mosquitos had their ways with us at times, but they never felt rampant or bothersome, simply served as transient nuisances, appearing and then dispersing.

People were likely the most prevalent. Nine sites, each save one was taken when we arrived. Fortunate, indeed. Along the first trail we hiked, we saw numerous people. People on people. Giant groups of backpackers in the form of boy scouts as well as family units made more robust by their friends. This location is popular; beautiful, accessible hikes not far from metropolitan areas, yet not as renowned as the big-name nearby national park draws.

A solid weekend. I miss the campground already. Being home is simply not the same as roaming. I look forward to the weekend ahead. Only three days of work and then escape shall arrive.

Our plan to climb this weekend crumbled. Not unexpected, but its collapse fits within a label titled disappointing. I was excited to flail on some rock. Looking back at our last trip within this region, which now seems like so long ago, memories of routes and laughter and that buzzing energy that is friends delighting in nature, story forming, and an escape from the daily repetitions of urban life. Another week shall return me to this pursuit. For, given the breakdown of our small crew, we’ve turned to backpacking. To get away from electronics, the car and our home (which has been quite the mainstay of our hours) so that we might take in flora and fauna more directly while immersed in the visual, olfactory, and audible splendor of wilderness excites me. Climbing shall await another weekend.

I am curious to see if our relentless pursuit of physical exertion will prove useful during our trek. Backpacking is hard work. Hiking alone can often feel a touch brutal, with the elevation changes, uneven ground, and persistence of boulders and/or streams to navigate. Compiling into the equation a heavy pack notches up the intensity noticeably. Many memories exist of me struggling along a trail, overwhelmed by the weight and yearning for a campsite or car, depending on which stage of the trip serves as our narrative at that moment. The drudgery of motion conducted against adversary while surrounded by beautiful sights is an uplifting sensation hard to convey to those who dislike exertion and/or being outdoors. I suspect adventure shall prove difficult, as always. A distant, elusive reality remains in terms of what level of fitness must we obtain to lessen its brutality.

The prospect of becoming benighted while sitting near a tent pleases me. I look forward to the sky dimming until the darkness reaches its crescendo. Complete darkness offset by whatever phase the moon might be in. And as the sun’s direct blaze diminishes, those playful pinpricks of light bouncing off of Planets and emitting from stars shall pop into the sky’s breadth. All the while, the temperature shall transform down various degrees of warmth. And, certain animal sounds shall transition into silence as others awaken. These night creatures becoming our background symphony. Insects. Perhaps bats. The patter of various rodents.

I am excited. I look forward to this escape from the deep marks of familiar days that we have been etching. Climbing, that activity shall be experienced another week. For now, we take to our feet so that we might pare down and seek some escape into the essentials, of which nature shall be predominant.

Spotify provides a Discover Weekly playlist, which includes tracks from artists to which I’ve listened as well as similar artists of whom I may not be aware. It’s an eclectic mix filled with songs new to me, as well as covers of songs by bands that I haven’t before heard. I do not often check out the offerings when they refresh; and, when I do, I find the next track function to be my friend.

Today, I did not feel like listening to an audio book. I could sense that my mind wished to wander, thus it would pointless to try to play the current book on queue for I’d end up needing to repeat whatever played. Oftentimes, I’ll meander through thoughts and find myself hitting rewind, and, today, seemed like the entire venture of attempting to listen to an audio book would prove pointless.

A few successive tracks tucked about ten or so tracks into the mix pleased me. I had heard of one of the bands, though know not much about their music. One of the songs that followed has played many times for me, including versions by multiple artists, but never by the particular group, of whom I am not familiar. Onward went my journey through the playlist, with liberal use of the next button included.

Then I recognized another song: These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ by Parquet Courts. Again, though knowledgably of the song, the artist’s name meant nothing to me. The cover isn’t all that great, but it struck me. My brain started to fire quickly, meandering through related thoughts. My pace quickened. I had never before heard a male sing this song. Entwined in my consciousness as a female voice, the lyrics felt foreign and odd. Askew.

Then it struck me, I had imbued some social constructs into the song. The narrator, to me, needed to be female. It was a female perspective. I had gendered this particular tough persona in response to a wandering partner. How strange the male voice felt revealed to me assumptions I had imbued into the speaker of the song. Exposed perspectives, such as the femme fatale, that dwelled within concepts I understood, all related to this song. That a male singer had flipped the narrative, prompted me to question why I had certain viewpoints, felt beautiful Art does this, even if the rendition itself was not all that spectacle, it as a prodder to get me to adjust some aspects of this life thing justified me allowing it to play to conclusion.

Google informs me that Billy Ray Cyrus covered this song in 1992. Looks like this epiphany could have occurred years ago, had I only listened to popular country at the time. Though, I probably wasn’t receptive to this sort of pondering and reassessment back then.

Walk on out of me, societal beliefs built upon nothing more than the air of past voices.

Songbirds migrate at night to avoid predators. That’s something I learned today, though this fact did not arrive during trivia. Rare does something arise during trivia that’s notable. Though, now I can tell you who was the first actor to grace Time (the magazine), and Spielberg made a comedic war film early in his career (titled 1941). Neither of these facts interest me all that much, not as much as the one about songbirds. It’s one A.M (which is a film starring the first actor to appear on Time). I suppose warblers, cardinals, buntings, and others of their ilk travel the night skyways as I type these words. Kelly has migrated toward sleep. There, I should join her before long.

Speaking of movies, we watched Vast of Night over at a friend’s backyard. Projector. Five people in chairs, bellies full of shitty pizza, and a touch of dessert and alcohol describe the scene. As does an overgrown yard. Imagine someone had taken a box and pushed down the grass where we’d be sitting. Everywhere else, thigh high. I should have checked myself for ticks afterward. Fun, though, sitting outside as the sun vanished to send the temperature toward perfection. It was a fun film; good for the milieu. Not creepy or scary, but well filmed. Thoughtfully put together. Decent acting. Reminiscent of the Twilight Zone. Tension, build up, and aliens.

Prior to the film, dusk brought marvels. Bats swooped in, buzzing unnervingly near. Chaotic fluttering. Zipping and zooming. Diving. Erratic. Eaters of mosquitoes, I thank them. A raccoon also meandered into our zone, and by zone I do mean nearby. It was a touch alarming how close this critter desired itself to be. We chased it off – bright lights, loud words. The neighbor had a motion-sensor floodlight. The racoon, and or other night creatures, had its way with the sensor throughout the evening. A festive night for all, it seemed. Meanwhile, vireos, orioles, and other avians flit toward their destinations.

Not a bad weekend overall. We played with the camera, taking some silly photos and recording some videos that I’ll try to splice into short films. Ample gaming, with us exploring Sagrada and Barenpark, mostly. Simple games, though fun. Exercise and walking around outside also passed the time, as did cooking. Next weekend we may try to head somewhere to climb. It’ll be wild to climb again. It’s been months. I foresee struggling up easy routes. I’m quite excited! It’s going to be a lot of fun. Weather, please be kind.

I never want to go to bed as the weekend closes. The longer the time away from work, the harder it becomes for me to submit to slumber. Don’t misunderstand. My job is fine. True, it comes with equal parts absurdities and fulfillments, and the balance between these two aspects varies week-by-week, but—regardless of whether I view my vocation as a vacuous endeavor or a mental puzzle that evokes purpose or some variation in-between—the pleasure that owning your time and being able to flow down whatever streams float your boat shall always rise above the hours spent toiling within a job’s structure. To go from successive days of defining your hours freely to another bout of eight or nine hours spent emailing coworkers, meeting to discuss whatever or whatever, and generally navigating the bureaucratic aspects of employment inevitably reminds me that casting oneself from the rigidity of employment to the adventurous world of friends, play, and explorations shall forever be the honey that shall sweeten the sustenance that fuels me.

This weekend was especially wonderful. Though, thankfully I attribute such words to most of my free days. I had ample time to film scenes for various videos and dabble in Final Cut Pro to learn its intricacies, of which I remain a novice. Some board games—such as Too Many Bones, Raiders of the North Sea, Hanabi, Dominion—swept along the hours. A couple episodes of Rick and Morty disturbed and delighted me, as is their tendency. Friends socialized via Zoom and played some games, such as Wavelength, which invariably amuses everyone with the outlandish clues and discussions to target where along a continuum the given clue sought our focus. A park housed a group of us as we lounged and played on a slack line, and some friends threw a Frisbee as I attempted to capture some photos of the dramatics, for frozen frames of catches create amusing visual splendor. Kitchen pursuits brought delectable delights to my tongue. Time spent meandering about this world with Kelly produced smiles as well.

Though, I do recognize that these wondrous events accrue during the workweek. We tuck play into the evenings, whether through group exercises conducted via video or in the kitchen as Kelly and I dice onions, fire up the range, and then sit at the table to decompress as vittles collect in our gullets. Games get played, both in person with Kelly and across the series of tubes that we call the internet. Words from books materialize along screens and in the air as audio snippets. Jogs take me through nearby neighborhoods. These things occur, and the world keeps spinning. Remember the joys we bring. Cultivate the sparks of life. Recognize darkness, yet never let it suffocate you. Hold all the dear things close. Let them fill you with their light.

Watch the flowers grow as spring transforms into summer. Let the electric of being alive tingle your fingertips and infuse your toes. Step as if you’re on the moon. Bound. Notice the sunlight tickle your flesh. The wind, it seeks to massage you. Voices call out to remind you that we’re connected. String theory, whatever its merit, gets some things right. Tendrils do connect us.

With a heating pad on my back, I stare back at the days that have passed. Last night a nightmare awoke me. I started in response, thrusting myself upward. Somehow, in this process, for it was a whiplash of sorts, I spasmed some muscles. It was impossible to look behind me, to turn about my torso. A pull-up would be infeasible. Spasms of pain such a motion would produce. Amusing, to have injured my body while asleep. An impressive feat. Some ibuprofen, stretches, and hours of the day ameliorated most of the discomfort. Tomorrow the recovery shall continue. Though, I confess that sleep scares me, for what if this self-destructive lurching repeats?

So, now I have work and the theatrics of being asleep ahead. Yet, beyond these hours, for that’s all that they are, hours atop hours, comes more freedom. Only four days this workweek. That’s not bad. Not bad at all. With eyes open, I’ll struggle against sleep for another hour, and then work will come and go. I’ll enjoy aspects. I’ll suffer through others. I’ll laugh with coworkers. I’ll smile at the witty things people say and do. I’ll appreciate that we’re all trying together to accomplish outcomes. And, and, and, and, and, then comes the weekend again. Toward that, I can swim, whether it feels like salmon heading out to the ocean or returning, beating against currents and rocks and perhaps even manmade constructs. For, in the end, most everything is a construct, whether physical or conceptual, and we can assemble our stories even if the chapter titles or subject matters are not always of our choosing.