Not even the top 5.

I am about to make a significant change in my life that will increase my happiness and improve my blog posts - I am going to become apolitical.

Actually, I was apolitical for most of my life. I remember voting for Richard Nixon in 1972, which probably says a lot. After that I had opinions on some of the big issues, but I wasn't really involved. Until George W. Bush became president. When he was first elected, I thought it would be interesting to see what happened. There was no way I was able to imagine how bad things would get.

So I became a political junkie. I read books about politics and scoured newspapers for editorials and op-eds. I wanted to know what was going on and understand what might happen. But that doesn't make any sense, it only causes unhappiness.

Americans seem to want to believe in our "exceptionalism", meaning that we are the best country in the world. We aren't. We aren't even in the top five, and I seriously doubt that we're in the top ten. We are big and rich and powerful, but far from great. The standard of living of our middle class has been in decline for twenty years. Meanwhile, the pay of corporate executives, which in other countries averages about three times the pay of the average worker, here has increased to three hundred times that level. Our health care is by far the most expensive in the world, but its quality is somewhere around 13th and dropping. We are the only wealthy country which does not provide affordable, quality healthcare to its most needy citizens. We run average or low in happiness and personal freedom. We are rapidly losing our edge in science. (Hint: one does not choose what to *believe* in science, because science is knowledge.)

Our federal government is not only dysfunctional, it is corrupt. Bribery of public officials is legal in the guise of campaign contributions, and it is very clear that our representatives are in government for their own enrichment. When is the last time you saw a Congressperson do something right even though unpopular?

I used to have faith in the courts, but even they have become corrupt. The Supreme Court clearly has a partisan agenda, which is exactly what a court that interprets the laws is not suppose to have. Remember Chief Justice John Roberts saying at his confirmation hearings that he would be an "umpire", interpreting the laws but not making them? Yet he, in a highly unusual move, expanded the scope of Citizens United in order to overturn 100 years of precedent and give extraordinary political power to corporations, to the detriment of citizens.

But that isn't the worst of it. Consider healthcare. President Obama championed and finally saw passed the first significant healthcare reform in 60 years. Immediately Republicans, displaying their loyalty to insurance companies and for-profit healthcare providers, vowed to see the law repealed and began to derogatorily refer to it as "Obamacare". The law, though chopped up and defanged by necessary compromise, will eventually make healthcare more affordable for everyone and available to almost every American. And yet the GOP shamelessly promotes falsehoods such as "death panels" that will deny care to granny, and then the drooling morons who comprise the GOP "base" dutifully march to the polls to vote against their own best interests. And that, indeed, is the problem - most of the people in this country are dumber than spit.

You might ask if I love America. I don't. I don't even know what it means to love a country. I will continue to try to be a good citizen, but that will only mean boning up on issues in order to vote intelligently. The editorials and op-eds can go to hell, because they make no difference and do no good.

Round Mountain visuals delayed.

When Twila and I were climbing Round Mountain we took videos and photographs to put on the blog. When Twila saw them, however, she decreed that she was not to appear. I still intend to post them, but after I do the required editing. I hope I get around to it.

State of the T-Rex.

Odd Days: Critters Part 2

When we left off, Rodent Busters had picked up on the first ring. That, all by itself, is going to give CO a +1.

Back in CA, our lot also abutted open space, so we had critters there, too. For the most part we managed to keep the critters out of the house, but at some point, unbeknownst to us, the flap over the stove exhaust pipe (which vented under the porch) became dislodged and a family of ??? (we hope never to find out for sure, but probably rats) made their home in the pipe.

This story is wildly interesting in its detail, but suffice it to say, we called CA Rodent Busters. Several times. And when someone finally came out, he assessed the situation, turned to me with astonishment and said, "That pipe vents under the house." I nodded. He said, "I don't go under the house. No sir." And that was that. (Guess who cleaned the pipe.)

Back in CO, my drawling, slow-talking, cowboy-boot wearing Rodent Buster showed up within two hours of my call. He performed the extraction, asked me if I wanted to see it (I demurred) and then told me he was going to run to the store to pick up a screen to affix to the dryer exhaust pipe that...yep...vents under the porch. I was in love.

It didn't end there, though. I thought my cowboy would balk when he saw that he had about 7 inches of clearance between the porch and the ground. He would be crawling into the dark, over...ugh, I can't think about it.

But no, this guy just looked at the clearance. Then he laughed and said it was a good thing he didn't send his partner, whose butt would never fit. With that, he dove under the porch. A few minutes later he calls out, "Well, I found the pipe. And there are three pretty fresh rabbit carcasses under here too. Wanna see." What a guy. He wanted to share.

Colorado: +1

Do you even believe it?

Since the readers of this blog are all friends and family... I mean, who else would read it?... I think it's okay for me to make this confession: I am the one who got Twila involved in sadomasochism.

It happened about 35 years ago. Twila was a grad student working at the Lawrence Hall of Science at UC Berkeley. I was, at the time, the best friend of her S.O., Jack. The three of us spent a lot of time together playing bridge and cashing in 2fer coupons in Reno. Then LHS announced that they were going to sponsor a run from Berkeley City Hall to the LHS building. It would be the first annual Strawberry Canyon Run, and Twila wanted a T-shirt. She wanted the shirt and I wanted her, so I told her I'd run and give her the shirt.

At the time I was, to say the least, soft. The only exercise I'd had since leaving college was lifting beer bottles, and I'd lifted quite a few. But I put on some tennis shoes, and with our friend Arthur I ran 8 miles on the Strawberry Canyon Trail. That afternoon I spent two hours soaking in a hot bath - I was in serious discomfort

Eventually I bought running shoes and got myself into a low level of shape. I managed to run the race and win a T-shirt, a significant accomplishment. Then, to my surprise, I made running part of my life. Since I'd run competitively in high school and at Hamilton, I only knew one way to train - try to set a personal record every time out. It was difficult, but the beta-endorphins flowed.

Most of the time I ran in Strawberry Canyon, which is beautiful. I wanted Twila to see it, so one day I invited her to jog along with me. We ran at a slow pace and she huffed and puffed and made it out about a mile. It was fun. But we know Twila. She didn't like huffing. She didn't like puffing. She decided to get in shape, and she became a runner... a very good runner.

So I am, I suppose, responsible for creating this monster for whom pain is pleasure. It's a concept I don't understand. I mean, pleasure is pleasure, isn't it? Pain is pain. What goes wrong in a brain that gets them confused? The more miles I ran and the older I got, the more I thought, "Okay, done this." But Twila just kept running. And she wanted me to run with her.

I haven't run in a couple of years now, but Twila is on the road every other day. We still bike and hike together, but that's where it gets confusing to me. Whatever happened to a nice ride down to the malt shop or a stroll through a wildflowered meadow? Those are throwaways for Twila - she wants to bike and hike in the Rockies, and going downhill is the part she doesn't enjoy.

She does get beta-endorphins, which helps. The anti-depressants I have to take inhibit endorphin production while exercising, so the pain keeps increasing until I stop. That doesn't help.

Yesterday we climbed Round Mountain, all the way to the top. It was a 9.5 mile Hell Hike, but Twila loved it. I was glad I was able to do it without dying, but that was the extent of my pleasure. Now Twila is bubbling with happiness that in three weeks we're going to climb Pikes Peak, which is approximately Round Mountain times three. In one day. At altitude.

Geez, I don't even like thinking about it. I guess I'll stop writing now and lift a few beers.

Odd Days in CO: The Critter Factor

Y'all might recall that no sooner did Durf re-enter CO from NY than he was ready to turn around and go back. But as time goes by, I see him settling back in. ("Sure, mowing the lawn is a PITA, but look at all these cool tractors we can buy!")

As for me, my dreams of a pied-a-terre have gone the way of Greece's credit rating. So now I have resorted to weighing the pros and cons of life in rural Colorado. Do we move? Do we stay? Why stay? Why move? Which brings me quickly to the dark side: the critter factor.

Within days of returning to CO, I had to do some laundry. I went through the wash cycle without incident. Then I opened the dryer door for the first time in six months and the next thing I knew, I was coming to on the floor, and the noxious odor permeating the room was threatening to render me unconscious again. I'd know that smell anywhere. Dead rodent!

Fortunately, said rodent was not in said dryer. But its body odor was. If Durf had been home, we would have faced an impasse. I would have wanted to call Rodent Busters and he would have told me he didn't smell a thing. Under extreme pressure he would confess to noting a slight odor, but would say, "Who cares? The smell will be gone in a few months. Don't have a cow."

Fortunately, Durf was safely in NY and Rodent Busters picked up on the first ring.

Colorado score: -1

Getting even.

I consider myself relatively open-minded. I enjoy arguing and I suppose I am as happy as anyone when someone switches to my point of view (rare), but argument is most rewarding when I can learn and my own point of view can change. I even read right-wing editorials, although that has been less useful since the GOP switched from principles to mindless opposition to anything the Obama administration does (see Healthcare -- Romney, Mitt). When thinking about this blog post, I lost an argument with myself and my opinion about the topic changed.

Vengeance is among the worst of all human motivations. To pursue revenge puts us at a level not much higher than our enemy, and it is profoundly unrewarding. I do understand the appeal. If someone did something awful to Twila, I can see myself transmogrifying instantly from slothful and unmotivated to armed and dangerous. Hopefully I would come to my senses before doing anything regrettable.

Some years ago courts of law began to allow relatives of a victim to speak before sentencing. I've long considered that practice unseemly, at best. Imagine a family wailing and then a judge, with a tear in his eye, saying, "I was going to sentence you to 30 days, but I changed my mind. Life in prison!"

I assume, though -- and everything changes if my assumption is incorrect -- that the appeals of a victim's relatives have no effect upon the sentence rendered. So what is the point of all the weeping and gnashing of teeth? It was my intention to say in this post that there is none, and that the practice is demeaning. But then I thought about it.

The point is closure. The statements allow the indirect victims of a crime to speak to the court and, more important, the criminal. They are relief, however meager, for pain and frustration, and an expression of love for the victim. Whether they have an affect on anyone else is irrelevant.

T-Rex 1.

That is the T-Rex 500 after two hours of assembly. There are a lot of parts so it's going to take a while to build. I'm doing it on the dining room table, though, so I really have to finish before Thanksgiving.
  

I'm starting this project with both optimism and trepidation. It makes me a little nervous that many of the teeny weeny screws require either Loctite or CA, aka Super Glue. That will make them hard to remove if I make a mistake.
  
Fortunately, I'm planning to not make any mistakes. I learned my lesson in 1989 (yes, I'm that old) when building a large balsa airplane that Twila gave me. I really got into it and worked on it day after day when I got home from work. Unfortunately, I never finished it, even though the carcass is still in our garage and I have the rest of the parts somewhere. It was really discouraging when I learned that I had built the wings backwards. I had the idea that if I put the propeller on backwards, too, I could fly in reverse, but I didn't get far enough to test that theory.
  

The important thing is that I learned that drinking Wild Turkey shooters and doing complex assembly don't really mix. That lesson was reinforced when I tried to fly my first helicopter and embedded it in the wall of our garage. I don't drink much WT anymore, so I should be safe. Certainly a glass or two of wine won't hurt.

WHOO WHOO!

At last I have my blog partner back!

Odd things on odd days. Very imaginative. I guess I'm stuck with even things on even days. 

I'll do my best.

Odd Days: Here We Go

Back by popular acclaim (thanks, you two!), I thought it best to reveal what I've been thinking. In truth, I've been searching for purpose. The NYC blog had a purpose, which was to stay in touch with friends and family, all of whose lives revolved around what we were up to in NY, don't you know. And without the blog it would have been virtually impossible to keep in touch. After all we were in the wilds of New York with no phone, no email, no Skype. We were forced to blog.

Once we returned to CO, I feared (with all my heart) that our blog would look much like a series of Facebook posts. You know, the kind that Durf parodied so effectively by posting his toilet breaks. But then I realized I have a lot to say, and Durf is eager to say the opposite. So....

The theme of my posts will be Odd Days in Colorado. That's because my intent is to post on odd days about odd aspects of life in CO. No doubt this will be all encompassing enough that Durf can post whatever random thoughts come to mind, which is what he's been lobbying for.

I don't know if the CO theme is circumscribed enough to make me feel purposeful. If not, I might switch to The Tax Aspects of Retirement Plan Distributions. But if I do that, Durf might not post.

Stay tuned.