The stories we tell when we’ve no stories to tell on ourselves

First of all, thanks to Ramsee Miller, Roberto Diaz, Alex, Matthew and the team in the repair/maintenance department at Bill Penney Toyota; Jason, Danielle, Lindsay, Huy and the rest of the instructors/volunteers of My Lindy Kraze dance workshop; Low Down Sires; Rainy, Penny, Rich and the other beautiful people at Thai Garden; Chris at Chick-Fil-A; everyone else who passed in and out of my life while I was half-asleep the past few weeks.

Twenty-five years ago, on a weekend like this — daytime temp around 60 deg F, nighttime temp around freezing — my wife and I would jump in a car and either drive to a great campsite, pop up the tent and roll out the sleeping bags or stay at a B&B seven-hours drive away, hosted by eccentric owners and their secret breakfast recipes.

Neither driving long distances for a romantic getaway nor sleeping on the ground figures into our middle years, our whole grain and fruit salad days.

Not too long ago, we’d travel by plane but got tired of the long lines and harassing security checkpoints that made us feel like poor citizens waiting for our weekly allotment of bread while we were patted down and our papers verified by state security police.

Instead, our staycations are more relaxing.

We might drive a few hours to bigger cities to see friends and family but we tend to find local attractions more…attractive.

This weekend, while U.S. citizens celebrate the re-election of the chief executive of the political system we call the government of the United States of America, enjoying an extended weekend because of a holiday dedicated to Robert E. Lee or Martin Luther King, Jr., my wife and I have dedicated Saturday and Sunday to the celebration of a dancing style called Lindy Hop, with workshops focused on Charleston and other dancing styles.

People about half our age, many of them college students, join us in this aerobic conditioning, drinking water during brief breaks between fun classes taught by enthusiastic instructors.

There’s Nick, for instance.  He served our country as a Marine for five years before working by December to complete his mechanical engineering degree in three years at Tennessee Tech.

There’s the young man from Nashville who dressed as Hercules on Friday night and a 1920s-era speakeasy gangster tonight.

There’s Victoria who’s getting her college degree from Lee University in Cleveland, Tennessee.

The stories are as varied as our Lindy Kraze classmates.

Familiar faces like Jennifer, Catherine, Dana and Rob, avid supporters of the Huntsville Swing Dance Society, sweep their feet on the old cotton mill wood floors.

Who says that kids today can’t have good, clean fun?

And the energy they burn on the dance floor — wow!

From beginners to intermediate/continuing students to the advanced/master dancers, the goal is there is no goal.

Have fun and learn a little in the process.

When I was in my 20s, it was the rock-n-roll and punk rock dance clubs that drew the crowds, pulling my friends and me in for a thrashing, mashing good time.

Twenty-five years later, a hopping beat of bands like the Low Down Sires rocks the house these days, when my older and heavier body finds mosh pits less appealing and swing dancing with my wife more to my taste and partner preference.

We enjoy just as much, if not more, watching the kids combine Lindy Hop, Balboa, Charleston and other styles into fun you won’t find in exercise classes or gymnasiums.

Tonight, we retire to bed early, leaving the band and the kids to their “Jack and Jill” dance contests, saving our energy for tomorrow’s workshops while we drift off to sleep in our comfortable bed at home, the dreamlike visions of new car owner’s manuals informing us of safety features and the value of heated/ventilated seats.

TCO

What is your definition of middle-class success?

$30/day income?

$100/day?

$400?  $500?

What about the costs associated with the standard of living you provide yourself and/or family on that income?

Can you afford your own car?

Let’s take one vehicle as an example of what its cost adds to your standard of living — the 2012 Toyota Avalon Limited (as detailed here):

5 Year Details

Year 1 Year 2 Year 3 Year 4 Year 5 5 Yr Total
Depreciation $7,139 $3,502 $3,081 $2,731 $2,451 $18,904
Taxes & Fees $3,169 $441 $398 $362 $329 $4,699
Financing $1,175 $934 $683 $422 $151 $3,365
Fuel $2,249 $2,317 $2,386 $2,458 $2,532 $11,942
Insurance $1,480 $1,532 $1,585 $1,641 $1,698 $7,936
Maintenance $42 $404 $568 $919 $2,005 $3,938
Repairs $0 $0 $96 $232 $337 $665
Tax Credit $0 $0
True Cost to Own ® $15,254 $9,130 $8,797 $8,765 $9,503 $51,449

That doesn’t include a place to park your vehicle such as a one/two car garage, driveway or public carpark.

It doesn’t include the time you spend in the vehicle driving yourself through traffic as opposed to whatever else you could be doing in that travel time.

And that’s just one aspect of the life of a car owner, one small portion of a successful middle-class lifestyle.

If you didn’t spend that money on a car, you could spend it on yourself — a nice holiday getaway, perhaps — or on someone else — a loved one or a favourite charity.

When you say the life you live is the life you want to nourish with material goods, what is the cost to the future that you’re spending on yourself today?

The purchasing power of money is a responsibility, a benefit and a danger.

I don’t have kids.

My future is here and now.

I want my wife and myself to enjoy our days together while we can because we’ve seen couples where one spouse or the other died at an early age, including her brother at 51.

My wife and I turn 51 this year so it is an important one in our joint psyche.

We know we’re borrowing from the future to give ourselves some enjoyment today but that’s okay.

Sure, there’s a little guilt that we’re enjoying ourselves when her brother no longer can and that’s okay, too.

Life is what it is.

There may be kids starving out there somewhere but I’m not taking the world on to raise.

With total cost of ownership there is an emotional component as well as a rational mathematical one.

Today the two crossed paths.

Tomorrow we’ll see if we’re as happy today as we thought we’d hope we’re going to be adding a few luxuries to our motorcar collection.

[I’m behind in thanking others — time to catch up soon.]

Torus in the constellation of Taurus

Guinevere sat stomach-down on the semicircular sofa, legs bent at the knee, feet up in the air, propping her facial cheeks on her palms while she read a book.

Lee counted off the steps of a “paddle” dance.

The soft sound of filtered air tickled their ears, overcoming the pure silence of the near vacuum of space.

Lee blinked his eyes twice in rapid succession to turn on the comm system between the two of them.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Guinevere batted her eyes to turn on the voice simulator in her head.  “A book.”

“I can see that.  What is it?”

“Well, I was tired of mentally flipping through raw data.  I wanted something different, something that activated my tactile sensations.”

“Oh, I get it.  It’s a book.  But what is it?”

“The…what did they used to call it?  A 3D printer or replicator or something?  Anyone, the State Changer read my thoughts and reproduced a book, with real rough pages!, about a period of time and the mix of subcultures during that historic period.”

“You mean, before the Change?”

“Well, yes, of course.  What else did you mean?”

“So, what’s the title?”

“‘Globish.'”

“Huh?  Glibberish?”

“No.  ‘Globish.'”

“Glow fish?  I thought they were banned?”

“Artificial insertion of glow material was banned for a time, but glow fish which were genetically modified to emit low levels of lights have been perfectly acceptable for decades.”

“Yes, yes.  You and your constant attachment to the ISSA Net.  You know, there was a time when…”

Guinevere stood up and pretended to play an air violin.  “You were saying…?”

They both laughed.

“Oh, never mind.  Me and my old man speech.  So, what’s the book about?”

Guinevere shook her head.  “You’ve got dance practice, don’t you?  Why don’t you continue to practice and I’ll read my summary of the book, so far, into one of your memories for later retrieval?”

“Fantastic idea.  By the way, that’s a great outfit you have.  Where did you get it?”

“It’s what they call retro Star Trek — beige tunic and black slacks — all the rage in the colonies right now.”

As Guinevere rotated out of view in the toroid low-gravity inflatable “Bigelow Donut” of their tourist pod, Lee kept practicing the paddle moves in the zero-gravity dance sphere.

He wanted to show off his new moves at the charity ball in a few days, where funds were being raised to benefit people whose in-flight cyborg fusion surgeries had failed and were no longer considered viable members of Colony D#F3’s replacement crew, slated for recycling when they arrived at the docking station unless they had the labour/investment credits to pay for another attempt for a successful surgical procedure.

Although everyone knew someone who had been recycled and eventually found its reconstituted way back into society, there were more people who had been recycled whom no one had heard from again.

Meanwhile, in the adjoining tourist pod, Kathryn secretly practiced a new dance form never seen in public…

Societies are like orchestras

In this orchestral symphony I call life, it’s time to cue a few instruments in mainstream culture — the current state of development of near-Earth commercial/personal space travel.

  • How long before we can ride aboard SpaceShipTwo?
  • When will Bigelow Aerospace have a space hotel room ready for me?
  • Can I, my wife and friends ride a balloon to the edge of space to renew our wedding vows as astronauts?
  • Where is the offworld colony that gives me citizenship to protect my monetary assets from greedy governments?

The latest meeting of the Megabillionaires Club discussed the questions above as agenda items.

As usual, the answers depended on which billionaires were keen on reconquering old geographical territories and dominating marketplace positions here on Earth.

The visionaries amongst us admitted Earth was a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there forever.

We’ll update you on our progress.

If you have a few hundreds of thousands of dollars, we can accommodate your desire to get as far away from the surface of the planet as your money will take you.

If you have a few billion dollars, we’re combining resources to build a bridge out of the inner solar system altogether.

Abandoned Ship

Rumour has it, based on the blood pouring from my scrotum, that the flooding of Venice released an ancient terror.  I am almost too tired to continue writing.

My wife and I included the city of canals on our tour of Italy.

We were there when the latest floods hit.

Being avid swimmers, we decided to join other tourists who dived into the waters of a local plaza and jumped out of a gondola into the floodwaters.

Several days later, we all feel a little sick.

I sit here, soaking up blood that I can’t stop.

Most of us have wounds that won’t heal.

One tourist reported that the doctor he brought with him reported seeing unusually large multicellular organisms in his bloodstream that seem to like eating through skin and blood vessels.

We are weak.

I don’t know if I can write another blog entry.

The priest in our hotel offered us last rites, saying, apologetically, that we looked like hell.

With the countrywide strikes in progress, I don’t think we’ll be able to get out of here alive.

…if you can call what’s been happening to us, the last few days, living!

Buy our clothes and help support anorexia

Designers at the Milan Fashion Week runway shows begged customers to buy their clothes in an effort to support anorexia — the Anorexia Automaton Army is about to take over the world with your help:

Meanwhile, mobile phones are eating us for lunch but keeping us from being bored at the same time.  Go figure!

It’s probably the same reason our antiquated telecom system means that as more and more Americans seek citizenship abroad, we had better start to speak Chinese if we’re going to understand what the majority of Internet citizens are gossiping to each other in their costly relief of boredom.

Like money for donuts

The hickory trees had a good year producing offspring…don’t know if it’s the best year (that is, if it’s the biggest crop (that is, most number of nuts, or largest nuts)) but some of the nut casings almost fill my palm, which doesn’t often happen.

The squirrels are having a hay day, as we say.

The raccoons seem pleased, too.

None of the chickadees or titmouses seem to care.  We don’t have any other bird species large enough or with strong-enough beaks to treat hickory nuts as a major food source.

The peace and quiet of a cool, sunny, autumn morning in north Alabama is priceless.

The trees and the birds and all the other flora/fauna around me have thrived in the climate change despite period droughts and warmer winters.

What about the ones who haven’t thrived?

We had a few years where the tree frogs around here deafened us with their summer mating calls.

Now, not so many.

Armadillos swept through a few years ago, unable to establish a permanent colony in the woods around my house.

Same for the fire ants.

The ecosystem of a deciduous forest…sigh, this is my home.

Why?  I guess because I was born in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, even though I spent a couple of my formative years in the inner flatlands of southern Florida.

Primarily, though, I have lived within a few-hours drive of the Appalachian mountain range, which few people know stretches from Georgia all the way up the East Coast into Maine.

On a day like today, this is all I have to say and observe.  I have no need to perpetuate the thoughts and ideas of others wanting my attention.

I am, after all, happy being myself, and that is a word to the wise, which is sufficient.

Have a great day, my little chickadees!

Sad News

A family left their native Germany because, if I remember correctly, the country of Germany would not let the Schmitts educate their kids at home the way they wanted (“home-schooled”), rather than through a nationalistic public education system.

Anyway, they came to the U.S. and opened a restaurant.

Sadly, they lost their son this week:

Dear Tennessee Valley Big Orange Crew,
Regrettably I must pass on some very heartbreaking news.  Most of you remember that we conducted our first 2012 TV viewing party at the Schnitzel Ranch when we [the University of Tennessee football team] played NC State two weeks back.

One of our UT TV party servers was the restaurant owner’s son Christian (Chris) Schmitt, he was 17 years old.  On Sunday (yesterday) at 3:30 PM approximately, Chris lost his life in a plane crash at the Moontown airfield. Chris was the student pilot riding with Mr. George Myers. I am sure most of you heard the news but here is the link:  http://whnt.com/2012/09/16/plane-crash-at-moontown-airport/.   The Schmitt family is devastated.  As most of you know they are here from Germany trying to start this restaurant on an investor’s VISA.   The restaurant is routinely closed on Mondays, but the family must now plan a funeral and run their business this week.  They could use some support from the people of the Tennessee Valley — some of the best people I have ever met and I proudly proclaim it.  If you want to help, please contact me at tnrustic@yahoo.com; page me at 256-512-6000, or call Gabi’s cell at 256-655-4085.

In dealing with this tragedy, the Schmitt family needs support in their domestic affairs (food preparation, love donations, or advice on how to proceed with Chris’s final preparations), they will soon need HELP at their business too.  Over the years, I have routinely asked for your support, but this call for TV_BOC help is my most important request ever.  I will gladly discuss the Schmitt family needs with anyone who wants to help. Please contact us if you want to get involved.

In Memory of Chris Schmitt,

Randy Hooser
TNrustic@yahoo.com
256-512-6000
256-655-4085 (Gabi’s cell)

PS  Finally to express any condolences for the Schmitt family and their loss, please post them to their Facebook account at https://www.facebook.com/schnitzelranch.  Be sure to tell them you are with the TV_BOC and we CARE.

When 102000+ people were gathered to recite the Lord’s Prayer

So, the world now has proof that the most violent religion is Islam, if global protest headlines speak louder than words, and cult followers don’t have a sense of humour/irony, willing to kill others and die because a few actors were conned into making fun of a religious leader and his god in a video?

Meanwhile, our covert operatives, assigned to no country, used the noise and chaos to slip into place, as always, ready to assassinate at the first word from the Committee, keeping this 3D chess game moving forward into new areas of the protestors’ territory.  If a protestor or a person who incited a protestor dies off-camera in a horrible traffic smashup or accidental fall/food poisoning at home, who’s going to pay attention?

Yes, you’re right again, of course.  “Assassinate” is such a strong word.  Should I have said remove the chess pieces from the playing board, instead?

However, when using the globe as our playing field, we do what we must to accomplish a goal greater than a species or nation ever outlives, changing the anthropomorphic state of sets of states of energy as the need arises.

Unfortunately, the Obama administration will forever be tied to the use of cowardly strategic murderous drone strikes, instead of putting himself and his drone option last, when he should say our military personnel, both those directly employed by our government and those indirectly employed as contractors/mercenaries, are, in person, used to carry out secret death sentences or actively engage in the legal right to proactively defend themselves during war.

In place of a HOPE poster, there will inevitably be found on the side streets of the Internet a picture of Obama looking like BIG BROTHER in “1984” with his finger pointed at you, saying, “Remote-controlled killing is love.  A dead citizen is a happy citizen.  Coercion is freedom.”  All in the name of feeding this storyline, which appears to question the old storyline that stated the latest enemy is Islam, but only in the strictest radical sense, whatever that means in selling headlines more succinctly, a tradition of every country that divides killing into bins: socially-unacceptable murder or organisationally-acceptable restructuring.

Then, on an opposite street will be Romney, smiling, saying, “I do not kill unarmed Muslims without open due process.  I love all people, regardless of religious affiliation, bad comic timing or alleged criminal guilt.  Only my God can judge you, whose teachings I follow to the letter of the writings I read most often with more conviction than my opponent.”

Would it make more sense if public trials were held for defendants in absentia, who are given time to appear, even via the Internet, to face their accusers before being convicted of murder and sentenced to death by any means necessary, as long as it was not cruel and inhumane, including instant death by drone strike?

Are drones becoming too politically risky, creating the wrong kind of unintended consequences, scaring people and reinforcing rather than changing their subcultural beliefs?

This weekend, I stood in the midst of a group of 102000+ people gathered to celebrate their right to peaceably assemble and watch the three-ring circus we call a modern college football game, none of us expecting to be hit by a drone strike but willing to be filmed with no monetary compensation by dirigible-, crane-, guidewire-, hand- and helicopter-mounted cameras.

At the beginning of the game, on a public/state-sponsored university campus, a man spoke over the public address system to say a prayer before the players started tossing themselves at each other.  This week, the speaker happened to lead us in a rendition of Christian text called the Lord’s Prayer.

We also watched the uniform number of Johnny Majors, a college classmate of my parents, retired from active use by the university football team, which brought a tear to my eye knowing one of my parents could not be there in person to join the festivities.

During the break between the two halves of the game, called the halftime show, for some strange reason, the university “Pride of the Southland” marching band included a Scottish pipes and drum ensemble which played both “Scotland the Brave” and “Amazing Grace,” as well as the inevitable “Rocky Top.”

And today, as we left Knoxville, we saw dozens of old muscle/classic cars/trucks leaving east Tennessee, as well as a few stragglers from a large motorcycle gathering heading north from a Trail of Tears ride.

Can I extract trends from these last few data points, wondering where, anywhere and everywhere on this planet, people were reinforcing their beliefs due to recent news headlines?

Me, I’m happy to see people do what they want, as long as they don’t physically harm others.

Then again, I enjoyed the football game, even if my alltime favourite college football team, the University of Tennessee Volunteers, was unable to post the higher score by the time the game ended, when many a player could easily show evidence of physical harm.

So, I’ve got a basic belief of mine to reconsider: freedom to be in the act of “first, do no [physical] harm.”

If nothing else in my beliefs this weekend, there is a sense of poetic justice, where, on the same weekend my team lost its game against a formidable opponent, a team now coached by a man who claimed to love the Vols but left us high-and-dry — Lane Kiffin — also lost.  I can’t remember and maybe you can help me…which players with questionable ethics attended the same school?  Was it O.J. Simpson and Reggie Bush?

I know our new coach, Derek Dooley, instills a real winning attitude of moral and ethical beliefs in his players as they reach successful goals in their career paths, in and out of the physically-harmful sport of American football.

While straying into sports, I keep having fun with this comical tirade on behalf of a political election campaign, seriously yet cynically satirical (or is that cynically yet satirically serious?), when I need to go on down the trail this storyline was going to take after the last blog entry but I’ve let myself get caught up in eddies and swirls of news headlines again, haven’t I, either way?

Old age, I guess.

Well, I’ve got to help my wife clear space in our space (“our space” is a house, in this case) to make room before we move her mother’s furniture from her sister in-law’s house, the furniture having worn out its welcome, as all guests are prone to do, including family.

Tomorrow, I’ll thank folks for their help this weekend, including Cassie at Bel Air Grill and Silvia at the Airport Hilton, my cousin Cindy and her husband Ron, and more…

Thank goodness I do not live in the ultra-regulated city-state of Singapore, because it considers illegal the flash mob performance of a haka that was as fun to watch as a spontaneous Scottish Highlands bagpipe concert.