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=[[2020.08.21 "You made that up."]]=
=[[2021.05.07 Living In America - Part Huh]]=
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"You made that up."
http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/Brain-jar.jpg


I'm not sure how much my total lack of surprise is conveyed by whatever expression is on my increasingly-worn face, but I lift my spiny shoulders in a shrug-like manner"That part isn't important for the purpose of this exchange, but it does set things up well to help you understand what I'm trying to explain."
[ramble=ON]<br>
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welcome_to_Wherever_You_Are Welcome to Wherever You Are] was a timely INXS album for me, as it marked my first fully-away-from-home life while going to university.  It's distinctive not-grunge sound is the soundtrack of my memories that I formed discovering Victoria.  Whenever I hear those songs I recall the sense of recognition of all the things that were fundamentally different about living in the island mini-metropolis from the remote mountain village I came fromEven long after the new environs became familiar and generally unsurprising, it helped me remember that there are still assumptions lingering in my existence that are not actually aligned with where I was.


The lean reptilian death-machine regards me through slitted eyelids.  "Look, ye crazy old monster, I ken that ye can murder me inna blink of an eye - yeah?  So I'll listen to whatever cockamamie tale you need me ta hear.  Just maybe leave out the shyte with magical humans with wings."
I should re-listen to that album, after yesterday's reminder that I'm not in Canada any more.<br>
[ramble=OFF]


"The lady with the bat wings that leapt into the portal wasn't the scary bit; it was the black telepathic robots that started hunting meThat was what started me on this path."
Just after noon yesterday, I was on a work call in my 4th-floor condo in semi-urban North Portland with my kids doing distance learning.  A small Black Lives Matter march with about 40 participants made a clatter as they went by on the street belowIt was frankly charming, with drums and singing, and I like that Portland is active in this way.


The reptiloid adjusts all three of its pairs of holstered blasters to get more comfortable on its barstool perch. "A path for forcing random people to listen to crazy stories?"
Then a commotion happened, and I missed the kernel of the event.


Woo - suave.  It must have pinged the robotic bartender to start making a drink a few moments ago, because that casual reach backward without looking to receive that mug was pretty slickI wrinkle my snout.  "That's a by-product."  I tap one of my talons on the bar top to request a replacement drink of my own, in a more old-fashioned way.  Based on the crooked set of its mouth, I think it does not think I'm very cool.
When I looked outside, there was a red minivan in the middle of the crowd.  It was almost stopped when I noticed it, the tires I could see were flat, the drivers window was smashed, and the driver looked to be in distressBut, honestly, what really caught my attention were the handful of people with what appeared to be AR-15 assault rifles pointed at the van - one obstinately standing in front of it with his rifle trained on the driver.


The robotic bartender gives me an ETA on my drink, which seems somewhat faster than I would have expectedI regard my captive audience some more.  "At the time, I was rather skilled with a blaster, and well on my way to being a decent assassinTough enough that people stayed out of my way, which let me move pretty quickly through various environments."
Confused yelling ensued, while at least one small person I could see was getting medical aid from somebody with a medical kit on the sidewalkTensions ran high, but nothing more dramatic happenedPeople from the march started bringing bottles of water to the driver, who used them to rinse off his face - presumably he got a heft dose of pepper spray in the eyesOther marchers started re-directing traffic away from the scene, to alleviate the instant traffic jam.


Ah - a nodThis makes sense to it, as it probably aligns well with its own ease of moving through reality through brute application of paired blaster fire.
Eventually, the armed marchers slung their rifles, and other people led the van driver to sit at a nearby bus stop to recoverThey brought him more water to rinse his eyes, and I noticed that a few other people were rinsing their eyes as well - suggesting that the cloud of pepper spray had drifted about somewhat.  After a few minutes, the driver got back in his minivan and drove it slowly away on 4 flat tires, and the rest of the march evaporated.


I let my fangs show as I smile, to distract it.  "That almost got me killed too many times to count.  Because as fast as I could move on, the things hunting me could always find me."
Some time to process it has let me consider a few things.


"So you're shitty at sneaking and hidingSo whaaaaaaat?!!!"
When I saw the rifles, I got off my work call to be able to call 911.  But I paused, considering, "Do I really want to call the police on a bunch of black people?"  It's a horrifying thing that this is a legitimate concernIt makes me wish there was a non-police "people who can help" emergency number.  I should spin this thought into a separate Rant™.


The change of expression is just delicious as I brought one of its very-precious plasma blasters into view"That was jut the thing - I wasn'tKind of the opposite." It is clearly reigning in its indignation as it respectfully retrieves the exquisite weapon from my open palm"My problem was that I was just a bit too... distinctive."
I still have no idea whether this was a deliberate vehicular assault by the late-middle-aged white male in shabby clothes and crappy minivan, or an oblivious driving error while turning through an intersection.  However, I'm simultaneously impressed and mortified at how clearly ready to respond to exactly such an assault the mark participants wereThe rifles were over-the-top in my opinion, but it's hard to argue against desire to counter the deadliness of a vehicle driving through a crowdBut the slashing of the tires, the smashing of the driver's window, and pepper spraying the driver all happened in a way that seems like a prepared reactionIf the driver merely blundered into that crowd, I confess that getting pepper sprayed and some mild damage to his vehicle seems like not the worst repercussionIf the driver drove through those people intentionally - fuck that guy; I hope he goes blind.


A bunch of half-formed expressions chase each other across the reptiloid's face.  "Have you been hunting me down?"
Co-morbid with both my reluctance to call the police and my disdain of the weapons present is yet another demonstration of my deeply ingrained privilegeIn that: when I saw people with assault rifles on the street in front of me, I didn't think "DUCK".  I just hung out on my balcony, gawking.  Completely assured that I was not a target, or at risk.  It's probably good that I can exist like this, but maybe it shouldn't be an exceptional thing.
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The tension of the moment is piled on with a faint mechanical scream and a sudden thin plume of smoke rising from behind the bar. Both I and the reptiloid glance over, and I get an updated ETA on my drink that is considerably further in the future. An ugly snicker works its way out of my ragged vocal chords.
=[[2021.04.20 Slayer Slayed]]=
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Turning back to regard the noticeably-more-tense reptiloid, I tilt my wedge-like head.  "Smart question.  But no, not exactly."
Yeah, I sold the Slayer.


<pre>To be continued...</pre>
Logically, it made a lot of sense - in several ways. 
# First of all, the Slayer as an enduro sled has pretty much the same utility envelope as the Commençal META Power.  Except, you know, every so slightly less awesome.  So the Slayer was likely just going to sit in my bike closet being sad and pathetic.
# This also happens to be a magical time for bike value.  I got 50% more for it than I would have guessed in a normal year, and it sold in just one day.  In retrospect, I should have asked for more.
# Plus there is the very real fact that after 4 years of solid use, it would soon be time to dump a bunch of money into the Slayer to keep it up to snuff.
 
That being said, I was very sad to sell it.  For the usual reasons - that I feel genuine attachment to mechanical things that have helped me, and saved me occasionally, and generally enabled a bunch of great memories.
 
I fully plan on getting another bike, to round out where my Enduro Monster Truck is less well-suited. Probably to enable bike-commuting, but hopefully also for riding less-technical trails. We'll see.
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=[[2020.07.07 Verbal Constipation]]=
=[[2021.04.03 Bikes and Vans and Stuff]]=
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There's so much going on!
As is standard for the past year, I'm not spending much time writing.  Which isn't because there isn't anything happening, but rather because there's too much happening.  Or, really, a combination of a lot of things happening, and my overwhelming state of satisfied happiness.  Which makes for odd and boring blog entries.
 
BUT!  There's still a couple things to mention, as a matter of record here.
 
===1: I broke the Kei Van===
It had problems on a return drive from Sandy Ridge in a downpour, then wouldn't start again after we stopped at the Gnarthaller's.  Subsequent inspection showed it was dangerously low on oil (facepalm), even though the oil light never came on.  Will be working on resurrecting it soon.<br>
UPDATE: VANTACULUS LIVES!!!  Thanks to help and support from @gnarthaller.
 
===2: E-Biking is almost too much fun===
Blasting a biggish lap out at Sandy Ridge yesterday was very soul-nourishing.  But even more telling was last week's "easy ride" turning into a 3-hour marathon with some very fast riders wasn't a problem, thanks to the little extra boost.  The twin joys of having fun going uphill plus also not being overtired during descents are really great.


And I have so little ability to make meaningful note of itSucks.
===3: Vaccination Imminent===
Have an appointment for my first Pfizer jab in a weekThe future is bright.
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=[[2020.06.30 Courage, Confidence, and Goodness]]=
=[[2021.03.16 Mitsubishi Minicab Kei Van]]=
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<pre>Blatantly stolen from the interwebs...</pre>
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<blockquote>
 
If courage isn't the absence of fear but doing the right thing regardless of it, maybe confidence isn't the absence of insecurity but knowing you have real worth despite it.
BEHOLD!  The (tentatively titled) VANTACULUS Splinter Van!


By this same token, maybe goodness isn't the absence of bad thoughts or impulses, but the conscious choice to behave according to your moral ideals in spite of them.
Reactions to this vehicle usually fall into two basic categories: "AWWW!" and "What the hell?"
</blockquote>
 
The easiest way to answer the latter is to refer to the former.  But there is a lot more about this odd emergence of reality, and seeing as how this is my medium for documenting all the publicly notable experiences it seems fitting to elaborate about that.
 
Backing things up a bit, there has definitely been a hole in my vehicular capabilities ever since I sold the Tyrannosaurus (1984 Toyota pickup).  This was well-compensated for with the Schleppenwagen (Mercedes Metris van), but nothing since has been as suitable.  For a few years I've made-do with either a roof-rack on the ex's Subarus or disassembling my bike and jamming it in the back of my Tesla.
 
Much of my bike-hauling needs have been actually satisfied of late with my bike-valet and riding buddy, Friar Gnarthaller and his various bike-shuttling vehicles.  But it is left to me to limp along begging for help when taking Simon for a ride, and annoying whenever I want to go for a simple ride by myself.
 
So I've been contemplating a van for a while now.  Why a van?  Firstly, because having had a couple pickups, I recognize that the "haul dirt" function is incredibly rare for me.  And secondly, having tasted the sweet nectar of full van-hood, I know the joy of having my stuff locked away by default, and protected from elements.
 
Also, specifically, I've been looking for a vehicle I didn't have to care too much about.  One of the great freedoms that the Tyrannosaurus provided was not worrying about much.  A dent?  Don't care.  Dirty?  Don't care.  Something broken?  If it doesn't stop if from working, don't care.  Like that.
 
The prime target has been used work vans.  Sure, I'd eventually have to add seats if I wanted more than one passenger, but whatever.  The temptation of used minivans was ascendent for a while too - because of the ability to also haul larger groups of people by virtue of stow-and-go seating (in addition to the primary bike-hauling purpose).  And also somewhat greater reliability of Japanese builds.
 
Then I and my array of van-enabling friends noticed kei vans.  They are hilarious!  Oh, but they're way too expensive for my "not caring" budget.
 
Until this "cosmetically challenged" Mitsubishi Minicab popped up online at The Import Guys near Bellingham Washington.  And the rest was a PayPal purchase sight-unseen, a train (and bus) ride to Bellingham, and finally nerve-wracking hip-flexor-straining 95 km/h 6-hour scream down the I5.
 
So, here we are.  Ready to rock.  And ride.<br>
And, yes, the kids lost their damn minds when they saw it.
 
Was it a wise purchase?  No.<br>
Is it likely to be a memorable experience?  Absolutely, yes.
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=[[2020.05.24 Pandemic Ponderings 4]]=
=[[2021.03.05 E-Bike Babbling]]=
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How very odd that the top four countries ranked in terms of cases of infection, demonstrating that they are the least capable of dealing with real world facts and situations, all happen to have governments lead by populist leaders.
So, way back before the pandemic, I rode some e-bikes.  I've been curious about electric motor assisted mountain bikes for a while.  That interest, to be clear, is because I spend most of my time riding with people who are both more skilled than I am and in better physical condition.  There had been a running joke that I was "allowed" to get an e-bike when I turned 50 - or if I had some permanent ride-impairing injury.
 
The concept of it being allowable itself come from some stigma that e-bikes have in the mountain biking community.  And I myself had some doubts about whether I should give up the level of effort typically required, for fitness sake.  The way in which I too-often was over-tired grinding up the hill so that I was unable to ride down technical trails cleanly, at least not without an extended period of gasping and draped limply against a tree.  So, the allure, while obvious, has for a while been greater for me than many of my decades-younger-than-I riding crew.
 
The first test ride was an eye-opening revelation full of giggling, and deeply planted seeds of desire.
 
A second test ride was a more focussed investigation of capabilities, and a goddamn handful of nails in the coffin of my reluctance.
 
Part of the confluence of capability and desire is my riding style, which I sometimes refer to as "aggressively mediocre" and "old man fast".  My riding lacks much finesse, so I have gradually leaned towards the full-enduro end of the bike spectrum in order to get enough plushness and stability to accommodate my need for speed and inability to avoid rocks.  So not only does the thrust assist help my increasingly feeble ability to climb, but the extra heft of e-bikes doesn't significantly impair any light poppy skillful line choices.
 
As a tangent - I have a wee rant about the Specialized Level SL.  It's a low-power small-battery e-bike that is an attempt to be as much like an acoustic trail bike as possible.  It's awful.  If you really want to have a light, playful bike to float down trails... yeah, no.  It's still has a motor and batteries.  But that motor and battery are incapable of creating the same quality of giggles, and of annoying less quantity. 
 
Bada-bing bada-boom - I became the proud owner of the Commencal Meta Power pictured above.  More, and more specific, riding impressions to come.  Hopefully soonish.
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=[[2020.05.17 The Hole]]=
=[[2021.01.27 Clearly Not Doing This Right]]=
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Back when I was turning 30, I was tormented for a couple years with a new sensation of being ready to be part of a family.  I discovered in myself a capacity to hold another in a trusting way, to be a partnerIt ached to be unfulfilled.  But then I did find a partner, and it blossomed into a family, and the sense of completeness is one that I know in my bones is how my best life can be realized.
The whole point of being all reclusive for the pandemic is to have to find things to do while stuck at homeWhich in my case should have involved a fuck tonne of writing and drawing.


So I know that such a thing is possible.  And the ache I feel now can be soothed, with patience and care.
NOPE.


Except now there's a new space in me, beyond the socket that I might find a partner to fit.  I've been eroded by the knowledge that it ends.  It always ends.  My trust can never be safe.
My life is pretty full, though, with working from home and having the homeschooling kids during most of the weekdays.  Any time not spent productively being an engineer or parent I while away being a boyfriendAnd I cherish this time, even though there's not much to mark it by.


Which is why I'm here, alone with my feelings, grieving the version of me that I may never get to be again.
Life is good.
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=[[2020.05.09 Define Well-Being]]=
=[[2020.11.27 "Come on guys, it's OK."]]=
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Before the pandemic started, I signed up for an online psychology course from Yale: <i>The Psychology of Happiness</i> with Doctor Laurie Santos.  It was meant to augment my therapy, but has turned into my only therapy.  And, honestly, it's been some of the most helpful therapeutic work I've done.
"Come on guys, it's OK."


My week 7 homework is a short essay: Define well-being.
A terrible idea occurs to me as I listen to the professional goon begging in the airlock.  It is most definitely not OK, and I repress a grin as I slip out my tool kit.
<blockquote><i>"Think about your own definition of well-being and share it with your classmates. What does living the good life mean to you personally? Has this course changed your definition at all?"</i></blockquote>


Here goes.
There's a reedy inflection in comm that I'm not sure is accurate or affectation. "You sure didn't look like things were OK back there."


<blockquote><b>
You could almost hear the goon's shoulder's slump.  "Yeah, it was pretty tense."
Well-being might shift definition based on where you view it from, in time.


Looking forward, well-being feels defined by a sense of affluence and easeWe imagine our future selves as having well-being with goals achieved, and needs met, and being safe.
"You're, ah, looking pretty zarking unscathedYou know.  Considering."


In the moment, well-being is all about how in-touch with ourselves we are. Sensing the alignment of our thoughts, feelings, perceptions and sensations are the most tangible understanding of immediate well-beingThese are the immersive experiences of well-being that are the pixels that make up the picture we're painting of our lives.
"...YeahI don't know how I'm not dead."


Looking back, well-being is filtered through our evaluation of our own equanimity with whatever our challenges were, and the level of acceptance we have gainedIf we're wise, maybe we see how our own well-being is tied to the degree to which we were sources of well-being for the rest of the world.
This pause in the conversation sure sounds like other people conversing off-circuit.  I wonder if it's accessible...
</b></blockquote>
 
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"Guys....?"  Ooop, sounds like the goon is thinking the same thing as me.
 
"Just hang on a moment, Garvek."  Ah, goon's name is Garvek.  Or, at least that's what the reedy-voice being calls the goon.  Might not be a reliable source.
 
"Not to be too pushy, guys, but I think we should get out of here before my luck catches up with us."
 
Oh, I think they're over there...
 
"...and it's bad for recruiting if we just ditch a crewman." Don't recognize that voice.
 
"Recruiting?  Are you zarking with me?  Potential security personnel on another planet aren't going to give a flying zark about what happened to this idiot."  Well, at least reedy-voice is just as unpleasant with others, and not just poor Garvek.
 
"For any old lump of cannon-fodder while we're still making a name for ourselves, sure.  But once we start needing really top-notch people, this sort of shit will stain us for a long-ass time to come."  Hm.  I think I like this guy.


<hr>
"Shut the zark up, Krunks."  Ouch.  Someone knows they're wrong.  Wonder if Krunks is going to stuff a fistful of righteous insight down Reedy-Voice's throat...


http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/Challenge_vs_skill.png
"As you wish, captain."  Disappointing, but I guess I don't know the circumstances here.


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"Orders?"  That's a third voice, reptilian, who sounds like they were having trouble with the awkward pause.


=[[2020.04.25 Pandemic Ponderings 3]]=
"Gah! Let the impossibly-lucky goon in."
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The immediate reality of existence is that I'm stretched really thin. Being the lead parent for homeschooling for most of the weekdays makes sense, because my work is not fragile with respect to interruptions - unlike S.  But it does mean that I have to make up time on evenings and weekends to compensate, productivity-wise.  It is ablative on the soul, and I'll have to moderate some expectations in order to make all this sustainable.


But there is a poignancy to these times.  I love how this global experience, that we'll recall for the rest of our lives, is saturated with me spending time with Simon and Violet. We'll all have shared experiences, with greater-than-usual bandwidth of interaction existing in my little apartment and trying to figure out how to thrive with our arrayed pursuits.
There might have been a grunting noise, but immediately afterwards we can feel and hear the heavy ship bulkhead door cycle.  I wish we could get a peek into that big central corridor...


Future Simon and Violet - who I hope are reading this someday - I know I seemed grumpy some of these days, but I want you to know how much I love all this time with you both.
<pre>...in process...</pre>


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=[[2020.04.12 Pandemic Ponderings 2]]=
=[[2020.11.27 Time Machine]]=
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Hello future-Simon and future-Violet when you're (a bit) older and reading stuff your dad wrote to find out what he was like outside of the interactions that formed your memories.
 
Well, life is really fucking¹ good, honestly.  It's horrific to think that maybe it takes 9 months of hiding during a pandemic and almost 4 years of racist/fascist Tumpocalypse to really appreciate where I am and what I have.  I like to think I would be thankful anyway, because I'm insightful and zen... but whatever.


Oh shyyte: here it comes.
Being able to hole up with you two for homeschooling in our airy little condo is just fantastic.  I love this time with you, and will cherish it always.  You are both adapting and overcoming this strange time better than I could possibly have hoped.


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Hearing you giggle while you melt your brains with youtube videos is one of my favourite sounds ever.  Having you joining Amy, my Vampire Queen girlfriend in her anti-running rebellion was also amusing, but going for our group PE runs feeds my soul.  And the best part of getting a robotic vacuum wasn't the automatic floor cleaning, but sharing your delight with watching it charge slowly about and piling your stuffed toys on it.


<hr>
I've just gotten a new mountain bike, this time with an electric motor.  Which I'm looking forward to using to tow Simon on his mountain bike up the hill once the weather gets nicer.


=[[2020.03.25 Pandemic Ponderings 1]]=
Oh, and the hilariously annoying VAN, Volkswagen, snotty Volkswagen, and I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-van game everywhere we go these days.
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So, yeah.  That's the last frame of Taika Waititi's fascinating movie [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jojo_Rabbit Jojo Rabbit]It resonated with me, as it shook loose a bit of my congealed feelings I've been burdened by.
And it's so fun for me to watch the new episodes of The Mandalorian with youYou both make great little nerds.


Weeks ago, I had been meaning to post a jokey entry about how the apparent response to the Pandemic is mostly suggested to be: <i>Be Like Clayton</i>.<br>
You probably saw bits of my work during this time, and mostly just saw me as being stressed by it.  Especially all the meetings.  But you should also know that I really love developing all these new truck systems and mentoring new engineers.  Plus also helping out with the new electric trucks, and the autonomous truck project.  Being fulfilled by work is a satisfaction that I hope I can model for you well, so that you can find it for yourselves.
*OCD hand washing habits - CHECK
*Larger than usual personal space - CHECK
*Avoid gatherings with more than a few people - CHECK
*Have essentially no social life - CHECK


...but even though I used that joke a few times with some friends, it never really felt all that funny.


The larger worries about how the world is facing a major hurdle, combined with increasingly-confirmed fears that those in power are ill-equipped to face it, have cast my little sadnesses into sharp contrast.
<br>


Which, of course, just makes me feel insignificant on top of sad.  Which is, itself, funny - but only to the part of me that is not particularly helpful.
<br>


Meanwhile: Since working from home and single-parenting kids will eat my soul, I've decided to take a psychology course from Yale onlineBrilliant!
 
¹ <small>Yeah, you probably remember that your dad swore a fair amountBut he liked to think it was just nicely seasoned for emphasis, even though you thought it was too much at the time.</small>


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=[[2020.03.09 It's Been One Of Them Years.]]=
=[[2020.11.13 United States of Assholes]]=
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The deep and profound relief at the (eventual) election of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris is thankfully still salving the past four years of horror. Emotional, philosophical, spiritual, pragmatic utilitarian horror. But the gestalt horror is not forgotten. And, worse, the visceral terror of the implications of the numbers of the election cannot be un-discovered.


[https://g.co/kgs/ZtzSpL It's Been On Of Them Years].
People looking at the title of this post might be triggered, classifying this as just more of Clayton's typical pro-Canada elitism finding an opportunity to gloat. And it's a fair comment.  But the United States really is magnificent, and Portland in particular is full of all kinds of awesome.  I've been here for almost 2 decades now, and have a lot of important roots, and that deepens how significant what goes on in the US is to me.


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With that in mind, the fact that about 70 million people voted for Donald Trump in 2020 is... sad.


<hr>
Even acknowledging the extreme polarization, it still means that almost twice the population of Canada worth of people were willing to at least "put up with" a fascist racist lying failure of a president.  And why would they do this?  Well, last month I speculated that it functionally makes them bad people - but virtually nobody does anything with the specific intent to be bad people (Mitch McConnell excepted).


=[[2020.03.06 Reflecting On Who My Daughter Is]]=
I think the reason comes down to how the US is systemically structured to facilitate assholes.
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I think I already knew, but the actual word churns up emotional trouble inside myself that I admit I am afraid of.  <br>
It has gotten better over the centuries, but fundamentally it's still about harnessing the power of assholesIt's not that everyone in the US is an asshole, or that only assholes thrive.  It's more that being an asshole is a distinct advantage in most aspects of living in the US.  And even further, the pitting of people's stoked avarice against each other allows for considerable achievements.  It just so happens that those achievements are usually at considerable human expense.  This every-asshole-for-themself individualism was key for expanding through a wild continent.  But it is now very much out of step for the interests of living with ourselves in civilization.
I should be braver, like she is.  <br>
And see the fascination within it, like she can.


We'll see where we are, and go from there.
The divide politically is most obviously displayed with the geographical results - urban versus rural.  Many of the conservative people I know all have worries about reality where the only solution they can conceive of is raw independent self-sufficiency.  Even when I snarkily suggest adjusting shared societal factors to eradicate the selfsame problems.  However they insist such ideas are impossible - because there are too many assholes.  Which, inevitably, means that they have to pre-asshole to out-asshole the hypothetical assholes.


The trouble with assholes, aside from the inherent assholery, is the tendency to assume that everyone else is an asshole too.  Perhaps more than just a tendency for some, but a full blown paranoia that the world is stuffed full of dicks out to fuck the unwary.  This causes them to forgive all sorts of crazy shit for the purpose of supporting political forces they think will be the right kind of assholery.
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=[[2020.03.02 Too Many Fucks Given]]=
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Basically, I am still struggling with how to process the notion that I will never get a leadership position in engineering at DAIMLER.  My internal drives motivating me to excel have long included management ambition in engineering.  While I know that logically I should find a way to leverage this as a form of freedom, and re-kindle some of my long-neglected interests.  But it still squats on my soul as sense of hopeless frustration.
 
Perhaps it would be easier to hold if the managers in engineering were more, on the whole, obviously better at managing.  Such that I could see how I do not measure up.  But it's not like that. At all.
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Some people need to find the edges of things, instead of assuming what they might be.
Some people need to find the edges of things, instead of assuming what they might be.  I like your style.
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Revision as of 16:38, 7 May 2021

claytoncastle.com • T R A N S I T I O N



2021.05.07 Living In America - Part Huh

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[ramble=ON]
Welcome to Wherever You Are was a timely INXS album for me, as it marked my first fully-away-from-home life while going to university. It's distinctive not-grunge sound is the soundtrack of my memories that I formed discovering Victoria. Whenever I hear those songs I recall the sense of recognition of all the things that were fundamentally different about living in the island mini-metropolis from the remote mountain village I came from. Even long after the new environs became familiar and generally unsurprising, it helped me remember that there are still assumptions lingering in my existence that are not actually aligned with where I was.

I should re-listen to that album, after yesterday's reminder that I'm not in Canada any more.
[ramble=OFF]

Just after noon yesterday, I was on a work call in my 4th-floor condo in semi-urban North Portland with my kids doing distance learning. A small Black Lives Matter march with about 40 participants made a clatter as they went by on the street below. It was frankly charming, with drums and singing, and I like that Portland is active in this way.

Then a commotion happened, and I missed the kernel of the event.

When I looked outside, there was a red minivan in the middle of the crowd. It was almost stopped when I noticed it, the tires I could see were flat, the drivers window was smashed, and the driver looked to be in distress. But, honestly, what really caught my attention were the handful of people with what appeared to be AR-15 assault rifles pointed at the van - one obstinately standing in front of it with his rifle trained on the driver.

Confused yelling ensued, while at least one small person I could see was getting medical aid from somebody with a medical kit on the sidewalk. Tensions ran high, but nothing more dramatic happened. People from the march started bringing bottles of water to the driver, who used them to rinse off his face - presumably he got a heft dose of pepper spray in the eyes. Other marchers started re-directing traffic away from the scene, to alleviate the instant traffic jam.

Eventually, the armed marchers slung their rifles, and other people led the van driver to sit at a nearby bus stop to recover. They brought him more water to rinse his eyes, and I noticed that a few other people were rinsing their eyes as well - suggesting that the cloud of pepper spray had drifted about somewhat. After a few minutes, the driver got back in his minivan and drove it slowly away on 4 flat tires, and the rest of the march evaporated.

Some time to process it has let me consider a few things.

When I saw the rifles, I got off my work call to be able to call 911. But I paused, considering, "Do I really want to call the police on a bunch of black people?" It's a horrifying thing that this is a legitimate concern. It makes me wish there was a non-police "people who can help" emergency number. I should spin this thought into a separate Rant™.

I still have no idea whether this was a deliberate vehicular assault by the late-middle-aged white male in shabby clothes and crappy minivan, or an oblivious driving error while turning through an intersection. However, I'm simultaneously impressed and mortified at how clearly ready to respond to exactly such an assault the mark participants were. The rifles were over-the-top in my opinion, but it's hard to argue against desire to counter the deadliness of a vehicle driving through a crowd. But the slashing of the tires, the smashing of the driver's window, and pepper spraying the driver all happened in a way that seems like a prepared reaction. If the driver merely blundered into that crowd, I confess that getting pepper sprayed and some mild damage to his vehicle seems like not the worst repercussion. If the driver drove through those people intentionally - fuck that guy; I hope he goes blind.

Co-morbid with both my reluctance to call the police and my disdain of the weapons present is yet another demonstration of my deeply ingrained privilege. In that: when I saw people with assault rifles on the street in front of me, I didn't think "DUCK". I just hung out on my balcony, gawking. Completely assured that I was not a target, or at risk. It's probably good that I can exist like this, but maybe it shouldn't be an exceptional thing.


2021.04.20 Slayer Slayed

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Yeah, I sold the Slayer.

Logically, it made a lot of sense - in several ways.

  1. First of all, the Slayer as an enduro sled has pretty much the same utility envelope as the Commençal META Power. Except, you know, every so slightly less awesome. So the Slayer was likely just going to sit in my bike closet being sad and pathetic.
  2. This also happens to be a magical time for bike value. I got 50% more for it than I would have guessed in a normal year, and it sold in just one day. In retrospect, I should have asked for more.
  3. Plus there is the very real fact that after 4 years of solid use, it would soon be time to dump a bunch of money into the Slayer to keep it up to snuff.

That being said, I was very sad to sell it. For the usual reasons - that I feel genuine attachment to mechanical things that have helped me, and saved me occasionally, and generally enabled a bunch of great memories.

I fully plan on getting another bike, to round out where my Enduro Monster Truck is less well-suited. Probably to enable bike-commuting, but hopefully also for riding less-technical trails. We'll see.


2021.04.03 Bikes and Vans and Stuff

As is standard for the past year, I'm not spending much time writing. Which isn't because there isn't anything happening, but rather because there's too much happening. Or, really, a combination of a lot of things happening, and my overwhelming state of satisfied happiness. Which makes for odd and boring blog entries.

BUT! There's still a couple things to mention, as a matter of record here.

1: I broke the Kei Van

It had problems on a return drive from Sandy Ridge in a downpour, then wouldn't start again after we stopped at the Gnarthaller's. Subsequent inspection showed it was dangerously low on oil (facepalm), even though the oil light never came on. Will be working on resurrecting it soon.
UPDATE: VANTACULUS LIVES!!! Thanks to help and support from @gnarthaller.

2: E-Biking is almost too much fun

Blasting a biggish lap out at Sandy Ridge yesterday was very soul-nourishing. But even more telling was last week's "easy ride" turning into a 3-hour marathon with some very fast riders wasn't a problem, thanks to the little extra boost. The twin joys of having fun going uphill plus also not being overtired during descents are really great.

3: Vaccination Imminent

Have an appointment for my first Pfizer jab in a week. The future is bright.


2021.03.16 Mitsubishi Minicab Kei Van

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BEHOLD! The (tentatively titled) VANTACULUS Splinter Van!

Reactions to this vehicle usually fall into two basic categories: "AWWW!" and "What the hell?"

The easiest way to answer the latter is to refer to the former. But there is a lot more about this odd emergence of reality, and seeing as how this is my medium for documenting all the publicly notable experiences it seems fitting to elaborate about that.

Backing things up a bit, there has definitely been a hole in my vehicular capabilities ever since I sold the Tyrannosaurus (1984 Toyota pickup). This was well-compensated for with the Schleppenwagen (Mercedes Metris van), but nothing since has been as suitable. For a few years I've made-do with either a roof-rack on the ex's Subarus or disassembling my bike and jamming it in the back of my Tesla.

Much of my bike-hauling needs have been actually satisfied of late with my bike-valet and riding buddy, Friar Gnarthaller and his various bike-shuttling vehicles. But it is left to me to limp along begging for help when taking Simon for a ride, and annoying whenever I want to go for a simple ride by myself.

So I've been contemplating a van for a while now. Why a van? Firstly, because having had a couple pickups, I recognize that the "haul dirt" function is incredibly rare for me. And secondly, having tasted the sweet nectar of full van-hood, I know the joy of having my stuff locked away by default, and protected from elements.

Also, specifically, I've been looking for a vehicle I didn't have to care too much about. One of the great freedoms that the Tyrannosaurus provided was not worrying about much. A dent? Don't care. Dirty? Don't care. Something broken? If it doesn't stop if from working, don't care. Like that.

The prime target has been used work vans. Sure, I'd eventually have to add seats if I wanted more than one passenger, but whatever. The temptation of used minivans was ascendent for a while too - because of the ability to also haul larger groups of people by virtue of stow-and-go seating (in addition to the primary bike-hauling purpose). And also somewhat greater reliability of Japanese builds.

Then I and my array of van-enabling friends noticed kei vans. They are hilarious! Oh, but they're way too expensive for my "not caring" budget.

Until this "cosmetically challenged" Mitsubishi Minicab popped up online at The Import Guys near Bellingham Washington. And the rest was a PayPal purchase sight-unseen, a train (and bus) ride to Bellingham, and finally nerve-wracking hip-flexor-straining 95 km/h 6-hour scream down the I5.

So, here we are. Ready to rock. And ride.
And, yes, the kids lost their damn minds when they saw it.

Was it a wise purchase? No.
Is it likely to be a memorable experience? Absolutely, yes.


2021.03.05 E-Bike Babbling

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So, way back before the pandemic, I rode some e-bikes. I've been curious about electric motor assisted mountain bikes for a while. That interest, to be clear, is because I spend most of my time riding with people who are both more skilled than I am and in better physical condition. There had been a running joke that I was "allowed" to get an e-bike when I turned 50 - or if I had some permanent ride-impairing injury.

The concept of it being allowable itself come from some stigma that e-bikes have in the mountain biking community. And I myself had some doubts about whether I should give up the level of effort typically required, for fitness sake. The way in which I too-often was over-tired grinding up the hill so that I was unable to ride down technical trails cleanly, at least not without an extended period of gasping and draped limply against a tree. So, the allure, while obvious, has for a while been greater for me than many of my decades-younger-than-I riding crew.

The first test ride was an eye-opening revelation full of giggling, and deeply planted seeds of desire.

A second test ride was a more focussed investigation of capabilities, and a goddamn handful of nails in the coffin of my reluctance.

Part of the confluence of capability and desire is my riding style, which I sometimes refer to as "aggressively mediocre" and "old man fast". My riding lacks much finesse, so I have gradually leaned towards the full-enduro end of the bike spectrum in order to get enough plushness and stability to accommodate my need for speed and inability to avoid rocks. So not only does the thrust assist help my increasingly feeble ability to climb, but the extra heft of e-bikes doesn't significantly impair any light poppy skillful line choices.

As a tangent - I have a wee rant about the Specialized Level SL. It's a low-power small-battery e-bike that is an attempt to be as much like an acoustic trail bike as possible. It's awful. If you really want to have a light, playful bike to float down trails... yeah, no. It's still has a motor and batteries. But that motor and battery are incapable of creating the same quality of giggles, and of annoying less quantity.

Bada-bing bada-boom - I became the proud owner of the Commencal Meta Power pictured above. More, and more specific, riding impressions to come. Hopefully soonish.


2021.01.27 Clearly Not Doing This Right

The whole point of being all reclusive for the pandemic is to have to find things to do while stuck at home. Which in my case should have involved a fuck tonne of writing and drawing.

NOPE.

My life is pretty full, though, with working from home and having the homeschooling kids during most of the weekdays. Any time not spent productively being an engineer or parent I while away being a boyfriend. And I cherish this time, even though there's not much to mark it by.

Life is good.



2020.11.27 "Come on guys, it's OK."

"Come on guys, it's OK."

A terrible idea occurs to me as I listen to the professional goon begging in the airlock. It is most definitely not OK, and I repress a grin as I slip out my tool kit.

There's a reedy inflection in comm that I'm not sure is accurate or affectation. "You sure didn't look like things were OK back there."

You could almost hear the goon's shoulder's slump. "Yeah, it was pretty tense."

"You're, ah, looking pretty zarking unscathed. You know. Considering."

"...Yeah. I don't know how I'm not dead."

This pause in the conversation sure sounds like other people conversing off-circuit. I wonder if it's accessible...

"Guys....?" Ooop, sounds like the goon is thinking the same thing as me.

"Just hang on a moment, Garvek." Ah, goon's name is Garvek. Or, at least that's what the reedy-voice being calls the goon. Might not be a reliable source.

"Not to be too pushy, guys, but I think we should get out of here before my luck catches up with us."

Oh, I think they're over there...

"...and it's bad for recruiting if we just ditch a crewman." Don't recognize that voice.

"Recruiting? Are you zarking with me? Potential security personnel on another planet aren't going to give a flying zark about what happened to this idiot." Well, at least reedy-voice is just as unpleasant with others, and not just poor Garvek.

"For any old lump of cannon-fodder while we're still making a name for ourselves, sure. But once we start needing really top-notch people, this sort of shit will stain us for a long-ass time to come." Hm. I think I like this guy.

"Shut the zark up, Krunks." Ouch. Someone knows they're wrong. Wonder if Krunks is going to stuff a fistful of righteous insight down Reedy-Voice's throat...

"As you wish, captain." Disappointing, but I guess I don't know the circumstances here.

"Orders?" That's a third voice, reptilian, who sounds like they were having trouble with the awkward pause.

"Gah! Let the impossibly-lucky goon in."

There might have been a grunting noise, but immediately afterwards we can feel and hear the heavy ship bulkhead door cycle. I wish we could get a peek into that big central corridor...

...in process...


2020.11.27 Time Machine

Hello future-Simon and future-Violet when you're (a bit) older and reading stuff your dad wrote to find out what he was like outside of the interactions that formed your memories.

Well, life is really fucking¹ good, honestly. It's horrific to think that maybe it takes 9 months of hiding during a pandemic and almost 4 years of racist/fascist Tumpocalypse to really appreciate where I am and what I have. I like to think I would be thankful anyway, because I'm insightful and zen... but whatever.

Being able to hole up with you two for homeschooling in our airy little condo is just fantastic. I love this time with you, and will cherish it always. You are both adapting and overcoming this strange time better than I could possibly have hoped.

Hearing you giggle while you melt your brains with youtube videos is one of my favourite sounds ever. Having you joining Amy, my Vampire Queen girlfriend in her anti-running rebellion was also amusing, but going for our group PE runs feeds my soul. And the best part of getting a robotic vacuum wasn't the automatic floor cleaning, but sharing your delight with watching it charge slowly about and piling your stuffed toys on it.

I've just gotten a new mountain bike, this time with an electric motor. Which I'm looking forward to using to tow Simon on his mountain bike up the hill once the weather gets nicer.

Oh, and the hilariously annoying VAN, Volkswagen, snotty Volkswagen, and I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-van game everywhere we go these days.

And it's so fun for me to watch the new episodes of The Mandalorian with you. You both make great little nerds.

You probably saw bits of my work during this time, and mostly just saw me as being stressed by it. Especially all the meetings. But you should also know that I really love developing all these new truck systems and mentoring new engineers. Plus also helping out with the new electric trucks, and the autonomous truck project. Being fulfilled by work is a satisfaction that I hope I can model for you well, so that you can find it for yourselves.





¹ Yeah, you probably remember that your dad swore a fair amount. But he liked to think it was just nicely seasoned for emphasis, even though you thought it was too much at the time.


2020.11.13 United States of Assholes

The deep and profound relief at the (eventual) election of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris is thankfully still salving the past four years of horror. Emotional, philosophical, spiritual, pragmatic utilitarian horror. But the gestalt horror is not forgotten. And, worse, the visceral terror of the implications of the numbers of the election cannot be un-discovered.

People looking at the title of this post might be triggered, classifying this as just more of Clayton's typical pro-Canada elitism finding an opportunity to gloat. And it's a fair comment. But the United States really is magnificent, and Portland in particular is full of all kinds of awesome. I've been here for almost 2 decades now, and have a lot of important roots, and that deepens how significant what goes on in the US is to me.

With that in mind, the fact that about 70 million people voted for Donald Trump in 2020 is... sad.

Even acknowledging the extreme polarization, it still means that almost twice the population of Canada worth of people were willing to at least "put up with" a fascist racist lying failure of a president. And why would they do this? Well, last month I speculated that it functionally makes them bad people - but virtually nobody does anything with the specific intent to be bad people (Mitch McConnell excepted).

I think the reason comes down to how the US is systemically structured to facilitate assholes.

It has gotten better over the centuries, but fundamentally it's still about harnessing the power of assholes. It's not that everyone in the US is an asshole, or that only assholes thrive. It's more that being an asshole is a distinct advantage in most aspects of living in the US. And even further, the pitting of people's stoked avarice against each other allows for considerable achievements. It just so happens that those achievements are usually at considerable human expense. This every-asshole-for-themself individualism was key for expanding through a wild continent. But it is now very much out of step for the interests of living with ourselves in civilization.

The divide politically is most obviously displayed with the geographical results - urban versus rural. Many of the conservative people I know all have worries about reality where the only solution they can conceive of is raw independent self-sufficiency. Even when I snarkily suggest adjusting shared societal factors to eradicate the selfsame problems. However they insist such ideas are impossible - because there are too many assholes. Which, inevitably, means that they have to pre-asshole to out-asshole the hypothetical assholes.

The trouble with assholes, aside from the inherent assholery, is the tendency to assume that everyone else is an asshole too. Perhaps more than just a tendency for some, but a full blown paranoia that the world is stuffed full of dicks out to fuck the unwary. This causes them to forgive all sorts of crazy shit for the purpose of supporting political forces they think will be the right kind of assholery.


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Some people need to find the edges of things, instead of assuming what they might be. I like your style.