Trendy, Indulgent, and Cruel

Holee Crap! I’m frickin’ trendy! From yesterday’s NY Times (Chasing Utopia, Family Imagines No Possessions):

AUSTIN, Tex. — Like many other young couples, Aimee and Jeff Harris spent the first years of their marriage eagerly accumulating stuff: cars, furniture, clothes, appliances and, after a son and a daughter came along, toys, toys, toys.

Now they are trying to get rid of it all, down to their fancy wedding bands. Chasing a utopian vision of a self-sustaining life on the land as partisans of a movement some call voluntary simplicity, they are donating virtually all their possessions to charity and hitting the road at the end of May.

[…]

They are not alone.

Matt and Sara Janssen, who traded down from their house in Iowa to a studio apartment in Montana and finally an R.V. powered by vegetable oil, now crisscross the country with their 4-year-old daughter, highway nomads living on $1,500 a month.

Not that simplicity need be that spartan. Cindy Wallach and her husband, Doug Vibbert, of Annapolis, Md., moved out of their apartment with an “everything must go” party and, along with their 3-year-old son, now sail and make their home on a 44-by-24-foot catamaran.

“We never wanted four walls and beige carpet,” Ms. Wallach said.

Though it may not be the stuff of the typical American dream, the voluntary simplicity movement, which traces its inception to 1980s Seattle, is drawing a great deal of renewed interest, some experts say.

Well, well. My story is sorta like the Janssen’s… I went from house to apartment to RV in about a year, giving up about 93% of my possessions in the process… and that was painful. Don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t, Gentle Reader. I don’t go on about it all that much (do I?) with the possible exception of bemoaning the loss of my music LP collection, which I do quite frequently. That said, I wouldn’t go back to my previous life. Because possessions are insidious: they DO tie you down. Dealing with a lot of “stuff” takes a lot of effort, time, and money, as does the acquisition of same. So I agree with this “voluntary simplicity” thing.

There is one key difference, however, between the Janssens and me. I cannot imagine, for the life of me, how a family of three can live on only $1,500 per month in these United States, especially if they live in an RV and do any traveling at all. I don’t care if the thing IS fueled with vegetable oil… RVs get lousy mileage, no matter what fuel they use. Maybe they get their vegetable oil for free, I dunno. But even if they DO get free used oil out of Micky Dee’s deep fat fryers, $1,500 per month is still a very small sum for a family of three. My income is significantly more than theirs, even after taking child support and alimony into consideration, which knocks a pretty sizable chunk right off the top. And I don’t live what I would call an extravagant life…hand-rolled cigars and microbrews aside. (Those two things are my only indulgences, by the way, if you ignore Miss Zukiko.) I don’t think I could live on that amount of money, even if my obligations weren’t considered. I wish the article had elaborated on that aspect of “voluntary simplicity.” That sounds more like voluntary poverty to me.

But. I have very mixed emotions after reading this article. It’s one thing to be trendy while flying under the radar (and unbeknownst to myself, too). It’s quite another kettle of fish to be recognized as such by the frickin’ New York Times. My Gawd.

(Image from PingMag.com)

―:☺:―

Speaking of cigars and indulgences… I receive “special offer” e-mails from cigar.com from time to time. Here’s one such offer, received this morning:

Arturo Fuente God of Fire 15th Anniversary Humidor Sampler
This sampler features a handcrafted Special Edition humidor that holds 300 cigars! Only 30 have ever been made, each including an optima hygrometer, humidifier, lift-out tray and cedar dividers. This deluxe package has 80 never commercially released God of Fire Torpedos from 2004. Want more? For $12,499.95, you will receive 400 cigars, 100 each of the following: Pyramid, Robusto, Double Robusto and Churchill.
As Seen In Robb Report Magazine!

Price: $6.499.95

Ummm… I don’t think so. There’s not even a Certificate of Authenticity included. And the teevee has repeatedly emphasized to all us Discerning Connoisseurs of Fine Stuff that we need certificates. All the best “as seen on teevee” deals have ‘em.

―:☺:―

I go in for my surgery tomorrow morning at 0800 hrs, and I’ll admit to being just a little bit apprehensive. But not about the procedure itself…I’m OK with that. Nope, what has me worried is (a) how am I gonna get enough sleep, given as how I’m normally up to all hours of the night and early morning? and (b) I have to fast before the procedure. Item (b) means NO coffee tomorrow morning. So: I have to get up at the crack o' dawn (so to speak) and I can't have coffee?

I think that’s cruel and inhuman.

Beauteous

It is, quite simply, a beautiful day here at Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park, as indicated by this photo I snapped about ten minutes ago. The weather is danged near perfect after two days of rain and an unseasonable chill that kept my furnace cycling throughout the last two nights and half of the days. Yes, we still have a bit of a breeze…but I can live with that. And the rain was wonderful. One of the better aspects of two days worth of rain is Mother Nature’s Own Car Wash, which left El Casa Móvil De Pennington sparkling. Well… not quite sparkling, but a whole Helluva lot cleaner-looking than she was three days ago… which will delay the annual house-washing for a week or three.

And now, Gentle Reader, I’m gonna go get outside in this weather. Coz it’s just like Baby Bear’s porridge: not too hot, not too cold…just right. So I’m gonna go try out my best Goldilocks impression. I’ll be substituting beer and a cigar for the porridge, tho.

Because I can.

Yet Another Re-Run...

Gentle Reader Ashley has been exploring my archives and kindly sent me a note about broken images in several of my old posts. I've fixed a few, but I still have a lot of serious work ahead of me.

A few years back I got really, really tired of Blogger's photo handling capabilities and opened up a free account at xs.to, a very low-rent photo hosting site. Well, it seems like my account at xs.to has expired (and I can't find my old log-on ID or password)... and the images I posted there have gone missing. And lots of 'em, too. As I said: a LOT of work ahead of me.

Now...about that re-run. Since I went to the trouble of fixing this post, I figured I'd put it up again. The subject matter isn't time-critical at all, and the photos are somewhat interesting... to me, anyway. YMMV, as always. So. Without further ado, I give you...

My Back Pages

I’m experiencing more network “issues” this morning; my connection speed is about half of what one expects from a dial-up connection. So, I’m going to put up a text-only post this morning and add photos later on today when my network gets back up to speed. Literally.

The following post is from this blog’s predecessor, The Trailer Trash Report, an e-mail newsletter I wrote and sent to friends from 1999 – 2000. This particular entry is about Houston’s Museum of Fine Art and a war story about government bureaucracy. Photos will be added later.

April 8, 2000

The local media is all agog at Enron Field, the Houston Astros' brand-new, state-of-the-art, sliding-roof ballpark. Although the Astros played three exhibition games in the new park last week, tonight's the regular season home opener and is supposedly the hottest ticket in town this week. A night out at the ball park costs a family of four well over $70.00 (I had the exact number, but threw the flipping paper out this morning...). For less than $20.00 a family of four can spend ALL DAY wandering through the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (Click here: Museum of Fine Arts, Houston). OK, it ain't baseball. There are people that would rather watch paint dry than go to a museum, and there's not a few folks that would rather do the paint thing than go to a baseball game, too. I'm gonna weasel out and claim I like both. I'm definitely partial to museums over baseball, though...I've seen a helluva lot more museums than major league baseball games.

I spent six hours in Houston's world-class fine arts museum Friday. I'm impressed. The MFAH is the nation's sixth largest art museum and has a very large and diverse collection...well over 40,000 works of art representing a multitude of cultures, geographies, and periods. The collections are divided into Ancient and European art; American painting, sculpture and decorative arts; African art; Asian art; Pre-Columbian art; Native American art; Oceanic art, 20th century art; and photography, film, and video. The museum also has a large sculpture garden and collections of furniture, textiles, and costumes. Something for everyone, in other words!! The MFAH celebrates its centennial this year and it opened a new building last month. The Impressionist and Post-Impressionist collections are great. All the major impressionist artists are represented, and there are multiple works from Monet, Renoir, Cezanne, and Manet. (Unfortunately, photography was prohibited in the major impressionist exhibit. I didn't quite understand the photography restrictions in some of the galleries...most were open to picture taking, provided you could disable your flash.)

Renaissance Gallery

Impressionist Gallery


Stone Circles


Giant Soft Fan

I went for the Impressionist galleries, but I was seriously blown away by the contemporary stuff! The contemporary galleries are physically very large open, and airy. The contemporary galleries need these qualities, given the scale of the works on display. I spent quite a bit of time in these galleries, and once again, I was impressed. I hope the attached photos illustrate my point adequately. My absolute favorite contemporary work was a "light sculpture" commissioned for an underground passageway between the two main museum buildings. This is art that makes you grin, makes you say "Wow!" right out loud when you walk into it. From the MFAH guidebook: "The work turns the walls of the tunnel into vessels for conducting light. The walk between the Beck and Law buildings becomes an exploration of color and space." The colors change every three minutes or so...from red, to purple, to blue, and so on...it was a very popular place! The artist is James Turrell.

Purple Tube

The Artist Formerly Known as Buck

OK, enough culture. Time for "Bureaucracy In Action!!" This is a horror story. A week ago this past Tuesday I initiated the process of getting my Texas motorcycle license. I went to the local motor vehicles department (local in the sense it's the closest one to me, nine miles away), which is known in Texas as the Department of Public Safety, Drivers License. A DMV by any other name is still a DMV...so there I was...at the DPS, in line for about 15 minutes. I get to the head of the line, explain why I'm there, and am told I have to take both a written and driving test to get my license. OK, I can do that. I'm given a choice of taking the written test on computer or on paper. I opt for the computer, take the test at a terminal, am done in six minutes and get back in line to get my results. Six or seven minutes later, I'm told I aced it (it wasn't that tough). The clerk asks me if I'd like to take the road test or take a motorcycle safety course first. This is a real no-brainer for someone who's ridden off and on for over 35 years, I opt for the road test. "The next available appointment is Tuesday, April 4th at 1:36 p.m." the clerk sez. I said "Hunh?" (Today is 3/28, remember.) She sez "April 4th, 1:36." "That's the earliest you have?" "Yep." "OK, I'll take it." Then she tells me I have to bring a car and a driver for the examiner. My jaw drops, panic sets in. I don't KNOW anybody here, let alone anyone I can ask to waste an hour or so in the middle of the day to follow me around with a public servant in their car while I take a road test! I try to explain. The clerk is less than interested in my personal problems. "That's our process, sir." This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. When I took riding tests in CA, OK, and MI, they were held in parking lots, on a cone-course. That works, and it's easy for all concerned. Furnish a car and driver? Ohmigod... I withdraw, thinking I have a week to work this out.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, my neighbors in the RV park agree to follow me down to the DPS and follow me around during the test, after much laughter and incredulity on their part (they're a retired couple from North Dakota, and nice folks). At 1:36 p.m. on April 4th, Artis (my neighbor) and her son Mike are there at the DPS in their Ford, and I'm on my bike. The examiner does a safety check on my bike, drills me on the bike's controls, verifies my insurance, then goes back to Artis and asks for her license and proof of insurance. Artis can't find her insurance card. Oops...the test is over! No proof of insurance for the "follow-car," no test. I have to reschedule. I go back inside and get in line. Artis leaves, profoundly embarrassed. The next available appointment is a week from today. That's unacceptable, I say...my neighbors are leaving town Thursday. The clerk says "Well, you can come in at 6:30 tomorrow morning and take the first available cancellation, there's always cancellations." I ask why she can't assign me a time for tomorrow RIGHT NOW if there's always cancellations. "That's not our process, sir." {sigh} I withdraw, again.

Wednesday morning I arrive at the DPS at 0630 and am shocked to see I'm 43rd in line (I counted). The doors open at 0700. Me and the 42 people in front of me (and the horde behind me, too) are herded into a line at Window 9 (Reschedules). By 0750 I get to the head of the line and I'm offered an 0900 test. I nearly fall over from shock, but I take it. I phone Artis, who says "no problem, I'll be there at nine...see ya then." Just after 0900 the bike and I are in line for the test, talking to my examiner when another examiner walks up and asks "How big is that bike?" "225 cc," sez I. "Hmmm..." she sez. "I don't think you need a Class M license for anything under 250cc." My examiner asks her "Are you sure?" "No," she sez, "I was just pulling your chain." I heave a sigh of relief. We go through the same drill as yesterday, and motor on off for the test. One beep from Artis, I turn right. Two beeps, left. Three beeps, stop. We go through a residential neighborhood for about a six minute ride, beeping all the way, then we get on a four lane boulevard and return to the DPS. I ace the test. The examiner and I shake hands, I go inside to complete the paper work and pay the fee. When I get to the head of the line, my examiner and a supervisor come over. They tell the clerk to cancel the transaction. I say "WHAT???" "We can't give you a Class M license because your bike is only 225cc," the supervisor sez. "You don't need a Class M license for bikes under 250cc. We checked the book." "WAIT!" I say..."This may not be the only bike I'll ever ride, I aced all your tests, I went through Hell to get here, and I WANT MY LICENSE!!" "Sorry, you'd have to take the test on a bike that's 250cc or larger...your bike is too small to qualify for a valid test." I see the handwriting on the wall. I withdraw, again, beaten, seriously demoralized, and thoroughly disgusted. It's only 10:30 a.m., far too early to hit the bar. Sometimes it's easy to understand why some people snap...and why DPS supervisors wear pistols (They're uniformed officers, actually.). Oh, well...

Random Notes: Free concert in downtown Jones Plaza Thursday night, Warren Zevon...acoustic and solo (remember "Werewolves of London?" That's Warren.). The opening act is "Drop-Kicked Chihuahuas" (no kidding...they have a web site, too...just add "dot com" ed note 2006: may or may not still be there, didn’t check). Warren plays all the hits, the opening band does a kick-ass show, and it's all free, sponsored by Budweiser. Cheap (inexpensive) beer. I love this place. "Thank You, My Dear, You Made My Day" Dept: "You're an artist, aren't you?" says the woman who took my picture in the light tunnel today, as she hands my camera back. Must have been the low light, or else I really DO look like a derelict lately. We go for coffee and chat...confirming the fact I'm NOT an artist... "Imagine That!" Dept: The MFAH has an EXCELLENT cafe, with good food, an expresso bar, a beer/wine bar, and reasonable prices. (Get the idea I like this place, yet?) "For What It's Worth, and It Ain't Worth Much" Dept: Rain makes a helluva racket in an RV. Hail is much worse. Thunderstorms are scary in a tornado magnet, there's nowhere to go if a funnel cloud bears down on ya...

I may be back later. I'm upside down again, time-wise. Up all night, sleep half the day. I do it because I can, Gentle Reader.

A Very Short Quiz

Q: What, if anything, is significant about the following photo, Gentle Reader?

A: Not a danged thing if you live a normal life. Well, other than the miniscule size of my sink, which makes a normal, one-meal-size drainer full of dishes look positively humongous. Nope…nothing to see here…but don’t move along just yet.

The pic is significant because it’s proof that I actually cooked dinner this evening (spaghetti, in case you’re wondering) as opposed to nuking it in the manner of the typical 21^st Century single-person household. First time in literally months for me. And for what it’s worth, “cooking” means getting pots and pans dirty. I still have to do dishes even after nuking dinner, just not as many of them.

I did something else unusual this evening. I threw the leftovers out. Immediately. My usual practice is to put my leftovers in some sort of container, carefully seal it, place the container in the fridge, wait a week or two (or until I think “what's that smell?” when I open the fridge), and then throw it out. There's a very, very small possibility the leftovers might get eaten... it has happened. But not usually. Hell, not ever. In my case the whole “save the leftovers” thing is a ritual designed to ward off guilt about starving kids in India, beaten into my head all those years ago (Thanks, Mom!). It also serves to clutter up my small refrigerator and take up space which can be used for other, essential stuff. Like beer. And Dr. Pepper.

So. Given that I've been both naughty and nice to myself…it's time for a reward, methinks. And here it is:

Two fingers of the emergency single-malt (Glenlivet). You know there might be more to follow…