And in case "Ring Out Wild Bells" is too religious for you, here's a fitting salute to the departure of 2020:
2020, for so many reasons, was not a banner year for reading. You'd think with a pandemic going on, and working from home I'd have a lot more time for reading. Noooooooo. I had time to remodel a bathroom and replace two bits of fence and put up a bunch of shelves in the garage, but not for reading.
Hoping 2021 is better. But I'm not counting on it.
Here goes the roll call for 2020, though. Some re-reads, obviously. But some great new reads, mostly books I got for Christmas 2019.
Eleven Blue Men was educational reading when the pandemic hit. I read it so I could hear what it was like when they had competent people in charge of public health (and the country for that matter).
Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis. 327 pages.
Better Mousetrap, The; by Tom Holt. 345 pages.
Biohazard: The Chilling True Story of the Largest Covert Biological Weapons Program in the World, by Ken Alibek with Stephen Handelman. 319 pages.
Book of Mormon, The; translated by Joseph Smith Jr. 535 pages.
Class: A Guide Through the American Class System, by Paul Fussell. 202 pages.
Cuckoo's Egg, The; by Cliff Stoll. 399 pages.
Dave Barry Hits Below the Beltway, by Dave Barry. 180 pages.
Dilbert Future, The; by Scott Adams. 258 pages.
Dog's Purpose, A: A Novel for Humans; by W. Bruce Cameron. 319 pages.
Eleven Blue Men, by Berton Roueche. 192 pages.
Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett. 377 pages.
Great Government Goofs! by Leland H. Gregory III. 264 pages.
Life of Pi, The; by Yann Martel. 326 pages.
Marguerite de la Roque: A Story of Survival, by Elizabeth Boyer. 316 pages.
McBroom Tells a Lie, by Sid Fleischman. 48 pages.,
Medical Detectives, The; by Berton Roueche. 403 pages.
Midnight Plan of the Repo Man, The; by W. Bruce Cameron. 334 pages.
Moving Pictures, by Terry Pratchett. 254 pages.
Narrow Sea, The; Barrier, Bridge, and Gateway to the World the History of the English Channel, by Peter Unwin. 340 pages.
Peter Principle, The; by Laurence J. Peter and Raymond Hull. 180 pages.
Rendezvous with Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke. 214 pages.
Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky. 484 pages.
Stranger in the Woods, The; Michael Finkel. 203 pages.
The Taming of the Screw, by Dave Barry. 90 pages.
Up the Down Staircase, by Bel Kaufman. 340 pages.
Woman Who Smashed Codes, The; by Jason Fagone. 444 pages.
Page Total: 7,791
I re-read Dr. Laurence Peter's "The Peter Principle," this year, and was going to follow up with "The Prince" by Machiavelli and "What Would Machiavelli Do" by Stanley Bing AND WHY AM I FINDING OUT JUST NOW THAT HE DIED THIS YEAR? These are the books by which 2020 should most be remembered, where we saw both the results of competence and incompetence at the highest levels.
I won't name names. That would just upset people, and lord knows we've had enough upset people on the Internet lately.
And while I'm not surprised to see incompetence and competence at whatever level they show, what did surprise -- or disappoint -- the most this year is how many people I know and care about supported the incompetents.
And this is where it gets complicated. Because I'm sure on other levels, I supported the incompetents. If we look on our bookshelves or in our closets or round and about the cafeteria of belief we store in our skulls, there's bound to be incompetence there, bound up in the fuzziness of love, memory, blindness, what have you.
I, myself, have proved myself incompetent more often than not. And probably have vast areas of incompetence I will yet explore in this thing called life. In fact, as I type evidence of my incompetence is being blared anonymously on social media. I won't own up to it; I am no fool. But it's there, and those in the know will recognize it.
Recognizing it. Maybe that's the key to getting away from our incompetence and boobery, if I can mangle a phrase from Homer Simpson. But that requires humility, and that's getting harder to come by.
I'm sure 2021 will be filled with additional incompetence disguised as whatever you want it to be: Truth-seeking. Bravery. Heroics. But if we're honest, we'll see it. Almost everywhere we look, even if we're looking into the bottles containing our most cherished beliefs.
William Anders:
"For all the people on Earth the crew of Apollo 8 has a message we would like to send you."
"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness."
Jim Lovell:
"And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.
And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.
And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day."
Frank Borman:
"And God said, Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good."
Borman then added, "And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you - all of you on the good Earth."
I fully expected to live as an adult on the Moon, or beyond, when I was a kid.
Alas . . .
Maybe that time will come. Not within my lifetime, however.
But thanks to science fiction, I can still dream it.
Two books still manage to capture my imagination. The first is "The Lotus Caves," by John Christopher. Yes, the living in, then escaping from, the aforementioned caves is exciting. But I like the bit beforehand, where life on the Moon appears so pedestrian to its residents as to be boring.
Boring.
Living on the Moon.
I suppose it would be after a time, given the limited capacity we have for wonder on a daily basis.
Then there's "Rendezvous with Rama," by Arthur C. Clarke.
Not the Gentry Lee-ed sequels. I've read one, and it was terrible.
But Rama. There's the stuff. And every time I read it, the more I think I might have followed the Cosmo Christers and Boris Rodrigo's idea that Rama was an ark, meant for those to be saved.
Though that clearly was not the case -- and even at that time, Earth et al appeared not to have the spacefaring resources to get people to the ark in a timely basis if that were the case.
But that's all speculation, of course.
Right now, all I can hope is that Morgan Freeman follows through with his plans for a Rendezvous with Rama movie. Though even there I am not optimistic and believe it won't happen in my lifetime. Freeman has been talking about the movie since the early 2000s. And the book isn't a complicated one. A script ought to be pretty easy to generate, if they stuck with it. The story moves along at a brisk pace, and would not need embellishment (although moviegoing weenies don't appear to like space-based think pieces, else Interstellar would have done better).
There are a few Rama-oriented videos on YouTube. None of them worth posting here, particularly as most of them don't appear to have read the book, or at least forgot about it, in the throes of making their videos.
This is a story that has to be done right, or not at all.
Of note: I appear to have a first edition of this novel. Pretty cool.
Signs you have spent a long time in snow country:
1. You have at least half a dozen snow shovels, plus other tools dedicated to the removal of snow and ice, including a blunt axe.
2. You have a coal shovel like the one used as sleds in "It's A Wonderful Life" that you use exclusively for snow removal.
3. You have a favorite snow shovel.
4. You are worried your favorite snow shovel is starting to wear out.
5. You are really worried that when your favorite snow shovel breaks you will
a. Not be able to replace it with an equally adequate snow shovel.
b. Have to use one of the less desirable snow shovels you already have.
6. You're overly concerned with the amount of precipitation you're bound to receive.
7. It's a lovely shovel, Mother.
Got a letter from the Jehovah’s Witnesses this week.
Well, a Jehovah’s Witness.
Specifically, Annette.
She sounds really nice. Sincere. Hopeful and full of Christlike love.
I’m glad she sent a letter, rather than arriving at my door, so I wouldn’t have to be awkward and say no thank you, maybe after taking a tract, then close the door. In her face.
I get it, though. Covid means anything door-to-door is going to be frowned on. And it’s winter.
But I also get it. I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and spent two years doing the door-to-door thing in France of all places. I’ve been on the other end of those awkward nos. Even a lot of hostile nos. And a hell of a lot of stony silence.
So power, sister in Christ. Thanks for your message which reminded me that no matter what happens on this planet, God is indeed in charge.
Recently, a friend reminded me that a while back, Russell M. Nelson, president of our church, asked for us to fast and pray for relief from the virus.
Since then, infection rates and deaths have shot up.
Things have gotten worse.
But this same friend also reminded me that hey, we have multiple covid vaccines in the wings, with efficacies approaching one hundred percent. That is relief, he said.
God is indeed in charge.
(And no, Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t oppose vaccinations. They did, but in 1952, official objections to vaccines were dropped.)
Science and religion. Working together in my life, and in my friend’s, and in Annette’s, to show us that God is in charge. Relief does come when we ask for it, though not necessarily, perhaps, in the way we’d like it to come.
Also, religion and religion. Getting along together quite nicely, thanks for asking.
Elder Patrick Kearon spoke Dec. 1, 2020, at a devotional at Ensign College in Utah, and advised those listening to learn about each others' beliefs and to get away from the position of only listening to ourselves. He said:
"We must find others with whom we haven't always agreed and get closer to them and find common cause with them, find things that we can unite around and build a better town, better city, better world with them, and build happier families at the heart of all of that.
In the 111th section of the Doctrine & Covenants, there's a beautiful verse. In the 11th verse, it says, 'Therefore, be wise as serpents' — an interesting choice of words. Then it goes on to say, 'Therefore, be ye as wise as serpents and yet without sin; and I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye can receive them. Amen.'"
I’d love for covid to just go away. Now. I went Christmas shopping in my face mask today and hated every minute of it when I was in the stores. My wife and I would love to go to a restaurant and just sit an eat, like in the good ol’ days.
But that is not the way. I know for one if I don’t struggle, I don’t learn. And if having to wear a mask is the extent of struggle that God has thusfar asked of me, I have gotten off easy. It’s not the extent, though. The rest I keep to myself.
Or give to the Lord, as Annette suggests.
So thanks, Annette, for your letter.
Here it is, if you’d like to read it:
Hello,
I hope that this letter finds you and your family doing well. In light of current events, I am unable to visit you personally. Through his word, the Bible, God provides hope and promises that soon He “will wipe all tears from your eyes, and there will be no more death, suffering, crying, or pain.” (Revelation 21:3-4)
Soon, that hope of a better future here on earth, will be realized. I invite you to visit our website, jw.org, where you can learn how the Bible’s wisdom and help you and your family to get the best out of life now and to gain a new hope for the future.
You will find articles, videos, music, even an interactive Bible study free of charge. I sincerely hope that you and your family stay safe and benefit from this information,
Sincerely,
Annette
PS: You may contact me at the above address.
That’s a little bit of relief sent my way, Annette. Thank you.
Beware the Traveling Ideologue
I have on my desk a copy of Bill Bryson’s “The Lost Continent: Travels in Small-Town America.” It was given to us by one of my sisters-in-law, a well-read individual who said she just couldn’t get through it.
First warning sign.
As with all travelogues, when I get one to read the first thing I do is read the bits that feature my home state or my home town – rare enough, I will admit. I do this for one primary reason: If the author has accurately depicted the place where I live, it’s more than likely he or she has done an accurate and adequate job with the rest of the travelogue.
Bryson had happened to visit Idaho, and my hometown of Idaho Falls on this trip. So I read that section.
And I will not be reading the rest of the book.
Because in that little section, warning signs abounded.
I realize it’s a Hurculean task to travel across a continent and find something to write about as you stop. But to manufacture falsehoods and to twist an innocent question into something far more jingoistic than it likely was intended, well, that’s sloppy reporting, sloppy writing, and sloppy living.
Yes, my town is home to the Idaho National Laboratory. Yes, it has been used as a nuclear waste dump. But no, Mr. Bryson, plutonium is not leaking into the aquifer. Oh, there’s a chance of it. But as I happen to work for the company working on the cleanup for the government and happen to know more about the situation, I can see where Bryson likely spent five minutes or less researching and opted to leave it at that. Reportage is probably not his goal in this book, but it’s inaccuracies or laziness like this that prompts me to question the author’s intent and to realize that the astounding facts he’s telling me about other areas he visited may be as lazily-reported and slipshod as the inaccurate description I can single out on my own.
The biggest pollutant fear where I work? Carbon tetrachloride, which has, in face, been leaking towards the Snake River Plain aquifer. But here’s something Bryon likely doesn’t know, nor care to know about because it isn’t NUCLEAR BOOGA BOOGA or demonstrative of the kind of crap he wants to see in small-town America: That problem is being effectively remediated. The bigger threat to water in Idaho is the cattle waste piling up in the Magic Valley area of Twin Falls, an area which make much noise about pollution coming downstream from the laboratory, but seems content to let the waste from their own dairy industry pile up. And here, I’m probably being inaccurate, or at least glossing things over. But if Bryson can do it, so can I.
Then there’s the tale of Happy’s Chinese restaurant, where he laments a jingoistic question asked of a Swedish exchange student: “What do you like better, Sweden or the United States?” Jingoistic? I guess on the surface. But also borne of wanting to start or continue a conversation, and not knowing, really, what to say. Naïve probably a lot more than jingoistic.
But let me tell you something: We’re used to it. We’re used to folks jetting in, or driving in, probably in a Subaru Outback, from the coasts or from Europe to tell us all about how nasty small-town America is. It’s a vocation that keeps many of the more urban elites employed and comfortable and damn glad they don’t live in a hellhole because they come into small-town America, the flyover country, with the predetermined notion that decent human beings couldn’t possibly live where you can’t get on-demand gluten-free cupcakes (which you can, but y’all are too busy bitching about Walmart and McDonalds to bother finding out).
And while I recognize Bryson does it with humor, it’s “humor” in quotation marks. Many of his reviewers compare him to Dave Barry. I think that’s a terrible comparison. Barry’s wit is considerably different than Bryson’s, in that Bryson comes off as a curmudgeon more than a comic.
The travelogue is an easy bit of writing to accomplish. Anyone can do it. But it takes a big name, with big chips on the shoulders, to get them published in the mainstream.
I read a lot of them. And invariably, they all fail. Even John Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley” is less a deep look at America but way more a deep look at the hubris contained well within the flyover country of the author’s preconceived notions of what “America” is.
Side note: How much do I trust a book that references a review from a big-name big city review machine that cannot bother to check how Steinbeck spells the name Charley? I mean, it’s not like the book isn’t available everywhere to check, yanno? Just more slapdash.
Should it matter, I can hear you screaming. Sure, Steinbeck made things up about the people he supposedly met, but he was right that localism was dead in America and that the environment was in the toilet. And here’s the BIG SECRET that the coasties don’t seem to get: Localism is alive and well in small-town America if you get out of your vehicles and away from the interstates to find it. Actually get to know people in small-town America and they’ll show you. And yes, we know there are environmental problems. Spend more than five minutes on the Internet and you’ll see how we’re working to fix them. Now, remind me why New York always smells faintly of pee?
What concerns me is that people take Steinbeck’s travelogue, and likely Bryson’s as unadulterated truth. They are, as author Terry Pratchett put it on the similar subject of reading religious tracts, “not in on the joke.”
As writer Bill Steigerwald, following Steinbeck’s voyage and reporting on it for the Pittsburg Post-Gazette in 2010, says, “Some really smart people, not just high school kids with road fever in their blood, believe parts of the prevailing “Travels With Charley” myth without questioning.” No matter it’s poorly researched. Or made up out of whole cloth. To some, it’s gospel, particularly if it’s gospel that reinforces their notion that living in a small town makes you a Cletus Spuckler slack-jawed yokel.
It’s not literature, folks, it’s hubris.
Not that it matters. But it is.
It's quotable, start to finish, staring with acknowleding Martin's Geode to Lunchlady Doris' muted "Okey-dokey" to Groundskeeper Willie's "Grease me up, woman!" to Ralph being concerned about the dog in the vent and poor, poor Principal Skinner having a hiccup attack as Supernintendo Chalmers visits to the best scene of the entire episode: Poor Seymour trying to live it up by varying his choice of laundry soap.
And I still think this is one of the best lines Superintendent Chalmers delivers: "Oh, I have had it! I have had it with this school! The low test scores! Class after class of ugly, ugly children!"
And then there's Martin in his cage. Poor Martin.
I think what I enjoy the most about this episode is the time spent with more minor characters, namely Skinner and Martin. And Superintendent Chalmers never disappoints.
So here we are, early December. And on the inside, I'm beginning to feel like Homer here.
First the stats: I've been to the office twice since the end of March.
First time was to get a borked Mobikey fixed by the IT folks. I saw enough at the town facilities to make me glad I'm working at home. Not so many people there, but all wearing masks, getting temperatures taken at the door.
Second time was for an evaluated drill, which was done in pieces to make sure we didn't go over any crowd limits for covid safety. There was me and I think three other people in the room. Which was fine, since it meant it didn't go on forever, but it added to the artificiality of the whole thing.
I was worried there for a while that we wouldn't have enough work to fill the hours, but that has certainly not been a problem. Just this last week (which was exceptional, I admit) I finished 21 documents. And new work just comes trickling and sometimes pouring in. So no real changes there, to be sure.
I am getting a little tired of the ol' four walls. The furthest afield we've been this year was to go to Island Park for a few days' vacation. We have done some campouts with the Scouts, which has been helpful. But I'm ready for something a bit more involved.
Stress has really built up around here. With all of us home, we're tripping over each other. Nobody really wants to do things like dishes and dinner and such, which makes it frustrating. We ask for help, and it comes in spurts. Everyone seems to have an excuse why they can't help. So I try to show that I'm not accepting my own excuses by getting to work. Worky worky work. Which reminds me -- No one is working on dinner at the moment. Better go fix that.
But a few more things: I did finally get the drawer fixed in the kitchen. And fixed the chair in the kitchen. Just in time for one of the cupboard doors to fall off and for one of the chairs in the basement to snap.
