Evening Visitor

Saw this fellow in the hills north of town.  It's been years since I've seen a fox.  He ducked into a culvert nearby when I approached closer.

Whitefish for the 4th

Evening Stroll

The rain finally let up, and I could hear from my back patio that the music downtown hadn't been rained out, so decided to stroll down for a microbrew.  The music was set to go till midnight and the Wylie's Wild West Band has a reputation for entertainment value. 

I figured a walk would counter the 200 calorie beer and took the opportunity to turn on my new app and see how many I'd actually burn on the one mile walk.  

I ran into a man I'd had exactly one date with, then one brief meet at the farmers market where everything went south.  He mentioned dinner that next week, I said "sure how about Wednesday?" but I was flexible for Tuesday or Thursday, the evenings I run after work, as I could always run in the morning if I had evening plans.  He wouldn't commit and said he'd "call me."  I felt a bit deflated, since he'd brought up the restaurant he likes, but then wouldn't actually pick a day/time.  

He did not call, but instead texted a couple of times early in the week during the day, "how's your day going?" type of useless shit, for which I have no tolerance.  I prefer communication as a tool for setting up real life encounters, rather than for a bunch of mundane back and forth.  Never another mention of dinner.

Things went downhill further when he tried to message me later in the week on the dating site we'd met on.  More vague, nebulous exchanges; my responses were brief and I'd already thrown in the towel on this guy. 

Of course then who should I see downtown. I'd had a feeling I'd run into someone, but wasn't thinking it would be him.  I walked right over when I saw him and said hi.  Understandably his reception was cool.  I gave him an out and said I'd just let him alone if he wanted, he'd also come by himself, but he said no, I could stay.  We chatted briefly, pleasant enough, and I went to get another beer which I split with him, after affirming that he hadn't already had too many, explaining I didn't want another whole one as I'd set my alarm for 6:00 AM for US Open tennis in the morning.

Not able to refrain, I mentioned how our brief dating life had quickly gone sour, and lamented I thought it was unfortunate.  Frustrated by his lack of initiative, I'd last week drawn his attention to a link I'd put on my dating profile titled "Five Reasons Why Women Hate Passive Men" in a message to him and stated it had made me think of him.  I told him to take a look.  Since I'd already hung up any hopes that we'd ever spend any future time together I figured he should at least get a sense of why I thought things had gone awry, his passive stance.   His messaged response at the time, "We all have different definitions of passive."  Ugh.  His response now was that he just preferred to take things at a glacial pace (my word, I think he actually used "slow").  When I protested and offered my unsolicited advice, to basically snap out of it, he said "thanks mom."  He may be passive, but that comes with a dash of aggression.  

So, to wrap up, if you'd like to spend time with a woman you've met, ask her out, on a specific day and time.  She's free to say yes or no, but if you force her to make all the moves, it sets a up precedent and a future unhappy ending to a poorly constructed relationship.

Late to the Party

I tend to wait until the initial bugs are worked out on a new fad  before I jump on the grand old band wagon.  I did that with cell phones; I swore I would not make the switch, then when my landline provider Qwest acted like a dick and wouldn't take partial payment on a two month bill, I threatened to shit can my landline altogether and go mobile.  The man on the other end of the line pretty much dared me to do it.  The next day I had cell phone in hand, converted my home number to my sparkly new phone and disconnected my landline forever.   No one would ever believe my phone number was a cell number, because it was a typical local number and people would ask me "if I was sure that was my number."  I'd paid attention when the legislation passed that allowed packing up your home phone number and transferring it to your mobile, apparently they had not.  Eventually lots of others jumped on, so I guess you could say I was ahead of the curve on that one.

Not so with Twitter.   Although I don't know an actual local soul who's started up an account, it is certainly all the rage worldwide, so I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about.  The final push came from my viewing last weekend of the film Chef which disguised itself as a 2 hour commercial for Twitter.   I guess I can no longer say I'm not influenced by advertising, if the product piques my interest.

I found a very, very helpful "how to" article: http://www.momthisishowtwitterworks.com/ which navigated through the basics, none of which I knew anything about.  So I started at square one and dialed myself up an account.  Of course it requires the usual privacy stripping ordeal of allowing access to your contacts and personal information, etc., so I used an email account that is devoid of any personal information and has no contacts attached to it.

I have yet to post my first tweet, retweet (RT) or photo,  but all in due time, all in due time.  I have, however, viewed some very funny footage posted and a few tidbits of random, yet interesting info, such as NBC's refusal to screen the Obvious Child trailer since it mentions abortion.  And a 15 minute laugh-fest with Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer stricken by a bad case of the giggles trying to get through a Swiss tennis exhibition promo they were filming together.  Quite entertaining.   Tennis obsessed fan that I am, it was thoroughly amusing.

And so it goes, keep up, or get left behind.  I'm not sure I want to expend any energy on one of those high profile, full blown shit storm Twitter pissing matches, but I shall forge onward and at least give it an honest  go before I declare it too "new-fangled" for me.
@ruthieflymorgan

The Mystique of Trains

This is paradise, the calm, the quiet, interrupted only occasionally by the forlorn freight train whistles cascading up from the valley floor.  I love that sound - it resonates in my historical muscle memory.  All the trains in my past, Missoula when the kids were little, us all sleeping soundly in our beds only to be awakened in the wee hours by the crashing of the cars together as the lonely, quirky railmen built the long 100 car caravans in the train yard just beyond our house.

The institution of the trains, their solid and established routines - moving the goods and natural resources from place to place.  Those little boys with their elaborate electric train sets, now all grown up and maneuvering those mega ton cars in real time.  

I am reminded of the gentleman hippy, his long, dark, wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, father to a beautiful young adult daughter, who perished, crushed between two cars on the hi-line years ago.  A good, kind hearted soul.  Surely he died too young.  Another classic tale affirming only the good die young.

So LA

Nature

Blast From the Past - Photos near Yellowstone

On Lying

While I agree that lying is an assumed characteristic of American culture, not everyone is on the bandwagon.   As an honest person, I don't say "nice shoes" or "great sweater" when I don't genuinely mean it, I remain silent on the item.  And I always qualify that I'm from north of Boston, a suburb of Boston or the Boston area, when asked about my roots, having grown up 15 miles north of the city. When I don't share details of my private life it's not lying by omission.  It's more of a "none of your business" approach, but I don't build some fake persona to fill in the gaps, I let them make their own assumptions.

If a person says they love a restaurant, or ask me if I'd recommend one which I found so awful I will never step foot in the place again, I would never say "great choice."  I may say "it's not one of my favorites," or "really? I'm not that crazy about it."  I probably won't launch into how horrendous the service is, but I won't give it a thumbs up.

While I don't profess to always being able to spot a lie, I do find when you ask a point blank question, while giving the person direct eye contact, those first two seconds before they open their mouth will usually tell you what you need to know.  When you meet a person you immediately don't trust, chances are they lie habitually.  And the disingenuous compliment handed to you by the person wearing a fake smile tastes like the insult it's meant to be.

When raising my three kids I told them I would never lie to them.  I may say, and sometimes did, "I'm not going to tell you that," but no lies.  Consequently they trust me, always, to tell them the truth.

Clearly our culture supports lying, but there is a solid minority of honest people who co-exist in that culture. Those of us who are honest enjoy a great advantage over the hordes of liars in our daily comings and goings.

California Dreamin'

I have a thing for California men...

NIRVANA

Seeing Joan Jett sing with the band screams the obvious. The ultimate path to honor Kurt's memory, and breath new life into music we all thought was tucked away in a closed chapter of our past, is for the band to embark on a limited tour with Courtney doing the honors. For all of her faults, surely there's no more appropriate voice to sing his words. Love her or hate her, she's earned that much at least. Old wounds and past battles will likely block that road I'm afraid. But talk about the ghost in the room, that's a monumental show I'd make considerable effort to attend.

Vaccination Hysteria

I have visions of Pro-Vaxxers rallying that each child, from the ripe old age of a few weeks old and on into adulthood (and beyond?) be strapped to a gurney and forcibly vaccinated, parents wishes be damned.  Maybe the anti-vaxxers are really hated because they refuse to go with the flow like lemmings over a pharmaceutically induced cliff.  Anything that puts billions in the pockets of pharmaceutical giants, anti-depressents are a good example (Read Cracked for a great discourse on just how this happens) should be looked upon with a skeptical gaze.  Follow the money.

There are and have been serious consequences for some children vaccinated and not due necessarily to any previous or current impurities, just your run of the mill drug reactions.  You can look on the CDC's own website to see the many chronicled cases of death after an immunization reaction.  To blindly make this into a black and white, you're wrong, I'm right issue is less useful than taking a more nuanced approach.  And to all the Pro-Vaxxers who scream outrage about the "public good," just be sure your kids are vaccinated and they'll have nothing to fear from the renegade masses of the non-comformists.

On Writing

Almost six months to the day after I shipped off my 80,000 word rough memoir manuscript to the lively engaging woman, an agent in the Bay area whom I'd met at the Flathead Writer's Conference, I received a reply. Comfortable in the fact that my draft would not be a project she would be taking on, after perusing the company's published works on their web site, I nonetheless felt gratified to at least hear back from her. Not to mention the fact that a real live agent, the first I'd ever met, actually requested the whole thing and then read it. I presume she read it, but hey, you never know. I do know she read my first 15 pages at least, which we discussed during our 15 minute one on one at the conference.

She encouraged me however, which was refreshing. She inquired for an update on my status with the main man in my storyline, (I'm still in contact with him) and if I'd been keeping up my usual shenanigans (I have) detailed in my book. I shipped off a brief response, and she suggested I find a structural editor, both a good and bad sign. She thought the work was worth saving and completing, and it badly needs major work. Not news of course. I have already started to cut with savage swipes to reduce and remove the peripheral crap I'd been holding on to.

It's not unlike a mass of film footage, a rough pile of loosely connected shit which must be skillfully woven into an actual, flowing, coherent, entertaining and well paced movie, or in my case, a quick, fun read. I shall power on. I did relay to her that without the blessing of my main man, chances are the work will remain under wraps. And shipping the 80,000 words off for him to read seems unlikely, at best.

PORTLAND

I hadn't been for many, many years, since 1996 when the kids and I did our west coast triangle tour during spring break and saw on the news from a Motel 6 in Coeur d'Alene that the Unibomber had been arrested just a few short miles from our town, Helena, which was now filled with satellite wielding trucks transmitting the global news.  My oldest daughter ran into David Bloom, who was camped out in our town for the mayhem, in the check out lane at our local Hastings.

It would be many years later during his assignment abroad embedded with US troops in Iraq in 2003 when he would be stricken suddenly by an embolism and die at a young 40.  I clearly remember worrying about him when seeing his frequent war front reports on NBC nightly news thinking to myself, bring him home and get him out of there.  When Tom Brokaw announced at the top of the broadcast that night saying one of our own has died, I knew instinctively it was David Bloom and was greatly saddened.

West Coast Romp November 2013