Okay Billings, What's Your Story?

For many years now I have seen the same Billings IP address crop up in my "blog stats" although for the life of me, I post here so rarely, I'm surprised you still bother to even check back. The last post was on January 1, 2020 the dawn of a new year that I, hilariously, thought was going to come in like a wonderful, whirlwind flash of a new day.  New opportunities for lovely  adventures, excitement simply in the number itself, 2020, and most importantly, the year we'd boot Trump out of the White House with a resounding "OKAY ASSHOLE, WE'VE HAD MORE THAN ENOUGH" vote.  Instead it seems 2020 almost immediately started to ooze shit all over us, right off the bat, and now we're really in the thick of it.

 

Kobe was a dark, jolting blow, but we had no idea of the gathering storm on the horizon.  Now we are all watching stunned as the slow motion train wreck of COVID-19 envelopes the world. 

 

So back to my Billings Stalker, which is just a fun label.  I've experienced a real stalker, which I've written about in these pages, so someone checking in on a public page like this, ever so occasionally, does not rise to the "stalker" level.  I image you a white, conservative male in your mid 60's. Don't ask me why, although this is Montana, a republican red state.  I really have no idea though and I suppose you could be some young 30-something woman.  Nah, I doubt it.

 

It should go without saying that almost no one, and I mean a handful in a year, come across this blog and bother to even take a look.  And all of those happen upon it by hitting "next" on the blog button.

But I am curious and at least I have quite a few old posts to peruse through to make up for never posting.  However, judging from your visitor history, it's just "meh" for the old pages.  

 

I wish I could claim all my writing time these days is spent working at editing my memoir, now several years in the writing, but alas, my writing is mostly work related and not very creative.  Although, I do believe the practice has made me a better writer. 

A few parting thoughts on the Coronavirus.  One, I think half of us in the U.S. will have it, whether asymptomatic, mildly ill (that's my category) or on our death beds with it.  Two, the eerie silence in town is actually not eerie at all but a nice reminder that when everyone just stops, the quiet can be comforting.  Albeit a reminder that all the unpleasant noise in the world comes from us humans.  Three, who knew teleworking from your own home would feel more productive, relaxing, and communal with those we work with, sending notes by email, going above and beyond the norm to serve the greater good of the organization.  Four, having a daughter launch her new career in health care, in California, as the virus was launching itself on its worldwide quest is not my ideal scenario.  We will, eventually, come out the other side of this a changed world.   Some aspects will be for the better; at least an equal amount worse. For all its good and evil, human nature prevails. 

p.s. Billings, thanks for reading.

 

Holy Shit it's 2020!

Happy New Year to you.  Thought I'd start out the new year with a bit of writing, something I aim to do more of in 2020.  I have high hopes for this next year, impeaching Trump (done, and thank you very much!) and removing him from office, are at the top of my wish list. Nancy Pelosi is my hero.  She's smarter and more strategic, than Trump.  Although nothing in his chaotic world indicates he's ever had a coherent strategy about anything.  If the lemming senate republicans refuse to abandon a sinking ship of rats, voting him out is Plan B.  If we voted in Obama, and Hillary had three million more votes, I feel we as a nation with a large contingent of still sane individuals should be up for the task.

Went for my first run of 2020 this morning.  Continuing my three miles four days a week for the foreseeable future feels great.  While out this morning I thought there may be a driver or two who passed me and thought, how ambitious, she's made a new year's resolution. But the Helena locals, many who've seen me out there more than once, know I've been at this for a while now.

Decided to post some of my favored photos.  This year brought new adventures which took the place of the usual ones. The LA baby who I've trekked to see three times, which turned into only two since he was 10 days late! And the Atlanta graduation with the accompanying weekend celebration and cabin in the woods of Cloud Canyon near the Tennessee border.  A border we ventured across when confronted with the blue laws of Georgia, the nerve of us trying to buy beer on a Sunday!  So we buzzed 20 minutes up the road and scored us some tasty Chattanooga IPA's to go along with our evening game time.

So onward and upward.  Remember to be present, aware of those around you, and strive for truth, honesty, kindness and compassion. Not just for others, but for yourself as well. We're all in this together.

Yesterday

"They just kept getting bigger and bigger after they broke up, to the point where they’re much more famous and beloved today than they were in the Sixties." ( Rob Sheffield, Rolling Stone Review) Not true.  Rob was 4 years old when the Beatles broke up, I was 13. And Beatlemania was a bonafide world wide phenomenon. 

The Beatles were the backdrop to my whole childhood/teen years from a very young age. Their influence, from the start, cannot be overstated. The movie insists all viewers suspend reality at the start, and we do. Patel was very well suited to the role; perhaps he has an appeal you are immune to? The songs were showcased well, contrary to some criticism I've read, and Patel does them justice. The recalling and writing down the lyrics we all sang along to, hundreds of times, was charming. The premise of how the world would be different if they'd never existed is a thoughtful one, worthy of a film. Yesterday successfully shines a spotlight on one theory.

p.s. the idea that everyone is very aware of their music today is not true. Several months ago at a local pub the band did a wonderful rendition of Dear Prudence. I was thrilled, the woman I was with, only a few years younger than me, said she'd never heard it before. Hard to Imagine, but true.

Self Reflection

A short jaunt down the rabbit hole of self reflection; a regularly required, but not always pleasant journey.  Personal prejudices and biases are a part of human existence; a struggle we all face each day.  How do we counter our negative thoughts; our less than generous preconceptions? 

A friend once declared I was always "so damned sure of myself," not meant as a compliment, after I adamantly expressed an idea.  I entertained no internal conflict, no "on the fence" mentality, but rather the certainty of a passionately held view.  I am comfortable with these beliefs, and I have many.  This trait is not always endearing to my friends and peers.  The up side is I speak my mind in full honesty and transparency, so they know I'm not sugar coating a steaming pile of shit.  The downside is my blunt delivery can be off putting, to say the least. 

I believe we all struggle, daily, sometimes moment to moment, to keep our less charitable selves in check and strive to feed and water the kinder, more compassionate sides of our nature.  I'm optimistic enough to think we win most battles, most days.  I'm pessimistic enough to think vast swaths of Americans do not even realize a battle rages on or long ago surrendered any effort to even try.  Once you have jumped, head first, into the abyss and forsaken all your goodness, the truth is just some fairy tale only weak pansies bother fighting for. 

 

A Known Threat

Imagine a known threat. The US government is fully aware of this threat and has had much experience with repeated incidents of the same type over many years.  Now imagine hundreds, if not thousands, of mentally ill, angry, young White American Men, terrorists really, with journals full of plans and closets full of guns and ammunition.  The full force of the US Government, sworn to serve and protect, is leaving our dilemma in the hands of sharp, aware, conscientious grandmothers to handle.  That is their first and only line of defense. 

Perhaps it's time to place the grandmas of this country in government positions to try their hands at governing for a change.  Surely, even with zero experience (sound familiar?) this clusterfuck that is our current state of things could be no worse off, and may show drastic improvement.

The Broken Arm Adventure

It's been one year today since my slip on the ice skating rink road in front of my house.  Getting in my car, coffee in hand, I went down hard and fast, arm outstretched above my head flat, coffee unspilled, still in my hand resting on the ice.  I didn't think I'd broken anything, no horrifying "crunch" noises accompanied my hit, but I was wrong.  My first broken bone.  After lying on the street for a few moments in pain, I collected myself and crawled in to my car and continued to work.  I refused to pay for an Emergency Room visit over the weekend, but on Monday went to the work sponsored clinic and got a referral for an x-ray.  

Yes, fractured, in several places, the nonchalant Orthopod declared.  He was distracted, and unhelpful, but did advise I come back in a week for a follow up x-ray to make sure the bones hadn't shifted.  He wrote me a scrip for 10 sessions of physical therapy, to start way sooner than I thought practical, and a nurse fitted me with a sling.  Weeks later when my bill arrived showing more than $600 in "aftercare" along with the office visit and x-ray charges, I had to go through three levels of office staff to get them to agree to wipe it off my account.  Standard practice to heap on some future charges they told me, even if those were not anticipated, as in my case since I did not need surgery.  Ah, the joys of American health care.  

First and foremost, I must declare how thankful I was that it was my arm, and not my leg that I broke.  At the initial appointment for an x-ray, I saw two hobblers with broken legs/ankles.  It appeared our Helena lack of road plowing, coupled with thaws turning roads in to puddles of frozen water, had disrupted many a life that week.  

As a runner, a broken leg/ankle would have landed me on the sidelines for many weeks if not months.  Since my running start, on April 23, 1990, I have rarely had to take an injury break from running.  A true blessing.  The arm put me out of commission for a week from any exercise and work.  Desperation set in and I asked my daughter for Netflix recommendations for the down time.  I happily took up her suggestion of Offspring, an Aussie production following family drama of one Nina Proudman, a ditzy, magnetic ob-gyn.

At the end of the week, I set my mind to undertake some kind of physical exertion and took to walking, arm in sling, a 3.5 mile loop by the hospital while listening to downloaded podcasts.  These outings, although a different nature than my runs, satisfied my desire to stay active until I could resume running.  After a few brisk walks, then a few half run half walk treks, I resumed running my regular schedule, three miles, four times a week.  

Aspirin was my only pain killer, I've never been a druggie except for a few fun times as a teen/early 20-something with hallucinogens and such.  Carefully moving my arm as I would a paralyzed small pet, I got as much sleep as I could and learned to use my left hand/arm for everyday chores. I chopped six inches off my hair for ease in brushing and learned to navigate the mouse with my left hand once back to work.  

It took a full eight months to get back to 100%, although the few months prior hovered at 90-95%.  Even now, when I shovel snow, it's been an exceptionally snowy winter, it still bothers me a bit.  Of course I neglected the typical physical therapy routine; however, I did stretch and move it regularly  to coax it back to normal. 

It's ironic after almost 28 years of running that it was the walk out to my car that caused my first serious injury.  Sure I've fallen running, usually a couple of times a year, more from not paying attention to the uneven sidewalks than ice, but it usually resulted in a skinned knee or the palm of my hand.  Or, if I was really on top of it, I'd manage to aim into green grass, or grab a fence to keep from going down.  

My goal is to run for a couple more years until retirement, then likely walk several times a week to keep the blood pumping and the heart strong.  I figure an even 30 years is a good place to stop. 

Sundance 2018

Past experience has taught me that there is usually one turd among the shining jewels, although not so this year, with one day to go. My least favorite, Sorry to Bother You, is a bizarre take on racism and our fucked up society and still has enough crazy, fresh scenes to keep it careening along. The twisted plot reflects a mad scientist at the helm, a correct assumption, as Boots Riley, the director, is quite a character. The portrayal of the always intrusive world of telemarketing hit some hilarious notes when showing the moments those annoying calls interrupt.



Lizzie, the story of Lizzie Borden of "killed her parents with 40 whacks" fame, stars Chloe Sevigny and Kristen Stewart (who I previously thought could not act, but I have since changed my mind).  As a native New Englander, I was perhaps more familiar with the history of the murder, which occurred in Fall River, Massachusetts, although I did not recall that she was acquitted of the grizzly crime.

A quick google search displays a crazed looking woman, leaving no doubt in my mind as to her guilt. Since there is no real reckoning of exactly what transpired during the murders, the director rightly took liberties filling in the time line and circumstances.  Additionally, the cast and crew visited (and bravely slept in) the real house, now a functioning bed and breakfast, booked years in advance. They concluded, due to the small size of the home, (unlike the expansive Georgia house used for filming) there was no way house maid Maggie could have been oblivious to what was occurring during the murders, even if she was outdoors washing windows, as was determined via witnesses.  Apparently the murders occurred 90 minutes apart, shedding doubt upon the claim of no complicity in the crime.  Portraying the father as a domineering bully, who forced himself upon the maid, seems wholly plausible as a potential motive for murder by a woman who was veering on the edge of sanity to start with.

An interesting tidbit is Maggie the maid moved west to Montana post-trial and lived to 82, apparently choosing refuge in far away Montana after what must have been a traumatizing experience, whether or not she was involved in the crime itself.

My favorite, Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot, is the true story of cartoonist John Callahan, who landed in a wheelchair after a drunken night of partying and resultant car crash, starring Joaquin Phoenix and an unrecognizable Jonah Hill.  You can't go wrong with Gus Van Sant in the director's chair weaving the story of Callahan's climb back to life after the devastating accident. Often funny and accompanied by the artist's cartoons, which he needed both hands to draw, it is a poignant story of reckoning and redemption. You'll cringe when you see Phoenix as Callahan racing around in his motorized wheelchair darting through traffic.  A must see.

Another standout, The Rider, tells the heart-wrenching true (although fictionalized) story of bucking bronc rider Brady Jandreau, whose young career came to an abrupt end with a dire head injury.  The cinematography captures the pain and struggle of Brady and the stark, expansive beauty of the Dakotas.  He shares the screen with his real life father and autistic sister, reflecting their familial ties. The many scenes of Brady with the horses is reason enough to see the film, although it is evident the creatures were not fond of having cameras in their faces.  This hindered displaying Brady's intimate connections with them, to the detriment of the film, since those bonds provide such a core element of his being.  In the end though, it is a beautiful film.

'Tis the Season

I realized upon entering the state Capitol last week that I had never seen the rotunda filled with the majestic giant.  We are lucky to have such a classy capitol.  It's nearly empty this time of year, all the staff tucked away in their offices off the main hallways of each floor. 

Winter is Upon Us

After endless weeks of smoke filled air due to record breaking Montana fires, we've taken a sharp turn into winter. No "Indian Summer" this year I'm afraid. Two days of snow mandated I shovel my corner lot sidewalk and methinks I'll get to break out the shovel again in the morning.

It feels as though the bad karma brought upon us all by the collective stupidity of a large enough number of dolts to elect Donald Trump is raining on us all.  And we in Montana are the lucky ones, just smoke and early snowstorms, spared from the waist deep floodwaters and catastrophic hurricanes suffered by so many recently.

The bar of acceptable behavior is so low as to be buried deep underground near the core of the earth.  While the #metoo rallying cries have caused some rotten fruit to be banished to the outer limits, the giant turd in the White House, the scummiest scumbag of them all, still reigns...for now.

Robert Mueller....help us Obi-Wan Kenobi...you're our only hope.

Eclipse 2017

Words cannot describe the experience of viewing the full solar eclipse, and photos certainly do not do justice to witnessing the actual phenomenon.  That being said, I shall post some of mine from today, in Idaho.  Clear blue skies, mountain ranges on both sides of the rural two lane, and a few scattered revelers sharing the morning adventure with us.  And then, since we were in the neighborhood, we were compelled to take a quick run through Craters of the Moon.

Big Sky Country

Hiking the high country.  I'm afraid the word is out on Montana.  Spectacular vistas, wide open expansive spaces not soiled by mankind's droppings.  These things are becoming rarer and are in danger of becoming extinct. Best to get out there and enjoy it all while we still can.  I love living in Montana.

Water Lilies

I can see why Monet obsessed over water lilies.  They are so strange with their long tentacles reaching beneath the surface, outstretched palms facing the sky, bobbing among the ripples.  I had no idea they were bright red before they turned green, never having visited their habitat in early summer apparently.  Such a surprising sight to see, hundreds of red and yellow circles spread out before us when we finally exited the canoe trail into the lake's main body.

The lush greenery was a sight to behold as well.  After a very snowy winter and rainy spring, the florescent shades of greens seemed to glow along the path back to our vehicles. I'm not sure I recall a spring quite as green in Montana.  Later, after the 90 degree days and perennial winds, the summer/fall fires will come; but for now, the pungent damp greenery fills the air. 

This was my first sojourn with my brand new, economy model, kayak.  The trek is 100 miles, quite a stretch for a two hour paddle.  But it is a special place, complete with rusty headed merganser and five little ones trailing on the edge of the canal, the multitude of hidden chirpers within the willows lining the banks, and the giant, silent great blue heron flying overhead. 

It rained steady as we neared the put in, some grumbling was heard of not paddling in the rain, but lo and behold, not a drop fell on our heads on our journey.  In fact, we had a good solid 10 minutes of sunshine, which was no less than divine.  My thanks to my good pals who carted my kayak, and me, for my maiden voyage, some great travel conversation, and the wrap up stop at our favorite Blackfoot Brewery upon our return to town.  Good friends are priceless, and nature is mandatory to nourish the soul.

Theater

I have many passions; live theater is not, or at least up to this point, has not occupied my list.  Live music, films, travel, fitness...these make up some of my vital passions.   Small  town, local theater is not known for its overflowing talent pools.  This week, however, I have turned a corner on my stance, after witnessing two stellar performances of My Fair Lady at our local classic, historic Grand Street Theater.  It is notorious for its sold out performances each season, and years ago when my school age daughter took part in two performances, of course I attended.  Additionally, more recently, I attended a performance of Hitchcock's 39 Steps, which I enjoyed immensely, although it was not enough to tip my scale towards live theater. 

The sets, costumes, and flawless execution of scene changes all combined into the supporting structure to launch a wealth of talent, riveting singing, smart, funny dialogue and a fascinating intuitive interaction between the players on stage. 

Talent, even when not presented within one of your favorite genres, demands your undivided attention and appreciation.  Seeing more live theater is now on my to-do list and I look forward to many more heartwarming, funny, poignant performances.

Life

2017 has been a wild ride so far.  Our crazed president pushes the boundaries of sanity on a daily basis, and still, there is no outrage calling for his immediate ouster.

How can this be 2017 America?  The rich don't just keep getting richer, they hope to annihilate the poor and struggling masses by removing health care, scrapping any oversight of the financial giants providing them unfettered freedom from the government regulations enacted to keep them honest and ethical.  Just this week the health secretary was replaced because he declared gun violence a threat to public safety, a stance not favored by the NRA and therefore our puppet president.

The swamp is quickly drowning out any trace that we are a nation guided by that esteemed document, the U.S. Constitution.  Lies, corruption and outright evil have taken its place.  No more is there a slight memory of the "do the right thing" mentality.  Pollution controls, protections of public land and providing a safety net for the disadvantaged citizens in our society have all been replaced with conflicts of interest, enrichment of the richest and deportation of those individuals that are a symbol of the ideals this country was built on.  Opportunity for all and a guarantee that with hard work and determination, a successful, happy, healthful life was within reach of all.

This is how a dictatorship begins.  Squelching your critics, creating chaos on a daily basis, and recruiting your friends and business associates to surround you in your bubble.  Any dissenting opinionator is promptly dumped out on his/her ass.  Trump resembles Putin and Kim Jung Un infinitely more than any prior U.S. President.  God help us all to survive his presidency without a world wide nuclear catastrophe.

Sundance 2017

Another Sundance under my belt, and this time it was a shared affair with a long time gal pal, and fellow film enthusiast. Truncated to a four day weekend, including two days consumed by the 465 mile drive from Helena, we nonetheless squeezed in Wilson on Friday night after collecting our festival passes and film tickets. The 80 mph speed limit and bare roads enabled efficient travel, complemented by good conversation and a batch of newly downloaded podcasts.  Aided by carefully chosen snacks, we reduced our stops to the bare minimum of required rest areas.  We spent Saturday and Sunday focused on our films, three each day, but managed to intersperse a quick shopping excursion for undergarments, and stops at a pair of local microbreweries sampling the smartly named, hop heavy, craft brews and companion grub. A total of seven films in all, we easily could have taken in more of the many buzz-worthy flicks, had time and money allowed a more extensive trip. 

Mostly strong, we viewed some very memorable films among our choreographed weekend selections, which we deemed a success by the time we wrapped and headed home. The standouts included the often funny and entertaining Wilson, with Woody Harrelson and Laura Dern; 78/52 the Hitchcock Psycho shower scene documentary; and Call Me By Your Name, the tale of a moderately heartwrenching Italian summer romance with Armie Hammer.  Shirley MacLaine as a cantakerous "difficult woman" directing the final edit on her own obituary in The Last Word and The New Radicals which begs the question at what point does a personal rights/freedom/privacy advocate cross the line and morph into a terrorist, both stood on their own merit as well.

Sadly, Where Is Kyra fell on its face due to a heavy handed treatment of the homeless epidemic in America.  The film managed to portray an unsympathetic character as the poster girl for a very serious issue in America, and failed to either provoke a deeper understanding of, or provide any viable solution to the problem.  An overwrought sound track, similar to fingernails scratching a blackboard each time our main character waded into questionable moral territory, made it close to unwatchable.  Treating audience members as idiots, who need to be clubbed over the head to see a point, casts a dark shadow onto the director, those watching, and the subject matter in general.  Michelle Pfeiffer and Kiefer Sutherland are wasted in this film.

Of course in the midst of this movielicious weekend occurred the epic Australian Open final between Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer, meeting for the first time in a grand slam final since 2011.  Long time rivals and great friends, it was a match for the ages which no one in the world of tennis, neither talking heads nor hard core fans, ever anticipated.  Another mind-blowing 5-setter, naturally, Roger prevailed in the end, but both played their hearts out with peak performances of exquisite proportions. 

I thank the tennis gods for bestowing the fans with one last (??) monumental match between these two greats.  Alas, even as I continue to root, as always, for Rafa, it was clearly a win-win for both of them, replicating the skills evident at the height of their careers.  No sane person thought such a match possible as Rafa and Roger edge near the sunset of their professional careers.  Bravo...and on to the next tournament!