It's been a year...

Some blogger I turned out to be.
The end of September is looming, the days noticeably shorter, occasional glimpses of autumn which is officially here though summer is still in charge for a few more days. One of my greatest pleasures from living in the desert is Summer thunderstorms. There have been a couple visible across the landscape in the past few months but no actual rain here at the compound.
I hurt myself at work last June. Twisted an already somewhat compromised knee and had to take 3 months off of work. Thankfully, I had disability insurance to fall back on. Not enough to get rich on but sufficient to keep my habits supported (cell phone, internet, electricity, food, you know...).
I did manage to take my annual fishing trip to Lee Vining in the high Sierras in July. Fishing was pretty good but dragging around a banged up knee is no fun and no inducement to outdoor activities.
We took our annual September anniversary trip to Big Pine and spent a couple days around the Owen's valley prowling antique stores and yard sales. Relaxing but mostly boring...
Now I'm back at work. The knee is still sore but work has been tolerable so far. I'll go back to my surgeon in a couple weeks and see what is going to happen. The cortisone shot is still helping but it will soon wear off.
I am resolved to keep up on this blog more enthusiastically and so will be back with some more stories of Desert Madness.

Cure for desert madness?

People ask me this from time to time. What is the cure for desert madness?

I'm not sure there is actually a cure but there is an effective, if temporary antidote.

This is especially welcome when the normal temperature during daylight hours is well over 100° and seldom gets much below 80° even at night.

I confess that I lose patience for just about anything that causes any distraction from staying cool. I do have my method though...

Four days on trout water in the High Sierra. Yes, there is method to my madness.

Desert Madness.

No time to be a Doctor

While listening to the news about BHO's proposal to tax people who make a Million a year an extra 5.5% an ironic thought popped into my little mind.
Doctors are likely the largest group of working stiffs who regularly make a cool Mill (at least) every year (of course most are incorporated). So the extra tax on the doctors income will be the largest tax contribution to the health plan. If that ain't irony it is most certainly Desert Madness!

Blue Agave

This is what mescal and Tequila are made from. Desert Madness?
How could it not be?

Cactus flowers

This cactus is loaded with blossoms. About 200 I'd say. Desert madness? Maybe

Its the Wind

Have you ever noticed that people behave differently when the wind blows? It seems that some become moody, unpredictable, bizarre, wacky or downright insane. After days and weeks of incessant wind--like the desert winds we are enjoying lately--I have even noticed a little madness creeping into my own psyche. While researching this disturbing phenomenon, I discovered a particularly revealing bit of evidence in the Irving Stone novel, Lust for Life. This is the story of the art world’s most celebrated nut case, Vincent Van Gogh. Here is the setup:
Vincent has been frustrated because all the other impressionist painters have their “own” town in which to become famous, sell paintings and rot their brains with the consumption of absinthe. Finally, Vincent discovers a wonderful, sunny little village called Arles in the Provence region of southern France with no painter of its “own.” The light is perfect, the scenery beautiful and Vincent is thrilled with the prospect of spending his days throwing paint on canvas in the pursuit of his art. On his first day in Arles, Vincent is approached, in the bar naturally, by a journalist who is studying the local dialect for a book. His advice to Vincent is to flee Arles as it is, “the most violently insane spot on the globe!” Here’s an excerpt:

“What makes you think that?” Vincent asks.
“I don’t think it I know it. I’ve been watching these people for three months and they are all cracked! Just look at them. Watch their eyes. There’s not a normal, rational person in this whole vicinity!”
“That’s a curious thing to say,” observed Vincent.
“Within a week you’ll be agreeing with me. The country around Arles is the most torn, desperately lashed section in Provence. You’ve been out in that sun...It burns the brains out of their heads. And the mistral. You haven’t felt the mistral yet? It whips this town into a frenzy two hundred days out of every year. If you try to walk the streets it smashes you against the buildings. If you are in the fields it knocks you down and grinds you into the dirt. It twists your insides until you cannot bear it another minute. I’ve seen that infernal wind tear out windows, pull up trees, knock down fences, lash the men and animals in the fields until I thought they would fly in pieces. I’ve only been here 3 months and I’m getting a little nuts myself.”

Well, you get the idea. Vincent stayed in Arles, went mad from the mistral (and the absinthe), painted many masterpieces that he never sold while he lived, and during an hallucinatory fit, cut off his ear to reward a prostitute. So, when the wind is blowing like we know it can, give those other people a little extra space, give a thought to your own condition. . .and keep the sand out of your paint box.

An epitaph for the news

Newspapers are failing because they persist in a 19th century business model. The news has to be supported by an equivalent number of inches of advertising sales (more is better). The paper also must grow or shrink by 4 pages at a time. When I was a reporter I dreaded the editorial meetings where the editor would decide who's story got cut because the sales department couldn't get enough ad sales.
Paper and ink are expensive to produce and end up mostly used for fish wrapping, bird cages and fireplace starter. Bits and bytes are cheap. The problem is that when you aren't making enough money as a writer your opinion becomes more of a priority in your content.
When newspaper publishers are more concerned with driving an agenda than telling the truth, then the rags deserve to die. The truth will find other ways to reach the light of day.