One Week In. Or Out. Whichever.

7
September 30, 2017

It’s been little over a week since I made public my decision to pull the plug on Facebook, so here’s a status report:

  • I have more time for meaningful reading, which I’ve taken advantage of, mostly, and sometimes at a cost. Roscoe the Wonder Dog was not feeling well this week, and his nadir came on Wednesday when he refused his lunch. Then I read what must be the most heartbreaking essay I have ever encountered, which of course featured a frail old dog. It’s a tough read, but I recommend it highly: The Fourth State of Matter.
  • I miss keeping up with a bunch of people.
  • Traffic to the Surly Farmer is pretty pathetic. I knew it wouldn’t be a barn burner, but I hoped for at least an ambitious beginning. Many thanks to those who have made the journey, and keep those comments coming, won’t you?
  • My morning routine is still wobbly. Facebook was an easy read through two cups of coffee. Twitter is less, uhh, soothing.
  • If I had any doubts about leaving, they were quickly erased by Zuckerberg himself and his horrendous rationalizing. Read all about it from Zeynep Tufekci here.

That’s all, folks. Enjoy your Saturday.

(Not) All Ages Show

0
September 29, 2017

Here’s a long excerpt from Michael H. Little’s review of Rush’s “A Farewell to Kings.”

Once upon a time, in that purely mythical land called Canada, a power trio called Rush sat down and said, “Let us abandon our blues-based approach to rock, and mold a new reality, closer to the heart. Featuring lots of Renaissance Faire type 12-string guitar shit and long and meandering conceptual songs featuring unnecessarily complex time signatures and lots of cool glockenspiel and dumb fantasy lyrics that will blow 14-year-old minds.”

And true to their word our power-prog triumvirate went on to forge their creativity, and the result was 1977’s A Farewell to Kings, which depending on how you look at things is either one very deep prog-nasty foray into the philosophy of the lamentable Ayn Rand or one of the greatest comedy albums of our time. The great thing about A Farewell to Kings is you can’t lose . . . 

I like the majestic opening of “A Farewell to Kings,” but I withdraw my allegiance the moment Lee opens his Big Bird mouth. Alex Lifeson plays some great guitar shortly thereafter, but like I said before: I’m simply incapable of putting up with Lee’s pipes long enough to get to Lifeson’s playing. “Cinderella Man” is Ayn Rand set to music; our Cinderella Man shows his riches to the poor as an incentive for them to get up off their lazy asses and work, because sharing his wealth would be, well, immoral. This Rand person would have gotten along wonderfully with Donald Trump . . .

I used to hate “Closer to the Heart” until I realized that it was one of the funniest songs ever to make it onto FM radio. Now I know its words by heart and turn it on whenever I need a laugh. Its sincerity of message is altogether risible, especially when one realizes that in Ayn Rand’s world what getting closer to the heart really means is embracing laissez-faire capitalism and utterly rejecting ethical altruism. Fuck the poor! . . .

The Village Voice’s Robert Christgau called A Farewell to Kings-era Rush “the most obnoxious band currently making a killing on the zonked teen circuit,” but can 30 million Rush fans (I just picked that number out of a hat) really be wrong? Yes and no. I will forever hold that the combination of Lee’s voice and the band’s preening progressive rock impulses are the very definition of obnoxiousness. But Rush seem to mark a necessary stage in the development of many young music fans, in the same way that Frank Zappa did in mine. What I find worrisome are those who never outgrow them. To these folks all I can say is, it’s time to mold a new reality, you know, closer to the heart. Closer to the heart!

A couple of things here: Little is dead-on is his estimation of Rush’s audience, at least relative to my own experience. I had a friend growing up who got turned on to Rush when he started playing in his own band in high school; me, I was indifferent. I liked “Moving Pictures” when it came out, but I think some of that was a sink or swim reaction, because it was everywhere at the time. But after that surge in airplay, I assumed my posture of indifference to Geddy and the boys, while my pal continued to sing their praises. Then one morning in the ninth grade I listened to Red Barchetta (you know, really listened, maaaaan) before leaving for school and it bowled me over. Looking back, I realize it was probably because it’s a song about a kid driving a bitchin’ car, and I was obsessed with getting my driver’s license and gaining all the freedom I was certain it represented. And so I came to own Rush albums, including “A Farewell to Kings.” The song Closer to the Heart got a good amount of airplay around this time, and I admit to a certain zeal for a well-placed glockenspiel, so I was good with it.

Thankfully, I neither knew anything about Rand’s objectivism, nor did I give Rush’s lyrics too much thought. I say thankfully, because I can picture 16-year-old me becoming an obnoxious Randian. That’s one bullet of youth I managed to dodge. I made it to college before someone caused me to read Rand (The Fountainhead), and my reaction was a shrug and a slight wish that I had the time back. The most Randian member of Rush, Alex Lifeson has himself moved past the ideology , and I guess I pity him in that for most people, their brush with objectivism ends up amounting to a couple of second hand paperbacks, some barely remembered “deep” discussions with friends and maybe an objectivist-leaning essay answer in college, but for Lifeson, he’s got that phase immortalized on vinyl.

I still have my Rush vinyl, and I’ll never get rid of them. Do they keep the young man in me alive? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just good to know that I can find some tasty glockenspiel licks should the need arise.

Fair Weather Friends

0
September 27, 2017

It should come as no surprise that a man who demands loyalty from others, but gives none himself would tuck tail when the going gets rough. But for their sakes, I hope all the (as yet) un-indicted co-conspirators are paying attention to how Trump reacted when his man Luther Strange was beaten in the GOP primary for one of Alabama’s senate seats. The Beast of Twitter deleted the now embarrassing tweets in support of Strange. Of course, dummy doesn’t understand that the internet is forever. In fact, I’ll go ahead and commemorate them here too:

That’s a stalwart leader right there.

Birthday Pie(s)

6
September 26, 2017

It’s Dr. Evil’s birthday today! I’m not sure how it happened, but over the summer, she developed a real affection for The Great British Baking Show, enough affection that I believe she finished all the available seasons and has circled around to the beginning again. This time I’m watching them with her, and they are quite fun—a little intrigue, some heroes, some villains, and a lot of interesting looking baked goods.

“How did you turn this to your advantage?” you ask. Simple: Thematic birthday.1 I gave her all kindsa baking stuff, to include a book by one of TGBBS hosts and a whole book on pies. Because I like pies. Perhaps you’ve already seen me express this by way of a graph:

Sorry man, it’s science and shit. Anyway, she was delighted with her gifts (or at least presented a strong impression of a delighted person). Don’t get the wrong idea here, though: the kitchen is still my domain, I’m just lending it to her now and again. Have I mentioned the awesome kitchen waiting for us at the farm? Gas! Griddle! Open flame broiler! Wok ring!

And that’s going to do it for today, friends. Do you have any special baking or cooking talents? Are you banished from your own kitchen? Share in the comments, if you’d like.

1 I theorize that thematic gift giving can be treated as a developmental stage in a relationship.

Looks like Zuck has heard I’m leaving FB and came to Charleston to lure me back

0
September 24, 2017

https://twitter.com/jake_zuckerman/status/912005581275361280

I have no idea if this is actually Mark Zuckerberg, but if he was anywhere in Charleston on a Sunday, it’d be Bluegrass Kitchen, which, as fond of the place as I am, I would never go near around brunch time.

**EDIT** I have since confirmed that it was in fact Zuckerberg. No one local is claiming to have met with him, and he didn’t have much to say about the visit. He also did not contact me to encourage me to stick with Facebook, so that’s it, last straw, man!

How’s About a Nice Wet Blanket?

0
September 23, 2017

Before you start to think that this will all be fun and games, I should tell you that sometimes things are going to get a bit uncomfortable. We’ll get through it together.

This post will be a feast of copy/paste because over the past week I have encountered some staggering facts about life in these modern United States, and I think more eyes should be on this. The first few items come from a Vox article by Alvin Chang about the challenges poor (economically) students face in higher education.

The data, from the Brookings Institution’s Richard Reeves, shows that your educational attainment is largely dependent on how much education your parents had. For all of the proclamations of America as a land of opportunity, it’s exceedingly hard to move up the ladder.

And things aren’t getting better. While more Americans are going to college as a whole, the gap between the affluent and poor has widened — and the value of a college degree is declining.

It starts in high school, where poor kids are less likely to earn a high school diploma than their richer peers. And after high school, research from Martha Bailey and Susan Dynarski shows that there’s a widening gap between the poor and affluent when it comes to enrolling in a four-year college.

Have a college degree? Thank Dad, I guess:



But just making it to college might not be enough for many first generation students.

But there’s also something about the American college environment that betrays students from lower- and working-class backgrounds.

Some of it is financial, but there’s something else going on — something that is perpetuated by the beliefs and values of upper-middle class people. This ranges from big-picture things, like what we think the purpose of college is, to more mundane things, like our eating or vacationing habits. And when mixed with this country’s imprecise way of talking about class, it creates a toxic environment that stunts the performances of students who are trying to climb the social class ladder.

In other words, the very way we think about college makes it a finishing school for people from affluent families — and a glass ceiling for everyone else.

I was a first generation student, but attended college only after leaving the Army, and with a generous (or what I thought to be generous) stipend courtesy Uncle Sam. Even so, I felt something akin to imposter syndrome, but more as if everyone else was in on something that I didn’t know about. Imagine how difficult it must be for a rural kid with a weird accent to navigate college. I swear I am not making this up, but I encountered a very bright young woman from a very rural area who was completely flummoxed by the controls in an elevator car; she’d simply never encountered an elevator before. There are probably scores of other hurdles these young people need to clear that we cannot even see.

And then there’s how we do college. Chang reports that first generation students come to college hoping to better themselves, but also to improve their families’ situations and give back to their communities, whereas continuing generation (and therefore more affluent) students want to explore things that interest them as well as develop new interests and get to better know and understand the world. Which leads me to this not terribly surprising finding:

(Sorry for the blurry image, bottom line: those who join frats do worse academically, but increase their earning potential post-college.)

But it’s cool, a rising tide lifts all boats, right? Not so fast, pal:

To quote Mel Brooks: “It’s good to be duh king.”

But even if we don’t go to college, we can still live long, happy, prosperous lives, right? Well, sort of. Unless you’re a white male.

And with that, I close. I’ll be back in the near future with something happier, I promise.

Collapsing Straight Out of the Gate

7
September 21, 2017

If someone were to give advice to a new blogger, I’ll bet that a chief tidbit would be: Don’t fall down, dummy. (Also applies to skiers, waiters, tightrope walkers, etc . . .) I hoped to, at least at first, keep updating here on a daily basis, but I’ve got to tell you, WordPress is kicking my ass. How? you ask. Just so. You see, I don’t even have the vocabulary required to describe my problems. It’s like trying to search for a solution to a problem with Apple’s “Messages” feature. One, you can’t effectively describe the problem: “Apple messages won’t go.” Two, you’ll get a thousand hits on your query, because Apple oh, so thoughtfully named their messaging tool “Messages.” Thanks, Steve. And three, if you do find some possible solutions, they seem to be written in a language unknown to me: “Check that your fdomragom is set to the appropriate lagsnAP configuration. And you’ll want to make sure that your bitstreaming protocol has been paired to the root net.” My cries to Google make me sound like a caveman. “How change picture size” “Lightroom won’t open.” “Make louder not quiet.”

The sad thing about this is that I think I was born at the right time to know what all this stuff means. We had computer labs in high school, and I was able to program the computers at Hecht’s to display “YOU SMELL LIKE FARTS” in a continuous cascade, but somewhere around 1985, I must have missed a memo or something. And I was in the Intelligence branch when I was in the Army, where we had all kinds of crazy whizbang shit that I still can’t talk about (but really isn’t all that interesting anyway), yet I cannot figure out why some of my iPhone texts are blue, and some are green.

But I’m going to tackle this WordPress thing, I swear. That, or start mailing out typewritten newsletters. The postage will kill me, but I’ll still be able to proclaim victory, because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

Pass the Beer Nuts.

Life On the Farm Is Kinda . . . TBD

4
September 19, 2017

Why ‘The Surly Farmer,’ you ask? The ‘surly’ part should be abundantly clear to anyone who knows me. I should note that ‘surly’ doesn’t quite capture the spirit exactly, but it was closer and kinder than ‘sarcastic’ or ‘ironic.’ That, and it does serve as a modifier for ‘farmer,’ and who would want to interact with a sarcastic farmer, let alone an ironic farmer?  That’s getting into man-bun, artisanal toothpaste territory, don’t ya know.

Which brings us to ‘farmer.’ Am I a farmer? Not yet, but I will be come next year. I am as surprised as you are, I assure you. But I’m also enthusiastic, a feeling I welcome back after a long absence. By next spring, we will be installed on a small farm in southeastern Ohio. I never thought I’d end up in Ohio, and I never thought I’d be a farmer anywhere, but Dr. Evil and I were given the opportunity of a lifetime when Dr. Evil’s parents hatched a plan to subdivide their property and build a new house more suited to their, uh, years, on one plot and have us take over the old farm. (Which is not old at all, in fact.)

What do I know about farming? NadaGar nichts. ничего.

I’ve read The Contrary Farmer for practical advice (who knew drainage was so important?) and a fair amount of Wendell Berry for philosophical guidance. For actual guidance, I will rely on Dr. Evil’s father, who will be a short walk away, unless my leg is caught in some kind of hellish farm implement—hey, I’ve heard stories, man. I am certain my initial efforts will prove quite amusing to him. And maybe to you, as I’m not above reporting on my own stupidity, I mean fair’s fair.

What will we grow? Beats the hell out of me. Tired? Sunburnt? Impatient? Told you I was surly.

Me and the Zuck, or How We Got Here

3
September 18, 2017

It was September, and I was starting to think that this Zuckerberg fella might not have my best interests at heart.

Back up to 2007, when I got in contact with an old friend who encouraged me to join Facebook, saying “it’s just like high school.” Friends, that is not the best way to tempt me, but I gave it a try anyway. Soon, I was reconnecting with people from high school, college, distant relations, Army days, prison (just checking to see if you were paying attention), and all was good. It continued like this for a while, and mostly because I kept politics out of my posts, it was a Golden Age of Facebook.

There were some problems, however, such as the sinking feeling that your life is being monetized by a bunch of assholes in Silicon Valley, or that privacy—already increasingly an illusion—was draining away faster than a pitcher of beer at the Concho Corral on a Friday night.

And then came Trump.

I kept fairly apolitical through the end of W, and through both of Obama’s terms, though at times it was not easy. But when Trump came along, I couldn’t help myself. The man and his candidacy represent the very worst things about America: the worship of celebrity regardless of ability, and the conflation of wealth with competence and moral authority. In my wildest dreams, I could not imagine Trump winning the Republican nomination, let alone the presidency. Yet here we are. As Trump ascended in political relevance, I became increasingly less interested in not giving offense to people, and my follower count began to fall. I didn’t want to persuade people to come around to my view, but I also wasn’t going to be quiet about what I saw as an insult to the nation. My total friend list on Facebook never exceeded 160-170 people, and as I write this now, it is at a very reasonable 140 people.

Now, in addition to the real live trolls and bucketheads on Facebook, the mouthbreathers and knuckledraggers who believe anything that arrives in a FW:FW:FW:FW:FW email from drunk Uncle Bob, for whom nothing was too spurious or delusive to “Share Now” with their fellow dullards, we are learning that ol’ Zuck and friends were willing to sell out the American public for literally a few rubles.

And I’m out.

As we learn more about Facebook’s involvement with Russian interference with our electoral process, the picture is only going to get worse, so now seems like a good time to pull the plug. It’s the only thing I can do to show my contempt for these people.

I risk losing contact with people who I care about, because my only interactions with them were through Facebook, but I hope that many of them will visit the Surly Farmer from time to time.

Anyway, welcome. I’m glad you’re here.