If global warming is the result of extra solar energy being trapped in the atmosphere, and we harness that energy for electricity generation using renewable technology, and we finally exhaust the greenhouse gas-generating sources of energy that caused global warming and are forced to use renewables for all further electricity generation, will the long-term dependency on these renewables cause them to be non-renewable as we start to exhaust the total planetary stored solar energy, and cause a net drop in global temperature, first correcting our global warming crisis followed by a longer term climate cooling one?
A particularly nasty bit of weather had descended upon us the evening of May 16, preceded by the familiar calm. And as the wind picked up, I checked the weather radar. This time, I was more concerned than my usual apathetic American High Plains upbringing self would normally be. And this static image doesn’t replicate the still image transitional timeline. There was a very clear storm rotation in progress, and one of the most easily recognized of radar signatures was to our southwest.
A hook echo, and so well-defined that the NWS had issued a radar-confirmed tornado warning. And it was 100 miles out and on a direct path to us. Admittedly, that’s a bit far to expect a tornado to travel on the ground, but it’s happened before.
There were 5 confirmed tornadoes in Indiana that day, presumably this among them. Fortunately for us, it dissipated before reaching our home. But as the remnants of the storm passed overhead, it was obvious it hadn’t lost its rotation.
There’s the devil’s sphincter for you.
Out west, these storms were always rain-wrapped, so the funnels were not so clearly defined. They were ominous masses of dark creeping across the cotton fields, and they were clear indications to move your ass. Here though, you can see shapes, and these were the clearest I’ve seen up close. This time, winning the meteorological lottery came with pictures.
I belong with you, where you are! That’s all that matters to me. Dayton, family court, alimony hearings…you name it!
One of our local TV stations has a very bad filler segment (when the commercial break is one commercial too short and the network has to add something so people don’t panic and think the world just ended with a blank TV for 20 seconds). It shows some drone shots of the riverfront with an upbeat inspiring tune expressing to the viewer that Dayton is awesome and that we belong there. Aww, so warm and fuzzy. The jingle is obnoxious and I’d love to share it – yet I can’t find a YouTube of it (and searches instead point me to very bad sappy soft rock tunes which are even worse). This is probably because the YouTube content creator demographic isn’t the type that watches broadcast local TV. I don’t usually either, but sometimes I get forced into a sportsball viewing or some BS the president’s rambling about that Liz wants to watch. And when that jingle comes on, it necessitates a sing-a-long on my part accompanied by an arm-flailing couch dance.
And this ritual inspired a recreation atop the parking garage at the Miami Valley Hospital, with Dayton’s skyline view so prominent.
Dayton, bitches! We just hit our insurance out of pocket maximum so bring on the celebration, Dayton-style!
I’ve lived a number of places, and mocked them all of course. But Dayton? I don’t need a jingle to stay – I’ve put down roots and it doesn’t completely suck. Well, actually I live in a suburb of Dayton, but whatever. A suburb of a small metropolis. There are worse places to exist, and greater Ohio notwithstanding, it’s fairly politically neutral, with enough entertainment options available to the curious.
And restaurants.
And with that intro, here’s the second part of this post, unless you want to see more pics of me dancing.
Some of my work team was in town along with vendor reps. The day concluded with a dinner, which the local VP on the team scheduled at a chain (he might be on the young end of boomers), and oddly chose the specific location of the one very near to my house (which would be a bit of a drive for everyone else). Realizing the mistaken location on the reservation, he changed it to one closer to the hub office, which made things more convenient for everyone else (fine). But then he felt the need to append an annotative addendum to the correction, following a chuckle: “no one goes to Dayton to eat.”
Considering my own general indifference for Dayton itself, the comment shouldn’t have pissed me off to much degree, but it did, which I found surprising. So as I always do, I gave the matter way too much thought. My conclusion? Elitism.
It wasn’t that I live in Dayton or that he’s completely wrong about the restaurant situation (despite him choosing a Cincinnati-based location for the same damn restaurant). It was the annoying smug elitism that some people exude, as in this case, as if they just know better.
Similar to those who expound the virtues of minimalism – yes it’s healthier to avoid buying unnecessary stuff but don’t tell me you can maintain a quality lifestyle while only owning 100 items, unless you’re devoted to permanent nomadism. I certainly own more than 100 tools that are hanging in my garage, and that’s because I need to fix things. The elitist just pays for someone to fix things. So minimalism isn’t some superior life philosophy – it just means you can afford and are willing to pay someone else who has more than 100 items to maintain your ability to own only 100 items.
Another form of elitism: travel. People move out of necessity or to seek a better financial situation. People travel to recreate. Yet there’s always that asshole who comes back from Italy or wherever and suddenly has a different perspective on life after a week vacation and is now an expert on the location they visited. No you aren’t – you’re just a tourist. You didn’t live there for any amount of time. You didn’t work there. You don’t understand the culture. You’d have to be a permanent resident there for some appreciable amount of time. But instead, you just have the financial means to temporarily relocate for recreational purposes. And no amount of Samantha Brown, Steve Ricks, or Anthony Bourdain will change that.
And that’s what was going on here – someone who doesn’t live in Dayton thinks he knows something about Dayton that the rest of the team – that does live in Dayton – doesn’t.
Dayton may not be where I’m meant to be, but it’s where I happen to live – so I get to poke fun at it, but unless you live here, shut up.
Suicide Month is upon us again, and as a result I begin to contemplate happier times. Nostalgia is dangerous with its filtered remembrance of history. It’s a driving force behind MAGA and the glory of 1950s America, and The Roaring 20s before that. I don’t wish to go back to those time periods, but I do have my own Halcyon Days. The cruelty of which, as Calvin’s dad puts it, are awarded retroactively:
Based simply on the time periods I daydream about, I consider My Halcyon Days, or years rather, to be: 2017-2020.
As nostalgia is purely emotional, I was interested in why I thought these days were so good. Looking back through my personal timeline, here’s my reasoning:
I moved from hourly work to salaried. With that came significantly more work autonomy (better job satisfaction and agency), and money. In fact during this time my household ranged from the 76th to 85th percentile in national income levels. Prior to that we were 66th. If the gold standards for middle class income is the middle 5th, which would be the 40th-60th percentile; or all but the top and bottom 20%, so the 20th-80th percentile (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle_class) – then we essentially overcame middle classdom during this time. For people living the standard middle class politician soundbites prior (“X# of families can’t absorb an unexpected $1,000 expense”, etc.), I think this socioeconomic change was significant to my stress level reduction for the first time in my working life.
I started this blog in February 2017. I think this is more a representative corollary than evidence, but if I began an intentional record of my existence, I must have been finally interested in my own continued living, and finally starting paying attention to the moment instead of potential future goals. And looking back through it, it’s apparent that I had the energy for the multitude of hobbies I maintained at that time.
Youth! I achieved the mental maturity to master my own priorities, while also being young enough to bounce back from failure. And I had much better cardio and strength. I just felt physically good.
We bought the house the year prior, and while I wouldn’t go back to an apartment now, as a new homeowner I was still excited with its future, rather than worrying about its ongoing maintenance costs.
I witnessed the kid’s formative years. For better or worse, a parent always looks back on the experiences with a growing kid, once that kid inevitably becomes a teenager. And now I’m once again concerning myself with her future expenses.
This was all just before COVID lockdowns. An irreparable societal change, some consequences of which were certainly for the better, but many of which were not. This coincided with a job promotion, but in the process I lost the camaraderie I had built with my former team and was then denied the opportunity find that same rapport with my new department. It was never the same since, despite the perks of working from home. And while the home office saves me the irritations of cubicle life which I’ve so often criticized before, it replaced that feeling of being a physical embodiment of success. The confidence I felt waltzing into the office lobby wearing khakis and button-down in a sports jacket, then returning home so-attired and parking my sedan in the driveway while checking the mailbox and waving to my neighbor…was all replaced with slipping on cargo pants and a t-shirt and walking down to my basement. The iconic suburban fantasy had ended.
The conclusion? I suppose life just had finally felt fine, and the present was tolerable, and the future held with some optimism. To quote the Wikipedia article:
“The phrase has since come to refer to any peaceful time. Its proper meaning, however, is that of a lucky break, or a bright interval set in the midst of adversity”
Which I’ve now come to identify perfectly with this period in my life, as the current times are anything but peaceful and devoid of adversity. And again, as Calvin’s dad acknowledges, it had to pass for me to be able to know it had happened at all. Those were good days.
