Joel and I have laughed together on screen enough times that I make ongoing comments about changes in his background decor. Which he barely notices, because I’m the gay one. He remains cagey about where the little picture of a small green pear has gone. A straight guy would not typically think of such things, and he does not. Regardless, our fruity disparity does not limit conversation. It enhances it.
This past week seemed a good time to show up at his home in Central Oregon. He has had range fires within a mile of his place twice this Summer, one of these involving evacuation and contemplation of whether his home would be seen again. I have never faced the like. He took me to see the burn scar, on the far side of an otherwise beautifully cut river bend half a mile from his back gate. I am familiar with black-stick landscapes. They scar hillsides in Montana, too. Government agencies disregard natural beauty even though tourists help keep modern rural economies afloat. Interesting to wonder why.
The sagebrush and undergrowth return fairly quickly, relative to trees. It is their job to survive heat, and keep thrusting their DNA into the sun, undaunted. If you need some beauty, drive out someplace stark, stop your car, pull your palm across a sage branch, and take a sniff. Those plains are full of life, if you look.
The night of my arrival we popped a pretty bottle of whisky I bought for the label. It had a John Muir quote. The liquor was hot, though, so we splashed in ginger beer obtained just in case of this situation. Joel fired up his recorder. Animated chatting commenced, anchored around respective notions of what is centrally important in America’s political climate. To me, this would be the boring things everyone needs, no matter where we live, or with whom.
Our resulting podcasts will release soon. We did not fully agree. America needs more political wrestling among friends, not less. Less groupthink.
Myself, I see the often-mocked notion of centrism to be the bravest stance available. Have you ever tried to balance on a see-saw? Balance requires careful listening and subtle adjustments, not shouting. Balance makes me admit to my ignorance and consider new ideas. Balance requires common ground big enough to win more than headlines. Balance takes coalition, which is hard.
Centrism boils down to the familiar 80/20 Rule. Americans need to spend 80% of our political effort on issues that impact 100% of our lives: food, jobs, housing, health, and education. Topics which sound boring, except to people who need some or all of the above.
The morning after our chats and drams, another foster-dog had been lost. Joel, Axle, and Betsy (who had been lost herself last year) got to work and found Remy, a black and white Collie-Corgi bitch with an exploratory personality. She was an adorable fit with how I might describe a perfect dog. We gazed a bit, and enjoyed some quality scruffles and scritches, but our ships passed each other by. She will quickly find a home. My own is rich and full with our beautiful girl, the Lady Isabella, a fuzzy gold Terrier moppet.
Meanwhile, the president invaded Portlandia in yet another public proof of his dignity and manhood (cough). Portlandians responded with a public pastry eat-in on the street in front of Trump’s ICE headquarters. Pastry offered a far more effective response than violence. The socials lit like Christmas. Portlandia is as good at mocking as being mocked.
On my homeward drive, I slowly drove east from central Oregon, avoiding the far north interstate route that puts me to sleep for having driven it far more times than I could count. Eastern Oregon is a long ways from Portland. Its politics often seem fraught with reactionary resentment for the way “The Valley” — the Willamette river valley holding Portland, Salem, and Eugene — dominates state politics. Which is understandable. Nobody much likes to be the small fry. We also all choose where we live, one way or another. People vote, not cows.
While sitting in a Prineville diner, not long after driving away from Joel’s place, I ordered “Ham, eggs, pancakes, and a cup of black coffee.” The young blonde waitress quipped, “Sure you don’t want white coffee?” I felt stumped by her casually racist comment. Did she clock me as urban, for my silver hoop earrings, and hoped to “own the lib” with a daring snark? Or, did she clock me as rural, for my faded cap, jeans, and tee, and want to flash a conspiratorial edge in my direction? I ate my cakes and got the hell out of Prineville; a farm-town now making bank selling out to the data centers huffing dirt-cheap power from the Columbia River dams. Power much cheaper than is sold to us proles.1
Still, Central and Eastern Oregon were beautiful. People come and go. Politics shift. Sagebrush grows after a fire, if there is water, seed, and time.
“ The AI Data Center Boom Is Driving Up Electricity Costs, Research Shows”: The price of electricity, juiced by demand from power-hungry data centers, is being passed on to residential customers.
https://www.cnet.com/home/energy-and-utilities/the-ai-data-center-boom-is-driving-up-electricity-costs-research-shows/
The low-voltage, high-amperage of friendship portrayed as if pointilistically painted, as per the usual writage of OTGC. A nod to all the senses and a precisely-uncaptioned photo stamp the postcard. Come back soon, Leo.