Ignorance unbound. in A small but passable life.

First, the weather. The A/C has been turned off and the windows opened for two nights in a row now. It was sixty-five degrees in here this morning when I woke up. The daytime highs haven’t reached ninety for several days now. It has been warmer back in the Ozark’s than it has been here.

Yesterday I was listening to NPR when I heard one of those white power jack offs saying “This country has always been 80 to 85% white.” Really? Define “this country”. Define “always”. Define “white”. I’m so tired of stupid ignorant people. And then this morning I read that some grown but stupid guy on Faux News had said this- “. . . this is the least sexist, least racist, most free, most equal, most prosperous country in the history of humankind.” Really? Ignorance knows no bounds for some people.

I remember that one time. The guy was wearing an Aryan tattoo. He was at a party, spouting some nonsense. I interrupted to ask, “Why do you have brown eyes?” He had no answer, obviously. I walked away.

Anyway, let’s not find it odd that this is the news rather than 3 ½ million citizens without power and water and food. Because, you know, priorities. Important stuff.

In the Spring of 2015 I started watching Appalachian Trail thru-hikers vlogging their hikes on youtube. Out of maybe a half dozen I watched starting out only two made the whole hike. Both young women in their early twenties.

I found no one to watch in 2016.

This year I’m following one of those two young gals hike the Pacific Crest Trial. She just crossed into Oregon. (Well, her videos are a month behind.)

This year I also tried to find someone to follow on the Appalachian Trail. I had no luck. I did however find an interesting story. A person doesn’t pick their own trail name. It is given to you to either stick or not stick. So, there was this young man this year who started hiking the trail. He wasn’t in the first surge of hikers, maybe a few weeks later. He had a firearm. A small automatic he carried in a fancy holster on the front of his shoulder strap. Soon he was given the trail name “Chickenshit”. Every time he caught up to someone or someone caught up to him he was greeted as “Chickenshit”. Before the Georgia state line he’d disappeared from the trail.

I’m rambling, because, you know, life is but a ramble. Maybe I’m a rambling guy. Ramble between this chair and that bed.