Yet Another Place I Belong

Westcrack, Canyonlands NP, Utah

Have you ever had that feeling of "I really know that I belong here.  THIS is who I am.", and then felt stupid because this wasn't the first time you felt this way and the last time you felt this way was half-way across the globe in the complete opposite ecosystem in which you presently find yourself?

Near Bergen, Norway

Well, being in the outdoors has always really been about being on the "indoors" for me.  Heck, just saying "being IN the OUTdoors" is kind of strange, is it not?  Being outside, I mean really outside (backyards, car-rooftops, building rooftops, wingwalking on a bi-plane, road biking, unless you are in Death Valley, don't count) means there is you, your incessant monkey-brain chatter, and that silent hum of the earth.  And the sound of the feeling you get when your chatter says, "THIS is who I am.  THIS is me, being a human.  THIS is me being a species of animal, noticing sounds, smells, sensing danger, sensing safety, sensing beauty."  

I recently had four days worth of these moments while on a mountain bike tour along Canyonlands' White Rim Trail.  Four days, 84 miles (or so), 5 companions, 2 guides, and whole lot of sky....to match the whole lot of monkey brain chatter.  Like the the descent down Shafer Trail, steep and winding, I found myself descending within, into the depths of who I was at that moment, which was of course, every experience I had ever had up until then.  Descending into Canyonlands, each hairpin turn another layer of earth's millenia, I felt like I was descending through layers of city-fied stone that had built up around my core, my strength, my who-I-amness.  

Shafer Switchbacks

Once down, after crashing on the switchbacks in order to come back down to earth and get my blood donation out of the way right off the bat, the trip really began in earnest and I set about just being my unlayered, unadulterated self for the rest of the trip.  There comes a time, I suppose, when you realize that this is indeed what is meant by "vacation".  One "vacates" their layered self so their true, buried gem-of-a-self can shine, shimmer, and breathe again.  Like Canyonlands.  It is earth on vacation.  Or, as the sign in Kanab, Utah brags (about a similar geology), "The Greatest Earth on Show!"  

Our ride consisted of a minimally maintained old mining road (high clearance, 4 wh. drive only) winding around the base of the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands, eventually meeting up with and paralleling the Green River.  After a day of riding my adequate, but this 50-year old arse deemed MINIMALLY adequate, hardtail Cannondale (I also just learned that Crap-n-fail is Cannondale's nickname.  Fine.), I began to pray for the sand and not the White Rim layer that we were on most of the time.  My ability to manifest what I pray for proved to me later that I REALLY need to watch what I pray for!  Like, here's one that would serve me well for next time:  "I love full suspension.  I am fully enjoying my fully full suspension bike, even now!" or, "I love the harder surfaces because they are so much easier to ride on than in the softness of sand.  My butt is curiously in better shape than my lungs."  Cool.  

After our first night of camp, complete with Canyonlands' version of a sandy Hurricane Isaac, we awoke fresh with our faces already exfoliated from the night of sand that had found any and every breach in the tent, so, with that chore out of the way,  we got an earlier start on the day.  Our fearless trip leader had proved his fearlessness by groping around in the dark in the middle of the night, trying to keep important things (like the stove, tables, van, beer) from blowing away , but was unable to see the land-shark-boulders.  One bit him in the shin really bad, and swam away.  We know this because of all the landshark boulders still in camp, NONE of them had his blood on their jaws.  Bastards.  I guess he'll just have to man the boat the rest of the way.  Poor Dave.

Dave

A night of approximately 2 hours of decent sleep (flapping rain-fly, 50 mph winds, rain, laugh attack) is not really an ingredient for a triumphant 31 mile-day of mountain biking the following day, but alas, Holiday Expeditions makes the absolute hands-down best pot of camping coffee I have EVER had.  What do they PUT in that stuff that makes me forget about how much my bum hurts, how tired my quads are, and how many miles await me?  I'll never know, but after some of that and one of many superlative meals to come, I was back on the bike, taking turns between pedaling, gawking, photographing, hydrating, pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. 

The scenery of Canyonlands, from the perspective of "doing" rather than just "being" there, brought up thoughts that I often have when I'm hiking or backpacking somewhere.  These thoughts are related to the history of a place, and not necessarily the actual "what exactly happened here" kind of perspective.  But from the perspective that jerks me from the dreamy state of, "Wow, this place is so gorgeous, it would be GREAT to live here, in the midst of this scenery, to have a nice sustainable, off-the-grid cabin, a little garden, blah blah blah..." to the reality of what most likely was, from the pioneer wife's point of view of "What the HELL is this?  I gotta build a hut from what?  What trees?  Do YOU see any trees?  And haul water from where?  Because we can't build our mud cabin near the river because of what, flash floods?  And WHAT do you expect me to grow here? "......so they move on to less scenic but more sustainable places, and leave places like this for the more hardy insects and plants that belong here to inhabit, or not.  To leave places like this alone, so eyes can feast on what IS and not necessarily what COULD BE.  To leave places like this to be visited, not inhabited, by people.  To leave places like this as much alone as possible.  The part about "doing" the ride instead of just "seeing" this place, like from the window of a car or plane or from the seat of a motorcycle, is that you get a true sense (for an instant) of what "being" here would really entail, IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE NICE, FULLY EQUIPPED, FULL OF FOOD AND WATER AND GATORADE AND FIRST-AID KITS AND TENTS AND SLEEPING BAGS AND FRESH CLOTHES AND BEER AND TOOLS van following along supporting you.  Yes, there are TV shows documenting people being "heroes" doing what folks had to do to survive back in the day, but of course, back in the day, there were no TV crews there to save your butt.  So, I have thoughts like, "I love this place, it is so freakin' gorgeous I almost can't stand it, but I can see how someone who had to live here, survive here, make a life here might come to despise it." and those thoughts were usually just before lunch time, when the sun was blazing, and this was mild September.

Lunchtime, Day 1....Under the ONLY tree

Lunch sans tree....what did the pioneers do?  Probably didn't stop for lunch

The ride is generally an intermediate ride with very few majorly challenging climbs, depending on one's fitness and skill level.  I found the sand to be more technically challenging than the hills, which is understandable since I had not been on a serious mountainbike ride for well over 10, quite possibly 15 years.  There were plenty of times I was walkin' it, too...just like a pioneer, and it made me think, WOW, getting anywhere at this pace must have been HELL.  

Being waited on, hand and foot, by our guides Justin (Just-in-Time!) and Dave really made any of the difficulties experienced throughout the day just melt away.  I have never done a camping trip like this, through a guide company, and I'm here to tell you, it ROCKS.  My sole responsibility?  Don't die by falling off a cliff.  Not bad, I can handle that.  I'll leave everything else, oh except setting up my tent and wiping my own arse, up to the guides at Holiday.  Thanks, guys!

One of the many jaw-dropping views out and down a canyon

The hill up to Murphy's....um, had to walk this bear

Pioneer Bath

Green River, last day

So, for each of us, I believe our goals were personal and different, some voiced and some held in secret or semi- secret.  Which of course, brings me to the question of why we do so many of the things we do.  In the end, when we do things with others, I believe it is to merely have this shared experience, and the thing that is being experienced ends up being the backdrop, even the costume, in front of and behind which we interact with each other.  It can also be the catalyst for bringing us all together, and it surely is also a character in our shared experience.  

This character was the trail, the river, the canyons, and the sun, the sky, the stars, the heat, the coolness, the lizards, birds, and snakes....mother earth in all her macrocosm mirroring us as microcosms.  There was the friend who was riding because this was absolutely something she had never done (never camped OR ridden a mountain bike) and by golly was not going to die wondering what it would be like, and so was keeping this promise to her recently departed best friend, to live her life from now on NOT wondering.  There was the friend who just lives her life from this place anyway, and was doing this because oh-my-gosh this is the most fun to have a bunch of girlfriends be together doing this awesome thing!  There was the friend who is out to start seeing all these magical places in this great country of ours and what better place to do it than from the seat of a bicycle.  There was the gracious friend who had been there the year before and was there to share this experience again and to see if she could pedal more of the miles than the last time.  There was the friend who started as a stranger (brave, brave man!) who saw the trail from above in May and had said to himself, "I'm going to come back and ride this" and joined because Holiday Expeditions had the better menu!  And there was myself, who came because, well, I've decided to start this decade of my life with a fanfare for gloriousness and what better place to start than amid such eye-popping beauty and amongst such friends as these.

Early morning Kokepeli

Where do we GET the energy!?

Rear Left to Right: Joel, Teresa Jennifur, Melissa, Danell, Krisha
Front: Guides Dave and Justin

"Warning, this product....."

It has recently occurred to me that I have a thing for labels, and apparently this has gone on for some time, although I have kept it closeted ever since that time I cut out all the labels of my first college roommate's clothes because I couldn't stand for one INSTANT longer her Greenwich, Connecticut snasal (sneering with nasality) bantering about which Neidless Marcup she purchased this or that sweater from for her evening out with her oh, I don't know, ghastly date with the cardigan half-tied around his neck, which he could wear fearlessly knowing that they don't let people like me into Greenwich, cuz I'd freakin' finish the job and pull that knot good-n-tight.....

ANYWAY,  I bought a package of Tillamook cheese the other day (no, this was not from the factory, which I visited about a week ago en route from Portland to San Diego) and to my delight and laughter, there in the shape of a gold sunburst beckoning my approval, was the "No Artificial Growth Hormones".  I think the gold sunburst was so they didn't have to put the exclamation point on the end, which may have caused me to pee myself right there in the cheese section of Costco....thank God it's right next to the industrial supplies of toilet paper, paper towels, and plug-in air fresheners...

When I was in Norway this year, I vividly recall myself standing in the aisle of the Meny store, poring over the labels on packages of chicken (this is before I went mostly veggie) and eggs until someone began to read them to me in English, supposing that I was trying to understand them.  No, I said, I was looking for the label that said these were free-range, organic chickens or eggs...

....Like this one, like the ones we have here....where the chickens can play as they wish!  Our neighbors have chickens, and I saw them playing tag, smear the steer, and hide-and-seek (big Easter Day favorite)...right there in their front yard!  Anyway, the kindly person, who looks EXACTLY like my cousin with a voice EXACTLY like hers told me that duh, ALL the chickens are free range, and the eggs are from free range chickens.  How else would it be?  And I go, DUH, have you ever seen how food for countries with populations of more than 5,000 people is raised?  

What struck me as so funny about this label, and many others these days, is the increasing frequency of their letting me know what these foods do NOT contain.  No artificial growth hormones?  Whew!  Never even knew that stuff may have been in there....wait a MINUTE...what ELSE are they not telling me?  

Wrigley's Spearmint Gum!  Now, free of used-condums!
Coca-Cola!  Cocaine-free!  (I think that one's for real)

I am noticing a lot about labels these days, and how ubiquitous they are in just about all we do and even in how we think about ourselves.  Why, just the other day, I learned on the evening news that today was labeled with an "Excessive Heat Warning".   Thank god for THAT label, because I would have had NO freakin' idea why my nostril hairs were all singed.    

Labels are a lot like a language.  They inform.  They warn.  They beckon.  They communicate.  They categorize.  They cause us limit our true experience of a "thing" because we label "it" and then react to the the "it".  Labels like:  black, white, menopause, middle age, senile, artistic, athletic, homey, politician, statesman, intellectual, etc. etc.....

I'm still amused by them, and I like to think about what emotion they cause me to feel when I say them or read them...

 This one first makes me laugh out loud.  Then it makes me think of politics, of social policies, of rampant obesity in children, ...and it also reminds me of the snack boxes during study hall in the Norwegian school I visited, where they just bring in a crate of apples or carrots.  You know, real food with no labels on them because you are holding the real food in your hand.

This one is from one of our dogs' bag of treats.  With "real beef" as opposed to that fake monkey-ass they try to slip in there.  

Here's one for the school kids.  Too bad it's for dog food!

Well, I better get to the gym.  After all, I have to make sure I continue to live up to my new label as a hottie, and I don't mean because I'm middle aged and going through the 'pause!

A Significant Meteorological Event

Three Significant Meteorilogical Events

My husband’s niece and her soon to be husband stopped by our house in Las Vegas a few years ago after they had completed the epic Muir trail along the Sierras….2 weeks of being unsupported in the high country amongst the bears, trees, and thunderstorms, and as we were all bobbing around in our swimming pool, I glanced up and noticed what lovely clouds had formed above!  Well, they both just laughed at me with their Anchorage laughs (that ha-ha, you weird “outsiders”, haven’t you ever seen clouds before? laugh), and have done so every time we comment about clouds. 

Well.  La-dee-dah.  I’ll have you know that our own weatherman on Channel 8 the other day actually SAID, and I had to do a double take (yay, DVR!), and yes he actually said, “Today, you may have noticed a significant meteorological event” at which I perked up my ears, ever interested in these kinds of things.  “If you’ll notice off to the east, yes, right there folks, is a cloud!”  Vindication for all my days of marveling at clouds!  From that day forth, we have been heading into days with a bit more humidity (aka: more significant meteorological events) and hopefully into a solid "monsoon" season.  We haven’t had a good "monsoon" season in a few years, and we are sorely in need of some rain.  This cloud-sighting was the first in about 65 days, so we remain hopeful that indeed, they have not become extinct.

The first day of rain in approximately 70 days?  Well, that would be the 4^th of July!  Manna from heaven….or God peeing on Sin City….whatever.  We’ll take what we can get and all I can say is that we know we are desert rats when we set up our dinner table outside so we can ENJOY the rain!

It has dawned on me that both places I have been in the past year, here at home and in my dream home of Bergen, Norway, are places of extreme weather, at opposite ends of the spectrum.  And this calls for a special kind of people to inhabit such places.  My family came to the Las Vegas Valley lo-ho-ho-ho-long before air-conditioning, and my dear friend Bjørn’s family, well, his middle name is Bull, because he is a descendent of Ole Bull,  the famous Bergen violinist mentor to that other famous Bergenser, Edvard Greig, so, Bjørn comes equipped with that Bergenser whateveritisthatmakesthemtoleratetherainsowell-itness.  I’m not sure if it is Hurculean tolerance, defiance, stupidity, or captivity, but we do it, with pride.  We brag about our ability to live in such inhospitable conditions and, like heroine addicts, we always say we do it because of that ONE WEEK of the year that is just mind-blowingly awesome.  Yeah.  

Solar Oven with something yummy inside (Le Creuset is SO EMBARRASSED!)

What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.  Well, gotta go.  I’m off to cook something in my solar oven while doing finger pull-ups on my door jambs.

Blooming in the Desert

Prickly Pear blooms, marching into spring

The desert is a harsh, unforgiving, relentless, sometimes cruel, environment.  The Mojave Desert is especially harsh, so when Spring comes, I take this as my time to learn from nature the most fundamental and spiritual lessons of the year:  How to be my glorious self while living in a harsh, unforgiving, relentless, sometimes cruel, place.  

I have come to realize that most likely, my roots will remain planted here for the time being, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it is a tricky thing, transplanting a plant from one environment to a complete other environment and expecting it to flourish.  Especially a full-grown plant.  Ok, yes, I know I'm not a plant, and that adaptability is what makes us humans such fabulous creatures, the envy of all living things (except ants and cockroaches, of course....I listened in on the ants making their annual trek up to my back patio the other day, and I distinctly heard their marching tune: "P-shaw! P-shaw! Eat them apricots, Raw!"  But, I think adaptability has a component to it that in my case, when thinking about relocating to Norway, was missing:  Desperation.  Real desperation.  Not intellectual desperation born of angst and frustration born of lofty idealism.  But real, life/death situation desperation.  The kind my father had during the War in Poland.  The kind my cousin had in Communist Poland after the War.  The kind that could just kill your spirit if you let it and you know that this desperation will limit your lifespan by a measurable percentage.  The kind that finally whips out the gun and blows the challenges to smitherines, like Indiana Jones blowing away the dude with the knives. But, I have a good job.  We have a little money in the bank.  We have a cadre of friends and family.  


This is my life, and I'm actually ok with it.  I'm not ok with so much of my environment (ie: my country's government, politics, corporate welfare, lack of good gun control laws, etc.), but I have managed to flourish in spite of it all.  Just like these guys:

Cholla

Apache Blossom

I confess, I don't know this one

Mexican Bird of Paradise

Palo Verde tree

Yucca

Not sure the name, but the color is stunning

Datura

Desert Marigold

Bottle Brush

Yucca

Desert Cliff Rose

Wherever we find ourselves to be, I think it's imperative to make the most of who we are, regardless of what the environment offers for our nourishment.  Hell, if plants can make a go of what the Mojave has to offer, can't I find some solace in the midst of this wasteland we call our country?  

"Oops....I Did It Again"

Norway, again, tops the list for #1 place to be a mom  (Photo from NPR website)

Multiple Choice Question:  

1.  The title of this blog refers to:

a.  A Brittany Spears song.

b.  Mitt Romney talking to himself after making another speech blunder.

c.  Teresa, trying not to poke fun at her mother country.

d.  Norway topping the list again for the best place to be a mom.

e.  All of the above.

Norway continues to outperfom so many other developed countries in the race to be the best place to live, it's beginning to make me wonder if they're doping!  And where can we get our hands on some of their dope?  You know, the stuff that makes you actually believe that paying for a country that you really want to enjoy is money well spent;  that it's good to  trust others as well as yourself to obey laws so there can be some order; that a population who is well educated and healthy is better than a population that is overweight and drug-addicted, but "free";  that gun control is actually related to the incidence of gun-related deaths.....Oh well.

I have been thinking lately that it would be nice to get some sort of movement for sanity going here in the U.S. 

But the headlines of late just make me shake my head:

Politicians gridlocked over how to pay for a decrease in interest rates on student loans:  eliminating large portions of women's health care or increased taxes on oil companies?  (Chevron's first-quarter profit rose to $6.47 billion, or $3.27 per share, from $6.21 billion, or $3.09 per share, a year earlier...that's a 4% rise).  Guess who wants which?  I think a Norwegian would just look at this stalemate in complete bafflement.  (What's a quarter of a billion $$?  About $250,000,000....that's a LOT of money...in the pockets of whom?)

Department of Interior head, Ken Salazar,  gives the go-ahead to Anadarko, a Texas oil company to drill 3,675 natural gas wells in the Southern Utah Uintah County, using the method of fracking.  Everyone is excited about this, even the Wilderness Alliance....hmmmm....all the wells are on public lands already leased by Anadarko, and many of them are to be on already established well pads.  All this, while the jury is still out on the safety of the method of fracking for removing natural gas on aquafers, etc. 

These are just two examples of oil companies given sweetheart deals to lease PUBLIC lands, and I know they are sweetheart deals, because, um....how DOES Chevron make that much profit? 

The reason Norway can afford to provide such a sweetheart deal for their inhabitants, is because they feel that people, like um, citizens, are an important part of the country and that the resources that belong to that country belong to the citizens.  Therefore, when a company decides to go about extracting these resources, yes, they should be allowed to make a profit after they pay the costs for R&D, but they should always remember that those resources are not THEIRS.  They belong to the citizens, and therefore, the citizens should share in that profit.  And here is how it is done:

"Norway's income tax on oil and gas profits has two components: A 28 percent tax on profits (the same income tax charged on all businesses in Norway), and a special 50 percent tax on profits from offshore oil and gas production, for a total tax of 78 percent. (All of Norway's oil and gas production comes from offshore federal leases.)

"It's stable, and still they earn money," said an official with the Ministry of Petroleum and Energy, explaining that companies continue bidding on Norwegian oil and gas leases, despite the substantial tax bite. The profits tax is assessed on earnings in Norway, unlike Alaska which assesses its corporate income tax on a proportional share of producers' worldwide earnings." (Larry Persely, Federal Coordinator of the Alask Natural Gas Transportation Projects, September 2011).

D'ja see that?  78% tax?  Chevron would blow an oil-well gasket if they had to do that.  But that, my friend, is how the #1 country for funding their education, health care, and social services does it, while STILL allowing corporations like Statoil to make a decent profit. 

Americans, when will you wake up and realize that you do NOT live in a free market capitalist system? 

Norwegians! Arizona is hazardous to your health!

Alexander Dale Oen (photo by David Gray Landov)

Let me open today's post with sincere condolences to the family of this outstanding athlete who died inexplicably in his Flagstaff hotel shower after a training session.  He was training for the upcoming Olympic games in London, and had been doing remarkably well, according to his coach.   After not showing up for dinner, his roomates went up to the room to find him in the shower.  No trauma was noted, no health condition was known...and the autopsy has not yielded any new developments as to what may have been the cause.  He was only 26, and from what I hear, was a wonderful and charitable person and a dedicated athlete.  


We just never know when our time is coming, and it is at least somewhat more of a comfort when such a tragedy strikes someone who is at least truly living their dreams.  Not that it makes it less painful.  It just makes the life that is lost more "whole", if I can put it that way.  It is just plain sad.


On another bizarre note involving Arizona, we have the case of John Kristoffer Larsgard, who is now serving 7 1/2 years for accidentally going the wrong way down a one-way street, freaking out, nearly hitting some people at a festival, getting beaten in the face by an angry pedestrian, and finally coming to a stop while police drew their guns, forcing him from the car.   This all happened in September of 2011.  

John Kristoffer Larsgard, after getting hit
by a pedestrian, through his car window.

I haven't found out if the guy who hit Larsgard has been charged with assaut and battery, but so far, it does not look like it. 

Anyway, my point is how strangely different our countries are when it comes to meting out "punishment".  Here's a guy, who made a mistake, tried to get away from a crowd (which contained someone who did this to him), was driving erratically in order to make his escape (while blood was flowing from his face), only to be captured up by the local police, and somehow found guilty of a crime deserving of 30 years in prison (um, this is more than the maximum term in prison in Norway for ANY crime...Breivik excluded), but out of the kindness of Arizona's justice system, he's only going to get 7 1/2 years.  Did I mentioned he was with his visiting mother, a nurse from Oslo?  Did I mention he was a med student in Chicago?  The prosecution brought up other instances in which Mr. Larsgard had been involved in previously unseemingly bad behavior over the past couple of years, none of which involved convictions, but were used to paint a picture of some monster behind the wheel of a lethal weapon.  

Again, he was also being mobbed by apparently violent people (note: his face) who were frightened by his poor driving, so...oh yeah, "Stand your Ground" only works if it's a gun you're using, not a car.  

At any rate, my point is that in this country, we need to get a grip on what the word reasonable means.  We love the word extreme.  Extreme sports.  Extreme chili!  Extreme savings! Extreme trucks (complete with truck-nutz)!  Extreme alcoholic drinks.  Extreme energy drinks.  Extreme wrestling.  You name it, we do it with extreme!  Even our sentencing.  Extreme does not require much thought or discussion.  Just go to the end of the spectrum and there you are.  Even powerful Republicans are in fear of losing their seats because they are not extreme enough!  But the word extreme is used synonomously with standing by your convictions.  Those who do not behave in an extreme fashion must be wishy-washy and wimpy.

See what I mean?

Being reasonable means that you have to engage the deeper thought process.  You have to consider context.  C'mon, America!  Weren't you enamored by "Les Miserables?"  Show the love!  Or did you miss the point?  

So, Mr. Larsgard will spend the next 7 1/2 years of his life, "thinking about what he has done", instead of finishing med school, while his mother returns home, feeling like she has abandoned her son.  He will cost Arizona hundreds of thousands of dollars.  He will be a benefit to no-one for the next 7 1/2 years.  The fallout is pretty enormous, if you ask me.  America gets painted like a tyrannical country where armed police run rampant and extreme justice is carried out in order to mollify mobs of extremists.  


I suppose the upside of this were the many comments on any website carrying the story by folks who actually believe that indeed, this was a miscarriage of justice.  I know that Norwegians are really being dragged through the ringer of the cultural mirror they are looking through during the Breivik trial.  So much about their country and countrymen, their political system, their social system, so very much is being brought into question while their justice system tries to make sense out of that horrible tragedy and the twisted (or not?) mind that carried it out with no remorse.  Nothing, nothing is black and white.  I really don't care what it is your are talking about.  And for that, Norwegians are to be given due credit for trying to get at what is reasonable.  


It's a long, hard, painful, intellectually and morally exhausting road, but when it is over, no rock will have been unturned, and what emerges will at least have stood the test of rigorous vetting.  It is not an efficient process.  But, we know what haste makes.  


I hope Mr. Larsgard can appeal.  I wish the Norwegian government would intervene, but alas....they do not interfere in the justice systems of other countries.  And if Mr. Larsgard ends up serving the entire 7 1/2 years, I hope he can forgive us.  As an American, though, it sure gets old having to keep asking for forgiveness for our actions.

Cows 'n stuff

Forgive me, Blogger, for I have sinned.  It has been 2 weeks since my last confession.....


So, let's get to it!


Ok, so, the federal Bureau of Land Management (BLM....Bungled Land Management?)  has suspended plans to seize the 500 to 750 head of cattle run by Clark County rancher Cliven Bundy south of Mesquite - and 80 miles northeast of Las Vegas.   They were going to attempt to at least bring the cattle numbers down to what was  negotiated decades ago, and which had become a legal agreement, a lease, involving public land ("This land is your land, this land is my land, from California, to the New York island..."), a lease that has indeed been violated (did I mention that Mr. Bundy had not paid up on his lease to the Feds in 18 years?).  But, guns are the order of the day, and with Mr. Bundy threatening an armed revolt, the BLM has backed down in the interest of public safety....and government subsidized cattle ranching.  Meanwhile, from the safety of their helicopters, they conduct another roundup of wild horses (because horses have no opposable thumbs and can't stand upright so can't shoot a gun...and have no pockets either, so...no ammo) for fear that these mustangs will die of thirst and have nothing to graze on....wait a minute!  What are those cows drinking?  What the hell are they eating, too? Whose water is that anyway?  


Lesson #1:  Cows are better than wild horses because you can make a profit from them.  They also taste better.  They have a use, a purpose, a profitability, so therefore, they are worth killing over.  Wild horses are just....pretty.  Kind of like Paris Hilton or whatshername Kardashian.  Definitely not worth killing over.


Lesson #2:  Cows are a lot like personal possessions in a home.  They are worth killing another person over.  The life of an unarmed 19 year old guy who was shot by the homeowner 5 (FIVE) times (once in the back) while trying to break and enter was far less important than the homeowner's TV, computer, and jewelry.  What ever happened to running away when faced with danger?  If I was that homeowner, I would have bolted out the front door while the perp was entering the back, and gone to the neighbors to use the phone...oh yeah, we don't talk to our neighbors anymore.  Because we don't need to.  We got guns! (ok...the real reason I'd run is because I don't have a gun...that I know how to use, but hey, at least I didn't kill anyone for coveting my macbook!).


Lesson #3:  A person who packs a gun in public is like a vicious dog on a leash.  They have become vicious because they no longer have the option to flee.  Who the hell runs if they're packing a gun (and admits it?) Running is awesome.  We should do more of it.  Oh wait, "These colors don't run".  


Ah, home:

Land of the Pee, Home of the Depraved

Actually, people here generally hate laws in that they hate having the government tell them what to do.  Damn it, if I wanna drink from the toilet, I should be able to, but look at Big Brother!  Won't even let us do THAT anymore.  Ok, so that's one big difference I have noticed since being back.  Americans generally do not like to obey laws.  When it comes to traffic laws that we violate, at least here in Nevada, we can just go to the "ticket fixer" (I'm assuming these are available in most states).  This avoids those pesky points on your driving record, and makes speeding and driving drunk so much more affordable.  And so much easier to do a second time!  

Well, Norway has a heck of a lot of laws as well.  Actually, WAY more than an American would ever allow.  But one thing I learned when I was there, was that Norway's laws, for the most part (I'm SURE there are exceptions) were hammered out through a long, arduous, inefficient bureaucratic process, meaning that many, many discussions at the local level happened before any pen was used to sign those babies into law.  And so, people tend to obey them.  My Norwegian teacher said I was being a little idealistic, but from my observation, I saw a lot of law-abidin' goin' on over there.  A lot more than here, anyway.  

I just have to laugh at my home though.  America is my home, whatever that means.  My home: where the federal government does not enforce the law against a violating cattle rancher because people need to eat more cows so we can continue to be the country with the highest incidence of heart disease (that's called Cowrma if you ask me!); where a person can sue (and win) a fast food place for being scalded by their hot coffee; where I can get money from a drive-through ATM machine...hell, in Vegas, I can get married in a drive-through; where I can carry a gun to a political rally...or to work; where apparently I can sue a place for not warning me that the toilet water wasn't safe to drink....

I have been laughing a lot lately, actually.  It beats the alternative!

Hangover Heaven

New Link!  I've added Las Vegas weather to my gadgets, so you guys in Norway can have a little something to drool over...for a couple months anyway. 


Well, another weekend is over, and we've now hit 39 traffic fatalities year-to-date in Las Vegas.  This time, the driver actually drove onto the sidewalk and hit the 63 year old woman who apparently thought she would be safe there.  We just have 1.8 more traffic related fatalities to go to keep up with the running weekly average.  


I sort of made a promise to myself to not go negative with this blog, and I will make every effort to do so.  But like a political campaign, it's hard to resist the temptation!  I will do my darndest however, to look upon things with wonder, amazement, and amusement....just like a 2 year old.  Heck, it's what so many Americans do, so I may was well join 'em.


Oh my god, I had just finished a huge paragraph about Norwegian vs. American tax codes, and my husband walked in with the newspaper that contains an article about "Hangover Heaven", a mobile medical bus manned by an anesthesiologist who cruises the Strip, administering relief to all-nighter partiers.  Ok, remember, I just got back from a country that covers the beer in the grocery store aisles with beer-curtains at 8pm on weekdays and 6 pm on Saturdays (or is it Fridays?) because they do not sell beer after those hours.  "Regular price is $200, but Saturday's patients were charged an introductory rate of $150.  It included two bags of saline mixed with vitamins and two prescription drugs, ....Toradol and Zofran....Hangover Heaven is offering a service that can potentially help crowded emergency rooms..."  And here's the response from a customer who had some reservations about the fact that prescription drugs were being administered, "...[T]hey're all wearing scrubs...We assume this is a legitimate business."  The treatment they received, which is called "Redemption" was on special that day for only $90.  And, of course, this is Vegas, so "Wearing a white, sexy nurse costume with white fishnet stockings and white keee-high boots, medical assistant Crystal Willis added a real Vegas touch to the atmosphere." I hope there is an added touch of licensed medical practice along with that!   The funny thing is, that these folks aren't getting this treatment so they can catch their plane home (unlike the ones that were on my first flight who caused us to turn around so they could get off the plane to nurse their epic hangovers).  No way, man!  They're getting on this bus so they can go pull another all-nighter! (and then get on the bus again before catching their flight home).


I think Vegas will make a comeback.  In a country that is increasingly going insane (I'll post later about the rancher who has the BLM running scared because they want to enforce the law on his expired lease to graze his cattle, and he has threatened basically another sagebrush rebellion), people are increasingly searching for a way to anesthetize themselves.  Just hop on a budget airline, check into any hotel, drink yourself into Oz, check into the Hangover Heaven bus for a 90 minute treatment, rinse, and repeat.  


Hangover Heaven doctor treats the buzz kill on Strip - Living - ReviewJournal.com


I think I know what my next investment is going to be!  Anyone got a line on a used 45 ft. bus?  Oh hell yeah!  All those repo'd RV's!!!!!!


Now THAT'S America, my friend, where business opportunities abound to anyone willing and able.  And I mean that in a good way.  


See?  I'm turning a new leaf already  (quick, before it turns into mulch...).  I may need to rename the blog "Leafing Las Vegas"....


Upcoming editions:
Pole dancers in plexi-glassed moving-trucks that drive up and down the Strip (finally outlawed though)


Rancher's Standoff


Any other crazy Vegas story that comes along.

"Socialism Light" and other not-so-amusing things

"In response to Steve Sebelius' March 27 column, in which he argues Obamacare is not socialistic: Maybe Mr. Sebelius is correct, but it is very European - which is 'Socialism Light.'"  


With comments like these from folks who write letters to the editor in the local "news"paper, I can now say definitively that I am healed from ever feeling the need to join their ranks again.   Mark Twain is quoted to have said that "It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."   Have I mentioned how noisy Americans, in general, are when compared to most Norwegians?


I will begin with a HUGE apology to all of the sane Americans I know, and even those I don't know, before continuing with my observations made by sweeping generalizations of America.  I understand that we are a huge country, with a seemingly infinite diversity, so to those of you who read this and truly feel that my comments don't apply to you - well then, they probably don't.  


What a week it has been!  An elderly friend from the dog park was on her way to the hairdresser the other morning when her car was broadsided in an intersection by a 21 year old, busy running a red light.  Actually, according to the paper, her car collided with the truck.  "The police said Portello's truck ran a red light."  Even traffic accidents are described as though people weren't responsible...just their cars are at fault.  She died at the hospital later that morning.  This was the 37th traffic fatality in the Las Vegas valley so far this year (that's appx. 2.8 deaths per week).  Yesterday's running over of yet another pedestrian, (ok - the American says- she deserves it because she wasn't in a crosswalk) brought the number to 38.  I'm immediately remembering my last post about "trust", and applied here, we are to trust that should you ever find the need to cross a street, in or out of a crosswalk, you are taking your life for granted.  And you can trust that if you get hit outside a crosswalk, for any reason, there will be no empathy coming your way.  Social Darwinism, you ninny!  We, as Americans, just refuse to evolve into empathetic creatures, however.


Yesterday's topic on "State of Nevada", a local call-in panel radio broadcast was all about the "Stand Your Ground" law...meaning that it is your legal right not only to carry around a registered gun when you go out and about, but you are no longer required to retreat if you feel threatened.  "If you feel threatened...".  Well, cool, I guess.  Now I know how to handle myself next time I'm in a crosswalk here and that motorist doesn't look like he's slowing down....I'll just get all American on his ass, whip out my gun, and shoot, cuz I felt threatened....That's basically what the man up in Summerlin did to the kid who was in his back yard.  The man felt threatened by the presence of a teen in his yard, pulled out his gun, and shot...and killed him.  In Bergen, this would be an interesting scenario since I could count the number of fences enclosing people's yards on one hand.  "....[H]ome of the brave?"  Then why does someone feel threatened?


Ok.  I get it.  This is life in the city.  In a particularly strange city, so I should not make sweeping generalizations.  But there  is a common underlying thread I have felt since being back here:  Americans don't trust.  Americans fear.  And Americans do not think that they fear.  Like the bully on the schoolground,  our fear is masked by bravado, guns, and self-righteousness.  I get that this may not necessarily be the case in small towns, because I used to live in them.  I get that America is a country of such ethnic diversity that a sense of trust through cultural unity can be difficult.  


But if we cannot trust each other for these reasons, we need to find other reasons to trust one another.  The problem now, as I see it,  is that there really is not a common America for all.  And I think that this is partially because of our culture of individualism and bootstraps, filtered down into us via Horatio Alger, and glorified by lucky millionaires who yes, got there by hard work, but can't seem to understand that they indeed were privileged from the get-go by having access to education, a roof over their heads, people looking after them when they were children, access to health care via their parents, food in their stomachs....you know....."socialism light".....