Sunday, November 13, 2016

Winter Woods Are Prettier



Woods have toggled to Winter. Winter woods are prettier than Summer woods. Eight miler on Catoctin yesterday, a seven miler today on AT.

Yodelayheehoo beneath the fold. Some compiled links and a couple of remarks, shat out to get them out of my system. No songs, no poem - I'm leaving for woods in ten minutes. I woke up with no songs or poems in my head. Strange days.

  • Reflections on a democracy in crisis.
  • When news broke that HRC blames Comey (and everyone and everything but herself) for her loss the angry surge I expected - did anyone think she wouldn't blame Comey? You didn't? Really? what the fuck did you think she would think? - didn't deliver the level of visceral contempt I expected.
  • I'm here now, it's no more complicated than this: nobody wanted either. More wanted Trump less, trusted that enough others would vote against him and said fuck standing in line for hours to vote for another motherfucking Democrat, especially this one. 
  • Villager analysis: Comey and Third Parties.
  • If the Comey Event has any effect it wasn't driving up Trump voters - Trump got fewer votes than McCain in 2008 or Romney in 2012 - but increasing the number of potential Clinton voters who, secure America wouldn't elect Trump no matter how shitty Clinton, said fuck this.
  • Where American was.
  • Hate, grief, new story.
  • Calm the fuck down: I have a confession. I had accepted the conventional wisdom that Clinton would win, and shame on me for that. On election night, about 11 PM, when it began to become clear that Trump might win, I felt a small sense of relief. Not that I was or am at all happy that Trump has been elected. I didn't vote at all, since I am Against Voting in a system such as ours, and my strong preference is that the national government dissolve in a fine mist. But I found the prospect of a Clinton presidency unutterably depressing. I didn't know how I would withstand four years of it, let alone the possibility of eight, God help us. And when Trump actually won, I thought: "Well, at least it might be a little more interesting, and perhaps it will offer some unexpected developments in some ways." As indicated above, I think the likelihood for genuine surprise is severely delimited and, if there were to be a genuine surprise, it would probably be an awful one. But Clinton ... years of gray, lightless, airless drudgery, slowly grinding us into the dirt. At least, Trump holds out the promise of not being entirely boring and predictable. Given the nauseating spectacle of our national politics, I admit that that is not nothing to me. Hate me for it if you want to, but there it is.
  • Maggie's weekly links
  • { feuilleton }'s weekly links.

5 comments:

  1. We get so little seasonal change in Left Coast foliage, and it's averaged 68-70 for ten days. Nice walking weather also, but it looks like another dry, semi-tropical winter.

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  2. 1)there are various definitions for the beginning of winter in the northern hemisphere temperate zone, but early november still counts as "fall" - imho

    2)spouse and self went to see "arrival" this weekend, had differing interpretations of the temporal sequence of events - it turned out her opinion is consistent with all the reviews with spoilers - i just hope my continued cognitive decline will be gradual rather than abrupt

    3)i wonder if i'm wrong about point 1, supra - i don't think so, but of course i wouldn't think so












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    Replies
    1. End of green tunnel = winter woods.

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  3. The Goglegerät defines 'Fall (Foll)' as:

    To move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level. Or, a decrease in number, amount, intensity, or quality. To fall in battle, or to be captured ["the citadel will fall"]. To flow or discharge into. To throw oneself down, typically in order to worship or implore someone.

    Or, autumn.

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  4. To walk in the Winter Woods . . . . It may be my favorite time of year. Sound, color, smell. Oh, and lack of humanoids. Have at it, my brother . . . .

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