How I Solved All Our Water Problems

Most of the Southwest United States is in drought, which should come as no surprised to those who who've heard the term "Desert Southwest". After all, Phoenix, Arizona, was built on a place that got so dry the Native Americans moved away.

Now the Phoenix rising from the ashes is a roasted bird, Las Vegas is turning from Sin City to Sand City, and the Hoover Dam will someday be called the Hoover Wall. Climate change? Well, yeah--Mother Nature has stepped out of the bath and is drying herself with a huge sandy towel.

The question is, what's to be done? We can't just hope California slides into the sea and changes weather patterns--we don't get that lucky. Oh, and people live there, that too.

So, how do we solve this problem?

Okay, we could detonate nuclear weapons off the California coast, which would cause waves to wash over the land. There are a few problems with this idea, the main one being that the water wouldn't go far enough inland. Plus, it's salt water. Plus, you know, people. The surfing would be awesome, though.

Scientists have learned many asteroids and comets contain water ice. We could steer one this way and drop it over the Southwest--I'm thinking California--where it would not only provide water, but also remove an awfully lot of the demand for water.

"Honey, it looks like rain!"

 

This didn't work out so well for the dinosaurs.

But I had an idea--one that makes just much sense as, say, the Congressional budget process, or the Kardashians. I originally came up with it during the Great Recession, in around 2008. At the time we'd had problems with drought or flooding, or maybe both, and while pondering it I had my own brainstorm.

Why did I not speak up? Because it was huge. Huge. I figured people would just make fun of it.

 But I'm older now, and honestly I just don't give a dam. (Dam, get it? Never mind.)

Then, in 2015, William Shatner floated a similar idea. I figured if it's good enough for Captain Kirk, it's good enough for me.

Maybe Captain Kirk could help find the water.

 

Now, what are the two water related problems facing the US today? That's right: too little water, and too much water. (We northern Hoosiers are getting soaked pretty good at the moment.) So ...

Pipelines.

I know what you're thinking: "Mark, that would be insanely expensive!"

Hear me out. First of all, manpower would come from every able bodied person in the country who, for one reason or other, is getting government money. They would be trained in the necessary skills to build pipelines across the country, and paid to do it. If they're capable of doing the work but choose not to, then they just don't get taxpayer money--pretty much as simple as that.

Nothing would flow through these pipelines but water. Further--and this is important--water will go to drought stricken areas, but only from areas that are getting too much water. If it's flooding in Alabama, that water goes to Arizona. If there's no flooding going on anywhere in America, then the dry places have to hang on as best they can. No siphoning water from the Great Lakes, or the Mississippi River, unless they're overflowing their banks. Flood waters would go first to drought areas in the same state, if there are any.

They can have our snow, too.

That would make it complicated, and at first enormously expensive. It might also go slowly, as only enough people would work on it to get the unemployment rate as low as possible. But in the long run it would give people jobs and future skills, reduce flood losses, and help make the Southwest green again. The pipelines could even be tapped for firefighting as they pass through rural areas.

Granted, it won't solve all our problems: The Kardashians will still be there.

It's a sensible solution that would take only political will, which is exactly why it will never happen.

But it's nice to think about, isn't it? Top off Lake Meade, help out the farmers who feed us, and Californians can stay in California. I mean, they'll still have the earthquakes, but no plan is perfect.

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book review: The Flying Girl by Edith Van Dyne

This one is a bit odd for me, considering The Flying Girl was published all the way back in 1911. Still, it came highly recommended, and I found it easier to read than a lot of other writing at the time was.

It's also far more feminist than you'd imagine, at least for its time. The Flying Girl tells the story of Orissa Kane, a 17-year-old in California who's holding down a job to support her blind mother and her brother, an inventor who's working on his own flying machine. To say airplanes were still new at the time puts it mildly; in fact, the author gives credit for help on the book from Glenn C Curtis, a founder of the U.S. aircraft industry and winner of the first international air meet, and Wilbur Wright, who with his brother did something even more spectacular just eight years before publication.

Orissa's brother Steve is a genius in mechanical design, but the Kane family finds itself in the middle of a dispute with two former business partners, who want to invest in the Kane airplane for different reasons. Here Van Dyne cleverly describes one partner in heroic terms and the other like one might describe a silent movie villain--then flips the script.

 Soon the plane is the target of sabotage that injures Steve; and although it can be repaired, Steve is forced out of an upcoming nationwide competition by a broken leg. If only there was someone who'd been watching over his shoulder the whole time, and knew just about as much about the flying machine as Steve himself ... but who ...?

Oh, no, surely not a girl. How indecent!

To say the book's approach to a female protagonist was advanced for the time is putting it mildly. Orissa Kane jumps into the role of airplane pilot fearlessly, and meets all the many challenges that come along with it. Yes, there's a boy, and Orissa never loses her "maidenly virtues", but she's also competent and way braver than I would have been.

But what would you expect, from the same author who invented Dorothy Gale and Ozma of Oz?

Because Edith Van Dyne was really L. Frank Baum, who wrote The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and its sequels. That shouldn't come as a surprise for those who read the Oz books, which were full of strong, smart, competent female characters. (And it's how The Flying Girl came into my reading orbit. I've been reading up on Baum as I prepared to tackle writing my own Oz book.)

By today's standards The Flying Girl would be considered a young adult book, and it also works pretty well, a century later, as an historical novel. In context it's surprisingly advanced not only in its treatment of women, but in its technical aspects--it turns out Baum, who wrote science fiction and invented an early robot and miniature submarines, had an interest in the mechanical.

There's a sequel, The Flying Girl and Her Chum, and I liked this one enough to look forward to trying the second one.

 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/53386/53386-h/53386-h.htm

 https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1929527241

 

 

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Writing Advertising Goes Overboard

 It's said there's no such thing as bad publicity.

We all know that's not true.

Oh, it sounds like a good idea in theory. As a writer, I'm well aware that if you want to hit the best seller's list, your best bet is to get caught doing something wrong, preferably prison-sized wrong. Or to get elected, which is pretty much the same thing these days. 

But even then it depends on what you did. There's a new reality show out about the "Queen of Meth", actor Tom Arnold's sister, who apparently made truck loads of money, got busted, and now is being paid to be on TV because she ... well, dealt drugs. But do you think she'd get a TV deal if she got busted kicking puppies and kittens? Nope.

So, it depends.

Now, my newest novel is a couple of years old now, but chances are you haven't heard of it. Yes, I sent out press releases, but I've published too many books now for the media to be all that interested anymore. I shouted out Coming Attractions on the internet, but social media is now designed so people aren't likely to hear about it unless the writer forks over some money, first.

So I forked over some money.

There are web services that promise to shout out your book, get people interested, land you sales, make them money ... you too, hopefully. I've used them sparingly before and found they gave me a bump in sales, if not a big one.

Now, I believe in Coming Attractions. It's a fun story, if I do say so myself.

But frankly, it landed with a snooze.

It's received only four Amazon reviews, the most recent one a year ago. It was self-published, but these days almost all authors have to help promote their work, even with a traditional publisher ... unless their name ends in King, Koontz, or Rowling. It was as if one of my children went on stage for their first role, and found the theater occupied by three winos and the janitor.

I have ideas in other areas, but for starters I decided to try one of the publicity sites again. Among other things they put the book up on their website, and send it out to their newsletter subscribers. They also Tweet links to it. You've heard of Twitter: That place where you have very little space to say a whole lot of things. I'm a novelist--Twitter and I are not friends. But I've met a lot of great people there, and some of them read.

Some attention, right? At the very worst it would just be a little wasted money.

Then I saw the first Tweet.

A literary masterpiece. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter

@MarkRHunter

 

Wait. What?

 

It came with a nice visual, but that visual was on every single other Tweet.

 

Then came the next one:

 

A dynamic, explosive, page-turning epic. #books #RomanticComedy #MarkRHunter

@MarkRHunter

 

Um ... are we talking about the same book?

 

Don't get me wrong: I really do think it's a good story. But it's a romantic comedy. Early Tom Hanks, Sandra Bollock stuff. It is not, nor was it meant to be, a literary masterpiece. Nor is it the kind of story that would be called explosive, or epic. My characters are not returning a magical ring, or saving the planet.

With what I paid them, I didn't expect anyone at the company to actually read the book--but they did have the back cover blurb, for crying out loud.

Over the next several Tweets, I learned Coming Attractions was inspiring, intriguing, riveting, and the Best Book They've Ever Read! Also, after making all those promises, they said it lived up to every promise. Promises they made.

Oh, and it's also "One of the most original, powerful, and mind-blowing books you will ever read about human consciousness."

 

No. No, just ... no.

 

Finally, it's "The perfect book for all book readers".

 

Oh? What if you only read horror? Or thrillers? Or stuff recommended by Oprah?

 

I was horrified.

 

I would have been horrified but kept my mouth shut, if it actually did bring in more sales. But I kept imagining potential book buyers would read this bombastic bragging and be reduced to helpless, knee-slapping, non-buying hysterics.

 

That must be what happened, because during the promotion period Coming Attractions made exactly zero sales.

 

Ah, well. It wasn't much money--if it had been, I wouldn't have tried it to begin with--so I can only complain a little. And after all, I'm competing with the 1.7 million other self-published books released that same year, so maybe shouting big words from the rooftop was worth a try. It beats walking up and down the street wearing a sandwich board sign.

 

Which did get me two sales, so who am I to say?

 

 

At least it got around a little.

 

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Photos From Jeff's Memorial Gathering

 It was a hot day when Jeff Hunter's family and friends gathered to have a meal and remember him last Sunday. I think Jeff would have appreciated that--like his brother (me), he hated the cold. Jeff passed away on January 30th, and if I recall correctly, there was a snowstorm coming in at the time, so it was quite a difference.

We were at the Delt Church Park in LaGrange Co, a place Jeff and his wife Cathy liked to go. I'd never been there, so Emily and I ran up a week earlier, and found it to be a beautiful place. It's in Amish country, so every now and then a buggy would go by. The pavilion Cathy rented was right on the edge of the Little Elkhart River. More about the place here:

http://www.lagrangecountyparks.org/index.php/parks/delt-church

I personally didn't take a lot of pictures that day, being preoccupied with other thoughts. But in this one you can see, in the standing photo to the right, Jeff and Cathy on their wedding day. Toward the left are Jeff and me in our truly horrendous 70s leisure suits, along with our little sister Penny.

The following are photos Cathy gathered together and put up on poster boards for everyone to look at. Different times, different people with him in the photos ... a lot of memories, there. If you click on them, the smaller images should be easier to see.

It was nice to see a lot of people I don't get to see often ... wish it had been under different circumstances. Some weren't able to stay all that long due to the heat, and in the below photo the crowd had started clearing out a little. Mother Nature does like to screw up outdoor plans.

One final photo: Dad (Delbert Hunter) and me. In these COVID times, we haven't seen much of each other lately. I confess I haven't felt up to going out and seeing much of anyone, between my ongoing medical problems, the coronavirus, and everything else that has been going on in recent months. There's also the whole introvert thing--I believe it runs in the family. (Emily took the picture.)

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Yesterday I Couldn't Even Spell Ciprofloxacin

 As we enter the second month of sinus infection, hope among CDC personnel of a cure is beginning to fade.

Yes, I still have that same super-powered sinus infection I wrote about several weeks before--kind of the Death Star of nose germs, it's been lasering the inside of my head.

No, I haven't been writing much about it. There are only so many ways to poke fun at sick sinuses before the joke grows as tired as ... well, as being sick. Besides, I used to get sinus infections like politicians get bribes, until I had surgery. Now there's one every year or two, at about the same rate Godzilla destroys Tokyo.

I'd been healing, more or less, I thought. Until this past weekend. We spent about four hours sitting outside along a gravel road Sunday, so it's possible the dust and pollen contributed ... but Saturday I felt so bad I couldn't even write, and that's going some.

There are ways to tell if a sinus infection is getting worse. If you tap your cheekbones, and the back of your head bulges out like something out of an "Alien" movie. Another sign is the color of your ... well ... mucus. You know. Nose stuff. It's supposed to be clear, apparently, but this weekend mine took on the same greenish-yellow tone as my first car, only without the fun of driving too fast.

We'll speak no more about that. 

If you value your appetite, don't even read the instructions.

 

So on Monday the Doc decided to up the game. The little booger bugs seem to have gotten used to the antibiotic that worked before. So we would continue with the neti pot --please don't ask for details--extra vitamin C, lots of vitamins, a nose spray, plenty of rest, and a brand new antibiotic.

"I don't want to take more pills," I whined, stamping my feet. But the truth is, by Monday morning my balance was off, my throat was scratchy, and overall I looked like I'd spent the weekend doing something fun, which I hadn't.

So, introducing Ciprofloxacin.

 

 No, I can't pronounce it.

"Take this with food," the Doctor ordered, "or you'll regret it."

No problem, I'd mix up a tall glass of chocolate milk. Any excuse to break out the Nestle's Quick.

Then I read the instructions. Do not take with milk, calcium fortified beverages, yogurt, antacids, or anything containing calcium, iron, or zinc.

So what, now I have to pay attention to what's in my food? Ignorance, like chocolate, is bliss.

That made me curious about the information page they include in medicine. Generally the more print, the more you have to worry about, so I borrowed a microscope and scoped it out, and I am so, so sorry I did.

but at least now I understand where the nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness, and headache came from. Another symptom is sun sensitivity, but I have the schedule of a vampire. Oh, and then there's the possibility of serious nerve problems. And liver problems. Vision changes. Seizures, irregular heartbeat, hallucinations, diarrhea, and, oh yeah, mood changes, which I did indeed get after reading the warning sheet.

Plus it can interact with caffeine to make you even more caffeinated, so maybe it's not all bad.

And how do I feel about all this? Thankful. Without modern medical stuff, I might have to walk around the rest of my life with a severe sinus infection, which is kind of like a normal sinus infection, only with thunderbolts and lighting ... an idea I find very frightening.

So yeah, it's going to be an unpleasant week, but I can still walk, even if it's sideways. I can still breath, through my mouth. Not only can I eat, but I have to, every eight hours on the dot, whether I want to or not ... even if the foods I can take with Cipro are limited to salt-free soda crackers and celery sticks. And that's the last time I'm going to talk about it.

Until next time.

It could be worse: Nowhere is chocolate mentioned on this.

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Mayor Declared War on Soft Drinks ... but Still Loved Donuts

I don't talk much about politics, but just to show I've always paid attention, I uncovered this piece from way back in 2012. I think you'll find me on the cutting edge of activism:

 --------------------------------------

          New York City Mayor Bloomberg wants to ban supersized sugary drinks, as a way to combat malnutrition.

            He also signed a proclamation for NYC Donut Day.

            (Oh, another note of irony: I brought up several internet articles to familiarize myself with the Bloomberg Big Belly Ban, and the very first one was preceded by one of those annoying internet ads – for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.)

            The BBBB would apply to any bottled soda or fountain drink over 16 ounces that contains more than 25 calories per eight ounces, which is pretty much all of them. They’d be outlawed at restaurants, sports venues, street vendors, and – brace yourselves – movie theaters. Gasp! Next they’ll be taking my large buttered popcorn.

            But those goobers won’t get it without a fight.

            No word on whether the 17 ounce Big Gulp will be available in government offices, but grocery stores and convenience stores would be exempt. Apparently large soft drinks sold there are not dangerous.

            The good news is, banning things that are bad for us is always effective, and always, always works. Just ask the people who pushed Prohibition.

            Well, they can have my Slurpee when they pry it from my cold, sticky hands.

            If they criminalize supersized Cokes, only criminals will be truly refreshed.

Family reunions are a great place to exercise my right to choose.

            When Bloomberg came for cigarettes, nobody spoke (because they were busy coughing). When he came for trans fats, nobody stood up (because they were too heavy to get to their feet). Now they come for sugary drinks, and who will stand up for Mr. Pibbs? Has the medical field even debated this? Did anyone ask Dr. Pepper?

            Give me Mountain Dew, or give me death! And not Diet Mountain Dew, either. It tastes like artificially sweetened sheep dip.

            The Founding Fathers would be horrified. The whole reason they settled in the New World is because the British wouldn’t let us sweeten our tea.

            “One lump or two?”

            “How dare they alter our national beverage? Off with their heads!”

            Then we formed an independent country, so we could have southern style sweet tea. Thomas Jefferson wrote that right into the Declaration of Independence, along with a clause about fried chicken and gravy. Both were removed by a rather grumpy New York delegate named Samuel Chase, whose wife had just put him on a diet.

            Say, do you suppose that’s it? Maybe Bloomberg’s just steamed because his wife has him eating fish and asparagus.

            The Founding Fathers really would be horrified, as this kind of nanny state thinking is exactly what the Constitution was meant to prevent. It demonstrates that their written guide for the country is more relevant now than ever, despite the food stains.

 Rumor has it the Founding Fathers fueled their revolutionary ardor with Heaven's snack: S'Mores.

            Benjamin Franklin would be especially upset, as he was known to upturn an extra-large mug of mead himself, from time to time. Franklin, who famously said that wine is proof that God loves us, and wants to see us happy, would have loved one of those fountain drinks you need to haul around in a cart. Ben Franklin would have punched Bloomberg right in the nose. Well, maybe not … Ben would probably have slept with Bloomberg’s wife. He was into all sorts of excesses.

            I’m not so sure about Thomas Jefferson’s reaction. He believed in personal freedoms (unless you were one of his slaves), but also had a huge vegetable garden that he took great pride in. He grew over 250 varieties of more than 70 different vegetable species, in a garden 1,000 feet long. His children hated him.

            Once, Jefferson sent John Adams a sampling of twenty different types of lettuce. Adams wrote back: “Tom, would you relax and have a friggin’ donut? I’ll bet you can’t find twenty different varieties of donuts.” (This was before Krispy Kreme.)

            Still, they would have agreed that no mayor of York, old or new, had the right to come over and tell them how many lumps they could put in their tea. Should you stop drinking huge sugary drinks? Of course. Should we bow to a government telling us we have to? Hell, no.

We can’t have true freedom without independence. A nanny state, by definition, is a lack of independence. I may disapprove of what you eat, but I will defend to the early death your right to pork rinds.

            Yes, there have to be some limits in an orderly society, but we must draw a jittery line in the sand, with one of those big soda straws. Our voices, strengthened by a sugar rush, should shout out that we can be convinced to be healthier, but not be force fed. And, to paraphrase Franklin Delano Roosevelt, we would rather die on our Frostie than live on our salads.

            Now. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a little non-violent protest. Supersize me.

 Is this a great country, or what?

 

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