book review: Circles of a Future Politician: How an Average American Saves America

 Dave Volek goes for a peaceful revolution with his books about Tiered Democratic Governance, including Circles of a Future Politician: How an Average American Saves America. Dave's using the novel format to get the word out about a political system that works from the bottom up, instead of the other way around. That's something that could make for dry reading.

But it's also an idea that wouldn't appeal to people who profit from the top side down system, so I shouldn't have been surprised that this book, the third in a series, starts out with an assassination.

 

https://www.amazon.com/Circles-Future-Politician-Average-American-ebook/dp/B09QLFCM8C

The idea is fairly easy to follow, so although I haven't read the second book, it wasn't hard to pick up. This time we follow Eli Weasel and friends on the Tankosin Indiana Reservation, as they attempt their own version of the TDC idea. It's progressed slowly for the group, until other events challenge them to get more active. The story follows them for the next few years, as the concept gains popularity both on the Reservation and in nearby communities. Dave means to challenge the readers' thinking about government and, if read with an open and serious mind, it does.

The story is meant to guide the reader through the theory and the process of building a TDG, so of course there are scenes that move more deliberately than you'd normally expect in a novel. I was more surprised about some scenes of excellent writing, following Eli's thought processes as he goes about his normal life in addition to his efforts to improve his community. It's hard to balance out a book like this, but Dave makes it work--and gives us something to think about.

The author and I don't see eye to eye on every political issue ... but that doesn't make him wrong this time.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

It's Festival Time

 And ... I missed most of it. Which I really don't mind, because I'm not much of a fair ride rider. I am a fair food foodie, but my wife and three doctors held me down and beat me with broccoli sticks until I gave them all my cash.

Speaking of eating, on the same Wednesday the rides started the Albion Fire Department served over six hundred fish and tenderloin meals under a pouring rain and occasional thunder ... well, under a roof. Good thing that roof was there. The Chain O' Lakes Festival is notorious for funny weather and/or unusual things happening. During the fish fry one year, for instance, there was an earthquake, but many of the diners just thought it was the sound of their waistbands expanding. This year everyone was treated to the performance art of one Mark R. Hunter, who tried to sit in a chair when the chair was somewhere else. And yes, I'm still sore.

My first night working in the new dispatch center was the Friday night of the Festival. For the first time in my dispatching career we had a great view, although we were mostly too busy to enjoy it. I did find time to harass a couple of police officers on foot patrol by sending them pictures I took--of themselves. Bwhahahaha! I'm sure they didn't mean it about the Tasing me thing.

From my new position I was able to catch this photo of a pirate attack on the Noble County Courthouse. Turns out those brick walls hold up pretty wall against cannon balls, which I later learned were paper mache, which might have made a difference. No pirates were harmed.

My position actually faces away from the street, which is for the best from a distraction standpoint. But there's a window to my left, and at one point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a giant Transformer coming straight at me!!! Turns out it was a ride swinging my way. And not a cool ride that turns into a robot, either. So everything was fine, although the 911 caller was concerned about my screaming and whimpering. "Well, it's just loud music--should I call back later?" I still haven't found the pen I was holding at the time.

As I write this the Festival parade is today--or maybe tomorrow by the time you read it--but I'm working through that too. I'll take the day off when they make me Grand Marshal.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Genesis of a Fish Fry, or: The Fish is Much Newer Than the Fry

With the Albion Fire Department's annual fish and tenderloin fry coming up Wednesday (June 8th), I thought I'd let everyone know just how long the AFD has been doing this fund raiser, which you can read more about here:

 https://www.facebook.com/events/1125758564936177

The answer: I don't know. I do know we've been doing it for at least forty-five years, with pauses for such things as, oh, pandemics. So I consulted the ultimate guide to the AFD:

 

But then I remembered: "Oh, yeah ... I wrote that." So if I didn't know it, it isn't in there. However, there is one moment in the book that might give us a clue of the annual fish fry's origins:

 ###

            Sometimes people forget volunteers must be ready always; there’s no time when a fire isn’t possible. Sometimes even firefighters forget that.

            On April First, 1946, the AFD held its traditional fish fry at the fire station. Unlike today, the fish fry wasn’t a fundraiser, but a social event held on a Monday before the regular fire meeting, with the Town Board members as guests.

            Chief Harry Campbell himself caught the fish – one of his more pleasant duties – and they were prepared and served by firefighters Ted Frymier, Byron and Welty Smith, Harry Butler, and Don Barcus, at “Gerald Fryonler’s restaurant”. In the midst of their supper, a young girl ran into the establishment and reported a vehicle fire at the REMC, which at the time was around the corner on East Main Street.

            (The REMC – Rural Electric Membership Corporation – was then in the same building that, back when it was a Chevy garage, first housed the ’29 engine.)

The men can’t be blamed for the obvious conclusion: It was an April Fool’s joke. Certain their falling for the joke gave some prankster great amusement, the volunteers hurried to the scene.

There they found a car, blazing merrily away.

###

 I've always wondered if one of the volunteers had to stay behind to make sure the fish didn't burn.

Anyway, hope to see you at the *mumblemumble*ith anniversary fish and tenderloin fry, and don't worry--you don't have to bring your own fish.

If anyone's interested in reading more about the AFD's history, there should be copies at the firehouse, plus I have some, or you can find them on our website:

http://www.markrhunter.com/

Or on Amazon with the rest of our books:

https://www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e/B0058CL6OO

Or what the heck, even Barnes and Noble:

https://www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e/B0058CL6OO

 

Everyone who's tried them agreed that yes, the fish fry has fish, and yes, the AFD history book is about the AFD's history. If they fried up books at the fish fry, that would be odd.

A Screen, A Dog, and a Bed

 Let's talk about pain.

Young people tend to be reckless because they haven't experienced real pain. There was a time when, one a scale of one to ten, I would have rated my chronic back pain as a nine, but I'm old(er) now. Chronic back pain is a four. A pulled back muscle is a nine, as is a migraine. A kidney stone is a fourteen out of ten.

I've talked to people who suffered through both a kidney stone and childbirth (not at the same time--wow), and it appears childbirth is a fifteen out of ten.

And there you have it: Older people need a whole new rating system.

 When you get old(er), you realize why older people didn't want to do stuff back when you were a kid. You could find out the same thing by just listening to their conversations:

"My knee says it's going to rain."

"Really? I can't feel my knee because of the lumbago."

"Oh, I haven't been able to lumbago since I was twenty."

"That's limbogo, moron."

Enjoy it while you can, kids.

(By the way, I Googled "lumbago" to make sure I got it right, and found out ... I got it.)

I told you all this to explain how I injured my neck by--wait for it--turning.

I once fell all the way down a set of stairs inside a house that was on fire, and all I got was a skinned knee. The next day I danced the lumbago.

We got a new radio system at work, and because I wasn't familiar with it I turned my head a lot more than usual to make sure of what I was doing. There are seven screens at my dispatch console. You have to be an owl to see everything.

"As long as I pay, my chiropractor doesn't give a hoot."

 

Neck pain level, after ibuprofen: maybe six, as long as I didn't actually turn my head. But I'd forget--and turn my head.

The neck pain caused head pain, and I was down for about a day. The day after, my wife and I decided to move furniture. This was a coincidence, but also related to pain: The dog's.

Beowulf is around fifteen years old, which in human years is something like 90. So he has trouble getting up and down stairs, but when that's where we are, that's where he'll be. The obvious solution: Move our bedroom downstairs, to where our office used to be. Let's face it, I do most of my writing work on the couch, while icing down various body parts.

My bed hasn't been moved in fifteen years. Why? Because, although we now use air mattresses, the frame is designed for a California King waterbed. Picture something the size of an aircraft carrier, strong enough to hold the contents of Lake Michigan.

It took two hours just to take it apart. Then we had to make multiple trips carrying pieces up and down  those narrow 1879 stairs with the sharp turn at the bottom, and now I know why the dog kept wiping out.

But we did it, and I once again got to dance the lumbago. When it comes to pain, how high can you go? Also, I can now tell you exactly what muscles are needed to haul something up and down stairways. The first day the pain level was about nine, but only when I moved, and as I write this it's down to a much more manageable seven. Ice is my friend.

And that's why none of you have seen me all week. Or Emily. Or Beowulf, who managed to slip by my makeshift barrier and come upstairs to see why we were cursing and throwing things during deconstruction. The next day Emily worked on one of our book projects, while I worked on a different one, and you know what they had in common?

They could be done without moving.

The lesson? I dunno. Buy our books, so we can hire movers? Meanwhile, if you see an older person who isn't moving very fast, cut them a break: You don't know if their day involved a screen, a dog, or a bed.

"A Walk? Nah, I'll just wait in the car."

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Memorial Day, 2022

 Not "Happy" Memorial Day ... although I suspect I've unconsciously been guilty of that one.

Yes ... things have been worse.

It's funny how these tombstones so seldom display race, class, or political leanings.

From the Chain O' Lakes Festival Parade, several years ago.

There's nothing I could add to this.

book review: God's Bolt, by Ron Forsythe

 When a novel begins with the total destruction of Earth and everyone on it ... where do you go from there?

In God's Bolt, Ron Forsythe goes to the only survivor: scientist Helen Southcote. Alone on a United Nations sponsored space station, she has to witness the asteroid impact that destroys the world, and live with the knowledge that she's the only survivor.

She doesn't handle it well.

Helen's only companion is an Artificial Intelligence running the station that she doesn't really like, and her only comfort the knowledge that the search for intelligence elsewhere, her life's obsession, was successful: There is life out in the rest of the galaxy. Unfortunately, it's so far away that it's no hope of rescue, and unlikely to even know of the Earth's destruction.

  

 https://www.amazon.com/Gods-Bolt-Ron-Forsythe-ebook/dp/B07QB9CFJL

 

For the rest of the novel Forsythe flashes back to Helen's life, the creation of the space station's A.I., and the discovery of the massive asteroid that sneaks up on Earth, along with efforts to divert it. At the same time we follow Helen's recovery from despair. She's seen her friends and family all die, and is now stranded on a space station that can never land. The best she can hope for is to survive, alone, and watch the world burn beneath her.

Not the most upbeat life in the world. Still, God's Bolt is fascinating in the same way so many disaster stories are, even if the "Who will live?" question seems settled right from the beginning. The writing can be repetitive at times, especially when it comes to Helen's breakdown and the fight against the asteroid--I couldn't help thinking it wasn't necessary to say it was huge so many times, for instance. But it was an interesting, optimistic, look at what the world could be in a century and a half or so. Interesting enough that I was sad to see it go!

Helen is the main viewpoint character in God's Bolt, and I found her well rounded, especially as we get to follow her through her life and dedication to the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. That's a subject I assumed was an unnecessary side story, but just about everything is tied up at the end.

I also found the efforts to stop the disaster, complete with infighting in the world's government and the rise of a doomsday cult, to be fascinating, even knowing their efforts would ultimately fail. All in all a fun read, or at least as fun as planetary Armageddon can be.

By the way, improbably ... there's a sequel.

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

You Can Sit Down to Eat Fish and Tenderloin Again

 By the title, I mean at the Albion Fire Department you can sit down to eat ... I mean, at the Albion, Indiana, Fire Department. I've been to Albion, Illinois--very nice firehouse. Where was I?

Oh, yes. For the last couple of years the AFD's annual fish and tenderloin fry--which I'm going to shorten to fish fry, because the fish is yummy--has been the drive-through type, due to COVID. This year we're going back to the old ways, where you can sit and eat, or come on in to get a carry out order, and isn't that exciting? Yes. Yes, it is. Because the fish is seriously yummy, and I understand this year dessert is a cupcake (well, not just one) courtesy of Boo's Knead for Sweets.

The chips and applesauce are fine, but who can pass up Boo's Knead for Sweets? Me, neither.

Here's the Facebook events page:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1125758564936177

It'll look something like this, only with people.

 

The prices are $12 for adults and $8 for kids. That might seem like a lot, but it is all you could eat--just stop eating for, say, five days before, and I'm sure you'll be happy with the result, if you don't pass out and miss the whole thing.

Be there anytime between 4:30 and 7 p.m. on Wednesday, June 8th, and get fed before you head up to the Chain O' Lakes Festival on the courthouse square. We (the AFD) are at 210 S. Fire Station Drive. Don't accidentally go one block over, because the jail food isn't nearly as good, or so I've heard.

The building looks like this, only without the old firefighters standing in front of it. The 9/11 tree is still there, though.

 

Oh, and while you're there, ask about buying a copy of our book, Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department. Proceeds, yes, go to the AFD. Remember, every time you fail to support your local fire department, one of Santa Claus' hairs gets scorched. Save Santa's beard.

 

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

movie review: Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness

 Well, here's still another movie that doesn't need my help to be successful. In fact, the most helpful thing I could do is warn casual moviegoers: "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness" is not what you might think.

The movie opens with Doctor Strange, a magician played with the usual skill by Benedict Cumberbatch, trying to protect a teenage girl from an attacking monster.

It kills him.

Next we find Doctor Strange trying to protect a teenage girl from an attacking monster. This time he succeeds; it's the same girl, but a different Strange.

Things get more Strange from here. The good Doctor's attempt to save the universe--well, all the universes--takes him from one dimension to another, fleeing an unexpected enemy far more powerful than he is. Along the way we get some old favorites (was the first Doctor Strange really six years ago?), and cool cameo appearances.

 But you have to understand this: Marvel movies have been fantasies, comedies, action-adventure, and science fiction, but this one is a flat out horror movie.

Consider that before you take your kids. This isn't just comic book violence, and the people who die aren't just background characters. It gets graphic, and it gets, well, horrible. It's also a great addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe and a good movie in general, so don't let the genre stop you; just be aware.

My Score:

Entertainment Value: 5 out of 5 M&Ms. By now you've figured out that I don't go to the movies unless I'm already pretty sure I'll like the flick. As with many Marvel movies, I marvel (see what I did, there?) at how they manage to put together a tale like this in a way that can be followed by the average viewer.

Oscar Potential: 4 out of 5 M&Ms. Naturally it's visually great, and has amazing performances, especially by Cumberbatch and Elizabeth Olsen. I'd love to see all these characters again--including the dead ones, which in a multiverse is always possible.

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Flowers Are Better Than Snowdrifts

            This will come as no shock to anyone who knows me, but I love spring. To paraphrase some action movie or other: Winter is the disease, and spring is the cure. Summer is that wild celebration you throw when you realize the disease is going to strike again, so you might as well party.

            This being Indiana, there could be a foot of snow on the ground by the time you read this, but at the moment it’s been pretty nice in between the thunderstorms. Wait, let me check …

            Huh. Heat wave. Better than winter, when snow is some kind of permanent nightmarish superglue. Nobody ever froze to death in a thunderstorm, unless they hid in a chest freezer. That would freeze your chest.

            The only bad things about warm weather are pollen and bugs, and pollen can be medicated. I like to think of allergies as a luxury tax for being able to walk outside wearing less than eight layers of clothing.

            One of the first signs of spring – other than any part of my skin being seen outdoors – is the appearance of budding plants and flowers. That burst of color, a visual shock after months of white and various shades of dirty gray, does more to cheer me than all the chocolate in Hershey.

This is nothing to sneeze at. Actually, it is.

 

            Maybe you could say my love of spring is like a red, red rose. I came up with that all by myself, honest. Well, I stole it all by myself.

            I need to see that color outside, because inside I’m the kiss of death for a plant. There’s a graveyard of flower pots in my garage, sad rows full of bare earth and dead, dry stalks. In the plant community I’m known as the Mark Horseman of the Apocalypse. The last time I walked through a botanical garden, twelve species went extinct.

            I’m the Darth Vader of plants; I just choke them out.

            And yet, just outside the house, plants thrive. Like the spiders who invade my home every year, they live for the thrill of being near danger. Mind you, I had no idea what those plants were, until I found a phone app to identify them.

            According to the internet, the various plants around my house include:

            Lilacs, which produce one of the most wonderful scents since fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. I bought lilac scented laundry detergent over winter, but it just wasn’t the same.

"I wish Mark would get out of the way so I get a picture of the lilacs."

            Narcissus, a variety of daffodil. Narcissus sounds so much more exotic and interesting, though. Narcissus is also a character from Greek myth who fell in love with his own reflection, and thus is a hero to many in Hollywood. Things ended badly for Narcissus; but then, the Greeks wrote tragedies, not comedies.

            Tulips, a flower that first came from Holland, Michigan. Some people from the Netherlands visited Michigan, and so fell in love with the flower that they made it their own and also nicknamed their country Holland, which seems like some kind of intellectual theft, to me. But revenge is sweet: For a time tulips became so valuable in the Netherlands that they replaced the national currency. Their entire economy crashed when some kid took his thumb out of the dike, looked around, and said:

            “Dude. They’re flowers.”

            At the moment my tulips are in hiding, waiting to see if I go crazy with the lawn mower or weed spray. However, a line of eye-poppingly colorful flowers eye-popped up against the neighbor’s house, where presumably they’re safe from me. Silly flowers.

"Just stay closed until he goes away."

 

            Then there’s forsythia, a bush that sprouted some bright yellow blossoms. Someone told me I shouldn’t trim the forsythia, but it grows so fast that one of its branches once stabbed me in the leg as I innocently walked by with the garden sheers. One year I didn’t trim it at all, and a film crew came by and paid me a hundred bucks to use it in their low-budget monster movie, “Attack of the Sixty Foot Sythia”. I don’t know what they left out the “for” for, except maybe that “S” sound is scarier: Stormtrooper; Scythe; Senator …

             I also have some roses, but as of this writing they haven’t bloomed. Maybe they’re standing by with the tulips. Waiting. Plotting.

            Oh, and dandelions – how could I forget dandelions? Weeds, you say? Nonsense! They’re harmless and colorful, they make necklaces and wine, and what the heck is wrong with that? Those are flowers, believe it; the narcissus lovers are just jealous.

            In any case, any bloom that doesn’t immediately kill you is better than a snowdrift.

 

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

New Granddaughter Alert

 Introducing:  Willa Quinn Repine!

A little over two weeks old in the video and first photo and four months in the other pictures, Willa joins big sis Lilli as my second granddaughter. That means the ratio of grandsons to granddaughters is now even.

I tested her grip; she's got a strong one.

Grandpa is boring.

"So ... what does the little human DO? Other than put out strange smells?"

Everybody smile for Emily! Lilli dotes on her new little sis.

Everyone's doing well. I mean, I've had a few twinges here and there, but everybody else is.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"