Monthly Archives: September 2021

Just in case you think no one is watching, listening, following #buckleupconspiracytheorists

30 Thursday Sep 2021

Posted by in Reflection

≈ 3 Comments

This morning I woke up before the man and the dog and decided to watch a video by one of the crochet bloggers I follow.  Before the video played I had to sit through an ad, usually for something that’s easy to skip.  This ad was different, catching my attention by highlighting digestive problems.  I’ll spare you any specific reference to my digestive issue; suffice it to say that it’s exacerbated by travel.  Gut health is the goal and sugar is digestive enemy #1, closely followed by processed foods and so-called health and diet foods.  (Sorry if this ruins the 22 minute video for you).  

I don’t know if these informational videos that lead inevitably to the purchase of a miracle pill are becoming more intellectual and science-based or if I’m becoming more gullible and stupider.  Regardless, I listened to the whole thing and ended up purchasing the smallest, “satisfaction guaranteed or your money back” amount and having it sent to my brother’s house.  That way I can start experiencing gut health while on this trip!  Doesn’t that sound like a good deal?  The truth is, a lot of the information shared by the lovely “doctor to the Hollywood stars” made sense.  I already know sugar is addictive, leads to cravings, and makes you fat.  I know this because I’m alive and living in the United States, where sugar is added to everything.  Just like I know I don’t drink enough water and I know having a donut for breakfast is unhealthy.  So why listen to this sales pitch?  Because I am currently having that digestive problem!  

After checking the sugar content of my yogurt (none, that’s why I add honey), I decided to finally watch the yarn video.  Guess what popped up?  An infomercial on arthritis, something else I’m experiencing more often (like every day).  I let the video play as I started this blog and I’m delighted to tell you that, from the 3 minutes I listened to, it’s obvious that sugar is once again the culprit.

You probably think this piece is heading toward confessional yo-yo dieting anecdotes but it’s not.  (It could but that’s another blog entirely.)  What struck me as humorous is how my phone “knows” which ads to feature.  Have you ever seen a Facebook ad for an item—say shoes—that you’ve been thinking about buying pop up on your newsfeed?  I have and, at first I thought FB sold my information, including the year I was born (bastards) and that’s why comfort shoes, makeup tricks for women (way) over 40, and dresses that “make you look younger” were the featured ads on my feed.  There was also an ad for adult diapers which really made me mad but, luckily, only appeared once.  Well, FB probably did sell my information and so did the other mass market monopolies.  Still, I don’t think that’s the extent of the surveillance.  I think “they” are constantly monitoring us.

You may not realize it but your smart phone isn’t only smart for you.  It’s basically a GPS system that’s automatically your “friend” and therefore privy to your location.  My theory is that every conversation we have, every place we go, and every preference we express is somehow electronically saved, put into an algorithm, and immediately shared with the big three in my life (Apple, Google, and Amazon).  That’s why Amazon can recommend products for me when I open my Amazon Prime app.  It’s why I decided to switch to a Mac after 25 years of using a PC (a decision I regretted for most of 2020).  It’s why my iPhone, iWatch, iBuds, iPad, and computer are networked and, in my opinion, working together to figure me out!  One time Max and I were talking about those robot vacuums and if they really worked.  Max mentioned that he really needed a hand vacuum for his car.  We were sitting close to each other and both of us had our phones (of course).  Within a day or two, Max started getting pop up ads for hand vacs and Amazon kept recommending different robot vacuums. and suggesting that hand vacs make nice gifts.  I blame that one on Alexa. She’s in the kitchen and she’s nosy.

But think about it,“they” know where you are and are able to record anything you search.  And how often do you ask Google for information?  Every time you search the cast of a show you’re watching on Netflix or Prime or Apple, that information is absorbed by Google and Netflix, etc. and your preferences are noted.  So let’s say you decide to search for airfares to Hawaii and you happen to be sitting in your family room in Redding, CA.  That night your newsfeed on FB features moo-moos for the mature woman and several airlines start sending emails.  The coup de gras comes when Apple offers a steep discount on iPads and the background of the ad is a beautiful, tropical island.  Don’t be naive—this stuff happens.  And I don’t care.  There’s no point in worrying because it’s far too late to avoid being known by every algorithm on earth and maybe beyond. Sometimes I’m annoyed but many times I’m happy to be manipulated.  After buying tickets to a Luke Bryan concert several years ago, both iTunes and Amazon music started suggesting other country artists,  Stub Hub let me know when another, mainstream country music star would be appearing in venues within 200 miles of my location.  I kid myself that I recognize the tactics and am therefore immune.

All of this makes me laugh when I think about the large number of conspiracy theorists in my community.  Some people won’t get the Covid vaccine because (pick your favorite) it’s a live vaccine with evil intentions, you’re being microchipped, or it’s part of a government plot to take away your first and second amendment rights, not to mention your right to privacy.  Well, here’s a newsflash, folks, you have no privacy,  You handed that over years ago when you bought your first smart phone or googled something on a computer.  And even if you don’t have any smart technology of your own, you better not stand or sit near anyone who does.  Oh, yes, it’s that real.

Maybe you’re old enough to have memorized Christmas carols when you were a child, back when you believed in Santa.  Do you remember that Santa “knows if you’ve been bad or good?”  So when you think about it, this lack of privacy could be worse.  At least Amazon isn’t evaluating our intentions and sending the goon squad to our homes. Yet.

I have been writing this on my Mac—a risk, I know.  In a few minutes I will read this aloud to my husband because I always do.  And this information will be noted and maybe used.  I might even get put on the “bad list” in the event that Santa is a conspiracy theorist.

At last-a road trip #escape#relaxingsortof#notgood at hashtags

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

Posted by in travelogue

≈ 3 Comments

I’m sitting on the bench seat of our dinette in the newish class c motor home we bought recently.  Not incidentally I’m in West Glacier RV park, contemplating a dark cloud hovering over the hills that surround us.  I’m trying to remember what it is I had to finish or who I was supposed to contact or what online task I’m forgetting.  Because there is something.  Something that was plaguing me before we left Redding three days ago.  Something that had me on edge and made me sort of rude and abrupt, definitely abrupt.  It wasn’t finishing some  online banking because that’s on my calendar and it popped up the moment I fired up the Mac.  It’s not on the calendar because it’s so important, I couldn’t possible forget it.  Except I have.  As so often, I’m trying to figure out how my mind works.  This has been a life-long and somewhat fruitless pursuit.  What I can see is that I’m following the pre-road trip pattern that has been mine as long as I can remember.

Before we left Redding, an escape from heat and fire and Covid breathing citizens, I had driven myself and others crazy trying to get “things” ready and “things” finished.   On my list of stuff to finish was staining the deck posts and planting a winter garden.  Also getting my real I.D., changing all my passwords, and keeping dental and medical appointments.  And most importantly doing whatever it was I needed to do to make it possible to wear shoes that aren’t sandals.  I have endured three visits to a very nice podiatrist who has stuck needles into my right big toe and pared away the offending, ingrown nail that makes pressure unbearable. The last time was the miracle visit.  At last I could wear sneakers.  This ecstasy lasted until yesterday when a casual push on the nail shot pain up my toe to my teeth (a slight exaggeration).  There is hope because a friend of mine introduced me to Altra walking shoes, which have a toe box, so wide and high that my toe floats, untouched and happy, in Bozo the Clown shoes. I will don these later and begin the hikes and photo shoots at Glacier National Park, a place I’ve wanted to visit for years.  A place that everyone I know has apparently already visited and shared pictures and stories that make me smile gently as I writhe inwardly with envy.  I don’t know what it is about this particular goal, but I started getting a clue yesterday as we drove from Spokane through Idaho and into Montana.  California has magnificent and virtually every kind of terrain.  Still, the magic of climbing into mountain weather, seeing autumn colors on the way up and dry rolling hills on the way down is hard to describe.  For 29 miles or so we drove next to the banks of Flathead Lake, bigger than Tahoe and incredibly clean.  That’s what happens when there are fewer people to mess it up.  Right now I’m not too fond of people in general.  That’s what comes of living in the county with the highest number of Covid cases in the state.  I feel like we are escaping with our lives as well as our little dog.

This long introduction is leading to something important I need to relearn and retain.  Why is it that at home I feel compelled, driven to accomplish?  When we were trying to leave on Saturday and Mike was finishing up the last minute things he had put off until the last minute (a pattern I can’t understand even after 26 years), I cast about frantically and found things to keep me physically busy.  Since the raccoon that likes to stroll through our garden had started up his nocturnal wandering, I erected a barrier of plant supports to keep him out. This was so I didn’t scream at my husband because, really, what difference did it make when we left?  Mirroring my anxiety was Fiona, the eponymous dog of this blog.  As is her habit she followed Mike around ruthlessly, hovering in the doorway as he finally dealt with correspondence which could have been dealt with last week (just sayin’).  She perched in the shotgun seat of the motor home for hours as Mike loaded up his clothes (yes, he waited until Saturday morning to do this) and hitched up the tow car. 

Somewhere around Weed we decided to “go with the flow” of the trip.  Whatever happens happens and it’s all good.  You may be thinking that it’s impossible for a type A nut, such as myself, to relax to this extent but you would be wrong.  For example, I’m sitting at the dinette, surrounding by what I would characterize as a huge mess.  There are dishes and supplies piled on the tiny counter.  The table is almost invisible and the unmade bed hides the little dog from view.  I’m taking pictures of this because people who know me will not believe I haven’t put things away and straightened up.  In one picture you might notice the towel under the refrigerator.  This is because we have a leak of unknown origin that soaked our rug the night before last and continued to leak when we set up camp yesterday.  Mike turned off the  city water that seems to have been the source of the leak so at least we know what system to examine.  Not that the two, least handy, people in the world will be able to do anything about it.  But we will have to find someone who can fix it and convey what we do know. 

There is going to be rain so waking up the princess for a walk/run is a priority.  Yesterday and, apparently, today, the dog is sleeping in on our bed (it’s hers, too) cocooned in the comforter and finally getting the sleep she missed at night when we disturb her slumber.  At home she does not tolerate twitching feet or clearing throats.  She flounces from the bed after issuing a growl that is half warning and half disgust, jumps down to the bench at the end  of the bed and onto the floor where her personal bed lies.  At home she goes on a nightly walkabout, securing the perimeter, having a drink of water and a snack, and finally returning to our bed.  Fiona’s policy is to be the last one up but at home it’s only a few minutes after the humans rise.  Here she will apparently stay in bed all morning.  She didn’t voluntarily get up yesterday; around 11:00 I dragged her out for a walk.  This attitude of laise faire is so appealing that I’m considering following her doggy lead and truly relaxing.  I’m already halfway there.

I have discovered what will drive me from the cozy warmth and clutter of the RV—a senate hearing.  Yesterday Mike had the hearings playing–loudly–on his iPad.  Apparently his idea of escaping and mine are different.  Time for another walk.  

By the way, I finally remembered the critical task and I’ve decided I’m not going to do it. So there.  Another step closer to really relaxing.  As I recall from the last time I was on a long trip (Feb 2020), the next step moves me away from home mentally as if the fact that I’m not there gives me permission to quit feeling responsible for so many things.  I suspect that some mental/spiritual healing needs to take place.  Just now, watching an overfed crow try repeatedly to perch on a lovely, crimson sapling, I wondered how long he would try before giving up.  I think there’s a metaphor there.