Jay Peterson
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My Alive Day is tomorrow

3/21/2020

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March 22 coming up tomorrow gives me the weird feeling of what the next universe over is like. The one where Genius and his crew got me first as opposed to the other way around. Not to mention the odd way of thinking that's kept me in this universe.
If you haven't heard the story, "Genius" is the name I gave to a Taliban mortar leader I fought against ten years ago tomorrow. I call him that because his shooting was incredible. One crosswind in the other direction and one of those rounds would have landed on my crotch instead of blowing a tire on the Humvee. What I didn't know at the time was that he was also attacking another patrol south of me.
To put it in mundane terms, the guy and his team were doing two or three different trigonometric equations simultaneously, where a variable in each one changed every couple of seconds, and he was keeping up with the changes. Not an easy thing. Even before an overweight Shakespearean trained Marine starts filling your workspace with grenades the size of soda cans.
In a lot of ways, I was never a very stellar Marine. Constantly overweight and a lousy leader, to name two things off the top of my head.
And that doesn't include the culture clash. Not sure if it was a liberal arts degree, an odd religious base, or a philosophical reference, but I didn't see the need in hating anyone I had to shoot. Which put me occasion at odds with the "get pumped before a football game" types. I was more, "If getting the job done means paint the walls with entrails, roger that. No need to be rude about it."
Not exactly inspiring, I'll admit, but it worked for me. Didn't lose a wink of sleep over Genius, though I've had some disturbed nights wondering what other people think of me as a result. A part of me wonders if that's the reason I've never had PTSD.
(For a long time, I wondered if this made me one of Grossman's "functional sociopaths." But in the intervening years, I've concluded that Sheepdog theory is bullshit and told Grossman that in person, so I take anything else he's written with enough salt to grace a margarita.)
I'm talking about this now for a few reasons.
One, I no longer work in the theater, so I don't have to sweat over my income and career being affected by some pearl-clutching hoplophobe panicking about my supposed bloodthirst.
Two, this attitude affects a lot of my interactions, particularly online.
The increasing vitriol, especially since the 2016 election, equally disgusts and baffles me. Seeing dozens, hundreds of people with, from this end, some really screwed up danger detection senses. And some really screwed up attack responses.
"X, Y, and Z all want me dead!"
Me: "They don't know you're alive, cupcake. At best, they support something that'll make your life harder. As bloodlust goes, that's pretty lazy of them."
"Build a guillotine on main street!"
Me: "You needed my tools to build a desk from IKEA. Stop before you hurt yourself."
I just don't see the appeal of screaming into the void. Not without a heavy bag to hit while you're doing it, anyway.
Nor do I see the point of threats. Make a threat online, and you either mean it or you don't.
If you don't mean it, then you're a lying poser who would've done the world a favor by keeping your flapping yap shut.
And if you do mean it, you're fool enough to leave evidence of premeditation for the world to see, and may the devil take your lawyer.
I've become distinctly returned hobbit in my outlook. The sword's on the mantle. I prefer my books and armchair, wife and cats. Any attempts at scouring a shire won't go over well, but I'd much prefer to avoid such things in the first place.
I didn't take down Genius so I could die of someone else's stupid.
I hope I won't have to.
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Not pissing off people in airports

3/17/2020

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In Neil Gaiman's American Gods, the main character Shadow, while still in prison, listens to the story of another prisoner who happens to be a recidivist. The reason he's a recidivist is because when released on parole, he was taken to the airport. And at the airport he used his by-now expired driver's license as ID. And when the lady at the ticket counter did not accept it, he became somewhat belligerent, because letting someone disrespect you in prison is a bad idea.
Cue airport security kicking him out, him never catching his flight, him going on a drinking binge that culminated in an armed robbery and finally being right back in prison with a longer sentence. What said inmate learned from the experience is summed up thusly:
"And the moral of this story, according to Johnnie Larch, was this: don't piss off people who work in airports.
'Are you sure it's not something like 'The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment'?' said Shadow, when Johnnie Larch told him the story.
'No, listen to me, I'm telling you, man,' said Johnnie Larch, 'don't piss off those bitches in airports.'"
Five days after I wrote Coronavirus Nights, this is what my feed is currently reminding me of. Everyone's pet political theory, no matter how ridiculous, is being trumpeted as a way out of or at least through the pandemic.
Ammo's started flying off the shelves, and being ignored in favor of toilet paper. A small but growing number of folks are seeing bare supermarket shelves and reasoning their homes are next, and are seeking to defend themselves. I'm seeing reports from gun shops in California that buying sprees are well under way, though quarantines and lockdowns meeting mandatory waiting periods may leave several unarmed anyway. On top of that, a lot of these first-time buyers are Asian-Americans looking at renewed threats of racial violence.
And I'm seeing a lot of gunbunnies, tacticlowns, and worse, boomer fudds, sitting back on their prepper cases and proclaiming they were right all along.
"I'm telling you, man, don't piss off those bitches in airports."
Mitt Romney of all fucking people is talking about cash payments to every citizen. Which, given the sporadic pay structures of the industries hit hardest by all the closures, means that direct grants may well be the easiest and most effective way of providing relief in a case this big and this fast. Whether or not it's effective on a more mundane scale is... debatable.
"I'm telling you, man, don't piss off those bitches in airports."
Just saw an article flying by that claims single-payer systems are more efficient than a for-profit model. Not reading it, but no shit. Single-controller is more efficient when you're dealing with a plague. Doesn't mean it's optimal or unharmful if used as general policy.
"I'm telling you, man, don't piss off those bitches in airports."
I'm not even going to go into what my anxiety-riddled artist friends are posting to try to stave off panic.
Remember:
We're still in an election year.
Time in quarantine means time to panic and be jerks.
There's no crisis so fast it can't be taken advantage of to push whatever agenda you've got, and this one's bigger and slower than most.
And most of all,
"Are you sure it's not something like 'The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment'?"
"'No, listen to me, I'm telling you, man, don't piss off those bitches in airports.'"
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Project time

3/16/2020

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(usual caveats of assuming that you can do so and suchlike.)
Stuck with the kids at home and their school doesn't have a learning plan set up yet?
Make a list of all the little repairs and such that need doing. Spring cleaning, summerizing, whatever.
Bring the kids along while you do them.
If you're not sure of the best method, ask them to look it up on their devices.
Yesterday's holding the flashlight is today's pausing and playing the youtube video.
They're gonna have to fix a drawer, unclog a drain, change a tire and everything else eventually. And school won't teach 'em even when they do go back. And now you've got time on your hands.
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Coronavirus nights: The Gen X of plagues

3/12/2020

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I didn't want to write this.


But since we're gonna be here for a while and I'm gonna be having these conversations anyway, I might as well lay it all out here and now rather than scattered throughout my feed. Then I can get back to writing about ax-throwing bellydancer space mercenaries and gun-toting wizard handymen.


That said, I got a definite audience I'm aiming at here.


If you're insisting on panicking no matter what? That's your call, but I got nothing for you. Scroll on in peace.


If you're going to stubbornly keep to your routine until forced otherwise? I get that. I was just telling my audience last night I'll keep coming. Hook up my mic to a mask if I gotta. But I'll keep coming. But if you're not going to make changes at all? Might as well keep scrolling on.


I'm aiming at the mighty middle. The nervous but still head-on-shoulders.


I'm not going to go into fifth grade health class lessons about how viruses act or what the official words from on high say. Plenty of other people are doing that. I'm gonna talk about how people react.


And we're all reacting to something new to us, but old to humanity.


Before I start, lemme give you some stats:


I'm a freelancer in the arts world. I make money working crowds 4-5 days a week. And I spend a lot of time living check to check. So when I talk about crowds going away and the entertainment, hospitality, and tourist industries taking it in the shorts, realize that the hand of fate I'm talking about is reaching for my waistband too.


My beloved works a corporate job from home. She's also got a pair of lungs so fucked up she might as well have got 'em off of Doc Holliday. So when I talk about the immunocompromised and more susceptible to corona out here, before you start yelling, keep in mind that the one true love of my life is right in those crosshairs, and I care more about her than any of you motherfuckers.


(That goes double for the able-bodied woke-ass fucks who think being a smug little shitstain about mentioning the immunocompromised counts as compassion.)


My neighborhood is in the west side of Cobb County, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta. And this area is full of what I, for lack of a better term, call Quiet Preppers. They don't show up to rallies in camo, they don't rail about boogaloos online, they're just... quiet. Armed to the teeth, most of them. Home invasion isn't a completely effective method of suicide out here, but it's close. They weren't panic buying toilet paper, because they already had between a week and a month's worth of whatever they needed already. Might have picked up an extra few cans of food here and there, but nothing truly noticeable.


And just as a side item, I've personally lost two, possibly three old acquaintances to complications of the regular flu in the last 30 days. So if you think I'm being flippant at any point, be aware that I know damned well how serious this can get.


So that's my little snapshot in the storm that's completely new to almost all of us.


Americans aren't used to ongoing, low-grade crises. We're used to 9/11's and Katrinas. We're used to getting our asses kicked for a couple days, then a couple months of recovery. We're not used to an ongoing crisis that goes on for months.


On top of that, our economy is based around slim margins and last day delivery. Some of that is pure capitalism (maximize profits and minimize losses, Econ 101). Some of that is incentivized by tax structures (if you're penalized for keeping a cushion of inventory around, you're not going to keep it around. You'll just have it shipped overnight when you need it. Which works until your supply chain gets borked.)






So now we've got three problems:


One, a flu variant that looks tenfold more nasty than the seasonal, with the bonus factor of lingering on surfaces.


Two, a last-minute, slim-margin economy with a large workforce that live on even slimmer margins.


Three, the most connected populace in history, which means every fear and anger has a soapbox waiting for it even in the depths of quarantine.






I'm gonna go over the bad potential outcomes first, then look at some of the good ones.


First is one we're already seeing: public gatherings are being closed left and right. This means that industries that rely on crowds are taking a hit. Entertainment, hospitality, food & beverage, and tourism are all going to get hit here. Disney is already looking at a big loss because the theaters in China have been closed for two months, just as they're about to release Mulan.


Two, big childcare crisis inbound. Schools are closing in several areas, which, while they're probably the biggest single contributor to flattening the curve, are leaving parents who were already juggling work schedules up in the air.


Three, crisis brings desperation, and desperation breeds scammers. There's going to be all manner of fuckery from people trying to scam victims of this. Anything from work-from-home scams to MLM's on steroids to bogus creditor scams will kick in.


Four, between the Boomers and the immunocompromised, our high-risk population could be as high as one in four adults.


Five, we've spent the last decade and change fucking with our medical system, which is awkward at the best of times.


Six, we've never been more politically divided. And that only gets worse with desperation.






In calmer times, there was a standard gallows joke in the prepper community. Those of us who did prepare for the zombie apocalypse inevitably had a circle of friends who laughed at us for the practice. But even while laughing, the phrase, "something happens, I'll just come to your house." would be said.


The more honest among us would point out, "you're jumping to conclusions about just how welcome you'd be." The rest of us would just keep quiet, not wanting to hear the inevitable whining about how unfair and greedy we were.


That argument has circled up and down enough levels that I'm tired of the whole damn thing.


I've already unfollowed everyone on my feed economically illiterate enough to not know the difference between price gouging and capitalism. The soapbox sadies screaming "hoarder!" at everyone with an extra jar of peanut butter in the shopping cart.


I've also unfollowed every smug-ass prepper who thinks they'll be king of the zombies at the end. Yeah, yeah, yeah, grasshopper, ant, what the fuck ever. Save it for Call of Duty or whatever the fuck you play.

I’m sick of the screeching mob and the smug hermit. Join humanity as a grownup or fuck off.







OK, now I'm going to move on to some of the good outcomes.


I mentioned before that we're not used to long-running crises. But we've seen parts of history where humanity managed to thrive. Most are looking at the response to the Spanish flu, but I'm looking at the reactions to the Blitz in London during WWII. It sucked. It sucked hard. But people adapted.


And I think that's the biggest thing that gets me. I've lived in two war zones in my time. You can adapt to anything. Might not thrive, but you can adapt.






One, we've had enough nasty weather in a lot of the country that a lot of people have at least dipped their toe in the river of being prepared. Every little bit there helps.






Two, while we've got a medical and financial crisis on our hands, it's not quite at the level of survival (excepting the high-risk). The Russian/mideast price war means fuel is cheap. Fuel, transportation, and agriculture are still largely unaffected. Assuming food distribution can be arranged, we can at least hold off starvation.






Three, it's an election year. And no incumbent wants to be caught letting their constituents eat cake. That goes from federal to local. Right now, local leadership has their chance to shine. The next county over from me shut down their schools the moment an employee tested positive. Mayor Bottoms in Atlanta just signed an executive order putting a 60-day stay on shutting off people's water for nonpayment. It's local leadership responding to local problems that will really make big differences.






Four, Social distancing? You mean Americans have to be more isolated and less touchy?
As I said last night, Hold my sanitizer.



Seriously, I'm looking at the difference between Italy and South Korea from a few days ago. They've got similar, homogeneous populations, both aging into the risk zone, same number of positive cases. Korea has twice the population density.


Yet Italy has seven times the deaths of South Korea.


Now some are harumphing and saying, "Well, that's what socialized medicine gets ya!"


But that can't be the factor, because they both have socialized medical systems.


(That said, the belief in socialized medicine as a cure-all is still a false hope at best. Italy is effectively doing battlefield triage and there are still some crystal-wavers in the comments section insisting that they're violating rights by doing so.


Look, healthcare isn't a privilege OR a right. It's a commodity, and there's only so much of it. And when there's more patients than treatment, triage happens no matter who's paying the bills.)


I'm calling social distance the tiebreaker here. Italian personal space is much closer than Korean personal space.


Americans are way out there in personal space. Especially dudes. There's some exceptions (elevators, subways), but in general, Americans like their space. Ask any midwest salesman. In cities, you stay just outside of the bad breath zone. Out in the county, you might be out at shouting distance for the other person to be comfortable.


Stop handshaking. Vulcan gang sign, heart hands, salute, fucking something, you're American, backing off should be second nature to you, and now it's your greatest weapon.






Five, Improvise, Overcome, Adapt came from American Marines. And it's so very true.


Out of hand sanitizer? Mix some aloe vera and moonshine.

Figure out what’s needed and cobble together what you can.




Six, clean your brain.

Isolation plus anxiety is a recipe for all manner of nasty. Find ways to laugh. Find ways of relieving tension.

If I had to list the top two things I did when I had some personal time after a firefight or something equally nasty, after the admin shit was done and weapons clean?

One, masturbate.

Two, watch something light-hearted. Muppets, cartoons, whatever makes you smile.

You NEED psyche-cleansers just as much as you need to wash your hands, people.

* * *

Allright, I think that’s it. Fuck, that was rambling.

Go in peace, folks.
Stay safe out there.

-J.


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The commune myth

3/2/2020

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So, saw a tumblr thread going around presenting as the latest millenial-and-younger dream of communal living, presented as a utopian ideal with bonus sneering at capitalism and the nuclear family.
*maniacal laughter*
Oh, my sweet summer children. Come listen to your Xennial Barbarian elders' tale.
I spent a year of my twenties living in just such an arrangement. Nine (or ten, depending on the month) young enlightened artist types living in an old (we all heard antebellum, current listings claim it was built in 1905) mansion in what is now Atlanta's Kirkwood area. The rent was cheap, the location ideal, and the place itself magical. Especially once I told the resident ghosts to stay the fuck out of my room.
It was definitely an experience I won't forget. I learned a lot there.
How to apply a worthy flogging to a guest without waking up the slumbering infant on the next floor, for one.
Quite a number of awesome celebrations, including the wedding reception that wandered into the 3rd floor ballroom while I was lying around in my underwear watching cartoons.
As an artsy young undergrad, it was an adventure.
As a functional adult, it was one shitshow after another.
I'm sure there's twentysomething artsy fuckheads who aren't complete and total flakes. They're not the ones that are joining communes. Every damn month was some asshole coming up short or late or both. With the responsible ones among us having yet another whip-round to keep the roof over our heads.
With the special prize going to the one who snuck out in the middle of the night to stiff the rest of us, getting arrested with intent to distribute oregano, then using the house as his phone call. We took turns laughing at him before hanging up. Last I'd heard of him, there were active warrants for him in another state.
And that was just getting the rent and the bills paid. That didn't include such adventures as having to clear my own house because my latest roommate, Derpy McPianoman, decided to invite his dealer home and got robbed, calling me as an emergency number (because of course).
This went up and down the scale from stupidly dangerous to even more stupidly petty. (Show me someone living with two professional chefs and I'll show you someone living with two people who think dishwashing brownies live deep in the pantry and come out to work while they sleep.)
The adventure lasted a year. Three of the original nine to be there from start to finish, including myself. I'm not even going to mention the fuckery that got the last of us kicked out.
I'm still on friendly speaking terms with three of the eighteen or so people I lived with during that year. I'm not particularly close to any of them these days.
Don't get my buzzkill wrong, I still see the ideal. I honestly do. It's not just the usual RENT waiter rubicon* of sense that affects young artists that get hit with the practicality stick as they mature.
I remember dating the occasional Doe-eyed Mcfluffywiccan chick with fond thoughts of "pack" in their minds. Not thinking about who'd be doing the pack's dishes.
It's a yearning to try and replace the extended family.
(It's no small wonder that the ideal communal life is the Addams Family).
The fly in the jam is that it's attempting to do that without using the tools of blood and marriage that made extended families the source of stability that they are.
There's a reason that weddings involve publicly witnessed oaths to look out for each other in good times and bad.
NOTHING you can do with a gagglefuck of fellow arts yahoos has the cultural or psychological weight of that public ritual.
It's like trying to build a house without a foundation or insulation, then wondering why it's starting to fall apart.
There would need to be some serious bonds of trust (or moderate bonds of trust combined with independent wealth) before I'd ever consider anything resembling such an arrangement again.
* Watching RENT as a kid, especially an arty kid, it's easy to get wrapped up in La Vie Boheme and no day but today and all that. But sooner or later as an adult, even one in the arts scene, you identify more and more with the waiter. Live in your seasons of love all you want, but can you fucking freeloaders stop dry-humping on the tables so the customers who actually tip can eat?
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    Jay Peterson

    Musings on violence, storytelling, and humanity in general.

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