The New American Digest

submitted by SK and ghostsniper via comments
“A poem Anne referred us to some time ago comes to mind:” and “In reply to SK”

From SK:

Trees – Joyce Kilmer 1886 – 1918

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

---

and ghost’s reply:

And then there’s this:

Rush – The Trees

[Intro]
There is unrest in the forest, there is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight, and the oaks ignore their pleas

[Verse 1]
The trouble with the maples, and they’re quite convinced they’re right
They say the oaks are just too lofty, and they grab up all the light
But the oaks can’t help their feelings if they like the way they’re made
And they wonder why the maples can’t be happy in their shade

[Bridge]
There is trouble in the forest, and the creatures all have fled
As the maples scream, “Oppression!”, and the oaks just shake their heads

[Instrumental Break]

[Verse 2]
So the maples formed a union, and demanded equal rights
“The oaks are just too greedy, we will make them give us light”
Now there’s no more oak oppression, for they passed a noble law
And the trees are all kept equal by hatchet, axe and saw

===================
===================

This classic prog-rock track from Rush’s 1978 album Hemispheres tells the story of a conflict between oaks and maples. It ends with a sense of “equality”, but at the righteous and/or sinister expense from the imposed and/or agreed upon acts of justified (or unjustified) violence of destruction.

Constructively, or rather musically and rhythmically, Rush’s signature time signature changes include 4/4 (standard 4 beats per measure, introduced in Verse 1), 6/8 (fairly common time, especially throughout this song, during the choruses and the acoustic guitar-driven sections), and 5/4 (a relatively uncommon meter).

Rush invokes 5/4 time intermittently throughout the song’s instrumental break (which comprises 50% of the song), which brings in a lyric-free musical sense of conflict, mystery, and tension (ripe with the 7-measure hard-rock guitar solo), but only after the break’s first section of a peacefully bucolic, woodland nature in 4/4 time. 

The hard rock 5/4 guitar solo then merges back to the instrumental guitar-driven 6/8 meter, but not before a brief foray into 5/4 resolving back to 4/4 in time for the resolution of the revolution in the final (outro) lyrical sections, with the dramatic vocalized penultimate decree (“by hatchet, ax, and saw”).

While the song may appear to simply reflect upon the futility of conflict, given Neil Peart, Rush’s drummer, and lyricist, stated that they were based on a random image that once drifted into his head, the band’s history suggests alternate interpretations.

As the-the-then 1970’s adherents of Ayn Rand’s Objectivism, the band bought-into the virtues of selfishness (as being for the greater good, assumably); thus, the oaks are justified in “grabbing up all the light” by their superior nature.

(Curiously, the annotations to the song herein substantiate the maple as being the national tree of Canada, Rush’s home country, vs. oaks, the national tree of both Great Britain and the U.S.A). 

The equalizing influences (“hatchet, axe, and saw”) are those of democracy and socialism, which curtail the dominance of the strong. 

And yet in the hands of the strong (e.g., the wealth and power of despotic oligarchs) the same means oppress the weak, ensuring inequality reigns-in those without economic, educational, and/or militaristic strength (including the fortitude to fight against injustices). 

Is Ayn Rand’s hyper-capitalistic philosophy a travesty? 

It depends on the definition of “capitalism” and how governments decide to uphold, exploit, de-regulate, or regulate the concept (as they define it?), and whether that American “invisible hand” chops down trees, plants seeds, or some variation of both.

1962 Corvair Spyder
(My first car)

This is my reply to GrayDog … [DT: see “Broken down cars” by SnakepitKansas]

My dad bought this car for me in 1971 when I was 16 for $300 and I paid him back at $50 a week. A year later I traded it in for a 1966 Mustang HiPo convertible and I paid $1000 for it of my own money from working in concrete construction.

If you look at the attached pik you’ll get an idea of what I am going to write.

The Corvair drivetrain is set up like this, from front to rear – transmission, rear end-transaxle, engine. The transmission is connected to the partial frame at the front with 2 motor mounts. The transaxle is supported by the suspension. The engine is supported with just ONE motor mount at the very rear in the middle.

If you look at the attached pik there is a silver circle “thing” right in the middle at the very rear. That is the fuel pump (diaphram type, center vertical plunger, rides on lobes on the cam) and is important as you will see.

Directly under the fuel pump is the single motor mount. The mount is sort of like a fancy angle iron with a hole drilled through it. That angle iron matches with another angle iron mounted on the rear most part of the frame with a nut welded to it. Now this is what I consider a design flaw. The 9/16″ bolt that connects the 2 angle irons together is inserted from below and held in place by a cotter pin.

My dad was an airplane mechanic (C119 flying boxcar) in the air force in Japan in the early 50’s and one of the many things he told me was that all bolts were inserted from above because if the nut falls off the bottom the bolt will remain in the hole doing it’s job. Corvair apparently did not have air force airplane mechanics in their design line up.

At 16 I was very damaging to anything with an engine and this Corvair got a fair share of my abuse. And I spent a lot of time fixing on it. Stuff like changing out clutch discs and pressure plates and throw out bearings, replacing sheared off bolts on the ring gear in the transaxle, valve jobs on the heads, replacing cylinder sleeves, you know, routine stuff for a young dood with high detergent 30w running though his veins. lol

That drive train spent as much time on the driveway as it did in the car. Well, apparently, when I had last had the engine out, upon putting it back together I had neglected to reinstall the cotter pin that kept the motor mount connected to the car. Vibration rotated the bolt, and down it fell on the road with the engine following it.

Are you still with me?

I walked down the road and luckily found that bolt.
Note the spare tire. Under it is a bumper jack – remember them things? I laid the tire at the rear of the car, and using it as a fulcrum, I used the shaft of the bumper jack to lift the engine up and inline with the motor mount. Not as easy as it might seem.

An engine is heavy, hundreds of pounds and at that time I was maybe 150 lbs. I had to stand on that jack to get the needed leverage. I also grabbed a large tree branch laying along the rural road to act as a spacer while lifting the engine. It was a balancing act. 1 foot on the jack, lift the engine, scoot the branch with my other foot. Rinse, repeat, inching that engine into position. I got that bolt back in there but could only hand tighten it and that wouldn’t do. I had a pocket knife so I cut the horn wire and used it to make a “cotter pin” to keep that bolt from falling out again.

Keep in mind this was in the summer of 1971 in southwest FL and it was a hot as a half ****ed fox. I was sweaty and hot and thirsty and miserable and 30 miles from home.

I jumped in and cranked the key but it would not start. Looking at the engine again I noticed something odd about that fuel pump. It was broken loose from the block. WTF???? When that engine dropped down to the ground that fuel pump hit the motor mount on the way down and broke off at the shaft. JFC!!!

After pondering this new dilema for a few mins I came up with an idea. I cut some more horn wire. I wedged one end of that bumper jack under the spare tire bracket, across the top of that fuel pump, and while pushing the pump down hard into the block I wired the other end of the jack to the battery bracket. What a mess.

But.

It worked!!!
I cranked it a couple times, pulled the manual choke, and violin! it started. And ran fine!

When I got home no one else was there so I stole one of my Dad’s Schlitz brews and went out on the back porch and lit me up a B52 bomber and zoned out. LOL

Just one of thousand of adventures of a yound dood with what would now be called over the top ADHD and endlesss curiosity and just enough retardedry to be almost dangerous.

submitted by Anne via Comments

I am a pretty calm gal. Don’t usually get upset–just try to take things in my stride as they used to say.
HOWEVER, when DH and I met (1981) he was driving a 1974 or 1975 two door Saab. We had that car until 1988. Gads I hated that car–no power steering, an absence of comfort that would have made a Swedish Lutheran pastor feel noble!

We moved to Seattle, and that thing began to not like to start. One day right down there on the main street that goes by the Ballard Locks, “we” (the car and I) had a nervous breakdown. I stopped at a red light–it just stopped. In the back seat was one of those rubber headed mallets. I popped the hood and began pounding on everything–anything–whatever I could reach!

Fortunately (or not), I was stalled in front of the woodworking shop, and the men there saw what was going on. One of them came out to explain that I was not using the appropriate strategy for restarting the car. He was very nice, and I cooled off a little. He didn’t get too close until I put the mallet down! Cars were honking as they had to pull around me and go into the oncoming traffic, just to proceed with their own lives! He got it started, and I jumped in and held the gas down while he shut the lid. DH finally got rid of that socialist piece of crap!

We had it for the two years before when we lived in West Texas. Everytime we left town and headed toward Montana we could only get as far as Ft. Sumner New Mexico before it just shut down. It would eat that west Texas dust and fill up that piece of equipment that you only access by taking all the luggage out of the trunk. There was a great Navajo kid who worked at the only gas station in that town. He got so used to us he was like family!

Oh, can’t forget to tell you that after we got rid of all the Texas dust we would continue our drive north to Montana, and every time we hit Casper we had to spend the night in the cheapest possible motel so DH could take something else apart, and clean it out, and put it back together.

One year on the way home for Christmas we parked in a covered parking lot at a hotel in Billings. Had two cases of Texas Red Grapefruit packed on the back seat for family Christmas presents. The temperature dropped down to -30 something that night. When we finally got home to Missoula the next day the grapefruit in the back seat were frozen solid ! Did I tell you the heater and the thing (defroster) that is supposed to keep the windows clear were not working together? Can you imagine how cold it got in that car!

Now maybe you understand why I finally broke down and took the rubber mallet to the carburetor, or the engine block, or whatever the H*LL else I could reach that day in Seattle! 🙂

Pray for us!

by SnakepitKansas via comments

Many, many years ago after my first divorce I had a well worn Datsun 210. I had the money in my pocket for NET worth only. I had driven from Wichita to Dayton to visit my folks, and was most of the way back to Wichita. This car as wrung out and I do not recall how many gobs of miles on it. I pulled into a gas station in Kansas City to fill up and afterward, the car would not start. Starter would not energize and spin. Nada, nucan wala, nothing. I’m 200 miles/four hours from home, it is late in the day and I am broke as a joke and my car will not start sitting in front of the gas pump.

Here comes some elderly man. He says “Owners of this gas station are not fond of broken down vehicles”. He asked the situation and I told him. He nodded then told me to pop the hood and turn the ignition. He pulled a heavy wrench out of his pocket and tapped on the starter while I had the ignition switch. Starter engaged and the car fired up just fine. I had the car in park so I stepped out to thank this man but he was gone. Nowhere in sight. Poof.

OK, the starter was worn out but so was my wallet. I was working full time, living with an uncle and going to WSU one or two classes a semester when I had cash to pay up front. I had recently gotten a second job at a liquor store to help make some savings for school and a newer car. I do not do loans on a car but had no credit score, so that was not an option either. When you have to make it, you have to look inward and decide what you have to do.

TO DO: I drilled a hole in the firewall of the Datsun. Through that I ran a clothes line. One end of the rope attached to a ballpeen hammer that swung on a pully close to the starter. The other end of the rope reached inside the car. I could turn the ignition with my right hand and yank on the rope with my left hand to make the hammer swing to tap the starter. Car started every time. I did this for six months until I had enough cash to buy a used 1988 Mustang GT. What a car that was and certainly is a different story.

I eventually put in a rebuilt starter then sold the car for $200, but not before I shot it twice with a Colt Gubmint Model 45. True story and I would swear on that with upon a stack of Bibles.

submitted by illinoisbeekeeper
pictures taken Oct 2014 EXCEPT the one of the Switchbacks lifted from the internet

We traveled [the Burr Trail] mid-morning to about noon, the drive thru Long Canyon was mostly in shadow and the contrasting light and dark were fantastic

The road is (or was in 2014) fairly well maintained and paved EXCEPT where it crosses a corner of Canyonlands National Park

Gas up in Escalante or Torrey, there’s no gas in Boulder.

(also,  from near Boulder, to Escalante, is the Hells Backbone Road….but…….another time)

A few where-is-it reference maps. This is some remote country – at least the road is (relatively) well-travelled if you break down … but carry survival supplies (water. and some more water. a bit of food; maybe two spares. perhaps a book or two) just in case.