Trump Didn’t Win

I wish I could say I’m surprised this morning, but I’m not. Really not at all. Disappointed, yes. But certainly not surprised. Here is the late Joe Bageant talking about his book Deer Hunting with Jesus. I wish everyone would read it. He nailed it years ago, and it’s still true today.

Most of us live in these little bubbles of our own making, where we insulate ourselves with people who think like we do. Particularly in Missoula, which is a tiny Blue oasis in a seething desert of angry Red, it can seem like everyone is suitably progressive. We laugh and drink our fancy beer and enjoy our hip clothes and our coffee and our farmers’ markets, until it comes time to leave those comfortable environs. Because out of town it’s a different story, and we all tend to roll up the windows of our Subarus, crank up the AC, and just get from point A to point B as quickly as possible.

In the nine mile drive I make between my house and town every day, I don’t recall a single Hillary sign. Or a pro-Democratic candidate sign, period. It’s all Republican. Take any of the blue highways and frontage roads around the interstate and it’s the same thing. That’s the reality of Montana, and it’s a kind of little microcosm for the country as a whole. None of these folks care about endorsements from the likes of the New Yorker or the New York Times, or any of those sources that made so many seem to feel Clinton’s victory was guaranteed. Rural folk feel abandoned, and they are likely to vote for the candidate who seems most interested in smashing the status quo.

Trump didn’t win, he merely received what was handed to him. The Democrats lost this election long ago. They have become every bit as much a part of the moneyed elite as the Republicans, they just go about it differently. We have accomplished some great things socially under Obama, some truly necessary things. But I wonder how much of that is a calculated smokescreen to keep us on the Left appeased? Meanwhile the gulf widens between the haves and the have nots. My health insurance – even with its sky high deductible – literally became unaffordable overnight last week and I don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably die young(ish), heh. Climate change continues to be something we don’t discuss at the highest levels of political discourse, and I blame Obama largely for that for not steering the conversation vigorously the past eight years. Where has he been on Standing Rock? Where was Hillary? What about public land being turned over to private interests? Continued war? Obama has been no dove, and Hillary certainly isn’t. All of these concerns, the ones I hold most dear, were things I was going to have to be angry about and fight for even in a Clinton presidency. For me, not a lot has changed all that much. It all just has an uglier face on it.

It doesn’t mean I’m not sad, though. Sad for my women friends, sad for my friends of other races and cultures. Sad for how this country looks to the rest of the world today. But it’s where we are. It’s like checking my bank balance. I don’t like looking at it. But I have to now and then to be reminded I need to fucking work harder.

 

They Say It’s Her Birthday

Today is my friend Jenny Montgomery’s birthday. It also happens I have a Q&A in this week’s Independent in support of her pop-up poetry/art installation at Radius Gallery called “Hatch.” You can check out the interview HERE. Meanwhile, an excerpt:

Jenny Montgomery’s Radius Gallery pop-up show, titled Hatch, explores the parenting of her son, who was born seven years ago with no signs of life. Nurses at the remote, rural hospital revived him and he was immediately whisked away from Montgomery and her husband, Ryan, to a large urban facility where modern technology enabled his survival. Hatch documents Montgomery’s experience, substituting the medical jargon and technology with images and poetry. It’s an exhibit that touches on ancient ritual traditions surrounding death and the afterlife, the romantic idealization of childhood and the near-fetishization of medical “cures” and pharmaceuticals. We spoke with Jenny—you may also know her as co-owner of Montgomery Distillery—about this intensely personal exhibit and her uncommon son, Heath.

I’ve gotten to know Jenny fairly well over the past couple years. She appeared in the DonkeyGirl fashion extravaganza “Two-Wheel Nation,” she modeled for me at last spring’s fashion shoot for the Indy’s “Spring Fashion” insert, and she also modeled at the Betty’s Divine “Dysfunctional Family” shoot we did a few weeks ago. She plied me with alcohol at the Beargrass Writing thing last month, and just last night hung out with me at Chris Dombrowski’s book release party held at Montgomery Distillery. Jenny is one of my favorites. Everyone should be lucky enough to know her.

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Better, Bigger

In my interview with David Quammen, he said:

Ken Burns did his film series on America’s National Parks, and he did a very fine job; he calls it ‘America’s Best Idea.’ Even on the back of my book it says ‘America’s Best Idea.’ But I quarrel with that phrase. I don’t think it was ‘America’s Best Idea,’ there were some other very, very good ideas that America had like constitutional democracy; like government of the people, by the people, for the people. What Yellowstone is, is a good idea that has gotten much better and a big idea that has gotten much bigger. But it didn’t start as a great idea.

The following are some shots from Quammen’s event at Fact & Fiction last Friday night. The man is an excellent presenter, even with a technical glitch here and there. The discussion was entirely about Yellowstone, and I found it fascinating. If you ever get a chance to attend one of Quammen’s events, I urge you to do so.

Wild at Heart

I had the pleasure last week to interview one of my writing heroes, David Quammen. It may not be a big deal to some, but last May’s issue of National Geographic that focused on Yellowstone National Park was written single-handedly by Quammen. That, when it comes to magazine writing, is a pinnacle achievement. He will be in Missoula Friday for an event, and my interview — a much-abbreviated version of our full conversation — is in this week’s issue of the Independent. I hope you can check it out, because the guy is loquacious and fascinating. Here’s an excerpt:

When you realized you were actually writing an entire issue of National Geographic, did you have any particular “Holy shit!” moments?

David Quammen: It was a “holy shit” moment for me. And there were a few times after I accepted this project that I had a few of those “holy shit” moments at 4 a.m., thinking, “How in the world am I gonna do this?” What I was thinking was, everyone has already read books about Yellowstone, at least in this region and the world that we live in. And across America people think that they know Yellowstone and what it’s about. The first challenge was how to make it new, how to make it fresh, how to make it interesting. So I worked very hard on trying to do that, to make it serious and probing and unexpected.

I’m looking forward to the event Friday. If you are near Missoula, you should check it out.

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One of Many Reasons I’m a Misanthrope

This is why I hate people, summertime, and nice weather.

The last two evenings I’ve been down to the river with my dog, the main beach has been overrun by loud, sunburned meatheads and their hangers-on. Not the same groups, just two different versions of the same basic mouth breather. I skirt the beach when that happens, just to avoid whatever is going on. Today I ventured out in the morning before the place gets overrun just to have some peace, which is the reason I go there in the first place. This is what I found there.

fires

Illegal fire built using logs and branches torn from the surrounding area. Charred beer cans in and around the scorched patch. Cigarette butts. Various assorted other bits and pieces of trash. I wish these people would just set themselves on fire instead.

It’s why I love cold and clouds and shitty weather. It keeps people like this inside watching television and ruining their own shit. As if I wasn’t enough of a seething cauldron of rage as it is, for crissakes. I think I am going to retire socially until the weather matches my demeanor.