Postal Service, Under Pressure, Now Faces Trump’s Mail Ballot Order – The New York Times
As the web advertisers says, “Know the Sneaky Signs of Schizophrenia” 🧠
I made the tragic mistake of clicking on an article about the next generation of Schizophrenia drugs designed to help people with serious mental illness overcome their delusions and paranoia without many of the traditional side-effects of Schizophrenia drugs – namely the withdrawal from daily life and uncontrolled body movements.
Now I’m being followed around the internet with ads with creepy faces on toasters and refrigerators saying, “Know the Sneaky Signs of Schizophrenia”. The rather colorful and cute ads remind me of a psychedelic album cover from the late 1960s. You know the kind of artwork you might enjoy when you are pretty darn stoned and looking for something to be tuned into.
The irony of it all is such targeted advertising is not only creepy and plays in one’s own paranoia, it actually is in many ways a realization of the modern suburbanite’s home, full of internet connected appliances, constantly beaming information over the internet, some that you consent to and find useful but much of which can be used for nefarious or even surveillance purposes by hackers or government agents if they actually found you to be of something of interest.
I don’t have Internet at home but I have been to plenty of homes where people have Amazon Echos and “smart” televisions and refrigerators with large displays that smile at you and try to be friendly in appearance, even if they are data collecting machines, mostly for innocent purposes like telling you when your toast is done on your cellphone, that and selling your data and marketing to you. I mean, the schizophrenic aren’t exactly wrong about where America is going these days in your typical suburban home.
Balancing Prudence and the Open Road
Even as a person who prides myself on financial responsibility, I occasionally find myself staring at my Ford SuperDuty and grappling with the sticker price. At nearly $60,000, it is a staggering sum for a vehicle. I know it isn’t an “investment”—at least not in the sense that my brokerage accounts are. It is a consumption expense, a heavy-duty truck that will eventually wear out. Yet, as I look toward the next fifteen years of my life, I’ve come to view this truck not as a lapse in judgment, but as a deliberate investment in personal freedom.
My professional life is defined by the structured world of middle management, overseeing Data Services Unit for the NYS Assembly. It is a career built on twenty years of steady growth, and this year, my total income—bolstered by dividends and side projects—will reach well into the six figures. Despite this, my daily habits remain rooted in frugality. I live in a modest apartment; I commute by bicycle or the local city bus. Because I am disciplined in the areas of life I care little about, I have granted myself the permission to be expansive in the areas I do.
The logic for a heavy-duty F-350 is admittedly more emotional than strictly utilitarian. I could have settled for a used Tacoma or a smaller Ranger, but those wouldn’t capture the “Big Truck” stability or the power of the “Minizilla” engine. This truck is a vessel for the wilderness. I see the years ahead clearly: camping under a new truck cap in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, navigating the rugged terrain of West Virginia, and eventually installing a diesel heater for warm winter expeditions. There is a specific, quiet joy in sitting on a tailgate at a remote campsite, the woods illuminated by lighting powered by the truck itself, listening to music as the fire crackles.
Critics of such a purchase might point to the “opportunity cost”—the reality that these funds could have been diverted toward my dream of an off-grid homestead or an earlier retirement. I am keenly aware of this trade-off. However, intentionality is the bridge between my current reality and my future goals. Currently, I am still funneling 50% of my income into retirement and investment accounts. My path toward a “free state” where I can raise livestock and listen to the birds on my own land remains secure. This truck doesn’t derail that future; it simply makes the journey there more capable and enjoyable.
Ultimately, the SuperDuty is a work truck with vinyl floors, not a status symbol to be polished in a suburban driveway. It is a functional necessity in a car-driven society, transformed into a tool for escape. By being frugal where it counts, I have earned the right to be intentional where it matters. “Big Red,” my previous vehicle, eventually met its end, and in fifteen years, this truck likely will too. But in the intervening decade and a half, the memories of the trail and the campfire will have far outlived the sting of the price tag.
Little bags of dog shit 🐶 💩
I saw another bag of dog shit walking the trail today. Seems silly to pick up your dog’s shit and then leave it in a little bag along the way.
I don’t like pets. While I’m all for raising livestock for meat, milk, eggs or even manure to fertilize the soil, I’ve always seen owning a dog or cat to be rather deprived. I can’t imagine having to scoop up and carry a bag of dog shit around town. Dogs and cats are omnivores and their poop is loaded with pathogens. If you need a friend maybe you should join a community organization or try online dating rather than subjectating a domestic animal.
Pet ownership is gross in my book. Livestock is fine in a barnyard, I have no problem tying a dog on a chain in a barn to keep away predators or a barn cat to control mice. But in the house, just yuck. Especially with my allergies. Maybe a dog is fine for hunting and duck retrieval but I can’t see being such an empty person that needs a dog for companionship.
I ordered my truck cap – it will arrive in late May
The transition into spring is often a season of anticipation, marked more by the preparation for future adventures than the immediate arrival of warm weather. This week, that preparation took a significant step forward as I finally placed the order for an ARE MX camper shell for my truck. While the $5,400 price tag was a sharper “bite” than I had initially hoped for, the investment feels justified. Life is expensive, but I’ve worked hard to earn the means to outfit my rig properly.
I opted for the “Outdoorsman” windoors, which feature both outward-opening glass and screens, along with a sliding front window that folds down for easy cleaning. I’ll add a boot later on using gasket material or one of those kits you can order online to bridge the gap between the cab and the cap.
According to the estimates from Ruth’s, the shell should arrive in about six weeks. This timeline puts me on track for a Memorial Day weekend installation, though I’m undecided on actually camping then; the holiday weekend is notoriously buggy, and I may prefer to spend that time meticulously moving my gear over and perfecting the setup.
Driving the big truck— after years of driving my lifted Silverado—is surprisingly effortless. I’ve found that I’m quite comfortable maneuvering through city traffic and tight parking spots, thanks in no small part to the rear-view camera and towing mirrors. They are absolute game-changers, turning a “ginormous” vehicle into something that feels manageable and responsive.
Between these larger logistics, I’ve been tending to the smaller rhythms of daily life. A quick sweep of the local thrift stores yielded a solid work shirt from the Salvation Army, even if Goodwill was a bust.
To cap off the day, I’ve been logging miles in the Pine Bush. It’s a cool, lingering sort of cold, and the King’s Road barrens and Madison Ave trailheads aren’t showing many signs of spring just yet. Still, it’s a good day to kill time, take some photos, and clear my head before the inevitable grocery run at Walmart.
The gear is coming together, the truck is ready, and now, I’m just waiting for the weather to catch up and my cap to arrive.
