Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 3: Escapees RV Club

Escapees RV headquarters, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

I'm too new to comprehend all of the moving parts of Escapees RV Club (and its ancillary connections), so what I share below is merely a reflection of my first impressions and limited personal experiences thus far. 


What is the Escapees RV Club? 

The mission of the Escapees RV Club is to support an RV lifestyle "with everything you need to make it easier, more affordable, safer, and .... fun!"

Services that flow from the mission include:

• "Largest private mail forwarding service in the country"
• Job exchange
• Discounts at selected campgrounds or services (think similarly to AAA or AARP)
• Education, e.g. RV Boot Camps, webinars, and an "online RV university."
• Multi-day "convergences" at campgrounds around the country, which include both educational workshops and social events
• Special-interest groups within the larger club membership
• Member-driven online forums 
• Webinars

If I'm not an RVer, why am I a member of Escapees RV Club?

Although I'm not the traditional RVer, I am still a member of the tribe:

1. I have a rig in which I sleep on a part-time basis - my car. My carV, so to speak. In fact, my car is always set up for sleeping and camping.
2. I am nomadic. We nomads are diverse in how frequently and how far we migrate. Some of us move every few days, some every few weeks, some every few months. Some of us stick to a certain geographical region, some of us crawl all over the continent. Some of us boondock and some of us move from one full hook-up situation to the next. Some of us do both. On a migration continuum that runs from moving every couple of days to moving every year, I fall at the far right end of the spectrum.
3. Like a full-time RVer, I practice minimalism in the quantity of stuff I own because of limited space and frequent moves, using only my car to carry all of my possessions from one temporary abode to the next.

I share some of the special administrative concerns that RV-based nomads do, such as permanent mailing addresses, mail forwarding services, portable health care, tax homes, voting, etc.

Mail goes on, even during a festival. Columbia, Missouri. September 2007.

Rainbow Campground in Livingston, Texas

The campground property is immense. There are three large gathering places on the grounds:

• CARE Center, which has a dining room and a vast living room, with the latter including a number of cozy couches, large upholstered chairs, a library, a TV viewing area, a "church" area, and an arts-and-crafts section.  
• Activity Building with adjacent swimming pool. The activity building has one large room and a stage, restrooms, and several small rooms for small-group activities.
• Club House, which includes a kitchen, a game room, and a library. 

Every day offered me opportunities to socialize with fellow campground visitors by way of regular social hours, exercise "classes," card games, etc. Said socializing also happens organically by just walking around the campgrounds. I'd say that rig-peeking is a universal form of recreation for campers. At least that's been my experience in any campgrounds I've visited.

I took a pleasant walk up and down the campground lanes, which included a couple of wooded areas near a ravine.

Another thing I liked about the campground (in addition to its affordability), was that at no time did I feel "less than" for being a car camper amongst a flock of RVs. In fact, I felt completely at home and welcomed by everyone.  Of course, I also feel no reason to be bashful about my lil' rig, so if there had been any icky vibe in that regard, I would have put that squarely on the other person's shoulders and not let it sit on mine.

Teeny RV at Good Golly Miss Molly's, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

Escapees Care Center

The C.A.R.E. Center is a separate legal entity from the Escapees RV Club, but its physical property abuts the Escapees Rainbow Park campground. If you didn't know any differently, you'd assume the CARE Center was part of the Escapees RV campground.

C.A.R.E. is an acronym for Continuing Assistance for Retired Escapees.

It is flipping cool.  So many reasons:

1. It's a place for full-timers to live  - in their own rigs - after they must get off the road either permanently or temporarily. ... And they get to stay among their own tribe - fellow full-timers! 
2. The CARE Center is not an isolated community where the only residents are assisted-living residents and their sometimes visitors - heck, no, CARE Center residents enjoy a daily influx of active full-timers coming and going in the dining room, volunteering at the CARE Center, and participating in activities that are at or near the CARE Center. 
3. The monthly fee is affordable for many, many folks, and it not only offers the site space, but three meals a day, plus regular housekeeping-type assistance in their rigs.  
4. Transportation to medical appointments + local recreational field trips.

One of my new friends, "Gina," is a CARE Center resident. A solo full-timer for decades, Gina's most recent rig is a Lazy Daze. Before she became a resident, she thoughtfully donated money at times and also volunteered at the CARE Center when she stayed at the campground.

Volunteering at the CARE Center is a win-win for everyone. Volunteers drive, clean off dining room tables, do some light bookkeeping, and I don't know what else. In exchange, the CARE Center residents, of course, reap the injection of new conversations from folks still on the road, and the volunteers get free rent AND meals at the CARE Center dining room.

One evening, Gina and I, and another new friend, "Mandy," (an active solo full-timer who also owns a Lazy Daze, and who was my next door neighbor at the campground) went on a group outing to town. A husband-and-wife duo of volunteers did the driving of the two vans; there were perhaps 15 of us who went. The couple had been staying (and volunteering) at the Livingston grounds for a month; they would leave Monday for another Escapees RV site in Alabama.

In addition to interactions with active full-timers, CARE Center residents also chat with townies and weekenders who come for the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts on Saturday mornings (for only 5 bucks) or the Big Breakfasts on Friday mornings, which include eggs and two meats and other stuff (for only 6 bucks).

I was mighty impressed with the CARE Center operations.


Diversity

Age

At some point, Escapees RV Club recognized that the membership skewed hard toward the silverhairs. This makes sense, of course, because you've got to have some bucks to be able to buy most RVs, plus the financial security to travel in them. And folks who've passed through various life milestones - advanced in their careers, paid off their college debts, raised the kids, set aside long-term savings, have more disposable income to play with - they're generally going to be older.

But Escapees RV Club wisely looked to its future by creating space for what they call Xscapers - a cohort they define as "working-age RVers."

This is a clever, clever definition because it skirts what might be an off-putting arbitrary age envelope, allowing generous overlap between Middle Youngs with children in the nest, Old Youngs, and Young Olds whose kids might be out of the nest, but the parents are still very much working.

Xscapers also plant the words "active" and "adventure" in its message, which perk the ears of the younger demographics.


Complexion

Yeah, almost exclusively white. This lack of diversity needs just as much attention as the age homogeneity did before Escapees launched Xscapers.

I wonder if Escapees RV Club has ever reached out to clubs for strategic partnerships such as NAARVA  (National African American RVers Association).

As a nation, we've got to be energetic in our efforts to send inclusive messages to all Americans.

An organization's marketing materials - such as photos that include groups or individuals having fun - should reflect heterogeneity (actual or aspirational) in its membership.

And how about an organization avoid naming locations with such monikers as "plantation," as Escapees RV Club does for its Alabama campground? Isn't it time we put to rest kill the idea of plantations as a romantic representation of a bygone era of Southern charm and hospitality, and instead, consider how some current and prospective members see plantations as what they were: open-air prisons for enslaved women, men, and children?


Volunteer ethic

There is an ethos of volunteerism at the campground (and CARE Center) that surprised and pleased me.

Yes, there's a quid pro quo for folks who sign up for specific volunteer duties and tenures of same - in the form of free or discounted campground fees - but overall, there's a community vibe in the expectation that we all clean up after ourselves and help keep things nice for our neighbors and those who arrive after we leave, rather than a resort model, where there is an expectation of "somebody" who is going to take care of us and our environs.



I am tickled to be a member of the Escapees RV Club. 

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 2: Becoming a Texan

Teeny RV at Good Golly Miss Molly's in Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

On home bases

A nomad needs a home base.

The usual custom, I think, is for a nomad to maintain their home base in the state where they lived when they began their new, portable life. This makes sense. There's already a history there for mail, banking, taxes, vehicle registration, driver's licenses, health insurance, vehicle insurance, etc.

Over time, though, as one's spiderweb gets stretched ever so more thinly from its center, there comes a point when a nomad stops spinning for a bit and contemplates where home base should be.

I arrived at that point this year.

My old home base was no longer tenable, for a variety of logistical reasons. Furthermore, it was no longer home even on a sentimental basis. I have beloveds there, but I can maintain those ties without being a member of that state.

So where to make my new home base?

This is where Escapees RV Club comes in.

Escapees RV Club

My home-base move actually began with a more modest need: A reliable, stable mailing address (and forwarding service) that I could use now and for years hence, as my old system was no longer viable.

Since I bought my Prius, I'd begun viewing many videos that offered tips for tricking one out for camping, which led to binging on car and van "tours," which led to general #vanlife sorts of video channels.

Most of these youtubers are full-timers in that they live out of their rigs. I am also a full-timer, but in a different, slower way.

 I encountered some videos on mailing address and forwarding services for full-timers.

Hands down, the mailing service most cited for nomads was Escapees RV Mail Service.

While checking out its mailing service, I saw other videos that talked about changing one's domicile, and I saw that Escapees RV was a good launchpad for that, too. And I had come to realize that, in addition to finding a new, permanent mailing address (and forwarding service), it was time for me to divorce my old home base and marry a new one.

Full-timers seem to gravitate to one of these three states as a domicile: Florida, Texas, and South Dakota. There are a number of reasons for narrowing their options to these three, but one of the common denominators is that Escapees RV has a presence in all three, specifically its mail forwarding service.

Once my head moved from simply finding a mail forwarding service to establishing a new domicile, it took very little time for me to execute on same.

I chose Texas as my new home because:

1. Escapees RV Club is based in Texas, and Polk County (in which Livingston sits) is accustomed to working with Escapees RV Club members who make Texas their domicile
2. I loved my time in El Paso (and also Big Bend National Park), so I have a good vibe with Texas, generally
3. South Dakota - shudder! - too cold! 
4. Florida - too far away from the places I lean toward
5. Texas is so immense, there are ample numbers of communities for me to consider if I choose to put down sticks-and-bricks roots there when I'm finished nomadding
6. Establishing a domicile in a new state is not just about some paperwork - it's also about establishing ties to communities in the new state - and I'm willing and able to do that with Texas.

I'll talk more about Escapees RV Club in Part 3.

Sutton County Rest Area design, 1-10 Exit 394, near Sonora, Texas. November 2019. Not my favorite design.

Becoming a Texan

I arrived in Livingston on Friday afternoon.

On Saturday morning, I had my car inspected at the Grease Monkey in Livingston. I was dazzled by the friendly staff, homemade muffins, and coffee that you could make to order, with flavored syrups! I arrived before it opened so I could learn as quickly as possible if there would be any issues that I needed to address if my car didn't pass.

My car passed!

On Monday morning, I arrived at the vehicle registration office before it opened, with requisite paperwork in hand, and ..... I left with two spankin' Texas plates and windshield sticker! In addition to registering my car with Texas, I also had my vehicle title transferred to Texas.

Gosh, I really smiled looking at the Texas plates in my hand. I never would have thought I'd become a Texan. This new rite of passage felt good. It felt right.

From the registration office, I drove to the driver's license office. There are some puzzling logistical issues with that office that are not very customer-friendly, but rather than dwell on that, I'll focus on the positives:

1. The staff were amiable; 
2. My paperwork was in order; 
3. I surrendered my old state's driver's license; and
4. I emerged with a new, Texas driver's license! 

Again, smiles. One in relief that I had all of the appropriate documentation. Two, my divorce from the other home base felt complete; there was closure. Finally, with this second ceremonial rite, I felt that my new status as a Texan had been sealed.

I may have skipped to my car.


Three nights in Chez Prius

I stayed at the Escapees RV Club campground for three nights.

I had a 'dry' site, meaning I had no electricity or water hookups. A restroom (with showers) was conveniently close by.

As with my rest area night in Part 1, I felt supremely cozy each night in my vehicular space.

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 1: First Night Boondocking

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

I left Tucson early Thanksgiving morning, amidst dire weather warnings swirling about the nation. I'd kept my thumb on the forecasts for my route, and for the most part, it looked cloudy, yet dryish.

Although my drive began dry as I left Tucson, much of the first day was a tense slog through light and middlin' rain.

No matter. Such things are like painful labor and delivery - a bitch during the process, but the moment one arrives at one's destination, all is forgotten in the delight of a journey safely made.

The rest area

I stopped for the night at the Eastbound Pecos West Rest Area that is on I-10 between Balmorhea and Fort Stockton. The rest area opened in 2018. It is a serene space, well-lit at night, and - at least on Thanksgiving - with a caretaker-staff person on the premises all night.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

After a rainy, chilly day of driving, the warmth inside the rest area facility soothed my body and spirit.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

I saw a coyote walk leisurely across the parking lot!

My preliminary research on rest area boondocking had noted the value of stopping fairly early for the day, so as to ensure a good spot - or, indeed, any spot - for overnighting. Having learned this lesson on a road trip to Alaska many years ago, it made sense to me now. Also, I wanted plenty of light to arrange my en suite bedroom before it got dark.

In addition, an early stop rewarded me with time to walk the rest area's two short nature paths and witness a stunning sunset.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A metal artwork sculpture inside the building translated light from the setting sun in a fetching way.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A muzak soundtrack in the building flowed through the internal space. If I remember correctly, I heard mostly Top 40 country songs, with maybe one Spanish-language song. Texans with Spanish-speaking heritages comprise almost 40% of the state's population. About a third of Texans speak Spanish at home. I'd like to see the state's music choices in rest areas reflect its residents more fully.

Chez Prius' first time at a rest area

Traditionally I have stayed at budget motels on road trips in which my goal is to get from Point A to Point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. For this trip, I decided in advance to overnight in Chez Prius at an interstate rest area for both of the two-day driving legs of my trip.

Because I'd be, essentially, in a parking lot, I had to go stealthier than I would at a campground. Also, because I had my en suite toilet with me, I wanted to be absolutely certain of my privacy when I used the toilet at night, in an environment with lots of tall lights and semi-regular foot traffic near my car throughout the night.

The day before I left, I visited a local thrift shop and bought three dark-colored pillow shams. I also bought two more adjustable-length bungee cords. (I already had two in use.)

With the four bungee cords, clothes pins, and fabric, I created a "room" with 3.5 soft walls. Two side walls, suspended from bungee cords with clothespins, completely obscured the two rear side windows. The front wall spanned the width of the car, hung from a bungee cord, just in front of the front driver and passenger seats. The half-wall hung from a bungee that stretched the width of the car, but at a diagonal - meaning that it was level, but one end was affixed to the left side door's ceiling-edge hand grip and the other end was affixed to the opposite side's seat belt crescent slot. The half wall protected the privacy of my bathroom and also of my upper body. Reflectix on the hatchback window and triangular far-rear windows provided sufficient protection for the rest of my reclining form.

Chez Prius at Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

My walls were comprised of:

• Three pillow shams (for one side + part of front + half wall in back)
• A length of black-cream fabric I'd bought in Antigua, Guatemala (for one side)
• Bath towel (front)

The car's front cabin had no cover other than the sunshades for the windshield.

There are things I'll change to make the set-up more efficient in future, but I'm completely satisfied with the privacy my soft walls provided. Because I didn't have to pretend I wasn't sleeping there - it is perfectly legal to do so - I didn't have to be stealthy to the extent one must be to overnight in places where such activities are frowned upon.

But.

My major lesson learned from this first night was: Pull out the clothes I'll wear the next day and place them in a convenient spot for when I arise in the morning. I wasted rather a lot of time in the pre-dawn darkness rifling through my packing cubes for fresh underwear, trousers, and a shirt.

Also, I like very much the two screen 'socks' I bought for side windows. Unless there's interior light, it's hard to see into the vehicle from the outside, and they let me roll down my windows as much as I want without letting any creepy crawlies in. I will buy two more of these screen socks so that I can put them on all four windows if I want.

Chez Prius at Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A side note: As a small security maneuver, I backed my car into the parking space so I could wheel out of there a few moments faster than if I'd parked with my nose to the curb. I also chose to park closer to the rest area exit than to the building, not so much due to security but to reduce the amount of foot traffic by in-and-out travelers as they stopped for a toilet break.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Overall experience: I was super comfortable in my movable motel, and I felt safe.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Flashback: El Paso: Back in the Kingdom of Ants

It's a mystery to me why I have lavished so many words and so much space on the subject of insects.

As I introduce this flashback from 2016, writing from my current tourist-in-residence digs in Tucson, I'd like everyone to know that my apartment here has a population of roaches that shrugs off all attempts to get it the fuck out of my space. Of course, that's my perspective. Maybe they think it's their space.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

El Paso: Back in the Kingdom of Ants

Downtown El Paso Farmers Market. September 2016.

September 2016.


I went to El Paso's downtown Farmers' Market for the first time the other day.

Saw a thing or two.

The experience with the most lasting impression was an encounter with two insignificant, pissanty ants. The little fuckers.  They bit me. Vicious creatures.

But this here part of the world is the kingdom of ants. As told about:

Here.

Here.

Here.

And here.

Rootless: A New Vehicular Mate, Part 6: Toilet

The Toilet Paper Incident, circa 1981.

I created a bedroom in my Prius.


But I didn't want just any old bedroom. I wanted an en suite bedroom.

Toilet instructions in Thai restaurant in Tbilisi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

Enter the Luggable Loo.

The Luggable Loo is a toilet seat and lid that you snap onto a five-gallon bucket. You can buy the items separately or you can buy the seat/lid/bucket package. It is less expensive to buy the items separately.

Luggable Loo. Photo source: Disaster Supply Center

Except for extraordinary circumstances, I plan to use my car loo only for urination. And furthermore, in most cases, only at night.

Toilet in Vakhtangisi, on Georgian-Ajerbaijan border. March 2012.

Obviously, I don't need a five-gallon container to collect my urine for an overnight. I am not a horse.

Typical toilet in Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

To manage the urine collection more elegantly than a splash waterfall into a cavernous bucket, I inserted a funnel-and-laundry detergent bottle catchment system into the bucket, an idea I learned from a vandweller named Crysal Vanner, as you can see in the video below:

I tested it in my bathroom at home, numerous times. Perfect!

• Both the bucket and the catchment system are stable, i.e. no dangers of tipping over or sliding out of place
• The catchment system is easy to pull out and it's easy to pour the contents into a real toilet
• The laundry bottle is large enough to accommodate even the most prolific nights, unlike that coffee can I used in the tent that one time in Cave Springs Campground in Arizona a long time ago, about which I had felt darn smug before I realized just how much liquid one can produce in one night, not to mention what happens when the can tips over

I placed my toilet on the floor behind the driver's seat. When just driving around, it fits just fine there. However, to use the toilet en suite, I need to pull the driver's seat forward quite a bit, then tilt the seat forward, as well. These actions give me the space I need to actually sit on the toilet.

I'm not enthusiastic about having to move the driver's seat forward so much at night. Although I can - barely - get into the front seat at that position, I don't think it's possible to drive in that position, which means that if I need to make a fast exit, I lose time in repositioning the driver's seat. (Of course, that is probably a moot point, as it takes rather more time to extricate myself from my bed and then make my way to the driver's seat. By the time I get to the point of having to adjust my seat position, any bears or zombies will have likely already delivered a mortal swipe.)

I'm on the look out for a 3.5-gallon bucket that I hear is also workable with the Luggable Loo seat, but I've not yet found one. In theory, this will give me more wiggle room in the "bathroom," which will reduce the front seat adjustment and will also free up some valuable real estate in the floor space behind the front seat.

But other than that - Chez Prius is almost ready for an inaugural road trip!

"Almost" because I've still got some window curtaining details to iron out.


Related posts: 

A New Vehicular Mate, Part 1
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 2
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 3
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 4
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 5: Bed


And following this Part 6 of the New Vehicular Mate series, I'll rename the series Chez Prius.

Tucson, AZ: Giant Squash

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I was on a jicama run at the Food City on Flowing Wells when my eyes grew wide, and maybe my mouth opened in awe. A large bin of big, big squash.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

GIANT squash.


For scale, I propped my Dollar Tree reading glasses on these big bodies.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I thumped 'em, smoothed 'em, pushed one around a bit, just to get the feel of the massiveness. Considered buying one, then didn't. Maybe another time.

Instead I stocked up on some zucchini.



I  believe it's cushaw squash aka Mexican hard squash aka ha:l. Another person's experience here, along with recipes.

Tucson, AZ: My First Football Game Since High School

University of Arizona football, Tucson, Arizona. September 2019.

A Tucson native took me to the opening game of the 2019 UofA Wildcats football season. I was pretty excited. No, that's not right. I was measuredly excited. Excited not because I expected to enjoy the football game, but excited, in a muted way, to see a live football game for the first time since high school. Hohoho! Make that live or on TV!

The only two things I remember about high school football are the Friday evening potlucks that girls hosted before the games, and this cheerleader chant: "First in 10, do it again, go, go, go!"


What I was excited to see at the Wildcats football game was the marching band. I'm always up for watching a marching band, especially the percussion.

Lots of people movement on campus on game day.

Tailgating parties on the grassy mall. Thousands of students, alumni, and game enthusiasts walking about outside and inside the various buildings. My friend himself is a UofA alumnus. He's bought football tickets for some FIFTY years!
 

University of Arizona drum corps, Tucson, Arizona. September 2019.

Before the game: Drums!

As a devoted Wildcat fan, my friend has a number of traditions associated with his game attendance. One is to line up for the Cat Walk, which I understand to be a human gauntlet through which the Wildcat players walk to the stadium about two hours before the game, when fans can shout their encouragements to the players.

However, my friend knew that I go a little weak in the knees at all things percussion, so he forewent the Cat Walk so that we could nab a good view of the crack drum corps on the mall while they got warmed up.

A video of one of the drill sets below:

Bear down? 

I get "Win one for the Gipper." The meaning is transparent, even if one does not know who or what a gipper is.

But the Wildcat exhortation to "bear down," which is ubiquitous upon t-shirts, signage, mugs, etc? 

Yes, I understand the meaning of bearing down on someone, as if you are chasing another, and you're getting, oh, so close! "Cap'n! The Klingons, they're bearin' down on us!"

But that's not the first meaning that comes to mind. Nope, it's for a woman in the final throes of giving birth, during which she gathers up her sphincter strength to push out a baby.

And wildcats are not bears. The Chicago Bears, on the other hand, are bears. It makes a mite more sense for them to bear down, to wit:

But enough of this snide commentary. I'm behaving like the stereotypical Bad Tourist who gives unsolicited advice to locals about how they ought to do things, even though I don't know fuck-all about nuthin'.


But this is serious

The first thing to strike me when I saw the women cheerleaders were their superficial attributes: 

1. Mostly blonde
2. Long, straight hair
3. Again, based solely on the superficial - there appeared to be 0 women of color

To see if my perception was accurate, I visited the 2019-2020 line-up of the women cheerleaders. 

Hair color. Of 13 women, nine are blonde (mostly very light blonde), which = 69%. This is brow-raising, considering that only 5-10% of the US population is blonde. 

Note: There's a dearth of reliable data on this topic, so I went with the best of a poor lot, using this source (see the most popular response), and then upping the estimate to be safer.

Complexion. All of the women cheerleaders are fair-to-medium complected. 

Hair style. No curly hair; no short hair. 

And, jeez, by the way, look at the Arizona Cardinals cheerleader squad.

This past-century exclusivity is not OK. We just can't be blind to this anymore.

As a public institution, a university must portray a message of inclusion. This means being energetic about finding ways to attract more cheerleader candidates of color and of avoiding disparate impact, through organizational policies and traditions, on candidates of modest financial resources.

Here is the University of Arizona's cheerleader tryout info packet. It costs $50 to try out. Every cheerleader must pay $200 out-of-pocket for membership in a cheer leading association. Cheerleaders must fundraise an additional $300 by the first day of school in the spring semester. What?!

The time commitments demanded of the cheerleaders are such that I'm guessing it's difficult for a Wildcat cheerleader to have a part time job. 

Given that the cheerleaders are, in effect, working for the University of Arizona, it seems that they should receive financial compensation for same. 

Cheerleaders are athletes and should receive similar financial opportunities as other scholarship-eligible athletes at the university. 

To grow the diversity of a university's cheerleader squads, the school must look upstream, at the middle school and high school levels, where a lot of girls are shut out of cheerleading tryouts from the get-go because their families couldn't afford tumbling and gymnastic lessons when the girls were younger, and the families can't afford the annual cost to be a high school cheerleader. (Go here for a forum discussion on how much money a girl's family may have to pay out-of-pocket to be a cheerleader. Spoiler alert: It's not uncommon for the cost to reach over $1000 dollars for the first year.) 

Do better, Wildcats. (And Cardinals.)

Marching band!

University of Arizona football, Tucson, Arizona. September 2019.

 A snippet below: 

The Wildcats demolished their opponents.

University of Arizona football stadium, Tucson, Arizona. September 2019.

Tucson, AZ: Tucson Pops at Reid Park

Tucson Pops, Reid Park, Tucson, Arizona. September 2019.

The Tucson Pops fall season has been going on for 65 years.

Next year is the last year that long-time conductor, László Veres, will lead the orchestra. He's been the maestro for circa 25 years, and is now 82 years old.

The organization, with audience input, has been auditioning would-be successors over a three-year arc.

One of my Tucson cultural interpreters invited me to accompany him to the September 15 performance, at which one of the conductor hopefuls, Khris Dodge, served himself up for the audience's tasting.

It just so happened that my friend and I sat right next to Mr. Dodge's parents! They live in Phoenix, and drove to Tucson for this performance. Very pleasant people, both accomplished musicians.


Below is Mr. Dodge's interpretation of Gershwin's Summertime:

I have several versions of Summertime. But they are legion. I met a man in Caucasus Georgia who claimed to have more than 200 covers of Summertime.

There's Janis Joplin's classic cover, of course.

I have a reggae Summertime by Keisha Patterson:

Some argue that Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald's cover is the best:

But getting back to the September 15 Tucson Pops evening.

The lawn in front of the amphitheater was packed with music lovers, with strong representation from silverhairs. Most brought dinner, beverages, or snacks. They sat in chairs or on blankets. You've got to arrive pretty early to claim a good patch of grass.

My friend brought a white wine. I contributed chicken livers, pickled herring, crackers, and plums.

Picnicking on a grassy incline on a pleasant evening, surrounded by lively music - a luxury of life.

Rootless: The Economics of Turkey, the Bird

Wild turkeys, Highway 36, Kansas. July 2016.

As a rule, the winter holiday season doesn't evoke much merriment in me. Rather, it is a season to be borne in stoic resignation.

I'm not one of the folks who gets depressed around this time, luckily. 

Nope - it's the unrelenting Christmas songs, congested parking, congested stores, and shortened tempers among people who seek prime parking spaces, that make me sigh in deep martyr mode.  I am inconvenienced.

The imposition on my selfish little world doesn't cease until the end of the first week following New Year's, with that final flurry of hustle-bustle prompted by gift returns, hence long lines at the customer service counters.

Except!

Turkey goes on radical sale in advance of the feast days! Hallelujah, I sing! I can buy a big ol' turkey for a bedazzling price, throw it in the oven, pull off the meat, make soup if I want, and feed on the meat for many days.

Until this year, that is.

This year, with the purchase of my first turkey of the season, I saw that my heretofore satisfying ROI on holiday turkey purchases was over.

First: The bird spit and sputtered all over my oven walls while cooking, which meant I had to invest unanticipated time and labor into cleaning the oven.

Second: It used to be the time and labor I invested in pulling the meat off the carcass were offset by my ability to make soup from the carcass. Only .... I released my large cooking pot to the wild in my last move.

Third: Is this all the meat I got from that deceptively plump bird?

In the forseeable future, then, I'll stick to my usual plat of boneless, skinless chicken breasts that I roast en masse in my oven.
 

A bread oven outside Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

Although the price for skinless, boneless chicken is about 188% higher than the holiday-turkey-on-sale, the opportunity costs of the sale-turkey exceed the financial savings by far.  Not to mention I'm paying for the turkey carcass, which I do not consume.

Bread oven (tone) and fireplace in Tbilisi, Caucasus Georgia. April 2012.

Evidently, no topic is too banal for me to write about.

Here is my article on the economics of laundry.

In a lukewarm effort to raise the level of discourse on the topic, here is a more erudite article on the economics of holiday turkey.

Tucson, AZ: Sunset at Campbell Trailhead

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

I got a lead on a potentially good sunset-catching spot.

"Go all the way up Campbell Road til you can't go any farther. It's there." 

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

Easy enough.


The road actually ends at a higher apex than the scenic outlook, but only those who can pass into the gated community across from the trailhead may continue to the summit.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

View seekers must stay outside the gate and fences.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

The trail itself is a fenced corridor, an easement through private properties.  A rather sardonic article here about the trail, written by Charles Miles, with attractive photos.

There are two views from the trailhead. One is down Campbell and into Tucson center. 

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

 The other is out west.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

I packed a picnic dinner for my trip up Campbell Road. There are neither tables nor toilets at the trailhead. I ate inside Chez Prius.

More views:

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

Sunset from Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

I laughed when I saw this:

Campbell Trailhead, Tucson, AZ. November 2019.

Heheheheheh. A self-correcting issue, when the yowwens get eaten by their young some decades hence, as our parents got eaten by us some decades past.


Other Tucson sunsets here.

Stuff: Releasing More in 2019

My stuff on a table at Rami's in Keshalo, outside Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. September 2011. I released the "headache hat" a couple of years ago.

My goal when I leave Tucson is to carry in my car only what I could comfortably live with if I were to live in my car.

This raises - lowers? - my bar significantly from my past relocations. Til now, my relocation rule has been: If it fits in my car, it can come. Spare space for sleeping in the car or taking on a passenger was not a criterion.

Compliance with my new standard demands radical evictions.

Some of my stuff in Opelousas, Louisiana. All released back to the wild when I left. February 2016.

Pillows

For several years, I've carried four pillows with me.

Their ride ends in Tucson. Too much squishy, fluffy mass that serves only one purpose - to rest my head or raise my feet.


Oh, I'll still have "pillows," but blankets, towels, sweaters, and linens are what will fill their cases.

This will eliminate:

1. The mass the 'real' pillows would take; and
2. A large bin that has stored my blankets and linens in past moves.

Cutlery

Each of us carries assumptions that are so internalized, we don't know they exist. They are like gravity - always present, but never noticed.

To my surprise, I evidently harbored an unexamined belief that one's household "must" have cutlery place settings for eight, at least.

But after watching countless youtubes on #vanlife, #hotelprius, et al, and observing vehicle dwellers' claims of only having one or two forks and spoons - just enough for themselves - it struck me.

The "it" crept in by spurts.

First: Why have I continued to carry eight dinner knives with me? They are long and they are heavy. Yet I only use a dinner knife to scoop a plump line of Miracle Whip Light out of a jar.

Second: Why do I need table settings for eight? I rarely entertain, and when I do, it's just for one or two people, and, once every two years or so, four people.

Conclusion: I'm not ready to reduce my cutlery to one or two place settings, but I am ready to cut it down to four. I will make it so.

Surprise: I mourn this. Not enough to change my mind, but still. I bought my dinner cutlery before I was married. Before my child was born. I love its weight, its sturdiness, its clean lines.


Small appliances

I'll wave fond goodbyes to:

• Toaster
• Coffee maker
• Cheapo stick vacuum 
• Broom

Clothes

I am observing which items of clothing malinger in the closet for months on end, not paying rent.

They'll have to go.

Same for shoes.


Downsizing

Some items I need, but in a smaller size than I currently have, such as:

• Document file box
• Camp chair
• Camp kitchen box (this, too, will cause separation pangs)

Out with the old 'n big and in with the new 'n petite.



There will be more acts of attrition as D-Day approaches. Probably a few tears, too.


Speaking of binge-watching #vanlife, etc. youtubes: Out of the bajillions I've now watched, the one below is the most charming. I see why it harvested MILLIONS of views:

A plethora of related posts on my stuff here: Losses, break-ups, and acquisitions.





 

Flashback: Awassa, Ethiopia 2011: Of Hippos and Lunch, Part 2

This 2011 post discomfits me a little to select as a flashback. There are several cringe-worthy opinions I expressed during my two-month solo trip to Ethiopia.

They are cringe-worthy, for one, because I could have been just listening instead of talking. Learning something new instead of talking about things I really don't know enough about. Like, really, sex work in Ethiopia versus in the US? On what basis of actual facts did I have to render my judgement? Answer: None.

After I left Ethiopia, I thought back to my gossipy inanities about how most Ethiopian restaurants shared the same menu. .... Um, like the US is so different? Not really.

Oh, I've committed many, many cringe-worthy crimelets in my life, both domestic and abroad. I have no regret, however, about my campaign to wipe out the ubiquitous and obnoxious "you, you, you!" that young boys call out to tourists in Awassa.

The reason I selected this post for a flashback was because something reminded me of walking through a leafy expanse at the resort, along a narrow dirt footpath, alone, and where the blue-balled vervets began to gather, one by one, then by twos, .....

Monday, March 7, 2011

Ethiopia: Hippos and Lunch, Part 2, Awassa, Day 8, Monday

An afternoon storm began rolling in, darkening the sky, chilling the air, whipping up some wavelets and a breeze around us.

H. and I talked about how even extended travel in one country only scratches the surface in regard to an accurate understanding of a people's customs. (Heck, that's the case in one's own country of origin, too.) For example, we discussed the yawning holes ('tourist traps') in Ethiopian pavement that can swallow several humans at once. I said that most foreign tourists likely have the resources to get medical attention, whereas the typical Ethiopian does not, and such a fall could spell disaster for a family. H. suggested that it is worse for a foreigner to fall in the hole because s/he will share this experience with everyone back home (ahem), with a potential loss in future tourism. H. said that if an Ethiopian falls in said hole that people will donate money to ensure s/he gets proper care.

H. disdained my empathy for the young men in Shashamene, expressing his belief that most could find something profitable to do if they wished, but too many chewed chat all day.

We agreed the system of prostitution in Ethiopia was probably better than in the U.S. One huge advantage is that most Ethiopian prostitutes are their own boss, unlike many American prostitutes (assuming my vicarious-by-way-of-media information is correct) who work for pimps. Relatively speaking, Ethiopian prostitutes make good money, which is nothing to be sneered at here. Finally, Ethiopian prostitutes enjoy more respect here than their American counterparts in the U.S. According to H., prostitution is legal in Ethiopia, but evidently taxes are not assessed on this service. Of course, the only Ethiopians I've heard from on this topic are men; I'd be interested in women's views.

Eventually, it was time for me to leave this beautiful spot by the lake. First, I departed via a field within the resort. It was so funny - like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's, The Birds. Some monkeys in trees, then some in the grass, then one and two following me on the path. They gathered .... I did pick up a stick .... just in case ....

I wended my way out of the resort and down the cobblestone streets toward the town center. The restorative rain made everything mistily lush and fertile. When I walked under a tree occupied by storks, the wetness brought all of their bio smells to the forefront, making for an intense storky aroma. Not particularly pleasant. As usual, I stopped every once in awhile to just gawk at these immense birds. From certain angles, they looked like giant, uncomfortable penguins.

Later had dinner (spaghetti with meat sauce) at a brand-new place; it was so bland as to be irritating. Which, by the way, reminds me of an earlier conversation that H. and I had. We agreed that almost every Ethiopian restaurant in the country has the identical menu! It's like, what the hell?!

And here it is, for the most part:

* Egg sandwich
* Normal omelette
* Special omelette
* Toast, jam (always the exact same kind of jam), butter
* Juice
* Fried egg
* Oats (or porridge)
* Hamburger
* Cheeseburger
* Special burger (often with egg on top, when I've asked)
* Pasta with meat
* Pasta with tomato sauce (no meat)
* Pasta with vegetables
* And then the same 10 or so "traditional" Ethiopian dishes that cover the breakfast, lunch, and dinner times


And there you have it!

H.'s theory is that the cooks/chefs in the country simply do not want to cook outside the box.

If I were to open a restaurant in Ethiopia, I'd call it Something Different. I wouldn't call it Unique, because there are restaurants called Unique in many Ethiopian towns, and they, too, serve the same menu as everyone else.

Did I mention that I've been working a one-woman campaign in Awasa to stamp out calls of "You! You!"? Vacations. Such hard work.

Despite the above, Awasa is a beautiful city. For the most part, too, people here are very friendly and helpful.