Big horse camping diary entry

Prepare to be bored. Sorry.

***

Thursday. I drive to Port Alice to buy two used Apple HomePod speakers. There are some nice sights on this drive but there is still something about it I hate. It’s kind of the drive equivalent of Port Alice in that it’s got some cool aspects but is overall still too shitty, kind of gross and sad. Get to Port Alice, what a dump. Lots of cool 70s houses I’d love to root through and find cool light fixtures and shit but the community is too depressing even for me. Get to the seller’s house, car port has a mobility scooter and a bunch of detritus everywhere. Buddy answers the door, strong animal odour wafts out. Smells like a pet store, like full litter boxes and bird cages. Two little yappy dogs come to the door with buddy, they must shit and piss in there. Buddy looks about 30 yrs old, is very friendly in the way that white trash are that I consider a red flag. It’s a thin veneer. He is wearing a maroon-coloured housecoat that looks like one your grandfather would wear, and it looks like it smells like his house. He brings out the speakers, turns them on, Slipknot starts blaring from them. “Oops, hehe, just my Slipknot there, sorry about that…” You just know he relished that moment and thought I’d be like “WHOAH what is that psychotic scary music, why is he yelling so much?” I spend too long there figuring out how to connect my phone to the speakers to test them. I only manage to get one working with my phone but I’m too annoyed to spend any more time there so I say ok and buy them despite them costing way too much to be this blasé about the price. I’m immediately angry at myself for being so impatient and worry they won’t work and I’ll have to eat the $450 loss. The drive away from Port Alice sucks just as bad as the drive in.

I get to Hyde Creek and grab a sandwich and a tea at the gas station. I enjoy this ritual.

The drive down to Campbell river is uneventful. My shitty car stereo is acting up so I can’t listen to music and am forced to listen to a few podcasts. The Dateline one is ok, the Stuff You Should Know one about widowhood is boring.

I get to Jenn’s horse camping site where she is already. I help her with a few things then head into town to do errands. They go pretty well, surprisingly. I exchange a riser for a septic tank lid, and return two truck batteries at Canadian Tire for the $40 core charge refund. I go to Home Depot (one of the nine circles of hell in my opinion) and grab a bunch of shit we need. Most of the staff is surprisingly helpful here, I can’t believe it. I go to Superstore and grab dinner for Jenn and I (a chicken taco kit) and some Celebration cookies (Jenn’s favourite). Then I pick up bubble tea from a pho place in town. I am furious with myself once the lady hands them to me and I realize I forgot to specify NO ICE. Too late now. I bring them back to jenn, she likes them despite their obviously inferior quality (the drinks and boba, not just the ice). We have tacos and listen to a true crime podcast and hit the sack.

Friday. We wake up early, have some ok muffins for breakfast that Jenn got yesterday. Jenn does horse stuff, I walk the dog and immediately come across two small bears scampering up a tree. I wonder if they’re small enough to indicate a mama bear being somewhere close by, then hear huffing and crashing foliage near the base of the tree. The dog starts barking, I tell her to can it and we vamoose, opting for a less exciting but safer route. We finish packing the horse stuff and leave for Courtenay.

Nice short drive south by comparison to all of yesterday’s driving. We get to Courtenay, I help Jenn set up her stuff. Once I’m free I begin today’s list of chores/errands. A very nice guy brings his ride cymbal to me, I try it and buy it even tho I feel like a hoarder with all the fucking cymbals I currently have that I need to sell. I go buy a large shag rug from a very nice woman but as I load it in my car I notice a big stain mark on the underside. Then when I get in the car with it i notice an overwhelming dog smell. Great. I’ll probably use the pressure washer on it at home before I put it in the house. I go to Price’s Locksmiths and get a key for the Tercel made from the code on the lock cylinder. The old key was so worn down that it could slide out of the ignition while the engine was running, but this fixes that. I didn’t expect it would actually work so I’m surprised and pleased at this affordable, effective fix. I go to a grocery store to get lunch at their deli, find the deli has one of those cafe/restaurant areas that you used to see in department stores way back when. It’s deliciously sad and empty, with only one old woman sitting in the vast space, surrounded by countless unused tables and chairs. It’s perfectly liminal. My wrap isn’t bad. I plan on coming back here in the future. I go to Value Village, don’t find anything on my thrift store shopping list. I visit Boba Island for the first time after years of wanting to try it and am very pleased with my mocha bubble tea. Far superior to yesterday’s boba experience. I leave them positive reviews online.

I come back to the horse show grounds and help with setup for the show. That’s surprisingly nice. I met a lot of these horse people in the last year or two and it’s pleasant to see them again, and it feels good to take part in their event and be positive and productive in a community. Jenn and I take the dog for a walk and get dinner from an El Salvadoran food truck. Our order is up fast, and it’s fantastic. We meet a nice woman and her daughter walking their dog and talk with them for a while. We get back to our camp and spend a relaxing evening chatting with Heather and her daughter Mia. I sleep well despite someone walking their horse around the grounds at 1:30 am which riles all the other horses up. I wake up to horses calling and the sound of horse hoofs on gravel so my first thought is that one got loose. I wake Jenn up and she goes to check on Marvel and finds all is fine. Phew.

Sunday. Get up at 6:00 am. Take the mutt for a walk through the woods. Go to town to get breakfast for Jenn and I, and head to a coffee shop called The Mudshark Cafe because it has good reviews but I hate it. My tea costs about $4 (which is almost the cost of a box of 20 at the store), their calorie-free sweetener situation is a messy joke, my Earl Grey tastes awful and nothing at all like Earl Grey, and the breakfast bagel sandwiches I order take so long that I wonder if someone else has taken mine by mistake. On top of that, the tip prompt on the debit machine pisses me off — my light breakfast order already costs over $30, and there is zero table service, yet the minimum recommended tip is another $3+? Hogwash. Balderdash. I tipped $1, and after how bad the overall experience is I’m glad I didn’t tip more. Not over-tipping is about the only part of my Mudshark Cafe experience I am satisfied with.

I return to the horse show. Now Jenn has to call the tests for other riders and can’t eat the hot breakfast I got her until it’s cold. I hate hot food getting cold. I move the dog’s pen out of the sun and right then another dog walks by and our dog takes a run at it. I’m on her instantly, she doesn’t actually touch the other dog but still obviously terrible. I hold the dog on the ground for a few seconds, then when I go to put her back in the pen she won’t get up, and keeps yelping when I tug on her collar to try to get her up and in to her pen. I can’t reach her leash so I’m stuck looking like the worst dog owner in the world, like I have an aggressive dog that I abuse. Wonderful. Jenn asks me to help tally the scores for some of the riding tests so that some of the other volunteers can have breaks. I’ve never done this before so I’m nervous but it turns out to be quite easy, and I’m once again happy to be contributing to this event. Next time we do this I will volunteer more time for marking tests.

It’s now 11:15 am and I have to leave so I can do all my errands for the day and catch the 4 pm ferry home. Right then, Sebastian texts to tell me a bunch of the electrical stuff we need for building the next barn is in at the electrical supply shop. I planned my day pretty tight but if I don’t get it now it will be a week and half before I can get it again and that’s no good so I begin racing around like a maniac. I get that stuff and jam it into my already very full car, then get gas, then back to Canadian Tire for a light fixture part, then to Superstore for groceries, and then I begin the trip north. I get to Port McNeill right on time and am able to pick up some stuff I ordered at the auto parts store and get cash at the bank before getting in line for the ferry.

It was a great trip, and I’m happy to be home. I spend forever trying to figure out the fucking HomePods, I finally get them working and they sound great. Thank goodness.

***

Epilogue: that was my first time “coming home” to Sointula. I wondered if it would really feel like “coming home” after only being here a month, and no, it didn’t quite feel like that. In that realm, and obviously on its way to becoming that, but it’s just too soon and there are still too many things I’m still just getting familiar with for it to feel completely like home yet. In time.

Not wild about Canadian True Crime podcast

I started writing this a while back but have been busy so I’m only finishing it now. I don’t really feel inspired writing about it at this point (you know how much I believe in ‘strike while the iron is hot’) but I clearly remember being mighty vexed by some things about this podcast that I still think are worth bitching about now, so I’m forging ahead with this post. Here goes.

For the first time in my life, I downloaded some podcasts onto my phone and listened to them on my own. It was fine. I listened to some Stuff You Should Know, and I enjoyed it as much as ever. Chuck and Josh are so affable, so listenable. I also listened to a 4-episode series from Canadian True Crime about Robert Pickton because a co-worker recommended it, and I didn’t like it very much. Here’s why.

The series spent almost half of the 4-part series listing and describing most of Pickton’s victims in the most generic terms — “everyone said Cheryl had a personality that would light up a room, and a smile to match.” It was terrible. I understand the movement in true crime to place less focus on the killer and more on the victims but if you’re going to do it, do it well. Too many of these descriptions felt like the host was just trying to check a box, to say something — ANYTHING — about each woman, even if it was completely cursory or trivial. That made it feel like a hollow, empty gesture to me a lot of the time, which is even worse than not saying anything at all about each victim, in my opinion. Also, it was just really boring.

Another thing that bothered me was how overly sympathetic the host was to drug users in the story (or almost all of them — more on that shortly). Just like the relentless vague and praising descriptions of Pickton’s victims, the host made the same generic statement about many of the users, how they “tried their hardest to get clean and be a good parent to her kids, but the disease of addiction proved too strong and [insert name] was forced back onto the streets.” All the “tried their hardest” and “be a good parent” stuff wore thin for me quickly. These are such bland, typical descriptions that I can’t believe a word of them. It’s too black and white, too simplified. Not every addict is a good person just trying to get their act together — some are pieces of shit just like non-addicts, so I become suspicious when every addict is painted as some kind of fallen saint.

Also, I hate how no one accepts responsibility for their decisions these days. I don’t like people acting like addiction is something that was forced on them, like they never made the choice to start their bad habit, and are powerless to stop now. Everyone is dealt different hands and some get dealt a real shit hand, it’s true — but no matter how bad your hand is, it’s always within your power to do something with it. I feel like this culture of victimhood we have disempowers people, tells them that nothing is their fault, and because it’s not their fault, there’s nothing they can do to improve their life. They need help that OTHER people need to supply. No one wants to give any tough love these days, and I think that’s part of why we are floundering here in North America. I think we need to balance compassion and empathy with tough love. There you go, I solved it! It’s that easy! Lol. Anyway, this Canadian True Crime series bugged me because I think it pandered to this culture of victimhood that I dislike.

Which leads me to my next complaint about it — the only time this series DIDN’T pander to the culture of victimhood is when it shat on one particular drug user in the story. Here’s a crummy refresher: some guy saw evidence of Pickton’s murders, saw a bunch of blood on the walls in Pickton’s trailer or something, but he was terrified of Pickton and a drug addict so instead of going to the police to tell them what he saw, he went and got high instead. I think that’s roughly how it went, I could have it slightly wrong but I think I’m close. Anyway, the host was so sympathetic to most users who behaved similarly but when it came to this guy she laid into him and said something like, “if only he had gone to the police, he could have stopped the murders. But he didn’t. Instead he ran from his fears and got high, and allowed Pickton’s killing spree to continue.” Pick a lane, Kristi Lee — why were you so compassionate toward other addicts but hard on this one? Was this person not also a victim of their disease? That inconsistency bugged me.

On top of those specific complaints, I feel similarly about Canadian True Crime as I do the vast majority of podcasts: this is not an expert in their field giving an unbiased account of whatever (Joe Rogan, I’m looking at you and your shitty fucking podcast that I can’t believe so many boneheads love even though it’s just endless speculation by a stoned conspiracy theorist dude) — it’s a storyteller who is trying to entertain people. I know it’s not that simple, that Kristi Lee obviously did a mountain of research for her series, but a lot of the choices she made regarding her delivery of the material made it feel like she was really trying to play up the more titillating, sensational moments and aspects of the Robert Pickton story. The only good example that I still remember now is when she talked about Pickton “cackling” after saying or doing something awful. Now, it’s possible that Ms. Lee is simply quoting one of the witnesses or survivors in the story — that wasn’t made clear and if that’s the case, it’s a lousy example for me to use here, but regardless of that possibility, she chose words like that quite a bit, words that are dramatic and have specific tones to them. Like, even though cackle basically just means ‘laugh,’ the word is most commonly used to describe villains laughing, there’s an evil or malevolent connotation to it. If she just said “Pickton laughed,” it would mean essentially the same thing but not make him sound like a villain. By opting for ‘cackle,’ she implies he’s a mad, cruel monster who is positively gleeful about harming vulnerable women. Which most reasonable people would agree is true, but if you’re a professional journalist or reporter or whatever, you should be more neutral, impartial, state the facts without colouring things with loaded words like “cackle.” Ms. Lee did a lot of that and I didn’t like it. A story as sordid as Pickton’s doesn’t require creative license to spice it up. It’s completely fucked as it is.

Because this has taken me so long to finish and the details aren’t as clear in my mind as they were immediately after listening to the podcast, I don’t feel as confident in my critiques as I did initially. But fuck it. I’m tossing it out to the world anyway. If anything thinks I’m as dumb as Joe Rogan, please educate me. I hope I’m wrong about Ms. Lee and her podcast.

i’d rather listen to music than podcasts, usually

This one is for you, Kyla.

Everyone listens to dang podcasts these days. That’s fine but they don’t do much for me. Jenn will put some on when we go for road trips or to the cabin and I generally enjoy the ones she chooses. So far I have liked This American Life, RadioLab, Cocaine and Rhinestones, Revisionist History, Stuff You Should Know, and a handful of short series investigations into murders and shit. Side note, I wonder how typical my podcast tastes are. Am I a basic bitch? Whatever, who cares.

Anyway, despite enjoying those podcasts when Jenn and I are traveling or having dinner or sitting by a camp fire, I don’t like listening to them at other times. I admit I haven’t tried that often but I have a bit, and I haven’t liked it. I just tried again tonight. First I checked out a podcast by a black female fighter I really like (Angela Hill, she’s hilarious, and a great fighter) and her friend and UFC commentator who I also really like. They were talking about topics I’m very interested in so I thought, “wow, this sounds good.” I was excited to check it out. But after 5 or 10 minutes I was bored, disinterested. Pulled the plug. I felt bad because I really do want to support those girls but I just wasn’t feeling it. Then Kyla sent me a podcast she thought I would like, and I didn’t like it at all. I have already thought about this topic a lot but tonight’s events lead me to decide that I needed to blog about this.

Here’s the thing: I would almost always prefer to listen to music instead of a podcast. I love using music to elicit a particular vibe or feeling that I’m seeking, or using it to enhance whatever shit I’m already feeling. I love that, and music is great for it. Podcasts are obviously way better at communicating more concrete information, but I usually just don’t care. And I think this is the big problem, that I’m more of a feeler than a thinker. I’ve never felt like that before, because while I’m no genius I’m obviously not the biggest dunce on the block, but my preference for music and feelings and vibes over learning new shit has had me thinking about this a lot recently.

And that’s a shame, really. I’m jealous of how much Jenn learns from her constant podcast consuming. She frequently teaches me new shit that she has learned from them, and I’m envious of that. I want to learn cool shit too!…but I’d rather listen to disco or chillwave or nihilistic progressive black metal so that I can feel emotional and weird.

As with everything, I think finding a balance is important. I think both music/feelings and podcasts/thinking have equal value so I wish I could dig the latter more than I do. But I also believe that the left and right brain use different approaches to achieve similar things. I mean, they are just specialized in certain types of information processing. One is for abstract info, the other is for veritable info, and both are equally valuable. So maybe I’m not necessarily making myself dumber by choosing one over the other, like I’m afraid I might be.

But I am definitely afraid that I am just sticking with music because of the nostalgic value of a lot of the stuff I like. Nostalgia is fun and all but it lacks depth, I think. It’s pretty one-dimensional. It’s reliving old, safe experiences instead of creating new ones. Seeking new experiences is riskier, there is a greater likelihood of elements you don’t like, and that variety of elements adds more colour, more dimensions to the experience. But fuck, is it really that simple? I mean, when I listen to the right music at the right times, it can bring me to tears. I feel like that is a dead giveaway of deep emotional value, at least for me (I’m not a crier). But I’m also always digging for new music so I don’t think I’m totally obsessed with nostalgia when it comes to art anyway so this is kind of a moot point.

Conclusions:

• This is a really muddled post but I’m tired now and don’t care.
• I think podcasts and music are equally valuable but I generally prefer music.
• The jury is still out on nostalgia — it might be totally vapid crap but I don’t know, it sure doesn’t feel like it to me.

I might have to edit this tomorrow so Tizzy Sliz-a-bing-bong, I’m sorry if you get this crappy version emailed to you and never see the super duper cleaned up version. I just hate having incomplete posts sitting in the drafts folder, they weigh on me heavily.

Night night.

*Inevitable edit* – Ben texted me and pointed out that music is good for passive listens, while podcasts are not. I mean, how much information can you fully absorb from a podcast if you are distracted by whatever else you’re doing? I thought that was a really good point. Meanwhile, background music has tons of value. So yeah, I’m feeling better about my choices for when I listen to podcasts and music. Thanks Benny boy.

what did we do before podcasts and documentary series?

Several years ago, Jenn introduced me to This American Life. I had heard the term ‘podcast’ before that but didn’t know what it was. I assumed it was some weird, annoying millenial thing, and I still stand by that to a small extent — who chose the name podcast, and why? The word ‘pod’ is gross, and makes me think of insects or human clones hatching out of gooey eggs.

Additionally, ‘pod’ was used for Apple’s ipod device — maybe that’s where it comes from, because you would download podcasts for your ipod? I don’t know, and I don’t really care, because ipod is a stupid name too. ‘Pod’ is a gross word, why is it so fucking popular now? And why are we putting i’s and e’s in front of every fucking word these days? Iphone, e-bike, e-cigarettes, fucking hell.

Back on track…well, not really: ‘cast’ is another popular millenial word that I don’t like very much. Podcast, chromecast, ‘cast’ from your computer to another device. It’s like people are obsessed with jumping on the trend of absurd buzz words these days, and also that we forget we already have plenty of words that already describe various things adequately. I think people just like to make new names and words because it makes them feel cutting edge.

You know what, fuck it. While I’m on this tangent, I’m also going to complain about the tech industry and its use of gross or weird words across the sector. Seeders, leechers, raspberry pi, cocoapods (pod appears once again), javabeans, jelly bean, marshmallow — terrible. I guess lots of product names are stupid but tech stuff tends to have a special gross/sweet food thing going on and it really rubs me the wrong way.

Jeez, I really went down a rabbit hole there. What I wanted to say before I got wildly sidetracked is that I was amazed at a lot of the stories Jenn and I heard on This American Life. They were so crazy and interesting that I couldn’t believe they weren’t already common knowledge — how did this shit not end up being front page news back when it occurred, I wondered. Then she got me into Radio Lab, which is also great. More mind-blowing stories and information I’d never heard of was introduced to me.

Then some documentary series started to pick up on the same thread. The genre really blew up with Making a Murderer and was followed soon after by The Keepers, Evil Genius, Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez, and some others I’m forgetting. Now, like the rest of North America, Jenn and I are watching Tiger King, and once again I find myself wondering how a story this bizarre was not already widely covered in the mainstream media. Shit, each of the main cast of characters involved in the Tiger King story could be the subject of their own documentary or podcast, they each have that crazy a history. It’s stupefying that they all ended up crossing paths in the same place, at the same time. Maybe that’s just the southern US though, I don’t know.

This is all to say that I’m really grateful that the people behind those documentary series and podcasts (btw, I vote to call them ‘internet radio shows’ instead, or online audio show, something like that). Truth really is stranger than fiction, and as it turns out there is a mountain of worthwhile, fascinating, non-fiction stories out there, just dying to be shared with the masses. This is a trend I actually like, unlike modern language crazes.