Everybody gets to go to hell in their own go-cart, but I left Los Zacatitos anyway.

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The final chapter.

It may come as a surprise to many Zacatitans, but I really don't think Zac is a problem to be fixed. Read the post title again. Just wasn't my cup of tea, that's all, and that's life. Adults understand and accept that life is a far cry from that of a big one-for-all and all-for-one Kumbaya circle-jerk. Sure, I could have toughed it out to see how it would be like in "winter" with full occupancy, as I was advised to do. But I think I got taste enough of that via the 500 member Facebook group.

I found Zac far too tightly nit, high-school clique like, and intransigent—reminiscent of some Sovietesque zeitgeist born of diasporatic origins; but modernized...dominated by various forms of politically correct and progressive thought, adjudicated by uppity white connected women with plenty of husband money...where dissension is not tolerated from outsiders, with bromides like "community" tossed about as endless admonitions—such that insiders get to evade the fact that they're really being chided and chilled into conformity with what's expected; a cage of their own design. Or, they don't get invited into pretty cages, euphemistically called parties.

I have no need of solidarity or conformity in my life. I associate with whom I please; don't much care about others...until I do—because they've become meaningful to me. There's no such thing as a group, community, or social "conscience." Only individuals possess that faculty, exercised individually; and in terms of reason, the individual mind is a reality integrating organ, not a reality creating device.

The most oft-cited argument counter my assault experience by blindside—if you could even call it argument—was that 'everyone in the community thinks [x, y, and z] about you,' not even realizing it's a blatant argumentum ad populum fallacy. It's like saying that 1+1=3 because everyone says so; or, that the universe really did revolve around the earth until Nicolaus Copernicus and Giordano Bruno changed enough peoples' minds to physically alter the cosmology of the heavens.

It's rubbish, shoddy "thinking," and it's pervasive in that place. Near as I can tell, near everyone tows a small-circle-concentrate party line on just about everything; at least from my perspective as an outsider, on issues affecting me—such as the initiation of violence over words. I reiterate: there are exceptions, and beautiful ones I wish I could elaborate upon; but those people have the right to not be associated with me to their ultimate detriment. These are some amazing folk who've learned to adapt to the surroundings—thrive even—and do just fine. And many are pioneers of the place, 30 years and running. Part of me envies them.

...And then there's the taking of offense over my style, shtick, and approach toward strangers in being very blunt and direct (i.e., juxtaposed to the automatic lying everyone engages regularly, euphemistically known as being polite).

But, it's my way of finding solid friendship!

Consider the Nigerian 419 truc that nets the scammers $13 billion per year. The emails from the son of the prince or bank president that go out are purposely misspelled, have grammatical errors (English is the official language of Nigeria), and contain obviously scammy language. That's so they filter out 90-95% of people right away, without even hearing a peep from them, so their time is spent exclusively on the true suckers. But it works in reverse, too. Being way, way more than yourself, as I enjoy toying with, filters out all those without the sensual nuance necessary to hear my message beyond my messaging style. Very efficient.

The last time I pulled this gig was in new construction urban lofts (63 units) in downtown San Jose, CA. There was an email list for basic coordination of all stuff pertinent to a new building in the final stages of construction, coordinating social issues, complaining and ranting, etc. I was every bit as direct, abusive, blunt, dickhead—however you wish to characterize it—as I was on the Zac FB group, and more.

I once posted: "Fuck you and your pussy-ass husband," responding to a complaint to the "community" that my wife "interrogated" her husband in the elevator, when all Beatrice did was engage in friendly and engaging "lets get to know each other" banter, as is her bubbly, smiling self. But the woman wouldn't back down, even after my wife explained it to her, so I did what I love to do. Well, they never became our friends—avoided me like the plague, in fact—but it sure got me lots of other friends. Made me famous, or notorious, take your pick. There was no other phrase as often repeated with a laf at the 350 Lofts.

Then there was Robert, who parked in my wife's spot—literally on the eve of our departure for a 3-week auto-tour of France, Spain, and Italy. And, he was nowhere to be found, because he'd just left for a week to NYC. I went off on him publicly, even questioned his manhood, when he had the temerity to post about what a great time he was having in NYC, rather than spending his days in penance in some confessional, or minimally, a dark Irish pub, attentively listening to drunks tell him stories.

That was 9 years ago, and since about a couple of months after that altercation, Robert and Julie have been our best friends, bar none. Countless dinners at each others' places—many being works of collaboration—trips together, playing partners spades till all hours of the night (where Robert and I normally kick their asses).

There are many other examples, but perhaps you get the idea. The last thing I need in the world is the burden of a bunch of "friends" who require a quotidian dose of smoke blown up their asses. I'll leave that job to the Zacatitans, collectively and mutually.

I miss a world where people aren't so hypersensitive over words and ideas, or at least, quickly come to realize they're just words, individual ideas, and there may be a message underlying the messaging style.

"...and political correctness is the oppression of our intellectual movements, and no one says anything anymore in case someone gets offended. 'What happens if you say that and someone gets offended?' Well they can be offended. What's wrong with being offended? When did sticks and stones may break my bones stop being relevant? Isn't that what you teach children, for God's sake? That's what you teach toddlers."Steve Hughes

For more lafs, see this 1986 Crossfire episode where Frank Zappa addresses the issue of words that people find offensive.

...As I've written before, Zac, to me, is like an American suburb, but it's in Mexico. Everybody gets to go to hell in their own go-cart, of course, but I was really hoping for something less homogenized in terms of American conformity—and relaxed ideas about recreational drug use, "free love," nude prancing about and such are mere window dressing. Ideas and their flamboyant expression are what matter to me the most.

While there are a number of reasons I decided to pack it in, the watershed moment came last Monday morning. For two weekends in a row, I found myself at the Hotel Mar de Cortez in San Lucas. Nice little inexpensive villa-style place with clean rooms, working AC, and a deep pool that stays reasonably cool—unlike all the 3' deep resort pools. But most importantly, the clientele are 80% middle class Mexicans on holiday themselves. So I get to mingle with the indigenous population and culture, chat them up and such.

And this is my norm. When I lived in Japan for 5 years in the '80s, I was the only gaijin in Hayama. Then, when I lived in France in the early '90s, 100% of my friends were French, and I was never at a loss for a cocktail, dinner party, or soirée to attend. Now, I'm at a loss, with myself, as to how I so miserably failed to draw this distinction before committing to moving to Zac. With rare exception, the only locals you experience near home are the hired help.

So last Monday morning, I'm taking a final dip in the pool, when I overhear 6 French people of college age. I chat them up. Turns out that one of the young men grew up only a few blocks from my flat in Toulon. Le monde, il est petit.

And in that moment, I understood what it is I really want to do in terms of living a nomadic life abroad: make a list of French-speaking countries and start crossing them off, one by one, a month visit at a time, see where it goes. Rather than dive into learning Spanish, get French rehabilitated instead, to where it was 25 years ago when I read literature—such as Victor Hugo—in the original and discussed issues of theology and philosophy with Catholic priests for fun. Unlike most American clergy, they're perfectly unthreatened discussing my take on theological/biblical contradictions (my first year of college was divinity school) with an abrasive atheist—especially over a scotch whiskey and ciggie, or two.

Now I'll briefly address some of the other reasons that contributed to the departure. I've already addressed the assault here and here, but in addition, I now find there's outright lies being spread (go figure...if you read those links, especially the 2nd one with all the updates). I address it in comments between a Zac resident who goes by Dr. Dave (David L. Racette, MD) and myself, that begins here.

Now let me disabuse you of this:

“You have done something similar to herb and his fiance. And that was ok because he knocked you down in a bar when u were drunk and rude. ummmm no.”

First of all, it’s just plain silly to equate word usage with initiating physical violence. Not even worth discussing.

Second of all, I didn’t have a gram of alcohol in me and once I left their table, after Herb slapped me, I ordered a drink and before taking a sip, I got knocked over with a blindsided roundhouse to the neck and left. The next day, when I had dinner with Paul, Al, and Al’s son and paid my bill, there was the 80P ticket for the drink. I’m not petty about small change like that, so this is the first time I mentioned it, as it’s properly in context.

Third, I was not rude. Never raised my voice, never said an unkind word until he slapped me and I excused myself.

Fourth, no need to take my word for it, ask Paul, Angel [the proprietors], Michelle, and Herb. I ran into Paul over at Mega a couple of days later. He was very friendly with me, didn’t make any judgments whatsoever. He told me that Michelle emailed Angel “This is not on Richard.” Moreover, Herb drove up to Paul & Angel’s next morning and apologized to them, saying he’s the one that was drunk and went off.

Go ask Paul yourself. That’s essentially verbatim what he told me. So, once again, you make false assumptions, or you’re just plain lying.

Dr. Dave just confirmed to me that he was repeating what he heard from someone else (GO due diligence). Nevertheless, he doesn't care, as he's been continuing the same campaign, most recently on the Facebook group. You'd shudder at the utter carelessness in terms of being intellectually consistent, non-dissonant, avoiding logical fallacies, etc. And the man was a surgeon for 27 years, near as I can tell.

Of course, my departure is being conveniently, unfalsifiably characterized as being 'run out of town,' but nobody with a functioning brain seriously believes that. But lies in Zac, including those to one's self, are as ubiquitous as cacti in the desert.

I found it impossible to do meaningful work, which involves lots and lots of writing (the gut microbiome book project and another as-yet secret one). At an average temperature of 90+, combined with 80%+ humidity, combined with an onslaught of bug bites and stings...even constant exposure to the hot wind of a fan and a dozen cold showers per day was no exceptional relief.

The house I rented, while amazingly quirky-chic from November through April (I visited mid-April before deciding to rent), becomes essentially uninhabitable in June through September, for most practical purposes. For instance, when it storms, your bedding gets wet unless you've stowed it away—mattress and all—as a blue skies precaution. A 5-minute downpour can develop in minutes. In a bad storm, like tropical, with high winds and flying debris, you have to go outside to access one or the other of the toilets. There's more, but you get the idea. A summer house there needs two things critically: one small room with an AC and solar/battery system to support it, with a propane backup generator that kicks on automatically (this place has neither), and a small freshwater pool. Minimally.

My car was getting rattled to death, in spite of the body lift, wheel adapters, steel wheels, tires, and suspension mods totaling $4,000. I considered selling it and getting the go-to old classic 4-Runner beater that's one of the top vehicles of choice around there. Virtually indestructible. But I love the Beemer, more than any driving machine I've ever owned. While 9 years old at this point, by virtue of working from home most of that time, it has only 125,000 miles and is in great condition. I became increasingly agitated with compromising its value to me, on a daily basis, on washboard, pot-holed dirt roads, with endless trucks kicking up dust that becomes a coating throughout the interior. Add to that, no carport to shield it from the desert sun.

Saving the most important for last, I missed my wife and doggies terribly, in spite of the every-night FaceTime where she'd run around the house, chatting up the doggies. "It's daddy," and every perk of the ear I saw was a knife to my cold, dickhead heart.

Originally, Beatrice and Rat Terrier units were coming along until the end of summer, when school starts at all wheres. But a new job in the district running a junior-high career and academic counseling program she'd developed 8 years ago—but was defunded after three years due budget cuts in the economic downturn, so she she went back to the classroom—came to life again, and she couldn't resist, and and it's her passion. So what can a dickhead say but, "you go for it, wife unit?" Actually, I didn't say that, but this dickhead came to understand that not only are her passions as important to her as mine are to me, but that this one is particularly important. So I ask you: what kind of dickhead would stand in the way of that? Certainly not this one. She makes her marks in life differently than I make mine. This Latina and I have managed to get along for 20 years now, and it's a lot more than just one other some thing to me.

This set in motion a chain of changes that precluded her coming along. And even a visit via aircraft without dogs became increasingly unlikely as she just had to rescue another dog she'd had her eyes on for nearly two years. She even made a 6-hour round trip drive to visit Choncho once. But he's 10 years old, so not a hot commodity in the dog rescue arena. About a year ago, we rescued little Scout after 15-year-old Rotor died from kidney failure. That's two then. We don't care about accolades.

Truth is, my nickname for Scout is butthole, but this dickhead says it out of love for the hilarious clown that can't help but be a total bag of clowning. Nanuka "Nuke" is my baby girl I most often refer to as "Nuke the cat," because she's the most independent and aloof dog I have ever known and the only domesticated canine I think might have a shot at wild living on her own, like a feral cat.

...When I arrived back in San Jose, CA—a scant 1,500 miles and 48 hours after I left Zac at 2PM last Wednesday afternoon—Beatrice had not arrived back home yet, from being out and I had the extreme pleasure of Scout and Nuke going apeshit at my return, with Choncho barking at me as a stranger.

We worked it all out. He's a sweetheart lovebug, common for Rat Terriers, if you know the breed characteristics. I really adore him and understand why Bea was so insistent upon his rescue from a very nice place that rescues dogs all the time, but at 4PM, they go into kennels and aren't dogs again until the next morning.

We'll be fine. Doing a move to a place 3.5 miles from Bea's work and downsizing to a cute little 1BR/2B, with a million $ view...Tyranny of Assets style.

view
 

YHBT. But, with a few exceptions and they all know who they are. To my disposition and proclivities, no troll bait I've ever encountered deserved it more richly, and sorry to end on a sour note. This is the literature of life, not children's stories or even, smoke up aged asses for community points.

This is the final post. Any new info will be appended as updates. In fact, I already have one for tomorrow that'll blow your mind. So check back.

The Right Probiotic Could Change Your Life

You hear stuff about the gut microbiome all the time, and probiotics have been a rage for even longer. Then someone comes along and applies new science and technology to do something really revolutionary in terms of mega-high dose for a short regimen that's actually designed to get to your colon quickly. That would be my buddy Karl Seddon, MD in the UK who developed Elixa Probiotic. Here's the posting history on it and you can see many testimonials of great things at all of them:

Now, just like with most everything your mileage may vary, but I can say that the vast majority of reported results have been very positive and that I can't recall any negative, only no effect noticed. Here's the most recent testimonial, from Pam.

Thank you for your post mentioning Elixa probiotic. I have suffered from chronic diarrhea for over a year and endured a series of "cures" including colonoscopy, antibiotics, anti-fungals, restrictive diets, various probiotic and prebiotic concoctions... I elected to give Elixa a try and took two 6 day rounds back-to-back... on day 11....."normalcy" returned.....spectacular...... I have not yet experimented with resistant starch but it is "on my list" thanks to your info,... love "free-the-animal"....!!

You can try it yourself by clicking here and placing an order.

Tribalism, Equivocation and Moral Ambivalence in the Lost American Suburb of Los Cabos

Zacatitos

N'est-ce pas magnifique?

They call it Los Zacatitos and for the time being, I live here. But it's really just an American suburb in Mexico, operating exactly the same as any uppity white suburb in any upper-crusty part of the U.S., Facebook Group and all.

I'll save all the reasons for my imminent departure for a subsequent and final post on this life-chapter; but for this installment, it's simply time to shine a light on hypocrisy. In a discussion with a fellow intellectual traveler the other day, discussing various means of bringing social pressure to bear, he wrote very succinctly:

The universe is about the message, not the messenger.

So, to be intellectually consistent, unwilling to live in cognitive dissonance, one ought strive to discern the true message emanating from messengers, rather than focus on the messengers. One way to focus on messages rather than messengers is to identify what principle or set thereof are implied or explicit in messages. In that way, one understands that it matters not a whit whether it's Charles Manson or President Obama that says it's wrong to kill young blond movie stars in Hollywood's Hills by means of personality cult. The message is that murder is wrong, the operative principle being non-initiation of violence.

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Thank You, Mr. President. Let Our People Go.

There, I said it.

It was November of 2007 where I titled a post Fuck Obama and His Stupid Bitch, that by now, has been read a few hundreds of thousands of times. I've had innumerable occasions to reiterate. But I'm a sucker for redemption, even careful, party-political measured ones.

I've been blogging this shit from time-to-time since 2005; and finally, Mr. President, AKA Choom Master, gets on board at the end of his 2nd term and calls it "mistakes" and "doing something stupid"—which of course is the usual standard political lying excused by people who feel empowered in getting a 1/300 millionth say in their own affairs at a curtained social masturbation chamber, AKA voting booth.

These are like a minute each, all you time-crunched people who spend hours reading blogs.

Now, I have many quibbles, but I'll just quote my post to Facebook once I saw the second video.

I've got to salute the man and I'll just go ahead and call him Mr. President as a show of respect for once. This is an act of statesmanship. Sure, I could quibble, in that he's doing this near end of term, where hundreds of thousands have entered incarceration and hundreds of thousands endured it over the last seven years.

And, it's not "mistakes" and "stupid things." The stupid law is a mistake. But it's something, not nothing, and babies ought never be tossed out with bath water.

Well I'll be dammed. The choom master is going to go down in history as the President that turned the insanity of the Nixonian War on Drugs around.

Golf clap.

And so there you have it.

It’s the most important political thing on the radar. Currently, there are millions of people in prison who harmed no one. Millions of families have been destroyed to the delight of Christian Conservative Republicans who also delight in the idea that people who don’t believe in their sky doG will get eternal torture in some fantasy Hell.

So while stupid knows no bounds and hell hath no material furry at all, there are hundreds of thousands unjustly sitting in a hell of Christian Conservative making, and families have been devastated for decades.

For The Record: My Blindsided Assault and Battery in Los Zacatitos, Baja Sur, Mexico

This post is a testimony of my recollections surrounding what took place in a local bar & grill on the evening of July 14, 2015, when a resident named Tim "Herb" Mullen—in the company of fiancée Michelle Suderman—approached me surreptitiously from behind and delivered a roundhouse forearm to my throat, knocking me backwards to the concrete floor from the height of a barstool.

Injuries sustained were a bruised windpipe and bruised ribs on the upper back. While initially—the first day following—the windpipe inflammation and phlegm production were the most difficult, making breathing labored and swallowing painful, it's morphed into where the bruised ribs are now the chief discomfort. Every cough to clear a sore throat is met with stabbing pain, many movements are similarly painful, and sleep is less than restful. Indications are that this will run a 3-week course or so, until the ribs have healed.

I recorded a video testimony at 6 a.m. the following morning. There's a number of Zacatitans who're just certain they know all about me, never having met me or exchanged any values with me, so I thought it important to put it in a video.

There's one material element I hadn't recollected at the time and will outline below the video. I'll also explain what transpired prior to the assault. But keep in mind, this post is primarily the video. If you make any judgment or comment without watching it, you're doing so on a small bit of the info and risk being called on it.. For example, how come I didn't retaliate? How about my awareness? How about Presence of Mind?

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The Tyranny of Assets

In 1979, when I graduated high school in June of that year and moved with my parents to the Portland, OR area, then drove across country diagonally to Chattanooga, TN in August to begin college at the Born-Again Christian enclave of Tennessee Temple University, everything I owned needed fit easily into the back of the 1974 Mazda RX-3 wagon I'd bought from my dad for $1,000 worth of work in his painting company. I didn't even have to put the rear seats down.

How did I possibly survive with no collection of assets? Perhaps, not being weighed down, I focussed on other things; like: observing the world around me, asking questions, discovering the joy of Very Bad Things-so-called, and even engaging in some study now and then to collect grade assets...and maybe, with nothing better to do than thrive by working in fast-food joints and auto-parts stores, paid the lion's share of the cost of acquiring a college diploma-asset. Eventually.

That stint lasted only a freshman year, and when I returned to Troutdale, OR that late spring, not only did all my assets still fit in the back, but there was room for the stuff of two other guys from the same Born-Again church, sharing the ride and drive.

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Justin Blok, cali420king on Facebook, Threatens to Have Me Killed and Buried in the Baja Desert

"Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel." — Mark Twain

Let me introduce you to Justin Blok, cali420king on Facebook. Apparently, he wishes it to be known that he's the king of potheads in California; and since he's in Cabo San Lucas, we're talking the whole damn thing—from the Oregon border to the tip of Baja Sur. Pictures...well, you know how many words.

Justin Blok
Justin Blok, cali420king on Facebook

Here's the brief history.

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Non-Intansigence, via Alanis Morissette

 One could do a lot worse for a life theme song. You Learn.

I recommend getting your heart trampled on, to anyone
I recommend walking around naked in your living room
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

I recommend biting off more then you can chew to anyone
I certainly do

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Adapting to Challenges —> Embracing Challenges (A Zacatitos Baja Sur Live Log)

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It's a tough sell anymore

Comfy and convenience are double-edged swords, because I can get to any of two Walmarts, a Costco, and a Home Depot within an hour—the only negative feedback being lots of miles of dirt roads with trucks kicking up dust, potholes, and washboard.

I suppose the big difference for me is that I don't use any of them to fill a line of pantries and box freezers—or fill a house with stuff I don't need (everything I need fits in the back of my car). To me, this is about challenging myself to live more minimally, see how it goes, figure out management, and end up embracing it as the better, more humane way to live...for me. So in that way, I'm simply reporting on my experiences as I endeavor to learn. It's been just over 5 weeks, now. I've learned a lot.

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Please Debunk “The Iron Food Enrichment Hypothesis” of Obesity and Disease

It's been about 10 days since the 6K word-whopper went up: Iron, Food Enrichment and The Theory of Everything. So far very well received—as an hypothesis to investigate—by various communities. We were purposely diet agnostic in that post for, we consider the hypothesis also unifying in terms of at least partly explaining why vastly different diets provide benefits to diverse groups of people. For instance, myriad diets an LCer or Paleo would find unacceptable within the confines of their paradigms are nonetheless healthful; in many cases, more healthful—if longevity is the gold standard (see: The Blue Zones).

I think we're back to square one: Eat Real Food and that may even include various grains...though primarily in a fresh, whole-grain way, so as to derive important nutrients from the bran and germ (e.g., manganese and copper, both critical in the regulation of iron absorption and storage regulation).

...All just food for chewing and thought.

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Iron, Food Enrichment and The Theory of Everything

This is the promised greatly expanded post that we touched on here: How Food Enrichment Made Us Fat, Diabetic, and Chronically Diseased. The Duck Dodgers team has been working on this for months and the purpose of that earlier post was to kinda crowdsource the idea, see if there were serious objections we weren't aware of prior to putting it all out there more formally. In addition to the home team, we've also run this by a number of others and received lots of valuable feedback.

Keep in mind that we're floating a hypothesis here, not claiming causality. And we think it's solid, as it appears to work in every single obesity / disease "paradox" worldwide we can think of. Contrast that, say, to a hypothesis were dietary carbohydrate is per se behind the obesity epidemic. Well, right off the bat you have to contend with The Blue Zones where longevity is highest, and every single one consumes a carbohydrate rich diet...

Iron is an essential element for human beings—you can't live without it. However, too much of it can be harmful. The US, UK and Canada are the only developed nations to have mandated iron enrichment of white flour, white breads, pastas, rice and cereals—no other developed countries do it. And as we'll suggest, the policy has potentially been disastrous for our health, contributing to most of the major diseases of civilization including cardiovascular disease, diabetes, cancer and Alzheimer's. Some countries, like Denmark, have even banned the imports of fortified foods. In fact, flour fortification is a practice that is almost exclusively practiced by third world countries

The reasoning behind iron fortification stems from the idea that some women are believed to have iron deficiency due to menstruation. Besides the fact that skewing the micronutrients of the food supply for a fraction of a population can be counterproductive for the majority, it turns out that the entire concept of women becoming anemic due to normal menstruation was recently disproved. There is no anemia epidemic due to menstruation. And even if there was, it would not warrant a modification to an entire nation's diet.

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The Baja Six-Month Challenge Update

Photo on 6 14 15 at 4 42 PM
 

It's an understatement, really. Particularly contemplating that I have almost 5 months of challenges left to go under my lease. I'm not going to get into lots of detail now because it's really too complex, intertwined, involves personal motivations and goals towards molding a different person in myself; one I like a little better. That last point is important because I didn't come here to win friends, influence people, or party hardy (well, not altogether too hardy!). I'm doing this for me.

Chief among the challenges is the raw brutality of it. It's not really a tropical paradise or desert island oasis. A 5-Star resort an hour west over in Cabo is a tropical desert paradise—compete with umbrella drinks served poolside. Here, it's just fucking hot. Always fucking hot—and cacti provide no shade. Save for manmade structures there's just no shelter at all. Don't know what I'd do without that outside shower.

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Pick Your Comment

The ocean is pristine right now. The weekend mini-storm here at the tip of Baja really pushed the reset button and we're back to more of a seasonal dessert weather pattern (cool, breezy evenings matched by hot days) and seas coming more from the south than west (Pacific).

I went and played around in the light surf for a long time. Just felt to good to get out. Got back and checked in on comments.

"Keto User," on a post that is 14 and 1/2 months old:

Angry idiot. No amount of carbs will get rid of the hate you cultivate in your mind as an attempt to hide from your guilt.

Some useless nonsense from David:

Everything on FreeTheAnimal is just some guy spouting off unproven shit. The whole potato starch fad is an example of how over the top he takes things to build his brand.

...And finally, the stuff that's always better than money, from Julie:

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More Crazy Probiotics Stuff

People are really getting good at refinements. Including myself. I now ingest probiotics (when I do, which is occasional, high dose) first thing AM with water, and wait hours before eating anything. The reason is simple. Your aim is to get them to the colon to establish as floral community members. You don't want them being held up by food in transit, nor sidetracked by meals en route. So, one of my favorite mega-dose probiotics that you only take from time-to-time for six day, is Elixa Probiotic. Here's a back-&-forth between Elixa's creator, and Wilber, a commenter who's a fiber menace to society.

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Survivorman: Hurricane Blanca On The Tip of Baja

Preparations had been going at levels of concern, up to hysteria, around Los Zacatitos for days. Some of these folks got bulldozed in the Cat 3 Odile, last September, and harbor short memories.

For me, the problem was science. There exist physical absolutes in the universe, and Earth and its conscious inhabitants are not excluded. Ideally, the human mind is a reality integrating organ, never a reality creating one. Just as naturally—we're social animals—there was a level of understandable crowd hysteria that I took in stride. Like I said, for many, Odile was an outrage, never-happens-again deal for a lot of folks: some of whom have still not bothered—or are financially unable—to rebuild from. But on the other hand, history, per se, is not omniscient.

So, the science. It took like 5 minutes of Googling to reach absolute certainty that even if this Cat 4 Hurricane 750 miles south of us—feeding on the warmest seas in EastPac—hit us head-on dead-center, it would be some high wind gusts and heavy rain at most, tropical storm like. And even that didn't happen.

IMG 3293
3-4 Hours Before Closest Point of Approach
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The New Science of Probiotics

I've previously blogged about my use of a new high-dose probiotic called Elixa. It's not one you take all the time, but a 6-day course you take now & then. I've written about it twice before:

One thing its creator, Karl Seddon, is happy to do is to interact personally with customers via email. For instance, one woman had some flu-like symptoms, detailed here, here, and here. That last one is Karl's input.

Hi Gordon,

Feel free to contact me directly to discuss your theory further, as it is interesting indeed – as far as acidosis-susceptible individuals are concerned.

However…. while there is a logical chain linking it all together on paper, I happen to have had clinical experience with patients suffering from several conditions, 3 of which could relate (for purposes of discussion) to this type of situation: bacteremia, metabolic acidosis (including lactic acidosis post-surgery for ileal pouch), and Jarisch-Herxheimer response to IV antifungals.

The ‘hot/flushed’ symptom you have listed is a typical presentation of Jarisch-Herxheimer and would differentiate the diagnosis away from investigations of acidosis or hyperlactemia.

While the J-H response is an indicator that large amounts of non-beneficial microorganisms are experiencing cell lysis (a GOOD thing), I can fully appreciate that it may be a disconcerting experience. In any case, I think she will make the right choice to discontinue it if the response is this acute.

The unfair irony is that certain people who can benefit from probiotics, will experience this type of Jarisch-Herxheimer response much more than others. (I believe this is what you are referring to as ‘die-off’).

Very un-sales-pitch like, one might say.

[Read more...]

I Have Off The Grid Internet Now

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Battery operated.

Ubiquitous, reliable sunshine gets stored from 4 solar panels into 7 truck batteries during every day. Lets me run lights, internet, computers, water pump...even a fan: because it's not hot...it's fucking hot. But this line of sight deal into the network smokes. So far, way better than endless video steaming spinning wheels on Comcast Xfinity Anywhere Bay Area California—who're simply just quasi-monopoly frauds, now—protected from competition, in no rush to actually deliver on the promises they spend $100 million + in advertising per year to lie to you about, all with the blessing of your municipalities and fed whores you actually take the trouble to stand in line to vote for, getting your 1/300 millionth say in your own affairs like fucking wankers.

So, this is all now kinda the last bit, from where I begin crafting new simple habits and write about the struggle. Bro David left yesterday. It was beyond great for us to be completely just the two of us: Baja 1,000 in 18 hrs, and then 4 nights here at the new place. I'm 54, so he's been in my face for about 51 years and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love and adore that man. So different from me, but also so similar on levels important to me.

But now: Tout seul.

Doing Fine In Baja

See?

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Hair tied back in a man-bun, back of head, cool like.

...My newest friend, a Canadian expat, just 200 yards away, drives a Harley, has 3 enormous Dobermans, plays Pink Floyd loud, and has a sign on his gate that proclaims:

NO SNIVELLING

Whenever I snivel? I go down to the beach—5-minute walk away—so that I'm automatically reminded about what the fuck I'm doing and why.

Sorry Blog, But I’m Living for a Living

 Long story short:

  1. Bro and I crossed the border in Tijuana on 6:30 am Wednesday morning. Goal was about 750 miles down the road at Loreto. We made it to Santa Rosalia, a Mexican New Orleans. Check it out.
  2. Stayed in Hotel Frances, the former French administration building for the copper mining and smelting operation, left 5 am.
  3. Got to Zac at about 3pm.
  4. I've driven cross country a couple of times, including in 3 days once by myself. This drive, with Dave and I trading off, at 1/3 the distance, was the most nerve wracking, exhausting drive ever in terms of the speed and intensity with which we did it (90% very narrow, 1950s style 2-lane with hundreds of semi trucks going very fast). This is an intense mind drive. You have to be 100% on your game 100% of the time. You get to see the hundreds of roadside memorials along the way for those who didn't.
  5. Three miles from new home, my X5 Baja Buggy that I just spent 4K on for custom lift (no kits), wheels, adapters, steel wheels, kitchen sinks, etc., blew the right frot strut on a pothole.
  6. Everything being sorted, I get Internet at the home on Tuesday, maybe even a cell-phone repeater...right now scrounging from Zac's in exchange for a drink and dinner.
  7. I've managed two ocean swims in the last 24 hours. That will be a habit.

I fucking feel more alive than I have in years. I quite enjoy having some problems to solve. Reminded me of having my 'Vette break down 40 miles from home in Toulon, France, after I drove it from where it came in to port in Rotterdam. Got it sorted.

...Running low on water...another problem to sort. Next week, a Mexican guy is going to truck out 10,000 liters over 12 miles of dirt road for $65, to fill my two 5,000 liter, cross-connected tanks.

I love this world! Lots lots more later, including the story of no gas stations in 340 KM, and we missed the memo.

In the meantime, find a way to fucking love your life. Really, really love it!

Good Morning Mexico

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And remember, no looking back, just forward.

Trip began Monday at noon from San Jose where I hit the 101 south to Santa Barbara, stopping off in Montecito for the evening at the invitation of Drs Mike & Mary Dan Eades. She had amazing sous vide ribeye steak at the waiting, accompanied by roasted asparagus, cauliflower puree, and a fantastic caesar salad. I provided the old vine zin. Sat around the table and chatted until midnight and rest assured: all the world's problems have been taken care of.

Soon after the morning rounds of cafe Americanos, I headed out, down the Hwy 1, and stopped off in Malibu for a brief lunchtime visit with Mark Sisson in his backyard, overlooking Malibu canyon. More world problems solved.

Picked up my brother at SAN in the late afternoon and we snatched a cheap room at Motel 6 just a few hundred yards from the border and beginning now, 5am:

  1. Gas the X5 BajaMobile, check oil and tire pressure.
  2. Hit the Starbucks for a triple-shot latte.
  3. Cross the border.
  4. Drive until Lareto, which we ought to be able to do by 8-9pm.
  5. Cabo by lunchtime Thursday.

Updates to follow.