Glibertarians.com 2018 Archive

Author: banginglc1

Simple Things the Government Screws Up Part III: Burning Incompetency

A government approved Jotul F 3 CB. It’s fancy because it’s European.

There’s nothing better than that first chilly evening of the year. You gather a load of wood and bring it inside. You load the wood stove, add some kindling, and use your blow torch to get that first fire of the year burning. The fire lights and your home starts to warm. It’s a wonderful feeling and a wonderful time of the year.

But, over the years your stove might start to rust beyond the point of repair, or maybe you’ve moved somewhere new and need to buy a new one. Regardless of your reason for getting a new one, you’ll be happy to know that our friends in the government are watching out for us! Because, if you didn’t know, your wood stove needs to be EPA approved. You wouldn’t want your emissions to be to high. And don’t worry, they’re making them even more stringent in 2020!

Future Wood Stoves, or trash burning barrels, I’ll bet the EPA doesn’t like that

That’s right, the government can screw up something as simple as a metal box with a door and hole. I mean, why wouldn’t you want a catalytic converter on your wood stove? Really, it’s something so simple that you can make one from a 55 gallon metal drum. In fact, since government has artificially raised prices with all of the new testing required for emissions, more people than ever are making them out of metal drums.

While many people (myself included) have fires for ambiance and supplemental heat, there is a large group of people that heat their homes solely with wood. These people tend to skew poorer. But don’t worry, Big Brother is just making sure these people . . . I can’t finish that sarcastic sentence. We all know it’s just a racket. It has nothing to do with the environment. It’s there to increase the bureaucracy, and subsequently it disproportionately hurts the poor. Not that I wish them any harm, but I hope that if they end up in hell, they get burned in an efficient EPA approved stove.

December 20, 2018
Simple Things the Government Screws Up Part II: Spilling Your Fluids

I pour lots of things every day. I might pour myself a cup of coffee in the morning. A glass of tea with lunch. At dinner I might pour myself a glass of milk. Sometimes I pour laundry soap into the washing machine. Once every couple of months I’ll pour some new oil in the deep fryer.

If you only know Jack, You don’t know Dickel

And occasionally, I’ll pour a George Dickel Barrel Select into a rocks glass (for medicinal purposes only). I can usually do all of these things while spilling very little. I mean I might miss a drop here or there, especially when I’m on my third or fourth Dickel. But, for the most part, I do a good job at getting my fluids where they’re supposed to go.

Do you know what I can’t pour without spilling? No, it’s not the fifth glass of Dickel. It’s gasoline. Do you know why? Because I have a government mandated and approved gas can. I don’t know if you’ve had to get a new gas can in the last ten years or so, but if you have, you know my pain. All of the new spill proof gas cans make me spill gas more easily than anything else I’ve ever poured.

Seriously, how do you screw up a gas can? Can it get more simple. A bottle with a spout and a hole for air. That’s all you need. But somehow, our benevolent overlords screwed them up. Old gas cans are actually a commodity today. An old employee of mine mentioned that her father (a farmer in central Indiana) goes to estate sales to find the elusive gas cans from yesteryear that have disappeared from store shelves. He sells them to other farmers. That’s right. There’s a secondary market for old gas cans because of the government. There’s also an array of YouTube videos showing how to hack the new gas cans. Really, there are countless videos to tell you how to make a government approved spill proof gas can usable.

I guess I’m now one of the lucky ones though. A few weeks ago my neighbors’ garage got damaged in a storm. When they tore it down I saw an old fashioned gas can in the dumpster. I climbed in there and grabbed it. I couldn’t let it go to waste. I’m now using a functional gas can, my apologies to those who don’t have one.

December 6, 2018
Simple Things the Government Screws Up Part I : Low Flow

It’s been a long, hard day. As you enter the room you let the last bit of your clothing drop to the floor. You’re already feeling good and you know that the hot and steamy water flowing over you will only further your ecstasy. You lift in one leg and then the other. As you turn the knob water begins to flow from the tub faucet. It’s getting hotter and hotter. Just when you’ve reached the perfect temperature you grab the knob and turn. You can hear the water running up the pipe to the shower head. You’re ready, you’re excited, and you’re disappointed. It’s a low flow shower head.

Yep, it’s an incredibly simple thing that the government screwed up. Now, if you live in California or some other arid climate, maybe there’s an argument to make for low flow showers (I have a free market base approach that might work here, but that’s a side debate). I don’t live in an arid climate. I live in Indiana with some of the most abundant water aquifers in the world. Not to mention one of the largest fresh water bodies on the planet that might just be a little bit north of my current location. With the exception of a minor, occasional mid summer drought. We don’t have a shortage of water here. Also, it’s incredibly cheap, so I’m not worried about price.

Now this has been an increasing problem throughout my life. But there is a solution. It involves a couple pairs of pliers. One to take the shower head off and a pair of needle nose to pull out the flow restrictor. It’s really simple. Just keep working at it until all the plastic and bits aren’t in the way anymore. In fact, I carry pliers with me on every road trip that I take. There are hotels as far east as Virginia, as far north as Montana, as far west as California, and as far south as Texas that have higher flow rate shower thanks to me.

Imagine water as a hot dog and this as the hallway. In this scenario it’s actually good for the hallway to be large.

Unfortunately, this solution is working less and less. They’ve figured out people like myself are doing anything and everything I can the thwart their efforts. Manufacturers are now incorporating low flow into the faucet valve. I have a solution to this to, but it’s not quite as simple. It involves a drill and being willing to buy the parts two or three times for when you screw up. It’s still usually well worth it. Or, if you don’t about aesthetics you can make your own flow heavy setup using ball valves. Now your wife may not like it at first, but when it no longer takes her 20 minutes to wash the soap out of her hair, she’ll hopefully come around.

In the meantime make sure you turn on a faucet and let it run for 15 minutes a day to counteract their measures.

November 29, 2018
An Eight Year Journey

I started smoking somewhere around the age of 14. My dad smoked, his three brothers smoked, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I started with Camel Lights and moved on to Winston, because it tastes good, like a cigarette should. Even early in high school, I was known as the heaviest, most constant, and most consistent smoker around. I was buying cartons by my senior year. By the time I reached college, I would go through 5-6 packs a weekend during my sessions of binge drinking. And all that was without sharing, I didn’t bum to people, I hate bums. Get a damn job and buy your own smokes you leach. And I never tried and had no plans to quit. I loved smoking, let me repeat, I loved smoking! Besides, it just takes the shitty years off the end of your life.

Somewhere around 2008-2009, smoking started to look a lot less glamorous to me. I was fine with idea of getting lung cancer. Lung cancer usually kills you quick. While I don’t prefer it, at least it won’t ruin your life for years. My fiance (at the time, now ex-wife) had a grandfather with COPD. That’s what really changed my mind. Watching the misery he went through was enough for me. I hearkened back to the asthma I outgrew during my childhood. I remembered what it was like to not be able to breathe. I decided I didn’t want that feeling ever again.

A pack of Winston S2’s I recently found in my old hiding spot at my parents house.

I didn’t know anything about e-cigs at the time. So I tried to switch to dip. I had done it a few times in college; it really wasn’t my thing. But, I’d rather lose my gums and jaw than not be able to breathe. Grizzly Mint Long Cut was semi-successful. I was smoking less, but I certainly hadn’t quit. I was probably down to a pack or so a week for about 6 months. I went back to cigarettes, nearly exclusively, at the funeral of the man who was my inspiration to quit (the grandfather).

Right around this time I had moved back in with my parents again while saving for my wedding. My brother, a lover of gadgets, had ordered my dad an electronic cigarette from some company online, I scoffed at the idea. But my father, who had never tried to quit in his life, decided to give it a go. He had one “analog” cigarette three days after starting the electronic and was disgusted with how it tasted. That was 2010, he hasn’t smoked a cigarette since.

He told his bothers, all lifelong smokers, about it. 2 of the three switched with him. Now after a month or so of their success, I decided maybe it wasn’t the snake oil I thought it was and maybe I should give it a shot. These were the earliest days of vaping. The only shop in town that sold this stuff was actually a rare coin shop. The owner of the shop had started vaping and after his success he decided to start selling it out of the coin store. I bought my first ego 510 and I was off to the races.

I was amazed at how well it worked. It didn’t taste exactly like smoking, but it was close enough. It mimicked the motion and movement. It produced the visual effect. Most importantly, it kept my nicotine receptors happy. Also, I can’t begin to tell you how much better I felt. I could breathe and I could breathe well. It only took a few weeks for my smoker’s cough to vanish. It was amazing. The other thing that I really like about it was that I could cheat. When I was drinking with friends, I’d have a smoke or two. The next day, I was fine with going right back to vaping.

The technology changed incredibly rapidly during those first couple of years. In the early days you actually put a few drops on some poly-fill stuffing and held it up to the atomizer. It burned the poly-fill often and tasted awful when it did. Tanks came out next. Variable voltage after that. Then sub-ohm atomizers, variable wattage, stainless steel coils, etc. The products out there today are vastly superior to what I started out with.

An array of the batteries I’ve used through the years. On the far right is the Joytech ego 650mA. As the got more advanced they got bigger. The one on the far left is the Innokin Cool Fire IV with variable voltage/wattage up to 100 watts.

After the first couple of years of vaping, I actually stopped using tobacco flavored juice. That was a big step. And when that happened, I realized I wasn’t addicted to cigarettes any longer. I was actually more addicted to vaping than I was cigarettes. I still cheated occasionally (especially while drinking or hanging out with old smoker buddies), but it became less and less as time went on. About two years ago, I realized I really didn’t like smoking anymore, not even my occasional cheat. So I stopped real cigarettes altogether.

Finally, about a year ago, I started questioning if I should try to quit vaping. Like cigarettes, I had never planned to quit. I actually thought I’d vape until I die. But, I started to worry about impending FDA regulations. I was concerned how much it was starting to cost (Indiana regulations drastically increased the price). And with more FDA regulations, the price is only destined to get higher.

I started taking Wellbutrin (aka Bupropion or Zyban), a prescription quit smoking aid (and anti-depressant). I could tell when I first started taking it that I cared less about my nicotine addiction. About two weeks after starting it, on January 28^th, 2018 I stopped vaping and all forms of nicotine. I haven’t had any since. Truthfully, after just a few days, almost all of cravings had subsided. After about 6 months I stopped taking the Wellbutrin. I very rarely crave nicotine at all anymore, and when I do it passes almost instantaneously. I really have no desire to ingest it in any form anymore.

It was about an 8 year journey for me to quit nicotine. I think that using the dip actually helped me to start to break my habit. Then, the e-cig saved my life. They are a life saving device. If you smoke and you want to quit, give it a shot. My father, two of his brothers and countless friends of mine also quit smoking by switching to vaping. It really is a miracle of modern times. The only caveat is that you have to want to quit for vaping to work. But if you do, it might save your life.

As a quick aside, I wrote many smoking related papers while in college. That’s how I found Jacob Sullum’s book For Your Own Good: the Anti-Smoking Crusade and the Tyranny of Public Health. His book led me to TOS, which in turn brought me here. BTW, I recommend the book, I wish there were an updated revision.

October 30, 2018
#Metoo In a Time Before #Metoo

It was an early, cool spring day. I doubt that the daytime temperatures had even reached sixty degrees that day. For the most part it seemed like a typical Saturday at the fraternity house. We started early that day . . . well . . . we started early most days. Over the course of the evening I must’ve had about twenty-five Busch Lights. Nothing spectacular for an all day drinking fest, but I wouldn’t say I was at the peak of sobriety. I was still a freshman and still living in the dorms, at least nominally. The fraternity house was made to accommodate about 40 guys, but there were only about ten members at the time (that’s another story). So, I had my own room that I stayed in on nights that I obliged in the binge drinking. I stayed there most nights.
Truthfully, the day was rather uneventful. As usual, I was part of the last group still awake and drinking. It was probably about 4am and we had moved the party up from the basement to the couches in the living room. The TV was on, the lights were low, I had a Rolling Rock in my hand that had been stolen from my big brothers room. I was probably half a beer from calling it a night. I certainly didn’t think I’d be getting laid that night.

Pretty soon there was a commotion at the front door. A group of clearly intoxicated girls arrived. And not our usual girls who show up at 4am. Ashley came in and fell onto me, her head landing at my feet one the couch. She started snuggling with my feet and telling how much fun she had earlier that night. I had my shoes off, so essentially she was rubbing her face all over my socks. I have to admit, I was actually a little disgusted. I had athlete’s foot at the time and all I could think was that she was rubbing her face all over that. She was clearly there to see me and was quite aggressive. I remember my phrasing exactly when I drunkenly said, “ I’m going upstairs to get another beer, you can come if you want.” (Now that’s a pick up line). I guess I was a little surprised when she said yes, but I can’t say I wasn’t happy. I got up and she grabbed my hand. I lead her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Let’s take a step back for a minute and gather some background on some things. First things first, and do I hesitate in admitting this, but I was a virgin at the time. My college friends didn’t know that. Well, they might have suspected, but I never volunteered the information. I wasn’t completely inexperienced, I had done everything but sexual intercourse. Also, Ashley lived exactly one floor above me in the dorms. Her roommate was in my social circle, so I knew her relatively well. Well enough that I had a small crush on her. I had always suspected she had a crush on me too. The week before, while I was drinking at the fraternity house, she slept with my roommate. I’ll have more on that later. But for now, let’s just say that I was a little disheartened that she had slept with him and not me. I wasn’t in love with her, but I knew he didn’t care at all, so there was a little sting.

When we reached the bedroom I shut the door. We started making out immediately. I casually broke her hold and grabbed another Rolling Rock, opened it and took a swig. I was nervous and I needed that moment of regularity, that pattern and feeling of normalcy to calm my nerves. I can’t exactly remember, but I assume I offered her some. I couldn’t have taken two more swigs before I was accosted and thrown on the couch. I didn’t mind. We were making out and doing some heavy petting for a few minutes. Clothes were coming off a piece at a time. Not in a fast and furious way that you see in movies, but steadily we were becoming more and more naked.

At the point that there weren’t anymore clothes blocking the way, she began touching me intimately. I returned the favor. A few minutes later, I went down on her. I was fairly experienced at that and, again, it gave me a sense of normalcy, it let me remain confident. I was building up to the moment I would lose my virginity. I was nervous, I was happy, I was elated.

I was certain that she was more experienced than me. I mean, she had a one night stand with my roommate the weekend before. That added to the pressure that I was experiencing. As I started to fumble my way through the process of losing my virginity, I got as far as resting my penis against her vulva. Was this it? Was this going to be the moment? No, it wasn’t. I was drunk, I was tired, I was limp.

As I knelt against the edge of the couch, looking down Ashley, I realized I didn’t want to do this. At least not at this time, not in this place, and not in this way. In that split second of clarity, I knew that I didn’t want to lose my virginity drunk, half-erect, and on a filthy frat house couch at 4am. As cliché as it sounds, I wanted it all to be more special. Also, I didn’t want to have a quick fling with Ashley. I liked Ashley. I ask her out on a date and see if we could have something more.

She seemed fine with stopping at that point. She was tired and drunk too and it was time for bed. We got half dressed and crawled up onto my mattress in the loft above us. It was a small twin bed in a cold drafty room. She snuggled into my arms and I fell asleep quickly.

About 2 hours later, probably close to 7am, she attempted to wake me. I wasn’t fully cognizant yet and was definitely still drunk. She asked if I would walk her back to the dorms. What I should have said was, “No, It’s 7am and I’m tired and drunk. We’re both minors, we live in a zero tolerance county. I just went to jail last month for a minor consumption charge. Several of my friends have gone to jail for minor consumption charges while walking back to the dorms. It’s cold outside and a terrible idea. I’d like you to stay here with me for a few more hours and I’ll happily walk you back then.” But that’s not what I said. I uttered out, “no, but you can leave if you want.” I rolled over and fell back asleep. Now, I do realize that on the surface that looks a little rude. But, I didn’t mean to be so rough, I was drunk and groggy. I was awoken suddenly from a deep drunken sleep and not ready to answer any questions. I really didn’t think that she would gather her belongings and leave, but apparently she did.

I woke up several hours later and realized Ashley was gone. I felt a little odd about it all, but figured that’d all work out. I was hoping that I could talk to her later and maybe arrange a date, or at least talk. When I went downstairs it seemed like everyone in the house knew I had gotten laid. I was young and dumb, so I let them believe we went all the way. I didn’t tell them that it only ended up going as far as me going down on her. I let them believe we had intercourse. When I got back to the dorms, I told my roommate that I had slept with her too. I chalk that up to being young, stupid, and insecure.

I can’t recall if it was that day or a few days later when her roommate Casey knocked on the door of my room. I do remember being floored when Casey asked if I had raped Ashley. She elaborated that Ashley had told her that I had raped her that night. She told me that Ashley elaborated that not only had I raped her, but I kicked her out afterwards and made her walk home in the cold. Again, I never kicked her out, I phrased an answer to a question very poorly in my incoherent state. I explained the situation Casey in full detail. I told her that not only there not been a single no uttered throughout the night, but that Ashley was the aggressor in all of it. Casey clearly believed me, going as far as hand waiving the entire situation away. Saying, “that’s just the way Ashley gets when she’s drunk.” “She blacks out sometimes when she’s drinking.” But none of that really helped.

I can’t describe the vast amount of emotions and thoughts that ran through my head. “How can this be? I’ve never hurt anyone! How can she think that happened? We didn’t even have sex! Hell, I’m a virgin! I kind of like her, why would I screw that up? This can’t be happening! What the fuck is going on? Shit, am I going to jail? Am I getting kicked out of school?” A million other thoughts in a similar vane passed through my head over the next few weeks. She never approached me directly. No police reports were filed. That didn’t stop her from telling others though. Now I won’t say that she ran around campus telling everyone everything. She didn’t. But she did tell her circle of friends. I knew all of the girls in that circle. I would have casually called them my friends before this incident. They stopped talking to me. They looked at me with disgust when they walked by. They stopped dropping by the frat house on the weekends.

My friends all stayed by my side through the ordeal. A few of them saw her when she showed up at the house that night. They saw her snuggle with my feet. They saw that she was the instigator and aggressor. The ones who didn’t witness the event had no doubts either, they knew that I could never do anything like that. One of them confronted her about it. She straight up told him that she was blackout drunk, but she just knew what I had done.

She sent me an email a few years ago. She apologized. She said that she had been blackout drunk that night and just assumed the worst when she woke up. She told me that she had talked to a mutual friend and my version of events was much more plausible than what she had conjured up in her head. The email seemed sincere, and it did make me feel better, but I never responded.

This all happened in the early aughts at a small college in the midwest. I can’t image what would have happened to me if this had happened in today’s environment, especially on the coasts. I still have a chip on my shoulder about the incident. I still worry that she’ll decide to #metoo me any day. In the current environment and with the way memories can change over time, I can’t help but worry. Even with her email apology on file, it could still completely upend my life. Isn’t it amazing that we live in a time that well over a decade later I’m still scared that she could ruin my life.

As an addendum: In that email she sent. I found out that she lost her virginity to my roommate the in that encounter the week before ours. She wasn’t as experienced as I thought. Apparently, she had a crush on me too. That night she had gotten blackout drunk, went looking for me, couldn’t find me, and fucked my roommate. It looks like under different circumstances we could have had a relationship. It’s probably best that we didn’t.

* names have been changed to protect the privacy of all parties involved.

October 1, 2018