About 17 years ago, I was in between the Wayne Brown Correctional Facility (Nevada County Jail) serving 40 days of a 60 day sentence for a probation violation and the Calaveras County Jail for a 90 sentence on the charge that got me violated in Nevada County. I was coming off a six or seven months relapse after being clean (or sober, depending on one’s brand of recovery) for a little more than nine months after all the original trouble that got me on probation in the first place. Another violation would send me to state prison. I was again…


I usually have some “big” thoughts on my annual ride to Sturgis. This year, my eighth consecutive pilgrimage to the Mecca of all the motorcycle things (my seventh consecutive actual ride there) is no different, but I have not dwelt on it much nor does it have to do much with the adventure itself. It was, like all the previous seven excursions, not a “vacation” as commonly defined, even though for vast numbers of attendees it is that, it was once again about the journey. It is a three part deal — the getting there, the being there and the…


Six day ago, I posted a quote from ski film maker/documentarian Warren Miller to my “timeline” on Facebook. It was, in true Miller fashion, clever, sarcastic and said more about a lot of shit than a paragraph or more ever could. Two days before that, I posted a screenshot of my last text message and a memory of my last conversation with one of my closest friends — ever — Art Werstler. It was one year ago, but he did not pass until September, however, COVID incapacitated him to the point that he was unable to communicated much, and then…


I’m not exactly sure how many lifetime motorcycle miles I’ve ridden. I can make a pretty good guess how many I have rolled up in the past 10+ or so years, however. The miles logged from the time I bought my first bike when I was 18 years-old (a Honda CB 550 — the venerable 550 Four) in 1981, through the 80s and the 90s until I went through my non-motorcycle years up until my first Harley in 2005, I really have no idea. But, I didn’t go on the multi-day, super long distance rides I do now, every year…


This is the beginning. Actually, this is the documented beginning, the real beginning began, probably, when this whole social media morass did. The end began when it started. But, for all intents and purposes, as a practical matter, this is the start of a process in which I extract myself from social media, specifically from Fakebook (yes, I know that is a denigration of our social media lord, but it is a much more accurate name). I am not deleting or deactivating my account (I have deactivated a handful of times in the past, for as long as a few…


I maybe should be more appreciative toward Facebook — or whoever developed the idea that Facebook commandeered its “memories” function from (I want to say, “Timehop,” but I’m not sure and don’t care enough to do the research). I’m not being facetious, and this is not a new revelation. I have made this assertion many times before; the “memories” function is among Facebook’s most redeeming qualities. In fact, it might be Facebook’s only redeeming quality. …


There is a consensus that the level of overall skill in terms of grammar, spelling and written composition, generally, is not what it once was. That might not be entirely true. It might be that, with the advent of easy publication of written texts, the level of skill (or lack thereof) is simply more visible now. I’d say it is part both; there is a decrease in skill and that there is more visibility — and technology is to blame for both. I am on the record that “I don’t like it,” but that’s hardly unique. …


In the fall of 2003, I returned to school for the first time in many, many years. My previous attempts at higher education were mixed, but in total, unsuccessful. I had less than two years of college credits accumulated, and they were scattered across several areas — too many were redundant or otherwise did not count toward anything. It was rebuilding my life and nearing my 41st birthday. I was also, for the first time, “clean and sober,” a story for another time, but a key part of that rebuilding process.

My goal was not to complete a bachelor’s degree…


I wrote this 12 years ago, when I was a middle-aged, first-year grad student. I was still in the early stages of what could be described as my “new life,” fresh off a very successful completion of a BA and more than four years free from the a life controlled by drug addiction. My life, in significant ways, resembled nothing of what it did just a few short years prior, but it also retained certain elements of who I was, some of which were stifled by the life I once lived. Once I was free, they blossomed.

I was not…


There was once a time when writing proficiency and reading comprehension were considered pretty important. In grade school all the way through high school, some sort of curriculum, some class, whether it was English, a specific reading or writing course, etc., had something to do, directly, with the subjects of reading and writing. Even math and science did not enjoy the same prominence that the written arts did.

I was born towards the end of my generation — the Baby Boomers — but it’s safe to say that the importance placed on literacy remained high probably into the 70s, maybe…

Michael Althouse

Lecturer/professor of communication studies at California State University, Sacramento. www.michaelalthouse.com

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