Anonymous Bosh

Still Want to Quit?

2008-06-18T14:29:00.005-05:00

Somewhere a True Believer is training to kill you.

He is training with minimal food or water, in austere conditions, training day and night. The only thing clean on him is his weapon, and he made his web gear himself. He doesn't worry about what workout to do - his ruck weighs what it weighs, his runs end when the enemy stops chasing him. This True Believer is not concerned about 'how hard it is'; he knows either he wins, or he dies. He doesn't go home at 17:00; he is home.

He knows only: The Cause."

The Professionals

Follow-up on the State of Men in America

2008-06-11T09:22:00.002-05:00

In one of my local papers, a gentlemen wrote a letter of thanks to two young women. The author had been hiking in some nearby woods and noted the two youths carrying out bags of trash that they had collected. He thought at first that they were part of some "community effort" or other volunteer or work crew

but

he refrained from asking their names, nay, from speaking to them at all; why?

Out of fear.

Fear that "such a question might be inappropriate."

So instead, he wrote a letter to the paper, praising these young people in a way that might never reach them. He went on to praise them for enhancing his day, for exemplifying values eschewed by many young folks, and for being good leaders. His noted fear was mentioned, most sadly, only in passing.

This is where we stand in America: that a man fears unnamed retribution for praise or a compliment (or simply for speaking) is not even worth reflection or deliberation is a sad, sad state (or State, as it were) . Thanks, Brownshirts; great job!

Curmudgeon: When I Was a Windy Boy

2008-06-10T13:26:00.004-05:00

I was reading this here article, waiting to say "yeah, yeah" (yes, sometimes I tire, or get nervous when the first topic is "racial discrimination"), but instead the hairs on my arms began rising...

What follows are excerpts:

"When I was a boy, America was a freer society than it is today.

"When I was a 7-year-old boy, I flew alone from New York to my aunt and uncle in Miami and did the same thing coming back to New York. I boarded the plane on my own and got off the plane on my own. No papers for my parents to fill out... Had I run away or been kidnapped, no one would have sued the airline.

"When I was a boy, I ran after girls during recess, played dodgeball, climbed monkey bars and sat on seesaws. Today, more and more schools have no recess; have canceled dodgeball lest someone feel bad about being removed from the game; and call the police in to interrogate, even sometimes arrest, elementary school boys who playfully touch a girl. And monkey bars and seesaws are largely gone, for fear of lawsuits should a child be injured.

[Ed. note: it was at this point that I began to get really... scared?]

"When I was boy, I was surrounded by adult men. Today, most American boys (and girls, of course) come into contact with no adult man all day every school day. Their teachers and school principals are all likely to be women. And if, as is often the case, there is no father at home (not solely because of divorce but because "family" courts have allowed many divorced mothers to remove fathers from their children's lives), boys almost never come into contact with the most important group of people in a boy's life -- adult men. The contemporary absence of men in boys' lives is not only unprecedented in American history; it is probably unprecedented in recorded history.

[Ed. note: True dat. More and more men are simply...suspect, not to be trusted, nay, to be feared and avoided. Weird, weird world, and dangerous precedent.]

"When I was a boy, we had in our lives adults who took pride in being adults. [Ed. note: I have been thinking about this a lot lately...] To distinguish them from our peers, we called these adults "Mr.," "Mrs." and "Miss," or by their titles, "Doctor," "Pastor," "Rabbi," "Father." It was good for us, and we liked it. Having adults proud of their adulthood, and not acting like they were still kids, gave us security (as well as something to look forward to in growing up). Today, kids are surrounded by peers twice, three, four times their age.

"When I was a boy, the purpose of American history textbooks was to teach American history... [W]e were not raised by educators or parents who believed that "teenagers will have sex no matter what."

And, to sum it all up:

"We were, in short, allowed to be relatively innocent."

I am, quite literally, fighting back the tears.

True enough, true enough, true enough that.

Thoughts on Obama's Presumptive Nomination

2008-06-05T10:04:00.006-05:00

"Some may mistake me as implying that it would be okay to stop talking about racism. But that interpretation is incorrect: I am stating that it would be okay to stop talking about racism. We need to be talking about serious activism focused on results. Those who suppose that the main meal in the aforementioned is to decry racism are not helping people."

John McWhorter in a thoughtful article.

Old Grey Mare

2008-04-30T09:33:00.004-05:00

Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must;
just never give up!
~Dean Karnazes

Do it.

Just. Do it.

C'mon: Get. Up.

Get up, get out, get going. Cannot. get. going.

Been injured for a while--longer than ever before. Doc says "Well, when you buy a car you don't expect THAT to stay new forever, do you? You're just getting older!"

Thanks.

So, I am more or less healed. But fat. Fat as a pig. Blubberous, really. And tired. All the time, tired.

Is this how most Americans live? Winded all the time? Tight clothes?

Alarm goes off and I hit the snooze. And again. And again. Restarting my running motor is proving difficult. Is this it? Finally? Is this "the change of metabolism" my family has so long wished upon me?

I have written before one of the differences past a certain point: that one CAN train hard enough to improve, but the pain required is no longer interesting. (And the bed remains warm and comfy.)

But there is, apparently, another factor: things fall apart. Joints begin to wear--not catastrophically, but...enough. And recuperation ain't what it used to be.

Hmm.

Good quote

2008-04-24T12:50:00.001-05:00

Coming home from very lonely places, all of us go a little mad: whether from great personal success, or just an all-night drive, we are the sole survivors of a world no one else has ever seen.

- John le Carre

Bill Cosby on The Importance of Being, and Being a Father

2008-04-22T10:06:00.001-05:00

In Detroit’s St. Paul Church of God in Christ, Bill Cosby related the story of a black girl who’d risen to become valedictorian of his old high school, despite having been abandoned by her father.

“She spoke to the graduating class and her speech started like this,” Cosby said. “‘I was 5 years old. It was Saturday and I stood looking out the window, waiting for him.’ She never said what helped turn her around. She never mentioned her mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother.”

“Understand me,” Cosby said, his face contorted and clenched like a fist. “Men? Men? Men! Where are you, men?”

Audience: “Right here!”

Art?

2008-04-18T07:44:00.006-05:00

[Ed. note 4/23: I had to remove the photo; I could not bear to look at it.]

Art requires skill and imagination. Skill without imagination is 'craftsmanship', and gives us many useful objects such as wickerwork picnic baskets. Imagination without skill gives us modern art.

Tom Stoppard
"Artist Descending a Staircase" (one of my all-time favorite plays)

One wonders what Mr. Stoppard might have to say regarding Ms. Shvarts.

Food for thought for the coming Passover; fodder for the Seder table.

Update 4/21: I cannot even look at this entirely legal picture; please remember, a woman's right to choose is absolute; freedom of choice, no apologies.

[For the record: I generally support a woman's legal right to choose but, then again, I support the death penalty, the war in Iraq, and market-incented sterilizations...]

So, This is What You Want?

2008-04-18T07:06:00.005-05:00

Administration issues statement calling senior’s ‘abortion-as-art’ a ‘fiction’; student sticks to her story

“She is an artist and has the right to express herself through performance art,” Klasky said. “Had these acts been real, they would have violated basic ethical standards and raised serious mental and physical health concerns.”

But in an interview later Thursday afternoon, Shvarts defended her work and called the University’s statement “ultimately inaccurate.” She reiterated that she engaged in the nine-month process she publicized on Wednesday in a press release that was first reported in the News: repeatedly using a needleless syringe to insert semen into herself, then taking abortifacient herbs at the end of her menstrual cycle to induce bleeding. Thursday evening, in a tour of her art studio, she shared with the News video footage she claimed depicted her attempts at self-induced miscarriages.

“No one can say with 100-percent certainty that anything in the piece did or did not happen,” Shvarts said, adding that she does not know whether she was ever pregnant. “The nature of the piece is that it did not consist of certainties.”

Shvarts explains her ‘repeated self-induced miscarriages’

Aliza Shvarts
Guest Columnist
Published Friday, April 18, 2008
For the past year, I performed repeated self-induced miscarriages. I created a group of fabricators from volunteers who submitted to periodic STD screenings and agreed to their complete and permanent anonymity. From the 9th to the 15th day of my menstrual cycle, the fabricators would provide me with sperm samples, which I used to privately self-inseminate. Using a needleless syringe, I would inject the sperm near my cervix within 30 minutes of its collection, so as to insure the possibility of fertilization. On the 28th day of my cycle, I would ingest an abortifacient, after which I would experience cramps and heavy bleeding.

[This piece] creates an ambiguity that isolates the locus of ontology to an act of readership. The first [goal of this piece] is to assert that often, normative understandings of biological function are a mythology imposed on form...that creates the sexist, racist, ableist, nationalist and homophobic perspective, distinguishing what body parts are “meant” to do from their physical capability. The myth that a certain set of functions are “natural” (while all the other potential functions are “unnatural”) undermines that sense of capability, confining lifestyle choices to the bounds of normatively defined narratives...

When considering my own bodily form, I recognize its potential as extending beyond its ability to participate in a normative function. While my [reproductive] organs are capable of engaging with the narrative of reproduction — the time-based linkage of discrete events from conception to birth — the realm of capability extends beyond the bounds of that specific narrative chain. These organs can do other things, can have other purposes, and it is the prerogative of every individual to acknowledge and explore this wide realm of capability.

Aliza Shvarts is a senior in Davenport College.

[S]everal students, including members of the Yale Women’s Center staff, defended Shvarts’ work as an appropriate exercise of her right to free expression.

“The Yale Women’s Center stands strongly behind the fact that a woman’s body is her own,”
the[ir] statement read. “Whether it is a question of reproductive rights or of artistic expression,
Aliza Shvarts’ body is an instrument over which she should be free to exercise full discretion.”

[S]ome students said they did not consider Shvarts’ art offensive. Kate McDermott ’11 said the artist was simply exercising her right to expression. “If you appreciate the idea that art is intrinsically related to politics, then it is perfectly acceptable,” McDermott said.
Anthony LeCounte supports the "artist" here: http://yaledailynews.com/articles/view/24566

Abortions for Art at Yale

2008-04-17T10:30:00.005-05:00

Let us hope that, as supposed here: http://www.lifenews.com/state3134.html
that this is, indeed, a hoax.

Either way, I wonder whether her parents are...proud.

Also, with regard to abortion rights (you know: "Abortion on Demand and Without Apology!"); is THIS what is meant?

https://www.priestsforlife.org/store/pc-164-14-suction-and-curettage-abortion-diagram.aspx

For Yale senior, abortion a medium for art, political discourse

My reaction to the article and to the comments:

I am at a loss for the proper adjective.
Saddened? Deeply.
Horrified? Yes, and at some fundamental level.

Let me state: I do not care for some of the issues noted by others: I do not care about what this technically adult person does to her own body; I do not care about her risk of STDs; I do not care about fallout on the pro-abortion movement.

I do not care about the reaction of G-d or Any Powers That Be (although, if there is some Judeo-Christian god, he is going to be very, very upset).

And I am not sure I can explain my gut reaction--and gut reactions are often the outcome of both Nature and nurture.

And my gut says--this is wrong.

Fundamentally wrong.

Indeed, a crime against humanity. And I mean that.

This is offensive to all that is human--even at the secular level.

Saddam Hussein's sons were similarly self-indulgent, although their crimes also included fully matured humans and not just embryonic potentialities. Theirs were crimes against humanity--and so are Shvarts'.

And more sadly--she will likely perceive the coming outrage as "good debate" (as if genocide against the Kurds--or the Jews--was simply fodder for the chattering classes).

For all those that cry out "slippery slope argument!" whenever Conservatives wish to preserve what decency is left humanity, well, now you have proof that such slopes exist.

I will cut/paste the full article below, because my gut tells me it is not going to be on there for long.
--

For senior, abortion a medium for art, political discourse

Martine Powers

Staff Reporter

Published Thursday, April 17, 2008

Art major Aliza Shvarts ’08 wants to make a statement.

Beginning next Tuesday, Shvarts will be displaying her senior art project, a documentation of a nine-month process during which she artificially inseminated herself “as often as possible” while periodically taking abortifacient drugs to induce miscarriages. Her exhibition will feature video recordings of these forced miscarriages as well as preserved collections of the blood from the process.

The goal in creating the art exhibition, Shvarts said, was to spark conversation and debate on the relationship between art and the human body. But her project has already provoked more than just debate, inciting, for instance, outcry at a forum for fellow senior art majors held last week. And when told about Shvarts’ project, students on both ends of the abortion debate have expressed shock — saying the project does everything from violate moral code to trivialize abortion.

But Shvarts insists her concept was not designed for “shock value.”

“I hope it inspires some sort of discourse,” Shvarts said. “Sure, some people will be upset with the message and will not agree with it, but it’s not the intention of the piece to scandalize anyone.”

The “fabricators,” or donors, of the sperm were not paid for their services, but Shvarts required them to periodically take tests for sexually transmitted diseases. She said she was not concerned about any medical effects the forced miscarriages may have had on her body. The abortifacient drugs she took were legal and herbal, she said, and she did not feel the need to consult a doctor about her repeated miscarriages.

Shvarts declined to specify the number of sperm donors she used, as well as the number of times she inseminated herself.

Art major Juan Castillo ’08 said that although he was intrigued by the creativity and beauty of her senior project, not everyone was as thrilled as he was by the concept and the means by which she attained the result.

“I really loved the idea of this project, but a lot other people didn’t,” Castillo said. “I think that most people were very resistant to thinking about what the project was really about. [The senior-art-project forum] stopped being a conversation on the work itself.”

Although Shvarts said she does not remember the class being quite as hostile as Castillo described, she said she believes it is the nature of her piece to “provoke inquiry.”

“I believe strongly that art should be a medium for politics and ideologies, not just a commodity,” Shvarts said. “I think that I’m creating a project that lives up to the standard of what art is supposed to be.”

The display of Schvarts’ project will feature a large cube suspended from the ceiling of a room in the gallery of Green Hall. Schvarts will wrap hundreds of feet of plastic sheeting around this cube; lined between layers of the sheeting will be the blood from Schvarts’ self-induced miscarriages mixed with Vaseline in order to prevent the blood from drying and to extend the blood throughout the plastic sheeting.

Schvarts will then project recorded videos onto the four sides of the cube. These videos, captured on a VHS camcorder, will show her experiencing miscarriages in her bathrooom tub, she said. Similar videos will be projected onto the walls of the room.

School of Art lecturer Pia Lindman, Schvarts’ senior-project advisor, could not be reached for comment Wednesday night.

Few people outside of Yale’s undergraduate art department have heard about Shvarts’ exhibition. Members of two campus abortion-activist groups — Choose Life at Yale, a pro-life group, and the Reproductive Rights Action League of Yale, a pro-choice group — said they were not previously aware of Schvarts’ project.

Alice Buttrick ’10, an officer of RALY, said the group was in no way involved with the art exhibition and had no official opinion on the matter.

Sara Rahman ’09 said, in her opinion, Shvarts is abusing her constitutional right to do what she chooses with her body.

“[Shvarts’ exhibit] turns what is a serious decision for women into an absurdism,” Rahman said. “It discounts the gravity of the situation that is abortion.”

CLAY member Jonathan Serrato ’09 said he does not think CLAY has an official response to Schvarts’ exhibition. But personally, Serrato said he found the concept of the senior art project “surprising” and unethical.

“I feel that she’s manipulating life for the benefit of her art, and I definitely don’t support it,” Serrato said. “I think it’s morally wrong.”

Shvarts emphasized that she is not ashamed of her exhibition, and she has become increasingly comfortable discussing her miscarriage experiences with her peers.

“It was a private and personal endeavor, but also a transparent one for the most part,” Shvarts said. “This isn’t something I’ve been hiding.”

The official reception for the Undergraduate Senior Art Show will be from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on April 25. The exhibition will be on public display from April 22 to May 1. The art exhibition is set to premiere alongside the projects of other art seniors this Tuesday, April 22 at the gallery of Holcombe T. Green Jr. Hall on Chapel Street.

Art of Manliness

2008-04-07T07:56:00.002-05:00

I knew there were others with thoughts similare to mine:

http://artofmanliness.com/

I was thinking this weekend how much my thoughts have changed since college, not necessarily as they pertain to me, but more outwardly, i.e, toward society.

Church? Yah, I still have problems with organized religion. But do I feel the need to ridicule Christians and repeal the tax-exempt status of all religious buildings? Nah... In fact, religion has played a great and beneficial role in society, at both the macro and micro levels. I wish that MORE people acted in alignment with their religious upbringings (unless, of course, those teachings lead you to strap on an explosive vest, that would be bad...).

Speaking of that: I see that the gummint is picking on yet another orthodox LDS sect... funny how in some states it is ignored that such activity takes place on a daily basis, but in other instance we will expend much dinero to "right the unrightable wrong." I mean, why not ask the mother what SHE thinks? (She is 16 now, so of legal age in TX; and NO, I am not condoning such sectual behavior, I am merely pointing out that far worse things--things far worthier of our attention--go on every day... Maybe it is because we, as a society, have so little power against the BIG things that we focus on the little things...).

Some writer pointed out recently an interesting hypocrisy with regard to a woman's right to an abortion, i.e., that that right ends when such abortion is for sex selection. Apparently, a woman can abort for whatever reason she wants EXCEPT if she wants a child of some other gender than that which WPTB saw fit to send... Someone else pointed out that focusing on such a minor issue seems out of place when we are simultaneously willing to "shove kids in blenders in the name of science" (I use quotes because they were that writer's thoughts and not necessarily mine).

Hey, have a great day!

"Conservatives"

2008-03-28T07:30:00.002-05:00

Wanna know why there are so many more Liberal blogs than Conservative? Simple: we's got the yobs.

In any case: today I am meeting with a young man, SF soldier, just returning from Iraq--and exiting the military--looking for some advice.

What do I tell him? That flying a desk is SO much more satisfying than tramping through some god-forsaken (and I mean that) wilderness? Praise be this guy has a fiancee, so I can at least use THAT hook (the military is NOT the life for a married man, at least one that aims to stay so).

How do I tell him that, in the civilian world, NO ONE will understand what he is talking about, what or how he is thinking and, worse, eventually, neither will he. That is, I can still TALK about duty/honor/glory, I remember those concepts INTELLECTUALLY, but they no longer have meaning outside my family, and even there they are but echoes of what it means to and honest-to-goodness soldier...

Well, we'll see; I look forward to the converstation, to his insights.

I wonder what HE will tell ME.

My Bum's Back

2008-03-19T08:01:00.001-05:00

My bum is is back. He got thrown out of his housing. No excuses, no self-pity. He considers his time there a vacation.

What to think?

Clinton the Racist Fear Mongerer

2008-03-11T08:48:00.007-05:00

I have often maintained that Liberals are intrinsically more racist than Conservatives (Conservatives hew to the ideal of individual merit, regardles of extenuating factors; Liberals think those less privileged than them are bozos in need of their--and only their--rather self-important and certainly condescending most-extra-special-extra-help).

Thus, it was interesting to read this NY Times article asking whether Hillary's infamous "Red Phone" ad was racist (I know that *I* certainly found it so). No, not in the blogosphere way (where a racially offensive subliminal slur is imputed), but along the lines of Willie Horton or the darkening of OJ's skin or those ubiquitous ads for home alarm systems...

Indeed, the first time I saw the Red Phone ad I was expecting a criminal to be breaking into the room (versus the Mom figure), and I was half expecting, from the tone of the ad, for that criminal to be black.

So, as much as I feel dirty agreeing with the NYTimes, in this case, I do.

---
Update:

Ah, reading the responses makes me realize why I agree with the article: because the NYTimes doesn't! Many respondents are outraged, declaring that the author Orlando Patterson(a Harvard Sociologist--not my fave clique by ANY means) is "hypersensitive," "projecting," and "seeing racism even where there is none." However, THIS comment pretty much captures my reaction:

March 11th, 2008 7:46 am
I am so glad that someone else has said this publicly.

Ten seconds into the ad, my brain started screaming "burglar!" I immediately read it as aimed at the portion of the white electorate that would visualize that burglar as a tall, skinny, young black man, and I trembled again for my country.

Then I watched it two more times on my computer and ordered an Obama yard sign to mark my house as one where we fear evil, not our neighbors.

— Sporcupine, Kentucky

So little is said that the observer is free to project ANY and ALL fears onto the scene; middle-class, white-mom Ohioans likely reacted just as the above poster (and, indeed, were likely the target audience).

While the good prof indeed goes a bit far linking the ad to D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation, I think what DOES come across (and this is clear in marketing/advertising) is that certain images, over time, have become "stock," and are used to immediately create certain reactions (a la Pavlov's dog), whether or not the overt message has anything to do with the reaction. Indeed, aren't complaints regarding "negative Hollywood images of African Americans in media, movies, and print" Liberals' stock in trade? And then they DENY the effects of that barage when it suits their Clintonian purposes?

So, sure: critics can claim such knee-slappers as "most viewers haven't eveen SEEN Birth of a Nation" or point out that Obama isn't named or that they can identify no racial over- or undertones in the ad; however, CLEARLY some (honest) ppl KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT from the voiceover, tone, and imagery (whether or not the expectation is realized is irrelevant; indeed, by NOT delivering upon set-up expectations, the ad-maker can offer "plausible deniabilty" to the Clinton Klan).

In other words, even if the ad itself is not racist (and, indeed, it is not), it cleverly plays into and manipulates its target audiences range of fears, among which are included racial fears; all this is based on years of conditioning, stretching back (in Professor Patterson's view) to the earliest racially inflammatory films, e.g., Birth of a Nation.

I think he's right.

---
Addendum

What does this have to do with being a man? Dunno, really: mostly about giving a fair shake to any and all individuals, regardless of classification along gender, sex, or racial lines, or any other line beyond an individual's control (leaves me free to mock religion, given that religion is, eventually and ultimately, an individual choice; how 'bout them new Seven Sins? "Excess Wealth" anyone?).

Coupla-few Points

2008-02-26T08:52:00.003-06:00

A powerful article on the Campus Rape Myth, worth reading in its entirety: I welcome analytical support and/or refutation.

Have I mentioned my admiration for Thomas Sowell? He really is articulate and reasoned; his current article concerns the New York Times, pretty much the antithesis of "articulate and reasoned" (well, okay, the NYT is occasionally articulate but increasingly rarely well-reasoned).

From the "Duh!" Files: Materialism Damaging to Children and Teens Out of Touch with cultural history.

Color

2008-02-25T16:37:00.003-06:00

Going in to work today, everyone around me was dressed in black (I was in brown and blue). The ubiquity of black was pretty amazing--the only variation I saw on my entire walk was one woman in a grey houndstooth overcoat. Weird.

My beggar acquaintance was, indeed, not at his post. I was reminded of an old newspaper vendor I used to pass (and when I say "old," I mean a hard-life, 80+ kind of old...). Of course, when he stopped showing up, it could mean but one thing... Like the old man Bill Murray kept trying to save in Groundhog Day.

And thinking of THAT reminded me of a neighbor I used to visit--an elderly (85+) gentleman, hungry for visitors. I would show up with a daughter or two, we would drink Gallo jug wine (I believe him to have been an alcoholic), talk about World War II (he still had the rifle--and the scar--he had taken from a Japanese soldier...the hard way). He was against war, but otherwise a jolly fellow.

Very sad one day when I was passing his house (which, according to him, he had bought for a song in the Depression when he was a successful salesman) and the decrepit siding had been removed and, clearly, the house was being renovated. Some day, I too will pass that way. I got the shivers. That said, I expect company then: my acquaintance had but two children--overeducated and affluent, neither had chosen to have children so, no grandchildren for my neighbor. That was an influence in my decision to expand my family (of course, the real decision lay with the wife, but you know what I mean).

Spent an interesting weekend with some houseguests--real "go getters," very driven, hard-working (constantly plugged in, taking calls, blackberrying...very annoying); I am concerned for their child (but choose not to expand on that for fear that anonymous bosh may not always be so). I continue to believe my wife and I are doing the right thing--even after my friend and his wife grilled us with regard to our philosophies (I merely point to the results which are, so far, so good). I remain...unconflicted. You should be too.

Movin' On

2008-02-22T08:13:00.003-06:00

Today was the last day on the street for one of my favorite beggars. I have passed him for years--maybe as many as ten--on my way to work. I have seen him in rain, snow, sleet; his cheeriness ever undimmed by the weather. He would nod to me, wish me a good morning; if I had run (i.e., if I was running past him) he would ask how it went; on days when I wasn't running he would ask after my health.

I have always found it interesting to observe others' reactions to his goodwill. Most folks simply ignored him, perhaps out of fear or embarrassment, who knows? Some nodded, some returned his greetings, some gave him money. I never gave him a dime, but today, on his last day, I shook his hand.

As I approached his morning spot (he has an evening spot elsewhere in the city), I overheard someone ahead of me wishing him well on his "last day." I kept moving, then stopped, turned around and went back.

"Did I hear something about 'last day?'"

"Yessir; today's ma last day. I'm movin' into a house [in a nearby sub-section of the city]. And I start a computer class next week, too; heh!"

"How long have you been out here? I mean, how long have I seen you."

[Pause; eyes rolling skyward] "I dunno. Years? Long time. I dunno."

"Well. Congratulations then." [Handshake.] "Really. I think you'll do well, I really do."

"Thank you, sir. It's been a long time, long time. I'll still come out now and again. I hafta pay for my supplies and things for my computer class."

"All right then, so, not good-bye, but farewell and we'll see you again."

"Yessir, no doubt sir."

As I returned to my pedestrian commute, I thought, again, "What is a man?" [the actual quote is “Without guilt / What is a man? An animal, isn't he? / A wolf forgiven at his meat, / A beetle innocent in his copulation.”]

My beggar acquaintance is a man, his perseverance and/or his stoicism make him so. His (apparent) alcoholism or, for all I know, his drug use does not necessarily take that away from him. I do not consider him a victim; I do not think he considers himself as such--or, if so, he does not overtly blame society for his condition.

What is a man? Is a man one who soldiers on, despite conditions or circumstances?

Why do I do what I do? Because I need to do so, for my family. Without family, I would be doing...something else (I guarantee you).

Aside: I am reading Unhooked, with Unprotected on order; why? Because as a father I have a duty to my daughters, to protect, provide, listen, and guide. That is my duty, and I assume it willingly, without question or (real) complaint. I am grateful that I have a duty--it reduces confusion and mental meandering.

I am glad for my beggar associate: I wish him well, bear him no ill will for his choices, and would like to see him succeed. Perhaps next time I will engage him in further discussion; it has been about 10 years, after all, that I have known (of) him.

Y'all have a great day today: figure out your duty, and do it.

Latest Thoughts

2008-02-17T17:34:00.002-06:00

Deleted last night's post--don't post when you're tipsy.

So...spent today at an indoor cooperative playspace. Got to thinking about race relations. My youngest clothes-lined a dark-skinned Indian girl (not that that matters) and I made her apologize. Got to noticing the racial make-up of the group (I live in an highly-educated, reasonably affluent area): lots of Asians (Chinese, Japanese, and Korean; not too many Vietnamese or other South Asians, so far as I can tell), LOTS of Indian/Pakistani families...

So, I was wondering why I (white middle-class educated male) feel ZERO tension/animosity toward/from Asian/India/Pakistani families... I wonder if it is all "expectations management." That is: my child clotheslined an Indian girl--I made her apologize and give up the Tiny Tikes car she was after... No harm done.

But... but... but when I see an AA mom, I am pre-disposed to worry about any "racial overtones," that is, I am CONDITIONED to be overly concerned with how SHE might perceive things--much to the detriment of the other party (in my opinion).

Does this make sense yet?

My point is that those who simply assimilate into society (and by this I do NOT mean assimilate into white culture--rather, AMERICAN culture, which, in my opinion, is not color specific) enjoy success--are accepted immediately, no question, no problem.

Those with chips on their shoulders... not so much.

So, I looked around the room: LOTS of Asian/Indian familes... ONE African-American mom. Hmm...

I'm tellin' ya: I'm rootin' for Obama.

From the "You Can't Make This Stuff Up" Files...

2008-02-11T16:16:00.000-06:00

http://nationaljournal.com/taylor.htm

Dusting Off the Archives: An Old Email

2008-02-06T09:57:00.000-06:00

[ed. note: an email written to an early mentor after bumping into him on the street after a twenty-year hiatus; only a few details have been obscured...]

Sir,

This story could have any number of beginnings, so I will choose one if not at random at least nearly arbitrarily.

My father still breathes, or at least his body does. The man that inhabited that body left long ago--evaporated, dried up, disintegrated. The years of untended mini-strokes ate up his brain.

I was staying [up North], just out of the military. For some [ex-patriated] limbo evading various US agencies and memories), my father had reappeared in a flophouse [a couple of hours away]. (Later, as an interesting intellectual aside, it turnedout that the owner of the flophouse was the mother of one of my early loves, a girl who had, ironically, also joined the military.)

I visited my father at his job, a security guard at a discount sporting goods store. I asked him if he was hungry; he said that he would go on break in a few minutes. We went outside for a bite and a smoke (no, I do not smoke, but the army had taught me to share). After a few minutes of small talk he asked, "[Hieronymus]? Is that you?" I asked if he was in the habit of taking lunch with strangers. He replied that he took life as it came.

My father joined me and some compatriots in our "house of men" in DC; a waystation for exiting soldiers on their way to the next phase of their lives (one joined the ministry; one became a tool-and-die salesman; one is an anti-establishmentt real-estate mogul; I am what I am). From there, he accompanied me to graduate school. During the fall of my second year, I returned from class one day to find him strewn across the floor. I picked him up, put him in my car, and took him to the hospital. He had suffered a major stroke.

He recovered, sort of, and eventually went to live with my sister and her family in Florida. They have built him his own apartment. I have visited, but as I mentioned, he is not there. Interestingly, even in his dimished state he is likely smarter than most Americans; indeed, he devours garbage bags of paperback novels and is up on current events. But the deeper man (the man that my sisters did not really know) has long since departed. The destructive, petty shell left over is...something else.

I work to take the good parts of my upbringing--and there are at least a few--and incorporate them into my own life. This is made difficult when one holds one's that family in current contempt. This section could go on for pages, but let us simply say that I and my family do not see eye to eye. I am a home-birthing, private-schooling, social-climbing, educational-elitist, Republican-leaning, progressive wacko (or something like that) in their eyes, or so it seems. On the plus side, my children are charming and curious.

I have noted several ironies over the years. At the height of the dot-com boom I was given a "free" PC (with advertising installed). Of course, I already had four or five computers at the time. The real beneficiaries of such a computer would have been the underclass; of course, they didn't have the money to buy the products advertised, advertising that made the computer "free." The company folded.

Similarly, it is known to me that if my children suffered from, say, obesity, that I would move the family to a work farm in Montana and go vegetarian--or equivalent. Ironically, the priorities that make that draconian potential possible likely precludes childhood obesity in my family. This type of irony abounds.

I met my wife when I was 16. The story is long and convoluted, but there are very few other women--perhaps zero--with whom I would be happy. This is quite comforting.

This message has quickly degenerated into unassimilated bits; allow me to start over.

For your amusement, and for background, I have attached my chronological resume. It is up to date, because I am trying to figure out where to go next. I have left [my previous firm]. My severance should last a little longer, probably not long enough, though. People talk a lot about passion; I am still trying to find my professional passion. This is made difficult, of course, by the more immediate need to pay the mortgage and various tuitions.

My time in the military was deeply satisfying. I came to understand a number of things that I had been missing. As time passes, I find that many concrete concepts simply no longer translate (e.g., duty, loyalty, honor), and thus I become reticent, and yearn for that knowledge once more. Army life is not the life for a family man, though.

So, to my questions: what is the source of Life satisfaction (a question first posed by a deeply wise--and highly decorated--Top Sergeant)? Does one really need, e.g., Zen or the absence of pride or "a life lived for others" for happiness? What makes you happy?

On a more practical note: what general aspects of your family life caused yours to (apparently) 'succeed' (however one defines that) when so many others fail?

Where is America headed? (I thought I would throw in an easy one.)

If this missive sounds morbid, it should not. Even in the midst of deep professional questioning, I am struck by the extraordinary luck and love that surrounds and sustains me. My wife, my children, my relationships with them and with some friends, the opportunities afforded and open to me--I am aware of just how fortunate I am, and I am grateful.

I meant to write you a letter, handwritten things are such a lost art. But writing--hand-writing--causes cramps and self-consciousness. Indeed, were I to receive a hand-written letter, I would not know where to store it... (of course, one loses important emails all the time). For how long is something important?

Many bitter stories are in my hands; many happy ones as well. I do not know why it was important to stop by your house (my signing up for the race was not random--not much is truly random), but I am open once again to serendipity.

I am nearing 40 This fact fascinates me. I thought I would be an adult by now. My parents were adults (although my mother now seems more a teenager in so many ways). My father could do so many things that I cannot, and the things that I can do that he could not--outside of create a functional family--seem somewhat trivial. Many things remain a mystery to me, and as I approach 40, I wonder when the veils will lift, and who will help lift them. A 40 year old does not attract as many mentors as does, say, a 20 year old. Potential is less interesting when much of it has gone unused. If one could kill Fear (or, as I have put it, if I could once again walk without Fear)...

Well, it was good to see you. I am glad that you are still with your wife, still in your house. Glad to see and hear that your children are doing good things. I was interested to hear and read of your conservation work. I would be interested to hear your own plans for the future, or any reflections you care to share with regard to young families or life transitions or goals.

Best regards,

2008-02-05T22:10:00.000-06:00

The Soldier's Creed

I am an American Soldier.
I am a Warrior and a member of a team. I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values.

I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.
I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.
I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.

2008-01-23T21:37:00.000-06:00

I don't really mean to make this blog about abortion (really, it does not occupy that much thought to me), but...praise G-d for G--gle...

http://www.yaledailynews.com/articles/view/19548

http://www.yaledailynews.com/articles/view/23084

Abortion demonstration marks Roe anniversary

Published Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Students who walked into WLH 119 on Tuesday night were greeted with models of the female pelvis complete with fallopian tubes, cervixes, vaginas — and papayas on which to perform mock abortions.

In commemoration of the 1973 Roe v. Wade Supreme Court decision, the 35th anniversary of which is this month, the Reproductive Rights Action League at Yale (RALY), in conjunction with Yale Med Students for Choice, demonstrated different abortion methods and techniques, answered questions students had about the procedures and encouraged students to be active in abortion-rights groups during last night’s presentation. The presentation was part of a week-long celebration of the 35th anniversary of the landmark decision.

“I’m here to talk about what happens after you get past the picket lines,” Merritt Evans MED ’09, a member of Yale Medical Students for Choice, told the assembled crowd of about 15 students.

The presenters began by showing the students different surgical tools used during different stages of a pregnancy and ticking off statistics about the safety and number of abortions performed in the United States. Eighty-five percent of counties in America do not have any abortion providers, Evans said.

Evans and Rasha Khoury MED ’08, another member of Medical Students for Choice, who said she plans to become a gynecologist and expects to perform abortions, went on to describe one of the most common abortion procedures, manual vacuum aspiration, which “creates suction to evacuate pregnancy,” Evans said. The technique is a good option because the device involved is reusable and relatively cheap, she said.

“It’s not as scary as it seems. It’s just blood and mucus,” Khoury said, referring to the fetus remains in the device. She added, “You’ll be able to see arms and stuff, but still just miniscule.”

Evans and Khoury also explained the finer points of abortion-clinic etiquette, including some potentially sensitive terminology. Khoury said physicians performing abortions generally refer to the aborted fetus remains as “POC,” an acronym for “product of conception,” and refer to fetus’ hearts as “FH.”

The most complicated part of the procedure can be the emotional fallout some patients experience, she said.

“Often times, women are crying and cursing and saying they’re going to hell,” Khoury said. “It may be a quick and easy medical procedure, but it definitely is a very involved social-medical procedure.”

The presenters also urged the crowd to become involved in the abortion-rights movement by joining Reproductive Health Externships, a campaign in which volunteers are taught how to conduct abortions.

“It’s fun because you meet people from all over the country who do them,” Khoury said. “It’s pretty inspiring.”

The ethical implications of abortion may be a topic of endless debate, but Elizabeth Kim ’11, who attended Tuesday night’s meeting, said she remains unsure of where she stands on the issue.

“I wanted to learn about the scientific and medical process before I can make any conclusions about the ethics,” she said. “It disturbed me how quick and clean the procedure is, because it is a big deal.”

The week’s events began with the showing of a documentary about abortion Monday and will end Saturday with a performance by the all-female comedy group the Sphincter Troupe.

---

So...this article has been removed. Was it a hoax? Will I soon receive a "cease & desist" order? Was it removed because it named names or, more scarily, did the writers not even UNDERSTAND how incendiary the article would be?

Abortion Schmabortion

2008-01-14T10:14:00.000-06:00

Every now and again, I am reminded that, sometimes, I just do not think like other people.

In the Boston Globe "Ideas" section was an article about abortion as portrayed by Hollywood. The author is dismayed that more and more protagonists are choosing to keep their babies. The offhand acceptance of abortion as a non-consequential act (or one that SHOULD be without consequence) makes me re-think my support of Roe v. Wade.

[ed. note: I am a relatively non-Christian, fiscally conservative, socially progressive male. Throughout my life I have generally kept out of the abortion debate--although I consider abortion "killing," killing can be justifiable. As for any religious aspect, I consider that a private matter between appropriate parties (e.g., the aborter and her Maker, if she believes in that sort of thing).]

The article highlights that, to some (many?) Pro-Choice is not about "choice"; rather, it is indeed (at least from the authors point of view and that of Ellen Goodman) pro abortion, termination, killing.

The author wrote: "So why does it feel like movie and TV screenwriters have come a long way, in the wrong direction [emphasis mine], since the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision?", indicating that he finds any skewing of portrayals towards keeping one's baby as "the wrong direction." Hence, the right direction must be abortion. Hence, the author (and those who think like he does) are not pro "choice" but actively, decidedly, and weirdly in favor of women choosing to terminate their potential offspring.

He quotes Ellen Goodman as lamenting "abortion [is portrayed as] the right-to-choose that's never chosen." Ah, Capital 'F' Feminism: yes, ladies, do whatever you please, whatever you choose, so long as that "choice" conforms to Gloria Steinem's way of life. Choose to marry--a MAN?! WRONG! Choose to stay at home to raise your children? WRONG! Choose to bring to term that parasitic organism growing in your womb? Bzzz! Wrong AGAIN!

Through offhand comments one often gathers instant, honest insight into real thought processes: His--and that of The Boston Globe and likely its readership--is, to me, barren and, frankly, rather frightening. That abortion should not be illegal is not something that I (used to) dispute; but I indeed dispute that it should be without consequence, compassion, or concern. Some are fighting for animal rights; some tie themselves to trees; too few choose to view nascent humanity with...well...humanity.

And it is just such insightful, offhand comments as those in the article that make me re-examine my "commitment" (such as it is) to Roe v. Wade, that is, if part of the real effect (intended or not) of that legislation has been to fully devalue the reproductive process and all its participants (to include the fetus) as well as any "consequences," well then, maybe my level of support has decreased over time by a similar but inverse proportion. In other words: if Roe v. Wade leads to thinking such as the author's, then maybe that legislation ain't all it's cracked up to be.

---Addendum:
Digging further, I find the author's blog; note that he ALSO considers (as noted in his thoughts regarding the movie "Juno") giving one's baby up for adoption as a worse "choice" than abortion, i.e., he lumps birth-then-adoption as "keeping my baby."

---Addendum the Second:
Contrast the above author's thinking with that of the main character in another Globe article (BTW: I generally avoid the Globe, as it tends to get me all wound up, but I was stuck in the airport...):
Men begin to reflect on their abortion "choices."

I am trying to read into the article how Globe reporting minimizes the impact of the article; I note that they use such discounters as the "whacky, right-wing religious conservative" meme, as well as a subtle stab at "men have no right" (by implying that men are now copying women in their "the personal is political" tactics).

What I found interesting about the article was the warning signal, the idea that men, blindly supporting a woman's "right to choose," themselves deny their own culpability, responsibility, and connection.

The real shockers were saved for the final paragraphs:

"Morrow, the counselor, described his regret as sneaking up on him in midlife - more than a decade after he impregnated three girlfriends (one of them twice) in succession in the late 1980s. All four pregnancies ended in abortion.

"Years later, when his wife told him she was pregnant, 'I suddenly realized that I had four dead children,' said Morrow, 47,'I hadn't given it a thought. Now it all came crashing down on me - look what you've done.'

"A few months ago, Morrow reached out to the former girlfriend who aborted twice. ... After they parted, she spilled her anger in a letter: "That long day we sat in that God-forsaken clinic, I hoped every moment that you would stand up and say, 'We can't do this' . . . but you didn't."

How many women, I wonder, have sat next to a "partner" in some clinic wishing, wishing that very thing, that the oh-so-modern, completely liberated, near-inconsequential "father of the baby" would suddenly leap to his feet and shout "No! No, this is just wrong, all wrong! I am very sorry that this has happened to you--to us--but, as a man, I need to take responsibility: let's get married; learn to love, if need be; and raise this baby--our baby--raise this baby right, together, as a family!"

Anybody ever wish that?

Politics: He Took Mama to School

2008-01-04T07:52:00.000-06:00

So, count me among those who would have dreaded a Huckabee nomination--what many see as my secular humanism (informed, more likely, by Rand's Objectivism) generally causes me to eschew religious appeal; however, today's WSJ opinion piece by Peggy Noonan (whom I respect immensely, whether or not I agree with her views) hit some nail on its head:

"From the mail I have received the past month after criticizing [Huckabee] in this space, I would say his great power, the thing really pushing his supporters, is that they believe that what ails America and threatens its continued existence is not economic collapse or jihad, it is our culture.

They have been bruised and offended by the rigid, almost militant secularism and multiculturalism of the public schools; they reject those schools' squalor, in all senses of the word. They believe in God and family and America. They are populist: They don't admire billionaire CEOs...

They believe that Mr. Huckabee, the minister who speaks their language, shares, down to the bone, their anxieties, concerns and beliefs. They fear that the other Republican candidates are caught up in a million smaller issues--taxing, spending, the global economy, Sunnis and Shia--and missing the central issue: again, our culture. They are populists who vote Republican, and as I have read their letters, I have felt nothing but respect."

Day-umm! Ouch! You go, girl!

Count me among those suffering viscerally at the dismembement of American culture. And while I generally disdain most Americans, I would rather live among evangelical optimists than marxists nihilists. In fact, I would prefer to live where I am the LIBERAL than where I am the token Conservative...

Also in her essay, Noonan writes of Obama:
"[Obama's] takedown of Mrs. Clinton was the softest demolition in the history of falling buildings. I think we were there when it happened, in the debate in which he was questioned on why so many of Bill Clinton's aides were advising him. She laughed, and he said he was looking forward to her advising him, too. He took mama to school. "

By the way: anyone have anything bad to say (e.g., is it offensive in some way to some group) re: the phrase "He took mama to school"? Specifically, why is Hillary Obama's Mama?

In any case, I am glad: Hillary is a death machine, at both the individual (can you say "Vince Foster") and the national levels. I could live with Obama (he likely would be fairly ineffectual; pretty much how I like gummint to be). I do rather wish there were a Conservative running..

Happy New Year!

2008-01-02T13:59:00.000-06:00

Can you believe that we have the Iowa caucuses? And what's with NH? I'm with those states (CA in particular) that claim that IA and NH have outsized influence; I'd like to see the nation vote its primaries all on one day...

Had a great New Year's Eve: asleep by 10:00 p.m. (a new record!).

Getting a bit bored with the "you'll see" comments regarding children and lifestyle: I've been waiting all my life to get to that which I am supposed to see and yet, strangely, Life just keeps on truckin'. The current crop of complaints includes my overly-conservative view of, e.g., The Wizard of Oz "dress up" kit (which my wife and I refer to as the "Hoe Hoe Hoe" Christmas present) which consisted of a pedophlypaper Dorothy dress (ending just below the crotch), A filmy "wicked" witch get-up (for the five-year old), and a satin-lingerie Glinda thing. We could not disappear that particular gift fast enough, and one relative was offended with my rapid "shut up!" in response to her "Oh, you look so beautiful" appraisal of my daughters' modeling efforts...

[ Check it; you'll have to believe me that the pics do NOT do this thing..."justice." Note also that the pic omits the high-heeled, plastic ruby "slippers." And *their* model, as JonBenetRamsey as she is, is clearly a midget, given that the dress magically falls at least to HER knees...]

Sheesh. I think the trash is already in the trash.

And you reader(s) have NO idea how weird it is that *I* appear the prude! Seriously...no idea (although my whole life I definitely made a distinction between "normal" lasciviousness and, oh, kiddie porn...)

On the positive side, seems that some relatives are getting the message: we only suffered about a 33% discard rate this year (and for you "starving kids in Africa" folks, we "discard" to Big Brother/Big Sister...).

That said, gifts FROM the children were amazing! Hand-crafted cards, hand-sewn items, and baked goods: perfect!

Lots on tap for the new year; business is booming and all is on course to continue my life (variously described as "Ozzie & Harriet," "rose colored" or simply "a bubble." Whoopee. I like my bubble. A lot. Being the black sheep of my family no longer bothers me, if it ever did.

Holiday Mish-Mash

2007-12-24T11:25:00.000-06:00

Either I am mellowing, or I have said all I have to say. That said, couple of thoughts/observations:

Had a huge ice dam on my roof the other day, causing melted water to pour down inside my walls. Called around for some help. The roofers that came by were hired on the spot (and, really, could have named a much higher price). My wife was asking if I thought these guys would do a good job; I responded, "Well, they have a business card, they are here, and English is not their native language."

In other words: they had emblems of a legitimate business, no one else had responded, and clearly they were not lazy, good-fer-nuthin' American losers. Racism? Maybe. But those guys spent four hours whacking away at a couple of tons of ice on my roof, then cleaned up my driveway to boot. And all I had to do was cough up some benjamins (versus, say, breaking my back falling onto my neighbors picket fence).

So, is "racism" in favor of so-called under-opportuned minorities bad?

Other observations (after my wife asked what I meant about English not being their native language: she asked "are the Greek?"): Guy #1 had coffee colored skin an tiger eyes (don't know how else to describe it)--I am sure the girls find him very handsome. Guy #2 had darker skin and eyes, but was clean-cut, trim, and worked like the dickens. I will likely be hiring them in the spring for a full roof job.

So, the mantra is that immigrants are oppressed and will only be hired to do crap jobs, the jobs Americans refuse to do. That may be so but, in my observation, the Americans refusing such work are found among the laggards, drunkards, and losers, whereas these disadvantaged immigrants are working their butts off and driving some awfully nice automobiles. Sure, the work is hard, but if you do enough, the pay mounts. Aren't these the kinds of folks we WANT here in the good ole U.S. of A.?

----

Note the second: I remain one of the luckiest men I know, and I here give a hearty shout out to Those Powers That Be (If Any) just to say, "Thanks!" Carrying around this big ball of gratitude is pretty warming this time of year, and I look forward to sharing it with the deserving, regardless of all the usual regardlesses. All you cranks and capital 'L' Liberals and capital 'F' Feminists, Marxists, evangelical atheists, anarchists, and various other social engineers can, well, kiss my big ole inclusive American Azz. Life is good. 'Nough said.

----

Just got back from a trip to the American Interior, you know, those kinds of places totally discounted by Liberals ("But no one *I* know voted for Nixon!"), where Christmas remains merry and folks say hello even if'n they don't know you all that well. Refreshing (and, to be honest, a bit scary: way more churches than I am used to, what with my residence in one of the secular humanist snot-nosed enclaves...). That said, I really, honestly, truly can think of worse things than passive Christianity...

---

WSJ had a GREAT piece on the origins of our two Christmases, A Brief History of Christmas.

Also, I am thinking of moving towards the WSJ's OTHER take on Christmas, or simply adopting a Festivus for the rest of us! And, just FYI, I am not kidding (I never kid about these things). Festivus appeals to my sense of irony and to my pre-Christian roots (my people, as it were, were so lately conquered that they still hark back to their pagan rituals).

Did I say Merry Christmas already?

Uh Oh

2007-12-10T11:09:00.000-06:00

So for some time I have laughed about "Child Free" or "I'm Not Kidding" rants; you know, those who have chosen not to reproduce lording their self-righteousness over others. Well, it's gotten worse: environementalists are now haranguing and harassing families with more than two children (I can't WAIT for this to happen to ME, by the way!). I will find the article and link it when I can.

In any case, this is on my mind because just recently I have noticed that my wife is no longer praising her non-pregnantness; indeed, she has begun to talk about how she misses that the youngest is no longer a baby...

I'd better check my finances...

Random Chance

2007-12-06T10:06:00.001-06:00

My town is in apoplectic apology mode: seems that Ole Saint Nick has offended someone, so now any mention of Christmas is being wiped from the community. Huzzah.

I was thinking about white guilt; part of its stance is in the "random chance" mode, e.g., "it is totally random that you hold such a position of power and privilege." I am sure you have heard this on college campuses: "I could have gone to your school; it is only random chance that you got to attend, and you only got that because you are a member of the white power hierarchy, and that too is random" or similar claptrap.

But you see, it is definitely NOT random, not at all. When my wife and I decided to make our children, we knew in advance and with complete certainty that they would have us as their parents, that they would enjoy a certain standard of living, that they would be able to claim "legacy" status at some reasonable colleges, and a whole host of similar "privileges." We made our children consciously (indeed, we even know the dates of conception), and consciously provide them with every advantage ("privilege") at our disposal. It is not surprising in the least that they are reasonably intelligent, healthy, and good-looking, with sufficient familial assets to back up their training and education; their creation was not random.

They could not "just as likely have been brown" or Bangladeshi or bastards--we were there, nay, ARE there to make sure that things go their way to the best of our abilities. I do not want them feeling guilty for laying claim to a good family, a good education, or all the gifts and achievements of Western Civ.

No, they should not feel "entitled" to their advantages, they should feel just as they do: damn grateful. So far as I can tell, they do indeed feel that way.

Such a weird world we live in: my community seeks to foster and applaud "pride" in all cultures but its own, seeking there to instill shame and regret. Bosh!

I do not hold one "people" above another, but I certainly hold some cultures over others: the tolerant, forgiving, mobile, striving AMERICAN culture is, in my opinion, the best that Western civilization has to offer (despite such egregious flaws as McDonald's...), and I am rather tired of hearing about how terrible is these United States. Funny, I don't see people lining up to flee; in fact, quite the opposite.

Random (mini-)Rants

2007-11-27T08:36:00.000-06:00

Support Our Troops

I am SICK of such bumper-sticker philosophy. First off, the Libs in my town do NOT support the troops; they may support individual service-members, but not "the troops," whom they consider, collectively, as jack-booted thugs. MUCH more important would be SUPPORT THE WAR EFFORT.

I passed a sign this morning, a poster really, a picture of soldiers in the Korean Conflict; handwritten on the sign in black magic marker was a statistic that something like "33,000 US soldiers died in Korea." The actual number is irrelevant, it is the MAGNITUDE that I find interesting.

Fewer than 4,000 US soldiers have died in the Iraq war (yes, losing even one is a tragedy, but that could be solved by means other than non-participation...). That is likely in line with how many would have died in training during the same period, by the way...

How nice for us that we live in a society--at WAR--where all we really worry about is our stock portfolios, what time the kidz birthday party starts, and whether it will be cold or warm today. Sheesh.

SUPPORT THE WAR EFFORT.

Freakin' hypocrites. Kinda like Al Gore screeching about waste, consumerism, and global warming, all the while stomping his HUGE carbon footprint all over the globe. Hypocrites. Like Prius drivers. Like "multiculturalists" (who, apparently, only REALLY admire the "culture" of the former East Germany, i.e., where everyone is equally miserable and grey).

I keep thinking of Ahnahl Schvazhaneggah's first book, "Pumping Iron"; I forget the exact quote, but it is something along the line that while his workouts seem tough, one can either follow them or remain "soft and weak, like most Americans." And that was, what, 30 years ago?!

Grrr....

Enough; my assistant has arrived.

Been Busy

2007-11-16T07:58:00.000-06:00

Been busy; certain rants have been posted elsewhere but were a bit more focused, a bit more local, so not quite fit for this forum.

But the world is still going crazy.

The WSJ had some GREAT editorials/Op Eds the other day--each one caused me pained laughter, fearful laughter. The best one--the scariest one--was about the cult of Bush Hatred. I urge you to read it.

How does a logic-based person forge ahead in an increasingly irrational world? How, when I am not even allowed to construct a logical framework, can I engage in "debate?" Some (mostly Liberals, and highly educated Liberals) have openly abandoned logic, and are even proud of it.

"Um, with regard to your stance, let us work from first principles. 2 + 2 =?"
"Racist! I bet you are a homophobe, too!"
"Um, what does that have to do with the number 2?"
"Help! Help, I am being harrassed; I am being made to feel uncomfortable; this person is subjecting me to a hostile environment!"
"But, um, the number 2?"
"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!"

A rational reader might think I am making this up, but although the words are meant to be humorous, I have, at least conceptually, engaged in this exact "debate" (actually, now that I think about it, one early exposure to such "thinking"--and formal repercussions--was all the way back in graduate school in an early online forum--anyone else remember IRC? Funny, funny story: I should relate it some time.)

To even ask a question regarding another's rationale is to invite public condemnation, being hit with some -ismic 2-by-4 to the head.

"Um, why was Santa banned in town?"
"Separation of church and state: people have rights, you know!"
"Santa, though--and despite his saintly moniker--is rather secular, don't you think? I mean, he's not exactly Jesus..."
"Racist! I bet you are a homophobe, too!"
"Um, what does race have to do with Kris Kringle?"
"Help! Help, I am being harrassed; I am being made to feel uncomfortable; this person is subjecting me to a hostile environment!"

You think I am kidding? Sadly, I am not.

(I think way back, way way waaaaaay back to my undergraduate days where I once asked a friend of mine what he was doing for Christmas Break. Someone nearby, not part of the conversation, said very loudly, "It's INTERSESSION"
"Um, come again?"
"Intersession; it's in-ter-sesh-un."
"Huh? Christmas Break? What?"
"Help! Help, I am being harrassed; I am being made to feel uncomfortable; this person is subjecting me to a hostile environment!")

*sigh*

It's not WHOM you know...

2007-11-01T14:12:00.000-05:00

The summary of the previous post might be "it's who you know that counts." But that is not perfectly accurate. It is WHO knows YOU that matters (or, even more precisely, who is aware of the quality of your work).

So if your circle is Nintendo players, or online chatters (or bloggers), or BMX bike riders, or Ska/EMO/Goth/Hip-Hop folk (or whatever), then those will be the ones familiar with your work... Hope they're hiring.

Stoicism

2007-10-29T22:43:00.000-05:00

Just finished Nassim Nicholas Taleb's Fooled by Randomness; great book. There is a bit about Stoicism:
"Started as an intellectual movement in antiquity by a Phoenician Cypriot, Zeno of Ktion, it developed by Roman time into a life based on a system of virtues--in the anccient sense when virtue meant virtu, the sort of belief in which virtue is its onw reward... The stoic is a person who combines the qualities of wisdom, upright dealing, and courage. The stoic will thus be immune from life's gyrations as he will be superior to the wounds from some of life's dirty tricks."

He points out that it really has little to do with a "stiff upper lip," that there is nothing wrong or undignified about emotion or its display; rather, what is wrong is not following "the heroic or, at least, the dignified path." That is, do the right thing without regard to reward or thanks, without concern for others' reactions, thoughts, or opinions.

He goes on, in a section titled "Randomness and Personal Elegance" to urge that one "exhibit sapere vivere ("know how to live") in all circumstances," summing that advice via:
"Dress at your best on your execution day (shave carefully); try to leave a good impression on the death squad by standing erect and proud. Try not to play victim when diagnosed with cancer (hide it from others an donly share the information with the doctor--it will avert the platitudes and nobody will treat you like a victim worthy of their pity; in addition, the dignified attitude will make both victory and defeat feel equally heroic)... Try not to blame others for your fate, even if they deserve blame... The only article Lady Fortuna has no control over is your behavior."

Act always in a manner that precludes oneself from being considered or treated like a victim.

Hmm...

I recently hired an assistant. I lured him from another firm, paid a higher salary and bonus (higher than this person ever dreamed of earning). I forewent several other candidates, many highly qualified--even more qualified in some ways (at least on paper). Why did I hire the person I did? And why do I relate the story? Because I knew and respected this person's work; indeed had worked with him in the past and wanted to do so again (for my own benefit and the benefit of the firm). He had the skills I needed and, more importantly, I remain confident that he can learn anything needed that he currently lacks. That, at least, is why I hired him.

But, more importantly, I knew him; he was known to me. There are many, many people unknown to me; many of whom actively, consciously choose to be unknown to me--and to others like me (i.e., hiring managers).

I admit that much of Life is luck ("Lady Fortuna," in Taleb's words)--perhaps even more than it should be (but not as much as some would have you believe). One would do well to maximize one's chances of being visited by Opportunty, of being prepared when she knocks to grab hold of her forelock as tightly as possible. Despite one's starting circumstances--which, I agree, might be quite dire for some--one would do well to "do the right thing," to prepare and optimize, just in case, to make the best of the situation. This effort, I believe, feeds on itself, a virtuous circle.

Or one can cry victim, refuse to prepare (indeed, lash out or even denigrate the behaviors that lead to opportunities--or jobs), and believe those that whisper "the world owes you." (Yah, good luck with that.)

I should not be where I am--or perhaps I should be much further along; I just do not, can not know. But I try to maximize what I have been given (within my own very human limitations), and be grateful (and I am). ("How nice for you.")

But really, what is the alternative? To be ever bitter and angry? Predetermined to fail?

True story: Years ago I interviewd a Harvard undergrad for a position. She had green hair. I did not hire her. I learned later that she had dyed her hair the day before in order to prove that those of my ilk were superficial, could not get beyond the surface. Yup; she was right. And unemployed. One of those hired instead (for an entry-level analyst position) is now a portfolio manager, likely on his way to partner. Good job, Green Hair!

Why do we feed and foster the proles (or even moreso the so-called "underprivileged")? Is anyone really over-privileged? I know I could use more privileges! Do I resent Bill Gates (a man whose wealth I do not consider directly tied to his innovation, merit, or worth)? Not only do I not resent him, I do not resent the way he has chosen to waste his fortune (it is, after all, his money). Do I resent the residents of Catalina Island? Nope: but I'd like to be one someday...

Getting off track: just wanted to point out the relative and cumulative benefit of maximizing potential, of "doing the right thing." If you were always maximizing your openness to opportunity, perhaps you too would be in someone's preferred hiring network, lured from your current job to one of (so my employee reports) relative flexibility, creativity, and compensation. Need not be my network--or even field--but one of your own choosing and desire. Or you could just play Nintendo or basketball or whatever. It's your life, and I cannot advise you (indeed, am precluded from doing so due to my "privileged" background and position) what "doing the right thing" is for you and your circumstances. Good luck!

More On (Moron?) Bell Curves

2007-10-25T14:54:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about bell curves this morning--and maybe (MAYBE, just maybe) I should be more charitable, i.e., maybe I should try to see the world from more "liberal" eyes (at the very least to understand their world view).

So: let us posit for a moment a bell curve of opportunity, i.e., average choices, good choices (fewer), and bad choices (fewer). Maybe due to my "culture" and/or upbringing and/or community/environment, my bell curve of opportunity was shifted to the right, offering a target-rich environment for "pretty good" choices.

And maybe, if you grow up in some ghetto, your opportunity curve is shifted left, meaning that unless one is paying particular attention, then one might have a relatively higher propensity to make bad choices.

Let us assume that this is so; if so, then, how does one intervene to somehow show the under-opportuned how to make better choices (an especially difficult endeavor given that any attempted "intervention" would likely be seen as, at best, cultural imperialism and, more likely, as "racism"--although I maintain that "racism" is lately and often confused with the larger and simpler "classism" or "culturalism").

Somebody asked me why I have my children enrolled in a particular program targeted at a culture to which they do not belong (Russian math? Jewish after-school? Japanse class?); my response was two-fold: to set what they think of as "normal" (or mu, in bell-curve speak) and to give them a target-rich environment from which to pick appropriate friends. In other words, to increase their chances of success--or, rather, to shift their bell curve of opportunity.

So: are SOME people better able to be "adult" in their choices, i.e., to be allowed complete, Ayn-Randian autonomy? Should other, "differently-abled" over-21-year-olds have their choices restrictd or redirected?

I often argue for individual responsibility while others argue for the collective; perhaps some will benefit from greater independence but, if so, how and whom does one choose? Do Liberals (who, I contend, secretly--even unto themselves--look down on the needy as "less able to compete," i.e., stupid) really want that outcome (no, they just want, like Communists, for EVERYONE to suffer, but suffer EQUALLY).

But maybe there is some kernel there: maybe we need to find a way to shift the opportunity curve rightward. Any suggestions?

Keep on Keepin' On

2007-10-24T11:18:00.000-05:00

I graduated college in the midst of economic recession; I and my friends, at that time, BELIEVED (really KNEW) that we would never achieve the middle-class success of our parents; and yet, what else was there to do but plug away?

And, lo, the world changed. And now I am fortunate...enough.

My point (or, the lesson)? Given that the future is inherently unknowable, it serves one well to proceed as if good things will eventually come.

The application? I was recently berated with one of those "you have no idea the obstacles these kids face" diatribes. Yeah, yeah; I know: despite divorce, bankruptcy, family dissolution, and that whole Gulf War thing, I have no idea how "the other half" lives. Liberals say that "these kids" live lives marked by hopelessness, i.e., the BELIEVE (really KNOW) that nothing awaits them no matter how hard they try (better, then, to await boosts and handouts from the Liberals, who think they will get into Heaven that way).

I am more of the Clarence Thomas camp.

On a related thought: I was thinking about "the poor" and the empathy gap (where the rich and the poor are so far apart that mutual understanding is now impossible) and how "the rich get richer," blah blah blah; I was also thinking of the "how NICE for YOU" crowd. And I was also thinking about who really kills whom in this world (Liberals might argue that me and mine kill from the top down, i.e., set up conditions under which the down-trodden seek to kill one another as proxy for their inability to "fight the power"; yeesh).

But being "poor" in the U.S. really isn't a bad deal or, if it is, then why don't people change their circumstances--or at least their zip code? ("How NICE for YOU.") Okay, then why don't grown-ups act like, well, grown-ups, at least insofar as their children are concerned? (hNfY) Okay, then why have *I* been able to more or less follow through on that Life view which, for me, really has not changed since I was 12 (and, by the way, was in contravention--and is still--to much of my family's worldview)?

Those with ability (or luck) prefer meritocracy; those middling to mediocre (and below) prefer some level of [synonym for] socialism (and usually at the expense of the other group). Beyond self interest (i.e., insurance to keep the hordes from stealing one's stuff), does Group A have some responsibility for Group B? If so, what level of responsibility do members of Group B have for themselves?

Personally, insofar as I engage in charitable activities, I prefer those efforts that seek to sort out some likely members of Group A who, for whatever reason, have fallen among Group B. That is, I feel responsibility to help those of my tribe, if you will (because we need more members, THAT's for darn sure!).

By the way: I have been reading Fooled by Randomness, which does little to forward the Group B cause.

In any case: it is my belief that I would continue to live as I do under pretty much any condition. I admit that I have not been tested under all conditions, but I would argue that I certainly have kept on keepin' on under greater extremes than that experienced/endured by many, if not most. Plus, many examples exist of people clinging to principle even unto destruction (think of certain of Primo Levi's characters, or of Levi himself), although there may be self-reinforcing (random) luck involved as well. How NICE for YOU.

I recently read a criticism of Ayn Rand, stating that her adherents are most often young men at the height of their powers, unable or unwilling to empathize with the weak (even or until when they themselves, older, are diminished). Perhaps, though, Fortune really does play a greater hand than we would like.

Oh I am a lucky man
Favored by good Fortune's hand
Far more than I'm deserving.

I had no say in being born
Or where or when it happened to me
It was only Chance that turned the wheel
And made my living easy

Younger Days

2007-10-19T20:25:00.000-05:00

This piece, while a bit over-earnest and self-conscious, still conveys some honest thoughts; I think I wrote this in 1995 [ed. note: upon re-typing this, I believe it was part of my graduate school application process...my other thought is that Hemingway would disapprove of the overabundance of adjectives; I do, too.]:

Thoughts on the Occasion of Transitioning from Static-Line to Free-Fall Jumping

Now I have stepped from many an aircraft, and believed Fear to be conquered. But in each instance, I had been irrefutably connected to a parachute-pulling umbilical cord and, really, military operations do not engender such niceties as choice. This time, with nothing between me and the over-zealous embrace of Mother Earth but my own ability to locate an apparently shrinking toggle attached to an ever slenderer rip cord, with my toes over the edge of some shaking, shuddering whirligig with really no right to fly, with a man staring deep into my eyes and shouting "Go!" I was re-acquainted not only with Fear, but also with his bigger brother, Terror.

In that single moment, I foresaw the green-blue-green of my own mortality, understood Nature's primal exhortations pertaining to Fight-or-Fly, and ignored her logic. I jumped.

Many pursuits provide a sense of accomplishment: the quiet precision of the flute, the long reflection of the marathon, the simple pride involved in coin-collecting all suggest that my learning curve is not yet flat. The stage, too, remains exciting, although each word, each reaction is, by definition, scripted (how much more exciting to deliver, in one's best delivery voice, a briefing during which at any time anyone with metal on his lapels may feel free to spit a perhaps not very relevant question to which one had better be able, ex tempore, to formulate some intelligible response). In free fall, none of this matters.

Each time I go up, each time I fall down, I am struck with the utter foolishness of skydiving. To thumb one's nose at violent Death does not, somehow, seem very wise. In fact, it seems inevitable that such nose-thumbing will eventually attract attention.

A long-standing joke differentiates two types of skydivers: those who opened their 'chutes and those who did not. The day an incoherent mess materialized above my head, I found that composure and preparation can indeed prevail. I had, between the cutting of the main and deployment of the reserve, literally the rest of my life for self-assessment.

We allow ourselves so little influence over our lives that we often lose sight of the fragile distinction between being and nothingness, permitting the clutter of quotidian demands to dominate: bills, errands, perceived slights all conspire to cloud our vision. During the long, desert days of the Persian Gulf Conflict, I determined for myself the insignificance of many formerly consuming concerns. The remainder, what is meaningful, is a brief list, but encompasses themes from simple companionship to the tectonic interaction of divergent cultures. Returned to the business and busyness of modern America, I am not immune from misplacing my little list, but hurtling towards the hard ground serves to re-order my priorities and remind me tha certain principles--notably Honor, Duty, Tolerance--are more vital than comfort, or even food.

I am not, during free fall, aware of this narrowing; I am conscious merely, afterwards, of its having occurred.

Some Rules for Being Human

2007-10-19T07:14:00.000-05:00

I am not usually partial to these kinds of things, but this one seemed worth considering. Busy period: some interesting events coming up; I'll try to remember to report them.

Rules for Being Human

You will receive one body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for as long as you live. How you take care of it or fail to take care of it can make an enormous difference in the quality of your life.

You will learn lessons. You are enrolled in a full time school called "Life" Each day you will be presented with opportunities to learn what you need to know. The lessons presented are often completely different from those you think you need to know .

There are no mistakes -- only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error and experimentation. You can learn as much from failure as you can from success.

A lesson is repeated until it is learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. When you have learned it (as evidence by change in your attitude and behavior), then you can go on to the next lesson.

Learning lessons does not end. There is no stage in life that does not contain some lessons. As long as you live, there will be something more to learn.

"There" is no better than "here". When your "there" has become a "here", you will obtain another "there" that will again look better than your "here". Dont be fooled by believing that the unattainable is better than what you have.

Others are mere mirrors of yourself. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself.

What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the resources you need. Remember that through desire, goal setting and unflagging effort you can have anything you want. Persistence is the key to success.

The answer lies within you. The solution to all of life's problems lie within your grasp. All you need to do is ask, look, listen and trust.

You will forget all of this. Unless you consistently stay focused on the goals you have set up for yourself, everything that you just read won't mean a thing.

Lighten Up

2007-10-11T22:08:00.001-05:00

I may have posted this before, but it is worth revisiting; remember, folks, even if you are late: never, never, NEVER leave for your workout prior to completing ALL your morning duties.

Change

2007-10-11T21:49:00.000-05:00

Couple of thoughts (which will go out not fully formed, as I am in a rush):
Racism: article in the WSJ today about school re-districting in Milton, MA (affluent, whitish 'burb of Boston); some parents up in arms that their children were re-districted to a)the "black" school or b)the "low score" school; depends on whom you ask. Local blacks "deeply offended." My first reaction was "but it ISN'T racism--it's all about the test scores; if the school were good, ppl would be busting down the doors."

But then I remembered another article re: Berkeley? Where some white families were leaving schools because of competition from Asian students (schools were "too smart"). So... which is it?

I am reminded of my grandmother discussing one of my cousins and commenting "She's smart... but not TOO smart" (I am the black sheep of my family, mind you, for reasons alien to me...)

Second thought: a memory popped into my head this afternoon after reading a review of Kaye's documentary "Lake of Fire." My father, who was living with me at the time (after a stroke or two), and I signed up to protect abortion clinics. We went to the first day of training--learning all about what we would be doing, who our "opponents" were (some were well-known regulars), etc. At one point, we were asked to play the part of anti-abortionists and, apparently, we played our parts too well (I had just gotten off active military duty and believed that realism would help the training, so I put my heart into it). We were never asked back.

Today, as noted, I was reading the review of the documentary which, apparently, included b&w footage of a doctor sifting through the remnants of an aborted foetus to make sure he got everything; the camera lingers on a "perfectly formed hand and part of a face." I cried in my office; indeed, I am holding back tears just THINKING about a documentary that I have not seen.

Sure: I support a woman's right to choose (just as I support your right to kill yourself), but...less and less. California just passed a law disallowing smoking in a car with children in it. How different is that? Just because THOSE tykes escaped the womb they get special consideration vis-a-vis adults? I rather doubt I will get into the fray (it is really not my style), but I find myself sympathizing with the Pope (who recently came out against foetal research)--how strange is THAT?!

Having children--especially girl children--changes a man (logical fallacy: it changed ME--I cannot speak for the rest of you). My daughters' preciousness--at least to me--is uncapturable, ineffable. Juxtaposing their faces with the "part of a face" of an aborted daughter makes me quite literally a little bit sick. My whole raison d'etre, really, is to protect (and maybe to serve, cop-boy), and abortion speaks to failure at the very outset.

So, maybe the women who never asked me back to help protect clinics were onto something...

Running

2007-10-09T23:37:00.000-05:00

Signed up for a marathon in a couple of weeks; we'll see how the old bones hold up.

Traveling: will likely be silent for a while.

I really should post some drawings: Daughter B is playing with perspective (again, no guidance from me--or anyone, so far as I can tell). She does frameless, extreme-close-ups of torsos (usually ballerinas), with others in the background. Really amazing--and beyond what *I* come up with, even as an adult! Well, I'll just post some (someday) and you can see for yourself...

Still Here - And Glad of It

2007-10-05T12:03:00.000-05:00

Running in along the river today (13.1 in 1:26), I was again nearly overwhelmed with gratitude: I am here, I am alive, I am healthy, and all in my family are as well.

Are we programmed to be grateful? And to whom (or what)?

In any case: thank you. We must remember our dead, and remember the living. What else can we do?

On my run, I was thinking about water. When I was a boy, fun comprised playing War, making forts, playing walkie-talkie-hide-n-seek in the graveyard, that sort of thing. For thrill and adventure, I and my mates sometimes "snuck" into the town hall for a drink of water from a thin, fold-out paper cup, always expecting to be shoo-ed from the building.

Innocence. After decades of static childhood (really, was my 1970s childhood that different from that of the 1950s? Or '40s?), we now push and rush and prod and cajole these little worker-bees into adult-like stress and frenzy. Sheesh.

Funny (and true) story about my own lil geek-girls (aged 7 & 4, respectively):

So, the other day I heard Daughter B in the living room shouting "My eye! My eye!" I rushed in, ready to be furious:
"What happened?! What’s the matter?!" Daughter A was standing with a foam "noodle" (from swim class) in her hand; B, apparently, was inside a large cardboard box.
A said, "We’re just playing.
B added (from inside the box), "Yeah, we’re just playing. We’re playing Cyclops!"
A said, "She’s Polyphemus, I’m Odysseus."
B added, "Yeah, she’s Odysseus, I’m Polyphemus! And she just poked my eye out!"

For those of you a bit rusty, Polyphemus was a one-eyed giant outwitted (and out-eyed) by Odysseus and his men: Odysseus got Polyphemus drunk, poked out his eye, and then he and his men escaped their prison (Polyphemus' cave) by holding fast to the undersides of the theretofore penned-in sheep...

One other story/brag: Daughter B was being "tested" for full-day classes; the testing included a bit of reading (to make sure that she was up to speed with the class, which was mostly a little bit older). The teacher reported: "We read a book about butterflies, and the only trouble she had was with the word 'chrysalis' ."

Grateful--amazed and grateful.

On! On!

Modern Death

2007-10-04T10:54:00.001-05:00

I have read about this phenomenon: the living hover over artifacts of the deceased (and by "artifacts," I mean technological remnants--blogs, emails, avatars). Such communications remain fresh, almost (to our living, projecting minds) expectant, awaiting reply. The living have just so much, and remain hungry for more: there ought to be more; there must be more.

And so I re-read her emails, a brief flurry after 10+ years of silence. A rush of foregiveness and apologies and clarifications, of "getting things off the chest" while there was still time. And now, time is stilled, at least for her.

We will serenade our Louie,
Till health and voices fail,
And we'll pass and be forgotten with the rest.

We are poor little lambs

Who have lost our way,

Baa! Baa! Baa!

Running and Being -- We Must Go On. On, On!

2007-10-03T07:52:00.000-05:00

1952 Olympics
Mens 5,000m Final
1. Emil Zatopek 14:06

Mens 10,000m Final
1. Emil Zatopek 29:17

Mens Marathon
1. Emil Zatopek 2:23:04

Before the 1952 Olympics, Zatopek had never run a marathon, yet all his winning times at the 1952 Olympics were Olympic records.

At the start of the 1956 Olympic Marathon, Zatopek was heard to say: "Men, today we die a little."

Other quotes:

"When a person trains once, nothing happens. When a person forces himself to do a thing a hundred or a thousand times, then he certainly has developed in more ways than physical. Is it raining? That doesn't matter. Am I tired? That doesn't matter, either. Then willpower will be no problem."

"If you want to win something, run 100 meters; if you want to experience something, run a marathon."

"After all those dark days of the war, the bombing, the killing, the starvation, the revival of the Olympics [London, 1948] was as if the sun had come out....I went into the Olympic Village and suddenly there were no more frontiers, no more barriers. Just the people meeting together. It was wonderfully warm. Men and women who had just lost five years of life were back again."

When asked about his tortured expression during races,
Emil Zatopek said, "It is not gymnastics or ice skating you know."

"It's at the borders of pain and suffering that the men are separated from the boys."

"Great is the victory, but the friendship is all the greater."

See Zatopek run: http://www.runningpast.com/vintage_media.htm

Technology and Death

2007-10-01T10:20:00.000-05:00

We all have read of the difficulties of post-death email accounts and whatnot; in the past, I read them with a jaundiced eye.

But my inbox contains recent missives, complete with dozing--and now never to awaken--smileys, from Ms. H., and the effect is eerie. On her blog page is an avatar, currently in pajamas, blinking at me, perhaps expectantly. And I find myself wishing for something...more. A coda, perhaps, or...something. You see, she is never to return--and I know not what, if anything, is on the other side, and she will never tell me. Now is not the time to air my opinions, but I have been anaesthetized upon occasion (e.g., surgery) and, upon waking, discovered in myself a increased fear of death, theretofore unexpected.

Her avatar, so blank yet, somehow, expectant, is a canvas onto which to project all my questions and inferences. Unnerving.

Un Ange Passe

2007-10-01T08:46:00.000-05:00

In 1995 she was given two years, but being so young and strong, her doctors could apply the most aggressive techniques; she was spared, it seemed. Cancer, however, is eminently adaptable, and despite bouts of optimistic remissions, it resurfaced again and again.

This past August, she was given an awful diagnosis: "months." She did not last even one. The remaining available treatments had such profound side effects--and so little efficacy--that the cancer, i.e., Death, became preferable. Foregoing further treatment, she entered a home hospice program last week, passing on the evening of September 29, her husband at her side, her sister upstairs brushing her teeth.

She was just a few days shy of her 39th birthday.

Her blog is factual, not emotional, but the facts about the oxygen tanks and the difficulty breathing or focusing or reading or sleeping are deeply painful, deeply lonely (but not, as far as I can tell, afraid).

Today marks the first day of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month; if you are here to read this, rejoice and be glad.

"And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."

Cycle of Life

2007-09-24T09:35:00.000-05:00

I am in that phase of life where all things are equally likely. Think of, for example, "Alumni Notes." When one is a recent graduate, the notes are all about jobs and graduate school. Evenutally the stories move into family-making. Later, some deaths begin to occur. Looking ahead at the remaining alumni from the '30s (the '20s are...done), all messages that are not about death are of the "no news is good news" variety.

I am of the age where all the icons of my life are passing. Marcel Marceau died yesterday. While I did not like his work (I prefer his teacher, Etienne Decroux), I respected the man (and his penchant for cognac and cigars). Maleine L'Engle died a couple of weeks ago. Ed Bradley (who was only a SECONDARY icon, a relatively recent addition to 60 Minutes). Lots of "personalities" I "grew up with." I had better start replacing them or the world will become foreign.

At the other end of the spectrum, one of my close friends just had his first child (well, his wife did, but you know what I mean). She (the baby) is beautiful, and likely to be a runner some day. Of course, his daughter will have to outrun mine: good luck!

Morning

2007-09-21T09:33:00.000-05:00

My alarm went off as usual, cutting into my dreams at 5:15.

Sometimes I have to reconstruct events: my placement, my reactions, my mid-night reasoning. This morning I awoke wedged between Daughters A and B, with Daughter B snuggled up tight in the crook of my arm and Daughter A hogging the covers, her back to mine. Why was I here?

Bits resolved: Daughter B's nighttime shrieks had resulted, it seemed, from Daughter A's refusal to cede any bedcovers. A cup of water cooled the frustration, diverted attention. Then the grasping arms, the snuggle request. It all came back to me, and I fell asleep once again.

Daughter A was poking me. "Papa. Papa, wake up. Papa. Papa, will you take me running with you today?" It was now quarter to six. "Hold on." I had planned to run to my office. My latest route was a perfect half-marathon, taking me through several city squares and then in along the river. Beautiful. I was wondering whether the ROTC boys would be out again. "Hoo-ah," I was thinking to myself. I was practically to the office.

"Papa, wake up!” It was now 5:46, and I was still in bed. Dilemma. It was Friday, after all, one of the two days I allow my eldest to join me and, as she calls them, my "running-friends." But that would not get me to work.

"It's too late," I tried. "They've already started running. Besides, I was thinking of running to work today."

"But Papa, it's Friday. You are supposed to take me with you on Fridays."

"But it's too late."

"I don't care. We can go on our own, just you and me."

I could not make this stuff up. Who am I to squelch a pre-dawn request for PT? Other parents cannot get their young fatties off the couch; my offspring fail to grasp the concept of fatigue. And, after all, I live to serve. Why am I here? I am here to direct, guide, and train the next generation of leaders, to

"Papa!"

"Okay, okay. Give me a minute. Go get dressed."

Prepping in the a.m. is not a problem for me: a pair of socks, a pair of shoes, a pair of shorts, a single singlet. How much more elemental can one get? Daughter A returned in a pink terry ensemble with a purple feather-knit boa, pink Crocs and a blue bicycle helmet (indeed, she does not per se run with the group, instead she rides one of her several dump-sourced bicycles; however, she completes the full six miles and never complains, is unfailingly cheery, and chirps "hello!" to all passers-by). She explained that the scarf was to keep her neck warm, but that she did not really like the color as she did not think it went well with her outfit. Have I mentioned that she is seven? Have I mentioned that she often states an intention to become an entomologist?

I attach various reflectors and blinker things to her various limbs. She began to twirl, "Look, I'm a siren." I was going to explain that the siren is an audio device, but perhaps she meant siren in the Greek sense. And I knew what she meant, and she was accurate.

It was too late to chase down our running-friends (who fawn over Daughter A's determination and goodwill). We headed for the river, starting downhill toward Main.

"Stop. Stop. Hit the brakes. Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop stop STOP!" My daughter whizzed down the hill and across Main Street, blinking like an aircraft coming in for a landing. I sprinted after her, ordered her to the side of the road, and grabbed her bicycle.

"Why did you not stop? Why did you disobey me?"

"I tried to stop. The brakes wouldn't work. There were no cars."

What followed was a brief, reasonably logical discussion, a test for faulty equipment. The beginnings of a lecture concerning my fear and anger were cast aside for straight out admonition:

"And what am I supposed to do if you get squished? If you get squished, I am hurt many times over: first, because you are squished, and that in itself would kill me; second, third, fourth, and fifth because Mama would kill me, probably literally, and worse, do so rightly. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Test your brakes first thing, and now and again as you go. Maybe it was the dew." (Or maybe it was that my daughter weighs about as much as my leg.)

"Yes, Papa."

We ran along the river for a bit, then into some of the nicer neighborhoods. I was silent, but Daughter A, a reasonably proxy for Chatty Cathy, kept up a stream of commentary. "Crummy" is her new pejorative, as in "these houses are nicer than our crummy house. I guess they hired the good painters, not our crummy ones who smoke and leave cigarettes in the driveway and yell and do crummy work."

"Their work isn't crummy, actually."

"Yeah, well, their cigarettes are crummy. And they leave juice boxes all over the place. And they're loud."

What she says is true: I have recently had my understanding of the need for US immigration broadened. It is not so much that immigrants will do the jobs that Americans no longer want to do, it is also that they do them better, and more cheaply. And more quietly. And sober.

Given that we had started late, we only went about four miles, finishing just in time to have departing running-friends beep their horns and wave.

"Papa, did you bring your credit card."

My seven-year-old understands cash, credit, and savings. Sometimes, a bit too much. She likes to end our morning runs with a hot chocolate and, if she can wear me down sufficiently, a sticky bun. I send her in with the card; she stands in line with grownups, assertive and unself-conscious. She can almost see over the counter.

The weather is cooler now as we head into autumn, but often folks hustling off to their jobs cast a questioning eye on a fine-featured child--delicately nibbling at a sticky bun held in but two, maybe three fingers--perched next to a still-huffing man adrip with sweat. Tough. My child; my life.

Later we play "Go Fish" (she wins). Daughter B is awake now, and complains that I never take her running, and that if she is asleep I should just bundle her into the jogging stroller and push her while she sleeps. She and I play "Chutes and Ladders, Jr." (not enough time for the more honest "Snakes and Ladders"). Daughter B gets my cereal while Daughter A makes my coffee. Daughter C is by now in my lap, trying to squeeze all the air out of me. She is very strong. It is eight o'clock.

By the time I leave the house, Rocko is removing some old concrete; the other workmen are yelling at each other; one is puffing a cigarette. Across the street, the Brazilians are hard at work, quietly. Down the street, a huge crew of Greeks has arrived; they will have my neighbor's entire house scraped by the end of the day. One of my workmen heads off to get coffee.

My daughters trail me to the end of the driveway, then line up in descending order for their kisses. I am late to work today. So what.

Lonely as a Cloud

2007-09-17T11:35:00.000-05:00

Celebrating the bicentenary year of its publication, Cumbria Tourism has, uh, "updated" Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud."

In the words of MC Nuts, "Check it!"

Death

2007-09-10T08:49:00.001-05:00

For those unfamiliar, please recall Icarus, son of Daedalus, who flew too close to the sun and, as the wax securing his feathered wings melted, plunged into the sea below. Icarus' legs can be seen in the lower right of the painting, just before the waters close over him forever.

Musee des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
--W.H. Auden

I have been thinking quite a bit about the recent deaths in my area of operations, deaths which, in some ways, have affected more than some that should have been closer (e.g., the death of my father). But my father, as I knew him, died ten years before the shell of his body gave out.

The men struck down recently were, well, other versions of me, that is, they belonged to my age/education/goals/position/outlook cohort. And they are gone. Could have been me; indeed, might be me.

As I was leaving the wake for one of the passed fellows, I was wondering where Death was that night; had he seen me? Had the bullet that was to end my life been cast? Was it now in someone's box of ammo, just, well, waiting? Was the part that was to fail in the plane in which I would be flying into the ground already on a warehouse shelf? Had my bout with pneumonia ten years ago gone about calcifying my aorta yet? Was the cancer already there?

Is it really that Les Jeux Sont Faits (A 1947 Sartre novel in which Pierre and Eve were predestined to be soulmates, but their premature deaths delay their meeting until their passing into the afterlife where, despite being allowed a second chance, they remain powerless to escape, avoid, or otherwise change the consequences of their choices in life and they die once again, unfilled)? I do not think so.

The first instance of the irrepeatability (a term which somehow better conveys the concept better than the more grammatical "unrepeatable") of action had to do with a supercomputer being forced to reproduce a weather system. Despite all factors being the same, some minute variable was off, eventually leading to an entirely different weather system (Sorry for the vagueness here, I forget the reference: I was in high school when it happened, although I believe it was at MIT). The point is that dynamic interactions (and their outcomes) are not always predictable and, more importantly, not always the same. That is, if you could go back in time, time very likely would not repeat itself.

My point? Even if I could find the bullet with my name on it, I could not stop the (real) bullet with my name on it. Or, said differently, although we have greater influence over our destinies than Sartre believed, we likely have far, far less than we, as individuals, generally believe.

"Live for today" does not work because the mortgage still comes due, the children still get hungry or need their faces washed. The catbox needs cleaning.

More Mortality

2007-09-04T09:48:00.001-05:00

A guy I run with had a heart attack; still in a coma; five children + a wife.

Life can be so

brief, so utterly, painfully, destructively brief.

Why am I here? Where am I going? What am I supposed to be doing?

My eldest asked today, "do you like going to work?"

Good question.

What is the best use of my time? What is my highest purpose. If Death calls me tomorrow, am I ready? Am I done? Have I accomplished...anything?

[Addendum: I wrote the above early this morning; just now, word has reached me that the husband of one of my co-workers suffered an aneurysm this morning and died. I will be busy doing what I can, but the untimely death of yet another seemingly healthy, definitely fit father of young children is hair-raising. I am speechless.]

Well, THAT was Amusing!

2007-09-01T09:04:00.000-05:00

Re-reading last night's lonely post. Fellows, don't drink and blog! I will let the post stand, however.

Wine, by the way, was Oxford Landing GSM (grenache, 56%; shiraz, 33%; mourvedre, 11%). More reviews here and here. Some folks love it, others seem to hate it (one equated it with "vomit sprinkled with Strawberry Quik").

At $8, it was a good value: peppery, fruity, with some tannins. Over time, though, it began to wear on the palate, with some of the black/sour cherry getting on my nerves, seeming a little harsh. Good with pizza, though.

And I was still able to get up and put in a hard run in the a.m.

In other news, Mike Nifong will be spending at least one day in jail. I wonder what the eventual compensation for the falsely accused Duke Lacrosse Players will be..?

Addendum: what I wrote last night was true, i.e., I no longer no what to do with myself when the family are not around. Raising a family weakens a man, makes him vulnerable, mortal (with mortality being something I think about quite a bit lately). I absolutely understand how family-making reduces a country's propensity to make war; indeed, it puts further light on my increasingly conservative response to the sexual revolution, ubiquitous birth control, easy access to abortion, etc.

Freedomnomics, a direct (and intellectually angry) response to one of my favorite books of late, Freakonomics, puts a whole different spin on the effects of easy access to abortion.

Freakonomics correlates increased abortion rates with lower crime (because, in a form of localized eugenics, "unwanted" babies--of the sort that would have worse financial, educational, and medical outcomes if they had lived--get aborted, so they are not around to do crimes).

Freedomnomics, on the other hand, correlates easy abortion with higher crime rates, the thinking being that women became less risk-averse, hence pregnancy rates are higher and, thus, while some women terminate their pregnancies, some (for a variety of reasons) who otherwise would not have gotten pregnant at all now bring their babies to term. Freedomnomics puts the stats out there in all their socio-economic gory glory.

I do find it interesting that Liberals, in pursuit of equality for all, favor policies whose meta-outcomes lean toward ethnic cleansing (e.g., African American abortion rates are triple that of other groups). Of course, I have always found the Liberal view toward certain groups to be condescending in any case (John Edwards admonishing Americans to forego their SUVs, while driving one, is just one simple example; affirmative action, which assumes that certain individuals, by the mere fact of their melanin, cannot compete academically is one of the worst cases).

In any case, my point here is that the joys of family are subtle, and take a long time to ferment. The way society treats men, women, and relationships does not seem conducive to the amount of time and effort required to build a really strong, really stable relationship. Easy divorce, long cohabitation (which, for men, is absolutely not the same as marriage; different thought process altogether), sexual access, acceptance of unwed mothers, all lead to a further fracturing of the male/female complementarity (a distinct goal of capital-F Feminism).

D-mn I sound like a fogey. And all this from a clear beneficiary of all the things about which I now complain... I guess, fundamentally, while it seemed worth it (i.e., fun) at the time, looking back I am saddened by the waste. I met my wife at age 16 (and I knew at the time that she was...important; indeed, her effects colored my cravings and relationships forever after); we married at 30. In between I, uh, "benefited" from several long-term cohabitations. Now, to me, that time seems, well, wasted and unproductive, time that could have been spent (seriously, it could have) with my wife. Some of the adventures I have had--most of which cannot be reproduced--are not part of our ongoing conversation.

But hindsight, as they say, is 20/20 (unless, of course, it has to do with recognizing, acknowledging, and undoing all the damage wrought by "progressive" social policy over the last 40 years). Praise be that I have time forward to spend with my growing family. Can't wait 'til they get back here!

In Vino, Veritas

2007-08-31T21:32:00.001-05:00

Okay, I am (likely) drunk off my ass (if one is drunk, how can one tell?). I started the bottle (a fine bottle of granache, cabernet, and some other things that escape me at the moment) at my grandmother's. You see, the wife & chillun are away--the painters are scraping and sanding and the wife wanted to minimize the possibility of lead exposure.

And I am a mess. And, well, proud of it.

You see, I am at a complete loss when the wife is away. Where, exactly, does food come from? And cash--where does cash come from? Okay, those are details--the bed is a mighty lonely place when alone. If any over-40 men are reading this--and you are unattched--by gum man, what are you thinking? (btw: while typos are minimized, you, dear reader, have no idea how many corrections I am making at this time...). Get thee to a nunnery! If, for nothing else, to find thee a wife!

Yah, so, my wife is out of town--and she has the children. Wow. My life right now really does revolve around FAMILY. How unlike my own parent, with their cold marriage + lots of business trips (really, it is taking me several passes to remove the typos; have I mentioned that I have downed a bottle of vino, and then some?).

At 40+, what the hell ELSE would I, a man, be doing w/o a wife? Yah, sure--hang-gliding, harley-riding, and sky-diving (lots of hyphenation there, huh?), but, seriously, would any woman take me seriously? I pine for my friend (name typed then redacted) whose wife left him (for a woman!): now he worries about gold-diggers. Sheesh.

I am in love with my wife (have been, really, since I met her at age 16). Have I mentioned that I am, uh, satisfied? (We'll see if this post outlives my sobering-up period.) My running club includes many guys who complain about...insufficiency. Praise d-rwin I can remain silent.

On a different topic: yah, too bad I do not have a boy to raise right. My girls are being trained (karate, charm school) to be heartbreakers, but it might be a public good to provide the world a right-thinking boy-o. Ah, well: c'est la vie. Of course, you boys out there--look out! My girls are gonna kick your azz!

Memo to self: do not drink + blog.

Ordering Wine With Dinner

2007-08-28T00:08:00.000-05:00

Waiter Rant offers some good advice on Ordering Wine with Dinner without Looking Like an A-Hole.

Short form: there is always the "Fonzie" method ("#11"). A slightly more subtle version consists of tipping the wine list toward the sommelier (or, barring that, the waitron), running your finger up and down your preferred price range and saying "I was thinking of something along these lines; what do you think?"

Other methods include the "third up from the bottom" technique (or, if you are going to be cheap, choose the cheapest wine, not the second cheapest; you have a higher chance of getting something palatable, believe it or not--it has to do with restaurants anticipating your cheap-but-self-conscious habits...).

Best, of course, is the "expense account" method, but only use it when you actually have an expense account. This consists of alerting your sommelier that you are, well, on account, and that you would like something memorable--but justifiable. This usually puts you around the $50 to $80 range (higher in New York); that is, around the cost of an addition to your party (which, if the wine is good enough, it sort of is).

View of Men

2007-08-24T06:00:00.000-05:00

Thirty years ago (!), feminist polemicist Marilyn French wrote The Women's Room, in which she stated, "All men are rapists." When I was in college in the 1980s, photocopies of our "Face Book" appeared around campus with the caption "Potential Rapists." The photos were, of course, of men only. The usual uproar ensued, with no action taken by the college to remove, discourage, or otherwise hamper this exercising of free speech (the college took similar non-action in the regular removal and destruction of the one or two conservative papers on campus, but that is a different story).

Yesterday's Moving On column in the WSJ was on the current state of aversion to men. My intent today is not (necessarily) to decry the ongoing denigration and devaluing of men in society; rather, I am (ironically) in solidarity with my sisters on certain points.

While the article points out the usual insults and betrayals (e.g., the coach who dares not hug a player, the requirement of a "female parent" on the sidelines at all times), amidst the pain are some stark truths.

The article points out that "[g]uidelines issued by police departments and child-safety groups often encourage [children lost in malls] to look for 'a pregnant woman,' 'a mother pushing a stroller' or 'a grandmother." These are examples of "low-risk adults." Men need not apply.

Child Advocate John Walsh, of America's Most Wanted fame (and who tragically lost a child to a stranger), advises parents to "never hire a male babysitter." (Duh!)

I am not complaining about these portrayals, but I am asking/hoping that we change them We could start off with a simple admission: Men and women are different.

I have unwittingly agreed with John Walsh on these very pages: of COURSE you would not hire a male babysitter (despite what the liberal nags online and in town say; and how easy it is for them to say so, given the tiny odds of a male being sent--or even HIRED--by a babysitting agency) or male-run daycare center (would such a thing even be allowed?).

How has the status of men fallen so low? Why does the death spiral continue? How have we let this happen? And why are men excused from adulthood?

Fact is, as we allow men to run amuck, to extend indefinitely their adolescence via, e.g., unwed motherhood or, yes, same-sex marriage (in which the complementarity of parenting is destroyed, replaced with the false notion of the absolute interchangeability of male/female roles or more pointedly, given the ratio of M/M to F/F unions and the intentions of those units, the supposed dispensabilty of the male input altogether). Modern feminism decries the former burdensome role of women, where they were expected to be the moral influence of society (expected by themselves, it appears, given that since their abdication the position goes unfilled), and yet right.now.at.this.very.moment women accrue greater and greater responsibility.

Liberal policies on criminals place individual privacy concerns over community safety (in my opinion); pornography pervades every aspect of our "culture," sex sells. [I state again, that I now sound like the Apoplectic Lutherans I ridiculed in high school causes me no end to amusement and pain.]

I was thinking last night about the purpose of marriage: one purpose, really, is to tame men. A countries proportion of unattached men has a direct effect on its propensity to make war (duh!). Yet we allow men (encourage them, one might say--that is, the absence of peer pressure against unwed motherhood is pretty much the same as encouraging men to forego the whole marriage thing) to remain war- and whore-mongerers. (Let's here it for equality!) And then those who DO care are browbeaten into submission.

Men dare not touch their students or athletes (and, ironically, research shows that girls need physical attention more than do boys). If you review the picture at the top of the page, you will see that some might choose to refrain from touching their own daughters. The picture--a BILLBOARD program in Virginia--is supposed to urge women to follow their gut instinct, and the program directors deny that the picture could be interpreted to call into question any adult/child interaction, right down to father/daughter.

[As an aside, yes, this is concerning to me because I am the father of daughters, and lemme tell you--they need attention! Tickling, rough-housing, hugging, and whacks on the bottom. If I am not affectionate enough, they let me know, climbing into my lap, wrassling me around the house. And I revel in it. But no way in heck am I going to coach a girl's team, teach a class, or do anything that would put me at risk with anyone else's children. What the WSJ deems the "predator panic" is just too prevalent. Oh--so, THANKS to all you 1980s campus Feminists: I hope you are happy with what y'all have wrought (and, sadly, maybe you are).]

A Feminist I knew once stated that it was acceptable if, in the name of equality, men be brought down. "If that's what it takes." (Strangely in line with communism--where everyone is equally miserable--I might point out.) Well, looks like she got her wish. Men are ignored, discarded, exempted from their societal requirements to mature (themselves) and nurture (others). Weird (to me) that because men cannot nurture as well as women then they are no longer required to do it at all.

My other diatribe, by the way, is that in order that a (very) few may succeed, all must suffer. I have written before how the "freeing" of a few professionals and academes has enslaved the other 90% of women, shackled now as they are to jobs. Just. Like. Men. [I forget where I was going with this: I had another "success for the few = failure for the many" epiphany, but it escapes me at this moment.]

I am petering out here; my question is this: why are men "allowed" to be different (which we all know anyway, really) when it comes to crime/rape/predatory behavior, but we are said to be exactly-100%-the-same when it comes to our value as parents or, lately, as humans? I would think that, logically, if one accepts the first proposition (which I do), then one must accept the second. How do we re-integrate men into an increasingly segregated society?

Oof. e-NOUGH.

Wine Club Review - Redux

2007-08-23T09:25:00.000-05:00

Up to the age of forty eating is beneficial. After forty, drinking.
--The Talmud

Never been much of a drinker: I never really cared to lose control of my surroundings. Also, I am pretty cheap.

Never much of a wine drinker: while I might be a skinflint, cheap wine is not (in) my (brown) bag.

In the course of my profession in recent months, however, I have been treated to some fairly fine wines (strike that, some stupendous wines)--and it turns out I like wine--good wine, anyway.

In my quest to secure good wine AND remain cheap, I signed up for several wine clubs simultaneously (penny wise, pound foolish):
4Seasons Wine Club
Wine Insiders (formerly A Taste of California)
My Wines Direct
Wine Library
Wine Woot

Addendum: Wine Buyer: free shipping section and sort by rating: some real bargains there!

Addendum the Second: Wines 'til Sold Out! is like Wine Woot for the ADD crowd; instead of one deal a week, the site offers one deal a day, shipping included. Offers reviews and tasting notes, as well as retail value and "Best Web" comparison.

Following are my thoughts, my wine club reviews, or at least my review of wine clubs in which, so far, I have participated. I will update as I drink more (although my typing may deteriorate). I started with discount wine clubs, but have moved up the scale a bit in terms of price and quality. As it stands now, I am bumping up against my supply/demand limits (i.e., I am cheap by nature, and wine ain't cheap).

Folks join clubs for a variety of reasons: local availability is slim; snooty stores can be intimidating; things are cheaper on line; whatever. Often, newbies are looking to be led by someone with greater experience (regardless of the endeavor), so clubs that tout their expertise and "insider" status and elitism will always have new adherents (uh, like me, apparently). On to the club reviews:

Four Seasons Wine Club has, by far, the best marketing (their wine is a different story...). The 4Seasons pitch is that they send a case a quarter (get it? Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter!). To entice new sign-ups, they offer the first case at half price AND deliver your choice of a "connoisseur" wine opener (with wooden box), a tabletop corkscrew, or a six-bottle wine fridge (yes, yes they do!). The also include some really nice write-ups of their wines, the region, the background, whatever. Useful information.

The wine, on the other hand, while...serviceable, has been nothing spectacular. Generally, their wines are "private label," that is, 4Seasons (or, more accurately, their much larger parent) contracts with vintners to produce certain wines. (And you thought that only vineyards produced wine! Oh foolish ingenue: grapes are just a commoditized fruit, and fruit can be produced anywhere--and trucked anywhere. Some "vintners" may "consult" to any number of wineries: it's almost incestual.) Also, while I am not sure whether the outcome is intended, this does mean that one cannot G--gle the wines for a review.

The wines did not make me gag but, at first, they did make me wonder whether my palate was simply...unsophisticated (more on that in a minute).

Wine Insiders niched me, too. They sent a similar advertisement/enticement: half price on a case of "the perfect combination of taste and value," of "both well-known and hard-to-find wines" chosen by "an expert tasting panel" to ensure delivery of "only the best wines."

Ugh. Really just...bleh (my apologies for my inarticulateness). I mean, again, I didn't gag (and I have had wine that made me gag), but it was so...innocuous, so inoffensive and timid: it was as if it were afraid to be wine. I could barely distinguish among their (again, private label) merlot, cabernet, and shiraz. And then it hit me: The Emperor Has No Clothes!

If one had but little frame of reference, if one were a mere neophyte among oenephiles, tipping that first toe into the ocean that is wine (or, as Homer put it, "the wine-dark sea"), one might be a bit...intimidated to say "But there's no there there." That would be me (was me, in fact--until just last night), had I not benefited from some really great, really (dare I say) moving wines. The swill I was quaffing from WineInsiders and 4Seasons was built for the fattest part of the American market, i.e., it was not very challenging; not bad (but not good, either), just...nothing special. Really, I might as well have been drinking water.

Both of the clubs above do not sufficiently exceed my local shoppes 3/$20 special; I would *never* pay full price for offerings from these two (and have cancelled).

For value-oriented clubs, that leaves MyWinesDirect. My Wines Direct sends real-label wines (so one can research actual reviews), often pre-packaged in "themes" (e.g., Barbecue Bests, Red Gems, etc.). They do not market themselves as a discount purveyor, but G--gle can find dollars-off coupons and Fatwallet delivers Fatcash (discounts), so one can realize something approaching 30% off fairly easily. So far, their wines have been...good; definitely better than the other two. I am not ready to declare them stupendousextrasuperspecial, but as discount wine clubs go, they deliver real wines with real tannins and real structure and real grapes. I have only worked through three bottles, but I have already ordered my second half-case, and give them a cautious bottoms-up. They at least exceed my local 3/$20 comparison.

What I really like about My Wines Direct is that they limit their selections, giving at least the impression that their offerings are, indeed, carefully selected. 4Seasons, for contrast, offers over 200 wines (research shows what we all know: consumers are overwhelmed with choice), making no choice "special." Wine Insiders limits their offerings, but I don't want to drink what they have! (Oh, and their shipping is super slow and their customer service, while pleasant and responsive, takes a long time to fix any problems...).

The real winner here is Wine Library. I love Wine Library TV; Gary Vaynerchuk is a hoot! And he is a great marketer: very believable, makes you think that $60 for a bottle is the STEAL OF THE CENTURY! Funny thing is: he's RIGHT! When he tells you a wine is massive, the thing is freakin' MASSIVE; when he tells you to cellar a bottle as an investment, by gum, you would do well to buy half a case! The downside? Did I mention the $60? Or the $30? Per bottle? NOT a discount seller--more of a guide to "the good stuff." And they do have sales. Shipping isn't cheap, but it's fair. They have earned my (occasional) business, especially for the special.

Lastly, there is woot! (or, more accurately, wine woot!). I have not yet ordered from them (I am still in the research phase), but they seem, for the most part, to dig up little-known West Coast wineries. Their format is to offer one deal (or "woot") a week. The best part, though, is that in their forums the winemaker will answer any and all questions (some quite sophisticated--ranging anywhere from business questions to sun/slope equations). The forumites are a wealth of knowledge and amusement. I also recommend the main site: W00T! which offers one (usually tech-geek) deal per day.

So, there you go. If any of you (two) are looking to join a wine club, you can take my experience (for what it's worth). I'll report back some day when I have tried Woot! [ed. note: at this time, I have finally begun receiving my woot purchases, but, to pervert the words of John Paul Jones, I have not yet begun to drink). And if I come across any other clubs, I'll let you know [ed. note: see below].

UPDATE--Clubs in the Pipeline:
Doorstep Wine (http://www.doorstepwine.com/)
Cellar Brokers (http://www.cellarbrokers.com/)

I have signed up for the above two clubs' email hot-deals; once I purchase (and drink) something, I will update the review. Hmm... I wonder whether I should begin adding exactly what I am drinking here... BTW, I have never really had an addictive personality (too cheap for that), but this whole wine thing has really begun to bump up against my rev limiter.

What does this have to do with the search for man's essentiality? I am not sure (and I may be simply justifying some nascent alcoholism), but I think a man should know something about wine.
Search terms: woot (wine.woot.com) wine til sold out (winetilsoldout.com) wineinsiders (wineinsiders.com), mywinesdirect (mywinesdirect.com), 4seasonswine (4seasonswine.com)
I tasted - careless - then -
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World - Did you?
Oh, had you told me so -
This Thirst would blister - easier - now -
--Emily Dickinson

The Consequences for Effective Fatherhood

2007-08-21T09:08:00.000-05:00

From Maggie Gallagher, author of The Case for Marriage, writing in the Louisiana Law Review:

Once we sever, conceptually, the sexual alliance and the parenting alliance, we sever children from their uncontested claim to their parents’—especially their fathers’—care and protection.

And of course it is the fathers who disappear, because while fathers and mothers are equally beloved and important to their children, fatherhood and motherhood are not equally inevitable. Far more than mothers, reliable fathers are cultural creations, products of specific ideals, norms, rituals, mating and parenting practices.
…
Good fathers are made, not born.When family and sexual norms are weakened, it is generally children’s access to effective fathers, not mothers, that is most at risk. When we tell adults that parenting obligations are created by free choices of adults, and when the law’s role is limited to sanctioning and affirming all adults’ choices equally, the well-being of children is put at risk.
…
Can a society or culture reliably make men into good fathers while at the same time affirming in its governing family law that children do not need mothers and fathers, i.e., that all intimate sexual unions are equally valuable, regardless of their effects on child and social well-being? Will a society that adopts the set of ideas and ideals driving the post-modern family over the long march of generations ultimately even survive?

[My approach to marriage thinking is from the ground--or the child--up. If you are reading this, then the odds are overwhelming that A)you were once a child, and B) you are the product of one man and one woman. It is my view that, to the extent possible, each and every offspring deserves to be born into a unit that protects and supports the man and the woman that made it. I acknowledge that other structures exist, but I think, if we are honest, we can see that some ranking exists (e.g., having at least one parent is likely superior to being raised in an orphanage, more often than not), but a "stable, low-conflict union" composed of a child's progenitors is, both intuitively and statistically, superior to all other available structures.]

Us and Our Parents

2007-08-20T11:12:00.000-05:00

Why are we so different from our parents?

I was just reviewing my childhood summercamp, and looking forward to next summer when Daughter A will be old enough (in my estimation) to spend the summer there: and I am so deeply excited for her that tears come to my eyes. I even look forward to Parents' Day, so that she can take me sailing.

Was it this way for MY parents? I don't think so. My depression-era father and cold-war mother were much more...adult when I was a child (the irony being that my mother has regressed; my father, of course, is dead). They did not scamper about excitedly showing me what they had done as youths; they did not ask me to include them in my adventures. Not a criticism: the hands-off style of my parents was better than the helicopter-hover we see too much of today. With my own children, even though they are free to fail, I still must consciously construct (and maintain) an easy-going attitude--one that can encompass the sending of a pre-adolescent girl away from her family for a month (believe me, she'll be thrilled).

Dedication

2007-08-17T11:16:00.000-05:00

All, all that I had
Was yours more than mine.
All my best intentions
Were thine, thine, [and] thine.
—Karin Boye (translated)

(Hat-tip to Joan)

Tangential string: Strindberg, in breaking with his theretofore hyper-realism, captured part of the human experience in A Dream Play when he had the bill-poster say of his heart's desire (a green fish-tank dip-net), "yes, it was supposed to be green, but not that green."

Ain't it the truth?

Quickthought: Fathers

2007-08-16T14:16:00.001-05:00

My approach to fatherhood is, to date, deliberate and intentional. Whether my choices and approaches succeed in the long run remains to be seen.

That said, it occurs to me how many women (maybe men too, but men just don't talk about such things) have described their fathers as, for lack of a better term, "bad." Bad in the sense of self-indulgent or narcissistic or near-abusive or simply...absent. Indeed, I can think of a very few women who go out of their way to praise their fathers (praise be that my wife is one of them!).

What is wrong with the world that my marriage, my fatherhood is relatively decent?

What are you people (Teddy? Gloria? that-missing-person-atheist-whatsername? Margaret Marshall?) DOING to this country?

Where have all the fathers gone for D-rwin's sake?

Tangent alert: in addition to my rant against Feminism (as opposed to "human" rights), I offer the following food-for-thought vis-a-vis the benefits of homogeneity or, more accurately dangers of (cultural) heterogeneity. The WSJ published a (somewhat...angry?) piece by Henninger on the topic, summing it up as (their words, not mine), "People in ethnically diverse settings don't care about each other."

Hurt

2007-08-15T09:06:00.000-05:00

I do not like to hurt anymore, or at least not at the level required for improvement.

What I mean is, for years I could a)forego temptation (sweets, let's say), and b)use pain as a measure (e.g., track repeats HURT). For the past year or so (as I accept "middle age"), I have been less willing to forego smaller sins (lifestyle creep, e.g., good wine; more-than-occasional ice cream; deep, dark chocolate...); similarly, I am less willing to run in a way that hurts (or, indeed, to slide, kick, jump, run with the abandon to which I had heretofore been accustomed).

This scares me. Comfort, the love of comfort, the eschewing of self-sacrifice (or the shift away from "service to others") is, to me, a slippery slope.

Speaking of slippery slopes (an extended metaphor here follows), terrorism works! (But at least a few folks are outraged. Oh, and in case you think it can't happen HERE, well, it can: state--i.e., public--universities to accommodate the religious needs of Muslim students by installing footbaths; the ACLU approves.)

[Addendum: maybe this explains it...]

Ubi all the Hippies?

2007-08-14T08:47:00.000-05:00

What has happened in the world that I am "the conservative?" Not only is there very little in my past that would indicate a concern for social mores and moral continence (trust me on this one), but I am an outright:
earth-shoe wearin',
co-sleepin',
breast-feedin' (well, supporter anyway),
organic-food eatin' (complete with organic vegetable garden and chemical-free lawn, mind you),
animal-rights lovin' ("no gun should ever be turned on an animal"),
midwife-lovin' (again, a supporter on that one...),
anti-gummint,
assault-weapon controllin' (no civilian needs an assault weapon),
helmet-wearin' (motorcyclists w/o helmets, in addition to staining the pavement, increase insurance rates),
local buyin',
tree-huggin' (although, 'cept for, you know, that murder and all, I found the sinking of the Rainbow Warrior damn near amusing...),
anti-establishment,
UNITARIAN (AUC, not http://www.uua.org/UUA), for cryin' out loud!

And I am the conservative? Moi?!

Kee-RIST! For the love of D-rwin what has gotten into the FUV (or Prius) drivin', latte-lovin', fat-arsed, lily-livered, so-called liberals? Yah, sure, maybe they donate more $$$ to Greenpeace and MoveOn than I do, maybe they applaud the UN and Bush I's "New World Order," maybe they talk more about diversity and tolerance (from the comfort of Georgetown or Hyannis), but do they actually DO anything anymore?

Hey, JLH, if you ever stumble across this site: I mentioned years ago--and it remains true today--despite your leftist ways, I retain more respect for you and your "I am spending the summer re-building a girl-scout camp"ism than the outrageous "Open and Affirming" self-aggrandizement of my local community (What? Were we draggin' 'em out behind the woodshed an' beatin' 'em afore this here ONA--which I prefer to pronounce as "Onan," although no one ever gets the joke--initiative? And what about those of the Jewish faith? Don't we love them, too? But I digress...).

This world could use a little more hardship, in my opinion. No, I don't want all-out war, but worldwide peace and plenty (at least for the lucky few) seems even more harmful. (Hmm, that get's me right back to the old: why are we here?)

Whew! Now there's a good rant. Thanks, I feel better now.

Signed,

Mr. Conservative

P.S. Maybe I should move back to MIT, the last community of free-wheelin', free-thinkers I knew--real tolerance there boy-o. Capital "T"Tolerance...

Other Isms

2007-08-13T04:05:00.000-05:00

Anyone read Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale? [ed. note: originally typed "tail"; what would Freud say?]

1985 5-Minutes-Into-The-Future dystopia of the United States under right-wing control. Library Journal reports: The resulting society is feminist's nightmare: women are strictly controlled, unable to have jobs or money and assigned to various classes: the chaste, childless Wives; the housekeeping Marthas; and the reproductive Handmaids, who turn their offspring over to the "morally fit" Wives.

So, folks get in a tizzy about the future of the U.S.; meanwhile, an elephant in the room goes unaddressed. The latest example of Islamic intolerance directs that "women are given a verbal warning on the street. If the problem is not resolved there, they are taken to the police station for "guidance" and to sign a vow not to repeat the offence. Should this be unsuccessful, their case is handed to the judiciary."

And Feminists et. al. worry about the U.S.?! Too weird.

Pandora's Legacy

2007-08-06T06:31:00.000-05:00

Pandora's Box
One evening, with Epimetheus absent, curiosity regarding Lord Jupiter’s gift overwhelmed her, for something in the box spoke. "Pandora, dear Pandora, have pity upon us! Free us from this gloomy prison! Open, open, we beseech you!”

And she opened the box.

Out spilled evils theretofore unkown: Pain stung her hand; Disease plagued the lands; Hatred filled Man with disgust for all that he did not understand; Anger swept out as a cloud of poison; Sickness spewed forth with a feverish speed. Pandora wept with Sadness as Despair shoved itself into the world.

She slammed the lid.

Epimetheus reproached his wife in bitterest terms, and thus was born the first quarrel, now bane of all marriages. In the very midst of his vituperation they heard a sweet voice entreat for freedom. The sound proceeded from the unfortunate box. "Open, open, and I will heal your wounds!”

And they [ed. note: the fools] opened the lid once again. Thus was set forth Hope, healing their wounds as promised, and giving Man a small glimmer of what could be.

The lid closed quickly behind Hope, and all that remained in the box was Foreknowledge. He alone could doom man beyond any other vile beast that escaped, for he knew mankind’s future, mankind's fate. He could grant the ability to see beyond the beyond, allow the knowledge of whatwas to come. For it is said, to know one’s future, to know the moment of one’s demise, to know the ill that will come and the fate of the lands, would bring the greatest sorrows known, and would send a mortal mind to the brink of insanity, or beyond.

Pandora's Box has been of interest to me since I first fell for Greek myths as a youngster. I formed my own thoughts about the story's meaning, unaware--until the advent of the Intertubes--that some debate exists along these very lines.

One version of Pandora's story has Zeus, in a last-minute tender turn of heart, relenting in his attempted destruction of Man, inserted palliative Hope into the box of ills. Sometimes Pandora slams the lid on Hope, then releases her such that she can benefit Man against sin, pain, and pestilence. Sometimes she closes the lid and thus Hope is held by Man.

In another version, Pandora slams the lid on Despair (or, more accurately, Foreknowledge, especially as it pertains to one's own mortality, which would drive Man to madness or despair), thus protecting Man for the worst of all evils (Despair as folly seems, to me, a rather Christian notion).

But my take is a little different: in many contexts Hope is an evil, a bewilderer, a tempter, leading Man to sub-optimal choice. It is one thing to take a "calculated risk," a weighing of probability; it is quite another to plan or act upon groundless speculation. My mother, for example, uses the Lotto Retirement Plan, that is, she has no retirement: she is counting on winning MegaBucks. This "hope" allows her to e.g., continue smoking, fail to pay off her mortgage, buy new cars, and other financially wasteful actions. How many lives their lives this way, leaving all to merest Hap.

C.H. Moore: "[Pandora] opened a jar containing every kind of evil, which straightaway flew out among mankind. Only Ελπις [Elpis] remained therein — a word hardly equivalent to our Hope, but rather meaning 'anticipation of misfortune'. It is then the only plague to which man is not subjected."

Pietro Pucci: "Ελπις properly means a larger set of expectations than our 'hope', for it implies hope, expectation, and even fear... Hope [Ελπις] is a bad companion for the man in need who sits in an idle place, when he has no sufficient livelihood".

More discussion (not necessarily mine):

In "Endgame, Vol. 1: The Problem of Civilization" Derrick Jensen describes hope as: "a longing for a future condition over which you have no agency." In other words, I do not hope to eat tomorrow, I just do it. On the other hand, I hope my plane will not crash, but I have no agency over that. Derrick Jensen believes we hope too much for things we have some power to change (but are too lazy to take action).

In Judaism the line between human agency and hope is not so clearly drawn. In Pirke Avot (Sayings of the Fathers) - a 2nd century Jewish work - Rabbi Tarfon is quoted as saying "You are not required to complete the task, yet you are not free to withdraw from it."

Hope is what motivates us to act even when we know we are not in complete control. This hope can take many forms: the hope that others will have the same vision and join in, the hope that good eventually wins, the hope that one will become a better person through doing even if the intended goal is never reached, the hope that one's small act fits into a larger whole, and yes, sometimes the hope of assistance from a transcendent being.

However, this assistance is not one-sided. In Judaism, hope is often understood as a reciprocal relationship between G-d and human beings. In Marc Gellman's children's story "Partners" from Does G-d Have a Big Toe?, G-d tells human beings they are His partners. When the first humans ask what that means, G-d explains that 'A partner is someone you work with on a big thing that neither of you can do alone. If you have a partner, it means that you can never give up, because your partner is depending on you.'

Later when the angels ask if creation is done yet, G-d says "Go ask my partners."

Some do not Jensen's definition fits very well with the Christian understanding of hope either. One of the classic Christian definitions comes from Romans 8:25 "Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." (RSV) Here hope is defined in terms of seen and unseen, not agency.

On first reading, the word "wait" would seem to imply passivity and hence lack of agency. However, if we take the verse in context, we discover that the preceding verses describe the entire creation in travail, i.e., in the throes of labor. Labor is a very active and involved form of suffering and the unseen thing, a baby, will never come to light without some very active involvement of the mother. Once again, it appears that hope is understood as human involvement in the face of uncertainty.

Random Bits

2007-08-03T08:18:00.001-05:00

Will be traveling next week to some of our other offices, so posting will be spotty.

As a closet hippy freak, I am today wearing my new Earth Shoes. Did I mention that my parents ran a leather-and-jewelry shop in the '70s?

Last evening, in steaming, above-90 temperatures, two of my daughters managed to capture garlands for themselves: Daughter B took first in the 5-and-under category in a 3/4 mile race, while Daughter A took second among the 6-8 crowd. Hooah!
[ed. note: in no way do I push them to do this sort of thing; indeed, I discourage while they demand. I give them major kudos for setting their goals and following through.]

Pause for Reflection; Topic: Debt

2007-08-02T11:10:00.001-05:00

[ed. note: I have written about this before, so the following will just be a synopsis.]

It was the mid-80s. I was entering my junior year in college when my father went bankrupt. Up until then (and, indeed, even today), I referred to my ATM card as my "Magic Money Card," because there was always money there (I was a ghost employee at my father's firm, making $8.00/hour, deposited--by magic--on a weekly basis). Even before that, I carried a significant amount of debt (having to do with business machinations on my father's end--a story in itself; I myself was rarely profligate with finances, a skinflint even then; did I mention that in high school I used to forego lunch to save the 75 cents my mother gave me every day?).

My college roommate still recalls the late-night phone calls from debt collectors: a literal wake-up call! Even post-graduation, living more or less for free on floors and in basements (to include a coal cellar--can you say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis?), it took some doing to reduce my debts. I entered the military with $13,000 to go (sounds so small these days, but it was big back then!) and the motto "Debt Free in '93." Goal achieved, and the rest is history. In the grad skool round, I managed to MAKE money while studying. Those were the days...

In any case: here is a more extreme example, and food for thought (and reflection) on your own situation. How bad off are YOU? And, no matter how bad, you can still fix it. As my father used to say when things went wrong (or broke or were destroyed) "Anything can be fixed." What he meant was "any thing" (i.e., humans--especially human hearts--are more difficult/costly to mend/replace than situations or "stuff").

So, read on from the blog Make Love, Not Debt about one member of the pair's wicked, horrific spending addiction (and it's metamorphosis) here.

Six more stories about extreme savings.

Related topic: Greed, or Bad People Acting Badly.

Everything Rolls Downhill

2007-08-01T11:41:00.000-05:00

I was thinking today of a post-graduate interaction with my college dean. Apologies in advance that I forget the main topic or the advice rendered, but maybe five years after graduation my college dean met with me to discuss my life. After our meeting, he sent me a letter with some more advice as well as some contacts he had made on my behalf. Again, I forget the exact circumstances, but I remember responding with a question: how does one repay the extension of assistance?

He replied that there was no need, that the assistance should extend downward, that I was..."obliged" might be overstatement but let us say "expected" to, in turn, help someone else further down the chain, in an appropriate way at an appropriate time.

You see: that's how it works, dear people.

In a local context (and the trigger for the memory): now and again my in-laws help with our life (because they can, because it pleases them, because we house their grandchildren, because we are family, your reason here). In some ways, such help is near awkward (I earn a good living and I do not let others know of my finances one way or the other), but of course, we are grateful. And their help is consonant with my own goals/beliefs. I am here to guide, instruct, counsel, aid, and defend my offspring. I fully intend to do so until Death. Indeed, their needs come before my own in many important ways.

Please do not construe the following in anything other than cultural terms:

Apparently, when veteran aid workers were re-deployed from Africa to Bosnia (Remember Bosnia? *I* do.), they were confused by what they saw. They had shown up with all sorts of supplies, medicines, and foods for the children, but the children looked, for the most part, well-fed and reasonably healthy and happy. Their parents, on the other hand, often suffered malnutrition; why? Because they put their children first, foregoing their own food for the benefit of their children (you know, their future and all...).

That is how it is supposed to be. D-rwin would have approved.

We must find the grace to accept help from those ahead of us, and remember to, in turn, help those behind us. That is how it is supposed to be, and it may require a reduction in personal consumption to effect meaningful exchange.

I am surprised at how often I need to re-learn this lesson, first inculcated by my dean (Thanks, Dean F!). Oh, and thanks to my in-laws.

Have I mentioned how lucky, how gosh-darn lucky I am? Really, I am. And grateful for each day, mindful to approach each day with wonder.

Wine Club Reviews Updated

2007-07-31T13:45:00.000-05:00

Latest Wine Club Reviews Update is here

But pasted below as well (I recommend using the link, though).

Up to the age of forty eating is beneficial. After forty, drinking. --The Talmud Never been much of a drinker: I never really cared to lose control of my surroundings. Also, I am pretty cheap. Never much of a wine drinker: while I might be a skinflint, cheap wine is not (in) my (brown) bag. In the course of my profession in recent months, however, I have been treated to some fairly fine wines (strike that, some stupendous wines)--and it turns out I like wine--good wine, anyway. In my quest to secure good wine AND remain cheap, I signed up for several wine clubs simultaneously (penny wise, pound foolish): 4Seasons Wine Club Wine Insiders (formerly A Taste of California) My Wines Direct Wine Library Wine Woot Addendum: Wine Buyer: free shipping section and sort by rating: some real bargains there! Addendum the Second: Wines 'til Sold Out! is like Wine Woot for the ADD crowd; instead of one deal a week, the site offers one deal a day, shipping included. Offers reviews and tasting notes, as well as retail value and "Best Web" comparison.

Following are my thoughts, my wine club reviews, or at least my review of wine clubs in which, so far, I have participated. I will update as I drink more (although my typing may deteriorate). I started with discount wine clubs, but have moved up the scale a bit in terms of price and quality. As it stands now, I am bumping up against my supply/demand limits (i.e., I am cheap by nature, and wine ain't cheap).Folks join clubs for a variety of reasons: local availability is slim; snooty stores can be intimidating; things are cheaper on line; whatever. Often, newbies are looking to be led by someone with greater experience (regardless of the endeavor), so clubs that tout their expertise and "insider" status and elitism will always have new adherents (uh, like me, apparently). On to the club reviews: Four Seasons Wine Club has, by far, the best marketing (their wine is a different story...). The 4Seasons pitch is that they send a case a quarter (get it? Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter!). To entice new sign-ups, they offer the first case at half price AND deliver your choice of a "connoisseur" wine opener (with wooden box), a tabletop corkscrew, or a six-bottle wine fridge (yes, yes they do!). The also include some really nice write-ups of their wines, the region, the background, whatever. Useful information. The wine, on the other hand, while...serviceable, has been nothing spectacular. Generally, their wines are "private label," that is, 4Seasons (or, more accurately, their much larger parent) contracts with vintners to produce certain wines. (And you thought that only vineyards produced wine! Oh foolish ingenue: grapes are just a commoditized fruit, and fruit can be produced anywhere--and trucked anywhere. Some "vintners" may "consult" to any number of wineries: it's almost incestual.) Also, while I am not sure whether the outcome is intended, this does mean that one cannot G--gle the wines for a review. The wines did not make me gag but, at first, they did make me wonder whether my palate was simply...unsophisticated (more on that in a minute). Wine Insiders niched me, too. They sent a similar advertisement/enticement: half price on a case of "the perfect combination of taste and value," of "both well-known and hard-to-find wines" chosen by "an expert tasting panel" to ensure delivery of "only the best wines." Ugh. Really just...bleh (my apologies for my inarticulateness). I mean, again, I didn't gag (and I have had wine that made me gag), but it was so...innocuous, so inoffensive and timid: it was as if it were afraid to be wine. I could barely distinguish among their (again, private label) merlot, cabernet, and shiraz. And then it hit me: The Emperor Has No Clothes! If one had but little frame of reference, if one were a mere neophyte among oenephiles, tipping that first toe into the ocean that is wine (or, as Homer put it, "the wine-dark sea"), one might be a bit...intimidated to say "But there's no there there." That would be me (was me, in fact--until just last night), had I not benefited from some really great, really (dare I say) moving wines. The swill I was quaffing from WineInsiders and 4Seasons was built for the fattest part of the American market, i.e., it was not very challenging; not bad (but not good, either), just...nothing special. Really, I might as well have been drinking water. Both of the clubs above do not sufficiently exceed my local shoppes 3/$20 special; I would *never* pay full price for offerings from these two (and have cancelled). For value-oriented clubs, that leaves MyWinesDirect. My Wines Direct sends real-label wines (so one can research actual reviews), often pre-packaged in "themes" (e.g., Barbecue Bests, Red Gems, etc.). They do not market themselves as a discount purveyor, but G--gle can find dollars-off coupons and Fatwallet delivers Fatcash (discounts), so one can realize something approaching 30% off fairly easily. So far, their wines have been...good; definitely better than the other two. I am not ready to declare them stupendousextrasuperspecial, but as discount wine clubs go, they deliver real wines with real tannins and real structure and real grapes. I have only worked through three bottles, but I have already ordered my second half-case, and give them a cautious bottoms-up. They at least exceed my local 3/$20 comparison. What I really like about My Wines Direct is that they limit their selections, giving at least the impression that their offerings are, indeed, carefully selected. 4Seasons, for contrast, offers over 200 wines (research shows what we all know: consumers are overwhelmed with choice), making no choice "special." Wine Insiders limits their offerings, but I don't want to drink what they have! (Oh, and their shipping is super slow and their customer service, while pleasant and responsive, takes a long time to fix any problems...). The real winner here is Wine Library. I love Wine Library TV; Gary Vaynerchuk is a hoot! And he is a great marketer: very believable, makes you think that $60 for a bottle is the STEAL OF THE CENTURY! Funny thing is: he's RIGHT! When he tells you a wine is massive, the thing is freakin' MASSIVE; when he tells you to cellar a bottle as an investment, by gum, you would do well to buy half a case! The downside? Did I mention the $60? Or the $30? Per bottle? NOT a discount seller--more of a guide to "the good stuff." And they do have sales. Shipping isn't cheap, but it's fair. They have earned my (occasional) business, especially for the special. Lastly, there is woot! (or, more accurately, wine woot!). I have not yet ordered from them (I am still in the research phase), but they seem, for the most part, to dig up little-known West Coast wineries. Their format is to offer one deal (or "woot") a week. The best part, though, is that in their forums the winemaker will answer any and all questions (some quite sophisticated--ranging anywhere from business questions to sun/slope equations). The forumites are a wealth of knowledge and amusement. I also recommend the main site: W00T! which offers one (usually tech-geek) deal per day. So, there you go. If any of you (two) are looking to join a wine club, you can take my experience (for what it's worth). I'll report back some day when I have tried Woot! [ed. note: at this time, I have finally begun receiving my woot purchases, but, to pervert the words of John Paul Jones, I have not yet begun to drink). And if I come across any other clubs, I'll let you know [ed. note: see below]. UPDATE--Clubs in the Pipeline: Doorstep Wine (http://www.doorstepwine.com/) Cellar Brokers (http://www.cellarbrokers.com/) I have signed up for the above two clubs' email hot-deals; once I purchase (and drink) something, I will update the review. Hmm... I wonder whether I should begin adding exactly what I am drinking here... BTW, I have never really had an addictive personality (too cheap for that), but this whole wine thing has really begun to bump up against my rev limiter. What does this have to do with the search for man's essentiality? I am not sure (and I may be simply justifying some nascent alcoholism), but I think a man should know something about wine. Search terms: woot (wine.woot.com) wine til sold out (winetilsoldout.com) wineinsiders (wineinsiders.com), mywinesdirect (mywinesdirect.com), 4seasonswine (4seasonswine.com) I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now - --Emily Dickinson

The Ant and the Grasshopper

2007-07-31T09:40:00.000-05:00

CLASSIC VERSION

Æsop. (Sixth century B.C.)

The Ant and the Grasshopper

IN a field one summer’s day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart’s content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest.
“Why not come and chat with me,” said the Grasshopper, “instead of toiling and moiling in that way?”
“I am helping to lay up food for the winter,” said the Ant, “and recommend you to do the same.”
“Why bother about winter?” said the Grasshopper; “we have got plenty of food at present.” But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper had no food, and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew:
“IT IS BEST TO PREPARE FOR THE DAYS OF NECESSITY.”

CLASSIC VERSION THE SECOND

One bright day in late autumn a family of Ants were bustling about in the warm sunshine, drying out the grain they had stored up during the summer, when a starving Grasshopper, his fiddle under his arm, came up and humbly begged for a bite to eat.

"What!" cried the Ants in surprise, "haven't you stored anything away for the winter? What in the world were you doing all last summer?"

"I didn't have time to store up any food," whined the Grasshopper; "I was so busy making music that before I knew it the summer was gone."

The Ants shrugged their shoulders in disgust.

"Making music, were you?" they cried. "Very well; now dance!" And they turned their backs on the Grasshopper and went on with their work.

There's a time for work and a time for play.

TODAY'S MORE REALISTIC VERSION

The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool, laughs, and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.

CNN, CBS, and the NYT show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food.

America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper, and everybody cries when they sing "It's Not Easy Being Green."

Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house where the news stations film the group singing "We Shall Overcome." Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper's sake.

John Edwards exclaims in an interview with Peter Jennings that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper, and calls for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his "fair share".

Finally, the EOC drafts the "Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act," retroactive to the beginning of the summer.

The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the government.

Hillary gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of federal judges that Bill appointed from a list of multi-generation welfare recipients. The ant loses the case.

The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing the last bits of the ant's food while the government house he is in, which just happens to be the ant's old house, crumbles around him because he doesn't maintain it.

The ant has disappeared in the snow.

The grasshopper is found dead in a drug-related incident and the house, now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once peaceful neighborhood.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

[Your thoughts here.]

Broken Marriages, Broken Homes

2007-07-31T09:00:00.000-05:00

I went running with Daughter A this morning (she, on her dump-drawn bicycle--instilling frugality where I can). At one point she went on about the husband she was going to marry, how he was going to be a woodworker so he wouldn't have to leave the house to go to work.

And I got to thinking about single-mother parenting (and, yes, I am focusing on single MOTHER because the corollary is relatively rare). Might as well apply it to lesbian parenting as well (ditto the corollary). Without a man in the home, how does a daughter model her opinions/impressions of males? From the thoughts of the available matriarchs (who, more likely than not, made bad choices or eschew men generally)? From their adolescent colleagues (who, by their nature, are nasty, immature, brutish, and probably a bit slow)?

BTW, I am not saying that I am a perfect role model (indeed, I hold forth that reacting/rebelling against role models is a valid response), but the set-up in my household provides stabilty and predictability (both financial and emotional).

Yes, I am a cold-hearted batarde, bearing small sympathy toward unwed mothers (and a lower opinion still of the offending "father of my baby" types). Bad choices for all. In fact, I almost think it is selfish (rather than the oft-cited "selfless" moniker); why? It dooms both parent and child (childhood obesity being one other obvious dooming, but that is not today's topic).

Would it be better to place the child in a stable, two-parent adoptive home? Maybe. I don't know, really. Probably. Especially given that MOST unwed mothers are not the affluent power-moms portrayed in the media.

[ed. note: How nice for you.]

(WARNING: Tangent ahead.) Geo Washington, Ben Franklin: two men who "created" personas then spent their lives living up to their created ideals. So unlike today, where young men are more like Popey ("I yam what I yam"), content grubbify their bodies with ink + dirt, their minds with games + smut, their lives with D-rwin knows what... [ed. note: Yes, yes: believe me I am no angel, but I do know how to wash, chop wood, change my own oil, run a 10k, rebalance my 401k, bake a cake, and much, much more.]

The degeneration of girls, ugly as it is, is at least slower than the headlong rush to meaningless that describes the descent of boys.

I have no idea where today's rant was going. Just a lament in response to my eldest's simple fantasy of a woodworking husband...

[ed. note: one of the things that makes me nervous is that I really am a "put your money where your mouth is" kinda guy, and the idea of, e.g., foster parenting is calling more strongly--I don't really WANT to take on a foster child (or any other adoptee), but the pull is beginning to reach the level of "duty," and that could present a dilemma.]

Non-sequitur: been seing a lot of newsstories regarding children dying after being left in hot cars (various angles, to include racism in the justice system). I also saw an article regarding how "a simple sensor" could help prevent such deaths. My cynical side implicates the auto lobby (or, more accurately, auto PARTS lobby), angling for increased sales.

Non-sequitur the second: state gummint officials are contemplating state aid for homeowners facing foreclosure: WHAT?! Once again, rewards to the grasshoppers, burden to the ants. The state wants to make it more difficult for me to pay MY mortgage to subsidize those who chose "too good to be true" mortgage terms. Un. Be. LIEV-able. Also, one of the reasons I predict that I will be forced to support Social Security into perpetuity, but never benefit from the program. "Provide, provide!"

I had something else to whine about, but I forgot what it was.

BTW: my theory is that this blog represents a form of catharsis: you, dear reader, are exposed to my vitriol in order that my family see only my bright-and-shiny side. Doesn't always work out, but the children seem happy with what they get.

Social Conservative

2007-07-25T10:47:00.001-05:00

I do not believe in rehabilitation or, more accurately, I believe the costs of rehabilitation outweigh the risks of mercy. What gives me shivers, and why do I believe in "two strikes, you're out" of the gene pool? Here is but one example.

Clarification

2007-07-25T09:24:00.001-05:00

In my previous post, I bandied the terms Liberal and Conservative about pretty carelessly. I should be clear: political Liberals annoy me, mostly because they want to steal my stuff and, via redistribution, squelch in others the natural motive desire to build/acquire stuff of their own. But I should be clear: Republicans (i.e., self-proclaimed Conservatives of a political bent) annoy me as well, given that a little taste of power makes them drop their principles within a few months. And Christian Conservatives bug me, although I admire their adherence to principle and their predictability.

Weird to think that I ridiculed Barry Goldwater as a youngster...

And folks are usually surprised at my voting record.

And I condemn our current President, but not for the usual reasons.

In any case, there is no way to corral politicos into an easily identifiable group (gee, a lot like race, really), but it is fairly safe to say that the very act of becoming a politician calls into question one's motivations and principles.

Mostly I am scared of groupthink; indeed, I consider it (usually) a given that if the bulk of people are thinking/doing/saying one thing, then that thing is likely sub-optimal (almost by definition: the mu is equal to the average, i.e., the mediocre).

Also, as I re-read my post, I was sorry to have brought the subject up. When I see the friend of whom I wrote with his baby, I see just a Poppa (okay, I see a fit, smart-ass, financially savvy, maritally committed, runner-type Poppa, but that's about as far as my descriptors go or need to go or care to go). I like him because, well, because he is Just. Like. Me. He is trying to "figure it all out," trying to discover what is really important, trying to save for the future (and for his offspring), trying to make best use of the gifts he has been given.

Damn. I just wanted this to be a sentence or two.

Race

2007-07-24T10:03:00.001-05:00

Prefatory addendum: in case you don't read to the end, I reference Harvard's Implicit Association Test of unconscious biases.]

While I do not recall the specific age (I was young, though), I recall well my first instance of "language failure." I was in the woods with a friend and needed "to go the bathroom." I recall hesitating to express the urge, not because of any modesty, but because the language did not fit the situation. And it was not simply that we were nowhere near a bathroom; rather, the problem was that "go the bathroom" was a phrase used exactly as one would use "take a whiz" or simply "urinate," two options not yet available to my young self, linguistically. Clearly "the bathroom" was not a verb phrase; what did it mean? Where did it come from? Why was I at a loss?

Similary, I was thinking this morning about race. Liberals are free and easy with talk about racial gaps and racial inequality etc., etc. But as one who rejects race as a valid classification (a.k.a., a conservative), I am simply at a loss for how to explain things at all, much less explain them gracefully.

I have a good friend whom I like a lot. He is a good running partner, a good competitor, and is ahead of me in certain ways with regard to life goals (and behind me in others). That is to say, we have a lot in common, a lot to talk about, and a lot to share.

I am at a loss as to how to explain how utterly inconsequential are certain skin-tone based assumptions that some might care to apply to my friend (although I would guess that sunscreen is not as critical for him as it is for me). Even writing the previous sentence I am uncomfortable, as it implies that I am even aware of those factors. But, indeed, I am aware; why? Because Liberals, with their constant harping (seriously, can we get through a single freakin' newsday without more stories about rampant racism?), have made me super-sensitive to perceived inequality.

When I meet a man, I assess whether I have anything to share with him, often searching for visible clues:
Is he a runner?
Is he a suit (i.e., a business type)?
Is he reading anything related to finance?
Is he wearing a wedding band?
What is he drinking? (I'm a gin & tonic man, but tending toward wine as of late.)
Does he belong to any clubs?

Negative clues include:
Does he have a skateboard?
Tattoos?
Piercings of any kind?
Does his hair need washing?
Are his clothes dirty?
Does he act/look more like a boy or like a man (as I define it, which I haven't yet, given that is what this blog is really all about, i.e., answering the question: what is a man? I am only in the evidence-gathering phase, i.e., seeking clues to the answer).

And while there are definitely cultural aspects that make some people "off limits" for me, they are definitely cultural and not inherent. That said, some (usually liberals) try to conflate the two: as if, say, hip-hop and rap music are the sole purview of those of a particular skin color. ("Bosh!" say I, as I equally disparage and dismiss any and all adherents to any culture of hopelessness, despair, and anger... In fact, I am more a misanthrope, disliking most people generally, and only liking a very few at all).

And it annoys me that my cultural preferences would be deemed by some (mostly liberals) as "racist" or "bigoted" or "intolerant" and so forth.

Look: if you are smart, clean, funny, and a runner, I probably like you. Better yet if you are a smart-ass.

In fact, as I was thinking about my stance, I realized that I need to delete a link or two (specifically some interesting statistical reviews based on so-called "racial" lines; race really is irrelevant and should be disregarded from an "outcomes" perspective).

Harking back to my military days: the most important factor of all is whether my battle buddy is going to cover my ass and get me to a medic if my leg gets blown off. Really, that's it.

Can I trust this man?

That is all. Trust/Untrust. So, what factors influence the decision (or, more likely, the gut reaction)? That is what I am trying to find out.

[ed. note: after harping on about how race is irrelevant, I was reminded how I scored on Harvard's Implicit Association Test of unconscious biases. To the chagrin of certain of my liberal acquaintances, my first time out of the box, I scored a big fat ZERO on this unbeatable, unfakeable test of unconscious biases. As a control, I took some other IATs and, unsurprisingly, I suffer a "moderate" bias against fat folk (duh!) and a slight automatic preference for young versus old.]

[ed. note the second: Reveal your "self-deception," "test yourself for hidden biases," a.k.a., THOUGHTCRIME!

More Laziness

2007-07-23T09:27:00.000-05:00

Good article on how to overcome concerns regarding the cost of starting a family.

My rant on some folks' criticisms of the article (said criticisms being of the "How nice for you" variety--ho hum...).

Wicked Busy

2007-07-19T08:02:00.000-05:00

Sorry: I am, as they say in local parlance, wicked busy! But given the current state of air travel, I was unsurprised to have an, uh, opportunity to read Boston's local paper from front to back.

The Boston Glob seems to have gone (even further) downhill since its purchase by that epitome of evil empires, The New York Times ("All the News that Fits Our Agenda"). In but its most recent egregiousness, their magazine printed an article (the latest installment of the NYT's long-term assault on marriage) that I just couldn't leave alone. My latest rant there is here

As an aside, I am trying to decide on a snappy distinction between Liberals and Conservatives (ed. note: as distinct from Democrats and Republicans, given that, in this country, the politicians are more or less indistinguishable, once you get beyond dollars allocated to pet projects. G-d I sound like a crank...). So far, it seems to me that:

Conservatives assume that everyone is, indeed, created equal and, hence, smart enough to exercise individual judgment, rights, and choices; accepting, of course, the requisite responsibilities and consequences.
Liberals assume that everyone (everyone else, that is) is a dumb-ass, needs to be protected, and instructed as to what is good for them.

Not very snappy, I know. But fairly accurate, I think.

Conservatives believe the Constitution applies to everyone; Liberals believe it applies to everyone else.

I dunno; help me out here.

Test

2007-07-18T10:15:00.001-05:00

In On the Joke

2007-07-17T17:17:00.000-05:00

It has come to Management's attention that at least one of my two readers (a 100% improvement, I might add) is not IN ON THE JOKE.

a·non·y·mous [uh-non-uh-muh s]
–adjective
1. Without any name acknowledged.
2. Lacking individuality or distinction.

bosh [bosh]
–noun
1. Absurd or foolish talk; nonsense.
2. Pretentious or empty talk or writing.
3. interj. Used to express disbelief or annoyance.

Anonymous bosh is a fairly pedestrian take on the famous Hieronymus Bosch, whose work has always atonished me, especially given that its modern feel and sensibility dates dates from the Middle Ages.

Quickest Post

2007-07-16T07:36:00.000-05:00

Why do I run? Same reasons that the stock market runs: Greed and Fear. Greed compels one to maximize what one has; Fear moves one to outstrip the Reaper, or at least to try.

See my new additions in the "Links of Interest" section. Have I mentioned that Lydiard went and died a week before I was to hear him speak? Selfish bastard.

Quicker Post: Six Figure Salaries

2007-07-15T09:13:00.000-05:00

I am not sure whether this Six Figure Salaries thread is humbling or inspirational.

Basically, it gives anecdotes of folks earning far in excess of $100k/annum with sometimes little more than pluck and drive.

No wonder I forever feel "behind"; I have calculated that I will not rest easy until I have roughly $1 million in the retirement fund + undergrad/grad for the children + some number of rental-property income streams. Not there yet, in case you were wondering.

Never fear: I am grateful for what I have; nevertheless, I remain mildly uncomfortable that, somehow, I have not fully capitalized on my skills/talents/education. One of my goals is to reduce risk-aversion in my children, such that they may experiment a bit more with seeking self-sustaining (both monetarily and "spiritually," for lack of a better word) pursuits.

Who wants to be a millionaire? A.K.A., how's my driving?

[Last aside: somewhere in my teens, my father had a line on four private parking lots in a metropolitan area. He wanted to know whether I was interested in owning/managing them, which I wasn't. What a fool!

Note to self: do not ask children what is best for them, simply direct 'em to what is best; consider it yet another duty as a father.]

Quick Note Re: Fiat Currency

2007-07-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

Gold bugs (i.e., those in favor of returning to a "gold standard,") historically have annoyed me to no end. The idea that expending capital to dig an element out of the dirt, clean it up, then dig another hole in which to bury the stuff (and hire a security staff to protect it) and then call that "money" has always seemed absurd. "Money" is whatever humans claim can store value: wampum, uncashed checks (e.g., currency in certain parts of Alaska), gold, and, yes, fiat currency (i.e., steadily inflating paper currency). But my goal today is not to rehash my own diatribes against such folk (who have claimed for decades that we are all on the brink of collapse; listen up, buds: post collapse, my shotgun shells will be worth far more than your gold ingots!).

I signed up for obopay ($10 bonus in prepaid MC form) today, which now sits alongside my PayPal and ING accounts (i.e., fully electronic, paperless currency). I have no doubt that the reader of this blog is familiar with PayPal--it's common currency on e.g., eBay. obopay is similar, but for cell phones, that is, one can send and receive currency electronically, immediately. Want to buy that neat thing-o? Point your phone at it and press a button (more or less).

And goldbugs are worried about PAPER curreny? Sheesh. Talk about maximizing "dollar velocity" (G--gle it yourself, lazybones: I'm too busy to link EVERYTHING today!).

This may hook up with my other pet theory: that dollar velocity is so high that perhaps we have seen consumer-related mini-recessions; they've just been so quick we haven't noticed.

Various segments of the economy are driving at vastly different speeds, currently. You want to have a surge in Iraq? That'll cost you six months. You want get Tasty Bite lunches at your office? (Use promo code "WL20" for a 20% discount, btw.) Even with the free shipping it is delivered the next freakin' day. You want to understand the iPhone? It was deconstructed before you ever got yours. There's a Bandolier of Carrots over at W00T! you say? It sold out before you could even refresh your screen.

So, maybe the subprime market has already recovered, absorbing the losses and redistributing the risks before the consumer could even remember to refinance the HELOC. Maybe the coming dissolution of GM won't be as bad as we assume (save, of course, for Roger Moore's disgruntled peeps). Maybe the de-equitization of law firm partners will be good at the macro level (despite what it does for stress levels and heart disease of us working stiffs).

Jumbled post and lots of thoughts that, as usual, lack clarity, definition, and destination. Sorry. Feel free to rewrite my thoughts as you see fit.

No One Gets Out Alive

2007-07-13T14:25:00.000-05:00

"This made me really think about how inconsequential running is," [Salazar] said. "I could be gone right now, and what would it have mattered? What was my life of 48 years all about?"

Alberto Salazar, winner of three consecutive New York Marathons in the early 1980s—as well as the infamous "Duel in the Sun" with Dick Beardsley—was felled by a heart attack on Saturday, June 30.

He had attributed neck pain the day before to "sleeping funny" on the plane; difficulty breathing he had pinned on a malfunctioning asthma inhaler; dizziness, to a bug. Then he dropped dead. Only quick action by some bystanders (to include the runners Salazar was coaching that day) gave him a second chance.

Mortality a fact about which boys think naught, but with which a man is confronted at various times in his life. If he is lucky, he learns some lessons each instance, thus staving off grim Charon for a bit longer. Crossing paths with Death is not a matter of If, but when. Salazar got a second chance; I can only hope to be so favored in my next brush with Eternity.

Y o u ?

No Surprises HERE:

2007-07-11T20:03:00.000-05:00

You scored as Agnostic, Agnostics consider the possibility that they may be wrong about God's existence, no matter which side of the fence they stand on. Always willing to objectively evaluate the most ridiculous proof, nevertheless, these guys are skeptics to the Nth degree.

Spiritual Atheist

58%

Agnostic

58%

Apathetic Atheist

50%

Scientific Atheist

50%

Angry Atheist

25%

Theist

25%

Militant Atheist

17%

What kind of atheist are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

One of My Heroes: Martin Demaine

2007-07-10T12:22:00.000-05:00

Martin Demaine, Erik's dad:
[Erik] left school at seven, spending the next 5 years on the road with his dad because it seemed like a fun thing to do. His father, Martin, was a craftsman, making it easy to travel and sell stuff at craft fairs. To him it was a very free-form existence. Their movements weren’t guided by anything more specific than “That seems like an interesting place to go.”

Martin Demaine is now artist-in-residence in the electrical engineering department at MIT and an instructor in the glass lab, making puzzles for glass blowers.

His son, Erik, was the youngest-ever professor at MIT (one speculates whether the "deal" included Dad).

In any case, talk about a committed father, one who takes home schooling to a whole new level.

Do I have that level of commitment and understanding where my children are concerned?

More on Erik (by the way, internet items DO expire, Langolier-like, as the disappearance of this original article I first read back in 2002 shows):

Erik Demaine quit school at the age of 7.

If you had run into him a dozen years ago, it might have been in a bus station somewhere between Halifax, Nova Scotia and Miami Beach, on the road with his father, a silversmith and glassblower whose only degree was from Medford High School. And yet, there he was on Friday, lecturing a roomful of scientists on his obscure specialty: computational origami. Demaine, at 20, arrived in the fall at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with the rank of assistant professor - one of the youngest the university has ever hired.

But the thing that is truly unusual about Demaine is the story of the path he took to get there - and of his father, Martin Demaine, who has devoted much of his adult life to educating Erik in a decidedly unorthodox way. Raised among hippies and jugglers and free thinkers, Erik Demaine has found himself at the center of a field where abstract math somehow intersects with street performance. That he is a prodigy is not even a question, say people who have worked with him; the question is what will amuse him.

But eight years ago, when the father and son walked into the computer science department of Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, they seemed to have emerged from nowhere. ''His dad and he walked into our department and just said he wants to join the university,'' said Sampalli Srinivas, an associate professor. Administrators looked at them like they were crazy.

Erik was 12 years old, he had no board scores, and no high school diploma. But they allowed Erik to take advanced courses in abstract algebra and programming languages. The result was clear by the end of the term: ''He aced every single course,'' Srinivas said. ''I recognized him as one of the brightest students I had.''

Over the next few years, a growing number of Canadian academics heard the story of Erik's migratory education. It was a project that kept father and son on the road for five years, eating $1 meals in rented rooms, and strolling into prestigious universities to talk to professors.

Showing Off?

2007-07-05T11:55:00.001-05:00

Was the 4C B.C.E. Greek sculptor of this veiled woman just showing off? Probably...

And why? Hmm?

I am getting around to posting some thoughts regarding Pandora; nothing new, apparently. In the meantime and for your amusement or amazement: More

Collective Wisdom

2007-07-03T07:57:00.000-05:00

Some folks theorize that there is wisdom in the collective. In the financial world, we call this "consensus." Consensus is often a price, the nexus of the highs, lows, buys, sells, and various extremes. Consensus is often none too far from the truth.

Dear reader (I think it still too early to employ the plural), if you desire a glimpse into one man's head, then follow a crowd of thoughts. Following is a common question, with a variety of responses and proposed courses of action, from adolescent to well-measured, from action-oriented to contemplative. The interplay of voices may as well be the very voices inside the head of he who posed the question.

The question? Should dotato contact his old girlfriend?

Wine Club Review

2007-07-01T13:43:00.000-05:00

What was once here in now here.

I plan to review those wine clubs that I use, whether they are discount wine clubs, premium wine clubs, or what have you.

Wine Clubs in my repetoire now include (in descending order of preference):
Wines Til Sold Out (http://www.winestilsoldout.com/) Great values, ever changing
My Wines Direct (http://mywinesdirect.com/) ; good wines at great prices (Grab coupons/discounts at http://www.ebates.com/)
Wine Library
Wine Woot! (http://wine.woot.com/) good stuff, but only one deal a week

I still think Four Seasons Wine Club (http://www.4seasonswine.com/) was worth my while, if at least to get a starter kit, some neat chatchkes, to acclimatize myself to actually spending some benjamins, and to find out what I don't like... Great marketing materials, though.
Wine Insiders (http://www.wineinsiders.com/) I have given up on them--lousy wine, so-so prices, slow delivery. Did I mention lousy wine?

Still waiting for an opportune moment to give Wine Monger (http://www.winemonger.com/) a try. Also, The Wine Buyer (http://www.thewinebuyer.com/); same deal.

Now I have gotten into the wine tasting scene; no, I do not bring my own wine glasses! I *especially* enjoy those shoppes that offer an instant discount on wines bought at the tasting (ALL shops should do that, in my opinion). 20% seems a nice round number.

4seasons wine club review: better clubs in the long run (or even your local shoppe's bargain bin).
Wine Insiders wine club review: bleh.

We did not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrowed it from our children.

2007-06-29T15:23:00.000-05:00

Rudolf Steiner's philosophy, while attractive (well, except for, you know, his purported ties to Nazism and all...), has been supplanted by my respect for that of Maria Montessori.

That said, I do fantasize about certain modes of living.

Random widget -- check it!

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Edit: the widget above was for some momentary amusement: as is usually the case, the choices proffered do not line up with my interpretations of them. A common limitation to this sort of human reduction is a limited imagination. I note that "warfighting" (or some facsimile) was not one of the options...

On a related topic is one of the questions I have been meaning to explore: how does someone who would be perfectly happy as a member of the warrior class remain engaged in the day-to-day world of business?

There Is No Love

2007-06-27T15:40:00.000-05:00

Il n'y pas d'amour, il n'y a que des preuves d'amour.

There is no Love, only proof of Love.

- Jean Cocteau

Ladies: if'n yer gent ain't a provin' his love, well, the honeymoon's over...

Does he still run out in the rain to open an umbrella above your head? If you wait by the car door, does he spring forth to open it?

Gentlemen: make proof of Love an everyday occurrence, and by simple force of habit the bond will be formed, able to weather inevitable droughts and clouds of locusts. Every day you neglect the proof is three days to get back to where you were. Do the math.

Marriage, while beneficial to both parties, is particularly beneficial to the man: health, wealth, and happiness flow as a byproduct of marriage maintenance. Do your part, secure your future--and that of your progeny. Appy Adam Smith: attend to your wife for your own selfish reasons and, by gum, the whole marital organization and economy will benefit.

Remember, men: There is no such thing as Love, only proof of Love.

Random Rant -- Iraq: Still A Good Idea?

2007-06-27T08:51:00.000-05:00

Somebody asked me recently whether I still thought invading Iraq was a good idea.

First: I never thought it was a "good" idea or, more accurately, I thought it a good idea if we were in it to win. My response was going to go something like:

Invading Iraq: good idea, bad execution (and WMDs were not a crock; indeed, finding stuff in the desert is no small task. But, for the sake of argument, let us say that our intel was wrong: which is worse, being proved wrong about the EXISTENCE of WMDs, or their ABSENCE?).

My sense is that the US no longer has the stomach to win a war--the socialist/pacifist/marxist movement has really succeeded in sapping our country, our schools, our spirit. For example, we went to great lengths to secularize our stance (remember W's back-pedaling on the word "crusade?"), when we should instead have "hit 'em where it hurts."

Personally, I would have published a rank order of important (read: holy) sites and, Israel-like, worked my way up the list toward Mecca, varying the damage between destruction and utter destruction (that's a Classics joke for you biblical scholar out there; you know, the diff between the Greek pollumi and apollumi... ah, forget it...).

Here: I found one of my relatively impassioned notes from early in (cue scary music) THE WAR ON TERRORISM; let's see how things have held up, shall we? This, from a personal note to a friend, in 2003:

When discussing the current state of affairs, I often refer to an image of you, circa [some time in the '80s] post fall of the Berlin Wall, putting your two fists together, knuckles to knuckles, and explaining that the two superpowers had brought a certain, if uneasy, stability to the world, and that the post Soviet Union world would degenerate to pre-WWI balkanization.

Voila, et nous ici.

From my knee-jerk, extreme-right viewpoint, the US is under attack. Thousands have been killed. That the enemy is not circumscribed by some geographical construct should be of no concern. (For a prophetic take on this I refer you to the 5-minutes-from-now Neal Stephenson novel Snow Crash.) The President is obligated to protect this nation ("nation" as concept); that his own people have been so coddled (or addled) by peace that they would rather bleat statements pro Iraq (choosing a man who has used mustard gas on his own people over the leader of one of the freest countries the earth has yet known) causes me physical distress. The communists (remember communists?) thought that the only thing keeping communism from succeeding was those pesky capitalists, and if those capitalists would all just disappear (or be disappeared), then life would be good.

Isn't life in North Korea good?

That islam, in addition to being a pernicious political system, also happens to be a "religion" (something we are required to "respect"), means little to me. That islam's adherents feel the need to transfer blame for their failed politico-social system (I mean, why else would G-d visit utter poverty and disarray on his chosen people--and wealth on the infidel--unless that infidel were in league with the devil and must needs therefore be destroyed?) and are therefore "victims" and not to be blamed is also of little import to me.

This. Is. War.

We did not choose it, we did not start it, but we had better finish it. If we want our daughters to walk freely and without fear again in these United States, then we'd better be willing to spend a few years in some very ugly times and supporting some very ugly policies. France be damned.

I leave you now with a few words from A Few Good Men, with which I have no doubt you are already familiar:

Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee I think I'm entitled to them.
Jessep: You want answers?
Kaffee: I want the truth!
Jessep: You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!
Kaffee: Did you order the code red?
Jessep: (quietly) I did the job you sent me to do.
Kaffee: Did you order the code red?
Jessep: You're goddamn right I did!!

Looking for a Few Good Men

2007-06-25T11:28:00.000-05:00

No less an authority than the Wall Street Journal, in its 22 June 2007 De Gustibus column "Looking for a Few Good Men" (which posits that gender differences may help explain the differential in male/female volunteer rates, in this case with regard to Big Brothers, Big Sisters) reports:

Steven Rhoads, author of Taking Sex Differences Seriously, agrees with Prof. Putnam that women are much more social. But he focuses more on what he views as innate differences between the sexes. Men, he argues, are "fundamentally more selfish." Unlike women, "they're simply less interested in people. And they're less empathetic." According to Mr. Rhoads, the trick to getting them to volunteer lies in appealing to men's egos, even their sense of duty and heroism. "Men need to be needed," he tells me. "Make it clear: We need you and this is really important."

Fundamentally more selfish. Less interested in people. Less empathetic. Need to be needed. Respond to ego appeals.

Yup, yup: sounds about right.

Kurt's and My Bucking Bronco

2007-06-22T07:47:00.001-05:00

I've tried not to think about Kurt Vonnegut's death; I still haven't decided just how great a writer he was. Slaughterhouse-Five accretes increasing significance as I age.

I never met Mr. Vonnegut (although, weirdly, I met his brother, and under interesting circumstances and at an important time), and I cannot find the quote, but I believe he spoke of male puberty--when he was 70 or so--as something like "getting up onto a bucking bronco around age 12, and only just recently being allowed to get down off the damn thing, and with relief."

Somewhen in my early twenties, I asked my father, "Dad, does it ever end?" He knew what I was talking about. "No, not yet." I asked him again ten years later--admittedly after his stroke, his ex-patriation, his heart attacks--and he did not know what I was talking about. That said, even under his burdens, it turns out that he had a girlfriend (or at least a woman that wanted to be his girlfriend).

On my run this morning, I was thinking about how much to reveal--for business reasons, I do not think I will explain the extent of the handicap under which men operate, how often their minds stray toward the physical, how each interaction is assessed for its potential, even when the potential is, in reality, zero (which is irrelevant, given men's talent for compartmentalization--for good and ill--and their ability to simultaneously consider what I might as well term 'alternate universes,' i.e., situational outcomes "under other conditions").

'Nuff said. I like my job.

P.S. Went looking for the quote, found a MUCH more eloquent post regarding Vonnegut's death from Humble Viewer

The author reminded me that "Ray Bradbury will be next--he'll be 87 this August. And I'm not trying to jinx Bradbury--besides, that old Gothicist would probably be happy to see his mortality batted around like a shuttlecock. I'm simply watching the seconds tick on the deathclock of my youth."

Deathclock of my youth. Raises the hairs along my arm...

Dandelion Wine was a good one; thanks Ray.

I saw Mr. Bradbury direct a stage version of Something Wicked This Way Comes. I rode my little motorcycle over the mountains to see the show four or five times, including the pre-opening (with post-play discussion with Mr. Bradbury). The play knocked my socks off.

Boys in Crisis?

2007-06-20T08:31:00.001-05:00

It's come to this: beyond the de-masculinization of boys, now we have to have a conference on whether boys are in crisis...

Mixed feelings.

WSJ had a scary Op Ed piece yesterday on abortion. [ed. note: I am generally agnostic with regard to Roe v. Wade; while I personally find abortion abhorrent under most circumstances, other individuals are free to wrestle with their consciences or take it up with their Creator or What Powers That Be; abortion is killing, but the world justifies killing under many scenarios... We must each live with our own decisions, and I am not your judge.] The WSJ piece links abortion to the current state of affairs, but most signficantly (I think) to the rise of single-parent households, the single most corrosive aspect acting on society today.

According to the WSJ, it seems that, once again, the realization of certain Marxist/Feminist aims had unintended consequences that ended up hurting more women (and children) than it helped. Males, knowing that any unintended offspring could simply be aborted, are free to say "hey, it's her CHOICE to keep the baby; I'm outta here!" So, men are free to deny their responsibilities under the rubric of FREEDOM OF CHOICE. Oi.

This ties in with the other factors undermining boys. Top-down analysis: boys are no longer required to mature into men (the Nintendo-in-the-basement option); bottom-up analysis: no father in the home = no fatherly role model. So, no man to say "Son, that Axe body spray is pretty quee-, uh, smelly"; "Son, at 10, you do not need three showers a day--go get dirty!" That is, no one to point out the absurdity of modern marketing and the queering of basic boyhood.

That there is a market for a book explaining how to SKIP STONES (and engage in other DANGEROUS activities) is a cryin' shame.

Indeed, while I am deeply proud and satisfied to be the progenitor of a gaggle of girls, the one aspect of regret I suffer in not having a boy is that some boy is bereft of a stable family unafraid of proper role modeling (whether you, dear reader, agree with my outlook or not, at least I have an opinion on the matter... Children thrive on black and white--grey is confusing--and they are free, later and upon analysis, to make up their own minds, n'est ce pas?)

---
One other random thought about being a man: the other day, a certain men's organization to which I belong held its annual end-of-season bash. While discussing my desire for an RV, one of the Fellows said he had a friend who was selling one. The next day I got a call--the Fellow from the dinner said "my buddy wanted to get about $10k for the camper, but seeing as you're a Fellow, he's willing to take $7k..."

"Seeing as you're a Fellow..."

[The above was only one example--and a fairly lame one--better examples flow to places you would likely disbelieve...]

You see, men take this stuff seriously.

My wife asks "why don't you allow women?" My reply is that "then we would feel silly--becaus it IS silly, but it is also deadly serious; women, being generally smarter and more sensible than men, would not take it...seriously."

Random anecdotal support: my girls LOVE Mythbusters. I have noticed that when the team are exploding something (or starting some process), there must be a countdown: "3...2...1...". The men take this VERY seriously (even when the countdown is essentially meaningless), always using the same cadence and tone. The women, recognizing the non-essential nature of the countdown (because lawyers, producers, and safety examiners are likely surrounding them, just off camera), apply to it a cavalier manner, just doing it because it must be done, not because (as it is for men) WITHOUT THIS COUNTDOWN THE WORLD MIGHT END.

Hey, I said it was random and anecdotal... but pay attention next time you are watching Mythbusters.

Where was I going with this? Oh, the need for men to GROW UP, accept the yoke of responsibility (really, it's okay, you'll learn to love it), and teach your children well.

Sum-mer, We're All To-Gether

2007-06-18T12:05:00.000-05:00

This post, from a year ago, still gets me misty eyed: Camp Q

My children are being prepped to attend "away camp." Big bucks, but the investment is well worth it. Not that we are real "helicopter parents," but it is useful for children to be out on their own (with appropriate, other-than-mama supervision).

If I could put together money enough quickly enough, retiring to the life a full-on seasonal camp counselor would be high on my list of lifestyles... I would consider a high-school math teacher, but I am unimpressed with other people's children (one assumes that those willing to send their children away to camp for the summer might share at least SOME of my self-sufficient outlook...).

On a related subject (and related, I suppose, to Father's Day as well), let us acknowledge and accept: Different Parenting Styles

What is a Man?

2007-06-15T09:39:00.000-05:00

If you don't know about this case--if you do not understand how the attempted legal frame up of three Duke Lacrosse players on rape charges strikes to the deepest core of race/class/victimhood/entitlement and the end of Western Civilization as we know it, well, you'd better educate yourself:
Reade's video testimony

History, analysis, and commentary on the case can be found at: Durham in Wonderland

Anonymous Bosh said...
RE: Manning up and controlling the tears.

I used to be a tough SOB, loved my career in the military, hunted for pleasure, poor as dirt (but no longer).

I have posted maybe twice on this case (and I have been following since the very beginning). Lemme tell you something:

I had to close my office door during testimony so my freakin' subordinates do not see my crying.

This whole g-dd-mn case strikes to the heart of being a man, of the danger we face in a time when roles are changing, when "classism" and victimhood trump individual effort and initiative.

Among nightmares for a man, being attacked by a woman (and then by "the authorities") ranks right up there. When a woman strikes you, you can't strike back; hell, you can't even explain yourself without looking foolish.

Why did Reade cry? Because the whole thing is absurd, overwhelming, and damn frightening. You will note he did NOT cry when confronted with the New Black Panthers--fear does not make us cry. Emotions become overwhelming when you force a man to ADMIT and EXPLAIN his fear (rather than confront it), to REVEAL his vulnerability, what we sometimes call "weakness"; THAT is what is just too much for the action-oriented, non-introspective, somewhat-less-sensitive half of the population.

Reade was attacked in a way that left him unable to respond. In re-telling the story, in sharing his helplessness (utter humiliation for a man--not just a male but a MAN), the only outlet--in the formal courtroom context--for the resulting psychic turmoil was through his freakin' tear ducts!

Mine too, g-dd-mnit.

Reade is more man than most of us can ever hope to be--and some males really resent that.

God bless you, Reade Seligmann.

[ed. note: where I wrote "Reade is more man than most of us can ever hope to be--and some males really resent that," I should have said "certain elements--males among them--really resent that." I was referring to, e.g., academic Feminism, socialism, marxism, entitlism, victimism, communism, and the general undermining of Life as we know it.]

"Blessed"

2007-06-15T07:49:00.000-05:00

First up: [cue caveat] I am not a religious guy (indeed, the church to which I belong is about one step removed from Unitarian-Universalism, the non-church church people...), but I am blessed (or whatever would be the Darwinian equivalent) nonetheless. To What Powers That Be: Thanks!

Tangent: that old chestnut regarding infinite monkeys + infinite typewrites x infinite time = the works of Shakespeare was bugging me on my run this morning. Point is, it has been proven. Once you allow for change (and Darwin), monkeys + time indeed DOES = Shakespeare. Proof? Uh, we have his works. That is, we monkeys evolved (if you believe in that sort of thing) enough for one of us to produce (admittedly, sans typewriter) Romeo + Juliet.

Tanget the Second: speaking of running--these days I am up to about 60+ miles per week, not even enough to start Pfitzinger's marathon training (recommended minimum of 70 mpw). Sheesh. Lemme tell you something: 60 mpw takes a LOT of time (and effort). While I am sufficiently blessed (see point the first) to, if I wanted, have enough flexibility to go up to 100 mpw (hey, sleep is over-rated, really), I am not sure that I am really that committed. To those of you mortgage-carrying, children-rearing, family-loving folk pushing upwards of 60+ mpw (or below 2:50 for a marathon) I say: bravo!

Main post: I was laughing a bit today at a quick memory. I was a geek in high school (popular among the "band rats," "TAG fags," and, believe it or not, certain elements of the "burnouts," and, absurdly, certain girls in classes ahead of me...). When I showed up for track sign-up in the tenth grade, the coach (my trig teacher), said "Can I help you?" I said, "I'm here to sign up for track." He looked around, then said, "You?" To his credit, he recovered and quickly added "That's great, great, really great. Okay then."

What I was laughing at though was the first day I wore my varsity jacket. All eligible athletes had earned their jackets the prior evening at an awards ceremony. In the morning, the hall was lined on either side with football players all proudly displaying their jackets. And I in mine.

I started down the hall, saying to the first locker-leaner, "Hey, nice jacket!" He shoved me completely across the hall, into a locker-leaner on the other side. As I righted myself, I winked at him, gave him my best Fonzie finger-point, and said, "Hey, nice jacket!" In this manner, I made my way down the entire length of the hall, being shoved from one football player to another, complimenting their jackets. Not one football player succeeded in knocking me down, or even, really, messing my hair.

Have I mentioned that I am blessed?

You are too.

Post-Nuptial Shutoff

2007-06-14T09:59:00.000-05:00

One of the longest, funniest, and saddest threads on Let's Run:
Post-Nuptial Shut-Off

And, gents, I am proud to report I had nothing to say, that is, Life need NOT be that way...

Have I mentioned how freakin' LUCKY I am?

I. am. DAMN. lucky!

Things I Did as a Boy (and Shudder to Recall)

2007-06-13T10:09:00.000-05:00

Got boys?

I believe myself, these days, to be a relatively upstanding fellow--never been arrested, always seen as a "good kid," fairly respectful of 'da man.' Let me tell you about my youth...

Age...9? My friends and I found some cars (probably '50s vintage). We liked the "diamonds" on the front seat (you know, shattered safety glass). We decided to make more. In the end, we had smashed all avaible glass... This theme returns, later.

Age...10? My friends and I spent the afternoon throwing rocks through the windows of a greenhouse (the old-fasioned kind, many-paned in wooden frames). I am horrified, now, by this memory.

Age...11? My friends and I found a whole parking lot of what seemed, to us, abandoned cars. Our response? More diamonds! LOTS more diamonds. Then for good measure we broke into (literally--we broke the door down) the adjoining garage. Stuff in there seemed a lot...newer. And, in retrospect, that backhoe we ransacked, maybe that wasn't as abandoned as we thought.

Age...11? My father caught me in my fort (under a trash heap), having just put out the fire I had been building. This turned out to be my final pyromaniacal exploit. You see, after the firedrips, the brush fire episode, the burn marks on my bedroom floor, the call from my friends' parents regarding the burn marks in their closet, and now, the trash heap, well, my father had had enough. For my own safety, he beat me with a stick. A big stick.

I never lit a fire again.

Which turned out to be a good thing, because my firebug friends were arrested the next week after having set an entire field on fire. (BTW, one of those friends is now a local newscaster in the MidWest; I wonder if he, too, is horrified by his boyhood vigor.)

My pals and I regularly broke into people's garages, barns, and other outbuildings, sometimes doing mischief (what we, today, call "vandalism"), sometimes not.

One of my friends recalls when he and his sister broke into someone's summer home and spent the afternoon gluing down all movable items: the phone, the dishes, canned goods, furniture. He shudders in the telling.

I have never, however, tipped a cow.

None of these acts were done maliciously per se (indeed, I would argue that "right" and "wrong" were as of yet a bit grey for me); all were done sober (indeed, alcohol and drugs have never played any part of my life or activities).

Believe it or not, there are other items that I simply cannot type (no harm to small animals, but difficult to relay nonetheless).

Sometimes, it is good to grow up.

Got boys?

My Daughter The Geek (I am SO proud!)

2007-06-11T14:34:00.000-05:00

My second-grader (who regularly reads WSJ articles out loud before dinner), sought out for her car-book (you know, the book to read in the car) "How to Think Like a Scientist."

My father did not want me to attend MIT (and I didn't); he wanted my socks to match (which they do, sometimes).

I think it is different for girls.

Why would I be happy were my daughter to attend MIT (yah, I know, gettin' way ahead of myself here--but tempus fugit, my friends)? Well, in addition to a top-notch education (and one that minimizes the chances of wasting time in, say, Sociology), I would argue that the men are gentler (smellier, to be sure, but gentler as well).

So, we segue now to my views of the world: boys are getting (even more) crass; girls, too. How do we reverse the trend? Engaging youth in pursuits other than music and popular "culture" might help. We are witnessing a tremendous bifurcation in society--forget "The Haves" and "Have Nots," forget race, we are seeing those who forego aspiration and those who aspire for...too much. Hyper-slacker vs. Hyper-Type-A (and resentment--and redistribution of wealth--are sure to ensue).

When I was a senior in high school, I spent much time discussing G-d and religion with some Apocalyptic Lutherans (as I called them...or sometimes "Apoplectic," whatever got more of a rise). They dressed plainly, were forbidden to dance or to listen to most genres of music, and got in trouble for talking to me (yes, it's true, they did). For them, Satan was in the radio, the TV, and, well, in me.

After years and years of contemplation, I think they were right.

Is it important that I am, at best, agnostic (at worst, atheistic, if "worst" is the correct direction...)? No. Mr. Satan need not be "real" to be real, i.e., to exert influence. Do I perceive Evil in radio, TV, the Intertubes, popular "culture," Paris Hilton? Damn straight I do! Redirectors of effort, tempters from the grindstone of success, attacker of physical safety, underminer of health. It's all there, it's all true. Satan is among us. Or whatever his secular humanist counterpart is.

Let's see: for G-d we have D-rwin; for Satan...um...Madonna? Heff? Hmmm...have to work on that one.

I no longer listen to popular music--my children can distinguish Sibelius from Copland (and delight in being able to identify composers when I cannot...). Oh, and they kick my ass in karate, too (the youngest already knows a few moves), so don't get on me about sports! Soccer, in my opinion, is bad for the knees (especially for growing girls), and my town has a way of recruiting top talent and then grinding them down into injuryland (another form of Satan...).

So, for those of you who come across this blog and want to respond "ur kidz r gonna be geekz!" or "poor babies" or "FREAK!" go right ahead--it's all right, it's okay; yours will work for mine someday!

As an aside--I had a chance to interview a very successful woman last week. She credited her parents' limiting (to the point of exclusion) exposure to television as one of the factors of her success (music lessons was another). I questioned her deeply regarding her mother's full-time status, whether that influenced her in a negative way (a common complaint of Feminists being that stay-at-home moms discourage long-term success in their daughters). On the contrary: she found her mother to be inspirational; further, she felt it important to reward her mother's struggle and sacrifice (her mother gave up a university career to stay at home for 18 years!) with success. Our interview was cut a bit short as she had to jet off for her youngest sister's graduation from law school.

As we say in Colorado: Face!

Coupla Articles (A & The?)

2007-06-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

For you runners: I rarely laugh out loud when reading, but some of you (most of you?) will likely identify with the followingp>

Everyone Poops

And this I add merely to cement my reputation as a right-wing conspiracy theorist (which I am not, more like a "confluence" theorist...):

1963 Communist Goals--largely achieved?

Karmic Spark

2007-06-06T09:05:00.001-05:00

Ah, I was afraid the spark had gone out...

I was assaulted on my way to the office today (yes, this pleases me in a perverse way). Littering really bothers me, so when I saw a couple drop their losing lottery tickets to the ground, I picked them up with a "lemme get that for ya; the trash is just up ahead." The guy went ballistic--chest to chest, in my face, his bad breath and spittle getting all over me. He explained all that he wanted to do to me, but when I invited him to make good on his offer he wasn't quite sure what to do. His lovely wife, with baby strapped to her chest, no less, dropped her cigarette in order to poke me in the chest demanding that I back of from her dear hubby (that part was a bit weird--clearly they were made for one another).

The guy then backed up, went to throw his $3.35 iced coffee at me, but Newton's laws being what they are, managed to get the bulk of it on his $100 Official MBA team shirt. Nice. As for me--I stand by my L.L.Bean "stain resistant" slacks--the coffee that made it to my leg beaded up and rolled off (although my socks got wet).

After their departure (never a cop when you need one), the skittish crowd that had, apparently, been cowering behind mailboxes and street lamps tsk-tsked the couple's behavior, touching my hand about how "you were right to do that," etc. Where was my back-up when under attack, I ask you? (Reminds me of the time in high school when, confronted by a few football players and refusing to back down, my band buddies--complete with heavy instruments--neatly dissolved; thanks, buds.)

The guy would've wiped the pavement with me, but no matter. Littering--especially blatant, mindless littering--really bugs me.

My Money Blog

2007-06-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

I love this guy: My Money Blog.

"Tricked a girl into marrying me in 2004 and combined all finances."

Heh.

Marrying up is a surefire way to turbocharge your investment savings; I recommend it!

Some more neat-o blog posts:
Choices
Strapped
Don't Be a Victim

Two Articles, Opposite Ends of the Spectrum

2007-06-04T16:26:00.000-05:00

Post now; comment later.

Forces of Good

Forces of Evil