Saturday, September 26, 2020

Keeping "the sabbath"

One thing I struggle with is not working, carving out time for myself. There are so many things to do pushing in on me from all sides all the time: work, non-profit commitments, family, reading, home maintenance. Hell, even my blog, to which I feel a certain responsibility.

Saturdays I try to keep clean, for the most part. This morning, literally at 9:30, just when my AA meeting was coming to an end, I heard my laptop chime twice, letting me know two emails had come in. One was from a prospect, coming in over the horn from the one instance in which I've ever bought leads, another from a client, someone I have known for many years and love dearly. I will read his email shortly and probably respond, because he is a special situation.

But in some sense it is all special situations, because all situations are special and unique in their own way, even though they must have enough in common for me to be able to add value when I respond to them. I have to have the discipline to triage and respond only when I have adequate energy and focus to do so well. 

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Storytelling now

In the course of calling around to talk to friends from throughout my life about my upcoming fundraiser for Josh Stein on Tuesday, October 6 at 7 pm (if you haven't signed up, here's the link), I got into a conversation about community and storytelling in the post-COVID world. He works in cultural production -- theater, dance, film, whatnot -- so he thinks about this stuff more than I do.

The next day I was reading in one of the many issues of Bloomberg Businessweek that pile up unread on the island in our kitchen an article about how Bollywood is dramatically changing how movies are made in India, how the big dance numbers at weddings and in streets are out and how small scenes are in, just because of constraints on production. No surprise, the production of new content is constrained everywhere by the logistics of production, which is hard on the producers and sort of hard on consumers too to the extent that we are locked in to our habitual viewing patterns and starved for diversion.

But for newly produced filmed and even staged content, the reduction in the number of people on stage may have a profound effect on the content itself: more people are alone and in small groups, therefore the focus and the themes must get smaller and focus more on the individual and her/his relationship to the whole. We are in a new age of chamber content. Just as Ian Watt, in his classic The Rise of the Novel, catalogs how the rise of broader literacy and broad distribution of printed content including via serialized publication of novels gives rise to a new type of bourgeois subject, a person who views herself as discrete and independent in the world and identified with others (the narrators of novels) across space and time.

Something similar could happen to people's received perception of subjectivity as the type of content being produced and consumed changes.

Of course there is the countervailing force of the ecstatic merging of subjectivities through the endless imitation and repetition encouraged by TikTok, SnapChat etc., as well as the crushing force of peer pressure imposed by Facebook and Instagram.

And then there is the lonely blogger, like the Japanese soldier hiding out on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific, still fighting the second World War.

Saturday, September 19, 2020

Keeping it going

Throughout lockdown, I've seen lots of posts about how people have been going through basements, attics, closets, whatnots, and cleaning things out. We haven't done a lot of it through the warm season.

But maybe as the days grow shorter it will be a good thing for us to do. I was talking to Mary the other day about how she wants more storage space in her studio, but how she needs a place to put the vacuum cleaner, blah blah blah. You don't need to hear all the details, but I started having some ideas about how we could clean up over here, maybe add some of the built ins that we deferred when we did our renovation a decade or so over there... and so on. It would be a natural tie in to doing some other things upstairs that I'd like to do and would be good for our relationship, so why not?

There's also the issue of the bikes in the basement that we don't use. I hear on the street that there is a shortage of bikes out there in the world, and that there are places in both Chapel Hill and Durham that will take old bikes and fix them up and give them away or sell them at minimal cost to someone who can use them. And then there's all this old computer stuff that I could take to Larry Herst over at Triangle Ecycling.  It's always nice to stop in over there.

In short, there's lots of stuff to do.

The other night I was out with friends and one of them started to lament the arrival of the shorter, colder days of fall and winter. I get that. I exhorted her to not get dragged down by it beforehand, but just keep rolling for now. I think the real problem is one of underemployment and underengagement. Her restaurant is closed and I'm not sure she is firing on all cylinders. She is a natural hostess, she loves bringing people together for parties, and it's hard to do that now. But not impossible. I will call her.

When I'm free. For now, it's time to get ready for tennis.

Thursday, September 17, 2020

Exterminating Angel 2.020

The other day I set to thinking, and it occurred to me that the political impasse in which the United States finds itself, namely, that the two sides can't talk to one another, might be likened to Bunuel's 1962 film Angel Exterminador, which I had always thought had been made in 1939, I guess because it's black and white.

In the film, a bunch of rich Madrilenos go to a dinner party in a mansion, then at the end of the evening don't leave. Instead, they lie down and sleep where they are. Over days they eat and drink all the food in the house, as the situation devolves into chaos. People die. Others commit suicide. They break into the house's walls to find water, burn furniture, etc. At one point in time, they realize that they are seated in the same place where they were when it all started, and everybody gets up and walks out.

Our divide has been escalating over time in a similar way. Because of elections and the Overton window and deep tribal loyalties, it's difficult for leaders to admit in public that anything the other side says makes any sense, because to do so would be perceived as weakness. Each side must be tarred with the worst excesses of its extremists. To lean Republican makes you responsible for running people over on the streets of Charlottesville. All Democrats burn police stations and loot small businesses willy nilly. And so on. It is silly and ultimately destructive. People know it and talk about it amongst themselves quietly, but of course only when huddling with one's own. At some point in time someone has to stand up and exit.




Monday, September 14, 2020

Gear and Process

As my volume of tennis and biking has risen, I have become ever more a gearhead, something I've resisted through the years. I have been pushing my body harder, so it needs more support to keep rising to the task. Things I've upgraded or need to include: wristbands, socks, shirts, shorts, shoes, helmet, beverages, snacks, racket grip, and so on. There are more things I can do. Much of this is to alleviate and/or manage against the risk of physical pain, acute injury, or cramping, or to facilitate faster recovery.

There is a similar transition in my work. As the size of my business has risen, I need to continually get better at time management so as to not have my time and energy sucked down into stupid little chores like manually entering stuff into systems, doing simple analysis, tracking down records of conversations across multiple platforms (email, text, notebooks, CRM, spreadsheets). If I maintain a more or less standard process, I can do more. More importantly, it frees me up to focus on higher-value add tasks like staying abreast of what's going on in the various worlds (markets, tax, insurance, estate planning, etc) by reading and talking to counterparts, and then talking to clients and prospects about things that will benefit them.

What we need in the business is a new employee who can take on both doing and improving how we do some of the lower-level stuff so I can focus more on the higher. Working on it.  

Sunday, September 13, 2020

Routine and variation

Somehow last year at a dinner around Thanksgiving, the topic of routine came up, and Leslie asked me about my routines. As I listed them out, I was astounded at the degree to which my life was run through routines.

On weekdays I do certain things, in rather rigid and predictable order, on weekends the same. I won't bore you with all of the detail. What I will say is that it all provides a tremendous degree of comfort and stability to my life.

Sometimes it ossifies into a rigidity that can stifle thought and creativity, which is where variety comes in, which I think of as providing "oxygen" to one's life. When I worked with software developers, I seem to recall the notion of a "perturbation element" flowing into discussions, which I imagine is kind of similar. In the normal flow of my life, I get the variation, or oxygen, that I need from travel and from events that happen outside of my routine: social events, business events, etc, which bring new people and experiences into my sphere. Plus new restaurants, books, musicians, soccer players, etc., rising and falling as they do. I get enough variation to keep it real.

Just now, in the middle of the pandemic, it's getting a little harder. Very little travel, restaurants are closing more than they are opening. The outside world is producing less fresh content. But it's not that bad. I have a huge backlog of unread books, am learning new songs and techniques on guitar. And there are new athletes, including Billy Gilmour of Chelsea and Jennifer Brady, who just lost in the semis of the US Open but is flat out fierce. And we are digging back into the archives. Last night as a family we started Hitchcock's Dial M for Murder. Not his best work, but still it's good to get Graham checking out the classics.

I am not, however, looking forward to the fall and winter, mostly because the shortening of the days cannot be offset by the ramp up in social activity that we normally see this time of year. But we'll get through it.

Saturday, September 12, 2020

History repeats itself

After a very disappointing rain out, Thursday morning found me and Z back out on the court. I jumped out to a quick 4-0 lead, then he came back and beat me 7-6 (7-5). A chance glance at my post from August 26 shows that more or less the exact same thing happened then.  

This time there was a distinct moment after I was up 4-0 and was about to serve. I had this adrenaline surge and I thought to myself that I had to allow myself to beat him and to be better than him. I have always had an odd relationship with competition. I am, on the one hand, competitive as fuck. But I don't care that much about winning, which puts me at a distinct disadvantage when competing with people who really do.

It must go back to childhood, when I was a much worse athlete and didn't win much. I must have convinced myself that losing was OK (and it kind of is) and got this idea that I was worse than the other guys baked into my brain. Which was fine, because, after all, I was clearly intellectually superior to them, except maybe Konanc, but there was never any conflict between us. Praise the Lord, because he would have kicked my ass.

Then there's also just wanting to not have an imbalance with friends. When David and I were playing a lot of tennis in Princeton back in the late aughts, we would swing back and forth from day to day, and there was a clear benefit to our friendship to maintaining equilibrium, which disincented each of us from progressing too much.

Josh, Crabill and I were hanging out the other day talking about stuff and I mentioned my ongoing tennis war with Z and Robert wistfully mentioned that he didn't have much competition in his life just then, and kind of missed it. One thing is clear, both Z and I and raising our games and getting fitter. I have in fact been beating him more, I am just too polite to write much about the wins.

Monday, September 07, 2020

A world of work

Much hand-wringing continues to be done about the future of work in a world in which more and more tasks and roles are automated, and it is not all bullshit. There are sound arguments around universal basic income flowing out from them.

Then again, there is much in them that is fluff, because people need to feel a sense of purpose, which means they need to feel that the things they do between lifting their head from their pillow (should they be so fortunate as to have one) and laying it back down to sleep at night are aligned with some greater mission. Or, at least, that's how things work best.

This sense of purpose, then, is the ultimate requirement for work, not the production of economic value, which is instead an ancillary function which flows from the former. And, as I have written before, there's a lot of stuff that needs doing on this planet.

One key intermediate challenge is matching supply (of labor) and demand (for the same), which is what markets are supposed to be so good at. But it is so hard to bend our brains around the possibility of change that people get all caught up in maintaining the status quo and preserving the jobs we see people doing today. The cashiers, the truck drivers, the factory workers, what will they do when their jobs are automated? Oh no. And what's worse, the radiologists, the sportswriters, the entry-level lawyers, what about them?

Here's an idea: we'll figure it out. We just need to stay aligned in our goals, the things we believe in, the things we want. Which is -- as I have said before -- a problem of a deficit of leadership. And I don't just mean the Trumps and the Phil Bergers, it's all of our fault if we go running after the swankest SUV or the most lavish outdoor grill instead of focusing on more important things. We ourselves lead poorly.

One over-riding narrative around the disappearance of work is that everything will be automated, therefore everybody needs to be a programmer -- but however could a burger-flipper or truck driver become a programmer or entrepreneur? Easy. They just need to be educated, to have adequate support, incentive and encouragement to do so. Public schools won't do it all, but they are an important place to start. The gig economy, for all of the meanness inherent in its regulatory arbitraging of the employee/independent contractor distinction, nudges people towards getting out on their own and trying things, and thereby helps them build new muscles. The main thing is, people can learn things. There are no inherently stupid or incapable people, just a system that tells them that they are that, that they are useless, and demoralizes them.

Lordy lordy, give the boy a keyboard and he can ramble. This all started from my reading a daunting survey of the role of viruses in evolution and biology in The Economist, in which a proposed $4 billion 10-year Global Virome project was mentioned, and I got to thinking about all the different types of jobs that could come out of that, and how they're not all for PhDs, but there are a variety of different roles in labs, in infrastructure maintenance (HVAC for lab buildings, for one thing) that are necessary to support it. How different people can staff those roles and learn things incrementally over the course of their lives and convey their learnings to their kids.... The world is infinitely complex, there is so much work to do, we just need for more of it to point in the right direction, which means finding a way to build and maintain consensus about what that is. 

Sunday, September 06, 2020

A book

A friend of mine recently suggested that I turn my blog into a book. I thought about his suggestion some more while out riding yesterday in Chatham County (36 miles, at about 12 mph on average -- in answer to your query, Z). I started thinking in terms of how I could break it down into chapters on finance, health -- physical and mental, blah blah blah blah blah. And how it all interrelates as a whole. My whole philosophy of life!

It could be... fascinating. Or, it could be the most pompous and unbearable piece of shit ever. Mansplaining the universe at scale. We'll have to see if it happens. Right now I need to go change the sheets on the bed and then take a buzzer to my head, then I've got to try to track down some Soda Stream CO2 cartridges (apparently they are in short supply, which might force me to go to the store to buy bottles of seltzer, gasp!). Many other chores to do, plus reading, swimming, phone calls, perhaps a nap.

Do I have time for a book?

Saturday, September 05, 2020

Shifting up

 After a quick gander back, I'm surprised to see that it's been a full week since I last posted, but what are you going to do? I've been busy.

What with new clients coming in the door, political season heating up (ramping up for my upcoming and still-evolving Zoom fundraiser for Josh Stein -- sign up here , my ever-intensifying tennis war ith my man Z, and the keep up a disciplined schedule of watching TV with Graham and start re-reading The Brother Karamazov (in the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation for the first time) after a 35-year hiatus, I have been staying out of trouble.

I continue to spend as much time out on the screened-in porch as possible. My whole being seems to appreciate the fresh air. This morning it actually seemed a little chilly out there, which makes me on the one hand excited to get on my bike and ride, but also slightly apprehensive about the cold weather and the adjustments I'll need to make to my biking then. It's not just the wind chill, but the shortening days that make riding harder in winter. When the son is out till 8, it's much easier to justify spending 3 hours of sunlight on a bike. I know I'm going to have to do more running, which is much easier when it's colder, but lacks the sense of adventure and exploration that biking provides. It's just so much harder to range further on foot. Then again, I know that there are in fact neighborhoods that I haven't explored all that well while running, ones that aren't that far away, I just have to remember to get out and explore them.

Saturday, August 29, 2020

Duelling meetings and paradigms

On Saturday mornings -- as so often -- I wrangle with an embarassment of riches. Specifically, I have to choose between going to the Al Anon meeting that has been my home group for a number of years now or an AA group filled with a lot of grey hair and wisdom. I think for the time being I'm going to tilt towards AA. Here's why.

Al Anon is an absolutely incredible institution, because the problem of sorting out the craziness that seeps into one's bones from years of living with an alcoholic is infinitely complex. What, after all, is it we need to arrest? Not the consumption of a substance, a relatively simple task, but a near-somatic way of living. It is like ideology, in some sense, in the neo-classical formulation that extends the purest expression of commodity fetishism -- ("Sie wissen das nicht, aber sie tun es") "They know not what they are doing, and yet they are doing it." Understanding how this ideology-like way of being has made us who we are is a never-ending process.

AA, on the other hand, is pretty simple at the most basic level. Just don't drink. Make it through till midnight, then try again the next day. Do it for a long time and see what happens. But what happens is the most magical thing in the world. People who stay at it blossom, at first from the shallowest of soils, but one which fertilizes and enriches itself over time. Then they come to meetings and speak about it, and others show up and listen and sprout from the deepening loam of their words. The gratitude and enthusiasm can only astonish, and it is very helpful in times like these.

So, for the near- to mid-term, I may overweight AA a little relative to Al Anon. But I'll discard neither.

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Embracing the grind

Woke up dog tired this morning. A good part of it is physical recovery from the narrow 7-6 (7-5) loss to Z yesterday evening after being up earlier in the set. No reason to get down on myself about it. A lot of shots fell my way early in the match, then they didn't. And Z just stood up and made very few mistakes.

But it's not all about tennis and the physical. It's the constant swirl of all the things I'm involved with, I won't bother to regale you with them. Many of them my readers are familiar with much of what I am up to (though one new thing is the October 6 Zoom fundraiser I'm putting together for Josh. The cast of supporting players is still coming together but it should be awesome).

When I am really tired there are moments when I am apt, as are many, to bemoan my fate, but really I need to just continually embrace it and realize how fortunate I am to have engaging and impactful work, and to be able to conjure up more of it and extend my reach. I am getting much better at delegating stuff that I really shouldn't be doing.

Admittedly, I need to keep improving at saying no to things and prioritizing. 

Trying to get here



Saturday, August 22, 2020

Whoosh whoosh

 When the kids were little, there was a very restricted set of music that was palatable to all of us - Dan Zanes, Woody Guthrie, Mike and Peggie Seeger... whether in the car or around the house. Actually, not much has changed, but that's a topic for another post.

In any case, at least one of our cars didn't have a CD player, so I was still making tapes. Since we knew all the songs by heart, I didn't label the tapes by artist and album name, as one often does. Instead, I used the shorthand names by which we refer to them: "Hijee Heejee Hojee", "Farm Animal Friends" and so on. As we got Natalie ready to go North last week we were giving her some CDs to play in the Subaru, since it can't connect to a phone and I was also looking at what remains of our tape collection, which is of course Mary's tapes, because I threw all of mine out when we left Princeton. I saw all the old tapes and the songs started springing forth in my memory, just like back in the day. Except one. "Whoosh whoosh." What is it? I have no idea.

Luckily, we still have a cassette deck in the house, so I popped it in there. But the tape is so old and hasn't been played in so long that it just freezes up, taunting me mercilessly. I have tried gently trying to nudge the tape mechanism forward by turning it with a pencil, a trick remembered from the old days. No luck just yet. One thing I haven't done is search on the interweb or YouTube for tricks to use in this situation. I'll bet there are some.

But the higher order point is this. Our media serve as extensions or prostheses of our memory, but they are only as good as the reference apparatus used. All the music in the world may be available to us on this or that streaming service, but if we can't remember what it is we want to listen to, it's no good. That's why I like physical books and bookshelves, because they remind me of what I've read. It's also why having a good filing system, whether of physical files or digital ones, is key to being able to find things you archive.

I had some other point when I started but I can't remember what it was. But I would really like to hear the song "Whoosh whoosh" again.

Friday, August 21, 2020

White man's burden 2.0

Not so long before he died, within a year or two in any case, I was hanging out on the porch with Mary's dad George Sr, overlooking the Long Island Sound. He was an amazing guy. He had done very well within the corporate world, ending his career as General Counsel and board member at a decent-sized bank, while remaining a frugal sort. Never hired anyone to mow his lawn or clean his house, ate the same boring thing for lunch every day, etc. I have probably told stories before here. Though he would spend on things he thought mattered, like cruises or education and housing for his kids, when they needed support.

In any case, we're sitting there one summer afternoon, and somehow the conversation comes around to a point where he says: "I remember warm Saturdays when I'd be sitting at my desk reviewing a contract or something and I'd here people laughing and sounds of splashing drift up to me from the beach over there. And I resented it."

Last night I was on a Zoom call with a bunch of people from the newly-formed Equity Task Force for the lake on whose board I serve. For the moment I am the board liaison to this task force, since the recent college grads who have spearheaded it were first connected with me by someone else. I found myself of necessity playing the heavy, saying that whatever happened would need to go through the board, and that whatever we proposed would have to take into consideration the fact that we were trying to raise more money to maintain the lake, because we are only recently beginning to understand what the actual costs of operating the lake are over a long cycle and we are underfunded. All within the political context of an organization in which membership is elective, not mandatory like an HOA, so that if people don't like what we are doing they can elect to not pay and we have limited recourse. This is all true and I needed to insert a note of realism into the discussion and help everyone understand that we would need to walk slow and build consensus in whatever we did.

But undergirding it all is a fundamental tiredness. It gets tiresome having to be the person who can back out and take the 100,000 foot view of the problem and frame it all out. And think about the money, and ultimately find it. Meanwhile the young people are fundamentally not wrong to frame this as an issue of structural racism in that people of color haven't had the access to the educational and cultural opportunities to earn the money that would allow them to be part of this process. They are seeing only the 200,000 foot view, but it is good for them to have taken it.

In some sense it is a failure of delegation, empowerment and letting go on the part of those of us in power, as it were. So it is an opportunity to do better.

As so often is the case, what was a relatively complete and well-integrated thought when I started off writing has fallen victim to the time elapsing as I write. And now it is time to start the day. That's why this blog is published under a pseudonym, and that's why professional writers devote so much time to re-reading, editing, etc.

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Changing seasons

During the summer, when I'd go out on the porch to read after my morning ab-lutions (meditation, sit-ups, and push-ups), there would generally be a lot of traffic through the path and around the lake. The usual motley assortment of runners and joggers. Jamie or Caroline out walking their collie mix puppy Opey. Often a grandmother with her curly-headed grandson and his low-slung trike. On occasion a pair of people with one of them practicing kickboxing out by the lake. Thud thud thud as she kicked the pad held by her partner.

As the school year has kicked back into gear and the heat has died back (reducing the incentive to get out really early) they have abated somewhat and I find myself missing them, though it's a little easier to concentrate on my reading. Perhaps its just my slight melancholy at Natalie moving back to New Haven.

But also there's the fact that I find myself a little apprehensive at the new season rushing down upon us. Normally autumn is the time of new beginnings as kids go into new classes and as everybody comes back from summer and recounts their exploits. The social cycle heats up as everybody is out raising money for this that and also the other and as street and music fairs crank up so people can preen and hawk their wares. And everything is accelerated because the days are both packed with more activities and growing shorter by the day as we move towards the equinox and ultimately the solstice.

This year, only the days will grow shorter. We can socialize a little more, we have learned how to do so and our initial apprehension about touching things and hand-sanitizing after every breath has calmed down a little, but we can't really open the floodgates too wide.

The early phases of the pandemic happened while -- in the northern hemisphere at least -- the days were growing longer. Now they are visibly not. We'll get through it, it just won't be but so fun.

Fortunately mankind has created an inexhaustible store of content to consume. We just have to be creative.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Wishing for the end

We must all resist the temptation to want the COVID crisis to end quickly. This has proved our undoing once, and it could do so again. People with money who aren't senior citizens need to admit that we haven't had it that badly at all. Yes, we may be a little stir crazy, we may miss hugging family and friends and parties and sports and all kinds of things, but we haven't had it that bad. We are safe, well-fed, and have had the opportunity to spend time with our families. If you are white collar, employed and haven't had that, it's your own damned fault for planning poorly or being an asshole to your kids somewhere down the line. 

The real problem has not been COVID per se, but poor healthcare and safety nets for the lower wealth, who live crowded and are forced to work in epidemiologically risky roles. For example, in skilled nursing facilities, where a higher risk population resides. So really our failure to allocate resources to care for our seniors is biting us in the ass.

With all of that said, I read a piece in the Economist from a couple of weeks back on the history of hygiene and its connection to the rise and fall of civilizations that pointed out that early in the 19th century, the average life expectancy of the working class in England was about 22. Half of all kids died by the age of 5. We have come a long way from that through the evolution of public health.

As for me, it's off to the thankfully proverbial coal mine.

Monday, August 17, 2020

Saying goodbye, and American Carnage, reflections from the hills

Drove to New York and back over the weekend, with the whole family convoying up so that Natalie could take Granny's old Subaru to New Haven. We overnighted in Easton, PA, where we were less illegal than we would have been in NJ or NY, due to COVID restrictions on travel. We spent 3 hours traveling through NJ and 5 hours in NY, making exactly one commercial transaction in each, which could frankly have been avoided with better planning but oh well. You don't need all the details.

Saturday afternoon was spent at Rob and George's house in North White Plains, 95% in the backyard. Though I have grown tired over the years of the amount of time I spend in Westchester County in August and December, it is also part of the rhythm of my life and not doing it all would just feel wrong. It was particularly nice to see Graham, Natalie and cousin Sadie hanging out on their own over in the shade of the yard. There were years during their younger teendom when each was perhaps a little too caught up in their own particular crap to be on the same wavelength with one another. Now Natalie is 20, Graham almost 17 and Sadie a little younger than that, but in any case they are all a little older and transitioning towards (gasp!) young adulthood. So all the time they have spent together as kids and then teens could translate into shared memories and better bonds when they are older.

As I have written, I was of very mixed emotions about saying goodbye to Natalie, because for the second time (just like freshman year dropoff) we were bidding farewell while wondering if we will ever see as much of her as we just did during extended lockdown. Once more, I know that the correct answer is to hope that we don't, because she's a young adult and it's right for her to be out in the world, and we don't want to go back to a place of global public health-induced fear. But we had a pretty good lockdown, with lots of shared enjoyment. 

When we got back to NC, I thought to myself that I had never been up and down the East Coast just like that, in three days. Then I remembered I had done exactly the same thing back in June with Natalie, only we had gone all the way to New Haven that time.

Went up and down on the "Western Passage", through Danville, Lynchburg, across the mountains to 81, etc. So I saw that route for the third time this summer. The "American Carnage" of which Trump spoke is fully in evidence. Just between Hillsborough and Yanceyville, NC, for example, there are two country stores that have fully ceased to be in the last 6 months, I'm pretty sure. One of them looks burnt out (arson?). Other businesses have closed, some of them which would seem to have no business existing in the first place, such as the used golf cart dealer out in the middle of nowhere.

And yet everywhere neatly trimmed yards surround well-kept ranch style homes with Trump/Pence yard signs. There is no shortage of confederate flags. Trump would appear to have the region locked up and will likely seek to a fairly effectively lay the most eggregious economic decline at the feet of excessive Democratic-led lockdowns, which resonates out there in the country. There may not be enough votes out there to help him hold on to office, but the cultural and economic divide will continue to broaden unless Democrats send real emissaries out to sit and listen, and then go home and think.

Saturday, August 15, 2020

once more on the road

In Easton, PA, about to sneak across border into NJNY, Natalie will continue on to CT.


Just read article in the Journal about crazy private parties happening while bars are closed. Another instance of things changing so fast in such unpredictable ways that we cannot process, much less anticipate change.

Which means that now, more than ever, we must focus on core values and acting in accord with them. What is most important? We must consider that each day, sometimes hour to hour, or even more frequently.

Thursday, August 13, 2020

The same page

 Headed to the mountains the week before last, we stopped at a convenience store/gas station that had a Subway inside it. On road trips we pretty much always stop at Subways and get the exact same sandwiches every time. It's not because they are so great, it's that it forestalls a complicated decision-making process and arguments over various criteria (fat grams, factory farms, blah blah blah).

In accordance with the Governor's executive orders and I guess current NC law, there was a sign on the door mandating masks or other face coverings. Inside the store there was pretty good compliance.

But not the young ladies behind the counter at the Subway. Apparently the law did not apply to them. So I kept a disciplined 8 feet of separation and ordered our sandwiches. In ordering Graham's sandwich, I mentioned his dairy allergy and one of them said -- very earnestly -- "Oh we are very serious about allergies here." Great. Just not a global pandemic. After I sampled some of their hand sanitizer, she effusively apologized for the high level of aloe content in it.

I did not mention these details to my family members in the car, because to do so would have courted rancor, discord, and general fulminations. If I had been really on the ball, I would have not bought lunch from that Subway and figured out a way to report their non-compliance up the Subway chain of command. That would have delivered a message.

But to what end? America is plagued by absolutism, and it hasn't served us well. Sadly, we are all learning on the job about this pandemic. Like many, I was afraid that the mass protests after the murder of George Floyd would turn out to be super-spreader events. They appear not to have been. The combination of being outside plus pretty high adherence to mask-wearing seems to have mitigated the risk.

This past weekend the big motorcycle rally in Sturgis, South Dakota provides us with a new field test from the Right. Honestly, I hope and quasi-pray that a lot of people don't get really sick and then pass COVID on to higher-risk populations because of this rally. On matters like this it's less important to be proved right, although I guess if it can be a learning event for the skeptical Right, maybe the long-term public health benefits might offset the short-term pain of some sickness and death...

My stars, we have come to a crazy place where we have to think through such tortured calculuses as that. In March, when COVID first hit, there was a sense that it might be the shared crisis that brought people together and helped people on both sides of the divide dial back some our extremism and work together. We have, sadly, not been able to do that. We may still hope.

I honestly try to start each day with a forward-looking view, trying to figure out what I can do to move into the future in the most productive way for myself, my family, my clients, and the broader world. It helps no one to dwell exclusively on the past and the horrible things done by the other side to my team, though understanding how we got here is a part of it for sure.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

A dream

I dreamt last night about a friend, also a former client, who had engaged me in the dream (can't recall whether she professionally retained me or just asked me for help) sorting out something to do with her family history, something a brother did or something. Over the course of the dream I got more and more confused about what was being asked of me and what I was supposed to figure out, but I recall that it went deep into the past and involved layers of odd stuff and lots of money and I think even a little blood and it was really confusing. I also remember feeling a little panicked and embarrassed at my inability to sort it out, and kind of ashamed before her that I hadn't made much progress, but the fact was that the scope of my engagement was not well-defined and I couldn't sit her down to change that. In many ways, the dream was not unlike my experience of working with her in real life. It was an atypical engagement for me, working remotely, and we never quite figured out how best I could add value for her. So it ended. The dream was, of course, weirder and more dramatic.

This is someone with whom I had been romantically involved briefly many years ago, in a confusing time when I was coming out of another relationship. At the time all I really knew about her, in my 21-year old limited perception, was that she was charming, cute, super-smart and very hard-working, and that she came from a university town just like me. I thought she was basically a less dissolute female version of myself, a better me.

Only later did I learn that she came from a very wealthy family that may even have been in America longer than my own (i.e. pre-1760s), that some ancestor of hers had been Secretary of the Treasury back in the 50s-60s, etc. In short, old money, old enough that she felt no need to display it. And now as an adult she has really quite earnestly set about trying to use her wealth to do good in the world, educating children and working to battle a tropical disease somewhere in the southern hemisphere while raising children of her own and being a good spouse too.

But in many ways the burden of wealth is hard on her because it seems she must judge herself by a different scale, a more heroic one. Perhaps it is good for others because this burden -- (cf. Harold Bloom and the anxiety of influence) drives her to do more for the world, but it strains her.

And now we come to the point. I think I am very fortunate to come from a more modest background in which the burden of expectations is lighter. It is relatively easy for me to do get to the end of my day and feel that I have done enough, because I am not trying to measure up to ancestors who jumped off the charts.

I have only to wrestle with my task list and serving my clients and family, which is more than enough to keep my busy. On with the day.

Saturday, August 08, 2020

Chez nous

 I have now replaced my mountain front porch with my home back porch, location of many of my non-adventures over the last few months. I wish I could say that I was excited for this to be the case, but I am not. It was lovely to get away and spend enhanced extra-special quality time with the family.

Honestly I look with if not foreboding then a distinct lack of excitement about Natalie leaving, although it's the right thing and it has been a pleasure to see her get psyched to be back up there with her friends and continuing the great adventure. But at the bottom of it all, I will be sad to see her go.

And what will become of the cats! Especially Leon, who has basically spent the last 5 months camped out in her room, on her bed, perched like a little hen. He will have to come out and reacquaint himself with the rest of the family, which is hard for him, as the biggest fraidy cat on the planet. 

Wednesday, August 05, 2020

Idoru

Just polished off William Gibson's late 90s novel Idoru. Maybe not his best novel, but not his worst, basically it's just Gibson and his world, in which the reader has to give himself (and odds are most readers are male, because they are in many ways gearhead novels) to an alt view of the near future, usually a little rough and tumble, in which quests for something ethereal and muddy happen. There is blood. There is sex. As ever, multiple seemingly independent plot threads come together, so order is reestablished in the universe at the end. In that sense he is a clear heir of Dickens et al. 

Tuesday, August 04, 2020

the perspective

Out on the porch this morning with coffee, the view at around 9:15 was largely obscured by fog. I remarked to Natalie that if we were lucky, we could watch the mist dissolve and the mountains reveal themselves. "I'm trying to read," she said.


This period of prolonged semi-quarantine has been hard on us, but nowhere is that more apparent than our occasionally cranky young adults. We are taking Natalie back to the Northeast at the end of next week. It will be good for her to move forward with her life.

As predicted, a good deal more of the view has revealed itself now that we have had breakfast.

Monday, August 03, 2020

The view from our porch

Clyde, NC. Was very glad to have held onto BBQ, slaw etc. from up at the lake so there was no cooking to do. Fell asleep on the couch last night under blanket with Graham down on the other end. It was raining today when we woke up. We will likely leave the house sometime today.

Sunday, August 02, 2020

Headed out

Packing up with the family to head out to Clyde, NC for the first family vacation in two years. Not that we really need a lot of enhanced quality time with one another. But it will be nice to get away nonetheless. Will be first time away from house further than the CSA for Mary since March.

One thing: I will have no wifi, though I will have cell service and can connect laptop to phone if necessary and thereby connect a normal keyboard to the interweb: which is really the key advantage of laptop over phone, the keyboard, for those of us whose thumbs are a little challenged. But I will try to post.

Nothing particularly deep or thoughtful to share, honestly. Really should pack, got back late from one-day jaunt to Josh's lake house yesterday.

Thursday, July 30, 2020

Reaching down

There's a copy of Wired that had been sitting by the toilet for much of the pandemic, awaiting attention. I got in one of those recycle or bust moods the other day, and started looking through it. There was an article in there by the current editor in chief about how he had run his best ever marathon (a 2:29, not shabby at all) at the age of 44. It was all about how not to set limits on onesself as an aging athlete, to fight past the voices in your head telling you you can't do this or that.

I wrestle with this on the tennis court a lot, especially when playing with my man Z. After his first time back, recounted above, he beat me 6-4 on Monday. Then both of us got our rackets restrung, and he got his regripped. To counter the influence of his fresh grip, I put some Gatorade in my bottle and even grabbed a headband from the sock drawer, but then forgot it in the mud room. Sigh.

But it was the Gatorade that was doing the trick. I had him down this morning 5-1, before he fought back to 5-4 and I was like, crap! I was fighting all the voices in my head calling me a chump for letting him back in the set, but I closed him out. It was not easy to quiet those demonic voices in my head telling me that he usually beats me, so it's not such a big deal... Or "why do you always fall apart like this?" I stayed in the points, made fewer mistakes, and let him beat himself.

Sunday, July 26, 2020

Traveling far and wide

After riding 33 miles yesterday, today was a running day. I am so sick of all the runs right around our nabe and wanted to branch out. Then I remembered seeing some trails up in the Oaks when mom and Graham and I had gone biking months ago, so I thought I'd head over there. But I realized that it was probably 2 miles from my house to the trail head (so 4 miles round trip). Still, I hate getting in my car to go exercise. I also didn't really want to futz with tracking down a bike lock.


I realized the smart thing to do would be to ride over to Niklaus and Lucy's, leave my bike there, and go from there. So I texted the Swiss guy and told him what I was doing. Knowing someone for half a century gives one some prerogatives, no need to ask, I just told him.

So I rode over, found an empty driveway, and went for a run. On the way back I was walking along Long Leaf towards their place when this guy in a silver Honda pulls up. "David?" he said. "Nah, Clark Troy." I said. It was Dickie Turner. We talked for a while, caught up pretty good. By then I was standing in the shade of someone's yard, which the owner, a woman, was mowing. Dickie says to me: "That's Heidi Mallet over there." Which was hilarious.

There is a whole other story of small town running into people in which the punchline was Heidi Mallet's son (who goes out with Luz Alva's daughter). But I don't have time to type all that out because I need to go grill some chicken.

But it's things like this that make me love being at home in Chapel Hill.

Saturday, July 25, 2020

Beating the heat

Now is normally blogging time, right after my Saturday morning AA meeting, which I'm enjoying doing out here on the porch in the morning cool while the lake shuffles into gear.

But oh, the morning cool, most precious of all summer commodities! How quickly it abates. My new rhythm is also getting on my bike and out on the road before it is crazy hot. At least last night I had the presence of mind to stick Gatorade in the fridge so it would stay cool a little deeper into the ride.

One quick reflection. A good friend of mine, an internal medicine guy who works out West and who's had an interesting path through life including getting Bar Mitzvahed in his 50s, likes to refer to his patients as "The Faces of God." He has a very big panel, measured in thousands, many of whom he sees once a yearish, so he can't remember the granular details of each of their life. All he can do is listen to their problems as attentively and holistically as possible, give them the best guidance and advice he can, sometimes very clinical and targeted to a particular condition, often about the general rules and best practices of healthy living, and move on. I have run into clients with him on the street and its a beautiful thing to see.

AA and Al Anon on Zoom, is kind of like that, a very brief window into where someone is right then, and they're really doing their best to reflect where they are, and you see it, hear it, process it in reference to your on life, and move on. We are not called upon to offer concrete guidance to one another right then, as a doctor is, but we reflect and echo back, and then fragments are filed and drift back to the front of our consciousness later when they are needed.

But now, to hit the road.

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

The beast awakens

Back on the court with my boy Z for the first time since he wrestled the dread bug to the mat after something of a tussle. It was his first time back on the court in six weeks or so. In the first set, his long absence was showing itself, and it took all of my mental discipline not to let the door open the slightest and allow myself to win every game. That is hard for me. I love my friends and generally some part of me will loosen up and let them have a game or two. But it would have been dangerous to have opened that door. 6-0

He had no interest in stopping, of course, and in the second he was having none of it. Z was up 4-1 and in my brain I'm going "what the fuck? what will I say to the guys up at the lake next weekend?" So I dug in and brought it back to 4-4, then he closed me out with characteristic aplomb to win at 6-4.

After that, I feel nothing but Tiger pride in the fight of my boy. But we ain't done.

Sunday, July 19, 2020

The work

Much of the debate about reopening revolves ostensibly around people's need to work. People need to work to earn money to pay their rent, buy food, educate and amuse themselves, etc. People need to be able to work, therefore schools should open so that the state can provide institutionalized child care. People need to work, because the absence of work makes them feel like shit about themselves and more likely to abuse spouses, children and substances. None of this is bullshit.

But, as we have seen over the last few decades, much of the work people are doing is in some sense inessential. Using the word essential and inessential to characterize types of work that would be permitted during shut-down seemed harsh, but there was wisdom to it. Some things we out and out need: food, healthcare, public safety and first responders, physical plant maintenance and repairs (weather and entropy do not stop during pandemics), etc.

Other things at some basic level -- particularly in reference to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (see below) are kind of fluff. Gyms, restaurants, coffee shops, etc.


People do need connectivity to one another, no doubt. We love to socialize. Community is incredibly important and necessary. But it doesn't absolutely need to be done in person over short time scales. So modern communications technology (telephone, videoconferencing, the web, social media, going for walks) allow us to bridge this time when epidemiology can't let us be together physically as we would prefer. In fact, used properly, they help us bridge space and our own habitual "IRL" limitations quite effectively. People have been endlessly creative during the period of shut-down and it has been beautiful to see.

Meanwhile, the ability of e-commerce to let us service so many of our basic needs remotely* means that many of the jobs people have been doing in service industries around tourism and hospitality have been shown to be in some sense inessential: they service higher levels on Maslow's Hierarchy, mostly about congregation, entertainment and status. That doesn't mean that the work isn't valuable or that the people aren't valuable, it means that we can get by without those specific people doing those specific tasks for a little while, and we kind of have to.

But there is so much work to do. Even pre-COVID, the arguments around Universal Basic Income and the withering of the need for labor due to automation derive from the idea that the jobs people are doing are the only jobs that need to be done. Which is bullshit.

People are hating on each other worldwide. Race, class, political affiliation, nationality, gender, sexual preference, religion, you name it, people use it to justify themselves and condemn someone else. We all do it. We are all hard-wired to want our team to win. But it is not all we do. Each of us knows at some level that part of what we do, part of what we want, is wrong. It's just hard to sort it out because we are all ourselves. We need to overcome this condition of perpetual struggle, pretty much everybody senses it. Which means there is work do be done, we just don't know how to do it.

And then there are the basic problems: there are still too many people in poverty (though pre-COVID significant and often unacknowledged progress had been made towards mitigating this globally over the last few decades). Healthcare and education are apportioned both globally and within small geographies in ways that are grossly inequitable.

We will never get to perfect global equity and parity. We will never arrive at a perfect system of government. If we did, it would be boring, and really different places have different histories and cultures and want different things and that's OK. But we could do better, and we need to. So there is and will always be a lot of work to do, we just need to recognize what that work is and be willing to pay for it. Which, frankly, means having somewhat less of other things, prestige travel and ornate gewgaws that serve as markers of wealth.

At a low level, much of the work that is needed is service work, listening to others, understanding their needs, transcribing it and reporting it back to a center, and delivering the recommendations of the center back to the client, often with significant value added by the delivering agent.** Fortunately, that is the same work that people who work in hospitality (the labor force most displaced) are aready doing. It is just a somewhat different process, a little more complex, but they can do it and do it well.

What we need is good leadership to help us understand what we need to do, get us through this crisis, and transition to a next stage. And I don't just mean get rid of Trump, Bolsonaro, etc., though that's a good start. Each and every one of us has many roles to play.








*and yes, I am aware that a small army of people is out there helping us do that and that they are putting themselves at risk and we need to acknowledge and honor that by letting them work as safely as possible and making sure healthcare is available to them

**though it would raise propensity for corruption, ideally wouldn't it be great to be able to tip for great service from a social service provider?

Saturday, July 18, 2020

Decisions decisions

Lately I have been doing my weekend exercise in the late morning as the heat of the day rises. Today is biking today. Honestly I don't feel like it, and today will be marginally less hot than recent days and it also promises to be less sunny later in the day.

And yet, there are still good arguments for going. I get my exercise in while Graham is still in bed, for example. Not that he spends much time anywhere else. He is typically either sleeping or reading while supine on his bed. We keep meaning to get him into other postures but get lazy ourselves. Perhaps a game of chess later in the day, or he can help me clean this porch, which needs its annual spraying with bleach solution.

Really I should get up off my ass and ride to Durham, as I have been meaning to for some time. I mean, I have the Gatorade for it. We shall see.

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

The collective crazies

We got an email from a member of the lake community about our most recent dredging of the forebay. The writer called to our attention, aside from a concern that the job had not been completed (it had) the fact that there was a noose in the lake "which could get caught around the neck of a turtle" as well as a couple of metal poles from the now removed check dam. There is a distinctly alarmist, "oh my god" quality to the whole thing: "we've been ripped off! The turtles will die". Despite the fact that in the 60-odd acres of lake and surrounding wetland there are perhaps thousands of similar naturally occurring things (vines, etc) turtles could get their necks caught on, but they don't.

The underlying tone is that we (the management, humanity) are evil and conspiring to destroy the community and nature with our inattention. Slightly histrionic.

We are all there right now, with the ambient hysteria about the coronavirus, racism, masks, etc. It's pretty exhausting. Thank god for comedy.

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

Air conditioning

Came home last night to discover that the downstairs AC unit was not working. Mary hadn't noticed, and Natalie hadn't processed it (and rightfully so, what 20-year old would really get it or know how to troubleshoot it).

A guy is coming over later today. Someone who had been by the house before, back in 2018 when somebody had recommended we needed a whole big new unit. He had come by and replaced a part instead, making him a hero in Mary's mind (as opposed to the other mountebanks). I vaguely remembered it, but Mary totally remembered it and was able to actually produce the receipt for it from deep within her files (most impressive!).

I spent a fair amount of last night looking into what it would cost to replace the unit and getting myself mentally ready for it, and also investigating the expected life span of an AC system (12 to 15 years). Fortunately we had a couple of fans in the attic that we could put in the kids' rooms. Our upstairs unit is working just fine. I can go to my office. I can fund the purchase if necessary.

But of course, me being me, I am gripped with some fear and shame of having done something wrong; "isn't there supposed to be a filter there? Should we have replaced it two years ago?"

Monday, July 13, 2020

The tyranny of numbers

A world often obsessed by metrics can be hell for a person with a quantitative inclination, which would include me. Of course I am watching the markets pretty constantly, though I try not to focus on them on a minute by minute basis. Then there are of course the coronavirus case counts, which are suspect in many ways but are the best indicator we have of how well or poorly we are doing. First thing in the morning, I weigh myself. At the end of most days, I look over at 538.com to see how approval and Presidential polls are tracking. Beyond that, there are numbers and numbers, ever more as the world cranks out more data.

So you'd expect that my leisure at least would be relatively free of quantitative stress. Parts of it are, like watching funny stuff on TV, though it's hard not to peek at how many episodes are left of a given series (right now we have about 11 left of Communiy, maybe 5 left of Psych). Thankfully, there's a whole world, a whole catalog, of content to watch or rewatch when we're done with that. And pandemic or no pandemic, they keep making more stuff, and they are stubbornly refusing to accelerate the release of season 4 of The Crown, which actually gives me something to really look forward to.

Then there are books. I have a lot of those. The problem I have with those is keeping track of where I am in a given book. Try though I may, I can't not do it. Right now I am reading a murder mystery that is 414 pages long (Elizabeth George's Well-Schooled in Murder). 414, of course, is divisible by 9, which means it's divisible by 3, and it's also even, so divisible by 2. It is, in fact 2 x 3 squared x 23 pages long. Which gives my feverish brain a lot of ways to track progress through the book, which somehow it can't not do. Sigh

Saturday, July 11, 2020

An actual dream

Last night, probably not long before waking in the morning, I had a dream. There were a number of components to it, I'm not sure of the exact order.

There was a bit about rejection from a romantic relationship from many years ago from a partner that felt super significant at the time, probably because it was at the beginning of a lot of psychological stress and, ultimately, change, from which I emerged healthier. I think we were walking to a bathroom, something like at Open Eye in Carrboro, and she was sort of explaining why she rejected me, which wasn't the high point of the dream. Then I was in a booth at a diner or something and I ended up snuggling -- fully clothed mind you -- with someone from my high school class who I know I made out with at least once back in the day. I believe there may have been some "heavy petting" back then, but early, fumbling, and inconclusive. By no means a major romance, just a member of my high school tribe. This snuggling part was comforting.

Then there was the soccer part of the dream. It was a big, crowded, swarming game of pickup. I was on offense, atypically. Somebody hit a shot from off to the right hand side of the goal and it came off the left hand post and back across the goal, moving fast. It was a tap in opportunity and -- in typical defender fashion -- I did not score. It came off my foot and went wide. I was disappointed, but not too down on myself, because it all happened really fast.

Then I got subbed off the field, there were a ton of people waiting to get in (unlike true pick up), and I was a little pissed about that. I went up to the end of the field, there was kind of an elevation there, and I found a bag full of sandwiches, I think they were chicken cheese steaks, from Jimmy John's or the like. I was like, "should I snag them or not?" I looked for a receipt to see how old they were, and they weren't that old. I knew in principle that Mary would not want to pass up free food, which would save meal prep and planning and also prevent food waste. But she's also not a big fan of the cheese steak concept. I think I ended up keeping them. 

Tuesday, July 07, 2020

Columbo

As part of our Covid entertainment strategy, Graham has decided that Columbo is A-OK. This is our first foray deep into the archives of TV shows since we watched the first Star Trek. So far, so good.

Graham has immediately fastened on to certain of the key Columbo ticks. Aside from the most famous, namely getting to the door while leaving a discussion with a suspect (always the perp) and then going: "Oh yeah, there's just one other thing that's been bothering me." There is the persistent trope of the forgotten object, for example. In each of the three episodes we've watched thus far, the perp forgets something which would be an obvious clue, then comes back and grabs it just before heading out the door him/herself.

Then there are Columbo's consistent references to his wife: "Oh, it's my wife who's the athletic one," or "My wife is always telling me I need to do X more." Graham very quickly glommed on: "Do we ever get to meet his wife?" The answer is, of course not.

Graham has also noticed the crumpled detective's constant self-deprecation before the haughty would-be "genius" murderers, whom he always bags through a mix of good instinct but also diligent adherence to basic professionalism. "You see, murderers don't have much experience, often it's their first time. We do this hundreds of times a year."

We are not in very deep yet, but I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a whole lot more of this kind of stuff. Frankly, I wouldn't be saddened if the episodes sped up or diversified a little. I love the guy, but we get an awful lot of the same thing.

But, for now, if Graham is down with it, we'll stick with it. It's good for him to get exposure to a novel Gestalt.

Sunday, July 05, 2020

Roadside pickup

At present I am taking a little social media break, which for me pretty much means Facebook, as I don't spend much time anywhere else. In general, it seems to be a pretty salubrious thing to do. My skin is clearing up, my lumbago has died down, I have contrived a deep affection for brussel sprouts... No but seriously, I think it's a good thing to do.

I went for a 26-mile bike ride yesterday, out to Maple View (where I chilled in the shade and had a nice chat with Graham's math tutor Cliff, who was out there with his kids and mom, who has been stranded in NC from Maine since March) then on to Dodson's Crossroads, over to 54, where I hung a left at the Kraken and made my way back home through town. After being short on water last week on a shorter ride, I took two bottles.

That wasn't enough. By the time I was coming back into Carrboro I could sense that things were awry in my hammies and calves, so I decided to get some Gatorade. Good call, because, as I came through Franklin near the old public library, I felt a little tightening in my left quad. Frankly, I didn't know those cramped. I pulled over and drank more. I made it home, walking my way up the hill at the end, but only just barely.

Riding -- particularly on unfamiliar roads -- is good for idea generation. One thing one can't help but notice riding in the country is litter on the side of the road. It ain't everywhere, but it is a lot of places. I was reminded of how David Sedaris -- born in Raleigh but now living in the English countryside -- got himself knighted for picking up tons of trash, day after day -- while walking along the roads of his prefecture. But also of Tammie Kirkland of the Person County Democrats, who has led trash pickups by the Person Country Democratic Women's Group on the roadsides up there for some time. That is dedication. Rob and Graham have done some trash walking up in Westchester too.

It seems to me that scaling up this practice wouldn't be a bad idea for the Democrats. Why not just have mass quantities of Democrats go out and pick up trash in the country. Who could fault us? Who could yell at us? It is an unquestionable civic good. We'd end up talking to people and hearing about what's on their minds. I think it would be important to not argue or convince, just listen.

Saturday, July 04, 2020

On class

Yesterday evening I saw on Facebook that a Black guy from CHHS had died. I don't remember him well, I think he was class of '86. This followed upon hearing -- around the middle of the week -- how a woman I knew from an Al Anon group had died. She was a rarety in Al Anon (though not in AA), a working-class, country, no bullshit person. She may have had a college degree but if so, I'd bet it wasn't a fancy one. In the last year she had lost a couple of people close to her, a son and a brother, if memory serves correctly, and she had a daughter who was herself flirting with death via substances more or less constantly.

All the conversation in the United States and around the world has been about race since the murder of George Floyd, and it is unquestionably an important and necessary conversation. #MeToo and decades of structural sexism has made us focus on sexism, with some progress on some fronts.

But it has become very difficult to talk about class, even as social mobility in the United States in particular has diminished. Much of it comes back to LBJ's old truism "If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you." This is the preferred politics of division practiced by Trump et al.

The problem in American politics is that if you start talking about class too openly and frequently, you will be branded a Marxist. Plus everybody likes to insist we don't have rigid classes, and most people will say they are middle class, because nobody wants to admit to others that they're not.

Biden and the Democrats may or may not need to figure this out to win in November. I don't think it's strictly a problem of rhetoric we need to solve. We need to fix it in our minds.

Friday, July 03, 2020

Waiting for a Ship

The other evening I made my way to the end of John McPhee's 1990 book Waiting for a Ship, in which our author first hangs out with a member of the US Merchant Marine waiting to be assigned to a seagoing vessel and then tags along for a ride from Charleston down through the Panama Canal and then down the West Coast of South America and back. Somewhere in the middle I put it down and read another book, but then I picked it back up.

It was not the best of McPhee's books that I've read (that honor still belongs to the first one: The Control of Nature), and I've read maybe five or six, and yet it was still better than most books, because in general he's just better than most writers. In some sense the book suffers from the rigid parataxis of the sea-going voyage, the endless one thing after another of it all. It is a little amorphous. At many of the ports he lays out detailed and complete inventories of what they deliver and what they pick up:  "400 tons of desiccated beef liver, 6 containers of assorted refrigerator parts, 200 cows, 8,000 pairs of jeans," that sort of thing. It all seems sort of random and formless. As does his journey, at times, and I think that's kind of his point. There are many great stories of things the crew has seen in this or that port on the other side of the world, of great storms in the seas of the North Atlantic in winter, of pirates boldly scaling the sides of the massive, undercrewed ships and making off with booty often without anyone knowing they were even there.

And then they return to port in Charleston.

I will read more McPhee. I have at least one more on my shelf and am interested in reading his first book, about his Princeton classmate Bill Bradley, after I made my way not long ago through Bradley's book on basketball and life. But I will take a little break.


LeBron

Just read a cover story from BusinessWeek on LeBron and his friend Maverick Carter's new company and all the good stuff they are involved in. I'm gonna go out on a limb here. Although we will never be able to resolve the GOAT debate between LeBron and Michael, and we have our own sentimental favorite, it is very hard to debate who is the better human being. LeBron hands down. He has been focused for a number of years now on doing good in the community, he has been very consistent, and he keeps aiming higher and doing more.

I think even Dean Smith would have to agree.

LeBron should seriously consider running for office down the road. If he sticks to it, he could be our third black President.

Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Busy busy

The very attentive amongst you, the truly dedicated readers, will likely have noted that I have upped the speed with which I am posting of late. The key is that I noticed my post rate was running a little low for June, something which I realized I really had to rectify to keep up my annual numbers.

Alas, my head is by now pretty much entirely taken up with business, a very large fish having swum across my desk in the last couple of days. I am angling for her now, burnishing my tackle box, trolling around in my boat in the comeliest of manners, hoping to attract her affections. We shall see.

No but seriously, the coal mine calls. Talk to you next month.

Sunday, June 28, 2020

White privilege and public (and private) facilities

Towards the end of the day I saw a woman, the mother of a friend of Natalie's, someone I like, casually strolling up the hill in front of my house to go for a swim in the lake. She does good work, I think, surely is very progressive, and her daughter was a member of the Social Justice Academy at East Chapel Hill High School. She is, however, also not a member of the Lake Forest Association. So when she casually strolled down the hill behind our house and went for a swim without a care in the world and without being asked by the staff if she was a member (like they're supposed to), she was working her white privilege pretty hard.

I can't really fault her for doing it, because I do it too. Specifically, in cities, where if I need to go to the bathroom, particularly when on a business trip, I just casually walk into the nearest hotel I can find and walk purposefully through the lobby till I locate the bathroom. Often I pause to scan the room, as if I'm looking for someone I'm supposed to meet. I've never been refused use of a bathroom. If I really think about it, I could probably think of other instances, but that's the one that comes to mind.

Now, one could easily argue that it's a class thing more than a race thing, that any person of color with the right attire and familiarity with cultural codes and practices could do the same thing, and there's some merit to that argument. But being white and upper-middle class has helped me grow up in the middle of this stuff so I know the codes, to a certain extent I define them, or at least am part of the group that defines them.

So there are almost always plenty of public restrooms for me, and it's easy for someone like me to argue that there's no real reason to allocate budget for public restrooms. That's just one little example.

So, back to my friend the lake saunterer. What should we do? Frankly, I have always been happy to let her just go swim in the lake when it's not crowded, because I kind of hate being exclusive about it. The problem is, of course, that the fact that she's white and looks like she could easily be a member makes it easier to just look the other way. If she were a lower-wealth African-American or one of the Asian or Latinx families down in Booker Creek Apartments who pay a little extra rent on a per-square-foot basis so their kids can go to CHCCS schools, turning the other way would be harder, because probabilistically speaking, other members would look at them and complain of non-members using the lake and complain to the Board.

A younger person reached out to me last week and asked to have an intentional conversation about  equitable access to our park and lake. We will talk on Wednesday. It's a complicated subject. We have limited capacity in the park and lake and high demand at peak times. The lake is much more expensive than anyone understands (we are educating them as we come to understand it ourselves), and we don't have the ability to compel people to pay, as we aren't a municipality or even a proper HOA that can slap liens on properties. So we must bring our stakeholders along.

Saturday, June 27, 2020

Toxic masculinity in full bloom

On 40 home from the office yesterday a couple of cars blew past me like I was standing still when I was going 65-70, whatever the rest of the traffic was going. They were maybe doing 90-95 in late rush hour traffic (admittedly diminished by the ambient work at home culture). Sitting out on my deck this morning, looking out at the lake, I heard at least one if not two guys revving their engines, seemingly from out on Airport Road. It would have been much louder if it was on North Lake Shore. Then there's the jackass next door with his truck. There is a sign in the yard indicating he is shipping out to the Army soon, praise the Lord. Then think about all the NRA-militia dudes nationwide brandishing their semi-automatics, because they can.

More and more, it seems like guys are just reveling in their ability to spew testosterone on those around them on the one hand because they can and feel empowered by the current regime, on the other because they are so threatened by all that surrounds and it. Could it ever be the last hurrah of these jerks?

Interestingly, I brought it up in the car when Natalie and I were driving north and we passed some dude in a Mustang and no muffler, and she was by no means ready to exempt me from charges of the same. It didn't seem like the time to push on the topic at length.

In the "defund the police" excitement of recent weeks, I read a sensible analysis which claimed that having cops on highways enforcing speed limits encouraged highly arbitrary and abusive enforcement, especially when speed was easily enforced with cameras and computers. Makes sense to me, though surely technologies will emerge to game that system and speed where cameras aren't, so there will be a cat and mouse game with the techonology. Maybe cops could then focus more on quality of life issues like the noise created by cars without mufflers.

Friday, June 26, 2020

Epicureanism and inflation expectations

While thinking about food today, something I often do, especially during lockdown times when feedings loom large as events go, it occurred to me that my inverse epicureanism shared much with inflation expectations, as conceived by economists. To wit, I have tried very hard to not acquire expensive taste, first and foremost in sushi and automobiles, but really in anything. So I can be satisfied easily, and so that a future reduction in the quality of what I consume won't be perceived as a decline. I hurt myself falling from a low perch.

Inflation expectations are important considerations in interest rate setting decisions by central banks, which target specific inflation levels across an economy, Goldilocks like, not too high, not too low. In recent years the American Fed has targeted 2% inflation, but has had a hard time getting there.

The expectations part works like this: if people expect inflation to be low or for there to be deflation, they will slow down purchases, in the hopes that prices will be lower in the future, creating a deflationary spiral which is disastrous for people trying to service debt, esp. mortgages and revolving consumer debt. If people expect high inflation, there is incentive to spend money in the present while they are cheap, more or less. Which can drive inflation higher.

Honestly, when I started thinking about this analogy in the morning it made a lot of sense and I was even fairly excited about it. But the day has worn on and now it is time to go home and I kind of don't care anymore, I can't quite pull it back together in my mind. I remember not long ago I was reading about John McPhee and his writing habits and he spoke of practically tying himself to his chair to force himself to write in a disciplined fashion. I can never quite carve out that time between taking care of all the shit which gets foisted upon me, which dooms me to just blogging, continually, bumping along the bottom of the discursive sea while pumping out my statutory four paragraphs thrice weekly for you, my beloved reader.

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

Business interruption

Sat in on a fairly interesting webinar on business interruption insurance claims under coronavirus yesterday evening. According to the presenter, anecdotal observations say that about 70% of business policies have clauses excluding claims related to viruses, whereas 30% don't. Those that don't generally insist that claims demonstrate physical loss or damage to a property for the claim to be upheld. The presenting attorney and his partner are representing businesses who are trying to claim that the virus itself constitutes damage to property, and they have a couple of different angles to work.

But basically they are going after what Buffett, particularly in reference to decades of asbestos cases but also around concepts such as "negative externalities" associated with emissions etc., has called "social inflation." That is, risks that were not understood in the past that come to light in the future, and people generally recognize that it was a broad societal mistake in need of redress and therefore the costs should be shared broadly.

But how to share the costs of businesses being disrupted by COVID-19? One obvious way would be through taxes. I.e. have the government do big stimulus spending (as it has) to pull us through in the present and then tax in the future. The difficulty there is garnering to political will to raise taxes. If the government is split, that will be hard (probably the best strategy for Republicans at this point in time is to tank 2020, let the Democrats raise taxes, and then revive the Tea Party to do an ideological re-set for mid-terms in 2022). That will also be a drag on future growth.

Expanding the scope of business interruption coverage to encompass COVID-19 is another strategy. Insurers (including reinsurers and retrocessionaires) will get slammed and will have to raise rates. The rate raises will be analogous to a tax hike and will be passed through to end consumers as inflation and/or will drive cost-cutting, automation or business failure if price anchoring has been made too rigid by the extended period of low inflation we've enjoyed (a curse in its own way).

The difference between the judicial/administrative solution of ruling to extend business interruption coverage and the tax hike strategy is that the former path forces the courts to make the decision and insurance companies to raise the money. Everybody is used to hating on insurance companies, and if the courts make the ruling, conservatives can point to this as judicial overreach. Honestly, a legislative path would be better, but much harder in the post-Cronkite world.

Sunday, June 21, 2020

Return from the City of Elms

Over the last few days Natalie and I made an assault upon the East Coast. Thursday and Friday night were spent in Princeton, so that no day of driving would exceed 8-9 hours, and we could stay in only one hotel room. On Friday we went to New Haven. Yale had given us two hours to get Natalie's stuff out of her dorm room, which seems pretty tight but actually proved doable. It was done like that so that it could be staggered over months and no two kids would be moving out of the same entryway at once. In fact I only saw one other girl and her family moving out of Natalie's residential college at all. It was like a ghost town.

It was sad. There's no getting around it. It appears unlikely that kids will be coming back to campus in the fall, or at least not a full cohort. And instruction will be done remotely in any case. So when Natalie and I sat in the Branford courtyard and looked out at it, it was with a great deal of uncertainty as to when she will be back.

On a positive note, we saw friends. We stopped in Bethesda and Natalie went for a walk with one friend (despite her seemingly broken toe). In New Haven she saw another. Both very nice kids, one Indian, one Pakistani. In Princeton we sat on the porch with Ella, Zoey, Ted and Kirsten, then we stopped in and saw George and Rob in North White Plains. Even more importantly, while we were on the road I heard from one of my oldest friends who had been stricken with the Bug and has had a pretty tough dance with it -- a regular reader of the Grouse -- no less. After not responding to my texts for a disturbingly long time, he got back to me. A very good sign.

Up and down the East Coast we saw very mixed adherence to COVID best practices. Most people wore masks, yes. There was very good compliance from food service organizations large and small, from Subways and Starbuckses to the taco truck in Bethesda and the little grill in Kingston, NJ where we got breakfast sandwiches on Friday.

But amongst the lay population it was pretty mixed. At our hotel in Princeton, despite the signs on the doors mandating face masks, a lot of people weren't wearing them, including populations hit hard, amongst them African-Americans and orthodox Jews. Both of those surprised me. In the hills of Pennsylvania and Virginia as we came down 81 on the way back, I was less surprised to see the Trumpers flouting their prerogative to both Live Free and Die.

In general traffic was pretty light. The only significant backup we experienced was on the span of the George Washington Bridge, where we could feel the bridge shudder while we were absolutely still. Neither of us said anything while we were sitting there, but I mentioned it to Natalie the next day and she agreed that it was scary as fuck. The GWB is an awfully big thing to feel shudder beneath you.

Monday, June 15, 2020

Boldino summer

Leave it to The Economist to remind me about something like Pushkin's "Boldino autumn," when he was trapped on an isolated and newly-inherited estate near Nizhnyi Novgorod during a lockdown for a cholera epidemic in 1830. He didn't even have many books with him, but he made the few months' stay one of the most productive periods of his lifetime. He finished Eugene Onegin and wrote the "Little Tragedy" plays as well as a bunch of short stories and other verse.

I need to do something similar over here. I haven't been doing badly, mind you. I've been reading books, taking care of clients, getting fit, managing lake projects and dealing with the crazy shifting landscape of park regulation, eating well, doing puzzles, I've even been blogging some. But I haven't made a concerted effort to do much in particular, beyond reading.

For example, the guitar. Recently late in the evening, when I was watching a YouTube video from guitar dude Phil of Wings of Pegasus, when he was talking about Molly Tuttle and how she honed her amazing flatpicking ability, he made the comment that to make progress on a specific guitar technique, one needed to do it very slowly over and over again until you were comfortable, then you could speed it up. To which I mentally responded "Doooohhhh!"

And so I have been working on picking with multiple fingers, as opposed to just thumb and pointer, and it is coming along. I will focus on this more. One day, I may actually play for you.

Thursday, June 11, 2020

Allocation

Last weekend I was talking on the phone to my friend Nora, who has managed to parlay into a vocation a life traveling the world -- first with her father, a famous anthropologist -- studying, creating, listening, and writing. We were talking about all that is going on in the world, Covid, protest/riots, global warming... And she told a story of talking to Jerry Brown sometime about the state of the world and she said to him: "Jerry, why can't you do something about this," to which he replied "Nora, you have to understand what my job is: it's to make sure that all the parts of the government get their budget allocation for the year. That's the job."

On the one hand, it seems to oversimplify and trivialize the span of influence of a very senior governmental role, but on the other hand, he's pretty much spot on. And the fact is that his job is pretty much the same as all of ours, except that we are allocating not just money but time, and we have to decide on how to allocate the money, i.e. buy something to consume or to appreciate, give it away (if so, to whom? to do what?), invest it in equities or bonds or something else, or stick it in the bank or credit union/CDFI, and thereby delegate the capital allocation function first to a bank CFO -- who could buy bonds, offset losses, or loan it out either to commercial enterprises or to residential borrowers, and then sell the loan on to a GSE so as to loan it out again. Or spend it to fix up something we already own. In which case, is it better to insource and do the work yourself or outsource and focus on doing one's own job, which earns more money? Or just rest, so you can do your job better tomorrow? I'm sure I've left something out.

In "normal times", this allocation process has a certain gravity or valence. Right now it feels different. We feel compelled to do and spend differently. To force ourselves to eat out when saving feels right, just to keep businesses afloat. To drive across town to FlyLeaf for a book rather than order it online. We were already trying to do that, now we are focusing harder. The calculus of giving directly vs. supporting political candidates feels more complicated...

In the "developed world," we are fortunate that, on average, we have something like 20,000-30,000 24 hour periods per life to allocate out our time/money, to figure out whether to earn, retain (by insourcing tasks), or spend money either on ourselves or on others. And there's no clear distinction between the two. Right now I really want a new couch for my study, I've probably written about it. The futon in here is 30 years on and not nappable. If I spend $2k on it, that's $2k I can't give to Josh or to a food bank or a job training program or medical research. But it supports a number of businesses, who have employees...

It's all enough to wear a person out. But we gotta keep plugging, because the infinite dance of this allocation process is what, per Hegel and MLKJ, bends the arc of history to the good. We hope.

Wednesday, June 10, 2020

The Essential

One thing we will all need to hold onto if and when this pandemic actually recedes is appreciation of small things. In times of food supply chain anxiety, we have made it a practice to really focus on eating all leftovers, often incorporating them somewhat creatively into lunches. I've been learning a lot more about ways to use various types of tinned fish and seafood, and at times I've taken to using husks of bread to sop oil out of the corners of, say, an empty can of sardines or anchovies. Why the hell not? I have come to think of anchovies as the bacon of the sea.

Also, the people. Particularly when we were all maximally freaked out, everyone was showing their appreciation for the people who work in grocery stores, drive delivery trucks, etc. We need to keep that up.

By way of contrast, when Covid infections in meat packing facilities ramped up, Trump's idea of showing his appreciation for them was to invoke legislation that -- though legally paper-thin -- tried to make it easier for their employers to keep plants open, because he deemed a safe and constant supply of cheap meat for Americans to be more important than the health of the workers, more or less. We cannot forget bullshit like this. He does so much that is wrong that it is hard to hold it in our heads.

Jonathan Safran Foer was much closer to the point right around then, when he half-called for all of us to become vegetarians. I'm working on it. Not quite there, but getting closer.

After these weeks of protests, rioting, burning, and police brutality, we need to keep this in mind. We need to fight for changes in policing -- and I am learning and assimilating the arguments about defunding the police as we go. But we also need to keep in mind the spirit of generosity towards and gratitude for others who do lower-wage work. While, however, recognizing that our more flexible labor market offers us a considerable competitive advantage over places like much of Western Europe where it's almost impossible to fire people, and therefore it's so for companies to pull the trigger on hiring people full time. This is the circle we need to square.

Monday, June 08, 2020

The many silos

On Saturday afternoon I was out riding on my bike in the country in the summer heat. I was somewhere north of Mt Sinai Rd, probably on Murphy School Rd, when I was coming up on an African-American guy who had stopped his car in the road to check his mailbox.

"How's it going?" I asked him as I came up close.
"Alright. You been out riding on trails?"

I was a little surprised at the question, as I was on a road bike, so I stopped to talk and explained that this bike was too delicate to take out on trails, how you needed one that was sturdier and with fatter tires.

He asked a few more questions, was it good exercise, did I feel safe riding on the roads, etc. I explained that as long as you stayed single file you were always OK, but that sometimes there was a jackass in a pickup truck with a Trump bumper sticker who might say something as he flew by. And of course, it is probably a measure of my white privilege that that mythical truck-driving guy might harass me differently than he would a black guy, for fear that I might lawyer up effectively if he didn't.

But what I wanted to get back to was how much this guy didn't know about bikes. He had no idea about the distinction between a mountain bike and a road bike, just because it wasn't part of this world. I have written elsewhere on the theme of siloing in society, I think, or at least I've thought about it, mostly in terms of the red-blue divide. There are so many other divides: black-white, white-Hispanic, Asian-Hispanic, etc. And so few places they are bridged. In the best of situations, political parties help with this. The fact that we have a two-party system forces the bridging of divides, balancing priorities in setting platforms, getting people together in various contexts to talk just a little. Also public schools, especially sports teams in the traditional mainstream sports, basketball and football. Jane Jacobs' neighborhood worked similarly.

But ultimately we always are forced back into our silos because we have to earn livings and tend to our own families. The exigencies of a fine-grained societal value chain but also the Dunbar number always reassert themselves. Even now, I am watching the clock and thinking that I need to get on the clock, follow up with my clients who reached out to me over the weekend (there were five of them, and somebody else asked me to look into something on her behalf), touch base with a family member who had a mild health concern, etc. Hell, I need to shave my itchy face, when you get right to it.

It is hard to make time to talk to the Other and still produce value. But maybe there's really nothing we need to do more.

Saturday, June 06, 2020

Quiz bowl

Graham has an online Quiz Bowl tournament today, which is awesome. He spends all too much of his days and nights just lying on his best reading his iPad. We never are sure what he's reading about, and I really do wish he would read more books because I am a deep believer in the book and the positive impact of making the effort to ingest large amounts of experience and wisdom that somebody else has worked hard over long period of time to fuse into a coherent whole. But he is reading and also engaging in discussions. And watching some videos, to be sure.

Occasionally at the dinner table we experience eruptions of what he has been ingesting (i.e. the content, not the food). For example, last week he talked to us about a long debate he had had with someone on one of the online discussion fora he frequents about Biden's VP selection. Also a long disquisition on the history of mercenaries (that had been informed by reading an article in this week's Economist, which kept him sitting on the living room couch for much longer than usual).

My readers who have known me a really long time, going back to Glen Heights, will recognize this as being a lot like me when I was much younger, and would stay holed up at home reading the World Book Encyclopedia in the afternoons. Really, the main thing that pulled me out of that mode was having a group of contemporary peers -- Niklaus, Josh, David, Adam, and various siblings -- who came and pulled me out -- sometimes using downright cruel methods -- and made me do sports or go in the woods and build forts.

Unfortunately, Graham doesn't quite have such a cohort, and the world is different. Now he is less the exception than I was back in the day. Lots of kids live their lives buried in their devices. Plus he has his autism diagnosis, which in some ways offers him a diagnostic validation of his way of life. Coronavirus and the distancing of everything has not helped him and kids like him, not that it has really helped anyone.

So, to return to where I began, this Quiz Bowl tournament is awesome. I hope he and his buds kick some ass. But also get kicked a little, because that's part of the process.

Thursday, June 04, 2020

What to say

Apologies for the mild radio silence of late. I have gotten pulled into discussions on Facebook about the ongoing protests following the killing of George Floyd (today we all know what I'm writing about, when I look back at this 10 years later, I may not -- though I hope I do).

I put a spectacularly ill-timed post up from a friend of my brother-in-law's who was a longtime  officer with the NYPD and then New York Housing Police the morning after Floyd's killing. That pissed off a fair number of friends of color of mine, after which I decided to focus on reading and listening rather than making my voice heard. But, inevitably, my brain/mouth -- to the extent I can separate them -- draw(s) me back into things. And, since I tend not to post the exact same thing as everyone else (why bother?), discussions get started, which demand responses. Which is good, because what's a social platform for if not discussion? Certainly we have seen the limits of virtue-signalling and demonstrating allegiance to one tribe or another.

But it has been a particularly difficult moment to try to be a mediator of discussions, when the basics of the situation on the ground are rather clear. George Floyd's killing has very little ambiguity in it. Nobody could look at it and make up some exculpatory fantasy -- as they did with Ahmaud Arbery. The only discussion can be about the way forward, and on this score Trump and the Law and Order faction are going with a nuclear option that threatens to explode them or us.

One edge fear I have is that Trump wants to keep populations of color and liberals in the streets engaging in superspreader events so that the coronavirus will rage on, giving him an excuse to push elections into a vote by mail paradigm or have restricted polling places in urban centers. Democratic polling has shown that African-Americans won't vote by mail. So Trump might be willing to gamble that his electorate will vote no matter what, because whatever else we may say about them, they seem to have been making it to the polls.