"... never explain, never apologize ..." - Nellie McClung
"Never apologize; never explain." - John Wayne
"Never explain. Never apologize." - Gertrude Stein
"Never explain. Never apologize." - Benjamin Jowett
"Never apologize, never explain" - Edmund Wilson
"Never apologize. Never explain" - Agnes Mcphail
"Never explain. Never apologize." - John Arbuthnot Fisher
"Never apologize. Never explain." - Janet Fitch
"Never apologize, never explain." - Marianne Faithfull
"... never explain, never apologize ..." - Dave Hickey
"Never explain; never apologize" - Christopher Hitchens
"Never Explain, Never Apologize" - Deborah Grey
Friday, February 9, 2018
Saturday, February 3, 2018
The Bubbles We Live In
"Television is dead." This from a manager at work. His explanation, which I've heard a few times before, was that his house doesn't even have a working TV anymore. Everyone at his house watches everything online and on their own personal phone or tablet.
Each time I hear this, I can't help but wonder if he realizes the bubble he lives in when he says that TV-is-dead as fact. Or more honestly, I wonder if he realizes how different his bubble is from my bubble - which is again different from the bubble of my former neighbors, many of who live paycheck-to-paycheck.
My bubble still exists in a world where TV comes free over the air with commercials. In the internet-limited world where I live, data caps are a fact of life and streaming is an expensive reality only. I will suggest my bubble is more transparent than my manager's.
Current estimates are that the percentage of households without a TV are in the low single digits. Percentages of households with limited access to true high speed data access is around 15% - and those who can't afford high speed access adds up to an additional 10%. The bubble for people like me is larger than the bubble for people like my manager's.
My point here isn't to proudly thump my chest and point out that I, voluntarily or involuntarily, live the life of a semi-Luddite. But it is to point out that the reality any one person sees every day doesn't match the reality of the overall population - even in first world countries. And it is both sad and dangerous when people look at their own situation and translate that broadly. When a manager at work does this, it helps me understand why many bad decisions get made.
But the bubble that I live in, or my manager lives in, or anyone else lives in isn't really the bubble I'm talking about.
I grew up smack dab in the middle of Generation X. We had one - yes 1 - TV in the house which we all shared. This reality was not abnormal, and it meant that we collectively had to decide what we were going to watch on TV. Or if we didn't want to watch what was on TV, we had to do something else. I'm not writing about this as a way to wax poetically about how much better things were. It didn't always seem that good, but there were negotiation skills to be learned in how to deal with a limited resource (the TV). There were skills to be learned in dealing with not always getting what one wanted. And it wasn't just the TV. We had a computer, a Franklin Ace 2000, earlier than many people, but it was shared as well. And as a tool primarily for education, its use was extremely limited.
There were somewhat more affluent friends who had more than one TV, but it was at most two, and often that second TV would be in the parent's bedroom; it was definitely not for kids (and friends) daily TV watching. Even in those wealthier houses, TV was often controlled by older siblings. There were arguments about what to watch and dealing with not always getting what one wanted - it was just a fact of life. Once VCR's became popular, similar issues came up with what movies to rent and watch. (of course in the 1980's, MTV was almost always ubiquitously on).
Thinking back, I was in college before I had "my own" TV and had bought a house before I had "my own" PC.
Somewhere around the early 2000's, when PC's were still normal, folders started to show up courtesy of Microsoft labeled "My Pictures" or "My Music" or "My ..." This seemed like an narcissistic step change. I don't blame Microsoft for this, it was one of the early waves in the tsunami of My, Me, I.
"TV is dead. All screen time done in my house is on our personal iPads and phones." No more learning to deal with siblings and friends. No more accepting that we won't always get our way. My Facebook feed is for me and me alone. I can scream about how I am the center of the universe on Twitter. I don't like what happens to be on the car radio at this second - no problem, I'll just tune out with my iPhone. There are life skills that will be talked about in the same way horse and buggies are talked about - historic, anachronistic, practiced only by the Atavists or odd religious sects.
We are now moving to where people are growing up in a bubble of 1.
We are now moving to where people will live in a bubble of 1.
At least until forced to interact - whether at work or driving on the road or as neighbors - dealing with others as part of society may need to be figured out much later in life. If at all. Lessons can be unlearned as the claustrophobic bubble tightens around us into adulthood. I'm not trying to overstate the importance of watching TV or streaming Netflix or Hulu. Watching TV is merely bubble gum for the eyes. But these are just one example of a individualized-everything world - where my wants take precedent over everyone else's wants (and needs).
I realize I sound like a finger-wagging grandfather here. But I believe this reality is just beginning to take shape. Maybe I am a finger-wagging old fart.
So if we have an increasingly large society built of an unlimited number of individual bubbles, there will remain another decreasing segment of society who still learn the life skills of living in larger groups - the people who choose not to, or are forced to choose not to by geography and/or income level. If all generations up through GenX grew up understanding a world of have vs. have-nots - we may be building to a future of My vs. Our; Me vs. We. It certainly seems like the latter would be better for all.
I don't see anything reversing this trend. And maybe it could be better. Already the post-millennial generation is being called iGen; that is telling. Aldous Huxley wrote, "Any change is a menace to stability." and this change seems to be happening under the untested belief that it will be better. Well, better for "Me" anyway.
Each time I hear this, I can't help but wonder if he realizes the bubble he lives in when he says that TV-is-dead as fact. Or more honestly, I wonder if he realizes how different his bubble is from my bubble - which is again different from the bubble of my former neighbors, many of who live paycheck-to-paycheck.
My bubble still exists in a world where TV comes free over the air with commercials. In the internet-limited world where I live, data caps are a fact of life and streaming is an expensive reality only. I will suggest my bubble is more transparent than my manager's.
Current estimates are that the percentage of households without a TV are in the low single digits. Percentages of households with limited access to true high speed data access is around 15% - and those who can't afford high speed access adds up to an additional 10%. The bubble for people like me is larger than the bubble for people like my manager's.
My point here isn't to proudly thump my chest and point out that I, voluntarily or involuntarily, live the life of a semi-Luddite. But it is to point out that the reality any one person sees every day doesn't match the reality of the overall population - even in first world countries. And it is both sad and dangerous when people look at their own situation and translate that broadly. When a manager at work does this, it helps me understand why many bad decisions get made.
But the bubble that I live in, or my manager lives in, or anyone else lives in isn't really the bubble I'm talking about.
I grew up smack dab in the middle of Generation X. We had one - yes 1 - TV in the house which we all shared. This reality was not abnormal, and it meant that we collectively had to decide what we were going to watch on TV. Or if we didn't want to watch what was on TV, we had to do something else. I'm not writing about this as a way to wax poetically about how much better things were. It didn't always seem that good, but there were negotiation skills to be learned in how to deal with a limited resource (the TV). There were skills to be learned in dealing with not always getting what one wanted. And it wasn't just the TV. We had a computer, a Franklin Ace 2000, earlier than many people, but it was shared as well. And as a tool primarily for education, its use was extremely limited.
There were somewhat more affluent friends who had more than one TV, but it was at most two, and often that second TV would be in the parent's bedroom; it was definitely not for kids (and friends) daily TV watching. Even in those wealthier houses, TV was often controlled by older siblings. There were arguments about what to watch and dealing with not always getting what one wanted - it was just a fact of life. Once VCR's became popular, similar issues came up with what movies to rent and watch. (of course in the 1980's, MTV was almost always ubiquitously on).
Thinking back, I was in college before I had "my own" TV and had bought a house before I had "my own" PC.
Somewhere around the early 2000's, when PC's were still normal, folders started to show up courtesy of Microsoft labeled "My Pictures" or "My Music" or "My ..." This seemed like an narcissistic step change. I don't blame Microsoft for this, it was one of the early waves in the tsunami of My, Me, I.
"TV is dead. All screen time done in my house is on our personal iPads and phones." No more learning to deal with siblings and friends. No more accepting that we won't always get our way. My Facebook feed is for me and me alone. I can scream about how I am the center of the universe on Twitter. I don't like what happens to be on the car radio at this second - no problem, I'll just tune out with my iPhone. There are life skills that will be talked about in the same way horse and buggies are talked about - historic, anachronistic, practiced only by the Atavists or odd religious sects.
We are now moving to where people are growing up in a bubble of 1.
We are now moving to where people will live in a bubble of 1.
At least until forced to interact - whether at work or driving on the road or as neighbors - dealing with others as part of society may need to be figured out much later in life. If at all. Lessons can be unlearned as the claustrophobic bubble tightens around us into adulthood. I'm not trying to overstate the importance of watching TV or streaming Netflix or Hulu. Watching TV is merely bubble gum for the eyes. But these are just one example of a individualized-everything world - where my wants take precedent over everyone else's wants (and needs).
I realize I sound like a finger-wagging grandfather here. But I believe this reality is just beginning to take shape. Maybe I am a finger-wagging old fart.
So if we have an increasingly large society built of an unlimited number of individual bubbles, there will remain another decreasing segment of society who still learn the life skills of living in larger groups - the people who choose not to, or are forced to choose not to by geography and/or income level. If all generations up through GenX grew up understanding a world of have vs. have-nots - we may be building to a future of My vs. Our; Me vs. We. It certainly seems like the latter would be better for all.
I don't see anything reversing this trend. And maybe it could be better. Already the post-millennial generation is being called iGen; that is telling. Aldous Huxley wrote, "Any change is a menace to stability." and this change seems to be happening under the untested belief that it will be better. Well, better for "Me" anyway.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
23andMe Part II
I've spent more time digging into the information provided by 23andMe from my DNA analysis. In the time since I've gotten the initial report, some of these have been updated demonstrating 23andMe's commitment to providing information which is as relevant as it can be. I'm not sure if I'm surprised or not that most of these updates have changed to being more correct versus my perception.
Among the things 23andMe is suggesting is:
I can smell asparagus pee: True.
Likely detatched ear lobes: Well - I'm sort of in between.
Eye color likely blue or green: Yep (and recently corrected report)
Early hair loss: I guess, but compared to many of my relatives, I'm on the low end of this.
Unibrow unlikely: True, but ugly close...
Predisposed to be more corpulent: Yeah! It isn't my fault!
Likely lactose intolerant: Ya know - I might be to a degree? It would explain some things I won't go into here.
Likely to be a similar weight based on calories consumed regardless of saturated fat intake: Yeah for ice cream (see above) and bacon!
It should be noted that many of these things are more directional than strong predictions by 23andMe. As an example, I'm likely to have light hair, but of 23andMe participants like me, over 35% have dark brown or black hair. Some of the traits are predicted by only a few percentage points.
But by far the most interesting thing I've found is 23andMe's "DNA Relatives." After agreeing to share limited information, 23andMe comes up with a list of people who share enough DNA to be considered relatives - it found nearly 1200 matches just within people who have been tested by 23andMe. At first glance, this seems like a lot, but back of the envelope calculations suggest otherwise. Assuming 5 births per couple/generation:
50 first cousins
300 second cousins
1500 third cousins
7800 fourth cousins
40,000 fifth cousins
200,000 sixth cousins
etc. (Note, this is a slightly-simplified, inclusive model)
While 5 births may be high based on present day birth rates, I come from some obnoxiously large families and these numbers will be skewed higher by larger families further back in time - so these estimates are likely low. With a few known families that are into the double digits for children, the numbers may be very low.
Browsing through the list of DNA Relatives has been fascinating - I keep seeing a few key surnames and even a few that are consistent with the little I know about my family tree. Perhaps more telling, looking through the locations some people have shared reveals a who's where for what I know about past family.
23andMe allows the option to contact these people which I haven't done. At this point, pawing through the list of people is interesting, but it feels a little creepy at the same time. I would love to find out if the actual relations could be teased out for some of the closer matches, but I'm really not sure what I would do with that information, or even what I'd do if someone contacted me for that.
But I definitely want to do some more browsing here to see if I can find matches between surnames and location that clearly look non-coincidental.
After going through much of the data provided by 23andMe I sent my siblings an email telling them about my boring genetic make-up. I was kind of hoping one of them might be interested in this as well (or had already been tested out of curiosity like me), but there were no bites. I can't blame them - it took me a long time to do this.
But it did start a conversation on what is known about our ancestry. Apparently a fairly comprehensive family tree was created at one time for my mom's side. And I found out that there was a book written about some the history of my dad's family.
Whhhhaaaaat?
How come I didn't know about this book? Actually, I may have at one point, but it slipped through the memory cracks.
Proving that absolutely everything is available on Amazon, a quick search showed this book was available used through a seller with good ratings - a signed copy no less. Add to Cart!
The book is written by my great uncle about my great grandfather and great grandmother's immigration to the United States through their deaths. It isn't a page-turning thriller, but it is far more interesting than I expected. Some of it is hard to follow since many of the European names are similar and with very large families, there are a lot of them. But the book details the immigration, life's challenges and victories, belief structures and daily life of the immigrant family.
In a way, the book is a document of European post-industrial immigration. The struggle between maintaining old world language, customs and religion in the melting pot experiment that was, and is, North America. It is the story of coming to America with almost nothing, and building a far more successful life than would have been likely in Western Europe.
My great grandfather was essentially an orphan with little prospects - his marriage to a woman from a prominent family was a bit of a scandal - their combined future would have been that of his - a common laborer likely to live a life of poverty. Moving to North America was a risk that resulted in a difficult life that, combined with hard work, resulted in a life far more successful that would have been possible for either of them.
If I add what I know about the immigration of my mom's side of the family shortly after WWII, I realize how close in time I really am to Europe, even though I'm about as "American" as it gets. I would love to find a way to do a similar documentation of that story, but it would be all-encompassing for a year or more to do it right.
Some of the pictures in my Great Uncle's book are also fascinating. Seeing my grandfather as a young child and young man. Seeing where my dad's family lived. Seeing pictures of early family reunions (138 people, which was not inclusive of everyone).
Before he died, my dad had given me a painting, done by a cousin, of my dad's grandfather's barn. It was painted on wood that was taken from that barn during a repair (or possibly when it was torn down). That barn features in the book, and a picture shows how close the painting is. That painting which has hung in the garage for a few years, feels a little more like a relic now; at the time I got it, I didn't realize the significance.
Several times I had to pause while reading the book and think that these aren't anonymous people I'm reading about in a history book, but people I'm related to. More than that, just a minor tweak to events could have resulted in me being very different from what I am - or even me not existing at all. I am statistically very unlikely.
I'm really not sure where I go from here. Part of me would love to run with the information I have and see what else can fall out of the family tree. But a more rational part of me knows that ancestral research can be an all-consuming obsession - taking time, money and energy resources that I'm not sure I want to (or can) devote to that.
What I can say for sure, is that decision to spit in a tube and send it to 23andMe pointed to toward an extremely fascinating fractal.
Among the things 23andMe is suggesting is:
I can smell asparagus pee: True.
Likely detatched ear lobes: Well - I'm sort of in between.
Eye color likely blue or green: Yep (and recently corrected report)
Early hair loss: I guess, but compared to many of my relatives, I'm on the low end of this.
Unibrow unlikely: True, but ugly close...
Predisposed to be more corpulent: Yeah! It isn't my fault!
Likely lactose intolerant: Ya know - I might be to a degree? It would explain some things I won't go into here.
Likely to be a similar weight based on calories consumed regardless of saturated fat intake: Yeah for ice cream (see above) and bacon!
It should be noted that many of these things are more directional than strong predictions by 23andMe. As an example, I'm likely to have light hair, but of 23andMe participants like me, over 35% have dark brown or black hair. Some of the traits are predicted by only a few percentage points.
But by far the most interesting thing I've found is 23andMe's "DNA Relatives." After agreeing to share limited information, 23andMe comes up with a list of people who share enough DNA to be considered relatives - it found nearly 1200 matches just within people who have been tested by 23andMe. At first glance, this seems like a lot, but back of the envelope calculations suggest otherwise. Assuming 5 births per couple/generation:
50 first cousins
300 second cousins
1500 third cousins
7800 fourth cousins
40,000 fifth cousins
200,000 sixth cousins
etc. (Note, this is a slightly-simplified, inclusive model)
While 5 births may be high based on present day birth rates, I come from some obnoxiously large families and these numbers will be skewed higher by larger families further back in time - so these estimates are likely low. With a few known families that are into the double digits for children, the numbers may be very low.
Browsing through the list of DNA Relatives has been fascinating - I keep seeing a few key surnames and even a few that are consistent with the little I know about my family tree. Perhaps more telling, looking through the locations some people have shared reveals a who's where for what I know about past family.
23andMe allows the option to contact these people which I haven't done. At this point, pawing through the list of people is interesting, but it feels a little creepy at the same time. I would love to find out if the actual relations could be teased out for some of the closer matches, but I'm really not sure what I would do with that information, or even what I'd do if someone contacted me for that.
But I definitely want to do some more browsing here to see if I can find matches between surnames and location that clearly look non-coincidental.
After going through much of the data provided by 23andMe I sent my siblings an email telling them about my boring genetic make-up. I was kind of hoping one of them might be interested in this as well (or had already been tested out of curiosity like me), but there were no bites. I can't blame them - it took me a long time to do this.
But it did start a conversation on what is known about our ancestry. Apparently a fairly comprehensive family tree was created at one time for my mom's side. And I found out that there was a book written about some the history of my dad's family.
Whhhhaaaaat?
How come I didn't know about this book? Actually, I may have at one point, but it slipped through the memory cracks.
Proving that absolutely everything is available on Amazon, a quick search showed this book was available used through a seller with good ratings - a signed copy no less. Add to Cart!
The book is written by my great uncle about my great grandfather and great grandmother's immigration to the United States through their deaths. It isn't a page-turning thriller, but it is far more interesting than I expected. Some of it is hard to follow since many of the European names are similar and with very large families, there are a lot of them. But the book details the immigration, life's challenges and victories, belief structures and daily life of the immigrant family.
In a way, the book is a document of European post-industrial immigration. The struggle between maintaining old world language, customs and religion in the melting pot experiment that was, and is, North America. It is the story of coming to America with almost nothing, and building a far more successful life than would have been likely in Western Europe.
My great grandfather was essentially an orphan with little prospects - his marriage to a woman from a prominent family was a bit of a scandal - their combined future would have been that of his - a common laborer likely to live a life of poverty. Moving to North America was a risk that resulted in a difficult life that, combined with hard work, resulted in a life far more successful that would have been possible for either of them.
If I add what I know about the immigration of my mom's side of the family shortly after WWII, I realize how close in time I really am to Europe, even though I'm about as "American" as it gets. I would love to find a way to do a similar documentation of that story, but it would be all-encompassing for a year or more to do it right.
Some of the pictures in my Great Uncle's book are also fascinating. Seeing my grandfather as a young child and young man. Seeing where my dad's family lived. Seeing pictures of early family reunions (138 people, which was not inclusive of everyone).
Before he died, my dad had given me a painting, done by a cousin, of my dad's grandfather's barn. It was painted on wood that was taken from that barn during a repair (or possibly when it was torn down). That barn features in the book, and a picture shows how close the painting is. That painting which has hung in the garage for a few years, feels a little more like a relic now; at the time I got it, I didn't realize the significance.
Several times I had to pause while reading the book and think that these aren't anonymous people I'm reading about in a history book, but people I'm related to. More than that, just a minor tweak to events could have resulted in me being very different from what I am - or even me not existing at all. I am statistically very unlikely.
I'm really not sure where I go from here. Part of me would love to run with the information I have and see what else can fall out of the family tree. But a more rational part of me knows that ancestral research can be an all-consuming obsession - taking time, money and energy resources that I'm not sure I want to (or can) devote to that.
What I can say for sure, is that decision to spit in a tube and send it to 23andMe pointed to toward an extremely fascinating fractal.
Friday, January 12, 2018
My Experience (so far) with 23andMe
It was partially due to my background in science, partially due to wondering what it would tell me, and just a whole lot of insatiable curiosity. I felt compelled to have my DNA tested for some time. But I resisted since it isn't a critical need and the cost is not negligible. But I would occasionally read up on the various companies that do this and look to see if there were any deals out there. There were really only two companies I even considered: ancestry.com and 23andme.com. From what I've read, both of these companies provide similar data from similar state of the art technology as far as ancestry is concerned. And both also work from relatively comprehensive databases. Some of the other companies have much smaller learning databases, with one little more than smoke and mirrors. 23andMe was the clear favorite since it also provides data on some known health markers - for an additional fee. There was an FDA crackdown on 23andMe about health claims and how this characterized their service, but some clarification of language that is used has allowed this to resume.
23andMe has another advantage in that it is pay-once, lifetime-data. As I understand it, ancestry.com requires annual subscriptions to continue to get updates as the technology progresses and new data is available.
Towards the end of November, I finally bit when I saw that there was a sale on Ancestry+Health kit from 23andMe. It was still more than I wanted to pay but close enough to pull the trigger. A "sale" on DNA analysis sounds a bit weird though - some kind of an amalgamation of a KMart Blue Light Special with 21st Century technology.
Within a few days my kit arrived. It came with clear instructions and return postage is prepaid. Before actually submitting the sample, I had to register on 23andMe. There are many disclaimers and agreements to terms and conditions to get through on registering. Although there is a lot of paranoia about how these companies are going to do evil things with DNA or the data collected, or that it will be stolen and used by anybody from the Federal Government to racial purity groups to rogue states, I didn't see anything in there to scare me away. They do go out of their way to make it clear that it is possible to find out information which may be disturbing.
I didn't think too much about this aspect at first, since I was mostly doing this to appease some curiosity. But as I reflected on it later, I started wondering how I would react if 23andMe showed a genetic marker for some terrible disease, or if my ancestry showed something very different from family lore. To be honest though, this really didn't feel like a roll of the dice. I was just curious. Perhaps part of me was hoping for something unexpectedly interesting.
And as far as the government or racial purity groups, if they want someone's DNA, it is not terribly difficult to get. Yes Chicken Little, the sky is falling.
The instructions with the kit warn not to eat or drink anything for at least 30 minutes prior to sampling. So on a Friday that I didn't have to work I waited for almost two hours just for good measure. No need to contaminate my results with DNA from cornbread pecan waffles. The mailing tube doesn't look very big, but it took more spitting than I would have thought to fill it to the requisite level. Not the bubbles! Then, it was all sealed up and sent off to North Carolina.
I got an email saying it was received, then a few weeks later I got another email saying my reports are ready. I immediately put down my phone and walked over to the computer that is always on at the house and logged in to 23andme.com.
And the results are...
wait for it...
disappointing.
I am absolutely and profoundly boring.
My ancestry mirrors what I've been led to believe my whole life. I am 100% European and even more boringly over 98% Northwestern European. Yes, there is more British Isles in me than I would have expected and even some Scandinavian (I knew I was part Viking!), but I'm just a slightly mixed Northern European. No Mayan. No Zulu. No lineage which can be traced back to the vicious tribes from the Steppes of Russia. No evidence of even ancient Roman conquests.
Similarly, my health results showed nothing too surprising. And even most of the physical traits were as expected.
The only thing even slightly interesting about me is that I have more than ample evidence of Neanderthal DNA. So I guess I am part knuckle dragger.
Some of the predicted physical traits don't match up with reality. I don't see this as a failure of 23andMe, but just an acknowledgement that the science behind some of these things is still in a learning phase and may be for a long time - 23andMe does say many times that not all genes are identified and how they interact is often unclear in the current state of the art. The additional information about the science behind this provided by 23andMe is fascinating as well.
There are lots of other information that I'm still going through, and if anything, this has increased my curiosity about my ancestry - even if it is boring at first glance. So was it time and money well spent? If the goal was to quell the curiosity, it failed. If the goal was to learn a little in order to think more and likely investigate more - it was definitely worth it.
23andMe has another advantage in that it is pay-once, lifetime-data. As I understand it, ancestry.com requires annual subscriptions to continue to get updates as the technology progresses and new data is available.
Towards the end of November, I finally bit when I saw that there was a sale on Ancestry+Health kit from 23andMe. It was still more than I wanted to pay but close enough to pull the trigger. A "sale" on DNA analysis sounds a bit weird though - some kind of an amalgamation of a KMart Blue Light Special with 21st Century technology.
Within a few days my kit arrived. It came with clear instructions and return postage is prepaid. Before actually submitting the sample, I had to register on 23andMe. There are many disclaimers and agreements to terms and conditions to get through on registering. Although there is a lot of paranoia about how these companies are going to do evil things with DNA or the data collected, or that it will be stolen and used by anybody from the Federal Government to racial purity groups to rogue states, I didn't see anything in there to scare me away. They do go out of their way to make it clear that it is possible to find out information which may be disturbing.
I didn't think too much about this aspect at first, since I was mostly doing this to appease some curiosity. But as I reflected on it later, I started wondering how I would react if 23andMe showed a genetic marker for some terrible disease, or if my ancestry showed something very different from family lore. To be honest though, this really didn't feel like a roll of the dice. I was just curious. Perhaps part of me was hoping for something unexpectedly interesting.
And as far as the government or racial purity groups, if they want someone's DNA, it is not terribly difficult to get. Yes Chicken Little, the sky is falling.
The instructions with the kit warn not to eat or drink anything for at least 30 minutes prior to sampling. So on a Friday that I didn't have to work I waited for almost two hours just for good measure. No need to contaminate my results with DNA from cornbread pecan waffles. The mailing tube doesn't look very big, but it took more spitting than I would have thought to fill it to the requisite level. Not the bubbles! Then, it was all sealed up and sent off to North Carolina.
I got an email saying it was received, then a few weeks later I got another email saying my reports are ready. I immediately put down my phone and walked over to the computer that is always on at the house and logged in to 23andme.com.
And the results are...
wait for it...
disappointing.
I am absolutely and profoundly boring.
My ancestry mirrors what I've been led to believe my whole life. I am 100% European and even more boringly over 98% Northwestern European. Yes, there is more British Isles in me than I would have expected and even some Scandinavian (I knew I was part Viking!), but I'm just a slightly mixed Northern European. No Mayan. No Zulu. No lineage which can be traced back to the vicious tribes from the Steppes of Russia. No evidence of even ancient Roman conquests.
Similarly, my health results showed nothing too surprising. And even most of the physical traits were as expected.
The only thing even slightly interesting about me is that I have more than ample evidence of Neanderthal DNA. So I guess I am part knuckle dragger.
Some of the predicted physical traits don't match up with reality. I don't see this as a failure of 23andMe, but just an acknowledgement that the science behind some of these things is still in a learning phase and may be for a long time - 23andMe does say many times that not all genes are identified and how they interact is often unclear in the current state of the art. The additional information about the science behind this provided by 23andMe is fascinating as well.
There are lots of other information that I'm still going through, and if anything, this has increased my curiosity about my ancestry - even if it is boring at first glance. So was it time and money well spent? If the goal was to quell the curiosity, it failed. If the goal was to learn a little in order to think more and likely investigate more - it was definitely worth it.
Saturday, January 6, 2018
Did You Know The Song "Whatever Lola Wants" Was In The Movie Platoon?
A few years ago I kvetched about how complicated and outdated copyright law is in an era of YouTube.
It gets even worse when the automated tools used to "help" don't work. The lesson here isn't about copyrights and artist's legitimate need to be paid, but more about how automated processes fail. (and) "When the Machine breaks down, we break down." -Staff Sergeant Barnes.
In the time lapse movie of my back yard for 2017, I used "Adagio for Strings" as background music. I can't say this style of music is to my normal tastes, but it seemed to fit well with the video and I had (relatively) recently watched Oliver Stone's movie Platoon which uses the song extensively.
Once uploaded to YouTube, my back yard time lapse was flagged for copyright content. Fair enough - I originally thought the origin of "Adagio for Strings" was much older than it was. But "Adagio for Strings" was arranged by Samuel Barber in 1936. While Copyright Law has a lot of twists and turns, work from between 1923 and 1977 are generally protected for 95 years after they were published. So by any measure, my time lapse video does contain copyrighted content. Mea Culpa.
But when I looked closer at the YouTube flag, they said it had the song "WHATEVER LOLA WANTS LOLA GETS" - well that isn't right... If YouTube is going to flag me and allow others to monetize my video, the least they can do is make sure their data is right and the right people subsequently get paid.
I disputed YouTube Copyright Content designation - in the dispute, there are several options, but there is not an option in the automated dispute process for "YouTube is a dumb-ass."
And then there is a list of 16 Claimants, but this list does not match anything close to what YouTube's search function shows as to who owns the rights to either "Adagio for Strings" or "Whatever Lola Wants." And is the list of Claimants the owners of "Adagio for Strings?" Or "Whatever Lola Wants?" Or something else entirely?
Not unsurprisingly, my dispute was rejected. No reason is given, but I suspect the rejection is just as automated as everything else. Or at best, some flunky is paid to go through all the disputes that come in and serially reject all of them.
It is, quite frankly, not worth anyone's time (including mine) to correct this, but it demonstrates that the issue of copyright protection by YouTube and those who own the rights is a farce (especially for video's that will at best get a few hits in their lifetime).
The only conclusion to all of this is that I am wrong. The system works. Oliver Stone must have used "Whatever Lola Wants" in the movie Platoon and I've missed it all the times I've watched it.
So please sit back and listen to what YouTube says is Samuel Barber's and Richard Adler's collective work of "How do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" performed by Iron Maiden.
And somewhere around 2031, "Adagio for Strings" will no longer be copyright protected and YouTube will remove the content flag. Right?
Or, since it is actually "Whatever Lola Wants" written by Richard Adler, it may be available around 2050.
It gets even worse when the automated tools used to "help" don't work. The lesson here isn't about copyrights and artist's legitimate need to be paid, but more about how automated processes fail. (and) "When the Machine breaks down, we break down." -Staff Sergeant Barnes.
In the time lapse movie of my back yard for 2017, I used "Adagio for Strings" as background music. I can't say this style of music is to my normal tastes, but it seemed to fit well with the video and I had (relatively) recently watched Oliver Stone's movie Platoon which uses the song extensively.
Once uploaded to YouTube, my back yard time lapse was flagged for copyright content. Fair enough - I originally thought the origin of "Adagio for Strings" was much older than it was. But "Adagio for Strings" was arranged by Samuel Barber in 1936. While Copyright Law has a lot of twists and turns, work from between 1923 and 1977 are generally protected for 95 years after they were published. So by any measure, my time lapse video does contain copyrighted content. Mea Culpa.
But when I looked closer at the YouTube flag, they said it had the song "WHATEVER LOLA WANTS LOLA GETS" - well that isn't right... If YouTube is going to flag me and allow others to monetize my video, the least they can do is make sure their data is right and the right people subsequently get paid.
I disputed YouTube Copyright Content designation - in the dispute, there are several options, but there is not an option in the automated dispute process for "YouTube is a dumb-ass."
And then there is a list of 16 Claimants, but this list does not match anything close to what YouTube's search function shows as to who owns the rights to either "Adagio for Strings" or "Whatever Lola Wants." And is the list of Claimants the owners of "Adagio for Strings?" Or "Whatever Lola Wants?" Or something else entirely?
Not unsurprisingly, my dispute was rejected. No reason is given, but I suspect the rejection is just as automated as everything else. Or at best, some flunky is paid to go through all the disputes that come in and serially reject all of them.
It is, quite frankly, not worth anyone's time (including mine) to correct this, but it demonstrates that the issue of copyright protection by YouTube and those who own the rights is a farce (especially for video's that will at best get a few hits in their lifetime).
The only conclusion to all of this is that I am wrong. The system works. Oliver Stone must have used "Whatever Lola Wants" in the movie Platoon and I've missed it all the times I've watched it.
So please sit back and listen to what YouTube says is Samuel Barber's and Richard Adler's collective work of "How do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" performed by Iron Maiden.
And somewhere around 2031, "Adagio for Strings" will no longer be copyright protected and YouTube will remove the content flag. Right?
Or, since it is actually "Whatever Lola Wants" written by Richard Adler, it may be available around 2050.
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
Happy Another Year
Let's get one thing out there right now: I've spent somewhere north of 125,700 minutes working in 2017 year. Give or take... I find this depressing, but there is no end in sight. And while not all the time is unpleasant, I do really enjoy the paycheck most of all.
I've spent around 153,000 minutes sleeping (or laying in bed wishing I could sleep). I guess this is needed.
I'm embarrassed to admit I've probably spent 89,000 minutes watching TV. In my defense, some of that was just background noise.
I probably spent 54,000 minutes cooking and eating. Sadly, I ended the year 4.2 pounds heavier than last year, but any of that which was due to smoked ribs is worth it.
I've spent 20,900 minutes commuting - although some of that has been on the motorcycle and only a comparitively small amount of that time was stuck in wretched traffic.
I spent around 3500 minutes mowing the lawn, with another likely 3000 minutes doing other house maintenance.
I probably spent 2800 minutes just grocery shopping.
I might have spent 1200 minutes doing maintenance and repair on motor vehicles. The MGB being rear ended in 2016 was the major contributor to that.
I can definitely look back at 2017 and see highlights of the year - more good than bad even. It would even be hard to say 2017 wasn't a good year. I spent somewhere around 38,900 minutes on vacation; that is the time that matters most. Still more time than commuting. And I know that places me in the lucky-SOB category. Two minutes and 37 seconds of that was watching a total solar eclipse.
I spent somewhere around 18200 minutes walking the dog - the older one is sadly too old to go on walks anymore. I pedaled my bicycle around 10,000 minutes. This is offset by the time spent eating ice cream (maybe 2000 minutes). Is the ice cream worth it? Maybe, but maybe not.
It was a good outdoors year where around 4700 minutes were spent hunting or fishing.
About 11,700 minutes were spent riding my motorcycles - it should have been more.
I spent somewhere around 1700 minutes reading books. This could be added to 4300 minutes spent reading magazines.
I spent 2200 minutes in the shower and around 600 minutes shaving. It would be hard to justify even this amount of time based on my appearance.
As I look forward to 2018, it would be nice to think the mundanity of all the 2017 minutes would not be repeated, but I suspect 2018 will look a lot like 2017. So Happy New Year is inaccurate, and maybe overly optimistic.
Happy Another Year.
I've spent around 153,000 minutes sleeping (or laying in bed wishing I could sleep). I guess this is needed.
I'm embarrassed to admit I've probably spent 89,000 minutes watching TV. In my defense, some of that was just background noise.
I probably spent 54,000 minutes cooking and eating. Sadly, I ended the year 4.2 pounds heavier than last year, but any of that which was due to smoked ribs is worth it.
I've spent 20,900 minutes commuting - although some of that has been on the motorcycle and only a comparitively small amount of that time was stuck in wretched traffic.
I spent around 3500 minutes mowing the lawn, with another likely 3000 minutes doing other house maintenance.
I probably spent 2800 minutes just grocery shopping.
I might have spent 1200 minutes doing maintenance and repair on motor vehicles. The MGB being rear ended in 2016 was the major contributor to that.
I can definitely look back at 2017 and see highlights of the year - more good than bad even. It would even be hard to say 2017 wasn't a good year. I spent somewhere around 38,900 minutes on vacation; that is the time that matters most. Still more time than commuting. And I know that places me in the lucky-SOB category. Two minutes and 37 seconds of that was watching a total solar eclipse.
I spent somewhere around 18200 minutes walking the dog - the older one is sadly too old to go on walks anymore. I pedaled my bicycle around 10,000 minutes. This is offset by the time spent eating ice cream (maybe 2000 minutes). Is the ice cream worth it? Maybe, but maybe not.
It was a good outdoors year where around 4700 minutes were spent hunting or fishing.
About 11,700 minutes were spent riding my motorcycles - it should have been more.
I spent somewhere around 1700 minutes reading books. This could be added to 4300 minutes spent reading magazines.
I spent 2200 minutes in the shower and around 600 minutes shaving. It would be hard to justify even this amount of time based on my appearance.
As I look forward to 2018, it would be nice to think the mundanity of all the 2017 minutes would not be repeated, but I suspect 2018 will look a lot like 2017. So Happy New Year is inaccurate, and maybe overly optimistic.
Happy Another Year.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
I hate your Christmas Present, So I Melted It
SO and I don't exchange Christmas gifts anymore; we haven't for years. Let's be honest: More stuff tends to clutter life, not improve it.
But there was a time when we did exchange gifts. Gifts would typically be something of moderate value on Christmas Eve, with much smaller things (fruit, candy, small hobby supplies, etc.) in stockings on Christmas morning.
Somewhere between 15 and 20 years ago, one of the items I put in SO's stocking was a cooking spoon. It was hard plastic and slotted with a figure-8 in it. At some point a short time after that Christmas morning, I handed that spoon to SO while we were making dinner. She commented something like, "Not that one, I hate that spoon." I laughed and reminded her it was a Christmas present, and that has become a long running joke ever since.
"I need a spoon from the utensil drawer."
"Do you want the one you hate?"
I'm trying to remember what I did last year around the end of the year. I had a few extra days off after I finished deer hunting, and there are always the days off around Christmas and New Years. Cabin fever usually sets in towards the end of the year.
I keep a running list of all the books I read - it serves as a good reminder so I don't inadvertently get the same book at the library twice. It also helps when I'm trying to think of a particular book or author to recommend to someone, and the list sometimes helps me remember what I was doing at a certain time by correlating events with what I happened to be reading. Looking back at late 2016, I wasn't reading very much so that was not helpful. Although I seem to recall rereading several books around that time. The spreadsheet I use to keep track of my work vacation time didn't add any perspective either. Emails from around then are similarly unhelpful. Sometimes even what I've written here may spark a reminder. Looking back at the end of 2016 appears like looking into a foggy mirror.
It makes me worried that I wasted a lot of time at the end of last year.
I hate wasting time. Time is the one commodity that is absolutely fixed. Once a minute is gone, it is gone forever. But then again maybe not. Big mistakes seem to live on in perpetuity. That sounds too negative - many good events take on a life of their own as well. But not like the blunders do.
SO made toffee a short time ago on a day she had off of work. I also noticed three new wooden spoons in the utensil drawer. Wooden spoons have their place, but they can also absorb stuff while cooking. The last wooden spoon was thrown away when mice somehow found it and ate a large percentage of it. The mice in the old house would often make their presence known. If the new house has mice, I've never noticed any evidence of them except in the garage on rare occasions.
I asked SO about the wooden spoons, only because there were three of them. A wooden spoon might ber a useful utensil to have around. But three? "I melted one of the plastic spoons when I made toffee." This should not have been unexpected. "I should probably throw the toffee away, I think there is still some plastic in it."
"One of the cheap fat plastic spoons?" I asked.
"No."
"The one you hate?"
"Yes."
But there was a time when we did exchange gifts. Gifts would typically be something of moderate value on Christmas Eve, with much smaller things (fruit, candy, small hobby supplies, etc.) in stockings on Christmas morning.
Somewhere between 15 and 20 years ago, one of the items I put in SO's stocking was a cooking spoon. It was hard plastic and slotted with a figure-8 in it. At some point a short time after that Christmas morning, I handed that spoon to SO while we were making dinner. She commented something like, "Not that one, I hate that spoon." I laughed and reminded her it was a Christmas present, and that has become a long running joke ever since.
"I need a spoon from the utensil drawer."
"Do you want the one you hate?"
I'm trying to remember what I did last year around the end of the year. I had a few extra days off after I finished deer hunting, and there are always the days off around Christmas and New Years. Cabin fever usually sets in towards the end of the year.
I keep a running list of all the books I read - it serves as a good reminder so I don't inadvertently get the same book at the library twice. It also helps when I'm trying to think of a particular book or author to recommend to someone, and the list sometimes helps me remember what I was doing at a certain time by correlating events with what I happened to be reading. Looking back at late 2016, I wasn't reading very much so that was not helpful. Although I seem to recall rereading several books around that time. The spreadsheet I use to keep track of my work vacation time didn't add any perspective either. Emails from around then are similarly unhelpful. Sometimes even what I've written here may spark a reminder. Looking back at the end of 2016 appears like looking into a foggy mirror.
It makes me worried that I wasted a lot of time at the end of last year.
I hate wasting time. Time is the one commodity that is absolutely fixed. Once a minute is gone, it is gone forever. But then again maybe not. Big mistakes seem to live on in perpetuity. That sounds too negative - many good events take on a life of their own as well. But not like the blunders do.
SO made toffee a short time ago on a day she had off of work. I also noticed three new wooden spoons in the utensil drawer. Wooden spoons have their place, but they can also absorb stuff while cooking. The last wooden spoon was thrown away when mice somehow found it and ate a large percentage of it. The mice in the old house would often make their presence known. If the new house has mice, I've never noticed any evidence of them except in the garage on rare occasions.
I asked SO about the wooden spoons, only because there were three of them. A wooden spoon might ber a useful utensil to have around. But three? "I melted one of the plastic spoons when I made toffee." This should not have been unexpected. "I should probably throw the toffee away, I think there is still some plastic in it."
"One of the cheap fat plastic spoons?" I asked.
"No."
"The one you hate?"
"Yes."
Monday, December 18, 2017
Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance
I was able to walk into the library and get a copy of Hillbilly Elegy - meaning it no longer carries the crazy impossible-to-borrow best seller (or borrower?) status it did for so long. Still, I hadn't read it before so it was new to me.
Hillbilly Elegy was a book that was on my want-to-read list, then it was taken off. Then at some point it made it back on. Like many best sellers, I was a bit apprehensive. Some of the criticism in the reviews also steered me away.
But the author lived fairly nearby where I live for much of his life and there was lots of positive about the book. Since I could walk in and get a copy, I did.
I was glad I did as the book was overall quite good. The author being native to the area I now call home and looking at the events and dates in the book - it is very possible our paths may have crossed. Not that I have likely ever met him or talked to him, but he wrote about places and things that are very nearby. While his upwardly mobile path sent him to live in San Francisco, my more lateral path sent me to live in the same rust belt area he called home. Although from the small amount I've read about him since finishing the book, it appears he has since moved back to Ohio to start a nonprofit helping his former community. This is deserving of praise as he now has the background and probably finances to live just about anywhere.
The book doesn't start off that well. The first few chapters are somewhat disjointed and lurchy. He introduces many characters - some of which feature prominently in the book and some of which do not. I had a hard time following many of them and the similar colloquial names did not help.
After those first few chapters, it almost seemed like the author got a different editor as the flow of the writing smoothed out considerably. The narrative started to form as the story began to build.
The story itself is one of J.D. Vance's movement within a transplanted Kentucky hillbilly family - his transformation from a poor and degraded section of Middletown, Ohio to a Yale-educated lawyer.
Some of the complaints I saw about the book took on a racial tone or that he was speaking for only one brand of hillbilly. I think this is unfortunate as he was telling his own story - pointing out what worked for him and what he saw as unsuccessful. One could lob the same accusations at Lac Su for I Love Yous Are for White People as the tale is similar. I never got the impression from the book that he was stating as fact that other people will be able to copy his success directly. But what leads to failure is often much easier to predict and duplicate.
Sadly, many have read and interpreted the book with a political slant. Donald Trump's election to the White House was coincidental to the release of the book, but unless the author has clairvoyance that he doesn't share, the 2016 election was unknown when the book was written. Despite what The Huffington Post or Fox News would like us to believe, not everything is political. His story is an interesting personal narrative - I think it is better to leave it at that.
Outside of the dramatic story, what struck me most was his interaction with some of the more elite of society while at Yale. He describes going to a Cracker Barrel restaurant with some of his classmates who had presumably never been to one before - or any of its ilk of restaurants. To them, it is merely “a greasy public health crisis.” Cracker Barrel is not my favorite places, but on the list of eating establishments I would consider “a greasy public health crisis,” it would not be near the top of the list.
What I found terrifying in this section is the people who consider Cracker Barrel “a greasy public health crisis” are the same people who are, by in large, writing our laws, interpreting our laws and running major corporations in the country. I work with some people who come from privileged background, and I can't think of any of them who don't occasionally go to eat fast food or cheap Chinese take-out. Treating Cracker Barrel as little more than barnyard fodder demonstrates a segment of society that is grossly out of touch with not just the poor and lower-middle class, but even some who would be considered rich.
I can only hope that this is one of a few exaggerations in the book.
Which brings up my main criticism of the text - I think he misses a big point, or doesn't make it forcefully enough.
Everybody makes mistakes and just about everybody makes a few doozies while growing up. What separates the rich from everyone else (or possibly what separates the poor from everyone else) is the ability to recover from those mistakes. The rich have an impossibly large safety net. The poor may have to rely on an overburdened court system which constantly sees similar people continue to make mistakes well into adulthood.
I don't mean that killing a carload of friends while drinking and driving should not have consequences for either the rich or poor. But being able to safely fail is an incredibly important part of learning as anyone grows up.
Peak behind the curtain of the wealthy Yale Law School students and I'm convinced things aren't quite as clean as what the author paints it out to be. Shake those rich family trees hard enough and a few surprises are bound to fall out. But the ability to work through that, to recover from mistakes has a sliding scale from the rich, through the middle-class, to the poor.
Sadly, luck also plays a role. Being fortunate cannot be underestimated.
Because my copy of Hillbilly Elegy came from the library, it had been previously read by an unknown number of other people. One reader had underlined several passages and written a few notes in the margins. This is, of course, not the first time I've seen this in a library book, and I often find this maddening. I probably over-interpreted what was there, but in this instance it added just a bit to he book - knowing another person who lives in the same area of the state as J.D. Vance was highlighting sections he or she thought pertinent. It really is a small world.
"...that those of us lucky enough to live the American Dream, the demons we left behind continue to chase us."
There but for the grace of God go I.
Hillbilly Elegy was a book that was on my want-to-read list, then it was taken off. Then at some point it made it back on. Like many best sellers, I was a bit apprehensive. Some of the criticism in the reviews also steered me away.
But the author lived fairly nearby where I live for much of his life and there was lots of positive about the book. Since I could walk in and get a copy, I did.
I was glad I did as the book was overall quite good. The author being native to the area I now call home and looking at the events and dates in the book - it is very possible our paths may have crossed. Not that I have likely ever met him or talked to him, but he wrote about places and things that are very nearby. While his upwardly mobile path sent him to live in San Francisco, my more lateral path sent me to live in the same rust belt area he called home. Although from the small amount I've read about him since finishing the book, it appears he has since moved back to Ohio to start a nonprofit helping his former community. This is deserving of praise as he now has the background and probably finances to live just about anywhere.
The book doesn't start off that well. The first few chapters are somewhat disjointed and lurchy. He introduces many characters - some of which feature prominently in the book and some of which do not. I had a hard time following many of them and the similar colloquial names did not help.
After those first few chapters, it almost seemed like the author got a different editor as the flow of the writing smoothed out considerably. The narrative started to form as the story began to build.
The story itself is one of J.D. Vance's movement within a transplanted Kentucky hillbilly family - his transformation from a poor and degraded section of Middletown, Ohio to a Yale-educated lawyer.
Some of the complaints I saw about the book took on a racial tone or that he was speaking for only one brand of hillbilly. I think this is unfortunate as he was telling his own story - pointing out what worked for him and what he saw as unsuccessful. One could lob the same accusations at Lac Su for I Love Yous Are for White People as the tale is similar. I never got the impression from the book that he was stating as fact that other people will be able to copy his success directly. But what leads to failure is often much easier to predict and duplicate.
Sadly, many have read and interpreted the book with a political slant. Donald Trump's election to the White House was coincidental to the release of the book, but unless the author has clairvoyance that he doesn't share, the 2016 election was unknown when the book was written. Despite what The Huffington Post or Fox News would like us to believe, not everything is political. His story is an interesting personal narrative - I think it is better to leave it at that.
Outside of the dramatic story, what struck me most was his interaction with some of the more elite of society while at Yale. He describes going to a Cracker Barrel restaurant with some of his classmates who had presumably never been to one before - or any of its ilk of restaurants. To them, it is merely “a greasy public health crisis.” Cracker Barrel is not my favorite places, but on the list of eating establishments I would consider “a greasy public health crisis,” it would not be near the top of the list.
What I found terrifying in this section is the people who consider Cracker Barrel “a greasy public health crisis” are the same people who are, by in large, writing our laws, interpreting our laws and running major corporations in the country. I work with some people who come from privileged background, and I can't think of any of them who don't occasionally go to eat fast food or cheap Chinese take-out. Treating Cracker Barrel as little more than barnyard fodder demonstrates a segment of society that is grossly out of touch with not just the poor and lower-middle class, but even some who would be considered rich.
I can only hope that this is one of a few exaggerations in the book.
Which brings up my main criticism of the text - I think he misses a big point, or doesn't make it forcefully enough.
Everybody makes mistakes and just about everybody makes a few doozies while growing up. What separates the rich from everyone else (or possibly what separates the poor from everyone else) is the ability to recover from those mistakes. The rich have an impossibly large safety net. The poor may have to rely on an overburdened court system which constantly sees similar people continue to make mistakes well into adulthood.
I don't mean that killing a carload of friends while drinking and driving should not have consequences for either the rich or poor. But being able to safely fail is an incredibly important part of learning as anyone grows up.
Peak behind the curtain of the wealthy Yale Law School students and I'm convinced things aren't quite as clean as what the author paints it out to be. Shake those rich family trees hard enough and a few surprises are bound to fall out. But the ability to work through that, to recover from mistakes has a sliding scale from the rich, through the middle-class, to the poor.
Sadly, luck also plays a role. Being fortunate cannot be underestimated.
Because my copy of Hillbilly Elegy came from the library, it had been previously read by an unknown number of other people. One reader had underlined several passages and written a few notes in the margins. This is, of course, not the first time I've seen this in a library book, and I often find this maddening. I probably over-interpreted what was there, but in this instance it added just a bit to he book - knowing another person who lives in the same area of the state as J.D. Vance was highlighting sections he or she thought pertinent. It really is a small world.
"...that those of us lucky enough to live the American Dream, the demons we left behind continue to chase us."
There but for the grace of God go I.
Friday, December 15, 2017
The Politics of the Office Gift Exchange
Several years ago there was there was a Christmas white elephant gift exchange in the department I was working in at the time. I had a spare copy of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and thought about using that. I didn't but wish I would have.
"Tasteful, useable(sic) gifts please."
I've never worked anywhere that had a secret santa gift exchange, and I'm very glad about that. I would probably opt to not participate in that. The pitfalls associated with secret Santas are just too awful to contemplate.
But opting out of office social theatrics can be just as dangerous as participation. A dentist visit may be wiser. Or quitting.
Most places I've worked, outside of the ones that do thankfully nothing, have a white elephant gift exchange. These can be humorous as various rules during the actual exchange mean highly desirable gifts are exchanged and sought after. Sometimes what is sought after is inexplicable.
Where I currently work, the suggestion is for something between $5 and $10. Several political phenomena can be observed:
This year I gave Duke's Original Recipe Smoked Sausage. Smack dap in the middle of the price range at just over $7. As food, it isn't something that will have to stick around too long. My only hope was that the office vegan would somehow end up with it. The horror. The horror. Never get out of the boat.
"Never apologize. Never explain." - Hunter S Thompson
The most sought after items were a couple bottles of wine that must have been determined to be better than average. The Big Spender's large box of craft beers were also sought after with vigor.
I ended up with two utility lighters. These have some usefulness, but I already have two of them. I may now have a lifetime supply of them - although the igniters typically give out long before the butane is exhausted.
"Tasteful, useable(sic) gifts please."
I've never worked anywhere that had a secret santa gift exchange, and I'm very glad about that. I would probably opt to not participate in that. The pitfalls associated with secret Santas are just too awful to contemplate.
But opting out of office social theatrics can be just as dangerous as participation. A dentist visit may be wiser. Or quitting.
Most places I've worked, outside of the ones that do thankfully nothing, have a white elephant gift exchange. These can be humorous as various rules during the actual exchange mean highly desirable gifts are exchanged and sought after. Sometimes what is sought after is inexplicable.
Where I currently work, the suggestion is for something between $5 and $10. Several political phenomena can be observed:
- The bottle of wine - everybody wants it, if only to dull the pain. But nobody can look too much like they want it, lest they be labeled the office lush.
- The regift - I recall an amaryllis given one year where, on opening the box, the recipient pulled out a plant that had sprouted and grown in complete darkness. Living its whole life without light, it looked like a cave fish - giving away the fact that it was a year old.
- The big spender - the gift obviously over the suggested amount, where the giver doesn't want to be revealed but really does want to be known.
- The cheap spender - post-it notes and office pens. Is that theft?
- The last minuter - something ... anything from the gas station on the way into the office in the morning.
- The home made present - often thoughtful, but almost too personal for work. And the last thing most of us need is more stuff to sit on a shelf.
This year I gave Duke's Original Recipe Smoked Sausage. Smack dap in the middle of the price range at just over $7. As food, it isn't something that will have to stick around too long. My only hope was that the office vegan would somehow end up with it. The horror. The horror. Never get out of the boat.
The most sought after items were a couple bottles of wine that must have been determined to be better than average. The Big Spender's large box of craft beers were also sought after with vigor.
I ended up with two utility lighters. These have some usefulness, but I already have two of them. I may now have a lifetime supply of them - although the igniters typically give out long before the butane is exhausted.
As it turned out, the Big Spender opened the package of sausages. The face she made was not very pleasant. I didn't follow the movement to know if she ended up with it or not.
The highest level manager at the soiree announced his intention to leave his gift as "tip for the wait staff." I contemplated how that may be perceived by the person who brought that one in.
I suppose the politics follow the receiver as well as the giver.
The highest level manager at the soiree announced his intention to leave his gift as "tip for the wait staff." I contemplated how that may be perceived by the person who brought that one in.
I suppose the politics follow the receiver as well as the giver.
Friday, December 8, 2017
Ridgeline Nation
I'm not sure why, but I love going to the scrapyard. My introduction to it goes back about 25 years when the shop I was a mechanic at was moving. My boss had piles of classic car treasures - meaning troves of useless used parts from defunct scrapped cars containing enough valuable gems that everything was worth saving ... until the time came to move. He couldn't bear to part with them, so a few of us did near-daily runs to the scrap yard for a bit of extra cash. It was always fun to see what else was in the pile of metal at the scrapyard - everything from shards of tire shredding junk to nearly pristine automobile engines from an R&D facility a few miles away.
Ever since then, I've always tried to save metal for recycling, if for no other reason than an excuse to visit the metal scrapyard.
At times this leaves me feeling like a meth-head. I had a moderate amount of aluminum I was selling when the fuel pump on my F-150 went belly up. Standing in line with the people selling stolen water pipes and small bits of wire was an experience. It was not fun, after getting my cash, waiting for the tow truck to show up as it got darker and darker. They typically don't put scrap yards in the best neighborhoods.
When moving to my current house, I had piles of metal to be recycled, including the body of an MGB I had to cut up with a tiger saw. This was no meth-head operation, but quite the undertaking fitting all that steel in the bed of my Toyota Tacoma.
So when I heard about the book Junkard Planet by Adam Minter, I knew I had to read it. It is a fascinating look at the scrap and recycling industry, primarily the money and trade between the US and Western Europe to and from Asia. This is a must-read for anybody who has ever marveled at the piles of metal at the scrap yard, or the idealistic neighborhood recycler.
My 2017 Honda Ridgeline was made in Lincoln, Alabama. I have now had this truck for a year and about 13,000 miles. I bought it new, but at the risk of anthropomorphizing something inanimate, Junkyard Planet made me think about its former life. Exactly where did the metal, plastic, fabric, etc. of my Honda start out? How much of the materials that make up the Ridgeline are reclaimed vs. made out of new material extracted from the ground?
My original plan was to write either a 10,000 mile review of the Ridgeline, or a 1-year review. But 10,000 passed a while ago while driving through South Dakota. And yes, I do use the awful "Eco" button when on the interstate for long trips. It is OK on the interstate, but it makes the vehicle nearly intolerable to drive any other time.
When I reread my previous Original and Six-Month reviews, they still cover my experience with the Ridgeline extremely well. In the year and 13,000 miles that I've had the vehicle, I have really gotten to like this vehicle. There are a few quirks, but I've yet to see any vehicle that doesn't have them. Vehicle design must be an exercise in trade-offs. While initially I was somewhat neutral on the appearance of the truck, even that has grown on me.
There are, predictably, a lot of piddly complaints which can be read on sites like the Ridgeline Owners Club. Like most of the message boards I read, I'm a chronic lurker there. People love to complain online. But with few exceptions - it is just noise and this happens with just about every vehicle made ... ever. The two biggest complaints I've seen are a lack of radio knobs - but my trim level has radio knobs thank-you-very-much. However I rarely use them since controlling it from the steering wheel is easier. Having my dogs on the radio wallpaper is a great feature to have.
The other complaint is how far the back doors open. To be fair, I don't think any person has ever sat in the back seat in my truck. But the doors open wide enough to easily get a double rifle case in front of OR UNDER the back seat. That last option is great as it frees up so much more storage space for other things when I go on road trips.
And my Ridgeline has been on a few road trips. About 30% of the miles on my Ridgeline have been hunting road trips. The amount of stuff I can fit in it is vastly superior to my former Tacoma. In addition to interior room, the Ridgeline has a voluminous "trunk" under the bed that easily holds all the stuff I used to cram in the Tacoma's meager underseat storage (or in a cardboard box on the back seat in my former F-150).
The all wheel drive system on the truck has proven extremely effective - even while going through some nasty stuff while hunting.
Fuel economy has been adequate so far. It is about the same as my 4-cylinder Tacoma, but the V6 in the Ridgeline is a rocket compared to the grossly underpowered Taco. I still wish there was a smaller more fuel efficient truck available in the United States. I also mourn the slow death of the manual transmission. I have only a minuscule amount of hope that the someday Ford Ranger will fill that void.
The drop in fuel economy at the end of the graph below shows the very real dip that driving at a fairly high rate of speed en route to Wyoming will do - and both directions of the trip were fighting a significant headwind in cold temperatures. It is surprising how much of an impact that makes, even with a vehicle that is fairly aerodynamic (for a truck). The graph also shows actual calculated mileage; indicated is typically around 1MPG more optimistic.
The only maintenance the truck has needed so far has been a simple oil change. I suspect I'll be due for rear differential fluid and maybe even transmission fluid early in 2018 - but I'll let the Maintenance Minder advise what is needed. Thankfully, most of the routine maintenance looks brainlessly simple.
My RTS trim level is no longer offered by Honda which is sad as I really saw it as the sweet spot for what I wanted. I'm not terribly interested in a lot of extra doodads and much prefer cloth interior over leather. I do wonder how the seats will hold up over time as they seem to take stains a little more than I would have hoped.
In short, the Honda Ridgeline is a great vehicle for what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it is not.
The other thing Junkyard Planet made me wonder was what has happened to all my previous vehicles. Likely my Tacoma is still trucking around. Given the troubles I had with 2003 F-150, I'm less sure about that one. Thinking back, I'm sure many of the vehicles I used to own have been reclaimed and turned into new things - maybe even my current Ridgeline! (highly unlikely)
If I have any criticism of Junkyard Planet, it was that it felt a little dated. It came out in 2013, which was just after the global economic meltdown was getting into full recovery. Additionally, China seems to be changing weekly. I couldn't help but think that things had changed since it was originally written.
I also wish there was more information on Africa. Adam Minter is a journalist based in Asia, so the focus makes sense. But I suspect some of the environmental issues he writes about are much worse in Africa. Although, as he points out, versus what alternative?
The sections on plastic recycling and electronic waste I found depressing. I've experienced this before. There are, frankly, no good solutions for many of us in the developed world. Recycling may be messy in the developing world, but it also looks more complete.
Finishing the book, I couldn't help but wonder how long until we start mining landfills for the metals and plastics as raw materials for the next generation of "stuff" to saturate our lives. More stuff doesn't improve life, it just clutters it.
While I don't know what my Honda Ridgeline was in a past life, I hope and expect its next life won't come for many years and many miles.
Ever since then, I've always tried to save metal for recycling, if for no other reason than an excuse to visit the metal scrapyard.
At times this leaves me feeling like a meth-head. I had a moderate amount of aluminum I was selling when the fuel pump on my F-150 went belly up. Standing in line with the people selling stolen water pipes and small bits of wire was an experience. It was not fun, after getting my cash, waiting for the tow truck to show up as it got darker and darker. They typically don't put scrap yards in the best neighborhoods.
When moving to my current house, I had piles of metal to be recycled, including the body of an MGB I had to cut up with a tiger saw. This was no meth-head operation, but quite the undertaking fitting all that steel in the bed of my Toyota Tacoma.
So when I heard about the book Junkard Planet by Adam Minter, I knew I had to read it. It is a fascinating look at the scrap and recycling industry, primarily the money and trade between the US and Western Europe to and from Asia. This is a must-read for anybody who has ever marveled at the piles of metal at the scrap yard, or the idealistic neighborhood recycler.
My original plan was to write either a 10,000 mile review of the Ridgeline, or a 1-year review. But 10,000 passed a while ago while driving through South Dakota. And yes, I do use the awful "Eco" button when on the interstate for long trips. It is OK on the interstate, but it makes the vehicle nearly intolerable to drive any other time.
When I reread my previous Original and Six-Month reviews, they still cover my experience with the Ridgeline extremely well. In the year and 13,000 miles that I've had the vehicle, I have really gotten to like this vehicle. There are a few quirks, but I've yet to see any vehicle that doesn't have them. Vehicle design must be an exercise in trade-offs. While initially I was somewhat neutral on the appearance of the truck, even that has grown on me.
There are, predictably, a lot of piddly complaints which can be read on sites like the Ridgeline Owners Club. Like most of the message boards I read, I'm a chronic lurker there. People love to complain online. But with few exceptions - it is just noise and this happens with just about every vehicle made ... ever. The two biggest complaints I've seen are a lack of radio knobs - but my trim level has radio knobs thank-you-very-much. However I rarely use them since controlling it from the steering wheel is easier. Having my dogs on the radio wallpaper is a great feature to have.
The other complaint is how far the back doors open. To be fair, I don't think any person has ever sat in the back seat in my truck. But the doors open wide enough to easily get a double rifle case in front of OR UNDER the back seat. That last option is great as it frees up so much more storage space for other things when I go on road trips.
And my Ridgeline has been on a few road trips. About 30% of the miles on my Ridgeline have been hunting road trips. The amount of stuff I can fit in it is vastly superior to my former Tacoma. In addition to interior room, the Ridgeline has a voluminous "trunk" under the bed that easily holds all the stuff I used to cram in the Tacoma's meager underseat storage (or in a cardboard box on the back seat in my former F-150).
The all wheel drive system on the truck has proven extremely effective - even while going through some nasty stuff while hunting.
Fuel economy has been adequate so far. It is about the same as my 4-cylinder Tacoma, but the V6 in the Ridgeline is a rocket compared to the grossly underpowered Taco. I still wish there was a smaller more fuel efficient truck available in the United States. I also mourn the slow death of the manual transmission. I have only a minuscule amount of hope that the someday Ford Ranger will fill that void.
The drop in fuel economy at the end of the graph below shows the very real dip that driving at a fairly high rate of speed en route to Wyoming will do - and both directions of the trip were fighting a significant headwind in cold temperatures. It is surprising how much of an impact that makes, even with a vehicle that is fairly aerodynamic (for a truck). The graph also shows actual calculated mileage; indicated is typically around 1MPG more optimistic.
The only maintenance the truck has needed so far has been a simple oil change. I suspect I'll be due for rear differential fluid and maybe even transmission fluid early in 2018 - but I'll let the Maintenance Minder advise what is needed. Thankfully, most of the routine maintenance looks brainlessly simple.
My RTS trim level is no longer offered by Honda which is sad as I really saw it as the sweet spot for what I wanted. I'm not terribly interested in a lot of extra doodads and much prefer cloth interior over leather. I do wonder how the seats will hold up over time as they seem to take stains a little more than I would have hoped.
In short, the Honda Ridgeline is a great vehicle for what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it is not.
The other thing Junkyard Planet made me wonder was what has happened to all my previous vehicles. Likely my Tacoma is still trucking around. Given the troubles I had with 2003 F-150, I'm less sure about that one. Thinking back, I'm sure many of the vehicles I used to own have been reclaimed and turned into new things - maybe even my current Ridgeline! (highly unlikely)
If I have any criticism of Junkyard Planet, it was that it felt a little dated. It came out in 2013, which was just after the global economic meltdown was getting into full recovery. Additionally, China seems to be changing weekly. I couldn't help but think that things had changed since it was originally written.
I also wish there was more information on Africa. Adam Minter is a journalist based in Asia, so the focus makes sense. But I suspect some of the environmental issues he writes about are much worse in Africa. Although, as he points out, versus what alternative?
The sections on plastic recycling and electronic waste I found depressing. I've experienced this before. There are, frankly, no good solutions for many of us in the developed world. Recycling may be messy in the developing world, but it also looks more complete.
Finishing the book, I couldn't help but wonder how long until we start mining landfills for the metals and plastics as raw materials for the next generation of "stuff" to saturate our lives. More stuff doesn't improve life, it just clutters it.
While I don't know what my Honda Ridgeline was in a past life, I hope and expect its next life won't come for many years and many miles.
Friday, December 1, 2017
This Year Looks Like It Might End Weirder Than It Started
Last year, Jalopnik published a story titled: Remember that time Terry Gross from NPR’s Fresh Air got banned from drag racing?
The original version as I remember it is gone, replaced with an abbreviated one - as too many people failed to notice it was Filed to:SATIRE.
This was hilarious on so many levels. First, the idea of Terry Gross being a hard-core drag racer. The pictures in the article. The language in the article. That it had to be changed because people read it as fact. That people can't separate fact from fiction anymore (I'm looking at you, John Stewart).
Remember that time Garrison Keillor was accused of sexual misconduct? File to:???
It is now December - a time when much outdoor life goes into a state of dormancy. At least this happens most of the time. It isn't the first year ever when a few trees have kept their leaves into December, but the amount of green left is staggering.
Honeysuckle is often the first thing to green up in the spring, and is late to lose its leaves. I'm quite sure if left on its own, honeysuckle would take over the whole world. But remaining green into December is unusual ... is weird.
As the green honeysuckle continues is fight against the normal order of things, the news airwaves have been filled with accusations and admissions of sexual misconduct, harassment, etc.
Much of this, I'm not surprised about.
A former Saturday Night Live star? -Al Franken. I'm not surprised.
A priveledged face for TV? -Al Franken (wait, I already used him). -Matt Lauer. I'm not surprised.
A power-grabbing politician? -Al Franken (wait, I already used him). -John Conyers. I'm not surprised.
A movie actor? -Al Franken (wait, I already used him). -Kevin Spacey. I'm not surprised.
A stand-up comic? -Al Franken (wait, I already used him). -Louis CK. I'm not surprised.
The list is long, and will get longer. My list above is a bit unfair to Al Franken, but anybody who sees this shocking is too wrapped up in Franken's cult of personality. Ever since moving from Stuart Smalley to a "real" politician, he's grown to be the darling of the media. Everybody (justifiably) throws rotten fruit at Harvey Weinstein, Steven Seagal and Donald Trump. Too many people - especially in the media - point to Al Franken and then say, "but..."
Sadly, most of these recent accusations are true. Sadly, some of these are not.
When I heard Garrison Keillor was accused of improper behavior, I first hoped it was filed to satire. Part of me still hopes it falls in the latter categorization. I've never been a real fan of Garrison Keillor. I would listen to A Prairie Home Companion mostly because it happened to be on when the radio was on and tuned to NPR. The movie A Prairie Home Companion was surprisingly good. Poetry seems a bit pointless, but I was aware of Writers Almanac. Lake Wobegon was sometimes amusing, but often not.
What little I know about Garrison Keillor describes him as a bit of a curmudgeon and a loaner. His personal life does appear to have been rather sticky at times though.
And therein lies the rub. How many of these recent accusations are an awkward situation taken beyond the context? A childish act, gone too far in a moment without thinking? It is impossible in the current atmosphere for anyone to question these situations once they become public. But I have seen a perfectly innocent conversation turn to offense - due solely to a poor choice of words. Do intentions matter?
Outright lies will probably eventually come out. But often too late for the accused. And the grey area of awkwardness, a tumbling of the rhythm of life, words escaping before time to realize they may be interpreted not-as-intended. I defy anybody to not think back and wince.
"Just as ancient insects that led full productive lives disappeared without a trace, and those that bumbled into amber and died are still around in tangible form, so our personal failures remain, sharp and clear, long after the day-to-day routine and minor victories fade into nothingness."
-Neil Steinberg
The court of public opinion is one mean-assed, uncontrolled, bastardly mirror with view that doesn't always match reality.
So the accusers should have their say. Garrison Keillor should be given his due. And while I'm much less surprised by the Al Franken accusations - he is owed the same.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
The honeysuckle will eventually lose all its leaves and go dormant. I'm less sure what will happen to the remainder of the rest of this weird year.
The original version as I remember it is gone, replaced with an abbreviated one - as too many people failed to notice it was Filed to:SATIRE.
This was hilarious on so many levels. First, the idea of Terry Gross being a hard-core drag racer. The pictures in the article. The language in the article. That it had to be changed because people read it as fact. That people can't separate fact from fiction anymore (I'm looking at you, John Stewart).
Remember that time Garrison Keillor was accused of sexual misconduct? File to:???
It is now December - a time when much outdoor life goes into a state of dormancy. At least this happens most of the time. It isn't the first year ever when a few trees have kept their leaves into December, but the amount of green left is staggering.
Honeysuckle is often the first thing to green up in the spring, and is late to lose its leaves. I'm quite sure if left on its own, honeysuckle would take over the whole world. But remaining green into December is unusual ... is weird.
As the green honeysuckle continues is fight against the normal order of things, the news airwaves have been filled with accusations and admissions of sexual misconduct, harassment, etc.
Much of this, I'm not surprised about.
A former Saturday Night Live star? -Al Franken. I'm not surprised.
A priveledged face for TV? -
A power-grabbing politician? -
A movie actor? -
A stand-up comic? -
The list is long, and will get longer. My list above is a bit unfair to Al Franken, but anybody who sees this shocking is too wrapped up in Franken's cult of personality. Ever since moving from Stuart Smalley to a "real" politician, he's grown to be the darling of the media. Everybody (justifiably) throws rotten fruit at Harvey Weinstein, Steven Seagal and Donald Trump. Too many people - especially in the media - point to Al Franken and then say, "but..."
Sadly, most of these recent accusations are true. Sadly, some of these are not.
When I heard Garrison Keillor was accused of improper behavior, I first hoped it was filed to satire. Part of me still hopes it falls in the latter categorization. I've never been a real fan of Garrison Keillor. I would listen to A Prairie Home Companion mostly because it happened to be on when the radio was on and tuned to NPR. The movie A Prairie Home Companion was surprisingly good. Poetry seems a bit pointless, but I was aware of Writers Almanac. Lake Wobegon was sometimes amusing, but often not.
What little I know about Garrison Keillor describes him as a bit of a curmudgeon and a loaner. His personal life does appear to have been rather sticky at times though.
And therein lies the rub. How many of these recent accusations are an awkward situation taken beyond the context? A childish act, gone too far in a moment without thinking? It is impossible in the current atmosphere for anyone to question these situations once they become public. But I have seen a perfectly innocent conversation turn to offense - due solely to a poor choice of words. Do intentions matter?
Outright lies will probably eventually come out. But often too late for the accused. And the grey area of awkwardness, a tumbling of the rhythm of life, words escaping before time to realize they may be interpreted not-as-intended. I defy anybody to not think back and wince.
"Just as ancient insects that led full productive lives disappeared without a trace, and those that bumbled into amber and died are still around in tangible form, so our personal failures remain, sharp and clear, long after the day-to-day routine and minor victories fade into nothingness."
-Neil Steinberg
The court of public opinion is one mean-assed, uncontrolled, bastardly mirror with view that doesn't always match reality.
So the accusers should have their say. Garrison Keillor should be given his due. And while I'm much less surprised by the Al Franken accusations - he is owed the same.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
The honeysuckle will eventually lose all its leaves and go dormant. I'm less sure what will happen to the remainder of the rest of this weird year.
Sunday, November 26, 2017
My Neighbor's Security
I know most of the people who live on my street - which is only somewhat true. I know most of the people's vehicles who live on my street.
The people who live about a quarter mile away on a back lot just sold their house and moved recently. I had never actually talked to them, but they drove a PT Cruiser. From what I could see as they drove by, usually while I was walking one of the dogs, they were older - meaning they may have been around my age or maybe older. They always smiled and waved. But even people who probably would not like me smile and wave as they go by.
I don't remember the last time I woke up after the sun had risen, or even as the sun was rising. I generally find that once I wake up, the best thing for me to do is just to get up - regardless of the time. As much as it may pain the 16-year-old-me who has long since gone extinct, I am a morning person.
The first thing I do after I get up is put the dogs out. My younger dog always hear me walking toward the dog room. My older dog, deaf for years now, usually needs to be woken up.
At one time, we were the new neighbors on this street. Now there are new neighbors at the house that just sold. And three doors down in the other direction, new constructions is building another house. It was early December when I moved into this house. Coming from an old Victorian house down in the holler that is Main Street of the township, SO and I were enamored with the sunrises and sunsets. A house out to the west - quite a ways away - has a floodlight of some kind. This looks like a yellow sodium vapor light that is old enough that it may be starting to dim. I can only see this light in the late fall through spring. The house sits low, near the horizon so trees (and probably hateful honeysuckle) blocks the light from view at other times.
I've grown accustomed to that yellow light, but on first moving in, I hated it. It spoiled otherwise stunning sunsets. Looking to the west after dark, that yellow light remains defiling the sun's canvas.
I'm really not sure how old my older dog is as she was a rescue dog. I was told that she was around 4 when I got her, but she was already starting to show some significant grey in the face. When I told the vet the assumed age, he hesitated, raised an eyebrow, "Um, maybe. Maybe five, or six."
She is the most aloof, yet affectionate dog I've ever had. She can no longer go on anything but the shortest walks. At times she can still jump on the furniture; other times she just puts her front paws up and looks at me. She tends to look annoyed when I lift her onto the couch. Aloof but affectionate. I suspect I'll have the same level of obstinateness when I can no longer metaphorically jump on the couch.
When I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause to look up in the sky on clear mornings. Living in a rural area, the stars shine brightly. Even though I still want to visit an area with very low light pollution - I've never been able to see the painted swath of the Milky Way. I have been lucky enough to have seen some fantastic meteors first thing in the morning.
The new people on the street have put up a shockingly bright security light that remains lit through the night. Unlike the house to the west, this is not a dimming sodium vapor light, but appears to be some new-fangled bright white LED. I have very quickly grown to detest that light. I'm fearful if I ever meet these new neighbors, I'll instantly say something like, "Ah, the sons-a-bitches with that bright-ass light?"
I'm curious about the intentions and level of fear that necessitated such a bright light to be lit all night. I suspect a similar reaction as to when someone new immigrant to this rural area complains about getting behind a trundling combine in the fall - what did you move to a rural area for? Shouldn't darkness be a virtue of a rural area, just like farm equipment or cow poop is celebrated? Or dogs barking? Or sassafras trees being destroyed by whitetail bucks overcome with aggression in the fall? Did these new neighbors come from a suburb, and bring with them the primordial fear of darkness that led primitive Homo Habilis to huddle by the safety of a fire at night?
I worry about my older dog. She has been diagnosed with cancer and is approaching borrowed time. Along with her hearing, her sense of smell is diminished to the point it is difficult at times to get her to eat. But it doesn't take much to keep her happy. Make sure she has water. Give her a few treats per day. Help her on the couch even if she groans about it. And let her out every few hours. The neighbor's lights don't seem to bother her at all.
The people who live about a quarter mile away on a back lot just sold their house and moved recently. I had never actually talked to them, but they drove a PT Cruiser. From what I could see as they drove by, usually while I was walking one of the dogs, they were older - meaning they may have been around my age or maybe older. They always smiled and waved. But even people who probably would not like me smile and wave as they go by.
I don't remember the last time I woke up after the sun had risen, or even as the sun was rising. I generally find that once I wake up, the best thing for me to do is just to get up - regardless of the time. As much as it may pain the 16-year-old-me who has long since gone extinct, I am a morning person.
The first thing I do after I get up is put the dogs out. My younger dog always hear me walking toward the dog room. My older dog, deaf for years now, usually needs to be woken up.
At one time, we were the new neighbors on this street. Now there are new neighbors at the house that just sold. And three doors down in the other direction, new constructions is building another house. It was early December when I moved into this house. Coming from an old Victorian house down in the holler that is Main Street of the township, SO and I were enamored with the sunrises and sunsets. A house out to the west - quite a ways away - has a floodlight of some kind. This looks like a yellow sodium vapor light that is old enough that it may be starting to dim. I can only see this light in the late fall through spring. The house sits low, near the horizon so trees (and probably hateful honeysuckle) blocks the light from view at other times.
I've grown accustomed to that yellow light, but on first moving in, I hated it. It spoiled otherwise stunning sunsets. Looking to the west after dark, that yellow light remains defiling the sun's canvas.
I'm really not sure how old my older dog is as she was a rescue dog. I was told that she was around 4 when I got her, but she was already starting to show some significant grey in the face. When I told the vet the assumed age, he hesitated, raised an eyebrow, "Um, maybe. Maybe five, or six."
She is the most aloof, yet affectionate dog I've ever had. She can no longer go on anything but the shortest walks. At times she can still jump on the furniture; other times she just puts her front paws up and looks at me. She tends to look annoyed when I lift her onto the couch. Aloof but affectionate. I suspect I'll have the same level of obstinateness when I can no longer metaphorically jump on the couch.
When I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause to look up in the sky on clear mornings. Living in a rural area, the stars shine brightly. Even though I still want to visit an area with very low light pollution - I've never been able to see the painted swath of the Milky Way. I have been lucky enough to have seen some fantastic meteors first thing in the morning.
The new people on the street have put up a shockingly bright security light that remains lit through the night. Unlike the house to the west, this is not a dimming sodium vapor light, but appears to be some new-fangled bright white LED. I have very quickly grown to detest that light. I'm fearful if I ever meet these new neighbors, I'll instantly say something like, "Ah, the sons-a-bitches with that bright-ass light?"
I'm curious about the intentions and level of fear that necessitated such a bright light to be lit all night. I suspect a similar reaction as to when someone new immigrant to this rural area complains about getting behind a trundling combine in the fall - what did you move to a rural area for? Shouldn't darkness be a virtue of a rural area, just like farm equipment or cow poop is celebrated? Or dogs barking? Or sassafras trees being destroyed by whitetail bucks overcome with aggression in the fall? Did these new neighbors come from a suburb, and bring with them the primordial fear of darkness that led primitive Homo Habilis to huddle by the safety of a fire at night?
I worry about my older dog. She has been diagnosed with cancer and is approaching borrowed time. Along with her hearing, her sense of smell is diminished to the point it is difficult at times to get her to eat. But it doesn't take much to keep her happy. Make sure she has water. Give her a few treats per day. Help her on the couch even if she groans about it. And let her out every few hours. The neighbor's lights don't seem to bother her at all.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
The Fall Scramble
Fall, and more specifically October, is usually a busy time. I own too many things with internal combustion engines and many of them are not used in the winter - so all of them get maintenance and get cleaned up before putting to bed. This takes time and the timing is dependent on their last use.
The lawn always needs a final mow.
Outside and inside cleaning must be done.
The house often needs a bit of attention before Brother North Wind begins to blow.
And I need to get ready for hunting.
My recent trip west made all this winter preparation seem even more of a scramble this year. I needed to finish most of it before leaving, then complete the rest after returning.
But the local deer season started less than two weeks after I got home.
Deer hunting around home has a lot of variability. I've had years where the deer seem to constantly saunter around me, and years where they seem to know exactly where I am. During the latter, they plan travels to keep miles away from me. It was only a few years ago when I had a 2-year dry spell with no venison in the freezer - the dry spell broken with a doe taken late on a Thanksgiving afternoon.
This year, the weather on opening day was not conducive to deer hunting. There were high winds all day with a threat for heavy rain. The weather ended up being only bad, not terrible. Still, I probably heard less shooting on opening day than I had in years; the only year that I can recall that produced less gunfire was 2008, when there was an all-day constant cold rain. I always hunt opening day, but I much prefer the quiet of later in the season - even if there is less deer movement.
I shot a buck on opening morning, around the time I started to get concerned about the predicted rain. The real work of hunting starts after the shot - not before it.
The buck I shot was a pretty nice eight-point. In most other years, I would have been ecstatic. For the area I hunt, he was probably better than average. But my 2016 deer was an absolute monster. And a recent trip out West also resulted in a phenomenal bucket-list deer. With time for reflection, it is sad how our expectations can get reset, even if only temporarily. I fully realize that within a year or so, expectations will be returned back to normal - and I'll be thrilled with a doe and probably much later in the season.
Something else ended with the shot on that eight-point buck. The fall scramble ended. After a day spent processing the deer - gosh I am slow at that - I realized my time horizon has opened up considerably. I had scheduled lots of vacation time for hunting, and I have too much vacation to burn before the end of the year. But the fall scramble is over. The fall scramble ended abruptly with the report of a .243 Winchester. Cabin fever may be next.
It is Thanksgiving. I took my dog for a long walk at first light. Temperatures were significantly below freezing. The wind was putting just a small bite in the air. I heard gunfire off to the west - almost a certainty it was someone deer hunting. It was the kind of morning that begs for hunting, if one has the right gear for it. For now, the freezer is full of venison. I am very thankful. I am very fortunate.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
The Billionaire's Vinegar (and the thousandaire's giclee)
"And you drove there?" my manager asked me. My manager couldn't seem to fathom that I drove to Wyoming.
While definitely not the same as going cross country on my motorcycle, I actually enjoy the expeditions in my four-wheeled vehicle. The trip out allows me some time to mentally prepare by shedding thoughts about work and home. It allows me an opportunity to mentally prepare for what I'm traveling for. The trip home gives me time to reflect - to replay events in my mind and begin to see what will stick in my memory, and what I'll be glad I've written down as I'll be sure to forget it otherwise.
These trips also allow me to read/listen to audiobooks. I often ponder if reading a physical book is the same as listening to it. I've decided it isn't; it is only a close facsimile. I won't claim to be able to explain this, but I see reading a book on a Kindle or Nook to be more similar to audiobooks than the physical book. Paper books have a tactile, almost sensualness to them that any form of digital media just doesn't have - the difference between the plastic house plant and the real one. Both can look good, but they are not equivalent.
One of the books I listened to on my westward direction was The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace. I don't remember where I originally heard about this book, but I found it utterly fascinating. It recounts the tale of a 1787 Lafite bordeaux supposedly owned by Thomas Jefferson, and delves into the cosmos of ultra-rare wine collecting. Like any niche-world, this is not an arena to enter into without knowing what one is getting into; it would appear to be a world where trivial differences can be the split between something outrageously valuable and something of no value except as decoration or a conversation piece. Fraud can be rampant, with profits to be made if one is discreet (google Rudy Kurniawan...). Arguably, many of these rare, old wines taste good only because they are rare and old.
The Billionaire's Vinegar was so good, I started to listen to it on the return trip, but got home before the second read was done.
Ultra rare wine collecting sounds like a sister to fine art collecting. I've never really understood art - where the value of something is so dependent, not on the thing itself, but on the person who created it. A dusty painting from hundreds of years ago may be worth nothing, even if it appears to be a really good painting, if the artist is an unknown. A painting of similar aesthetic value from Matisse or Steen could be priceless.
I enjoy watching Antiques Roadshow, and it isn't unusual for a participant to bring in a work of art they see as "ugly" only to say something to the effect of, "I'm starting to really like this now!" when the appraiser tells them it is worth thousands of dollars. (Just how often are Antiques Roadshow appraisals grossly wrong?) It seems if a painting has aesthetic value, it should be worth something. And if it is ugly, it shouldn't? Perhaps I am just a philistine when it comes to these things. I am...
A relative gave me a "painting" of a leopard a few years ago. Except it isn't a painting at all, but a "giclee" - which is an expensive way of saying an ink-jet printing on canvas, possibly touched in a few places by a brush and maybe even a penned signature. It came with a Certificate of Authenticity and an "appraisal" which put its value at hundreds of dollars. I can find other giclees - or seriolithographs - of this image online for even more, approaching several thousands of dollars from "fine art" websites. Or I can find it on Ebay for a few few tens of dollars. How much is the used car worth? My former boss used to tell customers that it is worth what someone will pay for it.
A web search of the art seller, who also happens to be the appraiser, quickly shows the value of their certificate and what their valued opinion is worth.
While definitely not the same as going cross country on my motorcycle, I actually enjoy the expeditions in my four-wheeled vehicle. The trip out allows me some time to mentally prepare by shedding thoughts about work and home. It allows me an opportunity to mentally prepare for what I'm traveling for. The trip home gives me time to reflect - to replay events in my mind and begin to see what will stick in my memory, and what I'll be glad I've written down as I'll be sure to forget it otherwise.
These trips also allow me to read/listen to audiobooks. I often ponder if reading a physical book is the same as listening to it. I've decided it isn't; it is only a close facsimile. I won't claim to be able to explain this, but I see reading a book on a Kindle or Nook to be more similar to audiobooks than the physical book. Paper books have a tactile, almost sensualness to them that any form of digital media just doesn't have - the difference between the plastic house plant and the real one. Both can look good, but they are not equivalent.
One of the books I listened to on my westward direction was The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace. I don't remember where I originally heard about this book, but I found it utterly fascinating. It recounts the tale of a 1787 Lafite bordeaux supposedly owned by Thomas Jefferson, and delves into the cosmos of ultra-rare wine collecting. Like any niche-world, this is not an arena to enter into without knowing what one is getting into; it would appear to be a world where trivial differences can be the split between something outrageously valuable and something of no value except as decoration or a conversation piece. Fraud can be rampant, with profits to be made if one is discreet (google Rudy Kurniawan...). Arguably, many of these rare, old wines taste good only because they are rare and old.
The Billionaire's Vinegar was so good, I started to listen to it on the return trip, but got home before the second read was done.
Ultra rare wine collecting sounds like a sister to fine art collecting. I've never really understood art - where the value of something is so dependent, not on the thing itself, but on the person who created it. A dusty painting from hundreds of years ago may be worth nothing, even if it appears to be a really good painting, if the artist is an unknown. A painting of similar aesthetic value from Matisse or Steen could be priceless.
I enjoy watching Antiques Roadshow, and it isn't unusual for a participant to bring in a work of art they see as "ugly" only to say something to the effect of, "I'm starting to really like this now!" when the appraiser tells them it is worth thousands of dollars. (Just how often are Antiques Roadshow appraisals grossly wrong?) It seems if a painting has aesthetic value, it should be worth something. And if it is ugly, it shouldn't? Perhaps I am just a philistine when it comes to these things. I am...
A relative gave me a "painting" of a leopard a few years ago. Except it isn't a painting at all, but a "giclee" - which is an expensive way of saying an ink-jet printing on canvas, possibly touched in a few places by a brush and maybe even a penned signature. It came with a Certificate of Authenticity and an "appraisal" which put its value at hundreds of dollars. I can find other giclees - or seriolithographs - of this image online for even more, approaching several thousands of dollars from "fine art" websites. Or I can find it on Ebay for a few few tens of dollars. How much is the used car worth? My former boss used to tell customers that it is worth what someone will pay for it.
A web search of the art seller, who also happens to be the appraiser, quickly shows the value of their certificate and what their valued opinion is worth.
- "... as well as a giclée of leopards by Andrew Bone to a man wearing a Yankees T-shirt for $1,025. (When I spoke to the Yankees fan later, he referred to the purchase as a “painting on canvas,” and I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.)"
I originally felt somewhat obligated to hang the leopard giclee up in the house, but even if it has some aesthetic value, it just doesn't look right anywhere in the house. An African leopard in a house filled with North American taxidermy looks more than a little out of place. Many would question my choice for decoration and I understand that. But I'm also very aware that any offense aside, my art choice has value to me and me alone - an aesthetic reminder of my experiences rather than intrinsic worth.
The leopard print is relegated to the basement, and if the market for seriolithographs ever takes off and I end up on Antiques Roadshow, I'm not sure I'll be able to say I like it more.
Friday, October 13, 2017
Rules
Draco says:
- All push pins will be clear, white or blue. No push pins of other colors may be used.
- Meat will consist of one chicken or one duck per person per week. Venison may be substituted between October and December only.
- All vehicles will be rear wheel drive. For persons of sufficient means, all wheel drive may be substituted.
- Lawn mowing will conclude each year by November 10. Mowing the lawn after November 10 will result is immediate property loss.
- No alcohol of any kind will be tolerated.
- Teeth will be brushed both morning and evening, one tooth brush per individual. Tooth brushes must never be shared.
- Dolphins found in the Great Lakes must not be harmed.
- All signatures will be done in blue or black ink. Signatures in pencil or ink of any other color are invalid.
- Only barbless hooks may be used in the taking of fish. Nets maybe used in the landing of fish, but not as the primary means of fishing.
- Management will write one memo detailing the previous three weeks of work every other week. The memo will be one single-spaced page - no more, no less.
- The thermostat will be set at 76 or above during times where cooling is needed, and at 65 or below when heating is needed.
- The day's work may begin at any time. However, lights must remain dimmed until after 6:00AM. No office work is to be done on Saturday or Sunday.
- Bread must contain whole wheat as the primary ingredient.
- The combination of any citrus fruit or any part of any citrus fruit with any meat or fish is considered unfit for human consumption.
- Dogs must not be allowed to sleep outside at night. If a house has a dog, that house must have a minimum of two dogs.
- All domiciles will be cleaned on every weekend. The only exception is when a house is not occupied for the entirity of both Saturday and Sunday. Cleaning procedures will be detailed separately.
- File reconciliation will occur in January of each year. Non-critical documents created prior to the previous year will be purged and shredded or burned.
- Anytime Friday falls on the 13th of the month, it will be considered a paid holiday.
Saturday, October 7, 2017
The Art of Demotivation - In Practice
Everyone has done it. Parents to children. Coworkers to colleagues. Friends to eachother.
Everyone has occasionally called someone by the wrong name or briefly failed to recall the name of the person they are looking at. I'll admit to being terrible with names of people I've newly met.
But it felt more nefarious when a manager at work called me by another name recently.
This will be the second consecutive post which relates to work - and I don't write about work.
I'm in a position which is both enviable and worthy of sympathy. My management at work doesn't really care about my role. They've made that abundantly clear by ignoring an increasing percentage of stuff related to what I'm working on in the nearly two years since I moved into my current job. There are still some check-the-box HR exercises and I still talk with them, but my job is largely a bottomless void. Bottomless void also implies that something rolls downhill - and it does.
This is enviable since it means they largely leave me alone. This is worthy of sympathy since it means I'm quite sure I'm superfluous. Or perhaps more realistically, I'm doing work which needs to get done - and the best possible outcome from a management perspective is nobody hears about it. I may be a hairs breath away from being ignored right out of a paycheck.
I sometimes wonder if I may be slipping into the nothingness described in Harlan Ellison's short story "Are You Listening?" It describes a man so mundane and average that he loses his existance - until he meets another man of the same fate. Maybe there are other people at work who nobody has seen for years, but continue to dutifully show up every day.
David Bolchover writes about this in his book The Living Dead: Switched Off, Zoned Out. Mr. Bolchover was employed for years, where he freely admits he was doing almost nothing. He relates that he was largely forgotten about. There is another distinct possibility in that his management may have thought it was easier to give Mr. Bolchover unlimited freedom and a paycheck, rather than deal with his situation. One thing I've learned over the years is that management really are human, and with the same limited energy to deal with difficult situations as everyone else. If something isn't an immediate problem, ignoring it until it either becomes one or goes away may be a viable strategy - even if a feeble one. A third possibility is that Mr. Bolchover could be a painful person to work with. I've never met him and know nothing about him. But I've seen difficult people be sidelined with roles that basically separate them from the normal population. The corporate equivalent to solitary confinement.
Regardless, his point is a real one. How much of the work going on is critically important? It is too easy for the tasks to expand to fill the time, rather than the time being well used at the work that needs to be done.
I have stuff to do. I'm competent at most of it, good at some of it. But the overall management sentiment seems to be one of ambivelance.
I don't read many work/management books, but in addition to Bolchover's The Living Dead and Fisman and Sullivan's The Org (a highly recommended book which helps explains why large organizations devolve into the same painful, gelatinous mass), I read E.L. Kersten's The Art of Demotivation with great interest.
I'm really not sure how to classify The Art of Demotivation. The book explains how to get more out of employees by demotivating them to a level somewhere just above the ground snail. I'd like to believe Kersten's The Art of Demotivation is a completely satirical look at the pop culture of management books, celebrity business people, and self-help about how to "do more with less" as a manager. But I can't. I have seen far too many of Mr. Kersten's techniques practiced at work and far too often. Sadly, I suspect many of the proletariat in a global corporation could say this. So while it may not be a serious how-to book for up-and-coming managers, it may be a third person how-I-got-here for too many managers.
One of the strategies Mr. Kersten suggests in a couple of different places in the book is to "forget" the names of subordinates - and to do this frequently. Employing this strategy, he even demonstrates this gem in the Acknowlegements:
"I also need to give credit to my research assistants Robert (or Roger?) from Massachusetts and the redhead with the eyebrow piercing. They tracked down numerous references, checked the accuracy of quotations, and were a constant source of inspiration. Naturally, any errors and omissions in the final manuscript are their fault."
So given the current ambivalent demotivation at work, when my manager called me the wrong name, in writing, I raised an eyebrow. He has known me for well over five years. We've worked close enough in the past that we've nearly come to fisticuffs (slight exageration). Making it worse, he called me by the name of a colleague who is leaving the organization. And his subsequent follow through was nearly delayed enough to be irrelevant with silence since.
But I won't complain. In a training earlier this year, the speaker, who is both interesting to listen to and the rare individual who is actually motivating, said that he wanted, "...the most important project that is not on management's radar." I'm definitely not there, but I can still revel in being left alone.
Everyone has occasionally called someone by the wrong name or briefly failed to recall the name of the person they are looking at. I'll admit to being terrible with names of people I've newly met.
But it felt more nefarious when a manager at work called me by another name recently.
This will be the second consecutive post which relates to work - and I don't write about work.
I'm in a position which is both enviable and worthy of sympathy. My management at work doesn't really care about my role. They've made that abundantly clear by ignoring an increasing percentage of stuff related to what I'm working on in the nearly two years since I moved into my current job. There are still some check-the-box HR exercises and I still talk with them, but my job is largely a bottomless void. Bottomless void also implies that something rolls downhill - and it does.
This is enviable since it means they largely leave me alone. This is worthy of sympathy since it means I'm quite sure I'm superfluous. Or perhaps more realistically, I'm doing work which needs to get done - and the best possible outcome from a management perspective is nobody hears about it. I may be a hairs breath away from being ignored right out of a paycheck.
I sometimes wonder if I may be slipping into the nothingness described in Harlan Ellison's short story "Are You Listening?" It describes a man so mundane and average that he loses his existance - until he meets another man of the same fate. Maybe there are other people at work who nobody has seen for years, but continue to dutifully show up every day.
David Bolchover writes about this in his book The Living Dead: Switched Off, Zoned Out. Mr. Bolchover was employed for years, where he freely admits he was doing almost nothing. He relates that he was largely forgotten about. There is another distinct possibility in that his management may have thought it was easier to give Mr. Bolchover unlimited freedom and a paycheck, rather than deal with his situation. One thing I've learned over the years is that management really are human, and with the same limited energy to deal with difficult situations as everyone else. If something isn't an immediate problem, ignoring it until it either becomes one or goes away may be a viable strategy - even if a feeble one. A third possibility is that Mr. Bolchover could be a painful person to work with. I've never met him and know nothing about him. But I've seen difficult people be sidelined with roles that basically separate them from the normal population. The corporate equivalent to solitary confinement.
Regardless, his point is a real one. How much of the work going on is critically important? It is too easy for the tasks to expand to fill the time, rather than the time being well used at the work that needs to be done.
I have stuff to do. I'm competent at most of it, good at some of it. But the overall management sentiment seems to be one of ambivelance.
I don't read many work/management books, but in addition to Bolchover's The Living Dead and Fisman and Sullivan's The Org (a highly recommended book which helps explains why large organizations devolve into the same painful, gelatinous mass), I read E.L. Kersten's The Art of Demotivation with great interest.
I'm really not sure how to classify The Art of Demotivation. The book explains how to get more out of employees by demotivating them to a level somewhere just above the ground snail. I'd like to believe Kersten's The Art of Demotivation is a completely satirical look at the pop culture of management books, celebrity business people, and self-help about how to "do more with less" as a manager. But I can't. I have seen far too many of Mr. Kersten's techniques practiced at work and far too often. Sadly, I suspect many of the proletariat in a global corporation could say this. So while it may not be a serious how-to book for up-and-coming managers, it may be a third person how-I-got-here for too many managers.
One of the strategies Mr. Kersten suggests in a couple of different places in the book is to "forget" the names of subordinates - and to do this frequently. Employing this strategy, he even demonstrates this gem in the Acknowlegements:
"I also need to give credit to my research assistants Robert (or Roger?) from Massachusetts and the redhead with the eyebrow piercing. They tracked down numerous references, checked the accuracy of quotations, and were a constant source of inspiration. Naturally, any errors and omissions in the final manuscript are their fault."
So given the current ambivalent demotivation at work, when my manager called me the wrong name, in writing, I raised an eyebrow. He has known me for well over five years. We've worked close enough in the past that we've nearly come to fisticuffs (slight exageration). Making it worse, he called me by the name of a colleague who is leaving the organization. And his subsequent follow through was nearly delayed enough to be irrelevant with silence since.
But I won't complain. In a training earlier this year, the speaker, who is both interesting to listen to and the rare individual who is actually motivating, said that he wanted, "...the most important project that is not on management's radar." I'm definitely not there, but I can still revel in being left alone.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Work Social Functions
My work had a half day social function at a local brew-pub where everyone was "strongly encouraged" to go. I did not go.
I seem to be infected with some idiopathic melancholy torpor recently. I guess that is a very verbose way of saying that I haven't been in the best of moods and for no reason. I will chalk this up to nothing more than the ebb and flow of Midlife Malaise; likely just a local minima that will be gotten over quickly, or certainly no later than vacation which isn't too far off.
I'm not sure that hindsight brings clarity, or if it just brings a new wrong perspective, but I tried to think back on which years were overall good and which were overall bad. That kind of binary categorization is impossible, so I created an arbitrary scale to do this.
I started it in high school - as the floor for how bad things could be. There are many situations that could be worse than high school, but it still represents some kind of sub-basement for mental well-being.
There is a lot of noise in any given year, with some highs and some lows, but college was definitely a high point - potentially even artificially so. Constantly on the steep side of the learning curve. Always busy - trying to work and go to school full-time. A lot of interesting friendships, even if some of them were short-lived and/or alcohol fueled. No public shaming due to wearing the wrong shoes. Even college-poverty wasn't too bad since there was a group catharsis in not having any money.
Graduation brought a somewhat painful job search, and eventual employment in a vocation relevant to my degree. While this should have been even better than college, I was hired into a really, really bad situation. "Oh, what have I gotten myself into."
I wasn't sure full employment could have gotten worse while still drawing a paycheck, but it did. At this point, the fish started to finally see the water he was swimming in...
A change to a new job brought renewed hope that college wasn't wasted and was almost certainly worth the time, energy and money that went into it.
Things progressed along until the onset of Midlife Malaise. Is this really it? Thankfully, this drop in mental well-being isn't continuously permanant.
But this exercise does bring up an interesting point. When talking about the midlife crisis, experts usually show a "U-Curve" with a minimum for life satisfaction somewhere around the late 40's to early 50's. This may be right in aggregate, but for any one individual, there is a lot of noise - with life positives along with the negatives. I suppose some of these can even happen simultaneously. The low in the "U" may actually represent the depth and frequency of the low points in the noise.
More malaise can bring things down when it lasts beyond a certain amount of time. The new house has overall been an improvement but was somewhat offset by the painful selling of the old house. I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to live next to noisy people, or if everywhere just has noisy people?
I'm not sure if I'll still think this when I look back in a few years, but the last couple years have been fine. Not great, but not bad either.
Still, adult life can get pretty monotonous.
While I would like to believe that life's dizzying highs and crushing lows appear to be smoothing out as I get older, it is probably dangerous to think that. Involuntarily losing my job or being put in prison would probably be a new crushing low. A financial windfall or falling ass-backwards into a perfect job could be a new dizzying high. Outside of something like that, it does appear that life's highs and lows are smoothing out as I get older - and maybe that is where the midlife malaise begins to taper off. Maybe.
Instead of going to the work social outing at the brew-pub, I sat forlornly at my desk and kept busy. It isn't that my workload is so heinous that I couldn't afford the time to go, I just didn't want to, and I'm approaching a place in my life where that sometimes takes precedence. Far too often, I have ended up trapped at these types of work functions talking with someone I really did not want to talk to or talking about a subject I really don't have any interest in talking about - sometimes both. The conversations that I may want to have are nearly impossible with the threat of management around every corner; standing around without anything relevant to say is a near certainty.
The situation can also be very similar to the grocery store where I run into a casual acquaintance. After the requisite banal pleasantries, we both return to picking out onions and mangos, inspecting them intently to avoid eye contact again - only to run into this same person in the potato chip aisle. And the frozen food aisle... When it happens the third time, I almost want to confront the situation and scream, "Look, one of us is going to have to finish grocery shopping another day because this continued interaction is just getting terrible for both of us." Throw in enough brew-pub alcohol to be annoying, without enough for sufficient social lubrication and these things can just get painful.
While my life has no shortage of awkward interactions, I just don't see the need to purposefully put myself in those situations. Yes, I'd rather just stay at work.
I seem to be infected with some idiopathic melancholy torpor recently. I guess that is a very verbose way of saying that I haven't been in the best of moods and for no reason. I will chalk this up to nothing more than the ebb and flow of Midlife Malaise; likely just a local minima that will be gotten over quickly, or certainly no later than vacation which isn't too far off.
I'm not sure that hindsight brings clarity, or if it just brings a new wrong perspective, but I tried to think back on which years were overall good and which were overall bad. That kind of binary categorization is impossible, so I created an arbitrary scale to do this.
I started it in high school - as the floor for how bad things could be. There are many situations that could be worse than high school, but it still represents some kind of sub-basement for mental well-being.
There is a lot of noise in any given year, with some highs and some lows, but college was definitely a high point - potentially even artificially so. Constantly on the steep side of the learning curve. Always busy - trying to work and go to school full-time. A lot of interesting friendships, even if some of them were short-lived and/or alcohol fueled. No public shaming due to wearing the wrong shoes. Even college-poverty wasn't too bad since there was a group catharsis in not having any money.
Graduation brought a somewhat painful job search, and eventual employment in a vocation relevant to my degree. While this should have been even better than college, I was hired into a really, really bad situation. "Oh, what have I gotten myself into."
I wasn't sure full employment could have gotten worse while still drawing a paycheck, but it did. At this point, the fish started to finally see the water he was swimming in...
A change to a new job brought renewed hope that college wasn't wasted and was almost certainly worth the time, energy and money that went into it.
Things progressed along until the onset of Midlife Malaise. Is this really it? Thankfully, this drop in mental well-being isn't continuously permanant.
But this exercise does bring up an interesting point. When talking about the midlife crisis, experts usually show a "U-Curve" with a minimum for life satisfaction somewhere around the late 40's to early 50's. This may be right in aggregate, but for any one individual, there is a lot of noise - with life positives along with the negatives. I suppose some of these can even happen simultaneously. The low in the "U" may actually represent the depth and frequency of the low points in the noise.
More malaise can bring things down when it lasts beyond a certain amount of time. The new house has overall been an improvement but was somewhat offset by the painful selling of the old house. I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to live next to noisy people, or if everywhere just has noisy people?
I'm not sure if I'll still think this when I look back in a few years, but the last couple years have been fine. Not great, but not bad either.
Still, adult life can get pretty monotonous.
While I would like to believe that life's dizzying highs and crushing lows appear to be smoothing out as I get older, it is probably dangerous to think that. Involuntarily losing my job or being put in prison would probably be a new crushing low. A financial windfall or falling ass-backwards into a perfect job could be a new dizzying high. Outside of something like that, it does appear that life's highs and lows are smoothing out as I get older - and maybe that is where the midlife malaise begins to taper off. Maybe.
Instead of going to the work social outing at the brew-pub, I sat forlornly at my desk and kept busy. It isn't that my workload is so heinous that I couldn't afford the time to go, I just didn't want to, and I'm approaching a place in my life where that sometimes takes precedence. Far too often, I have ended up trapped at these types of work functions talking with someone I really did not want to talk to or talking about a subject I really don't have any interest in talking about - sometimes both. The conversations that I may want to have are nearly impossible with the threat of management around every corner; standing around without anything relevant to say is a near certainty.
The situation can also be very similar to the grocery store where I run into a casual acquaintance. After the requisite banal pleasantries, we both return to picking out onions and mangos, inspecting them intently to avoid eye contact again - only to run into this same person in the potato chip aisle. And the frozen food aisle... When it happens the third time, I almost want to confront the situation and scream, "Look, one of us is going to have to finish grocery shopping another day because this continued interaction is just getting terrible for both of us." Throw in enough brew-pub alcohol to be annoying, without enough for sufficient social lubrication and these things can just get painful.
While my life has no shortage of awkward interactions, I just don't see the need to purposefully put myself in those situations. Yes, I'd rather just stay at work.
Saturday, September 23, 2017
It's Good To Have Farmer Friends
Fall started this past week, but it sure doesn't feel like it. Temperatures have been in a summer-like range of near 90F. This is matched with a July humidity, bringing late afternoon pop-up rain and thunderstorms. I think the air conditioner has run more in September than in August. A heat wave is defined by dictionary.com as: a prolonged period of abnormally hot weather - which seems to qualify. The World Meteorological Organization has specified that a true heat wave must be at least five consecutive days where the maximum temperature exceeds the average by nine degrees. So a finger-wagging meteorologist may point out that it isn't really a heat wave yet, but it has been steamy. Al Gore says this is inconvenient as he continues to live a delightful 1% lifestyle.
It was seven years ago right now when the agreements were signed to buy my current house. That day was hot as well, but it was a more typical late summer dry heat. Among the things I didn't think too much about when I bought my house was the wadi running through the property. Buying a house is fraught with unseen pitfalls. Nothing will prepare someone for the reality of moving into a new place. Real estate disclosures will be cloaked in words to minimize negatives while following the letter of the law. Home inspectors make money on home sales - realtors will never recommend inspectors who honestly show all flaws resulting in more difficult home sales. The home-selling industry is designed around making unlikely sales go through. The buyer and seller are just along for the ride at some point. But I have no complaints about my current house; nothing beyond a minor annoyance has reared its ugly head and after seven years, any issues at this point are mine and mine alone.
Over the last seven years, the wadi behind the house has slowly filled it. My back yard is in a local low spot so it sees a fair amount of water. When I moved in, the ditch was fairly deep and held quite a bit of water. Over that time, it has slowly filled in with silt and dirt. This has been exasperated by drain tile that has failed. From what I understand, there was a county project years ago which ran two drain tiles on either side of the wadi along its whole length (including far beyond my property line). This drain tile has had multiple failures. Two years ago, the result was a nearly year-round swamp.
"You don't know how lucky you are to live by a swamp." Vic (Dan Aykroyd from the movie Neighbors)
I ended up digging a small trench from the fail drain tile to what remained of the wadi which deswampified the back yard, but created new minor issues as the wadi was largely flat.
In theory, I lease out the back part of my property for farming by a local farmer. In practice, he has successfully traded capital improvements every year instead of actually paying me. The actual dollar amount wouldn't be much so I'm OK with it, but the last two years he had issues doing what he said he would do. This occasionally rankled me. I asked him to dig out the wadi, not knowing if he was going to, but a few days ago he showed up with his backhoe, digging out a nice smooth trench. I was thrilled. This also gave me piles of dirt to fill in some low spots in my yard, especially where the dogs have dug to get at some critter.
I have been surprised how much water has infiltrated the wadi already given the lack of any real rain. No doubt this is due to the failed drain tile. It will be interesting to see what happens to this in the spring.
A secondary benefit of the return of the wadi is that I was able to bush-mow the property right up tot he edge of the ditch. This will make it look better all winter and will help keep both weeds and vermin down.
A lot of the rural roads in the area are being repaired (and I use the term loosely) by chip seal. I first encountered chip seal on my motorcycle road trip to Alaska and learned to live with it in the barely unfrozen North. Locally though, they use a phenomenal amount of gravel compared to the scarcity mentality I saw in the Yukon. There were piles and ridges of gravel several inches deep in some places. I was almost home riding through the stuff with serious pucker-factor when a nearby neighbor started tail-gating me. I'm not sure if she knew it was me or not, but it didn't help the situation much. On a heavy motorcycle, recently layed chip seal might as well be a loose gravel road. It might as well be a greased road.
Once swept up and hardened, chip seal isn't too bad, but I'll probably be going out of my way to avoid some of the worst roads, especially the ones that are lightly travelled where it may be weeks before excess gravel is swept up.
I guess even with the hot weather, the chip seal is a sign of the changing seasons. Leaves are starting to fall. Bean fields are becoming yellow. Corn is dying. Maybe fall is here?
It was seven years ago right now when the agreements were signed to buy my current house. That day was hot as well, but it was a more typical late summer dry heat. Among the things I didn't think too much about when I bought my house was the wadi running through the property. Buying a house is fraught with unseen pitfalls. Nothing will prepare someone for the reality of moving into a new place. Real estate disclosures will be cloaked in words to minimize negatives while following the letter of the law. Home inspectors make money on home sales - realtors will never recommend inspectors who honestly show all flaws resulting in more difficult home sales. The home-selling industry is designed around making unlikely sales go through. The buyer and seller are just along for the ride at some point. But I have no complaints about my current house; nothing beyond a minor annoyance has reared its ugly head and after seven years, any issues at this point are mine and mine alone.
Over the last seven years, the wadi behind the house has slowly filled it. My back yard is in a local low spot so it sees a fair amount of water. When I moved in, the ditch was fairly deep and held quite a bit of water. Over that time, it has slowly filled in with silt and dirt. This has been exasperated by drain tile that has failed. From what I understand, there was a county project years ago which ran two drain tiles on either side of the wadi along its whole length (including far beyond my property line). This drain tile has had multiple failures. Two years ago, the result was a nearly year-round swamp.
"You don't know how lucky you are to live by a swamp." Vic (Dan Aykroyd from the movie Neighbors)
I ended up digging a small trench from the fail drain tile to what remained of the wadi which deswampified the back yard, but created new minor issues as the wadi was largely flat.
In theory, I lease out the back part of my property for farming by a local farmer. In practice, he has successfully traded capital improvements every year instead of actually paying me. The actual dollar amount wouldn't be much so I'm OK with it, but the last two years he had issues doing what he said he would do. This occasionally rankled me. I asked him to dig out the wadi, not knowing if he was going to, but a few days ago he showed up with his backhoe, digging out a nice smooth trench. I was thrilled. This also gave me piles of dirt to fill in some low spots in my yard, especially where the dogs have dug to get at some critter.
I have been surprised how much water has infiltrated the wadi already given the lack of any real rain. No doubt this is due to the failed drain tile. It will be interesting to see what happens to this in the spring.
A secondary benefit of the return of the wadi is that I was able to bush-mow the property right up tot he edge of the ditch. This will make it look better all winter and will help keep both weeds and vermin down.
A lot of the rural roads in the area are being repaired (and I use the term loosely) by chip seal. I first encountered chip seal on my motorcycle road trip to Alaska and learned to live with it in the barely unfrozen North. Locally though, they use a phenomenal amount of gravel compared to the scarcity mentality I saw in the Yukon. There were piles and ridges of gravel several inches deep in some places. I was almost home riding through the stuff with serious pucker-factor when a nearby neighbor started tail-gating me. I'm not sure if she knew it was me or not, but it didn't help the situation much. On a heavy motorcycle, recently layed chip seal might as well be a loose gravel road. It might as well be a greased road.
Once swept up and hardened, chip seal isn't too bad, but I'll probably be going out of my way to avoid some of the worst roads, especially the ones that are lightly travelled where it may be weeks before excess gravel is swept up.
I guess even with the hot weather, the chip seal is a sign of the changing seasons. Leaves are starting to fall. Bean fields are becoming yellow. Corn is dying. Maybe fall is here?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)