We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Charles Murray on Belmont Vs. Fishtown, about social class in America and the Founding Virtues: marriage, industriousness, honesty, religiousness.
It's a major essay. One quote:
...if you live in an affluent suburb, an upscale neighborhood of a large city, or in a college town, you do not need to read (David) Brooks to know what I’m talking about. You live in that culture. But it is also possible (depending on the circumstances in which you grew up) that you are no longer familiar with what everywhere else in America is like. The problem is not the lifestyle of the members of America’s new upper class, which in many ways is attractive, but the degree to which the new upper class has become sealed off from the rest of America.
Sometimes the isolation is geographic as well as cultural. In major cities and their surrounding areas, those top-ranked zip codes in which the members of the new upper class live are surrounded by other top-ranked zip codes that form elite clusters consisting of tens or hundreds of thousands of people, creating large bubbles within which life can go on without reference to anywhere outside the bubble. Even when the geographic isolation is not extreme, the differences in culture often are...
Study the whole thing. It rings true to me. Even in a small town where we know all sorts of people, we tend to hang out with people who play tennis and golf, own guns, read lots of books, discuss Plato, Marx, Freud, Adam Smith and Hayek, go to church, have gardens, and love opera. Otherwise, what is there to talk about except the weather? It's not defined by financial status, but rather by common interests and, sometimes but certainly not always, similar backgrounds and similar world-views (but excluding political views, generally, untiil one is clear about where one's companions are coming from).
We posted on The Art of Choosing a little while ago. It got me to thinking about one of my favorite topics, the choices of life goals.
There tends to be a political assumption that everybody is most motivated by material and financial goals, but it just is not true for many people unless they are in dire straights. Sad to say, many are these days.
However, in normal times, normal people choose their goals, and construct their plans to achieve them for all sorts of reasons: religious, following a passion, "life style" reasons, security, wanting to "make a difference," following a calling, etc. So, while most people could always use more money, that cannot be assumed to be what most people base their choices on. Just ask a toll-collector on the Mass Pike, or a Mass. State Representative why he/she picked the job.
... one reason that people differ in their incomes is that some people care more about having a high income than others. To put it in geekspeak, preferences over pecuniary goods (say, consumption) and nonpecuniary goods (say, leisure) are heterogeneous.
The heterogeneity is the point. We make compromises, don't we, between our practical goals and our emotional goals in the endless pursuit of life satisfaction? However, most people do not have a career-related passion, in which case money and material often become our culture's default choice. I am fortunate in having a spouse with two absorbing passions: doing deals and playing sports. The former frees me up to pursue my less-lucrative academic work and charitable interests, and the latter keeps him out of trouble (except for orthopedic trouble).
If your preference is to work hard and long, with rewards potentially commensurate with effort but with plenty of risk too, I suggest starting a business.
One fine fact about life is that we can change our goals as we grow.
Several months ago, I stumbled onto a baseball article which intrigued me. In probably the best example of how an exchange of product and services doesn't have to have a winner and a loser, Major League Baseball witnessed a trade in 2009 that ultimately benefited every team involved. What is particularly odd about this trade is that there were more than two teams involved.
Three teams executed a trade which, over time, involved a fourth team. The three involved were Detroit, the New York Yankees, and Arizona. A player involved in the original trade passed through 4 more trades before landing with the St. Louis Cardinals. Essentially, this turned out to be a trade which allowed 4 teams to improve enough to reach the playoffs. Sure, it took 2 years, but at least everyone benefited.
As the saying goes, one person's trash is another person's treasure. It is sometimes assumed that there has to be a winner and a loser involved in every trade. But the networked nature of exchange can lead to net gains for all involved. In an example of Metcalfe's Law, 4 teams showed how markets can benefit everyone, even in baseball where there are usually winners and losers.
The problem -- or at least the change -- is that we humans cannot understand systems even as complex as that of a simple cell. It's not that were awaiting some elegant theory that will snap all the details into place. The theory is well established already: Cellular systems consist of a set of detailed interactions that can be thought of as signals and responses. But those interactions surpass in quantity and complexity the human brains ability to comprehend them. The science of such systems requires computers to store all the details and to see how they interact. Systems biologists build computer models that replicate in software what happens when the millions of pieces interact. It's a bit like predicting the weather, but with far more dependency on particular events and fewer general principles.
Models this complex -- whether of cellular biology, the weather, the economy, even highway traffic -- often fail us, because the world is more complex than our models can capture. But sometimes they can predict accurately how the system will behave. At their most complex these are sciences of emergence and complexity, studying properties of systems that cannot be seen by looking only at the parts, and cannot be well predicted except by looking at what happens.
The college pupette has been exploring the Viet Nam hinterlands, and spent a couple of days in a northern fishing village with Vietnamese friends. The young people in the villages had never seen Americans. The pupette, enjoying all of the spicey local dishes of course, managed to pick up a nice strong case of food poisoning and emailed me a medically-detailed report of that. TMI.
She's feeling a little better, now. She's a good, hearty and brave traveller. We taught her that. She'll go anywhere and do anything, doesn't mind getting lost, doesn't mind being on her own, and isn't afraid of getting sick - as long as it's all cheap. She's been almost everywhere already, without us parents - out West, Europe, etc. (All of my kids are like that. Their Mom was adventurous like that too in youth, hitchhiking all around Europe, Turkey, and the Middle East with a backpack. Now, her Mom prefers a bit more comfort in travel but still has the vigorous Go Go Hi Ho attitude to life which is a blessing for me.)
What normal college kid would want to sit at home with the old folks during winter break? Not one of them. At least ski with friends, or go somewhere fun and exciting on the cheap. Mine have never stayed at home, comfortable as it may be here at ye olde cozy Yankee cabin homestead by the fire. We preach, and try to make an example of, adventure and accumulating experience and experiences - the good ones and the bad ones. Learn more from the bad ones. As my "Oystersmiling" pupette says, "The world beckons." The world is her oyster. What a fine attitude.
Pupette was laughing in her email about spending a day in a "Commie medical clinic" next to a jolly Aussie couple with the same affliction. Aussies - always jolly, always at least half-drunk, never worrying about anything. She reports that the docs and nurses were wonderful and kind, and that she absorbed 7 bags of IV normal saline which brought her back to life. Seven bags? Sheesh. I call that "low on oil."
She's back in Saigon now, and posted a few more of her pics. The Americans in the pics are her cute self, and her pal who is working in Saigon. Excuse me - I mean Ho Chi Minh City.
Photo is a bag of Normal Saline. AKA salt water - human fluid is the same thing as sea-water, and not by accident. Nurses inject a bag of it into themselves when they have hangovers at work, or so I have heard...
My Doc, a fine fellow, a med school Prof, a solo practitioner, and a non-golfer, is getting frustrated with the direction of medical practice these days and, along with that, feels a little frustrated with his patients too. He has too many of them, but just wants to be an old-time doc and friend to his patients instead of an Obamacare industrial doc on an assemby line.
She Who Must Be Obeyed forces me to get a "physical" every three years or so, just to annoy me. A gallon of blood, a total body scan, stress test, colonoscopy, fully poked and prodded, finger up the butt, etc. Costs a fortune. Doc also insists on a half-hour interview about how my life is going, Diet, happiness quotient, work, friendships, exercise, sex life, how are the kids, future plans, fun and recreation. Thinks he's a shrink, and likes to talk to people about their lives, while I would rather leave my body off for a check-up like leaving the car at the shop.
Actually, I think he's a very fine, caring Doc who happens to hold the strange, idolatrous and heathen belief that health is life's priority. (Plumbers feel the same way about your plumbing, don't they?) He does a good job at never appearing to be in a hurry, so I feel lucky to have him in case I develop a problem. We all will, sooner or later. Eventually, it will be a fatal problem. We can all count on that.
I put it all off as long as I can because I am allergic to doctors, much as I respect them. Anyway, last week he told me that, for my age and build, he wanted me to achieve a 36" waist. He also said, in all care and kindness, something like "If you don't want to follow my advice, I invite you find another doctor." Almost that, anyway. He was also rough about my cigar pleasure, but figured that 2/day was OK with him. Maybe 3. When I pressed him, he confessed to a few per week himself.
My question is always "What good is one's health if you don't have a fun, stimulating, adventurous, satisfying, and somewhat decadent life?"
And I am not even Medicare age. He opted out of Medicare a couple of years ago. He says Medicare reimbursements cannot cover his staff's wages as a solo guy. What it means is that he'll still take on Medicare-age patients, but they will have to pay him themselves from their piggy-banks. If truly poverty-stricken, he'll offer a break but no freebies. He doesn't "take" any insurances either.
He also told me that, when he decided to opt out, Medicare patients comprised 30% of his practice population, consumed 90% of his time, and comprised 25% of his income. He figures he donates a day per week at a teaching clinic, and that that is enough charity for him. How many people donate 20% of their work time and income to charity?
Like most doctors these days, he prefers not to bother with people who do not want to take decent care of themselves. The price you pay to have him available to you if you get in trouble is the occasional exam and sanctimonious health lecture. For me, every few years, stretched out as long as possible.
We were fortunate to see a rare performance of Puccini's one-act comedy Gianni Schicci ("Johnny Skicci") by the Chelsea Opera a year or so ago.
The vocal highlight of the opera is the famous aria O mio babbino caro, sung by the little manipulator Lauretta to her dad. "Daddy dearest, I'll have to die if you won't let me go out with Rinuccio anymore."
The trick of it is to sound like you really want to twist Dad's heartstrings. If you can sing like these ladies to your Dad, I'm sure he'll let you do whatever you want. Here's the bake-off:
When is enough pleasure and instant gratification enough?
Oh, maybe never, I hear my readers thinking.
I put the word "addiction" in quotes because I am not referring to physiological addictions such as to narcotics or alcohol, but to the pop culture use of the word, as applied to chocolate, food, sex, money, power, buying, etc. The casual use of the term, of course, refers to the difficulty in stopping the behavior when it doesn't make sense.
Some people are studying the brain to try to understand satiety. Some, interested in overweight, are studying foods. I think they are barking up the wrong tree (Yankees might not realize that that is a reference to coon hunting with coon hounds).
I believe that most of these "addictions" are more subcultural and psychological than physiological. Returning to the topic of food, the well-respected scientific journal Elle points this out in Satisfaction Guaranteed:
As a child, were you encouraged to clean your plate and then go back for seconds? If so, you probably didn’t grow up in France, where children are taught to savor the feeling of longing, or envie, for their next course (just think of the cheese!). Our differing notions of satisfaction were examined in a 2006 study of 133 Parisians and 145 Chicagoans published in the journal Obesity. While the French paid attention to an internal cue, the feeling of fullness, the Windy City-ers relied on the external: when their plate was empty; when their companion had finished eating; or when—quelle horreur!—the credits started to roll on the TV show they were watching.
Many Americans ignore the body’s subtler signals of hunger and fullness, hearing only the clanging gong at each end of the pendulum—Starving! Stuffed!—and rarely pausing to enjoy the much more pleasant midpoint: Ahhh, satisfied.
Some subcultures believe in big eating, some in savoring, some in minimalist eating, and, for some, food is just not a central part of life at all - Northern Europeans, for example. I was raised, for example, to learn that a lady always eats slowly, and never finishes the food on her plate. Not in public, anyway. It's not considered ladylike.
We made it to the final night of the Ailey's NYC season at City Center last night. Mrs. BD commented that Ailey is now the only modern dance company that can fill a large venue in NYC for three weeks straight. Yes, they did Ailey's Revelations, along with some Paul Taylor and a very cool piece by Ohad Naharin. A jolly, sold-out, and enthused crowd.
We tried the pre-theater supper at the famous olde Russian Tea Room for nostalgia's sake. Good vodka, same olde atmosphere, the Russian food not great (certainly not as good as when Jackie O hung out there) but the Vodka selection was excellent - around 40 varieties. The lad and I had the Russian Standard (their vodka shots come ice-cold in little flute glasses). OK, I know - the place has become a little tourist trap for Euro-trash celeb-seeking visitors, but it's still kinda fun and they do have a good caviar selection on their regular menu (We think Petrossian a great place for mid-town caviar etc., but Maggie's Farm is not Zagat's):
Fix Me Jesus, from Revelations. What Christian has never prayed for that? The pupette and her pals loved it all. So did I. It was my second time.
Some old friends were back in the NY area for the holidays. Rather than stay at a hotel, they watch friends' homes who are also traveling. Last year, I was jealous of the fact they were staying in a house that George Washington had slept in. This year, they stayed in the same house. After a nice dinner at a local pub, they invited us over.
The house as it appeared in 1919:
The house is known as The Timothy Ball House in Maplewood, NJ. It's not open to tours, because it's a private residence. The owners do let in groups of local school children to see the portions of the original structure which are intact and visit the room that Washington literally slept in.
The Ball family were Washington's cousins, Mary Ball having been his mother. Washington would stop by while the troops were wintering in Morristown (which they did over two brutal winters, the second far more difficult than Valley Forge), because a view from the ridge in Maplewood allowed him clear access to watch English troop movements in Elizabeth and Staten Island.
AA Daily Reflections online. You do not need to be an alcoholic to benefit from them because we all have grievous flaws and faults and, if we aspire to be more worthy people, we can use anything that helps.
The notion of the 12 steps came from the evangelical Oxford Group movement of the 1930s, whose first "step" was "We admitted that we were powerless over sin." (The author of the linked piece seems to view AA as a dangerous cult.)
To be spiritually reborn, the Oxford Group advocated four practices:
1. The sharing of our sins and temptations with another Christian life given to God. 2. Surrender our life past, present and future, into God's keeping and direction. 3. Restitution to all whom we have wronged directly or indirectly. 4. Listening for God's guidance, and carrying it out.
Good stuff. Reborn is good. Otherwise, it's just all about me - and I ain't all that great.
Here Bill Wilson discusses the construction of the 12 Steps. I am no expert on AA (and am happy to be corrected on any misunderstandings), but my impression is that Bill Wilson did believe that only God could rescue him - and many others - from their personality flaws (in Wilson's case, possibly some sociopathic and narcissistic tendencies) and addictions (in Wilson's case, alcohol).
Doctors do not have the power to cure addictions, and no Psychiatrist would claim it (if they are, indeed, "curable"). It seems to me that only things like AA have the power to combat them - and to help people grow to higher levels of sanity, maturity, and realism - possibly higher levels than those who never had deal with these things. As my pastor says, only God can do it, but that could be said of all healing.
Feel free to tell us about any AA experiences you might have had.
The visually stunning, dreamlike new production at the Met last night knocked our socks off. The lacy ninjas running around and the traditional Japanese puppetry were, I felt, very cool. I don't get to opera too often these days - maybe twice or three times a year. It's always fun for me to realize that Butterfly was the pop, commercial music of 1904 despite being a sort of soul music with nary a hummable tune. Wagnerian touches, but lyrical and conversational, lush and still subtle. Butterfly was like avant-garde rock, or maybe the REM of the time.
'Twas my Christmas treat for some of my kids (Yes, K - you are one of mine now). One more Big Apple Treat tomorrow for the lucky bambinos before regular life resumes.
I suppose we are Puccini fans, but who isn't? Genius, with a musical complexity beyond my comprehension but fully within the ability to touch me. We visited his house in old Lucca, and his home church where he learned keyboard, two years ago but it feels like yesterday. Carpe diem...
This is not the diva we saw last night. We had the charming Canadian Liping Zhang, not Patricia Racette. It's a tough role, on stage non-stop and singing for three hours. Willing suspension of disbelief - Racette does not look 15 years old but it is Butterfly's youth and innocence which explains the tragic story. Nowadays, it might be considered a story about pedophilia and a dirty old man, but 15 used to be considered marriageable and still is, most places on the planet. Maybe a good idea...
Mrs. BD comments "Can you imagine Leontyne Price playing Butterfly?" No, and yes. (She did.) I always study an opera in advance, and then listen more afterwards. Listened to this bit at least 10 times today, between cleaning-up-Christmas tasks - takes me a long time to get a piece of music because, much as I love it and as much as it can reach my soul, I am musically-retarded (it's a Learning Disability! Where's my free money and goodies for that Disability?)
Can you hear the "waves of grain" with the American naval officer horny rascal Pinkerton, here?:
A few pics below the fold - but not of the production itself. I would not violate their rule because I love what they do for those of us who save our pennies for such wonderful experiences, and pass them on to the next generation as precious gifts.
Another year is over of Bird Dog dragging you to a museum or a show in Manhattan. Now, for a quick tour of the San Diego area...where the betters live better.
Friends are visiting from New York for a few days. They’re staying in the downtown Gaslamp.
This used to be the area south of Market full of strip joints, seedy bars, and such. Over the past twenty years it has become a magnet of fine restaurants, dance clubs, fancy hotels, with the huge Convention Center along the bay, next to the excellent sightlines from every seat Petco ball park. San Diego's costs are a fraction of New York’s. My friend is an expert on the Near East. They had dinner Thursday night at an Afghani restaurant, which they both said was some of the best they’d had from that part of the world. The weather this week: 70F+ and sunny.
Yesterday, I took them to Old Town, several acres of authenticish early Spanish and Anglo San Diego...
(Lots more of a tour of lovely San Diego below the fold)
6 years ago, as we prepared to move to a new house, my wife and I decided to 'declutter'. Since then, we have been in permanent declutter mode, because having too much stuff around is a pain. Not only that, but as the saying goes "one man's trash is another man's treasure." Well, not so much trash, but if I'm not using it, it may was well be trash.
In order to get rid of household items, we utilized a variety of services. The most well known would be Craigslist and Ebay. After all, you can make a few bucks while in the process of getting rid of useful things you consider junk. However, my wife also stumbled on Freecycle.
We use it through Yahoo! Groups, but you can join on the web. It's free, it's easy to use, and you do nothing more than post what you're offering and what town you're in. The person then picks it up at your door.
When I was on my way to the airport one early morning, my cab driver told me she was recently divorced and havig a rough time. She had picked up several things from us on Freecycle saying "you people have been a godsend." Another person sent me an email telling me that the barely used Heelies (kids wheeled sneakers) were the hit of an otherwise difficult Christmas. For our part, we rarely take, but last spring somebody posted "As many perennials as you can dig," and we wound up spending an hour digging up plants which now fill a previously bland portion of our backyard.
If you haven't tried it, or aren't familiar, Freecycle (Yahoo! link) can help you clean up as 2012 begins, while helping out others at the same time. It's not for everybody, but I'm a devotee.
A former intern at my office is now working with this speaker and directed me to this presentation. It's a fascinating discussion of choice. Recently, there was a post on Maggie's about the Runaway Boxcar. How do we approach choice in a crises? Stress alters how we make choices, as well as how we view them. So, too, does culture. At times, the speaker in this video criticizes American views of, and approaches to, choice. It is unfortunate, because the entire presentation is wonderful. She points out Americans could benefit by incorporating more collaborative approaches to choice, as opposed to the highly individualistic view we tend to have. But she fails to mention other cultures lack the insight the American perspective has, and could benefit from more choice, rather than less. It is also worth noting that the American perspective allows for greater collaborative approaches to choice, whereas other cultures tend to look down on individualistic views.
Choice is difficult. Choices can, at times, be paralyzing. But it doesn't mean that more choice is always the answer or that the American narrative on choice is wrong. It just means the American narrative of choice is different, and that American history shows more choice may not be better, but yields better overall results.
And, honestly, I can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. They have very distinct and different tastes. Coke is better (to me).
The college pupette sends us her first small batch of photos from Nam. Small hotel or friend's apartment? I can't tell. "district 3, tran quoc thao, ho chi minh"
I have no idea why Flickr says "April 2008" because these are from earlier today. Hope she keeps 'em coming.
From recent morning links, I get the impression that the goal of the Maine legislature is to put everybody in the state on Welfare, and to have nobody working except them.
Well, as if a job in a state legislature were "work." Let's face it - it's a title, not a job.
They happen to have elected a semi-revolutionary governor. That might help. Politically, Maine is a strange little state. It has papermills, gigantic tree farms aka forests, a bit of lobstering, marginal potato farms and berry farms, a hundred dead old mill towns, the town of Portland which contains more doctors than people (big retiree town for Yankees who reject Florida ways), a fancy recreational coastline for prosperous New Yorkers and yachtsmen. Fair fishing and hunting, too.
Nobody moves there except drug dealers. And our friend theEditor of the Rumford Meteor. Perhaps he can explain to us the state of mind of the State of Maine sometime.
The government of the state would be in fine shape if they could tax meth and pot.
Love that photo. All anybody needs for a good wedding.
The Wall St. daughter's pup was visiting this weekend. Nice sweater, eh? This Yorkie pup, named Emily (from Devil Wears Prada) has quite an elegant wardrobe. They have hair, not fur, so they get cold. Yorkies were bred to be ratters. They do like to chase and destroy little dog toys with their tiny sharp teeth. They have ADHD, I think.
I know, I know: it is shameless to use dog pics to build traffic.
We are putting our other, youngest, college daughter on a plane to Saigon Ho Chi Minh City this afternoon, via Shanghai, with a pocketful of cash, a backpack, a carry-on, and her best camera. She's done a fair amount of world-traveling on her own and with us, so it's no big deal for her. Like me, she travels casually. She threw some stuff into her bags in 15 minutes this morning like I do. She's doing a film. She promises to email pics, but she probably won't bother because she is always driven to focus on her immediate goal, and ignores everything peripheral to it. Goal-directed almost to a fault, which seems to be what life requires these days. A terrier. She'll be meeting an American friend in Hanoi via the train at some point. I gave her a kiss and had to say "Kill a Commie for Christ." Somehow, PC eludes me and I always say the totally wrong thing, even on Christmas Day. Harvard would fire me.
My Vietnam Vet pal Gwynnie asked "She's going there voluntarily?" My parents felt that way about Germany.
Flight from NYC to Shanghai almost touches the North Pole, so we suggested a hearty shout-out "Thanks" to Santa. He deserves it. He brought me a new leather office chair. Those Great Circle air routes are always surprising, aren't they, until you get used to them?
I had thought she was planning to go straight from Nam to Prague in three weeks but she decided to schedule to come back home for a few days first because it's tropical in Nam, winter in Prague. Change of chic wardrobe. Wanted to catch a play or two in NYC, and to grab some fresh cash (but she knocks herself out almost beyond belief to fund her adventures). Sheesh. The kids these days are so ambitious, determined, goal-directed, adventurous, and hard-working - much more than my peer group ever was. Like many of the hip youths these days, she loves Ron Paul. Sheesh, again. "Dad, Libertarianism is the only right, principled thing for the American attitude." "OK, sweetie. Whatever."
All three of my kids crack me up, each in his/her own way. Where the heck did they come from? From God. I take no credit or blame.
Want to read a good, short Christmas vignette today? Sipp's Open Is A Time.
Three teams executed a trade which, over time, involved a fourth team. The three involved were Detroit, the New York Yankees, and Arizona. A player involved in the original trade passed through 4 more trades before landing with the St. Louis Cardinals. Essentially, this turned out to be a trade which allowed 4 teams to improve enough to reach the playoffs. Sure, it took 2 years, but at least everyone benefited. 
The college pupette has been exploring the Viet Nam hinterlands, and spent a couple of days in a northern fishing village with Vietnamese friends. The young people in the villages had never seen Americans. The pupette, enjoying all of the spicey local dishes of course, managed to pick up a nice strong case of food poisoning and emailed me a medically-detailed report of that. TMI. 
My Doc, a fine fellow, a med school Prof, a solo practitioner, and a non-golfer, is getting frustrated with the direction of medical practice these days and, along with that, feels a little frustrated with his patients too. He has too many of them, but just wants to be an old-time doc and friend to his patients instead of an Obamacare industrial doc on an assemby line.
When is enough pleasure and instant gratification enough?
A 
Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
From recent morning links, I get the impression that the goal of the Maine legislature is to put everybody in the state on Welfare, and to have nobody working except them. 
