Tuesday, March 8. 2011
 No, Virginia, there is not a little pill to fix everything that ails your heart and soul. It's the new fad, however. Your soul isn't troubled: you just have a little chemistry problem. Better living through chemistry!
In the New York Times, Talk Doesn’t Pay, So Psychiatry Turns Instead to Drug Therapy.
It's not just about money. It's more complicated than that, but it's all very sad, in my opinion. I will not go into all of the reasons now other than to say that any doctor, Psychiatrist or not, who doesn't take the time to know you, and just wants to know your disease, isn't worth your time or your hard-earned money.
OK, now I'm depressed by my profession. Where's the pill for that?
Walter Russell Mead is rapidly becoming one of my favorite Liberals. This from Paul Krugman Gets It Half Right:
Moving from “time-served” processes of certification (four year BA degrees, three years in law or divinity school) to certification based on achievement can make education dramatically cheaper. It is sheer madness that most students spend 12 years in school, and another four in college. Why exactly should all kids the same age be in the same grade? One size does not fit all; why shouldn’t high school kids go free when they can pass the equivalent of a GED? And for that matter, shouldn’t school districts encourage and reward teachers and schools that are able to graduate students faster? Among other things, this would allow some of the resources not spent on babysitting high-achieving kids to go to kids who really need the help. How “right wing” is that?
The same goes for college. Oxford and Cambridge graduate their students in three years — yet few people think British college grads are less accomplished than their American peers. What is sacred about the four year BA? Wouldn’t a shift to an exam based system (students who make qualifying scores on the appropriate exams would be certified as graduates) allow more people to advance farther at less cost? And there’s an element of social justice here: the kid from a no-name school who scores high on the exam will have an edge on the Ivy League kid who partied through college and just scraped by.
These are things I have been preaching for years.
(Good comments here. Thank you.)
Entry porch of the place where we stayed, Pueblo Bonito Sunset Beach on the Pacific side. Lots of people with kids, but elegant, beautifully-designed, built for the ages, friendly, simple, and utterly free of any tackiness. I nicknamed the place "The Hanging Gardens of Babylon" because it's built into an oceanside cliff.
A few of my random Cabo notes:
- Baja California Sur is a desert, dominated by cactus forest habitat. There are always rocky mountains in the distance, running north-south down the long peninsula. There are no rainy days and no cloudy days except in August and September. That's what creates the huge arroyos and canyons.
- The weather is said to be similar to that of Palm Springs, but with a constant sea breeze. Cool desert nights. No humidity.
- Besides the place where we stayed, other resort hotels that seemed especially appealing were Hacienda Del Mar and Palmilla (with golf) in San Jose.
- Cabo is famous for its fishing, deep-sea and coastal. Lots of tournaments. I like to know that the Marlin and Sailfish are out there, but I don't feel much of a need to hassle a fish anymore.
- In the winter months, whales are everywhere for calving season. Gray Whales and Humpbacks. Whether you go fishing, whale-watching, or just sit on the beach, they'll be out there. On the morning we left, I watched, from our terrace, a baby Humpback leaping and cavorting like a puppy.
- Our place had seven pools, some with jacuzzi jets in the corners and some with swim-up bars. We swam in a couple of them, but I am not a pool person and did not sit by one for a minute.
- I'm not much of a resort guy either, but I have to admit that they do know how to make a vacation as comfortable, painless, and convenient as this life can be. I am adaptable, and can adjust to that for a while before I feel like chopping some wood or doing something useful.
- Overheard at night in a pool between two Texas guys with drinks in hand (the only time I heard any crude talk at all): "My f-ing wife, her neighbor gets a f-ing 20-foot Christmas tree, and she has to have a 40-foot tree. Where the f-ing f- does she thinks this money comes from?" "My wife, it's the f-ing shoes. Thousand dollar shoes, she wears them once and tells me they pinch." "Yeah, well last week my f-ing wife..."
- Once you get off the main drag, it's dirt roads everywhere. Everything is coated with dust until rain comes in August.
- Odd as it seems, Cabo is only a 2-hr time difference from the East Coast.
- The Cabo area seems to mainly attract wholesome people from the Midwest and the West Coast. I suppose it serves similar purposes to those the Caribbean, Bermuda, and Florida do for Easterners. We met a number of delightful people, and spent a good evening having drinks and learning to play Mexican Train Dominoes with them. It's a good game, and you don't have to think too hard.
- Cabo San Lucas is on the southernmost tip of the long Baja peninsula, 1000 miles south of LA. My lad drove from LA to Cabo once. Mexican roads. I would not drive those highways at night - no guardrails or shoulders, cliffs, constant detours, cattle on the highways, etc.
- The ocean-side beaches, alas, are mostly not swimmable but are surfable. They tend to have a steep drop-off with powerful churning surf, strong currents, whirlpools, and undertows. Easy for a strong swimmer to lose control. The Sea of Cortez is entirely swimmable, and swim in it we did. Mrs. BD and I like cold salt water with waves. Chillier than one might expect down there. Most people use the heated pools, and make like a Manatee.
- The old part of Cabo San Lucas and the marina are predictably touristy and honky-tonk, with some fine, relatively inexpensive restaurants. Lively at night. Almost all of the resort hotels are on the Sea of Cortez side, so if you like lots of activity, guys selling faux-Mexican junk, crowded beaches, water taxis, Sea-Doos, girl-watching, boozed-up college kids, etc., that's your place. You have to go to that side to swim in the sea though, which is what we like to do.
- You get the feeling in Mexico that many jobs are either partly completed, never completed, or just abandoned. The ramshackle, third world look becomes part of the dusty charm after a day or two. On the other hand, the jobs which involve the gringos, like the resorts and vacation homes, are done very well and with fine craftsmanship, especially the stonework.
- We saw little of what we think of as "Mexican food" in the East. Yes, they have taco stands all over for the workmen, but the food we had was excellent with nary a refried bean. Not much guacamole either, but sliced avocado on top of lots of things. Saw no lemons, but those little limes are always sliced on a plate.
Some Mexico photo dumps later.
Monday, March 7. 2011
We go places and take photos to save our readers the trouble, hassle, and expense of travelling around. We do it for you!
Rolled back home to Maggie's HQ in Yankeeland at 3:15 this morning after several lengthy flight delays, stuck irritably in the Houston airport. I only have time to post one pic now - our hotel suite's terrace overlooking the quiet and peaceful Pacific side of Cabo San Lucas (as opposed to the Sea of Cortez side). Very pleasant to step into your palatial suite (His and Hers bathrooms, daily sheet changes, hot and cold-running help, chilled Pacificos on hand with lime slices, etc) and to see this sight (decadent hot tub out of sight on the left):
I found Baja Sur to be interesting in many ways. I'll get to my many pics and thoughts about it over the next few days. And yes, Capt. Tom and Dr. Merc, I did do a little fishin' - but just coastal fishing for dinner.
Morning links later today, if I can get my brain in order.
Sunday, March 6. 2011
Gimme The Axe is one of the kids in Carl Sandburg's remarkable American fairy tales, The Rootabaga Stories. Tales told to his daughters.
Welcome to Rootabaga Country--where the railroad tracks go from straight to zigzag, where the pigs wear bibs, and where the Village of Cream Puffs floats in the wind. You'll meet baby balloon pickers, flummywisters, corn fairies, and blue foxes--and if you're not careful, you may never find your way back home.
That was Publisher's Weekly.
ZIGZAG RAILROAD, THE PIGS WITH BIBS ON, THE CIRCUS CLOWN OVENS, THE VILLAGE OF LIVER AND ONIONS, THE VILLAGE OF CREAM PUFFS, HOW THEY BROK AWAY TO GO TO THE ROOTABAGA COUNTRY, HOW THEY BRING BACK THE VILLAGE OF CREAM PUFFS WHEN THE WIND BLOWS IT AWAY, HOW THE FIVE RUST RATS HELPED FIND A NEW VILLAGE, HOW SIX PIGEONS CAME BACK TO HATRACK THE HORSE AFTER MANY ACCIDENTS AND SIX TELEGRAMS, ....
I hope your kids did not grow up deprived this whimsical Americana. In fact, I think I enjoyed hearing them read outloud more than my kids did.
Instead of reading the books, I'd recommend tracking down the audio versions with Carl Sandburg reading them himself. It's pure delight, and his reading sticks in the mind most pleasantly - unlike most things in life.
"Do you want to buy the ticket with the blue flanch to go all the way and come back, or do you want to buy the ticket with the yellow flanch to go all the way, and never come back?"
Saturday, March 5. 2011
Are all photographers just people who like to make pictures but are too lazy to learn to paint? Who just want immediate gratification?
That topic came up over cocktails with a friend last night. He is an avid amateur photographer who has been taking a watercolor course at night. He told me painting is teaching him to see.
Churchill at the easel:
Here's a vacation idea: Villas in Tuscany or Umbria. Not expensive, either. Chefs available to do the cooking.
Thursday, March 3. 2011
A reader thought this might be of interest: A City of Neighborhoods. (Adjust the % scale to see it in detail.)
I hate to admit that, while I know my way around Manhattan fairly well, the other boroughs are a mostly mystery and an adventure for me unless we are talking about Peter Lugar's, the BAM, Yankee Stadium, the Tennis Center, Jamaica Bay National Wildlife Refuge - and the airports.
Read all about Ashley Madison:
After spending several years as a sports agent at Chicago's Interperformances, Biderman founded Ashley Madison in 2002, naming the company after the two most popular names for baby girls that year. A large chunk of his work as an agent involved helping professional basketball players juggle their wives and mistresses, so when he read somewhere that 30 percent of users of Internet dating services were pretending to be single when they weren't, a light went on, pointing the way to an underserved online niche market. What would happen, Biderman thought, if cheaters had a website all their own?
Clever entrepreneurs, but I wonder how Biderman's Mom and Dad feel about his business.
The natural desire for novelty and excitement in romance and sex is always with us. It takes a while to realize that the new one is, well, just another deeply flawed person too. And for them to realize the same about you.
In my work, I tend to deal with the grim fallout of such adventures so I tend to be biased against acting on romantic temptations. Unlike the "sophisticated" Europeans and Asians, Americans tend to expect vows to be deadly serious. Especially church vows.
I say "tend to." Here are some US infidelity stats. Relatively few American marriages survive adultery, and those that do have some permanent damage.
Another data point, from this site:
Medical field(s) with the highest divorce rate: Psychiatrists and marriage counselors. Ouch.
Carter at First Things:
I’ve been mad at just about anything you can imagine.
Except unicorns. I’ve never been angry at unicorns.
Wednesday, March 2. 2011
How did Colombia become the second-largest flower exporter in the world? There's a story in it, at Smithsonian.
 I am always behind the curve on gizmos. I was so pleased with the Keurig machine at the inn we stayed at a few weekends ago that Mrs. BD was moved to buy one for us - really for me - with spare miles.
We usually consume only half of each pot of coffee we make, except on weekends. I can drink coffee that has been sitting around for 8 hours, but it isn't my favorite.
My beef with those Keurig cups is that they haven't made a deal yet with Dunkin' for their terrible but comfortably familiar coffee, or with Chock full of Nuts for the same, or with Starbucks, Bustelo, Gorilla, or any of the good Italian brands. Those Green Mountain coffees don't do it for me except in a pinch at a minimart.
Their selection is lame, but I'll wait.
Tuesday, March 1. 2011
A friend reminded me the other day about breakfast at the Regency. That's where he meets with people for business breakfasts when in New York, as do many heavy hitters and financial types who seem to own their regular tables.
He told me that they make an excellent corned beef hash. I love corned beef hash for breakfast.
Pic of breakfast at The Regency from this site (good pics, obnoxious writing).
I'm a bit jealous. I don't own (or need) a suit expensive enough for a Regency breakfast. This is more my speed:
 It's the cat's meow: Fritz 12.
If there is any better mental training, or any better test of training and intellect than Chess, I don't know what it is.
(Other than real life, of course. Mastering the vicissitudes, raw deals, unfairnesses, subtleties, luck, and challenges of real life is the real test. Of course, dealing one's own personal limitations is a big part of that game.)
A friend of mine with three young kids recently banned all electronic and computer games from the house. "Enough stupid crap in this house." He announced that they would henceforth play Checkers, Chess, Backgammon, Poker, Mille Bournes, Euchre, or Hearts in the house - and that he would give each kid one game every night.
He's been working on Fritz though, to make sure he can stay ahead of them, and his eldest (9 years old) requested a Chess tutor. But even Fritz is banned for the kids. "I want them to play a real human, to learn to read them and their game."
Maybe America isn't hopeless.
Daubigny is considered part of The Barbizon School of realism and naturalism, but he is better known as a forerunner of Impressionism. As a friend said, Impressionism didn't come out of nowhere.
Monday, February 28. 2011
A re-post from a few years ago -
I have always been interested in the history of the idea of retirement. Not interested because it is something I want to do (I could financially do it today if I wanted to), but interested in why an intact, healthy person would not want to fully participate in society by being a productive member.
My Grandpa worked until he was felled by a stroke at 86, and my Dad worked until macular degeneration made him incapable of driving around age 76.
Private pensions (especially from the railroads) began in the late 1800s but it wasn't until the New Deal and Social Security that the option to be put to pasture became widely available. Roosevelt was, of course, highly motivated to remove workers from the labor force in an effort to reduce unemployment, and that was the main impetus for Social Security.
In 1900, 65% of men over 65 worked. By 2000, it was 17%. Of course, nowadays many jobs build in forced retirement. I saw some stats somewhere that about 40% of retired men return to some form of paid work within three years of retirement, but I don't recall the source.
A feature piece at CNN, Rethinking Retirement: More Boomers Chosing to Work doesn't offer stats, but does give credit to the phenomenon. A quote from the piece:
Although some employees sitting in cubicles may long for the end to their work lives, sun-drenched days with tee-times, knitting and visiting the grandchildren, Howard Stone said retirees shouldn't retire, at least in the traditional sense of the word.
"Those who say 'I'll never work again' are making a major, major mistake. Because they're going to find themselves adrift, away from a community purpose and a sense," he said.
I found a good piece, with lots of numbers, on the economic history of retirement in the US. It begins:
One of the most striking changes in the American labor market over the twentieth century has been the virtual disappearance of older men from the labor force. Moen (1987) and Costa (1998) estimate that the labor force participation rate of men age 65 and older declined from 78 percent in 1880 to less than 20 percent in 1990 (see Table 1). In recent decades, the labor force participation rate of somewhat younger men (age 55-64) has been declining as well. When coupled with the increase in life expectancy over this period, it is clear that men today can expect to spend a much larger proportion of their lives in retirement, relative to men living a century ago.
You can read the whole thing here.
Comment from Dr. Bliss: Excellent subject. A few random thoughts:
- I think many folks want to be able to retire. Many enjoy their jobs much more once they have the financial freedom to quit.
- People I have talked to who have retired young, such as cops with full pensions at age 45, and Wall Streeters who walk away with bags of money around the same age, almost always take on a second career of some sort.
- Psychologically, being retired can feel like being unemployed or sent out to pasture. When people retire in their 50s or early-mid 60s, a workplace loses their experienced wise ones who have "seen it all before", and the experienced wise ones feel useless.
- A comment about people who "hate their jobs." People love to bitch about their jobs. But without the job, they lose a lot of human contact, a structured place to use their brains or abilities, and a role in the world.
- Hedonistic retirement: The idea of the fun and sun and travel retirement has been sold hard to the middle class over the past 30 years. From what I have seen, it isn't all it's cracked up to be. A vacation can be a refreshing change of pace and change of senery, but an endless vacation can be like a meal made of all dessert courses: cloying and unnutritious.
- People who do not return to work after retirement, but who jump into unpaid labors of love, like community service projects, local politics, working for charities, churches, and non-profits, often seem to feel a good sense of satisfaction in "giving back."
- "Meaningful work." I hate that expression. All work is useful and contributes to society, whether it is raising one's kids, milking the cows, flipping burgers, or selling bonds. People who use that expression should think hard about what they mean by it. Furthermore, folks who want their work to provide them with meaning may be barking up the wrong tree.
 1. Frayed cord on my cool Italian desk lamp was sparking. Brought it to my local lamp shop, since I am wary of electric repairs. Guy repaired the wire while I watched. Then he said it's a little wobbly, let's fix it. Took it apart, tightened all of the parts. Then he said that the frosted glass panels needed cleaning. He showed me how they can be removed, and cleaned them all up with their special chandelier-cleaning spray stuff. He replaced the four bulbs with the proper bulbs. They he wrapped it in bubble wrap for the ride home.
Total time: 30 minutes.
Total charge: $6.25, which was for the new bulbs.
2. My Dell office computer was making terrible sounds. The IT guy I phone when I have a problem said it wasn't worth fixing, being 4 or 5 years old. My genius son replaced the fan for $10.99 and it's as good as new. Yes, I have a back-up hard drive.
h/t, Theo
Sunday, February 27. 2011
I grew up in "nose bleed" at Ebbets Field, and Duke Snider was my hero and the hero of Brooklyn. I had his autograph, but my mother tossed it when she (finally) cleaned my room while I was in Vietnam. But I never lost my adoration. Last week I was at batting cages with Jason where Duke Snider's jersey, bat and photos are prominently displayed. The owner and I reminisced for an hour while Jason listened. After, Jason said to me, "He must have been some kind of hero for you to look up to him." At 84, the Duke of Flatbush left our field today, and remains in our hearts.
The New York Post quotes Snider: " 'If I live to be 100 years old,' he said in 2002, 'I'll always be able to remember what it felt to be young and a ballplayer in Brooklyn, N.Y., and I'll always remember what it meant to be a champion of the world there.' "
The Duke lived out his years in Fallbrook, about 20-miles from where I live now. When I was a kid in Brooklyn, after a game, Duke Snider would sometimes come out of the ballpark to play stickball in the street with us kids. The San Diego Union-Tribune recalls:
Duke Snider played center in Ebbets Field and stickball on the streets of Brooklyn....Snider hit .295 with 407 career home runs, played in the World Series six times and won two championships. But the eight-time All-Star was defined by much more than his stats - he was, after all, part of the love affair between Brooklyn and "Dem Bums" who lived in the local neighborhoods....Snider is the Dodgers' franchise leader in home runs (389) and RBIs (1,271). He led all major leaguers in the 1950s with 326 homers and 1,031 RBIs....
Snider hit .309 with 42 homers and a career-high 136 RBIs in 1955. That October, he hit four homers, drove in seven runs and hit .320 as the Dodgers beat the Yankees in a seven-game Series.
For a team that kept preaching "Wait till next year" after World Series losses to the Yankees in 1953, '52, '49, '47 and '41, it was indeed next year. A generation later, long after they'd all grown old, those Dodgers were lauded as the "Boys of Summer" in Roger Kahn's book....
A durable slugger with a strong arm, good instincts on the bases and a regal style, Snider hit the last home run at Ebbets Field in 1957....
A native Californian, Snider became part of Brooklyn's fabric during his playing days. "I was born in Los Angeles," he once said. "Baseballwise, I was born in Brooklyn. We lived with Brooklyn. We died with Brooklyn."
The Duke of Flatbush will always live in the lore of Brooklyn.
A Brit moves to New York City, and loves it.
Saturday, February 26. 2011
Fun for the whole family!
Lots more edifying images from my file cabinet, below -
Continue reading "Another winter random image dump"
Thursday, February 24. 2011
The right to a leisurely retirement has been imprinted on at least five generations of Americans, which is why so few consider whether it is practical or even desirable to guarantee that everyone should meander through the last twenty years of life. Degradation intensifies when mental activity abates, and mental activity abates when there is nothing to strive toward and there are no problems to solve. Work for compensation is desirable because work for compensation is an expression of value creation, and value creation instills a sense of self worth. Work keeps the mind and body alive.
Work or play are personal choices; neither choice should be subsidized or deterred, nor should the choice be relegated to a disinterested third party. Whenever the individual abrogates responsibility, he surrenders his independence to another people's intentions, and another people's intentions are always driven by what is best for the other person.
Read the whole thing.
I need to re-post my old piece about retirement. My theory is that retirement is terrible for people and for society unless people find new ways to be constructive and to participate in real life. Mountains of wisdom and experience are tossed away when people in their 60s, at the prime level of mature adult functioning, go out to pasture like lame horses.
Sometimes it is forced, and that is a shame.
As I have said before, I believe that the key to financial peace of mind is to be able to quit working and still pay the bills. That's a tall order. Or, ideally, to work on one's own terms. That tends to help people enjoy working even more. My family is like Bird Dog's - the old-time Yankee ethic is that men are supposed to work 'til they drop. I guess we never got the newfangled memo from FDR, telling us to quit working and to go sit down somewhere to await the Grim Reaper. (Of course, he died in the saddle himself at a youthful 63.) We forget how new, and relatively untested, a societal idea this retirement is. Carpe diem, etc.
Oh well, to each his own. Some folks live for their retirements, and blossom in it. Sailing around the world (avoiding the Somalia coast), and volunteering at interesting or worthwhile sociable work. Many retreat into purposelessness and hedonism, and become old before their time. Some become the wonderful greeters at WalMart and the Meals on Wheels guys and gals, and some start up new enterprises like our own Capt. Tom.
That's freedom, but I do resent working to pay the pensions and green fees of fully competent people who are younger than I am. Makes no sense to me.
The “Battle Hymn of the Jewish Mother” is a reply to the Wall Street Journal article last month, “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior,” that caused quite a stir. At root, the difference is between raising a mensch and raising a child to be a self-centered person with primary responsibility to self, above all striving for success, wealth and status, separated from and above society, and even the child’s own nature.
In Yiddish, there’s no higher goal or compliment than being a mensch. In simple translation from the German, a mensch is simply a man. In Jewish culture, a mensch is the highest compliment, a person of the highest character who knows and acts with a strong sense of what is right and responsible toward others. It is believed that success in life is in being a mensch, and though material success is a possible outcome through the respect from others, success in being a worthwhile, contributing human being is a sure thing and most to be desired.
Continue reading "Duties of the Parent: Jewish vs Chinese Mother"
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From Mauzy's