Three years ago, my friend Robert Wisdom died. No one can be sure of the exact date because he lived alone, and they didn't discover his body until the 18th. Best estimates from the coroner were that he had been dead about three days. Robert was 45.
I wish I had something more profound to say about the whole thing than that I miss my friend. I miss the guy who would go see a zillion bands with me based on nothing but my recommendation. He said to me once: "You have to understand. I trust your musical taste, and, specifically, your understanding of *my* musical taste, implicitly. I am a tempo junkie, and you get that. If you ask me to go, I know it's gonna be loud, fast, powerful and maybe or maybe not melodic. But I will like it."
He was kind to never bring up the two resounding failures that stuck out like sore thumbs out of all those shows I took him to: Son Volt and Phish. Robert was neither a twangy guy nor a jam-band devotee, but he suffered through both (hell, I suffered through Phish too...not sure what planet I was on when I bought those tickets) in good spirits, with the knowledge that, from his perspective, my batting average was still pretty damn high.
Robert is also the guy who, in 2002 or so, looked at my yard, all 2.5 acres of it, and said, "it'd be a serious fucking crime if you don't start having volleyball games out here." Say no more, buddy. We're still playing.
The last band Robert and I saw was Mission of Burma at the First Unitarian Church in Philly in the summer of '08. They were mindblowingly great -- a powerful reminder of how to age with grace and still keep your edge. Sadly, around the same time, Robert was sliding, health-wise. He had told me about a year earlier that he had diabetes and needed "to stop treating it with Coca Cola." By summer '08, he had been fighting leg sores, one of which nearly cost him his leg. I assume it was a diabetic complication that got him in the end. It doesn't fucking matter. My almost always funny, sometimes caustic, very smart friend is gone. Really gone.
After he died, in the punk-rock spirit of trying to make something good out of the bad, I redoubled my usual "life is short, motherfucker; do something!" outlook, joined a new band within days and had a great time with them for a few years. My biggest regret from my days in Mondo Topless was almost immediate: I remember coming home from our first Philly gig and saying to Jamie, "Damn, Robert would *love* this band." I thought that *every single time* we played Philly thereafter. And I suspect that he would like the Mud Falcons and our SST vibe even more.
So it's somewhere between poetic and odd that a couple days after I have a king-hell life-affirming great day on a mountain with my son -- an experience that was bookended by great conversation with an old friend, Kevin, who shares my "life is short" attitude -- the anniversary of Robert's death arrives. And simultaneously, there's an old man out there (my dad...see a couple posts back if you're unclear) who ruins his life and the lives of many around him by refusing to accept the aging process at all. We're all muddling through, folks, but it strikes me that there's a pretty clear path out there if you choose to take it. Take care of yourself as best you can. Spend quality time with the people you dig. Be nice. Have fun. Life is short. Do something.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Food, Life, Music -- All Perched Precariously in Balance (or Not)
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
"You were under the impression that when you were walking forwards you'd end up further onward. But things ain't quite that simple."
This is my first attempt at blogging from a brand-spanking new iPad that my wife gave me for my birthday. Excuse the typos that I am absolutely certain are going to happen, and that I am even more certain that I won't notice.
Anyway, yesterday was just about perfect -- an ode to the simple, the difficult, the outdoorsy and the vacation-y. So i thought I would tell you about it, while simultaneously learning to type on this contraption.
My 17-year-old son and I decided to make a quick trip to New Hampshire for a long weekend of hiking. We have it easy in terms of accommodations. My brother lives near the White Mountains and he was cool enough to let us crash at his place even though he and his family are out of town on their own vacation.
I'm a hiker...at least in my head I am a hiker. In fact, I don't hike all that often anymore but I have done some great trails over the years -- Whites, Adirondacks, Greens, Catskills, Katahdin (more times than i can remember) and even (twice) an epic one-day stomp up Mount Whitney in CA, tallest peak in the Lower 48. So I know my way up and down a mountain, but, shit, life gets in the way, and sometimes you go longer between treks than you intend.
Over the years, a particularly gnarly and daunting challenge has been Mt Adams, second-tallest peak in the northeast and the tallest without a road to the top. (A digression: what's more annoying than hiking up Mount Washington and sharing space at the summit with a fat guy smoking a cigarette who drove up in a fraction of the time it took you to walk it?)
First time I went to Adams was about 15 years ago and my brother and I never got out the front door because the rain was so heavy. Next time, my wife and I headed up the Air Line -- 4500 feet of vertical rise in just 4.3 miles -- full of determination, but we gave up about a mile from the summit on the rocky ledges of Durand Ridge; an ice storm was pelting us in fog so thick that visibility was down to about 10 feet. Fuck summit views. We could barely see the trail. We bailed out at something called the Air Line Cutoff and hightailed it over to Madison Hut where nice people let us refill our water bottles amidst the sadness of another weather-driven cancellation. We walked down the not-as-steep but annoyingly dull Valley Way trail to our car. Adams had defeated us again.
A few years later, a group of us tried it up the Air Line again. In the group was my son Sean, who was about 12 or 13 at the time. He had a rough day, complete with intestinal distress that had him crouched behind a pile of wind-whipped rocks at 4000 feet taking a dump. Oof. But we made it. Temps were a little rough up top (for July) and the descent, down the Valley Way again because the guidebook told us that was easier than heading back down the Air Line, seemed unduly long and punishing on the feet. We were happy to have summitted, and that was about the extent of our happiness that day. We were sore and beaten up by the end of the 10 miles.
A few years later, Sean is 17 and here we are, back to take another, maybe more joyful, crack at that bastard of a second president of a mountain. The early plan was to try the even-tougher path up the King Ravine trail, but a wacky home accident a few days before we left had me sporting four stitches in my forearm and a little extra stiffness, and good sense took over and told me to give the Air Line another try. But this time there would be no Valley Way. Unless we spotted some nightmarish aspect of the ascent that we wouldn't want to descend, we would go up and down the Air Line. Emphasis on simplicity.
So off we went yesterday morning...me, Sean and my friend Kevin. He is a NH resident, and an old pal from long-ago Philly days. He and I haven't hiked together in 20 years. It seemed like more reason than ever to give it a shot. Life is short. Cue the Minutemen: "Dreams are free, motherfucker."
Weather was perfect. Perfect. That never happens in the Whites. The parking lot at the trailhead was so packed that cars were out on the side of the road...oh, except for that one open spot right at the trailhead sign. Thank you, Thing. That's ours.
The first mile flew by. I heard Kevin grunting a little behind me. Then he mentioned that an old knee injury was raising hell with him in the pain department. Within another half mile, he had to bail. It was a sensible decision. The trail was about to go whammo in the steepness category and he was in some substantial pain. I gave him my car keys and told him we'd see him in 8 hours or so. I waited until I had the keys back in my hand at the end of the day before I referred to his turnaround spot as "Pussy Junction." That's one reason I love Kevin: he laughed.
Sean and I soldiered on. And man, does the trail go up and up from there. For me, the hiking line between steep and really effing steep is 1000 feet of elevation gain per mile. Basically from Kevin's turnaround spot onward, it was all really effing steep. But it's an interestingly scenic brand of torture -- first heavy woods, then at about the 2.8-mile mark, the trees get small and then disappear, leaving you on the rocky backbone of Durand Ridge, where you can look just to your right, and then way way down, to see those poor bastards coming up that trail from King Ravine that you are now oh-so-glad you didn't take. You can also look way up over rocky promontories and try to guess which of those still-godawful-faraway peaks is the goal, because it's been just long enough since you were last here that you don't remember.
So up we went, weather still beautiful, rain gear and cold gear stashed away in our packs never to be brought out. We met a self-described "fat boilermaker from south of Boston," whose incessant LOUD chatter with us would have been annoying anywhere or anytime else, but not that day. No, his tales of business trips to the Jersey shore, work on nuclear reactors and his explanation of "how those fuckers could have easily prevented that Japanese disaster if only they weren't watching their wallets" kept us entertained all the way up the many (sharp! scary if you were to fall!) rocks to the summit.
And the summit, like all summits, was a place to eat a ton of food, gaze mouth agape at the majesty of 360 degrees of awesome, and thousands of feet of sheer drops, and begin to fret about the decidedly unmajestic prospect of the descent.
We checked our water supplies. We both had more than half of what we had carried up still remaining, so we decided to forego the (annoying) detour down to the Madison Hut to refill, and instead opted to head for the Air Line. Same way up as down. OK, technically not quite. The first 0.3 off the summit were on the not-as-steep Lowe's Path, then over the Gulfside back to the Air Line and then down down down.
And let me digress to say that I despise hiking descents. My wife, who encourages any minor Zen-like tendencies I might occasionally have, always suggests that I ought to figure out a way, meditative or otherwise, to enjoy the decent. But it wears me out. Gravity pounds my quads into jelly and it just fucking hurts.
But for some reason...CrossFit? Being 30 pounds lighter than I was two years ago? The fact that I kept a pact with myself that day to hydrate well and eat Gu packs every half hour all the way up and down the mountain in order to refuel energy levels? All of the above? Yup....it just didn't suck. It took us 4.25 hours to ascend and 4.0 to descend. That is a mighty slow descent. It's rough, but... it wasn't awful. Good conversation with the boy, and a repeated silent mantra to myself of:"Just keep walking, jackass, and it'll all be good," somehow did the trick. At 4:30 pm we got back to the parking lot to find a surprisingly ebullient Kevin, who had spent his day poking around side trails at the base of the mountain and then crashing at a nearby lake for a while.
So what's the point of all this? Oh hell, I don't know. It's a whole ton of words to tell you that I had one of the best days ever yesterday. And sometimes that alone will get you through a whole lot of days that aren't.
Anyway, yesterday was just about perfect -- an ode to the simple, the difficult, the outdoorsy and the vacation-y. So i thought I would tell you about it, while simultaneously learning to type on this contraption.
My 17-year-old son and I decided to make a quick trip to New Hampshire for a long weekend of hiking. We have it easy in terms of accommodations. My brother lives near the White Mountains and he was cool enough to let us crash at his place even though he and his family are out of town on their own vacation.
I'm a hiker...at least in my head I am a hiker. In fact, I don't hike all that often anymore but I have done some great trails over the years -- Whites, Adirondacks, Greens, Catskills, Katahdin (more times than i can remember) and even (twice) an epic one-day stomp up Mount Whitney in CA, tallest peak in the Lower 48. So I know my way up and down a mountain, but, shit, life gets in the way, and sometimes you go longer between treks than you intend.
Over the years, a particularly gnarly and daunting challenge has been Mt Adams, second-tallest peak in the northeast and the tallest without a road to the top. (A digression: what's more annoying than hiking up Mount Washington and sharing space at the summit with a fat guy smoking a cigarette who drove up in a fraction of the time it took you to walk it?)
First time I went to Adams was about 15 years ago and my brother and I never got out the front door because the rain was so heavy. Next time, my wife and I headed up the Air Line -- 4500 feet of vertical rise in just 4.3 miles -- full of determination, but we gave up about a mile from the summit on the rocky ledges of Durand Ridge; an ice storm was pelting us in fog so thick that visibility was down to about 10 feet. Fuck summit views. We could barely see the trail. We bailed out at something called the Air Line Cutoff and hightailed it over to Madison Hut where nice people let us refill our water bottles amidst the sadness of another weather-driven cancellation. We walked down the not-as-steep but annoyingly dull Valley Way trail to our car. Adams had defeated us again.
A few years later, a group of us tried it up the Air Line again. In the group was my son Sean, who was about 12 or 13 at the time. He had a rough day, complete with intestinal distress that had him crouched behind a pile of wind-whipped rocks at 4000 feet taking a dump. Oof. But we made it. Temps were a little rough up top (for July) and the descent, down the Valley Way again because the guidebook told us that was easier than heading back down the Air Line, seemed unduly long and punishing on the feet. We were happy to have summitted, and that was about the extent of our happiness that day. We were sore and beaten up by the end of the 10 miles.
A few years later, Sean is 17 and here we are, back to take another, maybe more joyful, crack at that bastard of a second president of a mountain. The early plan was to try the even-tougher path up the King Ravine trail, but a wacky home accident a few days before we left had me sporting four stitches in my forearm and a little extra stiffness, and good sense took over and told me to give the Air Line another try. But this time there would be no Valley Way. Unless we spotted some nightmarish aspect of the ascent that we wouldn't want to descend, we would go up and down the Air Line. Emphasis on simplicity.
So off we went yesterday morning...me, Sean and my friend Kevin. He is a NH resident, and an old pal from long-ago Philly days. He and I haven't hiked together in 20 years. It seemed like more reason than ever to give it a shot. Life is short. Cue the Minutemen: "Dreams are free, motherfucker."
Weather was perfect. Perfect. That never happens in the Whites. The parking lot at the trailhead was so packed that cars were out on the side of the road...oh, except for that one open spot right at the trailhead sign. Thank you, Thing. That's ours.
The first mile flew by. I heard Kevin grunting a little behind me. Then he mentioned that an old knee injury was raising hell with him in the pain department. Within another half mile, he had to bail. It was a sensible decision. The trail was about to go whammo in the steepness category and he was in some substantial pain. I gave him my car keys and told him we'd see him in 8 hours or so. I waited until I had the keys back in my hand at the end of the day before I referred to his turnaround spot as "Pussy Junction." That's one reason I love Kevin: he laughed.
Sean and I soldiered on. And man, does the trail go up and up from there. For me, the hiking line between steep and really effing steep is 1000 feet of elevation gain per mile. Basically from Kevin's turnaround spot onward, it was all really effing steep. But it's an interestingly scenic brand of torture -- first heavy woods, then at about the 2.8-mile mark, the trees get small and then disappear, leaving you on the rocky backbone of Durand Ridge, where you can look just to your right, and then way way down, to see those poor bastards coming up that trail from King Ravine that you are now oh-so-glad you didn't take. You can also look way up over rocky promontories and try to guess which of those still-godawful-faraway peaks is the goal, because it's been just long enough since you were last here that you don't remember.
So up we went, weather still beautiful, rain gear and cold gear stashed away in our packs never to be brought out. We met a self-described "fat boilermaker from south of Boston," whose incessant LOUD chatter with us would have been annoying anywhere or anytime else, but not that day. No, his tales of business trips to the Jersey shore, work on nuclear reactors and his explanation of "how those fuckers could have easily prevented that Japanese disaster if only they weren't watching their wallets" kept us entertained all the way up the many (sharp! scary if you were to fall!) rocks to the summit.
And the summit, like all summits, was a place to eat a ton of food, gaze mouth agape at the majesty of 360 degrees of awesome, and thousands of feet of sheer drops, and begin to fret about the decidedly unmajestic prospect of the descent.
We checked our water supplies. We both had more than half of what we had carried up still remaining, so we decided to forego the (annoying) detour down to the Madison Hut to refill, and instead opted to head for the Air Line. Same way up as down. OK, technically not quite. The first 0.3 off the summit were on the not-as-steep Lowe's Path, then over the Gulfside back to the Air Line and then down down down.
And let me digress to say that I despise hiking descents. My wife, who encourages any minor Zen-like tendencies I might occasionally have, always suggests that I ought to figure out a way, meditative or otherwise, to enjoy the decent. But it wears me out. Gravity pounds my quads into jelly and it just fucking hurts.
But for some reason...CrossFit? Being 30 pounds lighter than I was two years ago? The fact that I kept a pact with myself that day to hydrate well and eat Gu packs every half hour all the way up and down the mountain in order to refuel energy levels? All of the above? Yup....it just didn't suck. It took us 4.25 hours to ascend and 4.0 to descend. That is a mighty slow descent. It's rough, but... it wasn't awful. Good conversation with the boy, and a repeated silent mantra to myself of:"Just keep walking, jackass, and it'll all be good," somehow did the trick. At 4:30 pm we got back to the parking lot to find a surprisingly ebullient Kevin, who had spent his day poking around side trails at the base of the mountain and then crashing at a nearby lake for a while.
So what's the point of all this? Oh hell, I don't know. It's a whole ton of words to tell you that I had one of the best days ever yesterday. And sometimes that alone will get you through a whole lot of days that aren't.
Friday, July 15, 2011
When "best" or "right" isn't so simple
We'll call it a simple test of libertarian principles. It goes something like this:
My dad's dying. I think he knows it. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure he knows it. He's a bright guy, not the warmest, fuzziest guy in the world, but a bright one. And lately, he's been all fucked up.
Actually, I shouldn't say "all fucked up." That implies a level of incompetence that he has not reached. In fact, I don't think he's incompetent at all. He is just, as a nurse in a hospital once described him only 10 minutes after meeting him, "the stubbornest man I ever met."
Anyway, he is severely visually impaired and has a host of long-term orthopedic issues that have left him, at age 85, hobbling around a multi-story house (where he lives alone) with the assistance of a walker and one of those stair-chair thingies that gets him from the first to the second floor. As I have said to him for years, based solely on his vision and orthopedic problems, "Dad, if anyone forced you to live this way, they'd be arrested for elder abuse." He fell last year, spent two days on the floor before he called for help, nearly died, spent four months in nursing care and assisted living, where he was, as the Brits say, "safe as houses," and then he checked himself out to go home. He's been there since. It's a mess, but a barely-containable one with the aid of some friends who do his shopping for him (I live over an hour away and my only sibling much farther than that. I go over every few weeks and pay bills and and balance his checkbook for him).
But lately, it's different. And by "different," I mean worse. There was the freakout call at midnight about a month ago, complaining of a life-threatening condition that disappeared when EMTs arrived. There was the sudden inability to remember his heretofore favorite grandchild's name. Then he wished me "a belated happy birthday" two weeks early, but he hadn't forgotten when my birthday was; he thought the date was 14 days in the future. Then there's the sudden inability to work any device that requires pushing a button -- his alarm system, his TV remote, the phone, the radio. You get the idea. It's a mess. Then I got a call from his pharmacist that the delivery guy found him strangely distant and not very talkative. What really blew the guy's mind was when the man who usually locks his house down like Fort Knox said,"Do whatever you want," when asked if the delivery guy should lock the front door as he left.
So I convinced my dad to go in for an evaluation and the doc sent him to a neurologist. And both of them agree on a couple things: (1) something's wrong and (2) he is not incompetent to decide his own course of treatment. And I think they are correct on both counts. So, the neurologist gave him a list of tests to get done, starting with an MRI of the brain and finishing with a whole host of others, and he refuses to get anything done. "It doesn't matter," he says. "The result will be the same. And I am not going to live somewhere else."
And there's the kicker. He has been resolute since my mother, eight years his junior, passed away in 1997: he wants to die in this house, not in nursing, not in assisted living.
Someone -- more proactive, more intrusive, less respectful of his wishes and more prone to do what's objectively "sensible" -- would step in, exercise the power of attorney that exists and take over, sending him off for testing, to live elsewhere, etc.
I don't think I can do it. And I don't think I should, not while he is still mentally competent. There is no doubt that the "best" place for him is somewhere safer, but it very clearly is not what he wants. And -- and maybe I should have said this several lines ago -- if he changes his mind, he has one of those beeper/emergency things around his neck that he can press and 911 will be there in minutes.
So, really, who the hell am I to tell him otherwise? Oh, I've made the pitch. Trust me, I've made it until I'm blue in the fucking face, blood pressure through the roof and emotionally spent. He's my father. As much of a pain in the ass as he can be, I don't want him to die in a puddle on the floor.
But he would vastly prefer that to the hospital/nursing alternative.
So we get back to those libertarian principles. It doesn't mean much if I spout off here or anywhere else about freedom and self-determination and all that if, when the chips are down, I can't let a still-competent old man decide to fade away in the lonely shadows and likely get discovered days later.
Yeah, it's going to be a mess. No, it's not fair to me or whoever finds him. And, in the end, I don't think any of those things control the decision. Not as long as he is competent and sticking to the same position he has always had.
So I will keep calling him, and I'll go pay his bills and balance his checkbook. And I'll wonder what the hell his problem is, and swear I will never be like that. But until he really and truly isn't around mentally any longer, I won't override his will.
And, odds are, it's going to be a mess. In fact, it already is.
My dad's dying. I think he knows it. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure he knows it. He's a bright guy, not the warmest, fuzziest guy in the world, but a bright one. And lately, he's been all fucked up.
Actually, I shouldn't say "all fucked up." That implies a level of incompetence that he has not reached. In fact, I don't think he's incompetent at all. He is just, as a nurse in a hospital once described him only 10 minutes after meeting him, "the stubbornest man I ever met."
Anyway, he is severely visually impaired and has a host of long-term orthopedic issues that have left him, at age 85, hobbling around a multi-story house (where he lives alone) with the assistance of a walker and one of those stair-chair thingies that gets him from the first to the second floor. As I have said to him for years, based solely on his vision and orthopedic problems, "Dad, if anyone forced you to live this way, they'd be arrested for elder abuse." He fell last year, spent two days on the floor before he called for help, nearly died, spent four months in nursing care and assisted living, where he was, as the Brits say, "safe as houses," and then he checked himself out to go home. He's been there since. It's a mess, but a barely-containable one with the aid of some friends who do his shopping for him (I live over an hour away and my only sibling much farther than that. I go over every few weeks and pay bills and and balance his checkbook for him).
But lately, it's different. And by "different," I mean worse. There was the freakout call at midnight about a month ago, complaining of a life-threatening condition that disappeared when EMTs arrived. There was the sudden inability to remember his heretofore favorite grandchild's name. Then he wished me "a belated happy birthday" two weeks early, but he hadn't forgotten when my birthday was; he thought the date was 14 days in the future. Then there's the sudden inability to work any device that requires pushing a button -- his alarm system, his TV remote, the phone, the radio. You get the idea. It's a mess. Then I got a call from his pharmacist that the delivery guy found him strangely distant and not very talkative. What really blew the guy's mind was when the man who usually locks his house down like Fort Knox said,"Do whatever you want," when asked if the delivery guy should lock the front door as he left.
So I convinced my dad to go in for an evaluation and the doc sent him to a neurologist. And both of them agree on a couple things: (1) something's wrong and (2) he is not incompetent to decide his own course of treatment. And I think they are correct on both counts. So, the neurologist gave him a list of tests to get done, starting with an MRI of the brain and finishing with a whole host of others, and he refuses to get anything done. "It doesn't matter," he says. "The result will be the same. And I am not going to live somewhere else."
And there's the kicker. He has been resolute since my mother, eight years his junior, passed away in 1997: he wants to die in this house, not in nursing, not in assisted living.
Someone -- more proactive, more intrusive, less respectful of his wishes and more prone to do what's objectively "sensible" -- would step in, exercise the power of attorney that exists and take over, sending him off for testing, to live elsewhere, etc.
I don't think I can do it. And I don't think I should, not while he is still mentally competent. There is no doubt that the "best" place for him is somewhere safer, but it very clearly is not what he wants. And -- and maybe I should have said this several lines ago -- if he changes his mind, he has one of those beeper/emergency things around his neck that he can press and 911 will be there in minutes.
So, really, who the hell am I to tell him otherwise? Oh, I've made the pitch. Trust me, I've made it until I'm blue in the fucking face, blood pressure through the roof and emotionally spent. He's my father. As much of a pain in the ass as he can be, I don't want him to die in a puddle on the floor.
But he would vastly prefer that to the hospital/nursing alternative.
So we get back to those libertarian principles. It doesn't mean much if I spout off here or anywhere else about freedom and self-determination and all that if, when the chips are down, I can't let a still-competent old man decide to fade away in the lonely shadows and likely get discovered days later.
Yeah, it's going to be a mess. No, it's not fair to me or whoever finds him. And, in the end, I don't think any of those things control the decision. Not as long as he is competent and sticking to the same position he has always had.
So I will keep calling him, and I'll go pay his bills and balance his checkbook. And I'll wonder what the hell his problem is, and swear I will never be like that. But until he really and truly isn't around mentally any longer, I won't override his will.
And, odds are, it's going to be a mess. In fact, it already is.
Friday, June 17, 2011
It's just so lame. That's why.
I have Dem friends who are lamenting the resignation of Anthony Weiner. Many of them do so in the context of wondering why GOP politicians who get caught with hookers -- GOPers like U.S. Senator David Vitter (R., LA), for example -- don't seem to resign.
But they're missing a critical point. If Vitter should have resigned, it was for breaking the law (and we can engage in a debate about whether the prostitution law he broke should even be a law), but Weinergate has nothing to do with laws. Weiner is a totally different story. Weiner needed to go because he is pathetically lame, plain and simple.
This guy is so absurdly immature that he was texting porno-ish photos around like a 14-year-old boy. When it comes to this topic, I don't care what party he is in, what his political views are, whether he is a voice of reason or a shrill lecturing turd. I do, however, care about whether he is actually an adult, mature enough to handle a job involving public trust.
All you needed to see was one of these lame photos to know that he is, at best, a high-school sophomore.
We need better than high-school sophomores in elected office.
But they're missing a critical point. If Vitter should have resigned, it was for breaking the law (and we can engage in a debate about whether the prostitution law he broke should even be a law), but Weinergate has nothing to do with laws. Weiner is a totally different story. Weiner needed to go because he is pathetically lame, plain and simple.
This guy is so absurdly immature that he was texting porno-ish photos around like a 14-year-old boy. When it comes to this topic, I don't care what party he is in, what his political views are, whether he is a voice of reason or a shrill lecturing turd. I do, however, care about whether he is actually an adult, mature enough to handle a job involving public trust.
All you needed to see was one of these lame photos to know that he is, at best, a high-school sophomore.
We need better than high-school sophomores in elected office.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Can increased competition make you less competitive with everyone else?
One of the better descriptions of a CrossFit workout comes from the owners of the CF gym that I attend, CrossFit Aspire: "Workouts at CrossFit Aspire feel more like sports practice than a gym class. Our members experience the camaraderie of teammates, while each person tracks their individual progress and competes against themselves to perform better than they did previously."
Yeah, it's almost just like that, except no one ever makes you feel bad. I don't know if you were ever on one of those teams where someone -- a coach, another player, whoever -- made you feel like a loser. That nonsense doesn't happen at CF. If it did, the offender would be out on his or her ass almost immediately.
Instead, you get all the positive benefits of a team workout, where others' intensity pushes you to do better, without the negative downside of disapproval. Because, in the end, most Crossfitters aren't really competing for anything, except to make themselves better. Sure, if I'm doing a WOD (workout of the day) at the same time as you, I am going to try to finish it faster than you, but here's the key-- the goddamn beautiful, nearly counterintuitive key -- whether I win or lose in my competition with you doesn't mean a damn thing. What matters is whether I gave 100%. If I did, my work, for the day, is done, and I leave satisfied, with no regret.
Today we did a team WOD. My two-man team lost by 14 seconds in a workout that took just short of 19 minutes. It used to be -- back in the pre-CF days -- that my overly-competitve self would have beaten myself up about that close call for a while. As it was, I congratulated the winners, and walked away happy that we busted our asses in pursuit of fitness.
Yeah, CrossFit has made me care less about winning, while simultaneously making me try harder to win. Wrap yer mind around that conundrum, son.
Yeah, it's almost just like that, except no one ever makes you feel bad. I don't know if you were ever on one of those teams where someone -- a coach, another player, whoever -- made you feel like a loser. That nonsense doesn't happen at CF. If it did, the offender would be out on his or her ass almost immediately.
Instead, you get all the positive benefits of a team workout, where others' intensity pushes you to do better, without the negative downside of disapproval. Because, in the end, most Crossfitters aren't really competing for anything, except to make themselves better. Sure, if I'm doing a WOD (workout of the day) at the same time as you, I am going to try to finish it faster than you, but here's the key-- the goddamn beautiful, nearly counterintuitive key -- whether I win or lose in my competition with you doesn't mean a damn thing. What matters is whether I gave 100%. If I did, my work, for the day, is done, and I leave satisfied, with no regret.
Today we did a team WOD. My two-man team lost by 14 seconds in a workout that took just short of 19 minutes. It used to be -- back in the pre-CF days -- that my overly-competitve self would have beaten myself up about that close call for a while. As it was, I congratulated the winners, and walked away happy that we busted our asses in pursuit of fitness.
Yeah, CrossFit has made me care less about winning, while simultaneously making me try harder to win. Wrap yer mind around that conundrum, son.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Random thoughts and rambles, Friday edition
--The Dems are, surprisingly, playing this looming government shutdown very well, from a purely political sense. They have the House Repubs committed to a bottom-line number and so now any failure to agree can be blamed on ideology, not fiscal matters. But then again, "winning" in this case just means not looking quite as bad as the other side, which, in the end, is no way to govern.
--Of course, this is current fight is small potatoes compared to the looming issues of the debt ceiling and the 2012 (and thereafter) budgets. Kudos to Senator Pat Toomey (R, PA), with whom I do not believe I agree on anything outside the fiscal realm, for chiding Repub members of the House for getting bogged down in ideology over, at most, a couple billion dollars. As Toomey has pointed out, the remainder of the 2011 budget (what they are about to cause a shutdown over) is insignificant crap compared to the fiscal freak scene that awaits us if we do not rein in spending and fix the debt crisis over the long term. Focus like adults, people.
--New power trio band has a name: the Mud Falcons, and a Facebook page. "Like" us, please?
---Playing in a new band, even with members whom you know, and with whom you have played previously, is always challenging, new, cool and different. Honestly it puts the greatest burden on Kris, the guitar player, because without an organ in the band, like we had in Mondo Topless, it's up to him to make more noise, and he is stepping up to that task in a big way. You wouldn't have necessarily thought that "We're a Bad Trip," a Camper Van Beethoven cover that we did in Mondo, would have made the organ-less transition into a Mud Falcons setlist, but we are ripping it. And Scott and I are doing our parts as well to enhance the new sound. Scott used the five-string bass last night at practice to great, booming-low-end effect, and I am locking into the bass even more than in Mondo, emphasizing the groove, over top of which the roar can coalesce. Good times.
--It's amazing how much more dynamics there are in a trio. That's simultaneously good and a challenge.
--Spring has finally sprung, which means that it's outdoor-volleyball season. This means a yard full of volleyball and friends a couple weekends a month. And lots of nomnomnom food and drink afterwards. Oh yes....
-- Spring also means that it's, once again, time for playoffs in the indoor rec volleyball league that I play in. Competition is good.
--"I'm pro-choice about everything" = a bumper sticker that may most closely state my political philosophy in the fewest number of words. But, then again, I have pretty much sworn off political bumper stickers. "Drum machines have no soul" and "Punk is whatever we made it to be [with pic of D.Boon]" are more my speed these days.
--I am hardly drinking beer at all these days. In fact, the only beers I've had lately have been when I've been out. Red wine or tequila, with the occasional foray into the single-malt scotch (but less and less as the weather warms up), seem to be the at-home drinks of choice lately. Which, I suppose, makes sense in light of....
--Eating paleo (see here for a post about that) is an awesome, ongoing work in progress. My wife has stopped her vegetarian (plus fish) ways of almost 30 years, and has joined me in the meat (fish and eggs too)/veggies/good-fat world. I learn a little more about it each week, and end up a little more doctrinaire about some of it (e.g., avoiding grains almost entirely now), and less doctrinaire about other aspects (e.g., full-fat dairy is providing a great energy source despite the purist paleo "no dairy" rule).
--This guy's blog is a great wonky, modern, non-doctrinaire take on paleo eating. I liked the old title, "Paleo Nu," better than "Archevore," though. It sounds more like a dinosaur now.
-- Mike Watt and the Missingmen tore it up last weekend at the North Star Bar in Philly. If I get time this weekend, I will blather on more about that one. Inspiring stuff. Coltrane!
--Of course, this is current fight is small potatoes compared to the looming issues of the debt ceiling and the 2012 (and thereafter) budgets. Kudos to Senator Pat Toomey (R, PA), with whom I do not believe I agree on anything outside the fiscal realm, for chiding Repub members of the House for getting bogged down in ideology over, at most, a couple billion dollars. As Toomey has pointed out, the remainder of the 2011 budget (what they are about to cause a shutdown over) is insignificant crap compared to the fiscal freak scene that awaits us if we do not rein in spending and fix the debt crisis over the long term. Focus like adults, people.
--New power trio band has a name: the Mud Falcons, and a Facebook page. "Like" us, please?
---Playing in a new band, even with members whom you know, and with whom you have played previously, is always challenging, new, cool and different. Honestly it puts the greatest burden on Kris, the guitar player, because without an organ in the band, like we had in Mondo Topless, it's up to him to make more noise, and he is stepping up to that task in a big way. You wouldn't have necessarily thought that "We're a Bad Trip," a Camper Van Beethoven cover that we did in Mondo, would have made the organ-less transition into a Mud Falcons setlist, but we are ripping it. And Scott and I are doing our parts as well to enhance the new sound. Scott used the five-string bass last night at practice to great, booming-low-end effect, and I am locking into the bass even more than in Mondo, emphasizing the groove, over top of which the roar can coalesce. Good times.
--It's amazing how much more dynamics there are in a trio. That's simultaneously good and a challenge.
--Spring has finally sprung, which means that it's outdoor-volleyball season. This means a yard full of volleyball and friends a couple weekends a month. And lots of nomnomnom food and drink afterwards. Oh yes....
-- Spring also means that it's, once again, time for playoffs in the indoor rec volleyball league that I play in. Competition is good.
--"I'm pro-choice about everything" = a bumper sticker that may most closely state my political philosophy in the fewest number of words. But, then again, I have pretty much sworn off political bumper stickers. "Drum machines have no soul" and "Punk is whatever we made it to be [with pic of D.Boon]" are more my speed these days.
--I am hardly drinking beer at all these days. In fact, the only beers I've had lately have been when I've been out. Red wine or tequila, with the occasional foray into the single-malt scotch (but less and less as the weather warms up), seem to be the at-home drinks of choice lately. Which, I suppose, makes sense in light of....
--Eating paleo (see here for a post about that) is an awesome, ongoing work in progress. My wife has stopped her vegetarian (plus fish) ways of almost 30 years, and has joined me in the meat (fish and eggs too)/veggies/good-fat world. I learn a little more about it each week, and end up a little more doctrinaire about some of it (e.g., avoiding grains almost entirely now), and less doctrinaire about other aspects (e.g., full-fat dairy is providing a great energy source despite the purist paleo "no dairy" rule).
--This guy's blog is a great wonky, modern, non-doctrinaire take on paleo eating. I liked the old title, "Paleo Nu," better than "Archevore," though. It sounds more like a dinosaur now.
-- Mike Watt and the Missingmen tore it up last weekend at the North Star Bar in Philly. If I get time this weekend, I will blather on more about that one. Inspiring stuff. Coltrane!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
When ideology must bend to common sense
I give Paul Ryan credit; at least he has a plan.
On the other hand, it appears that his plan is, shall we say, a tad ideologically skewed.
You can't turn on the news without hearing it over and over again: we have a massive debt/fiscal crisis, and the "third rails" of politics -- defense spending and entitlements like Social Security and Medicare -- are going to have to be part of any fiscal-responsibility/deficit-reduction plan.
Congressman Ryan's budgetary proposals are a serious attempt to address the problem. The difficulty is that his cuts don't do anything to trim military spending or Social Security and are so draconian in terms of Medicare and Medicaid that the blowback is going to be extreme. They also don't do much about revenue, instead proposing further tax cuts that won't likely help fix the deficit in the long run.
So who else has a proposal to fix the crisis?
Remember the ill-fated Deficit Commission? That panel, led by former senators Erskine Bowles and Alan Simpson came out with a plan a few months back that looks, on the whole, to be more ideologically centrist (and realistic) than Ryan's plainly right-tilted approach.
The Simpson/Bowles proposals involve cuts to all of the aforementioned "third rails" but, in addition to going after all of those areas, where the Simpson/Bowles cuts target Medicare and Medicaid they do so in ways that appear more flexible than the Ryan slashing and burning. Moreover, Simpson/Bowles considers some small/temporary tax increases and a broader reformation/simplification of the tax code that is long overdue.
Ezra Klein did a great piece in his Washington Post/Bloomberg blog urging a (positive) re-look at Simpson/Bowles as a kinder/gentler/fairer/less-ideological alternative to Ryan's plan. I am on board with that, and I think Simpson/Bowles underscores that, while big cuts are absolutely necessary, we can't just cut our way out of this mess.
Indeed, it's in the "small tax increase" area where, I suspect, George Voinovich likely got it right a few months ago, or at least his idea looks pretty damn good in the rearview mirror. You may recall that on his way out the door, generally moderate Republican U.S. Senator George Voinovich bucked both his party and the other one, and, when it came time to debate whether we should be extending the Bush tax cuts for everyone (the Repub proposal) or for everyone except those individuals making more than $200k annually (the Dem plan), Voinovich told us all to grow up and let the income-tax cuts expire for everyone.
I am not a fan of tax increases. In fact, my generally libertarian-ish thoughts make me a fan of tax cuts as a growth-stimulator, but, as I have said before, the Bush income-tax cuts in the middle of a war were unprecedented and reckless from a deficit-explosion standpoint. Just a few months ago when Congress was debating about the two tax-cut-extension plans (continue 'em for everyone vs. soak the "rich" and continue everyone else's), I said that, despite my position against the cuts when they happened, I couldn't see reining them in in the middle of an economic downturn. Now I am beginning to think that Senator Voinovich was right, or at least that, a few months down the line, with the economy doing a little better, it's time to think about a small increase in everyone's taxes as a revenue-generator that is part of a larger deficit-reduction plan like Simpson/Bowles. (However, let's digress just for a moment to be really clear: I still think the estate tax is stupid and I still don't understand the "soak the rich" proposal of just increasing income taxes on a small percentage of people to be anything more than stupid class warfare and yawningly predictable/ineffective "don't raise my taxes, but it's OK to raise his taxes" nonsense).
We need to have the grown-ups in charge right now. Ryan's plan is undoubtedly grown-up, but it is tilted all in one direction, fixing the deficit nearly entirely on the backs of Medicare and Medicaid recipients. Those folks are undoubtedly going to have to share the pain -- see Simpson/Bowles for that -- but a plan needs to look at all the "third rails" of politics, and that necessarily will include military and Social Security cuts as well as likely short-term minor tax increases.
Or at least all of those ideas have to be on the table.
So, congrats to you, Congressman Ryan. I don't love your plan, but maybe it'll steer us into a serious conversation that should have started with Simpson/Bowles. And maybe we can get back to something more like that sensible, centrist proposal.
UPDATE: Check out this link from the New York Times if you want to play deficit-reducer at home. It's very cool, and proof-poitive that this goal can be achieved by spreading the pain around in a way that doesn't engage in class warfare up or down.
On the other hand, it appears that his plan is, shall we say, a tad ideologically skewed.
You can't turn on the news without hearing it over and over again: we have a massive debt/fiscal crisis, and the "third rails" of politics -- defense spending and entitlements like Social Security and Medicare -- are going to have to be part of any fiscal-responsibility/deficit-reduction plan.
Congressman Ryan's budgetary proposals are a serious attempt to address the problem. The difficulty is that his cuts don't do anything to trim military spending or Social Security and are so draconian in terms of Medicare and Medicaid that the blowback is going to be extreme. They also don't do much about revenue, instead proposing further tax cuts that won't likely help fix the deficit in the long run.
So who else has a proposal to fix the crisis?
Remember the ill-fated Deficit Commission? That panel, led by former senators Erskine Bowles and Alan Simpson came out with a plan a few months back that looks, on the whole, to be more ideologically centrist (and realistic) than Ryan's plainly right-tilted approach.
The Simpson/Bowles proposals involve cuts to all of the aforementioned "third rails" but, in addition to going after all of those areas, where the Simpson/Bowles cuts target Medicare and Medicaid they do so in ways that appear more flexible than the Ryan slashing and burning. Moreover, Simpson/Bowles considers some small/temporary tax increases and a broader reformation/simplification of the tax code that is long overdue.
Ezra Klein did a great piece in his Washington Post/Bloomberg blog urging a (positive) re-look at Simpson/Bowles as a kinder/gentler/fairer/less-ideological alternative to Ryan's plan. I am on board with that, and I think Simpson/Bowles underscores that, while big cuts are absolutely necessary, we can't just cut our way out of this mess.
Indeed, it's in the "small tax increase" area where, I suspect, George Voinovich likely got it right a few months ago, or at least his idea looks pretty damn good in the rearview mirror. You may recall that on his way out the door, generally moderate Republican U.S. Senator George Voinovich bucked both his party and the other one, and, when it came time to debate whether we should be extending the Bush tax cuts for everyone (the Repub proposal) or for everyone except those individuals making more than $200k annually (the Dem plan), Voinovich told us all to grow up and let the income-tax cuts expire for everyone.
I am not a fan of tax increases. In fact, my generally libertarian-ish thoughts make me a fan of tax cuts as a growth-stimulator, but, as I have said before, the Bush income-tax cuts in the middle of a war were unprecedented and reckless from a deficit-explosion standpoint. Just a few months ago when Congress was debating about the two tax-cut-extension plans (continue 'em for everyone vs. soak the "rich" and continue everyone else's), I said that, despite my position against the cuts when they happened, I couldn't see reining them in in the middle of an economic downturn. Now I am beginning to think that Senator Voinovich was right, or at least that, a few months down the line, with the economy doing a little better, it's time to think about a small increase in everyone's taxes as a revenue-generator that is part of a larger deficit-reduction plan like Simpson/Bowles. (However, let's digress just for a moment to be really clear: I still think the estate tax is stupid and I still don't understand the "soak the rich" proposal of just increasing income taxes on a small percentage of people to be anything more than stupid class warfare and yawningly predictable/ineffective "don't raise my taxes, but it's OK to raise his taxes" nonsense).
We need to have the grown-ups in charge right now. Ryan's plan is undoubtedly grown-up, but it is tilted all in one direction, fixing the deficit nearly entirely on the backs of Medicare and Medicaid recipients. Those folks are undoubtedly going to have to share the pain -- see Simpson/Bowles for that -- but a plan needs to look at all the "third rails" of politics, and that necessarily will include military and Social Security cuts as well as likely short-term minor tax increases.
Or at least all of those ideas have to be on the table.
So, congrats to you, Congressman Ryan. I don't love your plan, but maybe it'll steer us into a serious conversation that should have started with Simpson/Bowles. And maybe we can get back to something more like that sensible, centrist proposal.
UPDATE: Check out this link from the New York Times if you want to play deficit-reducer at home. It's very cool, and proof-poitive that this goal can be achieved by spreading the pain around in a way that doesn't engage in class warfare up or down.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Libya
I am more than a little confused. OK, yeah, Muammar Gaddafi is an evil turd of epic proportion, a dictator as deserving of a Tomahawk missile right to the kisser as anyone currently living. Only a hardcore pacifist would fail to smile at least a little if he were duly offed. But.... is this military action really the "right" thing to do right now? Consider these issues:
--From a manpower/raw-numbers perspective, our military is stressed beyond belief. Two simultaneous wars, at least one of which (Afghanistan) currently has no end in sight, have made it that way.
--From a money perspective, we can't afford this. The budget is busted already. Is this yet another sign that the president doesn't fully consider the financial ramifications of his decisions, or, worse yet, doesn't seem to think an absurd excess of red ink is a big deal?
--What/who replaces said evil turd when this is all over and done? Short answer: we have no idea. Be careful what you wish for. Better yet, don't light a match and toss it onto an unknown substance. Things could go boom.
--While the president's willingness to open a can of whupass on a third Islamic country ought to silence the "Obama is a Muslim" morons, is it really going to help our efforts at diplomacy anywhere? Do we improve our moral standing in the world at the conclusion of this adventure?
Really....I am more than a little confused. Muammar Gaddafi has been a criminal worthy of taking down for many years. But we have never done it. Now just doesn't seem like the time.
--From a manpower/raw-numbers perspective, our military is stressed beyond belief. Two simultaneous wars, at least one of which (Afghanistan) currently has no end in sight, have made it that way.
--From a money perspective, we can't afford this. The budget is busted already. Is this yet another sign that the president doesn't fully consider the financial ramifications of his decisions, or, worse yet, doesn't seem to think an absurd excess of red ink is a big deal?
--What/who replaces said evil turd when this is all over and done? Short answer: we have no idea. Be careful what you wish for. Better yet, don't light a match and toss it onto an unknown substance. Things could go boom.
--While the president's willingness to open a can of whupass on a third Islamic country ought to silence the "Obama is a Muslim" morons, is it really going to help our efforts at diplomacy anywhere? Do we improve our moral standing in the world at the conclusion of this adventure?
Really....I am more than a little confused. Muammar Gaddafi has been a criminal worthy of taking down for many years. But we have never done it. Now just doesn't seem like the time.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thoughts and rambles, rambles and thoughts....
I'll start with the usual "busy as hell" excuses, then move on to the ones about not having any one topic upon which to direct my focus, and then, yeah....OK, it's been too long since I blogged, and that's that. Here are a few hit-and-runs:
--Work, i.e., the job I never talk about here, has been unusually (or maybe the better word is "particularly")satisfying lately....a strange mojo-filled mix of near laser-like focus, good results and a feeling like I'm riding on the wave, not under it. Good times. And that's all you're gonna get about that.
--Band breakups are funny things. I don't miss Mondo Topless at all. It was a good time while I was in, but maybe it's the zen (ish) training I have subjected myself to over the past few years, or maybe I'm just an asshole, but when I'm done with something these days, I'm done. And, man, was I done. In retrospect? Double done.
--But that's not to say that there's not something still floating about the musical ether into which to tap. Predictably, some of those Mondo boys and I will be soldiering on in another context. We had a bit of a meeting about that over tequila and beer just last week. Thoughts were voiced. Voices were heard. I think we can do this thing. Power troika and all that. And no, it doesn't have a name yet. Hell, it doesn't even have a practice under its belt yet.
--Actually it might have a name.
--Health care. One of these days I'm going to blog about health care, but, in the meantime....Why is it that the "solution" had to be so big and all-encompassing? Or, more particularly, isn't the single biggest problem in health care that people go bankrupt and/or die because they get a life-threatening /catastrophic illness and can't afford it? Why didn't we start by addressing that? Free (or cheap) "well" visits are all well and good, but that isn't the crisis. I'd rather we address the crisis and dial back on the megaspending. Or, actually, if it turns out that the crisis alone requires megaspending, maybe a one-time tax increase to cover the cost of catastrophic-only coverage for everyone? Hell, I don't know, but this giganto plan that we have now looks like too much/too soon. That much change in one big dose is bound to cause issues/resentment.
--The GOP's potential 2012 nominees. Jebus...can a bigger bunch of losers, other than Mitch Daniels and (maybe) Romney or Huntsman, show up to run in 2012? "TPaw?" Bachmann? Good lord...no wonder the president looks likely to get re-elected, a result I am probably OK with because I am all about the divided government these days.
--Earthquakes and their tsunami spawn engender the most powerless feelings around. Add a little nuclear drama for extra, er, drama.
--In a week or so, Queens of the Stone Age are touring their first album and Mike Watt rolls through town a week later touring his latest "opera." Then Mogwai in April and Echo and the Bunnymen and Face to Face in May. Wow. The rock will be brought.
--Work, i.e., the job I never talk about here, has been unusually (or maybe the better word is "particularly")satisfying lately....a strange mojo-filled mix of near laser-like focus, good results and a feeling like I'm riding on the wave, not under it. Good times. And that's all you're gonna get about that.
--Band breakups are funny things. I don't miss Mondo Topless at all. It was a good time while I was in, but maybe it's the zen (ish) training I have subjected myself to over the past few years, or maybe I'm just an asshole, but when I'm done with something these days, I'm done. And, man, was I done. In retrospect? Double done.
--But that's not to say that there's not something still floating about the musical ether into which to tap. Predictably, some of those Mondo boys and I will be soldiering on in another context. We had a bit of a meeting about that over tequila and beer just last week. Thoughts were voiced. Voices were heard. I think we can do this thing. Power troika and all that. And no, it doesn't have a name yet. Hell, it doesn't even have a practice under its belt yet.
--Actually it might have a name.
--Health care. One of these days I'm going to blog about health care, but, in the meantime....Why is it that the "solution" had to be so big and all-encompassing? Or, more particularly, isn't the single biggest problem in health care that people go bankrupt and/or die because they get a life-threatening /catastrophic illness and can't afford it? Why didn't we start by addressing that? Free (or cheap) "well" visits are all well and good, but that isn't the crisis. I'd rather we address the crisis and dial back on the megaspending. Or, actually, if it turns out that the crisis alone requires megaspending, maybe a one-time tax increase to cover the cost of catastrophic-only coverage for everyone? Hell, I don't know, but this giganto plan that we have now looks like too much/too soon. That much change in one big dose is bound to cause issues/resentment.
--The GOP's potential 2012 nominees. Jebus...can a bigger bunch of losers, other than Mitch Daniels and (maybe) Romney or Huntsman, show up to run in 2012? "TPaw?" Bachmann? Good lord...no wonder the president looks likely to get re-elected, a result I am probably OK with because I am all about the divided government these days.
--Earthquakes and their tsunami spawn engender the most powerless feelings around. Add a little nuclear drama for extra, er, drama.
--In a week or so, Queens of the Stone Age are touring their first album and Mike Watt rolls through town a week later touring his latest "opera." Then Mogwai in April and Echo and the Bunnymen and Face to Face in May. Wow. The rock will be brought.
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