Sentence of Dave

Space Werewolves > Intergalactic Politics

During our beach vacation, I had some trouble getting through John Scalzi's novel The Last Colony; it's the third book in his Old Man's War series and it's not exactly a beach read: there's a lot of intergalactic political strategy . . . John Perry and his rather unusual wife Jane Sagan (she's a special forces soldier made from the DNA of John's original wife) are trying to colonize planet called Roanoke-- a name which doesn't bode well-- and the colony becomes a pawn in an increasingly complicated series of alliances between the Conclave (412 alien races that have banded together) and the rest of the denizens of the universe (including the humans) and while all this is compelling and interesting, the part of the book I enjoyed the most was towards the middle, when the humans were still trying to colonize the planet and they ran into some werewolf life creatures with stone-age technology . . . this is something you can pay attention to, even when there's women in bikinis wandering around, but unfortunately, this plot-line is never revisited and so I struggled to finish the book at the beach and didn't get it done until last night, in the quiet of my very own bed.

No Ordinance For Offspring

Thursday morning, our peaceful vacation slumber was perforated, pierced and punctured (at 7 AM) by staccato bursts from several nail guns-- the crew framing the roof of the new construction across the street were getting an early start-- and while this didn't bother me, because I was up and ready to roll, Catherine thought the noise was excessive and so-- as she is wont to do-- she solved the problem; she called the Sea Isle police and they informed her that there was an 8 AM noise ordinance and they would ride by and inform the workers . . . and they did and the next morning the crew didn't start work until later; BUT soon after that, the three little kids set up a stand on the corner right below our front porch and they chanted-- for at least two hours straight-- "FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE! FREE POPSICLES AND LEMONADE!" and it seems there is no ordinance on the books to stop this sort of insanity (and the creepiness of the "free" aspect has really turned their patrons off . . . there's quite a bit of foot traffic and not one who walks by takes them up on the offer, as everyone knows there's no such thing as a free lunch, especially when it's offered by miniature towheaded redfaced sirens with high pitched voices).

No Ordinance For Offspring

Miracle on 51st Street

After running on the beach yesterday, I took an outdoor shower and then-- standing in the driveway, wearing only a towel-- I decided to throw my wet spandex and shorts onto our porch (rather than carry them through the house, where they would drip seawater everywhere) but my shoulder has been hurting and I can't throw wet clothing overhand, so I pitched them underhand and-- miracle of miracles-- they BOTH landed on the railing (and I've got a photo to prove it . . . although I guess you could photoshop something like this if you were that sort of person).

Miracle on 51st Street

You Could Probably Unfuc*k Yourself

Unfu*k Yourself: Get Out of Your Head and into Your Life by Gary John Bishop is a silly little book, obvious yet inspirational, but mainly, you'll think: "I could have written this!" but the point is that YOU didn't write it, Gary John Bishop did . . . and that's why he's a rich and famous life-coach and you're not (the Scottish accent might also help).

You Could Probably Unfuc*k Yourself

Star Crossed Neighbors

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane is a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, which begins with a pair of Irish cops on the beat in 1970's New York City who end up living nextdoor to each other in the suburbs, and -- like the Montagues and the Capulets-- the two families are oil and water, but the children fall in love and though the time sequence is much much longer than the three breakneck days in Romeo and Juliet, Keane makes her novel race through time at a relentless pace-- I loved this the most about this book (which is a bit depressing at times . . . regret, alcoholism, mental illness, and being shot in the face are some of the themes) so while there are rough times, you know you'll see the end of them (sort of).

Star Crossed Neighbors

Meatball Night is also LeCompt Night

Last night at the beach-- after stuffing ourselves with Cat's Famous Meatballs-- we all went out to The Springfield Inn (Sea Isle's most wonderful dive bar, which has been slated for destruction for years now) to see Mike LeCompt and his inimitable cover band; making it to the third set is always an issue for me because there's an interminable break between sets two and three, but once we talked to Mike-- who is undergoing daily chemo for colon cancer-- and he said he was having a rough day (they had already played a hot and humid outdoor set at Wildwood) we all decided we had to stay-- if he could do three sets on chemo, I could do three sets on Bud Light (which are $3 a pop until midnight, and then they figure everyone is too drunk to care and they randomly raise the price to $5) so we made it to the end (aside from Lynn and Ed, who headed home and prepared some dumplings and pigs-in-a-blanket so we could have late night food right when we stumbled in) and the band and the crowd really picked it up for Mike, who had to take a couple of breaks-- but, nonetheless, it was an inspirational performance and motivated me to get off my ass this morning and do a 35 minute beach run-- I had a bit of a headache, but it's better than colon cancer . . . here is the setlist . . . he did a lot of Who songs:

The Boys are Back in Town
Bargain
Behind Blue Eyes
Pinball Wizard
Come Sail Away
Tempted
Abacab
Thunder Road
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
With a Little Help From My Friends

Baba O'Riley
Brandy
My Girl
Whole Lotta Love
Pressure
Just What I Needed
You're in My Heart
Maggie May
Forever Young
Here I Go Again
You're So Vain
Hey Jude

Leaving on a Jet Plane
The Kids are Alright
Suspicious Minds
All I Want is You
Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses
So Lonely
Wild Nights
Long Train Running (Doobie Brothers)
Mona Lisas & Mad Hatters
Levon
Love Reign O'er Me.

Meatball Night is also LeCompt Night

Meatball Night!

Not time to write a sentence, I have to cut rolls for Cat's famous beach house meatballs (Mac's Famous Mac and Cheese? I mean, I'm your roommate and I've never heard of it).

Meatball Night!

Not time to write a sentence, I have to cut rolls for Cat's famous beach house meatballs (Mac's Famous Mac and Cheese? I mean, I'm your roommate and I've never heard of it).

Reading + Dad = $$$$$

When my kids were looking around town for odd jobs and such, I told them I had just read in The Week that folks with DM expertise were getting paid up to $250 dollars an hour to teach adults how to play Dungeons and Dragons and I suggested that they offer this service and so they added it to their list of jobs they would do and two days ago, they actually got paid to help some younger kids make characters and get a campaign going, which really beats pulling weeds (they are covered in poison ivy) and so now they've got a taste of the good life and white collar work.

Reading + Dad = $$$$$

The Big Apple Ain't What It Used to Be

Lawrence Block's hard-boiled crime novel The Sins of the Fathers-- the first in the 9 volume "alcoholic shamus" Matthew Scudder series-- takes place in a degenerate '70's version of New York City that now only exists in film and fiction . . . the story is gritty, callous, boozy, and-- at times-- downright graphically obscene, I'm not sure if I'll read another Scudder book any time soon-- but winter is coming, so maybe I'll wait until then.

The Big Apple Ain't What It Used to Be

Hail Fellow Well Met?

I saw a lot of myself in Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking-- while I'm not a full-blown recluse, I always trend introvert on those Myers-Briggs type tests; Cain explains that while introverts need down time to recharge, they can be quite comfortable socially-- once they're familiar with the situation-- and that one of the main factors may be that introverts don't need as much stimulus as extroverts . . . introverts can be easily over-stimulated, so while many can do a pretty good job acting "hail-fellow-well-met"-- an odd compound word I learned in the book-- they salivate more when they taste something sour, they don't need the volume as high, and they stick to the sides in a roomful of people (something I definitely do) and I think this explains why I can't watch two TV shows in a row and why even a graphic novel is sometimes too much stimulus . . . my kids get annoyed that I can't plow through them (although I just finished The Walking Dead . . . holy shit! it's over!) and why I read a lot . . . I love reading because it's just the right amount of stimulus for me . . . but I don't have many of the great traits that some introverts possess: while I like to deliberately practice things when I'm alone, I'm not necessarily most organized and focused person to have on a project, I'm not super-detail oriented, and I do things fast and cut corners, so while I'm definitely an introvert, I've got to embrace the type a bit more and perhaps I'll get better at some of the characteristics I'm missing.

Hail Fellow Well Met?

Journey to the Center of the Suburbs

Yesterday, the boys and I watched the episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when Mac and Dennis move to the suburbs . . . it's one of my favorites and Alex and Ian loved it: the rage, the boredom, the pool filter, the mysterious chirping that Dennis heard the whole time, the neighbor, the naked storm, the commute, the cable guy, Frank's bet, the old black man, and the truth behind Mac's famous mac and cheese; then-- that evening after soccer practice-- in serendipitous parallel, Alex and I drove from our densely populated town deep into a bosky township aptly named Branchburg-- we wound through small leafy lanes and emerged into a wide-lawned development of absolutely giant suburban homes-- and we were tired and hungry (it was the first day of double sessions) so when the tree-lined road yawned open into pristine lawns and shrubbery and McMansions, I said, "It's like Always Sunny!" and Alex said, "I said that five minutes ago . . . don't you listen?" and then we pulled up to the address and there was a perfect tableau in the driveway: some preppy adults, a couple of tow-headed kids, and a fluffy dog-- we were there to purchase a used surfboard that Alex had found on Facebook Marketplace and it was already 8 PM so I was hoping to get in and out quickly, but the couple and their twins (and their dog) were incredibly nice (and so was the surfboard, according to Alex) and so we ended up chatting with them for a good half hour before we bought the board; the dad -- a fit little guy wearing a tucked in polo shirt and pressed jeans-- was a big surfer and had just gotten a new board and I think he really wanted this board to go to a good home, so he was very pleased that my son was buying it with money he earned walking dogs and pulling weeds; we got on the topic of Costa Rica, where my son did some surfing this summer, and-- of course-- they go every year, to Nosara (one of the places we went this summer) and they almost bought real estate there and they grew up in South Brunswick before they upgraded and moved to the serious suburbs and their kids play baseball and do dance and on and on . . . three cars passed by while we were chatting and they waved at all three vehicles and Alex just couldn't believe it-- how suburban the whole scene was-- the entire family out on the big lawn, the one girl with her brand new iPhone lounging in a giant lawn beanbag chair, the casually well-dressed mom and dad (although Alex was disappointed that the mom was drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade . . . he thought it should have been chardonnay) and the general atmosphere of trust and good-nature and being so far off the map that nothing bad could ever happen . . . it's amazing that Branchburg is only a thirty minute drive from New Brunswick.

Journey to the Center of the Suburbs

Street Smarts

My friend was sick of getting parked in by spatially incompetent parallel parkers, so he painted his own parking lines on the stretch of road in front of his house-- each space is ample enough so that you can't get parked in, and neatly delineated . . . brilliant.

Street Smarts

Two Ways of Looking at Dave Looking at a Bird

It's rare you get two viewpoints of stupidity, but Friday afternoon days at the park, Catherine and I spotted some kind of large raptor and it was behaving oddly: perching on low branches, walking around on the grass, acting dumbfounded and perplexed . . . it was weird; we couldn't tell if it was an eagle or an osprey (and now we think it was a Cooper's hawk) so I approached it and got very very close, and then it seemed as if it was going to fly right at me-- perhaps to tear my face off-- but it wasn't interested in me (or my face) and it turned out the bird was stalking a snake in the grass, which it finally grabbed with both claws and then flew off . . . perhaps it was a juvenile hawk and not sure if a snake was good eating; anyway, I got a good shot of the bird up close, and my wife-- from a safe distance-- got a good shot of me approaching the bird so here are both videos (as a side note, later that afternoon, when we were walking in New Brunswick, we saw a very tall young lady, her legs were just endless, wearing short shorts riding an adult sized electric powered kick-scooter . . . quite an afternoon, but we didn't get a video of that . . . or of the fat guy ambling down the street sporting a "Busy Doing Nothing" t-shirt).

Two Ways of Looking at Dave Looking at a Bird

You Can't Call an Ambulance for Your Dog

I find that the "do you drive on empty or stop for gas when there's a quarter tank left?" is an excellent (and politically neutral) debate topic that you can use to break the ice in any situation; we were discussing this at the dog park last week and a woman gave a rather unusual rationale for keeping a good amount of gas in the car . . . she said that she used to drive around on empty, but then she realized that the emergence veterinary clinic wasn't nearby and-- as she noted, "You can't call an ambulance for a dog"-- and so she keeps gas in her car in case there's a canine catastrophe and she has to rush to the animal emergency room.

You Can't Call an Ambulance for Your Dog

If You're Gonna Get Shot, Get Shot in the Shoulder

Walter Longmire is definitely a candidate for "Protagonists' Hospital"-- a Demetri Martin bit about a medical facility that only treats shoulder injuries-- and so am I, in fact, last night my aching shoulder kept me awake and ploughing through the intensely plotted Hell is Empty-- Craig Johnson's seventh Longmire mystery . . . this is my favorite one so far, although there's nothing new: the small town Wyoming sheriff braves a snowstorm, chases fugitives, makes rash decisions, messes around with guns, suffers horrible injuries, and has a spiritual experience in the Bighorn Mountains, a land that wasn't always under the jurisdiction of the white man . . . I think you could start with this one and work backwards.

If You're Gonna Get Shot, Get Shot in the Shoulder

Anand Giridharadas is Hard to Say

While I can't pronounce Anand Giridharadas's name, I did read the article version of "Winners Take All" and apparently TED talks by "thought leaders" aren't all they're cracked up to be: they are actually sanitized, perpetrator-less, micro-tweaked, anti-solutions that have risen to the top of MarketWorld because they give corporations exactly what they want . . . and if you can give the plutocrats what they want, then you'll make a hell of a lot more money giving speeches than you could as a "public intellectual" who has written a good book.

When You Get Old, Go Out into the Universe and Kill Stuff

If you're looking of something fun, fast, and thoroughly entertaining, I highly recommend John Scalzi's sci-fi novel Old Man's War . . . it definitely has a Starship Troopers feel, but it's even funnier (and also-- at times-- quite touching, especially about the subject of marriage) but mainly it's about old folks abandoning earth for the Colonial Defense Forces, where they will be somehow outfitted to fight hostile aliens throughout a "dark forest" type universe-- I won't spoil just how these geriatrics are transformed into soldiers, but once it happens, then the fun begins-- so much fun that there is quite a bit of criticism and debate about the book . . . some liberal reviewers claim the book lauds jingoistic fervor and overly-aggressive, xenophobic tactics towards the other, and these ideas certainly weigh on the protagonist-- especially when he's stomping the one inch tall (but highly aggressive) Covandu to death . . . supposedly, the rest of the series sorts out these controversial themes, but this book is also great as a stand-alone.

More (Capricious) News in the World of Tennis

My shoulder hurts . . . I think I need to reevaluate my rash abandonment of the two-handed backhand: while it's a bit inconsistent, apparently-- once I've played for over an hour-- I need two hands to get the ball back over the net.

Blinded with Science

The nefarious Pruitt/Wheeler/Trump EPA recently dropped restrictions on a pesticide that kills bees; my acupuncturist told me this, so I took it with a grain of salt, but she was right:

"sulfoxaflor, manufactured by DowDupont’s Corteva agricultural division, can now be used on a wide range of crops, including corn, soybeans, strawberries, citrus, pumpkins and pineapples, the EPA said . . . sulfoxaflor has been found to be “highly toxic to honey bees at all life stages,” according to the EPA’s own studies — and harms wild pollinators like bumblebees even at low doses; yet Alexandra Dunn, head of the EPA office that oversees pesticides, said the agency was 'thrilled' to approve new uses and lift past restrictions on sulfoxaflor, which she called “highly effective . . . Dow contributed $1 million to President Donald Trump’s inauguration committee"

and this taps into the larger (and very weird) culture war that's happening . . . if you're pro-Trump, you may very well be anti-science . . . because scientists are now pointy-headed liberals who want to tell you what to do and how to live . . . so if you love Trump (and hate science) you might purchase Trump brand plastic straws to show the hippie environmentalists just what they can do with their assault on plastic-- it's right out of The Graduate; this stuff all fits into the new conservative brand-- global warming is a Chinese hoax, etc. -- and while at least Trump has shifted his stance on vaccines (his old take, from 2015, is that vaccines are meant for horses and cause autism) because of various measles outbreaks, I think that shift was pragmatic-- he didn't want to preside over a plague-infested country-- but I still find it a shocker that this is the Trump-brand: the scientific-method is fake news, a plot cooked up by the liberals to restrict your rights.

Blinded with Science

Four Funerals and a Divorce

Mindy Kaling's reboot of Four Weddings and Funeral is headed in the wrong direction . . . Hugh Grant and Andie McDowell are old-- and so are the people that saw the original romcom in the theaters (way back in 1994 . . . my wife and I are part of this crowd) and so it's time for the inevitable: Four Funerals and a Divorce . . . the film (or TV series) could have horror overtones, as you wait to see who the lucky survivor is (who then gets divorced) or it could just be a straight-up depressing cancer/heart attack/stroke type movie . . . either way, someone get on this, it's going to be the feel-good hit of next summer.

Four Funerals and a Divorce

Breaking News in the World of Tennis

I have officially decided to give up on my two-handed backhand.

Breaking News in the World of Tennis

I have officially decided to give up on my two-handed backhand.

Sentence Canceled (Due to Extenuating Pub Night)

It was a late one last night, for good reasons: shots were drunk (drank?) to the passing of Winston-- a good dog-- and shots were drunk (drank?) because Dan's friend bought them . . . he was once an avid golfer but he got in a car accident-- hit from behind-- and (small world) it turned out that I taught the person that hit him . . . and then there was the darts and gambling portion of the evening . . . so no sentence today, I'll try to fire up the brain again tomorrow.

Sentence Canceled (Due to Extenuating Pub Night)

Craig Johnson vs. C.J. Box: Wyoming (Zone of) Death Match

Craig Johnson and C.J Box both write mystery novels set in Wyoming, but Craig Johnson's Longmire series is more small-town and has an archetypal Western-tone, while C. J. Box-- judging by the Joe Pickett novel FreeFire-- is tackling much more modern and political subjects; FreeFire reads a bit like a Michael Crichton thriller and I thought it was pretty far-fetched, but apparently Box does his research, so . . .

1) there actually is a "Zone of Death" within Yellowstone National Park, where an enterprising criminal could commit the perfect crime . . . although it hasn't happened yet;

2) Yellowstone's heat resistant microbes are valuable resources being used (exploited? contracted?) by international companies, and there is a debate as to whether this is "bio-mining" or "bio-piracy" and as to who should get the profits;

3) bio-stimulation in coal seams might produce natural gas or liquified fuel . . .

anyway, as far as the Wyoming detective novel shoot-out goes, Joe Pickett and Walt Longmire are different animals . . . so if you're looking for something more evocative and slower-paced, with a lot of charm, then go for the Craig Johnson mystery, but if you want fast-paced action with politics, conspiracy, and wild plot-lines, then C.J. Box is for you . . . FreeFire even has a gun moll from Jersey and the book gets into this kind of stuff:

"There are so many factions . . . Zephyr versus the Park Service . . . environmentalists against resource users . . . hunters outside the park versus park policy . . . the three states fighting with the Feds . . . even in the park service, it's law enforcement versus interpretation, and seasonal rangers against full-timers . . . it's bureaucracy run amok."

Johnson vs. Box: Wyoming (Zone of) Death Match

Craig Johnson and C.J Box both write mystery novels set in Wyoming, but Craig Johnson's Longmire series is more small-town and has an archetypal Western-tone, while C. J. Box-- judging by the Joe Pickett novel FreeFire-- is tackling much more modern and political subjects; FreeFire reads a bit like a Michael Crichton thriller and I thought it was pretty far-fetched, but apparently Box does his research, so . . .

1) apparently, there actually is a "Zone of Death" within Yellowstone National Park, where an enterprising criminal could commit the perfect crime . . . although it hasn't happened yet;

2) Yellowstone's heat resistant microbes are valuable resources being used (exploited? contracted?) by international companies, and there is a debate as to whether this is "bio-mining" or "bio-piracy" and as to who should get the profits;

3) bio-stimulation in coal seams might produce natural gas or liquified fuel . . .

anyway, as far as the Wyoming detective novel shoot-out goes, Joe Pickett and Walt Longmire are different animals . . . so if you're looking for something more evocative and slower-paced, with a lot of charm, then go for the Craig Johnson mystery, but if you want fast-paced action with politics, conspiracy, and wild plot-lines, then C.J. Box is for you . . . FreeFire even has a gun moll from Jersey and the book gets into this kind of stuff:

"There are so many factions . . . Zephyr versus the Park Service . . . environmentalists against resource users . . . hunters outside the park versus park policy . . . the three states fighting with the Feds . . . even in the park service, it's law enforcement versus interpretation, and seasonal rangers against full-timers . . . it's bureaucracy run amok."

No Graceful Exit to This Situation

Before playing tennis this morning, I entered the Porta-John next to the courts, latched the door, and then realized there was a giant wasp inside the enclosure with me (and while I escaped without being stung, I will admit to doing some flailing).

No Graceful Exit to This Situation

Dave Naps While His Children Labor

Since we have returned from our two vacations, our family is on a strict budget (until my wife and I get paid again in September) and I'm enjoying this frugal starving time, as it gives me an excuse to do things I enjoy that are free or already paid for: run, go to the library, read, listen to podcasts, eat rice and beans, nap, wake up early, rollerblade, play tennis, acupuncture, go to the gym, etc. and there are no other options to distract me from these simple, wonderful things-- but my kids weren't taking as well to the spartan life and so (with the help of my wife) they have taken matters into their own hands--literally-- and they've been doing manual labor for anyone and everyone who will hire them; I've never seen them so motivated or get along so well; they have a little notebook with all the addresses and times for their jobs, and they've been mowing lawns, carrying boxes, assembling basement floors, weeding, and doing any other odd job they can manage . . . despite the family economic shutdown, they've already earned enough to buy a Nintendo Switch and Smash Bros (so refusing them to buy a video game system beyond the Wii has really turned out well for me, I've never seen them so driven and organized, I didn't have to shell out for a new system, and they're bickering far less than normal . . . they're too busy counting their money to fight).

Dave Naps While His Children Labor

Dave Stays in Wyoming (Because Jersey Sucks Right Now)

I'm charging to the finish of Craig Johnson's fifth book in the Longmire series, The Dark Horse, and after reading two of these, I'm noticing some patterns-- snow, cold, wind, cowboy stuff, horses, guns, damsels that might not be in as much distress as the knights think, Clint Eastwood-style fistfights, drunks, and Walt Longmire taking the brunt of it all . . . and I'm enjoying fantasizing about the bleak chill of Wyoming so much, as I sit inside during the Jersey heat wave, that I actually checked out a C.J. Box mystery from the library today-- a Joe Pickett novel called FreeFire, which is also set in Wyoming . . . so there's going to be a head-to-head match up of Wyoming detective mysteries, I'll let them duke it out and elect a winner later in the week.

Dave Stays in Wyoming (Because Jersey Sucks Right Now)

A Good Way to Visit Wyoming

A Cold Dish by Craig Johnson is a great book to read if you're stress-free and hardly-working-- which is the state I'm in right now-- it's the first in the Longmire series, and while it rambles a bit for a mystery novel, that's to be expected because the main character of the book is Wyoming-- which is a state that rambles on and on and on-- with Walt Longmire a close second (and various guns-- modern and antique-- a distant third) but Johnson seems to hit his stride better in the the fifth installment, The Dark Horse, which is a much faster read (and I tried the Netflix series, just because, and that's not too bad either).

A Good Way to Visit Wyoming

Money Talks and Bullshit Walks (Toward Nassim Taleb?)

Nassim Nicholas Taleb is smart-- and he won't let you forget it-- and while there's some fascinating stuff in his new book Skin in the Game: Hidden Asymmetries in Daily Life, it's hard to know what to believe and what not to believe, and the book is definitely abrasive and fragmented, but he will get you thinking, you're just going to have to do more research to flesh out what he's saying . . . here are a few things that struck me:

1) Taleb prefers the Silver Rule to the Golden Rule . . . the Silver Rule is sort of the Negative Golden Rule: "Do not treat others the way you would not like them to treat you," and Taleb prefers it because it is more Libertarian and less restrictive-- the Silver Rule encourages you to mind your own business-- you're not doing things unto others and guessing what they would like . . . it lines up nicely with our First Amendment rights;

2) Taleb really hates Steven Pinker and all the non-mathematical non-stock-trading intellectuals associated with him, and while Taleb claims there are major statistical problems with Pinker's book The Better Angels of Our Nature, this claim doesn't seem logical and more of a sour grapes character assassination attempt and Pinker has a reasoned and rational rebuttal to Taleb's jealous and rather weird claims . . . Taleb wants to apply his "Black Swan" reasoning to Pinker's thesis but Pinker has already anticipated this in his book . . . it's a fairly strange obsession and I don't really get his hatred of intellectuals, aside from the fact that he considers them the ultimate evil because they make pronouncements without having "skin in the game" and contribute to the "monoculture" of thought;

3) Taleb thinks we should take a more statistical, skin-in-the-game look at politics offers a great reminder of how important scale is in determining our values and morals:

"A saying by the brothers Geoff and Vince Graham summarizes the ludicrousness of scale-free political universalism . . .

I am, at the Fed level, a libertarian:
at the state level, Republican;
at the local level, Democrat;
and at the family and friends level, a socialist . . ."

4) Taleb likes to throw around the fact that he's Lebanese and grew up in Lebanon, and he frequently mention the many religious groups and sects that live there and in Syria-- I find this interesting because I lived there-- but I can see how the explanation of the dynamics of the Druze and the Shi'ites might grow tiresome to some audiences . . . I think he likes these examples because he's a big fan of the "the Lindy effect," he likes rules and institutions and foods and objects that have survived a long time-- the Lindy effect is the "theory that the future life expectancy of some non-perishable things like a technology or an idea is proportional to their current age, so that every additional period of survival implies a longer remaining life expectancy" . . . so things like the cup and the Ten Commandments are going to be around a long time because they've been around a long time . . . these are the kinds of rules and books and thoughts that Taleb trusts-- including advice from your grandmother and superstitions-- because they have weathered the test of time . . . he's not a progressive and he loves the fact that Trump got elected, confounding all the liberal, pseudo-intellectual types;

5) Taleb is at his best when he's talking about probability . . . he explains (hypothetically) that while terrorism and people falling down in the bathtub may take the same number of lives in any given year, why we have to treat terrorism so much more seriously . . . because it would take an incredible statistical anomaly to double bathtub deaths, but it only takes a major event or two to exponentially increase the deaths from terrorism . . . terrorism has the potential to reveal "unknown unknowns" or "black swans" or whatever you want to call them, but things can happen on the long tail that take many many lives . . . so he gets into the idea of how much tolerance we should show the intolerant, and when it comes to Salafi Islam, he believes we should be showing them no tolerance, because they have the potential of creating those kind of black swan events that pseudo-intellectuals-- who are too liberal-- don't assess with the correct amount of risk . . . it's something we all have to think deeply about, and it's the most important part of his reasoning;

6) on a more positive statistical note, he argues against Thomas Piketty's extreme take on economic inequality, and uses an idea called "ergodicity" to show that people move all over the map as far as where they lie in the income ladder over the course of time . . . so any one person might be in the top ten percent in one part of their life, then in the middle, then maybe at the bottom; I'm not sure I understand all the math, but it's an interesting take . . . although it seems that salary isn't the real culprit in income inequality, it's acquired wealth-- which is why I like Elizabeth Warren's wealth tax . . . I would never want to put words in Taleb's mouth, because he's so unpredictable and irascible, and I doubt he would like a wealth tax, but it does fit more into his worldview that acquired wealth doesn't have any risk to it, so it might as well be taxed and used for infrastructure or schools or clean energy or something interesting;

7) in the end, I wish there was more math and less railing against some imagined intellectual class with no skin-in-the-game . . . Taleb really believes that entrepreneurs should be venerated and I agree with him . . . it's much easier to be a salary-slave and the longer you do it, the more skin-in-the-game you have to protect your job and your reputation, but that doesn't mean you can't do good work; it's worth reading Taleb's books, but you just have to take everything with a grain of thought and take your time with each page and idea and think about what he's saying and if it really holds water.

Late Night Learnin'

Last night was a very educational Pub Night . . . here are a few of the things I learned:

1) there is an app called TouchTunes which allows you to control the pub jukebox from your phone;

2) "Love Potion Number 9" is one of the worst songs on that jukebox;

3) The Park Pub has a drink special, which is only advertised on the TouchTunes app . . . the special is "Buy Two / Drink Two . . . All week";

4) eating a White Rose burger after the pub wreaks havoc on my digestive system . . . I've already learned this lesson, but every three years or so, I have to relearn it;

5) I also learned a bunch of little things which are too numerous to list, but here a re a few: Paul can make a little Mexican pizza in five minutes; back in the day, Linda Carter was really hot; everybody loves to sing "Suspicious Minds"; and you should watch Barry season 2 episode 5, even if you haven't seen the show.

Late Night Learnin'

Fumble! At 45 mph

I am guessing a fair number of automobile accidents are caused by various kinds of balls- particularly tennis balls . . . although my nemesis today was a little orange foam football-- when they roll from one part of the car to the driver's side, and interfere with the gas pedal, the brake, and the driver's concentration (because when there's a loose ball, you've got to get down on the floor and grab it).

Fumble! At 45 mph

The Wildest West

I'm sure I've been radicalized and brainwashed by a leftist-socialist-environmentalist media sphere, but Leah Sottile's sequel to Bundyville-- this "season" of podcasts and articles is subtitled The Remnant-- is once again an exceptional and compelling portrait of religious/anti-government/apocalypse/white-supremacist/conspiracy-theorist/hyper-patriotic/gun-toting militia folks that is so outside my purview it seems like science-fiction; this fits right into Tara Boyle's world of Educated . . . a much wilder West than most of us liberal Easterners can imagine-- and while the piece starts with an explosion in Panaca, Nevada and eventually finds itself in the "American Redoubt— the nickname survivalists and preppers have given Eastern Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming"-- the real home of this piece is the internet, where fact-free-fringe-theories and conspiracies persuade and propagate . . . a place that our President panders to . . . and while Sottile finally meditates on the intractable paradox:

how much tolerance do you afford the intolerant?

she also hears from rational people who believe that the government does have too much power, that after 9/11 the fear of terrorism allowed federal and local law enforcement to ramp up violence and surveillance on suspects and that this is a cycle that will only be met with more violence-- Sottile and I both think the answer may be sunlight, we have to just keep shining a bright logical light on all these fringe-apocalypse-fundamentalist-religious-conspiratorial extremists and their words and logic until they shrivel and decay, we've got to talk it out and keep talking, the government needs to be up front about what it's doing and what is happening, and we have to understand that there's going to be some explosions along the way and some radical extremism, which is part of the cost of having a country with a strong First Amendment, checks and balances in the government, and a sometimes too-powerful federal presence . . . that presence can drive people, especially people ready to be radicalized, out to the fringe-- events like Waco, and the shooting of LaVoy Finnicum and the Ruby Ridge siege; for me, it was absolutely shocking to hear folks proposing an all-white, all-Christian 51st state where the chosen could live out their days training and praying, waiting for the end-of-times . . . but maybe I'm too sheltered, living here in a tame, intellectual, multi-cultural town in central New Jersey, and I need a dose of the real American West, which is wilder than ever; Sottile brings up the fact that, of late, right-wing extremists have accounted for the bulk of the terrorism in the United States, and The Atlantic breaks it down:

"From 2009 through 2018, right-wing extremists accounted for 73 percent of such killings, according to the ADL, compared with 23 percent for Islamists and 3 percent for left-wing extremists . . . in other words, most terrorist attacks in the United States, and most deaths from terrorist attacks, are caused by white extremists . . . but they do not cause the sort of nationwide panic that helped Trump win the 2016 election and helped the GOP expand its Senate majority in the midterms."

META-Meta-meta

John Scalzi's novel Redshirts begins as a schlocky and ersatz Star Trek style space opera, but if you're familiar with Scalzi's satirical sci-fi humor then the encounters with ice sharks and Borgovian ground worms don't really hold water . . . and the book soon dives into meta-sci-fi, meta-fiction, meta-narrative, meta-characters, meta-plotlines, and the metaphysical . . . I would say that the meat of the book is more fun, it's totally wacky sci-fi (and sci-fi parody) and the three codas are more philosophical (and also-- surprisingly-- a little touching) and if you're a sci-fi fan looking for something fun and funny then this is the book for you (and if you don't know what the title means-- I didn't-- then check out this video . . . but it's a spoiler).

META-Meta-meta

No Where to Go But Up (Down?)

I'm trying to improve my mile time, and I just ran my baseline timed mile (and I'm so sweaty that I'm barely able to type-- it's humid) and while my Runkeeper said I kept a 7:58 pace, I'm pretty sure it took me 8:04 to run the four laps around the track . . . so now I've got to do six weeks or so of long runs and speedwork, and see if I can knock my time down; I think I'll be able to do it, because I'm tipping the scales at a post-double-vacation 195 pounds, so if I lose a few pounds-- which I inevitably will-- I will naturally cut some time from my mile time (perhaps 2.5 seconds per pound).

Go East Young Man

Peter Frankopan's The Silk Roads: A New History of the World resets the default narrative of world history, with Western Europe as the main character, and instead places the Mediterranean Sea at the center of the story; he argues that the most significant dynamic force in the last two thousand years has been the trade routes that connect the East and the West; this web of interconnected cities, ports, and trading hubs allowed for the flow of goods, services, ideas, religions, conflict, disease, technology, and tactics . . . his book combats what Edward Said termed "orientalism," the presumption that the Middle East and beyond is inscrutable and exotic, a place that lies outside of time, space, progress, and Western logic; the book is comprehensive, starting with the spread of Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, and Zoroastrianism along the Silk Roads (before 600 A.D.) and ending with the West's modern political misadventures in Iran Iraq, and Afghanistan, and the economic rise of China, Tajikistan, Azerbaijan, and Uzbekistan . . . over here in the West, we've got to strap ourselves in for a new world order, with the East becoming more significant than ever-- both economically and politically-- the British Ministry of Defense sums it up tidily: the period of time until 2040 "will be a time of transition" with challenges such as "the reality of a changing climate, rapid population growth, resource scarcity, resurgence in ideology, and shifts in power from West to East."

Go East Young Man

The Mountains of Kentucky?

Last night was my first night sleeping at home in a while . . . we were on two vacations, back-to-back, and while they were both epic and excellent, it was good to wake up early to a quiet house; I did have a weird dream last night, and while I normally never talk about dreams, the significance of this one is so obvious that I have to summarize it-- but I won't go into all the surreal and stupid details: the dream began mirroring reality, we arrived home from our two vacations but then it veered into the absurd . . . I totally forgot we had planned another trip, we were heading to the mountain of Kentucky-- are there mountains in Kentucky?-- and it was going to be a ten hour drive and then there was a lot more driving during the vacation, and we had to pack lots of winter clothes, and there was snow . . . and I was really upset that I had planned another vacation after two straight vacations, and this vacation was pretty much all driving, in the mountains . . . and I'll readily admit that this is a real first-world-problem dream, where the monster under the bed is a vacation.

The Mountains of Kentucky?

Trust My Kids: Head into the Spider-Verse

My kids have been telling me to watch this animated movie where a bunch of oddball spider-folks from different dimensions fight a behemoth-sized villain named Kingpin-- they said it's even better than The Incredibles-- and they were right . . . it's just come on Netflix so we watched it together at the beach (they did offer some helpful commentary, as they've both seen it multiple times) and, despite the clunky title, Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse is top-notch, it's artistically beautiful and dynamic, at times it's quite deep and emotional, it's very funny, and the voice acting is awesome.

Trust My Kids: Head into the Spider-Verse

Running: Yuck

I do a great deal of exercise: basketball, soccer, tennis, rollerblading, biking, lifting, calisthenics, dog-walking, beach-cart pulling, stone-stealing, rock-pilfering, etcetera . . . but I have not done a great deal of straight ahead running of late and so-- in order to empathize with my children, who are both playing high school soccer and will be doing a lot of running this summer (the goal for varsity players is to run a 6:15 mile) I am trying to improve my mile time; I have yet to run a timed mile, but I'm guessing it will be around 8 minutes, but I've done a couple of runs at the beach and it's been brutal; I got a little Runkeeper app on my phone, ran for 33 minutes a few days ago, and today I did some dreaded intervals (6 x 200) and when I get home I'm going to go to the track and get a baseline number and then see if I can improve it by the end of the summer-- to do this, apparently you need to run long and slow at least once a week and you need to do intervals once a week-- the rest of the time you can exercise how you wish; I don't know if anyone else has had this experience, but I'm a really active person, despite this, running just kicks my ass, it's totally different than any other exercise-- I played basketball for two hours a couple days ago with my brother and the cousins and that wasn't as hard as running for 30 minutes, time becomes distorted and torturous when you're running . . . I once ran a marathon, so I'm assuming it will come back to me, get easier, but if it doesn't, then I guess I'll take up golf.

Running: Yuck

Cat-egorical Imperatives

Two rules I should learn sometime:

1) never do my wife's laundry;

2) never give my wife advice on how to toss a corn-hole beanbag.

Cat-egorical Imperatives

Two rules I should learn sometime:

1) never do my wife's laundry;

2) never give my wife advice on how to toss a corn-hole beanbag.

Bonus Features!

I just noticed today that my backpack has a secret waterproof string bag-- attached to the inside of the pack with a string!-- and then my brother's girlfriend pointed out that our new beach cart has a secret side pouch and velcro tie that srves as an umbrella holster; I will utilize both these bonus features tomorrow.

Bonus Features!

The Wrong Ratio

Aristotle would have been critical of our usage of time today: this morning we played tennis for an hour and then we watched tennis on TV for five hours, the Federer/Djokovich Wimbledon final was both awesome and interminable but we certainly didn't need to rush home to watch it.

The Wrong Ratio

From the Pacific to the Atlantic (which seems pretty pacific)

My family heroically conquered the ultimate first world problem yesterday-- we got back from an epic adventure in Central America and then managed-- on a one day turnaround-- to repack and head to the Jersey shore; while both trips have saltwater in common, this vacation couldn't be more different than our previous one: our trip to Costa Rica was all about nuclear family togetherness, fifteen action-packed days of it, but now that we've moved from the warm waters of the tropical Pacific to the brisk sea breezes coming off the Atlantic, I no longer have to keep track of my wife and children-- they might be at the beach, they might be at the arcade, they might be eating hot dogs and ice cream, they might be at the surf shop . . . I don't know nor do I care; this trip is about extended family interaction . . . or lack thereof; I ran the beach this morning, alone, and then went rollerblading-- wearing my new visor-- and I was alone, of course, no one in their right mind would come anywhere near me, then I went swimming all by my lonesome; we had some family time with my brother and all the kids while we watched Wimbledon, and now I'm on my own again-- alone in this big beach house, napping, reading a book about the spread of trade and religion on the silk road, and getting a little anxious because I've been left to my own devices and that has happened in weeks.

From the Pacific to the Atlantic (which seems pretty pacific)

Read Educated and Get Educated

While it's hard to think much more than "The horror! The horror!" while you're reading Tara Westbrook's memoir Educated-- the tale of a girl (barely) raised and (barely) homeschooled by a fanatically religious, preparing-for-the-apocalypse, fighting Big Medicine, scrapmetal-baron nutjob of a dad; while she is mercilessly manipulated and bullied by her older brother, and mainly left to fend for herself by a brainwashed, homeopathic midwife mom . . . the twists and turns of Westover's life and-- more importantly-- her mind, as she confronts the reality beyond the mountains of Idaho are wild, awkward, painful, and nearly beyond belief, but despite her lack of formal education, she makes her way to BYU, then on to Trinity College, Cambridge, where-- after a pit stop at Harvard-- she finally earns her doctorate in historiography; I'm not sure which tales of violence, fanaticism, and familial neglect to take with a grain of salt, and in the end, neither does Westover-- and that is the real theme of the book: Westover gets her degree is historiography, as she is interested in who gets to tell the story-- history is written by the winners, the losers, the monks, the fanatics, the believers, the scientists, the laity, and the skeptics . . . and this is what the book is, an investigation into the murky recesses of memory, whether it be the mundane details of a dysfunctional family, a family where memory is controlled by one ranting biased zealot . . . or whether it is the influence of various cultures and religions on the evolution of the family unit in America, the subject of Westover's doctoral thesis: “The Family, Morality, and Social Science in Anglo-American Cooperative Thought, 1813-1890,” in which she synthesizes Mormonism-- which is often ignored-- into the bigger narrative; in the end, while this book is a scandalous, tell-all page-turner, it becomes more than that because Westover is so smart, and so weird, and so obsessive, and so candid and sincere . . . a must read for all of us East Coast agnostics.

Read Educated and Get Educated

We Are Home (and the Natives are Back to Their Usual Antics)

I'm going to do an informative post with pictures about our trip to Costa Rica, in case anyone is heading to places we went-- but the trip was incredible and went very smoothly, despite our (generally) impulsive, impractical and incompetent children; today we are preparing for another vacation-- a trip to the Jersey shore with my extended family-- and so I was running some errands and on my way home-- just as I turned onto the far end of my road-- I saw two children sprinting awkwardly down the street, sprinting awkwardly because they were wearing pool slides, and then I noticed that they were my children and I asked what they were doing: why are you sprinting? why are you wearing pool slides? and they said that they got so wrapped up in their chores that they forgot about their barbershop appointments and now they were rushing there-- they both had 12:30 appointments and it was 12:36, but the barbershop is a good mile from our house so I grabbed them and gave them a ride and advised them next time to take their bikes, not rush out of the house in pool slides, or even better, keep tabs on the time, and then when I got home, I took in the situation and surmised that they weren't wrapped up with doing chores, they were wrapped up selling old toys on eBay . . . and so while I am proud of my children for not doing anything rash and stupid while navigating the jungles, hot springs and rugged coastline of Costa Rica, I have to recognize the fact that we are back in Jersey and they are returning to their native ways ( and so am I, as I totally forgot the overarching laundry rule, which is: do NOT do my wife's laundry . . . I threw it in, with good intentions, and shrunk some stuff and tie-dyed some other stuff . . . then the kids and I miscommunicated about a ride and they ran to the wrong person's house in the rain before figuring out the situation . . . we are definitely back home).

We Are Home (and the Natives are Back to Their Usual Antics)

Nosara: Keep Your Eyes on the Road, Your hands Upon the Wheel (if you can)

There is so much to see in Nosara, but if you are driving, it's hard to look up from the pothole strewn gravel and rock roads; the drive from Samara is an hour of bumpy winding coastal back roads and then you hit the rough stuff, but it's well worth it; I'm not sure which is better, the wildlife or the people watching-- my son Alex would say it's the surfing, and the surfing is great, especially on Playa Guiones, the giant scenic beach with endless breaks; I rented a board and rode a few waves along with my son, until my sternum got sore, then I just enjoyed the scenery: super-toned expat yoga/surfer women . . . I've never seen more perfect bodies in my life; perhaps these folks-- like Lady Gaga-- fly in to Nosara, as there is a tiny airstrip; it's quite a collection of people, we went to a outdoor charity lunch bonanza for the firemen of Nosara, because the French lady who owned Villa Mango, the bed and breakfast we stayed at, was married to a Costa Rican fireman, and so we really saw the local crowd; Costa Rican couples and entrepeneurs; expat retirees, surfers, business people; and wealthy folks just enjoying the situation (there was an especially entertaining group of four hot middle-aged women getting drunk and acting like they were in Eat Pray Love) and the Villa Mango is highly recommended: you can walk to Playa Pelada, the teak and guanacaste tree deck is beautiful, and we saw loads of monkeys from the porch and the pool; there is also a semi-tame coati who has been hanging out for a few months, you can hand feed him and he naps on the couch; the dog doesn't even bother him; while Alex and I were surfing, Catherine and Ian went kayaking up the Nosara river into the mangroves, and they saw black iguanas, Halloween crabs, lots of rare birds and Catherine even got a quick glimpse of a saltwater croc; the food was excellent, especially at El Chivo and Al Chile, where we got a close up view of a hummingbird ( Alex took a pic with his phone that rivals my owl) so despite the bad roads, a great place.

Nosara: Keep Your Eyes on the Road, Your hands Upon the Wheel (if you can)

They Live in Pairs? Excellent . . .

I woke up early this morning, tip-toed into the bathroom-- as we are all sleeping in one room at the Villa Mango-- and was confronted by a Costa Rican scorpion . . . so I flattened it with my sandal; it happened to be on the bath mat when I did the flattening, so I dragged it out of the way but left it out so my wife and kids can see it when they wake up; I just looked up the species and apparently the sting is painful but not deadly, the only disconcerting thing is that, according to this site, they live in pairs, so if you see one then the other one is probably nearby . . . I am up on the veranda listening to the birds and monkeys as I write this, perhaps soon I will hear a scream from our room below (either when my family sees the dead scorpion or when they encounter the irate partner).

They Live in Pairs? Excellent . . .

No Crocs But A Plethora of Sea Slugs

Our last day in Samara we went in search of megafauna and drove down a dirt road to Playa Buena Vista-- a primitive driftwood covered beach across an estuary reputed to contain saltwater crocs; I watched a local net fisherman wade across and followed him and I was not eaten by a croc, but my wife and kids were having none of it and occupied themselves on the rocks while I investigated the beach and river mouth; no crocs to speak of so we headed back to the tidepools of Samara and found colorful dories, triggerfish, loaches, eels and sea slugs-- intriguing but minifauna, not megafauna . . . however, on the way home from dinner we encountered Costa Rica's largest amphibian: the giant marine toad (also known as the cane toad).

No Crocs But A Plethora of Sea Slugs

Can I Look At It? No . . .

A few days ago I thought Samara beach was the most beautiful and idyllic spot in the entire world: warm water, a fantastic view, soft sand, a two mile horseshoe shaped black sand beach protected by a coral reef so the waves are groovy for both surfing and swimming . . . but then everyone said we had to drive 7 kilometers south to Playa Carillo because THAT was the most amazing, uncrowded and picturesque beach in Costa Rica-- and they were right; Playa Carrillo is an undeveloped four mile horseshoe with even softer sand, even more palm trees for shade, even nicer water for swimming and barely any people BUT a local guy told us about a super secret beach called Playa Ezquerda, you have to drive a dirt road, hike through the jungle and then descend some dilapidated and dangerous cocrete steps down a cliff-- long ago someone planned on building something here but stopped after making the steps; so we followed the instructions-- Alex almost got run over by a stray horse-- and we made it to the most superb beach and there were only two lovely young locals there, sunbathing in bikinis, and the cliff shaded the beach and the tidepools were full of tropical fish, weird sea stars, sea slugs, and lots of other creatures . . . but I'm not sure where this ends-- perhaps a beach in the spirit of Nigel Tufnel's special guitar that he has never played and won't even let Marti DeBergi look at, a beach so wonderful that you can't even go to it; on this same theme, we've seen some monkeys on this trip, but this morning in the tree across from our window we saw a baby monkey . . . the only thing better than that is two baby monkeys.