Just a quick note to say that I'm incredibly selective about what I retweet from my Twitter account. I never just stoke my own confirmation bias. It's either 1. counter-intuitive and credible takes, 2. particularly well-expressed surmises, 3. nuances previously missed, or 4. super funny. Plus brief announcements of new Slog postings.
You can also read over my shoulder my "Must-Read" Twitter list. It includes a few dozen people of diverse political opinions (all anti-Trump; I failed to find a sane MAGA voice) plus some additional color. There is a disproportionate number of conservative anti-Trumpers, because they tend to view this whole situation with insight rather than blind fury (I'm super-sick of being told he's a racist and this isn't normal. I got that the moment he rode down the escalator spouting about how Mexican immigrants are rapists and criminals).
Saturday, January 9, 2021
Wednesday, January 6, 2021
Right This Second is The Beginning of the End of Trumpism
The swarming of the Capital (turn on your TV) is, in my view, a positive development.
The spittle-flecked violent nuts and hoodlums perpetrating this are utterly beyond reason. They've always been out here, and will always remain. I don't waste much time thinking about them.
I'm thinking entirely about my Republican friends and neighbors - nice, reasonable people who for various reasons (largely: tribal momentum, political underinformation - they're busy! - and misinformation via Fox News) supported Trump while disliking lots of things about him.
They are (mostly) not spittle-flecked, and have not enjoyed Trump's post-election antics. They're sensible enough to recognize a sore loser. And they're not going to be cool with armed insurrection in the US Capital. This will only help the fever to break.
This is not hoodlums and brownshirts taking over. This is edge case extremists emboldened to sufficient excess to lose their tether with the tens of millions on the center right. This is too far.
To be sure, one or two of my neighbors are likely stoked with this news. But not most of them. And foundational societal movement - especially the critical inclination of Americans to revert to the mean - is about majorities, not edge cases.
We've been hearing about the Civil War in the Republican Party this week - first among Georgia Republicans, but very quickly spreading to Washington (see Mitch McConnell's speech today and Pence's letter, both breaking free of the cult), and now it's super-rapidly consumed the country. This isn't MAGAs versus Libtards (as these crazies in DC imagine). It's center right versus radical right. This is where the center begins to unhitch from the extreme. It's by no means the death of Trumpism, but it's definitely the beginning of the end.
The spittle-flecked violent nuts and hoodlums perpetrating this are utterly beyond reason. They've always been out here, and will always remain. I don't waste much time thinking about them.
I'm thinking entirely about my Republican friends and neighbors - nice, reasonable people who for various reasons (largely: tribal momentum, political underinformation - they're busy! - and misinformation via Fox News) supported Trump while disliking lots of things about him.
They are (mostly) not spittle-flecked, and have not enjoyed Trump's post-election antics. They're sensible enough to recognize a sore loser. And they're not going to be cool with armed insurrection in the US Capital. This will only help the fever to break.
This is not hoodlums and brownshirts taking over. This is edge case extremists emboldened to sufficient excess to lose their tether with the tens of millions on the center right. This is too far.
To be sure, one or two of my neighbors are likely stoked with this news. But not most of them. And foundational societal movement - especially the critical inclination of Americans to revert to the mean - is about majorities, not edge cases.
We've been hearing about the Civil War in the Republican Party this week - first among Georgia Republicans, but very quickly spreading to Washington (see Mitch McConnell's speech today and Pence's letter, both breaking free of the cult), and now it's super-rapidly consumed the country. This isn't MAGAs versus Libtards (as these crazies in DC imagine). It's center right versus radical right. This is where the center begins to unhitch from the extreme. It's by no means the death of Trumpism, but it's definitely the beginning of the end.
The Big Lie
Many families have a Big Lie, or even several. You know; the thing everyone knows to never mention.
It amounts to a curse placed by elders on their loved ones.
The kids are never directly instructed, because that would require talking about it. So they're forced to glean their marching orders from nonverbal feedback. And they don't know where it ends. The embargo might be about one certain thing - one realm - or it might encompass half the world. They have no way of knowing, because you won't explain, because non-discussion is the whole point.
From the parents' perspective, it's clear enough: simply stay away from this one certain subject. Easy! Aside from that, sure, truth, honesty, and knowing are highly valued. The parents see a crisp boundary.
But the children don't experience this crispness. The Dark Matter feels like an indeterminate blob, and they can only conclude that truth is pliable at best. One can't revere truth while silently harboring falsehood. Parents think they've simply created an exception - a trivial carve-out from the greater good that is Truth. But kids are left wondering where to draw the line. Which way is up, and which way is down?
The inevitable result of Big Lies - in the "micro" of family or the "macro" of nation - is the feeling of living under autocracy, where leaders dictate Truth itself. Life becomes essentially truthless when indeterminate cut-outs silently lurk.
If your family harbors a Big Lie, consider whether its repression is worth cursing your kids to queasy truthlessness. Remember, the cut-out was carved on your terms and you've left them no determinate map. You own the compartmentalization, and while you can easily see its contours, your no-mention policy leaves those around you struggling through a dark maze of indeterminate scope. A gulag.
Consider sitting down your kids (even if they're grown) and finally talking it through. Give them some closure; some sensation of ground beneath their feet; some reassurance that truth isn't an empty affirmation to be sneered at whenever inconvenient. Free them from the gulag, even if the truth is unflattering to you or to the myths that prop up your self-esteem.
It amounts to a curse placed by elders on their loved ones.
The kids are never directly instructed, because that would require talking about it. So they're forced to glean their marching orders from nonverbal feedback. And they don't know where it ends. The embargo might be about one certain thing - one realm - or it might encompass half the world. They have no way of knowing, because you won't explain, because non-discussion is the whole point.
From the parents' perspective, it's clear enough: simply stay away from this one certain subject. Easy! Aside from that, sure, truth, honesty, and knowing are highly valued. The parents see a crisp boundary.
But the children don't experience this crispness. The Dark Matter feels like an indeterminate blob, and they can only conclude that truth is pliable at best. One can't revere truth while silently harboring falsehood. Parents think they've simply created an exception - a trivial carve-out from the greater good that is Truth. But kids are left wondering where to draw the line. Which way is up, and which way is down?
The inevitable result of Big Lies - in the "micro" of family or the "macro" of nation - is the feeling of living under autocracy, where leaders dictate Truth itself. Life becomes essentially truthless when indeterminate cut-outs silently lurk.
If your family harbors a Big Lie, consider whether its repression is worth cursing your kids to queasy truthlessness. Remember, the cut-out was carved on your terms and you've left them no determinate map. You own the compartmentalization, and while you can easily see its contours, your no-mention policy leaves those around you struggling through a dark maze of indeterminate scope. A gulag.
Consider sitting down your kids (even if they're grown) and finally talking it through. Give them some closure; some sensation of ground beneath their feet; some reassurance that truth isn't an empty affirmation to be sneered at whenever inconvenient. Free them from the gulag, even if the truth is unflattering to you or to the myths that prop up your self-esteem.
Tuesday, January 5, 2021
How I Screwed Up (and the utter serendipity of my sole success)
Here's my life arc explained in a single short paragraph (a feat of framing! It's taken many many years to back up the camera far enough to capture this wide a shot):
"But, wait!" you object. "Chowhound was really good! It wasn't successful simply because web sites happened to be fashionable!"
Well, being good certainly didn't hurt us. But plenty of operations from that era prospered without being the least bit heartfelt, thoughtful, or cleverly innovative.
"But, wait!" you object. "The form - the media - doesn't matter! It's all about the content! To say you've built a smartphone app or write a blog tells people nothing about how useful and compelling your's is!"
Sure! Hey, that reminds me to invite you to swing by my exceptionally creative MySpace page! I know, I know...MySpace sucks. But - really! - I've done something extremely cool there! Come see! Hey, why aren't you clicking? Don't you wanna see it? Didn't you just say the form isn't the thing? Ok, well, then, would you maybe consider buying my brilliant 8-track tapes? Hello? Still there?
Mark my words. If you ever find yourself expecting to pitch something on the basis of "...but my version's better!", you are on the wrong track. First: quality barely counts at all. People can scarcely recognize quality, much less appreciate it. Second: masses are moved only by category, not iteration. If you're inexorably pulled to devote yourself to quality and iteration, fine, but don't expect more than a tiny handful to care, if that. I'm not being cynical, I'm being realistic.
If you devote yourself to doing quality (and not just posing at it), know that you have chosen the path of a spiritual renunciate. You are working to please God (or whatever transcendent higher construct you'd care to frame, from dead ancestors to a nondescript all-embracing Everythingness). There is no foothold in society for you. Genuinely good work that becomes popular does so despite its quality, not because of it.
Your best hope for society to take the least notice is to latch onto a hot, flashy, fashionable sector/form/realm and ride the greater wave. You might, incidentally, make it awesome, for your private sanity and satisfaction; for the proverbial "shits-and-giggles" (fortuitously, that's the best mind frame for producing quality, anyway: deep commitment fused with lightly bemused expectations).
Jazz was passé in the 80s and 90s. Blogs were passé in the 00s. Smartphone apps were passé in the 10s. Web sites, however, were sexy and appealing in 1997. And that's why Chowhound was my only undertaking that sparked any wide interest.
"But, wait!" you object. "Chowhound was really good! It wasn't successful simply because web sites happened to be fashionable!"
Well, being good certainly didn't hurt us. But plenty of operations from that era prospered without being the least bit heartfelt, thoughtful, or cleverly innovative.
"But, wait!" you object. "The form - the media - doesn't matter! It's all about the content! To say you've built a smartphone app or write a blog tells people nothing about how useful and compelling your's is!"
Sure! Hey, that reminds me to invite you to swing by my exceptionally creative MySpace page! I know, I know...MySpace sucks. But - really! - I've done something extremely cool there! Come see! Hey, why aren't you clicking? Don't you wanna see it? Didn't you just say the form isn't the thing? Ok, well, then, would you maybe consider buying my brilliant 8-track tapes? Hello? Still there?
Mark my words. If you ever find yourself expecting to pitch something on the basis of "...but my version's better!", you are on the wrong track. First: quality barely counts at all. People can scarcely recognize quality, much less appreciate it. Second: masses are moved only by category, not iteration. If you're inexorably pulled to devote yourself to quality and iteration, fine, but don't expect more than a tiny handful to care, if that. I'm not being cynical, I'm being realistic.
If you devote yourself to doing quality (and not just posing at it), know that you have chosen the path of a spiritual renunciate. You are working to please God (or whatever transcendent higher construct you'd care to frame, from dead ancestors to a nondescript all-embracing Everythingness). There is no foothold in society for you. Genuinely good work that becomes popular does so despite its quality, not because of it.
Your best hope for society to take the least notice is to latch onto a hot, flashy, fashionable sector/form/realm and ride the greater wave. You might, incidentally, make it awesome, for your private sanity and satisfaction; for the proverbial "shits-and-giggles" (fortuitously, that's the best mind frame for producing quality, anyway: deep commitment fused with lightly bemused expectations).
Sunday, January 3, 2021
Watch Me Write
Obviously, you'll want to open this video in full-screen (hit the icon in the lower right corner).
Several people have, over the years, peered over my shoulder while I wrote. I hate to see them do it, because my aphasia (difficulty finding certain words in real time) makes my writing process seem tiresome, and I worry that I'll stress them out. It's okay for me, because I've cultivated blithe patience via the acceptance of inviolable reality.
This is what professionals must do. Seasoned ice fishermen don't kibbitz about how frickin' cold it is. Urban bus drivers don't scowl at poor drivers. And professional house movers don't grunt and moan as they lift.But the upshot I've heard from such looky-loos has been surprising. Oddly, they often get something from their glimpse into my process. I suppose it's like "The Tortoise and the Hare" or the Special Olympics. An "inspiring display of perseverance" or whatever. It's so courageous to see the poor dear painstakingly struggle to rise above his constraints.
Whiney ice fishermen, scowling bus drivers, and moaning house movers don't last long. They're locked up somewhere, sipping broth.
So I figured it might be interesting to share here. One thing's for certain: this verifies my observation that writing = editing. As I noted on Twitter recently:
Writing = Editing, and ideas come from invisible magical fairies.
— Jim Leff (@jimleff) November 26, 2020
Friday, January 1, 2021
Logos and Eros
We live in the intersection of two waves, one viral and the other political (nationalist/populist). We are, per the apocryphal Chinese curse, "living in interesting times". And there's no greater sin than to live amid stress and challenge while failing to keep one's eyes wide open and soak in as much first-hand insight as one possibly can.
There's not much to learn amid boring tedium. So when it all starts roiling, we can emit a piercing infantile shriek until it all settles back down to tedium, or we can watch and learn. We could read about these patterns in books, but, to quote intellectual thought leader Marvin Pentz Gay Jr, "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing (Baby)".
Britain, no surprise (Boris and Donald being cut from the same cloth), is doing something monumentally stupid. Leaders there have convinced themselves that it would be fairer to delay the second vaccine dose for those already vaccinated, in order to allow a broader range ofvoters the population to receive a first dose sooner.
This is how politicians think. Unfortunately, it's not how scientists think, and vaccines are a scientific instrument. How will pushing the second dose forward a few weeks affect the immunization process? Forgive the technical jargon, but medical experts have responded with "Geez, who knows?"
This is what happens when government gets lopsided, and the right-brained "Let'sseem be fair and good and just" dominates the left-brained "Let's smartly game this out."
You likely visualize a blood-thirsty, raging, racist psychopath. But no. He's one of the gentlest, kindest, most reasonable people I've ever met. I've never seen him lose his temper in 35 years. He is incapable of unkindness, and will make himself helpful to anyone in any way. He'd take an hour to explain a complex issue for someone he can't stand and who'd asked impolitely. He's way nicer than you are.
If you empathize with - or at least try to understand - his perspective (which most people would resist doing, because its monstrousness seemingly disqualifies it from such consideration), you'll recognize that, beyond the obvious, er, issues, it is not intellectually unreasonable.
It's the sort of solution a computer would come up with. Input this: "Hatred and vengeance extending back centuries. No clear path forward. An entire planet endangered by a toxic, entrenched conflict that won't cool for generations, if ever." An output of "Nuke it all" follows impeccable computer logic, if not human judgement.
And this is why we don't run countries by computer logic. We actually do need politicians.
The reason my friend is so smart is because his mind works like a computer. He doesn't get bogged down with emotional hoo-haw. Normally, this is very effective for him. But the problem with surgically excising emotional hoo-haw is that at some point you'll unwittingly propose a solution built upon the cool computer logic everyone normally appreciates, but which really really really conflicts with all things human and good. If you don't self-impose a "gut check", all bets are off.
Having painstakingly trained himself to excise gut from cognition (with normally beneficial results), monstrousness can emerge from this otherwise lovely and reasonable person, leaving him hopelessly confused by the extremely hostile reaction to his thoughtful proposal.
Some of his friends have parted ways with him over this, which mystifies him. Having appreciated his cold hard logic for years, why would they suddenly turn against him for more of the same? It's reminiscent of how we turned viciously against the sort of people who are our war heroes, who work our vital dirty jobs, and who dug bodies from the smoldering 9/11 WTC pile, when their characteristic hard-boiled scoff-at-danger toughness led them to poo-poo face masks. Societal feedback can be maddeningly inconsistent.
We need all types. Emotional and intellectual and every gradation in between. I take a hippy-dippy "it takes all kinds" attitude, and don't expect any person to contain all human chunks in optimal proportion. I'm anthill-minded, with faith that the big picture will naturally come to balance - more or less, and in lumpy fits and starts. It's okay if many of us are partial people. We partial people have depth, while "complete"-seeming people (CSP) are rarely more than a single atom deep in any portion of their broad silhouette. I don't trust CSPs. They're inevitably mere veneers. They work on the seeming, not the being or doing. Fine for them, maybe, but useless for the rest of us. I respect narrow specialists.
My friend is partial, but he's a hell of a terrific specialist. He delivers his chunks with fantastic consistency, reliability, and flair. That said, I absolutely wouldn't want him to ever become president. Pure logical intellectualism is not (sorry, Plato) an apt guiding principle. You need softer-headed, warmer-hearted emotionalism in the mix, as well. I shudder to imagine a society led by parties incapable of gut-checks. Never put pure intellectuals in unchecked control. Yikes.
But the soft-heads in UK have fallen into the opposite excess. All soft-headedness and emotion, without a speck of frickin' logic.
Watch carefully. We're experiencing foundational historical processes first-hand.
There's not much to learn amid boring tedium. So when it all starts roiling, we can emit a piercing infantile shriek until it all settles back down to tedium, or we can watch and learn. We could read about these patterns in books, but, to quote intellectual thought leader Marvin Pentz Gay Jr, "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing (Baby)".
Britain, no surprise (Boris and Donald being cut from the same cloth), is doing something monumentally stupid. Leaders there have convinced themselves that it would be fairer to delay the second vaccine dose for those already vaccinated, in order to allow a broader range of
This is how politicians think. Unfortunately, it's not how scientists think, and vaccines are a scientific instrument. How will pushing the second dose forward a few weeks affect the immunization process? Forgive the technical jargon, but medical experts have responded with "Geez, who knows?"
This is what happens when government gets lopsided, and the right-brained "Let's
One can easily empathize with the perspective (framing!): "We have 30 carrots and 60 hungry people. So we'll slice each carrot in half, and await fresh carrots! Voila! Solomonic wisdom!"One of my friends is among the smarter people walking this Earth, and some time ago he arrived at a solution for the Middle East mess: nuke it. Nuke it all. Remove the people, remove the problem, as well as the ongoing spillover from the problem which has been the engine for such mayhem in this world.
My empathy does not signify agreement (though cultural blocks against empathizing-while-disagreeing are so fundamental that the inhibition is even baked into our language. Never empathize with stupid! Never empathize with crazy! Doing so marks you as a facilitator/appeaser of stupid/craziness!). So while I can understand and empathize, my objection is easily stated: Vaccines aren't like carrots, you grotesque morons.
You likely visualize a blood-thirsty, raging, racist psychopath. But no. He's one of the gentlest, kindest, most reasonable people I've ever met. I've never seen him lose his temper in 35 years. He is incapable of unkindness, and will make himself helpful to anyone in any way. He'd take an hour to explain a complex issue for someone he can't stand and who'd asked impolitely. He's way nicer than you are.
If you empathize with - or at least try to understand - his perspective (which most people would resist doing, because its monstrousness seemingly disqualifies it from such consideration), you'll recognize that, beyond the obvious, er, issues, it is not intellectually unreasonable.
It's the sort of solution a computer would come up with. Input this: "Hatred and vengeance extending back centuries. No clear path forward. An entire planet endangered by a toxic, entrenched conflict that won't cool for generations, if ever." An output of "Nuke it all" follows impeccable computer logic, if not human judgement.
And this is why we don't run countries by computer logic. We actually do need politicians.
The reason my friend is so smart is because his mind works like a computer. He doesn't get bogged down with emotional hoo-haw. Normally, this is very effective for him. But the problem with surgically excising emotional hoo-haw is that at some point you'll unwittingly propose a solution built upon the cool computer logic everyone normally appreciates, but which really really really conflicts with all things human and good. If you don't self-impose a "gut check", all bets are off.
Having painstakingly trained himself to excise gut from cognition (with normally beneficial results), monstrousness can emerge from this otherwise lovely and reasonable person, leaving him hopelessly confused by the extremely hostile reaction to his thoughtful proposal.
Some of his friends have parted ways with him over this, which mystifies him. Having appreciated his cold hard logic for years, why would they suddenly turn against him for more of the same? It's reminiscent of how we turned viciously against the sort of people who are our war heroes, who work our vital dirty jobs, and who dug bodies from the smoldering 9/11 WTC pile, when their characteristic hard-boiled scoff-at-danger toughness led them to poo-poo face masks. Societal feedback can be maddeningly inconsistent.
We need all types. Emotional and intellectual and every gradation in between. I take a hippy-dippy "it takes all kinds" attitude, and don't expect any person to contain all human chunks in optimal proportion. I'm anthill-minded, with faith that the big picture will naturally come to balance - more or less, and in lumpy fits and starts. It's okay if many of us are partial people. We partial people have depth, while "complete"-seeming people (CSP) are rarely more than a single atom deep in any portion of their broad silhouette. I don't trust CSPs. They're inevitably mere veneers. They work on the seeming, not the being or doing. Fine for them, maybe, but useless for the rest of us. I respect narrow specialists.
My friend is partial, but he's a hell of a terrific specialist. He delivers his chunks with fantastic consistency, reliability, and flair. That said, I absolutely wouldn't want him to ever become president. Pure logical intellectualism is not (sorry, Plato) an apt guiding principle. You need softer-headed, warmer-hearted emotionalism in the mix, as well. I shudder to imagine a society led by parties incapable of gut-checks. Never put pure intellectuals in unchecked control. Yikes.
But the soft-heads in UK have fallen into the opposite excess. All soft-headedness and emotion, without a speck of frickin' logic.
Watch carefully. We're experiencing foundational historical processes first-hand.
Thursday, December 31, 2020
Another Year in Paradise
I like to observe that we are experiencing the worst case scenario feared by the smartest authorities for decades. A century from now, we'll be remembered with pity. And yet....here we still are, same as ever, albeit masked. This is the low point? This? Seriously? We've been bowling in an alley with raised gutters!
Inevitably, someone hears this and grows indignant, informing me that it's easy for me to gloat. I don't have covid. I'm not a healthcare worker, etc etc. The curse for those holding unconventional perspectives is that people assume we're failing to "get" the obvious. So I find myself lectured a lot about basic issues of the human experience. COVID's bad, mmkay? My odd-seeming gratitude and satisfaction could - and absolutely should - be constrained if I'm properly educated about how people are having very real problems out there.
To them, I say this:
Has there been a year of human history - a day, an hour, a moment - where multitudes weren't enduring difficulty? Is that what you're waiting for? Would that be the condition where you'd tolerate expression of joy and satisfaction? If so, geez, Louise, the perspective you've framed for yourself dooms you to misery. You've sealed your fate. Enjoy unmitigated suckiness.
The people bitterly complaining about 2020 - who are the same people who whined about 2019, 2018, 2017, etc. (an unbroken chain of unsatisfactory suboptimality) - are not the ones in ICUs with tubes down their throats, nor are they the health care workers bravely attending to them. Those folks are all busy. They have no time for whining on Facebook. People confronting actual problems don't reflect over their disappointment. Whining's the exclusive domain of the comfortable.
The aggrieved express their aggrievement on gleaming super-computers while ensconsed comfortably in comfortable homes, warm and well-fed, enjoying vastly more security, comfort, entertainment, and interconnectivity than their ancestors could have imagined. Those who are anxious to kick awful, awful 2020 in its ass live as aristocrats while framing themselves as oppressed and persecuted. Like princes and princesses for time immemorial, they are increasingly vexed by ever-diminishing mattress peas. And they sneer at those with the temerity to propose they be grateful and happy when it's not all precisely the way they like it.
In 2020 the worst thing (short of war) happened and here we are; with goofy masks, sure, but otherwise still us, still here, still doing our thing. Trump's circling the drain and we enjoy all human knowledge, entertainment, art, and communications on slabs of glass in our pockets. No lions or warlords have poised themselves for imminent attack. No death from infections from papercuts. We're free to lounge back in comfort and complain about our immense disappointment. It's fucking fantastic!
Here's how we expel ourselves from Paradise.
Inevitably, someone hears this and grows indignant, informing me that it's easy for me to gloat. I don't have covid. I'm not a healthcare worker, etc etc. The curse for those holding unconventional perspectives is that people assume we're failing to "get" the obvious. So I find myself lectured a lot about basic issues of the human experience. COVID's bad, mmkay? My odd-seeming gratitude and satisfaction could - and absolutely should - be constrained if I'm properly educated about how people are having very real problems out there.
To them, I say this:
Has there been a year of human history - a day, an hour, a moment - where multitudes weren't enduring difficulty? Is that what you're waiting for? Would that be the condition where you'd tolerate expression of joy and satisfaction? If so, geez, Louise, the perspective you've framed for yourself dooms you to misery. You've sealed your fate. Enjoy unmitigated suckiness.
The people bitterly complaining about 2020 - who are the same people who whined about 2019, 2018, 2017, etc. (an unbroken chain of unsatisfactory suboptimality) - are not the ones in ICUs with tubes down their throats, nor are they the health care workers bravely attending to them. Those folks are all busy. They have no time for whining on Facebook. People confronting actual problems don't reflect over their disappointment. Whining's the exclusive domain of the comfortable.
The aggrieved express their aggrievement on gleaming super-computers while ensconsed comfortably in comfortable homes, warm and well-fed, enjoying vastly more security, comfort, entertainment, and interconnectivity than their ancestors could have imagined. Those who are anxious to kick awful, awful 2020 in its ass live as aristocrats while framing themselves as oppressed and persecuted. Like princes and princesses for time immemorial, they are increasingly vexed by ever-diminishing mattress peas. And they sneer at those with the temerity to propose they be grateful and happy when it's not all precisely the way they like it.
In 2020 the worst thing (short of war) happened and here we are; with goofy masks, sure, but otherwise still us, still here, still doing our thing. Trump's circling the drain and we enjoy all human knowledge, entertainment, art, and communications on slabs of glass in our pockets. No lions or warlords have poised themselves for imminent attack. No death from infections from papercuts. We're free to lounge back in comfort and complain about our immense disappointment. It's fucking fantastic!
Here's how we expel ourselves from Paradise.
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
Viruses (e.g. COVID-19) and Sleep
I've had a long-time health trick. Whenever I have a lingering cold, virus, or bug of some sort that just won't go away, I cancel everything and plunge into what I call "malarial sleep mode", and I don't emerge until I'm absolutely 100%. I guess this is what parents of previous generations were trying to encourage when they made kids stay in bed. Of course, we'd only watch TV and play with toys and read. Nowadays, with our devices, no one sleeps, really, ever. We just mainline coffee.
Turns out we're starting to understand the connection between sleep and illness, and it's all about melatonin (note: don't just take melatonin pills, for reasons aluded to in the article). Sleep may affect how susceptible you are to COVID, how bad your symptoms get, how long they persist, and even how well the vaccine works for you. Read "The Mysterious Link Between COVID-19 and Sleep" in the new issue of The Atlantic.
I've tried to be diligent about sleep all along through this crisis. I've ratcheted up the priority of a full night's sleep; I won't blithely shrug it off and figure I'll catch up the next night. I've broken appointments (via email) at 3 am during insomnia periods. I've also worked on my falling-asleep skills.
Turns out we're starting to understand the connection between sleep and illness, and it's all about melatonin (note: don't just take melatonin pills, for reasons aluded to in the article). Sleep may affect how susceptible you are to COVID, how bad your symptoms get, how long they persist, and even how well the vaccine works for you. Read "The Mysterious Link Between COVID-19 and Sleep" in the new issue of The Atlantic.
I've tried to be diligent about sleep all along through this crisis. I've ratcheted up the priority of a full night's sleep; I won't blithely shrug it off and figure I'll catch up the next night. I've broken appointments (via email) at 3 am during insomnia periods. I've also worked on my falling-asleep skills.
Saturday, December 26, 2020
Solid Clear Examples
...of perceptual framing.
Some readers complain that I keep touting the benefits of reframing without ever pinning down the actual phenomenon. But I've offered hundreds of examples. In fact, this entire Slog is nothing but reframings (that's my secret crappy little trick for coughing up fresh "takes" and surprising conclusions. I'm not particularly smart, but I reframe like a mo-fo). But, happy new year, I'll offer some rock solid examples of everyday reframing that anyone can relate to.
Bathroom Floor
I tore a ligament in my foot in June and, over these months, have had more ice on my foot than a glacier-preserved woolly mammoth. At first, I used a dish towel to separate my delicate flesh from the frigid ice, and would count the seconds. By September, I was slapping the ice bag directly over my foot and drowsing comfortably until the timer rang. And now, in December, when I venture barefoot into the perilous downstairs bathroom with the unbearably cold tiled floor, I stride in like it's absolutely nothing. It feels like strolling the beach on Maui. I can't imagine how it ever tormented me; I giggle at the memory of my suffering. My foot's the same foot, and the floor’s just as cold, but, mentally, I have reframed.
Thing is, I could have done so without months of ice. All that's required is an imperceptible mental shift...and an infinity of shifts is available in every situation at any moment. We falsely assume the world forces our reactions, so our habitual responses feel predetermined. They're not. They're volitional. We're free.
Similarly, years ago when I'd get a parking ticket, I'd curse, have my day ruined, and send a check. Now that I'm no longer scraping pennies as a freelance musician, when I get parking tickets, I don't curse, I don't have my day ruined, and I send a check. Same outcome, less histrionic suffering...which, I now see, was always optional. My bank balance didn't relieve the suffering, my reframing did, and framing can shift in any direction at any time. The world can't trigger you. You're free. To recognize this is to experience the liberation folks used to whisper about in awestruck reverence.
Michael Jordan
In the great basketball documentary "The Last Dance" (watch on Netflix here), Michael Jordan is seen doing the same mental maneuver again and again. The film doesn't analyze it, but it's a constant throughout his extraordinary career. And one would be foolish to ignore it, as it's clearly Jordan's secret sauce:
Whenever an opposing player says something negative, or cocky, Jordan marinates in it. Stews in it. And draws from that gurgling pot whenever he finds himself up against that opponent.
You might say he "holds a grudge", but that's not quite it. It's not about the other guy, or the thing the other guy said. This is entirely propogated inside of Jordan's head. A shift of perspective. In fact, when Jordan didn't have anything to latch on to, he'd make up a story, and suck on that fiction like a nourishing lozenge.
There are many words one could assign to this maneuver. "Emotionality". "Psyching up". "Grudging". But no. What it is is reframing. Every other player would come to work and try to sink baskets. That's the universe they're in. Jordan is in another universe entirely; fighting holy wars and smiting evil. That explains how he played like someone in another universe Reframing unlocks extraordinary results.
You needn't wait for the world to present an excuse. You can shift perspective at will, by simply remembering that you can. And once you do, you'll find yourself in a different universe, as Jordan did.
Most of us have shifted into a universe of grim wearisome flatness. That's where we stew and marinate; that's the lozenge we suck. It's clearly not productive, but we assume the world has forced this perspective upon us. Uh-uh. That's backwards. By relinquishing our shift-ability, we allow perspective to freeze - and a monochromatic world of drudging boredom ensues. This is especially common in a wealthy, comfortable, non-perilous society, where shifts are rarely compelled by existential threats. Here in paradise, we must reclaim our natural shifting litheness or else be lost to depression.
Pancakes, Divorce, Pancakes
There was a great (but inconsistent) TV series a couple of years ago on Comedy Central called "Review". The show's host, Forrest MacNeil, (played by comedian Andy Daly) would review "real life experiences" - whatever the audience threw at him. Problem: his quietly sadistic producer (played, naturally, by James Urbaniak) used the opportunity to torture MacNeil.
And Forrest MacNeil was really really really committed to earnestly going through with each and every challenge. In fact, the show was a satire about the perils of over-commitment.
The third show of season one was "Pancakes, Divorce, Pancakes", and it's a great work of art (watch for free here if you subscribe to AppleTV, or scroll down this page and buy the episode from Amazon for $1.99, or watch for free online by signing in with your cable provider). It clearly and persuasively illustrates the power of shifted perspective (i.e. reframing).
In the show's first segment, MacNeil is asked to review the experience of eating 15 pancakes. He groans and whines and slogs through the task and vomits in the parking lot. It's an ordeal.
In the second segment, MacNeil is asked to review the experience of divorce. With great trepidation, he goes home and informs his beloved wife that her services are no longer required. It doesn't go well.
The third segment starts with MacNeil prone on the studio floor, cursing himself for actually consenting to divorce his wife just for a stupid TV show. Then, for his third challenge, MacNeil is asked (because his producer is a dick) to review the experience of eating 30 pancakes.
MacNeil heads back to the diner under this voiceover:
Framing!
The Astronaut
I linked to this excerpt from a not-great movie a bunch of times before I went on my tear about perceptual framing. I didn't have words at the time to explain the move being described, but it was a sort of mental judo I'd been using all my life in order to cope, to advance, to conjure creativity and epiphany, and to escape from sticky wickets of every type. And more!
People hate this damned video. The woman's sappy and annoying, and the vibe is a nauseating amalgam of smugness and potpourri. Yet what she's saying is the key to life. It's Truth. And I'm not surprised it irritates people, because if humans were attracted to Truth (or even just slightly less repulsed by it), this would be a very different world. So try to overcome your aversion and check it out.
It describes the only bona fide magic trick in this world, and nearly everyone's missed it in plain sight. Reframing cures depression, unfickles the muses of inspiration, and helps you recognize you're residing in Heaven.
When I was a freshman in college, I discovered (via the metaphor of ironing) that dicking around with the universe isn't worth much, but full-out flips can transform. You can't do much to change the world, but you can always shift your perspective. And from reclaiming that pliancy, anything's possible. It's backwards to wait for the world to coax a shift. You’re the shifter. You frame the world, not the other way around, though few of us ever notice (even the incomparable Michael Jordan needlessly rooted around for external snippets to prompt internal shifts of framing).
Jordan was "something else". An astronaut could go from torture chamber to bliss in the blink of an eye. A cold tile floor feels like a tropical beach. And Forrest MacNeil effortlessly gobbles up 30 pancakes. It's all about how you frame things.
Some readers complain that I keep touting the benefits of reframing without ever pinning down the actual phenomenon. But I've offered hundreds of examples. In fact, this entire Slog is nothing but reframings (that's my secret crappy little trick for coughing up fresh "takes" and surprising conclusions. I'm not particularly smart, but I reframe like a mo-fo). But, happy new year, I'll offer some rock solid examples of everyday reframing that anyone can relate to.
I tore a ligament in my foot in June and, over these months, have had more ice on my foot than a glacier-preserved woolly mammoth. At first, I used a dish towel to separate my delicate flesh from the frigid ice, and would count the seconds. By September, I was slapping the ice bag directly over my foot and drowsing comfortably until the timer rang. And now, in December, when I venture barefoot into the perilous downstairs bathroom with the unbearably cold tiled floor, I stride in like it's absolutely nothing. It feels like strolling the beach on Maui. I can't imagine how it ever tormented me; I giggle at the memory of my suffering. My foot's the same foot, and the floor’s just as cold, but, mentally, I have reframed.
Thing is, I could have done so without months of ice. All that's required is an imperceptible mental shift...and an infinity of shifts is available in every situation at any moment. We falsely assume the world forces our reactions, so our habitual responses feel predetermined. They're not. They're volitional. We're free.
Similarly, years ago when I'd get a parking ticket, I'd curse, have my day ruined, and send a check. Now that I'm no longer scraping pennies as a freelance musician, when I get parking tickets, I don't curse, I don't have my day ruined, and I send a check. Same outcome, less histrionic suffering...which, I now see, was always optional. My bank balance didn't relieve the suffering, my reframing did, and framing can shift in any direction at any time. The world can't trigger you. You're free. To recognize this is to experience the liberation folks used to whisper about in awestruck reverence.
In the great basketball documentary "The Last Dance" (watch on Netflix here), Michael Jordan is seen doing the same mental maneuver again and again. The film doesn't analyze it, but it's a constant throughout his extraordinary career. And one would be foolish to ignore it, as it's clearly Jordan's secret sauce:
Whenever an opposing player says something negative, or cocky, Jordan marinates in it. Stews in it. And draws from that gurgling pot whenever he finds himself up against that opponent.
You might say he "holds a grudge", but that's not quite it. It's not about the other guy, or the thing the other guy said. This is entirely propogated inside of Jordan's head. A shift of perspective. In fact, when Jordan didn't have anything to latch on to, he'd make up a story, and suck on that fiction like a nourishing lozenge.
There are many words one could assign to this maneuver. "Emotionality". "Psyching up". "Grudging". But no. What it is is reframing. Every other player would come to work and try to sink baskets. That's the universe they're in. Jordan is in another universe entirely; fighting holy wars and smiting evil. That explains how he played like someone in another universe Reframing unlocks extraordinary results.
You needn't wait for the world to present an excuse. You can shift perspective at will, by simply remembering that you can. And once you do, you'll find yourself in a different universe, as Jordan did.
Most of us have shifted into a universe of grim wearisome flatness. That's where we stew and marinate; that's the lozenge we suck. It's clearly not productive, but we assume the world has forced this perspective upon us. Uh-uh. That's backwards. By relinquishing our shift-ability, we allow perspective to freeze - and a monochromatic world of drudging boredom ensues. This is especially common in a wealthy, comfortable, non-perilous society, where shifts are rarely compelled by existential threats. Here in paradise, we must reclaim our natural shifting litheness or else be lost to depression.
There was a great (but inconsistent) TV series a couple of years ago on Comedy Central called "Review". The show's host, Forrest MacNeil, (played by comedian Andy Daly) would review "real life experiences" - whatever the audience threw at him. Problem: his quietly sadistic producer (played, naturally, by James Urbaniak) used the opportunity to torture MacNeil.
And Forrest MacNeil was really really really committed to earnestly going through with each and every challenge. In fact, the show was a satire about the perils of over-commitment.
Yes, one of the prime tenets of this Slog is that loopy mega-commitment is responsible for all transcendence. It's the thing that separates us from livestock. But, duh, you mustn't commit mindlessly. Capriciously, yes. Playfully, sure. But never mindlessly. Mindless commitment is what makes people count every Toyota they ever pass, which isn't actually good for anything.Anyhoo...
The third show of season one was "Pancakes, Divorce, Pancakes", and it's a great work of art (watch for free here if you subscribe to AppleTV, or scroll down this page and buy the episode from Amazon for $1.99, or watch for free online by signing in with your cable provider). It clearly and persuasively illustrates the power of shifted perspective (i.e. reframing).
In the show's first segment, MacNeil is asked to review the experience of eating 15 pancakes. He groans and whines and slogs through the task and vomits in the parking lot. It's an ordeal.
In the second segment, MacNeil is asked to review the experience of divorce. With great trepidation, he goes home and informs his beloved wife that her services are no longer required. It doesn't go well.
The third segment starts with MacNeil prone on the studio floor, cursing himself for actually consenting to divorce his wife just for a stupid TV show. Then, for his third challenge, MacNeil is asked (because his producer is a dick) to review the experience of eating 30 pancakes.
MacNeil heads back to the diner under this voiceover:
"It would be challenging to find meaning in any life experience, now that my life had no meaning. The idea of eating twice the number of pancakes that laid me so low last time should have filled me with a sense of dread or fear. But I felt nothing. I greeted the prospect of all this pan-fried dough with only a vast empty numbness."He sits down in the diner booth, and, with nothing left to live for, numbly and mechanically rams down all 30 without pausing.
Framing!
I linked to this excerpt from a not-great movie a bunch of times before I went on my tear about perceptual framing. I didn't have words at the time to explain the move being described, but it was a sort of mental judo I'd been using all my life in order to cope, to advance, to conjure creativity and epiphany, and to escape from sticky wickets of every type. And more!
People hate this damned video. The woman's sappy and annoying, and the vibe is a nauseating amalgam of smugness and potpourri. Yet what she's saying is the key to life. It's Truth. And I'm not surprised it irritates people, because if humans were attracted to Truth (or even just slightly less repulsed by it), this would be a very different world. So try to overcome your aversion and check it out.
It describes the only bona fide magic trick in this world, and nearly everyone's missed it in plain sight. Reframing cures depression, unfickles the muses of inspiration, and helps you recognize you're residing in Heaven.
When I was a freshman in college, I discovered (via the metaphor of ironing) that dicking around with the universe isn't worth much, but full-out flips can transform. You can't do much to change the world, but you can always shift your perspective. And from reclaiming that pliancy, anything's possible. It's backwards to wait for the world to coax a shift. You’re the shifter. You frame the world, not the other way around, though few of us ever notice (even the incomparable Michael Jordan needlessly rooted around for external snippets to prompt internal shifts of framing).
Jordan was "something else". An astronaut could go from torture chamber to bliss in the blink of an eye. A cold tile floor feels like a tropical beach. And Forrest MacNeil effortlessly gobbles up 30 pancakes. It's all about how you frame things.
Saturday, December 19, 2020
When Monsters Flee
What is different is these are NOT the Never Trumper types. These are people who have fully thrown their lot in with Trump but are legitimately worried about his receptivity to Flynn and Powell’s ideas and conspiracy theories. One month seems like an eternity in this context. https://t.co/7t5oWkg1ht
— Jonathan Swan (@jonathanvswan) December 19, 2020
As a leader sinks deeper and deeper into tyranny, fantasy, and fuckery, the "opposition" comes to include an increasing number of bona fide extremists who won't go THAT extreme.
Michael Cohen is not a great guy. John Bolton is not a great guy. Georgia governor Kemp is as Trumpy as Desantis. I welcome them all to the fight without reservation (we've begged insiders to "speak up" for years, so we mustn't rebuff those who do), but it's a fantastic study in relativism.
We talk about the "lobster boil" effect: if you raise water temperature gradually enough, lobsters never realize they're being cooked. We are adaptable creatures, which is a blessing and a curse. It can be hard to gauge where we’re at.
But here's the yardstick: gauge by the awfulness of the characters peeling off and saying “enough”. When monsters flee in disgust - when even a Bill Barr gets fed up - that’s a problem.
And, again, let's welcome the monsters back to civilization. Monster repatriation is a wonderful saving grace of this sort of crisis. Monsters gaining perspective is even better than monsters shunned and shamed.
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