My Old Blog

Albert Einstein said in 1954 (near the end of his life): “If I would be a young man again and had to decide how to make my living, I would not try to become a scientist or scholar or teacher. I would rather choose to be a plumber or a peddler in the hope to find that modest degree of independence still available under present circumstances.”

Mr. Einstein is a very smart man with a unique insight into the human psyche. Though even he would admit that longing for freedom from the demands of being an internationally famous scientist is understandable and not a justification to give it up in favor of plumbing. If he had been a plumber, there would always have been the nagging suspicion of unrealized potential.

He would’ve died in anonymity, ignored as he had the following thought: “If I would be a young man again and had to decide how to make my living, I would not try to become a plumber or a peddler. I would rather choose to be a scientist or scholar in the hope that I might leave mankind with some indelible mark and die knowing I did all that was possible.”

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, design a building, conn a ship, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve an equation, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” – Robert Heinlein

Specialization is not for insects. It is for workers in an industrialized world. Without it there would be only farms with family units desperately trying to be all things at once, excelling at nothing.

However, I like Mr. Heinlein’s quote and think that, while specialization does lead to an increased efficiency in the allocation of resources, it also leads to a lack of perspective, inability to empathize with others, and a disconnection from yourself. It is hard to fully develop as a person and understand your neighbors if you do only one thing.

I sometimes think we’ve traded life for something less but safer. Life and work were hard in the past. Now only work is hard and life is spent without real risk in a mind-numbing wage slavery. In some respects life is meant to be difficult and risky. The more you distill it into something manageable the farther you move from its essence.

A man could once feel good about the work he did. At the end of the day it was hard, but it made him able to stand proudly in any room. The house was built by his hands, the food raised by his family.

And then one day workers did not own their tools, did not own the product of their labour and did not make decisions as to the nature of their work. Rather than finding fulfilment and pride in their jobs, workers instead exhausted their mental and physical energies in an unrelenting pursuit of more, yet unable to identify more when they attained it.

In fact, the resiliency of capitalism stems partially from its ability to create new forms of psychological insecurity and material scarcity at the same time it eliminates the old forms. It creates a host of artificial needs and wants that can only be satisfied through a renewed commitment to work.

The constant struggle that once defined our lives is now re-defined as anxiety disorder and depression. We are cured of the pride we once felt in overcoming those obstacles by support groups, therapy and prescription drugs.

Don’t misunderstand me. What I want is an option for the present, not a return to the past. Why must we all work ourselves to death for plasma TVs and anti-lock brakes? Where is the other option? The one where I get to trade those long hours of work for life balance, personal growth, a rose garden, time with friends and hours at the library reading books about stuff that I’ll probably never do, but love to think about?

It is the lack of options that bothers me. Either we can work long hours and get ahead at the big job, or we can work long hours and not get ahead at the trade or mill job. Where is the job you can work 20 to 30 hours a week that doesn’t put you in government housing?

I am not glorifying the past. People once died in the streets by the thousands because we lacked basic santition and personal hygiene. In the winter they died from the cold. I don’t want to go back to the past…the good ol’ days weren’t all that good. What I want is an option for the present.

We had a family implosion tonight. (No I didn’t do anything)

For a moment I almost felt like I can only suppose people in normal families feel when there is a situation. You have a latent issue, an argument, fallout and then a resolution/compromise.

Of course we haven’t gotten to Fallout yet, and are no where near Resolution/Compromise. But you see my family (cough under breathe that means I’m talking about my father) is really remedial in that we never even get to the much vaunted and often occupied family state of Argument. We (cough=He) opts instead to replay Latent Issue over and over and over again.

Most of you know I am a basketball freak. I would play everyday if I could, and right now, being unemployed, I do just about that.

I am very particular about my basketball shoes. They must be black with high arches and good ankle support. I am ashamed to admit I often gladly pay over 100 bucks a pair….usually Nikes.

I generally went through a pair a year, replacing them at Christmas. Then, about 5 years ago, in a moment of serendipity, I ran across the finest pair of shoes on the planet. I loved them so much I wouldn’t play outside with them…..which is why they lasted 5 years.

They were/are the perfect shoe….and as Nike floods the market with new shoes every year they age like a fine wine….still the most perfect kicks ever to grace the hardwood.

Sadly, my shoes are dead. They will soon go to basketball heaven, which is the part of my closet that houses my worn-out high-tops….an assortment of sneakers that would make any collector proud.

Buying new basketball shoes is a little traumatic for me. I admit it. In fact, I didn’t want a new pair at all. I wanted the same pair, not a new, improved model but exactly the same shoe.

So I called Nike and it went like this:

Me: I want to buy a pair of shoes.
Them: Uhh….ok. What kind?
Me: You don’t make them anymore, but I think we’ll be able to figure it out. They’re really unique.
Them: Ok, tell me about them.
Me: They are a pair of black basketball shoes….(dramatic pause)
Them: …………..
Me: I pretty sure they’re the most expensive shoes you ever produced. They have a foamposite shell that surrounds a neoprene sock. They cost $180 when I bought them new about 5 years ago.

She couldn’t search by price, so she gave me the phone numbers of the largest outlet stores in the US (SF, NY and Miami). The dude in Miami was really knowledgable, so after one more call to Nike corporate I knew the shoe name and stock number: Foamposite Pro 630304-002

Problem was they didn’t have any left….anywhere in the United States.

So I did some research on the shoe. It turns out this shoe has a cult following and a history that reads like a Behind the Music.

It is the most expensive shoe Nike ever made. Management almost shut down development when they thought the shoe would have to retail for $400. The foamposite material took two years to develop, the molds alone cost almost a million dollars apiece and new machinery had to be invented to mass produce the shoe. Extra stability is provided through a carbon fiber base plate, the same material used in bullet proof vests.

Shoes are made in pieces and then stitched together to correspond to different sized feet. The Foamposite is the first (and still the only) unibody shoe ever made. Every size needed a different mold. The shoe is not stitched together; it is molded whole from liquid foamposite. The sole is simply the bottom part of the upper; the shell is one piece. The inside of the shoe is a neoprene glove. The foamposite materially is built to mold to your foot, literally. The longer you wear them, the more comfortable they get.

Nike brass almost axed the shoe once more when they said it would kill the footwear industry. Costs were out of control. No one would buy a $400 shoe so they would have to sell them below cost. Consumers would get accustomed to the unbelievable comfort and support and wouldn’t buy other shoes. The footwear industry would be stuck selling shoes at a loss.

Of course that didn’t happen, but they never really did get costs under control, so they quit making the shoe and, in effect, the footwear industry took a step backwards in quality and technology……but not me. I want the same pair.

So I bought a pair off Ebay for the excellent discount price of $144 (including shipping). It is nuts that someone is willing to pay 140 bucks for a shoe that originally came out in 1997 (I won the bidding in the last minute by $1).

Here is a picture of the Foamposite Pro:

There was a time I stayed awake till 7 in the morning, eyes bleeding red, in the dark, staring at this same screen. I made 8,000 dollars that night hitting refresh on the browser, trading stocks, thinking I knew everything. The headphones played Alanis Morisette – Uninvited, Sheryl Crow – Riverwide and Enya – China Roses while Peter slept on the inflatable mattress 6 feet away. I remember all that and the rain, grey like a dirty window, neon lights and pigs floating dead in the river. I remember cigarettes on the beach and confessing secrets and making prayers with those silly incense sticks.

There was a time I left Spain at midnight on a train to Morocco devouring pages of my journal hungry with dreams of snake charmers and desert campfires. I was leaving one of the best runs I ever had and knew it. The first day in Tangiers I almost turned around. I was scared for my life even though I had 5 years on the road by that time. Good thing I didn’t leave. I would’ve missed this:

There was work in Chile, lunch everyday alone to get away from the office, trying to imagine how to quit gracefully, wondering at how most of the modern world can drag themselves through that gutter everyday. I remember calling my dad from the street, looking up at the skyscrapers, telling him how depressed I was. It probably was the worst I’ve ever felt, not in a sad way, but in a desperate way. Sundays I would wake late after a long night of drinking and wander Santiago aimlessly trying to feel far away, to forget that work was Monday. I would watch people in parks and restaurants with their friends and be pleased with what I imagined their lives were like.

There was that time in Israel I put up a flyer saying I was too lazy/drunk to hit on women but that if they wanted to sleep with me I was staying in room 22. We all laughed when I put it up. We laughed about everything in those days. What’s even funnier is that someone actually took me up on it. I still keep in touch with her. Here is a picture of the Moon (the flyer was on a bulletin board inside):

There was that evening in…..actually fuck it. I could go on like this forever. I have a thousand stories like these.

This is what I wrote as I left Salamanca that night:

I´m going to shave my head and catch a bus to Morocco tonight at midnight…me, the journal, a few books, and the thought that I´ve done the best i could here…I´m content…I´m younger than I´ve ever been. For me to say I´ve been lucky is almost blasphemy because i know little of it has been luck, but I´ve been lucky still. Its so hard to recover from the time of your life. The years keep rolling by and there is so much for me to miss, because there has been so much for me to love.

As true now as the day I wrote it.

More is better. The post is about this article and I even went through the painful ordeal of reading the lecture.

In his Richard T. Ely lecture to the American Economic Association in 2002, economist Edward Prescott of the University of Minnesota concluded that almost all of the difference in living standards between the U.S. and France is accounted for by the impact of taxes on work. He notes that while the capital/output ratio is about the same in both countries, French workers work 30 percent less, due entirely to the much heavier French tax burden on labor. Prof. Prescott concluded that if France had the U.S. tax system, the French standard of living would immediately rise by 20 percent.

This brillant observation points out that if the French worked 30% more their standard of living would rise to American levels. I hope Mr. Prescott did not receive any special merit for pointing out that the French would make more money if they worked more.

Does anyone see an issue with equating more work and more money with a higher standard of living?

Here is my brillant observation: If the French work 30% more they will have 30% less free time. Is that really an increase in living standards?? I’d be upset if I worked 30% more and only received a 20% increase in “living standards”. Where did the other 10% go?

Mr. Prescott’s research isn’t really about the living standard question. It is about the effect of taxation on one’s willingness to work. He proposes that if you are taxed less, you will work more. In effect you will choose work over leisure time because there is more reward for working.

That sounds right, not that it matters what I think sounds good. I am just always amazed by the assumption that more money equals a better life. In a country where money is plentiful and no one is satisfied with it, it troubles me that the assumption lies unquestioned.

I’ve been to Starbucks almost everday since I’ve been home. Its inside the Barnes and Noble.

Books and coffee, oh how I love thee. Let me count the ways:

1) Most people get a coffee and skim articles in People or Newsweek. Yesterday I read a whole book about buying and selling real estate. It took me two cups of coffee to finish it. I’m beginning to feel like Young Flannigan in Cocktail. Anyone want to open a business in a foreign country?

2) College?? Education?? There is more in Barnes and Noble than I will ever be able to know….and its all free. All I have to do is get wired on excellent Starbucks® coffee and start speed reading until I’m shaking and dehydrated from all the caffeine. Do you know how many cups of coffee I could buy with money I’ve given to colleges?

3) Did you ever go to the bottom floor of your university library, back in the catacombs and feel that one of those old dusty tomes contained exactly what you were looking for, that if you just picked the right book it would lead you to the treasure of One Eyed Willy?? Well, it still feels like that sometimes….minus the dusty part.

4) What great and nice people!! Although I could never talk to any of them for fear of ruining my fantasy, there is a whole store of people quitely searching for their inner peace, walking pensively, reading, considering all the ways they are about to make the world a better place….and all for 10% less with their Barnes and Noble discount card.

I could go on, but I won’t.

I finally talked to the regional recruiter for Starbucks today about opening a free standing store in Greenville. He said they will open their first Greenville location in December. They’d promoted from within about six months ago when they finalized the location.

He sort of implied that if I’d just been quicker that perhaps there would’ve been an opportunity. I told him I’d been trying to get in touch with him for about 10 months…..which is true.

That is fucking ridiculous!! I’ve been calling all over the country for almost a year, have talked to probably 5 or 6 people inside the company, made at least one or two calls a week, and countless emails….and the guy tells me I should’ve acted sooner???

I bet I’ve left him 20 messages if I’ve left one.

On the flip side they’re opening at least three more stores in Greenville in the next year and he suggested that maybe I could get on as a shift supervisor at the first location so as to be in the right place when the new stores open.

I suggest he eat my ass.

I’ve been home a week? Not quite I guess.

I haven’t done anything at all other than play a lot of basketball. I learned to play a new song on the guitar today, but my strings broke so I didn’t get a chance to practice it. I might play golf with my dad tomorrow.

He is “retired” now. I’ll likely write about that later. I’m happy for him though. He deserves it. I just hope he doesn’t drive my mother nuts by being at home.

I’m about to leave SF.

I’ve enjoyed my month here. I met lots of nice, if a little strange, people. The city is full of stuff to indulge every hobby/fetish I’d ever like to take up. The weather has been phenomenal.

It has been a good month personally. I never realized how stable and un-neurotic I am compared to many people that can nonetheless lead functioning lives. Neurotic can be interesting, but also emotionally draining to be around.

There is a danger in being a functioning neurotic, more so than if you were non-functioning. If you are a sinking ship you’ll try to plug the leak, but if your life is more or less working (sometimes less than more) you will continue as you are, always attracting other functioning neurotics, stumbling through a string dysfunctional relationships that reinforce and soothe your issues, but do not help deal with them.

Not that I am always for dealing with your issues. Skeletons go in the closet because no one wants to sleep with skeletons in the bed.

I stated previously that Southerners are relatively boring and homogeneous compared to the people in SF. That is still true, but isn’t necessarily a negative. You could also say the South is less neurotic, more well-adjusted.

Actually, people from both places are reading this. I don’t wish to imply that SF folk are all neurotic, or that one must be neurotic to be interesting.

Neither do I wish to imply that Southerners are all well adjusted. They aren’t. However, the veneer of normalcy is very important in the South. We generally don’t like change, foreigners or people that want to be different.

Maybe people out here aren’t more neurotic….maybe they just express it more because it is allowed. Almost everything is allowed.

What will I miss most about San Francisco? The coffee.

Here are some of the interesting facts I learned today:

According to the World Values Survey, Nigerians are the happiest people in the world. Mexicans are number two on the list.

On another site I saw that 74% of Mexicans live below the poverty level. Apparently poverty isn’t so bad.

General Motors has roughly the same revenues as the economies of Ireland, New Zealand and Hungary combined.

The World Bank praised the privatization of public health in Zambia: “It is a model for the rest of Africa. There are no more waiting lines at hospitals.” The Zambian Post Daily completed the idea: “There are no more waiting lines at hospitals because now people die at home.”

Humphrey Bogart never says “Play it again, Sam” in Casablanca. Frankenstein was not the monster, but its inventor.

If you can’t figure out whether you’re happy or not, Life Coach Peter Cohen has worked out the following equation: Happiness = P + (5xE) + (3xH). If you don’t understand what it means he will happily explain it to you…for a fee.

And finally, Arnold Schwarzenegger is the new governor of California.

Today I saw a woman in a wheelchair begging for money on the subway.

I was sitting next to a mexican laborer. He was dirty, in a t-shirt, with plaster on his hands and dirt under his fingernails.

He gives the woman a dollar. It was a crisp, new bill with a small corner missing.

She got angry and asked for a different one.

And they say beggars can’t be choosers??

Then I was sitting on the bus going to Golden Gate Park for a blue grass festival.

The woman beside me had no front teeth and drank almost a fifth of vodka in 40 minutes.

The man across from me shook his head and the children all laughed.

She kept talking about the dictionary and how fun it was to read. “Electroencephalitis: E-L-E-C-T-R-O-E-N-C-E-P-H-A-L-I-T-I-S.” Her spelling was eclipsed only by her prowess as a drinker.

Everyone was trying to ignore her. “The dictionary is great, just great. It can tell you the meaning of everything,” she professed while trying to sneak a sip of vodka.

I wish. Can it tell me the meaning of a toothless woman drinking a fifth of vodka in 40 minutes??