Protecting the essence.

last week—March 18

Holidays I missed last week include Pi Day (on the 14th of March [get it?–3.14]) the Ides of March, and St.Patrick's Day. But I really didn't need to remind you guys of St. Patrick's Day, did I?

I also missed Sleep Awareness Week, which was March 8-14 (or last week), according to the National Sleep Foundation. Even though I missed formal recognition, I got in the spirit of the thing by napping (5/7 days), retiring at the same time every night (6/7 nights) and rising when it felt right (6/7 nights). I still have work to do on shutting down screens one hour before retiring (0/7 nights). The real flummoxer, though, one that I have a year to mull—how do you get more aware of sleep if you are engaging in the practice of the honoree? When I'm asleep, I'm not aware of much, especially of sleep.
So very metacognitional.

Two from the Wall Street Journal.

Look Ma, the new tariffs are working!

Fertilizer blockages in Gulf force farmers to buy U.S. products.

Ah, tranquility!

An article about new owners of six- and seven-figure aquariums has a subtitle in which the owners claim it's my happy place.

I had an aquarium once. I thought that whole happy peaceful thing too, until I noticed my cheapest fish chasing my most expensive fish around the tank night after night.

Not ready for prime time.

If some people had their way, artificial intelligence (A.S., aka 'AI slop') would be running our lives. Personally I would replace the first 'n' in running with an 'i', but that's just me.

Well, it ain't happening around here, trust me.

It's not that A.S. wouldn't be helpful. I can think of lots of places it could be useful, particularly in things involving numbers. But two recent encounters have me digging in to resist.

The first was math. I always had a problem with fractions, particularly performing math on fractions. Well, I had a problem. I wanted to know what 1/:15 was, as a percentage. I thought it would be a lot easier to use the calculator in my search engine. It reported back 6.77&37;.

The second instance was when I was discussing Daylight Savings Time. I wanted to know how much daylight we had on March 7. The answer? 12 hours and 47 minutes.

I may be old, but I was edumacated. In both cases, I was able to say, 'that's not right,' even though I didn't know the exactly right answer (7.5 and 11.75). But I wonder if the yeuts of today with their fancy phones and calculators and TikToks will be able to recognize when A.S. is lying to them.

Subversion, 1950's style.

I seem to be spending a fair amount of time thinking about old TV shows and movies, like Captain Kangaroo, The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Mr. Wizard, just to name a few. They were in great part responsible for my being the way I am today, that is, sitting around thinking about old TV shows.

I believe in placing blame where blame should be placed.

The thing is, kid's TV was supposed to reinforce values, morality, and the American way, the conformity of the prevailing culture, and provide we young 'uns with approved methods of solving the problems and issues of growing up. The Lone Ranger, for example, always had little aphorisms or teaching moments sprinkled throughout, like the Lone Ranger explaining that 'borax has many uses in manufacturing,' 'just be a good son and a good citizen,' and 'I believe that to have a friend, a man must be one,' or Tonto saying, 'evil women lead to downfall of many good men.'

I'm pretty sure Newton G. Minow didn't have The Lone Ranger in mind when he described 50s TV as 'a vast wasteland.' He was probably thinking of big people TV that provided mindless escapism for big people.

But not all 50's kids' TV was a blatantly noble, pure, educational reinforcement of the American Experiment. Some shows introduced kids to alternate realities. The Banana Man on Captain Kangaroo was one example. Spike Jones and certain acts on The Ed Sullivan Show would be others. Mostly, though, shows stayed between the lines.

But there were shows that subverted the official, all-American message. In addition to Rocky and Bullwinkle, one that was influential in my life was The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. Now, it wasn’t preaching that we should all join the Communist Party, or walk around naked. But it did provide a humorous look at ‘normal’ teenage life, not that of the prom queen, the football star, or the top of the heap, the people who never get anything wrong, the people whose lives were chronicled in in shows like Leave It to Beaver, Father Knows Best, and The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. These shows all pretended to give us a peek into the new normal, the suburban home, where moms stayed at home and dads had white collar jobs. In Dobie's world, things are fraught.

So what did Dobie do that upended the whole American Experiment?

I remember three:

A lack of adults. If there were adults around, they were more stick figures than dispensers of wisdom and instruction. This left Dobie, Maynard, Zelda, et. al. to their own devices.
The Fourth Wall, or lack thereof. Other shows respected 'the fourth wall,' or pretended the audience just wasn't there. Dobie regularly broke into the proceedings to explain things, or philosophize, the importance of his thoughts reinforced by the looming presence of 'The Thinker' behind him. Now, other shows, like The Burns and Allen Show broke the wall, but George talked to the audience from a porch off his office, not breaking the scene. But Dobie reinforced the fantasy or unreality of the whole enterprise.
Maynard G. Krebs. Dobie's best bud (in earlier parlance, 'pal') was Maynard G. Krebs, an aspiring beatnick/layabout (in later parlance, slacker), whose tagline was 'Work!?!' As the resident beatnik with his sweatshirt and little chin beard, Maynard epitomized a whole anti-establishment ethos. This in a time when Americans believed (or were supposed to believe) that hard work was the American Dream and the way to happiness. Maynard represented revolution and an upending of the natural order of things. As he said, What’s the point of working if you can’t enjoy life? A good question.

Not sure how I feel about this.

While reading Kim Addonizio's biography at the Poetry Foundation, I bumped into this: In the Guardian, Michelle Dean noted that Bukowski in a Sundress (Addonizio's memoir) also tracks the peripatetic life of an American literary writer in the early 00s, teaching classes all over the country. Where once poets met and read in smoky bohemian cafés, the academy is what [is] keeping the art alive in America, giving poets salaries and insurance. Poets might once have starved in garrets; now their experiences are, like Addonizio’s, seasoned by their experiences with their students.

I'm trying to decide if this is a good thing or not, On the one hand, it's a good thing that poets are generally kept off the street and out of touch with the riff and the raff. But think what we would have lost if Sandburg had been confined to the academy and not allowed to ride the streetcars with 'the working class.' Poof! No Chicago Poems.And is contact with students 'all the time' a good thing for poets?

Here's the problem: once you set up schools of writing, you also set up little thought ghettoes, with the the hive feeding off itself (apologies for mixing metaphors). Some escape, but many choose to stay in the academy, grading freshman essays, talking to the same people and feverishly writing poetry and sending it off to little journals, income supplemented by grants and prizes. A hard life, but a safe life.

But here's the real problem as I see it. Like with music, we now have a two-tier system of poetry (and other literary forms)—the academic and the popular. The academic camp believes that what they are writing is serious, significant, and probes the depths of the human soul-psyche-spirit. It's very inward-looking. Popular literature recognizes the inter-relationship between audience, author and work. Academic writers attend conferences and writer retreats. Stephen King plays in a garage band.

To say nothing of the general propositions that poetry should involve a little risk, some frisson, some bumping up against reality, there should be grappling with the universe. Granted the academic world is a universe, but I don't know if it's one that encompasses nations.

Isn't that what astronomers are supposed to do?

USA Today wants us to know Astronomers discover never-before-seen cosmic object.

Popcorn balls, cubes and parabolas.

two weeks ago—March 11

Welcome to the special 'popular culture edition' of the chair, in which we explore the ephemera that shapes our lives. Not new territory, or not necessarily contemporary subject matter, and definitely not comprehensive, I will admit, but it has its charm. No conclusions, but life will provide them, if you have lived a good life.

Once again, one local weathadoodle tripped over his tongue and laid waste to facts when he claimed that following the implementation of DST, we would have an extra hour of daylight. No. We adjusted a measuring device. We still have about 11 hours and 45 minutes, no matter how you place the clock hands.

Ambiguities in English, Part MMCCCIV

One of the nominees for Best Live Action Short Film is Jane Austen's Period Drama.

Or maybe it's an intentional double entendre.

I have to stop reading.

No, not everything, I could never do that, but specifically, my latest obsession, in this case W.B. Yeats' The Second Coming. A line strikes me (let's say, 'Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,') and I carry that around and chew on it until I return to the poem to reflect, to see the context, something. But instead of thinking about the captured line some more, my eye bounces to another line, like 'The best lack all conviction' and worry that.

The good news is the poem is only 22 lines long, so I should be done with my chewing by the end of the year.

With that as an introduction, I offer an application of the angst—sorta.

The application of the angst depends upon the surface to which it is applied. For soft surfaces like clothes, a capful can be added to the regular wash. For metal surfaces, spray angst is recommended. And for wood and delicate items, paste angst can be applied, and removed with a soft cloth, using a circular motion.

Naming names.

I have remarked before that one of society's problems is how little use we make of nicknames and diminuitives. At least certain folk are renaming themselves these days, which is a hopeful sign. For example, two of the voices in my head have become full blown personas. One, the poet klkz, wrote over a hundred poems before wandering off to greener climes.

But as I finish my season of The Second Coming,

a very apocalyptic poem on both a personal and universal level, I begin to wonder about the author. Not W.B. Yeats, the man, but W.B. Yeats, the name.

W.B, who also went by William Butler, cut a very imposing figure in the earlier part of the 20th Century, impacting poetry, theater, and the development of modern Ireland. But I wonder– what if he had gone by Will, Bill, Billy, Buttles, or worst, Willie? Or what if he had thought about himself in those terms, as a Billy or Will? Would he have risen to the same Parnassian heights? Ditto T.S. (Thomas Stearns) Eliot. Could Tommy Eliot write 'The Wasteland?'

I think also of Billy Collins, an equally good poet. Would we regard him in the same way if he had gone by W.J. or William James Collins? Would he have taken the paths he did in approaching his poetry? Or would he have become a literary lion of the stature of Yeats?

All this is by way of introduction to a simple question: how much do our names have in the formation not only of public perceptions (how many times have you heard [or said] upon meeting someone I knew you were a Michael–Timothy–Arthur? Or, as is my case, having my name (John) repeated back to me as 'Don,' 'Joe,' 'Jim,' or 'Tom,' or once or twice as 'Frank'? Are folks just lazy? Am I not enunciating properly? Are they thinking of another McCarthy with the name they're inserting? Or am I projecting an aura/image more associated with those other names than my own name? Oddly, folks rarely mispronounce my name as 'Jack' or 'Johnny,' nicknames more commonly associated with John, because I am not a Johnnie or Jack.

And how much does our name affect our self-identity and self-image, and the way we think of ourselves and the way we develop our talents? At various times, people tried 'Stretch' and 'Four Eyes' as nicknames for me. Neither really stuck, but I wonder if one had, if I would be collecting a pension check from the NBA? Instead I muddled along as 'John,' living an O.K. life and producing lots of OK stuff in a number of different areas.

So what kind of latitude should we have in altering our assigned handle? Can a change of name change the course of our lives in at least one area? I'm thinking here of people who enter religious communities, clubs, teams, or gangs and acquire new names and new identities. Can a nickname or 're-appelation' alter our self-perception and our path through the world?

So many questions. So few answers. At least, I don't have them. But, as I struggle to enter Act 5 of my life, and make it at least a little more than the denouement and falling action of what went before, I think a name change for at least some of my activities might be in order.

Meet augie.

Sadness, a continuing saga.

I mentioned a while back I believed the Girl Scouts may have invented shrinkflation when, many years ago, I opened a box of Thin Mints and found it six cookies shy of a full load.

Well, the Girls are all in on light-loading the cookies. We just got a half-dozen boxes of cookies, including a new (to us, at least) flavor, exploremores, inspired by Rocky Road ice cream.

Or maybe the explore part of the name was a reference to having to spelunk the box to find the sad little tubes of cookies cowering three inches below the box top.

What I find sad is how we're teaching young girls, the future entrepreneurs and businesspeople of America, to lie to/cheat/ deceive/fool their customers.

Hangin' with Keith.

For some reason unknown to me, I have been bumping into Keith Richards a lot. He features in articles and pops up in tribute concerts. But what I find interesting is how thoughtful he is about the music, and consequently about life. There are little bits of sly humor, too. As he noted at Willie Nelson's 90th birthday concert, 'I'm happy to be here. I'm happy to be anywhere,' no doubt a nod to his Byronesque life, which should have resulted in 'live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse.'

That ship definitely sailed a long time ago.

But what I find most interesting is his recognition of creativity in his life and world. He's just the pass-through. As he noted,

These crucial, wonderful riffs (in Jumpin' Jack Flash') just came, I don’t know where from. I’m blessed with them and I can never get to the bottom of them. When you get a riff like ‘Flash’ you get a great feeling of elation, a wicked glee. Of course, then comes the other thing of persuading people that it is as great as you actually know it is. You have to go through the pooh-pooh.

As [he] has said over the years, song ideas just come into his head. They flow naturally and he channels them into his guitar. He already explained that the guitar parts seem to come from somewhere he still doesn’t know and cannot explain.

If you're creative, and honest, you know (and say out loud) that's how it works more often than you probably want to admit. If you do, you're also admitting that you're just a pass-through, maybe rearranging some furniture or dusting the bright work along the way, but ultimately, you're playing with powers far beyond your ability to understand or control.

Is the outdoors overrated?

three weeks ago—March 4

Heads up–daylight savings time starts this Sunday, and this is the potentially embarrassing one. I'll miss getting up at sunrise.

There was a full eclipse of the moon yesterday morning. If it makes you feel any better, I missed it too.

Modern maladies.

I write most of these posts on an old-school iPad, the kind with the touch id button. Works fine.

Yesterday, though, I somehow managed to hurt the tip of my right index finger, aka my 'typing' finger, under the nail. Don't know how, but there it is. I put antiseptic on it, and tried to work. But this morning, it began to hurt when I pressed the screen.

No problem. I'll just put a bandage on it to cushion it.

Well, turns out that is a problem. The bandage hides my fingerprint, so I have to type in the password. No problemo. But... the regular typing is, since the ipad something that responds to my finger does not respond to the plastic bandage. My middle finger works, but not 100%. Awk-ward.

Fortunately, I have one of those stylus-thingies so I can continue to bring you these pearls of wisdom.

Things I did not know.

And who would have thought that one headline would lead so quickly to a rabbit hole?

(New info marked with *)

The headline in BBC News seemed innocuous enough: Bourbon maker Jim Beam halts production at main distillery for a year.

That sounds ominous, I thought.

Well, it turns out that they're closing to renovate the main distillery. All other operations, like bottling, will be unaffected. So not so bad, probably.

However, there's a *backlog of bourbon–some 16 million barrels or 848 million gallons in storage in Kentucky alone–in part because of retaliation against American tariffs. One of the Canadian provinces that pulled American liquor from its shelves is Ontario, which has an eye-popping $57.7million worth of US booze stockpiled, *some of which will soon expire.

*Suntory, a Japanese company, owns Jim Beam.

Bourbon is my least favorite of all the brown liquors, including Irish, Scotch, Canadian, and American blend. No *, because I knew that.

More booze.

*Mexico is the world's largest exporter of beers.

One more shot for the road.

An ad for a Discovery program declares if you truly love your country, you must love moonshine.

Not only do I not know this, but actually know something contradictory.

Just a historical reminder: the first uprising against the federal government was led by moonshiners. Patriotism at its finest.

Me, Teacher! Call on me!

USA Today poses a problem and asks a question: A historic sewage spill is flowing in the Potomac. Where is it headed?

Downstream.

When meteorology meets astrology,

you get headlines like this one in The Washington Post: A powerful storm will hit some cities with a foot of snow.

Artificial Stupidity couldn't phrase it any better.

In other news, 'you may come into a sum of money,' 'an old friend will reach out,' and 'travel plans may go awry as Mercury enters retrograde.'

Sometimes I do read the article.

BBC offered up this headline: Mercury: The planet that shouldn't exist.

Hm, I thought. I had guessed Pluto. So I read on, and found out Mercury has long baffled astronomers because it defies much of what we know about planet formation. Finally, I thought, somebody has the courage to acknowledge astronomers, and by extension scientists in general, are sitting on their brains and don't know what they're talking about.

But here's the dilemma. Do I want to continue to read the article and be subject to doing more thinking, or is my brain already overheated and encouraging me to lie down and get back to what passes for normal around here?

Surprised you have to ask.

Today's earworm.

Even though my original experience of this earworm is contemporaneous with songs like Help! and Satisfaction, it feels like a blast from a very distant past.

Swing to the left!
Swing to the right!
Stand up! Sit down!
Fight! Fight! Fight!

Forget the rare earth crisis!

Frankincense is apparently in short supply to the point of being unavailable. In another *t.I.d.n.k., frankincense begins as a tree sap. It is becoming rarer because the seeds from active source trees germinate at less than 20%, while seeds from untapped trees germinate at over 80%. It also doesn't help that *most frankincense trees are grown in Somalia, Sudan, and Ethiopia. The forests are in decline because of deforestation and conversion of land to agricultural use. I'm sure continuing conflicts in the area don't help, either.

Be afraid. Be very afraid! (#3926)

The water providers for our city sent us a lovely letter a while back, pointing out that we have very clean drinking water, among the purest in the country, when it leaves the treatment plant. After that, all bets are off, as the city then provides a long list of hazardous materials and other things that can go wrong that could be in water as it passes through all sorts of pipes made of potentially hazardous and cancer-causing materials like lead and corroded metal. So if you're not well, do 't blame us! Our water is pristine!

But why? And how?

I didn't watch Bat Masterson as a child, for no particular reason. Now, reruns occupy one of those 'nothing to watch' deserts, the infuriatingly memorable theme playing at least four times an hour, with the line

He wore a cane and derby hat
They called him Bat... Bat Masterson.

Beyond the cheap and too easy rhyme: just how do you wear a cane?

Today's head popper.

Oddly, this thought/question did not pop into my head at 4:30 am. Maybe Gabriel, my muse, slept in too.

Anyway, I was looking at the keyboard, and wondered, 'we know who designed the second most popular English keyboard (the Dvorack [August D.]) but who invented the dominant keyboard form factor, known as the QWERTY?

Turns out maybe nobody, or we may never know. Wikipedia is coy on the topic, saying only that it was based on a layout included on the Sholes and Glidden typewriter sold by E. Remington and Sons from 1874.

So are Sholes and Glidden the guilty parties, or was somebody else responsible for the design of the 'speedy typing' keyboard?

And if speed was the goal, why didn't whomever set it up so that when you pressed 'q,' a 'u' was automatically added? If nothing else, that would eliminate English aberrations like 'Qantas' and impossible to pronounce drug names like 'Qbntalonq' from the list of curiosities that confront us weekly (estimated):.

Now that the mind-gates are open, I wonder if the typing Glidden is related to the paint-people Gliddens, or if there even was a typewriter Glidden.

The Remington typewriter people were not responsible for the Winchester rifle (they had their own rifle), which led (we are told) to the construction of the Winchester Mystery House, although I think a case could be made for someone feeling responsible for the pain and suffering of thousands of typists using QWERTY keyboards being driven over the edge and building of a Remington Mystery House.

And while we're at it,

Who was the first guy who looked at coal and thought, 'I bet you could dig that out of the ground and burn it?

Dealing in ephemera since 2011.

four weeks ago—2/25

Well, the Olympics are officially over. The torch has been extinguished, and I checked this morning on all three Olympic channels— either curling has also concluded, or they just stopped showing it. For me, it's the same thing.

R.I.P., Robert.

Actor Robert Duvall died. He was 95. I liked Duvall, especially in 'smaller,' 'quirkier' roles like The Apostle and Secondhand Lions. He seemed to live a level, balanced life.

However, his death prompted a couple of head-scratching pieces, including this headline from Parade magazine: ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Star Recalls Her On-Set Experience With Robert Duvall After His Death.

Another R.I.P.

Bill Mazeroski, shortstop for the Pittsburgh Pirates, died at the age of 89.

I wasn't a fan of the Pirates, but I found Mazeroski appealing. He played with exuberance, if I recall correctly. We need more like that.

Everybody do stand-up! Right.

The last I checked (about five minutes ago) 75% of people fear public speaking, according to World Metrics. The fear of public speaking can lead to physical symptoms such as rapid heartbeat, sweating, and nausea, affecting approximately 92%of sufferers. More Americans are afraid of public speaking than they are of dying. The thing is, with dying, you only have to do it once, and you're unconscious part of the time, if you're lucky. With public speaking, you can die a thousand deaths before saying anything.

But now, mental health professionals are telling people in general and those who are someplace on some spectrum (although, to be fair, we're all someplace on some spectrum), that they should do stand-up comedy as a way to achieve better mental wellness. Scientists have shown it's a way to release endorphins and foster social connection.

Anyway, back to people getting on stage to face their greatest fear. Here are the steps for people being encouraged to do stand-up:

Get up on a stage in front of a group of people to speak, triggering tongue numbing panic.
Make them laugh.

Sounds like a recipe for 'making a quivering mass of human protoplasm' to me.

Comics everywhere are saying, 'Great. Amateur hour. Something else ruined by having a purpose and being turned into work. If I don't make people laugh, I have failed them. You just can't have nice things anymore.'

There's a tour, I'm told, so maybe there's some congruence. Me, I still think there are scientists who should not be allowed to speak in public, comedically or otherwise.

Fun game.

Google that headline! I used some variation of 'why everyone should try standup comedy,' and came up with over a dozen articles in the first 20 hits. Some numbered the reasons. Apparently everyone should try standup comedy. I have seen a lot of people whose contribution to the art form is make audiences appreciate good comics even more.

Grave goods.

Archeologists are strange people. Besides for digging holes in the ground and not finding valuable minerals, they are happiest when they find a trash pit left by an ancient civilization.

But trash pits are not sexy. Trash pits don't headline shows on the Discovery Network. Now, a chance to open a previously undisturbed pharaoh's tomb? Damn the curses! Let me at it!

Archeologists get excited by what are called 'grave goods,' those items that are supposed to accompany the deceased into the after (or next) life. Items include tools, weapons, jewelry, elaborate masks and clothing, transportation, sometimes servants and wives. Generally, it's things the guest of honor liked and couldn't 'live' without. One Chinese emperor had an army of 6,000 soldiers made out of clay to protect him in the afterlife.

As I was watching one of these shows, it struck me that we don't do grave goods anymore. At 'open casket 'viewings' I've been to, there is little if anything in the casket with the guest of honor. Clothing, maybe a wedding ring. Sometimes even glasses are missing on a person who has worn glasses all their lives.

This has to be distressing the archeologists from 5,000 years in the future. What are they going to excavate? A life of trash pits and latrines can't be too exciting.

I think we're missing an opportunity here. We've pushed 'you can't take it with you' way beyond rational limits. What if the ancients were right, and life is seamlessly extended into the next life and we're going to need stuff (shouldn't we at least be bringing a hostess gift or bottle of Chardonnay?). And what about the archeologists? Shouldn't we give them something to marvel at, to fuel speculation about the life of Average Joe Six-Pack?

This is why I have resolved to take some grave goods along for the ride. Now, I'm not talking about getting a double- or even triple-wide cemetery plot. I'm talking about putting my creative output (stories, poems, cartoons, twenty + years of blogs, recipes, photographs, comedy sketches, basically everything in my documents folder) onto a USB drive. I know the odds of the people 30 generations down the road finding it, having software and equipment to read it, and caring about and translating it are slim to none (and Slim is saddling up to leave town), but why not go for it?

And who knows? Maybe on the other side I

will just pick up where I left off, and it'll be nice to finish off the leftover pieces and build out what I've started.

Stranger things have happened.

Thanks, Jeff!

Sometimes (too often, actually) good things get lost in the pre-Xmas rush, holiday frenzy, pandemonium, what-have-you. When you have time to breathe, you only vaguely remember the item, much less where/what it is.

Well, I sent this forward through time to remind myself to take a closer look at it when I could give it the attention it deserves.

Normally, I cite a headline to mock it. Sometimes, I actually cite some of an accompanying article. For this headline from Jeff Goins, I cite it in admiration: How to Do the Work That Matters (When Most of It Doesn't).

I linked to the article because it's part of the work that matters. You should read it, no matter what you do. Merry Christmas (belatedly)!

Officially over it.

I've read too many headlines like this one: A Beloved Milky Way Flavor Is Returning–But You Might Not Recognize It.

It's not just Milky Way. It's Twinkies, M&M's, Peeps, you name it— all Tainted by Brand Extension.

To be clear, there is one, repeat one, Milky Way flavor. Anything else might be tasty, superior even, but it ain't Milky Way.

BBC-bits and pieces.

A recent headline in the BBC: 'LeBron James of spreadsheets' wins world Microsoft Excel title.

But is there anyone referred to as the 'Diarmuid Early of the NBA?

Also in the BBC, 'A good meal and a good poo': Kate Winslet describes how she dealt with media intrusion.

If you have a bad meal, do you have a bad poo? And was the intruding media invited to witness either event? Maybe they were given gift packages at the completion of the ritual.