Pizarro, The Economic Failure of Spain, and Why Bad News May Be Good News

“You don’t acquire the kind of wealth your uncle commanded by being like the rest of us.” – John Carter On Mars

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I love the idea of people carrying me around everywhere I go.  Now how do I become emperor again? 

In 1532, Francisco Pizarro, accompanied by a force of less than 200 Spaniards, took on a portion of the main army of the Inca.  Why?  To defeat the entire Inca nation.  The plan was at least partially desperation.  To retreat would show weakness.  As Cortez had burned his ships years earlier to give his men incentive to defeat the Aztec empire, Pizarro was all in.

Pizarro invited the Incan Emperor, Atahualpa, into a down called Cajamarca.  Believing this to be safe since there were only 200 Spaniards, Atahualpa was accompanied “only” by 6,000 of his warriors and generals who were admittedly armed only with small battle axes.  The Spaniards had waited, concealed and terrified in Cajamarca, for hours.

As Atahualpa was carried into the central square of the town, his honor guard parted to allow Atahualpa down from his litter.  History records that he became angry when a single Friar approached him and asked him pledge fealty to the Spanish king, Charles, and become a Catholic.  At the point where Atahualpa enraged, the Spanish sprang from their concealment, attacking the Incans with cannon, gunfire, and sword.  The cavalry managed to abduct Atahualpa, and Pizarro himself blocked a sword strike at Atahualpa, catching at least part of the sword on his own hand.

Pizarro wanted Atahualpa as a hostage – a living Atahualpa could be used to give orders.  A living Atahualpa could be used to prevent the 55,000 battle-hardened troops outside from rushing the Spaniards.  A living Atahualpa could be ransomed.

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Fake news, 1532 style:  a picture of Pizarro meeting Atahualpa looking like everything is nice and rosy.  Not pictured:  The battle where Atahualpa lost his entire empire.   

Also:  Do you have a few minutes to listen to a story about Jesus?

And ransomed he was – for a room, 22’ by 8’ by 7’.  Not just any room.  But a room that big, filled with gold.  And two the same size filled with silver.  It’s certain that the gold wouldn’t have been solid, but would have been jewelry and other items.  Let’s assume that it was 2/3 filled with air.  That still means the gold would have been worth (in today’s dollars) at least $20 billion.  The silver wouldn’t even be worth a billion.

Atahualpa was executed, anyway.  The King of Spain was reportedly not pleased, but was pretty good with the over $4 billion that was his (minimum) cut of Atahualpa’s treasure.  In November of 1533, Pizarro entered Cuzco, the capital of the Mayans as its conqueror.  He would serve as governor of what is now Peru.  Pizarro was killed in 1541 by the son of an assassinated rival.

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Pizarro, with a fine, feathered hat.  Makes me want to kill some tropical bird so I can have a cool feather.  What, I don’t have to kill one for a feather?  Spoilsport.  Oh, and Pizarro had two kids with Atahualpa’s wife.  She must have been attracted to that fine beard.

But the impact on Spain was enormous.  The Conquistadors kept coming, and kept taking gold from the New World for over a century more.  All of the treasure went back to Spain, and, initially, paid off the debts of the Spanish government.  But it did other things, as well.

Seville, the Spanish city had over 16,000 shops making textiles out of silk in the year 1500, before the gold started to come in from the Americas.  The population of Spain stood at (around) 10,000,000 at this time.  200 years after 1500, in 1700?  The population of Spain had dropped to around 6,000,000.

What happened?

All of the gold.  Such good fortune, right?

Where it would have been pretty rough for a foreign power to have taken over Spain (it was in pretty good shape, militarily) the gold from the New World did the job wonderfully.  How?

All of the gold led to a change in the culture and value of Spain.  Whereas before, Spain had been an industrious nation, after gold, things changed.  Why do it, when you could have someone else do it?  There were people in the Netherlands that would gladly build it for you and ship it to Spain.  There were people in the Netherlands that would gladly come to Spain to do work that Spaniards wouldn’t do.  Begging (among Spaniards) and living off of charity became to be seen as more virtuous than resorting to common work, at least that was the message the common man received from watching the nobility.  Spain had traditionally been more than self-sufficient in providing agriculture.  In 1578, one observer noted that the lack of production “was not the fault of the land, but was the fault of the people.”

Spain’s military and colonial establishment, however, continued to provide the currency that the country needed even as the country sank into indolence and despair.

And what brought about the despair?

Success.

Success took away the hard lessons in life.  The Spanish military took the ambitious young men of Spain and allowed them to seek glory.  The rest of Spain?  Lived off of the glory.  Eventually, the rot of success allowed the United States to completely remove the remaining Spanish colonies from Spain.  When our new, steel warships fought against the Spanish?  They often fought cannon that were 100 years old, and 70 years out of date.

Success allowed Spain to become an economic shambles.  Success teaches no lessons.

In my life, everything that ever made me better was . . . awful.  Losing a wrestling match.  Being deeply in debt.  Getting a divorce.

Losing a wrestling match (2-1, in overtime in 8th grade) made me want to win.  And I worked harder.  Next time I wrestled that guy?  I pinned him in 20 seconds.

Being in debt.  That one mad me reexamine my entire life, or at least the spending associated with it.  Each spending decision became a moral choice, since I was living in a constant state of (nearly) not having enough money to make it.  There’s nothing immoral about being either rich or poor – it’s what you learn.

Getting a divorce, to me, allowed me to really understand how I’d contributed to the failure of the marriage, realize what I was really looking for in a partner, and allow me to both pick a more suitable wife as well as to become a more suitable husband.

If I had won the lottery or become a rock star at 20, what would I have learned?  Well, besides learning what a car upholstered entirely in endangered species would drive like, probably not much.  I’ve often said that if I’d been immensely wealthy when I was young, I probably wouldn’t have made it to 30.  For whatever reason, I find that adversity and challenge are my friends.  Success is nice, but only if it holds a challenge.

Holy cow – maybe the ultimate challenge is beating success?

Oh, Seneca figured that out 2000 years ago:

“Let us too overcome all things, with our reward consisting not in any wreath or garland, not in trumpet-calls for silence for the ceremonial proclamation of our name, but in moral worth, in strength of spirit, in a peace that is won forever once in any contest fortune has been utterly defeated.” – Seneca, Letters

So the next time you feel that you’ve just had a spot of bad luck?  It might just be your best luck.  Or, if you believe Seneca – no luck at all is required.

Taxes, Charity, Morality, and the Immortality of Keanu Reeves

“You can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes.  It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes, to blind you from the truth.” – The Matrix

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I’ve always wondered what clothes cost in The Matrix.  These three could have told me, but I forgot to ask them before I moved away from Alaska.

I’ve just finished stapling my tax return together for the year 2017.   Why did the tax return cross the road?  John Wilder stapled it to the chicken.

I can’t (generally) do my taxes before the first week in April because, like Ben Franklin said, the only two certain things are death and taxes.  And I’m certain I like to wait, because:

  1. I’m lazy and
  2. I don’t get all the information for one investment until mid-March.

I really hate doing taxes, but, thankfully, an entire tax software industry exists only to allow us to do them ourselves on a Sunday afternoon.  Yes.  I started on Sunday afternoon after I’d taken one of the cars in to get fixed.  As in today.  I’m not only lazy, I do everything I can to put off taxes to the last possible minute.

Generally, as the envelopes with “IMPORTANT:  TAX INFORMATION” show up I clip them all together and pretend they don’t exist for 70 or so days, so I’ve been preparing for doing the taxes for a while.  My information isn’t all that complicated, so I’ve managed to do it myself for, well, ever.

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Taxes are more complicated than time travel or Doc Brown’s hairstyle.

How does doing taxes change my mood?  The Mrs. says that I have three personalities, and generally, she’s right:

  1. Juan Délegator – Juan is general me around the house. My general motto is:  if someone else (like my kids) can do it, they should do it.  Why?  To make them capable.  No, I won’t make them run 480 volt 3-phase power to my flux capacitor, but I will make them do dishes.  And I will make them do things that they are capable of and uncomfortable with.  Why?  So, like Conan, “they will be strong when the wolves come.”  Juan is pretty easy-going.  And why not?  The work is getting done.
  2. The General – The General is like Juan, but The General comes out when time is of the essence – like our house is going to catch on fire due to my poor wiring of the flux capacitor. The General is commanding, and expects immediate obedience and compliance, due to the consequences of not taking that immediate action.  The General doesn’t care how you feel, but wants to end the emergency as quickly and as efficiently as possible.  Movie reference:  The Wolf from Pulp Fiction®.
  3. The Nazi – The Nazi is like The General. But isn’t having fun.  And The Nazi kind of wants you to suffer.  Only one thing (really) brings out The Nazi (anymore).

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Me when I’m enjoying myself the most . . . fixing bad things in a hurry.  Pretty please.

This year (I have to say) wasn’t that bad.  Most of the time I get worried that, since I’m doing the taxes on the last possible day prior to them being due, that I’ll find myself without some key piece of information.

Not this year.  I have it all, or I did after I looked in a stack of papers on the bedroom.  Whew.

So, I entered the information required by the program.

And this year TurboTax® downloaded my work information directly from my employer.  Also nice.  Not that I’m a huge fan of TurboTax© – they are, at best, a necessary evil.  Doing a meaningless task well is still meaningless.  Without taxation, fully 20% (my guess) of the economy could be used for more productive things . . . overnight.  TurboTax© programmers could program video games.  Or something.  The IRS™ could do what they would naturally aspire to do, form covens and attempt to steal souls actually produce something in the economy.

And the process of doing taxes today are (largely) meaningless for the average taxpayer.  For the average payer, the IRS already has all of the information necessary to send the taxpayer a bill.  They already know my income.  My interest payments (to and from me, which are getting closer to equal!) and they know how much I made (or lost) off of my stocks.  They know if I bought or sold a house.

But the process of taxes is, at least partially, immoral.

Yes.  Immoral.

Let me tell a story . . .

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I used to go to church when visiting Pop Wilder – it was the same church that I’d grown up going to coloring pictures of Jesus.  True conversation, from when I was about five:

Sunday School Teacher:  “Johnny, Jesus wasn’t purple.”

Little Johnny Wilder:  “Isn’t Jesus God?”

Sunday School Teacher:  “Yes, He is.”

Little Johnny Wilder:  “Then he could be purple if he wanted to be.”

It was a small church in a small town.  Pop would go every Sunday, and when I was around, I’d go with him.  One morning, the Pastor gave a sermon that made my circuits pop.

He used the concept and example of Christian charity in his sermon.  But in every verse I could find, that charity referred to voluntary giving.  Here?  The Pastor was wanting to have increased taxpayer spending going to the poor – and indicated that, somehow, this equated to charity.

I sat on the pew, seething, which, generally isn’t very appropriate for a church, but neither was his sermon, which violated the following principles:

Taxes are forced – there’s nothing moral about them.

Charity is given of free will – there’s no coercion other than moral coercion.  You have to make a choice to give to charity.

And that’s what made me mad.  Charity – the act of giving time or money to someone else, is important for the soul.  Government services have nearly completely destroyed the idea of charity – why help the homeless?  Government should be doing that.  Why feed hungry children?  Government should be helping them.  Folks drowning in Canada due to all the hockey rinks melting?  Government should fix the rinks, because Canadians can’t swim!!

Since government is already fixing the problem people don’t think that there’s the need for charity.  Since I already give federal, state, and local governments over 45% of my income directly, and indirectly pay for the corporate income taxes on every item I buy and Social Security kicks on another 15%, I figure the government is already into me for 65%-75% or more of what I make.

That thought doesn’t leave me feeling charitable.  And that’s the immoral part.  Giving charity makes me a better person, inside, where it counts.  Feeling uncharitable because my money has been forcibly taken from me and to (many people and groups) that I feel undeserving, well, that’s immoral.  Charity is good.  But Jesus certainly didn’t say, “Go forth, and haveth ye government arresteth ye brothers and ye sisters who give not 75% of yon incomes to others.”

And I didn’t feel charitable when the Pastor was asking the congregation to take more of my money.  Honestly, it’s not greedy to want to keep some of your money.  But I feel that there is truly nothing greedier than asking forcing others to pay for things that you want to do, but don’t have the money for.  I mean, I’d love to have a great treehouse, complete with air conditioning and plumbing.

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Now there are legitimate reasons for taxation – common defense.  Courts.  Common infrastructure.  But there isn’t enough money in the world to pay for everyone’s “needs” – and payment for everyone’s wants would bankrupt the planet.

Taxes were complicated this year.  The parts that I have to file and send are about 40 pages, but I’ve learned printing off the federal and sending them to the state makes life easier.  By the time that I’d printed the copies I’ll send plus the spare copies, I had printed out 160 pages.  I’ll send 120 pages out, plus a pretty big check.  I don’t mind sending 120 pages out, or even the check.  Heck, all the dollar bills I have say they belong to the Federal Reserve® already, right?

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No refund.  But I won’t burn the place down.  Or try to get my stapler back.

I’m just sad that they make us pay taxes in the Matrix.  But, the clothes don’t cost all that much here . . . .

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And Neo lives forever.  I guess the whole “Death and Taxes” must just be . . . taxes.

Russian Wrestlers, Pylometrics, and You’re Probably Not Trying All That Hard

“When the game is on the line, a winner wants the ball in his hands.” – The Replacements

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A miniature version of The Boy prepares for a match . . . he now weighs 200 pounds.

The other day I was on Amazon.  Yes, I know.  The fact that I cannot walk into my living room because of all the little boxes shows I might spend too much time there.  Anyway, I was looking for hair regrowth tonic that actually works and carbohydrate free sugar cookies options for fitness equipment for Pugsley and The Boy.  One of the things that I saw was . . . a box.  You can buy it here (LINK).

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I don’t get any money if you buy a box.  But you do get a box.  One box.

The idea of the box is that you . . . jump on it.  That’s it.

What led me to the box I was watching a video of Александр Александрович Карелин.  Oh, sorry, you don’t speak Russian – that’s Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Karelin spelled out in the strange chickenscratch that Russians use as a secret code that Putin and Trump devised so we can’t decipher their messages.  Karelin was an internationally ranked wrestler for a while.  Like for five Olympics.  In fact, his career record is 887 wins and two losses.  His nickname is “The Experiment.”  Because he could do 42 pullups.  And he weighed 285 pounds.  His signature move?  Lifting 285 pound people off the mat and tossing them up into the air so they landed on their shoulders.

The Experiment.

Yeah.

A quote from Aleksandr: “They call me The Experiment because they cannot conceive that every day I train harder than they have ever trained in their lives.”  He might be just a bit intense.

Aleksandr was being interviewed in the YouTube® video I saw, and they showed the obligatory clip of him working out.  One of the exercises he was doing was repeatedly jumping on a box that was 24” or 30” high.  I was impressed.  285 pound guy jumping that high?  Wow.

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Here’s a picture of Aleksandr.  Yeah, that’s a 285 pound human he’s going to toss into the air like a ragdoll.  Not sure why they need tanks if the Russians have more guys like this around.  Oh, and he’s buddies with Putin and has both a doctorate and a law degree.  Don’t you feel like an underachiever now?

It turns out that “jumping on boxes” is known by the $250 per hour consultant word, “pylometrics.”  From the Latin root Pylo for “pile of” and the ancient Greek word “metron” which means “communist measurement system.”  Pylometrics came to world attention when the Soviet track and field teams of the 1970’s were turning in absolutely amazing performances.  One trainer thought, “hey, it must be all of the jumping on boxes stuff that they’re doing,” and completely disregarding the simpler theory of, “win Olympic medals or we’ll shoot your family.”

Regardless, as noted above, he renamed it pylometrics so he could charge $250 per hour to talk about it.

Well, if one of the best wrestlers ever to live thought that pylometrics should be a part of his routine, well, why not?  (Previous post:  Pugsley decided he wanted to be an NCAA champion in wrestling.  (LINK))  If you’re going to try to be the best, you emulate everything you can about the very best people you can find.  Everything.  Pugsley even has a poster of Putin up on his wall now.

So, I was on Amazon, totally not looking for hair tonic when I found the boxes shown above.  Did I say boxes?  Yeah.  I saw the picture and expected three.  Turns out that a cube exists in three dimensions, so they delivered just one box with three heights – 16 inches, 20 inches, and 24 inches.  It turns out if you rotate the box . . . well, you get the picture now.

The Boy put it together when it arrived, but then he had to leave, so that left Pugsley and I in the wrestling room with the cube.  To be frank, I was concerned that Pugsley wouldn’t be able to jump up on the 16” side and we’d have to get something smaller.  I was hoping that it wouldn’t hurt his confidence to have to jump on the “short box.”

He set it with the 16” side facing up.  He jumped, and stuck the landing on top of the box like an Olympic® gymnast.

John Wilder:  “That was awesome.  Okay, try 20 inches!”

He tried once, twice, and was up on top on the third side.

John Wilder:  “That was amazing!!  Try 24 inches!

Pugsley:  “No, I can’t do that.”

John Wilder:  “Try.”

He jumped up.  Not quite.

Again.  A miss.

Third time?  He stuck to the top of the box like there were magnets in his feet.

Also this month, friend was doing Crossfit®.

Things you never need to guess about a person:  if they are vegan, if they drive a Prius®, or if they are in Crossfit©.  Now if you find an actual human that does all three of these things, you might have found a smug singularity – beware or you might get sucked into the smug . . . . (my friend isn’t smug, just often sore after working out).

Anyhow . . . when working up to a max in the deadlift (the king of all lifts) my friend tried to stop at 100 pounds.  She thought that was enough.  Too hard.

Her coach encouraged her – and she maxed out at 180 pounds.

Most days we have no idea of the things that we are capable of, if only we try.  The thing that generally limits your life is . . . you.  If you want to be the best, you have to start by working like the best.  And believing in yourself.

You might not get there, but you’ll know that you didn’t hold back.  You’ve put the game in your hands.

I know where you could go to buy a box . . .

College is Expensive and Your GPA is as Inflated as an Instagram Model

“But you can’t hold a whole fraternity responsible for the behavior of a few, sick twisted individuals.  For if you do, then shouldn’t we blame the whole fraternity system?  And if the whole fraternity system is guilty, then isn’t this an indictment of our educational institutions in general?  I put it to you, Greg – isn’t this an indictment of our entire American society?  Well, you can do whatever you want to us, but we’re not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth the United States of America.  Gentlemen!” – Animal House

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Pugsley climbing a climbing wall.  Not pictured:  college degree he earned.

Last week we reviewed how college may provide (does provide) a lot of poor choices for student degrees – essentially you can get a degree that’s not worth very much to any employer.  But, thankfully, in an era where I can look up the most obscure facts online, I can count on college being cheaper now?

No.  It’s more expensive than ever.

Huh?  You have a service that more people are requesting, one that’s essentially unlimited since Wikipedia® is free, and the prices go up?

Yes.  But Wikipedia™ does not have climbing walls.

At least colleges are paying more for instructors/professors, right?

No.  Colleges are increasingly pushing instruction onto “adjunct” instructors.  These adjunct instructors are generally paid in PEZ® and pity.  If the college feels guilty, it leaves a little extra on the nightstand in the morning.

How much have prices gone up?

Prices have gone up everywhere, but let’s pick Harvard™.  In 1970, Harvard cost about $4,000 a year for tuition.  Not bad?  Well, the median family income was about $10,000 back then, so, not so bad.  If you hustled you could (with a small scholarship and working a pizza delivery job) make it.

Harvard now costs over $43,000 a year.  Median family income is closer to $60,000 a year, so prices (in terms of a family income) are up over 180%.  But Harvard® has literally billions of dollars in a cash horde that the administration rolls in when they can’t get enough sleep.  Other colleges have gone up more.  Much more.  One state school has gone up (since 1980) from $6,000 tuition to $40,000.  This is more than Harvard’s 180%, but I won’t do the math because I’m feeling like I don’t want to.  Oh!  The solution is left to the student!  Yeah, that’s what the books said . . .

So why are prices going up?

One theory, and it’s a good one, is student loans.  Student loans were created as a mechanism to trap young people into debt before they can legally buy whiskey means to allow anyone to go to school as long as they were willing to borrow enough money.

Student loan debt is the very worst kind of debt I know of that doesn’t involve a blood oath with the Mafia.  It is the herpes of debt.

Just like herpes is incurable and makes you (when disclosed) a lot less attractive to the opposite sex (or same sex, or whatever combinations including androids that are possible in California) student loan debt makes you less attractive.  And you can’t declare bankruptcy and get out of student loan debt.  Again, like herpes, it’s forever.  Unlike herpes, you can pay your debt down to zero.

But you should avoid both of them, if you can.  Debt, especially student loan debt, will outlast your mortgage.  I bought and sold four houses, three unicorns and one wife before I paid off my student loan.

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I met him.  Nice guy.  But he never did a song about a unicorn or a Pegasus.

But why would student loans cause the cost of college to increase? 

Simply put, there’s more money available?  The colleges most exposed to student loans increased their tuition the most.  Quite simply – tuition expands to consume as much money as you can feed it.  There’s a pretty comprehensive study that proves it – you can find the info here (LINK).  What, am I supposed to do all of your research?

So where is the money going?

PEZ® for the adjunct professors?  No.  Administrators.  I’ve seen this before in other organizations that aren’t subject to market punishment (like, say, your friendly federal or state government or school district).  One administrator has a job.  It’s not a hard job, but it’s his (or hers).  They are paid, at least partially, on the number of staff that they have.  So, they get approved positions for “essential” work.  Soon enough, a job that was barely important enough for one person is now down by a staff of thirty.  (This tendency will be discussed again in a future post, and was discussed in “Government is a Jobs Program here (LINK).)

Professor Doom is a very good writer.  His blog is “Confessions of a College Professor” and I strongly suggest that you read it, especially if you are certain that colleges are bastions of honor, learning, and goodness.  Recently, the learned Professor had a post where he described that at Evergreen College in Washington State, that there is one administrator for every six students.  I kid you not.  Here’s the link (LINK).

But the education is better, right?

Again, I’ll have to defer to Professor Doom.  He writes again and again how grade inflation has taken off (LINK).  I tried to find his post about how, due to a computer error, bunches of students at a school he was at were signed up for a class AFTER they got their schedules.

When this error was discovered at the end of the semester, fully a third of students (who had never attended class) had an “A” in the class that they had never been to and weren’t aware of.  Yeah, you read that right.

In at least a third of your classes, you never need attend and you’ll pull an “A”.

Wow.  That’s not really education at all, except maybe in the “son or daughter of a President or Senator who gets on a corporate board of directors because they can fog a mirror” way.

Why?

On snowy day a long time ago I decided I wanted to teach.  A new college had come to town – I had never heard of it, “University of Phoenix™.”  They put an ad out looking for faculty, and I sent in my résumé.  Or rësümë if you’re in a 1980’s hair metal band.

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Well, in the 1980’s I had hair . . .

I got an immediate call back.  Pretty soon I was in “New Faculty Training” – which included a batch of people with master’s degrees.  Most of us had teaching experience at the undergraduate level – that was, back in the day, how you paid to go to grad school.

We sat in a circle and discussed how to teach at the University.  We would get stock options if we did well.  The curriculum was set, and it was explained to us that the students were often working.  And had a tough time.  So we shouldn’t treat them exactly as students.

Think of them as customers instead, we were told.

So, what if a student never came to class?

“Well, they’re paying for it, so, it’s not a problem.”

What if a student didn’t turn in an assignment?

“You should give them a chance to turn it in late – they might have had a sick kid.”

One of the prospective faculty got pretty blunt:  “So, we shouldn’t flunk them?”

The leader of the orientation paused.   “Well, not if you can help it.”

So, a course you didn’t have to show up for, you could turn in assignments late, and would almost never flunk?  That sounds like the state of higher education today.

That was my last meeting with the University of Phoenix©.

Was it a smart financial move?  I just checked.  I wouldn’t have been a billionaire if I would have stayed with them.  So, whew.

What happened, John Wilder?

Prior to our current generation, college had been about the reputation of the institution and the graduates.  If you were a Harvard® man or a Vanderbilt™ grad, that meant something.  Not only was the curriculum difficult, but you only had a very small chance of even getting into the place.

The reputation of the school was that it was difficult – only the best should try to get in.  Only the best will succeed.  The often repeated story was of a Dean getting up before the freshman and saying, “look to your left . . . now look to your right.  Only one of you will be here in four years.”

That was something they were proud of.  If you didn’t dig in and study, well, you’re gone.  That enhances the value of the school’s name.

This was important.  The school would rather eat a kitten (an actual, living kitten without condiments like creamy horseradish sauce that go great with kitten) than put a graduate out that wasn’t up to their standards.

Now?  Students are “customers” and the administration wants as many of them as possible so they can spawn a never ending series of administrator clones (college administrators reproduce asexually) to bring into the college administration.  They don’t want to kick a student out, because that would mean that they would lose the precious, precious money that the student brings in.  So they need things to attract more customers.  Like elephant rides.  Free panty hose.  Margarita Tuesday.

Oh, did I mention that our college has climbing walls?

Mental Illness, Dunbar’s Number, and the Divine Right of Kings

“I thought I alone considered your boyfriend a narcissistic moron, but the whole galaxy does.” – Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

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The Tribe begins its annual war, an ancient rite known as “dodge ball.” 

What if we’ve been looking at mental health . . . all wrong?  This may be the most interesting thing you read all month, maybe all year.  But that’s just what a narcissist would say . . .

I was thinking the other day (a dangerous thing to do, I know, thinking is something to be left to those that work at universities and in congress) and had an idea.  Maybe (some) mental illness has a purpose.  I’ll explain, but first I have to explain Dunbar’s Number, which, of course, is named after Kim Kardashian.  I’m kidding.  Dunbar’s Number is named after Caitlyn Jenner.

Robin Dunbar, British Psychologist, looked over the size of the human neocortex (not Neo-Cortez, who would take over the Neo-Aztec) and after playing with a particularly plump and pleasant neocortex, decided that brains just might have something to do with how humans relate to each other.  The neocortex is actually the newest (in a biological sense) portion of the brain, and allows humans to do complex things, like talking, snorkeling, and making microwave ramen.

Dunbar looked at primate group brain sizes, and compared to the size of the neocortex to the size of the primate “group” or tribe.  After running the math, he predicted that humans should have a group size of around 150 – it’s related to the size of working memory that you have about other people.  The commonly accepted maximum stable group size (average) is 100-250, which explains why I need to have my children program the streaming box hooked up to my television – my working memory is full of details like the shoe preferences of the administrative assistant at work from six jobs ago.

Dunbar further theorized that larger groups could only stick together under strong survival pressures – you’d have to be pressed to work together by a fate as tough as death.  Why?  Because people are tough to deal with.  And it takes time to deal with people, rather than strangle them.

One potential reason that the “Dunbar” number for people could be higher than predicted is language.  Whereas other primates have to use non-verbal cues like body-slamming them, people, after the advent of language, can talk to each other so they can explain why they are body-slamming you.  For that reason, especially when dealing with modern (the last 12,000 years or so) humans, I favor a Dunbar number in the 250 range.

There is some validity to the number.  Anecdotally, I’ve been involved with a company that had two divisions in the same area.  One had 120 or so employees.  The other?  It had far greater than 500 employees.  I observed that the smaller division operated as a single unit.  Every employee knew every other employee – and they knew about their families, their hobbies, and their history.  Did that consume time?  Sure.  You couldn’t just go over to talk with one of them – the entire social greeting took at least 10 minutes.  You had to catch up.  And that’s the way that close relationships work – you can’t just say “hi” and walk on, you have to catch up with each other.  That explains why when I come home, The Mrs. wants to talk and stuff.  We’re engaging in a practice that’s at least thousands of years old.

The larger division had broken up into various factions based on job functions.  These factions looked like little tribes – each had a leader, an agenda, and they fought against each other regularly, often over nothing.  And each of these fights ended up hurting the company.  Gore-Tex® found the same thing – they built buildings for 150 people.  When the building filled up?  They built a new one.  They tried to keep the trust, the positive aspects of the tribes predicted by Dunbar from spilling over into intertribal warfare that happens at larger group sizes.

But ancient tribes didn’t have kid’s soccer, and FaceBorg®, and the myriad of connections that occur outside of work.  So, the Gore-Tex™ number is smaller than the “actual” tribe size.  Again, 250 seems about right.

So what does this have to do with mental illness?

Well, for a tribe to survive over time, while most members would be able to act as general “tribal” members most of the time (i.e., hunting, gathering) there would also be the need for specialist skills and attributes.  Situations the tribe might encounter (and overall group cohesiveness) require different talents.

Let’s take schizophrenia.  It’s prevalent in about 0.4% of the population.  It often manifests with being able to hear things that aren’t there, see things that don’t exist, and believe in a reality that others can’t see.

Sounds like a Shaman to me.  Every good tribe needs one, right?  Well, 0.4% is 1 person out of 250.  I got goosebumps when I did that calculation – the number seemed like a nice fit for the theory right off the bat.

Okay, what about another common mental condition?  Anxiety.  Anxiety is found in about 10.6% of the population.  So, in our tribe of about 250 we’d have about 26 planners.  26 people worrying on a daily basis about how the whole tribe would die.  These people are a pain in the butt, but this ability to dream up a constant set of disasters that the tribe could anticipate and avoid has huge survival value.  In today’s world, not so much.  Back 8,000 years ago?  This was an amazingly important skill.

About 6 of our 250 tribe would be obsessive-compulsive.  Mainly older folks.  I can see the meticulousness compulsion of the older, wiser tribal member being infectious – and leading to greater spread of learning throughout the tribe.  There are certain things you have to do right, you have to double check (think food poisoning) or else the tribe will die.  Having these super process-driven people might have been quite a help.

About 6 would of the tribe would be paranoid.  Again, like planning, it serves a purpose – but in this case the paranoia is about what other groups are doing and thinking.  Very helpful to have someone looking for the hints that the tribe will be attacked from outside.  Or, from inside.  Are you threatening me?

Narcissism?   About 1%.  Only so much room for leaders.  This would have about 2 of them in the tribe.

Psychopath/Sociopath?  About 1.2%.  So, 3 bold, direct, mean leaders of raiding parties/war parties.  It takes a village to kill another village.

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Pictured:  Psychopath.  I like the cut of his jib! 

Outside of oral history, our hypothetical tribe had only one way to pass on information about required roles and how to do them – genetics.  Genetics matter – many of these conditions are at least partially inherited, making it more likely that the leader was . . . the son of the leader.  The shaman was . . . the son or daughter of the last shaman.

This genetic tendency to replace the leader with the leader is (likely) the source of the concept of hereditary royalty and hereditary nobility.  And, genetically, those people were likely the best leaders around at that time, and they kept breeding . . . so, there was (at least for a while) some good reason to think that the Hohenzollerns and Hapsburgs might be pretty good choices for kings.  They were bred to be kings.  Now:  perhaps a bit too much cousin-lovin’ (LINK)?

So, yeah, all of the roles required for a self-sufficient band are built within our genetic profiles – but some of them aren’t valued so much in our current society – we don’t need a half-dozen war-band leaders in every high school.  And, as far as I know, this is an idea I developed (more or less) independently.    Which is also something a narcissist would say . . . hmmm.

Time Goes By Too Fast? Blue Öyster Cult, Pascal, and Ben Affleck May Save Us Yet

“All Rome rejoices in your return, Caesar.  There are many matters that require your attention.” – Gladiator

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Memes – a tool of attention control?  Or cats with eated cookies?

One curse of modern life is . . . always being in a rush.  A hurry.  Where is the time?  How do you expect to do that?  It’ll take hours to do that?

And it’s a constant refrain now – we end up at midnight wondering . . . where did the day go?  The rush?  It adds to stress, and stress clearly causes health problems over time.

Yeah, that time we don’t have enough of.  Where did all of our time go, anyway?

I seem to remember that Blue Öyster Cult (in the song Burning for You) promised me . . . “Time everlasting, time to play B-sides . . . “

So, where is my time to play B-sides?  (Historical note:  In order to hear a stupid song you liked, it was required to buy either a full album, or to buy a “single.”  The “single” cost less, and had the song you really wanted to hear.  On the other side of the popular song was the “b-side” – generally a song that wasn’t very popular, and never would be very popular.  Thus, if you had time to play b-sides, you were wealthy with time.  Now you can just go to the Internet and have any song ever recorded played for you instantaneously.)

Television

The real issue now is that every moment of every day can be filled with media:  YouTube®, Netflix©, Amazon Prime Video™, Hulu©, HBOGO®.  Those are just the video services, which doesn’t include the television your television has recorded for you to watch later.

But if it were just videos, we’d be okay.  Virtually every time I type this, either YouTube® is providing background music, or one of the movies that I watch as background noise (The Accountant® is one that I like a lot, and Batman vs. Superman™ is another – don’t judge me for my Affleck Affection Affliction – my doctors says it might be curable).

Now, however, we can watch an entire television season (via binge watching) in several days – creating an immersive event that can be disorienting.

When The Mrs. and I first started watching “Lost” on DVD, well, there were several 3AM nights because we couldn’t stop watching.  “Just one more episode . . .”

Social Media

Then we add in interactive online experiences – FaceBorg®, Twitttttterrrr©, SnapGram™.  These are experiences engineered to grab your attention.  Twitter shows you a notification when it wants you to see the notification to maximize your engagement.  There’s nothing random about these web services.  And you’ve probably heard this before, but if they’re not charging you to do it, you’re the product.  With these social media services, you are completely the product.  FaceBird© expected to make $27 from the data it harvested . . . from each user.  Who paid?  Who knows?  Let’s just say your late night searches have drawn . . . some attention)

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Not pictured:  Cambridge or Stanford.

Cambridge and Stanford (the universities, not the two dudes named Cambridge and Stanford that were Muppets®) did a study, and found that with 10 likes FaceBlog© knows you better than a work colleague.  150 likes?  They know you better than your parents know you.  300 likes?  They can beat the Persians at Thermopylae.  Just kidding.  They do, however, know you better than your spouse.  And everyone knows the Persians are still on MySpace®.

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Only this many likes and then FaceBlock® says . . . THIS IS SPARTA!

And if they know you better than your spouse?  They can certainly figure out your moods, the things that will get and keep your attention.  Why?  Their income depends on your attention.

The News

The news is becoming ever less based in truth and more and more polarized.  So, the news isn’t only fake, it’s biased.  Examples?  After Trump was nominated for President, a news reporter did a straight news story that Trump had asked a woman with a crying baby to leave a campaign rally.  Did he do it?  Yes.  Was he kidding?  Well, yes.  Humor is a powerful way to connect with a crowd – watching video of the event later, it was pretty obvious that it was a joke.

Both sides do it.  It was reported that a “doctor” had reviewed Hillary Clinton and found that she had some form of cerebral palsy.  Clearly, that would be devastating for her bid for the presidency.  Clearly, there’s no evidence of the palsy post-election.

So, the news becomes polarized like a 120 volt outlet, all charged up to make you care passionately about things you’ve never heard about before.

Availability

All of the above are available to you everywhere and anytime.  I can watch a movie on a tablet in bed while I check my phone to see how many people liked my last Tweeet®.  It used to be (in the long-before time) that this level of immersive and up to date media was available only in limited locations.  Now?  Anywhere.  Work.  Working out.  Driving to work.  Driving home.  At dinner.  And throw your work e-mail on top of that so you can read the thought your boss had at 2am when he woke up to let the dog out.

Result?

  • You feel rushed – you have eliminated downtime. Back during the Revolutionary War, learning about the results of a battle might take weeks.  Now?  When ISIS was attacking in Iran halfway around the world from here, there were nearly-live videos uploaded to YouTube®.  And we can watch the Kardashians doing . . . well, whatever parasitical thing they’re doing today.  (I’m not saying that they’re exactly like human tapeworms, but there are a lot of unsettling coincidences . . . .)
  • Your ideas never have time to develop? How could they?  They’re always being trampled by the ideas and opinions of others, couched in the most emotional manner possible to elicit the largest surge of anger or fear they can muster.
  • You lose the ability to focus and concentrate – there’s always some media begging for your attention at the periphery of your consciousness. Check that email – it might be important!  (Hint:  it might be important once a month.)
  • Shopping – for anything, anytime. Your commercial desires can be met instantly.  Need to order ammunition for an AK at 8AM?  Sure!  Need to order posters for a protest parade at a podium?  Sure!
  • Boredom with the mundane. Mundane literally means “Earthly.”  I can co-pilot a TIE® fighter with Darth Vader©.  I can grab a YouTube© video showing Russian teens at the top of the tallest building in Moscow.  Live view a rocket launch?    What can awe and inspire a generation that has experienced so many events virtually?  Oh, wait, you search for ever more esoteric adventures.  And you’ll find them – but none of them will occur around your location.
  • Video games, where you can expend hours achieving great goals, saving civilizations, destroying enemy fleets, founding empires. Great, pre-programmed goals.  Other people’s goals.  Goals that aren’t yours, and, when accomplished, aren’t at all real.
  • Preoccupation with news that has no impact on you, and that you have no control over, yet about which you are made to feel deeply that you’re willing to fight the other side to the death.   Seems legit.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

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This is Blaise Pascal – who had a nose larger than any ship in the current Canadian Navy, but wasn’t quite as smart as Newton.  This irritates the French.  Note the Blue Öyster Cult symbol in the background . . . Pascal was a rocker!

  • Mindset that our activity is our accomplishment.   Our accomplishment is our accomplishment.
  • The mathematician Blaise Pascal said (roughly, this is my translation of what I remember he said in French because I’m too lazy to go to my library to look it up – heck, I even marked this passage when I first read it and am too lazy to go and check, but I’ll get close enough because, well, I’m John Wilder) “Activity distracts us, which removes our attention from how wretched we are.”
  • We’re being manipulated (not in a tinfoil hat way, but in a shareholder value way). FaceBrick® makes money off of you.  Off of your eyes.  Off of your attention.  Off of your habits.  It’s not a conspiracy that businesses will do whatever they can to make more money from you, even if the long term consequences aren’t in your best interest.  But it is in their best interest to put in front of you the stimulus that they figure will give them the proper response.

Coping – How do I deal with it?

  • I don’t listen to the radio during my daily commute. That leaves over an hour without any media – any static.  It took about a week to get used to it, but now I use that time to think – to plan for the day or night ahead.  To think about the next post.  To think about . . . anything.  But the thoughts are my own.
  • When we go out to eat as a family, phones in a pile on the table. We’re there and discuss what each other think.
  • At work, I’ll sometimes take e-mail breaks – where I won’t review them for hours at a time.
  • Sitting without distraction to focus on a single problem or task. I find that, for me, music helps with the focus.
  • Writing daily the list of things that I really have to do. This will probably be its own post in the future.  But I use and actual pen and pencil, and put it on actual paper.  It makes a difference.

The trends are clear – barring a global war, great depression, currency collapse, or regional war near here, our attention span will be fought over on a daily basis.  If you want to accomplish anything real in your life, if you want to avoid the stress that comes with the constant emotional treadmill, you have to come up with a strategy.

Thankfully?  I have my willpower.  That, and Ben Affleck movies.  I can mostly ignore them.  Hey – is Ben Affleck . . . my B-side?

If so, that makes me wealthy, indeed!

Friendship and Health – and When Friendships are Made . . .

“How come you don’t hang out with your friends no more?” – Repo Man

 kermit direction

Kermit knows that friends don’t tell friends to drive into the mouth of an active volcano.

I read a joke the other day:  “Why don’t we read about Jesus’ other miracle very often?  I mean, what guy has 12 close friends after the age of 30?”

It’s true.  And it’s the post topic for healthy Friday.  Why?  Because we need friends to be healthy.  And we need friends to help us hide the bodies.  What bodies?  Who said anything about bodies?  My lawyer certainly says I don’t.

This post was originally going to be the second part of my post from Monday (LINK), but when I tried to put them together, it was sloppy, horrible, and I ended up having my hands stuck to my eyebrows with literary Super Glue®.  The parts just didn’t fit.  Or they didn’t fit when I tried to smash them together last Sunday night.  The nouns, gerunds and library paste wouldn’t keep it together.  At least not at 2AM.  But it’s important to talk about.  Why?

There’s a huge connection.

Something about the friendships you make when you are between the ages of 10 and 16 is . . . magic.  And I think the thing that makes it magic is the years from 10 to 16, those six years . . . are (on average) about 50% of your life.  And the specific 50% where you learn how to be mean.  How to be hurt.  How to feel shame.  How to feel triumph.  How to buy beer when underage at the 7-11© at the outskirts of town . . . .

The Mrs. and I (okay, mainly The Mrs.) used to watch a show where addicts would be confronted by their family in order to convince them to not be addicts.  They went through the lives of the addicts – in almost every case, the addict had insufficient parental support (or some sort of tragedy) between the ages of 11 and 14.  Very specific.  Each story didn’t rhyme – it was nearly life plagiarism.

Something happens in that part of your life.  That really, really long part of your life.

Hormones kick in.  And every emotion is fresh.  New.  The crisp morning air?  That first morning when you walk out to your car and, for the first time, see frost on the window?  HOW COOL IS THAT?  After a few thousand times, the frost becomes . . . another thing you have to deal with.  Again.

You only get one first kiss.  You only get one first walk hand in hand (or hands in tentacle if you’re a Lovecraftian monstrosity) with your girlfriend.  The newness is huge.  And the friendships are closer.  Why?  How many times will you climb the water tower in your town to paint it?  Well, not at all now, because Homeland Security would probably take you to Gitmo® for putting your name on the water tower.  Because . . . terrorism?

First dates.  First breakups.  First . . . everything.

Anyway – your life is so very full of firsts.  The psychological impacts are massive – and the need for parental support is likewise massive.  It’s nice to have the support of people that are genetically connected to you (LINK) and understand you.  Probably.  We Post-Modern-Vikings seem to be somewhat erratic.  I digress.

This time of your life was difficult.  It was new.  It was a struggle.  But it was yours.  And your friends from this time had several attributes – they didn’t want anything from you.  They just wanted you.  They wanted to jump in your car and head to the party place and find the guys who couldn’t let go of high school and had a keg of beer.  And why not?  Life stretched out forever.

Until it didn’t.

I have had several rare opportunities – I’ve reached out to friends from the past who I finally found due to Internet searches (I’m not a bit Facebook® fan) and talked to them.  And we restarted right where we left off.

The Mrs. talked about some psychological theory where people related to their friends . . . forever, in the same way they related to each other when they first formed their relationship.  So, you’d always be tied into that same social hierarchy.  You’d always be friends in the same way you were when you first formed that friendship.

Amazing.  Psychological ties to your friends are rooted in multiple dimensions – they are rooted in your common origin story (like when Wolverine® met Cinderella™!) and your common goofiness.  Also?  Your love of songs that were popular when you were at your absolutely stupidest.  Like 13.

Thankfully, nobody remembers where those bodies are . . . .

How much time do you have left? Not as much as you think you do . . .

“Ok, let me see if I’ve got this straight. In order to be grounded, I’ve got to be crazy. And I must be crazy to keep flying. But if I ask to be grounded, that means I’m not crazy anymore, and I have to keep flying.” – Catch 22

 stuff

Now 205 pounds and doing 180 push-ups and sit-ups a day . . . .

When I was 10, summer lasted a year.  I would spend the time hiking in the mountains, making models (plastic spaceships, not the Donald Trump kind), reading comic books (sometimes the same ones, again and again) and looking forward to the next day.  Each day was a bit of wonder, and they lasted so very long.  It seemed like the longest days were those when we were wishing that the calendar would go forward – for a vacation – for a trip – for a birthday.  Our life went slowest when we were wishing it away.

When I was 30, summers began to blend together into a blur.  Time for the mortgage payment . . . again?  Didn’t I just pay that?  I’ll change the filter in the air conditioner.  Oh, that’s been a year?  No, two years???  How did that happen?

When I was 5, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas was roughly . . . forever.  Now?  A blink and then it’s done.  And after 30?  Might as well spin the wheel – days blur into weeks into months into years.  A decade between visits with a close friend?  Hmmm.

A clock ticks off a minute after a minute.  It ticks off an hour in an hour.  That linear time is 1+1=2.  It’s how we think of the world, but it’s not at all how we experience it.  No.  Our time sense is far different.

When we are born, after living that first day – it’s all we have ever known.  It’s an eternity.  It’s literally all the time we’ve ever known.  To look forward after that day would be to look across a gulf of time that, to us, is nearly an infinite amount of time away.

A minute isn’t a minute.  When you’re ten years old, half of your life is five years.  When you’re forty, five years the amount of time you’ve been thinking about changing your shower curtain.  But half of your life is twenty years, and that’s something substantial to you.  Kind of like the five years to the ten year old . . . .

All of us experience time a day at a time, but the day is different to each of us, has different significance, different meaning.  Your time sense is changed by the amount of time you’ve spent on Earth.  The most significant time is doubling . . . rather than a year, it’s all about how many times you’ve doubled your experience.  Let’s take an example:

Most people don’t start building memories until they’re two and a half or so.  Double it?  Five.  Again?  10.  20.  40.  80.

Viewed from that vantage point, we’ve only got about five doublings in our life.  Rather than 80 years (which seems daunting) think about it that the time between five and 10 will roughly correspond to the perceived duration between ages 40 and 80.

And I think it’s not just time perception – it’s learning.  It’s achievement.  You probably learn as much between two and a half and five as you do between 10 and 20.  Or 40 and 80.

Does time seem like it’s going faster?  For you it is.  This is the same model that radioactive decay follows – a half-life.  The half-life of a radioactive atom is based upon the stability of its nucleus.  Your half-life is based on how many days you have lived.  And each day makes the next day shorter . . . .

Fortunately, there’s a solution.  When reading Joseph Heller’s book, Catch: 22, one of the characters, Dunbar, shot skeet because he hated shooting skeet.  Whenever possible he did things he hated or things that made him uncomfortable so that he could have a life that appeared to be longer.  I mean, nothing seems longer than doing something you hate, so why not just fill your life with doing things you hate?

Oh, we don’t fill our lives with doing things we hate because it’s stupid.  Whew.  Forgot.

I’ll throw out there, that when viewed in these doublings, you have much less useful time on Earth than you think.  If you have five doublings (and nobody has ever made it to six) than you’ve only got so much time to do what you want to do.

Have a book to write?  If you haven’t started, will you ever?

Have an apology to make?  If you wait another decade, will that make it easier?

Whatever you do, don’t wish your life away – you’ve only got so many days.  Make the most of each one of them.

Old-Time Television, Polical Trends, and Civil War II for Fat People

“Well, l could be wrong, but l believe diversity is an old, old wooden ship that was used during the Civil War era.” – Anchorman

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The Battleship Texas, reporting for tourists!  Hopefully fat ones!

Data Point:  I was at a club function with The Mrs., The Mrs.’ Mom, and The Mrs.’ Grandfather several years ago.  The Mrs.’ Grandfather was in the Army Air Corps in World War II, so he’s getting along in years.  Standing up and sitting down is tough on him.

The club opened with both a prayer, and then the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag.  You were supposed to stand for both.  The Mrs.’ Grandfather didn’t attempt to stand for the prayer, but when it came time to stand for the Pledge, he was standing straight and tall with his hand over his heart.  It was as if his loyalty to his country was in fact his real religion.

Data Point:  I grew up in a rural area – no cable for us.  It was in the mountains, so we didn’t even reception from the television station directly – we got it from a “translator” that took the original signal from the television station and converted it to a UHF signal to be rebroadcast to us mountain folk.  Consequently there were only three networks – ABC, NBC, and CBS.  We also got PBS, but who counted PBS??

The next day at school, we’d talk about the same shows.  Different races, different home languages in some cases, and different religions.  The commonality was our love (generally) of the same television shows – we all watched Family Feud®.  Our teachers were strong believers in America.  And our faith in the United States prevailing over the godless communists of the Soviet Union was strong.  We knew we could win.  And it was (after Vietnam) a time (mostly) free of war.  Even the first Gulf War was over in an afternoon.

Data Point:  For most of the nation’s post-Civil War history, the undercurrent of a single, cohesive nation, the undercurrent of optimism carried through the nation.  We were America, and it was morning here.  You might have voted against Carter, or Reagan, or Bush (I) or Clinton, but nobody said “not my president.”  Carter may have had crappy economic policy, but his commitment to building the United States’ military (stealth aircraft, improved submarines and missiles) gave Reagan the weapons to end the Cold War peacefully.

We were one as a country – bound by the civic religion of love for country, the nominal shared Christian values, and the overwhelmingly focused popular culture.

I’m not sure when it really began, the great fissures in American society.  Some may point to Reagan.  Some may point to the Clinton Impeachment.  Others may point to changing demographics.  Others may point back to Glubb’s (LINK) study of the end of empires.

But progressives were 100% certain that they would own the future and the presidency for . . . forever.  After W. termed out, the idea that Obama ushered in a year of final, complete progressive control was even more manifest.  And now, in the post-Obama era we have greater divisions than ever in my lifetime.

Why?

Well, for one thing, a vast majority of the citizens felt the civic religion my Grandfather-in-law felt when he stood up for the pledge.  There was a feeling of faith and reverence for all things American.  And why not?  The United States was the strongest economic and military power the world had ever seen.  And most of what we were responsible for, we felt was to make the world a better place.  Who was trying to get the Egyptians and Israelis to stop killing each other?  Carter.  Who was trying to limit nuclear weapons?  Reagan.  Bush (I) liberated Kuwait.  Everyone generally was in favor of that.  Clinton?  Well, he got a participation trophy – but didn’t mess too much up.

Also, values used to be common.  Mainstream Protestant Christianity was pretty much the assumed norm.  And the values of Protestants (egalitarianism, hate of nepotism, belief in hard work leading to success through a meritocracy, looking down on unwed pregnancy and single motherhood, and salvation through faith) were fairly benign.  You didn’t have to be a Protestant for a Protestant to like you, and as religions go, Protestantism is probably the most comfortable religion with a secular state.  As I heard it said once, “Welcome to the Methodists!  We’re not against anything!”

And popular culture was small (three stations!) and opinions were more limited.  No matter who you were with, you had something in common.  You didn’t like the same candidate, right, but at least you liked the same sports team.  Or the same sport.  Now, given the Internet and the explosion of cable channels, you might never watch the same show as your friends.  The commonality of popular culture is simply gone.

I think it might have been the division was seen in earnest in the 2000 election – the bitter, close win by W. was (maybe) the spark that lit the fire.  Was the degree of anger during this election and the aftermath partially in response to the Clinton Impeachment?  Probably.

Since the 2000 election, one side or the other has felt the presidential election wasn’t legitimate.  So, for the last 18 years, half-ish of the country has really, really, really had a deep hate for the president.  That’s new.  And there are a group of people in America today who actively despise the country.  That’s new, too.  And, they despise its history, too.  And they also despise showers, from the pictures I’ve seen.

If you look at the recent destruction/removal of Civil War statues, I get concerned.  The statues were a part of the reconciliation effort after the Civil War – part of the bargain for bringing us back together as a nation was that we embraced each other.  Oh, sure, there would never be a statue to General Grant or Abraham Lincoln in Atlanta, but General Lee could be rehabilitated as a military genius who was asked by both sides to lead their army.  These statues weren’t put up like statues of Lenin or Stalin – memorials to oppressive leaders – this might be the first war in history where statues of the losers were put up on territory they lost.

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Sam Houston, in Houston.  Let’s see you take this one down . . . .

We have fractured into a thousand different values.  And a thousand different cultures.  I’ve actually seen it said on the Internet that America has no set culture or values and never has.  Our sense of purpose has gone from winning the Cold War to . . . what?  Something centered around the Kardashians?

We cannot continue like this, but the necessary preconditions to Civil War are (thankfully!) not here.  Our economy is strong, so people feel they have something to lose, so they won’t fight.  Fanatics on either side aren’t geographically separated (think north and south in the Civil War) so that’s another plus.  There don’t appear to be two military sides, so that’s helpful, too.

What next, then?

Well, Yogi Berra said it best, “Predicting is hard, especially about the future.”

  • We won’t become as cohesive again, outside of war. Once the group is shattered, it’s shattered.
  • We will find it difficult to agree on any national goals, outside of crisis.

Things I’m guessing:

  • We won’t see anything like a conventional war. We’ve spent too much money and are too good at it for anyone else to play.  Any external conflict will be far sneakier, and far nastier.  Think all the computers not working.  Or all of the Pop-Tarts® being the icky brown sugar ones.
  • Add a sufficient economic crisis, and all bets are off internally. I don’t think a second Great Depression (absent all of the welfare) will be peaceful.  At all.  Maybe not a civil war, maybe just anarchy.
  • People will call the future situation “bad luck” despite the clear predictability from every civilization undergoing the same circumstances throughout history (again, see my Glubb post: (LINK)).

I, for one, want to make video games, carbonated soda, Doritos™ and Twinkies® federally subsidized (free) for everyone.  That way, if Civil War II ever comes?  Everyone will be fat and slow and probably in sweatsuits.  It might make for the most humorous war in history.

Tiny Fight Club, Taleb’s Skin in the Game, and Expensive Female Lawyer Reproduction

“A guy who came to Fight Club for the first time, he was a wad of cookie dough.  After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood.” – Fight Club

DSC04363

The Boy and Pugsley square off in a Beta version of Fight Club.  Bigfoot is in the background as an observer.

I have a fight club in my basement.

Not an officially sanctioned, Tyler Durden® approved Fight Club.  Just a small fight club, mainly involving me, The Boy, Pugsley, and (sometimes) The Mrs.

What is this tiny fight club?  Well, it’s wrestling.

Wrestling season ended for The Boy a little sooner than he’d planned – he’s in high school and would rather have gone on from districts.  We talked about it, and he was ready to commit to working harder for the coming year – and I read somewhere that “working hard” was correlated with “success.”  Sounds like crazy voodoo to me.

But sometimes a hard loss will do that to you much more effectively than a win – when I wrestled, I learned something from each match I lost.  Some wins?  I didn’t learn a thing.  And losing can either break you or motivate you.  The Boy sounded motivated.

Given The Boy’s commitment, we immediately started practicing for the next year.  Since Pugsley wanted to join us, we threw him in for good measure – he’s five years younger and a bit smaller than The Boy.  I will note that The Mrs. has been after me for about two years to take a more rigorous and structured approach to coaching The Boy and Pugsley in wrestling.  My excuse was that I didn’t want to interfere with their actual wrestling coaches and the work that they were doing with my kids – what if I taught them moves differently than the coach liked?  Yeah, a lame reason, but it was my reason.

But after this year for The Boy, he was ready.  He only has so many days left of wrestling, and he committed that he’d work with me to make the most of them.  Fair enough, I’d commit to him to work hundreds of hours with him to help him be better.  So we started practice.  But before we started practice?  I started reading, studying, and preparing to coach.

I prepared to start Tiny Fight Club (no, this wasn’t a restart of my failed Midget Hammer Fighting League):

Fight_Club_poster

Copyright © 1999 by 20th Century Fox, via Wikimedia.

What sort of things should I teach them?  In what order?  Wrestling is easily the oldest sport known to humanity – men were wrestling each other when we still hadn’t figured out how to knock two rocks together to make a “clunk” sound and way before they’d invented the Nintendo® Switch™.

Why did we wrestle in the murky depths of history?  To impress the ladies, sure.  Also, because it’s fun.  Most importantly, as Jordan Peterson would say, this combat allows us to create a hierarchy, and having that hierarchy is important, as I describe in my perfectly awesome post about Peterson’s book (LINK).

But something more happened.  I became engrossed in study about how to coach and what to coach.  And Pugsley still had one more tournament left . . . so we had exactly three practices until he would finish out his kid’s wrestling season.

Like The Boy, Pugsley had been, well, stalled in his progress if not taking a few steps backward this year.  He just wasn’t getting much better.  But we had those three practices.  And with them, and in drilling he felt more confident than ever.

The good thing about that last tournament?  There were only two people in his bracket.  One was Dirk.  Pugsley had never even taken Dirk down (where you gain control over your opponent) in the last three years.  The other wrestler, Ezekiel, well, Pugsley hadn’t beaten Zeke in two years.  Literally he had wrestled these two other boys a dozen times or so in the previous two years and hadn’t beaten either one of them.  What was three hours of practice?

In the very first match in his weight, Dirk pinned Ezekiel.  Quickly.  As was usual.  Dirk routinely took first place.

Dirk’s second match was against Pugsley.  Pugsley immediately (and with confidence) went out and gained control and got the take down!  He was up 2-0.  Dirk was in such difficulty (and pain!) he’d done anything he could to get off the mat.  Pugsley dominated him for most of the period, then got in a pretty bad position, and then got pinned.  But he came off the mat with confidence – he knew what I had coached him in worked – he had been amazing against an opponent he’d never even scored on.  The next match he pinned Ezekiel in the first period.  Zeke was not pleased – the creampuff he always beat had grown fangs.  And Pugsley was sold on our practices.

On the way home he talked about wanting to be a national collegiate wrestling champion.  As Nassim Nicholas Taleb would say, I now had “Skin in the Game” and so did my boys.  And it matters.

(The following link doesn’t get me any money as of the time of this writing, but at some point I might monetize it.  It’s Taleb.  Buy the book, anyway.)

I am thinking about reviewing this book, but reviewing Taleb might prove to be difficult in this blog – it might require five or more posts.  We’ll see.  Buy it, anyway, and read it.

In the process of working through wrestling with The Boy and Pugsley – I found something interesting (outside of the bruises randomly outcropping on my biceps, forearms, and chest).  I felt more energized than I’d felt in ages.  The very act of working with The Boy and Pugsley to make them stronger and more skilled improved my attitude about . . . everything.  My daily cardio workouts became sharper (and I studied wrestling moves during them).  And my muscles started to grow as I kept up with the boys when we lifted after fight club.

But I also had another epiphany.

The combat serves many purposes:  It builds confidence.  It teaches to never give up.  By example, it shows that hard work pays off in success.  It bonds fathers to sons.  It builds discipline (Pugsley’s respect for me has gone up 372% and his pre-teen surliness has utterly disappeared).  These are all traits that will lead (along with intelligence and Stoic virtue (LINK)) to much greater than average social and economic success.

And I’m in much better shape, and I’m learning how to teach The Boy (no, you have to rotate more than 180˚) and Pugsley (no, you have to throw your head through while you get your hips under your shoulders) and The Mrs. (dear, could you make us all some nice sandwiches).  I kid.  The Mrs. oversees our deadly serious play.  When The Boy complained that Pugsley smelled like sour milk, The Mrs. awarded The Boy a penalty point for “Involuntary Lactation.”  That caused us all to laugh.

But the epiphany is that the combat pays off down the road in the ultimate Skin in the Game moment:  this work is a precursor to reproduction . . . what?

Yes.  Being a high status man increases reproduction possibilities.  Being a high status woman doesn’t.

Huh?

How does that work???  Check this tweet out:

https://twitter.com/DegenRolf/status/973473559933747206/photo/1

I would say that being a high-powered female attorney actually lowers reproduction access for women.  The most fertile years for women are in their 20’s – after that, it lowers drastically.  By the age of 40?  Forget it.

But high status guys?  The guys back in the cavemen days that were winning the wrestling matches?  They got a chance to reproduce.  And 8,000 years ago, science says that only one guy versus 17 women reproduced (LINK).  The odds are better now, one guy will get to reproduce for every out 3.3 women that to reproduce.  3.3 to one?  Are you kidding me?  Nope.  High-status guys, only the top third, get to reproduce.   I guess that choosy girls all choose the same men.

High status men.

Competition – physical competition is hardwired into the brains and souls of boys.  And old men, like me.  That’s why I felt so good – I was throwing myself into physical combat for the first time in years, and relishing it.  Winning (and coaching well) provides many physical benefits – increased testosterone, brain chemicals and other science-y things in addition to the strength and fitness ability.  If you look at the math, social hierarchy is a must for men.

In today’s society, that means a cool job with money.  So, in order to have children, i.e., the ultimate Skin in the Game, the behaviors of competition and working long hours to increase income are absolutely necessary for men and are negatively correlated with reproductive success for women.

There’s no wage gap, at least not one based on any sort of discrimination.  Thousands (if not more) of years of human breeding have made men drive to succeed – because success is the currency of reproduction.

The final observation for today:

Raising boys is a full contact sport.  To allow them to reach their full potential they have to fight.  I suspect that many (but not all) cases of ADHD and the other alphabet salads of childhood disorders that have suddenly emerged after existing . . . never, are really just boys not being able to take risks or have a fistfight or nurse a bloody nose or confront a bully – behaviors that bind them into the social hierarchy.

“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” – Fight Club

Oops, I guess I broke the first rule of Fight Club.  Again.