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

atahualpa

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.

atahualpapizarro

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.

pizport

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.

Most of the People at Your Company Know Nothing, John Snow. And You Can’t Fire Them.

“He was poisoning me?  It was all there in the job title.  The head of Human Resources.  This time, it’s personnel.” – Dr. Who

babypriest

Umm, I can’t top this.

I’ve posted before about how government is a jobs program (LINK), but increasingly government has made businesses hire more and more people that produce nothing in order simply to meet government regulations or to fend off lawsuits.  It’s like welfare, but with the whole, “you mean I have to be there at eight . . . am?”

Think I’m kidding?

Let’s start with Human Resources.  I love the title.  HR.  Every company has someone who does this, right?  The title makes me think they go to a mine and take a pickaxe and look for bits of people that they can assemble into Frankenployee.

frankie

I’m wondering where I go to complain about the other employees and their “made from living tissue in a normal manner that doesn’t insult God” privilege?

Well, what’s the problem with HR?  They’re there for their workers, right?  (Notice the They’re, there, their trifecta!)

Let me tell you a story that I’ve seen unfold several times during my career.

Person A, unhappy about employee favoritism, to John Wilder:  “I’m so angry, this isn’t right!  I’m going to tell Human Resources!”

John Wilder:  “Umm, dude, Human Resources reports up to the President.  They are not on the employee side, they’re on the company side.”

Person A, after talking to HR:  “They asked me if it was sexual harassment.  I said “no.”  Then they said they didn’t care – quit whining.”

If your boss treats you poorly, and fires you, and is wrong in every way possible from being rude to being born as ugly as a cross between a turkey and a cat, Human Resources is . . . on their side.  As long as he doesn’t take a fire axe and try to kill you at your desk – they’ve got him covered.  “Unconventional leadership!  Attempts to motivate by leaving a dead rodent in their tea!  Didn’t actually kill employee!”

The only way to get Human Resources on your side?  Own the company.

Sure, HR helps with finding and hiring people, but that’s primarily so the hiring manager doesn’t screw up and create legal liability by asking the person being interviewed if they’re fat or pregnant, then telling them they must be fat, because they’re too old to be pregnant.  HR tells them not to do that.  But if they do it?  HR will defend you (if you own the company).

HR also helps with setting up employee benefits.  Yup.  Employee benefits still exist in some places – they’ve not vanished, but they are as rare as a coelacanths. (pronounced see-lo-can-thhhhhhhhhhh)

coelacanth

Yeah, coelacanths are almost as old as your mother.  And what would Mom say?  Don’t be a coela-canth, be a coela-can!

Let’s pretend that businesses didn’t have to pay taxes.  What then?

Well, your accounting department would shrivel – and not the individual employees shriveling so all seventy could fit into a filing cabinet (though that is amusing).  You’d only need the accountants that sent the bills, paid the bills, and then do whatever reports you wanted and maybe a couple to make sure employees aren’t stealing too much from you.  Sure, it’s important to know why your company makes money (don’t laugh – there are some companies, profitable ones – that have no idea how they make money) and the accountants can be sent out to find which parts of the company cost more than they make, but the current sea of accountants that are devoted to taxation and special treatment of the way the company spends money so it can conform to what the government wants?  Yeah, they could go away.

Thankfully, Big Brother Government will never let this happen, though, due to public safety concerns.  Nobody wants that many introverts walking around the streets staring at their own shoes.  The poor dears would get run down right and left.  And how would we pay for cleaning up all the accountant blood off of our cars?

Next victim?  Investor Relations folks work with the company lawyers to help the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) pretend that they know what a business is when Congress calls them and invites them to come and talk.  Congress then kicks them a few times to show them who is boss, and then sends them back to do exactly what they previously did before they got yelled at.

In reality Investor Relations fills out forms and does annual reports.  The purpose of the annual report is so that the CEO can show off how much he cares and about the new charity hospital the company set up in Belgium.  Why Belgium?  Your CEO thought Belgium was in Africa.

Don’t let the Legal Department reproduce, or your company will have three lawyers for every person engaged in productive activity.  It’s like that movie with the aliens with the seed pods.  But in this case the seed pods just turn into more lawyers.

Every industry in the United States has “Industry Regulation Experts.”  Things that a farmer can throw on a trash-heap in his north 40 are (sometimes) things that a chemical company would get fined for even thinking about purchasing since hazardous waste is the in the eye of the beholder.

(True Aside:  There are two kinds of hazardous wastes under Federal law:  listed and characteristic.  Listed is just because an unelected regulator put it  . . . on a list.  Many of these items make no sense.  But characteristic is funny.  Originally EPA was gooing going to set characteristic hazardous wastes as those with a pH less than 3 (that means it’s an acid).  OOOPS!  Coca-Cola™ has a pH of 2.5.  So they set the pH of a characteristic hazardous waste at . . . 2.

Let’s go to bases/caustics.  These can still burn you.  So, the EPA decided that we’d set a limit of 12.  Again . . . OOOPS!  Wet concrete has a pH of 12 to 13.   So, they set the pH for a hazardous caustic waste as . . . 12.5.

Government is stupid, but not stupid enough to outlaw Coke® and concrete.)

Food production people in California have vastly different regulations than a similar company in Utah might have.  And as government finally comes around?  Tech companies will soon require hundreds of extra personnel just to sit in your office to tell you why you’re not allowed to do.

Thankfully, there are companies you can hire to do everything we’ve talked about.  You can outsource accounting, payroll, HR, and even legal.  Groups of consultants know your business better than you.

Rob Halford knows HR and Legal says you’re not supposed to mix Judas Priest® and Babymetal™.  But Rob doesn’t care . . .

It’s my theory that our country could be as productive as a boxcar filled with kindergarteners that just had sugar cookies after trick-or-treating.  We just need to get everybody rowing and we’d be on Mars in two years.

If not rowing?  At least tell them about our new colony on Venus!  We’re shipping out new colonists starting every Tuesday!

venus

Found at (LINK).  Story “Marching Morons” can be found at (LINK).

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

eated it

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)

muppet

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®.

300

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?

pacalboc

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.

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

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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.

Stoics, Fight Club, Wealth, and Virtue

“I had it all.  Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of . . . wherever.” – Fight Club

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The first rule of Fight Club is . . . be older than six.  And no swords.

Wealth – what is it?

Is it:

  • Something that we sacrifice our lives for?
  • Something we obsess about until it controls us?
  • Something that is never . . . quite enough?
  • Something we have to have more of than our neighbor?
  • Something that defines our feelings about ourselves?

I’ll be honest, but there have been times I’ve viewed wealth in more than one of the categories above and acted as such.  “Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants,” is what Epictetus wrote about 100 A.D.  Even more succinctly, Tyler Durden said in Fight Club, “You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your (gosh darn) khakis.”

Epictetus

What Epictetus may have looked like.  If he were in a comic strip.

I may have it in for Johnny Depp, but Brad Pitt’s Tyler Durden is my spirit animal (we’ve started a tiny Fight Club in my basement, but I’m not supposed to talk about it – first rule, you know).

I keep coming back to the stoics.  What did Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Tyler Durden, and Epictetus think about wealth?  The website How To Be A Stoic says (LINK):  “. . . they classed everything that lies outside of virtue as either preferred or dispreferred indifferent. To the first group belong things like wealth, health, education, and high social standing; to the second things like poverty, sickness, ignorance, and low social standing. These things were preferred insofar it is normal for a human being to pursue them because it makes her life more comfortable, and dispreferred insofar it makes her life less comfortable. But they are “indifferent” in the sense that they are irrelevant to our ability to exercise the virtues . . . .”

So, the Stoics were indifferent to wealth, but it was better to have it than not.  You could be virtuous and poor, or you could be virtuous and rich.  If you were rich, perhaps you could share your virtues even further than if you were poor – so it was preferred to have money.  And Marcus Aurelius was emperor – it was hard to be richer than that, even for Jeff Bezos.  Seneca?  He was really wealthy, too.  And since they are some of the thinkers that literally define what Stoicism is, well, wealth and power isn’t off limits, but the goal was to live a virtuous life.

So what does wealth signify?

Mostly, wealth is like stored energy – it’s a potential.  A child may have a wealth of days before it, and an old miser a wealth of cash, cash that he might trade every dime of for just one more taste of youth.  And a six year old would trade the ages of 18-30 for six Cadbury Cream Eggs®, which is another reason that kids can’t vote.

Steve Jobs certainly traded some of his wealth for additional days of life without having to cheat a six year old in a candy deal – he could honestly say he could be at any liver in just a few hours (having a private jet and all) and he could afford to have a staff of people looking for ways to improve Steve’s chance of getting one.  Heck, Apple® has a project to clone Steve from a clump of his cells that they found in his comb – they just keep getting Ben Affleck copies instead.  Thankfully, Ben Affleck is not considered by the state of California to be a “living human.”

Steve’s wealth did buy him time – a few years, perhaps.  And Apple will soon sell the Affleck clones as iBens©.

Choices.  Wealth buys choices.  And one of the choices is always . . . not choosing right now.  The wonderful thing about being rich, is you don’t take any offers you don’t want.  If have to sell my car – I need the money for a new kidney for my Yosemite Sam© PEZ® dispenser, well, I have to have that money now.  I can’t wait.  I have to take the offer I get now.

If I have wealth and can afford to buy new, black market PEZ® kidneys for cash?  Well, I don’t have to sell my car.  In fact, if I have cash, I can look for people who have to sell kidney cars for PEZ© kidney cash to get a bargain.

I am willing to bet a large amount of PEZ™ that this is the first time the last sentence has been written in any language.

Anyhow.  Wealth buys choices, and wealth creates the conditions for more wealth.

But what creates wealth?  Well, in reality – the same virtues the stoics upheld (from the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy – LINK):

“The Stoics elaborated a detailed taxonomy of virtue, dividing virtue into four main types: wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation.

  • “Wisdom is subdivided into good sense, good calculation, quick-wittedness, discretion, and resourcefulness.
  • “Justice is subdivided into piety, honesty, equity, and fair dealing.
  • “Courage is subdivided into endurance, confidence, high-mindedness, cheerfulness, and industriousness.
  • “Moderation is subdivided into good discipline, seemliness, modesty, and self-control.”

If you will look – many (but not all!) of these virtues, if followed well and long enough, will lead to . . .  wealth.

But perhaps Epictetus was right:  “Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.”

And then there was Tyler Durden:  “It’s a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet or a comforter is?  Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?  No.  What are we then?  We are consumers.  We’re the byproducts of a lifestyle obsession.”

So, be virtuous.  Get wealthy.  But don’t make the wealth the focus . . . it’s not the money, after all – it’s all the stuff.

Steve Martin, Bob Segar, and Interviewing; or How I Met The Mrs.

Five Year Old:  Sounds like a subdural hematoma to me.

Doctor:  Three years of nursery school, and you think you know it all!  Well, you’re still wet behind the ears. It’s not a subdural hematoma it’s epidural!

The Man With Two Brains

Man_With_Two_Brains

Steve Martin does not officially endorse my marriage.  Officially.  And the restraining order says I can’t show up at his house at 4am to ask him to endorse it anymore.  I’m sure his advisors aren’t aware that we are really best friends.

It’s Friday, so technically this should be a health post.  It’s about health because married couples try to live longer so they can win that final argument, like two old pythons arguing about who is older and has more wrinkles from squeezing Mongolian herdsmen.  So, there.

What follows is a mostly true story, except for the exaggerations for the sake of humor or whimsy,   I’ll point out when some of the more incredible facts are Really Odd But Amazingly True with the flag (ROBAT).  And ROBAT makes me think of a robot bat superhero who texts in ALL CAPS JUST LIKE THIS.  But, it’s still amazing because he’s a bat who texts.

Anyhow.

Let’s rewind our clocks back to when Bill Clinton was still indicating that he  did not have sex with that woman, and The X-Files® was not starring some wrinkly old people.  Cell phones were for the rich and insecure.  iMac® was a thing, but iPod© wasn’t and iPhone meant you were talking with someone for whom spelling had little meaning.

I was in the basement of Casa Wilder 2.0 (I’m on 5.0 now) on a stair climber.  This particular stair climber was one of my favorite pieces of exercise equipment I’ve ever owned: it used hydraulic pistons that look like shock absorbers for resistance.  After about 20 minutes on the climber if a drop of sweat fell off my intensely furrowed brow and hit on of the hydraulic pistons, it would immediately boil off with a sizzling sound and the smell of boiling sweat.  And it had cables and rollers that could easily chop off a toddler’s finger.  Sadly, they don’t make them anymore.

It might have something to do with all of those nine fingered toddlers.

I was nearly divorced.  I’d been separated for over two years, and the paperwork was finally winding its way through the courts for final approval.  Why do divorces take so long?

Because good things happen to patient people.

I’d dated several girls, but none of the relationships had gone particularly well. Nothing horrible, mind you, except for the married Internet girl (honestly, it’s like we’re roommates,) and the other married Internet girl (we never even see each other). I stopped the relationships pretty soon after those facts came out.

I had, in fact, said in a prayer one night (in frustration), “Okay, I give up.  You figure it out.”  I assumed (and assume) that God has a sense of humor.  It was a Monday in March, about this time of year.

Recently I’d gotten very, very tired of the same twenty classic rock songs on a seemingly permanent repeat cycle, especially Bob Segar.  I can’t listen to any of his music anymore: it was on a rotation of about 2 Bob Segar songs an hour . . . . the same old cliche, is that a woman or a man . . . .  No, Bob, if you have such a problem with people making fun of your long hair, cut it.

Sheesh.

The result was I started listening to the post-Nirvana® 1990;s rock on station B which was entirely Segar-Free.  It might not have been metal, but it certainly had the virtue of not being Bob Segar.  Seriously, you have no idea the depth of my loathing for Bob Segar.

But yet I owe him something . . . .

So, listening to Station B on a Tuesday the day after my cheeky prayer. Every night there was a game show or giveaway.  And on Tuesday, the game show was Hollywood Movie Trivia® – the DJ would play a clip from a movie, and you’d have to have to call in first to name the movie.  And this one was (for a super-genius like me) ridiculously easy: it’s the movie quote at the top of the post.

The DJ played the clip and then went to a commercial.

I called in.  Note that my phone at this point was still corded.  Stuck to the wall.

Busy signal.

I hit redial.  Busy signal.

I hit redial once more.

Still busy.

The commercial break was almost over, so I gave up and went back to sweating on superheated pistons.

“We still don’t have a winner . . . ”

Redial.

Phone answered . . . “this is Station X.  What’s the name of the movie?”

“The Man With Two Brains.”

“We have a winner.”  Queue sound effect of ringing bell and applause.

I’d won a CD.  White Town, “ Women in Technology.  Yeah, it’s not real memorable.

https://youtu.be/_-rbS70uufA?si=MNAOAzswqtRvLu-H

Also, I’d won a free photo session at Glamour Shots©.  Glamour Shots® was a strange phenomenon in the 1980’s and 1990’s.  Essentially you went and the photographer would gussy you up with feather boas, makeup, soft fuzzy light and background.  Essentially time consuming selfies.

catshots

Not pictured: Me.  I’d attribute this if I could, but I have no idea of where it came from.

After reveling in my newfound photographic and CD wealth, I started talking to the DJ.  Seemed kinda cool, we talked for 10 minutes or so.  We never would have had the chance to talk for those 10 minutes if the DJ would have had to dump me after the commercials.  As it was, the only chance to talk to her and not sound creepy was on that one conversation.  (ROBAT – Really Odd But Amazingly True)

The next morning I went to work (city of about a million people) and mentioned to two of them that I thought the DJ was neat.  Oh, the DJ was a girl.  One of the two friends replied: “I know her, she’s not dating anyone.  I’ll set you two up for St. Patrick’s Day.”  And she did.  (ROBAT)

On St. Patrick’s Day we were to meet at 10 or so.  I got to the bar about 9:30.  The place was packed, and my friend was spinning mad tunes (is that even a phrase?) and she mentioned that the DJ would be there soon, soon being 10:30 or so.  I had some friends there as wingmen, and soon enough I was introduced to the DJ, or, The Mrs. To Be.

I immediately called her by the name she used on the radio.

The Mrs. To Be:  “No, it’s really REDACTED.”

John Wilder:  “Why don’t you use your real name?”

The Mrs. To Be:  “You know . . . stalkers.”

John Wilder:  “Oh.  (long pause)  My friends told me not to bring up stalking on the first date.” (Yes, I really said that.)

We danced.  We both realized that neither of us were dancers.  We picked out a booth in another room where the music wasn’t so loud.

I got beers for us. We sat down, and the interview started.  Yes, I did this (LINK) and interviewed her.

But a really good interviewer (and I was in top form back then) can make an interview seem like a pleasant conversation by a person that’s interested in you.  And it was pleasant.  And I was interested in her.  But I needed to weed out the kinds of crazy that would conflict with my kinds of crazy.  And also make sure that the person shared the same core values I did. (ROBAT)

I was pleasantly surprised that The Mrs. To Be was much less neurotic (in the ways that mattered to me) than most of the crazy moonbat girls from my previous relationships.  And she wasn’t married.

Yet.

We stayed until they kicked us out of the bar. Why did they kick us out of the bar?  Because everyone else had already left and we had been talking for three hours, and it seemed like 15 minutes. (ROBAT)

We walked out of the bar.  There had been hundreds of cars there when I’d gotten there I’d been lucky to find a good spot.  The Mrs. To Be had showed up nearly an hour later.  Yet, there were only two cars left in the lot.  And they were parked side by side, with matching dents on the driver-side door. (ROBAT)

Apparently, God does have a sense of humor, and thankfully for me He’s not subtle when He kicks a message out.  I walked her to the door, and leaned in for the kiss.  (ROBAT)

Which she wasn’t expecting, but, you know, when you’ve got the sign from the Big Coach to run like hell for first base, you run like hell for first base.  She kissed me right back.  (ROBAT)

139 days later, The Mrs. and I were married in a mall in Bally’s® Casino in Vegas on a Sunday morning.  (ROBAT)

bobsegar

Bob Segar, who brought together two people who were utterly tired of his music. Thanks, Bob for bringing us together in mutual hatred!  (Image by Adam Freese, CC BY 2.0, Attribution)

12 Rules For Life:  Return of the Jordan (Final Part of the Review Trilogy), Charles Atlas, The Simpsons . . . and Being a Man, The Definitive Review

“No. Not yet. One thing remains. Vader. You must confront Vader. Then, only then, a Jedi will you be. And confront him you will.” – Star Wars:  Return of the Jedi

DSC01497

The Boy in full Vader get up.  He looked at me and said, “You are my Father, John Wilder.  Can I have more cake?” and then force-choked me when I said no, three pieces was enough.  So I cut off his hand.  That’s good parenting where I come from . . .

As promised, this is the final part of my book review for Dr. Jordan Peterson’s new bestseller, “12 Rules for Life.”  You can find the first part here (LINK) and the second part here (LINK).  Quotes, if not otherwise noted, are Peterson from the book.  Sorry for the delay – the flu was busy attempting to eat my lungs.  I’m better now.

 

I strongly recommend this book – and get no money if you buy it at this time – in the future, who knows?

Rule 9:  Assume That The Person You’re Listening To Knows Something You Don’t

If you listen, most people are really not boring.  Okay, some are.  But they are mainly parents of children who haven’t graduated from high school and anyone from Iowa.  Everybody else is interesting.  Dr. Peterson talks about how he sat down with a woman, and within minutes she was telling him she was a witch.  And not only that, a witch whose coven regularly got together and prayed for global peace – a world peace witch.  By day?  She was a minor bureaucrat; I imagined a driver’s license lady.  Not who you’d size up to be a witch.  Oh, wait.  EXACTLY who you’d size up to be a witch.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve interviewed lots and lots of people for my job.  I was never bored once.  But I had people blurt out amazing things in the interview.  “I got fired for stealing.”  I was hiring for a position that had lots of financial responsibility, and maybe kinda lax oversight.  No job there.  “I hated my co-workers.”  Yup.  Big points for working well with others.  Again, people will tell you amazing things if you just shut up and listen.  Dates were interesting, too.  Had one date where the girl’s plan was to go off and find herself in the Peace Corps after she’d just gotten out of a relationship with her husband who had buried a bus so he could grow illegal weed.  Yeah, that night was an early exit.

But few enough actually listen (I’ve been guilty of that myself, lots of times) without responding – i.e., defining the problem for the speaker.  Even worse is defining the situation for the speaker – Peterson discussed a woman who was unsure if she had been raped after continually getting drunk and going home with guys.  He could have defined it as “yes” or “no” for her but that would have prevented her from sorting it out herself, which was crucial to helping her.  He used this example to point out that being too intrusive in a conversation often warps it in a manner that changes the framework for the other person . . . and prevents them from getting better.

Peterson listens, because his theory is that people talk to simulate their reality.  Humans are the only critters that do that – simulate entire worlds with our words and model the results of present actions into the future.  When we run these simulations, we often simulate the words and behavior of others – I know I have a pretty accurate simulation of The Mrs. running.  It’s over 98% accurate.  The Mrs. likewise has one of me, too.  We have tons of conversations with each other without even speaking to each other, because the other just our simulation.

Honest listening – turning off the simulator – is required for real conversation.  Our filters and feedback contaminate the discussion.  Once we get to that honest listening stage, we can have Real Conversations – Conversations where we truly hear each other and can create new knowledge, and sometimes solve our own problem.

Rule 10:  Be Precise In Your Speech

Dr. Peterson begins with a discussion of the coming obsolescence of laptops.  Most of our laptop experience is located outside of the laptop – it’s only a “single leaf, on a tree, in a forest . . .”  Our laptops feed from all of the other computers out there – from the Facebook© servers to the wonderful servers that bring you Wilder, Wealthy and Wise and that Japanese cooking site you don’t want your wife to see that you’ve been to visit after she goes to bed so you can dream about sushi.  Those exist outside of your laptop – and your laptop only pulls information from them.

But we don’t inhabit that forest.  We inhabit a simplification of that world.  In our world where we give objects purpose and meaning – we don’t let them simply exist – we give a car purpose – it must take us from one place to another.  A light switch ceases to just exist – it gives us light, and in a blackout part of us is shocked (pun intended) when the switch doesn’t bring us light.  Peterson feels that precision is required so we down drown in the vast amount of detail that surrounds us.

Our model gums up when violated.  I used a light switch – Peterson uses a cheating spouse – inviting Chaos in.  Peterson then pops some Yeats in the CD player for good measure:

The Second Coming, by W.B. Yeats

 

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Speech is required to sort this chaos out, to make sense of it, to dispel it.  A night light might also be nice to scare the rough beast away?

“Say what you mean so you can find out what you mean.  Act out what you say so you can find out what happens.”

Rule 11:  Do Not Bother Children When They Are Skateboarding

Skateboarders are pretty talented, and Peterson spends some time discussing their skill, and the methods by which they optimize risks, which is crucial, Peterson felt, to growing as a man.  Unfortunately (in Peterson’s opinion) there are adults who what to spoil all the fun by putting in features that make skateboarding impossible while also looking ugly at the same time.

Those adults are then (at least by proximity in the chapter) compared to a friend that Peterson had.  Peterson’s friend (also discussed in earlier chapters) had a problem:  he hated mankind.  He came to no good, making himself a victim at every turn, and learning to hate beautiful, successful people.  They seemed to make him even madder.  Dr. Peterson then followed up with a description of a TEDx talk by a professor . . . who also hated the human race.  These self-appointed judges spoil the fun . . . and the risk.

And the result?  Boys are being pushed out.  25% of college degrees granted are in the fields of healthcare, psychology, education, and public administration.  80% of these degrees go to women.  Peterson feels that this is Not Good.  If projections hold, there will be very few men in non-STEM fields in the next few years.  And this is bad for women.

Huh?

How many college-educated women consider, say, a plumber a great catch?  Some, to be sure, but not many.  When it comes to marriage, women tend to marry someone either at the same social/economic status or of a higher status.  As those guys disappear?

Marriage becomes something for the rich.  The rest of the girls get hookups in their twenties, and a basket of cats when they hit 33.  If they have kids, the results are similarly grim – because single parent families are statistically inferior in every way to dual parent families.  So those rich kids?  Yeah, life will be better for them.  Because they have two parents.

Maybe patriarchy isn’t so bad?  Feminism is a creation of Marxism (per Jordan), and between that and post-modernist thought – we’re trying to fundamentally remake civilization in ways that may not be as stable as civilization created over the last 11,000 years or so.  And Marxism led to Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot.  And that idea became the most deadly idea of the entire 20th century – killing more people, primarily their own citizens than any other idea.

Peterson REALLY doesn’t like Post Modernism, either, since it’s a philosophy that says there’s no truth and makes the claim “that logic itself is a merely a part of the oppressive patriarchal system.”

Boys are boys, but society is trying to force them to be girls, per Peterson.  Which is really, really wrong.  Biology is a huge part of what makes a boy act like a boy, and a girl act like a girl.  Then, a large amount of (enjoyable) discussion about ancient gods and Disney© animated movies.

Then we get back to Peterson, talking about when he worked on a railway crew.  Peterson uses these (amusing) stories about men and how they want particular behavior from other men:  Do your job.  Don’t whine.  Don’t be a suck up.  What to men want and value from other men?  “Be tough, entertaining, competent and reliable.”

atlas

The above ad is from comic books, literally all comics books, of the 1950’s and 1960’s.  I sent away for as similar set of books.  You, too can learn Karate for only $19.95.  If you can learn karate by yourself from a book.  With a poor work ethic.

Peterson (really) feels that the Charles Atlas ad captures a lot of human sexuality in seven panels.  Women want tough men.  It’s here that he combines The Simpsons and Fifty Shades of Grey in the same hilarious paragraph.  Lisa Simpson doesn’t want Milhouse, dude, she wants a kinky billionaire.  Or that bad kid from Springfield Elementary.  Or a dude that will keep you safe on the beach.

Because women want men.  Tough men.  And you get men through risk.  Through . . . skateboarding.

Rule 12:  Pet A Cat When You Encounter One On The Street

Peterson baits and switches here – starting with a discussion on dogs.  But he brings back to cats, and also to the theme of the chapter – human suffering.  It will literally suck to be a human.  People die.  People suffer, sometimes horribly and inexplicably.  But, somehow, Superman™ needs Kryptonite© – this suffering makes life, well, not interesting, but certainly not fake.

It’s a worthy chapter, and my summary is short because I’m not one to use Peterson’s tough times, and I rarely write about my own.  I’ll give you my bullet point summary:

  • Dogs are Happy
  • Cats have Terms and Conditions for Love
  • Enjoy Both Dogs and Cats – They Have Purity of Being
  • Because Life Sucks

CODA:  Not The Led Zeppelin Album

Peterson caps it off – again, buy the book.  I’ll just ask you – what do you want for yourself tomorrow?  What about next year?  Who could you be if you really tried?

So, that’s it.  It’s a pretty long review, and I’m glad you stuck it out this far.

Pluses of the book?  Amazing philosophical content.  Easy read.  Original thoughts.

Downside?  Chapters could be more evenly edited to tie the content together, and follow the old rule – tell ‘em what you’re gonna tell ‘em, tell ‘em, tell ‘em what you told ‘em.  There are several chapters that I read a second time after about a week to write this review, and being prepped with the previous read and knowing what to look for, I enjoyed the chapters much more.  Maybe this review will act as a guide you can use when you go through it to look for more content that sparks your interest.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Peterson also dictated this book – many of the passages sound like speech turned into text, though I might be wrong since I’ve heard a LOT of Peterson speaking but very little of his written stuff.

Overall verdict:  totally recommend it.  Best way ever to confront Vader.  And then the Ewoks burned my copy – because they stopped making Star Wars® in 1983.  Wonder what would have happened if they had made a sequel or two?  I’m glad they never did.

12 Strong Movie Review, Exploding Tide Bottles, Rifles, and Significance

“Good Lord!  We can’t get them.  I never figured on having to shoot through dirt!” – Tremors

 shoosting

Good times.  Not pictured:  plastic Tide® bottle.

How many of you remember that perfect day?  That wonderful day where the Sun was shining, everyone was in harmony, and you lost yourself in the activities you were engaged in?  Those days are significant in their perfection – days that you remember now and that you’ll remember when you’re 50 or 60 or 70.

I imagine The Boy and Pugsley will both remember watching their dad’s form silhouetted in front of exploding Tide® laundry detergent bottle at least that long.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

One of the place where I think I’ve been negligent as a dad is in not taking The Boy and Pugsley shooting often enough.  Shooting is fun, but it also teaches patience and persistence.  How do you get good at shooting?  By shooting.  Nobody’s great at shooting coming out of the box, but by patience and practice you learn to get better – and the feedback loop is literally supersonic – you can see the result of your efforts nearly immediately.  And you have to be patient.  And disciplined.

Two weeks ago we went shooting, and had a great time.  We brought only .22 rifles (I’m sure that in California these are registered as assault weapons or orbital bombardment cannons or something) that time.  It was about 40˚F out (-371˚C for you living in Great Britain) so after a while (400 rounds or so) we decided to go and get warm.  But a good time?  Absolutely.

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I have no idea where this meme came from, but I bet it wasn’t Europe.

I’d been watching the weather because it’s no fun shooting when it’s colder than a brass monkey in the fridge on the dark side of Pluto.  We couldn’t go Saturday, since The Boy was busy with athletics.

Fortunately the weather looked good for Sunday.  And on Saturday night we got home early enough to rope in Pugsley and go see 12 Strong.  12 Strong is a true story about the first Special Forces (Green Berets) unit into Afghanistan after 9/11.  It’s rated “R” primarily because it features Americans being unambiguously good, moral, and upright against unambiguously evil people even though it stars an Australian as an American Special Forces Captain (Chris Hemsworth) in a clear case of cultural appropriation.

12_strong_keyart2

I’m pretty sure Warner Brothers wants us to share this image, since it gives sixteen buttons to share it . . .

The movie was good, in a “I love America and the values that it stands for” way as shown by the bravery of the troops, the fidelity of the spouses, and the idea that a promise made is one to be kept.  In this movie there are no politics of division.  And the American men and many Afghani men (almost every character in this movie with more than two lines is a man) were brave.  And it didn’t try to discuss deeper issues – it had the decency to allow us to have and believe in heroes of flesh and blood.

How good was the movie?  Pugsley is 12, and is now contemplating how he’s going to become a Green Beret (a little less likely for The Boy – I think he’d rather create nuclear-powered x-ray space lasers).  Scary for a dad to think that?  Yeah, it is.  But boys grow up, and the responsibility of holding a rifle is sobering for a 12 year old, given its sheer destructive power.

My ranking on the movie?  5/5.

Okay, back to shooting.  Today we went shooting again.  It was one of those fun coincidences that as we left the house “Freeze Frame” by The J. Geils Band was playing on the radio . . . Pugsley started doing a dance when the lyrics, “shoot, shoot . . . deedle leedle lee” kept repeating since I think he was excited about going shooting, or “shoosting” as we called it, in an homage to Lisa from Green Acres®.

However, we also brought two additional things that we didn’t bring last time:  an AR-15 I’d bought from a friend several years ago that I’d only put about 20 rounds (for New York readers – that means I’d shot the rifle 20 times) through.  The Boy had NOT liked shooting it several years ago.  Scary.

Also, I brought explosives with the explicit idea that we’d shoot them and create a series of explosions.

I know what you’re thinking.  More on that later.

The Boy and Pugsley each jammed out a few hundred rounds of .22 down range.  Then I pulled out the AR-15.  An AR-15 shoots a .223 caliber bullet – really only slightly larger than a .22, but whereas a .22 comes out of the barrel at 1600 feet per second, a .223 comes out of the barrel at over 3,000 feet per second.  And a doubling of speed is a quadrupling of energy.  (Really closer to 8 times, since the bullet is larger.)  For all of you purists – we are NOT getting into the difference between a 5.56 and a .223 in this post – go get technical somewhere else.

The Boy and Pugsley each shot the AR and pronounced it . . . amazing.

So, I thought, perhaps it’s time to mix up the explosive?

Sure.

We tried to use the .22 to initiate the explosion.  You were supposed to be 100’ away . . . and we shot at it for a ludicrous number of shots (it was about 2” x 1”, so it’s not that small of a target at 100’).

Nothing.

The Boy went downrange and checked.

“You went clean through it twice.”

Hmm. I put another explosive packet together since the powder had leaked out of the first through the bullet holes.  I stuck it on the side of a plastic Tide® laundry detergent jug – one of the big ones that does 5,000 or so loads of laundry.  I took a shot with the AR.  Hit the Tide® jug, and the explosive fell off.  (Stay 100’ away, the instructions said.)  I went down range and put the explosive back on.  Walked back.  Shot, and hit the jug again.  And knocked the explosive off.  (Stay 100’ away, the instructions said.)  Again.

I finally determined the add-on sight that I was using wasn’t even remotely accurate, and pulled it off to use the basic sights (“iron sights”) that come with the rifle.  Frustrated, and thinking the explosive was a dud based on the previous experience we’d had with the first packet, I stuck the packet back on the jug, and then moved back and I took aim at the explosive stuck to the Tide™ jug not 20’ away from me.

There was a flash.  Lots of smoke.

And the Tide® jug . . . ceased to exist.  Gone.  Left this plane of existence.  The only thing left was the label.  I could see something that looked like tiny orange fragments of plastic jug, but only a few.  But the jug?

Vanished.

Wow.

I felt my face.  Small particles of dirt or unexploded explosives were imbedded in a dusty patina all over my face.  Thankfully I was wearing glasses and hearing protection.

So, the explosive did work.  And 100’ was certainly a much better idea than my 20’ – I’m guessing something about fools rushing in where angels fear to tread?  I walked back to the firing line.

The Boy:  “How on EARTH can that be legal???”  His grin was huge.

It is, at least where I live.  Your mileage may vary depending upon what location you live in.  US Federal law allows this explosive to be sold because when they sell it, it’s two compounds . . . a “binary” explosive.  You have to mix the compounds yourself.  And you can’t transport it after mixing (without insurance, permits, etc.).  You have to use it for personal, non-commercial use.  And . . . you should research this yourself.  I believe in California they will ____ your ____.  And you don’t want your ___ to be ____.  Very uncomfortable for your _____.

No.  Seriously I think they’d call that a felony.  But where we live?  It’s Sunday afternoon.

Hint:  Google® “Tannerite©” – although Tannerite™ wasn’t the manufacturer of the stuff we used, it’s the easiest search term.  This is NOT a law blog – you need to figure out if this stuff is legal where you are.

So, it is legal here.  That doesn’t mean it’s always used in a smart – one gentleman filled a lawnmower with a binary explosive, shot it, and it promptly lopped off a leg.  But that’s the definition of freedom – not stopping idiots from being idiots.  If we go too much further down that road, every surface in every house will be mandated to be made of Nerf®.

Regardless, the Tide® bottle was gone and I still had all of my parts.

Second shot?  We taped an explosive packet up to the plastic cylinder the explosive originally came in.  The Boy took aim with the AR, and . . . first shot it exploded and likewise disappeared into another dimension.  I went to check for more things we could blow up in the car we brought (it was The Mrs.’ car) and was rummaging around in the back seat.

And found a Wal-Mart bag containing two pounds of thick-cut bacon and three pounds of hamburger.  Sitting in the back seat.  Of a car The Mrs. hasn’t driven in three days.

Pugsley:  “Oops!  Guess I forgot to bring that bag in.”

Normally I’d give him a much harder time about leaving $30 in meat to rot in his mother’s car, but in this case?

We had explosives.  And guns.  And meat.

It’s even better if you imagine they’re singing “gone shoosting”.

Two explosive charges and the bacon was unrecognizable.  One charge took care of the hamburger.  Both The Boy and Pugsley were dead-on in their shots, hitting the explosive charge on their first shot in almost every case.

We picked up the exploded stuff (left the bacon and burger for the coyotes) and packed up and went home.

But the bigger perspective?

I was talking with another dad the other day – he was coaching a group of kids at the same sporting event The Boy was at.  We talked back and forth.  He was coaching his own son, which he felt was really the toughest coaching he had to do.  But, he indicated, he thought he’d keep coaching even after his son was done.  He really enjoyed it (and he was a good coach – his team did well that day).

“You know,” I said, “it’s not the money.  It’s not the things you do to things that matters in this world.  It’s the opportunity to be significant to someone – to give them training and experiences that change them for the better.  And these kids will remember what you did for them and how you changed them, coach, for the rest of their lives.  Now that,” I paused, “is the definition of significance.”

“That’s pretty well said,” he responded.

“Yeah, I’m Noted Internet Humorist John Wilder.”

And these perfect days can be the perfect days that will form memories for The Boy and Pugsley that will reinforce their character forever.

I wonder how many perfect days I’ve got left?  Not too many if I stand too close to too many exploding Tide® jugs, so I think I’ll avoid those from now on.  It would be good to be around to see what happens with The Boy and Pugsley . . . Green Beret or not, I’m sure I’ll be proud of both of them.