Dividends

""These tax reductions will bring real and immediate benefits to middle-income Americans," Bush said in Chicago. "Ninety-two million Americans will keep an average of $1,083 more of their own money." The first of these claims, as the Financial Times editorialized the day after the speech, is "obviously bogus." The second is true, but only in the sense that it is also true that if Bill Gates happened to drop by a homeless shelter where a couple of nuns were serving soup to sixty down-and-outers dressed in rags, the average person in the room would have a net worth of a billion dollars. Average, yes; typical, no. A typical taxpayer—one right smack in the middle of the income range—will get a couple of hundred dollars. And a worker in the bottom twenty per cent will get next to nothing—at most, a dime or a quarter a week."

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The Trenchcoat Robbers

I heard on NPR that a new FBI agent has been assigned to the fascinating case of DB Cooper, a man who in 1971 parachuted out of a plane with $200,000 dollars and was never seen again. The case has gone unsolved all this time, and the younger FBI agent has unveiled a new website to enlist people to help solve the mystery. Others have called and written in begging him not to solve it.

It reminded me of a story I read in the New Yorker a few years ago, which didn't end on such an intriguing note:

"Of the seven thousand one hundred and twenty-seven bank robberies in the United States in 2000, the average take was just twelve hundred dollars, and most of the thieves were eventually captured. Bank robberies tend to be committed by inexperienced and desperate people, but Bowman and Kirkpatrick always worked with remarkable preparation and restraint, and they never bragged about their successes. They operated for fifteen years, one year less than Jesse James and his gang, and they robbed an average of two banks annually-always in a different city or town across the Midwest and Northwest. "They're a throwback to the old days," one veteran F.B.I.agent told me." I hope we don't see anyone like them again." Bowman and Kirkpatrick were finally captured, but only after a number of small, uncharacteristic missteps, which resulted, in large part, from a middleaged desire to lead more ordinary lives."

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Dishonorable Degrees

Twice a year, Jude M. Werra, of Jude M. Werra & Associates, a headhunting firm in Brookfield, Wisconsin, reviews the hundreds of résumés he has seen in the previous six months—the elegant, triumphant C.V.s of C.E.O.s and V.P.s—and he condenses them into a single statistic. "It's the number of people who've misrepresented their education divided by the number of people whose education we checked," Werra explained last week: in short, the percentage of people who invented a degree. Werra calls it the Liars Index. The index, which has been published since 1995, was at its highest in the first half of 2000: 23.3 per cent. It now stands at 11.2 per cent.

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Asperger's Syndrome - Music Critic Tim Page

"From early childhood, my memory was so acute and my wit so bleak that I was described as a genius—by my parents, by our neighbors, and even, on occasion, by the same teachers who gave me failing marks. I wrapped myself in this mantle, of course, as a poetic justification for behavior that might otherwise have been judged unhinged, and I did my best to believe in it. But the explanation made no sense. A genius at what? Were other “geniuses” so oblivious that they couldn’t easily tell right from left and idly wet their pants into adolescence? What accounted for my rages and frustrations, for the imperious contempt I showed to people who were in a position to do me harm? Although I delighted in younger children, whom I could instruct and gently dominate, and I was thrilled when I ran across an adult willing to discuss my pet subjects, I could establish no connection with most of my classmates. My pervasive childhood memory is an excruciating awareness of my own strangeness."

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THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN: Channeling Dick Cheney

"If she were taking advantage of Mr. Cheney’s madness, Secretary Rice would be going to Tehran and saying to the Iranians: “Look, I’m ready to cut a deal with you guys, but I have to tell you, back home, I’ve got Cheney on my back and he is truly craaaaazzzzy. You guys don’t know the half of it."

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Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt

I've read two Vonnegut books now, and I'm not really sure what I've gotten from them. Honestly, having the author comment on the characters within the exposition about them is, to me, like waking up from a dream; no matter how hard you try to get back to the feeling you had inside that original context, it's difficult (if not impossible) to believe in it again.

But there was one passage that I can't forget. This is months now since I've read it, and it keeps coming back to me:

"America is the wealthiest nation on Earth, but its people are mainly poor, and poor Americans are urged to hate themselves. To quote the American humorist Kin Hubbard, "It ain't no disgrace to be poor, but it might as well be." It is in fact a crime for an American to be poor, even though America is a nation of poor. Every other nation has folk traditions of men who were poor but extremely wise and virtuous, and therefore more estimable than anyone with power and gold. No such tales are told by the American poor. They mock themselves and glorify their betters."

"Americans, like human beings everywhere, believe many things that are obviously untrue... Their most destructive untruth is that it is very easy for any American to make money. They will not acknowledge how in fact hard money is to come by, and, therefore, those who have no money blame and blame and blame themselves. This inward blame has been a treasure for the rich and powerful, who have had to do less for their poor, publicly and privately, than any other ruling class since, say, Napoleonic times."

"Many novelties have come from America. The most startling of these, a thing without precedent is a mass of undignified poor. They do not love one another because they do not love themselves."

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

George Stranahan's PhLog - October 11, 2007

9/11 Is Over - Thomas L. Friedman

"Times columnists are not allowed to endorse candidates, but there’s no rule against saying who will not get my vote: I will not vote for any candidate running on 9/11. We don’t need another president of 9/11. We need a president for 9/12. I will only vote for the 9/12 candidate.

What does that mean? This: 9/11 has made us stupid. I honor, and weep for, all those murdered on that day. But our reaction to 9/11 — mine included — has knocked America completely out of balance, and it is time to get things right again.

It is not that I thought we had new enemies that day and now I don’t. Yes, in the wake of 9/11, we need new precautions, new barriers. But we also need our old habits and sense of openness. For me, the candidate of 9/12 is the one who will not only understand who our enemies are, but who we are."

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When I'm 50, Give Me Fireworks

"WHEN I turned 50, my girlfriend took me to dinner at one of those places where all the vegetables are “baby,” if not prenatal, and the waiters aren’t much older. My son and my brother joined us, making it an intimate gathering of all the people I love.

I was miserable. This was it? Where were the balloons, the band, the this-is-your-life surprise guests? What does one have to do for a little extra attention? I mean, I had successfully navigated five decades. If I were a 50-year-old bridge or a decommissioned aircraft carrier, there’d be fireworks. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wanted more."

She Handed Me a Cup From the Fountain of Youth

Coudal Partners: Verse by Voice

I don't know how to categorize Coudal Partners, a website that I link to from the Sundust Design page, but it showcases a wonderful collection of varied creatives.

They are about to begin another round of something they call "Layer Tennis," wherein "Two artists (or two small teams of artists) will swap a file back and forth in real-time, adding to and embellishing the work. Each artist gets fifteen minutes to complete a "volley" and then we post that to the site. A third participant, a writer, provides play-by-play commentary on the action, as it happens. The matches last for ten volleys and when it's complete, everyone visiting the site votes for a winner."

But it's not just web design stuff. And one of my favorite things there is called Verse by Voice, a collection of poems read by Coudal friends and fans on their answering machine. The recordings are pretty rough, but they're good and plain. Take a listen.

It's Not How Good You Are...

I'm ashamed to admit that I was shopping at Urban Outfitters tonight. I found my favorite t-shirt there, and ever since then I find myself uncomfortably looking through the other clothing there, wondering if I might look good (or, perhaps, younger) in an Atari t-shirt and a pair of Converse All-Stars. The answer is, absolutely not.

But there's something a little too canned about the whole UO thing, isn't there? Like Pottery Barn, or, scarier yet, Hot Topic, it seems like the idea is to walk in and buy a complete life, kitschy accessories and all. But, like the silk calla lilies permanently frozen in clear plastic resin-filled vases at Restoration Hardware, it only appears authentic from a distance. People should own ratty t-shirts, made that way from years of wear. We naturally amass small collections of curios from the places we visit. Pablo Neruda, in his poem entitled "Ode to Things," wrote,

I have a crazy,
crazy love of things.
I like pliers,
and scissors.
I love
cups,
rings,
and bowls –
not to speak, or course,
of hats.
I love
all things,
not just
the grandest,
also
the
infinite-
ly
small –
thimbles,
spurs,
plates,
and flower vases.

and later:

many things conspired
to tell me the whole story.
Not only did they touch me,
or my hand touched them:
they were
so close
that they were a part
of my being,
they were so alive with me
that they lived half my life
and will die half my death.

But it seems wrong to have a supplier (or "outfitter") for these items. I believe many of these stores are, more accurately, suburban outfitters.

But, as I stood there, sifting through brand new items that were designed to look broken-in, I found a book called "It's Not How Good You Are, It's How Good You Want to Be," in which the following phrase appears: "You must develop a complete disregard for where your abilities end," and "failures and false starts are a precondition of success."

It's a good book. It's filled with all sorts of different ways of thinking about things. I'm considering adopting a few of its tenets. I'm hoping it will lead me to feel better about the fact that I bought and enjoyed a self-help book from Urban Outfitters.

Nerve Essay: The Goatee Period

Since my sophomore year of college, I've liked reading the essays, articles, and advice on Nerve.com. Sure, some of it's smut, but it's at least literary smut.

Last week, I happened upon Alexander Maksik's personal essay called, "Dealbreaker: The Goatee; And how it can lead to the end of everything." It's not at all smut. In fact, I'm not clear on why it was published on Nerve. Yeah, there's a girl involved, but that part seems to take a backseat to the author's professional concerns. So it goes.

For the first few paragraphs, I thought I was reading my own story. Like the author at the time, I am in the middle of what I can say are my "salad days." I also have a goatee, though I've never assigned it much importance, as he does. It's only function, really, is to keep me from looking like a baby.

In this essay, I'm not certain the goatee had anything to do with the big change. My guess is that it was the drugs.

The Art and Craft of the Machine

I've been reading a few books through DailyLit.com, a website that sends little chunks of books to your email inbox daily. For me, the concept has gotten me thinking again about copyright and the ways it will need to change.

Today, it's Frank Lloyd Wright's tiny book, "The Art and Craft of the Machine," which seems like an incredibly appropriate subject to be reading about in email:

"In the years which have been devoted in my own life to working out in stubborn materials a feeling for the beautiful, in the vortex of distorted complex conditions, a hope has grown stronger with the experience of each year, amounting now to a gradually deepening conviction that in the Machine lies the only future of art and craft - as I believe, a glorious future; that the Machine is, in fact, the metamorphosis of ancient art and craft; that we are at last face to face with the machine - the modern Sphinx - whose riddle the artist must solve if he would that art live - for his nature holds the key."

Youth

I interviewed Joli about a month ago, and I have been promising myself that I would sit down and do some work with it and get it posted. Here is her response to the prompt "Tell about a time when you gave a heartfelt apology."

The Bacteria Whisperer

In April of 2003, I read an article in Wired magazine that absolutely floored me: "The Bacteria Whisperer." While the article's tag line is a bit frightening - "Bonnie Bassler discovered a secret about microbes that the science world has missed for centuries. The bugs are talking to each other. And plotting against us." (EEK!) - the part that got me excited was the information about the bobtail squid, which "lives in the knee-deep coastal shallows in Hawaii, burying itself in the sand during the day and emerging to hunt after dark. On moonlit nights, the squid's shadow on the sand should make it visible to predators, but it possesses a "light organ" that shines with a blue glow, perfectly matching the amount of light shining down through the water."