One of those odd bits of news that still comes as a bit of a surprise.
Al and Tipper Gore separate after 40-year marriage - Yahoo! News
I don't identify with his political beliefs and find his climate change alarmism bordering on cartoonish until some better data establishing a relationship between atmospheric levels of greenhouse gases and climate conditions over the last few millennia is developed (following link gives an approach which might work, although it will take a few years to collect Antarctic ice core samples and perform the necessary analysis):
Unearthing Cold, Hard Facts About Climate Change in Antarctica - WSJ.com
But, that's one of those things hopefully we'll be able to figure out and know with a higher degree of confidence than we do today. Our emotional reactions to things which we don't know about, but only react to is something else. I sometimes fear my empathetic and sympathetic responses to events reflects as much my experiences, age, and general state of mind at the time as they do the actual event. Still, that being said, the Gore's separation after such a lengthy marriage and public live leaves me sad. I can't really say why and instead will relate one of those anecdotal tales which I store in the recesses of my brain.
Some years before meeting J, I had a short lived first marriage which ended with the girl leaving. The days and nights which followed that misadventure changed me in ways which reverberated through me for more than a few years. It's main effect on me was I misbehaved. To this day I hate meeting some of the people I knew during that time because I was not exactly the most effective, brilliant, or honorable individual during that time of my life. I seemingly lost the capability to care about things which had been very important to me just a few years earlier (it was still there, maybe I just stopped caring about caring). On weekends I would go down to the local nightclub/bar on the hunt for random female company. Most of the time I would meet someone who liked to party or drink. Sometimes both. Rarely did I meet anyone memorable, although I suppose I would've had to first define memorable requirements, which I really didn't care to do at the time.
And so we present, a typical evening at "Avenues" (a "true" story):
"I'm so happy tonight!" she exclaims as she slides close to my right elbow, which in turn rests on the heavy poly surface of the bar. I'm nursing some type of whiskey on the rocks, periodically poking at the ice with my index finger.
I turn and smile and simply respond, "Oh, that's good", the response tempered as much by my drink as a desire to engage. She's about my age, mid twenties (definitely no longer a teenager), blonde hair with dark roots showing, nice smile, nice figure, but a little too eager to compliment the place which my drink has taken me to. That place was uncomplicated by sharp edges, detailed examinations of memories for clues, and consideration of life's complexities. That's gone. That's why I'm there. Again. On Friday night. I just need a little company and it'll be perfect. I'm in a pretty good mood and continue to smile as I check out my new found companion.
"Aren't you going to ask why?"
"Well, I wasn't going to, but I don't mind listening if you want to."
"I got my final divorce papers today!", she exclaims before I can really finish saying "want to".
I hesitate just a smidge (maybe the drink?) and simply say "Oh."
She notices. "Well, I'm just glad it's over. It's been such a long time and now it's finally done and I've got my papers". She gives me a look like she just remembered something, and I really don't want her to just leave, but I'm feeling the effort of coming up with something to say that will keep her talking at my right elbow.
"Well that's good for you then. I'm just never sure what to say to people when they tell me that because I don't really know their story or the people involved. You know. Most of the time I just tell them I'm sorry, but I can see that's not where you are."
"Well, I'm not and it's a really good day for me", she insists.
"Well then congratulations," I say and smile.
She stays and talks about a lot of things. Her just concluded first marriage. Her two children. Why she left him. "He just wasn't growing anymore, you know?"
I drank during that time to take the edge off. To make the memories not so overwhelming. Yet, something about that remark penetrates my consciousness and I feel offended. Should I have? No, this was just a girl I didn't know in a bar on a Friday night, but the wiseass part of me uncoils a little bit, "Couldn't you have got him elevator shoes or something?" I inquire while smiling gently. "No", she says quickly, "I don't mean like that." She doesn't laugh. And she continues talking.
"Oh", I say somewhere in the middle of things.
Her kids slept at her mom's house and she had dinner with them. This was beginning to attract my attention on another level. "Gee, do you really think that's fair?" I quizzed.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know. Your mom raised her kids and now she's got a fair amount of responsibility for yours. That doesn't seem fair."
She pauses for a minute while looking at me. "No, I don't think so. I mean, how else could I go out like this?"
I smile slower this time, close my eyes for just a moment while still smiling, and realize all of these places have the smell of stale beer, cigarettes, sweat and old perfume (I usually put my clothes from Friday night in a plastic bag until I could get to the Laundromat). For a second I just didn't want to be there, but then I simply responded, "Yeah, I guess you couldn't".
We leave together, but I still have this feeling I wanted to be somewhere else. I wind up following her in my car with a growing conviction the whole evening is wrong. In the end my memories of who I had been a year earlier were more dominant than any opportunity available that night. So as the evening draws to its' inevitable conclusion, I decline to cross a doorway, and with as much grace as I could muster I excuse myself and go home before I compound the mistakes of that lost year. About the same time I also started to realize no amount of drink, or passages through new rooms, would ever change the fact that what had happened to me in my life, had happened.
A long time later I still don't know why we're all so damn prickly. I realize, like Woody Allen once said, "The heart wants what the heart wants", but somewhere along the border between id and ego, between individual liberty and social constructs there are casualties and I think something is lost even though I understand it can all be explained. So, for Al and Tipper, although I don't know you and often disagree with you, I'm sorry to hear the news and I hope things work out for the both of you.
As for me, almost thirty years ago, the Friday following the above tale I was back at "Avenues". Today, I'm much more reluctant to trust the emotions of any one moment.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Aftermath
It started with a light whirring noise in the engine compartment while on route 75. What goes through your mind? One, nuts, not another engine problem, and two, what is that? And now that our attention is pricked, we start to notice other things. The car doesn't seem to be moving as rapidly as normal (eyeball the speedometer, 65 mph, not the normal 75; depress the gas pedal and the engine doesn't respond as it normally would). Fortunately, my exit is coming up so I exit onto local two lane road through Weston. There's a light at the intersection for Indian Trace and the engine just doesn't sound right. I accelerate onto Indian Trace after the light turns green and the engine stalls. Night2night editorial voice: from whatever root cause precipitated the series of events for that night as I've described it so far, opportunities for meaningful risk mitigation sufficient to preserve the car, and in retrospect, me, are rapidly vanishing.
The inertia of the car's motion was enough to allow me to steer to the curb. I try to start the car, but the entire instrument panel is dark when I turn the key in the ignition. Light colored smoke is coming from the engine compartment, but I figure the radiator is busted (for whatever reason) and get out of the car to call J for pick-up (about 1 mile from home) and inform her I'll call Allstate Auto while I wait for her. I get back into the car, try the ignition again, the instrument panel lights up this time and engine starter cranks, but no engine ignition apparent. I exit car again and smell still light smoke from engine compartment and note it doesn't smell like antifreeze. Again, although opportunities are shrinking for possible responses, I'm unaware how close to the Volvo singularity I am.
I look under the car and some type of fluid is exiting the engine in a thin stream. Crap. It ignites.
Fire school training while at Shoreham with demo of car fire. Very short time until flames engulf the car.
Don't lose work. Grab laptop, car emergency kit and sunglasses.
911
Back off.
(Inane conversation with 911 operator, "What color is your car? (orange and yellow, soon to be ash black, my car is on fire)"; "What direction are you heading in? (intersection of 84 and Indian Trace Road, my car is on fire, get a blankin fire truck here lady!)" First Broward County Sheriff’s unit responding tells me when he stopped he saw some small flickering flames under the engine; three minutes later the car was engulfed in a fireball.
There's a rather rapid series of events following the start of my return home that evening (we left for Rochester at 4:30 the next morning for R's graduation from Nazareth College). J shows up in rather wide eyed disbelief after seeing the spectators gathered to watch. A flatbed tow truck shows up to remove the dripping wreck, and the spot where she burnt is marked by a set of brackets formed from the molten remains of the bumpers.
I get a couple of shots of the car's remains in the towing yard with Allstate's field investigator. I'll probably start one of my infamous letter writing campaigns asking Volvo (Ford?) whether this usually happens with their cars.
Nothing was recoverable. Time to look for another car before the boys go back to school. I walked away and at least saved my work from the last few weeks (maybe I should consider backing up better to the corporate network). Could it have been a worse outcome? After I had a chance to think about it, yeah, I think it could have been worse.
Appropriately, this seems like a good place to complete this set of blog posts addressing liberty, risk, the need for both personal and public security, and those mechanisms available for addressing all of it. I think we like to think things are more rational and predictable than they actually are. We want all risk mitigated to the point of insignificance, but the reality is that's impossible. And at those rare points, when we approach those singularities, when we stumble upon an ill-intentioned "black swan", sometimes we can only draw upon our gut instincts, beat the clock, and hope for the best. Of course, in those situations, you best have your own estimation of acceptable risk, and some general plan for dealing with hostilities. You can't always count on help arriving in time.
I suspect the occasional reader I have will look at this and say, "Ah, it's just some set-up for another crazy rant of his." Well, maybe, but, our destinations are pretty uniform and I suspect most of the meaning to be had is in our conduct during the trip. So here's to the guys and gals who recognize the threats out there, handle them as best they can, but understand risk is never negligible, not in this life.
The inertia of the car's motion was enough to allow me to steer to the curb. I try to start the car, but the entire instrument panel is dark when I turn the key in the ignition. Light colored smoke is coming from the engine compartment, but I figure the radiator is busted (for whatever reason) and get out of the car to call J for pick-up (about 1 mile from home) and inform her I'll call Allstate Auto while I wait for her. I get back into the car, try the ignition again, the instrument panel lights up this time and engine starter cranks, but no engine ignition apparent. I exit car again and smell still light smoke from engine compartment and note it doesn't smell like antifreeze. Again, although opportunities are shrinking for possible responses, I'm unaware how close to the Volvo singularity I am.
I look under the car and some type of fluid is exiting the engine in a thin stream. Crap. It ignites.
Fire school training while at Shoreham with demo of car fire. Very short time until flames engulf the car.
Don't lose work. Grab laptop, car emergency kit and sunglasses.
911
Back off.
(Inane conversation with 911 operator, "What color is your car? (orange and yellow, soon to be ash black, my car is on fire)"; "What direction are you heading in? (intersection of 84 and Indian Trace Road, my car is on fire, get a blankin fire truck here lady!)" First Broward County Sheriff’s unit responding tells me when he stopped he saw some small flickering flames under the engine; three minutes later the car was engulfed in a fireball.
There's a rather rapid series of events following the start of my return home that evening (we left for Rochester at 4:30 the next morning for R's graduation from Nazareth College). J shows up in rather wide eyed disbelief after seeing the spectators gathered to watch. A flatbed tow truck shows up to remove the dripping wreck, and the spot where she burnt is marked by a set of brackets formed from the molten remains of the bumpers.
I get a couple of shots of the car's remains in the towing yard with Allstate's field investigator. I'll probably start one of my infamous letter writing campaigns asking Volvo (Ford?) whether this usually happens with their cars.
Nothing was recoverable. Time to look for another car before the boys go back to school. I walked away and at least saved my work from the last few weeks (maybe I should consider backing up better to the corporate network). Could it have been a worse outcome? After I had a chance to think about it, yeah, I think it could have been worse.
Appropriately, this seems like a good place to complete this set of blog posts addressing liberty, risk, the need for both personal and public security, and those mechanisms available for addressing all of it. I think we like to think things are more rational and predictable than they actually are. We want all risk mitigated to the point of insignificance, but the reality is that's impossible. And at those rare points, when we approach those singularities, when we stumble upon an ill-intentioned "black swan", sometimes we can only draw upon our gut instincts, beat the clock, and hope for the best. Of course, in those situations, you best have your own estimation of acceptable risk, and some general plan for dealing with hostilities. You can't always count on help arriving in time.
I suspect the occasional reader I have will look at this and say, "Ah, it's just some set-up for another crazy rant of his." Well, maybe, but, our destinations are pretty uniform and I suspect most of the meaning to be had is in our conduct during the trip. So here's to the guys and gals who recognize the threats out there, handle them as best they can, but understand risk is never negligible, not in this life.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
A big, black, gooey, mess.
I can't really adequately express how angry I am about the current Gulf oil spill. Mass media reporting (particularly in the beginning) seemed to show more ignorance of events than anything else and now serious voices are beginning to question how close the main body of the oil spill is to the Gulf Loop current.
Scientists watching where oil spill headed next - Yahoo! News
Of course once this mess gets sucked into the loop current it will flow through the Florida straits and then up the east coast (I've heard mixed opinions on how great an impact ocean currents and offshore winds will have on actual beach impact; at least as of yesterday, US Geological Survey seemed to feel Palm Beach and north was more likely). Of course one could get in extensive discussions on how this would best be mitigated and cleaned up (apparently beaches are easier than marshes). Still, the southern Florida ecosystem is a complicated, diverse wonder and I don't doubt the long term implications could be ghastly (both for the tourism business and the natural fauna and flora).
Although not very familiar with the particulars of deep sea drilling, it's pretty apparent the folks responsible for the operation of the Deepwater Horizon platform failed to meet minimum standards of due diligence with regard to both risk mitigation and verification of those systems necessary for the blowout preventer to function under the design conditions present at the wellhead location. I personally would like to see criminal charges levied against the organizations involved and their corporate officers.
What I'm interested at in this point of the situation (beyond limiting the negative environment impacts to the greatest extent possible) is understanding what can be done to preventing events like this from happening again. Instead what I see is the usual high level government investigations and threats of impending lawsuits for this event. In all of this I wait to see some claim of full corporate responsibility and admittance that individual employees pursued high risk activities which resulted in loss of life and property due to their lack of concern with proper process and reflecting a culture which devalued real ethical concerns if they impacted profit and loss. How do we fix stuff like that? Can a government regulator substitute for corporate responsibility? Can any individual acting in a professional capacity properly exercise his responsibility to the community he lives in if he thinks his job is just a paycheck and an opportunity for advancement?
We all want that cool, calculating professional next to us when the "black swan" event shows up, but I suspect there's more than standard operating procedures involved during those moments (particularly for the individuals at the scene). Anyway, here's hoping we can find "The Professional" when we need him.
Scientists watching where oil spill headed next - Yahoo! News
Of course once this mess gets sucked into the loop current it will flow through the Florida straits and then up the east coast (I've heard mixed opinions on how great an impact ocean currents and offshore winds will have on actual beach impact; at least as of yesterday, US Geological Survey seemed to feel Palm Beach and north was more likely). Of course one could get in extensive discussions on how this would best be mitigated and cleaned up (apparently beaches are easier than marshes). Still, the southern Florida ecosystem is a complicated, diverse wonder and I don't doubt the long term implications could be ghastly (both for the tourism business and the natural fauna and flora).
Although not very familiar with the particulars of deep sea drilling, it's pretty apparent the folks responsible for the operation of the Deepwater Horizon platform failed to meet minimum standards of due diligence with regard to both risk mitigation and verification of those systems necessary for the blowout preventer to function under the design conditions present at the wellhead location. I personally would like to see criminal charges levied against the organizations involved and their corporate officers.
What I'm interested at in this point of the situation (beyond limiting the negative environment impacts to the greatest extent possible) is understanding what can be done to preventing events like this from happening again. Instead what I see is the usual high level government investigations and threats of impending lawsuits for this event. In all of this I wait to see some claim of full corporate responsibility and admittance that individual employees pursued high risk activities which resulted in loss of life and property due to their lack of concern with proper process and reflecting a culture which devalued real ethical concerns if they impacted profit and loss. How do we fix stuff like that? Can a government regulator substitute for corporate responsibility? Can any individual acting in a professional capacity properly exercise his responsibility to the community he lives in if he thinks his job is just a paycheck and an opportunity for advancement?
We all want that cool, calculating professional next to us when the "black swan" event shows up, but I suspect there's more than standard operating procedures involved during those moments (particularly for the individuals at the scene). Anyway, here's hoping we can find "The Professional" when we need him.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Black Swan
Nassim Nicholas Taleb in his book "The Black Swan" explores the impact of highly improbable game changing events (the book was published at the start of the recent financial crash in 2007) and our tendency to undervalue statistical outliers in risk mitigation (like generals, we're always fighting the last war) and justify our approach in an overreliance on "normal" behavior (statistical and anecdotal). The term "black swan" is a reference to what we all know, swans are always white. The pertinent question for him is what happens when a black one shows up. Taleb postulates 3 prerequisites for "black swan" events. "First, it is an outlier, as it lies outside the realm of regular expectations, because nothing in the past can convincingly point to its possibility. Second, it carries an extreme impact. Third, in spite of its outlier status, human nature makes us concoct explanations for its occurrence after the fact, making it explainable and predictable." The original NY Times excerpt from his book is worth reading:
‘The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable’ - New York Times
Which, in my way of reasoning, brings us back to a recent op-ed column by David Brooks in the NY Times. As the congressional wizards deliberate over the financial carnage of the last few years, they come up with a bill to remedy the misbehavior of the larger financial institutions. David (who often seems undervalued to me by "true believer" conservatives) makes an excellent point on the track record of expert panels with regard to preventive efforts. In almost all cases, no one recognizes the black swan.
The Goldman Drama - nytimes.com
My thoughts on the next financial Waterloo waiting for us. I think the impact of sovereign debt accumulated by a slew of developed western countries to provide all matter of goodies to its citizens has yet to fully impact us. I wonder where the legislature for that little misstep is.
‘The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable’ - New York Times
Which, in my way of reasoning, brings us back to a recent op-ed column by David Brooks in the NY Times. As the congressional wizards deliberate over the financial carnage of the last few years, they come up with a bill to remedy the misbehavior of the larger financial institutions. David (who often seems undervalued to me by "true believer" conservatives) makes an excellent point on the track record of expert panels with regard to preventive efforts. In almost all cases, no one recognizes the black swan.
The Goldman Drama - nytimes.com
My thoughts on the next financial Waterloo waiting for us. I think the impact of sovereign debt accumulated by a slew of developed western countries to provide all matter of goodies to its citizens has yet to fully impact us. I wonder where the legislature for that little misstep is.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
"Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice."
Travel, projects (personal and professional), and an unplanned disaster has compressed the time I had available for extracurriculars over the past month. Today I find myself back in Rochester, NY celebrating my daughter, R's graduation from Nazareth College (first of the offspring to complete their undergraduate studies, hoorah). Still with some time, some sleep, and a general predisposition to mulling over what germinated in my mind some weeks ago, I've decided to complete and publish these few entries (which sort of follow my recent thinking on the limits of federal government and the proper mitigation of public risk), just ex post facto.
Some weeks ago I came across an essay by Penn Jillette in the weekend interview in the Wall Street Journal which I think addresses an important, pragmatic essence of liberty. At its most basic, liberty is the freedom for an individual to pursue his or hers prerogative, even when the outcome is stupid. Of course for most of us, putting up with our fellow citizens stupidities (which are so much worse than our own) is the biggest trial of liberty. If only those other idiots could be more like us. If you can, follow the link and read the essay.
Penn Jillette's Homage to Hummer - WSJ.com
I worry our preoccupation with better outcomes (particularly the ones learned experts prefer), with maximizing the government planner's capability to forbid bad outcomes, and with our desire to control the free agents (out of either jealousy or a desire to control what is perceived as chaotic, and therefore, undesirable) will result in a loss of liberty, in a loss of those attributes of freedom which make so much possible in this land. Ironically, although some classical liberals (which Penn Jillette always seemed to me because of his contempt for all religions) and authors like Kurt Vonnegut (whose work I got to love in high school) do seem to recognize the threat to our liberty implicit in following these preoccupations to their logical ends. In light of that observation, one of Kurt Vonnegut's earlier short stories, "Harrison Bergeron", is probably worth reading as a chaser for the Penn Jillette essay.
Harrison Bergeron
What do I conclude? Hang on to your stupidity and the unfairness of life, if the alternative is the sacrifice of your liberty.
Some weeks ago I came across an essay by Penn Jillette in the weekend interview in the Wall Street Journal which I think addresses an important, pragmatic essence of liberty. At its most basic, liberty is the freedom for an individual to pursue his or hers prerogative, even when the outcome is stupid. Of course for most of us, putting up with our fellow citizens stupidities (which are so much worse than our own) is the biggest trial of liberty. If only those other idiots could be more like us. If you can, follow the link and read the essay.
Penn Jillette's Homage to Hummer - WSJ.com
I worry our preoccupation with better outcomes (particularly the ones learned experts prefer), with maximizing the government planner's capability to forbid bad outcomes, and with our desire to control the free agents (out of either jealousy or a desire to control what is perceived as chaotic, and therefore, undesirable) will result in a loss of liberty, in a loss of those attributes of freedom which make so much possible in this land. Ironically, although some classical liberals (which Penn Jillette always seemed to me because of his contempt for all religions) and authors like Kurt Vonnegut (whose work I got to love in high school) do seem to recognize the threat to our liberty implicit in following these preoccupations to their logical ends. In light of that observation, one of Kurt Vonnegut's earlier short stories, "Harrison Bergeron", is probably worth reading as a chaser for the Penn Jillette essay.
Harrison Bergeron
What do I conclude? Hang on to your stupidity and the unfairness of life, if the alternative is the sacrifice of your liberty.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Music soothes the savage beast.
Lot of writing procedural stuff today and Bank of America comes across with a lousy loan modification deal (we'll do the back and forth of course because no business I know of would unilaterally accept the losses I'm looking at it without pulling their partners in to share liability; screw them, they want to take title to property basically making their note worthless they're welcome to it. I've been through this with Aurora already.).
While all of this is going on I'm plugged into my IPOD. Two Goo Goo Dolls songs remind me of some other challenges and beginnings back on Long Island circa 1983/1984 (even though the songs and the band didn't exist back then). The first "Here is Gone", hearkens back to letting go of some personal losses while doing a lot of riding across the 2 lane highways of the North Shore on my Kawasaki KZ750 (sometimes I would get on the Orient Point Ferry during the evening and cross the Sound to Connecticut). Not sure I can really adequately describe those moments; the feel of the leather seat as I'd tap into first gear after kick starting the engine; the dull vibration of the motor reverberating as the wheels unwind on the highway underneath me on an early fall day with the sun setting; the black soft separation from family (a lot of time out at night simply screaming down roads overnight), school friends, and old associations slowly growing and being replaced by the embraced solitude of a semi-rural environment; the realization I was moving on and not going back to my parent's home or the aborted adult life which had crumbled before me, ever. The beginning of a smile that could make the right woman blush. Some stuff sticks in your head (Even now, I still smile, and J, sometimes, still blushes). So, here's a decent YouTube video of "Here is Gone", which, at least for me, creates some neural triggers (you can minimize the advertising embedded in the frame). I usually turn the volume up on this and try to damage my hearing or at least a couple of synapses when listening. It still seems appropriate and I'd probably recommend the same for anybody in similar circumstances (Hell, if you're crossing that type of mental terrain with that little light, would you even want to live forever? Just go and turn the volume up and feel the wind in your hair.).
Click thru the embed (which YouTube has disabled) to the YouTube site for the WB official video and tune.
The second tune is "Let Love In". Like this year, 1983 brought a lot of issues to disposition and unfamiliar places to travel through. You find yourself making up a lot of stuff as you go along. At some point in time you hit your stride and realize you'll get to exit another tunnel, at least for that day. Twenty eight years ago I had found my own pace on a tough piece of road, but started to recognize my solitary shadow when J popped up as a medical assistant collecting blood samples at the nuclear power plant I was working at. It starts like this; you walk into some make believe examination room in the back of a tractor trailer and find yourself in front of some medical tech with candy blonde hair, large blue eyes, a kiss of freckles across her upper cheeks and dressed in a short white nurse's dress (from southern California yet). After two years mainly by myself and a lot of time on the road I just stared alot and in the following days found myself trying to hit locations where my eyes could drink things in for just one more time. Lots of stories here, and both of us had enough history that it felt like being released from some decrepit prison where even the guards had lost interest in performing their duties. For now, just a snapshot of an intense late spring/early summer. First, a first kiss at the center of the Brooklyn Bridge ("That's not NYC, I'll show you NYC", in laughing response to her tale of the NYC tourist tour) and today a copy of Roebling's engineering plan for the bridge hangs on our stairwell wall. Second, a memory of my hands slowly encircling her waist following a dinner date during May 1983 and really fighting a desire to let my hands see for me (I mean really fighting that odd mix of "I want you" and "I stopped caring about things some time ago, so why don't we enjoy tonight"; I really liked this girl.). She asked to go home at that point, but something unspoken passed between us that night. It's hard to capture the thousand small gestures, sights and sensations that comprise the start of a relationship. Suffice it to say a mix of forgotten intimacy, desire, talk, and some personal, quiet contentment marked her sojourn and mine as accidental fellow travelers at Shoreham late in the spring of 1983. Six weeks later, with J returning to the left coast, I asked her to marry me and on May 12, 1984 we married on the anniversary of our first meeting in a tractor trailer where I gave up some blood and remembered what it felt like to be a young single man. So here's my emotional memory of that six weeks.
As before, click thru the embed (which YouTube has disabled) to the YouTube site for the WB official video and tune (not as good as the first video, but the lyrics and tune catch the moment right).
While all of this is going on I'm plugged into my IPOD. Two Goo Goo Dolls songs remind me of some other challenges and beginnings back on Long Island circa 1983/1984 (even though the songs and the band didn't exist back then). The first "Here is Gone", hearkens back to letting go of some personal losses while doing a lot of riding across the 2 lane highways of the North Shore on my Kawasaki KZ750 (sometimes I would get on the Orient Point Ferry during the evening and cross the Sound to Connecticut). Not sure I can really adequately describe those moments; the feel of the leather seat as I'd tap into first gear after kick starting the engine; the dull vibration of the motor reverberating as the wheels unwind on the highway underneath me on an early fall day with the sun setting; the black soft separation from family (a lot of time out at night simply screaming down roads overnight), school friends, and old associations slowly growing and being replaced by the embraced solitude of a semi-rural environment; the realization I was moving on and not going back to my parent's home or the aborted adult life which had crumbled before me, ever. The beginning of a smile that could make the right woman blush. Some stuff sticks in your head (Even now, I still smile, and J, sometimes, still blushes). So, here's a decent YouTube video of "Here is Gone", which, at least for me, creates some neural triggers (you can minimize the advertising embedded in the frame). I usually turn the volume up on this and try to damage my hearing or at least a couple of synapses when listening. It still seems appropriate and I'd probably recommend the same for anybody in similar circumstances (Hell, if you're crossing that type of mental terrain with that little light, would you even want to live forever? Just go and turn the volume up and feel the wind in your hair.).
Click thru the embed (which YouTube has disabled) to the YouTube site for the WB official video and tune.
My favorite set of wheels at rest on the patio where I kept her.
The second tune is "Let Love In". Like this year, 1983 brought a lot of issues to disposition and unfamiliar places to travel through. You find yourself making up a lot of stuff as you go along. At some point in time you hit your stride and realize you'll get to exit another tunnel, at least for that day. Twenty eight years ago I had found my own pace on a tough piece of road, but started to recognize my solitary shadow when J popped up as a medical assistant collecting blood samples at the nuclear power plant I was working at. It starts like this; you walk into some make believe examination room in the back of a tractor trailer and find yourself in front of some medical tech with candy blonde hair, large blue eyes, a kiss of freckles across her upper cheeks and dressed in a short white nurse's dress (from southern California yet). After two years mainly by myself and a lot of time on the road I just stared alot and in the following days found myself trying to hit locations where my eyes could drink things in for just one more time. Lots of stories here, and both of us had enough history that it felt like being released from some decrepit prison where even the guards had lost interest in performing their duties. For now, just a snapshot of an intense late spring/early summer. First, a first kiss at the center of the Brooklyn Bridge ("That's not NYC, I'll show you NYC", in laughing response to her tale of the NYC tourist tour) and today a copy of Roebling's engineering plan for the bridge hangs on our stairwell wall. Second, a memory of my hands slowly encircling her waist following a dinner date during May 1983 and really fighting a desire to let my hands see for me (I mean really fighting that odd mix of "I want you" and "I stopped caring about things some time ago, so why don't we enjoy tonight"; I really liked this girl.). She asked to go home at that point, but something unspoken passed between us that night. It's hard to capture the thousand small gestures, sights and sensations that comprise the start of a relationship. Suffice it to say a mix of forgotten intimacy, desire, talk, and some personal, quiet contentment marked her sojourn and mine as accidental fellow travelers at Shoreham late in the spring of 1983. Six weeks later, with J returning to the left coast, I asked her to marry me and on May 12, 1984 we married on the anniversary of our first meeting in a tractor trailer where I gave up some blood and remembered what it felt like to be a young single man. So here's my emotional memory of that six weeks.
As before, click thru the embed (which YouTube has disabled) to the YouTube site for the WB official video and tune (not as good as the first video, but the lyrics and tune catch the moment right).
And in the fullness of time, a very happy, but tired Mom and Dad posed with their daughter Rachel. And we started down a new road. It was a nice time. I really didn't appreciate it enough at the time.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering."
Another lagging draft, mainly composed Good Friday night, reflecting on my observation of the Passion and the renewed attention to the priest abuse scandals both here and in Europe.
The NY Times has been having a field day with accusations Pope Benedict failed to act strongly enough against child abusing priests decades ago while heading up the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and as Archbishop of Germany. I’m loath to give the accusers too much credence because too often church critics despise the church and its adherents (I suspect because of both doctrine and its standing in the Christian world). From my perspective, secular critics often cherry pick circumstantial information to suit a preconstructed narrative and would not mourn the fall of the man, or his church (I guess it’s sort of like that old saying of never going to an ex-spouse to get the true measure of an individual; too many people who believe themselves wronged preserve an amazing capability to nurse grievances for years and often use that grievance as justification for ad hominem attacks and slurs when the opportunity arises).
And of the monster priests? Do I believe they were coddled by bishops who confounded their understanding of the mission of the church with the neglect of adequate discipline for corrupt individuals who preyed on children? In some spectacular cases, yes. In others, the desire to be an agent of “grace” to the repentant (or those offenders simply gaming the system) was probably quite a temptation. Sadly, the victims were often simply expected to forgive these transgressions of their childhood and move on.
And now the current holder of the keys of Peter, made explicit in his definition of church dogma ex cathedra magesterium, who to Catholics by definition is infallible with regards to definition of church dogma (at least since Vatican I), finds himself called to account by a hostile media who treats him as if he was the CEO of a business who gave shelter to criminal enterprises of the worst kind. Needless to say, even though we differentiate between dogmatic infallibility and human flaws, there is a tendency within the church to view these accusations as an attack on the foundation of the church itself. As for me, as an intellectual descendant of Martin Luther, I wish the dogmatic authority codified by Vatican I in the person of the pope had continued to be reserved for the College of Cardinals, but I’m not blind to the increasing hostility of certain atheists within the community to all aspects of Christianity and particularly it’s public expression by believers. Faith, for some people, only deserves ridicule.
Within my Christian home, I recognize that Catholic arguments the Reformation would lead to an endless splintering of the Christian community without some allegiance to tradition and church authority are not without merit. One need only look at the long list of splinter Christian “churches” who embrace all sorts of odd doctrinal conclusions (all “biblically based”, of course) with their handful of members (Fred Phelps, in particular, comes to mind as a particularly repulsive representative), to realize it may not be a good idea to tell people anything they discern from their reading of the Bible is necessarily valid. From my perspective, we join organizations and institutions which ultimately may be as corrupt as the darkness which lies within our own souls. They are all things of man, and reflect the flaws of men. So we sit within imperfect institutions, worship our God, and listen to the jeers of the hostile crowd without.
Which brings me back to Good Friday. Pastor Tim this past week during the Tenebrae Service of Good Friday quoted a writer I wasn’t familiar with who claimed almost everybody “gets” the wreckage of Good Friday. We know the wreckage of couples who lacking the passion to renew their relationship, much less fight, and simply quit and walk away. We know the wreckage of the 12 year old girl kicked senseless by a 15 year old classmate for upsetting him with a set of text messages. We hear the voices of doomed passengers talking to loved ones they’ll never grow old with, saying goodbye to the children who they’ll never see graduate school. We hear the unexpected horrifying diagnosis, see the unexpected arrival of a drunk driver careening out of control, have watched the light fade in a loved one’s eyes and felt the warmth and strength of a human hand go cold and flaccid. And I sit in stone cold silence and horror during those moments, where simply continuing to breathe is an effort.
And yet 2000 years ago, this man, this iterant preacher, this innocent, meeting his end subjected to the most foul devices of torture and death the denizens of the most fearful empire of that time could come up, spoke only of forgiveness for his captors. He spoke of love, and said even though we didn’t deserve it, our creator loved us and would create a bridge for rapprochement through his sacrifice. It was said his followers saw him numerous times after his death, the same and yet, somehow, changed. Many of his early followers, rather than renounce their faith in him, went to their own deaths. Believe in him as son of the living God, or not; the world and its’ many faiths have produced few stories like his.
My faith has changed during my life, but my wonder at that story still renews me. The institutions and politics are really just an aside. During my moments of doubt and challenge, the difficult thing to live with as a Christian is not my belief in his resurrection, but the long wait following his ascension.
The NY Times has been having a field day with accusations Pope Benedict failed to act strongly enough against child abusing priests decades ago while heading up the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and as Archbishop of Germany. I’m loath to give the accusers too much credence because too often church critics despise the church and its adherents (I suspect because of both doctrine and its standing in the Christian world). From my perspective, secular critics often cherry pick circumstantial information to suit a preconstructed narrative and would not mourn the fall of the man, or his church (I guess it’s sort of like that old saying of never going to an ex-spouse to get the true measure of an individual; too many people who believe themselves wronged preserve an amazing capability to nurse grievances for years and often use that grievance as justification for ad hominem attacks and slurs when the opportunity arises).
And of the monster priests? Do I believe they were coddled by bishops who confounded their understanding of the mission of the church with the neglect of adequate discipline for corrupt individuals who preyed on children? In some spectacular cases, yes. In others, the desire to be an agent of “grace” to the repentant (or those offenders simply gaming the system) was probably quite a temptation. Sadly, the victims were often simply expected to forgive these transgressions of their childhood and move on.
And now the current holder of the keys of Peter, made explicit in his definition of church dogma ex cathedra magesterium, who to Catholics by definition is infallible with regards to definition of church dogma (at least since Vatican I), finds himself called to account by a hostile media who treats him as if he was the CEO of a business who gave shelter to criminal enterprises of the worst kind. Needless to say, even though we differentiate between dogmatic infallibility and human flaws, there is a tendency within the church to view these accusations as an attack on the foundation of the church itself. As for me, as an intellectual descendant of Martin Luther, I wish the dogmatic authority codified by Vatican I in the person of the pope had continued to be reserved for the College of Cardinals, but I’m not blind to the increasing hostility of certain atheists within the community to all aspects of Christianity and particularly it’s public expression by believers. Faith, for some people, only deserves ridicule.
Within my Christian home, I recognize that Catholic arguments the Reformation would lead to an endless splintering of the Christian community without some allegiance to tradition and church authority are not without merit. One need only look at the long list of splinter Christian “churches” who embrace all sorts of odd doctrinal conclusions (all “biblically based”, of course) with their handful of members (Fred Phelps, in particular, comes to mind as a particularly repulsive representative), to realize it may not be a good idea to tell people anything they discern from their reading of the Bible is necessarily valid. From my perspective, we join organizations and institutions which ultimately may be as corrupt as the darkness which lies within our own souls. They are all things of man, and reflect the flaws of men. So we sit within imperfect institutions, worship our God, and listen to the jeers of the hostile crowd without.
Which brings me back to Good Friday. Pastor Tim this past week during the Tenebrae Service of Good Friday quoted a writer I wasn’t familiar with who claimed almost everybody “gets” the wreckage of Good Friday. We know the wreckage of couples who lacking the passion to renew their relationship, much less fight, and simply quit and walk away. We know the wreckage of the 12 year old girl kicked senseless by a 15 year old classmate for upsetting him with a set of text messages. We hear the voices of doomed passengers talking to loved ones they’ll never grow old with, saying goodbye to the children who they’ll never see graduate school. We hear the unexpected horrifying diagnosis, see the unexpected arrival of a drunk driver careening out of control, have watched the light fade in a loved one’s eyes and felt the warmth and strength of a human hand go cold and flaccid. And I sit in stone cold silence and horror during those moments, where simply continuing to breathe is an effort.
And yet 2000 years ago, this man, this iterant preacher, this innocent, meeting his end subjected to the most foul devices of torture and death the denizens of the most fearful empire of that time could come up, spoke only of forgiveness for his captors. He spoke of love, and said even though we didn’t deserve it, our creator loved us and would create a bridge for rapprochement through his sacrifice. It was said his followers saw him numerous times after his death, the same and yet, somehow, changed. Many of his early followers, rather than renounce their faith in him, went to their own deaths. Believe in him as son of the living God, or not; the world and its’ many faiths have produced few stories like his.
My faith has changed during my life, but my wonder at that story still renews me. The institutions and politics are really just an aside. During my moments of doubt and challenge, the difficult thing to live with as a Christian is not my belief in his resurrection, but the long wait following his ascension.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
And some came running.
I went to the Fort Lauderdale Corporate Challenge 5K Run this past Thursday (I'm trying to make an effort to generate "real time" blog entries, but time is always limited, and, so, here I am playing catch-up with my own online enterprise. Sigh.). Anyway, it was a nice night (typical for southern Florida this time of year) and a chance to traverse and linger in some places I don't usually get to. The number of participants was smaller than in the past two years, but I'm guessing that probably reflects the economic downturn of the past year. The race itself has the competitive, "seeded", runners staged in the front of the field, and the "hoi polloi" (which includes your humble correspondent) in the rear. For myself, the days of running a six minute mile across a 5K course are somewhere behind and north of here.
I spent the two days after the race dealing (or, better yet, suffering through) with the side effects of an acute bout of Achilles tendonitis (which infuriates J, who sees a refusal to deal with a problem which should be fixed; I, of course, see only reminders of an inevitable decline which concludes with nothing left to decline). More curious yet, I suspected that might be the most concrete outcome of the evening and still found it hard to relinquish my performance, if not my participation. So I hung out amid the corporate tents, talked with some coworkers about things other than work, broke some bread (over veggie lasagna), and covered 3.1 miles in about 33 minutes.
Still, for that evening, I was in a semitropical, semiurban outpost with fountains framing the high rise condominiums of the Fort Lauderdale skyline. My old sneakers were laced up and my running shorts were on. There are some moments it's just good to be there, in that moment. This was one of those times.
Some companies run as teams with their team members sporting shirts with corporate colors or logos. They line up with everybody else under the city parking garage and wait for the starter's gun to go off.
And when it does, the seeded runners burst forward to hopefully establish some personal best record for themselves. The remainder of the pack slowly surges forward, first walking, and finally passing beneath the balloon festooned starting gate.
Eventually, the pack breaks up enough for us to all find our personal pace, and our associated "personal best". I've come to prefer starting behind and coming forward, rather than starting with an unobjective bravado and falling back in exhaustion. I find my place in this river of middle class, middle aged denizens of the corporate woods and look for the ocean with them.
Eventually we finish, congratulate each other, inquire after finish times, bust chops, and watch the sun set overhead behind the towers fencing the park we're gathered in. I hope the ankle supports I'm wearing might spare me any real discomfort in the next days, but time and circumstances have moved on, as has that day.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Altered States
Really stormy day yesterday (a weak tornado touched down somewhere in southern Florida flipping trailers, knocking a commercial garage door off it's tracks, and splintering a fair number of trees). I'm tired of this winter (at least relative to what out winters normally are). Pressure's on at work (again, and again, and yet again). Get the project clean; put together a solid set of DHF deliverables; understand the risks, mitigate appropriately; specifically identify those requirements necessary to meet functional requirements and overarching QSR dictates and then verify you met them (Go ahead, make me shiver, say it again, verification and validation. Ohhh, I've got goosebumps.). Get to commercial release on time while conjuring up real challenges before they materialize on critical path. Stay ahead of the attention of eyes looking for things amiss.
Take a breath and stop growling.
There now, feel better?
So we conclude a happy looking corpse is better than an anxious one and leave for the day.
And found ourselves back at the YMCA pool as the temperature drops back into the fifties, the sun sets, and the wind again picks up. The younger lifeguards sulk and hide air cooled brows beneath knit snowcaps while waiting for the opportunity to unfurl the pool thermal covers and sail off into the night. Meanwhile, the recalitrant patron slips into the warm (relative) depths of the deserted lap lanes and falls into his 40 year old freestyle rhythm and seeks transcendence in much practiced motions with small opportunities to draw breath.
And yet the world is turned oddly about during my sojourn here. The eternally young and tanned guards sit shivering in winter garb overlooking the slowly emptying olympic sized pool (water polo practice concluding). The scent of chlorinated water is less than one normally experiences during the height of the summer when the pool is heated by the sun to almost bathtub temperature. Now, the water temperature is heated to almost 78 degrees F (a good 15 to 20 degrees warmer than the air temperature), so, the water beckons as I tread across the uncommonly cool concrete deck, "Come on in. Immerse yourself. Find your rhythm within my world, within my body, and forget the assassinated smiley face. The only reality is the lap count and the ability to draw breath. Follow the blue lane markers. Are you comfortable drawing breath? Follow the blue lane markers." And I do. And begin to count.
So I settle into the routine of 36 laps, or 72 lengths, or 1 mile. I alternate flip turns with wall touches and advance stroke by stroke to my goal. I'm late (again), so the staff has already started to roll out the thermal plastic blankets covering the body of the pool overnight, working from the ends in toward the middle where I progress stroke by stroke. Normally the air is warmer, and the water cooler, but now the situation is reversed with the water providing warmth the air will not. So I feel like I'm swimming low in the water, beneath the cooler air where I draw breath. I unconsciously, or consciously, maximize my time and depth immersed, timing my breathing to still maintain my comfort in this "other" place I transit, where I guess we all originated from and now only visit, like me, beneath the blue halogen lights.
I'm most acutely aware of my need for air at the flip turns. I normally exhale through my nose until I've leveled out and reversed, but sometimes I run short of breath and can feel the sting of the chlorinated water up high in my sinuses and think "find your rhythm. . . ", but there's always that little hit of desperation, of not having enough air and wanting to inhale deeply. The count progresses. As it does, my peripheral vision first picks up the shadow of the thermal blankets darkening the water. They advance inexorably toward my location. Sometimes I think, I'll feel the snap of the nylon rope over my shoulder and find the blue tarp being pulled over my head in this place I'm visiting, but where I don't belong (get to the side and lift yourself out!). But, Chris is out there, and we talk together, and he makes sure I get the most time possible. And I keep pulling myself through the water until length 72 is behind me, and slowly blow bubbles while floating just beneath the water before lifting myself up onto the concrete deck and pulling my goggles up onto my forehead.
Of course the night ends and I wash as much of the chlorine scent as I can off myself in the locker room shower and change into shorts, t-shirt and birkenstocks for the final trip home. As I start the car, the check engine light comes on as it has for the last month.
Take a breath and stop growling.
There now, feel better?
So we conclude a happy looking corpse is better than an anxious one and leave for the day.
And found ourselves back at the YMCA pool as the temperature drops back into the fifties, the sun sets, and the wind again picks up. The younger lifeguards sulk and hide air cooled brows beneath knit snowcaps while waiting for the opportunity to unfurl the pool thermal covers and sail off into the night. Meanwhile, the recalitrant patron slips into the warm (relative) depths of the deserted lap lanes and falls into his 40 year old freestyle rhythm and seeks transcendence in much practiced motions with small opportunities to draw breath.
And yet the world is turned oddly about during my sojourn here. The eternally young and tanned guards sit shivering in winter garb overlooking the slowly emptying olympic sized pool (water polo practice concluding). The scent of chlorinated water is less than one normally experiences during the height of the summer when the pool is heated by the sun to almost bathtub temperature. Now, the water temperature is heated to almost 78 degrees F (a good 15 to 20 degrees warmer than the air temperature), so, the water beckons as I tread across the uncommonly cool concrete deck, "Come on in. Immerse yourself. Find your rhythm within my world, within my body, and forget the assassinated smiley face. The only reality is the lap count and the ability to draw breath. Follow the blue lane markers. Are you comfortable drawing breath? Follow the blue lane markers." And I do. And begin to count.
So I settle into the routine of 36 laps, or 72 lengths, or 1 mile. I alternate flip turns with wall touches and advance stroke by stroke to my goal. I'm late (again), so the staff has already started to roll out the thermal plastic blankets covering the body of the pool overnight, working from the ends in toward the middle where I progress stroke by stroke. Normally the air is warmer, and the water cooler, but now the situation is reversed with the water providing warmth the air will not. So I feel like I'm swimming low in the water, beneath the cooler air where I draw breath. I unconsciously, or consciously, maximize my time and depth immersed, timing my breathing to still maintain my comfort in this "other" place I transit, where I guess we all originated from and now only visit, like me, beneath the blue halogen lights.
I'm most acutely aware of my need for air at the flip turns. I normally exhale through my nose until I've leveled out and reversed, but sometimes I run short of breath and can feel the sting of the chlorinated water up high in my sinuses and think "find your rhythm. . . ", but there's always that little hit of desperation, of not having enough air and wanting to inhale deeply. The count progresses. As it does, my peripheral vision first picks up the shadow of the thermal blankets darkening the water. They advance inexorably toward my location. Sometimes I think, I'll feel the snap of the nylon rope over my shoulder and find the blue tarp being pulled over my head in this place I'm visiting, but where I don't belong (get to the side and lift yourself out!). But, Chris is out there, and we talk together, and he makes sure I get the most time possible. And I keep pulling myself through the water until length 72 is behind me, and slowly blow bubbles while floating just beneath the water before lifting myself up onto the concrete deck and pulling my goggles up onto my forehead.
Of course the night ends and I wash as much of the chlorine scent as I can off myself in the locker room shower and change into shorts, t-shirt and birkenstocks for the final trip home. As I start the car, the check engine light comes on as it has for the last month.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Some Righteous Anger
Riehl World View: When In The Course Of Human Events
I originally meant to post this when it came out around March 3 (first real discussion of committing to reconciliation as a way to pass Health Care Reform). I created HREF link and then forgot to create posting. Sigh. Well, beyond the MSM media portrayal of all those unstable, mouth-breathing, tea party types, Dan Riehl's expression of fury still resonates with me. So, here's the original post for your perusal. On a side note, Dan doesn't seem to get upset normally.
As for me, I'm still angry.
I originally meant to post this when it came out around March 3 (first real discussion of committing to reconciliation as a way to pass Health Care Reform). I created HREF link and then forgot to create posting. Sigh. Well, beyond the MSM media portrayal of all those unstable, mouth-breathing, tea party types, Dan Riehl's expression of fury still resonates with me. So, here's the original post for your perusal. On a side note, Dan doesn't seem to get upset normally.
As for me, I'm still angry.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?
"A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves money from the Public Treasury. From that moment on the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the Public Treasury with a result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy always followed by dictatorship. The average age of the world's greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through the following sequence:
From Bondage to Spiritual Faith
From Spiritual Faith to Great Courage
From Courage to Liberty
From Liberty to Abundance
From Abundance to Selfishness
From Selfishness to Complacency
From Complacency to Apathy
From Apathy to Dependency
From Dependency back into Bondage"
- Alexander Tytler, 18th century Scottish historian, Decline and Fall of the Athenian Republic.
Where do you think democratic progressives have brought us today?
From Bondage to Spiritual Faith
From Spiritual Faith to Great Courage
From Courage to Liberty
From Liberty to Abundance
From Abundance to Selfishness
From Selfishness to Complacency
From Complacency to Apathy
From Apathy to Dependency
From Dependency back into Bondage"
- Alexander Tytler, 18th century Scottish historian, Decline and Fall of the Athenian Republic.
Where do you think democratic progressives have brought us today?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
"All the news that's fit to print."
Results Unproven, Robotic Surgery Wins Converts - nytimes.com
Old joke: Severity scale for lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics. In my areas of professional endeavor, when I execute comparative studies I'll use commonly excepted statistical methods like 2-sample t-tests, which in turn require certain technical prerequisites like, is the population's behavior I'm studying normal (you know, that old college friend of ours, the bell curve)? Am I comparing populations which can be sorted by the variables I've selected to partition them by? Of course as the health care reform continues to simmer, the usual suspects (Our editorial policy does not affect our news editing functions. No really. Stop laughing.) appear with their helpful information to educate the public with. Stuff does get technical, but out and out misrepresentation doesn't help. Here's a data set which, if it was normal, would look like a diagonal line:
What does this mean? Well, most statistical methods assuming a "normal" probability distribution will probably give you a questionable conclusions on questions like, "Does treatment "A" effect my process the same way as treatment "B"?", or "What is the probability of making what we call a Type I error (the thing I have said is true is actually false)?". More importantly, what does this have to do with "The Paper of Record". Notice the Times is talking to physicians who utilize manual surgical methods for relieving prostrate restrictions of the male urethra and the recent popularity of Intuitive Surgical's DaVinci system with urologist patients (1. Study participants should not bias your conclusions). Further, the Times produces data saying clinical outcomes between manual methods and more instrumented methods are not statistically different. The implication is "idiot" patients are being sold by clever marketing campaigns which consume more healthcare dollars, while delivering few real benefits. What the Times buries in the article is the fact the Medicare data used confounds robot surgical systems and endoscopic surgery. They both use instruments, and they both work with small incisions, but the robotic system is much more precise. Does this matter? It needs to be validated by actual clinical outcome studies (which take time), but I suspect the answer from the anecdotal record is yes (not to mention the reduced postop recovery time).
The interesting thing about the article is it seems to unjustifiably conclude we don't need this "expensive", "unproven" medical device. Does this article seem to prepare the ground for the Times support of health care reform (which focuses on basic medical services we want to get for "free")? I'll let you reach your own conclusions, but I'm a cynic with most media reports these days.
And if my prostrate doubles or triples in size, I'll probably look for a urologist who has an extensive track record with the DaVinci machine.
Old joke: Severity scale for lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics. In my areas of professional endeavor, when I execute comparative studies I'll use commonly excepted statistical methods like 2-sample t-tests, which in turn require certain technical prerequisites like, is the population's behavior I'm studying normal (you know, that old college friend of ours, the bell curve)? Am I comparing populations which can be sorted by the variables I've selected to partition them by? Of course as the health care reform continues to simmer, the usual suspects (Our editorial policy does not affect our news editing functions. No really. Stop laughing.) appear with their helpful information to educate the public with. Stuff does get technical, but out and out misrepresentation doesn't help. Here's a data set which, if it was normal, would look like a diagonal line:
What does this mean? Well, most statistical methods assuming a "normal" probability distribution will probably give you a questionable conclusions on questions like, "Does treatment "A" effect my process the same way as treatment "B"?", or "What is the probability of making what we call a Type I error (the thing I have said is true is actually false)?". More importantly, what does this have to do with "The Paper of Record". Notice the Times is talking to physicians who utilize manual surgical methods for relieving prostrate restrictions of the male urethra and the recent popularity of Intuitive Surgical's DaVinci system with urologist patients (1. Study participants should not bias your conclusions). Further, the Times produces data saying clinical outcomes between manual methods and more instrumented methods are not statistically different. The implication is "idiot" patients are being sold by clever marketing campaigns which consume more healthcare dollars, while delivering few real benefits. What the Times buries in the article is the fact the Medicare data used confounds robot surgical systems and endoscopic surgery. They both use instruments, and they both work with small incisions, but the robotic system is much more precise. Does this matter? It needs to be validated by actual clinical outcome studies (which take time), but I suspect the answer from the anecdotal record is yes (not to mention the reduced postop recovery time).
The interesting thing about the article is it seems to unjustifiably conclude we don't need this "expensive", "unproven" medical device. Does this article seem to prepare the ground for the Times support of health care reform (which focuses on basic medical services we want to get for "free")? I'll let you reach your own conclusions, but I'm a cynic with most media reports these days.
And if my prostrate doubles or triples in size, I'll probably look for a urologist who has an extensive track record with the DaVinci machine.
Monday, February 22, 2010
"Where do they go?"
The Weekend Interview with Temple Grandin: Life Among the 'Yakkity Yaks' - WSJ.com
Interesting article (also an interesting HBO movie simply called, Temple Grandin), about a young woman suffering from autism who went on to earn advanced degrees in agricultural sciences. Today her chute and mechanism designs to handle cattle in feed lots and slaughter houses are widely employed throughout the country. She teaches at Colorado State today, and is also sought after as a speaker on autism. My interest in her reflects her acute awareness of visual patterns, and her capability to utilize her unique individual perception to model systems. This, of course leads back to the question of "What is intelligence?". How do we see things? How do we recognize things? Temple had very little use, or interest in social relationships, and yet took her unique perspective and capabilities to engineer devices that met a variety of requirements better than their predecessors (some requirements weren't even recognized by their users).
I think part of this achievement reflected a freedom from the tyranny of majority suppositions. Temple simply observed from within the edifice of her own mind. Once she could model the behaviors she was interested in, it was a much smaller jump to design devices intended to complement them. Perspectives, to be useful, are not limited to a majority view.
Interesting article (also an interesting HBO movie simply called, Temple Grandin), about a young woman suffering from autism who went on to earn advanced degrees in agricultural sciences. Today her chute and mechanism designs to handle cattle in feed lots and slaughter houses are widely employed throughout the country. She teaches at Colorado State today, and is also sought after as a speaker on autism. My interest in her reflects her acute awareness of visual patterns, and her capability to utilize her unique individual perception to model systems. This, of course leads back to the question of "What is intelligence?". How do we see things? How do we recognize things? Temple had very little use, or interest in social relationships, and yet took her unique perspective and capabilities to engineer devices that met a variety of requirements better than their predecessors (some requirements weren't even recognized by their users).
I think part of this achievement reflected a freedom from the tyranny of majority suppositions. Temple simply observed from within the edifice of her own mind. Once she could model the behaviors she was interested in, it was a much smaller jump to design devices intended to complement them. Perspectives, to be useful, are not limited to a majority view.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. "
Quote above is from Molly Bloom's soliloquy in chapter 18 of James Joyce's "Ulysses". I guess it's a nice counterpoint and historical bookend to John Meyer's reported Playboy interview this past week on his varied sexual exploits. I like John Meyer's music, but his Tweets seem to attract more attention for his apparently undisciplined commentary (which I guess is a form of some discipline in terms of his consistent behavior) then any insight into his art. I'm at a loss to explain our attraction to monied outrageousness, label its practitioners as celebrities, and then grasp at translations of their twisted thoughts and pronouncements for some type of insight. I suspect John, his denials to the contrary, is simply an attendee at his own personal “all you can eat” buffet. Does he derive any satisfaction from his own experiences? Who knows? I suspect his representation of some type of postmodern courtship is more of a “tweet level” justification for his personal hedonism than anything else.
As for the rest of us, the question of what we are pursuing never seems to be totally clear. Is it a desire for companionship, a coupling with our “soul mate”, or a loss of self in some pleasurable hormone mediated carnality? Maybe it’s a little bit of all these things, with the true origins lost in misty memories of our own adolescence. Maybe we wake up one morning and find ourselves in a deep sea of emotional and physical intimacy, whose depth and breadth we could not have understood, or suspected, when we entered these waters so many years ago. Maybe we’re glad for some degree of meaning and significance beyond ourselves, glad simple fortune allowed us to participate in this old dance with a good partner, and thankful for an opportunity to somehow stretch the bounds of this mortal frame and for short durations simply “be”, free of even a consciousness of our own finite nature.
I guess I'd rather sign up with Molly than John.
As for the rest of us, the question of what we are pursuing never seems to be totally clear. Is it a desire for companionship, a coupling with our “soul mate”, or a loss of self in some pleasurable hormone mediated carnality? Maybe it’s a little bit of all these things, with the true origins lost in misty memories of our own adolescence. Maybe we wake up one morning and find ourselves in a deep sea of emotional and physical intimacy, whose depth and breadth we could not have understood, or suspected, when we entered these waters so many years ago. Maybe we’re glad for some degree of meaning and significance beyond ourselves, glad simple fortune allowed us to participate in this old dance with a good partner, and thankful for an opportunity to somehow stretch the bounds of this mortal frame and for short durations simply “be”, free of even a consciousness of our own finite nature.
I guess I'd rather sign up with Molly than John.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Would you like a little more tea?
A "Tea Party" convention was held in Nashville a few weeks ago, and I was impressed by the fiscal conservatism and calls for legislative transparency which seemed to characterize the majority focus of the six hundred attendees. Of course, there was also the Tom Tancredo rant on civic literacy (which seemed to run off the track shortly after he started with the references to illiterate foreign socialists putting Barack Obama in the White House), the “Birthers” (who believe Obama shouldn’t be in the White House because he isn’t really a native born US citizen and Hawaii officials are conspiring to hide the birth certificate), and the “Truthers” (who believe 9/11 was also some type of government conspiracy, or at least government “white wash” of the actual events). I’d like to think these folks were a really minority position in this nascent movement, but the truth is they were obviously there in some number. Glen Beck, interviewing Rick Perry’s Republican “Tea Party” primary opponent Debra Medina, concluded the interview real quickly once Debra aired her belief some of the “Truther” accusations needed to be investigated thoroughly (where’s Oliver Stone when you need him). Hopefully Ms. Medina’s polling will go into decline going forward.
I like fiscal conservatism and legislative transparency, but really could do without the conspiracy nuts (no objective evidence of anything other than their own delusions), or outright bigots. Still, as a First Amendment absolutist, I really do want these people to speak so the movements they attempt to represent can disown them (the early conservative movement in the Republican party in the 50’s and 60’s was forced to do the same thing with the KKK and John Birch folks who needed to be identified as repulsive to real conservatives). What proportion of “Tea Party” folks are represented by present day “repulsive” extremists? My gut guess is 10 to 20%. Still, I hope the majority disowns these folks in a timely fashion. The country’s voters deserve more than a choice between “liberal” and “liberal-light”.
I like fiscal conservatism and legislative transparency, but really could do without the conspiracy nuts (no objective evidence of anything other than their own delusions), or outright bigots. Still, as a First Amendment absolutist, I really do want these people to speak so the movements they attempt to represent can disown them (the early conservative movement in the Republican party in the 50’s and 60’s was forced to do the same thing with the KKK and John Birch folks who needed to be identified as repulsive to real conservatives). What proportion of “Tea Party” folks are represented by present day “repulsive” extremists? My gut guess is 10 to 20%. Still, I hope the majority disowns these folks in a timely fashion. The country’s voters deserve more than a choice between “liberal” and “liberal-light”.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Consequences schmonsequences... as long as I'm rich.
The consequences of the great American real estate gamble continue to accumulate. In formerly booming real estate markets, like southern Florida, prices have again started to decline. The interesting thing is a sizeable proportion of the population and media seems to expect the federal government to remedy what, basically, were bad purchase decisions by individual buyers. Of course this seems to parallel a number of recently stated public expectations where we expect profits to be private and losses to be socialized. Whether this approach is healthy for civic society, or our country, remains to be seen.
Contracts, from my perspective, represent a codified public trust between individuals, or groups, whose only relationship may be the commercial transaction they jointly participate in. Is it really the duty of the federal government to isolate us from the negative consequences of those relationships and contracts we voluntarily enter? Would this destroy the power of markets to discipline both buyers and sellers (specifically caveat emptor). More importantly, would we want a federal government with such powers?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Noble Savage and Paradise Lost
I finally got to see Avatar this past weekend (IMAX 3D, real high end stuff) with son D this past weekend. Really impressive technical achievement from my vantage point (in a high back, velour coated chair). The experience is really bordering on immersive, the visual clarity of the large screen and depth of field is stunning with a nice complimentary edited audio track. It is the first time I've seen a CGI film where the eyes didn't have that funny "shark eye" look. It is something to experience.
At the same time the story has that vague Rousseau-like obsession with the uncorrupted nature of "savage" man. Technology, and trade are ultimatedly corrupting evils driven by man's pride, vanity and avarice. Of course, the fact that the fictional Navi could never make this movie, or derive any pleasure from seeing it, is an irony more than one person has commented on (not to mention the fact it has made more money than any movie previously made). Add to that a fair dollop of pantheism, and you have a very new age fantasy of the paradise Western Civilization has lost for us.
Does any of this square with my understanding of life in primitive cultures? No, but it's probably best to ignore the cultural labels so obviously hung from Mr. Cameron's work. I'll go see it again because it's an entrancing piece of visual work, and I'll try to convince myself, to paraphrase S.Freud, sometimes a cigar is just a good smoke.
At the same time the story has that vague Rousseau-like obsession with the uncorrupted nature of "savage" man. Technology, and trade are ultimatedly corrupting evils driven by man's pride, vanity and avarice. Of course, the fact that the fictional Navi could never make this movie, or derive any pleasure from seeing it, is an irony more than one person has commented on (not to mention the fact it has made more money than any movie previously made). Add to that a fair dollop of pantheism, and you have a very new age fantasy of the paradise Western Civilization has lost for us.
Does any of this square with my understanding of life in primitive cultures? No, but it's probably best to ignore the cultural labels so obviously hung from Mr. Cameron's work. I'll go see it again because it's an entrancing piece of visual work, and I'll try to convince myself, to paraphrase S.Freud, sometimes a cigar is just a good smoke.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
"I don't see the votes for it at this time."
Nancy Pelosi announces she can't come up with the 218 votes necessary to pass the Senate version of health care reform.
Pelosi: House won't pass Senate bill to save health-care reform - washingtonpost.com
Of course the Washington Post advances the microeconomic meme; it's lacking "this", or "that". I think the larger (and more important) conclusion is the huge government mandated restructuring of American health care is dead (maybe permanently). By the time the government gets around to trying this again medical technology will have advanced so far only the social justice types will consider it worth pursuing. For now the American people don't want it, and moderate politicians reading the tea leaves and always concerned about self-preservation have decided not to follow their leaders off the cliff. In the meantime, I hope congress gives serious thought to straightening out the insurance stuff (level playing field for individual and company purchased medical insurance, loosening of preexisting condition clauses, allowing selling across state lines), make sure things work and make sure people can decide what level of risk they're comfortable with in their purchase of medical insurance.
What will this mean? I'm hoping the end of most of the all-encompassing, impossible to kill, top down government schemes by the self-anointed elite who believe their every thought is a revelation, and their every worry requires government intervention. The Republicans will hope the midterms will bring them a reversal of their electoral fortunes, and the majority of Democrats will realize the president, while well thought of, is advancing a very unpopular agenda. I'm hoping for gridlock and majority approved, incremental changes which can be evaluated as they are instituted.
For me as one citizen and a guy who has worked in medical device development for the past 15 years a good news day.
Pelosi: House won't pass Senate bill to save health-care reform - washingtonpost.com
Of course the Washington Post advances the microeconomic meme; it's lacking "this", or "that". I think the larger (and more important) conclusion is the huge government mandated restructuring of American health care is dead (maybe permanently). By the time the government gets around to trying this again medical technology will have advanced so far only the social justice types will consider it worth pursuing. For now the American people don't want it, and moderate politicians reading the tea leaves and always concerned about self-preservation have decided not to follow their leaders off the cliff. In the meantime, I hope congress gives serious thought to straightening out the insurance stuff (level playing field for individual and company purchased medical insurance, loosening of preexisting condition clauses, allowing selling across state lines), make sure things work and make sure people can decide what level of risk they're comfortable with in their purchase of medical insurance.
What will this mean? I'm hoping the end of most of the all-encompassing, impossible to kill, top down government schemes by the self-anointed elite who believe their every thought is a revelation, and their every worry requires government intervention. The Republicans will hope the midterms will bring them a reversal of their electoral fortunes, and the majority of Democrats will realize the president, while well thought of, is advancing a very unpopular agenda. I'm hoping for gridlock and majority approved, incremental changes which can be evaluated as they are instituted.
For me as one citizen and a guy who has worked in medical device development for the past 15 years a good news day.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Liberty and the failures of markets
After all the spin masters have finished commenting on the implications and (later tonight) results of the Massachusetts special election, I still believe what we're witnessing is a general pushback against the insistence of progressive political elements that the social safety net we operate above is not sufficient for it's task, or in possession of enough prescriptions to assure our confidence in it. Of course all of this has to do with the level of individual and social risk we feel comfortable living with as a society. In the health care reform debate I wish we had been more explicit about what the tradeoffs involved here really are. Are we willing to trade a certain level of medical treatment development for the a guarantee of a government funded minimum level of care for individuals? The markets can't decide that question for us although they will eventually show after the fact the broad decisions of the population in terms of preferred purchases. Can we live with the individuals who either through fortune, or poor decision making, make a decision which results in their harm? Is the government responsible for constraining the many, to protect the few? Do the majority of citizens wish for such a government?
In my work I'm often forced to think about "What is safe enough?", and "How do we know we're done?" The strictly business types don't exactly welcome this line of questioning. They want to get to market. Who's right and protects the greater public good? I don't know, but I want to at least know the process so I can hold someone accoutable. Here's my process flowchart for addressing failure modes and effects analysis for medical device risk management. It doesn't tell you how to do a good job, but it gives you a framework to make decisions in.
In my work I'm often forced to think about "What is safe enough?", and "How do we know we're done?" The strictly business types don't exactly welcome this line of questioning. They want to get to market. Who's right and protects the greater public good? I don't know, but I want to at least know the process so I can hold someone accoutable. Here's my process flowchart for addressing failure modes and effects analysis for medical device risk management. It doesn't tell you how to do a good job, but it gives you a framework to make decisions in.
Monday, January 18, 2010
History
I suppose we never really think of ourselves as living in the midst of historic events, we still have to worry about paying the utility bills. Still, the last week has been both horrifying and interesting.
It's been 6 days since the shallow 7.0 earthquake struck Port-au-Prince in Haiti. Estimates this evening are somewhere between 100,000 and 200,000 people died in the structures which collapsed during that minute long assault. That country has been a basket case for so long, it's not surprising so many people died. If you compare the magnitude 7.1 Bay Area Earthquake of 1989 (65 fatalities) with the Haiti quake it rapidly becomes apparent the major difference between the outcome of the two events is the poverty and lack of building codes in Haiti. In my opinion both of these conditions are driven by the horrible political heritage of that land and the tenuous nature of social stability among its' people. Satellite views of the area not only show the horrifying devestation of the quake, but also the social partition between Haiti and the Dominican Republic which also shares the island of Hispaniola. Of course for all of the money spent there, so little has improved for its' people. Still, this is a humanitarian disaster, so I send my donation and hope it makes some small difference in the lives and deaths of Haiti's people.
In Massachusetts, republican State Senator Scott Brown has come out of nowhere in the past month to challenge democrat Martha Coakley for Ted Kennedy's old Senate seat. In Massachusetts alone, that development would be astounding, but Senator Scott Brown would represent a 41st vote for the Republican Senate Caucus and the end of the Senate Democrats fillibuster proof majority. With the current Health Care Reform bill (pick Harry Reid or Nancy Peliosi's effort) being advanced as a strictly partisan offering which rewards partisan allies, and creates another huge entitlement program under the subterfuge of advancing healthcare for those without coverage, I would prefer an actual bipartisan bill which would look to improve medical insurance coverage without totally revamping the medical care system in this country. I would expect we'll know by this time tomorrow how things went. I'm trying to be optimistic, but elections are tough to predict.
On a professional level, my efforts to totally revamp the Risk Management system at M continue with another set of VP level edits. More details tomorrow.
It's been 6 days since the shallow 7.0 earthquake struck Port-au-Prince in Haiti. Estimates this evening are somewhere between 100,000 and 200,000 people died in the structures which collapsed during that minute long assault. That country has been a basket case for so long, it's not surprising so many people died. If you compare the magnitude 7.1 Bay Area Earthquake of 1989 (65 fatalities) with the Haiti quake it rapidly becomes apparent the major difference between the outcome of the two events is the poverty and lack of building codes in Haiti. In my opinion both of these conditions are driven by the horrible political heritage of that land and the tenuous nature of social stability among its' people. Satellite views of the area not only show the horrifying devestation of the quake, but also the social partition between Haiti and the Dominican Republic which also shares the island of Hispaniola. Of course for all of the money spent there, so little has improved for its' people. Still, this is a humanitarian disaster, so I send my donation and hope it makes some small difference in the lives and deaths of Haiti's people.
In Massachusetts, republican State Senator Scott Brown has come out of nowhere in the past month to challenge democrat Martha Coakley for Ted Kennedy's old Senate seat. In Massachusetts alone, that development would be astounding, but Senator Scott Brown would represent a 41st vote for the Republican Senate Caucus and the end of the Senate Democrats fillibuster proof majority. With the current Health Care Reform bill (pick Harry Reid or Nancy Peliosi's effort) being advanced as a strictly partisan offering which rewards partisan allies, and creates another huge entitlement program under the subterfuge of advancing healthcare for those without coverage, I would prefer an actual bipartisan bill which would look to improve medical insurance coverage without totally revamping the medical care system in this country. I would expect we'll know by this time tomorrow how things went. I'm trying to be optimistic, but elections are tough to predict.
On a professional level, my efforts to totally revamp the Risk Management system at M continue with another set of VP level edits. More details tomorrow.
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