The Casual Blog

December 31, 2009

Jocelyn’s latest epic journey

Last Saturday with much of the mid-section of the U.S. still in the grips of a devastating storm, Jocelyn, a new graduate of NCSU, loaded up the car with all her indefensible possessions and headed for Telluride, Colorado to start the next phase of her life.  She’d made the 30-plus hour drive to Telluride twice before, but never in the face of a storm.  We conferred on how to evaluate the danger and contingency planning, and then, with trepidation, I wished her good luck.  Sally and I left for our flight to Telluride a couple of hours before Jocelyn left, with our own travel anxieties, and no great confidence that our flight would either get into or out of Chicago.

Chicago was snowy, and the de-icing procedure was prolonged, but our flight made it, as did all of our luggage except for my skis.  Jocelyn and her friend Britt reported in every few hours that skies and roads were clear and they were steaming ahead. I tried to convey confidence and good cheer, and not to think of the many hazards of the road.  At about the halfway point, she reported that she’d arranged for a place to live located near the gondola in Telluride.

It was of course a sweet relief when she finally arrived Monday afternoon.  She and Britt, after little sleep and minimal food, were amazingly cheerful.  We went to a Mexican place for dinner and had margaritas, burritos, and a few too many corn chips.  Jocelyn said she would be seeing friends, renting skis, and starting the job hunt the next day.  My beautiful daughter is on her way.

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December 25, 2009

An Xmas Carol

As a nonbeliever, I feel a deep ambivalence about Christmas.  The customs and traditions are strongly evocative of a many happy episodes in my childhood — longed-for toys, rich food, friendship and love.  But it also evokes memories and feeling of sadness and loss for loved ones now gone, who were integral to those early years.

And I’m deeply ambivalent at the sweet and absurd idea of Santa Claus.  The red felt suit, the jolliness, the limitless generosity are all great ideas.  But even now, I feel a slight bitterness and chagrin that my normally reliable and credible parents, when I put the “Is he really real?” question  to them squarely, gave some type of yes and set me up to make a fool of myself in defending the existence of Santa to the neighborhood kids.  I trusted them to tell the truth!  There may be, as recent studies suggest, some value in Santa for developing children’s imaginative powers.  But for me, even years later, there was a cost in terms of injured trust.  My Mom’s solution was to let me read the old chestnut Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus, which proposes to escape the problem of no Santa by redefining Santa as the Christmas spirit.  Really?

I know I’m not the only one with complicated feelings about Christmas.  Some love the shopping and the happy surprises, some love the story of the baby Jesus, some love being with family.  With all the pain and confusion in the world, I have no wish to add to the store without good reason.  I usually keep a low profile about my own irreligion, and especially so at Christmas time, when it seems that Christian beliefs are  for many on balance a source of joy.  But I don’t like flying under false colors, and I feel less than forthright when I say Merry Christmas.  There’s no problem with “merry,” but I don’t care to suggest I’m on board with the Christ part.  I usually go with “happy holidays” or something like that, but really, that just doesn’t sound as happy.  Yet another problem with no good solution.

Still, yesterday, after playing some really rich and beautiful music of Debussy, I found myself digging through the bottom of the music pile for my rarely used Xmas sheet music, and without any particular internal discussion I was soon playing through some favorite carols of my youth:  Angels We have Heard on High, Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, Joy to the World, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and the Chipmunk Song.  It was a bit like Proust’s madeleine:  memories of family gatherings caroling, happy shopping, beginner band concerts, presents, vacations from schoolwork, trips to see grandparents, fresh smelling decorated trees, wrapping presents, and houses smelling of fresh-baked cookies hit me all at once.  I felt the pure childlike joy of Christmas.

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December 24, 2009

A scuba voyage of discovery

Sally and I got back late last night from a four-day trip to Ambergris Caye, Belize.  We accomplished our primary objective of scuba diving the beautiful coral reefs, and had several unexpected pleasures in addition.

Travel consumes a lot of physical and emotional resources.  Even when things are going well, they may at any moment suddenly stop going well and require swift and decisive action.  There are many ups and downs. I’ve gradually refined by baseline holiday travel model, so I usually remember to bring the essentials, anticipate the common annoyances, avoid the greatest risk of infectious diseases, and leave reasonable space for some relaxation and reflection.  Especially when travelling, I love my iPod and noise-canceling headphones.  Lately on the road, I’ve been listening to Mozart operas, which I find at once nourishing, comforting, and exhilarating, and I’m happy to have the time to listen.  I always carry at least a couple of books, and appreciate a chunk of uninterrupted time for reading.  But it isn’t completely relaxing; there’s always some residual vigilance.  I generally notice if the plane, or another passenger, starts making strange noises.  I always note the location of the nearest exit.

We flew from Belize City to Ambergris Caye in a single-engine plane in which I was able to read the pilot’s instruments (we flew at 2100 feet).  We stayed at the Mayan Princess, a clean, unfancy, and convenient hotel in San Pedro, a bustling little town with hotels, restaurants and bars along a narrow beach.  San Pedro has an interesting stew of cultures — Hispanic, English, Indian, West Indian, creole, and of course tourists from all over.  At first, I thought that everyone who greeted us in a friendly manner was hustling to sell something, but I soon figured out that that many people were just being friendly (though others were hustling).  The streets were narrow with few sidewalks, and at times we had to dodge heavy traffic of golf carts and minivan cabs.  We saw more people who seemed to be working for a living than we did tourists.  As Sally observed, the local vibe was very casual.  All the men’s shirt  tails were out.  The buildings were bright but many could have used a new coat of paint.  Over all, it seemed a little down at the heels, but full of life.

We did all our diving with Amigos del Mar, which was located about 50 yards from our room.  On the first and last diving days, we did short boat trips to local reef hot spots.  They did not disappoint.  The coral was abundant and varied, and the wall and canyon topography was fascinating.  We saw several nurse sharks at close hand, and at one point were in the midst of a dozen of them in a feeding frenzy.  Like many people, from long socialization I’ve inherited some fear of sharks, but very quickly I felt comfortable with the sharks swimming close enough to touch.  They seemed curious about us.  I suspect part of the explanation is that some dive operators feed them.   At least these particular sharks seemed a lot like our cats, except much bigger and with more teeth.  We also saw swimming green moray eels, sting rays, barricudas, a scorpion fish, and many gorgeous smaller species.  We also encountered a couple of lionfish, which are poisonous and highly destructive, and which our guide captured.

Our biggest adventure was a trip to the Blue Hole, a circular reef formation that is about 60 miles from Ambergris Caye.  On the trip out, it was drizzly and windy, and the seas were very choppy.  It was even choppier coming back, and we were wet.  All told, we had around 8 tough hours on the water.   We did not get sick, though others were not so fortunate.

The main draw of the Blue Hole is stalactite formations, which are about 130 feet down.  There was not much except the divers swimming at that depth.  We had better luck seeing fish at 60-80 feet at Half Moon Caye and West Point Wall at Long Caye.  At lunch time, we also visited an observation deck at tree top level where there were hundreds of roosting magnificent frigatebird pairs, with males displaying enormous bright red inflatable throats.  There were also many roosting red-footed boobies.

At dinner after the Blue Hole trip, I asked Sally to explain how it is possible that some people do not care for scuba diving.  Her theory was that it does not suffice simply to have a love of nature, the absence of certain phobias, and a modicum of courage.  As she said, you have to be a trooper.  Put another way, you must have some fortitude.  I suddenly realized that fortitude is a necessary but seldom discussed virtue that makes scuba, and other adventures, possible, and makes them richer.  WIthout fortitude, a significant part of the experience could be counted as unfun.  But developing and exercising fortitude is part of the satisfaction of the thing.

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December 12, 2009

Christmas gifts and losses

Shopping is not something I do for fun.  But with the hard deadline of Christmas looming, today I finally faced up to the inevitable:  I needed to focus on buying some presents.  It is hard to think that anyone in my present-buying orbit really needs any material thing that I might give, but tradition is powerful.  I braved the traffic, the lines, and the bewildering cornucopia of goods, and found some things at last.  Whew.

One thing I like about the fall and winter holidays is childhood memories.  How wonderful it was to look forward to a visit from Santa Claus!  What fun to see relatives and friends!   Ah, the sweets and smells of baking cookies!  It is hard, though, to think of those I loved who are gone.

As I slowly made my way through mall-oriented traffic, I heard an unusual radio story on NPR’s This American Life.   A man explained how his mother committed suicide at age 79 with the knowledge of her friends and family and with his support.  She was not depressed or terminally ill, though she was conscious of struggling with dementia.  She read Final Exit and composed a plan involving an overdose of sleeping pills and a plastic bag.  Then she practiced the technique repeatedly, with her son’s supervision.  The composing and carrying out of the plan took place over many years.

When she finally picked a day, she let those close to her know, and had final visits.  The last person she saw was her son.  She was concerned that he not be exposed to legal risk, and so he left her for some period while she carried out the plan.  He said that he was worried, when he returned, that she might have taken the pills but been unsuccessful.  She was, however, dead.  In recounting this, he was clearly moved and sorry she was gone, but he was neither critical nor admiring of her decision.  It was her decision, he said.  She lived life on her own terms.

The interviewer observed that it was highly unusual for people to be able to talk about death freely and deal with it with such directness.  The son noted that his mother spent time working on it, and it got easier.  They also discussed how unfortunate it was that our legal system makes it impossible for persons who choose the terms of their death to be with family at the end.

I found all this both unsettling and encouraging.  It would be good to be as comfortable with death as with other fundamental facts of human existence.  I’m certainly not there yet.  But it sounded like the mother, and to some extent the son, made it.

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December 6, 2009

The China Study Shows Why We Should Eat Plants

Anyone who is interested in health and nutrition should read The China Study by T. Colin Campbell and Thomas M. Campbell.  http://tiny.cc/rnQye The Campbells bring good news and bad news.  The good news is that by changing our diet, we can dramatically improve our risk profile for the deadliest diseases in the developed world.  The bad news is that if we continue eating a normal American diet, we will continue to increase our risk of cancer, heart disease, obesity, and other killers.

The basic message of The China Study is simple:  a plant-based diet is much healthier than an animal-based diet.  The book backs up this claim with abundant scientific research.  The China study of the title was a huge epidemiological study of diet and health, but a number of other studies cited.  What is striking is the coherence of the results over time and different populations.  There is massive support for the proposition that eating animals and their products as food is bad for us.

Admittedly, as a vegetarian I was particularly open to this message, but my reasons for adopting this diet were primarily ethical rather than nutritional.  If the Campbells are right about the science, and we want to take reasonably good care of our health, we need to find a way to quit eating animal-based food.

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November 22, 2009

How can we eat animals?

Not eating animals is, for me, a matter of conscience.  It seems to me plain that unnecessarily killing sentient creatures for human consumption is wrong.  I’m very conscious that this is a minority view.   That’s being too kind: this is a fringy view.  I feel good — that is, both healthier and happier — about eating plants rather than animals.  But it’s not pleasant to take a stand on this that is at odds both with the majority of the community and with most of the people I care about and respect, and I would not do so if I saw a principled alternative.

Because the topic is a difficult one, I was heartened to see in today’s NY Times an opinion piece by Gary Steiner setting out the animal rights point of view._ http://tiny.cc/GfNrJ Steiner is a professor of philosophy at Bucknell who’s written extensively on animal rights.   His basic argument is that animals possess inherent dignity, and that human desire cannot justify their slaughter.

Steiner has trouble explaining why most humans seem untroubled by this.  As he notes, the classic arguments that support treating human animals as privileged to cause unlimited suffering on other animals are embarrassingly weak.  It is difficult to square our general understanding of ourselves as beings embodying and constrained by morality with massive indifference to the pain of our fellow creatures.

Part of the answer is that the problem is at once overwhelming and easy to ignore.  According to Steiner, there are 53 billion animals slaughtered each year for human consumption, which is more than enough misery to inspire hopelessness.  There are also nested issues of economics and tradition. Humans have lots of other problems.  This week the NC press had stories about NC pork farmers going bankrupt, who were pleading for people to save them by eating more pigs.  It would be wrong to dismiss the plight of the farmers, but their voices at least get a hearing — unlike the pigs, who would undoubtedly prefer to live.  Steiner also alludes to the Thanksgiving turkeys who will be consumed this week recalling happy memories.  How could we give up such a joyful tradition?

The answer is, it isn’t really that hard, once the horror of the slaughter is brought into view.   There are many intractable problems of human society, but this one is not intractable.  It’s just difficult.

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November 15, 2009

Privacy and exposure

How important is privacy?  I ask this question at a moment when I feel more than usually publicly exposed and vulnerable.  In recent times, I’ve come to think that for most of us the concern with privacy is exaggerated.  But exposure to the full glare of modern social media raises the question for me in a new way.

For most of us, or at least for me, the privacy question is usually more theoretical than real.  Most of the time, we’re private by default.  At least for non-celebrities, generally no one cares one way or the other about our (to us) valuable personal views and secrets.  Getting serious attention from one person, never mind the mass audience, doesn’t happen by accident.  It takes effort.

My operating assumption in recent years is that, for an individual, too much seclusion is more detrimental than too much society.  We are social animals; we wither and die without others of our kind.  And socializing means discarding some of our shell of privacy.  I’ve made it a rule to try sharing, rather than hoarding, when I have information or experience that could be helpful and of interest to others.

The possible benefits are:  helping someone, forming a human bond, making the world a little better.  The possible risks are:  risk of being wrong, of seeming ridiculous, of offending or upsetting someone.  And I do an informal cost-benefit analysis before I venture into the public arena on something controversial.  But I try not to let fear be determinative, and to give weight to the possible benefits even when they are somewhat speculative.

Some months back I, along with others, appeared in a video on open source software and intellectual property, where I took a position that challenged granting patents  for software.  Last week the video was posted on Patently-O, a prominent patent web site.  It generated dozens, if not hundreds of comments.  The vast majority of them were critical of my position, and some were critical in terms that were, shall we say, less than kind.  I was left with the firm impression that there are a lot of people who felt angry at me.

Being a target of a large amount of focused dislike is a new sensation for me.  It’s different from being disliked by an identifiable individual, when there is sometimes an understandable reason, and at any rate a finite problem.  It’s funny that it should matter, since I do not know these individuals, and I have never before relied on their respect and goodwill.  It may well be I would not care for their good opinion if I actually knew them.   Even so, it’s surprisingly bothersome.  It caused an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.  There’s nothing to be done.  It might be that with more experience one builds up defenses.  I’m hoping.

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October 25, 2009

Human beings in our prisons

The Raleigh News & Observer’s headlines for the past few days have blared the news that several dangerous persons in the state’s prison system are about to be released.  I ignored the story initially, on the theory that this surely happens every day without devastating consequences.  Prisoners serve their time, and they get out.  It’s very common.

Thinking about prisons and prisoners is painful, and it’s easy not to think about them.  They’re usually well out of sight.  I drive past Central Prison on the way to work every day, but I barely see it, because it’s unsightly and I’ve gotten in the habit of looking the other way.  But the N&O stories reminded me that we need to deal with a terrible situation.

Imprisonment as we in the U.S. now practice it is in many cases horrific for the prisoners and it’s hard to say if it makes us any safer.  It locks away some dangerous people, but it also creates more dangerous people. We lock people up for years in dehumanizing conditions, which has a tendency to make people angry and violent, then let them out.  Many then commit more crimes, so we send them back to prison, and repeat the cycle.  Multiply this by millions.

Depressing as it is, it’s even worse that our governor and our newspaper are seeking to whip people into a frenzy about particular convicted criminals getting out.  The particular circumstances relate to a new case interpreting the meaning of  a “life sentence.”   For a lot of years in many places, it didn’t mean “till the prisoner died.”  The North Carolina courts found it didn’t mean that for these prisoners, but rather meant 80 years minus good behavior time.  So a group of felons who’ve served at least 40 years are due to get out.

The problem is similar to Guantanamo, where even after we admitted what we did was wrong, we’ve got a problem with outplacement of the prisoners.  They may not have been dangerous when they went in, but in whatever case, they’re likely to be more dangerous having spent years with fellow prisoners who are violent jihadists for their only friends.

In terms of human misery, the U.S. prison system is enormous.  We’re at or near the top in per capita rates of imprisonment.  We have no concept of what we’re trying to accomplish other than punishment.

We need to reserve our prisons for the truly dangerous.  And we need to treat those people humanely to see if we can help them become less violent.  It doesn’t matter whether you argue the point in terms of human rights or pure self interest — the result is the same.  But we’d feel more like decent human beings if we got rolled up our sleeves and got to work on this.

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October 17, 2009

Returning to swimming

Swimming has always seemed to me  like it should be easier and more fun. Our distant ancestors were all water creatures, and our bodies are mostly water, so it seems like something we’d enjoy naturally.  Immersion in a different element is naturally exciting.  Water does all kinds of interesting things, and splashing in it is fun.  But actually traveling under human power for any distance is hard.  I find it much more difficult than running.  Also, it evokes in a small way a primal fear (drowning).

I first took swimming lessons at age 9 at a YMCA.  Initially, and in retrospect, it seemed strange that they required the little boys to take the class naked.  The stated explanation for this was that it was for hygienic reasons.  More likely, of course, it was a matter of some adult pedophiles getting a thrill.  At any rate, I was never molested and had no lasting ill effects.  I was initially successful in the class, and won the prize for holding my breath under water the longest.  But moving from one end of the pool to the other was hard.  Our graduation ceremony involved swimming the crawl up and back for our assembled families (with suits, despite the possible risk to health).  I hit the exhaustion/panic wall on the last (that is, the second) length and had to get towed out with the long handled hook.  It was an embarrassing disappointment.

But I did not give up.  I participated in the swim team at our pool at age 13.  The practices were exhausting, but it was good to be with other kids and talk to girls.  I’m confident I never won a race,  but I believe I collected at least one ribbon for third place in the breaststroke.

The next summer, at Boy Scout camp, I obtained the swimming merit badge and undertook the mile swim with my friends Jimmy and Don.  The mile was across the Raven’s Knob lake and back, and was done with a row boat escort.  Jimmy and Don quickly determined that we could possibly set a new camp record, and we began to pass other groups and their boats.  Unfortunately, I hit the wall again, and had to limp along with some side stroking to regroup.  We didn’t set a record.  I’ve always felt I let the team down on that one.

Perhaps that feeling of a job undone was always in the back of my mind.  Certainly I’ve always believed that swimming was a healthy exercise, with low risk to the joints and large benefits to the cardiovascular system.  Last January I decided to take the plunge and do some regular swimming in the pool at Lifetime Fitness in Cary.  I quickly discovered that it was every bit as exhausting as I remembered.  My heart felt quickly reached the red zone.  I set a goal of swimming a mile.  Two or three times a week I got up at 5:30 a.m., headed to the pool, and pushed ahead.

This summer I observed a group of master’s swimmers at the pool being coached by a young fellow who seemed both knowledgeable and pleasant, and I asked him if he’d give me some private instruction.  He agreed, and ultimately I took four lessons.  It was a good move.  There are definitely better and worse ways to move through the water.  I learned some better ones.  It didn’t suddenly become easy, but it was definitely more pleasant.

My coach advised the following approach to the 1500:  25 meters (one length) and 5 seconds rest, 50 meters and 10 seconds rest, 75 and 15 seconds, 100 and 20 seconds, 125 and 25 seconds, 100 and 20 seconds, 7 and 15 seconds, 50 and 10 seconds 25 and 5 seconds, and repeat till finished.  It worked.  Last week I set a personal best for 1500 meters of 33:07.

I’ve had a small taste of the satisfaction of greater efficiency and grace in the water, but it’s still true for me that the best thing about a hard swim is the aftermath.   The endorphins are terrific.  It feels good.

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October 10, 2009

Taxis and Vermeer

When I first arrived in New York right after college, it didn’t bother me that I had barely enough money to share a tenement apartment and eat.  It was just so great to be in the city.  I loved epic scale   — all that glass, all that steel, all that concrete.  All those details — sooty buildings with gargoyles.  The contrasts —  suspension bridges, Central Park.  The super charged energy of New Yorkers, with many ethnicities, languages, accents, customs, gestures, styles.   So many, so much.

I continued to feel that way about New York, and still do.  But by the time I left to go to law school five years later, I’d grown tired of being (relatively speaking) poor.  It wasn’t that I desired any particular worldly goods.  My ambitions involved freedom of movement.  I was tired of running for and missing the subway, and waiting on a lonely platform, or squeezing into a crowded car.  My great fantasy was to take a cab whenever I wanted, and never to look at the meter with anxiety.

Last week I had some great cab rides when I was in the city for two nights.  Catching them was as easy as in a dream:  one appeared almost every time I got ready to raise an arm.   Going up Broadway and down Fifth, up Madison and over on 59th.  The teeming pedestrians —  all ages, colors, and clothing styles.  I was briefly fascinated, then annoyed, by televisions in the cabs, and learned how to turn them off.    Many cabs, wonderfully, now take credit cards.

I was tightly scheduled with meetings, but managed to carve one hour free to see the Vermeer exhibit at the Met.  The centerpiece is The Milkmaid, loaned for the exhibit by the Rijksmuseum.  It was a subtle and powerful work.  The subject is as common as possible — a servant pouring milk into a bowl.  As in other great Vermeer portraits, the light seems natural at first; the impossible vividness of it becomes noticeable only gradually.  There is a hyper realism to the scene, and at the same time a dreamlike quality.

I disagreed with some of  Peter Schjehdahl’s review in the New Yorker, who argued that The Milkmaid did not deserve to be placed in such a position of honor in Vermeer’s oeuvre.  For me, it was worth much more than a cab ride, and perhaps even a trans-Atlantic flight.  But Schjehdahl reminded me that Vermeer, perhaps more than any of the Dutch masters, changes our perceptions of ordinary life.  After gazing at The Milkmaid, I was reminded that there was much more to see in everyday life than we normally notice.  Even within the commonplace, hiding in plain sight, is otherworldly beauty.  Thanks, V.

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