AMBER Alert on My Phone Now

Posted on 27 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

I just got an AMBER Alert — on my phone. I’m a late adopter, so maybe all of you are very used to these things. But I was worried. With the high pitched screeching, it reminded me of those tests we got on television to prepare us all for nuclear war. But now, it was just a missing child in Solano County — roughly an hour away from me by car.

Generally, an AMBER Alert is just about some child custody case. I don’t mean to suggest that they aren’t serious. I’m constantly amazed at the way that couples use their children to get at each other. It’s disgusting. It’s cruel. And most of all, it’s childish. Leave the biologically children out of it!

This particular AMBER Alert is about an actual kidnapping, it seems. Allegedly, Pearl Pinson (15) was dragged by Fernando Castro (19) into his gold 1997 Saturn Wednesday morning. But this is hardly the kind of kidnapping that one normally thinks about. It is almost certainly the case that Pinson and Castro knew each other. I assume that they used to be lovers and have broken up. Castro is acting the way a lot of young men do who are scorned.

I don’t want to live in a society in which everyone is deputized.

This doesn’t make the act harmless. Castro may have a gun. This is a perfect set-up for a murder-suicide. So I don’t want to downplay the seriousness of this in the least. I hope that everything works out with no further harm coming to anyone.

But an AMBER Alert just last week sounds exactly the same: a 15-year-old girl was dragged into the car of her 22-year-old boyfriend. The girl was found three hours later, having been dropped off at the assailant’s parent’s house. As far as I can tell, the police still haven’t found the boyfriend.

But I have real problems with the AMBER Alert. The most obvious one is why we make a big deal out of this particular crime committed against this particular population (people under the age of 17). I suppose the idea is that the crime is still in progress. But the crime is still in progress when someone kills everyone in a 7-11 and rushes away with a gun. And why do we care only up to the age of 16?

The other issue I have is that I don’t want to live in a society in which everyone is deputized. I hated it when shows like America’s Most Wanted showed up. And that was a very telling example, because it started off going after murderers. But before long there were drug dealers on it. There’s a delicate balance that young children are taught: there are things we need to worry about and there are things that we shouldn’t worry about. We don’t want to live in an authoritarian nightmare.

So I’m concerned about Pearl Pinson and Fernando Castro. And if I could do something to help, I would. (Creating a standoff with the police is probably the most dangerous thing that could happen.) But getting an alert on my phone about something that happened yesterday, an hour away from me, when I’m not in a car? It sounds like a waste of resources to me. And I wonder what the police have been doing in the day and a half since Pinson was kidnapped.

Is this another case where the police are not held accountable for any wrong they do and are always proclaimed heroes — even while they can’t find two known people in a known car? Is the AMBER Alert just a subtle reminder that our policing departments are filled with incompetents?

Aging and the Dignity Society Offers

Posted on 17 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

I wish I believed in God. If I did, I would have constant conversations with him like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof. Except that I wouldn’t be so respectful. Here’s the thing: God is either not all that nice or a total incompetent. I could deal with God being Jacques Clouseau — an idiot who bungled his way into getting a universe to exist. But I would tend to think of God as not nice. What’s more, any evidence that exists indicates that God would be something of a cruel practical joker. I’ve been thinking about this with regard to aging.

For me, aging has been overall a good thing. But I haven’t gotten old enough to hit the cliff of cognitive decline that is likely coming my way in two decades. We all see certain types of gradual cognitive decline as we age. I’ve very much seen it. I’m not as crisp a thinker. But I’ve become a far better “fuzzy computer.” And given my natural gifts have never been in the area of raw computation, this hasn’t been bad. But a sudden drop in my ability to suss out a passage of Kant would be horrible. But oh, how I can image it would make God laugh!

Dealing with my father’s illness over the last few days has gotten me thinking more about this. My father has always been a proud and independent man and aging has only made him more so. I know that it bothers him to find his body rebelling against him. In this case, there is something wrong with his kidneys — perhaps an infection — that is causing him great pain. But otherwise, he is, at 83 years, more healthy than I am. Pain and neglect should not be the reward for putting up with this universe for eight decades.

The Aging of Haile Selassie

As I sat at the San Francisco VA Medical Center late last night, I read Peter Schwab’s Haile Selassie I: Ethiopia’s Lion of Judah. I’ve become a bit obsessed with Haile Selassie recently. He ran Ethiopia from about 1916 to 1974. He was Emperor from 1930. And he was kind of like a god. And to the Rastafari, he is literally so. But Schwab described how Haile Selassie was deposed. He was 82 at that time, and I’m sure that his age had something to do with him losing his grip on power. Now Haile Selassie wasn’t a perfect man, but he did do much good, and it is hard not to find this description poignant:

It must have been devastating. This proud, noble man, used to having his orders followed and being in total control, comfortable with all the major leaders of the twentieth century, now surrounded by troops and being escorted away from all the power and authority he knew. Ramrod straight, dignified, peering into the distance past the horrors of the moment, he did as he was told. With his cape over his shoulders he walked outside. There in the driveway was an old blue Volkswagen. Told to get in, he adamantly refused. How could the emperor, he thought, get into this car when he was accustomed to solid gold horse-drawn carriages, Rolls Royces, and Mercedes-Benzes? The symbols of monarchy must be retained. But choice was no longer an option. At gunpoint he placed his five-foot-four-inch frame into the back of the car and sat as erect as ever.

Obviously, one can see the fall of Haile Selassie as simply what happens to powerful people. He was, after all, an emperor in exile during the Italian Fascist occupation of World War II. But I see it about aging mostly. Life is an arc and we end it much as we start it: helpless. But as a civilization, we have the power to push back against whatever you want to call it: the lack of God’s competence, goodness, or existence. We have the power to allow the old to have the dignity they have earned throughout their lives — whether they be Haile Selassie or my father.

The Second Post of the Day About Why There Is Only One Post Today

Posted on 16 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

Under normal circumstances, I would not be writing this second post today. I would just let it go with the single post. In fact, I discussed the fact that I might only post one article in a day when I announced the new schedule, Goodbye Morning Music and Anniversary Posts. And if ever there would be a day in which I should get away without doing a second post, it would be today — at least in a case where nothing terrible happened.

My 83-year-old father started urinating blood while doing some construction work for a lady friend of his who lives about an hour and a half away. But because my father is very much a Great Generation man, he said nothing until the work was done. Then he drove himself to the emergency room — an hour and a half away back at home. But after 5 hours at the hospital, he looked terrible. They had put a catheter in him, which was filling bright red. And they sent him home with a referral to a urologist. But he was sweating and his hands were shaking wildly.

Back to the ER

I tried to get him to go back to the emergency room. But he insisted that it only hurt when he urinated. But after 24 hours, even he couldn’t take it any more. This is a man who gets dental fillings without novocaine. In one way, I’m really impressed with this because I’m a wimp when it comes to pain. On the other hand, this “real man” nonsense bugs me. But if he admits to pain, I know it’s bad.

When I got him to the hospital, he could barely walk. He was hunched over, breathing hard, sweating profusely.

When I got him to the hospital, he could barely walk. He was hunched over, breathing hard, sweating profusely. They got him in very quickly and I hung out in the waiting room. At that point I felt great because I knew he would be taken care of. But the hours ticked past. It was time well spent. I got to read a number of long-form articles that I haven’t had time for. The internet connection at the hospital was great! I suppose I could have worked on my second post, but I find writing on my phone to be pretty hard.

Finally, I asked what was going on and they told me that they were preparing for his release. That was good, because I had been worried that they were going admit him. Anyway, they let me go back and I talked to the doctor and nurse and they told me that they were just getting the catheter installed and that I was welcome to come into the room. I said, “No, no, no!” But given that my father is hard of hearing, I asked that they call me before releasing him, because he often leaves without knowing what he’s supposed to do.

This Is Not the Second Post

It was still over another hour. And, of course, they didn’t call me in. But when he burst through the doors, I could see that there was nothing to be concerned about. The change was so stark and I knew it wasn’t due to any drugs that they had given to him. He was clearly ill when he walked in and he looked liked his normal self when he came out. Apparently, there had been three blood clots in his bladder, and that was undoubtedly what was causing all of his pain.

Interestingly, after telling me repeatedly that he only had pain when he urinated, he told me that when the doctor asked him what his pain was like on a scale of 1 to 10, my father said, “Ten when I urinate; five otherwise”! Thanks for all the honesty, dad!

Anyway, this is the second post today that would have been about something else if all this hadn’t happened. But I’m glad it all worked out well.

How We Make Education Worse Than Random

Posted on 16 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

There are a lot of aspects of education that that are complicated and that we don’t pay enough attention to. Commenter Colin Keesee brought my attention to a curious fact about sports. Since there are date cutoffs for which league a child will play in, those who just miss the cutoff will be up to 12 months older than those who just make the cut off. Thus they will be up to 12 months bigger and more physically and mentally developed. This is all discussed in an interview Malcolm Gladwell gave with ESPN, Q&A with Malcolm Gladwell.

The result of this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. The older students get more playing time and attention, thus making them even further ahead of their younger competitors, who would often have as much if not more talent. In the interview, this is applied in terms of hockey and the NHL, but the data do not show what they claim (the correlation is in the opposite direction that the theory would indicate). But the point is a valid one.

I remember in little league baseball, there was a huge difference in the size of the boys. I’m sure some of this had to do with the ages of the boys. But another issue is just that some boys mature faster than other boys. It doesn’t really matter what the reason is, they are all arbitrary. Just because a boy is small an uncoordinated at 8-years-old does not mean that he won’t be big and graceful at 14.

We have a great problem with focusing on early bloomers. Mozart was an early bloomer but Beethoven really wasn’t. And Einstein wasn’t. And certainly Cervantes wasn’t…

But what I noticed in my very limited experience with organized sports was that far more coaching time was spent with the boys who needed the least help. And the reason for that is obvious enough: people think that greatness is something you are born with. Thus, why waste your time coaching an incompetent given that they are never going to be any good?

Education for Those Who Don’t Need It

Throughout my life, I’ve been shocked that this attitude is everywhere. I don’t really care about sports. But this is applied to math and writing and every other human activity that involves education. Because I do have a knack for systems and analysis, I’ve look back in horror at the way people “taught” me to write and play chess — two things I’m rather good at, but only because I taught myself in adulthood.

It’s especially true with chess education which is concrete. When I teach a child to play chess, I first teach them the moves, but then we go on to basic tactics like combinations and forks. And I teach basic strategy from the beginning. What’s so frustrating about all this is that the way chess is normally taught goes entirely against the march of human progress. We don’t expect each generation to rediscover the entire intellectual history of humanity. But we do when teaching chess.

Interest Trumps Natural Ability

The way I learned to write was very interesting in that it shows someone with mediocre talents can become pretty good if they are obsessed with it and work on it a lot. I know lots of people who used to be better writers than I am and who still know a lot more about the mechanics. They were born with more talent. I was born with more interest. And interest trumps talent.

My favorite example of this is Mozart, because everyone thinks of him as the ultimate example of intrinsic greatness. But it just isn’t true. He was trained from the youngest age. And he worked very hard. After he studied counterpoint in France, his compositions took a great leap forward. None of this is to say that he didn’t have natural ability, although I do wonder how much of that was in the genes and how much of it was being surrounded by music even before his birth.

Education Often Makes Things Worse

We have a great problem with focusing on early bloomers. Mozart was an early bloomer but Beethoven really wasn’t. And Einstein wasn’t. And certainly Cervantes wasn’t — having written his only great works starting in his late fifties — and mostly in his middle to late sixties.

The universe is a cruel and fickle place. The problem I have is that as a species, we haven’t learned to push against that. In fact, in education, we have a strong tendency to reinforce it, or even make what would normally be random be distinctly unjust.

Lewis Hine: Boy Studying, ca. 1924 from trialsanderrors, licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Acrophobia and Free Will

Posted on 13 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

I remember a time I was hosting a programmer from Romania (yes, that guy). And he wanted to take some pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge before he left. So I drove him over to the north side of the bridge where there is parking with a great view of the bay and the city. And it is just a short walk to the bridge itself. I went with him. But after only 30 feet onto the bridge, I had to leave him. I was suffering from extreme acrophobia. I was panicked.

I had suffered with acrophobia my entire life, yet this was a little surprising to me. As part of my work at that time, I spent a tremendous amount of time flying around in a little 2-seat Cessna. It was something that I very much did not want to do when the company had started. But the hardware/software system that we were developing was so complicated and fragile at the time that I was the only one who could do it. I managed it in part by just focusing on the work I had to do. But the truth is that it wasn’t that big a deal regardless. I have never had aerophobia — the fear of flying.

(I do have a very rational fear the wings falling off planes because I’ve known too many engineers in my life and I don’t have a high opinion of them. But that’s another issue.)

I’ve seen The Matrix a dozen times, and every time Neo goes out on that ledge, I squirm in my seat. I’m doing so right now just thinking about it.

The truth is that I don’t have to be on the Gold Gate Bridge to have a panic attack. I get pretty much the same thing walking over an overpass. And I’ve come to think that the basis of my acrophobia is my sense of free will. (I don’t believe in actual free will, of course.) It doesn’t much matter that I’m not suicidal. When I see a ledge that I could run to and throw myself over, I panic. It’s not the ledge; it’s my imagination that terrifies me.

I’m the same way when I watch films. I’ve seen The Matrix a dozen times, and every time Neo goes out on that ledge, I squirm in my seat. I’m doing so right now just thinking about it. The mind is a crazy thing and what goes on inside it is often much more threatening than what’s going on outside in the “real” world.

None of this is to say that I don’t have a general fear of heights. But if I’m in something like an aerial tram, I might be ill at ease, but I’m not freaking out. On the other hand, if the tram was open air, I’d be lying on the floor convulsing. And to be honest, I’m not sure I would want to get rid of this kind of fear. One of my better abilities is to visualize hypotheticals really well in my mind. I’d hate to lose that just for the sake of being able to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge.

How can you hate a fear that allows you to imagine what it would be like to take that step — even if the the reality is tragic?

Golden Gate Bridge image by Ryan J Wilmot, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikidpedia.

No One Won The Game of Life

Posted on 11 May 2016 by Frank Moraes

When I was a kid, my favorite game was The Game of Life. I mean, really, what’s not to like. It has little cars and baby blue stick figures for men and pink stick figures for women. You can go to college if you want. You can get a good job (which you keep for life — a charming assumption that was even then unraveling). You had children. You could speculate on the stock market. And it had that cool spinning wheel for making your moves. I loved it and I played it hundreds of times with friends and siblings. But the funny thing is that no one ever won the game.

The way you win The Game of Life is by having more money than anyone else at the end. So if you think you have enough money, you just stop when you reach the end of the board. But if you don’t think you have enough money, you can bet everything you have on one spin of the wheel. If you pick the right number, I think you get ten times as much money; if not, you end up in the poor house. Now I know all this, but it is not how we played. We all risked it all at the end and we never counted money.

The point is that none of us seemed to care about the outcome of The Game of Life. It was fun to play and that was about all. I was much the same way with Monopoly, but not with as many people. That game is much more combative. But I played it a lot with one friend where we would play Monopoly until we had built our little empires and then we would call a truce. The only thing I get aggressive about is the piece I use. I really like the Terrier.

But it was only the other day that I realized that it isn’t kids who are all excited about winning games and getting trophies. This is something that is mostly forced on them by adults.

The reason I bring this all up is that for years I’ve been hearing men (Always men!) complain about tee-ball games not keeping score and how everyone gets a trophy for participating in everything and blah blah blah. There are a lot of people who think there must be a point to everything. Why would you ever play a basketball game if it wasn’t to win?! Of course, if that’s really the case, then why does anyone ever watch a basketball game all the way through? Why not just show up for the second half of the fourth quarter?

But it was only the other day that I realized that it isn’t kids who are all excited about winning games and getting trophies. This is something that is mostly forced on them by adults. Kids play games because they are fun to play. There really is no other point to them, unless you want to look at it in a developmental sense — games help us to improve and develop.

The same thing, of course, is true in education. I don’t recall ever meeting a child that didn’t delight in learning. Just the same, I’ve known lots of children who hated school. I was one of them! But there has been a big push in recent years to take an educational system that was pretty bad and turn it into one that is even worse. Because again, adults think that education is about the goal: getting a good job. And that ain’t education.

It would be great if everyone who wants to turn children into little goal-oriented automatons could have watched the way my siblings and friends played The Game of Life or, I’m quite sure, the way most kids play it today. If the journey is not worth taking, the goal will not help, since the goal of the “game of life” is death.

Playing Game of Life by Fabian Bromann, licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Disciplined Minds All Think Alike

Posted on 19 Apr 2016 by Frank Moraes

One of the books that Thomas Frank references in Listen, Liberal is Jeff Schmidt’s Disciplined Minds: a Critical Look at Salaried Professionals and the Soul-battering System That Shapes Their Lives. I’ve requested the book, but I know what it is about. He argues that the “intellectual class” is really a system that constrains thought. This is my experience. In fact, getting a PhD is not about showing that the student has reached some intellectual height; it is about proving that they are a member of the tribe.

One could use this idea to argue against global warming, “Everyone is involved in group think and can’t break out of it.” But I know this isn’t the case because I saw the consensus on global warming grow and it wasn’t like that at all. Acceptance of the theory accumulated with the data. But there is another issue when it comes to global warming. It’s just science and it spans many different fields. Everyone has and had a big incentive to find data that broke the theory. Instead, what you find on the denial side is cherry-picked data and conspiracy theories. So the issue doesn’t really need to be discussed regardless.

But the way a PhD trains a mind is not by making sure that it believes the currently accepted theories of the science. It trains a mind to think in the same way. Consider a theoretical case of a department of sociology where no one did field work. Everyone there only studied their science by looking at how student volunteers interacted. A graduate student who was determined to live at a retirement community for a year to study the people there just wouldn’t get a degree. It wouldn’t be because the faculty were afraid of what the student might find. It just wouldn’t be seen as sociology. And from a practical standpoint, who would the thesis adviser be?

We’ve seen something very much like this in the field of economics where the Chicago School determined somewhere along the way that their models were more important than reality. And that would have been perfectly okay. I’m all for useless science in the same way I’m for art or any other creative activity. But artists don’t go to Washington and pontificate about how there will be hyperinflation unless massive cuts are made to Social Security. It is not a coincidence that Emmanuel Saez and Thomas Piketty did not go to the University of Chicago. If they had, they would have washed out or been co-opted by the hive mind.

I’ve been in academia enough to know that this is true. So Thomas Frank’s book has real resonance for me. Perhaps the most compelling part of the book is where he compares the people who FDR surrounded himself with (the “Brain Trust”) and those who Obama surrounded himself with. No one doubts that in both cases, these people are brilliant. But FDR’s geniuses came from different places. Obama’s (and Clinton’s before him) were all from the same place (generally, the Ivy League). And so whereas FDR got advice from people with different experiences, Obama does not. Obama gets advice from people who have all done very well by our “meritocratic” system and so see no cause for alarm.

I often marvel that I got a PhD. But I know how I did it: I am capable of seeming very normal for years at a time. Eventually, the truth will out. So they blew it. But even still, I didn’t go to the Ivy Leagues, even though I know I could have. I think there is something wrong with smart people who make that kind of boring choice.

Of course, for the people who have pursued that kind of life, it just makes sense. They see themselves as the best and so they want to surround themselves with other people who are “the best.” But instead, they end up surrounding themselves with people who think in a very similar way. And the experience of putting them all together makes them think even more strongly that the way they think is the only way to think.

It makes me think that the best thing that could happen to humanity is what happens at the end of The Psychic Parrot, where all the best and brightest are killed. We might (and I do me might) lose some intellectual firepower, but at least we’d have more diversity of thought.

Book cover image taken from Amazon and licensed under Fair Use.

Writing and the Meaning of My Life

Posted on 16 Apr 2016 by Frank Moraes

I’ve been having this strange experience after I go to bed. I lie there and think of nothing in particular. But I know that I’m thinking about my life and it’s lack of meaning. That’s especially true regarding work. What is the point of it? Work has always been very important to me — central to my sense of meaning. But I no longer think that way. Work is a means to an end. And that end is…

You see the problem. We get to the usual issue that Schopenhauer explained so well. We continue on so that we can continue on. Until we don’t. The ultimate goal of life is to die. So why not today? It’s not that I’m suicidal. In fact, my will to live is extremely healthy. But that’s the thing that bothers me. It’s so irrational.

When I was younger, I determined that the meaning of life was to have a good time. That is about the only thing that you can use to push back against Schopenhauer. Life isn’t a total drag. But more and more it seems to be. I keep thinking about this one little speech that Aaron gives in the film Broadcast News.

As you may recall, Aaron got his big chance to anchor the evening news. But he broke out in a fit of sweating. It’s a funny, but tragic scene:

Afterward, Jane comes by his house and finds him happy. She asks why, if things went so terribly wrong, is he so chipper. He replies:

I don’t know. At a certain point it was so off the chart bad — it got funny. My central nervous system was telling me something. Jane — sweat running down my face — makeup falling into my eyes — people turning this fusillade of blow dryers on me — all so I could read introductions to other people who were covering stories which is what I like to do anyway.

Now in the film, the truth is that he’s in love with Jane and that’s where the scene goes from there. But I think he’s dead on when he says that he’s providing introductions for people doing what he most likes to do.

I like writing. I can’t not do it. And I’m a professional. I can do it at any level you ask. If you want something cheap, I can do that. If you want something finely tuned I can do that. I can write ad copy. I can be clever. I can be technical. I can write something so boring no one will ever read it if that’s what you need. I like writing. I’m good at it and it makes me happy to do it.

But I don’t really write for a living. I manage other writers. I make sure that they do an acceptable job of what I would prefer to be doing. Sure, I get to do some writing: for the other writers. And I put more style into this writing than I ought to. I write it off as the price that has to be paid for my not going totally insane.

So what is the point? I know this is a meta-grumble. I’m doing very well. This is why I’m lying in bed wondering about meaning — because I’m not lying in bed wondering how I’m going to pay my phone bill. Still, there ought to be more. And I could pay my phone bill through writing alone.

On Over-Thinking Bob’s Burgers

Posted on 08 Apr 2016 by Frank Moraes

I had to go to the hospital this morning. The doctor didn’t tell me why, so I figure it is just that she is a vampire. Either that or it is standard when you get a check-up. I prefer to think she’s a vampire. Regardless, afterwards, I was waiting for my ride so I called up Andrea. Now Andrea can be the most charming person in the world. But she fell into a bit of a depression about three years ago and so our conversations mostly involve my bringing up random things to see if I can get her interested in anything. One of those today was Bob’s Burgers.

Normally, I don’t bring up Bob’s Burgers because I’ve used the show a lot. Speaking of which, here’s a great bit. After Louise said, “Why is the front door open?” And Gene responds, “Maybe God closed a window?” Now come on folks, that’s great comedy. But maybe I just like it because I hate that platitude. My thought has always been that when God closes a door, he usually collapses the roof on you as well. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was, as I often do, speculating about the future lives of the kids.

And Andrea said, “You’re way over-thinking this show.” And I thought that was a distinctly unkind thing to say. To begin with, she is the person who introduced me to the show. But more important, I over-think everything. That is who I am and she should know it better than just about anyone. If I didn’t over-think things, I wouldn’t be Frank. And over-thinking trivial things is what I’m especially good at. Did I not write, The Evolution of the Pets.com Sock Puppet? And, The Shocking True Story of Twin Chickens? And, Bugs Bunny: Rabbit or Hare? Yes, yes, and yes!

But my fascination with Bob’s Burgers is not just that it is a hilarious show. Much more important is the fact that Bob’s Burgers is the story of my childhood. My parents always had some little business that was barely getting by. When I was older, we had had a deli, and I remember that at the end of each month, it was this big production to get the money for the rent — just like in the show. And notice that it is a dysfunctional family, but not a hateful one. If I were going to fictionalize my childhood, it would be something like Bob’s Burgers.

So I think that it is about the most accurate depiction of an American family that has ever been on television. The only thing I can think of that even comes close is Roseanne. But this is from my perspective. I come from people who might be described as white trash with big dreams. But both of my parents were the black sheep of their families and so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that the world ended up with me. It’s probably a good thing that I never had kids. If I had had a son, he probably would have been someone like the Unibomber, but with puppets or confetti or something.

Regardless, many people may be able to over-think Bob’s Burgers, but I can’t. And yesterday, when Bob made peace with his father, I cried like a baby — even as I laughed, because Bob is awkward in much the same way I am. Oh, the humanity!

Update: I’m Not Sick

Thank you for all the kind wishes, but I’m not sick. I just haven’t been to the doctor in about 8 years, and thanks to Obamacare, I have a doctor. So I got a check-up and she sent me to get a little blood drawn. And how she has me on Kelp. I feel like a sea otter.

Actually, as a result of going to the doctor, I caught a minor cold. Next time: mask and gloves!

Image of the Belcher family licensed under Fair Use.

Power Politics Is a Pathetic Need

Posted on 13 Mar 2016 by Frank Moraes

I hate power politics. I’m old enough that I’m pretty comfortable with who I am. I’m poor. I’m physically weak. I’m not handsome — I look old for my age. Intellectually I’m reasonable, but certainly not a standout. But I have a fair collection of skills. I don’t doubt that I have a place in the world and that the world, on the whole, values me. So it amuses me when people play power politics with me. They think they are putting me in my place, but all they ever do is just establish that they have some advantage over me in some minor area.

Growing up, like most small boys, I ran into many bigger boys who wanted to establish their credibility by showing that they were stronger. I can’t say that even at the age of six that I thought much of this. I’ve never valued physical strength — certainly not when used in that way. But what are you going to do? I mean we are talking about children here. I’m sure that many of these bullies went on to see the error of their ways and became good human beings.

Others, I’m afraid, did not.

This whole issue of power politics is not usually about physical violence. I’ve been involved with just such a case of power politics. I am currently being taught a lesson. I made the mistake of asserting myself to a bully and now I must be reminded again and again that I have no power. I must show in every way possible that they are the alpha dog. Of course, this is just in their mind. I am involved in a working relationship. I am finishing up the project as quickly as possible and then I will never have anything to do with this person ever again. The power is entirely mine because I have nothing to lose and the publisher does.

Power Politics: the Game Continues

I know I’ve written about this before. But something just happened. A few weeks ago, I received a document that explained the proper format for manuscripts. This is the third book I’ve done for the publisher and the first I’ve ever heard of it, but okay. Then I looked at the document and it was not a standard document that the publisher had been using for years. No, it was one created especially for me: what I must do to prove who the alpha dog is. It was pure power politics.

That was then. Yesterday, after having submitted four sections where everything was all right, the fifth section is balked at: the files must have the date on them! I’d already sent 20 chapters. They had all been accepted and formatted by the publisher. There was nothing in the document about including the date on the file names. No. This is just the publisher deciding that there is a new rule because there has been nothing to yell at me about recently. If dates are wanted, dates it shall be! Oh, the joy of power politics.

Soon I will be gloriously free of all this! But it is like dealing with a 10-year-old schoolyard bully. I guess it does something for them, but to me, it’s pathetic. From my side, this is all about some deeply messed up person trying to claim some power that they don’t feel in their hearts. Power politics is a game that sad and lonely people play. I have very little left to do on this project, but I fully expect a new requirement. Perhaps, “Start all correspondence with, ‘Oh Great and Glorious Publisher Without Whom I Would Be Lost…”

The one good thing about this is that I was totally stressed out before. This time, I just laughed when I got this new requirement. Power politics might make those who engage in them feel better, but any objective viewer can see how pathetic those using them are.

Afterword

I know you are all probably tired of my whining about this. But I find it interesting that in my day job, I manage a number of writers, and one of my primary jobs is to make their work easier. I’m supposed to make them feel good and valued. It isn’t about me, and making my life easier. Of course, this is the way I have always managed people. Life’s too short to be a jerk or to be around jerks — even ones who will be dead for weeks before anyone notices.

Image taken from YouTube video, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution license (reuse allowed).