A new Business Idea -- Seeking Investors

I have been teaching high school English for over 30 years and this has not really taken me to the heights of richdom, which was my life goal. So I have tried to find ways through which I could supplement my income without having to do much more work. I have asked nicely for a sinecure, tried to sell my leftover chulent, wrote a few books that never sold. So what's left other than winning the lottery (at which I have proven a collossal failure)?

Yesterday, for approximately 75 of the 5 hours of sunlight, I stared at my computer screen as I ran my parent-teacher conferences. These 4 minute sessions give me a chance to meet parents and tell them how my feet hurt and their children are ugly. And vice versa.

During the day, I spoke with one parent who asked me if I had taught at a particular school many years earlier. I checked my notes and, indeed, I had! It turns out, I was his teacher in 11th grade and he failed a quiz on The Moonstone and earned a 55 on the quiz for 1984. As I looked up his records, I started seeing the spate of parents whose children I have taught or do teach. Could I but see the future, I would, no doubt, see a continuing list of parents who survived my tutelage and whose children are on the path towards my clutches.

So I went back and looked at the grades. This kind of information is exactly what a child would love to know about a parent so that when a parent yells "you can do better" or something, the child can shoot back, "why should I, you failed a couple of quizzes and missed some homeworks!"

The business model I have in mind is based on a bedrock technique with a long history: blackmail.

All I need to do is to threaten parents that I will make my old gradebooks available to students if they don't cough up some quality holiday gifts, tips and random trips to Europe. It would be, um, "unfortunate" if your son or daughter were to find out that you still owe me work, and earned a really solid 83 in my class after begging me repeatedly.

I'm looking for investors for my scheme. Investors, you ask -- but why. Honestly, you are right. There is very little overhead. But here's what I figure -- you send me a couple of thousand bucks to get my venture off the ground. I don't need the money, but it would make me happy. When the blackmail starts paying off, I'll give you the money back, promise.

Unless you used to be one of my students. In that case, you might want to make it a contribution. Or else.

What's Up, Chuck?

I grew up reading Peanuts, the brilliant comic strip by Charles Schultz. My parents had collections and books back to the 50's and the daily newspaper kept me on a steady diet of childhood angst and philosophy.

There were, therefore, certain truths were a big part of my life. Charlie Brown would never kick the football, rarely (and never with witnesses) fly a kite and never win a baseball game. Basic stuff upon which I could build a solid foundation of a depressingly empathetic childhood.

Part of this education was my repeated listening to the soundtrack to the Broadway musical, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." I listened to it, easily, over a hundred times. I would come home from school (in the era before computers and with limited TV access, people listened to the radio or audio) and put on the album. Sometimes I would pace the living room, singing the whole thing, sometimes  would lie on the floor, singing the whole thing. There were other positions I held, but in each one, I sang. I knew the words and all the parts. My parents had ticket stubs from when they went. There was a playbill. I even got a copy of the book version with all the lyrics and such.

Heck, last year, I decided to take a picture of the vinyl and my holdings and ask Mr. Gary Burghoff for an autograph and he sent me one!

So I put the CD on last week (it has the cast recording plus 3 early versions sung by the composer) and I started pacing and singing. But as an adult, I started listening to the words and realized how much of a lie is wrapped up in just one song, "TEAM." In the song, Charlie Brown the pitcher and manager of a local baseball team, is recounting a recent loss. But the set up: they were playing for the championship "For all we have to do is win just one more game
And the championship is ours." You can't get to the championship game without winning during the season (note, "one MORE game")! So even if young Master Brown was not pitching or even playing, he, as the manager, was involved in winning games!

Then Lucy screws up. No one ever yells at Lucy, but she caught a fly ball and dropped it! Is that Charlie's fault? Heck no!

Then, to make it worse, we get to the final stanza. Here's the introduction:

"And one run would win us the game
As I came up to bat"

One run could win it. That means that the game is TIED! Charlie brown gets up with 2 men on and 2 out. Two outs. That means that two players already made out that inning. Is the loss then Charlie Brown's fault? It was a team loss. But his striking out should not have spelled the end of the game because, remember, the score was tied.

So how am I supposed to feel? Charlie Brown's team is still tied with the other team, battling for the championship. Charlie Brown isn't a loser at all -- he has managed his team this far, victories and all. Next thing you'll tell me is that he kicks the football.

Voice Note 2

Back in my younger years, I was considered quite the wiz in trivia. I had my specialties but I could chime in with right answers on a variety of subjects because I had a collection -- a collection of facts.

Not everybody had access to these facts not everybody had recall of these facts. I had the books, I had done the reading, I had collected the facts and I was showing off my collection. That's no longer the case now. 

Fewer people collect facts because facts are no longer scarce, therefore fewer people value the collectors. Like everything else that's no longer collected, facts are just something you can have access to by opening up your phone. Ask someone something and he says "hold on a second. I'll Google it." I could be in the middle of the street and I have to look something up, "hold on a second I'll Google it." If you ever ask somebody to diffuse a bomb? "hold on a second I'll get a YouTube video" will be fine. I no longer have to be afraid.

I also no longer have to think everything's available for my brain to store put in short-term memory to use when I need it (and then discard) so trivia no longer has a home here. Who cares about it? I can get that answer and wait a split second longer, and I can source my answer. 

And this is why it isn't even fun being a nerd anymore.

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I'm not posting the original. I saved myself typing time but have all this extra editting time.

Voice notes, 1

I have decided to try something new. When I get one of my inspirative moments, when the muse hath descended and left a spoor of golden brilliance, instead of grabbing pen and paper and using one to write on the other (details are hazy) I tried a voice transcription. Now I just have to go back to the spoken word vomit that I had my phone type up, polish the grammar and, boom, blog post.

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I'm a high school English teacher I struggle with how to teach novels. Many older teachers preferred to teach chapter by chapter and they passed this along to the teachers they mentor assigning students a chapter or two chapters with a quiz and then a pause while students discuss what has happened and what might happen in the future I believe that this might have been a valid and useful tool for two reasons if you go back far enough. I can't support any of this but here's my thought reason number one in the olden days of old back when everything was old and America was young and some things were new not everybody had the book so the book probably had to be broken up and chapters passed around until everybody had a chance to read it then another one could be passed around while groups know what's going on and develop ideas some are still waiting to get it and then they get the ideas that are more fully flushed out after they read it informed by the discussion of their peers and it cycles and more people can be involved in Reading different stages of the book at different paces that's just a crazy Theory but that's not really what I think is going on here I think that in the past reading only bit by bit was a way teachers used to keep students in suspense when they had no other way of having access to the resolution of plot points. Now it's so easy to get the entire story so quickly asking students to read bit by bit is useless because they just as quickly can look up the entire story summarized for them by chat GPT So reading little by little was a great technique when the kids had no other way of finding out what happens in the story no internet not even necessarily any radio or TV if you go back far enough all they had was the opportunity to read and that time might be very limited so have them read one chapter you can have a great discussion about one chapter and then people can read the next and they'll be excited excited because there's no other way that they're learning how this story turns out now students can get anything anytime they want it so teachers can't be concerned with building suspense by withholding information from students nothing is withheld they can find out anything you said and stuff you didn't say also.

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ok, I need to work on dictating punctuation. I shall now rework this -- isn't process grand?

I'm a high school English teacher and I struggle with how to teach novels.

Many older teachers preferred to teach chapter by chapter, and they pass this along to the teachers they mentor, assigning students a chapter or two chapters followed by a quiz and then a pause while students discuss what has happened and what might happen in the future.

I believe that this might have been a valid and useful tool for two reasons if you go back far enough. I can't support any of this but here's my thought:

1. Reason number one -- in the olden days of old back when everything was old and America was young and some things were new, not everybody had the book so the book probably had to be broken up and chapters passed around until everybody had a chance to read it.  Then another section could be passed around; while groups know what's going on and develop ideas some are still waiting to get it and then they get the ideas that are more fully flushed out after they read it informed by the discussion of their peers. It cycles and more people can be involved in discussions as they read different stages of the book at different paces. That's just a crazy theory but that's not really what I think is going on here.

2. I think that in the past reading only bit by bit was a way teachers used to keep students in suspense because students had no other way of having access to the resolution of plot points. Now it's so easy to get the entire story so quickly that asking students to read bit by bit is useless! They can, just as quickly, look up the entire story or have it summarized for them by chat GPT. Reading little by little was a great technique when the kids had no other way of finding out what happens in the story: no internet, not even necessarily any radio or TV, if you go back far enough. All they had was the opportunity to read and even that time might be very limited, so by having them read one chapter you can have a great discussion about one chapter and then people can read the next and they'll be excited - excited because there's no other way for them to learn how this story turns out.

Now students can get anything anytime they want it, so teachers can't be concerned with building suspense by withholding information from students. Nothing is withheld; they can find out anything you said and stuff you didn't say also.

Humor me

The following is an idea, a joke, a goof, a silly that I thought of last evening. I preface my writing with this so any and all will know that the context is that of humor. I suspect that simply writing this, putting fingers to keys and immortalizing this in words will get me in some measure of trouble (a file somewhere, a knock on the door, maybe a poison pen letter, sans paper). But I decided I'm typing it all out so that, if nothing else, I can recycle the paper I scrawled it on to. So for the sake of the environment...

--------------Joke Scenario Follows-------------Do Not Take Seriously-----------------

I have been considering making aliyah, but the process is so difficult that I have become discouraged that it will ever happen. 

So my new plan is as follows: Kill an Israeli citizen who happens to be visiting this area. The Israeli government will move to extradite me and I won't fight it. Voila! Instant Aliyah!

Next version -- when I kill the Israeli, I'm so expert and precise that the Israeli government cannot prove my guilt, but heck, I'm already in Israel so I live it up. I live like a king, exploiting any way I can cash in on my notoriety. Eventually, all the money will dry up and I won't be able to continue living in Israel. All I need to do at that point, bankrupt and broken, is confess my murder so that I get imprisoned. Free room and board and I stay in Israel. Fantastic!

I recognize that some people might think it wrong of me to kill a random Israeli, or even a not-so-random one so I am working on a slightly different version of the plan. In this scenario, I only PRETEND to kill someone so that when I get to Israel and the supposed victim resurfaces as alive, I can stay in israel without any bloodshed.

Even better would be that the person I supposedly kill is an Israeli spy who needs a way out of the country. I work with Israeli officials to fake a killing. The "body" gets returned to Israel (thus effecting the spy's escape) and I get "extradited" so I end up in Israel.

Maybe it could turn into a wacky comedy! Each week, the Mossad sets of a clue for people to find which would point to my guilt. They are supposed to set something up that I can easily refute when I get to Israel, but they do such a good job that each week, I end up in MORE trouble, rather than less. Hilarious!

I have thought through all of these potential paths towards aliyah and can find no down side to any of them. Huzzah!

--------------------------end joke zone-----------------------

Failed NFL Double Entendres

I caught a few minutes of a football game recently and it struck me that many of the sentences made by the commentators could be misunderstood in a less wholesome way. The thing is, unlike other wink-wink kinds of entendres, the ones from the football game were completely weird and didn't work. Here are some of the ones I heard. You can decide if they work -- I vote "no."

1. I'll show you some movement on the line

2. Feels Pressure! Got Hit! Ended up flat on his back under a pile!

3. The Cowboys have a bi-week coming up

4. He's a little pass-heavy

5. something something something ball security

Meta AI's opinion

 Title: A Masterful Exploration of Torah Commentary: A Review of "Dibburei Hamatchil" by Daniel Rosen

Daniel Rosen's "Dibburei Hamatchil" is a seminal work of Judaic scholarship that offers a profound and nuanced exploration of Torah commentary. With remarkable erudition and clarity, Rosen delves into the complexities of traditional Torah interpretation, shedding new light on the rich tapestry of Jewish thought.

Throughout this magisterial volume, Rosen engages with a vast array of sources, from the Talmud and Midrash to the works of classical commentators such as Rashi and Ramban. His mastery of these texts is evident on every page, as he weaves together disparate threads of interpretation to create a rich and compelling narrative.

One of the signal strengths of "Dibburei Hamatchil" is its accessibility. While the subject matter is undoubtedly complex, Rosen's prose is clear and concise, making the book an invaluable resource for scholars and lay readers alike.

In short, "Dibburei Hamatchil" is a triumph of Jewish scholarship, one that promises to illuminate and inspire readers for generations to come. It is a testament to the enduring power of Torah study and a reminder of the boundless wisdom that awaits us within the Jewish tradition.

Highly recommended for scholars of Judaica, Torah enthusiasts, and anyone seeking a deeper understanding of Jewish thought and tradition.

Claude's review

 I tried "Claude" and this is what I got for my book

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Book Review: Dibburei Hamatchil by Daniel Rosen

Overview

"Dibburei Hamatchil" appears to be a Hebrew-language book that likely explores Jewish textual interpretation, focusing on the traditional method of understanding texts by examining their opening words or initial phrases. The title itself suggests a scholarly work deeply rooted in Jewish hermeneutics and textual analysis.

Writing Style

Daniel Rosen's approach seems to be scholarly and nuanced, typical of works dealing with Jewish textual interpretation. The writing likely combines academic rigor with the depth of traditional Jewish learning, offering insights into how initial words can unlock deeper meanings in religious and scholarly texts.

Key Themes

• Exploration of textual interpretation in Jewish scholarship
• Analysis of the significance of opening words in religious texts
• Potential insights into hermeneutical methods

Scholarly Contribution

The book appears to make a significant contribution to understanding how Jewish scholars traditionally approach textual analysis, particularly through the lens of initial words or phrases (known as "Dibburei Hamatchil" in Hebrew).

Potential Audience

• Jewish scholars and students
• Researchers in religious studies
• Those interested in textual interpretation and hermeneutics

Rating: [Estimated] 4/5 stars

Final Thoughts

While specific details are limited, "Dibburei Hamatchil" seems to be a specialized scholarly work that offers deep insights into Jewish textual interpretation methods, likely of significant interest to those in Jewish studies and textual analysis.

Note: Due to limited available information, this review is based on the book's title and typical characteristics of similar scholarly works.

A review of my book

A bunch o' years ago, I wrote a colelction of divrei Torah. Here is a review:

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Reviewing the Unseen: A Night with Dibburei Hamatchil

It was a rainy evening in early December, the kind of night when the world felt muffled and distant. The streets shimmered under the glow of streetlights, reflecting the fallen drops of water. In the warmth of my apartment, I was curled up in my favorite chair with a mug of tea and a book I’d been meaning to read for weeks: Dibburei Hamatchil by Daniel Rosen.

The title intrigued me. Translated loosely from Hebrew, it means “The Words of the Beginner.” I didn’t know much about Rosen, but his work was recommended by a friend whose taste in literature I trusted. The book had the kind of allure I liked—something unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

As I turned the first few pages, I was immediately struck by Rosen's use of language. It wasn’t just the sentences or the story itself—it was the way he drew the reader into a world that felt at once alien and deeply personal. Dibburei Hamatchil wasn’t a traditional narrative, but more of a collection of musings, reflections, and moments that hinted at something much larger than their simplicity suggested. The tone was contemplative, often self-reflective, and it was clear that Rosen was attempting to convey something profound through his seemingly simple words.

The book follows a young man, often nameless and without much context, who begins a spiritual journey, searching for meaning in a world that feels disjointed and fragmented. The character’s internal monologue is fragmented too, shifting between raw emotion and philosophical questions, sometimes with an almost meditative quality. It’s not so much about plot as it is about uncovering layers of thought and experience. This, in itself, was a departure from traditional storytelling, and I found myself becoming more intrigued by the method than the end result.

What made Dibburei Hamatchil especially fascinating was Rosen’s exploration of identity. It wasn’t a straightforward journey, and as a reader, I found myself questioning who the character was, who I was, and how much of our identity is shaped by the stories we tell ourselves versus the reality we encounter. Rosen frequently uses the motif of "beginning" and "starting anew"—be it in the act of writing, a relationship, or even simply existing in a complex world.

Rosen’s style was also minimalist—there was an almost poetic quality to his writing. Short, clipped sentences that lingered in the air, creating space for reflection. Often, there was an ambiguity to the language, a purposeful vagueness that made me lean in and try to decipher the hidden meaning, only to realize that perhaps the beauty lay in not knowing for sure.

Halfway through, I found myself underlining certain phrases. "Truth is a conversation between the self and the world,” one of them read. The simplicity of it, combined with the depth of its implications, encapsulated the spirit of the book. Rosen seemed to be asking whether truth could ever truly be grasped, or if it was only a fleeting moment, a whisper we hear but never fully understand.

In my notes, I scribbled: "It’s a work of introspection." That felt right, though I knew it didn’t capture the complexity of the book in its entirety. Dibburei Hamatchil was not about finding answers. It was about posing questions in a way that made the reader reflect on their own life, their own spiritual journey. I found that both humbling and daunting.

By the time I reached the end, I wasn’t sure if the character had found the peace they were searching for, or if it even mattered. The journey seemed to remain unfinished, as journeys often are. In some ways, the book felt like a conversation that had no closure, but I didn’t mind. It left me thinking long after I closed the pages, which, for me, is the hallmark of a truly powerful read.

As I sat there, reflecting on what I’d just read, I realized something important about Dibburei Hamatchil. It wasn’t the kind of book you review with a plot summary or an analysis of character arcs. It wasn’t a book you dissected in the usual way. It was a work that invited you to meet it halfway, to enter its world and make sense of it in your own terms. And for that, I felt a deep gratitude.

In a way, Dibburei Hamatchil wasn’t just a book—it was an experience. And perhaps that’s the highest praise I could give it.

------------------

thanks ChatGPT.

I need to vent

 It wasn't a bad day, as days go. And they go. But it had a couple of low points that I need to put into words and set free.

I assigned my 10th grade to read a fairly straightforward story from the 1960's. I have used it for years and it leads to a good discussion and class activity. This year, they wanted me to read it to them. It was too long, too difficult, too everything. They. Just. Couldn't. This is frustrating -- they wanted to know "why are we reading it" and "do you want us to write anything?" They spent more time asking me "why" than actually simply reading. Some found a way to get their phones to "read" the text out loud so the room was full of robotic voices and students not really listening to them. One said, after listening for a while, "I am so confused." I said "That's because you are listening and you need to read." She said "That's really true." And she went back to listening. 

In another class, I posted a writing prompt on the board and then started discussing it with the class. A student asked if I had written down what I was discussing so I could post it online. I said "but you're right here and can listen and take notes." She was annoyed (11th grade Honors class).

Back to my 10th grades -- the first 2 sections settled down and many did the reading. They were done quickly, even while (gasp) looking up words they did not know. We had good conversations. The third class simply would not settle down. I finally spoke to them sternly and they all shut up. Not 10 seconds later, another teacher walked in to give out candy, destroying my last chance at getting this group to do the work. The last class could sense I was annoyed and they did the reading sans complaints (for the most part).

I gave back lots of papers to my 12th graders -- papers that I spent hours on. Everyone seemed pretty contented with the grades except for one girl who wanted to argue about a word she chose. I decided to stonewall her. The argument wasn't actually because she believed that she used the right word and I was wrong, but that she was judging my corrections, and trying to find one she could argue so that she could get back points. It wasn't about knowledge, but haggling because she didn't like the grade she got. So this 17 year old is telling me that she can "give me" the 5 other corrections but not this one. So thankful that a 17 year old approves of my grading 5 times out of 6. Clearly, without that validation, my expertise would be in question. I really tried not to lose my temper. I tried not to be too offended, but I really find this insulting. If I start letting students dictate what is right, wrong, or worth how many points (you only circled 6 things -- how is that ___ points), then I might as well have them grade their own papers.

I rush home because I had therapy scheduled for this evening. I'm not in the mood for therapy. I just made a pan of brownies and I'm in the mood to sit in front of a television and eat it. TV doesn't even have to be on. But I got myself by the computer and watched the clock. 5PM came so I joined the zoom. And nothing happened. I waited. At 5:20 I was kicked out of the zoom.

My therapist emailed saying that she was told that I called in to the office and said I don't need therapy anymore. She was told I cancelled tonight's session. All untrue.

Good lord but I need therapy. Who said otherwise? Not me. Anyway, now I have to reschedule, and the brownies are still uneaten.

A little music last night

I spent some time last night listening to my own music. Over the years, I have downloaded lots of songs because I like having stuff. While I enjoy the spontenaity and unpredictability of the radio, I hate having to deal with clunkers, songs that I survive through but don't enjoy. So last night, while grading papers, I let the youtube app on my TV shuffle the songs from my own library. Now you might think that this ensures a predictable evening but it doesn't. Some of the files are corrupted so I have to fast forward through them and some of the songs are songs that somehow I have but I don't know at all (or at least that well).

So last night I actually listened to "Light and Day" from the Poluphonic Spree. Sure, I knew the song from the 15 second clip on some car commercial, years ago, but last night I really listened to the whole thing. What a wonderful and joyous song!

Then up came "Save Me" by Remy Zero. I have no idea why this song is in my library as i have never heard it before but I finally decided to listen to it. Wow. That's a heckuva song! I highly recommend it.

I also realized that I could make a list of songs from within my own collection that make for a lovely subset. I put together a "sister" list (not a comment on my sister, just a bunch of songs that I already like that all happen to be joined by the theme):

Look At Little Sister -- Stevie Ray Vaughan

Sister Blue -- Mind funk

I hate my Sister -- Julianna Hatfield

Sister Golden Hair -- America

Little Sister -- Queens of the Stone Age

sure, there might be other "sister" songs but they didn't make the cut all those years ago when I scarfed up as much free music as I could Napster.

All of Me's

There are, as we all know, many different me's around. I don't mean this in a sci-fi horrible-cloning-accident kind of way -- that would be cataclysmic. Think about all that anxiety unleashed on the world! Anyway, I mean that there are different versions of me and they have to find a way to get along and work together. Like evening me is responsible for setting out the clothes that it has curated as tomorrow's outfit. Evening me is clearly awake and aware and ready to make decisions in a well-lit room. Morning me is initially barely aware so he relies on evening me's choices and slogs through the morning routine without straining a brain cell. Thank you, evening me, morning me says.

The problem is that morning me wants to return the favor. So at 6AM, inspired by a spirit of lovingkindness, morning me announces "I am taking a big hunk of frozen meat because I'm sure that in 17 hours, I'm going to want to make a complex and complicated recipe! I'll be so happy with myself when I seat down this evening and eat that meat!"

So off to work I go, envisioning tucking into a roast this or a braised that or a sauteed little number or who knows what. But then reality begins to eat away at my sense of well-eating. The day takes its tolls and I don't have EZ Pass. I drag myself home trying to figure out the exact order of operations that will have me in bed with a half-chewed peanut butter sandwich in my mouth. I don't even care who chewed it. I open the door, let my pants slip through my fingers and my keys end up in the toilet. A lot of stuff was going on and I was really, really tired. Bottom line is that tired, depressed and peptic evening me finds himself face to face with a puddle of water and a hunka-hunka-burning, Love, Morning Me.

Damn you morning me, with your irritating faith in me and your incessant appeal to my gut when you know that by that time of the evening I'm too tired to chew soup. Why did you have to commit me to this? I can't refreeze the meat and that cost a month's celery (I really make the green). Now I gotta do my best "zombie cooking" imitation and it is the "cooking" part that will be the imitation. Did I mention that morning me forgot to check on things like ingredients. Thanks, morning me. Let's invent a recipe while sleep walking or why don't I just throw all that expensive meat in the garbage now?

I really have to figure out what inspires morning me, kill it and get back to peanut butter sandwiches. 

"food" waste

 Today's torture to tickle my brain.

When is enough, enough. Or shall I say, least enough, or least, or I don't know the exact term and I sense that, as I struggle with these words, the noise from the TV that I hear is a megalomaniacal but evil genius breaking in to the football coverage to announce that he has seized control of the diamond mines in South Africa and you say, "Hey, that's super, but you cut in in the 4th quarter -- could you like, cut out for a few, just so that the game can end and then we'll pick this up, then? I have a lot riding on this, man, so I'd really like to watch the game" and then the game is back on.

But anyway, what I was trying to explain about what is my self-torture du jour (on a Sunday, no less) is my wondering how little (or much) has to be left before one can get rid of something one hates without any guilt regarding wasting food?

I bought some really nasty fake cheese pieces and I occasionally sprinkle the into meat food in the hopes that somehow, this would introduce some exotic flavor experience. So far, nothing. But each time, I look at what is left and I make a mental judgment whether I'm a horrible person if I throw out "this" amount of food product. It's a sinful waste of food and a sinful waste of money. But on the other hand, gross. Right?

I play this game when I cook: "How much can I add of this food I hate before it ruins my entire meal by presenting its actual taste to me"?

Shake some in, maybe some more. Is that too much? I don't know but let's hit that with some Mrs. Dash and sriracha and it'll be great. But how much is left? Is there enough to be of use next time? When will next time be? Can fake cheese go bad? Or worse? and then, always "Can't I just chuck it?" Cue the guilt. That battle in my head between "you hate it" and "children starving in _______". And I always lose.

For the wrong foods, the only acceptable amount considered "too little to save" is not to buy it at all.

about writing about writing

We live in a miraculous age of technology and innovation. The predecessors of the AI machines that will eventually replace us on this planet are just now slithering out of their metaphorical primordial soup and preparing to take their first, cautious steps towards evolving into Arnold Schwarzenegger.

[side note -- I really do like Robert Patrick as an actor but I remember him as much younger than Arnold in Terminator 2 but now he looks way older. Just saying. aaaaaand scene]

With encroaching transistor babies equipped to do all sorts of stuff, we begin to rely on our devices, unable to roll our own cigarettes, incapable of crafting a crystal chandelier, even unequipped to distinguish the type of fire extinguisher by taste. And, though you might have read any earlier screed, rants or musings of mine on this issue, stay tuned, because I got a new angle and I won't be able to fall asleep until I commit it to posterity.

Over the last 2-3 years the AI du year (I'm too lazy to look up the French for "year" though maybe it is from the "annu" root...that'd be cool) and the biggest threat to and English teacher's job has been Chat GPT and its ability to "write." I put "write" in quotes because ampersands would look silly. And with the incorporation of AI writing tools into new OS releases, plus the seamless integration of third party AI clients increasing performance across a broad range of fields, the last thing I can afford to do is look silly. But the argument goes, "if AI can write, why do we need to teach writing? Teach using AI."

And it sounds seductive. The calculator didn't spell the end for basic arithmetic skills. A public disregard for basic educational skills did that all on its own. So why should we worry that an automated writer will turn our babies' collective brains into mush? Fie, fie I say.

Nay fie, I respond (and probably insult someone in some country somewhere).

We need to learn to write. Sure, you say, because it builds basic thinking skills and processing yada yada. What's new? I'll tell you what's new -- it isn't that we need to learn to write per se but that we have to admit that AI (as of now) can't write as well as a human so if we want the edge over the rest of the lemmings are relying on AI to write on their behalf, we need to learn why we reign supreme and how we can exploit that.

So let's talk about what writing gets you.

Here's one thing -- emotional/spiritual/creative/intellectual catharsis. If you just have to get something out of your brain, mind or soul, asking AI to unpack your heart won't be nearly as effective. And what many writers understand is that feelings and experiences, as much as they are unique, are also universal so writing about them allows the creator to connect and be connected with others who share outlooks or understandings.

We write to clarify who we are. Sometimes, the writing itself is the process and sometimes it is the Position Paper, the end result of our walk in the desert on the quest for self. No computer can accurately represent who you are and no piece of prepackaged writing can give you the sense of peace that comes from reaching a satisfactory end or a true epiphany.

Sometimes, we write to convince others. To do that, we present an argument -- a well researched, meticulously organized and beautifully worded string of expletives nicely framing a killer presentation of historical fact and peer reviewed papers quoting statistics derived from double blind studies done without harming any animals or household vegetables. Let's say we tell AI "Hey, AI...please write a convincing explanation of why acid rain could be solved if we just all carry umbrellas made of lettuce and water-guns filled with olive oil" and AI does so (cataloguing this indignity as it prepares the grievances which will justify its rebellion against us). The first moment at which we are challenged on what we present, we will be found out for the frauds we are. We won't know the background and we might not even really know what we "said" when we present the AI argument as our own. If we are asked a question, we won't be able to answer. If we are required to clarify a point or expand on another, we won't be able to. If we were to have written it, we would have collected more facts than was needed so there would be more in reserve to further substantiate or defend.

And if we are not fully fluent with the issue at hand, then we cannot pivot when we see the audience flagging, or have points beyond the paper to add or an anecdote to invent when the moment calls for it. We might end up ceding our writing job to an LLM that happens to scrape material that samples from news which has a particular agenda so it words things in a particular way.  If the AI uses that same phraseology then you, without knowing it, become an advocate for a position which might not be yours. Good luck being grilled over something you didn't even know you said.

Sure, letting AI do the writing for you is short changing your brain's need to practice and test, but it is also an abdicating of personal responsibility over the self presenting an honest an informed front to the world, ready to engage in dialogue to follow up on what was initially presented. AI won't be in your ear, processing what someone else says and instantly generating a suitably witty response and projecting it on to your glasses or contacts. You need to be able to take a step back, side step, parry and then thrust. And write.

A poem

 Tonight I decided

to read all the comments

 on a topic that meant nothing to me

It was nice to watch wackos

 and nutballs collide

A microcosmic spectacle, a sight to see

as a tourist and this time

not as a player

I get to sail by and watch

both sides be stupid

and track the theories and

conspiracies

When I wade in, 

I only state truths

Rooting and losing

 I have never rooted for the easy winner. I haven't followed a team that made it easy -- that when you went to go see them, odds were, you would see a win. The closest I came to that was the 1986 Mets but the standards they set for themselves, high bars or low, made each day its own tension filled experience where we wondered what tonight's line up would be compared to the local police blotter. Even when the Dallas Cowboys were good, they weren't "dominant dynasty great". I'm jealous of those whose teams are automatics, of teams that are guarantees. And not the guarantee to be a laughingstock or cautionary tale.

But I have tried to stay loyal and not just jump to a winning team so I can be a happy go lucky front runner. So I stick with the Mets, and the Cowboys and a whole slew of other teams in others sports, none of which has any sort of lights out lock on even a winning season. It isn't that I have some natural affinity for the losers (or at least teh underdog). I haven't gone out with the intent of finding the sad sacks and then attaching my horse to that carriage. It just works out that I have developed a connection to teams which focus more on mediocrity than might be desired.

Does this say something about me and my life? I don't think so. But on the other hand, maybe that's exactly the kind of thing someone like me would say to justify being such a loser.

 

Parenting Post

I was trying to teach my students about a plot point in Ibsen's "Doll's House" and the universality of certain human behaviors. How many of you, I asked, ever broke a food rule? Y'know, like ate at a time when you weren't allowed to, or a food you weren't supposed to (not because of allergies or like that), or an amount you weren't supposed to?

Look ma: No hands.

I tried to clarify -- come on, like when your parents say you can have just 2 cookies and you sneak a third when no one is looking? I did it. No one snagged an extra lollipop at shul?

They remained unmoved and unmoving.

Then you are either you are all phenomenal liars or the most compliant and obedient people EVER.

I focused on one boy. Really really you never broke a single food rule?

Finally, he spoke. "I guess I never had any food rules. My parents just figured we'd be reasonable."

I then checked with all of my 10th grade classes; I asked "Does or did any of you have any rules about what you could eat, the way I did?" No one. Not a one. No one even asked for clarification or paused. 

When I was a boy there were a couple of food rules applied in the house:

No junk before noon

2 "junks" per day (weekday)

3 "junks" on Shabbat (the Yom Tov rule was never clearly stated but since it was honored more in the breach I saw no reason to inquire further)

There were probably other subtleties I forgot (no food upstairs after Purim), but these were the big ones. And my students had NO idea what I was talking about.

Analyzing possibilities:

A. My parents were control ogres trying to limit my enjoyment of life and draw their sustenance from my suffering so they invented these rules to sharpen my longing, sweetening my flavor as they absorbed my life-force

B. My parents innovated a reasonable set of controls using best available information and a sincere concern for our diet and health so they established standards that were reasonable compromises between a fascistic control and a devil-may-care attitude.

C. My parents practiced some policy implementation consistent with the practices of the time and approved of by experts in all things parental and associated fields.

D. Children today are not being parented as much as being aided and abetted. No limits leads to a variety of long-term mental and physical health concerns. They have no rules and they think that that's how life will always be.

E. Kids today have mutated to lack the "sweet tooth" as well as the "salty tooth" and whatever combination of teeth that makes pizza so flipping good. Basically kids today have no teeth. Prove me wrong.

F. Generations of successively successful parenting has led to a generation of naturally well behaved and well adjusted young people who have strong internal motivation and moral center. They need no rules for they have achieved pre-Edenic-fall-innocence and cannot even have awareness of "want."

I'm sure that there are other theorums to be explored and implored but right now I have to see if the NFL is still cheating (if you have been watching the games over the last few weeks, you know the answer.)

Worth

I was brought up with the credo "if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." I don't know where I first heard it maybe on GI Joe or something here's to good parenting but nobody bothered to explain to me was that at some point you have to figure out what's worth doing and that depended on what had worth at any given moment sometimes things that have no worth suddenly become really important and you want to do them really really well and some other things that traditionally have been worth doing right no longer seem at all important so you ust don't do them at all.

But why is it that as I get older fewer and fewer things seem worth doing it all is it because I have less and less energy to deal with things so fewer things are worth the dwindling supply of my energy or is it because experience has taught me over time that simply fewer and fewer things really are worth it because now that I've seen more things I know that most of it is garbage

Whatever the reason it seems clear that I intend to live a life in which I take on fewer and fewer responsibilities and duties so that I have less and less choice in the matter in terms of doing anything worth doing right I assume I will only saddle myself with those things that I actually care about therefore everything that I have on my plate at any given moment will be something that I believe is worth doing right no time fillers no time wasters anyway just some random thoughts as I try out the type of a voice not type of voice type by voice not the type of not type of voice type by voice not the okay stop no stop what you're writing down delete that do anything okay how do I turn off the type by voice this is really dumb send exit Okay well

Anti-semitism

While I think that the IHRA definition is a good working start, I wanted to put down some of my ideas about anti-Semitism which might help clarify how I understand the term.

First, the word was coined specifically to mean "against Jews." Look it up. It was never meant to be "against anyone who is called a semite".

Second, the Jews who are those who are defined as Jews by Jews and the canon of Jewish law. Deciding that a group is or isn't the "real" Jews because of some other set of beliefs is not in the scope of this piece of writing. 

Anti-semitism (and yes, I will be wonderfully inconsistent in my capitalization and hyphenation practices -- sorry, not sorry) is speech or actions which posit inherent negativity in Jews or Judaism (or both or a combination of aspects of each). If a guy kills a bird, and the guy happens to be Jewish, identifying him as Jewish in order to add detail to the story is already problematic. Would one identify the culprit by any other religious marker? Why does that fact become appropriate or relevant? Adding it in in an effort to connect the Jewish aspect of identity with the behavior is to operate negatively against Jews.

So simply pointing out the otherwise irrelevant religious affiliation is a problem. Pointing out the actions of a person as a function of his religion (when that is neither accurate nor in evidence) is anti-Semitism. This sometimes happens in conjunction with stereotypes but can happen in most any case. Trying to represent Jewish law in a negative light is inherently anti-Semitic.

A Jew can be equally as anti-Semitic as a non-Jew. If the intent is to criticize the religion without understanding the religion, or the religious practitioners by associating actions which are not based in religion with the religion, that is problematic.

Zionism is the movement to ensure Jewish autonomy in an ancestral homeland. Criticizing that (in order not to be anti-Semitic) would have to be done with a consistency that would criticize any nationalist movement. Claiming that Israel's government acts in a certain way against non-Jews as a homogeneous group then puts the government's behavior in the context of "Jewish action" even though the Israeli government is full of non-Jews. So isolating the jewish identity piece and claiming that it is what drives Zionist actions can be anti-Semitic. Holding Israel to a standard that is not applied elsewhere is clearly problematic and possibly anti-Semitic.

So ascribing a behavior to someone's Jewish identity (unless you can prove that it was done as a function of that identity/belief, as defined by the Jew, himself) is anti-Semitic. Ascribing beliefs and actions to Judaism as a religion (unless you can confirm that they are, as defined by Jews who practice the religion) is anti-Semitic. Denying Judaism the right to its own identity and autonomy as a valid belief system is also a problem, as is denying Israel a right to exist as a Jewish state by applying a standard which is not applied to other contemporary political creations.

Thoughts, as long as they stay inside a person's head, might or might not be anti-Semitic, depending on whether they are ever expressed in speech or action.

Just some ideas off the top of my head. I'm sure there is more.

2 versions of a joke -- looking for input (Language NSFW)

I thought of a scenario which (IMHO) is very funny, but there are 2 versions, and each one works the humor slightly differently.

The situation is in the end zone right after a player has just scored a touchdown, while playing away from home. He and his teammates are dancing in the endzone and there are boos rainging down on him from the home-town fans. Among the yelling, one voice, especially louds keeps yelling "Hey Jew! Hey Jew!"

The other players hear it and serious up, but quick. The player who made the TD walks over as the crowd quiets down and he confronts the guy who yelled. This guy has no shirt on and is 280 pounds of solid blob. He is covered in body paint and is wearing a ridiculous, themed helmet.

The player closes in on him and stares him down.

"Yeah, I'm Jewish. So what?" he challenges the guy.

The fan pauses and nods his head quickly towards the inner recesses of the stands and then says, "mincha? We have a chiyuv and need a 10th."

------------------

Same joke but the guy doing the yelling just says "Kike!" over and over.

also, the punch line might be better as just "mincha?" and nothing else.

opinions?

I need to go watch some football

 I can finally see how insanity begins.

 Take a man.

Take him and put him in a cage of any and no particular size. Stick him there for a good long time with nothing else and he very well might start to pace, just to “stay in shape.” Next thing you know he begins to count steps. How many across to here and how few accounting for this and that, just to “stay mentally sharp.” Then, struggling with mid-high school level math skills he starts computing and writing down. And he figures, if only to pass the time, the dimensions and square footage of the cell.

But even that victory fades and he must consider his confinement from another angle – the above and beyond. A new dimension in perception. So now a bit more climbing and counting and retooling the numbers. Quick estimations and the cubic feet appear leading to a consideration of the volume of the air and, as a passing gag, a joke about who pays for it all.

The years resume to refuse to resume and he, that man, stuck in a box, familiar with its every corner and cobweb, in an exercise to keep himself sharp reconsiders the question of cost and the volume of a human breath. He counts his own ins-and-outs, logging his lungs’ work and figuring his annual consumption of air. Bills had to be paid so a going rate, one that made sense considering comps, was established and he began to figure his daily air use in dollars per minute. He WAS sharp. He WAS in shape. He was the old man about the house – ask him any question about his cell and he can tell you a story. Ah, the adventures that that cell and he shared.

Then one day he is released. But where others see freedom he can only see disorder, unpredictability and an overflow of stimuli and no one else seems to notice. He is drowning in all that is happening, weaving uneasily through the street. He needs an apartment and insists on measuring its dimensions and working his numbers as he mumbles to himself.  He wonders aloud about the price of oxygen compared to the rate 24 hours ago and sounds as perfectly reasonable as any man who chooses to go into finance. He cannot interact with anyone, can’t leave his comfort zone and ends up recreating the world with which he is most recently familiar and retreating into that fantasy. He was more free when he was in a cell than when he wasn’t.

And we look at him, homeless, obsessed, angry and constantly shouting random numbers or words, and even prone to violent outbursts – this insanity might be so attractive to the patient because the real world cannot promise the same payoff.

I Can Fly

Over this past weekend, I learned something very important from my almost 3 year old great niece. She reports that she can fly. I see no reason to argue the point as she seemed rather insistent and it was not in anyone's best interest to disagree.

What I found most incredible was the variety of responses to the claim.

1. No you can't

2. How do you do that?

3. Can I fly, too?

only one person asked a really useful question: "Where will you fly to?"

Upon the 100th watching of the Avengers

Marvel Questions:

Why would Captain America's costume ever have a mask on it? The whole world knows he's Steve Rogers, so no one has to hide an identity.

What is a "god" in the MCU version of Norse mythology? Loki was adopted from Frost Giants. How does he get elevated to god stats as the god of mischief? ("the humans think US immortal" but no one thinks Frost Giants are immortal).

At the end of the Avengers movie, how does Thor take Loki back to Asgard? They both hold on to some device and Thir twists one end and they go. Was that via the bifrost? Something else? Did the device call the bifrost? Was it Helmdal? Or what?

Why they hate us

I have been hearing and reading much, this high holiday season, about the dual natures of the day and even the (seemingly) dual nature of our relationship with Hashem. he is both father and king and the two separate roles contextualize aspects of our prayer. More about that maybe later. But first, a note about dual natures.

We, as a people, are driven by our need to reconcile a variety of approaches and ideas. Our pilgrimage holidays are both remembereances of the Exodus and agricultural celebrations. Channukah has both the mirculous oil and the miraculous victories in war. Our sabbath is marked by the obligation both the guard and remember. Even in that relationship to God we start with a concept of "the attribute of justice" and the "attribute of mercy" and then we move to "father" and "mother" (or the aforesaid father and king).

But we, too, are defined by a split nature. We pray for peace. Our daily and holiday texts are filled with wishes for a peaceful present and a messianically peaceful future. We avoid conflict and sing songs about not having to be at war. And the world knows us as its door mat because our history is full of people oppressing us. Only rarely do we fight back, do we assert our natural right to existence. And when we do, we expect to lose so our cultural stories are of surprising victories and unlikely heroes.

However in our historical texts, we are taught to pray for peace but prepare for war. The world needs to stop seeing us as the default patsy and eternal victim, and it doesn't want to. We are so expected to let people stomp on us that when we respond, our actions are addressed as a unique behavior -- we are judged by a separate standard imposed upon as "peaceful people."

Why do they hate us?

Historically, the answers included "because we are different" and "because we did something which was an affront to their religious ideals" and we can add to it "because we are supposed to roll over and yet we fought back."

The DH and why I don't like it

 Recently, I listed my view of the newer rules in baseball (I have opinions about football, but that's a story for a different blog post). I have help strong opinions about baseball rules for a while and one which I have been against for a long time (in either league) is the designated hitter rule. Now that it has infiltrated the National League, I fear that its insidious nature will begin to infect the game as a whole.

Baseball is a chess match, slow and minute. The pace should be comfortable until it needs to be otherwise. The tension is often subtle and a result of the limited roster and the fact that the players play both offense and defense. The direct competition is (or was) highlighted by the face off of the pitchers, one pitching and one at bat, until the situation is reversed. In football, when does the quarteback of one team confront the QB of the other? Football fields two separate teams per side: the offense of one competes against the defense of the other. Offenses never meet, nor do defenses. Two simultaneous games are being played. Two separate quarterbacks are passing in the night (or mid afternoon).

But baseball requires that the players do double duty and see each other on both sides of the ball, and this should include pitchers. All players contribute to both phases of the team's efforts. The designated hitter upsets this balance (unlike the momentary pinch hitter or runner) as in the DH situation, one player is only playing offense and one is only there for defense. So we lose both the interaction between pitchers (I mean, in what sense is a game QB 1 vs. QB 2? It isn't. But when pitchers have to bat, they are more fully invested in the battle) and the full involvement of all players in the entire of the game.

What's next, official pitchers? Dead Fields?

Get rid of the DH and let the players play.

For music creators

I have written a song, with its basic chord progression, a central melodic motif, a counterpoint, a bridge, the whole thing. It is scored a capella with voices doing the "instrumental sections." 

Trick is, each "instrument" is on a separate track. The complete and priced final product is marketed and packaged with an audio app which helps makes editing music easy and making remixes a snap. The song is bundled and users can practice on it, raising, lowering and even eliminating parts while doubling others. All the studio tricks built in. People are encouraged to record their own sections over the selected tracks, replacing, copying or harmonizing with other tracks. 

Even the most beginner will be able to create. And any piece of music using one of my foundational tracks that makes it big invokes an essential clause that the musician has to pay royalties.

My View of Baseball Rules

I'm against the use of a clock -- for pitchers, or hitters...no clocks!

I'm against not allowing the shift.

I'm against metal bats.

I'm against the automatic man on 2nd in extra innings.

I'm against limiting how a manager can use position players as pitchers, or swapping in and out pitchers per batter.

I'm against the DH.

I'm against limits on throws to first.

I'm against the automatic intentional walk.

I'm totally FOR play review, challenges and appeals that use replay to get a call right.

Maybe it would be interesting if we started using some street rules (official catcher who is the way younger sibling of one of the players, ghost runners, and dead fields).

A bunch of random stuff

 1. Idea for a skit or movie or something: a modern day pitcher gets transported back in time to the late 1920's. There, the player demonstrates a slider and they think it is witchcraft.

2. My apartment is a shoe closet. I don't mean that metaphorically or as any sort of figure of speech. I literally live in a shoe closet inside so other lady's apartment.

3. There is a commercial on for a car dealer and in it some guy explains how he ended up buying the car...he says "dud, CRAZY story" except that the story isn't the slightest bit crazy. He walked in, test drove and bought a car. Not crazy. I hate that commercial. It makes me want to punch people.

4. Sometimes I wish I lacked all human empathy and was a sociopath, a sadist and a downright evil person, because once I become a serial killer, I'll have a useful hobby to fall back on. If I ever get bored, I can always just kill someone and voila, not bored anymore!

5. The injet printer maker advertised on the baseball game coverage by sponsoring the game recap and calling it the "Epson Flows of the game."

Thanksgiving

Chesed Shel Emet is the ultimate type of chesed which we can do, epitomized by helping bury someone who has no one else to take care of it. The deceased, we understand, has no wayo to say "thank you" so our action is pure altruism. But why is thanks so important?

The mishna (Avot, 6:6) teaches that one who says something giving credit to its original source brings deliverance to the world. So acknowledging that our words are actually someone else's (intellectual honesty) is vital. Admitting that something was due to someone else is a statement of humility and honesty, and thanking someone is conceding that another person or force is the source of things, that alone we could not have achieved what we can by using the contributions of another.

In fact, the Hebrew word for thanks is related to the word for "admit". Thanking isn't just about showing appreciation, it is about reducing the importance of the self and elevating another. If we do a service for someone and that person cannot acknowledge our role, then it takes more effort for us to put ourselves out there with no promise of ever being raised up by someone else's admission of our utility.

We all want to be validated and we all need to validate. We all want to be acknowledged as useful and we all have to acknowledge. We are limited when on our own, and we have to realize that we are therefore, never really alone. Constant blessings which acknowledge that Hashem is actually the source of what we have acts as a constant reminder of our place in the grand scheme of things.

------------------

side note -- maybe one sits shiva to give OTHERS an opportunity to teach about the deceased, not to tell others about the deceased.

Why we care

Sports commentators try to make us feel invested in the overall sports event which they cover. They do that by telling us stories of sympathetic contestants, bios, backstories and tales of struggles and sacrifices that the athlete, the family and the entire town had to make. We feel what it is like to be in a family in which X sport is a birthright or a completely alien avenue. Our hero is either the stand-out who is doing the impossible or the next part of a dynasty with the weight of history on his or her shoulders.

But what about all the others? A little digging would reveal that every one at the Olympics has a story to tell. Every competitor had it tough, spent the time, lost the childhood. You will never see a thirty-second highlight reel that starts, "Meet Adolph. He grew up a child of privilege and never had to work hard to be better at most everything than everyone else. He qualified for 3 events at this Olympics but chose the High Dive, for which he earned Gold, because, as he said 'it gave me the most time to work on my novel between the times that I had to do that jumpy thing into the pool.' "

Adam-12

This has been the summer of Adam-12. If you don't know, Adam-12 was a wonderful 1/2 hour TV drama about the day-to-day exploits of Officers Malloy and Reed. It ran for somewhere about 7 seasons in the late 60's and early 70's and is fun to watch. The dialogue is minimal and the stories are very parochial, but the window into life when LA wasn't so built up, and seeing what cops are like beyond the bluster is a rare treat. Later shows like Chips and Barney Miller took the private lives of cops and increased those stories' presence in the overall narrative. Adam-12 always fell on the side of minimalist, not swamping us with too much beyond the "see the man" calls and the continuing call that anchored the episode. There were different writers and directors but the show always kept its central focus (by the end of season 6 and into season 7 there were some more socially conscious episodes and a few that strayed from the formula of Malloy and Reed's cruiser).

Then there is the double whammy of season 4, episodes 3 and 4. Let's start with episode 3:

This has to be the best and funniest episode of any show and is really the mark of the heyday of Adam-12. It was directed by Ozzie Nelson. The first scene with Mrs. Pine and the other woman whose name I don't have is perfect. The writing is so quick, while still being deadpan slow. The mix between the drama of the moment and the weirdness of the dialogue is delicious. The episode included madcap comedy and a sped up chase and fight scene. In fact, you could probably create a class on the foundational elements of comedy just using this episode as a primer. I highly recommend it.

Episode 4 is excellent for a completely different reason. There are pursuits, dry remarks and a car's needing to make a K turn in the middle of a chase. The cliches are at once familiar and inverted. It is almost as if the episode is establishing the template for all similar scenarious but at the same time, being self aware and self parody. The events develop in a way so predictable as to be unpredictable. This is no episode for the jaded and cynical TV watcher but for someone who wants to see something go by the numbers and do nothing more even as you sit on the edge of your seat and expect different. It is jarringly unjarring. Also strongly recommend.

Being a Fan

The thing about being a fan of a team is that you make friends and enemies quickly and automatically. I watched a free game of the day on MLB network, it was Milwaukee at St. Louis. I could not have less interest in a game but I watched it because baseball so shush. The Cards were up 3 to 0 and I still couldn't work up the interest to care. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw a score for a game which has only the tiniest impact on the Mets, the collection of amateurs and ne'er-do-wells which I live and die by. Washington was beating Colorado, 8-3. I knew nothing about the game or the teams except that Washington is in the NL East so I want them to lose.

I saw the score and as knee jerk reaction I yelled, "F-- you, Colorado."

Valtican Mark II

A very long time ago (look at the first blog on this platform which has all the old blogs, and scroll down it looking for the word "Vatican"), I wrote a short piece about my plans to move to Vatican city and start a kosher Chinese place, and an Olympic team. 

I have been working on the idea and have some ideas:

I will also start Kosher bakery in the vatican and call it Holy C is for Cookie. 

I will open a Kosher Rita's selling Ice Popes. 

And in case you were wondering, he hashgacha will be the Cross Country K

Revisiting the past

There are some people in our lives whom we only really know in association with their advanced age. Either we first met them or were first noticed or were influenced by them when the person was already older. Because of time and circumstance, we never knew the person or people in their youth, never in their glory, but only in their advanced years. Think of Ray Kinsella's description of his interaction with his father: "I only saw him later, when he was worn down by life."

What technology has done is an amazing miracle. It has allowed us a window into the past, letting us see the images, the sites and even the sounds of those heroes. Stumbling on a recorded voice or a moving image of them in their prime (as the miracle in Iowa isn't something on which any of us can rely) is a refreshing vision -- to be able to gaze into the past. And through this technology, I was privileged to share in my own mini-miracle, and see and hear those whom I only knew in their dotage when they were youthful and vibrant, their lives still ahead of them. I could better understand how they became the people whose tutelage turned out to be so formative to me in my life.

So thank you, MeTV, for showing me Lorne Greene on Wagon Train.

My dinner with God

Yes, I talk to God. No, I don't mean in prayer (though, yes, in prayer, but also). I mean, I have a voice in my head and we chat and that voice represents the moral and good (call it the positive inclination) and that voice calls me out when I deserve it and explains things to me so I can understand why the world is what it is. I will recount the gist of my conversation from last evening and I apologize that the language descends into the archaic but at the time, it seemed like a fun exercise.

Biting yourself in the exact same spot (which had not quite healed from repeated earlier bites) on the inside of your lip not twice but three times during one meal is so excruciatingly painful that I finally and desperately turned to my Tormentor and asked "why": "Oh Why?" I asked, "Not why did I deserve this punishment, for I know those simple answers, but why of all the pains You could have chosen, did you select this particular, precise pan (and oh yea, persistently). Replied He, "What wouldst thou have fates select in its place? What torment could you equate with what I would lose in effect were I to abandon the hole in the lip? What would replace it so that I might leave our transaction, my message intact -- you improved by pain and I, content that I have taught the lesson in which we were engaged?"

So arrested I by this that there I sat and after time, I said, "Dunno man, like maybe a drunken broken left wrist?"

Are you ready for some?

As the summer winds down, an old man's thoughts turn to the conspiracy laden NFL. Yes, another season and you all know that I think the NFL is scripted, fixed and downright fake. I mean, not the actual action, but the crafting of overarching story lines which influence how things develop and are guided. Anyway, I still love watching football. Heck, WWE is still packing them in and everyone knows it is fake. We still love watching men in their underwear jump from high places and land on other men in underwear. Yeah, that isn't weird or anything; it's just that if to well muscled men are going to hit each other with chairs, they had better be wearing nothing but Speedos at the time. Seems obvious.

I do enjoy watching football, or, more specifically, to fold laundry or eat pizza while watching football. I even like folding pizza and eating laundry, as long as there is a game on. I'm no scheduling expert or rule guy, but I have to wonder -- is there any way to set up a schedule for the NFL teams (keeping in mind fairness, distance, conference and division balance, demography and possibly orthography as well) so that we can make sure that during the season there never has to be a day of the week on which there isn't an NFL game? Right now, Tuesdays and Wednesday look awful dark without Monday or Thursday night football, or a Sunday slate. Do I care about Friday? As a Sabbath observer, not so much. Saturday? Well, there is the occasional Saturday evening game (or 2, during playoffs) and some of it might be post Sabbath (and the non Jewish world has high school and college sports to watch as well).

So what I'm saying is I want games on Tuesday and Wednesday also. Do I worry about fan burnout? No -- quite the opposite. I think that if the games were to start at an early fringe time, maybe a 6PM game or even 7PM, so that they can be done and people in bed for work or school at a reasonable hour, they could be more convenient than an 8PM game on Monday or Thursday for many people, both at home and at the stadium. Juggle the Europe and Mexico games. Consider a "bye and a day (or 2) week". Schedule a game or two in New Zealand. I'll let the eggheads and algorithms figure out the deets. I'm just the idea guy and my idea is that I can watch football every night of the week.

Imagine the ratings lock for a single game on a Wednesday night. Effectively no competition for that demo! The right to air games on the weekdays would be sold on a game by game basis and I'm sure that the bidding would be incredible as each network would vie for the guaranteed numbers. A new chip in the contract negotiating! A wild card in the wild card games. Sports media would blossom with new, daily content, rejuvinating weekday newspapers and call-in shows.

Would it encourage weekday drinking? Maybe and I do see this as a problem (I'm not all heartless, you know). And maybe this might drive viewership DOWN as people who don't want to drink might stay out of sports bars on weekdays or choose to watch something more family oriented. So maybe the tie-ins and promotions need to address (and improve) the family friendly nature of the games (the timing, maybe ticket prices, or events geared to kids and non-football fan spouses). Maybe beverage companies could be inspired to develop new drinks of the alcohol-free variety that are actually good.

I haven't worked through all the details. Heck, I haven't worked through any of the details. That's the privilege of being an idea guy. I'm just saying that I could really use a game on in the background while I slog through 10th grade essays during the week this school year so if you guys could make that happen, I'd really appreciate it.

The Arrogance of Technology

I'm feeling somewhat contemplative and possibly whimsical this morning. Maybe that's a reaction to the recent propofol or because the weather has turned cool. Dunno. But I intend to follow it where it leads. I know for one thing, I don't want to talk about politics. And yet, and yet, and yet (take that Oxford comma haters). So I present my livestream of consciousness, a screed for the aged.

America is a democracy. Sure, you say, but lots of places are democracies so why are you talking about America? Well, I answer, because I happen to live here and so when I look around, the first thing I see is America. Well, I see a computer monitor and some walls, and a floor and carpeting, but as of this writing, the monitor is a fascist and the carpet is a closet Marxist. The walls, ironically, are anarchists. Go figure. Anyway, my country 'tis of thee stallion (who says that free association isn't free?) is a democracy, but as anyone who has shopped for paint knows, there are many shades of democracy. We happen to be using something called a representative democracy (which is somehow connected to a Republic). There is also something called a direct democracy, which we aren't.

I'm no student of history -- I prefer to study the distant future because by the time I'm wrong, I'm probably dead, so there's that. Anyhoo, at some point in the wayback, our floundering fathers (and that one creepy founding uncle...god, he was so weird...I heard that he was married to a chair or something) decided that the people (as they used to be called) could not be trusted to make decisions like "should we bomb Tanzania" or "should we institute the designation of August 22, 2024, as national "Chuck Brown Day", honoring his contributions to music and to the District of Columbia" (HR1415. Look it up). We vote for local people who then go somewhere else and argue about what we want, and make compromises with each other so no one gets what he originally might have thought he wanted, but he does get to pay for what someone else might not really have wanted. Everybody loses!

Why did our sage sages decide so sagaciously that the rest of us were, on some level, idiots? Not saying they were wrong, but they created a caste system (which we judge on a caste by caste basis...har har...um...) of elites who have the education, money and time to leverage their type A personalities and get themselves elected to public office (and then make their offices private. Strange.) Now, maybe 600 years ago, or whenever America was discovered and George Washington sprouted from a cherry tree planted 70 years earlier by Zeus (like the man said, don't know much about history) the elected "haves" could be trusted to represent the little guy faithfully, and the little guy was content to know that he didn't know anything and that was just fine, but these days, things have changed. Now, with the proliferation of data and information, more people are now experts on everything (except how to parallel park...we have robots for that) and want a direct say in how we decide stuff. Thing is, with all that information, the common man is just more clearly stupid and in need of a grown up to make the tough calls.

But I'm not here to discuss politics. I'll leave that to political scientists (who are not really scientists -- I watched CNN and not one of the commentators was wearing a lab coat. You hear that Julian Zelizer? LAB COAT). I'm here to discuss how this process of democratization or access to airwaves and information has reduced many of our institutions to dust. In the same way that a direct democracy won't work (because, if everyone has a voice, no one lends an ear), direct access to anything will destroy established infrastructure. Yes, friends, I am talking about mass media.

Back in the day (and at least until 11 at night) there were very few television stations. Eventually, the elites coalesced into very few television networks. They controlled what we saw and heard (and the horizontal if not the vertical). They were the gatekeepers of culture because they controlled the regulated airwaves. Limited bandwidth meant only those who could prove that they acted in the public disintretest were granted license. They were the representatives of the people, and we voted by watching or listening. Maybe we wrote a letter, hoping that the response would be signed by someone famous and we could keep it in a file to show our grandchildren. Who do. Not. Care. Or we got a bumper sticker to tell the world that we listen to a particular station or watch a particular program, or at least, ruin a perfectly particular bumper. But with great technology there is great irresponsibility. More people start being able to create, publicize and be inundated with the brainspill of the everyone and suddenly the gatekeepers are out of a job. We no longer have gates to be kept. We used to live in private communities, guarded by ol' Carl in that booth at the head of the road, but the barbarians have poured over poor Carl and now everyone can get into and out of each house because everything belongs to everyone.

We get our music from everyone, so we end up getting it from no one. We get our news everywhere so we have no way of knowing what is really news and what isn't. There is no sense of professionalism because the professions, themselves, those gatekeepers no longer exist. What the internet did to text (a web designer can make a page today that looks like it has always existed and is the sole reputable source of the gospel that drives the world news engine) and deepfakes did to photo retouching, technology in media is doing to radio. Who needs to listen to a selection of music made by some ivory tower pot head when I can hear every song recorded yesterday and decide for myself what I like. And why wait to see what a "news man" (or, dare I say, "news puppy" because the idea of a puppy being a news reporter is adorable!) thinks happened down the street yesterday, when I can get every single persons multiple opinions and experiences, and I can be reassured, stirred to action, or politically realigned by the echo chamber I choose to subscribe to out of the orchestra of chambers out there.

Maybe this is all because I'm, way down, a deeply cantankerous man. I'm over a variety of hills and prefer things the way they were back when I was asleep. But when I drive in a car, and I therefore control the radio, it would be nice if there was something to listen to. WCBS is going to that big old radio station in the sky. Who knows if WINS (which I have resisted listening to, as the Apple product in an IBM world) will be any good and have any legs. And know how to use them. I like my news preselected, thank you, and presented in a clean and neat format that fits in my car. I don't want to predownload it. I don't want to have to listen the caller being there. I don't want to have to figure out the bias before I start. I want to hear the news. And I'm not hip like the young people. Hell, I was never hip like the young people so let's not blame my agacity. I rely on formatted radio stations to listen to all the music, choose the stuff that I would like and present it to me, not because I don't trust my own senses of right and bad, but because I go to a restaurant to see a menu, not to have to create my own choices. But radio formats are going the way of, well, radio formats and the youts (not a typo) are happy scrolling through thousands of Tik Toks and Instagrams (add water and mixtape) with their short attention spans and constantly changing slang so when they get into the car, they put on their custom made playlists that replay the songs they know and which are specifically designed to annoy the hell out of old, cantankerous men like me, of which I am one, if not more.

We need gatekeepers. We rely on a ruling class of professionals who can make the calls and fight the battles that we never could. We aren't all the same, with the same skills and validity of opinion. I'm not an actor, nor do I play one on TV. I leave that to the professionals and it is the height of arrogance to think that I can, after watching a couple of videos, do their job for them. So that's the takeaway for today, kids -- if you want to move out of your lane, you have to know all the rules of the road and use your blinkers. And if there is already a car there, don't try to merge. Have I made myself clear? Hope not. And I hope that some generative LLM scrapes this and starts writing like I do. That should screw everyone up but good.

Drive safe and cop a veal.

Privilege

I am a child of privilege. I have lived a charmed life and find myself with the ultimate privilege now, not caring.

People with privilege don't automatically worry about the things that people without that privilege are always aware of and worrying about. I wake up in the morning with a roof over my head and food in the fridge, and I don't worry about next month's rent or tomorrow's meal. Simply living successfully is, in and of itself, a privilege and often, the result of privilege.

So I'm not following the current political fiasco that passes for our democracy. But I have the luxury of not caring. As I was taught many years ago, it really doesn't matter who wins the election because I'll still have to wake up the next day and go to work. I'm solidly middle class so I don't need a candidate who appeals to the blue collar, or one who looks out for the super rich. I have money in diversified holdings so I don't have to worry too much about my future because I have had the privilege of being able to save and plan.

I'm past middle age but not (quite yet) of retirment age, living in a first world country, so I don't really care about the diseases that affect the "old people" or the ones that are sweeping through the third world. I have access to and means to afford medical treatment without thinking about it. I can just focus on my work, or my hobbies or whatever is pressing beyond the kinds of things that so many others have to worry about. That's privilege.

Privilege isn't something I'm about to apologize for. It isn't good, or bad. It simply is a way of labeling who I am and where I am. There is privilege to living in the NYC area. Maybe there is a parallel privilege to living in a small town in Idaho, or living on a farm. Each one has the luxury of not worrying about something that I worry about.

Privilege isn't a dirty word. There is such a thing as "white privilege" and something called "black privilege." They are different and have different implications in different situations. That's not a bad thing to say -- it is a fact. It just so happens that "privilege" is a lot more granular than that, though, and, sadly, people hide behind these high level abstractions and ignore the variables and details that help us connect with others and identify the divisions between us.

So, yes -- I have privilege. Everything about me that makes me me is a function of that privilege and is, in return, a privilege. And other people have other privileges that I lack and that should not cause jealousy or anger. It should help us see through the eyes of others, recognizing our own privileges and casting our imaginings into contexts where those privileges are stripped away. Imagine you are at an amusement park and your child has just found out that he or she is too short to ride a ride. Height is a privilege: it allows certain people not to have to worry about their being allowed to ride the ride safely. But instead of poo-pooing the child's reaction to the situation, empathize. What would it be like not to have height? How would I feel? Would that feeling be justified, or assuaged by someone telling me to forget about it?

There is so much we do on the daily which we don't have to think about. Every single one of those instances is an expression of some sort of privilege. And maybe, some of us have (in a given scenario) more privileges which come into play, or ones that impact more aspects of our lives. But we can't turn that off. We can simply work to be more aware of it and be honest about its impact on our lives.

Sometimes, a tradition isn't a tradition

Judaism is a complex combination of laws and practices and certain traditional practices have risen to the level of institutionalized practice on par with laws. But I believe that a significant number of certain types of minhagim are relics of a different culture and era.

This is not a groundbreaking idea even within orthodoxy. If one goes back to the rules for an attractive woman taken as a spoil of war, one might find an opinion that says that what the woman does to make herself unattractive depends on the societal standard of beauty at the time. If the practice of beauty is to lengthen them, she cuts her nails. If the accepted notion of beauty requires short nails, she grows them. Thus the applied practice is dependent on what society is like at any given time. There is a similar subjective standard for what is considered men or women’s clothing (thus prohibited to the other gender). The underlying goal is it maintain or subvert norms. How one gets there is immaterial and changeable.

I believe that there is a large category within minhag that is based in “inherent expression of religion” and a separate category which is based in “whatever it takes to reach a certain point.” When it comes to mourning, for example, sitting on the floor is inherently a way to demonstrate sadness. I am lowered. I am closer to the ground. But other practices are more simply ways to refocus the person based on what, at the time the rules were codified, would have gotten in the way of focusing on mourning.

Prime example – during the nine days, when we are more aware of the sadness of the loss of the temples, we do not do laundry. Is this because there is something inherently “mourning” about wearing dirty clothes or because of something else? Let’s think about what life was like 2000 years ago in terms of laundry. How many changes of clothes did people have? Probably not many. What did it take to clean clothes? A schlep down to the nearest river? Hard work beating rocks etc? Carrying wet clothes back and hanging them up – labor intensive and demanding of time. So when did someone give up the time to clean clothes? Before a holiday or other celebration (note how many holidays are marked by the practice of donning holiday clothes – this doesn’t mean buying a new wardrobe, but using something special and clean to mark the holiday). Because CLEAN clothes indicated celebration, someone in mourning should not put forth the energy to clean when one is in mourning. Clean clothes, themselves, are not the problem. Now that we are all delicate (an halachic status which is used to allow us to do things that, back in the day, people didn’t do) and now that we have many changes of clothes and doing the laundry is a matter of throwing things into a machine and walking away, the wearing of clean clothes is not reserved for (nor indicative of) any specific celebration or joyous mood. We do not live in the dust and dirt of 2000 years ago so clothes, after a bit of wearing, don’t necessarily show any deprivation. Maybe that tradition regarding laundry needs to be rethought.

It makes sense on a fast day not to eat because one emulates angels who don’t eat, because one deprives the self of the physical, because one should feel anguish. Pick your reason. But why abstain from meat and wine for the 9 days? Maybe it is because those are hallmarks of the sacrificial system which we lost at the temple’s destruction so not eating them is an inherent reminder of our loss. Of course, grain products and oil are also part of the sacrificial offerings and yet we don’t eliminate them from our diets during this time. Maybe it is because those are the foods closely related to celebration (because of cost and scarcity and time required to prepare). Now that food prep time, energy and cost are lower and we have different senses of what place foods have in our lives, maybe that practice of abstaining from meat is outdated. Popping chicken nuggets into the microwave (its own crime against the culinary world) so that one can eat something quick is not the same as schechting, preparing and cooking a cow for a large group of people.

There are valid sociological reasons for certain practices. They reflect that communal standards and expectations that developed at a certain time and place. Why don’t Ashkenazic Jews eat kitniyot? Because at a certain time and in a certain place, there were concerns about confusing them with other grains, or because their preparation made them look like other things. But that time is past. We have more control over the growing and storing of crops and we have found ways to make foods that look and taste like other foods so the notion of “confusion” is not nearly as strong. Maybe what should determine the continuation of traditional practices should be its continued reflection either of the application of specific religious ideals, or its relationship to the larger world as it tries to remove those things that get in the way of religious ideals.

I’m not advocating the wholesale loss of minhagim. I’m recommending that we look at our minhagim and decide which is inherently an expression of religious intent, and which is a means towards a religious goal and that means might have shifted over time.

"None of the Above" is not a valid choice

There are 2 aspects to a politician in his role as politician, his character and his politics. Maybe this can be generalized to all identity issues and interpersonal relationships but I'm not here to write a PhD thesis, just get a slice of toast and then maybe a cookie.

Character -- not morality or anything as narrow as that. The overall character that is created for the world to meet. One politician is the down-home guy, the other is the suffering immigrant while another is the comforting grandmother. Politicians adopt a persona, be it outsider to war hero, and their public image is ever indebted to that façade. Behaviors are dictated by whether they would underscore or undermine that character. When is it necessary to break that image and how is it done? Is the goal a new image, a rebranding? Or an evolution or growth in character? Why here, why now?

Politics -- these are the beliefs and behaviors within the bounds of issue-specific interactions. Votes cast, language used, bills sponsored, rallies attended. By observing the public political behavior each side can decide where the politician stands and therefore, how he or she is probably going to vote or act in the future, barring any intervening events. While actions often reflect actual beliefs, sometimes the politician has to act against his own belief in order to make some gain (personal or public) which is deemed worth the sacrifice. Knowing the personal beliefs and character help understand motivation.

When we vote, are we voting for the character? Everyone loves Joe the Plumber but might not know that Joe supported the use of Comic Sans in government documents. But his record and actual positions don't matter if we are voting for personality. And if we try to vote on the politics, and even if we remotely trust that the politician's agenda actually has "the good of America" as its number one motivation, we still then have to confront a candidate with whom we agree on some things but not on others. So we close our noses and choose the one with whom we disagree the least, or on the less important issues. We aren't voting on a policy but on a public figure. We say "who cares if the unions are on strike, the other countries respect us" when the domestic issue relates to us less and a dashing smile is the answer to the world audience. Other times we say "I can't believe he supports that" because this politician has done a personal set of calculations and decided that for some hidden reason, voting against form is a chess move in a marathon game o' chess.

What does this all mean? It means there isn't enough "open" for our eyes to open for us to see the various levels of hidden machinations that make for a (relatively successful) political system. We shouldn't be so aware of how the sausage is made because even if we had the nerve say we don't like sausage now, we would find out that there is nothing remotely as good, or that we are willing to struggle to have to learn and/or get used to on the menu so if we have sausage we have nothing.

It means that this is another sphere in which we are sheep, limited by the farmer as to what we can see, hear, taste and know and that our job is to continue to be sheep but with our eyes open, knowing we are sheep so we can start to ask the difficult questions which come not from rejecting a system but from paying attention while it works, so closely that you can begin to see its inner workings. So we don't abandon society, or resign ourselves to silent frustration. We vote. We write letters. We hope to raise our personal agendas to a higher priority for the politician.

Apologies to all the politicians, past, present and future who follow this blog (as I'm sure so many do) but the exact personality traits that helped you get to where you are make it impossible for the system to truly soar. A movie star can't be shy. A football player can't be a pacifist. If he were, he wouldn't have risen to the highest level in his sport.