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Useful stuff I have learned, to pass on

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If you are out of touch with people for decades, in many cases, it’s for a reason. And that’s okay. I have rekindled a few friendships of old, but just a few. As I see it, we rekindled them because they were worth it to us.

Until you start analyzing what you are told with an eye toward why you were told it in that way, you’ll just be doing as you are told.

Doing a flawless job is not profitable, so you should not expect it from contractors. To get a flawless job, you have to learn enough to do it to your own exacting standards.

If the contractor doesn’t get back to you about a job you want done, it means that his other work is easier money for him. Whether he doesn’t know how to solve your problem, or just thinks it’s an unpleasant job, or has too much work, your job just is not very important to him. That’s okay. Find someone who wants the work.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, except when dealing with people.

Your home inspector will always miss something really important. That is just how it is.

We spend ridiculous amounts of time contending with dumb situations in our living spaces. Many involve electric outlets that are blocked or hard to reach, cables in the way, stuff that we keep bumping into, or some other irritant. Fix the damn things. Especially if it has to do with electrical access. Extensions cords and power strips are too inexpensive for their lack to impact your comfort.

If you don’t learn very basic biology, chemistry, and physics: your food will spoil, your cleaning fluids will react oddly, and your projects simply will not work. And you will not understand why.

It’s not your imagination, nor is it paranoia. In many cases, they (whoever they are) really are as stupid as they seem. Or as evil, depending on the situation.

When government appoints a ‘czar,’ don’t expect anything. (They don’t even know that the proper term is ‘tsar.’ Also, last time I looked in a history book, being the tsar didn’t end all that well.) Appointing a czar means that government really has no idea what to do, and doesn’t think much can be done, but needs to make a gesture that is meant to signify taking the issue seriously.

A lot of people believe that you can solve problems by making laws. Laws are only as effective as compliance and enforcement. To lawmakers, society is a board, laws are a nail, and they are a hammer–and they will never see any other path. I told you they really were that stupid.

Smarter people than you and I have figured out how to make money off everything. Someone is always making money. If you refrain from enjoying life because you can’t stand that, you will waste life.

You don’t have to be immune to crime, including police crime. You just have to be an unattractive target.

Democracy is an illusion. There has never been a society run by anyone but the powerful. Even when people made determined efforts, it soon reverted back to oligarchy. That doesn’t mean one shouldn’t be happy; it just means one should be realistic. One might hope for the powerful to be reasonable, less than totally greedy, and somewhat sensitive to the issues of those without power.

All revolutions replace the existing unpleasantness with a greater unpleasantness. That’s because the first people executed after a revolution are the idealists who truly believed, who must die so that the opportunists who smelled dominance and bandwagoned up can promptly pervert the entire cause they all supposedly fought for.

No for-profit entity behaves ethically for long except under the lash. The only reason our precious corporations are not currently in the sex slavery business is because they see no advantage in it. The only reason you are alive is because there is no corporation who thought your death was worth the risk and trouble. Ethics don’t factor, but expediency does.

If you find love, true love, give it all of yourself unto the grave. If it is not worth dying for, it is not true love.

If you are bright enough, you will eventually realize that much of your early education was designed for social control, not knowledge.

The greatest error males make is in fearing the rise of women’s strength. Women’s strength reaches out with affection and joy, if only the males will accept it and embrace it, and it would make their lives far better. Yet they decline.

This may explain why the enrollment at colleges is trending near 60% female. If that’s any guide, on a level academic playing field, they are brighter than we are. If we were smarter, we wouldn’t be afraid of equality.

The greatest error females make is giving away their power by caring too much that someone will say mean things to or about them. The woman who fully liberates herself just doesn’t give a fuck.

Most people, in the end, will follow and do as they are told.

Pay your debts and your bets, and no harm can come to you. There is no mercy upon a deadbeat or a welcher. If anyone ever has to remind you of a debt or a bet, and you feel no shame, I feel it on your behalf. And if you can’t bear that, do not borrow and do not bet.

Your influence with the young is in proportion to the degree that they believe you support and encourage them. The second they lose that faith, your influence is over. Thus, if you are old, always encourage the dreams of youth.

If you’re young, and have a dream, get your ass in gear soon. You will put up with things at your age, in pursuit of a dream, that you will not put up with at forty, so this is the time. You can’t really lose, long term. If you attain the dream, great. But even if you do not, in the process, you will learn great skills and have great stories to tell, so do it. Close this browser and go do it.

Not everyone has a story to tell; not everyone should write. I’ve read too much dull narcissism to think otherwise.

You can use Murphy’s Law to make your life better. For example, suppose you get in an accident. Sucks! Now, one of two things will tend to happen next. You will either pump up your coverage in some area–in which case you will turn out not to need it, and end up throwing away money–or you will not, and will likely soon get in another accident in which you wished you had the coverage. See how great this is? Wasting money is bad, but not nearly as bad as a crushed front end. I follow this principle in much of my life.

If there is a word you might dump from your active vocabulary, it is “should.” Most statements involving it are statements of idealism (laudable but unrealistic) or impotence (because what ‘they’ should do is immaterial, since they won’t). Better to deal in will and won’t, can and can’t, does and does not.

The trouble with conspiracy theories is that so many of them are so dumb that it obscures the real ones, since ‘conspiracy theorist’ has become a term of scorn. Truth: a few are valid, many are just stupid.

Beware of people who just repeat bromides as if they represent received truth. If you stop to dissect them, most fall apart. If you’ve heard the same argument-ending statement dozens of times, you should be dismantling it to find its flaws.

As people age, and contemplate an end of life that probably involves cancer and dementia and incontinence, they may just stop giving a damn. If you wonder why elders can be so tactless and blunt, it’s because they have less to fear. No one’s reaction can pain them as much as getting up in the morning.

The woman’s world is a world of change, far more so than the man’s world. This accounts for very many things. The failure of both genders to understand each other–or the impulse to take gender generalizations too far, thus departing from reality–is at the root of much conflict. You do not have to share your opposite number’s world view in order to rate it as equal in merit and good sense to your own, thus worth your respect. You have but to deem it rational when viewed through the eyes of its holder.

Most apologies are requests for enablement of future bad behavior. Few represent sincere pledges to change. If refused, the latter will understand, since the latter are taking responsibility. The former will always become angry or dismissive, because they hate like hell when their little game doesn’t work as designed. You were the vending machine, they deposited their quarters, and they didn’t get the soda, so they kick the machine. The worst legacy of religion is the insane notion that everyone must always be forgiven. No! It must not! Forgiveness must be earned or it doesn’t amount to a thermos of urine.

The lower one’s self-respect, the worse the quality of people one attracts. If you are trying to build self-respect, you know you are succeeding because the users and parasites will dump you, telling you that you’ve changed (and it’s not meant as a compliment).

If you’re blessed with a good sense of humor, be glad, and use it. “She made waitresses smile and grocery checkers laugh” would be a wonderful epitaph.

A society that cossets children and protects them from all risk also protects them from all learning and maturation.

We have few social problems that could not be remedied by impartial, universal early education that worked just as well in the ghetto and the village as in the wealthy suburb. However, it would take twenty years of sustained effort for the gains to show. Therefore, it won’t happen until we Americans develop a national patience and perseverance toward long-term goals. I do not see us doing that.

Quality-oriented people who take pride in doing it exactly right will always draw the ridicule of those who just slap it together. That’s just how it is. You can learn a lot about someone by watching how carefully they turn their vehicle into the correct lane, or come around a corner without shortcutting through the oncoming lane, or measuring ingredients.

If you live long enough, you will get to watch society fabricate a false version of the history you lived.

The time to be nervous about markets is when you can see that people are doing something dumb. Minimum-wagers talking about winning in the market? 1987. Venture caps throwing sacks of money at anyone with a ponytail and a domain name? 1999. Banks lending money to people who obviously couldn’t pay it back? 2008.

Spending is not the problem. Waste is the problem.

A lot of common questions are fairly stupid, such as ‘what is the meaning of life?’ The meaning of your life may differ from mine, for example. You would be so much better choosing a worthy meaning for your own life and following it.

When elders tell you how much better the old days were, ask them how they liked their three TV channels on their black and white TVs, their party lines, their nuclear drills in school, and their 25c/minute long distance calls. Also ask them about the joy of the library card catalog over Google, major cities with the air quality of Beijing, conscription, and not being able to plug in multiple phones (or move the one you had; it was hard wired). Some things were better, yes, but some were much worse. Did you have to type all your college papers three times on an electric typewriter? No? Be glad. I did. Every single one.

If everything happens for a reason, then someone explain to me what could have been the reason behind the Holocaust. And if everything is a divine plan, explain to me why I’d give homage to an entity who planned the Holocaust.

Want to get smarter? Learn to spot when people are conflating several questions into one. A lot of simple-sounding questions really need to be broken apart in order to answer them sensibly.

Also, look out for words that have different valid meanings from different mouths. For example, ‘respect.’ There is a shading of respect that includes fear. There is a shading of it that includes love. There is a shading that includes a certain admiration without affection, often for a skill or personal quality. I respect the police, for example, in that they can ruin my life or kill me outright. I respect my wife in that I hold her morality, skills, and personality in such high regard that I desire no other woman as my special partner. I respect the skill and creativity of a renowned artist, even though I have no idea what people are seeing that I cannot see. Thus, if you let someone tell you what respect means in simplistic form, you surrender the narrative and permit them to impose their own narrow definition on you. A number of words are this way.

If people’s opening approach to you is ‘give to me,’ might ask them: “Any plans to give me anything in return?” Usually, they don’t. Me, I prefer to give unasked, in which case it was my choice, and I don’t feel that question roiling about inside.

Discussion is too precious to cast its pearls before the swine of conversational terrorism. The worst kind are those who misrepresent what you said, thus always forcing you to backtrack and reclarify. I just don’t talk to them.

There’s usually a lot of social pressure to whine about the weather. I suggest resisting it, and bearing up as tough as one can.

You are not required to be your relatives’ enabler of bad behavior. That brother-in-law who’s a drunken racist? The other one who’s a deceitful gaslighter? You are not required to make nice with them. You can choose to, but if you do, you are choosing pain. For what gain?

In family situations, it is very hard to change perceptions because all the old roles and viewpoints are like comfortable grooves into which everything falls. Take it from someone who refused to run in his designated groove.

The doctors are just people. They are people who, in most cases, went through a protracted and hellish initiation process. Sometimes, they just don’t know the answer. If you ever find one who has the integrity to admit it, you’ve found one of the good ones.

Don’t get so hung up on a tax advantage that you forget what it cost you. When we paid down our mortgage, more than one person sounded astonished that I would willingly pass up the mortgage interest deduction. The deduction’s tax benefit was far less than the saved mortgage interest would have cost! Furthermore, they didn’t even consider that maybe our deduction didn’t exceed the standard deduction. There’s a lot of really bad financial advice out there.

Court is pretty much set up so that the winners lose and the losers lose more. Better to arrange life so as to stay away from court.

Happy holidays to all the dear and faithful readers of the ‘Lancer. I have appreciated your time and attention in 2015 and before, and I hope this blog will continue to provide you with interesting content going forward.

Human relations

Remembering my friend Brian Rush, 9/12/56 – 12/2/15

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If being in your fifties is all about obituaries and funerals and memorials, I’m starting to grasp how people’s attitudes can become in their sixties. This is not fun. You watch it accelerate, and it can’t help but get you thinking.

I hadn’t seen Brian in twenty years when I got the news that he had died of an aneurysm, though we had sporadic touch here and there since Facepalm came along. Way back when, I met him through my then-girlfriend’s religious circles, and we established common interests in history and gaming. He was very well read, creative, intelligent, funny, and knew it–but since he was also self-honest, he would have been the first one to fess to a large ego.

Our first interactions involved a couple of computer games at which I asked him for pointers. One was Colonization, a game of the European occupation of the Americas. As you played the role of a colonial governor, building your independence from a mother country until the day you unfurled Old Glory in rebellion, now and then the monarch would contact you with messages like this: “Governor van Abductus [or whatever your name was]. In honor of Our recent marriage to Our fifth wife, We in our Wisdom have decided to raise the tax rate by 4%. The tax rate is now 35%. If you wish, you may kiss Our royal pinky ring.” The pot-bellied image would extend a dainty hand. If you didn’t kiss the royal pinky ring and pay the tax, you couldn’t trade the commodity with the homeland any more. Brian and I hooted and laughed over the irritation this caricature brought to the game, and it became sort of a meme; when one of us was relating a requirement to do an unpleasant thing or suffer (go to the DMV, for example), it would be: “So when do you go in to kiss the royal pinky ring?” I remember him as a source of laughter and debate and wit, a more than worthy sparring partner in matters of difference and philosophy. If you hadn’t thought through your position, Brian would show you what you’d missed.

He was also a hell of a public speaker. I used to be part of a group that gathered to play multiplayer boardgames. One of them, a political and semi-military contest called Republic of Rome, was in Brian’s and my historical wheelhouse. It was also a game of such great nefarity, chicanery, and deceit that the rules author felt he had to enumerate in unambiguous detail certain restrictions. Such rules were taken on faith by custom in other games designed to appeal to less slimy people. Such as the part about electing a banker:

4:3 BANKER: Elect one player to serve as an unrecompensed “Banker” throughout the game. He doles out money from game supplies as it is earned, makes change upon request, and maintains the proper currency levels on the State Treasury Track while keeping the State, Game, and his Faction’s funds distinctly separate. [Underlines are mine.]

“Unrecompensed”; if not otherwise specified, RoR players would attempt to charge the other players some form of commission or fee for banking services, plus presumably a stipend just for being themselves. “As it is earned”; he may not do as RoR players otherwise would seek to do, and dole it out to purchase influence from those peddling it for personal advantage. “Maintains the proper currency levels…distinctly separate”; absent such explicit rules, RoR players would consider that being banker was a license to steal as much money as possible for themselves, as long as the rest of the players did not cop to it and combine forces against the banker.

Brian was very good at the game. We often found ourselves in conflict, mainly because each of us knew that the other was going to play historically (full sleazebag). He also offered a lot of entertainment, because part of the game was the speechmaking. We all ended up with nicknames; I forget Brian’s, but we had a guy named Aaron whom we called ‘Citizen Erroneous,’ and me they called ‘Citizen Taxus,’ partly for the Latin name of the badger, partly because I had gotten away with sticking the Roman state with numerous perpetual tax obligations while feathering my own nest, and the rest of them rightfully had it out for me at all times.

Brian would rise to address us. If his faction held the Censorship, you could anticipate something like this: “Conscript Fathers, there is but one true threat to our Republican traditions. One guilty of levitas during the state’s crises, of mismanaging the state’s funds, and very worst of all: of seeking to become a King! I herewith launch a Major Prosecution against Citizen Taxus, and call upon you, Citizen Erroneous, to prosecute!” I would then have to defend myself, not through reason, but by pointing out that Brian was doing this to me purely for personal gain. Since that much was obvious even to a Gaul, I would need more ammo than that. I would hint at the growing number of legions loyal to him, suggest that they ask him to disclose his faction treasury, and imply that he had fluffed the latter up by illegal or at least highly unethical means. This was almost certain to be correct, since we all did our best to steal anything that wasn’t a) nailed down, and b) very emphatically prohibited by the rules.

As I could see him launch into his expositions of my faction’s numerous moral and political shortcomings, I did my all to avoid ruining the moments with laughter. I could see by the twinkle in his eyes that he was also struggling most of the time. And when I did similar things to him, I know he found it very challenging to keep a straight face.

What fun we had.

Such are my memories of Brian Rush, philosopher, proud pagan man, historian, writer, storyteller, gamer, and friend. He was a father, and cared very much for his daughters’ welfare. Now they are grown women; when this was all happening, they were little girls whose parents had split up. I never knew the details of that, and did not ask, but I could see that his daughters were important to him.

I will always remember Brian, and the twinkle in his eye.

Deb’s and my hearts go out to all his surviving family, especially the daughters who meant so much to him.

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The question beggars

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Most people these days who are all ideology and no practical sense (the majority of Americans paying attention to politics or world affairs) fit into this category. Whatever their passionate pet issues, in most cases those issues’ edifices rest upon unproven (perhaps unprovable) foundations.

They are the question beggars.

‘To beg the question’ is a phrase whose meaning many people mistake for ‘to suggest/imply/demand/ask the question.’ That’s incorrect, and someone cares enough about this to have created an educational webpage on the topic. What it really means, borrowed from that website and quoted with gratitude:

“Begging the question” is a form of logical fallacy in which a statement or claim is assumed to be true without evidence other than the statement or claim itself. When one begs the question, the initial assumption of a statement is treated as already proven without any logic to show why the statement is true in the first place.

So. We see a lot of this tendency to assume something is self-evident, when in fact it isn’t. If pundits repeat this something often enough, they hammer it into the popular mental canon of fact. The audience will come to assume that a given statement is the proven, fundamental fact, rather than a simple unsupported assertion. Another term for this is ‘propaganda.’ Joseph Goebbels produced it very effectively for the Third Reich. Nowadays it is about all we get, and it is about all most of us want. The question beggars, and those who propel them, have discovered two golden truths:

Very few people have time, skills or inclination to check all the facts behind every statement. David Irving got by for years on this, trying to paint Hitler and Nazi Germany in a less awful light than do the facts. He finally ended up in a lawsuit in which the court sicked a couple of real historians on his source material. Neither it nor his interpretation of it held up. And yet, believe it or not, Irving still has some surprisingly articulate partisans.

Very few people seem to believe that someone who sounds authoritative would engage in gross distortion. It amazes me, because I hear and read of so many people who claim not to believe most of what they hear and read. In the next moment, they will be citing it as gospel. And when you ask them what underlies their belief, they have nothing. “It is because it is.”

One finds question beggars in multiple ideological neighborhoods. When the question beggars hit the streets, it’s common to give their ideas cover in something that is socially unbearable to assail. Religion and patriotism are among the more common, but the bolder will venture forth into editing (typically distorting) history.

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I drafted this around Thanksgiving 2013. It has sat in my drafts folder for over two years.

I think this bond has just reached maturity.

Investing, Religion, Social comment

Sitting by the window with my checkbook

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One of my investment philosophies I call “sitting by the window with my checkbook.”

Imagine there’s a downtown building, not too tall for openable windows. It houses mostly investment people. They are rich, but are too small to do it like the big boys, and have the public cover their biggest losing bets. If they take a bath, they’re wiped out.

They’re taking baths today, and they’re jumping from the 8th floor window. They cannot face their families with the news that they are falling out of the upper middle class. They will have to sell the cabin. The children will have to go to public school. The eldest will have to start doing yard chores, because the gardener is too costly. They have become what Trump calls ‘losers.’

They mistook their wealth for their sense of self. It’s impaired, and they are fundamental cowards who panic rather than hunker down and toughen up. I like that. I plan to profit from their pain. I’m not making any money today off anyone who isn’t a coward.

I’ve watched a few cowards jump already this morning. I judge the markets by the number of jumpers. When that number rises, I get my checkbook, grab a seat by the window (but not in their way; they will run you over), and wait.

They’re all still done for. They are all having trouble selling their shares. In fact, the shares have not declined in value that much, and will recover in time, but all these men (no women are this stupid) think purely short-term. They have become losers in life, according to their own hypercapitalist, left-hand path world view and assessment of human value. They would have to get real jobs.

I wait for them by the window. I keep the window down when no one’s jumping, to slow them down long enough to talk. As each one comes to the sill, we have a conversation. It may go like this:

Me: “Hey. Before you jump, think about this. Those shares you paid $11/share for? I’ll give you $6/share for them.”

The jumper looks at me in angry moral outrage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Why would I do that?”

“Well, you’re about to jump. If you find someone to buy them, there’ll be something to pass along to your family. If not, there won’t. Your call?”

“What kind of human being are you, to stop people on their way to this window and offer them bargain basement prices without trying to talk them out of jumping?”

“A smarter kind than you, apparently. You’re jumping and I’m buying. But if you don’t want to, feel free to jump. Another jumper will be along.”

“That is beyond evil. You don’t care about me.”

“Of course I don’t. That’s how this works. It’s how it worked for you until today. It’s not as evil as playing casino under rules that say you can’t lose. At least if I lose, I truly lose, and truly have to pay up. Or jump, if I’m afraid to face my consequences. If I were the jumper, you’d be happy to get a good deal from me before I jumped. Look in my eyes and you look into a mirror.”

“God! Okay, I’ll sell, you horrible bastard.”

Pleasant smile. “Price went down to $5.50.”

“You are insane!”

“$5.40. Deal or no deal?”

“Fine! Give me my $5.40! At least by jumping now, I never have to see your face again!” *leaps, screams, goes splat*

“True. Don’t care. Ah, another jumper. Hey, hold on just a sec, man. I don’t mind if you jump, but before you do, I’ll give you $5.25 for those shares…”

Evil? Yes, in the purely capitalistic, satanic sense of self-interested evil. Capitalism is the purest form of satanism, of left-hand path worship. In LHP worship, one takes what one can according to a few morals and one’s own self-interest and ability. There are reasons why the Judeo-Christian scriptures equate money with a big-ass demon, and say that one cannot worship their god and the demon at the same time.

It’s very amusing to me watching rich televangelists ask poor people for their money–and get it, up to nine figures of it. The televangelists are Anton Szandor LaVey’s wet dream of Satanic principles in action. If people are stupid enough to give them the money, take it, and live high on the hog! the old carny and bunco artist would say.

I’m not LHP, but I play one for the markets.

If I were truly that evil, I wouldn’t come out here and tell you how I do it.

If you think this requires six figures of disposable wealth, think again. Entry point is about $5000 of investable capital.

Interested?

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There’s a junk bond selloff. Junk bonds are bonds that pay high yields because they have low ratings, i.e., the chance they might fail is greater than infinitesimal.

When any selloff happens, it means people are very fearful. Buffett tells us to be greedy when people are fearful. Therefore, this morning, I am greedy.

What that means is that I’m shopping for closed-end junk bond fund shares. I find that this topic is eye-glazing for many people, so I am going with very short paras that won’t lose folks.

First, Sunday is a good day to do this, because the market is closed. Prices aren’t moving. If I make any decisions, I have all day to think about them, chicken out, whatever.

Mutual funds are pooled investments; in essence, you send them your money and they invest it for you.

Closed-end mutual funds are also pooled investments, except that they already got all the money, so when you buy the shares, you buy them from someone who wants to sell, at the market price.

All mutual funds have both a market price and a net asset value (NAV). NAV is what the fund’s actual investments (the bonds themselves) divide out to be worth, per share of the fund in existence. Market price is what you can actually buy or sell those same shares for.

With old school open-end funds, you have to pay NAV. With CEFs, they may trade (could also say: “market price may vary”) at a discount or premium to NAV.

I like discounts, the bigger the better. I especially like them when they come from people’s panic and irrational behavior, because I believe courage should always defeat terror. I am not only willing to make money from freakouts, I find it sardonically satisfying.

Since mutual funds must adjust their investment values to agree with the markets, and since the markets are affected by fear and panic (or euphoria, in its time), we can agree that the NAV incorporates fear into its price, right?

If we agree that fear is priced into the NAV, it follows that a discount to NAV means that said fear is priced into the fund’s shares a second time. It has to be.

Example: If the JKK closed-end fund holds securities that the market has pummeled down to a total NAV of $20/share, but you can buy JKK on the markets for $15/share, obviously the market is adding a second dose of fear. That dose is irrational. The markets already beat it up once.

It’s too bad there isn’t a CEF that invests purely in CEFs of junk bonds. We could get yet another level of fear pricing.

When you look at a yield, the % is meaningless without understanding how your payout money would be calculated if you bought it.

One buys CEFs mostly for yield, not growth. If they appreciate, that’s a bonus, and the best way to have a shot at that is to buy during fear.

That goal harmonizes with the goal of maximum yield, so it’s even greater reason to go full avarice at those times.

That has me updating my CEF shopping list. I might sell some and buy others.

I keep a list of CEFs. Now and then, I look them all up and note the NAV, the market price, the payout, how many of those payouts per year. All that is easy to discover.

From that, the list will calculate the annual yield at market price (this matters), yield at NAV (this is fantasy, since I can’t really buy it, but it helps me compare and gloat), and current premium or discount of market price relative to NAV (of reality to fantasy).

If I see a good chance for a great yield emerge from that list, I consider buying. If I still feel like buying on Monday, I make a note to place an order.

Of course, by then, the market rate will have fluctuated. Naturally, I am not satisfied with a ridiculous bargain. I hold all the leverage here and I’m going to insist on an even bigger discount. If no one will sell it to me for that, fine, no deal. No hard feelings.

Therefore, if I do buy on Monday, I’ll place an order at a price lower than the day’s lowest market price. It will be good until canceled (I’ll have it expire about a month out). Maybe it will reach that price and fill, today or in days to come. Maybe not.

The best deals are when people are jumping.

At first, they all lose more money. That’s fine. A few of the underlying junk bonds may even go bust. All of them won’t. And all the while, every month (in the case of most CEFs), they will send me my yield payout. For years.

Today, I’m checking to see if any of those payouts have dropped, and how they relate to the prices I might have to pay as I sit beside my window with my checkbook.

Days like this come less than once a year, so I’m taking a comfortable seat.

Social comment, Sports

What makes a Rotten.com bowl game?

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Some of my close friends (those who will not feel their souls seared by even casual sports talk) know what I mean by the above usage. For the rest of you, I have to explain.

US college football’s Division I-A (they changed the name to something stupid a few years back, which I refuse to acknowledge; you all should realize that the privilege of naming is a sort of subtle tyranny to dictate how people will think, a principle well understood by marketing departments and news channels) is the top level of collegiate football play. It has upwards of 125 teams. For the past century or so, season’s end and the Christmas holidays have meant a number of additional games, called bowls. Some bowls have a century of tradition and history by now. Others have none, nothing.

Each year, as bowls happen or cease to happen or change names, the pecking order shifts. For example, suppose that in the BigMarketingSalezzzzzzzz.com Bowl, the bowl sponsors and NCAA have agreed that the 7th place team in the Big Ten Conference (which calls itself the B1G–see what they did there?–and has fourteen teams) will receive an invitation to the BigMarketingSalezzzzzzzz.com Bowl, held December 22 in a warm-weather city with a suitable stadium and seeking to clamor for national attention. Nearly no spectators will actually attend the game, a fact that the TV cameras will do their best to conceal. After a lackluster matchup between a 6-6 Big Ten team and a less prestigious conference’s #3 (again for example), attended by approximately seven people, BigMarketingSalezzzzzzz.com decides not to blow wads of cash sponsoring a bowl next year, and another Rotten.com bowl has come and gone unlamented.

How did I pick 6-6 as a record? Because the crony system made a rule: can’t be bowl-eligible with a losing record. What the crony system failed to do is to stop the proliferation of Rotten.com bowls. Now there are eighty, with just over 125 potential teams in I-A. Not enough are bowl-eligible. Some 5-7 teams will get invitations. Some will be fool enough to refuse them.

Rotten.com is by now just a bad memory. In its dubious heyday, it was the website where you’d find some of the ugliest stuff on the Internet. Beheading videos? They were the ghoul’s first draft choice. I wasn’t an enthusiast, but I knew what it was and how to avoid finding it. Well, comes the dot-com era, and the year 2000 or so, and numerous companies arise whose names are web domains. The first may have been the scrofulous Insight.com Bowl, but soon there were more, such as the unbearable GalleryFurniture.com Bowl. As that trend developed, I decided that the lowest of the bowl low would probably have to be a Rotten.com Bowl, presumably played someplace repulsive. Since there’s no evidence that Rotten.com was ever an actual business name, that’s why it was satire.

Where does the money come from, since hardly anyone attends most of the games? Even the bowls with proper names (Rose, Sugar, Cotton, etc.) have taken on sponsorships. I remember the first time I heard about a “Federal Express Orange Bowl,” and the difficulty with which I contained the sudden quease. The sponsors weren’t fundamentally bad; what was/is bad was the media’s fellation. Print, online, and broadcast media, with absolutely nothing to gain, were and are glad to help out a corporate buddy by including the sponsor name in all instances of coverage. Evidently a few did not play ball, which is why some companies who sponsored Rotten.com bowls just named the whole bowl after themselves. If it has no other name than the Enron Bowl, the media have nothing else to call it.

To this end, I propose the Rotten.comness Rating System (RcRS). Its goal is to rank the bowls from useless to useful. The more points a bowl game accumulates, the worse it is, the champion receiving the dubious honor of the Rotten.com name prefixed to its official title in full, just as if Rotten.com still fully existed, were a company, and had ever sponsored bowls at all (it didn’t, but if it had, it would have to receive some special consideration). Thus, you might have the “Rotten.com GoEvilStepMommy.com Bowl.”

This does not need to be complicated. Do note that the full result cannot be determined until the end of bowl season, since attendance figures are required. Award one point for each of the following that is true:

  • Has no history under the current name
  • Has three or less years’ history under the current name
  • Has ten or less years’ history under the current name
  • Has twenty or less years’ history under the current name
  • Name is also the name of a corporation
  • Name is a corporate name that sounds like a word but isn’t (e.g., Taligent, Verizon, Ensighten, Disadvantis)
  • Name is a corporate name that in no way indicates what the hell they do
  • Name is a web domain
  • Name is so blazingly stupid it beggars all common sense (limit one per year, otherwise this would be overused)
  • Invites no nationally ranked teams (top 25 in either major poll)
  • Invites a team with a losing record in conference play (count independents’ overall record as a conference record)
  • Invites a team with a losing record overall
  • Invites two teams with losing records (unlikely, but we’re getting there one of these years)
  • Invites only teams with losing records (the logical conclusion to this farce)
  • Invites the University of Idaho Vandals (whom I like, but they are a longtime punching bag whose very arrival in a bowl game would raise its Rotten.comness)
  • Halftime show includes Celine Dion or Justin Bieber
  • Halftime show includes Kardashians (one point per Kardashian)
  • Bowl is played on or before December 20th
  • Bowl is played on or before December 23rd
  • Bowl has actual attendance less than 10,000
  • Bowl has actual attendance less than 20,000

Subtract one point for each of the following that is true:

  • Bowl is named Cotton, Orange, Sugar, or Rose
  • Bowl has an amusing wardrobe malfunction at halftime show
  • Halftime show includes the Stanford or Rice marching band
  • Halftime show’s outrageous gag results in the marching band being banned from a venue
  • Bowl name is amusing (imagine a Post Cereals Bowl, or a Tide Bowl, or a High Times Bowl)
  • Invites a top ten team in either major poll
  • Invites Army or Navy (because these were powerhouses in days of yore, thus an invitation represents tradition)
  • Has no corporate sponsor’s branding (dream on)
  • Sponsor’s executives are under indictment during bowl season
  • Sponsor declares bankruptcy during bowl season

Some of the conditions may go unmet each year, but we must think both ahead and positive.

And there you go. If there is sufficient interest, I may even take time to compile the preliminary rankings once all the lineups are set, which should be a few days away.

Adventures

You mean you used the whole thing?

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I’ve had two experiences with chiropractors, enough to make me very leery of the profession. I won’t detail all my leeriness here, except to point out that it doesn’t all relate to the validity or lack thereof of the discipline itself. One of mine was making fairly outlandish claims, the other was actively milking me and ripping off the insurance company, and the collective experience caused me to shy away. But if it works for you, or has worked for you, then wonderful.

One of those experiences led to me making a fool of myself in a most amusing way, and as we all know, that is meat and drink on the ‘Lancer.

My first chiropractor was a very libertarian/LDS fellow, and somewhat of a True Believer when it came to his field. My second was also LDS, a Chinese immigrant with a heavy accent. No big deal to me, but helps paint the picture. In that situation, I had given chiropractic a second try due to some nagging back issues. At one point, we had the following conversation:

“I also want you to take hot baths with some vinegar in them.”

“Hmm. Okay. How much do I use?”

“Just go get a two-gallon bottle of apple cider vinegar.”

“All right, I guess. Why does this help my back?”

“To be honest, I don’t know why, but it does.”

“Well, I’ll give it a try.”

So I did. I bought a two-gallon bottle, ran a hot bath, and dumped in the contents. Pretty overpowering when mixed with the hot water. I don’t think most people could have dealt with it. I soaked in it as long as I thought worthwhile, then stood up and showered off the remaining vinegar water. About that time, my wife came past the bathroom.

“What the hell have you done in there?”

“The chiropractor said it would help.”

“I’m having my doubts about this chiropractor. But I’m also having doubts about your common sense. It stinks big time in there! I’m turning on the fan!”

I gave my standard reply to most forms of expressed environmental discomfort, from feedlots to cold weather: “Aaaaaah, it’s not so bad.”

“You’re a freak.”

Well, after about three of these treatments, I could see how the cost of this could add up. My back wasn’t improving, and this was an unenjoyable way to bathe. On my next chiropractic visit, I expressed doubts.

“You may not notice a difference right away.”

“Well, I am noticing a couple of differences. For one, the smell is overpowering and not very pleasant. For another, I’m not sure how long I can afford putting two gallons of this stuff in the bathtub.”

He looked at me with incredulity. “You mean you used the whole thing?” This guy was generally the picture of composure and calm, but I could see the shock on his face.

“You told me to. You said go out and get a two-gallon bottle of it.”

He held back laughter with great self-control. “I only meant for you to use about a cup of it!”

“Oh.”

After I left, I’m confident I ended up as one of the funny stories he tells when he gets together with other chiropractors for herbal tea and recommendations on how to push endless supplements on customers. But for the record, if your chiropractor suggests you put vinegar in your bath water, do take time to ask him or her how much exactly to use per bath.

Homeownership, Married life

Spar treatments

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Deb and I can be very juvenile. I’m talking ‘mocking Phil Keoghan’s accent’ juvenile.

For those unfamiliar, Phil is the New Zealander who hosts The Amazing Race. He’s balanced, entertaining, and has a reality show that is intriguing without appealing purely to vicarious sadism (Naked & Afraid) or glorifying the stupid (Jersey Shore). His accent isn’t heavy, but it does append an R to all words ending in an A sound. Thus Uchenna and Joyce became Uchenner and Joyce, etc.

On each leg of the race, the first team to finish gets a special prize. Sometimes it’s money, sometimes it’s a Productplacementmobile from Uncle Henry’s Car Company, but usually it’s a trip for two from Travelocity. Not all the trips are to someplace stupid like Nassau, either. Some actually go to interesting places, and all the trips seem to include a spa treatment, so Deb and I start heckling as the racers hit the mat: “Ready for your spar treatments?” Phil begins to tell them what the trip entails. “Shut the hell up about the ziplining, Phil, get on with the spar treatment!” Phil actually omits the spa treatment. “No! This is fake! It isn’t a trip from Travelocity without a spar treatment!”

We suck. But now that we have our own spar, we can give ourselves spar treatments. And I’m learning to maintain this spar, which is a process. I’m going to present what I’ve learned in mock softball Q&A format.

Q: Is it a lot of work?

A: Nah, except that draining it and refilling it is a little involved. Sometimes I’ll close some of the jets for more pressure on the rest, but that’s easy.

Q: My cousin had one and they all got a rash.

A: Let me guess: your cousin is one of those braying donkeys who ridicules anyone who takes time to do things exactly right. He fell down on the maintenance, didn’t think he had to worry unless he could see floating green things, and met cautions with derision. Now his whole family is on antibiotics. Right?

Q: Is it that risky?

A: Not if you stay on top of the maintenance. If you don’t, it changes from a chemistry project to a dermal immune biology project. If the water doesn’t get treated, it will develop an algae ring. We found that out when we first moved in and took a look before starting the treatment process, and I had to scrub that crap off.

Q: What is the maintenance?

A: Weekly, run a test strip and add chemicals as necessary. If the water level has dropped enough that the filter intake is rasping, add some water. Every four months, drain the whole thing and refill it.

Q: Can you put bath salts in it?

A: I’m told you can, but haven’t tested it myself. I may test it one day just before it’s drain/refill time, just to see what it does to the chemical balance.

Q: Is it spendy to operate?

A: Between the electric bill increase, water bill bump, and the chemicals, I’m told $750 per year is typical. So yeah, kind of spendy to do right.

Q: Do you have to leave it on all the time?

A: Yes. If you’re going to take it out of service, you shut off the breaker and drain the water. It runs on its own cycle for heating and filtration.

Q: Aren’t you worried that people’s kids will pee in it?

A: No, because no minors are allowed in it, ever. Age seventeen and your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow? Sorry. Tomorrow you can. But your child is special and mature and wonderful? I agree, and when she is eighteen and a young woman rather than a girl, we will welcome her. Hot tub = adults place, at least under the lodgepoles.

Q: You expect me to believe you’ve never done it, when you were by yourself?

A: It would immediately cloud up the pool. Therefore, since there are only the two of us, my wife would know. But even if it were just me, no, in fact I would not add urine to a large reservoir in which I planned to soak several times a week for four months, nor would you. I have learned that it is wise to take a leak while changing into one’s bathing suit. It would be horrible to have to get up, go all the way inside, and come back out. Especially in winter. But adults would do that, whereas kids might be too embarrassed, and just hope to get away with it, figuring they can always say they’re sorry and adults aren’t allowed to hold things against them. Problem: no matter how sorry they are, I still have to drain/refill it, and sorries won’t help reduce the cost or headache of that.

Q: But that’s unfair to my snowflake, who is more special and mature and wonderful than all others! Yes, she’s only six, but she would never do that!

A: Here’s the situation. Yes, your snowflake is wonderful, a joy to know. However, children will go to absurd lengths to avoid embarrassment. An adult will make an adult decision (and trust me, there are adults I wouldn’t let near the thing). If the water gets contaminated, I will have to spend a lot of time, money, and effort that need not have been. No, it wouldn’t cause me to hate your snowflake. Yes, I understand that snowflakes make mistakes. All the understanding in my soul will not eliminate my sudden requirement to do a full water change, well before I would otherwise have had to. So, since I recognize that children are children–yes, even yours–and since I do not want to have them learn a life lesson at the cost of me having to pretend not to be very angry while doing an early drain/refill, no kids in the tub. It’s much easier that way than explaining to Parent A that Snowflake A Jr. can’t get in when we let Parent B’s Snowflake B Jr. in. No discrimination, no exceptions, no kids, not even your special angel.

Q: It must be great in winter.

A: In some ways, yes. The only drag in winter is the interval between getting out and getting back in the house. Nothing like standing outside in freezing weather, in your bathing suit, trying to wring as much water out as you can. I think we will get enormous thick terrycloth robes made from actual towels, so that people can dry off by putting them on.

Q: When you go to drain it, do you just siphon out all the water?

A: It’s easier to buy a cheap sump pump attached to a long hose. My drain hose burst this time, oh joy, so I need a stronger one. I want to send the water right into the eave-trough drain, not into the yard. Once I drain it, I climb in with a turkey baster and slurp out any residual sand or dirt or crud. Then I refill it, put in a new silver nitrate stick, change the filter and put the dirty one in a bucket of horribly caustic filter cleaner, and flip the breaker on. Once the water hits about 85º F, I can start the treatment process whenever I’m ready. No spar treatments until I’m happy with the balance.

Q: What do you treat it with?

A: The test strip checks for chlorine level, alkalinity, pH, and calcium hardness. It gets an ounce of chlorinator (which will boil off each week), however much baking soda it takes to raise the alkalinity (which will typically raise the pH as well), some more calcium if it needs it (shouldn’t, except when refilling), and three ounces of shock sanitizer. Thus, we are hitting biology with silver nitrate, chlorine, and shock (potassium peroxymonosulfate). On the first treatment, it’s a gradual process that requires several tests to get the alk and pH where they belong, without overshooting the sweet spot.

Q: Does it get gross when it’s time to drain and refill it?

A: Not with regular maintenance, but it will get sudsy. This is caused by the amount of total dissolved solids plus whatever action has happened on skin oil, stray pine needles, and so forth. If it starts to look like a bubble bath, it’s time to replace the water.

Q: Do you have to shower before you get in the spar?

A: No, but if you’re filthy, it’s the logical thing to do.

Q: Is it worth all that?

A: The expense and effort amount to about $60/month, five minutes once a week, and a couple hours of work three times a year. The payoff is when your whole body aches from a lot of lifting or hoisting or driving or walking, and you can get into a place that will dissolve the pain away. The payoff is when it’s freezing out, and you gaze up from your little amniotic cocoon through lodgepole boughs at the stars and moon, hoisting a libation with your best friend in a non-glass container. The payoff is the ability to make guests feel welcome and relaxed. Yeah, I’ll make that trade.

Q: Any advice for people thinking of getting one?

A: Spend a weekend at a resort where your room comes with a hot tub. Go hiking and get really sore, then come back and hit the tub. If you find you love that feeling, that’s a good sign. If you find you never want to go anywhere else but in and out of the tub, that’s also a good sign you would like and use one.

Get one with a lot of jets and enough pump to power them; pointless to get a tub with skimpy jets. Don’t get it from Costco, because everyone who sells them through Costco seems to go broke, which means no one to call with questions down the road. Look into buying a used one, because quite a few people don’t like them as well as they’d imagined, and wind up selling them at just-get-rid-of-it prices on Craigslist. (Don’t buy one without a manual and a copy of the original receipt, so you know the model, manufacturer, and store that sold it. Or if you do, make sure it’s very cheap.)

Make sure your electrical system can handle a new breaker, because there needs to be one hardwired and probably dedicated solely to the tub. Fairly sure it gets its own circuit, so spring for a professional electrician. Needs to sit on a very sturdy surface, such as a concrete pad; hope you have one. Plan to have a pro come out and walk you through it the first time, so s/he can check out its operation, answer all your what-does-this-dial-do questions, and tell you how to maintain it.

Book reviews

My favorite travel writers, and why

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Travel writing is my favorite genre. In your bookstore, it’s usually near the travel guides. Barnes titles the section ‘Travel Essays,’ which I guess is about right. I’m not much influenced by the Standard Favorites; for example, I don’t happen to have an opinion on Bruce Chatwin. I think I read one of his books, or at least part of it.

I look for the right combination of insight, humor, and wry misadventure. I am easily turned off by a pretentious title. I don’t mind if the author is a scoundrel, as long as I don’t adjudge him or her a coward. I want to learn more about other places while following an adventure, and I want to believe what I’m reading.

Why aren’t there more women on this list? Because this list focused on authors with significant catalogues. It’s not that there aren’t a lot of great woman-authored travel books; it’s that so many are one-offs, maybe two-offs. I’d love to see a woman be the next Tim Cahill, but there isn’t even a male next Tim Cahill.

Thus:

Tim Cahill (USA). Hasn’t done much recently, I think due to a stove-up back and advancing age, but he’s my favorite. His story about fleeing from the Yogurt Riders in Mongolia still has me cackling. His travel is adrenaline junkie material, and he has the laconic restraint to let the situation’s humor speak for itself. When one’s deep-caving takes one through a muddy tunnel titled The Rectum, one doesn’t really need to comment. If I am going to go back and re-read someone’s travel book, it’ll probably be one of Tim’s. Good example: Road Fever, about his endurance drive with Garry Sowerby from Ushuaia to Deadhorse.

Tony Horwitz (USA). Underrated, and strong at investigating history as part of his travels. His account of partying with Australians in northern Queensland is another good example of letting the comedy speak for itself. And I’d say it takes some sand for an American with a Jewish surname to go prowling around the Arab world. Horwitz is that travel writer who can float back and forth between perceptive historical analysis and amusing travel tale with seeming minimal effort. Good example: Confederates in the Attic, about his time with hardcore re-enactors.

William Least Heat-Moon (USA). Rather well known, and I have a sort of odd history with him which I once detailed in a blog post. Another master of letting the comedy haul the freight without a push, and one of the sharpest observers ever to hit the road. One learns a lot while reading Heat-Moon, and his presentation style reflects a mind with a few extra creative wires that are missing from mine. Can’t go wrong with Heat-Moon. Good example: Blue Highways, America from non-freeways.

Tim Severin (Ireland). A stud. Tim Severin has set out to duplicate a number of historic voyages using craft as near to the historic vessels as possible, and to connect old legends to our modern understanding. Dry style, but the best part is realizing what he is doing, how difficult it is, and how much it has taught us about the methods of ancient and medieval mariners. One of his funniest books is about land travel, where he rode an Ardennes heavy horse from western Europe most of the way to Jerusalem. The adventures of the horse, a monster with hooves like bowling ball halves, are ongoing and uproarious in Crusader.

Tony Perrottet (Australia): like Horowitz, mixing historical understanding with great travel, and does so nearly as well. My only complaint is that he credits Mississippi with being last in tourism per capita among the states. I’m under the impression my home state, Kansas, is that honor’s jealous guardian. Come on up, mate, and you’ll see why “I took the family for an exciting Kansas vacation” said no one, ever. Seriously, though, off the Deep End is a good book, and he has yet to write a bad one.

Lukewarm:

Bill Bryson (USA). One of the best known, but one senses that Bryson is the biggest fan of Bryson’s wit. One gets the impression that he’d be smart not to return to many of the places he visited, given the way he sneered at them in print. But he really lost me when he wrote a book about hiking the Appalachian Trail, but did it in a bunch of effete bite-size pieces rather than take it in a single, awesome pass. That was almost as annoying as his book about travel in Britain, Notes from a Small Island, in which he complained rather too much for my tastes.

J. Maarten Troost (Netherlands/USA). His first few books about travels around the Pacific Rim were everything I like in travel writing. Funny, revealing, fresh in style. The most recent, however, contains a lot about his battle against alcoholism. Now, I don’t begrudge the man writing about his actual life as it is, and I applaud him for kicking the sauce. I just am not that interested in his struggle with his demons, beyond wishing him the same success I’d wish most people. I liked it better when he did The Sex Lives of Cannibals.

Redmond O’Hanlon (UK). Very well known, and is an unjust victim of my CSTT (can’t stand the title) tendencies. If one is interested in naturalism, give him an extra star, because that’s his academic background. I recently re-read his book about traveling in Borneo, just out of fairness, and I have to admit that the writing and storytelling are rather good in Into the Heart of Borneo.

Frances Mayes (USA). I suppose it isn’t really fair to characterize Under the Tuscan Sun and its spinoffs as travel books; they are more making-a-new-home-abroad books, though I consider those close enough as makes little difference. I just didn’t feel it with Mayes, as nice a lady as I’m sure she is. Too much about the food choices of the day, too froufrou-feeling for my preferences, and too much about Bella Toscana already.

Not doing any more of this:

Stephen Clarke (UK): it’s not that A Year in the Merde and its sequels are a bad reads. It’s that they look and feel like real travel books, yet are fiction. I am not interested in travel fiction, especially that which sort of goes around in travel essay drag and one only later notices the truth. I admit that I could have looked closer, and that the author cannot control where Barnes shelves his books, but I believe that they get shelved there somewhat by the author or publisher’s design, and I don’t like that at all.

In keeping with the feedback I received, I’ll let you look these authors up yourself if you desire. Future plans include lists of lesser known gems, women travel writers, writers about U.S. travel, and suchlike.

Book reviews, Editing/writing life

A question about talking about travel writing

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The ‘Lancer has a numerically small but engaged audience, otherwise known as ‘a few people who seem to like much of what I post.’ This audience, being mine, deserves my solicitude and affection.

Here’s the question: if I wrote about travel books, would it be out of bounds if I didn’t do up links, and let people search them out the marginally less easy way?

I ask because all the following are true:

  • Travel is the most overrepresented category in my library. In very few areas does my library dominate the shelf selection at Barnes, and this is one of the few.
  • You could learn a shitload about the world from reading these books. That’s how I did it.
  • A lot of the best travel books are not done by Frances Mayes, Paul Theroux, Bruce Chatwin, or someone else who has done a lot of well-paid, pompously-reviewed writing. Nothing against any of those, but your typical travel writer is a one-off who doesn’t write any more. You will never find them without my help.
  • There is a reason that I positioned the travel endcap nearest my recliner in my library (though making sure that history was in clear sight). If I’m going to grab anything to re-read, odds are it’ll be travel.
  • If that’s going to happen–and it will, since I have no intention of being a book hoarder, and am very happy to re-read books–I could turn my readership on to a whole bunch of great stuff. Most of it probably didn’t sell, but the readership of the ‘Lancer is well aware that ‘didn’t sell’ does not mean ‘book sucks.’ It means ‘author couldn’t or wouldn’t market, and publisher didn’t bother.’
  • For me, writing is easy; getting links right is hard. I have to dig it up on Amazon, pare out the extraneous stuff in the link, highlight, copy, highlight link area, paste, hope that the paste was the correct thing, and then test to see if it works. I hate this.
  • I would write more about travel books if links weren’t a basic expectation, and if I didn’t dislike them so.

I solicit commentary on this subject. If I said “screw the links, look it up if you’re interested,” would that be a good trade for more writing?

Editing/writing life

Crouching lower, hitting filing

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When we moved to the new place, for some months it was a house-sized Rubik’s Cube. Can’t get some of the furniture out of the garage until we make room for it. Can’t make room for it until we make some decisions about this stuff. Can’t decide about this stuff until we get that area squared away. Can’t do much of anything until we get the floors done. Can’t get the dining room worked up until we do the library. Can’t really get the garage work area in good shape until we get this and that out of the way. Etc., etc., etc.

We have battled through it despite the fact that it sometimes resembles a more comfortable, larger version of a Survivor immunity challenge. And the last obstacle to the library reaching its eventual beautiful state is the boxes of filing that we stacked in the back. Why did we do in such a way? Because we could take them out to the garage, but that would run counter to the goal of making room for my wife to park, yadda, yadda, yadda. But now we have excavated the file cabinet, situated it in my office, and it is time to sort it all out. What to retain, what to shred, what to recycle.

When I put my mind to it, I’m the world’s best office assistant. Fast typist, at least for a male. Natural organizer of files. Never run out of anything important, ever. Have the proper implements to hand, and take good care of them. Spare toner? One of each, on the shelf. Date stamp for bills. Special shelf just for tax stuff I will need next year. Another special shelf for bills, stamps, envelopes, address labels. Can’t stand fingerprints on my screen–if you’re with me in my office and you extend a finger toward it, I will grab a capped pen and offer it to you as a pointer.

For the last few years, in part, I haven’t put my mind to it. The important filing, I dealt with. The rest is a quagmire extending back into my twenties, much of it consisting of piles of paper-I-did-not-see-fit-to-bother-with, which accumulated until Deb or I shoved the whole thing in a banker’s box in hopes it would evaporate without giving off hazardous fumes. Magazines ten years old. Phone books three years old. Statements from banks that no longer exist. Wedding announcements from people who are now divorced. Empty envelopes…kept why for the love of pete? Old grocery lists. Annual privacy statements, which mostly tell me about the ways in which a company feels free to violate my confidentiality. Insurance that expired during the Clinton administration.  Investment statements. Reams upon reams and reams of crap, some of which I should keep.

Enough. I am done with warehousing paper that I don’t need. Will I ever need to review my GTE bills from the 1990s? Why, no; no, I will not. I am going to end up overheating my shredder again before I’m done with this. But it’s do this, and do it now while getting set up, or continue in this inefficient and slothful pattern. It cannot continue.

Oh, and I’m working on three actual work projects, one large and two small, and seeking to keep all three moving with emphasis on knocking the small ones out sooner rather than later. So I edit for a while, until I come to a point where I don’t feel right, then I dig into another banker’s box. File hangers salvaged. File folders’ old writing labeled over, and salvaged. Another big bin of recycling, ready to dump. Did I really keep that self-serving, insulting, condescending nine-page letter from a relative? Why would I ever want to read that again?

Spirits of crap banishment, I herewith summon, stir, and call ye up. Lend me the ongoing strength to continue muddling through this ocean of useless paper, sifting out the stuff that still matters, and make the rest go the hell away.

Blogging freelance editing, writing, and life in general. You can also Like my Facebook page for more frequent updates: J.K. Kelley, Editor.