Tom Wolfe

I just solved TWO problems. Dos. Zwei. Deux.

I surveyed science, philosophy and literature, searching for intriguing pools into which I could dive. In the past I didn't have leisure time for recondite writing, now I'm ready to take a plunge. But what should I read?

I sampled prominent writers, luminaries like David Foster Wallace, Albert Camus and Anthony Burgess. None grabbed me. Few have the right blend of perspicacious content and stylistic brio.

Long ago an author impressed me with his bestselling novel, "Bonfire Of The Vanities." That book captures the zeitgeist of New York in the 1980s. Tom Wolfe, who wrote mostly non-fiction, intensifies his creative writing with reportage on salient topics like class, social status and history. That appeals to me.

During Wolfe's 88 years on Earth he published 18 books and many magazine articles. The books include titles you'll recognize: they were turned into movies: e.g., "The Right Stuff." I've begun exploring Wolfe's books on my new Kindle. I love their flavor. They're both delicious and filling. I just decided to devour Wolfe's entire oeuvre by the end of the year. I hope I don't get fat. :)

Tom Wolfe, as everyone knows, was a "boulevardier", a sophisticated man-about-town who socialized at fashionable places. I learned that fun word from his 2004 novel, "I Am Charlotte Simmons." The book is a trenchant description of life on elite college campuses. The story and characters remind me of my four years at Hamilton College, a prestigious private college in bucolic upstate New York. 

Founded in 1793, Hamilton College has an endowment of $1.3 billion. The school offers exceptional academic education. It also provides social opportunities for drunkenness, debauchery and class struggle. A sizable contingent of my class were pampered rich kids -- the kind born on third base who mistakenly believe they hit a triple. Hamilton was my first exposure to lazy, louche offspring. 

During my time in college I often -- deliberately -- affronted moneyed classmates. My favorite weapon was a blue-collar work-shirt from my summer job at Roadside Auto Parts. The shirt (literally dark blue) had my first name stitched above the shirt pocket. The garment shocked ovine snobs. They couldn't believe anyone at a fancy private school would admit, let alone celebrate working class roots. Haughty snobs themselves love to conspicuously flaunt their families' wealth by wearing coded florid clothes, like LL Bean duck-boots, two polo shirts worn on top of each other, and lime-green shorts. And you can set a clock to their constant mention of tony prep-schools, designed to display supposed superiority. One student, son of a famous Hollywood mogul, drove a red convertible MG around campus with the top down. IN WINTER. At 10 mph.

Exposure to hoity-toity classmates taught me that class pretension is insignificant. True value is found in our individuality, in what ancient philosophers call our "haecceitas" (this-ness). Worth doesn't flow from family wealth.

Privileged children often get into good colleges by "legacy admission": i.e., through Daddy's prior attendance and generous donations. Rich kids spend time there partying and patronizing harder-working students. The group feels little pressure to achieve because they know their futures will be greased by Daddy's business contacts. I, on the other hand, am a son of immigrants who didn't attend college. I had to strive to earn grades good enough to open the heavy admissions door at a selective institution. And I had to do that while working multiple part-time jobs to afford private school's higher tuition.

Subjects like this are exactly what Tom Wolfe probes with mordant wit. His gimlet-eye teaches and I'm laughing every day at his piquant barbs.

So what's the second problem I solved? I know what to be for Halloween. Tom Wolfe has a recognized persona: white suit and soigné hat. That outfit is in my wheelhouse.

Czechia

Do you know that the Czech Republic changed its name? The country now wants to be known as "Czechia."

No word yet on what pronouns it prefers. :)

My Cynosure

 

I confuse people because I sometimes embrace new technology (e.g., cryptocurrency) and sometimes cling to old tech (e.g., vinyl records). The explanation is simple: I search for what works. I don't automatically adopt a new way of doing things just because a company wants to sell it to me. I check to see if the product will actually improve my life. Conversely, I don't discard proven machinery just because it's gotten old. My cynosure is always: what works best?

Two examples: I just migrated from paper-books to Kindle. And I returned to a 90-year old way of making coffee (Bialetti Moka Pot).

When e-readers emerged I didn't grasp their benefits. I like paper and its absence of electricity. I always carry a book and magazines with me, read during gaps in my day and didn't want to worry about cords and electricity. The situation changed however with my recent vision-loss. Now paper isn't bright enough and sentences exceed the width of my field of vision. On a Kindle you can adjust both of these. I find reading on a Kindle easier. I've started consuming books much faster with the clever device. That's improvement.

Do you have a Kindle/Nook? Do you like it?

When I was a child my parents drank Sanka, awful-tasting freeze-dried "instant coffee". Sanka became popular among the bourgeoisie due to massive television advertising. In college I met my first love, a bohemian artist with great taste. She introduced to real coffee. The Bialetti Moka Pot was invented in 1930 by an Italian connoisseur and has been popular ever since. It effloresces a cup of Joe that's richer than other methods (e.g., French press; drip; Keurig). I just bought one of these wonderful machines almost a century after its invention. It works beautifully.

What's your approach to new technology?

Winter Is Coming

It's been literally years since I bought any winter clothes. So I need some warm ones.

Feeling a little blue I decided now is a good time to treat myself. I just ordered two light sweaters for Fall from my favorite clothier (Paul Fredrick). For the heart of Winter I want a heavier sweater.

I heard about a famous sweater-maker in Ireland on the remote island of Inis Meáin. The company uses craftsmen and -women who've been weaving sweaters for a century. That high quality, and the fact that the company produces only a small number of sweaters each year, means their prices are crazy. But, hey, I don't buy clothes every day. And when it's cold you really want a warm well-made sweater, not some cheap crap made on machines in China.

This informative article describes Inis Meáin's history, materials and craftmanship -- here.

The Peak and Valley

Recently I was surprised. No, that's not accurate: I was horrified. A photograph was taken for my passport -- and what it shows knocked me down. I was distraught and it took an entire day for my Pollyanna nature to surface and salvage my emotions.

A hidden blessing of bad vision is losing the ability to see yourself. I haven't viewed my face clearly in over a year. The bathroom-mirror displays only an indistinct blob. Shaving is a dangerous activity deserving its own book. Working title: "Riding The Razor."

Early in life I assessed my attractiveness. I considered my average looks to be sufficient. I didn't lust for adoration nor aspire to become a movie-star. I encountered no obstacles working as a legal pugilist; appearance is irrelevant in that bloody arena. 

But my passport photo reveals more than just aging. It shows a drooping eyelid over a permanently-bloodshot eye that's retired from active duty. Ugh. No longer am I unaware of my current appearance. That ignorance was temporary bliss.

Pondering this sad state of affairs an anodyne idea popped up: I was once cute. Long ago and for a brief moment. Exactly 50 years ago, in fact. In 1974 I could attract a girl's eye. That fleeting pulchritude was the peak of my life's physical beauty; it's been downhill since then, ultimately ending at this pitiful cul-de-sac.

For all of us who grow old, at some point past glory hops a train to Newark and disappears, leaving only vague memory. And, if we're lucky, maybe an old picture like this one.

Ancient Egypt

There are many projects I've wanted to pursue in my life. For decades, however, I was prevented from diving into them due to an exhausting job. Now, with time and energy, I'm happily embracing these endeavors.

I just completed a lengthy study of ancient Egypt: its history, art, culture and monumental achievements. Everyone knows of the pyramids but how many of us know who built them? Instead of cramming our heads with frivolous details about the Kardashians we should focus instead on true giants like Pharaohs Sneferu, Khufu and Menkaure. Ancient Egypt developed a sophisticated civilization that lasted over 3,000 years. It warrants attention.

Modern interest in this society began two centuries ago. Europeans got excited over studying ancient Egypt in the early 1800s; it even reached a point called "Egyptomania." That fervor accelerated 200 years ago when an ingenious French scholar (Jean-François Champollion) figured out how to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. His "eureka" moment in that quest happened this very day (September 14th) 202 years ago. That key unlocked voluminous knowledge on Egypt's history and culture since now we can read the many texts carved into stone throughout the region.

It's never too late to tackle a subject and learn something. In fact, acquiring knowledge later in life is especially sweet because you can place it in clearer context and relate the information to other stuff you know.

Q&A (Across The Ocean)

Three weeks ago, in an effort to brighten the blogosphere, I suggested something done in the past with success. I offered to either interview others here or answer your questions there. It gives us a chance to know each other better, explore important subjects and expand our audiences.

One reader, Lynn from England, took up the idea and sent me questions. Good questions that address diverse topics, like transgenderism (Lynn, like me is also trans). She posted our Q&A on her blog ahd you can see it here. I recommend a visit and be sure to say hi.

Lynn's questions deserve serious consideration. I'm repeating them below for maximum visibility. If you have any follow-up, ask Lynn or me and we'll be happy to elaborate. Happy Day!

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1. If there are two or three things you wished people knew about transgender folk, what are they?

What an excellent question! 

The biggest reason fear and hate exist is because people are not familiar with us. We can improve that with education. 

Decades ago people didn't know gay people and were scared of them. When gay visibility increased, fear dissipated. Most people today don't believe they know a trans individual in real life. That lack of interaction allows fear to grow and turn into hate. Conversely, as people learn more about us, they become comfortable.

When talking to someone who's never met a trans person before I try to convey two thoughts: that transgenderism is innate and immutable. We know from earliest childhood that we are this way and we know it won't change. Being transgender isn't a choice and can't be wished away. I deploy an analogy to describe this: I say my awareness that I'm female is known "the same way you know you're human and not a dog." Our identity is truth at the core of our being. I follow this by explaining our condition is permanent, can't be "cured" with therapy or drugs, and exists whether we socially transition or not.

2. If you could change something about the world, what would that be and why? 

I'd want empathy to be encouraged and more prevalent. Empathy leads to understanding and compassion. All who are different benefit when others develop empathy for our situation. Lack of empathy causes mistrust.

3. If you had to go back in time to any part of your life, when might that be and why?

I've lived a long time: I'm currently halfway through my sixth decade. Without doubt the best period of my life was my fifties when I possessed both wisdom and physical vigor. During that decade I expressed my inner femininity fully, pursued adventures of all kinds, and created a blog to record my experiences and explore female life. 

If you aren't 50 yet, look forward to that decade as a time for ineffable joy.

4. How has being a biker affected your view of other road users? 

Riding a motorcycle you realize, viscerally, how vulnerable you are. To stay alive, you focus on the behavior of others sharing the road and observe much reckless conduct. It is irresponsible, but common, for people to pilot 3,000 lb. hunks of metal at high speeds with too little margin for error. Usually they realize this only too late after having caused accidents. 

I was almost killed once when a young man, speeding in an adjacent lane, suddenly realized he was going to crash into the car in front of him. To avoid a collision he swerved into my lane without looking. I happened to be there at the time and was knocked off my bike. I laid on cold concrete with a collapsed lung and four broken ribs. I couldn't breathe. I understood, with grave certainty, that if I didn't start breathing soon my life was over. The accident did not have to happen: there were just foolish choices by an unskilled driver.

5. Just for fun: would you rather have a gadget that cleaned & tidied your house, or one that could make you any meal you liked? 

Easy: the former. I love to cook, finding it creative and fun. I'd never give that up. I get little pleasure from cleaning so will gladly pass that chore off to machinery.