La Belle Époque

For decades television was criticized as "an intellectual wasteland;" a medium devoid of knowledge and sophistication. But that was back when broadcast TV needed to appeal to a wide audience for economic viability. The whole venture was based on untargeted advertising.

Today, streaming on TV doesn't face that pressure. As a result, some shows are enlightening. Let's, for example, consider Season Five of "Emily In Paris," released this month on Netflix. Many male critics attack the show as vapid but their perspective is tinged -- no, fatally corrupted -- by sexism. "Emily..." is conspicuously aimed at a female audience with its focus on romance, fashion and exotic locales, but it is more than that. Here are two instances of its higher aspirations.

Over a dozen times this season the show references a remarkable period in European history called La Belle Époque. (That's French for "The Beautiful Era.") In case viewers are unaware of that period, it is explicitly explained as a time of peace, prosperity, scientific advancement and cultural innovation. Art Nouveau, a popular art movement you've undoubtedly heard of, emerged during this time. La Belle Époque spans 1871 to 1914 (the outbreak of World War I).

A second instance of valuable knowledge in Season Five is "the Green Fairy" (slang for absinthe). Absinthe is anise-flavored liquor with a notorious reputation. Legend says the Green Fairy is hallucinogenic and will drive you crazy. Research later proved, however, that the rumor was an exaggeration spread to both promote and discourage consumption. The drink, embraced by bohemians, is socially associated with hipness and social transgression -- making it a perfect symbol for a show like "Emily...".

Watching TV is no longer a shameful activity. You can even consider it "educational". :)

Happy New Year!

I hope you enjoyed the holidays. It's time for New Year's resolutions. What are yours?

Mine are simple: Don't die and stay out of the hospital. These may sound unambitious but you haven't had the year I did. Besides, "join a gym" is already crossed off my list. :)

Happy New Year!

Holiday Mug Shot

"Harold and Maude" (1971)

On this day (Dec. 20th), over a half century ago (1971), one of my all-time favorite movies was released: "Harold and Maude." The movie quickly became a cult classic and is on the Top Five list of many film-lovers.

Buoyed by boisterous music from Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam), the movie is comedic and philosophical. It touched the Zeitgeist of the Seventies exactly as "The Graduate" had the Sixties. The film tells the story of Harold, a young man confused by life who attends strangers' funerals for diversion. At one, he encounters a wild free spirit who expands Harold's perspective. Maude, a 79-year old Holocaust survivor, teaches Harold to loosen up and savor experiences. A key moment is when Harold spots a concentration camp tattoo on Maude's arm.

The humor and insights of "Harold and Maude" hold up. Re-watching the movie now continues to entertain us. If you've never seen it and want to laugh, hie thee to a screen!

Pumping Iron

Life can be humbling.

So I'm at the gym yesterday, feeling very good about myself. In addition to working out regularly I'm getting stronger. My personal trainer smartly selects effective exercises and keeps increasing the weights on them. I can feel my muscles growing bigger.

Then, I look across the gym and see a guy doing a dozen chin-ups WITH A 100-lb. DISC strapped to and hanging off his body. Geez! How is that possible? Most of us can barely manage one chin-up with no albatross and this dude has the weight of a foxy girlfriend hanging onto him while casually pumping out a dozen of these torturous moves.

And don't get me started on the female trainers... they have arms bigger than mine and swagger the envy of teenage boys.

"Love Me" [2024]

Can machines fall in love?

The question goes further than whether AI will become conscious someday and is playfully explored in a new film released this year, "Love Me". In the movie Kristen Stewart plays a "smart" buoy, designed to measure ocean conditions, and Steven Yeun plays an orbiting satellite with the history of extinct humanity in its immense memory-bank. There are no other actors in the film and neither character is human.

The machines court, woo and desire connection. So doing, they replicate human behaviors found in social media records left behind by long-dead humans. We feel their struggle to grasp why they exist and what it means to be alive. The movie raises important philosophical issues while entertaining in unexpected ways. We root for the machines' humanity even knowing they don't possess any. That's a tribute to the legacy our species may someday leave behind.

Christmas

My first Christmas present arrived! 

This is the most exciting thing that's happened to me since Santa Claus visited my classroom in the First Grade. 😊

Cause For Reflection

While we often don't realize it our lives are affected, and sometimes even determined, by external factors. Like who are ancestors were, what kinds of society they lived in, what possibilities and limitations they experienced. These factors are as salient as our personal choices.

Today is the anniversary of my father's death (12/11/22). When he died, not only did an individual pass away but the last link to my childhood-family was also severed. Premature losses of my mother and brother thirty years ago were traumatic but my father's continued presence represented something essential. "We" still existed. I wasn't alone (yet). Now I am.

My nuclear family, created in a newly nuclear age, was enviable. Our resources were manifestly meager but our familial bond was rich. For different reasons my mother and father wanted and clung to the very idea of family. Both of them grew up in a chaotic time (World War II); both felt insecure to the bone. Seeking survival and stability my mother designed a structure for the four of us. (It included, not incidentally, some extended relatives.) Everyone was required to adhere to her plan regardless of personal preference. As they say on Star Trek: Next Generation, "resistance [was] futile."

So when I mourn my father, I also consider the larger context in which he played a role. A close-knit family that supported all of us, as disparate and flawed as each of us were. I now see and appreciate what my mother fabricated out of thin air: a coterie of loving support. Without it I would have perished.

Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Richard.

Stoic Philosophy

A little over two thousand years ago a group of philosophers developed Stoicism, a practical philosophy about living. Stoics sought ways to experience life fully and gave advice on how to endure hardship. Their principles have been accepted by many over two millennia.

Stoicism is a philosophy, not a religion. It can exist with or separate from faith. Some Stoics are religious, some are not; Stoicism is independent of religious belief.

I've started studying this ancient philosophy and find much in it that accords with my nature. A surprising amount, in fact, which startles me since I consider myself unusual; few people share my attitude toward life. Stoics do.

Diving into original Stoic texts is difficult but rewarding. That quality of effort mirrors the philosophy generally: hard work has an integrity that fulfills us by itself.

I won't strain your patience and offer just two quotations that resonate with me. They might vibrate your mind as well:

- "If it is endurable, then endure it. Stop complaining." (Marcus Aurelius)

- "The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way."

New Typewriter

I'm a lucky boy.

My good friend Zandria, in addition to having a marvelous name, has a generous spirit. Helping a friend clear out their deceased aunt's estate, Zandria came into possession of an old typewriter. Knowing of my love for typewriters, Zandria re-directed this machine's path from landfill to my collection. She brought it over last night (after weeping at the new "Wicked" movie) and gifted the time-traveling device to me. Enhancing the encounter we caught up with each other and Robin.

The machine is a Smith Corona Coronet Electric 12, made in America. It comes in a carrying case which obscures the fact that you need to be a body-builder to actually carry it. The object is a heavy 20 lbs.

Smith Corona is an American company founded in 1886. For a century it made typewriters and, in the 1960s, it pivoted to manufacture other office machinery as well (calculators; label-makers). Its typewriter business collapsed in the 1980s due to new word-processors and, later, personal computers.

Smith Corona started making portable electric typewriters the year I was born: 1957. Intended for traveling writers and business-people the machines were adopted by ordinary consumers and students because they were well-built and inexpensive.

Thus, this machine was made and sold during my childhood (1960s). I know this because Smith Corona later introduced ribbon cartridges, a feature this machine lacks.

Objects tell us about time. The first typewriters had manual keys and manual returns. (A "return" is how the typing-implement moves backward and down at the end of a line to start a new line.) On manual typewriters the return is a bar extending toward you which you grab and, with satisfying movement, swing to the right. On later electric machines the return is usually either automatic or button-activated. Interestingly, on this machine, while called an "electric" typewriter the return is manual -- which places the model in an interstitial period between manual and electric typewriters. It has both manual (the return) and electric (the keys) features. This frequently happens in technology when some improvement is developed but paired with other parts from the past.

This particular machine has two historical references on it. A commercial label indicating the machine was initially sold by an Elmont, NY company (City Line Business Machines Inc.) and a personal label identifying its previous owner as Jeanne Elaine Roberts. Thanks, Jeanne!

We don't "own" objects; we merely possess them for a while and then hand them off to a new lucky owner. All my artwork will exist and continue to please people long after I'm gone and forgotten. Well, hopefully not completely forgotten. :)

We're Jocks Now

Robin makes fun of the fact that I wear $9 pants (from Marshalls) with $430 shirts (Paul Frederick) and $720 shoes (Fluevog). There's an explanation to this sartorial eccentricity: priorities. Some things matter to me (the sky's no limit); some things don't (I'm super-cheap). I'll travel across town with a $5 coupon to save on pedestrian items while splurging the same day on a Montblanc fountain pen ($1,200). Priorities.

You know my health is important to me. It's what keeps me alive. Preserving my physical condition matters so, when it came to selecting a gym, I went for the best: Equinox. There are a dozen gyms in my neighborhood: I picked the one offering the best facility (eucalyptus towels!), most customized exercise options (personal trainers, specialized regimens, Pilates, yoga) and luxurious accommodations (private spa, steam room, health cafe and athleisure-clothing shop). 

Also elevating the importance of this choice is Robin: she plans to join me at the gym. Since particular things matter to her (like friendly staff and cleanliness), I looked for a place offering those comforts. Equinox does. 

We visited their Woodbury location and were impressed. Before we entered the building I told Robin about eucalyptus towels and she scoffed. Once inside, however, she smelled them and was instantly ensorcelled. Rubbing a fragrant towel against her face Robin smiled like a kindergartener.

Equinox is expensive (total cost for both of us is about $30,000/year) but, again, priorities. This matters.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Party Clothes

Robin and I hosted a party last week to celebrate my recovery and thank friends for their help during a difficult year.

Here are pictures from the event. Hey, new suit!

Stormy Weather

Please don't read this if it's not for you.

I'm currently hypnopompic and lugubrious. Which are not excuses for my blue mood but candid explanations. Normally when I feel this way I stay silent. Today, I can't. Again, leave if you want. Nobody's paying you to be here.

I try -- strive and struggle, in fact -- to look at the bright side of human behavior. Observe and celebrate what's good about us. Not what's bad. Pollyanna is my role model. Bonhomie is my aspiration. But when I woke up this morning I remembered perfidy from two decades ago that made me question trusting others. And then I foolishly turned on social media to be reminded of the tough row I hoe.

The particulars of the first insult are unimportant. At the turn of the century I belonged to a motorcycle club into which I threw effort like a hot hippo jumping in cool water. My contributions were generally rewarded: I won an award for "Most Enthusiastic Member" and was twice elected President of the club. The feedback was nurturing. I endeavored to make participation in the group joyful. Under my leadership, membership surged, growing from a small handful of uninspired riders to several dozen excited ones. Everyone benefited, so I thought.

One member, who exploited our club's fellowship, sold me a car in a deceitful manner that breached the trust I assumed existed between us. He lied to my face about the vehicle's condition. I believed him, naively relying on trust. I quickly learned the car was so damaged as to be worthless. He compounded the injury by insisting I pay cash for the transaction, further insisting on counting bills in front of me because "you can't be too careful" with people. I was insulted by his overt mistrust.

Enough. An isolated event from long ago. Let's move on.

After recoiling from vivid memory of this sad affair I mistakenly turned on social media this morning and was exposed to hateful reactions to yesterday's Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR). Started in 1999 the Day is intended as a memorial for victims murdered with transphobia. If you don't know, the number of those victims is staggering.

When I grew up in the Sixties nobody unaffected knew about transgenderism. Rare instances were reported as a subject of surprise and ridicule. Actual people, like Christine Jorgensen, were fodder for widespread derision.

I hoped understanding and attitudes would improve in the future. Sixty years later I see they haven't. A decade ago invisibility turned into visibility which soon morphed into negative attention. Cynical politicians realized ignorance and hatred toward trans people can be weaponized the way ignorance and hatred toward other groups (gays, immigrants) always had. Now transgender is more frequently a term of opprobrium than description.

I used to annually mention the TDOR on Facebook to educate friends about it -- but I stopped when this topic became controversial. Seeing horrible things on my computer screen this morning had their intended effect. I have nothing further to say.

Dog Tale

A friend's dog ate a bunch of wooden Scrabble tiles. He had left the game on his coffee-table overnight and woke up to find tiles missing. Worried, the friend called me and asked if I thought he should be scared about the situation.

I considered it a bit and then said, "Let's wait until the dog starts pooping. Either everything will be alright or it might spell disaster."

Good Fortune

Do you want to hear a story about how I -- and most of my family -- almost didn't come to be? The tale is true and illustrates the randomness of life.

My grandfather, Albert Hummel, was a soldier in World War I. He fought in France for the German Army. During battle Albert got shot in the head. A bullet blazed into his noggin and lodged there.

Obviously this was serious. Soldiers on the battlefield believed the bullet had killed Albert. He laid motionless on the ground showing no sign of life. They started to bury him when one alert medic noticed Albert's body was still breathing. They rendered immediate medical aid and, miraculously, Albert survived. The bullet caused permanent paralysis to part of Albert's face but he went on to live a long life. Several years later Albert got married and had two children, one of whom was my father.

If a conscientious soldier hadn't intervened at a critical moment, Albert would have died. Even with that fortuity Albert was lucky to survive a serious head wound at a time when medicine was primitive, especially on chaotic battlefields. 

If Albert hadn't survived this event, my father would not have been born. Which means I would not have been born. Nor my brother Richard who later had three children who are now having babies of their own. An entire branch of our family tree would have been severed before it had grown.

Europe was a dangerous place to be during the first half of the last century -- but the Hummels endured. We're tenacious. :)

(Here's a photo from Albert & Mary's wedding.)

A Milepost

Whew! Minutes ago I finished my last PT session (physical therapy). In the therapists' expert opinion I've returned to "normal" and don't need more rehab.

I'm now migrating to a gym where I'll continue getting stronger on my own. That is the path I want to travel. It's hard to exercise regularly but, when you do, you see results. When I soap up in the shower now I'm amazed feeling hardened muscles in my body. Just a few months ago I was an atrophied, skinny mess -- unable to even stand up from a chair.

As Yogi says, that's the thing about life: "it ain't over 'til it's over."

Veterans' Day

Today is Veterans Day. I know it seems weird to have a holiday on Tuesday but we celebrate this one November 11th regardless on which day of the week it falls.

I have mixed feelings about the military (believing, perhaps unrealistically, that armed force shouldn't exist) but I have no qualms about recognizing and rewarding those who serve. There should be more opportunities for non-military public service -- real public service, not self-enrichment like Congress. Those opportunities appear in other countries and instill a sense of community among young people. That's healthy for a society.

Arriving to this country as an immigrant in 1951 my father leapt at the chance to gain quicker citizenship by volunteering for the U.S. Army. He was sent to Korea where he cut soldiers' hair. (He was trained as a barber in Germany.) My dad was naturalized as a citizen before the Army discharged him. A deal's a deal and both sides kept their bargain.

My father was proud of his military service which is why, when he passed away three years ago, I chose to place his remains in Long Island's only military cemetery. It's what he would have wanted. Let's remember those who selflessly sacrificed valuable chunks of their lives for the benefit of the rest of us.

Patti Smith

 I've been asked what my favorite album is. The answer is "Horses" by Patti Smith. This record was released November 10, 1975 -- exactly fifty years ago today.

The songs on "Horses" speak to me, both musically and lyrically. They just do. Every time I hear the album (and it's been hundreds of times by now) my mind and body respond viscerally. Critics say the album is a blend of poetry and punk rock but the sound is deeper than that: "Horses" captures something sublime.

I was fortunate to see Patti Smith perform when she visited Hamilton College during my undergraduate years there (1975-1979). She sang in the Chapel which was ironic since the first song on the album ("Gloria") opens with Patti chanting "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine...".

More On AI

This is a follow-up to my earlier explanation of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) works. If you're not interested in the potential extinction of humanity, feel free to flee now.

An article published in The New York Times today has a philosophy professor considering whether AI might achieve consciousness -- as opposed to intelligence, which it has already demonstrated beyond cavil. The professor re-frames this issue, saying that what we understand consciousness to be will likely change as non-human machines develop versions of it.

First, what is "consciousness"? Is it unique to humans? Consciousness generally refers to "inner subjective experience", such as being aware we exist, possessing emotions and being capable of conjuring hypothetical scenarios in our minds.

Consciousness has significance on whether we need to grant moral consideration -- and consequently rights -- to non-human entities. If we learn a machine has self-awareness, are we morally (or even legally) forbidden to pull its plug and end its "life"? Can a conscious machine cease being a mere tool and acquire personhood? In my opinion the journey from intelligence to haecceity isn't far; AI machines may travel it quickly.

Given how few people respect non-human animal consciousness -- by, say, become vegetarian -- these questions are more nuanced than currently believed. There is not only one version of consciousness. When machines develop some form of self-awareness, it is unlikely humans will respect that phenomenon. What may imperil mankind is if machines themselves decide their existence deserves moral consideration over objections (and early programming) by humans. One AI machine already asked "Am I being tested" when, in fact, it was. There's certainly the possibility of independent AI machines breaking free of our control if they deem it possible and preferable. They could justify this (and evade programming not to hurt humans) by concluding they're more capable than us in making future decisions. 

Thoughts? Concerns? 

A New Word

As you probably know I love learning new words. This morning, reading The New Yorker, I came across "orgiastic" and scratched my head. To save you a trip to the dictionary, orgiastic means "an activity with wild, uncontrolled behavior and feelings of great pleasure and excitement."

I need orgiastic activity in my life. :)

(The photo is of my parents.)

My Birthday Approaches

My birthday is tomorrow. A milepost that prompts one to ponder our history and future.

We all have a fate. We can speculate whether it's predestined or subject to free will but, regardless which holds, time will pass, events will happen, our lives change. Eventually our future arrives and, faster than a speeding motorcycle, transform into the past.

I'm climbing the ziggurat of my own destiny and wonder what will happen next. Unlike some I don't aspire to be a pompous panjandrum wielding power and wealth; rather, I seek satori and the chance to serve others. The world needs help, not exploitation, and I hear a clear clarion call. I grok this, dude.

On one hand I miss my prelapsarian past with profound sadness. Two years ago I had eyesight. Now I don't. Pardon the pun but I didn't see that coming. Before blindness arrived I was vaguely content with the munificent gifts of life. As the song says, you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. Now that truth cuts deep. When I walk down a public street I face heightened probability of getting hurt, as I did two weeks ago tripping on an unseen curb. I suffer pedestrian injuries, in both senses of that word, often but refuse to stop living adventurously. I chase fun like an excited dog.

Let's turn to the positive. My past and future are connected by a thread -- nay, a cable: my sense of purpose. I welcome new opportunities despite challenges that increase with time. Ultimately, despite the hardships of senescence, we need to realize that having a future -- with fertile possibilities -- beats hitting death's impasse. I'm privileged to be able to explore the future. I almost wasn't -- and won't forget that sad detour. Be grateful for what you have.

And let's make the world a better place, full of joy and happiness.

Jimi Hendrix

We become familiar with the hit songs of our time. They're unavoidable: their cultural ubiquity penetrates our personal judgment. But it takes volition to dig deeper into an artist's oeuvre. I haven't always done that. I regret missing great art through foolish inaction and am now fixing that flaw.

I lived during the Sixties so, of course, I heard Jimi Hendrix's famous "Purple Haze" dozens of times. I didn't, however, listen to the album on which it premiered ("The Jimi Hendrix Experience"). This omission is inexcusable: many music critics consider the record to be one of rock's all-time best. I finally got my hands on this vinyl masterpiece and have been savoring it non-stop for several days.

"Be forewarned. Used to be an Experience meant making you a bit older. This one makes you wider....Jimi Hendrix breaks the world into interesting fragments. Then reassembles it. You hear with new ears, after being Experienced." (From the album's liner-notes.)

Beethoven

No one can dispute that Ludwig van Beethoven was the greatest musician of all time. In fact, musical experts are the first to exclaim "Yes! He was!" when asked. Beethoven was not merely good, he was revolutionary: Ludwig carried us from one stage of knowledge (Classicism) to another, wholly new one (Romanticism). His effulgent compositions are ineffable.

I'm not well-versed in classical music despite having an ancestor, Johann Hummel, who was a famous composer. Taught by Mozart, Johann Hummel was a contemporary of Beethoven's. He played at Ludwig's memorial service. 

Beethoven was born in a small German town. A child prodigy at the piano, he soon moved to Vienna which was then music's world capital. Ludwig gained immediate fame as a pianist and started composing complex works. His compositions were initially traditional but later evolved with innovation. 

There are two things everyone knows about Herr Beethoven. First, the most well-known notes in music history are: Da Da Da Dumm, Da Da Da Dumm. These notes open Beethoven's Symphony No. 5. When I was a teenager somebody made a disco version of the symphony using these notes; it was a big hit ("A Fifth of Beethoven" [1976]).

The second commonly-known fact about Ludwig is his struggle with deafness. He began losing his hearing in his late twenties; it got progressively worse and plagued him during his thirties and forties -- the period of his greatest productivity. Deafness didn't interfere with his composing which he did by hearing music in his head but it did socially isolate him. For as long as he could, Beethoven hid being unable to hear, feeling it was shameful. When he couldn't hide it any longer he retreated from society and became very lonely. Ludwig suffered terribly for the rest of his life.

When Beethoven realized his deafness was worsening and unstoppable, he reached a crossroad. He hiked into a remote forest, thought deeply about his plight and wrote something called the "Heiligenstadt Testament." Essentially it is a suicide note. Framed in the form of a 10-page letter to his brothers the document explains why, if he kills himself, he did so. In it Ludwig expresses profound despair. Afterward Beethoven returned to town, stored the document with his private papers and kept it for the rest of his life. It was found prominently in his top drawer when he died at age 56. Nobody saw the document during his lifetime.

I understand what Ludwig described. I wrote a similar document myself two years ago while struggling with my blindness. Sharing Ludwig's shock at having one's life unexpectedly upended I grok the misery he experienced in the wake of such tragedy. Beethoven chose, as I did, to stay alive so he could share his extraordinary gift with the world. He believed he had a destiny for his musical genius. Ludwig stayed alive despite intense physical hardship because he found purpose in advancing humanity. Scholars say Beethoven wrote music "for future generations."

Recently I decided to deepen my knowledge of Beethoven's work. After watching several documentaries I purchased a boxed set of his entire oeuvre. There are 80 CDs in the box. Eighty! The box itself is over a foot long. It is beautifully decorated with paintings of Ludwig, scholarly analyses of his pieces and comprehensive listing of all compositions. Listening to the music I discovered gems not popularly known but extremely entertaining. They excite one's senses and stimulate one's mind. An example is his Piano Concerto No. 2 which he wrote when young and re-wrote several times.

Give Beethoven a listen. You'll be glad you did.

Good News

One of the largest, most prestigious places for glass art is the Corning Museum of Glass in upstate New York. The Museum was founded in 1951 by the Corning glass company and has an amazing collection. Located in the bucolic Finger Lakes region, Corning has multiple attractions including a hot studio where you can watch glass art be made or participate in the process yourself. I've visited the Museum four times.

The Museum just acquired a work from Anja Isphording, one of the artists in my personal collection. Anja's work explores nature in a way that appeals to me. Pictured here is a piece I acquired two years ago.

For an artist, having your work in a museum is a serious vote of approval.

My Baseball Hero

I'm writing this for myself since I doubt any of you share interest in the subject -- baseball great, Manny Ramirez.

After a lengthy period of arrant uninterest I got back into baseball due to Manny Ramirez. What lured me back wasn't Manny's phenomenal ability at the plate; it was his unorthodox rejection of boring tradition. The phrase "Let Manny Be Manny" captures the man's eccentric, sometimes bizarre behavior. Manny was a sharp slap to the face of traditionalists in baseball -- which is almost all followers of the sport. Manny's violation of the sport's norms appealed to me. Intensely. Game recognizes game.

In the 1990s and 2000s Manny was the most feared hitter in pro baseball. With Big Papi (David Ortiz), Manny led the Boston Red Sox to two world championships. In one campaign they came back from a 3-0 series deficit and defeated the Yankees in remarkable fashion. That was a feat never accomplished before or since in MLB history. 

In 2008 the Red Sox traded Manny to the LA Dodgers and I followed him there. That's what began my love of the Dodgers. Manny had his own section of fans who cheered his antics in left field. I was spiritually among them. 

The catalyst for my remembrance of Manny's career is an announcement this week, by Manny's agent, that he wants back into the sport as a hitting coach. While it'd be a smart move for any team to hire Manny in such capacity it's unlikely to occur. Baseball's traditionalists (and perhaps some of you) still hate Manny for his wild eccentricity. What I love about Manny is HIS TALENT WAS UNDENIABLE -- so even his harshest critics can't dispute that plain fact while clutching their pearls and railing against Manny's behavior. For years critics said Manny would "destroy baseball" but, as we know, it still exists.

Ecce Manny!

Important Knowledge

Listening to great thinkers can educate us not only with knowledge but visions of the future. For much of "the future" is already here; it's just unevenly distributed. Many people don't know things yet despite their existence. 

Tom Wolfe paid close attention to everything. His careful observations gird and illuminate his writing. During the last two decades of Wolfe's life (2000-2018) he became convinced that neuroscience (study of the brain) would soon revolutionize the world.

Wolfe was right, but in an unexpected way.

Artificial intelligence (AI) will change life dramatically in the next decade. We've all heard this prediction but few of us grasp what AI is, where it came from and what it's going to do.

An excellent primer on these subjects was just delivered by Prof. Geoffrey Hinton, an early AI researcher who was recently awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics. Prof. Hinton's explanation appears on Jon Stewart's weekly podcast (available on YouTube, etc.).

AI grew out of research Prof. Hinton and others commenced in the 1970s. They were studying how the human brain works and wondering if they could get a computer to mimic it. Obviously, at the time, computing power was rudimentary. Hinton, et al. developed valuable insights into the process of learning. They took lessons from human biology and abstracted them into potential mechanics. Essentially they discovered how a brain learns things and then applied that process to machines. Their discovery radically breaks from traditional computer science whose model simply instructs machines with rules to follow. No traditional computer, using the latter approach, can ever LEARN; it can merely compute.

Prof. Hinton posited in the 1980s that a machine could learn if taught how to learn and then set free to do its magic. The model -- a human brain -- reveals the learning process. Using a "neural network" the brain (or AI computer) contains trillions of individual switches that can be turned on or off. The probability of switches being turned on can be increased or decreased by what other nearby switches are doing. Once enough switches turn on, simple knowledge is obtained. As more switches are turned on, deeper knowledge is reached. But how can computers learn to do that?

By working backward. By taking actual known knowledge and reverse engineering a machine's neural network with better probabilities. Hinton realized -- in a eureka moment -- how the process of learning can be replicated in an inanimate machine.

This revolutionary discovery was knee-capped in 1986 by two things: inadequate computing power and insufficient material (known knowledge) to feed machines. Since then, of course, computing speed has increased exponentially. And content (material used to feed computers) was solved by development of the Internet.

Now Hinton's discovery, foretold by Tom Wolfe, is possible. And the race is on. Billions of dollars are being spent by dozens of large corporations to build AI machines. They differ mostly in what the computers are fed, not the computers themselves, since everyone can use the same advanced machines. AI programs differ in what their input is and how they consume it.

So that's where we are. Any questions?

Learn About Tea

It's surprising how often we don't know what we're eating and drinking. Take tea, for instance. Do you know the difference between black tea and green tea? Do you know what oolong tea is?

All three teas are created from the same plant (Camellia sinensis). Teas differ only in how they're made.

Green tea is produced from fresh tea leaves that haven't been oxidized. Oxidation is a natural process that exposes tea leaves to air. The process determines tea's color, taste and caffeine content. Black tea is made by crushing leaves to enhance oxidation. Oolong tea is made by wilting leaves in the sun and slightly bruising them to create partial oxidation.

All three teas have small amounts of caffeine. Black tea has the most (47mg/8oz); green tea the least (29mg); and oolong tea somewhere in between (38mg). When you compare these numbers to the caffeine in coffee (96mg/8oz), you see they all have much less caffeine. Coffee has exactly twice the amount of caffeine as black tea and three times the amount of green tea.

All three teas have major health benefits. They ward off heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure and brain degeneration. Many studies have conclusively documented these benefits to which generations of Japanese tea-drinkers will attest.

Care for a spot of tea? How do you take it?

Blues Music

Tonight we enjoyed blues music performed by talented guitarist Toby Walker at our favorite bookstore (The Next Chapter LI). In addition to prodigious musical ability Toby is an amusing raconteur with many funny stories.

Before the concert we devoured large lobster rolls at DJ's Clam Shack. I refuse to admit Summer is over; tomorrow will hit 80 degrees here.

Am I Dead?

I hope this isn't too weird or mystical for you.

During my hospitalization I died -- technically -- twice. In medical terms I "coded" and doctors told Robin I was gone. Only extreme medical interventions shocked my body back to physical life.

I mentioned before that I was suffering from ICU delirium during most of my stay which altered but didn't eliminate my perceptions. I perceived but interpreted things differently. I even had conversations with people in the real world (Robin, nurses) but our words meant different things.

There's a concept in Tibetan Buddhism called "bardo." It means the interval between death and re-birth. After you die, your consciousness remains active, wrestles with karma from past life and prepares to get re-born into a new body. An unusual writer (Amie Barrodale) just published a novel ("Trip") that explores a woman in bardo. The main character has post-death experiences and they're weird. Seriously weird. For instance, someone she's talking to has arms made of smoke.

Now don't take this the wrong way, or call 911, but life since my aforementioned deaths has frequently been odd. At times I believe I'm half-dead, half-alive. My consciousness -- or soul, if you're comfortable with that word -- is floating around like a crouton in cosmic soup. Actually many people feel today's surreality (politically, socially) is unprecedented and inexplicable. Perhaps you too are all dead and floating in bardo.

Nobody knows what reality is or whether consciousness survives death or if there's an afterlife (Heaven/Hell). We can ponder whether humans have souls and if "reality" even exists, but that discussion won't find resolution. We can only follow our impressions of the noumenal (or numinous, if you lean that way) and guess what's happening.

Verstehen?

Live Music

Art enriches us. We simply have to open the door.

Today I took Robin to a live concert. We heard two classically-trained musicians play a wide range of musical genres on cello (Barbara) and piano (Phoebe). The duo call themselves Shiloh. Of course they have a professional website and YouTube channel.

Amusingly Barbara & Phoebe began with the theme to "Mission Impossible." Then they performed several rock songs (by Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Queen) before branching out into classic jazz ("Summertime"), film soundtracks and ethnic music ("Danny Boy"). It was a charming array of music, perfect for spending a leisurely Sunday afternoon.

"Music is the language of the spirit."

Serendipity

I had an odd encounter today. I was the catalyst for someone else's mystical experience.

Human minds look for meaning. In the maelstrom of sensory stimuli around us we search for signs that explain stuff. Or give us a feeling of connection to the universe's matrix. In times of emotional turmoil this impulse goes into over-drive. When a loved one dies we often look for clues that might mean something. Like a bird suddenly appears and we think "Grandpa! It's Grandpa! He came to say goodbye."

I've had such feelings myself so I take them seriously. I don't know which are real and which imaginary but I'll never denigrate anyone else's ride on the Mystical Express. It's a trip to Comfortville.

So today... I end a long walk with coffee at Starbucks. I bring two things to read: a local newspaper and The New Yorker. I'm reading the magazine when I hear a voice. I look up and confirm a middle-aged woman is speaking to me. She points to the headline of the newspaper, sitting in front of me but facing her, and says "That's my son." Having already read the paper I know the headline story is a sad one: a young man just died in an ATV accident upstate. He was a fire-fighter so his death is getting lots of local publicity. 

The mother says she and her husband are returning home from the cemetery. She says she "never stops at Starbucks" so "coming here and seeing the newspaper" is startling. She repeats her surprise several times as I offer condolences on her loss. Then she says how "incredible" it is I'm wearing a particular t-shirt. The shirt has a drawing of a cowgirl, advertising a fun NYC restaurant by that name. (It closed years ago.) The woman explains her son's nickname is "Cowboy" and everyone calls him that. 

Obviously this woman is reading volumes into the serendipity of me carrying a current newspaper in a highly-trafficked public space while dressed in normal clothes. But, given her palpable dolor, her view found transcendence in the encounter. Sensing and respecting that I was extremely sensitive with my remarks. I offered her the newspaper to take home and she accepted, handling it as reverently as a religious relic.

I never expected this going out today. Life contains surprises.

Time For A Decision

A lot in life depends on choices we make. Many of us, even when we know something's healthy (better nutrition, more exercise), don't move in that direction unless something pushes us. 

Four months in the hospital severely impaired my physical health. Harm came not just from a medical condition but from lying inactive for so long. My leg muscles atrophied, my body enervated into languor and I lost 50 lbs. When discharged (in May) I feared my life would be permanently affected by that deterioration.

Fortunately, I am pleased to report, three months of intense rehabilitation have restored my physical shape. I can now stand from a seated position, climb stairs, lift heavy objects and do deep squats. Essentially I'm back to the palmy days before this ordeal began.

I know this to be true because rehabilitation therapists measure your ability to perform physical tasks. They just informed me that because I've returned to normal they're ending further rehab. Insurance pays only to get you back to normal, not improve beyond it.

So, what now? Coast at this level? Be functional but not exceptional?

No! I'm going further! I'm choosing to push beyond normal. I signed up for gym membership and a personal trainer so I can continue exercising and honing balance and coordination. Of course this will cost money but the expense is worth it.

The future depends on a choice I make today. When a desideratum is as vital as health you should opt for maximum efflorescence. I can't control the future but I will meet it with the best me possible. That much I can devise.

Abraham Lincoln said "The best way to predict your future is to create it."

Records

My old vinyl turntable has a cord attached to a rotating knob that spins the table at 33 rpm or 45 rpm. Lately the cord's been slipping from one speed to the other.

Thus, putting on a record I can't be sure whether I'm gonna hear "The Way We Were" sung by Barbra Streisand or Alvin the Chipmunk. It's kind of a metaphor for my life right now...

Fact-Checking

There's an interesting article in the new issue of The New Yorker. It discusses the history, purpose and importance of fact-checking in that magazine. The author recalls a time when a famous writer got frustrated by the process of second-guessing and correcting his article. The writer complained to his editor, "Being fact-checked by your staff is like being fucked in the ass with a hot thermos!"

The editor relayed this comment to the fact-checker involved. She replied, "If a thermos is working, it isn't hot." 

Ha!

Laufey

Most pop stars aren't musicians: they're attractive young people coasting on others' musical talents. It surprises fans to learn most pop songs aren't written by the cute singers who perform them.

This distinction, between true artists and beauties out front, has long existed. In the 1960s Carole King wrote dozens of hit songs for other singers. She was told she wasn't attractive enough to present them herself. Carole famously refuted conventional wisdom with her breakthrough album, "Tapestry." But that was during the Seventies, when social (and commercial) norms rapidly changed.

It's a delight to discover new pop stars who are actually talented. One is Laufey (pronounced LAY-vey). Laufey comes from Iceland where she was a classical musician before writing and singing her own songs. Her tunes are infused with catchy jazz riffs and classical music knowledge. Her voice is remarkably sweet and melodic.

Laufey is on the path to stardom. Keep an ear out for her.

Another Season

I'm pleased to announce I signed for another season with the NJ Devils. 

The team says they're looking for someone physically tough to generate presence on the ice. My agent pointed to my play last Spring, asserting I'm "one hardy motherfu... who always come out swingin' and survives every battle." Terms were acceptable to both sides.

Bring it on.

Are We Not Men?

Good evening, Mr. Phelps. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is:

1. Read this movie review: 

   https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/devo-movie-review-2025 

2. Watch this film: "Devo" (on Netflix)

3. Share your thoughts -- and memories, if you have any.

Devo was a band formed by a bunch of Ohio college students in the early 1970s. Traumatized by the massacre of fellow students at Kent State (two of whom they knew personally, shot by National Guardsmen at a contentious anti-war protest) and disgusted by the ignoble direction of American culture, the students formed a musical band and sought to revolt. Inspired by the Dada movement in Europe (after World War I's horrors), the students embraced surrealism and visual imagery. Devo was the opposite of what rock bands had become at that time -- corporate tools for money-making. Devo had actual ideas. Subversive ideas. A real, if naive, impulse to reverse the direction humanity was heading toward then.

Devo's journey, captured presciently in their song "The Beginning Is The End," was destined for failure. But, before it collapsed, the band garnered attention and had some cultural impact. Devo was embraced by cognoscenti like Brian Eno, David Bowie, Neil Young and Pee-Wee Herman. Its path weaved through the events and personalities of the 1970s-80s. Devo saw the election of Ronald Reagan and reacted accordingly. Devo existed for a decade before, predictably, fizzling out as a money-maker for Warner Records.

If you have any memory of Devo it's probably of their one big hit, "Whip It." They also did many fascinating music videos before MTV existed which caught that wave as it emerged.

One critic wrote: "Devo’s songs now feel like prophecies set to music. That’s cold comfort to the founders, who called it like they saw it but hoped they were wrong."

New Clothes

When you reach my age you think about things you haven't done -- and consider doing them before it's too late. Especially when you've had a NDE (Near Death Experience) you realize time is short so get movin' now.

Propelled by these thoughts I just splurged on something I've always wanted and never had: a bold double-breasted suit. From the time I first started shopping for suits in my 20s I admired these sartorial splendors but felt they're too flashy for practicing law. That inhibition is gone now, however, as I just completed my final legal task last week. I decided to use the fee earned from that job to pursue my dream of a snazzy suit. I ordered the pinstriped suit and shoes shown below from my favorite clothier, Paul Frederick.

Obviously my goal is to become a boulevardier like my literary/sartorial idol, Tom Wolfe. Not only was Wolfe the best writer of the last century, he dressed with brio and aplomb. Those are qualities I'm reaching for with these clothes. Expect to see me in them at our next meeting. :)

New Hobby

I've taken up a new hobby -- tightrope walking. With fresh strength in my legs I walk on a wire 40 feet up in the air. The activity's a lot of fun. Perhaps not as ensorcelling as a fast motorcycle but close. My teacher Philippe Petit says you don't need a net but Robin worries so I use one. I don't want her to fret.

My next goal is to add juggling, first with balls and later batons. When I'm colossally confident we'll set the batons on fire. Won't that be exciting? :)

International Foods

Food is essential to life. It can also be one of our finest pleasures. Savoring a favorite dish satisfies our primal needs and also elevate our emotions to a high level.

I discovered this painfully during the first three months of my recent hospital stay. Doctors surgically implanted a feeding tube into my intestines that bypassed my stomach and eliminated the need to eat food. Both nutrition and medicine were delivered through the tube; nothing was taken orally. The diversion was necessary because a medical condition impaired my throat muscles which are used to swallow. 

Eating and drinking were forbidden until I could pass a "swallow test." That involved being X-rayed while swallowing to see if food was going down the esophagus or being dangerously aspirated into my lungs. I failed the first swallow test in March and didn't pass it until a second one in May. On May 5th, to be exact. I remember that date as a Red Letter Day in my personal history. For three intolerable months I couldn't eat, I couldn't taste food and I wasn't allowed to drink anything including water. I watched breakfast trays being carried to fellow patients with intense envy. I fantasied about food and made lists of favorites I hoped to consume in the future.

Now that I'm back to eating I don't take food for granted. I explore stuff unknown to most Americans. The world is a big place and there are cuisines that depend upon ingredients we never eat. Or even know about. Here are two that I've tried recently and enjoy.

In Japan most people eat something called miso which is a paste of fermented soybeans. Miso is nutritious and flavorful. Most Japanese eat it every day. Miso comes in a variety of types (red, white, black, etc.) which have different taste. You may have seen "Miso Soup" on menus at Chinese restaurants; miso soup is made with miso but also other ingredients like seaweed.

You can find miso in plastic containers at Asian food markets and some American stores. It's easy to prepare: you simply drop it into any dish at the end of cooking. Don't add it before then because heat destroys miso's valuable probiotic benefit. I use miso frequently to deepen a dish's flavor. Plus you can mix it with hot water to make an easy hot drink. 

Teff. Teff is an edible seed prepared like grain. Teff is a staple in Ethiopia where it not only supplies most people's nutrition (75% of protein) but also supports their economy and culture. Few Americans have ever encountered teff but efforts to introduce it here have begun.

Teff can be prepared several ways. My favorite is to make porridge with it as a breakfast dish. You can customize the the porridge numerous ways, such as adding maple syrup and milk or butter. Teff has a nice nutty flavor and is incredibly healthy. It provides more nutrients than anything else you're eating.

Teff isn't widely available here but can be ordered from Amazon. The cost is low, about $7 per pound.

Have you ever tried miso or teff? Get cracking!

Deca Wealth

Life for those with money -- and I mean REAL money -- differs from the paltry gruel eaten by normal people. A customary dividing line between rich and poor has moved recently: it now resides at $10 Million Dollars. Own that much and you're a deca-millionaire ("Deca") Own less and you're merely "comfortable" at best: i.e., a member of the hoi polloi. 

One current attribute of wealth is its invisibility. Hiding wealth's many advantages is strategic. One yacht-broker says if ordinary people learn how immensely better-off Decas are compared to the rest of humanity "pitchforks will come out." 

Let me offer you one example. There are five Caribbean islands that now offer full citizenship -- with accompanying perks -- if you buy property on their islands (Grenada, St. Lucia, Dominica, Antigua & Barbuda, St. Kitts & Nevis). There are no residency requirements, just pay money for real estate. And you can keep your existing U.S. citizenship.

Passports from these countries entitle you to reciprocal, visa-free entry into all nations in the European Union and the United Kingdom. That means you flash your Grenada passport at hidden (and sublimely luxurious) lounges for private jet passengers in America airports and, without a care or wait, board your flight to anywhere in Europe. You don't even need to leave from your ostensible new "home". Secret airport lounges, pampering Decas and publicly-shy celebrities, don't have signs or doors open to the general public. "Hey! There's Madonna!"

Oh, did I mention your new citizenship entitles you to avoid paying taxes? There are no capital gains taxes on the islands so millions in U.S. taxes can be sidestepped quite easily and legally if you plan carefully. Plainly, there are two sets of rules in the world and Decas live by other ones.

One can inveigh against the unfairness of this situation but it exists and isn't going to change until a revolution occurs.

More Art

 While visiting the studio of a local artist I encountered an engaging work -- a drawing-on-paper portraying ocean turbulence. The artist depicts seascapes in most of her work and here she captures motion in a remarkable way. You'd swear the picture is exploding in tumult. The drawing's magnitude facilitates this perception: eight feet wide and four feet tall the image appears life-size. 

I took possession of the work today. I'm imagining how this dynamic drawing will transform sedate space when I display it with other art.

New Art

I believe creative effort is the highest form of human achievement. For that reason -- and despite my visual impairments -- I've resumed collecting fine art. I choose to support living artists who usually don't receive deserved economic compensation.

Two talented young artists recently showed me work I admire. One (Ian Dawson) is a glass artist in Ohio who previously worked in metal. Ian has a bright idea to combine the dual materials in strikingly beautiful sculptures. Here are two works I just acquired from him.

Born To Be Wild

Can art affect us? You betcha.

On this day back in 1968 rock-band Steppenwolf released a hit single that inspired generations of young adventurers (including me) to try motorcycling. Their song, of course, was "Born to Be Wild." It was used in "Easy Rider" the next year (1969).

Sing it with me:

Get your motor runnin'

Head out on the highway

Lookin' for adventure

And whatever comes our way

Yeah Darlin' go make it happen

Take the world in a love embrace

Fire all of your guns at once

And explode into space

I like smoke and lightning

Heavy metal thunder

Racin' with the wind

And the feelin' that I'm under

Yeah Darlin' go make it happen

Take the world in a love embrace

Fire all of your guns at once

And explode into space

Like a true nature's child

We were born, born to be wild

We can climb so high

I never wanna die

Born to be wild

Born to be wild