proper corona admin, vol 92 - how long

It's 7:37 on a Saturday night, and not just any Saturday night - I'm talking about yesterday, assuming of course that you are reading this today, as in the day I've published it. If it seems unusual to you that I'm writing so close to the posting day, well, I'm in an unusual position, dear reader - I have nothing. This isn't for a lack of effort - I've been working out my thoughts on certain aspects of comedy, inspired by two of Dave Chappelle's 2020 performances - but for whatever reason I wasn't able to get it quite ready for the small-time primetime of TOA Sunday. So, here we are.

The silver lining is that I have a golden opportunity to answer one of my most common TOA-related questions - how long does it take to write a post? The question, well-intended though it might be, suffers from the common error that a simple question merits a simple answer, at least in process terms - shouldn't I be able to assign each minute of these endless days to some task, the entire allocation rounding out to an even twenty-four hours, then report the exact proportion of TOA time? The problem is that nothing is ever so straightforward - even this post, which I've claimed started at 7:37 (twelve minutes ago) was preceded by some thinking beforehand, which occurred as I separated salmon from the baking sheet. So did I really start at 7:37, or was it a few minutes earlier? You don't need to ask me; it's up to you.

The challenge for determining any duration, whether it be for writing or anything else, always comes back to the question of what we actually mean when we ask - how long? Do you want to know how long I've been typing, how long I've been thinking, or is it something else? The catch is, when I'm asked this question - how long? - the only thing I'm sure of is that my answer doesn't matter. The process of writing, I'd argue, should at least acknowledge that some part of the work is already done before the first word finds its place on the page, but this is hardly the universal perspective - it doesn't square up with the way I perceive most people think about duration, which is rooted almost entirely in a protagonist's definition of action. If you aren't sure what I mean, spend some time tomorrow (safely) asking people how long the pandemic has lasted - you'll almost certainly get a starting point centric to the first disruption in that person's "normal life". If you follow up and ask about the possible ending, you'll likely notice a similar loyalty to the standard of "normal life" built into the response; the pandemic will end when "normal life" has resumed. The way we think about how long, despite the occasional token effort to do otherwise, seems unlikely to move away from this construction that places each individual on the center stage of his or her life, where any attempt at introspection is framed by a series of actions or interactions; the inner life and all its components - hopes, dreams, expectations - play at best a bit-part role.

This fully understandable approach to life is what I fear holds us back from reaching our potential - by defining experience within the sequence of encounters with the world around us, we become unknowingly limited by the chance and circumstance of our surroundings while neglecting the unique perspective of essence and presence. Is it possible that the difficult situation created by the pandemic - where almost all of us are entirely powerless as individuals to make a meaningful difference to these overwhelming circumstances - is partly exacerbated by our insistence on explaining ourselves in terms of an actor playing the starring role in life's eternal drama, which leaves no room for the life of the mind? I'd say, as I noted above, that this might be a problem worth the difficult task of honest self-reflection because it gives us the capability of separating what's happened to us from what's happened because of us; we can look forward in the same way and thrive in the reality of the moment. For some of us, it will become clear that the pandemic started well before March 2020, perhaps by as much as months or even years, thanks to a commitment to certain routines, identities, or delusions that plotted us on the isolating path of self-imposed exile; for others, we'll see the situation was over almost as soon as it began, the new requirements of pandemic life proving the ripest opportunity to welcome a new pet, explore a new hobby, or rewrite the final chapter in long-lost connections and relationships.

How long do I think the pandemic will last? The possible answers are endless. I'm tempted to say it will last as long as this post - it will last until it ends, taking up all the time it needs. It could be that the pandemic will end when everyone is vaccinated, or when enough people are vaccinated, or when all the vaccines are gone. It's possible it might end, then return, in a part two that some would insist was really still a part of the original pandemic. But the real answer is that I'm not sure why you'd ask me, since you'll probably disagree with any and all of my answers. How long does anything last when our hearts and minds are at the center stage of everything? You'll certainly disagree with my real answer, which is that I think it ended a couple of weeks ago, at the exact moment I let go of some unhealthy ideas. Maybe the best answer is just what you need to hear - you don't need to ask me; it's up to you.

Endnote

It's 8:07 now - five minutes of proofreading, five more for some basic admin, and that should do the trick. Maybe I should call this post "Forty", though of course it'd have nothing to do with the time.

Endnote #2

With apologies, I came back for a little more editing, which expanded into some serious renovations. Just remember, reader, whatever I say about how long it takes to write these, multiply the answer by 1.5.

put up the house and bet the odds

It's Friday afternoon, and like many Americans - like many people, probably - I've spent the past few days pulling in election analysis from an eclectic set of sources: network news, the FiveThirtyEight live blog, people calling and texting; each new update had an undeniable effect, though generally very small, on my mood at the time. But if I think about the source that had the strongest influence over me, there's only one possibility - the betting odds, which I tracked across a handful of European markets. It was a bit of a roller coaster - Biden started on Tuesday at around 65%, which doesn't strictly equate to a 65% chance of victory (but thinking of it in those terms is appropriate for the context of this piece). Later that night, Trump jumped up to almost 75% at 10 PM (EST) as Ohio and Florida cleared their throats, then Biden clawed back to almost even by around 1 AM for the lack of other surprises, which is when I finally called it a night. I learned the next morning that Trump had actually surged past 70% again at around 3 AM, but by the time I saw it news from Wisconsin and Michigan had pushed Biden above 70%, saving me the trouble of worrying about Trump's brief rally. As you know, Biden's looked more likely to win with each passing day; he's at 95% at time of writing.

I think my undergraduate background in statistics coupled with my lifetime interest in sports - and perhaps the occasional winner I've cashed at the Keno desk - predispose me toward accepting the betting market as the most reliable source of real-time election analysis. But when I share this preference, I'm often met with confusion - what makes someone putting up the odds or betting the house more reliable than a news network, or a pollster? It's been an interesting experience trying to answer this question, almost like being asked to explain my positions on certain issues, like ending racism; it's hard to explain what we take for granted. My standard responses have included attempts to describe a variety of related factors - the underlying science of probability, the nature of betting markets, or the inability of media coverage to correctly link cause and effect.

I realized last night - while listening to complaints about certain networks calling Arizona too early - that I should have offered a far simpler answer: the betting markets work because there are consequences for being wrong. A person who wagers $100 on an election outcome ends up with one of two results - more than $100, or $0. Which of those outcomes do you think is more likely to result in another bet? The far more straightforward consideration is that casinos go out of business very quickly if the oddsmakers set ill-advised betting lines. On the other hand, if Fox News turns out to be wrong about its early Arizona call, will they be banned from covering the 2024 election?

These considerations alone ensure nothing, but it's suggestive of the type of person who prefers to wager on an outcome rather than speculate endlessly on camera about all remaining possibilities. The confident bettor is also more likely to wager large amounts, and dollar totals are reflected in the odds (with wagers, unlike in an election, the tally is almost always irrelevant). The betting market of my imagination likely has no time for the faces that filled my screens this past week, these pundits who earnestly analyze the results in real-time and weave the newest event into an ever-evolving web of predictions. It didn't take long to realize the same people who were wrong four years ago were back to explain why they were wrong again; you'd be forgiven for thinking the media operated like the Supreme Court, and offered lifetime appointments. 

I don't blame the media for the state of election analysis (I have other media complaints, which I'm saving for later). I certainly don't blame any individual within the media for the state of election analysis, even if some of them - like the pollsters - should probably know better, having been burned once by their pie charts in the sky. I believe the media is doing the best it can as it covers an endlessly complex story, which is essentially a series of fifty counting exercises that is confused by the countless ways each next vote can count, or when, and that's assuming they count at all, and then of course the question of whether we can count on those folks who would rather count ballots than count votes, and then this all leads to a final count being tracked simultaneously to the smaller counts, which is what really counts; I just don't think it's possible to cover this adequately, like a five-foot blanket on a six-foot man. But it's important to me that I understand the system of incentives and consequences that contextualize someone's opinion because I'll know what's at stake; the architect can tell me the bridge is sound, but I'd much rather he cross first.

rebel rebel, how could they know

Every four years I dread the return of a great American tradition, one that always leaves me rolling my eyes while I ask myself for what I hope is the last time - how come everyone around me is so stupid? I'm speaking, of course, about the 'what if our best athletes played soccer' articles that pop up as we approach the next World Cup.

There are an endless number of issues with the premise, perhaps most significant being the assumption that success on one field translates to another. There isn't evidence of this being true even within the confines of a single sport - great NBA players don't always remain great NBA players when they switch teams, so why would we assume this holds up across sports? The concept also dismisses the possibility that some of our best athletes are already playing soccer - take Michael Bradley, for example, who led the 2014 World Cup after the group stage in distance covered. Which athlete from America's so-called major sports - all of which allow for endless timeouts and substitutions - would have managed a near-marathon while passing, dribbling, and defending in three World cup games? My last point for now (but certainly not my final objection) is how the premise narrows 'athletic' down to a short list of qualities prized by the macho-man perspective of the traditional American sports fan - size, power, sprinting speed, and so on, qualities that certainly benefit soccer players yet don't lead to the same advantage on the pitch as it does for those playing American sports.

But of course, the problem here is that I'm going against the spirit of the exercise. At some level this is all hypothetical, so maybe for once instead of complaining I should accept the baseline assumptions, think about what might happen, and write down my conclusions. So today, reader, is a historic day, because I'm finally going along as a willing participant in this alternate reality experiment, and pretending that players such as LeBron James, Patrick Mahomes, and Mookie Betts have played soccer all their lives and might be among the options for the team. In this scenario, what would my 2022 World Cup squad look like?

There are an endless number of stars in the American sports, so let's begin by narrowing down the list. My first filter is body size. I respect the athletic feats of highly skilled NBA stars like the 6'10" Anthony Davis, but since it's so unusual to see anyone taller than 6'4" become an elite soccer player, I'm going to eliminate anyone above that height. This makes sense if you look at it from a foreign perspective, where soccer is already the sport most athletes play by default. If Americans above 6'4" could be World Cup players, why do international stars at 6'4" or taller tend to be NBA players instead of soccer stars? My guess is that after reaching a certain height it just becomes too hard to become a top-level soccer player, and you either plateau at a lower level or switch sports. If the argument of 'best athletes playing soccer' applied to our tallest NBA stars, surely the Gasol brothers would have been Spanish soccer legends instead of becoming very good NBA players.

I have a similar concern about including athletes who mostly leverage short bursts of athleticism across individual battles, which I think is a common situation for NFL stars like Khalil Mack. It's hard to say his success as a defensive end and outside linebacker suggests he is ready for the constant running and teamwork of a soccer game. Athletes like him also rarely handle the ball - why do we assume these stars are capable of learning how to pass, dribble, or shoot at the level required in a World Cup game? Again, nothing personal against anyone, my point is simply that there is no evidence, no way to know for sure based on stardom in a different sport. This logic applies not just to most helmet football and baseball players, it also works for individual sports - gymnasts, runners, boxers, swimmers, even tennis champions. Some of these athletes might become great soccer players, but there just isn't enough evidence beyond the fact of their current stardom; it strikes me as more likely that some run of the mill athlete from this group would reach his full potential if he had played soccer given all that is different about the skill requirements across these sports. I don't think it's worth trying to guess who would emerge from such a group, so I'm just going to eliminate them all from consideration, and concede that maybe some currently unknown athlete or two from these groups probably could have been a top soccer player had he made different decisions in childhood.

This leaves us with a much more manageable initial list - essentially stars who handle the ball in either the NBA or the NFL, with 6'4" being the height cutoff; we are basically talking about guards in basketball and the skill positions in helmet football. At this point, if I had to make my best guess I would study each player more closely, looking for indicators like passing ability, defensive skills, and footwork that might suggest future soccer success (the latter in particular seems critical). I'll stop there, however, because there are probably still far too many good candidates to consider for this hypothetical, which is fit only for amusing, casual speculation; I'll share that players such as Michael Thomas, Russell Wilson, Lamar Jackson, Chris Paul, Marcus Smart, and Christian McCaffery jumped out at me, and I'll leave it at that.

******

Of course, we can't forget to include one more group of players - the current US team. How many of these players would keep their place if they were competing with current NBA or NFL stars? I think there is a strong argument that there would be some roster turnover, mostly because the US team isn't very good. A logical comparison point is the Spanish basketball team, which almost beat Team USA in a couple of recent Olympic finals; our soccer team is nowhere near as good as Spain's basketball team, and never has been. Until we start regularly making the semifinals of a World Cup, we should accept the premise that US soccer is missing out on top players because young athletes are choosing other sports.

But even if we agree on the fact of turnover, the question of how much is crucial. This is also the most difficult part of the question because it gets into a critical aspect of the hypothetical - what happens as a result of our best athletes playing soccer? In other words, what is the second-order effect, the "then what?", in a world where future NBA stars had instead turned to soccer? The question implies that the only cost of having other major sports is that Steph Curry becomes a point guard instead of an attacking midfielder; we forget that current US soccer players would be better if they had played against stronger competition during their youth years. So if we consider the effect of someone like Russell Westbrook playing soccer instead of basketball, it's not just a question of how good Westbrook would be at soccer, it's also a question of how good Jozy Altidore would have been if he had spent his formative years competing against athletes of Russell Westbrook's caliber.

This bring me to another second-order effect, culture, and its effect on these stars from America's sports - how would culture affect the trajectory of their soccer careers, and would it result in a different level of stardom? The culture question is almost always overlooked in any hypothetical analysis, particularly those dreamed up by us sports fans, because we don't grasp the extent to which culture dictates so many observed results in life; it's very unusual for someone to point out the problems caused by sports culture, unless of course you are one of the handful of geniuses spoiled by TOA. The assumption that NBA stars would become soccer stars sounds dubious to me when I consider the impact of culture in a young athlete's development. What's interesting when you read stories about guys like Clint Dempsey is that they grew up in these little bubbles within America - the people in his life were soccer-mad like they are in Mexico, South America, or Europe. Clint's pickup games were on fields, not courts; the 'big game' likely involved Club America rather than America's team. If a young athlete doesn't have that kind of immersive cultural environment which nurtures his skills - the default for American athletes in the major sports - then the path to the world-class level is all the more difficult; just as growing up in Maine instead of Texas might have been enough to stop Dempsey, the effect of playing soccer instead of a culturally relevant major sport might have been enough to stop our current NBA or NFL stars.

There will always be exceptions - Kobe Bryant is a notable example. From the ages of six to thirteen he lived in Italy, a country that does not produce many NBA players, but his family kept him immersed in the sport; he even went back to America for summer leagues. The story has some general similarities to that of Christian Pulisic, the twenty-two year old American on the brink of becoming a world-class player, whose father started a futsal league in Detroit just so young Christian had a place to improve his skills; the family supported him in countless ways - including trips abroad to train with well-known clubs - until he signed as a teenager to play in a German club's youth academy. Both players made themselves into the players they became (or will become) but there is little doubt that their paths are not open to young players without the same resources or connections as the families of Bryant or Pulisic. Compare this to the origins of Kyler Murray, whose home stadium in high school had a capacity of 18,000 (huge even by the standards of high school football in Texas); sports culture is not just what you see on the front page of the newspaper, it's also what the public will invest in the game, which means young players in these sports have fewer socioeconomic obstacles to overcome than their counterparts in less culturally relevant sports. Again, we can only speculate, but my hunch is a lot of our star athletes from the major sports - through no fault of their own - would find themselves tripped up by the obstacles to stardom that are almost unique to the challenge of becoming an elite soccer player in America.

******

There are many diagnoses provided for US soccer's inability to become a global force but I've noticed that the various verdicts tend to revolve around one theme - pay-to-play. Whether the specific complaint is the lack of high-quality coaching, the nature of scouting, or the inconsistent integration of youth clubs with professional teams, the complaints can all fit under the umbrella of pay-to-play. This term means young players - which really means their parents or guardians - have to foot annual bills of thousands of dollars to maintain access to the sport's best development resources. I'm not aware of any top country having this system in place, which limits access to coaching, progression, and visibility based on factors like your household income; the extent to which it exists in our major American sports is greatly diminished thanks to the many options available to young players who need financial support. US soccer is essentially running an experiment in youth development that hasn't worked, and it might be wise to simply follow the existing blueprints used by our successful competitors, from either at home or abroad.

The reason I suggest an overhaul rather than a gradual change is because the current system is designed to generate money - this article notes US soccer pulls in around $4 billion annually. The argument to expand access by subsidizing or waiving fees that might support the increased cost associated with having more players will surely be a difficult sell for those in charge. It reminds me in some ways of how change is hard to come by in Corporate America. The types of people they need to lead change from within aren't hard to find - in most cases they are already there, perhaps passing the time by questioning authority, demanding better explanations than "we've always done it that way", or coming up with creative solutions to both current and long-term problems; almost every organization I know of speaks with pride about how they recruited such people to join their teams. The problem is that corporations are designed to generate the status quo, which means the employees with the characteristics to lead change tend to be the ones most vulnerable to daily corporate life. They will be labeled disruptive, confrontational, or difficult, these assessments accumulating over a series of informal evaluations and performance reviews. One day, the organization discovers all the rebels it needs have started a new life somewhere else; everyone who remains scored highly in obedience and building alliances, which makes them overqualified for maintaining the status quo, but they know nothing about leading change. What do you think happens next? There will be some token changes, perhaps even one or two important adjustments, but for the most part they fall far short of an outsider's standard for meaningful change; think about how long corporations have struggled to pay men and women equally, or all those firms that slowly withered away while it continued to produce an obsolete product. Some stale organizations have seemingly done nothing new in decades, yet I suspect many on the inside think of themselves as transformative innovators; when you understand how the status quo filter works, you realize that any rebels in the organization are long gone, and took the definition of change with them.

The corporation, in other words, struggles to change because its system reinforces the status quo by systemically filtering out the sort of employee who is interested and capable of defining and leading change. The problem for US soccer is similar because its system reinforces the status quo via the mechanism of pay-to-play, which means it systemically filters out players who cannot pay even if they had the potential for stardom. And again, this is only speculation, but I think the problem isn't so much the player who starts in the system and then quits - the problem is the player who never starts because another sport offers easier, realistic, and consistent access. The system is left with players who can pay, which means over time it gradually evolves to cater to those who can pay. I fear I'm drifting too far into guesswork, so I'll cite a statistic - 11% of boys and girls registered to clubs come from households earning under $25K per year, compared to over a third that come from households earning six figures. I'll concede that others will be far more familiar with the details, but when I see a proportion like that I find it hard to stomach the suggestion that soccer is equally accessible to all of America's youth.

Of course, simply stating the problem doesn't lead to solutions, and merely removing culpable parties doesn't mean those who replace them will necessarily change the system; the root of the pay-to-play issue goes all the way back to American culture than it does anything specific to US soccer. The examples of pay-to-play in other aspects of American life are too many to list - higher education, health insurance, home ownership, politics, even big chains putting moms-and-pops out of business - all of these and more are significantly influenced by underlying pay-to-play influences; pay-to-play is American life, is the American way, at least in terms of reinforcing the inequality of opportunity. You could think of pay-to-play as a soccer problem but in my mind its more like soccer's version of America's problem. Many think of soccer as a non-American sport, but the way I see it the sport's youth system is almost a perfect representation of the country.

******

The story of Pulisic is inspiring on the surface because it suggests a possible blueprint for aspiring young players around the country. But when you dig into the details, the reality about the sport in this country becomes quickly apparent - if his family had not invested so many resources into his development, it's possible he would have turned his attention to another more easily accessible sport. It's not too hard to envision another player in that Detroit futsal league, perhaps headed on a similar trajectory as Christian, whose father didn't have connections at FC Barcelona, as Christian's did, that enabled those invaluable training "vacations" abroad. The questions I have for those who believe the US World Cup team would look so different if our NBA and NFL stars played soccer are simple ones - why would those players succeed in soccer when so many others like them failed, not because they lacked the skills, athleticism, or drive, but simply because they never had a fair chance? What about this hypothetical ensures these NBA or NFL stars would have access to soccer in ways that other similar youth players likely did not?

My insistence - glee, some would say - at devising increasingly complex ways to dismiss the "what if everyone played soccer" hypothetical doesn't mean I find no value in this exercise. After all, there is a particularly important complaint underlying the hypothetical - why isn't the US an elite soccer country? And it's not like we are close - despite having massive advantages in both national resources and sporting culture, we've been eliminated in our last two World Cup appearances by Ghana and Belgium; we infamously failed to qualify in 2018. But I should note that this complaint is only partially true, for it's a sexist one - those who agree that we are substandard conveniently forget that when the women take the field, the US is the gold standard. The reason why the US women are so good is a complex one with many distinct factors, but I'm more than happy to generalize those as "systemically increasing access" - in this article, the author notes that the year before Title IX passed, there were only three international women's soccer teams. This support gave the US a decisive early edge in terms of helping the future stars of the women's team play soccer, and it has maintained this lead over the next five decades. But as star striker Alex Morgan noted last year, the pay-to-play model is a problem that does not apply exclusively to the men's side; it seems likely that if the women lose their dominant position in the sport, many pundits will point at pay-to-play as the explanation, citing its offsetting effect on the increased access created by measures such as Title IX.

But sexism is only part of the answer because it's merely one issue within a larger culture that does not value accomplishments outside the mainstream. If you have a society such as America that is crippling itself with its commitment to inequality in terms of income, gender, and opportunity, you'll have the kinds of problems we see in the context of US soccer. Again, you will have triple the number of registered youth players coming from the middle-class rather than from households earning less than $25K per year. You will have people routinely dismiss the US as a soccer country, which requires downplaying or dismissing the accomplishments of women. You will have careless assumptions that the men's team fails because of athleticism - which has never been called into question by their opponents - rather than because of a system that offers opportunities only to those who can afford them, which makes it highly unlikely we are identifying every American youth with World Cup potential.

I suspect the answer to the question of why the US men's team isn't an elite international force - which I suppose is the real question when we dream of having NBA players flopping during corner kicks rather than corner kickouts - is the same answer for any field where America is inexplicably trailing our international peers. Despite having the resources, the characteristics, and the personal freedoms that form something of a unique American secret sauce - a flavor so enticing that many millions risk their lives every year just to come here and have a taste - the resulting system at the moment is one that excludes so many people who are already here from the promise and potential of American opportunity. The average soccer fan has a certain proximity to this, and he or she can ask obvious questions that grow from an intuition that the country is performing below its potential, but like any insider their imaginations fall shy of implicating the system, preferring instead to lay the blame on soccer-specific people, actions, and variations within the cultural infrastructure. This means every four years we return to the same old American tradition - what if we kept everything the same, but just tried it with different people? What if we found someone who succeeded in another field, assuming he would be good in a new area? What if we dismissed anyone with a different perspective, opting instead for another safe pair of hands who would ensure the same people continued to get their money? Every four years, it's the same story, a bunch of people running like fools who look a lot like the fools that ran last time; the only certainty is that America will lose again.

reading review - lost in translation, part two (quarterfinals #1)

Hi all,

Please see Sunday's post if this concept doesn't make any sense to you; the rest of us are marching on.

Quarterfinals

8) Commuovere (Italian) – verb, to be moved in a heartwarming way, usually relating to a story that moved you to tears.

I believe I dismissed this word at first glance because it read too much like 'feel good story'; a translation felt entirely unnecessary. I quickly came to my senses and acknowledged that there was a significant difference - this word expresses the way we feel about a story rather than forcing us to guess about its intrinsic qualities. We need more words like this, that help us bring our experience out of the shadows, where it forever lurks anytime the civilized folks suppress their emotions under the guise of a grave discussion about the work's permanent, inarguable characteristics.

We ask each other - was the book good? I always want to snap - who cares? We should ask instead - what did you feel about the book you read? Or, how did the book make your life better? Of course, maybe we don't ask, because we are terrified of what someone might say; we should be all in, we should be fascinated with each other. We can do so much better than resorting to clichés like 'feel good story', an expression that sounds like a C+ book report from a kindergarten; this phrase reinforces the divide of experience and expression that has stunted so many around me. Is it so bad to say a story made us feel good, so bad that we prefer to hide our feelings by attributing them to an inherent quality of the work, as if we had no choice in the matter, or that anyone else would have felt the same?

So, I thank the Italians for commuovere, a word that forces us to describe our feelings and live in our experience, where the walls are made of see-through skin; it's the house, the home that we are in, for all our time.

Back early next week to wrap up the quarterfinals - thanks for reading.

totally free

A few years ago a friend and I drove up to our former college campus, located about two hours north of the Maine-New Hampshire line. It was a beautiful day at the end of May. We went to a local bar that night. After a couple of drinks, we started talking with the man to our left, a professor. He explained that he spent his summers building an entirely self-sufficient home on a property a few hours north of town. He was either in the process of wiring the house for electricity or putting in a plumbing system for water; if I recall correctly, both would draw from renewable sources.

A few days ago, I was walking through the Public Garden. An unmasked man sat on a bench with a woman and a young girl - likely his wife and daughter. I caught the tail end of an exchange with a masked couple walking by - you don't like freedom? I'm only guessing here, but I assumed this comment was related to the masks. I couldn't help but think back to that short conversation in the bar.

There is a difference between freedom and being free to do whatever you like. They are very much the same thing most of the time; the exceptions are delineated by effort. I bet the unmasked man on the bench wasn't aware of the distinction. He probably lived in a home where if the water stopped running or the electricity cut out, he fixed it by calling someone. I'm sure he valued his freedom and meant no harm with his decisions, but there's a certain price to pay when you replace your toolbox with a cell phone, and I'm not just talking about the electric bill.

I wonder how the professor would have answered that question - you don't like freedom? I can imagine what might have gone through his head - in a city, I don't have freedom, and neither do you - that's why he was spending his summer solving 'problems' like how to attach a pipe to a toilet. I don't mind trading some of my freedom in exchange for enjoying certain sanitary advancements, which is why when we started driving back to Boston the next morning, the professor was probably on his way north, to the edge of the grid and beyond.

We drove steadily, listening to The Bones of What You Believe - twice, at my insistence - and pulled over to stock up at the New Hampshire liquor outlet. We crossed the state line into Massachusetts, but the bottles remained closed while I kept the car between the lines; we were enjoying the freedom of the road, but we were only free to do so much.

mercy

I can't quite pin down my thoughts on the song 'Mercy'. The second single from the 2015 album Drones, it's been a surprise highlight of my two Muse concerts. I'm tempted to write it off with something ambitiously smarmy - 'Mercy' is my fourth-favorite track from my fourth-favorite album by my fourth-favorite band - but it wouldn't feel right to dismiss a song where we fans clap along as if it's part two of 'Starlight', or we're part, too, of the rhythm secction. My lasting memory of 'Mercy' is the feeling of joining into a group celebration - we're all Muse fans! But shouldn't a song with such a lofty distinction sound more... like Muse? Maybe in the mold of 'Time Is Running Out'?

Regardless, I've been trying to figure out why this song seems to have such a great effect on the concert crowd. The first lyrics in the song might be a hint - help me, I've fallen on the inside. I think as the average Muse crowd gets a little older, the song makes more sense to us. At some point, we've all felt something fall away from us, within us, like it's gone forever to the inside. It's an intensely personal sensation, but the song drowns out the darkness, and for a few minutes we forget our decision to suffer alone.

Those first words always remind me of the Japanese phrase ochikomu, meaning 'be depressed'. It's really two words working together, 'to fall' (ochiru) and 'be crowded' (komu), and I think it does much more to capture the feeling than any equivalent English expression. It's one thing to feel completely defeated by a powerful opponent or a uniquely tragic situation, but when the darkness is borne out of an everyday setback we sometimes can't help but become our own harshest critic. And what is a better word than crowded for feeling unable to get away from our own critics? And of course, there is nowhere to stand up in a crowd that won't allow it.

Lyrically, Muse has steadily drifted from introspective beginnings to broader commentaries on the larger forces shaping daily life. Drones is often described as a concept album, using the idea of an autonomous machine as a starting point for many of its songs. Matt Bellamy himself has said Drones charts a journey that ends in a human drone rebelling against an oppressor. But in 'Mercy', I've always felt that subtle reference to individual complicity, mind over what matters, eroding our individuality with every little self-flagellation. The song is the awakening before forgiveness, before we ask those around us, because we must forgive ourselves first, and allow ourselves to stand up on the inside. If we have no mercy for ourselves, who will show it to us? Given how I've seen others around me respond to the song, maybe some, maybe many, of my fellow Muse fans wonder the same thing, just briefly, before they make room so their seatmate can stand up.

proper corona admin, vol 68 - see you in phase four

I suspect peer pressure is a big problem at the moment. Not all of us religiously imitate somebody else, but I know most prefer solidarity to solitude. I feel for the odd ducks who can't dive into reopening even while their closest friends are partying like it's 1975 - or even 2019 - particularly if they've always defined individuality as 'freely choosing to be a follower', and have no experience being alone on the docks.

I've had no problem saying - get back to me in Phase 4. Lucky me, my imitation skills are completely atrophied. What's it like to finally hear the beat of your own drummer? Let me know. I think some are about to discover the first step to becoming peerless is to be without peers, to peer less at others, because when it comes to healthy creativity, herd immunity is the fastest way to become sick.

proper corona admin, vol lxiii - i'll get corona this summer

Folks, you may have heard the whispers, maybe from the WHO or not, out here on the streets, we keep our six feet, and get back into our living - the vaccine! Don't cry, don't raise your eye - the vaccine is coming!

I understand why people are optimistic. A corona vaccine is the silver bullet, aimed right at the heart of this awful virus. It would put us right back to work, restart all our social activity, and give us a second chance to fix some of the regrets we've carried with us for the past three months. Optimism alone is a great thing, but optimism about a real possibility is a priceless gift. It helps that in this case it's almost appropriate to let nostalgia about the past be our fearless guide, for the vaccine would be the closest thing we'll ever experience to time travel. Marty, set the DeLorean for Pi Day!

Of course, one problem with the past is that it is mostly comprised of facts, and these facts tend to ruin the party if you make the mistake of acknowledging them. Here's one fact - a vaccine produced in under one year would be unprecedented. Now, you'd think this would be a more commonly cited fact, given that it's coming from historians, or as I like to call them, experts about the past, but apparently this whole push to listen to the experts has certain exceptions. Let me catch you up, vaccines take years just to approve, and then there's the matter of distribution, since these aren't produced in batches of seven billion, so we'll probably have to go through some whole ugly exercise about who 'deserves' the vaccine first just so we know how to line up for a dose (queuing six feet apart, of course). Long introduction short, I think we need some time to sort out critical admin about the vaccine, but luckily I think we have a few years to figure it all out before it becomes a pressing issue.

So, what does that mean for today? Back in March, I read that each sick person will infect two and a half other people. This was before we started implementing our various quarantine measures, so hopefully we've lowered the number. But some have warned that if we aren't careful about reopening, we'll push this number up, and it will be more like reintroducing. This brings me to another fact - many people are still contracting the virus. Those concerned about a second wave, I say don't worry about it, because it seems like we are still in the first wave. It's just a fact, another windowsill on which this pie in the sky is cooling, and it means we need to be smart this summer. Just because the infection numbers are a little lower than they were in March doesn't mean the virus is magically gone.

Anyway, long introduction short for real this time, no vaccine = people get sick, and 'people' is a group that includes me. To put it another way, my conclusion is that eventually, I'll get corona.

But where? It's like a fill in the blank quiz:

I'll get corona... ______.

That's the key here, reader. Warren Buffet once said something along the lines of - tell me where I'll die, and I'll never go there. Makes sense to me, but what does that mean for my weekend? It means - tell me where I'll get corona, and I'll never go there. I've been keeping close track of this over the past three months, honestly there hasn't been much else to do, and this week I finally collected all my thoughts and notes to put together this comprehensive answer key to the above question, loosely arranged from top to bottom by likelihood.

Grab a drink, we're gonna be here for a while, at least you know you won't get corona from reading... probably.

I'll get corona... from a test result.

Let's start with a (false) positive! Or, maybe not. One of the seemingly more confusing ideas about coronavirus is 'asymptomatic transmission', the idea that someone could be infected and pass the virus to others but will never show a symptom. This means that if I take a random test, it might come back positive, and though that would be news to me, it would shock nobody - some officials are hoping speculating that asymptomatic transmission of the virus is widespread, meaning reopening is almost perfectly safe. Regardless, if I don't want to know I have corona, the best thing to do might be to avoid a test.

I'll get corona... from the hospital.

This is one of those 'A for effort' situations because hospitals do more than everyone else COMBINED to help us combat this disease by bringing the fight to our most hallowed battlefield - the body. But hospitals cannot escape a fundamental law of infectious disease - in close quarters, sick people infect other people. Indeed, TOA has written (pointlessly, endlessly) on the fact that handwashing, our current #1 weapon against the pandemic, was invented in hospitals to combat the deadly efficiency with which doctors and nurses transferred infections from one patient to the next. And of course, idiots like me stumbling onto hospital premises these days don't help this matter at all because we add to the headcount without increasing disease fighting capacity, so for all kinds of reasons this summer I'll make sure to avoid the hospital.

Side note, if we must equip police with military-grade equipment for a protest, can we apply the same standard for every medical professional dealing with a pandemic? Thanks.

I'll get corona... (to and) from work.

As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I perceive that even in the pre-pandemic days most of us didn't have too many close contacts per the definition of contact tracing initiatives. However, this equation does change for people with a certain type of job, or anyone with a certain type of workday. Add the fact that I would commute to work via mass transit, another great incubator for close contacts, and that I work for a hospital (see above, though I'm rarely in the medical area of campus) - well, reader, if I want to stay healthy this summer, it would be in my best interest to continue working from home, or even get myself sacked, to ensure that I never ride the train to an all-hands meeting.

I'll get corona... from the grocery store.

First, for the longtime readers who think I have a vendetta against certain stores, let's clear the air - I believe everyone is doing more than their best to be safe. It's just that I get nervous because grocery stores are where I spend the most time around other people - it's basically the extent of my current social life. And honestly, let's be real here, no grocery store was designed for a pandemic, so I'm not blaming anyone or anything.

But here are the facts, a grocery store is a place where you have to literally touch everything, and then those folks who can't shake the habit of inspecting every piece of fruit between here and the dairy section... ugh. After all the fun is over, you then go stand in a line where there is no space to stand, wedged between registers that are three feet apart at best. If a pandemic planned its own invasion, the produce section would be its D-Day, and the green peppers would be Omaha Beach. For me, the best thing to do this summer might be to stop eating, ensuring I cut this clear risk out of my life.

I'll get corona... from a dog.

I guess this one is technically inaccurate, dogs are not transmitters, but dogs require walking and this creates a two-fold issue. First, it forces people to leave their homes, sometimes multiple times a day, leading me to disproportionately encounter dog walkers relative to other pedestrians. Second, since the dog is tied to a rope held by a human, it results in a two-headed hybrid of dog-human that takes up all the walking space necessary for social distancing on the sidewalk. It doesn't help that walking a dog seems to render most humans temporarily nearsighted, or overly interested in looking down at a phone screen.

My favorite is when the human half goes right down the middle of the path, encouraging Fido to whip back and forth in front like a furry windshield wiper, pushing me into the street to be struck by America's original social distancing tool, the automobile. The safest thing I can do this summer might be to walk right down the middle of Charles Street, where there are no dogs or dog owners, and I can at least pretend I chose my own destiny.

I'll get corona... from a car.

Speaking of cars, has anyone from the WHO tested the parked cars? Some of these Teslas haven't seen an electron in months, which means no one's taken them to the car wash, and surely their dirty hoods and grimy trunks have accumulated months of coronavirus particles falling from the spit, snot, and blogs of the passersby. And is anyone disinfecting the door handles? If I come into contact with a car this summer, I might as well lie down right there in the street, and hope that when people resume driving excessively someone will mistake me for a speed bump and put me out of my misery.

I'll get corona... from a biker.

I don't deal with bikers that much but it seems like every encounter is a scene from 300. Is there really not enough room to pass? How many times have I stared into the dead eyes of bikers as they veered into range for a head-on collision? Or how about those geniuses who bike against a one-way, never realizing that I don't look both ways when I step into such roads? During one memorable incident, I had just enough time to put two hands onto someone else's handlebars just to protect my legs from being run over. For some reason, good biking during the pandemic means (1) not braking, ever, especially if (2) you are mingling with foot traffic. I guess this means I'll spend my summer walking wherever (1) a bike can't pick up any speed, which often means (2) nowhere near the sidewalks, paths, and roads built specifically for foot traffic

I'll get corona... from a runner.

Another hugely popular population even in the best of times, runners probably doubled their approval rating during the pandemic thanks to an obvious commitment to never veer off course, ever again. Did I get this memo? Of course not, I've been stopping like a sucker for most obstacles, but my fellow runners have made it a sport to pass one foot to my left (or even worse, to my right). Just as a biker seems incapable of stopping, the runner seems eternally committed to the straightest possible line. Let's hope the fastest route from A to B doesn't C you infected with Corona. I might experiment this summer with a zig-zag approach to walking, all in the name of safety, because it might give the runner an opportunity to avoid a collision by speeding up or slowing down without ever, you know, deviating from the planned route. Coincidentally, this zig-zag idea might also help me with my next concern...

I'll get corona... from jaywalk chicken.

This game used to be FUN before the pandemic introduced consequences, the way it works is everyone lines up at the crosswalk, then when the light turns you all GO at once like a crazy version of Red Rover. The catch is the other side is doing the same thing, so now you have two sides charging at each other like, uh... I guess the appropriate movie analogy is Braveheart. Anyway, these days there are fewer people out so there is room to avoid collisions, but there are times I find myself destined for an impact that would make the old Monday Night Football theme song blush. A couple of times I've almost clucked all the way across the street, only to step aside in the same direction as my opponent, causing us both to almost faint from the absurdity of a close call created solely by the mutual indecision, acting to avoid disaster only when there was no other choice.

I'll get corona... from Corona Island.

What is Corona Island? A new FOX reality show? No reader, Corona Island is actually closely related to jaywalk chicken. This is my name for the pandemic-specific failed application of a common strategy for crossing a multi-lane road: first, you get to the median while there are no cars on your side, and then you wait on the median until the other side is clear to finish the crossing. So you walk out to the little crumbling median and stop, so far so good, until you realize that some other idiot crossed with you, and now you are both standing there as far apart as possible which is three inches. Never thought to account for others in your plan, right? Don't worry, it's a microcosm of our current situation. Maybe you'll meet your True Love on Corona Island, but it won't be me - I'll remember to never cross the street until the signal changes (though of course I will remain present to the dangers of jaywalk chicken).

I'll get corona... from a couple.

OK, we resume our regularly scheduled programming where I get myself uninvited from all future dinner parties, anyway I don't actually have problems with couples too often, most times they are in lockstep (not literally) and pull off complicated maneuvers that turn a two-wide pair into a two-deep column. I suspect these couples met in marching band, such is the intricacy and timing of the movement.

But others, oh the others, maybe they are practicing for the three-legged Olympics, they are literally in lockstep, and come marching down the road with that look of glazed over determination. My options in this moment are (1) the gutter or (2) a high-risk, no-reward group hug. I'm not a hugger yet, so this summer I guess I'll just need to wear old shoes for those gutters, unless the couple in question also has a dog, in which case I'll make like Corona-tawney Phil and go back to my apartment for the next six weeks.

I'll get corona... from a chinstrap.

This refers to individuals who wear their face covering around their chin, like they had an embarrassing shaving accident, or think a condom is a male sports bra. For some reason these good folks have figured out that they will bring their homemade PPE within one inch of being effective - literally one more inch and the curve flattens a bit more.

But NO, they just can't be bothered to get the mask up and over that last little hill, also known as the bottom lip, which I stick out anytime I see an approaching chinstrap. I don't know, maybe it's considered cool to wear the mask so low, like we used to think baggy shirts were cool, which is why I still have a shirt from sixth grade that will fit by Christmas if I gain thirty pounds during The Second Wave. Regardless, there are some folks that you cannot reason with, so if I see any chinstraps this summer I'll do the sensible thing and duck for cover.

I'll get corona... from a concert.

I actually covered this a little bit a month ago, but to recap - I don't think bagpipes are an effective coronavirus filter, and this probably extends to other wind-aided instruments like saxophones, trumpets, or sidewalk karaoke. It's probably in my best interest this summer to pretend that music only exists on Youtube.

I'll get corona... from my mask.

Let's take another break from being high and mighty, it's exhausting, I realized that of all the little contact threats around - doorknobs, this laptop, my phone, and so on - it's probably my mask that is the biggest problem. It goes on my face which means if I ever need to adjust it I'll have to touch it, and that's basically in violation of the most consistent health recommendation - don't touch your face! And of course, we've heard that homemade masks aren't for personal protection, they are just for 'others', so if I touch my mask with my infected fingers then won't I just hoover up all that mask-bound corona? Science is tough, anytime I think about it I get more confused. I'm not sure what to do about this yet, but perhaps this summer I should experiment with a two-mask approach, so I can remove my outer mask without risking infecting myself, kind of like the logic of the catenaccio defense.

I'll get corona... from lunch.

I go the market and they tell me to wash my purchases. OK, great advice, but how? I'm supposed to wash my hands for at least twenty seconds, using soap and presumably the hottest water temperature my skin can handle (which for me is probably on the relatively low side). So should I get the Dove out for this eggplant? How about a blueberry, should I put some detergent on a toothbrush and have at it? There is simply no chance that I haven't already eaten something covered in corona. This summer, things will really heat up because I'm going to eliminate the need for washing by cooking everything at 400 degrees.

I'll get corona... from rollerbladers.

OK, let's get back to the latest episode of 'Old Man Yells At Cloud', this time I want to discuss rollerblading, which seems to combine several of the previously highlighted tactics. The most important is probably that note about dogs walking back and forth like windshield wipers, this fact actually applies 100% to rollerblading given the nature of the movement, meaning at any given time to properly distance from a rollerblader you need to cede about three extra feet to each side to account for the projected skating path. Add to this problem a particular talent among these folks for wearing The Chinstrap, and you have a recipe for easy community transmission. Luckily, I don't really encounter too many rollerbladers, or this group would be at the top of my list, but this summer I'll make sure to keep my walking close to the edge of the path, since rollerblades can't really operate unless they are in the middle of a paved road.

I'll get corona... from the millennials.

I'm technically a millennial - and now that I actually waste spend time online I'm more of a millennial than ever - but for the most part I continue to feel the same way toward my tribe as I always have: distant socially.

Just last week, I was walking down the Charles River and having a look around at all the little groups of two, four, and eight, all 'socially distanced' despite individuals being within a snapped yardstick of each other. The highlight was a group of almost twenty twenty-somethings sitting in the grass alongside the path. It was like that kissing nursery rhyme - twenty millennials under a tree, bare-ly so-cial dis-tan-cing! As I walked closer, another millennial wearing a knockoff Untuckit shirt approached the group and announced "hey guys, I just want to remind you about social distancing." Don't we all? Just knock it off, right? Too bad that in order to remind someone about social distancing, you have to violate social distancing yourself. It's a war for peace out here, folks.

Luckily for me, this is the first threat that I can handle without having to change my current behavior - I'm just going to continue ignoring those damn millennials.

I'll get corona... from the boomers.

It's always uplifting to see youthful vitality return to our aging brothers and sisters. These days, I see the boomers come out of retirement to direct a loud, sarcastic, and sometimes angry question towards those half their age - where's your mask?!? And I assume nobody responds because there are too many good answers to pick from - so all of a sudden social solidarity matters? I thought masks would trickle down from the economic activity of the rich? Maybe we can treat this like a war, and use deficit spending to buy masks for everyone?

Anyway, I can't imagine how much fun it is right now if you have a medical condition and cannot wear a mask - go outside, and everyone yells at you! I don't have a great solution here, but when someone I don't know starts talking to me, I just turn around and go somewhere else. Maybe we should do the same when someone without a mask comes into view.

I'll get corona... from kindness.

An unspoken sadness of the pandemic has been the way it's changed my interactions with strangers. A few weeks into lockdown, I was walking through the Public Garden when someone walked over with a phone and asked me to take a picture of him, his wife, and their small child. In the past, it would have been a chance to learn a little more, and possibly wish tourists a nice time in my city. These days, I shake my head and walk on.

It's the same kind of problem when someone asks for loose change. Generosity is not even a consideration because the process of walking over and potentially passing along the virus from my hand is far too risky. And I'm finding it harder to enjoy the kindnesses that come my way. Even small gifts like my neighbor bringing up a delivery package to my door are ruined by the mental machinations of how to open the box without rubbing the cardboard all over my face. I guess the best thing to do is to make this The Summer of Scrooge, and refuse the generosity of my fellow humans in all their forms (except of course, my readers - thank you for reading).

I'll get corona... from packages.

To add to the above, although I understand that delivery is a safer form of acquiring certain critical goods and services, I can't ignore that safer has no direct relationship to safe. These days, it's like an ancient riddle anytime something arrives on my doorstep - it would be less confusing if the Sphinx herself worked for UPS.

Plus, there is the added complicity of participating in a system where we laud certain forms of work as 'essential' while ignoring that some of these workers are out there because of necessity. Our society will simply deny most people their survival unless they take on the dangerous wage work of delivering pizza, running shoes, or magazines to people who can afford to not afford the risk. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need driverless cars ASAP, and must find a way to distribute its associated value to ensure that we are truly keeping as many people out of harm's way as possible during the next pandemic. Until then, it means I'll have to remind myself all summer that most delivery staff are touching doorknobs all day, so I'll need to be strict about safety while opening boxes.

I'll get corona... from my stupid basketball league.

My favorite email of the pandemic came from the commissioner of my recreational basketball league, sent early in May when the Governor's office produced its first rough sketches of reopening - we're sure you are excited about the reopening plan! Let me think about the answer...

Although I do like the idea of returning to normal, I must remember that this basketball league means (1) physical contact with complete strangers in (2) groups of at least ten that (3) takes place indoors and (4) will almost certainly force me onto public transit to get home. I thought about responding with (5) a request for the league's testing protocols or (6) their plan if anyone playing did report symptoms after a game or even just (7) a copy of any communication from state officials clearing recreational sports leagues for reopening. Instead, I settled for (8) no response, deciding that this was more productive than sending - no, I'm not excited about the reopening plan.

I'll get corona... from my own unreasonable anxiety.

If this post has a point (not that it should, because nothing ever does here on TOA) it's this - there is too much out there to worry about without inventing added concerns. Among all the other reasons, there is a simple physiological factor - the anxiety isn't going to help the immune system, which is still a major factor. Being healthy isn't exactly enough to prevent becoming infected, but being sick means the same as usual - you become more vulnerable to infection from something else. So for now, although acknowledging every concern is important and smart, calculated risk assessment is the new normal. The most important thing to remember this summer is the difference between a real risk and an imaginary one, and the need to manage the former while keeping a firm check on the influence of the latter.

sometimes i run and think, and sometimes i just run

I always have these really good TOA ideas pop into my head while running. But for some reason, I often find that after I've taken a shower and drank my third first first third beer of the night, the world-class inspiration from a couple of hours ago no longer seems worth the execution. It's almost like whatever I thought happened in my head never happened at all. For example, during one run at the end of April I decided that I should write about one run during the lockdown. But which one, which run? I worked out various ideas as I went, settling on a 'stream of consciousness' style that would weave my scattered observations and insights from all of my running around the typical rhythm of any five-mile run. I was excited to finish up and get started and perhaps this led to a small adrenaline boost - by the end of the run, I was flying. Later that night, I started jotting down a few bullet points for an initial outline, but I already knew the ending - what is the point of this? It was going to the garbage, as is tradition with rubbish, and soon enough my bin rattled with another thing that didn't happen.

I have no idea why this 'not happening' happens all the time. Maybe it's the excitement of running, those endorphins kicking in to give me a dose of that fabled "runner's high" and causing its lesser-known side effect of terrible ideas. Maybe I'm simply oxygen-deprived and can't assess my own thinking. In any event, I thought it would be helpful to go back and try to understand what happened on that night. How could an idea that was so exciting it literally made me run faster end up discarded just hours later? This week, I finally rolled up my sleeves, fished out that outline from a few weeks ago, and tried to make sense of this recurring yet always perplexing chain of events.

There were a few things about my list that jumped out at me. First was the issue of the structure. The 'composite run' concept is always difficult because it imposes an equality across ideas so long as they fit under one broad label - I thought of this while running! The problem is, not all ideas are created equal, so I needed to trim my list down before I could start working. A great rule of thumb for composite concepts is to ask - can this idea exist as its own post? This deals with the problem of weak ideas borrowing from stronger ideas - when this happens, the strong idea often loses its own identity in the process of propping up its weaker counterparts. Once I started removing the best ideas from my outline, I found that my initially compelling concept was left with very little substance for the post, and there was little possibility that I could make the sorry leftovers exceed the sum of their parts.

This brings me to a second point, which is that the constraints of my structure would force me to write fiction, much in the spirit of those who despite the best intentions suggested by their 'based on actual events' labels almost always admit that a list of truths does not make for nonfiction. Yes reader, no true thing is ever true on average (!). This was kind of a strange realization because one thing I've thought about while running is how writers decide whether to write fiction or nonfiction. What is the thought process that results in those extraordinary efforts, just to invent a world where you can express something that could simply be stated in a nonfiction piece? In any event, it struck me as a little too meta to create a fictional setting just to explore the idea of creating a fictional setting, so I opted out.

It leaves me here, sitting in the scattered debris and rubbish of my own rough drafts, and still wondering why a writer chooses fiction as the best way to deliver a message. Why not just tell it like it is? It would surely save some time, and might even be more effective. I think there are some obvious issues like personal safety that are relevant concerns, and I've written about these situations when I've reviewed books like The Accusation, a collection of short stories smuggled out of North Korea. Bandi knew why handing out copies of 'On Stage' in downtown Pyongyang wasn't a great idea; I wonder if Galileo ever considered expressing his views in the form of a novel or a play, perhaps centering the plot around star-crossed lovers.

But I think there is a strong case to make for fiction whenever the writer cannot bear the risk, or is simply unwilling to take the chance. The only consistent context I can think of for this reluctance is when the writing is about another person. The best fiction writing always seems to be about someone, but in the writing it's never clear if it's about anyone; what's abundantly clear to me is that there's not much benefit in making this explicit. In the context of both an election year and these past few weeks of nationwide protests, I think I have some guesses about why Robert McLiam Wilson wrote Eureka Street instead of unflinchingly describing the people in his life. It's easy enough to understand why - most people only get to know a handful of people well enough to write about them in such depth, so to describe them so baldly in nonfiction seems to me like it would risk valued relationships.

It's hard to write about other people, but more importantly it's dangerous. As far as I recall, I've never done it on TOA. When I look over my discarded outline for this 'composite run', it's jarring to see the references to so many specific people - a former colleague I ran into, another I ran past, and endless thoughts about people I haven't seen in weeks, months, and years. And within the composite frame, these references would have to be told truthfully, honestly, in a way that would turn others into content. Not here, or maybe I should say not yet, because although I'm perfectly willing to cross this line someday, I'd prefer to have a larger platform, one that constantly reminds me of the consequences in the event I mishandled such a major responsibility.

I guess in my usual meandering and methodical manner, we've reached a TOA staple - the eye-rolling moment where I have some Big Idea no one asked for and which has no functional value. Today, I propose a redefinition of fiction, or perhaps just a testable hypothesis. Here goes - if a writer must describe a specific person, and especially a close, living personal contact, it will probably have to be fiction. The risk is just too much, even if the portrait will reveal some eternal truth about the human condition, because if we've learned anything in lockdown its that our close relationships are precious, and not worth trading for content. It's odd that this is all I accomplished, a wandering loop that simply restates my original position - I've made up something based on real events. I guess I'm used to circling back to the start, what with all my running. But the line between fiction and nonfiction is important enough for this distinction, one that transcends the difference between fact and fake, or real and invention. It's not what the line is or where it is exactly, but why we need a line, one that we refuse to cross. Fiction must be about people, an account of a lived life, and an invention of what cannot be made up. The rest we can call nonfiction, a confirmation of what happened, and a refutation of all that is invented.

This leaves me with the last big question, something I appropriately added at the very end of my outline before I chucked it out - what is the point of this? The world hardly needs another personal essay doomed to irrelevance in the endless depths of the deep, dark web, but I think we keep churning out reflections just to prove to ourselves that our lives are happening. The mirror shows us what we know is there, but we have to hold up our end, and have a look every day. On some of these lockdown days, I will go an entire day without speaking, and I've learned that despite the running and the thinking my life is in some ways not happening unless I write and write until I see my own reflection.

Early in lockdown I heard many hopeful predictions about a 'creative renaissance' - I disagreed then, and I have no evidence today to refute my guess. But I bet something has happened, I bet a lot of people have picked up a pen or turned on their computers just to do this, answering the question what is the point of this, stubbornly toeing the line between fact and fiction until the newest reflection emerges, confirming again that during these weeks when nothing happened yesterday and nothing will happen tomorrow, something still happened today.

proper corona admin, vol 43

We're about a full two months into this quarantine business here in the great commonwealth of Massachusetts, which means about two full months of this daily nonsense, when I've made eye contact with about five people and my social life is a question of planning trips to the grocery store. The inevitable question, hanging out in the corner of each locked up room, looms larger and larger each day - is this it?

No, not the lockdown - God help us all if we want TOA's input about the lockdown, we'll all have our Corona faster than a bunch of freshman whipping out their fake IDs on spring break. I mean when will this end, the thing we are in right now, the daily proper corona admins. Sure, it was all fun and games when it started, but I must be honest reader, I thought we'd have a week or two of it at the most, and after I look at everything I've said, sometimes I wonder - is this it? Is this it???

So why continue? If everything's great, do I need to remember? And if not, what do I have to say that hasn't already been said, by someone actually suffering? It's hard to explain, but here goes - I say all these things, I play the long game, I like it right here, it's always the same, I'll watch my TV, the new story's old, they think I'm so dumb, they fear I'm so bold, I'll sit here and see, myself against me, eat wine and drink cheese, it's locks without keys, I coughed on my knees, but no one's near me, I'm trying you see, it's hard to explain.

proper corona admin, vol xli - ad in 5

During some of my 'tech-focused' admin updates, I've complained about ads on Youtube. Not original, but that's my life, just as it is for many others. But I don't want to create the wrong impression as I generally take a dim view of such complaints. To me, the so-called 'issue' of ads at the start and end of videos is a case of privileged people whining about their non-problems, and those who can't accept a business model that allows us to watch important videos for FREE should start (and eventually mind) their own business.

But I have a big problem with the mid-video ad. If you want to complain about the mid-video ad, I'm all ears. For those who don't know, or can't comprehend my prior sentence, I'll spell it out - it's when the video starts, you watch for a bit, then an ad comes in and tells you to buy CAR INSURANCE, because you know, some algorithm figured out I love going full speed into yellow lights. This is bad enough when I'm watching and listening, but at least I'll see a little warning come up on the screen ("Ad in 5"). The problem becomes twice as bad when I'm only listening, as I am right now, as I type this sentence, because one moment I'll be humming along, and the next... well, I don't need to buy flowers for Mother's Day, so that's another edit for the algorithm.

I've previously referenced my problems watching John Mayer reach his destiny, but I can live with it. My problems with Youtube start and end with U2, in particular my favorite three minutes in the band's history, which comes in around halfway through this clip. It was small consolation to see in the comments section that my positive and negative feelings were echoed by others.

But is there anything here beyond a lonely complaint, a powerless voice railing into the void of the quarantined emptiness? Yes, I think so. With this example, I think we can all understand a little better why some businesses fail, whether it be when a new idea withers on the vine or when an established winner loses its top spot. As a comment in the above link points out, placing an ad in the middle of the clip demonstrates a lack of pride in the platform. I agree, and add that such a small detail sometimes can be the first sign of a much larger problem. Would you read a book if paragraphs were occasionally interrupted to describe a skin care product? How about a podcast where the host stopped in mid-sentence to peddle running shoes?

Most people accept the truism that today's top businesses will be tomorrow's fallen giants. But who do you know that predicts Youtube will be internet rubble by 2040? The challenge of putting the truism into practice is that what often propels a company to the top isn't very closely related to what keeps the crown on the head. In fact, to me it seems like the ascent can be powered by an endless list of factors - accessibility, ease of use, low price, first-mover advantage, and so on. But a company that stays at the top has one thing to consider - quality. Business skirmishes will break out along the border of all those ascendant factors, but the final battle is always the same - which company is better?

If you had told me five years ago that short-form mobile videos would be a big deal today, I would have said the same thing as 99% of the world - wow, sounds good for Youtube. If you were one of those smart folks, you might have offered a rebuttal - well, actually, it's good news for Tik Tok. And I would have done the same thing as 99% of the world, I would have brushed it off with a clever little quip - wow, sounds good for Kesha. And if you insisted that I was a fool, that Youtube didn't have enough pride in its quality to fend off a competitor, I would have done the same thing as 99% of the world, and ended the debate with an indisputable fact - look, Vine already tried, and failed. 

This isn't to say I have a prediction about the future, at least in terms of who might be the best. I don't know much about most things, and Tik Tok is no exception. It's possible that if I look into the platform, I would see the same problems, the same lack of quality, that makes me unwilling to bet long-term on Youtube. But honestly, these ads, it makes me wonder why Youtube is an exception to what I consider a golden rule - no commercial interruptions in the middle of a performance. My guess is that it isn't, most things aren't the exception, and the leaders who think otherwise are doomed to see the limits of their rule.

proper corona admin, vol 33

March was in like a lion, out like a lamb.

In April, I was in lying around, or running, but not on the lam.

What will come in, or out, in May?

Wild life?

Yes, indeed, though the red-tailed hawk in the Public Garden doesn't count, that winner has been feasting on squirrels for years. I saw him the other day, in fact. Let's give him a cool name... Tobias? I'll get back to you.

But seriously, I've heard reports that in some areas social distancing measures have created an interesting side effect - more wildlife. Let's speculate, people tend to scare away wild animals, but there are fewer people out, so fewer chances to scare wildlife, leading to... more wildlife? Works for me.

I was walking home down a side street one Saturday night, and thinking about Tobias, and my wildlife theory. My stroll was interrupted when I emerged into an intersection full of people, arranged in a semi-circle with a radius of two yardsticks. It seemed like half the state of Iowa was caucusing, but I didn't need any hawk eyes to see the problem - on the corner was a fearless, kilted man, one iPhone or sneeze away from going viral, holding the bagpipes with the safety off. Chekov never said anything about instruments but I knew what was about to go down, and I flew back to my perch like a duck that found itself in Peking. Do they play 'Scotland the Brave' at your funeral if it was the cause of death?

It struck me later that although I've lived on this block for five and a half years, I'd never seen that man. Fewer people out on the streets may mean less opportunity to scare animals but it means less opportunities to scare people, too. I wonder if social distancing has had a side effect in terms of those with eccentric hobbies or talents, scared into hiding by the mean, and finding new definition for an average day.

running running, back back, to chelsea, chelsea

My daily commute has two parts. First, I walk through Beacon Hill to Arlington Station. Then, I board the Green Line going west, making sure to get the ‘D’ train that runs to Brookline Village, my eventual destination. On some mornings, I arrive at Arlington and make a peculiar choice – instead of waiting for the ‘D’ train, I board the ‘B’ or ‘C’ and take it to Kenmore, the last stop before the trains separate into unique tracks. I do this because I know from decades of using the ‘T’ that sometimes an unannounced ‘D’ train will start at Kenmore, often to make up for a delayed train. A couple of times in the past few months, I’ve boarded a fresh ‘D’ train at Kenmore alone, eventually arriving at work a few minutes earlier than those I left behind at Arlington.

This tactic demonstrates my broader approach to solving problems. I almost always take things as close to the solution as possible, moving forward until I encounter an obvious obstacle. The helmet football analogy is to a running back, running as far as possible until stopped. I see the value of plans, itineraries, and procedures, but I prefer a faster method, quickly identifying a promising approach and committing my perseverance, preparation, and instincts to get me as close as possible to the goal.

No approach beats another – it’s more a question of finding the best method for solving a given type of problem. I tend to do well with messy, vague, or ever-changing problems. I manage discomfort, invent novel techniques, and battle through setbacks (1). My style is a poor fit for many situations, including but not limited to park cleanups, cooking from a recipe, or succeeding in a large corporation (editor's note - also add 'pandemics' to this list). When you know how to do it, don’t get me involved. The Amish would hand me a smart phone and tell me to buggy-off after my first barn raising.

The ‘T’ is like my training gym for these skills, presenting me with an endless array of messy, vague, and ever-changing problems. Just the other day, I made a Friday night trip to Chelsea that was like a final exam for Mass Transit 101. (10 points - describe how to reach Chelsea, located across the harbor, and arrive at your destination, which is only indirectly serviced by multiple bus routes.) My options included the Blue Line, which would link me to the several bus options at Maverick, or catching a bus from Haymarket. The Maverick buses ran only every fifteen to thirty minutes but would take me closest to my destination. The sole Haymarket option ran every few minutes but forced a longer walk through Chelsea. Further complicating the calculus was my not having a smart phone (no phones in the exam room) and my specific Green Line terminating short of Haymarket.

I headed east from Brookline Village with a printout map of Chelsea. My first decision was to stay on the train for as long as possible. I knew from experience – see above – that schedules change quickly on the ‘T’. Might some combination of delays, luck, or conductor impulse see my train extended beyond the original terminus, Government Center? I could always reassess if nothing happened, but of course it did, perhaps the adjustment surprising the tourists or BU first-years. I switched over to the Haymarket bus without incident and soon enough we were barreling over the Tobin Bridge toward Chelsea.

The next decision was when to get off the bus. Riding the bus in broad daylight over familiar pavement is challenging enough – I was in the dark on an unfamiliar path. I exercised my cartography skills and noted that the bus was on one of Chelsea’s main roads, wandering vaguely toward my destination. I decided to get off and walk as soon as the bus turned off this main road. A few minutes later, we turned left. When I returned on foot to the main road, I crossed and walked on the right hand side even though my destination was on the left. This allowed me to occasionally turn back and see if one of those infrequent buses from Maverick was approaching – with some luck, I could get on the bus and take it a little closer to my destination. I admit it would have made for a nice ending to this story if I’d indeed caught a bus, but I ended up walking the last fifteen minutes without further incident.

Not the most compelling story ever told, but that’s kind of how it goes with this approach. I usually go one step at a time and end up doing simple things. On the surface, there is very little going on. As I noted above, a lot of problems would suffer if those in charge had my attitude – let’s just start working on it, and see. But I wouldn’t trade my approach for any other. My philosophy is a bit unusual but it gives me an advantage when I’m faced with a complex, confusing challenge. The biggest step in these cases often involves getting started despite uncertainty, but I’m used to that from a lifetime of practice.

I also think it protects me from competition, the prospect of being a ‘running back’ generally unappealing to the average person. It’s possible that natural running backs deliberately abandon their method for something else, perhaps seduced by the promise of planning, but I think it’s a one-way street, I don’t think the natural planners become running backs. So over time, experienced running backs tend to go away, but since they aren't replaced by experienced planners becoming running backs, I end up quickly accumulating relative expertise within my cohort of problem-solvers. I see it as one of my most valuable skills.

The big question is, if this skill is as valuable as I claim, can it be taught or learned? I don’t think so, partly because I haven’t seen any examples but mostly because it seems like one of those ingrained habits that get stomped out of us as we grow up. Aren’t all babies running backs, at least in the sense of how they solve problems? They just crawl around until they become uncomfortable, then they start yelling. I guess that’s the story, because growing up is the process of encountering discomfort, then learning how to avoid it in the future through your experience and agency. The issue is that it guides us naturally away from the running back approach because the entire method is premised on being able to forge on through discomfort to solve the problem. It leaves me with a parting thought – though this skill cannot be taught or learned, it can be cultivated, and done so by becoming increasingly tolerant of discomfort.

Footnotes / endnotes

0. If you fail to plan…

I have no axe to grind against planning. There is a point, however, when plans become ideas that aren’t good enough to implement to right away. In these moments, you still might need to do something, but you won’t know what to do. So what do you do?

I guess you go find a running back.

1. Other running back characteristics

Like a running back, I’m often asked to respond quickly to sudden obstacles. If others make errors, I have to think on my feet and find ways to keep moving forward. I have a relatively high tolerance for pain and often deal head-on with crumbling, hopeless situations. I’m versatile enough to handle multiple tasks but prefer to exercise my versatility selectively, applying the most appropriate set of skills for the specific problem at hand. I rely heavily on teammates to get started but often contribute the most when I follow my instincts to the frontiers of the mission. I’m a leader through example but my teammates are reluctant to follow until they see some evidence of recent success.

drumroll please

A January highlight was discovering Post Malone, apparently one of the most famous people in America, in time to recognize him in a Super Bowl commercial. As always, I thank Iceland. (And if another OMAM recommendation is required, I think I finally found their best performance of ‘Little Talks’.)

‘Fire and Rain’ is one of America’s great songs – naturally, I went off in search of a cover. P!nk’s the winner, I’ve always been in favor of her work but I’m finding recently that in her interpretations lie her most affecting performances. In addition to ‘Fire and Rain’, I recommend ‘Time After Time’ and ‘Stay With Me’.

Listening to P!nk reminds me that a lot of the music I listen to is lacking, at least from the perspective of musicianship. This doesn’t preclude anyone from making great music, especially bands, as the story of individuals coming together to exceed the sum of their parts is a story as old as time. I also know from my hard work finding concert clips that there is often an added element of performance that can further elevate an otherwise pedestrian song (let's call this ‘The Oasis Clause’). Simply, there is so much more to a song than just the musician's skill level.

But there are times when I listen to someone sing or play and I think – that’s how it’s done. It’s not a long list, and for loyal TOA readers the following is devoid of major surprises. I’ll start with P!nk, mention Adele as I imagine is required by international law, and add Tupac's rapping. I’ll use Courtney Barnett for guitar because I heard it in person and add Celtic Social Club’s Pierre Stephan on the fiddle for the same reason. Chris Wolstenholme of Muse wins the bass award, another performer I’ve witnessed do it on a stage. This leads me to the drums, the reason I’m bringing up this entire line of thinking, because a few weeks ago I listened to this recording of Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ and felt the difference between people who hit the drums and people who play the drums.

I’m finding that Joy Division is one of those bands where I have a hard time comprehending my emotions. It’s not like I grew up with their music and I don’t even like any of their songs – in fact, it’s just the one above I listen to intentionally, and probably a couple of times a month at most. But there’s something about them that is deeply affecting, the same way I feel when I listen to Nirvana or Avicii, the same way I know is true for the bands and artists that pay tribute to these performers, and I wonder if the hint is in those drums, the mastery and the potential in each beat, the knowledge that making the right sound wasn’t enough to drown out the noise, and the urgency of getting in every last note before the song ended.

tales of two cities - green light indicates bikes are secure, part 3 (solutions)

I’ve written in this mini-series about the challenges created by the Blue Bikes method of using a green light to indicate a rental closure. I thought today I would briefly look at the current solutions and try to offer up a couple of my own.

First, I should be clear about what I’m talking about in these posts. The green light system works as designed over 99% of the time. From my experience, it’s also very reliable in a long-term sense because if you get the green light the system does… eventually… close out the rental. Trust me, it always works... eventually. The issue is that the green light itself means nothing beyond confirmation that the bike was docked correctly. There is still the added step of linking the docked bike with the open rental. The green light confirms this communication will happen... eventually. It’s kind of like putting a letter into the mailbox. The problem I’m concerned with is that when this communication remains pending for long enough, I won’t be able to unlock another bike. The current setup blames the customer until the system fixes itself, a policy that based on my experiences wastes one hour per member per year. What I’m writing about is a way to get that number down to zero.

The current ‘best solution’ is entirely electronic – when a bike docks, an email comes in that confirms the closure. This is a great solution in theory but in practice the failures become obvious. The biggest issue is that emails can be slow. I’ve had experiences where the emails for a closed trip come in hours after the fact. Given that the problem involves knowing whether the rental is closed while I’m in front of the bike, a slow email will only mean more confusion and anxiety. Another way of looking at this is if the email is one minute slow sixty times a year, the minute I spend waiting at the dock for the email will add up to that hour of wasted time I referenced above. This would defeat the whole point of my rant.

The larger problem is that the emails are system generated whereas the area of concern here is at the dock level. If a bike docked correctly but the system didn’t read it, that email is never coming in on time. This is again the essence of why I project the current system wastes an hour or so of member time per year. When the email doesn’t come in, the only solution is to call in to customer service, and once more the wasted time clock begins ticking upward.

An SMS option would fail for the same reasons outlined above for the current email method. I’ve also experienced firsthand its specific version of failure. I was in Washington DC this past June and I signed up for a one-day pass with their Blue Bikes equivalent, Capital Bike. I opted in for the SMS notification to notify me when my rental closed out. Unsurprisingly, when I closed my trip, no SMS came (I’m still waiting). If this option isn’t working correctly by late 2019, it probably never will, at least in the context of the problem I’m concerned with at the moment.

The solution I casually mentioned in my first post – a printed receipt – is probably the closest thing to the best solution. The method would be very simple – after the bike docks and the green light comes on, a printed receipt confirms the rental closure. The docks already have printers installed in the kiosk so the infrastructure is ready. This feature would be immune to problems with specific docking stations because the docks read closure independent of their connection to the system (the bike communicates to the dock and the dock communicates to the system). If a rider experienced an issue with an ‘open rental’, the receipt would be useful to have on hand until the dock linked back to the system.