bittersweet

My youngest is on his way to Utah for seasonal work at a ski resort. He visited for several weeks between his gigs in Alaska and Utah. Over breakfast this morning, we talked about timing. He’s been anxious to get back to work, which is quite the change for him. He’s maturing. I told him that time off is like a half gallon of ice cream—a little bit is a real pleasure, but too much at a time is a problem. My guess is that after a long summer session in Alaska, a couple of weeks off are plenty. Of course, this varies from person to person, but I have definite opinions about vacations. It’s good that he felt it was too long in more than just his wallet.

For me, I am sad to see him go. I missed him while he was away. It was nice having him visit. But, like time off, having a houseguest can go on a little long. That, of course, varies from houseguest to houseguest.

Returning from LAX, I am strangely upbeat. The boy is off for another adventure and he’ll mature. It will be fun to find out how much when he comes back. 

For me, personally, I am very pleased to have my house back. I cheerfully set to some chores and it was a genuine delight to clean the kitchen and restock the fridge. My plants are being watered and laundry is spinning. As much as it was nice to have Kevin around, it’s invigorating to have my privacy back. This is my space.

ahhhhh

It happens every year about this time. It makes me smile every time.

I love summer. I love the long days. I love the heat. 

Every year about this time, I am caught off guard when the nighttime temperature drops, seeming suddenly. It happened just the other night. 

Another thing that creeps up on me is the short nightfall. I am accustomed to the long days of summer. Like the First Cool Night, the other night twilight crept up on me. I looked at the clock...wow. 

Perhaps my favorite thing about these events is that, in Southern California, both are followed by hot, gorgeous summer days. The message is the same each year: summer will end, so prepare yourself...but not yet.

wow, even more?

I am surprised to be writing another entry that may be construed as political, but it's been on my mind. 

Mr. Romney released his 2011 tax figures recently. He's been in the news for not releasing this info promptly. It turns out, he had an effective tax rate of 14.1%. That is less than his secretary. Mr. Obama released his 2011 info in April. His effective tax rate was 20.5%. That was less than his secretary, too. 

I suppose my take on this information is not typical. My response is: good for you, gentlemen! If Romney or Obama paid any extra money in taxes, just to appear to be one of lumpen-proletariat, my respect for them would drop considerably. Organizing your finances to take advantage of tax laws is not a crime; in fact, it is a virtue. (My opinion).

Enter: Warren Buffett. Mr. Buffett thinks he does not pay enough in taxes. Mr. Buffett's effective tax rate for 2010 was 11.06%. While you might think Mr. Buffett doesn't pay enough in taxes, I disagree. Mr. Buffett paid $6,923,494 in federal income taxes and I think that is plenty. Why should he pay more to the government than about 99.9997% of the rest of the population? I've noticed that Mr. Buffett hasn't suggested a figure that he thinks is more fair, nor has he thrown in a little more just to make him feel better about himself--not that he needs to, in my opinion. I hear he is very charitable, and a heck of a nice guy. I think he is savvy. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be giving a lot extra to the government either, even at his nosebleed-level income. Nope, Mr. Buffett is waiting for the laws to change, then he will comply, perhaps happily. 

Is each of these guys paying their fair share? I say yes. Why? Because that's the law.
     

woah

Gee, politics. I thought I had outgrown it. Seriously. Whenever I talk politics, I just seem to piss everyone off.

So why now? Well, Mr. Obama threw a rock that bounced off my house, as well as quite a few others’, us small businessmen and businesswomen. Yes, the famous, “You didn’t build that,” speech. This morning, I read the indignant commentary of the Republican convention. It seems that the Republicans have jumped on a bandwagon and the Dems are not at all happy about it. The shrillest commentary appears to be: “He was taken out of context!”

Was he? Now, I am no stranger to the idiocy that suffuses our ridiculous political process. As such, I figured I would take a look at the context from which these quotes were taken. To paraphrase, it looks like Mr. Obama was going for, “No man is an island.” Considering his audience at the time, teachers, I believe, it is understandable that Mr. Obama would be courting teachers and praising them for their effects on students and former students. 

But Mr. Obama didn’t stop there. No, he picked up that ball and rushed into new territory. Small businessmen and –women get their materials and ship their goods on roads built by others. Why did he bring this up? After that, he drops the bomb: “you didn’t build that.” Huh? This wasn’t a slip of the tongue. I don’t think I misunderstood his point. He hammered it home pretty effectively…I didn’t build that. He or she didn’t build that. We owe our success to others…apparently to teachers and road builders. The teachers, sure, in that warm and fuzzy way that I feel about my teachers, (that doesn’t quite translate to the California Teachers Association). But road builders? Isn’t that the government?

Judging from the way the Republican convention apparently progressed, I am not alone in noticing this. Now, it is no secret to any small businessman that when times are going well for his business, he is generally the envy of his neighbors. When times are good, owning your own business is a real joy. For me, it has been exciting and lucrative. Oh, but when times are tough, owning a business is ugly—damn ugly. I am responsible for the welfare of my employees and it is heart-rending when I had to make tough decisions. Is this a sore subject for me? Yes, both in good times and bad times. I hate hearing, You are so lucky, and I hate hearing, Wow, that really sucks.  

So, Mr. Obama sort of rubbed my nose in it when he said I didn’t build that. I owe my success to the teachers and the road builders. I do? I don’t remember the comfort of the road builders when I had to lay people off, when I had to kneel before bankers, when the recession threatened everything, including my house. The government may have helped me here and there, but Uncle Sam is no business partner of mine. If taking money from the government is what led to success, you’d think that people that took welfare would be a lot more successful. Right?

Oh, and because I can’t resist, I have to laugh at the moronic commentators that include government contracts with government loans and calling both handouts. Really? The contracts I worked for, and the loans I am repaying. I guess I don’t understand what handout means.

50 shades of finished

It has been an interesting run. I read all 3 books. I liked the second best. I am ambivalent about the overall experience. It was a good story, told poorly. Most of the excitement, for me, came from the shared experience of so many friends reading it simultaneously—and their shock at some of the racier ideas. Of course, I went to Catholic school, so that’s sort of like stacking the deck a bit. 

I do not want to rehash a lot of the usual reviews of this story, but true to my thoughts on romance, I can’t let the fairytale ending go. Yuck. And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the heroine is an idiot. Well, maybe “idiot” is a little harsh, but I found myself sympathizing more with the evil dictator, control freak than with the “normal” girl. And lastly, I’m a guy that really gets into the willing suspension of disbelief. I have no problems with aliens chasing each other around with light sabers, Hobbits wandering the Shire, heck, even a Bahamian crab singing to a wee mermaid. Why can’t I believe in a ridiculously handsome, kinky, hung, 27 year old billionaire who hooks up with a multi-orgasmic virgin for a little light spanking?

Chapters

Our lives are a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. The beginning of a chapter in our lives feels like a beginning, and the ending of a chapter feels like an ending; but chapters are really just a convenient place to break up our story into manageable chunks. I like beginning a new chapter, precisely because it is new, but why? Well, largely because the old chapter has become stale—it ran its course. It had its ending, and it is time for a renewal, the fresh start to a new chapter. 

I am reminded of a quote from a movie, roughly, “the real trick is in knowing there is no spoon.” Like that scene, chapters are illusory—they are just a comfortable way to break up the story. If chapters were real, I would argue that every day begins a new chapter. Every time I wake, there are fresh and new possibilities. Do we, the characters in our own stories decide on the chapters?

it was a sunny, breezy day

Today, as I sat beneath a stand of palm trees blowing in the strong sea breeze, I saw beauty. First, a completely bald woman walked past me. She was bald like an egg…completely. Her head was tanned and her face was aged, but she had a very nice demeanor; she seemed fit, which had me wondering why she was bald. If she had stopped to talk to me, I would have told her it was a good look for her, although I’m thinking that might be sort of condescending or something. I was very pleased for her that she did not look sickly, like I would expect of a completely bald woman. I was glad she did not have a wig; maybe she realized this was a good look for her.

I was thinking about the bald woman as I looked out on the sea, and an ugly couple walked by. They were like two trolls. She was a lumpy, sallow woman, squeezed in a dress that was too small. The man was short, squat, wearing a buttoned-down checkered shirt and shiny nylon basketball shorts, with dark shoes. It’s a good thing there really aren’t fashion police—I shudder at their fines. The couple walked slowly, chatting to themselves as they took in the gorgeous scene. Believe me, it was just an amazing day by the water today. Their mutual regard for each other was evident from the touching and eye contact. These were no newlyweds, but I like to think they were much in love, as they walked along the docks. It struck me—these two ugly people were the most beautiful couple I’d seen all day.

I smiled as I realized this. Then I started to think other thoughts: Truth, Beauty, Love…these things that people have contemplated so much. Are they eternal? Are they constants? Are they objective? I have recently read that beauty can be objectively measured and scientists have catalogued the various facial ratios, and can measure the symmetry in a person’s face and score them for beauty. How would these two trolls in love score? I’m betting they would be on the Ewww-end of the scale, and yet I thought they were beautiful. I must be wrong.

Truth, ah Truth with a capital “T”. Is it objective? Writ small, of course, Truth is easier to handle. When the chicken crosses the road, there is a road, a chicken and a crossing…voila! But more complex things have their own Truth, and one must examine various perspectives. Truth, then, becomes a slippery thing—something that needs some thought before a declaration is made. Is Truth objective? Can there be more than one Truth? Can they conflict with one another? I don’t think I am smart enough to know the answers.

Love. Love has always given me trouble. Ask someone to define love and there is confusion and consternation, yet most people can point out love when they see it. Hmmmm, something ill-defined, but readily identifiable? That just reeks of ambiguity to me, and ambiguity bugs me mightily, like sand in my swim trunks. There’s a passage from the Bible, of all places, that starts with “Love is…” Sure there are probably many like that, but I’m thinking of the passage that is read at many, many weddings, “…love is patient, love is kind…” blah, blah, blah. It tells me many of the ingredients for love, but the recipe seems a little scant on detail. If you baked that recipe, you might get a cake, or a muffin, or an iguana sandwich. Is love constant? Almost certainly not; I don’t even think I need to go into it. Is love eternal? Oh, hell no. Is love objective? I’m going to go out on a limb and say no. I have no fantastic argument, but anything that is so slippery to define almost has to be subjective.

So, in a world where Truth and Beauty and Love are inconstant, and fleeting and subjective, what is there to hold onto? Well, the beautiful moments, the flashes of truth and the magical nuggets of love. Sure, they may have a beginning and an end, but they do exist. Perhaps like life, I shouldn’t fret about the end of them, but revel in the here and now. To seek them out like sunsets, marking them, and be thankful.