Render unto Timex...

We've been having fun here with our "land hurricane"; and the lowest barometric pressure ever recorded, either in the USA, or at least the Midwest, depending on your source. We didn't get the absolute worst of it, but it has been work to get through it; tarps ripped off, ripped up, a tree or two down on a road or two, smoke in the house from more atmospheric turbulence than our chimney can handle.

Coulda been worse. Actually, I've seen worse winds here, just not so heavy so long. We've been averaging 30 mph, with bursts up to 55 for three days; but any good summer thunderstorm can have short duration winds up over 70, and I've seen 90 mph. But only for 10 minutes or so.

In the middle of it all, we got to drive to our doctor town for me to have an "upper endoscopy"; the doctors going fishing for anything down my upper gastro-esophageal system that's out of whack and could explain some of my whining. (Can't remember any of it, which means they did a good job; and the bottom line was "nothing obvious" but they did take a couple biopsy chunks to look at closer.) The car blew around on the road a bit, but again; coulda been worse.

When I came out of the anesthesia (this is how we do it in Minnesota),

I was not, surprisingly, gasping for air. Besides being droll and musical, our Midvestern anesthesiologists are very competent. So I woke up surprised.

It was all over and I didn't even remember falling asleep. (thanks for the video to my big brother, who has more time to cruise youtube...)

The next thing on the agenda was a little woozy shopping (with Spice along as unmedicated driver) for the necessities of life.

For me, the necessities include a working watch. I know; half of youse guys out there cheerfully do without one (and even brag about that, from time to time), but as I noted today over on Sharon's post about the relativity of time, I now need to know where I am in the day; how much is left to work with, etc. And no, you can't tell time from the sun in Minnesota in late fall/early winter; more than half the days are sunless.

And my sturdy, reliable, Timex Ironman Triathalon® (can't tell you how manly it makes me feel to wear one!) watch had recently done what they all have done; the watchband broke; long before the watch itself was near the end of its life.

And, guess what? Just as always before (like 5 times, by now) - since I'd bought my Timex IT; the styling had changed, just a teensy, so that- nope, they don't actually have a replacement band available for that particular model... and the watch-girl (used to be the goose-girl, 300 years ago) doesn't really even know how to get this thing disattached...

The (mildly, given the state of the world) aggravating thing is that the watch itself is nicely designed, and has a long, reliable life. And the band always dies long before the watch.

Accident? Ha. We know better. It is, of course, a ploy to sell more watches, keep the profits rolling. I can hear the conversation in the Timex marketing meetings: "Ok, look, the damn engineering department has screwed us again; these bloody things run without a problem for 4-5 years! How the hell can we justify our bonuses if we're only selling one per customer in 5 years?? Here's how we can fix this disaster...)

It's a broad huge problem with our world, of course; the waste of resources, where there is no actual need for it, just greed for it.

But. I've come to be resigned to this kind of little irritation; it's an intractable problem, and not quite as urgent as some others (like all-time record breaking weather); and not a fight I really have the time to get into, anyway. Hélas.
.

So. I'm calling it The Timex Tax. Sure as death and. Inescapable. You pays your money, and you takes your chances.

But at least, now, no matter where I am on the farm, chopping water or hauling wood, I'll be sure to know how much longer I have to struggle onward, today. My Timex Tax is paid for another 2-3 years.

"Just let The Market work!"

I know, I owe you guys a guinea update. :-) Working on it. Meanwhile, I just made this comment over on Richard Black's BBC environment blog, and kind of liked the way it turned out - so, I'll repeat it here. This is part and parcel of the Sociopathic Business syndrome- the insistence that The Market will solve all problems - if only those nasty regulators will allow it to-

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A couple of years ago, I got a nice lesson in reality. My very ugly truck was stolen.

I'd bought the truck specifically as a farm-only vehicle; ugly but functional. Very ugly, rusty; but mechanically reliable, like a tractor. "Nobody in their right mind would steal it", was our firm belief, so it was left commonly in the field, in sight of the public road, where we were working. Everyone agreed- "nobody would ever steal that old piece of junk". We de-registered it; no license, since it never went off the farm.

Guess what? Some people- who were NOT in their right mind, but hopped on meth - stole it, and wrecked it. Actually causing us substantial loss; it was a tool we needed.

Now- I'm not considered a dumb person- but how did I forget that the world is teeming with people "not in their right mind"?

Humans are outstanding at simultaneously believing two different things- which they know are mutually exclusive; "incompossible", as they used to say. First world farmers, for example know that if they don't produce as much food as possible, "the world will starve"; and simultaneously know that overproduction of food is responsible for their low prices and constant dance with bankruptcy. So they support burning the food they grow, and get very huffy about it if you suggest that burning food is, um, questionable.

SR wrote:
"I think what a lot of people tend to forget is that if it weren't for market mechanisms and the *generally* efficient allocation of scarce resources thereof, we would still be floundering in something resembling a Dicken's novel."

The concept that "markets efficiently allocate resources" is another one of these beguiling fantasies. I'm delighted to see the "generally" added- perhaps a bit of reality is slipping in.

The illusion stems from an underlying and rarely stated part of the belief; which is that markets will, and do- operate "honestly".

All of history- and blatantly all of very recent history- agrees that markets NEVER operate honestly. Never. It just doesn't happen. Never has. The Code of Hammurabi contains death penalties for people who cheat in business.

Sure, there are plenty of plain honest business people who run beautifully honest operations (I'm one, in fact). And in case you hadn't noticed, they're the ones who wind up in the newspapers- for going bankrupt, after years of hard honest work. While the dishonest ones- wind up in the papers for mind-blowing bonuses; wrist-slap legal fines for their illegal operations; and the fact they resent being called dishonest.

It has always been that way. Yes, indeed, markets allocate resources fairly; and if my Aunt had wheels, she'd be a Ferrari.

Or we could always say, anyone in their right mind, will obviously conduct business honestly and fairly.

That'll work.

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What they teach, in the Business School Of Sociopathy- is that if you simply keep repeating the mantra of "The Market Will Solve All Problems" - a huge number of voters will believe it, forever. Which will then ensure that Regulations are kept to a minimum; and "business opportunities" are not abridged.

Which means- opportunities for theft, fraud, and piracy- will alway be available; thank goodness.

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That post on the BBC generated some following discussion; maybe worth looking at...

The Denialoons...

Super quickie. Just wanted to let the world know I am unleashing a new neologism (sick).

Just hit me as I was composing scathing reposts to the paid deniers over on Richard Black's BBC environment blog.

Unfortunately, the blog is infested with obvious paid deniers/disruptors (obvious if you're trained in spotting them), and it's sad because there are people there trying to discuss and learn. If not blocked, they will eventually succeed in castrating the blog, just as happened to Andy Revkin's "Dot Earth" on the NYT.

Anyway. I'd recently described an organization I know as "an addled loon egg", and may have been heard to comment how glad I am to know that loons are not endangered, in some venues...

And the words just came together. Denial. Loon.

Oh, the fit is perfect, and "denialoon" sounds to me like what is known in the marketing biz as a "sticky" word. It's memorable; and can get around.

So; a little boxing, from me. Denialoons is what they are; and will always be. Much stickier than "flat-earther".

Pass it around! :-)

ps - well, pooh. A quick google, done after writing the above, shows that one other person has put this together, before me. But, they made no effort to launch it. I wanna launch it; good epithets can have legs, or wings, in this case...

More to be pitied, than scorned.

For you infants, that's an old put down for a young lady who got herself knocked up without benefit of matrimony.

But it's also a shoe that fits many MBAs and businessmen. They're in a sociopathic culture; and indeed many have been sucked in and indoctrinated in it, without being, at their cores, actual sociopaths.

There are real, genetic, natural sociopaths on Wall Street, to be sure. But if you'll check the definitions there, sociopaths love to manipulate people; it gives them big warm fuzzies down in their iceberg hearts. They love to be admired. Worshiped.

Emulated. So indeed, one good born sociopath thriving as a successful hedge fund CEO (for example) will spawn dozens more; the weak, easily led, who follow in the shining footsteps, and, of course, often will strive to "out Herod Herod", as they seek their idol's praise.

Nasty little positive feedback loops, all over, in this mess.

But. Before the entire business community descends on me in fury, explaining they are not sociopaths, at all, but "good people"; who kiss their children good night, and give money to the United Way once a year -

Sure. Not all businessmen and women are sociopaths - by nature.

But. Take a good look at what you do, every day. And. How many times a week do you find yourself justifying some hurtful, harmful activity with "Look, this is business."

Yes it is. Blind pure self-interest, all others be damned.

So, if, dear businessman, you're feeling wounded that the entire world (it's not just me, you know) is starting to actually speak up and say we all loathe you- keep in mind that like the pregnant 15 year-old, many of us out here can see your problem, and we do feel compassion.

It's a sad place to be, no doubt.

What we need, obviously, is a good Twelve Step Program; to become a "Recovering Business-Sociopath."

And don't I wish I were joking.

Harvard Business School Has No Clothes.

I have a little epiphany for you. One that hit me as I was driving across multiple states recently, observing our world.

It's summed up in a blindingly oblivious "Op-Ed" piece, in today's New York Times. From the author's blurb:

"William D. Cohan, a former investigative reporter in Raleigh, N.C., writes on alternate Fridays about Wall Street and Main Street. He worked on Wall Street as a senior mergers and acquisitions banker for 15 years. He also worked for two years at GE Capital. He is the author of 'House of Cards: A Tale of Hubris and Wretched Excess on Wall Street' "

In his piece entitled "The Elizabeth Warren Fallacy", Mr Cohan asks (and he's serious) "Why create an expensive bureaucracy to “protect” consumers from their own stupid decisions?"

The mind boggles. Mine does, anyway, and mine is not all that easily boggled. And this is from an author who writes elsewhere about wretched behavior on Wall Street.

Literally going back to the Code of Hammurabi, the very existence of all law is justified by the fact that, yes, innocent persons need to be protected from predatory humans.

But here, a scion of the Business World, slickly suggests that sheep exist to be sheared, and that this is how the world works. This is what they teach MBAs, these days. Any means to a profit - not specifically forbidden by law or (silly) regulations- is entirely fair. Reap all you can, before the regulators catch on.

Which behavior has put our culture where it is- virtually all the "real" capital in the "real" economy has been skimmed off, via slick marketing of easy credit - e.g.;

"

Borrow $10,000 on your credit card today! Just use this EasyCheck {Same as cash!} - And for this Special Limited Time Offer, this loan will be at only 1.99% until paid off!"

(Until you sneeze, then it goes into the default rate of 30%...)

With the real capital sucked out of the Real Economy into the bizarre fantasy world of The Financial Sector (which owes itself trillions of dollars more than actually exist anywhere) - we're broke. And breaking further. All of us.

In my opinion, the best, most solid economic statistic available is the rate at which CEOs and top corporate executives buy and sell their own stock in their own companies. Through a grotesque oversight, this is public information. At the moment, those who know the most about their own futures are selling their own stocks at a rate of 1,400 to 1.

No, that's not good.

The epiphany?

Gradually, over the years, our societally accepted definition of "business" has changed.

It used to be; and we still teach our children, that "business" happens when: you have a need; I fill it; you pay me for my work; and we both benefit.

Now what we teach our MBAs is, if there is no need; create one; and if you can trick your opponent out of an extra penny, good for you. Mutual benefit, in fact, is literally no longer in the definition.

What you have there- is precisely - the definition of sociopathy.

We teach Sociopathy as "Business". We really, really, really do.

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There are multiple sites on the web that deal with definitions of sociopath, and lists of character traits. They don't all agree, but take a look; and compare the traits to those flaunted by "business" professionals.

(If you're a movie fan, take a look at Gordon Gekko this way.)

For the last many decades, the business world has very effectively insinuated huge respect for themselves into every aspect of our culture. All good things flow from business; without it, we will all perish. There you have a truth beyond examination. To question it, even, is punishable. The metaphors quickly reach to religious dogma; heresy; and excommunication.

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Maybe you already knew this. I've always known there were slimy characters here and there; but it was a new idea, hitting me with force, that we actually accept, and teach, a group of behaviors and attitudes we also recognize as incredibly destructive and dangerous. Genuinely pathological. Sick.

Try saying "Harvard School Of Sociopathy" a few times; see how it fits.

Today; it's to the point where a respected writer can suggest, in a respected forum, that stupid people deserve to be tricked, and "we" should waste no money to save them. (Never mind that the public will then, provably, pay for their prisons, hospitals and funerals, and sociopathic children.)

What happened to the idea that business should not involve traps and tricks, in the first place?

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Manifestly, The American Way Of Business now thrives - survives- on tricks and traps. The entire model is sociopathic. And is run by trained sociopaths.

Spread the word. So far, sociopath is still a label most would like to avoid. It's a very bad thing to call someone. A very hard word. Maybe it needs to be spray-painted all over Wall Street.

I have issues.

Smidgen, who is in kindergarten now,  came home a day ago and announced that "Troy still has talking issues."

Which cracked me up.  I love the way our language changes.  "To have issues" is not that old a phrase; goes back only to the 80's, I think, and was unknown before then.  Now it's become this powerful and universal explanatory.  I love imagining exactly how it bounces around in the kindergarten room.

I have issues, at the moment.  We've had this momentary karma crash, apparently.

While my health is currently not an issue, everything else is.  Our poultry, both guineas and chickens, are disappearing, at a really alarming rate.  Something is eating them (the piles of feathers attest) but we can't figure what.  Have to figure it out.

Our tree crops are dropping like crazy; and we can't pick them up fast enough.  And- we got clobbered by the flooding rains a couple days ago; with more on the way.  We only got 4 inches out of it, not the 10 some neighbors did.  But when you're picking stuff up off the ground, and the ground is mud- it's not good.

The storm was what our grandparents would all have called "the equinoctial storm".  Smack on the equinox, this time.  They all new/believed that you can expect a major rainstorm event every year, close to the equinox.  Lots of mysticism about why; but for our location, my 30+ years of watching tends to affirm their opinion.  The balance of sunlight has shifted from light to dark; the weather shifts too.

Besides pounding crops into mud, we got hit by a karmic lightning bolt.  Well, the surge, anyway.

For decades, it's been my rigid practice to unplug everything during lightning storms.  After frying 8 (no exaggeration) answering machines, it seemed the best practice.  But.  This time, the DSL connection was left on; and my computer was connected.

We heard a very loud POP from the direction of the DSL, and every circuit breaker in the house tripped. The thunder roll came a couple seconds later; this wasn't a hit on the house.

Took a while to figure out what and where.  After resetting all the breakers; the DSL modem; and my computer, were stone dead.  The surge evidently got into the DSL line, evaded all their protections, then via ethernet wire into my computer, then into the power lines, and "poof".  Lighting does anything it wants to, is the actual physical law.

I was really pretty dismayed to discover how dependent I've become on the computer and the web.  It's a chunk of my life; and when it's not available, things get out of kilter.  How the hell am I supposed to plan what to do when I can't look at the radar loop?  Or when that urgent email conversation is disrupted?

I used to, of course.  Changing back is strangely difficult, though.

Meanwhile.  More rain on way.  Gotta get crops in.

I paid too much.

  I'm kinda afraid to say "I'm back!" - but; I may be back.  We'll see.  I am back from my trip, and it was a tremendously productive and useful one, the kind that leaves your head spinning with new possibilities, and solutions to old problems, and lots of energy...

  After which, you arrive home to reality, and while it's wonderful; that damned pot hole in the driveway still needs to be fixed...

  And so it goes.  As St. Vonnegut put it repeatedly.  Anyway; an actual post:

  Two days ago, I paid too much for an antique.  On purpose.

  The "antique" is a hand-cranked feed grinder; for turning whole corn etc. into chicken feed.  It's small scale agriculture; but from the day when people bought such things expecting them to work without breaking, for a lifetime; to serve their own needs fully, and well.

  I've needed one for a year, and have been suffering mentally from the fact that before I had any poultry I saw one, languishing in an antique mall, asking to be taken home for a very measly $35; a great 40 lb chunk of cast iron from another era.  Nobody was buying, obviously; it's a heavy working machine, and doesn't transform well into a tchotchke.  I'd admired the beautiful design and utility of it, and passed on; and kicked myself constantly for not buying it, all the days after.

  Once I needed one, they vanished from the antique malls of course.  I looked, asked, drove to see the other dealer across town, etc, for several years, with no luck.  Most dealers knew what it was I was talking about, and had seen them; but were also aware that the market for them was nearly non-existent.

  On my way driving home, I stopped for a break in the small town where I went to high school; a place to which I retain very few ties.  Walked past our old house, noticed that the tuck pointing I'd done on the front stairs was holding up fine, but that whatever I hadn't repaired then was now in desperate need.  And finding a couple of antique stores, looked in mostly out of community curiosity, not real hope.  They always ask; "Looking for anything special?"  And I always answer, as a way to open communication, and ease the situation dynamics.  "Yeah, I'm looking for a... "  and the hands start flailing about to express dimensions and actions.

  "Nope.  But the other store back up town might- they've got a basement."  Ok.  Trudge.  "Oh, I really don't know.  I have two dealers who might; let's see - "  and hailing one who happened to be in, relayed my request.  "Well.  Maybe."

  Let's look.  And there, behold, is my feed grinder.  Cleaned up to an insane degree, and painted fire engine red in hopes of achieving tchotchke-hood, but there it is; massive cast iron, with enough wear on the iron teeth to prove a long and useful career already achieved; with another hundred years left in it.

  There's the tag.  Flip it over.  $145.00.

  Now- the lady, who inadvertently had blurted "you know, we thought that's what it was!" and thus revealed her position of inferior knowledge, was looking at me very hopefully, as I looked up from the tag.  There wasn't any doubt in my mind that if I'd played the game, she'd have cheerfully taken $100; or maybe a lot less- ("man, the last one I saw was a lot better, and they were only asking $35!") but instead, I gave her a full-smile, put out my hand, and said "Done!"

  And I was actually aware of what I was doing.  I was willing to pay the exorbitant price for two reasons.  One; pure celebratory joy that I'd succeeded in this long search, and I can now grind my own stuff to feed the guineas and chickens; and Two -

  Two is more complicated.  This was a piece of pretty important machinery to me; and similar bits of old technology exist in many corners of antique stores, attics, basements and barns.  Most of these old tools wind up thrown away.  "Nobody wants that junk anymore; it's just scrap."

  A bunch of the tools I used to build this house came out of antique stores; and the need for these simpler machines is increasing, not decreasing.

  I paid the price cheerfully - to encourage, forcefully, this lady and her antique dealer friends to preserve the old tools when they find them; and make them available to those of us who recognize and want them.  I didn't tell her that.

  I doubt that extra $45 will ever find its way back to me, in karmic payoff.  But.  It was my contribution, for the day, to the direction of human enterprise.  Hopefully, it will help a few others find what they need, down the road.

  A little shove on the iceberg.