End of the year.

It's nice to shut the door on a year that didn't bring us what we'd hoped, or worse, brought us many things that we would have hoped not to get. Of course we know it's all arbitrary -- tonight 2022 ends, but the Jewish year 5783 started in September and the Chinese new year (it's a rabbit year) doesn't start until January 22. But I guess it's always nice to mark the end of an era and take a moment to assess our experiences and anticipate what's to come. 

I actually finished all my work assignments right at the end of the day Friday, so I have nothing new looking me in the face this weekend. My goals for the weekend: Get to church and sleep. Depending on the pastor, they may be combined. (Rim shot.) I will certainly feel obliged to stay up to midnight, which will mean an overtired puppy tonight and then an overtired both of us Sunday morning. But time and pee wait for no man or beast. On the upside, TCM has apparently listened to its viewers and has reinstated its marathon of Thin Man movies starting at eight tonight.

The past year did not have any personal highlights, and the lowlights were nothing worth mentioning, so I guess that's good. I have grievances, of course -- annoyances that I may compile in list form. Like a lot of folks I often dwell on the little things to avoid thinking about the big things. People will say "Don't sweat the small stuff!" but they will also say "Watch the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves." Culture is contradictory to the point of insanity. 

So what are your hopes for the new year? Maybe regrets from the old year? Let's hear about them in comments. See you there, if I'm not too sleepy to read them.  

Book biz.

It's flatly incredible how the book business has changed since 1980, despite the fact that readers are readers and still like the same things -- good stories well told, interesting histories, popular science, funny stuff, puzzles and games, and so on, bound within the confines of two covers. But oh how the scene has changed. 

Can it change back at all? 

In 1980, there were still plenty of independent booksellers, as well as thriving chains like Waldenbooks, Paperback Booksmith, and growing chains like Books-A-Million, Borders, and Barnes & Noble. The chains grew quickly, and soon were wiping the floor with the locals. In 1998's You've Got Mail, a Barnes & Noble stand-in called Fox & Sons Books was the ominous presence set to destroy Meg Ryan's little bookshop. 

Thirteen years later, Waldenbooks and Borders were dead and Barnes & Noble was fighting for its life, all because of a little startup in the 1990s called Amazon, which originally sold nothing but books. It seemed like in short order the brick-and-mortar bookstore would be a thing of the past.

Yesterday I read an interesting article that showed that Barnes & Noble is making a comeback. Ted Gioia, the Honest Broker, writes on Substack that 

Barnes & Noble is flourishing. After a long decline, the company is profitable and growing again—and last week announced plans to open 30 new stores. In some instances, they are taking over locations where Amazon tried (and failed) to operate bookstores.

That's exceptionally surprising, especially in the post-pandemic order-everything-online world. My wife barely goes to stores anymore, and she's not alone. Barnes & Noble seemed particularly doomed. It didn't discount as well as Amazon; also, one couldn't bundle buys from groceries and clothing and auto supplies and toys and hardware into a book order for free shipping as at Amazon. B&N has an e-reader, the Nook, like Amazon's Kindle, but the Nook was nowhere near as popular (although often considered a superior device). And yet Barnes & Noble is on the comeback trail? 

Gioia says that the secret is this: the new CEO of Barnes & Noble, James Daunt, loves books, and loves bookstores. He thinks book lovers love bookstores, too. But he did not like what he saw at Barnes & Nobles's stores, and set out to fix them. They were dull; they forced certain books in the faces of readers because of deals with publishers; they ran crap coffeeshops that were money-losers; they sold all kinds of non-book toys and things that didn't really help the bottom line. Most of all, he wanted the individual stores to sell the books that sold, not the ones that the home office said to push. To make decisions for the readers, not the suppliers. 

If you have any love for books or the book business, read the article. 

I have a couple of quibbles with the author, though, but not ones that argue his findings. First, I would note that it was not a thoughtless decision in the 1990s to open cafés in bookstores; for the first time ever, Americans were hanging around coffeeshops as if it was something good to do on one's spare time, so why not have them in to buy the reading material there? (It didn't last, though -- we're back to let's-caffeine-up-and blow, and Starbucks stores are dumps, and other coffee chains are failing.) 

Also, there is a problem with giving the employees in stores complete control over book sales, as has been seen elsewhere, and for some time -- they don't always bother with the books people want (such as, military or conservative political or history books) but rather forcibly promote the ones they think people should be reading. In other words, instead of a tin-pot dictator at the home office, you have little speech-silencing dictators in the stores themselves, who really don't care how much money is not made, as long as (for instance) that damn Jordan Peterson never sees the light of day again. Why should they? They don't own the store and they don't get a commission. So if a bunch of books from Regnery get "damaged in shipping" and have to be sent back at the publisher's dime, well, whoopsie! Don't have what you want in stock? Hey, you should be reading Ta-Nehisi Coates anyway.

And yet, Daunt's plan is almost magical in a way, because it relies on the last thing most business people genuinely consider anymore:

. . . I almost hate to say it, because the lesson is so simple.

If you want to sell music, you must love those songs. If you want to succeed in journalism, you must love those newspapers. If you want to succeed in movies, you must love the cinema. 

But this kind of love is rare nowadays. I often see record labels promote new artists for all sorts of gimmicky reasons—even labels I once trusted such as Deutsche Grammophon or Concord. I’ve come to doubt whether the people in charge really love the music.

Maybe they once did, but at some point they lost faith in the redemptive power of songs. That’s the only explanation I can give for what they’re doing. Instead they put their faith in something else—maybe a brand licensing deal, or a fashion line tie-in, or a human interest story. Or maybe they just decided that money talks, and began making creative decisions based on discounted cash flow projections.

Books-A-Million is still sticking with the old B&N type marketing, but they've always relied on volume and discounting over experience and culture. It will be interesting to see which proves more successful in the long run -- but I'd back Daunt.

When you hear from people in finance, it's about crunching the numbers, rounds of fund-raising, influencers, disruptors, and creative destruction, not being in love with the business and what's on sale. It's how they plan to get rich in five or ten years, not how they plan to have a thriving business. It's why publishers hardly have backlists anymore, or really anything but a swirling mass of barely promoted books with a few heavily promoted titles keeping the works afloat. It's amazing anyone in the book business has survived to this point with this business plan. The movie business is the same way, though -- cookie-cutter blockbusters and a bunch of homework that wins trophies but no one wants to watch. We see how well that model is working now.

Maybe what we need is more love and less numbers. Because, and I hate to break it to the smart money guys, everything is failing anyway, and the rest looks like houses of cards. Stop trying to be the smartest dweeb in the room, and start being actual human beings again.

Org chart.

Okay, everyone settle down. You'll recall that we talked about this back in July. The new organizational chart is being released today, and I think you'll agree that this prevents a lot of the confusion we've had in years past. 

As you can see, we've broken the staff into three major groups -- avians, humans, and inanimate objects. That was our initial task. It was suggested that we instead group music-makers together, but there was too much gray area about which avians sing and which don't. Also, whether dancing and leaping constituted music. So, this was the basic breakdown decided upon. 

Now, right off the bat you can tell there's going to be some major changes. The avians are no longer grouped around the golden rings; the partridge and the pear tree have been separated. We think this will help clarify the purpose for each member, and make management more focused on their needs. 

Will this change the numbers of each? Yes, to be frank, some will be changed. Most interior groups will not be affected; in fact, the human groups will remain as is. And for the avians, there will be a net gain of four new hires, so I think you ought to be happy with that. Here is the new overall arrangement:

    12 Drummers (drumming)

    11 Pipers (piping)

    10 Lords (a-leaping)

    9 Ladies (dancing)

    8 Maids (a-milking)

    7 Swans (a-swimming)

    6 Geese (a-laying)

    5 Calling Birds (a-calling)

    4 French Hens (a-Frenching)

    3 Turtle Doves (a-doving)

    2 Partridges (doing whatever they do)

    1 Golden Ring (just lying there)

    Pear Tree

So, you -- oh, okay, I see some hands and wings up out there. Yes, Partridge? Right... right... No, we appreciate that you've always worked alone, but maybe you ought to consider the advantages of sharing the limelight. Not that we don't love your solo act! But why should everything fall on you all the time? Just think about it for a while. This is to benefit you!

Yes, Maids? Oh, you did? Well, I'm not sure where you got that idea, but if we did increase the maid workforce that would just require an increase in the cow workforce, you see? I know you work very hard, but the contract calls for one cow per maid, even if the cows don't particularly get a mention. These are implied cows, yes. 

No, Ladies, I'm sorry, this is not the time or place to take up your grievances with the Lords. Please call my office after the holidays and we'll try to work out a meeting. Meanwhile, Lords, please stop taking things from the Ladies' dressing room. If you need makeup or undergarments to perform your duties, you should be discussing it with your manager. 

Okay! So let's... What's that? Gold Rings? Well, I'm sorry, Rings, but as inanimate objects, you really have no standing to complain. The layoffs will be done by seniority. Last in, first out. Yes, yes, that does mean Ollie will be the ring staying on. I didn't want to discuss it this way, but those are your union rules. Remember, though, you're at all-time high value and are a great hedge against inflation -- all the radio ads say so. You'll get snapped up quick.

Uh -- what was that, Hens? Oh, I'm glad you asked. Yes, this will apply in languages throughout our territory. In Canada, that means you'll be the Four French Hens as well as Quatre Poules Françaises. Naturally in France you'll just be Quatre Poules. In China it will be right to left and vertical, while in Israel it's backward. Those aren't big markets for us, though.

Thanks everybody! I think we have everything squared away. Let's go make this the best 12 Days ever! 

Oh, and Pear Tree? May I see you in my office for a moment...? 

Escape.

My wife and I have one crucial goal for 2023: Escape from New York. 

I used to be proud to be from New York State, I truly was. I was born here, grew up here, went to school here, got married and settled down here (mostly in the city itself, now north of that, west of the mighty Hudson). I liked everything in the state, from the excitement of the city up to the gorgeous countryside in the north and the hardworking cities of the west, three of which are so tough they have survived despite being in the top seven snowiest cities in the entire nation. It was a state worth being proud of. 

Now? It's a dump and I want out. 

It's not the winters. Yeah, they are tough here, but the spring and fall are so gorgeous that I am willing to suffer the cold and frozen precipitation. 

Who doesn't like salt trucks doin'
doughnuts on the cul-de-sacs?

And it's not that the city is becoming an unlivable nightmare of crime and filth, as I have avoided going into the five boroughs for a couple of years now and see little chance of having to go there again soon. 

No, it's that the state has become irredeemably stupid and corrupt. 

We were not a one-party state until recently. Our last Republican governor left office in 2006, and our last Republic Senator in 1999. The state senate was last run by Republicans in 2018 and may never be again. I'm not saying those guys were not corrupt and stupid (several were brought up on charges); I am saying that when it's a one-party apparatus there's no one able to hold anyone accountable. That's where we are now. Since Pataki left Albany we've had two Democrat governors resign in shame, and yet the people are content to pull the D lever no matter what now. So we're on our way to becoming California: Cold Edition.

Speaking of which, every stupid idea doomed to failure that comes out of that West Coast Feudal Empire finds some traction here. Fortunately the obsession with light rail and bullet trains hasn't taken over New York yet -- who wants a bullet train from New York to Buffalo? 

But: Outlaw the sale of gasoline powered cars? Check! Close nuclear plants? Checkarooni! Hey, where's the electricity going to come from to power all those electric cars, let alone the rare minerals needed for the highly polluting batteries? Don't bother us with details! We're too busy giving ourselves a 29% pay raise because we work so hard and we deserve the highest pay in the nation! And they also love to crush small businesses with taxes and regulations, because that always helps, especially in economic downturns.

Stupid to the point of belligerence. I'd say childishness, but children have a reason to know nothing. These morons not only know nothing, they don't even suspect. 

You may not believe this, and I would have to make a better case than I can here, but New York's decline began with the end of the Erie Canal as a major shipping course after the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway in 1959. 

I'm serious. It's hard to believe in a Manhattan where nothing is made but lies, debt, and bad musicals, but New York City once led the nation in manufacturing, and all those cold, snowy cities upstate thrived on the Erie Canal. What do we have now? Rochester, which is sinking as fast as its ko-dependent company Kodak; Buffalo, where the steel industry left and everything else is hot wings and government graft; Utica, which can't even keep a single-A ballclub anymore; Albany, whose only industry now is bull. Even Junior's Cheesecake is now made in New Jersey. It's been a long decline for the Empire State, but with the current irreplaceable leadership it looks like the rest of the slide to third-worldism will come pretty fast. 

Many things were out of New York's control, but now it seems like everything is out of control in New York. Meanwhile, the state government thinks it can fix the climate. So, we have to leave. This much dumb in one place is likely to open a black hole of stupid that will suck in everything around it. It breaks my heart, but the New York state of mind is insane. 

The sloth day of Christmas.

I tried to get motivated to work; I really did.

I have a job due, but not until next week -- but the sooner it's done, the sooner I'll be ready to take on something else. It's an editing job, and I already know enough to loathe the book and be offended by it in every way. However, I'm not going to be like those crybabies who refuse to work on books by authors with whom they disagree. That's anti-American and a dereliction of duty. 

However, getting motivated to work on such a thing on a day that was technically a federal holiday (since Christmas fell on Sunday) was more than I could handle. 

I also have a book of my own to work on, but I'm trying to work out the structure for a chapter. Chapter two, that is. So you see, I'm not deep into that one either. Easy to let it slide for a day.

Oh, sure, I could blame the six bandages on my fingers from burns and cuts acquired during cooking and the recent cold snap. Makes it hard to write, literally. And I could protest that I was not entirely inert all day Monday. I took Izzy out for a long walk in the morning. I got the dishes all done from Sunday. I got my wife's car tires inflated, because when the temperature drops like a stone, so does the tire pressure, and her car is not shy about complaining. I showered, and was responsible for preparation of meals (leftovers, however).

My most ambitious idea of the day was to load Izzy into the car and take him to a gathering at church. Not in the church itself; this is a group in a meeting room, a meeting I was not expected at, but I thought it would be fun to drop in and say hello at. And it was. Izzy was a perfect gentleman and enjoyed attention and love. However, he got antsy after a little while and wanted to eat someone's Lorna Doones, and I knew it was time to go. He isn't service dog material. Plus, I figured he had to pee, and I didn't want him to desecrate the churchyard.

Um, I should mention that Izzy is a dog, if you're just joining us.

Then it was back to the sofa for a nap, and now I'm writing this for Tuesday.

And now I'm worn out from all this blogging, so back to the sofa! Wake me up in time to post this in the morning. 

😴😴😴😴😴😴

The old standby (post-Christmas edittion).

Merrrry second day of Christmas! Well, yesterday was festive, or certainly busy, so I'm falling back on that old standby, the post-Christmas meme! What can I tell ya -- it was that or stories about everything I ate, and I'd bore myself. (Plus -- this is stupid but true -- I managed to burn the tips of my index and middle fingers on my right hand, so it hurts to type today. And I sprained the ring finger on the same hand bending it back on a drawer. And then Izzy yanked the leash so hard -- excited to get a treat -- that I stumbled on the walkway edging and skinned my knee. All very holly jolly.)

A bombogenesis Christmas.

The barometric pressure fell like lightning
While the pressure mounting everywhere else tightening
The grimaces on faces far too cold
"For this stinkin' weather I'm too old!"
Cried frozen folks from ages 8 to 90s
As north and south alike all froze their hienies
The weatherman said bombogenesis
Not one on many bingo cards, I guess

Winter weather report bingo 

The airports were all clogged with canceled flights
Delays and strays and families spend a night's
Disgruntled misery at the flyways
Still better than disasters on the highways
Snow and ice and tires uninflation
Can make a catastrophic situation
Be careful as you travel friends, and I pray
God see you safe on Christmas all the way.

Santa's cleaning up!

This here Santa soap has been hanging around in the downstairs can for a couple of weeks. He certainly is cute. His label requires a choking hazard warning because of the cotton ball glued to his side. His soap is supposed to smell like candy canes, and it's close enough, I guess. It's not unpleasant.

But he's still overstayed his welcome. 

Santa here is a product of Scent Theory, a New York-based outfit that makes some aromatic stuff. It's right there in the name. But before you think they're all boutiquey, let me mention that I've only ever seen their products in Walmart. Santa here was an impulse buy at the checkout line -- as I love to Christmas up the joint, in the cart he went. Scent Theory makes a number of holiday-themed products, including a Gingerbread soap, but I didn't see that one at Walmart. 

Many of their scents seem to try to evoke a theme rather than an actual smell. For example, Cozy Comfort, which is intended to be a woody, musky scent, possibly to get you thinking of the first fireplace log of the year (or the second, if you forgot to open the flue on the first one). Santa here specifically says Candy Cane, and over time the Mrs. got a little tired of it. 

So off he went to the can upstairs. 

Since I work downstairs and engage in most cooking and dog-related activities downstairs, though, hand soap tends to last a lot longer upstairs. I may be looking at Santa until Valentine's Day.  

Maybe I can recolor some of his garment, remove the cotton ball, and make him look more like St. Valentine. It's not that much of a stretch. 

Still festive!

A merry Christmas to all, and don't forget to wash your hands! Ho ho hygiene is important! 

Field test.

An old friend of mine told me she had to get a field vision test, and of course my imagination immediately ran away in mistaken directions. 

As if she and the doctor were field-testing munitions rather than vision. Better take this out to the testing ground where it's safe!

My next thought was that this was like a field sobriety test, only instead of reciting the alphabet backward starting with the letter M, she would have to read the Snellen chart upside down while standing on one leg. 

But no, the test is not about being in a field but rather testing the field of vision, and is more properly called the visual field test (or visual field acuity test). How much can you see in your field of vision that you should be able to see? It's an important test for glaucoma, Graves' disease, stroke, and so on, according to the American Academy of Ophthalmology. (Note that the word ophthalmology is so frequently misspelled that it's almost an eye test on its own. I see what you did there, AAO -- I see very well.) 

There are actually several different types of field vision tests, depending on what the concern is and how much insurance you have. (Joke! I kid because I love.)

Fortunately none of these very serious conditions is a problem for my friend, but it's still a troublesome one: eyelid droop. In her case it's caused by dermatochalasis, or baggy skin in the upper eyelid. It cuts off a serious amount of upper-shelf vision. It's not a serious problem yet, as long as she's not about to be a victim of bird strike or UFO abduction, I guess. You wouldn't know it's so bad to look at her, but the result of the test showed an awful lot of things going on in the upper field that she didn't see at all. 

Supposedly it's fixed with a pretty simple operation (blepharoplasty) by the right doctor. I hope it all goes well. She's a good-looking lady and she needs to be good at looking too. And to not be abducted by aliens.

Rice: It's what's for everything.

Rice pudding is itself one the most versatile dishes in the world. It goes back something like 8,000 years. It can be sweet, it can be savory. It can be pure, it can have a multitude of add-ons. It can be boiled, baked, even fried. It can be made with milk and maybe eggs or in weird vegan ways. It can be served hot, cold, room temperature. Scooped or sliced. You can compose it from leftover rice. You can have it for or with any meal. And it can come in a can. 

I was curious to see this product in the teeny little UK section of our grocery store, the place you find Bounty chocolate bars and PG Tips tea. Ambrosia rice pudding has been made in Devon, England, since 1917. Anyone with a passing acquaintance with British culture knows that Devonshire (now just Devon to its friends) is famous for its high-quality cream, often served clotted. But I have to admit what attracted my attention to this rice pudding is that it comes in a can. 

We have plenty of premade rice pudding in the United States, but it comes in plastic cups. However, when I was a tiny tot, one of the first to-go foods I remember eating was rice pudding out of a can. I have been unable to confirm the brand. The Hunt's Snack Pack pudding came in a can, but I'm not sure if that was the one. It could have been a regional brand. 

I was very young, but I certainly was born with a sweet tooth. Given the choice I would have picked a chocolate or vanilla pudding, but being the youngest I probably got stuck with rice, and fell in love right away. It's always been a favorite dessert of mine, although enjoyed very infrequently -- you might be surprised how many people dislike the stuff.

Seeing canned rice pudding brought back those memories of wee Fred and his can o' rice, so I thought I'd try this Ambrosia and see what I thought. I figured they've been at it since World War I, they must know something. 

First off, it does have that yellow glow associated with the very top of the cream. The label says it's 72% milk, and that sounds about right to me. 

It's as smooth and, well, creamy as anything you've ever eaten, The rice is perfectly cooked. It's delightful. Interesting, there's hardly any sugar in it and no seasoning. But it would be easy to add in anything you like -- raisins, cinnamon, cranberries, nuts, granola, lots more sugar, bacon, salami (whatever floats your boat) -- and you'd have a well-made rice pudding, customized. I tried some as is, and with a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar, and it was a treat either way. I didn't try to heat it up -- instructions are on the label -- but maybe next time. 

So you see, canned pudding is still good. When they start outlawing plastics in America, I guess we will be able to continue to get convenient desserts. And since we now have pancakes in a cup, surely the long-awaited vision of pizza in a cup can't be far behind. 

Edison and Santa Claus.

Thomas Edison gets a lot of flak these days, mostly I think from people who identify with Nikola Tesla. It's true that Tesla got the high hat from Edison when he worked for the man, but most people did. Most people did from anyone they worked for back then. Edison was also mostly deaf (probably due to scarlet fever) and so would have been a lousy communicator anyway. Plus, Tesla was a very strange man, and put off a lot of people.

In a way, Tesla won, with the help of George Westinghouse. Both of them believed in the utility of alternating current over direct current -- Edison's direct current generators would have required far more and smaller generating stations than alternating current, which made A/C perfect for Westinghouse's Niagara generator and for electrifying the White City, the Chicago World's Fair of 1893, as well as for major metropolitan installations. 

Well, Edison just had to resign himself to his million other inventions -- and dollars. 

But I'm not looking to criticize Edison today. I want to give him the ho-ho-holiday thumb's-up for his work with that other bulky gray-haired legend, Santa Claus. 

First, Edison's workable lightbulb was a wonder, and with it and his partner and friend Edward H. Johnson he created the first string of electrical Christmas lights in 1880. At first these lights were not practical for home use, requiring professional installation, and the public was understandably nervous about electricity. But Edison's company General Electric was first out with a Christmas light set in 1903, and over time they became more popular. 

They certainly are pretty. I always am especially saddened, of course, when I hear about dangerous mishaps with these Christmas lights -- people lose homes and even lives when electric decorations are misused or faulty, but imagine what was happening when people put actual candles on their trees. (I always refer people to the Consumer Product Safety Commission's safety tips on how not to electrocute or burn anyone or anything with electrical decorations. I assume their advice for putting lit candles on trees is: Don't.) 

Edison also helped Jolly Old St. Nick more personally when his movie studio released a short film called "The Night Before Christmas" in 1905: 

It was the first film version of the famous poem "A Visit from Saint Nicholas," but not the first live-action film of Santa; that was done in Britain in 1898. (An interesting run-down of the first 10 Christmas films ever can be found at the Reel Rundown site here.)  

Of course sound film had not yet been invented, but Joseph Miller, who posted the Edison film on YouTube, says that the music heard on this reel was "added some time later which appears to be cylinder recordings from about the same time period, with the exception of 'It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.'" 

I like all the business about Santa getting the team ready to ride.

Edison himself may not have been very jolly, but he helped make the celebration of Christmas an expression of civic joy as we know it today. As we wait for the capital-L Light in the Darkness to shine, we can have some cheer from the small-l lights at Christmastime. 

Santa Survey!

Welcome to the Santa Survey Web site. Please enter the 651-digit number on your Santa gift receipt to begin. 

___________________________________________________________

On a scale of 1 to 5, how would you rate your service from Santa Claus this Christmas? 

1 ❐ 2 ❐3 ❐4 ❐5 ❐

Did you receive what you requested? 

Y__  N__

Please specify the department from which your gift was requested (housewares, toys, clothing, etc.). 

___________

Were you naughty or nice this past Santa fiscal year (12/25/21-12/24/22)?

Naughty__ Nice__

No, really.

Naughty__ Nice__ I can explain__

Was delivery of your gift acceptable?

Y__  N__

Were there any issues with delivery (cinder footprints, reindeer droppings, etc.)?

________________________

Did you leave out a treat for Santa/Mrs. Claus/elves/reindeer?

Y__  N__

Please describe any problems with what you received; specify make, model, and any elf-related errors.

_________________________

Please describe any naughtiness issues that might have compromised your presence on the Nice List.

_________________________

Would you recommend Santa Claus to a friend or family member?

Y__  N__

On a scale of 1-5, how much do you love jolly old Santa Claus?

1 ❐ 2 ❐3 ❐4 ❐5 ❐

How likely are you to write to Santa Claus and ask for something again next year?

Absolutely certain__

Very likely__

Kinda likely__

Likely__

Prolly not__

I'm gettin' nothin' for Christmas again next year__

Thank you for filling out the Santa Survey. If you would like an elf representative to contact you, please drop a letter to Claus Inc., Customer Concerns, North Pole, and someone will contact you after they all come back from Aruba. Happy New Year!

Decorum.

Having been around town of late, often walking baby dog Izzy (not such a baby anymore!), and I'm happy to report that yes, we have festivity even in the stupid state of New York. Here's some local examples. 

Aw, that's nice. A little bear to greet you as you enter. Maybe this shouldn't count, because it's in a local restaurant, and businesses are obliged to show some festivity whether they want to or not. Scrooge and Marley would feel required to put a wreath in the window if they operated now. Well, these guys chose a cute bear.

This is excellent. I believe the family did not go game last year but are making up for it this year. It's a mid-80's house done in perfect mid-80's style, complete with clerestory windows, with strings of white lights along all the lines like the edging on a cake. And of course the usual suspects on the lawn -- Santa, snowman, polar bear, etc. Makes you want to cozy down with some cocoa and pop Scrooged in the VHS player.

Angels -- what more need be said?

Meet the Treetles! 

This is a lousy picture, but the object is clever. The owners have repurposed a little girl's play kitchen as an outdoor decoration piece, with plenty of lights, a mailbox for letters to Santa, fat ornaments, and a penguin on the side. Crazy, but festive? You bet.

A little cheer on a corner lot to greet travels from any of four directions. Nothing fancy here, but a streetlight on him keeps the cheer aglow all night. 

And finally, a centerpiece sent by some friends for our Christmas table. Very thoughtful, quite lovely. Now I'll have to get the leaf out, but it's worth the trouble. Note the battery-powered candle, which is terrific as far as I'm concerned; I don't have to worry if Izzy's going to bonk the table and start a fire while we're out of the room. Hurray, technology! Much safer than those old whale-oil candles. 

Escape from winter with Fredcoin!

Look at this illustration of happy natives enjoying themselves in the sun! Ah, wouldn't it be nice to be among them? 

But nooo, you had to stick your money in those crooked crypto-scams, the ones that get people arrested in the Bahamas before they have to testify in front on Congress. You should have put your dough in Fredcoin! 

Yes, friends, Fredcoin is the cryptocurrency for you! You know how that guy with the accordion above got his instrument? Did you guess Fredcoin? Well, no, but it could have been! And look at how the happy people frolic to the beautiful music of his theoretically-possible-Fredcoin-funded instrument!

Now, as we approach the end of 2022, you may be mulling it over. Mull mull mull. I can hear it now. Should I put my money in nice, safe Fredcoin, or should I set fire to it in the backyard? Which is virtually the same as any other investment these days. And I sympathize with your plight. You who have no Fredcoin are in a world of confusion, a world that for the investor is like being stuck in a room full of broken glass (inflation) and nails (overregulation) and a stupid, unhappy rhinoceros (the U.S. government). Any possible move the rhino makes is going to hurt and cause more damage to you, and none of them will get you out of this mess. But oh, if only you'd gotten some delightful Fredcoin!

Oh, sure, I know some of you have doubts. You hear that a thousand cryptocurrencies sank to Davy Jones's Locker just since January. You've heard that the market cap for cryptos has shrunk by 72% since November '21. You figure that putting money in Fredcoin is just another way to watch your cash disintegrate. At least if you burned it in the backyard you'd get some warmth for a while. 

Well, knock off that kind of defeatism! We don't believe it that here. What some people call "an inability to let go of anything" and "a hobgoblin of little minds" we call "loyalty." And we're not going to let our loyal investors down. 

So send your money to me, Fred, where it can be converted into the world's most up-and-coming cryptocurrency (according to me). Who knows? Next year maybe you'll find yourself wintering in some sunny spot instead of sinking into the ice and snow. It's worth a shot!

Memey Christmas!

Once again it's Meme Saturday here at the ol' blogeroo! Try not to laugh too hard; you might pull something. You may say that Fred's sounding a little cynical here today -- nah, I'm just freaking exhausted. Hard to tell the difference when you're me! 

Science and the self.

My wife and I were wondering about a friend who does actual science work in an actual lab with actual mice. I thought he might have a doctorate, but we'd never asked him and he's not the kind to brag. She said maybe not. Maybe a BS?

"You can't just let any old undergraduate go playing with the mice!" I said. 

"It doesn't take a master's degree to play with mice!" she recounted.

"No, but it has to be someone with an actual career! A bachelor's might think the mice are cute and take one home, and then what? Lab leak! Like COVID! You need someone who's really invested in his career, someone whose career, when you have to destroy it, means something!"

I have a lot of jumbled thoughts this morning connected to these things. For example:

1) Our friend is a thoroughly competent guy. He's not omnicompetent like Batman, but he knows what he knows and he acquits himself properly, be it grilling or fantasy football or judging craft beer. He does not know electrical work, for example, so he hires someone who does when a project involves that. So I have to believe he's not the type to let a disease leak from the lab. (Don't worry; he doesn't work in a virology lab anyway.)

2) Anyone who still holds to the ideal that scientists are Vulcans, purely motivated by logic and the greater good, needs to talk to our friend and others like him. The lab is run by scientists, but that doesn't help. There is still plenty of ego, squabbling, and poor administration. 

People are people, and one of the things most people are poor at is being in charge of other people. That's why teaching leadership is a huge industry in itself -- although from what I've seen, the rules of leadership taught usually veer wildly between the obvious and the chest-pounding rah-rah. I've met a few really good supervisors and have come to suspect management is a talent rather than a skill. You can build on a talent by teaching skill, but without the talent there's not that much to go on. Take a bad and tone-deaf singer, give him lots of singing lessons, and you may get a passably competent karaoke-night hero. Think of that as your average manager. 

3) And think of that when you hear about the growth of the administrative state. An organization is not improved by stuffing it to the gills with managers. Despite that, stuff away we do: 

And this is before the COVID cash started to roll in. 

I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

As schools continue to release more troubled snowflakes into the world, confused by the simplest things, short on actual firm knowledge, covered in degrees and debt, large on self-esteem but no genuine self-respect, I expect we will have more regrettable incidents caused by workers with tons of managers but no actual management. 

I hope the next "lab leak" incident will be nothing worse than a common cold. That may be the best we can hope for. 

Putting in the work.

I guess it's a sign I'm a hopeless ignoramus that I would like to see evidence of work put into a piece of art. It is called a work of art, after all. 

It's like that test I wrote about back in '17, the test used to determine whether an activity is a sport or a game. It's called the Pancake Test, and its premise is simple: Can you eat a stack of pancakes before playing without noticeable diminishment in your play? If the answer is yes, play is unaffected, it's a game. If play is affected, it's a sport. 

My test is the Booze Test of Art: Could a work have been created as is if the artist had been drunk off his ass at the time he created it? If the answer is yes, then I just can't take it seriously. 

Let's have a look at two famous paintings and see how this checks out. 

First we have The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp (1632) by Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn:

This famous oil painting, in the collection at the Mauritshuis in The Hague, might not be the sort of thing you'd like over the dining room table, but there's no question that it shows the work. It has a complexity of light and shadow, it shows personality and expression, and it is so stark and realistic as to be an anatomy lesson all on its own. Talk about a "body" of work! There is no way Rembrandt could have done this loaded. You can't even say "Harmenszoon" while loaded!

And then we have Untitled (ca. 1949) by Jackson Pollock, from New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art:

And... yeah. I think the only way you could make this was hammered. More than 70 years later and it's still a mess. You may, as many do, cite the passion this this drip-canvas thing, but you can cite the passion in a restraining order as well. Work of creative genius? I'm apparently too much of a bonehead to say; I think Remington's pretty good, and that would get me thrown out of any critics' gathering. (Gawd, next he'll say he likes Thomas Kinkade!) I see a lot of laziness here, though, right down to not even putting in the effort to give it a title. Call it The Rage, call it Monday, call it Mildred, but call it something. We don't even know for sure when it was finished. Rembrandt's painting could have taken as much work as building a house; Pollock's, about as much as opening a lawn chair. 

Say what you will about Koons or even the lowly Kinkade being factory artists, but there's a plain economic reasoning behind this kind of modern art, and that's that it simply does not take that much time or work. Why labor over a canvas for a year and find that no one wants it? Toss off one, move on to the next; maybe the folks who decorate hotels may will them by the bushel. (Although even that's a questionable hope these days.)

I'm not picking on Pollock or his fans with meanness or spite. I'm just saying we instinctively appreciate something that we can tell took a lot of effort, skill, and thought. Most people will be more intrigued with buildings of stone or brick than reinforced concrete. The latter may have provided more shelter for more people in this busy world, and that's great, but which connects to the soul?

Christmas club!

Those Christmas bills may be piling up already, eh? Sure is a good thing you started that Christmas club way back in January! 

If not, you'd better have a system 
like this!

Readers of a certain age will remember the lowly Christmas club account, in which the bank expected customers to deposit a set number of bucks each week and then pass out the dough with interest come December. The Wikipedia page concerning this topic says the first such savings device was created in 1909, and they were quite popular at least up into the 1980s. It was a means of relatively painless discipline for people who knew they would want to have cash on hand for presents and festivities at yuletide but didn't trust themselves to just keep it in a regular savings account. Christmas clubs paid very little interest, though, and charged fees if deposits were not made. 

What really killed them off, if you ask me, was the rise of the credit card, specifically the general use credit cards (BankAmericard was the first, in 1966) and the terrible curse of revolving credit. People could certainly run up debt before, but generally on an individual basis -- one account at Sears, one account with the butcher, a layaway at Penney's, one account at the tailor, a Charga-Plate at Monnig's, your tab at the watering hole, and so on. In the seventies guys would have wallets packed with plastic just for all the gas stations. A card like a Visa or American Express that could be used anywhere was a game-changer. Add debt that could be carried over month to month and the idea of worrying about being short of funds at Christmastime was gone. Also gone: the idea of ever getting out from under high variable interest payments. But never mind about that. 

Now of course we have other savings devices in place for people who fear they don't have the discipline to save without such things. Apps like Chime and Intuit's Mint are there to help the heedless spender become more heedful, or just save the pennies automatically. Which is nice. 

There was something very ennobling about the Christmas club, though, in that the bulk of the money saved was intended to be spent on others. It's one of the reasons it was often recommended as a first account for children. It's hard to get kids to think long-term, and hot desires (like that ice cream cone in August) almost always trump cold ones (like that skateboard you might have enough to buy if you skip allll those ice cream cones). But in families and places that celebrate Christmas, that could be a big enough pull to keep children in line. "Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas, upon which the entire kid year revolved," as Jean Shepherd says in A Christmas Story. 

Plus, the idea that the bank would take away some of the money if the kids didn't make a deposit was a painful lesson, and an important one. 

I think a lot of today's adults would have been helped by having the responsibility of a Christmas club growing up. I'm glad to see there are new apps that are intended to help children learn to save. I hope they are effective. But they'll never replace the excitement of getting a lump of hard-saved cash in your hand at the start of December. It was as electric as all the store window Christmas displays put together.

Christmas Villains Anonymous.

Winter Warlock: Now, everyone, please be seated. It's time for our meeting. We have a couple of newcomers here, so let's show them we can play by the rules now, okay? Ha! Little villain joke there. 

Bumble: GRAWR.

Winter: What's that you say, eh, Bumble? Oh, sorry, yes, no doughnuts this week. Eon bought bagels and -- oh, yes, that's right, isn't it? No teeth. Well, I suppose you'll have to suck on one. 

Bumble: GRERERRARARAWWAR!

Eon: BRAAWWWK!

Bumble: Mutter mutter mutter

Ebenezer: For goodness' sake, you'd think a monster your size would be able to deal with a bagel. We didn't even have bagels in my day, that being 1843, you know. Oh, these Christmas Yet to Come kids!

Winter: Yes, thank you, let's come to order. Welcome to the meeting of CVA, or Christmas Villains Anonymous. My name is Winter W., but my friends call me Winter. 

Everyone: Hey, Winter!

Winter: And I actually have friends now. We meet here every Tuesday to help one another stay away from evil and to help the newcomer turn from bad to good. Today we'd like to welcome Professor Hinkle, visiting from the Magicians Group in Mullerville, to share his experience, strength, and hope with us.

Professor Hinkle: Thank you all very much. I'll have to be brief, since it is Christmastime and I have to get bus-y, bus-y, BUS-eeeee! So, where did it all begin for me? Ah, yes, let us hark back to that chilly Christmas Eve Day afternoon. There I was, plying my brilliant trade as a stage magician in front of an audience of very naughty children. I was completely unaware that my top hat, which I had procured in a reputable vintage clothing shop, had some magic in it. When it brought that What's-His-Name to life, that snow homunculus, you can imagine that I felt quite villainous! 

[Mumbles, nods]

Hinkle: You see, I was full of the fear of failure, full of envy at other magicians. I was driven quite literally to the ends of the earth to reclaim my property and extract my revenge. Fortunately for me, Santa Claus intervened, and I realized that there was something much more important in life than old magic hats that never worked for me. And that was: Christmas loot! And I'm much happier now. Thank you.

[applause]

Winter: Thank you, Professor. Let's go to a show of hands, shall we? Yes, Jack?

Jack Frost: So glad you came in today, Mr. Hinkle. 

Hinkle: Professor, if you please. Proud purveyor of sensational magic tricks, exceptional legerdemain, mind-boggling illusions, renowned by the crowned heads of Europe--

Frost: Oh, pardon me. I'm just a personification of an entire season's meteorological phenomena. But we do have a friend in common. Frosty the Snowman helped me understand that I shouldn't be jealous of him, or anyone, but instead I should be grateful for friendship and for being able to provide winter fun for the children. So I became good also. And if it were not for your magic hat, I would never have come around. So I owe you a debt of thanks.

Winter: Thank you, Jack. Say, have you seen Snow Miser lately? 

Frost: Hmph! He and that hothead of a brother made up their minds that they were never the villains of anything. I told him that denial is not a river in Egypt. He said if it was in his territory he'd freeze it.

Winter: Pity. Who's next? Yes, I see a furry green hand...?

Grinch: Yes, well, thank you, Hinkle, and, uh, Winter. Professor, I'd just like to say I'm glad you decided to go from naughty to nice, even if it was just to get your stocking stuffed. 

Hinkle: Not mere ordinary presents! I'm talking about trick cards...

Grinch: Yes, yes...

Hinkle: Magic balls...

Grinch: Sure...

Hinkle: Hats... 

Grinch: Fine! I get it! I mean, I understand how much these things mean to you. But my conversion from bad to good was all about comprehending the true meaning of Christmas. You can't buy THAT in a store.

Ebenezer: Did someone preach to you? Show you the errors of your ways? Bring you the light of the manger as light to the world?

Grinch: NO! I just -- I just figured it out, all right? It was very meaningful. IT GREW MY HEART THREE SIZES! 

Hinkle: Isn't that cardiomegaly?

Winter: Shh...

Grinch: And my shoes even fit better! I neither stink, nor stank, nor stunk! I'M A NICE GUY NOW! I even love roast beast.

Bumble: GRHENmdmmMDMROWR

Grinch: Yes, we know you love pork, Bumble.

Bumble: MROWWWRM

Grinch: Yes, pulled pork. The teeth. We know. 

Winter: Thank you, gentlemen. You know, Grinch, at the risk of cross-talking, I would like to point out that Santa Claus meant at least as much to me as he did to the professor. Sure, it was the gift of a choo-choo in my case, but it wasn't the thing itself so much as the kindness in the act. Isn't that right, Professor?

Hinkle: Hm? Oh, yes, of course, of course. 

Winter: Kris --  well, I call him Kris -- taught me that it was all about that first step. I was a wizened, frozen old wizard, couldn't even move, encrusted in the ice on that mountain. The Kringle unfroze me, taught me how to walk again, like a baby, can you believe it? It was a terrible shock. Cost me my magic powers for a while there, as my old powers came from evil sources. My carousing buddies, like Willy Willow and Peter Pine, tried to pull me back to my mean ways, but I wouldn't listen. I knew that I never would get where I was going if I never got up on my feet. It was a struggle, but in the end I even proved that I wasn't such a loser after all! All thanks to Kris Kringle.

Burgermeister Meisterburger: Bah! Der Kringles! I can't stand the Kringles! Dot's it! I'm leaving!

Winter: Didn't Kris give you a yo-yo, Meister, er, Meisterburger?

Burgermeister: A typical Kringle trick! Dose little monsters! Nonconformists! Fifteen tiny men and vun huge voman! It's an outrage!

Winter: I don't think you--

Burgermeister: Come, Grimsley! 

[stomp stomp SLAM]

Winter: Too bad for him. He was mandated by HR. 

Ebenezer: I wonder if they ever figured out why he’s the only Sombertonian with a German accent.

Comet: Well, I don't want to be here either! Listen to you guys, going Santa this and Kringle that. I'm one of Santa's top reindeer! I'm his main trainer and talent scout! What am I doing here with all you villains? I'm one of the good guys!

Grinch: Didn't you say last week that you wouldn't let that Rudolph kid play in any reindeer games? Straight up discrimination. 

Comet: That boy was a distraction! Bad for team cohesion! Showed talent, but come on -- all the kids were freaked out by that crazy Chernobyl nose of his! How much would we have gotten done with that thing blowing off all the time?

Grinch: Seems like a little bit of an overreaction.

Comet: Well, you guys can hang around here and yak all you want. I have work to do. That Santa Claus you love so much also thought Rudolph was a weirdo, you know -- made his folks cover up his nose! You got a problem with me, take it up with Mr. Kris Kringle!

[galloop galloop SLAM]

Grinch: Hm.

Winter: Well... Kris was going through a tough time then.

Mr. Potter: Are we done here? I'd like to go try to make some more filthy lucre before we break for Christmas. 

Winter: Very well. Meeting adjourned. 

Ebenezer: I just can't get through to that guy... 

Hinkle: Thank you for having me, Winter, it was very interesting, ver-y interesting indeed. 

Winter: Thank you for joining us. 

Hinkle: Just wondering something -- I was always frustrated and jealous because I didn't have magic powers, but you had them and were just as mean and nasty as ever I could be. Why did you go up on that mountain and just stay there alone? 

Grinch: BECAUSE OF THE WHOS! Oh, sorry, thought you were talking to me. 

Winter: That's a good question, Professor. No one has ever asked me that. You see, the fact is, I was a very different person when I decided to go into seclusion in the mountains. People hated me, thought I was evil, thought I was dangerous. So I fled. Things might have been different if-- Well. In time I proved they were right. I was evil, I was dangerous, and the longer I was alone the worse I got. You wouldn't believe how much the years changed me. Why, I had been royalty, Professor, royalty! Yes sir! But as years turned to decades, even centuries, the grind of the lonely everlasting winter on the mountain changed me. Everything changed. 

Hinkle: You were royalty? Goodness gracious me, what was your title?

Winter: Well, titles don't interest me now. But back then my friends and family called me... Elsa.