Where the Cul-De-Sac Ends

I remember visiting my paternal grandparent's home in Mahopac, NY as a young child. Though that community has long since joined the ranks of the sprawling suburbs of New York City, at that time it was comparatively rural.

One day, I decided to run away from home. Being five-ish meant I was untroubled by the logistics of the move. Upon reaching the end of the gravel cul-de-sac on which my grandparent's home was located, I stopped. It was not so much that I forgot to bring a train schedule, or had neglected to inform some out-of-town associate that I would be staying awhile, or realized that I had no money (whatever that was.)

For all the bravado that propelled me to strike out on my own, I was stopped in my tracks by the impenetrable, though invisible wall of my comfort zone. The trees on both sides of the wall were green, the sky was blue, but it was different. The birds spoke to me in a less welcoming tone. I could not simply walk into my cousin's garage and settle into his go-kart. I was no longer sure who would answer any door I knocked on. Suddenly, the value of these options and certainties hit home.

Needing to save some semblance of face in my quest for independence I did manage to stay away from the house for an hour or so. Just long enough to get everyone worried, and myself banished to (the warmth, comfort, safety and familiarity of) my room. Such punishment.

Which brings us to the present. The cul-de-sac on which I now live is in a community that until 30 years ago was borderline rural, about on the same latitude as Mahopac, NY. It is of course, paved. On any given day, I can look out the window and see a five-ish boy claiming the hill (really a bump) between our houses for himself and his loyal compatriots. I'm sure that from the summit, he can see forever.

I wonder how long it will take him to work up the nerve to venture to the end of the cul-de-sac. It's still within the borders of the known world. It's where he has personally escorted his older sister, with the help of an available parent and a trusty golden retriever, to the place where the big yellow school bus picks her up. Twice a day, it resembles a town square, with parents, siblings, pets and SUVs gathered to greet the big yellow bus. Only one way to find out what lies beyond the Pillars of Hercules. (Dragons? Spaceships? McDonald's?)

These occasions bring together some very different people, bound by a common purpose. It is the Great Hand-off. Surrounded by the principle architects of their safety and well-being, the children of the cul-de-sac are sent into the "world", where they will be provided brief, pre-digested glimpses of what lies outside their comfort zones before being bundled up for the return to the cocoon. Beyond this shared agenda, the keepers of the comfort zones may be quite at odds. Politics, religion, finances and tastes in films or sports affiliations could each create cracks in the veneer of civility and homogeneity that stretches from one end of the cul-de-sac to the other. But they don't, because the common purpose trumps all that.

In today's New York Times, David Brooks wrote about the Republican party's loss of focus in terms of nation, community, cul-de-sac. He described the need for renewing a sense that his party cares less about pandering to people of wealth and more the realms of health care and public safety. The greatest fear for GOP faithful should not be the emergence of a filibuster-proof Democratic majority, but rather the explosive de-compression caused by a sudden vacuum-lack of inclusive, society-building GOP ideas. No one party should have a monopoly on the population's confidence, that only THEY can ensure that five-ish kids from comfy cul-de-sacs, stickball side streets and high-rise heavens can knock on any door or pet any pet from a perspective of safety, security and community (with a capital UNITY). How else can kids feel strong enough to test the walls of the Zone, to see what lies beyond the Pillars?

That's government. Big enough but small enough. Plain enough yet transparent. Less than all-seeing yet never blind. A balance that is almost impossible to strike, but one worth trying to attain, (parents spend decades doing this). As a nation, I believe we've established a laboratory equipped to discover that blend and recover our balance.

Oh, Average.

Saturday, April 18. The dashboard thermometers on all of those mall-shopping, car-pooling, mulch-fetching vehicles scurrying about the NY metropolitan area dallied with the numerals 8 and 0. Today, April 20, those same digital snippets will be lucky to begin with a 5. The moral of the story is, there is hardly any such thing as an average day.

Tales that begin, "It was an average day in ____, just like any other", are cheating the reader out of the critical texture that makes the tale worth telling.

There is certainly no such thing as an average person.

When parents or teachers describe a child as an "average" student, they're being lazy or hiding something.

And so on.

The law of averages is an expedient. Average anything simply provides a snapshot to those whose inquiry is limited by an absence of time, need or curiosity. No detail. No grain.

Synonyms for average? Normal. Conventional. Typical. Boring.

Average bugs me, if you didn't guess already. (Keep in mind that I am not consulting a dictionary in the writing of this post. I am writing what I think and feel.)

That's why I love the idea of the VIX, the Chicago Board Options Exchange Index. It's a measure of the volatility one can expect in the stock options world.

I don't mean to say that I really understand the underlying math or the machinations of options trading. I just like the idea that the VIX seems to be a more honest means of evaluating what things like April weather in the Northeast hold in store.

Why not an M (for meteorological) VIX on the 6 o'clock weather? Or an EduVIX for measuring student performance? Maybe they're already out there (probably in Las Vegas, the probabilistic center of the universe.)

Our seemingly natural tendency to identify the average in everything is understandable if you subscribe to the notion that people need something they can expect in all aspects of their lives. If it's April 20th in New York, four graders who tend to read at an (x.x) grade level should wear a sweater against the average high temperature of xx degrees.

Slicing it finer, they know when to leave home for their four block walk because it takes an average amount of time to traverse the distance factoring in stoplights, distractions from friends and general dawdling. Putting numbers on such things can get you federal funding for a traffic volume study.

Having determined what the average child prefers to eat, the school lunch will provide a form of that, based on what kids who bring their lunch bring on average, and within constraints set out by oversight authorities that know what the average 10 year-old body needs to function. Hence, the insane popularity of Yellow American and Bologna on White.

Of course, some averages are truly telling. Being able to produce a base hit one out of three times when facing 95 mile per hour pitches will get you into the Baseball Hall of Fame. In that case, average is a real barometer of difficulty. I get that.

I just feel the need to squint when "average" is applied to things that should not so reducible. That makes life smoother, less textured. Like retirement in Florida. Years pass by unnoticed. Fluctuations are flattened. Variations vanish.

I like a visual, emotional, intellectual VIX to keep me in the moment, on my toes. Admittedly, there are times when such a state of affairs makes it difficult to rest easy. But I would rather face up to the real-time roller coaster of real life before I rest in peace.

Why Not China?

As the saying goes, "You can grow up to become anything you want."

OK. Does that not apply to nations? If we were really sincere about spreading the word on opportunity, would that not be the case?

Or does it come with a set of pre-conditions?

IF you do business the way we do it here in the USA, and IF you adhere to the methodologies we employ to select those who govern and IF you learn...English, THEN you can grow up to be anything you want to be.

The current Gee, 20! confab is the latest attempt on the part of the ROW (Rest Of World) to confound that rubric. The Australians stand a good chance of illustrating the point. Take their blended red wines, or rather drink them.

By judiciously combining the best of shiraz, cabernet, zinfandel, merlot, even viognier, in perfect proportion, an appealing experience results. Each component has distinct characteristics that contribute to a pleasing compromise, in the best sense of the word.

And so it can be with geo-political influence. Perhaps the epoch of superpowers is passing in favor of a global community. Or maybe China is the next Tiger Woods of planetary pre-eminence. Again, work harder, study more, harness the statistical advantage of fecundity (as Thomas Friedman quoted in "The World is Flat" in China, if you're one in a million, there are 1,300 people just like you. It's now more like 1,450.)

So maybe the epoch of THIS superpower is passing. So what? Are we insecure about the next Number One abandoning everything we've done? Human nature isn't that bankrupt. The world will take what works and change what doesn't. Of course it won't be smooth, and it won't be pretty. The simple fact that our glorious revolution has still left too many people out is evidence that the sculpture isn't finished. That doesn't mean passing the torch must be accompanied by upheaval, violence, cataclysm or shame.

To be fair, the Chinese culture(s) were flourishing thousands of years before Columbus staked Ferdy & Isa's claim. For a number of reasons, they took a break. (See Kennedy's "The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, 1500-2000.) Or looked elsewhere. They mixed. They matched. They are currently giving a historically flawed, but theoretically viable model a try. They have listened more than they get credit for and have retained more than our comfy zone allows. And they work hard, study hard and are learning to like themselves. So maybe they get a shot.

The one thing we as a nation should try to avoid is an indignant response to China's or anyone else's ascension. That is just not cricket, to use a popular term coined by another former torch-bearer. Chance's are, the good 'ol US of A has a few more 20 win seasons left. We need to win over the current 20 to let that happen.

(Photo by Andrew Testa for the New York Times)

You CAN Go Back

Mickey. (Not to be confused with a dose of ecstasy.)

Minnie. (A truly liberated spouse.)

Donald. (THE Donald.)

Pluto. (No longer a planet but still a superstar.)

Goofy. (No, not 43.)

The list goes on. Each name triggering memories and associations that resonate down the decades and generations. But as with so many other joys whose time seems to have come and gone, they reside in a safe deposit box the key to which is somewhere in the garage with the rusting Flexible Flyer.

So is it possible to plunk yourself down in the middle of this menagerie born in mid-century (like many of us) when good and evil were black and white? Can you immerse yourself in the silly symphonies of pratfalls and jingles in a state of suspended belief to be released as if in suspended animation since the last time you heard "When You Wish Upon A Star"?

To quote a recent 15 minute famestress - you betcha!

A Lyrical Question

Lyric: What does the CEO do?

Melody: What do the simple folk do? (Camelot)

What does the CEO do?

To scare up a billion or two?

Coddles the shareholders,

To show them some care.

Then gambles with their assets,

As much as he'd dare.

What does the CEO do?

To while 'way a hearing or two?

He answers the committee,

Whose questions are meek.

Knowing he'll be richer, by millions, next week.

What does the CEO do?

When bursting of bubbles is through?

There's nothing left to squander, or plunder, or waste.

We lick our lips and ponder, how bitter, the taste.

We ask how could this happen?

How could we be so dumb?

How is it we were suckered by so sinful a plumb?

And then it dawns upon us, it takes two, to play.

A game where prizes can't be shared: just one walks away.

With all that glitters pocketed, no more to go around.

Yet when those coins fall to the floor they don't make, a sound.

And that's what CEOs...do.

The Silver Lining

Yes, Virginia, there is a reason to be happy.

Oh, I know that your 401(k) is down 50%. And everyone's worried about the value of their center hall ATM, er, colonial, in the suburbs.

But consider the newfound freedoms we are all enjoying:

We are free from caring about the inlaid teak dashboard on the new Jag.

We are free from the compulsion to replace those '90s corian countertops and get those lovely granite slabs (it really enhances the value of the property, she said).

We are free to wear last year's leather jacket.

We are free to share the giving pleasure of cooking for ourselves, not to mention cleaning up after.

We are free to attend a college with the word "State" after the name.

We are free to finally catalog those thousands of photos taken over the decades, including the ones left to us by our forebears. (We are also free to enjoy a bottle of really tasty $8 Malbec from Mendoza while doing so.)

We are free to make greeting cards out of found objects.

We are free to create a (free) blog and say whatever we wish.

We are free to walk freely, crosstown or across a stream.

So you see, times of economic turmoil remove (expensive) things from the equation and replace them with (free) opportunities.

In the new reality, you hardly have to buy one of anything to get something for free.

How refreshing.

Negative Attention Is Better Than No Attention At All

See list. No explanation necessary.

The New York Post.

A-Rod.

The Republican Party.

Kim Jong Il.

Seems like a perversion of the academic axiom, "publish or die."