Sunday, January 31, 2021

Dolla Dolla Bills, Y'all

The Underpants Gnomes have long been a recurring character here, albeit somewhat subliminally. Their loose conception of capitalism is a convenient shorthand for the cockamamie of all types.


Today, though, I bring you an idea that's so stupid and risky that. It. Just. Might. Work.

It took the combination of sports betting becoming legal in most places where Gheorghies reside and the crowd-fueled phenomenon that blasted GameStop stock through the ceiling to spark my notion. The concept also incorporates the indubitable fun that comes with backing a longshot (with a frisson of 'when I win the lottery' anticipatory windfall). I put $50 on West Virginia to win the NCAA Tournament at 40-1 the last time I was in Las Vegas, and enjoyed the heck out of their run...to the Sweet Sixteen. Fucking Gonzaga.

John Petty gonna win us alllll the money
I have noted previously that I'm not a very good sports bettor. I'm long on hunch and short on research and patience. But it occurs to me that there are a decent number of folks on this here website that know a few things about sporting affairs and are reasonably savvy with the digits and the dollars. 

My modest proposal to y'all is this: legal Gheorghesourced long-term sports wagers. Kinda like our own little idiot hedge fund. We each put in a couple of units, come up with a list of future-focused bets we like (Alabama at 25-1 to win this year's NCAA Tournament, anyone?), and follow them as a group for kicks.

Need I spell out what our next step is? 

Just ask the Gnomes.

Friday, January 29, 2021

The Green Fields of the Mind, Among Other Colors

"What goes around, comes around" -- Beastie Boys

The human mind is a hell of thing. Mine took me on a journey this week, a detour down rabbit holes that enlightened and amused me. And so I invite you to take a trip with me to visit my beautiful mind and see what I saw.

I was reading a news story so forgettable that I've, well, forgotten it. The piece was illustrated by this starkly beautiful painting of a winter scene. 

The piece, as it turns out, is entitled 'Winter Blue'. The artist? His name was Zoltan Sepeshy

I think you understand what synapses fired at that point. So I did some digging into Z Sep. Turns out he was a Hungarian-American artist of reasonable renown, serving as the Director of the Cranbrook Center for Collections and Research in Bloomfield Hills, MI, a suburb of Detroit. His work was alternately realist and cubist, and his subjects were both pastoral and urban-industrial. This 1947 work, entitled Factory Rhythm (Back of Hudson Motor Plant), is more of the latter.

That painting lit up a different pathway in my mindtunnels. It reminded me a lot of the streetscape from this legendary video:


At roughly the same time, another brainprecinct weighed in with something for consideration, combining the two things I know about Detroit and art. 


This work is entitled Sunday Neurosis. It's an early-ish work by Doug Malone, a Detroit-based artist and teacher at The College of Creative Studies, as well as a FOG:TB.

That's where this particular journey through my mindtunnels ended. I do hope you kept your seatbelt on, and that you enjoyed your trip.

Thursday, January 28, 2021

Hall Pass

Author's note: I amended this post to correct my own sloppiness, the sentence that baseball writers had never voted in a player unanimously. If you know me or know journalists, you understand how cheesed off I am for this mistake. Please forgive.

Baseball’s annual Hall of Fame reveal is a nice little slice of Americana, which is to say it includes tradition, achievement, bias, selective memory and full-on bitching. People do or do not get voted into Cooperstown, and then everyone retreats to their respective barstools to gasbag the wisdom or ignorance of the decisions.

It’s a welcome dose of baseball in January, even if a bit self-reverential. No American major league sport takes itself more seriously than baseball, owing mostly to history, nostalgia and several generations of self-appointed guardians of the game. Baseball tacitly approves of its characterization by some as national religion, with Cooperstown as its Vatican City.

I can offer little on the merits of the HoF Class of 2021, but I believe it increasingly puerile to continue to reject Barry Flaxseed and Roger Syringe. They weren’t one-offs, but the product of an entire era with which baseball is still coming to terms. Curt Schilling’s odious personal and societal positions, post-career, present a different argument, but one that’s even less germane to his resume.

According to the Baseball Writers Association of America’s rules for election: Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played. The so-called “character clause.” Points 1, 2 and 6 are reasonable; 3, 4 and 5 are where it gets tricky.

A gent named Robert W. Cohen authored the book “Baseball Hall of Fame – or Hall of Shame?” in which he detailed many of the reprehensible doings of those enshrined in Cooperstown. He wrote, “Baseball has always had some form of hypocrisy when it comes to its exalted heroes. In theory, when it comes to these kinds of votes, it’s true that character should matter, but once you’ve already let in Ty Cobb, how can you exclude anyone else?” (EDITOR'S NOTE: Ty Cobb, who hails from noteworthy and noble American stock, is much-erroneously-maligned. As it turns out, the rumors of his misanthropy and misdeeds were greatly exaggerated. Dammit.)

Cap Anson, now there's a racist
Indeed, the Hall is full of racists, abusers, cheats, womanizers, drunks and miscreants. Younger me was a little more strident about inductees exhibiting some ill-defined standard of conduct and integrity. Older me now views Halls of Fame as historical markers, and criteria should mostly be: could a guy ball in relation to his peers and to history? If so, he gets in. Does the history and progression of the game require that someone’s story be included? If so, they get in. Mention whatever transgressions and context necessary, but they get in. To deny someone whose accomplishments clearly merit induction becomes logically indefensible.

A common argument for rejecting Bonds, Clemens and the PED stat stuffers is that they cheated the game and cheated their clean peers, while the behavior of racists and abusers, though contemptible, did not affect the game. That’s some Coco Chanel-level needle threading, given points 3 and 5 above, and the fact that it’s called a Hall of “Fame.”

Remember, too, that though steroids were banned from baseball in 1991, MLB didn’t begin testing for them until 2003. Baseball was only too happy to count the money generated by home run binges and power surges. Players essentially got a wink-and-nod pass for a couple decades.

Some folks draw the line at positive drug tests for HoF consideration. In that way, one can rationalize Bonds and Clemens getting in, but Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez disqualifying themselves. That’s an even thinner limb to crawl out upon. It’s worth noting, as well, that when it comes to doping and PEDs, the cheats are often one step ahead of the cops. Rather than risk honoring players who simply had access to cleaner jet fuel and better masking agents while tarring those who got pinched, include everyone whose numbers pass muster. Tailor and adjust the narrative accordingly. The Republic will survive.

It should be obvious that Cooperstown is less hallowed ground and more an exclusive What A Bunch of People Think. Otherwise, there’s no justification for embracing noted racist and color line enforcer Kennesaw Mountain Landis immediately, yet waiting 40 years to grudgingly induct labor pioneer Marvin Miller, who only changed the sport forever. Another tell on Hall voting and membership is the fact that the only player ever to be elected unanimously was a relief pitcher. Granted, Mariano Rivera was an exemplary relief pitcher, but still. Look at the history. Not Ruth, not Ted Williams, not Koufax, not Willie Mays, not Aaron, not Seaver, not Ken Griffey Jr. None of them unanimously. To a person, Hall voters will tell you that each of them, and a score of others, all deserve to be in the Hall. But each time around, at least a handful of voters chose not to vote for obvious candidates because, well, that’s just the way it’s done. Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence for objective standards.

It would be healthier if the Baseball Hall of Fame were viewed as the Smithsonian, rather than the Sistine Chapel. But where’s the fun in that? It’s not coincidence that there’s only a few letters’ difference between myth-making and marketing. Besides, debate on whether Michelangelo was a first-ballot guy is pretty much played out.

Wednesday, January 27, 2021

I'm Not a Pedo. Honest.

I canceled my $10/month Planet Fitness subscription earlier this month. It wasn't because of the cost. It was because of the idiocy. The place was a moron's Shangri La. Given the low economic hurdle to attend, it drew folks from a wide swath of life (but mostly the idiot sub-tranche within that swath). Many attendees were either extremely old, extremely obese, or both. It was a big building with high ceilings, and I could check attendance before I went. But every time I went, I would see multiple folks on cardio machines with masks below their chin/double-chin, people lifting with masks below noses, or folks wearing loose masks that were not remotely air-proof. 

To handle this, I would keep my distance, regularly wash hands and use sanitizer, and sometimes give my best stink-eye to make folks begrudgingly address their mask situation. I even went to the front desk a couple times. But all in all, it seemed pretty unsafe, for them and me. And it's too much negativity. I'm there to wail on delts, not snitch on dolts! So while I missed having access to cables, heavy dumbbells, stair climbers and the like, I wasn't going to miss potentially catching the 'rona. This group failed the "do you think they would self-quarantine if they had a symptom" eye test. In retrospect, I should have expected as much from a gym directly across the street from a restaurant called Manny's Texas Weiners. And no, Manny's is not cool. I wanted it to be cool. I went with my sons a couple times a few years ago. I wanted to buy a t-shirt. Was a bit of a bust. A flaccid weiner, if you will.  


So lesson learned on the gym, at a de minimis cost. With that said, I continue to make incremental purchases for my modest home gym set-up. I decided to buy a pair of slider discs. They are useful for stretching/cardio/interval exercises, they don't get in the way, and they are cheap (< $8!). 

I ordered a pair on Amazon. They arrived yesterday. Not sure where it was mailed from, but it was made in China. And it bummed me out when it arrived. Usually Amazon packages come in a box or a plastic bag, right?  Not this. It was "as-is" in the box, leaning against the molding next to my front door. Not sure who the Chinese Photoshop wizard is who designed this picture, but it's far creepier than I realized when making the purchase. It looks like the creatives there said "put a 14 y/o Russian girl in skimpy gear and give her a lot of lipstick."

Haven't used the sliders yet, but I already threw out the package.  Hoping that not too many dog-walking neighbors of mine saw it. The Amazon delivery person was nice enough to properly lean it so all could see the picture. Good times. 



Tuesday, January 26, 2021

Hall and Votes: Say It Isn't So

[I could've used "Out of Touch," "I Can't Go For That," or "You Make My Dreams Come True" in the title, but I went with the quote legendarily attached to the Shoeless Joe saga.]

I thought I would lend some thoughts to today's annual Baseball Hall of Fame announcement.  It's an interesting year, and not in a wonderful way.  Well, the professionals have already covered this ground better than I can, so I'll just link to them, lift a graphic and ask a question:


So... who ya like?

I'd especially like to hear from OBX Dave...

Monday, January 25, 2021

Time Keeps on Slippin'

Took my daughter back to college on Saturday. It was lovely having her home over this extended holiday break, but it was obvious early on that her heart and mind are in Richmond. Bittersweet, more sweet than bitter, to know that she's got one foot firmly into her future and she's stepping with more confidence that I recall having at that age towards what's next.

She connected me back to the past in a moving and meaningful way on Christmas. The photo below was taken during the Summer of 2005 in Brewster, MA, where my family has long had vacation roots.


My daughter surprised my on Christmas morning by giving me this:

It got a little dusty in my living room. In the best way. 

Sunday, January 24, 2021

Pilgrims and Witches and Peaches and Me

I know this is hard for you to imagine. Today I'm the very model of a modern mild-mannered man. But there was a time in my life when I was an angry young scrapper, full of piss and vinegar and a hair-trigger temper. I broke more than one tennis racket in a fit of pique, multiple golf clubs, too. Wasn't much of a fighter, but I finished what I started (when I was solo, anyway - when around my much larger friends I ran my mouth and they got my back) - my lifetime record in fistfights is 3-0, with all three opponents retiring with blood gushing from their noses. I'm not proud*.

* I kinda am. All three dudes were bigger than me and I dotted their eyes quickly, lest we get into a grapple and I get my puny ass kicked. My Dad saw one of them happen, as it took place in the midst of an indoor lacrosse game he attended to watch his kid play. As the other kid walked out of the building with a towel and ice on his beak, Dad whispered, "nice shot" to me. That's one of my favorite memories.

Dad had a temper of his own, but it never seemed as irrational as mine could be when I was young. And Mom was New England stoic to a fault. Neither was as rabidly competitive as my younger self, either. I never really understood where that came from. But this week gave me a clue.

My mother is a serious student of our family's history. She spends a lot of time researching our genealogy, tracing both sides of the family back to the early 17th century. (Mayflower, y'all - when I asked Mom about our history, she replied via text, "Pilgrims and Witches. LOL". That's the name of my next album.) Earlier this week, she posted a link to a brief biography of a woman named Mary Towne Estey.

Mary Towne Estey had a son named Isaac who had a son named Richard who had a son named Zebulon who had a son named Samuel who had a son named LeBaron who had a daughter named Eva who had a son named Theodore who had a daughter named Nancy who had me. Mrs. Estey is my seventh great-grandmother. (She was also hanged as a witch in Salem, as it turns out. Glad she had Isaac first.)

Mrs. Estey's sixth great-grandson via a different route was none other than Ty Cobb, the Georgia Peach. Notorious for his irascibility, competitive ferocity, and temper. 

When I learned of this familial bond this week, a lot of pieces snapped into place. Me and Ty. Ty and Me. Peas in a pod. Not much of a physical resemblance, but mentally? Hoo boy. A lot of stuff is starting to make sense.

I'll need a few more weeks to process the additional familial connections with Mitt Romney and Amy Grant that flow from Good Witch Mary. Genealogy is cool. As is my new Mitchell and Ness 1912 Tigers jersey.

Friday, January 22, 2021

2020 Music in Review

Here's some songs to fill the air for you this weekend. Les Coole has once again selected his favorite tunes from the prior year.  The usual Top 20, as well as an expanded Top 50.

Of note: a lot of bands of distant yesteryear (yestermillennium?) issued worthy releases in 2020.  Springsteen and my hometown band Waxing Poetics made the Top 20, but there are enjoyable tunes in the Top 50 by:

  • The Boomtown Rats
  • Wire
  • X
  • Midnight Oil
  • Neil Young
  • Paul Heaton (of Housemartins fame)
  • The Psychedelic Furs
  • Nada Surf
Oh, and Ian Dury's kid.  Check it all out.

(If Dave/Greasetruck were on Spotify, his song would be on the list. Sorry for the non-Spotify listeners, but you can at least see the lists and listen via your usual methods.)


Thursday, January 21, 2021

A Bright Shining Life

Amid the focus on current events, it was easy to miss that journalism recently lost a significant figure, with the death of former New York Times reporter Neil Sheehan on Jan. 7 at age 84. Sheehan is best known for the Pentagon Papers and for his award-winning book, “A Bright Shining Lie,” both of which pulled back the curtain on U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War.

The Pentagon Papers were documents leaked in 1971 by former Defense Department analyst Daniel Ellsberg that detailed secret decision-making and military escalation in Vietnam, even as leaders grew increasingly doubtful about chances for victory. Sheehan’s book, which won a Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award in 1989, was prompted by his work as a young reporter in Vietnam in the early and mid-1960s and later stateside for the Times.

It’s difficult to overstate the importance of the Pentagon Papers in modern journalism. They comprised 7,000 pages, the largest leak of classified information in U.S. history to that point. The Nixon administration got a temporary court order to halt publication after three days. But the Supreme Court ruled 17 days later that the Times, and other outlets such as the Washington Post, could continue publication, a decision that’s often viewed as a cornerstone of the rights of a free press.

How Sheehan obtained the documents and how the Times managed to publish them is a story in itself. He never spoke publicly about it and finally revealed it to a reporter in 2015, under the condition that it not be disclosed until after his death. The tale includes documents smuggled first out of government offices and then a private apartment, burned-out copy machines, suitcases full of documents strapped into their own airplane seat, teams of reporters and editors working feverishly in Washington D.C., and Manhattan hotel rooms, an increasingly fearful source, an increasingly anxious reporter, and terrified newspaper attorneys. And obviously, in the days before the Internet and electronic documentation, reams and reams of paper. Sheehan eventually disregarded Ellsberg’s instructions that he only take notes and not make copies of the report, smuggling thousands of pages from Ellsberg’s apartment to make copies. He had reasons for doing so and didn’t believe that he acted unethically or betrayed a confidence.

The Times won a Pulitzer Prize for its work, though Sheehan has said that his life was turned upside down for six months after the Papers’ publication. He was investigated by federal law enforcement, and many days included conversations with investigators and lawyers.

If the Pentagon Papers consumed him for months, his book did so for years. At its center is a man named John Paul Vann, a complex, charismatic, often abrasive character and top-shelf military tactician who Sheehan knew and made the symbol of U.S. involvement in the war. Vann was a former Army lieutenant who served in Korea and then Vietnam before leaving the military. He eventually returned to the war effort and became the only civilian to lead combat operations. He believed the Vietnam war winnable, but disagreed with strategies and how the war was being conducted. He wasn’t bashful about sharing his thoughts with both superiors and reporters. He was killed in Vietnam in 1972 in a helicopter crash that some wonder was a hit job, since he routinely and publicly berated Vietnamese officials and commanders, an immense affront in most Asian cultures. His funeral in D.C. was attended by the upper echelon of American military and political power, as well as Sheehan, who made it the launch point of the book.

Sheehan spent five years researching Vann and another nine to write the book. His wife, writer Susan
Sheehan, joked that she might have committed hara-kiri if she had known how long it would take, and she wrote a piece for the New York Times Magazine amusingly titled: “When Will the Book Be Done?” Sheehan’s opus is 861 pages and is considered one of the great wartime pieces of literature and scholarship. HBO adapted a decently-received movie of the book, with the underrated Bill Paxton as Vann. Former senator, Secretary of State and Vietnam vet John Kerry told the audience at a screening of Ken Burns’ documentary on the war that he never understood the level of anger and frustration about the war until he read “A Bright Shining Lie.” He learned that those conducting the war “were just putting in gobbledygook information, and lives were being lost based on those lies and those distortions.”

Debate is ongoing about classified information versus the public’s right to know. I’ll leave legal arguments to barristers in the audience and beyond, but it’s safe to say that Sheehan’s work helped pave the way for holding power to account, including current and future examinations of our experiment in venal authoritarianism and performative cruelty over the past four years.

Sheehan and Ellsberg had limited contact after the Papers’ stories published, but they ran into each other in New York months later. Sheehan recalled that Ellsberg said to him, “So you stole it like I did.” To which he replied, “No, Dan, I didn’t steal it and neither did you. Those papers are the property of the people of the United States. They paid for them with their national treasure and the blood of their sons, and they have a right to it.” Sheehan said in an award speech that publishing the Pentagon Papers was “to the American people, who had given to those who governed us 45,000 of our sons and $100 billion of their treasure, a small accounting of a debt that can never be repaid. … But if to report now be called theft, and if to publish now be called treason, then so be it. Let God give us the courage to commit more of the same.”

Wednesday, January 20, 2021

Report Card Time – One Worth Noting

I suppose it' s about time I started posting again. COVID knocked me out for the first chunk of 2021, but frankly, upon review, I had limped to the finish of 2020. I totaled three posts in November and December, a meager end to a good year for my output. Here's to climbing back on that horse for this year.

Speaking of good years for output... wow! Nice work, team. Sincerely. We mentioned 258 posts for 2020, but that includes a number of stalwart individual efforts. An upside of lockdown, if you will.

Our tiny dictator was responsible for 57% of all of 2019's G:TB posts. In 2020, that number fell to 38%, in small part because he produced 12 fewer posts, in larger part because of the group effort.  TR, Zman, OBX Dave, and I all had career highs. Mark returned to the fold for a singular, highly worthy Gmas post. Shlara, Rob's daughter, Rootsy, and Juan Carlos added guesties. And rob rolled on, cranking out double-digits' worth of offerings four times and remaining the steady engine behind Gheorghe.

Have a look-see:





Tuesday, January 19, 2021

Heartbreaker

The only good thing about the story that follows is that the author is around to write it. And, I guess, the fact that it allows me to post a video of Don Johnson's biggest hit. Gather 'round, kids, and listen to Squeaky tell you about his weekend. Gonna make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Hell of a debut.

Where does one begin when not one to share good or bad news as a trait. I don't like to be the focus, unless I'm drunk, then I'm a repeating robot mess.

Well, I guess it starts on a normal Saturday night watching TV with the wife when my elbow starts to get a burning sensation and an intense pain. 

I get up to shake it off, thinking this is a weird feeling. Sit back down to continue watching TV.

A heartburn-like sensation kicks in to add a tightening feeling my chest to the radiating pain in my elbow, left to exact. Get up again muttering, "this feels weird". 

My wife finally asks why I'm pacing around the family room and kitchen.

Of course I say nothing's wrong a few times before finally saying, "yeah maybe we might want to call an ambulance".

9:25 pm, or seven minutes later an ambulance shows up and the wild ride begins. Fun little white stickers for the electrode to attach wires for an EKG get plastered on my chest, arms and legs. These are awesome for someone with a slightly hairy chest. 

Off to ER in the next town over, 15 minute ride. Another round of white stickers because no one is using the same kind, even though they do the exact same thing. Spray of nitroglycerin under the tongue and four chewable baby aspirin during the ride.

Arrive at ER around 10:20ish (time starts to warp at this point). Blood work. Troponin level at 89 units, normal range 0-23. This biomarker indicates how hard your heart is working, as explained by the doctor. In other words how bad of a heart attack you are having. 

Pain completely goes away, later find out it's due to nitroglycerin. That's the good news. Bad news is this hospital only does catheterization and is unable to install stents during that process. So they want to transfer me to another one...in Rhode Island. I'm in Massachusetts with a glut of amazing hospitals. Mention I'd rather stay in Mass.

Hour or so later the ER doc says I got lucky. Brigham and Women's can take me. This very good news. It's a Harvard-affiliated teaching hospital with a world-class cardiac practice. They request an ambulance for transfer. MLK is a good holiday for this kind of thing, as it turns out. Normally can take 3-4 hours. Ambulance shows up in 30 minutes for the 45-minute trip to Boston.

Arrive at Brigham and Women's ER at 1:30am, and because you can't transfer to the cardiac floor directly I'm in the ER until they can move me. I did not see a horse in the hospital.

New set of stickers for EKG. So second round of a free wax job in a random pattern on my chest. More blood work. Also find out their assay method of identifying the level of Troponin in your blood would be more precise that first ER. ER Doc says so don't be surprised if level is different with their more precise measurements. Result 78, which sounds better but falls higher on their scale of severity. 

Fall asleep in a bed on the cardiac floor at 4am Sunday morning. Couple IVs and meds. Then basically sat in a bed until 2pm today when they finally brought me down for the catheterization procedure. Which is basically threading a wire through the vein in your wrist to examine your heart. (Editor's Note: GAAAHHH)

Typically they would insert a stent or burn off any heart disease, or worst case stop if too much damage and do bypass surgery, or sometimes nothing because is everything looks good. Thankfully, I fell into the latter category. Only downside is not knowing the exact cause other than watching GLOW with my wife. It can be a deadly show apparently.

My first post was going to be about beer but this is a little more important. 

If you feel weird without drugs or alcohol in your system go to the doctors. Don't hesitate.

Monday, January 18, 2021

Hoopa, End of an Era

I've been on skis once in my life. Snowboarded twice. My parents, who grew up in New England, were both pretty proficient skiers, but their careers on the snow effectively ended when my Dad wrecked his knee playing (*checks notes*) ping pong in the early 70s. Arthroscopy wasn't really a thing back then, so his surgery and the subsequent recovery rendered skiing low on the list of activities his doctors recommended.

My Uncle David, on the other hand, made a life on the mountain. He struggled in school as a kid, back in the 50s and early 60s when educators had a far more limited understanding of learning disabilities than they do now. He graduated from prep school and started working construction in the summers and teaching skiing in winters in Maine. He became a park ranger at Mount Washington, NH for a couple of years, and then went West with a buddy to ski for a week. 

The rest, as they say, is history.

My uncle retired last month after 20 years as the head of the Alf Engen Ski School at Alta, where he led the team that teaches people to ski on that purist's hill. As he himself was quoted recently, ""Real skiers are drawn here sometime in their skiing life, because Alta is the Center of the Powder Skiing Universe. Some skiers stay for a while, some for a lifetime. I hope that when they do go, they take a little bit of Alta with them."All told, he spent nearly 40 years working at a place he loved.

He'll leave a little bit of himself at Alta, too. This article tells the story of my uncle and his friend Piney as they both prepared to retire after decades together.

If, unlike me, you're a skier and you've spent any time at Alta, you might've met Hoopa. That's what the Alta community calls my uncle. In the article linked above and the video below, he's fairly cryptic about the moniker's origins. I assume that's the New Englander in him deflecting attention. Like my Mom and her mother and my Aunt Carole, David has one of the world's most distinctive laughs. It's a huge yawping bray. My Mom's people laugh with their full bodies. And so "Hoopa" came from people trying to put words to the sound of David's guffaws. It's a decent honorarium as these things go.

You can tell by the article about Hoopa and Piney that my uncle loved his work, his time at Alta, and his people. May we all find something in life that fulfills us in the same way. When I asked my Mom earier this week about her brother, she told me, "He was good to his people and he loved what he did". 

I'll take that as my legacy someday. Happy retirement, Uncle Hoopa.

Sunday, January 17, 2021

Faith, Hope, and Love Making

Apologies to rob for the double-up, but this is time-sensitive and postcounted. 

To Donna and any other theologically minded gheorghies: I tried. 

I still have a soft spot in my heart for the Episcopal faith. While my actual faith is routinely tested and not very successfully, I still love the notional principles and the general gist of what I believe it’s supposed to mean to us human types. 

My great grandfather was an Episcopal priest (lucky for me they could marry), while my grandfather on the other side of my family went to Yale divinity school in the 1920’s and was a career minister and a devout Christian and great dude til he left us at age 97. It’s in my blood. 

When I was in high school and took one of those “what career you should choose” tests, the top return was Clergy. You probably all figured. 

While I was confirmed in the Episcopal church, my attendance and passion for all things “the cloth” has waned considerably since those days. I still try to drive thoughts of hypocrisy, fallacy, and far-fetchedness from my head when I consider anything religious, and Donna’s writings help, but there are too few Donnas and too many folks who... well, they’re not Jim Jones, but they’re closer to that assclown than they ought to be. 

Also, I’m lazy. I like to snooze away my bachelorrific Sunday mornings. And my ex, a very good Catholic, always took care of the instilling of scripture into my girls’ lives. Well, she and their fantastic Catholic School. I do have my grandfather’s huge Bible that’s well over a century old (pictured below), and I occasionally used to have “Home Church” with my girls. Occasionally. 

Anyway, I still get the emails from my hometown parish. They’ve muddled through like many faith-based organizations during these trying times. And I thought to myself this morning, maybe I’ll tune in! I opened up the liturgy attachment just before the 9am service to see what I would be in for. Bad idea. Here was the second reading, the Epistle from 1 Corinthians. 

Look, I’m on the fringe anyway, good people. I’m divorced, which for Pete’s sake, of all the faiths in the world, the Episcopal faith has to understand. And therefore, I’m considered a fornicator, on those blessed occasions. I’m in a relationship now, so it’s not like I’m cavorting out there like some mad hanky-pankster, but I’m still a sinner for lying down with my woman. And I don’t think anyone in their proper mind can legitimately support me rushing back to the altar for “the charm.” 

Shun fornication! Well, I tried. My dad, the son of a preacher man, returned to active parishioner status two years ago at age 73 after a Moses-like exactly 40 years of abandoning the practice in toto... I’ll make my way out of this desert someday, perhaps.

I did a little digging into the Biblical meaning of fornicating and how it’s regarded, and I landed here, which made me laugh. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and giving this sinner a chuckle on a Sunday morning is a nice wink from the Big Guy or Gal up there. I’ll take that. 

Singles

Been compiling stuff for the first Gheorgasbord of the new year, but I feel like this is good enough to get solo billing.

Minneapolis native and Doomtree collective member (and former CEO) Dessa has a new single out, and it's a banger. Both musically and lyrically. 

It's part of a new singles series she's starting. New tracks on the 15th of every month. I'll figure out where the line begins.

Not gonna ruin it with more words. Just enjoy.

Saturday, January 16, 2021

The Remarkable Case of Derrick Henry

Derrick Henry led the league in yards, carries, and rushing TD for the second year in a row.  Leroy Kelley did it from 1967-1968.  It doesn't appear that anyone else did it since.  A guy named Bill Paschal did it in 1943 and 1944; Steve Van Buren did it from 1947 to 1949; and Jim Brown did it in 1958-59.  In fact, OJ Simpson is the only post-merger player I can find who led the league in all three categories twice in his career (1973 and 1975--it always comes back to OJ).  For the record, Jim Brown did it four times because he's Jim Brown (1958, 1959, 1963 and 1965).

I've been a Derrick Henry fan ever since the 2014 Sugar Bowl.  Something happened every time he touched the ball.  I couldn't understand why he touched it only nine times.  It was like watching a man among boys.  

And that reception at the end was his only reception of the season!  Incredibly, the guy making those plays was only 18 or 19 years old.  Even more incredible: his senior year of high school highlight reel:

Also incredible: he looked like this when he was 14 years old.  Here's a link to more footage--the "Derrick Henry Rule" in his middle school league starts around 1:50.  According to that video, he never rushed for under 100 yards in any of his 45 career high school games.  His senior year game log looks like something from Super Tecmo Bowl.  Here are his high school stats:

So it isn't like he came out of nowhere.  He was the best high school RB ever!  I assumed that he would be the featured back in 2015 but instead he only got 172 carries.  He made the most of them--990 yards and 11 TD.  Bama was stacked that year with TJ Yeldon, Kenyon Drake, Amari Cooper and OJ Howard.  There were too many mouths to feed so Henry didn't get a huge workload.  I couldn't understand this, he was unstoppable yet he never got more than 20 carries in a game that year.  Bama finish the year ranked sixth.

TJ Yeldon left for the NFL so Henry got all the carries in 2015, picking up 2219 yards (sixth best single-season total), 28 touchdowns (ninth best single-season total), a National Championship, the Doak Walker and Maxwell Awards, and the Heisman Trophy.  He was a steamroller.  He received high praise from brilliant pundits like me, opining "I said it before and I'll say it again. Just get be the ball to Derrick Henry."  I think I was drunk when I wrote "get be the ball."  I also posited "As I said here last year, just give the ball to Derrick Henry. He is not human."  Mark concurred with "Stumping for Derrick Henry will never be a bad idea."  TR, however, predicted that "Derrick Henry will not be an elite NFL running back. #hottake"

NFL front offices listened to TR instead of Mark and me.  Henry was drafted #45 overall in 2016.  This was the height of the "running backs grow on trees" phase of NFL team-building, but Melvin Gordon and TJ Yeldon went #15 and #36, respectively, the year before.  People drafted ahead of Henry in 2016 include Paxton Lynch, Eli Apple, Corey Coleman, Josh Doctson, and Laquon Treadwell.  My beloved Bills drafted Reggie Ragland at #41 and he never played a single down of football in a Buffalo uniform.

I knew the Titans had the steal of the draft.  I took Henry in the seventh round of my fantasy football league--it's full of sharps, super competitive, and if you want a guy you have to move early.  Mahomes went in the fifth round in 2018, for example.  Sure, Tennessee had Demarco Murray, but he was 28 and coming off a shitty year in Philadelphia.  Surely the superhuman rookie would get the bulk of the work.

I forgot that Mike Mularkey was involved in Tennessee.  He's an idiot.  He allocated almost three times as many carries to Murray as Henry in 2017, and an even split between the two in 2017.  

Mike Vrabel took over in 2018 and made Henry the week 1 starter but he only averaged about 11 carries per game, then Vrabel demoted him for Dion Lewis in week 9.  He finally gave the ball to Henry in week 13.  Over the last four weeks of the 2018 season, Henry complied 585 yards and 7 TD on 87 carries, good for 6.72 yards per rush.  He even threw a 6 yard completion.  Then, of course, 2019 and 2020 were laser shows.

How the hell did this happen?  Derrick Henry was literally the best high school running back in the history of high school running backs.  Then he went to Alabama and put up eye-popping yards-per-carry numbers his first two years but couldn't get all the work because of TJ Yeldon?  He had an all-time season his senior year as the featured back on the national championship team and won the Heisman, but didn't get drafted until the second round?  And then his team needed over two and a half seasons to realize he was a cross between the Hulk and the Flash, while he languished behind a past-his-prime back averaging 3.6 yards per carry who got benched by his previous team for Ryan Mathews?  How is this possible?  How was he hiding in plain sight for years?

Mark and I had a text exchange about this.  Most of the all-time great running backs were highly drafted and started right away.  Curtis Martin's success was a bit of a surprise as a third rounder, but he started fifteen games as a rookie--it didn't take long for Parcells to figure out what he had.  Terrell Davis was drafted in the sixth round, in large part due to his history of migraines, but he was able to overcome that with medication approved in 1997.  Sumatriptan y'all!  He started fourteen games as rookie because Shanahan knew what he had.  I don't consider Frank Gore to be an all-time great but it only took him one season to become a starter.

The closest comparables are perhaps Ahman Green and Shaun Alexander who rode the bench behind Ricky Watters for two years and one year respectively.  But Watters in Seattle was a hell of a lot better than Demarco Murray in Tennessee.

How do you not realize that you have a guy who can do this?

via Gfycat

Or this?

via Gfycat

After he did this.

via Gfycat

Just about every aspect of Derrick Henry's career is remarkable, albeit in vastly different ways.

Thursday, January 14, 2021

I am Half a Man, But At Least I'm Sober!

Howdy all. I hope the Ides of January treated you all well. I think the Ides relates to the patron saint of malt liquor.  And yes - the 13th of January was the Ides, not the 15th. The internet says so. Get off my back. 

The wife and I are spending this extended home confinement period staring at things we don't like in our house. We are in the house A LOT. We had a COVID scare right after Xmas, and then again earlier this week. So we'll remain confined until Spring. No indoor dining or indoor parties for us. Yippee. 

We decided to make a list of issues we saw and find a contractor willing to tackle the jobs. Some are tiny (damaged shingles, shower water pressure issues, funky door knob, etc) and some are bigger (paint house exterior, fix leak causing water build-up in dining room, etc). 

Our contractor is great - honest and reasonable. We showed him our list when he came by. My competency in repairing things is limited. I'm all about tackling yard jobs, but I'm no handyman. He agreed to a plan to fix things.

And then he really did it. He made me feel like half a man. He fixed several of our issues ON THE SPOT. WITH ONLY A SCREWDRIVER. IN LESS THAN TWO MINUTES EACH. Wall-mounted hook for a curtain with its plastic screw base stuck behind plaster? He said it was a butterfly screw and fixed it in 15 seconds. Sticky door knob? He adjusted the tension on the knob in 10 seconds and fixed that. Two showers with water pressure issues? He quickly unscrewed the heads, took them apart, found blockages and re-screwed them in. Badda bing. Badda boom. To make things worse, my wife saw all of this. I felt like a eunuch. I take solace in the fact that I am surely not the only man who would struggle with these issues. And after all, I did paint one kid's bedroom a couple months ago. And I felled a mid-size tree all by myself with a chainsaw and some brute force last fall. Memories of this should ease my emotional impotence over time. Hopefully.

In other news, I am pursuing dry January again this year. I have done it many times. I started before it became cool. I am also using this as a reset for my low-carb diet. I am on an extreme reduction diet I hope to continue all month. By reduction, I mean the number of foods, not the amount. I am doing a strict carnivore diet to see how I feel. Since Monday 1/4, all I have eaten is meat, eggs, cheese and butter. all I drink is coffee (with cream), water. and the occasional mug of beef bone broth And I put lots of Himalayan sea salt on my food. Basically it's just red meat and water. No meat marinades, no Stevia for coffee, no snacks, no sauces, no side dishes, no low-sugar drinks, no fruits, no veggies. I eat a big lunch around 1 PM (Example: big omelet with side of sausage or two 8-oz grass-fed beef burgers), and then have dinner b/w 6-7 PM. That's it. An 18/6 intermittent fasting period. 


The good news is I feel good and I have lost seven pounds in less than two weeks. Most of that was the de-bloating from going back to ketosis. Future weight loss will be tough. The bad news is it's BORING. I can only dress up burger patties so much: add bacon and/or cheese. I miss the sriracha. And before you worry, I do take a statin for cholesterol. 

While doing this diet, I have been tracking my blood glucose and ketone level. The ratio of the two indicates if you are in ketosis, and how deep in it you are. I have a set-up where I prick my finger 1-2x per day and use strips to measure. The wife thinks I'm nuts. She may be right, but it turns out that the strict diet is effective. I am in deep ketosis, burning fat for fuel. I don't really have food cravings, but urges for scotch are creeping back. I was going through $30 bottles of Johnny Black every three days, so there is a wallet benefit to all of this as well. 

What's the purpose of this bio-hacking, you may ask? My goal is to get below 200 lbs. The last time I remember weighing less than two bills was the spring of 1993, when I did a weigh-in at Unit M for the intramural wrestling tournament. At a weight of 198, I was barely eligible for the heavyweight division. I had to wrestle a kid 30+ pounds bigger in the first round. It did not go well. So Team TR is trying to get back there, almost 28 years later. I'm adding running back to the workout mix to help, powering through my typical whining about running outside in cold weather. 

Wish me, my sober carcass and my pricked and bloody index finger well. A picture of me, with my on-line pseudonym, is below. 

Tuesday, January 12, 2021

Don't Hassel the Hoff: Big in Germany

Yesterday we gave you a sober-minded patriotic message from an American with Austrian connections. Today, we maintain part of that theme. It ain't the sober-minded element.

As you well know, David Hasselhoff is a major rock star in Germany. You may be less familiar with the story of his rise to musical fame. Turns out that Austria plays an important role, as this excerpt from a 2019 NPR story reveals:

"It all started with a girl named Nikki," Hasselhoff said during a recent interview with NPR in Berlin, where he was on a concert tour of Germany.

It was 1985. Hasselhoff's agent told him that Nikki had won a contest in a magazine and her prize was lunch with Hasselhoff at his home in Southern California. He remembers groaning, not wanting to go through with it. "I said [to the agent], 'I'm going through my Ernest Hemingway period.' Knight Rider was canceled; I lost my marriage. I'm sitting here staring out the window going, 'What am I going to do next?' " he said.

Darkening his Hemingway period were tepid U.S. sales of his debut rock album earlier that year. Hasselhoff needed a pick-me-up. So when Nikki ultimately came knocking, he reluctantly let her in. "And she went, 'Oh, it's very nice to meet you. Your album, Night Rocker, is No. 1 in my country,' " Hasselhoff recalled her saying. "I went, 'Where's your country?' And she said, 'Austria.' I said, 'Oh wow! Where is Austria?' "

The rest, as they say, is history. The Hoff's 1987 album, Looking for Freedom, went platinum in Germany and Austria, and Triple Platinum in Switzerland. He played a concert on New Year's Eve 1989 at the Berlin Wall that a generation of Germans still connect with the dismantling of that barrier. He still sells out shows in that part of Europe, though most are now a mix of covers and reminisces about all things Hoff.


This is all an elaborate setup for the actual point of this mostly pointless post. For the next 12 days, you - yes, mere mortal you - can bid on memorabilia that spans The Hoff's career in film and music. $60 right now will get you The Hoff's personalized bathrobe. Various Baywatch scripts are yours for the taking for around $200 each, as is a signed pair of the swim trunks Hasselfhoff wore in the Spongebob movie.

And for around $900,000, KITT can be yours. Per the description at liveauctioneers.com, FULLY FUNCTIONAL K.I.T.T. CAR WITH FULL CONVERSION CAR LOCATED IN U.K. LOT WINNER RESPONSIBLE FOR DELIVERY EXPENSE,  IF HAMMER PRICE EXCEEDS 25% ABOVE RESERVE PRICE, THE HOFF WILL PERSONALLY DELIVER THE CAR TO THE NEW OWNER.

The Hoff. Will. Personally. Deliver. You get the point. And the HAMMER PRICE has well exceeded the reserve price.


There's a ton of other great stuff on offer. I daresay many of you will spend more time today than you should perusing it. I look forward to hearing about your finds in the comments below. 

Let's hope our return to dipshittery is sustainable, just like The Hoff's music career in Germany.

Monday, January 11, 2021

Symbols and Irony

I do not have enough pejorative words in my vocabulary to properly express my feelings about the rioting/sedition/insurrection at the Capitol on January 6.  But to be clear, people have a right to peacefully protest the results of an election.  Crossing into violence and destruction is what really raises my ire, especially when aimed at interrupting or preventing those election results from taking effect.

I found some symbolic irony in the granular details of January 6.  I'll try to be as Gheorghe as possible about them.

1. Gadsden flag

The Gadsden flag was designed by Christopher Gadsden during the American Revoluion.  It's a yellow field with a coiled timber rattlesnake above the standard DON'T TREAD ON ME.  You've seen it before, you know what it means, and you know the type of folks who like to fly it.


And I'm cool with it.  I'm not a libertarian or small government conservative but I know people who are and they hold principled views.  I suspect that some people like to fly it as a symbol to intimidate their fellow citizens.  I think this distorts the message.

Roseanne Boyland was one of a plurality of people who brought a Gadsden flag with them to the Capitol.  She died there, trampled by the crowd rushing into the building.  I won't dwell on the obvious irony.  The less obvious aspect is, however, worth unpacking.  

Ms. Boyland went to a protest to exercise her First Amendment right to free speech with like- or at least similar-minded people.  She was so passionate about her views that she brought a centuries-old banner to help express them.  Many others at the gathering were at least as passionate, so much so that they stripped Ms. Boyland of her right to live.  This stretches the exercise of individual liberty to its breaking point.

2. Zachary Taylor

The Capitol building contains lots of precious art including a bust of Zachary Taylor.  Someone defaced it with a blood-like substance.

Taylor only held office for 16 months because he died from dysentery after eating too much raw fruit and milk.  He was also the last president to own slaves.  He is not highly regarded by historians.  Taken together, he is not the most impressive man to lead the executive branch.  But he was still president!  What type of red-blooded American patriot (or Patriot in Trumpspeak) would use fake red blood to deface a potent American symbol like this?  Especially while acting to save our country?

But hey, at least they didn't drop to one knee when the National Anthem came on.  That's inexcusable. 

3. Stop the steal

One of Trump's themes against the 2020 election is "Stop the Steal."  His protesters paradoxically stole stuff from the Capitol, like a photo of the Dalai Lama.  Trump supporter and Florida Man Adam Johnson stole a lectern from the Capitol.  Apparently he tried to sell it on eBay.  Here he is mugging for the camera while mugging the Capitol and then mugging for a mugshot:

Stop the steal indeed.

4. Back the Blue

The rioters fought hand-to-hand with Capitol Police including officer Brian Sicknick who died after being hit in the head with a fire extinguisher.  According to the AP,  "'We backed you guys in the summer,' one protester screamed at three officers backed against a door by dozens of men screaming for them to get out of their way. 'When the whole country hated you, we had your back!'"

The protester thus seemed to realize the irony in his actions.  If I learned anything from this protest, it is that the MAGAverse has an inordinate fondness for flags.


If you google around you'll find many analyses of the various flags flying at the protest and it isn't all nice.  I noticed a lot of Back the Blue flags while watching in real time.  Those are the black-and-white American flags with one blue line in the middle underlining the field of stars.  An example flies along the left side of the photo above (right above the Gadsen flag above the befuddling Canadian flag).  You've probably seen them around, like on my old neighbor's Volvo SUV.  I thought it was a well-intentioned symbol of support for the police but apparently it's also a symbol of white nationalism.  I don't know if it can be considered a support for police of color.

This is a long-winded way of saying that a bunch of people carrying pro-police flags beat a (white) cop to death with a fire extinguisher.  Back the Blue indeed.

5. Putting it all together

It's pretty clear that these MAGA rioter have no respect for each other, our nation's history, public property, or those sworn to protect us all.  Despite lots of high-minded talk they have no unifying theory of anything beyond DJ Trump.  That's it.  One charismatic man can grab hold of this group of millions and make them do whatever he wants.  Imagine if he told them to volunteer at the Boys and Girls Club, or donate to the local food bank, or to foster abused dogs, or to go to school to learn more job skills or some history or how to write poetry or anything to simply improve themselves.  Imagine if we could find another charismatic man to grab this group by the short and curlies and get them to channel all of their energy into something positive?  We all know where this is going.  There's really only one person who could turn this around.  Only one symbol who embodies what this country needs right now.


Gheorghe Muresan for Secretary of Gheorghe.  He's the man for this time and place.


Sunday, January 10, 2021

Unity, Indeed

You are about to witness a whipsaw of content the likes of which you've never seen in these parts.

On second thought, it's kinda par for the course. 

Posting this message from Arnold Schwarzenegger because as many people as possible should see it. Tomorrow, something completely different and wildly absurd and an investment opportunity you won't want to miss.

Over to you, Governor.
 

Saturday, January 09, 2021

NFL Playoffs Open Thread

The NFL playoffs start today!  My beloved Bills kick off at 1:05 pm against the Colts.  Both zkids will be out of the house until 2:45 so I will be able to enjoy most of the game without being heckled for food or Robux.

I'm a little nervous.  Josh Allen played amazing football this year, but the last time he played in a playoff game he took at least 18 months off my life with this play:

via Gfycat

And I'm not being hyperbolic.  Apparently I made all sorts of loud crazy/angry noises, prompting zwoman to run into the room.  She found me on my knees, pulling my hair, with my face tomato red like our friend ED209.  I blacked out for a few seconds of that tantrum.  My cardiologist wasn't happy.

Hopefully Allen won't do stupid stuff like that today.

The other angst-inducing aspect of this game is the Frank Reich factor.  When I raised this issue to a few friends from high school, my boy Lumpy Kris, aka Willie Lump Lump, posited "Frank Reich should walk onto the field with his cock out!!! I'm Frank Reich, I own this place!"

The Colts are kinda vanilla, they don't do anything particularly well on offense but they average 28.2 points per game, good for ninth best in the league.  Their defense allows the tenth fewest points per game, so they're well balanced.  This might not be an easy game.  Hopefully Reich keeps his cock in his pants.

Watch along with me and mock me in the comments.

Friday, January 08, 2021

Gheorghe Endorses

It's a little bit hard to pivot back to dipshittery at such a fraught moment in our collective history. So we'll take it slow, kinda ease back into it.

As careful readers of this blog know (I'm not aware of any, to be sure, I just like the purple prose), we've got a political mancrush on Pennsylvania Lieutenant Governor John Fetterman. The hulking man of the people, no-bullshit, weed-legalizing, hypocrite-mocking, common sense-making Fetterman is having a bit of a moment. And it seems he's looking to strike while the iron's hot:


It's not exactly clear from this tweet by Fetterman's wife Gisele, but the big fella is exploring a run for Senate in Pennsylvania in 2022, when Republican Pat Toomey's seat will be contested. Fetterman has previously been linked to a gubernatorial run, but it seems he's setting his sights higher.

No bullshit here. As we try to regain our footing as a people after being staggered by the past four years of outrageous misconduct and fomenting of the worst of our impulses by national leaders, we need actual truth-tellers and real, capital S public Servants in office. Fetterman strikes me that way. Nobody is perfect, and we do ourselves a disservice if we insist that our leaders are. I'm sure oppo teams will surface things about Fetterman that I won't like. But I do like him.

And so, let it be written in history that the first media outlet to back John Fetterman for Senate is this serious, important, and sage blog. 

You can send the merch to me, and I'll distribute it, Team Fetterman.

Thursday, January 07, 2021

UBI, Better Than Youppi?

Beachbound provocateur Dave Fairbank comes into 2021 swinging, asking questions that may get more attention in a society that's not likely to see full employment for another year, at least. I don't know the answers, but we need more people willing to ask the questions and find small-scale ways to experiment.

As our elected officials haggled about whether to give citizens crumbs or an entire slice of bread during a once-a-century crisis, it’s revealing to look at how some other countries dealt with folks during the pandemic.

Congress and the Prez recently signed off on a stimulus bill that will provide $600 direct payments to people, along with $600 per child under age 17 and a $300 boost in unemployment benefits for up to 11 weeks. President Trump and Democratic leaders wanted $2,000 direct payments, but Mitch McConnell (R-Hades) essentially said NFW. Dems predictably caved over McConnell’s legislative machinations and rhetoric, and Trump just as predictably lost interest, since the proposal didn’t directly benefit him.

Meanwhile, Canada sent out monthly checks of $2,000 (approx. $1,500 U.S. dollars) for four months to people who lost their jobs during the pandemic, were sick, quarantined or taking care of loved ones, or were a working parent who had to stay home with children due to school or daycare closures. The government will subsidize 75 percent of the wages of certain workers through March. It will help low- and middle-income families with young children by providing $1,200 per child under the age of six.

Germany signed off on multiple packages of well over 1 trillion euros that include direct payments to small businesses and the self-employed of up to 15,000 euros (approx. $18,300 U.S.) to ward off bankruptcy. The government lowered the bar for companies to apply for aid under what’s called “short hours” or “short time” work – when private sector employees work fewer hours for lower pay, but the state makes up all or part of lost wages, which protects against unemployment during a recession or other crisis. Such measures are common in European countries.

In the United Kingdom, 10 million jobs are under furlough, and the government will pay employees up to 80 percent of their salaries – up to 2,500 pounds per month – through April. In Spain, the government imposed a moratorium on mortgage payments for those affected by COVID-19. It stopped evictions and guaranteed water, electricity and internet connections to vulnerable households. Self-employed workers receive government assistance.

In the U.S., the pandemic resulted in unimaginable suffering – tens, if not hundreds of thousands of unnecessary deaths, millions of people affected. It’s stretched and stressed our society in ways that will be felt for years.

Here’s hoping that the pandemic also prompts an examination of work and wages and value. Twenty-two million jobs were lost in the early months of the pandemic, according to a CNBC report, with restaurant, hospitality and service sectors especially hard hit. There are 10 million fewer jobs than there were, pre-pandemic, and many of the jobs that have returned are now part-time or downgraded. More than 26 million people are either out of work or saw their pay cut in the past year. Many workers deemed “essential” during the crisis – in factories, meat-packing plants, along various supply chains – were hardly compensated as such and were often at greater risk of exposure to the coronavirus.

Money is often the means for keeping score in this country. Money also has become conflated with virtue. Financial success suggests hard work and good decisions. Poverty or subsistence level existence implies that people must be indolent or made poor choices. It’s flawed thinking laid bare by massive unemployment across many sectors, shuttered businesses and record demand at food banks. But perpetuating those notions allows a segment of the population to ignore those who are struggling and justifies shrinking social safety nets. Among the most frequent arguments against government assistance is that people shouldn’t be rewarded for bad behavior and that it disincentivizes work. Several social experiments in recent years suggest otherwise.

In Canada, a Vancouver-based charity partnered with the University of British Columbia. They identified 50 people who had recently become homeless and gave them a one-time payment of $7,500, then tracked their spending over the next 12 months. Researchers found that recipients spent most of the money on food, rent and transportation. Spending on so-called “temptation goods” – drugs, alcohol, cigarettes – decreased by 39 percent. Recipients saved an average of $1,000. The payments saved the area homeless shelter system $8,100 per person over the course of the year, which totaled $405,000.

In Stockton, Calif., outgoing mayor Michael Tubbs championed a targeted universal basic income plan. In partnership with a basic income advocacy group launched by Facebook co-founder Chris Hughes, Tubbs implemented a program that gave $500 per month for 18 months to 125 households in low-income neighborhoods. Research found that recipients spent 25 percent more on food than average. The amount spent on recreation dropped to two percent, and alcohol and tobacco spending was less than one percent. Tubbs, who was elected mayor at age 26 in 2016, lost his bid for re-election in November, as opponents portrayed his UBI plan as a vanity project and claimed that he didn’t represent average citizens. However, while he was in office the U.S. Conference of Mayors lauded his plan and adopted a resolution that urges “cities, states and the federal government to explore the feasibility of a guaranteed income.”

Entrepreneur and former Democratic presidential candidate Andrew Yang campaigned on a platform that included universal basic income. He is in the process of implementing a plan in Hudson, N.Y., a small town two hours north of Manhattan, that will give 25 people $500 per month for five years and track their spending and lives.

Hygge!
Overseas, Finland conducted a project in which officials chose 2,000 unemployed people at random and gave each of them 560 euros per month (approx. $683 U.S.) for two years. One of the goals was to promote employment and to help launch recipients into the job market. By that metric, the project failed, since payments didn’t impact if people did or didn’t find employment relative to the general population. But researchers found that recipients were happier, experienced less stress and fewer health problems, so in total the program was rated a success.

Admittedly, I don’t know squadoosh about economics, and I can be persuaded by those in the audience and elsewhere who are more knowledgeable. As a country, we aren’t wired for the level of government assistance throughout Europe and elsewhere. Yes, our population is much larger than England, Germany, France, etc., and similar measures would be multipliers more costly. However, we’re also multipliers wealthier than others. I’m not sure what I think about regular government stipends to people or the idea of universal basic income, not that my conclusions are worth a fig. But everything should be on the table.

The pandemic provides a chance to re-examine what we do and how we do it. It won’t be easy. There are powerful forces that see this as an inconvenient interruption. They itch to return to the status quo ASAP so that they can resume Hoovering and counting money. If we chalk up all the pain and anxiety and extraordinary steps as a one-off and go back to business as usual, it will be yet another missed opportunity in this whole dismal chapter.