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Assorted Ruminations

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Well. What an interesting couple of weeks it’s been. Summary commentary follows, on subjects as diverse as writing, politics, socializing and privacy. Read on, dear friends, and be enlightened.

“Society” Isn’t Responsible For Your Bad Choices

Big Al and I have engaged in several recent conversations about Occupy Wall Street, and in particular, about the nature of the main claims emanating like a vile penumbra from the protestors’ wish lists. The crux of the debate: To what extent is society responsible for the condition of people saddled with huge student loan debt and no strong employment opportunity?

Although Alaric refuses to state categorically that he thinks the protestors are totally free of moral culpability for the current condition, he does seem to argue that they aren’t solely culpable and therefore deserve a personal bailout. He asserts that the overwhelming social message that “college is the key to success” means that people really had no other choice if they wanted to be successful, and that colleges have misled many students about the value of their chosen courses of study. As best as I can tell, his position is that the social pressure to attend college mixed with bad or misleading counsel about the options available for majors means that many unemployed students were effectively sold a bill of goods. Therefore, in the interests of the macro economy, it makes sense to lighten their load and to implement reforms to prevent such from happening again.

Our debates have been lively. Although I appreciate his perspective — and do, in fact, concede that social pressure is a not-insignificant contributor to the higher ed bubble — I cannot agree that debt-laden students get a pass. For one thing, imprudence isn’t a virtue. Yes, I’m sure some people really did think that a degree in puppetry would be fulfilling — but did they bother to check the expected labor market for such a focus? Research is abundant and free, beginning with the Department of Labor public databases. As an ethics major, I realize that the only job I’m qualified for is one that requires “a degree, any degree” — no one is actively looking for someone with a B.A. in moral philosophy. I knew that going into it. I made my choices, and I have to accept my consequences. Choosing to go in willfully blind doesn’t provide a layer of insulation for when times get tough.

I get that for many people, life is challenging. I don’t think it’s society’s problem.

Evening of Cocktails and Fine Dining

Last Saturday I welcomed the opportunity to have dinner with Jon and Emilie, Tony and Jen, and Joe. We started with cocktails at Tony’s office in Lansing, then went to Copper for dinner. The meal was delightful and the company was heavenly. We had a great time and settled on the dates for the “All Things Tony” trek to The Happiest Place on Earth in early June.

Scotch Is Good for the Soul

Good Scotch whisky is proof of the existence of a benevolent God. In recent weeks, I’ve enjoyed Ardbeg 10-year (a staple of Jim Murray’s list of top whiskys) and now I’ve laid hands upon another rare bottle of Ballentine’s 17-year. Add to that a good deal on Lagavulin 16-year, and life is good.

But added to the mix: Gentleman Jack. I saw a fascinating Discovery Channel documentary on how Jack Daniel’s is made, and it impelled me to pick up a bottle. Glad I did. GJ may become my default sipping whiskey.

NaNoWriMo Is Harder Than It Looks

So I’m writing a novel. It’s harder than it looks. The goal of National Novel Writing Month is to produce a minimum of 50,000 words in the month of November. Some people have already met their goal, and bully for them. I remain stuck in the low four figures, mostly because I started late and have been planning as I go. The prose I’ve generated so far, I’m mostly happy with. And I purchased Scrivener for Windows — an all-in-one writing application for professional writers — and sync its data files with SkyDrive so I can pick up on any of my computers. So far, so good.

The “discipline thing” presents something of a self-improvement opportunity. My goal is to generate 80,000 words and shop it for sale. As a published writer of non-fiction work, I hope I have at least a tiny bit of credibility to get an agent to look twice at my submission. But if not — it doesn’t matter much. I’m enjoying the craft of writing for writing’s sake.

The fun thing about NaNoWriMo? The social aspect. There are active forums and chatrooms for local areas. The “Ottawa County – Grand Rapids” group has been a blast. I’ve done two write-ins with fellow novelists already, and will do more in the coming weeks. It’s been motivating, and fun to connect with fellow local writers. Even if Elizabeth insists on circulating a paper chat room while I try to write and even if Jennifer won’t bring me Scotch. At least Adrianne gave me chocolate because she’s a nice person.

I’m Not a Commodity: Or, Facebook+Spotify Sucks Huge Donkey Dick

Having read of the hype around Spotify, the streaming music service recently made available in the U.S., I was eager to install the app on my phone and enjoy a wide library of musical bliss. The downside? The only way you can actually register for Spotify is to log in with your Facebook account and agree to share an astonishing amount of personal information (including your name, age, location, friends, and profile details) with Spotify. There is no other way to gain access to the music service. Spotify, seemingly caught off-guard, insists that people can create dummy, empty Facebook accounts if they wish — which seems to defeat the purpose.

Long story short: I refuse. I uninstalled Spotify. And for good measure, I logged into Facebook and stripped all of my data from the service. I deleted all my photos (except a really crappy one for the profile), untagged myself from everyone else’s photos, removed all my personal profile details, and set all privacy settings to the most restrictive level. I even “unliked” almost everything I’ve liked in the history of Facebook — only a few dozen things, but still. My profile is now mostly an empty shell devoid of useful marketing data. Fuck you, Mark Zuckerberg.

Note to Big New Media: I’m a human being, not a data profile. I own my information. You don’t. I grow weary of being offered “free” apps or services only to discover later that the fine print says that you get to commodify me into a package of information that you can sell to others and that I have no say in the matter (not even to opt out or to at least curate what gets shared). I’m also out of the game of “logging in with Facebook” (or Google, or Twitter, or …) — give me the chance to log in using de-identified information, or forego me as a customer. Next up for scubbing: Google. I’m watching you, Mountain View.

State of the GOP Presidential Race

Here’s what I know. Most significantly, Rick Perry managed to disappoint me; I can forgive a bad debate performance, but not a 100 percent failure rate in debate performances. Mitt Romney really does look like the default nominee, and despite Erick Erickson’s bloviations, I think he’d be a strong contender and a solid POTUS. Notwithstanding my lack of enthusiasm for his early debate performances (where he came off arrogant and picking fights on social issues he didn’t need to wage) I think Jon Huntsman might be the best man for the job — he’s sufficiently conservative, smart, polished and experienced. Paul, Gingrich, Bachmann and Johnson should probably exit, stage right. And Herman Cain? He just needs to implode and retire from the race before too much damage is done to the GOP brand. Between the sex scandals and the implausibility of 9-9-9, the risk to Republican seriousness is high.

What a Difference A Gigabyte Makes …

Last week, I acquired for the low, low price of $44 a 2 GB memory chip for my netbook (the package also included an 8 GB micro-SD card). I installed it, booted up the machine — and it purrs like a kitten. Still not quite as fast as my full-sized laptop at home (what, with its dual-core Athlon processor and 4 GB of RAM) but the netbook is keeping up admirably with a dual-boot Win7+Fedora16 setup.

Truth be told, I think I’ve finally settled on an all-Microsoft approach to data management. My laptop, netbook and smart phone all run Microsoft OSes, and I use Windows Live SkyDrive for all my personal cloud storage. I’m increasingly centralizing information with OneNote, conveniently synchronized across all my screens. Although it’s not a perfect setup, I’m satisfied with it and am more productive than I was in the days of miscellaneous FTP syncing and random OS mixes.

… Also, a Single Settings Tweak

The only non-MS device left in my portfolio is my HP TouchPad. Granted that I acquired it at firesale prices, I find WebOS to be snappy and elegant. I was tempted to install the CyanogenMod tweak to push it to Android, but why screw around when WebOS works? The only problem I had — and it frustrated me to no end — was TouchFeeds, an RSS reader that’s simple and robust. However, it would hang the tablet on occasion and sometimes be mind-numbingly slow. Slow, to the point I wanted to chuck it at the window and grind my boots on the shards just to show it who’s boss. Funny thing, though: Simply changing the TouchFeeds setting to stop auto-mark-read-as-you-scroll completely fixed the problem. Now, I just push the “mark all read” button and it flies like a dream. Sometimes, just screwing around with settings solves problems.

Pictures on the Wall

Last weekend, I finally got around to printing 21 4-by-6 photos for the huge wall-mounted photo display I got for a steal a while back. Picking which 21 I wanted to print prompted a delightful trek down memory lane. It also reminded me of how bad of a job I do at taking pictures, despite having a 5 MP camera in my HD7. Now the display is prominenly affixed to the wall of my living room.

Personal

Six Strategies

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As part of my normal life planning work, I try to keep a few concepts top of mind. Over the years I’ve honed the list, tweaking ideas and words, but a few enduring maxims represent the principles by which I try to make the long-term decisions that will govern my personal growth. My current six strategies include:

  1. Reduce consumption.  The drive to possess material things exposes a hollow core that too often people try to fill with objects — it’s better to spend your energy and resources acquiring experiences and ideas that will endure for a lifetime, than on trinkets or status symbols that will soon be discarded. Eat less, purchase less, indulge less — and thereby develop the asset base to leverage better and more lasting things in the future.
  2. Cultivate serenity. Don’t get trapped in the drama of today. Keep a calm center, remain dispassionate about the things that don’t matter, and never let the bastards create turmoil within.
  3. Nurture relationships.  Our social networks not only define us, but they give us access to resources of different types that we would not otherwise possess on our own. Keep a tight inner circle and a wide net of acquaintances — but curate them carefully. Cut off relationships that are negative, and maintain the ones that are good. Be a friend when a friend is needed, and accept help when you’re the one in need.
  4. Exhibit insatiable curiosity. Always ask why. Seek out new ideas, new people, new experiences. Try new things and be bold about pushing your limits.
  5. Do few things, but do them well.  Jacks of all trades are masters of none. Find one or two things in which you can excel, and focus on those; don’t be such a polymath that you achieve mediocrity in a wide range of things but demonstrate mastery over nothing.
  6. Favor action over study.  Active and conscious life planning makes a person the master of his fate instead of a victim of it, but too much planning opens the door to analysis paralysis. It’s easy to keep kicking big things down the road, telling yourself you need to keep thinking about it, but the key to a truly self-directed life is to do and not merely think. Develop a bias for doing.

Personal

Jason’s Current Playlist …

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Interesting tidbit: I’ve been paying attention to the songs I’ve been listening to, over and over and over. The same 19 keep getting repeat listens. The list tends to change frequently. Currently (alpha by artist/first name):

  • Bonnie Tyler, “Total Eclipse of the Heart (Extended Version)”
  • Britney Spears, “Everytime”
  • Chevelle, “Closure”
  • Chevelle, “The Red”
  • D12, “How Come”
  • Eagles, “Hotel California”
  • Eminem, “Just Lose It”
  • Hanson, “I Will Come to You (a capella)”
  • Hinder, “Better Than Me”
  • Hoobastank, “The Reason”
  • Limp Bizkit, “Behind Blue Eyes”
  • Linkin Park, “Numb”
  • Matchbox 20, “Unwell (Album Version)”
  • Nick Lachey, “What’s Left of Me”
  • Roberta Flack, “Killing Me Softly”
  • Shinedown, “Second Chance”
  • Shinedown, “If You Only Knew”
  • Stone Sour, “Bother”
  • Weezer, “Buddy Holly”

Personal

Jason's Current Playlist …

1 Comment

Interesting tidbit: I’ve been paying attention to the songs I’ve been listening to, over and over and over. The same 19 keep getting repeat listens. The list tends to change frequently. Currently (alpha by artist/first name):

  • Bonnie Tyler, “Total Eclipse of the Heart (Extended Version)”
  • Britney Spears, “Everytime”
  • Chevelle, “Closure”
  • Chevelle, “The Red”
  • D12, “How Come”
  • Eagles, “Hotel California”
  • Eminem, “Just Lose It”
  • Hanson, “I Will Come to You (a capella)”
  • Hinder, “Better Than Me”
  • Hoobastank, “The Reason”
  • Limp Bizkit, “Behind Blue Eyes”
  • Linkin Park, “Numb”
  • Matchbox 20, “Unwell (Album Version)”
  • Nick Lachey, “What’s Left of Me”
  • Roberta Flack, “Killing Me Softly”
  • Shinedown, “Second Chance”
  • Shinedown, “If You Only Knew”
  • Stone Sour, “Bother”
  • Weezer, “Buddy Holly”

Personal

Doors, Open or Bolted: A Reflection on Past Choices

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I finally built the second bookshelf for my office yesterday. I had the materials for a while, but I didn’t do anything with them; I needed to saw some boards and drill holes and stain everything, which seemed like a bother every time I thought about it. At long last, my disappointment over seeing a pile of books on the floor outweighed my tendency to tell myself I’d take care of it “later.” So, now all of my books are sorted and shelved, and I feel a sense of great relief. Almost like I accomplished something meaningful.

As I was basking in the glow of a proper home library, my eye caught the youngsters across the street at play. A group of three guys and one girl — they looked to be in their late teens, with the air of skateboarders about them — were doing handstands and hackey sack in the grassy half-lot across the road. Ordinarily I’d not give them a passing thought, but one of the kids looked like I did when I was in junior high — short, pencil-thin and a bit uncoordinated. Daydreaming being what it is, the sight prompted some reflection about the choices I’ve made that have put me where I am today from a starting point not radically different from the view from across the street. A few decisions stand out, for good and for ill.

The first major shock occurred in seventh and eighth grades. Up to that point, I was scrawny — the kind of kid who would would totally rock today’s super-skinny jean trend. In fact, I was so underweight that my pediatrician suggested steroids to prompt growth. But when my mom took over as the maintenance supervisor for our church, I started the “early teen munching” and soon started to flesh out. Fat, by no means, but I can remember looking in the mirror and noticing the weight gain, even when I was probably still on the low end of the “normal” range. I looked — and although I wasn’t exactly thrilled, I didn’t change course, even though at that age I considered exercising. Yes, I was a kid, but still. A door to good health and social acceptance began to close, and it remained bolted for more than a decade.

After that came high-school socialization. In those days my social confidence wasn’t all that high. The social environment at West Catholic High School was more cut-throat than at St. Anthony’s. Cliques formed. I tried to stay above the fray; St. Anthony really didn’t have cliques, so I didn’t know how to adapt. But although I had plenty of friends — and was even elected senior class treasurer — I never really felt like I fit in. Nor did I try to. I deliberately chose  to endure high school instead of diving into it, and in the process there were certain rites of passage that most people experienced that passed my by entirely. I prided myself on being too mature and too dispassionate for the antics of high school, but in the end the only person I ended up fooling was myself.

From West Catholic, I enrolled at Western Michigan University — largely by default; I “chose” WMU because my friends Jeni and Aaron were going there  — and three separate situations transpired my freshman year that reverberated for a lifetime. First, although I went to WMU in the Honors College and under an Army ROTC three-year advanced designee full-ride scholarship, I failed out after my first year. Not because I wasn’t capable (when I returned after a one-year “sabbatical,” I was full dean’s list), but because I never went to class. I sat in my room for the most part, and spent all my money on food. My “freshman 15” was more like “freshman 45.” Second, I joined the student government. The Western Student Association led to the Western Herald, and my entire WMU experience was colored by the influence of the twin basement wings of the Faunce Student Services Building. Third, I surrendered the ROTC scholarship. I told myself that I couldn’t meet the program requirement of graduating in four years because I wanted to major in practically everything, but in truth, part of it was fear of being successful. If I applied myself, I could have been wildly successful — and who knows? Today, I may well be a field-grade officer somewhere, serving a career as an Army officer.

In those early days, my bad choices stemmed from one, pervasive root: Fear of success. I thought I was smart. Hell, I thought I was well-nigh omnipotent. So what better way to preserve the fantasy that you could be larger than life at something than to never really strive at anything? To avoid doing your best so that your failures are either someone else’s fault (usually the “system”) or because you told yourself that if you had really wanted it, you could have done it, but you know you didn’t really try so the inner fantasy remains intact?

And to top it off, I acted as if the rules didn’t apply to me, with legal and financial consequences that were not exactly insignificant.

The first kick in the pants came from my grandfather. Just knowing he was Disappointed — capital D — was the one thing that ever got through to me. Not my own lack of self esteem, not my mother’s lectures, not being trapped in low-paying jobs with no real future. Just him. And eventually I got to experience the full brunt of it.

From there, I went back to WMU and did well enough to graduate with a not-terrible GPA despite the damage from my first year. I continued to balloon physically, and I remained socially insular (to this day I regret never doing the Wednesday night Roadhouse thing), but my focus moved toward getting out of college to go into the seminary. The goal was laudable enough, but I got caught in Catholic politics — it’s a risky proposition to be more theologically conservative than your vocations director, and in Grand Rapids it would have been hard to be to the left of him. A few years of effort came to naught but a bachelor’s degree.

Seminary having been taken off the table, I went to grad school because, well, it’s what comes after undergrad school. Right? Bad choice. I wasn’t ready for it in the sense that I didn’t have a purpose. Today, I’d like to go back — I have a research angle in mind and already know what my thesis would be. Then, though, I tried to delay the inevitable by means of more schooling, with the usual less-than-impressive outcome attached.

I’ve said before, and I’ll reiterate — 2005 was a watershed year. Until then, I went with the flow and had no sense of structure. No teleology. I floated along with whatever current was strongest. Overweight, reclusive, angry — I simply existed with no goals and no real ambitions other than to win the petty battles of the day.

The biggest choice of all, then, closed the door on my life from age 18 to age 28. I left the grad program, left the Herald, went on a diet (and lost 110 pounds), took up running and karate, updated my appearance, and first started thinking about what direction I’d like for my life to take. The changes were dramatic, and the decisions were all rendered in the first week of January.

The intervening years have been something of an exercise in maintenance. I lost some traction with my series of annual moves and the whole Vitamin D issue, but I didn’t appreciably lose ground. Then again, I didn’t move forward, either. October 2008 through December 2010 marked off an odd side-journey wherein I finally gained social confidence and a well-balanced sense of self-worth by seeing how really disappointing the dating life was like. So far, 2011 has been a good year — recovery and renewal.

But I cannot help but ponder what would have been different had my choices fallen in a different direction:

  • If I integrated in high school instead of remaining an outsider, would things have changed?
  • If I had gone to Michigan State to study veterinary medicine as I had originally planned, instead of political science and philosophy at WMU, what would have happened? What different set of friends and what other experiences would have opened doors for me?
  • If I had aggressively pursued a priestly vocation instead of letting the vocations director send yet another potential seminarian away, would I be at a parish now?
  • If I stuck with ROTC, would I have seen combat? What career specialization would I have entered?
  • If, instead of leaving grad school, I forged ahead with the M.A., what would I have done with it? Would I have been tempted to pursue a Ph.D?

Life is like a maze of cubicles, stretching from birth to death. Every choice leads to another corridor, like the branches shooting off from another branch, from another branch, from the main trunk. The choices we make — deliberate, or accidental (my journalism experience began over a simple too-long letter to the editor, for example) — open some doors while closing others. Sometimes, those closures are temporary; sometimes they’re permanent.

It’s easy to lament the roads not taken. It’s harder to recognize the choices that had long-term salutary outcomes. I think that the failures I’ve experienced over the years proved to be necessary correctives — they cured me of my arrogance, my dogmatism, my inflexibility, my disdain for social interaction. In most of the ways that matter, I’m a better man now than I was one or five or 10 years ago, a proposition worth celebrating.

And I’ve seen through the mental charade that clouds the eyes of so many — namely, that a fear of confronting one’s own limits stops us from achieving greatness. There is no “aspire,” there is only “do.” Or “do not.” As they say, “shit or get off the pot.” I’ve identified a life strategy, I’m actively working toward it, and my self-awareness is less clouded than it used to be. These are all good things. I grieve for those who are still stuck in “aspire” mode, and may well be for life. Despite the ups and downs I’ve experienced, I’m currently happy and stable and focused. That’s a good thing, even if I couldn’t have predicted even a few years ago where I’d be today.

Yet I look out the window, and wonder — what if I never became addicted to trans fat as an adolescent?

Personal

Miscellaneous Updates from Late September

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A few items of note from the recent past:

  • Rick and Sondra stopped by last night to watch the sixth series finale of Doctor Who. They also dropped by a few weeks ago for the wrap-up of Torchwood. It’s always fun having them visit.
  • A few days after getting my HTC HD7 phone, I was part of the first wave to get the Windows Phone 7.5 Mango update. I love this phone — the live tiles are fabulous, the OS is snappy and fluid, data (like status updates) aggregate in one place, and the battery life is a major improvement over my Samsung Epic. Three cheers for Microsoft.
  • Spent most of last week doing a boatload of editing for Demand Media. The Tech Beta content channel (a partnership with Salon) was unusually full of stuff to review, and most of it was of uniformly high quality, so editing was a breeze.
  • ArtPrize hums along. Or, rather, ho-hums along; the major criticism this year is that the artists seem to be playing to the lowest common denominator among the voting public, so the art has been either too cautious, too insipid, or too juvenile.
  • The office gang is planning another Chicago trip, this time for Oct. 24. Should be nicer than last year’s frigid December get-away. We will do the Amtrak thing and spend the day eating, shopping and telling jokes. Should be fun.
  • I’ve started keeping a diary, in OneNote. More like a chron log, but still.
  • Visited my mom yesterday — retrieved some of my last boxes from her shed, as well as a “family heirloom” table that’s now in my living room. Plus, Gunner (her German Shepherd) was thrilled to see me.
  • This weekend has been unusually productive, which is nice. Although I still hate doing laundry. I did get caught up on reading — RSS feeds, magazines, Twitter, etc. The WP7 helps but so does sitting on the back porch with my TouchPad with a cigar or pipe and a glass of Scotch.
  • Now that it’s October, I’m getting mildly irritated that the Michigan Secretary of State *still* hasn’t sent my renewal tabs. I ordered them weeks ago, but … nada. Looks like an in-person visit at the local branch office from now on.

All for now. Enjoy the day.

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Autumn Returns

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The air chilled yesterday, enough to encourage me to build the first fire of the season. The dried ash logs burned slowly and cleanly; the flames danced across the living room as the popping wood randomly punctuated my nocturnal musings. The glass of Bunnahabbain — neat, double — helped.

I awoke to a bedroom cold enough to numb my fingers as I checked messages on my phone. I live in a century-old house in the South Hill neighborhood — and my bedroom probably used to be a solarium:  Large windows along the front and back, French doors leading into the living room and another set to the three-season porch, a huge brick fireplace along the outer wall, and burnt orange terra-cotta floor tiles with no basement beneath. It gets cold in there. Delightfully, wickedly cold.

The leaves are just beginning to turn. I’ve pulled out the sweaters and fetched the blankets from the closet and washed my house coat.

I love autumn. The season prompts fond memories of my childhood — of harvesting grapes and apples and corn with my grandfather, of trick-or-treating with Steven and the gang, of burning leaves in the back yard, of closing the pool and making sure we had enough sawdust and hay for the horses for the winter, of getting ready for the massive Thanksgiving feast prepared by my grandmother that served as the official kick-off to the extended holiday season.

Autumn tugs at the corners of your soul, nagging you to recollect yourself and prepare for the summer to come. The die-off of foliage and insects directs one’s thoughts to Last Things, a seasonal counterpoint to the new spring of hope that arrives in Michigan every April. Marks a perfect opportunity to sit in the waning sun with Seneca’s On the Shortness of Life. Preferably with a glass of port and the time to practice lectio divina.

Humans need seasonality. One benefit of being Catholic and residing in Michigan is that both physically and spiritually, the annual calendar divides into defined periods of rebirth (spring/Easter), living (summer/ordinary time), reflecting (autumn/Advent) and preparing to do it all again (winter/Christmas/Lent). The liturgical calendar and the weather collaborate to interrupt the monotony of daily life.

October has, by happy coincidence, turned into my Deciding Month these last few years. It’s my time to think about what I want the new year to bring, and to lay the framework for how I’m going to make it happen. Some years, the planning is more effective than others — 2011 was a happy year, thanks to more prudent planning in 2010 — but the thought of using the winter months to put your head down and do the heavy lifting to be ready to flower the following spring makes a lot of sense to me.  Magical thinking though it may be, the prospect of emerging from a cocoon in the spring as a new, improved person exerts a powerful tug on my imagination. But the metamorphosis occurs during the hard, quiet work of winter — time to improve yourself on the sly while focusing outwardly on the relentless progression of Things to Celebrate that punctuate the frigid months like the tolling of a bell.

Autumn has returned. Hallelujah.

Personal, Philosophy, Vices

Annual Birthday Reflection, version 35.0

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On account of my Vegas vacation, I was unable to perform my annual birthday blog post, a tradition extending back to 2006. But let not your hearts be troubled: Here’s the post, albeit delayed a bit. Forgive me; I’m old.

  1. Never assume you’re sitting pretty, particularly in politically charged environments. At the hospital, for example, my comfortable pseudo-leadership of my team underwent a full-frontal assault for no other reason than the org chart changed. Play the long game and avoid making strategic errors over tactical challenges. At the same time, although capitalizing on uncertainty has its benefits, it comes with a downside: As soon as someone doesn’t like the fact you’re filling a role unofficially, it becomes a crisis of epic proportions. Once the foot is in the door, cultivate certainty and reduce ambiguity in your work and in your relationships with others.
  2. This marks the fifth consecutive year I’ve celebrated a birthday at a different domicile. This year, the apartment/house downtown. Last year, the house on the upper west side. The year before, the apartment in Standale. The year before that, the condo in Walker. And before then? The apartment in Kentwood. I’ve been more transient than I’ve realized.
  3. Goal setting is great. Revising your goals is great. Revising your goals to kick the deadlines back six months, year after year … not so great. Do, or don’t do.
  4. Apparently my cousin did a full-on Ironman triathlon last week. Wow. She impresses me. I am going to try to psych myself into performing at her level. I’ve had good luck, pre-Vegas, at slimming down. A winter of training and dieting will put me in fighting form for the spring. Fifth Third Riverbank Run, anyone? I’ll be damned if I’ve peaked physically in my early 30s. I want to be that old guy in the gym who still runs 50 miles a week well into his 80s.
  5. I’m growing in the opinion that the ping of self-worth you get in the moment when you take care of someone else isn’t worth the long-term price. Know when to cut losses and attack a problem from a different angle.
  6. Solving problems when they arise usually works better than sticking your head in the sand and hoping the problem goes away.
  7. My disposition continues to move away from acquiring material things and toward acquiring a rich diversity of experiences.
  8. It seems of late that people are flaking out more often — family, friends, co-workers. The real question is how to deal with it. Do you accept the inconsistency to maintain the relationship and pretend it’s not an issue, or do you sever the relationship and focus on building social roots elsewhere? Not an easy question.
  9. I’ve started smoking three to five cigars per week, as well as enjoying adult cocktails (not to the point of intoxication!) more frequently. Usually while reading the news and commentary of the day. The practice marks a successful way of unwinding — of creating a wall of separation between “work time” and “personal time.” A salutary habit, even if I get grief for the alcohol and tobacco by various do-gooders in my life.

My 34th year, all told, wasn’t bad. Things went reasonably well at the hospital, I had my best year yet as a freelancer, I moved into a comfortable downtown apartment, I’ve slimmed down and am more fit than a year ago, and my finances have stabilized in the green. I went to Vegas twice and Miami Beach once. These are all good things — perhaps a platform to grow upon in the year to come.

Personal, Vices

Jason’s Vegas Vacation: A Recap

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What better way to celebrate being closer to age 70 than to one’s birth, than to celebrate in style in The Happiest Place on Earth? Last week, to honor All Things Gillikin ™, Tony and I — with his wife’s forbearance — went to Las Vegas on a terrific offer from the Wynn. Herewith a recapitulation of the festivities.

Monday

I arrived in Lansing at 4 p.m. Tony drove us to Detroit Metro; we hopped a non-stop flight on Spirit Airlines from DTW to LAS at 9 p.m. Before departure, I received gifts including a grab-bag of travel goodies from Tony’s parents. When we hit Detroit, Tony bought us each a scratch-off lottery ticket. My ticket won: A sign of things to come. After grabbing some delicious food at Earl of Sandwich, we hopped aboard and enjoyed several mini-bottles of Johnnie Walker Black on the flight.

Once in Vegas, we caught a shuttle to the Flamingo, where Tony got us one comped night. After a free and unrequested upgrade to a Go! Room, we hoofed it to Bally’s for a bit of video poker, then to Cosmopolitan for a slice of “hidden pizza” — “hidden,” because the tiny little pizza joint isn’t on any resort map and resides at the end of an out-of-the-way, nondescript corridor. The pizza was pretty good, but the customers behind us appeared to be intoxicated Jersey Shore cast party rejects, so we bailed after plowing through our slices. We returned to the Flamingo and went to sleep.

Tuesday

After making Tony über-crabby (I dared to turn on a light in the room before noon), we checked out of the Flamingo, stored our bags with the bell desk then walked back to Cosmopolitan for brunch at Wicked Spoon buffet. From there, we ambled to Mandalay Bay for cigars at the Davidoff store, then we took the Las Vegas Monorail back to Bally’s. Our destination was Book & Stage, a sports bar in the Cosmo.

Book & Stage was a treat: The drinks were all comped as long as we played video poker. And it wasn’t well-drink crap, either — we pushed their mixology to a significant degree, including Scotch cocktails, top-shelf rum and vodka. Hats off to Cori and Danny, our bartenders, who made the gaming experience there as pleasant as it was “lubricating.” As I recall, I broke even during game play, but if we had ordered drinks like what we had enjoyed for free, our tab would have been north of $150.

After retrieving our bags from Flamingo, we caught a cab to Wynn. We had a kick-ass offer from Wynn: Three free nights, $200/night in food and beverage credit and $1,000 in free slot play. Yes. You read that correctly. Plus, we had a parlor suite in the Wynn Tower Suites (almost 1,300 square feet, with an average daily room rate of $1,216) — a hotel inside a hotel, with its own private café, elevator banks, pool, exterior entrance, concierge and reception desk. Oh, and its own private entrance to high-stakes Baccarat. We were in the part of Vegas normally reserved to the ultra-high-roller set, and it showed. I couldn’t complain about the service of Wynn employees if you paid me to nit-pick details.

Dinner that night came courtesy of Sinatra at Encore — a high-end steakhouse with a Frank Sinatra (duh) theme. With gratuity, the meal was roughly $250 for the two of us. My fillet was seared to perfection; our server, Robert, delivered impeccable service; and our table near the windows overlooking the outdoor gardens would have been the height of romance had my dining companion not been Tony.

Our gullets having been satiated, we meandered over to the Wynn casino floor. Lori at the Red Card kiosk very pleasantly and transparently authorized $1,000 in slot credit on my player’s card — no hassle, no “really? what’s your confirmation number and give me a notarized copy of your birth certificate” nonsense. I played through the $1,000 on 50-cent triple play bonus poker (i.e., $7.50 per hand). Came out in good shape; after I played through the slot credit, I cashed out for $1,220, which I split with Tony as per our agreement. Hitting a straight flush on all three lines helped, as well as hitting a pair of quads. And the kicker? As we were gambling, a Wynn casino attendant stopped by and gave me an extra $10 in free slot play “just to say thanks for visiting us today.” We continued to gamble … I think we ran through roughly $6,000 after the free play and I ended up being “up” even factoring out the free play. Not bad for a night’s work.

Wednesday

Wednesday was Downtown Day. After chasing the comp at Wynn (and note to self: never remind Tony that I charged him $25 to play $1 triple-play video poker to get him the points to get free buffet — chasing the comp cost us about $10 more than cost of the meal tickets) we enjoyed Wynn buffet. From there, we went to the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace and bought cigars at the Casa Fuente store — mine was a buttery, rich Fuente Fuente Opus X.

Much of Wednesday was spent at Caesar’s. We gambled on Tony’s players’ card to get him back to Platinum with the Total Rewards program. I lost $110; he lost $400 — but for him, it was the principle of the thing.

We stopped at a bar on the way back and had a couple of flavored martinis. Dinner was at Switch — a steakhouse at Encore that had great food, excellent wine and every so often, the decor changes. The ceiling and several wall panels rotate and fold so that the appearance of the restaurant changes. The lights switch color and intensity and the music modulates to match. Quite pretty. Costed about $250.

From Switch, we caught a cab to Golden Nugget. I had never been downtown before, so we walked through the Fremont Street Experience and all the casinos contained therein. Downtown is “old school” Las Vegas — some slot machines still have slots for nickels and pay out in nickels (grab a bucket!). The Fremont Street Experience itself is a covered walkway with LED lights on the roof that display light shows. The theme this year is the 1980s, so we got to see shows blaring to anthems from Queen, KISS, etc. I enjoyed my Fuente Fuente Opus X as we rotated around casinos, playing slots here and there and otherwise just watching. We spent an hour or so playing craps and table games at (I think) Four Queens and ended up the evening playing slots at El Cortez before catching a taxi back to Wynn, although we did put in a brief appearance at Insert Coins, a bar/club with vintage video games everywhere. Before we left downtown, we tried the zip line: You get harnessed up at five stories above the merriment on Fremont Street, then shoot down a quarter-mile-long cable to the other end of the district. Quite fun.

Thursday

Happy Birthday to Me. We enjoyed breakfast at Bellagio’s buffet, then walked through several different casinos playing penny slots until we ended up at Bally’s to play one verrrrrry slow five-game round of keno (I actually broke even, go figure) and then video poker. Our favorite cocktail waitress, Diane, was working and ensured that our Bacardi-and-diets flowed swiftly and stiffly. Visits to Diane have become something of a habit; she is a cocktail waitress at Bally’s who impressed us by remembering us from between visits a few years ago. She’s turned into our “Vegas friend” and we congratulate her on her recent marriage.

After gambling a good long while, we returned to Wynn, napped a bit, then hoofed to SW Steakhouse for a $350 dinner. We began with cocktails: Tony bought us each a snifter of Johnnie Walker Blue (best $100 he spent the whole trip) then we sat down for dinner. We both had fillets, with shared gourmet mac-and-cheese and scalloped potatoes. Plus a tasty dessert and a half-bottle of really nice pinot.

Our plan for the night was to visit Imperial Palace for karaoke, a Jason and Tony tradition. However, we first walked down to Riviera (we think it’s on the short list for the next casino closure) and over to “Slots o’ Fun” and Circus Circus before walking back. After a detour into Walgreen’s for water, we hoofed it into the scary no-man’s land of failed casinos down Convention Center Drive, including the former Greek Isles Casino (which was the former Debbie Reynolds Casino, of all things). There were maybe two dozen slot machines in there, plus cockroaches all along the sidewalk out front. If ever a casino had a buffet that served “some of the yeller” — this is it.

But instead of heading to the I.P., we called it a night early.

Friday

After a luxurious morning — including a relaxing soak in the whirlpool bath — we walked to The Mirage for breakfast buffet, then to Paris Las Vegas for souvenirs for our peeps in da Michigan hood. We returned to the Wynn, checked out, and waited for our shuttle bus. Wynn offered to send a car for us, but I figured we had already paid for the shuttle. This calculation proved regrettable: The shuttle was almost 45 minutes late, and would have dropped us off at McCarran with far less lead time than we would have preferred. So, we got off the shuttle at Palazzo and caught a cab to the airport (courtesy of a driver whose conversation was as fast and as disjointed as a chipmunk on amphetamines). We got on, caught our flight out, and life was good. We connected through O’Hare, but we ended up saying on the same plane, with the same punchy flight attendants, for the Detroit leg.

Our ride from DTW back to Lansing was uneventful; I played some of the Rush 24×7 podcast for us. My drive back to Grand Rapids was quiet and peaceful. I got home and crashed around 4 a.m.

… and thus, All Things Gillikin came to an end. And all told, after all the cigars and gambling and drinking and fine dining, I came home only $200 lighter than when I left. Not bad. Not bad, at all — and perhaps a harbinger of good things to come for the second half of my useful life.

Personal, Vices

Jason's Vegas Vacation: A Recap

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What better way to celebrate being closer to age 70 than to one’s birth, than to celebrate in style in The Happiest Place on Earth? Last week, to honor All Things Gillikin ™, Tony and I — with his wife’s forbearance — went to Las Vegas on a terrific offer from the Wynn. Herewith a recapitulation of the festivities.
Monday
I arrived in Lansing at 4 p.m. Tony drove us to Detroit Metro; we hopped a non-stop flight on Spirit Airlines from DTW to LAS at 9 p.m. Before departure, I received gifts including a grab-bag of travel goodies from Tony’s parents. When we hit Detroit, Tony bought us each a scratch-off lottery ticket. My ticket won: A sign of things to come. After grabbing some delicious food at Earl of Sandwich, we hopped aboard and enjoyed several mini-bottles of Johnnie Walker Black on the flight.
Once in Vegas, we caught a shuttle to the Flamingo, where Tony got us one comped night. After a free and unrequested upgrade to a Go! Room, we hoofed it to Bally’s for a bit of video poker, then to Cosmopolitan for a slice of “hidden pizza” — “hidden,” because the tiny little pizza joint isn’t on any resort map and resides at the end of an out-of-the-way, nondescript corridor. The pizza was pretty good, but the customers behind us appeared to be intoxicated Jersey Shore cast party rejects, so we bailed after plowing through our slices. We returned to the Flamingo and went to sleep.
Tuesday
After making Tony über-crabby (I dared to turn on a light in the room before noon), we checked out of the Flamingo, stored our bags with the bell desk then walked back to Cosmopolitan for brunch at Wicked Spoon buffet. From there, we ambled to Mandalay Bay for cigars at the Davidoff store, then we took the Las Vegas Monorail back to Bally’s. Our destination was Book & Stage, a sports bar in the Cosmo.
Book & Stage was a treat: The drinks were all comped as long as we played video poker. And it wasn’t well-drink crap, either — we pushed their mixology to a significant degree, including Scotch cocktails, top-shelf rum and vodka. Hats off to Cori and Danny, our bartenders, who made the gaming experience there as pleasant as it was “lubricating.” As I recall, I broke even during game play, but if we had ordered drinks like what we had enjoyed for free, our tab would have been north of $150.
After retrieving our bags from Flamingo, we caught a cab to Wynn. We had a kick-ass offer from Wynn: Three free nights, $200/night in food and beverage credit and $1,000 in free slot play. Yes. You read that correctly. Plus, we had a parlor suite in the Wynn Tower Suites (almost 1,300 square feet, with an average daily room rate of $1,216) — a hotel inside a hotel, with its own private café, elevator banks, pool, exterior entrance, concierge and reception desk. Oh, and its own private entrance to high-stakes Baccarat. We were in the part of Vegas normally reserved to the ultra-high-roller set, and it showed. I couldn’t complain about the service of Wynn employees if you paid me to nit-pick details.
Dinner that night came courtesy of Sinatra at Encore — a high-end steakhouse with a Frank Sinatra (duh) theme. With gratuity, the meal was roughly $250 for the two of us. My fillet was seared to perfection; our server, Robert, delivered impeccable service; and our table near the windows overlooking the outdoor gardens would have been the height of romance had my dining companion not been Tony.
Our gullets having been satiated, we meandered over to the Wynn casino floor. Lori at the Red Card kiosk very pleasantly and transparently authorized $1,000 in slot credit on my player’s card — no hassle, no “really? what’s your confirmation number and give me a notarized copy of your birth certificate” nonsense. I played through the $1,000 on 50-cent triple play bonus poker (i.e., $7.50 per hand). Came out in good shape; after I played through the slot credit, I cashed out for $1,220, which I split with Tony as per our agreement. Hitting a straight flush on all three lines helped, as well as hitting a pair of quads. And the kicker? As we were gambling, a Wynn casino attendant stopped by and gave me an extra $10 in free slot play “just to say thanks for visiting us today.” We continued to gamble … I think we ran through roughly $6,000 after the free play and I ended up being “up” even factoring out the free play. Not bad for a night’s work.
Wednesday
Wednesday was Downtown Day. After chasing the comp at Wynn (and note to self: never remind Tony that I charged him $25 to play $1 triple-play video poker to get him the points to get free buffet — chasing the comp cost us about $10 more than cost of the meal tickets) we enjoyed Wynn buffet. From there, we went to the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace and bought cigars at the Casa Fuente store — mine was a buttery, rich Fuente Fuente Opus X.
Much of Wednesday was spent at Caesar’s. We gambled on Tony’s players’ card to get him back to Platinum with the Total Rewards program. I lost $110; he lost $400 — but for him, it was the principle of the thing.
We stopped at a bar on the way back and had a couple of flavored martinis. Dinner was at Switch — a steakhouse at Encore that had great food, excellent wine and every so often, the decor changes. The ceiling and several wall panels rotate and fold so that the appearance of the restaurant changes. The lights switch color and intensity and the music modulates to match. Quite pretty. Costed about $250.
From Switch, we caught a cab to Golden Nugget. I had never been downtown before, so we walked through the Fremont Street Experience and all the casinos contained therein. Downtown is “old school” Las Vegas — some slot machines still have slots for nickels and pay out in nickels (grab a bucket!). The Fremont Street Experience itself is a covered walkway with LED lights on the roof that display light shows. The theme this year is the 1980s, so we got to see shows blaring to anthems from Queen, KISS, etc. I enjoyed my Fuente Fuente Opus X as we rotated around casinos, playing slots here and there and otherwise just watching. We spent an hour or so playing craps and table games at (I think) Four Queens and ended up the evening playing slots at El Cortez before catching a taxi back to Wynn, although we did put in a brief appearance at Insert Coins, a bar/club with vintage video games everywhere. Before we left downtown, we tried the zip line: You get harnessed up at five stories above the merriment on Fremont Street, then shoot down a quarter-mile-long cable to the other end of the district. Quite fun.
Thursday
Happy Birthday to Me. We enjoyed breakfast at Bellagio’s buffet, then walked through several different casinos playing penny slots until we ended up at Bally’s to play one verrrrrry slow five-game round of keno (I actually broke even, go figure) and then video poker. Our favorite cocktail waitress, Diane, was working and ensured that our Bacardi-and-diets flowed swiftly and stiffly. Visits to Diane have become something of a habit; she is a cocktail waitress at Bally’s who impressed us by remembering us from between visits a few years ago. She’s turned into our “Vegas friend” and we congratulate her on her recent marriage.
After gambling a good long while, we returned to Wynn, napped a bit, then hoofed to SW Steakhouse for a $350 dinner. We began with cocktails: Tony bought us each a snifter of Johnnie Walker Blue (best $100 he spent the whole trip) then we sat down for dinner. We both had fillets, with shared gourmet mac-and-cheese and scalloped potatoes. Plus a tasty dessert and a half-bottle of really nice pinot.
Our plan for the night was to visit Imperial Palace for karaoke, a Jason and Tony tradition. However, we first walked down to Riviera (we think it’s on the short list for the next casino closure) and over to “Slots o’ Fun” and Circus Circus before walking back. After a detour into Walgreen’s for water, we hoofed it into the scary no-man’s land of failed casinos down Convention Center Drive, including the former Greek Isles Casino (which was the former Debbie Reynolds Casino, of all things). There were maybe two dozen slot machines in there, plus cockroaches all along the sidewalk out front. If ever a casino had a buffet that served “some of the yeller” — this is it.
But instead of heading to the I.P., we called it a night early.
Friday
After a luxurious morning — including a relaxing soak in the whirlpool bath — we walked to The Mirage for breakfast buffet, then to Paris Las Vegas for souvenirs for our peeps in da Michigan hood. We returned to the Wynn, checked out, and waited for our shuttle bus. Wynn offered to send a car for us, but I figured we had already paid for the shuttle. This calculation proved regrettable: The shuttle was almost 45 minutes late, and would have dropped us off at McCarran with far less lead time than we would have preferred. So, we got off the shuttle at Palazzo and caught a cab to the airport (courtesy of a driver whose conversation was as fast and as disjointed as a chipmunk on amphetamines). We got on, caught our flight out, and life was good. We connected through O’Hare, but we ended up saying on the same plane, with the same punchy flight attendants, for the Detroit leg.
Our ride from DTW back to Lansing was uneventful; I played some of the Rush 24×7 podcast for us. My drive back to Grand Rapids was quiet and peaceful. I got home and crashed around 4 a.m.
… and thus, All Things Gillikin came to an end. And all told, after all the cigars and gambling and drinking and fine dining, I came home only $200 lighter than when I left. Not bad. Not bad, at all — and perhaps a harbinger of good things to come for the second half of my useful life.