Z

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First in a series. Possibly. Depending. Upon your response. A series where I introduce you to the most loyal PressingPausers. The peeps who read regularly and respond sporadically, in Z’s case almost always behind the scenes using something known as electronic mail. Or actually, snail mail half the time.

Z was a mentor, friend, lunch bball brother back in the day when I taught at Guilford College in Greensboro, NC. Is still a dear friend, despite living on the wrong side of the country. A now retired psychology professor whose wheelhouse was really social psychology, and even more specifically, the power elite. He was the rare small liberal arts college professor who managed to maintain a large university-like research agenda, pumping out articles and books on men and women he followed over decades from their admission to the “A Better Chance” program into the uppermost levels of business, government, law, and other professions. Lucid, imminently interesting, substantive stuff.

And he’s also The Commissioner. The guy who holds the M-W-F noon basketball game together, now I think half a century old, through court closures, pandemics, and Father Time. He published a great book on that part of his life too. When angry and much larger Joe Groves didn’t like my defense and/or my committee’s general education curriculum revision proposal, Z would reign Joe with a look or quick comment in the locker room. Everyone always respected The Commissioner. Even angry Joe Groves.

Today, by chance, this was on the doorstep. Sent by Z.

I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a friend who still thinks about me almost twenty five years since I padded his assist totals with my silky J.

Z or I sent the other a winning t-shirt every April depending on how the NCAA tournament played out, I took a handful of west coast teams, he took an equivalent number of east coast ones, but conference craziness fecked all of that up, so now it’s the occasional book. Like with too many of my friends, I need to pick up the slack. Note to self. Find a book, send it.

Z, like me, really dug his students. He also loves his border collies and L, a wonderful pottery artist.

Ironically, I just bought something in his parts, Wilmington, NC more specifically, that I can’t tell Z anything about. Interesting things about Wilmington, NC, it’s where Michael Jordan grew up and where I competed in my first triathlon. Threw my back out the day before, didn’t know if I could go, but got through the intracoastal waterway swim feeling okayish. Then the out-n-back 40k flat/windy bike. I could swear it was a side wind! At the turn around I learned it had been a full-on tail wind, so that last 20k into the wind was when I realized I’d seriously overcooked myself. Let’s just celebrate that there’s no internet archive where you can find my 10k split and leave it at that. But I digress.

Why can’t I tell Z about my Wilmington, NC purchase? Because it was everything he’s not. It was spendy, frivolous, flat out silly. Z likes to remind me that the mountain bike that he rides all the time he picked up at a garage sale, back in the day, for $50. When we were hangin’ he drove a worn in Toyota Corolla wagon with more miles than he had lunch ball points. His computer was ancient. I remember a landline in the crib. Prob still there. Because why not, it works, he’d correctly say. Z is a reminder that you never have to recycle, reuse, or reduce if you don’t ever replace.

So, no, he’ll never know what is on a 3,042 mile journey from his NC to my WA. Like my 10k run split, a national secret of the highest order. Better that way. He’d be disappointed. And Z, the best guy in the world, is that last person I’d want to disappoint.

I’d Rather Be Red On The Head

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My older sister, who lives in NW Indiana loves the Cubs largely because she says they’re the “cutest” team in baseball. She also loves politics; her husband and family; and if my brother-in-law is to be believed, most of all, buying new shoes. She’s the best, better than the rest.

So I texted her Tuesnight, “Team El-Sayed or Team Stevens?” Reply. “Stevens has better numbers now against the R.” Pause, bubbles, then, “Stevens is too pro-Israel for me.”

We know now Michigan voters agreed, but that’s not the real story. The real story is the continuing underrepresentation of redheads in Congress and a bubbling up of previous “Red Scare” rhetoric about communism which is obviously a cover for normalizing ginger-hate.

My reply to my sissy, “I never recovered from McMarrow’s exit. Redheads severely underrepresented in Congress.”

We cannot restore our democracy without having Congress grow a pair and we can’t expect that to happen without a Red Hair Wave in November. Bring the fire! Michigan swung and missed. Don’t let your state do the same.

My brothers, not as lovely as my sister. They taunted me throughout my childhood with, “I’d rather be dead than red on the head.” I think they speak for the vast majority of people with inferior colored hair, for example, blondes, brunettes, people with black hair.

To blunt the probable protests, “You don’t have any hair, how can you identify as a redhead?!” Put this picture in your pipe and smoke it.

Yes, you’re absolutely right, whoever gave me that haircut is a bigger threat to the common good than any nefarious political administration or movement. Can a lawyer please weigh in on whether there is a statue of limitations for suing for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress? DM your contact info if you’re willing to take my case.

Scott Galloway Gets Schooled

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Scott Galloway was two years behind me at UCLA. Never met him which is no surprise given the size of the student body and the fact that he was in a fraternity and I was in Powell Library.

I listen to most of his podcasts and would like to know him. He’s super funny, profane, whip smart, a dedicated father, and leans into his emotions in ways one rarely sees in the male species. Also, he describes his 18 year old self as “unremarkable” and still has tremendous gratitude for the Regents of the University of California taking a gamble on him. That sentiment always hits hard with your humble blogger. I see you and raise you SG. I was probably more “unremarkable” than you. I don’t know what prompted the Regents of the UC to gamble on me, but I too will be forever grateful. But unlike you, I doubt Gavin Newsom will ever appoint me to be a Regent.

Despite all the love I have for SG, he sporadically expresses some views, about gender especially, that make me shudder.

Turns out, I’m not alone. Today, he’s featured on the front page of the New York Times via Ross Douthat’s podcast. The title is, “Scott Galloway: America Abandoned It’s “Unremarkable’ Young Men.”

Dig the top two “Readers Comments”.

Double mic drops. To his credit, SG unplugs for August. Completely. When he resurfaces in September on his pods, I expect him to address these most thoughtful and recommended comments and others like them. Why? Because he’s a Bruin and that’s the way we roll.

It’s Okay, To Be Okay

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Clay Routledge dropping wisdom in “Stop Pathologizing Ordinary Life”.

Routledge starts with one of the more vexing conundrums of our times—Americans are focused on mental health more than ever before, and yet, our mental health appears to be getting worse.

His thesis:

“This broadening of what we think counts as a disorder — known as concept creep — encourages us to pathologize ordinary life and see ourselves as mentally unhealthy.

Then there’s our perception of how widespread mental illness is. By broadening what counts as a disorder, we begin to see it everywhere, including in ourselves.” 

Of course our pocket computers don’t help:

“. . . research suggests that people who rely on social media for information about mental illnesses tend to have less accurate knowledge about them.

But the problem isn’t just that many people give themselves incorrect diagnoses. It’s also that these misperceptions can put people on the path to developing poor mental health — a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.” 

An example:

“. . . consider anxiety. A certain amount is useful; it helps keep us alert and motivated to reach our goals. But start viewing anxiety as a disorder and you can become hypervigilant about avoiding anxiety-provoking situations — which, in turn, can increase the risk of developing an actual anxiety disorder.”

Routledge wraps by suggesting specific fixes and then summarizes more generally:

“. . . we should . . . try to spend less time stuck in our heads and more time out in the world, pursuing the kinds of activities that support mental health without making us so obsessed with it.”

During and after the ‘rona, I began addressing my students’ mental health directly, in an effort to support them given their obvious struggles. I’d begin with the maxim, “It’s okay, to not be okay.” But I’d always add, fairly quickly, that “It’s also okay, to be okay.” Routledge would heartily endorse that message.

Trump’s Greatest Accomplishment

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It’s not redecorating the White House, demolishing the East Wing, turning the Washington Memorial pool American flag blue, or even building the Arch de Trump if that someday materializes. All of those deserve serious consideration though.

It’s shooting 70 in the Club Championship at Bedminister at age 80. For the uninitiated, very few golfers every shoot their age, maybe 1-2%. Let’s say you’re a 75 year old “stick” and catch fire on the greens at an easy and short local muni course and you shoot two over, 74. When I do that it will be free drinks for everyone.

To shoot 10 shots under your age is a staggering athletic accomplishment that in my book makes Trump the greatest President of all time, except for maybe Lincoln.

The most remarkable thing about his Championship winning performance is I’m sure he didn’t take any mulligans, never improved his lie, and putted everything out. How do I know? What has he ever lied about before?

The only logical move at this point is to resign the Presidency, join the Senior Tour, and whoop ass on the 50+ crowd. PLEASE.

How To Grieve?

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Trick question, of course, because there’s no right answer. The most common one is that there’s as many ways to grieve as there are people grieving. Because it’s imminently idiosyncratic.

Some turn to “talk therapy”. Others to nature. Others to literature about the impermanence of things. Others to Buddhism or Christian scriptures and prayer or meditation. Still others to varied combinations of those and other forms. What do you do?

Sporadically, waves of sadness born of layered losses hit me. Instrumental music, especially the soundtrack I created for Lynn’s final months, routinely melts my heart. As does cycling by my daughter’s cottage.

This morning, a friend said maybe I should try grieving more deliberately. What, like set a regular day and time aside for it? That’s crazy talk. Kidding of course. I liked the idea, and thought to myself, why not start today.

My go to, beyond music, are photos and videos of Lynn, almost all pre-MSA. Almost all the short videos are of her taking her glasses off and entering mountain lakes or the Salish Sea. Celebrating. Smiling. Absolute peak happiness.

While deliberately leaning in today, an epiphany of sorts. I wonder how Lynn’s legion of friends are dealing with their loss? I’ve been so overwhelmed by mine, I haven’t thought about theirs nearly enough.

Layer Me Baby

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The University of Chicago Law School for the win. It’s dean and new AI strategy more specifically which might be described as “both/and”. Becky Supiano explains in The Chronicle of Higher Education.

“Its policies are meant to ensure that students learn how to use AI responsibly and how to think without depending on it. As newer AI models prove adept at many forms of legal work, it aims to prioritize distinctly human contributions.”

No AI in first year courses. Then a combo of hybrid courses and AI-specific ones. All the following excerpts are from Supiano’s interview with the law school’s Dean, Adam Chilton.

“The emphasis that we have is: How do we teach students to think both without AI and with AI? That second part is important.”

Chicago Law’s smart approach to assessing the first year AI ban and their curriculum more generally.

“We’ll have to see how faculty and students feel about it and how the quality of discussion is.

Our goal is to be willing to re-evaluate everything that we’re doing more thoughtfully. The technology and the students’ uses of it — and also the way the legal practice is evolving — seems to be changing very fast.”

More points for a smart writing add-on.

“I’ve heard many people say essays and research papers are done, we can’t do them anymore. We added, for our substantial research projects, an oral-exam component. That helps to at least preserve the possibility of still having meaningful writing assignments, because the students know they’re going to have to defend it. The skill of defending your arguments through oral exchanges is a skill that everybody needs, but certainly lawyers.”

Enlightened thinking about AI integration.

“We’ve adopted what we’re calling a layered approach. We’ll have some assignments that you do entirely without AI — some in class, some out of class — and other assignments where explicitly you’re told to use AI. You know: Here’s an AI work product. Mark it up.

Even in that first year of law school, it’s true that when you’re sitting in your torts class, you won’t be allowed to have Claude up to ask it questions in real time, but you still have another class where that’s integrated directly into the curriculum.”

What about assessing the new curriculum more broadly?

“The feedback I’ve gotten from employers has been universally and overwhelmingly positive. Employers are thinking they want to hire people — and maybe they’re going to hire fewer people or people that they want to have different skills — and they want to make sure those people learned something. And so what the employer worries about is that they might hire someone who just took an assignment, pasted it into Harvey, edited it for 30 minutes, and then passed it off as their own. And the lawyer is thinking, If that’s all you’re able to do, what’s your value add over what our clients could already do themselves?”

If I was applying to law schools, and yes I probably should because the world surely needs another lawyer of my caliber, I would have the University of Chicago at the top of my list. Also because I could see my favorite sissy, who lives in NW Indiana, any weekend I wanted.

Do Better

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Normally, I’m pretty chill. Just don’t survey me, or drive into me in downtown Olympia, or call me Slip twenty plus years after one fall and hella athletic recovery on wet grass.

Oh and one more thing. If you’re going to build a lap pool make it 25 or 50 yards or even better 25 or 50 meters. Don’t make it slightly less than any of these four standards unless you want me to turn completely chilly.

Today I found myself at the Skamania Lodge in Stevenson, WA. First things first, check out the pool and fitness center. Decent pool, but looks a little short. Pace it off, 23 golf steps times 3 feet equals 69 feet. Let’s call it 70. FIVE FEET SHORT of the bare minimum! Code Red! Blood pressure check!

Trying to contain my rage, I double check with the attendant, a middle aged woman who has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Do you know how long the pool is?” I inquire. “Yeah,” looking at her desktop computer for help, “60 feet? 64 feet?” Looking more intently at her monitor, she says more confidently, “It’s 84 degrees.” Which, of course, is too warm, but I digress.

There should be a severe penalty for anyone involved with building short pools. No trial by jury. Just me issuing a final judgement. Something less than life in prison, but not by much.

Getting Our Ass Kicked

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By Canada. British Columbia more specifically. Victoria’s Dallas Road Waterfront Trail even more specifically.

That was my thought this morning walking back from my dentist’s office through downtown Olympia. Specifically, at this point on the Fifth Street Bridge.

Rando bushes, three feet tall, growing out of the sidewalk curb. Next to chipped paint. Maybe I’m overreacting. Or maybe it’s symbolic and I’m not.

If you want to know the financial condition of a college or university ask about one thing—deferred maintenance. Financially strapped private arts liberal colleges are patching roofs because they can’t afford to replace them. Look for buckets in libraries on the proverbial rainy days and you will likely find them. Dead give-away.

The sidewalk “greenery” is symbolic of not being able to keep up with maintenance of public spaces. Is it possible that Canada’s higher tax rates translate into superior social infrastructure which consists of places were people are prone to gather and make friends? Positive social infrastructure, of course, depends upon comfortable, accessible, clean, physical infrastructure like you see all over the Dallas Road Riverfront Trail. In the form of clean bright yellow chaise lounges, tables and benches, drinking fountains, ubiquitous trash cans, dog parks, and groovy public art.

Which all combine to make the shore of the Strait of Juan de Fuca a magnet for walking, running, cycling, socializing. Sunday morning I couldn’t get my AirPods to connect to my watch for some reason so I did that most scary of things, ran with my own thoughts swirling around in my peabrain. So many smiley people said “hello” wonderfully oblivious to my citizenship. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they were so cheerful.

Dig this video, especially from 1:42-1:50 where you can catch a glimpse of the yellow chaise lounges, and at the very end, some public garbage cans. On parts of the trail, there are large numbered garbage cans every 50-100 meters. Numbered, I suspect, because someone is keeping close track of their status.

Olympia’s sidewalk bushes are not numbered. They may very well turn into trees before my fellow citizens realize, often, you get what you don’t pay for.