Apportez Votre VinOh, my goodness, it’s amazing what a little get-a-way will do for the soul. Equally powerful is the difficulty in resuming daily ordinariness when one returns. Rosie and I spent the last four days “carrying our wine” to the fantastic little French restaurants at which we dined each night of our stay in Montreal (roll down to #4 in the article).
After a job interview on Wednesday, we drove north from NYC along the eastern edge of New York State, along route 87 through the Adirondacks. Gorgeous—it’s one of the most peaceful, billboard-lacking stretches of road I’ve ever seen. Of course, it’s not lacking in upstate NY strangeness, as Betty Beaver here attests.
Sigh…back to work. Send me an email if you want some restaurant suggestions when you visit.
—from Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, 1972.
What will life be like then? None of us have known any other world.
Here’s my question: Doesn’t that fact that we (collectively) are even having a national discussion about affordable housing imply that we believe there are systemic problems in the American capitalist-democratic system that can never be cured? In other words, if laissez-faire capitalism works, then the invisible hand of the market would allocate scarce resources efficiently and all types of housing needs would be met, including affordable housing (because there is a demand for affordable housing). However, this does not happen. Therefore policy, a “band-aid,” becomes necessary to modify the natural behavior of the market.
In short, my assertion is that the mere existence of policy (of any sort) supports the notion that an unrestrained market doesn’t really allocate resources efficiently, or equitably.
Increasingly, U.S. multinational corporations are turning overseas for cheaper labor. This behavior has been reinforced by various U.S. trade policies. Cheaper labor enables U.S. companies to sell goods at prices below what would be achievable with U.S. labor. If companies were restricted from using foreign labor, prices of certain goods would rise beyond the point where consumers perceive value in those goods—i.e., a consumer may not purchase a pair of Nike shoes if the price was $300. In other words, being dependent on/accountable to our own labor and resource supplies could help reduce our proportion of global consumption by increasing prices of the many luxury goods that we Americans now incorrectly view as necessities.
An “isolationist” labor policy, if it increased the prices of U.S. consumer goods, would also have negative short-run economic impacts (inflation, possible recession, increase in unemployment). However, in the medium-run, the Fed and the government could use an appropriate mix of fiscal and monetary policy to bring the U.S. economy back into a state of lower inflation and reasonable growth (this policy mix would necessarily be too complicated to discuss in these short paragraphs). The government could also enact policies that encourage economic growth via services rather than consumer goods, since services do not have nearly as large an environmental impact as goods.
Whaddaya think?
For me, it takes about two years to get acquainted with a place, to establish strong relationships and a good group of friends. Now that this is finally starting to happen in Ithaca, it’s time to leave! Those are the types of fun tricks life likes to play on you, I suppose.
The other frustrating part is—how do I choose my final courses? Certain ones—the ones I know I need—are easy. But there’s so much good stuff here that it hurts when you must choose to not take a class. It’s a giant smorgasbord, and you can’t eat it all—unfortunately. I’ve taken so many finance courses that I feel one more won’t add any additional value. So, I think I’ll round out the experience by stepping back and fitting everything I’ve learned into the big picture. Let’s try some macroeconomic theory, a bit of urban land use planning and some intense discussion of affordable housing and sustainable development. I can’t leave without having some fun, though. So perhaps I’ll keep making photographs this semester (pure joy), and take the Hotel School’s wine-tasting course. Who can think of anything better than a university course in wines?
Today I am thinking about how thankful I am for family and good friends. This sounds like a cliché, but really it’s an axiom: When you are surrounded by people who love you, the pain of life’s difficulties is diminished, and the joy of life is magnified one hundredfold.
After spending wonderful time with both of our families this holiday, Rose and I have now come to rest for a few days at our friend Suzi’s house on beautiful, gray, endless Lake Eire. Suzi is the kind of friend who gives even when she doesn’t have. There’s one word to describe her: unconditional. When you have people in your life who love and care for you unconditionally, you are truly fortunate.
We celebrated the new year last night at a restaurant in Tremont, the gentrified old steelworker’s neighborhood just south of downtown Cleveland. The restaurant, Sage Bistro, was created by Rose’s cousin Marisa, her husband Nick, and their friends Michael and Linda. The place did smashingly well last night—a fully packed house! We’re so happy for them. And of course our dear friend Bill surprised us by showing up just after midnight, placing his ice-cold hands on Rose’s neck to announce his arrival.
I think of all of my new Korean and Chinese friends whom I’ve met a Cornell. How much I’ve learned about their cultures! And what hospitality Rose and I have experienced from them! They are all so kind, genuine and gracious. (There seem to be so few people in the world who are truly gracious.) I take comfort and pride in the fact that I know that I will be friends with them for the rest of my life. I look forward to visiting them in their home countries.
There are many others I could mention that are just as important to Rose and me. The people here are simply the ones currently in my consciousness. I’m so thankful, and so happy. I pray that this feeling is a sign of things to come this year.
I was thinking the other day that many things in life are a lot like washing a Zip-Loc bag. Have you ever done it, you know, soap and sponge in hand, to save money? Those things are expensive—you wanna re-use them. Anyway, I think the analogy holds:
Many endeavors in life are like hand-washing a Zip-Loc bag—messy, difficult and hard to tell when you’re done with the task. (Did I wash that inside corner? Is there still some soap trapped inside somewhere? Should I turn it inside out again?)
Next time: the wisdom of life as revealed through Chinese take-out.
Recency: The most recent events dominate those in the less recent past, which are downgraded or ignored.
Anchoring: Predictions of the future are unduly influenced by initial information, which is given more weight than it deserves.
Illusory correlations: Belief that patterns are evident and/or that two variables are causally related when they are not.
Optimism, wishful thinking: People’s preferences for future outcomes affect their predictions of such outcomes.
Underestimating uncertainty: Excessive optimism, illusory correlation, and the need to reduce anxiety result in underestimating the uncertainty of future events.
Adapted from Spyros G. Makridakis, “Forecasting, Planning, and Strategy for the 21st Century,” 1990.
- The current economic slowdown, which could last up to three years, will likely do wonders to keep attractive older, lower-income, inner-city neighborhoods from becoming yuppie-havens. It's a simple cash flow issue.
- I think I have a truly feasible idea to help solve the gentrification problem in many American cities. It probably won't work in NYC because of historic rent control issues, but it should work most metropolitan areas whose economies have not been skewed by ubiquitous rent control. The idea has to do with home equity refinancing, the condominium ownership structure, and community-based education of basic financial concepts.
Futurism was a wide-ranging Italian movement that included painting, graphics, sculpture, poetry, literature and the performing arts and focused on the dynamic, energetic and violent character of changing 20th century life. It especially emphasised the power, force and motion of machinery combined with the contemporary fascination with speed. On the downside it also glorified war, denigrated women, favoured Fascism and vilified artistic tradition wanting to "…destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind…".
So, yes, the movement had its problems. But it sure did result in some fascinating building designs...
So now I’m back in Ithaca, trying to rest before the hurricane that is Cornell graduate school begins, and I get this bad news. This makes me very, very sad. The Arabica Coffeehouse at Coventry played an important role in my life, just like many people in this story. And how sadly typical—there’s a chance that it’s going to be replaced by a Starbucks. Now, the funky-cool, restless high school kids hanging outside will probably be replaced by the khakis and SUV set. Homogenization. Good for milk, not for culture.
Public declaration to my wife Rose: If I ever become that kind of real estate developer or property owner, please lock me securely in a small metal box, only providing a small meal of moldy bread and water each day.
Now, Mr. Powers had quite an ego. As high-rises in Chicago and Cleveland surpassed the Powers block in height, he would add a story to the building. This occurred three times over the years, giving the building the “wedding cake” effect you see in the upper mansards. Alas, the Powers Block couldn’t compete with newer structural technology, and even with the tower on top, the building was eventually bested by more modern high-rises.
The sequential additions over the years had an interesting effect on the building. Fact: there are nine fully functioning floors in the Powers Building. Now look at the exterior photograph—how many do you see? I’ll give you a hint—what was so special about the office building in the film Being John Malkovich?
For a long time I’ve felt just a little bit guilty about the fact that I criticize people who only like representational art. Usually, these people judge the quality of artwork by how realistically it depicts its subject matter. I’ve also traditionally been very critical of people who value highly sentimental artwork, much of which is popular in mainstream and commercial art venues. The reason I’ve felt guilty is because I’ve thought to myself, “Who am I to judge what someone else prefers?”
I’m tired of apologizing for being judgmental and didactic. No more—I think it’s just fine to be that way. I mean, if you never make any firm value judgments, how do you even know who you are?
This past weekend, Rose, some friends and I visited a very interesting gallery that was assembled inside an old sawmill. Unfortunately, the architecture of the gallery was where the interest ended—every piece of work inside was a detailed rendering of a landscape, a portrait of someone, an automobile, or a street scene. All of the work was fairly well executed, but where was the soul?
Purely representational artwork is often nothing more than an artist showing off—it is a display of technical expertise—it is illustration. I like abstract work better—wait, let me rephrase that—abstract work is better—because it allows for the viewer’s own interpretation of the meaning of the work. It allows, and encourages, the viewer to think. When I look at a portrait or a landscape I think, “Oh, there’s a portrait [or a landscape]. I like the colors. Neat.” And that’s it—end of brain use. When artwork is simply pretty it is not art—it’s craft. Craft has a place, but don’t call it art.
To summarize: Abstract artwork is better than perfectly representational craft. Representational craft pieces can sometimes be redeemed (and actually called art) if they have an interesting narrative or extraordinarily unique style. If you disagree with me, you are wrong, and how do you like that [tongue stuck out]?
Alright…so I’ve learned that everything is a big gray soup (or should I say a wonderful rainbow-colored soup)—that everything relates to everything else…all of the natural world…all matter, energy, thoughts, actions, reactions, etc. are interconnected. Fine. That’s understood.
I’ve also learned that human behavior, and the institutions by which we choose (or not?) to relate ourselves to the world, in the long run, behave as the rest of nature does—by principles of organized chaos (for example the way a tree grows or the way a canyon forms). Cultures, families, economics, trade, finance, mathematics, religion, traffic, technology, etc.
I’ve also learned that there is a manner of existing in the world—of living, of doing business, of creating, of surviving, of sustaining, of nurturing—that reconciles the relationships between the two axioms I just put forth…i.e. the stock market behaves like a river behaves like a traffic jam behaves like salmon swimming upstream behaves like sand dunes behaves like supply and demand behaves like a volcano, etc. Equilibrium (or some would say, entropy) is the ever-elusive goal of all natural systems. And all systems are natural, whether we think they are or not.
I understand all of this. I understand that there is a beautiful ballet that occurs between all of these things. What I do not yet understand is how this stuff will manifest itself in my life. I feel that I am so young and green, that even though I understand all these ideas, I cannot yet utilize them.
Oh, wait, I take that back…there was one big one: it was considered wrong to live in the city. In the late 70s and early 80s, growing up in rural/suburban America, the image of the city was that of a dangerous, sinful place. It was full of crime, traffic, congestion, people of a bad influence, and strangers with candy.
Today, many urban protagonists (such as myself) deride the suburbs as being environmentally and socially irresponsible, dysfunctional (Ã la American Beauty), exclusive, isolated and out of touch. Yes, many of these concerns are justified. But are we being too critical? Are we, the brave young urban pioneers of Middle America, being just as judgmental as the suburbanites were a decade or two ago?
- From what I’ve heard so far, the latest Hooverphonic album sounds good good good.
- On Route 31F in Rochester, there’s a run-down looking gas station on the south side of the road. This particular run-down gas station also sells live Maine lobster and fine cuts of black angus beef. Interesting.
- Here’s one of the things I hate about myself: I’ll make some sort of simple realization that’s common sense to most people, like “don’t drive in the left lane if there are no left turn lanes on this road,” and treat it like an epiphany, telling everyone I know. Sometimes I think that I’m not the sharpest tack in the box.
Little moments of beauty, I must photograph them all.
You see, once you find something good, you want to capture it and relive it—replay it like a good song. But the whole point of the thing is that you can’t do that because those moments come when they will and you must be open to them, otherwise you will miss them. They come when they will and you can’t make them come and you can’t replay them, only remember them. That’s why a great song doesn’t give you the same feeling every time—in fact it wears out after a while.
Great moments of emotional clarity and awakening only come when you’re not looking, and your mind and heart are open.
This all leads to the point of why nostalgia is so dangerous. People are looking to relive their past precious moments by recreating the past. By doing this, they are closing their minds and their hearts to the present and missing the wonder of the now.