I decided to get back to some fiction early in the year. My reading had been slowing down, and I'd been a little overwhelmed by life in general. Fiction always provides a nice respite, which in turn lets me relax in other aspects of my life, and now I'm all relaxed and ready as spring hits here in coastal Georgia.
Some recent reads:
Doomed by Chuck Palahniuk. Madison Spencer, who beat Satan at his own game in Damned, returns to the world of the living for her annual Halloween candy collection (candy bars are currency in Hell), but through some trickery on Satan's part, gets stuck for the year (if you're not back in Hell by midnight, see ya next year).
She had previously communicated to her Hollywood do-gooder parents that the way to Heaven was through general rudeness: cussing and flatulating cheerfully. She was kidding, of course, and now she faces an Earth full of joyfully disgusting humans, all doomed to Hell for their behavior, thanks to her. And she's back to fix it.
Palahniuk is the author of Fight Club and a pile of other books I love, and while this isn't among my favorites of his, it's definitely good for a few hours of escapism.
Not a Star by Nick Hornby. What happens when you're a middle class English mum and you come home to a DVD slipped through your mail slot, and the guy on the cover looks a lot like your son? What happens when you discover it is your son? What happens when the film on the DVD is pornographic?
Hornby is another one of my favorites (High Fidelity, A Long Way Down, others), and this novella from the Open Door series is great for a rainy day with a cup of coffee.
Bad Monkeys by Mike Ruff. I'm not sure how I've never heard of Ruff before (I mean, there's a quote on the book's cover from Christopher Moore), but this book is a twisted, paranoid look at the world. I don't even want to give much away, but if you think you're being watched, you probably are — but not by the government or your ex.
You may have heard the name Walter O'Brien in your sitting-on-the-couch moments. It's the character played by Elyes Gabel in the CBS television drama "Scorpion."
Also, he's a real dude. "Scorpion" is his nickname, and also the name of his company. It's a company that does a bunch of stuff, including inventing a lot of the systems you see on the show — notably a device that feeds oxygen to the blood so that you don't have to breathe, giving you, say, 20 minutes or so underwater, as long as you remember not to try to bring air into your lungs, thereby swallowing water.
Scorpion was his hacker name back in the '80s, when, as a child in Ireland, with a 400-baud modem before most of us had heard of the Internet, he downloaded mechanical drawings of the space shuttle. The U.S. one. From NASA. From their "secure" servers.
Imagine his parents' surprise when he produced an extradition waiver from his book bag, since he figured law enforcement would be knocking on his door.
He turned 41 yesterday; it's not like he's been at this stuff for all that long.
In case you're wondering, and I imagine by now you are, his IQ was measured at 197.
O'Brien notes that the purpose of our bodies is really to keep our heads functioning, and more specifically, our brains. Our brains are essentially wired data networks. While we have memories that it's easy to think about as data, like computer files, they also have a bunch of software in them, if you will. The brain keeps the heart beating, the lungs functioning, and moves our limbs, without conscious thought.
It stands to reason, then, that all that data could be backed up, the way a hard drive is backed up. O'Brien thinks we'll be able to get a brain's worth of data on a chip in about 10 to 12 years.
How? Clone yourself with stem cells, change the programming on the telomeres so that you get to about 20 years old in, say, four years before you slow the aging process back down, then simply do a data transfer from brain to chip to brain.
O'Brien tells Ferriss we should be able to transplant (such as it is) a brain with 80 to 85 percent reliability in the next 15 years or so. Ferriss' question described "success" as being able to make the new body walk and write with the dominant hand. It sounds, though, like O'Brien thinks those successful transplants might do better than that.
The second piece I want to mention is something that O'Brien talks about when explaining another of his businesses, ConciergeUP. The tagline for that business is "Any funded need." Basically, if you want something done, it's not against O'Brien's ethical code and you're willing to pay for it, you can hire ConciergeUP.
He tells the story of a billionaire dad whose wealthy son was the target of a gold-digging scheme. He wanted to stop the impending marriage without his son knowing he had anything to do with it.
It took a long time, but suffice to say it included enough actors that one point everyone in a full Starbucks except the perpetrator was working for ConciergeUP. You have to hear O'Brien tell it — it's the sort of thing that makes you think Osama bin Laden really could be alive if someone wanted badly enough for him to disappear but keep breathing.
The third thing is O'Brien's discussion of IQ (intelligence quotient) vs. EQ (emotional quotient). He's of the opinion that there's only a certain amount available in total, so people with higher IQs often lack emotional connections (like empathy), and that having an IQ over, say, 120, might start to be an impediment to getting a job or finding a good relationship. If you've watched the show, you'll recognize the character Paige, played by Katharine McPhee, who helps explain normal emotional interaction to a bunch of out-of-touch, really smart people. He's actually had to hire people like that.
I hope I haven't said so much that you're not going to listen to it now. It's so amazing I had to share.
While it's not Susan Cain-level science, it's a spot-on explanation of how things go with me: Even if I know you, good luck getting me on the phone, but I'm happy to schedule lunch; I'm not scared of parties, but I'd rather stand in the corner alone than have to deal with people talking to me about nothing.
Especially if you're an extrovert, if you're wondering how to deal with an introvert, here are a three tips (assuming other introverts are like me):
• Make it known you're interested in a conversation, but don't be overbearing.
• "Hello" is a fine way to start a conversation, followed by either nothing, or something really interesting. "It's a nice day" is an awful way to start. I assume either that you're just now noticing, or you think that I haven't noticed yet. If it's the first, I assume you're unobservant. If it's the second, we're not going to get along if you think I'm unobservant.
• If my headphones are in or I'm reading a book, I don't want to be disturbed. Say hello if you must, but I'm actively staying away from interaction.
Go give it a listen. While you're listening, make a list of all the things you think – or thought – you'd might like to do someday. Everything. It's a 2-hour discussion. Then go check one thing off the list.
How did you feel when you learned David Bowie had stretched his last limit?
When you learned Hunter Thompson had penned his last story?
When you heard Tupac was out of rhymes?
Jeff Buckley could give us no more love?
George Carlin's wit would no longer bite?
How about the death of Kurt Cobain? Or Robin Williams? Heath Ledger? Michael Hutchence? David Foster Wallace? Lemmy? Mitch Hedberg? Jean-Michel Basquiat? Bill Hicks?
Did you cry for these people — these people you'd (probably) never met? For their families, whom you'd also never met? Or did you cry for you, for the end of the art?
It's that last bit — the end of the art — I get worried about. We need to remember to keep creating. No matter how much genius passes before us, no matter how much of it falls away, it's incumbent upon us to keep the legacy of art alive for our contemporaries and for our future generations.
A listener asked about an Ironman Sacca completed recently (for the not-so-inclined, that's a triathlon that includes a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mike bike race and wraps with a full marathon). How did he make it through? He kept repeating to himself, "Tonight I will be in my bed."
No matter how much pain he put himself through, at the end of the day, he'd find himself in his bed.
The pain doesn't have to be extreme athletic adventure. It really can be anything.
Bad traffic? Tonight, you will be in your bed.
Beating yourself up over a lost client? Tonight, you will be in your bed.
Lost a loved one? Tonight, you will be in your bed.
You can get through anything. Just know that tonight, you will be in your bed.
It's a new year, and we're looking ahead to a new challenge. Miss J and I started the year with a walk/run of the Color Vibe 5K, which was a lot of fun, and then I took a much-needed week off from running and the gym. Believe me, it wasn't easy.
But I got back at it pretty quickly; as soon as that week off was over looked like I was wearing a waist cincher corset, I went out for four miles and thought about a new goal. We're going to shoot for 1,000 miles this year.
With a week off, that means I can average 20 miles a week and still get another week off, or I can average 25 miles a week for 40 weeks and not force myself if it gets really hot (and if this winter has been an indication, we could be in for a hot, humid summer). Teach your toddler how to ride a 3 wheeled scooter to go workout with you.
At any rate, there's a widget on the site (on the right side if you're looking on a desktop or tablet) with a marker. I'm using Runkeeper to track mileage and time, and I won't count anything I do on a treadmill. And if, like it did last week, Runkeeper goes wacky and thinks I did a three-minute mile, I'll try to map it out and round down.
"Look up here, I'm in heaven I've got scars that can't be seen / I've got drama, can't be stolen / Everybody knows me now" — David Bowie, "Lazarus"
David Bowie died Sunday, two days after turning 69 and releasing a new album, which includes the song "Lazarus." The track is a farewell. Bowie was fighting cancer and knew he was making his last record. The Telegraph did a nice piece on it.
I'm not going to post a bio or history. If you don't know who Bowie is, go do some Googling. Listen to some music. Watch some movies. His career was long and varied. It was also very creative and very intentional. He almost passed up working with Bing Crosby because he didn't think "Little Drummer Boy" was the right song for him. So, he and Crosby did the now-famous "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy" a month before Crosby died.
On a recent podcast, Joe Rogan calls Lance Armstrong "a legend with a caveat," putting him in the same category as Hunter S. Thompson. Thompson was a highly productive, highly influential writer with one helluva daily drug routine.
I recently re-watched Alex Gibney's Thompson biopic, "Gonzo." I was having a bad day. Maybe it was more of a bad week. I needed a reminder that even the great ones slip sometimes. Sometimes, they slip far. They make mistakes. Things don't always go as planned. But if you keep showing up, things turn around.
So, I decided to keep showing up. I guess if it worked for Thompson, who finally quit this world when his body wouldn't let him show up anymore, and if it's working for Armstrong, who might have been a cheater but he was the best of the best at it for a long time (I bet if you took away all the cheating, he'd probably still be the best of the non-cheaters over that same period), it can work for a bad day. Or week. Or month. Or year. Or decade, it seems.
I think I like this concept of "legends with caveats." It brings to mind the image of the flawed hero — also important in that everyone has flaws — but without the pressure of being a hero. A legend? We should all be remembered. And we should all have caveats.
I spent a long time the other night helping put together the collection of stories at the bottom of this post via the social aggregation tool Storify. I got to see even weirder stuff than what actually made the list. And there's some more stuff circulating on Facebook. I'm sure you've seen it.
This is the biggest thing to learn from this, I think.
Today I learned:
plural of armed black people is thugs
plural of armed brown people is terrorists
plural of armed white people is militia
This is a good piece to read for some background, but basically what you have is a couple of ranchers who were convicted of arson for fires they set while waiting impatiently for the government to do some controlled burning. A court ruled they were sentenced too lightly, and were sent back to prison. A group of armed white guys calling themselves a "militia" traveled to the county the ranchers are sentenced in, and took over a building on a federal wildlife reserve in the middle of nowhere, demanding the land be privatized. (Seriously. It's in the middle of nowhere. You have to drive 220 miles over the Idaho border to find a decent-sized town.)
The re-sentenced ranchers don't want them there. The local police don't want them there, but don't seem to be taking much action. The media love the story.
The most interesting part of this for me is that it's like Waco for a new generation – a generation with immediate access to news, social media and the sort of access to records that shows us when a guy who claims to hate government intervention benefits to the tune of a few million dollars from it.