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The Californian & The New Yorker | J. D. Bentley

The Californian & The New Yorker | J. D. Bentley.

I’m greatly dis­ap­pointed that the web allows medi­oc­rity to be so eas­ily dis­trib­uted, but I should not over­look the fact that it also offers this cheap, world­wide dis­tri­b­u­tion to the thought­ful and the tal­ented. If you work hard to learn a craft and even harder to mas­ter it, if you put great thought into what you say and who you want to say it to, then there’s no bet­ter place to be pub­lished than on a web­site you your­self own.

I wish I could give you a full and accurate account of how many days I think to myself that I should stop publishing anything I write online. That, perhaps, it would be better to pour all of these essays into a book and release a new one whenever I felt I had compiled enough of them.
Or that, despite the overwhelmingly positive feedback and kind regards from readers, no one is actually reading or, even worse, that my words are simply scanned and forgotten. Then there is also the fact that so much of my work is in places I don’t really own or control.
Then, I’m reminded of the fact that my work, no matter the quality, has the privilege to be in the same vast library of data as a writer of J.D. Bentley’s caliber. It is then that I can see few better reasons to press “publish”.

Other People’s Must Reads

I recently put a call out to my friends on Twitter asking for links to the smartest writers they ready regularly. I purposefully put no restrictions on the request in order to promote diversity of subjects, styles, and context. What follows is this list.

I have added all that had an RSS feed to my daily reading list. I’m not sure all will remain but there are at least a few real keepers here and feel already the better for having done this.

They are not in any order and are offered with no further comment then what was in the title bar of their site. If you had suggested one that is not here and I somehow missed, please feel free to let me know.

Also, I know this begs the question about what people I would have added to this list. Not to worry, that is forthcoming soon.

Grandmother Clocks

My Grandmother had a funny thing about clocks. When I was growing up, all of the clocks in her house were set a few minutes ahead. Not a specific amount ahead either. They were random increments ahead. Two minutes on one, five minutes on another, etc. Therefore, you were never really sure exactly what time it was. There was a reason for this.
You see, there is a long held, and too often justified, stereotype about African-Americans in this country. That being, that we are always late. In the Black community it’s referred to as “CP Time” — Colored People’s Time. My Grandmother was not the type to ever allow herself to fall into the trap of proving such a stereotype. Thus, the clocks.
But, one may be compelled not to leave the story there but to ask why it was then that all the clocks were set early instead of exactly on time. Good question. I asked the same thing as a kid barely old enough to tell time. Here is what I learned…
She told me that, as a Black person, despite education, despite abilities, despite accomplishments… Despite the sit-ins, strikes, acts of civil and non-civil disobedience… Despite the hard work of all of those who fought and died, those jailed and bailed to be jailed again… Despite all that was done to grant us our “equality” in the eyes of the law… This equality did not exist in the eyes of man.
In fact, simply because of the color of my skin it meant that being as-good-as was not good enough. Because, that very fact made me less so in a real life comparison with someone who was not so colored. Therefore, just to be considered equal, we had to be better. It was not enough to disprove a stereotype by meeting the standard, we had to exceed it. Therefore, it was not enough to be on-time, we had to be early.
Thanks to this, today all of my clocks are just a little bit ahead.
By how much?
I have no idea.

Bespoke

A few years back, while on a business trip, I bought a corduroy sport coat on clearance at a J Crew store in Scottsdale, AZ. I can’t remember the exact price but I remember it being so low that I couldn’t justify not buying it.
It was slightly too big but not so much so that it looked horrible on me. I imagined the slightly oversize fit would be perfect for wearing with a chunky sweater underneath. The ideal business casual outfit for late fall in Minnesota. Not so much for late spring in Arizona. Hence the price, I suspect.
I brought the jacket home and it served me well for a couple of solid years. Especially at first when I was just a tad bit heavier. It was still big but not enough for me to care.
This year, as the first chilly blush of fall came, I put it on and it seemed not quite right. A bit too roomy in too many places. Even more so than the past. I had lost a little weight but not too much. Enough to make a difference though. It did not look bad but it did not look its best. I finally had to care.
It took this realization to spark my mind to the idea that I could take it into a tailor. We have a really great one close by. One who takes tremendous pride in his craft. One who learned the trade through apprenticeship and years of study. One I’ve taken other things to in the past.
I felt sheepishly dumbstruck that this had not occurred to me before. Perhaps it was because I paid so little for it that I felt I had to accept the jacket as it was off-the-rack. Perhaps, in my mind, I thought (correctly as it turned out) the price of having it tailored would far outweigh the price I paid which stopped me from even considering it as an option in the first place. No matter the reason, I’m glad I got past it.
The price to have it tailored to fit me perfectly was still less than I would have paid to buy that same jacket at full retail. Doing so would not only made the jacket look better on me now but allows it to continue to be a mainstay of my wardrobe for many years to come — perhaps even a lifetime. Well worth it. Should have done it right away. And, if I ever need to, um, let it out a bit again I now know I should take it back to my tailor and he will make it perfect for the me yet to come.
I believe there is a place for this is the world of technology. I think there is a need for a Software Tailor. For instance, you have a text editor that works well but could use just a few changes to make it work perfectly for you. You take it to the Software Tailor and they do that for you. Or perhaps you go to one to build the perfect task management app to fit your specific working style. In my mind, many who program are crafts people and I think there is a growing opportunity and need for such a service by people with these skills.
Of course, this would mean we would need to have a culture in place to support this. Those who make such products from the beginning would need to “leave a bit of extra fabric” in their products to allow for such growth (or to take it in a little in the middle). Just like a tailor can tell much about the manufacture of a garment from the threading and seams, and make adjustments accordingly, so too would code have to be clean and well commented. But, once again, if a culture and system to were support this, those that take the software trade seriously would excel from builder and tailor. Those that did not would be revealed and expelled.
Can you imagine a future where, for a price, a key software tool that you rely on can be bespoke? That programming would be a trade craft passed down through apprenticeship and study. That when you want a piece of software to fit you just right, you can take it to someone to make do that?
I can and I wish it so.

Buying Philosophy

When we purchase or use any software, or hardware, or thing, or craft, or product, you are in part giving yourself over to a philosophy. All products have one. Some more obvious than others. Those things we build for ourselves are guided by our own philosophy. Those things built by others are guided by theirs and through our use we accept and adopt these.
The recent controversy and numerous arguments and counter-arguments around Apple’s mute switch is really arguing about philosophy. Apple clearly has a philosophy about the way the hardware and software should treat the mute switch. Basically, mute means mute except in the cases where the user has asked it not to be. When a user asks for an alarm to sound or a video to play, ignore the switch. You don’t have to agree with this philosophy. There are several ways to get around this philosophy (one being to turn the phone off entirely). But, regardless, when you bought that phone part of what you were buying was this philosophy and any others Apple has decided to imbue.
The discussions back and forth about comments being a good or bad thing — philosophy. If you go to a site with comments enabled, the site’s owner is making a philosophical statement about a belief that comments from, and discussion with, others are an essential part of the ideas expressed. By your participation, whether it be reading them or participating by adding your own, you are buying into this philosophy. There are options to opt-out of this philosophy, one being not to visit the site at all. But, make no mistake, there is a philosophy being expressed and you are being given the opportunity to agree with and participate in it.
The solution is simple, if you are not willing to agree to or buy into someone else’s philosophy, learn the skills required to build something that closely matches your own.

My Daily Pens

My Daily Pens from Patrick Rhone on Vimeo.

One of the best things one can say about a pen is that it is pocketable. For a pen that one can easily pocket is a pen that is likely to travel beside you. And a pen that travels is a pen that get used.

These are the pens I carry on me daily:

Pelle Journal — An Invocation

Pelle-2012-01-10-12-25.JPG

My friend Brad Dowdy of Pen Addict fame recently sent me this beautiful new Pelle notebook from Jet Pens in an absolutely stunning, refillable, leather cover. He also sent along with it a Kaweco Sport Fountain Pen (which is so great it deserves a longer mention of its own).

I have been using it constantly for a few weeks now but have been struggling to find a way to impart what it is about this journal that has caused me to be drawn to it so.

There is the obvious of course. The rustic good looks, supple feel, and earthy smell of the thick leather cover that will only improve in character with age and use. The fact that the construction of the cover allows the containment of multiple notebooks if one desired. My notebook included insert was filled with thick, creamy, welcoming, blank linen pages that take fountain pen ink (or any other you choose to throw its way) like a champ. That said, I have used one of the other elastic straps to fasten the Field Notes notebook I’ve been using for my book notes. Yes, all of these make it wonderful and an asset.

But, there is something more and I think I might have it figured out…

It is an invocation. A good notebook (and this is true of anything made with a high level of craft and care) should be be more than just a joy to use, it should be an invocation to do so. It should beseech one to fill it. When within reach, it should call to you to grab it, hold it, open it, and pour yourself into it. It should beckon your plans, drawings, ideas, dreams, experiences, doodles, schemes, diagrams, plots — each empty page left wanting without these. And, when you reach the end of a thought, it should entice you to take it further. It should also be though as nails. One should have no fear of taking it anywhere and throwing it in anything. For any journey worth taking is worth taking this journal along with.

This notebook fulfills these qualifications and more. I have been treating it as prescribed above and it continues to reward each time I do so.

Where Are The Sidewalks?

Among the reasons I choose to live where I live and love where I live are the sidewalks. My community is a very walkable one and I enjoy doing so when I take the care to. They are long urban blocks filled with curiosity, interest, activity, and things unchanged.
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co-op
(2.5 blocks) no matter the weather. I walk to our local bread shop (4.5 blocks) and wine shop (4.75 blocks). On a nice day, I walk to a small independent bookstore I love (6 blocks). The great little park , recently refurbished after years of city neglect, where my daughter likes to play (3.5 blocks). When the time allows, I enjoy meeting a friend for beer at a great restaurant and bar with a fantastic selection of beers (5 blocks) which I enjoy more than the one with less selection across the street (100 feet). These places are designed for walking to. They have limited parking if they have any dedicated at all. In the time it would take to get in the car and navigate traffic, one could be there already on foot.
What I love most, beside the walking itself, is the occasional friend or neighbor I run into. And, even when I don’t, most of these shop owners and barkeeps are friends and neighbors as well. For this is where I find out the news that matters most — that which is happening right around me…
“Did you hear about the break-in just around the corner?”
“What’s the deal with the two seemingly competing chocolate shops opening on the same street two blocks from each other?”
“Mr. Councilman, sorry to disturb your coffee. Can I ask you about your vote against the stop reminder I asked about for the pedestrian walkway?”
Thus, though a walk may be only a few blocks it can sometimes take an hour if I’m in no hurry which is just fine with me.
Increasingly it seems, so many of us live in places without sidewalks. So many suburbs and exurbs we are moving to are without them. So many of these communities we build are purposefully absent this integral part (in my mind at least) of community. Though I can’t imagine a worse fate then to be somewhere without them, I increasingly feel in the minority.
The planners know that less people want them. They are moving out of the urban area for a sense of country living. Part of which means, in their mind, to have lawn that extends to the road. Even though that road may be a asphalt beach. Sidewalks are simply a reminder of all those things they are trying to venture from.
These concrete paths are not technically ours. They belong to the city — the community. Even the ones that are just in front of where you live you must share and allow others to pass through. As such, you must maintain them despite this domain. You must shovel them when it snows. You must keep them free of ice. You must pay the cost to repair if damaged. More people, it seems, would rather have a few feet of green space instead. One that they own outright and can tell people to get off of when crossed.
Because there are less sidewalks in these places, people tend to make their connections elsewhere. At work or at the kids hockey practice or at the dog park. They tend to know their actual neighbors less. There are few opportunities to do so since they never cross each other’s paths except within the protected bubble of vehicles and traffic laws. They drive to all the places they need to go. Which are the similar to the places I go but all decidedly further away and designed for cars. Upon return, they go straight into the garage and then shut the door.
They turn on the TV before dinner to get news that is happening half a world away and consider themselves informed. Why should’t they? For the news they may get from conversations with people who do not live near them might as well be the same distance and equally as relevant. And because these connections are with people who live not near us they must discuss what things we have in common which does not start with community for there is none.
I wonder too if our communities in the virtual world are following this same path.
My first sense of being “online” was on a dial up connection to a local BBS. I knew the people there offline as well. It was small enough that one could. The topics discussed were often a continuation of the ones we did when we were together. If there was a problem that needed sorting (or a quarrel that needed moderating) one messaged the sysop who, once again, was a friend as well as neighbor. There were sidewalks there.
Then AOL came along. The first suburb. A place where you could form relationships, of a sort, with people from all over the country. They were not neighbors or people you would likely see in real life. Yet, you felt like you knew them just as well. You felt like you were being informed about things that mattered. And, as long as you stayed there, there were sidewalks.
Now we have Facebook and Twitter. The exurbs. Communities and relationships that span the globe. People on the other side of the planet that we know better than those real humans right next door. We can now know the first hand, on the ground, news of a community in Iran in real time. Or assist in the search for someone we barely know who has gone missing and is feared dead. Are we building sidewalks here?
If you pressed me to come up with one reason I feel so drawn to a service such as Path versus the rest is that it feels like a sidewalk to me.

Owners and Custodians

I’m going to attempt to explain, in some very broad strokes, one of the key differences between those that are rich (new money) and those that are wealthy (old money). I like to separate these two groups. Though they both occupy the same 1%, the way they approach their abundance is radically different.

The rich are those for whom having a lot of money is relatively new. These are the folks who got the right breaks or worked hard enough and now they are firmly members of the haves. They think nothing of buying a lavish home, expensive clothes, a luxury car. They often have high salaries and powerful positions. They tend to spend more than they save or invest. And, after all, why shouldn’t they. This is America. They earned it. They own it.

The wealthy are those who inherited their riches through the generations. While some distant relative may have initially acquired that wealth through the same means and circumstances as the rich, they adopted the tactics of the wealthy to ensure their dependents were secure. Such abundance was then passed down through generations. These folks may live in a big house, but it often is one that has been in the family for a while. Sometimes their clothes are plain and their cars average. They often work hard despite not having to because it is what they believe is right. They likely invest at least as much as they spend (if not more). And, after all, why shouldn’t they. This abundance was granted by many before being just as careful. It is now their duty to do the same and ensure the security of future generations. They are not owners. They are custodians.

Now this is not to say that an owner can not adopt the values of the caretaker or vice versa. In fact, there are countless stories of the rich giving away their fortune for the greater good and teaching their children the lessons of wealth. There are at least as many stories of the child of inheritance blowing the family money on foolish expenditures and shady dealings. But the fact remains that the difference is not rooted in ways and means but in approach and values.

And, because it had nothing to do with the stuff but how it is treated, one in the 99% can learn and apply these same lessons (and, as this economy has taught, fail just as spectacularly). When we start to see ourselves as caretakers instead of owners of what meager abundance we have, we are far more likely to maintain it.

Instead of adopting endless cycles of replacement, we’ll put more upfront thought and investment into the final choices of things that will last. Perhaps, even things that will outlast us.

It does not matter what a house is worth relative to the mortgage if one plans to pass it on. Does it matter if your home is “underwater” as they say if you never plan to sell it or borrow against it? Homes that are well cared for can become those of our children and their children. What greater gift could you provide for your descendants then a home that is paid for a well maintained? The comfort and security this could provide them is the only measure that matters.

Abundance may seem to be antithetical to the idea of enough. But it is not in every case. It is only so when one is not doing enough with the abundance they have. When they are not allowing it to provide for others or being judicial custodians of the gifts they have.

Even most of those who feel they do not have enough generally have far more than they realize.

PhotoBlog – Accidental photographer: Making pictures of our own personal little gods


PhotoBlog – Accidental photographer: Making pictures of our own personal little gods.

The fairly new activity of constantly checking our phones, I mean ascertaining our dual existence, both in real life and in the virtual world of social networks, switching from the people present in flesh and blood and the uninterrupted conversation with “friends” we have across time zones and borders, is an interesting phenomenon. I was first stunned by the faculty we have to isolate ourselves for a few seconds in the middle of a loud, crowded bar, and immediately become oblivious of our surrounding, letting candidly the virtual world reflect on our faces. The social masks fall for a fleeting moment, and our pleasure, our worries or sorrows, show for anyone to see. That is the moment I am trying to capture. I see people’s soul.