Posts (page 2)
Eye-catching on the outside, obscenely sophisticated on the inside, comfortable to drive, and reliable. Smaller is better, and speed doesn't matter.
It would appear that Facebook has now reached the level of ubiquity that makes it the expected form of interaction for everyone. Like email, web, and cell phones before it, it has gone from curiosity to novelty to routine. It used to be that only self-obsessed undergrads and lecherous pervs were on Facebook. Then it became an interesting phenomenon. Then it became the latest annoying fad in the footsteps of Friendster. For a while, it looked like it may follow the latter to the heap of discarded instant wonders. But then something happened, some tipping point was passed, and now it's basically a necessity. I know of mothers who are on Facebook next to their teenage children. They'll tell you how much of a drag it is to constantly receive friend requests from their children's classmates. Most of my friends post party invitations and photos exclusively on Facebook. They rely on it to check whether someone is out of town. I myself am not on, but there are apparently pictures of me. Even my funny T-shirts have been tagged on Facebook, I hear.
I'm beginning to realize that I will eventually simply have to throw in the towel and join Facebook. At this point, holding out is almost peevish. I am like those odd people who refuse to use a computer and insist on paper receipts for everything; a walking anachronism. When I meet new friends, they find it difficult to understand. It's like I'm impeding some universal ritual. And with the critical mass now reached, it will only get more noticeable.
I'm still not sure that I'll be gaining anything by creating yet another profile, calendar, inbox, and blog. I have no use for zombie bites, pokes, or hot potatoes. (Some say I'll get more dates. If so, that will be truly sad.) It doesn't matter: everyone is on Facebook, so everyone has to be on Facebook. Otherwise, you're an analog die-hard in the digital world. You may think you're sensible or original; but everyone else thinks you're awkward.
Jackson's Point is a township of suburban greenery and winding roads straight out of sedan commercials. The Briars Resort is a cute colonial mansion tucked away on a quiet road next to the lake. Although the room decor is cheap and the exercise facilities a joke, this place is worth visiting for its serenity and restorative powers. There are many quiet places to sit down and enjoy the view and the bird song. Inside, there are reading rooms aplenty, each with comfy armchairs, old maps, and book-lined shelves. There are guest activities like boating and walks, though I didn't find any of them compelling enough to participate. Prices include meals, which is nice, but some meals include a dress code, which is annoying. Be sure to learn the code before packing! The staff is polite and friendly, and will even find you alternate dinner seating if you didn't bring the requisite wardrobe. The guests on this particular weekend seemed the cheery, respectable middle-class that the avantgarde types will surely find boring. The resort has a spa with competent services best booked well in advance.
The place is about 75 minutes' drive from downtown Toronto, through spectacular scenery of lush green fields, farmhouses, and cow pastures.
How many coffee-table books does a man need? One per table? One per season? I've heard a friend say three per table. And what do I get out of them? How exactly do they change my life? When should I buy more coffee-table books?
It strikes me that these same questions apply to art in general. Perhaps I'm stumped by that great, age-old mystery: how do you value art?
One of the reasons I admire the Euston Manifesto is its opposition to anti-Americanism. In some circles, the fashion of bashing everything American has grown to tiresome proportions. I am almost inclined to agree with the neocons who suggest (according to the Economist) that "the allies are like irresponsible teenagers who bitch about their parents but enjoy living at home rent-free."
It's an important challenge of our time to strike a balance between shrill, over-the-top anti-Americanism and giving them carte blanche to sin. Both are counter-productive in their own way. Complaining about honest mistakes that any dominant power is bound to make amounts to obstructionism. It has always been easy to criticize those who strive to make a difference. On the other hand, pretending that no mistakes were made sends the worst possible message. It begets arrogance and guarantees that more and bigger mistakes will follow.
It's like a zealous police force: sure, we're better off having them, and we're better off trusting their good intentions by default, but this doesn't absolve them of responsibility for their actions. They are still subject to the law's restrictions; they are barred from infringing on our rights. And when they step over the line, they must be held responsible. It's essential that there be a watchful and enforceable control, precisely because we trust them with our liberties. Without such control, we are dancing on a slippery slope, with only a matter of time before someone comes along to abuse the privilege, claiming all the while that it's for our own protection. Most tyrannies the world over begin exactly like this. So when it comes to enjoying the benefits of a friendly superpower, it's wise to recall what makes a friendship last.
In about two seconds of warm weather that Toronto got this April, my roommates and I ran out to shop for some balcony furniture and flowers. We went with the cafe-patio theme:
Now if only the warm weather would come back again...
Since people keep asking me about this little list, let me note it here. It concerns a view I have distilled over some time in regards to what is to be considered expensive. My personality being what it is, I have gone through periods of severe austerity as well as wanton profligacy with equal conviction. There was a time when I bought only Charles Tyrwhitt shirts, leased only brand-new cars, and wouldn't dream of moving into a place without granite countertops. There was also a time when I bought a used Hyundai after haggling the price down below the state-proscribed minimum for tax purposes, lived in a dilapidated house in a dangerous neighborhood two hours away from work by public transit, and would not buy any clothes priced above $20. Through both, I could argue so convincingly that my actions were logical and advantageous that other people readily believed me.
The argument for indulgence was, predictably, a combination of you-get-what-you-pay-for and life's-too-short, while the argument for austerity was that in the long run, saving brings more satisfaction than spending, whose delights are unreliable and tend to wear off. Both arguments seem valid and compelling, yet they send opposite messages for one's lifestyle. It is interesting to confront them and dig deeper, particularly after experiencing first-hand the effects of abiding by them for a while. This is exactly what I found myself doing over time.
My conclusion is that there are subtleties to both arguments that, on the one hand, dilute their messages but, on the other, allow them to be combined into a coherent whole. I didn't get what I paid for every single time. Even when I did, I sometimes concluded that what I got was not exactly what I wanted. And depriving myself of the seemingly wasteful pleasures of impulse spending caused a gradual decline of creativity and kindness, two traits essential to human happiness. When I kept at it long enough, I became a dull, dour miser without even realizing it. My relationships suffered, I failed to see opportunities around me, and I inflicted unnecessary pain on myself.
These days I seem to have found the happy medium by combining the truthful parts of the two philosophies. I am not afraid of spending money and sometimes spend a lot, but only when I am sure that it is necessary and will make me happy for more than a day. I try never to overpay, having devised a specific definition of what that means. This definition is what I referred to in the first paragraph and the essence of this post. Here, then, are the three ways to overpay:
- Simple arbitrage: you could have paid less for the exact same thing. The emphasis is on sameness, which includes not just what you acquired but also all the intangibles like convenience and dignity of the transaction. For example, you buy a shirt at Saks for $200 and then notice the same shirt at Nordstrom across the street for $150. Let us assume that the Nordstrom salespeople are just as helpful as Saks', that the exchange policy is exactly the same, and so on. The experience would have been substantially identical in all respects that matter to you, but you could have saved $50 at the end. Instead, you effectively burned $50 in an ashtray.
- Buying a Ferrari when a BMW would do: you pay a high (though fair) price, but the extra cost doesn't justify the extra pleasure. Different people have different preferences, and they don't appreciate the same things equally. But things cost the same for everyone, so it is possible to pay more and get more, yet not enjoy it more. It is difficult to provide a universal example of this, since each reader will value things differently. Still, let me try this one: imagine making a round trip somewhere and having a choice between flying an airline's first class and flying in a private jet. The private-jet option is $10,000 more expensive, though you actually have that much money to spend. So you take the private jet there, but on the way back you take the first class. Upon return, you think to yourself that, although the private jet was more luxurious, comfortable, and convenient, you were quite satisfied with the first class, too. In retrospect, you wish you hadn't spent the extra ten grand on the private jet because you don't feel you got ten-grand's worth of extra value, and you could have put that money to a different use. You overpaid not because you could have gotten the same for less money but because you didn't need what you bought. (Thanks to my friend Spiro for coining the pithy Ferrari analogy.)
- Spending money you don't have: you pay a fair price and enjoy what you got, but you couldn't really afford it. Even when you do your homework, finding the lowest possible price and ensuring you got every cent's worth according to your personal preferences, you could still overpay if the price is higher than your budget. This kind of behavior leads to indebtedness and financial distress that can quickly overcome all the joy derived from spending. A classic example is when people buy a house too expensive for their income level. It may be a great value for the money and still cause bankruptcy. I find that this kind of overpayment usually happens when I hang out with the wrong people. When I see those around me buying nice and useful things at bargain prices, it's easy to forget to ask myself whether I can afford those prices at all.
Putting these rules into words has helped me make better decisions and avoid the dangerous extremes I was given to in the past. I doubt, however, that I could have divined the rules before going through all the experiences I mentioned. Sometimes you have to make your mistakes so you can learn from them.
... and it was quite a good one. Time well spent.
No matter how much I tell myself that fear and regret are useless, I can't help but rue the waste of human potential. I often hear about cases like this, which remind me of my own people's history. Note the words
It is good that this small but dignified protest succeeded. [...] But perhaps it is also a little depressing to see how the daily struggle to lay his hands on this and that has subsumed Mr Htein Lin's grander ambitions
No kidding -- a little depressing? How can anything be "good" about this? How can a rational person not regret getting ensnared into a vicious trap of fortune? One random turn of fate leaves you in a black hole from which you escape through super-human strength and ingenuity, barely reaching normalcy again. Meanwhile, your peers elsewhere breeze through life with nary a strenuous thought, ending up far ahead. In the end, all anyone can see is that you're behind. Tell yourself it'll all work out for the best and you've built character even if you don't have much to show for all the effort. I'd have to be crazy not to have regrets.
The commutation of Scooter Libby's jail sentence has aroused passions on both the left and the right, though neither seems to acknowledge the other's good points. Defenders of the decision rightly point out that Libby was prosecuted for something marginal to the main crime committed -- that of leaking a CIA agent's identity, whose actual perpetrator is known but was never charged. Instead of punishing the ultimate culprit, the prosecution ended up joining a political spate between the White House and Joseph Wilson. Furthermore, the case for perjury hinges on Libby's recollection of his conversation with journalist Tim Russert. Because Libby's and Russert's recollections differed, Libby got charged. One wonders if prosecutors always have such a hair trigger, and if so, why anyone would ever cooperate with them. By such standards, how much jail time should Bill Clinton get for his faulty recollections of the Lewinsky affair?
But the other side has its own meritorious arguments. Even if the prosecutor was overzealous, it's hard to find major faults with the trial itself. Libby was found guilty by the jury of his peers on four of the five counts, and the sentence seems in line with the sentencing guidelines. How can the President pronounce it too harsh when it is based on universal and public standards for such convictions? Does that mean that every other sentence in similar cases is also too harsh? If so, why not commute them all?
Finally, if anyone is to labor under close scrutiny of prosecutorial watchdogs, it should be the people in high political offices. They are the holders of enormous public trust and example-setters for the rest of the nation. If law is sacrosanct and justice blind, the best way to reaffirm those principles surely is to hold the powerful responsible for any offense, no matter how small.
