Category: Uncategorized (Page 4 of 4)

Make no mistake about it, we are at war, a war that is affecting the population of our entire planet. A war being fought against an invisible enemy, an enemy that can subvert our family, our closest friends and our neighbors and turn them into our greatest foes.

I am 65 years old, and this is my first war. I came close to being drafted for the Vietnam War, and I remember the fear I felt and the tension in my body as the days wound down to the day the Selective Service System, also known as the draft board, would be assigning me a draft number. Thankfully, the draft ended, and I did not have to serve. I cannot avoid serving in this war. My goal is to do so with honor and integrity.

My dad fought in WW2. He was a member of the greatest generation, volunteering to serve in the Air Force. During the war he performed Herculean acts, all the while knowing his life was at risk every hour of every day for months on end. It took mental toughness, the support of comrades and family, and, yes, a splash of alcohol to survive.

My dad was a flight engineer with the 73rd Bomb Wing. He was part of one of many B-29 squadrons stationed on Saipan, one of the Mariana Islands. He participated in more than 30 bombing missions over Japan, including the dreadful firebombings, which turned the tide of the war in the Pacific.

For a portion of the war, he had it pretty easy, acting as a training instructor in Florida. His worst injury during that time, a broken foot, occurred while playing handball. The remaining portion of the war, when he was stationed on Saipan, was hell for him.

Throughout the years following WW2, he suffered in silence, never really discussing the war or his actions during it, though on numerous occasions he would tell us that he consumed lots of alcohol to numb his senses. When he did discuss it, he usually glossed over the details.

In the late 90s, when he and my mom attended a reunion of the men who fought with the 73rd, some of his heroic acts came to light. Many men from his crew told stories about my dad, how he was a hero, and that without him, none of them would have survived the war. My dad never told us the full extent of the danger they experienced daily, though he did laugh and say, “I used to sit on my flack jacket while we were flying to protect my testicles from the shots from below,” an act I was very happy to hear about.

To a man, his crew wanted to discuss one particular mission. It started like all the others did, as they flew from Saipan to Tokyo to drop their load of bombs. It ended much differently.

While over the Bay of Tokyo, his B-29 was hit, and it was hit hard. While it was still able to fly, the damage to the plane was extensive. It suffered instantaneous pressure loss, causing my dad’s eardrums to burst, which resulted in partial hearing loss for the rest of his life, though he had it easy when compared to the others of his crew who were either unconscious or dead.

The plane was a mess. Not all engines were operating. The rear gunner was partially sucked out of the plane, but was still stuck in what was left of his bubble. Smoke was everywhere.

A Japanese fighter was pursuing them, trying to finish them off. The crew took evasive action. They hit the deck, almost literally, dropping to about 100 feet above sea level. As they passed through 300 feet, the Japanese fighter stopped pursuing them, assuming they would splash into the Pacific.

My dad, as flight engineer, knew they would not be seen at 100 feet because they were below the radar floor, but he also knew they had bigger problems than losing the fighter because they were over 500 miles from Saipan without oxygen, flying slowly in thick, moist sea air. The likelihood of them having enough fuel to get back to base was practically nil.

As flight engineer, he knew all the specifications of the plane, and his job was to use every trick he could think of to save fuel and get them home. No one expected them to return. As the other planes in the squadron returned to Saipan, they reported that my dad’s plane was hit and most likely lost at sea.

Over four hours after the other planes returned, my dad’s plane limped to East Field in Saipan and ran out of gas as it reached the runway. Against all odds they made it back, knowing that they would have to do it all over again. His strength and courage during those times is inspirational to me.

I am not equipped to be on the front lines of this war, which is being fought in labs and hospitals and fire stations and police stations and grocery stores and farms and packing houses and other critical industries across the globe. Our scientists, doctors, nurses, police officers, firemen are our fighting force, but our clerks, truck drivers, meat packers, farmers, farm workers, delivery workers are also on the front lines.

At best, I can play a support role, sort of like those who bought war bonds in the 1940’s, doing what they could to further the war effort. Instead of building planes and other war devices, I need to do what I can to prevent the inadvertent spread of Covid-19. I need to make it as easy as possible for our current combatants to do their jobs, and I need to act in a way that protects their health.

Sadly, we need to fight this war on two fronts. The first is finding a way to beat the infection. The second is to do it without killing our economy. We cannot focus solely on the first and ignore the second, but focusing on the second will make it tougher on our combatants to fight the first.

Memorial Day is a week away. This year it will hold special significance for me. I will be tearfully thinking of my dad in a way I have not done in years. More importantly, I will be respectful of all our past and current combatants, especially the current ones who did not volunteer to be combatants, but instead were drafted into the fight. I will express my appreciation for their acts, both in my actions and my words. I will do everything I can to enable them to to do their part in this war as safely as possible. I will tell everyone I know to do the same.

I am proud of my dad. I’d like to think he would be proud of me.

Since the Covid-19 pandemic began, the status of toilet paper has soared. An item that no one but the environmentally obsessed thought about, has become a bellwether, making the news almost daily.

It is the canary in the coal mine for me. The sudden surge in demand for toilet paper due to hoarding was just the tip of the iceberg affecting the availability of and the demand for toilet paper in the future.

The reality is that there is a toilet paper shortage and there is a toilet paper surplus at the same time. Demand surged due to hoarding, but overall demand did not change. Instead, ongoing consumption has shifted to homes from commercial and industrial buildings. The result is that the well established supply chain for toilet paper is in disarray. Sales to the commercial channels have plummeted, while sales to consumers have sky rocketed, creating both a shortage and a surplus.

The supply chain will adapt, but it will take time. Consumers will need to identify additional sources of supply. Bulk purchases, at the case level, may become the norm. Direct sales from the manufacturer or a large wholesaler to the consumer will most likely increase. The last big change in the toilet paper supply chain was when Costco entered the market and sold private label toilet paper in bulk packaging. Now even Costco is having (t)issues keeping up.

Other supply chains are equally disrupted. The food chain is in utter disrepair. A large percentage of the sales of food are direct to hotels, restaurants, etc. Demand for goods in that segment of the market has fallen to the floor. Toilet paper has issues, but at least it does not have a short shelf life. Fresh food, on the other hand, is very perishable. Farmers have no buyers for their products at a time when grocery stores are clamoring for supply. Though, already we are seeing farm to table mean farm to dining room table, as farmers are reaching out directly to consumers.

Thankfully, we exist in a capitalistic system, one that rewards those who have the courage or the intelligence to change with the times. Capital will be reallocated. Supply chains will change. Jobs will be created. Efficiency will be sought.

We will change faster than the rest of the world. Hopefully, it will be fast enough to get the right goods to the right place at the right price. If we watch toilet paper carefully, we might have a good idea as to how we are progressing.

There is no doubt that I have been a social distancer in training for the past several years. In my current job, I generally am on an airplane to a client or, thankfully much more often, I am working at home with my dog by my side. His name is Jake, and he earns the Employee of the Month award every month. He is that important to my effectiveness while working from home, as his needs help provide structure to my day.

Let me be clear. Working from home is not as easy as it sounds. It is not for everyone, but it can be. I have learned what it takes to work from home in an efficient, productive manner. So instead of my usual, relatively useless, general wiseguy musings, I thought I would rip off Mark Harmon, AKA Jethro Gibbs, on NCIS, and enumerate my work from home rules, hopefully adding value to you in these turbulent times.

1. Pretend you are really going to the office.
   • By that I mean do everything you would normally do to get ready for work. For the pre-corona me, that meant getting up at zero dark thirty and dragging my butt to the gym when it opens at 5 AM. This is what I used to do when I worked at an office, so that is what I still do now that I don’t. I am skipping this step in the short term, as the gym is the biggest petri dish I swim in on a recurring basis.
   • Follow the same grooming routines you would normally do to get ready for work. For me that means showering and shaving, at least every other day for the shave.
   • Get dressed as if you were going to work. Clearly, I do not wear business casual attire in my home office, but I do get out of what ever I am sleeping in and put on a set of “work” clothes, usually sweats or shorts. I even put on a pair of “work”shoes, which in my case are my Minnetonka Moccasin slippers, complete with fluffy pile lining.
   • Eat and drink what you normally would before you leave for the office. For me, that means I eat breakfast and make a large pot of coffee, as I am thoroughly addicted to caffeine.
   • Finish your grooming as if you were going out to your car or other transportation. For me, that means flossing and brushing.
   • Tell yourself, and anyone in earshot, that you are leaving to go to work. For me that usually means, walking to my den and avoiding the sigalert created by Jake as I have to go around him to get to desk.
2. Pretend you are really in the office.
   • For me that means doing the same things I would do in the office when my day begins.
   • Instead of face to face meetings, I use phone calls, video if I must, and zoom meetings to collaborate with peers or clients. These tools make communication very effective, even if body language is not part of the communication.
   • I stay at my desk for consistent periods of time. This is where Jake really shines. Dogs are essentially four pawed metronomes. They have an uncanny sense of relative time. Jake knows when his needs need to be met, and he is good at reminding me. In Jake’s world, a tennis ball retrieval session begins at 10 AM (or as near to that as possible). I plan for that session as I would plan for a staff meeting. Jake’s midday walk generally starts right around noon. He will contentedly sleep at the base of my chair from after our tennis ball retrieval session until noon. Then he lifts up his head and gives me the “I need to have my walk” look. To an outsider, his face would look the same, but to me it speaks volumes. He is clearly communicating what he wants. Sort of like when Ben Stiller, AKA Derek Zoolander, finally got Blue Steel just right. You just know what it means.
   • In the afternoon, Jake comes to the rescue again, reminding me at around 3 PM that it is time for his mid-afternoon ball retrieval session.
   • At around 6 PM, Jake is back, reminding me that it is time for his dinner, and my time to begin shutting down and beginning my “commute” home, or at least my walk into the kitchen to get Jake fed.
3. Treat yourself to some treats.
   • For me that means eating a mid-morning snack, usually right after Jake’s tennis ball retrieval session. I admit to eating at my desk, not really a carryover from the office, but because I confess that I allow myself a few minutes to play a game or two of Free Cell, another one of my serious addictions.
   • I eat lunch at my desk right after Jake’s mid-day walk is over. Sometimes I work while eating, sometimes I play more Free Cell. I rarely go out to eat with my friends, which is perfect for the corona socially distancing requirement now. The reason for this is that it helps me maintain the fiction that I am really at the office instead of hanging out at home. Initially, this did not go over well with my friends, but they get it now. Several times per week, Pam will eat lunch at home, and I will sit with her in the kitchen for a bit while she eats.
   • My focus is on my work, but that doesn’t mean I am devoid of other inputs. I love listening to music when I work. I find it enables me to increase my productivity. As a result, Spotify is on all day, every day. During the corona period, I have used the TV as background noise, letting it play news programs while I work, giving Spotify a bit of a break. Thankfully, the TV is behind me, so I do not look at it. I just listen.
   • I do not graze all day, but I do allow myself a mid-afternoon snack, proving yet again how important Jake is to my day, as I time it after he is done fetching balls.
4. Set appropriate boundaries.
   • For me that means staying in my den office or the kitchen. The living room and bedroom are off-limits.
   • I do not allow myself to nap, as I would have been too embarrassed if I was caught napping at my desk at work.
   • I limit the errands I run during the day to the ones I would have left the office to complete, nothing more. It is too easy to become everyone’s schlepper while “working” from home.
   • If I am sick, I call in sick. As stupid as this sounds, it helps maintain my home “office” fiction.
   • I try to maintain “normal” work hours, even though I feel the tug to sit at my desk every time I walk thru the den.

Those are my rules. They work for me. I understand that most of you will need to adapt and define your own rules. I am confident that you will do just fine. I am somewhat leery as to my continued productivity, though.

I will still be consistent, but now that Pam and Kim will be working from home as well, Jake’s job just got a whole lot bigger. His effectiveness may be muted, as he will be assisting them in their daily routine. I hope he can still earn his monthly award.

I have been sitting on a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 20 Year Family Reserve for several months, wondering just when to open it. I finally opened it last night, a direct reaction to the Coronavirus.

In the bourbon world, Pappy Van Winkle is an anomaly. In a market where $100 bottles are reasonably rare, a bottle of Pappy 20 Year can command an after market price of over $2,000, an insane amount of money for any form of alcohol.

I got my bottle the old fashioned way. I lucked into it. No way would I buy it.

It all started with a random conversation at the gym with a guy I have talked to but have never done anything else with. We were discussing hotels and where I should stay while on a business trip. My friend suggested I stay at a much nicer hotel than I was planning on. His point was that I have earned it, that given my proclivity towards nice cars and nice travel, I should not compromise on a hotel room.

My point was that I was content to stay in a hotel while traveling on business as long as it provided a clean, comfortable room in a hotel with decent food and a decent gym. I perceived any features above those to be a waste of money.

I have made this point to some of my other friends and they thought I was foolish. My gym friend felt the same way.

If our conversation had ended there, I would not have my bottle of Pappy. Instead, I continued to drone on about utility curves and how more is not always better if sufficient utility is achieved with a given level of expenditure.

This led to a discussion about wine, and when the price of it exceeds its intrinsic value. As neither of us are oenophiles, we were in fundamental agreement that wine hits its peak utility at about $30 bucks per bottle, and that there is not much need to spend more. Just for fun, I broached the topic of Pappy and the severe market dislocation that exists in its price.

Obviously, we both readily agreed that no bourbon or any other form of alcohol was worth what it would cost to buy a bottle of Pappy. If our conversation had ended there, I still would not have my bottle of Pappy.

After a couple of moments of silence, while he was either contemplating his next statement or catching his breath while he pumped away on the elliptical trainer, he said to me, “I can get you a bottle of 20 Year Pappy if you want one. The price point will be retail.” I almost fell off my trainer.

The MSRP for Pappy 20 Year is about $130, most likely what it is worth, though I do have to admit that I would not pay that much either, especially when I am perfectly content with my sub $30 bottles of Woodford Reserve. I say this because I have had a shot of 20 Year Pappy before. I paid $40 for the shot, not an unreasonable price for something worth that much on the open market. I had it on a boys ski trip to Aspen, the only place I have ever seen it on a menu. I liked it when I had it, but …..

Having said that, this was an opportunity I could not pass up. The conversation value alone would be worth many times the cost of the bottle. So I said, “Absolutely. Get me one.” He did. Unbelievably.

After I received it, he asked me when I planned to drink it. I had no answer for that. I mean, how does one decide when to open a $2,000 bottle of booze? I have never had to make that call before. Opportunities came and went, but I could not bring myself to open the bottle.

As I watched the Coronavirus segment on the news last night, I was struck by the utter futility of the meaningless acts we are contemplating to halt its spread. I perceived the whole Coronavirsus discourse to be insane. No matter what we try to do at this point there is no way to contain this virus. We cannot stop living because we are afraid to die.

For some reason, refrains from Eve of Destruction, one of the quintessential 60s protest songs, came to mind. Its lyrics, penned so long ago in a very turbulent time, just felt so right.

“The Eastern world, it’s explodin’…..”

“Don’t you understand, what I’m trying to say? And can’t you feel the fears I’m feeling today? ”

“Yeah, my blood’s so mad, feels like coagulatin’, I’m sittin’ here, just contemplatin’, I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation, Handful of Senators don’t pass legislation,“

‘This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’, And you tell me over and over and over again my friend, Ah, you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction.“

As I sat there reflecting on the song, I could not deny the parallels. I was 10 when it was released, too young to understand it or act on it. Sadly, I am not too young any more. I am old enough to act.

So I decided to open my Pappy. It was worth it.

I am sitting in front of a fire. Not a gas fire. Not an artificial fire. Not a wildfire. But a fire in our cabin at the Alisal Guest Ranch.

We are sitting in our room on a cold, blustery day in this little, yet well-known, guest ranch, helping our friends celebrate their daughter’s wedding. It is a magnificent place, nestled in the coastal hills of California about 30 miles north of Santa Barbara.

It is Saturday afternoon. It is freezing outside. We are killing time before we have to get ready for the wedding to begin. The Alisal is a rustic, yet real world, place. Our room does not have a TV nor does it have a phone. Having said that, it does have wireless.

Pam and I are TV freaks, or at least Pam is. I go to sleep every night with the TV and light on, as Pam watches whatever show du jour has captured her attention until she falls asleep. I like to use the TV as background noise while I read or work.

We got here yesterday, and last night after enjoying ourselves at a great rehearsal dinner, we went to sleep without the TV flickering behind our eyelids. I found it refreshing. Pam played about an hour of solitaire on her iPad.

This morning, we had a nice breakfast and chatted with friends. We went back to our cabin, and made a fire. We know very little about making fires. We sort of understand the concept of kindling and draft, but the reality is that without gas, we were somewhat uncertain as how to start,

My, how the times have changed. A generation ago, everyone knew how to make a roaring fire. Most homes had wood burning fireplaces that could be used on a daily basis. Today, burning wood in a fireplace is deemed worse than burning gas in an automobile. The country is replete with Spare The Air regulations, which limit when wood can be burned and prohibit wood burning fireplaces in new construction. It will not be long before the gasoline powered motors are prohibited in new automobiles.

I love the sound of my naturally aspirated, air-cooled flat six engine in my 1989 Carrera and the sound of my naturally aspirated, flat six water cooled engine in my 2015 Cayman. Both cars feature symphonic exhaust notes that tremendously enhance the driving experience, making it much more visceral. The same cannot be said for battery powered cars, despite their surreal acceleration, as their lack of sound detracts dramatically from the experience for me.

I feel the same way about gas fireplaces. Everybody has them now. Our daughter, Shelby, and her husband, Bryan, just installed one in their house. Pam is lobbying to put one into our fireplace, too. I sat in front of Shelby’s and Bryan’s fireplace on Christmas Day. It was pretty. It threw off heat. But something was missing. Sound.

Pam and I are sitting side by side in comfortable chairs in front of the fire in our room. A real fire in a wood burning fireplace. A fire we successfully started without gas. Pam has broken down and is watching Netflix on her iPad, while I peck at the keys on my keyboard. The fire is beautiful. The heat is palpable. The smell is amazing, though we may be wearing it to the wedding. Most important is the sound. The cracking and popping of the wood, the whoosh of the air as it goes up the chimney make the experience real, not sterile.

This is an unbelievable guilty pleasure. The weather has limited our activities, but I am thoroughly relaxed and comfortable. I could have gone to the Library at the Ranch to watch NFL Wildcard Weekend. Yet, I am so much happier here. I keep looking at the clock, wishing time would pass more slowly, enabling me to spend more time this way. This is something I never do. Something I wish I could do more of at home.

I am totally in the moment. Yes, it is not politically correct. Yes, it is indulgent. But it is so satisfying. I have not just parked myself in front of a fire for years. I feel the same sense of relaxation as when I am driving my Porsches over the backroads and twisties. There is no noise from the TV in the background. I am disconnected. Sort of. And, I like it.