Little Boo is gone

Everyone loved Roscoe, who Don called "Boo". 

Roscoe died today, tragically run over by a car.  Roscoe was one of my favorite dogs, a small dog with a gargantuan personality.  From the moment he entered the Rickard/Glass household up in Napa, he dominated it with his quite futile (and cute) quest to dominate Gertie and PJ, two much larger Goldens, his need to be kept warm (what was he, like 7 pounds?), his ability to sleep on top of Gertie, his charm, his love of play ... and his general unwillingness to eat.  Roscoe was a rescue who was loved more than 10 lifetimes' worth in his short life by Don and Kathy.  I will miss his scruffy, adorable, wonderful presence.

I Guess You've Never Actually Seen a Person Die of Loneliness

Scott Miller is dead.

I don't know with any certainty how he died, one poster on his site stated that the cause was suicide. The cause of death is not mentioned in any of the releases, official or unofficial, that I have found.  He was 53, married with 2 young daughters, and besides being one of the most prodigiously talented songwriters of the last 30 years, he was apparently also a talented software programmer.  Talented programmer?  Not surprising, given how industrious and intelligent he was.

This loss cuts deep.  In a way, deeper than Alex Chilton's, who experienced great success (albeit at age 16), critical acclaim, and a life that seemed to be lived in an actualized way (lots of praise from the public, critics, tribute records, etc.)  It would have been hard to be Alex Chilton and not love the fact that the coolest band of the 80s recorded a (great) song called "Alex Chilton."

There are no songs that I know of called "Scott Miller".  Yet there deserve to be.

Maybe this cuts deeper because Scott and I share some traits, we both went to UC Davis in the 80s, we both played and loved the same type of music, I suppose he was about a million times more talented than I am as a songwriter, and maybe twice as talented as a singer, I could probably hold my own with him as a guitarist.  We're roughly the same age.  So, there's a thread of identification there.

I saw him open for Aimee Mann in the early 90s in San Francisco, when he was playing with the Loud Family. I remember loving the set but really sort of annoyed at his stubborn insistence at playing a Telecaster as the lone guitarist in the band.  The guitar sound was telephone-thin, any guitar with a thicker, more substantial sound would have served the band so much better.  Petty, I know, but then Aimee came out and her guitarist played an Epiphone hollowbody and just sounded great.  The Michael Lockwood era.  I just felt that maybe there was an element of self-subversion there in choosing the Telecaster.

Around that time, I purchased "Plants and Birds and Rocks and Things" which pretty much won me over with its wry title.  The songs, well, there were something like 18 songs on the CD, many of them a minute or so long.  The concept - and there appeared to be one, in a "The Who Sell Out" sort of way - seemed too high for me to grasp, but the songs that got me, "Take Me Down (Too Halloo)", "Inverness", "Last Honest Face" and "Slit My Wrists" really got me.  They were filled with knowing puns, yet accessible, complex and catchy.

The last song mentioned, it is so brilliantly written that it goes well beyond "cry for help."  Scott was so completely in command of his craft it would have been hard to question whether it was an artistic or a personal statement.  He seemed invulnerable simply because of his mastery.

It, of course, sold poorly, and I never heard any songs on college radio, satellite radio or anything other than my CD player (and later, iPod).

Sad.

Which makes this loss so much harder for me to deal with.  There will be no justice (late career recognition) of the type that Alex received. The possibility is now foreclosed. And with so much great work in his catalog (and a vast one it is, maybe 15 or so full length CDs), that recognition would have surely occurred.

A Series of Days With A Lot of Mexicans [and others]

The title is of course a reference to the smug, self-congratulatory and overbearing [would "puerile" be piling on?] movie, "A Day Without A Mexican." The premise of the movie is one day, dawn arises in California, and there are no Latinos.

Given that immigration is such a hot issue going into this election, let's discuss the topic a little. This likely won't be my last post on this issue.

The first question I would pose is this: What if all the illegal immigrants, of all nationality and stripe, were legal. That is, let's assume that there are no illegal immigrants, that all immigrants all here legally. Would there be an issue that we have too many poor people? Too many laborers? Too much cheap labor? A health care crisis regarding the vast number of poor we have in many metro areas?

I ask the above question because it is productive to tease out the myriad complicated sub-issues that cloud the discussion. I mean, is it that we are just a racist society? [I believe that we are fundamentally not a racist society.] Is it that we feel threatened by the changes to the status quo? A gradual [or in the case of Orange County in the 1970s, not so gradual] increase in the number of new, foreign residents can trigger something of a backlash [even if it does coincide with a dramatic rise in the value of your home.]

So we have an influx of new and perhaps undocumented people coming to America. So what? The free marketer in me asks "What are the impacts?" Well, first, the housing stock, particularly, the rental housing stock will increase in price. Secondly, wages will decrease. Thirdly, the goods and services produced by the cheap labor will decrease in price. And lastly, the entrepreneurs utilizing the labor will have more profit, and will thus expand their businesses [thus creating more of a demand for cheap labor.] To the extent that that labor supply is unlimited or seemingly unlimited, the cost of these goods and services will be artificially depressed. And so will wages. While the cost of rent and housing continues to increase. Sound familiar? Welcome to Southern California.

In short, the immigrants who are already here do a grave disservice to themselves by encouraging others to join them. The market never normalizes, never acclimates to the supply of cheap labor such that the other factors come into balance. One would expect that the most ardent anti-immigrants should be recent immigrants.

What else? In California, everybody likes to discuss the infrastructure. Hospitals, schools, police, jails, roads, administrators [both petit and grand] all get stretched to the limit. But how to measure the impact. Infrastructure is much like taffy. You have some, but it stretches and stretches when more is needed. Up to a point.

So let's think about this. How can we measure the net impact on infrastructure. Two ways. First, is there really a net impact on the infrastructure by the addition of millions of new personages? Well, my first argument against this proposition is that the net replacement population in American is 2.09. That is, for every woman in the United States [during her life], 2.09 children are born. So essentially, we repopulate.

Given that metric, we are in no serious danger of a population boom due to reproductivity rates. That being said, the United States has been growing by about 1% [a still sizable number, about 3 million per year] since 2000. Still nothing of a shock, especially given the United States' historic growth rates. [America doubled in size between 1870 and 1900. Even during the decade containing the Great Depression, America grew by almost 7%.]

But maybe the above numbers omit all illegals. One credible source estimates that 2 million illegal immigrants came to the United States between 2000 and 2006. That means 333 thousand come over each year, or about one-tenth of one percent of the current population of the United States.

So, just looking at the sheer numbers, it appears that the notion of infrastructure should not in and of itself be unmanageable. But we omit two truisms: all infrastructure is expensive. No one wants to pay for it.

So assuming that there is a marginal impact on infrastructure, do the new immigrants pay their share for the increased cost? First note: They aren't getting concierge service, folks. Get over that notion. Second note: they might be. It's possible. They're just not paying for it directly [for the most part. To the extent that they have forged identities and are paying into the pool, then they are in no worse position than your average garden-variety Wal-Mart worker.]

Before you light you club-shaped torch and come hunting for me, let me make the following observations: Cheap labor and increased home and rent prices have certain advantages you may not want to give up. The small incremental increased amount you pay for more cops, roads, border patrol, hospitals, jails and administrators is very likely more than offset by the amount of money you are not paying in the increased cost of produce, home construction costs, restaurant expenses and so forth. In order to do a nuanced study, you'd have to look at the net impact of population increases on wages and taxes, absent all other influences [such as the impact of Proposition 13]. That's more econ modeling skill than I have, and I would presume, than most of you have either.

So, close those borders at your own peril. The immediate inflationary impact on the costs of goods and services would be real and dramatic. The vast pool of unrented housing stock would stagger the Southern California market, sending ripples throughout the already teetering housing market. Take 12 million people out of an economy and see what happens.

Those are my views. People expecting a discussion of so-called "social justice" or "terror threats" related to immigration issues, I am sorry to disappoint you: I will not bite.

I'm back

Maybe.

What Do You Do When It's All Over?

There is a great little cautionary essay in the Wall Street Journal, called "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior." [Jan. 8, 2011] by Yale Law Professor, Amy Chua from her forthcoming book "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother."

The essay, some 30 paragraphs long [and well worth reading], makes the case that Chinese children are raised in a superior way that stresses achievement.  In the Chinese view, children need to achieve. In order to achieve, they need to work. In order to work, they need to be driven. In many cases, the parent must be the driver because children, left to their own devices, will give up.  And parents should enthusiastically and without remorse play the role of driver, even if the child balks or resents being driven.

Chua states:

"Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away."

As if the Western approach is in some manner in conflict with the aims stated as what the Chinese believe.  What Chua is missing is the recognition that children are not fungible. One child may be a tennis prodigy, another a math whiz.  In her essay, she states that Chinese children are only allowed to learn violin or piano, never the ... clarinet?  And why not?  If one wanted to create a culture of enforced sameness, a culture where innovation and creativity were squelched, she has, in my opinion, described the perfect petri dish for incubating such an environment.

Her proscribed approach is primitive and unyielding, the only redemption occurring if the child is or becomes successful. While there may be small victories along the way [her child learning the piano piece], the endgame had better yield a similar victory, otherwise the child's resentment will be justified.  And then what, Professor Chua?

It is in my nature

Merry Christmas!  I'm blogging again.  Just too many ideas in my head not to.

First, I was reflecting on the biography of genius jazz guitarist, Ted Greene [who sadly passed away much too soon] written by his widow [they were never married, but that's a minor nit, she was for all practical purposes his wife] Barbara Franklin.  What struck me was the story how late in his life Ted came under the thrall of a homeless women. And Ted, having a heart as large as his knowledge of chord theory, started - more or less secretly - providing money to this homeless woman.  And the woman concocted ever more complex and compelling tales of hardship and misery and imminent disaster in order to fuel Ted's sympathy. Only after some time had elapsed did Ted realize that he was being conned by an addict, a low-life, a grifter.  The story struck me as sad, and maybe a little funny - funny in the way that is not entirely unsympathetic to either Ted or the women.

Which is to say, the story is a bit like the koan about the frog and the scorpion, in which the scorpion, perched on the back of the frog as he is ferried across the river by his benevolent host the frog, stings the frog thus assuring that both will drown. When the frog, dying, asks the scorpion why, why have you done this?  The scorpion replies "It is in my nature."

This notion, "It is in my nature" permeates so many of the things I think about.  The recent brilliant song "Belinda" [lyrics by Nick Hornby / music by Ben Folds] is but one example.  In it, the singer, evidently a man in his fifties or perhaps early sixties, is singing about his one hit, the eponymous Belinda.  He is wistful, he is sorry, he misses Belinda. Why did he ever leave her? He met a stewardess who had "blonde hair, big breasts, a nice smile ... she gave me complimentary champagne." 

In short, it was in his nature.

The Ballad of El Goodo

I live in a tiny space. A tiny perfect little space that contains a universe. And that space is the mysterious, boundless universe known as music. It is infinitely deep and wide, it contains all things. One note can summon all the colors visible and many only hinted at by the visible world.

That's my world.

And near the middle of that world, very close to its perfect beating heart, was Alex Chilton.

Alex died last week, on March 17, much too soon at age 59. Alex was all the good things about music as an art. He was intelligent, spirited, uncompromising, talented, willful ... brilliant is too vague a word. His body of work serves as a cogent commentary of all that surrounded him in the musical world. He took the best of the Beatles and discarded the rest. He revered soul, tin pan alley, New Orleans barrelhouse, blues in all forms, and good old pop music. And he could play it all.

He was humble. It was his music that was audacious.

Don't just listen to Big Star. Or his solo work. Or the Box Tops. Listen to all of it. Repeatedly. And deeply.

God bless you Alex.

Calling Dorothea Lange

I spent an enjoyable weekend in Fresno, California, visiting friends. I ate, had great conversation, ate some more, drank, and drove around a city that should sparkle like a jewel, as it is located in the very center of the country's richest agricultural area.

Instead, Fresno stood as an example of our nation's inability to shift quickly. The most troubling aspect of capitalism is that everyone's problems are no one's problems. And indeed, the problem created by the blight of dire poverty was writ large in Fresno.

We passed buildings that were half completed, boarded up. Some will undoubtedly never be finished. Homes were abandoned, plywood on the windows. We went to no less than three restaurants that had recently been reviewed online. All three were shut down tight, with various explanations. If business had been booming, no doubt all three would have been open. This morning, the Starbuck's had the sadly familiar notice that it, too, would be closing next week.

The most troubling sight was something that I thought I would never see in my lifetime: a Hooverville. A tent city. I felt the ghost of Dorothea Lange tap me on the shoulder. It was a feeling that sent a chill through me.

And in this season, when Congress and President Obama are deliberating over much-needed health care reform legislation, dealing with North Korea, filling a Supreme Court vacancy, extending incentives for car buyers, and other issues, who is troubling over creating jobs for the able-bodied tent dwellers of Fresno?