Whoops a Daisy

A cleric I know lost his "dream job" when he wrote an email to a confidant complaining about a whiney congregant and by accident sent it to the whole congregation.

Mistakenly sent emails cost many people their jobs last year, according to a new study by cybersecurity firm Tessian.

In fact, one in four people.

According to the study, an employee sends four emails to the wrong person every month, on average; and one in four loses his job as a result.

Nearly one-third of employees say their businesses lost a customer last year because of a mistakenly sent email, the study also says.

Half of all employees blamed the mistakes on bosses pressuring them to work quickly.

The others blamed the mistakes on distractions and the fatigue brought on by working from home and meeting for hours on Zoom.

Whoops a daisy!

HAT TIP: Thanks go to Forbes columnist Edward Segal for alerting me to Tessian's study.

Fear Itself

Let the past abolish the past when—and if—it can substitute something better.

— William Faulkner

I've never encountered the conservative's rock-bottom belief better expressed than it was by William Faulkner in his 1962 speech before the American Academy of Arts and Letters.

"Let the past abolish the past when—and if—it can substitute something better," Faulkner said.

It's not our choice "to abolish the past simply because it was."

Conservatives always want to turn back the clock, without regard to whether the past was kind to everyone.

They can't help themselves.

Their brains are to blame.

Conservatives' have overactive right amygdalas, the side of the brain that processes fear.

In a word, they're chickenshits.

Holding reactionary opinions helps them manage fear.

The world is a dark, scary place, after all.

Scarcity is scary.

Disruption is scary.

Ambiguity is scary.

Hell, the future is scary.

At this moment, conservatives are even siding with Putin to quash their fear.

Any friend of Donald is a friend of theirs.

Liberals—those brave folks with the overactive left amygdalas—wonder why conservatives always choose the wrong side of history. But it's no mystery.

They can't handle fear.

As FDR said in his first inaugural address, "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror."

But I say, the only thing we have to fear is conservatives—reckless, feckless, unreasoning cowards.

Find some cajones, amigos.

Please.

10 Books That Have Mattered to Me

Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. 

They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.

– Anna Quindlen

For better or worse—mostly better—every book you read becomes part of you.

Whether treasure or trash, books can furnish pivotal life lessons.

I've learned profound lessons from trivial books; enduring lessons from ephemeral books; glorious lessons from terrible books.

And, as every reader knows, some books matter more than others: the ones that change your life. 

They startle you, consume you, haunt you, and shape your world.

Here are the 10 books that did that to me:

The Nick Adams Stories. Ernest Hemingway's coming-of-age stories deeply influenced my own coming of age, although I could not be more different from his protagonist Nick Adams. Hemingway's stories showed my teenage self the dark sides of the world that were—and are—kept secret from kids. Suffering. Sacrifice. Cowardice. Ambivalence. Depression. Addiction. Suicide. Rage. Rape. And romantic betrayal.   

Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist. Walter Kaufman's critical biography of the German thinker drew me into the world of philosophy and "philosophical anthropology." Even though my college professors later told me Nietzsche was "adolescent," I've always liked his naive truth-seeker's attitude. "There is no better soporific and sedative than skepticism," he said.

Catch-22. A high school English teacher assigned our class Joseph Heller's absurdist novel the same year we had to register for the draft. If I needed convincing I was allergic to the military, I didn't need it after reading Catch-22. Only a decade later, when I was working in an ad agency, did I learn that Heller was in fact proud of his service in World War II, and was actually writing about the bizarre goings-on in New York ad agencies.       

The Sound and the Fury. Another high school reading assignment, William Faulkner's surreal novel showed me that the past is never dead; that psychic legacies—your "roots"—shape you indelibly; that racism is unquestionably America's Original Sin; and that all well-off families must eventually rot and decay. For its literary merits and insights into people, I consider this the greatest novel yet written by an American.

Sanity, Madness and the Family. More than Sigmund Freud's, psychiatrist R.D. Laing's books captivated me during my years in college. In Sanity, Madness and the Family, Laing presented eleven case studies of patients with schizophrenia (considered incurable at the time). He concluded from his studies that the patients weren't crazy, their families were. The hospitalized patients were just trying to deal with family pressures. In other words, even insanity is intelligible, if you listen carefully enough.

Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. I took a semester-long course on Ludwig Wittgenstein's 150-page book, the only one published during his lifetime. Beneath its gnomic sentences lies an extraordinary—and quite mystical—worldview. According to that view, it is our language (i.e., our grammar) that lures us to many nonsensical beliefs about the world. But when we confront the world directly, our language stops operating, and those beliefs lose all credibility. In other words, speaking and thinking aren't doing. Doing is clear; it's speaking and thinking about doing that are muddy. "Whereof we cannot speak, thereof we must remain silent," Wittgenstein concludes. 

Being and Time. Martin Heidegger's exhaustive tome furthered my grip on reality. His basic premise simple: being is time. To be human is to exist "temporally," to live out our short stretch between cradle and grave. Being is time and time is finite: it comes to an end with our deaths. If we hope ever to be authentic human beings, we must act not as lifeless robots but as "beings-towards-death" and carve some meaning out of our finitude.

The Centaur. John Updike's charming novel warmed my heart to others like no book I've read. The story concerns a sad-sack science teacher and his disappointed 15-year-old son. The shambling father lives two parallel lives, one as a small-town high-school teacher (a self-described "walking junk heap”) and the other as a centaur. While the teacher is hapless and unremarkable, the centaur is a mighty Olympian god (he's even in love with a goddess, who's also the girls’ gym teacher). Through overhearing townspeople praise his father, the son comes at last to accept his long-suffering father for who he is—without ever learning about his fantasy life as a god.

Meditations. Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius' Meditations provided the sort of "self-help" I needed when, at age 40, I finally read the 2,000-year-old book. A Stoic, Aurelius says that serenity only comes by withholding your judgements of people, places and things. Most troubles exist only in the mind, and are worsened by self-importance, overindulgence, and thoughtless drive.

American Pastoral. Philip Roth's fictional account of the precipitous decline of Newark, New Jersey hit closer to home than anything I've read (I grew up next door to the once-bucolic city). Successful Jewish glove-manufacturer "Swede" Levov's world is shattered when his daughter protests the Vietnam War by blowing up a local post office. The fall of Newark from great American city to cesspool vividly parallels Lev's fate as he searches the city for his fugitive daughter.

What books have mattered to you?

HAT TIP: Thanks go to Dan Pink for inspiring this post. I wonder whether he remembers providing a guest post for Goodly nearly 10 years ago?

Stupid and Proud of It

I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.

— Edith Sitwell

I'm patient with stupidity, to a degree, but not with those who are stupid and proud of it. That's why I'm fed up with...

• Q-Anoners
• Anti-vaxxers
• Climate-change deniers
• Opponents of CRT
• Pro-lifers
• Supply siders
• New Agers
• Fox watchers
• Ayn Randers
• Gun advocates
• Creationists
• Fascists
• Confederates
• Super Moms
• Trump wannabes
• Trump supporters
• Trump

Who are you fed up with?

Triplicate

Let's have some new clichés.

― Samuel Goldwyn

The cliché Close, but no cigar stems from late 19th-century carnivals.

Winners at the wheel of chance took home a cigar for picking the lucky number.

Losers won only the wheel operator's condolence: "Close, but no cigar!"

An inveterate loser at the game might very well get the cold shoulder from his girlfriend.

The cliché stems from early 19th-century dinner parties.

A guest who overstayed his welcome at a dinner party would be served a cut of shoulder meat—the toughest part of the animal—cold.

Being served the "cold shoulder" was a strong hint: it's time you left.

But sometimes the hint wasn't strong enough.

Especially if the guest was a smart aleck.

Another cliché with early 19th-century origins, "Smart Aleck" was the nickname the New York City cops gave Aleck Hoag, a fraudster who bilked men while they consorted with his accomplice and wife, who would pose as a prostitute.

Aleck earned the nickname "smart" when he started bragging he would no longer bribe the cops to escape arrest.

Folks ain't got no use for braggin'.

Immersion

We are fish in a bowl, dear.

― Erin Morgenstern

Most writers research a topic by turning to experts. But some take a more direct route: they immerse themselves.

• Nellie Bly, on assignment for Joseph Pulitzer's New York World in 1887, faked a mental illness so that she could be committed to Blackwell’s Island, a state-run psychiatric hospital with a reputation for inmate abuse. Her resulting book, Ten Days in a Mad-House, made Bly's a household name and prompted Albany to reform New York's treatment of the insane. Bly's critics labeled her the "stunt girl," but she was a pioneer in "participatory journalism."
  
  
• Upton Sinclair worked undercover in the Chicago stockyards in 1904 while researching his novel The Jungle, an exposé of immigrant life and the ghastly meatpacking industry. Two years after its publication, Sinclair’s book resulted in nothing less than the establishment of the FDA, dedicated to protecting consumers from unscrupulous food manufacturers. "I aimed at the public’s heart and, by accident, hit it in the stomach,” Sinclair said.
  
  
• Stephen Crane donned rags, slept in homeless shelters and ate at soup kitchens while he researched "An Experiment in Misery," an 1894 short story that chronicled the seedy plight of the tramps, alcoholics and drug addicts who populated New York's Bowery District. Crane said he sought to show that the "root of Bowery life is a sort of cowardice," a willingness to "be knocked flat and accept the licking."
  
  
• Jack London did the same while researching The People of the Abyss, feigning poverty for seven weeks. "In the twinkling of an eye, I had become one of them," he wrote. "My frayed and out-at-elbows jacket was the badge and advertisement of my class, which was their class. It made me of like kind, and in place of the fawning and too-respectful attention I had hitherto received, I now shared with them a comradeship."
  
  
• George Orwell opted to "submerge myself, to get right down among the oppressed, to be one of them and on their side" while researching Down and Out in Paris and London in the early 1930s. He lived as a dishwasher in Paris, then as a tramp in London. The experience highlighted the cultural difference between the two cities: in Paris, Orwell wrote, he was called "bohemian;" in London, "scum." His stint as a bum awakened Orwell to his own British snobbery. "I shall never again think that all tramps are drunken scoundrels, nor expect a beggar to be grateful when I give him a penny, nor be surprised if men out of work lack energy, nor subscribe to the Salvation Army, nor pawn my clothes, nor refuse a handbill, nor enjoy a meal at a smart restaurant."
  
  
• John Howard Griffin darkened his skin to disguise himself as an African American in the Jim Crow South while researching his 1961 book Black Like Me. He hopped a Greyhound bus and traveled undercover through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia, undergoing along the way a "personal nightmare." He'd planned to spend six weeks in disguise, but only lasted four weeks before having a nervous breakdown and returning home to Texas. Unfortunately, Griffin's White neighbors weren't forgiving of his "stunt." They sent him death threats, hanged him in effigy, and forced his family into exile in Mexico.
  
  
• George Plimpton tried out for a major league baseball team that same year, while researching Out of My League, a book Hemingway called "beautifully observed and incredibly conceived." Plimpton's experiment led him to immerse himself later in other sports, including professional football, hockey, tennis, golf, and boxing, in order to write books.
  
  
• Hunter S. Thompson spent a year embedded in a criminal motorcycle gang while researching his 1966 book Hell's Angels. Thompson spent so much time with the gang that he was "no longer sure whether I was doing research on the Hell's Angels or being slowly absorbed by them."
  
  
• John D. MacDonald wanted his 1973 mystery novel The Scarlet Ruse, to center around a swindle involving a stamp dealer, so he immersed himself in the world of stamp trading and speculation for five years. To understand stamps' value, MacDonald studied 10 years of auction catalogs, interviewed dealers and collectors, and began bidding on pricey stamps at auction, storing the ones he bought in a safe deposit box. In the process, he made a 175% return on investment. He called his immersion "adventures in auctionland."
  
  
• Barbara Ehrenreich lived in trailer parks and residential motels and worked as a waitress, a cleaning woman, a hotel maid, a nursing home aide, and a Walmart sales clerk while researching her 2011 best seller Nickel and Dimed. The experience taught Ehrenreich that no job is "unskilled" and that even the most menial ones are exhausting. She also learned that one low-wage job isn't enough, if you hope to avoid homelessness in America.

Immersion is the art of leading readers so close to a topic that they're inside it, like fish in a bowl.

For the writer, "immersion begins simply with a key question, which must be taken literally and figuratively," says journalist Patrick Walters. 

"How do I get inside?"

Same Old Same Old

So it's the miscegenation, not the incest, which you can't bear.

— William Faulkner

Serious students of the American Civil War understand the causes to be twofold:

1. Rich Southerners' unremitting greed; and
    
2. All Southerners' fear of miscegenation.

Yesterday, Republican Senator Mike Braun told a reporter that states not only should decide whether abortion should be legal, but whether interracial marriage should.

"You can list a whole host of issues," Braun said, "but when it comes down to whatever they are, I’m going to say that they’re not going to all make you happy within a given state. We’re better off having states manifest their points of view, rather than homogenizing it across the country, as Roe v. Wade did."

Same old same old.

Attack!

Vulnerability scanning by Russians indicates the Kremlin is "exploring options for potential cyberattacks" President Biden warned yesterday.

"Harden your cyber defenses immediately."

Biden called cyberattack readiness a "patriotic obligation."

While big businesses are the likely target of the Russians, small ones are the most frequent target of cyberattacks in peacetime, according to Barracuda Networks.

A study by the cybersecurity firm found the average employee of a small business experiences over three times the number of cyberattacks that her counterpart at a large business does.

Fraudsters set their sights most often on small businesses because big ones have expensive safeguards in place.

CEOs and CFOs are the most common targets of the attacks.

Given their privileged access to systems, executive assistants are also popular targets, according to Forbes columnist Edward Segal.

Fraudsters in peacetime primarily use email to hack into and take over a business's computers, which they then hold for ransom.

Cybersecurity experts say at least one-third of small businesses are vulnerable.

More frightening than a systems takeover is fund-transfer fraud—because it's easier to pull off.

Fund-transfer fraud losses increased nearly 70% from 2020 to 2021, according to PropertyCasualty360.

Fund-transfer fraud is "one of the easier ways to monetize a cyberattack," the magazine reports.

Fraudsters use email to hack into a company and modify payment instructions on purchase orders and contracts.

They also send fake payment instructions that appear to come from vendors.

The average loss in late 2021 was $347,000.

Once again, small businesses are the most likely targets.

Fund-transfer fraud is not only easy, but potentially more profitable than a systems takeover.

That's because small businesses are less apt to pay a ransom for their computers. 

"Small businesses typically have less digital infrastructure, leaving hackers with less leverage during a ransomware negotiation," PropertyCasualty360 says.

How about you?

Are you prepared for a cyberattack?

Exile on Main Street

The artist has no more actual place in the American culture of today than he has in the American economy of today.

— William Faulkner

I'm flattered so many friends and acquaintances have taken well to my choice of an "encore" career.

At the same time, I'm saddened that I can only pursue painting as a career because I don't depend on it for the lion's share of my income.

My hat's off to those painters—successful or not—who found the cajones to try in their youth to paint for a living.

Faulkner was right to say the artist "has no place in the mosaic of the American dream as it exists today."

The average American artist, according to the Labor Department, earns $50,300 a year. That's $10,000 less than a clerk at the post office (a job Faulkner held as a young man, until he was fired for throwing away mail).

Of course remorse isn't good for the soul; and calling America materialistic is trite.

But as Wassily Kandinsky observed, "The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip."

Terror

 

I was not predicting the future, I was trying to prevent it.

― Ray Bradbury

A year ago, I urged live event organizers to prepare for domestic terror.

Sadly, that prediction proved correct last night.

Strongmen

A friend who posts reactionary memes every day on Facebook admitted to me he not only gets his jollies provoking "your kind," but secretly wishes Trump were president.

You probably know a lot of people like him.

I wish they'd all read Strongmen, historian Ruth Ben-Ghiat's 2020 account of modern authoritarianism, now out in paperback.

It's the scariest read you'll find outside a Stephen King novel.

Ben-Ghiat finds every modern strongman—including Mussolini, Hitler, Franco, Amin, Pinochet, Erdogan, Duterte, Bolsonaro, Berlusconi, Gaddafi, Hussein, Orban, Putin, Modi and Trump—cut from precisely the same vile cloth.

Strongmen are all emotionally stunted weirdos who seize the levers of power because dominion over others fills an inner need to prove they're not emotionally stunted weirdos.

They're masters in the dual arts of disguise and deceit.   

"They don the cloak of national victimhood, reliving the humiliations of their people by foreign powers as they proclaim themselves their nation's savior," Ben-Ghiat writes. 

"Picking up on powerful resentments, hopes, and fears," she continues, "strongmen present themselves as the vehicle for obtaining what is most wanted, whether it is territory, safety from racial others, securing male authority, or payback for exploitation by internal or external enemies."

Strongmen rely on distortions, myths, lies, and propaganda to build a faithful audience, banking on followers' willingness to abandon the real world in favor of the fantasy world the strongmen create.

Eventually—as in the case of my misguided friend—there's no talking to a strongman's followers.

"They believe in him because they believe in him," Ben-Ghiat writes. 

Their unshakable faith in the strongman leads them to insist you—by believing in a world where people strive to live in peace, right systemic wrongs, and work for prosperity and progress—are "drinking the Kool-Aid."

But strongmen really don't give two shits about their followers and, in fact, are openly contemptuous of them. 

All they really care about is robbing the treasury, punishing critics, controlling women and women's bodies, and pursuing vainglorious goals.

Soon—to every other citizen's detriment—chaos, bankruptcy, and warfare ensue, as strongmen lose what little is left of their ability to distinguish the difference between personal lusts and their nation's needs.

Their sick, self-aggrandizing projects invariably lead to their comeuppance and to a national apocalypse, as our parents witnessed in World War II and we're witnessing in Ukraine now.

"Authoritarian history is full of projects and causes championed by the ruler out of hubris and megalomania and implemented to disastrous effect," Ben-Ghiat writes.

Why don't Trump's followers see that?

POSTSCRIPT: Should you find the inclusion of Trump in the company of strongmen like Mussolini and Hitler far fetched, bare in mind that Trump's press secretary has acknowledged he openly admired other dictators' ruthlessness.

"I think he wanted to be able to kill whoever spoke out against him," Stephanie Grisham told The Hill. "He loved the people who could kill anyone."

Historian Ben-Ghiat says the "strongman's golden rule is: do whatever is necessary to stay in power."

We see Trump apply that rule every day.

Ukraine

When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Putin is the richest man in the world.

His cronies are among the richest.

Why they are compelled to crush Ukraine culminates from their unfathomable wealth.

It also culminates from their remoteness from 99.99% of humanity.  

"Love of money is blind," says artist Erik Pevernagie. 

"Greed and money make people forfeit the quiddity of life, banish them from what is essential and alienate them from themselves. They lose their identity and become drifting exiles."

Above: A tank rolls through Kherson, Ukraine. Photographer unknown.

UPDATE: Early this morning, Ukraine announced its forces have launched a counter-offensive outside Kyiv, according to The Wall Street Journal.

Hieronymo Girolamo

If we look to the saints, this great luminous wake with which
God has passed through history, we truly see
that here is a force for good.

— Pope Benedict XVI

Despite being raised a Roman Catholic, I struggle—as most Americans do—with believers.

Believers who practice what they preach have my admiration; but far too often your garden-variety believer turns out to have worse moral failings than the rest of us. He just doesn't know it.

I'm also not sanguine about church leaders; the opaque and bizarre organizations they run; or about the wily ways they exploit weakness and ressentiment.

More than most Americans, when it comes to religion's role in society, I tend to agree with Napoleon: "Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich."

Saints, nonetheless, captivate me.

The Catholic Church recognizes over 10,000 of them.

Saints are venerated by the church for "heroic sanctity." They're history's first responders, only with missals. 

And saints are often "patrons"—sponsors of causes and cities and professions, and guardians of individuals when they're caught in a bind.

Catholics celebrate saints' feast days, take their names at confirmation, and pray to them when they're wanting. 

Saints' life stories are generally fascinating.

One of the 10,000 saints I just discovered is Hieronymo Girolamo, St. Francis of Jerome.

A Jesuit in the 17th century, Hieronymo spent 40 years of his life preaching in the rural areas surrounding Naples, where his sermons would draw as many as 15,000 listeners.

His followers said he had god's gift on the soapbox and would often drag sinners before him, so they could hear his outdoor sermons. He spoke of the wickedness of sins, the need for repentance, the suddenness of death, the tortures of hell, and the salvation in Jesus.

Hieronymo spoke 40 times a day, always choosing streets and crossroads where recent crimes had been committed. Whenever he concluded, the crowd would crush forward to kiss his hand or touch his garments and beg forgiveness of their sins. 

"He is a lamb when he talks, but a lion when he preaches," listeners said, "not a mere mortal, but an angel expressly sent to save souls."

Hieronymo also earned a reputation for miracle-working—a requirement for sainthood.

He was said to have received communion directly from Jesus Christ. He was also witnessed asking a prostitute's corpse where its inhabitant was and receiving the answer, "I'm in Hell!"

Hieronymo preached in the streets until the age of 73. "As long as I keep a breath of life I will go on," he said. "Even if dragged through the streets, I will thank God. A pack animal must die under its bundle."

He died in 1716 and was canonized 123 years later.

By my count, Hieronymo delivered well over 670,000 sermons during his lifetime.

Time is On My Side

Old age is ready to undertake tasks that youth shirked because they would take too long.

— Somerset Maugham

I don't care for many aspects of aging.

The mysterious sore knees and feet and back muscles.

Pretty women calling me "Sir."

Automatically getting the senior discount.

Those things suck.

But one noticeable aspect of aging pleases me immensely: discovering the power of patience.

Without patience, I could never have made painting my second career.

Because painting consumes time—tons of it. (I just spent 30 hours painting a single eye and am not finished with it yet.)

"Patience is bitter," Rousseau said, "but its fruit is sweet."

Why I had to grow old to at long last discover patience puzzles me.

Maybe I lacked the patience to look for it.

Maybe I had no time for patience.

What eluded me, I think, was knowing that patience wields power impatience lacks.

Patience is a weapon.

"Everything comes in time to him who knows how to wait," Tolstoy wrote in War and Peace. "But believe me, my dear boy, there is nothing stronger than these two: patience and time, they will do it all."

I guess all this is a roundabout way of saying that age, if you're lucky, brings with it a sobriety that's missing in youth and middle age. (No surprise, some AA groups recite an "extended" Serenity Prayer that adds, "Grant me patience for the changes that take time.")

English borrowed the word sobriety seven centuries ago from the Latin sobrius.

Sobrius meant not only abstemious, but calm, steady, unhurried, still.

In a word, patient.

Age means, though vastly finite, time at last is on my side.

Above: Five of Five. Oil on canvas board. 10 x 8 inches. Available.

The Outlook for Events is Gloomy

If people don't want to come to the ballpark,

how are you going to stop them?

— Yogi Berra

This week marked the second anniversary of WHO's admission that Covid-19 was a problem.

Perhaps no other segment of the economy, except for the airlines industry, suffered worse from the pandemic than the face-to-face meetings industry.

I've been a Cassandra all this time, I'll readily admit. 

But four decades working in the industry told me the road would be rocky.

It will continue to be so for quite a while. 

As Covid-19 remains a threat to our wellbeing, organizers should expect no more than half the pre-pandemic audience to return to their live events in the coming three years.

That means organizers, if they honestly want to serve their paying customers, have a duty to reimagine their events with only half the customary audience.

Pollyannish thinking won't cut it.

Educating exhibitors in sales and lead-gen is the place to start.

Were I still an organizer, I'd devote an hour a day to learning from my smartest exhibitors precisely what they need to make my event pay off. 

Then I'd use my findings to create simple programs of benefit to every exhibitor—even those who in their unfounded arrogance believe they "know it all."

Yogi was right. 

You can't stop people who don't want to come to the ballpark.

But you can teach the players to up their game.

POSTSCRIPT: A bellwether event, SXSW opened Friday to a "noticeably smaller" audience.

Art is Dangerous

Art is dangerous.

— Picasso

A non-fungible token (NFT) is a digital deed. 

With it, you can prove you own the "original" of a digital asset (as opposed to a copy). 

An NFT is not the original—that's something else; a GIF, for example. 

But by owning the NFT, you hold the key to the kingdom.

By owning an NFT, you have owner's "bragging rights," plus the creator's permission to display his original asset on a screen; and, as importantly, you have a meter that tracks every copy of the asset that's ever existed or will exist.

You can also sell your NFT on the $25 billion secondary market for NFTs, if you want to cash out of it.

A year ago, the Charleston graphic artist Beeple sold an NFT for $69 million, still the record price for an NFT. 

Purchase of the NFT gave the buyer ownership of a digital collage Beeple titled Everydays.

$69 million. 

That's a hell of a lot to pay for the digital key to a GIF—even a GIF by Beeple—considering the danger inherent in an NFT. 

Lose the password and you lose everything. 

NFT owners have already forgotten their passwords; accidentally thrown them away; erased the disks holding them; and been victimized by hackers, who erase the passwords or steal them and hold them for ransom.

You can also lose the "original." 

The website hosting that GIF can disappear for any reason, at any moment. 

The NFT owner is left holding only a 404 message.

Insurance companies think fine-art NFTs are, in fact, extremely dangerous.

They want NFT owners to minimize the danger not only by safeguarding their NFT passwords, but by hosting the digital assets the NFTs unlock on their own servers.

They also want redundant, foolproof backup systems in place.

Insurance companies want owners as well to avoid transactions involving middlemen—art dealers—who could bungle data storage and handling.

I'm no Luddite, but I think owning original artworks on canvas, board, metal, and paper beats owning an NFT hands down.

Art is dangerous; owning it shouldn't be.

Above: Everydays by Beeple. GIF. Ding Dongs by Robert Francis James. Oil on canvas. Originally priced at $69 million, Ding Dongs is on sale for only $580 and comes classically framed.

Handle Me with Care

Been beat up and battered 'round,
Been sent up and been shot down.

— George Harrison

Dependency on a retirement nest egg has turned me into an obsessive market watcher.

That's not a healthy habit. 

Unchecked, it induces stock market stress.

So my usual jitteriness wasn't helped a bit yesterday morning when economist Peter Berezin announced that, with Putin on the rampage, the odds of a "civilization-ending nuclear war" in the coming year have risen to 10 percent.

But not to worry, folks, Berezin said.

"Despite the rising risk of Armageddon, investors should stay bullish on stocks,” he told The  New York Times.

The Times found the economist's prediction of increased earnings somewhat baffling.

"What I wasn’t trying to say," Berezin replied, "was that stocks were going to go up if there is a nuclear war. Obviously, they will go down. 

"The point is that everything else will go down, too."

Somehow, I'm discomfited by Berezin's analysis.

Maybe it's my memories of all those duck-and-cover drills we practiced in grade school; those uncles with mildewed bomb shelters; or Walter Cronkite's live coverage of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

I don't know.

But the fact that the prices of all investment vehicles will fall when the world turns into a radioactive ash heap doesn't much ease this market watcher's jitters.

I was tempted to place a sell-everything order with my guy after reading Berezin's analysis, but I resisted the urge.

Instead, I ordered a box of Potassium Iodide on line and spent the rest of the morning painting a picture (my encore career).

The problem with a pronouncement like Berezin's isn't that it's wrong.

The problem is that, when it comes to Boomers, it's tone deaf.

Mr. Berezin—a Gen Xer—clearly doesn't grasp the fact that, as Cold War survivors, we Boomers have to be handled with the utmost care.

Sure, we thought annihilation went out with giant shoulder pads.

But a lot of us have PTSD. 

Post Thermonuclear Shivers Disorder.

We're easily triggered.

Easily.

So, please, handle us with care.

Burning Bridges

We will burn that bridge when we come to it.

— Goethe

Rarely do I remember my dreams. Last night's is an exception.

I dreamed that my wife and I had planned to stay at a B&B during an antique show that was being held inside the Brandywine River Museum. (That's an actual annual event which I ran between 2006 and 2010.) 

The B&B in my dream was owned and operated by the museum (that's purely imaginary).

For some undisclosed reason, we had to scrap our plans to attend the show a day or two out.

Given our late cancellation, the B&B refused to refund us the lavish deposit on our room.

Oh, well, I said to no one in particular, you win some, you lose some.

I swallowed the $800 loss.

About a month later, a second $800 charge by the B&B appeared on my credit card statement. 

I called the front desk immediately.

"What's this other $800 charge for?" I asked. "We didn't even stayed at the inn."

Lloyd Bridges and sons

The concierge was blasé.

"After you cancelled your prepaid room, we gave it for free to a VIP guest, the movie actor Lloyd Bridges," he said. "Unfortunately, Mr. Bridges died in the room."

"That's terrible," I said. "But what's the $800 charge on my card for?"

"The $800 covers the cost to the inn of removing his body."

I asked why Lloyd Bridges' famous sons, Jeff and Beau, weren't asked to pay for the removal of their father's body. 

"They're rich," I said. "They can certainly afford it."

"We asked them and they both refused to pay," the concierge said. "So our only choice was to charge you."

I grew instantly riled, but knew I couldn't say a word.

Maintaining goodwill with the museum was crucial to my career—as what, I was unsure. 

No matter my feelings, I could not burn this bridge. 

Then, I woke up.

Sigmund Freud would have a field day analyzing my dream.

He found that bridges routinely appear in our dreams. 

Bridges symbolize the sex act—naturally. (Hey, it's Freud.)

But bridges also symbolize crossings: the crossing from birth to life; the crossing from life to death; and, for that matter, the crossing from any of life's stages to the next one.

As such, bridges symbolize changes: transitions, passages, returns, and departures.

Changes—whether for good or ill.

You don't want to burn those bridges, unless it's absolutely necessary. And maybe not even then.

You want to take the bridges as they come.

As The Dude said, “Strikes and gutters, ups and downs.”

Love It or Leave It

Most Western multinational companies have paused operations in Russia.

But not McDonalds. 

Junk-food retailers don't always own their stores in Russia (they're franchises out of the parent company's control), but McDonalds does.

The company has yet to make a public statement about the invasion of Ukraine by Putin, because Russia accounts for nearly 10% of its revenue.

I'm not lovin' it.

I'm leavin' it.

Boycott McDonalds. 

Because eating at McDonalds kills kids in Ukraine.

POSTCRIPT: Dump MCD, too. 

Commander in Thief

The party of crooks and thieves is putting forward its chief crook and thief for the presidency. We must vote against him.

— Alexei Navalny

When thievery is baked into a nation, as it is in Russia, we call it a kleptocracy. 

Kleptocracy, meaning "rule by a class of thieves," is a 19th-century word derived from the Greek words kleptes, meaning "thief," and kratia, meaning "rule."

Corruption in itself is bad enough; but far worse is the predatory and psychotic nature of kleptocrats.

Kleptocrats rule by bullying and by silencing their critics.

And when their rule is threatened, kleptocrats go on a murderous rampage.

That explains Putin's invasion of Ukraine.

Pro-reform Ukraine threatens his thief's rule over Russia.

It also explains Trump's attack on the Capitol on January 6, 2021.

Joe Biden's win threatened Trumps' unhampered venality.

It will take decades for future historians and forensic accountants to quantify Trump's take during his four years in the White House, but it was well over $2 billion.

Of course, compared to Putin, Trump's a piker. 

Putin has taken 100 times that amount.

It's hard to put yourself in the shoes of a self-dealing psychotic willing to murder to protect his kleptocracy; harder still to hear your fellow citizens say they'll vote to return a self-dealing psychotic to the White House.

My one hope lies in the high likelihood that the newly formed Task Force KleptoCapture will reveal that Trump has been laundering Russian kleptocrats' money—a federal crime—for decades, and that our Commander in Thief will at last be brought to justice.

Stay tuned.

We live in wondrous times.