More Letters to the Corinthians

Chapter 4

“Hello, my name is Lyle. And I am an alcoholic.”

“Hello Lyle, and welcome.”

Well shit, everybody else was saying it. So when it came to me I just followed suit.

Matty was always after me to join something like this. Said it wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself like one even if you were only a heavy drinker. (Then the first thing they do is get you to stand up and say you are one.)

All these people look fucked to me. Praising God and talking about religion as their saviour. I don’t care much about any of that because I never really believed in anybody’s God, or any of that bullshit about his boy Jesus. Sure he was probably a nice person trying to make the world a better place, but this group he’s got working for him now are a bunch of wackos.

That fat one’s got her eye on me. I don’t know what she wants but I never trust a smile that big. She must think I’m some other drunk who comes to meetings. If she moves this way and starts talking to me about her boy Jesus, I might deck the chick. Not that she’s not a nice person and all, but man these people are freaky. I need a drink.

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This time I told ‘em to give me the good stuff. Sometimes a man deserves the good stuff. Now let’s see if I got any coke. Shit! Guess it’ll have to be with ice. Damn! Don’t have that either.

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Good morning to me.

Guess I’d better be making my way back to work. It’s been nine days now and they can’t hold my job forever. I can’t imagine how much they’ve got piled up. I’ll bet that little Mexican fella’s been working his tail off just trying to keep up. I better get back to work.

It amazes me how much time a man spends working. All that energy going into making shit just so rich folks can waste. Look at all those people making oil. Some of those jobs are dangerous. And freezing your ass off outside just so people can drive a Hummer.

I could sure use a hummer.

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“Thank you Gonsalvo, that’s very kind of you and your misses.”

Old Gonsalvo’s wife made me a nice card. Says that in their tradition when a woman dies all the other ladies cry for her soul. It’s to make sure the man upstairs notices (and nobody slips through the cracks). And right on this card is a lovely green tear made from fabric. That’s nice, real nice.

“My wife say you come for dinner”

“Oh no, thank you Gonsalvo. I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, my wife good cook. She say you come tonight. Make special foods.”

Well, I never was much for arguing with a woman.

Turns out ol’ Gonsalvo ain’t Mexican at all—they’re from the Philippines. Guess some uncle called them over and croaked while they were on their way. Said he was gonna pick up the tab for travel expenses but nobody knows what happened to his dough. (You know how immigrants don’t stand much of a chance with the law.)

Decent place, rosaries everywhere. And the food was good except too spicy. But it was still good. When I first looked around I hardly noticed him but they had a young son lying on a mat in the corner. Looked a little deformed and I think he was crippled too, but nobody said anything so I didn’t ask.

Funny part was the way they talk. They can’t say “fff,” so instead they go “pu.” Like when they tell ya where they’re from they say “da Pilipine,” cause they can’t make the “fff” sound. After a couple drinks (I brought some just in case) I kept asking just to hear it again. I wonder if the boy’s name was Pil or Pred. Maybe on Halloween they dress him up like Prankenstein—I should stop.

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Reminds me of when Marty McTie was in court for a misdemeanor and the judge asked, “How do you plead?” And he said, “Fucking awful your honour.” Man that was funny. That old judge waived the charge but gave him 30 days for being such an asshole. Can you believe that? 30 days just for being an asshole.

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“Mister Murtz, asshole. No pay good. I say puck you, Mr. Murtz. Asshole boss. You, me, we start shop. Make good money. Okay?”

“Now hold on Gonsalvo. Sure Murtz is a jerk and not loose with the cash, but to start a business you need lots of dough. You can’t just open up shop.”

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“Hello Miss MacIntyre. Nice to see you to ….. My wife, no she’s not inside right now, I’m sorry to say she passed just over a month ago. Weak heart ….. Yes, she was a very fine woman …. Thank-you Miss MacIntyre.”

She won’t remember a damn word I just said.

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Immigrants have a rough go, they really do. Nobody loves ‘em except their own. I can’t imagine moving all the way ‘round the world to somewhere where I don’t speak the lingo. They sure must have powerful reasons.

I remember us boys at the butcher shop used to chuckle whenever one came in. I’ll never forget this Polish or Ukrainian or Czechoslovakian guy. He was older (like a man) but still pretty ignorant. And he wore an old beat up sports jacket (like they all did) with a cap (like they all did).

When he came up to the counter he’d say, “Hello somebodies, I want to buy some pig on a chop.” I was standing right behind Billy Skyvar one time when he went, “Ah, would that be a pork chop, sir?” And the guy went, pretty loud, “Yeess!”

Then when Billy was getting his chops the guy goes, “And four pounds chicken tits.”

We started to laugh right there in the shop, right in front of him. Then Billy goes, “Uh, do you mean chicken breast, sir?” And again he goes, “Yeess!”

I had some good laughs growing up. I really did. Belly laughs. And some pretty good friends too. That’s because we all lived in the same boat so people were good to each other (kind of like immigrants).

Billy Skyvar and Marty McTie went to the same school as me. And all three of us quit after grade ten. Billy went to work on some uncle’s farm and then into the lumber business with a cousin or someone. Marty went to work on the railroad (and we always used to whistle that song whenever he’d walk in).

My kid brother, Terence, was the best man at my wedding but if he’d died sooner it would have been a tossup between those two. Yeess! We sure had some good times.

Back then everybody lost a brother or a sister or someone young. The deal wasn’t that big. If your mother went to the hospital to have a baby, you knew damn well that something could happen and maybe only one of ‘em was coming home. That’s just the way things were back then—nobody knew any different. That’s why I don’t understand rich people like John Tillman, flaunting their wealth and prosperity. Don’t they know we’re all in this together? Don’t they remember?

(Maybe Gonsalvo’s right. Murtz is an asshole.)

Chapter 3

“I’ll be back to work tomorrow. Just got to finish up a few affairs with my wife’s passing ….. Thank you for mentioning, I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

Not even a bouquet of flowers. Sixteen years with a company and no one sends a lousy bouquet of flowers when your wife passes. Guess after a while you just become part of the machinery. But still you’d think they’d send a bouquet of flowers.

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I wonder if anyone can see. And if they could I wonder what they’d think? Am I the only son-of-a-bitch crazy enough to be sitting in a laudramat at three o’clock in the morning. Well, I couldn’t sleep and needed clean clothes.

If that fly comes by one more time I swear I’ll get my gun and shoot the bastard.

Now what the fuck do I do. It says “Insert Rinse” but I don’t have any rinse. I think I’ll just put in a little more water. How’s the machine to know it isn’t real rinse?

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The next Italian singing sensation, Danny Acapella, will be appearing at the Roxborough Inn, Saturday October 5^th, for one night only. Tickets $10.00 in advance or $15.00 at the door.

Who the fuck is Danny Acapella? And if he’s such a sensation, why are they advertising him in a laundromat? Don’t you love how they use big words in small places? Ah, maybe I’ll go. I’ll see.

My dad used to sing. He sang all the time. Mining songs from the 1890’s, or so he said. Said his grandfather was a coal miner. Used to go down the shaft with pick and shovel and bring up what he could. God, what a way to make a living. In those days mines used to explode often enough to keep you thinking. Some asshole would fuck something up and kaboom, 50-100 men buried alive. What a way to die.

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Danny Acapella wasn’t so bad. It was obvious his best days are behind him. Costume was worn, jokes were old, hair was thinning, waistline thickening. He kind ‘of reminded me of myself. I don’t know where they came up with the line “next sensation?” I think the only next thing for Danny is a retirement home.

But he sang good songs and his jokes were clean. Always strikes me funny seeing working people out on a Saturday night getting just shit-faced. Lots of people don’t have much to live for. And a lot of folks don’t have a pot to piss in for savings. They live for drinking on Saturday nights, enjoying some washed up old has-been like Danny Acapella, figuring he’s just the best damn singer in all the land.

They should have heard my dad.

Chapter 2

“Damn piece of shit!”

This car never was any good. I never should have bought it. I should have bought the Japanese one, but no, Matty insisted we buy North American. Something about keeping the jobs here in this country. Something about employing some fuck down in Arkansas who’s trailer-trash brain doesn’t know whether he should properly tighten the CV joint or quit and go back on welfare. I’d prefer the work of some little Asian guy trying to get ahead in the world.

“Fuck! It must be the starter.”

Last time it was the starter I paid 300 dollars to fix it. Why can’t things work right when you pay to have them fixed the first time? Why is it you have to take it back two or three times until they finally get it? Why is it I’m driving ten year-old wheels when I’m nearly two years shy of sixty? How the heck can a man go through the prime of his life, working everyday, and have nothing to show for it? Nothing financially that is. Sure I had a few good times but what happened to all my dough?

Matty didn’t work. I didn’t want her to. And being a proper lady like she was, she didn’t argue. I always made enough for the two of us to get by, but we never had much for luxuries. Like we never traveled, really. A few short trips in small hotels but never anything like a cruise. She always looked nice because she made her own clothes (and most of mine). When she found a lovely fabric, she’d ask if she could buy it like Dorothy Lamour in some movie or something. Like it meant the whole world to her. And of course I would say yes. I would have agreed without the theatrics but she’d put on her best show just for me. Maybe it was her way of keeping entertained in this miserable lower-class existence I’d given her. It’s not like she didn’t come from money—for she did. Old John Tillman either owned or ran half the businesses in Alderside and wasn’t modest about showing off his wealth. Most of the parading was done by her brothers but Matty got to ride around in some pretty fine cars herself. Cars that were a whole lot fancier than this.

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“His name was Bill or something. Said it was the starter and that this new one would fix me up fine.”

“We don’t have a Bill. We only have an Al, a Tim, and a Randy. Who do you think it was?”

Ignorant bastard. How am I suppose to know which one it was, I already said I thought his name was Bill. Why is it you always have to raise a stink every time you want good service? I wish Mother Teresa would move here and open an autobody shop so there’d be at least one person in this God forsaken town who gave a damn about common everyday people. Goddamn oil boom. If you’re not rich, they’re not worried about you. Almost makes you wish you were rich.

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Yes I got it fixed. Turns out the starter old Bill sold me was a rebuilt that only came with a thirty day warranty. After I bitched and moaned they fixed it for sixty bucks plus eight percent for shop supplies (what a racket).

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“Hello Miss MacIntyre. Nice to see you to ….. My wife, no she’s not inside right now, I’m sorry to say she passed three days ago. Weak heart ….. Yes, she was a very fine woman …. Thank-you Miss MacIntyre.”

She won’t remember a thing I just said. That old bird must be ninety if she’s a day. I think she’s the oldest one in here and I think she’s been here for some forty years. One time Matty asked her in for tea and she talked for hours about how she almost married this guy, Harold. How he was kind to her and sort of handsome in a way. But she thought she could find better and never ended up marrying at all. I think she told everyone about Harold so they wouldn’t think she was a lesbian or nothing like that.

Anyway, after teaing with Matty for hours she never remembered her name. She’d always call her “you” or “stranger” as in “hello stranger.” She called almost everyone “stranger.” I hate being called “stranger.” It’s like living in the wild west where gunslingers down shots in the saloon and women like old Miss MacIntyre dance a can-can on top the piano. Then late at night, when a can-can girl spots a new face she approaches him with, “Hello stranger, looking for some company.” Maybe Miss MacIntyre wasn’t a lesbian at all, maybe she was a hooker all along, maybe she still is—son of a bitch.

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She grabbed my Johnson like a gymnast grabs the high bar. Ten strokes later I was done.

(No, not Miss MacIntyre.)

Chapter 1

I don’t like the sound of women talking to women, especially on the telephone. They just seem to natter away in a sultry manner, getting absolutely everything they know out. I hate the tone of their voices when they try to out bore each other. Maybe it’s not all women; maybe it’s just my wife. Yes, I was married. I thought for the longest time that no one would ever get to know the wonder of my uniqueness, marvel at my animal-like table manners, or shudder at the sound of my bed farts. But sure enough along came ol’ Matty, the woman who became my bride. The women who drove me crazy for the past thirty-five years with family invitations, lousy Christmas music, wardrobes of cheap fashion, and approximately 1,820 (35 years times once a week) over cooked pot roasts. The woman who has over nursed me and under nourished our many (as in had many) house plants. The woman who was an absolute saint to know but a penance to live with.

We met like most couples of the 1950s, under a porch looking for frogs. She was thirteen, freckly, pudgy, and ugly, and I was fourteen, freckly, pudgy, and ugly. I basically had nothing going for me—not looks, not smarts, not talent. I could never attract the cuties I wet-dreamt about as a kid. I couldn’t even attract ol’ Matty back then.

Matty’s father was an old-time alcoholic. Man, that son-of-a-bitch could drink. One time at the lake, he downed a complete forty-ouncer and proceeded to beat the living shit out of his shadow. I was always afraid of that man. And I was most afraid when he said, “Lyle, on behalf of all the Tillman’s, I’d like to welcome you into our family. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Fit right in! Kiss my ass! I married their daughter and moved her 2,000 miles away as soon as we got back from the honeymoon. Ol’ Matty was a pain in the ass to live with but she deserved better than to have a father like him. She deserved to be treated nice by everyone who knew her because she really was a lady. The type some say they don’t make anymore.

Of course, like all good things, Matty passed. She died last Wednesday of an arterial clot—heart attack. We’re going to bury her tomorrow. She was fifty-eight.

It doesn’t seem right that a God would take away a person like Matty when there are so many assholes in this world. You’d figure we’d need a few Mattys just to balance things out. But she’s gone, like both my parents, her Mom and two brothers, and more than half the people we knew back in Alderside.

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Whack!

That cat is trying to curl up to me again.

Whack!

I guess she misses ol’ Matty too. She must have been horrified when she discovered I’m now the one in charge of her care. I never wanted this damn cat. For that matter I never wanted any cat, dog, gerbil, or goldfish. I believe animals should make their way out in nature, and that man should go about its business taking care not to disturb them. But ol’ Matty just had to have something. Something to love, something to appreciate her kindness and return her favours with loyalty, affection, and whatever the hell else I couldn’t give her.

We didn’t have children. No, not because the plumbing wasn’t working, but because we never had sex. Right from our wedding night through our thirty-five years together, I not only never touched her body but I never saw it naked, not totally naked. I sucked her breasts a few times but could never bring myself to go any further. Christ, the woman was a saint. You can’t fuck a saint!

I did manage to have sex with a few others though, quite a few. Not girlfriends or anything like that, just prostitutes. Prostitutes make you feel comfortable like you’re not cheating. Prostitutes are for sex and wives are for love and for some reason I could never crossover the difference. And ol’ Matty never mentioned it in conversation, she never talked about it. She must have either understood or felt the same way—though I know she craved children. Every child that passed by had to have a cheek pinch from Aunt Matty and then an invitation to come in for tea and cookies anytime they liked. And not once did she ever say, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we had our own, Lyle.”

I’m ever grateful for her never having said that.

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“Holy Shit!”

“Fuck you, Lyle and let me in.”

He walked right through me like I was a ghost.

“Awfully nice of you to invite me to my own daughter’s funeral. I suppose when a man moves this far north his brain tends to freeze up.”

I can’t believe the great John Tillman has just entered my home. I can’t believe the only living thing that can make me feel like an absolute nothing is sitting at my kitchen table.

“Did you ever plan on telling me, Lyle? You know I would have accepted the charges.”

Of course he would have accepted the charges. He would have let them charge him double just to have one more thing to hang over me. He’s always loved playing with my head and trying to make me look dumb. But not today, not in my house, and not on his first visit.

“Drink John?”

“Well if you need a drink to answer my question, Lyle, I suppose I’ll have one.”

Don’t you love how alcoholics always think everyone else has a drinking problem except for them. And when you ask if they’re an alcoholic, they look at you like you have two heads. Who me? Why would you ask me?

“I have bourbon, scotch, and rye. What’ll it be?”

“What kind of scotch?”

“Haig & Haig Pinch.”

“I’ll have Jack Daniels with coke.”

As if I stock his only brand just in case he ever stops by. I had it, and made us both drinks.

“Madelaine was a beautiful girl and a very nice person, wasn’t she Lyle?. She …”

“So what are you doing here, John? You don’t need to borrow money do ya?”

I knew that would get him. I knew that would stir up memories of the time I borrowed $10,000 to open a machine shop, lost it on some son-of-a-bitch that wouldn’t pay me, and never paid him back the loan (though I vowed I would).

He’s always thought of me as an inferior, as being too slow and not sharp enough to be a big time businessman like him. And according to John, if a man wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or entrepreneur he was just a drain on society. All the people that build his roads, grow his food, and one day build his coffin are all, in his opinion, basically worthless.

“Cheering for the Yankees again this year, Lyle. I see they’re in last place.”

“I know why you’re here, John. I know why you traveled 2,000 miles. You feel guilty don’t you?”

After fourty-five years of knowing this prick I don’t feel I should have to pull any punches. He knows damn well why he came this far to fake the mourning of a child he always considered a nuisance. He knows damn well that he’s been a shitty, miserable, lousy father (husband, brother, son, businessman, neighbour, relative, and person) and that if it was him (which it should have been) she would have been the only one to show up. And that this is the absolute least the prick could do for her.

“Now that we’re no longer related, John, I’d like to top up your drink and say exactly what I think of you.”

“I’d very much appreciate that, Lyle.”

“First of all, I hate how you always use my name, John.”

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“Get up. It’s morning.”

I must have fallen asleep on the couch. Man do I feel like shit. That son-of-a-bitch can still outdrink me. And at his age, he must be eighty.

“What time is the funeral, Lyle?”

“10:00 am”

My eyes rolled past the two empty bottles on the table and found the living room clock—it was 8:30. I must have smoked thirty cigarettes last night. John was wide awake, showered, smiling, and half dressed. I guess it’s my turn.

“Any hot water left, John?”

This whole building must run on one home-size hot water tank.

“Enough for me, Lyle.”

He’s in the bathroom shaving. I hope he hurries up; I’m not showering while he’s in there.

“Where did you sleep last night, John?”

“In your bed.”

Son-of-a-bitch.

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The funeral was nice, though not well attended. I guess we didn’t put much effort into meeting people since we got here. There was the lady who cleans the church, the priest, John, and me. The priest was gracious with his words and the church lady cried a few times (which was nice). I guess the whole thing lasted twenty minutes. Then John offered to buy everyone breakfast at the nicest place in town. The lady had to go home to her family and Father had another funeral at 11:00, so it was just me and John. We went to Aurora Borealis and had breakfast. It wasn’t the nicest place in town but I thought it appropriate.

John’s plane left at two that afternoon. We ate breakfast and drank coffee for most of the time until I drove him to the airport. Even though we’ve never seen eye to eye, I still appreciate him coming to ol’ Matty’s funeral. And I almost told him so.

Numbers

No doubt you’ve felt the ongoing panic these days over the coronavirus. Pandemics don’t come along often and this might be a good one. Maybe good enough to change the world. Remember, nothing brings out human instincts like a natural disaster—both awful and awesome.

In a military war you can see the bullets coming. Physical evidence lies before us and we know the enemy. But with a virus it’s like fighting a ghost, you’re guarding against somebody else’s air. And this leads to some pretty weird behaviour. People you’ve known for years start looking at you like a potential disease. So yes, this could be bad but let’s put it in perspective.

Medically speaking, only five things can happen. You’ll either:

miss the virus

get a mild case
get a bad case, which makes you sick at home
get a serious case, which takes you to the hospital—and you survive
get a serious case, which takes you to the hospital—and you don’t

That’s it. Only five things. So the question becomes: what are my odds? What are the odds for my family and friends? And how about a bunch of people I’ve never met?

Statistics usually deal with the average person but in this case it depends upon your health. So for our example we’ll use the average person in good health, a group which is stronger (i.e., the young), and the more vulnerable. According to unofficial estimates, here are the figures.

Getting it

Maximum spread of this virus is 70%. That’s the absolute max. And since our average person is washing their hands and practicing self-distancing, this percentage gets cut in half.

	Average	Strong	Vulnerable
Getting it	Less than 50%	More than 50%	Less than 20%

The young come in contact with more people so their chances are higher. Those susceptible will obviously take extra precaution so their chances are lower. And if everyone does exactly what the government is asking, the risks go down for all. (Did you hear that kids?)

But if you get it, your odds look like this:

	Average	Strong	Vulnerable
Mild case	80%	95%	50%
Sick at home	14%	4%	34%
Hospital and live	6%	1%	16%
Hospital and not	1 in 20 of those who go to the hospital	1 in 50 of those who go to the hospital	1 in 5 of those who go to the hospital

The good news is average people have a 94% chance of getting off easy. The bad news is our vulnerable have a serious chance of getting very sick. They could get a mild case, but the odds of not surviving a bad infection are high.

2X flu

What do we know about this virus? It’s kinda like the flu. More contagious and stronger, but still like the flu. On the other side we have citizen participation, worldwide research and technology, and an awesome healthcare system. This will be a fair fight.

And no matter what happens the situation will yield a universal and Canadian mortality rate. For Canada, let’s guess .03% (with a decimal point). Now .03 doesn’t sound high but that’s still a lot of people, around 10,000. So the idea of slowing this thing down is right. Everyone deserves a proper shot at healthcare. But for the sake of numbers, 10,000 is also 2X the flu.

Panic

Every year the flu kills a large number of people. Last year in the US it was 80,000 and the WHO says globally it’s 290,000-650,000. Can you imagine if we tracked it? Old timers sitting by TV sets watching the numbers rise? Not good for a variety of reasons. Mental health is one, but more importantly panic can bring on health problems caused by anxiety like heart conditions. Not good during a time when we need beds. And if you assume this won’t crest until mid-April, we have 3-4 more weeks. So you’re not doing anyone any favours by freaking out grandma.

What’s best for our current system and the overall outcome is for everyone to remain calm. That being said, panic also serves a purpose. Sometimes you have to scare people into complying and that job has mostly been done.

So is this situation real? Yes. Should we follow government guidelines? Absolutely. But adjust your panic accordingly. That’s what’s best for everyone. I’ll bet my scientific reputation on it.

Letter to an Atheist

If you’ve ever watched the Flintstones, you know all about Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm. Not only cute kids but they wrote a smash hit single that went: Let the sunshine in. Let the sunshine in. Open up your heart and let the sunshine in.

This represents the way many feel about their God. They connect by opening up their hearts, and it goes with something a friend once told me. I asked why religious people never smoke dope. He said, “Because they’re stoned all the time.”

Not everyone gets high using this method. Some get downright incensed at the sound of religion. Few of America’s founding fathers had time for faith and Jefferson once cut up a Bible, threw away all the bad parts, and glued it back together in accordance with his own views. Anger against the church is nothing new but atheists take it to a new level. Not only do they disrespect religion, they don’t believe in God.

Protractor

Before getting to non-believers, we need a definition since all sorts of people believe all sorts of things. Let’s use a protractor.

There are six types of people. Fundamentalists are strict believers who take their faith literally; progressives are big on religion while open to discussion; lights are into faith, but not that heavy; deists believe in God but not religion; agnostics neither believe nor disbelieve; and atheists say both God and religion are a crock. So there you have it. From big God to no God, we have a wide variety of personalities. And most atheists aren’t atheists at all—they’re actually deists.

Christianity

Like most religions, Christianity is comprised of four parts. And not all followers buy in.

Philosophy – along with Paul’s letters to the Romans, much of Catholic doctrine was inspired by Plato and written by a man named Saint Augustine. And though it’s changed over the years, this philosophy has always addressed the issue of ethics and the mysteries of life.
Rules – initially based on Roman law (which came from strict Jewish tradition), the rules also changed over time but today, they’re certainly not for everyone.
Story – if you think of Christianity as a business, the story is its marketing department. They added miracles to impress past-day people into buying into this system. Could it all be true? Possibly, but it goes without saying that not everyone agrees.
Implementation – not only was religion rolled out once devised, leaders also had to worry about market share (wars and crusades) and day-to-day operations. It’s from these last two that the many “man made” scars have been inflicted. But let’s be honest, this system also brought much good into the world. Good performed by those who found beauty in this faith.

That’s religion in a nutshell. Some revel in the whole package (fundamentalists who get stoned) while others take a lighter approach (most Canadian Catholics). And it’s the position of “lights” that atheists may find intriguing. You see, atheists come in three pasts: they’ve either had a lousy life (original definition), were raised with faith and broke away, or weren’t raised with religion at all and could never buy in.

Comedian Jimmy Carr calls it an epiphany when you break free from faith, which of course is ironic since an epiphany is supposed to be a religious experience. What he doesn’t say is it’s only the first one. There are at least two more. One, that recognizes the church was very much a necessity and damn fine idea. And two, that the world still needs religion. It needed it back then and needs it today. Maybe we’ll evolve to where culture no longer requires it, but I believe this change is happening way too fast and people aren’t ready for what they’re creating.

Reason and imagination

If you don’t like faith, we have two more choices. Reason is brought to us by Plato and Pythagoras — the master of math. Plus Carl Jung, who is the second most influential psychologist next to Freud. They can all prove it.

Everyone knows Aristotle studied under Plato, but Plato studied under Pythagoras for ten years. Pythagoras was the world’s first genius at mathematics. He believed through mathematics and knowing the stars you could definitely prove the existence of God. As a matter of fact, one of only two perfect IQ scores said the same thing. About 30 years ago, he gave up all material interest and went about concentrating on such proof.

Pythagoras felt it was through incrementations found in music and measurements in the sky. He said this universe is far too precise to have been created without order. It’s the manifestation of order. And Plato insisted that any serious study of philosophy include the area of astronomy. He said they go together. “As above, so below.” Pretty serious players say it’s all real and we’ll leave it at that.

But if math isn’t your ticket, let’s talk imagination. Imagination is what occurs when you realize human fragility. That not only can your bones be crushed in an instant so can your hope. And that having a god is the best psychological medicine one can take. The finest thing the Protestant Reformation gave us was the ability to hold a personal god. It’s great. You can make yours whomever you wish. So if nothing else fits, make one up. The question isn’t who is God and what does She want from me, the question is what should it be? This is My God.

Summary

You don’t need a creator when things are going well and you’re on top of a mountain. You need God for the valleys when things are going rough. To stop you from jumping into the lake ‘cause life really sucks. That’s why my favourite story from the Bible is when God takes a walk with us along the sand. The person he is telling asks, “But Lord, sometimes there is only one set of footprints. Is that when thou hast forsaken me?” And God says, “No, you idiot. That’s when I carried you.”

There are three paths to the father: faith, reason, or imagination—and they all start the same. Open up your heart and let the sunshine in.

Capitalism

Canada’s McGill University hosts an annual hockey game played between the professors of its humanities department and those from the business school. They call it “capitalist pigs vs. communist bastards.” For years it’s been a big hit and no matter who wins, the pigs buy lunch.

Afterwards, they host a Symposium-style discussion on the merits of the two systems. Modeled after Plato’s great play, guests come together to discuss a serious topic—but it’s a party. Everyone eats, drinks, and gets merry, then afterwards, rather than putting on disco, they offer up arguments on a given issue. (In Plato’s version the subject is love, and Socrates wipes the floor as the last speaker.)

Every year the battle begins the same. “Capitalism sucks, too much goes to the top.” “Oh ya, if it wasn’t for us you’d all be starving.” Then as the night goes on (and booze starts to flow) they get down to the truth.

Communism

Communism was developed by Laura Engels and Groucho Marx, back in the 1860s. Conceived during a time when insufficient production kept many people poor, it sounded like a great idea to some. Not knowing that technology—namely electricity and the motor—would eventually come along to fix things, it claimed society would be better served if we all shared. Kind of like living on a kibbutz. But in political practice, it was used by cutthroats to obtain power.

Certain leaders conned the public into believing they’d raid the rich to feed the poor, only to get rich themselves. As a result, sympathizers don’t look to the past for vindication. They believe this theory was never properly put into practice and now deserves a second chance. Let’s take a look.

Communism calls for full-on socialism while eliminating all private property. Every business is owned and operated by the government through central control and you’re not allowed to buy a home—you can only rent. Then when it comes to working and taking, the philosophy is “from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.” The social history of communism is easy to dismiss. Its dictators killed millions (mostly those who refused to comply). But the economic history is quite clear. This ideology didn’t get people up in the morning. Why? Because it conflicted with human nature. Sure most of us are designed to be nice, but not that nice. At least, not to the degree that communism requires.

Any successful system involves having your best people do the hardest jobs. And if that means buying them a new Ferrari every couple of years, so be it. Providing the gifted with some sort of incentive isn’t harmful to society. It belongs within the common good. For when the gifted put forth their best efforts, it grows the pie for everyone. We really don’t want talented software engineers sitting at home writing a novel.

“Okay, okay.” Socialists say, “We’ll give you back your private property.” Sorry, not enough. Hard workers aren’t going to dance for just a house. And every economy needs all horses to run. Workers aren’t going to accept overtime or dangerous / uncomfortable conditions for the sake of some newfound church. We want compensation. That’s why every version of this utopian dream dies on the streets. It’s not natural. People like money and everything that it buys. So much so they’re willing to work for it.

And just when it looks like capitalism is gaining the edge, some commie pulls out a joint.

Ethics

“Ya, but a lot of you capitalists are dicks.” And that’s the problem with truth. It cuts deep.

The stereotypes of Mister Burns and Ebenezer Scrooge are long out-of-date. Rich people don’t act like that anymore. Most of them are nice. Andrew Carnegie said, “A man should spend the first half of his life making money and the second half giving it away.” Bill Gates isn’t the first. But even with modern day heroes, far too many of the powerful are knobs. And that’s the problem with business.

Capitalism requires ethics and they don’t teach you that in business school. Even worse, you can’t regulate it. There is no lever to prevent corporate raiders from ripping apart towns or gaming the system (e.g., say in finance). And, other than competition, there’s nothing to stop companies from overcharging customers or underpaying staff. Same goes for paying your bills on time. Our system relies upon ethics. The kind your mother taught you. And not all participants comply.

It’s not about building hospitals or funding a shelter, it’s about running a respectable shop. State regulators can’t be everywhere and it’s impossible to plug all the holes. So the economy requires morals. And not just from the top, it’s everyone’s business. People are what keep this system going and when you take riches without responsibility, you’re not up to the job.

Summary

It’s no secret that not everyone is born the same. Some have the “do good in school” gene, while others just don’t. Some have loads of energy to climb a mountain, others don’t. And a bunch of us were dealt a crappy hand. That being said, it’s not the job of industry to solve any of these problems. But when you get into the billions and hundreds of millions, you’ve been more than compensated.

Everyday people don’t like to see opulence when they’re being left out. They too like toys. So this trend against capitalism isn’t coming by way of another system. It’s coming from within. Many who thrive under this current order aren’t worthy of its rewards, and it’s getting noticed.

As for McGill, their tournament has been going on for years and series-to-date, capitalists are winning. But the last couple games have gone to the commies, which might tell you something. Professionals continue to argue and implement change, but a lot of people still seem to be miffed. It sure would be a shame to go against human nature. Then again, isn’t it natural to complain?

Money

If you read the business pages with any sort of regularity, you’ve undoubtedly heard the term debt. Apparently, we have lots of it. So maybe it’s time to look into the causes of this problem and start a discussion about money. First off, it has three sources.

Wages

The first is called wages. It’s the paycheque-to-paycheque funding that sustains life. That’s why a strong economy is so important—people need jobs. And it’s not just for psychological purposes, employment provides a means to get by.

Wage-money comes from multiple sources, all in a cycle. Consumers buy goods, companies make and sell those goods, and employees get paid. Those employees then become the consumers who restart the cycle. Make sense? Money supply resulting from wages then shrinks or grows based on the vibrancy of the economy. When robust, money supply grows. If the cycle slows down, it shrinks.

Loans

A second source of money comes by way of lending. This article describes the marginal reserve banking system and how institutions evaluate risk. Suffice it to say when interest rates are low, business and people borrow more—thereby expanding the supply of money. Same can be said about other forms of debt, like credit cards.

Central banks worry about this phenomenon. If they feel more money could help the system, they’ll lower rates to give borrowing a boost. But if they feel the economy is running hot, they’ll raise them in order to combat inflation. Inflation usually comes from a strong economy running too long and can be controlled by making borrowing tight. Shrink the money supply, shrink the inflationary effect. At least, that was the old rule.

Central banks

Central banks like the Bank of Canada do two things. They control interest and print money. In the past, their primary focus was on inflation. When things looked good, they’d keep rates low; but once inflation reared its ugly head, rates would go back up. The opposite can also be said. When the economy is suffering (meaning prices are also low), central banks lower rates to provide stimulus. But something has changed over the past few years. Something investors should know.

Central bankers are no longer using interest to control the money supply. They’re creating and destroying on their own—and this could be a game changer. Because so much currency has been printed since the crisis of ‘08 (23 trillion worldwide), central bankers have obtained an influence that doesn’t involve touching rates. Specifically, they used to use interest to encourage / discourage personal and commercial lending, now they just put more money in and out of the system. Yes, they’ve always put money in and out of the system but not like this. Current dollar values are through the roof and that’s why this could be a game changer

The point

Ask any Australian bartender and they’ll tell you economics is always changing. Commerce has become increasingly international and ceases to stay still. Senior investors are (by definition) open to new dynamics and if places like the Fed are controlling inflation more by putting money in and out of the system, then interest rates may continue to stay low. And if rates stay low, there’s less of a chance the market will crash (i.e., long tail risk).

The old theory professed that during a downturn, central banks would lower rates to stimulate the economy. Then once everyone is back up and working, raise them. They did this for two reasons: one to combat inflation and another so they could do it again. Old time believers felt this method was best but now that central banks have created so much money there may be a better way. One that allows for rates to stay low.

If the international objective is to move to a new paradigm, you can feel comfortable about investments like real estate and stocks. At least from an interest perspective they won’t get killed by rising rates. Business and government still have to worry about debt but this explains why news agencies have stopped talking about long tail. And why my returns average around 6% when everyone else is getting 30.

Alpha and Long Tail

Ever wonder how professional managers handle all that money and what they do with their own? Often, it comes down to two things: alpha and long tail.

Alpha is the portion of your portfolio that chases huge financial returns. It’s the component that swings for home runs by searching for big gains. Tech companies and stocks in new markets are prime examples. Tesla, marijuana-co, Netflix, and Beyond Meat—currently or in the past—fit into this category. And their potential upside isn’t just to double your money, they can grow it by 10-20 times. That’s why they’re called alpha and everyone should have an allotment dedicated to this.

Professionals hold 10-20 of these companies with the strategy that winners will grossly outweigh the dogs. Why? Because nobody knows which stocks will make it. You’re not only guessing whether the market is real, you’re also gambling on whether this is the right pick. Everyone knows that not every company is successful and many new markets never take off. Just look at the computer business, loads of players were great at the beginning only to crash and burn when goings got tough.

Long tail is the exact opposite. It’s the allocation waiting for the world to end. This type of risk is called long tail because it doesn’t happen very often. As a matter of fact, it’s really quite rare. But nobody knows when the big quake is coming so have some money dedicated to this.

If the market tanks by half, you should still be able to live. It may only be on beans and rice but at least you’ll have something. Then the rest of your dough should be sitting in dividend-paying stocks or high-quality bonds. Nothing too risky, nothing too big, just the types that provide decent returns.

What percentages you put into each compartment is your choice. Just make sure you’re ready for the big one and if a Canadian, hold alpha in TFSA.

The 15 Minute Diet

Ever wonder why diets eventually fail and we go back to our old ways? Maybe it’s because there’s too much to remember. If so, here’s something you’ll never forget:

5 minutes hunger
5 minutes concentration
5 minutes sweat

Welcome to the never-ending diet. It’s easy, and you’re officially on the program. Feel hunger for 5 minutes a day, focus on health 5 minutes a day, and do some form of daily exercise. Once in the habit, you’ll be doing two or three at the same time.

Hunger

People think hunger means to get food; that pangs are telling us to eat. Well, that’s only part of the story. Hunger is also the feeling of fat being burned. No different than a dentist working on a tooth, your body needs to feel discomfort while being repaired. So yes, pangs do message to get food, but they’re also saying, “In the meantime, I’ll eat this.”

And everyone knows excess calories get stored. So when do they have a chance to burn off? Big eaters like me have meat on our thighs from things we ate back in kindergarten. Bottom line: it’s good to feel hunger. Let your body heal for 5 minutes a day. (Smoking is the same sort of thing. Cravings for nicotine are just the feeling of lungs being cleared, so allow yourself to feel them.)

Concentration

Ever wonder why some religions pray five times a day? It’s to maintain focus. Believers repeat objectives over and over until they become ingrained into their mind. Maintaining focus is a big part of success and you really can change the world by what you think. So ponder personal health for 5 minutes a day. Not unreasonable, given we get 24 hours.

And start early. When opening your eyes in the morning, what’s the first thing that pops into your head? It should be health. What good-for-me things will I be doing today? Once going, you’ll become an annoying health nut in no time.

Sweat

My personal trainer used to say, “It doesn’t matter how long you stretch; I want to see water coming from your head.” And that’s what it takes. Feel your body exert itself every day. Not for a long time, but for some time.

Pumping a Bowflex, running on the spot, or chasing around the cat, all work to help your body make moisture. And believe it or not, you’ll become a snob in a flash – making fun of those sitting around doing nothing.

Summary

Health has to be part of every day. No way around it. The components of eating right are already well known—lots of protein, not too much sugar—and daily exercise really is medicine for the body. The trick is to maintain focus. That’s why health always slips away. But not anymore. Because no matter how lazy you feel, one can always think.