Monday Night Football

My sister's husband is from Buffalo. Well, really from Baltimore, but the Bills are his team for sure. He cried when I bought him a Buffalo Bills grill set for Christmas. It was embossed metal, meant for the permanence of his love for the Bills, and therefore, yes, Josh Allen. The love of men is of a kind that is not often seen among our species, especially the love of men that we've not ever seen. But there it is. Monday Night Football. 

Josh Allen ran for 121 yards on 10 carries, and threw for over 200 connecting on 12 of 19 passes. He scored a touchdown running and passing. The Bills won in overtime for Josh Allen's first ever overtime victory in eight tries. He continues to amaze. 

But what is it with men and real love for men they've never met? I'm guessing there's some analogue for women, but I have to figure out the men first. I can honestly say, TONIGHT, I love Josh Allen. Here's a dude, scruffy and hard-nosed, lives up in West New York, ogres on a daily basis and eats the livers of men on the football field. What is not to love?

He makes me want to be a better man.

And that's just it. 

My Cup Runneth Over

The thing about gambling is that it is more or less so. That spread makes all the difference. 

I showed up at Southland Casino in West Memphis with no expectations and a wad of cash. It was my anniversary and my wife was treating me. They upgraded our room to the corner suite. From the 12th floor we could see Rt 55 and the now defunct greyhound track. Grass grew through everything and paint was there, to an extent. You feel like the version of a million bucks that costs ten. It still does the trick. 

But everyone looks like shit. There's not a baller in the house. We're all there to pretend we're ballers. But in houses of money, there will always be a reward for skill. The reward begins by alluring the prey. 

My wife and I go over to a table, just looking to have some fun. But that 3 letter word has such a variety of shades of meaning. One man's fun is another's fuel, and ones fuel is another's conflagatory proposition. We sit at the table, get dealt a hand to have a woman gnawing on our ear for a side bet. Lady, we obviously don't know what we're doing. Obviously, we're not giving you a side bet. 

But I get to thinking, we do it all the time. I have no idea, or maybe to be more fair, little idea, most of the time, I'm generally winging it. That doesn't stop me. But I got to thinking. Some people are not winging it. They know exactly what they're doing. There is still some speculation, and some risk, but they mostly have their win / win mapped out. That is, until the rules change, or some other conceit that arises as miscalculation. Greed. Power. Influence. 

So we pony up on a bet, for posterity, and lose immediately, not even knowing what happened. Seriously, I can't even tell you what game they were playing... some improvised game of blackjack. More power to you if you can get someone to play by your rules.

We had fun. Bought lots of drinks, did some dancing. The live band was intoxicating. There was a smoking section which was basically like Pinocchio's hell. It was cool to have a smoke in there, but the self-destructive debauchery was just a touch too literal. 

You're Sixteen, penned by the Sherman Brothers, reached number one with Ringo Starr and Paul McCartney. Now it seems predatory. The Redskins and The Indians had to be redubbed The Commanders and The Generals. The attractions of yesterday are today's snubs. It's trickle down economics. Can't you just feel the rain falling from the toilet of the penthouse? 

It's not so much that we're fooled by it, as it is drinking from the cup handed to you. 

hubris

And there they stood, mouths agape. The whole world. There were no chinks of metal from his wheelchair, which was stone frozen in place. He looked down the barrel of a gun. There were many but he looked down just one, in front of the setting sun, which looked like rage coming down. Bang. Brain tissue everywhere. When the mouths shut, some were dry and dispeptic, and others were licking lips of quiet satiation. We have split one mind in two. 

At night I go back to my Adirondack chair by a fire burning, my wife in the other chair, and we talked about everything and nothing. Some things she share disturb me, but I let it go. We can't bicker on everything. But do we bicker on anything anymore? Not much. This acceptance is how it happens. 

I have a friend. He has several guns and if the shit hits the fan, I am going to his place with my gun so that we can make a plan. Or maybe it's better he comes by my place since I have a basement and an attic for defense. He thinks it's less a big deal that the wheelchair man's head was exploded on National TV; we've gotten soft, and out of touch. Could I watch a cow brain exploded?, and yet I eat it's shredded meat from a styrofoam tray. This kind of disconnect is artificializing us, he explains. 

There is no joy in killing. It is the end. Perhaps there is joy in the storyline. But for the dead, in the case of cows and people, they are dead. The joy is in the agony. When it is lunch, quick and painless. When an enemy, 30 years contemplating the end, a dramatic ceremony to the extinguishing of a soul, rotten and deserving of extinction. We make it clear, we will kill you, today, and you will not exist. 

It is procedure that is the most penetrating form of artificializing us. Procedure is law, gospel. It is higher than our word. Violate procedure and violate God. It is written, this is how we do things. But we still have reactions. 

Is it Super or Artificial? 

Street-Level Math: On Free Busses, Hospital Trips, and The Good Life

 

Street-Level Math: On Free Busses, Hospital Trips, and The Good Life

A car-smashed bus stop bench at the Burnham and Watkins route 32 stop across the street from Frayser Bicycle.

We all want to live the good life, the rich life. We find ourself in times highly connected, to a point of fragmentation. And the solution is a quip: "get back to where you once belonged". Belonging together is the fundamental cause of advancement: "if you want to go fast, go alone, if you want to go far, go together." So what does any of this have to do with a vagabond bachelor Saturday afternoon? You didn't ask, but I'll tell you. Please read on, I'm only talking big. 

I'm a member of Better Transit for a Better Memphis, a quality of life and economic mobility advocacy group. It's a motley crew, comprised of a Sierra Club octogenarian, a lion of old school Chicago community organizing, a current day set of MICAH's own Memphis community organizers, MATA-dependent citizens with disabilities, old school home-grown public transit advocates, and riders of choice like myself. Admittedly, I'm a staunch alternative-transit advocate and biology grad who does data infrastructure for a living, so the potato blight and being solely car reliant being bad biodiversity-lacking problems are, unfortunately, statistically probable, occurrences of monopolistic behavior. But I would like to discuss synergistic behavior. 

Get on the Bus

We get the word bus, a short unassuming little word with great power, from the Latin root omnibus which means, "for all" or "for everyone". Notice there is nothing in the word about transport... it's just about an integrated system that's for everyone. For example, the Universal Serial Bus system, USB, is a common industry standard for connecting computers for data transfer, power sharing, and integration. I'm not going to go into the history of bussing because I'm not a historian, but I want to give a sense of how bussing can be hugely propelling for the wealth and enjoyment of our city, albeit currently fraught with inequity and social divides. Some chosen, some not. 

I'm also not going to dive despairingly into the research backed emphasis of my claim that economic mobility, itself a sign of economic vitality. I am sitting in my pajamas on Sunday morning listening to a record I picked up for $5 at the Memphis Listening Lab at Crosstown Concourse of John Williams' score of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It is brilliant, by the way. Unbelievably complex and mind-alteringly emotional. So, I'm just not going to work that hard. Sorry. But I will leave you with this rather conclusive study, done by the landmark Equal of Opportunity Project, done by Harvard economists Raj Chetty and Nathaniel Hendren, which concludes that commuting time is the single strongest factor in determining whether a low-income family can escape poverty and achieve upward economic mobility. This work became close to home when it was extensively integrated into the work done by U of M's Benjamin L. Hooks Institute for Social Change in The Hooks Policy Papers. They highlight that while income gap between transit riders and car drivers is narrow nationally, it is massive in Memphis due to geographic sprawl and transit dependency. Pause on that: you do know that income inequality is not good, right? Like, it's a sign of bad health. Cancer is when a rogue actor in the body goes all monopolistic, saying "to hell with a system supporting trillions of diverse cooperating cells, carpe diem!" I don't know about you, but I want to live!

So, I got on bus at Burnham and Watkins across the street from Frayser Bicycle. The owner and purveyor, Brian, was helping me immensely with my daily commuter bike which was in dire need of bottom bracket ball bearing and cup replacement. I biked up to his shop from my home on McLean near Dino's to get it evaluated and worked on and it was clear that I was going to have to leave the bike with him. The bus stop was in shambles. I imagine a lot are. But why? We who believe so strongly in Blue Crush and broken-window theory allow decrepitude in our "beloved" city. We do love our city, but like all families, sometimes we do not show it right. A car-crushed and one-bolt dangling bus stop bench strewn with paper cups, chip bags, and debris. And we know it's "out there", in the further reaches of our city. But we don't see it. We're not a part of it. It's not a part of us. And so it goes with cities that are cool and interesting and darkly bright. We are the one kingdom to rule them all! There is a natural kind of meritorious sifting that goes on in a city: inflow of people with all manner of talents leads to generative capacity. Those who don't make the cut are often cast to the side. To my thinking they merely need to learn how to get back inside. Economic Mobility. 

At the bus stop I meet April Gibson, who is to become our main character. In my field notes I first dubbed April "swf" for single white female. I learned that she has had 11 children, and is with a man currently who has "about" 10 kids. She was on the way to see her mom at Methodist's ICU and the cost of travel was a burden, for sure. Somehow she had not heard that MATA was currently free and she hoped that the $2 she had was enough to get her Frayser to the hospital on Union, a straight shot, mind you. We'll get back to that in a bit. April is a normal person who maybe has not had the same chances as you, and may see the world a little differently, but her voice and personhood matter. I want you to meet her! She's lovely. Doing her best with an ethos about the common good not far off from anyone's own. She may have more children than you, but she lives in a different ecosystem, one where more r-selected behavior is a methodology at the abundant life. She likes bringing babies into the world. The universe will take care of them, I'm sure. In fact it has not. 2 of her children died, one to murder. And April has no money to her name to speak of. But she can live the good life. A connected life. She can come inside my world and take her shoes off and hang around and meditate for a while. 

Today's rumination in Tolstoy's Calendar of Wisdom maintained by The Anarchist Library, read Libertarian?, is as follows:

September 27

Blaming others is an entertainment which some people like and cannot restrain themselves from. When you see all the harm this blaming causes, you see that it is a sin not to stop people from practicing this entertainment.

If you want to blame me, you should not be with me. You should be inside me.

—ADAM MICKIEWICZ

Truth is achieved through discussion, but the wiser man stops the arguments.

Our greatest imperfections are in our inner vision. We are so shortsighted that we cannot see bad things in others, but we cannot find bad things in ourselves as well.

—EDWARD BROWN

As soon as you start blaming a person, stop yourself. Remember not to say something bad about someone, even if you know it to be true, and especially if you are not certain but are only repeating gossip.

We know this wisdom, even if we do not like or practice it. April, I don't blame you for the problems of our city, furthest from that, I exonerate you on no basis other than making it this far. We chatted about your family and my work, your wanting to get out of the city and wanting to stay, my wife and daughter away for the weekend at Girl Scout camp, and your love of children. You're a lovely person. But you could be more connected to a different world, you just have to get there. Now you can! MATA is free. It's running reliably, and the Transit App is absolutely amazing. It's tracking all the buses and makes getting from place to place like a video game. Pick it up! I promise you it is so fun. See what's going on in the city everywhere. Stuff is happening everywhere. Google: "stuff happening in Memphis or today or this week". And then get there. 

That's what Wisdom has taught me. "Get there." It's what I tell me students all the time, whether that be school, connecting with what they love... get there.

An hour later, taking the 32 to the 42 southbound, I got to Crosstown Concourse from Frayser Bicycle. I met a cast of people that showed me the FIXD app for saving on car costs, talked to me about their fake podcast (you don't have a podcast, bro), and who, without knowing it, enjoyed the quiet delight of traveling together via omnibus, "for everyone". While April went onto the hospital, I went into the Concourse for a look around. It was perfect "peacock" time and I wanted to fluff my feathers and see what was going on in the neighborhood. Disappointed that there was no art exhibit on the second floor up the red staircase, I went to the Memphis Listening Lab, where I picked up 4 records and listened to Tenacious D's Post-Apocalypto. You can skip it. But it was fun to hear those guys get all realmy. 

From there I went to the Mad Hatter, a funky place that you need to check out and grab a sandwich from if you've not been, and picked up a Memphalotta, sweet potato and poblano salad, and sparkling drink for my girls and I when they returned from Girl Scout camp. And a few gifts. I walked home down the V&E trail to Tutwiler to McLean. 20 min. 

On Time: It's Time

40 minutes biking to the bike shop. An hour there. 20 minutes on the bus. 40 minutes at stops. An hour at Crosstown and 20 minutes walking. 4 hours. An afternoon well spent. But, a bit gratuitous. This is Saturday time, not Monday time. 

As I've involved myself with MATA for a few years, and with alternative-transit advocacy institutions such as MICAH, BTBM, and Innovate Memphis, I find 2 main roads to travel. One is cultural and one is logistic. The need to coordinate Memphis' bus system for trips every 15 minutes on main corridors like what's outlined below for a peak time high frequency commute solutions for everyday Memphians is tantamount to success. The only way to build trust in the system is to have a system that truly works at the timescale of modern life. People don't have time to waste. So, we shouldn't waste their time with a system that isn't operating for a Memphis solution, more so than a welfare solution.  

Route / Line	Inbound Origin	Hub Arrival Window	Dwell / Transfer Window	Hub Departure Window	Outbound Destination
Tier 1: Poplar Trunk	East Memphis (7:00 AM)	7:10 AM	7:10 – 7:13 AM	7:13 AM	Hudson Transit Center
Tier 1: Lamar / American Way Trunk	American Way (7:00 AM)	7:11 AM	7:11 – 7:14 AM	7:14 AM	Hudson Transit Center
Tier 1: Jackson / Austin Peay	Raleigh (6:55 AM)	7:09 AM	7:09 – 7:12 AM	7:12 AM	Medical District Terminus
Tier 1: Elvis Presley Spoke	Whitehaven (6:55 AM)	7:10 AM	7:10 – 7:13 AM	7:13 AM	Medical District Terminus
Tier 2: McLean/Bellevue Interceptor	North McLean (7:00 AM)	7:09 AM	7:09 – 7:12 AM	7:12 AM	South Bellevue / Elvis Presley
Tier 2: Hollywood/Airways Interceptor	Frayser (6:50 AM)	Connects at American Way Hub at 7:15 AM	Connects at American Way Hub at 7:15 AM	Connects at American Way Hub at 7:15 AM	Airport / Industrial Hub

The logistics problem is the easy problem. We can do that one, fairly easily. It necessitates creative thinking about the "last mile" in travel. But there are lots of entrepreneurial spirits here in Memphis and I believe people can get that last leg of where they're going reasonably well. It will take time but we can build it. Let's start from the right place, though, traveling at the pace of our current busy lives. 

The Culture problem is the harder one. It starts with professionalism in the MATA system, which itself is an extension of our own expectations for our city. The bus stops and the buses can be in rough shape and we have to give a lot of love and support to the people who drive, maintain, and clean the buses, and those who work really hard at clear communication and common practices within the industry. Without our encouragement, there will be discouragement during this time we are in, between a free ride for the homeless and a representative cross-section of Memphis, traveling from here to there. How can we encourage unless we "get on the bus"? It's like with church, you can give money, but the church is not going to be successful if you don't go. If you don't play your part in being together. 

Ride the bus this week. Download the Transit App. Talk to a stranger like you're on an airplane. Put in a ticket at 311 if you see something "out of order" at the bus stop, or call #. Get in touch with BTBM. Become a member. Share your bus story. Don't live in the past. By all means, go there and romanticize, but come back here, to earth, to the Wheels of Time, to the awakening of your animalness, and your great striving for humanity. Every system is perfectly designed to get the results it gets. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. GO901. Go!

A Change of Pace to See How the Little Things Connect to the "Big" Things

Meeting up with Ms. Hunter from Communities in Schools on arrival at KIPP Memphis @ Henry.

When was the last time you said to yourself, "wow, I needed that?" Today I did my normal bike commute with Brian, owner and operator of Frayser Bicycle, and his 3 boys... ages 2, 4, and 6. We met at Gooch Park to simulate the Bike Bus tour that is taking shape in the fall. I should be depressed. It's nothing like what it was supposed to be. The Bike Bus was supposed to be a big soiree into the work of bike commuting, something that would be a boon to our attendance initiative, to our relationship with Shelby County and Memphis City peeps; Communities in Schools. 

See below for Exhibit A: The Route Plan

Friday, May 8th 

8:30 @ Gooch Park, Jo Ann Street from Hug Parks words of encouragement

9:00a Depart from Gooch Park

10:00a Arrive @ Henry

10:15a Community Tabling (ie. Shelby County Health Dept, Frayser Bicycles, Hug Parks, etc)

11:00 High Schoolers Depart for KMCH

11:30 High Schoolers Arrive at KMCH

The map was made 2 years ago as a planning tool for students who had attendance issues (but were within reach) and had siblings in our system. I noticed that Groove covered a bunch and that we had a really nice biking corridor down Vollintine. 

But I'm Not Depressed :)

Quite the opposite. I'm enthused! It's not what I wanted it to be, but it's very much what it was supposed to be. It was a beautiful morning. Brian was telling his boys, with the mist in the air, how much like Seattle it was; a haunt he hopes to take his wife and kids on soon. We always want to take our families to our old stomping grounds! It reminds us that we've stomped around, and it shows our families the same. It's a change of pace. My first big lesson on this anticlimactic "race" I'm describing. 

Brian provided the tunes. Some worship music to lace the atmosphere. Normally I'm listening to an audiobook, but that's when I'm in my own head. Today was different. A group ride. It's chatty, communicative, and, in more ways than one, it's outside! Swap the monologue for dialogue. 

Nothing too eventful. A chain came off the youngest rider's bike. Brian shared that he's only been riding with gears for a few months, so he's still getting the hang of it. Although both boys wanted to lead the pack, they were polite, especially the eldest, with sharing the burden of leadership. I got to use my new bike turn signal, which is dorky and appropriate at the same time. As we passed all of the landmarks, Brian got excited with the prospect of all we can do on this particular route. "We can hit the deli, 2 of them actually... that's the old synagogue... boys, we'll pass 2 elementaries and 2 community centers on the way to KIPP Memphis Elementary and Middle." 

Departure from Gooch. 

As we disembarked, we chatted with folks heading into KIPP Memphis to start their day. Took a few pictures. Brian saw someone he knew that he hadn't seen for a while. I talked to Ms. Green, who was thinking of bike commuting from her new home on North Parkway. She said she had a KIPPster that lived next door, a 5th grader moving onto 6th grade that she could invite. Before Brian departed to head back to Gooch with his boys, he said, "there's one thing I want to leave with you... keep this up... keep going... let's do another one, and another... build it up."

In my ear was ringing: despise not the day of small beginnings.

The most noteworthy interstellar guidebook of all time shares this wisdom. We will always do big things, and be a part of big things, but don't forget that sometimes (most times?) you have to start really small. The race is not given to the swift... but time happens to us all. Eccl 9:11. 

If we are faithful in little things, we will also be trusted with much. Luke 16:10. 

And, just think, what if the next time you say, "wow, I needed that" could be scheduled on the calendar?! Stay Tuned. Bike Commutes coming to a Midtown near you! 

Heading down University St toward Vollintine. Lights. Camera. Action!

A PHAT Use Case

The problem is, I'm fat. Been on and off fat my whole life... but it got worse the older I got. I love eating and don't love exercise. I don't mind using my body, but the stints tend to be interstitial rather than mainstay. Now I'm here.

44

217.5

5'10'

125/85

diminishing muscle mass

When I woke up this morning, I looked at some of the site counts for The Nifty Shrimp. Instagram seems to be doing the best, it's the most local. Makes sense. Folks actually know me and take a gander... or they can know me... or want to see if they want to know me. But the point is, they CAN know me. theniftyshrimp.com is much lighter in traffic. Too big. The World Wide Web. I don't make sense there. But there's no nuance to the "site hit", be it Instagram or theniftyshrimp.com... or YouTube. People realized this and began searching for an indicator that could be more lead than lag. And the reality is that you have to find it. 

The metrics above are what I'm using now, but it may be that I begin to track calories or minutes of engagement per week, or heart rate. Maybe I experiment with a few. 

One thing is for sure, certainly for me. I can't track them all. Nor do I have any desire to. 

So the lag indicators are important. They give you the real world telling of how you are doing. But the lead indicators are the ones that keep you on the hunt. Now that's PHAT!

Potentiating Heuristic Analytics Timely

Leading indicators predict future trends and allow for proactive adjustments, while lagging indicators confirm past trends and measure completed outcomes. Effective strategies require a balance of both: leading indicators show if you will reach a goal (e.g., sales calls), while lagging indicators confirm if you did (e.g., revenue).

A Johnny-Come-Lately Gets to March First

"I should have called you, we're together, Alone" The Nifty Shrimp, "Back in Brooklyn"

Yesterday, my daughter found a bag of Jelly Belly candies. I was immediately enthused because I had just watched a Mike Rowe "Dirtiest Jobs" on them; you may know that Jelly Belly makes horrendously awful flavors and that an Asian man, just who you'd suspect, is architect of these gustatory wretches. So, the show was wonderful with vomit, poop, and dirty shoe flavors and my daughter and I had a good laugh at our good fortune to happen upon this modern day marvel bag of beans. The first thing we did was delightedly scurry to the couch and turn over the bag and look at all the flavors: Juicy Pear ended up being my favorite... it literally explodes with flavor. My daughter really liked a lot of the reds (Very Cherry, Red Apple), mixed with Pina Colada. She really liked Green Apple, too. 

Where have I been? I feel like a changed man. The experience was extraordinary. I recalled my Mom's ex-husband really enjoying Jelly Belly's, and maybe it was because it was him, that I had an aversion to the experience myself, but there it was, for the taking. But even before today, I've eaten Jelly Belly's, but just kind of popping in my mouth. No cognitive satisfaction, other than sweet variety. But yesterday, with my daughter and the dawning of the revelation that these people had to make such a wonderful product, I reveled in the experience. It was joyful. 

I started to consider that I am not sitting on a secret here. I am the one late to the party. This is not new. I've been here before. My brother, 2 years younger than me, lost his virginity at least 6 years before me. He had a relationship with a close friend of ours that I knew nothing about until way later. In college I worked in a lab in the early 2000s where one of the grad students put me onto all kinds of new music: Radiohead, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots. The Garden State movie... The Shins.

I work in data, and all the youngsters do SQL, I do spreadsheets. 

But DO NOT let me discover for myself a better way! You shall immediately know about it, the brilliance that makes it brilliant, the luster and the sheen and the cutting edge of it. The absolute mastery and sheer illustriousness of a thing meant to be, finally come. To me. 

Finally come, to me. I am now here. Welcome, you say. We've been waiting. 

It's not that I'm late to everything. But I am late quite a lot. It's a pattern worth investigating. Was I a baby that watched everything and didn't start toddling and walking until I was absolutely sure I would not fall? I don't think so, but could be. Is my vision so narrow that I can't see beyond what I'm seeing. That could quite possibly be. Closer, I think, is that I have a propensity, almost a compulsion, to live very much within myself, to consider things for myself. That's good, you say. Ah, but the counterpoint to that is that I DO NOT benefit much from the experience of others. Maybe none of us do. But maybe riding the wave of our collectivism takes us much further than I am willing to admit. Maybe I am reluctant to see that I can get much further together than alone. 

But I'm addicted to alone. It's so elegant, so simple, so strident, so American. One Man. 

Yet, at 44, and the world racing ahead, I've got to consider my options. I could continue to go it alone, or maybe some revision is necessary. It's funny, because everything in my intellectual life points to togetherness as the way. Something I quote often: "If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together". But the going together seems beyond me. 

It's not me only. I know this. We live now in a culture that goes together so long as you are going with me. We've lost, perhaps, some maturity. Then again, because of this propensity I have to live within myself, to not get out and ride the wave of us, that I could be missing it again. I could be suffering from nearsightedness, refusing to toddle and walk until I am sure I will not fall. But it's not that, I don't want to walk unless it is I who invented the motion; I who looked upon my two legs, relished in their fine construction, lifted one then another, wrote of it, and shared it for all the world to see in a blog, only for no one to see it, and should they have, to be retrieving their eyeballs from the back of their heads at the gee-goshness of it. 

So, yeah, this go-it-aloneness. I really have to ditch it. It's something that has served me well, until now. I made a way as a solitary creature, as an n of 1, as a burst of possibility. But it's now come to the limits of its power. It's not persuading anyone. Maybe it never did; it was only me who was being persuaded about the mission I was on. The radical candor that must be displayed. The barrage of humanity that we ought to all exhibit for the sanctity of our selves and the flourishing of a people. 

But when I finally write it down, I see how discordant what I say is from how I live. I'm a together person, I really believe that... but do I? 

Finally, it comes to this. I'm setting upon a month of reflection with some pretty good company as guides: Toni Morrison, Joseph M. Marshall III, and Whosoever (I'll explain later). I've got to make good on Finding a Way That Works With You and Works With the World (a rule of life "I came up with" many moons ago). Except, I have to make one key distinction necessary: Find a Way That Works With ME and Works With the World. I've been good at leaving myself out of the change needed. But, maybe at last, a Johnny-come-lately will get to March 1st. Along with everyone else.