Right Turn

It is disconcerting how many of our small, ordinary actions conceal enterprises of great pitch and moment. Or, rather, it is disconcerting that so many of our complex, important deliberations find their summation in an act indiscernible from one arrived at through the die’s cast.
In turning right this morning, I merely signaled my intention, changed lanes, and altered my heading by 90 degrees. While it looked like only a simple right turn—indeed, I make those same maneuvers every weekday—it really meant I don’t have time for coffee. A morning spent desiring a Café Americano to beat back Somnus’ rearguard, a morning attempting to get showered and dressed with enough time to go 10 minutes out of my way (so I could use a gift card), and at the moment of the crucial turn, realizing that I would be late for work if I did so. A simple act, yet personally profound: I suspect these pregnant moments must occur around us with regularity, and I wonder whether our shared lives wouldn’t be richer for the knowing.

"Neither a borrower . . ."

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

Polonius, Hamlet, I.3.75-77

I go back and forth on whether or not I agree with this Shakespearean wisdom. To my mind, there are two possible interpretations of the sentiment. The first is an observation that lending money or other items between friends can cause rancor and difficulties if the loan is not repaid or is otherwise delayed. This view I have no trouble with, as I have observed such deterioration before.

My problem is with a second, broader interpretation, that may be more accurately described as "beholden to no man." This is the idea that it is possible, even desirable to go through life without being in anyone's social debt, or incurring such social debt oneself (I use "social" to distinguish from monetary debt). I cannot help but feel that such a philosophy risks a very limited view of human experience. By illustration, I contrast this with John Donne's famous "No man is an island, entire unto itself." (Meditation XVII).

Of course, given that this is Polonius speaking, I might be taking it at face value when Shakespeare intended the opposite reception.  However, I've heard it proffered as serious advice, so that's the manner in which I am responding to it.

Cheaper than a DUI

I love the cabs in Charlottesville, specifically the ones with the slogans on the back.  While some are more or less clever, I've noticed a number of them (or the same one, repeatedly) with "Cheaper than a DUI."  While this is certainly true in a nominal sense, the economist wonders whether this is necessarily true.  Assuming a cab fare X and a DUI fine Y, we must discount the fine by the probability p of being caught and convicted.  Thus, the cab is only cheaper than a DUI if X < pY. Of course, this is not the whole story, as there are other costs associated with a DUI than are captured in the fine (reputation, jail time).  Also, penalties are usually greater for repeat offenders.  Okay, cabbie, you've convinced me.  Carry on.  Oh, and can we stop by Christian's first?

On Deadlines and Hemlines

Douglas Adams is known for saying, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." I'm fond of deadlines for a different reason; namely, I work much more productively when the work is due in five minutes.

In thinking about this, though, I am curious as to the source of my newfound productivity. The initially somewhat satisfying explanation is the rising pressure makes the assignment rise in importance, allowing it to take priority over otherwise more interesting distractions. As a pleasure (or utility) maximizing individual, this makes sense. When a project doesn't become due for two months, the present value to me of having it completed is very small. This must due to a discount factor, some combination of uncertainty (I'll have plenty of opportunities to do the work between now and then) and the time value of leisure. When I fail a class or lose a job if the memo isn't on someone's desk in two hours, the utility gained from completing is more immediate, tangible, and certain, and therefore higher.

However, an alternative explanation presents itself, one that I propose with some shame. Rather than the actual quality of my work increasing as the deadline draws near, it is possible, perhaps even likely that it is only the perceived quality of my work that increases. That is, once it becomes clear that I will suffer great loss if I do not do the work, the standards for the work I turn in drop dramatically. Good Work gives way to Good Enough Work and I feel better for simply having turned something in.

I become more uncomfortable (personally, not empirically) with this explanation when I investigate parallels in relationships. Anecdotally, I've noticed that as people approach a "good" time to get married or engaged (the end of college, the end of law school, the end of fertility), they tend to find themselves in marriageable relationships. Is this is a function of heightened cognitive/emotional ability - a better sense of what one is looking for in a relationship - or a relaxing of standards as a deadline approaches? I'll leave that question for the reader.

The very first time

I suspect that everyone has nostalgia accompanying memories of their first _____: first date, first kiss, first start on the varsity squad. Every subsequent instance is unable to measure up to that initial thrill, even if it could somehow be measured and shown to be objectively better. Right now I wish I could relive the first time I put in contact lenses. After wearing glasses for years, I had thought that good vision was good vision, and the only switch would be not having the clunky frames on my face. But now even my peripheral vision crackled with a clarity that glasses could never have provided. I no longer had to look directly at the floor for it to be anything other than an eternally fuzzy carpet of varying hues. I sometimes get a glimpse of that experience if I go without contacts for a few days or a week, just long enough for my brain to forget. Maybe one day I'll find a special pair that will make me feel like it's the first time all over again. Some day.

I'm sorry, but...

There is an amusing farce acted out in any number of communities and social situations. Actually, there may be many, but the one I have in mind right now is the fiction that anyone is actually good at remembering other peoples' names. It is a nice social save to claim "I'm sorry, I'm terrible with names," and I admit to using it myself almost daily, it seems. With the number of people who claim this, though, it makes me wonder where all these hypothetical people are who must be good at remembering names. I, for one, cannot remember meeting anyone with this skill, and if I have, I probably have forgotten their name, anyways.

Is it worrisome that rules of Contract seem to be drafted by individuals divorced from the actual bustle and clamor of transactional work, sequestered away in dark offices, every so often spilling treatises and Restatements from their nests? The student wonders what might be the perspective of someone who has to daily work by the light of this questionable lodestar.

Oh well. Back to Kraus's book.