Impressions of Singapore

I spent a bunch of time in Singapore this summer. What a wonderful city state. And a remarkable achievement by its founders to build such a thriving metropolis over the 58 years it has been independent.

Here are some assorted impressions. I incorporate a few quotes from Jeevan Vasagar, author of the excellent Lion City: Singapore and the Invention of Modern Asia.

Most of the stereotypes are true. It’s spotless — just impeccably clean. There are lots of laws and people follow the laws. Everything works, from baggage claim at the airport to trash pickup to public transit. The food is incredible. It’s insanely humid all the time. And so on. Stereotype accuracy strikes again.

Startups set up HQ here and then serve the region. They do so to take advantage of the rule of law and investor-friendly atmosphere of Singapore. But one challenge with this approach is that, for regional companies, their labor costs, office space, etc. are absorbed in Singapore (expensive!) even as their revenue comes from much poorer markets like Indonesia. Grab, for example, pays thousands of people in Singapore who help support a business that generates a lot of revenue in neighboring, poorer markets. (Overall, the startup ecosystem is thriving in Singapore, with several very good VCs who are actively investing.)

Food. One of the best food cities in the world, obviously. Peranakan cuisine is tasty (beef rendang FTW!) and I wasn’t as familiar with it before. The malls have great restaurants and locals eat there all the time, though good luck trying to navigate through the gazillion escalators and elevators connecting literally 50-100+ distinct restaurants in some of the larger buildings. Hawker centers, while famous and cool, are not quite as awesome as advertised IMO. They’re not air conditioned and that, combined with all the on-site cooking, means it’s a sweat fest. It’s also hard to eat healthy at hawkers. That said, it’s tasty and cheap (because the government subsidies them). Singaporeans don’t cook much so the eating out culture is best in class.

If you’re talented, you work for the government, and government works stunningly well. If you graduate at the top of your class out of university, you land a job in the Singapore government apparatus. The public sector is exceptionally well staffed with the best and brightest in the country. In fact, a private sector VC who’s Singaporean told me that some of his classmates who now work in government look down upon him as not having “made it” — because he works in the private sector! To resist corruption, government workers in Singapore are among the highest paid in the world; the head of state earns a $2.2 million USD salary, the highest paid of any president.

The immigration/visa office in Singapore is one example of the how all this talent makes government work well. When you walk into the office, you’re greeted by a wall of “customer testimonials” — legit quotes from residents attesting to their positive experience working with the immigration office. They’ve also posted their KPIs and goals for timeliness and an update on how well they’ve met their goals. The contrast with a DMV in America couldn’t be starker.

Moral nudges are ubiquitous. The signage around the city is quite amusing, constantly extolling proper moral behavior. Give up your seat on the metro. Don’t play your music so loud. Pick up your trash. Etc. In Singapore, the nudges are explicit and enforced and threatened with the force of law (caning, death, etc). Another example of the government thinking about morality: it’s okay for foreigners to go into casinos but more expensive and harder for locals to do so. They’ll gladly take tourists’ money but they want their own people free of those vices. Also, alcohol is taxed heavily. Vasagar: “Like an overprotective parent, Singapore’s rulers have constantly fussed over their people, alternately cajoling or threatening in order to tip them in the desired direction.”

A/C infrastructure is legit. The planet is warming. But Singapore has been warm forever and is warm year-round. This means its air conditioning infrastructure is legit. You’re never a few steps away from A/C. Yes, Singapore becoming even hotter will present challenges in the decades ahead. But as compared to parts of the world newly dealing with warmness (see the heat waves in Europe this summer), I’d say Singapore is well positioned to offer a comfortable quality of life. By the way, you can get used to the humidity. It still sucks but you grow accustomed to it and adapt accordingly.

Trees and greenery everywhere. Trees here, trees there, trees everywhere in Singapore. Lots of hotels and office buildings buildings sport cool greenery/bushes/shrubbery built into their architecture. And the law is that if you remove a tree somewhere, you have to place one in its place. (I think.) The greenery of Singapore is underappreciated!

Singaporeans love deals, upsells, and unique discount structures. Almost every gym/fitness club (of which there are many — fitness culture is big in Singapore) offers some sort of “starter package” of discounted pricing. Many restaurants offer set menus and different deal combinations. When stores or restaurants offer pop up deals — often advertised via Instagram — queues form immediately from locals looking for a deal. Relatedly, many beauty shops will try to upsell you on whatever you’re buying in real time. “Pay $10 and get XYZ!” While I wouldn’t say Singapore buzzes with hustler energy in general (relative to a place like Ho Chi Minh), there is a persistent quest for deals.

Lee Kuan Yew is legendary yet invisible in the physical world. There are no statues of the man anywhere. Only one public policy school is named after him. By design, there are no homages to the man on the streets of Singapore.

Democracy slowly coming? I read the local newspaper in English every day. It was more critical of the government than I expected. “Its democracy may be hemmed in, but it does hold meaningful elections. And in recent years, a substantial political opposition has emerged. The PAP has won every election in Singapore since 1959. In 2020, it took eighty-three of the ninety-three seats in parliament. But the Workers’ Party, which criticises the PAP from the left, won ten seats in that year’s election, the biggest gain ever made by an opposition party.”

Does it deserve its high economic freedom rankings? There are low taxes in Singapore. It’s business friendly. And open to trade. So Singapore frequently ranks as one of the most economically free in the world. At the same time, ~80% of people live in government owned housing. And this: “Singaporeans are forced to contribute a fifth of their salaries to pay for retirement, as well as healthcare and housing purchases. The savings, along with contributions from their employer, go into a personal fund, known as the Central Provident Fund (CPF). Unlike other defined contribution pensions worldwide, which are typically invested in the stock market and a range of other assets including bonds and commercial property, the funds are invested in government bonds which have been specially issued for that purpose.”

No-shame Instagram culture. In workout classes, many of the younger folks would whip out their phones at the end of class and take sweaty selfies. Sometimes teachers encouraged it! “Time to take your photo for Instagram!” Plenty of attractions throughout the city would have signage to indicate a particular place was Instagrammable.

Hong Kong’s decline is Singapore’s gain. So many have re-located from Hong Kong to Singapore the past couple years. The prices of apartments have surged as a result. Singapore is the new capital of English-speaking, capitalistic Asia.

Tourist attractions/advice: Botanic gardens, Marina Bay Sands, and Gardens by the Bay are lovely. The zoo is overrated, I’d say, and this is coming from someone who’s probably visited 15 zoos around the world. Wandering through the malls of Orchard is worth a spin. Cultivate awe at how clean everything is and how everything just works. Make each meal special.

Raising kids in Singapore is attractive thanks to live-in help and cultural norms. The ability to secure relatively inexpensive nanny help is a game changer for the parents I met in Singapore. It’s not just the cost compared to America, though that’s a big part of it. It’s also the cultural norms around getting help — in America, “outsourcing” parenting tasks is more greatly stigmatized. In Singapore (and much of Asia and Latin American ad perhaps beyond, to be sure) it’s very much the norm. No one judges you for having a nanny work long hours every day, including weekends. In Singapore specifically, beyond nanny culture, parents love knowing that their kids can run around and it’s totally safe and clean and they can lick the ground in the subway station.

The airport is the best in the world. I’ve had the opportunity to fly through most of the larger airline hubs in the world, for most on multiple occasions: Frankfurt, Doha, Dubai, Tokyo, San Francisco, Chicago, Hong Kong, Toronto, Dallas, Seoul, Atlanta, Amsterdam, Paris, Los Angeles, New York, London, Istanbul, and others. (Haven’t been to Abu Dhabi.) Singapore’s airport is the best. The immigration procedures/lines are exceptional. Baggage claim, wayfinding, food opportunities, the way the gates are organized, water dispensers and bathrooms, etc. are peerless.

Smaller observations

  • There are rarely knives served at meals — just forks and spoons. Singapore also doesn’t usually serve “normal” thick napkins at restaurants. Bring your own napkins or make do with tissues. (As a funny little analogous example — in Tokyo, they only bring one menu to the table, even if you’re a party of two.)
  • Cars are taxed at very high rates so most people don’t have cars and those who do flaunt it as a status symbol.
  • Tap water is offered inconsistently at restaurants. Some restaurants offer it. Some claim they can only offer bottled water.
  • Locals support capital punishment for drug offenses. The issue that’s made Singapore the source of much global criticism remains popular among their own people.
  • Many coffee shops don’t open before 9am. Given the climate, it’s more of a nighttime city.
  • My favorite Singaporean expression: “Can!” Example: “Are you able to come back to fix my internet router later?” “Can”
  • Durian season is special — the local go nuts over it!
  • The Japanese occupation is loathed in history books and museum. Yet they worship Japanese design, “made in Japan”, Japanese quality etc. — it’s all over the local advertising.
  • Many expats I spoke to were nervous about their kids absorbing severe risk aversion attitudes in local schools.
  • Badminton is the national sport. Amusing.
  • Telegram is big in Singapore. Group chats occur on Telegram.
  • I loved seeing new local businesses receive bouquets of congratulatory flowers after they opened. Local businesses and construction firms would send “Congratulations!” gifts and they’d pile up outside the newly opened business. Is this a Chinese norm?

Other highlights from Lion City are below.

To understand modern Singapore, it is necessary to go back to the year it all began: 1965. Forget the Singapore of mirrored office towers, the city of elevators and air conditioning. Conjure a low-rise city with walls stained grey by cooking fires, bustling with street traders hawking their wares in a babble of Asian languages – a trading settlement with a cluster of colonial buildings surrounded by merchants’ shophouses and then a sprawl of shanty towns.

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The island lacked natural resources, and was reliant on the neighbouring Malay peninsula even for its water. Its ethnic mix, a Chinese majority with Malay and Indian minorities, made it unique and conspicuous in a region with a history of anti-Chinese xenophobia.

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The whole system bears the deep imprint of one man’s personality. There are no statues of Lee in the city he built, and only one institution named after him – a school of public policy – but anyone who wants to see his monument has only to look around them. Lee held power as prime minister from 1959, when Singapore was granted internal self-government under British rule, to 1990, when he stepped down. After quitting as premier, he remained in cabinet, first as senior minister then with the title of minister mentor, until 2011.

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The Japanese occupied Singapore from February 1942 to September 1945, when the British officially resumed control a month after Japan’s surrender.

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While both countries are made up of the same ethnic mix – Malay, Chinese and Tamil – their politics is very different. Malaya was dominated by Malays, the traditional inhabitants of an archipelago stretching across Southeast Asia, and in 1963 the country was predominantly rural. Singapore had a Chinese majority, many of them recently arrived in the region, and was largely urban. Under colonial rule, Malaya’s occupations had been roughly divided on ethnic lines; Indian immigrants and their descendants worked on rubber plantations and in government offices, the Malays worked the land. The Chinese worked in tin mines and factories, while some prospered in commerce.

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The state would be vigilant about maintaining racial harmony. Its National Pledge, written in 1966, declares that Singaporeans are ‘one united people, regardless of race, language or religion’. It is recited in school assemblies, with a fist clenched above the heart. Singapore championed the ideal of meritocracy, in contrast with Malaysia’s approach to levelling up through affirmative action.

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Singapore’s elite wanted to create a new kind of society which would absorb technical knowledge and skills from the West while remaining culturally Eastern. But many of the leaders were themselves products of English-language schools and elite overseas universities, and were most comfortable speaking in English. They could prophesy about a promised land that combined East and West, but could never be part of it themselves.

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There’s a shorthand for this kind of aspiration – the 5Cs: career, car, credit card, condominium and country club. It’s not entirely clear where the expression 5Cs came from, but every Singaporean knows it. Each of the Cs represents a successive level of aspiration.

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The creation of new land from the sea has been extraordinary; between 1965 and 2019, Singapore grew from 581.5 square kilometres to 728 square kilometres. Lacking its own supply of sand for this construction work, Singapore has become the world’s biggest sand importer. Marina Bay Sands, the landmark hotel shaped like a wicket, is built on reclaimed land, but so is much else in modern Singapore.

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Admonishing the public not to drop litter was backed up with the threat of fines and public shaming. The names of adult litterbugs were published in the press, while errant children were reported to their schools. People caught dropping litter could be made to clean the streets under ‘Corrective Work Orders’, a punishment which remains in force. Offenders can be seen sweeping up while wearing luminous pink and yellow vests as a badge of their shame.

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The policy of integrating races in each neighbourhood and public housing block ensures that Singapore does not have racial ghettos, but it also curtails individual choice of where to live.

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But climate control has reshaped the city’s architecture, making it a less human place. Instead of arranging rooms around the natural ventilation of a courtyard, air conditioning has encouraged tightly stacked flats and offices. By blasting heated air out of buildings, it intensifies the heat on the streets, driving people to seek shelter indoors.

Marginal Revolution’s 20th Anniversery

The latest Conversations with Tyler podcast features Tyler Cowen and Alex Tabarrok reflecting on the 20th anniversary of writing Marginal Revolution. Longtime readers Jeff Holmes, Vitalik Buterin, and I ask questions and offer our own reflections. Audio and transcript here. Video embedded below.

Some history: In the summer of 2006, I saw Tyler post on Marginal Revolution that he was giving a talk in Zurich the following day. I was 18 years old at the time, backpacking around Europe and Asia, oftentimes staying on the spare couches and beds of readers of this blog (!). I happened to be in Zurich that week so I dropped him a line and he invited me to attend the talk. We chatted afterwards (as I reported in this post) and we took the below photo, now 17 years ago:

 
Casnocha_and_cowenblog_1

We’ve followed each other online ever since and hung out in a wide number of exotic locales, from Seoul to Vienna, among others!

MR has exerted a formative influence on what I think and how I think. The golden years of the economics blogosphere — MR as well as Arnold Kling and Bryan Caplan and the Becker Posner Blog and Greg Mankiw and Russ Roberts’ podcast Econtalk, among others — taught me how to understand the world through the lens of economics. They’ve taught me how to cultivate curiosity about almost anything, and how to bring to bear a healthy skepticism when appropriate without giving into name calling or tribalism or, as one says, mood affiliation. They’ve also made me see the world with more wonder and hopefulness — especially as it relates to the power and mystery of market forces.

Tyler, also, has inspired me to indulge in my novelty-seeking intuitions with respect to food and travel. Alex, also, has made me think about innovation and globalization in new ways (his book Launching the Innovation Renaissance was full of excellent ideas).

I am grateful to them both for all they’ve done and it was a tremendous honor to be able to participate in their 20th anniversary recording! And to do so alongside Jeff Holmes, who’s capably produced every CwT episode, and Vitalik, one of the great inventors of our age.

 
India miscellanea

By the way, we recorded this podcast in-person in Chennai, India in connection with the Emergent Ventures India gathering hosted by the folks at Mercatus Center. It was great to be back in India for my third visit to the country but my first to Bangalore and Chennai. The regional cuisine was superb, as expected. I was surprised at how much richer the south of the country seems. As one anecdote, I saw almost no beggars on the main streets of Bangalore; quite different from my last visits to Mumbai and Delhi.

Despite the development, India is still a poor country. 300 million people do not have cell phones of any sort (flip phones or smartphones). Generally, the VCs I spoke to on the ground think there’s too much money flowing into consumer oriented startups in India in part due to investors’ failure to recognize the real size of the consumer market — the market of people who can actually pay for stuff.

Nonetheless, we at Village Global have invested in several talented teams in Bangalore and Delhi and elsewhere and we’re excited to continue to support the ecosystem. Opportunity abounds.

Relaxed Concentration Unlocks a Secret to Winning: Not Trying Too Hard

A few years ago I attended a silent “concentration” meditation retreat where we spent many consecutive days examining our breath in microscopic detail. The teachers gave very specific instructions we were to follow from the crack of dawn through to dinner.

About halfway through the 10 day retreat, I met with a teacher 1:1 to discuss my practice. It was going okay but not great — I hadn’t yet arrived at a place of deep samadhi. After hearing a bit about my experience, the teacher gently asked me if I felt “close” to the breath. I reflected for a moment on what he meant by the word “close” and then I nodded and said yes, I felt close to it — hovering, almost. He encouraged me to “back off a bit from the breath, don’t be so close. Be more spacious in your awareness of the breath. You’re overexerting.”

He then led me through an exercise. Take one hand and hold it out in front of you palm face up, he said. Take the other hand and hover it directly over the other hand, not quite touching. How much sensation do you feel in the two hands? Not much. Now take the top hand and squeeze the bottom hand tightly. Clench it. How much sensation do you feel in the two hands? Some, but it was muddied and overly tight.

Now, he said, gently rest one hand fully on top of the other. In that position, I felt all sorts of pulsing and heat sensations in my fingers. This is what you need to do in your practice, he said: gently rest your attention on the breath sensations, and you’ll know more. The action verb is: Rest.

In summary, he told me, you want to exert effort in meditation practice but not more than necessary: “A bird flaps its wings and then soars on momentum, and doesn’t flap again until it needs to.”

If you spend time in Buddhist meditation settings you’ll hear variants of this advice frequently offered to “achiever” personalities who mistakenly think the more fierce their effort, the more plentiful their likely results. “Don’t try so hard to make something happen” “Soften your gaze” “Ease up” All different ways of getting at the simple but hard-to-follow guidance: Just relax. 

Relaxation, as Tim Gallwey says, happens only when allowed, not as a result of “trying” or “making.”

“The art of relaxed concentration unlocks a secret to winning: not trying too hard”

In sports, you sometimes hear coaches tell players to ease up, to back off, to loosen their grip on the bat, to “let the game come to them,” to remember to have fun. There’s such a thing as applying too much effort: You get trapped in your head, you begin to overthink what you should say and do, you lose concentration when trying to swing the bat or shoot the ball.

Of course, it’s possible to bring too little focus and too little effort to meditation or sports or any activity and require the opposite advice.

But generally, for driven people in business who are performing in a high stakes setting, “backing off” seems to be the more commonly needed medicine: To soften our gaze, to let some of our emotional energy around the issue pass away. Less “I need to do a great job” and more “I want to have fun with this, I trust myself, I love myself.”

It’s counterintuitive to think that if we try less hard, if we quiet the mental self-instructions and stop trying to remember every last line and best practice…that somehow we could realize a better outcome in a business setting. But sometimes our intense focus on the outcome and conscious attempt to be perfect at every little piece along the way is the very thing that inhibits our ability to succeed.

The Inner Game of Tennis

Along these lines, I recently read Tim Gallwey’s Inner Game of Tennis: The Classic Guide to the Mental Side of Peak Performance, which reinforced the advice I received at the meditation retreat. It’s an awesome book especially if you’re learning to play tennis, as I am.

Gallwey’s argument is that relaxed concentration is the master skill — the “inner game”. It supersedes all other skills of tennis. While playing in a match, amateurs focus on the outer game of particular physical mechanics. Experts focus on the inner game and sink into a deep zone of relaxation.

The player of the inner game comes to value the art of relaxed concentration above all other skills; he discovers a true basis for self-confidence; and he learns that the secret to winning any game lies in not trying too hard.

So, it’s not about all the micro stroke feedback you get from your coaches. When you’re fully dialed in, you stop thinking about where your grip should go and how to move your feet, your mind is still, and you just play:

Perhaps a better way to describe the player who is “unconscious” is by saying that his mind is so concentrated, so focused, that it is still. It becomes one with what the body is doing, and the unconscious or automatic functions are working without interference from thoughts. The concentrated mind has no room for thinking how well the body is doing, much less of the how-to’s of the doing. When a player is in this state, there is little to interfere with the full expression of his potential to perform, learn and enjoy.

Self judgment can emerge with too much active thought as you try to perform your best:

 But judgmental labels usually lead to emotional reactions and then to tightness, trying too hard, self-condemnation, etc. This process can be slowed by using descriptive but nonjudgmental words to describe the events you see.

He offers a fun example of how to psych out your opponent — ask them to explain what they’re doing and why they’re having success:

To test this theory is a simple matter, if you don’t mind a little underhanded gamesmanship. The next time your opponent is having a hot streak, simply ask him as you switch courts, “Say, George, what are you doing so differently that’s making your forehand so good today?” If he takes the bait—and 95 percent will—and begins to think about how he’s swinging, telling you how he’s really meeting the ball out in front, keeping his wrist firm and following through better, his streak invariably will end. He will lose his timing and fluidity as he tries to repeat what he has just told you he was doing so well.

Here’s his advice to tennis players:

So before hitting the next set of balls, I asked Joan, “This time I want you to focus your mind on the seams of the ball. Don’t think about making contact. In fact, don’t try to hit the ball at all. Just let your racket contact the ball where it wants to, and we’ll see what happens.” Joan looked more relaxed, and proceeded to hit nine out of ten balls dead center!

For example, let’s assume it is your serve that you decide to focus your attention on. The first step is to forget all the ideas you may have in your mind about what is wrong with it as it is. Erase all your previous ideas and begin serving without exercising any conscious control over your stroke. Observe your serve freshly, as it is now. Let it fall into its own groove for better or worse. Begin to be interested in it and experience it as fully as you can. Notice how you stand and distribute your weight before beginning your motion. Check your grip and the initial position of your racket. Remember, make no corrections; simply observe without interfering.

In close:

When a player comes to recognize, for instance, that learning to focus may be more valuable to him than a backhand, he shifts from being primarily a player of the outer game to being a player of the Inner Game. Then, instead of learning focus to improve his tennis, he practices tennis to improve his focus. This represents a crucial shift in values from the outer to the inner.

(Thanks to Josh Hannah and Brad Feld for recommending the book.)

Fintech Preferences from the Unbanked of Cambodia

This is the yard of the tour guide who showed us around Angkor Wat yesterday:

He has 10 siblings. He’s the only one who graduated from high school and he makes by far the most money in his family. He sends money to his family members — most of whom are tuk tuk taxi drivers — when he can. As an English speaking tour guide in Siem Reap, our guide is likely among the top earners in the area. And yet, he still lives in tin roof shack surrounded by rubbish.

Point being: He’s better off than where he started in life but he’s still very poor.

I asked the guide which tour booking platform he prefers for leads — TripAdvisor, Viator, Airbnb Experiences, etc. He said he prefers Airbnb because they are willing to hold his earnings for up to $1,000 USD before transferring the money to him. Other platforms distribute funds to him after each tour, which is a problem because he pays a hefty Western Union fee each transaction. He’d prefer for the booking platform to hold the money as long as possible and transfer it in one lump sum.

Presumably, our guide doesn’t have an interest bearing bank account of his own nor an easy, low fee way of receiving funds electronically. So he’s effectively using Airbnb as a bank account to safely keep his earnings.

Of course, this all goes against the normal logic in fintech, where companies want to keep your money as long as possible and consumers want the money transferred to them as quickly as possible — each side sensitive to the interest-earning time value of money. “Playing the float” is the phrase that explains this dynamic.

Except, in poor areas with a vast unbanked population like in Cambodia, the consumer and company (Airbnb) are aligned. It’s a bit sad but it makes sense once you think about it.

It was a reminder of the lesson that it’s hard to understand certain on-the-ground consumer behaviors from afar. I highly doubt the product managers at Airbnb Experiences ever seriously contemplated that slow money transfer would be seen as a perk for some of their guides.

What I’ve Been Reading (June, 2023)

Some recent reading. My intro in italics; direct highlights from the book follow.

Index of Self-Destructive Acts

by Christopher Beha

A wonderfully rich novel encompassing “I haven’t thought about it in a long time, but Bill James developed a stat. It adds up balks, hit batsmen, wild pitches, errors—all the things a pitcher does that are entirely in his control, that don’t require the batter to do anything at all. The Index of Self-Destructive Acts.”

My Kindle highlights are pasted below; all Beha’s words:

Her banking friends knew that interesting people—a few novelists and poets, perhaps a painter or playwright, along with the usual collection of journalists and media personalities—would be there. The interesting people were drawn in turn by proximity to wealth. (For painters and poets, nothing was more interesting than real money.)

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As always during such moments, cameras roved about the stands, training themselves on excitable fans and projecting their faces onto the jumbotron. The spectator briefly became the event. What followed was something Frank had watched with puzzlement ever since these enormous electronic scoreboards had started to appear in every arena and stadium. For most of the fans caught on camera, the thirty, forty, fifty thousand others looking up at the screen were the biggest audience they’d ever have. This incited a strange dilemma: if you looked into the lens and properly played the part of screaming celebrant, the camera would linger on the performance, but you would never see it; alternatively, if you looked up at the screen to witness your public moment, you saw only a face looking distractedly up at the screen until the camera hurried on to someone who would better inhabit the role.

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His enthusiasm was so guileless that it could only be laughed at or urged along, and she decided on the latter.

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The sophisticated view basically amounts to insisting that God exists while admitting that his existence doesn’t change anything. You want to believe in that God, fine with me. For all I know, maybe there is this pulsing invisible world beneath or above or within the physical world, but if it doesn’t actually do anything in this world, it might as well not exist. If it does do something, we ought to be able to see it, to measure it.”

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But when it came to the profile, everything he’d learned about working felt useless. The rules were entirely different for the magazine. It was an odd paradox: the work had to be better to appear in print, though it had a fraction of the website’s readership and the web was all anyone ever talked about. Perhaps the very fact that print stories couldn’t be measured by their Teeser score forced people to hold them to a higher standard while also taking for granted that they didn’t actually matter. Print, he’d heard Blakeman tell someone, was where quality went to die. If he’d known this in advance, he wouldn’t have insisted on including these longer assignments in his contract, but he hadn’t known, and now he needed to produce. 

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Control over our passions—continence, the ancients called it—is what makes a productive civilization possible. How much of Western thought, going back to Plato, has been dedicated to overcoming our animal urges, helping reason to maintain the upper hand? By all means control them, Margo responded. Just know that they’re there. Or have you got no passions to master?

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She wasn’t complaining. That passion was not among Sam’s great qualities was sometimes a private disappointment to her—though it also had its advantages. She didn’t have to force herself into the mood at all hours to make sure she was keeping him satisfied. She didn’t fear the day when he would stop finding her sufficiently alluring and leave her for someone younger or prettier. She knew girls who took cheating men as just a part of life, but Lucy never gave the possibility a thought.

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The sun was setting by the time they arranged themselves around the long wooden table. Orange and pink light seeped out spectacularly from the water and the trees. Lucy suspected that Frank had been waiting for this striking display before letting them sit for the meal. He seemed to have a great instinct for presentation. He took the head of the table and insisted that she sit next to him. “What did you think of your husband’s profile?” he asked. It was rather ingenious: a question about himself disguised as a question about her husband that might almost have been a question about her. She recognized a chance to test her commitment to honesty. “He went far too easy on you.” She gave the remark the tone of a joke, and Doyle laughed eagerly.

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“You statheads want formulas that will settle every argument, but these arguments can’t be settled. One day you’ll succeed in objectively answering every question that can be objectively answered, and we’ll still be left with everything that actually matters. We’ll see that the things that can’t be proven are the only things worth talking about in the first place.

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No emotion was less willing to appear on demand than a sense of the sublime.

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This was all so typical of Frank, who did what he wanted when he wanted but could be irremediably wounded if someone else exercised the least bit of contrary will.

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Most people raised the subject as a kind of test. Either Justin was meant to prove his loyalty by defending Frank or he was meant to prove his integrity by disavowing him. His honest answer—a man he cared about had said something hateful, which had hurt Justin to hear but hadn’t made him stop caring about that man—was bound to disappoint in either case.

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She was making the very mistake that Eisen had warned him about—judging the unpolished surface instead of the truth at the core.

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In Amy’s view, you didn’t spend several afternoons a week walking around aimlessly with a person you didn’t want to fuck, no matter how good the conversation.

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(This last was meant to sound not cold but irreverent. She refused to take too seriously the desperate dance of an aging satyr. If she didn’t stay light on her feet, she was apt to get trampled.)

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Margo looked at the email address and imagined hitting send. She told herself it had been a terrible mistake, a technological cautionary tale. An astonishing bit of carelessness. She hadn’t meant Richard any harm, she’d just wanted to be left alone. She would never have forwarded the email to this address on purpose. If there were only some way to unsend it, she would give anything to make it happen, but the past could not be rewritten. She savored briefly this delicious regret over something she hadn’t even done, and just when it started going stale in her mouth, she clicked send.

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So it was almost a relief to hear Lucy lie. He knew that she was a good person; he was sure of it. If she was lying to him, this meant that lying to your spouse did not necessarily make you bad.

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Of course she suspected the truth, but he might still be able to convince her otherwise. On the other hand, she might suspect quite a bit more than the truth, and if he lied now he might never convince her how little had actually happened.

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She thought she was about to cry, and she didn’t want to do it in front of the girls. She knew they would be perfectly sympathetic, but she didn’t want their sympathy at the moment.

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She already knew that she would be a wreck the next day, but she didn’t really mind. Krista and Danielle made it seem as though hungover mornings—sitting around in pajamas; watching TV; ordering bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches from the deli on the corner; complaining how terrible you felt while laughing about what had happened the night before—were the real point of it all, that this business of the party was just a necessary preliminary.

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She imagined herself in forty years being like her father—a distinguished figure in her field who was nonetheless haunted by the realization that she had not done her real work, that she had wasted all her time. She didn’t even know what her real work was, but she knew it wasn’t teaching Byron to undergraduates.

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You couldn’t plan your endings out in advance. Often you couldn’t even recognize them when they happened. If her family was indeed over, it had ended some time ago, when Kit went off to prison, or when Frank fell down in the backwoods, or on the day of the Ballpark Incident, when Margo lost faith in her father. It had ended when Eddie went off to war.

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Everything was always ending, and nothing simply ended outright.

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“Listen, the next little patch is going to be pretty rough for you. But there’s something you need to remember.” “What’s that?” Waxworth asked. For the first time that day, Blakeman’s old smile came back. As angry as Waxworth was, he found the sight of it comforting. “Everyone loves a redemption story.

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There had been other opportunities over the years, but their life was so comfortable. He traveled with Brzezinski to Beijing, with Baker to Berlin. The great men of the world wanted his ear and eagerly offered him theirs. How easy to think of himself as great, rather than just a spectator to greatness.

 

World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments

by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

A fun and quirky sort of book that explains the joys of unusual animals. Full of fun facts.

My Kindle highlights are pasted below; all Nezhukumatathil’s words:

The narwhal’s “horn” is actually a tooth with about 10 million nerve endings—a loooong, helix-spiraled tooth that pokes through the upper left “lip” into the chilly arctic ocean. It’s one of only two teeth they’ll ever get in their lifetimes.

Scientists believe that a narwhal can make up to 1,000 “clicks” per second that can be then transmitted out in narrow or wide rays to search for food or avoid ice. The tusk is also a sensory wand—it is sensitive to salt levels of the ocean and temperature changes, too. The tooth is surrounded by a soft and porous outer layer and filled with a dense inner core packed with delicate nerve endings connected to the brain.

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Who are these toothy creatures’ predators? Orcas and the occasional polar bear sometimes hunt baby narwhals. When orcas go after an entire pod, the narwhals just dive, dive, dive—they can survive at almost five thousand feet below sea level.

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This smell is basically what I imagine emanates from the bottom of a used diaper pail left out in the late August sun, after someone has also emptied a tin of sardines and a bottle of blue cheese salad dressing on top and left it there to sit for a day or three. But that smell—and the deep, meaty red of the spathe—is what attracts insects to pollinate the flower before it goes dormant for several years, folding back up into itself.

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In those moments I held it, how many things it might have felt or known about me. Could it sense the love and exhilaration I felt for it or my sheer despair once I realized it was dying in my hands? I only know that I had never been looked at, consumed, or questioned so carefully by another being.

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To get to this intensely colored fruit, we begin with one of the most ethereal displays of blossoming I have ever witnessed. The flowers bloom in full for just one evening. That means they have one precious night to be pollinated by a bat or bee, and turn the flower into a dragon fruit. Otherwise the six-inch, greenish-white bloom wilts by sunrise—a whisper of heat and bat wing rattling the crumpled, pale blossom.

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The ones who move the most succeed in finding mates in a dance of mimicry and rhythm that is marvelous—especially in gatherings of upward of several hundred thousand birds. It’s a search for the right partner who wants to step together through one of the longest bird lives on the planet: about fifty or so years together.

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Under a brilliant moon, and unbeknownst to us, the darkened world silvers and shimmers from pink and ebony wings, a small thunder. We can’t possibly hear such an astonishing wind while we try to keep in step with our small dances on this earth. But we should try. We should try.

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Ribbon eels are all born jet black males—they are protandric, changing to female only when necessary to reproduce.

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If while you are scuba diving a ribbon eel happens to wriggle and flick its way over you, you might not even see it—its underbelly is perfectly camouflaged against the refracted sky above.

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These newts are one of the only amphibians to contain a ferromagnetic mineral in their bodies, and that, combined with their incredible capacity to memorize sun- and starlight patterns to return to their original pond waters, make them an animal on par with salmon for their excellent homing capabilities.

 

Such a Fun Age

by Kiley Reid

Entertaining and thought provoking story. Easy to read. Highly recommend.

 

Hidden Valley Road: Inside the Mind of an American Family

by Robert Kolker

Sad yet ultra informative story about one family wrecked by mental illness.

My Kindle highlights are pasted below; all Kolker’s words:

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In the 1950s and 1960s, it became hard to find any emotional or mental disorder that was not, in one way or another, attributed by therapists to the actions of the patient’s mother. Autism was blamed on “refrigerator mothers” who failed to show enough affection to their infants. Obsessive-compulsive disorder was blamed on problems in the second to third year of life, clashing with the mother around toilet training. The public conception of madness became hopelessly intertwined with the idea of the mother-as-monster.

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Going back even further, of course, that idea of whatever society deems to be mental illness sharing the same wellspring as the creative, artistic impulse has been with us for centuries: the artist as iconoclast and truth-teller, the only sane one in an insane world.

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At Dorado Beach, Rosenthal declared that biology, not proximity to people with a history of schizophrenia, appeared to explain nearly every single documented instance of the illness. Where you grew up, or the people who raised you, seemed to have nothing to do with it at all. On the whole, families with a history of schizophrenia seemed more than four times as likely as the rest of the population to pass along the condition to future generations—even if, as ever, the illness rarely passed straight from parent to child.

 

Making Numbers Count: The Art and Science of Communicating Numbers

by Chip Heath and Karla Starr

How can you communicate better when it comes to numbers, statistics, data points? This book is chock full of tips from the wonderful Chip Heath.

My Kindle highlights are pasted below; all Heath and Starr’s words:

We’ve come to believe, after working with these principles for years, that almost every gnarly number has something—an analogy, a comparison, another dimension—that will allow us to translate it into something we can remember, use, and discuss with others.

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The secret to translating numbers is simple: avoid using them. Translate them into concrete, vivid, meaningful messages that are clear enough to make numbers unnecessary.

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You might be tempted to make an apples-to-apples comparison here, and say Olympus Mons is more than twice the height of Mount Everest. But what is Everest to most of us? It’s something we read about. It’s rare we meet even one person who’s seen it directly (if we did, we’d know—they’d never shut up about it).

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Moving back to Earth, in 2018, the New York Times published a long article showing data, field by field (politics, Hollywood, journalism), that demonstrated how far our society is from equality. But rather than quoting a dense wall of numbers, they cleverly illustrated the disparities by using some striking comparisons. A very small percentage of Fortune 500 CEOs are women. Among Fortune 500 CEOs, there are more men named James than there are women.

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Throughout the first 18 years of his career in the NBA, LeBron James scored over 35,000 points. Throughout the first 18 years of his career in the NBA, LeBron James scored an average of over 27 points per game.

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For numbers less than 1, you can use a method we call “counting in baskets” to make things start to show up as whole numbers. If you find that .2% of people have a certain trait, use a basket size of at least 500, maybe 1,000, to make them show up as real people. “1 out of 500” or “2 out of 1,000” makes these abstract percentages into real things.

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The amount of meat recommended as part of a healthy meal is 3 to 4 ounces. The amount of meat recommended as part of a healthy meal is 3 to 4 ounces, which looks about the same size as a deck of cards.

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Replace your lights with CFLs when your child is learning how to walk. The next time you’d have to replace the bulb, your child would be in second grade, learning about oxygen. The next time, they’d be taking driver’s ed.

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Imagine if Earth’s 7.7 billion people were shrunk to a village of 100: » 26 villagers would be children (14 years old or younger). 5 villagers would come from North America, 8 from Latin America, 10 from Europe, 17 from Africa, and 60 from Asia.

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What if Reagan had used the power of 1 instead, and said that every man, woman, and child in the United States owed $4,000 or—probably more useful—if he had grouped people and said that every household owed about $12,000?

Translating 1%: Ways to feel/sense/understand 1%: It’s 1 Pringle in a can of 100. It’s 1 card between 2 decks. It’s 4 days out of the year. It’s 1 meter in a 100-meter dash. It’s one minute out of an average-length movie.

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Back in his youth, Arnold Schwarzenegger, bodybuilder turned celebrity turned governor of the state Nation of California, once said of another bodybuilder who was a formidable competitor, “Those aren’t arms, they’re legs.” Arms as big as legs, cities as big as nations, a sister as annoying as an entire elementary-school lunchroom. Category jumpers bring extra emotion and extra respect back to their interactions in their home category.

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Use whole numbers, not too many. Preferably small. Whenever possible, count real things, not decimals or fractions.

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So, to recap, choose common language when possible: “One out of three” instead of “1/3.” Choose percentages over decimals: “33%” instead of “.33.” And also choose percentages over complex fractions: “41%” instead of “7/17.”

 

Nineteen Ways of Looking at Consciousness

by Patrick House

Interesting nuggets. I learned about Patrick from his fascinating appearance on EconTalk.

My Kindle highlights are pasted below; all House’s words:

The basic story is that a neurosurgeon, using small, carefully placed blasts of electricity to the brain, was able to cause the patient, Anna, to laugh. Alone, this is not surprising. We have long known that electricity powers our muscles to act, and laughter is just a series of rapid, coordinated muscle movements. What was so surprising was that Anna said afterward that she also felt the subjective sensations of joy and mirth alongside the laughter and that she, when asked why she laughed, gave different and implausible answers each time.

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The brain is messy and venous and dense and soaking wet, all the time, and is about as heavy as a hardback copy of Infinite Jest.

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Instead, she confabulated the reasons behind the laughter and mirth because the brain abhors a story vacuum and because the mammalian brain is a pattern-recognizing monster, a briny sac full of trillions of coincidence detectors that are only useful if there are connections between things. Even a wrong pattern, a guess, is at least a pattern to learn against.

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Those in the water who don’t fear being eaten, like humpback whales, often sleep vertically, often in groups, like the large towers of an aquatic city, for less than ten percent of their day. Sleep concerns are highly specific: birds dream of bird problems, whales of whale problems, dogs of dog problems.

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Interestingly, this means one can make a code, like those in a video game or medieval monastery, that lets one break the subjective fourth wall and communicate with the great sleep researchers in the sky. For example, a person can learn to, if lucid, move their eyes in a certain pattern and then count to ten, after which they move their eyes in that same pattern again, to mark the end of their test. Remarkably, some people take around ten “objective” seconds to do so, which implies that their subjective, incepted time—the waking dream within the dream—not only has a time keeping device but that it may be the same one we always use.

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A friend of mine, a bird-watcher, once told me that the best time to search for birds is right after a storm because the grounded ones are very anxious to get going again. He called it Zugunruhe, a German term, and translated it roughly, perhaps poetically, as “the anxiety felt by migratory birds prevented from migrating.” A body, too, is restless to get moving; in fact, the entire purpose of the brain is to make efficient movement from experience, and everything else, including consciousness, is downstream of these efforts.

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What we see is not the object itself, but an evolved decoding of the parts of that object relevant to survival, not to the truth.4 A red pill is not red. A blue pill is not blue. They are the same color, which is to say that they are no color at all, to all but our eyes.

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[Soldier in Afghanistan who had an intuition to turn around and not drive his daily patrol route.]  “What do you think it was?” He says, “There were no kids. We drive that same route every day at the same time and there are kids kicking around an old soccer ball, in that field, and today there were none. And that felt really dangerous to me. And thinking about it, it’s because the moms know when the bad guys have planted a roadside bomb, and they keep their kids away.”

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Can you travel in time back and forth?3 Can you imagine? Tell me something about the day you’re going to get married. Tell me something about what you will do when you have a daughter. Those are questions in principle you should be able to answer, “Well, if I have a daughter I would do this and that with her. I would take her here and here and the other.” Some people can’t do that, particularly if they have hippocampal lesions. Turns out these people not only have retrograde amnesia but also have difficulties traveling forward in time, imaging a future for themselves.

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As well, some people claim to have no internal visual imagery; some see images in their head as a flickering slide reel; others as if the memory is happening to them from the vantage exactly as it once did; others watch their memories unfold from a few dozen meters away, through a single aperture, as if filming them; others as if they are watching a television one hundred feet away. Some have photograph-like memories and can redraw cityscapes from scratch. Some people claim to have no inner, vocal monologue.