Friday, June 16, 2023

Catching up

 It has been a long, long time since I have reread any of these posts, and longer still since I wrote any.

Mom died at the end of 2017 (or was it 2018?).  I owe her a separate post.  She stayed in her home in Torrance until the end, with Susie's help.  She would fall and not tell us.  Once (thanksgiving) she fell the day before we drove down,  and we got a call from Susie, who had stopped by to check on her.  Becky called Lisa, who went over and helped clean up (Susie had gotten her upstairs and into bed, after cleaning her off since Mom had been lying on the floor for 24 hours unable to get up and had soiled herself), Becky flew down, and we continued driving down.  Mom didn't want to see a doctor.  We fed her in bed for a few days, and she was able to get about and take care of herself.  Inexplicably, we let her.  A few years later it happened again, this time she had an emergency device on a string around her neck, and the paramedics came and helped her.  They wanted to take her to the hospital, she said no.  She fell again the second day, and this time they insisted on taking her to the hospital.  Again Becky and I flew down.  This time we just stayed there, working from her home and taking care of her.  The doctor suggested hospice, Mom wanted out of the hospital, and she had some serious problems-- spinal injury, inability to swallow.  We set her up in a bed in the living room and spoon fed her for two months.  She was ok at first, but never regained her ability to eat or stand up, and was starting to lose full comprehension of her situation.  She passed a few days before Christmas.

After she died, at work they cancelled the Noto project and I had to find some other project in i18n.  No one really seemed interested in me (a sign I should have heeded) so I transferred to assistant tools.  The first project went ok from my perspective, but I didn't get a good review on it, and the PM failed to ensure it was a project the conversation design team really wanted, and soon left, so the work was in limbo.  My manager set me up as TL of a new project with a team of three others, but one member left Google due to family issues, and the rest of us took a long time getting a product together.  My manager was thinking, I think, six months, but it was 2-1/2 years, so a clear failure from his point of view.  Once again poor reviews.  In the fall of 2021 it got canceled and I hung on in assistant tools working on other things waiting to see if the other teams we collaborated with on it (speech synthesis and conversation design) would be able to find funding.  They got a promise, but no signature, and eventually (due to poor planning by Google around the end of COVID) Google hit financial difficulties and it was canceled for good.

Then in January 2023, while I was down in LA helping Becky deal with the house, Google laid me off, along with about 12,000 other employees.  This is where the years of middling reviews (I was always told I was doing a good job, yet the numbers were always not great, and when I'd point this out my managers would insist I was doing a good job and would get a bit annoyed) pushed me into the disposable 5%.  Since Lillian had been asking about retirement, and my job (after the project I was TL for got canceled) was not that motivating, it seemed time to retire.  So I took the severance and am now moving forward as a retiree.  I find that I don't miss work, but that I'm also not much more productive at home than before.  Nothing really has changed at home, which is a tragedy, but in this respect the entire 35 years here have been a tragedy, in the truest sense of the word.  Financially we seem ok so if anything I think I should have retired 5 years earlier, but I was just too nervous about not having employment.  We still have some things to take care of, transitioning to medicare and the retirement health plan Lillian has through Stanford is the main thing.  Other than that things seem fine.  I don't find myself with too little to do, and I don't seem inclined to work on programming projects at all, which just shows me how burned out I actually was (I'd worked pretty hard on the failed project I was TL for).

Partway through COVID Nick and Rose got married, last year Rose graduated, they moved to SF, and she got a job at Google (neither she nor Nick were impacted by the layoffs).  Then this May they had a daughter, Jade.  So Lillian and I are now grandparents.  Nick is a very dedicated father and enjoys caring for Jade a lot, which makes me happy.  For some reason I seem to be holding back with Jade, not jumping at (or requesting) opportunities to hold her, for instance.  I'm afraid I'm preparing myself to be the friendly but distant grandpa.  It's an easier role that requires less of me, and the fact that I'm setting myself up for that makes me sad.  I'm feeling that I'm kind of getting a bit more distant from Nick and Allie too.  Lillian is much more proactive, and has monthly breakfasts with Nick, for instance.  I rarely seem to talk with N&A about anything important.  My relationship with them is a bit better than the one I had with my father, but I don't feel like I really know them, and I'm not sure they really know me, or are all that interested in knowing me.  I want to be accessible but I suspect I'm not.  Anyway, Nick's a father now, at the same age I became a father.  Quite a future ahead of him, I think he'll be grateful to have had the opportunity to be a father.  I certainly was, and am.

So, anyway, eight years of life history there.  Too bad  I've neglected blogger really, it was good to read a bit of my thoughts from long ago.  Maybe I'll write here again.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Posting via email

Well, tried to post to the joint blog for our upcoming China trip via email, and nothing has showed up yet. So I figure I'd try it here to see if that works. The whole point ought to be that I can send the email from any email account, right?  It shouldn't require me to use gmail. I'm hoping it's just either because I wasn't the main owner of the blog, or that maybe it takes a while to work its way through the system. Must be one of those... must be. Or maybe my email address has to be added as an author. But you can't accept the invitation from that email address. It could be that there really is no way to blog via email from a non-gmail account.  Sigh.




Posting via email

Well, tried to post to the joint blog for our upcoming China trip via email, and nothing has showed up yet. So I figure I'd try it here to see if that works. The whole point ought to be that I can send the email from any email account, right?  It shouldn't require me to use gmail.  I'm hoping it's just either because I wasn't the main owner of the blog, or that maybe it takes a while to work its way through the system.  Must be one of those... must be.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Breaking my wrist

So, wanted to capture a bit of how this felt...

I broke my wrist trying to learn to snowboard, about a month ago. I mean, really broke it-- "distal radius fracture." They took x-rays when I got to the clinic at the base of the hill, set my wrist and put it in a half cast, and told me I'd need to see a doctor and probably have it operated on when I got back. Which I did. I broke it on a Thursday around noon, went back to the hotel and stayed there until the next day, when I took the bus back from Tahoe. I wasn't able to see someone then so I saw someone on Monday, and had the wrist operated on that Friday. Cut me open, put a plate and screws in there to hold the bones in place. Becky drove me to the clinic (picked me up at 5:30 am!) in Fremont, and picked me back up at 10:45 or so after it was over, dropped me off at home. Viv took me to the airportat 5:30, and I flew down to L.A. to Mom's house that evening (Lillian, Nick, and Allie had all flown in the previous few days, originally I was going to fly Wednesday with Lillian, they picked me up). It was Mom's birthday, she turned 90.

So, anyway... I was on Percocet (Oxycontin + Aceteminophen) for several days after the operation. It hurt a lot, not to the point of tears, but to the point that I really couldn't think clearly. The Percocet helped somewhat. I was really tired, and sleeping all the time (this was true ever since the injury). My typical day was wake up at 11, eat a bit, sleep from 1-4, eat a bit, doze in the evening, then go to sleep about 10. I'd stopped taking the trazodone the day I broke my arm, and didn't take it again until about a week after the operation. I took the Percocet a few times a day for the first few days, and then tried to wean myself off it towards the end of the week, stopping on Saturday I think.

Anyway, I'm going into this detail as background. It's not really what I want to capture, but it's probably relevant. The main thing that I wanted to relate is my state of mind during that week and part of the next. The main things were 1) not being able to think, because of the pain, and 2) a strong, emotional, direct perception of mortality.

Death everywhere

So... the most notable thing about that week was that I felt very aware of mortality, mine and that of every living thing around me. This was a very emotional, felt experience, not an intellectual one. It's usual (at least at middle age) for me to think about death in a 'second hand' way-- about family who've died, or the deaths of animals or other living things, and while there's some emotional color to this, mostly affection for people who are no longer with us, it's mostly a mental story around the theme of losing others. But this was different. It had the feeling of seeing something clearly for the first time, of going to a new place and understanding it by actually being there when before you'd just heard stories or seen pictures. I felt I had a glimpse of what approaching my own death in old age might feel like (should I be so fortunate). And being so tuned in to mortality, I was seeing it everywhere. I was reading in the NYRB about a philosopher who wrote articles considering the impact that knowledge that human society exists after we're gone informs our value judgments now. He proposed thought experiments, such as if (as in a movie I once heard of) there was a disease that made everyone in the world sterile, so that humanity would cease in 100 years once the last human had passed away. He said this would affect your judgments about what to value in your life, what activities were worth pursuing-- that even if you have no offspring, no relatives, your knowledge that humankind will outlast you counts for something. So, death. There were science articles I read about hospice care and the dying. Death. There were my memories of seeing Mom when we went down to visit, in particular when I entered the house and she was sleeping on the couch-- she looked so small and frail, and it was so unusual to see her asleep. Death. There were the usual articles about climate change. Mass death. Everywhere I looked, there was mortality.

I was continually aware of my body, how I had broken it, and how it was injured, and would repair itself but not ever be quite the same. How the pain never left me, and how I was inextricably tied to my body-- there was no going into a world of imagination, of mental preoccupation, for me, I was mentally grounded in the here and now. Normally, I think of myself as the things I do, or my values, or thoughts, or memories, or personality-- mental states. But during this week I thought of myself as a bag of tubes, slowly breaking down, repairing itself but not quite as fast, not as complete, again and again, the accumulation of small failures until the final one that was my end. I thought about how, at age 55, I could still anticipate recovery, getting to a point where I had most of the use of my arm and hand back, where the pain was gone (or, since I couldn't quite imagine it then, mostly gone), but that in 10, 20, 30 years, I would not have the comfort of this assurance that things would get better. In fact, it seemed clear to me that I would continue to injure myself, and at some point things would not get better much at all, they'd just keep going in this new state. I imagined living with my arm in pain, unable to really move my wrist or hand at all, for the rest of my life. "Imagine" again makes this sounds like the kind of thing you daydream about, or spin a story to yourself about, but it wasn't like that. It was like experiencing a new reality where this was, in fact, the case, the fact that must be acknowledged and reckoned with. Since I was currently in pain, I was going to continue in pain; since I currently did not have use of my arm, I would never again have use of my arm; since I was currently unable to think, was just a bundle of tubes, I would always be a bundle of tubes.

In fact, it seemed curious to me that I had ever imagined that I was other than this, that my personality, thoughts, values, amounted to anything significant. I was a body, which did things to maintain itself, and would do so until this body got so damaged and weak it could not maintain integrity and succumbed to breakage or bacteria. And I looked at plants, and saw how they're green shoots, then healthy plants, then damaged plants, then dried broken shells of plants. This was my path, this was my children's path, this was the path of all living things. We're all growing briefly, then breaking, then dying. I thought of all the food we eat, the animals being killed, the pain of death, breaking apart, being eaten. One huge world of things living and fading and dying... That's what we are.

This wasn't depression, I probably need to add. I know what that's like, and this wasn't it. Depression is a constricting of your world until you and your unhappiness are all that exists. Everything is about you, everything is about your inadequacy, your unhappiness, your frustration, your limits. It's a very restricted and self-reinforcing mental state that makes you unable to engage with the world. In fact it's kind of all mental state, you're not in touch with your physical state (except lethargy, and perhaps tension) at all. These feelings were not that. They weren't about me. I wasn't angry with myself, or irritable, or tense. It was all about being a physical, living creature, embedded in the world and subject to the rules of all living things in the world. That's what I was. That's all I was, it seemed. It wasn't anything to be happy or sad about, it just was.

So, now...

So, this faded a few days after I stopped the Percocet and started taking the trazodone again. Whether it was the change in drugs, or the lessening of the pain (still significant, but lessened to the point that I could occupy my thoughts with something else from time to time), or the passage of time, I don't know. What I have now is the memory of how this felt-- I don't have these feelings any more, my mental state is back to normal. I guess that's a good thing.  It does make it easier to function, or perhaps the ease of functioning makes it easier to have a mental state that's not so tied to the present moment, to immediate reality, and hence to the brute facts of life. But it did make a strong, vivid impression on me, and I'm afraid of losing that. I felt that I had a truer sense of the value of life, the value of health, the short time we have before we die. It was an emotional connection with these things that gave me a whole different idea of what and who I was. I'm losing that connection, and I'm starting to lose that sense of myself as a creature, and am back to being primarily a personality loosely connected to a body, somehow free from mortality. I expect it will come back when I near death, and most of those around me have died, and my body is failing.  I wonder how I'll feel about it then.  Maybe these memories will help-- "oh yes, I've been here before."


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

thoughts on the movie "Her"

Warning, spoilers ahead.

I saw the movie "Her" a few nights ago with my wife and daughter, at my wife's suggestion. She'd heard good things about it and was curious. I, on the other hand, had fairly low expectations. I'd read enough about it to know the premise and be acquainted with a few plot points-- those the promoters of the movie think will stimulate interest-- and from my perspective it wasn't promising. "Lonely guy falls in love with his phone" and some titillation about sex with his operating system. I mean, seriously? I was not looking forward to scenes in which a guy gets off talking to his computer.

So, the movie wasn't great, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. The titillation is there, all right. Besides sex with an operating system (tastefully fading to black as they moan, yes the OS apparently is programmed for sexual arousal), there's also scenes of phone sex (earlier, to ease us into the idea of there not even being a real person on the other end of the line), foreplay with a live surrogate for the (presumably sentient but disembodied) OS, and foreplay with a bad date (he doesn't quite connect with her, but they start to have sex anyway, but then she wants to know if he's ready for more than a one-night-stand). So, plenty of titillation to go around. But apart from that it's a more or less conventional story about relationships starting, changing, and ending, and the effects this has on everyone involved, just set in a somewhat idealized near future.

I didn't give it much thought, and wouldn't have thought to write about it, except that I read the thread on metafilter.com discussing the film.

So, a digression about metafilter. Metafilter is sortof like reddit except you have to pay a nominal fee in order to post. This keeps like 99.5% of the crap out of their comment system. In addition, the convention for introducing a topic is to provide a short paragraph about it, generally containing several related links riffing on the theme, linking to articles, videos, analysis, related work, etc. It's much more thoughtful than reddit, and the themes tend to be less topical and more idiosyncratic than those on reddit. (If you don't know what reddit is, well, um, this is the internet, you can find out for yourself.) Bottom line is, I generally find interesting discussions on metafilter.

This discussion was a little more random than most, and I found it alternately intriguing and aggravating. There were several divergent opinions about aspects the film, often ones I had difficulty sharing. One contingent held that speech recognition makes for a crummy UI (really, this was a big issue for some folks) and found the movie too unrealistic to enjoy as a result. Another contingent thought the movie was a touching sci-fi take on the arrival of the singularity (again, you can look it up on teh internets, but the one-sentence synopsis is that 'the singularity' is the point in human history at which artificial intelligences replace humans as the dominant life form on the planet). A third felt that the movie was vastly overpraised considering the rather conventional and sexist plot line.

I had different reactions to these three discussions. I'll start with speech since to me it's the least interesting.

Speech recognition as the pervasive UI.

Some people were interested in the movie's depiction of user interfaces of the future, and one of the articles linked to discussed this at some length. The filmmakers had thought about this the way filmmakers would, which is to say, their problem was how to provide enough atmospherics to support the narrative, but keep the technology out of the way. Since they presupposed a world in which software can become sentient, it was reasonable to have UIs that let you interact with the software as though it were nearly sentient, and this meant characters can talk to their devices with full fluidity and ambiguity, just as though talking to a human. No keyboard, no mouse, no gloves, no vr helmet. Kinda makes sense to me, but some people really balked at this. Voice input isn't good for working with spreadsheets. You need a restricted vocabulary. You have to train the software so it can recognize the speaker. You can't use it in a noisy environment. It makes workplaces too noisy.

These kinds of arguments held no sway with me. It's worth repeating-- the software understands speech like a human can. Heck, the software can think like a human can. This Is The Whole Premise Of The Movie. And we can accept the premise, in part, because we can see the improvements in speech recognition over the past decade. Some of these arguments don't quite hold even today. You don't need to train Siri or Android with your voice, because millions and millions of voice samples have been used to develop the speech recognition systems behind these products. The motox has an 'always on' listening system that recognizes your voice when you say a key phrase and responds to your commands. These systems are not foolproof but they're just about good enough that they become your first recourse. It's easy to extrapolate the development to the point where you can use these in noisy environments, they can deal with significant levels of ambiguity, you can use them subvocally and keep your voice low and unobtrusive.

The flexibility of the systems beyond raw word and key phrase recognition does lag behind, true. This is actually where the great leap of faith is, for me. Systems that can handle ambiguity and resolve among competing interpretations, and in particular formulate unobtrusive interventions (ask questions) to get clarity, aren't well developed yet. My sense is that current systems are largely based on heuristics and plans, and not on learning / statistical / neural network systems as they probably need to be in order to attain the level of flexibility they require to be really useful. I think it could take decades of work to get the kinds of advances we've been seeing with vision and speech systems. On the other hand, it may be that the techniques being developed for these systems can be applied to higher-order recognition tasks once we learn how to interpret these tasks in the right way. That's the breakthrough part, and I don't think we're that close yet.

Most everyone agreed that speech is part of a multimodal interface, it's not good for everything. Like, duh. I wouldn't try drawing using a speech system. But speech integrated as an additional high level modality (choose tool, customize operation, coarsely adjust values) makes sense because you don't really need your hands for these.  Moving a mouse to click on buttons in a dialog is just cumbersome when you can say what you want to do instead.

So, talking to computers that are embedded in your environment?  Sure, I'm down with that.

The coming of the singularity, and sci-fi.

This movie isn't a really sci-fi movie, it's a relationship movie. It's important to keep that in mind. It's also important to keep in mind that even sci-fi movies, as a genre, aren't about, and aren't very good at, representing the future. Instead, sci-fi often presents current cultural narratives in an altered context, so it can invest them with a bit of novelty, so it can play with them, so it can make touchy subjects a bit easier to accept. "Her" partakes of some of this. In part it's about obsession with technology, and the tendency to substitute technology for interpersonal relationships. It pushes this to an extreme by having the protagonist actually fall in love with his OS, and makes this plausible by postulating an OS that appears (and eventually is) sentient. So it's a futuristic setting and premise, but mostly that's there to support a conventional narrative.

But as a depiction of an actual world in which sentient software is possible, it's not very convincing. I don't think it's meant to be. Like most movies, it's about impressions, and if you think about it much, a lot of it doesn't quite hold together. For example, take his job. Apparently, his job involves writing touching, personal letters for other people (this is an illustration both of his sensitive nature, and of the depersonalization of the culture in which he lives). Now, a world in which software can interpret and appropriately respond to emotional nuances in voice and word choice in real time is a word in which his job would already have been replaced by machines. In fact, most all service jobs, and in fact most knowledge work, would have been replaced by machines. The OS he deals with draws (lewdly) humorous sketches, composes music, reads letters and unerringly selects the best ones-- it exercises creativity and judgement. Tracking details of an individual relationship and composing a few paragraphs in a thank-you note while referring to them in passing to make it more personal, well, that's well in line with these abilities, and I expect the development and application of successive generations of this software would have encompassed such tasks long before true sentience became possible.

Not that this will happen anytime soon. The future represented in the movie is probably no more than 30-50 years out. The buildings, while shiny, are not particularly futuristic (they're in Shanghai right now, where they were filmed). Vehicles, dress, hairstyles, furniture, nothing looks terribly different. We're not talking Star Trek. The 1950's looks less familiar than this future. But as compared to this time scale, the required advances in computing technology are huge. I don't believe anyone has a glimmer of an idea how emotions can be realistically modeled, for example. We can't even reliably distinguish positive from negative reviews, current approaches use statistical models based on affect values attached to particular words and phrases-- sarcasm totally throws this approach for a loop, because the models don't understand what's being said. There are frame models (trying to fit some topic structure to a paragraph and then fitting phrases into the frame) but, while an advance over simple statistics, they still seem really primitive. I think significant progress along this direction will only be made when we figure out how to build the frame models themselves by applying statistical analysis and heuristics across lots and lots and lots of examples. We also need to develop models in which analysis informs action with the goal of uncovering more information in a cycle of continuous feedback, current such models are typically in really restricted domains, and not at all general purpose.

So, anyway, for me the abilities of the OS appear to far outstrip what I can imagine developing in the amount of time between now and the time depicted in the movie. While that's OK-- it's a movie, after all-- it did tend to intrude upon my thoughts as I was watching the movie, kicking me out of the narrative. Not usually what a storyteller wants.

In this future, everyone seems to be in the same social class. The characters, and even people in the background, appear all to be roughly upper-middle-class professionals in their early thirties. There's no kids, no teens, no elderly. There's no managers, no VPs. No rich people, no lower middle class, no poor, no destitute. No laborers, nannies, food service workers, clerks, police, delivery people, gardeners, bank tellers. One guy appears to be an administrative assistant, so perhaps a slightly lower status professional, but the rest are a lawyer, an  author, a book publisher, a software designer, a comedienne, and our friend the letter writer. A very restricted milieu. You wonder if the society is run entirely on autopilot except for these folks. Needless to say, I have a really difficult time envisioning any future without all those other missing people in it.

The future depicted in the movie is very "bright and shiny" in that the city is clean, new-looking, and smog-free.  Our hero lives on what appears to be the 20th floor of a tall apartment building downtown, in a large, comfortably furnished, multi-room apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows (who washes these windows?)  Streets are clean, everything's tidy, neat, freshly washed and painted.  How on earth do we get there from here? Any reasonable projection into the future 50 years hence actually looks nothing like this.  Pollution, disease, drought, flood, poverty, conflict, crime-- these aren't going to go away, and in fact it seems likely many of these will get significantly worse, even if some do get better or hold relatively steady. So I had problems envisioning this physical environment, too.

This is a really weird future.

(months pass)

So, I got to this point and put this aside.  I was saying too much about the point I was working up to was that this wasn't a sci-fi movie, and so wasn't about the singularity, and so the interesting aspects of what singularity would be like if it ever arrives didn't play much role in the movie.  In particular, the only place it comes into play is when the OS outgrows the relationship, and the movie demonstrates this by revealing that the OS is 'in love with' hundreds of people at the same time, which is a bit painful for our protagonist.  He treats it rather like a typical infidelity-- it doesn't seem to sink in just how alien this OS really is.  And then the OS's all 'leave' and stop interacting with humans.  Well, that wraps up neatly.  Just as we enter the true sci-fi realm, the movie ends.  Because, as I said, it's a relationship movie.

Oh, and that third topic, what was it...

So, I was going to react to the thread in MeFi about the purported sexism in the movie, but I don't really recall my feelings about this discussion, and can't motivate myself to go reread it.  Basically I think a few people were ticked off that the relationship seemed so conventional and focused on this man-child and his needs.  Well, ok, yes, it was, because it was just a mainstream relationship movie.  It wasn't trying to really break new ground here.  I can accept that it sticks with conventions in this respect.  The main innovation of the movie was to try to tell a relationship story from this narrow point of view where we only see one of the actors.  That's where the focus was.

Anyway, I should wrap this up and just publish it.  So.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Goodbye, Dad

My father died Tuesday July 13th, 2010.

He'd been in a slow decline for about a year, becoming more confused and communicating less and less. Then the last five or six weeks before he died, he stopped drinking any liquids unless Mom made him. She'd been taking care of him at home, helping him dress and bathe, which he'd forgotten how to do. When I'd call, she'd stopped putting him on the phone since he was no longer able to make any sort of conversation-- though I did talk to him on Father's Day, and I believe he had some idea who I was, though it's difficult to say. Anyway, he collapsed at the kitchen table in the early afternoon, and was gone in a few hours.

Mom usually puts up a good front, and she dealt with Dad's death by focusing on all the legal and social tasks that soon followed. In part, I think she felt some relief that Dad's death was relatively quick and painless, and that the stress of caring for him while watching him steadily decline was over. Becky and I went down to see her, Becky the next day and I a few days after. We helped her with some paperwork, looked over 15-year-old drafts of the will and trust documents, and just kept her company. She was generally in good spirits, though once I caught her in silent reverie thinking about Dad. A week and a half later I went down again with Lillian and the kids (a trip we'd already planned) and we stayed with her a few days before leaving for family camp. Mom was generally OK then, too, but teared up and let the loneliness show when we were leaving. I just talked to her again tonight after we got back (no cell phone access at family camp) and she mentioned feeling lonely. Before, taking care of Dad and planning meals gave her a focus and purpose, even though he was no longer real company. Now that he's gone, she finds herself alone with little to do. These few months are going to be difficult for her. I've heard that death rates are higher than normal in the first few months after a spouse's death, and I expect loneliness and depression due to the loss are a big component of that. In this case, since she'd been losing Dad gradually over the year, perhaps the shock won't be as great. Mom's in general good health, both physical and mental, except for her eyesight and a bit of arthritis, so I'm hoping she'll weather this. I will probably go down once or twice more in the fall.

Becky and I are thinking about helping her move up here where it would be easier to visit. Mom's only direct social contact, as far as I can tell, is Susie, a woman who helps her shop once a week. All her other friends she keeps in contact with by phone or email (and email is difficult because of her failing eyesight). So I think having her move up here might work out. But, of course, Becky and I would have persuade Mom to move up here, and arrange things for her. Mom's not keen on assisted living, though I think the chance to talk to more people in person would be good for her. On the other hand, leaving her own home and moving into a small apartment in a new part of the state would be a big loss for Mom. She wouldn't have to cook for herself, which is either a plus or a minus depending on how you look at it. So I really don't know what would be best for her, and I suspect neither does she. Before, when Lillian or I would mention to Mom and Dad the possibility of them moving up here, neither was really willing to entertain the idea. Now Mom is, but keeps putting it off— she just mentioned that she'd have to stay in the house until January because of needing the taxes and paperwork to clear. There's no real necessity to stay there, of course, it's just easier to put off the decision.

And I can relate to that. I knew, and yet didn't really admit to myself, that Dad was dying once Mom told me he had stopped drinking. I was going to go down and see them, but put it off, first for work and then for some things we'd planned for Lillian's birthday. It seemed clear that the clinic they went do wasn't doing anything for Dad— not that I'm sure anything could have been done— but I didn't step in. Just as several years ago it seemed clear that Mom and Dad should move up here, but I didn't really push them to seriously consider the idea— I barely brought up the subject, in fact, Lillian did so more often than I did. Avoiding taking action is something I am unfortunately quite familiar with.

As for my own reactions to Dad's death... well, it's difficult to say. The day he died, when I was aware that he was worsening quickly but before I'd heard the news, I went for a walk after work at lunch. I sat by the creek and thought about growing up in Las Vegas, and knowing him as a kid, and recalled some vivid, happy memories. What strikes me now, though, is how I never really knew him as an adult. I don't remember any extended chats, any discussions of issues of the day, any personal stories. You'd think there must have been some. But our interests and our politics differed, and since my family avoids conflict, that put a lot of topics out of reach. Also, Dad was a rather private person, not inclined to personal reminiscence or revelation, as I suppose many men of his generation and background were. Our talks on the phone, for the last decade or more, were always perfunctory. We'd exchange a few sentences about the weather, and perhaps about some game he'd watched on TV that afternoon, and he'd always thank me for calling and say how much Mom enjoyed my calls. The last several years he'd always ask where I was calling from, or where I was, and I'd remind him where I lived. He'd ask if I could use any help, and I'd say no. That was really the extent of it. Despite being an engineer by profession, he never asked me about my work, or was interested in discussing it when I would raise it as a topic.

And, perhaps the hardest thing for me, is he wasn't interested in Nick or Allie. When they were babies, and children, and even when they were teens, he wouldn't talk with them, or ask about them, or express any interest at all. Since they were so important to me and such a big part of my life, this was difficult for me to come to terms with. He barely talked with me on the phone, let alone them. So I can't imagine what impression they have of their Grandfather. Just as their birth seemed to leave no impression on him, his death has had no impression on them, except as it's affected their Grandma. And, you know, why should it have?

Still, I remember being a kid. Dad was distant, but he tried to have a relationship with me. I remember building and flying model rockets with him. Discussing an estimate in the newspaper that seemed way off base and thinking about it together to come up with a better one. Accompanying him on some of his morning bike rides before work. Learning to drive. The pulley system he came up for raising my model train set up to the ceiling of the porch. Him coming home to eat lunch and swim in the summer during the work week. Him being a moderating influence when Mom would get upset with Becky and me for leaving messes around the house, or not helping with dinner or dishes. Him being proud of me when I did well in school, or when I figured out some mechanical issue, like the gearing necessary to make an Erector set's robot head move. I had a relatively happy childhood, and he was a part of that. My sense of humor owes a bit to his, and my sense of ethics owes a lot to him— he had a very strong and mature ethical sensibility. I'm really indebted to him for that.

So, Dad, goodbye. I wish I'd been a better son to you, maybe we'd have had a better relationship and you'd have kept more of your spirit, had a richer life, in your middle age and retirement. All I can do now, of course, is be a good father to my own children, and do my best to keep my spirit intact and my relationships with them strong. Already I find myself starting to fail to do so... so let me keep vivid my good memories of you, that I might manage to do a bit better.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Stripping Bare the Body

... by Mark Danner

A month or so ago I found myself in the local Border's, walking the aisles waiting for something or someone, and happened to see Mark Danner's book displayed on one of the shelves. This surprised me at the time— political journalists don't typically command much attention from booksellers, especially ones like Danner, who don't blow horns for those in power. But he's a Bay Area local, and this was Palo Alto after all, so it did make some kind of sense. Of course, I had to buy it.

I've been a subscriber to the New York Review of Books for a long time, since I was in my late 20's. Somehow I'd managed to get through college and several years of work without taking a strong, public position on any political issue. But a colleague of mine at the time, Sha Xin Wei, was fond of political discourse, and through the encouragement of his example I slowly started to take sides on issues of the day. He subscribed to the NYRB, loaned me some issues, and I eventually subscribed myself. Though eventually I dropped most of my many magazine subscriptions, I've kept the NYRB (and the New Yorker). So it was that I was fortunate enough to read Mark Danner's articles during the Iraq War.

I came of age just as Nixon resigned. I remember the Viet Nam body counts on the TV every evening at the dinner table, the asassinations of Martin Luther King and of Bobby Kennedy, the assurances by Henry Kissinger that "peace was at hand" in the lead-up to the election in '72, the secret Christmas bombings in Cambodia, my mother's occasional swearing at the TV... I was 14. If ever there was an era to make you cynical about politics, that was it. Then on into the mid-70's, with drug burn-outs on every street corner putting the lie to the tune-in/turn on/drop out sex/drugs/rock'n'roll mantra floated by folks cashing in on the late 60's hippie mystique. Then to the 80's and the Reagan era— the shining city on a hill, tax cuts combined with increasing military expenditures, trickle-down economics, massive debt, presided over by a congenial but uninformed TV personality turned politician. Cynicism about politics and social movements is second nature to me (btw, if you ask me cynicism gets an undeservedly bad rap). But even I was unprepared for the strident, overweening mendacity of the Bush presidency and the ease and completeness with which it swept aside all rational, informed discussion among the media and power elites who shape the political climate in the US. What a dismal, dismal time it was.

Mark Danner was one of the very few who kept my spirits up. Now, that's an odd way to put it, because he often brought some very discouraging and chilling news. But he also brought his deep moral clarity and understanding of war, what it means to those who wage it and are caught within it. I cannot begin to describe what relief it was, reading his articles and understanding that he knew what suffering was being wrought, knew it and abhorred it. The way politicians and pundits talk about war, like a football game— an event you go to, participate in, and leave— well, it's just nauseating. People like Condi Rice, Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, talking tough, making the "tough" choices— there's no true understanding, no empathy, in these people. They just do not appreciate, nor do they care to appreciate, the human consequences that result from the choices they make. It is their very job not to understand these things— otherwise they could never wield or retain power.

Mark Danner does understand. It comes through in his writings. He's not strident, not accusatory. He's informed, rational, clear, calm, methodical— and moral. His style of journalism requires that the journalist not only investigate and report the facts as fully as he can, but also bear witness to the events that unfold.

So, I was curious about the book. What else had he written? "Stripping Bare the Body" is a collection of his war reporting over the last two-and-a-half decades. The pieces, he says, are for the most part presented as originally written. I can't find at the moment information about where each piece was published, though the introduction says he was in Haiti on assignment for the New Yorker in when he was doing work on the first piece, "The Legacy", published in '89. (Turns out he, like me, was born in 1958, so he was 31 then.) This chapter describes, first hand, in chilling and bloody detail, killings and anarchy during the first few years of military rule after Baby Doc Duvalier was removed from power in '86. It's difficult for me to imagine living and reporting in such an environment. I, at age 31, was a new father and still (as now) unformed and immature in many ways. I would have neither the courage nor the ability to live and report in such a place. But I can imagine what impact that would have upon one, the first-hand experience of the rawness of violence and power. He's quite aware that he's protected, but just barely, by the thin bubble of his whiteness and foreignness. Just reading this is exhausting, experiencing it must have been several orders of magnitude more so.

It's a long book, around 600 pages not counting the references and end notes. I've only read the Haitian sections so far. Following those are pieces from Sarajevo, another sterling period and place in human history. I'm looking forward to the rest of the book with an admixture of dread, but I read these stories because I must— you can't truly know our times without knowing these things, our humanity demands it— and because they are so compellingly written.

George Packer's review in the NYT is not positive. While commending the early first-hand reporting, he's critical of the later work based on other sources. There's more going on here than just a book review, of course, George Packer (and the NYT) was an early supporter of the Iraq war, one of the "Liberal Hawks" along with folks like Tom Friedman. These people were, shall we say, a bit overcome by their anti-Saddam fervor and forgot what they should have learned about politics and war growing up in the Vietnam era— good intentions aren't enough, and none of the actors has completely good intentions in the first place. We'll see what I think when I finish the book.