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Congressional Testimony

7/31/2019

I am writing this the day after Robert Mueller testified before two congressional House committees. I watched intermittently during the morning session with the Judiciary Committee and half the afternoon debacle with the Intelligence Committee. It took all my strength of character to submit myself to as much as I did. After all, I have better things to do with my time. Like build a model airplane.

A shocking attitude? Perhaps. I know some will say that, as concerned citizens, we should be glued to the TV while the story of the Mueller investigation of Russian interference in the 2016 election unfolds. I agree we should be deeply troubled about it and the current administration’s lack of concern. We should also be alarmed by the attempts of what hundreds of prosecutors have termed obstruction of justice.

Having said that, I ask, how did any of that become clearer as a result of the hearings? Mueller steadfastly refused to deviate from his stated intention to stick to the content of the report. He acted with more honor than most of the inquisitors. I suspect anyone with motivation to watch the hearings learned little.

After all, the stated purpose of the representatives was not to enhance knowledge or understanding.

Days before the hearings were scheduled, the Democrats declared they had divided up the questioning to hit five key points. They hoped to convince the American people that the current administration has committed heinous crimes.

The Republicans, generally more disciplined than the Democrats, also schemed on how best to respond. They hoped to convince the American people that Donald Trump is as innocent as a new born chick.

Each party had only a single goal, and it wasn’t to educate and impartially explore. It was destroy Donald Trump by the Democrats, deify Donald Trump by the Republicans.

Did either party succeed? Of course not. I cannot believe there were many watchers who changed their opinion. Most of the ones who must be reached are those who could not or would not tune in, perhaps because they had to work for a living. That’s good for the Republicans, because they are much better at reaching this group than are the Democrats.

Every time I watch congressional meetings, I am impressed, with a few notable exceptions, with the consistency of politicians, no matter their ilk. They love to hear themselves talk. They pretend to be righteous and interested only in the welfare of the people. They are immune to logic. They follow the party line, unable to think for themselves or see merit in positions from the other side. They are boring.

Instances of this were apparent during the hearings under discussion.

More than one Democrat almost pleaded with Mueller to say something negative they wanted to hear about Trump. When he steadfastly refused, they continued by saying that they, at least, believed whatever it was they wanted him to declare. The day was not supposed to be about their views, but rather the content of the report.

I was particularly taken by the questioning of one hostile Republican. He was excited about the word “exonerate.” The Mueller report indicated it could not exonerate Trump from obstruction of justice. We’ve all heard the phrase ever since the report, or most of it, became public. This guy went on the attack, saying that there was no legal way to exonerate someone. It was classic. When faced with a threatening situation, attack and change the focus. It was a pathetic attempt to make people think Mueller was incompetent.

Another brought up the tired question of Hillary Clinton. No doubt there are serious issues with her, but she wasn’t the subject of the report. Once again, altar the discussion to remove it from the scary points.

In truth, Mueller could well have been the most competent person in the room.

I don’t know if the Democrats think they won the day. I’m sure the Republicans don’t believe that’s the case. And Trump certainly doesn’t, but of course nothing from his lips is laced with truth.

What I believe is that, in the media war, Democrats don’t stand a prayer against Trump. As a small example, in my local paper the day after the hearings, the space provided to the hearings was roughly equivalent to the space given to Trump’s daylong juvenile series of tweets about them.

If the Democrats want to win the presidency, they should create an agenda all candidates can endorse, send out the troops to talk one-on-one with voters across the nation, AND WORK TOGETHER. I’m tired of waiting for them to wise up.

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Credit Scores

7/24/2019

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When I was a kid, being in debt was considered something to be avoided. My parents paid for everything in cash, or by check which was backed by cash. If they didn’t have enough money to buy something, they didn’t buy it. The one exception was a home, which they never considered purchasing until they were nearing 50. They didn’t feel that was really borrowing since the amount owed was backed by the value of the property.

Credit cards have been around since 1950, but not for anyone I knew. Debit cards appeared in 1966, a decade after I graduated from college.

Through 1970 I had bought four houses. For each one I took out a mortgage. I don’t know what checking was done of my ability to pay, but I didn’t have any problems. A couple of sheets of paper had to be signed. I made all payments on time.

Forty-two years later, in 2012, my wife and I downsized to a new home. No longer a simple transaction. Among the challenges was the little matter of finding my credit rating, something I’d never had to do before.

The bank took care of the request and sent me the result. I was fairly smug. I knew my rating would be perfect. What I knew was not what the bank discovered. It was far from perfect. Apparently, however, it was good enough to get the loan. And the man handling the transaction seemed fine with it.

But why wasn’t it perfect? I never was late paying bills. I didn’t borrow money. I didn’t buy items on time. I was my parents’ son.

A while back my bank started supplying my FICO score on a monthly basis. I wondered what FICO stood for, figuring something like Financial Information Corrupting Objectivity. So I was surprised to see it was a credit score whose value was calculated using software from Fair Isaac COrporation. How dull!

Getting my FICO score was a throwback to the house purchase. It wasn’t perfect. I’ve been following it monthly and have observed it rise and fall, although there does seem to be a downward trend. I’m told it’s always excellent. But why not perfect and, even more interesting, why that variation from month to month when there is no significant change in the way I live?

Out of curiosity I pulled one of the three free credit reports I can get each year. It didn’t come with a score and I didn’t request one because that info cost almost eight dollars. I was amazed at how much data are available about me in one spot. I do not like it.

Most probably have a better feel for why my credit scores operate as they do. I don’t pretend to know anything about this field. However, I have come across two possible explanations, both of which I find offensive.

A knowledgeable friend explained that, since I have no current debt, not even for a home, there is no record of my being a reliable person to whom money can be loaned. Yeah, it takes a lot of contortion to make sense of this. It appears that having debt and paying it off is a better attribute than not having debt at all. Buying something you can’t afford to pay cash for shows a more reliable financial position than not buying something you can’t afford to pay cash for. It was suggested I take out a loan and pay it regularly to increase my score. Yeah, sure.

I certainly don’t understand the fine points of the second possible explanation for a lower score, but I’m quite happy to be annoyed even in the face of my ignorance. As I understand it, I am lumped into a large data base of consumers having similar profiles to my own. Then, on a statistical basis, it is determined the odds of someone in that data base having a poor debt payment history. And then that determination is applied to me!

So, I’m a mathematician and I find mathematical (statistical) concepts being applied to solve a problem, namely, what are the odds I will pay back a loan. How can I possibly be upset?

Here’s the problem with that. There are two entities. One is this mass of people who are sort of like me. The other is me. The first possesses a profile which is overlaid on me. The second possesses a profile which is me. Those two profiles are not necessarily the same, and for any one person will rarely be the same. I object to that. Things might work out statistically for companies offering credit by this means, but I could be hurt by not matching the communal profile.

If one’s credit score is low, the companies offer the following advice to improve it: pay bills on time, pay down outstanding balances, stay away from new debt. But don’t be too good at it or your score might drop.

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Mom

7/17/2019

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A previous post celebrated my father’s 122nd birthday. He let me know my mother was his partner in everything, including raising me, and I’d better do the same for her.

She was born on St. Swithin’s Day, a day I’ve never heard mentioned except in the context of her birth. That’s July 15 and it’s said that rain on the day will be followed by 40 days more of the same. Conversely, if it’s fair, then beautiful weather will ensue for the next 40. I used to check it out and found little truth to the forecast.

My mother was an amazing woman who was my staunchest advocate. She encouraged me in everything. She had a blind spot, thinking everything I did was wonderful. It wasn’t. When things went bad for me, she assured me the disappointment would pass and something better would come along. It annoyed me at the time, but even more so when she turned out to be right!

She was born in Massachusetts. Her mother died in childbirth and her father was unable or unwilling to take on the job of single father. So mom was handed over to a string of aunts and other relatives. I think it developed in her a survival instinct that taught her never to make waves—unless it was to protect me. It influenced her actions her entire life.

Like my father, mom was a musician, a violinist who often played concerts with my dad, his twin, and a woman who would become the twin’s wife. She must have been outstanding because she was able to snag a member of the Boston Symphony as an instructor.

She taught violin at what was known at the time as Colby Academy, a school for girls in New Hampshire which transformed into a junior college and preparatory school for women in 1930. I believe it is now known as Colby-Sawyer College.

She was an acceptor of the age in which she lived. When she married, she adopted the role of wife and mother, a full-time job that precluded her bowing. She must have missed it, but there never was any hint of resentment for the change in her life.

Music wasn’t completely absent in our home. On Saturday afternoons she tuned in the Metropolitan Opera. I often spent that time listening while building a model airplane. It was the only music I heard in our house except for the popular songs of the day I played on the radio. She had a small book containing the stories of 100 operas. I don’t know what happened to it, but I’d give anything to have it now. I didn’t become an opera buff. But over 70 years later I discovered I love listening to it on my Sirius/XM radio and even more attending live performances, either the Live on HD at a local theater or productions of our local opera company. I’ll never be an expert, but so what! A few weeks ago I bought a model airplane kit and now I work on it while listening to whatever opera is playing on satellite radio.

I bet I was a surprise to both my parents. My only sibling, a sister, was 12 years older. Some would have been upset to suddenly be saddled with an infant at what was then an old 37 years of age. Never was there any indication of that.

Mother was a good cook. She claimed not to have known anything about the process when she married, but the role of the woman was to cook and learn to cook she did, especially red meat and potatoes. I thought of this as I recalled the pivotal part our dining room table played throughout the years, and not just because it held food.

Mother never asked for much. But she wanted a pad to place over the wooden table so it would be protected from hot plates and spills. One day her wish was granted. The table was round with the possibility of inserting up to two leaves. I remember the pads, so beautiful to my mother’s eyes. There were three pieces: one for each leaf and a round one that folded in half for storage.

At another time, when I was young and my sister was still around, I had committed some indiscretion and my mother felt obligated to discipline me. I exhibited no inclination to cooperate and took a stand on one side of the dining room table. My mother approached, and as she circled the table, so did I, matching her moves in the opposite direction, always keeping us 180 degrees apart. Finally, she could take it no more and burst out laughing. My sister, disgusted, said, “You’ll never be able to control him now.”

Mom’s life ended in 1952 when my father died. It was only years later when I fully appreciated the agony that must have given her. But she was a stoic, trained by those early years of “getting along” to survive.

I was to leave for college a month after dad’s death, wondering if I should. Mother would not have it otherwise. Dad’s work provided a year’s salary, what passed for a magnanimous pension in that age. I had a scholarship, but that year of salary and dad’s insurance in no way would cover my other costs and her living expenses. Mom found a job running a duplicating machine and somehow got me through my undergrad and master’s degrees.

She had suitors, but never considered remarrying. I think that was a mistake. But then, she and dad had something special.

Life wasn’t through with her yet. In her early 70s she went blind. She always dreamed of her sight returning but it never did. She relearned how to cook, dress, and survive the affliction. But she needed extensive help, so when I moved 1000 miles away we had to bring her, removing her from the community in which she’d spent so much of her life.

She did adjust to yet another change in circumstances, making friends, volunteering at a crisis intervention center, and returning to the violin with lessons from a local symphony member. She never enjoyed it because, in her words, “I can’t play like I used to.”

She lived into her 90s.

Happy birthday, mom, two days late. I hope you and dad are having a great party.

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Neighborhoods

7/10/2019

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I’ve previously mentioned my early years in East Orange, New Jersey. It was a simpler time. None of my friends would have a television until I was in high school. No one I knew had air conditioning by the time I’d completed college. People tended their own lawns and shoveled their own snow.

It forced us outside. Kids and adults. My family. The people next door. The folks next to them. With proximity came conversation and then friendship. It was a small community, a neighborhood. Its members looked out for each other, supported each other in crises, enjoyed each other in better times. And ratted to parents when a kid misbehaved.

There was no obvious common bond, other than location and probably similar economic status—and the pleasures of shared closeness.

In my parents’ backyard I sank two tin cans and announced the existence of a golf course. The neighborhood played. If someone felt like putting on a bumpy imperfect lawn, they arrived with some balls and a club and went to work. A tally was kept of holes-in-one. All were welcome.

I remember with fondness the neighborhood. I can’t recall names, but the people themselves remain with a clarity that surpasses memories of most high school classmates. I can’t help but feel there is a need in us to be part of something more than work or social environments where one associates with individuals possessing similar interests.

I think it’s a need that for the most part is no longer being met.

How many of us know our close neighbors? Despite efforts, I have had little to no communication with folks in the two houses adjacent to ours. Everyone is pleasant, says good morning, and then goes inside. We all live inside with the hum of air conditioners. Most of us hire people to care for our lawns. We’re just not out much except to walk all the way to our cars and drive off.

What can be done to change this? Well, having dogs helps. Dogs have to have time outside to do their business and have access to the smells that seem to define joy for them, including the butts of other dogs.

Walking them satisfies those needs and grants me access to nearby humans, most of whom like dogs. A petting session can turn into conversation. When my wife and I moved, I used the dogs to meet as many as I could. Now that I’m a longtime resident (seven years) in the new community, I snag newer folks and welcome them to the neighborhood. I’ve come across a physical therapist for the Magic, a sheriff’s deputy who runs marathons, a poet who does short races, a retired nursery worker, a nurse practitioner who is happy to provide advice on specialists, a landscape artist, an ex-city employee who has a creative mind that asks interesting questions I could never imagine, an ex-nursery employee who loves to read, a supplier of caskets who uses a couple to provide Halloween amusement to hundreds of kids, nice Republicans, and a host of others whose stories I don’t know but who are unfailingly polite.

It feels like a neighborhood. Not quite the same as my youth, but there’s a similar feeling of having something beyond the interactions of professional and social groups. I like it and look forward to the dog walks.

It seems to me that the efforts of some are an attempt to resurrect the concept of neighborhood. There are those who organize block parties. On a larger scale our area closes off a major street for several blocks a few times a year for a community event. A bit too big, though, to mimic the neighborhood concept.

By coincidence, the morning I wrote this my local paper ran a story from the Washington Post about Little Free Pantries where folks leave items and anyone can pick them up. Modeled after Little Free Libraries, the goal is to ease the financial strain of those in need. One of those quoted said the Little Free Pantries “can knit neighborhoods closer together.”

I miss the neighborhood of my youth, but love the one of my present. Not the same, but both good.

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And Your Opinion Is Important Because?

7/3/2019

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The individual facing me from the TV screen radiates charm and competence. She’s at a rally discussing a political candidate with passion, explaining why his election is essential.

She is a well-respected actress who has starred in blockbuster after blockbuster and earned millions.

Why is she there?

Well, we know why she’s there, don’t we? The political powers or her own ego figure her fame and expertise in a field we admire will influence all who see her and thereby drive the upcoming vote in the desired direction.

What irritates me the most is I think the opinion manipulators and/or the ego are correct. The beloved actress can influence votes just because of who she is.

But what makes her opinion more important than anyone else’s?

The truth is—nothing.

Now, if she were discussing how to block a scene, or bring forth an emotion, or rate a story, then it’s time to pay attention. Because it’s reasonable to assume she’s an expert in those areas.

But because she is knowledgeable on one subject doesn’t mean she is on others.

It must be a heady thing, knowing that people like you so much you can influence how they think and act? Even when you don’t know that much about the field which you’re trying to influence. After all, the actress was expressing her personal choice, not a well-reasoned conclusion born from an exhaustive study.

I believe people who have earned our respect, from the work they do or the personal lives they lead, have an obligation not to trespass beyond their area of expertise. We should learn to detect it if they do, and immediately question their competence.

As a teacher I felt this keenly. Students have a natural respect for their instructors (well, most of them do), and that was scary. I have one and only one knowledge area—mathematics. Nothing else. So if I venture outside that area, my views should be suspect, at least as far as attempts to influence others are concerned.

The problem I had was students occasionally would ask questions about my religious affiliation, political beliefs, or other matters of opinion. They never received an answer. Instead I explained that, outside of math, my feelings were no more to be trusted than anyone else’s, including their own. I had no right to influence them in any way.

Teaching and entertainment are not the only fields from which people might unduly influence others. What are possibilities?

Certainly doctors and other medical providers. Some have blatantly stated their political views while others are more subtle by selecting specific channels on the blaring waiting room TV. These people are competent in their medical areas, hopefully, and that’s it. Everything else is opinion no better than your own.

Sports figures.

Judges, obviously.

Reporters (not columnists).

I’m sure the list goes on.

Now, I’m not saying anyone should hold back their personal views when socializing with friends and such interplay is expected. I’m talking about public stands outside one’s own area intended to alter the thinking of others who are unknown.

Unfortunately, it’s probably reasonable to expect that these influences will continue to be foisted upon us. So, when presented with an opinion that is more a request/command to act a certain way, we should ask ourselves if the person has the expertise required to make the suggestion. If so, we should listen, evaluate, and then decide. If not, we should ignore it altogether. Of course, in neither event should we accept without question.

As in so many other situations, if we are manipulated, it’s our own fault.

By the way, I am not unmindful of the irony that I preach weekly in this space on subjects way beyond my expertise. So, yes, you should question everything you see here—because your opinion is just as valid as mine, and, as far as you’re concerned, much more so.

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Congressional Testimony

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Mom

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And Your Opinion Is Important Because?

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