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Ken Hurley

Procrastination is opportunity’s assassin.  – Victor Kiam (Kiam became famous as the owner and spokesman for the Remington shaver. Do you remember his catchphrase? “I liked it so much, I bought the company.”

Procrastination is like a credit card: it’s a lot of fun until you get the bill.  – Christopher Parker

I plan to write an essay about procrastination. Really. It took me a long time to get started, because I was struck by the inherent beauty found in the entire outer band of rubber on a tire’s circumference that touches the road. Have you ever noticed the patterns, shapes, grooves, ribs, blocks, sipes, and voids? Commonly known as treads. Stunning. Works of scientific art. Truly, I plan to write an essay about procrastination, but the dog’s tongue needed to be separated from its hind quarters again. Without my intervention he would spin in circles like a semazen worn by a whirling dervish during the ceremonial sema dance. I plan to write an essay about procrastination. Would you settle for a sentence or two next week? 
     Procrastination is not about doing nothing. I can do nothing. It’s easy. Doing nothing requires no effort. Doing nothing is quite peaceful. However, procrastination is stressful because it involves doing everything except the one thing you are supposed to do.
      The word procrastination comes from the Latin procrastinare, which literally means “to put off until tomorrow,” but any true procrastinator knows that “tomorrow” is a dangerously aggressive deadline. A more accurate translation for the modern procrastinating practitioner would be “to put off until the absolute final milliseconds of human capability, right when the cortisol levels are high enough to mimic four triple espresso shots.”  Procrastination is a habit. It is an art form. It is a psychological dance, and a trait found throughout human civilization. For as long as humanity has had tasks to complete, humanity has found brilliant, complex, and deeply exhausting ways to avoid doing them.
     The ancient Greek poet Hesiod wrote about procrastination around 700 BCE, when he explicitly warned his readers about its ills, “Do not put your work off till tomorrow and the day after; for a sluggish worker does not fill his barn.” Yet the kids of the Bronze Age were not paying heed. Nah. They enjoyed looking at their sandals to watch their toes wiggle while arguing with each other whether or not Zeus actually existed. 
      Have you ever dreaded a task so much that you organized your sock drawer by fabric density? Convincing yourself that this is a contribution to society if only more people would do the same. This is a convenient if not also tragic system of self-delusion. Ahh, procrastination.
     I hear that the genius Leonardo da Vinci was also an artistic foot-dragger. Da Vinci was notorious for failing to finish his commissions on time. So frustrated by his procrastination that his patrons routinely threatened to sue him.
      He took roughly four years to paint the Mona Lisa, occasionally touching it up, but mostly wandering off to study the flight patterns of dragonflies or design a rough prototype of a helicopter. He was hired by Duke Ludovico Sforza to paint The Last Supper on the refectory wall of the Dominican convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan, Italy. The Duke grew increasingly angry because Leo would stand in front of the mural for hours, stare blankly, paint a single brushstroke, and then leave for the day. He wasn’t lazy. His brain was just operating on the motif,  “I will do it later.”
    Look at the construction of the Sydney Opera House. It was supposed to take four years and cost $7 million. It ended up taking 14 years and costing $102 million. While that is technically a bureaucratic and engineering delay rather than pure procrastination, anyone who has ever managed a group project knows exactly what happened. Someone at the top kept saying, “We will figure out the roof tiles next week,” until “next week” became a whole decade.
      One of my favorite Shakespearian characters is Hamlet. Hamlet also happens to be a world-class procrastinator. The entire plot of the play can be summarized as a young man trying to find reasons not to resolve his situation of avenging his father’s murder. Hamlet receives clear instructions from a literal ghost in Act I. But does he listen? Does he do what the ghost told him? Noooo. Instead he spends the next four acts pacing around the castle, staging amateur theater productions, picking fights with his girlfriend, lecturing his mother, and talking to a skull. He is the literary embodiment of a student who needs to write a term paper but decides to organize their desk, write a poem about the desk, and then complain that the desk has bad energy. “To be, or not to be: that is the question.” But for a procrastinator a better thought might be: “I should check my phone again.”
      Here’s an author I’m fond of: Douglas Adams, the brilliant mind behind The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Unfortunately, he had a relationship with deadlines that challenged the publisher’s ability to not lose their voice screaming, “You’re late with your manuscript, again!” Adams famously wrote, “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”
      Adams was legendary for his procrastinating delays. In 1984, Adams was roughly a year late delivering his manuscript for So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish. His editor, Sonny Mehta, from Pan Books in London, decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. So Mehta checked Adams into a suite at The Berkeley Hotel in London and stayed with Adams for three weeks to act as a physical guard and supervisor. Adams was kept isolated from the outside world and forced to focus. The editor ensured that Adams actually sat at his typewriter and worked, instead of finding distractions. The aggressive strategy worked. Adams got past his writer’s block, which was, in part, caused by his having grown tired of the Hitchhiker’s series. Under strict lockdown and reminders of the huge advance he was paid, Adams finally pushed through his procrastination and finished the draft.
      Nowadays, we have found ways to lucratively monetize the art of procrastination. We live in an era where billions of dollars are spent to design apps specifically tailored to exploit our desire to avoid work.
      In the mid-2020s, the “infinite scroll” of social media platforms has turned casual procrastination into an Olympic sport. You sit down at your computer at 9:00 a.m. with a clear goal: I am going to write the monthly Chit-Chat. You open a tab to look up a single fact. Suddenly, the algorithmic matrix takes over. By 11:45 AM, you are deep into a rabbit hole watching a 45-minute documentary about a guy in Vermont who builds luxury underground hotels for toads. You don’t own a toad. You don’t live in Vermont. But you are locked in, hypnotized, because your brain will accept any marginally interesting random piece of information as long as it isn’t the task you’re supposed to do.
      Even our workplace has adapted to disguise procrastination. The rise of remote work-from-home birthed the advent of the “mouse jiggler.” It is a real tool available as physical hardware or computer software. It’s used to keep a computer awake and prevent it from showing an idle or “away” status, so an employee’s slacker status stays undetected while they are actually taking a two-hour nap or practicing the acoustic guitar. We have literally invented devices to pretend we are working, so we can procrastinate more effectively. 
      Tim Urban, is an American writer, blogger, and illustrator. You might enjoy his website, Wait But Why. He describes procrastination as a battle inside the brain among the Rational Decision Maker, the Instant Gratification Monkey, and the Panic Monster. For days or weeks, the Instant Gratification Monkey runs things. The monkey wants to look at memes, read Wikipedia articles about the history of the spork, play video games, and argue with strangers on social media. While The Rational Decision Maker screams in the corner “Come on! We’ve got work to do!” But the Rational Decision Maker is entirely ignored. But then, the night before the deadline, the Panic Monster wakes up.
      The Panic Monster is a terrifying beast fueled by adrenaline, cold coffee, and the sudden realization that unemployment, academic failure, or a missed deadline is imminent. When the Panic Monster arrives, the Gratification Monkey scoots, and the human body undergoes a shocking transformation.
      Suddenly, you become a hyper-efficient machine. You type 120 words per minute. Your eyes don’t blink. You synthesize complex data structures at a speed that would baffle NASA’s Katherine Johnson. You finish a two-week project in four hours of raw, unadulterated frenzy.
      When you submit the work at 8:59 a.m. for a 9:00 a.m. deadline, you don’t feel pride. You feel like an exhausted ghost returning to a haunted house. You promise yourself, “I will never do this again. Next time, I will start early.”
      But you won’t. You know you are lying to yourself. The next time a project is assigned, the Gratification Monkey will return, tire treads will need to be admired, and the cycle will begin anew. Procrastination is a flawed, stressful, and utterly absurd way to live — and humanity wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Ken Hurley

Are you gonna fight or do you want me to nick your ears? – Doc Holiday, The Outlaws (1943)

The air in the loud concrete arena smelled like stale sweat, cheap beer, and raw anticipation. Under the harsh, white glare of the overhead lights, two figures stood inside a fenced enclosure. They were stripped down to shorts and small, four-ounce gloves. Every muscle in their bodies was taut, vibrating with a primal energy that humans have forever carried.  And then they fought. To the casual observer, this was a mixed martial arts bout. MMA is a combination of boxing, Muay Thai, wrestling, and Jiu-Jitsu. It’s a sport governed by strict rules, weight classes, and athletic commissions. It is the physical manifestation of the word “fight.”
      Consider the sport of boxing. It is a minimalist discipline. Only two fists per boxer are allowed, yet it contains significant psychological depth. To fight in a boxing ring is to engage in a high-speed chess match where every mistake is punished with physical pain.
      Do you remember the “Thrilla in Manila” between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier? That was a brutal test of human endurance. Both men fought past the point of exhaustion, driven by a pride that refused to let them back down. Ali later described it as the closest thing to death he had ever experienced.     
      The word “fight” is sharp and heavy. It ends in a hard consonantal stop that sounds like a punch landing. As a verb, it demands action. As a noun, it implies a transformative, stressful, and challenging experience that tests a person’s character and strength, and may lead to personal growth. We often sanitize the word when we urge employees to “fight for market share” or “fight against inefficiencies.” The true essence of the word resides in friction. A fight occurs whenever a living entity refuses to submit to a hostile force. Whether that force is a rival athlete, an oppressive government, a tragic historical circumstance, or a comedian standing entirely alone in front of a judgmental crowd, the act of fighting is a fundamental way of asserting our existence.
      The famous line, “Yeah, them’ s fightin’ words!” is delivered by Yosemite Sam in the classic Looney Tunes short “Bugs Bunny Rides Again.” In this Wild West standoff, Bugs calls out his opponent’s tough-guy routine, prompting the fiery, pint-sized cowboy to shout the iconic catchphrase. The scene encapsulates their rivalry.
      Conflict is an inherent feature of human interaction, arising from divergent interests, resource scarcity, miscommunication, distrust, deceit, and greed. However, while disagreement is inevitable, physical or destructive conflict is not. Avoiding a fight — whether between nuclear-armed nations, polarized political factions, or romantic partners — requires a deliberate, structured framework of de-escalation. Peace is not merely the absence of war. It is a meticulously constructed architecture of engagement.
      The 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis remains a good case study in avoiding catastrophic conflict. When the United States discovered Soviet nuclear missiles in Cuba, the immediate pressure from military advisors was to launch a pre-emptive airstrike. President John F. Kennedy avoided a potentially apocalyptic war by implementing a naval “quarantine” rather than an outright blockade. This distinction mattered legally and psychologically.
      Kennedy combined this action with strategic ambiguity and a secret backchannel compromise, trading the removal of U.S. missiles in Turkey for the removal of Soviet missiles in Cuba. This allowed Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev a face-saving exit, proving that avoiding a fight requires providing your opponent with a viable path of retreat that preserves their basic dignity.
      Look back at the Civil Rights Movement. When figures like Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, and thousands of unnamed activists marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, they were engaged in a profound fight. They did not raise their fists, but their resistance was incredibly potent. They weaponized strategic nonviolence against the physical brutality of state troopers. By refusing to run, by standing their ground in the face of tear gas and clubs, they exposed the moral bankruptcy of segregation to the world. Their fight was a battle for the conscience of a nation, proving that some of the most effective fighters in history never throw a punch.
      Similarly, history is shaped by military conflicts where the word “fight” takes on a terrifying, global scale. During World War II, when the UK stood virtually alone against the advancing forces of Nazi Germany, Winston Churchill understood the psychological necessity of the word. In his famous 1940 address to Parliament, he did not offer comforting platitudes. Instead, he promised an unyielding, total resistance: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” Churchill used the repetition of “fight” as a psychological shield, transforming a collective national terror into shared stubborn defiance. 
      At the interpersonal level, avoiding a fight requires individuals to override ancient evolutionary survival mechanisms. The fight, flight, or freeze response is a conscious cognitive strategy. Interpersonal fights often occur when a person feels personally attacked, triggering defensive aggression. When romantic partners or family members fight, they are often testing the boundaries of their security and autonomy. A clash occurs when one person’s need for independence collides with the other’s need for connection. 
       However, when communication fails, the word “fight” takes on a darker, cyclical meaning. It transforms from a constructive tool for clarity into a destructive weapon of attrition. In these moments, the objective shifts from resolving a problem to winning an argument. In an intimate context, a fight is rarely about the surface topic, like the unwashed dishes left in the sink or who ate the last cookie. Instead, it is often an emotional negotiation masquerading as a grievance.
      Fighting is fundamentally futile because it consistently destroys the objectives it seeks to achieve. As Steven Wright famously said, “I’d kill for a Nobel Peace prize.” The language of the comedian’s craft is explicitly militaristic. A comedian does not merely have a “good set.” They kill, crush, murder, or destroy the room. Conversely, a bad performance is described as bombing. The comedian stands alone on a stage, exposed under a spotlight, with nothing but a microphone to protect them from a room full of strangers who are actively judging them. This combative nature becomes obvious when a comedian faces a heckler. Comedians like Richard Pryor, George Carlin, or Jimmy Carr are masters of these encounters. They didn’t just dismiss disruptors. They dismantled them with surgical wit, using the audience’s collective laughter as a blunt instrument to neutralize the threat.
      Satirists use their sets to punch upward, targeting corrupt politicians, greedy corporations, and hypocritical cultural norms. Mark Twain, Will Rogers, Dave Chappelle, and Bill Maher come to mind. By making a room full of people laugh at something terrifying or powerful, the comedian strips that entity of its power. Humor becomes a subversive weapon, proving that a well-crafted punchline can puncture an ego faster than a physical blow.
      Avoiding a fight is not an act of cowardice or passive surrender. It is a sophisticated exercise in strategic restraint, emotional maturity, and analytical foresight. Whether physical or ideological, armed conflict guarantees mutual ruin, exhausting the resources, lives, and trust required for enduring harmony. True global peace demands abandoning violence in favor of the active building of inclusive societies. The notion of “peace” has been interpreted in various ways throughout history, ranging from a simple absence of war to a more comprehensive state of societal well-being and justice. However, achieving a sustainable state of peace remains one of humanity’s most elusive goals. The futility of fighting becomes evident when we look at the catastrophic loss of life, displacement of populations, and destruction of infrastructure and economies. The resources expended on destruction are diverted from areas that could foster genuine human progress, such as education, healthcare, and poverty alleviation. Furthermore, the bitterness and trauma left in the wake of war make future reconciliation difficult, ensuring that the seeds of future conflicts are sown even as the current one ends.
      Leaders and nations often resort to fighting as a means to achieve specific goals, such as securing resources, protecting sovereignty, or imposing an ideology. Yet, history demonstrates that these objectives are rarely secured through violence alone. The outcomes of war are frequently disproportionate to the costs incurred. The negotiated settlements that ultimately conclude most wars highlight the futility of the preceding violence, as adversaries are frequently forced to accept compromises that could have been reached without the catastrophic loss of life and resources. “War is a failure of diplomacy” is a good phrase said by the late U.S. Representative from Michigan, John Dingell.
      Pacifism rejects the use of violence, advocating instead for nonviolence, cooperation, and conflict resolution through dialogue and negotiation. Moving beyond the simple absence of war requires proactive peacemaking while investing in inclusive societies, upholding human rights, and establishing early warning systems and mediation mechanisms to address underlying grievances before they escalate. The transition from a state of nature characterized by conflict to a state of harmonic civilization requires the establishment of laws, institutions, and frameworks that can peacefully adjudicate disputes with integrity and dignity. While I’ve met many people who proclaim their personal preference for pacifism, when they are confronted with a moral dilemma between protecting a loved one with the use of force or their pacificism, the use of force usually wins.
      Education plays a crucial role in the process of peacemaking, as it can cultivate empathy, critical thinking, and a commitment to human rights that help to break the intergenerational cycles of violence and prejudice that sustain the impulse to fight.
      The futility of fighting is one of the most profound lessons of history that seems to constantly repeat itself. Violence destroys human progress. The cost far outweighs any perceived benefits of conflict. Understanding why fighting is futile is a necessary step toward achieving inner peace and a step toward world peace. It requires moving beyond the strategic and psychological traps that lead to war and embracing proactive, constructive approaches to coexistence. By investing in justice, human rights, and mutual understanding, maybe we can build resilient societies capable of resolving disputes without resorting to the devastating futility of fighting.
      I was going to include a fighting joke here, but I forgot the punchline. So, how about a moment with Bob Newhart? If only his advice would be enough to “Stop it.” And by “it” you know what I mean. Have a look here:  https://youtu.be/3GWaeYRirdU?is=GWZ-thUuGUeqWErn

 Ken Hurley

Stretched between the towering granite obelisk of the Washington Monument and the neoclassical temple honoring Abraham Lincoln, lies the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. For over a century, this horizontal pool of water has functioned as more than just an engineering feat. It has served as a civic mirror. It is a space designed to capture light, to reflect ideals, and provide a democratic people a beautiful place to gaze upon the architectural manifestations of our own history.
      Yet, today, as the United States observes its 250th anniversary, this national mirror has become a site of irony, ecological frustration, shoddy workmanship, and crony corruption. A highly publicized $16 million federal effort to “fix” the pool by sealing its leaking concrete floor with a vibrant synthetic coating dubbed “American Flag Blue” has failed dismally. You can cheat the American public, but you can not cheat the laws of biology and physics. Within days of being refilled, the pool’s pristine azure hue was overtaken by a massive, green slime algal bloom, fueled by the warm summer sun and the untreated, nutrient-rich river water pumped in from the Potomac Tidal Basin. Worse still, the newly applied blue sealant has torn and peeled away from the bottom, floating to the surface in ragged sheets amidst a soup of chemical treatments and hydrogen peroxide.
      This current failed effort to clean and color the Reflecting Pool is not merely an isolated bureaucratic mishap. It is a good living metaphor for the broader American story. The pool reflects what America once set out to be and what it could still achieve if it embraced structural truths. The precise nature of its current crisis is a political and cultural situation where superficial aesthetics are prioritized over deep-seated systemic repair, resulting in an illusion that peels away the moment it is exposed to reality.
      Some metaphors easily write themselves. One must first look at what the Reflecting Pool was originally designed to represent. In the early 1920s, the pool was engineered by dredging the marshy, unformed tidal flats of the Potomac River. The historical reality of its construction mirrors the historical reality of the American republic. The pool was carved out of a swamp and built upon a foundation that was inherently unstable. The original builders lined the basin with concrete, but because it sat on poorly supported, shifting marsh soil, the pool immediately began to sink. It dropped over a foot in depth in its first few decades as water steadily seeped through its porous floor.
      Despite these initial structural flaws, the pool became the definitive backdrop for America’s twentieth-century self-reckoning. It was shallow, averaging only a few feet, yet it possessed a decent capacity for moral depth. In 1939, Marian Anderson sang to an integrated crowd after being barred from Constitution Hall, her powerful voice heard across the water filled the Washington Mall. In 1963, when hundreds of thousands of citizens gathered for the March on Washington, their faces were reflected in the water as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke his dreams of an America that should finally live up to its societal promises.
      In those moments, the pool represented an America that, despite its deep structural imperfections and systemic leakages, was willing to serve as a mirror for collective aspiration. The water did not need to be artificially blue or chemically pure to be beautiful. Its beauty was derived from what it reflected. The dark, organic depth of the water caught the sky and the stone monuments, binding the crowd together in a shared reflection. It was an era that acknowledged the underlying tension of the American experiment and the constant struggle to prevent the foundational mud from swallowing a democratic ideal.
      Enter the current administration led by a person of interest. The current crisis surrounding the Reflecting Pool offers a reasonable metaphor for contemporary American governance, cultural decay, and moral vacancy. Faced with chronic leaking and seasonal algae blooms ahead of the nation’s 250th birthday bash, the response was not to undertake a thorough, ecosystem-based engineering overhaul, but rather to implement a quick visual fix through a massive no-bid contract to drain the 6.75 million-gallon basin, power-wash the mud, and cover the entire concrete floor in a synthetic, rubberized blue paint.
      The administrative brainchild’s thinking was to replace the historic, natural gray stone, which critics dismissed as “dark and disgusting,” with a bright, artificial color that would mimic a pristine backyard swimming pool. The result, however, was a catastrophic failure of basic science. Marine experts note that by replacing the dark stone with a vibrant, light-reflecting blue bottom, the renovation inadvertently elevated the water temperature and maximized light penetration throughout the reflecting pool. When water from the Tidal Basin was pumped into the pool, the combination of heat, sunlight, and river nutrients created the perfect incubator for algae life. The pool did not turn “American Flag Blue” – it turned a bright, fluorescent green.
      The administrative scramble that followed encapsulates the reactionary nature of bumbling crisis management. Rather than draining the pool and addressing the water source or the filtration mechanics, workers resorted to dumping massive quantities of hydrogen peroxide and deployed ozone “nanobubbler” machines to chemically shock the algae into submission. Meanwhile, the synthetic liner, unable to withstand the physical pressures of the environment, has ripped. Large, ragged patches of blue paint have peeled off the bottom, floating like debris in green soup.
      This green toxic soup reflects the current leader of America who has an obsession with branding over substance, where complex, systemic problems — whether they be infrastructure decay, economic inequality, institutional trust, or global discord — are treated with the political equivalent of “American Flag Blue” paint. We coat our deep structural cracks in hyper-patriotic aesthetics, hoping that a bright enough coat of paint will hide the leaks beneath and fool the public. But ecosystems, like societies, cannot be cheated by public relations. When you pour raw, untreated systemic issues into a vessel that has only been treated with a superficial facade, the underlying reality will always bloom to the surface. The paint inevitably peels, leaving behind a mess that is far more expensive, and far more embarrassing, than the original gray stone. And, true to his malignant narcissistic personality, the leader in charge has blamed the people for vandalising the pool as the reason the pool “fix” has failed. In a Truth Social post, Trump blamed (without evidence) that “sick” and “deranged” people are responsible for the “seriously vandalized” pool. On May 24th, 2026, DJT said, “If you had a knife you couldn’t even cut it. It’s so strong.” On June 22nd, 2026, DJT said. “They cut it.” Meanwhile, the people who vandalized the Capitol on Jan 6, 2021, were good, peaceful people, who participated in what DJT characterized as “a day of love” and deserved a presidential pardon because he considered them political prisoners, hostages, captives, and patriots because they took action to defend a “stolen election.”
      If the current failure of the pool represents our worst contemporary habits, the path to truly fixing it offers possibilities for what America could be. To rescue the Reflecting Pool from its cycle of chemical dependency and peeling plastic, engineers and even pool boys agree that the nation must abandon the illusion of the artificial blue lagoon. The pool cannot be treated like a suburban swimming pool because it is not one. It is a massive, open-air monument fed by a living river system.
      To achieve a sustainable, genuinely clean reflecting pool requires an embrace of structural truth and ecological reality. It means investing in a comprehensive, closed-loop filtration system that purifies the water as it enters, rather than chemically poisoning the algae after it arrives. It means accepting that the natural, historic gray granite bottom is not a flaw to be painted over, but a deliberate architectural choice designed to absorb depth and provide a true, undistorted reflection of the sky and the monuments above. It requires recognizing that a healthy reflection comes from clear water over honest stone, not a synthetic chemical balance maintained through constant crisis intervention.
      Let’s translate this to the American experiment. This version of the future requires a shift away from the phony politics of a facade. What America could be is a society that no longer fears its own historic gray stone, its complicated flawed history, and its unresolved systemic leaks. A mature democracy does not require its civic spaces, or its national narrative, to be painted in artificial primary colors to hide its vulnerabilities. Instead, it invests in the unglamorous, subterranean infrastructure of its institutions like, education, civic health, environmental stewardship, cultural equity, and an independent fair-minded judicial system.
      By building robust systems that treat problems at their source rather than masking their symptoms, the nation can move past the corrupt current era of extreme polarization and superficial, lack-luster, performance. The goal should not be to build an America that looks like a manicured illusion of perfection, but rather an America that possesses the clarity and resilience that reflect its people honestly.
      The choice ahead of the nation as it marks 250 years is the same choice facing the caretakers of the pool. We can continue to pour millions into no-bid facades, patch the tears in the liner as they appear, and dump increasingly harsh chemicals into our civic discourse to keep the rot from showing. Or, we can do the hard work of stripping away the peeling paint, accepting the underlying gray stone, and building the deep, sustainable infrastructure required to keep our democratic waters as clear as can reasonably be. Then, maybe, the pool has a decent chance of living up to its original promise – a place where a diverse and complicated people can look down into the water and see their true, undivided reflection staring back up at the sky.

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Ken Hurley

Remember the Maine!

Today, I went to sharpen my pencil, but I forgot the pencil. I hope this isn’t the onset of whatever that forgetful malady is. –  kgh

I never forget a face, but in your case, I’ll be glad to make an exception. – Groucho Marx 

In loving memory of memory lane, let’s try to remember that popular song title from the off-Broadway musical, The Fantasticks, that ran for a record-breaking 42 years (1960 to 2002) at Manhattan’s Sullivan Street Playhouse. What was the name of that song? It was originally sung by Jerry Orbach and later became a hit by Ed Ames and again by Harry Belafonte and The Brothers Four. I even performed the musical inside a planetarium with their beautiful night sky optics in full array. I was the mute. Try to remember the name of the song, and if you do, please tell me.
      I remember sloshing around inside the womb wondering where the remote control was. My biological mother was a smoker and I wanted to turn it off, but I could not find the remote. Is this an example of my malleable cognitive quirks, or a creative license that allows me to make stuff up? Which reminds me, I once had my poetic license suspended for making bad puns.
      The human mind is a tricky piece of gray mush constantly recording, indexing, and organizing moments that shape our lives. Memories help define who we are. Our personal identity, our choices, what we do, how well we do it, are captured in the seahorse-shaped hippocampus where we can selectively retrieve them with a smile or a grimace. Memories are flawed and often reshaped through the creative process that come from biological signals, emotional interpretations, and shifting perceptions.
    I don’t actually remember breathing second-hand smoke in the womb. Surprised? I have womby amnesia. I do have two distinct early memories. We were visiting Montauk, a historic hamlet on the easternmost tip of Long Island’s South Fork. My mother’s lips were bright red, her hair was auburn, and she wore a turquoise blue dress with a thin white belt. The dress fell mid-calf and flowed in the wind as she walked on the beach. That’s my earliest memory at about three years old. A year later I remember going to the adoption agency in NYC to “pick-up” my new sister, Lisa.
      These early memories are not complex stories and may be a hybrid construct of faint impressions, actual fact, and stories told later in life by others that I remember. They are fragmented emotional snapshots. However, I verified both memories years later. My mother still had the blue dress. She was also able to confirm my description of the yellow room where we waited for Lisa to be delivered to us.
      As we grow, our minds begin to curate a collection of favorite memories. These are the memories we return to in times of stress, loneliness, or transition. Happy stuff. Unlike ordinary, mundane recollections — such as which type of taco we ate last Tuesday — favorite memories are supercharged with positive emotions and are often associated with milestones, deep connections, or personal triumphs.
      When I was 17 I hitchhiked around America with a high-school buddy. I have many happy memories about those 2½ months on the road. The trip began in June on a highway in Hackensack, NJ and went through Wilkes Barre, Des Moines, Lincoln, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City, Denver, Reno, San Francisco, LA, San Diego, Bakersfield, Needles, Albuquerque, and Youngstown, and ended in NYC. Many other stops in between, including being arrested twice for hitchhiking. Once in Nebraska. Once in Colorado. Nothing bad happened. The people I met were friendly and even eager to help us have an enjoyable journey.
    My favorite memories are heavily influenced by my brain’s reward system. Yes, there are occasions when my brain rewards me. Thank you, brain. (Did you know that the brain is the only organ that named itself?) Anyway, I enjoy the rewards because they offer joy and connection, and release a euphoric rush of dopamine and endorphins. This delightful natural chemical cocktail signals my hidden hippocampus that this specific event is worth keeping. They remind me that I have the capacity for happiness and resilience. They are active resources that keep mental health — healthy.
      My memory can be triggered easily by sensory inputs like smells, sounds, touch, taste, or sight. A drift of elegant perfume can resurrect the exact memory of the person who first brought it into my life. As a young boy, I was taken to Philharmonic Hall at Lincoln Center where Leonard Bernstein conducted the Young People Concert Series. I was impressed by Pictures at an Exhibition. It was the first time I heard it. When I hear it today I can easily associate it with that experience. When I’m asked “What’s your favorite meal and why?” I reply it was at the Tupper Lake Inn where I ate the most delicious cheeseburger following a five-day 50-mile hike through the Adirondacks eating mostly freeze-dried backpacking food. I was 14. I’ve enjoyed many gourmet meals since. None more memorable than that cheeseburger.
      I have memories of where I was during major news stories and other personal events. Examples are: the assassination of JFK (in school), the Challenger explosion (in my office), the 9/11 attack (in my office), John Lennon’s assassination (long story, but I was there that night), the OJ verdict (Taco Bell), the January 6th insurrection (beach condo), my first Big Mac (Little League), falling off a boat into the Long Island Sound (Long Island Sound), among many others.
      I have lived long enough to accumulate a small universe of memorable joy. My memory holds some typical delights: first kisses, the arrival of children, some corporate successes, the freedom of living in an RV as I traveled across North America, hiking, boating, and songwriting. Decades ago, it was the uncontrollable giggles of school friends. Today, it is the beautiful, chaotic squeals of my grandchildren’s screams of joy.
      I like to believe my memories are accurate reflections of my history, but I know they are fragile, prone to distortion, and may actually be faulty. This malleability is driven by several of my cognitive quirks. One known error is source misattribution, which happens when I remember a piece of information correctly but forget where it came from. For example, did I dream it or did it actually happen? Another known problem with my memory is my hippocampus confabulation, where thoughts and memories get discombobulated in my mind. Sometimes I think I unconsciously fill in missing gaps in a story with plausible details to make the narrative feel complete and coherent. I prefer good stories in friendly casual settings! My brain wants to prioritize a cohesive, sensible, entertaining story over strict, absolute factual accuracy. The “truthy” skeptics among us may be giving me the skunk eye right now.
      Sometimes dreams are memorable but usually no longer than the morning after. However, some dreams are memorable for a lifetime. Here’s one of my memorable recurring dreams from many years ago. I am being chased through a thick old-growth forest by an unidentified angry posse of people who want to do me harm. I’m running as fast as I can through the forest. I can feel that I will soon become breathless and run out of energy. As I reach the edge of the forest there is an open flat rocky plateau whose edge is about a thousand feet above a deep wide canyon. The enraged mob is close behind me. As I run, without missing a step, I reach the edge of the plateau, I leap, tuck my knees in cannonball fashion, and wonder what will happen. To my surprise, I fly! I soar throughout the canyon. Blue skies overhead, and what looks more majestic than the Grand Canyon below. I look back at the huffing and puffing hostile mob who are left behind on the plateau. The end.
      I’m told this is an optimistic dream that goes from intense anxiety to delightful liberation, and suggests an innate resilience. The ability to rise above the drama and stress of others and leave their useless negativity behind on the cliffside while I enjoy a much grander perspective — makes me smile. I have since done many cannonballs off a diving board into a pool. Not once could I fly.
      I was going to make another point but I forgot what it was. Oh, yes! The need to forget. To forget is not necessarily a cognitive failure but an essential, highly adaptive function of a healthy brain. So, I can pride myself in how much I’ve forgotten. I would be locked up in the looney bin if I remembered every single detail of every single second. TMI.
      Forgetting is part of the memory curation system. By removing the infinite incessant noise of daily life, such as where I parked my car three weeks ago, my hippocampus opens space for more relevant memories, which allows me to focus on what matters, think abstractly, synthesize ideas, and make better decisions.
      Mnemonics are intended to help diminish our forgetfulness. But do they work? An example: While hiking you nearly step on a snake whose colors are red, black, and yellow. Is it a poisonous coral snake? Or a non-venomous milk snake? Is the memory aid, “Red on black, friend of Jack.” Or, “Red on yellow, beware fellow!” How often do you forget memory aid mnemonics? Here’s another, HOMES is a memory trick to help remember the names of the Great Lakes: Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, and Superior. PS: I’m not a fan of uppity lakes. Looking at you, Lake Superior.
      Forgetting is vital for emotional well-being and psychological healing when we deal with trauma, embarrassment, heartbreak, and grief. The emotional intensity of bad memories helps with human resilience. Forgetting allows painful experiences to dull over time. Without the ability to forget, the human mind would remain trapped in a perpetual state of emotional distress, making personal growth, forgiveness, and moving forward nearly impossible. You know, loony bin stuff.
      Yet there is a problem with forgetting too quickly. Societal forgetfulness creates a desensitization to public tragedies, which poses a significant barrier to substantive reform. When communities forget horrific events too quickly, collective apathy often replaces the urgency required to implement meaningful preventive measures. This pattern of short-term public memory and subsequent stagnation is evident in mass shootings.
    Do you remember the first mass shooting broadcast on live television? It was the University of Texas at Austin clock tower shooting on August 1, 1966 where 14 people were killed and dozens were wounded. Too young to remember? Ok. In the decades since, these acts of violence have proliferated across public spaces, including schools, places of worship, workplaces, grocery stores, restaurants, homes, military bases, parks, trains, and more. Do you remember the October 16, 1991 tragedy at Luby’s Cafeteria in Killeen, Texas, which resulted in 23 fatalities, yet failed to produce lasting systemic change?
      Even highly publicized events suffer from diminished long-term memory. The April 20, 1999 massacre at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado dominated the media for months and inspired Michael Moore’s Academy Award-winning documentary, Bowling for Columbine (2002). Despite this intense scrutiny and the subsequent identification of at least 70 copycat attacks linked to Columbine, comprehensive legislative solutions remain nearly nil. The sheer frequency of these tragedies raises a critical question: has the ubiquity of mass violence desensitized the public to the point of legislative paralysis due to our memories’ ability to dim and forget?
      Yet there is a beauty in the flexibility of memory. Sometimes I don’t want to forget. I want to hold on to the moments that give my memories pleasant meaning. Yet without any effort from me, my hippocampus knows that forgetting the clutter and pain that would otherwise be a burden is a good thing. Sometimes I disagree with my hippocampus. And, I would tell the hippo as much, if I could remember where he is — because good and bad memories help shape us into ever-evolving, resilient humans. 
       Please forgive me if I have omitted a favorite memory. Memories fade. Sometimes too quickly. Few people remember yesterday’s sunrise. Yet, people desperately want to be remembered. Want proof? Headstones.
       Here’s one of my favorite song lyrics from “As Time Goes By,” in the movie Casablanca, “You must remember this …”  … Ummm. Ahhh…. Hmmm…. Line please.
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Ken Hurley

I’m tired of all the nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want — an adorable pancreas?  – Jean Kerr

Oh, Helen of Troy — if only your ship launched a thousand faces like yours.
      To chat about beauty is like asking, “What does it mean to be human?” Different perspectives give you differences. And, for me it is the differences that often create beauty. What‽ Beauty? How do we get it? And if we do, can we keep it? These thoughts have been with us long before people began tattooing their eyebrows. Beauty in all forms is an enticing lure that has launched fleets, inspired symphonies, prompted philosophical debates, driven scientific inquiry, and changed the world. 
        Yet, despite its omnipresence in our lives, beauty remains remarkably difficult to define. There is an ancient Greek proverb that says, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” True. However, sometimes the beholder needs new glasses. What one finds alluring, another might find entirely unremarkable. To relegate beauty entirely to individual preference is to ignore the deep, universal patterns that govern our attraction to certain forms, ideas, and behaviors. ​
       Let’s strip beauty of its mystical aura and examine it as a deeply ingrained biological imperative. Oh yes, lots of biology in beauty. Then, we might see that beauty is not merely a superficial preference but a crucial cultural evolutionary adaptation designed to ensure the propagation of humans. Biology! I suspect there are physical traits that are identified as beautiful across a variety of cultures. Typically, the universe likes symmetry. So do humans. Whether it’s a peacock’s plumage or the structure of a human face, I’ll wager they are universally recognized by a majority of human brains as aesthetically pleasing. Hey, even the human brain has symmetry! Symmetry is an indicator of genetic health and developmental stability. It signals to potential mates that an organism has successfully resisted disease and environmental stress during its development. Yay symmetry. Features such as clear skin, bright eyes, a nose in the right place, and specific waist-to-hip ratios are interpreted by our primal instincts as markers of youth, vitality, and fertility. During the ongoing Darwinian evolution, physical beauty is essentially a biological billboard advertising reproductive fitness. 
      Beauty extends far beyond mere mate selection. Somewhere, some scientists are trying to understand how the brain processes beautiful stimuli. Science, a beautiful thing, right? Will they prove the tried-and-true adage that our appreciation for beauty is “hard wired”? When humans observe a beautiful painting, listen to a moving piece of music, or even contemplate an elegant mathematical equation, (Sure! Math can be elegant.) researchers have observed a surge of blood flow to many parts of the body, especially, the medial orbitofrontal cortex — the area of the brain associated with reward and pleasure. This release of dopamine suggests that we are biologically rewarded for seeking out and appreciating aesthetically pleasing things. Epicurean was onto something.
      I suppose we can find a sense of beauty in the fundamental laws of the universe as we know them. Beauty is often synonymous with elegance, simplicity, and scientific truth. For example, you probably have heard of a mathematical proportion known as the “Golden Ratio.” We see it applied in the spirals of galaxies, the arrangement of leaves on a stem, and the architecture of the Parthenon. See! Math can be elegant. Perhaps, beauty is the harmonious order underlying the chaos of the universe.  
       ​Do you remember having to read the English romantic poet, John Keats? His “Ode on a Grecian Urn” with the lines: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty / that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” Mr. Keats, that is quite a conclusion. Truth is beauty and beauty is truth. That’s all folks. While Woody Allen concluded, “Beauty is Edna playing the saxophone.” For Keats and many of his contemporaries, beauty was not merely an aesthetic quality but an ontological reality. It was found in the authenticity of human emotion and the enduring power of art. Hmm . . . is beauty power too? 
     Here’s some more beauty popularized by those raucous romantics that includes the power of nature, terror, and awe, commonly known as the sublime. In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the majestic, icy desolation of the Swiss Alps provided a sublime backdrop that mirrors the isolation and tragic beauty of the creature’s existence. Here, beauty is not safe or comforting. It is vast and dangerous, yet deeply moving. 
       ​Then there’s that Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky, who offered a more redemptive, spiritual interpretation of beauty in his novel, The Idiot. (No relation.) The character Myshkin declares that “beauty will save the world.” And if that’s true, we sure could use some more beauty right now. Dostoevsky was not referring to cosmetic attractiveness, but rather to a spiritual and moral beauty — an empathy, innocence, and capacity for love that contrasts with the corruption of society.
      The many interpretations of beauty are actively constructed, deconstructed, enforced, and dismantled by humans. Beauty dismantled — look at the East Wing. The concept of beauty often undergoes radical public metamorphosis, driven by social movements, digital technology, and maniacal leaders, and often creates a greater inclusivity. 
      The dominant cultural narrative of beauty in America has been narrowly defined, which often prioritizes youth, thinness, hair color, and fit bodies. This standard was largely dictated by the fashion industry, Hollywood, and the makeup industry. All reinforced by media advertisements. Of course, you can’t have trends without counter-trends. Wouldn’t be proper. The Body Positivity and Body Neutrality movements have gained massive traction. As they should. They challenge the notion that beauty is inextricably linked to a specific size or shape. The plus-size, transgender, and disabled models on the runways of major fashion weeks proves the point that aesthetic value is not the exclusive domain of a privileged few.  
      But then enter technology, again. Do you like those face filters on Zoom that can hide blemishes?  Instagram and TikTok have hyper-curated, algorithmic beauty by their use of reality face filters. The “Instagram Face” — a homogenized, mathematically perfect aesthetic featuring poreless skin, enlarged eyes, and plumped lips. You can do it too! If your lips are too plump now, they can be digitally deplumped. This phenomenon has sparked widespread concern among those who scoff. “Pfft!” It creates an unattainable standard of beauty that has been linked to rising rates of body dysmorphia and anxiety, particularly among youth. The tension between the push for authentic, diverse representation, and the pull of algorithmically perfected, homogenized beauty is one of the defining cultural conflicts created by humans who can and prefer to digitally create a new version of themselves during their face time on social media. 
      Beauty can also be found during global crises. As climate change looms, there is a renewed appreciation for the fragile beauty of the natural world. As wars dominate our headlines, peaceful protest is a thing of beauty. In the face of geopolitical conflict and social injustice, we increasingly identify beauty as acts of human solidarity, kindness, and courage.
      Here’s a partial list of things that I find have beauty (corny as it may be): Corn, and all good food; The sunrise, preferred over sunsets; Babies and children, their innocence; The elderly, a life well lived; Works of art, human creativity; Flowers, especially lavender, lilacs, and roses; Music that evokes deep emotion or makes you want to dance; Smiles, a universal human expression that connects and uplifts; Authentic emotions, especially gratitude, empathy, and joy; The sky, day or night, it’s a forever changing pallette; Sensory experiences that evoke good memories; Escapism, a good book, good movie, and travel; The human form; Water, rapids, waterfalls, rain (water is also my favorite drink); Functionally useful simple designs; Effective communication; Mountains and beaches; Cities with great architecture and culture; Coral reefs; Awe; Humor; Success; Learning; A well-placed comma; And finally, Good hugs, affection, and connection.
      Your turn. 
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If Time Were Not a Moving Thing . . . – Jimmie Rodgers

Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’, into the future – Steve Miller

KEN HURLEY

My life on a zip line was slower than expected. My ears were pressed to a telephone line when I crossed the line. Where does the line begin? Straight. Linear. Circular. Zig-zaggy. Squiggly. Stick a pin in it. Our timeline usually begins at our birth. However, you can stick a pin in it wherever it suits your narrative. 
      Would you believe a timeline was once a circle? The transition from a circular to a linear timeline happened gradually. We shifted from the natural repetitive cycles like seasons and crops, toward a belief in progress that required us to move forward as we cataloged unique historical events. It’s unclear to me when this shift is accurately documented. Nobody thought to stick a pin in it. However, those who pay attention believe the linear timeline surpassed the circular timeline sometime during the 18th or 19th centuries. People cite the transition to the growing power of Judeo-Christian theology, which sought to move away from the Greek notion of eternal recurrence – like springtime. This perspective enabled a religious one-way path from creation to Judgment Day. Now, combine the lust for power the church craved with the age of Enlightenment, science, and industrialization, and you get a straight-line focus on progress and a claim for a better future. The need for precise schedules and the rise of capitalist development gave us the phrase “time is money” (usually attributed to Benjamin Franklin) reinforcing the concept that time moves forward in a straight, left to right, irreversible line. 
      The line is important. The line keeps us in line. We don’t know where the line actually is, we just know that there is a line. Sometimes a deadline. Sometimes we were told not to color outside of the line. Sometimes there is a line in the sand. Sometimes there is a red line. And if you cross the line, you’re in big trouble.
     How many times have you been asked, “What’s your timeline?” At a party? From a potential relationship? On a date? If so, let me know, because no one has ever asked me, “What’s your timeline?”
      Ever notice when warmongers seek another war, they justify their lust for destruction by pointing to a place on a timeline that suits their needs? Look at Putin, Bush, DJT, and Netanyahu. So many more too. If you can control the start of the timeline, you can control the definition of the aggressor and the oppressed. The most critical aspect of any timeline is not what it includes, but where it begins. In any political, legal, or social argument the choice of a starting point acts as a frame that dictates the moral or logical outcome. 
      Timelines are excellent tools when you want to mislead an argument by manipulating context, compressing time, and selecting specific events to create false patterns of causality. Timelines can present complex history as linear narratives, ignoring contradictory data to “prove” a predetermined conclusion by cherry-picking events, creating false cause-and-effect relationships, and omitting context. 
​      The word “timeline” is more than a synonym for a schedule or a historical record. It is a conceptual framework through which humanity tries to organize the chaotic flow of existence into a linear, comprehensible narrative. At its simplest, a timeline is a graphical representation of a period of time, on which important events are marked. A timeline is a deliberate selection of “starts” and “ends” that define how we perceive progress.
        ​People pick specific places on a timeline to establish a cause. If a politician wants to blame an economic crisis on an opponent, they might start their timeline at the moment the opponent took office. Conversely, the opponent will extend the timeline back further to show that the crisis happened long before. The narrative of responsibility changes by shifting the start of the timeline. 
     Consider the debate regarding the 1619 Project versus the 1776 Commission. ​The 1619 timeline argues that the American story truly began with the arrival of the first enslaved Africans, placing the legacy of slavery at the center of our national identity. The 1776 timeline argues that the nation began with the Declaration of Independence, centering the story on the ideals of liberty. ​Neither date is incorrect in a factual sense. However, the choice of which date to treat as the “beginning” of the American timeline fundamentally alters the argument about what the country is and what, if anything, it owes its citizens.
      ​In the digital age, the timeline has migrated from the history book to the social media feed. On platforms like X or Facebook, your “Timeline” is a literal stream of what you post.  
      Timelines can be used to justify retaliation. When violence erupts, the timeline used by one media outlet might start with a specific rocket attack. Another media outlet might start their timeline fifty years earlier. By choosing a specific point on the timeline, both outlets can present a factual sequence of events that lead to diametrically opposed conclusions. Take a peek at the Israeli and Palestine debacle and what’s happening in Ukraine.          
       While history and politics want a linear timeline to provide clarity, literature often breaks the timeline to provide depth. Writers understand that human experience is rarely linear. We tend to live in the past through our memories and the future through our angst.
      ​In Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, the protagonist Billy Pilgrim becomes “unstuck in time.” The timeline is shattered, mirroring the trauma of war. By jumping between the 1940s and the distant future, Vonnegut argues that a linear timeline is an inadequate tool for processing the horror of the Dresden bombings.
     Homer begins The Iliad halfway through the chronological timeline, which forces the reader to reconstruct the past through dialogue and flashback. Rather than a path to follow, the timeline becomes a puzzle for the reader to solve.
      In the film Memento there are two distinct, simultaneous timelines. A color timeline which shows scenes moving backward in time and shows the present. And, a black-and-white timeline which shows scenes moving forward which show the past. In the end the two timelines converge. Confused? Watch the movie!  ​
      Humans are supposedly the only animals with the ability to mentally travel through time. We can construct our life timelines to make sense of our personal growth. We can imagine a time machine that can take us to the future or the past.
      ​A timeline suggests a rigid, scientific truth, but the reality is, a timeline is one of the most subjective tools humans ever created. ​We use timelines to validate our current positions or forgive our past actions. ​Whether we are looking at the geological timeline of our planet, the political timeline of our country, or the fictional timeline of a novel, we must always remember and never forget to ask: Which nudnick drew this line, and why did they start it there? To understand a timeline is not just to know the dates, but to understand the motive behind the pins. Time may be an infinite flow, but a timeline is a human cage designed to hold only the truths we are willing to show.

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Ken Hurley

I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Critic, Roger Ebert reviewing the movie North

Everybody’s a critic. And, that’s how it should be. Former New York Times chief film critic, A.O. Scott 

I found myself terrified watching the Early Show at 4:00 p.m. on a small black and white television set at Robert’s house when I was 10 years old. I could not watch the TV set full on. I had to peek through the small air holes in my baseball cap I held over my face.
    I didn’t know my afternoon would include watching a movie about shipwrecked castaways on an uncharted island who stumble upon an ex-Nazi mad scientist, his disfigured wife, and a colony of enslaved, beauty-draining monsters. It was a frightening 1950s schlock-fest. Robert and his brother Russell thought the movie, She Demons, was comedic brilliance. While they giggled at every low-budget explosion and awkwardly choreographed fight, I was busy trying to bury myself into the lime green shag carpet. The terrifying expressions these hideous She Demons made were relived by me during my worst nightmares for months. I thought the mad scientist’s henchman would materialize behind the couch and drag me into a bamboo cage. It all seemed real to me. I barely touched my soda and guarded the popcorn bowl like a makeshift shield. When the film ended with the volcano actively blowing up the Nazi laboratory as the heroes fled on a tiny rowboat, I took a deep deep breath that I had been holding for seventy-six minutes.
      That’s what movies are supposed to do. Tell a story that combines visual art, music, oftentimes special effects, and human performance, and move you in a manner that makes you feel. Maybe good. Maybe bad. Maybe happy. Maybe sad. Maybe scared. Maybe mad. But feel! Sometimes, think, too.
      Unlike authors, filmmakers do not just describe a setting. Filmmakers construct it visually to manipulate human emotions through the artful use of camera angles, lighting, sound design, music, pacing, editing, directing, and acting, and hopefully it all begins with a good script. Filmmakers get you to suspend your disbelief and can turn abstract ideas into visceral, shared experiences.
      Movies can also serve as a cultural time capsule. They capture the anxieties, hopes, dreams, technological limits, and social values of the era in which they were created. When a film succeeds, it creates an empathetic bridge across time, allowing the viewer in the present day to feel a connection with characters from a completely different time period.
      Whether a film is a flawless masterpiece or a fascinating failure, filmmakers remain humanity’s most influential storytellers because they don’t just tell us stories — they make us live them.
    One of the first books I remember enjoying as a boy was Jack London’s, The Call of the Wild. It took me through Alaskan adventures with the main character John Thornton and his dog Buck. I loved it. Then a few years later I saw on television the 1935 movie The Call of the Wild starring Clark Gable as John Thornton and Loretta Scott as Claire Blake. What?! Claire Blake? There is no Clair Blake in the book! She was created specifically by the filmmakers to be the love interest of Clark Gable. Box office gold! I learned later that their onscreen chemistry was so effectively real due to their real life offscreen love affair. The movie was much more about the star’s interactions and much less about the adventures of Buck and his ultimate call of the wild. Both the book and the movie were enjoyable. However, it was the first time I realized that filmmakers do not have to honor an original manuscript after they have purchased the rights.
      When you think of great buddy films you might think of Mel Gibson and Danny Glover in the Lethal Weapon series, Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan in Rush Hour, Paul Newman and Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and Gena Davis and Susan Sarandon in Thelma and Louise. I’ll wager you didn’t think of the stars of successful films titled, Buck Privates in the Navy, Ride ‘Em Cowboy, Rio Rita, Pardon My Sarong, or, Who Done It? That’s right, Abbott and Costello were ranked among the top box office stars from 1941 to 1951. They defined disparate dynamic duos navigating comedic adventures together, and the public loved them. Even Jerry Seinfeld has confessed that he based the format for Seinfeld on the Abbott and Costello Show.
      There are so many top-notch movies in a wide range of genres that it is impossible to list them all, even if I could remember them. So, here are a few of my favorite movies that I’d like to include in this piece of chit.
      First, I am unabashedly a huge fan of animated films because they offer limitless creative freedom, which allows the filmmakers to build visually stunning, imaginative worlds that are impossible to achieve with live-action films; while also evoking complex emotions, abstract ideas, and artsy, stylized, aesthetically delightful, illustrative action.
      Consider the French film, The Triplets of Belleville (2003) which has a distinctive and surreal animation. The journey story is told not through dialogue but through music, pantomime, and extraordinarily detailed yet exaggerated animation. A.O. Scott said, “[This] may be the oddest movie of the year, by turns sweet and sinister, insouciant and grotesque, invitingly funny and forbiddingly dark. It may also be one of the best, a tour de force of ink-washed, crosshatched mischief and unlikely sublimity.”
      Here are just a few other animated films that I praise as good: The Grave of the Fireflies (1988), Away (2019), Flow (2024), Ratatouille (2007), The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), Toy Story 3 (2010), Inside Out (2015), What’s Opera, Doc? (1957), Fantasia (1940), Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005).
      And now, some good live-action film recommendations from lil’ ol’ me.
      Schindler’s List (1993) made a tremendous humanitarian impact. It was shot almost entirely in black and white to evoke historical reality. However, there was a bit of faded red on a child’s coat that I suppose represented lost innocence and the blood of the Holocaust.
      The Godfather (1972) A young Francis Ford Coppola made a cultural impact when he took Mario Puzo’s crime novel and turned it into a Shakespearean tragedy about family, power, and corruption by using excellent pacing, moody lighting, character tensions, great acting, and of course, a great script.
      Citizen Kane (1941) Orson Welles’s masterpiece is probably cited in the top five greatest movies of all time more often than I know. It managed to keep the depth of field broad by keeping the foreground and background in sharp focus simultaneously through unique uses of light and shadows. It had a non-linear narrative which at the time was new as it revealed a complex story regarding the empty nature of the American dream through conflicting flashbacks. One word, “Rosebud.”
      And finally, Duck Soup (1933) which I consider to be Marx Brothers’ finest film due to its absurd parody regarding politics, financing war, and going to war. Its political satire is pure comedic mayhem.
      Good movies are associated with the filmmaker, who is often cited as the director. So, I offer the following as some of my preferred “A film by” directors: Steven Spielberg (Jurassic Park, Minority Report, ET, Close Encounters), Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator), David Fincher (The Game, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Se7en), Tim Burton (Beetlejuice, Batman Returns, Edward Scissorhands), Martin Scorsese (Goodfellas, Casino, Raging Bull, Gangs of New York), Alfred Hitchcock (The 39 Steps, Rebecca, Rear Window, The Birds).

      Next there are the amazingly talented auteurs who both write or co-write and direct their films. Billy Wilder (The Apartment, Some Like it Hot, Sunset Boulevard, Stalag 17, Double Indemnity), Christopher Nolan (Oppenheimer, Inception, Interstellar, Memento), Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction, Inglourious Basterds, Hateful Eight, Django Unchained), Lana Wachowski (The Matrix, Cloud Atlas, Jupiter Ascending), Ingmar Bergman (The Seventh Seal, Persona, Fanny and Alexander), Stanley Kubrick (2001: A Space Odyssey, Eyes Wide Shut, A Clockwork Orange), Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird, Little Women, Barbie), Woody Allen (Annie Hall, Match Point, Manhattan Murder Mystery, Purple Rose of Cairo, Blue Jasmine, Midnight in Paris), Agnès Varda (Cléo from 5 to 7, Faces Places), Joel and Ethan Cohen (Fargo, The Big Lebowski, No Country for Old Men, True Grit), Paul Thomas Anderson (There Will Be Blood, Licorice Pizza, One Battle After Another), James Cameron (The Terminator, Aliens, Titanic, Avatar). And, soooo many more good filmmakers!
      However, there are far more bad, unlikeable movies than there are good movies. Mostly for their failure to execute technical and narrative competence. If you’ve ever seen the movie Cats (2019), you know that it fails on every conceivable level. Despite its huge budget and star studded cast, it is a whacky, unbelievable, unsettling, blend of live-action actors and digital fur technology that lacks narrative momentum, editing logic, and spatial consistency. The original Broadway musical ran for 18 years and was a huge success. Skip the flick.
      The film North (1994) is among the many universally accepted bad movies. Directed by the late Rob Reiner. (An otherwise good filmmaker!) Stars Elijah Wood, in the title role, with Jon Lovitz, Jason Alexander, Alan Arkin, Dan Aykroyd, Kathy Bates, Faith Ford, Graham Greene, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Reba McEntire, John Ritter, and Abe Vigoda. Bruce Willis narrates and plays different roles. Scarlett Johansson made her film debut in North when she was nine years old. A good cast, right? But the outdated and offensive stereotypes, combined with bizarre inconsistent humor, a poor screenplay, choppy editing, and the frustrating final reveal that the entire story was just a dream gets this movie panned by critics and audiences.
    Then, there is “WTF.” These movies leave you bewildered wondering which numnuck decided this would be a good idea? The Room (2003) is a technically disastrous, out-of-focus, film with nonsensical dialogue, and erratic subplots that are introduced and then forgotten. Co-starring the boom mic. It is worse than bad. Yet, somehow, it has found its way to be considered a cult classic because it is so bad some people think that’s what makes it good. WTF!
      In “The End” the Good, the Bad, and the WTF are all part of the movie viewing experience. The “Good” films provide the emotional anchors and artistic milestones that legitimize cinema as high art. The “Bad” films remind filmmakers and audiences of the importance of discipline, structure, restraint, and the need for a good script. The “WTF” films provide pure unfiltered trash that may still find an engaged audience. There is a genre for everyone in which a story is told where the filmmakers want to make you feel. They all remind us that filmmaking is largely experimental, which is why you take your chances when you give two hours of your life to watch a movie and enjoy a bucket of popcorn.
      Time for lunch. Duck soup, anyone?
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Ken Hurley

What do ultra-wealthy men do when their pleasure is derived by power? Power to control. Power to manipulate. Power to have their libertine libido satisfied by trafficked under-age girls.
Let’s consider the Epstein files and a pattern of history in America. The United States was not founded by modest, genteel men who possessed decorum and restraint. We know that America was founded by men who owned land, slaves, and capital and enjoyed impunity. During the colonial period, elite white men were not just politicians. They were slaveholders, land speculators, judges, clergy, merchants, farmers, and legislators. If you were a wealthy white man there was no separation between private vice and public power. If you owned people, you also had the influence to own their silence. You could thrust sexual violence at will, especially against enslaved women and girls. It was not prosecuted, because the victims were legal property. Physical or emotional harm was not considered unless it reduced the value of their property. So exploitation was not a scandal. It was part of the economy — an economy that built the White House with slave labor.
Men like Thomas Jefferson, a slave holder extraordinaire, were not whispered about during their time. His behavior was accepted because it was legal and he was useful, productive, and essential to the prospect of an enduring America — a new, wealthy, white male America. American power has too often separated humane morality from governance as long as powerful, wealthy, influential men were in office or were part of the American “kingmaker” squad.
Unquestioning adherence to religion continues to be a big problem. A bigger problem is the ultra rich. To quote a favorite lyric of mine, billionaires can “buy the competition, buy the politicians, buy your religion, they don’t need your permission.” They can even buy elections. It becomes a serious challenge when a cruel, dangerous, billionaire, white male supremacist and former kingmaker wannabe sits in the now gilded oval office.
The industrialists, railroad barons, financiers, men with unprecedented resources lived with near total immunity. They enjoyed private islands, private rail cars, private arrangements, sex scandals, coercions, and abuses that were handled quietly. Not with accountability, but with containment and non-disclosure payoffs. Or, if needed, more nefarious ways to silence victims permanently.
Discrediting women was easy and routine when it meant holding on to power. So when people act as if Trump is some kind of anomaly or an aberration of our system of governance — he is not. He is a regrettable amplification and unfiltered continuation of what is the worst of American history. The difference is not that he doesn’t lie, cheat, steal, and protect women abusers — the difference is that he does this all in front of our own eyes, ears, and sensibilities. Despite the claims that this administration is the most transparent administration in history, too many significant names of what may likely be powerful male names in the Epstein files have been redacted. Or should they rightfully be called the Trump/Epstein Files? The redactions do not protect the survivors. They protect those who may be pedophiles. If these men have nothing to hide, why are their names hidden?

This is not about one man, Epstein. This is about a system that has always allowed men with extreme wealth to move freely in spaces where rules, laws, and accountability do not apply to them. Epstein did not invent exploitation. He managed it to his version of success. He created an infrastructure for behavior that already had a long legal and cultural precedent with extreme wealth as its protective shield. What happens when the ultra wealthy get scared that the crimes they’ve committed today might be revealed by another ultra-wealthy individual tomorrow? Someone usually dies under suspicious circumstances.

Since our founding we have lived through different eras with different communication methods, yet we observe the same protections for the ultra wealthy. Men with power and vast amounts of money are given the luxury of time. They benefit from being well-connected. Their money buys them everything and anything they need or want. While the victims are marginalized, ignored, discredited, and called liars as they endure character assassination or worse.

Despite the heavily redacted Epstein files, the files still show enough disturbingly suspicious language from mystery people to make us wish we could learn more. The hope is that all of the incriminated men could be brought to justice. And yet, the only person in prison — is a woman. Although, she belongs there.

To quote Congressman Ted Lieu, “Donald Trump is in the Epstein files, thousands and thousands of times. There’s highly disturbing allegations of Donald Trump raping children — of Donald Trump threatening to kill children . . . If Jeffrey Epstein was human trafficking minors for these sex parties and you show up and patronize the establishment at that party, yes, you’re guilty because patronizing is part of the federal sex trafficking law. . . . the biggest privacy violation in history, they released a lot of pictures of minors, unredacted, just violated the privacy of these girls. It is uncalled for what they did. The one thing that they could not do under this law was to invade the privacy of these women who were girls at the time who were victims of sex trafficking.” The Justice Department has stated that some of the claims in the Epstein Files are “untrue and sensationalist claims” and lack corroborating evidence. No authorities have accused Trump of any wrongdoing in connection to Epstein’s crimes. Trump has consistently denied all allegations of wrongdoing.

I don’t expect this administration to do something fundamentally different. Not because Trump is uniquely monstrous, but because the presidency itself typically absorbs men like him without collapsing. How many times did you believe this was the final blow for Trump? There are probably dozens incidents you can name, including mocking POWs, mocking the disabled, despicable racist depictions of the Obamas, election interference, January 6th Capitol attack, January 6th Capitol attack pardons, two impeachments, felony convictions, sexual abuse convictions, fraud convictions, “SEDITIOUS behavior punishable by Death … HANG THEM” he wrote about six Democratic lawmakers who were members of the military or intelligence community (subsequently absolved by a grand jury), abuse of power, destroying the East Wing, and so much more. There’s no way he can come back from this one! But there he sits as the most powerful man in the world. The system was designed to keep the ultra wealthy protected by a cabal of other super-wealthy men and their flattering, fan-fawning, sycophants. The question is not how this could happen. The question is why do we pretend that America was ever built to stop men with extreme wealth when our country spent centuries protecting them? That’s our history. That’s our inheritance. That’s why none of this is as surprising as people like to think it is.

Eventually, this iteration of the ultra-wealthy bubble will burst. Today, it is the billionaire bubble. It’s a recurring theme in history, especially amongst the ultra wealthy who felt that harm would never reach them. This happens every time a movement based on grievance and exclusion starts collapsing. This time it is the MAGA movement. A lot of Americans claim to want “law and order.” They will tell you that if you are against law and order then you are a problem for America. And yet, the masked ICE thugs break our laws under the direction of the ultra wealthy. The power brokers do not want justice because then justice would also have to apply to them. They have no respect. Body armor, tactical weapons, willful killings in the streets without accountability. Even the acronym ICE is chilling. They do not regret the terror they have inflicted. They regret the chaos caused by those who resist.

After Jim-Crow violence drew international attention, the regret was not about lynching. It was about embarrassment. It was about optics. It was about the masks being removed. It was about being seen. If there was regret, it was that their bubble burst. Same with Joseph McCarthy, the Vietnam conflict, Richard Nixon, Iran-Contra, and the Iraqi invasion, to name a few others. The power brokers did not say we were wrong to destroy lives. They said, this got out of hand. The ultra wealthy do not change when harm is inflicted. They do not change when warnings are issued or when marginalized people ask them to change. They change when their methods stop delivering benefits to them. White Americans did not abandon segregation because black people made a moral argument. They abandoned legal segregation when it became economically inconvenient, politically unstable, and internationally embarrassing. The billionaire bubble people want distance without accountability. They want to exit without naming what they’ve enabled. They want relief from consequences, not repair of the harm they caused. It takes accountability to stop damage. Accountability can rise from a loss of power and a loss of legitimacy. Some ultra-wealthy people have enough integrity to tell the truth. Too many in the billionaire bubble do not. They’ll plead ignorance. They’ll want your understanding and forgiveness without culpability or offering a full confession. Accountability for those who float in the billionaire bubble is difficult to obtain but not impossible.

The history of the ultra wealthy always seems to be confronted with a choice — either responsibility or repetition. America’s power people have chosen repetition far more often than responsibility. Will this moment we are living through break the cycle or will it just reset it for the next billionaire bubble? History does not care how mortified you are. It cares about what you did when the realities become impossible to ignore. Good people have already given their lives in an effort to resist.

So, what can we do? Make our voices heard. Show up at the rallies. Get people registered to vote. ​Advocate for “Transparency in Settlements” by encouraging and supporting legislation that bans NDAs in cases of sexual assault and human trafficking. This would help prevent “buying silence.” ​Support alternative media and fact-checking. Most major media companies are now owned by billionaires. We can support independent, member-funded journalism that helps ensure that the “optics” are not the only thing being managed. Vote so that the mid-term elections are won by an overwhelming large margin in all congressional races and down-ballot races. Then, let’s work to assure that this administration does not find a way to intimidate, rig, steal, or prevent the mid-term election process. Then, let’s craft a meaningful vision for a better future that must be well-spoken, achievable, and resonate deeply even under tough scrutiny, so that a majority of people can say, I’m with you. I’m for dignity. I’m for integrity. I’m for a humane way that treats people fairly while holding accountable those who transgress human decency. As best we can, let’s live up to our personal life’s ambitions while we seek ways to assure that our representative democratic system of governance survives. Or, we can accept that the direction we are headed seems ok. Does anyone have other suggestions? I’ll listen.

Ken Hurley

“It’s a hoax” is manipulation when it is a lie. – kgh

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” If that were true we should have many more dead people. – kgh

Let me start with an old joke. A Catholic priest, a Baptist preacher, and a Rabbi meet up (in-person) every week and talk about religion and their respective places of worship. One week, they discussed how to convert people to their faith. Convert! They each agreed that people are easily manipulated and that to convert people was not a true test of religious leadership. However! To convert a bear from the wildness of the wilderness would be a true test. So, the three religious leaders agree to each go into the forest and try to convert an unsuspecting bear to their respective faith.

At their next meeting, the Catholic priest arrives with a cast on each arm and one on his leg. He wears a neck brace and has scratches all across his face. As he tells his story, he says, “Well, I went out into those woods and before long, I walked right up on a bear. I got the bear’s attention and started in on my homily. The bear didn’t respond well and attacked me. As we fought, I splashed holy water on the bear and baptized him on the spot. Immediately, the bear calmed down and was at peace.”

The Baptist preacher was up next. He was in a wheel chair with casts on both legs and an arm in a sling. “Similar to your experience Father, I too found a bear very quickly and began my sermon. The bear seemed to listen for a while but as I continued he grew more and more agitated. As I read passages from the Bible, the bear attacked me and we began wrestling on the side of a hill. Locked in a stalemate, we began rolling end over end down the steep hillside until we landed with a splash in a narrow stream. Right then, I dunked the bear underwater and baptized him in the name of Jesus. Immediately, the bear calmed down and was at peace.” The priest and the preacher look at the Rabbi, who is laid out on a stretcher in a full body cast, barely hanging on to life. The priest asks, “So, Rabbi, tell us your story.” The Rabbi is barely audible as the preacher and priest lean in close to hear. “Well, I too found a bear, and I don’t know what I could have done to convert him, but I do know that starting with a circumcision was a bad idea.”

One classic example of manipulation is known as gaslighting. The term “gaslighting” comes from the 1938 Patrick Hamilton play Angel Street (American title), which was later adapted into the film Gaslight (1944) in which a man (Charles Boyer) manipulates his newly wed wife (played by Ingrid Bergman) into madness through psychological torture so he can enrich himself by stealing from her. When he turns on the lights in the attic to search for her jewelry collection, and the gas lights dim downstairs, he tells her it’s all in her imagination. All sorts of subtle seemingly unexplainable things happen to her that gradually cause her to question her own memories, perceptions, and sanity. Have you ever been gaslighted?

Other forms of manipulation include: guilt-tripping, emotional blackmail, lying, withholding affection, playing the victim, love bombing, isolation, all designed to control or exploit someone by distorting their reality or exploiting their emotions for personal gain. Take a peek at the crazy tariffs used to manipulate foreign governments and the stock market. Especially, when they are inappropriately used to coerce global partners for political concessions. When tariffs create intentional market instability so the high-balanced players can buy low and sell high, it’s no wonder this leads to the charge of manipulating stock prices for strategic advantage.

Look at the Federal Reserve, which raises and lowers interest rates in an effort to manipulate the economy, which in turn manipulates the stock market.

The word “manipulation” often conjures images of puppeteers in shadows, Machiavellian schemes, and the deep desire to control the behavior of other people. Religion comes to mind. Manipulation is a word heavy with negative connotation, suggesting a violation of personal autonomy and a deceitful commandeering of another’s actions.

However, to understand manipulation solely as a mechanism of malice is to ignore its etymology and its pervasive, sometimes benign, presence in the human experience. The Latin manipulus means “a handful.” In French, the term originally referred to the skillful handling of objects as a master puppeteer would do. It is a word of craft, not cunning. In the mid-19th century it evolved to describe the shrewd management of people. Religion still comes to mind.

At its core, manipulation is the art of bypassing the conscious guard of the intellect to trigger the primal aspects of the psyche: fear, desire, guilt, and vanity. It is an interaction where one party perceives how another’s mind may think and seeks ways to instill their beliefs. The manipulator wants to redirect the energy of another. They identify an existing insecurity or aspiration in the subject and attach their own objective to it, making the victim believe that the manipulator’s goal is actually their own desire.

Hostage negotiators minimize threats by establishing trust through active listening, stalling for time to lower emotions, and using calm, empathetic communication to de-escalate crisis situations. They shift the focus from violence to problem-solving, often utilizing techniques like “tactical empathy” to make the hostage-taker feel heard, reduce their stress, and build momentum toward a peaceful surrender. That’s manipulation at its best. The manipulator knows something the victim does not, whether it is the true cost of an action, the real nature of a relationship, or a fabricated reality. By controlling the flow of information, the manipulator constructs a plan where the victim feels they are making a free decision, yet all available paths lead to the manipulator’s desired outcome. I am reminded that George Orwell’s 1984 (1949) presents manipulation on a large systemic scale. The Party does not just manipulate individuals, it manipulates reality itself. Through “Newspeak,” the government shrinks the vocabulary available to the populace, thereby shrinking the range of thinkable thoughts. If there is no word for “freedom,” the concept cannot be articulated or fought for. In 1984, manipulation transcends psychological trickery and becomes ontological control. The protagonist, Winston Smith, is not just tricked, he is rewired. The chilling conclusion is that he learns to love Big Brother, which shows that total manipulation does not just control action, it colonizes the personality. You know, like MAGA.

Current events are replete with examples of how technology has monetized influence. Social media platforms, driven by the profit imperative of the “attention economy,” utilize algorithms designed to manipulate user behavior. These systems are not neutral. They are optimized to maximize engagement, often by amplifying outrage, fear, and tribalism. The “Facebook Files” leaks and subsequent congressional hearings revealed that platforms were aware their algorithms could lead users down “rabbit holes” of misinformation and radicalization, yet the mechanisms remain because they are extremely profitable. Perhaps we should let robots vote like any other person, so the bots won’t have to manipulate elections through social networks.

The social media form of manipulation is subtle because it is invisible. Unlike a human con artist (Think Prez 47), an algorithm does not blink, stutter, or slur words. It simply feeds the user a stream of content that confirms their existing biases, which creates an echo chamber that feels like how the world should be. Furthermore, the rise of AI-generated content creates a problem of epistemology — you know, the study of how we know what we know. You know? When video and audio can be convincingly fabricated, the shared reality necessary for democracy begins to fracture. The manipulator no longer needs to persuade the audience that a lie is true; they only need to persuade the audience that nothing is true. Look how many lies we hear from the current administration every day. This geopolitical information warfare creates a cynicism that conditions much of the public into complacency. That’s unfortunate. It’s action — way beyond social media posts that make effective changes.

The word “manipulation” remains a test for our views on power, influence, and agency. It is a tool, and like any tool — from a hammer to a nuclear reactor — its moral weight is determined by the hands that use it.

Ultimately, the defense against malicious manipulation is not to shut out the world, but to cultivate critical awareness that can turn into meaningful action. Let’s ask: Who is framing this choice? What is being omitted? And, does this influence serve my growth, or does it merely serve the manipulator’s design? We are all manipulated in one way or another. Me, too. In recognizing the strings of the many puppeteer wannabees, we take steps toward cutting them, or at least, choosing which ones we allow to guide us.

What do you call a dog that manipulates dolls? A puppyteer. Did that access your inner smile?

We prefer not to call it manipulation. We prefer to think we are not manipulated. The negative connotations are too strong. We prefer to call it something artful. Like the art of persuasion. If I ever get some superpowers, I would include the art of persuasion, along with invincibility, of course.

​To know Amy is to know a perpetual state of high beta emotions. Amy operates at a vibrational frequency where the distinction between a minor inconvenience and a catastrophic failure is entirely lost. Most people move through life with a rheostat, dimming their emotional investment to suit the occasion. Amy has only a toggle switch, and it has been jammed in the “on” position since birth. Her passion is not a mood; it is a climate, one that is tropical, storm-prone, and exhausting to inhabit for anyone not acclimated to the heat. ​

This intensity, while occasionally charming in short bursts, metastasizes into something more volatile in all areas of her life. Amy works in marketing, a field that rewards enthusiasm but generally prefers it to be tempered by corporate stoicism. Amy is incapable of stoicism. In a Tuesday morning strategy meeting, when a colleague suggests a font change for a newsletter, Amy does not simply disagree. She launches a crusade. To her, Helvetica is not just a typeface; it is a symbol of modernist lazy thinking, a moral failing. She argues her point with the fervor of a defense attorney saving a client from the electric chair. Her voice trembles, her eyes glisten with the moisture of genuine belief, and the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. ​

Her colleagues are torn between awe and avoidance. There is something undeniably magnetic about a person who cares that much, who refuses to sleepwalk through their labor. Yet, working alongside her is like trying to build a house of cards inside a wind tunnel. Every email she sends is a manifesto. Every project is a magnum opus. She burns out interns not through malice, but through the sheer radioactive decay of her own expectations. She cannot conceive of a world where one simply “does the job.” For Amy, if you are not bleeding for the quarterly report, you are not really alive. ​

To be loved by Amy is to be the sole subject of a spotlight so bright it burns the retina. She loves with a devouring hunger. A casual Tuesday dinner is prepared with the complexity of a Michelin-starred audition. If her partner mentions an interest in astronomy, Amy will not just buy a book; she will research telescopes for three nights straight, losing sleep, planning a trip to the Atacama Desert, and structuring their next five years around stargazing.

​However, the flip side of this adoration is a devastating sensitivity. Because she invests so heavily, the return on investment must be equally high. A forgotten text message is not a lapse in memory, it is a betrayal of the narrative she has constructed. A slightly distant tone on the phone triggers an inquisition into the structural integrity of the relationship. There are no minor arguments in Amy’s home. Every disagreement escalates to a referendum on their souls. Her partners often leave, not because they don’t love her, but because they are simply tired. They crave the safety of the lukewarm, the peace of not mattering quite so much.​ Even in solitude, Amy finds no respite from herself. Her hobbies are not pastimes, they are obsessions. When she took up gardening, she did not plant a few petunias. She waged war on the local soil composition. She tested pH levels daily, sourced heirloom seeds from obscure European distributors, and wept openly when a frost killed her hydrangeas. She seeks meaning in the weave of a rug, the tannins of a cheap wine, the silence of an empty room.​

Amy’s life is a testament to the double-edged sword of passion. On one hand, she experiences the world with a vividness that most people will never know. She tastes more flavor in a single bite of bread than others do in a banquet. She feels the texture of existence. But the cost is a life without insulation. She lacks the protective layer of apathy that allows the rest of us to endure traffic jams, rude waiters, and mediocrity. She is a raw nerve ending walking through a world of salt.​

At a gathering of mutual friends Amy was introduced to Tex and they began to date. You’ve heard that opposites attract? Well, get this . . .

For Tex the world does not sing. It vibrates at measurable frequencies. He perceives life as a relentless sequence of biological, physical, and chemical interactions, each capable of being dissected, labeled, and filed away. Tex is a man of profound intellect and terrifying stoicism, a figure carved from marble and logic. Yet, his plight was not that he could not understand the world, but that he understood it too well. His constant analytical reasoning, a blade he kept perpetually sharp, had effectively severed his tendons connecting him to the capability of the joy that Amy exuded so easily.

One early autumn morning they were watching the sunrise over the Atlantic, a spectacle that drew crowds to the beach. As the sun rose above the horizon, painting the sky in dramatic hues of violet, crimson, and burning gold, Amy gasped. Her pupils dilated in response to the aesthetic grandeur. She felt a sense of cosmic connection, a fleeting brush with the divine. A grand new day was beginning. ​

Tex, however, stood rigid and felt nothing. His mind, an autonomous engine of deconstruction, immediately went to work. He did not see a painting; he saw Rayleigh scattering. He saw the physics of light particles colliding with atmospheric molecules, the shorter blue wavelengths scattering away to leave the longer red wavelengths visible. He calculated the angle of refraction and noted the particulate matter in the air — likely pollution from the industrial sector to the west — that intensified the redness. To him, the sunrise was not a poem. It was a physics equation regarding the rotation of a rock near a ball of gas. The awe was stripped away, peeled back to reveal the sterile mechanics beneath. Without the mystery, there was no wonder; without wonder, there was no joy.

Tex and Amy attended his younger sister’s wedding, a chaotic, joyous affair, brimming with champagne and tearful toasts. Tex was like an anthropologist studying a primitive tribe. When the bride and groom danced, gazing into one another’s eyes with that terrifying vulnerability that defines new marriage, Amy wept. She saw two souls uniting.

​Tex saw evolutionary biology at play. He saw oxytocin and vasopressin flooding the neural pathways of the couple, chemicals designed by millions of years of natural selection to facilitate pair-bonding for the sake of offspring survival. He deconstructed the ritual of the wedding itself — a performative social contract intended to signal resource pooling and genetic stability to the community. When Amy and Tex looked at the smiling faces of the guests, she saw happiness. He saw the “Duchenne smile,” analyzing the contraction of the zygomatic major muscle and the orbicularis oculi to determine which smiles were genuine and which were socially mandated. The laughter of the room was joyful for Amy. But for Tex, just a rhythmic expulsion of air, a primate signal of safety. By reducing the human experience to its biological nuts and bolts, Tex rendered it meaningless. Amy loved love and Tex could explain the mechanism of love.

Tex wanted to feel. He admired Amy for her incredible ability to feel deeply. He was not a robot. He was a man trapped inside a laboratory of his own making. There were late nights when he would sit in his minimalist apartment, listening to Vladimir Horowitz play Rachmaninoff’s Concerto #3, desperate to be moved. He would close his eyes, waiting for the swell of the crescendo to lift his spirit. But before the emotion could take root, the analyst would step in. Minor key, his mind would whisper. Diminished fifths creating tension, resolving to the tonic to release dopamine. He anticipated the mathematical patterns of the harmony. He understood the acoustics of the recording hall. The music ceased to be art and became a blueprint.

​This hyper-rationality created a formidable wall of stoicism. Grief was merely the brain’s resistance to a change in homeostasis. Anger was a sympathetic nervous system response to a threat. He remained calm in crises, the eye of every hurricane, useful and dependable.

​By insulating himself from the seemingly illogical nature of pain, he had also insulated himself from the seemingly illogical nature of joy. Joy, by its definition, requires a suspension of disbelief. It requires surrendering to the moment, forgetting the mechanics, and allowing oneself to be swept away by the belief that this moment matters. It requires a person to look at a sunset and ignore the particulate matter, to look at a lover and ignore the evolutionary imperative. ​One rainy Tuesday, Tex stood at a bus stop where a toddler in a yellow raincoat was stomping in a puddle, shrieking with pure, unadulterated delight. The water splashed muddy streaks onto the girl’s pants. But she didn’t care.

​For a second, Tex felt a crack in the marble. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lip. He watched the child and felt a strange, warm pressure in his chest. But then, the reflex kicked in. The habit was too strong. His mind noted her lack of inhibition due to an undeveloped prefrontal cortex. He calculated the surface tension of the water. He predicted the probability of the mother scolding the child for the mess.

​The moment collapsed. The warmth evaporated. The smile died before it truly lived. Tex boarded his bus, the efficient, stoic observer, moving through a world of vibrant color that he could only see in grayscale.

​In the end, we watch Amy, a shortened form for Amygdala. And Tex, a shortened form for Prefrontal Cortex, with a mixture of reasoned emotional amazement. We know that both Amy and Tex live within each of us. The Amygdala (emotion) and Prefrontal Cortex (logic) must communicate effectively for meaningful decisions to happen. The separation of emotion and reason is a false dichotomy that has misled us for too long. There is no reason versus emotion. They are a team. Even if the balance between the two is like a teeter totter — a balanced integration of the two faculties is necessary for a healthy, humane, reasonably joyous life. While facts are essential for navigation, it is emotion that fuels the engine of change.