The mathematics of love

What does it mean to be rich? What does it mean to be thriving? Well, if it isn't killing it at karaoke at Ellis Island in Las Vegas, I don't know what it means.

I probably had my best Vegas trip ever last week, although, officially, I place it tied with my bachelor party 25 years earlier. This time around, I rendezvoused with Sophie, who had turned 21 two days previously. It was just Dad and Daughter vs. Vegas. 

We had a ridiculously fun time, and we gambled in eight casinos. We had a slight money loss with the gambling, but it wasn't too bad for all the time we spent at the tables. Plus, we won in our final two casinos, so it felt like we won.

(By the way, the eight casinos we played were Caesar's, Bellagio, Horseshoe, Linq, Park MGM, New York/New York, Casino Royale and Ellis Island. Also, we went to others, too, including Aria and Cosmopolitan, but didn't gamble there.)

Two days after turning 21, Sophie drank a cosmopolitan and played roulette. She didn't like the cosmo and had just one other drink (red wine) during our three nights there. She is not a fan of the drink, and Dad is very, very happy to see that.

In stark contrast to her disdain for alcohol, Sophie (who actually goes by Irene now to the rest of the world) is a big fan of probability and figuring out odds. So we played roulette — A LOT. She is a math major at Berkeley, and at one time, she wrote equations in a napkin to test gambling ideas we had. Earlier on, I played a little video poker, but realized she didn't like it. So, OK, we focused on roulette.

We are lowball specialists. We normally would play the lowest stakes possible, which was a $3 bet for each spin. Plus, we learned to take off spins and spread out six bets each time while always giving ourselves a long-shot chance. That made it pretty darn fun, and it felt like we won the Super Bowl when our long shots hit.

When we would win 18 whole dollars on a 50-cent long-shot bet, we typically would celebrate, cash out and leave the casino. Victorious!

We also explored shops and casinos and had some incredible food. Angry Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen delivered as did Wicked Spoon. The Bellagio buffet and vegan dim sum were solid, too, but those other two places were superior, bordering on spectacular.

When Sophie was growing up, her grandma had a vacation place in North Vegas, and she has memories of being being a youngster and often visiting the Bellagio garden and parts of the strip. So a lot of our trip unlocked memories of her youth, and we ran into landmarks in which she has pictures.

"Your Chippewa Lake is the Las Vegas Strip," I said in reference to my family's cottage where I have tons of child memories. 

Sophie and I pretty much spent three full days straight together and had a blast. We also had a great time at the Pinball Museum, which should be named the Pinball Warehouse, by the way. Yet I can only place this awesome trip in a tie with my bachelor party. 

In that trip, I thought I was meeting my brother and two cousins for four nights (that's a lot of nights). In addition, my dad (the XMan), uncle and two friends, Dave and Jeff, came as a surprise to me. No way! Mathematically speaking, my dad was 53 at the time, and I'm 52 now.

The highlights of that trip were playing three rounds of golf with my dad in various foursomes and battling in fun poker games with our group. The gambling and the glitz lingered in the background; it was more about hanging out with my crew. Even though Sophie and I threw a brick through Vegas' windshield, took it out and chopped it up, it was much more about spending time with her.

Maybe our love language is math 'n' fun. She says that if we played her roulette system infinitely that we would actually net a slight monetary profit. Hmm. She says she has the math to prove it.

I figured out that our relationship netted a major profit. I beheld the sophisticated young woman she has become and saw that she has a great sense of humor and is kind, fun and chill. As we said goodbye, it all added up to me being overwhelmed with emotion as I said between sobs, "I love you. It's impossible to have a trip this incredible."

Odds are, my dad let out sobs and said the exact same thing to me when we departed Vegas 25 years earlier.

Foodies packed their knives and went

What ever happened to foodies?

At this point, I'm pretty sure the term "foodie" is outdated. I don't really hear it any more. It's passé.

But I must say there was a nice stretch, when calling one's self a foodie was totally OK. In fact, if you didn't call yourself a foodie, what was your problem?

I estimate that it was en vogue to be a foodie from 2006 to 2016, when I watched Top Chef. Soon, the United States fell into extreme polarization and something called "doom scrolling." We've been a non-foodie, stressed-out nation ever since.

Not that long ago, a story in the Associated Press fascinated me. It was about how some influencers are reminiscing about how good things were in 2016, when people were doing more fun, non-serious things, perhaps still pretending to be amateur foodies.

The simplicity of enjoying an elevated dinner now has been erased by inflation, talk of inflation or somebody ruining it by taking a photo and posting it on social media. OK, while I can't say posting a food photo would ruin my dinner, that whole posting of food always seemed peculiar to me. Who does that anymore? What was that all about?

This past summer, I tried improving my food game by taking the Rouxbe (pronounced Ruby) Forks Over Knives online class. The class gears itself to vegans, and while I am not vegan, I do believe that the Standard American Diet (SAD) overdoes it with meat, oils and processed foods.

I realize that some of the best meals of my life have not been in the United States. While I'd love to travel more and experience more different cuisine, the best meals I've ever had were in Italy and France. In a trip to Italy about 10 years ago, I returned switching to espresso from coffee and adhering by the idea that "Your day might only be as good as your lunch."

Too often, Americans rush their lunches at their desk or don't put any thought into their food. They unwittingly dehumanize themselves on a daily basis. To be human, or a privileged human, is to eat and enjoy. Right?

With Forks Over Knives, my big takeaways were the power of healthy grains, including brown rice, farro (ancient grains) and quinoa. I pretty much stopped eating white rice and gluten-filled noodles. I eat a lot of bowls nowadays, and it's best when I mix up the types of veggies and flavors in those.

I also got much better at my cuts, and I learned some basics, like properly steaming vegetables and how to handle onions, that help immensely. The power of fruits and vegetables, and health benefits, indeed will stay with me.

I actually give Top Chef some credit with helping me learn more about cooking. I loved the show so much that in 2013, I named it the fifth best TV show of all-time.  By the way, The Sopranos was No. 1 on the list, and looking back, I binged about one zillion shows since then. Maybe I need to update the list with the likes of Breaking Bad, The White Lotus and Stranger Things. (Or not)

Top Chef continues without me, or anybody I know, watching the show. Padma Lakshmi apparently left the show two years ago. Tom Colicchio and Gail Simmons still are hosting, apparently. For 10 years, I watched the show, but the show just can't escape this criticism: "Hey, wait a minute, don't we have to taste the food?"

I tried tasting the food once by going to Colicchio's Craftsteak at the MGM Grand in Vegas. It just wasn't good at all. The quality was mid at best, and it was overpriced. Didn't really enjoy it, and this is coming from a guy who didn't mind Ponderosa in the '80s.

Of course, when the 2020 pandemic shutdown wiped out a lot of restaurants, that put a wrinkle into would-be foodies plans. Six years later, many restaurants have come back, but many haven't. I guess I need to accept the fact that foodies are gone.

Ponderosa has dwindled to 15 locations in the United States, after peaking at 150 in the '80s. And Pizza Hut, which has been pretty horrible for decades, recently announced it would close 250 of its 6,000 stores. But I swear, Pizza Hut was cool in the '80s.

Foodies, we need you back!

Playing gin rummy with the deceased

I find myself at the Chippewa Lake cottage, and I'm sitting at a card table with my dad, the XMan. I touch the top of this card table, and it's an odd texture — dark green and kind of rain proof, maybe elastic, I don't know.

People are chatting around us, including my grandparents, Ed and Adele. Dina, Sophie, Chloe and my mom are there, too, smiling and talking with relatives. At this table, it's just me and my dad. I'm locked in a Dad vs. Son game of gin rummy.

Maybe these details wouldn't matter in real life, but they matter to me in dreams. I am soaking in this impossible possibility, the comfortable feelings of place and multigenerational love. So many people I care about are there, but the star is my dad, the XMan.

I've had many dreams with the Xman since he passed 15 years ago this month, and I adore these dreams. I didn't know what to do with them at first. Good god, some have been exceptionally vivid. Often, at some point, I'd realize I'm dreaming — just dreaming — and I'd wake up in tears, missing my loving dad.

But now, 15 years into this situation, this loss, this reality, this acceptance, I embrace these random dreams with my dad — usually at Chippewa, for whatever reason, or sometimes in a basement in Brecksville or Garfield Heights. I've learned how to elongate these dreams, milk them. Ooh, baby, I must say this: It feels so good to spend time with my deceased dad.

I wonder how many other people dream about their lost loved ones and enjoy the experience. Who knows? But I wonder.

OK, I'm not trying to be overly emotional, or sentimental. I'm not calling out for help or attention. I also must say that they're not too common. Maybe one, or two, a year? They emerge more around the holidays.

I've learned how to just step back, let the moment develop and cherish the time — in life and my dreams. X and I will be playing gin rummy, and we'll just glance at each other. He'll play a card; I'll play a card. Nothing special on the surface, but I'm with him. And something feels right, loving. It's wonderful.

Memories. Dreams. How do they work? SS. Peter & Paul. Chippewa. Los Olivos. Naples, Fla. I'm in New York now. My memories and dreams often converge on different, distinct places.

Of course, I had to do an Internet search about what dreaming of deceased relatives might mean, and, honestly, whatever, I don't know and don't care. It's more important to know the depth of love I have for those close to me.

I guess meaningful moments are all around us, and maybe a little wisdom is that I recognize them more and stack the deck. When I recognize something incredible happening in actual life, I try to expand that moment and recognize the specialness of that time — yeah, kind of like the slo-mo scenes in The Matrix. Maybe I'll just concentrate on creating more memories with loved ones that one day will return to someone in a dream.

Gen Xers must resist the distraction economy

"I'm working, but I'm not working for you. Slack mother******!"

Well, Happy New Year, Gen Xers! Something hit me the other day: It's possible that we Gen Xers have lost our way.

While I know variance exists within generations, Gen Xers — universally — used to stand for something. We used to be disaffected and cynical, and we popularized alternative rock, grunge and indie rock. We used to be cool, man.

Now, I'm not so sure what we stand for. We sold out, man, and we sold out for cheap. So this is a call for us Gen Xers to get off our phones, stop being distracted, get informed and fight for something we believe in. It's time to return to our Gen X roots.

Considering how the United States' media appeals to the lowest common denominator, it's time to give up on the gross, mainstream pop culture of this country and seek information elsewhere (if you haven't already). I highly recommend using DW from Germany as a national/international news source, and I also recommend limiting news infotainment and social media to 10 minutes a day and getting off that darn phone.

Unfortunately, in our current attention economy — which is more accurately called the distraction economy — many of us consume ourselves with nonsense. Whether it be social media, video games, political b.s. or reels, we give away our time to the digital slop-o-sphere, and I contend we don't actually want to spend our time that way.

We need to return to our Gen X roots of the '90s, when we knew that we'd have to fight to keep our souls because the U.S. economy had grown so huge and cruel that corporate life couldn't possibly work for us. (And, yeah, we knew that way back in the '90s.)

Recently, DW published the International Rescue Committee's Top 10 crises the world can't ignore in 2026. Guess what? I did not see the presidential ballroom, Epstein files or mindless U.S. propaganda in echo chambers on the list.

Rather, I realized that, more or less, the U.S. has turned its back on the actual world's crises and instead, enabled crisis No. 2, Palestine, in which 70,000 have been killed, 80 percent of the buildings have been destroyed or damaged and 90 percent of the population has been displaced. What peacemakers we are!

The U.S. ended USAID this year, and I find this morally reprehensible. The world's largest economy killed a huge international humanitarian organization. Yes, it kept 17 percent of its budget and put that in the State Department, but this is a loss. USAID had been around since 1961, and it is estimated that it help save the lives of 90 million people in its existence.

Now, USAID is wrangled lawsuits, and do we ever hear about this in any U.S. news sources? I don't think U.S. citizens are meant to. We have some sort of two-party-echo-chamber system in which discussion of actual issues rarely happens. I believe the masses are meant to consume, consume and consume, mostly digitally, and be sucked into this distraction economy and just accept that.

So what are we to do? Well, remember that the Superchunk anthem says, "I'm working, but I'm not working for you..." We got to get off our phones and get to work.

My suggestion is to think of a cause that really matters to you and do something about it. Replace screen time with action. If you can't find a cause, then maybe replace it with creating some sort of art or craft. Let's replace all this distraction with something worth our time.

I believe this sentiment is leaking through U.S. media, too, thankfully. This week, the Associated Press ran a story about how the U.S. needs a return to volunteerism, and I agree with this. With the billionaires and oligarchs and their corporations obviously not stepping up to help societal ills whatsoever, we everyday individuals are forced to do that on some level. ... Might as well. 

While it's unrealistic to go completely without screen time, we can reclaim our lives by limiting our digital world and living the Gen X life we want where we actually help ourselves and others. Yeah, slack, mother******.

Jay Stor spirals into gambling madness

The adage goes: "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

However, my buddy Jay had such an extraordinary time there recently that I fear the experience may have changed him — for the worse.  He had too good of a time.

Jay used to be a pretty boring guy, focused on his job doing academic research. Turns out, I love that guy! Of late, all he does is talk about his Vegas trip, and he's hanging out at the Commerce Casino, the Bike and even the Hawaiian Garbage Casino every single night.

"I don't see any problem with winning at gambling," Jay told me. "With all my research, I figured out how to win at craps, Blackjack and baccarat. Why is that wrong?"

Well, I'll tell you what's wrong. He's neglecting his database, JSTOR, and he's devoting his life to tomfoolery as opposed to compiling peer-reviewed Tier 1 academic sources.

Honestly, I blame myself and my Cal State University Long Beach student teacher. We thought it would be cool if we loosened Jay up a bit and took him to Vegas. But when we showed up at his place, he looked like this:

We were like, "Whoa, whoa, Jay, we're going to Vegas. You got to loosen up, buddy. Can you wear anything fun? Y'know, Vegas style?"

He went to a dressing room and returned looking like this:

So I vaguely feel culpable for Jay's decline into casino madness. However, honestly, I didn't see it coming. He was always such a staid, play-it-by-the-book type of guy. When he was winning at craps, Jay really looked as if he were having the time of his life.

I cannot even count the number of times I've told him, "No, Jay, I will not be meeting you at the Commerce Casino tonight. And, no, I won't be at the Bike either!"

I keep urging him to return to his normal Jay Stor self. What would the New England Journal of Medicine or Harvard Law Review think of this behavior? I am not liking his new methods one bit.

"Do you know what it's like to be me?" Jay once asked me. "Do you what all of the academic pressure is to have such an extensive database? Let me live, man. Let me live."

OK, I'll concede. I don't fully understand what it's like to be Jay Stor. It's hard for me to abstract what that's like; I haven't walked a mile in his database shoes. But for the sake of his wife, Julia Read, he needs to check himself before he wrecks himself. Please, Jay, please, stop going to the casinos!

This special league is lit

I've laced up my Pumas. I'm donning a '90s indie rock T-shirt (tonight it's Pavement). I'm at the Long Beach Beer Lab for the Long Beach Pinball League. Gonzo, our league's president, announces our pairings, and — boom — my name pops with three others for my night's competition.

Is this even for real? Is this some sort of dream? Somehow, miraculously, I've stumbled across the Long Beach Pinball League, and — ba da ba ba ba — I'm loving it.

I'm in my third season, and each season lasts just six weeks, meeting on Tuesday nights with the finals on a Sunday. The league just celebrated its third year anniversary, and it's open to anybody to join. If you want to get in on the action, email me or DM the league via Instagram. 

I already have a claim to fame — in my mind. I finished third in the Division II finals in my first season. That third-place finish is kind of shocking because, admittedly, many of my fellow competitors have much more experience and actual plans when playing. I'm still learning a lot about controlling the ball, and only know a few machines well.

How it works is that the top 8 in the regular season face off for the Division I championship. Everybody else is in Division II. Scores are determined by where you place against three others each Tuesday.

I guess I have a goal to crack into the elite 8. I'm not so sure I will any time soon because many players are in multiple leagues and are at a much higher level than me, but you never know. I finished 16th in the regular season in my second go-around, so maybe, one day. But eh, who cares?

Whimsical, tactile, nostalgic, imaginative — I could add more adjectives about why pinball is cool. Y'know, it cannot be digitally manipulated. You need to play in person. Then, when it's a league of others who feel something similarly, I've found pinball bliss.

Ever since I was a young boy, I played ... Eh, you know how Pinball Wizard by The Who goes. From Cleveland down to Columbus, I didn't play them all, but I enjoyed the silver ball.

I started enjoying pinball back in the '90s when Addams Family (1992) and Twilight Zone (1993) ruled the pinball world. When my parents moved to their Polish Mansion in Brecksville, Ohio, it came with a pool table and old timey pinball machine Top Hand (1966). Jackpot!

That was 1991, the same year I graduated St. Ignatius High School and started at The Ohio State University. Down in Columbus, we had two arcades with pinball machines — the Flamingo, AKA the Flaming O, and some other lame one I actually worked at for a few months.

Pinball was all over the place. Addams Family sold around 21,000 units and became the highest selling pinball machine of all-time, and then pinball had quite a run in the '90s, only to fizzle out by 2000, when really the only company manufacturing machines was Stern.

After Y2K, it was much harder to find, and play, pinball, but that brings us to Nov. 23, 2013. That date lives in Stevens lore because I purchased Lord of the Rings (2003) from Cal Bowl in Lakewood, Calif., for a mere $500. I had to refurbish it, but it was totally worth it as a high quality Lord of the Rings machine could go for $8,000.

I played that machine so much when I first got it, but then I eventually went stretches without playing at all. But, honestly, it's not that enjoyable to be alone with the best outcome of writing "DAD" or "CLEVELAND" for high scores. Yeah, you can play pinball on your own, but it's kind of like drinking alone.

Last month, our pinball commissioner, Gonzo, who owns more than 50 machines and is a wizard tech with them, was nice enough to come out to my abode and tune up Lord of the Rings. Oh, God, thank you, man! I didn't realize how many little things could be tweaked to get it in tip-top working order. It's totally clicking on all cylinders, or it's lighting up with every bulb, if you will.

I don't think I'll ever be in a position to be in more than one pinball league. I don't think you'll find a better league than the Long Beach Pinball League because of our array of characters. I've met some players in other leagues, and let me say this about the Long Beach crew: Our nerds are cooler than yours.

So at the end of the day, I like the people, and this pinball family has a diverse group that is more interesting than the machines. These folks come equipped with lives and stories, trials and tribulations, humor and medallions.

It's nice to have gathered some activity friends, and I look forward to Tuesday nights. If you're lucky enough to be around me as I finish my night, I might gleefully say: "See you next Tuesday!"

Cleveland: Grit and magic

As this blog is posted, my Cleveland Guardians are on the brink of their season. It all might end today — or not. But either way, I must say it has been a pleasure following this team.

It's been mighty frustrating at times, and if you follow the Cleveland Guardians as closely as I do, my overall prediction of this season likely will come true. My prediction: "These offseason moves will ensure we do worse than last year."

But before we get into that ominous, and inevitable, prediction, let's celebrate what the Guards did right. They battled — and battled — and set a Major League Baseball record for winning their division, despite being 15 1/2 games out in July. No team ever came back from a deficit that large, and we did. A ridiculous accomplishment! That is ginormous. Wow, wow, wow.

How in the world did they do that?

My answer: Grit and magic.

Cleveland is a place of grit and magic. We really don't have a reasonable offense to compete, so it makes no sense they'd come back like they did. In fact, this year, they had the second worst batting average of all 30 teams at .226. Only the Angels batted worse at .225, but Anaheim actually scored 30 more runs than Cleveland. 

Through gritty pitching and magic and the Detroit Tigers on tilt, they won the AL Central. We could itemize the starting pitchers who really came into their own, especially Gavin Williams, Joey Cantillo and Parker Messick, but to consistently win with such a low-octane offense is grit and magic.

Most people I run across, sadly, have zero grit or magic. Or if they ever had grit or magic, they quickly turn it into stupidity. If you are too much into money or are mesmerized by appearances, you have zero grit. If you believe too much into magic and make it your life's purpose, you no longer have magic. You have certainty; that ain't magic.

I sense that Bani, Dominican Republic, is full of grit and magic, and that is why Jose Ramirez took a contract below market value to become one of the best players — and leaders — of his generation. You could only possibly do that if you have grit and magic and come from a place like that, like Bani. Jose Ramirez: Mr. Grit and Magic.

So on the brink of the season ending, I must say that with the offseason moves, the management of the Guardians assured they would not improve upon making it to the American League Championship Series.

After being one series from the World Series, they traded an All-Star first baseman, Josh Naylor, and a Gold Glove winning second baseman, Andres Gimenez. Both are on teams with AL playoff byes right now. Gimenez is with top-seeded Toronto, and Naylor is with second-seeded Seattle. Oftentimes, the best move in poker is to check. Why didn't you just stay pat, guys?

I don't skirt away from the economics of the game. I understand that the Guards are in a perpetual "cut payroll" mode and that they want to get something for players before they leave as free agents. But they absolutely, positively needed Josh Naylor this year as a bat who could hit behind Jose Ramirez, regardless of who is on the mound.

Without Naylor, in yesterday's Game 1 loss to the Tigers, they had a minor leaguer hitting fourth who had no business being on a playoff roster, let alone backing up Jose Ramirez. Of course, being down 2-1 in the ninth inning, Jose led off the inning by getting a single and getting to third with no outs. The Guards simply had no one who could bring him home in that situation. Josh Naylor would have.

Naylor's stats were exceptional this year, and if he and Gimenez stayed put, I believe the Guards would have been the top seed in the AL this season. But shoulda, coulda, woulda. Management made horrible moves in the offseason, yet Jose and his minions somehow recovered to get in the playoffs. It shouldn't have been that hard, management!
 

I'm not sure I'll ever see my Guardians win a World Series in my lifetime, and I'm at peace with that. They have been oh-so-close in 1997 and 2016, making it to extra innings in Game 7 of the World Series in both of those years.

But I've learned that sports, and life, isn't only about the final result. It's about the process, and even though I'm bitter about letting Naylor go when we still had him under contract, I still don't believe there is a more enjoyable club to follow than Cleveland.

So, yeah, I'm critical of the moves because the Cleveland media — mostly owned by the Guardians — somehow glossed over the huge negative impact of getting rid of Naylor and Gimenez. However, honestly, the franchise is absolutely excellent at developing pitchers, and that is what matters most.

Pitching, yes, is much, much more valuable than hitting, but you can't have completely inexperienced minor leaguers behind Jose Ramirez. That's disrespectful to both Jose and the fans.

Grit and magic. Jose has it. Josh Naylor has it. Let's hope that management understands that when you have grit and magic, you keep it as long as possible. If not, you face elimination on Oct. 1 and are lucky to just be there.

Facebook's monopoly needs to end

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read more books worthy of recommending, the list continually updates. Today, "Careless People" by Sarah Wynn-Williams enters the Humanity in the Digital Age category.

 

Back in the day, I used to criticize television for being too addictive and manipulative, especially to uneducated folks, and I felt TV typically promoted lowest common denominator thinking. Then, undoubtedly, somebody would say, "Well, you can always turn it off."

OK, fine, true, the "you can always turn it off" retort perhaps worked with TV. But you just can't say the same about FANMAG (Facebook, Apple, Netflix, Microsoft, Amazon and Google) because it's impossible to escape these tech giants in everyday living.

The United States government — and the world's governments — desperately need to reign in these behemoths, especially Facebook and Google. Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism (2025) by Sarah Wynn-Williams strangely does not have Facebook in its title, but it is all about the author's seven years at Mark Zuckerberg's company that conveniently refused to consider ethics in its drive for expansion and profit.

Facebook, now called Meta, is a morally reprehensible corporation that willfully targets the vulnerable for engagement and by doing so, has worsened modern living. The corporation contributed to the end of local news media. It basically created selfies and self-centered advertising and echo chambers. It changed business and commerce so much that actual Facebook is passé now, and we live in an engagement-centered Metaverse that is at best amoral, but most likely completely immoral.

Facebook also has changed the outcomes of elections — especially Donald Trump's victory in 2016. Wynn-Williams honestly and skillfully walks us through her experiences at the company as its global public policy director. She confirms things about data and engagement that we suspect and a disregard to morality, and she has first-hand experiences of this. At the end of the day ... Sarah Wynn-Williams is a hero!

It make sense to me that Wynn-Williams originally is from New Zealand because I just don't see an American having the moral fortitude to stand up to Big Tech and stand up for important issues. Honestly, I am not even sure many Americans even care that much about the oligarch system of capitalism and Big Tech's rampant, hostile, unregulated take-over of modern economics, politics and socialization. To me, many Americans appear happy to over-consume, be overweight and live in a chubby haze of ignorance.

Americans, by and large, are on a toxic hamster wheel of constant work and consumption, and they just want to be obsessed by minor issues, celebrities, fear, misinformation or nonsense. Many have zero capacity for system thinking and realize that when FANMAG's market cap is bigger than nearly all countries, except maybe the U.S. and China, we have a real problematic balance of power shift that is not at all moral.

Wynn-Williams' book is masterfully written as it walks us through the glee in which many of us thought Facebook could be to the gross muck it is today. To me, a painful highlight of the book is when she explains how Meta seizes upon teenagers feeling worthless and how it markets to them in those moments.

Other eye-openers are the details on how Facebook literally put people on the ground in the Trump 2016 campaign and market ads of issues important to specific, vulnerable people on both sides. What stood out to me is that the Trump campaign and Facebook also posted constant anti-Hillary Clinton ads to liberals who were in the Bernie Sanders camp and minorities who were undecided.

The book also made me realize how billionaire oligarchs remain in power for lifetimes, while politicians come and go. It also made me see a few positive details and signs of hope, such as how Brazil was on the forefront of tech regulation and how Australia's ban of social media among teenagers should be a global regulation.

Careless People devotes a lot of time to Zuckerberg's goal to make China a client of users. That never happened, but China remains the second most lucrative market to Meta because of its ads. A quick aside: Why are people so worried about the Chinese government having access to data when the tech companies already have it and are using it against us with constant guerrilla engagement strategies and marketing?

Facebook started as a way to connect with friends, and it soon contorted to political marketing and product marketing without any ethics behind it. Engagement, engagement, engagement. We owe it to ourselves to stay away from the toxic site.

Searching for Sasquatch

Apparently, I find it a good idea to camp — like sleep in a tent — every 36 years. I recently camped with a group of five at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, and the trip functioned as a reset to my take on modern living.

OK, this was the first time I camped at an actual site with specified slots. A bathroom, fully equipped with 5-minute showers for a dollar, hung out right by our slot. The last time I camped in a tent that I remember was the start of my junior year in high school when I went on a wilderness retreat with fellow St. Ignatius high schoolers.

Immediately, my mind clung to that trip 36 years ago when interesting character Dan Cavoli ran it. I remember going to the bathroom in the middle of the woods with nobody remotely close to us. Honestly, I highly doubt this scenario would fly today. Would I send my teenager to Mammoth Cave with a group of teenagers with only one adult who wasn't even a current teacher at the school?

Interestingly, these thoughts crept in, only after a phone call to my brother, Fred, who informed me that Dan Cavoli passed away last year. But I was calling Fred to determine where exactly he proposed to Judi in Big Sur, which he did. And, man, he picked an ideal spot. Totally beautiful there. Like, wow.

It was only after my trip, when I pinned down Fred, and was like, "Dude, where exactly did you propose to Judi because I'm pretty sure I was just there?"

And brother Fred responded, "The sun, sky, clouds, ocean mist, mountains, floral landscape and rainbow all came together at the top of the heavenly plateau way back in 2011."

Presumably, the exact spot was at a scenic overlook in Big Sur. I had thought it could have been Pfeiffer Beach, which is pretty breathtaking.

I'm open to camping more. I won't be a camping addict, but I'd do it again. Some overly use the word "glamping." But I think camping often is like that, especially at a camp site.

Matt Kalinowski, a good friend for the past 25 years who I have referred to as "The Polish Falcon himself," is a big-time camper, and he helps me see the major value in unplugging and getting out in nature. A Southern California native, Matt transplanted himself to Portland, and that's only helped him become a wily, skilled, adventurous sort.

"It's the purity of being human," Matt said. "Everything is so defined. You have fire, shelter, food, water, and you cover them in certain ways. There's a beauty to focusing on the basic elements we need."

Matt does a lot of camping in the summer in Oregon and after 2020, started doing solo trips. He has so much experience that he's safe and prefers to be outside of campgrounds. So he's out on his own in the wilderness and estimates that he does about 40 nights a year in the wilderness. 

"When you go with groups, you're lucky to go once or twice a year, coordinating everybody's schedules," he said. "I did my first solo trip, and it was amazing. It can be scary. You hear everything at night, and out here in Oregon, we have Sasquatches and shit."

This past week, in fact, Matt was here:

But Matt is on a different end of camping as me and my buddy, Tony Deville, who was kind enough to invite me on the Big Sur trip. Tony has only camped three times, but did some pretty darn scenic places, including Malibu and Yosemite. We were with an extremely experienced camper, who took us under his wing to show us some basics and somehow stay patient. That was much-appreciated.

Camping with Tony is exceptionally enjoyable, partly because of his horrific fear of bears. The good news, which we didn't learn until the last day, is that there are no bears in Pfeiffer State Park. However, on the final night, we kept hearing rustling and twice shined our flashlights upon a raccoon, which once scurried up a tree.

This raccoon, obviously, had a sweet tooth because Tony was concocting creative camp-fire marshmallows that involved strawberries, and that had to be accidental raccoon bait. Eventually, strangely, it appeared that an old lady was close to our camp site. She was out of breath and coughing. The lady was real close, but I wasn't positive it was indeed an old lady.

I asked, "Are you a person?"

Tony added, "Hey, man, are you alright?"

Our flashlights shined upon the raccoon, again. Terrible cough for that raccoon. Perhaps it's around too many camp fires at Pfeiffer. Can't say we found Sasquatch, but we did find an out-of-shape raccoon with a sweet tooth.

Dad wisdom sneaks in at Sunset

I stumbled across something unexpected a month ago, and it caught my eye. It was a tiny, makeshift memorial in Sunset Beach.

A handful of rocks and artifacts commemorating lost loved ones scattered among a small garden. The memorial seemed so random, so genuine, so public. It stuck with me, as I continued my walk through Sunset Beach onto Bolsa Chica, a California State Beach.

For my first Father's Day without my daughters, as they went to Taiwan to deliver the ashes of their maternal grandmother, it got me thinking more about my dad and less about me as The World's Greatest Father (tm).

My dad, the XMan, exited planet earth 14 years ago, and his spirit remains in me — forever. Fourteen years later, we have new perspectives, refreshed thinking, and whites says things like, "Oh my God, I didn't even realize Sixteen Candles was racist."

In a passing conversation, I once referred to the death of my dad as a "tragedy," and a good friend of mine questioned that. He asked how old my dad was. He was 63.  Then, he questioned if it really were a tragedy, and in the conversation, I realized I was so privileged that I never had really faced what I term a "profound lost."

"Sixty-three," my friend and journalist Don Jergler said. "That's tragic. That's just young."

Now, Don has a completely different story than me with his dad. Don had an older dad and lost him when he was 22. I lost my dad at age 37. His dad, Don Sr., died at 70 after a bout with lung cancer. He describes his dad as a workaholic and smoker for 30 years. He fought in World War II out of high school and later had a stake in the construction company he was employed.

"His knees were shot from hockey and construction," Don said. "He had always wanted to move to New Mexico, but he never got to enjoy his retirement."

Nor did my dad, the XMan. When he departed in 2011, it was a shock to me and my loved ones. His death came out of nowhere for us and blindsided us. The World's Most Dependable Man, my cousin Steve, was among those shocked, and six years later his mom, my Aunt Chris, passed away. Aunt Chris' passing was not sudden.

The World's Most Dependable Man's dad, my Uncle Steve is 80 now, and he spends a lot with him.

"The thing I think is that he irritates me, gets on my nerves real quick," Cousin Steve said. "I get over that real quick, though, because he's not going to be around forever. I sat with my mom and spent a lot of time with her. I'll never have that time back. And once parents are gone, they're gone. And parents probably can get on our nerves more than anyone."

Pondering my own dad's demise, I turned to my buddy Will Stecher, a history teacher at the high school I've been for 17 years. Will lost his dad at age 13, and after knowing Will for years, I never really asked about his dad and learned a whole side of him I never knew.

"He was only 39," Will said of when his father passed away. "He had juvenile diabetes, and we lost him. ... My dad was a single dad, and my mother was an addict."

As I memorialized my dad, who I love beyond belief, I realized that I was actually fortunate to have such a loving dad for my formative years. Often times, a good dad is hard to find.

Perhaps my XMan was my role model to be such a close presence in Sophie and Chloe's lives. I hope I'm not too close and give them proper space. But I know the love I have for them is felt, and understood, by all. It feels good to know that is felt, realized and accepted. Actually, it turns out these girls have love all around them as stepmom Dina loves them dearly as does their mom.

Back to Will Stecher, who explained to me his upbringing and father figures and where he is today. Will was extremely close with his grandfather and remains close with his dad's younger brother, Uncle George.

"My dad worked hard, all the time, but he was there," Will said. "I think about him every day. He was one of the best men I ever knew. I always think, 'What would my dad do?' ... The best advice I would give to any parent is to be there. Show up. That's what matters most."

Chloe improves this blog

Editor's Note: Snooze Button Generation founder and CEO Joe Stevens is insisting on including three quoted sources in each blog entry now. He is saying that three sources is the minimum needed in a basic journalistic story. While that convention may hold true for pithy sports reports, Stevens may have a conflict of interest with his so-called sources. For example, in this month's "journalistic" entry, he interviews his wife, mom and oldest daughter. I mean, come on!

Chloe Stevens is pretty amazing, and this blog does not have space for all of her over-the-top, pre-college accomplishments.

But what I can say is that she is so inspirational to this dad that the Snooze Button Generation (tm) blog will be changing its format — hopefully forever — to include at least three quoted sources in each entry.

Now, back in the day, having three quoted sources was the norm in certain journalistic pieces, but that's pretty basic. Journalists need to seek truth and balance, and the more sources in a story, the better. Presumably, having a formulaic, three simple-quote story isn't too sophisticated, but for the Snooze Button Generation blog, it may improve the first-person, Op-Ed type of stories that appear here.

Subconsciously, I believe Chloe had something to do with this. She has a modus operandi of leaving things better than she encountered. That happened with various aspects of high school. I believe she embodies such excellent traits, including persistence, integrity, honesty and empathy, that she inspires others around them to be better version of themselves — her dad included.

"Chloe is diplomatic and emotionally intuitive," said Dina, my wife and Chloe's stepmom. "She's a good soul and can be funny. She has a good sense of humor. She's a good kid. She understands emotion on another level."

Perhaps an unexpected benefit from having divorced parents is seeing how people live similarly, but also differently. When I grew up, as a youngster, I just assumed all families did things how mine did. Later, I realized the differences and wiggle room that people have in everyday living, from food to sleep to routines and more. Perhaps being in a divorced situation forces kids to be a little more resilient, open-minded and learn how to deal with different people.

Chloe and I are big proponents of routine. I like a set schedule, and then I like to bring out my creativity within the context of that schedule stability. However, I need to plan more spontaneity — joke intended.

Ok, so, Chloe — whom I used to call gumball as a baby and toddler— I just feel I've had a special bond with her from the day she was born. She's like a daughter to me. Well, wait, uh, she is indeed my daughter.  

"I probably live in her shadow," Sophie said of her younger sister. However, when pressed on what exactly that means, Sophie did not elaborate.

Chloe will be joining Sophie at UC Berkeley in August. Sophie is studying computer science, data science and applied math and will land on one of those for her major. Chloe will be in Berkeley's aerospace engineering program.

With these two daughters each valedictorians (perfect 4.0 GPAs) at Millikan High School, it could be easy to pretend there is a link between parental love and accomplishment. Absolutely not. Whatever these two do, this dad would support.

Contradictorily, it is nice to brag that Chloe was captain of her badminton team, got to play violin alongside the Long Beach Symphony this year, will have passed 13 AP tests and got a medal for being one of Millikan's top math students. Perhaps she's been elite when it comes to learning for a long time.

"Chloe astounded everyone when she began reading the Harry Potter books at age seven — with comprehension," Chloe's grandma, Anne Stevens said. "She was just such an easy child, and she always was, and is, such a pleasure to be around."

The other day, Chloe was saying that pretty much anybody can learn anything if they focus and try hard. Her dad agrees, but would add that there needs to be authentic learning conditions supported, first, by the parents and, second, the schools and teacher.

Nowadays, and even back when I was in school, I notice that learning is often performative or just short-term memory games and we're just pretending to read. Nobody really reads To Kill a Mockingbird. Right?

Honestly, as an educator, my best advice in raising kids would be 1) love them, yes, love them with all of your heart, and 2) read actual books as opposed to going through reading motions. The parent needs to read, too.

Chloe read with her dad every night before bed until the middle of middle school. She lasted until she was bombarded by homework. This dad is utterly proud of her, not because of her accomplishments, but because she is a responsible, empathetic and loving person.

"She's exceptional, unique and incredible," Dina said. "There are too many adjectives to fit in your little blurb, Joe."

Meaningful work combats cortisol

In his famous 2008 book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell asserts that the three key components of meaningful work are autonomy, complexity and a clear relationship between effort and reward. I believe those elements make sense, yet I wonder if they hold true in our digital, AI world.

Meaningful work. What does it entail? How many of us have it?

Luckily, I have had two professions — journalism and education — that warrant meaning. Using Gladwell's definition, autonomy, complexity and reward (good enough reward, I suppose) have been a part of my careers. Thank God for that because I spent 12 years as a journalist and 19 as an educator. That's a big ole chunk of time.

I consider myself privileged to be fortunate enough to choose professions because I know that many have no choice, whether it be out of financial necessity, family or cultural norms. I am hoping that youngsters don't feel too much pressure when it comes to making a living and make wise choices on their career path.

My unsolicited advice to any youngster about to embark on an occupation or study for one is to understand that professional growth and development is a cycle. I stumbled across the illustration above with "The Cycle of Meaningful Work," and I find that it rings true.

In work, or even in one's personal life, discovering, learning, building and thriving are crucial. Meaningful work is never finished, and that's a good thing. If we ever feel as if "we've got this" or "been there, done that" or "this is so easy, I can do it in my sleep," I highly doubt we are professionally fulfilled.

Another way to look at our professions, or personal lives, is to point out how important learning is. I was stuck in a minor rut last month, and part of the reason was that things had gotten a little stale. Finally, I had a spring break, which was exceptionally late this year, and I reset my mindset.

But I worry for those who can't reset, or are stuck on the hamster wheel of meaningless work. Last year, the Surgeon General released a report called Parents Under Pressure that pointed out 41 percent of the 63 million parents in the United States said that they were so stressed they could not function and 48 percent of parents reported they felt "completely overwhelmed."

It seems to me that modern work typically involves the cell phone, which is an omnipotent stress-inducing cortisol machine. We might think the phone is a dopamine-eliciting, pleasure-inducing toy, but, nah, in order for the algorithm to keep the user there, it constantly enacts, or tries to enact, cortisol.

The state of the news media, politics, TV shows and movies, by and large, is a cortisol factory. But for anybody lucky enough to have lives with meaningful work, whether it be professional and/or personal, I say there is a chance this combats stress.

For anybody without meaningful work, I wonder if it is a perspective issue, or if their job truly is toxic. Good coworkers, and a sense of belonging, go a long way. But chances are, based on the Surgeon General's report, that our fellow coworkers are completely stressed. How does that affect everyone?

I don't have any simple solution for combatting chronic stress, but there has to be hope. We all can put ourselves on a path to finding meaningful work, or we can revision our current work. Maybe, only maybe, we can lose some of our stress and find more joy, and meaning, in our lives.

Attention doesn't equal cool

Editor's Note: Although a lot of the focus of this blog entry is the deleting of the Pokemon Go app, Snooze Button Generation founder and CEO Joe Stevens reinstalled it about two weeks later. Say what? He says he was walking much less without the app, and he "claims" he can handle Pokemon Go without it overwhelming his life.

Try as I might, but this Gen Xer just can't stay addicted to his phone — like the Gen Z kids. At the end of the day, maybe we more seasoned folks aren't meant to be on our phones so much. Oh well.

Last week, I took a major step in curbing my phone use by deleting Pokemon Go. I went on a field trip to spa-like Cal State Fullerton, tried to do a Pokemon party with a student and then realized he was playing the game the whole time and even walked into somebody.

Wait a second. Is this what I look like when I'm mindlessly spinning Pokestops and collecting constant Pokemon? Ugh. I don't want that.

I deleted the app, and my life almost instantly got better. The curious thing is that I just wrote about my Pokemon addiction two months ago. Perhaps that blog entry made me realize how silly it was. While it's great to walk 30 miles a week, do I really need to be on my phone during those miles? And do I really have to walk 30 miles every single week?

This whole Pokemon Go addiction, just to be abruptly deleted, has me pondering how pop culture has gotten so ephemeral that I need to reevaluate where I spend my time. Also, I am wondering if our attention-economy pop culture world now is destined to be utterly uncool because of its tech-enforced, engagement-calculating parameters.

Surprisingly, I find my time — and attention — valuable, and I just don't want to waste it on mindless scrolling or the completely unnecessary 24-hour news cycle or Podcasts (I much prefer music). Yes, I will indeed live the majority of my life away from tech and pop culture, but then what do I do when I want to dabble in a movie or TV show or music or whatnot? I'm not deleting all of pop culture from my life, like Pokemon Go.

This blog functions as not only a record of my life, but a record of pop culture for Gen Xers in my demographic. A topic needs to grab my full attention for me to write about it, and I've noticed some things that have grabbed my attention have come and gone, like the wind, Bullseye. They're gone now. Poof. 

The Podcast SmartLess and Costco jump to mind. Against my better judgement, I lauded SmartLess two years ago, but I had already seen that the Podcast's utter focus was commercialism. Then, it became even more commercial, and even more commercial, and I haven't had a desire to listen for a long, long time.

Last year, I wrote about how I finally succumbed to joining Costco. That membership lasted a year. Hey Costco, I'm good; your novelty wore off. Plus, my family prefers its big-box items from Target, so OK then.

As I ponder my reversals on Pokemon, SmartLess and Costco, I guess it all goes back to the first Noble Truth of Buddhism. Nothing is forever, and this is painful.

While I am not sure the Buddha envisioned that truth applied to Pokemon Go, I believe that truth is important to remember as the world often appears to be changing with warp-like speed. But is it really?

I'd like to think people are the same as 30 years ago. But perhaps modern technology, like comments on YouTube videos, brings out the worst in people. Perhaps modern technology pushed individuals into being way less cooler versions of their ultimate selves. 

Media-wise, if we're living in this winner-take-all, attention economy, then it's exceptionally hard for anything to be cool in that space. I mean, really. Once anything goes viral, isn't it passe by then? If the masses determine what gets attention, isn't that completely uncool and unworthy of our attention? 

It's kind of like when the frat boys started to like Pearl Jam, and we just knew, OK, Pearl Jam just isn't worth our attention any more. But now, it's not just the frat boys, who happened to be in college by the way, adding the likes to Pearl Jam. It's everybody. I mean everybody.

And it doesn't matter how uneducated, or clueless, one is. Your phone attention counts as one engagement as does the engagement of The World's Most Sophisticated Man. But, wait, isn't it highly likely that more uneducated folk are on their phones longer than the smart ones? Of course. Ahh, no wonder the world looks like it does!

It reminds of a George Carlin joke: Think of how dumb the average American is. Then, understand that half of the country is dumber than that!

And now, these people, who do not have the capacity to read full-length books, have slot-machine supercomputers in their pockets. Buzzes, beeps, memes, a red circle with a number in it, zero regulation — how could society not denigrate?

But, alas, I'll still hit up pop culture to escape that ugly truth, and where I put my attention is crucial. While White Lotus and my glorious Cleveland Guardians appear absolutely worthy of it, I have to be pretty discerning with my attention.

John Mulaney, for example, had a killer show about L.A. about 10 months ago, and now it's no longer about L.A. and is about nothing in particular. Totally uncool now — but at least the show's opening sequence remained.

Creative nonfiction at its highest level

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read more books worthy of recommending, the list continually updates. Today, "Levels of the Game" by John McPhee enters the Sports category.

Blown away.

It's been a while since I've felt blown away by a book, but John McPhee's Levels of the Game (1969) did it to me. I must admit that right off the bat, I was skeptical because of the publication date.

One Hundred Nonfiction Books I Recommend overflows with 21st century books. Levels of the Game is only the 13th book I recommend from the 20th century, and only the fifth prior to 1990. Y'know, it goes back to how our reading minds have contorted in the digital age and how many 20th century books can't compete with our 15-tabs-open, notification-receiving, Podcast-listening digital minds.

Upon publication of Levels of the Game, Robert Lipsyte of The New York Times wrote: "This may be the high point of American sports journalism."

This is not hyperbole to say that Lipsyte was correct. It just very well may be the high point of sports journalism. Of the 10 categories of books I recommend, sports books are the weakest. It's not out of not reading these books, or giving them chances, but they too often are mere commercial products extolling heroes. Then, when I read the sports books that supposedly have chops, I react with: "Eh, doesn't do it for me."

In Levels of the Game, the narrative thread is genius. It follows just one match, a semifinal in the 1968 U.S. Open between Arthur Ashe and Clark Graebner. This was the first U.S. Open in the open area, and that means it was the first time pros were allowed to compete against amateurs. It used to be only for amateurs.

Both Ashe and Graebner had amateur status and earned no prize money from their matches. It was a time when they both arrived at their match via subway, and Ashe was a lieutenant in the Army while Graebner was — and still is — a paper company executive in New York City.

The match is significant because two Americans are facing off in the semis whereas no American had won the U.S. Open at Forest Hills in 13 years. The winner would have a shot at defeating either a Dutchman or Australian for the title. 

McPhee reports the path of the match and highlights significant points throughout the 150-page book. Early on, the reader realizes that McPhee has traveled to Richmond, Va., to interview and report on Ashe's background and Cleveland, Ohio, to report on Graebner. By the way, as a Cleveland native, I had quite a bonus to hear about him graduating from Lakewood High and his family moving to Beachwood as his dad attended dental school at Case Western Reserve.

One way I approached the book was to not look up the result to keep it a bit of a cliffhanger. I assumed Ashe probably was going to win because, honestly, I had never heard of Graebner. But Graebner won the first set 6-4 and had a pretty untouchable serve, so let's just say this, if you don't want a spoiler's alert, stop reading here.

The match itself is secondary to exploring the lives of the two, who were Davis Cup teammates and comrades. On Ashe's side, we see what life was like, training under Dr. Robert Johnson, who created a tennis academy for African-Americans in Lynchburg, Va. We also see glimpses into Ashe's father, Arthur Sr., and learn that Arthur Jr. lost his mother at age 6 when she was 27 and had complications from a pregnancy.

In Graebner's world, we see how he was an only child, and he and his father were obsessed with tennis. Graebner, who wore black glasses and had a striking resemblance to Clark Kent, was a power server in a time in which players still used wooden rackets.

When the match gets tied 6-6 in the second set, the narrative shifts to the players' assessment of each other as well as their different ideologies. Then, a lengthy quote from Ashe that extends beyond a page explains his relationship with Graebner, his humanity for the Clevelander and the complexity of Ashe's empathetic position in culture, despite facing many oblivious to society's ills.

The nuanced quote is so insightful that it probably doesn't serve it well to take any of it out of context, but here goes: "(Graebner's) a nice guy, but he has become accustomed to instant gratification. As soon as he wanted something, he got it. Put all this on a tennis court, and the high-strung part, the conservative, and the need for instant gratification become predominant."

In era before tiebreakers, the match gets tied 6-6 in the second set. Graebner finally loses his serve for the first time in the match to conclude the second set, 8-6. So weird to think of that game, that moment. Where would we be if Graebner holds on?

In the third set, Ashe leads 6-5. It's Graebner's serve, and Ashe takes a love-15 lead. McPhee points out that at this juncture, the two have played 186 points. Each player has won 93 points. But from then on ... it's all Ashe. He wins that game and the match in four sets.

Ashe goes on to win the U.S. Open final the next day, and he also wins the Australian Open (1970) and Wimbledon (1975) in his career — three Grand Slam titles. Beyond tennis, Ashe had a gift for diplomacy and leadership, and even when Levels of the Game was published, he had visited the White House four times by age 26.

Toward the end of the book, Ashe says a few memorable things, including the constant judgment and stress he faced. "It's a great feeling to away from all this crap in the United States. Mentally and spiritually, it's like taking a vacation. It's like going from New York to the black world of Richmond and Gum Spring. Your guard goes down. Everywhere else I go, my sensors are out. Everywhere."

A few pages later, McPhee explains a lot of the criticism Ashe endured. Then Ashe, who we lost at age 49 in 1993, answers the criticism with an eloquent, three-page quote in the final few pages of the book.

My favorite part of the quote is this: "We'll advance by quiet negotiation and slow infiltration — and by objective, well-planned education, not an education in which you're brainwashed. Education reflects a culture's values. If that culture is warped, you get a warped education."