If Men Were Angels...

If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external or internal controls on government would be necessary.

James Madison, Federalist Papers.

So, today I get a visit from a guy from the Office of Supervisory Jurisdiction of my broker-dealer...my OSJ. He will be in my office to audit my books and records. He shows up once a year with his notepad and noses around through my stuff to make sure I’m not a crook. I must provide full access to all my checking accounts, business and personal, plus he gets to rummage through my client files looking for any irregularities. During the rest of the year my OSJ is the guy who calls me whenever I make a mistake on an application, or to ask me to explain my reasoning for something I submitted. He’s like a traffic cop who constantly walks around the building looking for someone double parked. You would think our relationship would be strained, but honestly, Herb is a good dude. The way I look at it is, Herb is the guy who’s job it is to insure that I don’t get into trouble. It would be a different story altogether if I was up to no good. If my business model was based on manipulation and exploitation of my client’s money, I would hate Herb. Herb would be my enemy, because I would have a lot to hide and if Herb were to find out about it I would be finished.

I mention this in conjunction with the quote from James Madison that has been banging around inside my head recently. If all financial advisors were angels Herb would be out of a job. Because men are as far from angels as it is possible to be, Herb’s job is secure, his future bright. It’s the same way with governments. Limited government guys like me have to concede the fact that the amount of limits its possible to place on governmental power in large part is restrained by how dark are the hearts of men. Since the behavior of mankind seems to darken by the day, governments continue to grow larger and more powerful.

But the flip side is also true. We are, in fact, decidedly not governed by angels. The men and women in power over us, with a few notable exceptions, are a despicable lot, the halls of power are lined with self-serving, double-dealing, power-hungry careerists who would sell the country down the river for a large enough campaign contribution. Their selfish ambitions and the power of their reach must therefore be constrained...placing this republic in a classic bind. At a time in history when government oversight over the affairs of men is needed more than ever, protection from government malfeasance and abuse has never been more necessary. There are only two solutions. Either the citizens of this country need to start behaving better, or we better elect better people to public office.

Keep this in mind as you go to the polls.

A Word About My Kids

Feeling a bit under the weather today, an uncooperative constitution being the term one uses when one isn’t in the mood to share details. Suffice it to say that with discretion being the better part of valor and all, I thought it wise to skip my shift at Hope Thrift today. Now it suddenly looks dark and menacing outside adding to the general since of foreboding that fills my house whenever I am here alone. I have found that the older I get the less comfortable I am without Pam. We don’t even have to be in the same room. I can be upstairs engrossed in a baseball game while she sits downstairs on the sofa working on organizing something, but just knowing she’s down there comforts me.  A few minutes ago Bernadette and Issac came home from a day of chores, which helped, but its not the same as when the Queen returns.

Reading back over that paragraph caused me to laugh at myself a bit. What a freaking wuss I have become. I could have edited out the less than manly man parts but, it is what it is. She’s my girl, man.

I’ve been thinking about my kids over the past couple of days. Patrick and Sarah, down in Nashville, and Kaitlin and Jon in Columbia. I can no longer delude myself with the notion that they are anything other than fully grown adults doing grownup things. We want to hold on to our old familiar understanding of our kids, we parents, because its comforting. Things were in many ways easier when they were under our full time care. Now, we are largely powerless. Not that they are in dire need of our help, they are all handling the chaos and staggering confusion of 2020 like seasoned veterans. It’s just that sometimes it troubles me when I realize that I can no longer shield them from the cruelties of life. For one thing, they would resent my interference if I did but secondly...I’m not there. Everything would be easier if they lived closer...even 50 miles away. If one of them got sick and they only lived 50 lousy miles away, Pam would be there with a hot pot of chicken soup in a New York minute. But the paths of their lives have taken them to different places in different states for now. So we fret about them from long distance. 

Honestly, there’s not much to fret about. My kids are bright, inventive, hard working adults. Are they perfect? No, neither are we. Neither are you. But for us, they are as close to perfect as it is possible to get without becoming narcissistic bores. One thing I never get from any of them is whining, although every single one of them have had reason to whine over the past few years. They face whatever obstacle is in their way and cast about for a solution. If it doesn’t get solved right away they stay at it, grinding away. So much for the lie that Millennials are a bunch of entitled brats living in their parent’s basements. And its not just my kids. Most of the kids I consorted with back in my Youth group days (millennials all) have grown up to be hard working, big hearted adults who just have more tattoos and drink better beer than my generation ever did.

We disagree on stuff, me and my kids. They are wrong-headed on some things, but they have shown me that I’ve been wrong-headed on my share of stuff too. But, if they disagree with me it’s my own fault. I’m the one who taught them how to think, not to believe everything that every Tom, Dick and Harry says, to question big shots who are in charge...except for dad. They have done so in spades. 

The Social Dilemma....gulp

For the past four days I have woken up at 4:30 in the morning. The first time, I was able eventually to fall back asleep. Since then, no such luck. I guess its part of the readjustment back into the real world after a month in Maine. Maybe it’s the stress that comes with the business I’m in, the World Series, or something I’m eating. Regardless, 4:30 AM is  remarkable for one thing, it is an unsuitable hour for human beings to be wide awake.

So, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma. I have suspected, deep within my soul, that the benefits of social media (which are considerable), are not worth its corrosive effects on the mind. Last night, Pam and I watched the new documentary on Netflix called The Social Dilemma, which should probably be reclassified as a horror movie, because the premise as well as the testimony of its many former tech insiders is as terrifying a thing as I have watched in a very long time. You spend the hour and a half it takes to get through The Social Dilemma and the first thing you want to do is cancel every social media account with your name on it...right now. But, I am not the sort of person who goes in for knee jerk reactions. I prefer to be calm when making big decisions, not under the sway of inflamed emotions. So, this morning I’m thinking clearly, having had time to digest what I learned. So, what’s my dilemma? 

I used to be on Twitter. It didn’t take long for me to realize what a cesspool of ignorance it is so I cancelled it a year and a half ago. I do have an Instagram account but don’t really know how it works. I’m not on Snapchat, Whatsup, TikTok or Pinterest. But I have been on Facebook since about 2007 or so and as it happens, Facebook is the primary villain of The Social Dilemma. I won’t get into the weeds of the algorithms at play here and the accusations of skullduggery behind them except to say that I fully acknowledge that I have been victimized, consciously and unconsciously. If you want to understand more about how your entire worldview, your understanding of “reality” is being manipulated by the weaponization of information on your newsfeed, watch The Social Dilemma. If you would rather remain willfully ignorant, I get it. Don’t bother.

My problem is that there are things about Facebook that I like and enjoy. It allows me to stay connected to an awful lot of people that otherwise I would have lost touch with completely. Having said that, I must confess that I enjoyed it more at the beginning when it was largely populated by much younger people, kids I had taught in Sunday School and the College class I used to teach at church. In recent years it has become overrun with boring older people...like me. Nevertheless, I check it out every single day. For one thing, it’s the place where I post this blog. Probably 75% of the people who read The Tempest find it on Facebook. If it weren’t for that, I would probably go ahead and pull the plug right now. Actually, if one of my super bright readers could clue me in on how I could post this blog using something besides Facebook without losing hundreds of readers, I’m all ears. For now, I’m reevaluating my use of social media. Just in case you guys wake up one morning and realize that its been a while since Dunnevant posted anything, You’ll have to actually visit http://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/ to find me.

Cheaper Than Therapy...

Sometimes jokes do a better job of expressing truth than practically any other form of communication. For example:

How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb?

86. 12 to investigate Hillary Clinton’s involvement in the failure of the old bulb, 23 to deregulate the lightbulb business, and 51 to pass a tax credit for lightbulb changes.

Two. One to mix the martinis and one to call the electrician.

How many Democrats does it take to change a lightbulb?

17. One to change the bulb, six to talk about how wonderful it’s going to be when the new bulb is screwed in, and ten to demand increased funding for solar lighting research.

Five. One to screw it in, and the other four to screw it up.

What do you call someone in Congress who is honest, caring, and well-read?

A tourist.

My Other Life

Recess is apparently over. Since my parents did not leave me a sizable fortune when they passed, and since I didn’t marry a rich girl, and since I have not already accumulated a vast personal fortune (probably because I keep going to Maine for months at a time), today I head back to the office. Once there I will endure a gauntlet of trash talk from my friends. The air will be thick with invective, and mock-vitriol. I will be called lots of unflattering things. Comments will be made about my abysmal work ethic, how awesome the work environment has been since I left, the amount of weight I have put on, along with pleading entreaties begging me to return for a winter adventure in Maine! “Great, Dunnevant’s back. That means the average IQ of this office just took a hit.”

Actually, that’s something I would say. None of them are nearly as clever. But, I have taught all of them everything I know about trash talk, and every time I return from Maine, I feel an odd sense of pride. They all get better every year. I guess I’m just a natural teacher!

As I return to my other life, I must re-engineer my mind back to Business-mode. I must start thinking about business-y things again. I am helped in this regard by reading through the Wall Street Journal for an hour or so at the crack of dawn. It gets me caught up on all the latest information in the marketplace. Yesterday, I went in to an empty office to clear the detritus that had accumulated in my absence. Fortunately, my crack assistant had already cleared most of it away, leaving my desk clear and ready for action. While I have been away, she has been busy cleaning out and organizing my filing system. I have sensed a great disturbance in the force as she has been so engaged, even from a safe distance of 800 miles. My fast and loose organizational skills have been a constant source of irritation to her over the years. I fear that my name was used in vain on many occasions over these past four weeks. 

But I’m ready. For the most part I like what I do for a living. I enjoy the people I work with. Plus, our offices have heat, air conditioning and working toilets. What’s not to like?

Finally, in preparation for getting back to the grind, I had to consult my life-coach...Gary Larson:

Now I’m ready.

Amateurs

Ok, I know what’s coming soon to Facebook pages all across the fruited plain...adorable pictures of kids dressed up for Halloween. Well just because my own kids are now both in their 30’s and neither of them have seen fit to provide me with grandchildren, I have been forced to delve into the archives. I figure that I should get on this early to beat the late October rush. So....you think your kids are cute, do ya? You think that your little ghosts and goblins are the cutest that have even been, am I right? Sorry to burst your bubble...

Puhleeze!! You guys are a bunch of amateurs. Nobody topped the Dunnevant Pups in the cuteness department!

One more thing. What in the Sam Hill is going on, Short Pumpians? I go away for 3 weeks and when I return discover that there are literally at least a million freaking acorns everywhere!!! If we could just figure out a way to get rich in the acorn business, we’ve got enough inventory to last us ten years. Seriously, does anyone remember this many acorns falling before? My Dad used to say that a heavy acorn crop meant a long and hard winter. If he’s right, we’ll be shoveling snow in July this year. It is 2020...

A Package From My Aunt

Our 15.5 hour trip home is over, we are largely unpacked, and Lucy was ecstatic upon our arrival. All is well. Slipping under the covers of our glorious king sized bed was a nearly divine experience after three weeks sleeping in a not at all King sized bed at Loon Landing. When I step into my shower later today it will feel like walking into a conference room, and when I turn on the water the force of it will feel like a fire hose by comparison! There’s no place like home, I’m told.

One of the first things I do after returning from Maine is going through the pile of mail that has accumulated in my absence. During an election year, the pile is enormous and much more banal and toxic than the usual fare of Bed Bath & Beyond sale flyers and replacement window ads. But, you have to wade through every single item because there’s always the chance you might unknowingly throw away a commission check hidden between the pages of that Valpak circular.  In the midst of the pile I saw that my Aunt Sylvia, who lives in Florida, had mailed me a package. She never mails me a package. It was an old book. It came with this note:

Hi Doug,

I found this little joke book that your Uncle Fred had sent to Jim back in 1963 on his birthday. Enjoy.

Love to you and your sweet family,

Aunt Sylvia

September 17, 2020

Introductions are in order. Aunt Sylvia is my beautiful Aunt, the one who married my mother’s little brother Jim Dixon, on the very week of my birth in 1958. Uncle Jim was about the coolest dude in the world when I was a kid. He was a State Trooper, and an officer in the National Guard. Uncle Fred was my mysterious and endlessly fascinating Uncle, he of the multiple doctorates and vast learning, the exotic Yugoslavian wife and Michigan address. When he was home for visits I remember the way he talked, the words he used, his accent...all strange to me. But he had the warmest smile and it never left his face. Unfortunately, Uncle Jim passed away a few years ago, so Sylvia lives in Florida by herself where she is close to her son and his family. This unexpected package from her warmed my heart. 

I flipped through it expecting a bunch of really corny, dated jokes...and there were a few, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised at its content. I’m thinking that this book will be a source of material for me for years to come. Here’s a few one-liners that were deemed funny enough for inclusion back in the early 60’s...

The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.

Always remember to pillage BEFORE you burn.

Incontinence Hotline...Can you hold, please?

When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will accidentally shoot their kids.

A clear conscience is the sign of a bad memory.

My wife went to a self-help group for compulsive talkers. It’s called On & On Anon.

Not bad. Not bad at all!