Category: Sumana Harihareswara

Sumana, as often, prods me into deeper consideration of a topic–in this case, the aforementioned “Twixters:”

“I skimmed the article at a colleague’s request – she basically wanted to see whether I got enraged. My basic response: this should have been a one-page article containing the following points:

Rent as percentage of income has gone up tremendously in the past 30-50 years. It is harder and costlier to get health insurance at your job, especially at low-paying entry-level/part-time jobs, in the past 30-50 years. Thanks to rising college costs and the increasing perception that college is a necessary for a decent career, people in their twenties have way more debt now than did people in their twenties 30-50 years ago.

Ergo – the number of people who live with their parents goes up from 11% to 20% in 30 years.

There have always been families where grown children stayed in the house where they grew up, whether the kids were spoiled brats or not. In fact, in India and many non-industrialized countries, this is closer to the norm than to the exception.

Anyway. I just noticed the title of your Twixters entry. I automatically skipped the anecdotes in the article – probably some of them are babies or spoiled brats or cowering overgrown teens, and some of them are hardheaded pragmatic entrepreneurs, and some are pathological leeches. But the economics of the past 30-50 years point me towards, well, an economic explanation of this phenomenon.”

My response, plus reference-links:

“I agree with you on all points re: humans who move back into their parents’ homes after college. There are sound economic and social reasons for it, and in fact, growing up, it was what I always expected most other people to do (I became aware that I wouldn’t be doing so myself around age 12).

But I think the use of that statistic and the accompanying reasoning are largely unrelated to the author’s points; there’s a serious gap between that premise and his conclusions. Moving back home is not the same thing as ‘expensively educated, otherwise well-adjusted 23-year-old children… sobbing in their old bedrooms, paralyzed by indecision.’ In fact, not a single one of the people interviewed lives with his or her parents.

Part of my objection to the article is the author’s statement that ‘one way society defines an adult is as a person who is financially independent, with a family and a home,’ and his tacit refusal to consider other definitions–but I doubt he’d label a fortysomething couple, without children, living in an apartment in the city, as ‘twixters.’ I’d define an adult as a financially independent human who can handle responsibility. I joke about grad school as ‘putting off being a grownup,’ but in fact it’s nothing of the kind. I buy my own food and pay my own rent, work a white-collar job (albeit for absurdly low pay), invest time and money in building my job skills and carefully manage my debt. Why would owning a building or getting married before I was ready magically endow me with adulthood?

I also love the statements by people who are astounded that ‘everybody wants to find their soul mate now,’ or that twixters ‘expect a lot more from a job than a paycheck.’ Yeah, the conflict of choosing love or practicality in a marriage is COMPLETELY new! Not like it was a favorite topic of authors over a hundred years ago! And we all know that before 2002, nobody expected satisfaction or fulfillment from a JOB.

The rest of my objection–and the source of that post–comes from statements like those of Matt Swann, who is apparently bitter about this situation: ‘Oh, good, you’re smart. Unfortunately your productivity’s s___, so we’re going to have to fire you.’ Does ‘being smart’ mean taking six and a half years to get a bachelor’s degree (on one’s parents’ dime, I can only assume)? Before the 90s, did smart people have jobs where they didn’t have to produce? The title of the post came from the question ‘is it that they don’t want to grow up, or is it that the rest of society won’t let them?’ Great, now the people with ‘flat-screen TVs in their bedrooms and brand-new cars in the driveway’ are being Held Down By The Man.

I agree with you that your reduction contains the only worthwhile points in the article (or those that should have been in it, anyway). Making people like Swann out to be a) a mass phenomenon and b) deserving of pity is both irresponsible and incorrect. Implying that people my age are ‘huddled under [our] Star Wars comforters,’ without even anecdotal evidence for it, is worse. There’s no reason to write such material except as an excuse for the tongue-clucking condescension to young adults in which small, bitter members of older generations have long taken joy.”

Gordon Atkinson is Real Live Preacher, in case that’s not clear.

I don’t know why I don’t immediately subscribe to everything Sumana mentions, because her taste in blogs is pretty impeccable. Case in point: Real Live Preacher, whose journal I started reading only because she belted out its praises day and night. His entry today about lemons, among other things, is touching and real and sublime.

It’s so hard to make things that are quirky in real life interesting in writing. Real quirks tend to seem forced when written down, and people who lift quirks from fiction are just annoying. Gordon Atkinson’s ability to write about the facts of his life as he does is extraordinary; he illustrates the beautiful potential that public journals have, and almost always fail to fulfill.

Maria and I went to San Francisco last weekend, and it was pretty great. We left very early Saturday morning and got back very late Monday night, and although we unfortunately missed hanging out with Kris, we did get to play games and bum around with Leonard and Sumana a lot.

It was like every few hours we gained a new and spectacular privilege: aside from Leonard’s food, to which I’ll get in a moment, we discovered the mafia geese of Fairyland; we gained admittance to the residence of Kevin (more on this soon too); we got a quick-but-personal tour of Berkeley; we spent big wads of money at Games of Berkeley; and we played arcade games both vintage and new. Hell, Maria attended the national American Academy of Pediatrics conference practically by accident, and I got to have one of the first looks at Leonard’s newest awesome secret project (so awesome, he got banned from the API of at least one site!). It was that kind of weekend.

Now, Leonard’s food. It should be sufficient to say that Leonard’s fondue made me–the guy who hates cheese–like fondue, but I’m going to say more. We also got to eat his first-ever attempt at home fries, which were unfairly perfect, and his first-ever attempt at pie ice cream, which was also pretty freaking great. Leonard’s food is world peace. Leonard’s food is the answer.

As for Kevin’s house: when Ian and I were younger, we had on our 386 Magnavox computer a program called Floorplan Plus. Because we were dorks–huge dorks, the budding dorks of legend–we spent hours on that thing, designing about a million floor plans so that both of us could completely fail to go into architecture.

My houses were silly, but I always tried to make them sensible. Ian, on the other hand, was constantly reinventing a place he called Jamhouse. You can pretty much imagine what it was like: the perfect residence, as envisioned by a ten-year-old boy. And Kevin’s house is that house, but with a better sound system and more art. It is my future house’s role model.

I need to say something about Sumana too, because she was a major part of the weekend and I’ve barely mentioned her. We stopped for lunch in Berkeley at De La Paz; it was warm and we’d already walked a lot, and Maria (who is hypoglycemic) was getting kind of dizzy. Sumana got up, ostensibly to go to the bathroom, but first snuck over to the bar to have the lone waiter express-deliver a Coke to replenish her blood sugar. That is the kind of friend Sumana is.

Before February of this year I’d never been west of Minnesota, and now I’ve been to California three times in eight months. Two-thirds of that is due entirely to Leonard and Sumana, whose hospitality and thoughtfulness are boundless and unfailing.

I bet you were wondering whether, early this Saturday morning, Maria and I were going to fly out to San Francisco and visit Leonard and Sumana and Kris.

Well, GUESS WHAT!

Update 10.08.2004 0022 hrs: Possibly I am lying about Kris.

  • Gave away what, 60 copies of HONOR? Something like that. Two of them I traded for other ashcans (Yeperynye and The Last Sane Cowgirl), which I totally count as sales. And every copy given away was to somebody whose work I (or Will or Stephen) really respect, which is a worthwhile transaction, in my opinion.
  • Left my hat at Preview Night. Never got it back.
  • Got to meet a lot of cool people from the online.
  • Cool people I met from the online all had a curious need to run off to important, distant engagements within seconds of meeting me. Either I smell bad or I’m Creepy Interweb Fan, or (probably) both.
  • Had a really good time with Monica, Will, Stephen and Maria. And Stephen’s lady Erin, at whose residence we crashed, is maybe the coolest person on the whole planet.
  • Ran out of plane-ticket money and was unable to visit Leonard and Sumana. That was a pretty stupid mistake, and I feel really bad about it. Hopefully, a post-student-loan trip is in the works.
  • Tycho and Gabe were the coolest, most professional people at the whole freaking Con.
  • Speaking of Tycho and Gabe, I had one of the world’s most random encounters: passing by their booth, I recognized Paul Mattingly, a great guy who was in Richmond Children’s Theatre with me a billion years ago and who now works as a Klingon and Second City understudy (!) in Vegas. I literally hadn’t seen him in over a decade. He even has a site, The Famous Paul, though I understand that’s mostly a placeholder for the moment.
  • Getting to California by train was interesting, right enough, and I’m glad we tried it. but the people who work for Amtrak seem unhappy and unhelpful and it’s very bumpy. I think I’ll pretty much be flying from here on out.
  • I thought about taking a whole bunch of stuff to get signed, but eventually decided against it. I had a better idea. Thanks to the unlined pocket Moleskine my family got me for my birthday, I now possess what can only be referred to as

    The Greatest

    SKETCHBOOK

    Ever In The History Of Time

    which basically means I win.

I managed to take a whole roll of film, which is good, considering I frequently manage to wish I had a camera while holding one. Probably more updates after I get that developed, but considering I still haven’t posted the pics from my San Francisco trip in February, one shouldn’t hold one’s breath.

In two days we’ll be on our way to Alton, and thence to California; I’ll finally be meeting Stephen and Erin and Kris, and a great host of other humans, not to mention buying a great many new comics. And I’ll get to see Leonard and Sumana again! And it’ll be my first cross-country trip on a train! I EXPLODE WITH AWESOMENESS!

It’s strange to think that we’ve been planning this for almost an entire year; I was investigating possible trip companions and talking about prices with Stephen before the last Comic Con was over. My enthusiasm for the trip has yet to diminish even a whit, despite the fact that I’m desperately behind on… The Secret Project.

Which Will already talked about, so I guess I can too. He, Lisa, Stephen and I are putting together an ashcan comic to sell to or throw at Con attendees–something we’ve also been planning for a long time. It’s only natural that I’m not done yet, and will probably be up all night tonight finishing my section. We investigated printing prices (Kinko’s, et cetera), then ended up buying a totally sweet laser printer and an extra high-capacity cartridge for less than it would have cost to get it done at a shop. We’re going to bind it ourselves and sell it cheap, and I’ll probably put at least my section up on this “web site” once I get back and have time. I’m drawing my part based on Stephen’s script, which is a new and interesting experience for me, and I hope I get it right.

A trombonist in a brass-punk band called the Golden Showers

“One day I won’t put up with you. It’ll just be over. Where will you sleep?”

“You’ll always have to put up with me. I’ll be throwing things at you in the old folk’s home, knocking big wads of oily tinfoil right off your head. If you haven’t merged with the network by then in dork ecstasy.”

In my increasingly desperate search for materiél to scan between bouts of whanging my head against cryptic SQL procedures, I have finally committed myself to reading that old sawhorse of Sumana’s: Ftrain, residence of Paul Ford’s multiple personas and weird-category-structure Mecca. I mean, I’ve read it before, but as of today I’m reading larger chunks and really trying to grok its navigation. And it’s good. “Scott Rahin’s” columns are a quick favorite; they remind me of the amiable hate-fest that is a fact of life between certain members of the Nightlight Press Community and myself.

Been using that ol’ blockquote a lot here lately.

Maria and I were discussing the increasingly esoteric and convoluted nature of spam, just now, including the fact that much of bulk email no longer serves a discernible purpose. I frequently receive spam from nonsense names, advertising nothing, free of hyperlinks or parsible sentences.

I pointed out that one reason it’s gotten so complicated is the constant, high-speed arms race between spammer and anti-spam software vendor; as new regular expressions are devised and new efforts made to beat them, whole fields of technique can be created and discarded in a week. And then Maria said something that chilled me to my very bones.

“What if,” she said, “the vendors are putting spam out there just to keep selling their software?”

I’m terrified, now, that she might be right.

Anyway, read Spam As Folk Art.

I’ve been meaning to post both of these things forever. First, even though Jon and Amanda abandoned their blogs, they do have a homey little site now. It’s even got Lucy’s cell number on it! Watch out for those “for a good time” calls, Lucy.

Second, Mister Munson found my posts about him and wrote me! He seems like he’s having a great time, especially in his new science fiction class; as part of that, he says he finally taught Ender’s Game, which I badgered him to do for about half of my junior year of high school. I’m pretty sure that means I win. Or really, that they win.

This makes two people I know (Sumana being the other) who have taught a sci-fi literature class. I’ve never even had the opportunity to take one! Injustice!

Post Road Trip Day Something

I cleaned a lot of plates in Berkeley, pumped a lot of pain in the EFF offices. But I never saw the good side of the city… until I played Illuminati with Leonard, Seth and Zack while Sumana danced to songs about shell accounts.

Actually I saw several very neat sides of the city, including BART (which beats the tar out of TARC, I’m afraid, leaving it with one measly C) and Salon Central. I missed out on the party at City Hall, but I sure heard a lot about it. The weather was gorgeous, and I made new friends (Jacob from Alaska is three, and he and I played hide-and-seek from O’Hare to Louisville).

Recent excursions into Powellian hyperbole notwithstanding, I had a freaking great time in California, thanks entirely to my kind and generous hosts. Even though I’ve been up for about 30 hours trying to grab the tail end of all the work I missed, I don’t regret a thing, and I can’t wait to go back. Maria and I spent a good chunk of yesterday (when I should have been, um, grabbing the aforementioned work-tail) making the first real arrangements for this summer’s Calicomicon journey. The Five Lords of the Texas Eagle will sow terror and reap, um, comic books!