Connections

Ben Stein wrote a nice article in today's New York Times. He sets the stage by saying that he's flying first class from a movie shoot, and then he writes a quite loving reminisce about how he owes his entire success to his parents and, more broadly, to the professional "connections" that his parents helped him make.

Ben's got one of those non-linear lives. An economist by schooling, a lawyer by trade, he quickly gained traction as a writer. Parlaying his connections as a speechwriter for the Nixon administration, he ultimately landed a role in that cultural touchstone of a movie, Ferris Bueller's Day Off. (Ben's famous line is him calling "Bueller?... Bueller?...". You'll know it when you see it.)

In this article, Ben says: "I write mostly about investments, and they are important. But for most people everywhere, their livelihood comes primarily from working. Their success depends largely on a combination of education, ability, work habits and connections. If you are like me and a great many other people who fly first class, you started out with some connections and made the most of them, or at least made something of them."

I was thinking about connections today, because a work colleague reached out with a "friend" request to my MySpace account. I was thrilled! As Ben says, success comes from having connections, and making the most of them.

Ben Stein's article ends with a call action. Learning about "jobbing", and making connections, is not at all obvious. He suggests forming some kind of link between helpful adults and kids to help foster this knowledge. He suggests that this would be one way to close the gap of financial inequality in this country. From one connection, you too can be flying first class, or at least be on your way.

Web Two Oh

I spent the past half hour updating my wife's blog (in which she primarily talks about knitting). She needed to add some "buttons" to her site (those little icons that reflect some affiliation). Come to think of it, I should probably add a few of those on my BLOG. "Like what?" you might ask. "Like these: LibraryThing, Flixster, del.icio.us, GolfBuzz, and Bloglines." Stay tuned!

Father's Day

An old friend of mine from college just recently announced to me the birth of his first baby, a boy named Austin. Delightful news to be sure! Probably the only advice I have for him, or for any new Dad, is to remind yourself constantly that "it goes by quickly." The days (and for my friend, the nights) may seem long, but before you know it, your children are in kindergarten.

Happy Father's Day, to all the Dads who read this BLOG.

Wedding Day

I always thought that I'd remember every single detail of my wedding day. Instead, I can only recall a few moments: a brief fire alarm at the reception hotel the night before the big day; me and my friend James having a quick cigarette outside the gas station on our way to the church; the homily at our ceremony; the highly festive mood at the reception. I remember how our whole wedding day finished by 2 or 3PM, and that Jenn and I ordered room service at the hotel.

The day itself now feels insignificant, after these many years. There was a report on the news the other day about a wedding couple who got swindled out of their wedding photos by a fraudulent photographer, and Jenn jokingly asked "do you even know where our wedding album is?" (It's somewhere.) The day itself, the wedding, was just the first step of a long odyssey that finds me here, thinking about where it's led. Thinking content thoughts.

Jenn and I got married twelve years ago today.

Diaries

I read an article a few weeks back about Ronald Reagan's diaries. During his presidency (1981 through 1989), he wrote a diary entry every day, in long hand. Excerpts were published in Vanity Fair, and the writing reveals a terse prose. The entry after his attempted assassination in March 1981: "Getting shot hurts."

It must be hard to write a diary when you know that scholars will one day want to read them. His diary entries were source material for his memoir, and for the press during the Iran-Contra arms sale scandal.

I've always considered diaries and journals to be private matters. I keep a diary, and I once thought I was writing it for some "future reader." Now I well understand that I'm writing only for my "future self." As such, my diary prose is often long-winded. Unlike Reagan, who didn't spell out expletives (e.g. he used "h--l" and "d---"), I use them quite liberally, and in all caps (my diaries are electronic) with plenty of exclamation points.

I'm not the president, so I can rest assured that my diary will disappear when I eventually shake off my mortal coil. But until then, I'll need to keep writing in it because "the future me" is still interested.

Padding

Marilee Jones was the dean of admissions at MIT until an anonymous tip last week led MIT officials to investigate her credentials. They sadly discovered that she did not earn a Bachelors and a Masters from Rensselaer. In fact, she only attended there for one year, in 1974. In 1979, she added the degrees to her resume when she applied for a junior role in the admissions department at MIT.

I feel badly about her downfall because she did eventually run the admissions department, when she was promoted to dean in 1997. From all reports she helped redefine the admissions process at MIT. She clearly had the talent. She spoke at conferences. She served on boards. But she didn't have the credentials. MIT had no choice but to ask her to resign. Institutions tend to frown on anything that diminishes their integrity.

Bizarrely enough, in my own industry, not one single person has asked for proof about my own credentials. Eventually, I suppose, the history of your work speaks for itself. I think the most anyone would do is shrug their shoulders if I announced that I did not graduate from college. Yet, I've never considered removing my degree from my own resume. I guess it pads it nicely.

VT

Reporter: "Can you describe the scene at Norris Hall?"
Chief Wendell Flinchum: "It's one of the worst things I've ever seen in my entire life."
Reporter: "Can you describe it?"
Chief Flinchum: "Not at this time."