Good Reads

Among the people I met this year, in the books I read and the podcasts I listened to, several really stand out.

Andrew Doyle is one, an Irish comedian known for his social commentary around identity. He writes truth better than any journalist could, better even than Matt Taibbi, who first introduced me to Doyle. The introduction came as a reference on America This Week to Doyle’s Twitter persona, Titania McGrath, who impersonates a hard-left activist and cuts such scolds to ribbons on their own swords.

Another person who influenced my thinking this year was Michael Lewis and, through him, Sam Bankman Fried. With Lewis, the influence was positive: accessible and entertaining journalism in Going Infinite that made sense of the crypto world (as much sense as can be made, anyway) and the implosion of FTX. With SBF, the influence left me appalled by the arrogance and self-delusion of someone otherwise poised to do so much good. Effective Altruism sounds really grand, but when abused its just an illusion to apologize for chasing golden eggs, eating them, and saying this is good for all of humanity, including the unborn. There’s infinite good in these yummy yolks, best consumed on my private jet to the Bahamas…

Arthur C. Clarke, who I will now call Art, probably equals SBF in arrogance, but I don’t know this for sure. I only know him through his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey, which lit my mind on fire in revealing the absolute size of our universe and the possibilities of life beyond our solar system. I derive my assumption of his arrogance from one of his protagonists who may or may not be the author’s alter-ego; since I can’t know this for sure, I’ll just call him Art and be grateful for the enlightenment.

Ok, I loved what Trevor Aaronson, Sam  Eifling, and Michael Mooney did with their book, Hold Fast. I listened to it on Audible, much of the time in late spring while running, the gritty guitar tracks adding energy to my pace. Hold Fast opens with the FBI’s arrest of Michael Lacey on his wedding day in Las Vegas, pointing guns at his octogenarian mother-in-law buck naked in the shower. Lacy founded Back Pages, made a fortune selling smutty ads, and used the largesse to support great independent journalism, the kind found in your local alt weekly. The narrative offers a glimpse at America from the sixties through the present day, which supported my work with a similar historical trajectory.

I enjoyed Mary Roach’s Stiff early in the year. My notes suggest I read it as research for a memoir, which means it was a fabulous rabbit hole I fell into, one with a good sense of humor, a strong voice, and quirky journalism. There’s only one way a book about the disposition of cadavers and the process our bodies undergo after we pass would tie my personal narrative into a broader book about the Peace Corps. Death on the Nile, where I got engaged to a Peace Corps sweetheart, and a deep dive into ancient Egypt. With rabbit holes as deep as that, it’s no wonder that part of the memoir never got written.

I found inspiration here at the end of the year in David McNalley’s account of his decades with the Grateful Dead. Many unflattering things can be said about the Dead, and have been. It’s not my job here to apologize for all that, nor is it the reader’s job to assume enough intelligence on my part to recognize it. I’ll just note that what inspires me about their story is their zealous commitment to their craft. Music, and making music, was at the center of everything they did.

Who else inspired me this year? Do you want to hear about the teachers in my sons’ classrooms, their coaches and music gurus, the everyday heroes who drove them here and cheered for them there, the aunts and uncles and grandparents who served as role models? I don’t have enough fingers and toes to write about all the people who influenced and inspired me in person throughout the year, but they certainly include anyone kind enough to read along with me. To them, I’ll just say thank you, hope we meet again soon.

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