Author: James David (Page 7 of 20)

Like the majority of Americans, I watched the Super Bowl on Sunday. I watched with a large group of people, some of whom were small children, some of whom were only interested in the commercials and the halftime show, some of whom had a rooting interest in the game, some like me who were content to watch the sporting spectacle and make snide remarks about the commentators, and one person who had bet a multi-prop parlay. It was the first time I’d watched a sporting event with someone who had that sort of wager on a game, and I have a few thoughts.

I’ve written in this column before how I don’t gamble at casinos even though I like card games. It’s easier for me to abstain than to play a few hands of blackjack and then walk away. Sports betting is another place where I have bright line rules, horse racing when I’m at the racetrack being the only area where I don’t abstain entirely. I don’t like how betting on games changes my viewing experience. For the guy with the exotic parlay, all he cared about was how many times a certain player was targeted, how long the field goals were, and a few other things like that. Sure, he didn’t care who won, but he also couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the spectacle. He even hit the parlay after the game went into overtime, but that didn’t leave me pining for the coming full legalization of sports betting in North Carolina.

I don’t even play fantasy football anymore. I was in a league for a few years and it was a loose tie that kept me in touch with some of my friends from college, but I spent too much time tinkering with lineups and checking to see how many rushing yards so-and-so had. That meant that when I missed a draft due to lack of internet, I was okay that they kicked me out of the league and I never petitioned to be reinstated. I prefer to just follow my team and let that be that. Call me a curmudgeon if you must. I know the economics and how sports betting is becoming ever more pervasive in America. I am even conversant in the language of sports gambling. I just don’t like how it affects my own sports viewing experience.

The Broadway season is in full swing in Durham, and I took in another musical this week. This time I was seated to the right and in the middle tier of the theater. The audience for this one skewed even older than last time, but I expected that since the show was about a group of singers who reached the height of their fame in the 60s and 70s. The show was Ain’t Too Proud, the story and music of the Temptations.

I only knew a few of the songs and even less of the story. This was a true story, but it was hardly less melancholic and morose than the fictionalized one set to Bob Dylan music that I watched in January. It was actually a little jarring to have this story so interwoven with tragedy set to the music of the power ballads and love songs that made the group so famous.

The most impressive thing about the production itself was the number of costume changes that the main actors made during the show. Never mind the dance moves or the singing skills that I don’t have; I don’t think I’d be able to change clothes fast enough to make it in a show like that one. Watching is sufficient for me.

As for more substantive reflections, a line stuck with me and I felt the need to write about it specifically. “Don’t nothin’ rewind but a song.” The line was a motif of the production as the narrator expressed a few of his own regrets. Given my focus on adding activities to my life right now (something almost every night though I’m not sure how long that trend will last), it may be odd that that’s the lasting impression I took from the performance. Nonetheless I’ve been turning that line over and over in my own mind and have decided to interpret it as a warning. It’s well-timed in the midst of this season. Dwelling too long on the places where I didn’t make a home before isn’t going to help me make a home here. Only making a home here is going to help that.

On Sunday for lunch, I went to a dim sum place in a strip mall a few miles from downtown. That may seem a dingy description, but perhaps the best Chinese food I’ve ever had was at just such a place in Houston so I wasn’t deterred. I’d first seen this place on one of the best restaurants lists and then saw it in person when I visited a brewery located in the same shopping center. I had offered the restaurant as a possibility to some friends the day before but they were busy. I decided to go anyway since I’d put the idea of Chinese small bite goodness into my own mind.

One of the easiest heuristics for judging a restaurant is to look at the other patrons. If I’m going to a steakhouse, I want to see people who are dressed like the meal is a special occasion. If I’m going to a Latin place, I want to see Latinos eating the food. If I’m going to a Chinese place, I want to hear a language I cannot understand. It’s a quick way to estimate quality.

Well, this restaurant checked those boxes. Only a few of the patrons looked like me and several tables were not speaking English. I ordered with a combination of a paper card with everything written in both English and Mandarin where I wrote the number of each dish I wanted and a laminated menu where I could view pictures of the menu items if I didn’t recognize them by name (of which there were several). The pictures didn’t always help, but so it goes. There were also no forks on the table but only chopsticks. I’m sure that they would’ve brought a fork had I asked for one but I accepted the challenge. Then when the food came out the waitress rolled out a little cart and deposited the dishes onto my table.

Did I order too much food? Perhaps. I admit leaving a few bites uneaten. I wanted to try a smattering of the menu and so ordered about six dishes. I regret nothing. I’d like to go back with a group of people. That would let me eat even more different items, maybe even some of the more exotic ones. Exploring restaurants and cuisines is one of my priorities for 2024 and this was a good start.

I had two six-hour drives this week. Normally I would listen to a mix of podcasts and music on such trips, but recently Spotify launched an expansive audiobook offering and there were a couple of books that were right around that six-hour mark that showed up in my feed. I opted to listen to these instead, The Psychology of Money and The Courage to Be Disliked. These are two different books, one from a financial reporter telling short stories to exemplify different mental models around money and how not to get wiped out financially and the other a distillation of a school of psychology presented in a form similar to Plato’s Dialogues. Both presented ideas that I’ve continued to turn over in my head but I’ve not had the opportunity to discuss either with anyone else.

I don’t need Spotify in order to listen to audiobooks. It also isn’t necessary to use Audible or any other paid platform. I could just use Overdrive and combined with a library card have access to any number of audiobooks. I’ve even used Overdrive in the past, most commonly when I wanted to indulge in some escapism during my metro commute in DC. Yet now I don’t do that now. Perhaps the fact that I chose to listen to books at all during these rides is a testament to recommendation algorithms more than anything else. While there is definitely a risk of getting stuck in an information bubble with such algorithms, it was good to be fed a few things (presumably based on my podcast listening history) that brought some variety to my information intake.

I’ve found it a waste of time to listen to dense non-fiction. Such reading requires too many pauses to allow things to sink in that are not conducive to an audio format. I’ve tried a few times in the past and it hasn’t worked. In this newsletter I even wrote about an attempt to read and listen to a book at the same time to maximize information absorption. That didn’t work either. The sort of book that works in audio format for me is something lighter, the sort of book that could be part of an oral tradition. I suspect I’m not alone in that. While I’m not anticipating any more long drives like that for a while, recommendations are always welcome.

I failed in this week’s attempt at a new extracurricular activity. I picked out a happy hour for young professionals at a newish beer hall/taphouse on the other side of downtown. Happy hours are a coin flip at best for me and those odds have actually improved over time. However, I set myself up for failure with this one.

Simply put, I waited too long to walk over and so didn’t arrive until the event had already been going on for half an hour. That is a self-inflicted error and I know better. Arriving early is one of the most effective tactics for events like happy hours for me. This was one of my biggest takeaways from the book Quiet. If I get to a place early, I can settle into it and get comfortable before the decibel levels rise. This allows a mental shift for me from “I have to break into the event” to “I am a part of the event already and now others will join.” This is the battle raging in my head. My extroverted readers may have no familiarity with it but the introverts among you will empathize.  

The scene wasn’t aided by the cold weather forcing everyone inside and the venue’s concrete floors and cinder block walls. Combine that with conversation circles that had already formed and I waived the white flag on the event. Was the retreat too hasty? Perhaps, but that was what I chose. My hope is that by writing about the experience I’ll not self-sabotage similar events in the future.

I’ve had a slow start to the year in my personal life. Some of this was planned, some the result of extended holiday breaks for some of my regular events. On Sunday evening, I walked over to the performing arts center and took in a traveling Broadway production. I found a discounted resale single ticket in the middle of the front row of the upper deck and snagged it for an unobstructed view. The only things I knew about the show before seeing it were the name of the show (Girl from the North Country) and that it was a musical set to Bob Dylan music. Other than that, I was going in blind, which is not how I normally operate.

This was my second event at DPAC. For a city the size of Durham, it is an amazing venue. This was also my second time in the third deck but I don’t feel compelled to spend more money to be lower down, especially at the price I was able to get my seat. There were lots of stairs to climb since I didn’t want to wait on an elevator, but I went ahead and got into my seat early so that I could get settled in and claim the armrests before the seats filled up around me. I was on the younger side of the attendees but a few young people were there with their parents so I wasn’t the youngest.

The show itself was melancholic. It was set in late 1934 against the backdrop of an impending Minnesota winter. There were a few jokes and some cursing that brought some levity but the show stayed serious as it progressed. Not one of the characters had a happy beginning, nor a happy existence during the play itself, nor was any blessed with a happy postscript. It was an appropriate tone for a performance in the relative cold of early January and Bob Dylan music is hardly upbeat and cheerful. The set design and choreography were reminiscent of the mid-sized productions I’ve seen in New York. I actually expected more of a drop off since this was a traveling production so that was a pleasant surprise. I don’t see myself buying a season ticket this year, or for the foreseeable future, but it is nice to know that I have the option of a different type of entertainment within walking distance.

At the beginning of 2023, I left Raleigh and went to the beach for a period. I deliberately set off on January 1 as a poetic gesture to myself. The idea was a new direction and new plans for a new year. Those plans didn’t manifest as I thought they would even though I snaked my way across America and all the way to the Pacific coast before I finally turned around. I didn’t come back to Raleigh, instead opting for a new start in nearby Durham. I have definitely felt that 2023 was a year my life spent in neutral. I made the right decisions in the end even if I had wishful tunnel vision at the start.

I’ve joked recently that I no longer make five-year plans. After the way last year panned out, perhaps I shouldn’t make plans beyond the current quarter. And while that may be an exaggeration, that is roughly what I’ve done. I have work plans for the quarter and goals for the year. In my personal life, I’m currently evaluating and ruminating during the January M&A doldrums.

As 2024 begins, my focus is on adding and not subtracting—activities, trips, and friends in my personal life and systems in my professional life. I’ve committed myself to the Triangle Region of North Carolina. Now with that decision made, I can turn my attention to building my life here. Maybe I’ll even find some grace for myself in not making that commitment sooner. After all, it takes time to sink in roots and patience has never been my superpower.

This week took me to Nashville for Christmas, the same place we’ve celebrated for over a decade. There was a time when we’d celebrate early, as soon as a school semester finished, but now we navigate work schedules instead. Fortunately (or unfortunately), I’m able to work from anywhere so my schedule didn’t figure into the determination. I did shepherd a closing on Thursday but after that my 2023 matters were completed. Bill is still pushing hard for at least one more 2023 close but now all I can do is offer secondary support and set the outreach agenda for next year.

This weekend was the first time I’d ever seen a concert at the Ryman Auditorium. It is an old-time venue with significant history and incredible acoustics. I didn’t know all of the songs and the pews didn’t make for the most comfortable seats, but there is something magical about watching a show in a place like that.

We only experienced a childhood Christmas this year through a phone screen. It looked like a chaotic mess with the kids hyped up on sugar and dancing and running around the living room. I’m sure they crashed not too long after they showed us their new baby dolls and Flintstones car.

This was a rare year when I completed my gift shopping before Christmas Eve. My gift wrapping was still last-minute and shameful but it’s more about what’s inside the wrapping than the wrapping itself. Overall, everything was great. At least until I ate myself sick on Christmas Day, but that’s a boring story for a book I’ll never write.

For the past six weeks, I’ve attended an improv comedy class. Well, I missed the first week with COVID but I’ve already told that story. This was my second improv class. I took another one when I lived in DC. That one had a younger crowd of people in their 20s and 30s. In this one, there was much more variation in age among the participants. This one also had a public graduation show as a focal point instead of just doing exercises.

I took an improv class again for two reasons. One was to have an opportunity to meet new people and make new connections. This didn’t work as well as I’d hoped but I’ll keep trying. The second was to force me to be more present and spontaneous in conversation. Sometimes my conversations with prospective clients can get repetitive, introducing a danger that I go into autopilot, miss their core concerns, and lose out on the business. A similar dynamic can occur in my personal life as I focus more on what I’m going to say next than on what my conversational partner is saying now. In improv, you cannot get away with doing that. You must be present with your scene partner and in so doing get out of your own head. That alone was worth the time and money I invested into taking the class.

On Saturday, we had our graduation show. Only 8 of the 13 people who started the class were there for myriad reasons and there were only about that many people in the audience. Two of the audience members were even people I’d invited. My set was with 5 of the 8 as there were two sets during the show. During the set, I gave a monologue about a certain groundhog (or more realistically series of groundhogs) named Rufus that resides under my parents’ shed. This idea resulted from a prior scene where a young child named a racoon. My three scenes weren’t great in my own assessment. I inadvertently took over the first one about a frog from my scene partner and it stalled. A second saw me trying to buy a Christmas present while hopelessly lost in what became a French shopping mall. And I could not even remember my third scene at dinner afterwards. Overall my performance was better and I had more fun during the practice show we did on Tuesday, but that was largely immaterial.

Will I take more improv classes next year? Maybe. I don’t feel any compulsion to make a run at becoming a cast member of SNL. It may depend on scheduling and what other activities I find.

I flew down to Miami on Friday afternoon, took a rideshare to my brother’s apartment, and then waited for my sister-in-law to get home from work. We ate an early dinner at a place I’d eaten at with them previously, a rare-in-Miami southern place with some very good fried chicken.

I’m not a beach person, much to the constant chagrin of my hosts. This meant that we spent Saturday afternoon walking through Coconut Grove instead of going across to Miami Beach. There was also a visit to another holiday market, my third of the season after the two last week. This one was the worst of the three, even worse than last week’s that was interrupted by a protest, because we also had to drive quite a distance to get to it. We gave up very quickly and ordered pizza to pick up on the way back. On Sunday we did go across to Miami Beach but not to the beach itself as we walked through a section of South Beach before a quick visit to Brickell (after waiting what seemed like forever for a drawbridge in downtown because that’s a thing in Miami). Then we ate dinner at a new cocktail bar that was still finding its feet with its food offerings.

I spent most of the workday Monday watching continuing education videos. It might help my sanity if I spaced those out throughout the year, but I no longer beat myself up over having to endure two days of CLE per year. Only four more hours to go this year. Yay.

The plan was to go to the Titans game against the Dolphins on Monday Night Football. That was the original justification for my visit. Ultimately, we decided not to spend the $200 per person to drive 45 minutes up to the stadium and sit in the nosebleeds. Instead, we opted for a group parrilla dinner at an Argentinian restaurant. On this evening, it would have been warmer had we actually been in Buenos Aires and the meal would have been much less expensive. The amount of English spoken in the restaurant, though, would have been almost exactly the same.

We then returned to my brother’s apartment and watched a roller coaster of a football game that had one of the craziest endings I’ve seen in a long time and left us ruing moments earlier in the season that led to losses that will make it almost impossible for our team to make the playoffs. I’m not disappointed that we watched it on television instead of in person. We yelled just the same and at least this way we weren’t in any physical danger when the Titans pulled off the upset.