COVID has led to an even crazier polarization of politics than we’ve seen in an already polarized Trump era. Even the slightest of issues around COVID, which one would hope would be treated as a public health issue and not a cudgel to bash one’s opponent, are politicized. I excuse neither the left nor the right here, I see them as equal offenders.
The writer H. L. Mencken has many pithy quotes about politics, but there’s an exchange in Howard Fast’s book Being Red that really captures how I feel about politics. Via Real Clear Politics
Fast would run for Congress on the American Labor Party ticket, write frequently for the Daily Worker, win the Stalin Peace Prize, be temporarily blacklisted in Hollywood, hauled before the House Committee on Un-American Activities, and jailed for contempt of Congress. In the late 1950s, he turned away from communism and wrote a book about the experience called “Being Red.”
In that memoir he relates an evocative encounter in late July 1948 at the Progressive Party convention, which he attended as a credentialed journalist and where he ran into one of his idols, H.L. Mencken. When Fast went to shake the great Baltimore Sun columnist’s hand, Mencken took it in both of his own hands and told him he’d just read “The American,” Fast’s novel based on the life of former Illinois Gov. John Peter Altgeld.
Mencken said that if he’d ever written anything that good, he’d “put down my pen with pleasure.” Howard Fast found this praise fulsome, but appreciated it nonetheless, and thanked Mencken, who then said, in reference to the Progressives, “Fast, what in hell’s name are you doing with this gang?”
“I tried to invent some clever reply, but all I could say was that it was a better place to be than at the Republican or Democratic convention,” Fast wrote. “This was as far from a bright or witty rejoinder as one could get, but I was tongue-tied, and the thought of preaching to Mencken or haranguing him was inconceivable. It was not just that I admired him and loved the way he wrote and thought, but he had just given me the best straightforward compliment I had ever received. I had no wish to challenge him. I owed him too much.”
But Mencken wasn’t finished.
“There’s a better place than that,” he said. “With yourself.”
“I can’t put politics aside,” Fast protested.
“Put it aside?” Mencken snorted. “Hell, no. Henry Louis Mencken is a party of one. Do you understand me? You’re a party of one. You don’t put politics aside; you taste it, smell it, listen to it, write it. You don’t join it. If you do, these clowns will destroy you as surely as the sun rises and sets.”
When I was young, maybe 18, I visited my girlfriend (now wife)’s house. My father-in-law to be, a rather imposing and gruff former military officer, lets me in the house. At this time my now-wife and I had not been dating long, and I had hair down well-past my shoulders. So, you can imagine I was on thin ice (no pun intended!) with him. He led me into the kitchen, and I got “the question”.
No, not that one.
This question was, “Mark, do you want a Martini”?
I was, as I say, 18, and I think I’d had gin once and decided it was the vilest thing on the planet.
So of course, I said yes.
He reached into the freezer, pulled out a bottle of gin, poured some in a glass, and handed it to me.
Gulp.
Even at that early stage of my cocktail career, I was pretty sure there was supposed to be something else in the glass. Wanting to stay on his good side, I smiled and choked it down. Later, he explained that was what he called a “combat Martini” — when you couldn’t be bothered to fool around. The “in the freezer” part was optional, he explained. Now, who can forget “shaken, not stirred”? My father-in-law’s Martini was neither.
It’s been a long while since then, and I’ve encountered a lot of Martinis in my books and in my life.
Triggered by a friend’s text message (not the I’m-losing-it kind of triggered, just the it-reminds-me-of kind of triggered), I’m thinking of some of my favorite Martini stories, literary and otherwise. My quarantine drink of choice has become the Martini, very dry. I haven’t yet taken to calling it a Quarantini, but I might get there. By the way: there are a lot of Quarantine Book Clubs out there!
“Shaken, not stirred” made its first appearance in Ian Fleming’s 6th Bond novel, Dr. No. But of course, it was memorialized forever by Sean Connery. This advice is contrary to all textbook cocktail technique — Martinis, and any other cocktail with no fruit juice, is to be stirred, not shaken.
I was reminded of all this by my friend’s text message, reminding me of the advice from Kingsman, the Secret Service:
Martini, gin. Not vodka. Obviously, stirred for 10 seconds while glancing at an unopened bottle of vermouth.
To my now-adjusted tastes, this is how a dry Martini should be made. Gin, not Vodka. Perhaps, after first rinsing the glass with Vermouth and discarding it (the vermouth, not the glass). Reasonable people can differ about this, of course.
Speaking of Martini tricks, I must pass on a secret I learned from James Salter, the world’s best writer you never heard of. (I have not explained this to my father-in-law — I am afraid of what he will say). From Life is Meals, a non-fiction book Salter wrote with his wife:
“There is a final, unconventional secret. Shake a Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce bottle, then quickly remove the cap and with it, dash a faint smudge of the contents — far less than a drop — into the bottom of the shaker before beginning. It adds the faint, unidentifiable touch of greatness.”
Olives? I can take or leave them — if I have good ones, I like them. Dirty Martini? Heaven forbid. No, just, no.
Gin? Bombay Sapphire is my ideal. If on the expensive side. The Botanist is quite good, but even more expensive. Hendricks I find too floral, and yet again more expensive. Gordon’s gin, which will re-appear shortly as part of a Vesper, is quite inexpensive, and when very cold and combined with that magic ingredient mentioned above, is quite good.
Vermouth? Who are we kidding? We’re not going use it, except to rinse the glass. Any brand will do. My father-in-law’s Martini recipe, likely not original, requires no vermouth at all, it simply requires looking at the picture of the man who invented Vermouth, while you drink your gin. You really just want the idea of vermouth, not the reality. (As he’s aged, his Martini purity has relaxed just a bit — he is now taken to putting a few big cubes of ice in a glass and pouring his gin over….)
Salter wrote fiction, mostly (although his memoirs Burning the Days is one of my favorite books ever. The section where the young Salter learns about sex is priceless). His Light Years is a beautiful, heartbreaking work about the disintegration of a marriage, but contains this less-dark nugget about Martinis, and showcases the diamond-like prose Salter is known for:
“I think I’d like a martini,” Viri said. He drank one, icy cold, in a gleaming glass. It was like a change in the weather. The pitcher held another, potent, clear. “How do you make them so cold?” he asked. “Well, you happen to have commanded the drink which is, in my opinion, the one true test. You have to have the right ingredients — and also you keep the gin in the freezer.”
Made with care, the Martini might be the perfect cocktail. The author H. L. Mencken memorably described the Martini as ‘the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet’. He’s also the (possibly apocryphal) author of one of my favorite quotes about creative endeavors: “There are three rules for the writing of a novel. Unfortunately no one knows what they are.”. A good reminder that conformity to some imagined set of rules doesn’t lead to novel work.
Of course, it’s easy to overindulge in Martinis. Salter quotes the writer James Thurber in Life is Meals: “One is all right, two is too many, and three is not enough.” The satirist and writer Dorothy Parker’s famed quote also comes to mind:
I like to have a Martini, two at the very most; three, I’m under the table, four I’m under my host.
Is there is any character in literature more associated with Martinis than James Bond? It’s hard to imagine. In Casino Royale (the book), he invents one of my favorite variations: the Vesper.
”A Dry Martini”, he said. “One. In a deep champagne goblet.” ”Oui, monsieur.” ”Just a moment. Three measures of Gordons, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemonpeel. Got it?”
However you make your Martinis, I hope you have a great book on hand to read along with it. Books are a great comfort in times like these — especially if you’re reading with a friend!
As for the proper Martini technique — here’s Bond’s latest take on “shaken, not stirred”. In Casino Royale (the movie), when faced with the inevitable question, he responds:
I have a new sport. Outrigger canoe paddling. I’m on a team. We have a coach. I’m a beginner, which means I do things wrong. I get coached. (Our coach, who can be quite direct in her feedback, likes to joke, “I’m not yelling, I’m coaching!”). I’m enjoying learning something new – which means, being humble and open, and hearing what will make me better.
A big part of being coachable is separating your personal feelings from the feedback. It’s not about me, it’s about whatever technique I’m trying to learn. Same thing at work – feedback isn’t an indictment of my personal value, it’s just something I can do better next time.
The Buddhists have a term, Shoshin, which means “Beginner’s Mind” – doing things with a humble and open mind, as if you have never done or seen something before. But this frame of mind isn’t just for beginners. Here is the coach of Shell Va’a, the Tahitian outrigger canoe team that wins the Molokai Hoe, an 40 mile canoe race across open ocean, from Molokai to Oahu, most every year. These are the best outrigger canoe paddlers IN THE WORLD. Notice what he says about picking his team, the emphasis on humbleness and willingness to learn.
2 out of 4 Property of “Tahiti Infos” & “Hitiora Production” https://www.facebook.com/Tahitiinfos/videos/515188512447665/?t=0
Being humble and hungry, as he puts it, will take you a long way. Again, this is not just for beginners. Some of the best leaders I know personally have personal coaches. It can be hard to get outside yourself and get direct feedback, especially if you are in a senior position where nobody wants to challenge you. Find a way to get that feedback, and take it with an open mind.
It’s not just about personal performance either – this attitude about work product leads to great products. Jim Fell, who led design for goby, where I was CEO, was a master at this. It always amazed me to see how utterly ego-less he was when getting design feedback, and how aggressively he sought out points of view different than his own. Being open and humble doesn’t mean you don’t have a point of view – it means you can hear different points of view and integrate what makes sense.
I’ve recently had a few conversations with people wrestling with a decision on whether to take a particular job. Here’s my list of ten questions you should ask yourself.
Hovering over all of this are two words that might seem a little morbid.
Memento Mori. Remember that you will die.
I first learned this reading Ryan Holiday’s works, especially The Obstacle is the Way, which re-introduced me to Marcus Aurelius and his Meditations. Great life reading. Anyway, it’s not morbid, it’s liberating. It means, do what matters and do what is important. And don’t waste time on the crap.
OK, the 10 questions. If all these are a ‘yes’, the job is a keeper. If not, keep looking. Life is too short for bad jobs. (look, I get families need to be supported, people have obligations, and sometimes you just need the job and the money. But don’t settle!).
1. Does the company & opportunity have a Mission?
If they have no discernible mission, or don’t tell you about it during the interview process, it’s just a job. Keep looking.
2. Are you passionate about that Mission – does it matter? mean something to you?
Life is too short to spend on jobs that don’t matter.
3. Will I learn new things in this job?
If you’re not learning, you’re not growing. If you’re not growing, you’re stagnant. And who wants that?
4. Is there a specific person I believe I can learn from?
Ideally, it will be the person that you report to – but it doesn’t have to be. Just someone you’ll have access to on a regular basis.
5. Are there people I can teach? Do I have something to give?
This is more important as your career progresses, but learning and teaching should be hand-and-glove – you should be doing both. Your satisfaction will double if you know you are making other team members better.
6. Am I doing something new, from previous roles?
This has always been a hard and fast rule for me. The next job has to have something different. A new domain, different levels of responsibility, a different functional area. Otherwise, you won’t be learning much.
7. Is this company going to be around, or am I OK if they are not?
Figure out if the company is going to work (a startup requires a different set of questions than a big company). You’re investing a good chunk of your life in it.
Are they in an industry that’s growing? Do they have something different going for them compared to their competition? Does the company have its shit together? (Note: the interview process is a good 1st test for having their shit together – if the interview process is confused, drawn out, mismanaged, indecisive, opaque, etc. – they’ll be that way after you join too…). And if you’re not sure the company is gonna make it in the long run, but everything else looks good, then go in with your eyes open and take the gamble!
8. Do I care enough about these people, this work domain, this company, to spend 5 years of my life on it?
Life’s too short to spend on things you don’t care about, or to work with assholes. Even if the pay is good. Is the chemistry good with the people you met? Will you be excited to work with them every day? You’re going to see them more than your family! Find a good fit.
9. How many “at bats” do you have?
We all only have so many jobs to take in our life. To borrow baseball language, I call these “at bats”. How many “at bats” do you have left? When I was 50, I thought, well, I have maybe 2 or 3 more jobs left – I’m not going to waste an at bat on something that doesn’t feel quite right. When you’re 22, you have more time, and more at bats to take a flyer on.
10. How does this set me up for my next job?
When I am done with this job, what will I have learned and how can that advance my career the next time? Will it open doors for bigger roles? New industries? Maybe starting my own company? Have some idea where you want to go in your life and career, and try to take jobs that help you get ready for that. (in my list of work rules, this is #16).
OK. You got through all those questions, and the answers were all solid. You’ll notice none of the questions were about money. Not an accident. It’s not because money isn’t important – it’s because you shouldn’t start there. Figure all the other stuff out, and if you’re passionate about the role, the money will figure itself out. Just remember, “you don’t get what you don’t ask for“. If you don’t like the offer, tell them you love the opportunity but you need the compensation to make sense.
LOS ANGELES, CA – MAY 06: Musician Neil Peart of the band Rush performs at the Nokia Theatre on May 6, 2008 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Jesse Grant/Getty Images)
Neil Peart died a few days ago. He was the drummer and lyricist for the band Rush (in case you didn’t know). It’s affected me more than I expected, and more than most any death I can remember that was not someone I knew personally. From my high school years on, I’ve drawn inspiration from their music, and how they lived their lives. I’ve just finished a complete listen of every studio album they did (no, not maudlin at all :)), and it’s an amazing body of work. Having trouble shaking the sadness so I thought I’d write a quick post and maybe get some of it it out of my system.
Anyway they were different. And inspiring. Whenever I get down or feeling like I’m not making progress, there’s a Rush song to get me moving again. Neil was fond of quoting Bob Dylan:
“The highest purpose of art is to inspire. What else can you do for anyone but inspire them?”
Well done, Neil.
And the older I get, the more I appreciate artists who continue to innovate as they age, raise their game, do not give in to the dying of the light (Robert Plant comes to mind as well). These guys were (and are) the musicians’s musicians – complete virtuosos, and ever so humble. And at the heart of their music was Neil – the lyricist and the driving beat.
You can read elsewhere about Neil’s life, but he suffered unimaginable personal tragedy, but managed to claw himself back to life, and to continue performing and creating, and finding a new personal life. That he died of brain cancer at 67 just isn’t fair. But he knew, and wrote often, about how life isn’t fair.
Not to be morbid, but none of us know how long we have.
One of Neil’s mantras was, “What is the most excellent thing I can do today?”.
Find someone and something you care about, and commit yourself to them. Say no to the things that don’t matter. There’s not a moment to waste.
