Paul Ryan and the mystery of the easily disprovable lie

Suffice it to say if you're a candidate for Vice President of the United States, you don't want this associated with your political brand. 

I won't debate whether Paul Ryan knew the difference between a 2:5X marathon and a 4:01 marathon. He did.

I won't debate whether Paul Ryan misled the reporter into believing he had run a pretty darned fast marathon when he was really a mid-packer. He did that, too.

I won't debate whether Republicans lie more or less often than Democrats. I don't care. I don't get all excited watching either party's convention. I don't have cable, and I don't consider myself a Democrat or a Republican.

The only thing that's interesting is why someone under such intense scrutiny would mislead a reporter so easily disprovable. 

Paul Ryan had so little to gain from lying and so much to lose. Democrats criticize Paul Ryan for being disingenuous, stupid, his ill-fitting suits, and the douchey hair. If there is one area of his life, however, where Ryan has been immune from criticism, it's his fitness level.  The guy's in good shape. No one's disputing that.

Yet he got caught in a galactically stupid lie about his fitness.   

It makes no sense, from a rational political perspective. But humans are rarely rational. And how we self-identify even less so. My only guess -- and this is pure speculation -- is that Paul Ryan made up this story a long time ago, as a way to reinforce his reputation as an impressive physical specimen (which he is). Mr. Ryan told it many times to many people, and he had actually come to believe it was true as part of the narrative of who he was. The race was a long time ago, but this narrative had been a part of his life for a while.

The first time you lie about something, it's a conscious act. If this were the first time he had made up this whopper, he would have caught himself, because he's a VP candidate now. But after a while, when you tell a story, you're just representing a narrative version of yourself that you've come to recite many times before. Neither the true nor the gently (or greatly) exaggerated versions of that narrative form part of the conscious mind. And that's why he got into trouble. He just told a story he had told many times before.  

Only problem: he had forgotten it wasn't true.

I Read a Book: Part I - Lying

I recently read Sam Harris' little book called Lying. The premise is simple, but powerful. Don't lie, ever.

The book is more a long, persuasive essay than a philosophical or ethical treatise. Rather than analyze the moral implications of dishonesty, he assesses the impact of dishonesty with an "Instant Karma" perspective. Specifically, when you lie, he considers how it directly affects you and your relationships with those around you.

He directly attacks "white lies" as arrogance. Much like Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men," we assume the target of the lie can't handle the truth. Most people prefer to avoid conflict than to deliver bad news, so we lie for convenience.

Harris gave an example of a friend who asked him to give his opinion of a book he'd been working on for over a year. Harris admits that it was hard to deliver the bad news, but he said that his friend soon abandoned the book to work on other projects, and he has been successful since the initial setback. He would have done his friend no favors by encouraging him to work on a book that had little to no chance of success. Instead, he redirected and redoubled his efforts on more fruitful projects. Now, his friend goes to him first when he wants an opinion, because he knows that if Harris says something is good, he's being sincere.

When you're honest, you tend to have a more open relationship with everyone around you, whether they are a casual or close acquaintance. He gave another example of re-entering the US after he'd been traveling in India and Nepal. The border guard asked if he'd he done drugs when he was abroad, and he answered yes, he'd smoked pot and tried opium. Predictably, the guard searched his bags. But he recalls that he had a long, candid conversation about his experiences on his trip, where the guard opened up to him about some of his own experiences, and that the guard was warm and pleasant throughout the search.

The question of whether to be honest is more complicated when honesty will get you in trouble in real time. If you've been drinking and driving, and a police officer pulls you over and asks if you've been drinking, and you answer honestly, you may go to jail.  But this corollary may provide additional incentive to avoid behaviors that you aren't comfortable discussing honestly with everyone around you.   It's hard to be honest with your spouse if you're unfaithful. That's just one more reason to avoid infidelity.

The book was simplistic, of course. It's easy to think of extreme counter-examples where lying would probably be beneficial in an instant karma sense. But it is also true that I have lied too often in the past for the sake of convenience. After reading this book, it's a habit I'll seek to avoid.

Why Denver dumped the 1976 Winter Olympics

A couple of years ago, Chicago spent in excess of $50 million to host the 2016 Summer Olympics. In their corner: Barack Obama, recently elected president, international superstar and Nobel Laureate. They had the most developed infrastructure of any city in the bidding. But they still couldn't make it happen. Despite all their resources and glad-handing, the OC picked Rio de Janeiro instead.

So why would a city reject the opportunity to host the Olympics? Because, back in the early 1970s, Denver, Colorado, wasn't trying to market itself to the rest of the world. Denver was trying to keep the rest of the world out.  It seems almost inconceivable today, but back then, Colorado's most powerful political forces got elected on an anti-growth platform.  And if your primary focus is anti-growth, you don't want the Olympics coming to town.

In 1970, Denver was awarded the Olympics, outbidding a number of other larger cities, including most recent Winter Games host Vancouver, Canada. Colorado has always rightfully had renown as an epic Winter playground, so it wasn't a huge surprise. What did come as a surprise was the political reaction internally.

Denver has always had a "close-the-door-behind-you" attitude. Colorado is the only state where it is common to advertise, on bumper stickers, that you are a "native." What does native mean, in this context? That your family has been in Colorado for one whole generation!  For most of the world, this would be a ludicrous thing to boast.  The vast majority of people come from the same place that their parents do. But not here. Colorado's population is over 5 million now, according to the 2010 census. But in 1970, it was only a little more than 2 million.  In 1940, it was right around 1 million. Ever since it became a state, Colorado's population has at least doubled every 35 years or so. 

As such, Colorado has always had anti-transplant sentiment. But one man made a career out of it better than any other. And so, in 1972, a hot shot young lawyer and accountant named Dick Lamm started raising a stink about the Olympics.

Not that young or hot shotty anymore

Lamm sparked a movement to turn the main bond issue to fund the 1976 Olympics into a public referendum. In November 1972, he made it happen, and the state’s voters got to choose whether to authorize a $5 million bond issue to help finance the Games.

Colorado, long home to aggressive anti-government and anti-tax movements, wanted nothing to do with it. The voters body-slammed the proposition by 60-40 margin. One week later, Denver officially abdicated its status as host city for the 1976 Olympics.

Dick Lamm later was elected governor of Colorado three times, largely catapulted by the political capital he earned in sending the games to Innsbruck, Austria.  He was famous for trying to kill the construction of C-470 (an essential roadway circumventing the city) and pretty much every other major public works project that was proposed during his tenure.

Shortly after he left office, Colorado finished C-470, embarked on plans to build E-470 (the other half of the circumvention project), began construction on a a massive new airport and a baseball stadium, all while completely refurbishing the main arteries going through Denver.  And Denver's population started skyrocketing once again.

Since then, Denver has tried on multiple occasions to reignite a movement to host the Olympics. They've never made it past the early bidding stages.  And probably never will.

People who’ve got something to say: Paul Graham

Perhaps the best writers are those who can get you to care about something you would normally find boring. That’s what Paul Graham did for me with computers and programming. Not only does he write with experience about entrepreneurship as well or better than anyone I’ve ever read, but he makes the computer programmer, known as a “hacker” in his parlance, seem like a sort of magician with code, capable of solving any problem or inventing a Willy-Wonka-esque array of tools and toys for the public to enjoy.  Despite having almost no background in computers, Graham makes me want to be a hacker, as naïve as that might sound.  

Hacker?

What surprised me most about Graham’s conception of a programmer was his unwavering emphasis on creativity.  My stereotype of creativity revolves around artists, writers, painters, and musicians.  Paul Graham’s book, Hackers and Painters, likens computer programmers to painters.  He views talent for hackers in much the same way as he would an artist – one might judge either based on the ability to take a blank canvass and make something extraordinary that others can appreciate and enjoy.  If you can’t do that, you’re not much of a hacker or a painter. 

Graham’s skill as a writer fits with his vision of programmer.  He thinks good code is parsimonious and efficient, and that’s the way he writes as well. His book and his essays pack considerable information and analysis into terse prose, which makes it easy to learn a lot about starting a business and programming by reading his site.   

Hating What You Do

Hating your job is the antithesis of carpe diem.  Rather than embracing the precious few moments you have in life, you consciously decide to dedicate your one and only existence to working on that which you do not believe.  It’s perhaps the most dangerous and self-destroying habit you can have.  It’s even worse than drug addiction or alcoholism.  An addict at least tries to get the most out of life – it’s just that their method is usually wanting.  Those who hate their jobs know that what they want out of life and what they do every day are in direct contrast.  But they do it anyway.

It’s taking the most precious gift you will ever receive, pissing on it, lighting it on fire, and throwing it out the window. 

I’m not talking about menial labor or less-than-ideal employment.  Everyone would rather be a rock star than a janitor, but there is no shame in doing difficult or unpleasant tasks. I’ve had jobs ranging from Taco Bell to basic labor and janitorial work.  Someone’s gotta take out the trash – and sometimes that someone was me.  Dirty work never made me feel bad about myself.

But being a lawyer certainly did.

A few months ago, I quit my job as a lawyer.  I had hated it for years, but I kept doing it anyway, because the economy sucked, and I was being paid what was, by my standards, a good amount of money. I was a small cog in a large wheel, representing the largest companies on the planet in their attempts to avoid liability for whatever misdeeds or mistakes they may have made in the past. 

I don’t want to overstate how nefarious the law firm I worked for was.  My old law firm probably had more in common with General Electric than with the dastardly law firms you see in movies or TV.  Most of the crap we did was dull and stultifying, performed for the highest bidder.  But it was rarely evil -- just soul-destroyingly boring, and entirely unfulfilling.

But the entire time I was there, I wasn’t doing anyone favors but myself. And by the time I left, even that wasn’t true.

Uncertainty, Imperfection, and Blogging

Well, how did I get here?

Once upon a time, my defining characteristic was my confidence.  I believed, perhaps irrationally so, that I was an extraordinary talent who was destined for great things. Now, I am 34 years old.  My life is excellent -- I don't lack anything that I need. But my life is also mundane.  I live in a modest house, drive a modest car, and rarely do anything that could be considered extraordinary.  Until recently, I practiced law and held a boring job.

But, despite having all the time one could ask for, it would appear that I'm not doing great things -- or even, for that matter, things of middling interest to others.  This is mildly disconcerting.  If I have all the time I want now, and I'm not doing anything interesting, then it doesn't look likely to happen ever. 

This makes me want to blog more.  I don't necessarily aspire to great things any longer. That adolescent hubris is well dead and buried. But I aspire to be active, involved, and engaged.  I think writing and publishing often -- even if it's in a self-indulgent, scarcely read blog, might help to accomplish that goal.

And that's all I have to say about that. For now.

What makes Bill Simmons Bill Simmons?

Bill Simmons owns ESPN.com. Each of his columns generates somewhere in the neighborhood of one and a half million page views. In 2007, he was ranked as the 12th-most influential person in sports. Since that time, he's published a #1 NYT best seller, produced ESPN's award-winning 30 for 30 series, and launched his own satellite web site, Grantland.com, off ESPN.com's main site. His influence has not shrunk since 2007.

I ask myself what's the big deal with Simmons. He's not exceptionally intelligent, by traditional metrics. He overvalues his own experience horribly. He has such a Boston-based bias that he's frequently intolerable, but his bias toward his own experience extends much farther. For example, he recently argued that Anderson Varejao, who is averaging 10 points, 11 rebounds, and fewer than 1 block per game, should be an all star in 2012. Why, despite mediocre statistics, should Varejao be an all star?

"Varejao was never getting Carmelo's starting spot, but he deserves it. And if you don't believe me, you didn't watch the Cavs beat the Clippers without Kyrie Irving on Wednesday night."

This article was published February 10th. Presumably, Mr. Simmons wrote the article on the 8th or the 9th. And on the 7th he watched Varejao play an excellent game while he watched the Cavs beat his new adopted team, the Los Angeles Clippers. Therefore, Varejao should be an all star.

Q.E.D.

Inane, irrational comments like these are common in Bill Simmons's writing. So why is he so popular?

I think the answer is "readable relevant content in volume." And by that, I mean, his writing, his style, and his voice, are eminently engaging and readable. And then there's so much of it. And he gets it out right away. Nobody provides more relevant contemporaneous commentary, on any subject, than Bill Simmons. He chucks out engaging 3000-word columns on hours-old topics with greater frequency and aplomb than anyone. Whether it's Michael Jackson or the lockout or the Super Bowl or the NBA draft, he writes thousands of words and he gets it out there before the traditional columnists write and publish 300.

Bill Simmons produces lot of good content fast. That's it.