Where In The Hell, Laramie Dennis’s (a younger friend of mine) debut film, is streaming on Amazon. A road trip, essentially, in which one of the two protagonists is looking for her girlfriend, who seems to have slipped away from their Northern California motel in the night, and the other – a young Asian man – is trying to make it to Canada for an audition. All of this while traveling through the extraordinary scenery of remote California locations during the pandemic. Dialogue and cinematography and general feel are A+.

To watch if you:

• Appreciate a side of subtlety with your poignant humor
• Love good art direction and a trip through places both ordinary and unfamiliar
• Prefer optimistic endings that don’t package up your feelings like a grab-and-go sandwich
• Love watching new actors deliver extraordinary performances, especially when they haven’t had plastic surgery as far as you can tell (not to take anything away from Joohun Lee but Cam Killion is a star)
• Like it when narrative of any sort stays with you for a while
• Are happy when good movies win awards
• Want to close your streaming window in a state of belief

Andre Is An Idiot, arriving on Netflix June 17th, is about a man who turns down his best friend’s plans that they get colorectal cancer screening together, and subsequently dies of the selfsame disease. Yes, really. And it’s not sad. Really. A documentary about a wildly creative, irrepressible, and probably difficult man who died as he lived, we follow him, his friends, family and therapist through his last years. It’s not sad but it is funny; a portrayal of human growth and change when it’s too late but still matters. My brother, Peter Carnochan, is the therapist.

To watch if you:

• Enjoy watching someone truly live their own life
• Believe that being willing to admit your mistakes and keep trying to do your best is one of the best traits in a human being
• Are willing to enter someone’s reality all the way
• Feel science and logic cannot and should not explain everything we experience
• Are glad that wisdom is available
• Are happy when good movies win awards (in this case, the U.S. Documentary Audience Award and the Jonathan Oppenheim Editing Award at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival)
• Want to close your streaming window in a state of belief

And with that, here’s to art, as always. Have a wonderful, wonderful weekend!

The post Two Movies To Set Things Right, At Least For A While, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:01 am appeared first on Privilege.

I had a vision; it would be neat and small but butterflies would come and so they did. Last week a Swallowtail, a Monarch, a Mourning Cloak, a Red Admiral all annoyed the Gulf Fritillaries that live here along with various Skippers. Delighted me. I have no photos as none stayed put in time to raise my phone.

Neat and small, though, not so much. Today.

I have surrendered architecture to details. Also bugs, plus the occasional hummingbird.

Details. Vervain, a weed my Plant It app tells me is wild hedge parsley (like a hedge witch I wonder?), also salvia, California poppies and native milkweed.

I turned this pot upside down when the little floating fountain I’d bought stopped working, and the resultant still water brought mosquitoes. There are bugs and then there are bugs. I suspect the coyote mint you see against it may eventually climb up and over. Giving up architecture for archeology.

This bronze fennel looks pretty awful from a distance, because as you can see in the top photo I kept the dead stalks as winter habitat. But close up, pretty and feathery. The Anise Swallowtail loves it.

The passiflora, host plant for those Gulf Fritillaries I mentioned, shows up and shows out consistently.

And the ferns, lining our exterior house walls, despite neglect, are game. A good cutting back of dead fronds, some dedicated watering and presto change-o garden math. The answer to everything is in this pattern I just know it.

All this is a private wilding, round the side where no one goes but me. Out front carries on all civilized, albeit a little more exuberant these days. I planted a violently pink tea rose against my fence. Then I liked the flowers so much I sacrificed my kitchen window view for vase light. Probably refractions hold the secrets to the meaning of life that ferns relinquish.

Finally, even out front in the land of appropriate, this California Tortoiseshell, a butterfly I have never seen, plonked itself down on a few apricot shrub roses. I’d planted them in an ostensibly white rose bed, thinking they were, yes, white. Surprise!

Apparently the fires in the Santa Cruz mountains between my suburb and the Pacific Ocean have made room for Tortoiseshell’s host plants, ceanothus. Let the lepidoptera rumpus begin.

I love the way gardens change. You can plan but you can’t control, and that’s a way of being I’ve come to late.

Have a gorgeous weekend.

The post My Pollinator Garden 10 Years Later, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:47am appeared first on Privilege.

I don’t object to aging; I am fascinated by the process. But my feet are unhappy more often than I’d like. What to do? As I said to a friend, “I can’t go to the doctor because my feet hurt. That’s too silly.” No disease applies. What to do?

If I net out my reaction to this physical experience of aging, altogether, it’s very similar to how I felt with a newborn. What books should I read? Where is the conceptual model? Can I go to graduate school and get an MPA? A masters in personal aging; I want it.

Here’s the list of my specific physical issues:

1. The very beginnings of osteoporosis. How annoying that having kept my weight in check puts me more at risk for breaking bones. I’d much prefer a larger trouser size, thank you.
2. Cholesterol numbers that threaten if I even so much as breathe near carnitas.
3. Weird heart flutters are within normal range but make drinking too much tea and almost any wine infinitely less pleasant than previously.
4. A recalcitrant sacroiliac, still resentful of my having given birth to a son with a big head, transmitting outrage to various ligaments on my left hip and leg.
5. The afore-mentioned feet.

None of this, as far as I can tell, puts me at particular risk. I could be wrong. Medication for osteoporosis; control cholesterol by eschewing meat, embracing beans, and hiding flaxseed in granola. The no-added fat granola to be sure, that might taste like horse food, but strawberries fix a multitude of sins.

However, my relationship to the medical profession feels uncomfortable.

Can you imagine getting pregnant, only society has yet connected the dots around the phenomena, and then you find yourself in a series of disconnected doctor’s appointments for:

1. Trouble keeping your breakfast down
2. A strange lump in your lower abdomen
3. Your period stops

You get the picture. I want the equivalent of an OB for getting old. You’d think was a gerontologist, right? The medical practice I’ve gone to since I was 4 years old, except when I was on the East Coast, only offers the gerontology option if you are really sick. I was literally told, “Oh no, you are way too healthy for a gerontologist.”

So here we are, just a girl, standing in front of her doctor, asking to be seen as someone with a natural condition of life. Someone who is willing to buckle down, to do the Healthy, who – even though she finds cardio exercise incredibly boring – will buy a health wearable to bring her to account.

And when the doctor can’t oblige, the girl asks her community, my friends, do you have any particularly intelligent resources for understanding aging?

Note:

1. I do not want to jump out of an airplane with a parachute on my back
2. I already know what a healthy diet and exercise look like, to my great annoyance

What can I read to better understand the larger process of what’s happening? Thank you in advance.

Oh, about my tootsies, the Internet tells me that since I don’t have diabetes probably it’s just that I shouldn’t go barefoot in my house, as my foot fat pads are now insufficient. Fine, fine, fine.

Have a wonderful weekend. Back to my slippers. Conceptual model checks out.

The post What’s That Thing Again, Aging, Is That It, Or, Saturday Morning at 10;10am appeared first on Privilege.

Recently I bought this bag, excited for my daughter’s wedding.

Back in 2009, when I anonymously began writing here, I admitted to having bought a Louis Vuitton Monogram Vernis tote. I have since given it away. It wasn’t particularly comfortable to carry.

This post dripped with High WASP mortification. As I wrote, High WASPs did not show off, as that would be “tacky,” which I have since come to understand as code for “declassé.”

So where did my embarrassment go? Blog exorcism. Here I have revealed, deconstructed and thereby let go of, much of my family’s historical culture. In addition, I’ve educated myself about designers, and developed a set of strong likes and dislikes. As one does. I thank you.

In my current oscillating-between-humble-and-proud opinion, a logo as the mark of a creator you respect is to be honored. A logo as a stamp of one’s capacity to purchase, well, not so much.

Because, think about it.

• We wouldn’t want creators not to sign their works. They have that right, and even responsibility.
• Beautifully designed logos are only one step closer to “showing off” than are recognizable design elements. Consider the recognizable intrecciata of Bottega Veneta bag, Valentino’s pyramid studded shoes, Missoni’s knits and Miyake’s pleats. The only difference is the breadth of the audience, and the precise message communicated. But it’s all makers and identity and community.
• Just because consumers and cheap production made it possible for someone to stamp BALENCIAGA in block letters across a t-shirt for corporate profit, doesn’t mean we have to feel shame about our logos. Someone shrieking doesn’t mean we stop singing.

I’ll put this soapbox back under the lectern where it belongs. Behold a couple of logos I respect. The Cartier Panthère design is legendary, historical. Also kind of gorgeous as a bag clasp. Cartier might be playing catchup here but “Goooaaaaallllll!”

Jonathan Anderson is both a life-changing supporter of my son’s work, and a wild, wild genius. He has taken on the tradition of intellectual design, in the tradition of Miuccia Prada (who has persisted) and Christopher Kane (who sadly has not,) and exploded up and across the landscape. I feel he’s evolved Dior from dainty, prancing Instagirlies, and the closets of Grandes Dames, to something new. I never would have bought a Dior bag when it was all about the Ds. But this.

The toile! The medallion! The bow! The trim! Elevating an entire half-century of prim to art.

This, however. Unremarkable bag; ugly logo, Bruno Cuccinelli has taken over Silicon Valley and so I don’t like him one bit. Rational or no.

The distinction is not always so clear. Jacquemus, a brand I do appreciate, has a similar logo. Regard! What a gorgeous design! Avant garde! Snappy! Does the logo represent the great design chops?

I believe Jaquemus are saying, “We aren’t part of 1990s Logomania and consumerist display.” But they could be well-served at this point by a logo with an affirmative message rather than denial, i.e. “We *are* (name your poison.)” I don’t know. It’s possible to have strong opinions and still understand you might be wrong.

As for design elements, well, just for fun, Missoni. I’d love to wear these at some point, if I manage to live a good long time.

And Roger Vivier. Sigh. Like, with jeans and a backpack. Remember insouciance?

And one last logo. Christopher John Rogers, a Black man who has one of the most distinct styles in fashion today, collaborated with Old Navy on this. Also comes in pink and red. Booyah.

In case it’s germane, I have no idea what the model is wearing on her head. So, back to the topic sentence of our exam answer. Why?

I revere Yves St. Laurent. His Rive Gauche perfume design defined a 1970s aesthetic, never mind rainbow crewneck sweaters in New Jersey winters. He was the first man I ever understood to have a male partner, and he suffered from many with that same understanding. His large black spectacles launched an entire design era. Buddy, thanks for the black and blue, of all sorts, and for the tassel now hanging on the back of my closet door.

OMG those stripes. See what I mean?

Meaning is created in real time, by the author and the reader, the wearer and the community. As long as you feel that logos represent your loves and beliefs, and they do not serve as a weapon against those with whom you are in community, shine on. Define your community widely, goes without saying.

Have a wonderful weekend.

(I will say that my family in real life, in modern times, does not actively embrace the culture I’ve talked about. We were *of* it, but not *for* it, if that makes sense. I alone needed to deconstruct to finally make my own choices, and my family have been remarkably good-humored about this thinking out loud.)

The post “Logos” Means, Apparently, “Word, Discourse and Reason,” or, Saturday Morning at 8:15am appeared first on Privilege.

A bit of a housekeeping aside. I have realized I need to expand my process, by which I mean I can no longer only write posts I complete in one Saturday morning. This process worked a decade ago (somehow the word feels weightier than the number 10), but now I need more time to think, to take and/or edit photos, to revv the engines of word.

All of which to say, Next week, thoughts. Probably on logos, as requested, for which I thank Flo and Jess. This week, snapshots, and all my best to you and yours. I spent last weekend at the Ojai Valley Inn with my husband, my children and their partners. My little family means so much to me.

Lived in my Tilley hat. Here with a UNIQLO puffer, Vuori joggers, Bottega Veneta bag and SAS sneakers. Comfort. My princess-and-the-pea proclivities are advancing. I pretend I’m still stylish by making sure my colors are sufficient if not artistic.

The light in Ojai is famous for good reason. Reminds us to take a deep breath and also let it out.

We ate at Rory’s Place in town and it’s absolutely worth the trip.

We hiked. Liked I said, I lived in my Tilley hat and mostly autumn colors. They do not however make Keen hiking boots in ochre so never mind.

A Kathy Leeds painting kept us company in our rooms.

I also got some time here, which, as one who moved to California at the age of 4 to a mid-century house with a pool in the backyard, brings back such feelings of safety. Funny how that works.

Finally, in addition to living in my Tilley hat, I realized I needed some new bras.

See, I would never on purpose write about underwear. These are just vacation snapshots, not taken with any intent, and not all by me. Which brings me back to the afore-mentioned process change. I want to keep writing the blog; I do not want to slide into lazy obligation. Therefore, I want to up my “content” game. Just a bit. Not aiming for spectacular, not looking for more audience, just acknowledging that as I age it takes more work to be here well enough.

Have a wonderful weekend. Underwires are torture.

The post When Last We Spoke, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:23am appeared first on Privilege.

Break time for Privilege, and I’ll be back here in May.

In the interim, if you’ve ever said to yourself, “Hey, I wonder what Lisa thinks about (insert topic, large or small, philosophical, analytical,  entertaining or entirely frivolous)?” please tell me below. Outfit posts, imaginary shopping, how-to (assuming it’s an area I have any experience or opinion of value,) general musings – all requests welcome and I’ll do the best I can to reply in future posts. Have an excellent April. Thank you for everything.

The post See You In May, Or, Sunday Morning at 10:15am appeared first on Privilege.

As a kid in the 60s, I assumed the flowers would continue forever. Nope. Gotta work for them. Have an excellent Saturday.

The post The Flowers Weren’t Guaranteed, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:40am appeared first on Privilege.

1. Establish a wakeup routine you look forward to. Mine is puer’h tea from Murchie’s in Canada and toasted walnut levain with organic almond butter. 2% grass-fed cow milk in the tea. Could I be any more of a SF Bay Area white liberal? Probably not. But it makes going to sleep more fun, and rising from my bed less work. We work with who we are.
2. Make your to-do list only on the morning of, or at most a couple of days in advance. That way you can attempt no more than that which you have the capacity to accomplish.
3. Wear extra-comfortable shoes. I have recently graduated from Hokas to SAS. (For those who are younger, or simply of more robust foot than I, I’ll send you to my friend Lauren’s article on Hokas.) Made for diabetics, I find these to be well-structured,  supportive and gentle. Rather like the mother archetype no one can ever achieve. Another tool, of course, is to go for a walk in said shoes, unless your to-do list reads, “Lie on the couch all day trying not to move thereby alerting monsters.”
4. Escape into a truly immersive book. For literary fiction, if you accept not quite understanding what’s happening because you’ve surrendered yourself to language and characters,  I recommend “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny.” It’s, um, the very long story of two young people in the Indo-American diaspora and their family history in Goa, the Himalayas and New York? Kind of? Loved it. For pop novels, chomped down like fresh popcorn, try “The Compound.” Do watch one episode of the British show “Love Island” before you crack it open, but only one, because I would never betray you by recommending the full series.
5. Laugh before you sleep. You can find “Friday Night Dinner” on Britbox. A Jewish family in modern Britain has family dinner (they don’t call it Shabbat, which is one of the jokes) with mom, dad, and two “adult” sons. If you watch, you’ll see why I put “adult” in quotation marks. It’s problematic they didn’t cast it with Jewish actors, and the cast has acknowledged that in the years since it was released. But if that aspect doesn’t make it difficult to for you watch, the dynamics between the two boys made me laugh so hard in so many episodes that I slept peacefully and may have reset my nervous system reset for close to a month

BONUS/BREAK GLASS IN SEMI-EMERGENCY: On days when it’s really bad, but not quite so awful you’re ready to move to medical intervention, and you’ve decided that alcohol isn’t your friend, experiment with a Binaural EMDR video from Maggie Kelly, on YouTube. Headphones on, listen for as long as feels right.

Finally, as part of my contribution to deep breathing, recent photos from my garden. Many living things are trying to grow.

Along borders.

In community with like, on occasion. Waiting for water, rejoicing with our little faces, or overgrowing our spot.

A jasmine vine crept over the fence from my neighbor along with a veritable festoon of Lady Banks roses. Coexistence = art.

I wish you a good weekend, my friends. If you have any tried-and-true similar tips, please feel free to share them below. Solidarity can be found in many spaces.

The post Protecting Our Last Nerves, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:00am appeared first on Privilege.

• Your cousin is getting married in Bali that weekend. Dang. But you figure you can support everyone else, so maybe you donate to a sponsoring organization. If that one feels too new, the ACLU and many others are also on board.
• Alternatively, you just CANNOT. You are tired or hot or cold or overwhelmed, and you just can’t. But come March 28th, as you are driving to the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions for someone you love, you spot a smallish group of people holding up No Kings signs. Maybe you honk. I will tell you that the Honkers are part of the movement and every single honk helps those of us standing on the sidewalk or marching up the road.
• Edited to add this comment from Maria, below. “I’ve tabled at these and every time heard of at least one vulnerable loved one who was desperate to attend but stayed home for their safety. We all chimed in with please thank them for taking care of themselves and tell them they’re here with us too.” Excellent, excellent point that I neglected in my attempt to write from behind my own eyeballs.
• We’re all in this together

Now let’s say you decide you do want to go to a No King’s protest. But you’re not sure where or how. You check the Mobilize map. Hey presto, an event near me!

You get excited.

But you waver, as we all do now and then. “I don’t want to go alone.” However, you know some people, and you’re on Facebook, or you have a family chat, or a WhatsApp with your friends,. So you Google “No Kings,” and sure enough, up comes a site with dang good graphics you can use to cajole your friends and family into keeping you company.

Your loved ones say, “Fine, we’ll come.” But they need signs. “What are we going to do about signs?”

“No problem,” you reply. “First of all, you don’t need signs. Just showing up counts. But if you really want one, I have ideas.”

Me too. If you feel creative, use those same No Kings graphics and make a sign of your own. Set up a 36″x24″ file on Photoshop, or Canva, then get it printed on poster board or foam core at Fedex or Staples. Go to Michael’s and buy a dowel amid the tulle, beads and other craft supplies. Attach it to your poster with duct or packing tape.

Alternatively, never mind all that and get paints, felt pens and collage supplies from your cupboards. If you don’t have a dowel, make a something small enough to hold in your hands. A mix of handmade and printed signs makes these events even more joyful. Here are examples from protests past, with all kinds of feelings expressed across many levels of production:

Notice that a sun hat may be critical. I add sunscreen, water, and little protein snacks of choice. Some people say chocolate but I leave that up to you.

Hmm. I never have. Have you?

The innocent so often suffer most.

One more scenario. You sigh, “My friends don’t see the point. Surely someone’s got a list of why No Kings matters?”

We got you.

If someone cares most about ICE and the secret police

• • Have you seen the detention centers they are building? We need to let construction companies know that we won’t let these go up without a fight

If someone cares most about the Iran war:

• • Iran may have a terrible regime, but this war is not the way to make that change
  • The leadership has been incredibly incompetent here. Qataris say Trump’s people didn’t even pay attention to the translations of the discussions, and missed the signs Iran was willing to negotiate
  • We spent $11 trillion dollars in the first week of this war that could have gone to people here.
  • Protests against war are an American tradition
  • Surely you don’t support Hegseth and his Christian nationalism, war fighters, and nonsense expenses?

And if someone cares most about losing our democracy, AKA our right to choose our elected representatives in free and fair elections?

• • Protests were the engine of the Civil Rights movement, the foundation of the modern era we want to preserve. They matter.
  • While the SAVE act is expected to fail in next week’s vote, those who know they will lose in free elections will try again. We want them to know we are never giving up the fight.
  • By organizing now, by practicing and realizing it’s not too hard to show up, we will be ready for non-violent actions to support voters should that be necessary

HOW DO PROTESTS HELP, AGAIN?

Protests instill doubt in the powerful and build national capacity for widespread resistance and action should we need it. Witness the Minneapolis community and Kristi Noem. It’s pretty astonishing, what we can make happen.

You find this all really compelling. Me too.

But. One more sigh. Your sister, the perpetual doubter, remains reluctant. She wants to see the faces of some of the people in charge. You tell her that each event has local leaders, but she’s not satisfied. “Who’s in charge of THEM?” she says. “Well,” you say, “Maybe not in charge, per se, but the Indivisible groups were started by Ezra Levin and his now-wife Leah Greenberg, and they host a weekly hour-long Zoom webinar called, “What’s the Plan?” that’s really useful.”

She doesn’t appreciate you joking she should start a local Indivisible group, since she’s always liked to boss people around, but she does accept your calendar invitation for the next What’s The Plan, this Thursday.

And you close up your laptop, put that phone in your pocket, and head out to buy some more black beans. Or salad makings. Or turmeric or star anise. No matter how sad, scary and enraging things might be, at least you’ve done what you could.

We are the majority, we who believe in the rights of all and the laws of our Constitution, we who know compassion has to trump hate if we are to continue. Have a wonderful weekend.

P.S. This week was what gets us going, next week, what can settle us down:)

The post How To Get Ready For No Kings #3, March 28 2026, or, Saturday Morning appeared first on Privilege.

However, the organizers of the No Kings movement are gearing up for another nationwide protest, March 28th. They want it, I want it to be even bigger than the last one, and will put the details out in a week or two. So my proposal is to blog on through the month, but, short posts. Maybe photos of the garden, which appears to have survived last year’s long summer, abandoned for that wedding I spoke of, and currently features a hellebore parade. Maybe an account of cultural outings. Or, maybe, What I Am Watching On Television And Reading On My Kindle. In any case, concrete posts; first-level observation, minimal analysis.

Lie down, little neurons, lie down, I say to my dear pre-frontal cortex. All hail Quiet March. In a whisper.

Have a great weekend.

The post A Quiet(ish) March, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:10am appeared first on Privilege.

Key tenets:

• a cotton-silk blend, or a cotton gauze shirt, are your coolest options. Linen should be good, but in shirts I often find it heavy
• pants should be loose and pull on. no closure is final in the summertime
• as always, you can carry anything off if you look like you mean it

The simplest BoB version here is a “set,” as matching top and bottom are called now. From Vince.

However, these are a passport for pajamaland, which I don’t enjoy unless I can see the cerulean sea over my left shoulder. So, Florida? At a guess yes. The SF Bay Area, I’m suspicious.

All is not lost. One can urbanize stripes. For example. Notice no raffia resort sandals, no hoop earrings. Patent leather makes anything floaty just a tad tougher. And I’d want to carry the J.W. Anderson loafer bag which is my new obsession and which I do not own.

Alternatively, all in for color. With such informal baggy denim, I’d want to wear cool shoes (with denim raffia is not too resort) and a not-quite-classic gold stud. Maybe thistles. Simple. Someone would have to look closely to get it, whatever “it” is.

Given the preppy vibes haunting this shirt, I’d probably want even cooler shoes, but I live in a suburb where “cool” is perplexing.

Below are raw links. These are monetized, as a farewell wave to the platform I used to used for Style Blogging, Shopstyle. Enjoy your retirement, old friend, or as we said in software in the dinosaur age, your deprecation. My image downloading and Photoshop skills have evidently retired already.

Everyone else? Have a good weekend. Maybe enjoy the privilege of ignoring the world. For one day. Or two.

Lightning earrings: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfLu
Raffia ankle strap sandals: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfMa
GAP denim: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfMb
Green silk and cotton poplin shirt: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfLF
Turquoise studs: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfLE
Sand and white-striped silk and cotton blend shirt: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfLG
White cotton jacquard cotton pants: https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfMc
Black patent Birkenstocks https://shopstyle.it/l/cyfMd 

The post Big Over Big In Heat, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:33am appeared first on Privilege.

In my 20’s, fresh out of business school and three classes in economics, I loved free markets. How glorious, the “invisible hand.” In my 40s, back at work in Silicon Valley, smack dab in the midst of some fairly serious technical innovation, corporate meetings felt as creative as college theater.

In short, I truly believed, nay, deeply felt, that the American system worked. Was great, even. (I hasten to add I have not become a communist, have no fear. I don’t even know what “ist” I am. But my views are changing.)

Fast forward to 2026. A series of experiences.

1. 1. Housing Industry Without The Little Guy
      1. Walking my little suburban neighborhood this week I noticed the usual commotion of cranes and trucks and vans building a new house. A very very big new house. But no framing, no hammering sheet rock, no windows flying through the air. Instead, this house had been pre-fabricated elsewhere and was being installed like Lego, chunks at a time. Not cheap, BTW. The house (remember this area has very high housing prices) is listed for $5M.
      2. No more local general contractor guy with local craftspeople. A (privately-held, not on the stock market) corporation now controls the total profit of this house build.) Consolidation at the investor level, if you will, of a value-creating process. Not that we don’t need new housing, we do. But probably not the $5M kind replacing something that sold for half that.
   2. Medical Care For Whom?
      1. My primary care physician just quit the group I’ve gone to since I was 4. Moved on to “concierge care,” and doesn’t take insurance. The group she left behind struggles to hire physicians.
      2. So where we’ve always had two bands of healthcare, Medicaid and insurer-supported, a third band now comes on strong. Healthcare for the rich. Healthcare for those who don’t rely primarily on jobs for income, but on their wealth. The poor, if they can afford and are eligible for Medicaid, are administered by the government, the middle by health insurers who must make a profit, and the wealthy by small groups who (this is key) can spend more on their doctors.
      3. I would not presume to re-engineer American healthcare, but I’m pretty sure gutting the medical professional community to give extra special care to the rich isn’t the best path. A private option is bound to spring up in any system, but three bands of care feel like we’re duplicating administrative costs, at the very least.
   3. Generative AI For All?
      1. In the simplest terms, generative AI like ChatGPT and Anthropic allows software and data to do the work of entry-level, and maybe mid-level creators of industrial language and images. Many who were told “learn to code,” are now regretting that choice. Entry-level financial analysts, those who generated the reports mid-level investors read, are worrying. I can’t speak to young lawyers or marketers, but I don’t imagine 2026 is just like 2016 for them.
      2. Meanwhile, corporations fielding these AI tools are raking in investment dollars, hand over fist. And if they go public, investors will reap the value. Workers, kids out of college who had hoped for office jobs, now what? It is at this point that I start to see the appeal of a basic income program, for everyone, no questions asked. Even conservative think tanks believe. These people aren’t “not trying.” They aren’t lazy. Investors and technologists have simply taken (one might say seized) the benefits of this work for themselves.

At minimum, I believe we need strong regulation. At maximum, well, I don’t know. Ideas I’ve seen floated are Medicare for All, and Basic Income for all, no needs testing required. As recently as 10 years ago I’d have rejected both because, competition is good. But now, in a world with such wealth, and the capacity to meet the basic material needs of so many without burdening anyone–except those who dreamed of riches to build a place in history–is greed really the best driver to improve our collective lives?

I do think it used to be. On average across the entire world, the economics of greed harmed, brutalized many, but may have fed, housed and cured more than were hurt. An ugly calculus. I’m also as sure as I can be that it’s no longer true.

If you have thoughts, I’m all ears. In any case, I wish a good weekend to everyone. I hope you have shelter, healthcare, and a job if you need or want one, and thereby can find compassion to spare for others.

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