Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery: Chapter 40

I slept fitfully that night, and was entirely groggy when I heard phone ring at six.  I couldn’t catch it in time, and momentarily fell back asleep, and then it rang again.  I struggled awake, grabbed the phone and said hello as briskly as I could.

“Liza, it’s me Simba.  Is it too early for you?”

I sat straight up in bed.  “Simba, of course not, are you all right?  Where are you?”

“I’m outside your door.  Is it okay to come in?”

“Simba, just a minute, let me get my bathrobe on.  I’m afraid I wasn’t quite up and running yet, but I’m a fast starter.  I’m coming down to the door right now, and I’ll get some coffee going.”

I closed the door to the bedroom to hide the disheveled mess of an unmade bed and strewn clothes.  I realized that I could do nothing about the pile of dishes in the sink, but was able to put the overflowing garbage bag in the utility closet.  Just in time, I realized that the knot in my bathrobe had loosened and I was about to open the door in a state of near nakedness.  I cinched it up, and opened the door. Continue reading

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Think Fast, Think Slow

Next to my bed is a large stack of books, most of which I will never read.  I pick them up on occasional prowls through the local bookstore, or buy them based on a book review.  The problem is that I am far more ambitious when I buy books than when I want to read them.  Recent choices include “Upright, the Evolutionary Key to Becoming Human,” “Mycophilia” (about mushrooms), and “Mr. Gatling’s Terrible Marvel” (about the history of the Gatling gun).  However, I promised myself that I would make an honest effort at “Thinking Fast and Slow” a well reviewed book about how we think.  But about half way through it, I raised the white flag and hoped that perhaps there was an old Vanity Fair nesting amongst the dust bunnies under the bed.

Beside, I think that I’ve got the hang of the book.  The author, Daniel Kahneman, a psychologist, makes a pretty strong case that our exquisite brain, the 800 pound gorilla at the top of the food chain, basically relies on a mish-mash of biases, irrational “rules of thumb” (formally called heuristics) and stereotypes.  Here it is in a nutshell.  Kahneman describes two different patterns of thinking.  System 1 is our fast, automatic and emotional pattern of processing information.  In contrast, System 2 is slow, effortful, logical and conscious.  We would like to think that System 2 is the basis of human intelligence but here’s the problem.  System 2 is just plain lazy and defers to System 1 whenever it can.  In the meantime, System 1 struggles to keep up with the deluge of input and is forced to make quick and dirty decisions on incomplete information.  System 1 lacks the discipline to look beyond the surface and relies on “WYSIATI,” an acronym for “what you see is all there is.”  Basically System 1 desperately tries to stitch together a plausible story line from immediately available information, and in its rush is totally vulnerable to all sorts of biases, fallacies, stereotypes and prejudices.  The recent movie Moneyball contains a great example of Systems 1 and 2 at work.  A room is filled with grizzled baseball scouts who make System 1 comments such as, “He waddles like a duck, he’s no good,” or “He’s got an ugly girlfriend, and an ugly girlfriend means no confidence.  Don’t draft him.”  That is pure System 1, which contrasts with the GM, Billy Beane, who has a System 2 approach that focuses on a detailed statistical analysis of on base percentage. Continue reading

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Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery: Chapter 39

As I started driving back through town, I remembered that Henry had let it slip that he knew my father professionally.  All of Dad’s old records were stored with Ralph and Fanny, so I once again headed to the Clean Plate Club to see if I could dig up any old files.  They were technically my files now, since I had inherited Dad’s business, and I quickly brushed aside any misgivings about conflicting cases.  It just past 2 PM, and for once the Clean Plate Club was closed; it made my smile to think of Ralph and Fanny walking hand and hand along the beach on this lovely afternoon.  Fortunately, Ralph had never changed the hiding place for his key, and I thought about all the people – tradesmen and regular customers alike – who know how to let themselves in.  I went down into the basement, and turned on the bare light bulb that swung like a slow pendulum above my head.  Continue reading

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Podcast: The Bra Strap

My personal history of the bra strap, from training bra, to braless, to basic piece of underwear.

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The Checkered Game of Life

The other day I was wandering lost in a Target Superstore, looking for one of those trivial items, like the darning needle that used to be sold locally until all the big box stores sucked the local sundry shops dry.  I found myself in the game aisle, and spotted the three board games that were a staple of my childhood – Monopoly, Risk and the Game of Life.  I hadn’t played any of them for years, and I wondered what subliminal messages these board games sent, all in the name of family fun. Continue reading

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Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery: Chapters 37-38

Chapter 37

I moved away from the bridge tables quickly, but had lost sight of Simba.  As I looked frantically around I heard my name.

“Liza, fancy meeting you here.  This cannot be a coincidence.”

“Grimes, are you here for a little bridge?”

“No, I don’t play bridge, but that was quite a show with your clients.  I can’t imagine that you were really here to play bridge.”

I was caught again, not knowing how much he knew and how much I could successfully dissemble, and I jealously remembered how effectively Sam Todd had manipulated Grimes a couple of days ago.  Yes, the fine art of dissembling, of telling just the right amount of truth.  “Yes I was actually here to make contact with Henry Murphy – who is very elusive.  But I had no idea that his sister was going to show up.  My role in the case has changed, you know.  I am trying to be the family mediator between these two siblings, and as you can see, I might be a little bit out of my depth.  So what are you doing here?” Continue reading

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Unintended Consequences

Unintended Consequences

In the US health care system, the people are represented by three separate yet equally important groups; the doctors who treat patients, the employers who offer health care benefits and the insurance companies who administer them.  This is their story.  Donque Donque (start Law and Order theme song)

Actually, many people wish that could be their story – affordable health care coverage offered by a stable and well-endowed employer.  However, for an increasing number of us, decent health care coverage has emerged as an elusive dream, resulting in gerry-rigging and scrambling around in a stunning display of unintended consequences.  This is our story.

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Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery: Chapter 36

The next day was bright and sunny.  The working world must have been elated that this perfect day fell on a Saturday.  The beach would be crowded with body surfers and beach volleyball, and the bike path full of bikers and roller bladers.  But this was shaping up to be an intense work day for me – playing bridge could be tense enough, but I had to do it while simultaneously making a productive connection with Henry.  For starters, I had to somehow insinuate myself into Henry’s bridge game in the park.  From my playing days with my father, I recalled that some games were restricted to those with Bridge Master Points, awarded during officially sanctioned tournaments.  I figured I could bluff my way through that.  My father was always very proud of his Master Points, and after he died, I found his bridge card in this wallet next to his driver’s license.  But I knew that I needed to bone up on common bidding conventions.  I remember my father storming into the house one day, exclaiming, “Guess what, you can now bid 1 No Trump with as few as 15 points.  Back when I started playing you had to have at least 18 points.”  It all seemed very silly to me, but posturing definitely part of the bridge culture. Continue reading

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Naming Rights

I am currently trying to write a murder mystery, not because I have a great plot line in mind, or a deep roiling well of family dysfunction and tragedy to draw from, but mostly because I want the naming rights.  I figure I have very limited opportunities to name things – my children, pets, maybe I can rename myself, but these will never be enough to exhaust the great names in my mental notebook.  And I don’t think that I am alone here.  In the Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald spends a couple of pages reeling off the names of Gatsby’s houseguests.  This doesn’t seem to advance the plot at all, except to showcase Fitzgerald’s quirky rolodex.  His couples are named the “Catlips,” or the “Fishguards,” there is a man named “Klipspringer,” and a “whole clan named Blackbuck.”  Occasionally Fitzgerald adds an extraneous but compelling detail.  There’s Edgar Beaver, “whose hair, they say, turned white one summer for no reason at all,” or Ripley Snell who got “so drunk on the gravel drive that Mrs. Ulysses Swett’s automobile ran over his right hand.”  Somehow specifying the right hand instead of the left makes Ripley Snell even quirkier. Continue reading

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Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery: Chapter 35

It was now about 5:00 and I was beat. I desperately wanted to avoid talking with Simba today – I needed at least an evening to collect my thoughts and figure out how to approach this fragile woman. This was the type of strategy session that Ralph and Fanny loved, but I didn’t want to intrude on their Friday night dinner service – usually their busiest night. I was not even remotely a cook, but I figured I could stop by and man the dishwasher or other menial chores, and then they might be done sooner. But even so, they would probably be way too tired despite my help. I worried about Ralph and Fanny. Running a restaurant, no matter how casual and homey, was a physically demanding job, and they might be reaching their endpoint. I had stopped by on other busy nights and I could tell that they really appreciated my help. I redialed Simba’s cell phone, and was relieved when it went straight to voicemail. I wanted to hold her off at least until tomorrow, so I suggested that we meet at the Starbucks that was kitty corner across from the park where her brother Henry would probably be playing his Saturday morning bridge.  Continue reading

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