The Pioneer Newsletter #13

Happy New(sletter) Year

Introduction Paragraph

There’s plenty in life I’ve been able to handle. The bright public park lights of little league baseball was not one of them. During one of my all too common hitting slumps, as the threat of demotion to Scranton Wilkes-Bare loomed large, the skipper pulled me aside for some words of wisdom.

“Even the best hitters in the world come up short 7 out of 10 times.”

This would equate to a very solid .300 batting average. Unfortunately, I was heading back to the dugout far more than 7 out of 10 times. He didn’t have the heart to admit it, but even Skip knew the worst hitters come up short at least 9 out of 10 times. Fast approaching 10 out 10, I could no longer be referred to as a hitter. The term failed to describe what was occurring at the plate.

My baseball career never recovered. But this memory has been rattling around in my dome for a completely different reason. Looking back on my 2023, I ended up hitting just about .300 with my New Year’s resolutions. It was the first time I’d participated in the activity I once looked down upon. But last December at The Westbury pub in Midtown, a friend and four pints of Guinness convinced me to jot down a few. Now if you told me a year ago at The Westbury I’d cross off 30%, I’d probably be quite disappointed. But looking back on all that I fell short of and all that came to be, I think Skip was right. Hitting .300 is a year well spent.

Last year’s list was quite short. I thought keeping it succinct would keep me focused. Turns out even the best hit .300. So this year I want to take more at-bats. In turn, I went absolutely crazy on three pages of legal pad. My 2024 New Year’s resolutions read more like a manifesto. They range from lofty career aspirations to acquiring a handkerchief. I didn’t visit one new state last year. What a shame. This year, I must. That is unless I accomplish a few of those career goals, which might in turn lead to less time for travel. But what if instead, it’s a year of abject professional failure? Then come December, I’m hopping in my station wagon and heading out to New Mexico. I’d also like to visit 2 new countries next year. This may seem even more unattainable to the naked eye. However, it’s just a fancy way of telling you - I’ve never been to Canada or Mexico. If just about everything goes wrong next year, I’ll at least have been to three new places and I will have done so with a handkerchief in my pocket.

So if you haven’t partaken in the overplayed and generally unsuccessful tradition of New Year’s resolutions, I encourage you to reconsider. Get out a legal pad and go buck wild on it. Don’t have a legal pad? Well, I’ve just thought of your first New Year’s resolution. Think of all that you expect to possibly maybe hopefully do. I bet you’ll cross off 30%. And in the process, I bet you’ll accomplish a few more feats unexpected. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll even start a newsletter. Regardless, the best hitters in baseball no longer hit .300 anyway. So who cares if you even come up short of that? Blame it on shift, pine tar, or spin rate. Blame it on my little league baseball manager. Blame it on me. Just don’t unsubscribe from my newsletter. And if you do, I hope you fail at just about everything.

All Tours End at the Gift Shop

I’m on a plane ride back from Morocco. But more on that later. I’ll instead begin in our nation’s capital at the Lincoln Memorial.

My first visit to the monument was with my immediate family in 2008. Quite similarly to my reaction after the end of Boogie Nights, I was quite taken by its size. I recall being moved by the last sentence in the Gettysburg Address, carved enormously into the marble. I remember staring deep into 16’s literally stone-cold eyes and feeling his power.

My second visit to the Lincoln Memorial was with my grandparents in 2010. Once again, I remember believing this was just a really really well done monument.

But it wasn’t until my THIRD visit to the Lincoln Memorial that I noticed some real crazy shit. On my third visit to the Lincoln Memorial, I realized that carved into the marble, next to Abe and The Address - was a gift shop. I didn’t even know the sculpture had rooms, to begin with. But there it was - a gift shop - part of the structural design of the Lincoln Memorial. I found this to be absolutely fascinating. Before going to sleep tonight, just remember, someone spent 8 hours today inside the Lincoln Memorial. Now try and go back to sleep.

It was then and there that I learned an all too important lesson about travel, tourism, and life. All tours end at the gift shop. Tucked away within the most significant landmarks will be a small room where magnets and mugs are available to purchase and all sales are final.

I would end up working as a tour guide myself years later. And no, not inside the Lincoln Memorial. While I won’t reveal the destination of my employment, the last stop on our tour was in fact the gift shop. But there was one small difference - that gift shop was quite far away from the exit. It led to very uncomfortable journeys back to the parking lot. Tourists would short-circuit when I ordered them to keep walking after the gift shop. Their entire trip and life, they’ve firmly believed it would be the final stop before returning to their Nevada-plated Camaros. During our extended journey back, I’d begin to sense fear. They’d move like hostages exiting a downtown bank. They’d reconsider all that once made so much sense. Their faith in God would begin to dwindle. But finally, only a few minutes later, they’d find safe haven back in those Camaros. It was just a longer walk than usual. Once again they were reminded…

All tours end at the gift shop.

I thought I knew this. With all of my experience, I really thought it was second nature. But such as any lesson, it can easily be forgotten.

My understanding of tourism’s first commandment was challenged here in Morocco on a camel ride through the Sahara. I mounted my camel with the help of our guide, Hassan. After a small protest from the camel, Hassan had him up and trotting with a language of taps and clicks I will never understand. He led us through the desert just as the sun began to set. I had never witnessed a sunset in the Sahara. I’d never seen that shade of orange turn purple and paint an almost endless horizon across the sand. Nor the curvature of the earth so pronounced. My physical presence was put into perspective like never before. If just for twenty minutes, I was a tourist absolutely captured by my surroundings like one of those models in a Delta ad before the safety video. When our camelback journey concluded, Hassan parked our stallions at the foot of a small dune and laid out a hand-woven rug on the sand. He gestured for us to join him. We huddled around Hassan on the carpet and I was almost certain some form of ancient ceremony would follow. An ancient ceremony it was. Just one I had not expected. Hassan removed handmade rock sculptures from a Jansport backpack and stared deep into my eyes.

“Available for purchase,” he said.

Beyond the camels, sand dunes, and sunsets was a tour nonetheless. I had forgotten all that I once knew to be true. Even in the middle of the Sahara Desert…

All tours end at the gift shop.

Recs

The Knick - (TV SHOW)

Steven GOATerbergh’s show about surgeons in a Manhattan Hospital at the turn of the 20th century. I never realized how much trial and error went into medicine. Doctors used to just get to slicing, kill a patient or two, and then go “Better luck next time. I’ll be at the brothel in Chinatown until tomorrow morning.”

Paper Boarding Passes (TICKET)

I’m so out on e-tickets. Recently I’ve received some real cardboard hard copies and I’m absolutely loving it. It’s the type of touch that might have me in a suit and fedora next time I’m at LAX.

Blackberry - (MOVIE)

They could’ve used a few more million to make this story about a company that made billions but Glen Howerton still puts up serious stats here. I’m sort of convinced he’d go on an Ed Harris antagonist run for the next twenty years if he was actually bald.