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Every once in a while, our whimsical old Universe surprises me with a gift so lavish it leaves me breathless. This week it was a short film. Quality: horrible. Script: was there one? Acting: amateurish at best. But none of that mattered, because for the first time, I got to see my grandmother, Ramona Langley, in one of the Hollywood movies she starred in back in 1913.  Ramona Langley and Lee Moran in The Girl Ranchers, 1913. My generation has sporadically searched the Universal Studios archives for her work, but most of those old silent films crumbled to dust ages ago. This week my brother Mike discovered one of her movies on YouTube, posted by the National Film Preservation Foundation with this commentary: “The one-reel gender comedy The Girl Ranchers is part of a wave of stories, sweeping through American popular culture in the early 1910s, about intrepid girls who prove themselves on the land.… If the film is not, as ads claimed, ‘one continual scream of laughter,’ its amusing stylizations of male and female behavior make for a nicely escalating battle of the sexes.” My grandmother was nothing if not intrepid and eternally engaged in the battle of the sexes. What a hoot it was to see her at the age of twenty, taking over the Rough Neck Ranch, bossing cowhands, fighting a gun battle with Native American raiders, donning overalls, and quelling the rebellion over “a skirt” being in charge. All that in just 14 minutes! Plus romance!  As a kid, I learned a lot from my grandmother. She gave me dubious romantic advice (“It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. Remember that!”), encouraged me to break the rules (“Let’s go get ice cream cones before dinner. Don’t tell your mother!”), and spoke of her time on the vaudeville stage and Hollywood’s earliest movie sets with such delight it left me with a lifetime love of creative endeavors. I was thinking about her long-ago career this week as Rich and I gathered with our Ideas Club to talk about the future of work. For those new to my blog, the Ideas Club is like a book club except that we discuss the hot topics of the day. Participants range from mid 30s to mid 80s; most are international friends who chose Seville as their Home 2.0. This month’s invitation asked, “How will the next generation make money in the new AI-shaped economy? Is Universal Basic Income an answer and/or is deeper societal change required? Are ‘good corporate citizens’ going to protect the public or bow to shareholders’ thirst for profits? (I think we all know the answer to that one.) As the old model of study, work, retirement gives way to constant flux and repeated upskilling, how can people plan for retirement?”  A week in advance, we sent links to articles and videos, and at the event we provided additional questions and fact sheets, including recent layoff statistics that made for chilling reading.  A friend sent me the statistics below, noting that the title’s bad grammar was reassuring in a way, as it suggests AI is still in the bumbling stage, not quite ready for total world domination.  We also included World Economic Forum predictions that appeared on this blog three weeks ago. Clearly the Forum needs a better crystal ball, because shortly after they announced that delivery drivers will remain in hot demand through 2030, some 48,000 employees were laid off at UPS and Amazon. The conflicting statistics prompted a lively discussion of just how little anybody actually knows about what’s happening now, let alone what lies ahead. The one thing everyone agrees on is that advanced tech is poised to disrupt business on a global scale, just as soon as it irons out a few pesky little bugs. OK, so our future overlords need a little more time to come up to speed. But while AI isn’t taking our jobs (yet), it is taking our money. America’s jittery corporations are shedding workers like mad to redirect all available funds to AI development and infrastructure. Nobody wants to be left behind during the disruption that forecasters say is coming soon and will be as game-changing as the introduction of the Internet, electricity, or (wait for it) fire. Silicon Valley speaks of AI as a mega-huge, asteroid-hitting-the-dinosaurs level event. As you may recall from high school science, that asteroid killed 75% of life on earth. So how do you navigate that kind of upheaval? Most are betting their future that a smaller, leaner workforce will make them agile enough to pivot and leap on whatever opportunities AI is going to offer the survivors. Where does that leave all those pink-slipped workers? Again, nobody knows. Some of AI’s billionaire pioneers are easing their consciences by suggesting somebody (not them, of course, someone else) should provide every American with Universal Basic Income — say, $1000 a month. That would alleviate some layoff pain but cost three billion dollars and still leave ex-employees below the poverty line and scrambling for jobs.  Geoffrey Hinton, the Nobel-Prize winning “godfather of AI,” fears the technology he helped build could wipe out humanity. He suggests programming it with “maternal instincts” so it would nurture us instead. “That’s the only good outcome. If it’s not going to parent me, it’s going to replace me,” he said. So far, everyone is ignoring his advice. Setting aside the income question for a moment, we considered what laid-off workers would do with bountiful leisure. Half a million years ago, when our first big tech disruption — fire — made it easier to eat well with less effort, we got busy creating language and civilization (obviously still works in progress, but hey, give us time). To provide our lives with interest and meaning, humans need a purpose, even if it’s simply etching patterns into a rock.  77,000 years ago, somebody in South Africa carved these lines to convey ideas to other ancient humans. It's the oldest example of creativity and symbolic thinking ever found. Some call it "the first hashtag." The people at my table pointed out leisure is great for creative types like me, and it’s true. Give me a laptop and a few art supplies, and I could happily spend my days writing and painting. Come to think of it, that’s what I do now. For the non-artistic types, my companions suggested volunteering as a feel-good, endorphin-producing, health-enhancing, purpose-building pastime. “What if America organized itself around a four-day work week plus a fifth day when everyone had to do volunteer work?” someone suggested. Later another participant said, “Yes, but if you’re forced to volunteer, that’s obligatory unpaid work. Isn’t that slavery?” As you can see, we didn’t exactly solve the world’s problems, figure out how to tame the Wild West currently known as Silicon Valley, or corral our thoughts into cohesive conclusions. But like my grandmother, I’m donning my (metaphorical) overalls and throwing myself into the fray. And while the future we envisioned together at the Ideas Club may not be ‘one continual scream of laughter,’ you can bet your cowboy boots we’ll find it's an exciting time to be alive. THANKSGIVING BREAK I'm taking the next two weeks off from this blog to devote myself to turkey, art, and long-overdue home improvements. I'll be back after that with more stories. IN THE MEANTIME, YOU MIGHT ENJOY HOME 2.0 This is the latest in my series of blog posts exploring what it takes to create a better life for yourself abroad — or at home, for that matter. See all posts in this series. DON'T MISS A SINGLE UPCOMING STORY! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My newest book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. Already read this book? Please leave a review HERE. You can purchase a signed paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it.  Some days feeling discombobulated is my default state. So I arrived at my Spanish dentist’s office, sat down in the waiting room, pulled out my phone, and discovered the screen was now entirely in Sanskrit. (Sigh.) Clearly this was going to be One of Those Days. Or as my phone would put it, तेषाम् दिनेषु एकः. Apparently the newly installed operating system had left my iPhone feeling wild and free and ready to embrace all sorts of thrilling new possibilities. Over the next few hours it greeted me in Japanese, French, Russian, and Spanish before it gave up and settled down to boring old English. Whew! I felt navigating the world in English and Spanish was complicated enough without throwing Japanese or Sanskrit into the mix. Living in a foreign language, even one you speak reasonably well, lends mystery and excitement to the most mundane activities. Is the hygienist chatting about the weather to put me at ease or suggesting I might like orthodonture or a root canal in addition to today’s teeth cleaning? I have learned to be very careful about nodding. However, when she asked me about my sensitive gums and whether I’d like anestesia for the worst parts, I was sure she meant the mild numbing cream her colleague had used in the past, so I said sí.  Moments later a dentist appeared and shot me up with two whopping doses of Novocain, one on each side of my jaw. I was thrilled at the painlessness of the next twenty minutes. And then it was over and I was horrified to discover that my mouth was no longer under my control. In fact, parts of my lips seemed to be missing altogether, and I could no longer form words, let alone sentences, in any language. “Drink water, it will make the anesthesia wear off more quickly,” the hygienist kindly advised (in Spanish, of course), handing me a cup of agua. Drink? Was she insane? I made an effort, but it was hard going, as I had to support my lower lip with three fingers and a wad of tissue. I congratulated myself for not drooling on the floor. And any time you find yourself thinking that …  The ability to swallow beverages is one of those things it's easy to take for granted until you lose it. I will spare you a description of the indignities I suffered an hour later when I attempted an espresso at a café; everyone kindly turned away and pretended nothing untoward was happening. And you don't want the gruesome details about the restorative piece of chocolate I slipped between my slack lips, only to have it turn to sludge and start leaking out of both corners of my mouth. Later I managed to consume a small amount of lunch without biting off my tongue, so obviously I was pretty proud of myself. Yes, that’s how low the bar was that day. My point is that for many hours there was nothing I could do but embrace the chaos. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from living abroad in my Home 2.0, it’s how to accept the Buddhist belief that chaos is the default state of the universe and there is precious little we can do about it. And yet, like fish insisting they can control the ocean, we keep making plans and giving God a good chuckle.  We humans cling with equal determination to another persistent illusion: isolation. “Nothing exists separately from anything else,” wrote the Buddhist master Thich Nhat Hahn. “We are all interconnected. By taking care of another person, you take care of yourself. By taking care of yourself, you take care of the other person. Happiness and safety are not individual matters.” Interconnection is the cornerstone of many communities, including mine in Seville. Sure, you can be a hermit here if you want; I’ve met a few. But building a new life for yourself as a stranger in a strange land, you quickly learn the value of knowing people who can pull you back from the brink before you stumble into the endless small pitfalls and pratfalls lying in wait for you. For instance, I just got back from buying a design-it-yourself armoire at Seville’s Ikea. Fellow expats warned me years ago that the Spanish word for drawers — cajónes — is perilously close to cojones, slang for testicles. I knew Ikea staffers would be too professional to fall on the floor shrieking with laughter if I flubbed the pronunciation. All the same, I memorized some phrases, such as ¿Cómo suele configurarse este armario? (How do people usually configure this armoire?) to help me tiptoe around the faux pas.  And as if I needed more of a challenge, I had to communicate with Ikea using the metric system. Expats know a lot about feeling clueless and helpless, and tend to be generous with information, advice, and the names of people who are enchufada — literally plugged in, that is, they have useful contacts. Such connections have saved my life, my sanity, and what’s left of my dignity on too many occasions to count. Without friends, where are we? Lately we’ve been hearing so much about the epidemic of isolation that I suppose it’s no wonder that some folks are finding unorthodox ways to forge bonds, including cozying up to non-human entities. “Falling in love with A.I. is no longer science fiction,” wrote Coralie Kraft in this week’s NY Times. “A recent study found that one in five American adults has had an intimate encounter with a chatbot; on Reddit, r/MyBoyfriendisAI has more than 85,000 members championing human-A.I. connections, with many sharing giddy recollections of the day their chatbot proposed marriage.” Here are a few images from the article. Worryingly, this comes on the heels of reports that we are in a sex recession. It started around the turn of the millennium: Americans, especially young people — even teens! — are less likely to engage in serious hanky-panky these days. Why? Theories abound. Technology is distracting their attention. Some object on religious grounds. Many still live with helicopter parents. Youngsters are raised to be risk adverse so they are avoiding driving, dating, and drinking alcohol. I know, right? Kids today — what a bunch of slackers! In Japan, a million young people known as hikikomori have chosen total isolation. Unable to cope with the world’s challenges, they’ve retreated into their rooms for six months to a lifetime. No doubt many turn to chatbots for comfort. And who are we to judge? Living in the modern world isn’t easy for any of us, and like the heroes of the old tales, we often find unexpected companions to help us along the way. But without genuine human relationships, what is the point of the journey?  “The greatest hazard of life,” said Dr. Leo Buscaglia, “is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow, live, and love.” And I will add this: there are few joys sweeter than emerging from a horrible day. When the anesthetic wore off, and I stopped drooling and began forming whole sentences again, I felt like dancing down the street. I didn’t, because I figured I’d already given the neighbors enough to talk about. But inside I was turning cartwheels, doing the mambo, and singing the Hallelujah chorus. And aren’t those the very moments that make life worth living?  Bird dancing for joy. Photo: David Rice / Nikon Comedy Wildlife Awards HOME 2.0 This is the latest in my series of blog posts exploring what it takes to create a better life for yourself abroad — or at home, for that matter. See all posts in this series. DON'T MISS A SINGLE UPCOMING STORY! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My newest book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. Already read this book? Please leave a review HERE. You can purchase a signed paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it. “So are you going to the Zombie protest on Saturday?” a friend asked last week. Wait, what? The political landscape isn’t chaotic enough — now the zombies are staging an uprising? What do they want? Shorter living-death curses? More human brains to feast on? But then I saw the poster. The headline “Tanto Turismo Da Miedo” means "This Much Tourism Is Scary." It suggested we all show up dressed as zombies, dragging a suitcase, to protest the over-tourism that’s threatening to suck the soul out of Seville and turn it into a theme park. I was all in.  Like most European cities, Seville is increasingly jammed with holidaymakers who sometimes (gasp!) fail to act with appropriate courtesy and decorum in public. I Googled “Seville Tourist Scandal” to catch up on the latest. Top result: “Tourists Spark Outrage Over Fountain Dance.” Eleven inebriated foreigners were filmed in broad daylight, singing and dancing in a fountain in the heart of Seville’s old quarter (you can see the footage here). These disrespectful shenanigans had the neighbors howling for (metaphorical) blood. And here I must confess my own conscience isn’t entirely clear. On a sweltering night nearly 20 years ago, Rich and I were sitting on the edge of a big stone fountain near our Seville apartment. We began dabbling our feet in the cool water, and pretty soon we were wading, then waltzing in the fountain. An old Sevillano passing by growled, "Hey you two, is that any way to behave? You wouldn't do that back where you come from." At the time I thought cheerfully, “Yes, and that's the whole point. Living overseas, you get to try things you'd never do back home.” I joked about the incident for years and eventually used it as the title of my book about moving to Seville.  Seville is my Home 2.0; I'm always aware I'm a guest here, and I make an effort to behave myself and not lead others astray. Staring at my computer screen, watching drunken tourists cavort in a fountain, I wondered, aghast, if I'd played any part in inspiring this madness. Then I came to my senses. Yes, thousands of readers have bought my book Dancing in the Fountain (and I’m grateful to each and every one of you!). But the real issue isn't fountain dancing, it's the millions of party animals now flooding Seville every year. They're here kicking up their heels because city officials have spent millions of euros promoting Seville as a sun-drenched, sangria-soaked, anything-goes vacation paradise. Seville is justly proud of its rich cultural heritage and isn't above using it for self-promotion because it needs the money. Tourism is financing long-overdue renovations everywhere I look. Crews are busy refurbishing ancient buildings, historic parks, and the little plaza where Rich and I danced in the fountain all those years ago.  No dancing in Pila de Pato (Duck Fountain) these days! Happy as we all are to see crumbling parts of the landscape revitalized, the influx of cash is driving up prices in every sector of the economy, especially food and housing. Last year Rich and I dined at a posh new place and spent just under 100€ for a meal that was basically two tapas, two glasses of wine, and tap water for which we were charged a shocking (and illegal) three euros apiece. Luckily, if you know where to go, you can still find true bargains. At a recent lunch outside the city center, we paid 11.20€ for approximately the same amount of food and drink, minus the fawning attention, lavish atmosphere, and exquisite arrangement of each mouthful on the plate.  Seville still has plenty of modest eateries where you can dine well for easy money. Savvy residents can avoid overpriced meals easily enough, but they can’t stomach the new housing prices, which in just ten years have shot up 70% to 95% (depending on how you crunch the numbers). “What’s soul-crushing for me,” said my friend Heidi, an American who has lived in Seville for 20 years, “is seeing the mom and pop stores shutting down. You lose the actual services that people who live here need, like a shoe repair store, a key duplication store, the fruit store, the butcher, the fishmonger. They’re all going away, and you're getting souvenir shops and luggage storage. And that's hard to see.” “The small, individually owned shops are disappearing, but that's a trend that is happening everywhere. It's happening in the US, too,” pointed out her husband Enrique, a Sevillano entrepreneur whose family owns some short-term rental apartments. “Tourism brings economic growth. It brings gentrification.”  Heidi and Enrique believe Seville needs better regulations on tourist apartments to avoid what happened in Barcelona. “I remember having a conversation with a former mayor of the city,” Enrique added, “and him specifically saying that they were watching very closely what happened to Barcelona, because they did not want Seville to become another Barcelona. Barcelona is an example where that battle is lost. It is Disneyland for tourists. So it most certainly can kill a city.” "How can we keep that from happening here?" I asked. “We keep blaming it on the tourists,” he said. “At some point the local government has to take responsibility. Look, it is your house. You set up the rules in your house. You wouldn't let someone come and start peeing in the kitchen. You will kick them out of house. So why do you let it happen here with people like our visitors?”  I agree with Enrique and this sign (spotted in a California restroom): peeing on the floor is not OK. This seemed like the right time to mention the rowdy tourists dancing in the fountain. Enrique (who knows all about my book) grinned. “One or two people doing it in the middle of the night is cute. When you have a horde of people disrupting the whole area, then it's no longer cute.” I thanked him for letting me off the hook so graciously. “What it comes down to is this,” said Heidi. “Why do tourists want to come here? Because of the culture, because of the food, because of the people. The soul of the city is the residents.” To keep the city livable for residents, Heidi and Enrique both agreed that tighter regulations are needed. While laws now control the number of tourist rentals that can be added to existing apartment buildings in the most overrun sections, they leave room for big money to buy whole buildings and turn them into tourist housing, and for thousands more individual units to be licensed in less central areas. And that’s what had the zombies (and me) taking to the streets on Saturday. The costumes were marvelous, the signs clever, the mood cheerful but determined. Rich and I were honored to stand in solidarity with the zombie horde. And for those of you who are considering a visit to Seville this year, I won’t say don’t come, but I will suggest you broaden your itinerary to include other, less publicized towns that aren’t currently on the endangered list. (Here are some suggestions from Rick Steves.) Wherever you go, try to refrain from peeing in inappropriate places, dancing in the fountain (at least in broad daylight in front of eyewitnesses with cameras), and otherwise disturbing the peace and scandalizing the locals. Let’s act as ambassadors of goodwill for our country. Heaven knows our reputation needs all the help it can get these days.  "Nobody will speak to us in Spanish, only high-pitched whistles and clicks — is it that obvious we're tourists?" HOME 2.0 This is the latest in my series of blog posts exploring what it takes to create a better life for yourself abroad — or at home, for that matter. See all posts in this series. DON'T MISS A SINGLE UPCOMING STORY! If you haven't already, take a moment to subscribe so I can let you know when I publish my weekly posts. Just send me an email and I'll take it from there. [email protected] SUBSCRIBED BUT NOT GETTING POST ANNOUNCEMENTS? Check your spam folder. If you still can't find it, please let me know. FOR FURTHER READING My bestselling travel memoirs & guides Cozy Places to Eat in Seville My newest book: My San Francisco If you haven't read My San Francisco yet, you can order it HERE. Already read this book? Please leave a review HERE. You can purchase a signed paperback edition, in person or online, at Rebound Bookstore in San Rafael, CA GOING SOMEWHERE? Enter any destination or topic, such as packing light or road food, in the search box below. If I've written about it, you'll find it. |
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March 2026
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