I’m a fan of the character and charm of old houses. Living in New England, I was surrounded by Victorians and Colonials, Federals and Cape Cods. I love to see houses that match their place. I’m delighted by row houses in New York and pictures of Pueblo architecture in the Southwest. My area is home to many Spanish style and Craftsman homes. And the California coast used to be dotted with cute, airy beach bungalows.

In recent years I have come to realize that the reality of home ownership and usage is very different from the historiocity many people subscribe to. Old houses are great, except for all the reasons that they are bad. I believe grand old homes with beautiful details and craftsmanship deserve to be respected and maintained. But the vast majority of old homes were constructed quickly and cheaply. Furthermore, homes are living objects, in that they require constant maintenance, repair, and replacement parts, not to mention modifications to support modern living styles.

I love my current house. It is a compact one story built in 1928. I find the style and layout charming. I like the stucco and arches, built-in cabinets and fireplace. But I will freely admit that my house lacks any significant architectural detail. It is nice to live in only because it was expanded in the 1990s to add a third bedroom, second bathroom, and expanded kitchen.

The previous owners also added modern air conditioning, updated the electrical service, blew in insulation, replaced all the wood floors, and put in a new roof. When we moved in, we had to embark on a variety of projects including shoring up the crumbling chimney, replacing the failing sewer line, replacing a bunch of old windows, and adding earthquake bracing. We also had to rip out all of the dangerous old knob and tube wiring and put in a new heat pump air conditioner.

How much of the original home remains? The 2×4 framing, which is too thin to provide adequate insulation. The foundation, which has had significant patching and repair, and will probably need more. The stucco has been redone many times, the plumbing has been changed and expanded over time, the bathroom redone completely. There is original cabinetry and millwork, and a few original windows, but we keep those for sentimental reasons even though they are horrendously energy inefficient.

I love my house, but I wonder more and more, were I have to have money and opportunity, would I buy another old house, or would I build a new one? As an infrastructure nerd, I see a lot of appeal in modern earthquake- and fire-resistant building methods, structured wiring, plumbing manifolds, and spray foam insulation. While old-style craftsmanship is hard to come by, it is certainly possibly to build new houses that charm and delight. Heck, every recent season of This Old House has resulted in a house that is usually charming and always more new than old – sometimes reconstructed completely!

Does an old house have intrinsic worth? I’m increasingly in the YIMBY camp with the belief that the answer is “no”, and the instinct against tearing down non-significant homes is holding cities back.

Housing stock needs to be replaced eventually. You can’t just stick with what you have forever. Normalize tearing down moldy old buildings and replacing them with bigger multi unit buildings with brand new plumbing and heat pumps and such

— Adam Gurri (@adamgurri) September 16, 2023

It is very hard to know what the right answer is these days when it comes to pandemic safety.

Government data carries lots of caveats, but roughly 1 in 100 reported cases still lead to death¹ E.g. LA County reports 1017 new cases and 14 new deaths today, 3,476,928 new cases and 33,889 deaths since the beginning.. The majority of people I know have become ill with COVID-19 at least once, but most recent infections have been relatively mild with few long-term consequences²That said, I know people who have had awful symptoms that go on for months..

So what – if any – precautions are still warranted for a reasonably healthy adult?

Two weeks ago I went on a work trip to Chicago. I wore an N95 mask everywhere I could: in the airport, on the plane, in the taxi, on the crowded trade show floor, and in private meetings with vendors. I even wore an N95 mask to the cocktail hours!³I had to forego the cocktails, obviously. Guess how many other attendees were likewise adorned? By my count, no more than 1 in 500. At a convention for cleaning industry professionals.

It was awkward and uncomfortable to be masked throughout the week, but it was possible. Where it was not possible was at the group dinners. I had something resembling a panic attack when I entered this room, awash in the noise of hundreds of humans packed in like sardines in a can:

For the sake of propriety I endured the dinner and enjoyed good food, good wine, and good conversation. I flew home on a Thursday with plans to fly right back out again on Saturday for vacation in London.

On Friday I got the email that the person sitting next to me at the dinner had tested positive. Despite all my best efforts to stay safe, the dinner and social niceties did me in. So much for that trip to London! Now I get to stay home and quarantine instead.

Except, of course, that’s not true. While the CDC offers tepid and widely ignored recommendations, there are no longer any formal requirements for travel: no need for vaccination, testing, tracing, quarantine, or masking. No more government-sponsored sick time. Far fewer flexible rebooking options by airlines and hotels. Even the free vaccines are going away at the end of the year!⁴Pfizer plans to start charging $120 per dose in 2023.

So what is a concerned individual to do? What is the right course of action for someone who believes we live in a society and should take care of each other? Luckily, I did not get COVID (this time) and did not have to make that decision. But in the airport, waiting for our flight to London, an older couple sat down near us with coughs and sniffles. Then they pulled out COVID rapid tests and listened loudly to the audio instructions while fumbling with the packaging. In the airport. While waiting to board the flight. Surrounded by other travelers.

I know public health policy is hard. I know public health communication is hard. I know everyone is tired of this, and the politics are fraught. I know Joe Biden says the pandemic is over and we now live with endemic COVID. And I can see that for most people, the new normal is just the old normal. But it is hard to believe that this is the best approach, that we individually and collectively are doing the right thing to properly balance risks and make a just, equitable society.

Anyway, I’ll let you know how things go in London. Maybe the UK has a better approach.

It is October 17th, 2019.  We are in a drab procedure room at the Kaiser hospital complex in Hollywood.  I am holding the hand of my wife – my brave, strong, amazing partner – as her procedure is about to begin.

It is June 1st, our wedding day.  The celebration is joyous, we are surrounding by friends and family, we are so happy and our future is bursting with possibility.

It is June 14th.  We are on our honeymoon, and we just checked in to an amazing cliffside hotel on the island of Santorini, Greece.  We are sitting by the pool and sipping cocktails while gazing out at an endless expanse of blue ocean.  We take the steep stairs down to our hotel room, tipsy and holding hands.

It is August 28th.  We are sitting anxiously in an exam room, waiting for the doctor to perform our first ultrasound.  She shows us the little clump of cells that will grow into our precious baby boy.  Everything looks good, she says.

It is early October.  We put a silly little sticker on her belly that says “11 weeks” and take pictures.  We excitedly plan for our future.  We can’t wait to tell our family and friends.

I don’t remember what day it is.  I just remember the profound silence when the doctor turns on the audio loop and there is no heartbeat.

It is October 17th, 2019.  We are in a drab procedure room at the Kaiser hospital complex in Hollywood, waiting for our abortion procedure to begin.  We are so desperately sad.  Our baby was so very wanted.  My wife looks at the doctor anxiously and asks, innocently, what would have happened if this was 50 years ago, before Roe vs. Wade?

The doctor answers, without hesitation, you would have died.

About a year ago I created a tiny picnic bench as a gift to my mother-in-law. The quick project was wildly successful, as demonstrated by this photo of it in action in her backyard!

But squirrel bench v1 had some design issues. The glue and brads holding it together were no match for the heftier squirrels, and it started coming apart. While my father-in-law fixed it with some strategically placed screws, I worry about the long-term durability due to the thin wood pieces.

I have a lot of wood scraps and cutoffs from a bigger (unfinished) project, so I decided the time was right to make a second attempt. Plus it was a great excuse to finally buy a drill press.

Squirrel Bench v2 has some serious upgrades. This time I ripped redwood to standard length on my table saw and rounded the edges at the router table to make the pieces look more like dimensioned lumber. The new design is heftier and uses screws rather than brads. The bench is a bit bigger and more uniform, so it should be easier to mount to a tree or post, and should stand up better to fat squirrels.

And I made five of them. That’s how much wood I had, so why not?

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The whole project took about six hours of my time, plus wood, screws, and my fully equipped shop. A roughly equivalent made-in-China version on Amazon goes for about $20, so it is a good thing woodworking is my hobby and not my livelihood!

I think they would make good Christmas gifts, but it is only June! Fourth of July gifts, maybe. Anyway, I’m very satisfied with the result and can’t wait to see pictures of them in use!

For years I believed that tipping service staff was a “reward” for good service, good food, or a good experience. In 2003 I was shocked to discover that the federal tipped minimum wage was $2.13 an hour. After that I started being more careful to always include some sort of tip, even if service was terrible. But the fundamental idea that “tipping” is an add-on remained with me.

Nearly 20 years later, the federal tipped minimum wage has not budged from that absurd number. But the COVID-19 pandemic has made it more clear than ever how essential and how under-compensated service workers are.

My first job out of college was in IT support, and I made $17 per hour. On days when I solved a complex technical problem for a VIP and saved the day, I made $17 per hour. On days when I made mistakes or messed things up, I made $17 per hour. On days when I was feeling cheery and friendly, I made $17 per hour. And on days when I was feeling crabby or distracted, I still made $17 an hour.

Over time I learned, grew, got better at my job, got promoted, and got pay raises. When I did well I was praised, and when I did poorly I was given a stern talking to. But never once did it cross my mind that having a bad day would result in me getting paid less, or not at all.

For service industry staff, that is the reality every day, and it is absurd. Leave aside whether the waiter or bartender or Uber driver does a good job. There are a hundred things out of their control, like the kitchen being backed up, bad traffic, or someone else making a mistake. And yet we compensate people in these positions based on the idea that they have control over everything that happens.

Workers should be paid fairly for work performed. The idea that the customer should have any control over that just does not make sense to me anymore. If you are dissatisfied with a service experience, you can talk to the manager. If you are sufficiently upset, you can stop patronizing the establishment, or leave a bad review. But I no longer believe it is morally justifiable to deprive anyone involved with the transaction of their livelihood.

So here is my new philosophy on tipping: I don’t.

So here is my new philosophy on tipping: I don’t. I do not believing in tipping as a concept any longer. I believe we should pay for service, and if service is not included in the price of goods, it should be included as a service fee. And if the service fee is not a line item on the bill, it is my responsibility to provide it anyway.

What is a fair and reasonable service fee? I think the market has spoken, and made it clear that it is 20%. So I have started adding my own 20% service fee anywhere I see a tip line. It has felt weird at times, and it certainly makes things more expensive than I am used to, but I think it is the right thing to do.

When I order at a table I leave 20%, regardless of the level of service I receive. When I order from a counter, or visit a buffet, I leave 20%. Coffee shop? 20%. Order ahead and pick up? 20%. DoorDash? 20%. Taxi ride? 20%. Once you start seeing the 20% service fee as a standard cost, everything becomes simpler and less stressful.

Surely there are exceptions? Not really.

Surely there are exceptions? Not really. When I go somewhere that adds on a service fee of any amount, I do deduct that from the 20% and leave the remainder. So if a restaurant has a poorly explained and unadvertised 3% service fee for employee benefits, I get briefly pissed off about the subversion, but then leave 17% as a “tip” to make the service fee what it should actually be. And when a delivery service includes a service fee that I know goes to the driver, I will deduct that. But in general I just default to a straight 20% and call it a day.

What about exceptional service, stirring conversation, free appetizers? Shouldn’t I, the customer, have the right to reward a server for their sparkling personality or pretty smile? In a word, no. I still leave the necessary and correct 20% service fee, same as always. But if I am feeling generous or grateful, I will add on a bit extra, and let myself feel like the patron of a quaint European cafe where service cost is included but Madame or Monsieur sometimes leave a few extra euros on the table to show their gratitude for the excellent espresso.

How do you tip these days? Have you reconsidered at all, in light of the pandemic and everything that has been happening? I have found since adopting the 20% service fee approach that I feel better, lighter, less stressed about tipping. Give it a try and see what you think!