I've tried to kick the habit that I so successfully avoided until I was in my mid-thirties, but temptation once indulged does not easily turn away again. I'm not willing to blame society or the current state of the economy for my weakness, for I'm the one who keeps going back to the stuff when I crave its smell and taste. Curiously, my addiction is despite the way it makes me feel, rather than because of its beneficial boost, except, of course, on days like today. Today I felt the need for any boost I could get, any way I could get it.
After all, what's a little caffeine drip, fed intravenously or otherwise? It's legal, even though it frequently comes from South of the Border or from other maligned agricultural areas of the world. It only adversely affects half the population that drinks it, the other half being unaffected by it, according to the most recent scientific study. Of course, my chances of being in that latter category are right up there with my chance of winning any pool besides a jury pool...
Eh, who wants to live forever? It's the quality, not the quantity of our years that matters, right?
Coffee, please, and keep it coming.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Friday, May 19, 2006
Spin Please
Spin, Please
19 May 2006
Visiting Workers’ Visas: A magnanimous, perhaps overly generous offer to legitimize the widespread and necessary use of neighboring laborers or another sly attempt of the U.S. government to impose Big Brother bureaucracy on a portion of the working population at present elusively untracked, like liquor during Prohibition?
Larry Hughes: An essential cog in the Cleveland Cavaliers’ well-oiled machine, or the one whose absence has served them better than his presence?
Inter-League Games: Valid athletic competition or crowd-pleasing, money-grubbing ploy?
Coaching Changes: The result of incompetence and/or inexperience or scapegoating?
Iraq and Afghanistan: Contemporary battlegrounds for human rights and democracy or pawns in multinational chess games?
Hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, and other Acts of God: True potential human tragedies or only true media headlines when tech countries or their interests are involved?
I gotta stop listening to this activist music and read the daily comic strips more. No, wait; I stopped reading those because they got too political – I’m beginning to remember…
19 May 2006
Visiting Workers’ Visas: A magnanimous, perhaps overly generous offer to legitimize the widespread and necessary use of neighboring laborers or another sly attempt of the U.S. government to impose Big Brother bureaucracy on a portion of the working population at present elusively untracked, like liquor during Prohibition?
Larry Hughes: An essential cog in the Cleveland Cavaliers’ well-oiled machine, or the one whose absence has served them better than his presence?
Inter-League Games: Valid athletic competition or crowd-pleasing, money-grubbing ploy?
Coaching Changes: The result of incompetence and/or inexperience or scapegoating?
Iraq and Afghanistan: Contemporary battlegrounds for human rights and democracy or pawns in multinational chess games?
Hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, and other Acts of God: True potential human tragedies or only true media headlines when tech countries or their interests are involved?
I gotta stop listening to this activist music and read the daily comic strips more. No, wait; I stopped reading those because they got too political – I’m beginning to remember…
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Eyes Turning Homeward
Eyes Turning Homeward
18 May 2006
I’m heading home for the month of June. Coincidentally, someone in the house has ordered up the Lost television series, three discs at a time, starting with the first season. As usual when there is a show filmed on location, I spend a fair amount of time trying to work out where exactly the show has been shooting. Watching raises my level of anticipation, contrary to my usual practice of ignoring the approaching event until it is almost upon me. It’s times like these that make me wish I really were just a tourist heading out that way. I’d love to check out Jackass Ginger, hike the Aiea Loop Trail, spend some quality time on Waimanalo Beach, maybe go mudsliding up Manoa Falls way, or even rock diving around Waimea. Better yet, I’d love to go island-hopping to check out less familiar beaches, hikes, and waterfalls, all of which are even more beautiful live than photographed.
I remember once some college friends accompanied me to visit some family friends, who insisted on showing us slides of their most recent trips to the mountains and the ocean. No one could doubt the majesty of the Rockies, any more than anyone thought the scenes of the Pacific deadly boring. Comparing seemingly immovable objects to irresistible forces via photos is just plain foolish. That’s no way to capture the dynamic energy that infuses the latter.
Comparing the characters of the television series seems a similar endeavor. Each episode thus far has managed to feature a different character or two, taking its time with plot development at a soap operatic pace. That’s okay; the plot can wait while this viewer fills out a scorecard in order to keep the players straight. Of course, viewing the series via Netflix really highlights the advantage of simply buying the whole set, as well as the folly of trying to watch this series on a weekly basis – I’d have found better things to do than wait around for the characters that interest me to show up of occasion.
18 May 2006
I’m heading home for the month of June. Coincidentally, someone in the house has ordered up the Lost television series, three discs at a time, starting with the first season. As usual when there is a show filmed on location, I spend a fair amount of time trying to work out where exactly the show has been shooting. Watching raises my level of anticipation, contrary to my usual practice of ignoring the approaching event until it is almost upon me. It’s times like these that make me wish I really were just a tourist heading out that way. I’d love to check out Jackass Ginger, hike the Aiea Loop Trail, spend some quality time on Waimanalo Beach, maybe go mudsliding up Manoa Falls way, or even rock diving around Waimea. Better yet, I’d love to go island-hopping to check out less familiar beaches, hikes, and waterfalls, all of which are even more beautiful live than photographed.
I remember once some college friends accompanied me to visit some family friends, who insisted on showing us slides of their most recent trips to the mountains and the ocean. No one could doubt the majesty of the Rockies, any more than anyone thought the scenes of the Pacific deadly boring. Comparing seemingly immovable objects to irresistible forces via photos is just plain foolish. That’s no way to capture the dynamic energy that infuses the latter.
Comparing the characters of the television series seems a similar endeavor. Each episode thus far has managed to feature a different character or two, taking its time with plot development at a soap operatic pace. That’s okay; the plot can wait while this viewer fills out a scorecard in order to keep the players straight. Of course, viewing the series via Netflix really highlights the advantage of simply buying the whole set, as well as the folly of trying to watch this series on a weekly basis – I’d have found better things to do than wait around for the characters that interest me to show up of occasion.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Next Gen Big Bro
Next Gen Big Bro
9 May 2006
Being required to read George Orwell’s 1984 was a painful rite of passage, made marginally less distasteful by American society’s love affair with gadgetry, spurred in part by the Space Race, in part by the proliferation of television spy shows benefiting from the boom in James Bond films. I had the arguable good fortune to encounter Orwell as the euphoria was beginning to wear off and dystopic resonances were beginning to filter through the media censorship then in place but breaking down in the face of images out of Vietnam. The concept of Big Brother struck me as a darkly distorted version of my understanding of God’s omnipresence.
Since that time, evidence of God’s presence in American society has become far more fenced in, seemingly restricted to media-maligned conservatives and other right-wing radicals. Curiously enough, the concept of Big Brother, like so many other fictive concepts of the mid-twentieth century, is being developed and implemented by a subsequent set of waves on the seemingly infinite sea of technology washing through society. These waves, moreover, like the Biblical Flood, are not content to restrict themselves by national boundaries but, rather, insist on sweeping the globe.
Now there is the Radio Frequency Identification chip, also known as RFID and optionally identified by a little-used logo. I’d heard that it will soon be possible to make purchases via wireless connections with one’s cell phone, but today I learned that these chips are already being used to track all sorts of goods from library books to merchandise in Wal-Mart to indicted prisoners awaiting trial. They are, in fact, infiltrating all niches of society, and they are computer-accessible. It’s time to pass on activating those new credit cards arriving in mailboxes everywhere, time to return to a cash-based lifestyle, especially if one wishes to emulate Roger Zelazny’s character who thought he’d managed to fall off the government grid of computer tracking.
I find it very disturbing that all the darkest aspects of science fiction that I so enjoyed reading in my optimistic youth seem to be serving as models and goals for the commercially-oriented portion of the scientific community today. It’s a lowering thought that idealism has not inspired activity nearly as much as opportunism has.
9 May 2006
Being required to read George Orwell’s 1984 was a painful rite of passage, made marginally less distasteful by American society’s love affair with gadgetry, spurred in part by the Space Race, in part by the proliferation of television spy shows benefiting from the boom in James Bond films. I had the arguable good fortune to encounter Orwell as the euphoria was beginning to wear off and dystopic resonances were beginning to filter through the media censorship then in place but breaking down in the face of images out of Vietnam. The concept of Big Brother struck me as a darkly distorted version of my understanding of God’s omnipresence.
Since that time, evidence of God’s presence in American society has become far more fenced in, seemingly restricted to media-maligned conservatives and other right-wing radicals. Curiously enough, the concept of Big Brother, like so many other fictive concepts of the mid-twentieth century, is being developed and implemented by a subsequent set of waves on the seemingly infinite sea of technology washing through society. These waves, moreover, like the Biblical Flood, are not content to restrict themselves by national boundaries but, rather, insist on sweeping the globe.
Now there is the Radio Frequency Identification chip, also known as RFID and optionally identified by a little-used logo. I’d heard that it will soon be possible to make purchases via wireless connections with one’s cell phone, but today I learned that these chips are already being used to track all sorts of goods from library books to merchandise in Wal-Mart to indicted prisoners awaiting trial. They are, in fact, infiltrating all niches of society, and they are computer-accessible. It’s time to pass on activating those new credit cards arriving in mailboxes everywhere, time to return to a cash-based lifestyle, especially if one wishes to emulate Roger Zelazny’s character who thought he’d managed to fall off the government grid of computer tracking.
I find it very disturbing that all the darkest aspects of science fiction that I so enjoyed reading in my optimistic youth seem to be serving as models and goals for the commercially-oriented portion of the scientific community today. It’s a lowering thought that idealism has not inspired activity nearly as much as opportunism has.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Acquisitive or Frugal
Acquisitive or Frugal
5 May 2006
Children come in all shapes, sizes, and modes. There are those who are eager to savor the flavor of life, and they’re not too particular about how they get it. When they see what they want, they grab it with both hands. True, they quickly learn to run or punch after grabbing, but seizing comes naturally to them. Then there are those who are content with what they receive, able to explore and invent endlessly with what they have at hand and in hand. They soon learn to shield and protect that which they possess. Some even learn to conceal that which they treasure. There is, of course a third kind of child: the one that shares, freely and cheerfully, for as long as disillusionment can be held at bay.
These children grow into the adults that populate society. Too often, it is the acquisitive who remain most highly visible. In today’s society, they seem to garner honor, accolades, admiration, and emulation. Little does it matter that their harvest comes at the expense of others. When did our society shift these folk to the forefront? Surely this has occurred in my lifetime. How did I miss it?
Guess I’m that second child, off in my own little world, enjoying my imagination. What we need is more of those thirds.
5 May 2006
Children come in all shapes, sizes, and modes. There are those who are eager to savor the flavor of life, and they’re not too particular about how they get it. When they see what they want, they grab it with both hands. True, they quickly learn to run or punch after grabbing, but seizing comes naturally to them. Then there are those who are content with what they receive, able to explore and invent endlessly with what they have at hand and in hand. They soon learn to shield and protect that which they possess. Some even learn to conceal that which they treasure. There is, of course a third kind of child: the one that shares, freely and cheerfully, for as long as disillusionment can be held at bay.
These children grow into the adults that populate society. Too often, it is the acquisitive who remain most highly visible. In today’s society, they seem to garner honor, accolades, admiration, and emulation. Little does it matter that their harvest comes at the expense of others. When did our society shift these folk to the forefront? Surely this has occurred in my lifetime. How did I miss it?
Guess I’m that second child, off in my own little world, enjoying my imagination. What we need is more of those thirds.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Unsolicited Phone Calls
Unsolicited Phone Calls
2 May 2006
When a list of phone numbers not to be solicited was created, I rushed to register all my numbers. Since then, the only solicitations I have received come from some very persistent people whose numbers are unidentifiable to my caller i.d. feature but who, nevertheless, consistently identify themselves as representative of the local sheriffs. Now, when this first began, I commented sardonically on the deep Southern female accents I kept hearing. Since then, I have been solicited by young-sounding men with solidly sunny western intonations. What I want to know is why people representing law enforcement agencies feel themselves to be beyond the bounds of restrictions put on other enterprising solicitors and why they are so much more aggressive than others. I guess they don’t have to worry about me calling the cops on them…
2 May 2006
When a list of phone numbers not to be solicited was created, I rushed to register all my numbers. Since then, the only solicitations I have received come from some very persistent people whose numbers are unidentifiable to my caller i.d. feature but who, nevertheless, consistently identify themselves as representative of the local sheriffs. Now, when this first began, I commented sardonically on the deep Southern female accents I kept hearing. Since then, I have been solicited by young-sounding men with solidly sunny western intonations. What I want to know is why people representing law enforcement agencies feel themselves to be beyond the bounds of restrictions put on other enterprising solicitors and why they are so much more aggressive than others. I guess they don’t have to worry about me calling the cops on them…
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Unto Us Is Born This
Unto Us Is Born This Day
30 April 2006
Rejoice! Rejoice! My second niece has been delivered of twin girls.
I find it regrettable that prescheduling for next week resulted in medical practitioners preempting the natural order of things by gleefully reaching for a knife, but I’m consoled by the thought that this is not the niece most likely to endure pain gracefully, but rather, the one more likely to have a proper appreciation of good drugs. Isn’t modern medicine grand?
Besides, I do believe that my mother was a firm believer in the efficacy of anesthetics, having made most excellent use of said drugs both times herself, and just look at the sterling results…
Okay, enough of that nonsense.
Elena Marie, emerging first at 12:50 a.m., weighed in at a sturdy 6 pounds 3 ounces and stretched luxuriously to a satisfyingly long 18 inches. Not to be outdone, all 19 inches of Angelina Rose followed a scant ten minutes later, weighing in at 6 pounds 7 ounces. Their mother is now understandably significantly lighter and delighted to be relieved of the constant load. Their father now stands ready to shoulder his share, and we in this marvelous electronic wonderland eagerly await the pictorial proof.
30 April 2006
Rejoice! Rejoice! My second niece has been delivered of twin girls.
I find it regrettable that prescheduling for next week resulted in medical practitioners preempting the natural order of things by gleefully reaching for a knife, but I’m consoled by the thought that this is not the niece most likely to endure pain gracefully, but rather, the one more likely to have a proper appreciation of good drugs. Isn’t modern medicine grand?
Besides, I do believe that my mother was a firm believer in the efficacy of anesthetics, having made most excellent use of said drugs both times herself, and just look at the sterling results…
Okay, enough of that nonsense.
Elena Marie, emerging first at 12:50 a.m., weighed in at a sturdy 6 pounds 3 ounces and stretched luxuriously to a satisfyingly long 18 inches. Not to be outdone, all 19 inches of Angelina Rose followed a scant ten minutes later, weighing in at 6 pounds 7 ounces. Their mother is now understandably significantly lighter and delighted to be relieved of the constant load. Their father now stands ready to shoulder his share, and we in this marvelous electronic wonderland eagerly await the pictorial proof.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Sprint Mid-Distance Marathon
Sprint Mid-Distance Marathon
27 April 2006
What are the differences among a fling, a job, and a career? Definitions of terms must serve as the foundation of any lucid discussion.
Many people begin with a fling, that first toe-wetting experience with the exchange of a service or services for monetary reimbursement. Soon, the taste of purchasing power exerts its addictive influence and one must decide whether or not to pursue a longer term commitment of services in exchange for a continued cash flow. Eventually one must decide whether or not the cash flow suffices for the fulfillment of one’s needs and desires. Finally, one must decide whether or not providing such service(s) is satisfying or even endurable.
In racing there are sprinters, folks who like to compete over short distances. They are the glory hounds, full of charisma and dazzling speed. They are comparable to those select few who seem to achieve their goals early in life, or at least to attain the dreams of many.
Then there are the middle distance runners. The majority of the workforce can be equated with such runners, for they are no short-term day laborers on their way elsewhere, but neither have they yet achieved the kind of longevity that earns a gold watch, nor are many of them sure that such a race is for them.
Finally there are the marathoners, who have recently been accorded greater honor in running recently than they had been in the infancy of mass media broadcasting. Such a worker is said to have made a career of rendering whatever service has been provided. Such a person may or may not have loved the task, but the labor has lasted a significant amount of time, enough to earn lifelong benefits, both tangible and intangible.
Some people are fortunate enough to have more than one career in a lifetime, while others move restlessly from job to job, ever seeking satisfaction, never quite finding fulfillment, never really finding the race that resonates enough for the long haul.
So what’s the difference between a job and a career? Is it time? Is it compensation? Is it satisfaction? Is it attitude? Some folks can spend equal amounts of time at identical endeavors, yet for one it is a lifelong job, while for another it is a calling that can serve as a career.
A runner has to focus on the intended distance and pace accordingly. So does a person en route through life.
27 April 2006
What are the differences among a fling, a job, and a career? Definitions of terms must serve as the foundation of any lucid discussion.
Many people begin with a fling, that first toe-wetting experience with the exchange of a service or services for monetary reimbursement. Soon, the taste of purchasing power exerts its addictive influence and one must decide whether or not to pursue a longer term commitment of services in exchange for a continued cash flow. Eventually one must decide whether or not the cash flow suffices for the fulfillment of one’s needs and desires. Finally, one must decide whether or not providing such service(s) is satisfying or even endurable.
In racing there are sprinters, folks who like to compete over short distances. They are the glory hounds, full of charisma and dazzling speed. They are comparable to those select few who seem to achieve their goals early in life, or at least to attain the dreams of many.
Then there are the middle distance runners. The majority of the workforce can be equated with such runners, for they are no short-term day laborers on their way elsewhere, but neither have they yet achieved the kind of longevity that earns a gold watch, nor are many of them sure that such a race is for them.
Finally there are the marathoners, who have recently been accorded greater honor in running recently than they had been in the infancy of mass media broadcasting. Such a worker is said to have made a career of rendering whatever service has been provided. Such a person may or may not have loved the task, but the labor has lasted a significant amount of time, enough to earn lifelong benefits, both tangible and intangible.
Some people are fortunate enough to have more than one career in a lifetime, while others move restlessly from job to job, ever seeking satisfaction, never quite finding fulfillment, never really finding the race that resonates enough for the long haul.
So what’s the difference between a job and a career? Is it time? Is it compensation? Is it satisfaction? Is it attitude? Some folks can spend equal amounts of time at identical endeavors, yet for one it is a lifelong job, while for another it is a calling that can serve as a career.
A runner has to focus on the intended distance and pace accordingly. So does a person en route through life.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
The APM Round Two
The A.P.M.: Round Two
25 April 2006
Yesterday was my first face-to-face encounter with the Automated Postal Machine, a new electronic gizmo at the local post office that I first saw during this last Christmas rush. Yesterday, being more word-oriented than graphic-aware, I allowed it to get the better of me. Today, however, was a different story.
For one thing, I realized that I didn’t have to wait for the post office to open. Brilliant.
So I strode purposefully into the lobby, ready to read more carefully, only to find that the screens did not wish to deal with “Media Mail”. Refusing to be stymied yet again, I noticed an older, once dazzling scale waving at me from a nearby alcove. It weighs everything, from getting an item there yesterday to sending something by slow boat seven times around the Equator. Of course it does Media Mail. What it doesn’t do is dispense postage. Ah…
Armed now with the necessary information, I was able to return to the shiny, sassy new A.P.M. and buy a stamp of the precise value identified by its older sibling.
Voila! Success!
This is my life…
25 April 2006
Yesterday was my first face-to-face encounter with the Automated Postal Machine, a new electronic gizmo at the local post office that I first saw during this last Christmas rush. Yesterday, being more word-oriented than graphic-aware, I allowed it to get the better of me. Today, however, was a different story.
For one thing, I realized that I didn’t have to wait for the post office to open. Brilliant.
So I strode purposefully into the lobby, ready to read more carefully, only to find that the screens did not wish to deal with “Media Mail”. Refusing to be stymied yet again, I noticed an older, once dazzling scale waving at me from a nearby alcove. It weighs everything, from getting an item there yesterday to sending something by slow boat seven times around the Equator. Of course it does Media Mail. What it doesn’t do is dispense postage. Ah…
Armed now with the necessary information, I was able to return to the shiny, sassy new A.P.M. and buy a stamp of the precise value identified by its older sibling.
Voila! Success!
This is my life…
Monday, April 24, 2006
Novel Postal Experience
Novel Postal Experience
24 April 2006
Call me green; I don’t care. I just love playing with new gadgets, which is what I got to do this morning. Granted, I had seen the equipment at Christmas when standing in the interminable line awaiting window service at the local post office, but I had put it out of my mind as irrelevant. So today I sat in the parking lot doing Sudoku puzzles while awaiting the opening of the facility. Of course, I had mistaken the opening by a half hour, so I didn’t think anything about the fact the parking lot was filling up and people were going in and out. Instead, I just finished my puzzle, gathered my paraphernalia, and headed on in. Naturally enough, I was a little startled to realize that the office area was still dimly lit. Then I saw that people were using the electronic postal clerk, and my heart leapt in excitement.
No, really, I’m that lame. I just love new toys.
I cheerfully put my fingerprints all over the touchscreen, until I reached the one asking for my credit card. Credit card? You mean the one not in my wallet? Panic? What panic? Where oh where did I leave my towel? Sheepishly I cleared the screen and stepped aside for the poor fellow who had been dodging me since the parking lot when he wanted to pull into the space into which I had thrust my door without looking. Ah well…
Fortunately, the card was right where I had left it, in the car, though why I should have been so foolish is beyond me. (Damn this thumb! No, I didn’t really mean that…)
Back, then, to my newfound toy, and oh, what Joy! I pushed and pressed, zipped through screen after screen, then stepped back in satisfaction as the first postage printed, almost larger than my package. I really do need to get my glasses checked, and my brain. Evidently the image displayed was real life sized… Ever resourceful, I made do, and made sure to press a better button for the rest of my packages. Of course, by the time I was done, the regular windows were open and the line that had formed was moving briskly along.
Next time, say tomorrow, I will know better. The experience, while still exciting, will not be quite so novel. Next time, I’ll know better. Right: next time…
I have been reliably informed that I must have a young soul, which is good, considering I don’t think I’m gonna get “it” all worked out in one lifetime, at the rate I’m moving (or not, as the case may be…)
Oops… I think all these spacebar bangings have reopened my thumb slit. Ah well…
24 April 2006
Call me green; I don’t care. I just love playing with new gadgets, which is what I got to do this morning. Granted, I had seen the equipment at Christmas when standing in the interminable line awaiting window service at the local post office, but I had put it out of my mind as irrelevant. So today I sat in the parking lot doing Sudoku puzzles while awaiting the opening of the facility. Of course, I had mistaken the opening by a half hour, so I didn’t think anything about the fact the parking lot was filling up and people were going in and out. Instead, I just finished my puzzle, gathered my paraphernalia, and headed on in. Naturally enough, I was a little startled to realize that the office area was still dimly lit. Then I saw that people were using the electronic postal clerk, and my heart leapt in excitement.
No, really, I’m that lame. I just love new toys.
I cheerfully put my fingerprints all over the touchscreen, until I reached the one asking for my credit card. Credit card? You mean the one not in my wallet? Panic? What panic? Where oh where did I leave my towel? Sheepishly I cleared the screen and stepped aside for the poor fellow who had been dodging me since the parking lot when he wanted to pull into the space into which I had thrust my door without looking. Ah well…
Fortunately, the card was right where I had left it, in the car, though why I should have been so foolish is beyond me. (Damn this thumb! No, I didn’t really mean that…)
Back, then, to my newfound toy, and oh, what Joy! I pushed and pressed, zipped through screen after screen, then stepped back in satisfaction as the first postage printed, almost larger than my package. I really do need to get my glasses checked, and my brain. Evidently the image displayed was real life sized… Ever resourceful, I made do, and made sure to press a better button for the rest of my packages. Of course, by the time I was done, the regular windows were open and the line that had formed was moving briskly along.
Next time, say tomorrow, I will know better. The experience, while still exciting, will not be quite so novel. Next time, I’ll know better. Right: next time…
I have been reliably informed that I must have a young soul, which is good, considering I don’t think I’m gonna get “it” all worked out in one lifetime, at the rate I’m moving (or not, as the case may be…)
Oops… I think all these spacebar bangings have reopened my thumb slit. Ah well…
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