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Words, convert it into words. Expression with letters and punctuation (numerals and special symbols optional.
This is "now". Sometimes I ignore the now and at those times it is "what was", not what is. Oddly enough, sometimes the "what was" is better now than when it was now. ...Clear enough, eh? If I piss you off: mailto:APRIL@RUINEDFORLIFE.Com |
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Recently...This blog exists because it wants to. |
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Islam is a Religion? Really, how can you tell? I read the Pope's speech, he did not say anything derogatory about Islam.
The Pope's words were clear and the simple message was that violence has no place in religion. None, the Pope said. I don't think the Pope is about to advocate that anyone burn any Mosques, blow up a plane or otherwise do any sort of violence to anyone. I don't think the Pope would use a foul word or express anger... The Pope is a scholar, and his speech made scholarly references.
It seems that hardly anyone in media can read.
More than any religion, Islam's preachers espouse hatred and violence. Islam is evil in it's Medieval actions, it's radical beliefs, and it's treatment of others. I am disgusted by this. You don't understand? Read the words of the President of Iran. Read the preachings of Islamic preachers. Watch the suicide tapes of the bombers.
I judge people by their words and deeds. In it's response to the Pope, Muslims once again prove that what they practice continues to be violence and intolerance. Why should the rest of the world tip toe around -- fearing to say something that is misunderstood by apparently insane fanatics? The punch line of this bad joke: We are being subject to actual and real violence as a result of imagined slights against Islam.
The evidence stands on it's own: They really do not want to coexist. Hey, it's not my fault that you people have bombers and hostiles acting as your PR department. It's your fault that so many of your people to are so intolerant.
What can we do in the US? Steer government away from religion and toward logic -- encourage other countries to do the same. And then, hold countries accountable for violent talk and violent actions that take place within their borders. There is no place for it, and all too often, religion is a smoke screen for evil. At the first sign that WMDs are headed here: Obliterate their religious holy cities, one at a time until it ends or until they have none left. After the first one goes, if they want to negotiate fine...
(I gotta get off this twin Islam and Bush rag...)
I am sure that countless Americans have recognized that after 9/11 Bush quickly latched onto fear as their primary tactic in the PR war on terror.
I am also certain that countless Americans are exhausted and sickened by the ineptness of the administration in fighting the military and diplomatic war on terror. What I do not see Democrats or critics of the Administration do, or talk about, is how the Western non-Islamic Democracies should proceed against what really and truly is yet another death struggle in the history of Western Civilization.
Anyone who does not believe that religious fanatics are being minted at increased rates is a fool. But believing this is not enough.
What are we going to do about ensuring our survival in thee face of overwhelming evidence that they really and truly want to blow themselves up in order to kill a few of us? Iran is doubtless seeking an Islamic nuclear capability. There is absolutely no question this is the case, decades of radical rhetoric from Iran makes any alternative interpretation of their statements and direction the equivalent of sticking your head in the sand.
Do NOT get me wrong: I prefer to vote Democratic (born again Christians disturb me with their deceitful interpretations of Christ), but I am sadly increasingly convinced that the Dems are suicidal in both their unrealistic views toward Islaamic Terror as well as their response to it.
Now : There is no question whatsoever that Bush and the Administration are utterly incompetent in waging any thoughtful war on anyone except Democrats in the National polls.
Why is that?
Because while Democrats may be well meaning and disgusted with many actions and incompetence's of the Administration, Democrats sound as though they neither understand 1) the death struggle that Radical Islam has directed against us, or 2) how the United States ought to EFFECTIVELY deal with this. Until Democrats are of at least a mostly united mind on EFFECTIVE RESPONSE against Terror, the Idiot Bush administration will be able to continue to win in the PR WAR on TERROR.
It really is that simple, why? Because altogether too many human beings --be they from Pakistan or America-- are that simply manipulated.
Get real, get a real strategy and THEN expect to win. Until then: Our collective bitching is nothing more than "Sound and fury signifying nothing."
Stop the noise, start the reason. Another way to express this is still true, despite being old: "Lead, Follow or Get Out of The Way!"
I see no leadership on the left, and it is a terrible thing for Democracy. Don't expect the Bush league to save Democracy, they are busy insisting on wearing their right shoes on their left feet and inadvertently tripping over priceless artifacts in the Museum of Democracy.
I was born in Austria, and on this day 50 years ago, my father Gernot along with my mother Renate and I stepped off a plane onto US soil (well, I was 1 year old and was carried). August 31, 1956 and America was a very different place. Victorious in a World War that had ended just a few years earlier, America was respected in the world. What is America? It is an idea, a collection of beliefs. America isn't a birth right or the ultimate expression of "getting government right". America has a remarkable history, punctuated by moments in history and brilliant notions of freedom by many of it's historical figures. When you contemplate America's current place in the world ask yourself this: Could the current crop of political leaders in this country have ever written the Declaration of Independence or the Bill of Rights ?
Answer this question honestly, and also consider why the Founding Fathers strove so hard to keep religion at bay from the daily running of the country.
Then ask yourself: Is the current crop of political leaders improving on that collection of ideas or are they letting religious instinct rule the day?
Months starting with "A".
Here's what I was thinking yesterday after I drove by some youngish looking guy wearing a "Are you Dead Yet" tee shirt. I thought: "Is this the tee shirt the terrorists are wearing?"
I think we can solve both the cost-of-oil and terror problems this coming Fall and Winter by burning as many Terrorists as we can find. It would not be correct to label this notion: "hate crime evidence", rather it's simply exploratory. Seriously, firefighters will tell you how well a human body will burn in a house or car fire. And we all know that we really are going to have to find a useful purpose for these fanatical religious madmen. They want to blow me up on a plane? Fine, I have an increasingly strong urge to burn them in my furnace. Let's see who gets more productive use out of humans. We'll use good old science and measure the actual caloric value of an average jihadist. Come to think of it, send us the rounder ones.
By the way, that phrase ("Are you Dead Yet") is the title of a song by a band called "Children of Bodom". My rational self has a deep problem with music or people advocating violence or crimes against children, women, cops, society, ..whatever. My rational self has no problem whatsoever exterminating those who are rabidly and provably involved in either inciting violence or committing it. I will be delighted to remove this post (does burning jihadists offend you?) when we eradicate the madmen who incite or commit jihad.
I am neither right nor left wing: I am opposed to the war in Iraq due to the utterly inept manner in which it has been administrated. I applaud our military, I deplore the position our civilian leadership has put them in. I deplore insanity, and I firmly believe that if a people form a nation then they are ultimately responsible for policing the behavior of those within their borders. Pakistan is to be held accountable for it's lawless regions where jihadists roam freely. America is responsible for those regions of Afghanistan that we are not yet policing. It's only fair, and don't forget Lebanon either...
Act stupid, allow social cancer and the next thing you know you are burning jihadists for fuel.
Once upon a time, I sat down outside on the front porch after dinner and lit up a Greycliff Espresso cigar. I opened up a new document on my laptop and started to type as the sun began to set. I wasn't at all clear where this would go, but I knew from experience that as soon as you started typing something it had more potential of leading to something than sitting back watching television would. There are many ideas in the average day, a lot of individual sensory experiences and many impressions of those. The mind carries you through the day, from the last vague memories of the dreams you leave behind as you begin to stir into wake fullness, up through the end of the night when you willingly shut this whole thing off again in order to re-enter the world of dreaming. I think I prefer dreaming to most of what I experience during most days – after all, dreaming is completely internal and transpires without benefit of the kind of guilt or pressure that being awake brings. Not that I feel seriously guilty, just that when you are awake you might as well improve things around you, right?
The human condition, I think is highly overrated by religion and marketing. Life is one thing, but turning the act of being alive into a religious caravan that clogs Route 7 on Sundays is a different matter.
I like how the hot smoke curls around the end of the cigar and how the smoke moves seductively though the air as it slowly drifts away and into the Spring leaves on the branches off the side of the porch. I think that my presence is impeding a complaining song bird from reaching it's nest near the porch.
Popular culture is a cesspool for the consumption of things that are not very worthwhile. Life is short, plant a tree, expend more energy on the kind of thought that leads to things that are finer than the stuff you drag to the curb for the weekly trash pickup. Expending energy on thought is not that difficult, it just entails greater focus for a longer period than the simple animal effort of gathering a meal or getting dressed. Making a meal is a creative process, well it can be anyway, involving the senses and some experimentation with seasoning and ingredients, and you can certainly fondly remember a fine meal, but a meal does make for much difference if it just fuels more television viewing.
I remember, several years ago as a snow storm threatened Northern Virginia, buying groceries in one of the larger grocery stores in McLean. I stood in line and watched as an odd collection of shoppers stood in line with their groceries. I wondered how many of them could manage to feed themselves, even clothe themselves without benefit of the vast infrastructure of manufacturing, supply and distribution. I came to a very ugly realization that most of them would not be able to survive if the thing shut down for two or three weeks. I am not impressed by the ability of most people to do very much on their own. I think this is very different from even 30 or 40 years ago, and that is a very bad impression in and of itself. But, I fear it is even worse than that. In watching the news over those decades, I have come to the conclusion that most people would rapidly succumb to baser instincts, probably involving the complete breakdown of what I have grown to see as a very thin veneer of civilization.
And what is this civilization that we partake in on a day to day basis? Plastic wrap, disposable diapers, hairspray, television, crappy music, superficial conversation and gallons of gasoline?
Cigars are not good for you, but they are a personal act of reflection and they can lead to contemplation. Take a look at the cigar box art, and what you will usually see is the glorification of the smoke, the smoke that the American Indian used as a ceremonial tool rather than a daily addiction. The cigars I enjoy smoking are more expensive and do not stink, they perfume the air with their aged tobacco and they punctuate the air with moving and swirling clouds that lend themselves to the slowing of the mind to focus more on the moment. These few paragraphs have taken as much time to write as it has taken to smoke that Greycliff to the nub. One Greycliff, one page. It's now lying on the lawn behind me, giving up it's heat over the next few minutes. Tomorrow or over the next few days I'll find it, damp from the earth cold and still smelling of fine tobacco. I'll take it apart in my hands and spread the leaves around the plants near the porch, in the hopes of it's natural effect against the insects that would otherwise take over this part of the front yard.
It's given me a nice buzz, and I am now in a tight bubble of residual smoke smell and nicotine. In a few minutes, I'll make my way indoors as it has gotten dark and much cooler. My fingers are stiff from the descending night air and the bugs will soon penetrate the dissipating smell and start attacking the backlit laptop screen.
Computers are an artifact as well as an enabler of our American culture, and while one can get good use from a few thousand dollars of top-shelf gear, most just use it to surf for whatever the links present. I am not so sure how much the computer has benefited the greater good, but mankind will likely need more time to integrate the benefit of pervasive computation and information management. Consider gunpower, we seem to still be working on that one also. What do you expect, a mere 10,000 years ago we invented agriculture when we started growing crops instead of just scavenging for their fruits.
The United States Federal Taxes are due tomorrow... Usually April 15th, but if fell on a Saturday this year.
I did my taxes listening to my extensive iTunes collection of the Jefferson Airplane. Revolution! (Well, you get the point: "Anger!")
Seriously, I am typically "center" except on many social issues where I am either "far left" or "far right" -- depending on the issue. After all, why should I have any say in what you do when you are away from the maddening crowd? If it's personal freedoms: Far Left baby. And likewise, why should you pollute the gathering of sheep with public displays of lewd behavior or intoxicated groping of your "lap"? If it's cursing in public places, wearing your underwear outside your hip huggers: Far Right. Makes sense to me -- The worlds problems aren't really Left or Right issues.
Anyway, back to the Airplane. What an era the late 1960's were. I still like the notion of burning self-righteous evil doers or blowing up the source of some vile polluting garbage can that your kids suffering from... Remember: We were once a British Colony and the situation was INTOLERABLE.
Intolerable? I'm just about ready to blow up something. Probably in anger. What the hell are they spending our tax money on? Breeding more Fundamentalist terrorists??? Givemeafuckingbreak. What an inept bunch of tax spenders. And Tax Reform? Seriously, the Republicans are the gang in power: Where is Tax Reform? Not anywhere in my 2005 Federal Tax manual...
Once upon a time, I was a Republican. Quoth the Raven: "Never more".
And Democrats? They generally strike me as an easily agitated crowd of fuzzy headed critics. I want a platform and a political movement that puts an end to things, but more importantly, a sane agenda for this century, for America, and for the world.
Sun Grid goes live! Check it out...
What is it? A wealth of computers networked together in a compute grid. Dual Opterons in Sun boxes running Solaris 10.
Why should you care? Because you will never be able to own so many computers, and yet you can lease time on them at the low cost of $1 per cpu hour.
If you have an idea that takes lots of compute power to conclude -- say rendering scenes for a digital game or crunching alot of numbers for someone -- then you can get into business doing that without buying additional gear (or kit if you are a Brit).
This is so cool because the network is the right place for most computing, not on your watch or your cell phone or your desktop.
Why? Because you don't really want to be in the systems administration business now do you?
I discovered http://youtube.com What a waste of time this is going to be... In the category of "everyone with a typewriter now feels compelled to publish a badly written newsletter..."
It's a cool idea, but the amount of terrible content is stunning. Kids now are badly documenting inane snippets of their daily lives, and not by thinking about it and writing something in a journal, but by pushing a button and capturing a toothy and fuzzy picture or movie via their cell phone. This stuff does not just get viewed on the phone, nope. They upload it into the cloud and it gets to be viewed by anyone. My suggestion? Invest in storage companies.
I'll tell you what, the world of logic and reason is in big trouble. Have you seen the news photos of the Syrian protestors burning the Danish Embassy in Damascus? And then Lebanon? Over a silly cartoon. Is this the modern face of Islam?
I was mildly interested in learning a little about Islam as a result of one of my trips to Malaysia a few years back, but ye ow, what the hell? Between the completely insane BS issuing forth from Iran's President, the profound hostility of the Taliban toward mans cultural past, and the billions of deranged Muslims multiplying in numbers, the West and culture are in the cross hairs of the flame thrower of absolute hatred.
When I heard the news of the cartoon reactions, I headed to the store and bought a brand new Danish Skagen wristwatch. The Danes are great designers, Islam appears purely focused on angry destruction. I say it's now fair game to nuke the fuckers, alas the problem now seems far more complex than pushing the "problem cancelled" button: The same deranged fans of the stone age live in Denmark among other havens of logic and reason. I'm not saying Islam is the problem. I absolutely am saying that the face of modern Islam is the problem, and the newspaper delivers a daily series of snapshots of this truth.
I walked into the coffee shop and ordered a double espresso. "Can I call? ...DOPIO!" I really like the amped up nervous energy of these coffee shops. The clanging, the hissing, the water running, the sounds of patrons typing on their laptops. It's not a great place to take a conference call, but it sure is a cool way to do your backed up email or get a little writing done.
About a year ago, my father asked me about the modem on my laptop... It took me a second to comprehend the magnitude of the question. Modem. The last time I used the modem on my laptop was at an out-of-the-way-of-progress motel in Bellevue Nebraska. They didn't have Ethernet and their wireless service was especially terrible anywhere in the room except for right by the window. If you have been in retirement like my father, you probably didn't feel the relentless advance of progress in data connectivity. First came the "business traveler friendly" hotels with Ethernet... Then, wireless hotspots.
I tried to explain to my dad --who really is an astute and long-term scientific user of computers-- what end user computing and connectivity are like these days. You can comprehend the changes, but until you sit down in a Starbucks or Greenbberry's coffee shop and wirelessly get your email... Wireless is just a concept. Earthlink was my dialup provider of choice, mostly due to how they managed their security. I was sure that they were circling the drain as a company until I had a chat with one of their engineers on a plane. Wireless, they are hot and heavy into Wi-Fi... Good. I want competition for cable Internet and Verizon Fios Internet. Wi-Fi won't touch my 15MB Fios, but I will buy into it as a backup channel for my growing dependency on Verizon... I can see the backhoe in my mind's eye... There goes your Fios telephone, Internet and TV in one shovel scoop. Comcast? Nah, they don't need a backhoe to screw up their cable-based Internet service, they can barely keep it running on their own.
Some time back, I built a cool desk for our study. I used an old door and had a huge piece of 3/8" glass cut for the top. Today, I got scraped by the desk latch once too often, so I decided to recess the latch and Superglue it. While cleaning the spout on the Superglue, I inadvertently got some between my thumb and index finger. Superglue is instantly bonding on skin, suddenly I only had one functioning hand.
Using a really sharp old style flat razor blade, I carefully cut the skin off of my index finger. Now I have a light seeping wound that should heal in the next 6 months. I also have the use of my thumb back.
I'm thinking of Superglueing our misbehaving cat "Squeak" to the ceiling. Perhaps in the mud room, directly over the litterbox. If I can figure out how to get a lightbulb inside him, Carra could have a new furry lamp in her room. It's just a thought, so far...
We had a very dry late Summer here in Virginia, then it rained to beat the band. In the weeks since, it's gotten progressively cooler and now we face frost and leaves falling. This pleases my furry dog to no end. Here in Summer, the heat and humidity are downright nasty for Uli. But in Fall, Winter and even Spring, Uli steps up his level of enthusiasm when we wander in the woods or take our walks.
So, last night we took a long and leisurely walk, me smoking an excellent cigar and Uli sniffing out every revent track that rabbits or other dogs might have laid down since the last rain. At night, Uli's snorting when he detects some new scent is more than amusing, and I tried to punctuate it with smoke puffs as we strolled along.
Living in Northern Virginia in the mid 1990's, I ordered a second land line. It took two weeks before I had phone service, but only a week later it bzzzztttt expired. I used my original line and complained to the phone company. After all manner of diversionary run around explanations they agreed to send a repair person within a week or so. Where my house line met the attractive overhead bundle of phone lines, we had rust. Bummer.
I took over a month for the Empire's Minions to get my service operational again: I learned to neither trust the phone company, nor to take "no" for an answer.
Recently, (2005) here in Reston VA, I tried calling home from somewhere. To my surprise, when the answering machine on the other end picked up I got a different household. Bummer: Friday before a holiday weekend, I immediately sensed we were doomed. When I called to report the problem, my conviction of doom was validated: It would take over a week for a repair truck to diagnose the problem...
I said: "I don't need a repair truck, the problem isn't in my house, it's in your computer. You could fix this right now from your comfortable chair at the phone company."
When I call to my house, I get connected to another house. And, when I used our house phone, to say, call China, these calls would all be billed to the wrong number...
She said: "I don't know what you are talking about. Your phone doesn't work, you need a repair person..."
I escalated to her supervisor. It was now 3PM on a Friday. I got total inept BS from the Verizon supervisor.
I said: "I will call back in a few minutes and speak with someone else, thereby wasting all your time. ...Or you can look into your computer now..." I was disgusted. I mumbled something. I hung up.
A plan was hatched. I went to our study where the two land lines terminate in two separate phone instruments. Also, I have several computers there... I used our wrong number house line and called my cell phone (another service story). I made note of the number.
I used my second house line to call Verizon.
I spoke with a new Verizon person. Same story. I said (all the while cell dialing my primary home line) but people keep calling the other house, and well (background: "RING! RING! RING!") you, know there it goes it calls HERE! Hang on...
Picking up other phone: "No, you dialed the right number it's just that the phone company's computer is sending the call to the wrong house. Bye."
Back to the Version person: "Sorry, where was I?" Oh yes, this is really very disruptive, imagine getting wrong numbers all night and all weekend... For a week before your repair person figures out that it's the computer not our line..."
She said: "There is nothing I can do..."
(I again used my cell to call the house.... "RING! RING! RING!")
I said: "Hang on, there it goes again... Hello? No, you have the right number it just goes to the wrong house... Bye"
"Where was I? Oh, yes, see? Very disruptive. I can't imagine this going on all weekend... A horror! "RING! RING! RING!...
"Can't you connect me to emergency service somewhere?"
Well my friends, she did. She patched me in to a fellow in Baltimore who after hearing my story (interrupted several times by cell placed calls to my home) finally said: "What was that number that is ringing at your house...?"
I said: "It's blizt oh seven two silzh oh fibe bun."
He said: "Give me a few minutes. I'll call you back."
Five minutes later: Cell tricks won the day, both numbers had quickly been properly routed to their respective houses.
Once upon a time, long, long ago -- when I was 20 something -- I visited my parents at their house, not too far from where I lived in Kensington at the time. (The more details I add, the longer the story will be.) It was Summer and as I was backing out of their rather long driveway, I saw a young man reclining on the ground next to the road. In fact, he held his arm extended and his thumb was out in the hitch hiking sign. Being a protective sort, I decided to give him a ride in order to get him out of the neighborhood. "Need a lift?" "Sure!" And next thing he knew we were tooling down the road to parts further away.
I asked him where he was going, and he said he didn't much care, he was out on a weekend pass from the insane asylum... Well, this was a new one for me, so we talked a little about what life was like for him "on the inside". I asked a lot of questions, and he evidenced more and more odd behaviors. Eventually -- miles away -- I told him I was going to meet a girlfriend and he really could not come. He thanked me and got out.
About a week later, my parents started getting phone calls from him. Apparently, he remembered the name on the mailbox at the side of their driveway and he looked up the number. "Is Vic there?".
Eventually he called when I was visiting and I spoke with him. He was lonely in the asylum and stated that I was the only person he knew on the outside who had evidenced any kindness or interest toward him... We spoke for awhile, and then I politely ended the call. He kept calling them, on occasion I would be there and we would talk for several minutes. Eventually, I ended it by telling him that while I enjoyed our chats, I didn't want to continue them. I wished him the best, and that was the end of that...
Perhaps a year later, as I was driving on the beltway I spotted a longish haired young man clutching a shiny metal briefcase to his chest and hitch hiking with the other hand. Actually, he was hitch hiking from the inner lane of the beltway, and as I drove by his eyes were wide and had a look of shock. All I can say is that I was curious about what the hell was going on with this guy, so I hit the brakes and quickly pulled over to give him a lift. He got in and we headed toward Bethesda Maryland. You guessed it, different guy but yes, he was out of the insane asylum on a weekend pass... He wanted to see his girlfriend, whom he had not had any real contact with for six months. I told him I would drop him off at her house and we went in search of it. Apparently, he was completely under the influence of Thorazine or some other asylum medication, and we had the greatest difficulty locating the right house. I can't recall how many streets we drove up and down, him peering intently at each house "that could be it... no..." Anyway, eventually he located it, thanked me and got out. I said goodbye, and drove off.
Actually, I was intently curious at this point so I drove down the road and did a quick U-turn and then parked at a discrete distance to observe the unfolding scene. He lit a cigarette, smoked it part way, and then headed up the front walk to the door. He rang the bell and a minute or so later a middle aged man wearing a tee shirt opened the door. From where I sat in my car I could not hear them, but basically the man waved his arms a lot and then slammed the door shut. The young guy had hung his head dejectedly the whole time. He stood there. The door opened again and this time a young woman stood there and waved her arms around, it looked like he tried to say something but she cut him off with her arm waving and then slammed the door shut.
Ah ha! I started my car, drove down to the house, opened the passenger door and shouted: "Get in!" A few minutes later we found his uncles house far easier ...and I never saw him again...
However, the story only gets more interesting. A few months later, my friend Billy Shelton (who lived in LA at the time) came by to visit. We talked and caught up and eventually went to eat lunch at Roy Rogers in Kensington. As Billy and I stood at the salad bar filling our plates, from across the other end of the restaurant a guy stands up and yells across the crowded space: "Hey Vic!" Of course, I looked up. Billy looked up, the whole restaurant looked up to see me look up, and the young guy yells: "Remember me from the insane asylum?" It was the first guy why was hitch hiking by my parents house... Bad luck, but then as everyone in Roy Rogers is completely focused on me he yells: "I met another guy on the inside who knows you too!"
Apparently, they were both patents and the topic came up about their interaction with people in the world at large. It seemed that I was one of the only nice people they knew. ("Yeah, there was this guy Vic who gave me a ride..." "You know Vic? He gave me a ride too... Blue Mustang?" "Yeah!"
I've resolved to not be nice to strangers.
London, England. The weather was partly overcast but nice and cool all this week. Back home in Virginia, it looks like the Summer wet blanket of heat and humidity has finally arrived. Several of us travelled to London for work, and we've been doing long hours and suffering the US to UK jet-lag thing.
Anyway, funny story. Several of my colleagues wanted to go out to a pub after work and I agreed to meet them after I had my 7PM US con call. I left the office got on the Underground and went to Aldgate Station. I walked around looking for the pub and got directions from a nice Brit dressed in period (top hat and red coat). He informed me that this area used to be Jack the Rippers haunt, and that he was a butcher in the area and used to go to a pub here. The street was where there were several butcher shops in Jack the Rippers day, and back then it was called "Blood Street".
Long story, I quickly found the right pub but my colleagues had left searching for dinner. I decided to head back to my hotel and eat in that area, so I went back down into the Underground. I sat down on a bench by my platform and waited for the Circle train. Another line came in on the same track and as the doors opened I saw an attractive and nicely dressed woman sitting not more than 15 feet away from me. She stared at me, and I tried to discern what was going on with her. After several seconds, she broke eye contact, turned her head to the side and vomited onto the train floor. When she was done, she nonchalantly turned back up and again stared at me. Cross eyed and drunk. The doors closed, and she rode off into the night. Binge drinking in London, they should keep the pubs open longer maybe...
Blog reborn. Bill McCarthy called this afternoon. Distant past, reminded me of me. What happened? Plenty. Last few days built a new desk for our study. Bec's idea: Get an old weathered door that has peeling paint and turn it into a desk... I was skeptical, she seems to be attracted to peeling paint and some of it has invisible EPA warnings on it.
Bec's idea, Vic's modifications and then I found that I hijacked the idea completely. I found myself making improvements to it ...To the extent that the peeling paint was no longer visible through the layers of new art paint... Bad scene, wife unhappy about this turn of events. Scraped new paint and old paint. Needed to turn the creative juice around the whole deal. By the time I was done, I had reinforced the underside of the desk with fibre glass and then Bondo (car dent healing substance -- keep away from your fingers unless you want to try using noxious chemicals or sandpaper to get the stuff off). Ain't getting older, just proud to be living in the USA. Bondo, now what other country dreams up this stuff?
So now our desk is installed in the study, it juts out from the wall (pics forthcoming) where it is firmly anchored via a piece of perforated angle metal (not iron boy: metal). Took awhile to locate the studs in the wall, but now the door is screwed onto the wall with enough hardware to withstand Carra's hyperactive gyrations. And the door is affixed to the other side of the metal. The other end of the door is supported by an antique wood cabinet that also stores some clutter that would formerly have taken up multiple square inches of desk surface. Speaking of the desk surface, I had a piece of 3/8 inch glass cut to spec (well, they made it slightly longer...) and it's green cast makes for a nice finish for the whole deal. Since it's a three panel door, I decided to place some items under the glass for eye magnetism during those long con calls. I settled on old locks and old keys... The security connection once again.
Bill would like it. Bill told me he was at the end of his rope with his wife. No love from her, disrespect, bad treatment. I love dude Bill, good man, he's got a real foundation. Some of the higher level scaffolding is suspect, but the same can be said of me. Maybe worse. Bill is unhappy, this makes me want to pay a visit to the Northeast. But he caught me a few hours before I boarded a plane to London. Bill warrants a call back from the Zulu time zone.
But I'm quickly getting to the point where I'm going to need to invest in Carra also... School is over this Thursday (The Lab School of Washington), and since I'm almost entirely working from home this is going to call for reinventing both Carra and Vic... I suspect that my work days will become fragmented, punctuated by conference calls, deliverables, a laptop, visits to various DC area museums and late nights on the SunRay. But hey! That sounds really cool... I like the idea of inculcating grey matter into another generation. I'm thinking red pill...
Bill would like Carra and Vic to visit him in the Northeast, and if Bec has the time we'll drag her along for southern comfort, and well, we kind of like her anyway.
You know, I'll bet Bill doesn't know how much I like great cigars. Arturo Fuento Aneo, Padron vintage... Between the Flonase and the cigars, there is a brochial cough brewing.
SunGrid is way too cool. This is the first time in several years where I felt that the field of infosec had new juice.
It's not the commercial offering that gets my blood pressure up up up, nope, it's the retail deal. $1 per cup hour. Talk about computing revisiting the mainframe. All net. New world. Compute juice at the end of your ethernet cable. Plug it in, turn it on.
what is this... I've run out of steam?
Nah, just being focused on work and other aspects of life.
Happy Birthday: William Shakespeare. ...And: Jody Heany.
Birth. School. Work. Death.
The Apple Store in Soho Manhattan. Packed to the gills, more so than the stores in Tysons, Montgomery Mall, San Francisco and Palo Alto. Packed! And they aren't just selling iPods baby, nope, the traffic at these stores has increased month after month and year after year. Steve Jobs is some sort of genius at understanding what has popular appeal. This is an interesting story in selling technology and chic. Apple has understood how to make computing utility simple and powerful from the days of the Lisa and the first Mac. They ran into the chainsaw of Microsoft marketing (who didn't) and then they kind of lost their way. Over the past few years, Apple has come back with a clear technology and usability vengeance. It's 2005, who doesn't really want one of those?
Last night we were in a killer taxi in Manhattan. The driver drove with a suicidal attitude. It was 7PM, we decided to take a taxi from East 87th to Bobby Flay's Mesa in Midtown. Like many cabs in NY, the shocks had worn out thousands of bumps ago. Being after rush hour, the driver really got a good head of steam as we tore down the road. Sccccrrrrrreeeeeccccchhhhhhhh! Red light. Green light! Hoooonnnnnkkkkkkk! Whhhooooosssssshhhh! Red light. Green light. Hoooonnnnnkkkkkkk! You get the picture. Cutting in front of other cars. I was pretty calm the whole time, my major concern when I'm driving is the potential liability consequence of my driving. But when a cab driver is driving, well I'm always thinking if we have an accident I can just walk away from it and that constitutes entertainment value.
Well, before we knew it, we were in the far right lane where Park Avenue goes up on that elevated section by Grand Central Station. Several taxis and cars vying for the same space, and suddenly our taxi hit the right side of the metal guard rail....
Today, we took a cab and we found ourselves inspecting the passenger side to make sure it wasn't the same killer cab.
Also, I need to nention that if you really need to drive in Manhattan, make damn sure your horn works. It's at least as important as the brakes...
Happy Birthday: Alec Muffett.
Things that happened on April 20th in history:
You know, time is an interesting concept. Sure, time happens, the seasons and erosion are prime examples, as are the wrinkles around the corners of my eyes. But time is really a human concept. I like the way we've taken time and turned it into a commodity, the way we've sliced it up into finer and finer chunks and how we've added so much anxiety to it. It's kind of cool, don't you think? No longer can you feel like you can just sit around and stare out the window and dream up, say safety matches.
Once upon a time there was a car. Like all cars, it had been new at some point. But now, now it was getting older and bad things started happening to it faster and faster. Bad old car. Just give me another year of service and I'll make a deal with you... No bad gas.
10 days later, what had happened? Work had happened, work and so forth. Now there was the blog thing. What to say? Early morning, nothing right at hand to document, this would be an entry that didn't say that much. That reminds me, reminds me of something that is being conjured up even this very moment, something that is taking form in the moment and for the moment. Like witchcraft, achieved through the state of "disinterested interest". Not willing too much, but just enough to nurture the outcome in a particular direction. Like branches in the wind, spelling words. Clouds in the sky, presenting giant cartoons. These words are conjured up and fill a small space after a barren 10 days of empty cyberspace. Perhaps there will be intent and directed content on the next visit to the place where words and pictures converge to erase white space with my space.
He wandered through the sounds and the colors. Strange scents rose from the ground and challenged him as he made his way through this place. There was no way back, it became clearer and clearer. Dread punctured his being and penetrated to his core. As he lost composure, his senses washed over and he became aware that he was not standing. Up or down, it was all the same aas he fell and fell without the notion of landing.
Elsewhere, in another state of being he sat and read the morning paper. Tame and warm sunlight washed in and dappled the space around him. The world was full of the same sort of thing over and over, the news was not unique, it reminded him of walking through a library where aisle after aisle held volume after volume of individual stories that were remarkably similar. Only once in a while would something standout, something truely unique.
Here in Reston Virginia, Spring has arrived in full bloom. When I gaze out the window through the trees, I can see the difference that a day or two makes in the leaves. In previous years, I would pick some objects in the distance behind the still bare trees and observe them over a few days to see how the buds on all the trees would slowly obscure my view. Almost suddenly on one day, as you would look out the window, something that you could clearly make out earlier would be hidden. Spring obscures the distance through the trees, Fall obscures the ground.
Someone once told me: There are two types of people, those who say there are two types of people and everyone else. "Cranky neighbors". The friendly old black fellow at the "Tooters Lounge" in Bellevue smiled as we joked about him making beer in his house and putting up a neon sign to attract younger women to his home. "My cranky neighbors would probably call the cops..." We agreed that his going to bars to find younger women evidenced he was an optimist, and that opening a speakeasy at his house was probably not a wise idea.
Have you ever been to Hawaii? I know of no other place that comes even close to how well run the Hawaii tourism industry is. If you want real seclusion, it's not so easy in Hawaii, but if you want something, say a drink, or Macadamia Nut chocolates or even information, Hawaii should be on your travel plans. Also, if you want to observe the Japaneese outside their native island domain, Hawaii is a great stage to see them from. They arrive en mass, they travel in large groups, and the document everything with video and regular cameras. "Crick Crick, quick-quick, must on bus for next stop. Document? Hai!"
If you step into a bar in Hawaii, order a South Pacific Lager and think about the types of people at the bar.
The sound of tires on the not-so-distant road, and even further away a police car siren chases down some unseen irritant. It's Spring, and the bedroom window is open to the sounds of the birds and squirrels. I'm hearing sounds and seasonings on top of the birds. A truck passing by could be the aural equivalent of a badly timed drink of water while eating a well seasoned meal: It drowns out the meal. Cars sound different, some make smooth sounds as their tires drive over the road, others make uneven circular sounds with one part of the circle more pronounced than others. Some make more than one uneven tire sound, apparently as two or more tires do this. It's early, what do I know...
There is plenty new under the sun, but unfortunately, it's overcast and raining.
The man. Early Spring night, mist in the air and frog sounds rising to immense crescendos. They quietly walked through the wooded trail on their nocturnal patrol. He proceeded with stealth and caution, and his companion would stop to pay lingering attention to selected sounds and smells that came from the woods beyond the trail.
The dog. He would stop to smell something, his dog tags ceasing their sound as he did. His man companion would whistle from further along the trail. One last final scent assessment and he would race to catch up. In the distance and above, big and mysterious sounds, as the wind banged tree limbs together making a sound that was loud bore consideration.
A faint scent of his last visit, must stop to renew it. Lifting of the leg, marking on the tree, and checking it to be sure. Onward, the night held more sounds and scents.
Yesterday, I flew from St Louis to Omaha via Chicago. As we were roaring down the runway to take off, the pilot aborted and then taxied the plane to the "bad plane timeout area". We spent about 30 or so minutes there, after the pilot explained that there was an indication of a malfunction during takeoff (the good news) and we couldn't get back to the gate for maintenance until we had a clear taxi way (the bad news). Eventually, we made out way to a gate and maintanence checked out the malfunction (a bad sensor)... Meanwhile, dark clouds moved in and brought typical ORD weather into the mix. Three and a half hours later, we finally took off.
Today, I headed back to the Omaha airport to see if I culd get on an earlier connecting flight through Chicago and back home to DC. I was scheduled for a 6pm departure, but managed to get on standby for a 1:35 flight. The gate agent called my name, handed me a boarding pass. I thanked him for getting me on, and soon I boarded. I settled into my seat and began to read. Suddenly, over the intercom: "Passenger WINKLER, is there a passenger WINKLER on the plane?" This is not a good thing to hear when you are in your seat... I looked around and saw a flight attendant in the rear galley. I approached her and told her who I was. She got on the plane phone and called the attendent in the front of the plane. The two had a brief discussion, and then my friendly attendant informed me that the other attendant wouldn't tell her what they wanted, but she was headed back to talk to me. This is also not a good thing to hear.
Eventually the attendant reached me through the sea of boarding passengers and told me that she was so sorry but... The gate agent had made a mistake in boarding me. I said that I was so sorry that the gate agent had made a mistake but I was in posesssion of a perfectly good boarding pass and a perfectly good seat as well. I said that I didn't want to argue to much on this but I had no guarantee that once I got off the plane I would actually still have even my original flight reservation...
She said that they would work with me, I asked if that meant they would get me home asap even if on a compeating carrier, she said yes, and I got off the plane.
Once off, the gate agent also appologized and started looking for other flights. We spoke about the options and I asked him if another carrier had a direct flight to either IAD or DCA. Midwest did, and I soon had a transfer coupon in my hand. Suddenly, the "bad news" flight attendant came through the closed doors of the boarding ramp and said: "I have a seat for you on this flight, come quickly!" I asked if it was an aisle... She said, no it would be a cramped middle seat. I said that sounds like a bum deal to me, considering all my original and current options.
The gate agent agreed, and to sweeten the deal, he handed me two 500 mile upgrades.
I got into DCA some four hours before my original flights would have.
I approached the taxi stand. A taxi pulled up, I got in: "Reston Virginia, please."
I began to make small talk with the driver. He had a bad cold and as I soon discovered a very, very bad attitude... Also, he was drinking I decided. The whole experience was somewhat unsettling but I never felt too uncomfortable. For awhile, I thought he was playing mind games, but eventually I decided he just had a bad, bad attitude and was somewhat under the influence. Between coughing he would take small but satisfying sips from what must have been an alcohol spiked can of cola. He refered to it as: "Both my lunch and dinner". He spoke about his background in Afghanistan, about his family and how some people have everything and others have nothing. He would turn on his turn signal, kind of get halfway into the other land and then change his mind and get back ino his lane. He did this often. He would misjudge the distance between our taxi and the car in front.
Was this experience worth reporting? I don't know, but there is a great deal of humor lying in wait in the tale.
St. Louis. The drivers here suck. Only in the third world have I seen so many reckless drivers. Here in St Louis, they ratchet reckless and add hostile intent. Close calls? That would be generous, St Louis drivers seem intent on high speed lane changes with no warning and less room to pull it off. It happens so fast, that if you look to change the radio station, you might not even notice that someone who was two cars behind has somehow managed to squeeze between your car and the one almost to your right...
Why are there so many reckless drivers here? Is it the influence of the Gateway Arch? Do it's graceful curves inspire high speed lane changes? Maybe the arch creates electromagnetic fields that manipulate cars like steel marbles on double espressos. Without hard data, one can only speculate.
Well, it's time to move on... Next stop is the unpredictable Airport at Chicago, and hopefully from there Bellevue Nebraska. From now on, I'll consider the extra rental car insurance...
Funny thing, numbers. It can be hard to make them out at a distance.
She sat reading in her bedroom when she first heard the sound of the "Special Delivery" truck approaching. It was down the road, but you could hear it getting closer. She got up to look out the window and saw that it was several houses away. The driver kept slowing down at each house to see if the number was right. "He's not very smart", she thought to herself. On to the next house, his tires crunching the gravel. Again, he would slow down and peer at the address and lurch forward again. Finally, he got to her house, slowed down, and pulled up to the front of the house.
After a few moments, the driver got out of the truck, and some thing fell out behind his feet. When he stopped to pick it up, it became clear that his hair was odd looking. He had hair, that wasn't it, no bald spot, but his hair looked like a crazed dwarf had recently cut it with hedge clippers. Well, maybe it was only the wind tossling his hair. He came up to her front door and she went downstairs and answer the door.
"Special Delivery", he said.
Easter Sunday. We regret our comments yesterday. What were we thinking? We are sitting here waiting to hear from higher authority. So far, no word... Stay tuned, miracles might happen.
There is much to say about doing as little as possible, sometimes. Just sit and be, enjoy existence in the pure experience of life. When you are done, get a nice glass of iced tea or what ever you desire: You deserve it.
You have to wonder what the born again hoodlums major malfunction is. Did they get ripped from the tit before they had their fill? I don't know, but to me there is something seriously suspect about someones mental health when they are willing to do almost anything to force their world of mythology on your being. Seriously, science is full of theory, but religion is completely myth-based. Give it a rest, go ahead and revel in your act of faith, but don't be surprised if we snap and do injustice on your pathetic weakness of being.
Go ahead, do nothing for awhile, it's perfectly harmless. Well, maybe not because it might make you think for yourself. Whatever, get that glass of iced tea.
She sat next to him as they drove to the airport. They liked to travel to exotic places, this time they picked Thailand. He wanted Tom Kar Gai soup, she wanted to see what the fuss was. They got out of the taxi at IAD and collected their luggage. Her hat almost fell off as they got the porter to load their bags. Later, on the plane they settled into their seats. When they were watching the movie she asked for a B&B, he had a glass of red wine. They pulled blankets around themselves and snuggled as much as the seats allowed. He discretely stroked her under the blanket. After awhile she seemed to ignore him and that irked him. He made eye contact with the flight attendant and she smiled Mona Lisa back. He got up and headed to the rest room, lingering near the door where the magazines were, because the attendant was headed back up the aisle...
Sometime later, he and the attendant left the rest room without being seen. It was a good movie. Her got her another B&B, and winked at the attendant.
There were three colors in the box. She had the sense she was dreaming. Three colors. One was blue, yes it was blue, a dark blue. The second was, ah, yellow, that was it. She liked yellow, that nice spring color. It always reminded her of Holland and kilometer after kilometer of bulbs. Blue, dark blue and yellow. They shone from inside the box. The third color, she didn't quite recognize it. It was very familiar and made her feel soft and warm. She could bask in this color. One box, three colors, this much she knew. Dreaming, I'm dreaming in color. Flying, I can jump into the air and fly on will alone.
"Stone me in the neon realm..." Yes, that was the Doors, this is now and I am here making time from words with a dance of fingers and keys and without regard for Strunk and Wagnal or whoever it was who set it forth and declared the normative stream of letters, words and punctuation as sanity or content. "Until we meet again." Really, the Doors ruled the space I now wander web-tourist style. Neon indeed, "King's Highway", 101 fur sure.
She sits behind the desk. You can't see her not-so-innocent hand as it explores the region your mother calls "her lap."
She was the stream of consciousness that made it's way from pillow to the foot of the bed. She was the product of your pleasure, the way the sheets got all tangled up and pulled out from the mattress, in the distance the radio played some sort of Russian classical piece and you kept crying asking for god to help you for gods sake oh god... It took awhile.
I sat, my face unshaven, working. Planting flowering trees in my mind's eye, building a stone wall, walking the dog. He and I uncovering a hidden fox den in the woods, a place where young boys went to drink the beer they pilfered from their homes. Once, I was young also, pilfered beer, did other things in the woods, made girls pant against their mother's wishes, only to say the next day: "Nice to see you Mrs. Townsend". Mrs. Townsend my ass, we had beer we were concealing and we were going to be bad in the woods. But these days, the dog and I walk and uncover these places where boys and foxes hid. We try not to disturb the animals, and we keep an eye out for real danger, but we let them be while we spy on them.
Back to the lap. The hand that navigates the edge of normalacy.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a small piece of an idea. It grew and before it knew it it flew into our consciousness.
What is the complexity of thought? Short idea: I am hungry. Complex idea: I want grilled steak with wine sauce and au gratin potatoes. Who is to say if hunger by itself is a simple or complicated thing? It can all depend on the moment and the stomach.
Was the Jefferson Airplane a simple or a complex band? I think complex, and I still hunger for more.
Transcribing the circumference of the beginning of an idea, that at this point is but a notion that has yet to begin squealing it's true tale of a story.
At first, it was an interruption but quickly it turned into relief.
It was a confused picture.
She sat at the edge of his seat. At almost 12 years of age, she was growing faster than her mind could explain things to her in a manner that was at once simple and comfortable. She lived more on impulse and instinct, exploring things that countless generations that preceeded her explored before her. The phone rang, and she picked it up and started speaking with a friend. This afternoon started looking busy for her. No, she wouldn't be able to play with Lia. Lia seemed to be cross with her.
How can you measure the realm of Heaven without forging a yardstick in Hell?
Copyright 2005 2006 (and next year too) J.R. Winkler, (Contact us.)