The Holiday Letter - '06 Version

A happy holiday season to you and yours!

The Narrative Instinct

Sometimes you see something, in an unexpected place, some little, passing idea, that makes one more piece of the cosmic puzzle fall into place. Perhaps it will mean nothing to you, but for me, it is a critical piece of understanding both the universe and my own nature.

The New Yorker: FAR FROM NARNIA: "The day we sat down at the Eagle and Child, Pullman told me about a speech he had delivered in May, 2004, at a colloquium on science, literature, and human nature. In the speech, he speculated on the possible origins of this "very clear and strong" sense he has that there is, inherently, "a right shape and a wrong shape" for any given story. Where do these shapes come from, and how can he recognize them with such certainty? Not surprisingly, Pullman rejects the notion that he's receiving direction from some "higher power" when he apprehends that the story he's working on is either whole or broken. His certainty might be a sophisticated form of cultural conditioning, he supposes, or simply the gift of experience. Because Pullman is an admirer of "The Language Instinct," the book by the evolutionary psychologist Steven Pinker, I suggested that, if linguistic grammar is hardwired, perhaps a grammar of narrative is, too. "I don't think that's implausible, but we just don't know," he said."

If you don't know Pinker, get yourself directly over to your local library, better yet to amazon.com and load up, starting with "How The Mind Works" and yes, "The Language Instinct." Oh, and don't forget, "The Blank Slate," where Pinker postulates that we may also have built in modules for ethics as well, centered on the key concept of fairness.

Do we sense the shape of a tale? Do we know a bad story from a good? Damn straight we do! And I don't believe it's just a matter of conditioning. Humans are story tellers and hunger equally for a good tale. And we know when a story is rightly told. Mr. Pullman does indeed know this, the part of telling a good story, that is. We'll have to leave it to Mr. Pinker to ferret out the actual hardware for making it all work.

Thanks to Hedwig for pointing out this excellent article.

his dark materials, new yorker, steven pinker

Will VideoBlogging Become Mainstream?

Recently I discovered that my TiVO (relegated to the living room TV since it doesn't do High Definition) now offers several web options, including the daily video blog, RocketBoom.

It's completely low end TV, but I'll give you this: Amanda Congdon is the Giada Delaurentis of video blogging.

A little cleavage never hurt an otherwise boring presentation.

video blog, rocketboom, food network, amanda congdon, giada de laurentis

Snoopgate: It's now official - George Bush is a felon.

I'm not shocked, but I'm saddened at the revelation the the President has authorized the illegal spying on US citizens. Such arrogance. All he had to do was get a warrant - they were easily available. But Bush and his crew have decided that as President, he can do anything he pleases.

This is not the case. It is now the duty of Congress to investigate and impeach. The President has by his own admission, broken the law over 30 times. Is this not more serious than lying about sex?

I, personally, am fed up with this administration. It's no longer just about politics and culture. This is about the rule of law, our constitution, and the true separation of powers.

snoopgate, Politics

Something else you don't expect to see on the news

"'Now we're going to get snow penises popping up all over town,' he said."

Not unless you show us some snow boobies, first.

Registration Required - bastards. Try anybody for both ID and password.

See on The Obscure Store

Make friends with a librarian

There are many things and people that many of us don't think much about or value for that matter. Very few know and value the importance of librarians in general and research librarians, more specifically.

Joe Kissel reminded me of this today. Interesting Thing of the Day: Membership Libraries: "And there's something else: reference librarians who are positively itching to help you find information. I always have to avert my eyes when I walk by the reference desk. If I make eye contact, I invariably get this guilt-inducing "why-aren't-you-asking-me-where-to-find-old-periodicals" look, and I just can't bear it."

Even more so in this age of electronic data. Yes, there's lots of information at my fingertips. But is it the right information? Is it authoritative? What am I missing that's not online?

Who knows these things? And even better, who can find out? A librarian

Something to add to my Xmas list.

This is exactly the type of thing I have always wanted.
Celestron SkyScout

How cool is that? Of course, I live in Columbus, Ohio, which has to be one of the cloudiest places on the planet, making the Skyscout next to useless here, but it would be a joy when sitting on the beach at Hatteras on a warm July night.

Just imagine a more universal device. I point it at something and ask, "what is that?"

"The object is a Curta mechanical calculator, circa 1950 and appears to be in near mint condition. The current ebay price for a similar object is $635."

Or "That is an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. You are within striking distance and I strongly recommend that you step back an additional 3 meters."

Damn useful thing to have.

In a word: Yes

IS GEORGE BUSH THE WORST PRESIDENT -- EVER?

And you've got to admit, that's a difficult thing to do. Especially when you have really tough competitors for the job like Nixon, Andrew Jackson, and yes, Ronald Reagan.

You and Me and P. B. Shelley

Just the other day Hedwig mentioned Ogden Nash and her delight in reading him. I keep his "Verses from 1929 On" on a table in the guest restroom, along with "I Saw Esaw" and a volume of Frances Bacon. She's right. Nash is a delight.

I had lunch with Hedwig yesterday and lent her this volume. And today she's had a burst of creative energy. My Pash for O. Nash. Great fun.

And here's the old man himself, reading one of my favorites. You and Me and P. B. Shelley

A clear statement on the war

Here is a remarkably clear statement on what needs to be done about the Iraq war:

The Forward Newspaper Online: Costly Withdrawal Is the Price To Be Paid for a Foolish War: "For misleading the American people, and launching the most foolish war since Emperor Augustus in 9 B.C sent his legions into Germany and lost them, Bush deserves to be impeached and, once he has been removed from office, put on trial along with the rest of the president's men. If convicted, they'll have plenty of time to mull over their sins."

I highly recommend the entire short article for your reading.

Would it be alright if we spied on you just a little?

You've got to admit, this is some hutzpah.


I got this email today from Progressive (auto insurance).

"Get $50 for participating in a research study.
As a valued Progressive Direct customer, we're inviting you to participate in an innovative research study. The purpose of this study is to help us reduce the cost of car insurance. And you’ll earn $50 just for participating.

How it works:
Let us know you'll participate by visiting us online.
We’ll send you a TripSensor –- a matchbook-sized device that easily plugs in near your vehicle’s steering column. Just plug it in, drive as you normally do, and forget about it. In six months, we’ll ask you to unplug the TripSensor and send it back to us, and we'll send you $50. It's that easy.
The data you provide are for research purposes only, and will not,
under any circumstances, have an effect on your current or future
car insurance rate.
Participate today and earn $50. Just visit us online today."

No, they'd never just this information to effect my current rate. I'm sure they're just interested in my gas milage. Or how fast I'm driving. Or how much. Or how hard I step on the breaks. Or if my seat-belt is fastened (it always is, by-the-way - that one they can have for free).

No thanks. I don't need fifty bucks that bad.

More Proud Papa

Although I knew this was coming, I had forgotten it was today, and when I turned the page in my morning Columbus Dispatch, I was pleased to see a photo of my daughter, Kathleen, and this glowing article.

High-school student using her bass as ticket to travel

There are fewer pure pleasures as seeing your children succeed. She's chosen, for now, the path of the artist. It's a noble and difficult calling, but I couldn't be happier at her choice.

An Office Cargo Cult?

Something strange is happening at my office building.

Last Thursday I noticed an odd little collection of items in the parking lot. There, in that white-striped corner, next to the handicap parking, I saw a black Swingline stapler, a large binder clip, and a paper clip, all arranged carefully in line. A single thumb tack was placed near them, but not in line.

Nearby, I saw scattered on the other side of the walk, an offering of rubber bands and a black, dry erase marker.

I told Sean about it Friday and we went back down to the parking lot to look at it. As far as I can figure, either a tribe of feral office workers hiding in our building was trying to attract cargo from the office supply gods, or we were witnessing the evolution of paper binding tools. I am thinking seriously of changing my title to "Office Anthropologist."

On Monday, as I pulled into the parking lot, there it was. A large truck from Continental Office Supply, its rear door open, the engine running, but no one in sight. Apparently, the display had attracted the cargo.

But yesterday, the stapler was missing. I suspect the gods will be displeased. If I can find a stapler to "borrow" from someone's desk, I'll try an appease them. I'm also thinking of starting another display to attract different types of cargo. Maybe a collection of MatchBox cars. Or perhaps I can put out some calculators and old Palm Pilots and my first generation iPod.

cargo cult, religion, humor

Penn Jillette is a Smart and Brave Man

I saw this today over on Metafilter

NPR : There is No God

Excellent. Much better than Kathy Dahlen where she claims that "Gazing at that mass of gray nerve tissue, I was unable to reconcile the evidences I had known of self-sacrifice and forgiveness, or even this suicide, with the notion that a human life consists only of one's biology."

I heard Dahlen's essay a few weeks back and it struck me instantly as incredible mushy thinking, but typical of religious thinkers and believers.

It's a tough pill for some to swallow, but as Jillette points out "So, anyone with a love for truth outside of herself has to start with no belief in God and then look for evidence of God. "

Good man, that Jillette.

religion, NPR

Big surpise: Dvorak Doesn't get it

John Dvorak's Second Opinion: Backlash against Sony shows a bigger problem for media - Computer Hardware - Computer Software - Software - Opinion "Writers like myself and my editors make 1/10 the money people can make in the movie or music business for doing about the same amount of work (content generation). Our value is lessened by the fact that we cannot protect the written word from rampant copying. It started with the printing press, bootleg publishing, plagiarism, Xerox machines, email, online pilfering, cut-and-paste, etc., etc. We simply got used to it and live with it.
Sony and all the other big media companies are simply going to have to live with what writers and editors have lived with for some time: a big cut in pay."

It's simply amazing to me that "content producers" can't get over the idea that they'll be losing money. What they're really afraid of is is missing out on potentially making more money. They have the idea that someone, somewhere might not be paying them. What the can't see is that everyone, everywhere, would pay them for access to content (movies, music, radio shows, books) long unavailable. It's the long tail.

I'm sorry, Mr. Dvorak, that you don't make as much money as you think you should, but I hardly think you're only making a 10th of what your worth. From my perspective, what you produce isn't worth paying for as is.

But what about "wanted" pornography?

Leading Catholic cardinal warns parents about buying iPods for Christmas due to porn: "''The technology itself is not dangerous, in fact technology in itself is good,' Keeler said. 'The danger lies in the fact that there are not safeguards or regulations in place to protect children or teens from being exposed to unwanted pornography.' "

Talk about jumping on the bandwagon. The iPod is simply a listening or viewing device. You have to put what you want to see or listen to on their yourself. It ain't gonna just pop up, unasked for (although if you put porn on your iPod, it might show up in embarrassing times.

If iPod pornography is outlawed, then only pornographers will have iPods. Or teenagers. Or guys. Pretty much everyone, just like now.

I drink my coffee black

It's required, being a Murray. The rule is "you can start drinking coffee at any age, as long as it's black." My grandmother, may she rest in peace, would return from the grave and lecture me sternly if I started putting milk in my morning coffee.

I do, however, enjoy "coffee drinks", which I consider treats, not really coffee. And I've learned to ask, without embarrassment for a "grande soy chai latte, no water, extra hot." I just imagine myself Captain Picard ordering a drink from a replicator, "Tea. Earl Gray. Hot."

But alas, some never get over the fear and embarrassment.Lexington Herald-Leader | 11/10/2005 | I drink the coffee but don't speak the language: "We all will drink vending-machine coffee before I speak Starbuck again."

starbucks, Star Trek

Leave Your Brain Alone

I just finished reading the excellent On the Sea of Memory : A Journey from Forgetting to Remembering by Jonathan Cott. It is a touching and thought provoking review of memory and loss. Mr. Cott had 36 electroshock treatments and lost fifteen years of memory.

And then last night, on the way home, I heard this on NPR, 'My Lobotomy': Howard Dully's Journey. It is simply the most stunning thing I've ever heard on the radio.

I can barely speak of it. Both the lobotomy and electroshock are such crude and cruel treatments. How primitive. How misused.

The mind is something the brain does. Please, don't equate the brain with Heath Kit radios and Christmas chemistry sets. We have such a short time as conscience, thinking beings. Could stirring the brain with an ice pick ever be thought of as a good idea?

npr, memory, brain, mind

Moving up the Singularity Date

Google side-steps AI rumours - ZDNet UK News: "''We are not scanning all those books to be read by people,' explained one of my hosts after my talk. 'We are scanning them to be read by an AI,'' Dyson wrote in a posting on Edge.org following a visit to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of John von Neumann's proposal for a digital computer."

Upon reading this my insightful comment was "Fuck".

Useful term, that.

Well, we've all been wondering what Google's been up to. So, either they have a pet infant AI or they're planning for one. I hope their policy of "Don't be evil" is holding up.

Paging Dr. Asimov. Paging Dr. Asimov. Dr. Asmiov to the AI delivery room STAT!

AI, singularity, Asimov

DRM - More on the creeping evil

A friend and college, Adam Engst, vents his frustration on a seemingly simple and perfectly legal task, made agonizing by "Digital Rights Management" TidBITS: iPods Defeating Insomnia.

And it's more than annoyance if you've been following the news. This very week, Sony is in extremely hot water by installing what amounts to a Trojan horse and causing lots of problems.

DRM is simply this: the entertainment industry's attempt to remove well established consumer rights. I won't go out on a limb, yet, and claim that I won't buy anything with DRM, but I do urge you to contact your congressman and representatives and urge them not to support any legislation that removes or reduces your right to legally view, copy, time and place shift any media you purchase.

Amen

Betraying Jesus
The author of “God’s Politics” explains how American Christianity has distorted the gospel and become spiritually bankrupt.

"Tragically, and not without some painful awkwardness, today’s evangelicals are walking a precarious tightrope between these two conflicting views of Jesus. By training, Jesus is Lord; his teaching must carry absolute authority in our lives. Yet by experience, evangelicals have accepted the ethical conclusions of theologies that have a low view of Jesus’ authority. This conflict is at the heart of the problem of present-day evangelism."

Brilliant and insightful.

I'm no longer a believer, but this is exactly the reasoning that brought me to the point of painful questioning. Frankly, it is not reconcilable. True Christians give it all up and walk away from the trappings of life. The are pacifists unto death. Don't know many of those.

Richard Nixon Back Again

My daughter knows all the words to "We Didn't Start The Fire" by Billy Joel - and she's interested in what all the names and events mean.

Sometimes, history has a way of repeating itself that's simply not funny at all.

Capitol Hill Blue: White House keeps dossiers on more than 10,000 'political enemies'

So, how do I get on the list?

Oh, for the breakdown of the lyrics, if you didn't live through most of it like the rest of us old farts, click here.

politics, Billy Joel

That reminds me, I need to do some shopping

This would never work here. "Sir! Please stop fondling the wall!"

Designer creates wall of breasts

Hmmm, wall boobies.

Boing Boing

boobies

The "Code" is why you don't know much about history.

Hedwig pointed me to this SFgate.com article Balboa film festival offers rare peek into naughty past.

Many of you, I bet, never even heard of this and know nothing about the code. But it's important. Here's why: it totally screwed up most peoples' understanding of history, life, and pretty much everything.

I love movies, god help me, I do. But very rarely do we find a movie that really gives us a real piece of truth. If you shape your view of what it means to be an American largely from movies and TV, what do you think and believe? You probably believe that Americans are virtuous, hard working, and largely moral people. Mostly white, too. And never the bad guys. The great American West was a golden age of good over evil and the struggle over savagery. Our heros are strong, tall, strong, and silent. Bad guys are easy to spot. And our leaders are good and enlightened men.

But then the viewer is confronted with something like HBO's "Deadwood" or "Rome". I've seen the arguments. "They swear too much. There's too much sex. They weren't that violent."

It's hard to take. The Hays Office and the administration of the code forced movies into a complete alternate universe. And you know what's really a shame? It was self inflicted. The studios felt that if they didn't crack down hard on themselves, then the government would.

Want another thought to give you pause? The Hays Office, the code - everything that attempted to sanitize life and make movies and TV acceptable to the powers that be - they're still around. You betcha. It's now called the Motion Picture Association of America. That's right, the MPAA. The folks that want to keep you from recording TV. The folks that want every single electronic device manufactured under their control. They no longer care about your morals. Frankly, they never did. They're businessmen, not artists. They could just as well be selling soap. Or cigarettes. They put the code in place to protect their industry, but the effect was what Washington wanted: a gullible, easy to control public. And now what do they want? They want to control and charge and remove long held rights. They hated the VCR and are livid about TiVO. And computers make them foam at the mouth. They don't want you to record, time or place shift anything you watch. They don't want you to make a backup copy of a DVD your purchase, or copy it to your laptop to watch on the road. And most of all, they want more money.

And here's the gag: they totally miss the point. If they would embrace the technology the could collect untold billions. That's right, billions. Starting today. Here's how: put everything online. Everything. Do exactly the opposite of what they're doing. Take the over 100 years worth of commercial movies, put them in full high-definition glory, and let anyone download and view them for a buck. Sure, charge a bit more for things just released, but let's be generous and say anything over five years old is a buck. Recent experience with "the long tail" tells us that every single movie would be downloaded and paid for every month. That means movies that haven't made a cent for decades (and for some, a century or more) would suddenly be making money for the movie industry. Billions and billions.

Idiots. And they don't care what damage they do as long as they get richer.

long tail, mpaa, censorship

Have you seen this man?

This is fun: Online Police Identikit

I suppose that the real police have better tools, but I suspect that an image like that is close enough for identification purposes. It's not like I'm out looking for criminals, but I'm continually frustrated by local news casts that report violent crimes and yet refuse to give a description beyond "two males, approximately 19 years of age." Useless. Someone has probably told them that identifying someone's skin color could be racially charged. It is not. It's simply a description.

Anyhoo. Try this yourself - it's surprisingly difficult to remember exactly what you look like. I did mine from memory, then took this snapshot with my web-cam to compare. I'm not happy with the nose, but they didn't have anything quite the right size or big enough.

Now I need a vodka and tonic, too

OpinionJournal - Peggy Noonan: "Do people fear the wheels are coming off the trolley? Is this fear widespread? A few weeks ago I was reading Christopher Lawford's lovely, candid and affectionate remembrance of growing up in a particular time and place with a particular family, the Kennedys, circa roughly 1950-2000. It's called 'Symptoms of Withdrawal.' At the end he quotes his Uncle Teddy. Christopher, Ted Kennedy and a few family members had gathered one night and were having a drink in Mr. Lawford's mother's apartment in Manhattan. Teddy was expansive. If he hadn't gone into politics he would have been an opera singer, he told them, and visited small Italian villages and had pasta every day for lunch. 'Singing at la Scala in front of three thousand people throwing flowers at you. Then going out for dinner and having more pasta.' Everyone was laughing. Then, writes Mr. Lawford, Teddy 'took a long, slow gulp of his vodka and tonic, thought for a moment, and changed tack. 'I'm glad I'm not going to be around when you guys are my age.' I asked him why, and he said, 'Because when you guys are my age, the whole thing is going to fall apart.

Mr. Lawford continued, 'The statement hung there, suspended in the realm of 'maybe we shouldn't go there.' Nobody wanted to touch it. After a few moments of heavy silence, my uncle moved on.'
Lawford thought his uncle might be referring to their family--that it might 'fall apart.' But reading, one gets the strong impression Teddy Kennedy was not talking about his family but about the whole ball of wax, the impossible nature of everything, the realities so daunting it seems the very system is off the tracks.

And--forgive me--I thought: If even Teddy knows. . ."

Man, the wheels have been off the trolley for 50 years. We're still just flying along, over the side of the cliff, waiting for gravity to remember that it applies to us, too.

Teddy, pour me another drink. Make this one a double.

Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

This message was composed with the new Flock browser.

I'm always looking for the easiest, most natural blogging experience. I've tried stand alone composition and management, but I hate launching another app. I've tried doing it through email, but that's not reliable. And I've had web interfaces fail on me too many times.

So, what of Flock? (or what the flock?) Too early to tell. we shall see.

My Kingdom For A Floppy!

My, how times change!

My daughter has a project at school. She'd like to work on the project there and also at home.

"Fine," I say. "Email it to yourself."

"I can't email from the lab computers. I can put it on a floppy."

But we use Macs at home and Macs haven't had disc or floppy drives for YEARS. So today I went out, grumbling, and bought a "flash" drive, which is nothing more than a hunk o'memory on a USB dongle. 512 meg. Cost me $42, but I'll get $10 back after rebate. So now Jennifer can transport files between home and school.

And yes, I'm still grumbling. I carry 60 freak'n GIGABYTES in my pocket with over 10,000 songs, 6,000 digital pictures, all of my personal files, and still have over 3 gig left.

What do I want? I want a 100 terabyte drive in my watch with everywhere high speed access to the net. No more grumbling then, no sir. Oh, and my Virtual Light sunglasses, please?

"Virtual Light" (William Gibson)

computers, William Gibson

Do I hear $2,000?

My blog is worth $1,129.08.
How much is your blog worth?

Not Captain Tripps, Just a Cold

Diane fought the sniffles and a sore throat for nearly two weeks. Now it's mine. My head is foggy and I can't breath.

In my present state, I can't remember if I published this old short story, but sensing a theme, here it is: Common Cold.

"Achoo!"

"Knock it off, Bruce. You don't have a cold." Littermeir peeked over the cubicle, shaking his greasy head. "Just cut it out, will ya? You didn't have a cold last month, not last week, and not today."

"I had the flu last week."

"You did not. Nobody's had any of those things for over twenty years. I bet even you've never been sick. Now just cut it out." Littermeir hoisted himself up and threw his arms over the top of the divider.

"Don't lean on that, you'll break it." He looked up at the beefy arms and bulbous face that towered over him. He practiced a sniffle. "I had a cold once."

Littermeir snuffled in reply.

"I caught a cold when I was eight and had to stay home from school for two days. I think I'm catching something this time. I'm almost sure that my ears are plugging up."

"My God, it's probably cholera. Wasn't that one of those childhood diseases?"

Bruce shook his head weakly at him. "No, it wasn't. I just think I'm catching a cold."

"Isn't it about your nap time?" Littermeir reached down behind the divider and produced a single, white powdered donut, which he leered at before popping it whole into his mouth. "Just take a little nap and you'll feel better," he said with a mouth full of yellow and white, then he laughed in clouds of crumbs and dust. He flapped a hand at Bruce as he thumped down from his perch.

Bruce felt his forehead and cheeks. He was flushed with embarrassment, not fever. He'd just moved to this cubicle from his comfortable one in the corner last week when Littermeir had peeked over the divider and had caught him staring at his terminal with his eyes closed, his cheek resting in his hand. The worst part was that it was true. This job was so boring and undirected that he regularly took naps and went to great pains never to be caught. It was his only sport. He opened the center desk drawer and plucked out a small mirror, then held it close to his face. With the fingers of his right hand he pulled down his lower lids. The whites of his eyes were clear and white. "Damn." Open mouth, tongue extended--pink, even flesh everywhere. He put the mirror away, then pinched one nostril closed, inhaled, then the other nostril. His breathing was unobstructed. He rested his chin in his palm and stared at his terminal and with his free hand, reached out to the keyboard and punched random keys. Tomorrow he'd bring in his Merck Manual of Disease and Diagnosis. Maybe during his forty-five minutes of lunch he'd flip through the pages of the tattered volume and find something that he could still catch.

Three o'clock. Bruce straightened in his chair and looked across and up the narrow aisle to the woman who was furiously working there. She would, in moments, answer the first of at least fourteen telephone calls. The first would be her daughter checking in from school. That would be followed by calls of what to wear, when to do home work, what to wear, and so on throughout the remainder of the afternoon. This was the best part of the day. Bruce tried to imagine the other side of the conversations, but that ended up boring him too. A couple of aisles over he could hear two other employees arguing in increasingly louder tones. He stood, pretending to stretch and catch a peek of who it was, but when they both stopped their arguing and stared at him he changed his stretch into reaching for a manual on a top shelf. He grabbed at random and sat back down. Flipping it open he discovered it to be terribly out of date, probably from the previous inhabitant of this cubicle. He flung open a lower desk drawer to drop it inside, but it was already overflowing with out-of-date materials. He rolled back from the desk and dropped the manual in the waste can, then began pulling thick memos, stapled, clipped, and folded documents, and dropped them one at a time into the can with only cursory glances. He tossed out hanging folders, envelopes, and then in the back, pulled free a heavy plastic bag zippered at the top. He moved aside his keyboard and papers and set it unopened on his desktop to examine its contents without disturbing them, in case it held something important or illegal. Instead, Bruce saw with growing wonder and nostalgia the packages, bottles and containers that would push aside his boredom.

The bag was full of over-the-counter cold remedies.

Bruce smiled broadly. He laid the zippered bag on its side and carefully shook it so the contents were evenly displayed. He pressed his face close to the murky plastic so he could see the shapes of elixirs and unguents that would offer him relief, if only he were sick! He twisted the bag around, pulled it close to his nose, and then gingerly peeled apart the seal. A short sniff brought the long missed hint of dust and the bitter-sharp tingle of acetylsalicylic acid. Aspirin! He reached in and carefully brought out a little tin and followed the instructions to, "Press red dots with both thumbs". The lid popped back to reveal the crumbling white tablets. His grin broadened. He wet the tip of his finger to collect a few grains and place them on his tongue. He tasted the healing tartness. He closed his eyes to savor its astringent dryness. Had he dared, he would have crushed a whole tablet between his teeth. He considered it a long while, but thinking it over, decided it was stupid, foolish to take a drug that could be, well, who knows how old. Oh! If only it were orange too! He remembered being bundled up in bed, hot cocoa on his nightstand, and the tiny orange pills his mother had him chew. He had loved the way the tiny, hard pills snapped and crunched between his teeth, lingered on his molars. He snapped the lid closed before he was overcome with temptation.

What next? A bottle of liquid cold medicine that smelled strongly of alcohol, an unopened box that revealed some sort of nasal spray. He read the directions, and then removed the cap. He cautiously sniffed, but inhaled a fine mist of the decongestant. It startled him, but within seconds he could feel the membranes shrink and move within his passages. Suddenly frightened, he scooped the discovered items into his top desk drawer and hurried to the restroom, cupped his hands under the faucet, filled them with water, and sucked it into his nose. He coughed and choked, then did it twice again. When he looked up in the mirror it seemed as if he were in a cold sweat. He grinned hugely. "Oh, you look sick." he said.

He returned cautiously to his desk, but no one took notice of him. At first, he went back to the report he had been working on that morning, but all he could think of was what was in his desk drawer. He cracked the drawer open and slid out an individually wrapped packet of capsules. He pushed one out through the foil backing and fingered the thin gelatin case that enclosed the multi-colored balls. He spread a sheet of clean paper on his desk and creased it to form a trough, then twisted the capsule, pulling the halves apart. He poured the tiny pieces out on the paper and it rustled gently. He stirred the pieces with the end of a red pencil. "Too bad I'm not sick," he said with regret.

The rest of the package contained a small box of paper napkins, some sort of eye drops, a gelatinous blue mask, and several hard candies that smelled of honey and menthol. The last item was a cobalt blue bottle, half full of a thick, greasy stuff that let off such a strong odor that he quickly recapped it, then stuck it back in the bag and resealed it also. What a treasure! What a joy it would be to have a cold.

* * * *

Bruce remembered the day, in the vagaries of his youth, when they released the vector. After the years of testing and argument they announced the day and hour when the bulk of human suffering would end. His parents had graciously allowed him to stay up for the midnight television broadcast, then threatened to send him to bed for fighting with his little sister. Someone read a speech, and just before he dozed off, they released the balloons.


The leading causes of death today are:

1. Suicide

2. Domestic Disputes

3. Household Accidents

Bruce wanted to add boredom to the list, but acquiesced that it probably fell under category one.

* * * * *

At home that night, Bruce dreamed.

He was swaddled in blankets and wore a huge sweater that wrapped around and about him. His dream self tried to stand, but gently swooned and felt the room slowly move. When he closed his eyes and the entire room accelerated with him at its center, but it stopped jarringly when he forced his eyes open again. He dabbed his nose with tissues. They piled in mounds about him. Suddenly, he felt the sensation growing within him; the odd, high feeling in the front of his nose, the small catch of breath, the anticipation was over! He sneezed. He relaxed back to the womb of pillows with a sigh that released the burden of years. Bruce stirred and woke, but the smile of the passing dream took him quickly, easily back to sleep. Maybe tomorrow.

* * * *

He just couldn't concentrate. Today, of all days, he had many important things to do, some of them actually interesting, but he couldn't find a place to start. His hands kept slipping off the keyboard and down to the desk drawer. Twice he found his hand inside it, turning the little tin box of tablets over and over. Each time he'd close the drawer, re-straighten his desk, and turn back to the bit of work in front of him.

He looked for things to do. He called his home phone number to see if he had any messages on his answering machine. He did not. He dialed for time and temperature to check his watch and desk clock, then dialed again to make sure it was accurate, but the urge to peek and explore did not subside. Finally, he pulled the entire bag from the drawer and tossed it in his waste can, then thrust away from the desk and headed for the restroom. He marched briskly down the aisle and reached out to push open the door. It moved away from his hand and he fell forward, into the pillowy softness of Littermeir on the other side. He looked up at him as he tried to squeeze by. Littermeir looked as if he had held his head under a faucet, then combed his hair with his fingers. He held an open and partially eaten candy bar in fingers that themselves had been nibbled and eaten down to slivers of nails and puffy, wrinkled finger tips. Littermeir grinned down at him, huge and unsafe, now freed from the cubical divider that normally protected him.

"What is it today? I think you've made at least four trips down here."

"Nothing. Excuse me."

He didn't move from the partially opened door.

"Diarrhea? Are we pretending to have diarrhea today? You're really pitiful, Brucey, really pitiful."

Bruce pushed past, avoiding contact. Once, he had stood at the bus stop out front and Littermeir pressed up close to his side in the crowd. When Bruce had reached down, he accidentally placed his hand in Littermeir's coat pocket, not his own. It was lined with moist crumbs, the remains of a dying cookie. He'd pulled back quickly, but the revulsion and shock of the moment made him want to keep clean, open spaces between them. The door closed slowly with Littermeir still standing there, grinning in at him. He hurried to a back stall and shut the door, then leaned his head against the cool surface.

Standing there, he discovered a strange, hard lump in his pocket. He felt it through the fabric of his trousers. Ah, of course, he thought. Sometime during the fidgeting at his desk he had placed the little blue bottle of ointment in his pocket. He pulled it out and popped the lid, just enough to catch the aroma of menthol. He inhaled deeply and decided with no hesitation. No one was here. He stepped out of the stall and up to the mirror, threw his tie over his left shoulder and opened the top buttons of his shirt. He dipped two fingers into the opaque, sticky-thick goo and pulled out a mobile lump, bringing it to his chest. He rubbed it in circles, matting the black hairs into tight, flat curls. The rising vapors made his eyes water. The last bit he worked into each nostril and smeared across his upper lip, as directed. It was exhilarating. His grin widened, making his face feel tight and hot. The reflection looked manic and dangerous. "This is good," he said without dropping his rictal smile, "if I can't get sick, I'll get insane."

He let the smile fade and the muscles in his cheeks relax. The fumes were making him dizzy, tired. He reached up to rub his eyes, instantly stinging them with the residue of the ointment. Instinctively, he cupped his hands under the faucet and brought the captured water towards his face, but then he stopped and let it drain away. He pressed close to the mirror, holding the basin on both sides and slowly forced his eyes open, waiting for his vision to clear. They were shot with red. He shook his head at himself, then bent and washed his face clean.

Bruce dried himself as best as he could with the blower, and then returned to the stall. He thought for a moment before lowering his trousers. It was impossible to sit comfortably on a toilet with your pants up. That, and it would look strange to anyone walking in. But this was too strange for Bruce, sitting with his pants around his ankles, his shirt sticking to his chest, his eyes watering. He could barely catch his breath. He pulled free several turns of toilet paper and reached up under his shirt to wipe away what he could. That seemed to just move it around. He stood, rearranged himself, flushed for cover, and exited without rewashing his hands.

On the way back to his desk he firmly resolved to complete a memo and to append the weekly report, and . . . he walked past his cubicle, his stride lengthening. He passed his supervisor's desk. She took no notice of him, but the medicated aroma settled on her in his wake. She peeked around the corner as he forsook the elevator and pushed open the door to the stairs.

Bruce took the stairs two at a time. His hand slid down the rail and propelled him in tight turns down the well. He burst into the lobby, past the reception desk, then out into the morning sunlight. There he slowed, then stopped as he reached the curb. The exertion of his escape made his heart pound within his chest. For a moment he stood there, at the stop, by the bench. He stood in this exact same spot every day, but he had never been out here mid-morning. He stuck a finger behind his tie and into his shirt to feel the greasy mat of hair and shirt. He pulled it out and it was coated with the pungent ointment. He wiped it on the concrete bench. 10:30. He sat on the bench and considered what he might do next. The answer came immediately: Go back.

With that settled, he sat a moment more, waiting for his second wind. He didn't know how long that might take, since he had never pushed past his first one. "I'm not strong enough to stand being sick," he muttered by himself. His eyes hurt, he was sticky and smelly, and who were these people? Here it is, mid-morning, and the street and sidewalk is full of people. The strangeness of being away from his desk and out caused Bruce to scan the faces. The injustice of their freedom agitated him. Why weren't they working? What were they all doing out here? "If I have to work, everybody has to work." The reverse did not occur to him. Surely they weren't all runaways like him. Even now, within minutes of his flight, the guilt of his absence grew. He reluctantly stood, turned towards the office, and cursed the happy multitude behind him.

Back at his desk, a grimy candy bar wrapper sat on the floor near his trashcan. He cautiously picked it up to drop it in . . . the can was unexpectedly empty . . . the bag of medicines was gone. He listened. Soft, unpleasant sounds came from over the divider. He peeked. Littermeir was cradling his head in his hands and moaning. In front of him, on his desk, were the cellophane wrappers of medicated candies and a little plastic cup/lid with a residue of green liquid. The bottle lay on its side, empty. Bruce gasped, then laughed sharply. Littermeir turned to look at him. His face was pale with panic and pain, and . . . He hiccupped slightly, then turned and threw up on the floor. Bruce stared in disbelief as Littermeir leaned forward and rolled from his chair. He lay on his side across the aisle. Faces peered above and around dividers.

Bruce ran to the end of the aisle and back to where Littermeir lay.

"What did you do?" he whispered to him. Littermeir looked up at him, then retched and threw up again.

Bruce stepped past him, lifted the empty plastic bag from the corner of the desk, and quickly swept the empty wrappers and remaining medications into it. He reached over the divider to his own desk and tossed it back and under his desk. He turned back to kneel beside Littermeir. After a moment, the supervisor strode down the aisle and looked down at them both: Bruce cradling Littermeir's head in his lap.

"What's going on here?" she demanded.

Bruce looked up at her and with a grin of triumph said, "He's sick!"

Another great idea

But what will we have floating over our heads when we come up with the next one?

Quantum dots that produce white light could be the light bulb's successor | Science Blog: "Take an LED that produces intense, blue light. Coat it with a thin layer of special microscopic beads called quantum dots. And you have what could become the successor to the venerable light bulb."

LEDs and their cousins, OLEDs, have enormous potential in changing the way we light up the world as well as use energy. And I certainly look forward to at least one Saturday when I'm not replacing a light bulb somewhere in the house.

But could someone tell me where I could get an LED conversion kit for my trusty 3 D cell Maglite flashlight? I love the thing. Sure, I could get a small, light, palm-sized LED flashlight that produced more light, but the thing is more a weapon than a light source and it's damn comforting when padding around the house at night trying to figure out what made that strange noise.

science

Yet Another Star Trek Invention Comes To Pass

Even the silliest sounding stuff they make up in Star Trek ends up being invented.

Air Force testing new transparent armor | Science Blog: "ALONtm is a ceramic compound with a high compressive strength and durability. When polished, it is the premier transparent armor for use in armored vehicles, said. 1st Lt. Joseph La Monica, transparent armor sub-direction lead
'The substance itself is light years ahead of glass,' he said, adding that it offers 'higher performance and lighter weight.'"

Transparent Aluminum. Christ Almighty.

Armor, sure, yes, useful for that. But imagine what else you could build out of super strong, light, transparent material you can mold.

Scratch proof iPods, of course.

science, star trek, ipod

Bush Administration Self Destructs in 5, 4, 3 . . .

Simply amazing.

I look at the headlines and shake my head in wonder. The Plame Affair, so long swept under the rug, might actually bring down Rove, and perhaps the Dark Lord himself, the Vice President. Bush's approval ratings are dismal. The war in Iraq has gone so, so bad (though not as bad as I feared. Yet.) And the news for them just keeps getting worse.

And what really makes me scratch my head is that they've done it to themselves. The opposition, the generally clueless Democrats, haven't figured out how to oppose. The press has been, until lately, in full lapdog mode.

So, let's ask, "what if" a bit. What if Cheney was forced to resign, Rove and Libby were indicted and resign as well. Bush is cut of from his most trusted advisors. What then?

Hell, we've been there before. How long until some more "you'll have to trust me on this" evidence comes out that Iran is plotting something nefarious against us and we'll just have to invade.

God help us if things go really badly for Bush and they start a shouting match with China.

OK, enough of that.

Here's what it gets down to. Someone in the Bush administration outed an active duty undercover CIA agent for political gain. Frankly, I'd call it treason and haul Karl Rove and Scooter Libby and the VP himself out back of the White House and shoot them. The President deserves impeachment for allowing it to go unanswered for two years. If he wasn't involved he could have called the VP in on day one, demanded to know the truth, and fired all of them on the spot. But he didn't. If he knew, that's conspiracy. If he didn't know, that's incompetence.

And shame on the special prosecutor and the press for not bringing this to a close well before the last election.

politics

Looks Like Karl Has Won A Major Award

Karl Rove's Garage Proves to Be Typical: "* A rather large wood crate marked 'FRAGILE' and painted with arrows indicating which way is up. On top of the crate, two coolers."

And it's pronounced "Frag-eee-lay".

What are we?

This book sounds fascinating: On the Sea of Memory : A Journey from Forgetting to Remembering.

Perhaps for me for different reasons than one would ordinarily think. This interview with the author, Jonathan Cott, touches on it.

Salon.com Books | He lost his mind: "Do you ever stop believing that one day your memories will come back to you?

No, I don't think they will.

So you're resigned to that.

Yes, I am. Although in the book I do quote several spiritual teachers who say we are our memories, and therefore whether we remember them or not they're still with us. And so I'm hoping that in some slightly mystical way they are still with me, in my body somewhere. It's like when I wake up from a dream and I remember for a split second the content of the dream, the images in the dream, and then a second later I don't remember anything. But for that split second I remember them, and I think that maybe in some way those images have filtered down and integrated into my consciousness. Or my subconsciousness, let's put it that way. And they are there to draw on. But I don't know. That's just a mystical belief."

You see, I'm not so sure that we are our memories. I will accept that our memories are a huge part of us, but not all of us. I think what we are is much more complex than that (and this goes back to my argument with Ray Kurzweil, too). And for those that believe in an afterlife, exactly which you is going to live forever? The you of this moment? The you at age 13, full of hope and innocence? The you at 96, locked and lost in a fog of memories and confusion?

When I wrestle with this, I ultimately fall back on Steven Pinker's assertion: The mind is something the brain does. Without my memories, I am not me. And a slightly different chemical mix makes me other than me as well. Me is not a fixed asset. Yes, that's scary. And I fear that Mr. Cott is right and his memories are truly gone - wiped clear of his brain and totally unrecoverable.

So, what are we? We are a marvel. And the possibilities are endless. What we might be today, tomorrow, and into the future is filled with hope and adventure. And when the adventure is over, there's the memory of us, not stored in us, but in our friends and family and our works. That's where memory is most valuable.

mind, memory, science, religion, kurzweil

Don't Screw With The Librarian

Something I learned long ago. Librarian's are useful and make them your friends. They make painful enemies.

No… F--- you. Librarian gets revenge on "junk" faxer.

Frankly, I don't believe most people think, either.

Here's an excellent article on dog behavior at Slate.com. I was struck by this passage:

Do Dogs Think? - Owners assume their pet's brain works like their own. That's a big mistake. By Jon Katz: "This time, Heather got my full attention. I took notes, asked questions, then called a canine behaviorist at Cornell and explained the problem in as much detail as I could.'Everybody says the dog was reacting to her going back to work,' I suggested. 'Everybody is probably wrong,' was his blunt comeback. 'It's 'theory of mind.' This is what often happens when humans assume that dogs think the way we do.'"

I've lived my life around dogs and other animals. And I've found that the more I treat a dog like a dog and not like a child, the better it responds. Animals have emotions. They get angry, scared, get bored, and experience pleasure and pain. But like this article says, they don't think about things in the same way that humans do.

I grew up on a farm and always remember being around animals of all types and one of my earliest memories is going with my Grandpa Murray to pick out a long hair German Shepherd pup, Duke. Duke was a huge, dignified dog who was hit by a school bus when he was nearly a year old and walked with a limp for the rest of his life. One of his pups, sired with a neighboring collie, became my first dog, Nicky.

Nicky had Duke's size, but not his long hair. I remember getting him when I was six, the same year my brother was born. He and I were constant companions. He accompanied me on my daily cores. He stood by me and blocked the icy wind howling across the prairie as I pumped water for the cows. He played with us kids and never complained with any ill treatment, but he terrified adult strangers that came to the house and stared at them through their car doors, eye-to-eye. And I once saw him pick up a concrete cinder block that someone had left in the barn yard, carry it off under a tree, and chew it into pieces.

I thought of Nicky as my best friend. But I always thought of him as a dog. I don't know. Perhaps it was because I was raised on a farm and worked with lots of animals. But I'm also a big believer that humans and dogs have co-evolved, so we need each other. Dogs, above all other animals, have adapted themselves to living with us and providing us companionship. In a way, they're a very successful species because of that.

I strongly recommend Desmond Morris's book, Dogwatching. It was very helpful for me an my relationship with dogs.

Hey, I wanted one of these when I was a kid!

Well, not this thing, but close. Wired News: Machine Makes Dishes on Demand

When I read this paragraph, I knew exactly what they were doing.

"MIT Media Lab's Counter Intelligence Group, which develops innovative kitchen designs, has created a machine that makes dishes on demand and recycles them after diners have finished a meal. The dishes are made from food-grade, nontoxic acrylic wafers, which are shaped into cups, bowls and plates when heated, then resume their original wafer shape when they are reheated and pressed."

My friend, Bill Bailey (yes, just like the song) had one and it was so cool. It was the Mattel Thingmaker Strange Change Lost World Set! You had these little plastic cubes, but when you put them in the special chamber, they turned into dinosaurs! Then you could compress them back into little squares.

Oh, and I remember burning my fingers on the hot plate that caused them to change. That's probably why they took them off the market. But from my perspective as a 7 year old boy, the danger was part of the attraction.

I also will note that as a sign of my growing self control, I did not automatically buy one of these off of eBay the second I remembered this bit of childhood.

A Fresh Coat Of Paint

I spent all of yesterday, a few hours Sunday evening, and most of a previous Saturday a week back painting the "Bonus" room.

This T-shaped room has been the "play room" since we moved into the house nearly 12 years ago, a place for the kids to store their toys and play, watch TV, and study, often all at the same time. But now the toys are put away and sold off at garage sales. The room was long overdue for a touch up.

Now, almost finished, we have a comfortable alcove with a lounge chair and bookshelves, painted in an eggplant purple. Diane has two desks there as well, one for sewing and another for paying bills and sorting papers. And the main room is a duck's egg green, a mellow and comfortable color.

I've take the opportunity to upgrade the TV to a flat screen, high definition unit and included a Mac mini for web surfing, slide viewing, but mostly access to our music library. Soon we'll install decent speakers to fill the room with music.

I wondered during the transformation if I would find this a melancholy task. But no, it's a time of comfortable maturity, both for ourselves and our children.

Diane and I moved the furniture and painted the walls, but I'm hiring a pro to paint and apply a faux finish to the theater lobby downstairs. Few will see our little sanctuary up over the garage.

And following up on our previous story . . .

FedEx plane crashes in downtown Winnipeg"Oct 6, 2005 — WINNIPEG, Manitoba (Reuters) - A small aircraft carrying cargo for FedEx Corp. — including six vials of research viruses — crashed in downtown Winnipeg on Thursday, killing its pilot, the only person on board, but sparing injury on the ground."

If I were writing a horror movie script about a deadly virus that wipes out most of life on earth, this is how I'd start it.

Say Hello To Captain Trips!

Now here's a "gee wiz" article that is also an "nothing good can come of this" article.

CNN.com - Researchers reconstruct 1918 virus - Oct 5, 2005: "The public health risk of resurrecting the virus is minimal, U.S. health officials said. People around the world developed immunity to the deadly 1918 virus after the pandemic, and a certain degree of immunity is believed to persist today. Also, in previous research, scientists concluded that modern antiviral medicines are effective against Spanish flu-like viruses."

At first, I'm extremely impressed that they've been able to "recreate" the virus. That's a hell of an impressive feat. But I'm also concerned about their lack of concern. " . . .a certain degree of immunity is believed to persist today." I'm glad they hope so. Any one of them want to test that theory?

Flu and disease control needs too be a top priority with the science and health communities. And add to that Bush's interest in controlling a flu outbreak, you could say I'm rather worried.

Oh, for those of you reading this, but not strong enough in the google fu, seek out Mother Abigail.

NASCAR's For Pussies - This Is Racing!

CNN.com - 'Star Wars' NASCAR? Get ready for rocket racing - Oct 4, 2005

As far as I can tell, NASCAR is to racing as WWE is to wrestling. Staged, one big soap opera, and one step away from bread and circuses (there are those Romans again).

But rocket racing! Now that's cool. Real men race rockets.

Uh, er, real women, too. I have a feeling that women could be really good rocketeers. And thinking about that link, jet pack racing would be even cooler!

I hope she wins

I don't know if you follow the lawsuits that the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) has been pushing against people, but I'm tickled pink someone is fighting back.
Disabled woman sues RIAA

I don't know what her being disabled has to do with the story, but it's good to see someone go on the attack.

Frankly, the recording industry is completely in the wrong. They can't sue illegal downloads out of existence. They're making lots of enemies.

I'd dance with glee if they were convicted under the organized crime laws!

Loyalty, Cronies, and Favors, or Everything I Know About Politics I Learned From The Godfather

I must admit, the Bush administration is becoming absolutely fascinating, in a train-wreck sort of way.

You know the scene I'm talking about. It's at the wedding. The Godfather is accepting supplicants.

Corleone: Why did you go to the police? Why didn't you come to me first?
Bonasera: What do you want of me? Tell me anything, but do what I beg you to do.
Corleone: What is that? (Bonasera whispers his request in the Don's ear.) That I cannot do.
Bonasera: I will give you anything you ask.
Corleone: We've known each other many years, but this is the first time you ever came to me for counsel or for help. I can't remember the last time that you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let's be frank here. You never wanted my friendship. And uh, you were afraid to be in my debt.
Bonasera: I didn't want to get into trouble.
Corleone: I understand. You found paradise in America, you had a good trade, you made a good living. The police protected you and there were courts of law. And you didn't need a friend like me. But uh, now you come to me and you say - 'Don Corleone, give me justice.' But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me Godfather. Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married, and you, uh, ask me to do murder for money.
Bonasera: I ask you for justice.
Corleone: That is not justice. Your daughter is still alive.
Bonasera: Let them suffer then, as she suffers. How much shall I pay you?
Corleone (after standing and turning his back): Bonasera, Bonasera. What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? If you'd come to me in friendship, then this scum that ruined your daughter would be suffering this very day. And if by chance an honest man like yourself should make enemies, then they would become my enemies. And then they would fear you.
Bonasera: Be my friend - - Godfather. (The Don shrugs. Bonasera bows toward the Don and kisses the Don's hand.)
Corleone: Good. (The Don puts his hand on Bonasera's shoulder.) Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But uh, until that day - accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day.
Bonasera: Grazie, Godfather.
Corleone: Prego.

Go, watch the movie. That's all you need to understand the Bush administration and the president himself.

Ouch

Somehow, and I can't for the life of me figure out how, I've apparently cracked a rib.

Ouch.

I suppose I should use the correct term and say fractured a rib. But then again, this is self diagnosis. I feel fine otherwise, but I've got a dull pain in my left side, about mid way up the rib cage. Feel fine, that is, until I laugh, cough, hiccup (oh, God, that hurt), or breath deeply.

Oh, or try to lay on either side. Especially on the left.

According to the best information I can find, there's nothing to be done and without other symptoms it looks pretty clearly that yes, it is a cracked rib.

Ask the Medical Expert on Cracked Ribs

Unfortunately, I don't have a good story to go with the injury. No kick boxing, no rock climbing accident, no rough sex (although I think that's what I'm going to start telling people).

Ah, I have it. I was injured during an unfortunate bout of interpretive dance.

medical, humor

Ray Kurzweil's Full of Shit

OK, I get that Mr Kurzweil is smart and rich. But I also think it's clear that he's also a kook.

Ray Kurzweil deciphers a brave new world | Newsmakers | CNET News.com: "I'm quite aggressive in reprogramming my biochemistry. I take over 200 supplements a day. The thing that's unique about our program is that it's what we call aggressive supplementation. We're not programmed to stick around as long as I am. We need to reprogram our biochemistry, to reprogram our disease processes, processes that result in cancer, and various aging processes. My own personal program is detailed in the book."


And it's also clear that he doesn't get what Vernor Vinge is talking about in the Singularity. The Singularity is not "the geek rapture." It is the point where we can no longer predict that happens next. It's technology accelerating to virtually infinite power. We don't know if it mean the end of life as we know it (or just the end of life, period), or if it means cool, god-like, superhero powers for everyone. But then again, Mr. Kurzweil is interested in selling books. "My own personal program is detailed in the book."

But I'm pretty sure that taking vitamins won't help much. So keep munching your Flintstone chewables, Mr. Kurzweil. I wish you luck in your quest to live forever, I really do. But to live forever as a machine means to leave being human behind. We humans are big, messy and and unpredictable. Our thoughts and minds are made up of not just the things that happen to us, but the bio-chemical soup of our own bodies. You take my mind and record it into a machine and it's not me.

Do I want to live a long time? Hell yes. I want a very long life in a healthy body. I do not want an infinite existence as a running application staring out through digital cameras.

My own personal program is detailed in the blog.

science, kurzweil, shit

Remake, Rework, Reimagine. It's still a flop.

One of my favorite TV shows from my teenage years was "Kolchak: The Night Stalker". It was funny and scary at the same time. And Darren McGavin was perfect as Karl Kolchak.

And so, with all cherished childhood memories, someone it out to destroy them. I've seen the previews for the remake and it's so far off the mark that it has passed from bad, to funny, then on past that to just plain pathetic.

CNN.com - The new 'Night Stalker' -- and friend - Sep 29, 2005

TV

The Feel Good Movie Of The Year!

Two thumbs way up! Shining

Finally, there's a trailer that doesn't give the movie away.

Thanks Metafilter!

humor

And this is why they don't let me fly fighter jets.

Wow, never realized that I shared this with only 1/6th the population. Photic sneeze reflex

I thought everybody did this. It's really pronounced with me. When I step outside on a bright, sunny day, I sneeze, powerfully, at least twice.

But this still doesn't explain where I got X-Ray vision.

science

Those Funny Old Newsreels. Not So Funny This Time.

Today William Gibsonpointed to this short film on despotism.

When I started it up it looked like it would be another funny, dated educational film. After watching it, I'm not laughing. Watch it now. I'll wait.

From my perspective it's a clear, well thought out lecture on the dangers and possibilities of loss of democracy. I also noted that some of the comments on the Internet Archive page labeled it as Marxist propaganda. That's another sign to me that the content is accurate and all the more frightening.

As I've mentioned recently, I've been watching HBO's Rome and thinking about all things Roman. The Romans lost their republic and gained, for a while, an empire. But they paid for it in blood. They gave up their freedom for protection and entertainment. The Roman republic had their own Osama Ben Laden, too. He was called Vercongetorix. And the fight against him allowed Julius Caesar to seize power (lot of good it did him).

So, let's look at the factors. How concentrated is the media and information about the current war? How concentrated is wealth and respect? How free and open is education?

I remain hopeful for the world, for the United States, but I am also deeply concerned. Can our freedom and democracy be lost? Certainly. The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.

politics

Beware of geeks bearing billions.

Palm CEO Ed Colligan is trying hard to smile, but it's clear he knows he just sold his soul, if not his company, to the devil. Oh, I understand why he's abandoned his own operating system and run to the open, protective arms of Microsoft. He's scared silly of RIM and that ubiquitous brick-sized device you see attached to business travelers in airports, the Blackberry.

And the funny part? Blackkberries suck. They're huge, unwieldy, very difficult to use, and, well, ugly. So Palm has responded by making the Treo, bigger, uglier, and in an effort to make it really difficult to use, adopted the PocketPC OS. Great move.

I used to be a Palm fanatic. I carried one with me everywhere for quiet some time. And I'm in the "productivity" industry, so I know lots of Palm, Blackberry, and PocketPC users (and more than a few Newton holdouts). And you know the most common trend is? Many of us have simply stopped using them.

Why? Well, there are multiple reasons. Number one is that most of us carry our contacts in our cell phones. Frankly, that's most of what we need. And many, like myself, prefer our phones to be small and easy to use. I no longer need to feel like I'm strapping a calculator to my body. And most of us now have small, light laptops that we have with us most of the time. So why do I need a PDA? If I'm at home, the office, or traveling for business I have a laptop, which is better than a PDA. All other times I have a small, easy-to-use phone with all my contacts and my schedule.

Yes, some business users are enamored with their Blackberries, but if you look at the numbers, it's actually very few people - right around a million users in the US.

And my old Palm sits in it's cradle on my desk. Every once and a while I sync it up to my computer. But I don't take it out of it's cradle. Soon, it will move to the desk drawer of abandon gadgets.

What should have Palm CEO Ed Colligan done? Innovate. Do something bold, exciting, really terrific. Break out of the pack. But that's not going to happen now that he's joined the Borg.

So long, Palm.

Computers and Internet

You Should Know Dick

Doc Serls pointed me to this talk by Dick Hardt about Identity 2.0.

Great talk. "Simple and open wins."

Well, sometimes. Sometimes evil idiots win. For example, the evil idiots really want to monitor everything I do and control my behavior. I, of course, do not want them to know anything about me.

I am not so optimistic about verified identity. I hope people like Mr. Hardt has their way. Better for everyone. Except for the evil idiots.

Which reminds me of a book I've been meaning to recommend to you, dear reader. Ain't Nobody's Business If You Do : The Absurdity of Consensual Crimes in Our Free Country. It's out of print, so get your hand on a used copy.

Computers and Internet, identity

If I'd Known It Was That Simple

But this makes it ever some much more clear.

Getting rid of illusion of time, reaching the state of integrated singularity type IV advanced alien civilizations travel instantaneously : "They do it by converting mass into zero point energy (ZPE), isolating illusion of time from the overlap and reaching the state of integrated singularity. The ZPE is then sent to the exact spatial in the Hyperspace or any part of the Universes. Isolating time this way allows type IV alien civilizations to travel to any part of the Universe, other Universes and the 5-D Hyperspace instantaneously."

humor, religion

Once again, the truth is scarier than myth.

The Devil's Gardens: "The Chuyachaqui is a mythical dwarf with one human foot and one hoof. He is able to transform himself to anyone's likeness. He often appears as a friend or family member to lone travelers in the jungle and leads them around in circles until they are lost.

'The devil's gardens are considered his home, and people avoid devil's gardens in fear of him, or at least traverse devil's gardens very cautiously,' Frederickson said."

But what really makes these gardens? Acid Spitting Ants. Ye gods!

You see, kiddies, this is why science is important. Yes, the stories we make up and tell each other about the way things are are fun. Just so stories are ever so entertaining. But really understanding how things works is pretty damn interesting too. And better yet, once we really understand how something works, it places another piece in the puzzle of how everything works.

And don't you think it might be useful to know how these gardens are formed and maintained? Might make a difference in your yard or garden some day. And much more effective than trying to hire an evil dwarf. They've got a pretty tough union and their hourly wage is staggering.

science

Forbidden Science

This is not a "There are some things that Man is not meant to know" post. This is another "let the chips fall where they may" post.

Cultural Survival: "The risks, on the other hand, are many, Harry said. Project findings may contradict indigenous oral traditions about their origins. In addition to psychological damage, this may cause political harm. 'How can they control that these findings will not be used against indigenous peoples?' Harry asked."

So, what exactly is Debra Harry (apparently not Blondie) saying? Is she saying, "we don't want to look too closely at our selves?" And what about the bit about "Project findings may contradict indigenous oral traditions about their origins." Is that a bad thing?

I am fully aware of the fate of many indigenous people around the world. And I am a great lover of myth and origin stories. But I completely reject the approach that I must treat them as the truth. Origin stories and myth tell us a great deal about the human experience, but they do not provide a map of the real. Culture is important, but not at the expense of truth and knowledge. Would Ms. Harry have us set up informational reservations for the preservation of indigenous cultures?

It is not only helpful, but it's vital that we understand the true origins of humanity. We are, after all, one big happy species.

And yes, I'm the same guy that says, "let people believe any damn stupid thing they want and long as they don't force it on me." But that doesn't mean that I have to protect and isolate anyone from knowledge because it might offend their belief system.

religion, science

The Tech Commandments

You will note, and in proper geek style, the commandments are displayed on 2 Newtons.

More of the same at Geek Culture.

These guys are more miss than hit, but every once and awhile they get a good one. Too bad no one there actually knows how to draw.

Yes, but what the hell is CRBA?

More fun with gvisit.com



CRBA=Captain Randy Blogs Again. Trips right off the tongue, don't it?

I Want My W TV.

Hedwig pointed me to this today: National Geographic Magazine - WildCam AFRICA.

So nice, and some of the best quality live web cam work I've seen. How nice it is to have a window to open on my screen and see a pond in Botswana, all live. Music TV? Who needs that? I want my Window to the World.

Of course, it brings to mind what I really want. I want a menu cameras and destinations just like this one all over the world, all with true high definition, real time feeds. I want the same thing from satellites, viewing the Earth from near and far. I want a live feed from our little robots on Mars.

I want it all. And most of all, I want at least one little camera set at the Cafe Du Monde so I can have breakfast there every day.

Notes on Productivity: How To Get More Things Done - Do Fewer Things

My good friend Patrick has be writing a lot about productivity lately, including a very nice article over at To Done!. Productivity has always been a favorite topic of mine and for the past few years, a career as well. My day job is doing the marketing for a calendar and contact management company, Now Software.

Over they years I've used many tools including Franklin Planners (before the Covey years and I still have the beautiful and extremely large black leather zippered binder that held many years of schedules, to-do lists, and address books). I've been using software calendars for almost as long, including Meeting Maker, Lotus Notes, and of course, Now Up-to-Date & Contact. I was an early adopter of the Palm (yes, an actual U.S. Robotics Palm Pilot, thank you) and stay on the technical edge of computer/web/portable device calendaring. And with all of the high tech, I still fall back on 3x5 note cards, which I keep in a Pocket Briefcase from Levenger.

So, what have I learned?

Just this, really. Multi-tasking is a crock.

If I want to get something big done, I have to clear the decks and do just that thing. For example, if I need to write up a new marketing plan, I need to carve out big blocks of time to do the research, the thinking, the writing and re-writing. I can't get it done if I'm trying to do it in-between phone calls, meetings, and emails. And I certainly won't do a good and thorough job if forced to crank it out while dealing with many other distractions.

The same goes for my personal interests and hobbies. Sure, I'm interested in an amazing number of things. But to do anything well or to enjoy something properly, I can't do them all at once. I'm a compulsive, obsessive, completely gluttonous reader. But I also love movies - so much so that I spent a year building a movie theater in my home. And I love to cook.

But I am also a writer. I can't read everything I want, watch all of the movies and TV that I want, and research and cook and have any time to spend time with my family or make it into work. So I have to make choices. Family comes first. And we've got to eat, so I make plans for cooking that are less time consuming, but fun. And to get my writing done, even posts like this one, I have to focus my desires for entertainment and education into paths that will be useful. I have to cut down on my omnivorous reading and read what I need for my current project. For the past several months, with only a few deviations, I've been reading everything I can find on James Thurber, John McNulty, and the early part of the 20th century that may have touched on these two men. Now that I'm starting the writing (stage play and screen play), I'm tempering it with a bit of Mark Twain to I don't become lost in the powerful language and rhythms of Thurber and McNulty.

And I save the movies and TV for when I'm too exhausted to work any more. Probably around an hour or so at the end of the day.

Here are a few productivity tips from Captain Randy:

• First thing, every day, before you check your email or look for phone messages, review what stands before you, what you really want to get done.
  
• Next, review your email and respond to what you can quickly and efficiently. For things that require thought or other work, schedule time for them on your calendar and respond to the email indicating that you received the message and when you plan to have a response.
  
• Do the same with your voice mail.
  
• Now, if you can, quit from your mail, put your phone on Do Not Disturb, and do your work.

If you can actually follow these instruction, you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Most days I get started this way, but before long the sirens are wailing and I step into my boots and put on my helmet and grab my trusty axe. I've come to accept that I won't get nearly as much as I wanted or needed to do on any particular. But as each fire is dealt with, I can repeat my little mantra, "review the email, check the phones, back to work".

And I'll be damned if things don't get done.

Bush: 'I fake responsibility'

I, however, fake headlines.

CNN.com - Bush: 'I take responsibility' for U.S. failures - Sep 13, 2005

So what, exactly, does taking responsibility mean? So, "Katrina exposed serious problems in our response capability at all levels of government . . ." And why was that, exactly? I'm betting we won't see him tell us, "You see, I put a political supporter and crony in charge of FEMA because I thought it didn't matter. From now on, FEMA will only be staffed by emergency disaster professionals and we'll put it back to the cabinet level."

"Oh, and this whole 'homeland security' thing. That ain't work'n out neither. Sorry about that, too."

Someone is having too much fun as a writer

This quote, although true, sounds like someone is just this side of giddy about the new iPod nano.

TIME.com: Stevie's Little Wonder -- Sep. 19, 2005 -- Page 2: "For a device ostensibly created to be listened to, it is suspiciously good-looking. It's so teensy and glossy and perfect, you want to put it in your mouth like a hard candy. For that, blame Jonathan Ive, 38, the affable Brit who heads Apple's industrial-design department. Ive is about as obsessive-compulsive as you can be without being hospitalized, and his wild enthusiasm for detail is what gives iPods the aura of sleek, otherworldly perfection that has helped make them the quintessential 21st century accessory."

All Thoughts Lead to Rome

I've been watching the new HBO series "Rome" and this week on the History Channel it's been Rome week. I've also been looking over the photos my daughter took in Rome this summer (yes, I'm jealous) while touring with the Columbus Youth Jazz Orchestra.

So naturally, I've been obsessed with all things Roman.

There are many unpleasant and downright nasty things about these people, but there are also more than a little that I stand in amazement at. And through it all, I can't help thinking exactly how far civilization collapsed, right along with them.

I refuse to call the period after their collapse the "Middle Ages". It wasn't the middle of anything. It was a dark, dark time. Back to living in mud huts and digging in the ground with sticks. And it gives me a little twinge when I hear the current Pope wishing for a time where "the Church" had a more prominent roll in Europe's daily life. Yes, things were much better when the Catholics were in control of most everything (OK, most of what we refer to as "the West").

I've always been a fan of ancient Greece - probably my theater training, but wow, those Romans could build!

And yes, it's painful to think on how they lost their republic. It makes one think that such things are possible still today. Look how quickly it happened to them. Look how quickly it happened to the French with Napoleon. The Germans certainly tossed of their republic quickly and efficiently (It's a joke, son).

Ah, but that could never happen in the good ol' U. S. of A. Could it?


In case you miss my point, take a look at the Insurrection Act

I'm afraid you underestimate the American public

Harvard Gazette: Using chili peppers to burn drug abusers: "Imagine snorting an extract of 50 jalapeno peppers and you get the idea," Woolf says. "On a one to 10 scale, the pain is about a thousand. It feels like a mininuclear explosion in your mouth. It does not harm you, but you never want to experience that feeling again."

Come on, Mr. Woolf. Do you think a little heat is gonna keep people (like Rush Limbaugh, for instance) from getting high?

In fact, I could see it as a new macho cred. You have to suffer before you get the benefit. Snorting OxyContin could become a virtuous act.

On a serious note, I am very concerned and personally committed to making sure that pain management and control is available to all that need it. Doctors in this country largely under treat pain. It's not good to suffer. And many with chronic pain have very few options. I get very worried when the government tries to control access to useful medications for fear that someone, somewhere, will abuse it.

Pharaoh! Let my people grow up!

Nano Nano

So, Apple taunts Sony and the other nameless MP3 player manufacturers by introducing the iPod Nano. Ah, but it's small!

I myself prefer the iPod Glactica - my 60 gig iPod photo. Yes, I wish it were smaller, but I use it to carry ALL OF MY MUSIC (over 40 gigabytes) and ALL OF MY DIGITAL PHOTOS (nearly 7,000) and all of my documents. And I still have 5 gig of space left.

When you can do all that and store it in my watch, along with my phone, call me. On my watch/iPod/computer watch. I'll be watching on my Virtual Light sunglasses.

Finally: The Press Grows A Backbone

Brilliant and eloquent.

Boing Boing: Oh, Keith Olbermann, how I love thee.

Here's the transcript: Bloggermann by Keith Olbermann

Enough Blame to Go Around

CNN.com - House cancels hearings on Katrina response - Sep 7, 2005: "Tempers flared Tuesday during a contentious closed-door meeting between House members and Cabinet secretaries in charge of directing Katrina relief efforts. A Republican representative stood up and said, 'All of you deserve failing grades. The response was a disaster,' CNN was told by lawmakers emerging from the meeting.But DeLay countered that assessment later in a news conference by saying that the onus for responding to emergencies fell to local officials."

From Karl Rove's play book: Keep everyone on message. Talk about everything we've done right. Admit no fault. And blame the locals - it's all their fault. And try out these themes: "No one knew this would happen." "No one knew it would be this bad." "It was a slowly unfolding disaster. We applied the right resources as we learned at each stage." "All these people will be able to make a fresh start - they'll be better off." "All of these people should have left anyway." And don't forget, "We're enforcing law and order out of chaos." That plays big in the sticks.

But everyone in the world with access to a TV knew last Tuesday morning that New Orleans was in serious danger. I new it by 7 A.M. and I'm no disaster planner. Everyone else in the world knew it too.

And now we're humiliated in the face of the world. We can't take care of our own people, can't deal with this level of disaster. Not quite the super power we made ourselves out to be, are we?