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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Fear of Blogosphere

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People ask me why I blog. Actually, nobody's asked me that, but I could see them thinking it. Or at least I thought they could be thinking it. Or maybe they're thinking about going to the Bahamas and I'm just misreading them. In any event, in writer's parlance, I blog because it's painful not to. But then if it becomes painful to blog, that could be interesting. So I'm going to experiment with a tug-of-war and see what happens. I'm going to see whether it's more painful to blog or not to blog. It's something Shakespeare would have asked if he'd had an internet connection. He knew a few things about vernacular.

Our four-year-old was explaining to the two-year-old about dragons. He said, "Dragons are not on the earth." I chimed in, "Dragons are only pretend." To which the four-year-old concurred, by echoing the sentiment to his brother, "Yeah, dragons are only on Ben 10." Well, close enough. I'm just hoping that all involved are able to make the distinction between reality and a cartoon program, and we'll be doing peachy. This same child was in church a while back, and I was trying to teach him about reverence. I told him, "When you talk, you have to whisper." He seemed to get the message fine, and I was happy I'd communicated an important lesson to him. So a few minutes later, his younger brother was being noisy, and the older one said to him, "Hey, when you talk, you have to whistle." If the two-year-old wasn't confused, I'm sure he will be at some point.

What this means is that I'll be taking a hiatus. You missed the connection because I didn't make it obvious. Use your gift for metaphor and figure out an application to the concept. I'm setting you free so you can think on your own whilst I'm not blogging. Which reminds me of another anecdote...

I was driving along one day in town, and a car came from out of nowhere right into my lane and almost stopped. So just to play along, I almost stopped too. I figured why the heck not, you know. Plus, I wasn’t too keen on us sharing paint. After applying the brake, my next impulse was to engage the bullhorn, but I decided to let it pass. I allowed the other car be free and move on to greener pastures, and it fluttered away like a dove of the morning. I figured the best thing I could do would be to just separate myself from the situation and put that driver out of my mind. Which I did, and it turned out to be very liberating. C.S. Lewis said that people who resist temptation are more familiar with its inner workings than those who don’t. So I was happy to be moving on. I was at peace with the road again, and I had a new set of roadmates all around me who were happy to accommodate me. I waved at them to acknowledge their politeness and ability to stay in their own lane.

And then just a mile later, like in a bad Twilight Zone episode, from out of nowhere it happened again. A car darted in front of me in moving traffic, and practically stopped right in the middle of the lane — and it was the same car as before! I couldn’t believe it. When something like that happens, you know other forces are at work. As serendipity strikes, all you can do is marvel at it and not complain, because you’re being played like a banjo. At this point, the utter irony of life became funny to me that I had to break out in laughter. And yes, I did pay closer attention to which direction that car was headed, and I went the opposite way. Even if it meant a 2-mile detour to get home.


What this means is that things happen, but unlike on the road, we often have control over them. You can't not drive on the road, but in real life you can take other paths. In our road test, that wouldn't be a solution to avoiding stray cars, because it would create more profound problems. People with yards would be very averse to someone using their lawns for navigational purposes. So we'd say the streets cannot be ignored. Although in real life they can.

You need to be confused yet. Life isn't analogies. Metaphors can be whatever you want them to be, even a reverse metaphor, where you paint a scenario, and then proceed to indicate that that's not how it is in real life. So I'm not sure what utility these things called metaphors and analogies have, other than just to make a yet unfounded concept more understandable.

So the moral of the story is that people who live in glass houses can't hang things on the wall. That sums up what I've learned so far. I'll let you know as soon as I learn more.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Tidbits Anonymous

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Correction
I’d like to correct any mistakes that might be found in this post. They are mere oversights in the grand scheme of things and should not be taken seriously. I regret their presence and dearly wish along with the rest of you that they would go away.

Are you ever completely satisfied with a food product that you purchase? I return everything. Never had to pay for any food my whole life. Hey, if I were completely satisfied, as they guarantee, I’d be in a state of nirvana.

It could be that I’m in denial to a certain extent, but even when I spill something on my shirt, I like to ask for a recount. My reaction typically is to say to myself, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!” It's too surreal to imagine having liquidation on a piece of clothing. And I’d imagine it’s somewhat healthy to be philosophical about such things. If you can pretend that something didn’t happen, then it can soften the effect for later when reality finally hits you in the face.

I’ve never understood why there are study manuals for aptitude tests. How can you study for an aptitude? It may be indicative of something, but it would be more along the lines of introspection. Are we rewarding college entrants on how well in touch they are with their aptitudes? I’m going to need to think that one over some more. Something’s rotten in Liechtenstein.

Correction
We erroneously reported in last month’s issue that the cause of the French Revolution was the cataclysmic bankrupt state of the public treasury, when in fact the real cause was Louis XVI getting miffed at the noblemen for spilling beer on his pool table. We regret any inconvenience this may have caused.

When you twist off the cap of a drink to see if you've won, they're not satisfied with only telling you you've lost. They have to rub it in by saying "try again", which basically means "keep losing some more." You thought that they were being encouraging, but they’re basically mocking you. “Lose again, loser!” “Twist off another cap so we can keep laughing at you! Bwaa-ha-haa-ha!”

I’ve been feeling a little winsome a lot lately. I think that’s possible, too. What winsome means is being consigned to the notion that you winsome and you losesome. It’s a very philosophical approach that countries take just prior to being invaded.

Why don't people say "bless you" when you cough? Is a sneeze all that better than a cough? I mean, think about it... I’d say we’ve got a lot of cough snobs who assume that someone who has a cough has only themself to blame, whereas we somehow bend over backwards to take pity on someone who experiences ailments of the sinuses. You can’t go anywhere in the industrialized world any more and get away sneezing without receiving a cacophony of bless-you’s from the masses. You can’t avoid it even if you try to muffle your sneeze. The bless-you patrol is always on the alert. They’re actively searching for people to bless. I think they go around sprinkling powder in the air just to sate themselves. Anyway, I’m here to support the cause of people with throat issues. Let your voice be heard... Well, there’s your problem…

Correction
I used the word ‘themself’ earlier, which technically isn’t an actual word, but since it should be, I’m not waiting around. As a card-carrying speaker of the English language, I take the liberty of making improvements to it. Also, combining “they” with “someone” doesn’t appear to fit grammatically, but it’s actually less awkward than the proper form. I’m not twiddling my thumbs until some stodgy linguists sort these things out over brimming tea, because it can take them generations just to modify a blasted single word form. They go so slow that I could make a whole new language in the time it takes them to update an existing one. Do I really want to get my VCR repaired or just get a new one?

Free hot dogs and Pepsi always makes me want to buy a car, doesn’t it you? I saw a new tactic last week: hula-hoops hanging from the side mirrors. These are truly desperate times. I think car dealers really need to take a long vacation, maybe check into an asylum, get a new wardrobe, reinvent themselves, and then possibly at that point come back and give it another shot.

I went to a Hall & Oates reunion concert and it was pretty good, even though none of them were the original members. But they played all the favorites. It reminded me of my college years, and such is the value of nostalgia. I hope those guys go on playing for decades to come.

Correction
In a blog post last week, I incorrectly stated that there are 61 islands in the archipelago off the tip of Alaska, when in fact there are 61.

Why do newscasts always have at least one male and one female? Are they going to raise a newscast family and have newscast kids? What is the plan here? Did they try having a newscast with either just males or just females and it didn’t work out? Did the all-male group not clean up afterward, was that the problem? Did the all-female group use up all the makeup in the makeup room? I like when somebody fills in for a sick newscaster, because the writing’s on the wall. And they always have a hard to pronounce last name, which is also why they’ve never gotten anywhere. “Hi, I’m Pete Hergenschnickelmeistersonabulist, and Stan Payday has the night off. I’m only here because someone who’s more talented than me is in a catatonic state in intensive care, otherwise I’d be out on the sidewalk panhandling.” A viewer turns to his wife and says, “Hey, didn’t I give that guy a quarter yesterday?” (And I can’t believe spell-checker didn’t like Hergenschnickelmeistersonabulist)

Correction
Later in this post, I inadvertently misquoted the president of the Purina Petfood Company. Instead of saying, as I reported, “I’d be surprised if even a tenth of all dogs go to heaven,” Mr. Maxwell Gugenheimer actually said, “This whole ‘unplugged’ thing has really gone too far.” Sorry for any emotional stress this may have placed on you. It will never happen again.

Why don't they have air bags that come out of the floors in elevators? That’s where they’d come in really handy. Falling twelve floors would seem to constitute to me the need for some kind of cushion. And it would be fun once in a while if they went off accidentally, just to keep us all entertained. You’re waiting for the elevator to get to your floor, and when the doors open, you see seven stunned people pushed up against the ceiling, mumbling some indecipherable verbiage.

Why do they ask in job interviews if you work better by yourself or in groups? Everybody works better by themselves — you never see two people sitting at the same desk, using the same phone, and the same computer at the same time. If they tried using any of these things in a group setting, it would be quite inefficient. “Yes, I work much better with another employee sitting in my lap. And if we type together, we have a combined 130 words per minute.”

Correction
The correction earlier in this post is incorrect. It shouldn’t have been corrected, since the original version was not incorrect. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused.

Is the opposite of same's opposite the same as the same of opposite's same? This has always confused me, and the minute I think I’ve got it, I realize that I don’t. Think about it, now… are those two conditions the same? These are the kinds of questions that if we’re not equipped to answer, we can give up on trying to solve the whole beginning of time thing. Let’s do first things first and not get ahead of ourselves. Sure, the Big Bang is appealing and all, but it will have to wait.

I never know quite what to do between 5:00 pm and 6:00 pm each weekday. You’re just leaving work, you’re on your way home, and you’re just getting home. The whole transition is so undefined. If I get home at 5:20, then I’m thinking, “Now what am I supposed to do for the next 40 minutes? I’m just hanging here. Somebody… please… rescue me…” I went back and checked the manual. Sure enough, it reads: “Between the hours of 5:00 pm and 6:00 pm, you’re basically on your own, so, um, good luck there.” You’d think they could show just a little more sympathy. Like the online customer service I went to last night for a web host. They said things like “I deeply apologize” and “our sincerest regrets.” I could tell that those wordtracks were genuinely concerned about ME. I mattered to them, on a highly cosmic level. Next time, we’re going to exchange photos of our kids. Me and Dave C. are best buds now. I can’t wait till the next computer glitch so I can contact them again.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Plain and Simple

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Sometimes a teacher shows up for class with a lesson plan. And other times the teacher goes with the ebb and flow of the class and improvises. The thing about a class is that it generally has themes to keep it from wandering too much. I'm no teacher, but if I play one on my blog, that's good enough for tax purposes.

There's a sneaking suspicion of mine that I'm not the only one here. The idea that others could potentially join in this thought process at any moment, whether actively or passively, is an inviting one. I show up for the party first, set out the h'ors doeuvres, do some vacuuming around the site, get it all ready, and all of you can show up any time you like. You come in the door unannounced, and I could be off in the other room dozing for all you know. But everybody's welcome, providing you wipe your feet and shut the door behind you.

So today I’m wondering if plain is a flavor. It could be if you wanted it to. Some may say that it's the lack of a flavor. Some might say that it's a neutral flavor. Who's to say? It could all be a matter of how you look at it. If you're consistent in how you apply definitions, you could make a case either way. And on a good day, you might get the jury to side with you. But then the jury could still be wrong. Who checks the jury for accuracy? Maybe they don't have to be right, but just decisive. After all, their only requirement is to reach some verdict.

We always like to be right, though in a lot of things there are likely multiple right answers. One right answer doesn't necessarily negate another answer. Some things could be more similar than they are different. I like looking at different areas of knowledge in terms of degrees. Some would say all areas must have absolutes, but do we know that's an absolute? I could argue that objects don't possess either a color or no color, but possess degrees (or shades) of color. Or if black is the absense of color, how can we paint with it then? These are the very profound philosophical questions that can be continually explored, until we get tired of them and realize we're just redefining our prejudices. But in the meantime, it's still a lot of fun, and it keeps us off the streets. And I stay away from streets, because they tend to have negative connotations attached to them. I don't know what it is about streets, but that seems to be where the negativity gravitates to.

I just realized that police dispatchers on the scanner talk in a matter-of-fact way a lot like Dustin Hoffman's character in Rain Man... "Suspect is definitely threatening to throw water balloons at the victim... yeah. Suspect is definitely pole vaulting over buildings at an alarming rate, but it doesn't faze me a bit... over. I eat rocks for breakfast... over." We could be having Armageddon, and these people would still be calm and collected. "We have a report of the earth's atmosphere collapsing, with objects falling from the sky the size of large pachyderms... temperatures rising by 40° Fahrenheit and entire continents falling into the sea. Requesting general advisory..."

They must practice those voices at home, too. The lady's husband asks what's for dinner, and she responds, "T-49, we have an intoxicated male in the living room requesting sustinence. Patrol cars are en route... over."

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Adventures in Technology

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Humbled Beginning
The Spectra Systems technology department traces its roots to a very inauspicious start, dating back to the ‘70s, originating in a humble treehouse located on the placid banks of Idaho’s Salmon River. Back then, they used tin cans connected by a thin string, provided by NoaThread. Our story begins with the unassuming Virgil Winston as the WAN (Wide Area Neurosurgical) manager, in charge of strings going to other trees. He would often get perturbed if someone tried to use them like the vines of Tarzan. One time an unsuspecting intern named Rufus was in a big rush, and he swung down on one of the strings, causing the network connection to snap, putting the entire system down for six weeks. Rufus was promoted to damage control.

From there it was determined that Spectra Systems would need a thicker string to secure the network, but after purchasing premium grade twine, it was discovered that the twine wasn’t compatible with the holes in the tin cans, and so the company had to wait another three months for Windows Tin Can 2.0 to come out. Thus were the early days of the Spectra Systems IT Dept., working out the complexities of an integrated computer network.

After living amongst the trees, the IT Dept. resided in the basement of the old Endicott building, camped under huge pipes and sharing their digs with rats that Virgil claimed squealed with a French accent. The IT Dept. felt privileged, however, since Human Resources was located on the stairway, and Finance was in the janitor’s closet. Engineering alternated between the north end of the hallway, the south end of the hallway, up in the ceiling, under the street, in a window display, on one of the horizontal flag poles, and another favorite — in post office boxes at the downtown station. And since back then there were no available panels to arrange cubicles, Engineering simply knocked out walls and rebuilt them. The resulting 14 blueprints of the building showed configurations representing every imaginable layout — sometimes the inspiration came from EKG readouts or Spirograph drawings. Subsequent estimations put the lifespan of the downstairs of Endicott at six years tops, thanks only to the liberal use of duct tape. That it is still standing today is a testament to Spectra Systems' ingenuity.

Around this time over in Silicon Valley, Greg Tresher was being born, and he began his career by networking his crib with the other babies in his neighborhood. But he and Spectra were still in their infancy, so we won’t hear from him for a few more years.

In Like a Lamb, Out Like a Squirrel
The inimitable Rufus Frandsen, who had long ago joined the group as a lowly temp, eventually worked his way up the ladder with his personable style and very strategic groveling. Rufus has since taught his methods at seminars throughout the U.S., entitled "How to Win Friends and Turn Them in for Bigger Prizes."

Rufus grew up in the suburbs of Nome, Alaska, where he quickly found his niche as the playground marbles administrator. With a little practice, he became an expert tournament player, and advanced to the nationals in the five-and-under age group, where he placed 2nd behind a kid from Brooklyn, who to this day Rufus insists was using illegal painted steelies. Rufus later created computer video games about playing marbles, where the winner gets to shoot the loser with rubber darts and then tie him to a stake. No one really ever understood that part of the game.

Rufus makes his home in Schoni, which is a lot like Area 51, because while we’ve all heard of it, we’re not really sure if it exists, or where it is if it does. And most people don’t realize that Schoni stands for "Security Code Homeland Operational National Intelligence." Rufus would have told you himself, but he’s not at liberty to do so because it would blow his cover.

In Like a Tse Tse Fly, Out Like a Tree Sloth
The IT group was joined by Peter Emerson, who took over as manager. Peter and Rufus often grew their whiskers out at the same time to see who could get the first real beard. When they stopped counting, Peter had won six out of eight competitions. Rufus accused Peter of having cheated by painting shoe polish on his face on one occasion, and took several videos to document his findings, which he has since put on DVD and sold on his web site.

Peter knew how to sniff out good deals for Spectra Systems. He once bought a desk at Staples for 50¢. It had been incorrectly marked in the clearance section, and was actually valued at a few hundred dollars. And luckily, he had just enough in his pocket, otherwise he said he wouldn’t have bought it. They now have wanted posters of Peter at Staples, and he’s also not allowed in several casinos for related reasons.

About this same time, Jeremiah Martin came from Seattle, where he had driven ferries across the sound. He left there after repeated unsuccessful attempts by transit authorities to get him to turn the radio down on the ferry sound system, as it was disorienting to patrons to hear "joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea" blasted at 140 decibels. He contended that he was just trying to communicate with the subterranean life in the area so that they wouldn’t mind so much having a large craft going over them day after day.

As a youth, Jeremiah liked frogs, and although people never understood a single word he said, they did like the wine he had. It was indeed an interesting upbringing. At age 7, he joined the bubblegum metal group “Scraped Knees,” where they toured all the elementary schools, playing to packed houses. They didn’t have lighters, so all the kids held up lollipops.

In Like a Butterfly, Out Like a Bee
Jolbert Coureu came on board as a temp, and was involved in converting files from WordPerfect into WordImperfect, and from QuattroPro into CincoPro. He was given a makeshift desk which was actually the end of a 2½-foot wide tabletop. There was just enough room for a keyboard, a mouse pad and a shot glass, but only if he inhaled.

Jolbert lived in 23 different states and four countries by age 17 — all east of the Rockies except for Guatemala, Oregon, The Philippines, Borneo, Nevada, Colorado, Arizona and Samoa. His parents were in the shoehorn business, and their work was conducive to a great deal of traveling and relocating. While the move wasn’t always a perfect fit, eventually they’d nudge their way into whatever community they were in. The family went on to build shoehorn factories across the northern hemisphere, although the ones in Holland were curiously not as successful. This marketing snafu was nearly the downfall of the corporation, but it was revived before long with the institution of cowboy boot horns, which caught on like wildfire in both Egypt and Saudi Arabia.

After he dropped out of high school, Jolbert started up his own car dealership. The part he liked about it best was all the balloons and banners everywhere. It made him feel like he was at the carnival. He decided to turn the showroom into a bumper car ride, and he let people take test drives on it with new cars to see how well they’d hold up. After that venture fell apart, Jolbert went on to join the commission for the renaming of all the national landmarks in Vermont. Eventually they determined that the best course was to use only prime numbers.

Adding to his resume’, Jolbert toured with a nomadic troupe through northern Africa, where he met Virgil, who was in Morocco scouting for IT talent as well as looking for that ever-elusive perfect fishing hole. As soon as Virgil met Jolbert, he knew he’d found what he’d come for, except for the fish part. Jolbert could write in three different Hermanic languages, and had translated COBOL into Sanskrit.

Back at the ranch, Spectra was undergoing many changes. Well, even more than the usual cubicle moves in Engineering. There were software upgrades, hardware upgrades, Tupperware upgrades, you name it... The IT Dept. was hopping like fleas on a skillet. And that was just the 1900s.

In Like a Gerbil, Out Like a Siberian Bush Gnat
Doomsayers throughout the industry were saying that a Y2K bug was going to be the collapse of many network systems. But luckily the Spectra team solved that problem for administrators worldwide by detecting a microscopic parasite on their Molasys drive. This was discovered from an intensive amalgamated microsearch check procedure by Virgil on Spectra’s network, using spare parts from a telescope he had in his back yard, along with a wad of bubblegum and three toothpicks. Virgil was awarded the Nobel Prize in Computer Science for this incredible feat, as well as for his uncanny ability to solve Minesweeper in six seconds. Rufus had captured the latter event on DVD, which revealed Virgil's technique in slow motion, that of utilizing the triple-click function which triggered a pre-defined script to run. Virgil said this was just a coincidence, and he didn’t know how the code got there, citing that he may have also discovered artificial intelligence in the process.

Around this time, Virgil and Rufus would get into deep philosophical discussions about which one of them had been hypnotized the most, the relevancy of greased pigs with the role they played at rodeos, the grooming benefits of WD-40, influential Green Party candidates, whether John Wayne would accept either one of them as his stunt double, the pros and cons of velcro, which superheroes were really the strongest, how to fish while asleep, prehistoric pets, high school chemistry experiments gone awry, military infiltration at the supermarket, creative brownie recipes, how those birds clean the teeth of hippos, which of the two of them had been Santa Claus the most, whether Jim Nabors was still alive or not, the origin of the word 'hootis', how many different non-metallic items each of them had in their pockets, famous quotes from Mel Brooks movies, and — last but not least — their own personal theories on Murphy’s Law of Thermodynamics. And then, of course, the next day they would move on to other exciting topics.

Greg Dangerfield (no relation to Lawrence Olivier) came on as a temp, and stayed in that capacity for almost a year. He eventually realized that he would have more leverage if he found a competing employer who wanted to hire him for his services. So he went and got hired by Nike, Hewlett-Packard and Intel — at which point Spectra posted his duties as a full-time position and asked him to come back. Two weeks later, he was back in the saddle, and the rest is history.

Greg has worked as the database coordinator and resident psychiatrist. If he can’t solve your problem, he’ll hypnotize you and make you think that it’s taken care of. He’s tried to train the rest of the IT staff on these techniques, but it only worked on two of them, partially because the others were already operating under a suspended state of hypnosis themselves.

In Like a Flock of Seagulls, Out Like Livestock
Network security was beefed up after an anonymous temporary employee named Tom Smothers infiltrated the system with clever techniques he learned reading Spy vs. Spy comics. When no one was watching, Tom subverted the system unilaterally in an attempt to mimic the structure and thereby provide sensitive information to a competitor who also wanted to become Spectra Systems. Smothers gave the alibi that he was merely trying to test the limits of the system in order to know what level of security Spectra had and prevent a real attack by hackers, and thereby had to destroy the network to see if his theory worked or not. This story impressed no one — except an employee in Engineering who was also an avid reader of Spy vs. Spy — and Smothers was carted off to jail, where he spent two years in minimum security, but he was soon able to help them get it up to maximum security with a few tweaks.

Virgil's biggest gag played on Rufus was when he put a 'Kick Me' sign on his back, and Rufus didn’t notice it till the end of the day. He couldn’t figure out why people kept snickering around him. Rufus tried several times to get back at Virgil, but it only caused to backfire. Virgil has a subscription to Soldier of Fortune and keeps up on all the latest techniques for warding off infiltrators. At home he has booby traps set up at all entrances, barbed-wire fencing around his bed, and he keeps an Uzi under his pillow, just in case.

In Like a Swarm of Bats, Out Like a Horde of Lemmings
The year 2004 brought many changes and new hopes. With it came Bobby Richardson, the new director and a transplant from Medicine Hat, Alberta. Bobby previously worked in Medicine Hat with the Department of Exterior, and decided it was time to leave there when their computer systems started intercepting musical tones reminiscent of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. "It was a sign to me that my work there was done, and that it was the best time to get the living daylights out of there," he says wistfully.

Bobby's roots were in Iowa, where he farmed in overalls for 13 years until he decided it was time to wash them and move on to something else. He had made guest appearances on Hee Haw, and even got to sing the pitchfork routine, which garnered him national attention and a tax audit. After it was discovered that he had unpaid back taxes for three years, he officially changed his name to "Spongebobby".

After gaining technical experience working at various universities throughout the northwest, Bobby was able to secure a position with Al Gore’s internet creation task force and worked on the How To Make Language (HTML) lexicon. From there, Bobby found success in a myriad of technological pursuits, including in 1988 with the ACME Computer Co. of Tempe, Arizona, where he developed software devices for the tracking of ambulatory birds. Bobby was later contacted by Spectra Systems after Virgil had been watching a Looney Tunes episode and was extremely impressed by the production in one of the scenes.

Rufus has made a DVD which encompasses the history of IT Dept., showing the meaning behind each item in its glossary, where it originated, and how the Library of Congress has commemorated each one. This is available in Spanish, German and Pig Latin as well.

In Like a Paramecium, Out Like a Rhesus Monkey
Spectra upgraded to Windows Vista, thus paving the way for Bill Gates to market it across the rest of the world. Gates had stated at one time that Spectra had been a fertile testing ground for working out the kinks in his programs and seeing what could go wrong. Also, this may have been attributed in the ‘70s, but that’s still unconfirmed.

Jimmy Valenti, the younger brother and namesake of the ubiquitous and more famous Dominic, worked for the IT Dept. for a few months. In that short time, Jimmy accomplished many unforeseen projects, such as the coding for animated wallpaper graphics and their connection to the CIA. He provided IT with manuals on the binary structure of integrated circuits, methods for having phone conversations via web beacons, the telepathic capabilities of toasters, and situational ethics in Alaskan tundra beetles. After determining that Jimmy was overqualified for the position, IT outsourced him to various agencies where he has since conducted experiments to reduce the mercury level in printer toner and make motherboards out of pasta, among other things. Jimmy is the one person who Virgil sees as his biggest threat to taking over his future Nobel Prize nominations.

In Like a Tortoise, Out Like a Turtle
Max Hinton was hired, and everyone soon agreed he was a cut above the rest. Max made an immediate impression in the first week, in the palm of his hand, by slicing it with a knife and requiring immediate medical attention. Max was then sent to a seven-week training course in New Mexico on how to properly use sharp tools and why they are not our friends.

Max's resemblance to B.J. Hunnycutt on the TV program M*A*S*H prompted him to shave his mustache shortly after arriving — that, and the fact that his wife made him camp out on the front porch for a week. Max has vowed the return of the mustache at a key strategic point in time, strangely enough in conjunction with his affiliation on the witness protection program for fugitive network administrators. If it ever seems that he is gone for a duration, there will be clues as to why.

Max grew up in Melbourne, Australia, where he learned the trade of dealing blackjack. At an early age, he could swindle his friends out of their allowances before you could say “hit me.” At age 16, he stowed away in a tanker bound for the states, and wound up in Las Vegas. The mustache made him look 21, and so he was able to get a job at the Sands. One night after he took over $5000 from Virgil at his table, Virgil asked him if he’d be interested in coming to work for him in Idaho, to bale hay and work at his supermarket handing out food samples. Max liked the idea of food samples, and for two years he lived exclusively on mini sausages and Cheez-Its. Soon after the supermarket went belly up, Max followed Virgil to his IT job. When Virgil eventually got tired of Max hanging out under his desk, he recommended him for an IT Technician position. Max's recent experience being under desks was the final clincher, and he was an instant hit. When asked in his interview why he would hire himself, Max impressed the panel by saying it would have to be nepotism.

Spectra went to a new e-mail address format, utilizing first.last@spectra.com. There was some disagreement on the structure. Some legitimately contended that the dot in between the first and last name was unnecessary and, over the years, would cause about 3 million extra instances of people typing a "." and approximately 800,000 extra instances of dots printed out on paper, accounting for gallons of wasted toner. Also figured into the mix was the additional syllable used when speaking the address, estimating that the "dot" in between would be uttered an incredible 13 million times, resulting in several cases of laryngitis and other throat conditions. These were viewed as incidental by the oversight committee, but there were still protestors outside Spectra Systems carrying signs saying "Don’t dot my com" and "Today a toner cartridge, tomorrow the Exxon Valdez."

In Like Novocain, Out Like a Bad Molar
Dominic Valenti was hired after being a temp for all those years. Way back when the company's current president first came to Spectra, Dominic was temping for the Park & Relaxation Division (note they were over just one park then and they were a little less motivated at that time). Over the course of Dominic's time here, he has been in such high demand that he has had to turn down offers from the State Department, Time/Warner, McDonald’s, and the Russian Ballet.

On many occasions, Dominic was the glue that kept Spectra Systems' computer network together — sometimes Elmer’s, sometimes Super, sometimes Crazy, as well as other various bonding compounds and adhesive agents. Dominic can do all the things that nobody else can. He’s Mr. Everything, absorbing information like a sieve. In junior high, he learned Java from reading the back of a matchbox, and was developing online merchant portals that same afternoon. The downside was that he had customers buying things without their knowledge … though that was just a minor glitch that was eventually ironed out.

The mission statement of Spectra’s IT Dept. is simple, purposeful and ambitious — to develop an application which allows employees to work in their sleep. It taps into their subconscious, and thereby transmits the data to and from Spectra Systems' main data port via a wireless connection. This is purported to be able to revolutionize the workday as we know it. People will get paid to sleep in, and most will only have to show up for work in person to keep the paper from piling up on their desk. It's not clear on whether this technology would apply to some of the more technical aspects of computing, such as gaming and mp3 files. In conjunction with this new development, Microsoft has announced the launch of MS Dreams, allowing the user to select from several different scenarios: go to work, go to the beach, work in the yard, invade Europe, and other interesting pursuits. Microsoft says the best part is that whatever happens in the dream will be compatible to and thereby transferable with reality, or vice versa. Spectra is working on its own deluxe version with enhanced capabilities containing modules for going to the moon, climbing inside an active volcano, overthrowing Microsoft, and visiting Disneyland with no long lines. This is where IT is headed, and like its proponents, the future is limitless, if not bright.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

A Year in the Life

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Oh goody, a new year. What are the expectations now, I wonder. I think it's just another number, and numbers are interchangeable. So is 2008 really "over"? And did we just "begin" a new year? The weather this week isn't a whole lot different than it was the week before. I'm rather dubious. I think someone's trying to sell us something, a la trends and styles, but that's just me.

I've been in the '08 mode for so long, I'm not quite used to this '09 shtick. I think it takes about six months for it to sink in, but by then it's almost time to change again. David Letterman pointed out one time that with the Chinese New Year changing to the year of the rat, it really messed him up because he'd become so accustomed to writing the year of the tiger on his checks. Ah, the problems we face.

Changing decades is even more momentous. In another year we'll start the '10s, and that will seem like a big jump. We're getting rid of a lump of ten years all at once, and welcoming in another ten. Is that a commitment you'll be ready to take on? All of us here not only had the unique opportunity to change a century eight years ago, but also a whole millennium. From my rough calculations, probably only about 5% of all people get to see a millennium change in their lifetimes. But one year at a time here...

We probably look for excuses to refresh our mental batteries, so we gravitate to occasions on the calendar. We are enamored with the idea of starting over. People say 2008 wasn't that good, so let's throw it out and move past it. We hardly knew ye, '08. And yet back on Dec. 31, 2007, we were celebrating 2008 like it was the best thing since... well, 2007. But now that it's over, we kick it to the curb like a worn-out rag. Take that, 2008, you old, good-for-nothing sorry batch of frothing, fermented four seasons! You're old news. You're past your time and you've worn out your welcome. We've seen plenty like you and we'll see plenty more... So there.

In light of all this, how do you think that makes 2009 feel? It sees how we treated 2008, and it knows that it's next. 2009 is shaking in its boots right now, knowing that if it doesn't perform beyond expectations, it will soon be a has-been. That's a lot of pressure for a year to be operating under. It might panic and make the Cubs the World Series winners. Or it could be like 2008 and cause global warming to make us colder. We need to give these years their space so they don't wig out like that.

If we're to be intellectually honest about how we treat the years, we shouldn't celebrate them ahead of time, but wait until they've had a chance to show what they've got. Let them prove themselves on their own time, without all the build-up. Besides, what is a New Year's celebration about? Is it about great unrealized hopes and getting rid of the past? If that's the case, then it's the most idealistic holiday we have. Our celebration is of wishful thinking, not knowing what it is we're celebrating. Here's to celebrating!

I do like those occasions on the calendar where we remember things that have happened in our memories, and put ourselves back in those situations. I really think that re-living is a part of living. Anniversaries are a chance to reflect, and that gives us a backdrop for increased perspective. But January 1st is nothing special. Just because it got to be the first in line doesn't make it better than the 2nd, or the 22nd. Double-digit numbers have feelings too!

So now I've got this whole empty slate of days over the next 12 months. It's a little too much to consider all at once. What am I supposed to fill all those days up with? Every one of them will have me in it, doing something. What will I be doing on October 13th of this year, for example? Right now, I could schedule anything I wanted on that day. The flexibility is there.

You know, that sure is a lot of control to have. Could we do that for the whole year, perhaps? Can I do whatever I want this year? Can I schedule to reach my dreams on June 24th? Could I become transformed on March 4th? Could I achieve permanent bliss on August 30th? How about if I save the world on April 19th? No, better make it the 18th, so it can be on a Saturday. Anyway, there's nothing scheduled in those days right now. Hmmm.... What could I fill them up with? Like the song says, it makes me wonder.

Here's your year, at your beck and call. Do with it what you may...

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The Absentminded Whatever It Is

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At college one day, I went to class after putting a meal in the oven and completely forgetting about it just a few minutes later. Never mind that I was a) making a meal, and never mind that I was b) hungry enough to make the meal, and c) I devoted several brain cells to getting it out of the freezer, taking it out of the packaging (I hope), and then sticking it in the oven. It's the thought that counts, right? If you simply plan for food, your stomach will give you points for good intentions. It didn't even occur to me at any point that I had forgotten about what I put in the oven until I came back to my apartment a couple hours later and my roommates told me they had semi-rescued it, meaning that it didn't set the building on fire.

I'd like to think that it was because I was such a dedicated student that I was excited about going to class and couldn't think of anything else. But alas, sometimes being focused is no more than a cover-up for totally spacing it.

Or I've had times where I've been more dedicated, but it still didn't help. How many of us have put something in the oven, and then realized 45 minutes later that it doesn't cook nearly as well with the oven off?

I know there must be a place in the deep recesses of my mind which will someday bring a sudden realization eight years after the fact that I forgot to do something important. Like maybe a video I rented is 7000 days overdue. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to return Ishtar — that's it. No wonder they garnished my wages back then... Maybe I ought to watch it again before I return it, though.

Whenever I go on a trip, as the time to leave approaches, I know there’s something I’m forgetting. It's not a question of whether I forgot something or not, but just a matter of identifying exactly which things it was that I did in fact forget. In response to that, I've now started overpacking with things I don't think I'll need, so that it will reduce the odds that whatever it was I forgot may accidentally get packed.

Packing to go somewhere is bad enough, but at least they're isolated blips in life's journey. General everyday living, on the other hand, can put you in a nondescript tizzy. I know there's something I'm forgetting, but what is it? Did I forget to pay for the Tic Tac's I bought at the 7-11 in Barstow, California three years ago, and policemen have been on my tail because of it ever since? Or maybe I forgot to fill in the amount on a check I mailed to the Republican party back in 1992, and they've been living off it ever since. That could explain all the random withdrawals from my checking account. No, that doesn't make sense. How would they do that? Or maybe I forgot that I was supposed to loan my rake to the Torkelsons in Utah back in 1996, and they're still waiting for it. That would be a little awkward now.

Was there a job I was late for and never made it back to? Did I leave all my clothes at the laundromat circa 1985? You know what... I think I did. That must've been why I started seeing people wearing pants and shirts just like mine. And all this time I thought it was because they had good taste.

Did you ever forget to turn a car off? If you're wearing headphones, it may not occur to you that the engine is still running. At least I didn't run the tank down to empty. Unless there's some other car somewhere at another time that I haven't accounted for...

This condition vacillates between paranoia and anxiety for me, so that neither of the two feel left out. Some paranoia could be justified though. I'm almost certain that eventually a medieval character is going to walk up to me and tell me what the string around my finger is for, because it wasn't me who put it there.

Oh, and here's another one... What if I forgot to do something as simple as brushing my teeth one day a few years ago? Obviously I would have brushed the following day, but that's not the point. Just the thought of having gone a whole day not having brushed teeth is a little unnerving. And now that I realize the odds of this having happened are quite good, I need to figure out when it happened. Is that why I didn't get the scholarship to Yale, possibly? Did the review board think I wasn't minty enough for them?

I've had recurring dreams where I forget until the last day of college class to show up, and I'm so far behind that I'm trying to write Ivanhoe before the bell rings just to appease the teacher, but it's still a hopeless case and I'm lucky if I can scrape out an F+. I always thought there should have been F+'s, because all the other letter grades have plusses. Wouldn't that be like failing with style? And there could be F–'s too, to send a message that not only did you fail, but you were so awful that you even gave F's a bad name.

All right, there was something I was going to do today, and I can't quite put my finger on it. It was either picking up my brother at the airport, returning the call from Obama's press secretary, or blogging. Dang, I hate when something like that slips my mind...

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Slow and Steady, With a Kick

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Here's my favorite sports video, from the 1972 Summer Olympic Games in Munich, Germany. It's the 800 meter finals, twice around the track. I like to watch this when I think that there's no use trying even when it's a lost cause. But there is still triumph in doing your best, as displayed here.

Pay attention to the goofy guy wearing the golf cap, who is clearly overmatched, yet he still gives it his all despite being blown away by the rest of the pack. It's inspirational to watch how hard he tries in the face of adversity. Go ahead and watch it now...



If you haven't watched it yet, you won't appreciate the rest. You almost have to watch this two times to fully digest it. The second time you watch it, notice how far the winner had to come from behind.

It was so close, many of the announcers didn't know who won at first with the naked eye. Arzhanov from the Ukraine — who had refused to lose an 800m final anywhere for four years — made his move on the backstretch, jumping right from sixth to first. He waited back, and then he came on strong as the favorite. And yet that wasn't the end of the story. Someone else had other ideas.

This fable about slow and steady winning the race really does happen. You don't need to be on top of things right away. Just pace yourself and keep plugging away. If it looks like you can't do it and you're overwhelmed, remember Dave Wottle — mythic yet real-life figure. If you have a firm game plan in place, just stick to it and trust that it will work out.

I like how Wottle was still in last place over halfway through the race. In the first lap, all the other runners were panicking to stay up with the pack, but he didn't bite. Just because everyone else felt the need to jump out to a quick start didn't mean he had to. He was playing ultimate non-conformist, and it paid off. He knew his own abilities, stayed within them, and then turned it on at the right moments. Each of his four 200m splits were timed at 26 seconds. He ran his race.

The first time he stepped it up was in the second lap at the end of the first turn, where he passes two runners and positions himself on the outside. Then he stays back through the last turn, and as soon as they hit the straightaway, he puts on the turbo chargers.

Wottle was in last place for the first 1:07 (63%) of the race. Then he was in sixth place until the 1:28 mark. Let's repeat this: With only 17 seconds left in the race, he was still in 6th place! There were five runners still ahead of him.

Then, with 7 seconds left in the race, he was still in 4th place... No problem, right?

It's also interesting to note that Wottle had suffered tendinitis in his knees earlier that year, and had missed training time as a result.

Five different runners were in the lead during that race, and Wottle was in front for only about the last two feet, which is the only part that matters. He won the race by .03 of a second.

The U.S. announcers, Jim McKay and Marty Liquori, gave a rather optimistic account, and made it sound during the race like it was going to be somewhat easier than it was for Wottle. They were giving periodic updates of his status to put the race from his perspective, all the while the other runners were running their own races, and some of them were looking good as well. Even though McKay was playing up Wottle, Wottle wasn't the favorite, and had no Olympic experience. And note that McKay was still surprised when Wottle came on to pass the last two runners.

Now let's imagine ourselves in the race as Dave Wottle, and the announcers are our conscience, or spiritual self, encouraging us and reminding us of our capabilities ("if Dave could just pull up here and get on the outside..."). As we're running our lives, those voices are guiding us to continue to strive, to not give up, to stay within ourselves, whispering in our ear, motivating us ("I think Dave's in great position at this point..."), prodding us, and then even announcing to the world what we just might have inside us ("stand by for the kick of Dave Wottle..."). They're essentially saying, "Keep an eye on this one... he's going places."

If you watch the version (at bottom) with a British announcer, you'll hear a more even-handed account: "and right in the back is Dave Wottle, who got left way, way behind..." (0:37) Wottle isn't even mentioned again until the 1:18 mark, entering the final turn.

There are many voices we can listen to, representing our hopes all the way to our doubts. It's just a matter of who we believe, regardless of which is more realistic.

The other moral of the story is that it pays to wear a cap if you're going to be in a photo-finish race, because that bill gives you an extra four inches, which could come in quite handy in such situations.

Alternate British version, with the audio better and the video worse:
(if you can sync the two videos and turn the audio down on the other, you'll have the best of both worlds)

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Shortcuts to Achievement

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Not long ago, I monitored cars making right turns at a stop sign in Albany, to see just how well they stopped. It seems like 'stop' has become a euphemism these days for "do what you can get away with." The angle of the turn-off to the street is somewhat less than 90°, meaning it would be inviting to drivers to get through it quickly and continue on their way. From the train station across the street, I watched for about 45 minutes, counting 66 cars in the categories I used, while throwing out any other instances where another car was coming and they were compelled to stop.

I hearkened back to when I had a driving test for my license renewal when I was 27, failing the test because I didn’t come to an actual and bona fide complete stop that wouldn't offend the ants crossing in front of me. By the criteria I was graded on in my driving test, about 98% of the drivers I saw on this day would have failed the test and had to come back a month later to retake it. So, I believe there are extremes both ways. I'm not one to say that a person should be absolutely mannequin in order to qualify as a stop.

I put the cars I was monitoring into three categories, with the following results:

A. Stopping/quick halt — 44%
B. Rolling with a pause — 26%
C. Rolling with no pause — 30%

Among group A, this consisted of people who were making a serious effort to stop, even if they might not have been at a standstill. Less than half of the people did even this.

Group B is those who were in a hurry, but still made a token gesture with a little curtsy, though at closer inspection it was nowhere near a stop. This made up one-fourth of the people.

Group C didn’t even bother. They just rolled right on through the stop sign like it was a matador. Apparently to them, stopping is an inconvenience that they’re too good for. This comprised one-third of the people.

Group A was a combination of letter of the law and spirit of the law obeyers. They adhered to the basic principle of stopping. Group B was those who were trying to make it appear to others like they were following the rules, but they really weren’t. And Group C was those who basically didn’t give a flying fajita, completely thumbing their noses at the system. If we were to hand out constellation prizes to all of these people based on their attitudes, we might assign to the first group the sun, the second group the moon, and the third group the stars. This survey was only 84% scientific, with a margin of error of 37%. If it had been conducted under laboratory conditions, the drivers might have figured it out.

CORNERING THE MARKET
When you try to cut corners, you think you’re getting away with something and saving time. But instead, you’re validating a fallacy for yourself that circumventing is a solution, fostering future behavior through habit-making. What happens when people start cutting corners is that they often keep chipping away more to see whatever they can get away with. They gradually peel more and more off until the original path is indiscernable, the initial purpose thus being marginalized. Their idea may become: If I don’t have to generate a full arc when making a left turn, might as well milk it for all it’s worth and just cut through the middle lane.

Drivers look for shortcuts in other ways as well. In city driving, at speeds of around 35 mph, they believe that they will arrive at their destination quicker if they stay about 10-20 feet behind the car in front of them. In reality, even if you’re planning on passing the car in front of you, being 10-20 feet behind vs. behing 40 feet behind provides no advantage. What driving 10-20 feet behind a car does is create a dangerous situation to the car that’s being tailgated because it leaves almost no room for error. If you’re driving behind me that close, I’m going to gradually decrease my speed by a few miles per hour so that your reaction time is increased in case I have to stop suddenly. I was already going a few miles an hour over the speed limit, so there's no justifiable reason that I should go faster or pull off the road to cater to your haste unless you have a siren on top. Get in line, wait your turn, or just get up a half hour earlier in the morning. Sheesh...

What tailgating also creates is more traffic jams, and thus more stoppages. If cars would distance themselves a little more, there would be fewer stoppages. Traffic jams are typically bottlenecks, when too much is condensed in one area, thus becoming counterproductive to the original intent. In trying to save a few extra seconds, we produce delays that can be much longer. It's just like how pouring liquid from a full bottle works better if you tilt it somewhat sideways rather than straight downward. As much as it seems like a psychological benefit to go as far forward as you can when the roads are congested, there’s really no way to play leapfrog with yourself, as much as we try to. Buffers actually do serve a purpose. Likewise, constantly changing lanes in dense traffic only gives you temporary respite until the other lanes catch up again. The grass always looks greener in the other lane, but it generally isn't the case.

CHRONIC LIVING
How can we apply all this to life? What shortcuts do you attempt? Do we skip exercising because it represents an extra 20 minutes in our day that we can't seem to devote? Do we get an hour less sleep than we need each night so that we can squeeze more into our waking hours? Do we frequent Jack in the Box or Burger King because of their convenience? I did that once upon a time, but then my gallbladder filed a protest which was eventually upheld by the medical profession. I lost the case in a bitter dispute, finally relinquishing said gallbladder to science. My liver had appealed, citing potential emotional trauma if it were to take place, but alas, the court was unsympathetic.

Stephen R. Covey said this in reference to non-physical conditions: "[People ask] 'How do you do it? Teach me the techniques.' What they're really saying is, 'Give me some quick fix advice or solution that will relieve the pain in my own situation.' The more people are into quick fix and focus on the acute problems and pain, the more that very approach contributes to the underlying chronic condition."

People steal things, for one, because they think they’re coming out ahead in the deal, getting away with something supposedly gratis. It's a self-created lottery scheme. But if you’ve stolen something, is it really worth degrading yourself into believing that a short-term fix pays off in the long run? That only reinforces in you that being parasitic is a legitimate enterprise, and falsely says that taking away from the greater good affects only other people. And while we're spinning cliches, remember that what goes around comes back around and doesn't play favorites.

Cutting corners gives you the impression that you can procrastinate, not plan ahead, wait till the last minute, do what’s easy, put out very little effort, mail it all in, get something for nothing, and then just make up for whatever’s lacking later by fudging, rushing and improvising. It tells you that you can goof off for two weeks and then cram for a test and still get as much out of it. It tells you that sweeping dirt under the rug doesn’t hurt anything. It tells you that a continually lackluster effort is admirable. It tells you that going through the motions is sufficient. Well, cutting corners lies! It sells you a glittering package filled with synthetic dreams.

The old adage that you get what you pay for applies here. If all you invest is a shortcut effort, you end up developing a shortcut attitude until you’ve cut so many corners you don’t even know where the corners are any more, and so what you get are shortcut results. Do you want your life to be a shortcut? Is that the goal, or is it something else?

OUTPUT = INPUT
Ultimately, we get whatever we’re willing to be satisfied with. Society wants band-aid remedies, and so look what it gets. A heavy dose of transience, unfulfillment, heartache, disappointment... much of it the product of empty promises from the grandiose expectations of a flimsy house of cards. After buying something made of plastic, can you really be surprised when it doesn't last that long?

We each know individually what our best effort is. An ecclesiastical leader of mine in college named Al R. Young often made the comparison that when you do less than your best, it’s like you’re trying to play chess with yourself — pretending that you can outsmart that opponent and take his pieces, then expecting him to show amazement as if it wasn't all choreographed in the first place. If we’re taking shortcuts with our efforts, then we’re shortchanging ourselves, losing out on chances to shape the maleable clay that we’ve been given. We should want our clay to have a distinctive look so that when it dries it will have something of our imprint on it and say something profound about us that others can use. We don't want it to say "I hurried and got it out of the way swiftly."

When involved in a creative project, the dilemma is that if it were easy, then anybody could do it and it wouldn't be as special or in as much demand. Sports analysts are constantly telling us that what separates the great players from the merely good players is their dedication, their work ethic, their inner drive. At the highest levels of athletics, success is not accidental. Those who succeed have been putting in countless hours in training and conditioning where most people don't see them, honing their skills and their discipline. We tend to assume that they just happened to be better than everyone else. In reality, they were willing to put more into it, and didn't search or settle for shortcuts.

If you can’t invest more than a 3-minute effort into the various aspects of your life, then you can’t realistically expect for them more than a microwave outcome. Sure, microwaving is quick, and it’s handy, but if it’s the rule instead of the exception, all you’ve got to show for it at the end of the day is a quick and handy life. On sale now for $19.99, while supplies last. Hurry, offer ends when? Oh, yeah… it ends soon. We ought to rather prefer those offers which are perpetual, taking the long way around... because unlike shortcuts, they return on their investment.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Learning About Yourself

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When I was a senior at Willits (Cal.) High School, I was recruited to the track team halfway through the season, while baseball season was still going on. My baseball coach talked to the track coach and said he should give me a tryout, and that I might be able to help them. In my first trial, I tied the fastest time in the 100 yd. that year by anyone at our school, so they put me on the team. I was still on the baseball team too, and I started going to track practice as well.

My track career was only for that month and a half, but I was able to get some good experience and fond memories out of it. I ended up having the fastest times in the 100 yd. (10.5) and 220 yd. (23.2) distances at our school that year, and I qualified for district in both events.

At district, I had made a tactical error in the 220, which cost me probably a full second, and I ended up finishing 4th and not qualifying further in that event (missing by one place), even though overall it was a better event for me than the 100. But I still had the 100, and I never thought I would get that far to begin with anyway.

At district in the 100, I came in third place, which made me eligible for region. At region, I came in third again, which qualified me for sectional. The sectional was in San Francisco, and whoever qualified there would move on to state. I came in 8th out of 8 runners, but I knew those were the elite runners, so I was just happy to be there on the same track with them. I think just being in their jet streams made me faster.

Now, to put all this in perspective, I wasn’t even the fastest runner in my district. But I’ve noticed in most years I’ve checked since then, that my time in the 220 (converted to 200m) wasn’t matched by any high school girls in the United States for that given year. There might be somewhere around 10 million high school aged females in the U.S., and in most years, I would’ve beaten all of them. I always thought that would be a fun race, with all of us lined up…

And yet 20 miles away in the next town of Fort Bragg, Chapman and Oliver could both beat me. Then I also noticed in the sports almanac something very interesting. My time in the 220 would have won the gold medal in the women’s 200m at the 1960 Olympics (two years before I was born). And we’re talking about a time I ran as a 17-year-old who hadn’t trained much at all.

In baseball that year, after playing the first few games on the bench, I ended up leading the league in stolen bases, and I became our team’s leadoff batter and regular center fielder. At the end of the season, I was selected to the all-district team, the only player from Willits to be chosen. I was elated that I was able to accomplish so much. It felt really good to see what I could do. I'm telling you all this not to relate an account of athletic events, but because there’s a story behind the story...

Let’s go back just four months earlier. It’s January 1980, and it’s about time for tryouts for the high school baseball team. I’d been involved in baseball all through Little League and Senior League, and I had played on the junior varsity team as a freshman and sophomore. But in my junior year, I decided to take a break from it and didn’t go out for the team. So, in my senior year, I was in basically the same frame of mind. I knew that the players who had played the year before me had a leg up on me, and I was psyching myself out to not play again. I wasn’t even so sure that I would be a starter, and I didn’t particularly want to sit on the bench all year. And track and field wasn’t even on the radar screen. I’d never participated in track in high school. That was for the athletes who worked out. So I was consigned to a less eventful senior year, where I wouldn’t strain myself too much, and just enjoy the ride.

The whole prospect of tryout out for baseball seemed too daunting from my perspective. It represented a lot of effort and too many unknowns, and so I decided I wasn’t going to play.

But my dad believed in me. He told me that I should try out for baseball, and that I wouldn’t regret it. I attempted to make excuses, like I didn’t have a good mitt to use, but those didn’t wash. He said he’d buy me a new mitt, and he encouraged me to give it a try. He made good sense, and I knew deep inside that it’s better to try than to wonder later.

Without my dad’s encouragement, I would have just played it safe and not tried out for baseball that year. And so I never would have been in track either. And I would have missed out on rich experiences of striving to do your best and seeing what you can accomplish when you put your mind to it. I wouldn’t have known some important things about myself at that critical stage in my life.

I learned a valuable lesson from my dad, taught to me through experience. He didn’t so much give me confidence per se, but even better, he prompted me to extend myself and provided a mechanism for me to develop my confidence and see it at work. You see, sometimes we’re our own worst doubters. I learned that you really can do things that you don’t think you can do.

I’ll be forever grateful to people in my life like this who have shown me what I can do, who have seen things that I didn’t see, and have helped me draw out the best in me. I think that’s what life is all about, helping lift each other up and rising together in the process. That's what a good parent does, and a good friend does. In helping us see our potential and striving for it, in our quest to become better people and appreciate the world around us more.

I’ve been blessed with these influences, and in turn I want to try to pass that type of influence on to others. For those that you’re close to, do whatever you can to encourage them to see who they really are, and in so doing, you can witness miracles right before your eyes. Someone who could beat all the girls in America to the mailbox just might be lazing away on the couch.

Friday, December 12, 2008

A Life Sans Bills

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A few months ago I wrote about how I was going to take a sabbatical from paying bills, and it's been very liberating not having to be bothered with them. The experiment has gone surprisingly well so far, all things considered. Other than mortgage payments (which I learned are not bills but are implanted monetary viruses that cannot be surgically removed), I haven’t paid anything else.

The overall result is that things are a lot more peaceful around here. The phone doesn’t ring, there’s no noise from electrical appliances, the lights don’t keep me awake at night, the drip in the faucet is finally fixed, I don’t get calls from people I don’t want to talk to, I don’t have to waste any more money at the gas pumps, and I don’t have to watch any more pharmaceutical commercials with mid-life zombies walking through meadows in their bare feet. It’s a win-win situation all around.

Everybody’s been so understanding too. The furniture company was kind enough to come pick up the sofa ensemble we had purchased from them so that it wouldn’t be taking up all our space. Also, the tow truck came by and was more than willing to get our car out of our hair, and it’s nice that it doesn’t block the driveway any more.

So when bills come, we just use them to start fires with now. And we’ve found that the house heats up better if we have a fire in every room. All you need is an axe, and the world is your timber supplier.

It’s like Thoreau’s Walden around here, just without the pond. I’m even considering writing memoirs of the experience, in hopes that there's a transcendental market out there.

Not only have we reduced expenses by $975 a month, but I don’t have to keep track of so many things to pay for. Just send in the mortgage and all is well. I figured I was spending about 50 hours a month just on covering these pesky overhead expenses. Now I can afford to take more time off and enjoy life instead of financing it.

We’ve got all the money we need for ramen noodles, which the kids love raw, and our parkas keep us plenty warm (we don’t run the fires at night while we’re asleep because it makes me a wee bit paranoid having flames next to our sleeping bags).

We've had to make adjustments in maintaining the house. Makeshift vacuum cleaners might not have all the same suction capabilities as their modern counterpart, however using a straw does give me a good respiratory workout.

Laundry? You know, here's the thing... Do dolphins do laundry?

Incidentally, I’m sitting on the curb outside Starbucks picking up a weak signal trying to get this posted. I’m happy to take that extra time each day to hook up the extension cord to my PC and monitor, and then push it back home in a shopping cart. And with all the money I’m saving, I may be able to go to a flat screen before long.

Oh, and before I log off, I need to remember to go to the credit card web sites so I can have them send me more paper to start fires with. Bank of America usually fills theirs with a lot of documentation, so I like to give them my business. I wonder how many people they think live at this address now? Please send to: Rusty’s Convent of the Nestling Woods, 1478 Spruce Way, Tillamook, OR 97141.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Blinkages, Pt. I

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Are you ever in a phone conversation, and while you’re in the middle of talking, something in the back of your mind tells you that something’s not right? That could be your subconscious analyzing the difference of having no feedback in the middle of talking, but your conscious is not as aware of it and doesn’t pick up on the nuances as easily. So you might go on for a few sentences, and then when you get to a stopping point, or ask a question, you finally realize that the other person lost their connection and you’ve been talking to empty air for awhile.

There are many such instances in life where things just don’t seem right, but at that moment we’re not sure why. We just have a strange feeling about it without being able to identify what it is.

I recently turned the pages of a book by Malcolm Gladwell called “Blink” (pub. 2005), which is a study on instinctual impulses. Blink is Gladwell’s term for the first two seconds or so of when we analyze something. In that short time, our subconscious can observe and analyze the clues, and often provide us with all the useful information we need to know. And in many cases, additional information only serves to cloud the issue, and makes our decision making more difficult, subject to more potential error.

A review of Blink gave this synopsis:
Gladwell maintains that we "blink" when we think without thinking. We do that by "thin-slicing," using limited information to come to our conclusion. In what Gladwell contends is an age of information overload, he finds that experts often make better decisions with snap judgments than they do with volumes of analysis.

Gladwell says “There are moments, particularly in times of stress, when our snap judgments and first impressions can offer a much better means of making sense of the world.”

That’s why many times things just don’t feel “right”, even though we can’t really put our finger on what it is, and have difficulty explaining to someone else why. Gladwell also shows how people who try to assign a reason to those impulses misinterpret the source, and seem to invent reasons without realizing what they’re doing. In other words, they’re getting messages from their subconscious which they’re attributing to unrelated conscious sources.

The book itself is loaded with intriguing studies and concepts, though Gladwell doesn’t bring them together into a coherent whole. Gladwell also recognizes that heat of the moment-type reaction can produce irrational judgment, and while he accounts for this, a clear delineation as to when it’s rational and when it’s not isn’t outlined in the book. In these senses, Blink is an unfinished product, but then this might just be a reflection of this whole field of study in general. At any rate, the author introduces a lot of ideas that are worthy of further inquiry, so he does set the table for us and give us a good menu to select from.

I’ve always marvelled at how our minds can anticipate things through our subconscious without even concentrating on it consciously. One example I’ve noticed is when you’re walking on a sidewalk, and you can instinctively predict with practically flawless precision whether you’ll be stepping with your left or right foot at any point at about 20 feet away. If you pick out a line in the cement, your brain can instantly tell you which foot will step on or over that line up to about six steps in advance. I’ve been able to do seven steps on occasion, but six has been more of the norm. (Note also that it doesn’t have to do with distance so much as it has to do with deriving a pattern from your stride, so you could alter your pace from one experiment to the next and it would still work) You just do it naturally without even thinking about it, and it's instantaneous. There's no conscious analysis involved. In fact, trying to analyze it would cause you to break your stride and delay an answer. This is a good lesson for life. We try to analyze things so much that often the ambitious analysis can do more harm than good, defeating the whole purpose.

One other interesting application of this concept involves tapping into your memory without your realizing it. There have been times when I've been editing the formatting of a document written by someone else, without paying attention to the content. From out of the blue, I find myself humming a tune without even knowing why. And then a little while later, I notice some words in the document that triggered the response, which were part of the lyrics of a song. I had read it without knowing that I saw it. Not only that, but I processed it and retrieved an associated thought from my memory without knowing that this was going on. And to top it off, I started humming the tune, not knowing why I was humming it!

I don't know if this one has happened to you, but sometimes when I'm driving and the traffic gets monotonous, I might be daydreaming while watching the road at the same time. There have been times where I've realized after the fact that I had just stopped at a red stoplight and then started up again when it was green while being lost in thought regarding something else. As I come back to reality, I become aware of the passage of time from the last time I was consciously driving, which might have been two blocks earlier. Fortunately, my subconscious knows how to stop at intersections!

Often, people will come up with their best ideas when they’re doing something other than trying to focus on the task at hand. This is probably the conscious getting in the way of the subconscious. Something will occur to you instead while showering, taking a bathroom break, going for a walk, etc. If you're trying hard to remember something, often that can block it, but then later when your mind is clear and you're not even thinking about it, it will come to you freely. Thinking hard many times makes it harder to think.

So, back to Blink, here’s an excerpt with one of the studies:

Imagine that I were to ask you to play a very simple gambling game. In front of you are four decks of cards — two of them red and the other two blue. Each card in those four decks either wins you a sum of money or costs you some money, and your job is to turn over cards from any of the decks, one at a time, in such a way that maximizes your winnings. What you don’t know at the beginning, however, is that the red decks are a minefield. The rewards are high, but when you lose on the red cards, you lose a lot. Actually, you can win only by taking cards from the blue decks, which offer a nice steady diet of $50 payouts and modest penalties. The question is how long will it take you to figure this out?

A group of scientists at the University of Iowa did this experiment a few years ago, and what they found is that after we’ve turned over about fifty cards, most of us start to develop a hunch about what’s going on. We don’t know why we prefer the blue decks, but we’re pretty sure at that point that they are a better bet. After turning over about eighty cards, most of us have figured out the game and can explain exactly why the first two decks are such a bad idea. That much is straightforward. We have some experiences. We think them through. We develop a theory. And then finally we put two and two together. That’s the way learning works.

But the Iowa scientists did something else, and this is where the strange part of the
experiment begins. They hooked each gambler up to a machine that measured the
activity of the sweat glands below the skin in the palms of their hands. Like
most of our sweat glands, those in our palms respond to stress as well as
temperature — which is why we get clammy hands when we are nervous. What the
Iowa scientists found is that gamblers started generating stress responses to
the red decks by the tenth card, forty cards before they were able to say that
they had a hunch about what was wrong with those two decks. More important,
right around the time their palms started sweating, their behavior began to
change as well. They started favoring the blue cards and taking fewer and fewer
cards from the red decks [without realizing it]. They began making the necessary
adjustments long before they were consciously aware of what adjustments they
were supposed to be making.
Fascinating stuff. This suggests that we can change our behavior to something without realizing that we’re doing it, and it can be in response to our subconscious making an analysis. Blink has several such studies cited, which together form a strong case for Gladwell’s premise.

There’s too much from the book to fit into only one or two posts, so in the coming weeks I’ll post more of its findings, along with some of my own commentary.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Letterman's Letter Man

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In July of 1986 when I was at college and many of you were in diapers (I have your baby pictures), David Letterman read my letter on the air during viewer mail, and you could see it all with my handwriting and my signature, and he even said my name. (!) His lips have spoken my name. He doesn't realize it, but he's made me famous. At least somewhere. Like in my living room, or possibly in the kitchen. I also wonder if he practiced saying my name in rehearsals a few times. So, for all I know, he's said my name 36 times. It did seem to flow off his tongue when they did the show, like he and I were old buddies. He could probably imagine being buddies with someone like me.

To set this up, I'll give a little background for the Letterman-impaired. Dave used to flap those blue cards a lot that he was reading from on viewer mail, and he'd say that they were actual letters from actual viewers, otherwise would he be able to flap them like that? "Not a chance," he'd say. So I asked him in my letter what would happen if he tried to flap cards that weren't actual letters from actual viewers. It's only logical, right? And then I said, "What a guy, Rusty Southwick, Provo Utah." Well, actually he said. He said what I said.

So then Dave says, "Well, we've never tried this before... Paul... Oh, look... here are some phony letters from phony viewers..." And he picks them up and starts flapping them. As soon as he does that, an image of Elvis appears above him. And Dave says, "Elvis? Elvis, is that you? Look who's here, Paul." Paul gives his mock incredulity and musters an obligatory, smirking "Elvis is here."

And then Elvis says to Dave, "By flapping those cards, you've bridged the gap between our two worlds." And then they somehow mess up their lines (on my skit!) while Dave and Paul are bantering, and then Elvis thanks him for being featured on letter #3, which he says is traditionally the funniest letter in viewer mail, and then Dave tells him it's not letter #3, and so Elvis gets all miffed and fades away. Dave rubs his eyes and says something about, "Feel like I's hypmotized."

Then later on when there's another skit going on that's bombing, Dave reaches for the cards to try to save the skit and says, "Elvis!! Elvis!!" So I actually produced both a skit and a follow-up reference in my entertainment debut.

The ironic thing is that my college roommates and I weren't watching David Letterman that night, because one of them had rented Amadeus! Somehow I'll never forgive Wolfgang for that (even though I've listed him as a modern hero — but he could have timed his life and subsequently his movie a little better). So anyway, I found out about it when I got a call from a BYU student who was checking to see if there really was a student enrolled there by that name. And since I was in Utah at the time, it hadn't aired yet on the west coast, so I called my aunt in California to tape it for me. A few of my relatives happened to be watching that night, and they said they got a kick out of it.

I've got it on VHS tape, so I'll need to transfer it to digital format. I looked for it on YouTube, but all I found was another skit from the same night with Flunky the Late Night Clown.

David Letterman is likewise on my list of Cool People, and to my knowledge, he never interrupted a Mozart concert. But anyway, if you were wondering, the letter got read on his show less than a week after they would have received it, so that must've meant they instantly liked it. I'd like to think that Dave personally picked it out from among the voluminous stacks of mail, and said, "Yeah, we can use this one for sure. That's comedy, boys... This kid's got a lot of promise. Plus we don't answer much mail from Utah, do we Paul? By the way, where is Utah? Is it over by Iowa?" I'd like to think they had a very in-depth discussion about the intricasies of my delivery and timing, and how I could have a future in show business.

And then Dave probably said, "I'll take this one and write it up myself. I want it to have Elvis in it. Gotta have The King for this one. This is Rusty Southwick we're talking about here, for crying out loud. He'll never invite me on his show someday if I don't really give this one the royal treatment."

I haven't forgotten you, Dave. The invite is coming.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

What a Rusty-Led World Would Look Like

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My first order of business would be to change many of the illogical things in the world. I'll probably think of other things later. Since this is my world, I'd be strict in some areas. I'd compromise some freedoms just so I could get my way.

The super widescreen format for movies would not be allowed as the only available option, because it's used in order to get people to buy larger and wider screens. And have you ever wondered why an animated movie would be in widescreen in the first place? It wasn't filmed. They could have gotten the same wide angle and increased the space above and below.

TV shows wouldn't be able to have their logo in the corner of the screen for more than the first five seconds of the show. It's distracting to me, because I know that it's there. If they thought that people didn't look at it, then why would they put it there? And they wouldn't be able to block off the bottom of the screen with promotions for other shows, particularly the obnoxious moving ones. We get the idea. You REALLY REALLY want us to watch this other show you have. You're practically begging us.

Reality shows would be no more. They're the least real thing on TV.

Movies with an R rating would also be available in a PG version.

Weekends would last three days, and the work week would be four days.

Cars blasting their music as loud as a sonic boom would be legal for target practice.

College football would have a playoff system. What a concept, huh? First of all, the Bowl Championship Series is a misnomer. It's not a series. It's a few instances of individual games. If only about 40 teams each year have any shot to win the championship, then it doesn't serve all of college football. There are almost no opportunities for Cinderella stories. We need an 8-team playoff. The universe won't be in equilibrium until this happens.

Litigation would be drastically reduced. Lawyers spoil all the fun for everyone. Their overall cause, while generally noble, is all too often applied in a self-serving manner. They currently don't have to answer to anyone, and that's what's so dangerous.

Advertisers would have to back up their frivolous claims, otherwise they wouldn't be able to advertise. Imagine that...

No one should be allowed to arise in the morning before 8:00 a.m. What's the hurry?

The junk e-mail industry would be more aggressively targeted as criminal and virtually eliminated in the industrialized market. Third-world countries allowing the activity would be shut out.

Junk mail flyers in the postal mail would be eliminated. Unsolicited mail would also be eliminated.

William Shatner would not be allowed on television.

There would be more mainstream television programs showing real debates and public forums on real moral, philosophical and religious issues, by people who have actually studied in these areas, and who don't have a hidden agenda or are politically motivated.

Restaurants would not be allowed to serve unhealthy food, high in saturated fats, cholesterol, calories, or in other unhealthy formats.

Harmful substances such as cigarettes and hard liquor would not be legal. We already pay too much to fund these addictions. Also, nearly half of all traffic fatalities involve drunk driving. If the weapon were instead guns, people would be much more alarmed.

Special interest groups would not be able to get into the pockets of political groups. Policy would not be determined by loyalty to money.

Computers would make sense. Oh wait, that's another life.

Politicians would not be able to zone their voting areas to fit their desired criteria.

Baloney and hot dogs would be discontinued. Is this as far as we can progress in this area?

Everyone would go metric, including clocks. Units of time would be broken down into increments of 10's.

Flashy banner ads on the Internet would go away. What is this, Las Vegas? I'm trying to read.

John Stossel would be on TV at least three hours a day.

There would be a zero tolerance policy for felons. Depending on the degree of the felony, they would be exiled to a particular island inhabited strictly with other felons of the same ilk. There would be no return from these islands. If you don't want to exist peacefully in the mother country, you are banned from it. You decide where you want to live — but you can't change your mind after the fact. You choose your own destiny. When you abuse your rights, you lose your rights. People who take advantage of freedom but instead wish to compromise the freedom of others would not deserve the same freedoms.

And the next most important thing to consider after crime prevention is parking. When you make the layout of cities, keep buildings and landmarks spaced enough to leave room for parking. A very novel concept, I know, but historians centuries from now will look at the 20th & 21st centuries scratching their heads saying, "They thought they had technology, but they couldn't even manage where to put their vehicles. What a bunch of morons. They tried to keep everything so close together that they squeezed themselves up into the sky. And spaces in parking garages are way more costly than on flat land. Also, before you build up, or even before you build at all, build down. City planners had a gene missing or something." (No offense to any planners out there. I mean it in the nicest way possible.)

TV cameramen would just hold the camera still so we can see what's happening.

Television would not bombard us with rapidly changing images every half-second to second. That's not motion. That's interruption.

TV commercials with adult themes would not be shown on programming before 10 p.m.

Entertainment cost has increased 4 or 5 times over in the last 30 years, even adjusting for inflation. People should be able to afford a trip to a sporting event, in a good seat not already swept up by some corporation, and not need to pay $5 for a small cup of soda (with a lemon in it — ooo, that's got to be worth about $3 right there), or $30 to put your car in a parking stall. Athletes and owners can get by earning $1 or $2 million.

No more sales. No more coupons or rebates. No more contests. I don't want to be a winner. I just want to buy a simple product at a simple price, without all the fanfare attached, which I'm paying for in the end. Sales are merely posturing and grandstanding. Give us one fair price so that we're not looking at a moving target.

No store items marked as "7 for $4.00" or "5 for $3.00". Just tell us how much one costs. That's all we need to know. It doesn't help me to know how much 7 cost if I'm planning on buying only 1.

Lotteries would be eliminated. They feed on addictions. And they do good things. Whoopee.

Shorts should not be allowed to go past the knees. I've seen them down to the ankles before.

If kids can't wear their pants up around their waists where they belong, then they can sit in some room somewhere where no one has to look at their underwear, until they've learned how to properly wear clothes.

Not wearing a seatbelt would not be illegal for adults who are driving by themselves. A single-car occupant should be treated just like a motorcycle rider. We need to make hundreds of other things illegal before this should even show up on the radar screen.

License plates should be trackable by monitoring devices on all main highways to help locate stolen vehicles.

Basketball games would not be allowed to have timeouts every 15 seconds at the end of the game. You've practiced the plays a hundred times. Just play the game.

Fouls in basketball would not be a reward for the defense. Whenever the announcer says "that's a good foul," I wince.

If a batter is hit by a pitch, only the batter and the pitcher are allowed to get in a scuffle, and everyone else would have to watch.

I'd invade Venezuela just for kicks.

I'd heavily fund the massage therapy industry.

Amateur writers would commonly receive grants to encourage them.

And then I'd bequeath the job of world ruler to someone else, because it's too much responsibility.

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Philosophy Soccer