We can eliminate theft if we eliminate ownership; by definition, something that is not owned cannot be stolen. Moreover, I think we're already starting to move in the direction of "mass ownership."
Consider newspapers and magazines, the Internet, iTunes, and bicycles as examples. (Stay with me. It'll make sense.)
I can pay for an individual newspaper (or magazine), or I can subscribe to their services. With a subscription, I [typically] have access to more than just the newsstand issues and receive "member benefits." Newspapers today (yes, I'm looking at you, Internet) may soon have to abandon the price-per-issue system and go subscription only. Why? Because Internet-based newspapers and news services will lose their shirts if they continue to offer their services for free; a simple subscription fee, however, in exchange for complete access to a database of news is a typical explanation of where newspapers will be in ten years (if they're not there already). NOW, let's apply the subscription model to something we're more familiar with.
When a music lover purchases a song on iTunes, there are strings attached to prevent theft: you can only play the songs on authorized computers or devices, you can only make a limited number of "hard copies," and the file cannot [typically] be altered. WHAT IF iTunes moved to a "subscription-only" model? What if, for a monthly fee you had access to everything in the iTunes Library? If they were to make it sensibly priced and available to enough people, Apple would have a steady stream of income and the populus would have access to more music and movies than they could possibly watch in their lifetimes. (I know. It sounds like I'm describing cable or satellite TV.) What if we tried to apply this to something a bit more tangible?
Ever hear of ZotWheels? The concept has been around forever--especially in Europe--and it's now coming to at least three UC campuses in the coming months. It's a bikeshare program: you pay the monthly fee, and you have access to any ZotBike parked near you. They're supposed to be for short, one way trips across campus (you even get a text message when your two hours--or whatever it may be--is up). Some companies do this with cars. Nobody owns the vehicles, but everyone has access.
And if nobody owns them, then no one can steal them. ("Ah," you say, "But what if someone who does not pay for access obtains access? Is that not stealing?" You're right. Let's zoom out even farther.)
I've always loved that aspect of "Star Trek" in which the acquisition of wealth is no longer the driving force of humanity--especially when you consider that the "replicator," the gizmo that makes everything from clothing to starship parts to chocolate sundaes, makes that kind of economy possible (I often wonder what it must have been like for the fictional guy that invented it: "With this device, I will bring the entire economy to a crumbling ruin!"). But what do people in that fictional universe do in order to obtain access to whatever they need, includng food, clothing, and shelter? They particpate in industry, or science, or something. "Star Trek" is like one big floating kibbutz, when you think about it. But could we do that? Could we tell people that when they go to work, instead of a paycheck they will receive access to groceries, a carshare program, a houseshare program, cable TV, and iTunes . . . and if they work for a year they'll receive access to a vacationshare program.
Could we become a collective economy, where everything is shared and therefore NOTHING is owned (or everything is owned by everyone)?
Am I describing a form of Communism? Of course I am (and I'd be foolish not to admit it). I think part of the reason that the concept gets such a bad rap is that people look at it as a kind of "all or nothing" way of life. I, on the other hand, see the possibility of gradations in the economic structure; I'm not the first, and I certainly won't be the last.
Why wouldn't any of this work? I can think of two reasons, and neither of them paint humans in a positive light. The first is that, as a society, we're greedy. We want stuff. We want to own things. For some reason we look more at possession and less at function when it comes to our cars and our music. Does it matter to us who owns the bike if we get to use it as though we owned it? To us, apparently, it does. The second reason is that we're competitive, and many believe that Communism, while a dynamite idea on paper, failed in Russia for exactly this reason. We don't feel good about ourselves unless we surpass our peers. It's not enough that we have what we want; we must have more than others, even in an "equal" society. It's Orwell's Animal Farm. Or, to quote Richard Pryor, as he tried to describe what's wrong with people: "People got this mindset, man, that goes, 'I got mine, f*ck you.' And it ain't right."
Anyway, I just got to thinking about how to reduce theft at the school I work at, and came to the conclusion that if everyone collectively owned everything, no one could steal anything. And it turned into this big, long blog post.
Geez, imagine what I may come up with tomorrow. :)
Observations, rants, and plausible
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
deniability from a person who refuses
to be a prisoner of his own world.
The Village
I'm FINALLY WRITING!
MY FIRST ORIGINAL NOVEL!
I'm currently reading:
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
I'm listening to:
The Crow by Steve Martin
I'm driving:
The Honda FCX Clarity
Saturday, October 10, 2009, posted by Q6 at 8:30 PM
WARNING: This particular blog post contains perspectives and opinions that no one wants to acknowledge. (It's also probably the first in an infrequent series on this topic.)
I consider myself environmentally-minded. I print documents as little as possible. I recycle, both at home and at work (in fact, my recycling bins in both locations are regularly fuller than my trash cans). I drive the cleanest car on the planet, which emits nothing but water from the tailpipe. I turn lights off when I'm not using them. My front lawn is artificial. I use recycled paper products. I firmly believe that if more people did this the planet would be better off.
There is, however, a sad truth to face: it's not going to make a lot of big-picture, long-term difference.
As any scientist or logical person will tell you, the environmental problems facing this planet have largely to do with consumption. The more we consume, the more waste we generate; the more waste we generate, the larger the pile of trash we must deal with. Recycling helps to minimize this waste (and I use the term "minimze" loosely, since most recycling efforts don't put a dent in said trash pile). Even with all the recycling and greening we attempt, the amount of waste is so large that it's difficult with which to contend. Even if we recycled the majority of our waste, the pile of trash would still be huge, and the reason for that is simple:
There are just too many people on the planet.
In the year 1900 the world population was a mere 1.6 billion people, up from 275 million in the year 1000 (it took nine hundred years for the population to multiply to six times its size). By 1990, it rose to 5.3 billion. The curve growing ever steeper, today's population is 6.8 billion. By 2050, the world population is estimated to grow to 9.4 billion. Even if we recycle in every facet of our lives, there's only so much breathable air and drinkable water the planet can provide at a given time; that level is called the planet's "carrying capacity" for humans . . . and for the Earth, scientists calculate that level at 13 to 15 billion (which we could, theoretically, hit by the end of this--or the next--century).
I will, however, continue recycling, driving my clean car, and turning off my lights--I mean, what else can I do?
I consider myself environmentally-minded. I print documents as little as possible. I recycle, both at home and at work (in fact, my recycling bins in both locations are regularly fuller than my trash cans). I drive the cleanest car on the planet, which emits nothing but water from the tailpipe. I turn lights off when I'm not using them. My front lawn is artificial. I use recycled paper products. I firmly believe that if more people did this the planet would be better off.
There is, however, a sad truth to face: it's not going to make a lot of big-picture, long-term difference.
As any scientist or logical person will tell you, the environmental problems facing this planet have largely to do with consumption. The more we consume, the more waste we generate; the more waste we generate, the larger the pile of trash we must deal with. Recycling helps to minimize this waste (and I use the term "minimze" loosely, since most recycling efforts don't put a dent in said trash pile). Even with all the recycling and greening we attempt, the amount of waste is so large that it's difficult with which to contend. Even if we recycled the majority of our waste, the pile of trash would still be huge, and the reason for that is simple:
There are just too many people on the planet.
In the year 1900 the world population was a mere 1.6 billion people, up from 275 million in the year 1000 (it took nine hundred years for the population to multiply to six times its size). By 1990, it rose to 5.3 billion. The curve growing ever steeper, today's population is 6.8 billion. By 2050, the world population is estimated to grow to 9.4 billion. Even if we recycle in every facet of our lives, there's only so much breathable air and drinkable water the planet can provide at a given time; that level is called the planet's "carrying capacity" for humans . . . and for the Earth, scientists calculate that level at 13 to 15 billion (which we could, theoretically, hit by the end of this--or the next--century).
I will, however, continue recycling, driving my clean car, and turning off my lights--I mean, what else can I do?
Thursday, October 08, 2009, posted by Q6 at 2:06 PM
I can't remember the last time I started a book and didn't finish it. Even if a book sucks, I'll plod through to the end (hoping it will make a sudden qualitative upturn, or else to be able to complain about the entire book when I'm done). In this case, though, I couldn't do it.
The risk you take when you read nonfiction: scientific processes may be explain in mind-numbing detail, historical happenings may include painful asides and irrelevant backstories, and opinionated essays sometimes rant for fifty pages to make a ten page argument. Sadly, the book I was reading did all of the above.
That's not to say that Nassim Nicholas Taleb's The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable isn't a good book. The premise--that there are certain things in this world that cannot be predicted at all--is a good one, and there are some great explanations, good points made about how we interpret indicators, and some very simple examples of why we really can't trust a lot of the predictions we tend to make. There are also, however, long-winded rants about philosophical theory, constant references to the author's personal upbringing and former career, and (coming in around the 66% mark--I was reading on the Kindle) a banal narrative about applying his theory to reality . . . one that seemed, when I put the book down, without end. All in all, this book was in deperate need of a red pen and should have been about half its length.
I feel just a little bit like a failure, having put the book down without finishing it. In a way, I feel like the book won. Which is a stupid way to think, really.
What have I learned from reading this book? I've learned two things: (1) we probably never could have predicted 9/11, only reacted in the aftermath, and anyone who had suggested (on 9/10 or before) that we make cockpit doors lockable and bulletproof would have been dismissed as over precautionary; (2) when I decide to put down a book and not finish it, I must not take it as a personal failure and just move on.
So I've picked up Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, and after that I'll read Orwell's 1984. It's been 20+ years since I've read either one, so they'll both seem new to me.
The risk you take when you read nonfiction: scientific processes may be explain in mind-numbing detail, historical happenings may include painful asides and irrelevant backstories, and opinionated essays sometimes rant for fifty pages to make a ten page argument. Sadly, the book I was reading did all of the above.
That's not to say that Nassim Nicholas Taleb's The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable isn't a good book. The premise--that there are certain things in this world that cannot be predicted at all--is a good one, and there are some great explanations, good points made about how we interpret indicators, and some very simple examples of why we really can't trust a lot of the predictions we tend to make. There are also, however, long-winded rants about philosophical theory, constant references to the author's personal upbringing and former career, and (coming in around the 66% mark--I was reading on the Kindle) a banal narrative about applying his theory to reality . . . one that seemed, when I put the book down, without end. All in all, this book was in deperate need of a red pen and should have been about half its length.
I feel just a little bit like a failure, having put the book down without finishing it. In a way, I feel like the book won. Which is a stupid way to think, really.
What have I learned from reading this book? I've learned two things: (1) we probably never could have predicted 9/11, only reacted in the aftermath, and anyone who had suggested (on 9/10 or before) that we make cockpit doors lockable and bulletproof would have been dismissed as over precautionary; (2) when I decide to put down a book and not finish it, I must not take it as a personal failure and just move on.
So I've picked up Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, and after that I'll read Orwell's 1984. It's been 20+ years since I've read either one, so they'll both seem new to me.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009, posted by Q6 at 11:27 AM
Give 'em a hug today.
This afternoon I'm attending a funeral for my 27-year-old cousin, the youngest of two siblings on that branch of my family tree. (He got frustrated, he got impulsive, and he did himself in.) My heart aches for his family, particularly for his older brother.
I'M an older brother, and I don't want to begin imagining what he must be going through. I will be seeing my brother today, and giving him a hug.
If you have a younger sibling, give 'em a hug.
This afternoon I'm attending a funeral for my 27-year-old cousin, the youngest of two siblings on that branch of my family tree. (He got frustrated, he got impulsive, and he did himself in.) My heart aches for his family, particularly for his older brother.
I'M an older brother, and I don't want to begin imagining what he must be going through. I will be seeing my brother today, and giving him a hug.
If you have a younger sibling, give 'em a hug.
Monday, September 14, 2009, posted by Q6 at 6:30 AM
So I bought a Kindle. I bought it about a month before they dropped the price sixty bucks, but I bought it. (Those who scrutinize my blog might notice that my reading list to the right now includes asterisks, indicating which books were Kindle-read.) I'm to the point now where I'm reading some titles on the Kindle and the "analog" versions of others.
I gotta say, I went back and forth on this purchase for a while. It wasn't that I didn't have an interest in the latest gadget . . . I did. And although SONY has it's own e-reader on the market (with upgrades coming out all the time), I'm confident that the Kindle isn't going anywhere (I did, however, wait until the second generation was available).
No, it was the idea of not being able to collect books that would go into my extensive and impressive home library that gave me pause. Another reason for my hesitancy was that I didn't want to be a part of that group that began the revolt against published books. And who was it that calmed my fears about all this?
Neil Gaiman, of course.
When my wife and I saw him in Santa Monica (at a reading of The Graveyard Book) he took pre-submitted questions for the Q & A. Mine, asking about the questionable survival of printed books in the digital age, was one of the first questions answered. Not only did he answer the question and calm my nerves--he said he enjoyed reading some books in print, and others on his own Kindle, and didn't worry about the downfall of the printing press in the least--but he backed it up with expert opinion. From who?
Douglas Adams, of course.
Gaiman and Adams were friends, and at one point he asked Adams about the survival of the printed book. Adams explained that:
"Books are sharks. There were sharks before dinosaurs and there are sharks now. And the reason that nothing has actually come along to replace the shark is, nothing is better at being a shark than a shark is. Nothing is better at being a book than a book is, given cost, given size, given what it takes to power it - mostly solar power! You can drop them without causing any major damage. And they're portable. And they're lightweight."
And so I bought a Kindle. I do, maybe, half my reading on it. And it's fine by me.
Oh, and my wife, who has a penchant for naming things, named my Kindle "Kitty." That forced me to change the voice reader on the device to female ("Kitty" is NOT a dude's name), and only later did I discover the second, lesser used definition of the word "kindle": a brood or litter, especially of kittens.
I gotta say, I went back and forth on this purchase for a while. It wasn't that I didn't have an interest in the latest gadget . . . I did. And although SONY has it's own e-reader on the market (with upgrades coming out all the time), I'm confident that the Kindle isn't going anywhere (I did, however, wait until the second generation was available).
No, it was the idea of not being able to collect books that would go into my extensive and impressive home library that gave me pause. Another reason for my hesitancy was that I didn't want to be a part of that group that began the revolt against published books. And who was it that calmed my fears about all this?
Neil Gaiman, of course.
When my wife and I saw him in Santa Monica (at a reading of The Graveyard Book) he took pre-submitted questions for the Q & A. Mine, asking about the questionable survival of printed books in the digital age, was one of the first questions answered. Not only did he answer the question and calm my nerves--he said he enjoyed reading some books in print, and others on his own Kindle, and didn't worry about the downfall of the printing press in the least--but he backed it up with expert opinion. From who?
Douglas Adams, of course.
Gaiman and Adams were friends, and at one point he asked Adams about the survival of the printed book. Adams explained that:
"Books are sharks. There were sharks before dinosaurs and there are sharks now. And the reason that nothing has actually come along to replace the shark is, nothing is better at being a shark than a shark is. Nothing is better at being a book than a book is, given cost, given size, given what it takes to power it - mostly solar power! You can drop them without causing any major damage. And they're portable. And they're lightweight."
And so I bought a Kindle. I do, maybe, half my reading on it. And it's fine by me.
Oh, and my wife, who has a penchant for naming things, named my Kindle "Kitty." That forced me to change the voice reader on the device to female ("Kitty" is NOT a dude's name), and only later did I discover the second, lesser used definition of the word "kindle": a brood or litter, especially of kittens.
Friday, July 24, 2009, posted by Q6 at 6:21 AM
My wife and I finally made it back to the theater last week; it feels like forever since we've been, and we LOVE to go to the theater, be it local (Orange County Performing Arts Center) or further out (like the Ahmanson in Los Angeles or the Pantages in Hollywood). This time it was back to the Ahmanson--one of my personal favorites--for SPAMALOT.
I'd heard about it's Broadway run, and the Vegas run, and I really wanted to see it--so my wonderful wife bought us tickets. It was a LOT of fun. A few highlights:
--My son opted not to go, claiming he wasn't familiar enough with the source material to justify the cost of the ticket. The thing is, though, that you can easily enjoy this without knowing the movie that well, or at all. It might actually help not knowing the movie at all--you wouldn't be distracted by missing scenes or changes. In the end, you can know the movie or not and still enjoy this musical--so when it comes to Orange County in October my son is going whether he likes it or not. He'll thank me for it later.
--The musical also plays on some other well known Monty Python sketches. I identified three non-Holy-Grail references without even trying. There are probably more.
--One of the actors in the company--his name is Rick Holmes--is HYSTERICAL. He did some ad-libbing during the "Knights who say Ni" number, even referencing South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford's woes. Moreover--and this is what impressed me the most about him--not only did he play multiple characters in the musical, but he played several of the same characters that John Cleese played in the original (this may be the only positive aspect of knowing the source material well): Sir Lancelot, the French Taunter, and Tim the Enchanter. I could have watched him ad-lib the French Taunter all night.
--The female lead, Merle Dandridge, has an amazing pair of lungs. They're both pleasant to listen to and to look at. Her comedic timing is also excellent.
--Before the show I suspected I was missing out by not seeing this with Tim Curry in the lead (Broadway). Turns out I was wrong. John O'Hurley is a laugh riot as King Arthur.
--There's a restaurant about ten blocks from the Ahmanson--Roy's Hawaiian Fusion--that's pricey, but worth it. My wife and I did two appetizers, two entrees, and two rounds of drinks. They make a martini there--"The 1988"--that's now on my favorite-drink-list. The host asked if we wanted to use the free shuttle to the Ahmanson (I could have driven, but what the heck), which ended up being a limousine. That was cool.
We'll take my son (and my daughter, if she's gonna be around) to see SPAMALOT! when it comes to Orange County in October. I'm also interested in seeing Young Frankenstein in September 2010.
Man, I do love the theater--and I love being married to someone who enjoys it, too.
I'd heard about it's Broadway run, and the Vegas run, and I really wanted to see it--so my wonderful wife bought us tickets. It was a LOT of fun. A few highlights:
--My son opted not to go, claiming he wasn't familiar enough with the source material to justify the cost of the ticket. The thing is, though, that you can easily enjoy this without knowing the movie that well, or at all. It might actually help not knowing the movie at all--you wouldn't be distracted by missing scenes or changes. In the end, you can know the movie or not and still enjoy this musical--so when it comes to Orange County in October my son is going whether he likes it or not. He'll thank me for it later.
--The musical also plays on some other well known Monty Python sketches. I identified three non-Holy-Grail references without even trying. There are probably more.
--One of the actors in the company--his name is Rick Holmes--is HYSTERICAL. He did some ad-libbing during the "Knights who say Ni" number, even referencing South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford's woes. Moreover--and this is what impressed me the most about him--not only did he play multiple characters in the musical, but he played several of the same characters that John Cleese played in the original (this may be the only positive aspect of knowing the source material well): Sir Lancelot, the French Taunter, and Tim the Enchanter. I could have watched him ad-lib the French Taunter all night.
--The female lead, Merle Dandridge, has an amazing pair of lungs. They're both pleasant to listen to and to look at. Her comedic timing is also excellent.
--Before the show I suspected I was missing out by not seeing this with Tim Curry in the lead (Broadway). Turns out I was wrong. John O'Hurley is a laugh riot as King Arthur.
--There's a restaurant about ten blocks from the Ahmanson--Roy's Hawaiian Fusion--that's pricey, but worth it. My wife and I did two appetizers, two entrees, and two rounds of drinks. They make a martini there--"The 1988"--that's now on my favorite-drink-list. The host asked if we wanted to use the free shuttle to the Ahmanson (I could have driven, but what the heck), which ended up being a limousine. That was cool.
We'll take my son (and my daughter, if she's gonna be around) to see SPAMALOT! when it comes to Orange County in October. I'm also interested in seeing Young Frankenstein in September 2010.
Man, I do love the theater--and I love being married to someone who enjoys it, too.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009, posted by Q6 at 9:24 AM
Among the many blogs I check on a daily (or near daily) basis is Neil Gaiman's online journal. He makes a point of responding to fan mail from time to time, and his July 12 post brought to light a similarity he and I share. His post is here, and I explain below.
It's worth mentioning here that I have a great admiration for Neil Gaiman (known as "Nerful" in our household, as that's how his signature appears on the autographed works we own), not only because he's a great writer that my wife introduced me to, but also because he seems so very down to earth for being such a well known person.
So his post is about reading stories aloud (and doing character voices), and it brings to my mind the time I spent reading some (but not all) of J.K Rowling's Harry Potter series to my kids. I didn't start reading to them until the third book in the series, and by then the first film had come out. If memory serves, I think I read books three, four, five, and maybe six. (I'm surprised I don't remember this better; I know I didn't read the last book to them, because I remember going to the local grocery store at midnight--there was a line there, too--then going home and reading until five or six in the morning. Come to think of it, we may have done that with the sixth book as well.)
Being a former public speaking major, I don't know how to read fiction without using multiple voices--even if they're only in my head. I make a point when reading of "casting" the book as I read, if for no other reason to keep the characters straight. One of the best audiobooks I ever heard--The Godfather--used a multivoice cast and completely blew me away. So when it came time to read to my kids, it became a reader's theater project for me (so much so that with one of the books, I had to read a chapter ahead every day so I knew what was coming; the downside is that I read the book twice in the same sitting, but the upside was that such "rehearsal" really nailed it). Another aspect of reading the book this way is discovering just how well Rowling wrote the characters: I didn't use that much inflection change between Ron and Harry, for example, but they speak differently than one another, so there wasn't that much need to change inflection.
Some voices became standards for me (and fun to do). Case in point: Richard Harris is and will always be Dumbledore. Even when Michael Gambon hit the screen in the role, I still read Dumbledore as Richard Harris (this was my daughter's favorite voice). Hagrid was a gruff voice, but I didn't try to do a Robbie Coltrane imitation. There were others, but it was just a matter of "playing the moment" with a lot of it.
This is as good a place as any to make this statement: I think that a serious casting error was made in the fourth and subsequent films. All due respect to Brendan Gleeson, who is a wonderful actor and has mad acting skills in both comedy and drama, but I had a much better pick for the role of Mad-Eye Moody, and one that would have adhered to Rowling's "Brits only" rule: Richard O'Brien. See, I was reading the character to my kids before any on-screen materialization, and when I saw the character's personality and actually read Mad-Eye's lines, all I could hear was Riff-Raff from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It would have been a great movie, and O'Brien would have brought a lot of dark-and-creepy to the series, which it needed (especially in "Order of the Phoenix"). I'm just sayin', reading in Riff-Raff's voice really made the Mad-Eye Moody character leap from the page.
My kids are seventeen and fifteen now, and while they're not to old to read to, schedules don't make that as possible as it once was. Still, there's the theater inside my head, which I still greatly enjoy--and if you've ever cast a book in your head, or read to your children with a variety of character voices, you know exactly what I mean.
It's worth mentioning here that I have a great admiration for Neil Gaiman (known as "Nerful" in our household, as that's how his signature appears on the autographed works we own), not only because he's a great writer that my wife introduced me to, but also because he seems so very down to earth for being such a well known person.
So his post is about reading stories aloud (and doing character voices), and it brings to my mind the time I spent reading some (but not all) of J.K Rowling's Harry Potter series to my kids. I didn't start reading to them until the third book in the series, and by then the first film had come out. If memory serves, I think I read books three, four, five, and maybe six. (I'm surprised I don't remember this better; I know I didn't read the last book to them, because I remember going to the local grocery store at midnight--there was a line there, too--then going home and reading until five or six in the morning. Come to think of it, we may have done that with the sixth book as well.)
Being a former public speaking major, I don't know how to read fiction without using multiple voices--even if they're only in my head. I make a point when reading of "casting" the book as I read, if for no other reason to keep the characters straight. One of the best audiobooks I ever heard--The Godfather--used a multivoice cast and completely blew me away. So when it came time to read to my kids, it became a reader's theater project for me (so much so that with one of the books, I had to read a chapter ahead every day so I knew what was coming; the downside is that I read the book twice in the same sitting, but the upside was that such "rehearsal" really nailed it). Another aspect of reading the book this way is discovering just how well Rowling wrote the characters: I didn't use that much inflection change between Ron and Harry, for example, but they speak differently than one another, so there wasn't that much need to change inflection.
Some voices became standards for me (and fun to do). Case in point: Richard Harris is and will always be Dumbledore. Even when Michael Gambon hit the screen in the role, I still read Dumbledore as Richard Harris (this was my daughter's favorite voice). Hagrid was a gruff voice, but I didn't try to do a Robbie Coltrane imitation. There were others, but it was just a matter of "playing the moment" with a lot of it.
This is as good a place as any to make this statement: I think that a serious casting error was made in the fourth and subsequent films. All due respect to Brendan Gleeson, who is a wonderful actor and has mad acting skills in both comedy and drama, but I had a much better pick for the role of Mad-Eye Moody, and one that would have adhered to Rowling's "Brits only" rule: Richard O'Brien. See, I was reading the character to my kids before any on-screen materialization, and when I saw the character's personality and actually read Mad-Eye's lines, all I could hear was Riff-Raff from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It would have been a great movie, and O'Brien would have brought a lot of dark-and-creepy to the series, which it needed (especially in "Order of the Phoenix"). I'm just sayin', reading in Riff-Raff's voice really made the Mad-Eye Moody character leap from the page.
My kids are seventeen and fifteen now, and while they're not to old to read to, schedules don't make that as possible as it once was. Still, there's the theater inside my head, which I still greatly enjoy--and if you've ever cast a book in your head, or read to your children with a variety of character voices, you know exactly what I mean.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:40 AM
As I've stated before, this transition from analog to digital television was never going to work out perfectly. We tried it in February, and everyone complained that they weren't ready. We did it in June, regardless of who was ready, and now they're just dissatisfied with the result: those who still rely on analog signal, or those with converter boxes, complain of the signal strength problems we knew were going to occur.* My question is this: What do they want us to do about it?
There are people who get along fine without television. There are families that get along fine without it. Hell, there are countries that seem to function without three televisions in every home (not counting my now-defunct Sony Watchman, I have three in my house).
The only hole I can find in my logic here is this: television has become a the primary medium for delivering information, important emergency stuff included. Radio fell by the wayside a long time ago as a dominant medium, and newspapers are dying a steady-paced death. In order to remain a well-informed populace, I suppose we need to make sure that everyone has access to a TV signal. (President Obama made this point not long ago, and thank God it's the only point he's tried to make on the subject.) Then again, if we look at the weekly TV ratings, it's really just the crime dramas and half-hour sitcoms in the top ten--Southern California's ratings show "American Idol" and "So You Think You Can Dance" as the top shows, which just makes my "we don't need TV anymore" argument for me.
Should we worry about those who don't have TV anymore? Are they really missing all that much?
* You know who else really loses in the analog-to-digital switch? SETI. If you've ever seen the opening sequence from the movie Contact, you'll remember that the shot zooms away from Earth as we hear our broadcast history run in reverse, the signal finally dying away as we zoom back further than we've been broadcasting. If there are any little green men out there listening, they may get the idea that we've closed up shop.
There are people who get along fine without television. There are families that get along fine without it. Hell, there are countries that seem to function without three televisions in every home (not counting my now-defunct Sony Watchman, I have three in my house).
The only hole I can find in my logic here is this: television has become a the primary medium for delivering information, important emergency stuff included. Radio fell by the wayside a long time ago as a dominant medium, and newspapers are dying a steady-paced death. In order to remain a well-informed populace, I suppose we need to make sure that everyone has access to a TV signal. (President Obama made this point not long ago, and thank God it's the only point he's tried to make on the subject.) Then again, if we look at the weekly TV ratings, it's really just the crime dramas and half-hour sitcoms in the top ten--Southern California's ratings show "American Idol" and "So You Think You Can Dance" as the top shows, which just makes my "we don't need TV anymore" argument for me.
Should we worry about those who don't have TV anymore? Are they really missing all that much?
* You know who else really loses in the analog-to-digital switch? SETI. If you've ever seen the opening sequence from the movie Contact, you'll remember that the shot zooms away from Earth as we hear our broadcast history run in reverse, the signal finally dying away as we zoom back further than we've been broadcasting. If there are any little green men out there listening, they may get the idea that we've closed up shop.
Monday, July 06, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:21 AM
Two years ago I went to my 20 year high school reunion (I posted about that here), and I remember walking away being glad that I went . . . but I didn't walk away with much else. People either looked exactly the same or completely unrecognizable. It was good to attend such a milestone--20 years, after all--but it's not like we still had a lot in common.
Last month I got together with about a dozen people from high school (a "mini-reunion" for a classmate who lives in the Bay area and wasn't in town for the reunion), and it was more of the same: lots of "what have you been doing since then," "what are you doing now," and quite a bit of storytelling of days past. It was nice to see them all, and it was nice to catch up. Most of us had connected on Facebook.
And just like the 20 year reunion, the whole thing felt kinda weird. In the end, I was having dinner with a dozen strangers.
I guess it wasn't that awkward, since it was easy to tell the old stories and get the old laughs, but it still felt odd to act ("act" may not be the right word) chummy with people I no longer see on a day-to-day basis. I think I'm much more comfortable with my present-day life than I am trying to connect, reconnect, or hold on to my past. Given how easy it was to sit and talk with my former schoolmates, I'd probably disagree with the adage "You can't go home again"--you can go home again, but it may not always be the home you remember it being.
If nothing else, the evening reminded me how much I've done and how far I've come in forty years . . . but that's a separate blog post I'm working on.
Last month I got together with about a dozen people from high school (a "mini-reunion" for a classmate who lives in the Bay area and wasn't in town for the reunion), and it was more of the same: lots of "what have you been doing since then," "what are you doing now," and quite a bit of storytelling of days past. It was nice to see them all, and it was nice to catch up. Most of us had connected on Facebook.
And just like the 20 year reunion, the whole thing felt kinda weird. In the end, I was having dinner with a dozen strangers.
I guess it wasn't that awkward, since it was easy to tell the old stories and get the old laughs, but it still felt odd to act ("act" may not be the right word) chummy with people I no longer see on a day-to-day basis. I think I'm much more comfortable with my present-day life than I am trying to connect, reconnect, or hold on to my past. Given how easy it was to sit and talk with my former schoolmates, I'd probably disagree with the adage "You can't go home again"--you can go home again, but it may not always be the home you remember it being.
If nothing else, the evening reminded me how much I've done and how far I've come in forty years . . . but that's a separate blog post I'm working on.
Saturday, July 04, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:15 AM
Somewhere in my past--maybe I was six or seven years old, maybe even less--I allegedly rode in a helicopter. I remember very little of it: my father sat between my brother and me in the back seat, and we just seemed to be swinging left and right (almost to the point of being sideways) the whole time. It was so long ago I don't really have any concrete recollection of it. Why am I telling this story?
Because my wife is awesome.
For my fortieth birthday, my wife, my son, and I went for a helicopter tour over the La Jolla and San Diego areas. For years I've been telling her how much I wanted to ride in a helicopter, and she was apparently listening. It was expensive, I'm sure, but TOTALLY worth it.
I got the front seat!
In a small R44, we hovered at the airport long enough to (a) get clearance to leave and (b) realize just how weird it feels to hover about ten feet off the ground. The bubble of the cockpit extends all the way to your feet, so you can literally look straight down. It's odd. Cool, but odd.
And not very high up, either.
There's a courtship story that my wife and I don't get a lot of mileage from in casual conversation, though we relive it every once in a while: we were walking on a beach in Oceanside--talking, picking up shells (some with living things in them), enjoying the scenery--and in the middle of a conversation I stopped and watched a helicopter fly by. I was mesmerized by it, but it really (I think) just came off as childishly distracted. For a while after that, my wife would pause whenever a helicopter flew by--probably convinced that she was going to lose me for several seconds. I've since learned to tune them out. Mostly.
Play dead, Shamu! Good boy.
(Sea World.) (And Shamu's fine.)
There were two unexpected aspects of this trip. One was the motion sickness, which I only really felt during steep turns and banks (although the turning and banking was really cool, too). The other was just how low we were able to fly. In retrospect, and given the number of helicopters I've paid attention to from the ground, we probably weren't that low--but it sure seemed like it. We weren't allowed to fly over the baseball stadium (Homeland Security doesn't permit it when there's a game going on), but we did pass over the empty football stadium, and that was another example of how low we seemed. We could have landed there, it seemed. The maneuverability of a helicopter (over, say, a small plane) is what really makes the experience worth it, and what makes it seem much more like flying.
This is what a traffic reporter's desk looks like.
(And my best shot at postcard photography.)
At one point we passed over someone taking wedding pictures, and at another we passed over a reef with people on it. In each case, people looked up at us and waved. My wife made a point of waving back, and now makes a point to wave to helicopters as they pass overhead. One of the things I love about my wife is how she doesn't take the little things for granted--if she can make someone else happy with a simple gesture, she does so. She's kinda awesome that way.
Did I get a shot of a drug deal?
(My cool wife also got me the zoom
lens that makes shots like this possible.)
In the end (and in true "me" fashion) I accepted the folder of literature on helicopter flying lessons. After skimming it I still feel like it would be something VERY cool to do, but with an overall price tag between $11,000 and $25,000 to learn and get licensed I know it's probably not going to happen.
And it doesn't have to, really. I got to ride in a helicopter, and I get to cross that off my things-to-do-before-I-die list. And it's all thanks to my wonderful, wonderful wife.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:19 AM
In the last eight months or so we've seen three major advertising promotions go south; and while I'm glad I don't have to spend good money and creativity on campaigns designed to get people to buy stuff they really don't need, I think there are two very important, very valuable lessons to be learned.
Last November is was Dr. Pepper, a company which pledged to give out free drinks if Guns N Roses finished its Chinese Democracy album by a certain date. They finished it, and Dr. Pepper almost finished themselves by trying to provide coupons online--customers crashed their servers all day long and became irate when they couldn't get their free Drs. Pepper. Back in February Denny's decided to give away free Grand Slam breakfasts (for reasons about which I was never entirely clear), resulting in around-the-block lines at thousands of restaurants--lines in which some patrons were content to wait in the rain for hours while others screamed like the impatient maniacs they are. Finally, KFC decided to introduce its new grilled chicken with Internet coupons and an "Oprah" tie-in; of course, the "valid" coupons were subject to mass photocopying and the flooded chain stores had to shut the entire promotion down by midday. (Writer's note: For what it's worth, I stopped eating at Denny's years ago, I eat at KFC occasionally, and I drink enough Dr. Pepper to keep them in business.)
There are those who read these stories, shake their heads, and say, "Well, you get what you pay for." As I re-read my blog post from earlier this week, it occurred to me that I left one other suggestion off the list: do away completely with all giveaways, coupons, and free deals. Quite frankly, it's all putting us in the wrong frame of mind. See, I read these giveaway disasters and say, "Well, pay for what you get."
I've never been a big fan of giveaways and coupons, and I genuinely believe that people should be adequately compensated for goods and services; at a very basic level, it's what keeps the economy going. I'm not even a big fan of receiving gifts on birthdays or at Christmastime, mostly because it's the same as getting something for nothing (I often tell people with regard to my birthday: "It happened a long time ago, and I didn't really do much but show up and complain a lot, so why shower me with gifts?"*). I've never had a problem with paying for the things that I get, or with turning away a "deal" that isn't fair.
The first lesson we learn from these failed promotions is that they have their drawbacks. In these cases, specifically, you've got bad publicity and some people walking away upset with these businesses. Clearly, backfires can occur.
The second and more important lesson is that people have come to believe that they deserve something for free; moreover, this whole "Do less, get more" mentality becomes more ingrained with each additional promotion or giveaway. Just look at how angry people get when the promotion ends, or dies, or takes too long, and you can see just how addicted they've become to getting something for nothing. The real problem, though, is how that mentality has spread to areas in which it has no place: welfare, sub-prime mortgages, and zero-down car leases to name a few. The whole system has consequently been thrown into imbalance, and the economic crisis now sitting before us is the result. WE'VE MADE IT TOO EASY TO BUY PURCHASE AND OBTAIN THINGS. It used to be more difficult; it used to be that you had to save up to purchase something you wanted. If you couldn't afford it, you had to wait--and if you wanted it, you had to pay for it. That seems all gone now. (Take, as examples, my quest for a Kindle, or my outside patio, or my hardwood stairwell: I could buy these things right now and just slap them on plastic--but I'm better off if I work hard, save up, and spend wisely, just like my mommy taught me.)
The imbalance is the issue here. If a couple of people get more for doing less, the scales don't change much; but if many people get something for nothing, the system begins to crash. "Every man for himself" doesn't do much for society as a whole, and I think there's more than one economic theorist that will back me up on this.
We are, after all, in this together, right?
* I was once told--though I've never found any evidence to back it up--that the Japanese do the birthday thing in reverse: the person celebrating the birthday gives gifts to close friends. Again, I've never been able to verify it, but it made a lot more sense to me. (I have found a great deal of information on Japanese gift-giving, the traditions involved, etc. It's fascinating stuff.)
Last November is was Dr. Pepper, a company which pledged to give out free drinks if Guns N Roses finished its Chinese Democracy album by a certain date. They finished it, and Dr. Pepper almost finished themselves by trying to provide coupons online--customers crashed their servers all day long and became irate when they couldn't get their free Drs. Pepper. Back in February Denny's decided to give away free Grand Slam breakfasts (for reasons about which I was never entirely clear), resulting in around-the-block lines at thousands of restaurants--lines in which some patrons were content to wait in the rain for hours while others screamed like the impatient maniacs they are. Finally, KFC decided to introduce its new grilled chicken with Internet coupons and an "Oprah" tie-in; of course, the "valid" coupons were subject to mass photocopying and the flooded chain stores had to shut the entire promotion down by midday. (Writer's note: For what it's worth, I stopped eating at Denny's years ago, I eat at KFC occasionally, and I drink enough Dr. Pepper to keep them in business.)
There are those who read these stories, shake their heads, and say, "Well, you get what you pay for." As I re-read my blog post from earlier this week, it occurred to me that I left one other suggestion off the list: do away completely with all giveaways, coupons, and free deals. Quite frankly, it's all putting us in the wrong frame of mind. See, I read these giveaway disasters and say, "Well, pay for what you get."
I've never been a big fan of giveaways and coupons, and I genuinely believe that people should be adequately compensated for goods and services; at a very basic level, it's what keeps the economy going. I'm not even a big fan of receiving gifts on birthdays or at Christmastime, mostly because it's the same as getting something for nothing (I often tell people with regard to my birthday: "It happened a long time ago, and I didn't really do much but show up and complain a lot, so why shower me with gifts?"*). I've never had a problem with paying for the things that I get, or with turning away a "deal" that isn't fair.
The first lesson we learn from these failed promotions is that they have their drawbacks. In these cases, specifically, you've got bad publicity and some people walking away upset with these businesses. Clearly, backfires can occur.
The second and more important lesson is that people have come to believe that they deserve something for free; moreover, this whole "Do less, get more" mentality becomes more ingrained with each additional promotion or giveaway. Just look at how angry people get when the promotion ends, or dies, or takes too long, and you can see just how addicted they've become to getting something for nothing. The real problem, though, is how that mentality has spread to areas in which it has no place: welfare, sub-prime mortgages, and zero-down car leases to name a few. The whole system has consequently been thrown into imbalance, and the economic crisis now sitting before us is the result. WE'VE MADE IT TOO EASY TO BUY PURCHASE AND OBTAIN THINGS. It used to be more difficult; it used to be that you had to save up to purchase something you wanted. If you couldn't afford it, you had to wait--and if you wanted it, you had to pay for it. That seems all gone now. (Take, as examples, my quest for a Kindle, or my outside patio, or my hardwood stairwell: I could buy these things right now and just slap them on plastic--but I'm better off if I work hard, save up, and spend wisely, just like my mommy taught me.)
The imbalance is the issue here. If a couple of people get more for doing less, the scales don't change much; but if many people get something for nothing, the system begins to crash. "Every man for himself" doesn't do much for society as a whole, and I think there's more than one economic theorist that will back me up on this.
We are, after all, in this together, right?
* I was once told--though I've never found any evidence to back it up--that the Japanese do the birthday thing in reverse: the person celebrating the birthday gives gifts to close friends. Again, I've never been able to verify it, but it made a lot more sense to me. (I have found a great deal of information on Japanese gift-giving, the traditions involved, etc. It's fascinating stuff.)
Monday, May 18, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:25 AM
In a presentation I often give to students and educators about technology safety, I end with explaining that much of the technology we use today was born out of ideas in science fiction. "To see where technology is going next," I explain, "we often look to the movies for answers." (I could cite some examples here, but those who are both tech-savvy and movie buffs already know what I'm talking about. Those who aren't should just keep reading; you'll get my point.) And lately I've been wondering if movies portend the future of other things as well.
Specifically, I'm thinking of a movie that was released back in 1979: "Americathon" was a campy film, the type popular at the time, that I expect wasn't seen by many people--or, at the very least, wasn't widely remembered. The IMDB plot summary puts it best: In the not too distant future, the United States government is virtually bankrupt and in danger of being foreclosed on by a group of Native Americans, now owners of the massive Nike Corporation. A desperate President decides to make a last-ditch effort to save the country... by raising money with a telethon!
I remember part of the film's opening sequence: people wake up in the morning inside their cars--in which they are living--and walk or ride their bikes to work. All phones are pay phones. Since it's a comedy, their destitute nature is something they make the best of, as if they don't even remember when things were good.
I'm no economist--a point which should be made very clear right now--so any thoughts I have about our nation's dire financial situation are probably naive and half-informed. I'm a layman, after all; but perhaps what's needed here is a perspective so fresh that it doesn't come from the business or economic communities at all. Once we have an idea, then let the experts kick it around. The Economy is tricky, and something seemingly counterintuitive to me the more I think about it. It would make sense to say, "Save your money, quit spending so much," but then businesses don't thrive. We could say, "Extend credit to all and buy, buy, buy!" but we've seen what that kind of thinking did to the housing industry. Every time I try to come up with an idea, there's some economic precept that raises another problem. It's an intellectual game of Whack-A-Mole. Douglas Adams's detective Dirk Gently called it "the fundamental interconnectedness of all things."
So I've been thinking a lot lately about radical solutions for the troubled economy, partly out of a sense of national altruism and partly because (if I do come up with a solution) I'd like to hear talk-radio change the subject. I'm just an average guy with a family, a couple of mortgages, a couple of cars, very little savings, and a job in a profession that's about to have a major funding-ectomy whether the Governor gets his way or not. In short, I'm just like millions of other people out there.
I began work on my ideas not long after reading an editorial letter in the LA Times about the $700 billion plus stimulus package. The idea has since circled the Internet half a dozen times, but it basically goes like this: There are roughly 40 million people in U.S. over the age of 50; give each one a million dollars with three conditions: they must leave their jobs, buy a house (or pay off an existing one), and purchase a U.S.-made automobile. The whole idea, radical in nature (in that "it's-so-dumb-it-just-might-work" sort of way), revitalizes the banks, the housing industry, automakers, and employment rates. Of course, the only problem with the idea is that it's author did the math wrong and missed a zero; although he thought he had a $400 billion solution on his hands, it would actually cost a whopping, cost-prohibitive $40 trillion. However, I like the way this guy thinks.
So what are some other ideas? (And so we're clear, I'm, not claiming any of the following as original ideas. I'm quite certain that others have thought of these things before, and I'm not trying to take any credit for their intellectual property.)
1) I thought about a Universal Salary Cap. Every job in every industry gets categorized in a gradient scale, and each job at each level is capped at a certain salary. First, this eliminates the corporate bonuses that have offended us all over the last eighteen months. Second, after everyone's paid there's a leftover sum (I think it's called "profit," but it's been so long since anyone's seen one . . . ) that can go back into the business, making it successful or enabling it to expand and hire more workers. Third, it helps to prevent money-grubbing, do-as-little-for-as-much-as-possible types from taking the CEO's chair--certainly SOMEONE must fit that bill. Hell, the President of the United States makes $400,000 a year; I'm not saying other jobs are more important than his, but I'm sure your average high school teacher gets more done in a week than he does. I know the problem with this salary cap idea is how it gives the finger to a free-enterprise system, and I'm sure somewhere along the line I'm going to sound like I'm endorsing Socialist or even Communist ideas; this isn't my intention. I love living in a free country, and Democracy and Free Enterprise are great; but if you think we can't look like Russia in the late 1980's at some point, you haven't been paying enough attention. I'm just trying to come up with ideas.
2) Perhaps outsourcing certain industries to foreign competitors would give us time to work on other things. Since the auto industry is about to be pulled off life support anyway, why not let Honda, Toyota, Hyundai, and the others have it? We could use the workers, the resources, and the effort to develop a better domestic mass transit infrastructure. Think about it: what better way to kill the foreign auto competition by making the automobile obsolete in most metropolitan areas? More mass transit means fewer cars, less pollution, fewer injuries and deaths in automobiles. Once and for all, we would limit supply of foreign competition by reducing demand; it hasn't worked for the drug war, but it could work here. (The nay-sayers will complain that this will kill the insurance companies, car washes, auto component makers, and cripple the oil industry. I never said the idea was perfect, but at least they're not complaining that reducing accidents would hurt the medical profession.)
3) Let's re-think foreign investment: instead of combating it, let's embrace it. Is the world map ever really finished? Let's find a country that's got it going on and partner up. Let's take a page from the corporate playbook . . . it's merger time. This isn't a new idea; corporations have been doing it for decades. At the very least, we could consider a few countries with loads of capital and add a few stars to the flag (no one said there was a ceiling on the number of states we could have, right?) I know this sounds a lot like Manifest Destiny and world domination, but I'm thinking more about those KFC/Pizza Hut or KFC/Taco Bell locations: they're saving money by sharing space. (I know, they're all owned by the same corporation; they weren't always, though, and it helps with my "we need a roommate to share expenses" metaphor.) It sounds radical, but it would be a better alternative to, say, national foreclosure. If we don't do something, soon those eBay hoaxes about states being for sale won't be hoaxes.
If someone else has other ideas, I'm all ears. I really don't think the blueprint for America's rescue is going to come from the economic eggheads in Washington; I think the solution is going to come from some ten-year-old in the midwest who develops a sound economic stimulus model from World of Warcraft scenarios. It's gonna come from somewhere unexpected, and it's going to be a radical idea.
I just hope it works.
Specifically, I'm thinking of a movie that was released back in 1979: "Americathon" was a campy film, the type popular at the time, that I expect wasn't seen by many people--or, at the very least, wasn't widely remembered. The IMDB plot summary puts it best: In the not too distant future, the United States government is virtually bankrupt and in danger of being foreclosed on by a group of Native Americans, now owners of the massive Nike Corporation. A desperate President decides to make a last-ditch effort to save the country... by raising money with a telethon!
I remember part of the film's opening sequence: people wake up in the morning inside their cars--in which they are living--and walk or ride their bikes to work. All phones are pay phones. Since it's a comedy, their destitute nature is something they make the best of, as if they don't even remember when things were good.
I'm no economist--a point which should be made very clear right now--so any thoughts I have about our nation's dire financial situation are probably naive and half-informed. I'm a layman, after all; but perhaps what's needed here is a perspective so fresh that it doesn't come from the business or economic communities at all. Once we have an idea, then let the experts kick it around. The Economy is tricky, and something seemingly counterintuitive to me the more I think about it. It would make sense to say, "Save your money, quit spending so much," but then businesses don't thrive. We could say, "Extend credit to all and buy, buy, buy!" but we've seen what that kind of thinking did to the housing industry. Every time I try to come up with an idea, there's some economic precept that raises another problem. It's an intellectual game of Whack-A-Mole. Douglas Adams's detective Dirk Gently called it "the fundamental interconnectedness of all things."
So I've been thinking a lot lately about radical solutions for the troubled economy, partly out of a sense of national altruism and partly because (if I do come up with a solution) I'd like to hear talk-radio change the subject. I'm just an average guy with a family, a couple of mortgages, a couple of cars, very little savings, and a job in a profession that's about to have a major funding-ectomy whether the Governor gets his way or not. In short, I'm just like millions of other people out there.
I began work on my ideas not long after reading an editorial letter in the LA Times about the $700 billion plus stimulus package. The idea has since circled the Internet half a dozen times, but it basically goes like this: There are roughly 40 million people in U.S. over the age of 50; give each one a million dollars with three conditions: they must leave their jobs, buy a house (or pay off an existing one), and purchase a U.S.-made automobile. The whole idea, radical in nature (in that "it's-so-dumb-it-just-might-work" sort of way), revitalizes the banks, the housing industry, automakers, and employment rates. Of course, the only problem with the idea is that it's author did the math wrong and missed a zero; although he thought he had a $400 billion solution on his hands, it would actually cost a whopping, cost-prohibitive $40 trillion. However, I like the way this guy thinks.
So what are some other ideas? (And so we're clear, I'm, not claiming any of the following as original ideas. I'm quite certain that others have thought of these things before, and I'm not trying to take any credit for their intellectual property.)
1) I thought about a Universal Salary Cap. Every job in every industry gets categorized in a gradient scale, and each job at each level is capped at a certain salary. First, this eliminates the corporate bonuses that have offended us all over the last eighteen months. Second, after everyone's paid there's a leftover sum (I think it's called "profit," but it's been so long since anyone's seen one . . . ) that can go back into the business, making it successful or enabling it to expand and hire more workers. Third, it helps to prevent money-grubbing, do-as-little-for-as-much-as-possible types from taking the CEO's chair--certainly SOMEONE must fit that bill. Hell, the President of the United States makes $400,000 a year; I'm not saying other jobs are more important than his, but I'm sure your average high school teacher gets more done in a week than he does. I know the problem with this salary cap idea is how it gives the finger to a free-enterprise system, and I'm sure somewhere along the line I'm going to sound like I'm endorsing Socialist or even Communist ideas; this isn't my intention. I love living in a free country, and Democracy and Free Enterprise are great; but if you think we can't look like Russia in the late 1980's at some point, you haven't been paying enough attention. I'm just trying to come up with ideas.
2) Perhaps outsourcing certain industries to foreign competitors would give us time to work on other things. Since the auto industry is about to be pulled off life support anyway, why not let Honda, Toyota, Hyundai, and the others have it? We could use the workers, the resources, and the effort to develop a better domestic mass transit infrastructure. Think about it: what better way to kill the foreign auto competition by making the automobile obsolete in most metropolitan areas? More mass transit means fewer cars, less pollution, fewer injuries and deaths in automobiles. Once and for all, we would limit supply of foreign competition by reducing demand; it hasn't worked for the drug war, but it could work here. (The nay-sayers will complain that this will kill the insurance companies, car washes, auto component makers, and cripple the oil industry. I never said the idea was perfect, but at least they're not complaining that reducing accidents would hurt the medical profession.)
3) Let's re-think foreign investment: instead of combating it, let's embrace it. Is the world map ever really finished? Let's find a country that's got it going on and partner up. Let's take a page from the corporate playbook . . . it's merger time. This isn't a new idea; corporations have been doing it for decades. At the very least, we could consider a few countries with loads of capital and add a few stars to the flag (no one said there was a ceiling on the number of states we could have, right?) I know this sounds a lot like Manifest Destiny and world domination, but I'm thinking more about those KFC/Pizza Hut or KFC/Taco Bell locations: they're saving money by sharing space. (I know, they're all owned by the same corporation; they weren't always, though, and it helps with my "we need a roommate to share expenses" metaphor.) It sounds radical, but it would be a better alternative to, say, national foreclosure. If we don't do something, soon those eBay hoaxes about states being for sale won't be hoaxes.
If someone else has other ideas, I'm all ears. I really don't think the blueprint for America's rescue is going to come from the economic eggheads in Washington; I think the solution is going to come from some ten-year-old in the midwest who develops a sound economic stimulus model from World of Warcraft scenarios. It's gonna come from somewhere unexpected, and it's going to be a radical idea.
I just hope it works.
Friday, May 15, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:30 AM
Probably the best thing about all the "Star Trek" reboot hoopla is that it's genuinely warranted. I saw the film last Saturday morning (and that's more about line avoidance, but there's something decadent about it, too) and would have been perfectly content turning around, walking back in, and seeing it a second time. (This may be a good film to see a second time in IMAX, a format I've not yet experienced.*) I'm not gonna go all spoiler-warning on you, but I do have three things to share: (1) since the Star Trek origin story has been referred to but never actually filmed anywhere, die-hard Trekkies** have no right to complain; (2) I wanted more Scotty (Simon Pegg stole every scene he was in); and (3) I really like the way this played out: the entire Star Trek universe has been rewound to the beginning, but will play out a different way.
What does it say about the movie business right now, though, that remakes have been shoved aside in favor of franchise reboots? These are good films, no question. "Star Trek" was outstanding. The new "Batman" stuff has been wonderful to see. I loved "Iron Man" as much as any other geek out there. It's getting really hard, though, to see the word movie anymore without seeing the implied business after it. Clearly, Hollywood is worried about the economy, too. I think we may be seeing a series of hail mary passes here, and it's got me a little worried about the future of good, original movie content.
And we were doing so well, too. Independent films were an excellent avenue for small, creative filmmakers; now, they're almost the norm, with large studios handling the distribution so often that we can hardly tell the difference anymore. Between the reboots, which are trying to lure new viewers as well as the dedicated fans (the pre-paid audience***, if you will), and the Judd-Apatow-Seth-Rogen-esqe over-the-line-type-of-humor films that seem to frequent the cineplex of late, studios are telegraphing their blows: "We're going where they money is guaranteed." Some of these films are good, and some aren't. That's not my concern here. It just seems that creativity and variety need to wait in the other room until Mommy and Daddy are done making some money.
Which, I guess, explains why I don't go to the movies as much anymore.
* I know, I know: "You've never seen an IMAX film? What kind of geek are you, anyway?"
** They're trekkies. I don't care what they want to call themselves anymore. This is what they started as and this is what they'll remain in my mind. Anyone who prefers trekker just seems ashamed of it, to me.
*** I'm just as guilty: when I heard about the new Trek film, I decided to see it on spec. I'm part of that pre-paid audience, and I admit that. But are the studios so desperate to avoid low box office that they must arrange the audience first, THEN make the film? A third-world leader once saw citizens running through the streets in support or opposition of something and said, "There go my people; I must find out where they are going so i can lead them." It feels a lot like that.
What does it say about the movie business right now, though, that remakes have been shoved aside in favor of franchise reboots? These are good films, no question. "Star Trek" was outstanding. The new "Batman" stuff has been wonderful to see. I loved "Iron Man" as much as any other geek out there. It's getting really hard, though, to see the word movie anymore without seeing the implied business after it. Clearly, Hollywood is worried about the economy, too. I think we may be seeing a series of hail mary passes here, and it's got me a little worried about the future of good, original movie content.
And we were doing so well, too. Independent films were an excellent avenue for small, creative filmmakers; now, they're almost the norm, with large studios handling the distribution so often that we can hardly tell the difference anymore. Between the reboots, which are trying to lure new viewers as well as the dedicated fans (the pre-paid audience***, if you will), and the Judd-Apatow-Seth-Rogen-esqe over-the-line-type-of-humor films that seem to frequent the cineplex of late, studios are telegraphing their blows: "We're going where they money is guaranteed." Some of these films are good, and some aren't. That's not my concern here. It just seems that creativity and variety need to wait in the other room until Mommy and Daddy are done making some money.
Which, I guess, explains why I don't go to the movies as much anymore.
* I know, I know: "You've never seen an IMAX film? What kind of geek are you, anyway?"
** They're trekkies. I don't care what they want to call themselves anymore. This is what they started as and this is what they'll remain in my mind. Anyone who prefers trekker just seems ashamed of it, to me.
*** I'm just as guilty: when I heard about the new Trek film, I decided to see it on spec. I'm part of that pre-paid audience, and I admit that. But are the studios so desperate to avoid low box office that they must arrange the audience first, THEN make the film? A third-world leader once saw citizens running through the streets in support or opposition of something and said, "There go my people; I must find out where they are going so i can lead them." It feels a lot like that.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009, posted by Q6 at 11:00 AM
I went to the chiropractor yesterday--it's been a while--and he asked me what my problem was. "I'm turning forty tomorrow, and my body is starting to fall apart," I didn't say. "I can no longer stand up or sit down without some sort of popping noise," I didn't add. "I sometimes feel like my poor diet and lack of exercise are finally taking their toll," I didn't conclude.
"My shoulder hurts," I replied.
The pain radiated through my right shoulder, neck, and upper arm for a week before I finally called for an appointment. It turns out that my right rhomboid muscle, to whom I was politely introduced yesterday*, is in full-blown spasm mode. Twenty minutes of twisting, prodding, tweaking, and vibrating later, I was told that it might still hurt for a day or two. As I type this, it's nice to know that he's right about that, at least. It hurts less, though.
I realize that "The Big 4-0" is supposed to be this big milestone. We went over that (and no, I have no nipple-piercing appointment scheduled). I accepted with grace years ago that some facts and givens in my life will either be forgotten or disappear altogether. I'm not as bothered by this as people might suspect; my near-future plans include staying in the here and now.
Over the last month or so, however, I've been gently slapped in the face with my age in a completely different way. Recently, my mother wound up in the hospital with a blood pressure spike. She's had to be careful of such things since her thyroid gave her problems (which was soon after summarily fired and evicted--"Sorry, pal, but yer just not doin' yer job") and her breast cancer recovery. The solution--a mere adjustment of her medication--was simple, but spending the day in the hospital with her (something that she will forever maintain is thoroughly unnecessary) helped to ring the bell of reminder that we're all a little longer in the tooth than we'd like to admit. (My mom, of course,relishes laments the fact that she's old enough to be the mother of someone who is now forty. I don't get any "old man" comments from her.)
Last weekend, my brother was admitted to the hospital with a cardiac problem (it's important to note here that he's two years younger than I). His heart just kept stopping, then restarting anywhere from five to fifteen seconds later. Even with the placement of the pacemaker--one of few gadgets I have no interest in--he's still experiencing episodes and awaits further adjustment to his implant. Meanwhile, I've come to two conclusions. The first is that problems such as his can happen to anyone at any time; and although I'm in pretty good health, I know that at 40 the medical checklist gets a little longer, the diet and exercise priorities rise (inversely proportional to desire, of course), and a little more attention must be paid to such things. The second conclusion is that I'm perfectly content to continue walking into the hospital as a visitor.
As far as this birthday goes, I've already been run through the spanking machine several times: my mother made her annual early-morning phone call, my wife hid two cards in my briefcase, my daughter and her friends called from school to sing to me, my work mailbox is full of cards and candy, and my Facebook page is overflowing with well-wishes from every aspect of my life, old and new . . . .
. . . a life that's pretty full, now that I think about it. So this what forty looks/feels like, huh? Not bad . . . .
* I often find it amusing that there are so many parts and functions of our bodies of which we do not know or to which we pay no attention until they become problems. I will also never get used to having the chiropractor force loud cracks and pops out of my body in the name of "adjustment."
"My shoulder hurts," I replied.
The pain radiated through my right shoulder, neck, and upper arm for a week before I finally called for an appointment. It turns out that my right rhomboid muscle, to whom I was politely introduced yesterday*, is in full-blown spasm mode. Twenty minutes of twisting, prodding, tweaking, and vibrating later, I was told that it might still hurt for a day or two. As I type this, it's nice to know that he's right about that, at least. It hurts less, though.
I realize that "The Big 4-0" is supposed to be this big milestone. We went over that (and no, I have no nipple-piercing appointment scheduled). I accepted with grace years ago that some facts and givens in my life will either be forgotten or disappear altogether. I'm not as bothered by this as people might suspect; my near-future plans include staying in the here and now.
Over the last month or so, however, I've been gently slapped in the face with my age in a completely different way. Recently, my mother wound up in the hospital with a blood pressure spike. She's had to be careful of such things since her thyroid gave her problems (which was soon after summarily fired and evicted--"Sorry, pal, but yer just not doin' yer job") and her breast cancer recovery. The solution--a mere adjustment of her medication--was simple, but spending the day in the hospital with her (something that she will forever maintain is thoroughly unnecessary) helped to ring the bell of reminder that we're all a little longer in the tooth than we'd like to admit. (My mom, of course,
Last weekend, my brother was admitted to the hospital with a cardiac problem (it's important to note here that he's two years younger than I). His heart just kept stopping, then restarting anywhere from five to fifteen seconds later. Even with the placement of the pacemaker--one of few gadgets I have no interest in--he's still experiencing episodes and awaits further adjustment to his implant. Meanwhile, I've come to two conclusions. The first is that problems such as his can happen to anyone at any time; and although I'm in pretty good health, I know that at 40 the medical checklist gets a little longer, the diet and exercise priorities rise (inversely proportional to desire, of course), and a little more attention must be paid to such things. The second conclusion is that I'm perfectly content to continue walking into the hospital as a visitor.
As far as this birthday goes, I've already been run through the spanking machine several times: my mother made her annual early-morning phone call, my wife hid two cards in my briefcase, my daughter and her friends called from school to sing to me, my work mailbox is full of cards and candy, and my Facebook page is overflowing with well-wishes from every aspect of my life, old and new . . . .
. . . a life that's pretty full, now that I think about it. So this what forty looks/feels like, huh? Not bad . . . .
* I often find it amusing that there are so many parts and functions of our bodies of which we do not know or to which we pay no attention until they become problems. I will also never get used to having the chiropractor force loud cracks and pops out of my body in the name of "adjustment."
Saturday, May 02, 2009, posted by Q6 at 6:02 PM
Things are probably better for me financially than they've ever been. I credit a lot of that to my wife, whose support (and her own fiscally sound behavior) have allowed me to curb my spending without leaving the family in want or need of something.
Still, there are things I want to do--particularly to my home and yard--and there isn't really a budget for any of it. My situation will improve slightly in the next 70 days or so (it seems that driving a hydrogen fuel cell vehicle opens up certain rebate possibilities), and it'll improve again in September (4% raise!), but home projects aren't the only thing I've got going on finance-wise. Summer's comin'.
I'll be spending some time with my kids, and they'll want to do something fun (cha-ching); some of my former colleagues are talking about going back out to Vegas again as soon as school gets out (cha-ching); and there are two trips pending to Northern California over the course of the summer (cha-ching). Back at home, I'm looking at paving stones for two patio areas (and possibly a third), some sort of water feature in the patio area, lighting fixtures for the dining room and stairway, laminate flooring for the stairway, and three fruit trees.
Using my funds wisely--without compromising quality--hasn't always been my strong suit, but I'm getting better at it (thanks to the wife). Still, I wish it weren't something I had to put so much thought into.
Still, there are things I want to do--particularly to my home and yard--and there isn't really a budget for any of it. My situation will improve slightly in the next 70 days or so (it seems that driving a hydrogen fuel cell vehicle opens up certain rebate possibilities), and it'll improve again in September (4% raise!), but home projects aren't the only thing I've got going on finance-wise. Summer's comin'.
I'll be spending some time with my kids, and they'll want to do something fun (cha-ching); some of my former colleagues are talking about going back out to Vegas again as soon as school gets out (cha-ching); and there are two trips pending to Northern California over the course of the summer (cha-ching). Back at home, I'm looking at paving stones for two patio areas (and possibly a third), some sort of water feature in the patio area, lighting fixtures for the dining room and stairway, laminate flooring for the stairway, and three fruit trees.
Using my funds wisely--without compromising quality--hasn't always been my strong suit, but I'm getting better at it (thanks to the wife). Still, I wish it weren't something I had to put so much thought into.
Monday, April 20, 2009, posted by Q6 at 11:32 AM
I honestly don't remember a lot about what I was like as a late teenager. I should, I guess, but I don't--and it's not because those years were bad, it's just that a lot has happened since then and the details are now hazy at best. But if you had to endure anything like what I'm enduring now, this should make some sort of sense.
I'm not sure what your sense of my responsibility level was at the time, but I imagine it couldn't been all that high. What I'm quickly starting to realize is that, at any age, the demonstration of maturity goes a lot further than the proclamation of maturity. I expect that there were many times where I merely made the assertion that I was mature enough to handle something; even worse, there were probably times that I merely assumed my maturity made me responsible, and I assumed that you agreed. It never occurred to me that you might want--or feel better with--proof.
I also know that the true test of my maturity and responsibility usually involved me falling flat on my face, no matter how much you didn't want to see that happen. I'm sure the last thing in the world you wanted to see was me, spreading my wings to take flight for the first time, falling like a brick to the pavement below. I don't want to see that either, but that's one of the risks of parenthood I'm discovering. I should have provided you with (at least a little) more confidence in my ability to fly; I shouldn't have just assumed you trusted me.
I guess what I'm saying is this: being on the other side of this equation, I understand a lot more what your side was like. It wasn't easy, and although there was no eartly way for me to know it at the time, I wish I HAD known. But things turned out alright in the end.
Which is something I can aspire to, I suppose.
I'm not sure what your sense of my responsibility level was at the time, but I imagine it couldn't been all that high. What I'm quickly starting to realize is that, at any age, the demonstration of maturity goes a lot further than the proclamation of maturity. I expect that there were many times where I merely made the assertion that I was mature enough to handle something; even worse, there were probably times that I merely assumed my maturity made me responsible, and I assumed that you agreed. It never occurred to me that you might want--or feel better with--proof.
I also know that the true test of my maturity and responsibility usually involved me falling flat on my face, no matter how much you didn't want to see that happen. I'm sure the last thing in the world you wanted to see was me, spreading my wings to take flight for the first time, falling like a brick to the pavement below. I don't want to see that either, but that's one of the risks of parenthood I'm discovering. I should have provided you with (at least a little) more confidence in my ability to fly; I shouldn't have just assumed you trusted me.
I guess what I'm saying is this: being on the other side of this equation, I understand a lot more what your side was like. It wasn't easy, and although there was no eartly way for me to know it at the time, I wish I HAD known. But things turned out alright in the end.
Which is something I can aspire to, I suppose.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009, posted by Q6 at 12:55 PM
Thankfully, many people have stopped making turning forty sound like some really big deal. It'll happen to me next month, and I'm really quite comfortable with it. It is a milestone, however, and I've been thinking about how to mark it.
Now, I suppose I really don't have to do anything. The proverbial "mid-life crisis" is now somewhat passe, and you don't see a whole lot of the behavior as you did in years past (or,maybe you do and I'm just too old to notice it anymore). It seems to me, however, that turning forty used to drive people (men) to do things to regain their youth; whereas these days, I think we've come to the conclusion that forty really still is pretty young, so no youth needs to be grasped at. Still, I'm thinking I should do something.*
I thought about getting a second tattoo. I've had it in mind for a while (in fact, I've been putting it off for a couple of years now, though I couldn't tell you why). It's not something that marks my fortieth birthday, it's more of a nod to my children . . . and maybe it's still not the right time to give them that particular nod (that's a matter for another blog post).
I've shaved off my moustache and beard for Spring Break, but I don't think I can go with that. First, it was the only hair I had on my head and without it I look pretty naked--almost mannequin-like. Second, after I did it my wife said I looked 12; looking younger isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not the goal here. Third, it's taking ME the longest to get used to it, and I'm not liking that very much.
At one point I considered getting my nipple pierced. Strange as it sounds, though, I just don't think I've got the nipples for it. I researched it at one point and found that it might not actually work on me. (Besides, the idea of a nipple ring is just as good; at work, in some regular conversation, try to off-handedly throw in a "yeah, but it interferes with my nipple ring" and then move on. It's fun.)
I've spoken a couple of times about getting my ear pierced again.** I'm thinking of just a small silver hoop that unobtrusively cradles the earlobe. It wouldn't be anything gaudy, but it would unintentionally complete a pirate resemblance (bald head, goatee, and an earring). I've been asked several questions on this topic: "What reasons are there for doing it?" "Why do you feel you need that?" "Have you considered what they'll think at work, or how it might be percieved professionally?" And, of course, the other side spoke up as well: "Can you think of a reason not to get your ear pierced?" So I'm not sure about this, either. I don't have compelling reasons for or against it, really, so maybe that's not the move, either.
So aside from the normal trappings of a birthday (cards, well wishes, "Yes, you still have to go to work today"), this one may pass just as quietly as others have.
* There won't be any huge party for my fortieth, that much I know. Being the Douglas Adams fan that I am, I'm waiting for my forty-second birthday to throw that particular bash.
** Does the first time even count? It was the summer after my junior year in high school, and I think I kept the little gold stud in there for only 12 or 14 hours. It just wasn't "me." It may still not be me; I don't know.
Now, I suppose I really don't have to do anything. The proverbial "mid-life crisis" is now somewhat passe, and you don't see a whole lot of the behavior as you did in years past (or,maybe you do and I'm just too old to notice it anymore). It seems to me, however, that turning forty used to drive people (men) to do things to regain their youth; whereas these days, I think we've come to the conclusion that forty really still is pretty young, so no youth needs to be grasped at. Still, I'm thinking I should do something.*
I thought about getting a second tattoo. I've had it in mind for a while (in fact, I've been putting it off for a couple of years now, though I couldn't tell you why). It's not something that marks my fortieth birthday, it's more of a nod to my children . . . and maybe it's still not the right time to give them that particular nod (that's a matter for another blog post).
I've shaved off my moustache and beard for Spring Break, but I don't think I can go with that. First, it was the only hair I had on my head and without it I look pretty naked--almost mannequin-like. Second, after I did it my wife said I looked 12; looking younger isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not the goal here. Third, it's taking ME the longest to get used to it, and I'm not liking that very much.
At one point I considered getting my nipple pierced. Strange as it sounds, though, I just don't think I've got the nipples for it. I researched it at one point and found that it might not actually work on me. (Besides, the idea of a nipple ring is just as good; at work, in some regular conversation, try to off-handedly throw in a "yeah, but it interferes with my nipple ring" and then move on. It's fun.)
I've spoken a couple of times about getting my ear pierced again.** I'm thinking of just a small silver hoop that unobtrusively cradles the earlobe. It wouldn't be anything gaudy, but it would unintentionally complete a pirate resemblance (bald head, goatee, and an earring). I've been asked several questions on this topic: "What reasons are there for doing it?" "Why do you feel you need that?" "Have you considered what they'll think at work, or how it might be percieved professionally?" And, of course, the other side spoke up as well: "Can you think of a reason not to get your ear pierced?" So I'm not sure about this, either. I don't have compelling reasons for or against it, really, so maybe that's not the move, either.
So aside from the normal trappings of a birthday (cards, well wishes, "Yes, you still have to go to work today"), this one may pass just as quietly as others have.
* There won't be any huge party for my fortieth, that much I know. Being the Douglas Adams fan that I am, I'm waiting for my forty-second birthday to throw that particular bash.
** Does the first time even count? It was the summer after my junior year in high school, and I think I kept the little gold stud in there for only 12 or 14 hours. It just wasn't "me." It may still not be me; I don't know.
Sunday, March 22, 2009, posted by Q6 at 11:32 AM
So I'm now starting to wonder if I've got the chops to pull off this writing thing.
I've got a couple of stories in my head. Three are short stories (and how short stories get published anymore is a mystery to me), one's an autobiography (which, for a while, people told me I HAD to write), and two are novels. I've chosen one to start writing . . . and whenever I sit down to write (and that's not frequently; I've got a job and a family, a house that needs work, etc.), I've hit enormous brick walls the likes of which I never thought I'd encounter. The last couple of times I've sat myself down with the intention of doing some work on my novel, my ideas do not come out in any fluid way--or, more accurately, they come out too fluid, like cookie dough that's all runny and won't take shape. And nothing makes you want to get up and walk away more than spilling runny mental cookie batter all over your keyboard.
I have no idea what to do next.
I do, however, have two things in mind. The first is to apply some goal-setting skills (learned in the book I just finished, The Power of Less by Leo Babauta) and see if I can't do this successfully in more incremental steps. This might prove to solve only part of my problem; I think one of the other problems I'm having is getting the story itself to take its proper shape. I've got plenty of devices, quite a few characters, and a basic plot . . . what I don't seem to be generating is a narrative that anyone outside my head would understand, nor am I creating anything that seems as good or enjoyable as the stuff I've been reading from established authors. Many people have told me that they like my writing, but I don't see what they're seeing, so I'm having a difficult time reproducing that which I cannot identify. The other day I thought that seeking help from professionals might be, if nothing else, encouraging. To that end, I might check my home library for Stephen King's On Writing. I have no idea if that will help, but it couldn't hurt.
In the end, everything is going to encourage me to write, keep writing, and write some more. Some of it's going to be crap--some writers suggest that most of it will be crap--but that as I get through it the whole thing will eventually take shape and I'll find my rhythm.
I'm trying not to get discouraged. I think the goal setting will help. I hope it will, anyway.
I've got a couple of stories in my head. Three are short stories (and how short stories get published anymore is a mystery to me), one's an autobiography (which, for a while, people told me I HAD to write), and two are novels. I've chosen one to start writing . . . and whenever I sit down to write (and that's not frequently; I've got a job and a family, a house that needs work, etc.), I've hit enormous brick walls the likes of which I never thought I'd encounter. The last couple of times I've sat myself down with the intention of doing some work on my novel, my ideas do not come out in any fluid way--or, more accurately, they come out too fluid, like cookie dough that's all runny and won't take shape. And nothing makes you want to get up and walk away more than spilling runny mental cookie batter all over your keyboard.
I have no idea what to do next.
I do, however, have two things in mind. The first is to apply some goal-setting skills (learned in the book I just finished, The Power of Less by Leo Babauta) and see if I can't do this successfully in more incremental steps. This might prove to solve only part of my problem; I think one of the other problems I'm having is getting the story itself to take its proper shape. I've got plenty of devices, quite a few characters, and a basic plot . . . what I don't seem to be generating is a narrative that anyone outside my head would understand, nor am I creating anything that seems as good or enjoyable as the stuff I've been reading from established authors. Many people have told me that they like my writing, but I don't see what they're seeing, so I'm having a difficult time reproducing that which I cannot identify. The other day I thought that seeking help from professionals might be, if nothing else, encouraging. To that end, I might check my home library for Stephen King's On Writing. I have no idea if that will help, but it couldn't hurt.
In the end, everything is going to encourage me to write, keep writing, and write some more. Some of it's going to be crap--some writers suggest that most of it will be crap--but that as I get through it the whole thing will eventually take shape and I'll find my rhythm.
I'm trying not to get discouraged. I think the goal setting will help. I hope it will, anyway.
Friday, March 20, 2009, posted by Q6 at 12:00 PM
My seventeen-year-old son is still looking for his first job.
Because I haven't been following him around constantly in full-blown "Mother Hen" mode, I don't know to what degree he's seriously looking; I know that he IS fillng out and turning in applications, and I know that the home phone has not been ringing as a result. (I also know that he was, at one point, showing up to these places in torn jeans with his skateboard in his hands; I have since warned him off this particular visual.)
Is it possible that in these declining economic times so many people are struggling for employment that all the ex-CEOs out there have taken my son's burger-flipping job? I've purposely stayed out, for the most part, of this job hunt; at one point I printed a few things up I found online, if for no other reason than to encourage him to look in multiple places (I want to be helpful and supportive, on one hand; on the other hand, he won't be able to DO the job himself if he can't FIND the job himself, right?). Everything turns out to be a bust, and the entire household feels his frustration.
(And I think things have changed since I was a teen. Way back in the day, I would call or stop in and check on the status of my application, and they would actually tell me the status; when my son checks on the status of HIS applications, the response is, "I dunno--you want to fill out another one?")
He wants to have a job. He wants to earn money for his own car. He wants a new, slightly higher level of independence. I want him to have all of that. Can you call someone a victim of unemployment if he hasn't yet found his first job?
Because I haven't been following him around constantly in full-blown "Mother Hen" mode, I don't know to what degree he's seriously looking; I know that he IS fillng out and turning in applications, and I know that the home phone has not been ringing as a result. (I also know that he was, at one point, showing up to these places in torn jeans with his skateboard in his hands; I have since warned him off this particular visual.)
Is it possible that in these declining economic times so many people are struggling for employment that all the ex-CEOs out there have taken my son's burger-flipping job? I've purposely stayed out, for the most part, of this job hunt; at one point I printed a few things up I found online, if for no other reason than to encourage him to look in multiple places (I want to be helpful and supportive, on one hand; on the other hand, he won't be able to DO the job himself if he can't FIND the job himself, right?). Everything turns out to be a bust, and the entire household feels his frustration.
(And I think things have changed since I was a teen. Way back in the day, I would call or stop in and check on the status of my application, and they would actually tell me the status; when my son checks on the status of HIS applications, the response is, "I dunno--you want to fill out another one?")
He wants to have a job. He wants to earn money for his own car. He wants a new, slightly higher level of independence. I want him to have all of that. Can you call someone a victim of unemployment if he hasn't yet found his first job?
Monday, March 02, 2009, posted by Q6 at 2:04 PM
I am a lover of books. I am an avid reader. I have a library. (Yes, I have a library. I have an entire room of my house lined with wooden shelves filled with books. There are places to sit and books to read.) I cannot imagine a world without books, and I was worried that the Kindle was going to ruin the literary world. It would, I feared, do to books what the iPod did to the CD. I was worried that in five years' time I wouldn't be able to find books anymore. I thought that the Kindle was a bad thing.
Now, I want one.
When my wife and I went to see Neil Gaiman on his The Graveyard Book tour, the Q & A session included my question: Do you think that reading--and the printed book--will suffer as more and more people do their reading on the Internet? His answer was wonderful (I'm quickly learning that Gaiman is part author, part guru). He quoted Douglas Adams (probably the coolest thing he could have done to answer my question): There is nothing else in the world like a shark; in thousands of years there have always been sharks and there will always be sharks; and because only hsarks do what sharks do they will never be replaced by anything. He also reminded me (and everyone in the auditorium) that the Kindle and printed books are not mutually exclusive; he said that he likes printed books, and he likes his Kindle, and he does not fear the end of literature on paper.
And that was enough for me. I've not only calmed down, I've started to consider what books I would feel ok about reading on the Kindle 2 and what books I would want to read from the printed copy. This is irrational, I know: I'm trying to figure out how to fit the Kindle into my life before I even start setting aside the money for one.
It's still an "if" for me, but I'm not afraid anymore. Thank you, Mr. Gaiman.
Now, I want one.
When my wife and I went to see Neil Gaiman on his The Graveyard Book tour, the Q & A session included my question: Do you think that reading--and the printed book--will suffer as more and more people do their reading on the Internet? His answer was wonderful (I'm quickly learning that Gaiman is part author, part guru). He quoted Douglas Adams (probably the coolest thing he could have done to answer my question): There is nothing else in the world like a shark; in thousands of years there have always been sharks and there will always be sharks; and because only hsarks do what sharks do they will never be replaced by anything. He also reminded me (and everyone in the auditorium) that the Kindle and printed books are not mutually exclusive; he said that he likes printed books, and he likes his Kindle, and he does not fear the end of literature on paper.
And that was enough for me. I've not only calmed down, I've started to consider what books I would feel ok about reading on the Kindle 2 and what books I would want to read from the printed copy. This is irrational, I know: I'm trying to figure out how to fit the Kindle into my life before I even start setting aside the money for one.
It's still an "if" for me, but I'm not afraid anymore. Thank you, Mr. Gaiman.
Thursday, February 26, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:20 AM
After I posted these photos on my Facebook page, I kept getting the same comment over and over: "I want to go for a ride in it." Yes, you do; and I'm more than happy to take anyone for a spin.
For those who haven't been following along, this is the Honda FCX Clarity, the latest innovation in fuel cell technology for automobiles. It's the greenest car around right now, right down to the interior (which is made of corn-based biofabric). Moreover, it's a luxury car, not an econo-box: this thing has so many bells and whistles I sometimes can't believe I'm driving it. Voice-activated everything (GPS, climate control, radio, cell phone link--all of it through voice commands). The GPS feature is amazing. XM satellite radio. Bluetooth "through the speakers" technology. Dual climate control. Seat heaters. Seat coolers. A hard-disk drive to rip CDs straight into the car's memory (like on-board iTunes). A jack to plug in my iPod and control it from the dashboard. I've even got a rear-mounted camera to assist with backing up. AND two other features I didn't even know existed! One is the Collision Mitigation Braking System (CMBS), which uses the forward-mounted radar (no lie--radar) to automatically apply the brakes if something is too close to the car at too high a speed. Someone cut me off on the freeway last week, and this thing started to beep at me, flash lights, and brake. The other is the Adaptive Cruise Control (ACC), which uses the same radar to maintain a driver-specified distance between me and the car in front of me. I tried it, and the car spent time getting radar lock on cars in front of me while braking and accelerating ON ITS OWN. Weirdest driving experience ever, but very cool. (The radar, by the way, is the Honda logo on the front grill.) 
The EPA numbers on this car suggest an in-town 77 mpg and a highway 67 mpg (if you consider a gallon of gasoline to be equal to a kilogram of hydrogen, which seems to be the industry standard, then the mpg numbers are directly comparative). Honda boasts a 270 mile range on a single 4 kg tank, but I'm topping out at about 200 miles per tank right now--which is still impressive when you consider I'm not using a drop of gas to do it. I'm sure there's a way to drive this thing so economically that I could get 270 out of a tank (and I'm finding out that other FCX Clarity drivers play this little game, too); I'm determined to get 240 out of it before the lease is up.
In my "spare" time, I've been surfing some of the websites that review the car; I've been paying specific attention to the comments sections to see what "ordinary people" have been saying. I can respond to some of those comments here (I'm not going to actually post to the comments sections of these sites, which have a distinct "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" air about them). First, no, Honda is not just leasing these things to celebrities--I'm proof of that. Second, most experts will tell you that the Hindenburg disaster had more to do with its canvas skin being treated with the chemical equivalent of rocket fuel and less to do with being a balloon filled with flammable gas (moreover, I'm quite convinced that hydrogen containment technology is much better than it was in 1937). In any event, my car doesn't burn the hydrogen, anyway; it just combines it with oxygen to make electricity and water, which is how the Apollo moon missions were powered. (Sidebar: whenever anyone asks me about the "Hindenburg" factor, I ask them to repeat themselves and then reply, "Oh, 'Hindenburg'; I thought you said 'Exxon-Valdez'." That usually shuts them up.) Third, no, I haven't tried drinking my car's exhaust--but I will be getting around to that little experiment. And for those who have nothing better to do than scrutinize the photos: yes, the trickle of water seen in the driveway came from my exhaust pipe when I moved the car--my car is so organic that it actually pees.
The remaining two "hot" topics that people seem to be focusing on are better left for future blog posts, since I probably have quite a lot more to say--and learn--about them. One topic debates the "greeness" of hydrogen; that is, suggests that the isolation of pure hydrogen is a just-as-damaging process that negates any of the benefits of zero emissions (this one is usually suggested by those who think that the electric plug-ins are the future, not fuel cells). The other asks about the hydrogen infrastructure--the lack of filling stations needed to make fuel cell cars viable. I have thoughts on these topics, and I'll eventually get to them.
Right now, however, I think I'll go for another ride. :)
Tuesday, February 24, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:28 AM
Mine isn't going to be the most popular opinion regarding the nationwide transition from analog to digital TV, but it's going to be the most practical and hassle free:
Anyone who wants to watch TV will need either cable or satellite. Period.
This is what happened back in the day with 8-track tapes. It happened to Beta video. Leaded gasoline. Eventually, it'll happen with gasoline-powered cars and snail mail. Something better comes along, and it phases something else out. Completely. (Better for who? The majority, I suppose. Supply and demand are symbiotic, but demand tends to have the upper hand.)
Nothing makes this point better, I assure you, than this whole analog-to-digital thing. They'd been planning for this to happen on February 17 for almost a decade. A decade. Hundreds of thousands of people couldn't get converter box coupons; then again, those weren't even offered until the tail end of this ten-year plan. I guess the higher-ups thought more people would be on the cable/satellite TV bandwagon by now. (The big digital switch has been pushed back to June. More on that in a minute.)
And it's not like these converter boxes that everyone is clamoring for are doing very well, anyway. Many TV stations shut off their analog towers as planned last week, and those with converter boxes couldn't get a decent signal--in most cases it was either pixellated or it didn't come in at all--which isn't a surprise. Why? The long answer includes a lot of detailed explanations of signal wavelengths, terrains, and limited ranges (the same answer tells you why you lose AM radio when you go into a tunnel). The short answer is this: the digital signal is information heavy, which is why it has to be sent via digital cable or satellite; if it could be sent through the air, they'd be doing it already. It can't be done, not even with $40 off the price of a converter box. It's the ultimate exercise in futility.
What does the delay to June 2009 tell us? It tells us one of three things. Maybe it means that someone came up with this converter-with-a-coupon idea WAAAAY too close to the deadline (if you buy the idea that the converter boxes will save us--which I don't--then the postponement makes sense); or it tells us that the technology isn't ready for the conversion yet, that they can't provide the aerial signal on their own timeline (and it's the government and the broadcasting industry we're talking about here, so who's surprised?); or it could tell us that we are all hell-bent on prolonging the inevitable.
Yes, we're addicted. In this, the "Information Age," we are addicted to the mediums which provide us with that information. And those who control the feed--our "dealers"--are only going to provide it through cable and satellite. Government approved, quality merchandise. When June comes, there will still be those who aren't ready to make the switch. There will ALWAYS be those who won't be ready. When push finally comes to shove, cable providers will win; they'll have the extra burden of making sure they can deliver their product to everyone, but they'll win. (Sidebar: Up until now, cable tv hasn't been considered a "utility" proper, but it's teetered on the edge; in this, the 21st Century, and most certainly after analog goes dark for good, cable tv will be considered a utility just like water and electricity. It will be a utility in both the colloquial and literal senses.)
If you're still relying on broadcast channels (and you're reading this on the Internet so, let's face it, you're not), you need to do one of two things: either contact your local satellite of cable provider and get hooked up, or detox from TV altogether. And let's face it: you're not going to go without the feed.
Of course, there's a larger irony here that everyone's ignoring: any forward-thinking media executive will tell you that the Internet's going to take over our media needs in the years to come. Right now, broadcast customers are on the low end of the spectrum; twenty years from now, cable subscribers will be on the low end of the spectrum and everyone else will be getting their shows on the web. Consider that networks are trying to lower costs by replacing expensive dramas with more talk shows (see "Jay Leno"), then take a quick look at Hulu.com. The Internet has all but killed the CD for music, it's quickly killing newspapers, and it's trying to put your local library on the Kindle.
My grandchildren won't even know what a television set is.
Anyone who wants to watch TV will need either cable or satellite. Period.
This is what happened back in the day with 8-track tapes. It happened to Beta video. Leaded gasoline. Eventually, it'll happen with gasoline-powered cars and snail mail. Something better comes along, and it phases something else out. Completely. (Better for who? The majority, I suppose. Supply and demand are symbiotic, but demand tends to have the upper hand.)
Nothing makes this point better, I assure you, than this whole analog-to-digital thing. They'd been planning for this to happen on February 17 for almost a decade. A decade. Hundreds of thousands of people couldn't get converter box coupons; then again, those weren't even offered until the tail end of this ten-year plan. I guess the higher-ups thought more people would be on the cable/satellite TV bandwagon by now. (The big digital switch has been pushed back to June. More on that in a minute.)
And it's not like these converter boxes that everyone is clamoring for are doing very well, anyway. Many TV stations shut off their analog towers as planned last week, and those with converter boxes couldn't get a decent signal--in most cases it was either pixellated or it didn't come in at all--which isn't a surprise. Why? The long answer includes a lot of detailed explanations of signal wavelengths, terrains, and limited ranges (the same answer tells you why you lose AM radio when you go into a tunnel). The short answer is this: the digital signal is information heavy, which is why it has to be sent via digital cable or satellite; if it could be sent through the air, they'd be doing it already. It can't be done, not even with $40 off the price of a converter box. It's the ultimate exercise in futility.
What does the delay to June 2009 tell us? It tells us one of three things. Maybe it means that someone came up with this converter-with-a-coupon idea WAAAAY too close to the deadline (if you buy the idea that the converter boxes will save us--which I don't--then the postponement makes sense); or it tells us that the technology isn't ready for the conversion yet, that they can't provide the aerial signal on their own timeline (and it's the government and the broadcasting industry we're talking about here, so who's surprised?); or it could tell us that we are all hell-bent on prolonging the inevitable.
Yes, we're addicted. In this, the "Information Age," we are addicted to the mediums which provide us with that information. And those who control the feed--our "dealers"--are only going to provide it through cable and satellite. Government approved, quality merchandise. When June comes, there will still be those who aren't ready to make the switch. There will ALWAYS be those who won't be ready. When push finally comes to shove, cable providers will win; they'll have the extra burden of making sure they can deliver their product to everyone, but they'll win. (Sidebar: Up until now, cable tv hasn't been considered a "utility" proper, but it's teetered on the edge; in this, the 21st Century, and most certainly after analog goes dark for good, cable tv will be considered a utility just like water and electricity. It will be a utility in both the colloquial and literal senses.)
If you're still relying on broadcast channels (and you're reading this on the Internet so, let's face it, you're not), you need to do one of two things: either contact your local satellite of cable provider and get hooked up, or detox from TV altogether. And let's face it: you're not going to go without the feed.
Of course, there's a larger irony here that everyone's ignoring: any forward-thinking media executive will tell you that the Internet's going to take over our media needs in the years to come. Right now, broadcast customers are on the low end of the spectrum; twenty years from now, cable subscribers will be on the low end of the spectrum and everyone else will be getting their shows on the web. Consider that networks are trying to lower costs by replacing expensive dramas with more talk shows (see "Jay Leno"), then take a quick look at Hulu.com. The Internet has all but killed the CD for music, it's quickly killing newspapers, and it's trying to put your local library on the Kindle.
My grandchildren won't even know what a television set is.
Sunday, February 22, 2009, posted by Q6 at 4:19 PM
Well, it's official: my son is a licensed driver (as evidenced by the victory cupcakes his stepmother made to mark the occasion). On test day, he was nervous despite the fact that we spent the previous Saturday driving the streets around that DMV location.* We got there early so we could scope out the situation, see who the examiners were, etc., . . . all the things you usually do to combat nervousness but end up increasing it. We sat in the parking lot long enough to see a couple of people go through the process, and once my son realized that the examinee two spots ahead of him--who had problems parking the car, problems with "gizmo" control, and problems with the English language--passed the test, he relaxed almost to the point of taking a nap.Almost. His turn came quickly after that, and 14 minutes later, it was over.
As the dad, I'm supposed to be scared about this. I'm supposed to be nervous and anxious and worried. Let's review, however, the path my son and I have traveled on this: there was day after day in the parking lot, learning to operate a stick shift (which even he will admit seems like six years, not six months, ago); there was the paperwork and studying for the written test to obtain his permit; there was the $1000 I plunked down for the exhaustive driving school, which included learning to control skids (during which he was surprised to find that he had the most experience behind the wheel of all the students, some of whom were using their parents' trucks and SUVs with almost no road experience); and we had the hours and hours of on-the-road practice with me in the passenger seat of my own car.
Let's be honest: I trust my son. If I'm worried or scared at this point, I have bigger problems than his driving ability. Besides, he still asks to use the car each and every time. I'm going to trust him until he gives me reason not to.
*Of course, we scouted out all the wrong streets; I watched him drive off with the examiner going the opposite direction. So much for recon.
Saturday, January 31, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:49 AM
This week, here in Southern California, a man killed his wife, his five children, and himself. At the time I'm writing this post, the only information they have (other than the crime scene) is a note the guy faxed to a local TV station. His claim: despondency over his employment situation.
Depending on what news channel/website you follow, this country has eliminated over 600,000 jobs in the last few months. Businesses with 40+ years behind them are closing up shop. Shopping malls are becoming ghost towns. Schools are feeling the crunch. Programs for the impoverished are losing the ability to service a growing impoverished population. Banks are being eaten up by other banks. (Sidebar: is it considered a "monopoly" if you're simply the only one left in business?)
Some news stories claim that we're in the bad part of a recession. Others claim that we've been in a recession a lot longer than we've been willing to admit. What stops us, I wonder, from calling the current financial situation in America a Depression? I'm no expert, so I don't know what the textbook definition is (and Google has been less than helpful). I do know that the "Great Depression" had to do with the maldistribution of wealth among the classes, an imbalance between the rise of prices and the rise of wages, some sketchy stock market speculation, and other things.
I recall learning about the 1920s in school, but most of my memory is based on old photos of people in food lines and unemployment lines, looking sad and helpless. I don't know what such a thing would look like in the 21st Century, but today, people are losing jobs, the stock market's in sad shape, and people are now killing themselves and their families out of desperation.
So, why isn't this a "Depression?"
Depending on what news channel/website you follow, this country has eliminated over 600,000 jobs in the last few months. Businesses with 40+ years behind them are closing up shop. Shopping malls are becoming ghost towns. Schools are feeling the crunch. Programs for the impoverished are losing the ability to service a growing impoverished population. Banks are being eaten up by other banks. (Sidebar: is it considered a "monopoly" if you're simply the only one left in business?)
Some news stories claim that we're in the bad part of a recession. Others claim that we've been in a recession a lot longer than we've been willing to admit. What stops us, I wonder, from calling the current financial situation in America a Depression? I'm no expert, so I don't know what the textbook definition is (and Google has been less than helpful). I do know that the "Great Depression" had to do with the maldistribution of wealth among the classes, an imbalance between the rise of prices and the rise of wages, some sketchy stock market speculation, and other things.
I recall learning about the 1920s in school, but most of my memory is based on old photos of people in food lines and unemployment lines, looking sad and helpless. I don't know what such a thing would look like in the 21st Century, but today, people are losing jobs, the stock market's in sad shape, and people are now killing themselves and their families out of desperation.
So, why isn't this a "Depression?"
Thursday, January 29, 2009, posted by Q6 at 5:29 AM
Over the course of the last few weekends I've had to make room in my garage for the new addition to my transportation family (not to mention some stuff coming over from my wife's condo). As a result, I've had to go through boxes in the garage--the cemetery of days past--and discard stuff that's truly unnecessary.
Placing that title on ANY of my belongings was NOT as difficult as I thought it would be. I applied the same rule I've heard for cleaning out closets: if you haven't worn it in the last six months, it should go. Of course, there was a lot in these boxes I hadn't seen in a very long time, and one or two of these boxes, given the childhood memories they contain, may never get tossed out. I started with the boxes filled with work-related files (the easiest to deem "unnecessary," since they all pertained to a school at which I no longer work). As I got to more personal boxes, however, the items became more sentimental.
The "six month" rule is all well and good; but there's more at work here, I think. See, I'm turning 40 soon; and while that's never been a problem for me, I also recognize that I'm at a marked point in this journey through the Universe, one where what's ahead of me is much more important than what's behind me. And as I looked at bits and pieces of my past strewn all about the garage floor, I was reminded of a quote my wife sometimes signs her e-mails with:
Placing that title on ANY of my belongings was NOT as difficult as I thought it would be. I applied the same rule I've heard for cleaning out closets: if you haven't worn it in the last six months, it should go. Of course, there was a lot in these boxes I hadn't seen in a very long time, and one or two of these boxes, given the childhood memories they contain, may never get tossed out. I started with the boxes filled with work-related files (the easiest to deem "unnecessary," since they all pertained to a school at which I no longer work). As I got to more personal boxes, however, the items became more sentimental.
The "six month" rule is all well and good; but there's more at work here, I think. See, I'm turning 40 soon; and while that's never been a problem for me, I also recognize that I'm at a marked point in this journey through the Universe, one where what's ahead of me is much more important than what's behind me. And as I looked at bits and pieces of my past strewn all about the garage floor, I was reminded of a quote my wife sometimes signs her e-mails with:
How can the future be molded with hands full of baggage labeled What Was and What Could've Been? Where can you go with all that stuff,and how much fun will you have with it when you get there? Leave those bags behind,and hope they stay lost before you get to your next destination.
Throwing things out got a lot easier after that.
All right, take a few souvenirs if you must, but just nice stuff. No junk.
~ Michael Rawls
There was also a box of old trophies from my collegiate Speech & Debate days (many of them were fire damaged). At one point, long ago, I was going to make sure each was properly marked and engraved and cover the wall with my successes; instead I merely unwrapped them all and stacked them on my workbench before bidding them farewell. At one point, my son asked me, "Are those all your trophies and plaques? Wow; you were really good." He was in awe. Of me. So now I'm thinking maybe I should hang on to those. Maybe do the engrave-them-and-hang-them-in-the-garage thing after all.
And so about six boxes have gone so far, with another ten slated for review and removal. All in all, I made room for the new car AND some of my wife's stuff, and there's room for more. There are also more boxes to go through: fire damaged film equipment, my kids' old school projects, and more old paperwork for the shredder. Little by little, it seems, I'm shaving away the unnecessary past so that I can relish in the vibrant present. The next 40 years are gonna be sweet.